#happy elriel month

[bolinhoelriel]

Doesn't matter how many times they say Gw*nriel and El*cien is endgame, that the Cauldron was right all this time and everything between Az and Elain means nothing.

They can never erase the "i'm getting her back" moment, the "it will serve you well" moment, the "beautiful" moment, the "she doesn't need anything" moment, the "yes" moment and all the times Azriel and Elain were alone together and no one saw it, because it was Mother's only privilege.

Elain will always have a very special place in Azriel's heart. He will always care about her deeply, protect her, be there when she needs, understand her like no one does and always remember their moments together.

It really doesn't matter if the other side is right.

Azriel and Elain are a Mother's beautiful story, and they will never have that.

Be happy, guys.

[casuallivi]

it’s a beautiful thing, being able to be someone's safety zone.

For Elriel Month 2023. Prompt 5: Darkness Lets the Light Shine @elriel-month

Set: the events vary from post ACOMAF to post ACOWAR. 

Faint feminine crying ignites his conscious back to life.

The pain is excruciating. Everything hurts, every muscle and tendon in his body burning as if he had been bathed in corrosive acid, his magic struggling to purge the poison and power from the king of Hybern. A swarm of angry shadows stop anyone from approaching. The healers gather in a corner, not knowing what to do.

“Help! Help!... Father!... Nesta!... Help me!”

In his mind, Azriel is sure he’s moving, broken ribs and cracked bones protesting as he fights to sit up, determined to aid her.

“No! Stop, stop it! Please, stop.”

In reality he doesn't move, can't move, prone in a stretcher, the only proof to his distress being the frenetic movement happening behind his closed eyelids, the smallest tightening of his knuckles in the former white sheets now smeared with blood. His blood.

She’s crying now. Choked whimpers evolving to full on sobbing. It's agony, this suffering, piercing his ears so loudly not even his shadows’ whispers can cut through her pleas. Her pain. His pain. He doesn't know what hurts more. Can't tell the difference anymore. Pleas for help merge with a strangled scream, then everything goes silent. His breath catches. His heart stops.

What happened?

Where is she?

The room trembles, chunks of stone dropping from the walls. Screams come from the medical bay now, healers running out of the way from his shadows, darkness engulfing everything. Azriel can't calm them down; they mistake the agony as his own. He urges his shadows to go to her, but they refuse to leave him, high on alert, too worried about their master, set on protecting him now that he lays vulnerable.

It feels wrong, this silence. Unnatural.

Help, he remembers. He can help.

He’s a Shadowsinger, a spymaster, a powerful Illyrian warrior turned Carynthian from effort born from blood, sweat and tear. His brother’s blood as well.

Go, he pleads. Go, now. It’s no use.

He can't help. He wants to. He can't.

Seconds. His moments of lucidity last for seconds.

Azriel passes out again.

~~~

In and out of conscious he goes.

Distorted images flash behind his eyelids. His father’s cell. His hateful siblings’ cruel laugh. The earth-shattering shriek from his mother. Fire blazes and burns and scars. He doesn’t cry. He never cries.

The shadows are his only friends, his everlasting companions. Illyrian cockpits are always covered with fallen children, bruised and broken –but not beyond repair, at least not until the rite. In his High Lord’s office, bookshelves are overturned in a raging fit, paranoid about his child growing night-kissed power. Screams of terror fill the dungeons nestled deep down the Court of Nightmares, a predatory smile stretched in his face, the blood of others dripping down his mask.

Wherever he goes, havoc follows. Destruction. Despair. Not a single face is welcoming at the sight of him unless he’s disguised. His brother fears him sometimes. He understands him, truly. Most nights he fears himself. Scared that, even for a millisecond, he might come to lose control of the darkness brewing in his soul. Might let free the shadow-being that can shapeshift into him; the being that lives for ruination and mayhem.

What is time, if not the meaning you attach to the memories you make?

Memories are his own personal Hel.

Azriel would rather forget them all.

~~~

A dark shape comes closer, withered bony hands probing and prying

Tension radiates from his head to his toes.

‘Madja.’

His quiet sight of sigh of relief is missed by the female.

‘Healer.’

The weary low whisper of his shadows are a balm to his ears.

If can hear them again, he's getting better.

Azriel will heal.

He'll survive.

~~~

Her silence is deafening.

He can’t take it no longer.

Azriel pries one eye open.

Brightness is blinding.

Closed it is.

His voice is rough from disuse, painful to push out.

"You wail like an old lady.”

It’s the wrong thing to do; announce he is conscious, able to speak, to an over emotional Cassian. His brother takes his jab as an invite, jumping on top of him, nearing crushing his half-healed body in a bear hug. Coughing hurts. Cassian helps him to sit up.

Exhaustion is hard to combat.

~~~

Once awake he leaves the healing bay under hard protest from the elderly female. His shadows know where to go even if he doesn't. It's not hard to find her. He does let himself be seen by others.

She lays in bed all day.

He can see Nesta constantly tries do feed her, but for the looks of it, her efforts are not fruitful.

Her light is dimmed, hollowed, wrong. There's no smile to rival the sun now. Silent tears fall down her face, their scent filling the bedroom with salt. It’s a horrible sensation to feel powerless again after so long. For a moment he’s nothing but a boy, alone in the dark. Azriel hates it. He needs the sun to live.

‘There’s no one here,’ his shadows sing. ‘Far away. Gone.’

The statement leaves him puzzled. She is right in front of him, yet they speak as if she left the place, only traces of her sadness lingering behind.

Rhysand doesn't voice his intent, but Azriel knows all the same. The shadows are quick to inform his brother wants to meddle in her mind, nudge her out of bed, oblige her to eat. Azriel’s hand flies to his chest by pure instinct, fingers curling over his shirt.

“Don't."

"This little girl has not eaten a single morsel since she got here."

He knows. But they have all been there before. Struggling with the harsh reality of life. All immortals do.

"Give her time."

“How do you expect me to explain to Feyre her sister died from starvation? She will eat.” Not his brother anymore, not now.

The male in front of him is every inch of a High Lord, the imperative tone leaving no place to question whether this is a request or an order. Azriel doesn’t care. He stands taller. Wings flaring behind his back.

“She will. When she’s ready.” He doesn’t want his brother in her mind. Wandering, prying, exerting influence.

Azriel knows Rhysand well; knows his habit of acting “in favor” of the ones he cares for. A beautiful disguise to cover his own selfish agenda. To protect them, he says, to protect you. Azriel knows better. Knows the seeds he can plant in one’s mind, knows the gates are left wide open for him to return whenever he seems fit, do whatever he judges necessary.

“Let her be.”

“I do not understand you.” Cunning violet eyes set on the shadows gathering over him. “Is this girl a problem to my court? Is that why you are set on killing her?”

Hazel eyes gleam with violence. No one’s dying on his watch. Not her. Never her. Still, the mention of death sends his siphons flaring to life, a cobalt haze engulfing the corridor, Rhysand’s own night power rises in alert, his wings snapping into existence, expanded to their full length. Azriel's are bigger, they both know it. Smirking, Rhysand myst his away, feigning not to notice he came up short.

“Calm down.” His High Lord demands. “What is wrong with you?”

Illyrian pride, Azriel feels no pleasure in recognizing, burns in veins as he tucks his wings.

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t understand. None of them do. “Nothing at all.”

Azriel turns back to her bedroom door, warding her with the most reliable weapon he has; his shadowsinger magic. Ancient, powerful, inconspicuous. He trusts no one. Never has. Is how he survived for so long.

Azriel watches his brother’s every move, makes sure he’s not crossing lines meant to be respected.

Rhysand stays out of Elain’s head.

As long as Azriel stays near to guard her.

~~~

Elain finds her way to the library.

The windows are closed, heavy rain tapping against the glass where her palm is pressed, forehead glued to the surface, peering down at the fat dark clouds, the city far underneath. She's finer, brittle. Shadows slithering into the room, hiding between the crevices of the hardwood floor, mingling with the shades cast by the faelights.

‘She’s back."

"She’s here.’

The message is delivery to his ears alone, yet, Elain moves as soon as they speak, head snapping to her left. Toward the shadow who ventured closer to her, curling under the armchair leg.

“I want to go home.”

A heavy weight settles on his chest. How could he tell her that there was no home left to return to? Now that she was made into High Fae, there would be no warm welcoming for her in the human lands ever again.

Her lips tremble. “You don’t know that.”

Her forehead returns to the cold glass. “He is waiting for me.”

Is not wishfulness he hears when she speaks. Is assurance. Unbreakable trust. Blind faith. Elain is sure her fiancé is worried about her. Waiting for her to return. Azriel clasps his hands behind his back to hide the shaking.

The scent of the older Archeron burns his nostrils as she barrels in the library, gasping at the sight of her sister; out of bed, bathed, dressed in fresh cloths. Speaking. Nesta has not heard Elain’s voice in weeks.

“You are up.” She marvels. “How are you feeling?”

Azriel can hear the quake in her voice. He knows she’d never cry in front of one of them. Nesta’s tears are reserved for the privacy of her own room, in the dead of night, when she thinks all of them have gone to bed.

“I want to go home.” Elain repeats, not looking at them. “I want to go home.”

It’s too much for him to bear.

Azriel leaves the House of Wind.

He doesn’t fly far, doesn’t land anywhere.

It’s not long before he’s back. Alert and vigilant.

Azriel has many eyes and ears spread along the realm, fae eager to please him and prove their value, even if through the menial task of watching a female who spent most of her days in a catatonic state.

Azriel doesn't delegate.

None of them are trust worthy.

None of them are good enough.

None of them is sharper than the spymaster.

~~~

Her lower lip is trapped between her teeth, face lost in concentration. With a sigh, Elain pushes the board game away from her.

“I give up.” She looks over her shoulder, eyes fixed on the empty sofa. “I cannot figure how to play this.”

One blink and Azriel materializes from the shadows, elbow perched on the arm rest, chin in hand.

“It’s a game for two.”

Elain stands, rounding the table to pull the other chair with a flourishing gesture. A silent invitation. It never occurred to Azriel how difficult it is to hide a smile. He doesn’t have the habit of doing so.

His steps are calm and assured, Azriel going to the opposite side of the table, pulling her chair. Elain quirks one brow up, nodding at the chair she has classified as his. He never sits with his back to the doors or windows, so the chair whose back remain to the stone wall are, by default, his.

“I believe I was sitting you.”

“Ladies first.” A human custom. One to be mocked, and frowned upon, by those brought up by a race where females are downgraded. He's made sure to learn them all.

There's no price to the glow in her eyes.

He pushes her chair back in.

Azriel wears no armor today –haven’t for a couple of days now. His gloves come off like a second nature, carelessly shoved in the pocket of his pants, a single siphon dangling in a chain under his black shirt, shifted into a necklace. At least one has to remain. It's safer this way.

Elain interlace her fingers beneath her chin, watching him settle each piece in its correspondent place, long scarred fingers organizing the thirty-two ivory miniatures with careful precision. Dragon and horse-rider are put side by side, but all the goblins stay in the front, like a protective wall. Elain cocks her head to the side, the pattern turning recognizable.

“Is it… fae chess?”

She sounds “fae” like a curse. A forbidden word that should not be said by well-bread ladies. The sharpness of her mind is always a thing of wonder for him.

“Similar.”

“Are you good at it?” Elan asks softly, as if she’s afraid of disrupting his concentration, or being responsible for him misplacing a knight.

“I'm adequate.”

“You are good at it.” She declares.

Her innate confidence in him has his wings jerking behind his back, a quick sharp flare he's even quicker to tame. Shadows skitter in delight. What’s wrong with you. Behave.

"I haven't play it in roughly a hundred years."

"A hundred years!” A small laugh escapes her. “So dramatic."

“Am I?”

Elain lifts her eyes from the board, ready to shower him with reasons for judging him so, when they catch on his wings. Two large membranous appendages shaped like the ones of a bat, thick veins running under the leathery skin which expand and contract, before comfortably fitting between the slits in the chair.

Wings.

Because he is not human.

Neither is she.

The room spins, walls closing in on her. The gurgling of water is deafening, black dots edging her vision, ghost hands tugging her legs. Oh no. Azriel’s lips are moving, but she can’t hear a word he’s saying. She can’t hear anything but that heinous cackling laugh, mocking her, the same way it did when she drowned. Elain hyperventilates.

Her hands fly over the boardgame, meeting his halfway, colorful ivory pieces falling down with a loud thump. She grabs onto him, short nails digging on the bump curves of his scars. His scars are real. Azriel is real. He’s not speaking anymore, just breathing, deeply, the painful squeeze of her hand instigating her to follow. She does.

Azriel is aware Elain is remembering she’s no longer human, knows unwanted memories are striking her the same way they do to him in the dead of night. He knew she was about to be triggered the moment her gaze locked in his wings, eyes widening together with the quickening in her breath, confusing swiping her features. They are more infrequent now, her panic attacks, but every once in a while, he witnesses them. Feels her despair as if it was his own, even if he’s not around to help her ride the wave.

It’s a painfully long process to help her calm down. Time matters not to him.  Azriel has only Elain in his mind.

Slowly – so, so, slowly – Elain feels the walls retroceding to their original place, the ceiling high and above, not even close from crushing her skull. Her suffering sigh of relief breaks the tense silence, vexed shadows quieting at the feet of their master but refusing to vanish, the everlasting eyeless watch following her with keen attention.

One of his hands start to leave hers.

"Don't let me go!" Elain yelps helplessly.

"I won't." The hand doesn't go far, cradling her face, his thumb swiping the solitary tear running down her cheek. "I won’t."

He stays with her.

Azriel stays with Elain and does not let go.

~~~

“You are letting me win.” Elain sulks. "Stop that."

Azriel finds her complain endearing, but then again, many things she does can be classified that way.

"I'm teaching you. Enjoy while it last."

"You have the power to destroy me."

“Where’s the fun in that?” Elain moves her remaining dragon to eminent extermination. He holds her hand before the piece can touch the board – losing the right be moved– guiding her to place it two squares below the one she aimed for. "I can teach you better tactics," he wiggles his brows, "war strategies."

“No, thank you. I want to bargain.”

Hazel eyes find her so fast Elain feels a little dizzy. He tends to do that to her, steal her breath.

"Bargains are more than an agreement between the fae." He begins carefully.

"I know." Elain says calmly.

"They cannot be broken."

"I know."

"We'll be bound by magic."

"I'm aware."

"And you still want to bargain?"

"Yes."

"With me?"

"Yes."

"Over a match you'll certainly loose?"

"I will not lose." Elain scoff with confidence. Azriel places a hand in front of his mouth. She slaps it away. "Do not laugh, I will not lose."

He shouldn't do it. Azriel knows he should not do it.

"Name it."

He never had a chance. Azriel is a slave to competition.

“We’ll have another match. If I win, I want you to teach me how to winnow.”

“We don’t need a bargain for that. I can teach you regardless.”

“No,” Elain shakes her head, declining politely. “I want to earn it. I win, you teach me. And if you win,”

“When I win,” he corrects her, relaxing on his chair. Elain rolls her eyes.

“If you win,” she begins again with annoyance. “I’ll grant you a wish.”

“The conditions?”

“None.” She states with a little shrug. Azriel sits properly, the devil in him giving her his full attention. “I’ll grant you a wish of your choosing. Any wish.”

“Any wish?” He asks, not believing his ears.

“Any wish.” She confirms.

The Shadowsinger rattles his cage, anticipation filling him with energy.

“You should really stipulate more rules.”

“I don’t need to.”

“It’s dangerous to make such a loose bargain.”

“I trust you.”

Well, fuck him.

Elain shouldn’t trust him so easily. Elain shouldn't trust him at all. At this point, Azriel has nothing but bad intent in mind. He tries to scold his features. Is impossible. His lazy smile soon turns into a grin from ear to ear, eyes going wholly black. Azriel rolls his shoulders in a dramatic maneuver, feigning to stretch his muscles, before extending a hand towards Elain.

“My lady.”

“My lord.” Her smirk is supposed to be threatening. She could not be cuter if she tried. “May the best one win.”

“That one happened to be me.”

They shake on it. Magic instantly zaps between them, rising up his arm. Their hairs stood up a little. They move at the same time, Azriel returning her curls back in place as Elain flattens his. They smile at each other.

“Best be ready to lose.” She sings excitedly, smoothing his ears after she's done with his hair. Contouring the round shape of it. “I have a secret up my sleeve.”

She doesn’t.

Azriel wins

~~~

It isn’t until much later that he realizes she lost on purpose.

Because Azriel learns from Cerridwen that Elain has known how to winnow since Fall.

~~~

The pungent stench of burnt food brings her back to reality, where she stands frozen in the middle of the kitchen, dark smoke rising from the oven. Elain knows is useless, but she still rushes to save her pie. In her hurry, she forgets to put the gloves, burning her hands in the hot pan, which she hastily drops in the counter.

“Shit!” the hushed curse is inevitable.

People curse so much in this household, is beginning to rub on her.

Elain holds her injured hand to her chest, breathing heavily as the images of her vision flash one last time before her eyes, the details fogged, hazy. What was it that she saw? It has vanished now, she cannot remember.

On her peripheral view, Elain can see a body emerging from thin air, a silver fork shining in a scarred hand as he nicks a piece of the pie.

“Wait!” She gasps.

Her warning comes too late. He’s eating it already.

Elain covers her mouth in horror, watching him chew a generous piece of the burned pastry, eyes trained on the movement off his strong jaw, the elegant bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows the lumpy mix. Her mouth feels dry.

She licks her lips, feeling unsettled for an entirely different reason. “I don’t think that’s edible…”

“Uncooked and burned at the same time,” Azriel comments, staking the fork in the middle of the pie. “That’s some skills you have there.”

“Just spit it out.” She asks with shame, looking around the messy kitchen, mentally moping about all the cleaning she has to do before remaking the desert.

He’s behind the counter now, the beautiful cobalt stone on top of his fingerless gauntlet flickering quietly as he asked for her hand, the pale skin of her palm turned to a raw pink. She hisses as he touches the edges, their eyes meeting briefly.

‘Does it hurt much?’ His say.

‘I’ll live.’ Hers answer.

Azriel turns the faucet on, briefly testing the temperature.

The back of her hand rests on his open palm as cold water cools the wound. They stand close, the hard muscles of his torso pressed to her side, brushing against her with every rise and fall of his chest.

“It’s superficial,” he tranquilizes her, “give it an hour and you’ll be good as new.”

An hour. A wound that before would have peeled her skin, blistered and swollen, before probably leaving a scar would now heal within the hour. A shiver runs down her spine.

Azriel notices her tension right away; the scrunch of her nose, the downward tug of her lips, the twitch of the fingers on his hand. He makes not comment, doesn’t chastise or console her either, letting her process her emotions at her own time and pace. He knows Elain struggles with her new body, but it is not his place to comment when he cannot stand his own Illyrian features from time to time –the facial structure that resembles his father.

Her eyes fall closed, ears twitching at the array of sounds. His controlled breathing, rhythmic heartbeat, nose buried in her hair, the subtle inhale of her scent, his lips pressing ever so slightly on the top of her head. Elain is getting used to dampening her super hearing, but sometimes... Sometimes she let her abilities unchecked.

The faucet is turned off.

Elain opens her eyes, silently watching as he calls a shadow, a small metallic container appearing on his previously empty hand. Azriel unscrews the lid, applying a generous coat of a greenish ointment on her skin, soothing the burn. A moan of relief escape from her lips. He smiles.

“You are quite vocal.” Azriel comments.

“You make me feel good.” She sighs contently.

Azriel pauses, and so does Elain, gauging his reaction. It’s a genuine confession, not one stirred from the act of care he’s demonstrating right now, but one born from the combination of all the ones done before that.

“Azriel."

He doesn't trust his voice to answer.

"Mmh?"

"You make me feel good.” Elain repeats. Feelings she’s been trying to tame bleed out from her heart. Pouring like a torrent.

He drowns in it.

Gladly.

One kiss to her palm, then he is pressing it to his heart.

“You make me feel good too, sweetheart."

And she does.

Azriel feels like he has it now.

Light.

Not to purge the darkness.

But to shine the brightest where his darkness is.

[sapaul]

It’s the fact that Azriel’s biggest insecurities are his scarred hands, and it’s also the fact that Elain likes to garden without gloves causing her to get scars, and she thinks they are beautiful.

[nikethestatue]

Hold on and don’t make a sound

Art: mine

Elriel Month 2024

[withclawandvine]

happy @elriel-month besties! here’s a little drabble inspired by this part of the prompt description for today: “…imagine all the ways in which elain and azriel hide their ever-growing love from others.” 

i’m sure there’s a lot of thought that goes into covering your tracks when you’re dealing with fae senses. 

title: leave no trace behind, like you don’t even exist

wc: 1.3k • warnings: none • read on ao3 here!

Azriel stirred awake the moment he felt Elain shift under him. Predawn light filtered through the sheer panels hanging in front of Elain’s bedroom window, faint enough that it could be easily ignored, if he closed his eyes again. It was tempting. 

But they’d already pushed this part back farther than was wise — the part where they said their goodbyes, then spent the next few days in lonely beds, on fresh sheets, like any other time Vanserra was expected in the city. A routine that was only getting more difficult with time. 

Gentle fingers combed through Azriel’s mussed hair, and the shiver that buzzed down his spine had him curling further into Elain, nestling his face into the softness of her stomach and tightening his hold on her waist. He sighed, feeling like an overgrown housecat, lazy and spoiled by affection.

The fingers in his hair slid down his face to rest under his chin. Azriel let his head be nudged upright until he was blinking blearily up at Elain. Her eyes were bright, no signs of the sleepiness he was barely fighting off, and the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth was fond. 

“Good morning, love,” she murmured. 

Azriel didn’t return the greeting, partly because he didn’t have the chance before Elain had curled in on herself until she was brushing her lips against his, and partly because he had little faith in his ability to say the words and even sound like he meant them. 

He knew that was the exact sort of thing that had earned him all the teasing from his family for being broody — present company included — but Elain didn’t call him out on it. She didn’t say anything as she wiggled out from under him, lingering only for the moment it took to kiss his brow. 

With his face now half-buried in the warm spot she’d left behind, Azriel watched Elain pluck the top sheet from where it lay crumpled at the foot of the bed and drape it over her shoulders as she made her way to the big window overlooking her side of the bed. Despite the early morning chill, she threw it wide open, letting the breeze carry in the scent of dew and salt. 

She ricocheted from window to window without looking at him, moving with a businesslike air unbefitting of someone wearing a wrinkled bedsheet as a cloak. 

Azriel should follow her lead and take off through one of those freshly-opened exits, heed the call of the wind. But Elain’s way of shielding anything ugly or painful behind armor of indifference was beyond his grasp. Everything about Azriel — his love and his loathing, the misery and hope and rage — stalked under his skin, always ready to claw their way out.

He could refuse to talk about certain things, but he could never quite keep them hidden. Especially from Elain, who had a certain knack for recognizing his quirks and habits, as well as teasing out the thoughts and memories that had spawned them. 

After centuries of yanking truths out of traitor’s mouths like teeth — and, on some occasions, extracting both, because it was hard to lie through a mouth full of blood — getting Elain to open up had required a gentleness Azriel wasn’t sure sure he still possessed until it happened.

Until he woke up one morning and realized Elain Archeron was no longer a mystery to him; she’d shown him her scars and the places she went to hide from her sisters. He knew that she still feared her gifts and felt guilty for never mourning her mother the way she did her father. Her favorite color was lavender and she took her tea with honey, not sugar, and a splash of cream so small it seemed negligible. 

But Elain insisted she could taste it, so Azriel stirred it in dutifully and carefully, mindful of the delicate cup. He stuck the spoon in his mouth and nodded to himself, satisfied, then followed the whisps of jasmine- and honeysuckle-scented steam seeping out from the gap under the bathroom door, and swirling in the open air of the bedroom, enticing his shadows to dance with them. 

Elain had one foot in the bathtub when Azriel let himself in. 

She glanced over her shoulder at him, a hint of surprise breaking through the distant look in her eyes. “I thought you left.” 

“I am, but…” he nodded to the teacup.  

Her shoulders sagged, all of the prim rigidity seeping out of her. She was, he realized, letting him see her — not just her body, but the dolor she’d been trying to protect him from. That she was trying not to feel herself. 

Azriel held out his free hand for Elain. Her fingers wrapped lightly around his open palm, holding on as she sank into the frothy water, and didn’t let go until he handed her the drink. With both hands cupped around the mug, she brought it to her face and inhaled the sweet aroma. 

Azriel stepped back, feet heavy with reluctance. 

“You can —” 

��I should —” 

Stay. 

Go. 

But both sentences remained unfinished; there was neither an invitation nor a dismissal. Azriel was caught in the doorway like the breath in his throat; proper sunlight was finally making its way inside, casting Elain in a divine glow. Worshipful eyes devoured the sight glistening skin, the stretch of her leg when she scrubbed her feet, the rivulets of water racing down her spine. 

Elain stopped to drink some of her tea, peering at him from behind the rim of the teacup with dusky cheeks that said she knew he’d been staring. He wanted to do so much more than look. Any other day, he could climb in behind her, be the one to run a soapy cloth over her back, her wrists, and her throat — the places her body was the warmest and would project his scent with every heartbeat. Places he’d traced with his tongue and teeth.

Azriel hadn’t realized he was drifting back toward her until his knees hit the copper ledge of the bathtub. 

Reaching for her now all but defeated the point of the bath, the stripped bed, and the open windows. But her hair was still dry and sleep-wild, so Azriel let his fingers weave through it, cradle the back of her head with his palm. He bent down to kiss the top of her head, breathing in the lingering traces of earth and afternoon sun, braided with his own scent.

Elain might not have been his mate, but there was still something inside him, deep and primordial, that ached at the idea of her rinsing it away. That dreaded having to go home and do the same.

She tilted her head back, glancing up at him. And she must not have liked whatever was lurking in his eyes, because her brow crumpled, even as she tried to smile. 

“It’s just a week,” she said, more to herself, Azriel thought, but he nodded anyway. There were remaining days before Vanserra’s arrival, and then the two nights he was expected to stay. 

“Not even enough time to miss me.” 

His light, affectionate pinch of her cheek coaxed a genuine grin out of her, even as she chided, “I thought you promised to stop underestimating me.” 

It would perhaps be more accurate to say that Azriel underestimated himself, that he was somebody worth missing.  

Of course, he’d never voice such a thought — another one of those things he refused to talk about. But it didn’t matter, because Elain knew anyway. She guided his hand from her cheek to her lips.

“I love you,” she promised, punctuating the words with a kiss to his knuckles, and Azriel closed his eyes, imagining the day he wouldn’t have to wash his hands of it.

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

in the dark of the longest night

elriel month prompt three: happy solstice

A special thank you to @duskcowboy for this collaboration! She approached me with her absolutely stunning idea for art and asked me if I'd be interested in telling the story behind her commission, promptly knocking me out of my writing slump. It was a pleasure working on this with you & PLEASE check out the stunning artwork that goes along with this fic here.

It was well past midnight as Elain knelt on the cool stone tiles of the small patio just outside her bedroom, the square paved alcove smattered with a collection of decorative pots that she attentively cared for. Her fingers had grown frigid and cold from the frost, but she continued her work, brushing the freshly fallen snow from the leaves of her beloved plants.

Elain had always been able to adapt to most conditions and environments with ease. Her ability to read a room and conduct herself with a graceful poise not many possessed was a strength of its own. She was able to flourish both in the spotlight and on the sidelines and was content to do both. However, every year since her arrival to Velaris, she found herself quietly savouring the dark tranquillity that was so unique to the night of Winter Solstice.

As a human, she’d always missed the flowers whenever the winters would roll around, the lands left grey and covered in sleet for months below the wall. But here, in Prythian, she’d been introduced to varieties of flowers that would thrive and bloom even in the dead of winter. Not many, and not in any massive palette of colour, but the few she was able to collect were still better than the arid dirt flowerbeds that she’d been forced to tolerate in her former life.

Snowdrops, Alpine Roses, Winter Aconites, Glory of the Snow; she had gathered their various bulbs and planted them all. Some were currently mere green seedlings, the frosts of Solstice a tad too harsh for their needs. Others had already sprouted, boasting their starry blue, pink and white petals, the bright blooms peeking through the ice. 

Elain had enjoyed tending to her small garden in the winter, taking to simply wrapping herself in her fur-lined blue cape and heading out to her courtyard to check on the plants’ progress. The garden exuded a different type of silence and serenity in the winter. It wasn’t riotous and alive like it was in the summer, nor in the metamorphosis of its rebirth like the spring, but rather a steady and muted calm which helped her slow her racing mind.

So, when sleep would elude her like it often did these days, she’d find herself out on her small patio in the moonlight, hands caked with frosty earth to pass the darkest lonely hours. 

Still dressed in the fine amethyst gown she’d worn for the Solstice party, Elain was crouched beside a large pot of her favourite winter blooms, her Black Tulips. She smiled at the striking obsidian flowers, the deep, opulent colour of the petals so at odds with the freshly fallen white snow that delicately clung to its folds. The merchant in the Palace who had sold her the bulbs had told her they were also known colloquially in Velaris as Queen of the Night. The thought made her smile.

As she continued her work in the tranquillity of the quiet night, the crunch of snow under a heavy boot made her freeze momentarily, before a soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She knew he was more than adept at masking his presence, ensuring he could gather that all important sensitive information without the possibility of being found. No, he could move through this world without producing a single sound. That misstep was solely for her benefit, an indication for her ears alone, to enlighten her to his presence in the dead of the longest night.

From her position on the patio, she glanced towards the vast gardens of the river house beyond her stone balustrade and spotted the handsome Shadowsinger striding toward her private courtyard. He was still clad in his Solstice finery too, the tailored black jacket hugging his warrior’s physique splendidly, the lapels falling open to reveal a fine black shirt beneath that did little to conceal the swells of his muscled chest. He wore an easy smile, his siphons gleaming atop his scarred hands in the night as his shadows trailed behind him like wisps of dark mist.

Arriving at the edge of her small terrace, he halted. His wings remained tucked in tight behind his back but the image he created, as if he had been born from the night—materialised from the very corners of darkness— was not lost on Elain as she stared up at him from her crouched position. 

“Everyone turned in rather early this year,” he offered as an explanation for his appearance.

It had indeed been a shorter affair than years past. They had still made it past midnight as they usually would, but she too had noticed Cassian and Nesta slink off shortly after Feyre’s birthday cake had been served. Feyre and Rhys had followed not far behind as Nyx had finally fallen asleep in a sugar induced coma on his father’s shoulder, his plump lips open and frosting smeared across his rosy cheeks. Mor had been eager to open another bottle of wine and lingered for a while longer, but soon everyone else had dispersed to their various accommodations.

Feyre and Nesta had never been ones to relish in a party, and Feyre still shied away from celebrating her birthday. She also supposed those who were happily mated couldn’t wait to be alone once more. 

A small pang of jealousy needled its way into her heart to nestle beside the happiness she felt for both her sisters at the thought. It wasn’t their fault, but she did envy them for being able to openly be with the one they truly loved… That in their cases, the Cauldron, or the Mother— or whatever deity that deemed itself important enough to pull the strings of fate— had indeed chosen correctly.

Standing from her crouch she dusted her hands off on her cape and tucked her cold hands inside its warm pockets.

“I suppose they were just eager to be alone once more,” she offered slyly, hinting at some of the couples’ very public displays of affection. 

It wasn’t unusual for Feyre and Nesta to be affectionate towards their mates, but for some reason, she found it particularly hard to witness around the Solstice holiday. Elain pushed thoughts of longing aside. She was getting good at doing so.

Azriel huffed a laugh in response. “Mated couples can be quite insufferable.”

Indeed. But she just smiled knowingly in response, the secret glances they had traded and eyerolls they had stifled throughout the Solstice festivities earlier in the evening sparking a warm glow in her chest. It was nice to know he understood her.

Azriel came another step closer, and it was then that she noticed he had been carrying something in his hands, her gaze catching on what he held between his fingers.

“In all the haste, I didn’t get the chance to show you these.”

He held out his hand, offering Elain what she could only describe as a bunch of thin, rolled up paper straws, about eight inches long.

She glanced from the paper sticks in his hands and back to his face, trying to mask the utter confusion she felt at his perplexing offering, not wanting to offend him or seem ungrateful for the strange gift.

Slowly reaching out her hand to take one, she asked tentatively, “Sorry, but— what are they?”

Azriel smiled, a dimple appearing in his smooth cheek as his head tilted to the side, his dark hair falling into hazel eyes. Beautiful. He was so beautiful. Elain never tired of it.

“They’re called fire flowers. They’re an old tradition from the Winter Court and customary at times of celebration. I thought you’d appreciate them.”

Elain’s confusion only grew. Fire flowers? She had never heard of such a thing.

“Do I…plant them?”

Azriel chuckled this time, his hazel eyes gleaming in the surrounding darkness.

“Let me show you,” he responded simply. 

Separating one of the paper straws from the bundle and handing Elain the rest, he removed a flint from his pocket, lighting the end of the stick and then holding it out before him.

At first nothing happened, or so she thought, until she noticed a small round red bud at the tip Azriel had lit. The small droplet glowed in the darkness where Azriel held the fire flower between them. Before she had much time to ponder on it however, a spark shot out from the lit tip like a small slash of lightening in the night sky, startling Elain and causing her to jump a surprised step back. The spark was followed by another and another and another; streaks of light flying in all directions with the radiant bud glowing at its centre.

Elain’s mouth popped open into a delicate O at the glittering display. The sparks looked like petals.

The fire petals danced and fizzed as the stick held between Azriel’s fingers withered until they finally slowed down in momentum and waned, the dark night enveloping them once more in its embrace.

Elain stared at the place where the fire flower had glowed, so bright and majestic for all of a few brief moments before it had been swallowed into the veil of darkness once more. It had been there one second, and the next…gone.

An unexpected, nostalgic feeling of melancholy threatened to engulf her. How could something so bright, so joyful, only be granted such a fleeting moment in time to shine?

The thoughts came crashing down upon her suddenly, but she allowed them to take their course. They seemed poignant in this moment. 

It elicited thoughts of her human life, so brief and fleeting. And although her new life in this fae body was something she had well-adjusted to since, she still found herself wondering sometimes, what if?

Overcome with emotion, her bright eyes lined with unshed tears, she looked up at Azriel. “May I try one?”

He smiled, his handsome face a display of heart-shattering beauty. “Do you really like them?” he asked somewhat trepidatiously. 

She’d never known the spymaster to be unsure of himself. She smiled again, broadly this time. She needed him to know how meaningful his gift was, regardless of the size of its gesture. He had clearly thought she would enjoy them, and he was right.

“I love them. Azriel, thank you.”

His shoulders sagged slightly, as if he had been holding his breath for her reaction, but he didn’t say another word as he edged closer to her, striking the flint once more, the small sparks enough to light the end of the fire flower.

This time Elain watched with wide eyes as the glowing bud slowly formed, growing on the end of her straw before the sparkling petals started dancing and crackling quietly in the night, before its bright light once again waned and ultimately winked out. 

Life, death, rebirth.

Elain shivered at the thought and Azriel, mistaking her reaction as a result of the cold air, sidled up to her and wrapped a mighty wing around. His proximity warmed her almost immediately as he sheltered her from the icy wind. She tilted her head up and gave him a soft smile of thanks, her thick unbound curls cascading down her back with the movement. Hazel eyes met her own as a flash of heat passed between them, but he just offered her his own dimple-popping smile in return.

Azriel lit sparkler after sparkler for them as they spent the remainder of the long night outside. Snow had begun to softly fall around them, but they barely noticed it quietly blanketing the world around them. Elain and Azriel simply relished in each other’s presence amongst the flowers and nightfall, conversation flowing freely once more between the Shadowsinger and the Seer.

*******

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[bloomingdarkgarden]

This Could Never Be A Mistake

A snippet in which Azriel confesses his feelings for Elain. Post ACOSF / Warnings: Angst, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Language Full Chapter on A03

“I want you,” Elain said softly, holding his gaze. “I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone, or anything.”

Azriel swallowed thickly, his restraint simmering. He slowly came towards her, chalice in hand.

“When you look at me that way,” he murmured, drawing closer, “and say such wicked things- ” he swallowed a bit of wine, “- you make it rather hard for me not to touch you.” his voice was a velvet caress.

Azriel drew closer, slowly, until he stood just before her.

Elain only looked at him and sent every aching ounce of want into her deep, brown eyes.

The beat of the drums in the distance swelled.

“I want you to touch me, Azriel.” she said, looking up to him. “I want you to touch me everywhere.”

Azriel groaned, running his hand across his face.

“Please.” she whispered, looking up at him, only a few inches away. All haunted eyes and ancient wings and caressing shadows. Every dark, broken dream she had ever had.

Azriel seemed unable to deny such a soft request, so he dared to step closer. Elain’s lips parted in invitation.

The drumbeats became wild.

And then finally, slowly, the shadowsinger leaned in, his resolve buckling- only to still completely, a breath away from her.

And then he inhaled ever so slightly, dark head cocking. Elain watched as something that could only be described as icy shock washed over his features.

Yet he did not step away.

“Why,” he whispered, his voice sharp enough to cut glass, “do I scent Lucien on your skin?”

His voice sliced through the haze in her mind, in her gaze. And Elain swallowed slowly.

She stared at Azriel, at a loss for a moment, and began to murmur under her breath, “how on earth-”

“Why?” he said, louder this time, stiller than death.

Elain’s brows lowered at the sound, at the reproach in his voice. She could feel him pulling away. Leaving. Again. Always leaving. There was no way in hell she was letting it happen again.

“Because we went riding.” she stammered as he pulled away, “After lunch, we went riding.”

“Then why,” he repeated, “do I scent him on your skin, Elain?” Azriel’s eyes were wild.

The drumbeats in the distance hammered on.

“Because he-” she swallowed, “- he kissed me.” Elain said simply, honestly, not ashamed, not backing down.

One moment Azriel was standing before her and the next he was walking away, throwing his chalice against the stone floor, shattering it completely.

“Azriel, please-”

“Is this a game to you?” he whirled, wings trembling. Shock washed over Elain’s face but she stood her ground.

“I didn’t ask for it.” Her voice ripped from her as her own temper rose. “It just happened.”

Azriel’s scarred hands ripped through his dark hair. “That entitled filth.”

“It was all wrong, anyway.” she said, calming her voice, attempting to sooth his anger.

“OF COURSE IT WAS ALL WRONG.” he bellowed at the far wall, and then he drew into himself, running his hands down his face.

“It’s always been fucking wrong.” it was the most undone she had ever seen him. He muttered under his breath then, almost inaudibly, “I’m going to kill that filthy fucking prick.”

The vicious rage leaking from the shadowinger sent a tremor down her spine.

“Azriel calm down.” Elain insisted, her own temper rising again.

“Do not ASK me to do so.” he snapped back. Elain stilled at his sharp tone. Azriel realized it and took a deep breath in. He schooled the anguish from his gaze and allowed something truer, something deeper, to reveal itself beneath. He met her gaze with a sea of churning hazel.

“Do you know that since I have tasted you, fuck, since I have laid eyes on you, that I have thought of you, and you alone, every moment?”

Elain froze completely.

“Do you know each word you have spoken, at Solstice, at Rosehall, at Starfall, has been something I’ve waited an entire lifetime to hear?”

Azriel looked at her, hazel eyes wild and full of need and need and need and all the rest. She knew it was all coming directly from a well of barred emotion, deep within him.

“Do you know that you are every song I have heard in this world, wrapped into one unchained, perfect melody?”

“Do you know that being ordered to stay away from you for a year nearly fractured my miserable fucking soul?”

Every ounce of anger in Elain emptied out at the words. It was more than he had ever shared before, by a landslide.

These confessions were everything. Everything she had never asked. Everything she had needed to hear.

“So forgive me, Elain,” his voice quieted then, wings still shaking, “If I am unable to remain fucking calm when I think of another male’s hands on you.”

Elain realized a fundamental truth in that moment. That her mating bond was not merely an inconvenience to Azriel. It was heartbreaking for him to endure.

His anguish reeled in as he neared, piercing hazel meeting her eyes. And beneath his fury, she saw it there, a word far, far more powerful than need or want or longing.

And that word reached for her.

“Because you do not belong to him.” he said, voice low.

“You belong to no one, but yourself, and the power within you.”

The drums were a warcry in the night.

“But know, here and now,” he breathed, his voice quieting, emotion aching in his eyes as he looked at her,

“That every piece of my own ruined heart belongs to you.”

Elain stopped breathing, tears welling in her tender gaze. She made a small, whimpering noise of need that she couldn’t help. She reached her slight hand towards Azriel, the movement soft.

She reached like a lifeline, she reached like a prayer to a nameless god, she reached.

It was everything. It was everything.

He was only a few feet away, but Elain couldn’t seem to move. Azriel blanched as he watched her reach. Reach for him, for his confession, reach for it all, reach with acceptance and I see you and I see it all, and I have want, I have need, I have need of you, Azriel. And then his restraint shattered completely.

“Damn the Cauldron,” he made a long stride towards her,

“Damn the Stars.” he closed the distance with another.

“This-” Azriel said, grabbing her face with both scarred hands and bringing it within an inch of his own-

“This-” he wrapped his scent around hers, and he looked directly into her soul, making sure she could feel the sensation, the charge, the electricity she could never, ever come close to feeling with anyone else, as he met her eyes.

“This could never be a mistake.”

And then Azriel’s perfect mouth along with his entire body crashed into her own in a fury of need and want and broken resolve, as the drums in the distance silenced entirely.

Read the full chapter on AO3 here.

[tswaney17]

Remember that pregnancy AU I wrote for Elriel Month last year? The one that I said was over after two parts? LOL. I apparently lied. I have two more, short chapters for this AU. Hope you all enjoy it! 💙🌸

Catch up here: A Surprise Bun, A Bun of Truths

@elriel-month

Prompt: Happy Solstice. 💙

I will not be posting full fics for Elriel Month on Tumblr this year. Check out the beginning snippet and link to read more below.

Azriel wandered over toward the large terrace windows, soaking in the brilliant sky painted in pinks, oranges, and blues from the setting sun. He cradled his dozing, not-even-two-month-old son in the crook of his elbow as he took in the glorious gardens, built and tended to by his loving wife before she gave birth. He always loved sitting out in the garden with her before they got together, and even more so now with their two beautiful children.

His exquisite, thriving, perfect wife, Elain.

Today was the first day they left the sanctuary of their cottage since the twins were born, but it was Solstice and Feyre’s birthday, and his wife was antsy to finally get out and reenter the world again. And they both knew he could never say no to her. Even before they were together, it was as if the word was never a part of his vocabulary.

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~~~~~

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[potatoplace]

the 1

Elriel, Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Alternate Endings: Gone | betty | The Prophecy

mini-series masterlist | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: All you had ever wanted to be was plain. And now, as a plain-faced High Fae, you want more. You want your mate.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, self-loathing, suicide

Words: ~2.6k

Author's Note: I'm sorry. (I told you guys I've been having a rough week...) Apparently my brain is saying 'fuck Kinktober!' Even tho like. I WANT to write those... smut just doesn't feel in the cards for me today 😩 so have some tasty tasty angst instead. (I'm also watching an Eras Tour live so I'm hella cheered up now lol)

18+ only pls

🤍💙🩷💙🤍

Self loathing grew in your gut as you watched your family around you.

All of them were happy, reveling in the togetherness that they shared.

And your mate- your mate- was ignoring you. He was speaking to one of your sisters, absolutely enamored with her. And you couldn’t blame him.

Elain had always been the pretty one of the four of you, a shining diamond even in the filth of poverty.

Nesta was the one with regal beauty, her sharp eyes and the way she carried herself not letting anyone think otherwise.

Your twin, Feyre, was stunning, even if she herself had never seen it, the cleverness in her eyes and quiet grace drawing people’s gaze to her.

And then there was you.

You were… the ugly one. Your mother had said so, even though you were only a child when she passed. Your father had quietly agreed with her. Nesta had mocked your looks when she had had a bad day, which was nearly every day while you had been living in the run down hut after your family lost their fortune. Elain said nothing, but shot pitying looks at you when no suitor asked for a dance while you had still been human, even when it had been a ball thrown in your honor for your birthday. Feyre has been the kindest to you, reminding you that it’s what on the inside that counts…

But that didn’t appear to be so.

Even with a mating bond that you knew should draw Azriel’s attention, his eyes were still glued to Elain. He seemed to be able to breathe only when in her presence, taking in the same air as her.

And in your presence? He couldn’t seem to get away fast enough.

Being dumped into the Cauldron had made both of your sisters even prettier, and Feyre was no exception either after being turned High Fae.

For you, it had made you plain. No longer ugly, unless you counted the still crooked teeth and too small nose and thin mouth.

Just plain.

As a human, you had begged to whatever higher power there was that you could just be plain.

But now that you were, you knew it would never be enough.

Because while Feyre was right, your personality mattered more in a long term relationship than your looks, being pretty drew people in.

Being plain only made you fade into the background.

Azriel laughed at something Elain had said, the sound sending warmth through your body.

It should be you making him laugh, not Elain.

Elain, with her beauty and poise and perfect personality and her ridiculously handsome mate who wanted nothing but her time.

Elain, who seemed to want no one and no thing but your mate.

Your Azriel.

You tore your gaze away from the couple, who you already knew were in a relationship. Elain had confessed it to you a month ago, gushing about how their fifth date had gone and how she thought he was the one. She had told you first, knowing that you wouldn’t tell anyone.

After all, who would you tell?

It’s not like you had any friends in Velaris- or in the human lands, for that matter- and your other two sisters were so preoccupied with their mates and growing personal circles that they hardly had the time to look at you, let alone talk to you.

No. You were alone. You were a lockbox for all of her secrets.

Including that she was planning to officially reject the mating bond once Azriel offered a proposal of marriage.

That had made you sick to your stomach, but you had hidden it deep, deep down in your heart as you congratulated her and faked happiness, asking her when she thought he would propose.

“Any day now, I suspect. Azriel told me that he was planning for the future, and wanted to know if I would like to be a part of it,” she had sighed dreamily. “We just need to tell the family, I know that… Rhys was worried about what us being together would mean for court relations. But he’s just being dramatic, don’t you think?” Her chocolate eyes landed on you, so filled with hope that you couldn’t tell her that he was your mate.

“Yes, he’s just worried, ‘Lain. I’m sure everything will be fine,” you managed to say, and relatively normal at that.

That was last night, and while your eyes had drifted to the carpeting, they shot back upwards at the sound of clinking metal on glass.

Your mate, standing with a flute of sparkling wine in his hand and a knife in his other, had his arm locked with Elain’s.

He cleared his throat once he had everyone’s attention, his eyes passing over everyone-

But you. His eyes skipped over you, even now, with the bond flaring in your chest.

“Elain and I have something to announce, though Rhys already knows what it is.” You heard a hand slap against an arm, Rhys’s faked moan of pain, and Nesta scolding her mate. Azriel smiled at their antics, such a rarity on his face that your heart skipped several beats, leaving you lightheaded.

It most certainly wasn’t because of what they were announcing.

“Elain and I have been dating for the past two months, and we would like to make it official with you all now. In fact, the two of us will be moving into a cottage in town later in the month, and we would like to invite you all to join us for a housewarming party in two weeks.”

The inner circle broke into cheers around you, Cassian immediately encasing his brother in his arms and clapping him on the back.

“Congratulations, brother! I know you’ve waited a long time to find love.”

You remained seated where you were, offering a smile to the happy couple but staying put.

If you stood, you were sure to faint. Or be sick. Or both.

Nesta was the only other person who remained where they were, a skeptical look on her face.

“I hate to be the person to bring the party down…” She started, her voice weary. “But what of your mates? Haven’t you wanted one for your whole life, Azriel? What will happen when you find her?”

“If I find her, I will reject the bond, Nesta. My love for Elain eclipses that of what I thought possible, even with a mating bond. Nothing and no one will ever compare to your sister,” Azriel answered, which seemed to be enough to have Nesta’s approval, as she stood and made her way to the couple.

“Then I’m happy for the both of you. But if you ever hurt my sister, you will deal with me,” Nesta warned, ice in her tone.

You didn’t stick around to hear what came next.

Nothing and no one will ever compare to your sister.

And of course, he was right. How could you compare to Elain?

She was beautiful, yes, but she was also a perfect match for Azriel. Kind and caring, always ready to help people, not to mention she would be a wonderful mother.

And then there was you. Plain. Boring. Nothing special.

Even the Cauldron hadn’t thought anything of you, leaving you with a High Fae body but no magic to speak of.

You couldn’t even fathom why you had been made Azriel’s mate when Elain was such a wonderful pairing to him, and had the magical abilities to match.

You stumbled your way to the town house, where you had taken up residence once Feyre and Rhys had finished the river house. Once inside you quickly made it to your room and shucked off your clothes after locking the door.

Bare, you stood before the mirror and assessed yourself. It was a habit you had picked up once your family had regained their fortune after Feyre had been stolen away.

One that brought you no comfort, but you needed to do.

Your physique was fine, you had filled out in the past year of being fae.

But there was nothing… special about you. You were medium height. Your chest was a bit smaller than average. Your legs were on the shorter side, making your torso look too long.

And your legs… they were covered in small white scars.

Another habit that you had picked up, this time after turning fae.

And tonight would be no different.

You suppose the one saving grace of being turned fae was your quick healing, letting you destroy your body without anyone knowing.

And no one ever would, seeing as your mate was on his way to being married to your sister.

A sigh left your lips as you turned to your bed, fishing the small blade you kept underneath out from below the mattress.

Tonight would be no different.

Except now you knew that even if you confessed your bond to Azriel, your heart would be torn to shreds no matter what.

🤍💙🩷💙🤍

It was two months later, during Starfall, that your world crumbled further.

You had donned a plain dress in a midnight blue, with long flowing sleeves and reaching your feet. You had opted for flats, seeing as no one would pay you enough attention to notice if you were in heels or not.

No, no one would notice you at all.

Because Azriel had a ring in his pocket.

One that you had given him advice on, to choose something Elain would love.

A glutton for punishment, that’s what you were as you gazed at the beautiful couple, clad in matching blue outfits and beaming at one another.

You had attempted to stay home that night, only for Azriel himself to personally fly you up to the House of Wind, insisting that you needed to be there for Starfall.

You knew he meant their engagement, though.

He hadn’t even glanced your way once last Starfall, so you knew it wasn’t that you would be missed by him.

Still, you stood on one of the balconies, watching them. Waiting for the moment that your life would be forever altered, never to have a great love.

Because truly, your one chance at a great love was a mating bond. You knew that no one would choose you to spend their life with, not when you were so plain and boring with nothing to draw people in, to get to know you.

They were dancing together, so wrapped up in each other that it was painful to watch.

And then your feet were moving, leading you straight to them. You met them right as the song finished, the two of them just inches apart.

It stung.

“Azriel, may I speak to you for a moment?” You asked without realizing the words had left your mouth. “Alone, please? It will just be a moment, I promise.”

You cringed at yourself.

What were you doing?

Azriel glanced down at Elain, who nodded with a smile. “Of course. I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” he said softly, placing a gentle kiss to Elain’s lips before following you back into the House, away from the commotion.

“What’s this about, Y/N?” Azriel asked in a clipped tone once you were alone, anxiously glancing back to where you had left Elain.

“I…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Are you really going to tell him?

“Well?” He asked impatiently, his shadows swirling around him.

“I… I’m your mate,” you said, the words rushing out all at once, and your tore your eyes away from his face and to the floor.

“You’re… You’re joking, right?” Azriel asked incredulously.

A dagger of ice to the heart, crafted of your own yearning and longing for him, for your mate.

“No, I… It’s true, Azriel. I am your mate.” Your eyes flicked back up to his face after you said it again, but you wished you hadn’t.

Anything would be better than seeing the horror in his eyes, the disgust twisting his features.

The dagger, forced in further by a hand smacking the hilt.

“You?” Azriel laughed. “Why would the Cauldron make you my mate?”

Twisting, bleeding, shredding your soul apart even as you felt the bond flare to life on his end, the very slightest stumble as he regarded you.

“I… I don’t know…” You whispered, barely audible.

“You’re not my mate,” Azriel said, stepping away from you. “You were never going to be my mate. You’re a fine enough person, sure, but how could you compare to Elain?” He shook his head, snickering to himself. “I suppose these five hundred years of waiting were for nothing. I’ll tell Cassian or Rhys take you back to the town house. Just…” He sighed. “Don’t take it personally. It’s not you, it’s me, hmm?”

And with that, the bond between the two of you was shredded, a wounded cry leaving your lips as you sank to the ground, clutching your chest where it used to reside, glowing brightly and giving you a reason to go on.

“I think it’s best for you to stay away from Elain and I. I wouldn’t want you getting territorial and ripping my love’s throat out of anything. Goodbye, Y/N.”

You barely heard him walk away, so overwhelmed with pain.

Why me?

Why was I his mate?

Why didn’t I just drown in the Cauldron?

With a great deal of trying, you managed to hoist yourself back onto your feet, stumbling your way to one of the unoccupied balconies, still clutching your chest.

Your gaping, empty chest.

Because Azriel still had your heart. He had shredded it, mangled it beyond believe but it still resided with him, leaving you with nothing but a hole where it used to be.

Your legs crashed into the edge of the balcony, your hands flying to the stone to steady you.

But it didn’t help, everything was still spinning, blood rushing in your ears as your heart kept beating somehow, somehow still physically intact even as you felt it was being ripped from your chest over and over and over.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t live.

The very fact that Elain was so casual, so blasé about shredding a bond to bits had you questioning everything you thought you knew about your sister.

How could she condemn someone to this existence?

Because already, you weren’t living.

This couldn’t be living.

It couldn’t be.

You risked a peak over the edge, spying the sharp, jagged rocks below.

If you weren’t living now…

Before you could second guess your choice, you lifted yourself onto the balcony, letting your legs dangle for a moment.

Then you swung them over the stone, to the side that had nothing to catch you.

Well, nothing but the cold embrace of death.

Which at this point would be a welcome reprieve from the fiery hot grief flooding through you, grief at the bond that was never given a chance, a moment to be considered.

But perhaps that was all the consideration you needed. To know that you would only have been a burden of mate to the male you had fallen for.

You took one last, jagged breath into your lungs before you slid off the smooth stone, air rushing past you and-

This must be what it feels like to fly.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria

[leiaamidala]

𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈’𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘…

⊱❊⊰⁣⁣⁣

⁣⁣⁣⤞ art by littlelundmark23

⤞ commissioned by me 

Happy Elriel Month and MerMay!

⊱❊⊰⁣⁣⁣

Instagram | Twitter | @elriel-month

please do not repost.

[bolinhoelriel]

Happy Elriel Month to every sugar plum in this amazing fandom!!! 🌸🦇❤

[casuallivi]

Elriel Month 2023. Prompt 2: Language of Love (Physical Touch) @elriel-month

Tiny pink petals fell over midnight curls, fanned by thick dark lashes to land on the dark collar of his shirt, night-chilled mist and cedar turning out to be a curiously good addition to the syrupy sweet scent of the cherry blossoms getting swayed by the wind.

She watched his eyes wrinkle at the corners, a full set of white teeth infecting her with his joy, hands that used to curl at his side, to avoid touching her, now firmly pressed to her lower back, holding her close, never letting go.

"Kiss me."

He never kissed her straight on the mouth. No. His lips wandered, peppering her forehead, cheeks and nose with equal measures of adoration, contouring her face with tender kisses, only reaching for the final destination when she was breathless and impatient, second away from begging.

Elain wasn't above begging.

Azriel had never been either.

There was nothing shameful where the two were involved. Nothing forbidden. Nothing off limits. Lust was too shallow of a word to describe how deeply they craved each other. Love was too small of a words to encompasses how deeply they felt for each other.

Her knees wavered at the sensation of his lips nearing hers, his hold changing from secure to desperate, the tree bark digging uncomfortably at her back, twigs messing her braid, prickling her scalp. Elain couldn't care less. Not when his tongue darted outside, tracing the seam of her lips, meeting with hers in a slow, wet, and deliberate stroke.

Azriel was a teaser.

But Elain was hungry.

The warm wave of contentment she had been feeling was violently replaced with a furiously possessive instinct rushing under her skin. Elain clung to him, finger hastily waving through his soft hair, capturing the tricky tongue quicker than he could retract. It was like watching a rope that been in poor condition for the longest time, finally snap. Unexpected, but not really. Her victory moan soon was rough as a snarl, like a wild animal staking her claim. And claim him she did.

"That sound," he faltered, voice raspy, barely there. "Do it again." The male was breathless.

Elain understood the feeling, having trouble in finding her own. Until she did.

"Make me."

Hazel eyes lit with the challenge.

Azriel had an unhealthy competitive strike, and Elain was obsessed with indulging in it. What would people say if they knew the neighborhood friendly florist was not so good of a girl? The thought made a rubor spread up her neck. Azriel dove towards her with renewed passion. And Elain received him with arms wild open. They rubbed against each other, struggling to be closer than they already were, wanting to invade each other, to be the same body, share the same flesh, have the same skin.

No begining, no end.

Just them.

[elrielbliss]

✨ @elriel-month W𝘦𝘦𝘬 7: 𝘛𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴 & 𝘈𝘜 ✨

“𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘻𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘭, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵.”

🎨: eguardx on IG

Commissioners: @azrielslight & @elrielbliss

For this Elriel Month we had the fun idea of creating Elain as a celebrity and Azriel being her bodyguard. Azriel may have this brooding personality, but with Elain he has a soft side where he would do just about anything for her - including holding all her shopping bags 😂. We're so happy how this came about and hope you enjoy this fun piece as much as we do!

[starswhogaze]

Happy Elriel Month 🩷💙✨️

Week 1: New Beginnings

@elriel-month

Instagram

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please don't repost without permission 😗

[emilyondemand]

🌸Clandestine Meetings🦇

“. . . torn up by thorns,” I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free.” -Feysand bonus chapter

🌸🌸🌸🌸

When I read this, I couldn’t help but imagine Azriel being the one to find Elain after a mishap with a rosebush and using it as an opportunity to share a stolen, tender moment of caring for her as he has throughout the series.

It would be so poetic for Azriel to be the one to care for and bandage the wounds on Elain’s hands, considering the scars he carries on his hands from his own painful past. @oli_diart is the angel who brought this idea to life for me! I am just in awe of her talent, her attention to detail, and her ability to capture expressions.❤️❤️

And thank you so much to the lovelies running the @elriel-month and for making this event possible! So happy that I can contribute to this beautiful month! 🥰

💜Art by: @oli_diart

💜Commissioned by: me

💜Characters belong to: @sarahjmaas

Find it on Instagram here

Please do not repost without permission

[thecw-unicorn]

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩: 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘽𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

✮♱✮ art by @oli_diart

✮♱✮ commissioned by @throughstarlitfields & me.

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

It’s the greatest pleasure to have worked with the wonderful and lovely @oli_diart and @throughstarlitfields to bring yall this beautiful Elriel piece for @elriel-month with these 2 at Rosehall! @throughstarlitfields and I couldn’t be more happy with this beautiful, stunning piece! We wanted to share a tender moment of Elain and Azriel at Rosehall for the first time, and fully and finally beginning their relationship and embracing and accepting each other’s homes and their pasts.

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

✮♱✮ commissioned for @elriel-month

✮♱✮ characters are Elain Archeron & Azriel.

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

✮♱✮ likes, saves, and shares are always appreciated!

✮♱✮ no reposts allowed.

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.