#the seer's stone

[kopfkino-o]

The Seer's Stone - Chapter 6 (Az POV)

Summary: Azriel is being pushed to his limits, driven half-mad by his increased workload, Koschei’s recent movements, and the unaddressed feelings still hanging between him and Elain. His mind is at war with himself, thoughts and regrets constantly battling with him, but when an old acquaintance comes calling he feels compelled to answer, bound by loyalty and duty he sets off to find what very well might be his own damnation.

Pairing: Elain x Azriel 

Timeline: Post-ACOSF

Wordcount: 1970

Read:

Chapter One | The Crone’s Trade

Chapter Two | The Oracle of Seraphyros 

Chapter Three | Last of Our Kind (Azriel)

Chapter Four | An Empty Seat

Chapter Five | Death and the Lovely Fawn - UPDATED

Author’s Note: Hope you all enjoy! More below 💋

PHEW! After several months of insanity (see: moving to a new city, taking on several new projects at my day job as a graphic designer, getting engaged, traveling to Europe to be in a friend's wedding, hurting my knee again (rip lmao), and the general chaos of being alive) I am so excited to be back writing again. And even more excited to share this latest chapter of the Seer's Stone with the world.

Writing took a back seat within my life last year, due impart to the aforementioned chaos, but also due to some personal anxieties I had about sharing my work. It's irrational, I know, writing is writing, art is art! But still, I found myself lacking confidence and facing a ton of writer's block, but I found some new inspiration through my professional creative work, had a few friends that really helped to cheer me on, and had a lot of downtime after my knee surgery to think about and play around with my craft. All that being said, I'm really really glad to be back at it and revisiting this story, and learning through writing fanfiction.

My plans for the fic haven't changed (too much), but I do think I ought to note that I made some edits to the last update, Chapter Five | Death and the Lovely Fawn, that I feel like I just needed to make to provide clarity/build up for the direction of the story.

Lastly, I just wanted to say thank you to the folks who reached to me about this fic even when I wasn't actively updating it and offered me support/encouragement. This meant so so much to me, more than you all probably know, and I just wanted to say thanks for that.

This one's for you guys.

xoxo, Court

There was a building headache in Azriel's temples.

Every beat of his heart reverberated through his skull like a war drum. Azriel worked his jaw, grinding his teeth. There had always been something about the dank darkness of the Hewn City that pressed down on him like a fist, but the hateful place was particularly grating tonight.

Wrong, his shadows murmured, this place is wrong

"Hush," he snapped back at them, in no mood for their whisperings.

The floor shifted underfoot, and the long, stone passageway changed before his eyes, writhing as if it were a living thing. To anyone else, the illusion might have been nauseating, but these tunnels and their strange enchantments had become second nature to him during the time he served beneath Rhysand's father.

The old High Lord had personally keyed the spells into the oily stone walls to prevent his captives from ever learning the true layout of the tunnel system. And, perhaps, to also remind them they were so far beneath the earth they could only dream of feeling the warmth of the sun on their faces again.

He had been cruel like that.

Azriel rounded a bend in the stone and found himself in another long hallway carved directly into the mountain. Only this hallway was lined with ancient, half-rusted cell doors—cells that housed the worst of the Night Court's filth. Or at least, what was left of them.

Halfway down the corridor, Feyre and Amren were waiting for him outside one of those cells, the High Lady and her second-in-command half-concealed in shadow, their whispered voices echoing queerly off the rock walls.

Both females fell silent when they caught sight of him. Something twisted in Azriel’s gut. For them both to be here, in the dead of the night, with Nyx still so young and Varian here in Velaris on a short respite from Adriata, meant something was wrong. The look on Feyre’s beautiful face only confirmed that. Something was very, very wrong.

“You’re late,” Amren snapped. It was as much a greeting as he’d get from her.

Azriel matched the second’s same cool indifference. “I was in the middle of something when you sent for me. I came as soon as I could.”

“Off again, doing only the Mother knows what? You don’t fool me, boy. I can smell the Continent on you.”

“I come, I go. So is the nature of my work.”

“Is it, now?”

“If you intend to suggest I’m up to something you disapprove of, then by all means, Amren, do so now and let us be done with it. I’m not here to indulge in idle banter.”

The second-in-command bared her teeth, smoke-gray eyes glowing like two torches amidst the gloom, and for half a heartbeat, Azriel thought she might press the matter.

Then Feyre stepped forward and cleared her throat. There were dark smudges of exhaustion beneath the High Lady’s eyes, but she still looked as regal as ever in her Illyrian leathers, her carved ashwood bow and a matching quiver of arrows peeking up over her armored shoulders.

“Enough, you two,” Feyre said, voice laced with nothing but command. She shot both Azriel and Amren a warning look before folding her tattooed hands behind her back, taking up the position of authority fitting of both a war commander and a queen. “We have bigger matters at hand, and I didn’t leave my infant son asleep at home with a nanny just to come here and listen to you bicker.” She nudged Amren with an armored elbow. “So, won't you be a dear and update our lovely Spymaster on the situation at hand?”

Amren shot him one last distrustful look before answering their High Lady's command. "We picked up two...stragglers...trying to make their way to the Prison Isle. From what we've been able to gather, it appears they were attempting to make their way inside the Prison itself."

Azriel's brows rose. Sneak onto the Prison Isle? That was not only impossible, but it was complete and utter madness. A sick, sudden realization shuddered through him, so fierce it cut through the pounding in his head.

Elain.

Elain was trying to get access to the Prison for reasons still unknown to him. Her and the spellspinner she'd tried so diligently to keep hidden in the Library.

Azriel's shadows had brought him word of their machinations weeks ago, initially tipped off by the arrival of the young spellspinner, and catching Elain in his bedroom yesterday had only confirmed his suspicions, but surely she hadn't gone against his warnings. Surely she hadn't...

"Something wrong, boy?" Amren crooned.

He ignored her. "Tell me everything," he said to Feyre.

"One male, one female. Both don't seem to hold any particular court alliance, but they were...dressed strangely. Almost as if they were trying to blend in with the Library's priestesses. Only their robes were gray, not white, and they carried no invoking stones." Feyre scrubbed a hand down her face. "Rhys caught the male on the beaches; I found the female still on the boat they'd used to reach the Isle."

Azriel might have sighed his relief if only Feyre's words weren't too much to stomach. Elain and her friends, and whatever wild plan they'd concocted, might be safe for now, but an unwelcome stranger trying to land on the Prison Isle was nothing to take lightly. And the fact Azriel, nor his shadows, had seen it coming rankled him.

"I tried to talk to her, wanted to know who she was, why she was there," the High Lady continued. "But she pulled a knife before I could get to her. I watched her open her own throat. Tried to heal her, but to no avail, little thanks to the poison on her blade." Feyre shook her head then tossed a thumb towards the cell door. "Rhys is inside with the male. He won't speak, though. He just keeps... singing."

"Singing?" Azriel echoed.

"He means to mock us," Amren murmured.

It was Feyre who ignored the second-in-command now. The High Lady tipped her head towards the cell door. "You'll see." She said. "We'll be waiting at the Riverhouse for your report."

And with that, Feyre reached a hand for Amren and winnowed them both away, leaving Azriel alone with his pounding head, the ancient black stone, and the iron door looming before him.

Azriel drew in a breath. Down, down, down he sank into himself before he strode for the cell door and shoved it open.

The sharp smell of blood and piss and fear arrested his senses as soon as he stepped into the dimly lit cell.

Old memories reared their ugly heads, taking him back to a different time where he came to these very cells to serve a far different lord. Truth-Teller warmed at his side, steadying him. Azriel wrapped a hand around the dagger's familiar hilt and shoved the memories back inside their iron cages to rot.

He made a quick sweep of the room when his eyes finally adjusted. Shadows clung to the corners of the narrow cell, dark enough to conceal his brother's powerful form hidden within them. Rhys was the darkness here. Anyone else might have missed him, but Azriel knew his brother's scent, the sound of his breathing, and marked where he stood in one of the shadowy corners.

In the center of the cell, bound and blindfolded, sat the captive. His gray robes were bloody, his lip split and broken, but he was singing just as Feyre had promised. Singing some horrible old song.

"...blue blood, red blood, blood black as a moonless night," the captive's voice echoed off the cell walls, garbled and made watery by his mouthful of broken teeth. "A pound of flesh, a pound of bone, a gift for a maiden made of light..."

Azriel's shadows swarmed. They flowed across the old stone floors to circle the captive like a pack of hungry dogs, writhing and twisting as they tried to make sense of him and his strange song. Almost as if the song had offended them. As if it scared them.

The darkness melted, and Rhys appeared from within it, arms crossed and brow furrowed, the mask of the High Lord in perfect place. Stars were dancing in his violet eyes, cold and unyielding, burning with a hunger Azriel himself knew all too well.

"He's been at it all night," Rhys said softly. "The same two verses of the same song, over and over again. It's driving me fucking mad."

"You scramble his brains or something?" Azriel asked.

"Would that I could. His mind is impenetrable. Practically walled off with solid obsidian. I've never seen anything like it."

"He's been prepped on how to face a Daemati, then."

"Or spelled to keep one out of his mind."

The words rose a chill within him, and Azriel found himself watching his brother more closely. Rhys worked a tick in his jaw, violet eyes churning as he assessed the battered man babbling his strange song.

"...away, away, at the crown of midnight..."

Azriel had never heard the tune before. Yet, it rankled him somehow. Dragged cold talons through his guts as if it were trying to make a home there.

Pain pricked behind his eyes, blooming like a thousand burning stars.

Azriel rolled his shoulders, fighting the headache, and drew in a deep breath of the rank air, descending deeper into that inside, readying himself for what was to come.

"He'll break," he said softly.

Rhys did not look at him as he replied. "I know."

Eventually, they exchanged the briefest, most fleeting of looks, but the silent words that passed between them meant everything. Rhys's eyes reminded him that Azriel did not have to do this. That he was, in fact, not his father's son. That this Night Court was a court of dreamers, of sons who were forgiven of the sins of their fathers, of daughters free to live as they pleased.

But the weight of duty had been taught to Azriel decades ago. And it was not a lesson so easily forgotten.

Skin slips easier off the smaller bones, blood congeals at the joints, and the mind always, always fractures first.

The old High Lord had taught him those things. Had made sure Azriel knew them, committed them to his memory so he might never forget his purpose. His worth. The thing he'd been made for.

Azriel slid Truth-Teller from its sheath. "Leave us," he said to his brother, voice soft as night. "I'll bring my report to the Riverhouse."

Rhysand put a gentle hand on his shoulder, the gesture made as if it might spare him, as if it might change what he was and the things he was born to do.

It wouldn't.

Azriel had stopped telling himself such follies a long, long time ago.

So he waited until his brother closed the cell door behind him. Waited until his shadows drank the last bit of light from the dank cell. Waited and listened as the prisoner whimpered the last verses of his swan song.

"...a sword for the son, a horn for the Queen, and dagger for their fool..."

Once, when he was just a boy, the shadows had taught him there was a place he could go, somewhere he could hide from his father's wrath, from his brothers' hate. Somewhere deep within himself. A place where he felt nothing, saw nothing.

Was nothing.

Azriel went to that place now, hiding somewhere deep within himself. He thought of roses as he raised Truth-Teller to the pale flesh of the prisoner's chest and began to cut.

Blood bloomed and the ache in Azriel's head erupted like a thunderclap.

And a dagger for the fool.

[iamsigningmylifeaway]

the bob dylan movie was okay

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

"Back in 1826, a New York court convicted 21 year old Joseph Smith for being a disorderly person and con artist who tricked folks out of their money by claiming to find lost treasures with his magic seer stones…

And, less than a year later, he founded Mormonism by discovering some gold tablets that only he could read with his magic seer stones…

In a hat…"

Dum, dum, dum, dum, dum.

[camping-with-monsters]

Oops! All Spiders!

(Concept) Designs for all of Anansi’s sons for Spider’s Tag! They all collectively play pivotal rolls in their own segments plus the entire plot itself! I’m not sure if I’ll be changing the names since the original ones are very literal in their abilities, but I’ve gotten used to calling them as such so they might just say with the original names as “code names” or something. We’ll see!

Also a fun deal is that they’re all based on different kinds of spiders! I wanted to match a spider species with the abilities each one is depicted with! Don’t worry about the implications of that, I’m sure it means very little.

Trouble Seer is based on a jumping spider! Jumping spiders are skittish and quick and known for their jumping capabilities of course! Since Trouble Seer could detect trouble from far away, this is meant to play on the idea of “jumping into action” and being “quick to react.” In actuality, it’s not just “trouble” he’s seeing, but he has an impressive emotional tap in that allows him to sense all kinds of emotions from further. This allows him to prepare a little easier for situations. However, too much negative energy can end up troubling him too!

Road Builder is a Trapdoor Spider! Trapdoor Spiders are self explanatory— they hide themselves in a little burrow with a trapdoor like mechanism to sense and catch prey from within (Or something like that)! Considering the idea of this spider building a mechanism, I felt this worked with Road Builder well. He has a special spinning drill top he can use to break terrain down and even use the dug up materials for other means. He’s quick to craft and tie loose ends in. He likes to show off a little but is a great shoulder to lean on.

(Click for a better look!) River Drinker is a Diving Bell Spider! Diving Bell Spiders create a little bubble for them to breathe out of and even make a bubble web type of domain. They’re predominantly aquatic spiders! River Drinker seems to have some special filter inside of a self-weaved straw where he’s able to blow floating bubbles from the water he sips and then blows into the straw. He can carry himself with these bubbles, and sometimes even smaller critters or his other brothers. They don’t pop from the inside! Probably a property of his own niche.

Game Skinner is a Brown Recluse! Brown Recluse Spiders have a devastatingly poisonous bite that opens the skin up in an awful open wound (only look this up if you have a strong enough stomach). Game Skinner likes to gather resources from other places or critters to dress himself all flashy with, even creating little trinkets or masks with them. Is it genuine creativity, or an assert of dominance? Who knows, he just likes be flashy and maybe a little full of himself.

Stone Thrower is a Bolas Spider! Bolas spiders use a weaved “capture ball” at the end of a silk thread called a bolas to toss at prey to knock them from the sky. This fits perfectly with Stone’s niche of stone throwing! However, this appears to be a practice predominantly by female bolas spiders by nature of their larger bodies… for Stone, he doesn’t need you to know that ;)

Lastly, Cushion is of course a Tarantula! You could think of him as a Cobalt Blue Tarantula to be a little more specific. Tarantulas have a lot of fuzz to them— their size and subtle fluff works for Cushion! He is the biggest of all his brothers. Cushion is able to inflate his fluffy abdomen to make it more like a giant pillow to help cushion falls of his family, smaller critters, or even his own. He’ll stick his fluffy hands to his mouth and blow, which forces the pushed air to the abdomen to make it grow. Seems as if it’s entirely indestructible— not even a needle can pop it in its biggest size!

Huge thanks to @shroingushour for helping me match spider species to certain abilities and @pazam for some design help!

Also a bonus, Stone without the red dye! There are times where he won’t be dyed in the story. Dying his entire body red for outings takes a lot of work!

[stairnaheireann]

Celts | Becoming a Seer

The gift of the ‘sight’ was highly valued by the Celts. But this gift could cause the possessor great sorrow, especially if he or she foresaw the death of someone close to them. On the other hand, the seer might be able to avert catastrophe after receiving a premonition of danger. The most famous see in Irish mythology was Fionn, whose name means ‘wise or knowing one’. It was said that he gained…

[charmwasjess]

7, 8, 13 for the ask game :D

YAYYYYYY THANK YOU ANT! :D Fun writer asks.

7. Music, ambient noise, or silence?

The absolute dead silence of the grave. In fact, this makes me an irritable housemate for my partner, the loudest man on the planet. (affectionate)

8. Narrative or dialogue? 

CAN I HAVE BOTH?! I feel like it varies for me by POV character. Dooku is so much internal narrative. He's always got a running silent internal monologue with himself and therefore the reader. Sifo-Dyas is a chatty talky dialogue boy; he can't shut up for his own good.

13. Ctrl+f: silver/gold/bronze–did anything come up in your WIP and if so, share it?

:D I was going to give you the word from the last RH chapter, but it’s a spoiler, so you get this from Returning the Sword to the Stone. (That’s enough sex for you, Sifo-Dyas, I’m cramming you back into Dooku's friendzone for this fic. )

They're discussing Serenno Trauma ™️ while trying on dress tunics:

“Oh, that makes me feel excellent, thank you.” Dooku snapped. And Sifo-Dyas was supposed to be his best friend. "Don't call it pedigree. You make me sound like some sort of… luxurious breed of horse." He turned to present himself to the seer for appraisal of this next dress tunic. 

“Wow. You’re a handsome horse, how about that?” Sifo-Dyas nodded approvingly. “The gold is perfect. It brings out the warmer color in your eyes.” 

Dooku rolled the eyes in question. Sifo-Dyas was always saying incoherent nonsense like that.

Woo! Send me an ask from the list or reblog and I'll send you one!

[my-ass-as-cold-as-mars]

Have to choose from 2 bad bitches 😔😔

Also realized I messed up the title of Mender in the last round. She will not lend you things!

[braveclementine]

Chapter 16

Warnings: 18+ readers only, smut, orgasm deprivation, punishment sex

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

"You said it yourself!" I protested, "The Dark Lord-" 

"Don't call him that." Severus snapped. 

"-is trying to figure out where I am! He's trying to find dad to torture the information out of him." I continued as though Severus hadn't just interrupted me in the middle of our argument. "If he knows, or at least thinks that he knows, I'm with Harry and the others, he'll lay off. His curiosity will be abated. It's a win-win Severus." 

"Unless, he takes you." Severus snapped. 

"He's not actually going to be there himself!" I protested, throwing my hands up in the air. "Severus, I know what I'm doing." 

"It's not safe." Severus spat. "I refuse to let you go-" 

"You can't actually stop me." I replied, infuriated. "Don't you understand that I'm trying to protect my father-" 

"I'm trying to protect you!" Severus snarled, slamming his fist against the desk. The room was silent for a second before Remus started to wail from his crib. 

I stormed over, taking Remus out gently however, bouncing him on my hip. 

"I can protect myself." I hissed. "I will be going to Lovegoods' house tomorrow and you will not stop me. I will do exactly what I need to, to get The Dark Lord-" 

"Don't. Call him that." Severus breathed out through gritted teeth. 

"-to believe I'm with Harry. And why can't I call him that? It's better than his actual name." I rolled my eyes, rocking side to side as Remus started to coo softly, his tears already dried up. 

"Because only his followers call him that and he doesn't own you." Severus muttered, fingers tightly gripping the back of his chair. 

I sighed, exhausted. It was late at night and I had thought breaking the idea of going to Lovegood's tomorrow as we got ready for bed was better than telling him in the morning. Clearly, I had been wrong. I should've let him steamed over it the entire day. 

"I don't know why you fight me on this stuff." I said in a much more even tone than before, putting Remus back in his crib after kissing his forehead. He let out a soft whimper, scrunching his nose, before settling into sleep. "You and I both know that I'm going to get my way." 

"Someone ought to change that." Severus purred, coming up behind me. I let out a squeak as he lifted me up, tossing me over his shoulder. I squirmed, to no avail, before he was tossing me back down on the bed. 

He looked down at me for a second, before he waved his wand. I let out a surprised gasp, finding my limbs tied to the bed posts with intricate rope that was wrapped around my skin. 

"I could just leave you like this." Severus whispered, starting to kiss down on my neck. His hands roamed softly over my body, leaving burning trails where his fingers caressed my skin. "You wouldn't be able to leave then, would you?" 

I breathed out and then my breath hitched in my throat as Severus suddenly wrapped his hand around my throat, giving it an almost gentle squeezed. "Would you?" 

"No sir." I whimpered, feeling the slick gather between my legs. 

Severus gently released my throat, continuing to explore my body with his lips and hands. I was both startled and turned on. We very rarely delved into this type of play, preferring to make love more than anything else. But when we did do this play, I craved his dominance as much as he craved my submission. 

He trailed his wand down my body now, before settling the tip against my clit. I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut as slight vibrations. 

"No." Severus said, the wand lifting from my clit. The pleasure stopped flowing and I whimpered, letting my eyes flutter open. "You keep your eyes on me." 

"Yes sir." I said, my voice sounding like it was close to whining. I hated it when he deprived me of pleasure. 

"I wish I could spank you." Severus murmured lowly, trailing his wand down the inside of my leg. The vibrations were there, but giving me nothing and I had to keep myself from whimpering pathetically in need. "What a shame. I guess I'll just have to deprive you instead." 

The wand was back on my clit the minute the last word left his mouth. I tensed in my bonds, my body feeling like it was on fire again. A special tingly feeling in my toes started and I wiggled them, trying to work through it. "Sir please." I begged softly. "Please." 

"Are you going to Lovegoods' tomorrow?" Severus asked softly. 

"Sir." I whined, not wanting to give him an answer. 

"Not the answer I want." Severus said, whipping his wand away again. I nearly cried, my legs jerking as they tried to come together, but they were tied to tightly. "Let's try this again, shall we baby?" 

He did it four more times and I was on the verge of desperate tears by the time he had done the the most recent one. 

"Elizabeth." Severus said in a serious voice. 

"I'll be safe." I said, a small hiccup leaving my throat and that little action started the waterworks I'd been holding back. "Severus I need to do this, please! It's safe. Just please let me go." 

Severus sighed, hanging his head over mine so that our foreheads were touching. His hands were shaking as he rested them on my hips. Finally, he nodded his head once and moved the wand back down to my clit. "Cum." He whispered, and I did immediately, cumming hard as he moved the wand down, shoving it into my cunt. "That's it baby." 

I rode the orgasm out, before sighing in content, relaxing against the pillows. I was still needy, wanting him to fuck me, but he waved his wand and put it to the side, crawling into bed, pulling me into his arms. "I really, really need you to be safe Elizabeth. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." I whispered, relaxing into him. "I can swear it Severus. I'll be safe." 

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

My tail flicked as I sat underneath a bush of orange fruit that was otherwise known as Dirigible plums. I knew that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would be coming any moment now, but I was getting uncomfortable. It was cold, the wind blowing through my coat. 

I let out a huff, which came out an annoyed mew, before I heard feet crunching and then heard Ron's voice say, "It's theirs, look." 

They opened the gate and I crept out from underneath the bush. Harry pulled the invisibility cloak off of himself as the three of them looked down at me with grins on their faces. 

"Well hello Elizabeth." Harry said with a grin. 

I turned human, brushing dirt off of my skirt, blushing a little as they took in the state of my body, seeing that I was pregnant again. 

"Hello." I said quickly, turning towards the door. 

"You've been with Snape?" Harry asked, his voice near a growl. 

"I told you before." I said slightly coolly, "I need his potions expertise." I glanced over at him. "And despite everything Harry, he still loves me." 

Harry kept his mouth closed and Hermione rapped on the door quickly. The door was flung open almost immediately and there was Xenophilius, standing in the doorway. He was bearfoot, wearing only a nightshirt which was covered in stains and marks. His hair looked like it had snarls in it, bunched up around his head. 

"What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?" He asked, his voice high-pitched, his gaze falling upon each of us in turn, unrecognizing until he saw Harry. 

"Hello, Mr. Lovegood. I'm Harry, Harry Potter." Harry said, quite unnecessarily in my opinion as his face had been plastered to every newspaper front and window for the past six months. 

Mr. Lovegood did not take Harry's hand, his eyes fixed on the scar only, until his lazy eye shifted over to look at me, reminding me just a tad of Uncle Moody. My heart clenched down in pain and I took a deep breath. 

"Would it be okay if we came in? There's something we'd like to ask you." Harry continued. 

"I. . . I'm not sure that's advisable. Rather a shock. . . my word. . . I. . . I'm afraid I don't really think I ought to-" 

"It won't take long." I could hear the disappointment in Harry's voice, but I felt a pang of kindness towards Mr. Lovegood. Despite losing his daughter to the Death Eaters, despite knowing that turning Harry- and possibly me- over to the Death Eaters would free his daughter, he was still hesitant to do so. He had still been looking for a way to send us away instead. 

"I- oh, all right then. Come in, quickly. Quickly!" 

To my surprise, the first room we came to stand in was a kitchen as the door was slammed shut behind us. There was no living room or sitting room, just a kitchen, along with a long spiral staircase leading up into the rest of the house. 

As the house was a perfect circle, the kitchen appliances had been fitted to curve with the walls. The walls themselves were painted with nature ideograms in bright, primary colours. I had to blink several times to get used to it. 

"You'd better come up." Mr. Lovegood said, taking the staircase. 

We followed him up into another room that seemed to be half a sitting room and half a work room. There were piles of objects stacked up everywhere, mostly books and papers, sticking out in uneven ways. There were creature models, hanging from the ceiling, though I didn't recognize a single one of them. 

There was a printing press in the corner, which Mr. Lovegood quickly strode over to throw a cloth over. I grimaced a little, turning away from it. 

"Why have you come here?" 

"Mr. Lovegood- what's that?" Hermione asked with a cry of shock. I decided to seat myself in one of the chairs, away from the Erumpent horn that I knew would explode later one. 

"It is the horn of a Crumple- Horned Snorkack." 

"No it isn't!" 

"Hermione, now's not the moment-" 

"But Harry, it's an Erumpent horn! It's a Class B Tradeable Material and it's an extraordinarily dangerous thing to have in a house!" 

"How d'you know it's an Erumpent horn?" Ron asked and like me, started away from the horn. 

"Hagrid brought one to Care of Magical Creatures last year." I said, "It exploded when I threw a pebble at it. It was fantastic." 

Harry also joined Ron in backing away just slightly. 

"I don't know where you go it-" 

"I bought it two weeks ago from a delightful young wizard who knew of my interest in the exquisite Snorkack. A Christmas Surprise for my Luna. Now, why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter?" 

"We need some help." 

"Ah, help. Hmm. Yes. The thing is. . . helping Harry Potter. . . rather dangerous. . ." 

"Aren't you the one who keeps telling everyone it's their first duty to help Harry? In that magazine of yours?" Ron asked immediately. 

"Er- yes, I have expressed that view. However-" He said, glancing behind him at the covered printing press. 

"That's for everyone else to do, not you personally?" Ron asked. 

Mr. Lovegood did not answer for a long time. 

"Where's Luna?" I asked softly, looking up at Mr. Lovegood. "Let's see what she thinks." 

Mr. Lovegood did not like my question, as I knew he wouldn't. In a shaky voice he responded, "Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She. . . she will like to see you. I'll go and call her and then- yes, very well. I shall try to help you." 

"Cowardly old wart." Ron muttered after Mr. Lovegood had gone downstairs and out the front door. "Luna's got ten times his guts." 

"He's probably worried about what'll happen if the Death Eaters find out I was here." Harry defended the man. 

"Well, I agree with Ron. Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help you and trying to worm out o fit himself. And for heaven's sake keep away from that horn." 

I closed my eyes as the room fell silent, Harry crossing the room to look out the window. I could feel Hermiones' eyes on me, but I would not look at her, not wanting to start any new conversations about Severus. But me ignoring her did not good. 

"How's Remus?" Hermione asked. 

I opened my eyes to look at her. "He's really good." 

"Where did you leave him to come here?" Hermione asked softly. 

I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest. "He's with his father." There was a pause of silence and I said, "You don't have to like Severus, you can continue to hate him. But he is not a danger for me or Remus." 

"I don't like you fraternizing with the enemy." Harry finally said. 

"I'm on your side always Harry." I said softly. "But I need him and he's kept me safe this long." 

We fell silent as Mr. Lovegood came back with a tea tray. 

"Ah, you have spotted my pet invention." He said, noticing that Harry was standing near a crude representation of Ravenclaw's diadem. "Modeled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw. 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure!' These are the Wrackspurt siphons- to remove all sources of distraction from the thinker's immediate area. Here, a billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally, the Dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary." 

He came back to the tea tray, which he had shoved into Hermione's arms, putting it down on the table. "May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots, we make it ourselves. Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here. She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plimpies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar." 

I did exactly that, reaching for the sugar bowl and picking up five sugar cubes to suck on. 

"Now, how may I help you, Mr. Potter?" 

"Well, it's about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur's wedding, Mr. Lovegood. We wondered what it meant." 

Mr. Lovegood looked surprised, like this was not the question or request he had been expecting. "Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?" 

"The Deathly Hallows?" Harry asked. 

"That's right. You haven't heard of them? I'm not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle headed young man at your brother's wedding who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows- at least, not in that crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest." 

"I'm sorry. I still don't really understand." Harry responded, taking a sip of his drink and I swear his face almost turned purple, putting the cup down quickly. I tossed him a sugar cube. 

"Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows." 

"But what are the Deathly Hallows?" Hermione asked. 

"I assume that you are all familiar with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'?" 

"Yes." Hermione, Ron, and I all answered, though Harry answered in the negative. 

"Well, well, Mr. Potter, the whole thing starts with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'. . . I have a copy somewhere. . ." He looked around at the mess of books and such and I rolled my eyes. I would have a better chance of reciting the story from memory than him finding the book in time. 

"I've got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I've got it right here." Hermione said, pulling the book from her bag as she said so. 

"The original? Well then, why don't you read it aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand." 

"Er. . . all right." Hermione said awkwardly, opening the book up and started to read, "There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight-" 

"Midnight, our mum always told us." Ron interrupted and I threw a sugar cube at his head in annoyance. "Sorry, I just think it's a bit spookier if it's midnight!" 

"Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives." Harry said and I let out a short laugh, "Go on, Hermione." 

"In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. And Death spoke to them-" 

"Sorry, but Death spoke to them?" Harry asked, sounding alarmed. I reached across the table, picking up the bowl of sugar cubes. 

"It's a fairy tale, Harry!" 

"Right, sorry. Go on." 

"And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him. 

"So the oldest brother, who was a combative an, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always wind duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the older brother. 

"Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead."

I shuddered, because I knew that was what I wanted. If only I could have a stone to bring everyone I loved back from the dead, then I didn't need to go through all of this trouble. But. . . they would not come back whole anyways. It was best to let the dead stay dead, no matter how much that pained me. 

"And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility." 

"Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" Harry interrupted once more, much to my annoyance. 

"So he can sneak up on people. Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking. . . sorry, Hermione." I smiled a little at Ron. I had forgotten what humor was over the past couple of months. 

"Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. 

"In Due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination. 

"The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible. 

"That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. 

"And so Death took the first brother for his own."

I sighed to myself, looking out the window. The Lovegoods had a good amount of land, mostly sprawling green hills that weren't so green at the moment since they were covered with snow. The patches of grass that could be seen were more of a yellow-green-brown colour. There was a sliver of blue that ran off into the distance that must've been the river Luna would fish at, had she truly been home. 

"Well there you are." 

I gave a start, not even realizing Hermione had finished the story off. The book now laid closed in her lap. "Sorry?" She asked in confusion. 

"Those are the Deathly Hallows," Mr. Lovegood said, picking up a quill, pulling a piece of parchment from the many trapped in the books. "The Elder Wand. The Resurrection Stone. The Cloak of Invisibility." He said as he drew the triangle with the line and circle in the middle of it. "Together, the Deathly Hallows." 

"But there's no mention of the words 'Deathly Hallows' in the story." Hermione said. 

I rolled my eyes. Wasn't that every story? Every story had a hidden message or symbol in it that wasn't verbally said. It wasn't like at the end of Cinderella they said, 'work hard and it'll pay off!' That's why the story was told in the first place. 

"Well, of course not. That is a children's tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hollows, which if united, will make the possessor master of Death." 

It was silent for a short moment until Lovegood continued, "Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon." 

That was his code for, 'Luna is almost home', and my heart clenched in pity for the man, knowing that wasn't quite true. 

"When you say 'master of Death-" 

"Master. Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer." 

"But then. . . do you mean. . . that you believe these objects- these Hallows- actually exist?" 

"Well, of course." 

"But, Mr. Lovegood, how can you possibly believe-" 

"Luna has told me all about you, young lady. You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded." 

I was going to defend her, but then thought there was a bit of truth to that. Truly, Hermione did have a hard time believing in things that weren't in front of her, that weren't instructed about specifically in books. Hermione was many things; brave, loyal, smart, kind, loving. But imagination was not her strong suit. 

"Perhaps you ought to try the hat, Hermione." Ron said, voice straining as he tried not to laugh. 

"Mr. Lovegood, we all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are rare, but they exist. But-" 

"Ah, but the Third Hallow is a true Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is not a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?" 

I quickly shot her a look as she opened her mouth, but then she closed it again, glancing at me and then at Harry and Ron. 

"Exactly," Mr. Lovegood said, sounding victorious. "None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?" 

"Not necessarily." I mumbled under my breath. 

"All right, say the cloak existed. . . what about the stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection stone?" 

"What of it?" 

"Well, how can that be real?" 

"Prove that it is not." Mr. Lovegood said plainly. 

Hermione became rather outraged at that. "But that's- I'm sorry, but that's completely ridiculous! How can I possibly prove it doesn't exist? Do you expect me to get hold of- of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that's anything's real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody's proved it doesn't exist!" 

"Yes, you could. I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little." 

"It makes sense, actually." I said slowly. "I mean, muggles don't believe in magic, right? They don't think that there are such things as unicorns or dragons or broomsticks. Perhaps there is a higher magic than us, something that hides from us the way we hide from Muggles. It is possible, is it not?" 

"Indeed." Mr. Lovegood said, looking thoughtful. 

"What about the Elder Wand?" Harry asked. "You think that exists too?" 

"Oh, well, in that case there is endless evidence. The Elder Wand is the Hollow that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand." 

"Which is what?" Harry asked. 

"Which is that the possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master of it. Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Barnabas Deverill, whom he killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history." 

"They didn't exactly pay attention in History of Magic." I mumbled, smiling to myself, winking at Harry. 

"So where do you think the Elder Wand is now?" Ron asked, glancing over at me. I ignored him. I knew exactly where the Elder Wand is and I knew better than to touch it. 

"Alas who knows? Who knows where the Elder Wand lies hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us." 

"Mr. Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?" 

The name meant nothing to be and I frowned a little. 

"But you have been misleading me, young woman! I thought you were new to the Hallows Quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Peverell's have everything- everything!- to do with the Hallows!" 

"Who are the Peverells?" Ron and I asked at the same time. Both Harry and Hermione seemed surprised with me at that, not that I blamed them. I usually had all the answers. 

"That was the name on the grave with the mark on it, in Godric's Hollow, Ignotus Peverell." Hermione answered. 

"Exactly! The sign of the Deathly Hallows on Ignotus's grave is conclusive proof!" 

"Of what?" Ron asked. 

"Why, that the three brothers in the story were actually the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus! That they were the original owners of the Hallows!" He got to his feet and then looked over, "You will stay for dinner? Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy soup." 

"Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo's." Ron muttered underneath his breath. I snorted. 

"What do you think?" Harry asked Hermione and I as Mr. Lovegood was downstairs now, moving around, clattering dishes. 

 "Oh, Harry," Hermione answered first, "it's a pile of utter rubbish. This can't be what the sign really means. This must just be his weird take on it. What a waste of time." 

"I s'pose this is the man who brought us Crumple-Horned Snorkacks." Ron said skeptically, backing Hermione up. 

"You don't believe it either?" Harry asked. 

"Nah, that story's just one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons, isn't it? 'Don't go looking for trouble, don't pick fights, don't go messing around with stuff that's best left alone! Just keep your head down, mind your own business, and you'll be okay.' Come to think of it, maybe that story's why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"One of those superstitions, isn't it? 'May-born wiches will marry Muggles.' 'Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight.' 'Wand of elder, never prosper.' You must've heard them. My mum's full of them." Ron said. 

"Harry and I were raised by Muggles," Hermione said while I rolled my eyes. "We were taught different superstitions. I think you're right. It's just a morality tale, it's obvious which gift is best, which one you'd chosen-" 

"Cloak." Hermione said. 

"The wand." Ron said. 

"The stone." Harry and I said at the same time, though I said mine more mindlessly, mine on other things. 

I tuned out the rest of the conversation, wondering how much longer I would be putting this facade up before the Death Eaters showed up. I wondered how much my presence would affect things. After all, looking at it like I wasn't here, they would get away. But my presence was already a permanent fixture, so Voldemort would be looking for me. I had to do something about it, get him off of dads' back and keep him safe. 

Eventually, I was jolted back when Harry said, "Elizabeth? What do you think?" 

I glanced around at all of them and shrugged, "I haven't been looking into the future much and I don't know much about this story. I do know that there's some proof of an unbeatable wand, or at least stories of it throughout history. And obviously, your invisibility cloak is very different from other invisibility cloaks. The stone however. . . technically it doesn't bring back the dead so I suppose it could possibly exist but I feel that if it was found, there would be more documentation on it." 

We lapsed back into silence, before Harry slowly stood after some time, moving upstairs. Out of curiosity, I followed him into Luna's room, despite Hermione calling after us not to. 

It was as I expected. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and myself were painted on the ceiling. But something I had not expected was Trang to be in there as well. All of us still linked by the golden ink of friends. I wondered how much time it had taken her. 

"Harry. . . the room." I murmured. 

Harry descended the stairs as Mr. Lovegood ascended the kitchen ones. "Mr. Lovegood, where's Luna?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"Where's Luna?" 

"I- I've already told you. She is down at Bottom Bridge, fishing for Plimpies." 

"So why have you only set that tray for four?" I asked. 

There was no noise except the shaking of silverware as they rattled in the tray, and the printing press that sounded like it was going to die any second. I stepped down another step. 

"I don't think Luna has been here for weeks. Her clothes are gone, her bed hasn't been slept in. Where is she? And why do you keep looking out of the window?" 

He dropped the tray, freezing as the other three drew their wands. I slipped mine into my hand as well. 

"Harry look at this." Hermione said, picking up one of the magazines. 

"The Quibbler's going for a new angle, then?" Harry asked after a moment. "Is that what you were doing when you went into the garden, Mr. Lovegood? Sending an owl to the Ministry?" 

"They took my Luna. Because of what I've been writing. They took my Luna and I don't know where she is, what they've done to her. But they might give her back to me if I- if I-" 

"Hand Harry and Elizabeth over?" Hermione finished. 

"No deal, get out of the way, we're leaving." Ron said. 

"They will be here at any moment. I must save Luna. I cannot lose Luna. You must not leave." 

Despite the predicament, I could only feel pity for the man. He did not know that they would save Luna, so he thought he was going to lose her. I could only imagine the terrible things I would do to get Remus back. Because that's what parents did: protect their children no matter what. 

"HARRY!" Hermione screamed, jolting me out of my thoughts once more. I should've gotten more sleep last night, I kept fazing out. 

Harry tackled Ron and Hermione as Mr. Lovegood drew his wand. His spell hit the Erumpent horn, which made the room explode. 

My back slammed into the metal rungs of the stairs I had still been standing on. I curled in on myself as heavy books and other objects rained down on me. I was going to have a lot of bruises tomorrow morning. 

I groaned, sitting up as everything settled. Harry was also raising himself up. I couldn't see Ron or Hermione from where I was. I gingerly stood up, wiping off white plaster dust from my traveling cloak. 

I heard the door downstairs crash open and then a furious voice said, "Didn't I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers? Didn't I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?" 

"No. . . no. . . upstairs. . . Potter! And Kane!" Mr. Lovegood croaked out after he let out a squeal of pain for whatever they had done to him. I bit my bottom lip. 

"I told you last week, Lovegood, we weren't coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before-" There was another bang and squeal. I flinched. "- when you thought we'd give her back if you offered us proof there are Crumple" -bang, flinch- "Headed" -bang flinch- "Snorkacks?" 

"No- no- I beg you! It really is Potter and Kane! Really!" 

"And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!" 

"The place looks like it's about to fall in, Selwyn. The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down." 

"You lying piece of filfth." Selwyn was content to ignore everything everyone was saying, "You've never seen Potter or Kane in your life, have you? Thought you'd lure us back here to kill us, did you? And you think you'll get your girl back like this." 

"I swear. . . I swear. . . Potter and Kane's upstairs!" 

"Homenum Revlio." 

I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep my gasp from being audible, but it didn't matter because I heard Hermione gasp from behind a pile of debris. 

"There's some up there all right, Selwyn." 

"It's Potter and Kane, I tell you, it's them! Please. . . please. . . give me Luna, just let me have Luna. . ." 

"You can have your little girl Lovegood, if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter and Elizabeth Kane. But if this is a plot, if it's a trick, if you've got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we'll see if we can spare you a bit of your daughter for you to bury." 

I wiped away a tear that had come down my cheek at some point. I quickly moved across the debris, helping Harry out. Harry, Hermione, and I climbed our way over to Ron, Harry having to help me over some of the largest objects. 

"All right. Do you trust me, Harry?" 

Harry nodded. 

"Okay then, give me the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, you're going to put it on." 

"Me? But Harry-" 

"Just do it." I hissed. "Harry, hold Hermione's hand. Ron, grab my shoulder. Hermione, you obliviate Lovegood, I'll blast the floor open." 

We waited, hearing Mr. Lovegood scrabbling against the furniture that had blocked the stairwell. 

I waited, before I finally heard Hermione shout, "Obliviate!" 

"Deprimo!" I shouted, pointing my wand at the floor. I could feel Ron's hand tighten on my shoulder. We fell through the floor, and my eyes searched out the Death Eaters. I met eyes with Selwyn and he raised his wand at me. Thankfully, Hermione twisted in midair, pulling the three of us with her, and with air squeezing through my lungs, we disappeared into nothingness. 

⬅️➡️

[bawdabaw]

T-shirt meme trash comic part 1. This ended up being way more effort than I originally intended. Lot of inside jokes in this one.

[almostlookedhuman]

[kopfkino-o]

The Seer’s Stone - Chapter Five

Summary: Elain Archeron is tired of being the “lovely, sweet gardener” everyone wants her to be. After losing her beloved, her humanity, her life, she’s ready to claim her own path forward with the help of her friends, Nuala and Cerridwen, as she searches far and wide for the mysterious Seer’s Stone: an ancient artifact of old rumored to once belong to an ancient Oracle. But will fate itself step in to stop her? Or will Elain defy the strings of destiny that bind her and forge her own path forward, choosing her own fate, friendships, future, and love, along the way.

Pairing: Elain x Azriel

Timeline: Post-ACOSF

Wordcount: 3800

Taglist:   @downingg2001   @gracie-rosee   @nivem565 ​ // Let me know if you want on (or off) the tag list for future updates! Thank you all for reading <3

Read:

Chapter One | The Crone’s Trade

Chapter Two | The Oracle of Seraphyros

Chapter Three | Last of Our Kind (Azriel)

Chapter Four | An Empty Seat

THE SMUTTY STUFF - A PREVIEW

Author’s Note: Not saying I’m going to write a Tarqwyn fic, but also not going to say I’m not gonna.  Writing Elain and Azriel together on page was so fun and I can’t wait for where their story here is headed 👀

Thanks for reading, y’all!

- Court

Cassian teased Elain the entire flight up to the House of Wind. He tickled the extra sensitive spot between her collarbone and neck, sought out only the hard updrafts of cold wind that ripped at the skirts of her pale purple dress, and pretended he was about to drop her not once. Not twice. 

But thrice. 

Elain was pale and wobbling by the time he all but dumped her onto the terrace of the House, his laughter so loud and rich it echoed off the red stone walls that made up the private home and stirred a flock of blackbirds perched amongst the rocks to flight. She would have thrown up right then and there on her brother-in-law's shiny leather boots if she wasn't half as much a proper lady.

“Rhys would have never done that to me,” Elain insisted, stumbling as she tried to make for the wide-open terrace doors. 

Cassian’s laughter deepened further. “Well I’m not Rhys, and this is no Riverhouse. Best leave your expectations at the door, sweetheart.” 

“I suppose I should expect nothing less from the couple who allows a magic house to cook and clean for them.” 

“The House is our friend, thank you very much.” 

“My point.” 

Cassian cracked a smile. “Is it just me or have you grown some claws, Lainey?” 

“Always had them," Elain said, throwing a smile at him. "You all just never bothered to notice.” 

With that, she snickered at the look on his face and strode proudly into the House of Wind.  

Elain found Emerie and Gwyn sitting inside, both women were slick with sweat and panting heavily, their Illyrian leathers and sheathed weapons somehow perfectly at home amongst the casual décor and sunny interiors. The former waved weakly at her, clearly exhausted, while the latter sprung up to her feet, teal eyes sparkling and a wide smile spreading across her freckled face.

“Elain! Cauldron spare me, I’ve been waiting to talk to you.” Gwyn grinned, bounding eagerly over to her. “I tried that recipe from baking club, the one with cinnamon and cardamom. I browned the sugar and left the butter out to melt overnight, just like you suggest, and well, the dough looked fine. But then when I put them into the oven, well, things sort of took a turn for the worse—” 

“What she means to say is she almost set our new apartment on fire,” Emerie said plainly, the Illyrian woman's hazel eyes bright and clear.

“Almost, and did, are two very different words. Linguistically speaking.” 

Emerie shrugged. “Schematics.” 

Gwyn stuck her tongue out at the other Valkyrie. “If I wanted a grumpy opinion I would have just marched down to the Library and asked Merrill."

Elain cocked her head at the mention of the High Priestess, the woman and her moods all too familiar to her as of late. 

“I thought you’d finished your last shift at the Library ahead of your trip down to the Summer Court.” She said. 

“Oh, I have, but I still like to visit my friends there to catch up on the drama every now and then. Plus, I just... wanted to spend a little more time there before I depart for Adriata." Gwyn shifted nervously on her feet, her teal eyes flicking toward the wide expanse of widows. “I’ll be away from Velaris for two whole months if you can believe it. Apparently, learning the art of the spear is, apparently, no easy feat.” 

Elain nodded, remembering the priestess's mention of her plans to travel south to the Summer Court to learn the art of the three-pronged spear from the southern court from their time spent working together on the details of Nesta's mating ceremony a few months prior. 

All of the Valkyries who were comfortable with leaving Velaris were soon due to travel far and wide across Prythian to expand their knowledge of different weapons, fighting styles, and battle strategies. Gwyn amongst the ranks of them, and, apparently, the one who came up with the idea for the journeys in the first place.

“I hear Adriata is beautiful, though. Feyre often speaks highly of the city” Elain said. “And the High Lord who rules it." 

Cassin coughed pointedly from where he leaned against the doorway. 

."I've always wanted to travel south and see the white-sand beaches and bright blue water of Summer. And the Spear-Daughters of Summer are amongst the fiercest warriors in all of Prythian. Save for us Valkyrie, of course. But,” Gwyn shook her head, teal eyes dropping down to her feet. “ I mean, Mother bless me, I’ve never even left the Night Court before. The idea of traveling so far is just so... new.”

Elain blinked and a lovely, hope-filled image shimmered in her mind's eye.

Yes, so very new but how very beautiful.

She couldn't stop herself from reaching across the space between them and taking Gwyn's hand in her own, squeezing it once and offering a smile she knew was not her place to explain but one she could not suppress.

"I have a feeling you're going to be happy there, Gwyn. Truly happy." She said.

The priestess quirked a copper brow, her freckled lips parting as if to question the statement further, but then Nesta was sweeping into the room, her beautiful face fixed with a general’s hardness and a goddess’s grace, sword flashing silver at her side.

She paused in the doorway, straightening at the sight of her little sister, and raked Elain over with a critical eye that saw everything and missed nothing. Nesta’s lips twitched at the sight of Elain’s unruly hair, her wrinkled and wind-tousled clothes, the flush of green still on her face. 

Then frowned.

“Why do you look like you’ve just survived a tornado?” Nesta asked. 

Elain threw an accusatory look at where Cassian was leaning in the doorway, smiling smugly as he cleaned his nails with a hunting knife, wings splayed wide and haloed by the sunny terrace beyond.

If Nesta was iron and frozen flames, then he was steel and crackling fire. Two sides to the same coin, honed and tempered by sheer grit and determination. A perfect match.

"Bumpy ride," Elain answered sweetly.

"You're green. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Nesta. Just a touch... flight sick."

Her older sister’s eyes narrowed further. “Well, if you’re going to be sick, try not to lose your lunch on the carpets. The House is willing to do much and more, but cleaning up vomit is not one of them.” 

Cassian barked a laugh. Emerie merely rolled her eyes.

But it was Gwyn who leaned in close and whispered to Elain, “She found that out the hard way.” 

Nesta scowled. "I can hear you, Berdara."

"Perhaps that's the point, Nes," Gwyn said sweetly, tossing a curtain of copper-brown hair over an armored shoulder before turning to Elain and gently patting her arm. "I'll send you those spices you asked for as I find them. But, until then, best of wishes, Elain. The next time you see me, I'll be good and properly trained on how to drive a spear thrown a grown male's gut."

With a wide smile and dramatic flourish, Gwyn scooped up a wooden stave from the corner of the room, brushed past Cassian as if he were nothing more than a mere stalk of wheat, and sauntered out into the blinding light of the terrace and training ring beyond.

"Mother spare me," Nesta rolled her eyes, though even she couldn't hide the smile turning up the corner of her lips. "A few months out of the Library and she's got enough confidence one might think she's the future Princess of Adriata."

Elain only smiled.

A lapse of silence settled between them and Elain used it to glance around the room, noting the changes that had been made to the House since the last time she visited. The once heavy velvet curtains were replaced with light linens that billowed in the wind and light bright, natural light pour into the space. The old, dusty furniture had been replaced with more modern, but still comfortable, outfittings and nearly everywhere she looked a bookshelf lined the wall.

Even the marble of the hearth was new, the stone simple but chic and, above it, hung a portrait of Nesta and Cassian clad in armor and proud atop the high peak of Ramiel, swords raised and heads haloed with writhing crowns of silver flame.

Something in Elain's heart tightened. It felt strange to see this place, this home, filled with so many things that reminded her of her sister. And the new healing and happiness she’d found within it. 

"What?" Nesta asked, the question almost self-conscious.

Elain shrugged. "Nothing. I just like what you've done with the place."

"You came all the way here to assess my interior design tastes, then?"

"No."

Nesta glanced over at Emerie and Cassian and gestured with a slight jerk of her chin toward the open doorway. Leave us, that gesture said. The former groaned as she rose and trudged, albeit slowly, on muscular legs for the door, collecting a longsword and wooden shield as she went. The latter merely winked, blowing Elain a kiss and offering Nesta a look that would have had anyone else blushing red before swaggering out to the training ring.

Finally alone, Nesta let her guard down, the hardened general softening to a concerned older sister. Even the hard glint in her blue eyes seemed to ease up.

"Is everything okay? Your head, the visions?" She asked softly.

"Yes, Nesta. I'm—"

"And Feyre, the babe?"

"Everything is fine, Nesta. I swear it.” Elain assured feverishly. “I've just come to fetch a book, that's all. No need for any worries. Everything is perfectly fine. ” 

Nesta blew out what very well might have been a sigh of relief but then the worry furrowing her brow turned hard one more and the thin line of her lips became a scowl.

"You came all the way here for a bloody book?"

Elain nodded. "I need it for a gardening project. The collection of the local flora and fauna is far more impressive in the library here than in the one Rhys and Feyre keep at the Riverhouse."

The lie came so easily it felt almost as if it were the truth. 

Elain's gut twisted at the realization, twisted and withered at the utter lack of suspicion in Nesta's eyes. Nesta, who she had shared every secret with. Nesta, who had always been there and always understood. Nesta, who was her older sister and closest friend. Elain had never lied to her, never had a reason to, until now.

Until these last few months.

A clash of steel on steel drew Nesta's gaze out towards the veranda. Once that might have hurt her, might have made Elain feel small and overlooked, but she understood more now, could See more now. She and her sister had different purposes now, new lives and relationships that demanded more focus, more attention. Nesta had her Valkyries and her mate. Elain had the twins and her gardens and her ugly little secrets.

"Alright," Nesta said finally, nodding slowly. "Ask the House if you need help. It can find just about anything, anywhere, but only if you're polite. Come find me before you depart. We can take the stairs together if you're feeling up for it."

"I'm not sure my body could physically handle that," Elain chuckled. 

"You'd be surprised what your body can do when you put your mind to it."

Oh, but Elain did know. Perhaps a little too well.

But she merely smiled, grabbing her sister and hugging her tight, before bidding Nesta goodbye and watching, lovingly, almost enviously, as her older sister strode out to the training ring and her new life that waited within.

Alone and unwatched, Elain wasted no time getting down to business, hurrying at once for the stairwell.

The floor above was occupied by House of Wind’s library at the end of the hall with private bedrooms lining the narrow space on either side. Elain moved swiftly past them on silent feet, checking every other heartbeat over her shoulder until she stood before the closed door of the last bedroom on the left. 

She wasn’t sure how she knew this particular one was his, only that she could feel it. Could scent it. She’d never been inside, never even been close, but she knew it in her bones. 

Heart in her throat, she knocked once. 

And waited.

When there was no answer she knocked again, louder now. 

Again, no answer. 

So Elain rallied her spirits, forcing down every worry and fear that warred within her and tried the doorknob. Unlocked. She glanced one last time down the hallway towards the stairwell before slowly pushing the door open. 

The space beyond was well-lit, the linen curtains thrown away from the wide panel of windows that illuminated the meticulously neat and utterly empty room. 

The worn leather couch was unoccupied and the nearby neat column of books was seemingly untouched. No cloak hung from the iron peg in the entryway and her delicate ears caught no whisper of movement within.

“Hello?” Elain called out anyway,  nerves a maelstrom in her stomach.

But, again, no answer came. 

So she gathered her skirts and slipped quietly into the Spymaster’s bedroom.

The scent of mist and cedar and something more floral hit her at once. It was so familiar, yet the space around her so foreign. Elain couldn’t stop herself from taking in her surroundings, feeling as if she'd d stepped into another realm, a world entirely of his own that gave her the chance to steal an intimate look into his personality.

The unlit heart was completely devoid of ash or burned logs as if it’d been a long time since a fire had been lit within it, if ever at all. Nearly every visible surface was lacking even a speck of dust and every single thing within the room seemed to have a methodically dedicated place. 

Artwork hung on the walls, some pieces clearly done by Feyre’s hand, others older, more classic. A long bookshelf occupied the western wall and was stuffed full of books and greenery and trinkets from worlds Elain could only ever dream of visiting. Whirling golden instruments from the Dawn Court, fur-trimmed masks from the Winter Court, and tiny, carved wooden bobbles that could only hail from the Human Lands.

A potted Kingsflame flower bloomed in the corner, healthy and vibrant as if it’d been tended to both night and day, while a collection of seedlings were just now greening on the window sill. A star-sphere and a looking glass sat upon a nearby table, a bushel of carefully dried flowers and a worn hunting tapestry hung carefully above it.

And the books, Mother bless him, there were so many books. Perhaps even enough to rival the collection in the Library just down the hall. They occupied every spare space, all neatly stacked with obvious care.

Elain drifted further into the room, rounding a cutout in the wall and mounting a small set of stairs up to where a large, four-poster bed occupied most the space. It was made, clearly long-since slept in, but the bedding was surprisingly worn, the cobalt and amethyst quilt threadbare and bearing the hallmarks of something obviously handmade.

She found what she was looking for just beyond the bed. 

The large, elegant desk was framed perfectly by a cascading beam of sunlight as if it’d been waiting just for her.

The stacks of papers atop it were neat, the collection of scrolls and tomes in the cubby nearby even neater. A large ale glass that reminded her of the one her father used to drink from held a collection of quills and writing utensils, a fresh pot of ink capped and waiting beside it. Even the small astrolabe resting at the desk’s edge was clean and neat, the interlocking golden spheres polished so thoroughly they shined in the sunlight. 

Elain approached it as if she were in a dream, her attention clouded by her plan.

Find a map of the Prison, commit to memory, and bring it back to Kalla and the Twins so they could help her design a plan for infiltration. Find the fragments of the Stone, find the Staff.

Easy enough, Elain thought sarcastically.

She opened the unlocked center drawer and began to shuffle through the papers inside. Her eyes flew over the papers, drinking in different codenames and dossier titles and reports from spies in any and every court. If there was a secret, it was here. If there was any kernel of hidden knowledge, it was here. None of it mattered to her, though. Her course was set, her mind decided.

The Prison, the Middle, the Autumn Court. The Stone, the Staff, the—

"I never took you for a snoop."

Elain jumped at the low, soft voice and her hand immediately fell away from the map of the Prison she'd wriggled free, flashing instead to the dagger concealed at her side, and whirled.

Only to find Death standing in the doorway.

Azriel was dressed all in black: black knee-high leather boots, black leather breeches, a black tunic with black iron fastenings, black scaled pauldrons with matching black gauntlets, and a black cloak that flowed from his shoulders like smoke, even his hair was fully black in this light, but his eyes were bright gold and his face was flushed with life and color, as if he'd just come off a cold wind. Shadows swarmed around him, snakes twinning and whispering around his hands and shoulders, already murmuring her secrets.

Beautiful. Terrifying. A face she’d seen in countless dreams. 

Elain snapped her hand behind her back, straightening at the sight of him, and forced a demure smile, steeling herself against his assessing gaze until she was nothing more than a trembling fawn. Innocent, unaware, and entirely unassuming.

"Cassian asked me to fetch something," She said sweetly.

Azriel only cocked his head. "Did he?"

"Training plans. For the Valkyrie’s afternoon drills."

Azriel took another step into the room, shadows swirling. One in particular curled around his neck and murmured in his ear, whatever secrets it whispered drawing a small smile across his lips.

“They tell me when you lie, you know.” He said softly.

Cauldron spare me.

Elain swallowed hard, racking her brain for an excuse. “Nesta asked me to help find your travel long. She wanted to know if you'd be back before the Valkyries head out for their trips abroad."

"That's not it either, is it."

He took a step.

"Mor was worried about you."

Another step.

"You lie again."

They were so close now she could smell the wind on him, could see the veins of emerald in his hazel eyes. Could see the pale smattering of freckles that graced his cheeks, tiny constellations dusting his golden skin as if the Mother herself had tossed them there.

“I needed a map.” Elain breathed.

Azriel hummed. “That’s more like it.” 

He reached behind her and gently plucked up the documents she'd discarded between scarred fingers. Elain watched anticipatingly, heart hammering in her chest, as he unfolded them and studied the various maps of the Prison Isle with eyes that gave away nothing. A beautiful, tortuous face that gave away absolutely nothing.

“Why?” He asked after a long moment.

Elain straightened. “It’s none of your business.” 

“Is it not?" Azriel countered. "You are here in my bedroom, uninvited, trying to steal from me after all."

“I wasn’t stealing, merely borrowing. And your door was unlocked besides.”

Azriel leafed through the maps again, hazel eyes churning. Unable to bare the tension between them, Elain eached for the map and tried to snatch it from him, but he was too tall, too fast, for her to even come close. Instead, she found her fingers curling over the strong expanse of his forearm, his burnt skin warm beneath her grip. Their eyes met over the sparse space between them.

This was a mistake.

Elain yanked her hand away, fumbling as she took a step back. The edge of the desk pressed into the column of her spine but the dul pinch was a welcome reprieve from the heat building in her blood. Mother spare her, why did he have to have this effect on her?

"Why?" Azriel asked again, voice softer this time.

Elain sighed. "I just...I need to see if something's there. If something I thought might not be real is, in fact, very real after all."

"You saw something."

I wasn't a question. And Elain certainly wasn't about to answer. She tried to draw further away from him, desperate to put space between them, if only to stop the strange feeling that swirled in her belly whenever he was near, but Azriel only drew nearer.

"The Prison is not to be considered lightly," Azriel said. "The Isle itself is largely uncharted. The land is just as much a monster as the creatures locked away on it. It's law unto itself, unchecked and untamed."

"Right, because I'm utterly incapable of taking care of myself. I suppose you've forgotten it was me who stabbed the King of Hybern just like everyone else."

Elain could see the blow land. Something in Azriel's eyes flickered out at her words, the harshness with which she spoke them, but Elain refused to let herself feel guilt over them.

Desperate to be away from her, from the weight of his sad hazel eyes, Elain moved to shove past him. She didn't need the physical maps to navigate the Prison's vast isle and complex passageways. The mere glimpse of documents was all she needed. Her magic could help her recall them later, and in near-perfect detail too.

Azriel's hand flashed out and caught her wrist. A bolt of static skittered up her skin from where their bodies touched. "I don't doubt you, Elain. I never have." He said gently. "But you just can't wander into the Prison without a plan. There are residents there who scare even Rhysand. Who scare even me. I won't let you go alone."

"I'm not going alone. I do have friends, you know."

“The twins might be privy to a lot of things, but access to the Prison is not one of them. Rhys has only granted myself and a select other few the ability to bypass the wards there. No one else could ever even dream of getting past that sort of magic without his knowledge. Or his approval." Azriel released her wrist. Her skin felt cold without the warmth of his touch. "And something tells me you don't intend to ask Rhysand for that." 

"Rhys would grant me a palace amongst the stars if I asked nicely enough. Feyre too, for that matter." Elain said defiantly. She wasn't going to back down on this, not now that she'd finally spoken her mind. "Besides, I don't need Rhysand's permission. I don't need anyone's."

Azriel chuckled, the sound sending his shadows skittering and warmth radiating through her bones. "I’m not sure I’d call that spelllspinner you’re hiding away in the Library a friend. She’s far from trustworthy from what I’ve gathered.” He said and Elain did not fail to note the sly little smile that curved his lips. He knows about Kalla then. She did her best to master herself, unwilling in letting him know he’d surprised her with that reveal. “It’s not like she’ll do you much good, either way,” He continued. “One mere tug at the threads of those binding the spells to the Prison and your spellspinner will scramble her mind so thoroughly she'll forget her own name.”

Elain had been afraid of that. While Kalla was confident within her own abilities to manipulate and break the threads of magic, the twins hadn’t been so convinced, both Nuala and Cerridwen afraid of something exactly like this. The Prison was old, they’d warned her, and it’s magic older still. Breaking past those wards would be no easy task, especially not without Rhys or someone who carried his expression permission to step foot on the Prison Isle. 

But Elain had hoped, Mother had she hoped… 

Closing her eyes, Elain drew in a long, steadying breath and loosed it on a slow exhale. "Are you going to try and stop me?" She asked him finally. 

“No. Never.” 

“Then what do you want, Azriel?” 

Now it was the shadowsinger who drew in a deep breath of his own. Azriel met her eyes when he finally answered, his voice soft but resolute. “Let me help you, and Nuala and Cerridwen, with… whatever it is you’re trying to do. I won’t ask questions, won’t pass judgment, only lend help where I can.” He said. “You want on the island without Rhys or Feyre knowing? Fine, consider it done. The Prison is no place for recklessness. I won’t stop you, Elain, but I’ll be damned if I don’t do everything in my power to try and keep you safe.” 

Azriel extended the maps he’d caught her with as if he were offering an olive branch. Elain could only stare at him. His words were both hope and heartbreak. 

“You don’t have to face the darkness of that wretched place alone. Let me help you, Elain.” The spy master of the Night Court, the man who they claimed was Death given form, pressed. “Let me face that darkness with you.” 

Elain eased the maps from his burnt fingers and tucked them into the pocket hidden in her cloak lining before meeting Azriel’s hazel eyes. She offered him only one word in answer before brushing past him and striding from the room. 

“Fine.”

[purplepints]

I guess you could say He didn't have the stones

I think it’s funny how Mormon God was like “look polygamy is super important and I am telling you my followers to practice it even in the face of persecution” and then 40 years later Congress said Utah wouldn’t be given statehood as long as the LDS practiced polygamy and Mormon God was like “Ok tell everyone I changed my mind”

[entomologistt]

bro described my tik tok reposts as jojo blue lock idv sigma brain rot when I was trying to show them stuff but I didn’t know what to show them because of our different tastes… And then recognized Ulqiourra and said “hey there’s your emo boy”

I got to play jjba eyes of heaven after years of wanting to play!! It was so fun but I almost got my shit rocked by a weather report bot

[ananiujitha]

Why do so Many People Treat Bullshit Machines as if They're a Source of Truth?

ChatGPT and other large language models are built to construct seemingly-plausible text. i.e. to bullshit you.

So when people say "I asked ChatGPT," and quote the output, or they suggest "ask ChatGPT," I have to ask WHY? If you're tempted to ask ChatGPT, why not go out, find an interesting-looking rock, and ask it?

Oh sure, the rock probably won't tell you anything, but it probably won't tell you anything false.

[camping-with-monsters]

Spider Papa doodles plus Game and Road doing they thang

[tarotsoul]

ghost in the wind — part four

summary: struggling to get a grip on your newfound power, azriel is the only one your magic allows close. and there’s no stopping either of you when you spend the night alone together.

warnings: grieving, mentions of death, swearing, kissing, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, shadow play (hehe)

word count: 6.7k

series masterlist

Lucien Vanserra knew not to question his mate when she demanded they left for Velaris immediately. Two days of travelling. He had not asked questions—had not doubted his mate’s worry and vision, not even for a moment. 

Elain saw the blast before it occurred. She felt the earth quake beneath her feet, felt the soil and life around her stand still. A power had been awoken. A power so fierce it had shook the lands of even the Day Court. 

She had known of your presence in Prythian. Feyre had sent word to her, promised it had been nothing to worry about, that Nesta had taken you away from Rafe and that you were finally safe. 

Safe. 

That feeling in her stomach promised anything but safety. Two days of travelling. Two days of no rest. And despite her seering abilities, despite the far future she had already glimpsed, nothing could have prepared her for what greeted her arrival.

While Velaris remained as beautiful as ever, as busy and bustling as it had before she and Lucien left to travel just over a year ago…there was nothing but desolation in the air. Every breath was hard to inhale, every step on cobblestones and patchy soil a struggle to walk. 

Something was very, very wrong. 

Those suspicions were confirmed the moment she stepped foot into the River House. An eerie silence settled as soon as she passed the threshold of her High Lord and Lady’s home. Lucien could sense it, too. The hairs on the back of his neck spiked the further he walked through the grand abode. 

Rhysand met them in the foyer, a grave and wanton look to his handsome features. Elain did not apologise as she pushed past him and made for her two sisters. Both stricken with tears and pure dread. Elain struggled to loose a breath, struggled to come to terms with the energy that invaded her. 

“I came as soon as I felt it.” 

Feyre met her gaze, eyes lined with grief. Elain took a step closer. “Where is she?”

Nesta sniffled, raised her head and kept her chin high. But Elain knew her sister, knew she was close to crumbling all over again. She could not speak, could not open her mouth in fear of what animalistic cry might break through. 

Feyre spoke instead. “She’s upstairs, Azriel will not leave her side.” 

Azriel, yes. Elain had seen those visions, too. 

A question rose on the tip of her tongue, one she never considered she’d ever have to ask. She felt Lucien’s presence as he neared, a comforting hand reaching to caress her arm in comfort. She melted into it, though unlike usual, he was not able to settle the dread in her chest. 

“Her heart stopped beating after the blast,” Rhysand spoke softly as he entered the room, reaching for his mate. “However, Madja believes her soul is still in her body. She thinks Y/N is still fighting, despite all else suggesting otherwise.” 

Elain blinked back her tears. It was never supposed to have gone this way. You were never supposed to have died. 

“Madja is looking into some remedies, into the history of your mothers bloodline. For now, all we can do is wait. She has taken samples of blood and hair from Nesta and Feyre, there are no magical markers that match with Y/N’s, though if you’re willing, we’d like to test yours, just to be safe.”

Elain allowed her head to dip in acceptance, though the movement was completely subconscious. This would not be the end of you. Could not be the end. Not after everything Elain had peeked in the future. 

Azriel had not left your side in two days. The moment the blast settled, he shot through the skies to reach you. He did not expect to find that stone mountain covered in soil and tulips.  He did not expect to find your cold, lifeless body collapsed above the rubble.

He had never felt such fear, such despair. And the moment you were laid in his bed, in his room at the River House, he had not left your side. Not for food, water or rest. Not for anything. 

He stayed when Madja came to assess you, when she took samples of your blood and hair, when she smoothed a salve over the marred skin of the crescent moon on your chest. He stayed when Mor came to brush your hair and paint your fingernails. He stayed when Nesta came to read to you, when Feyre laid beside you and prayed. 

He could not leave that room, could not leave your side. 

And when Madja had returned that morning, with a hopeful gleam in her eye that she may have found something to help, he still would not allow himself to hope. 

Fear crippled every ounce of his being. Fear of speaking his hopes into existence, that the mother could be cruel to deny him. So he kept his hope buried deep. So deep that his soul latched onto it and called out to you. 

The taste of your lips still lingered on his, your scent still wrapped around him. But Azriel could not bring himself to touch you, could not dare a feel of your cold skin. Your heart had stopped beating, your chest had stopped rising. 

But he would not allow the idea of your death to linger in his mind. He could feel you, somehow, somewhere. And deep in his soul, he begged for you to hold on, to use whatever power you had to come back.

A gentle knock sounded on the bedroom door, Azriel did not need to turn to know it was Elain. Though he could not scent Lucien beside her. 

She moved like a gentle breeze, every step light and hesitant. He knew how hard it had been for everyone, for your cousins. He wanted to allow Elain a moment alone with you, as he wanted with the others, but just as before, his soul would not allow his leave. 

“Hello, Elain.”

His voice, so cold and distant. It had been a long time since he had addressed her in such a tone. She bowed her head in greeting and took a seat on the other side of your bed. He didn’t watch her, neither did his shadows. Both he and those wisps of darkness fixated on your unmoving body. 

Elain reached for your hand, a breath parting from her pink lips. “She’s cold.”

Azriel closed his eyes, tried to shut out the anguish he wanted to cry. He remained in silence, so did Elain. They sat unmoving, watching you. 

Until Elain spoke again. 

“I have seen a field of tulips. Where the air is fresh and the soil is rich.” Always speaking in cryptic words, nothing ever as simple as it should be. “I have seen what lay beyond the forest. There is a promise of something stronger than I have ever felt. Something soul-binding.” 

Elain did not look at Azriel as she spoke, she did not take her eyes away from you. Uncurling your hand, she placed three seeds in your palm and then curled it shut tight, her fist caressing yours. 

“Did you know that green tulips symbolise hope and rebirth?” She turned to him then, her face void of any emotion. “Brown tulips symbolise resilience and commitment.” Her eyes wandered to Azriel’s scarred hands that sat in his lap.

He watched the middle Archeron for a moment, his mind processing the words she spoke. He watched her gaze travel to your spare hand, the one that seemed to reach for him, palm open in invitation. 

His mind screamed not to touch you, not to hurt his heart like that. But his soul. His soul ached to feel you once more. 

Against his better judgement, he allowed a shaky hand to reach yours—skin cold and lifeless as he held you again. Azriel bit back a cry, willed the tears not to fall. His shadows followed their masters lead, snaking around your fingers and wrist and up your arms. 

Elain removed her hand, her eyes fixated on your fist of seeds. It was then that she opened your palm, and right before their eyes, the seeds bloomed into tulips. One green, one brown, one white. And your chest heaved its first breath in two days. 

Time stopped, Azriel froze. 

And your eyes blinked open. 

The air kissed your skin in a way you had never experienced before. The green of the grass was more vibrant than ever, the fluttering of a robin's wings like music to your ears. The river flowed softly, a hum of a sweet lullaby that soothed your soul. 

This is what it was supposed to feel like. The power, the magic. Was this how you were destined to live? To be one with the earth and feel its life beneath your feet? 

You felt their eyes on you from feet away, felt the way they itched to approach, to hold and soothe you. Elain had been the one to keep everyone back, to allow you a moment to breathe again. 

You felt no pain, no sorrow. 

They had followed you out of the River House and toward the embankment, allowed you a moment to let your magic flow. A sweet relief, to touch the soil and watch the buds of flora bloom. 

Though, you had no control. You did not wield your power to plant in the soil, you did not ask for lily pads to perch on the gentle waters surface. You had no control, but you would. You would find a way to harness it, to wield it. 

Another breath, your final moment alone. You turned to the others, to their hopeful faces and a smile began to stretch across your lips. 

Cassian was the first one to grin, the first one to step forward to join you. But his sudden movement startled something in your gut. And a root of sharp thorns shot from the soil and dared to pierce through Cassian’s brown skin. 

He jumped back, eyes wide and your lips parted in shock. You had not meant to do that, had no thought to hurt Cassian. Your magic acted on impulse, to protect you. 

He stepped back again, hands in the air in surrender. Rhysand watched with a tilted gaze, watched when the vine of thorns sunk back into the ground. 

So your magic would not allow others to approach you uninvited. Perhaps if you approached them instead. 

Your steps were slow, cautious. You held your breath in an attempt to hold down the power that begged to course through your veins. 

You dared another look at your friends. 

“It’s okay,” Mor smiled. “Take your time.” 

Another deep breath, another step. One foot in front of the other, your teeth gritting to keep the power at bay. Three feet away from them, you took another deep breath. This time to calm your racing heart. 

“I have no control over it.” 

Rhysand offered a gentle smile. “That’s to be expected. How do you feel?” 

Your eyes flittered between them all, lingering a moment too long on Azriel before you gazed at the world around you. A tilt upturned your lips. 

“I feel like I can finally breathe. I can feel everything in the soil. It’s like the trees are whispering to me, like the birds are singing.”

You looked back to Rhys, to Feyre. “How am I even alive?” 

Feyre dared a step closer, and you willed your power to understand she would not harm you. None of them would. 

“Madja is looking into it. For now, you need to take it easy. The smallest thing could make your power spiral or act out.” She looked between her family, returning her gaze to you. 

“Perhaps it would be best if only one of us remained by your side, for now. Maybe we can test to see who your magic doesn’t see as a threat.” 

“Well clearly I’m out of the picture,” Cassian mumbled, scuffing his feet against the grass. 

You considered Feyre’s suggestion, perhaps it would be the safest way for now. One step would be enough to see if your power responded, one step enough to create distance just in case. 

“Okay, yeah let’s do that.” 

Feyre took a step first, hesitant but with a gentle and excited smile. Her emotions were palpable, you could feel the relief that you were alive, the excitement of the prospect of you having a newfound strength. 

No one could ever take advantage of you again. 

But your power did not allow Feyre another step closer. It wrapped vines around her ankles, keeping her in place. She did not move, her calmness did not falter. You pinched your eyes shut, begged and pleaded for your magic to release her. 

And after a few moments, it did. 

Feyre returned to her previous position, and Rhysand cleared his throat as he took his turn. 

Your power did not allow him closer. It did not allow Mor, or Elain. Nor Lucien or Nesta. It left only Azriel. And your heart thudded wildly in your chest. 

You met his molten gaze, and you could feel the taste of his lips on yours again. Azriel did not move to begin with, he instead sent a lone shadow to reach you slowly. 

Your magic flickered, but it did not attack. When the shadow weaved through your hair, daisies sprouted in their wake. You didn’t notice Azriel step closer, did not notice until the toes of his boots were just a foot from you and you finally met his gaze again. 

Your breathing hitched, throat tightening. Something stirred in your gut, a simmering feeling of relief and comfort and something you felt far too often in your life. 

Shame. 

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hold it back if it’s too much.” 

You blinked, only now realising that you didn’t need to hold your power back. It was settled deep within you, no longer begging for a release. 

“I’m not.” You shook your head.

His gaze searched your face, shadows touching your hair. He trailed his eyes down your neck, to your chest where he fixated on that marred area of flesh for just a moment. Hazel eyes snapped back to yours. 

It was as though your beauty had been amplified tenfold. Your skin glowed, a lightness in your posture by no longer having such a heavy weight on your shoulders. And your eyes, your eyes gleamed with something he’d never seen before. 

Azriel’s chest tightened. 

He cleared his throat. “Madja is looking for something to help you learn control. The more we understand your magic, the easier it’ll be.” 

You nodded, did not dare to break his gaze. Azriel took another step closer. Just a shuffle of his feet. The toes of his shoes nearly touched yours. 

“Don’t be afraid of it,” he advised. “Your power is part of you. If you accept it as such, it’ll yield itself quicker.” 

Another nod. Another blink. 

A gentle breeze brushed past you, wafting his scent through your senses. Pine and wood and parchment. Mint and a gentle kiss of cinnamon. 

You breathed again. 

Madja had stopped by to check on you later that afternoon, taking another sample of your blood and hair and asking an abundance of questions you did your best to answer. Your magic had not let her get very close and when she’d pierced your skin with the needle, it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep that power at bay. 

Even for just a few moments, it had exhausted you. 

Dinner had gone as well as it could. You’d sat at the furthest end of the table, Azriel close beside you but still allowing you some breathing space. 

You’d suggested it would be safer for Nyx not to attend, having no control over your power, you would not allow him to be in the same room as you. Not until you harnessed it more. 

Your magic flared up twice. Once when Lucien offered you a dish of potatoes. And again when Cassian laughed a little too loudly at something Rhys said. Vines had twisted their way around the legs of the table, creeping over the surface as they slithered to reach the Illyrian. 

Azriel placed a hand over yours, his eyes demanding your gaze. “It’s okay,” he reassured softly. And that power began to retreat. 

You offered Cassian an apologetic look, though you were certain the warrior was beginning to feel a little targeted. He’d brushed it off, waving a hand and stuffing another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. 

As the night drew to a close, that familiar feeling of discomfort began to bubble in your stomach. The thought of going back to the House of Wind deflated you, suffocated you. 

Away from nature, it no longer at the tips of your fingers. You did not want to be confined to the House in the mountains, despite how much it had begun to feel like a home. 

Azriel must have noticed as such, because he titled his head to catch your gaze. “Would you like to stay at the townhouse tonight?”

Your eyes widened marginally. “Oh, no. It’s fine. I don’t want to intrude in anyone else's home.” 

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “You wouldn’t be intruding. Ever.” There was no room for discussion in his tone. He pulled back slightly, shrugging a shoulder. “Besides, it’s usually empty. I stay there when Nesta and Cassian are…louder than usual.”

A snort slipped past your lips at the innuendo and Azriel had to ignore the way it warmed something in his chest. You’d grown to learn just how loud your cousin and her mate could be. Perhaps the townhouse would be a sweet reprieve from that, too. 

Azriel watched the couple quietly, clearing his throat. “Plus, they’ve been drinking,” his voice lowered to a soft whisper, “I can promise you a restless sleep at the House tonight.” 

Another breathy laugh slipped off your tongue and Azriel’s eyes twinkled at the sound. Perhaps it was selfish of him to try and convince you to stay at the townhouse. With him and only him. But your power would not let others get closer to you, and he wanted to offer at least one night of peace and comfort. 

Especially after all you’d endured. 

You bid your family goodnight from a distance, Mor blowing kisses to you across the table and Rhysand reminding you to reach out if anything feels wrong. 

The walk from the Riverhouse to the townhouse was a short one, though you enjoyed it nonetheless. Walking beside Azriel as the moon lit your way was nothing short of beautiful, and you did not miss the way his shadows intertwined with your fingers. 

“Nuala and Cerridwen have brought some of your things to the townhouse,” Azriel said softly beside you, a lone shadow whispering in his ear. 

You offered him a grateful smile, making a mental note to thank the twins whenever you next saw them. Azriel’s lip quirked. “They’ve run you a bubble bath, too.”

Your smile stretched to a grin. 

By the time you reached the townhouse, you could smell the lavender oils the twins had used for your bath. Azriel led you into the foyer and a sense of warmth surrounded you. 

The townhouse was beautiful. Portraits and trinkets hung on the walls, soft glows of gold and greens as the lamps reflected off the plants. Thick but worn rugs on the floor. You took a breath, your shoulders relaxing. 

This felt like home. 

Azriel closed the door behind you both and his shadows slinked up the stairs and out of sight. He pressed a very gentle hand to the small of your back. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.” 

He guided you with that same hand just above your coxis, up the stairs and to the left and down the hall. It was a large landing, three or four doors that you could see on this side of the townhouse. You wondered how many other rooms were on the other side of the stairs. 

You followed the lavender trail, stopping short outside a door and Azriel turned the knob and pushed it open. This room was much smaller than yours at the House, but Gods was it cosy. 

A four poster bed in the centre of the room, two slim dressers either side, a high-back armchair in the corner with a little bookcase beside it. And to the left of that, was an open door that led to a private bathing chamber. 

You couldn’t help the smile that pulled on your lips. Nor could you help the feeling of comfort that blanketed you. 

Azriel cleared his throat. “I’ll let you bathe and get settled. My room is just opposite yours if you need anything.” He pointed to the door behind you both. 

You thanked him, watched him disappear into his own room before you closed the door and made your way to the bathroom. 

The water soothed every muscle in your body, seeping into your pores and nourishing your skin. A fresh night slip had been left folded on the counter by the sink, a new bamboo toothbrush and a small basket filled with your favourite moisturisers, oils and balms. 

After an hour of scrubbing and soaking, you dried and dressed, applied your creams and combed through your hair. It had been a long time since you’d taken such care of yourself, since you felt relaxed enough to take your time. 

You could not shake how much this townhouse felt like home to you. 

Scrunching your wet hair softly with a cotton towel, you padded into your bedroom when a knock sounded on the door. You didn’t need to open it to know who it was, Azriel had already informed you it would just be the two of you at the townhouse tonight. 

“Come in,” you called over your shoulder. 

But nothing could have prepared Azriel for what he walked into. Your back to him, your tiny night slip barely passing your ass, your wet hair pulled over your shoulder as he took note of your shoulder blades. 

Such a simple thing should not have affected him the way it did. His shadows pinched the mugs of tea from his hands and floated them to a nightstand, returning to their masters shoulders just as you turned to greet them. 

Azriel was no longer wearing his leathers, now adored in a pair of grey sweatpants and a dark blue knitted sweater. It was unusual to see him in something other than black, in something so relaxed. 

But Gods, was he beautiful. His hair was slightly damp and mussed from his own bath. He cleared his throat, pointing to the nightstand. “I brought tea.” Azriel was nervous, you could sense it. Smell it. 

He stood in the centre of the room, large wings tucked close to his back. You almost frowned at the sight and the comment slipped before you could stop it. “Do you feel uncomfortable around me?”

Azriel’s own brows pinched at that. “No, of course not. Quite the opposite, actually.” He tilted his head, taking a slow step forward. “Why?” 

A familiar surge of magic bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Not out of fear or anxiety, and it was not the same as before when it tried to protect you. No. This was different, this felt electric. Excited. 

You shrugged, jutting your chin to the dark membrane. “Your wings. They’re tight against your back.”

Azrie’s shoulders sagged slightly, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his full lips. But he couldn’t bring himself to admit he was uptight because your nipples were pearled and almost cutting through the very thin silk of your slip.

“You’re quite observant,” he noted, “I’m not uncomfortable around you, Y/N. I enjoy your company, your presence. I was trying to give you some space. This room isn’t very big, I didn’t want your power to feel suffocated.” 

Your head tilted at that. “You could never make me feel suffocated, Azriel. I enjoy your company and presence, too.”

His smile grew broader, a row of white teeth gleaming at you and you had no control when your face mirrored his. His heart thumped in his chest at the sight, at the way a sweet scent of lavender and jasmine wafted through the air. 

“You know that night…in the library?” Azriel did not need to ask to know which evening you were referring to. It took every ounce of self-control not to kiss you that night. Only for you to peck his lips in a hasty goodbye just two days later. 

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. 

Your brows furrowed just slightly. “You said you’d come to my room later so we could talk.” He nodded once more, his mind having already replayed every interaction he’d ever shared with you. 

“Can we do that now?” You fiddled with your fingers. “Talk, I mean. If you don’t have other commitments.”

Azriel would drop any prior engagements to spend the night with you. And by the way he gazed into your eyes, it was as though he was silently begging you to understand that. 

He did not need to speak or nod, for you only motioned to your bed and he got the hint. Azriel sat with his wings sprawled across the headboard.

He swallowed thickly, watching you tuck your legs beneath your body, the night slip doing very little to keep you covered. His mind would not stop racing, his shadows would not stop whispering. Dirty thoughts of what you were wearing beneath. If you were wearing anything at all. 

Azriel struggled to stifle his arousal. 

His shadows moved to reach you, caressing every inch of bare skin they could find. A giggle fell from your lips, warmth coating your flesh. 

Azriel could not help himself. “You’re so beautiful when you smile.”

Your grin grew, brows raising, eyes finally meeting his. “Only when I smile?” You teased, a newfound feeling of ease settling in every part of your body. 

He was pleasantly surprised by your response and dared lean a little closer. This was easy, talking with you. “You’re always beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”

You had expected a teasing retort back, not something so sincere and…well…romantic. Your smile faded slightly, a breath stuck in your throat. You swallowed around it. “You have?” 

Azriel nodded. You took in a breath, allowing him to reach for you. His wings spread behind him, drooping just enough to show he did, indeed, feel relaxed around you. He reached for you, tucking hair behind your now pointed ear. 

Your soul began to hum, content and blissful under Azriel’s keen but gentle touch. No male had ever called you beautiful before. No male had ever looked at you the way he was. As though he was besotted, as though he had never seen anything so wonderful in his life before. 

“I had every intention of coming to you that night.” His voice was rough, his tone gentle. It scratched an itch somewhere deep in your core. “Had Rhys not sent me on that mission, I would’ve been there, I would have told you.”

“Told me what?” you breathed. 

He swallowed, his scarred hand cupping the soft skin of your jaw as his thumb smoothed over the apple of your cheek. It took everything in you to fight the fluttering of your eyes. 

“That no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about you. The moment you crossed that wall, you consumed every part of me.” 

Your breathing staggered, your core pulsed. 

“I know you’ve only been here a short time, but I can no longer pretend that I’m not drawn to you. That I don’t crave your touch.” Shadows slinked your skin again, curling at the nape of your neck and imitating a scratching at your scalp. 

Your lips parted, chest heaving. Azriel’s eyes fluttered closed at the scent that oozed from you. Sweet arousal consumed him, dared to drag him under. 

He loosed a breath. “You have no idea what you do to me.” 

Your body felt like it was on fire, an excitement you had never once felt before. Your chest ached, your thighs trembled. And you knew if you parted your legs, you’d find a pool of wetness dribbling from your core.

No part of you felt guilty for it. No part of you tried to deny your body what it craved. Your soul sung to his, your body shifting closer. His hand on your face trailed down to caress your neck, lower to graze your collarbone, then lower again to skim over the marred flesh of your mark. 

Your eyes fluttered closed, a shaky breath sounding from you. You wanted him, needed him. That power surged in the pit of your stomach, desperate. You breathed deeply, the air thicker than before, and full of something you had never once scented. 

It was Azriel’s scent, only stronger. A raw and unfiltered scent that stirred the coil in your gut. Eyes fluttering open, they landed on his lap—on the girth that grew beneath the grey of his sweatpants. 

You swallowed thickly, chest heaving. You began to stir, hips shifting and brows knitted. “Az…” You were breathless, almost panting and his jaw clenched. 

“It’s okay,” he ground out. His fingers toyed with the thin strap of your slip, goosebumps erecting across your skin as his shadows caressed your arms and neck. Your head lulled to the side, eyes hooded. 

“Touch me,” you pleaded through a broken whisper. 

His jaw clenched again, his pupils blown and wings outstretched and tight. He did not move, did not look away. You reached for his wrist, daring to guide his hand over your full breast, over the perk of your nipple. 

A soft moan slipped past your lips. You had never felt arousal like it. Had never felt so needy that you’d resort to begging. Never had you expected to end up in such a state. You never had for Rafe. But this was Azriel. And everything about Azriel was intoxicating. 

With your hand over his, you encouraged him to grope you, to feel you. Azriel allowed you to guide him, would allow you to set the pace so long as you were comfortable and sure. So long as he made you feel good. 

The strap of your gown slipped down your arm, and you tugged the other down along with it. A low growl sounded from the back of Azriel’s throat. He was losing whatever control he had left. And you were desperate to see him snap. 

You shuffled closer on your knees, almost settling in his lap when you pulled his hand away from your breast and allowed the slip to fall past your chest, baring yourself to him. His eyes remained on yours, his chest rising and falling but you did not look away. 

If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.

But nothing about this felt wrong. No part of this felt like it wasn’t supposed to be. You did not feel unworthy beneath his gaze, you did not feel guilty for giving into your desires. 

Because the way Azriel looked at you, the way his gaze shifted to your chest, the way his eyes fluttered closed and he inhaled your arousal so deeply…you knew he wanted this just as badly as you did. 

With his eyes still closed, Aziel blindly reached for your hips and dragged you into his lap. A gasp escaped you, your legs parting to wrap around his waist and your soaked cunt sat over his throbbing cock. 

Your fingers tangled in his midnight hair, his head tilting as his breath ghosted your clavicle. Your nipples hardened, back arched. And he swiped his tongue over a pearled nub before suckling it into his warm mouth. 

You arched into him, tugging at his hair and rolling your hips against his. Azriel’s grip on your hips tightened, but he did not control you. He allowed you to move at your own pace, allowed you to decide how far you wanted this to go. 

You tugged at his hair, beckoning him to look at you. He pulled off your breast, eyes blown with a look of undeniable hunger. You stared at him for a moment, basked in his dark gaze and the feel of him pulsing beneath you. 

The weight of your position did not feel heavy, you did not want to stop. But you did not want to rush. You wanted to savour this—him. You wanted to take your time, wanted to understand how sex and intimacy was supposed to feel like. 

And Azriel could read as much in just your eyes alone. He leaned close, noses brushing as his lips ghosted yours. “I don’t need to use my cock to bring you pleasure,” he whispered, enveloping your lips in a searing kiss. 

Azriel’s hands travelled from your hips, up your waist and to your chest, kneading your breasts and pinching at your nipples. You hummed into his mouth, allowing his tongue to massage yours. 

“Let me show you how good it can be. How it’s supposed to feel.”

Your brain felt like it was overgrown in blooms, unable to do anything but nod and hand him the reins. Your magic grew excited, flora sprouting in your damp hair with every kiss he littered down your jaw and neck. 

“Turn around for me.” Azriel helped guide your body to how he wanted you, sat between his parted legs, your back to his chest and his lips breezing against the shell of your ear. 

“Good girl.” 

You were royally fucked. 

He let his hands travel down your covered stomach, fingers reaching for the soft skin of your thighs. You welcomed every touch, basked in the rough skin of his scarred hands. You could hardly breath, so pent up in anticipation. 

Azriel nipped at your ear. “Can you spread your legs for me, baby?” 

A pathetic mewl sounded from your throat and you found yourself nodding obediently and spreading your thighs for him. Azriel’s shadows wrapped around your thighs, down your legs and ankles and slithered back up again. A few rushed back to him, whispering their findings to their master. 

Dripping. Excited. Delicious. 

Azriel took a laboured breath to steady himself, his cock pressing into your ass. He let his hands grip your waist, fingers reaching the hem of your slip and bunching it in a strong fist.

He pulled it away, exposing your sopping heat and your head lulled back against his shoulder. “Can I touch you?” You nodded before he even finished his question, your legs spreading wider for him. 

Azriel snuck a hand between your thighs, cupping your sex as your arousal coated him. His deft fingers rubbed teasingly through your slick folds, spreading the wetness across your entire cunt. 

A shuddered breath escaped you. “Please.” 

With clenched teeth, Azriel appeased you, reaching up to your clit and pressing the pad of his middle finger against it. A gasp slipped from your mouth, his finger rubbing right circles on that puffy bud. 

Rafe had never once touched your clit. 

Your hips bucked into his hand and Azriel began to rub faster. But it wasn’t enough. The pressure built in your lower stomach, a feeling only you had been able to get yourself to, and even then never passed. 

Azriel could sense your need and replaced his finger with his thumb and reached lower. A single digit probed your fluttering hole, swirling in arousal before slowly sinking between your walls. 

You hummed in pleasure, eyes closing as he curled his finger against a spongy spot. Your hips rolled, chest heaving. You had never felt anything so exhilarating in your life. Azriel added a second finger, stretching your cunt deliciously. 

“Gods, Az…” you couldn’t find the words to describe what he was doing to you—how he was making you feel. He hummed, nuzzling his nose up your neck and latching his lips to your jaw; kissing and licking and biting. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Look how well you’re taking me.”

Azriel’s praise went to your head, your heart, your cunt. You could feel him everywhere. Shadows pinched at your nipples, Az’s hand working tirelessly against your core. Your hips rolled to meet his movements, your legs shook as he curled and scissored. 

You had never imagined it to feel this way. 

You rolled your head back, lips parted as you blindly searched for his. Azriel met you in a searing kiss, his tongue licking the insides of your mouth as you fought to meet his pace. 

Then the shaking started, and the small whimpers and moans turned to cries as you bucked against him. Azriel only kissed you harder, fucked you harder. The sound of his fingers pummeling your cunt were obscene, wet and loud and spurring you toward the edge. 

Your stomach pinched, coiled. A wave of uncontrollable pleasure and power coursed through your very being as you cried out into his mouth. Azriel did not relent his pace, did not offer a moment's reprieve. 

He worked you through it, pumping and pinching, sucking and biting. That tight rope in your abdomen snapped, your jaw slacking and eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Azriel watched as you came around his fingers, his own release coating his pants as you clenched around him and cried and thrashed. He had never seen anything so fucking beautiful before in his life. 

Your chest heaved, legs trembling. And a flurry of petals rained down on your bodies, clinging to the sheen of sweat on your skin. Azriel reluctantly removed his hand, guiding fingers to his mouth to finally reward himself with a taste. 

He regretted it the moment he did it. Because now he did not know how to live without that taste on his tongue for the rest of his life. His cock hardened again at the thought of tasting you properly. 

Azriel gazed down at you, fluttering lashes and flushed skin. You were catching your breath, unable to speak a coherent sentence. He leaned down to kiss your mouth slowly, your lips mirroring his. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it only made you crave it once more. 

“You doing okay?” He asked gently. 

You hummed, chasing his lips when he tried to pull away. Azriel chuckled at your eagerness, he’d given you a taste and now you were hungry for more. 

“Not tonight,” he told you. 

You couldn’t help the frown, but Azriel planted a kiss to your brow and rested his forehead on yours. 

“I don’t want you to rush yourself into these things. You have consumed me, Y/N. There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world.” 

A tether tugged at your soul, so light you almost missed it. But your magic had responded, wrapping itself around that thin piece of string and humming in approval. 

“You have no idea how scared I was when we found you in the mountains,” he whispered solemnly. “I thought you were gone.” 

You strained your neck to look at him, at the silver that lined those molten honey eyes. Your hand reached for his face, fingers gently striking the stumbled skin of his cheek. 

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. “Different, now…yes. But this is who I’m supposed to be. I have to believe the Mother intended for it to be this way.”

He hummed, and that feeling tugged slightly once more—a little harder this time. Your gut, most likely, butterflies. 

“I won’t let you do something so foolish again.” 

Your head fell back against Azriel’s chest, his shadows working to cover your exposed body again before they tugged the blanket over you. 

And there, in his arms, you became someone else. Someone you were always fated to be. 

a/n: okay so i got slightly carried away with the teasing between az and y/n so it ended up a bit longer that the other parts BUT the next part is a very big one and potentially the last :(((( but even if it is, i have some ideas to do some check in fics with them in the future!

if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated <3

tag list: @anna-reader-blog @bubybubsters @honethatty12 @angiieguevara @honk4emoboyz @e1jeyy @celestialgilb @rcarbo1 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @judig92 @moonfawnx @historygeekqueen @idkitsem @horneybeach1 @apenasandorinha @thaynarajejheje @popcornlauncher @mrsjna @fuckingsimp4azriel @kk191327 @babypeapoddd @bluebries81 @secretlyhers @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mixheleee @be-your-coffee-pot @ly–canthrope @acoazlove @camilasstories @yesiamthatwierd @scoliobean @marigold-morelli @mellowmusings @dreaming-lis @prettylittlewrites @optimisticbabydreamer @halo-mystic @curtaincaramba @donnadiddadog @nocasdatsgay @hisonlykiwi @bookishbroadwaybish @peachyxlynch @hungryforbatboys @call-me-evangeline @stqrgirlies-blog @acourtofbatboydreams @pinksmellslikelove @demon-master-zero @more-a-then-i @svearehnn

((if you’d like to be tagged, please send me an ask, i can’t guarantee i’ll see you asking in the comments of the post))