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[deludeddreammer]

Azriel/OC Fanfic

ACOTAR/HarryPotter AU Azriel/ OC Character from HP World

Darkness reigns. Aria, the most powerful witch of her generation, finds herself pulled through a dimensional rift and deposited at the feet of Azriel, jaded spymaster of the Night Court.

Azriel, numbed by a world ravaged by war, feels a flicker of something stir within him as he recognizes the spark of power in this mysterious visitor. Thrust together by fate, Aria and Azriel must navigate a perilous new reality, unravel the secrets of her arrival, and face the unknown together

Status: Ongoing

[deludeddreammer]

Where it all began

How Rhysand's father and mother met: In the story he was 900 years old and his mother 18 years when they met. He’s described as quite a character by everyone, a very cunning and calculative High Lord who didn’t really love Rhys's mother and wasn’t well matched with her despite being mated. I can imagine why, the age gap would have been too big for them to ever find a common ground. He’d lived through many eras while his mother had barely stepped into adult hood so the dynamic between them would’ve been skewed.  This is just my version of how they would have met though. Wanted to write because I felt like it. 

The air was ruthlessly harsh and strong that day. Winds shrieked like banshees across the Illyrian Camps, ripping at the flimsy tents and threatening to splinter the makeshift houses. The frigid air bit through any gaps, a bone-deep cold that promised a harsh day. 

Lryia sat hidden in a corner of her room, trembling as she held up the rag of cloth with blood on it. The dreaded day had finally arrived; she’d bled and her wings; the only freedom and strength she was left with in this life would also be snatched from her. 

Shallow pants wracked her body as she darted her eyes around the room, searching frantically for any place to conceal the cloth and scent. There would be no use though; the moment her father entered the house he’d know immediately and her wings would be clipped. 

A sudden sound from outside jolted her, fear gripping her heart and she shot up, her knuckles white as she clutched the rag. 

Run.

She raced out the door of her small house without thinking. Despite streaks of light breaking through the dawn, training would have already begun in the heart of the campsite and her parents would notice her absence in the family shop if she didn’t immediately leave. The wind lashed her unruly black hair across her face and pierced through the skin visible under her dress as she gasped at the frigid air.  The small cramped white houses lined the narrow alleys barely giving any space for the wings to walk let alone run so she would have to make it to the small patch of open space that would allow her to spread her wings and take flight. 

Ten steps to go. 

“Wait”

A males voice called behind her and she cursed under her breath, shoving a small boy who flapped his wings to maintain his balance. Her scent was too obvious and the space too tiny to go unnoticed. Five more steps. 

She heard the thundering steps as he neared but she jumped into a flight early, knocking her left wing into the red roof of on one of the houses, flapping her wings desperately. 

“Catch her!”

The shout cut through the air as she flew away, quicker than any female could in the camp from the hours she spent without permission flying in the sky. She gritted her teeth as she fought against the strong winds threatening to break her balance and sweep her away into a different direction. 

She cursed her weak form; the exhaustion dripping from her wings so quickly from the lack of nutrition and strength in her frail body. 

The sound of wings forced her to spare a quick glance at the people behind and fear clawed up her heart as she watched two males flying behind her, smiles on their faces. She couldn’t outrun them. No, not Illyrian males born and bred to fight in these conditions. A hopeless sob crept up her throat as she sent all her strength into flapping her wings, trying to harness the wind or drift into one of the mountains. Who could help her now? 

A large hand suddenly gripped her arm as a cry escaped her lips. 

“No!”

Her cry was lost in the sounds of the howling wind as the Males deathly grip dragged her to his body and caged her with his other hand. 

“You stupid girl”, he bit out, his eyes filled with anger and disgust at her helpless fight and he dipped backwards to the camp, dragging her along as if she weighed nothing.

Lyria cried, pleaded and fought; trying to strike and bite wherever she could but he was too strong. 

They landed roughly on camp grounds, amidst the training grounds and Lyria tried to kick his shins to break free. This time another male caught her easily, picking her up and cursing her loudly as a few more surrounded her, looking gleefully at her plight. 

She screamed and jerked to pull her hands free but they dragged her back. Her mind briefly registered they were going to the block where she’d watched other females getting their wings clipped and tears streamed down her eyes. 

“Please”, she begged, “please please please!” 

No one listened.

Only a little spark in her chest refused to clamp down as it raged with anger within her, forcing her to fight every step of the way. This was how her life would be taken from her. She would no longer feel the brush of air against her face and hair, no longer feel the sensation of butterflies in her stomach, the lightness in her chest and never again experience the pure joy and thrill of flying away from the camp; a destitute place where her life would now be set in stone like others. 

Her feet dragged over the steps, the rough cement scratching her skin as they crowded; a mix of wild eyes, teeth and wings surrounding her. 

She screamed and screamed at the unfamiliar hands pulling her hands and pressing against her sensitive wings roughly. 

She squeezed her eyes shut bracing herself for the impending pain, and then suddenly all the pressure on her wings and hands vanished. 

Wet drops of water spattered across her face and dress as she crumbled into the ground, her breath coming in loud pants. She carefully opened her eyes and saw in horror as the cement was now covered with a sheen of red, covering her dress and arms. All the males in the camp stood still, watching her in horrified silence. Her eyes glanced around wildly searching for the source when they landed on the man standing on the corner of the field. Cold, calculative and unyielding.

He was the most beautiful male she’d ever seen; violet eyes on a pale unforgiving face that stared right at her; searing through her soul. Something inside her innately recognized the aura of power rolling off him, stifling the air around as if daring anyone to breath. An unfamiliar sensation crept up her chest; an overwhelming rush of darkness spread her veins; something ancient and powerful seizing her as she watched his eyes narrow before he began striding towards her. 

“Who is she?”, his words, soft yet imperious, rang authoritatively in the air as she watched Devon the camp lord, stumble over his words. 

“She- she’s Denys’s daughter. She bled today”, he glanced at her before looking back at the Male who continued walking towards her without sparing a glance at anyone. “Her wings have to be clipped.”

Some force returned to Devon’s words as the Male stood in front of her, staring at her from his height before extending a hand towards her. 

He looked late in his twenties with a few lines around his eyes but she just knew from his presence that he was ancient, that he had already conquered the world she’d stepped into. Not a single thought permeated through the fog of darkness and fear in her mind as she watched her hand slowly lift to meet his; something inside her recognizing him to be a kindred spirit, calling her to join him. 

Their fingertips brushed and his calloused hands sallowed hers. His gaze, unwavering and intense, held hers as he spoke, clasping her hand and drawing her up to her feet. 

“You’re my mate.”