#a court of thorns and roses fan fiction

[k-daydreams]

The pursuit of Feeling Alive: I. Intro

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader, PLATONIC!IC x reader

Synopsis: cousin to Rhysand and Morrigan, y/n was once her family’s golden child. Faced with trials and tribulations her whole life, she needed reprieve— a distraction. Until a surprise homecoming opens Pandora’s box, and gives y/n a reality check. Especially facing her once close friend Azriel. Friends to Enemies to lovers trope.

Warnings: trauma, swearing, pining, angst?

Word Count: 4.8k

Author note: this is my first acotar fic! It was originally going to be a singular self indulgent azriel fic, but I can’t ever get to the point and I got too many ideas. Definitely not very canon with the timeline of series I think lol, just going to throw that out there. I’ve already rough drafted another chapter and thought I’d share the work on here. Feel free to share your thoughts! If you’d like to be added to a tag list let me know!

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Internally, you teetered on the edge of a nervous breakdown, ready to tear yourself apart from within. Externally, you wore a mask of cold calculation, hoping no one could detect your distress and near senility. Earlier in the day, your cousin Mor had mentioned that her high lord and your other dear cousin, Rhysand, had matters to discuss with your high lord, Helion. The reason for their meeting was of no concern to Mor to bother filling you in.

Your heart thumped against your chest, unsure of what to expect. It had been over fifty years since the Day Court and Night Court had engaged in official business since the end of Amarantha's reign of terror. You had seen Rhysand during the time under the mountain, where you spent nearly half a century with him until Feyre saved Prythian. Still holding visits with him after to report to him along with Mor, thanks to her frequent visits to Helion. However, the rest of the court, especially those you hadn't met since after Amarantha and Hybern, remained a mystery, with only Mor's updates for context.

Following your time under the mountain, you chose to reside in the Day Court under Helion's rule as an emissary between the two Solar Courts. It served as a means to shield yourself from feeling too deeply, allowing you to focus on healing from the traumatic events you endured during those fifty years. There were other matters you had yet to confront and come to terms with, voluntarily choosing to ignore them. By hiding away and conducting your business mainly with Mor and Rhys, you could maintain a sense of avoidance of your once home.

Now, in the dining hall of the palace where Helion and his inner court resided—including yourself—you found yourself on edge. Regardless of the pressing matters at hand, your high lord insisted on hosting a dinner for his court and other high fae to publicly display the alliance between the Night Court and the Day Court. Standing next to Helion's chair in the center of the room, you observed the lively chatter among the gathered individuals.

Your hands were clasped tightly in front of you, nervously inspecting your gown for nonexistent dirt, attempting to conceal your jitters. The gown itself could remind anyone of the place you resided and wanted to consider your new home. It was an off-the-shoulder nude gown with gossamer sleeves cascading around your arms. The bodice, nearly transparent, accentuated your bust, adorned with soft gold crystals intricately arranged over your body. The long skirts consisted of layers of gossamer, featuring two long slits up the front that revealed your legs. You appeared ethereal and angelic.

"You seem on edge," Helion called out to you, pulling you out of your internal thoughts. Your eyes scanned the room, observing every movement, before turning your attention to the main entrance. He gently traced his finger beneath the dainty black diamond bracelet adorning your wrist, bringing your attention back. This bracelet, along with matching pieces around your neck and ears, showed your affiliation with the visiting court. You wore them out of respect for your older cousins, never daring to show your true affection openly—a facade to conceal your true self. You knew they would appreciate it if they noticed.

"The Night Court was your home, was it not?" He questioned, his tone casual, as he glanced over his shoulder at the other members of the inner court to make sure they weren’t listening. Adjusting his shirt cuffs to his well-matched button-down very similar color to yours, he exuded regality from head to toe.

You mumbled stoically, "Was." Clearing your throat tentatively, your eyes returned to the main doors. "This is my home now, serving under your rule. I can't afford to be anything but cautious when the Night Court wishes to discuss an unknown matter."

You didn’t miss the way his eyes rolled. "Always playing this game, aren't you?" Helion scolded playfully. “There's no need to keep up the act. Rhys's actions beneath the mountain spoke volumes for our court."

You thought to yourself, 'But my actions don't, and I'd rather keep it that way.' Aloud, you replied smoothly, "One can't appear too soft when the Night Court steps through that door." The lie slipped easily from your lips.

"Are we referring to the whole court now or the spymaster we both have eyes for?" Helion hummed, reclining slightly in his chair as he took a sip of fae wine from his chalice-like glass. Damn him.

"I have no eyes for any man, particularly not a brute Illyrian man. And especially not one I've been watching wrestle with my cousin since we were young children," you retorted, feeling a surge of unease and clenching your jaw at the assumption.

"That's a match I would give up all my powers to witness," the handsome, dark-skinned lord purred, his words aimed at you.

You wanted to snap at him, your patience wearing thin at the mere mention of the tall Illyrian warrior. However, you managed to keep your composure in check. "It's hardly a match; Rhys won every time."

As if on cue, you felt the energy of several individuals entering the palace. Rhysand always loved a dramatic entrance. "Excellent, our guests have arrived," you murmured, straightening your shoulders as best as you could.

Helion followed suit, sitting more upright in his chair at the center of the hall. The rest of the inner court took their positions standing.

The sentries opened the doors for the guests. Morrigan was the first to enter, her golden hair elegantly curled, and she delightedly took you in before blinking a few times, returning to her sultry expression. Her red gown fitted her perfectly: a strapless piece that flowed around her as she walked. Following her was a sight you hadn't expected since hearing the gossip from Mor—Lucien Vanserra, adorned in deep autumnal colors that complemented his complexion and long, tidy red hair. He was an old confidant of yours when you had stayed in the spring court. You couldn't help but find it amusing, but you maintained a composed demeanor, concealing your bemusement at how out of place in the night court he seemed.

After Lucien came two beautiful high fae women. The younger one on the left wore a flowing champagne pink gown that accentuated her slim waist and showcased her porcelain fair skin. Her light brown hair was adorned with crystals and flowers, and she wore dainty opal teardrop earrings that complimented her brown eyes. On the right stood another woman in a form-fitting navy dress that subtly shimmered with every movement. The gown highlighted her curves and bust, while a sapphire-like sciphon necklace adorned her neck. Her darker brown hair was elegantly pinned up with a silver circlet. These must have been the High Lady's sisters, Elain and Nesta, whom you had heard so much about. Nesta's eyes had a hint of danger and coldness, while Elain's were filled with awe as they observed the dining hall.

Cassian followed the two women, and you discreetly coughed to suppress a snort. He appeared cleaned up, wearing a navy tunic and dark linen pants, with his hair slicked back and neatly tied. This was a different version of him from the rugged general you were accustomed to, not dressed in his usual fighting leathers to a formal affair. His siphons were cleverly disguised as jewelry pieces, and he had politely tucked back his larger wings. He seemed out of place as much as Lucien, but his mischievous eyes locked with yours, indicating he might have had similar thoughts about you.

Before you could even see her, you sensed Amren's piercing gaze from behind Cassian's towering figure. Her glowing silver eyes held an inscrutable expression, and her lips formed a slight grimace. She wore her usual grey color in a slip gown that elegantly draped down in the front. Though not dressed as extravagantly as the others, her presence demanded attention. A touch of red lipstick and a slightly tousled hairstyle were enough to enhance her beauty. You could see the rest of Helion’s inner court murmur from your peripheral, the usual whispers about the millennia’s old creature stalking towards them.

Rhysand made his entrance with the high lady from beside him, exuding confidence and power. He wore his customary dark attire that accentuated his commanding presence. His violet eyes locked with yours for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention to Helion. Feyre held her head high, a diadem hanging on the crown of her head, and her hair half up half down in loose waves. Her dress off the shoulder shone in sapphire crystals making it look like stars had been entwined on the gown. She was gorgeous as a mortal even when she was malnourished when you saw her under the mountain, but as a high fae she was even more devastating.

Last of the group, you spotted Azriel, his shadows swirling subtly around him, and your breath caught in your throat. His shadows slinked up his dark tunic clad shoulder seeming to whisper in his ear. He looked over at you making eye contact discreetly. His features were hard but something unreadable in his eyes as he observed you. You didn’t miss the slight bob of his throat as he looked quickly away to a distant corner in the room acting stoic. His hair was pushed back showing his sharp jawline, and you could see his tattoos peeking out his shirt. His silent and brooding presence always managed to unnerve you, unable to get a good read on what could’ve been going through his head. You refused to let your guard down, not wanting to think about the shadowsinger that stood mere feet away. This had been the first time you have seen each other in person since you were able to leave under the mountain.

The Night Court all stood in front of Helion, and he bowed his head in greeting. You did the same along with the rest of the inner court. The introductions began, and the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. Helion gracefully welcomed his guests, exchanging pleasantries and acknowledging the significance of the meeting. You observed the interactions, keeping a blank face despite the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. It felt like you were looking into your old life from the outside watching the inner circle, and your heart ached for a second.

Eventually, it was time for you to step forward and join the introductions. As you approached Rhysand, his gaze never wavered from yours. His lips curved into a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the past. You stood before him, your heart pounding, but your expression remained composed.

"High Lord Rhysand," you greeted him, keeping your tone neutral and titles formal. "It has been a while."

His voice was smooth as he responded, “Y/n, always a pleasure. Allow me to introduce my wife and High Lady, Feyre.”

You bowed respectfully to the High Lady. “I am in awe, Feyre Cursebreaker. What an honor to have you grace the Day Court with your presence.”

A smile graced her lips in response. “Thank you for the warm welcome. I have heard so much about you, Y/n.” She took your hands in hers, and you were taken aback by the warm informal gesture. Your gaze fell upon the intricate tattoo adorning her hand and forearm, and in that moment, your heart swelled with joy for your cousin, and you dared to steal a glance at Rhys. His eyes were already fixed on you, and you couldn’t help but notice the subtle hints of tenderness and anticipation shining within them. You were so happy for him.

The formalities continued, and you exchanged polite words with Lucien, Elain, and Nesta. You longed for a chance to sit down and talk with them, to hear about their experiences since being freed from the cauldron. Your gaze wandered momentarily to Lucien, who stood near Morrigan, his amber eyes briefly glancing in your direction. A flicker of recognition passed between you, an unspoken acknowledgment of shared history. You had both suffered under the rule of the Spring Court, and it was a trauma you preferred to keep buried for now. But you couldn’t deny that you treasured the moments the young emissary had kept you sane within the trauma.

You stood next to Helion along with another Day Court emissary as Rhys, Amren, and Helion discussed some political topics. Deep down, you yearned for a moment alone with the inner circle, away from the prying eyes and expectations. But for now, you had to focus on the diplomatic matters at hand and navigate the complexities of the gathering. As the conversations flowed around you, you remained attentive, gathering information and assessing the dynamics between the courts.

Throughout the evening, conversations flowed, alliances were strengthened, and unspoken words hung heavy in the air. You played your part, engaging in polite conversation and maintaining the facade of an emissary, all the while battling the internal storm raging within you. It was beginning to wear on you though. Watching from afar at how Mor mingled with Nesta and Cassian. The Illyrian man had his arm around the oldest Archeon sister as they nodded and chuckled at Mor, and you wanted to smile. You had never expected Cassian finding a mate before you, but here you were.

A lot has changed since you had left indeed, and the longing you felt came back.

“You’re not my prisoner, you know. Feel free to mingle,” Helion’s voice chimed from behind, breaking through your thoughts.

“Isn’t that a bit informal?” you responded, sipping your glass of wine.

He arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “To talk at a party?” He snatched your wine from your hand.

You turned to face him, reaching for your half-filled glass that he held teasingly away from you. “Ah, don’t you think it’s a bit informal for an emissary to get drunk?” He added a playful spark in his eyes.

“To drink at a party?” You volleyed back, grinning mischievously as you continued your playful struggle for the glass.

“Why don’t you practice the talking part with Rhysand?” Helion suggested, his eyes glinting with amusement. “It seems like he’s eager to have a word with his dear cousin.” He gestured subtly behind you, and amidst the revelry and banter, Rhysand and Feyre made their way toward you both. However, before you could react, your gaze caught Azriel’s intense hazel eyes from their table behind the approaching couple, where he sat next to Elain. His massive wings appeared tense and uncomfortably confined by the chair. Elain chatted with him, but it seemed his attention was elsewhere, fixated on you. His shadows still whispered in his ear as one crept across the table.You resisted the urge to shudder, maintaining your composure, and quickly turned your attention back to Helion, whose grin remained firmly in place.

“Helion, may we borrow Y/n for a moment?” Rhysand inquired, one eyebrow raised, his gaze flickering between you and Helion.

Helion practically pushed you into Feyre’s arms. “Go ahead, I was just informing her that she’s free from her duties until later!” he announced with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The tips of your ears burned with embarrassment as you realized his intent to encourage your mingling.

“Thank you, My Lord,” you replied, bowing your head with a touch of sarcasm. Rhysand extended his arm, and you looped yours through it, allowing him to guide you towards their table. A nervous gulp betrayed your anticipation.

Feyre looked at you with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked, her tone gentle and caring.

“May we speak on the balcony?” you requested, your voice filled with meekness.

“Of course, it’s getting a bit warm in here,” Rhysand agreed, leading the three of you towards the balcony bathed in soft faelight.

You all leaned casually against the balcony railing, observing the lively feast taking place inside.

"How's the Day Court treating you?" he asked in a relaxed tone, as if to put you at ease. Away from prying eyes, you felt your shoulders relax. It felt good to be with your cousin where you both didn’t have to wear a mask.

"Well," you replied, "the Day Court doesn't quite compare to the beauty of the Night Court, but the days are undeniably bright." You struggled to find a suitable comparison for the Day Court's allure to the Night Court.

Rhys and Feyre almost snorted out their wine, their amusement evident. "I wonder why," Rhys sarcastically murmured.

Choosing to ignore your cousin's comment, you continued, "I've been making progress translating some texts for the court, and delving into a lot of reading.”

It seemed as though the High Lord and Lady expected to hear more and urged you to continue, but they realized you had nothing more to share.

Rhys cleared his throat. "Wow, that sounds like quite a lot," he remarked. You could tell he wanted to throw a snide remark, but a warning look from his mate kept him at bay. Where was Feyre centuries ago when you always found to be the butt of your cousin's jokes?

You shrugged. "Keeps me distracted." From your vantage point, you had a perfect view of the inner circle's table. Mor, Amren, Azriel, Lucien, Nesta, and Cassian were all seated there, drinking and picking at their food. Helion even made sure Amren had a chalice of beast's blood. You missed being a part of that group, laughing and sharing moments with them. The only person in the Day Court you truly felt comfortable with was Helion, and even that remained behind closed doors.

"Come home," the words made your shoulders tense. It wasn't your cousin who had spoken, but Feyre. You looked at her, finding understanding in her eyes, as if she knew what you were going through.

Your gaze wandered back to the inner circle. Your eyes fell on Azriel, who was listening with a ghost of a smile on his lips, as Cassian animatedly spoke, his wings flaring about and nearly knocking over Lucien's wine glass. The group tried to hide their laughter while Amren scolded them. Azriel's shadows discreetly moved the glass out of Cassian's wingspan, hiding his amusement.

"They miss you," Rhys genuinely expressed. "I miss you, and even the House misses you." Tears welled up, tightening your throat. "He won’t say it out loud, but he misses you too."

You didn't need to be told who he was. You knew.

"I didn't even say goodbye," you spoke with a heavy heart, guilt washing over you.

"That was over fifty years ago, Y/n," Rhys reminded you gently.

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We have texts for you to translate if it’s a means to keep you busy, we could even have you train with Madja. Want an apartment on the opposite side of town from the House of Wind? Consider it done. Desire a cottage in the middle of nowhere? It's yours. Just please, stop running away," Rhys pleaded.

You felt tears welling up, but you willed them away. "I... I just can't leave," you stammered. You could feel your heart torn.

"You can," Feyre said sympathetically, holding your hands. "Helion asked us to come and talk to you."

"We won't force you, but he mentioned that you've changed in the last few years," Rhys added. Feyre's grip on your hands tightened.

"Please talk to them maybe and think about it?" she requested. You knew she meant the inner circle.

Biting your lip, you contemplated. "I'll find you in a bit. I need some time alone."

With a nod, Rhysand and Feyre understood your need for solitude. They exchanged a brief glance before making their way back inside, leaving you alone on the balcony.

Leaning against the railing, you let the cool evening breeze brush against your skin, smell of wildflower and honey in the air, the quietness of the moment allowing your thoughts to swirl. Images of your past, the friendships you had forged and the bonds you had left behind, filled your mind. The longing in your heart grew stronger with each passing second your family stood in the same room as you. A longing you pushed deep down when you were still under the mountain, uncertain of seeing your loved ones again.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to not let tears slip. It was true that you had changed over the years, that the weight of your experiences had shaped you into someone different. But running away had only prolonged the pain, and you knew it was time to confront it. If your cousins had endured the pain, you were sure you could too.

Slowly, you pushed yourself away from the railing, determination igniting within you. You couldn't stay on the sidelines any longer. The inner circle had always been your family, even if circumstances had driven you apart. And now, as you stood on the cusp of a decision, you realized that it was time to bridge that gap.

Stepping back inside, you navigated through the crowd, searching for the familiar faces you had missed dearly. You found them at their table, still engaged in their playful banter, laughter filling the air. Taking a deep breath, you approached, your footsteps faltering only slightly.

As you reached the table, a hush fell over the group, their gazes turning towards you. Azriel's eyes locked with yours, and the shadows around him seemed to ripple, as though mirroring the tumultuous emotions within you.

"Can I join you?" you asked softly, your voice carrying a blend of trepidation and hope.

The response was immediate and overwhelming. Cassian's boisterous laughter echoed as he clapped you on the back, nearly knocking the breath out of you. Nesta's sharp gaze softened for a brief moment, Elain offered a warm but wary smile, and Lucien's amber eyes held surprise. Morrigan's voice was a welcoming melody as she pulled out a chair for you, and Amren, in her own enigmatic way, nodded approvingly.

Taking your seat among them, you couldn't help but feel a sense of homecoming. And as you settled into the comfort of their presence, you could feel your frozen heart just dethaw slightly.

“Y/n, I knew you were always shy, but around us?” Mor teased you endearingly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You look so beautiful tonight!” She gushed, her words filled with genuine admiration as she played with a strand of your hair. “The dress would be better in a darker color though.” She whispered the last part so only you and the inner circle could hear, her voice laced with a conspiratorial tone.

“The gown color does wash you out,” Amren chimed in, her bored expression not fully hiding a hint of amusement.

A laugh bubbled out of your chest, surprising even yourself. "Not the first thing I thought I would hear from you in years," you quipped, a playful smile tugging at your lips. Amren raise her glass to you before taking a sip of the thick liquid in the cup.

“Better than that raggedy spring court piece you came back in, though," Rhysand interjected, his voice filled with playful banter as he and Feyre settled into the extra seats at the table. The original inner circle chuckled at the memory.

Despite that being one of the worst days of your life, you couldn't help but smile too. The shared laughter brought a warmth to the air, softening the edges of past wounds.

“You should’ve seen the dress I came to the Night Court in," Feyre chimed in, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Another monstrosity by Ianthe," Lucien muttered into his glass before taking a sip, his voice tinged with a touch of disdain. Your eyes widened at the snide comment, but the group erupted into laughter, momentarily forgetting the weight of your burdens.

As the night wore on, Helion raised his glass, signaling a toast to the alliance between the two courts. The hall fell silent, and you raised your glass as well, a faint smile playing at the corner of your lips. The toast created a joyous noise as everyone in attendance drank, and the music started playing. Mor instantly beamed and grabbed Feyre’s hand, followed by Elain, leading them to the dance floor. Rhysand and Lucien joined them, their steps filled with a carefree grace. Cassian took Nesta’s hand, and they followed suit. Amren excused herself to converse with the emissary from the Day Court with a request of Azriel to accompany her.

You turned to Mor, insisting you would join them shortly, as you wished to find Helion. She nodded understandingly, giving you a knowing smile as she disappeared into the swirling crowd. You made your way toward Helion, feeling the warmth of the night and the drinks starting to loosen your tongue and heart.

“Do you wish to get rid of me so easily?” you feigned offense, walking up to his side. The merriment of the evening had given you a newfound boldness. Your body hadn’t felt this light in ages. Your gaze met his, and a flicker of understanding passed between you.

Helion shook his head, a gentle smile gracing his features. “No, darling, never. I just think your heart belongs somewhere else.” His words were filled with gentle encouragement. He patted the arm of his chair, offering you a seat upon the rest. With an eye roll and a smile, you accepted, settling into the plush chair arm.

"Your presence is lovely, your duty is commendable, but I couldn't sit here watching you turn to stone any longer," Helion continued, his voice filled with genuine concern. His finger absentmindedly found the wrist under your bracelet, his touch a feather-light brush against your skin. A wave of warmth washed over you, and the faint scent of wildflowers drifted through the air.

"Besides, maybe it's time you face a certain Illyrian man," he whispered discreetly, his words carrying a hint of suggestion.

You looked at him, confusion swirling within you. His eyes subtly glanced over to the corner, and you followed his gaze. Azriel stood behind Amren, his intense gaze fixed on Helion and you. His jaw was clenched, and his wings were taut with tension, as if holding back an impending storm. The sight of him sent a jolt of both excitement and apprehension through your veins.

"I can't ignore those ravenous stares, knowing he wants to rip me to shreds, and not in the way I like," he added, teasingly toying with your bracelet as if oblivious to Azriel's presence. The Day Court High Lord knew exactly what he was doing it seemed. Azriel couldn’t have been glaring at Helion; it had to be you. Memories of your past argument with Azriel flashed through your mind, the intensity of the argument still fresh. You had both nearly destroyed each other. You hadn’t ever heard you two speak so many volatile and vulgar things— especially at each other.

"I could never forgive him for what he said," you sighed. "What's even worse is that I can't forgive myself for what I did, not only to him, but to my family. I feel responsible for my ex-husband's actions towards them." You admitted, realizing that you had never spoken those words aloud before.

Beside you, the lord sucked his teeth in retort. "You can't blame yourself for what your father put you through by selling you to that pretty little beast." He sat up straighter and looked at you earnestly. "Nobody blames you, Y/n." You found yourself unabashedly staring back at Azriel as he was still looking at the interaction between you and the high lord.

“We all carry burdens from our past, but we mustn't let them define our future," he said gently. "You were caught in a web spun by others, but you have the strength to break free. It's time to forgive yourself and embrace the healing you deserve."

You nodded nimbly, biting your lip in contemplation. You would always hold gratitude for Helion. His kindness you’ve experienced for the last several years was more than what you deserved and needed, but he still provided it. If you returned to the night court you wouldn’t have known where you stood in the court. What your rank would be, what your friends thought of you, and where to even pick back up in your life. You just knew you haven’t felt this alive in awhile, and you craved the feeling.

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[x] next chapter

Let me know your thoughts, and feel free to like and reblog! I might change the title but that’s tbd.

[assriels]

lose control | prologue

pairing: azriel x day court!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: allusions to sex/one night stand but nothing explicit (yet)

summary: the humble beginnings of your complicated relationship with azriel

series masterlist

The first time you and Azriel slept together was an act of convenience, fraught by mutual attraction. It was a flurry of heady seduction, hands and teeth and tongues colliding sloppily — though pleasurably — as you pulled him by the collar of his shirt over the threshold of your bedroom in the late hours of the night of one of Helion’s overindulgent parties.

It wasn’t the first time you two had met, but it was the first time you had any meaningful interaction past polite greetings at the meetings between your respective High Lords.

You’d been watching him all night, tracking his movements and the way he carried himself with an air of such confident nonchalance. Truthfully, you were supposed to be observing everyone at the party — a lesson in networking, Helion had told you — but you couldn’t help your gaze from straying to the Night Court’s spymaster more and more as the night progressed.

At the time, you had been relatively new to your role as Helion’s second in command — a position you rightfully earned with your grit and blood, despite the rumors of your appointment being the product of nepotism. They were rumors you abhorred, insulted by the insinuation of Helion’s favoritism and that you had not earned your keep. But they were rumors you could understand; had you taken an outsider’s perspective, you might have thought the same thing.

When your father — one of Helion’s top generals — met his untimely and gruesome end on a mission gone wrong, Helion himself saw to it that you, a mere adolescent at the time, were well taken care of. Having lost your mother before you could exhale your first cry, and having lost your father on the cusp of your adulthood, your orphanage pulled at Helion’s heartstrings; he always liked your family. So, Helion took on the task of your parentage, providing lessons in a plethora of subjects from fine art to the sciences, and offered advice about the many trials you’d faced in your late adolescence and early adulthood.

Notwithstanding your enjoyment of the challenge of living and learning, nothing compared to your inherent skill in war strategy; you truly were the child of your father. When Helion caught wind of your exceptional prowess in strategy, he’d helped you hone your skill, challenging you year by year with more difficult tasks, pleased in every way a fatherly figure would be.

Though suspicions of Helion’s soft spot for you were true, it played no role in your acquisition of the warmaster — and subsequent second in command — title you now bore. You’d proved yourself time and time again, besting some of the Day Court’s most renowned soldiers in games of wit and combat. You were an indisputable prodigy.

But even still, even after a decade of proving your competence as Helion’s rightful second hand, some still questioned your ability. And — looking back on it now — you supposed you had let their skepticism of you get to your head, planting seeds of insecurity deep in the recesses of your mind. And maybe it was because of this burgeoning insecurity that you were so wildly drawn to Azriel, a beautiful challenge with dark lashes and hazel eyes.

It was a ridiculous notion borne of the naivety of youth to think that bedding a beautiful half-stranger would prove your worth and erase your uncertainty in yourself, as if somehow your skill on the battlefield could be corroborated by your skills of seduction. But you bought into it, determined to use your charm and wit to coax him to your room.

It worked, though you imagined that Azriel had his own reasoning for following you down Helions’s estate’s hallways.

And he most certainly did. At the time, he had still been deep in his unreciprocated pining for Mor, and watching her flirt with the patrons at Helion’s party sent his chest lurching in pain and longing. So when you sidled up next to him with a spare flute of faerie wine in your hands, he allowed himself to indulge in your beauty, allowed himself to crack open the door to his heart just a little to let you in. For just a moment, just a night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the rush of fondness and joy that flung that door to his heart wide open, filling his chest with a light he hadn’t experienced before. Maybe it was the faerie wine, or maybe it was the way your lips curved in a stunning arc that had him leaning in closer to you, whispering risqué promises in your ear as you laughed with heat blooming on your cheeks. He knew what would happen next, and the thrill of anticipation coursed through his veins in a persistent pulse; he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to want and be wanted back.

Azriel couldn’t remember who invited who to “talk somewhere quieter” first, but in hindsight it didn’t matter. You had come like a thief in the night and stolen all of his attention, erasing any thoughts of any other female before you. Just one night, he had told himself before he indulged in you. Just one night and he’d go back to his reality, back to the darkness of his longing.

Though Azriel’s night with you ended with the early morning sun peeking through your curtains, he never truly returned to the reality of his life before you. The longing he felt for Mor — though still present and pervasive — had eased somewhat by the gentleness of your touch, and he found his thoughts shifting gradually.

It happened slowly at first, a fleeting image of the curve of your spine, a brief flash of the glow upon your cheeks when you smiled. And then as the mental pictures of you grew more insistent in his consciousness, he sought you out, taking more missions in the Day Court and spending one night longer every time to keep you company.

He had told himself he had it under control, would most likely be overtaken by his affections for Mor at some point once again like he always was. But every night he spent warming your bed pulled him deeper and deeper into a space he was unsure how to navigate. You were…a friend, maybe. And though he knew friends did not sleep with one another on a relatively regular basis, Azriel intentionally ignored the complicated maze of his feelings, opting instead to lose himself in your magnetism for fear that if he allowed himself more time to think, to ponder about what his desire for you meant, he’d be sent into another painful spiral of unreciprocated affections.

So he kept whatever unexplored feelings he did or did not have for you locked away, enjoying the strange limbo and relative detachedness of your relationship. He was allowed to have fun, and you were both consenting 500-something-year-olds; where was the harm in a little messiness?

He had this under control.

Oh, poor misguided Shadowsinger. How wrong you are.

chapter i

a/n: here is the prologue!! honestly this was an impulse post, but i’m just so excited for this series, i couldn’t help it! come talk to me about your theories and ideas of what will/should happen ;-)

[shittalkingwiththesuriel]

Me when my fictional husband ends up with nobody and is sad and unloved: 👿😣😡

Me when my fictional husband ends up happy but is with someone who isn’t me: 😭🤷‍♀️😭

[herrinarte]

Returning To The Roots

A Tamlin x Lucien Fanfic

A hint of lavender wafted through the first subtle spring breeze Lucien had felt against his skin in years. He’d missed this, the clean air, the honey coloured sunshine, the smell of fresh life bursting from the ground in the form of flower buds and fresh fruit.

Velaris was the city of stars, and yet, the stars couldn’t detract from all that darkness. Never had it made him feel like this, like he was home.

Admittedly, home looked a lot more empty than he remembered. Lucien walked through the castle gardens without passing a single soul. Weeds had invaded and settled their roots everywhere, and all the other plants had gone wild in his absence, growing in angry tangles and clawing at the stone walls like caged animals.

Dread crept in as Lucien clutched his frantic heart. Tamlin had always maintained his garden meticulously, whether it meant hiring more help or getting down in the dirt on his knees wielding a spade. He’d never let it get like this. Never. Lucien couldn’t even begin to count how many days he had sat and watched Tamlin toil in the mud with a glass of something bubbly in his hands, mocking the high lord for doing servant’s work. At least he claimed it was for the sake of mockery. Truthfully, he enjoyed watching him. If he closed his eyes he could see Tamlin crouched, his soft mouth upturned ever so slightly as he pruned a rose bush. His nectar blonde hair falling from his forehead into the path of his eyes. His thorn pricked fingers would brush back the strands, a wave of want would flush away Lucien’s every other thought. The urge to kiss his work worn hands was unmatched. Back then he would force his drink back, hide his warming cheeks with an errant move of his hand. He’d never meant to feel this way about anyone other than his lost love Jesminda, and yet… the feeling lingered. Even now, as he raced up the stairs to Tamlin’s chambers, after everything he still wanted to hold those calloused fingers in his own. For his lips to brush away the bruises, for his teeth to pluck the thorns out.

“Tamlin!” He called out, the door denting the wall as he flung it open. “Tamlin, are you here?”

The room was like a jungle. Vines slithered up the walls and danced around the bedposts. All the furniture looked like a bear had used it as a chew toy, bitten down and clawed at. The curtains were torn, the windows cast a stream of sunlight onto a lump of blankets on the bed. No, not a lump of blankets. Tamlin.

Lucien approached him with caution. For a while he could have sworn he forgot to breathe, then the blankets shivered. Plucking up the courage, he pulled back the blankets. He could have wept at the sight.

Tamlin’s beautiful hair cascaded down his back and chest, it had become overgrown and knotted. His eyes were darkly lined, the bags so prominent it looked like he had been punched. His usually plush mouth was cracked and dry, his nails bitten down to the quick. Lucien would have thought him a dead male if it weren’t for the subtle rise of his chest.

“Tamlin?” Lucien chanced a touch, though could only bring himself to grasp at a ribbon of Tamlin’s hair, left unwashed for weeks, he would guess.

His eyes flickered open. Just the flutter of his eyelashes was enough to make Lucien’s pulse race.

Tamlin grumbled and rolled over, curling into a ball. “Another dream,” he mumbled to himself. “Why can’t empty sleep find me.”

Lucien could only chuckle at that. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sunk in so much he thought he might fall straight through, he’d make Tamlin buy a new one. “I’m glad you see my face in your dreams, but I assure you this is not one.”

“Liar,” Tamlin snarled weakly, the beast had left him, he sounded more like a puppy playing at being a wolf. “Lucien is happy and far, far away from here. As he should.”

“I don’t know what to say to convince you, but take my word.” Lucien grabbed Tamlin’s shoulders and made him roll over so they were face to face. Tamlin’s eyes widened in disbelief, making Lucien grin. He’d missed that face. “I’m as real as they get.”

His smile dropped when Tamlin’s hand found his cheek. His shaking fingers stroking the river lines of Lucien’s scared skin.

“You came back.” His every word was taught with disbelief. Lucien felt his heart ache. Was it really so unbelievable that he’d return? Surely, despite it all, Tamlin must have known that Lucien could never truly close the door on their friendship. Tamlin could act as beastly as he liked but Lucien would always leave a crack in the door.

“Of course I did.” Lucien coiled a strand of Tamlin’s hair around his finger and tugged. Tamlin didn’t even flinch. “Someone has to tame this mane of yours. A beast, indeed. You know you can cut it yourself without my help.”

“I didn’t see any reason to maintain my appearance. I’m sure you noticed how empty it is here.” He let the silence hang as if to prove his point. Nothing filled it but a distant bird song. It had always been peaceful here, but never silent like this. “Besides, even if I still had people to impress, I’d struggle to find the will power to even brush my hair. Laugh if you want, but I see no reason to do anything these days. Just moving to get food is a thing to be dreaded.”

Lucien did not laugh. There wasn’t anything funny about his friend’s sorry state. He noted Tamlin’s usually toned arms had become willowy, his skin even paler than snow. He’d be surprised if Tamlin had even eaten in days, let alone been outside his chambers. Guilt loomed over Lucien’s shoulders. How could he let his High Lord succumb to the monster that was depression?

“Sit up.” Lucien commanded, steeling himself for the challenge. It could take years to get Tamlin back to some kind of normalcy, but he’d do it. He’d do whatever it took to see Tamlin in the garden again.

Tamlin looked lazily at him. It took Lucien sternly crossing his arms for him to ruefully sit up, the sheets draped over his lap so he wasn’t completely exposed.

Lucien walked to Tamlin’s chest of drawers and rifled around for scissors and a comb. When he found them he returned to Tamlin’s bedside to attack the bush.

“So when did you last wash it?” Lucien asked, as he began gingerly trying to comb through a tangle that looked suspiciously like a bird’s nest. “Be honest.”

Tamlin’s head bobbed as Lucien tugged through his hair. No matter how gentle Lucien tried to be, it must hurt, and yet Tamlin didn’t once complain. “I…” he scrunched his face, before letting out a heavy hearted sigh. “I can’t remember. Maybe two weeks ago, maybe… it could be longer. The days all look so similar I can’t tell the difference anymore. Time is hard to grasp right now.”

Lucien grumbled at the knotted hair. “I’m going to have to cut it. Shoulder length, I think. Then we’ll wash it. I can braid it too if you like?” Tamlin used to like it when he did that, Lucien hoped he still did because he had always loved doing it.

When Tamlin didn’t reply, Lucien added cautiously, “Do you think you can wash it yourself?”

Tamlin shrugged, an uncertain look on his face. “I suppose. I’ll pour a bath in a bit.”

Lucien began chopping away at Tamlin’s hair. It was a shame for all of it to go to waste, if Tamlin had taken care of it he’d look quite majestic with such a long mane of golden hair. Lucien shook away the thought. Now wasn’t the time for fantasy. “I think I’ll sort that bath out. Not that I think you’re incompetent, but I have a feeling that if I leave things to you this hair of yours will still be smelling next week.”

He stepped back to admire his work. Tamlin rubbed his shoulder, the weight of his hair missing.

“How does it look?” Tamlin asked shyly.

“I thought you didn’t care how you looked?” Lucien said, busying himself with tidying up all the hair on the floor. The task helped to stop him from staring. Even like this, his gaze was still drawn to Tamlin. He wanted to smooth out the worried lines of his forehead, he wanted to take care of him, as silly as that sounded.

“I’ve got someone to impress now.” His voice was no more than a whisper. “That is, if you’re going to stay? I’d understand if you don’t want to, you have people to go back to in the Night Court.”

“No, I don’t.” Lucien didn’t explain further. He smiled, uncertainly, “I’ll got sort out that bath for you.”

. . .

The bathroom air was thick with steam when Tamlin finally wandered in like a ghost.

“Your bath awaits you my lord.” Lucien chuckled playfully as he bowed beside the tub.

Tamlin walked closer and waded his hand through the water, catching some tickled pink petals.

“A bit much, don’t you think?” The smallest of smiles crept onto his lips. The small action was enough to make Lucien’s skin prickle with goosebumps.

“A bit much?” Lucien scoffed. “You are a High Lord, a little flourish should be added to every mundane task.”

Tamlin raised a dubious brow but settled into the tub nonetheless. “I don’t feel like much of a High Lord.”

“You will when I’m done with you.” Lucien assured, his eager fingers plunging into Tamlin’s wet hair to massage in scented oils. “You will.”

Tamlin eased back into Lucien’s touch, his eyes falling sleepily shut. “Elain will surely miss you if you are to stay.”

Lucien had to stop himself from flinching at the name of his supposed mate. “She’ll be fine. We don’t speak much anyway. We just don’t— I think the Cauldron was wrong, if that’s possible.”

Tamlin thoughtful bit his lip. “Perhaps. Don’t ask me about romance and fate. There was a time that I thought Feyre might be my—“ his words came out thickly. ��Obviously I was wrong.”

Lucien remembered the way Tamlin had looked at Feyre back then. How his bottle green eyes lit up every time she entered the room with a grim face. How he’d told Tamlin how pleased he was that she seemed like a promising contender to break the curse. How he’d lied. Lied because a small part of him wished Tamlin might have at least tried to break the curse with him, even if it was a useless endeavour. He knew he didn’t meet the criteria. But how could he have confessed this to his friend when he had never seemed so happy? He had no choice but to let the jealousy fester, to be as civil as he could muster, for Tamlin. “I thought so too. We were both wrong.”

Tamlin chuckled bitterly to himself as he watched the pink petals in the water stick the his bare chest. “I bet I looked like a proper fool, didn’t I? I still do.”

“You were a sorry sap in love. No one would ever mock you for that, not even me.” Lucien had finished washing Tamlin’s hair, while it was still wet he combed through any remaining stubborn tangles.

Tamlin was quiet for a moment. “What’s it like?” He said finally, “To have a mate, that is.”

Lucien hesitate, comb in hand. “Ah, well, um, I suppose it’s kind of nice, but not what I expected really.”

“How so?”

“I feel a pull, in a way, but when I actually am near her… I don’t know. It feels like a bond forged rather than a bond grown from carefully planted roots. I thought it would feel more natural.”

“Do you think it is because you still miss Jesminda?”

“No, it’s not about her. I’ll always love her but I know I’m ready to move on, I just can’t help but feel like Elain isn’t the one. I don’t think she wants me either. She’s made that quite clear.”

The water rippled as Tamlin turned to lean on the edge of the tub, he squinted at Lucien. “I won’t pretend to know Elain well, but she seems to have a good pair of eyes and a level head. How could she deny you? She must be in love already, I can’t believe anyone could be around you for all that time and feel nothing.”

Lucien cleared his throat to distract from his cheeks heating. “Yes, well, I suppose even I can’t be everyone’s type. Though that may be hard to believe.”

“It is.” Tamlin agreed. “She’ll come around though. She’s your mate. You are destined to love her, and you will, because you are kind and loyal, and then I will be alone, again, because I am destined to.” Lucien frowned and went to speak but Tamlin cut in first. “—and no, this isn’t me being negative. I’ve accepted my lot in life. I’m happy for you. The Cauldron knows you deserve a good life after everything you’ve been through. I look forward to seeing you succeed. Selfishly I’m glad I get to have you here with me though, for now at least.” Tamlin ran his hand over his jaw, a thin layer of prickly stubble was growing in. “I admit, I’ve missed your company greatly.”

“Even my jibes and mockery?” Lucien couldn’t deny his heart was finally beginning to feel settled. Slowly, Tamlin was brightening up, not in any obvious ways but his eyes looked more lively and his lips seemed less prone to frown.

“Especially that.” Tamlin rose from the bath and stepped out. He did an exaggerated stretch like a tired dog, before shaking like one, spraying water everywhere.

“Ew, ew, ew!” Lucien scrambled for a towel to wipe down his sodden face. “Bad dog, terrible dog. By the Cauldron, must you do that every time?”

Tamlin laughed, really laughed. He doubled over and wiped at his watering eyes. How could Feyre give up this? The thought flickered into Lucien’s mind without meaning to, making his throat feel course and dry.

“That,” Tamlin smirked. “I’ve very much missed that.”

Lucien handed him a towel, chuckling too. “I have not.” He lied and they both knew it. “Right, let me dry your hair and then I’ll braid it.”

Tamlin took the towel and wrapped it around his waist. “Fine. Just don’t put any ribbons in it.”

Lucien was definitely going to put ribbons in it.

~

Thank you for reading :)

I haven’t written fan fiction for years so apologies if I’m a bit rusty. Critique is welcome! I’ll probably be writing a continuation of this sometime soon because Tamlin deserves some love and who better to do it than Lucien? I know this ship isn’t for everyone but please be respectful in the comments.

All notes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. If you want to know when the next chapter is out I’m happy to tag you next time <3

[splendsay]

ACOTAR FF // Azriel x F!Reader // Shade Cerulean

HAPPY SUNDAAYYYY

hope u enjoy lovelies

..................................................................

Shade Cerulean // Chapter 2: Cerulean

!!MDNI!!

Chapters: 2/? Content Warnings: Explicit language (a/o Ch.2) Pairing: Azriel (ACOTAR) x Reader (You) Work Summary:

You're what's known as a Navigator in your home world, able to teleport great distances with the power in your veins. One day, while escaping a dire situation in desperate search for help, you jump too far, and land in Prythian -- Velaris. Guess who finds you?

..................................................................... Links to:

Spotify Playlist Full Fic

[vacant--body]

stay with me pt 5

<azriel x ofc>

warnings: angst. lots of it. SH kinda, mentions of suîćîdë

part one, part two, part three, part four

✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖°

Azriel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe. The overwhelming tightness was strangling his lungs, crushing his already broken heart. And someone was screaming, he couldn’t hear anything over the screaming.

Where was he, anyway?

He tried to take in his surroundings, to see where and what was going on. But his vision was so fucking blurry he couldn’t make out anything other than the outline of people. They were standing over him, trying to haul him up. Apparently he was laying on the ground, clutching something wet and warm to his chest. But the pain, which radiated over his entire body, wouldn’t let him move, even if he wanted to. It hurt too much.

“Azriel!” Someone screamed.

He felt the sting of a slap land across his face, and suddenly the whole world came back into focus.

It was Azriel that was screaming, voice raw. His vision cleared, of what he realized were tears, and the grief stricken faces of his family appeared. And he also realized he was speaking, repeating the same words over and over again.

“No, no, no!”

“Stay with me!”

All consuming anguish slammed into him. Ophelia was dead. Ophelia, his mate. His fucking mate, was dead. Azriel couldn’t feel her on the other side of the bond anymore. Couldn’t feel her chest rise with life-saving air, he just couldn’t feel her. Her beautiful eyes would never open, her mouth would never tip to the side with a cheeky smile, and he wouldn’t ever get to hear his name on his lips again.

Dead.

He held onto her tighter, how he should have all those nights ago. He should have told her everything when he had the chance, should have beared his fucking soul to her. Even if she had rejected him, he still should have told her.

“Madja is on her way.” Azriel heard someone say. He was so lost in his agony he had no idea who was speaking. “Azriel, we need you to let her go”

A primal snarl tore from his lips, and they backed away, hands up in a placating gesture.

“You’re going to have to knock him out.” Another said.

“I know. I’m just afraid of what he’ll do when he wakes.”

Cool hands grabbed onto his temple and Azriel thrashed, trying to throw whoever that was off of him. He was like a raging wild animal, like something out of the Middle. He was no longer the calm and collected male like everyone knew. It was pure carnal rage.

Long, razor sharp claws tore their way through his minds shield, destroying them to get inside. Azriel screamed louder, blood trickling from his nose. The sounds of his family faded away, so all that was left was the sound of soft spoken voices, cooing and hushing him. Lulling him to sleep. He fought, pushing back against those claws. But they only held on tighter.

Slowly, he slumped to the ground, arms falling away from Ophelia’s bleeding body.

And sleep consumed him.

✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖°

Azriel woke with a start, like something had scared him out of his deep slumber. That hadn’t been a normal sleep, it was only darkness with him floating forever in the nothingness. But he still felt pain raging all over his body. The pain of the mating bond breaking, slowly fading away into nothing.

Would that be all that’s left? Nothing?

He sat up sluggishly, the joints in his body popping and cracking. He was no longer out in that cursed field, but tucked into his room in the House of Wind. His bloody leathers had been stripped from his body, replaced with leisure clothes. Someone had changed and bathed him, as he saw no signs of her blood anywhere on his body. How long had he been out?

Getting to his feet, he walked towards the door. But he stopped as he passed the mirror, seeing his ghastly reflection. Azriel studied himself, hating what stared back. His wings now dragged behind him, the talons scraping the floor. There were deep purple marks under his bloodshot eyes, like he had been crying while he slept. And he looked incredibly pale, skin taking on a sickly pallor.

The look of someone with an utterly shattered heart. That’s what he looked like now.

A messy knot of emotions rose up his throat and Azriel stumbled, grasping the wood of the dressing table. His shoulders shook with each deep inhale he took, but it just seemed like he couldn’t catch his breath. His fingers gripped the wood so tightly that they turned white. He just couldn’t get his head clear, couldn’t stop hearing her broken cries.

Whimpering with frustration, he lashed out, his closed fist connecting with the mirror. It exploded into a thousand tiny pieces, small shards embedding themselves in his knuckles. Thick red blood seeped out of his wounds, but already his Illyrian healing was trying to take control. He watched numbly as his cuts turned pink with new skin, but was instantly shredded back open by the glass.

Suddenly, the door flew open and Cassian rushed in. He halted in his tracks, taking in the scene of his brother standing there with a shattered mirror and blood running down his hand.

“You’re awake.” He croaked, eyes misty with unshed tears.

Azriel didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up a scrap of linen and wrapped it around his knuckles to staunch the bleeding.

“You’ll need that cleaned out, there’s glass-”

“No.” Azriel snarled.

“Az…” Cassian tried, taking small steps in his direction.

“I said no!” His teeth flashed. “Fuck the glass, fuck everything! There is nothing left for me here, my mate is fucking dead. DEAD. And I might as well join her!”

They both stood there in deafening silence, just staring at each other. The realization of what Azriel had just admitted struck Cassian like a slap. His breath hitched in his chest, and Cassians mouth opened and closed, as if he were a fish out of water, trying to think of something to say. But there was nothing he could say that would take away this hurt.

“But she lives.”

Except that.

Azriels head snapped towards his brother, eyes going so wide that they almost popped straight out of his head.

“What?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Madja brought her back. She’ still unconscious but-”

Azriel didn’t stick around to hear the rest of what he said, because he burst past Cassian, sprinting towards her room. Alive? She was alive? He couldn’t wrap his destroyed thoughts around it. He had felt the bond break, and watched her take her last breath, how could she be alive? This had to be some type of cruel joke his brothers were playing on him, there was no way-

He opened Ophelia’s bedroom door so hard that it bounced off the wall, hinges rattling with the force. He took a step, and then another, before his knees gave out. But Rhys was there, catching him under his arm, and kept him upright.

“Easy, brother.” His voice was soft, softer than he had ever heard it.

What Azriel saw confused him. Ophelia was there, laying on her bed as if she was sleeping. She had been washed and changed just as Azriel had, no traces of blood remaining on her. Feyre and Madja stood on the other side of the bed, and the two stared at him, unsure of what his next move would be.

“How?” Azriel’s voice broke, and for the millionth time that day, tears rushed to his eyes.

“We got to her just in time.” Madja was there, putting various medical supplies back into a bag. The old female turned to Feyre and said something under her breath. But his shadows heard her.

Watch him. The bond hasn’t returned, and I’m afraid he’ll do something…something I can’t heal.

Feyre nodded and thanked the healer before dismissing her.

“How are you feeling, Az?” Feyre asked, and just then Rhys released the grip he had on Azriels arm.

But he didn’t hear her. Instead, he slowly crept towards the edge of Ophelia’s bed. She looked so incredibly peaceful, like the events of the past week hadn't happened at all.

He took her slender hand in his, and it was so cold. He supposed that was normal considering how much blood she had lost. They had been laying in a puddle of it. And still, it just didn’t seem possible that she was alive.

“Why hasn’t the bond returned?” Azriel whispered, scared that if spoke too loud it would wake her.

“Madja said it would take time.” Rhys said, coming to his side.

Time. If there was anything Azriel knew how to do was wait. He had waited his entire life for Ophelia, he could wait just a little bit longer. So, he grabbed a reclining chair and dragged it to the side of her bed, and plopped down in it.

“What are you doing?” Feyre asked softly.

“Waiting.”

✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖°

Three things were clear to Ophelia as she laid in the eternal darkness.

One, her mother was Lady of the Autumn Court and her father was Lord of the Day Court, and Lucien was her brother.

Two, her entire body was screaming in pain. It was a never ending barrage, it felt she was being set on fire over and over again. It felt like she was being stripped of her flesh, and someone was sticking needles in the exposed skin.

Three, Azriel was her mate.

Mate.

The cauldron had blessed and cursed her with a mate. And out of everyone, in the entirety of Prythian, it was him. Azriel.

His name on her tongue felt like taking a cold, refreshing gulp of water. It felt like life, death, and everything in between. Something as big as ruling the world seemed possible with him by her side, or even just getting out of bed for the day. Knowing that he was there, waiting for her. She could do it all.

But where was he?

He wasn’t here with her, in this endless pit of dark nothingness. But she could sense him, his scent lingering on the tip of her nose. It was smokey and sweet, the boldness of each taste coming together each time, it was intoxicating. Like she could drown in him, but he would be there to keep her afloat.

Ophelia could feel him now. He was so close but yet so far away. It felt like she could reach out and touch him, but when she tried, her body screamed in protest. Everything hurt. Every miniscule movement that was made had her already exhausted mind slip farther and farther into the darkness.

So she laid there, feeling nothing and everything. Waiting for her mate.

Azriel.

[shallyne]

The Sun and the Moon

Words: 500

“Do you think the moon and the sun are friends?” Feyre asked and with that question, she climbed on Nesta's bed without invitation, wriggling her too short legs until she fully managed to climb up.

“No,” Nesta simply replied, turning a page in her book. She didn't pay Feyre much mind, her little sister always asked endless questions, if they made sense or not. Today it seemed to not make any sense, except maybe in Feyre's curious mind.

Feyre slumped down right beside her, her childish gaze boring into Nesta as she asked, “Why not?”

Rolling her eyes, Nesta put a bookmark between the yellowed pages of her book and closed it. “They are polar opposites, they can't be friends.”

That seemed to make Feyre think, her small finger tapping against her chin until her focus was back on Nesta. “But why can't they be friends? Maybe it's the difference that makes them friends! They might complete each other, like two puzzle pieces.”

Fully annoyed now by Feyre's antics, Nesta stood and ushered her little sister to the door. “Shouldn't you be playing with your dolls instead of musing like a poet?”

“What dolls?”

Not even further contemplating what Feyre said, Nesta grabbed an old doll of hers and pushed it into Feyre's hands. Her door was closed before her little sister could utter another word.

Nesta opened Feyre's drawer of their old dresser, the one she had painted with the night sky. In hindsight, she was always meant to end up in the Night Court, ruling at Rhysand's side.

It's been over a year since Nesta went back to their little cottage that they had cramped in when they lost their fortune and it was hard, to say the least. All the memories, more bad than good, seem to press on her. Everything in here was as just as they left it, but more overgrown. There was also a hole in the roof now, making the ground underneath her feet brittle.

All of Feyre's clothes were still in her drawer, just as she left it before the beast, Tamlin, took her what felt like a lifetime ago. She didn't know why she pushed the few clothes to the side, maybe it was some kind of instinct to what she found there in the farthest corner, cramped far into the back.

A doll. Not just a doll, the doll Nesta has given her sister to leave. She didn't know that Feyre haf kept this doll, thought she had thrown it into some corner after returning to her room.

“What dolls?” echoed in Nesta's mind, in her sister's baby voice. Looking back, she never saw Feyre with any kind of dolls, or toys in general. She always made do with stuff she found outside, rocks, sticks, dirt. And just then it dawned on her that Nesta's doll was the only real toy Feyre ever had, before the circumstances took their childhood. And still Feyre had taken the doll with her.

Footsteps sounded behind Nesta and she looked back, finding Cassian in the doorway. He was so big that the cottage seemed even smaller around them, especially with the wings.

Pressing the doll to her chest, Nesta asked him, “Do you think the moon and the sun are friends?”

Confusion was written all over Cassian’s stupidly handsome face but he replied nonetheless, “I like to believe they are.”

[zenithofstories]

so i know a lot of you followed me for the maasterlist of bonus chapters, and i gotta apologise for not doing much else in this fandom. i tend to do a lot of my fandom stuff on pinterest, and not a huge amount here.

however, i do write fanfiction. and i haven't actually told you guys about that. i was waiting to get past a planning stage, because i thought that would take a while, but it turns out it did not. so ahh, on a random tuesday (🤣), i'm writing an acotar fanfic. it's called A Court of Blades and Brushes, and it's an exploration of how the story would have been different if feyre had married tamlin at the start of mist and fury. if rhys and mor and cass and az hadn't been around to save feyre, would she have saved herself.

(it's on ao3, and currently restricted to users cause of all the ai bullshit and people making apps and who knows what else. if we get some actual rules for the internet we call home i'll unlock them again, but unfortunately that's not realistic right now)

it's gonna be long, and i'm a slow writer, but i have so many ideas and i am really enjoying it. this is a passion project and one i am going to be writing for years to come. so if you're interested, come check it out!

i'm planing to start announcing new chapters here, along with a changelog, because i am posting this fic as i write it and sometimes notice mistakes, or add details, or change something slightly from the chapters i've already posted. so i think i'm going to start doing that *shrugs*

if you want actual notifications, the best method is probably subscribing on ao3, to either the work itself, the series or just to me if you want emails about all my stuff (i've also written fics for The Medoran Chronicles by Lynette Noni, and some stuff for Harry Potter but i'm on hiatus from that atm. i'll get back to it someday. i promise. and a few other smaller fandoms. and i have more ideas. of course)

[eveysreadingcorner]

I’m in love with a fictional character 😭

[olive-main]

Masterlist

A/N: I FINALLY updated my masterlist - I won’t be listing specific characters since most of them have so many. Of course, I write for the more popular/well-known characters but if you’re unsure don’t be afraid to ask :) As always my DMs are open. (Not just for requests, but to talk about anything related to the fandoms listed!)

Requests: Sometimes I may take a while to answer or post requests. I’m a college student, and work full time. So please bare with me…😔

Key: Fluff (🧸) Smut (💋) Angst (🪦)

☆———————————————☆——————————————☆

ACOTAR (SJM Universe)

Azriel -

To Love and Let Go (🪦)

Between Us Alone (🪦,🧸)

Eris Vanserra -

Treasured Yearning (🪦, 🧸)

Fourth Wing

Xaden Riorson -

Healing Through Hurt (🪦, 🧸)

Baldurs Gate 3

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Bucky Barnes -

Two Heads of Hydra (🪦?)

Scars and All (🪦, 🧸)

☆———————————————☆——————————————☆

Any toxicity or hate towards characters will result in being blocked. Criticism and discussions are welcome, disrespect is not. They’re fictional, and everyone is entitled to their own opinion.

[assriels]

lose control series masterlist

trope: friends(?) with benefits to lovers(?)

pairing: azriel x day court!reader

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 — and helion’s second in command — forces an alliance closer than you’ve ever been to azriel and his inner circle as the threat of a war with hybern looms heavy in the distance. century’s 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.

prologue

chapter i

chapter ii (coming soon!)

a/n: hello friends! this is a series that i’ve been planing for ages now & i hope you enjoy it as much as i’ve enjoyed writing and brainstorming it

[seeyalaterinnovator]

I am thinking of writing again… specifically for the acotar/tog/cc realm. Anyone have any ideas or requests? Or any interest in reading?

[arson-09]

i find this concept of “winning” so funny cause its a book series. Like yeah I realize that how the author views her own character is different than mine so hes probably not going to get treated the way i want him too but that doesn’t mean anything. Genuinely what happens in that series is so inconsequential to me cause no matter what I like tamlins character and find him interesting, theres no way to ‘lose’ 😭 Ill just make fun of canon and live my best life yapping about the characters i like and dislike !!

saw this anti-tamlin post and it struck me just how tragic tamlin's character is. is he truly so evil that he deserves to die? with no friends, no family, no dignity? literally nothing? sjm failed to make me hate him. all I feel for him is pity and sympathy. he made some mistakes, yes, but enough to deserve death? I don't even see people hate on the actual villains this hard.

[splendsay]

ACOTAR FF // Azriel x F!Reader // Shade Cerulean

..................................................................

Shade Cerulean // Chapter 1: What of the Moon?

!!MDNI!!

Content Warnings: Explicit language (a/o Ch.1) Pairing: Azriel (ACOTAR) x Reader (You) Work Summary:

You're what's known as a Navigator in your home world, able to teleport great distances with the power in your veins. One day, while escaping a dire situation in desperate search for help, you jump too far, and land in Prythian -- Velaris. Guess who finds you?

..................................................................... Links to:

Spotify Playlist

[merwgue]

The A Court of Thorns and Roses (ACOTAR) fandom is one of the most divided literary communities today. It’s not just a matter of which characters people ship, but rather a deep schism over how people interpret the characters, themes, and real-life issues embedded in the story. The arguments go far beyond typical fandom disagreements and have morphed into full-fledged debates about morality, trauma, and the human condition. At the heart of these conflicts is the tendency for fans to project their own experiences and values onto the characters, creating new "canon" versions of the story to fit their narrative. What makes this even more significant is that ACOTAR isn’t just fantasy fiction—it touches on real issues like domestic abuse, sexual coercion, trauma, and mental health. These are not fictional concepts; they are lived experiences for many people. By brushing these topics aside or simplifying them, the fandom risks doing a disservice to the people who see their own pain mirrored in the pages of these books.

"It’s Just Fiction" — A Dismissive Take on Real Issues

When people say "it’s just fiction," they’re missing the point. Fiction, especially in fantasy, is often used as a mirror to reflect real-world problems. In ACOTAR, we see characters grappling with trauma, mental illness, abuse, and recovery—things that real people face every day. It’s not simply a story of faeries and magic; it’s a story of survival and the human struggle to overcome deep-seated pain.

Take Rhysand’s actions, for instance. Under the Mountain, he subjects Feyre to what can only be described as sexual coercion, making her dress in revealing clothing and sit on his lap while drugged, all under the guise of "protecting" her. In the real world, this would be considered sexual harassment or even assault. The argument that he was forced into these actions to protect her doesn’t erase the trauma it inflicted on Feyre. Fans who brush this off as a romantic plot device are ignoring the very real dynamics of power, consent, and coercion that exist in abusive relationships.

Similarly, Gwyn’s backstory, though not heavily detailed, strongly implies that she was gang-raped by Hybern’s forces during the war. The fact that this is left as an undertone in the series, not explicitly addressed, doesn’t make it any less important. Sexual violence, like what Gwyn endured, is a topic that has far-reaching emotional and psychological consequences for survivors. Yet, in some corners of the fandom, these moments are glossed over in favor of debating which romantic pairing is better.

Tamlin: Abuser or Victim of Circumstance?

Tamlin is one of the most hotly contested characters in the series, and it’s easy to see why. His actions in A Court of Mist and Fury—where he physically confines Feyre, restricts her movements, and isolates her from the outside world—are textbook examples of domestic abuse. There’s no argument that what he did was wrong. But there’s also context that complicates his character and, in some ways, makes him more sympathetic than he’s often given credit for.

Tamlin was traumatized by the events Under the Mountain, forced to watch helplessly as his people suffered for fifty years. He was powerless, and that sense of impotence likely contributed to his need for control once Feyre returned to the Spring Court. He was terrified of losing her, and that fear manifested in controlling behavior. Does that excuse what he did? Absolutely not. But it provides a context that many readers seem to ignore. Tamlin was also suffering, and he lacked the emotional tools to cope with his trauma in a healthy way.

Feyre, too, was suffering, but neither of them communicated effectively, and their relationship deteriorated as a result. Both were deeply broken, but instead of healing together, their trauma pulled them apart. Some fans take this complexity and reduce Tamlin to a one-dimensional abuser, ignoring the fact that many abusers come from places of deep pain themselves. Others take it too far in the opposite direction, defending every action he took. The truth lies somewhere in between: Tamlin was an abuser, but he was also a victim of his own unresolved trauma.

Rhysand: Savior or Manipulator?

Rhysand, on the other hand, is often seen as Feyre’s savior, the one who rescues her from Tamlin’s abuse and shows her how to be strong. But the fandom’s lionization of Rhysand ignores many of his own toxic behaviors, particularly his emotional manipulation of Feyre.

While Tamlin physically trapped her, Rhysand’s control was far more insidious. He isolated Feyre mentally, ensuring that the only people she trusted were members of his Inner Circle—people whose loyalty ultimately lies with him. Over time, Feyre’s connections to anyone outside of Rhysand’s immediate orbit are severed. Lucien, who had been a close friend, is gradually pushed away, and Feyre is left with no one to question her relationship with Rhysand.

This emotional isolation is a form of manipulation that can be just as damaging as physical confinement. Rhysand controlled the narrative around Feyre, making sure that she only saw the world through his lens. This is most evident in A Court of Silver Flames, when he instructs his Inner Circle not to tell Feyre about the dangers of her pregnancy. He withholds vital information about her own body, taking away her agency and reducing her to a bystander in her own life. The fact that Mor, Cassian, Amren, and Azriel all follow his orders without question only reinforces the power imbalance in their relationship.

Many fans excuse Rhysand’s actions because he’s portrayed as the "good guy" in contrast to Tamlin. But when you strip away the romantic lens, Rhysand’s behavior is just as controlling and manipulative, albeit in a different way. The fact that Feyre wasn’t physically confined doesn’t make his actions any less problematic.

The Creation of a New "Canon"

Given the complexity of these characters and the morally gray areas they inhabit, it’s no wonder that parts of the fandom have taken to creating their own "canon" versions of the story. Fans rework characters’ motivations, rewrite key events, and even create alternate universes to fit their preferred narrative. In some ways, this is a normal part of any fandom; people create headcanons and fan fiction to explore different possibilities within the world. But in the ACOTAR fandom, this rewriting often feels like a necessity rather than a choice.

Pro-Rhysand fans, for instance, downplay or outright ignore his more problematic actions, painting him as the perfect mate for Feyre. On the flip side, anti-Tamlin fans erase any nuance in his character, labeling him irredeemable and unworthy of any sympathy. It’s as if the original narrative can no longer be accepted as it is because it doesn’t fit into a simple good vs. evil framework.

This rewriting of canon can be harmful because it erases the complexities that make these characters human. Tamlin is not just a villain, and Rhysand is not just a hero. Both characters have committed acts of abuse, but they also have their own traumas and struggles that inform their actions. Ignoring these complexities simplifies the narrative in a way that doesn’t do justice to the story’s deeper themes.

The Seriousness of ACOTAR’s Themes

The divisions within the ACOTAR fandom aren’t just about ships or character preferences; they’re about how seriously the themes of the series should be taken. Domestic abuse, sexual coercion, trauma—these are not just plot points to be dismissed as fiction. They are real, painful experiences that people face every day.

Feyre’s experiences with both Tamlin and Rhysand reflect different forms of abuse, and neither should be diminished. Tamlin’s physical control was overt and obvious, while Rhysand’s emotional manipulation was more subtle but no less damaging. Both forms of abuse are real, and both deserve to be addressed with the gravity they warrant.

Similarly, Gwyn’s implied assault is a reflection of the horrors that many survivors of sexual violence face. Her story is not just a subplot; it’s a reflection of the very real trauma that many women endure. Dismissing these moments as mere fiction invalidates the experiences of readers who may have lived through similar pain.

Conclusion

The ACOTAR fandom is divided because the series itself is complex, filled with morally gray characters and real-world issues that demand serious consideration. By rewriting canon to fit personal narratives, parts of the fandom are erasing the very complexities that make the story impactful. Domestic abuse, sexual coercion, trauma—these are not topics that should be brushed aside or simplified. They are reflections of real pain, and they deserve to be treated with respect and understanding. Both Tamlin and Rhysand are flawed characters, and both engage in abusive behaviors, though in different ways. Acknowledging these complexities is essential to understanding the series as a whole, and it’s something the fandom, as divided as it is, must come to terms with.