#pro eriel

[sjmgirlie]

I’m sorry this is one of my Roman empires.

Can you imagine, sweet Elain, clutching her fork like a weapon when the massive Illyrian soldier Cassian sits beside her??

And Az noticing and smirking to himself like aw that’s cute 🫠🥺

Then Cassian’s glare as AZRIEL is the one to respond

And then Mr. Azriel Allen Poe

Like Elain isn’t stupid. She knows they can fly, like, they have wings duh. But it was to keep the conversation going. To learn more about him.

Notice how he isn’t quick to end the convo and turn to something else?

My Roman Empire 😭

[kopfkino-o]

chosen lovers fighting against fate and the gods and societal expectations, ready to burn the world for one another and their happiness together, everything else be damned >>>>>> another reluctant mating bond with forced proximity and the eventual, and I suppose what would be inevitable, acceptance that one does not truly have freewill nor does one’s heart belong entirely unto themselves but rather to the corrupted eddies of a higher being that cares not for its children but rather for the sustenance it can devour from their couplings

[methimmondaykissedhimfriday]

I think Elain and Azriel are secretly together during HOFAS.

He was so quick to respond “No” when Bryce asks, like he is hiding something and not happy he has to hide it instead of the interpretation of him being pissed about Elain and Lucien. If he was going down the Gwynriel path he wouldn’t be hiding it and Nessta would probably figuring it out early and tease him about it.

Elain and Azriel might even have a mating bond they are trying to hide.

“Through Love All is Possible”

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Part VIII

Heavy Soul

Azriel Night felt like shit.

Not emotionally, or anything lofty like that, but physically. He was ill. Felt like he was running a fever, and his limbs felt laden.

His brow was hot, his neck was hot, but chills ran down his body. He rubbed his hands together and shivered. Fuck. Fuck. What a day to catch something! This monster of a game was looming in front of him, and truthfully, all he wanted, all he needed was a cup of strong tea with plenty of sugar and lemon, and a handful of those delicious biscuits that Elain baked. Come to think of it, all he actually wanted right now, was Elain. He wanted to be in her house, curled up like a toddler on a sofa and preferably with her in his arms. That was a tall order, he knew it, but a man could dream. There was no possibility that Elain would end up laying in his arms, but did he love imagining it!

Yeah, two days ago, he realised that he had a problem.

He was shaving in the morning and it dawned on him that the first thing he thought of every morning was Elain. And then he thought of the dog. And then, he inevitably fell into the sea of wild daydreams, where he and she were together. In his dreams she loved him, and they lived together and they shared a home. Everything Elain had told him that one night–about her ‘perfect day’--turned out to be his perfect day as well. He yearned to do everything that she dreamt of, every single outing, the excessive number of meals, the walks, the exploration that she craved. He wanted to be there, by her side. He wanted to have the dog with them, and the children…he wanted to have the children. 

He didn’t lie to Elain when they spoke of Nuala. Nuala was a sweet, wonderful, exciting personality. Truly brilliant. So smart, she intimidated him a bit. But while only six months ago he would’ve found her to be perfect for him–sexy, vivacious, independent, clearly not someone who would use him for money or fame, witty–now, he couldn’t think of anyone other than Elain. It had to be Elain. All his thoughts of the future revolved around her–how they’d live, how they’d have children together, how they’d raise them. He was feeling broodier than any woman during ovulation lately. Apparently, his hormones were raging and not in any normal manner. He was plagued by visions of Elain’s sweet soft body rounding and thickening with his baby. Son or daughter, it didn’t matter to him. As long as it was Elain who carried his seed in her body, as long as it was Elain who nurtured and loved their child, as long as it was his and Elain’s. And how the fuck was he going to make any of that happen? She was staunchly professional, unlike him, and she might have been in a relationship with the ginger horse-face. She was uppity and well-born, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a title somewhere that she wasn’t using. Lady Elain, Lady Nesta, Lady Feyre…yeah, he could see it. And who the fuck was he? A gutter rat, who fell arse first into money and fame.

No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out a way to make Elain his. At least there was one bit of good news–he was quite sure that she liked him and his company. But whether it was romantic interest or simply friendship, or even a business arrangement, he couldn’t quite tell. Though he wasn’t a novice with the ladies, someone like Elain was completely foreign territory for him and usually, she left him…vexed, to put it mildly.

Anyway, all of it was mostly wishful thinking. The dreams that he had remained just that, dreams. Making those dreams a reality remained elusive.

He looked out the window on their team bus. He was wearing a suit, though he was shivering within it. Rain drops were pelting the window. Fucking bollocks. He’d hoped for a game where he wouldn’t be running wet and freezing, but no. Frankly, it should be against the law to have roofless stadiums in Britain considering that most of the games took place under pouring rain.  

Many of the blokes on the team had their own pre-game rituals–some played with amulets, keychains, bracelets, wedding rings...Others mindlessly scrolled through their phones, trying not to think about the game. Some did the opposite, and watched replays, trying to devise their strategy despite it having been discussed and practised a million times before. Some heads bobbed to the beat. Many were texting.

Azriel didn’t have many rituals. He relied on himself and his team, and that’s about it. He didn’t believe in red horns, or crossing himself, or wistfully glancing at some photo. He didn’t have any photos to glance at anyway. Who was he gonna look at? Cassian? 

But that kind of jolted him and spurned him into action. Maybe, for once, he did have a photo or two to glance at.

He pulled out his phone and tapped on IG, quickly finding the page that he loved The Adventures of Piglet the Pug.

The latest post made his heart skip, and despite how fucking awful he was feeling, he couldn’t help but grin like a maniac.

#GettingReadyFortheGame

#SupportingHisTeam

#PigletIsaGooner!

#GunnersForTheWin!

Those were the hashtags which accompanied a photo of Piglet outfitted in his brand new kit. He even posed next to a football and to a Gunnersaurus Rex toy. Where Elain got that, Azriel had no idea, but he loved it. 

Azriel was smiling like a crazy person. He tapped on stories and sure enough, there was Piglet in his puffer, and then in his new t-shirt, and even in a bright red bow. Azriel sent a heart emoji. A heart-eyes emoji. A thumbs up emoji. Yep, he was officially thirteen.

Suddenly, his phone dinged with an incoming message. He opened it and grinned even wider. And then he was getting emotional like a thirteen year old girl. Because his girl was also dressed for the game. In his jersey. His name plastered across her back. 

And he couldn't help the impulse. Biting his lip, he went into his Contacts and changed Elain’s contact name once again.

It used to be 'Cute Matchmaker’, and then, it was ‘Pretty Elain’ for about a week or so.

But now…

Now he typed it in and smiled to himself.

‘Mrs. Night’.

Fuck. Yes.

His Mrs. Night. 

That girl knew how to take a killer photo. 

She sent a few in a row, but one was truly a stunner. She was positioned with her back to the mirror, holding Piglet. Azriel’s name was clearly visible on the back of the jersey in the reflection. She thrust her hip out coquettishly with a football balanced on it, her hand draped over it leisurely. Her long, thick braid was flipped over her shoulder–just waiting for him to tug on it–and she was also smiling, her lips a delicious bright red colour, to match the red kit.

This girl could heal the sick and raise the dead, she was so gorge.

Without hesitation, he made the photo his screensaver, and then selected another for the wallpaper.

It was literally perfect and encompassed the three things he loved–Elain, Piglet and football.

Yeah, it was going to be a shitty, dreary, cold and wet 100 minutes, but somehow, Azriel didn’t feel as miserable as he felt 15 minutes ago.

Go, Captain, go! 

Elain typed.

I’ll win for you, beautiful.

He promised.

We’ll be cheering for you. Feyre too, though I don’t know if she knows the rules. 

That made him chuckle.

Tell her that the ball has to end up in the net. Otherwise, it’s just blokes running around for 90 minutes.

Oh, and by the way, I think she is going to overdose on soup! She’s been asking me for recipes daily and apparently, she’s been ‘practising’ cooking them. 

Azriel couldn’t help but laugh.

I guess that one is my fault?

Most certainly. Now, you are obligated to introduce her to your cousin.

I can arrange that. He’s been told about her and wants to be matched!

I am the matchmaker! 

She reminded him sternly.

Sorry, beautiful. Of course you are.

…Pause…

Have a nice game!

Thanks, baby. Will do.

-

Elain was not crazy about this weather outside. 

The players on the field were soaking wet, running around in nothing but t-shirts and shorts, while the fans were bundled in puffer coats and thick scarves. It was almost the middle of November. She certainly didn't like Azriel running up and down the field, with his hair and his shirt sticking to him because of the relentless rain.

The commentators were discussing the performance of the players, and Elain’s attention piqued when she heard them mention that ‘Azriel Night is not in top form tonight, though you wouldn’t tell that by looking at him…

…Yes, word is that he is suffering from a bad cold, but look at his body language. He is confident, he is powerful on the field, his sheer physicality is so impressive…

Hell yeah, it is! Elain thought to herself. But the news of him being ill didn’t sit well with her at all.

The game was brutal. There was no other word for it.

Liverpool were aggressive and dominated for the first 20-25 minutes, netting a goal in the 7th minute. At least it was a home game, and the Arsenal crowd was raucous and loud, energised and supportive of the team. Truthfully, Arsenal were pretty dreadful in the first half, running aimlessly, and barely preventing Liverpool from scoring another two goals. In addition, they had an injury, a substitution and three yellow cards. Liverpool were playing better, and cleaner, though they weren’t above diving and tackling harshly. 

Elain was pacing and jumping for 45 minutes, praying for a short stoppage time, which of course wasn’t short at all, but an additional 6 minutes. 51 minutes of playing, in awful conditions, without scoring. She wrung her hands and yelled at the screen, and Piglet kept pace with her, watching everything with great intensity, as if he understood what was happening. He hopped and barked, and every time Azriel came on the screen, he went absolutely wild, dancing and gyrating and barking a happy bark.

But Elain could see that Azriel was indeed ill. His demeanour wasn’t his usual confident, quick, robust self, and yet, the man, the captain, still managed to create opportunities for his teammates. In the 49th minute, Arsenal scored an equaliser, made possible by Azriel’s assist. 

“Incredible play by Night!” the commentators lauded. 

“Stunning. A brilliant pass. At almost thirty years old, Night is playing at the top of his game–despite the young talent of the team, he manages to maintain morale and cohesion. Everyone wants to be a superstar,”

“But he is the one who leads this team, and he is the captain for a reason,” agreed another broadcaster.

And Elain? Elain was smiling and feeling proud. Because he was…amazing. Tired and weakened, he still managed to avoid unnecessary dramatics, and simply played well, with his usual determination. 

“This is what a captain should be–he is the strength of the team.”

“Night will never be flashy. He is not Ronaldo,”

“More of a Messi–solid, reputable, experienced.”

“He inspires confidence, in an uninspiring lineup. Arsenal has too many injuries and yet, he manages to play with all of these young, and somewhat inexperienced players without hesitation.”

Elain’s phone rang and she picked up, seeing it was Feyre.

“Eeelllaiiiinn! Oh my god, I am sweating like a hooker on Quid Night!”

“Feyre!!” Elain cried out.

“What? What?! This is so stressful! How do people do this every week? I am a wreck of nerves and screaming. Listen, listen to my voice. I am hoarse! Can you hear it?”

“Yes,” Elain agreed peaceably, though Feyre’s voice was sounding normal.

“Azriel is amazing!” Feyre continued ranting loudly. “He is…I don’t know. He is brilliant. And his body! Do you see this,”

“I see, I see,”

“I mean, he is my brother-in-law, so I am not looking at his body, but still,”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, if I am gonna marry his cousin and you are gonna marry Azriel, we are going to be sisters and sisters-in-law. Hahahaha. Can you imagine. What about this other brother? Can we set him up with Nesta? Three brothers and three sisters?!”

“You seriously need to calm down,” Elain ordered. “What are you on? Are you on drugs?”

“Nooo!”

“No more football for you,”

“Yes! I love it! Sorry if I love watching my brother-in-law play!”

“Stop calling him that!” Elain snapped at her sister. 

“Why? He will be! You already cling to him for some peace and quiet. So we know what will happen…You’ll look so handsome together,” she added dreamily.

“You are insane,”

“Whatever. He is incredible and I am rooting for him. Is Piggy watching? Is he loving it?”

“Yeah he is watching. He barks every time Azriel is on,”

“Awww, I love it. They are such good mates.”

“Okay, the game is starting,” Elain told Feyre, “we need to get back.”

“Next time, we are gonna go to a pub and watch there, like normal people,” Feyre decided.

Piglet was racing back and forth, jumping every time there was a replay of anything that involved Azriel, making sure that he alerted Elain and that she was watching.

At the start of the second half, Arsenal looked better. They walked on the field looking determined, serious, regrouped. 

And then the goal arrived almost immediately and that sustained them through an opening half that Arsenal went on to dominate. 

And then...

Team Captain Azriel Night scored a STUNNING overhead goal in the 58th minute.

The long diagonal pass came from the left. The ball missed everybody, though, which left only Azriel at the far post and he seemed to have moved a yard or so too close to goal.

But a big stride backwards away from goal improved his position and with quite astonishing timing he managed to leap and hook the ball back over his head, across goal and in to Alisson Becker’s top left hand corner. It was a goal that only looked better with each passing TV replay. The cross was struck too firmly for that kind of finish, surely. It just wasn’t set up for a bicycle kick. But Azriel’s confidence solved the first half of that equation and his outstanding technique solved the second.

The stadium gasped. Then erupted in deafening cheers and celebrations.

It was a shockingly complex play, which resulted in an unexpected goal, performed with incredible precision and athleticism. The man literally did a backflip and landed on his feet while slamming the ball into the net and bypassing one of the best goalies in the world. 

Elain froze, hardly believing her eyes. Then, replay after replay.

Shouting victoriously, she grabbed Piglet and squeezed him in her arms, circling the room and yelling ‘look what daddy did! Isn’t he absolutely amazing?!’

Piglet was barking happily, excited by all the commotion. 

Arsenal were now leading 2-1. And Azriel scored. A gorgeous goal. 

“See, we are cheering for daddy, and he scored!” Elain sang to Piglet. “Maybe you are his lucky charm?”

Then, she paused and stood still in shocked silence.

Because she didn’t notice it initially, swept up in the celebrations, but now that she glanced at the replay yet again, she watched Azriel trace what definitely, definitely looked like an E with his index finger and then point at the camera.

A glorious goal. For Elain. The only ‘E’ in his life.

And at that, Elain burst into tears. Pathetic. Perhaps. But she didn’t even care. She rocked Piglet against her chest and cried, because no one’s ever done anything like this for her before. It was an intangible thing, just a gesture, but Elain knew that Azriel thought of her in the moment of his triumph and that was something that words couldn’t describe. It was a gesture of utter devotion, and Nesta’s words sprung fresh in her mind again. 

That man is in love with you.

No. It couldn’t be. Azriel held affection for her, she knew that. And she held affection for him. They were surely very companionable, but love? Love… Love was a big thing. The biggest thing that there was. 

Piglet whimpered in her arms, licking her cheek, confused about her tears. She squeezed him tighter and murmured, “No, daddy is good to us’.

The hoopla over the goal had subsided a bit and the game resumed, Arsenal coming into the second half pumped and energetic. Everything that they lacked 40 minutes ago was now old news–it was a team reborn.

They were light on their feet, sure and thoughtful.

It was Liverpool that switched it up and went on the attack. 

Elain set Piglet down on the floor and he dropped on his butt, watching the screen, mesmerised. 

When the tackle came, it was completely unexpected, as most things are in football.

One moment Azriel had possession, running with the ball, and the next moment, he was caught in a veritable hurricane. A player, whose name Elain didn’t even know, dove and tripped him, the man’s shoe slamming full force into Azriel’s shin. The collision had Azriel flipping and sprawling onto the wet grass, the impact so strong, he actually rolled over a couple of times, as he clutched his leg in agony.

She cried out alongside him, watching his handsome face grimace from pain. 

Everything halted, the game stopped, Arsenal players started throwing it down with the Liverpool players, and the referee got involved, tossing out yellow cards like candy. Meanwhile, Azriel was wincing and he held his knee to his chest, unable to stand. The medics rushed the field to inspect him, and boos came from the stands.

The commentators were saying something, throwing words like ‘penalties’ and ‘ unprofessional conduct’ and ‘frustration’ and ‘team dynamics’, but Elain couldn’t understand anything that was being said. 

Piglet was back up on his three feet, pacing back and forth, sobbing sadly, yipping and looking at Elain, demanding an explanation. Azriel’s tortured expression was plastered all over the screen, as the medical staff fussed with his leg. Piglet ran to Elain, rubbing against her legs, seeking comfort and barking. She just stood in one place, immobilised by indecision and horror. Azriel’s words about ‘career-ending injuries’ sprung in her mind. What if this was it? What if he couldn’t play anymore? 

‘Sprain’

‘Achilles tendon’

‘Catastrophic injury’

The commentators’ words weren’t helping at all. 

She held her hand to her mouth, staring at the screen. 

The Liverpool player received a Red card for the tackle. Like that was enough of a punishment when Azriel was being carried off the field in a stretcher.

Elain’s hand curled into a fist, and she wished she could smash the guy’s face in. She didn’t really know how to fight, but she figured that she could beat him to death just through sheer rage alone. She was shaking with anger, disbelieving the cowardly tackle and the resulting disaster.

Her phone chimed, and she knew it was Feyre. And then it rang again, and she figured that it might have been Nesta. But she didn’t pick up. She was angry. And her heart hurt. It’s as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs, as she hyperventilated, even ignoring her crying dog. She felt…like she was in pain. Azriel’s pain was her pain.

…

”Yes? Who is this?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Cassian?”

“Well, hello sweetheart, who are you and how can I be of service?” Cassian slumped in an armchair and stretched his legs.

“Well, um…this is Elain.”

“Elain who?”

“Elain Archeron,”

He thought long and hard: the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

“The matchmaker for your brother,” she finally clarified.

“Oh yeah! Of course. Elain Archeron with the pug…You both wear bows,”

“Ummm. Okay?”

“How can I help you, petal? What’s he done? I thought that things were going well? Az’s been unusually verbose lately, mostly about you.”

“Oh,” she seemed surprised. “He has?”

“Oh he has. Not one to talk about the ladies, he isn’t, but he’s been talking about you. Elain this and Elain that. You’d think he was dating you, not your matches.”

All Cassian heard was ‘hmmm’ in response.

At last, he prodded her, “So, what can I do for you? He been handsy or what?”

“Well….” she said softly, “I…have you seen the game?”

“I have! That goal–my brother is an artist!” Cassian marvelled. “It was a damn stunner. I represent him as his agent, and whenever he pulls this beautiful shit, I remind everyone that he is as good as any other top tier player. So you been watching him?”

“Uh…yes,” she confirmed shyly. “Yes. The goal was unbelievable. But then the injury,”

“Oh yeah, that tosser got him good,” before he could say anything else and go on a rant, she interrupted.

“I’ve been trying to reach him,” she continued, her voice urgent, almost hysterical. “Is he okay? How bad is the injury? He is also ill. I could see it, you know. I could see that he was ill, but…I’ve been trying him for the past two hours, and he hasn’t picked up. Cassian, is he okay? I rang him six times, no, seven, and he hasn’t responded. I mean, is he in the hospital? Will he recover? My dog is in distress, he’s been crying since he saw Azriel fall,”

“Wait, what? Your pug’s been crying?”

“Yes, yes,” she sounded like she was sobbing herself, “they are great mates, you know. Piglet loves him so much. He loves Piglet too…he calls him Pinky, which is silly, but I am used to it now, and Piglet is in distress, and I need to know,”

“Wait, Elain, it’s okay,” Cassian urged her gently. “Breathe, sweetheart. He will be okay…So you’ve rang him seven times?”

“Yes!”

“Alright then. He is probably getting his leg X-Rayed and I am sure they are running tests to see what the damage is…”

“But what if…oh Cassian, what if he can’t play anymore?” she cried. Honest to god wept on the phone. “It would devastate him. What can I do? I want him to be well, oh god, I am,” she was sobbing loudly, and Cassian was taken aback by the genuine level of her grief.

“No, Elain, darlin’, that’s what happens to footballers. They get injured. It’s not his first one, and won’t be the last,”

“But…but…how do you know?” she sniffled loudly.

“I mean, the tackle was bad, wasn’t it,”

“It was!”

“But Az knows how to fall so he minimises the impact. Don’t be upset, he’ll manage his way out of this,”

“But…I want to see him,” she insisted, “I want to make sure he is going to recover. What should I do? I will bake…yes, yes…I will bake his favourite biscuits! And if he plays with Piglet, that would make him feel better too…Yes, that’s what I will do,”

Cassian sensed that he was forgotten. 

Elain was completely freaked out and it was clear as day that she harboured some very strong feelings for his brother. She was absolutely out of her mind with worry for Azriel, and Cassian wasn’t expecting this at all. The intensity of Elain’s sadness and concern was both surprising and…endearing? Cassian was almost envious. No one’s been that anxious or apprehensive about him and his well-being ever in his life. 

What was happening between these two? And that dog?

“Elain, I will keep you posted about his condition. When I hear, you will hear as well. I promise.”

“Oh thank you, Cassian. You are so kind. Thank you,” she breathed happily. 

“No problem at all. Of course. It’s my pleasure.” 

This wasn’t how Cassian normally spoke, but Elain’s old-fashioned mannerisms, her cultured ways, and her hysterical worry made him want to comfort her and assure her that she was being taken seriously.

What Cassian was sure of now, was that Elain was just odd enough and authentic enough for his brother to in fact…fall in love? 

-

Elain had spent the rest of the evening worrying and pacing, but Azriel did not respond to her calls and texts. She just had to believe that he was occupied and was hopefully getting good medical care and his leg wasn’t seriously hurt, and that nothing that was detrimental to his overall well-being happened. 

Piglet was in a bad mood, didn’t even ask for a second dinner, which typically would be unfathomable. Elain wanted him to give a bath, but he refused, growling and screaming loudly, until she gave up. 

She received 5 messages from Feyre, asking about Azriel, and even two messages from Nesta, asking the same. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Instead, she dragged herself to bed and Piglet went and buried himself in his own bed, disinterested in socialising.

And that was the end of Saturday.

-

Annoying phone dinging woke Elain up. It was still so dark outside, she thought it was still nighttime, but when she grabbed the phone, she saw that it was 6:48am.

Feyre: Did you see today’s DM?

Elain: What’s DM? Direct message?

Feyre: NO!! Daily Mail!

Elain: What now? Why? Why would I look at Daily Mail first thing in the morning?

Feyre: I always do. Open it now! You made the front page, hon

Elain: WHAT are you on about?

Feyre: OPEN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Elain: STOP SCREAMING!!!!!

Feyre: YOU ARE THE ONE SCREAMING

Elain pulled up the Daily Mail on her phone and read the headline.

A New Romance for Football's Bad Boy?

Is Azriel Night, footie’s perennial bad boy, the man who’s never been seen with a steady girlfriend, and who’s been unapologetically playing the field for the past decade, finally found his match?

Less than two weeks ago, he was snapped by curious onlookers and tourists near London’s famed The Shard, where he apparently pursued a mugger, whom he managed to catch in the end and retrieve the loot. Furthermore, following the incident, he was seen carrying a woman in his arms whose purse the mugger stole.

The Rescue

The mystery woman is yet to be identified, but it seems that Mr. Night is fully enamoured with the beautiful stranger.

(Below, there was a grainy photo of Azriel carrying Elain, and Piglet at their side. Dialogue bubbles were drawn above their heads)

“Are you hurt?” said Azriel’s bubble.

“You came for me.” That was Elain’s bubble.

While no romance has been confirmed by Mr. Night or his publicist, this would be the first official relationship for the notoriously private, but scandalous Arsenal superstar. Mr. Night’s reputation for debauched behaviour has been well documented, though in the past few years he seemed to have modified his ways and is no longer involved in scandals and is not the subject of sexual gossip. At 29 years old, Arsenal’s captain seemed to have found some inner peace and has been shining on the field, while keeping a lower profile off the field.

Is his new friend the cause for this change? Is she the mysterious ‘E’ whose initial Mr. Night traced after his phenomenal goal against Liverpool on Saturday? And did he dedicate the historic goal to her? While this has not been confirmed, speculations have been running rampant about the unusual gesture. Since he’s been playing professionally, Mr. Night has never dedicated any of his plays to anyone. 

Is this the beginning of a beautiful friendship? Time will tell.

If you have more information about the identity of the woman in the photos, contact Nelly Suriel at n.suriel@dailymail.uk

Oh god. Oh god.

Her phone dinged again. Jesus Christ, she was not in the mood to listen to Feyre’s taunts. She didn’t even look at the message. 

The next moment, it rang. The tone of the phone’s ring seemed impatient.

“WHAT?” Elain snapped, her eyes skimming the article again. The photograph. The speculations.

“Hey beautiful,” Azriel’s deep, gravelly voice came on the line. “Who is annoying you?”

Elain was speechless.

He chuckled.

“Not often I leave you without words.”

“You…”

“Me. Why are you always so surprised? Who else would I be ringing?

Before she could descend on him with a million questions, he said firmly,

“I need you, Elain. I am coming over.”

[antipinkkitten]

A Court of Blooms and Blades (8474 words) by antipinkkitten Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Crescent City Series - Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron/Azriel, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Azriel/Gwyneth Berdara Characters: Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra, Azriel (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Rhysand (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Feyre Archeron, Gwyneth Berdara Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Rejection, Eventual Smut, POV Multiple

Chapter 6 Summary - The next day after Azriel and Elain's disastrous conversation. Lucien arrives at the River House and Nesta is angry at Rhys (As expected).

[444names]

Names generated from natural satellites and theological angels names

Abanceson Abriel Abrithim Addon Addone Adrax Adraxa Adrion Adus Ahia Aiahie Aitana Aithriton Alle Alyke Amab Amabahros Amaka Amalth Amamakiel Amange Amanke Amanus Ambri Amiel Amincis Amiraq Amph Amsida Amsito Anamakir Anaq Anio Anthael Anthes Anthon Anthrot Anur Anus Aomedail Arch Ardia Arim Arnanus Arqeq Arub Arvirah Athe Azachuel Azephoe Azielmia Azraphoe Azraxi...

Barubion Bebhiel Benermir Benrithie Benus Bestyx Biah Bione Calao Calbio Caliahme Calin Calite Calphone Camasiel Camiel Caraniel Caraphon Carbe Cariranoe Carnaia Casharut Casip Casitanus Casto Celatla Cerriel Ceston Chael Chamasiel Chan Chana Charael Chari Chea Ches Chon Chuel Cordike Corme Creel Culichad Culoge Curyde Cyll Cylle Cyllia Dand Darvi Delarnjot Dene Denus Dessiel Deste Deuke Diah Diel Diet Dike Dincis Dome Dometi Doriel Dumatia Enriel Enus Erae Erdan Erde Erdiel Ereid Eres Ergel Eriel Erissia Erokkir Erub Euaq Eucermir Euke Eupin Eupinca Eurin Eurone Euros Eurti Eurydenri Fariel Fera Ferdiel Fereimet Feriel Foriaphan Frabadri Fraphiel Fraqqiel Frax Gabah Gabarviuq Gadkir Gadkiviuq Gael Galdeste Galydon Ganthe Greelia Greid Greippe Gria Griel Grielin Hael Haelia Hall Halph Halyke Hancis Handa Hanisto Hanomes Hanthall Hanus Hanymr Harge Hari Haristea Harnae Harthiel Harviuq Harvos Hasian Hatea Haturymr Hauto Hearda Heel Hegel Hemos Herae Herarubim Hergar Hiel Hyons Hyperee Hysnoe Iahah Ijir Ijiraphia Imamsiel Imiel Ione Isto Jana Jarbel Jarnsarix Jarviuq Jeganda Jegelmiel Jeguel Jehon Jequne Jequnka Jerosarme Jers Jopangel Jophimael Julianus Julo Juloge Jupito Kala Kalia Kalin Karimiah Karpana Katriel Kiel Kiela Kinope Kirrhos Kollia Kolyke Laddomiel Ladkiel Ladus Lastephia Latite Laturns Leluck Lene Lyke Mael Mahartun Makinda Malia Mall Mandome Mashi Matisrach Mears Meberael Mebhiel Meda Mede Meel Megachael Mers Methysno Metus Metzape Michah Michie Miel Mirahmat Miranoe Miraq Mirtite Misters Muand Mueles Mune Mungel Mungr Muri Murydene Nakivi Namah Namania Nambriel Nandene Nardil Nemede Niel Obel Ober Obos Obosa Ophall Ophanus Oret Oretars Ortiel Paala Pahameter Pahi Palin Palphers Palyke Pand Pandarvi Pandik Pandiori Pangete Pangriel Panomedil Pasia Pasiel Pastyx Penriones Persede Phalles Phon Pluck Pollel Polydonn Porarix Pore Poriel Portuel Power Prab Pran Praphobel Praphsies Pras Priel Prokkiel Promebel Promerah Pronn Prophade Pros Purachiel Pushielxi Qapenriel Qaphamel Qaphel Qaphia Qaphio Qapus Rahry Ranakivi Raphia Raxa Reid Remoneth Rhel Rhemosa Rone Salyke Samahme Samati Sancelar Sargade Sarioriel Sate Saxa Saxid Scha Schael Schiah Sedestea Serdike Sergab Seritne Serrhoe Serub Sharsel Shiocasto Shmalie Siel Skoran Spennia Spin Stlas Surinoe Suris Sury Sutiel Syco Tancasto Tatemee Tathoedes Tatlatros Tatue Tenn Tephnia Terdiel Tetel Thar Thea Thee Thel Themuel Thereip Theros Theruto Theuaq Thon Thro Throkkiel Thys Tiapenn Tiel Triel Trion Trir Triraphel Trisranus Tristona Tron Trophate Tzad Tzaph Tzaphiel Tzaphos Umabariel Umariel Umea Umegues Urazazie Urioriel Urnjot Urono Uzziet Vehoe Vehondons Vehuesde Vehus Vene Viuq Wood Worange Worarnjot Xidaia Zadraxa Zaziel Zephqiel Zopasiel Zophobos Zophosid

[alldancersaretalented]

Radix Glendale Mini, Junior and Senior Solo Results

Mini:

Cambrie O'Haver (Club Dance), Kinley Harper (Club Dance), Dejana Kostur (Elektro), Charlotte Rathjen (Dance Studio C), Aspen Brandt (Club Dance) OTE

Addison Pichette (Club Dance) OTE

Emily Collins (Dance Deluxe), Adalee Grove (Collective PHX), Aliyah Rothe (Impact Dance), Adelina Getsova (The Base), Katie Carlson (Evoke), Caydence Zuehlke (CanDance), Jewel Moody (Summer's DanceWorks) OTE

Hazel Silverman (Dance Studio 111) OTE

Preslie Ball (CanDance), Poppy Cunningham (Club Dance)

Zachary Hutta (Artistic Motion), Halle Forrest (Impact Dance), GIselle Pilorin (Artistic Motion), Brighton Taylor (Dance Deluxe)

Eva Gonzales (Dance Deluxe), Jordan Lavigne (Artistic Motion), Xiamiya Reed, Kenny Opaska (Collective PHX)

Summer Dairymple (The Base), Faye Cunningham, Gabriella Daschievici (Dance Studio C)

Kinsey Fitts (Elektro), Imoact Dance Poppy, Kensington Ferrin (Club Dance), Colette Stutzman (CanDance)

Gotta Dance Adelei, Brielle Baily (Dance Deluxe)

Junior:

Isla Gardner (Club Dance) OTE

Piper Perusse (Company Space) OTE

Alayna Noble (The Base), Aracely Lee (Dance Deluxe) OTE

Caitlyn Paik (To The Pointe), Zoeleigh Hutta (Artistic Motion), Aria Bongiorno (Dance Deluxe) OTE

Ava Thompson (Collective PHX) OTE

Sabina Vess (Elektro) OTE

Delilah Hewitt (Brea), Patience Hughes (Brea), Chloe Tarwater (Elite Dance Pro) OTE

Kinley O'Keefe (Elektro) OTE

Ella Carlon (Brea), Leila Koeneke (Artistic Motion Dance) OTE

Sofia Verdugo (Collective PHX) OTE

Senior:

Angelika Edejer (Evoke) OTE

Ryan Hutta (Artistic Motion) OTE

Rosendo Arechiga (CanDance) OTE

Georgi Arnold (SGSDance), Grace McKinley (Dance Studio C) OTE

Kenzie Cole (Artistic Motion), Charlie Kautzer (Nor Cal) OTE

Kaylinn Rees (Dance Studio C), Paige Kracht (Club Dance) OTE

Isabella Gomez (CanDance) ??

Eriel Garzon (Elektro), Alysha Ritschel (CanDance), Charlotte Gesting (Evoke) ??

Tessa Weaver (Artistic Motion), Kendall Birnbaum (CanDance), Logan Marumoto-Kaleimamahu (24-7 Dance Force) ??

Brekyn Knowels (Elektro) ??

[mossytrashcan]

I love being an artist because it means that I have the ability to draw Lucien Vanserra doing this

[feysandarcheron]

The way Azriel is ready to bodyslam anyone to get to Elain… yeah

[crowchanblackbeak]

Eris: I want to change the world

Lucien: For the better?

Eris:

Lucien: Answer me

[sjmgirlie]

We love canon 🫶🌹🦇

[methimmondaykissedhimfriday]

I am an Elriel and curious if there are any passages, mentions, hints in ACOSF following the solstice regarding how Azriel x Elain feel towards one another. Even small things?

I know at the snowball fight Az was obviously still pissed. Things like this since I don’t think we see them interact again, right?

I listen to the books and don’t have paper copies so it’s hard for me to find.

People quote passages but I never know if they are before (which I generally assume they are) or after the BC.

[athena-85]

Nike I love you for your beautiful creative writing talent

But….

I hate you for this chapter

Especially the way it ended

Piglet why???….

Azriel better have some kind of explanation or else you better write Fenrys into this story to save Elain

(Jk you do whatever you want)

Now I have to wait for the next one never knowing if there is a way out of this….

Bravo

Chapter XVI

You Are the One

One time, Elain Marie Paige Archeron had everything she ever wanted. She had love. A love that was pure and clean and genuine. A love that did not ask for anything in return. The kind of love that was true, and kind, and forgiving, and protective. She couldn’t remember a time when she laughed as much as she did in the last three months. She recalled waking up every morning for the past three months and feeling lighter, like there was joy and a promise of good things. Now, in hindsight, she realised that it was because she was in love. But also because she was loved. No one’s ever loved her like that before. No one looked at her in the same way, like she was precious. Like she mattered. Like she was someone’s favourite thing in the world.

Only Elain Archeron did not hold on to that love.

She took it for granted.

She took the man who offered her his devotion and his loyalty and his unconditional, undeniable and passionate love for granted, never thinking that she’d ever lose him.

But she did.

She lost Azriel. 

“Remember, darling, that’s nature…simple biology,”

“Daddy, you aren’t going to be talking about how babies are made?” Elain sniffled, half amused, half horrified.

Her father smiled a sad smile and shook his head no.

“You have to remember that it’s the sperm that chases the egg. It’s the man who pursues the woman. Not the other way around. A man will chase and will not give up until he gets that sperm into the egg.”

“Ew, dad!”

“You are a big girl, my pretty rose. You know what I mean.”

Elain considered his words, and as graphic as they were, they also made sense. He was correct. 

“Love was invented to make nature more palatable,” he continued, “but biology never changed. It’s still about the sperm and the egg. Therefore, let him chase you. And if he doesn’t, then you’ll know the answer. But never chase a man, sweetheart. It’s his nature, his responsibility and his destiny to chase after a woman.”

She sighed and looked out the window.

It's been almost two weeks and Azriel hasn’t sought her out. The sperm hasn’t chased the egg. Azriel hasn’t chased her at all.

At first, it was just…silence.

For four days, it was silent. 

Her texts went unanswered. There were no call backs. She even went old school and sent Azriel an email! And that didn’t get a response either. 

She was ready to go all the way to Canary Wharf and be the weird girlfriend who busts into her boyfriend’s home and starts to demand answers. 

But he finally messaged her with a one word text: ‘training’. That’s all it said. No apology and no explanation. Not an ‘I am sorry for ignoring you’ or ‘I’ve been swamped with the team stuff’. No, she didn’t get anything other than ‘training’.

And so, Elain had changed her mind about trekking to Canary Wharf and waited. Training would eventually be over and he would be back. He'd return to her. Elain wanted to be an understanding girlfriend, who was going to support her man. She realised that he needed to get back into the groove of the game after his injury and get his body back in playing shape. Therefore, when Saturday came about and Arsenal was playing Luton Town, she dutifully turned on the telly and listened to the pre-game broadcast while Piglet raced upstairs and then came back with his red jersey, tossing it to her and urging her to dress him in it. He already knew what he needed to wear when Azriel was playing, and even though he made a mess in his cubby, turning it out and tossing all the other things on the floor, Elain thought that it was too cute how he got so excited and was behaving like a proper little fan. 

They watched the game, with Piglet sitting there, enraptured, and howling happily every time Azriel appeared on the screen. How Piglet recognised him, Elain didn’t know–she once hid under a blanket for 10 minutes, and her pug was wandering around in confusion, looking for her, never thinking to pull the blanket off. But here, he somehow was eagle-eyed and was spotting Azriel among the tiny players on the screen.

While Piglet was innocently happy to watch the game, hopping and rolling around, Elain’s mood was more subdued. She did take a photo of the pug and sent it to Azriel. When the game concluded, and Arsenal had won, she messaged him and said ‘Congratulations! Brilliant game’.

Thanks.

That’s what Eain got in response to her message from Azriel.

Thanks.

Angrily, she waited for more, but nothing else came.

Because if he’d responded, she’d confront him and give him a piece of her mind. What did she do to him?? She was a somewhat reluctant girlfriend, but she had the right to be reluctant. He moved like a freight train, but she was more cautious. Besides, she’s lived through many heartbreaks before and every single man that she’s been with has broken up with her. She never broke up with anyone–all the breakups were initiated by the men. And it looked like the pattern was continuing, unbroken. Azriel was also fed up with her and was breaking up.

That night, after the terse ‘thanks’ Elain closed her bedroom door, so Piglet wouldn’t hear her, and wept.

She wept for herself, for her lost love, for her stupidity.

She cried tears of anger, feeling rage sweep over her, cursing Azriel under her breath, calling him names. She was so angry. Angry at him for making her fall in love with him. Angry at him for making her feel. For having hope. Feelings and hope were things that she long ago placed in a place that she did not access and longed to forget. She hated Azriel Night for making her think that she could be loved, with a passion and devotion that Rhys offered her sister Feyre. She hated him for being even worse than Eris. At least Eris never offered her false hopes–he was what he was and she knew that going in. There would be no sweeping her off her feet by Eris. But Azriel…No, Azriel was gallant and strange. He courted her with ferocious intent and was not shy about showing her, and everyone around them, how much he wanted her. He loved her dog. He cooked for her. He cared for her. He cherished her. He joked, but he never pushed her into an uncomfortable place. She didn’t expect to find him and somehow, he landed on her doorstep. Literally. The old saying ‘it will happen when you least expect it’--well, it happened to her. She didn't expect him to sweep into her life and just overtake her whole existence. Because he did. And she hated him and herself, for allowing him so much power over her. She’d given him everything–her heart, first and foremost, but also access to her home, to her sanctuary and to her family. Even her father had accepted Azriel as an appropriate match for his beloved Elain. Elain was her father’s princess. She was the one he loved the most, and the one who gave him the most worry. He’d been lukewarm on Eris, despite Eris’s title and background. But Azriel–Azriel’d wormed his way into Sir Charles’s heart and Elain’s father came to like Azriel quite a bit.

But he never called. 

At some point, while operating like a zombie day in and day out, Elain couldn’t stand it anymore and swallowed her pride and messaged Gwyn Berdara.

She was mentally exhausted, thinking nonstop about Azriel and why he was acting the way he was acting. Unable to bring herself to reach out to him yet again, and receive yet another awful, one word answer, she opted for contacting Gwyn. She had no feelings about Gwyn either way–she’d only met her twice in person, and Gwyn wasn’t memorable enough for Elain to develop a strong opinion about her. But Gwyn didn’t respond to her either. Elain had sent a nonchalant sort of message of: Good morning! How are you? Just checking in to see how things are going with Azriel Night? I didn’t want to bother him as he is training and playing right now, but I am curious about your progress with him?

The message remained unread.

-

However, Elain Archeron did not need to wait for long to get answers to her questions. They came a day later, courtesy of the Daily Mail.

Another Mystery Woman for the Rackish Lothario?

Azriel Night,  Captain of Arsenal, never one wanting for female company, has been spotted at The Devonshire with a new companion. 

It seems that only a few months had passed since he was photographed on the streets of London carrying another woman in his arms following an attempted robbery. He’d been previously seen with the beautiful partner, now identified as Lady Elain Archeron, on more than one occasion. Hello Magazine even published a holiday spread of the lovely Archeron sisters and their partners in their Christmas edition. London society is still buzzing over the surprise marriage of Lady Feyre Archeron and Lord Rhysand Darling back in December, and over the budding romance between Lady Nesta Archeron, the Duchess of Velaris and Mr. Cassian Night (Azriel Night’s brother). 

By all accounts, the romance between the gorgeous aristocrat and Mr. Azriel Night was going splendidly and he’d been seen leaving her luxurious Russell Square townhouse, and even walking her pug, all through the month of December. However, it seems that their relationship is now on pause.

Mr. Night had been spotted dining at the upstairs restaurant at The Devonshire in the company of another woman. The yet to be named companion and Mr. Night enjoyed Sunday lunch at the Soho hotspot, dining on Roast Rib of Beef, all the trimmings and sticky toffee pudding. 

After so many trials and errors, will this one be the one to capture Azriel Night’s heart forever?

He was at The Devonshire on Sunday–the Sunday when it was Elain’s turn to cook Sunday roast. When everyone had come to her house for lunch. And by everyone, she meant–everyone. Rhys. Feyre. Her father. Nesta. CASSIAN. Cassian Night, who introduced her and Azriel, was at her dinner table, eating roast chicken and buttery peas. But his brother, Elain’s boyfriend, was on a date with someone else. 

A more awkward lunch couldn’t be imagined into existence, even by a talented writer.

Nesta was seething, smoke coming out of her ears. Cassian looked pained and uncomfortable. Rhys didn’t fare much better. 

But it was Piglet who broke everyone’s hearts. He sat by the front door for three hours–waiting for Azriel to arrive. He didn’t move. He didn’t eat. He waited. 

And waited.

And waited.

The whole family was here, and surely his dad would come as well. So he waited. He paced and then he lay on the floor, and he looked at the door, blinking his big brown buggy eyes.

Only Azriel never came.

-

It was a few days later, when Elain on on break between meetings and arranging dates that her phone lit up with a message. She looked at it and her face dropped. 

Gwyneth Berdara

Hi Elain! Things are going well, thank you for asking. How are you?

Elain Archeron

I am well, thanks! Forgive me for bothering you,

Gwyneth Berdara

It’s no bother! I apologise for not responding sooner. I had a presentation to create and it took all my energy and time! 😀

Elain Archeron

I can only imagine. I was just wondering how things are with Mr. Night? 

Gwyneth Berdara

We made the Daily Mail. Can you imagine? The one time we had lunch together. I can’t imagine spending all my life being hounded by journos

Elain Archeron

Oh, have you? I wasn’t aware that you were in the paper!

Gwyneth Berdara

😂 😂 I am suddenly a mini celebrity. Haha. I am only joking. But honestly? Don’t laugh, but we are mostly talking about football and working out. And hand to hand combat.

Elain Archeron

You are interested in hand to hand combat??

Gwyneth Berdara

I’ve been studying. Self-defence first, and then I got interested in other things. He is showing me some sicke moves! 

Elain Archeron

? Okay. I guess thank you for getting back to me. Let me know how it progresses.

Gwyneth Berdara

Will do. Also I didn’t realise the two of you were so close. He talks about you a lot. I know you were his matchmaker too but it’s like you are his GF or something.

Elain Archeron

Well, no worries. I am not. Thanks. Bye.

Elain was even more confused and upset about things after that bizarre exchange. Also, who used the expression ‘sicke moves’?

Professor Gwyn was into hand-to-hand combat? And Azriel was teaching her ‘sicke’ moves? Elain knew that Azriel was a fighter and grew up rough, but…what? 

There was no clarity around what was actually happening between Azriel and Gwyn after all that, and Elain only grew more and more anxious.

-

Another Sunday.

It was Nesta’s turn to cook and host, however, Sir Charles insisted that his daughters come to his house instead. And for that, Elain was grateful.

She was even more grateful to her sisters, who’d arrived without their men. She knew that they were lying when they said that both Rhys and Cassian were ‘busy’ on Sunday, but nevertheless, she was grateful to them. She didn’t think that she could handle another painfully awkward lunch with the handsome brothers who looked entirely too much like Azriel, and with her grieving pug. 

She was seated on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, her chin resting on her folded hands, as she looked out the window. It was raining. Rain. Rain. Rain. Endless fucking rain. 

She barely bothered today–her appearance was sallow and unkempt. She tied her hair in a messy bun, wore a beige jumper and a pair of yoga trousers–attire which was entirely inappropriate for Sunday lunch and not something she’d ever dare leave the house in. But she just couldn't bring herself to care. When the butler opened the door, he stepped back, lack of recognition evident on his face, before he quickly gathered himself and said, “Lady Elain, good afternoon. Please come in.”

Her father, and neither of her sisters comment on her appearance and the maudlin way that she moved around the house, with Piglet trailing behind her, his nose to the ground. No one was surprised when she went to her father’s study and curled up on the sofa, like she did when she was little.

“He’s lost weight,” Sir Charles noted, as he stroked Piglet’s back, while the pug lay unmoving in his lap.

“Two kilos,” Elain said, looking out the window. Expensive cars rolled down the street, taxis and stray pedestrians huddled under their umbrellas. Late January was miserable. Even the warmth of the fire in the marble fireplace didn’t make a difference. 

“That’s a lot for a pug,” her father commended. “Is he not eating?”

“He eats, but he doesn’t ask for snacks and mostly he just sits by the door,” Elain answered and wiped the tears that rolled down her cheeks. 

“Elain,” he began saying, but she rose up swiftly and rubbed her eyes vigorously.

“I am okay, daddy,”

“No you aren’t,” he said sadly. “No you aren’t”.

She shrugged, like it didn’t matter. And maybe it didn’t. Nothing much mattered.

“Let’s go eat.”

Just then, a knock on the door informed them that lunch was indeed served.

At least life was predictable. Pleasantly predictable here, with her family. There were no treacherous men and no disloyalty.

Feyre and Nesta were already at the table, their expressions worried, even though they tried really hard to act normal. 

“Hi Piggy, come here little boy,” Feyre tried to summon the pug, but Piglet didn’t even look at her and just went to his bowl, sniffing disinterestedly at the chicken and rice offering. 

Once the wine was poured and the soup was served and the butler left the dining room, Nesta, who’s been clutching at her spoon like she was going to lunge at someone with it, snarled,

“I have to say something,”

“Don’t say anything,” Feyre warned. “Nesta. Don’t.”

“That utter arsehole,” Nesta ignored her youngest sister and clutched at her napkin until her knuckles were white.

Sir Charles winced, knowing that the lunch was about to descend into chaos.

“Girls,” he began with a sigh, but suddenly was interrupted by Elain.

Her voice was monotone and she spoke without inflection, staring straight ahead.

“If I die before Piglet,” she said calmly, while the rest of her family tensed and stared at her with apprehension, “show him my body.”

“Elain,” Feyre gasped. But Elain ignored her and continued,

“Bring him over to my deathbed. Allow him to smell me. He will understand death. He will understand that I was gone and that I would not be coming back. Allow him to mourn me. But do not attempt to spare him the sight of me and my death. He should know that he was not abandoned. He must know that I died, but that I did not leave him. He must understand that unlike others, I did not abandon him. Not like his first family and not like Azriel. He should not be waiting by the door for me to come back. Take him to the funeral and allow him to watch me be lowered into the ground so he understands the finality of it all. He must know that Elain loved him and did not leave him on his own. She was not like Azriel. She never lied to him.” 

-

What Elain had missed the most was the casual intimacy.

As another week passed and January was coming to a close, Elain’s life returned to its natural, if boring routine. 

She worked, taking on more clients–thank god for January and ‘resolutions’ and people wanting to couple up–and that took a lot of her time. She was grateful for the distraction, but the nights and the weekends were tough.

Most evenings, she cried herself to sleep, while remembering all the good things that she’d lived through with Azriel. He wasn’t dead, yet the fissure of emptiness inside her chest that was created by his absence really felt like he had died. There was something unsaid and unfinished about them, which bothered her like a toothache. It was a wound which she kept irritating every time she remembered something about him.

How he was so effortlessly sexual with her, and how his relaxed sensuality allowed her to feel free with her own sexuality for the first time in her life. To Azriel, she was beautiful. Always beautiful. Never awkward or chubby or clumsy or strange.

The way he would habitually slap her bum, every time he passed by her. Or pinch it. Or caress it. Or cup it in his large hand. At first it scandalised her. And then, she grew to love it. She grew to expect it. 

The way he strutted around after a shower in only a towel wrapped around his hips, showing off his incredible body…goodness gracious! That was something to behold! The way she learned all the details of his form, no matter how insignificant–his tattoos, the shape of his shoulders, the thickness of his biceps, how his neck was a touch too long for his body, but how that made him appear more graceful. She knew exactly how many abdominal muscles he packed–more than six, and definitely eight, and she knew the shape of his long strong fingers. His hair curled slightly in the back of her neck. His hazel eyes had more green in them than brown, and were peppered with black specks. He had perfect toes. The V of his hips could only be called vicious, because it was so sharp and pointed right at his…The one thing Elain never got to see. She never saw his member. Felt it, knew that it was worryingly large and thick, but she never saw it.

She supposed that she always thought that they’d have more time. 

She recalled how one time, they were in a restaurant. It was moderately busy and they were seated by the window. It so happened that there was no one at the table in front of them, or by their side. So what did he do? He parted her shirt on her chest, and when she thought that he’d just cop a feel–something he did often and without hesitation–he bared her breast completely and tugged on her nipple, while kissing her lips. She sat there, completely delirious with love and arousal, while he pinched and rolled her nipple in his fingers, while squeezing her bare tit in his palm. Just as the waiter approached, he tucked her back in and acted like nothing happened. 

She missed him.

Sometimes, she screamed into her pillow, a long, tortured scream because she…well, she missed him. There was nothing that could replace him in her life. 

She loved him. Loved him when they were together, and loved him now–perhaps even more than before. 

-

He rang her. 

Once.

It was a day like any other. A blustery wintry afternoon, only 5 pm and already pitch black outside. Though slowly, but surely the days were getting a bit longer. Just a little. It was early February and Elain just changed into her comfy joggers and a sweatshirt having just come back from walking Piglet. He hated being outside, especially when it was cold and drizzling, and thankfully, it was a quick walk and he did his business in record time.

For some reason, it didn’t register with Elain that it was Azriel’s name on the Caller ID. 

She’d become so used to his calls and messages that it seemed normal that he’d be ringing her. 

“Hello,” she said.

He seemed surprised when he said, “Hi Elain”.

Everything stopped. 

The moment she heard that voice, that achingly familiar, smooth, deep voice she felt her hands shake, and her heart beat wildly in her chest.

She threw her phone on the counter as if it burned her and then, with her finger trembling, pressed the ‘speaker’ button.

“Why are you calling me?” she demanded, her voice barely a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away.

“Why?” she asked again, and to her horror her voice was already hoarse and weak, and she sounded strangled. Because there were tears in her eyes and she was hyperventilating.

“How are you?” he asked softly instead.

How was she?

How dare he?

How was she?

She howled like an animal in her sorrow over losing him.

She cried.

She screamed.

She wondered what she'd done and why he just left her without an explanation? 

She didn’t eat.

She didn’t sleep or she slept too much.

“Fine. Brilliant. All good,” she laughed a dry, angry laugh. “I am sure you are doing well too, right? How’s Gwyn?”

He sighed, like the sound of her voice pained him.

“I didn’t like the way things ended between us,” he told her somberly, ignoring her question.

“Well, it was your choice, wasn’t it?” she reminded him. 

“I suppose?”

It sounded like he wasn't sure.

“What do you want, Azriel?” she demanded.

“How’s Pink?” he asked instead.

“What do you want to hear exactly?”

Did he want to hear about Piglet crying by the door?

Did he want to hear about Piglet avoiding any football on TV and barking violently for her to change the channel if he saw anyone running on a green field?

Did he want to hear about Piglet sitting and waiting for him for hours, day after day, hoping that his dad would show up?

“You abandoned him,” she accused him savagely. “I told you not to make him fall in love with you. I told you not to allow him to get attached to you. I explicitly told you that this would happen if he thought of you as his own.”

“I am sorry,” he whispered brokenly.

“You did it all. You hurt us, Azriel. What do you expect to happen now?” she questioned him, feeling her voice becoming hysterical. “Two brothers and two sisters together at Christmas. A third sister alone. A third brother who used to date the third sister is now with some random woman. Is this your vision? For all of us to play happy families? Like nothing’s happened. Like we didn’t exist. Like what we had didn’t matter??”

“He did matter,” he argued. “It does.”

She ignored him.

“Cassian and Nesta are dating now. Feyre and Rhys are married. Instead of leaving me alone–like I requested, over and over again–you made me fall for you. Fall in love with you. And then you tossed me aside.”

“You love me?” he breathed a shocked gasp.

“What?” 

“You said you fell in love with me,”

“You are unbelievable,” she cried out. He was always deranged, but now he was even more incomprehensible. What was wrong with him?

“My dog is screaming any time he sees Arsenal signage. My heart is shuttered. Is that what you wanted?” Elain broke down in tears. “Is that what you wanted?

“I never wanted that,” he argued quietly. “I never,”

“What did you think would happen?” she insisted, sobbing. “That I can just walk away?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice devastated. “It all spiralled out of control…I didn’t want any of this.”

She wasn’t listening to him. 

She cried.

Cried for her lost love. Cried for the children she’d never have with him. Cried for the future they’d never have. Cried for not knowing what his perfect day consisted of. Cried for the Christmases they’d never celebrate together again. Cried for his touch and for his kisses and for him next to her in bed. Cried for the games she’d never cheer at. Cried for knowing that she’d never see him snuggling together with Piglet. 

She cried and Azriel listened.

She didn’t know how long it lasted–felt like an hour–and he didn’t say anything. He didn’t comfort her, but he didn’t ask her to stop either. 

At some point, Piglet came over. He looked up at her, watching her weep, and whimpered sadly, before curling himself at her feet.

“I am sorry, Elain,” Azriel whispered at last.

She quieted down, before telling him,

“I wanted to be your wife, you know. I wanted to build a family with you. I wanted to have your children.”

“I understand. And I am sorry.”

“I wish you happiness, Azriel. Even if you robbed me of mine.”

[bookstaninthesoul]

Azriel Appreciation Week Day 5: Favorite Ship

Elain … She’d taken one look at us in the swaying grasses outside that wagon, the legs and assets on display, and turned crimson. Viviane stepped in, offering a Winter Court fashion that was far less scandalous: leather pants, but paired with a thigh-length blue surcoat, white fur trimming the collar. In the heat, it’d be miserable, but Elain was thankful enough that she didn’t complain when we again emerged from the covered wagon and found our companions waiting. She refused the knife Cassian handed her, though.

Went white as death at the sight of it.

Azriel, still limping, merely nudged aside Cassian and extended another option.

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

His wings had healed—though long, thin scars now raked down them. Still not strong enough, Madja had warned him, to fly today.

The argument with Rhys this morning had been swift and brutal: Azriel insisted he could fly—fight with the legions, as they’d planned. Rhys refused. Cassian refused. Azriel threatened to slip into shadow and fight anyway. Rhys merely said that if he so much as tried, he’d chain Azriel to a tree.

And Azriel … It was only when Mor had entered the tent and begged him—begged him with tears in her eyes—that he relented. Agreed to be eyes and ears and nothing else.

And now, standing amongst the sighing meadow grasses in his Illyrian armor, all seven Siphons gleaming … Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard.

“It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade.

“Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”

“I—I don’t know how to use it—” “I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” I said, grass crunching as I stepped closer.

Elain weighed my words … and slowly closed her fingers around the blade.

Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade— Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.

[iheartmoosiq]

Light The Sky has lit us up with his new original, Mothership. The genre-bending electronic music project from Los Angeles is helmed by producer Atla Gadret, who likes to experiment with a fusion of future bass, electro pop, and modern trip-hop to create his rapturous anthems. He recruits Hollywood chanteuse Eriel Indigo for her ethereal vocals on the melodious future bass opus, a high flying, infectious hooking dazzler that shoots us straight into the cosmos towards our very own sonic mothership. It’s as if we’ve gone home, where our hearts are warm and content. All trials and tribulations are behind us as we ride the joyous ascents and dizzying drops of Mothership. Download the track, here.

[nestasgalpal]

ACOSF 8 & 16

Hi anon!! Uhh I had never thought about question 16, but I think I got an idea

8) What do you want to learn about Cassian?

I want to learn about his actual relationship with his culture. Because we know Azriel hates illyria and doesn’t like going unless it’s necessary, and Rhysand despises them, but Cassian doesn’t even want to own a house outside Illyria, spends most of his time there and for centuries he has dedicated his life to be “in charge” of them. And at the same time, he hasn’t defended illyrian people in front of the Inner Circle once.

We know he is a General Commander because he worked hard for it, which makes me think he has illyrian values deeply rooted in his ideology and actually appreciates their military way of life and traditions. But at the same time, at least by how Feyre has been describing the Inner Circle, his job is more to keep them in line for Rhysand, that to be a leader to them. When the armies and Rhysand disagree, Cassian is the one who has to make the illyrian Lords understand and take the orders, but he has never presented himself as a spokenperson for them or their needs in fron ot Rhysand unless is a logistic issue that needs solving to keep everything working.

So what does Cassian feel about that? Does he want them to accept him? Do they still treat him like that because he is a bastard, or because they see him as a delegate from the government instead of as their leader? I would like to explore how Cassian feels about his culture, what’s his relationship with his people, and what he would like it to become in the future.

16) What are your wishes for the fandom when acosf comes out?

I would love for this fandom to become less radical. Right now, it feels like you can only stand in one place, and if you like one aspect of the book or one character, you are “forbidden” from liking other specific thing that the fandom has decided to consider it’s opposite of the one you like. At least for me, it’s an “on my side or on my way” kind of feeling.

I have nothing against Eriel/Elucien stans or the ships, but I’m going to use them as an example. Lately, maybe becauseACOSF is closer now and everything intensifies, it feels like when one person is pro one of those, not ony have they to like thir ship, but also dislike the other one and try to tear it down for others. There are whole smear campains going on, because liking what you enjoy it’s not enough, you have to make it clear that it is the only option, because the other one is toxic, problematic, forced by one of the characters or forced by the readers, and if you like that, then you must be an abuser or toxic person yourself. For me, it’s out of hand becuase it’s not only about ships, it happens with characters too, and almost every detail. The hate is overwhelming. It’s just too much negativity, considering the whole point of being in a fandom is to enjoy the comunity built arround a piece of media.

I know it might seem hypocritical because I don’t like Rhysand, Feyre most of the time, and I’m always complaining about the IC’s dynamics, but I’m not perfect either and not liking things is perfectly fine. The problem for me comes when the only way you can enjoy what brings you jow is by trying to make people who don’t share the same feeling like they are commiting a crime.

So yeah, once the book comes out, Nesta being a character that devides the fandom and the main characters for the next book being Elain/Lucien/Azriel, who are starting to feel the same way, I hope we can learn from it and become a little les polarized.