#it’s easy for him to look down on Nesta because he can’t what it was like to live that way

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn (Part 17)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death,

Word Count: 3058

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16)

Notes: heyyyy what do you know, i found it in me to get this part out. im proud.

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Day 195 Part 3

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You never been one to throw caution to the wind, but with what sits before you, the urge is strong.

Animals were one of the first things to go when disease swept across the world, which is why it’s so difficult not to pick up the juicy chicken breast that’s steaming on the plate in front of you, and completely ravage it.

Your mouth waters at the sight. There are greens, too. A blend of spinach and vegetables cooked to perfection in animal fat. It’s the first real meal you’ve seen in…fuck you don’t even know how long it’s been since you’ve seen real meat like this, nor food that wasn’t expired and from a can.

The only thing keeping your restraint in place is your companions' determination. The sprinkle of common sense that hasn’t fizzled into a ravenous beast at the scent of your meal is easy to overlook, but Azriel’s menacing presence beside you isn’t. His back is ramrod straight in his own seat, and the food doesn’t seem to be affecting him in the slightest. He’s undeterred by their taunts. Instead, his woody eyes drink in your surroundings for the umpteenth time, as if there might be a hint as to what’s really going on here. 

On your other side, you’re flanked by Cassian, who does look like he’s struggling to keep himself from sinking his teeth into the juicy thigh on his plate, however little it might be. It’s more than he’s had to eat in days, months, and he wants it so fucking badly.

In fact, no one’s touching their food, which is a red flag of itself, but your head is swimming at the smells, your stomach a mess of knots that loosen at the idea of food, and tighten at the thought of where your best friend could be.

You’re also a little afraid, if you’re being honest, of getting sick should you eat something this…real after having gone so long without.

Nesta watches you from across the table with a piercing stare. There’s a malice you’ve become accustomed to being fed in the little time you’ve known her. You understand that she’s worried for her sister, out there with little protection, but you’re worried too. You feel as if Feyre is your sister as well. You’ve been winning your own little war against the undead for too long to remember.

At her side is who you can only decern to be her lover, Eris. You ponder their relationship, what you saw in the woods. Perhaps they’re nothing more than companions, but with the way the auburn-haired man keeps stealing glances at her, worry etched in his brow, you know there must be more.

The chair beside Eris is filled with a near clone of him. They have twin eyes and looks of caution on their fox-shaped faces. The unnamed man wears his hair long down his back, a single braid hangs down the side of his face. It’s not a nice one, practiced, but messy, like whoever put it there was distracted more often than not during styling. The only differentiator is the color of their skin, because even the shape of their eyes and their stature is eerily similar. It’s clear that they are nothing like their scumbag of a father, and the thought of Beron alone makes you shiver in your seat.

There’s an empty seat beside him, and you can’t help the stab of guilt you feel at the sight of it. You don’t know if they’ve lost someone important to their little unit they have going on here, or if there’s a reason for the unoccupied seat.

Cassian’s stomach growls loudly, breaking the terse silence. 

“Everything is safe to eat, I can assure you,” Eris mentions after clearing his throat. Nesta shoots him a look that could make even a zombie cower, but he must be used to it because he takes the betraying look with grace, gently settling a palm onto her lap.

Nesta doesn’t shove it away like you expect her to. Instead, her lips go razor thin. The pair stare at each other so intensely that you feel like you’re intruding on something monumental.

Eventually, Nesta breaks. With a sharp inhalation, she turns her gaze to you. She doesn’t look happy, but at least she doesn’t look like she wants to reach across the table and maul you for losing her sister.

“Eat,” she all but demands. She cringes, grits her teeth, and adds like the words are truly poison in her mouth, “Please.”

“You’ll excuse us if we don’t trust you,” Azriel replies curtly. Your eyes soften as they land on him, even if his gaze is trained on your hosts. Weeks ago, he’d been wary of you, and now he’s here protecting you from the outsiders that are holding you captive.

You’ve never been so thankful for him, and you remind yourself to thank him for it later.

“Don’t eat, then.” Nesta shrugs as if his words don’t bother her in the slightest. Your whereabouts of Feyre seem to have caught her off guard because right now she is the perfect poise of excellence. Her nature could give any queen a run for their crown.

She’s the first one to dig into her meal. She uses the cutlery as if they’re weapons, tearing into the meat with a force that has you praying to any higher being that Feyre and Rhys are on their way to you, because you do not want to be on the other end of Nesta’s knife.

Your eyes flicker back down to your plate, to the shiny silverware placed on either side of your plate. Hell, you’re not even sure you remember how to use them anymore, with how long you’ve had to make do on the road.

“Please, eat,” Eris counters with a stern look that doesn’t affect Nesta in the slightest. Eris motions to his brother and they both pick up their forks, as if trying to show you everything is okay.

“I don’t trust the animals, either,” Azriel responds.

“How about the vegetables, then?” Eris offers, and you think you catch a glint of pleading in his amber eyes. You think he’s trying to keep things civil and calm for Nesta’s sake. You’re sure she’s worried to pieces about her littlest sister out there when the sun is so close to hiding away for another night of hell. “The animals are perfectly healthy, though I assure you the food will not go to waste if you don’t eat it.”

“How are they safe?” Cassian questions, grimacing down at the meat. You know that he out of everyone in your little group needs it the most. You’ve seen his protruding ribs only yesterday, and with him being the biggest in your group, he needs the nutrients more than anyone.

A sudden urge of protectiveness washes over you. You want him safe and healthy, want both him and Azriel safe and happy, and you wish more than anything that you could give it to them.

Only time will tell.

Eris gives a very diplomatic response. “My family has owned this land for generations,” he starts, and you don’t like to think of how he is Beron’s son. It makes all of the desperation to eat, subside. “We have been raising and breeding our own meat and dairy for just as long. They have never showed signs of disease, but perhaps it’s because they live a life unknowing of what goes on in this world.” You’re not following, but Eris continues before your confusion causes you to blurt out questions.

“My brother—Lucien,” he nods toward his brother beside him. “Takes care of them. When our father first heard the mumblings of a pandemic so devastating, the world as we knew it would never be the same, he built a bunker of sorts, where we continue to monitor and raise our animals to this day.”

“That was about the only smart thing he ever did,” Lucien mumbles, looking green at the mention of his father.

You get the feeling.

Azriel says, “Yeah, we’ve had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting the bastard.”

Lucien’s utensils fall to the table with a clang that startles you in your seat. He looks sick to his stomach, his ying-yang eyes drawn down to his plate in shame. His shoulders are stiff and he’s gone so still you think he might be comatose, turning into a zombie right in front of your very eyes.

“You’ve met him?” Lucien asks, and he sounds like a little boy, reliving a trauma so ghastly that it’s altered his brain chemistry.

“Met him, killed him,” Azriel shrugs as if it was no big feat. Your stomach roils at the memory and you must look paler than normal because Cassian’s placing a. warm hand over yours in comfort. Azriel’s brashness isn’t new to you, but the reminder is too fresh. You try to focus on your hand in Cassian’s, offering him a weak smile.

The tension in the air seems to disperse with Azriel’s words. You’re pretty sure you see Lucien’s shoulders physically drop in relief, like he feels the same way you do about his father. Eris sits in his seat, stunned, but he doesn’t look upset about the news, he looks more disappointed, like he missed out on being the one to kill the crazy cannibal.

“Well, I think this calls for the good wine,” Nesta says, and you swear you see the corners of her mouth threaten to tug into a satisfied smirk.

She glances at you from across the table, and you pick up your fork.

You hope that this is the first of many things that you will agree with her on.

There is little conversation while you eat. Azriel’s brows are drawn in tight, and his mouth is set in a hard line. He keeps glancing over at you with a scolding heat in his eyes, but there’s a sliver of worry that makes you ache, like he thinks you might keel over from the chicken.

If you do, you’re not even sure you’ll be mad. It’s good fucking chicken.

You try to savor it, to eat slowly so that your body doesn’t reject the first real meal you’ve had in forever, but you can hardly control yourself. You feel like a rabid animal, hungry enough to gnaw your own arm off. You wonder if this is what the zombies outside feel like, an insatiable hunger, or if they’re so mindless they don’t feel anything at all.

You reckon you have only minutes before the food makes its reappearance, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you slide your silverware onto your empty plate, trying to deter yourself from leaning forward and licking it clean.

Cassian has no such reservations.

“How long has it been since you’ve tried to contact my sister?” Nesta asks when the three of you have finished. Even Azriel couldn’t help but clear his plate, though he did take the longest of the three of you, more than mindful of your captors.

It makes your heart swell that he has kept an eye out for you and Cassian.

Azriel and Cassian share a look over your head, debating how much to indulge. But this is Feyre’s sister, and they want to find her and Rhys just as much, so they relent.

“We tried getting through to them this afternoon, before we ran into you,” Cassian explains. “They were too far out of range.”

“Call them again,” she demands, and Eris opens his mouth to protest but Nesta is clearly done with niceties. “No,” she snaps at the man beside her. “We have given them a place to stay and a warm meal. It’s time for them to do something in return.”

You don’t mention how you didn’t have a choice but to be here, and that they wouldn’t have had to give up their food if you were still wandering out in the woods, but your stomach is too full to argue that point.

Cassian tugs the walkie-talkie from his pocket and switches it on. The static is loud, and you all wait in anticipation until the signal calms a bit before he clicks the button on the side and makes the call. “Rhys? Feyre? Are you out there?”

It’s like waiting for a cure as the six of you listen to the channel. Nothing comes through, and Cassian calls again, to no avail.

“We’ll keep trying,” he says, a determined look in his eye. You’re pretty sure that’s the only thing keeping Nesta in her seat, because she looks like she will reach across the table and stab you with her knife.

Movement in the corner of your eye makes you flinch. Cassian’s arm reaches out to block you and Azriel’s already halfway out of his seat, ready to tear you away from the threat that stumbles into the doorway.

The threat comes in the form of what must be Feyre’s other sister, Elain. She looks ghastly, skin as white as sheet, and as well-fed as Eris’ claims them to be, she’s all skin and bones. Her brown eyes are dull and sunken, purple-rimmed as if she hasn’t had a peaceful night of sleep in years. Her blonde-brown hair sits limp on her head, knotted at the back, as if she’s been drained of all of the health in her life.

She looks like a zombie.

Nesta jumps from her chair at the same time Lucien does, the both of them rushing for Elain. Lucien gets to her first, catching her just as her knees give out and scooping her into his arms. Her head lolls against his chest as if the effort to keep it upright is a burden too much, but her dazed gaze sharpens when it lands on you.

You’re frozen in your seat. You have no words for what you’re seeing, the sickly girl who looks closer to death than a zombie. Your heart pounds a thousand miles a minute in your chest, and your fingers are white-knuckled with confusion and fear where they’re wrapped around Cassian’s forearm.

Elain’s brown eyes widen in a way that looks unnatural for her once beautiful face. Her cracked lips form husky words that are so ominous it has the hair on your body standing on end.

“Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black. One has an injured wing.”

Lucien hushes her softly, murmuring to her as he removes her from the room. “Shh, Elain. Let’s get you back to bed, petal. You shouldn’t be expending so much energy until you’re feeling better.”

Guilt stabs you a thousand times over as he takes her away. It doesn’t take long for you to connect the dots with what you’ve seen. How sickly she looks, the faraway look and ramblings that don’t make sense.

“When did it happen?” You blurt, eyes darting from a stoney-faced Nesta to a grimacing Eris to the door Lucien and Elain disappeared through. You don’t like the feeling that overcomes you, the one that wants you to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.

Something isn’t right here.

“It’s late,” Nesta states, looking between the three of you like she’s deciding how she’s going to kill each of you. You suppose she might, if she feels any sort of threat to her sister. For now, she needs you alive, if only to help find her other sister. She won’t dump any of you out yet, unless you can’t prove your worth.

Not unless Feyre is dead.

Azriel tucks you carefully behind him, more than aware of the threat before you. You can tell that he’s just as confused as you are. There’s a tightness to his shoulders that you don’t like, an edge to the strain of his body that screams danger.

His mouth opens to speak, but he’s cut off by the sudden voice that comes over the walkie-talkie.

“Cassian? Azriel? Do you copy?” Rhys’ panicked voice sounds through the machine. More than one emotion threatens to consume you, relief and worry. The full meal in your belly swarms like crashing waves, and you might just throw up after all.

Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta all lunge for the radio. Eris gets his hand around Nesta’s bicep and pulls her away, much to her reluctance. She claws against him but he’s only keeping her away from the three of you, still very much a threat.

Not that you’d be of any assistance should either party try to attack. You’ve collapsed in the closest chair.

“Rhys?” Cassian calls back, just as frantic. His terrified hazel eyes are locked with Azriel’s, and it’s all the black-haired boy can do to console Cassian with a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Can you hear me? Where the fuck are you?”

It wouldn’t mean much to Nesta, who’s given up her struggling to listen into what’s happening, but to Cassian, you know the touch means everything.

Anticipation skyrockets throughout the room, bringing the temperature up to boiling as you await his response. Each second feels like an eternity, and you’re sure the vein throbbing on Nesta’s forehead is about to explode when Rhysand finally responds.

It sounds like he’s running. You pray that’s not a groan of the undead you hear in the background. “Fuck,” he curses in such a hopeless way that makes your heart drop to the floor. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s not going to be good. “I need you to come find us. I don’t know where the fuck we are, but we need help.”

Azriel rips the walkie-talkie from Cassian’s hand, ready to take the lead. He pockets one of the knives at the table and you can’t even muster the energy to joke about how a butterknife won’t be the best weapon against a horde of zombies because you’re more than ready to follow him into the fray, sans weapons, if all to save your friends.

“Where are you, Rhys? I need landmarks.”

 “Az,” Rhys breathes, but he doesn’t sound relieved. In fact, he sounds spent, and there’s no sign of Feyre on the other line. “We need help. Badly. Feyre’s been bitten.”

And hey, your dinner does make its reappearance after all.

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DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36  @bionic-donut @queserasera @applepie02  @azrielsbabyg  @arcadianmoonlight  @pradaxstyles  @illyrian-dreamerdreamer @reiincarnatiion  @fuckthatfeeling  @shadowsingersmate24 @poppyalice2001  @fallmyriad  @sstrohma  @tcris2020 @jeannineee  @21stcenturytaegi @ochiolism @secretly-here @harrystylesfan2686 @i-am-infinite @lees-chaotic-brain @eternallyelvish @lilah-asteria @randombibitch @st4r-girl-official @nanisearchinginnerpeace (i hope you see this idk if this tag worked 😭)

IDK if any of these tags are going to work but someone plz lmk 💙

[littlefeltsparrow]

Rhysand is really in no position to judge Nesta for “letting” Feyre hunt considering his background. Nesta’s failure to prevent Feyre from hunting in the woods at a young age is the primary transgression that he holds against her, yet he never considers that the Archeron sisters were all victims of the same hardship: poverty.

Rhysand has never had to worry about poverty once in his centuries long life, he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth after all. He occupies a place in society where he is afforded the highest amount of privilege and wealth that could be offered, he’s as upper-class as it gets. Not only that, he was also accustomed to a life of security as a High Lord’s son and heir and therefore cannot grasp the powerlessness unique to the Archeron sisters’ situation.

He’s enraged by Nesta’s decisions, and chooses to ignore the circumstances surrounding such decisions in order to vilify her further. Furthermore, he tends to place responsibility on Nesta’s shoulders whilst ignoring Feyre’s agency in the situation. Maas doesn’t lend their dynamic any complexity. She positions Rhysand as the ultimate moral authority and Nesta as the guilty party who is subject to his judgment and punishment. This is frustrating to witness because it’s yet another reminder of the narrative bias that puts Rhysand on a pedestal and asserts him as an individual who isn’t capable of being wrong or narrow minded.

[danikamariewrites]

My Poor Shadowsinger

Azriel x reader

A/n: I saw this post on twitter of Rogue carrying Gambit and it said ‘can’t let the bros know I’m cool with this’ or something like that. Anyway it immediately made me think of the babying Az hc I wrote and I couldn’t focus on anything else until I wrote this.

Warnings: mentions of injuries

Now that Madja was gone and his brother’s fussing was over Azriel could finally relax. His latest mission was fairly easy, that was until the last day. It’s always the last day. Azriel had won the fight easily, the male who attacked him clearly didn’t know how to fight, just throwing his muscular body around, hoping to land a blow.

Not that Az would admit this but he got cocky, too cocky. The bastard got him with his long knife leaving a wide gash across his chest.

Azriel relaxed into his mountain of pillows, letting his eyes finally rest. Of course right at that moment the front door slammed opened, followed by your worried voice yelling at Rhys. Azriel sat up in anticipation of you entering his room. Bursting through the door with Cass and Rhys on your heels you stop on the threshold.

Dropping your bag you rest your hands above your heart, your face contorted in worry. Your eyes scanning the bandages wrapped around his strong chest. “Oh Azzy,” you say breathless. Rhys opens his mouth to tell you Azriel is fine but Cassian grasped his shoulder. The smirk on his face telling Rhys that he wanted to see how this went.

You rush over to his bed, sitting on your knees next to him, holding his head to your chest. Placing kisses all over his face and head you sway him gently. “Are you ok baby? I was so scared when Rhys told me you came home hurt.” leaning back you run your hands over his shoulders gently, making sure to not pull at the bandages.

To your surprise Az leaned into you, accepting your loving attention. Not caring that his brothers were watching on. Resting his head against your chest again and wrapping his arms around your middle. “I’m ok, it just stings a lot.” You let out a sympathetic sound, running your hands through his dark hair.

“You poor thing. Rhys,” you turn to the High Lord with a slight scowl on your face, “why didn’t you tell me he was in pain?” Cassian and Rhys couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Their jaws open wide in shock. “I-he, are you kidding? He said he was fine! Az even kicked us out because he said ‘stop babying me, I’m a full grown male!’” Rhys complained.

Cassian was speechless. He couldn’t believe his brother was acting this way.

You let out a sound of disgust, untangling yourself from Azriel’s vice like hold. “Lay back Az,” you say in a soft tone, adjusting his pillows so he can be comfortable. “Are you hungry? What can I get you baby?” You coo at him while brushing his hair back from his slightly warm forehead. You click your tongue at the warmth. “Ugh and you’re warm, did Madja give you something to fight off a potential fever?”

Az nods against his pillows, “It’s downstairs will you get it for me? And can I have that sandwich that you always make, and maybe some soup?” His voice small and a slight pout on his plump lips. “Of course baby. I’ll be right back.” You kiss the pout from his lips and make your way downstairs with a disapproving look at Rhys.

They all watch you leave. Once you’re down the stairs Rhys and Cass walk over to the end of Azriel’s bed. The High Lord places his hands on his hips giving Azriel an exasperated look. “You are unbelievable.” All Azriel does is smirk at his brother, bringing his arms to rest behind his head. “Don’t lie, you let Feyre and Nesta baby you two.” His brothers scoff at the accusation.

“Nesta would never.” Cassian says dramatically. Rhys purses his lips and shakes his head. “Run along now,” Az says teasingly. “Let me enjoy my pampering in peace brothers.” Rhys shakes his head again as the pair laugh while leaving.

[moosesarecute]

Part 6: The Shadows Sing

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7

Azriel didn’t know why he felt so shocked.

He had seen her use her shadows, but he didn’t believe himself. Shadowsingers were so rare! It didn’t make sense that they were two alive at the same time.

His head was spinning.

He was almost 500 years older than her, so maybe it wasn’t that weird that they were two?

She had rushed out the cabin once more. However, she let her shadows stay behind.

“Can you ask them to go away from my mouth?” He asked his shadows.

“They’re scared,” they answered.

“Tell them we won’t hurt them or their mistress,” he continued.

Azriel wouldn’t dream of hurting you. He couldn’t even think about you being hurt without going a little feral.

“They say that when Pretty Eyes’ feelings are too strong she has control over them, so they can’t let go right now. They know you won’t hurt them.”

Azriel realized something important.

“She can’t usually control them?” He asked.

“No, master,” his shadows answered. “Only hide, talk to and shadow walk.”

So she’s a secret shadowsinger and she can’t control her shadows. Doesn’t sound like an easy life.

He felt himself worry about her.

She didn’t eat, she lives alone in dangerous forests and she couldn’t control the shadows that basically was connected to her body.

“They want us to help her,” his shadows told him.

“With what?”

“Surviving.”

He had waited for her to come back for over two hours before he left. He soon realized she was doing her best to spend as much time as possible away from her cabin.

He left the rest of the food out for her to eat when she got back.

She hadn’t eaten a lot for breakfast. Azriel expected it to not be because she didn’t like it, but because she wasn’t used to having that big portions.

He hated thinking about that.

He felt himself distant the entire day. Cassian easily beat him in combat training and he didn’t manage to follow any conversations during the evening’s family dinner.

In the end, he decided to step out on the balcony to get a break. His head was spinning with thoughts.

Y/N was so young! But she still must have lived through many horrors. She must have gotten her shadows somehow. Also the naga that bit of her foot must have been traumatic. And the fact that she didn’t dear to tell anyone about her being a shadowsinger. Someone must have terrified her.

He hoped that someone wasn’t him.

He heard the door to the balcony open. The steps told him it was Nesta.

“Can I sit?” She asked him.

He just nodded and moved over to make place on the bench he sat on. She sat down.

“Cassian’s worried about you,” she stated. “I’m too. You’ve been distant lately. More than usual I mean.”

Azriel guessed he had been spending a lot of his free time away. Either in the library trying to learn about The Middle or in The Middle trying to learn about you.

“Soooo,” she continued. “Who’s the girl?”

Azriel turned to look at Nesta with an eyebrow raised.

“You’ve been way too smiling lately,” she explained. “I think everybody knows there’s someone. No one has just dared to ask.”

Azriel suddenly realized how much he needed to talk to someone about you. He felt lost. He wanted to help you, he had promised your shadows that he would, but he had no idea how.

“There’s this female,” he started. But he suddenly didn’t know how to continue.

“You’re dating?” Nesta asked.

Azriel thought for a few moments. But he was so overwhelmed by all he was feeling for you, he couldn’t communicate.

“She hadn’t even tasted chocolate for cauldrons sake!” He almost yelled out. “She’s young, she hunts for a living, she has basically no food and she hadn’t even tasted chocolate.”

Nesta only looked at him with wide eyes. It wasn’t usual for him to have such outbursts.

“I saw her on the battlefield against Hybern and have been dreaming about her ever since. And then we met again and I have done my best to get to know her, but she’s terrified. But I just can’t leave her alone.

“I’ve also recently found out something else about her. Something that changes a lot. But she won’t ever let me help her.”

It was Nesta’s turn to think.

“If she’s been living in survival mode for this long, it might be hard for her to realize that something is wrong,” Nesta tried to explain. “If she hasn’t had anyone to trust, it won’t be easy for her to trust you. If she hasn’t gotten help from anyone before, she maybe doesn’t realize you want to help.”

It did make sense.

Y/N acted skittish and she definitely had trust issues. Azriel wanted to be the person that you could trust. He needed to make sure you were save and happy in your life, but he knew you were under too much stress to life a good life.

“You have to make her realize you can help her, without you needed anything back from her,” Nesta said. “You have to learn her to ask for help.”

“What do you know about the hunting group in The Middle?” Azriel asked Rhys.

It had been a week and he still hadn’t dared to go back to you.

He had spent his days being busy with missions and told himself that he’d been too busy to visit you. Even though he knew that he did have time, but was too nervous to go.

The fact that you’re a shadowsinger too made him nervous.

He didn’t like to know that she would understand the horrors he’d been through. She’d been through similar things.

He also hated that she’d been traumatized enough for her to get her shadows.

He really wanted to hold her.

“I don’t know much,” Rhys answered. “They were forced to hunt for Amarantha, so that’s when I heard about them first.”

Azriel felt his chest lit up with anger as he realized you’d gone through terrors Under The Mountain.

For 50 years you’d hide your true powers from the most powerful person at the time. It’s not weird you lived in survival mode.

“They had to give weekly reports and they always sent the same female. The poor girl was only 18 when it all started. She had a hard time to say at least.”

Azriel felt his heart stop. Y/N was turning 70 years soon. She would have been 18 at the time Amarantha took over.

He could throw up.

Rhys had known about her?

“To be honest, I don’t even know if she’s alive,” Rhys continued.

Rhys had known about her and didn’t try to save her? He felt himself start getting mad at Rhys. This young female had gone through way too much.

“Did she have a prosthetic leg?” Azriel asked before he could think.

He needed to know.

“Yeah,” Rhys said nodding. “She had lost both her wings and her leg. Surprised she’s lived this long.”

Her wings?

Her wings!

She wasn’t only a shadowsinger, she was illyran. An illyran that lost her wings.

“How did you know that?” Rhys asked him.

He felt himself getting angrier and angrier. He tried to hold back, but he soon felt himself wanting to yell at Rhys.

Before he could start, his shadows came storming through the door.

“Pretty eyes, help, friends, help,” they were screaming at him.

Before Rhys could utter another word, Azriel had shadow walked away.

He landed in the middle of your cabin. But you weren’t there.

“Where is she?” He asked his shadows.

He soon felt something pull his wrist. He looked down and realized it wasn’t his shadow. It was a lot lighter than his, a lot smaller as well, but its determination and pull was as strong as his own.

“Can you show me?” He asked it.

He didn’t wait for an answer as he covered himself in his shadows and prepared to shadow walk away.

He landed besides a lake and soon saw you.

You sat on a stone just a few meters from the lake. You were soaked and shivering.

But what worried Azriel, was the fact that your shadows were out.

They immediately surrounded him, pulling him towards you. Azriel followed their pull. He moved slowly, trying not to startle you.

He crunched down next to you, but you didn’t acknowledge him. Your shadows moved back to you. They swirled close to you, obliviously trying to warm you.

“Hi, Y/N,” he whispered. You still only stared straight ahead. “Can you hear me?”

When your only reaction was to start shaking even more, Azriel sprung into action.

“I’m going to shadow walk us to your cabin, okay?” He asked, but he knew you wouldn’t answer. “I’m going to pick you up now.”

He moved towards you and carefully lifted you up into his arms. He made sure to move slowly, so that you could move away or signal for him to stop if you needed it. You were so light and little in his arms. He wanted to hold you forever.

To his surprise, you only snuggled deeply into his chest. The warmth that spread through Azriel’s chest lasted for multiple days.

As he landed in your cabin and carefully sat you down on your chair.

“Can you ask them to change her clothes?” He asked his shadows.

He watched his shadows intertwine with yours as they spoke. It was a weirdly wholesome to watch his companions, they looked extremely happy and relaxed.

“We’ll have to leave, but they’ll change her,” his shadows informed him.

He felt himself grow stubborn. He wouldn’t leave her, he couldn’t leave her. Not in this state. She was freezing and shaking, he needed to help her. He felt such a deep need to protect her. He wouldn’t leave her. They’d have to throw him out.

“We just have to wait outside,” his shadows informed him. “We can come back in later.”

Azriel realized just how much you meant to him.

Azriel had spent the longest three minutes of his life waiting in his shadows outside your cabin. When your shadows came to get him, he basically ran back inside.

They had helped you into your bed and had tucked you into a blanket full of holes. You had stopped shivering and you had gotten some color on your cheeks.

However, your eyes were closed and your chest raised and sank in a comfortable speed. You were asleep at home and Azriel felt himself calm down.

@i-have-a-thing-for-the-dark @saltedcoffeescotch @rcarbo1

[qwimblenorrisstan]

The Clandestine Culinarian Pt. 3 | Azriel x Reader

Summary: After the mating bond between you and Azriel snaps, he hides away in Rhys’ townhouse, spending time with Elain, only to run into you at Rita’s

Word Count: ~ 3.3k

Warnings: Angst, Rita’s, blades, hot dresses (and women)

A/N: Soo sorry it took me so long to write this, but I’ve been scheming this for days, hope you like it<3

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Requests are open!

Azriel had finally managed to calm himself down after an hour or two, with Rhys consoling him and Cassian quickly rushing to the townhouse to figure out what the hell was going on.

“She’s your mate? Am I hearing that right?”

“Yes, Cassian. And keep your mouth shut about it.”

Rhys replied, giving Cassian a pointed look before going back to watching Azriel closely. He was in shock, mainly. He’d thought that after all these months of getting close to her and comforting her and helping her adjust, Elain had to be his mate, just had to be. And she wasn’t.

He knew his anger at you was irrational, but he wanted Elain, not you, you were just some female he’d met and bought poisons from. You were deadly and cunning and ruthless, nothing like his sweet, soft, and precious Elain he’d grown to love. You were not what he wanted.

“I can’t stay there with her, Rhys-“

He managed to get out, before Feyre and Elain both slipped into the room, clearly wondering what was wrong and why Azriel’s face was red and puffy. Elain seemed to already know what was happening, based on the sadness in her eyes. Gods, he’d do anything to get rid of it, anything. He would go through an army to make her feel better, slaughter anyone he needed to, and do anything he could.

“Feyre, this is not the time, nor the place.”

Rhys said, a hint of something pleading in his eyes. Feyre seemed to want to help but understood that helping could come later. Right now was about damage control. She put one hand around Elain’s, before going to walk out of the room. However, Elain got four words out before being pulled away.

“Can he stay here?”

She asked, her tone so broken that he would stay here forever, the rest of his life if it would fix her. Cassian’s face hardened, clearly thinking, Rhys only sighed before giving a nod.

“You’ll stay here until we can work this out. Cassian…do you think she’s far enough along to pick up training with the Valkyries?”

Cassian sighed, knowing that while you had progressed very far in your months of training, there was no way in hell you were at the same level as Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn.

“I can try.”

He said, his tone already unsure. It wasn’t a definite no, but it wasn’t a yes either.

*********************************************************

After Azriel had left, the House felt noticeably emptier, to you at least. It wasn’t any sort of noise you missed, but just the way his presence was subtle but always heavy in whatever room he took up. You didn’t dare pull on the golden threads tying you to the shadowsinger, not when he’d seemed so shocked and…upset.

That had stung worse than him leaving, maybe. His face had been contorted in shock and hurt as if you hadn’t been his first choice, and the only reason you were even on the roster was because of the bond. You weren’t sure how to think about that.

Luckily, you barely got any time to think with the new training with Cassian you’d picked up. You knew that working those blades couldn’t be easy, but good gods you hadn’t expected it to be so difficult either. Nesta on occasion tried to help you, but you still failed the ribbon test every single goddamn time as the ribbon remained there, hanging from the doorpost, dancing in the wind and taunting you.

Your body was sore and aching, but you were more muscular than before, you’d admit. At least the training was worth something.

Your mind still kept wandering back to Azriel, and to Elain as well. You’d seen the way he looked at her, with a hint of hope and longing in his eyes, and how she looked at him like he was the oxygen she needed to breathe.

So, like you did with any other girl problems, you sought out Nesta. You found her in the smutty section of the library that was formed to match her tastes, seeking out a new book among the shelves.

She took one look at you, a sort of pity and empathy in her eyes that usually wasn’t there, and sighed, sitting down on a large windowsill and inviting you to sit next to her.

You sat down next to her, not knowing what to say before opening your mouth to speak.

“I-“

“I already know, I saw the whole shitshow go down.”

She said in that bland tone of hers, picking at her nails in what seemed like a way to cover up an anxious habit. You weren’t surprised she’d seen. It had been right around training time for Cassian and the Valkyries, and they’d probably seen the entire thing go down. Embarrassment flooded you before you could stop it, creeping up your cheeks as you stared down at the hardwood floor, hands shifting constantly as you swallowed.

“He’s..in love with Elain, isn’t he?”

You asked, your voice a lot more resigned than you would like it to be. Nesta seemed to think about it, glancing at you before speaking.

“I think he’s got a crush, and I won’t lie, I think he was just looking for his mate. Elain, though…she’s infatuated with him, a bit ridiculous considering she’s already got Lucien groveling for her.”

Nesta said, a hint of distaste in her tone as she mentioned the mating bond between Elain and Lucien. She was still protective over her sister, it seemed. Even if she didn’t agree with her choices.

“Do you think she’ll be mad? I mean, of course, she’ll be, but..”

You went on, before realizing you were rambling and cutting yourself off with a sigh. Nesta simply shrugged.

“She won’t be happy, but she’s Elain, what could she possibly do? Not let you have a slice of her pies?”

That got a little huff of laughter out of you, some much-needed laughter after everything. Nesta glanced over at you, looking you up and down, before getting up and offering you a hand.

“Me and the girls were planning a girl’s night at Rita’s tonight, would you like to come?”

You hesitated, before taking her hand and getting up, nodding.

“Yeah, I could use a drink or two.”

What she then displayed could only be described as a wolf’s grin, her hand slipping off of yours to grab the book that had been on the shelf she wanted the entire time.

“Good. Wear your sluttiest dress.”

She said, a conspiratorial tone in her voice before she slipped off into the winding labyrinth that was the library, ever-shifting and moving to adjust for her.

*********************************************************

“I’ll grab it.”

His dark voice spoke, reaching over the middle Archeron sister to grab the measuring cups that were just out of reach for her. His chest pressed ever so slightly against her back as he grabbed it, before placing it on the counter for her and then going back to maintaining a respectable distance away.

He could’ve sworn that she always kept those cups lower down, but they were higher this time. As if someone had deliberately placed them there. As if someone had wanted the help of someone taller, who always was there at every beck and call.

“Thank you.”

She spoke softly, smiling up at him with a warmth that could melt the sun itself. Elain looked ethereal in this light, and she’d looked beautiful even before being turned to High Fae. Now she could rival the Mother herself.

The months being in the townhouse had been hard at first, being constantly away from his mate, but slowly the urge to be near you and touch you and hold you had faded away, replaced by Elain. Now that he thought of it, he could barely remember what your face had looked like, or your voice…or anything about you.

It was a sign, he supposed. A sign that even if the Cauldron had paired you two together, fate didn’t agree, and he was fully content here, eating every little home-cooked meal Elain made him, savoring the unique taste that was her cooking.

She never let him watch her cook the full meal, insisting that he not know the secret ingredients to the recipes she’d originally made during the starving days when she, Feyre, and Nesta had lived in that tiny little cabin in the woods. One day, she’d let him know the entire recipe. And that day would be soon, he was sure.

“I heard Feyre’s going to Rita’s tonight, maybe we could go together?”

She offered, her smile warm and safe. Everything he’d prayed for when he’d heard stories from Rhysand’s mother of love affection and support. The hope that he’d one day have it. What had her name been?

He’d never been as happy and just so free as he’d been with Elain in her kitchen in the townhouse with her, and the others had noticed a bit as well. How he seemed a bit more prone to accidentally tripping while lost in thought of her, or how he seemed to daydream or sleep so much better.

He snapped out of his thoughts, looking down at Elain with a small smile. It was odd that she of all people, the cook and soft, gentle woman, sensitive and affectionate, wanted to go to a bar for a girl’s night out. She seemed much more like a restaurant type of female, but he didn’t question it. He was happy for any excuse to spend time with her.

“Sure. We could go. What time?”

He asked, his voice soft as he watched her bake what seemed like a sourdough starter. She seemed to know without even thinking.

“5:45 should be fine.”

She said. It struck him a bit odd how sure she seemed. He hadn’t heard her ask Feyre at all, and his shadows, though most chose to stay at the House of Wind with the other female, hadn’t noticed anything of it. But she was Elain, she probably just knew.

*********************************************************

“Another round?”

Nesta asked with a grin, you returned the grin, too drowned in drinks to even care how drunk you got tonight. “A drink or two” her ass, Emerie was downing another glass, probably going to regret it in the morning.

They’d all worn the sluttiest dresses they had, with Cassian lurking nearby in the bar, fully ready to bite the head off of any male who got a bit too handsy with Nesta.

“Absolutely,”

You replied, at which Nesta proceeded to order another round out of her own money. She was rich as hell since the High Lord paid her for whatever the hell she did. You didn’t particularly care as long as it kept the drinks coming.

“Careful with the drinks, Nes. Feyre said there’s been some lapses in their bank, and you’re the prime suspect.”

Cassian said, giving her a nudge with his wing. Everyone knew of Nesta’s previous behavior, buying rounds and rounds of drinks with the High Lord’s money, and wasting it.

“That’s bullshit, she knows I wouldn’t do that anymore.”

Nesta replied, simply rolling her eyes and going back to downing her drink, eying Cassian with no shame at all. He only gave a cocky grin and eyed her back. She was wearing a black dress that sat snug against all her best features, and Cassian was loving the view, as were the other men at Rita’s brave enough to ogle her.

You wore a silky red dress with a high slit in the side and a cut that showed plenty of your cleavage, not to mention how the fabric hung and was tight in just the right places to be flowing but also leave little to the imagination. It was enough to get you a cheap hookup, at the very least, based on the men watching you.

A good way to keep your mind off of Azriel.

You gave Nesta a look, and she gave a nod before you strode off to the prettiest male you could find in the room, one of the ones who’d been watching you the closest. A sly smile grew on his lips as his dark eyes glittered with lust. He knew what you were looking for, wearing that on a night like this.

“What’s your name, pretty?”

He purred, hand going around your waist as you slid into his lap. One of your hands went to curl around his bicep, fluttering your lashes at him.

“Yours, if you can handle me.”

You said back, voice smooth as the silk you were wearing. The male’s hands began to wander, and you didn’t even bother stopping them as he leaned in closer to you, a low chuckle coming from his lips.

“Care to come home with me?”

He murmured, his breath hot against your skin. He smelled of a male musk, his scent reeking of cheap alcohol and arousal. You were too drunk to care.

“Gladly,”

You murmured back to him, not bothering to glance back at Nesta or Cassian, or anyone else in the bar as the male slowly got to his feet, hand around your waist, and began leading you out of the bar, from the back entrance. Your attention was solely on him, on his touch.

That was until you saw Azriel and Elain right outside the bar, engaged in painfully slow, heated kisses.

*********************************************************

He’d gotten dressed in some casual enough clothing, not overly fancy for a bar, but not to where he was underdressing. Elain had donned a cute blue dress, looking straight from a fantastical cottage out of a book he’d once read when younger. Maybe Rhysand’s mother had read that one to him. He couldn’t remember anymore.

They’d slipped in quietly, having a few drinks, which Elain seemed to wrinkle her nose slightly at the taste of the alcohol, but seemed more keen on getting him drinks. Something that would’ve sent warning signs in his mind blaring if he’d been able to remember just what he was doing here.

Elain kept glancing around as if watching out or looking for someone, or hoping not to be spotted. He hadn’t asked her about it out of the courtesy of being polite, but it still made him curious, until his brain was too fuzzy to care.

“Let’s get out of this stuffy place,”

She had whispered to him under her sweet breath, leading him outside to the side exit of the bar, before pulling him into a kiss. He couldn’t recall how or why it was happening, but his lips were on his, and he couldn’t find in himself the strength to pull away. His limbs felt wobbly, his shadows moving slower than usual as if weighed down by something. His head was swimming. What had been in that alcohol? His mind tried to think, but couldn’t. Everything felt so, so heavy.

And then he saw her. He could recognize her anywhere. His mate. His soulmate. His partner seemed by the Cauldron itself. She was dressed in what could only be described as an extremely revealing dress, red and silky, her cleavage and thigh on full display to the male who hungrily watched her, leading her to gods know where to get his fill and leave.

He saw something in her break when his gaze met hers, and Elain separated from the kiss, glancing over at the female with what looked like a mockingly empathetic smile.

Two things hit him at the same time; the fact that Feyre hadn’t been anywhere in that bar, even though Elain said she’d been invited by her, and the fact that ever since Elain had started feeding him every meal, breakfast lunch, and dinner, he’d completely forgotten the face of his mate, forgotten things he should know, his guard had fallen down, and now he was weak and put in the spotlight as the villain.

And then he hurled his guts out all over the ground, sobering up in an instant as he saw your tears. He needed to fix you, to fix this and figure out what the hell had been happening.

Even as he felt the slap of your hand against his cheek, and saw Elain go slightly pale with realization, he realized there wasn’t any fixing to be done right now.

This was about damage control.

*********************************************************

“You fucking bastard!”

You yelled as you slapped him, hot tears rolling down your cheeks before you could stop them.

The male that had been so hungry before stalked off, clearly not eager to be involved. Coward.

Azriel had come here knowing that you’d be here, and that bitch Elain had probably led him. He looked wrong. He was a bit pale and seemed dazed, out of it. His wings were dropping and scraping against the ground, eyes drooping. What was wrong with him? Even the shadows seemed sedated.

“What did you do to him?”

You seethed to Elain, and she seemed pale and wide-eyed as she began stammering.

“I- I had a vision where you hurt him, and I thought that if he forgot then-“

Cassian burst through the door of the side exit, alert and looking completely sobered up from his earlier drinks. Nesta was stumbling behind him, wondering what the hell was going on.

He was by Azriel’s side before you could even speak, helping his poisoned brother up and hoisting him into his arms. You were eliminated as a threat and the only person who’d been around him long enough to get anything into Azriel’s system….

“What was it?”

He demanded from Elain, voice harsh and pissed off. Elain sniffled, tears welling in her eyes as her hands shook slightly, she swallowed before speaking.

“Volucrae.”

She almost whispered, her voice so quiet and timid that even you could barely make it out.

Volucrae.

The seer bitch had poisoned Azriel with one of the most deadly poisons in existence, and the only place she could’ve possibly gotten it…

“You stole from my room?”

You asked, voice horrified and shrill. The leftovers you’d had from when your old shop had been burned to the ground by Kier and his men you’d carried on you, hiding in the room.

Elain only swallowed, nodding. Volucrae was deadly, yes, but in small enough quantities, it could cause confusion, memory loss, tremors, strokes, seizures, and more. She’d risked the shadowsinger’s life just because of a vision, a vision of you hurting Azriel, a vision that had been fulfilled with the slap, all because of Elain’s actions.

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t.”

You and Cassian snapped in union as he took off with Azriel in his arms, now unconscious, probably going to find Madja to get any sort of solution to it, leaving you, a drunk Nesta being dragged away by Emerie, Gwyn, and Elain.

You stormed off, going anywhere you could to avoid everyone. You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to speak with any of them.

You winnowed straight into the House of Wind’s training grounds, picking up the Valkyrie blade and going straight into furious training, the only way to burn off this pure anger making you tremble and shake.

It was then, in the middle of the night, barely sober, still crying and angry out of your mind, that you cut straight through the ribbon.

The one-half drifted gracefully to the ground, falling like a leaf in the wind as the moonlight caught and illuminated little pink highlights of it.

It fell and fell, until reaching the ground, settling lightly on the dirt of the training grounds.

You stared down at it until it was all you could see and think of and hear until it was burned into your mind as your hands gripped the blade so hard your knuckles went white.

And you stared, until the possibility of Azriel’s death faded completely from your mind, until all you could focus on was the future.

And you swung your blade again.

Tags:

@lilah-asteria

@evangeline-xo

@hayrunnwr

@rcarbo1

@cleverzonkwombatsludge

@i-have-a-thing-for-the-dark

@weekendlusting

@evergreenlark

@julesvanslutta

[c-e-d-dreamer]

You're the Risk, I'm Going to Take It

A/N: It's here! It's here! Happy @cassianappreciationweek lovelies! I know I for one am super excited for all the content and fun in the cards this week. We're starting out this week with a fun little ficlet! Because flying on a rollercoaster totally counts as flying, right? Hope everyone enjoys :)

Read on AO3

In Cassian’s humble opinion, an amusement park is the perfect place for a first date. The rides provide the perfect amount of excitement and adrenaline rush all while offering a built-in conversation starter, no awkward small talk or uncomfortable silences that so often seem to come with a nice dinner. The lines give the perfect excuse to chat and get to know each other in between the excitement. The thrills give the perfect excuse to hold hands. The games even give the perfect excuse for him to show off.

What’s not to love about an amusement park date?

And so when Nesta Archeron finally agreed to a date with him, an amusement park was the easiest suggestion he ever made.

Honestly, he still can’t believe Nesta even agreed to a date with him in the first place. He’d been completely enamored from the very first moment he laid eyes on her. The very first moment those icy blue eyes rolled back in her head. Mother save him, he loved making those eyes roll. He loved the adorable scowl that took over her face anytime he called her sweetheart, and he loved their teasing game of back and forth.

He loved the first time he saw her eyes truly spark, the first time he made her laugh, and he swore he’d break his own back to see that expression, to hear that sound. Again and again and again if it were up to him. He’d give anything to find out if her lips taste as delicious as they look, to find out if he can make her blush a pretty pink beyond just her cheeks. He’d give anything to get a second date.

“Is this why you said to wear comfortable shoes?” Nesta asks from the passenger seat, tearing Cassian away from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Cassian answers easily, throwing his truck into park. He slips out of the driver’s seat, quickly jogging around to pull open Nesta’s door, but she’s already clambered out before he can. Still, he holds out his arm in offering. “M’lady.”

“Idiot,” Nesta teases softly with a roll of her eyes.

The reaction just has Cassian grinning even wider, especially when Nesta settles her hand in the crook of his elbow despite her words. He leads the way toward the front gates, pulling up the tickets on his phone, and then they’re stepping inside. There’s various families, groups of friends, and even a few other couples milling about, their voices and laughter mixing with the melody of wheels on tracks and screams from the rides. The sugary sweet scent of fried dough floats on the breeze, flooding his senses.

“So, what do you think?” Cassian asks, turning his head so he can peer down at Nesta. “Start easy and work our way up?”

“Sure.”

Despite the response, Cassian doesn’t miss the way Nesta keeps her face forward, the way there’s not a single slip to her expression as though she’s purposefully keeping it neutral. Cassian tilts his head, curious what could cause such a reaction, but before he can ask, Nesta snaps her attention fully to him, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Cassian chuckles easily and shakes his head, leading them both down the winding path and toward the large, wooden rollercoaster of the park. Luckily, the line is quite short, and they barely have to wait at all before they’re sliding together into one of the cars. Cassian pulls the black bar down over both their laps before slinging his arm across Nesta’s shoulders, offering her a winning smirk.

“Ready, Nes? If you need to hold my hand, you don’t even have to ask.”

“What am I? Five? Why would I need to hold your hand?”

Cassian gives her shoulder a teasing squeeze. “Because of all the turns and drops? Because I’m so attractive you can’t keep your hands to yourself?”

Nesta scoffs, driving her elbow right into Cassian’s gut hard enough that he lets out a pained gasp, curling forward over his knees. Of course, it’s at that exact moment that the ride goes rocking forward, the cars pulled along the track and up the large first hill. As the cars go cresting into the first drop, Cassian throws his arms up, laughing through every twist, every swoop of his gut as they go flying over another hill. By the time the ride is pulling back to the beginning, he feels breathless.

Breathless and ready for another.

He leads Nesta to the other wooden rollercoaster in the park, the one with two tracks that ‘race’ one another, and when they’re finished with that ride, it’s on to their first steel rollercoaster of the day. Cassian is buzzing as he secures the safety over his thighs, but when he glances toward Nesta in the seat beside his own, her grip on the metal handles is white knuckled. Her fingers flex as the ride operator begins his teasing introduction spiel, throat bobbing with a hard swallow.

“Alright, sweetheart?” Cassian leans over as best he can to ask.

“I’m fine,” Nesta snaps, not even bothering to meet his eyes.

Cassian doesn’t believe her for a second, but before he can ask again, the ride starts, the only sound filling his ears the click of the track as they climb up and up followed by the rush of wind as they crest into the first drop. But when the ride ends, he focuses his attention back on Nesta. On the way her shoulders slump almost in relief when she gets off the ride and her feet are back on solid ground. On the way she takes a deep almost steadying breath before pushing through the exit gate. On the way she holds her spine straight as steel like she can feel his attention as he follows her down the path and back into the main part of the park.

“Which ride next?” Nesta whirls on him to ask before he can utter a word.

“Are you afraid of coasters?” Cassian asks anyway.

“No,” Nesta answers too quickly, crossing her arms. “Why would I be afraid of rollercoasters?”

“You could tell me if you were. We could–”

“I’m not.”

Nesta raises her chin, her blue eyes blazing and narrowing on him. Daring him. I Will Eat Your Eyes for Breakfast, that was what he named this look of hers. One of many that he has named in the time since he’s known Nesta. And in that time, he’s also learned just how stubborn she can be, that iron will and pride one of the many attributes of hers he loved.

“Aright,” Cassian concedes with a shrug. “Let’s go big then. Do the one with the big drop and all the loops.”

“Great.”

Cassian presses his lips together to keep from smirking. “Great.”

Nesta is quiet as they wait in line for their turn, and Cassian wonders if she’s trying to mentally psych herself up for the rollercoaster. He watches her carefully, waiting for the cracks to show, for her to finally cave and admit the truth. But perhaps he truly is underestimating her and her unwillingness to yield.

“Last chance,” Cassian offers when the small gate swings open, indicating it’s their turn to step onto the ride.

Nesta doesn’t even bother deeming him with a response. She strolls right through the small gate and to the first open seat of the ride for their row. She hops up into the seat, quickly pulling down the shoulder restraint. Cassian shakes his head with a chuckle, stepping over to the seat beside her and doing the same.

“Hold hands?” Cassian suggests again, holding his hand out palm up.

“I don’t need to hold your hand,” Nesta bites out. “I told you, I’m not scared.”

Cassian puts on his best pout, wiggling his fingers. “But what if I need to hold your hand? Please, Nes?”

Nesta makes a big show of sighing, but she carefully releases her grip on the metal handle of the shoulder restraint. Her fingers slide between Cassian’s own, and he curls his, daring to slide his thumb across her skin with a wide grin.

It’s at that exact moment that the ride surges forward, going from zero to seventy miles per hour just as the rollercoaster’s tagline promises. Nesta’s scream is blood curdling, her grip on his hand tightening enough that he actually winces. As they go soaring through the first loop, he chances a glance toward her, but he finds Nesta with her eyes squeezed shut, face scrunched in fear.

The high speed has the ride ending before Cassian knows it, laughter echoing from the seats behind them and a ‘whoop’ coming from a guy in one of the front row seats. But Nesta still has her eyes closed, still has a death grip on his hand, even after the ride comes to a full stop and the shoulder restraints release with a quiet whoosh.

“You have to let go of my hand now, sweetheart,” Cassian leans over to whisper.

It takes a moment, but slowly Nesta’s fingers uncurl and she pulls her hand away. She hops down from the seat, stalking toward the exit without a glance backward. Cassian is quick to jog after her, slinging his arm around her shoulders when he catches up.

“You know, that was quite a scream for someone not scared,” Cassian comments teasingly.

“Shut up. I hate you,” Nesta snaps, shrugging out of his hold and continuing forward.

“Come on, Nes.” Cassian continues after her, moving in front of her and halting her steps. “I’m sorry, okay? No more coasters, I promise.”

Nesta continues to watch him dubiously, those blue gray eyes still narrowed, but her shoulders relax at least. Cassian steps closer into her space, reaching up for one of the stray strands of hair that’s come free from her updo through the rides and now tumbles down along her temple. He twists it around her finger, tugging until that scowl finally vanishes, until the corners of her lips twitch with the barest hint of a smile.

“Forgive me?” Cassian requests, giving in to his own soft smile that he knows there’s no point trying to fight.

Nesta hums, clearly intent on denying him, but she can’t hide the spark in her gaze that gives her away. The reaction has Cassian laughing and shaking his head fondly. She’ll be the death of him, and he’ll die happy.

He glances around, spying one of the game booths just down the path from them. With a decided nod, he starts to walk backwards from Nesta, holding his arms out and shrugging in faux innocence. It earns him an eye roll, and he knows he’s won, finally turning full around and stepping up to the booth.

He hands over the money to the worker, awkwardly settling onto one of the low stools despite his tall frame. He squints at the small target, moving the water shooter up and down until he’s confident he has the right aim.

“I expect the biggest prize,” Nesta tells him from his left.

And Cassian intends to give her nothing less. As soon as the bell sounds for the game, he presses down the little red buttons with a single minded focus. He doesn’t spare even a glance toward the kids sitting to his right that he’s playing against. He doesn’t even bother to think about them. He stays focused on his target until the winning bell rings out, the lights flashing above his station.

“Let’s go,” Cassian cheers, pumping his fist and jumping up from his seat. He points toward the prize he wants, a large purple narwhal plushie, that the worker hands over, and then he whirls back toward Nesta, presenting it with a wide smirk. “M’lady.”

“You’re an idiot.”

She says the words, but she still laughs softly as she does, still takes the plushie to hug close to her chest. It’s a sight and a sound that has Cassian’s heart stuttering and blooming with warmth between his ribs. Has him grinning wide enough that he’s sure he really does look like an idiot. Not that he cares. Especially when Nesta leans closer, pressing up onto her toes and kissing him on the cheek.

“And now you’re forgiven, but no more rollercoasters.”

—

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[theladyofbloodshed]

@nerisweek Day 6 - Future

His hands are cool, calming the heat that burns in hers. His eyes - liquid amber - see all the parts that she tries to hide. And when it snaps, it is his body that holds her up, keeps her spinning to the crescendo of the music, feral delight glowing in his gaze. 

And when he lets go, Nesta feels adrift.

She limply holds the hands that interrupt, the once familiar callouses making her want to pull away. They are rough and unforgiving, the work of years of training. Her own are showing the same signs but they no longer feel like hers. They are someone else’s, trained to be what they want her to be. 

We’ll play later, Nesta Archeron. 

The words echo in her head as she greets a new partner. His hands carry scars, but they hold her just as tight as if he senses the need to wrench them free and run. 

When the siren call of Velaris rings in her ears, Nesta watches him. His red hair falls like a sheet of silk, soft and luxurious. The pointed ends of his ears are everything she should hate but Nesta cannot look away. Her heart tells her to commit him to memory in case they never see him again - and her mind argues they will. That she will find a way to see him. 

Nesta sits at a borrowed mirror on a stool that isn’t hers in a room she doesn’t belong in. It is Eris she thinks of. The sheer delight that flared in his gaze as they danced. The willingness to let her shine and bask in the glow rather than being equal. It is his touch she thinks of as Cassian reaches for her. 

Nesta cannot bring herself to pretend, even if only for one night. His touch is too forceful, too determined. The body that covers hers night after night is hot and heavy - and when he leaves, because he always does, Nesta is left hollowed out a little more. So that night, she says no. The hurt is quickly replaced with bravado as Cassian shrugs. 

‘Be that way,’ he says, with an easy smile. ‘I have a snowball match to be rested for anyway.’

A lie wrapped up in carelessness to make them both feel better. It is their currency; little lies that that are traded often.

She hears his steps move along the corridor but instead of stopping at the room he has been assigned beside hers, Cassian continues down the stairs to join the others with their late night festivities. 

The night is long. She tosses and turns, thrashing in the sheets even as the house grows quiet. Nesta needs the cold hands of Eris Vanserra to ease the burn in her chest. What has he done to her, she wonders. What spell has he cast? It should have been Cassian. It was always meant to be Cassian. It had been a matter of time until it snapped for them, everybody knew it. But it wasn’t him. It was Eris.

With the dawn comes more frustrations. She feels him like an itch that cannot be soothed. Eris Vanserra burrows beneath her skin until he consumes her every thought. The bruised purple sky matches the bags beneath her eyes from a night spent unrested. 

The house is quiet. Only Morrigan stirs, her footsteps sure and direct as she approaches Nesta in the lounge overlooking the Sidra River.

‘Eris is in the Hewn City again,’ she says, eyes noticing every detail from her tired expression to her restless state. ‘He would like to speak to you. I told him to go to hell.’

Her heart begins to pound, not entirely from fear. 

‘Me?’

‘Something about Made objects. I can’t get hold of the others but Cassian would-’

‘I’ll speak to him,’ Nesta replies, too eager to take back. 

The high lord’s cousin is sceptical, but permits it. She questions Nesta’s choice of clothing - a plain gown that she wears often and a simple pin-up of her hair. 

Make him crawl, she had said, but Nesta had been the one to leave the Hewn City dizzy and unbalanced. 

The sight of him that morning, red hair slicked back, the rich hues of the Autumn Court making his eyes look like pooled gold, does nothing to steady Nesta. Like the roots of a tree, she stands firm rather than reaching for him. She did not miss the black attire from last night; he was better when Autumn bit its teeth into him.

He bows low, a smirk upon his lips as though he knows a joke that nobody else does.

‘Do you not tire of your little games, Eris?’

Eris smiles again to Mor, and Nesta imagines a row of pointed teeth ready to cleave flesh like a true fae from the stories. ‘Not when so many still want to play with me.’

His eyes snap to Nesta as his top lip curls. ‘A knife or a wife. What a choice your high lord presented to me, Morrigan. He is more like your father than we realised.’

She says nothing, but her eyes speak of pain – her own.

‘Let us hope the Night Court will always have pretty brides to offer.’

Mor straightens. ‘I’ll be back in an hour.’

The moment that the door closes, a different male stands before her. Not the cruel-faced faerie who looks as though he peels the wings from insects for fun, but one who looks at her with reverence. His golden eyes remind Nesta of the sun kissing her skin, of warm fires in the depths of winter.

‘Do you feel it?’ Eris all but whispers the words, his hand covering his heart.

Nesta does not know why she has come here. She is with Cassian. For many months, she has done this dance with the lord of bloodshed; the will-they-won’t-they that has been a whisper on everybody’s lips. It is Cassian’s body that has moved within her own and yet she cannot think of him at all. Cannot think of his calloused hands or heavy body with any sort of desire when she has felt aflame all night with the longing to have Eris’ hands trace her skin.

He steps closer, lips parting as he examines her face.

‘I suspected it long ago. I have burned for you since the first I met you – when you spoke to my father and moved him.’

Nesta wishes that he will break the spell. That he will stop looking at her with such a hunger. He is a predator moving in for the kill. A wicked faerie who rots all he touches.

And as he reaches for her, Nesta tips forwards, part of his orbit now and unable to move away.

He kisses her and it as if every star in the sky stops to watch. Nesta can think of only him. The way his body feels beside hers, like the missing piece of her has been found, or how he’s gentle when she is used to roughness.

Then the temperature becomes cooler. A wind whispers through her hair. Birdsong fills the trees that are streaked with amber and russet.

Nesta pushes him away. ‘You have stolen me.’

‘I have taken what is mine,’ he counters, every inch the court trained, silver-tongued lord.

‘You have stolen me,’ she repeats, unsure if it makes her angry or shocked or delighted.

Eris cocks his head. ‘Because you are mine. This is where you belong. We are mates.’

‘No,’ declares Nesta as if her body has not been pining for him since their dance was interrupted.

When Eris speaks, it is not with possession. He does not say those words to lay a claim on Nesta. No, he states only the facts and they are spoken with such hope, with disbelief that his dreams have come to fruition.

The heir of the Autumn Court goes to his knees before her as the forest leans in to watch. He presses a dagger into her hands – her Made dagger that was offered to him by Rhysand.

‘Cut my heart from my chest because it belongs to you. And if you do not want it, feed it to the wolves.’

Nesta can think of nothing to say, other than, ‘Are you always so dramatic?’

A smile curves his lips. ‘Only when it comes to love.’

‘It isn’t love,’ she says. ‘You do not know me.’

His fingers curl around hers that still hold the knife. ‘Then I have the rest of my life to know you.’

It has to be a trick, some sort of faerie magic that makes Eris behave this way. He is cool and aloof. A master of webs and deception. Not gently spoken with eyes that beg her to see him clearly.

‘We are mates,’ he murmurs, a thumb stroking her pale skin. ‘Equals.’

‘I am nothing like you.’

When he rises, the knife is still pressed to his chest. He still holds her hand. The warmth of his fingers is a prelude to the blood that will cover them when she finds the strength to push the blade into his skin. He would deserve it, wouldn’t he? This male has a thousand stories whispered of him. The same cruelty of his father. A conscience that left him long ago.

‘Aren’t you?’ Eris asks. ‘Eldest child. The power of fire. A mother’s expectations on our shoulders. A father’s affection far removed.’

‘Stop.’

‘Our crimes are everlasting, Nesta, no matter the deeds we do.’

He presses closer, the blade surely nipping at his skin now.

‘We both wear masks. Yours dropped when we danced. I had never seen you smile before.’

‘You don’t know me,’ she hisses, because she should push this male away. All that she knows of Eris is not good. He cannot be like her because that would mean she’s as rotten as he is.

‘And do you smile often in Cassian’s arms?’

That gives her pause. No, she does not smile with Cassian. She rages and she growls like a sour-tempered cat. He never tries to make her smile; he only fans the flames of her frustration purposefully. The others, they do not try to make her smile either. Only perhaps her two friends.

‘I would have you smile every day,’ Eris says, eyes closing as the sun breaks through the canopy and bathes him in golden light. ‘Your joy would be mine to tend to and I should like to see my mate laugh. I should like to see her without the mask. I would see her-’

‘Enough.’ The blade catches the light. Her magic within the metal sings. ‘It would bring me joy to press this into your flesh.’

‘Do it then,’ goads Eris. ‘I wear no armour with my mate. She can take my heart and do to it as she wishes.’ His knuckles graze her cheek. ‘Either she is as wicked as I am or I am as good as her. What will it be, Nesta?’

The knife is buried in the undergrowth as Nesta releases it. Her hands are upon Eris. Instead of something new, he feels like returning to a memory. His body isn’t foreign to her. It’s familiar like she has known him before, like they are finding each other again. The embroidered jacket he wears hits the forest floor then she turns, presenting her back to him to release her from the small buttons that line the back of her dress. Her clothes are shed as quickly as his own until they are as bare as the day they came into the world. Eris lays her upon them then presses himself inside of her. She is eager to have him all. She must have him all. Amongst the fugue of kissing and touching, there is little talk.

There is no talking at all even as their bare bodies are curled together. Nesta allows her eyes to close as the dappled sunlight bathes her. Her mate’s breathing is slow and heavy behind her. His arms capture her like an oyster clutching its pearl.

A part of her knows what she did was wrong. To shed one’s clothes in a forest with a male she doesn’t know is wrong. It is not proper. She is reminded of Cassian who might have returned to Velaris, expecting to see her. But she cannot feel guilty. She has been told that mates are special. To have one is rare. Surely – if he cares anything for her – he will be happy that she has found her equal, even if it isn’t him.

Eris’ voice is husky as he clambers out of his drowsiness. ‘Do you like dogs?’  

‘Dogs?’

‘I have twelve.’

For some absurd reason that she cannot name, Nesta laughs and laughs. Twelve dogs. Not a failed betrothal or a cruel father. Not an Illyrian general who could come here demanding a blood duel. But dogs are the pressing thought on Eris’ mind.

‘I like dogs,’ she confesses.

When Eris smiles, he looks like a boy. A trickster. One made of magic.

‘They sleep on the bed.’

‘It doesn’t sound like you have room for another there,’ she says, trying to sit up, but her mate’s arms are quicker and they drag her back down to their blanket of clothes.

‘You must sleep on top of me,’ he says, kissing the curve of her neck in a way that makes her shiver.

She understands now. She understands the way her sister fell so deeply in love. The force of the bond is compelling. And she does not want to fight it. Nesta isn’t sure if she can. She cannot think of a future without Eris. Already, he is weaving into her life. She imagines the Autumn Court opening its jaws wide to swallow her whole. She would not mind. Autumn has always been favourite season.

[throneofsapphics]

hi, i was wondering if you could do something with an idea that i’ve had for a while ?

it would be a feysand x reader

imagine: you’re apart of the friend group between nesta, gwen, and emerie. you’re all reading a darker romance book then you usually do, one day rhys or feyre catches you reading it or finds the book, either way they take the book and starts to read it/shows the book to other. later on that day feysand confronts you, starts to tease you about the book, maybe even asks to recreate your favorite scenes. you get a little embarrassed bc of it being a darker romance book, but mostly bc feysand found it & read it.

i hope that makes sense, i was hoping for somewhat angst if you could fit it in and definitely smut

i’ve had this stuck in my head for days and i just needed you to hear it 😂😭

i am absolutely OBSESSED with your writing, i can’t get enough of it 🫶🏻

a good book can do wonders 

Feysand x f!Reader

Summary: Rhys and Feyre steal one of your books. 

Warnings: nsfw, smut, cnc, bondage, not proofread, minors dni!!

Word Count: ~1.4k 

A/N: I loved this idea so much, thank you! It deviated a bit

They’d scented your arousal, undoubtedly, as you sat curled in your favorite armchair. …

“Who recommended this?” Rhys asked, flipping through the pages. 

You tugged your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “Guess.” You muttered, carefully watching his reactions as he skimmed through it, Feyre leaning over his shoulder.

“Please tell me it wasn’t my sister.” Feyre groaned, but you saw how her eyes gleamed. 

“It’s not,” you managed to huff out a laugh. 

“Definitely Emerie.” Feyre shot you a sly smile. You didn’t confirm or deny. It was her, but you didn’t need to spill her secrets like that. Your non-answer probably told them everything they needed to know. Too late, you realized you could’ve just said it was your own book. 

“And what if it was mine?” 

“I’d be surprised.” Feyre admitted with a shrug. “But it’s not.” She continued flipping through the pages, pausing on one as her eyes widened. You knew exactly what part she’d gotten to, and groaned. You decided it was time for you to leave. Now. Before they said or did anything else that would embarrass you. Rhys shot you a look as you left, as if he was saying this isn’t over yet, and you ignored him, leaving both him and Feyre to keep reading over that damn book. You’d figure out how to get it back later. 

You avoided them for the rest of the day, being extra-cautious to stay out of their way. You weren’t too embarrassed, but it felt like a violation for them to come up and grab it from you. Your biggest secret fantasies, all exposed because they couldn’t mind their own damn business. Hours later, you were still stewing as the time approached for bed, and wondered if it made you a bit immature to avoid them over this. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you muttered under your breath as you approached the door, pushing it open. Thankfully, the room was still empty and you slipped into the bathroom. Maybe you could be asleep before they returned. 

Sleep didn’t come easy, or come at all, you tossed and turned, tucking your arm under the pillow with a groan. 

“Already trying to sleep?” you heard Feyre from the door, “I might think you’re avoiding us.” 

You let out another grumble, but didn’t move, cursing how they always seem to know. 

“Of course we do,” Rhys’s smooth voice slipped into your mind, and you shoved him back out - slamming the mental walls right up and ignoring his chuckle as a claw stroked down them. 

“If you like it, you don’t have to be ashamed,” Feyre sat next to you, pushing you aside slightly to give herself more room. She moved your arm, exposing your face. You blinked and readjusting to the light, ignoring how her soft hands stroked up and down your bare arm. “So do we,” she glanced at Rhys with a small smirk. He was leaning back against the dresser, watching your every reaction carefully. He gave a small nod to signal his agreement.

“There are some scenes I wouldn’t mind giving a shot,” he purred. 

You let out a slow breath, trying to regain your composure as heat shot right to your core.  “It’s not,” you sighed, “not necessarily that. It’s that you took it from me.” 

His hands braced the dresser as he pushed off it, stalking towards you. He stopped, standing right by your head. One finger traced your jawline, brushing over your bottom lip. His eyes gleamed as your heart sped up, your pulse fluttering and eyes closing at his touch. “I’d say I’m sorry … but it’s opened up a whole realm of possibilities.” 

“Rhys,” Feyre said in a warning tone. Your eyes opened as he shot her a look, as if to say you feel the same. 

“Do you trust us?” He asked you, straightening. 

“Yes,” you breathed, and had an idea of what was headed your way next. 

“And you know how to give your word, if you can’t speak?” 

Gods, you felt like your heart might beat right out of your chest as you gave a small nod. The corners of his mouth twitched up. He tugged you out of the bed, and you stood on shaky legs, your nightgown falling down to the middle of your thighs. He reached out one hand for Feyre, grasping yours in the other, and winnowed. 

You fought hard to keep your balance as you landed … in the Palace above Hewn City. A shiver ran down your spine, the breeze seeming to swirl around the room. You’d only been here once before. 

“Run.” 

You didn’t hesitate and sprinted out, weaving up the stairs and throwing yourself around corners. You had absolutely no idea where you were and quickly found yourself lost. Still, you didn’t quit moving. 

“Lost, darling?” 

You ignored him, but left your walls down still. 

“She has to be, poor thing.” Feyre answered him. 

You could sense their presence nearby, they had to be close. Your breathing grew ragged, and a tiny bit of fear slipped in along with the anticipation. It made it all the more exciting. 

One arm wrapped around your throat, tugging you back into a hard chest as you yelped. 

“Found you,” Rhys’s teeth grazed your neck as you struggled, trying to throw him off. As expected, it didn’t work - not one bit. 

Instead, you found yourself on a balcony seconds later. All of the winnowing was throwing you off, making you lose sense of direction. 

Your hips hinged, pressing against the rail of the balcony as he pressed you over it. His feet kicked your ankles wide, and his firm grip was the only thing keeping you from tumbling off. Feyre’s hand slid down your calf, laughing and gripping your ankle firmly as she gripped it. 

“Please,” you begged, “please stop.” 

Instead, silky ropes appeared, binding one of your ankles to the railing. She moved quickly to secure the other, ignoring your attempts to kick her away. 

Rhys’s hand landed firmly on your ass. “That wasn’t very nice,” he tutted, and another blow rained down on you. You yelped and wiggled underneath him, but you could move. Not as he yanked your right arm over your back, tying it off somewhere, before yanking the left across it, securing that one as well. You were left completely immobile and exposed - at their mercy. Thank the Mother it’s summer time, still, the chill made your nipples harden painfully. 

Your nightgown was bunched up around your hips, as he ran one hand up the outside of your thighs, firmly squeezing your ass before slapping it again. You yelped at the impact, your hips digging into the rail. 

“Please,” you begged again, but this time you were sure what you were begging for. 

“Please, what?” Feyre asked, a cruel hint to her tone, just as two of Rhys’s fingers slammed into you. A mixture between a scream and moan left your lips as he crooked them forward to hit that spot. 

“Little slut can’t even talk.” You looked over your shoulder as Rhys’s fingers pulled out, in time to see him offering them to her. 

“St-stop,” you managed to babble, and she shoved him away, gripping the back of your hair and making your neck arch painfully. 

“Really?” Her hand laid a slap down, right to your wet and aching pussy, and another whimper left your lips. “This doesn’t feel like you want us to stop.” 

Her laugh was cruel as she released your hair, crouching down and digging her teeth into your ass, harsh enough she left a bite on your ass. 

They had studied the book apparently, and were playing out the scene almost identically to how you remember it. “Anything for you,” Rhys’s voice slid into your mind as Feyre’s tongue licked one long strip through your folds. You tried to wiggle away as she slid over your puckered hole, but she held you in place, nails digging into your ass as a warning. 

For what could have been hours, Rhys and Feyre took full advantage of your position - completely bound and vulnerable to their whims. Your hips would have bruises the next day from him pounding into you, you were overstimulated and more sore than you had been in the past, but satisfaction ran through you too - completely sated and content. 

You sighed in relief as they undid the binds, your nightgown had been torn off completely at some point, but Rhys somehow pulled a robe out of thin air and wrapped it around you, tying it gently. Feyre gathered you in her arms, holding you tightly and winnowing you back to the River Estate.

[ninthcircleofprythian]

Unbound

Part 2 - Don't Pull Away

Series Summary - Not having a mating bond didn't stop the love Azriel and Celeste have for each other or their commitment. When an unknown magic lingering from Celeste's past causes her to lose all memories of the last century, will they be able to rebuild their life without a bond tethering them together?

Word Count - 3.2k

Warnings - angst, emotional turmoil (Az), mentions of past abuse, fade to black scene

Author's Notes - this continues the background portion of the series (one more after this before we get into the main portion of the plot)

Part 1

Keeping their courtship a secret for as long as they had certainly hadn’t been easy, especially since their two closest friends were mated to each other. When Celeste had broached the topic of breaking the news of their courtship months ago, he had rebuffed the suggestion.

“I’m not ready. Not just yet,” he had stated.

“Why?” she questioned seriously. “It’s been nearly six months since we’ve become serious, even longer if we count all the dates we went on before then. I’m not sure we will be able to hide it for much longer.”

She had started masking her scent in public after they had spent time with each other and suggested he should do the same. It was an idea she sprouted all on her own, but his emotions about it were complicated. 

There was no sadness in her tone, just curiosity. She had learned very quickly that Azriel was an extremely private male and sharing his feelings didn’t come easy to him. She never pushed too hard or pried too deeply until she was sure he was ready. 

“Nesta keeps trying to set me up on dates and I’m running out of excuses.” She saw him bristle at the thought before adding, “Plus, I don’t really like lying to my friend.”

Azriel’s skin felt tight at the mention of her dating other males. He had met a few of the casual dates of her past after Nesta had paired Celeste up before he had started courting her. Nesta’s choice in her own mate was infinitely better than the taste she had in choosing for her friends.

“I-I don’t know,” he stammered, the shadows tightening around his hand in nearly one fluid sheet as he flexed his hands into fist. “I’m just–I’m scared.” He sighed heavily, avoiding her eyes.

“Of what?” Celeste asked softly. While Azriel was definitely a private soul, Celeste was much more direct. She was gentle and empathetic but if she wanted to know something, she asked. It was something Az was still very much getting used to. She hardly ever skirted around things which was probably why her and Nesta had become such fast friends. 

“I don’t really know. It’s just-” the words seemed to escape him and the whiffs of chatter the shadows kept swirling around his ears didn’t help. His brain felt like a tangle of knots. 

“I think you do know. It’s in there,” Celeste leaned forward from where she sat on the sofa next to him, feet tucked under her and facing him, her knees pressed into his hip as she reached a hand forward and laid it on his chest. “Take your time.” She peered at him casually as if they had all the time in the world, head resting on her fist as her arm was propped on the sofa back.

Azriel stared down at the hand on his chest and watched as his shadows abandoned their perch along his ears and whirled in a pulsing ring around her wrist. He wasn’t sure if the hard thud of his pulse was because of Celeste’s proximity or her questioning. He centered his breathing to the shadow’s beat before trying again. “I’m scared because – once it’s out there we can’t take it back.” He met her hooded focus with a watery look of his own. Her countenance didn’t flinch. She understood what he wasn’t saying but guided him anyway.

“Would you want to? Take it back?” Her thumb began a slow rhythm against his shirtfront in time with the shadows that still lingered there. 

“No,” he answered hastily. “No, of course not. But–once we put it out there–” Azriel attempted to center his breaths again but only ended up with one shuddering inhale. “Once it’s out there it can be taken away.”

Celeste let him collect his focus for a moment. After a pause in silence she moved her hand from his chest and drew one finger down the side of his jaw, applying slight pressure to get him to turn to her. “Azriel,” she breathed out and he shuddered, his wings shaking the furniture. “It could be taken away now too.” 

The thought so simple, so plain and obvious now that it was spoken aloud, had never occurred to him. The idea that keeping this a secret meant it was safe and protected fractured in his mind. His eyes widened and she resumed the pacing of her thumb, this time along his cheek. 

“Just because we keep it hidden doesn’t mean it can’t be taken away from us,” she continued gently. “If a time of hardship happens to come, wouldn’t you want to suffer with people around who love you rather than suffering alone?” She had ceased her movements, the shadows stilling at the same second she did. 

Azriel sat there feeling like she had just broken open his chest and read the darkness inside like a book, a feeling he was very much not used to. Suffering alone was all he had known. The only suffering he shared, the only suffering he had done with others was because something happened to them collectively and even then he avoided sharing his own grief. Anything that had ever happened to him and him alone was always insulated. Always his and no one else’s. 

Celeste had known where to pluck out that mess of knots from because she had once battled the same fight. She had been subjected to terrible things at Tyrik’s hand in the past and then left alone and broken. Suffering in isolation with no one to console or comfort her had nearly been as hard as the physical healing. The life she was leading now, the one she had nearly lost her life for, was once her greatest wish. The friends and family she was now surrounded with had been what brought her that inner peace. Without them she didn’t want to imagine the mess of a person she could have become. 

Azriel’s focus zoned out while he pulled on that mind tangle Celeste had brought to the surface, feeling for the loose end with which to unravel it. She swore she could almost hear the gears working in his mind.

“There it is,” she whispered softly against his other cheek. “I told you it was in there,” she held herself there, Azriel feeling her warm breath brush across his face before she placed a gentle kiss to the spot and sat up straight.

“We can wait,” She stated matter of factly. “We don’t have to tell anyone just yet.”

Two days later, Azriel was sent up to Windhaven for an extended trip. This was the same place that had brought him so much suffering in his early life but also brought him so much joy in bringing him his brothers. The juxtaposition had always been a confusing one to Azriel, but usually when the feelings cropped up he had just ignored them. Shoved them deep down inside that darkness to examine later. Often, later never came. This time however, the chasm that Celeste had ripped open was still raw and shoving those creeping feelings down did nothing but to spit them back out from where she had read him. 

For the entirety of the first week, he took to the training ring every morning and every night, pushing himself against the wall of exhaustion with defense and weapons and weight training. When that didn’t work he laid in bed at night and held that tangle in his mind’s eye, just staring at it until sleep took him. 

Nearly three weeks into his stay, Celeste had arrived for a healer camp rotation. Azriel had been shocked to see the outline of her ample frame trudging alongside Rhys from the camp boundary where they had winnowed in. 

Seeing as the attitude towards females in the war camp wasn’t exactly welcoming, chaperones were a required necessity for all healers rotating through the camps. Azriel had stepped in to shadow Celeste on all her patient visits. 

“Your camp rotation wasn’t for another two months.” He pointed out when they were alone the next morning in the rickety cabin that was used as a clinic. Celeste was shuffling around preparing supplies, laying out bandages and tonics on a tray. 

“Well,” she said with her back facing him. “When you didn’t come home I figured I would come to you.”

Home. The word made that chasm in his chest twitch. 

“I told you I was staying longer.” He said from the corner where he had been for the last hour.  “You really didn’t need to change your schedule for me.”

Celeste had turned now to face him, staring directly into his eyes unflinching. “Yeah, a note. I have to miss our date this weekend. I am needed here a bit longer. I’ll be in touch. You got your point across alright.”

He had no response to that but his mouth twitched as he noticed her disappointment in his silence. Approaching him slowly from across the room, she placed her hand directly over the raw soul wound he could still feel inside him.

“Don’t push me away, Az.” She started softly as she leaned into her hand and tilted her head back to keep his gaze. “Take whatever time you need to work out whatever it is running through your head but please–please don’t pull away. Not from me.”

Celeste calling him out was never comfortable and she certainly had a knack for doing it. Rhys and Cassian loved him as a brother. Az knew that without a doubt but even they let him push away and isolate whenever his head became too loud with the thoughts he didn’t want to face. They didn’t poke and question. Celeste on the other hand spoke those thoughts aloud. She prodded deftly and guided gently. Pushing her away was the last thing Azriel wanted. He wanted her close by at all times, within his sight and tucked into his arms. He wanted all her mornings and afternoons and nights, especially her nights, for the rest of his days.

He spent his next few days at the camp standing quietly in her company, watching her nimble hands set bones, dress wounds and offer soothing touches of comfort. Often he noticed, when her work allowed them to reside in close enough quarters, that his shadows had begun choosing to gather around her remedying presence rather than swirl around in his brooding aura.

One afternoon, as Celeste had just dismissed the last patient from the clinic cabin, she began tidying up and gathering her supplies to prepare for the next day.

“Sometimes I wonder why we even have camp rotations,” she pondered aloud. “Most of the injuries I treat here aren’t accidents and most of the patients only allow me to treat the most severe ones.”

The patient she had just dismissed had done just that. Coming in for a shredded wing, he had an obviously broken arm in a dirty sling. The splint taped around his forearm had clearly been rushed and the bone badly set. But he had just clutched the arm tightly to his abdomen, outright refusing Celeste’s offer to access and reset it. “Just the wing,” he had said, the most important thing to an Illyrian aside from his siphons.

“It’s to teach them a lesson,” Azriel answered in monotone from the corner, shadows nearly obscuring him from view. 

“And what kind of lesson is that?” Celeste responded snidely, not bothering to look up from her duty. “That they can be broken in more ways than one?”

He knew instantly that she was hinting pointedly at her own experience with being broken. In more ways than one. Azriel didn’t answer as he worked to tamp down the anger at the thought. His wings twitched with tension as that tangle bumped against the shields of his mind. 

After a beat of silence she added, peering over into that darkened corner. “And do you agree with their teaching methods?” 

Her eye line didn’t waver as she waited for his response, even as the shadows thickened and briefly covered him completely.

How could he defend the brutality that bred fierce warriors and the violence that taught them to exact their powers into weapons? How could he defend that as one of the warriors who knew first hand, to his sweet Celeste who had experienced the same treatment for different reasons? But were the reasons really that different? In both cases the desired result was the same - obedience. In the end he had come out a soldier, but Celeste had just ended up broken. His feelings about Windhaven had been conflicted since childhood but adding Celeste into the equation had made them impossible. The tangle inside his head slammed against the obsidian fortress of his mind.

“No. I don’t.” His quiet answer seemed to satisfy her although her face remained furrowed in thought. 

A long tense bout of silence stretched between them with only the sound of her shuffling as she rolled bandages, the sun settling lower in the sky outside the window.

“Is that what happened to your hands?” She broke the silence, her voice strained.  “A lesson?” Her own hands had stilled before her but her head remained staring at the table. 

An unnaturally eerie stillness permeated not just his body, but the entire room. The shadows had revealed him fully and rushed to swirl madly around the hands she spoke of. He was unaware of how long it took him to answer. 

“No,” Azriel finally uttered gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the swirling shadows. “That was my brothers.”

Through all the time they had known each other and throughout their courtship of the last months, Celeste had never commented on or shied away from his brutal scars. She often stroked a touch over them or swept her thumb across them, following their grooves with a finger like reading words on a page, but she had never asked about them. 

Seeing the brief confusion flash over her features he quickly added. “Not them. Not Rhys and Cas.” He cleared his throat thickly. “My real brothers. Half-brothers.”

She didn’t ask any more questions of his confession, instead she looked at him pointedly and said, “From what I see, Cas and Rhys are the only real brothers.” 

That night he had laid there staring at the ceiling unable to sleep, the mess of a tangle laying squarely in his mind’s eye. At some point he gave up on contemplating the knots and decided instead to start pulling. Pulling and twisting and feeling. The things that surfaced inside him had been buried for so long that they had grown fangs. Fangs and claws and venom. As he pulled on that gods forsaken loose end, those wretched things followed, but as they emerged into the light that Celeste’s chasm had created, he began to see they weren’t so fearsome after all. Even though they snapped and snarled, hissed and spit, Azriel could feel that they would be able to be tamed in time. They didn’t need to be defeated. They were just as scared as he was. They had only grown fangs because he had refused them the kindness of trying and instead shoved them away. 

After what felt like an eternity, he had laid there in the barely lightening hours of pre-dawn, holding up that loose end, the tangle no longer a tangle but now just a string, and he had cried. Huge heaving sobs wracking his body and bringing him to his knees.

Oblivious to the time Azriel trekked the distance to the healer's quarters and banged the side of his fist upon the door. It took a few minutes for Celeste to rouse herself from sleep before the door cracked open a fraction and her velvety dark eyes peered out. 

“Az?” she questioned as she pulled the door fully open. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” She stood there clasping her robe closed and taking in his appearance. His face was tense and rubbed swollen from crying, eyes red and puffy. The wind had ravaged his hair into a mess of dark curls falling into his face and the look in his hazel eyes was stricken. 

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him over the threshold, “Az, tell me you are alright,” she reached up to grab his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Are you hurt?” The warmth of her touch banished the cold.

Still no answer left him, instead he mirrored her movement, grabbing her face in his ridged hands. She gasped from the shock of the wind ravaged chill that seeped into her skin, the shadows adding to her startle with a misty chill of their own as they seeped from his fingertips and down the back of her neck. Before she could close her mouth he swept his head down and claimed a hard sensual kiss. 

He felt the heat of her face flood under his palms as a fierce color rose to her cheeks and it was his turn to gasp. She responded with a tenderly soft flick of her tongue against his teeth, sinking into his body and her hands slipping to his chest as she continued to reciprocate his kiss. 

Reluctantly, Azriel pulled back and seared into her gaze with a determined look. 

“I’m ready,” he said, his voice rasped from crying.

She shimmied against him with a gentle pressure from her thigh to the front of him. “I can tell,” she panted out a laugh.

“No – that’s not what–”

“I know what you meant,” she breathed out in another whispery laugh. “But for now–for just this minute–it can wait,” and she pushed the door closed, tightly shutting out the cold night wind. 

As the fateful hour of Solstice dinner approached, Celeste stood adjusting the silver fabric of her dress inside the closet-sized bathroom of her apartment. Selecting a glittering pair of dangling starry earrings, she tilted her head and began placing them in her ears.

“Mmm,” a sultry purr rumbled from behind her. “You look amazing in that.” Azriel slipped in behind her having just returned from his trip to his townhouse. With an arm around her waist he tucked his wings as tight as they would go in the cramped space. With her hair swept up and pinned into a loose pile, he couldn’t resist nuzzling into her exposed neck. Shadows began lazily exploring the twists and turns of her hair strands, landing curiously around her hairpins as he voiced, “I’m heading out now.”

“Okay,” she said, tilting her head to lean into his. “I’ll be behind you shortly. I just have to pick up the last part of your gift on the way.”

“Hmm,’ he purred again, propping his chin on her shoulder. “I thought I knew what my gift was already.”

“Believe it or not,” she smiled brightly in the mirror's reflection. “Even the famed spymaster of the Night Court can still be surprised.”

“Famed huh?” he chuckled into her ear lightly. 

A shiver ran down her spine as she swatted at the side of his face teasingly. “Go already. You’re going to be late.” Az released his arm from her waist and straightened as smoothly as he could in the close quarters. 

“We are moving you out of here. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning," he said with irritation as his wing bumped against the door.

Celeste’s merry laugh filled the small space with sound. “Yeah, the Illyrian compliant apartments were a bit out of my price range,” she jested.

With Az still taking up the doorway it was impossible to turn around to face him. Celeste instead caught his attention in the mirror, “Az,” she paused as his eyes met her reflection. “I love you.”

She saw muscles of his face relax and soften from the usually neutral expression as a sweet smile spread, reaching his eyes with a crinkle. “I love you too, Celeste.”

Taglist - @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria

[foundress0fnothing]

leave a kiss but in the cup

Summary: Cassian gets roped into helping organize Rhys and Feyre’s wedding when, on a whim, the two decide to throw it at the winery in the small town where the brothers all grew up. The problem? He has to work with Feyre's older sister, Nesta. And she hates him.

Chapter 1/?: 3.1k words, eventual E rating for smut

For @nessianweek

Another late entry for Nessian Week! This was supposed to be posted on Day 4, but I spent that day in the aforementioned ER, so here it is today. There's not update schedule, and I don't have any of it prewritten.

Read on ao3 or below the cut!

As he stretches out on the pontoon that he chartered for Rhys’ bachelor weekend, drunk on sun and local beer, Cassian can’t think of any place he’d rather be. 

He’s spent time backpacking around the world, seen big cities, and explored natural wonders but still—he’s positive that there’s nowhere better than the lake town where he grew up. There’s something about the water and the slow pace of life and the easy warmth of the people that he hasn’t managed to find anywhere else, and so even though the drive to his hometown takes an ungodly fourteen hours from where he lives now in Philly, he still makes the trip every year. The exhaustion and the stiff back from too-long driving shifts and the fact that he has to put up with Az’s edgelord playlists are worth it every time.

And this year, there’s even more reason to make the drive—his brother is getting married in a week and wanted to spend his last few days as a bachelor in the place they all still called home. 

They all met Feyre six months ago at a restaurant in Fishtown when she was their waitress, and from the moment she called Rhys a prick for ostentatiously flashing an Amex Black Card when it came time to pay, Cassian could tell that his brother had finally met the one. Their love had been a messy whirlwind of drama and passion as they navigated exes and family troubles, but it wasn’t long before Feyre had Rhys’ family ring on her finger and was picking out a wedding dress. Cassian knew that once Rhys found what he wanted, he’d do anything to make it his as soon as possible—Feyre was no exception.

When it came time to plan the bachelor weekend, then, Rhys only had two requests: that it take place in Cherry Hills and that there weren’t any strippers. Cassian had almost laughed out loud when Rhys told him that. Sure, he had his bro-y moments, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that strippers would be the right thing for his brother just before he was getting married.

Plus, the former request precluded the latter—Cherry Hills wasn’t the kind of place he’d find strippers easily. Interested in idyllic boat trips on one of the rivers or lakes? Great. Hoping to spend a few hours outdoors and then end the day with a round of minigolf? Even better. Looking to hire professional entertainment for the evening? Extremely challenging. It was the quintessential Midwestern small summer tourist tour—busy for a few weeks with vacationers and outdoor enthusiasts and day-drunk parents and popsicle-sticky children that then shut down the moment October hit and brought the first snowfalls. Not the ideal place for establishing any kind of nightlife. If you wanted that, it was at least a 45-minute drive south down M22.

And since Rhys only wanted his brothers there anyway, Cassian had planned the weekend to be more of a homage to their high school days than the usual bachelor bacchanalia. They had kayaked on the river where they first learned to swim, hiked the sand dunes where they used to race each other to the top to drink shitty beer and talk about what they’d do when they finally got out of Cherry Hills, and ate in the cash-only restaurant that had been around longer than any of them had been alive. 

They had saved the boat ride around the lake for their last day because somehow, despite doing nothing besides sitting and drinking and eating, it always manages to exhaust them. It’s the good kind of exhaustion, at least, this heaviness that comes with too much sun and too much food—a perfect way to end a perfect bachelor weekend. Not that Cassian is bragging.

But still—he had done a good job.

A voice breaks through his self-congratulatory haze. “So, what’s next?” 

“What do you mean, what’s next?” Cassian sits up to glare at Rhys who has draped himself over a few seats on the opposite side of the boat. Azriel raises an eyebrow at Rhys from where he’s perched in the driver’s seat but doesn’t say anything, apparently content to let his brothers argue it out. Bastard.

Rhys shrugs with all the indolence of a lazy housecat. “The boat’s due back to the rental place in 30 minutes, yeah?” Cassian nods. “So what’re we doing after that?”

Cassian frowns and says, “What else do you want to do?” He’s planned an evening of takeout pizza and video games back at their rental, but he has the sinking feeling that’s not what Rhys has in mind.

“You’re the one in charge. Surprise me.” 

Rhys waves a hand in his direction as he says this, and Cassian thinks, for just a few moments, about how easy it would be to murder his brother and dump his body overboard. The lake is shallow though—too shallow to get away with it—and so he settles for a clipped, “You know this town as well as I do. We’ve done everything there is to do.” Rhys doesn’t answer, and so Cassian tries to remember how much cash he has left and whether it would be enough for a final round of drinks at the Tavern. Probably not, but he resigns himself to paying the $7 surcharge to use the ATM outside of the restaurant. “We could always go to the Tavern—” 

“There’s a new wine tasting room,” Azriel interrupts, and both Cassian and Rhys turn to look at him, the latter pulling his sunglasses up to rest on his head for a moment. Azriel shrugs. “They opened in April apparently.”

“And they’re good?”

“Didn’t have that on the flier in the IGA, sorry.”

Cassian glances at Rhys. “Will that satisfy you, asshole?”

“Yes, I think that’ll do quite nicely, thank you,” Rhys says, slipping his sunglasses back down over his eyes. 

Cassian gives Azriel a long suffering look, but Azriel only snorts and turns the engine back on, signaling the return of the party to dry land and the start of whatever this wine tasting is about to be. Cassian only hopes that it’s cheap and strong.

—----------------------------------------------

The wine tasting room—creatively named Cherry Hill Wines—is situated just off the main road on the first floor of a two-story house that’s been converted into a storefront. Cassian can’t quite see the lake from where he stands on the front porch, but it’s close enough that, in the lulls between children’s shouts and tourists’ conversations, he can just make out the sound of the water. 

The shop itself is busy with people dropping by for happy hour, and Cassian is glad of his extra height as he steps inside and surveys the space from his place at the back of the short line. There’s a small menu on the wall above the bar and a row of fridges lining the sides of the room stocked with ice cream and small, pre-made charcuterie plates. A shelf by the front door has local crafts for sale—candles and coffee mugs and keychains all proudly emblazoned with images of Cherry Hills. There are only a few open seats at the bar, but through the French doors at the back of the room he spies a handful of fire pits with chairs set up around them, cornhole boards and bags, and a wide grassy lawn perfect for picnic blankets or lawn chairs. It’s cozy, Cassian thinks, and clearly something already beloved by the tourists if the number of people packed into the space is any indication. 

And then he sees her. 

She’s standing behind the counter taking orders and pouring glasses of wine while she chats with the customers. Her hair is golden brown and braided into a tight coronet  of her head. Her eyes are a storm of blues and grays, flashing with an inner fire that makes something in Cassian sit up and pay attention, and he wonders how the hell someone who looks like that ended up in Cherry Hills. She sure as hell didn’t grow up there—Cassian would remember her. 

He nudges Azriel with his shoulder to get his attention and nods his head toward the backyard, although his gaze still lingers on the woman behind the counter. “Grab a spot outside. I’ll get the first round.”

Azriel arches his eyebrow, following Cassian’s line of sight to the woman. He snorts and says, “Good luck with that.” Before Cassian can respond, however, he grabs Rhys and steers him outside.

Cassian flips him off behind his back, laughing at Rhys’ confused expression at being ferried outside, and then turns back to the counter to find the woman glaring at him. The line had dissipated more quickly than he expected, and Cassian realizes that she must have been waiting for him to finish goofing off with his brothers.

He puts on his most charming smile, the one that’s gotten him out of trouble ever since he was a little boy. “Sorry.” He shrugs. “Brothers, you know?”

If anything, her glare only intensifies, and Cassian almost preens at the challenge it presents. 

Hands on her hips, she asks, “Well? What do you want?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. What’s good?” He leans in and winks. “You?” He half hopes she falls for his charm, half hopes she continues glaring at him. The prospect of either—of her fire, her attention turned on him, no matter the reason—makes him crave more.

Her eyebrow arches, and she ignores his flirtation to answer acerbically, “All that time in line and you couldn’t be bothered to make up your mind? 

“Were you watching me? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. It’s hard to miss an oversized brute when he invades my store.”

“Your store? Very impressive, sweetheart—

But she interrupts him, looking behind him and calling out, “Next!

“But—” Cassian starts, but before he can say anything, her voice, flinty and angry, cuts him off again.

“You can go to the back of the line since you need more time to make up your mind.” She glares at him again as she says this before returning her gaze to whoever is standing behind him.

He blows out an exasperated breath, rolling his eyes at her dramatics. “Whatever, I’ll just get three glasses—”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t hear Mrs. Stephenson’s order.”

Cassian stiffens slightly and turns around to see his former history teacher. The woman had made his high school years absolutely miserable—she was suspicious and shrew-like, always handing out detentions to him for things that no other student—ones with active parents who drove them to school in new cars and came to parent-teacher conferences wearing Rolexes and Birkin bags—got in trouble for. 

She glares up at him. “Still causing trouble, I see

“No, ma’am. Just taking advantage of this lovely lady’s willingness to let me gather my thoughts. Please go ahead.”

A few more tourists had entered while he had been at the bar, and Cassian sighs as he moves to get in line again behind them. If he has to hear shit about taking a long time from Rhys and Azriel, he’ll go home and have pizza and play video games by himself. Fuck it.

The line moves quickly at least as a redhead joins the ice queen at the bar, and it isn’t long before Cassian is once again staring down into the blue-gray eyes of winery nemesis. She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

The redhead glances over, clearly confused by the strange stalemate taking place next to her and says, in a voice slightly tinged with exasperation. “Nesta, can you get his order?”

“That depends. Is he able to actually place one this time?”

“He is, Nesta,” he fires back, savoring the feeling of her name on his tongue. “One Pinot Grigio and two Farmstead Reds.”

“Amazing. Commendable work. You made it through a basic human interaction,” she says as she ducks beneath the bar to grab three glasses.”

“All thanks to your outstanding service, Nes.” He watches her nostrils flare at the nickname.

“Nope.” She sets the empty glasses down on the bar with a harsh clink. “I’ll send you to the back of the line again.”

He meets her glare with one of her own, and it is perhaps fortuitous that his brothers choose that moment to make their way back inside. 

“Cassian, what the fuck is taking so long?” Rhys says when he reaches his side.

Azriel is close behind and murmurs to Cassian with a smirk, “He’s only mad because I beat him at cornhole. Twice.”

Cassian rolls his eyes, thinking wistfully of video games and beer and time spent without demanding brothers and snooty women. Another night. Instead, he shrugs. Just took me a while to pick out the right thing for you assholes. That’s all.

There’s a snort from the bar that Cassian pointedly ignores. No use getting into it with the ice queen again in front of the other two. 

But it catches Rhys’ attention, and his gaze lingers on the woman long enough to make Cassian’s hackles raise. It’s not like Rhys to really pay attention to anyone else anymore now that he has Feyre, and Cassian doesn’t like that it’s this woman who’s the object of his attention. Not that Cassian has any claim to it either. And yet.

He doesn’t intervene when Rhys takes a step closer to the bar, his eyes still on Nesta, as asks, “Are you Feyre’s sister?”

And then Cassian can see the resemblance. The hair color and the eyes are almost exactly the same, but where they make Feyre seem alight with youthful energy and warmth, Nesta’s are worn almost like a cold, brutal suit of armor against the world. Or again him, at any rate.

And apparently against Rhys, because she’s glaring at him as she asks, “How do you know Feyre?”

“I’m her fiance.” Rhys smiles. “It’s good to meet someone from her family.”

Nesta raises an eyebrow. “You’re the restaurant asshole she’s marrying? Didn’t you guys just meet?”

He shrugs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “When you know…”

Nesta looks at Cassian, who’s just watching the interaction, and rolls her eyes. He snorts quietly, despite himself. Because she’s not wrong. He would agree with her generally—marrying someone after knowing them for only half a year is crazy. 

But he’s seen Rhys and Feyre together, and what they have works for them. Would it be what he’d choose? No. But it seems—good.

Rhys is still talking. “I didn’t know you lived here.”

“Clearly.”

Another voice, coming from the stockroom, politely expands on Nesta’s brusque answer. “She moved up here with me and another friend after college.”

“Em?” Cassian exclaims. Standing there before him is his old friend, Emerie Alvarez.

Cassian scoops the woman up into a giant bear hug. They haven’t seen each other since he graduated high school. She had been a freshman when he was a senior, but he knew what it was like to have a shitty family in a place  like Cherry Hills, and so he always looked out for her while he was there. The town was small enough after all—with only 20 or so kids in each graduating class, it wasn’t hard to know everybody's business.

He gestures proudly around the shop. “This is yours?”

She nods, clearly pleased. “We—Nesta, Gwyn, and I—bought the winery off my dad three years ago before he moved to Ohio. But it’s a little far out from the tourist scene, so we bought a place here this year to do tastings.”

“Look at you, Em.” He gives her another hug, ruffling her hair in a brotherly fashion until she jams her elbow into his side, hard enough that he winces. He’s pleased—beyond pleased, really—that she managed to shake off her family and do something for herself in the town he knows she loves just as much as he does.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Nesta looking at him, but her face has turned contemplative, curious rather than coldly calculating. 

“What brings you all back up here?” Emerie gestures to his brothers. “It’s good to see you, Azriel, Rhys.”

Cassian smiles and steps forward to throw his arm around Rhys’ shoulder. “Rhysie’s getting married and wanted to do his bachelor party here.” His grin turns into a smirk. “And guess whose sister he’s marrying?”

Emerie follows Cassian’s gaze to Nesta, who only shrugs and says, “Apparently.”

Rhys frowns slightly. “You got an invitation. I know Feyre sent one.”

“I’m aware.”

“Nes—” Emerie starts, but Nesta continues on before Emerie says anything else.

“I’m going to the shotgun wedding to support Feyre, don’t worry.”

“It’s not a—”

“Okay, here are your drinks! Please find a spot. Outside.” The redhead—Gwyn—who had been observing the conversation and apparently getting their drinks while Nesta was distracted, intervenes and hands them to Az, cutting Rhys off.

Az smiles at her thankfully and once again herds Rhys out the door. Gwyn, Cassian notices, is blushing slightly.

Before following his brothers, he turns back to Nesta, who still seems to be fuming slightly. He can’t help but stoke the fire of her temper, and so he says, “Aww, Nes, we’re going to be family.”

“Nope.” She shakes her head decisively. “And don’t call me that.” “You’re right.” He nods and then smiles lasciviously. “I’m not sure I’d want to call you my sister.

She catches his meaning and glares. “Pig.”

“You love it.”

Emerie shoves his shoulder. “Stop being an ass. You’re better than that.”

“She brings out the best in me, what can I say?” He quips, shrugging, but something churns within him anyway. Enough. Shaking his head, he takes a step back from the bar. “Em, it was good to see you again. Gwyn, it was good to meet you. And, Nes,” he smiles, “I’ll see you at the wedding.”

—---------------------------------------

The next morning, Cassian wakes early and begins puttering around the rental’s kitchen, gathering trash and cans and bottles as he goes. They have to check out by 10 a.m., and there’s a fair amount they have to do per the house rules: strip the beds, take the trash out, clean the surfaces, run the dishwasher.

Hearing the noise, Rhys saunters out of the bedroom and perches on one of the stools by the kitchen bar. “Why are you doing so much cleaning?”

Cassian blinks and looks at him in confusion. “Because it’s checkout day?”

“Mmmm, not anymore.”

Crossing his arms, Cassian leans against one of the counters. “What do you mean ‘not anymore’?”

Rhys brushes some invisible lint off of his plaid pajama bottoms. “I called the owners and extended it.”

“But the wedding—”

“Feyre and I talked about it last night. We don’t want to get married in Philly anymore.”

Cassian closes his eyes, because he knows what’s coming next. 

“We’re getting married here. At Cherry Hills Winery.”

[redbleedingrose]

Azriel loving his chubby mate headcanon

Just a small little headcanon about Az worshiping and loving on his chubby mate. I hope y’all enjoy just as much as I did.

Dedicated to my beautiful and kind best friend @princess-tulip-writes and all my chubby girlies out there. You are deserving of love.

Kinda NSFW so 18+ only!

Az wanted to fall to his knees when he first met you. They became so weak but also he wanted to kiss the ground you walked on. It was like this angel or goddess had descended and was in his presence. Your sweet scent literally has his mouth watering. 

At first, he is too nervous to approach you. You are by far the most ethereal person he has ever seen, and he cannot believe that he could have someone like you. It takes him weeks to build up the courage to approach you. His shadows follow you around all day reporting back to him all that you do, and he falls more and more. Deeper and deeper in love with you. Anytime he hears that you have picked up a new book to read, he is rushing to the library under the house to grab the same one. He spends hours annotating and reading every line so delicately, thinking about all the things that you would be thinking about. Wondering what you would say in certain moments. 

A part of him has also been holding back because he knows the danger that he could put you in by even looking at you. But eventually the urge to talk to you becomes irrisistable. He feels selfish for approaching you but your honeyed voice and delicate nature has him folding so hard. He can't stop thinking about how his hands would feel grasping at your chub, clinging to your waist or hip dips. He constantly wants to pull you into him so he can feel the warmth and comforting scent you give off. 

He loves the feeling of your softness against him and he can never get enough. He spends hours cuddling with you, holding you close to him, practically clinging to you because he loves the feel of your body against his hardened muscle. 

When you finally mate, he spends a whole month worshiping every inch of you.

Over and over, in every way possible. 

You are ready to leave the house by week 3 but he keeps pulling you back into bed or bending you over the counter. If you ever feel the need to go out, he would pick you up into bridal style with such easy and fly you around. He loves the windswept look that you get and it makes him so hard thinking about his cock down your throat with those dough eyes staring up at him.

He kisses and licks every single inch of your body, grasping at your hips and waist and thighs. He loves to rest his hand on the chub of your thigh when you sit next to each other and read in silence. He occasionally squeezes reassuring himself that this isn't a dream. That this is his reality.

He always brags to Cass and Rhys during their bat boy conference meetings (which are actually just for drinking and being the busy bodies they are) and he just spends hours discussing how beautiful you look. How your tits bounce when you ride his cock and the pudge of your belly makes him want to cum in you so you swell even further with his babes.

He always talks about the blush you get on your beautiful chubby cheeks, gasping and moaning, literally speechless from the way he is on top of you, thrusting in and out. He always comes back home ready to spread your legs for your sweet taste. Oh and don't even get me started on how he brags about your thighs wrapped around his head when he laps at your cunt.

It is so soft and warm, he always tells Cass and Rhys he wants to die between your legs, that is how good it feels. It feels like his own personal piece of heaven. He always encourages you to sit on his face, he wants to drown himself in you.

And you are obviously okay with this because you, Feyre, and Nesta always get together to gossip about the bat boys, discussing all the new sex positions you have tried, anything sweet that they did, anything annoying that they did, etc. 

He absolutely adores and loves you. Every part of you. Your personality and character is so pure, he loves you for it. He loves your laugh, the way your eyes sparkle as you tease him, the way you rub your lips together while anxious. He loves the way you pick up a book and don’t put it down until you have finished reading it. He loves the way you interact with Nyx, and the way that you have made his family, your family. 

He absolutely loves doing things with you too. He loves reading with you. At first, you had to do it without the fireplace lit because of how it scared him on the inside. It is something that you clocked and you didn't even need to mention it to him. But eventually, slowly, he was able to use the fireplace for the first time in his entire life. And the moment he realized he wasn't afraid anymore was one time where he was too desperate for you and made love to you in front of the fireplace in the living room after a long mission. You fell asleep in his arms and the way the light from the fire highlighted your curves and your chub made him want to light fires.

He loves baking with you and watching you cook. He thinks it is so domestic and he can’t help but need that, given his lifestyle as the spymaster. He struggles with the fact that he commits such dark deeds, but you bring light into his life. You help him see the goodness within him that only a mate could bring. 

It makes him go absolutely feral knowing that he can provide for you and your future family. The way your hips and chub plumpen even further when you mate makes him so proud. He cant help but think of the young child he was who was locked away and starving, and he knows that he will never let that happen to you or his babes. 

He makes himself a lot of promises when it comes to you that are like that. He promises to himself that you and your future babes will always feel safe and protected with him. He promises to himself to try to heal from his past traumas so that you can have the best version of him, even though he is perfect in your eyes. He promises to himself to let himself love you that way you deserve to be loved, not from the sidelines, but fully and deeply. 

Masterlist

[mxtantrights]

Bounded by shadow and blood (18)

azriel x magic!fem!reader

Kynas walks up the steps to Dias. No one in the crowd reacts. He really had them under his control, which was scary. Controlling that much blood at once is not easy and it takes its toll. 

You wonder if that is also why he looks so close to death, or if it’s the other powers running through him. How’d he do that?

“How did you get like this?” You ask.

He smiles at you from your brother’s side. 

“Does my darling wife want to nurse me back to health? That’s sweet.” He snarls.

You wanted to buy time. Amren could have gotten the message but maybe she needed time to get here. And if the wards are down then the whole inner circle could help her. Not that they would help you, but if they knew the shadow singer was in trouble you have no doubt they would do all they could and more.

Your eyes waver over to the man in question. He looks stone cold. And he’s looking right at you. His face isn’t giving anything away. Not even the pain that he’s feeling because of Kynas. 

He really should have left as soon as he got here. 

“Well I think you should at least wear something more appropriate to my throne ceremony.” Kynas says.

You look at him wildly at that. So he did want the throne. Why? Sure power is one of the greatest loves of his life—you never quite made the list. But there were so many ways to get to the throne, why this way?

While you’re not paying attention, your outfit changes. You don’t feel it. Not at first. It’s not until the red sleeves cover your arms that you get it.

You weren’t wearing the clothes from before. Now you were in a red dress. One of the dresses that Kynas had picked out for you to wear at the wedding ceremony. One of the dresses you passed on—and pissed him off.

It was barely a dress. A deep cut down the middle of your chest, only strings to cover your back. The only thing you liked about the dress was the long trail that faded from red to black. 

You reach up to touch your ears. Earrings. And your hand roams down to your neck, a blood pearl necklace no doubt. His favorite. 

“You always wanted me to be docile and obedient but this is a new low.” You bark.

Kynas laughs at that, “No the low would be you giving out your blood to a fae. A lower born fae at that!”

“Who cares?!” You shout back.

At your words Kynas’ eyes shine with amusement. You go slack. Your body temperature rising quickly. You focus on keeping control of your own blood.

“I take it the bastard doesn’t know that its sacred to give blood?” Kynas asks.

“Kynas—“ you start.

But he turns right to the shadow singer. Azriel looks him in the eyes.

“You performed a marriage ritual, did your friend tell you that?” Kynas asks him.

But of course he can’t answer. Azriel struggles against his hold but he can’t break it. You are silently praying for Amren to show up. Or Cassian. Or Morrigan. Maybe even Rhysand. Hell, even Nesta would do at this point.

“I took down the wards, I’m wearing this stupid dress, what more do you want?” You ask, trying to take his attention away from Azriel.

Kynas looks back at you now. He interlocks his fingers together. Menace. Coward. Idiot. 

“I want you to kneel.” He says.

But he’s not commanding or forcing you to do it. You feel his hold on you release. The temperature in your body going back down, ever so slowly even if you feel like you’re on fire from rage.

“Don’t you…dare kneel to him.” Your brother says in between puffs of air.

You look at how he’s struggling. His eyes are turning red. His whole body is trembling. You want to run to him but you can’t. You know that as soon as you do Kynas will do something.

Kynas growls and sends your brother flying down the steps. He rolls and rolls until he lands flat on his stomach. You gasp and take a step closer but as soon as you do, a heavy blood blade forms. The red sword now pointed behind your brother’s skull.

“You will kneel!” Kynas shouts.

You can see your brother resisting. He’s shaking violently now. 

A voice from behind you calls your name. You recognize it as Amren’s voice. You hear other footsteps behind her. You can’t turn back to see them. The shadow on your wrist warms. 

You cannot give your back to Kynas, not when he holds your brother’s life in his hands.

“Never!” Your brother shouts back.

It happens in a matter of seconds, though it feels like eternity. You watch as your brother smiles at you one last time. No matter how forced it looks you will savor it for the rest of your life.

Your brother, breaks out of Kynas’ hold. Kynas doesn’t expect it and stumbles back, his hold on everyone else in the room faltering for a second. A second is all you need.

As you send three blood daggers from your hand, the blood sword that Kynas has pointed at your brother’s head rushes forward. Your daggers hit their intended target. 

Kynas falls on his back with a loud thud. The towns people, gathering their senses, rush away from the front of the room. You however look fro your brother, who is no longer in front of you. The blood blade staked into the floor, but no sign of him.

“Orlin?!” You scream.

“Right here, sister.” 

You turn around. There he is. Your brother, leaning against Cassian by the front of the door. You gather up the ends of your dress and run to him. He grabs a hold of you and brings you in for a hug.

It’s not hard to notice that you are crying. You duck your head down as you brother holds the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry sister,” he whispers.

It’s years of feelings that you’ve held onto pouring out of you at once. Grief, rage, tension, guilt. All of it comes out of you in between broken sobs.

“We’re okay. You saved everyone.” Your brother continues.

You pull away from him, shaking your head, “I didn’t—I mean I couldn’t have done it alone.”

You look over at Amren. She walks over to you and envelopes you in a hug. She whispers in your ear about the blade, and how she came as quick as she could when she realized something was wrong. You thank her over and over again.

From behind you can feel his presence. You turn your head to look. There Azriel is, not a scratch on him. He gives you a once over, you actually watch his eyes search you from head to toe. You have a feeling if no one else was here his shadows would physically make sure you were okay too.

You don’t notice it on first glance. That’s why when you look him over you notice how tense he is. 

“I’m okay,” you start saying.

He starts shaking his head, like he can’t believe it. You move to him at once. You grab his hand and place it at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He lets out a strangled breath at the feeling of your blood flowing beneath his hand.

You nod your head again, “I’m okay. We’re okay.” 

He nods his head too. 

“Sister,” your brother says.

You pull away from Azriel. A few of his shadows climbing up your arm. You turn to face your brother but when you do you wish you hadn’t. He shows you his hand, which came from the back of his head, and there it is. It’s not blood. You wish it was blood. 

A dark substance coats his hand. You take two large steps to him. But it’s not quick enough. He stumbles into your arms. You go down to the floor with him.

Your brother lay on his back on your knees. You can feel the tears coming down your face again. Red. The color of the tears and all you can feel right now.

“Orlin, please, I can fix it!“ you cry.

He shakes his head.

“He gave his blood to the bog of Oorid. What he got back was slowly killing him.” Your brother says, coughing in between words.

If the blood inside Kynas was killing him, then the same blood he used to form the sword he pointed at your brother…was already in him. When he held him by the blade at the neck and when he nicked the back of his head.

He was already...

“I can take your blood, I can give you mine—“ you start.

All of these options could work. In theory. By taking your brother’s blood you could temporarily heal him. But if it’s been spreading for longer than you think you would have to take much more blood, and he wouldn’t survive that.

You could give him your blood, but that wouldn’t work as a cure. It would only work if you could stop the infection. Which, once again, might have been taking root for a long time.

The scars and bruises on his body. You doubt Kynas would use any other blade than his own blood to hurt your brother. 

“I am your older brother, my job is, was, to protect you. I cannot let you give me your blood.” He speaks.

His voice groggy now. He holds out his hand and you take it in yours

“I should have came sooner. I should have known.” You say.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, sister. But they are going to look to you know.” 

You let out a shaky breath and look around the room. The towns people are all taking in the scene in front of them. This wasn’t like the death of the council members which you hid from them. They are all witnessing the death of their emperor, right in front of their eyes.

They’re all watching in real time as the throne is being passed from one sibling to the next. From the heir to the spare.

You look back down at your brother, “I can’t do it. I don’t want this.”

“I know,” you brother hacks loudly and a bit of dark liquid comes out of his mouth, “but I know you’ll figure it out.” 

In your grip you feel his hand loosen. You shake your head and keep repeating his name. As if that would simply wake him up from this awful nightmare. When his chest stops rising you gasp.

You hug his body to yours. Even though you can feel it going cold by the second. It doesn’t feel real. You and your brother were supposed to live this life together. Yes you left and he stayed, but it didn’t matter. You weren’t supposed to be the only one left.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. It doesn’t feel like long. It feels like time is passing you by.

And you don’t move from your position until you hear a voice calling you. It’s not Amren, or Azriel. Or anyone from the inner circle. You know this voice like the back of your hand.

You slowly let your eyes trail up, up, up to the door of the throne room. Standing there in the threshold is Semaj. He looks shaken up but you can’t sense any injuries on him. He’s looking at you now with a scared look on his face.

He gets down on one knee and places his hand over his heart. Sadly he bows his head.

“Empress.” He says.

It’s strikes a reaction in the whole room. One by one all of the towns people bend their knee and bow their heads. You even see Amren joining in. They repeat the same word Semaj had said. The same word you had run from your whole life.

Empress.

[hrizantemy]

Staying anon bc I’m sick of the vile hate/threats I receive for liking both Nesta and IC, but I get if you don’t want to engage.

I personally feel that there is a portion of the fandom that is so obsessed with hating the IC that they end up destroying Nesta’s character over it. Like because Nesta doesn’t mirror their own journeys perfectly she’s been written wrong, but Nesta’s character can’t account for every single persons journey either. No character can. Or maybe people get so stuck in the fandom that they get so far away from the source material and what’s truly canon v headcanon.

I see so many takes that end up reducing her to this weak, spineless idiot afraid of her own shadow, and I just don’t see her character this way at all. And I don’t mean people who don’t like certain ships or characters or plots that are canon. I mean things like:

I see so many people talk about how Nesta is completely manipulated into the following: being with Cassian, becoming a warrior, going to the CoN to interact with Eris, training, etc when this is the same character that was so strong-willed as a human that a high lord’s glamor didn’t properly stick. The same person who TOOK something from the Cauldron, who made a death promise to Hybern. This doesn’t mean she can’t be scared, bullied or manipulated of course, but why is everything she chooses for herself questioned and dismissed by those “pro-Nesta” readers?

Another thing with her training: Nesta definitely doesn’t initiate the training with Cassian, but saying she was turned into a warrior against her will takes away from her effort, from the peace she starts to find in the exercise and control, but also her formation of the Valkyries. I’ve even seen takes about how Rhys probably planted the idea into her head so he could gain new fighters—can this woman have nothing of her own?

Every time I see a post about how the IC “were horrible to her for no reason” it always either downplays or blatantly disregards the way she spoke to others. Nesta IS a good person, but that doesn’t preclude her from purposefully harming others with her words and demeanor. She can use both like weapons and does when it suits her, often to her own regret: like against Elain and Cassian.

Nesta herself believes she failed her sisters, especially Feyre. Many posts use this as proof that SJM used SF to “remind everyone Feyre is the real victim again” but I feel like this is a very shallow take. I think it’s very telling of Nesta’s character that she went through so much but at her core takes a lot of blame for things that happened in the past. It doesn’t make it *true* that all those things were her fault, but she herself says she would have let them starve just to prove how terrible a father their dad was, and she hates herself for it. How compelling that she has to work through all those emotions and has to deal with *herself* as one of the biggest “obstacles” to overcome.

Nesta resents Feyre for doing what she felt she should have. Nesta didn’t hate Cassian—she couldn’t look at him because she blamed herself for all the Illyrians she couldn’t save. Nesta has to confront and forgive herself, the person who ultimately matters most. Anytime any other character comes close to making this realization (and I think it’s pretty wrong to say the solution should have been to “enter her mind and see”) she shuts down the conversation/changes topic.

I know ‘THE HIKE’ is controversial for so many people, but I also fail to understand how people got out of the book that all of SF was about making Nes apologize to other people (the IC specifically?), but when they talk about forgiveness and Nes says it isn’t that easy, Cassian counters that forgiveness isn’t just about others, it’s also about ourselves. He tells her not to worry about the past, apologize only to who *she* felt she needed to, and then move on. It isn’t about turning her into a personality type like Elain—Elain is probably the biggest outlier in the IC as far as personality types, because everyone else does have that edge and sharpness that Nesta herself has.

The apology she does have with Feyre is not drawn out. Nesta doesn’t know how to say the words out loud but she projects them enough that Feyre hears them—it’s a brief scene, interrupted even due to them dealing post Prison/Lanthys visit, but Feyre forgives her. It isn’t held over her head or made into a spectacle. Nor is this passage about Feyre at all; it’s about Nesta being comfortable in her own vulnerability and believing herself deserving of forgiveness, which is a step in her healing.

And don’t get me started on how other characters are said to be ridiculous for perceiving Nesta as a threat—she 100% is! She’s likely one of the most powerful characters we’ve seen and that’s without her fully knowing what she is/how to harness her power! And that’s her without using tools like the Dread Trove! When Rhys tells Cassian he’s scared of her, I don’t think he’s entirely joking. It’s what makes her coveted by a death god and also feared by so many. It undermines her to act like she isn’t powerful in her own right. It reminds me so much of how so many IC members have acted around Amren—even on their side, her power always *more*, and so were her emotions.

This turned into a ramble that’s likely not even decipherable, so I’m so sorry for that. I don’t even think I’ve made my point all that well at all at this point.

Hey anon, I get what you’re saying, and I do love Nesta! Let’s dive into this by focusing on how many of her so-called “choices” often aren’t really framed as her own decisions, and how that erodes her agency.

One of the biggest issues with how Nesta’s choices are framed is that even though she’s portrayed as a strong-willed character, many of her key decisions are driven by external forces, and that’s where people get frustrated. For example, her training with Cassian. Yes, it’s true she finds peace and strength through it eventually, but the entire setup feels like something imposed on her rather than something she would naturally gravitate towards. Instead of it being framed as a healing process she chooses, it can feel like a punishment or rehabilitation program handed down by others, like Rhysand and Feyre, for her “bad behavior.”

Similarly, her relationship with Cassian, while developed over time, often comes across as something she’s pushed into rather than something she fully embraces. It’s hard to shake the feeling that Nesta was manipulated or nudged into the role of Cassian’s mate, especially when their bond doesn’t initially come from a place of mutual respect or understanding but is mired in a lot of unresolved tension and pain. So, while the narrative may want us to believe Nesta is choosing this relationship, there’s a strong argument that she’s reacting to external pressures rather than truly embracing it of her own volition.

The Court of Nightmares scene is one of the most frustrating moments for me, especially when you take into account everything we know about Nesta’s trauma. Rhysand, who is supposed to be this paragon of empathy and understanding, knew what she had gone through. He knew she was groomed, they had a whole discussion about it. Nesta’s trauma wasn’t just a side note—it was a key part of her character development. Rhysand was well aware of the depth of it, and still, somehow, the solution to dealing with Eris and the Court of Nightmares involved forcing her into that role. The manipulation that occurs in this scene highlights just how little Rhysand actually considered Nesta’s well-being, despite what he claims.

What makes it worse is how Feyre steps in to protect Elain from having to take on that role, because Elain is “too gentle” for something like that. So, because Elain is shielded from having to navigate the dangerous, humiliating space of the Court of Nightmares, it falls onto Nesta? Why is Nesta seen as more expendable in that situation? Just because Nesta is strong-willed and outwardly abrasive doesn’t mean she isn’t carrying immense scars. The fact that Feyre didn’t protect her the way she protected Elain is a major slap in the face, especially when it’s Feyre who knows the toll trauma can take on someone.

It’s clear they all know what kind of emotional damage this role could inflict—after all, that’s the entire reason Elain is kept out of it. Yet it’s Nesta who is pushed forward, almost as if her resilience makes her more disposable, or as if her sharp edges make it easier for people to ignore the vulnerability beneath them. They choose to overlook her history, or worse, to ignore it, because it’s convenient to their plans. There’s something deeply unsettling about that.

To me, this moment highlights the hypocrisy of Rhysand and the Inner Circle. They claim to understand trauma, but only when it aligns with their agenda. They protect Elain and Feyre, but Nesta? She’s strong enough to be thrown to the wolves, right? It’s as if because she presents herself as powerful, she’s expected to endure anything—whether she consents to it or not. This scene strips Nesta of her agency and disregards the very real consequences of trauma in a way that I just can’t reconcile with the supposed moral high ground the Inner Circle often claims to stand on.

In the end, it feels like Nesta was sacrificed to serve the larger narrative of Rhysand’s plan and the Court’s needs, and not given the care or respect her trauma deserved. It’s hard to forgive the fact that everyone involved—especially Rhysand, who knew better—was complicit in putting her in a situation that mirrored the very experiences that left her scarred in the first place. That level of disregard for her emotional state is what makes this scene such a huge problem.

When it comes to Nesta’s attitude toward the Inner Circle, it’s important to acknowledge that she wasn’t the one to initiate the hostility. So many people paint Nesta as this unprovoked villain, but when you look at the interactions closely, you realize that the members of the Inner Circle were often the ones who antagonized her first.

Take Cassian, for instance. He constantly pushed Nesta, both physically and emotionally, right from the start. He knew how to push her buttons, provoke reactions, and he did so repeatedly. While some people might interpret their dynamic as “banter” or tension-filled chemistry, it often crossed a line, especially considering the rawness of what Nesta was dealing with. Cassian would instigate, and when she defended herself or lashed out, she was blamed for being difficult or ungrateful. But was she really supposed to just sit back and take it?

Then there’s Rhysand, who from the beginning didn’t give Nesta any respect. He dismissed her, judged her, and made it clear he didn’t think much of her, all while pretending to be this morally superior, understanding figure. Nesta wasn’t rude to him out of nowhere—she responded to the disdain he had for her. He didn’t even try to understand where she was coming from. Instead, he and the rest of the Inner Circle labeled her as a problem before ever giving her a chance.

Even Mor, who is so often praised for her compassion, was quick to judge and show disdain for Nesta. Mor made her distaste for Nesta known, often using passive-aggressive or outright rude comments to make her feelings clear. And again, Nesta reacted in kind. When someone is constantly on the receiving end of that kind of treatment, it’s only natural to put up walls and defend yourself.

Feyre is a more complicated case because there is love between them, but even then, Feyre often overlooked how the Inner Circle treated Nesta. She prioritized her relationship with Rhysand and the group over standing up for her sister when it mattered. Feyre may not have been overtly antagonistic, but her inaction spoke volumes. She allowed the others to treat Nesta poorly, and by doing so, she contributed to the hostile dynamic.

So when people say Nesta was always rude or difficult with the Inner Circle, I think it’s essential to point out that her responses were largely defensive. They were the ones who set the tone of their relationship with her, and Nesta simply reacted to the treatment she received. It’s a classic case of people pushing someone to their limits and then acting shocked when they defend themselves. Nesta’s attitude wasn’t unprovoked—it was a shield against a group that never gave her a real chance to be part of their world.

The dynamic between Nesta and Feyre in ACOSF feels unnecessarily drawn out, especially when you look back at how things were left between them at the end of ACOTAR. By that point, Feyre had already forgiven Nesta. When Feyre came home for that brief period before Under the Mountain, she wasn’t holding a grudge anymore. She even acknowledged that her sisters, especially Nesta, were products of their difficult upbringing and circumstances. Feyre had moved on, at least emotionally, from the hurt Nesta had caused. The tension between them wasn’t as deep from Feyre’s side as it was from Nesta’s.

So, by the time we get to ACOSF, it feels like the conflict between the two is dragged out far longer than necessary, especially when it’s framed as Nesta needing to apologize or make amends with Feyre. Feyre’s forgiveness was already established—she had forgiven Nesta quietly and without fanfare. She wasn’t holding that grudge over Nesta’s head or demanding an apology. And yet, the narrative makes it seem like this massive, unresolved issue, as if Feyre was waiting for some grand reconciliation. But really, it was never about Feyre needing that closure; it was Nesta who needed to forgive herself.

Nesta’s self-loathing and guilt over her past actions were the real barriers to their relationship, not Feyre’s forgiveness. But because the story keeps circling back to this idea that Nesta needs to mend things with her sisters, it makes the resolution of their relationship feel drawn out. Feyre didn’t need Nesta to grovel or beg for forgiveness, but the narrative almost sets it up as if she did. Feyre had already come to terms with their past, but the focus on Nesta’s need for self-forgiveness and the process she had to go through made it feel like Feyre was somehow still waiting for an apology.

At the heart of it, Nesta’s journey was about coming to terms with herself. The real issue was that Nesta couldn’t forgive herself for what she saw as her failures—failing Feyre, failing her family, and failing in her life. That’s an important story to tell, but the way it’s wrapped up in Feyre’s narrative makes it feel like Feyre is still central to Nesta’s healing, when in reality, Feyre’s forgiveness had already been given. This mismatch between what Feyre actually needed from Nesta and what the narrative focused on makes the conflict between them feel unnecessarily prolonged.

Instead of allowing the story to focus more on Nesta’s internal battle with her own guilt and self-worth, it keeps circling back to her relationship with Feyre, making it seem like that was the key conflict that needed to be resolved. In truth, Feyre wasn’t waiting for some grand apology—she had already moved on, and what needed to happen was Nesta finding her own peace. But the emphasis on their relationship makes it feel like the resolution dragged on when, from Feyre’s perspective, it was already over.

The hike in A Court of Silver Flames is one of the most controversial moments in the book, and for good reason. Many readers defend it as part of Nesta’s “journey” toward healing and growth, but when you look at the scene closely, it becomes clear that this was not about helping her—it was about punishing her. Cassian even says as much, explicitly calling it a punishment, and that’s where the problem lies.

Let’s break it down: Nesta is already emotionally and physically exhausted, having been pushed to her limits time and time again throughout the story. The hike is positioned as this ultimate test of endurance and discipline, something that’s supposedly going to help her in her path toward healing. But from the outset, it doesn’t feel like it’s for her benefit—it feels punitive. Cassian acknowledges that it’s a punishment, and this is where the power dynamics get really problematic. Nesta is put in a situation where she has no choice, and it’s framed as a necessary challenge for her to “prove” something, but what exactly is she proving here? Her physical strength? Her ability to endure pain?

The entire setup strips her of agency, and that’s not how healing or self-discovery should work. It’s one thing to push someone to face their fears or help them break through emotional barriers, but it’s another to force them into a physically grueling task as a form of punishment for their perceived shortcomings. Nesta was being punished for not fitting into the mold that Cassian and the rest of the Inner Circle wanted her to fit into. She wasn’t training on her own terms or exploring her own boundaries—she was being forced into this hike as a way to “break” her down and reshape her.

And Cassian saying it’s a punishment only reinforces this. If the goal was truly to help Nesta heal, to help her find strength and control in her own way, then why was it framed as punishment? Punishment isn’t about growth; it’s about control. Nesta didn’t need to be broken down further—she was already in a place where she felt broken and lost. What she needed was support, understanding, and a safe space to rebuild herself. Instead, she was given a hike designed to physically and emotionally exhaust her under the guise of “tough love.”

People often argue that this hike was necessary for her transformation, but I see it as a form of abuse. Nesta didn’t ask for this, and she wasn’t in a mental or emotional place to handle it in a healthy way. It wasn’t about empowerment—it was about forcing her to fit into a role she wasn’t ready to take on. Cassian’s framing of it as a punishment only highlights the imbalance of power in their relationship and the way the Inner Circle treats Nesta. They constantly push her, punish her, and then expect her to come out the other side grateful for it, when in reality, it was just another way for them to control her.

Healing and growth shouldn’t come through punishment. They come through support, agency, and self-reflection. The hike stripped all of that away from Nesta and forced her into a situation where she had no choice but to endure, not for her own sake, but to appease the people around her. In that context, it’s hard to see the hike as anything other than abusive.

Nesta being perceived as a threat is one of the most compelling aspects of her character, and it’s something that the narrative acknowledges, but with a strange double standard. There’s no denying that Nesta is a force to be reckoned with—her power is raw, unbridled, and tied to death itself, making her a uniquely dangerous figure in a world where power dynamics are constantly shifting. Rhysand even admits to Cassian that he’s scared of her, and others in the Inner Circle are visibly uneasy around her. But what stands out is how differently Nesta is treated for being a threat compared to her sisters, Feyre and Elain, who are also incredibly powerful in their own right.

Feyre, for example, is High Lady of the Night Court. She has access to all the powers of the High Lords, including shaping the world around her with her abilities. Feyre’s potential is enormous, but she’s never seen as a threat in the same way Nesta is. Instead, she’s revered and protected. Her power is something the Inner Circle wants to nurture, and while Rhysand and the others acknowledge how powerful she is, there’s a clear distinction in how her abilities are framed—they are viewed as something beneficial, something to celebrate and protect.

Then there’s Elain, who, despite her softer demeanor, possesses the Sight and could be one of the most dangerous players on the board if her powers were fully developed. Prophecy and foresight are incredibly potent abilities, especially in a world filled with political intrigue and constant warfare. Elain is not a fighter, but her potential threat comes from the fact that she can see things others cannot. Still, like Feyre, no one treats her as dangerous. She is often protected, shielded, even infantilized, because of her gentleness, as though her power doesn’t warrant the same fear or concern.

But when it comes to Nesta, it’s a completely different story. Nesta’s power is terrifying because it’s not understood—she’s tied to the Cauldron, a force of creation and destruction, and she’s taken something from it, something tied to death. But it’s not just her magic that makes her a threat; it’s her will, her sharp tongue, her refusal to bend to the Inner Circle’s expectations. She is someone who resists control, and that, more than anything, seems to scare them. Feyre and Elain are seen as threats, but their power is either useful (in Feyre’s case) or something to be handled delicately (in Elain’s case). Nesta’s power, however, is something they want to suppress, to control, because she doesn’t fit neatly into the mold they expect.

This double standard is glaring. Why is it that Nesta, who has no more control over her power than Feyre or Elain, is treated like a walking time bomb, while her sisters are coddled or revered? Part of it comes down to Nesta’s personality—she’s not interested in being controlled or guided, which makes her harder to manipulate. Feyre has Rhysand, and Elain has people like Azriel and her sisters to protect her, but Nesta has always stood alone, which makes her power feel more unpredictable and, therefore, more dangerous to those around her.

The fear of Nesta’s power isn’t just about what she can do with her magic—it’s about who she is. She represents a challenge to the established order, not just in the court but in her personal relationships. Nesta doesn’t care about appeasing others, and that, coupled with her immense power, makes her a genuine threat. But this fear isn’t fair. Feyre and Elain are just as dangerous in their own ways, yet no one is looking to break them down or strip them of their autonomy the way they try to do with Nesta.

Ultimately, the treatment of Nesta as a threat says more about the people around her than it does about her. Her power is feared because it can’t be easily controlled, but it’s also tied to the fact that Nesta refuses to play by the rules. She’s a reminder that true power isn’t just about magic or strength—it’s about the will to use it on your own terms. Feyre and Elain may have their own incredible abilities, but the difference is that Nesta’s power is something no one else can claim, manipulate, or contain, and that’s why she’s seen as the greatest threat of them all.

I don’t mind rambling at all—in fact, I think it’s a great way to explore and unpack complex thoughts and feelings about characters, relationships, and storylines. Everyone brings their own perspective to the table, and that’s part of what makes discussing books and fandoms so interesting. These are just my views on things, and I don’t expect everyone to agree. We all experience stories in different ways depending on our own life experiences, preferences, and what resonates with us most. So, while I might have strong opinions about certain characters or plot points, I definitely welcome other interpretations. Sharing these different views only makes the conversation more engaging, and it’s always interesting to hear how others interpret the same scenes or dynamics. Feel free to dive into any topic, and don’t worry if it turns into a ramble—I’m here for it!

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Shadows and tears

So this is a series about Azriel and reader. English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes. I hope you like it!

Summary: Reader is a tortured soul who barely escaped the brutality of the Illyrian camps finding shelter in the Day Court. Her identity was well hidden until she caught the attention of the Night Court’s Shadowsinger. Will the mating bond be enough for their love to settle in?

Warnings: angst, mentions of abuse and trauma

You don't need a tissue box.....yet

Masterlist

Prologue , Chapter 1, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Chapter 2

You are not mine and I don’t want you to be

Days had gone by and now here you were locked in your room. When you arrived in the house of wind Rhysand showed you your room and since then you stayed inside, no one tried to get you out of your safe place, and you knew you had to thank Rhysand for that. You didn’t want to face them yet, you needed time to get your thoughts in order, also the fact that the house was enchanted and brought you everything you needed was very convenient. Today you woke up ready to face the new reality but as you got ready for the day you were slowly losing your nerve. You turned to look yourself in the mirror, wearing the Illyrian leathers Nesta sent you with a note to braid your hair and thought the sooner I learn to control my shadows the sooner I will be back to the day court. Helion had hurt you by handing you over to Rhysand like that, but you knew he only did it because he cared for you. The inner circle was really thoughtful of you, no one tried to get you to leave your room, but they all sent you things they thought you needed.  Nesta sent you also a handful of novels, Feyre some oils for your baths, Mor new clothes, Amren some books about how to control your powers and Cassian some daggers for practice. Rhysand and Azriel nothing except some light caresses in your mind from Rhysand to remind you that he was waiting for you and some of Azriel’s shadows who would creep into your window to check on you. You couldn’t understand your own shadows, every time Azriel’s made an appearance yours would try to become one with them. With a sigh you opened the door and walked to the dining room seeing everyone at the table eating their breakfast. They all stopped eating and lifted their heads to look at you “good morning” you said and took a seat next to the shadow singer who was looking at you with a lifted brow. After everyone said their good morning you all started eating again. Azriel broke the silence “ready for training?” his gaze was cold, but you could see some hope flicker inside those hazel eyes. You nodded, gulped down the rest of your juice and got up following Azriel to the roof. He was wearing black t-shirt and grey sweatpants that would make you drool with the way they show his muscles if you weren’t still a little wary of the shadow singer.

“Okay so tell me how you feel your shadows” he said staring at your shadows who were trying to push his away.

“I don’t know they are like an extension of me sometimes, I think I can control them but most of the time they are like my hair, I can feel them and touch them, but I cannot control them.” You say looking at them swirling around you.

“You need to realize that your shadows have a personality of their own. Controlling them will not be that easy, I mean yeah sure you can’t control your hair, but they move with the wind or because of some moves you make, your shadows move on their own because they want to, that’s the difference. The key to control them is to understand them, become one with them and use them only in the way that makes them comfortable… after all you need them to be on your side and that means that you must respect them.” He explained and you stared at him seeing the exact opposite of what you have heard. The rumours around him describe a heartless monster who tortures people for his high lord, a dangerous darkness, you even have heard them call him God of death. How could the same man care for creatures such as shadows? Talk about respect and comfort? You were staring at him deep in thought.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something that bothered you?” he took a step back.

“No no it’s okay just thinking everything you said” you replied.

“Alright, let’s see what they want to do, stop pulling them” he said and took another step back to observe.

You took a big breath and your shadows darted towards him his own standing on guard ready to attack like hissing snakes and then he pulled them back staying defenceless while your shadows were an inch away. You took another big breath waiting for them to attack him, but they only started swirling around him like they were studying him, you even saw one caressing his cheek earning a chuckle from him. You stood there frozen a blush creeping on your face.

“They want to explore” Azriel said lifting his hand and letting one swirl around it. You noticed the scars everyone was talking about, the scars weren’t disgusting like most of them said they were telling a story you were sure of that. He caught you staring at his arms and quickly hid them behind his back. You wanted to scream no, to tell him that they didn’t bother you, but you kept your mouth shut not wanting to make the scene more uncomfortable.

After training for a few hours, you felt like your head was on fire, trying to get to know your shadows, please them but also control them was very tiring.

“I think that’s enough for today, Cassian needs the place to train the Valkyries he wasn’t very happy about pushing their training later, tomorrow we can go somewhere else if you’re okay with that.” Azriel said pushing back a lock of hair that had fallen in his face from the wind. He looked almost angelic with the sun shining all over his sharp features and his hair messy because of the wind, you could stare at him all day.

“Yeah sure, maybe you can show me Velaris if you don’t have work to do later” you replied offering him a smile.

“I’m sorry, I’m busy today… maybe tomorrow?” he asked with a smile that shocked you. You had never seen him smile and oh Mother he was absolutely stunning.

“Oh okay tomorrow then.” You said and started walking towards your room passing a girl on your way who run outside “ There you are Azzie I was hoping we could spend our evening together” she said in a chirpy voice, and you could swear you heard his smile when he replied;

“Sure sweetheart”

But…wasn’t he busy? Sweetheart? You felt an ache in your chest, but you couldn’t understand why, he wasn’t yours and you didn’t want him to be.

[nestaismommy]

I’m actually so fucking done.

1) Nesta was not taking advantage of Feyre’s “kindness” by spending Rhysand’s money. She was coping for fucks sake. She was sick. Alcohol helped. She needed help. She wasn’t in her right mind. I cannot with these dumbasses saying she took advantage of bla bla bla. Did you not read the fucking book?

There was anger, occasionally. Sharp, hot anger that sliced her.

But most of the time it was silence.

Ringing, droning silence.

She hadn’t felt anything in months. Had days when she didn’t really know where she was or what she’d done. They passed swiftly and yet dripped by.

She didn’t know what she was doing because she’s mentally and physically sick.

2) Nesta cares about Feyre. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have warned her about the mercenaries robbing her. Then Nesta proceeded to work with a mercenary to get Feyre back, and proceeded to ask her abusive boyfriend to help her, and he refused, so she left him and he tried to r/ape her. She risked her life, going near the wall, to get her sister back.

Then a slender hand clamped onto my forearm, dragging me away. I knew it was Nesta before I even looked at her. “They’re dangerous,” Nesta hissed, her fingers digging into my arm as she continued to pull me from the mercenary. “Don’t go near them again.”

She shrugged, looking at the sliver she’d pried from the table. “I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.

“What happened to Tomas Mandray?” I asked, the words strangled.

“I realized he wouldn’t have gone with me to save you from Prythian.” ~ Nesta

3)I don’t even like Elain that much but she does care about Feyre. She even gifted her paint during their years of poverty. Elain was apologetic and acknowledged that they failed Feyre. She convinced Nesta to help Feyre and the others, as Feyre helped them during those years of poverty. Nesta also was apologetic, and regretted everything she did.

And it hadn’t stopped her from buying me three small tins of paint—red, yellow, and blue—during that same summer I’d had enough to buy the ash arrow.

She put a hand on Nesta’s knee, the purple of my sister’s gown nearly swallowing up the ivory hand. “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.” ~ Elain

Elain sat a little higher as she said to Cassian, “And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.” ~ Elain.

She bowed over her knees, saying into her palms, “I can’t undo it. I can’t fix it. I can’t fix that he is dead, I can’t fix what I said to Feyre, I can’t fix any of the horrible things I’ve done. I can’t fix me.” ~ Nesta

She blurted, “All the things I’ve done before—” ~ Nesta

“Leave them in the past. Apologize to who you feel the need to, but leave those things behind.” ~ Cassian

“Forgiveness is not that easy.” ~ Nesta

“Forgiveness is something we also grant ourselves….” ~ Cassian

Stroking Feyre’s cold hand, Nesta spoke into the timeless, frozen room, “You loved me when no one else would. You never stopped. Even when I didn’t deserve it, you loved me, and fought for me, and ...” Nesta looked at Feyre’s face, Death a breath away from claiming it. She didn’t stop the tears that ran down her cheeks as she squeezed Feyre’s slender hand tighter. “I love you, Feyre.” ~ Nesta

Apologies aren’t just verbal. Actions speak louder than words and some words are left unspoken. This is Elain making up for it. This is Nesta making up for it and non-verbally apologizing.

3) Feyre only hunted because of the promise she made to her mother and she isn’t kind.

She wasn’t like Nesta, who had been born with a sneer on her face.

A kind sister doesn’t talk about her sister that way. Which shows us that they were both rude to each other. Nesta isn’t the only bitch.

“No, she just spent whatever money I didn’t hide from her, ”

Feyre just admitted she hides the money. So no, Nesta didn’t spend all the money.

Some days, I couldn’t tell which of us was the most wretched and bitter.

“But I’m freezing with my raggedy old cloak,” Elain pleaded. “I’ll shiver to death.” She fixed her wide eyes on me and said, “Please, Feyre.” She drew out the two syllables of my name—fay-ruh—into the most hideous whine I’d ever endured

This isn’t funny, clearly she needs a cloak because she’s cold. Feyre didn’t give a shit and proceeded to describe how hideous her whine is.

“I thought you were going to chop wood today.” Nesta picked at her long, neat nails. “I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters.”

She always gets splinters. Meaning this is something Nesta always does. So no, she didn’t just sit on her ass and do nothing.

“Get the knives ready,” I said, not bothering to sound pleasant. “I’ll be out soon.”

Clearly they are in charge of the house while Feyre hunts.

Every time I looked toward a horizon or wondered if I should just walk and walk and never look back, I’d hear that promise I made eleven years ago as she wasted away on her deathbed.

So if she never made that promise, there was a chance she’d run away and leave her family. It was only the promise that had her hunt.

“Believe me,” I said to her, “the day you want to marry someone worthy, I’ll march up to his house and hand you over. But you’re not going to marry Tomas.”

Feyre doesn’t even tell her the reason, she just barks orders. And it almost feels like she’s telling Nesta she’d be happy to get rid of her.

“We have nothing to offer them—no dowry; no livestock, even. While Tomas might want to marry you … you’re a burden.”

So my point is, Nesta wasn’t the only bitchy one. So was Feyre. That’s just how they are. I’m so tired of people telling me Feyre was always kind and all she ever did was love Nesta. Yes, I believe they both love each other, but she wasn’t kind. Nesta wasn’t kind either. I don’t think anyone has room for kindness when they are starving. Let’s not forget that they went through years of poverty.

[separatist-apologist]

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

Gwyn forced herself to take a breath—and then another. There was a door and a whole other room between them. She was fine. 

It’s only Azriel, she reminded herself. And though he may not want her with him, he wouldn’t do anything, either. She knew that. Oh, how she knew it—would have sworn it over her own grave. But seeing him standing in the doorway of that room was entirely another. Gwyn’s heart raced a miserable, anxious beat she couldn’t silence no matter how many times she reassured herself that Azriel was her protector.

Because he was still a male, and Gwyn hadn’t been so alone with one in her entire life. The only upside was that she wouldn’t have to track him down each night to find out what he was doing. And no one was going to try and get in her room when there was a six foot six Illyrian warrior sleeping behind a half closed door. 

Gwyn tapped her foot nervously against the pale white marble, listening to the sounds of Azriel cursing softly as he put his things away. The clanking of metal against wood told her he was hiding weapons anywhere within reach, a theory validated when he strolled into the lounge with several daggers held casually in his large hand. 

“Get up,” he ordered, stalking toward the black leather sofa she’d been sitting on. Gwyn scowled.

“Why? So you can hide a dagger beneath the cushion?”

“Yes,” he replied, holding her gaze. 

“And what happens when it stabs me the next time I sit?” 

Azriel smothered a cruel smile. “You’ll heal.”

Prick! 

“You trust them so little that this is necessary?” Gwyn asked, watching him carefully slide a silver hilted dagger beneath the cushion in between the seam. Easy enough to reach for if one of them needed to, but hidden well enough no one would think it was there. 

“I don’t trust anyone,” he reminded her with a bite of impatience. “Better to be prepared than dead.”

Gwyn had millions of questions for him, just like she always did. Who hurt you? It was always the top of her list and one she didn’t dare ask him. Just as she wouldn’t want someone prying into her own personal past, even if Azriel knew all the horrible details because he’d been there. He was still the only person who didn’t look at her with pity besides Nesta and Emerie. Of course, that was because he was too busy looking at her like she’d disappointed him.

Gwyn supposed she had. She’d stopped going to training and never told him why.

They both had their secrets. 

“What did you think of the royal family?”

She knew, though. She’d seen his face when she’d turn to look at him only once—because she hadn’t dared to look again. How Gareth and Kai didn’t cower at the sight of the cold disdain etched over his features was beyond her. Gwyn was certain she would have crumpled into a heap if he’d ever looked at her with half as much hatred. 

“Strange,” he murmured, turning his eyes toward the windows pulled tightly with curtains. Gwyn had to admit their aversion to sunlight seemed unusual, but they’d been politer than she’d first imagined. It was surreal that an actual king would want to meet her at all. “You can’t trust them.”

“Apparently not,” she snapped as Azriel slid another dagger behind a set of books shelved against the wall. He glanced over at her, brows furrowed but Gwyn walked to her room and closed the door with a satisfying snap. Azriel didn’t trust anyone. That didn’t make him right, just paranoid. She supposed that was why he was good at his job, but to her she found it frustrating.

Couldn’t he give them the benefit of the doubt? This culture was new and perhaps the curtained windows were some religious or cultural practice she and Azriel didn’t understand. Gwyn was willing to learn more—that was why she’d come, wasn’t it? An exchange of knowledge, even if what she was allowed to share was limited.

Case and point—Gwyn could not share any information about how the Archeron’s had gained their powers or any of the research Velaris had compiled surrounding the Cauldron. She wasn’t allowed to share the scope of power regarding any of the High Lords, or how their magic moved beyond simple bloodlines. 

She’d committed Rhysand’s list to memory thinking it would be better to just feign ignorance. She was only a priestess working far below the High Lord. Her scope was pretty limited, though even some of Merril’s research into multiple worlds was restricted. Her training was also not allowed, though Gwyn wondered if she could covertly try and see if Montesseres library contained anything interesting regarding the Valkyries. 

By the time Gwyn walked out of her bedroom, Azriel was gone. Likely hiding more daggers throughout the dark palace, if she had to guess. For one depressing moment, she wished it was Cassian who had come with her. At least he smiled. At least he was friendly. Azriel was none of those things.

Gwyn shoved him from her mind. She wasn’t going to think about Azriel and his brooding and penchant for violence, nor was she going to let herself wonder what it said about her that the High Lord thought she was the best choice to accompany him.

Gwyn could show them all—and she needed to, if she wanted to do anything but book running when she returned home. Gwyn needed to prove herself not just to Merril and Rhysand, but the Clotho, too. And maybe herself, though that seemed low on her list of people to prioritize. At any rate, she was here. 

“I’m here,” she whispered to herself, reaching into her pocket for her sisters invoking stone. Gwyn reveled in the cool, smooth rock rolling between her fingers until her heart slowed to normal again. She was okay. She was here. 

Nothing can break me, she reminded herself. She’d survived and maybe that just had to be enough for now. Everything felt like survival, though—and very few things felt like living. Nesta and Emerie did, but they weren’t with her. Taking a deep breath, Gwyn pulled open the door.

“Oh, for Cauldron’s sake!” she exploded, coming out of her skin at the sight of Azriel just on the other side. A near feline smile spread over his features.

“Did I scare you?”

“No,” she lied. What would he look like, she wondered, if he ever actually smiled. Gwyn tried to imagine it and failed—Azriel didn’t seem the type. Perhaps his friends had seen it and she bet he made them swear on pain of death never to admit he’d had such a show of emotion outside of brooding, icy anger. “You’re merely in my way.”

His eyes widened mockingly. “In your way?”

“Yes, my way,” she repeated, shoving past his big, muscular body. Azriel didn’t budge, forcing her to plant her hands against the leather plated armor on his stomach and physically push in order to get him out of the doorframe. Behind him, his wings flared for a moment while those curious shadows of his swirled between the pair of them. If they were angry or amused, Gwyn couldn’t tell. She wasn’t well versed in shadow speak the way he was. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked in the low, gravely voice of his. Gwyn fought a shiver. She bet that look on his face, coupled with his dangerous, icy tone made people wet themselves. It was tempting to stop entirely, to buckle beneath the weight of his stare but this was Azriel.

And he wouldn’t hurt her. 

“I’m going to give myself a tour of the palace,” she said blithely, certain he wouldn’t join her. In truth, Gwyn just wanted to find the most expedient route to the library. She didn’t need Azriel escorting her every day given the way people couldn’t take their eyes off him—he was so striking, so absurdly handsome that everyone turned to look at him not once, but twice. The first time was just a passing glance at the large, winged male but the second was to ensure they were seeing him correctly. 

No one looked like Azriel. Certainly not here. The two royals she’d met were pale and exhausted looking. And though she would have rather died than admit it, Azriel was easily the best looking male in any room by virtue of his high cheekbones, his smooth, brown skin, and the way his inky, blue black hair flopped gently over his forehead. There was no mistaking Azriel for what he was—a born and bred warrior who could likely easily kill someone with one hand as he could with the dagger strapped at his thigh. And yet there was an elegance to his sharp features that suggested in another life, Azriel might have been a lord.

He was certainly handsome enough to be a prince. 

As it stood, he was a scowling, winged bastard still in her way. He’d stepped in the middle of the hall, arms crossed against his chest, wings touching either wall to keep her from pushing past again. She wanted to shout at him which would do her as good as shouting at a mountain. His whole job centered around pushing people’s buttons. Better not to let him know he;d gotten under her skin. 

“A tour.” He spoke the words tonelessly, hazel eyes searching her for some obvious lie. Gwyn held his stare, refusing to back down.

“Am I allowed? Because I thought you’d prefer to be rid of me.”

He scowled. She was certainly under his skin. Gwyn counted that as a victory. “If you get hurt, Nesta will have my balls.”

“That’s not my problem,” Gwyn said blithely. “Now, move.”

He spread his legs ever so slightly, spreading out those massive wings as he angled his head. He was accessing her like she was a threat. “Or what, Gwyn?”

“You’re not the only one who can use a dagger.”

He didn’t smile, though she swore his mouth twitched. “You think you could take me? When you quit training with me?”

“Cassian still teaches me,” she said, but her words didn’t sound convincing to her ears. Azriel’s gaze sharpened.

“Why did you quit, Gwyn?”

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

They were at a stalemate. Gwyn would never tell him why she’d stopped training with him and Azriel wasn’t going to budge. And rather than giving in or going back to the room and slipping away when he wasn’t paying attention, Gwyn merely rounded on her heel and took off down the opposite end of the hall.

Behind her, Azriel growled softly. Typical males, snapping and snarling when they didn’t get their way. 

Let him.

Azriel wasn’t in charge of her.

No one was.

AZRIEL:

Gwyn rounded the corner before Azriel tucked his wings against his back and went after her. Two of his shadows were trailing her, one because he’d ordered it and the other because it was merely curious. He could hear their whispering, convincing him to keep his distance.

I think she hates you.

She could get in line. Azriel had known being here with her was going to be difficult but he’d assumed she’d be…more afraid? Especially today, after the prince had been looking at her with such interest. And yet there she was, when he rounded the corner, stomping her feet as she marched away from him. Azriel kept his eyes on the syrupy cinnamon and penny colored hair swinging past her shoulders, the tips brushing just above her hips. His shadows curled around her shoulders, likely trying to whisper any number of secrets in her ears, those traitors. 

Azriel could not understand their fascination with her. Case and point: Gwyn waved her hand impatiently, trying to shoo them away when she realized he was trailing her both in body and spirit, which resulted in one shadow playfully braceleting her wrist.

Azriel sighed.

“Where are you going?” he called when she reached another of those miserable, spiraling staircases. Increasing his pace and tucking his wings closer to his body, Azriel caught up to her before she’d made it three steps. She might have been tall, but he was taller by a good head and shoulders. 

“I told you what I was doing,” she snapped. Azriel rolled his neck against his shoulders, biting the urge to snap back. Gwyn glanced back, eyes narrowed and he knew without any magic at all, that whatever words slipped from her lips next were going to start a fight. “I know you can’t read, but I assumed you still were able to comprehend words, shadowsinger.”

Azriel reached for her without thinking, fingers curling around the tops of her arms. They were at the bottom of the twisting stairs, alone on another dark landing. Whispering shadow told him there was no one lurking nearby—not even servants. He might have told them to scout for the library had he not pressed Gwyn against the cool wall, his temper getting the best of him.

She jutted her chin in the air, eyes blazing with defiance. “I don’t need to know how to read to end this mission for you. One word to Rhysand is all it would take to put you back where you came.”

Gwyn shoved at his chest again, for all the good it did. Azriel didn’t budge, crowding closer until he could smell the scent of viola and cinnamon. He’d forgotten what she smelled like, had forgotten that dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose and her cheek. Up close, he could see flecks of gold in those teal eyes…and her anger. 

Azriel took his hands off her arms, though he merely braced them against the stone behind them to keep her from darting away again. 

“You won’t,” she said, crossing her arms again.

“Wouldn’t I? I work better alone.”

“Is that an option? Maybe you’ll be paired with someone far more loathsome than me!”

Azriel hid the truth of her statement even as Vanserra’s smug face floated in his mind. Gwyn was far better—and far prettier—than Vanserra, who was likely to try and kill him in his sleep if he pulled half the shit Azriel was pulling right then. Still, Azriel couldn’t back down.

“Want to find out?”

Gwyn inclined her head. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Not really. His shadows swirled between them, murmuring that someone was coming. Azriel pushed back, not wanting someone to think he was menacing the nice priestess. All Azriel wanted to be seen as was her protector, even if they privately didn’t get along. Because while she could snipe and scowl at him all she liked, if anyone else elicited that reaction from her, they’d find truth teller pressed against their jugular vein.

“Behind me, Gwyn,” he murmured. To his immense satisfaction, whatever she saw in his expression convinced her to stay where she was, half tucked behind his wing where, if he needed to, he could fully shield her with his body. Azriel felt tense, shadows darting to a nearby corner to watch and whisper.

It was only Kai. Uncrowned and casual, the prince seemed surprised to find them both standing tense before him. Those blue black eyes found Gwyn before they found him, dismissive as usual. “Lady,” he murmured, bowing so deeply Azriel wondered how he managed to stay on two feet at all. He glanced over at Gwyn, who seemed impassive. Unimpressed, at least, which helped the anger twisting in his chest. He wanted to roar at Kai to get away from her, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was that look on Mor’s face when she warned him about Gareth and Kai. “What brings you down to the kitchen?”

The kitchen? 

Gwyn’s cheeks darkened with embarrassment. “I um..” “Where is the library?” Azriel interjected. He wasn’t going to watch her be made a fool of. “Do you not have staff that can assist her?”

Kai’s attention was back on him. Good. Azriel was the threat and the person he needed to be wary of. Not Gwyn, who was here to do an actual job. Azriel, too, though Kai didn’t need to know that. Still, the princes gaze traveled over his body.

“I can show the lady how to get to the library from her bed chamber,” Kai said, his voice too silky for Azriel’s liking. Suddenly those adjoining rooms seemed necessary. He’d be keeping his door open at night…not that he slept most of the time anyway. Kai gestured for Gwyn, offering up a rather puny looking arm that she looked at with what Azriel interpreted as haughty disdain.

Had Nesta taught her that? Or was he misreading the expression on her face? It certainly dimmed some of Kai’s slick charm, at any rate, given his hand fell to his side.

And Gwyn still stepped forward. She didn’t touch him, reminding Azriel she was likely wary of the male. Azriel brought up the rear, once again making himself small to go back up those winding, narrow stairs.

Whereas before, Azriel worked to make himself seem smaller, once they were back on the landing, Azriel spread himself out for Kai’s benefit. He was big in comparison to the lean prince and he didn’t want that male to forget it. Let him think of Azriel as brute so long as Kai always thought twice when it came to Gwyn.

Or anyone from Prythian, for that matter. 

Azriel tuned out their chatter in favor of his whispering shadows. 

The king is on the grounds

Stained glass hides behind the curtains in the grand hall 

There is a tomb just outside the garden 

A large garrison on the outskirts of the city is only half filled

Little whispered pieces of information Azriel tucked away, uncertain if any of it was useful. It gave him an edge and answered some basic questions. His shadows were not with him, mapping the palace for him to later sketch out when he was alone. 

It was the sound of Gwyn’s laugh that pulled Azriel from his job. Her face was lit with a genuine smile the likes of which had never been directed at him. She tucked a piece of hair behind a delicately arched ear devoid of any jewelry before she slid that same hand into the pocket of her azure dress. There was nothing Kai could have said to elicit such a response and yet Gwyn wasn’t a practiced courtier. She didn’t smile on demand, nor did she laugh because it was expected of her.

There was genuine mirth in those teal eyes. It should have filled him with relief. She didn’t need him breathing down her neck. And yet that smile bothered him for reasons he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just Kai, who was grinning back, pale cheeks flushed from whatever she was laughing at.

A joke at his expense, Azriel hoped. He swallowed his irritation, following the path up another dark level toward the library Gwyn would spend the majority of her time in. 

“Why do you keep the windows covered?” Gwyn asked curiously, ducking her head when the prince turned his gaze to her fully. 

“My father is still in mourning,” Kai told her easily, reaching for a set of wide, golden handles attached to two double doors. “Anything beautiful reminds him of her, so the windows stay closed and he remains in doors.”

“And you?” Gwyn questioned, her voice rich with sympathy. 

Azriel recognized the icy rage that slithered over the prince’s face. “I miss her too,” he said, his breathless voice so at odds with the anger on his face. It was gone before Gwyn could look up and see what Azriel had.

He tucked that way, too. It was merely another piece in the strange puzzle of the Montessere palace. Maybe it meant nothing, but the thought of the queen flinging herself off one of those spires was an interesting mystery. 

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother. Was it recent?” Gwyn, the clever creature, asked. Azriel betrayed nothing, stepping onto immaculate wood floor so clean he could see his own reflection against the warm surface. The room itself smelled heavily of mahogany and dust, and was so small Azriel wondered how they justified calling it a library. Gwyn, too, seemed taken aback by the open atrium of worn, sun-stained red furniture long abandoned, centered around tables that were cracked and gouged by time. 

“Five years,” Kai murmured, reminding Azriel of what Mor had said. The Montessere royals were old. Five years was likely nothing to a male like Kai, who Azriel guessed had a few centuries on him. How had he spent it? “Is this what you’re accustomed to?”

Azriel thought of the lovely library Gwyn worked in and how carefully Rhys had expanded the knowledge within. There was, of course, no point in comparing anything to the library Helion had in the famed Sun Palace, but Rhys’s was a decent rival. Hell, Azriel bet even the Spring Court had more space than the narrow shelves of dusty, peeling books that travelled only two stories in the air, with shelves that were half empty. 

“Um,” Gwyn began, eyes scanning the room. “It’s very…”

“Small,” Azriel supplied. “Is this all of it?”

“Of course not,” Kai said with an easy smile. “But your High Lord assured me our two lands shared similar values.”

Neither Gwyn nor Azriel moved, both looking at Kai as they waited for clarification. What could that possibly have to do with anything?

Color flooded Kai’s cheeks again. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “Females in our territory ah…”

Gwyn looked up at Azriel, eyes wide. 

“Don’t what?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Kai shrugged, the movement seemingly defensive. “Females are delicate.”

Gwyn’s mouth fell open. “Books hardly require that much physical exertion—”

“Ah, but reading is quite taxing, is it not?” Kai challenged with an earnestness that made Azriel want to bash Kai’s face in with his fist. 

“I’ve never thought so,” Gwyn replied, eyes flashing a warning Azriel could read all too well. Kai seemed content to concede his point. 

“Well, I suppose you have a lot to teach us. That was the point of your presence, was it not?”

“It is,” she said, offering him another tentative smile. It did nothing for his rising temper. Had Rhys and Mor known this? Why wouldn’t they warn him? 

Kai was beaming again. “I look forward to this exchange of culture. Tomorrow I’ll be sure to have a scholar sent up—if you require anything, he’ll see you get it.”

“What do the females of Montessere do, then?” Gwyn interrupted, clearly curious. Azriel wondered this, too.

Kai’s smile faltered. “Why…they’re mothers, of course. Wives, too. What greater calling could there be? Truly society would crumble without them.”

His eyes shifted to Azriel, clearly questioning what Azriel’s function was in relation to Gwyn. Azriel said nothing, content to let the male imagine a variety of scenarios, all false. So long as it kept his fucking eyes off Gwyn, Azriel didn’t care what Kai thought. 

“No priestesses?” Gwyn interrupted, unaware of the silent showdown. Kai glanced back at her.

“Some, but we prefer priests here.”

Yeah, Azriel bet they did. Wait until they learned of Feyre, he thought wryly. A female who rivaled her male counterpart in power and respect and ruled not beneath him, but alongside him as his equal. Azriel straightened himself at the thought, proud no one from the continent would ever be subjected to the same humiliation Gwyn was currently weathering. 

“Well. I’ll see the pair of you at dinner? I’ll have a servant sent up so you don’t end up in the dungeons.”

Gwyn smiled at the pathetic joke though Azriel didn’t bother to acknowledge it at all. He merely stood, watching Kai brush a kiss against Gwyn’s knuckles. She snatched her hand back quickly, cradling it to her chest, brows pulled together not with fear, but annoyance. The pair waited until Kai closed the door behind them, blowing out a breath in unison.

“Fuck that guy,” Gwyn whispered, taking Azriel by surprised. A laugh bubbled out of him, echoing around them. Gwyn watched, eyes bright with delight as Azriel smothered the rest of it, though his smile lingered. “Now I have to stay, just to prove him wrong about me.”

“Not everything needs to be a fight, you know.”

She turned toward the curtained windows, hands on her hips. “I know that. But maybe some battles are worth fighting.”

And maybe she was right.