hi friends! iâm kai, and this is just a fun little sideblog where all my sjm universe writings live. my main account is @pacificst so if you see that user in your notes, itâs me! thank u for stopping by, and feel free to come talk to me! đ«¶
summary: azrielâs curiosity and penchant for spying reveals exactly why youâve been moreâŠenthusiastic in bed lately.
if fate allows (wip)
summary: mating bond or not, you would pick azriel over and over and over again
take me to church âĄ
summary: azriel was not a religious male, but you were his goddess incarnate and he would willingly worship at your feet until his dying breath
honeyed temptations âĄ
summary: despite azrielâs relative indifference to most things, he absolutely, undeniably hates the heat. and fucking loves when you wear sundresses.
summary: for the past one hundred years, your relationship with azriel has been stuck in a purgatory between lovers and strangers, floating in the limbo between the night and day your respective courts cherished. your position as the warmaster of the day court â and helionâs second in command â forces an alliance closer than youâve ever been to azriel and his inner circle as the threat of a war with hybern looms heavy in the distance. centuryâs old complicated feelings bubble to the surface, and confrontation is inevitable. the delicate balance of the life and world you know are bound towards disruption.
summary: cassian has loved and longed for you for as long as he can remember, despite your long established relationship with his brother. he teeters on the edge of giving up on the idea of you ever loving him back. untilâŠ
(heavily inspired by ripleyâs rendition of the original abba song)
work song ⥠(coming soon!)
summary: an exploration into the birth, life, and death of your relationship with cassian and his unwavering devotion and love for you in the midst of all your trials and tribulations.
it will come back (hozier discography exploration)
summary: cassian was an addict, and you his poison of choice.
foreignerâs god (hozier discography exploration)
after all this time -> rhysand x reader (coming soon!)
summary: the days, weeks, and months after rhysâs return from under the mountain have you both reeling as you navigate the new complexities that weave into your well-familiar bond with him. an exploration of rhysâs adjustment to his old life.
dreamt about a knight coming to you after a battle and getting on his knees in front of you and roaming his hands up your legs and smearing blood across your skin as he rests his cheek against your upper thigh. btw. additionally i would like to add taking his helmet off and hearing it rattle against the stone floor and running your hands through sweaty hair and praising him for protecting your kingdom. anyways.
Summary:Â Feyre has learned something about Rhysand's late sister. She decides to speak to Azriel about itâto learn more about the small flecks of grief painted on Azriel's face. She's left with far more than she can cope with.
Word count:Â 1.2k
Warnings:Â Angst!! Sadness!! Grief!! (and I might want to fix it)
a/n:Â I kind of changed things with the timeline of Rhysand's family so that's shifted a bit. I really enjoy the theory that his sister is Azriel's mate so here's part of my take! And what if I poke holes in the plot and make her come back to life what then??
Main Masterlist âĄ
~~
Feyre thinks that in another life she would be able to ask him outright. Azriel sits across from her at the table, a small smile playing at his lips as the rest of the room pokes fun at Cassian, and Feyre feels the words teetering on the tip of her tongue. She couldnâtâwouldnât.Â
Rhysand had told her in confidence. Well, Rhysand had told her in an entirely different context, desperate to share more about his sister on a night that felt too difficult to cope alone. She supposes it would have come out eventuallyâthat Rhysandâs sister was also Azrielâs mate.Â
Feyre could not imagine the pain funneling through Azriel every day. Feyre could not conceptualize what it would have felt like to lose Rhys and lose him for good, with no Cauldron to bring him back from the beyond. She did not know how he was standing or breathing or smiling at the table with the rest of their family.Â
Granted, Feyre also understands that it had been several years since her deathâsince your death. Feyre is not judging Azriel, nor is she expecting him to be a shell of himself for eternity just because you were dead. But Feyre wants to ask him something because very little about this situation makes sense to her. She had only learned that you were his mate last night.Â
So, later in the night, when almost everyone has gone to bed, Rhysand presses his lips to Feyreâs forehead with a knowing look. She hums out a goodbye and remains sitting with Azriel on the balcony of the house, a bristling chill revealing her secrets as Azriel casually glances over at her.Â
âLet's hear it,â he prompts, some of the joy from the room still lingering in his tone.Â
Feyre thinks about feigning confusion, but it would be pointless in the face of the spymaster. She pivots until sheâs leaning her side against the back of her chair. Azriel raises an amused brow.Â
âYou donâtâYou donât have to talk about this if it makes you uncomfortable.â His amused brow shifts into intrigue. Feyre continues, âRhys told me more about his sister. About y/nâhow she was your mate. And I was just wondering⊠well Iâve never heard you talk about her.âÂ
Several emotions flit across Azrielâs face. Feyre has a hard time isolating each one, but she finds pain and fondness and conflict within the picture.Â
She wants to take the words back. She knows she shouldn't have asked, and the cycle of emotions Azriel seems to be experiencing confirms that truth so glaringly. She opens her mouth to rectify the damageâto say anything that might suck her words back into the cage of her mind, when Azriel speaks.Â
âIs,â he nods, his head turned in her direction while his gaze roots on a point along the ground. âShe is my mate. Then and now. And I donât mind talking about her, Feyre. Itâs not a bad thing to remember her. I can see how nervous you are.âÂ
âI just didnât want to bring anything up that you might not want to remember,â Feyre extends.Â
Azriel smiles, soft, bittersweet. âI want to remember everything about her.âÂ
âWill you tell me about her, then? Iâve heard Rhysâs recount, but I have a feeling yours may be different.âÂ
Azriel chuckles, the sound echoing in the shifting of his shoulders, and then he pauses, his brows coming together. He leans forward until his elbows rest on his knees and his hands meet in prayer over his mouth. Contemplation, Feyre deduces, but also grief and love and the myriad of other feelings sheâs asking him to experience.
âShe was everything,â Azriel begins. âShe was headstrong and hated being told what to do, but she also cared about everyone and everything far more than she let on. Far more than she should have.âÂ
âSounds familiar.â
Azrielâs laugh was a sardonic breath this time around. âYes, a family trait, Iâd guess.âÂ
âWhat about when you knew you were mated,â Feyre asks, voice low.Â
âIâd known her for several decades by that time. I wasnât around when she was born or growing up, but things had settled more by the time we met. She was around thirty, I think,â he considers, taking pauses to think and reminisce. âAnd so she was nearing her centennial when it snapped. Of course, Iâd already been in love with her for most of her life, and sheâd already been sworn off men by her brother for the rest of it.âÂ
âTypical,â Feyre scoffs.Â
âYes, he never has quite kicked that overprotectiveness.âÂ
Azriel wets his lips and then leans back once more, hands splayed out on the arms of the chair. His wings are casually draped along the back, but Feyre can tell by the way his shadows are whizzing around him that Azriel is struggling in some capacity.Â
âWhen it snapped Rhysand obviously punched me in the face.â Feyre stifled a laugh that was mirrored in Azrielâs smirk. His expression then shifted. âBut, Gods, I would have let him hit me a hundred times if it meant having her. I canât remember a time I felt happier, even with the massive bruise under my eye. And Rhys came around, obviouslyâafter he remembered who I was and that my intentions with his sister were never going to be sinister.âÂ
And then Feyre asked a stupid question, one she would beat herself up over for months to come. âDo you miss her?âÂ
Azrielâs brows pinched together once more. âYes,â he replied, voice gravelly and sounding lost. âI donât know if thatâs what you would call this feeling, actually. I feel as if⊠it feels like the days are never actually over. Like Iâm constantly waiting for something. Itâs visceral, almost. I⊠Iâve never said I miss her out loud.âÂ
The hollow feeling inside of Feyre feels all-consuming. Each breath she releases feels as if itâs sucked out of her near the end and then difficult to catch once restarted. Feyre gently clutches the material at her chest and then places her other hand on Azrielâs knee.Â
âIâm sorryââÂ
âNo, donât be,â Azriel interrupts, clearing his throat and scrubbing a hand over his face. He leans a bit, placing his hand over hers. âI donât get to talk about her enough. Others are afraid. I⊠I miss her. I miss talking about her.âÂ
Feyre wants to say more; her throat feels tight and she doesnât know what words might make him feel better, but she has the overwhelming desire to try. Nothing comes out. She doesnât know what to say and doesnât think she ever will.Â
The bittersweet sadness on Azrielâs face is making her feel nauseated. There has to be some way to fix this for him, she begins to think, but the only solution is to bring you back. Feyre can do many things, but she canât do that. She canât do anything but sit with him as the wind continues to gently glide over their skin and wonder what heâs thinking about. Wonder if heâs thinking about you and everything he was missing. Wonder if this stage of liminality will ever pass for him. If he wants it to.
Join us in celebrating our favorite bat boy from July 20 through 26, 2025!
Welcome to Cassian Appreciation Week 2025! Feel free to participate in any way you can, from headcanons, fanart, moodboards, fics, drabbles, playlistsâŠ. no matter how big or small, anything celebrating Cassian is welcome!Â
Please tag @cassianappreciationweek and use the tag #CassianWeek2025 so we can see all your lovely posts!
And if you plan to post on Instagram, make sure to follow us and collab with us on the post!
This yearâs prompts are as follows:
Day One: Traditions âïžÂ Between his family, his people, and his mate, Cassian has established many traditions across the series. How do you see him celebrating them â or even starting new ones?
Day Two: Shield âïžÂ Cassian has served as a shield both on and off the battlefield for those he cares about. How do you see him embodying that title?
Day Three: Atonement âïžÂ Right, wrong, or indifferent, Cassian carries guilt for many things in his life. How does he show his remorse to the people closest to him?
Day Four: Lover âïžÂ Cassian has had many opportunities for love across Prythian â who do you ship him with? Nesta? Azriel? Eris? Lucien? Any and all ships are welcome!
Day Five: Monsters âïžÂ Cassian has fought monsters both inside and out â how do you see him handling monsters both past and present?
Day Six: Birthday âïž Although we donât know Cassianâs official birthday, we know how much Fire Sign Energy he gives off. How do you see Cassian celebrating his birthday and channeling his inner Leo?
Day Seven: Free Day âïžÂ Any topic of your choosing!
Thank you to @talkfantasytome, @c-e-d-dreamer, @moodymelanist, @dustjacketmusings, @melphss, @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk, @kale-theteaqueen, @podemechamardek, @perseusannabeth, @unhealthyfanobsession, @jsmelodies, and @jellybeanjellyfishblog for helping to plan this event!
Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell⊠reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? đŻ the shame"
Word count:Â 2.5k
Warnings: Angst
a/n:Â Hi it's been a while for this series! Next chapter goes crazy I'll tell you that much. Love you thanks for reading <3
Read part one | part two | part three | part four | part five (part five bonus) | part six
Main Masterlist âĄ
~~
Life no longer felt as if you were on the run.Â
You were, obviously, but an ease had blanketed the cage you had placed yourself in, fostering a warmth that almost tricked you into forgetting. The biting heat from Autumn, always so readily at the forefront of your mind, took a backseat to the calm routine of your life. You forgot, sometimes, that you and Melanie were living on borrowed time. On borrowed luck.
Azriel made that easy.
Things had progressed between the two of you, so slowly that the movement was imperceptible. But you felt the change in short bursts, at the most inconsequential of times.Â
He would come over at night and hold you as you slept, but only after the unseasonable warmth had vanished and your single-paned windows became evident. Those nights were accompanied by an overload of blankets being heaped onto your daughterâs bed, but still, there was often a knock that shortly followed Azrielâs arrival. There was enough room for three on the bed, anyways.
Azriel was not shy about touching you, but he was also adamant about not crossing any lines. You werenât sure who had created those lines, but they kept his hands in your hair and at your waist and clasped to yours when you took Melanie out for walks. His lips stayed, again, at your hairline and on your cheeks and in the divots of your knuckles when he said goodbye.Â
You thought, perhaps, he was waiting for you to fully kiss him before he allowed himself the liberty, but there never seemed to be a right time. And you were still often confused.Â
In the time you spent with Azriel, you opened up more about your past. You told him of the perilous journey to Velaris and the difficulty of finding a job with your lack of skills. He inquired about your position back in Autumn Court, how you could have survived with no job, but there was no reason to have a job when you were a court lady, and you told him that.Â
âMy skills mostly lie in propriety. I know how to work a roomââ you had explained. ââbut that is hardly useful when you come to a new court as a common person.âÂ
âSo, you were not common in Autumn?â he had asked.Â
Your chest had started to hurt at that, so you only shook your head and stared down at his fingers intertwined with yours.Â
Azriel hadnât asked for more. He kissed the side of your head and told you about growing up in Illyria. He told you about Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor. He spoke of the Archeron sisters and their abrupt arrival in the court. He would brush your hair back and tell you about the nights he thought about his mate and how you had decimated every one of his expectations.Â
âBecause I came with so much baggage?â you had teased.Â
Azriel had only smiled softly, the fire crackling in your hearth lighting up Melanieâs face as she slept against Azrielâs thigh. âBecause you have offered so much more than I had imagined.âÂ
Each time he looked at you took your breath away. You had thought he looked at you with admiration before, but after he had become sure you wouldn't bolt at the first sign of his feelings, the pure adoration in his gaze was almost difficult to meet. He looked at Melanie in a similar wayâsofter, more fond than adoring, but you could pick out each difference and they made you feel lightheaded.Â
You were going to kiss him today.Â
You were going to drop Melanie off at the neighbor's next door for a sleepover with the other kids, and you were going to invite him to stay. And then you would tell him who Melanieâs father was.Â
Maybe you wouldnât tell him everything yet, but you had amped yourself up to tell him that much, and you wanted to kiss him desperately.Â
Standing outside of Melanieâs school, you leaned against the pillar you claimed as your own and stared up at Azriel as he told you about the best places to get weapons in town. You were half listening, half simply admiring because you had no use for information on weapons sales, but Azriel didnât seem to mind your lack of interest. He usually didnât come with you to get Melanie, but he was tasked with picking up Nyx, which meant it was safe for the two of you to be here together.Â
Well, according to Azriel, it was always safe. But this felt safe for you.Â
âThere is an elderly woman on the far side of the Sidra who offers the best prices but sheâs rather prickly.âÂ
âAre you usually concerned about prices?â you posed, a knowing judgment in your eye that was mostly in jest.Â
âWell, I would not enjoy being ripped off,â he countered with a laugh. He was only a short step away from you, craning his neck down slightly as you spoke of nothing important.Â
âOh no, we couldnât have that,â you mocked, mouth twisting into a smile. âSomething to finally put a dent in that bank account of yours? Couldnât be.âÂ
Azriel scoffed, his eyes bright. âIâve told you, countless times, that I would like to use some of that money to get you a new place. But you always refuse.âÂ
You rolled your eyes. âIâm not using you for your money, Azriel.âÂ
âI know,â he softly replied. He brought a hand up to tilt your chin. âIâll still get you to agree eventually.âÂ
âI think you underestimate my resolve.âÂ
âOh, I know I do. Give me time to get more acquainted with it.âÂ
You breathed out a laugh, opening your mouth to respond, to quip, to remain in this peaceful bubble Azriel seemed to have carefully curated when a confused shout of Azrielâs name sent terror washing through you.Â
âAzriel?â the voice called again. You kept wide eyes locked on the Shadowsinger before you, the cause of your fear emanating from behind your back. âI thought I was getting Nyx today. I could have swornââÂ
Azriel quickly removed his fingers from your chin and straightened his stance, but it was too late. The man behind you let out a low, playful whistle, and you could hear his footsteps drag casually as he walked, but you had never been more tense in your life.Â
âCassian,â Azriel cleared his throat, looking over you to the man you knew to be the High Lordâs war general. You kept your gaze locked on the veins weaving intricate patterns in Azrielâs wings. âI was getting Nyx today.âÂ
âBut I thought you had plans tonight.âÂ
âI do. I was going to get him and drop him off at Feyreâs studio. Sheâs teaching a class.âÂ
A pause.Â
âIs your friend shy?â Â
Azrielâs wing inched forward, but it didnât enclose you. That would make this obvious. He wouldnât want to make a scene.Â
Azriel looked down at you and you could tell he was trying to convey so much with just that gaze. But above all, you knew this was unavoidable. Cassian would see you; he would only become more suspicious if you remained in this state, frozen and defiant. So you found the reassurance you needed in Azrielâs expression and you plastered a strained smile on your face. And you turned around.Â
âHi,â you greeted. Cassian was exactly as Azriel had explained, sly grin and all. âNot shy, just taken off guard a little.â
Now behind you, Azriel spoke your name introducing you and acting as if you had no idea who Cassian was. The General couldnât seem to wipe the smirk from his face, eyes flitting back and forth between you and Azriel.
âItâs nice to meet you,â Cassian nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest. âIâm guessing youâre the one taking up all of Azâs time recently? Weâd love it if you came to us every once in a while. Maybe the guy would actually be present during our get-togethers if you were there.âÂ
You let out a nervous laugh, hands joining at your waist as you began picking at your fingers. In response, Cassianâs expression faltered. He uncrossed his arms.Â
âSheâs very busy,â Azriel answered for you. âShe runs an apothecary.âÂ
Cassianâs brows shot up. âOh? Maybe I could come by sometime toââ
Â
The school bell rang, punctuating the height of your anxiety. An overwhelming urge to cry heated your face and made your waterline sting, but you bit hard into your cheek instead, face twisting into another semblance of the worst smile imaginable.Â
A few more minutes.Â
The teacher was always late.Â
âIs there a remedy or something youâd need from an apothecary?â you asked, the words sounding strange as you lost your breath behind fear.Â
Cassianâs brows came together, an action so brief you almost missed it before he lowered his tone substantially. âI would mostly just like to see your craft. Having your own station is incredibly impressive.âÂ
He sounded soft now, unsure. You smiled again, but that didnât seem to help. You had a small inkling that had you known who Azriel was the first time youâd met him in this exact location, the situation would have gone similarly.Â
A warm hand met your back causing the air to vacate your lungs.Â
Azriel was here. Azriel was here and although this was close to your worst nightmare, he understood and he wasnât going to let anything happen to you or Melanie.Â
Melanie.Â
Cassian would see Melanie.Â
Fears actualized and then amplified as your daughterâs soft tone formed the syllables of Azrielâs name. Her shout was happy and followed closely by Nyxâs, and it would have been clear to anyone observing the scene that your daughter was very familiar with the Shadowsinger. And that Nyx was very familiar with that relationship as well.Â
Azriel, not wanting to confuse the five-year-olds now tugging at his pants, gave your shoulder a slight squeeze before kneeling to gather them in his arms. They giggled as he rose, rattling on about the events of the day, and you used the noise as an excuse to finally turn around and avoid Cassianâs baffled expression.Â
âMommy!â Melanie called, beckoning you forward until her small arm was wrapped around the back of your neck. âMaybe Nyx could come to my sleepover tonight. Heâs my best friend, did you know that?âÂ
You fought past the quiver in your throat to put on a smile. âI did know that, Mel. But Nyx doesnât know your friends at home and his parents might not be okay with him staying with strangers.âÂ
Melanie narrowed her eyes and gasped in revelation. She turned to Nyx, slapping Azriel in the face with her braid in the process. âYouâll have to meet my friends during the daytime then. So your parents can see them!âÂ
âThat sounds like a good idea!â Nyx cheered. âIâll ask my mommy later. Then maybe we can all be friends.âÂ
âI think that sounds like a good idea too,â Cassian sounded off from behind you. âLots of new people to meet, it seems.âÂ
You winced, the expression hidden by your daughter's tight clasp on your neck. Azriel readjusted the children in his arms before clearing his throat. He caught your eye briefly, just a short glance, before staring up at his brother.Â
âCan we do this later?â he asked, the question not sounding like a question.Â
âDo what later? Iâm not doing anything?â Cassian defended. âI was just meeting your new friend. Thatâs all.âÂ
âMs. Y/n isnât a new friend, Uncle Cassian,â Nyx almost boasted. âSheâs just new to you.âÂ
âThat right? Why didnât you mention her sooner then, Nyx?âÂ
Nyx brought his finger up to his chin and shared a private laugh with Melanie, the sight making your anxiety lessen. Until Cassian spoke again.Â
âWell, now Iâm feeling left out. This isnât fair.â He stepped forward enough to capture Melanieâs limited attention. âIâm Cassian. Iâm like Azriel over here, but a whole lot better.âÂ
Azriel scoffed, but Melanie only smiled, finally releasing you from his grip to take the hand Cassian had outstretched towards her. âMy nameâs Melanie. And Iâll believe you only if you take me up flying 'cause Mr. Azriel never lets me.âÂ
âAh-ah,â Azriel tsked. âMelanie, you know why I wonât take you.âÂ
Melanie groaned and knocked her head back. âMommy doesnât need to know everything we do. Sometimes sheâs busy, Mr. Azriel.âÂ
âYou guys all seem pretty close,â Cassian observed, turning his gaze over to you. âI think Iâd really like to get you over to a family dinner sometime. See whatâs been keeping Azriel so occupied.âÂ
âMelanie can come to our house?â Nyx screeched into Azrielâs ear.Â
âOh, um,â you stuttered, your skin prickling with uncomfortable heat. You stared up at Azriel, widening your eyes just a fraction to show your panic, but he was looking at Melanie as she screamed into his other ear. âI-I really donât know about that. Azriel only reallyâwhat I mean to say is that Melanie only really knows Azriel from school events. She really likes his wings. I donât thinkââÂ
âCassian, later,â Azriel emphasized once again.Â
This has alway been a terrible idea.Â
What was Azriel going to tell Cassian during this undetermined period of time?Â
And family dinner? With the High Lord and Lady?Â
You felt like you would be sick, any and all comfort being ripped out from under you.Â
And CassianâCassian looked so confused you werenât sure his brow could twist any further. He lifted his hands in gentle surrender, opening and closing his mouth several times as if to speak but then thinking better of it.Â
You should leave. You should leave right now.Â
You coaxed Melanie out of Azrielâs arms, much to her protest, and calmed the calamity that was your breath as you nodded to Cassian. âVery nice to meet you,â you rushed.Â
âMommy, but IââÂ
âNo, honey. Iâm sorry but we have to go home,â you cut Melanie off.Â
Your feet took you further and further away from the disaster in front of the school, none of the fear and panic being left at the gates. You took it all with you, heavy on your shoulders as your daughter told you, multiple times, that she could walk beside you and she promised sheâd hold your hand.Â
But you were back in survival mode, as Azriel called it, and none of your daughterâs pleas were registering.Â
Because now, a member of the court knew who you were. And he knew about Melanie.
đ to all the fellow fic writers out there, please please please let 2025 be the year that you write the stories that you most want to write, not the stories that you feel like you have to because they will be more popular, or they're what's currently in trend for the fandom. The beauty of fanfic is that everyone works from the same starting point but spins together something that's wholly their own. People have preferences, of course, but there are no rights and wrongs. Your interpretations of a setting/character/relationship/trope/plot are worth writing. Create from love, not expectation!
Summary: Azriel accidentally likes an old photo while stalking your profile. A spiral into mortification follows.
Warnings: modern! prythian aka everything is the same except social media exists. az sucks at social media and is a loverboy and mortified stalker. sassy shadows and matchmaking. basically fluff and crushes
Word Count: 1.8k
âč â¶ đ§· â¶âč
Azriel barely used Instagram.Â
His account was a placeholder at bestâa profile photo of him, Rhys, and Cassian from some formal court trip, no posts, and a follower count so small it seemed like he was actively trying to be cool. Hundreds of follow requests sat ignored, mostly Morâs friends or Cassianâs buddies. Â
Azriel had only downloaded the app for Rhysand. It had been part of the public rebranding of their ruling, a way for the Night Court citizens to feel closer to the individuals they relied on for the proper functioning of their court. Rhys had insisted that having a social media presenceâhowever minimal, as heâd said with that plastered grin of hisâwas good for their image. Cassian and Mor had jumped in with no hesitation. Azriel, on the other hand, had never felt a more intense, animalistic rage than when Cassian managed to flood his phone with ridiculous memes and videos that only elderly fae could find funny.
Well, elderly fae and Cassian, it seemed.
So Azriel had gone along with it, sitting next to Mor as she set up his lackluster account. He hadnât bothered to edit it since. In truth, he only opened the app when he was completely, mind-numbingly bored. Or, like tonight, when the house was too quiet, and he couldnât stop thinking about you.
The search bar remembered your name. One tap, and there it wasâyour profile, a perfectly curated grid of moments that always seemed so effortlessly you.Â
Azriel made sure he was on his second account. While he never intended to use the app for anything other than the occasional check-in, he liked knowing he had the option to interact with his family if he ever chose to. To ensure that safety net, for whenever it might be needed, Azriel had created a second, more private account. No identifiable name, no picture. His only followers were his family, their close friends, and you.
His shadows shifted lazily around him, one curling near his ear, ready to whisper. Others lingered by his shoulders. He could feel their silent critique, like they were collectively arching a brow.
âDonât look at me like that,â he muttered, brushing one of them away with a flick of his fingers. It didnât retreat far, still coiled in the corner of his vision like it was waiting for him to come to his senses.
He ignored them and clicked on your profile.
The first photo caught his attention immediately. You, smiling at the camera, holding a drink with two cherries hanging off the glass. He wondered what it was, what you preferred your liquor to be mixed with. Mor was in the background, her arm slung around your shoulder, laughing at something out of frame. He bit back a snicker at Morâs comments under the photo, at the way she jokingly groveled and thirsted for you like a stereotypical, horny, young fae.Â
Darker thoughts crept in. The idea that there might be othersâmen, strangersâleaving similar comments, but in all seriousness, made his stomach churn. A wave of unease rolled over him. He scowled and willed himself to scroll past, deliberately avoiding the remaining 20 comments.
He scrolled. Another photoâthis one from a trip to the Summer Court, your legs stretched out on the sand, a book propped against your knees. The sunlight hit your skin just right, your sunglasses reflecting the waves. Â
And then he kept scrolling. He couldnât stop. Posts from weeks ago turned into months, then years. He stopped on one from a themed birthday party, your costume half-hidden by a cluster of friends. The blurry quality didnât matterâhis gaze zeroed in on you, on the way your smile lit up the frame. He leaned closer to the screen to get a better look.
But he wasnât the only one curious for a detailed glance, it seemed. His shadows around him moved suddenly, as erratic and fast as they could be, and the motion startled himâ pushed his arm just enough. Almost instantaneously, Azrielâs thumb brushed against the screen.
No, no, no, he thought. He tried to pull back, but it was too late.
The red heart bloomed on the screen.
âNo,â Azriel muttered, out loud this time. He sat up so fast his phone almost slipped from his hands. âNo,â he repeated in horror, as his wings curled tight against his back, the sharp movement almost painful.
The heart lingered there, mocking him. A post from three years ago, a photo you probably hadnât even remembered. And now your notifications would light up with his name. Heâd be exposed in all of his stalker glory.Â
He jammed his thumb into the screen, unliking the post, but it didnât matter. The damage was done. He couldnât undo it. The guilt, the horrorâhe hadnât felt this mortified in centuries. His shadows hovered near him, drifting around his head like little mischievous wraiths. Watching him. Waiting for the fallout.
Azriel cursed under his breath. âYou made me do this.â
They flicked in responseâteasing. An amused dance. Keep. Wait.
A strangled noise left him. He tossed his phone onto the bed next to him, face down, trying to escape the embarrassment of what heâd just done. His shadows were quick, though, swarming toward the phone. Tendrils grasped it and brought it back to his chest, setting it down with a soft thud.
âReally?â he hissed at them.
The shadows responded with an amused flicker, their tendrils writhing in a way that felt like they were laughing. They were laughing. Azriel knew this. They were loving this, basking in his mortification.
Maybe theyâd been too bored recently, he thought bitterly. After all, they were used to the adrenaline of constant threats, the thrill of danger lurking at every corner. To be honest, so was he. It had been a learning curve for all of them to adjust to⊠peace. But he wouldâve never expected them to stoop so lowâto find this, his embarrassment, so entertaining.
They used to protect him. Used to care for him. Traitors. Mischievous, conniving traitors.
Theyâd painted him as a stalker without even realizing it, and worse, they seemed proud of it.
Azriel groaned, dragging a hand over his face.Â
Social media sucked.
Azriel groaned in frustration and leaned back against the wall behind his bed. His wings were still tight against his back, every muscle tense. If he ignored it, maybe it would just never come up againâmaybe the world would stop spinning long enough for this nightmare to pass. Why was he so embarrassed, anyway?Â
Master with slippery fingers. Funny. Spy now seen. Funny.
Then, his phone buzzed.
Azriel froze. His blood ran cold, and he picked it up slowly, like it was a trap. He glanced at the notification, and his stomach flipped.
Your name. In a godsdamned text.Â
He almost dropped the phone again.
Did you just like a photo from three years ago? đ
His eyes darted to the next message.
Deep dive, huh?
A long beat of silence stretched. His shadows circled around him, pressing close like nosy little imps, smirking in their own way. Azriel couldnât decide whether to laugh or die from embarrassment.
Sorry, accident.
He grimaced the second he watched the message send. Shadows pressed in closer. More. More. He ran his tongue along his teeth before letting out another sigh. Nothing to lose at this point.Â
I was feeling nostalgic.
Azriel hit send before he could stop himself.Â
And then immediately regretted it. He flopped back on his bed with an aggravated groan. This. Was. A. Disaster. And heâd just made it worse. He had yet to understand why his common sense tended to disappear when it came to you. It was humbling, to say the least.Â
His family wouldnât let this go. Not in a million years. He could already hear Cassianâs booming laugh, the bastard cringing with mock horror despite being the least shameful person Azriel knew. Cass had done the same thing onceâaccidentally liking someoneâs postâand heâd turned redder than Rhysâs favorite wine.
Then there were the times Mor had complained about people lurking on her profile, her nose wrinkling as she muttered about how gross it was. If she found out about this? Sheâd never let him hear the end of it.
And you. He didnât even want to imagine how youâd respond if you found out. Would you laugh it off? Would you be creeped out, knowing he hadnât managed to hold a proper conversation with you, but here he was⊠lurking? He was never beating the strange, stalker allegations now.
Shrouded in shadow, Night Courtâs spymaster secretly loves creeping on his familyâs friends on social media. Oh yes, thatâd be wonderful for their polished image.
He shook his head, hating how the mortifying narrative practically wrote itself. Of course, he was overreactingâhe knew that much. Liking a post wasnât some cardinal sin. But it didnât help his embarrassment.
And it definitely didnât help that his shadows were snickering in his ears.
Another buzz. He grabbed his phone with impressive speed.
Nostalgic? For a party you werenât even at? Interesting.
In a matter of seconds, Azriel typed out a dozen responsesâshort, curt, defensiveâbefore erasing them all. Shadows around him fluttered, restless with amusement. Even they understood just how thoroughly heâd boxed himself in. They whispered ideas he promptly ignored. He was already in enough trouble. Finally, he settled on something somewhat believable:
Mor told me about your great costume from a few years back. I wanted to appreciate it.
His thumb hovered over the send button before he hit it, the message firing off into the void. Three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then reappeared.
He swore under his breath.
The reply came a moment later:
Sure. If itâs my costume youâre appreciating, just say that.
Azriel blinked. He stared at the screen, torn between mortification and something sharperâsomething dangerously close to hope.
Before he could stop himself, he typed:
Maybe I was.
And then he tossed the phone onto the bed once more. The shadows followed the device, swarming it as it buzzed again almost immediately.
He hesitated. A long moment passed before he finally picked it up.
Well, for the record, I appreciated your deep dive. Very endearing.
His heart stuttered. Endearing. You thought it was endearing. He could work with this.Â
For once, he didnât overthink it.
For the record, Â he replied, I appreciated the costume.
When he set the phone down this time, he couldnât help the small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. A swarm of black swirled around him. Their presence was almost smug now, wrapping him in their knowing energy.Â
âNot a word,â Azriel muttered, narrowing his eyes at the nearest wisp as it curled around his wrist.
To his surprise, they listened. They settled, their tendrils spreading out and draping across him like a heavy blanket. Relaxed. Content. Slow, despite the erratic pattering of his heart beneath them.
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if you saw any typosâŠno you didnât. @writingcroissant dictatori was pressuring me to post đ. thank you for reading đ«¶đ»đ«¶đ»
im sorry but the idea of az, who is so good at hiding everything, freaking the FUCK out bc he doesnt understand social media cracks me uppppp
canon-typical prythian but with social media has been on my mind so much. you may see some more of this world im ngl
Hiiiii, I just read lessons in touch and the way Iâm kicking my feet and giggling. I love love love how you write Az omg!!!!
hiiii đ„č this message got me kickin my feet and giggling thank you so much <3 i love writing az and i am most definitely going to be writing and posting more hopefully soon! thank u for ur kind words nonnie !!
screaming, crying, throwing up, as I force myself to write a story i'm very passionate about and love writing and have no obligation to write except that i want to
Summary: Cassian gets roped into a Pilates class by youâand quickly realizes heâs in way over his head.
original request
Warnings: nothing tbh, cocky cassian being humbled, his fun lil internal thoughts
Word Count: 1.4k
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This was a horrible, stupid decision, Cassian realized.Â
Heâd probably tell his kids about this someday, label it as one of his top twenty worst momentsâand for the Lord of Bloodshed, that meant something.
It wasnât the first time heâd been coaxed into something ridiculous. He wasnât proud of that. But usually, those bad ideas involved Cassian yelling âIâm in.â before anyone could talk him out of it, not⊠this. Not kneeling on a yoga mat in a room that smelled like lavender and sweat, surrounded by people half his size who apparently had spines made of liquid steel.Â
The incense burning clung to the air, all flowery and relentless, tickling his nose in a way that made his nostrils flare with the urge to sneezeâan urge that hovered just out of reach, enough to drive him mad. Gods, he thought his allergies were bad in the Spring Court. This was worse. At least in the Spring Court, he wasnât expected to twist himself into a pretzel while being assaulted by fragrant warfare.
He didnât know what had possessed him to agree to this.Â
Well, okay, he did know. It was you.Â
With that damn mischievous smile and the way youâd batted your lashes at him, like you knew he wouldnât say no. Youâd done it on purpose.
âOh yeah?â
Your voice had been as sweet as poison after heâd made a very ill-advised joke about Pilates not being âthat serious.â All because youâd complainedâjust onceâabout being sore from a class. Heâd grinned, all cocky charm, and drawled something like, âHow hard can it be?â
Heâd meant it as flirting, a way to make you laugh, but he shouldâve known better. You and that damn spiteful streak.
âCome with me, then,â youâd said, tilting your head in that way you always did when you were trying to be convincing. âUnless, of course, you think itâs too hard for you, big guy.â
You might as well have stabbed him in his pride.
âWe both know thatâs not true.â Cassian had shot back, grinning like the cocky idiot he was. Heâd even flexed a little as heâd said it, lounging against the counter with all the confidence in the world. âBet I could do it no problem.âÂ
Because Pilates? It didnât even sound hard. A bunch of stretching, maybe some light balancing. Easyyy. He could do this in his sleep. Heâd been fighting in wars since before most of these people were born, for Cauldronâs sake. His muscles were made of steel. His body was a weapon.Â
Youâd grinned at him like a predator scenting blood, and heâd known, deep down, that he was screwed. âAlright,â youâd said, voice a little too sweet. âTomorrow morning.â
He really needed you to spend less time with Mor and Azriel. Their sass and competitive streak had clearly rubbed off on you, and the result was downright dangerous. It was also, much to his frustration, ridiculously attractive. He fell for it every single time.
And now, every muscle in his body was actively trying to kill him. He was sure of it.
To make matters worse, heâd made yet another critical error at the start of class. Everyone else had grabbed the pastel three-pound weights that looked more like props than actual workout equipment. But Cassian had gone straight for the twenty-pound dumbbells.
âReally?â youâd said, your tone half amused, half incredulous.
âThree pounds are basically paperweights,â heâd replied, doing a quick curl with one arm to prove his point. The weights had felt fine then.
That didn't last long.
You'd even given him a knowing smile, one that probably shouldâve warned him. But Cassian, in all his infinite wisdom and bravado, didnât back down.
Halfway through the warm-up, his arms were trembling. Trembling. The weights that had felt so manageable had dragged his shoulders into a slow, humiliating burn.
Now, those same arms quivered as he attempted to hold the plank position for what felt like the fiftieth time in as many minutes. His shoulders burned, his thighs screamed, and sweat poured down his face in rivers. His hair was plastered to his forehead in a way that was more disgusting than it was ruggedly sexy. The surrounding mirrors of the room confirmed so.
âEngage your core!â the instructor chirped, her voice far too cheerful for someone overseeing torture. She walked by him like a predator looking for weaknesses, sparing him a sympathetic yet clearly entertained glance. She didnât bother helping him.Â
He wasnât sure where his core even was anymore. It might have abandoned him somewhere around the second round of something called âboat pose,â which had made his abs cramp in places he didnât even know existed. He fucking hated boats.Â
âHold that plank,â the instructor trilled. âFocus on your breath.â
Focus on his breath? Cassian was focused on not dying.
He grunted and grit his teeth. This was so stupid, he thought to himself. He was the General Commander of the Night Court. He led armies. He was built like a god.
So why the hell was he shaking like a newborn fawn?
Maybe this was some kind of humiliation ritual, a weird form of foreplay you enjoyedâwatching your partners get broken down by this absurd torture you somehow found fun. Cassian had always suspected you were the freaky type. This could definitely be a sex thing, right?
âDoing okay over there?â Your voice drifted over from your mat, smug and far too amused. Cassian glanced at youâand immediately regretted it.
You were perfect. Every movement you made was controlled and precise, your form flawless as you transitioned into a side plank. Your leggings clung to every inch of your legs, your sports bra showing off the delicate curve of your back, andâMother above, was that a bead of sweat sliding down your collarbone?
Cassianâs train of thought derailed so hard it might as well have exploded.
Which was exactly when his arm gave out.
He hit the mat with a loud, undignified thud, sprawled on his stomach like a dead fish. A chorus of muffled laughter erupted from the group of fae behind him, and he groaned into the mat. He couldnât even bring himself to glare at them.
âOh no,â you teased, resting on your side like you were lounging on a beach, not halfway through what had to be some kind of medieval punishment. âLooks like you fell.â
âThis was a trap,â he mumbled, voice muffled. âYour revenge for something.â
You laughed, and Cassian couldnât decide if he loved or hated the sound at the current moment. A mix of both, perhaps.
Who was he kidding? He wanted to bathe in it. The only thing more pathetic than his lack of Pilates skills was his infuriating crush on you.
âYou walked right into it. I didnât even have to try that hard.â
He lifted his head to glare at you, his face flushed from both exertion and embarrassment. âYouâre evil.â
âAnd youâre cocky,â you shot back, grinning. âI figured this was the only way to get you to tone it down.â
Cassian flopped onto his back, chest heaving, and stared at the ceiling. His wings spread out beneath him, sticking awkwardly to the mat, and he couldnât bring himself to care. âYouâre lucky I like you,â he muttered, more to himself than to you.
âOh, I know.â
You stood up then, brushing off your leggings, and offered him a hand. He hesitated, narrowing his eyes, but finally took it. Big mistake.
You tugged him halfway upâjust enough for him to feel a spark of hopeâbefore letting go. He dropped back to the mat with another thud, the air leaving his lungs in a loud huff.
You were laughing again, and despite himself, Cassian felt the corners of his mouth twitch. âOkay,â he said, sitting up on his own this time. âYouâve had your fun.â
âNot yet.â You smirked. âWe still have the second half of class.â
The second half. Cassian groaned, burying his face in his hands. âIâll never live this down.â
You crouched beside him, tilting your head. âOh, donât worry,â you said sweetly. âIâll be gentle when I remind you of it. Probably.â
Cassian laughed, then, even as his entire body ached. âYouâre the worst,â he said. But his voice was full of something softer than annoyance.
âAnd youâre stubborn,â you shot back, nudging him with your elbow. âItâs why I like you.â
For a moment, he forgot all about the embarrassment, the pain, and the endless torture of Pilates. For a moment, all he could see was you, smiling at him like he was the only person in the world.
And Cassian thought, then, that heâd endure this kind of hell a thousand times over if it meant another moment like this.
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authors note: im back baby!!! how is everyone doing? so so good i hope <3
pls send the best vibes and energy my way, i have sooo many wips i wanna jump into!! lemme know if theres anything specific y'all would like to see from me :)
summary: falling in love with lucien felt like trying to resist gravity and realizing itâs a futile pursuit. slowly, and then all at once.
word count: 1.7k
warnings: none/mostly fluff!
a/n: i played around a little bit with my writing style and i really enjoyed it :â) also iâm only capable of writing fluff for lucien i think lol
masterlist
banners by @/cafekitsune !
lucien: derived from the Latin root word lux, meaning light.Â
When you had first felt yourself falling for Lucien Vanserra some odd years ago, you had been keeping a watchful eye on him â per Rhysâs request â upon his initial arrival to the Night Court under the guise that you would help him research ways to persuade the human queens to your cause against Hybern.Â
Initially, it had been just that. A favor for your High Lord, your friend.Â
But what had once felt like a vague indifference for the youngest Vanserra brother quickly devolved into a genuine appreciation for him. The more time you spent with Lucien, the more you glimpsed the light peeking out from beneath his guarded exterior.
(You nearly laughed at how aptly Lucien lived up to the brightness belying the meaning of his name.)
It had started with friendly teasing, then secret smiles over piles of textbooks, then not so accidental touches in the quiet of the townhouse. With each evolution of your relationship with Lucien, the more and more you found yourself wanting to be around him, seeking each other out with flimsy excuses that would guarantee a dayâs worth of cherished company.Â
The inextricable desire you had to be near him that was growing exponentially with every subtle glance he stole had made you nervous. Wary, even.Â
You were an academic â the coveted researcher for the Night Court â relying heavily on concepts you could study, could quantify. Well-evidenced theory informed much of your advice to Rhys and his court, and you were often the first point of contact when anyone had any questions aboutâŠanything; your wealth of knowledge was endless.
But Lucien â his undeniable magnetism â was an enigma; you could never quite understand why youâd felt so drawn to him, could never formulate an accurate hypothesis for how easily he could coax a smile to your lips and make butterfly wings tickle your stomach.
But it was becoming increasingly evident that he felt the same indisputable pull that you did. He had spent much of his time in your presence, bringing you tea in the late hours of the nights you spent in the townhouseâs reading room, poring over tomes and texts that you and Amren had thought might be useful. Lucien always made the excuse that he made too much tea and didnât want it to go to waste.Â
(Later, youâd find out that he didnât even really like the tea he brought you every night, only brewing an excessive amount of it because Feyre had offhandedly mentioned it was your favorite.)Â
He was rarely there to give his opinions, merely lingering to offer his quiet companionship, situating himself in a comfortable lounge chair in your periphery as he perused the pages of his book of choice. More often than not, heâd fall asleep in what had to be a supremely uncomfortable position, untouched tea cooling on the table.Â
It was in those sweet and fragile beginnings of your relationship with Lucien that you had begun to contemplate the potential cosmic underpinnings of your mutual fondness for each other, and what that could mean for you and your future.Â
Orbiting each other like stars caught in the same gravitational field, you and Lucien were on a steady course of stellar collision, sure to erupt in some unexplainable astral phenomenon that would certainly result in your doom. Or your salvation.Â
(It was the latter.)
The same way you could track the trajectory of an apple falling from a tree and calculate the force with which it would hit the ground, you could guess â with near one hundred percent accuracy â how hard you would fall for Lucien. It was a dangerous descent, you knew, but one that you could hardly fight against.Â
Despite being quite the closet romantic â how could you not be, with the knowledge of endless possibilities at your fingertips? â you had been hesitant to pursue anything more with Lucien, wanting to preserve the innocent, lighthearted flirtations that had come so easily between you. Youâd been hurt before, been wickedly tricked into the dangerous downward spiral of broken promises and fleeting loyalty of lovers past. And youâd be damned if youâd let yourself make that mistake again.Â
But LucienâŠ
Lucien was all of things your previous paramours had not been. He was kind and gentle and genuine. Funny and insufferably sweet. He was a wonderfully fresh breath of air in an otherwise stagnant atmosphere.Â
He had his darkness â heâd admitted as much to you himself. But he had never hidden it from you, had even allowed you the privilege of holding the most tender parts of his past in your hands to examine, always providing ample opportunities for you to deny him, decide that you didnât want all the pieces of his whole after all.
You had never been afraid of the dark, though, not in the literal or metaphorical sense. It was comforting, quiet, familiar. Besides, before Lucien, you had never found a light bright enough to fear the return of the dark.Â
But when faced with the sheer enormity of the warmth his light provided, suddenly you were afraid of its absence. You wanted only to spend your time basking beneath the sun you had discovered beneath Lucien Vanserraâs ribs.Â
It was torturously paradoxical, how the more you chased Lucienâs light the more you were plunged into the dark unknown of what loving him would mean, and how afraid you had become. But resisting Lucienâs solar gravity was like trying to defy the very laws that governed the universe you were lucky enough to live in with him: near impossible.Â
The way he so effortlessly drew you to him, enticed you to trust him, open yourself to him was something that the greatest physicists of your time could never explain. It was a mystery you werenât sure you wanted solved for fear that once discovered, heâd be taken from you; you selfishly wanted to keep Lucienâs impossibly beautiful energy to yourself.Â
He was undefinable in his unwavering loyalty and limitless consideration. Lucienâs love for you seemed to be as intrinsically written into his existence with the same certainty that you knew the sun would rise over the horizon every morning. It was with that same certainty that you knew falling in love with him was inevitable, and fighting it was a futile resistance of gravity.
So you had let yourself fall, let yourself dive deep into the unknown, praying â begging, really â to whatever gods that were listening that this wasnât another funnel towards heartbreak.Â
You fell with maddening speed and Lucien caught you â having already fallen long ago â with all of the warmth of the sun that his name promised.
If your past self had ever doubted the stability of loving Lucien Vanserra (read: you did), none of that doubt existed in you now. Especially in moments like this: skin to skin in the morning light of the first spring day in the Night Court. Three years since you and Lucien (separate) became you and Lucien (duo), you could hardly believe that you ever considered any other choice but him.
The sun was warm on your back as you lay on your side, arm tucked comfortably beneath your head as you listened to Lucien give you his annual spiel about how the springs in the Spring Court were unbeatable, though the Night Court did have some acceptable weather sometimes. You giggled at his remarkable consistency, love and fondness filling the space between your ribs, momentarily seizing your heart to flutter giddily.
âOkay, Lu,â you responded in mock exasperation. âAnd then in the fall ââ
âAutumn,â he corrected, just to jest further.
â â youâre going to tell me that the Autumn Court has the best autumns.â
âNaturally.â His grin was blinding as he teased you, pressing a firm kiss between your brows.Â
You rolled your eyes but gave in, leaning in towards him â always leaning in towards him (that pesky gravity again).
âBut I guess your court,â he continued, âhas us beat as far as stargazing goes.â
âNaturally,â you mimicked, winking.
His laugh was a resounding bell of warmth and you took the opportunity to drink him in, warm skin tinted pink with joy and the heat of the morning sun. His hair was disheveled with sleep, but he was impossibly effortless in his beauty. Â
The freckles on his cheeks reminded you a lot of the stars that illuminated the streets of Velaris, and you spent the next few hours of the early morning drawing constellations on his skin and fabricating stories of their origin while Lucienâs own fingers drew matching patterns onto your back.
He whispered cheesy lines about how you outshone all of the stars in your beloved Night Court, and then his cheeks dimpled â beautiful craters of mirth â as he smiled at your feigned incredulity. He kissed you then, and you once again found yourself at the mercy of his gravitational pull, your body arching almost instinctively against his in an effort to satisfy your craving for the feel of his skin against yours.Â
Lucien â as always â indulged you, snaking a muscled arm around your waist to pull your body flush against his as he whispered in your ear about how he had heard once that freckles were the spots that past life lovers had kissed the most. In an act of petulant pseudo jealousy at the idea that someone had the privilege of loving Lucien before you, you spent the rest of the morning peppering his skin in a thousand kisses.Â
âNo need to be jealous, my love,â he said as you anchored your lips to the apple of his cheek. âIâm certain that in every life before this one, I enjoyed the pleasure of your affections. And I will continue to find you in every one after.â
Maybe that was it. Maybe the undeniable, visceral need to have him, be with him, love him was written into your bones by the infinite previous lives you spent within each othersâ orbit. Your devotion to Lucien seemed as intrinsic as the laws of the universe; there was no life in which you did not feel the warmth of his yearning.Â
You hummed in contented agreement, feeling as though youâve just discovered the unthinkable as you continued your quest, reveling in the gentle shiver you earned with a well placed kiss to the junction of his jaw and neck. For a brief moment, you made a mental note to thank whatever force â physical, cosmic, celestial â that had bound you and Lucien together.
wait thank you so much đ i really really loved writing this one and itâs one of my favorites to this day! iâm so touched that you enjoyed it <3 lucien + a night court reader is a pairing that has so much potential
Please, spread this for those who might need it right now
U.S. suicide hotline: call or text 988 (available 24 hours)
U.S. trans lifeline: (877) 565-8860 (when you call, youâll speak to a trans/nonbinary peer operator. full anonymity and confidentiality)
Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) National Helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) â provides 24/7 confidential support and referrals for individuals and families facing mental health and substance use disorders, including panic attacks and anxiety.
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Take care of yourself and each other. Please stay safe âĄ