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strangersteddierthings · 6 months

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Beg You to Love Me

"I'm surprised you even remembered, Harrington," Eddie shrugs, hoping he comes off as aloof as he wants to, instead of shaky and unsure like he feels. He was sitting atop the picnic table, arms behind him trying to look as unaffected by Steve's presence as he can, but he's been thrown for a loop ever since Steve emerged from the woods instead of Robin Buckley, like he was expecting.

"Of course, I remember. I- I've never forgotten," Steve whispers, head down and fists clenched at his sides. He looks more like a child being wrongfully scolded than a man defending himself.

The words pull a scoff from Eddie, though. Never forgotten? What the fuck ever. "Right. Something to hold over me, then, if I'd stepped too far out of line? Mutually assured destruction?"

Steve's head snaps up and he looks horrified, which Eddie will admit to almost believing. Steve doesn't seem like the type to join the drama club but his acting's pretty fucking good. "What? No! I would have never- I would never have said anything about us to anyone."

"Right. Sure. Of course. Your own reputation to think about there."

Something like hurt flashes across Steve's face before it frosts over. This is the face he's used to see on Steve. Cold and distant. "I- whatever, man. I don't even know why I thought..." but Steve doesn't finish his sentence. He just shakes his head and turns his back on Eddie, heading back the way he came.

He doesn't know why that sparks a rage from deep within him. "Yeah, that's right. Tuck tail and runaway again!"

"I ran away?" Steve shouts back, turning sharply on his heel to glare at Eddie. "You think that I ran away?"

Eddie just spreads his hands to the empty clearing as if to say 'look at all this room around me you've never occupied'. "You weren't here, were you?"

"Because you told me to not be!" Steve stomps back to Eddie but stops a couple yards away.

"Like fuck I did," Eddie argues back, because he didn't tell Steve to go away. He'd told him-

"'If this isn't good enough for you, there's the fucking door.' That's what you told me," Steve quotes, "I thought it was pretty fucking clear what you wanted."

"Yeah, I fucking thought it was clear what I wanted," Eddie snarls, lunging from the picnic table, closing those last few feet to get into Steve's face. "Yet here we are!"

"Don't act like this is my fucking fault. Like you weren't the one who forced it to be my fault. My decision-"

"Yeah, it had to be your damn decision! You were dragging it out-"

"-because you were too much of a coward to do it your-fucking-self-"

"-acting like you were. Acting too good to actually slum it with the trailer trash-"

"-so of course I made the choice that was best for me. Because I deserved more-"

"-like what I had to offer you would never be good enough for the goddman King-"

"-than just being your hookup when I wanted to be-"

"-like I wasn't good enough to be your friend, much less-"

"-your fucking boyfriend!"

The contrast of this sudden silence that falls following their screaming match that ends with identical sentiments is jarring. Eddie feels wrong-footed and lost. Confusion and hurt mixing in him that he can see reflected on Steve's face.

"What?" Steve is the first to break the silence, drawing into himself. Arms crossing to hold himself at the elbows as he takes several steps back, as if to be able to see all of Eddie will clear the confusion he's feeling.

Eddie just stares back, slack jawed for a moment. That's. What. No, wait. Really, what? "What what?"

"You- you said 'if this isn't good enough for you, there's the fucking door'. How was I- I thought you- you were breaking up with me!" Steve cries, "you. You said that to make me pick, because you knew I wanted more and you didn't. That's- you were breaking up with me!"

Eddie's in just as much disbelief. "No, you broke up with me! I said if this isn't good enough but, like, I meant if I wasn't good enough. And you left! You walked out because I wasn't good enough to be with you!"

Steve looks stricken and he claws harder at himself, sort of folds into himself like he's going to be sick. "No. No no no, that's- then that means I- it's all been my fault. No no no no."

Eddie stares wide-eyed and frozen as Steve talks to himself. Eddie kind of feels nauseous. There's no way that this is possible. That these last two and a half years of heartbreak have been because of miscommunication. That they both thought the other was breaking up with them and neither actually wanted to.

"Why didn't you- Why didn't you say something?" Eddie asks.

Steve laughs at that, sounding a bit hysteric. "Me!? Why didn't you! I wasn't- I wasn't going to beg you to love me like I had with my parents. You were the one who told me I shouldn't have to do that!"

Yeah. He had. When Steve had broken down and cried on his bed, in his arms, wondering what it was he had done to lose his parents' love. Eddie told him it wasn't his fault, never would be, and that he would never need to beg for love from someone who does love him. It was the same advice Wayne had given him when he'd taken Eddie in.

"I already thought you were wanting to break up. You were being so distant, I thought..."

Steve sucks in a deep breath and nods, "Yeah. Yeah I was. I was scared of scaring you away. Of being too much. Because I- what I felt for you was a lot. I was afraid I'd chase you away if I continued to be so clingy. I pulled back, to reign it in but. Fuck. Fuck!"

Eddie drops to a squat. His legs feel like jelly and he can't keep standing. He squats and looks down so his hair becomes a curtain separating him from the reality of the situation, if only for a moment. Fuck is right.

He's spent his junior and first senior year being pissed at Steve. Hurt by him and what he thought happened. And it's- if Steve's being honest, it's all been for nothing. If they both wanted a deeper relationship, they could have had it. They might still be boyfriends if Eddie hadn't been so wrapped up in his Munson Doctrine. He'd been convincing himself Steve was embarrassed of him, and was working on breaking off their- whatever they were. But he hadn't been.

He's thought such terrible things about Steve over the years. God, what has Steve thought of him over the years? No. He doesn't want to know, actually. That's not what he cares about right now.

He lifts his head to see that Steve's plopped himself onto the ground, sitting cross legged, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

"Steve. Steve!" He calls Steve's name out until he looks up, looks at him, "why'd you come out here?"

He laughs again, slightly less hysterically, and he's shaking his head like he can't believe what he's about to say. "I. Fuck, I was coming out here to beg you to love me."

"No you fucking weren't!" his tone is filled with disbelief.

"I was," Steve repeats, sounding amused and heartbroken at the same time. "I really, really was. Graduation's coming and I know you want to get out of Hawkins the second that happens and I'm. I was running out of time trying to get you to notice me again, so I was going to beg."

Notice him again? As if Steve doesn't haunt his every waking thought. As if he doesn't dream of Steve every night while his eyes seek him across the halls and in their few shared classes like he's the goddamn night sky and Eddie is a sailor lost at sea needing the north star to guide him home. Eddie's never not noticed him, and he thinks he has to come out here and beg? "When someone loves you, you don't have to beg."

"Yeah, I know," Steve sighs, defeated, which lets Eddie know that Steve does not, in fact, know. He looks away from Eddie, down to his lap.

Fuck, it's like every fantasy Eddie's had of them making up and then making out has been handed to him on a silver platter and he's blowing it. His words are too vague, too easily misinterpreted. Again. He falls forward on to his knees, hands catching him so he's on all fours like an animal. "Steve. I mean it. You don't have to beg."

"I get it, Eddie," Steve huffs, not looking at him. Not actually understanding.

Eddie starts to crawl the distance between them. Steve looks up then, probably to see what the fuck Eddie was doing with the shuffling sounds and the chain on his belt clacking. Eddie watches Steve's eyes go wide, mouth dropping open to a small 'o'. "See, the thing is, Steve," Eddie says, pulling himself up to be just on his knees to shuffle the last few inches closer. Steve leans back to keep his eyes on Eddie's face, which opens his lap up. "You said you know, but I don't think you do." Eddie brings his hands to rest on Steve's shoulders and Steve lets him. "You don't have to beg." He uses his hold on Steve's shoulders to balance himself as he swings a leg wide, to straddle Steve, then shifts his weight to repeat the process with his other leg before settling himself into Steve's lap. Steve's hands land on his hips and Eddie isn't sure if it's intentional or a reaction to Eddie plopping himself in his laps but he's going to believe it's the first one. "You've never had to beg with me."

Steve sucks in a sharp breath and then he collapses into Eddie. Steve's hands on his hips slide up and pull him into a hug, as close to Steve's body as he can get, while Steve shoves his head under Eddie's chin, into the junction of his neck and shoulder and breaths him in like it's the last breath Steve will ever take. "We're so stupid."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, as he lifts one hand to hold the back of Steve's head while the other drops to rub soothingly at his back. "Yeah, we are."

They sit in the dirt, the closest they've been since that summer between '81 and '82. They should probably talk about. They're going to have to, if they want this to work. Full sentences with no hidden meanings, even though the thought of that kind of vulnerability makes Eddie skittish. It's going to be difficult, but it'll be worth it. Steve has always been worth it.

Eddie wants to say 'I love you', just to get it out, in the open, and not just implied, but there's a different first step to take. One that's actually a little easier. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Steve whispers, "I'm sorry. I should have-"

"Shut up," Eddie cuts him off, voice quiet and soft as he can be. "This is, and I cannot stress it enough, a we situation."

The huff of laughter on his skin from Steve feels like the start of something. A new beginning, a start over. A re-do.

A goddamn miracle.

Later, they'll drag themselves apart and up. Make it to the back of Eddie's van in the school parking lot to talk. Going to either's house feel too much, too soon. Their big fight happened at Eddie's home, and Steve's house isn't warm enough for the kind of comfort they want to share.

They'll have a talk. Filled with long pauses, stumbling over words and fears and insecurities because this is the hard part of a relationship. Getting it all out in the open so they can learn if they'll even work. The fear that they aren't going to be compatible anymore looms but doesn't deter. They both want a second chance, to give it a real shot, by the end of that first talk. But taking it slow.

They'll discuss what went wrong the first time (diving in without talking about anything certainly played a big part) and how to avoid that.

But that's later. Right now, Eddie just holds Steve, and Steve holds him back, and it certainly feels like the beginning of something good.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems

#steddie #my fic #this is just Miscommunication The Fic #hurt/comfort #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckleys the mvp for setting up the meeting by lying to eddie #shes going to demand a thank you gift for giving them the time to talk #and eddie WILL send her a whole fruit basket

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w1lmuttart · 1 year

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Drawing minish cap link everyday til I no longer have artblock™️

What difference three days make lol

#life is kicking my ass from every direction nowadays #playing mc is my current comfort <3 it’s so cute and tiny and small and a #so ye anyways i’d give this link everything he is so important to me #I love Zelda too she stole my heart within the first half minute #minish cap #loz mc #the legend of zelda

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blackbatcass · 5 days

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donna’s inherent honesty vs dick’s tendency to be manipulative.. speak to me

#dick grayson #donna troy #wonder twins #his manipulativeness being the thing about dick that most bothers donna #vs donna’s willingness to be honest about uncomfortable things being one of the things dick most admires about her..#!!!!!#like donna is just very emotionally honest in a way most heroes aren’t.#if she’s having a bad time and someone asks hey what’s wrong what’s going on. she will answer and be honest!! instead of giving #some bullshit ‘im fine :D’ response #meanwhile dick…… Does Not Do That #except with donna! one of the few people he trusts enough to feel comfortable confiding in!#they’re so!!

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 5 months

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a slightly scribbly Eddie for @akemima's promptlist, day one - cool outfit! well, i don't know if its Cool, but it sure is an outfit!

#mannnnn i forgot jewelry existed... could have slapped on some cute rings or earrings...#i forgor... outfits are not my forte... it shows in my choice of daily clothes as well...#i also didn't realize i didn't give him a full body until i was pretty much done so. No! Oopsies!#drawing eddie continues to be comforting and yet a total pain in the ass!#i love him! i hope he goes Through it! i hope he Dies Traumatically! i say this Every Time!#but yes cute prompt list. excited to do more #slowly though... writers brain perseveres rn...#scribble garnish #welcome home #welcome home puppet show #eddie dear #looking directly at the drag prompt. yes please yes please #eddie in drag is everything to me she's so gorgeous. augh. ough #i must find the perfect Dress...

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florencemtrash · 3 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Ten

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Mentions of cannon-typical violence. Azriel and Y/n have a late night conversation. Fluff and other stuff.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Gwyn says hi by the way.”

Azriel choked on his coffee, bitter flavor rising in his throat. Nesta sauntered into the kitchen, cool eyes glaring at the back of his head. Your familiar silhouette was nowhere to be found.

Not here. His shadows whispered. With Rhys.

“Calm down you idiot.” Nesta’s voice dripped with unrestrained contempt as she poured herself a cup and sat. His tan skin glistened with sweat after his morning training session, inky tattoos splashing across his bare chest and trailing over his shoulders, down his back, and up to his neck. In the cloudy afternoon light it was difficult to tell where his shadows ended and where his tattoos began.

“Y/n’s not here. You’ll have to walk around half-naked some other time.”

Azriel winced. “That isn’t what—”

Nesta brushed him off with a wave of her hand, eyes narrowing over her mug. Azriel felt like a bug pinned down under a microscope. A crushed butterfly about to hang.

“How is Gwyn doing?” he asked gingerly, casually.

“She’s fine. Believe it or not, the world did not end when you broke up with her.”

Again he flinched. “I’m sorry, Nes,” he whispered rather pathetically.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to. But you already know that.”

There seemed to be no shortage of people he needed to apologize to: Elain, Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, even Lucien — especially Lucien. His cheeks burned to think of the absolute mess of things he’d made. Feyre had been the quickest to forgive him for the debacle with Elain and Gwyn. But as Cassian had mentioned at dinner, there was a reason everyone was staying away from the River House, and the reason was him.

Two years ago he’d challenged Lucien Vanserra to a blood duel for Elain’s hand. It had felt so right at the time, so obvious: three sisters for three brothers. But it was only when their deaths had loomed over her head with shocking reality that Elain realized what a horrible mistake she’d made. The mistake they’d made together.

“Call it off,” she’d commanded him, blocking Lucien’s bloody, heaving body. The son of Autumn’s sword had been kicked away, scraping across the rock with an eerie scream and disappearing over the cliff edge. But Elain had stayed, soft brown eyes begging, “Do this and I will never forgive you. What we did… it wasn’t right. It was a mistake.”

A mistake, she’d called it. Years of silent longing and bare bone brushes of their hands in dark hallways. All a mistake. Those words had haunted him. They’d chased him into Gwyn’s kind arms where he once again mistook the friendship he felt towards her as love and broke her heart in the process. Add that to his lackluster response to Mor’s coming out and… well he had a lot of work ahead of him.

He hoped he would be forgiven in time, but that didn’t mean he’d twiddle his thumbs until that day came. He scoured Prythian’s publishers for new releases of adventure, mystery, and romance books — the raunchier the better — and they showed up every month at Cagniv Library like clockwork. The priestesses still thought it was part of a trade bargain with the Day Court. He’d sent Elain and Lucien plenty of letters and gifts, but either they weren’t being opened or they weren’t bothering to respond. He wouldn’t blame them either way. As for Mor and Emerie, they were gone with the wind, too busy infiltrating lands and enjoying an extended honeymoon on the continent to bother with him.

That cold stillness in Nesta’s eyes transformed into pity. It was hard not to be reminded of her own failures when she looked at him. Seeing him angry. Watching him crawl into the darkest corners of himself and burn every bridge he crossed had been a shock to Nesta’s system. A plunge into freezing waters that brought pain and clarity.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just give them time, Az. They’ll come around. If they did it for me, they’ll do it for you.” “I think our situations are rather different.”

“I don’t.”

“You didn’t try to kill anyone.”

She grimaced. “I came close.”

He stayed silent for a long while. He washed his cup. He dried it. He put it in the cupboard.

“Can you—can you please not tell Y/n?” he begged. His voice was small and quiet. He’d been a fool in the past and made terrible decisions in the name of love. Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. They’d all lived more in his mind than in his heart — people he could never fully grasp, and therefore never lose. They’d been safe. Easy.

It didn’t feel that way with you. You felt solid and warm, even if he’d only touched you once. You felt more real to him than anyone else. You felt like someone he could actually have. Which meant he could lose you before you’d even become his to lose.

“You can’t keep her in the dark forever. Not about your history, not about the bond. If you’re going to learn anything from your brothers, learn that.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I just want to get it right this time.” He had to get it right this time. “I want her to fall in love with me because she wants me, not out of some sense of obligation. I want…” I want to be worthy of her.

Nesta shook her head, a laugh escaping despite her best attempts to stifle it. Azriel looked at her like she’d gone mad.

She giggled again. “It’s funny. For a male as handsome and desirable as you, you have the worst fucking luck with women. The Mother must have a twisted sense of humor.”

Maybe she did. But Azriel was still enough of a romantic to hope that he had learned from his mistakes, and that his bad luck would end with you.

You shoved the notebook off Rhysand’s desk, loose papers flying out like uncoordinated doves.

“I told you notetaking was a futile effort.” The High Lord didn’t even look at you, too busy searching for invisible dirt beneath his manicured fingernails.

You groaned and dropped your head against the book he’d handed you two hours before.

Rhysand had to smile at your frustration. It was a wholly different experience teaching you magic compared to teaching Feyre. With Feyre, her greatest barrier had been her lack of knowledge (and her hatred of him at the time). She’d been thrust into the world of fae without preparation, but it had left her malleable and adaptable. It was like teaching a newborn how to walk — a mind that could absorb more because it knew so little.

But you knew too much. You could spout off magical theory at the drop of a hat. You were a pedagogical master with a thousand mnemonics to your name. You were the first to wake in all of Velaris, making your way to the Library before bodies could fill the streets, and you only returned when the crowds had either turned in for the night or gone out to drink until daybreak. You swallowed every history book on the Night Court, Clairvoyants, daemati, and death gods until you felt untethered from the earth — until your mind began to float outside your body, buzzing with thoughts that never went away.

But none of that mattered. Your power was an immovable object that couldn’t be controlled by logic or studying.

You shoved against that power now.

“Good,” Rhysand nodded, leaning against the window, “You’re getting better at it.”

He lingered in your mind, hovering over the depths of your emotions and memories like a bird ready to break water. It had taken some time before you felt comfortable with the intrusion. Your first lesson together, Rhysand’s presence in your mind had made it impossible to focus. Panic had seized your mind and your body until you could do nothing more than brace your hands and feet against the chair’s leather upholstery. You could have sworn you saw a head of silver hair to your left. The gentle pitter patter of rain had sounded like dripping blood.

It wasn’t like that anymore. Henna had left you with a useful skill — you could wind your consciousness around Rhysand and keep him there, suspended in that indescribable space where your thoughts lay so he could do no more damage than you permitted him.

Through your mind he felt the narrowing of your power. You imagined it like a blanket wrapped around your body, suffocating but familiar. It was this power that laced your skin and made contact with others so hard. You imagined the fabric shortening, creeping up your arms and legs, curling around your torso and squeezing like a snake. Inch by inch you tightened it around you, burying it within your chest instead of carrying it openly like a wound.

You held a music book between your hands — Nyx’s to be exact. The little Lordling showcased a certain aptitude for the piano his father could only dream of, and being as young and protected as he was, the worst kind of emotion imbued within its pages was agitation. You could hear one of the ballads written within it as clearly as if Nyx was sitting beside you plucking out the melody.

Tighter. Tighter. Tighter. You swallowed your power. Pulled what was outside inwards. Slowly but surely the music faded away until the book was as all books should be — silent.

Sweat beaded your brow. This was the most difficult part — not tuning out the music, but keeping the volume at zero.

Rhysand checked his watch. Waited. Checked it again.

You lasted thirty minutes before your power burst out along your skin once more like a thousand prickling needles. You shuddered, half-disappointed, half-grateful that you could hear the melody again.

Rhysand clapped his hands, slow and proud. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room was dangerously close to five bells. Rhysand nodded.

“Perfect timing. We’re done for today.”

“I can go for longer,” you pleaded.

“I know you can.” Rhysand pushed off the wall, polished leather boots gleaming. He was wearing his Illyrian leathers this time, the scent of wind still clinging to his skin after a visit to the northern war camps.

Old Illyria lasted thousands of years. The clans used to flow up and down the Steppes, following the tundrabeast that lay claim to those mountainous regions and were said to speak for their god Ramiel — Starbreaker, Night Herder — after whom the mountain is named. They don’t move with the cold winds anymore, even if they’ve kept their names: Ironcrest, Bloodborn, Windhaven, Seawhip, Hawkseed, Timberbane, and a dozen others. And they don’t make sacrifices, although the Blood Rite might be a close—

Rhysand rapped his knuckles on the desk to grab your attention and splayed his fingers wide. “I also know that the moment I dismiss you, you’ll scamper off to the Library to work until you can’t see straight.”

You shifted in your seat. “I like it there.”

“That’s besides the point. If you keep going at this pace you’ll burn out. Then you won’t be able to help anyone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You hadn’t thought he’d noticed. “I know what it feels like to burn out and it’s not going to happen anytime soon. I promise.”

Rhysand suppressed the urgent need to roll his eyes as you gathered your things and walked out the door. “And here I thought I worked too much,” he muttered beneath his breath.

You carried Henna’s journal tucked within your new Librarian robes — black with ivory detailing and wide sleeves that narrowed at the wrists. You kept a hand on it during late nights at the Library. You ate with it propped open, black splotches swimming across the page like worms. You slept with it beneath your pillow.

But alas, it would seem the book was going to make you work to wring meaning out of every odd symbol.

You were muttering to yourself as you walked back and forth in front of the fireplace. You’d effectively commandeered one of the reading rooms on the seventh floor, leaving the library only when required for Rhysand’s lessons. Helion’s most recent letter lay open on the table with Cherp’s resting just beneath it. A map hung crooked on the wall, four athenaeums circled in bleeding red ink alongside a list of books that had gone missing — the ones that people knew about at least.

The Alcove, Ares House, Folkmen’s Bard, and most recently, Argot’s.

Three Librarians dead. Their throats slit. Blood dribbling down their burgundy robes as they’d sat hunched over their desks. The week before it had been two from Ares House caught swaying from the third floor balcony.

No one has any idea how it happened. The wards were never set off. Nothing in the Library was disrupted. I tell you this only because you deserve to know what’s happened to your people. Continue your training. Continue your research. Do whatever you need to do. But leave the court business to me, dear. I’ll write to you again when I can.

~ Helion

“It doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled, drumming your fingers against your hip where the book remained silent. “None of this makes sense.”

You’d used every ounce of Rhysand’s training on the book. You’d imagined your power sliding over it like water, fire, needles shooting through cowhide, a hammerstrike, every metaphor imaginable. You’d glared at it with an intensity that would have disintegrated a lesser object.

When that failed, you had moved onto solving the murders and thefts at your father’s court. You couldn’t content yourself with sitting in one of the cushy, high-backed chairs in Rhysand’s office sipping imported tea in porcelain cups while athenaeums were on lockdown.

The pattern was shockingly simple — Koschei was going after books that could be traced back to him. Books that might give his enemies the upper hand: folktales alluding to him and his siblings, translated texts from old Bauldish that might have proved useful in deciphering Henna’s book, secondary accounts of the age before High Lords ruled.

If you were Koschei you’d go after Godswoods next — the collection of athenaeums dedicated to religion. Then on to The Gallows — the athenaeum on death and dying. The two were intricately tied to one another, but people tended to write books on dying before coming up with explanations for what comes after. You’d spent a great deal of time there following your mother’s death, and you could picture it now — solemn black bookshelves looping around a circular room that tapered up into a point like a blade pointed to the sky.

You finished writing your letter to Helion, along with the list of books you wanted pulled from the archives. Cagniv Library may have been a glowing beacon in the Night Court, and a place of sanctuary for the priestesses, but it was nothing like you were used to.

You held the paper out in front of you, Helion’s glimmering pen tucked behind your sharp ears, and blew. The black letters lifted off the page and faded away like a breath in cold air. The message was already writing itself back into existence in Helion’s office.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

You scribbled out another note, this one for yourself with another pen. You ripped it to pieces and fed it to the fire.

What was Koschei looking for now? Was he still looking for the book that now rested against your hip, or had he turned to some other prize? And why kill the Librarians and set all of Day Court on high alert?

Henna had been careful. She’d stayed hidden until she was forced to tear down the Alcove to get the book. Whoever was causing the killings now was either a showman or a fool. They left bodies hanging from rafters. They carved smiles into throats. They let the Librarians know what they were stealing whether they meant to or not. They left patterns scattered among wreckage for someone like you to figure out.

It all felt… juvenile for lack of a better word. Someone young. Someone who wanted to prove themselves in a loud way. Someone whose ego hadn’t been tested yet and wasn’t listening to Koschei’s commands in their entirety.

Azriel.

You couldn’t help but think of him.

Azriel was nothing like that.

He wasn’t loud. He didn’t vy for attention. He didn’t seek the light in a room. His confidence was quiet and true. His kindness took the shape of the shadows that lingered by your ankles. It took the shape of the robes you wore now. He was the only one who’d seen them at The Alcove. He was the only one who could have requested the court seamstress to make a copy and leave it hanging in your closet.

No. Azriel was nothing like that.

Azriel’s eyes lit up like embers when you slid through the front door, weary but bright-eyed and cradling your journals against your chest. The shadows he’d left behind with you slithered across the floor like mist.

She’s been in the Library all day. Working. The shadows whispered in his ear. She thought about you.

Azriel smiled. He’d thought about you as well. “I was wondering where you’d gone.”

You gasped, closing the door louder than you intended. You’d developed a talent for sneaking in and out of the River House unnoticed to the point where Cassian considered hiding bells in your pockets. Nyx had tried to do it as a joke, but you’d caught him giggling too loudly in your bedroom.

You brightened immediately, a broad smile appearing on your face. Azriel felt his heart leap, then quiet as he caught the scent of parchment paper.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow?” You whispered, tip-toeing through the dimly lit hallway to where Azriel was in the sitting room. You sank into the couch with a groan. The hardwood desks at the Library had not been kind to you.

He shrugged and brushed back his wind-thickened hair, shifting to face you better. A crumb-coated plate lay on the table and he still wore his leathers. He must have just arrived home.

“I flew as quick as I could. I wanted to be home.” With you.

He’d gotten so used to the feeling of you sleeping across the hallway that he’d flown the last three days without sleep. It was worth it to see you again. From the looks of it, you’d not fared well in his absence either. Your eyes had that glassy, half-there sheen: a perfect mixture of exhaustion and mind-crackling clarity.

“And how were the Mortal Lands?” You tucked your knees beneath you and leaned against your hand, fighting the sleep that seemed to grapple for you now that Azriel was home. His wings were spread wide and you resisted the urge to close the last few inches between you and the talon that glimmered in the faelight like obsidian glass.

You’d never been that far south. You’d never had reason to. But Azriel flew far and wide. The Continent was now Mor’s domain, but the secret goings of Prythian and the Mortal Lands belonged to him and him alone. The Spymaster of the Night Court. The Shadowsinger.

Azriel shook his head. “Quiet. Koschei hasn’t touched them yet as far as I can tell, and the Mortal Queens don’t care. They seem to think that they can handle Koschei because he’s agreed to bargains with them in the past.”

You made a noise of disapproval. “Like they handled Hybern? The only reason they’re still standing is because fae fought their war.”

The scattering of human armies that had arrived on that battlefield had belonged to no crown. They’d either fought for the bloodlust or the money. You could respect them for that.

Azriel tipped his head to the side, following the curling of his shadows around his shoulders. “But they are still standing. They don’t know what we sacrificed to keep them safe. That’s the problem with humans. They forget too quickly and get complacent”

“It would seem we have the opposite problem. We can’t help but remember everything,” you said, with no small amount of bitterness.

He wanted to keep you talking. He wanted your thoughts. Wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice after three weeks of silence. You weren’t aware of it, but the bond had felt thin the further he’d traveled away from you. Like a tightrope stretched to its snapping point. Now that he was back, and you were here, his heart didn’t feel like such a strenuous burden.

He smiled. “I think that’s just you. I know plenty of fae who are forgetful and empty-minded.” He leaned back, stretching his wings out to the side, and winced. They were whipped raw and tender from the flight.

Without thinking you got up and moved to the fireplace, feeding wood to the flames until it crackled happily. There was a reason Cassian and Azriel loved to bath their wings in sunlight every chance they got. The heat helped the soreness and eased the wind’s rough edge.

It also drove color into your cheeks and set your hair alight in a soft golden haze. You were a marvel. An angel with a halo to match and Azriel drank in the sight.

“Like who?”

“Cassian.”

You smirked and chucked the last of the wood into the flame’s gaping mouth.

Cass was far from empty-minded, but after decades of being feared as the Lord of Bloodshed he was grateful that people loved him enough to be just a little mean. He gave and received friendly blows like kisses on the cheek and smiled all the wider for it. To threaten his life was the same as saying I love you. It must be why the Mother had made Nesta his mate. She said I love you to him all hours of the day.

Azriel asked you what you were thinking, and when you told him he felt some of that pain slide off his shoulders like rain. He threw his head back and laughed until his chest started to hurt again and you thought about how rare that sound must be, and how much you loved it.

“How are the others? Rhysand told me Feyre’s sister is down there along with your friends.”

Azriel sobered up quickly and cleared his throat. “Yes. Elain, Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa.”

His voice caught on two names: Elain and Lucien, and it didn't escape your notice. He sounded... nervous.

“And? Are they alright?”

He rolled his shoulders and looked out the window to the inky black sky. Vassa would be sleeping now in her human form, and if she was lucky, she’d wake up in the morning still within the manor’s grey stone walls. Safe. Home.

He shook his head gravely. “They’re nothing short of terrified. Koschei has Vassa under a spell that would normally keep her tied to his lake. He let her go during the war against Hybern and he’s been allowing her to stay, but… everyone’s just holding their breath and trying to prepare for the day he’ll take her back.”

You shivered and wrapped one of the spare blankets around your shoulders. You couldn’t imagine a life where every waking moment held the risk of being torn away from everything you held dear. The anticipation would have broken you more than the act itself.

“I’ve heard of her. The firebird.” You murmured softly. You imagined a creature with glowing eyes, blue-red feathers streaking behind like ribbons set on fire. Azriel narrowed his eyes in confusion, and you explained, “Ares House records all wartime information. I read the reports. We’re very thorough.”

Azriel smiled. “I would expect nothing less.”

Silence passed in comfort, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Vassa.

“Do you think they’d be able to stop it if Koschei did make her go back?”

“I don’t know, Y/n.” And it was driving him mad to have Koschei hanging around like a forgotten word at the end of his tongue.

“I hate this,” you spat out, “The not knowing. I hate it.”

Azriel stared at you, hazel eyes silently begging you to continue. Shadows curled around your body, gently tugging you closer to him until your knees were a whisper away from touching.

You both sighed softly into the quiet air. Even the River House seemed to be at rest for the night. The usual background hum of cooking and cleaning were absent. It was just you and the Shadowsinger.

“How are things going? With the book?”

You slipped your hand through the slit in your robes and pulled it out. The gold chain rustled, glowing faintly from your touch.

“It’s going.” You shoved the book back out of sight. You couldn’t even stand to look at it after the hours you’d spent agonizing over its pages. “Rhysand’s been teaching me to contain my power better. I can actually touch some things now.”

But not him. Still not him. And it was killing you.

Azriel gave another one of his small smiles. The ones that never failed to make the world a smaller, more manageable place. “That’s good.”

“I just… this may sound silly but, I’m not used to things being this hard. With my powers a lot of things just sort of came naturally for me. But now people are dying and I’m just sitting here on this very expensive couch and I can’t do the thing I was brought here to do and I… I don’t like feeling this useless.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Azriel murmured. He closed the space between you even more, shadows hovering over your face in silent permission. When you didn’t pull away they brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over your face with a cool, silky touch.

Azriel was all calm darkness and you imagined that if you reached out to touch his chest your hand might just slip through him like he wasn’t there at all. He seemed too good to be real.

But he was real, and he was sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fan your cheeks.

“You’re not useless. Never believe that. Not even for a second. And even if you were useless, it wouldn’t matter. You’re worth more than the things you can do, remember?”

“I remember.” Your voice was quiet and thick.

You rested your cheek in the crook of your arm as you gazed at him wearily.

Azriel kept his hands out in the open, one hand reaching across the couch cushions before stopping mere inches away from yours. His shadows closed the remaining distance, slipping in between your fingers to mimic Azriel’s touch.

“Did you uncover any more secrets of mine while I was gone?” Azriel asked as your eyelids began to droop.

“I confess I forgot to look. But maybe now that you’re here, I’ll start again,” you mumbled into the encroaching dark.

“I look forward to it,” were the last words that filtered through your ears before you fell asleep to the untranslatable whispers of shadows.

Nyx bounded down the stairs, leaping the last six steps before landing soundlessly on the floor with a soft bend of his knees — just like Azriel had taught him. Feyre gave a proud nod before ruffling his ebony hair and Rhysand beamed.

Let me. Feyre adjusted the wrappings around Rhys’s chest that kept Velaria’s plump body swaddled and comfortable. Her pink lips opened in a yawn that had both mates sighing.

“Uncle Az!” Nyx raced forward towards the sitting room and then froze, mouth opened in a surprised oh.

Azriel slept like the dead on the floor, chest rising and falling with the beat of his gentle breath. You lay stretched out on the couch, one arm propped beneath your head and the other dangling over your waist and off the cushions. Your fingers swayed an inch above Azriel’s chest, shadows swimming over his torso and creeping up your arms so that even in sleep you were connected to one another.

Feyre gasped softly at the picture. The sunlight blanketing the both of you in peach fuzz. The faint uptick of Azriel’s lips and the smoothness of his brow. The way you looked like you were bleeding into him. The black of his shadows and your robes.

Rhysand rubbed Nyx’s shoulder and kissed Feyre’s cheek.

Let them sleep, Nyx. We’ll get breakfast at Huth’s today.

Nyx let his parents lead him towards the door without protest. He’d never seen Uncle Az sleep so soundly in his life.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Yeah... this slow burn is burning... but I just love it so much and I love writing all the sweet little moments they have and their conversations with one another and I hope you're enjoying it as well.

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #everyone deserves a person who'll help them relax enough to fall asleep #late night conversations and barely there touches and longing and asdfbaefnaks #AZRIEL FREAKING MADE HER NEW ROBES SO SHE WOULD FEEL MORE COMFORTABLE #He's trying to grow and do right by his exes so he will feel more worthy of Y/n and I just ugh #i'm giving him Mr. Darcy energy I don't give a shit

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videogamelover99 · 6 months

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So many skk fanfics have Chuuya be the one that openly shows affection while Dazai is emotionally constipated and while Dazai IS emotionally constipated have you seen them?? Dazai is out there giving Chuuya touching farewell speeches and Chuuya gets so embarrassed he shoots Dazai in the face. They're both so bad at showing care in ways that aren't actions but like Chuuya is EXTRA bad. The most physical affection he's given anyone is like, the fistbump he gave Dazai's shoulder that one time. You're telling me Chuuya is the one openly discussing feelings in this relationship?? Dazai will probably get two words in and Chuuya's already running for the hills. I can't imagine him even hugging people unless someone else initiates.

#dazai avoids and chuuya fights but like. dazai so far has been WAY better at openly showing he cares #look all im saying is we need more fics where chuuya is just. really bad at physical affection #have him give the most awkward comfort pat to someone #bsd #nakahara chuuya #soukoku #dazai osamu #skk #shitpost #this isnt even headcanon this is canonically shown chuuya cannot handle feelings #he metabolizes them into heroic gestures #touch starvation who is she

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twinkodium · 5 months

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Make sure you have a footage of everything he says otherwise he’ll try to deny it later 🫣

#f2 #f1 #oscar piastri #robert shwartzman #rob got you there Osc #he remembers EVERYTHING 🤭🤭#the defeated sign he let out when he realised it was indeed his idea #he’s so awkward but damn comfortable with rob 🥺#singing like that and giving his all 🥹#naw one of the highlights of the f2 season that year 🥰🥰#dying how he’s trying to defend himself with a smile and shaking his head😂#‘I didn’t suggest it’#‘you did suggest it. she proved it’ Angelina pulls out the video evidence 😂😂😂#‘fine.. maybe I did suggest it’ with the 😐 face 😂😂#you should think before you talk Osc 😂😂😂#‘okay done’ runs off immediately 😂

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lavender-rroses · 7 months

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//JRWI RIPTIDE SPOILERS

talk to us

#jrwi riptide #jrwi #jrwi fanart #gillion tidestrider #jrwi chip #jay ferin #jrwi riptide spoilers #haven’t decided for realsies if i like this one but it’s ok #i’ll definitely find something wrong with it after i post #they mean so much to me #like…they love each other 😭 so much😭 i want them to be happy😭#albatrio #ok here’s some little things #jays leg is straight cuz i can’t imagine she can bend it all that much #chip has some gray streaks cuz i think he lost some melanin when he came back to life (rip)#that’s also why his freckles are gone #also also he doesn’t have a little highlight in his eye. his zest for life 😞 gone #gill i think likes to wrap his tail around people he trusts and he wants to give some comfort to chip #and they’re both leaning on him/touching him to warm him up #im so excited for the next ep it’s crazy #also 110? crazy episode the tree was so funny #lavrose art

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haunted-xander · 3 months

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Sometimes I think about Urianger's role in and feelings on the Thancred-Ryne dynamic and I think watching it kills him a bit inside. For several reasons.

Like, to begin with there's the guilt he's been carrying with him since he ushered Minfilia to the first, how he effectively killed the person Thancred cared about the most in the world and who's "death" ended up causing Ryne's entire Situation. He looks at what's happening between them and can only think "I caused this" even though that's not really true. No one person is responsible for this outcome, it's a culmination of several circumstances and the consequences of them. Logically, Urianger knows this. But it doesn't matter, because his guilt is overpowering his logic.

And also, like. What Thancred is doing here, the way he's knowingly letting Ryne be and stay hurt because he literally cannot bring himself to tell her his feelings, is the exact same mistake Urianger made with Moenbryda. Of course, the circumstances are vastly different, and the potential consequences to Thancred telling Ryne the wrong things or her misinterperating it is far greater (being a matter of literal life or death), it's still the same sort of paralysis they are trapped in.

And he knows it. He sees it. But he can't say or do anything about it, he doesn't have the right to. He acknowledges the mistake, but he hasn't really improved upon it yet. He still doesn't voice his thoughts and feelings as he should. He's also non-confrontational by nature, he doesn't argue or try to change peoples minds, he probably doesn't think he has any place to.

So, he tries to help in what little ways he can. Because he doesn't want it to become Monebryda again, he doesn't want to know he stole not one but two people from Thancred. So he does what he can. He tells Ryne little tidbits about Thancred, things that help her understand him but are safe to share. Nothing too deep, nothing too personal. Just small things, things that are purely factual, because he can't afford to give her a false image of who Thancred is. He teacher her fun and interesting things, because Thancred isn't in the mindset to provide her with non-essential skills.

I like to think Urianger has brought it up with Thancred at least once, during one of his stays. But nothing would've come of it. Not really. Unlike Y'shtola, Urianger isn't pushy, he'll bring it up once or twice and when he sees this won't go anywhere, he gives up. He wants to help, but he knows that persistance only does do much, and he is not the person who has the resiliance needed to push and push until Thancred finally budges (because he won't budge, it won't help anything but to sour things further by adding aditional stress to an already strained dynamic).

And like. Urianger gets it. He gets it because he's been the same way- not saying what he should to someone he loves more than anything else because she was meant to figure her life out herself, and 'steering' her in any direction by telling her his feelings (regardless of if the 'steering' is intention or not) will go against that. He gets it. He gets it and it's all the more painful for it. He knows it can't just be fixed by acknowledging it or with encouragement, something needs to happen to break the stasis.

I think this is probably why he stayed behind while they went off to Nabaath Areng. This is the very last chance they have to say what they want to, and he can't afford to be the anchor anymore. This is about them, not him, he can't let their resolution be buffed by his presence, so he stays behind. Which was probably for the best. Ryne got nervous when Urianger said he's staying behind, probably not too excited about being alone with Thancred (well, not alone, but WoL doesn't count) so soon after she had ran away crying. But she needs to be nervous. For anything positive to come out of this Thancred and Ryne both can't afford to be too relaxed. As sad as it is, the stress is necessary for anything to happen. He knows it. Does he like it? Absolutely not, but nor does he like his other plots. At least no one dies this time if it goes right.