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florencemtrash · 9 months ago

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Sixteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Lucien Vanserra could kill me and I would be honored. Cannon typical violence. Some angst. Lots of fun

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Lucien stood in disbelief, mouth opening and closing. Words stuck in his throat.

You knew as his eyes roamed over your features that he was hunting for some mark of Helion’s that you’d inherited, whether it be the set of your eyes, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your nose, or even the tilt of your sharp ears. But he came up empty. Whatever features you did share with Helion could have easily been shared by two strangers. It was how you’d gotten away with working with him at the Day Court and attending balls by his side.

But there were some things that went deeper than skin and bones. He could barely make it out in the hum of your power and the faint, charming glow in your eyes. It was something that spoke of warmth and sparkling intellect. A sliver of the sun given form.

You were Helion’s daughter.

You were… you were his sister.

You cleared your throat and looked away. “I understand this must be a surprise. Perhaps not the kind of surprise you were hoping for.”

“You’re my sister,” Lucien finally breathed out, and the wind, so harsh and biting before, ceased.

“Half-sister… technically.”

“I don’t go by halves.”

The sharp, sudden rush of cold air into your lungs had you shivering. Lucien noticed and without thinking he reached out with his power, wrapping heat around your body until you may as well have been perched in front of a roaring fire. His magic smelled like woodsmoke and balsam.

“You’re my sister.” He repeated the phrase a few more times, finding it more believable with each swirl of the words around his tongue.

Elain had known this was coming and had given him a cryptic warning, but that did nothing to lessen the excitement spreading in his chest with each passing second.

You watched him wearily, hands clasped over your body and eyes furrowed, like you couldn’t tell if he was upset. Which was ridiculous. How could Lucien ever be upset by this?

“You’re my sister!”

A sharp laugh exited his body that grew and grew until you felt like you were floating on the waves of his happiness. He rushed forward, hoisting you in the air and spinning you around like you weighed nothing. Wind rushed past your ears as the world blurred.

He gently deposited you back on solid ground.

“How old are you? How long have you known about Helion? Where have you been all this time?” He asked the questions in rapid succession, heart hammering away in his chest.

He had a sister. A sister.

“I’m three hundred and forty-three.”

He smiled. He’d always wanted a younger sibling. A younger sister to be exact that he could teach to fight and hunt and ride with more support than he’d ever been afforded.

“I’ve known about Helion since I was little.” Lucien’s smile slipped at that revelation. “And I’ve been in the Day Court in one of the athenaeums. It was my home up until the point where Koschei burned down my house and I got saddled with Beth’s book. I’ve been here ever since. Although I never expected for any of this—” You gestured vaguely at the House, the sky, at Lucien, “to happen. Not that I’m upset!” You added quickly.

“What was it like? Growing up in the Day Court?” He looked you up and down again, searching for scars or broken bones that had never healed right. But from what he could tell, you were whole.

He clenched his fists tightly until you answered.

“It was safe. Lonely, but safe.”

“Good.” He breathed out in relief. “Good.”

Azriel watched everything from the deck that wrapped around the back of the house. The wind carried the tang of salt, opening his lungs and easing the pain in his chest that wrapped around him like a vice. He kept his wings pulled in tight and hands clasped behind his back. He was a slice in the fabric of the universe, unmoving and still.

And he missed you. Gods did he miss you.

“We shouldn’t stand so close,” Azriel murmured.

His voice was ragged, filled with more gravel than the walkway that snaked through Elain’s garden. Weighed down with secrets that felt more like anvils.

Elain dropped the empty bucket onto the deck followed by the clang of her spade. The shovel lay discarded in the field, the ground marked by neat lines of overturned earth. She cupped her hands and blew into them, breathing life back into her stiff fingers.

Twenty minutes ago he’d seen you run beneath his window, racing towards the Sidra with your robes hiked up to your knees so you could try and keep up with Lucien’s long strides as he pulled you along by your hand, red hair streaming behind him like a bundle of ribbons.

You’d been calling out for him to slow down, your voice loud and breathless.

And after everything that had happened, the things he’d seen, he couldn’t stop himself from walking down to the deck to watch you.

Now you stood at the water’s edge with your hands outstretched, dutifully holding onto every stone that Lucien plucked from the river. Your head tipped to the side in curiosity.

His childhood in Autumn had not been kind, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been happy moments sprinkled in amongst the sorrow. There in the woods with bejeweled treetops and diamond glass rivers he’d learned how to swim and fish and hunt. He’d wrestled with his brothers, fallen in love, and gained the confidence and freedom to eventually travel the Courts and make his own way in the world.

But you’d been lonely your whole life. Trapped indoors with nothing but your books for company. You’d never learned how to swim. You’d never dug through the soil for slimy worms to go fishing. You’d never fallen asleep beneath a glittering sky, fire smoke curling in the air and the taste of chestnuts lingering on your tongue and filling your belly.

It had been a different kind of sorrow, but no less real.

Lucien aimed to change some of that. Your mere presence beside him, as hesitant as it was, filled him with a happiness he couldn’t name.

He had his trousers rolled up to his thighs revealing powerful legs and freckled, caramel-brown skin. He didn’t mind the cold waters rolling over his hands as he tracked the riverbed for the smoothest, flattest stones. Every time he looked back you were either watching him or examining each stone with narrowed eyes like you’d find some algorithm carved into their edges that would tell you what made them so special for the task at hand.

Azriel couldn’t hear what you two were saying, and he didn’t send his shadows out to investigate, but soon you were tugging off your boots, then your socks, and tying the long length of your robes around your waist. You gingerly dipped your toes into the river and immediately leapt back.

Lucien’s laugh rolled over the earth, full of warmth and joy. He was grinning so wide Azriel could see the whites of his teeth and his shaking shoulders.

Inch by inch you walked into the river up to your calves and Lucien dunked his cupped hands into the cold water.

“Don’t you dare! Lucien!”

Then you were shaking your head, slapping Lucien’s hands away with a shout when he tossed the water at your face, and threatening to launch the black stones back into the river for him to fetch. Your toes were already starting to go numb.

Azriel’s heart gave a painful lurch, even as he smiled softly at the sight of you.

“I don’t… I don’t want to give them the wrong idea.” Azriel swallowed and turned his gaze down to where a plump sparrow was digging around in the grasses.

Elain ignored him, dropping her arms onto the wooden railing and staring out. She let out a lovely, longing sigh and Azriel just knew she was strumming the bond within her chest to feel Lucien on the other side.

The red-haired male looked up to meet her gaze and smiled softly. You also looked up, and then immediately looked away with rosy cheeks.

“Lucien knows where I stand. He… he’s finally beginning to trust me again.”

He’d been so eager to give her his heart the first time around, and she’d crushed it beneath her dainty shoes, too angry at the life that had been torn away to look at the one she’d been given. This time around she was determined to earn Lucien’s love, no matter how easy he made it for her. No matter how many times he told her it wasn’t something that had ever needed to be earned.

“It took some time to gain that back.” She shifted. “But then again, we were lucky. We knew what we were to each other. You still haven’t told Y/n you’re mates.”

“You know about that?”

Elain rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious, because it was.

“I don’t think I can tell her, Elain.”

“And why not?”

Azriel hesitated.

Here was a truth he hadn’t been able to express to his brothers — the truth they didn’t understand: They were good, decent males, and when it had come to their mating bonds they’d treated them with the respect they deserved. They’d been patient. They’d never tried to force a hand that wasn’t theirs.

But Azriel was… wrong. In so many ways he was wrong.

He either waited too long or he moved without thinking. He fell into obsession like a starling with clipped wings. He scrounged for scraps of affection where he wasn’t supposed to and brooded when it inevitably blew up in his face. He’d been trying to take his time with you. He’d been trying to do it right. He was…

He was already in love with you.

He’d been in love with you for some time now.

Elain smiled, still staring towards the river.

She had loved Azriel once. Not in the way she loved Lucien and not in a way that had been good for them, but still it had been love of some kind. She could feel the waves rolling off his body as he came to his quiet realization, and it felt very different from the way he’d felt about her and very similar to the way she felt about Lucien.

“I love her, Elain.” He whispered the words like they were fragile as spun sugar, ready to dissolve the moment they left his lips.

“She’ll say yes to the bond. I’ve seen it.”

Azriel let out a broken, strangled noise and looked at Elain, begging for more. “Even after—”

“Yes. Even after what that boy made you do. Even after what she learned when she touched your hand.” She looked down at Azriel’s hands, leather gloves worn and supple. She gave them a squeeze. “A year ago I had a vision of a white bird flying out of the sun with a golden ribbon tied to one of its feathers. Its wings were dipped in ink so she could leave a trail along the ground for a beast of shadow to follow.”

Azriel went still as death. “And then what happened?”

Elain looked up at him, eyes glittering. “She flew to the base of a mountain, laid down, and has been waiting ever since. She’s been waiting for you. For someone who understands what it means to be lonely and what it’s like to hope for more.”

And Azriel did exactly that. He hoped for more.

More time with you. More unrestrained touches. More midnight conversations until your eyes were threatening to shut.

Something changed then. Elain’s brown, doe eyes turned misty and flat. Her voice dropped and the hand she reached out to grab hold of his arm was cold as ice.

“You need to be careful, Az,” she warned. “Don’t let her go into the mirror. She may not come out.” She clawed at his arms. “Az, you need to be careful. The mirror…”

He gripped her shoulders, stabilizing her as she swayed on her feet.

“Elain, what—” But her vision was already gone. No matter how hard she tried to hold on it was like trying to keep water in a cracked cup.

Lucien kept his arm perfectly parallel with the earth, drew back, and snapped his wrist at the last second. The stone flew out over the glassy river and kept kissing the surface in weakening arches before it was eventually swallowed up in a dollop of salt.

“Eight.”

Lucien looked at you incredulously. “I counted nine.”

“Eight skips,” you argued. “Males always overestimate.”

“And what experience do you have with males?”

None. Except for that one glorious day you’d clung to Azriel like the world was finally peaceful. It was nowhere near the level of experience you suspected Lucien must have after centuries spent bouncing around from Court to Court. Nowhere near the level of experience Azriel or the others had when it came to touch.

You bristled. “Enough.”

Lucien smirked like he knew you were lying and held out his hand for another stone. Soon it too was lost to the river.

“How many this time?”

You twisted your lips to the side, but had to admit, “Nine.”

He was grinning.

“Come on.” He held out his hand for you, beckoning you deeper into the river. “Your turn. Just like I showed you.”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“Come on!”

“I will kill a fish, Lucien.”

There was a playful roll of his eyes. “Y/n—”

“I’ll end up throwing a rock so hard into the water I’ll give an innocent, unsuspecting fish brain damage.” So what if you were being melodramatic. That did nothing to counter the fact that your hand-eye coordination was shit.

“Y/n, you’ll be fine. I promise.”

Wrong.

You were gods awful at this.

You tried your best to mimic the bend of Lucien’s spine as he let go of his stone, tried to mimic the way he curled his fingers against its rounded edges. But every single one of your throws was either too strong or too weak. Too high or too low.

You chucked the last rock in your hand but the spin on it — or rather lack thereof — was abysmal. It plopped into the river three yards away with a splash.

Lucien chuckled, shaking his head as you stomped back onto the beach, swearing with every step as your robes dragged through the water behind you.

You whirled around and kicked up river water in his direction.

“Stop laughing!” A smile tugged at your lips even as you said that.

“You’re doing very well!”

“Don’t be condescending.”

“I’m not!”

“I didn’t grow up in the backwoods of Autumn. I’ve never done this before,” you grumbled, your words tinged with embarrassment.

And thank the Mother you hadn’t. Yes, Lucien had always wanted a sister, but he flinched just to think of the horrors you would have faced if you’d both shared a mother instead of a father. The ways Beron would have bent you until you broke, especially as a female. Sold to the highest bidder and forced to have as many children as possible. A high-end, noble-blooded breeder.

Suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore. The smile slipped off his bright face.

You stiffened. Some of the scars on Lucien’s body took on new meaning.

“I’m sorry, Lucien,” you said. The fun of the afternoon, as embarrassing as it had been for you, fell away. “I wasn’t thinking.”

You’d only heard whispers of the way Beron treated his children. Which could only mean that they’d endured infinitely worse.

Lucien shook his head and more of his scarlet hair came tumbling out of his braid. He looked so much like Helion in the sun that you were surprised more people didn’t know. They had the same strong noses, the same build with their tapered waists and strong legs. They even had the same dimple on their left cheeks.

But maybe Beron and his brothers had known, or at least suspected that he was different, and that had added to Lucien’s torment.

“Maybe one day you could show me though,” you asked hopefully when the silence was on the verge of becoming too loud, “I’ve never been to Autumn — I’ve not been to most places, actually — but I’d like to see it. I could show you the Day Court too.”

He shook his head slowly, rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think that would be a good idea — visiting the Day Court.”

That was the issue you’d been tiptoeing around the last two hours. You both knew about Helion, but he was only aware of your existence, not Lucien’s. And it was one thing for you to be revealed as Helion’s daughter — there’d be gossip, attempts on your life, and countless marriage proposals.

But for Lucien? He’d suddenly find himself face to face with the weight of a crown and an entire Court on his shoulders. You wouldn’t blame him for trying to avoid that fate.

Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “Lucien… Why haven’t you told Helion yet? Beron’s been dead for years now, and I’ve heard only good things about Eris. That he’s honest and fair. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d punish you if you claimed your right to Helion’s Court.”

His bright eyes turned bitter, all laughter disappearing. He dipped his hand into the river, picked up a rock, and chucked it back in. Its edges were too ragged anyway.

“What makes you think he doesn’t already know?”

You straightened up as if the answer were obvious. “Trust me, he doesn’t know. If he knew you were his son, he would have found ways to see you grow up. We might have even grown up together.”

It was a pathetic daydream, but one you’d been thinking about.

“You’re wrong!”

The outburst was so sudden, so unlike the Lucien everyone else spoke of that you had to take a few steps back. Smoke rose from his clenched fists and his skin pulsed, glowing with an inner light like he was more ember than fae.

He blinked rapidly then swore, brushing his salt-stiffened hair back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but…” He shook his head. “He wouldn’t have come. He didn’t come. He just left me and my mother there with that monster. He must have known what it was like — the things he did to her and the rest of us — but he never showed up. Not for my mother. Not for me.”

“He didn’t know.”

You repeated those words with the same conviction you had for everything else you knew to be true. You stepped closer and with the slope of the beach you could face him eye-to-eye.

“Do you want to know how I know? My mother wanted nothing to do with him when she found out she was pregnant. He had to hear it from one of the healers. And when I was born she forbade him from visiting, forbade him from even laying eyes on me, but he couldn’t stay away. He found ways to be in my life and protected me as best he could, and when Mom died and I was left on my own, he gave me projects with purpose so I wouldn’t crumble into nothing.” You stabbed your finger against your chest. “He did that for me. Is he a great father? Absolutely not. Is he a decent father? Maybe? Probably not, he wasn��t there most of the time. But he’s trying. I know it’s not the same and we’re still strangers and I understand if you don’t forgive him for abandoning your mother — I wouldn’t — but he would have gone for you.”

You were breathing hard now. Lucien just stared with shiny eyes and unclenched fists.

“And I think after everything you’ve been through, you deserve to know what it’s like to have a father who at least tries.”

The world was too small right now. It was too big. The Sidra had soaked through your skin and your robes were growing heavier and heavier by the second, weighed down by salt water and time.

“Would you at least consider telling him? Please?”

Because another pathetic daydream you’d been thinking of recently was that one day it might be you and Helion and Lucien. An imperfect family, but a family nevertheless. That you might not feel so alone anymore.

Lucien’s throat bobbed and he turned away from you long enough for the crisp wind to dry his tears.

“Take off your robes. They must be soaked by now. I’ll make sure you don’t go cold.'” His voice was strangled. He cleared his throat. “And I’ll look for more stones. No sister of mine is going to go through life without learning how to skip stones.”

He threw that word around so casually — sister — like saying it over and over again would somehow make the hundreds of years you’d both spent on your own disappear.

Clouds gathered steadily overhead painting the world with a wash of grey. But that did nothing to diminish the faint light that emanated from you and Lucien as you waded through the shallows and finally learned to skip stones. Lucien whooped, red hair streaming behind him, and you smiled as your last stone skipped twice over the river before disappearing beneath the surface.

You leaned back in the tall, dying grasses and sipped on the cardamom tea Elain brought down from the House, listening to the many stories Lucien had gathered over centuries spent traversing Prythian and the Human Lands. You told him about The Alcove, Cherp, your mother, and the books you read, and he listened like it was the most epic tale he’d heard in his entire life.

Sometimes you both went quiet. It was sobering to think about what you’d both endured alone without your true family. But still… it was good to have one another now.

When you walked into the packed dining room — barefoot, salt-stained, and rosy from the cold — Lucien pulled out the seat next to him for you, surprising the grey Ione.

Elain dropped gracefully into the chair across from her mate, a knowing smile on her face.

“Good day?”

You and Lucien glanced at one another. His golden eye whirred and his russet eye gleamed mischievously.

You folded your arms over your chest, forcing down the smile that threatened to make its appearance. “The worst.”

“You’re just upset because you lost,” Lucien teased, casually draping his arm over your shoulder.

“It was hardly a fair competition. You must have — what? — five-hundred years of experience against me?”

He clasped a hand over his chest. “You wound me, sister. Although, if you must know, I’m four hundred and seventeen.”

“I’m surprised you’re not a sack of bones on the floor.”

“I’m not that old.”

“I think I see a few grey hairs here and there.”

Lucien scoffed, but everyone noticed when he absentmindedly touched his long red locks as the last of the dinner plates materialized on the table. Feyre reached over from beside Lucien and squeezed his hand tightly under the table.

It wasn’t the drop of Helion’s magic that caused The High Lady’s eyes to glow so brightly. She was just happy. Lucien squeezed her hand back even tighter.

Azriel was the last to arrive, appearing in the hallway in a swath of shadows like he was stepping out of one of your dreams. He must have flown home today. Mist gathered into droplets that clung to his skin and hair and eyelashes like a thousand diamonds. Not even the faint shadows beneath his eyes could distract from his beauty, and you felt that familiar wash of comfort flow over your body when you caught his scent.

There was only one available seat left at the table. The one directly across from you and Lucien… and right next to Elain.

Your stomach dropped.

The seating arrangement was truly a horrible coincidence. One that no one seemed to recognize until it was too late and Azriel’s chair was screeching over the wooden floor. Both he and Elain shifted in their seats, quietly pulling them further apart. It should have made you feel better that Azriel was trying so hard to distance himself from Elain, but the only thing it emphasized was that they’d used to be so close.

Cassian looked over nervously at his brother, but Azriel was as impassive as always. The room fell into uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the sounds of chewing and the clinking of silverware. If the House was a person, they would be sweating buckets.

Cassian coughed and sipped his wine. “So… lovely weather we’re having.”

Lightning cracked across the darkened sky, followed by rain that began plummeting to the earth in heavy sheets.

Rhysand leaned over and smacked his brother on the back of his head and Cassian couldn’t even feign annoyance at that.

“You never fail to have incredible timing, Cassian.” Lucien drank his wine deeply and some of the tension seemed to lift from the table when everyone noticed how happy he still was. The terrible things in the world had not lessened, but Lucien felt lighter than he had in decades.

In proper Helion fashion, he kept the pleasant conversation spinning over the table, ensnaring you with the stories he tossed back and forth with Feyre.

“How was I supposed to know you’d be crazy enough to try and capture a Suriel?”

“What? Like it was meant to be difficult?”

Lucien smirked and crossed his arms. “Beginner’s luck.”

“What were the second and third times then?”

“The Suriel being a terrible busybody who was bored and wanted to spill gossip.”

Feyre flipped him off and he winked in return.

Azriel did what he always did and sat still and quiet as a mouse, eyes tracing over the flow of conversation like he knew who would speak before they’d even opened their mouths. But his eyes kept lingering on you, a smile tugging at his lips whenever one grew on yours.

Lucien noticed it the third time it happened. Then the fourth. Then the fifth. Until he found himself watching the Shadowsinger almost as intensely as Azriel was watching you.

His grip tightened around his silverware.

“I am not nearly as uptight as Gwyn says I am,” you muttered, pushing around the potatoes on your plate.

You’d sunk into your seat when, to your embarrassment, the conversation had steered in your direction. Azriel had been the one to do it, casually dropping a comment about how much time you spent in Cagniv Library and the ways in which you’d already influenced the priestesses who operated there. It was the first thing he’d said all day.

“You made a fifth year apprentice cry.”

“That’s a lie, Nesta, and you know it.”

Nesta did know it, but you’d been so quiet the past few weeks. She wanted to poke fun if only to make you smile.

“Fine, that was an exaggeration. But you interrogated Farrah like she was a war criminal. Azriel would have been impressed.”

“She’s the only expert on Cyerion Age Bauldish folklore and she was missing half the citations for her thesis! It took me ages to track down some of her sources.”

“She can’t cite a book that’s over 2,000 years old with no identifiable author. Or title. Or publishing date.”

You grumbled under your breath. Something about, “Your library gives me anxiety” and “You’re making me look bad in front of Lucien.”

“Hmmm? Sorry?” Lucien tore his eyes away from where one of Azriel’s shadows had slid under the table and was now wrapping around the leg of your chair in an effort to gain your attention.

You shook your head. “Nesta’s just trying to make me look bad.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Azriel said softly, so softly he probably hadn’t even meant to say the words aloud. He looked up from his plate, shocked to hear his own voice continue on. “Maybe after this is all done, you could take on the task of reorganizing Cagniv. I’m sure you’d be saving the next Librarian more than a few headaches.”

Your wide eyes met his across the table and for a brief moment it was like you two were alone and teasing each other over tea in the middle of the night like you used to. Two shadows illuminated by candlelight in a Court that never slept.

You sat up a little straighter. “Is that a challenge?”

Azriel smiled faintly, “Maybe. Although I’m sure Bryaxis would give you a run for your money.”

You furrowed your brows. “Bryaxis?”

Rhys smirked, “He’s the resident shadow demon that lives on the bottom floor of Cagniv. He flew down once on a dare and he high-tailed it out of the abyss white as a sheet. He still doesn’t talk about it.”

“Fuck you for bringing that up, Rhys.” Cassian’s hand trembled as he brought his fork up to his lips, “You’ll never let me live that down will you?”

“You… you have a shadow demon living in your library?” Your face twisted in horror and you slammed your knife down on the table, “Is that why a third of the catalogue is missing from the shelves? I’ve been searching for ages!”

And there it was — that faint twitch of irritation in your eyes that told Azriel you were already contemplating going down to confront Bryaxis yourself. He could imagine how you’d stand there with a hand tucked into your robes, swinging a lantern from the other as you bullied the monster into letting you move the volumes someplace else. How you’d lecture him on the importance of controlling humidity when it comes to parchment preservation, and perhaps how you’d begrudgingly agree that the creature’s darkness had protected the fragile books from light exposure.

“I knew that’s what you’d focus on,” Azriel said. His voice was deeper than an ocean, and just as full of hidden meaning. He shook his head in disbelief, a small smile gracing his lips. “You just learned you spent months studying with a monster lurking nearby — a monster that has Cassian trembling in the corner—”

“I am not trembling—”

“And you’re not afraid at all. You’re… you’re incredible, Y/n.”

You pursed your lips, tamping down the delight that threatened to spill over inside of you like champagne bubbles — light and airy and lovestruck. With only a handful of sentences, Azriel had you wishing that everyone else would just leave. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks as Azriel kept looking at you. It was a quiet, intimate undressing without an inch of skin needing to be revealed.

A tendril of shadow creeped up your arm and tugged your hair. The rest hovered shyly over a bag you recognized as Azriel’s, as if they knew they’d done wrong by ferrying it over from their master’s bedroom. But the timing was so perfect, how could they not?

With you watching, they tugged open the strings and spilled the contents on the floor.

To Lucien’s surprise, Azriel’s notorious stone-face went flush with color when he heard the thud of books and realized what his shadows had done.

“Wait—Y/n—” His chair groaned in protest when he shot to his feet.

But you were already holding them in your hands.

The Natural Trials and Tribulations of Leonora Bedroot, Three Knocks for A Kiss, and A Touch of Cinnamon. Your favorite books in the entire world. Two copies each. One brand new, and one whose pages were already flared, leather spines lovingly wrinkled.

Your breath caught in your throat when you flipped through Three Knocks for a Kiss and saw Azriel’s delicate scrawl on every page. Passages had been circled and underlined with his comments left in the margins. Small tabs of paper poked out with more handwritten notes.

Azriel’s been reading these over and over again for months now. He bought them a week after you came to Velaris because he remembered you liked books that are well loved and full of memory. The nights he couldn’t sleep and dream of you, he’d perch on his windowsill and read until morning came. You’ve given him a peace he’s never known before.

A kind of peace you thought you’d been alone in feeling.

The scent of night-chilled mountains and parchment paper filled your nose.

Azriel bowed his head ever so slightly, eyes focused on your hands now clutching the books like they were gold.

“I remembered seeing them in your apartment. I was going to give them to you at some point but…” Azriel trailed off, then whispered. “I remember what you told me about your mother reading them to you.” I remember everything you’ve told me.

“I can keep them?” Your voice was a hush over the room.

You cradled them protectively against your chest, as if at any moment they’d be torn away from you. You’d been hesitant to buy new copies after the original ones had been burned down in the Alcove. Part of their charm had always been the memories of your mother reading them aloud like they were flowers growing from her lips instead of words, buzzing and honey-laden. The books felt different now, but they still felt like something. They weren’t sterile and blank. They were filled with Azriel and all the good memories he carried with him. Few and far between as they were.

“They’re yours,” Azriel breathed, “All yours.”

Lucien looked back and forth between you two, focusing on the blush of your cheeks and the wetness in your eyes and the thinly veiled adoration in Azriel’s face now that you were looking back at him. A sick, knowing feeling had been building inside of him throughout dinner, but he’d repressed it. He couldn’t repress it any longer.

No. Absolutely not. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way.

He let his shock flow through the bond and looked to Elain for confirmation.

Please tell me I’m wrong. He begged silently. Anyone but him. Literally anyone but him.

They’d yet to accept the bond, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t read each other like an open book. And right now Lucien was doing nothing to hide his seething temper.

Elain bit her pale, pink lips and nodded, confirming what he already suspected. Then, in a move of silent permission, she slid her chair six inches away from Azriel’s until she was practically sharing a seat with Nesta.

“Here we go again,” Nesta groaned and looked at Cassian. You want to get her?

Yeah I got her.

You straightened up, pressing the books to your chest in confusion. What had started off as a graciously uneventful dinner had turned into a moment of beauty that you wanted to preserve for a little while longer.

But everyone around you parted, leaning back in their chairs and pulling glasses of wine off the table before draining them in one long chug. Even Ione held her plate in her hands, popping a tomato in her mouth with interest. Mor looked nervous clutching a sweaty bottle of wine against her chest. Feyre and Rhys looked resigned and Lucien… Lucien looked livid. After all, he owed Azriel for the Blood Duel.

Cassian hoisted you out of your seat with his arms wrapped firmly around your middle and stepped back and out of the way.

Your eyes widened when Lucien stood up, skin rippling with light and power. He calmly rolled back his sleeves revealing muscular, scarred forearms, then took off his rings one by one and dropped them on the table.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

He wanted to feel it when he beat the Shadowsinger to a pulp.

Oh… Oh shit.

“Wait—Lucien!”

Lucien gritted his teeth and launched himself over the table.

Azriel didn’t flinch. His hazel eyes didn’t even flicker in surprise. In fact, you swore you saw them flutter closed in acceptance.

In another fight, Azriel might have had the advantage of wings and height, but Lucien had the wider build and the fucking motive. He slammed into the Shadowsinger’s chest and together they disappeared beneath the lip of the table before landing in a sprawl on the floor that knocked the air out of Azriel’s lungs.

Cassian winced when he heard the first of Lucien’s blows land.

“Let me go!” You kicked and squirmed in his grip, but you would have had more luck fighting a mountain. “Cassian, what the fuck?!”

“I’m really sorry, Y/n. But even I have to admit he had this coming.” There was another bloody crack. “Oh damn that sounds like it hurt.”

“Honestly, I didn't know he had it in him,” was Nesta’s only comment. Ione moved to stand beside the eldest Archeron sister so she could get a better view, a faintly amused smile on her face.

“I did,” Elain said simply. That was one of the many things she and Lucien had in common. Their general patience and understanding could only stretch so far before snapping. “Ione, perhaps you should go upstairs.”

The older woman looked offended. “Why? This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Such drama.”

When Helion had fought Azriel, there’d been an elegance to it — something altogether noble about the event as the two stared each other down as equals.

This was nothing like that.

Lucien was pissed and even Azriel had to admit that he really, really deserved this one.

Lucien’s chest heaved, every blow of his fists against Azriel’s face punctuated by snarling words.

“First you go after my mate—” Punch. “Then my sister—” Punch. Punch. “Are you—” Punch. “Fucking—” Punch. “Kidding me?!”

The last blow sent Azriel’s head snapping back hard enough to crack the floor tiles. Blood splattered from his nose like a spray of paint lobed at a canvas and Azriel knew from his sudden inability to breath that it was broken.

“Lucien! Stop it!”

“We just redid the tiles,” Rhysand groaned, rubbing his temples.

Lucien growled and grabbed Azriel by the front of his leathers, throwing him over and onto the table. The long mahogany table, shiny and expensive as hell, snapped in two with a deafening bang. Silverware flew into the air, catching the light like holiday tinsel. Porcelain plates shattered and Azriel finally groaned in pain from the harsh twisting of his wings. The fearsome Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court could only lay there as green peas rolled down on top of him, gravy sinking into his hair.

“Not the table too,” Rhys whined. He’d had it specially commissioned for the River House.

Lucien dragged Azriel off the glorified heap of wood chips before tossing him back onto the floor, fist raised in the air.

“Alright! That’s enough,” Feyre said with a loud clap of her hands. “If you two want to fight, do it outside. I don’t want anyone breaking my house. Again.”

The River House sighed in relief.

Lucien paused just long enough for Rhysand to haul the redhead off his brother with little regard for anyone’s pride.

“Get off me,” Lucien snapped, shoving Rhys away. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

When Cassian finally let you down, you rushed over to Azriel’s side, swiping the handkerchief Rhys held out for you as you passed.

Azriel sat on the floor, face impassive despite the brutal angle of his nose and the blood sprayed over his face and neck. You cradled his face, gently nudging it this way and that as you surveyed the damage.

“Oh Azriel,” you breathed.

Bruises bloomed over his cheekbones, muddy as paint water. His right eye was almost swollen shut, and his split lips bled anew when he gave you a tentative smile.

“Hi,” he murmured reverently, leaning against the palm you cupped beneath his jaw.

Lucien gagged. “Can someone rip my eye out again? Both this time, please?”

“Damnit, Lucien!” You held the handkerchief up to Azriel’s nose, trying to stem the flow of blood before it could continue dripping from his chin. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Really, Y/n?! You’re defending him?!”

Azriel wrapped one arm protectively around your waist, eyes narrowed in a glare. With the blood coating his face he looked positively murderous. Like he’d done the beating and not Lucien.

“Don’t yell at her,” he growled, his voice dangerously low.

“For fuck’s sake.”

It had been a momentary outburst — a rare occurrence with Lucien that held no anger towards you. But you still felt the flare of Azriel’s power as shadows wrapped around you in a layer so thick you couldn’t see past your waist.

“Azriel—” You didn’t want another fight. “It's ok.”

“No. It’s not.”

Lucien was a mixed bag of emotions and he felt a dozen of them go off at the same time like fireworks. There was rage at the male who had the audacity to lay a hand on you, who’d hurt you if the rumours in Velaris were true. A bitter desire for revenge that still lay heavy on his hands after the utter hell he’d gone through watching Azriel and Elain for years. Protectiveness over you — his sister. And a tiny sliver of shame that grew every time you prodded the Shadowsinger’s bent nose and winced.

“Do you know?” Lucien’s voice shook.

“Do I know what, Lucien?”

He swore and looked at everyone in turn. The members of the Inner Circle were trying their damned hardest not to meet his eyes, nervously angling their gaze towards the ground or out the windows like the evening fog was the most interesting thing they’d ever seen.

Fucking hell. You didn’t know.

Lucien reached down over your shoulder, grabbed Azriel’s nose and shoved it back into place with a loud pop.

You cringed at the sound, but Azriel didn’t react. He was well acquainted with pain and knew how to hide it.

He breathed through his reset nose, touching the swore flesh gingerly. “Thank you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Lucien!”

He clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. Elain chose that moment to quietly slide her hand into his from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder so he was surrounded by the smell of wildflowers. She tapped the center of his chest, right where he’d told her he felt anchored by the bond, and then looked pointedly to where you kneeled on the ground in between Azriel’s legs.

And Azriel… Azriel looked lost to the world. Centuries spent relegated to the shadows as a Spymaster had wiped away his feelings, at least outwardly. But everyone could plainly see the way he kept his hand on your arm, thumb brushing circles over your warm skin and the settling of his breathing the longer you held onto his jaw with careful fingers.

Of all the people. It had to be him.

“The Mother works in mysterious ways,” Elain whispered so only her mate could hear.

“Unfortunately for me.”

Lucien took in a ragged breath and clenched his fists, waiting for the worst of his anger to fade away before he collected the books back into the discarded bag and held it out for you.

A peace offering.

You pulled Azriel back onto his feet, keeping one hand firmly clasped in his, and glared at your brother. “That was completely unnecessary.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” And he meant it.

Your lips flattened. “Shouldn’t you be apologizing to Azriel?”

His mismatched eyes flared with irritation when they flickered to the Shadowsinger.

Azriel stood quietly at your side, his face a motley of red, purple, and blue. Still handsome though, much to Lucien’s annoyance.

“I’m not going to apologize for that. He deserved it. I’m just sorry you had to witness it.” Lucien hesitated, then said, “Y/n, I’m not usually like this. I don’t want you to think poorly of me just because of… him.” It was taking everything within him not to use more colorful language to describe the Shadowsinger. “It won’t happen again… unless you ask me to… which I hope you do.”

Lucien wasn’t sure what to expect. He didn’t know what anger looked like painted on your features, or sadness, and he didn’t want to. So, it was a pleasant surprise when you only rolled your eyes and muttered, “First Helion and now you. Fucking males,” before slinging the bag over your shoulder and tugging Azriel towards your room.

The Shadowsinger trailed after you without a second thought, heart hammering away in his chest.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

LET'S GO BIG BROTHER LUCIEEEEENNNNNNNNN

Y'all I had so much fucking fun writing the Lucien/Azriel fight scene. And to think that for a hot second I considered not writing it because I was worried it would be too repetitive to have Azriel get his ass beaten by both Helion and Lucien. Azriel, you poor, poor man, I'm sorry to have put you through all this. But also I'm not sorry at all.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! As always, please feel free to send me your thoughts!

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #y/n x inner circle #reader x inner circle #reader x lucien #lucien x reader #lucien x y/n #lucien vanserra has my whole heart #i will fight anyone who says anything bad about him #ugh but writing the sibling dynamic between Y/n and Lucien where he's so excited and she's so worried the whole time #SADJF BCALSIGEHRJFKJANDSBHGUFI #just Lucien vanserra

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fifthnailinstevesbat · 7 months ago

Text

after the events of season 4, steve just wanting SO BADLY to be friends with eddie. just LOVING the idea of them getting closer and having eddie as a friend because hell yeah! a close male friendship with someone that is actually my age, and who i don’t have a weird history with involving bruised eyes and love triangles? count me IN! and eddie is FUN, he is actually hilarious! the way they share the same glances of understanding when dustin is being an absolute shit head, rambling on and on about some obscure topic, expecting everyone to always be on the exact same page as him. of course. and, although steve suspects that eddie actually probably is keeping up with everything dustin says, much better than he ever could, he knows that above it all eddie can appreciate the antics for what they are, and roll his eyes with steve at dustin, i concur, you dustin henderson, are a total butthead.

steve just about junps RIGHT IN to being friends with eddie. hey man, what’cha up to tonight? wanna watch a movie? get drunk, smoke a bit? hey eddie, how have you been, man? he starts calling eddie up on the phone regularly just to check in, shoot the shit, he loves it! he loves having this new friendship with eddie munson and he loves how much the other boy has surprised him with how much he actually enjoys being around him. he’s not a freak, really, well ok maybe he is a little bit, but only in the best ways. he’s kind, thoughtful, and is always looking out for the people he cares about, which is something steve can really respect in a dude. but he’s also so funny? steve never could’ve anticipated just how much eddie has managed to make him genuinely LAUGH over their short amount of time spent together. and he’s really, out there? with the way he presents himself, the way he takes up space with these big THEATRICAL movements, leaving no room for regret or shame or god forbid embarrassment. steve isn’t even sure munson is capable of feeling it at all.

eddie munson is a good dude, and steve could use a bit more of that kind of person around him. he loves all of his friends, the weird little bonded family he’s found himself apart of, and they are all good people, but it never hurts to have afew more added in here and there. it never hurts to know there are more good people out there to find.

so steve is all over eddie, it seems.

at least, from where eddie is standing. nobody else seems as phased as eddie does at this sudden change in steve’s demeanour, in his interest in what eddie munson spends his time doing these days. it seems like, to everyone else, to steve, it’s just a natural progression in their relationship, after being sort of role model figures to the same group of kids, both being the two single dudes, who fought the same monsters together last spring, it seems nobody questions too much that they��d start casually hanging around eachother more. especially since eddie has found himself to fit into his own special spot as one of the group now after it all, after he unwillingly became tangled in this whole upsidedown-superpowers-supernatural-monsters and demons debacle, and tangled quite dramatically at that, the rest of the group that’s been with this since the beginning seemed to find no trouble in taking him in and seeing him as “one of them” now.

so, steve asking eddie to smoke, to watch movies, to go for a drive with no real end destination, it’s not really something that earns them too many double takes. dustin makes a comment or two in the beginning, because steve since when did you like hanging out with eddie? you guys are like so opposite, you don’t like any of the same stuff he does? and steve barely gives a shrug and a dismissive yeah yeah whatever man in response, with a signature eye roll, and dustin had said it seemingly also not too seriously, poking fun at steve wherever he can, not really meaning anything by it, as he fidgets around and rambles in the backseat of steve’s car, eddie riding up front. after that, though, he’s dropped it. it’s never brought up again. part of eddie thinks, too, that dustin would actually be enjoying that his two older friends are becoming friends themselves.

robin seems to be the only other person to look a bit harder at their situation, lingering stares at their interactions, all squinted eyes and eyebrows raised, though from her all this seems to be almost always and only ever directed at steve. eddie’s not sure what to make of that. isn’t he the weird one? i mean, he’s the one that stands out, right? he’s the odd denominator that makes their friendship strange. why would steve harrington want to hang out with Him? HIM? but robin doesn’t spend her time studying eddie to try and search for what about him could possibly have piqued the interest of cherished steven harrington, no, shes always looking at steve. like she’s seeing him differently, almost. eddie doesn’t even think that steve notices it, either, because he doesn’t seem to be questioning or doubting anything odd or strange or out of the ordinary with their newfound time spent together. and maybe, maybe robin is seeing him differently. eddie knows he definitely has been. seeing him more, intensely. deeply. human. seeing the person that steve is, as just steve, not this idealised version of a boy that eddies starting to question ever really even existed at all, or if everyone around him just needed to believe that he did, and who was steve if not happy to comply to the wants of the people around him for who he should be?

eddie likes having steve as his friend, too. don’t get it twisted. he loves how unexpectedly expressive steve is about everything, even really small things. steve LOVES to raise his voice, rest a hand on his popped hip, scolding the kids for something stupid with no real heat or malice behind it. and steve is, like, kinda bitchy too. eddie knew he had the capacity to be a real asshole when he wanted to be, that’s all he knew steve for back in the day, when he was back in high school, hanging around tommy h and the basketball boys, the jocks. eddie would spend his days hearing only whispers and gossip in the hallways of the parties at king steve’s house and the fights king steve had started and won on the court or out in the fields, only ever getting as close as a shove into a locker with the guy at the time, but eddie knew how it could go. he knew all about what steve had done to jonathan, what he’d said to him, the words he’d used. eddie knew it all. he’d seen enough, and been through enough himself, to know how these guys acted in response to guys like him, like jonathan, people who were lower on the social food chain. so, eddie knew about steve’s “mean streak”, if you will, but this kind of snarky bitchiness was something new to him. harrington was almost, sassy, when he wanted to be. it was less so cruel and more just, just sass. if he’s being completely honest it kind of blew eddie away, at first. he thought steve was one of those dull headed jocks who thought with their fists more than their actual brains, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. steve’s insults were well thought out, they were FUNNY, he was smart with his words. and silly. oh my god steve harrington could be so fucking silly, real honest to god goofball when the moment called for it, when he felt comfortable enough. eddie had caught on multiple occasions steve mimicking lightsabers to play fight with dustin, or the stupid fucking shit he would do or say just to make robin laugh, singing along to a song playing on the radio with a funny voice.

it was all a little, intoxicating, to watch. eddie didn’t know what gave him the right to be in on this now, to get to see this side of steve and better yet to be at the other end of some of his best qualities. it was fun, all the time they spent together, but there was always something else tugging inside eddie everytime they spent close time together, too. something, he knew steve wasn’t aware of. something he knew steve wasn’t equipped to deal with. something he knew, was him. was him, making things something more than they should be, because, nobody seemed to be questioning that they could become friends, so why ruin that? why disrupt it?

- robin and steve

“Steve.”

“-but then like, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to watch it I just thought, hey, y’know, let’s try something different for a change, but then he- oh my god he honest to god TACKLED ME Robin — I mean, it was so fucking funny and it happened so quick — and all over a fucking Tom Cruise movie-“

“STEVE.” Robin lightly slammed a hand onto the counter. She had been standing behind it for no short of 20 minutes, watching Steve as he paced around, supposed to be stacking tapes onto shelves, but ended up spending the whole time going on and on, and ON, about how movie night went with Eddie last night. She thought she was bad…

Steve jumped, almost running into a shelf and knocking down his hard work, and seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had found himself in after starting to tell Robin a story about something funny Eddie had done last night.

“Shit, sorry. Sorry, what were you saying? Were you- were you saying something?”

To this, Robin just rolls her eyes and let’s out a laugh, “You, sir, are goddamn hopeless.”

“Sorry. How long was I talking for?” Steve wandered his way over to lean his arms onto the counter from the opposite side.

“Oh, I dunno Steve, just about half an HOUR?”

“That is an over exaggeration Robin, it’s only been like-“

“Honestly, man, i’m concerned for you. You are like next level OBSESSED with Eddie. Eddie Munson. You do realise this right??? You are obsessed with him, Steve.”

To this Steve sputters, lazily waving his hands back and forth.

“No, Robin, what the hell are you talking about? I am not OBSESSED. No need to be jealous, alright, Stevie-Boy here can have more than one friend. Your spot in my heart isn’t any less special now that it’s beginning to be shared by another.” He bats his eyelashes up at her, holding both hands over his chest as if to cradle his heart.

“Oh my GOD! You even SOUND LIKE HIM!”, she playfully slaps his shoulder. “Steve. You are obsessed.”

“I am not obsessed! He’s just a really great guy, alright-“

“Blah blah, yep whatever you say, lover boy.” Robin quips, plopping down onto the chair chair infront of their staff computer, turning herself to face it.

“Wha- what? Lover boy? What the hell Robin, that is not- that doesn’t even make any sense!”

She is just smiling at him now, enjoying seeing him spiral like this. Steve let’s out a sigh as he puts his hands on his hips, and shakes his head, looking at her right back.

He opens and closes his mouth afew times, like he’s really thinking about what he wants to say next. Or like he has no idea what to say next, and his brain is not moving fast enough to formulate the next sentence his mouth knows he wants to say. He wasn’t obsessed. That’s not- that’s like- no. No he was not, Robin was just playing around with him, she knew how to get on his nerves. Get him all wound up over little things just to see him react like this.

After a minute or two, Robin realises Steve was not going to reply anytime soon, so she turns fully back toward him. Saving him from his spiral.

“So, what are you’re plans for tonight Steve-O?”

He lets out a chuckle and walks around the counter till he’s behind it with Robin, leaning his back against it so he can stand across from her and face her.

“Well, not really sure. Parents aren’t home, no early shift tomorrow, might drink afew beers, listen to some music, —“

“See what Eddie’s doin?” Robin finishes for him, quirking her eyebrows up and down as she does it.

“Oh shut up!” Steve just laughs and softly throws a tape from the counter at her chest. “As a matter of fact, yeah I will see what he’s up to. Because we are friends now, Robin. Is that a problem? Actually I was also gonna ask you what you were up to after work, too, but you know what after this I’m having second thoughts, I mean, the way you’ve been treating me lately-“

“Oh my god, you are the worst. Yes, I’m free, of course I’ll hang out with you dingus. You and your tweedle dee.”

Steve laughs at this, then tilts his head.

“Wait, does that make me dumb? Tweedle dumb?! That’s how you see me?”

“Yeah it is actually, got a problem?”

“Oh wow, she’s feisty today. Can’t believe you think I’m dumb, Rob’s. When you come knockin’ tonight, do not expect a warm greeting at my front door.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take my chances.”

- later. steve’s house. to be continued?

#just been having steddie post season 4 thoughts #been missing the era of the fandom just sort of starting during that time between vol 1 and 2 #how every fic had their own little way of resolving the upside down/vecna problem just written into afew small paragraphs #really just getting to know these characters as a pairing #most importantly before seeing them as a couple #seeing them as friends #how they would genuinely interact and get along #what their dynamics would look like #steddie early days truly have my whole entire heart #coming onto tumblr the weeks following vol1 of s4 was magical #anywho yeah non vol2 compliant steddie for you #more so just #eddie didn’t die steddie for you #they become friends bc truly i actually believe that had he lived they would have #it just makes sense #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things 4 #stranger things season 4 #robin buckley #dustin henderson #also lmk if i should keep adding to this…might abyways bc i’m enjoying this #steddie fic #steddie fic idea #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction

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