aurorasleeps-27 - Tumblr blog

aurorasleeps-27 · 23 hours

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cue gay panic

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aurorasleeps-27 · 2 days

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It's a fitting punishment... To want something so much—to hold it in your arms—and know beyond a doubt you will never deserve it.

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aurorasleeps-27 · 3 days

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i’m just a girl don’t be mad 🥹

I've just been thinking about Azris a lot lately so I wrote another drabble, that I see as a companion to the first one I wrote

azris drabble #2, 973 words

The pain is lightning down his spine.

Eris’ breath stutters, breaks. He bends, folded over his desk as the pain arches, pulls taut, and then snaps – a crack down his back, jagged lines of hurt vicious and sharp dancing parallel to his vertebrae.

He tries to move, to push himself to standing. His legs tremble – shocks not his own clenching the muscle until it hurts. The desk does his best to bear his weight as understanding trickles in, viscous and slow; terrifying.

Eris winnows.

The clash of swords greets him, cruel wind stealing his haggard breaths, red in his vision, strands of hair pulled free by the wind’s greedy fingers.

It takes seconds for him to understand – seconds too long, seconds wasted – the peaks of the mountains, the soft and bloody snow beneath his feet, the mass of huge, black wings billowing wide like the sails of Tarquin’s ships against the celestial azure of the sky.

Illyria.

Eris shouldn’t be here.

A sword glints silver in his vision and Eris ducks – retreats – attacks; a dance that has been forged in his bones, that rises in him without request. His instincts narrow – he must survive – and fire melts the guilty snow as the pain in his back becomes needy, demanding his attention, making him falter.

A shout pierces the air, almost lost between the sounds of war – except Eris feels it echo deep inside him, a clamorous, despairing echo that fills his lungs with that same painful sound as he falls to his knees, the pain debilitating, the snow cold beneath him.

The pain is acute, visceral, like nothing Eris has ever felt before – nothing he could’ve even imagined. It leaves him dizzy, disconnected from himself as they round on him, great black wings blocking the sky, his fire crafting windows through the webbing for the sun to shine through.

He’s hurt; blood slickens his fingers - his, theirs, he tries not to get lost in it. Eris is looking for something, needs to get to it, but he can’t find it, he can’t, panic creeping dangerously up his throat even as he does his best to shove it down, down, down.

Eris sees red flashing in front of him, recognizes Cassian as the male turns to him – but that was a stupid move, a stupid, stupid move. Eris watches as Cassian’s surprise turns into pain, as his eyes widen and drop to the sword that someone has pushed through his gut.

Eris tries to save him – it feels important, somehow, to save Cassian – but his fire is not enough, and another sword joins the first, and then Eris can’t see Cassian anymore -or maybe he looks away, he doesn’t know, he can’t think.

But looking away is a stupid move too – Eris is stupid, he’s so fucking stupid – because he sees it then, discarded and tattered, left behind to taint the snow.

Azriel’s wing, scarred and broken, the snow drinking the blood that flows from the stump.

Eris feels bile rise with the panic – forces it down as he kills anyone who tries to stop him. There’s a sword in his hand that’s unfamiliar but Eris wields it like it’s his own golden dagger, like his hand was meant to hold cold steel, like this is what he was meant to do – fight, try to save, burn to embers all that stands between him and Azriel.

Blades cut into his body but Eris doesn’t feel the pain, doesn’t feel his pain, only feels the one that throbs hot down his back. A second wailing breaks over the sounds of Eris’ rage, and a twin pain blooms next to the first, and surely, this will kill Eris, the pain is too much, how can he survive it? – but he must, he can’t die, neither of them can die, not like this, not like this.

The pain tugs like a rope stretching from his ribs, and he sees it, then - and wishes he’d never winnowed, never lived, never existed.

They’ve made a spectacle out of Azriel.

Rusted swords cut sharp through bone as Eris watches, paralysed. Blood flows free and happy down Azriel’s battered back as two Illyrians keep him upright, his body sagging forward. The cut isn’t clean – the bone is thick, strong – and Azriel’s left wing hangs limply, twitching, almost separated from him but foolishly hanging on, as if unwilling to let go.

The sword comes down again – the wing falls to the snowy ground – and something breaks inside of Eris, something new and precious twisting into something horrible deep inside of him, fear and panic and anger rising to protect a tenderness he had not known he could feel.

They try to stop him from getting to Azriel. They do their best, really they do, and they’re more than Eris can take on his own – he knows distantly that he will not make it in time – but he does his best, because spilling his blood in an effort to get to Azriel is all he has left to offer.

Eris sees it happen in snippets: Azirel’s wing, dragged like trash over the ground. Streaks of rosy blood painted on the snow. The cliff’s edge welcoming it with impassive grace.

The panic really hits Eris then, when he understands. When he sees three bloody monsters dragging Azriel towards that same cliff. When he watches amidst twitching, groaning corpses as they drop him right at the edge – as they kick Azriel’s prone form off the cliff, letting it follow behind his wing.

Eris think Azriel sees him, in that brief moment. As his body disappears amidst the greys and the blues, Eris thinks he sees Azriel reach for him.

In the crackling silence that follows, Eris’ flames having devoured all that was left behind, Eris weeps.

Fingers dancing in the wind, Eris too, reaches for Azriel.

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