#its Azriel's

[readychilledwine]

Apologizing now for the batboy coparenting head canons that will be posted later. I went on instinct, and some of you are not going to like it 😅

[acomaflove]

Azriel: *sneezes and shadows come out of his nose*

Rhysand:

Amren:

Morrigan:

Cassian:

Feyre:

Nesta: ………So we are all just going to ignore that?

Cassian: Oh my bad; bless you, Azriel.

Nesta: THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT

[sizzlingstarlightsky]

When Azriel cums, darkness engulfs

When Eris finishes, fire sparks

I live in the space between

[illyrianbitch]

Beneath the Ashes of Our Broken Oaths

Pairing: Morrigan's Sister!Reader x Azriel

Summary: After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Morrigan’s twin sister, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience. Torn between your anger and a desire to protect the good, you begrudgingly agree and are forced to face memories of a past life and the unsettling presence of Azriel– the first man you ever loved.

Warnings: ANGST, Helion being compassionate and its sexy, Inner Circle slander (sorry feyre baby), Y/N is kind of a bitch (but its warranted and a slay), family trauma.

Word Count: 2.9k

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was Helion, the High Lord of Day, who had seen the flicker of hope in your eyes. A man of discerning wisdom, he recognized your yearnings of a better world. He knew you, he knew your heart, and he trusted your vision— with the promise of your support shall he need it. You knew that your support, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing to Helion. He had always held a heart of gold, of understanding, and he would have helped you without anything in return. But you had insisted, declared that you needed to give him something to thank him. Your support, he had agreed on. It was all you had left, anyway. 

Now, you stood before him, pleading. Your chest was tight and a calm panic filled your veins. You needed to act. You needed to keep things in place.

"Helion, please," your voice, normally composed, now carried a tremor, a plea that hung in the air, reeking of desperation. Low light poured through stained glass windows as the sun slowly set, painting a kaleidoscope of muted colors on the marble floors.

His eyes, usually filled with warmth, held a regretful sympathy. 

"Y/N, I wish I could," He replied, his voice caressing the air,  "But with the current state of affairs and your father’s growing paranoia, it's too risky. I can't jeopardize my people. My help is needed elsewhere."

Approaching you, he extended a large hand, gently cupping your chin, his touch reassuring and pained. "Give me some time, sweetheart."

Desperation deepened in your eyes, and the intensity of your plea swelled. Aching with fear and worry, your gaze remained locked on his. "I don’t have time. Hewn City corrupts swiftly. You know this.”

Helion sighed, a sound filled with a blend of both compassion and helplessness. "Perhaps you should reach out to Rhysand. His influence might help, now more than ever."

Yor felt a bitterness surface, like bile rising through your throat. A soft scoff left your mouth as you roughly pulled Helion’s hand away from your chin, withdrawing from his touch in offense. "Rhys had a chance to help. He didn’t. He couldn’t care less. I won’t go crawling to him."

Helion's gaze softened, a tender response to your rough tone. He let out a sigh and pulled you close to him once more. His touch sent a wave of comfort through you, something that happened often when you visited him to discuss these things. Helion was a man who loved physical connection— you didn’t mind it. It made you feel seen, understood. Now, you craved that feeling more than ever.

 "I don’t understand this contempt you hold. Surely they will want to help you. They miss you."

You rolled your eyes at this. Of course Helion would think so. As much as you trusted him and his admiration for you, he always did love your family. Your sister and your cousin would always be in your life, tied to you in one way or another. Frustration tinged your voice. 

"It's too late. Going to Rhysand now would draw unwanted attention or, worse, he’d halt my efforts because of some perceived danger."

There was a moment of silence, and your eyes bounced around the room, searching for somewhere to land that wasn’t Helion's burning gaze. Once more, he moved a hand to gently cradle your face.

"You cannot foresee every outcome. You're not a mind reader, Y/N."

A bitter laugh escaped you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "I might as well be when it comes to family."

 "You've accomplished so much. Allow yourself a reprieve. You can't bear the weight of the innocents lives in Hewn City alone."

You blinked away the tears that welled in your eyes as you admitted, "I can't afford to stop. If I do, they'll think I've given up." 

"No," Helion asserted, his voice unwavering. "Your dedication is commendable, but you need to care for yourself. Let me help you."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him, his brows furrowed slightly and a sad smile on his face. He moved his hand once more, gently tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then, he ran a finger along it, a soft caress carried by a weight of understanding. You shuddered at the lightness of his touch. 

 "Stay, Y/N,” He suggested, his voice smooth and low, “Let me be a distraction. You take care of others; let someone take care of you."

You leaned slightly into his caress, feeling the warmth radiating from his hand. A fleeting sense of comfort teased at the edges of your weary soul. Yet, reality swiftly reasserted its grasp, and you gently withdrew, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

"I appreciate the offer," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. Your hand delicately intercepted his, guiding it away from your cheek. "But I can't afford the luxury of distraction right now."

He acknowledged your decision with a small nod. 

“I wish I could do more for you."

A tender smile found its way to your lips and you held his gaze for a fleeting moment of gratitude.

“I know.” You replied before you winnowed away, leaving the luminous embrace of the Day Court behind.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You were on edge. You had been for the last few weeks. Now, after failing to convince Helion, you could feel it catching up to you, a dark hole forming in the pit of your stomach. It felt like you were being swallowed alive, eaten by your own anxieties and fear. But you didn’t have time for this. You couldn’t risk falling apart, becoming vulnerable. No, not at a time like this.

You had mastered the art of drowning your thoughts, of discarding the weight that threatened to pull you under. Tonight would be no different. The impending storm would be weathered, as it always had been. You would begin to drink your worries away, give them time to manifest, and then shove them away into the crawlspace of your mind, free to collect dust and rot away.

You moved toward a small table where a simple platter of dark amber liquid awaited. Your fingers tightened around a small crystal glass as you poured. As the first sip touched your lips, you felt the familiar burn, a welcomed distraction. The amber liquid offered solace, if only for a fleeting moment.

And then, you stilled. The creak of the floorboards behind you announced their presence, and you felt it—a pricking at the base of your neck, the subtle disturbance of the air as someone entered, no, appeared. Your body tensed instinctively, shoulders rigid, as you ceased your movements. You took a moment to compose yourself, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply-- a futile attempt to ground yourself.

You downed the drink, the warmth spreading through your veins, and set your glass down, a definitive thud echoing in the silence as it met the table. You turned around slowly, the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety beneath your skin momentarily masked by a face of composure. The simple décor of your home surrounded you—the tattered tapestries, broken furniture—all a testament to a life you had built in the aftermath of your return. One that lacked the color that you once held.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Your voice, laced with both mockery and a hint of something darker, hung in the air.

In front of you, Rhysand stood tall and proud, a figure of authority. His eyes, once familiar and comforting, now held a look determination. His gaze held yours strongly, and for a swift moment, you saw them soften. But the tenderness quickly dissipated, his eyes narrowing with a slight tilt of his head. You ran your eyes along his face, then down his form, taking in the detailed and intricate patterns of his clothing— an embodiment of Night Court royalty. Then, you looked at him again, your jaw clenching. It had been a while since you looked into his eyes, a violet color deeply embedded into your mind. For a moment, his presence consumed your thoughts, distracting you from the other man that you felt in your home.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark figure stepping out from the corners of your room. A darkness licked at your skin.

"Hello, Azriel," you acknowledged him, your eyes remaining fixed on Rhysand.

Azriel's presence was a dark whisper. The edges of your room seemed to blur with shadows as he stood there, a silent observer.

"I’ve come to request your help," Rhysand's voice cut through the stillness, his words carrying the weight of urgency.

Your response was swift, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that's rich."

The corners of the room seemed to darken further as Rhysand's frustration manifested in the clenching of his jaw. The subtle play of shadows accentuated the lines on his face, revealing the strain of a desperate plea.

"Please hear me out."

You shook your head. They shouldn’t be here. This was risky, dangerous. You needed them to leave. They needed to disappear, to let you go and never find you again. That was the only way you would be able to survive.

But every fiber in your being was screaming to do the opposite, to embrace your cousin and explain to him, tell him everything. You wanted to get on your knees and beg for the kindness he always showed you, to ask him about your sister. For him to tell you about his life, his love, his child. But you couldn’t. And from inside you, your heart tugged you to Azriel, his stoic form. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to catch his gaze. It was all so wrong. This disconnect, this anger you felt for them, for your situation, for yourself… it was eating you up. But this wasn't the time. So you pulled your thoughts together and focused on the one thing that had never let you down: your fire.

You reminded yourself of the resentment you held, deep down. Reminded yourself of how they had failed you, separated themselves from you, your vision, and the suffering of the good people here, in Hewn City— your city. Rhysand's city.

Ignoring his original words, you looked at Rhysand with the hint of a wicked grin on your face.

"Where’s your child bride? I heard she’s reading at the same level as your babe. You must be overjoyed."

Rhysand's expression tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface. The mention of his mate touched a clear nerve, and for a brief moment, you reveled in the discomfort you had caused. It was a twisted satisfaction, a way to regain some sliver of control in this unexpected encounter.

His temper flared, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability replaced by a presence of anger that you knew all too well. He bit down on his frustration, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure. But you pressed on.

“I’m only kidding, take a joke, Rhysand. 500 years and you still have the emotional regulation of a teenager. Nice to see some things don’t change."

Rhysand's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and confusion, observing you and your wall of icy nonchalance. His name sounded foreign on your lips, spoken with such malice and distaste. Even the last time he had seen you, during a bloody war against Hybern, you had not been so venomous. This was a fact you both thought of as you stood here, now, in front of one another again. You moved gracefully through the room, ignoring their presence, and opened a small box that sat on your table. The delicate aroma of sugar wafted through the air. You took a seat.

Azriel and Rhysand exchanged glances. Your fingers idly played with the box, an ornate creation that held delicate, candied treats. With an almost casual indifference, you brought one of the sweet confections to your mouth, savoring the taste as if the weight of their presence meant nothing to you. You could feel the tension building in the atmosphere, heightened by their growing sense of agitation and frustration. It radiated off of them like heat. You welcomed it with open arms, like a freezing child in the cold.

"These are the loveliest desserts,” You explained, bringing the candy close to your face with an examining eye, “Hard to come across here. But I know a guy.”

“Want one?" you offered, dropping your candy back into the box and extending it toward Azriel, whose stoic expression remained unchanged.

"What? Doggy can’t take a treat?" You taunted with a measured smile. You didn’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, or the way his shadows began to snake up his arms, angry and riled up.

A tense silence lingered as Azriel remained perfectly unmoving, his eyes holding a depth of attentiveness that made you uncomfortable. But the discomfort within you sought distraction, and you continued with your mockery. You waved your hands in the air as a dismissal.

"Bah, you guys are no fun."

The room felt charged as you baited them, your attempts to deflect the gravity of their visit becoming slowly evident in every casual gesture.

Rhysand's frustration reached a boiling point, and he took a step forward, shifting the conversation.

"We didn't come here for sweets and jests. We came for you."

You chuckled, a sound that held a bitter edge. "Me? You must be desperate, Rhysand."

A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes, swiftly replaced by a steely resolve. "There are rumors of rebellion here,” He took a pause, glancing around the room as if he was contemplating continuing. He spoke again, “But, I'm dealing with a larger threat that has me on the defense. I cannot afford an uprising."

Your laughter cut through the air like a blade. "Is the idea of civil unrest among your people an inconvenience? My, what an issue, must be terrible."

Rhysand's patience waned, his features hardening. "Stop this, Y/N. We need your help to prevent a disaster."

You leaned back against your furniture, your eyes narrowing as you regarded him with a chilling indifference. "I've heard nothing about any unrest. You've wasted a trip."

Rhysand's gaze bore into yours, an unspoken challenge. "Azriel has been in Hewn City, gathering information. He's heard the rumors. I know you're lying."

In that moment, a silent battle waged within you. The desire to help, to make a difference, warred against the fear of exposing yourself to the dangers lurking beyond your sanctuary. The memories of the past, the reasons you returned, echoed in your mind. You wanted to help, but you knew their presence could unravel the delicate life you had crafted.

Rhysand's voice softened, a genuine plea beneath the layers of frustration. "Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. Why do you refuse to acknowledge that?"

Then, his eyes softened, sensing a crack in your facade. Inner turmoil clouded your eyes as you locked gazes with him. The conflict within you played out in the subtle tremor of your fingers, a telltale sign of something bubbling beneath your icy exterior. But as quickly as it manifested, you shut it down, fast enough to resolve Rhys of his attentive eyes. He swallowed and fixed his composure.

"Azriel has gained information that it's not just a rise against me. There are whispers of a rebellion against Keir himself. I need you to listen for information from your father."

Your father. A wave of nausea rippled throughout your body and you clenched your jaw in response. The title sounded strange coming from Rhysand, a stark reminder of your place here, of your place in his family. No, no. You thought. I will not let them see me falter.

Rhysand continued, "Azriel has gathered intelligence, but we need someone on the inside. We need you."

A cynical smile now played on your lips as you taunted them, "Maybe it's time for a change. The mighty High Lord struggling to keep control – how novel."

Azriel, who had maintained a cold silence until now, spoke up for the first time, taking a heavy step forward towards where you sat.

"We both know you do not mean that."

You turned your gaze to him, eyes dark. "And what do you know about what I mean, Azriel? You don't know anything about me."

Rhysand put a hand out in front of Azriel’s form, biting back his retort. The room hung heavy as you finally declared, "You've overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."

Rhysand's eyes met yours with a determined glint.

"I will be back. Family does not give up."

His words pulled out a surge of anger bubbling within you. Family? Without a second thought, you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. "Family, huh?" Your voice dripped with bitterness, and you moved toward him, anger etched on your face.

But before you could reach him, Rhysand winnowed away with a controlled fury, leaving Azriel lingering.

Azriel stood still, his eyes slightly narrowed, his brows furrowed at you. You met his gaze and felt a wave of guilt through your body, filling the hole where your fury once was a second before. If you didn’t know any better, it seemed as if Azriel was….. Disappointed? Hurt? But you stabilized yourself, pushing the observation away. Your anger, raw and unfiltered, had an intensity that took even him by surprise. He held your gaze. Then, like a wisp of darkness, he too disappeared, leaving you alone with the remnants of unresolved tension and the taste of bittersweet candied treats lingering in the air.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

a/n: hello hello!! welcome to my lil new fic!! im new here and i have no idea what im doing but i hope at least one person enjoys what has become my creative fictional baby. when i tell you this story has a place in my HEART....y/n here is multilayered and complex and flawed but that is why i love her!! serving cunt 24/7!!!

tumblr scares me so any feedback is so very loved and any advice is great too!! mwuah

[roselensedeyes]

sjm saying azriel is a freak in bed and then in the bonus chapter elain gets wet just by him stroking her neck. they match each other's freak.

[arcturustarlight]

Anti Gwynriel, I can take it.

But Anti Gwyneth Berdara? You better run, bitch.

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: apparently it is easier to push out a new chapter when its a juicy one!!!! sorry for this but did you really think i was done with the angst? oh naur babey we're just setting up the scene i envisioned when i had the original idea <3 strap in babe!

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: A secret you vowed to never reveal gets uncovered and Azriel struggles as all he's known is turned on its head. An unfriendly adversary from the past comes knocking.

CHAPTER SIX :: BETRAYERS

One glimpse at your shelter as he winnows into the forest, the snow crunching loudly underfoot, and Azriel knows it deep in his bones.

Something is wrong.

He stands amongst the pines of the forest behind your shelter and even from the distance, he can sense the change in the air. The wind, wilder than usual, tastes faintly like danger. It's snowing. His shadows wisp about, whispering and twittering, doing nothing to ease the twinge of panic.

There are boards in the back window.

Azriel stalks forward through the snow, his ears keenly sifting through the noises of the forest around him but nothing gives way. Just like he had felt all those days ago, there’s a warped agony that clings to the sides of your shelter.

Last time, there had been blood in the snow. A trail, that led him right to you.

Today, there are only the boards in the windows.

His mind jumps to the other warriors in the camp, wondering if this is their doing— trapping you inside as some sort of sickening test. See if the bastard can fight his way out or starve to death in his own four walls.

Something like pure malice glimmers just beneath his skin, ready to rear up, but—

—But no. As he gets closer, Azriel realises he’s wrong.

This is not the work of the brutes in camp, this is you. The boards have been put up from the inside.

A series of emotions stutter and slam into each other, wrestling with one another in his chest. Confusion shares the top spot with an unwavering concern that seems to grow with every step closer. Boarded up from the inside... what possible reason could warrant you to do this?

Uneasiness coats his every nerve, an uncomfortable prickle rolling along his raised hackles. Something stirs in his chest. Azriel stalks closer to your shelter, snow slushing beneath his boots, torn between calling out and biting his tongue. He goes for the latter.

His shadows glide around him agitatedly, circling his hands where they hover over his weapons. His wings are pulled in tight. He slows as he reaches the front of your shelter.

There's no sound coming from inside. No scent of blood, no crackle of fire. Yet somehow he knows, without question, that you're in there.

As his concern winds down a notch, his rational brain begins to tick. There might be someone else in there with you. As the different scenarios get considered and discarded, Azriel lands on the most likely one. It's a trap.

The reasoning builds up the motive, spinning a story that makes sense. A Shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, caught off his guard by using his latest confidant against him.

Azriel turns over the idea slowly and decisively, thinking of Brudam, of Lord Mylind, wondering if they've been buying their time all this while— and he's been too distracted with you to even notice.

Azriel curses himself for being so careless.

There's still no noise from within the shelter.

If it's a trap, it doesn't matter; the only way out is through.

Letting his hand curl around the Truth Teller, Azriel grips it tightly and pretends that the loud thump in his mind isn't the echo from his afraid heart. He can't afford to be afraid — not with what it would mean, not with how it betrays how he feels for you.

Not when it distracts him from doing what is needed from him.

His shadows spiral up around him and Azriel weaves the darkness, folding the fabric of the world til it aligns as he needs, his anger sharpening his resolve. He steps through the rippling darkness and into your boarded-up shelter with one swift motion.

It's dark inside. There are slivers of light that curl around the planks of wood, reaching in the dance upon the floor, distorted by the motion of falling snow. The air is stale, undisturbed.

Azriel's gaze scours the environment for enemies, his grip tight around his knife, prepared to unsheathe it without hesitation. His shadows fly around wildly, whispering the details of the room— each corner empty, except for the one he knows your bed is tucked in. Something loosens in his chest just a fraction.

There's no one else in here but you.

His eyes go right to your bed. It's hard to see within the darkness but your figure is there, hunched up even tighter than the last time he had found you wounded, wings pulled up in an uncomfortable hold around yourself.

As the possibility of a trap tapers away, another scenario creeps in — you've been attacked and holed yourself up before they can finish the job.

Almost as the thought crosses his mind, the scent of blood reaches his senses. Azriel stills, each limb locking up as the information filters through his mind, aided by the murmurs of his shadows. Blood, they chant, new blood.

Not blood from an injury, not from an enemy.

A sickening type of surprise coils up Azriel's spine.

"Y/n?" He dares to speak. Your name comes out like it's completely foreign in his mouth.

There's a stunned web that seems to cling to him, dulling all his usually keen senses, as the pieces of this puzzle whiz around and begin to slot into place. New blood— new blood means— it means—

"Azriel?" Your voice sounds from the darkness in the corner. It's smaller than usual, thick with emotion.

There's the sound of you shifting. Azriel can't move at all. Even his shadows have slowed in their surprise.

With his eyes rapidly adjusting to the dimness, he can just see the features on your face as you untuck it from your curled-up position.

Someone is beating loudly against the walls—or at least it sounds that way with how hard his heart is beating in his chest, valves working in overdrive. Is it his heart? It feels like something else, something deeper.

New blood, new blood, new blood. A thousand different instances burst from his memory, glazed in a new light.

"He tells me that your absences during training have come to be somewhat expected,"—

—"You're smaller than usual Illyrians,”—

—Hands, weathered and much smaller than most males—

—You're small but your wings are still large and beautiful, tucked up neatly behind your back. Most warriors in camp must have at least a head of height on you—

—A Fae with long hair like Cassian's, chopped at the shoulder and scraped back — and a voice softer than most. A Fae with eyes that burn with a promise for retribution, with icy fury like his own.

Each one threatens to send him staggering to his knees. How the Cauldron did he miss it? How could he have missed it? He's the fucking Spymaster of the Night Court. You've been lying to his face from the very beginning and he's believed you hook, line, and sinker.

You're smaller than the males in camp because you aren't one at all.

You're so driven to help the others, to mend the clipped girls because... because...

His hazel eyes catch on your wings, snaked around yourself protectively and Azriel suddenly feels very, very sick.

You seem to realise all of a sudden that he's real and not just some hallucinated fever-dream version of him. Despite the efforts to keep everyone out, he's here, on the inside with you. He knows.

"Azriel," You say his name again, like a plea this time. Wings uncurling a fraction, you make a move to stand but an invisible pain cripples you and he watches as you shudder, a pained whimper leaking out your mouth. An instinct within him roars to rush to your side but his feet are rooted to the floor.

"You..." He begins, his voice far away.

Something is unravelling in his chest with an alarming speed, something growing and churning, fiery hot. It feels like dread—panicky, horrified fear boiling in his stomach. He doesn't realise that it isn't his own.

"You're not a male."

His words look like they cause you more pain, agony shifting across your features, and Azriel wishes he could take them back the moment they leave his lips. But he's not wrong.

Even from across the room, he can see the quiver in your bottom lip. You're frozen in fear, he realises.

Tentatively, you shake your head. "I'm- I'm not."

You're not. Perhaps, he was wrong about you and you're not some beaten-down warrior, striving for justice against the tides that try to hold you back. Maybe you're a snake in the grass, hiding yourself, cocooning in a lie. You've been lying since the first moment you met him.

Azriel can't tell why it hurts so much in his chest, why it feels so close to betrayal, why it feels like his heart is bleeding. Who are you really?

"I—" Your words get cut off with another wince as you slump over, your cycle ravaging your body with pain. "Azriel, wait—"

He's taken a step back without even realising.

Who are you? Stranger, ally, friend; all the titles you've earned feel like they're getting stripped back forcibly and his heart warbles agonisingly in response. His shadows have picked up speed, darting around him. His wings have risen an inch, flared a little wider.

"Please," You gasp, trying to shuffle forward again but halted by the waves of pain. One of your hands grips around your midriff tightly and there's a sheen on your face that tells him you're crying. He's never seen you cry before.

Who are you? Is your name even your real name? Azriel doesn't know where the hurt is coming from, why it's so strong— except he thinks he does.

He's known from that first week with you. Known from the first time he laid eyes on your face and his very soul seemed to call out in response. He's known and he's been ignoring it all this time. His mate.

"You— you have to understand," You're still grasping at words desperately, even as you give up trying to move through your afflicted torment. Azriel takes another step back. What is he doing? "Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings."

Choked sobs begin to claw their way up your throat and Azriel feels the thickness in his own throat, connected from the inside. You're connected. The pounding on the door, on his chest, in his heart, is the only thing he can focus on, getting louder and louder. Bile threatens at his throat.

He can't be here.

"I just- just wanted to keep—" The words keep coming, even as he steps back once more, shadows swirling. Words lurch up his throat, questions, explanations, accusations. None of them escape. His mouth is dry.

His wings rustle as he tucks them in and forces his gaze down to stare at the floorboards. He's been here, lived here, in your lie for how many months? His mate, a liar.

He shifts the space between inside and elsewhere, scrunching the fabric so it aligns with somewhere, anywhere he can think of.

"P-Please, you have to understand—Azriel!"

Your call echoes as he steps through his magic, letting it carry him away from your shelter, from your agony that he can feel from the inside, from the lie he's been fed.

He lands on a hilltop and when he opens his eyes, he's looking at a familiar cabin. His shadows move about almost limply, his magic and siphons depleted from overuse in such a short time. He can feel the chill of snow on the tips of his wings which drag behind him.

He's...drained. Stunned.

And where he's always dreamed of a golden thread, a lover's tug, rooted deep in his being that connects him to his mate... there is only a pull of utter misery.

—

You had thought of this before; what it might be like to have him find out.

The trust severed. Your friend, the only one you've ever truly had, lost to your betrayal. The first couple weeks in his company as you learnt slowly to let your guard down had been the first times in decades you had been freed from night terrors.

You had thought of it then, during one of those nights—you did not want to lose him in any way.

The cost was too high, the sheer magnitude of your secret that you never intended on him finding out. You had promised yourself you couldn't, you wouldn't tell him, no matter how much you yearned to.

You wonder now if you would have been better off if you'd never met him at all.

Never trusted him, never took his hand, and stood by his side to learn how to fight. No learning how to trust after years of desolate solitude, just to have it ripped from you. No shared smiles in the dim light of the evening, glancing away when you're caught looking for too long.

No hurt, no pain, no replaying the look on his face as he uttered the secret you had kept hidden for nearly three decades.

The burning spasms of your cycle seem almost dull compared to the ache in your heart. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. You feel like you're burning up from the inside, like there's a hurricane of regret building in your chest and its' howl is as torturous as it is loud.

Time passes. Outside, the snow turns to heavy rain.

The painful throbs that wrack your body ebb and flow but the heaviness in your heart never seems to fade. You can't decide between being angry at Azriel or at yourself.

How could he be so... so unfeeling? So merciless, not giving you even a moment to truly explain?

There had been a time where you thought when he looked at you, he saw beyond the surface; more than a mutt, more than just another bastard. You half hoped he saw through your facade and didn't care anyway.

You're a fool for that, you realise now.

Your consciousness wanes as you burrow as deep as you can into your blankets, wanting them to swallow you whole, wrapped in half-hearted warmth and ribbons of pain. He's never coming back, you realise. The tears start up all over again, your heart sobbing out for a piece of it that's missing. He's never coming back.

You know that for sure— so when there's a slushing of feet through the snow and a pounding knock on your door, your hackles rise in pure fright. Your wings tuck around yourself a little tighter, right as another spasm of agony rocks through your bones. You cry out weakly, teeth gritted tightly.

There's someone at the door who's come sniffing for a fight. It's not Azriel.

[NEXT PART: MATES]

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs

[starlightazriel]

bee 1

series general psa: this series is not for everyone proceed with caution and check warnings before indulging I love you all<3

desc: (fem reader) modern au best friends to lovers, roommate az, angsty + smutty, multiple parts (not sure how many yet at least 5)

warnings: 18+ , light smut, light angst?, pining, vibrator, self stimulation, drug/alcohol abuse/addiction, platonic childhood fluff, childhood trauma cus its az helloo, readers a lil insecure, cancer minor character

wc: 2.7k

a/n: I'm salivating

other parts will be found on my azriel masterlist

one

"Get it offff!" I screamed to absolutely no one in particular. My mother was inside cooking, my father still at work, so they clearly wouldn't hear me. My arms flailed wildly around my head. "It's going to sting me!" I scream again, going cross eyed as I looked at the bee perched on my nose, the bee buzzed, sharp pain shot through my nose, my eyes welled up with tears, too frantic to notice the boy across the street, watching me from his own front yard.

"Are you okay?" my eyes drift to the boy who had just moved in across the street, he was eating a lollipop, now standing on the sidewalk in front of my front yard. I had stopped flailing, but I was still crying, tears rolling down my cheeks as I held my hand to my nose. I haven't spoken yet, and the boy shrugs, about to turn around and retreat back to his own house. His skin was tan, hair black, short, but shaggy with a slight wave to it, there were two small purple bruises underlining each of his hazel eyes, I also noticed the scars covering his hands, almost looking like a thousand tiny cuts that had healed over, he was taller than me, and maybe just about the cutest boy I had ever seen in my nine years of life.

"It stung me," I say, watching him, he stops again, a half smile on his face, cheek popped out from the candy he was eating.

"That's because youre supposed to stay still," he informs me, matter of factly, my face scrunches up, eyes squinting at him, he laughs, pulling the candy from his mouth again. "Im Az, I just moved in yesterday, over there," he turns and points back toward his house before turning to me again. "What's your name?" he asks, his head cocking to the side slightly, it reminded me of when my parents brought my golden retriever home on my fifth birthday, I had named him Boots.

"Y/n," I inform him matter of factly, eyeing the candy that he had. A blow pop, my favorite, "do you have any more of those?" I ask, he looks at his candy, smirking and then looking back at me. "Specifically green apple," I add, it was my favorite flavor.

"Yeah, but I'm saving the green apple," he shrugs, still smirking. I purse my lips slightly, eyeing the bruises again.

"What happened to your eyes?" I ask, my own meeting his and he shrugs again.

"Got caught stealing and my step mom made my brothers pop me," he responds, my eyes widen in surprise.

"What did you steal?" I ask, my eye brows raising slightly, I couldn't imagine the trouble I would be in for stealing, but it wouldn't have been that.

"Blow pops from the corner store," he smirks and I shake my head in surprise, I would never think to steal anything in my life. "You look like Pennywise, you should put something on that," he points to my nose, I reach my hand up to touch it again, the sting aching.

"You stole them, and you can't give me even one? And who is Pennywise?"

"The clown? Your parents don't let you watch scary movies?" He asks and I shake my head, eyeing the lollipop again. "Fine, I'll go get you one but only because I feel bad for you cus your parents are strict. And only if you go fix your clown nose, Bee."

"I told you, my names y/n."

"Not anymore."

-

"Hey," I smiled softly as Azriel entered the kitchen in our shared apartment. I was perched on my stool, laptop on the counter in front of me with my most recent homework assignment open. I was pretty much glued to my computer these days, trying to become a nurse while also working a full time bartending shift at Murphys didnt leave me with much extra time. Our eyes met for a brief moment and mine narrowed at his slightly dilated pupils, his eyes quickly darted from mine as he poured himself a drink. "It's early," I commented, and he glanced back at me for a second before shrugging his shoulders and chugging the drink in a few gulps.

"What do they say Bee? It's 5 somewhere, yeah?" he smirked, his eyes finding mine again, I swallowed, feeling my cheeks heat slightly. I averted my gaze, my eyes landing back on my laptop screen, "you working tonight?" he asked, walking past me to the living room, I swiveled around on my stool, facing him now, my back to the counter.

"Yeah, nine to three," I said as I watched him ruffling through the files of drawings that were on his desk. He had a nice little home set up for drawing, an optional backlight built into the desk with an additional overhead lamp, a comfortable chair, an array of drawing utensils and unlimited transfer paper for tattooing.

There were dozens of Azriels drawings all around the apartment, even a few of me.

"If youre up for it we're all supposed to go to the beach tomorrow, Rhys' parents went home so the beach house is empty again," Azriel said, and I find my eyes drifting to his lips while he spoke, I quickly snap my eyes back up.

"Yeah maybe, I'll see how dead I am tomorrow after working all night. I have a paper due Monday too," I bit my lip, my eyes fixing on his jawline, the way it flexed just a little each time he swallowed.

"Just let me know, you know youre always welcome," he shrugged, checked his phone again and then started toward the door. "See you later, Bee, I got clients back to back the rest of the day."

Before I could even get any more words out he was out the door. "Bye Az," I said softly to the empty apartment, rising to my feet.

Azriel had always been there for me. Since the day after he moved across the street and we'd met and bonded over green apple blow pops, we had been near inseparable since. So naturally, when I got into college, he offered that I move in to his place, since it was closer to the city, 'I'm barely home, you'll have all the silence to study,' I recalled him saying when I had been hesitant about it. After high school, I had taken four years off to help my mother tend to my grandmother while she battled cancer, so even with my reservations about the idea I had ended up taking Azriel up on his offer... The alternative would have been dorming with fresh out of high school freshmen at twenty two years old.

The only reason why I had been hesitant really is because I had been completely and hopelessly in love with Azriel since I was fifteen years old.

I knew it was stupid. If it was going to happen, it would have happened already. He liked older women first of all, and I was two years younger. Plus, I was just Bee to him, just his friend, just the girl that had lived across the street. And that's all he would ever see me as, just his younger best friend that he had to look out for.

Azriels routine was always the same, he'd come back for his lunch break around the same time every day, whether it was to actually eat lunch, get something for work, or have a drink or two, he wouldn't be home again until usually the evening or late at night. Until whenever he was done either tattooing, or drinking with his friends from the shop after they had all finished.

So any time he left after his lunch break, I knew I had the house to myself for a while.

I put music on first, turning the volume almost all the way up before I retrieved my rose vibrator from my room and I crossed the hall to Azriels room. I knew I shouldn't be doing this, I knew it was wrong, some might even say a little bit creepy. But the rush... It was well worth it.

His bed wasnt made, there was clothes scattered, a few more folders on the small coffee table were stacked next to his bong and a small tray with powder residue, a twenty dollar bill curled next to it, unraveled after having been rolled up. "Messy," I mumbled to myself before I climbed into his bed.

I bit my lip slightly in anticipation, and slid my t shirt over my head, I tossed it to the floor, my shorts next, leaving me naked on Azriels bed. I leaned back onto his pillows, relaxing slightly, tipping my head back against them. His scent filled my nostrils, my toes curled, heat seeming to spread over my skin.

I closed my eyes and ran my fingers over my skin, Azriel consumed my mind, my senses as I slowly slid a finger over my opening gently dipping into the wetness that had gathered there.

I moaned softly, imagining the way his rough fingers would feel on my skin. I imagined his naked body, imagined how big he would be, imagined the way he would kiss me, the way he would suck on my skin.

-

"Dammit," Azriel muttered to himself, searching through the folder of drawings again and again. His next appointment was in only twenty minutes, and he had of course, grabbed the wrong folder. He rose to his feet quickly, informing Kat, the shops receptionist, that he would be right back and to let his client know when they got there.

When he reached the apartment he could hear music before he even unlocked the door, he chuckled softly, figuring that Bee was cleaning the apartment. She would blast music every time.

He entered into the living room and headed to his desk, scrambling through the folders looking for the right piece. "Fuck," he said quietly to himself, realizing that the drawing wasnt there. It had to be in his room.

His eyebrows drew together when he noticed his door open, and when he reached the doorway he halted, his lips parting in surprise.

It was Bee.

In his room.

Touching herself.

He knew he should go, he knew he should forget the drawing, cancel his appointment, and turn right back around and leave before she saw him. He would have to make something up for his client, but it would save Bee the embarrassment of the sight before him.

He couldn't move though. His mouth went dry, his cheeks reddened as he watched, his cock twitched in his pants.

Her head was turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut, face half buried in his pillow, her back was arched, legs spread wide open on his bed. Her pink nipples were adorned with small rhinestone nipple rings, her breasts were peaked in the air, chest shuddering with her ragged heavy breaths. And her moans. The sound had his gut churning and his ears hot, he couldn't move, he couldn't stop looking.

His eyes landed between her legs next, his mouth watered at the sight of her puffy pink lips. Her pussy throbbed, her juices glistening in the rather bright light of his bedroom, she held a toy to her clit, grinding against it as her other hand flew up, rubbing and squeezing at her breast. She turned her head then, her eyes opening to look down at herself but they landed on Azriel instead, her eyes widened and her face went from shocked, to horrified, to ashamed. She almost choked, chucking her toy across the room and scrambling too her feet, it buzzed a little louder now that it wasnt suctioned to her clit. Azriel watched dumbfounded from his place in the doorway, his cheeks red, his whole body feeling hot.

"Turn around!" she shrieked, trying to cover her most intimate parts with her clothes she had retrieved off of the floor and he whirled instantly, putting his back to her now.

"Y/n, fuck, Im sorry, I forgot something," he swallowed, his voice sounded slightly strained, his mouth almost too dry to speak. He never really used her name, she was always just Bee. He didnt know why he was apologizing even, it was his room after all. He'd have to ask her about that later though.

"Im sorry, I- Your bed is comfortable," was all she managed to get out.

He couldn't help but turn his head slightly when she pushed passed him to the hallway toward her room, and he noticed he small tattoo of a bee at the top of her left cheek, a lump formed in his throat at the view of her backside, her door slammed behind her and he was left stunned. Her vibrator was still buzzing on the floor and he picked it up, turning it off and he tossed it on the bed next to the wet spot that was there now, he didnt know what else he was supposed to do with it. He figured shed come back for it later.

He was trying to process what had just happened but his phone rang, it was Kat, informing him that his client had been there for fifteen minutes already so she hoped he was on his way.

Azriel snapped out of it, finding the folder he needed on the coffee table and he tucked it tightly under his arm pit. His cock ached in his pants and he didnt know how to feel about it. This was Bee. His best friend Bee, he hadn't ever looked at her in any other light than that. She was beautiful, sure, but she was Bee. His silly, goofy, younger childhood friend. They had practically grown up together.

Azriel reached into his pocket, pulling out a small round tin, the folder still neatly tucked under his arm as he used his car key to give himself a little bump. He rubbed his nose free of any powder, before he shoved the tin back into his pocket, he had to get back to the shop. He wasnt even on his way yet and his client was waiting already, he couldn't remember the last time he felt so flustered.

Azriel found the rest of his day to be extremely hard to focus. He thought about texting Bee, trying to make her feel better in some way because he knew she must be going absolutely out of her mind with embarrassment. He just didnt know what to say.

He did know that he couldn't get the image of her splayed out on his bed out of his head though. It was like torture, he was aching for release, shifting uncomfortably in his seat while he tried to focus on tattooing. He couldn't stop wondering what she would taste like, what it would feel like to have her underneath him.

She had gone to work when he got back, even though he had tried to finish a little early, hoping he could at least have a conversation with her. It wasnt just that he couldn't stop thinking about what she looked like naked, he was also slightly concerned about the awkwardness of the situation. The fact they lived together and saw each other every day. Was she going to avoid him now? Did he want her to avoid him for a while?

Azriel groaned quietly to himself, kicking his jeans off of his body when he was finally in bed.

Usually with this much of a pent up sexual frustration, he would have called one of his hook ups. Let them take care of it for him. But he couldn't get Bee out of his head. He was battling himself internally.

Something felt morally wrong about looking at Bee like that. It had always been his job since they'd met to look out for her. He felt like this was the opposite of looking out for her, like he was becoming the problem that he was supposed to be protecting her from. It felt like dangerous territory, but it was her lips he thought about wrapped around his cock when he pleasured himself that night.

-

a/n: hope there's no mistakes lmk i proof read this very quickly because i have to be up in 3 hours but im literally frothing at the mouth hehehe

[blurbfics]

There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part three]

Summary: Girls' brunch!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: swearing, description of scars, light self-deprecation in reference to past abuse (this sounds harsher than it is, really), Gwyn crushing on Azriel, accidental outing of someone else, piercings, Cassian hurting someone's feelings

Minors, do not interact

A/N: im so happy this story has gotten some attention! i was half expecting it to just go in the internet void but if only one person is enjoying then thats enough for me. enjoy some light gay content

part two

Masterlist

"'Cause you're just a man

It's just what you do

Your head in your hands as you color me blue."

Lana Del Rey, Norman fucking Rockwell

“-And he smiled at me! I really think he liked it,” Gwyn gushed, popping a blueberry into her mouth before reaching over for the cinnamon butter to spread over her slice of toast.

“How can you tell?” Eowyn asked curiously, licking at the muffin crumbs in the corner of her mouth, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him show emotion before.”

Nesta and Gwyn laughed at that, both nodding their heads. 

“I guess you just have to pay attention,” Gwyn replied mildly, shrugging.

It had been two days since her venture out into the city and all had been exactly the same as it was before, other than the minuscule shift between the Illyrians and herself. It wasn’t a drastic change, or anything particularly noteworthy for any other person, but considering the fact that the only people Eowyn spoke to on a daily basis consisted of Clotho, Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie, with the exception of a priestess here and there that either delivered a message from Clotho or asked where she’d left a parchment, she did, of course, take notice.

While Azriel remained as emotionless and distant as he’d always been, she’d developed somewhat of an awareness of him. It was random and rather irritating to have that small sliver of consciousness of his nearness, especially when she was supposed to be partaking in the Valkyrie breathing exercises they practiced during their breaks from the grueling training, but for some reason, she simply knew when he was there. To her right, only a short distance away, or towards the far left corner of the ring — she was even half convinced she could feel when he approached, like some kind of echo-location. And then there were the times where she’d discreetly glance at him, from under her veil, unnoticed by anyone looking at her, only to find his eyes already set on her.

As if feeling her gaze, he was always quick to look away, in such a smooth manner she couldn’t quite be certain he was looking at her at all.

And then there was Cassian, who had already become more familiar with her the more time she spent with Nesta, and who had taken a particular liking to calling her ‘Wynnie.’ She’d made sure not to correct him on the name again, not wanting to encourage him to use it even more, but she had already accepted her fate and knew there was no going back. He’d been just so boisterous and happy when he spoke to her, slapping a heavy hard hand on her shoulder as greeting and had begun a light sort of teasing with her that it just felt wrong to deny him something so small.

Finally carrying out her promise to set up a luncheon, Nesta had the girls join her in the House of Wind kitchen to eat after a particularly grueling day's training. Emerie had mysteriously disappeared soon after training was over.

“Is Emerie not joining us?” Eowyn wondered, glancing at the door once more, half expecting the Illyrian female— or anyone, really— to come in any second, still feeling slightly panicked at the thought of anyone seeing her. They'd been eating for a while now and the Valkyrie had yet to appear.

She had been reluctant to join her friends for lunch, not because she didn’t want to join them, but rather out of diffidence, for their reactions to her unveiled face or the questions they might ask.

But Gwyn, like the majority of the priestesses, had already seen her uncovered face and knew better than to ask her about her past, Emerie was currently gone and Nesta? She had barely blinked at her, eyes going immediately to her nose instead.

Her sharp gray blue eyes had barely scanned her face in a fraction of a second before they focused on the center of her face, “what the fuck is that?” Her eyes widened slightly in a very un-Nesta like way, “on your nose?” She added quickly, not even giving Eowyn enough time to take offense or feel remotely ashamed.

But Nesta’s blunt question caused her mind to go blank for a second. Her nose?

She had let out a tuh sound of incredulity, “I’m showing you my fucked up face and you’re asking about the jewelry on my nose?”

“Is that what it is?” Nesta tilted her head to the side, “I’ve never seen anything like it. As for your face, I see nothing wrong with it. I’d say you even give Elain a run for her money.”

Something had ignited inside Eowyn then. Not the tinge of fraternal irritation Cassian had drawn out of her by calling her by a long forgotten nickname, but by the insinuation that she— with the jagged distorted scars pulling from the corners of her mouth, one ending in the outer center of her cheek, while the other extended longer and higher, almost to her cheekbone— could even compare to the flawless beauty and unsullied brightness that was Elain Archeron.

But the feeling itself— the sharp anger that rose within her was immediately thwarted by the recognition of the emotion itself. How long had it been since she’d felt something so powerful, so passionate, something that was once so familiar? Something that had been her second nature? Had it truly been over a century since she’d been anything but detached and apathetic?

Gwyn had been quick to come to her defense, although for an entirely different reason than what she assumed. “It's a great honor to bear jewelry on that part of the nose, known as the septum” she lit up, pleased to have the opportunity to share her knowledge, “septums are only bestowed upon those that have dedicated some of their eternal fae life to their studies.”

Septganiums, Eowyn mentally corrected, but figured it didn’t really matter. 

Nesta squinted at her, a curious human characteristic that Eowyn found quite endearing. “But you have two rings.”

“They symbolize every seventy-year cycle, based on the location and the name itself, the sept-um. It’s also kind of a joke… to pierce that which is always buried in a book.”

And that was that.

Nesta had assured them before they joined her that they had the house to themselves, as Cassian and Azriel had business with Rhys in the River House and knew better than to disturb her and her friends in their private time.

“She left with Mor,” Nesta answered her question with a smirk. Gwyn gasped excitedly and waved her toast around.

“No way! She finally mustered up the courage to talk to her!”

But Eowyn’s eyes only widened, holding her tea halfway up to her lips, “Mor was here?”

She didn’t miss the look Nesta shot her. Damn, she really needed to learn how to interact with people again. 

“Mhm, she spent the night last night,” Nesta smirked, “I overheard her ask Emerie if she wanted her to winnow her back to Windhaven.”

“No wonder she didn’t even bother telling us she wasn’t joining us for lunch,” Gwyn chuckled lightly, eyes alight with delight.

“Has Emerie been interested in Mor a long time?” Eowyn asked, the words feeling strange in her mouth.

“Oh yeah, she’s been in love with her forever,” Gwyn giggled and rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder exaggeratedly, “talking about how beautiful she is, how perfect her hair falls, how she wished she was interested in females and would just look-"

“She is,” the words were out of her mouth before she could take them back and for a moment, the sardonic little demon in her mind that often mocked her and watched amusedly as she made a fool out of herself, whispered that perhaps her captors weren’t entirely in the wrong when they'd quite literally sewn her mouth shut at an attempt to keep her from berating them so much.

She cringed, face aflame as Gwyn and Nesta turned their focus to her, wearing different looks of scandalized surprise and curious dark amusement respectively.

“Wha-“

“Whe-“

“Forget I said anything,” she hissed at them, shaking her head ashamedly, eyes falling to the table, “I-I don’t know if Mor is out to the world like that and I’m not going to be responsible for-“

“Don’t worry about it, we won’t say anything,” Nesta assured nonchalantly in a way Eowyn truly did not trust for a second.

“Really,” Gwyn nodded encouragingly, noticing Eowyn’s reluctance, “we won’t say anything.”

Eowyn thought about it.

“Sorry, that’s not enough. I need you both to swear,” she looked at them both seriously.

Nesta scoffed, “I’m not striking a bargain with you because you let it slip that Mor eats pus-“

“That’s exactly why you have to do it. No offense, but you’re pretty hottheaded Nesta, there’s no knowing when you might just fuck up as I did now without meaning to hurt anyone, but what if you do? And Gwyn, I-I just-“

“You’re a busybody,” Nesta agreed, if a bit reluctantly, as she turned to Gwyn, “you’re going to want to tell Emerie to help her out but that’s not for us to share.”

“Exactly,” Eowyn breathed in relief, “I’m not asking for anything drastic, I’m just thinking that we don’t talk about Mor’s business unless she or Emerie announce it first, does that sound alright?”

“And what do I get from this bargain?” Nesta smirked, glancing at Gwyn who grinned back, looking almost mischievous in a very un-Gwyn like manner. “You tell us what happened between you and Mor.”

“You two are busybodies,” Eowyn rolled her eyes, “but fine, it’s a bargain.”

Eowyn couldn’t help but chuckle when the girls jumped in place in surprise, if not for the smallest pinches of pain, as there, in mirroring sides of their elegant fae pointed ears sparked two pieces of jewelry.

The house, ever so attentive, provided a small hand mirror for each of them to inspect their new singularly pierced ears.

“Fascinating,” Gwyn gushed, prodding her gold ring lightly.

“I was expecting a tattoo,” Nesta admitted, head tilted as she inspected the small silver jewelry piece, wrapped around the cartilage of her ear, “but I kind of like this better.”

“That’s an Illyrian tradition, right?” Eowyn licked a bit of jam off her finger.

Nesta nodded but then her eyes sharpened with glee, “you bargained a dirty little story, Wynnie.”

Beyond amused, Eowyn felt just a fraction— just the smallest hint of her old self— possess her body once more, that same spirit driving her to glance down at her plate in amusement as she glided her index finger over the sweet confiture before raising her gaze to look at them innocently from under her eyelashes as she brought her finger up to her tongue, “you never specified when, Nes.”

Their jaws dropped.

"Oh."

"Wynnie, I swear to the-"

“Woah, what is going on in here?” Cassian’s voice boomed through the luncheon setting the house had so lovingly crafted for them. “It smells like a female pleasure house in here.”

"You're not supposed to be here," Nesta scowled at her mate.

"Over a dozen rooms in this house and you pick the kitchen?" he huffed but then stopped and eyed them warily, “seriously, what's with the scent on you? Is it because I’m here or were you dirty females reading smut again?”

His statements, neither of which were true, caused Eowyn to genuinely laugh, if only lightly, which brought Cassian’s attention to her. She lost her grin when she saw his eyes flicker over her face, down to her scars, and almost laughed again at the clearly drastic differences between the mated pair.

She braced herself for the comment.

“Huh. Never noticed you had those septganiums, Wynnie— or should I say, Maestress Wynnie,” he spoke matter-of-factly, saying no more on the simple statement before reaching towards the center of the table and grabbing a handful of bacon.

She blinked at him. Perhaps the Mother truly knew what she was about when it came to these two.

Deciding that she wouldn’t care if he didn’t either, she stepped out of her comfort zone and left herself uncovered. Truthfully, the main reason she even covered herself was mostly out of habit now, for the comfort of others who might feel any disgust or objection to seeing her healed wounds, as some of the priestesses did. 

Eowyn would never forget the day, in her early days of exploration in the library, when she caused a priestess to fall into a fit of panicked breaths, clutching at her chest because the sight of Eowyn’s scars had triggered a memory of her attacker, who bore the same scars.

Eowyn knew it wasn’t her they were rejecting, but the fact that her own exposed trauma could trigger such a disconcerting response had been a penetrating blow to her psyche.

“Cassian, did you see Azriel’s bronze blade?” Gwyn lit up again, still riding the high from having interacted with the surly Shadowsinger that morning after training.

“Yeah, I saw it at the River House,” the General chortled, shoving a handful of berries into his mouth, “I told him to stop letting Mor get him shit he doesn’t like and won’t really use.”

There was a pregnant pause, the space suddenly devoid of air as if the house itself was holding its breath. Gwyn’s chair scraped the floor as she stood, eyes bright with tears. Saying nothing, she simply stepped away from the table and rushed out of the room.

“Good job,” Nesta glared at him, standing up to follow after her.

Eowyn stood up as well, eyes following Gwyn in concern, and despite it clearly being Cassian’s fault for opening his big mouth, she couldn’t help the guilt that bit at her stomach because she knew, she knew, she knew, the blade was not right for him. The color, the length, the feel, of it had been all wrong but she had decided to ignore her nosy little inner voice, reminding herself that those closest to the Shadowsinger would clearly know him better than her. Who was she to him but just another one the many neophytes?

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her,” Nesta barely grazed her shoulder with a hand before she was out the door, leaving Cassian and Eowyn alone in the fancy tea luncheon.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” Cassian grimaced, mouth still full of bacon and sweet biscuits.

But Eowyn only quirked a brow at him and began to collect her things. As she went to pull her veil over her face, he spoke again. “You really don’t have to wear that around us, you know? I mean, you do whatever you want, but I just want to make sure you know we don’t see you any differently for any scars you may have. All of us have our own share of them.”

But she did have to wear it, if not for her own comfort than that of others, but she decided against saying so.

“Have you seen scars like mine?” She asked instead, finding herself suddenly curious.

He nodded, “I’ve seen all kinds of scars. If you ever see battle, which I hope you don’t, you’ll see plenty of scars worse than your own.”

Worse.

Her grip on the back of her chair tightened at his brief dismissal. Knew, logically, that he intended to soothe what he assumed were physical insecurities, but that ultimately felt like a disregard to the pain she'd endured to only leave such scars.

She nodded stiltedly, “right. Good afternoon, General.”

“Aw Wynnie, not you too!” He called out after her but she was already out the door.

part four

taglist: @lilah-asteria @a-courtof-azriel

[bloomingdarkgarden]

A Nocturne Verdant | WIP Wednesday Snippet

Sleep was a siren, lulling him under, yet always just out of reach.

The siren held Elain without pause, though. Deep in slumbering arms, only a room away.

The dark wood of the townhouse wall was all that lie between them. Creaking now and again, as old houses so often did. The spill of the moon now pallid with the promise of dawn.

Bathing in dreams, in the same lonesome light as he, she slept.

What songs emanated from her gentle breath in the night?

She was all but a stranger.

And he had no right to wonder. But wonder he did, all the same.

Beautiful was not a word to encompass her. It dulled in his mind as soon as it surfaced, as if the word itself paled in the light of what she was.

The empty cavity of Azriel’s heart echoed a forgone beat into the night.

He tried not to think about the damp curl he had noticed earlier, clinging to her cheek like ivy caressing a pale stone.

He tried not to dream of blackcurrant’s bruise on her lips- that dark, gentle, staining kiss.

He tried not to compose a sonata equal parts broken and desirous that whispered the truth of it all.

An Overture in Flora.

Scarred fingers pressed into the cool fabric of the sheets beneath him, as if they were marking the strings of a violin.

It didn't matter what the song was called.

All that mattered was that her lips were stained with blackcurrant and soft words, and that he was utterly beguiled by both.

All that mattered was that the lullaby of the sonata Azriel wouldn't write was what finally bid him sleep.

All that mattered was that it would pale in the light of her anyway.

[violetasteracademic]

I have an unpopular opinion, but…

The Azriel bonus chapter does not exist to confirm his interest in Elain, but to confirm HER RETURNED INTEREST IN HIM. It is Elain leading the encounter. Elain giving offer and permission to a male that she KNOWS has interest in her. Azriel is obvious as all get up with whom he is interested in during the main storyline. For all his cold, unreadable moments he sure as heck can’t hide where his heart lies.

Elain? A bit more subdued but its there. The bonus was just to confirm that she IS over graysen and Azriel, not l*cien, has captured her heart. And miss girl is a lot like azriel. Loyal. The misunderstanding in the bonus only added more flavor to the delicious Elriel soup.

Hell YESSSSSS anon!

Whenever I read or think about the bonus chapter, I hear this song:

I'ma put some goddamn moves on you, babe, I know you need it

Die a double death for you, death for your secrets

I'll find another way for you, wait 'til you see it

Put some goddamn moves on you, God knows you need it

You should know, you should know

You should know that I want this

Elain was putting on the moves. Elain was in control. Elain was showing us and Azriel what she wanted.

And yeah, it's crazy sexy and very dom coded when Azriel buries his hand in her hair and tilts her head the way he likes it, but every moment here was an exchange initiated by our girlie. Elain moved into his touch. Elain was offering and permitting. Elain said yes.

I titter like a maniac whenever I think about the fact that this bonus chapter comes with the book where Nesta talked about Elain fainting if she knew about Nesta's dirty threesome thoughts. Like, oh ho ho, Nesta, you sweet summer child.

You have no idea what is going on in Elain's mind 😈 but we sure do.

Ugh. I love it so much. Thanks for this inbox message, I adored it!

[acomaflove]

Feyre: what do you commonly use your magic for besides manipulating shadows?

Azriel: controlling my allergies.

Feyre:

Feyre:

Feyre: what.

Azriel: I can’t be a spymaster with the sniffles.

[merwgue]

The way that you guys are pinning elain and gwyn against each other is INSANE, calling them boring, bitches, whores.

Yet when it comes to the men its crickets

Just say you hate women and move on, it's giving internalised misogyny

[illyrianbitch]

the urge to write a summer au where rhys brings everyone to his beach house and what starts as a carefree vacation quickly turns into a season of self-discovery, intimacy, and new beginnings as you and Az fall in love??? hello???

[c-starstuff-man0]

Do y'all think acotar is a book where villan(s) or bad guys gaslight themselves into believing they are the good people and us reader are just supposed to go ‘i applaud your ability to think so!’

[dippedinmelancholy]

I've been thinking about he weird Cassian/Mor/Azriel not-love-but-still-somehow-love triangle and like, the more I think about it, the shittier Morrigan looks. So, the initial Cassian fucking her? Not shitty, she's just trying to get out of her marriage, though Cassian is clearly down bad for Azriel and SJM doesn't have the balls to write it. But when you pin together Morrigan's conversations with Feyre. . . She's aware Azriel is in love with her, or at the very least, assumes so. Additionally, she wants nothing romantic with him, but absolutely refuses to tell him because she likes having him utterly wrapped around her finger and eager to protect her, to do anything for her. She specifically implies this when she tells Feyre "I like the way things are." This implies she knows Azriel is miserable. She knows he's pining. She knows she will never give him what he wants, nor will she tell him that she doesn't and won't ever return the feeling because she likes USING HIM. She likes using Cassian and an overly physical relationship to keep Azriel at bay, but doing just enough to keep him attached to her. She tells Feyre she is also aware of Azriel's self loathing. She knows she could strip naked for him and beg for his touch, but Azriel hates himself too much to dare. He thinks she is too pure and lovely for him, akin to an angel or goddess. So she doesn't need to use Cassian as a barrier, but it's an extra wall to guard her, and extra hurtful since she fucked Cassian. Then, you have the mess of the High Lord's meeting. Mor is uncomfortable, at least looks fearful, and Azriel attacks Eris. We know this is what Mor WANTS. She wants Azriel to defend her no matter the consequences. She wants to be safe from any reminder of her past, but especially her father and Eris. After getting the exact reaction she always wants from Azriel, knowing he never ever ever pushes her for more, but protects her because he loves her and never expects her to pay him back in any shape or form . . . Mor decides she needs to hurt him. She needs to reinforce how low he is, how he can protect her, can do everything she asks, and she will always choose someone else. So despite having no attraction to him, there being absolutely no need to do so, she sleeps with Helion. She fucks a High Lord with the only purpose to hurt Azriel, who is supposedly family, even as she hates every second of it. Who she is supposed to love. Yet she only does it to show him, in front of everyone, just how low he is. How filthy. How unworthy. Nothing he will ever do will be good enough, but she'll keep giving him just enough to give him hope, only to crush him every now and then. What a dream. SIDE NOTE How the fuck did Helion not pick up anything? You can literally smell arousal if you enter a room as a fae. If this man is half as a giving and talented lover as the text keeps telling us, how the fuck did he not know Morrigan wasn't into it? SJM please write your queer characters better or hire a ghost writer, I'm begging you.