insanityismyface

[insanityismyface]

A High Lord’s Day Off

pairing: Azriel x Eris

word count: 1k

warnings: fade to black smut

tags: fluff, Eris is a sap, Azriel is smitten

summary: Eris has a rare day off, and these two mates spend it enjoying each other’s company.

a/n: aspen is finally writing again, yay! written very late for day 2 of @azrisweek

The morning sunlight filters through gauzy red curtains, casting a warm glow across the bed they share. It’s late enough that even the birds have quieted, having already left their nests to start their day.

Azriel stirs first, though he doesn’t open his eyes. He knows Eris is already awake. He can feel the awareness humming through the mating bond, soft and sleepy. Eris’s hand rests just under Azriel’s rib cage, fingers splayed and thumb swiping back and forth.

Azriel breathes in deeply, Eris’s scent of cinnamon and wood smoke filling his lungs.

“Good morning, sleepy bat,” Eris murmurs, voice thick with sleep and amusement.

Azriel opens one eye. “Good morning, fox.”

Eris smiles as Azriel rolls over, burrowing closer. Their legs tangle further, and Eris’s arm tightens around him, pulling him fully against his chest.

“We don’t have anything on the schedule today,” Eris says quietly. “A High Lord’s rare day off.”

Azriel hums. “Good. I’ve missed my mate.”

Silence stretches between them, and then, as if drawn together by a magnetic pull, Eris kisses him—slow and deep, no urgency, no rush. Just lips brushing over lips, hands sliding across bare skin like they have all the time in the world.

When Eris pushes him onto his back, Azriel goes willingly, his shadows swirling around them lazily. It’s not fast or rough. They take their time, savoring the feel of skin on skin, the way their bodies know each other now. Where to touch, where to kiss, where to linger. Azriel’s wings stretch comfortably across the bed. They breathe each other in, move in perfect rhythm, and when they come, it’s with murmured “I love yous” and forehead kisses as they gaze into each other’s eyes.

Later, when their heartbeats have steadied and the sheets are thoroughly ruined, Azriel laughs into Eris’s neck. “We’re going to have to change these.”

Eris groans. “You can do it. I made the bed yesterday.”

Azriel arches a brow. “You mean you asked the servants to do it?”

“That counts.”

With a snort, Azriel rolls away, groaning slightly as he stretches. He pads naked toward the bathing room, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll start breakfast.”

Eris lifts his head just enough to watch the view. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

Azriel stops in the doorway, turns, walks back, and kisses him again with that little smile Eris has come to crave.

The kitchen smells like cinnamon and butter by the time Eris wanders in, hair tousled, his robe sliding low on his chest. Azriel is standing at the stove, flipping pancakes with precision. His wings twitch occasionally, still stretching out from sleep, and Eris pauses just to admire him.

Azriel senses him, as he always does, and glances over his shoulder. “Don’t just stare. Grab plates.”

“You’re bossy in the mornings,” Eris teases, but obeys, brushing his knuckles along Azriel’s lower back as he moves past him.

Azriel leans into the touch without thinking.

They eat on the balcony, two steaming mugs of tea between them. They don’t talk much. Just soft clinks of forks on ceramic, the occasional shared bite, and toes brushing beneath the table as they enjoy eating in each other’s company. When they’re finished, Azriel leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. Eris watches him quietly, admiring the sharp line of his jaw, the delicate fan of his lashes, the way the sunlight kisses his scarred hands and makes them look almost golden.

“You’re staring again,” Azriel murmurs without opening his eyes.

Eris shrugs. “You’re beautiful.”

Azriel’s eyes flutter open. He stares at his mate, unguarded and soft. “You’re a sap.”

Eris smirks. “Only for you.”

The courtyard is warm but not stifling, shaded by towering oaks and tall hedges. Eris’s hounds are already bounding across the grass when they step outside, barking joyfully. A pair of them rush toward Azriel, tails wagging furiously. He laughs as he crouches to greet them, letting them nuzzle into his hands, lick at his chin.

“They like you more than me,” Eris mutters, feigning offense.

“They’ve had five hundred years with you,” Azriel counters. “I’m still new and exciting.”

Eris rolls his eyes but the small smile spreading across his face betrays his true feelings.

Azriel whistles once, low and sharp, and the hounds heel instantly, forming a half-circle around him. He grins at Eris. “Who’s their master now?”

Eris lunges. Azriel yelps as Eris tackles him into the grass, the hounds immediately going wild, barking and bounding around them like they’re children playing a game. Eris pins him with ease, grinning down at him, both of them breathless from laughter.

“You’re not supposed to win when I’m being charming,” Azriel says, squinting up at him, grass in his curls.

“You should stop being charming then, because I always win.”

Eris leans down, kisses him again—short and sweet this time. “Come on. Before they start trying to climb on us.”

One of the hounds immediately tries to sit on Azriel’s legs.

Azriel groans. “Too late.”

By late afternoon, the two of them are curled up on the oversized couch in the library. Eris’s legs stretch along the cushions, and Azriel is draped half across him, wings tucked tightly behind his back. Eris reads aloud from a battered novel, his voice low and smooth. It’s a romance—not the kind either of them usually picks—but Eris had seen Azriel eyeing it in the bookstore a week ago, and now he reads it with that knowing little smirk.

“You’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on,” Azriel mutters as Eris turns a page.

Eris smirks. “I’m enjoying the fact that you’re enjoying it.”

Azriel rolls his eyes, but the bond between them pulses with warmth and contentment. He turns and nestles his head against Eris’s chest, one hand resting over his heart. Eris shifts slightly, placing his book down and curling his arms around his mate.

“I could stay like this forever,” Eris whispers into Azriel’s hair.

Azriel doesn’t answer with words. Just a sigh, his hand tightening over Eris’s shirt and the bond blooming with quiet joy. And Eris understands. Because this kind of quiet, stolen day is the kind of forever they’d both longed for.

[insanityismyface]

I’m sorry if this is a stupid ask, but how do you pronounce Eunuch?

yoo-nuck! it comes from the greek eunoukhos > latin eunuchus, so it’s a hard ch (like in ‘character’)

[insanityismyface]

stop being silly in front of me

[insanityismyface]

you can domesticate one animal species of your choosing, which do you pick and why? explain your reasoning

[insanityismyface]

Okay so after the mountain breakup and makeup, jaskier has a new horse. He super excited to introduce Geralt “horse girl” Riviera to his sweetheart of a horse, Pegasus. He talk about how well mannered and precious his horse is; and how he just had to buy him off of his old owners who didn’t treat him right — “ I mean they didn’t even give him apples, Geralt, who does that?? —

Geralt is expecting a dainty normal horse, maybe with ribbons in his hair, like his owner. But they get to the stables and jaskier skips over to this behemoth of a war horse. (I’m thinking like a shire horse type breed).

Jaskier is just absolutely besotted with the “sweetheart” and Geralt is petrified. This horse is bigger than roach. It’s glaring at Geralt with the rage of hellfire. Geralt is like 57% sure it’s a hell horse.

It’s also super protective of jaskier and it hates Geralt. Pegasus is always moving in between the two and when Jaskier starts giving Geralt attention Pegasus whines and Jaskier will go back to him.

Geralt is not jealous no matter what anyone says. He tries to tell Jaskier about how his demon horse keeps glaring at him and bumping him off the road. But everytime he tries to point it out Pegasus has the most innocent look on his face.

It would be so funny to see a horse and a Witcher try and fight for Jaskier attention

[insanityismyface]

okay but i'm laughing about the idea of jaskier surviving an encounter with a sphynx PURELY by arguing that he is NOT wrong

putting that college degree to WORK arguing

it's not even about saving his life after a certain point

it's PURELY about winning for the principle of the thing

geralt shows up after SPRINTING there only to find the sphynx pounding her head against the ground BEGGING jaskier to stop. fine. FINE. it's a draw!! okay!! she can see your perspective!! fine!! she'll call it a truce!!

meanwhile jaskier gets hauled over geralt's shoulder and is shouting as he's carried away because anD ANOTHER THING-

[insanityismyface]

"She was warm and smelt like a wet sparrow" vs " ugly duckling"

[insanityismyface]

Love being reminded that Geralt is the character of all time. He’s a horse girl. He’s a girl dad. Before he went out on the path he gave himself 5 names to seem more like a knight but everyone bullied him about it so he settled for being called “of Rivia” even though he was not from Rivia and had only been there once after he’d become a Witcher. He’s constantly bullied by everyone around him because he’s an idiot. His two best friends are a bard and an elderly higher vampire who doesn’t drink human blood because the last time he did he got so drunk on it he flew directly into a building. He names every horse he owns Roach and always picks chestnut mares. He’s centuries old and didn’t know about periods until he got Ciri and he and the other Witchers got chewed out by a sorceress for not knowing what periods were

[insanityismyface]

Fuck it, lets start slow yeah? Also slight spoilers on Predator: Killer of Killers

Those collars that translate stuff, instead of putting it on you, your own yautja (yandere ofc) would wear it instead. He knows how cumbersome it is to wear such a demeaning object, so he sacrifices his own dignity so that he could understand you. And if he could, he would definitely make sure that it's only him that could understand you with that collar (though other yautjas could use their own collar if they really want to).

The yautja that has chosen you as his ooman seems to enjoy your presence (unbeknownst to you of course), but he has been stalking you for a while and you fear that he would attack you suddenly. But he never did, no, instead he approached you in a way that one would approach a scared animal, his arms wide open and his mandibles clicking and purring to soothe your nerves.

He points to the collar on his neck, metallic and heavy, before pointing to you. You shook your head of course, you don't want to wear a collar! But he does it again, this time speaking in his language, voice soft and deep.

"Ooman speak," the sudden robotic voice emanating from the collar startles you, and the predator purrs again to calm you down. It worked tremendously as you felt your muscles relax.

"Speak?"

"...Hi...?"

The purrs grow louder and the yautja shows... happiness? On it's face.

"I, closer?" He asks, tilting his head.

"You...wanna get closer?"

He nods, dutifully waiting for your approval.

"Sure, I guess?" His mandibles clicks approvingly before getting closer and closer until you are face to chest with him. You gave him permission to come close, but you did not expect him to come this close. As one would react normally, you step backwards in shock, but what you did not expect was him stepping forwards as soon as you did it.

You both moved in tandem, you trying to get away, and him wanting to stay in your personal space. The dance ended when you are pinned between a wall and another, fleshier — but muscular! — wall.

The whole time his purrs did not stop, instead, it got louder and louder the closer he got, and this time, you felt it vibrate your whole body when he nuzzles close to your neck.

"Ooman... smell good."

You did not know whether to be disgusted or be scared, so you stayed there, still like a statue.

"Ooman not be scared, I, protect you."

Well then... considering that you literally can't do anything against a yautja, you just accepted whatever is happening. But you should really tell him to stop sniffing and licking your neck.

[insanityismyface]

*blowing out my little bedside tealight, putting away my phone, and drifting off to sleep with one last dozzy thought of gratitude to blue light screen filters, only to jolt awake because wait shit did humans evolve that way because of candles???

[insanityismyface]

and all four of them are wrong!

(commission info // tip jar!)

[insanityismyface]

[insanityismyface]

blows my mind that cheetahs are apex predators. that is the single most anxious creature I have ever seen. at any given moment a cheetah is exactly one stubbed paw away from bursting into tears. that is a sad dripping wet animal, and it's at the top of the local food chain? babygirl what happened

[insanityismyface]

PERIODT

Friendly reminder: you can ship two characters without shitting on another, purely because they exist.

I don't care if you ship Elain x Azriel, Elain x Lucien, Azriel x Tamlin, Cassian x Eris, Azriel x Eris, Feyre x Cassian, Feyre x Lucien, Nesta x Rhysand, Nesta x Tamlin, Elain x Tamlin, Nesta x Eris, or even Eris x Rhysand

New crack ships unlocked, you're welcome.

But one thing that makes no sense is tagging 'Anti [character]' because they 'get in the way' of a pairing you, yourself, ships.

If this is the hill I die on, so be it. I'll never understand placing two kings against each other, over a woman who could fuck them both no problem.

In the wise words of Katherine Pierce: 'It's okay to love them both. I did.'

Shipping in fanfiction is fun, and some of y'all (not naming names, but we ALL know who) are making things very un-fun for the rest of us who love our silly little fae babies.

Send tweet.

[insanityismyface]

have this stupid ipad doodle

[insanityismyface]

our favorite acotar men + “i could fix him” text posts

[insanityismyface]

Reversal

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: When protecting your mate brings out a side you swore to keep hidden, you have to deal with the consequences.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Violence, injury, angst, some self-deprecation

a/n: This is loosely based off of this request <3 thank you for sending it!! I hope you enjoy and I also love comments!! ♡

Masterlist ♡

~~

In the heat of battle, there was kindness. 

That was a ludicrous sentiment, and Azriel had reminded you of that many times, but it was something you believed in. 

War was hot flames and blood and the clashing of metal, but it was also reassurance and soft hands and wisps of healing light. If war was cruel and it stole, you were kind and you gave. 

The first war had been a teacher, guiding you to your role. The second war had been reinforcement, showing you what it meant to be the Night Court’s healer. And then you thought you were done—done with attempting the impossible. 

But then Beron took a stance that no one could foresee, and you were not done. 

With the soldiers of Autumn Court came an impenetrable heat, and it was your job to quell the scars that plagued Rhysand’s frontlines. You were the one set to heal the broken and save the damned, and you were the one set to protect the court with kindness. 

It was awful work. 

Azriel was always quick to agree. 

Your mate hated these wars more than you did, and that was an almost impossible feat. Azriel was never close to you in the throes of battle. There was always a cluster of shadows on your trail, but he could never be there himself. You knew it ate away at him, distracting him when he was supposed to be zeroed in on the enemies. 

But, you had reminded him as he held you close in the tent the night before, you hadn’t died yet, and maybe you’d never die from a war. Maybe you weren’t destined to. 

He had only pulled you closer at that, pressed his lips to your head as his wings hid you from the camp that made far too much noise. He held you so tightly you felt his pulse on the skin of your cheek and you pretended you were back at home. 

Because although you were the kindness within the war, you wanted to go home. 

Gods, did you want to go home. 

Flames raced along the outskirts of the blue shield that had enveloped you the moment your knees hit the ground beside the unconscious Illyrian soldier. They pushed and pried, trying to force their way past your mate’s protection as you trained your attention on the wound marring the soldier’s skin. 

Azriel would protect you. 

He always did, even when he couldn’t be beside you. 

“I’m… going to die,” the male beneath your hands huffed out, a line of sweat at his brow. 

“No,” you assured. “No, you’re going to be okay. I just need a few more moments.” 

You couldn’t see what was making him so assuredly pessimistic—couldn’t see the way the flames were creating cracks in the shimmering blue light. They were covering every inch of the shield, making the air in the circle red with heat and promised death. 

You noticed a moment too late. 

It was unbearable, the suffocating fire. You threw your body over the soldier as if that would make a difference, arms and shoulders wrapping over his head as your leathers scorched and your lungs burned. The male screamed, his legs thrashing. You wanted to replicate the sound, but you were kindness. Kindness did not scream. 

It ended as abruptly as it began, flames dissipating into blackened embers. You felt a crack in the bond during the disappearance, Azriel’s fear and rage embedding itself into the golden thread connecting you. That, too, ended as abruptly as it began; Azriel shut his side down, saving you from the ravaging emotions. 

You whipped around to search for him, eyes up towards the sky. You found him quickly, with a practiced eye. You’d looked for him in every room you’d entered for almost your entire life. It was easy to find Azriel. As easy as breathing. 

That breath was stolen from you the moment your gaze locked on his form.

He was falling. 

He had charged—alone—into the group that was to blame for your injuries, for the flames that had almost consumed you, and now he was falling. 

He was falling and he wasn’t conscious. 

You think you screamed, but that couldn’t be right. Screaming led to panicked patients, and panicked patients led to worse outcomes. Your screams were not welcomed in war. 

You tugged at the bond, desperate to rouse him into saving himself. But it was no use; he was plummeting to the ground and there was nothing you could do. 

When you looked back on it later—when it fizzled as dim memories within your dreams—your actions would become more clear. You’d remember that you stood up, and then the ground shook. That the years of training required to be a field healer included so much more than twisting bursts of soothing light. 

And something within you had awoken that day, the moment you saw wakefulness leave Azriel’s being… something that was not kindness or giving or calm. 

It was rage. 

A piece of you recognized that Azriel had been caught. Cassian’s wings had most likely ached from the speed with which he dove to catch his brother, but both members of your family were safe. Harmed, but safe. Not dead.  

Your rage didn’t care. 

Something deep within you snapped, and light was pouring from the tips of your fingers. It wasn’t the same hue that healed. It was darker; a hungry red. 

The enemies from the sky fell. 

When those on the ground saw the damage you had inflicted, you became their target. And fine, let them, because this power coursing through you had no sense of who was to blame for your mate’s injuries. To you, everyone was a threat. Everyone was to blame. 

With a practiced grace, tainted by years of disuse, you attacked. The scene was cloaked in a red hue. Fae after fae charged at you, but it was all fruitless. You felt pain, injuries covering your skin, but it was all muted by the overwhelming desire to end this. To somehow soothe the ache you felt from watching your mate fall.

Time became obsolete. 

Morals became blurred. 

You were a machine, a complete reversal from the position you had assumed all those years ago.  

“Y/n!” 

Through the fog, a scream.

“Y/n, stop!” 

Another far away call. 

“It’s done. It’s over. Stop. Look at me and stop.” 

Something was pressing against your cheeks. It was firm and grounding and the focus returned to your gaze. 

“That’s it. Look at me, y/n.” 

Cassian. When all was righted, Cassian stood in front of you, his posture hunched as he leaned down to catch your eyes. He was dirty and his leathers were torn, but all you could focus on was the panicked frenzy marring his face. 

When he spoke next, the words were no longer accompanied by the incessant buzzing that had invaded your ears. “You with me, sweetheart?” 

Your lips felt numb. 

“Give me a nod or something. Az will kill me if you go catatonic on us.” 

“I’m okay,” you whispered, voice rough. “Azriel, he—” 

“He’s here.” Cassian turned your head in his hands, showing you the shadowsinger propped up against a dirt bank. “That self-sacrificing idiot is fine.” 

He wasn't fine, not really. His breaths were labored and his hand clutched at his side with a shaky grip. You wanted to move towards him, to try and take away some of his pain, but your legs were stuck. Everything was stuck and you couldn't move. 

It didn’t matter, anyway. When your eyes trailed up from his body, the look on his face would have deterred you from even speaking to him. He looked… horrified. Hazy eyes blinked across the battlefield—the one you decimated—and they shut just as fast. They squeezed shut, clamping down so tightly it looked like it hurt. Azriel seemed to shiver at the carnage. 

When your chest heaved at the realization, your body seemed to shut down. You felt your legs give out first, heard the curse shot out by Cassian, and felt the hands pressing to your back as your mind gave way to unconsciousness. 

~~

When you woke, the heaviness in your body was not entirely physical. 

There were, of course, a few broken bones. You could feel the aches and pains from battle and knew that you hadn’t gotten away unscathed, but that was all manageable. Fae healing was fast-acting and you would be fine within a few days. 

But it wasn’t the physical pain keeping you from opening your eyes.

It was the reminder of Azriel’s face. 

The disgust written into his features. 

You were supposed to be his antithesis.

When Azriel came home at the end of a day, he was supposed to be comforted by your warmth and softness. You were kindness and light and graceful silence. You were a healer, granting life, and he was an angel of death. 

Before you had met him, that had not been the truth. You were a healer, yes, but you were a field healer. The continent you hailed from prided themselves in being both the saviors of life and the bringers of death. You were to be the judgment—deciding who received which fate. 

But then you met Azriel, and with him came balance. With him came the need to be only one part of you. 

So you hid away the side of you meant to be cruel. You trained softly in self-defense only and you shied away from the instinct to protect with fists and power. 

And you loved the way he looked at you because of it. 

You loved the soft eyes and silent laughs; the tender way he held you and the sweet way he brushed his lips to your innocent skin. He coveted you, protected you, and you were the one he sought comfort in. 

You were his mate, his equal, his mirror. 

You wished your eyes could remain shut forever. 

“Will she wake up soon?”

Mor, you could deduce. 

“The healers said there was no way to know. She… Gods, Mor, you should have seen her out there. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

Cassian. 

“I wish I had been there. It sounds like she kicked some ass,” Mor smugly replied. 

Cassian huffed out a laugh. “That’s an understatement.” A pause. “It was more than just that though. It was like she was using her healing in a different way. She cleared the field in front of her. There’s no way that just… came out of her.” 

“You know what the mating bond does to people. What it can unleash.” 

“I get that. But it looked natural for her. It looked practiced.” 

You heard Mor sigh. A hand brushed against the top of yours, taking it into a soft grip. 

“I just hope she's alright,” Mor murmured. 

“She has to be.” 

~~

When you awoke next, it was alone. You had been fighting sleep for what you assumed to be the better part of a day and decided that was enough. Eventually, you had to face the consequences of your actions.

You swung your feet over the side of the cot, feeling surprisingly rested and well despite the few pains shooting along your limbs. You took hesitant steps towards the mouth of the tent, propping open the canvas billowing in the wind before taking a more confident step onto dirt and rocks. 

“Good, you’re up.” It was Rhysand who spotted you first. “Just in time for our debrief.” 

The casualness with which he spoke left you disoriented. The High Lord only blinked at you, a small, impassive smile on his face as he waited for you to take the arm he had outstretched. Your mouth parted as if to speak, but nothing was coming out. 

“I know you’re recovering, y/n, but I need my best at this meeting,” he encouraged, elbow jutting towards you. “Come. We’ll speak and then we’ll return to Velaris. We will go home.” 

Your reservations were odd when you compared them to the understanding on Rhys’s face. He wasn’t upset or disgusted or angry; the High Lord’s smile turned up at the corner of his mouth and his expression spoke of sympathy, as if he already knew about the turmoil raging within you. 

“Azriel—” 

“Is there already. Unhappy, but there.” 

Unhappy. 

Of course. 

Who would want a mate that ravaged battlefields? 

Your lip quivered, but you bit it to stop the emotion from showing. “Right,” you nodded, and you let Rhys guide you to the large tent in the middle of the camp. 

It was full; you had to push your way in to meet the rest of your court. Azriel was the only one seated amongst them, and you could tell by the twitch of his wings that he had been placed in that chair begrudgingly. 

Your eyes skated across his for a fleeting moment. You were quick to turn away, focusing on the material of Rhys’s jacket as he stopped in the corner of the tent. 

There was a faint tug on the bond, muted by the wall you had erected. You thought about letting it down, but you were scared of what you’d feel. Azriel was a good male; good enough to attempt to hide the revulsion he was feeling. 

But you’d be able to parse it out the second you dropped your mental shield. 

You kept your eyes forward as the high lords spoke around the tent. The large table in the center was covered in maps and wooden pegs and you flowed in and out of focus as treaties and strategies and plans all mingled in the space. 

Another tug at the bond. 

Another shield placed around your mind. 

“And what of her?” 

Rhys took a step in front of you, covering half of your body from view. “What of her?” he countered, a calmness in his tone as he replied to the High Lord of Spring. 

Tamlin raised a brow. “Are we just supposed to ignore that your ‘healer’ is a danger to all of our courts?” 

“You are a fool,” Feyre spat out, hands splayed on the table. 

“She is a weapon,” Tamlin seethed, finger jutting out towards you. 

You flinched, and the room exploded in shadows. 

You heard several gasps, a few weapons being unsheathed, but over everything was the low rumble of Azriel’s voice. 

“Don’t speak of her as if she is an object,” he threatened. “Don’t speak of my mate at all.” 

“Reign in your dog,” Tamlin spat, but that only spurred on the hostility in the room. 

A chair screeched back, crashing against wood as loud, reverberating footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent tent. No one made a sound. Some of the shadows gave way, retreating to wind around your body, and you were met with the scene across the table. 

“I will show you a weapon, High Lord,” Azriel promised, chest-to-chest with Tamlin. 

The sight made you sick. 

Azriel was a protector. You were used to that truth. But before, things were different. Before, he was protecting you while you were still pure, still innocent in his eyes. 

Now, it was after. After you had killed and killed for him. After he had hurtled to the ground and awoken to find the death his mate had caused. And he was still protecting you, defending you, despite it all. 

Were you really worth this? 

You were worth it before. 

Now, you weren’t so sure. 

On shaking legs, you shouldered your way out of the tent, breath caught in your lungs. The ringing from the battlefield returned to your ears, blocking out the conversations starting in your absence. The shadows stayed with you, twirling with alarm and flowing through your hair in an attempt to gain your attention. 

A weapon. That explained you well—the ability to save lives and take them away. If they all considered you a weapon, where would you go? By Tamlin’s logic, being locked away would be best. 

Maybe that was best. 

You wondered what Azriel would think was best—where his weapon of a mate belonged. Because it was certainly no longer in the calmness of the home you shared. 

Your shaking continued as you brought your hand up to your forehead. Azriel did that sometimes, when you were panicked or anxious or scared. He’d place his scarred touch on your forehead and lean your head up to grant you more air. He’d follow with his lips and then pull you into his arms, but you knew none of that was coming. 

So you leaned forward and felt the sobs creeping up your chest to take the place of air. Your knees fell to the dirt and you collapsed into the feeling of your family, love, life changing forever. 

Until the shadows retreated. 

You glanced up when their swishing stopped and found another pair of knees pressing to yours in the dirt. The leathers covering them were fresher than yours, cleaner, but they were also wrapped in bandages and stabilizers that matched the ones along their ribs and stomach. 

Another crane of your neck and Azriel was leaning down to catch your gaze, mouth parted. Maybe he’d been speaking for a while; the buzzing made it impossible to know. 

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked, low and so, so concerned. Much more concerned than you deserved. Much more gentle than he had spoken in the tent. 

And all you could think to say was, “I’m sorry,” and you sobbed out the words with gut-wrenching sincerity. 

“I’m sorry, Azriel. I’m so sorry. I never meant—I never wanted this—“

Azriel shushed you, his fingers working to guide your hair away from your face. You felt selfish for needing that from him as his body was bandaged and his wings were wrapped. 

“I’m sorry I’m not who you thought I was. That I’m a monster. You were just falling so fast and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn't stop it,” you gasped out, giving in to your instincts as you grappled at the material of Azriel’s shirt. “I wanted to protect you and there was nothing I could do. You’re supposed to feel safe with me and I’ve ruined everything.” 

With each word came more tears and more heaving breaths. Azriel held you through each of them, his hands firm at your elbows, his head shaking as you laid everything before him. Occasionally, your name fell from his lips in a soft whisper, but he never interrupted you. 

“I’m not supposed to be this person to you. I’m supposed to be all of the good parts, and now I’m—now I’m someone else and you can’t—you’re not going to love all of the parts and—”

“Look at me, angel,” Azriel softly interrupted, sliding his fingers along your hairline, his eyes searching every inch of your face. When your gaze snapped to his, a bittersweet smile graced his pretty features. “There she is.” 

A hysterical laugh left you, your emotions mingling with his as the bond flowed freely between you. You didn’t have the energy or willpower to block him out anymore. A rush of relief was sent through you as Azriel realized the opening. 

“You are not a monster.” Azriel’s whisper was so clear, so close. “And I love every part of you, y/n. Especially the part I saw on that field. You saved me—protected our court and family. How could I not love that?” 

“I saw your face,” you whispered back, the words brushing Azriel’s lips as your foreheads met. “You looked—”

“I looked disappointed in myself.” 

“In yourself?” 

Azriel brought both hands to your cheeks. “I lead you to that carnage. Y/n, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to take that load for you… to shoulder that burden.” 

“You aren’t… disgusted by me?” 

“My love, I love you more. What you did for me… you’re so strong. Cassian told me how amazing you were. Why have you never told me?” 

You shifted back on your knees, blinking under Azriel’s adoring, forgiving gaze. The shadowsinger didn’t let you get far, however, sliding his hands down your jaw, your shoulders, and settling on the tops of your thighs. 

Touching you, it seemed, was imperative. 

“When we were mated,” you began, tears still lingering in your throat. “I was new to Prythian—new to having a family. Everyone kept telling me that we were equals in opposite. They said I was a blessing from the cauldron to be so different from you but so in love. And then you… you called me things like peace and safety and calm. I saw the work you did and I knew I couldn’t tell you what I was trained for. Being a healer was enough.” 

The hands on your thighs tense. Azriel’s shadows pooled beneath you, swirling like a puddle of darkness. 

“I never meant for you to hide,” he murmured. 

“Azriel—”

“Never, angel. You could burn down the world and you’d still be my peace. You could be a weapon and I’d find my safety in you.” 

He sighed out a disbelieving laugh. 

“I love you,” he affirmed, eyes so sure. “I love you when you heal the broken and I love you when you decimate battlefields.” A small smirk. “I wish I had known about the second half a little sooner. I might not have teased you about your book choices as often.” 

You scoffed, a watery smile finally lighting up your face. “Don’t start.” 

“Should I tell you all the other times I should have been wary? Or maybe all of the reasons Cassian should be afraid now? It seems that’s the only way to get you to smile, and seeing as you are the reason we won the war, you should be doing far more of it.” 

The bond shone within you, bursting with joy as a laugh escaped your lips—a real laugh. The sound was soon smothered by Azriel’s kiss, and you knew things were changing. 

And that was okay.