jules-writes-stories

[jules-writes-stories]

WIP Wednesday | Nocturne |

Azriel x Eris

I plan to start posting this one in the fall, hopefully in time for Eris Week. It takes place post-canon, but the first chapter is a series of canon scenes with Azriel and Eris, set as flashbacks. It starts with the infamous, "Tie me to a tree, Rhys" scene.

I'm nodding my head towards @mistandmemories who over nine months ago reminded me that Eris was mortally wounded in the Northern Flank battle. Brilliant, big-brained, iconic connection to make. Here is the opening scene (written in January) of Nocturne, my Arranged Marriage AU/ Eris in the Hewn City fic.

. . . .

The Mortal Lands, Second War on Hybern

this amber light whittled down by another war is all that pins my hand to your chest —Ocean Vuong

If the world was to end in fire, Azriel would not sit idly by. A thousand Illyrian warriors had been struck from the sky, their ashes falling to scorched earth like snow. The Shadowsinger led his legion through the fray of arrows and smoke.  

Unexplained terror pulled him northward, towards the crested treeline. Another urgent tug at his shadows, his ribs. It tore at the fabric of his world. “I’m going in.” 

“No,” Rhysand snapped. 

Azriel spread his wings, the sunlight stark on raw half-healed flesh. “Chain me to a tree, Rhys. Go ahead.” He began checking the buckles on his weapons. “I’ll rip it out of the ground and fly with it on my damned back.”

Violet eyes traveled from the spymaster to the Night Court's decimated aerial forces. Any chance of victory was waning. 

Rhysand spoke low. “Lead the remaining Illyrians on the northern flank. I need eyes on Autumn and Spring.” Beneath the guilt and fear lacing his voice was a calculated edge and the tinge of desperation. 

Azriel shot upward before his High Lord could reconsider. His wings beat hard, carrying him toward the scrambling forces. Everything hurt. The newly fused skin was too sensitive in the midday sun; the tender, scarred membrane and torn tendons strained. His head pulsed with the pressure of the shadows’ voices.

“Get into formation.” Azriel barked out over his shoulder. The winged legion moved as a single organism, even as Hybern’s arrows bounced off his cobalt light-shield. 

Beron’s burnt orange livery became visible within minutes, the banners snapping in the wind like ruddy flames against a gray feathered sky. 

Their two-pronged attack was a classic Illyrian strategy. Half of Azriel’s forces would hold the line, landing in a gap between Autumn and Spring’s defenses. The other half remained hovering above, picking off Hybernians with quick Siphon flashes or dipping into the fray wielding short swords. 

Azriel reinforced his own shields and lifting his Illyrian blade, roared above the din, “Qulu nafsin zaikatul maut.” 

The winged warriors at his back unsheathed their blades and repeated the ancient battle cry, this time in the common tongue of Prythian. “Every soul shall taste death.” 

Every Illyrian was born for war. It was their worth, their calling, and purpose. And each one was prepared to die on this field. 

Steel sliced through flesh and bone. Time passed in the killing rhythm of thrust, parry, shield. It became a second heartbeat. His boots sank into blood and earth. Azriel ran his blade through the soft flesh of a soldier’s armpit, expertly aiming for the armor gap. Red bloomed down the male’s chest piece. 

Barely more than a youngling, the Hybern soldier cried out, “braithim uaim momháthair.” The shades whispered a translation: “I miss my mother.” 

Disgust and sadness rose with bile. Azriel ripped his blade from the soldier’s side, and in a downward arc, offered him a clean death. 

He tried to ignore his wrenching ribs and pushed his blade into another soldier, then turned. A flash of red. 

Eris Vanserra, general of the Autumn Court and first prince of Autumn, threw himself at a Hybernian general. Blood flowed freely down the pale column of the male’s throat. Azriel could smell it from where he stood. He hated it.

The shadows swooped low, moving at a frantic speed. yalla, yalla, mughaniy. They pleaded haste in their many voices, feminine and haunting.

Azriel didn’t stop to consider why the shadows were preoccupied by this male, or to question the terror burning bright in his chest. 

Even injured, Autumn’s general was fierce– a true warrior. He moved like flames set across water, with grace and speed. If war was a brutal dance, Eris Vanserra was swept up in its song. 

A second Hybernian came swinging at the prince’s blind spot. This one wore the armor of a general.

Azriel acted out of pure instinct. Flying on half-healed wings, he landed behind the first Hybernian and sliced across his throat. Warm blood splattered his face; he tasted its iron on his lips. 

Without another thought, Azriel turned and rammed his sword forward to impaled the Hybern general’s throat. Both were dead within seconds. 

Eris’s face was streaked with ash and blood; his amber eyes were clouded in pain. He swayed as the Shadowsinger pulled him into the cobalt ring of light. The shades blanketed the Autumn Fae, taking inventory and hissing at the blood leaking down his silver chest piece. 

As much as he hated it, the lying snake of a prince had allied himself with the Night Court, had worked behind his father’s back to rally troops against Hybern. Eris kept his word and Azriel’s honor demanded he not let the fireling die in the mud. Not today.

There was a screeching roar and his shades whispered of Night-dark talons and a massive black maw tearing Hybernians apart. Its feathered and golden Day counterpart had joined the fray. Helion and Rhys had shifted to their Beast forms in a final stand.

It was now or never. Azriel barked out an order to his lieutenant, then lifted Eris’s limp form and took off towards the Autumn camp. The male’s copper-red head lolled to the side and his skin was so pale, blue veins were visible. Another wet breath. His heartbeat was sluggish and labored. 

“Don’t you fucking die. Do you hear me?” Azriel gritted his teeth at his unexpected panic, even as the words passed over his lips. 

He landed before a tent bearing the green livery of Autumn’s general. The male in his arms was frigid, his pouting lips thinned in pain. 

“Eris, I swear to the Mother. I’ll go to Hel and drag you back.” Azriel whispered into a pointed ear.

He snapped open the tent’s flap and rolled his eyes at the large pallet covered in pelts. Only a spoiled prince would bring a mountain of bedding into a warzone. His shadows fussed, winding through Eris’s blood-matted hair.

There was a fluttering from behind. The Illyrian turned to see a High Fae male in brassy Autumn armor. Green eyes glittered in the lantern light. The male’s beauty was undeniable--golden tan skin, high cheekbones, and a lush mouth. He gasped at the sight of Eris and rushed forward. 

“Get your general a healer,” the spymaster spat out. Something mean and sharp tore its claws into his gut. It coiled low and nested. This soldier who barged into Eris’s tent acted like he belonged there.

“I am his healer.” The male met the Shadowsinger’s gaze with trembling courage. Few were so bold. “L-lay him on the pallet. And remove his armor.” He spoke like he was trying on a role, but Azriel was impressed when he moved with confidence along the edges of the enclosure to gather supplies.

Azriel lay Eris down as gently as able and loosened the buckles at the male’s sides. Shadows hovered as he ripped off the metal chest piece. The blood pooling beneath the armor was concerning, but the gash on his neck was slowly healing. He moved to the tunic, but it was fully saturated and sticking to the flat, muscled torso. With a frustrated growl, the Illyrian tore it away, continuing to shuck the leather chausses down the male’s limp form. Boots were tossed with a thunk into the corner. 

In his frenzy, he’d not registered that he was undressing Eris fucking Vanserra. He hated this male for his arrogance and duplicity, for how he’d left Mor in his woods to bleed out centuries ago. 

The Shadowsinger stared down at the lithe form, the flat planes of his stomach that led to slightly rounded hips. Azriel could admit only to himself that the male possessed a wild and powerful beauty. 

Gods, this war truly had taken its toll if he was ogling a half-dead son of Autumn. Sunlight and the din of battle streamed into the tent as several sentries entered with a basin, linens, and bandages. 

The healer slowly wiped the vicious wound. “I can take it from here, Shadowsinger.”

Still unconscious, Eris moaned low, and Azriel growled at the sound, his shadows darting forward. The healer’s head shot up at this, his mouth set in an unimpressed line. He continued to clean Eris’s bloodied skin, then with a quick wrist flick, the pink, cloudy water cleared. He submerged his hand and steam rose as the male poured a packet of herbs into the tub. 

Without looking up, he murmured, “He’ll live. Won’t even scar thanks to your haste” 

“Good. Wouldn’t want your princeling maimed on my watch.” Azriel stomped towards the tent flap. His voice came out sharp, even to his own ears.

Outside, he inhaled the acrid air. Smoke and death hung above, but that was to be expected. What he hadn’t counted on was his body’s reaction to the Autumn male lying atop a pile of pillows. That Night’s spymaster had been half-holding his breath to avoid inhaling the scent of warm spice and earthy musk. 

He tucked his wings back and hissed in pain as a half-healed suture tore. 

Fuck Eris Vanserra, with his long, pretty throat and bratty hips, his amber eyes smoky with pain, and his graceful warrior’s speed. 

It did not matter that the male had come through this time, had acted with honor. The Autumn prince was a viper in wait. And when he struck, Azriel would be ready. 

Please let me know if you ever want on/off the taglist 🖤

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[jules-writes-stories]

Kallias, Winter Court❄️; Helion, Day Court☀️; and Thesan, Dawn Court🌄✨

[jules-writes-stories]

I want the Caveman AU. Is there a rescue from dinosaurs? Rahhhh

Outtakes Tuesday

I’ve been really burnt out and focusing on school so the bloopers have been slim pickins 😫 I offer a strange caveman au drabble that would have rot in my DMs with @the-darkestminds, and a small sexy something that may grow 🤷‍♀️

Azriel threw down the limb-length club against the reddish wall of their cave.

The clanging thud woke Eris from his midday slumber, he claimed the shut-eye after cleaning up their ramshackle of a settlement and long trek to find some leaf to use for bandages that Az told him to find. He brought back four very similar looking leaves, all matching the descriptors Az gave him, unfortunately Eris was not sure which was the correct one; hence the dissociative cleaning spree and subsequent exhaustion.

He rose to sit, wiping sleepiness from his face to his hands.

“Ooo. Ooo. Ahh-ahh?” Azriel gruffed to him. The hunt was unsuccessful. Is there any leftover squirrel?

Eris rolled his eyes and huffed but set his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up off the carved bench and set to heating up last night’s stew.

Eris was the far better hunter, and Azriel was a skilled gatherer, finding all the right herbs and edible vegetation. They decided to switch responsibilities for the day because it would be colder where Eris usually hunted and the journey was across plains, plains under warm sun. They should’ve just stuck to their strong suits and spent the day fucking.

“Arrooogah,” He replied lethargically, already setting up a fire.

“Rah,” Azriel thanked, coming up behind Eris’s crouched pose, the rumbly steps and sounds of scattering pebbles from Azriel’s heavy footfalls roused the hairs on the back of Eris’s neck.

Eris could feel the sheared edge of Azriel’s loincloth brushing his shoulder, he leaned back against Azriel’s thigh and looked up at the towering caveman.

“Ooourgh rah. Oorah gah.” Eris informed lovingly that Azriel was lucky he was pretty considering he’s shit at hunting.

It was usually Eris.

He would walk with more sway, sip with more smirk, lounge sets with more silk, he would lure.

And Azriel would always follow.

Whether it’s a direct order or a subtle lead, he would follow diligently. Like a good boy.

But tonight it was Azriel who incited a deepening of their contact, he batted his lashes and sunk to his knees without word.

Eris fought the obviousness of his hitched breath behind his glass containing whiskey older than his grandmother and spread his thighs, goading Azriel to take up more space.

Azriel’s coy, nearly shy smile deepened to something heady, something that sent fire twining down Eris’s spine.

“Yes, darling?” Eris prompted, needing Az to say what he needs, vocally, needs to hear the extra gravelly layer to his dulcet tone. “Want something?” He harped as Azriel gnawed on his lip in a lambish way laughably at odds with his slowly undulating hips and bulge pronounced like a shriek.

“To taste you, sir. I want you, please,” he pleaded, “Please?” His hands raked up Eris’s shins towards his thighs and beyond.

“Well, who the fuck could say no to that, pretty boy?”

“Lesbians? Asexuals?”

“You turn heads when you enter rooms, I wouldn’t be surprised if people double checked their preferences when you’re in sight.”

“I’m taking this as a yes,” Az presumed and directed his hands towards Eris’s belt.

He placed his glass on the side table aside the room-consuming leather chair within his den. The soft clink of connecting glass paired with the metallic tinks and rustling leather curled Eris’s toes.

He arched his hips to help Azriel slide his slacks down, matching the menace’s grin as Azriel palmed him as soon as Eris’s briefs peekabood.

“You get hard so fast,” Azriel chuckled.

“Oh, I wonder why?” Eris kid, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Azriel’s bitten lip.

“If you’re not sure, I’m doing something wrong.”

Thank you for reading, dearies!! 💗 I’m tryna get it together istg, love u all 🧎‍♀️💗

These were kinda normal here and both Azris so all y’all babes are paged 😚 @the-darkestminds @astro-h0e-4azris @nus4y @jules-writes-stories @iftheshoef1tz @makinglongwordsslutty @mistandmemories @mudandmire @chunkypossum @molcat07 @fourteentrout @nightsandflamess @pippsmcgee @molcat07 @shadowsandlint @palomita-de-la-sangre @olenvasynyt @3xolara @sunstar-drabbles @missblackstar @icey--stars @irithiadourden @queercontrarian @neciebee @thesourcabbage @talibunny30 @brunetterebel010 @eatsbooks @wovendreamscapes @wrraccountant @skies-for-eyes-trees-for-knees 💗💗🪿

[jules-writes-stories]

Short-haired Eris propaganda:

•practicality as a general 🪖

•sets him apart from all the other long haired redheads

•EXPOSE DAT NECK FOR CHOK- its design potential to look like a living flame 🔥

•Punk rock🧑‍🎤 sexy when messy

•Laurent of Vere affinity

Long-haired Eris propaganda:

•Top energy 🦵

•glorious, luscious, covers Az

• more to pull 😉

•Contrasts with Az's short, dark hair ☯️

•Kinship with LOA and Lucien 🍂 (but he would likely keep it short on Beron's orders, despite wanting to match with momma 🥲)

In conclusion: I love him no matter the canon length of those inches 🧑‍🏫

My two extremes, although i feel it's canonly somewhere in between and past the shoulders.

Please share your points 🎤

Lmk if you want on or off the tag train babes💋

@chunkypossum @jules-writes-stories @mistandmemories @g00seg1rl @irithiadourden @the-darkestminds @thesourcabbage @aleksandra25cracow @futurehunt @molcat07 @buffy-vanserra @fourteentrout @makinglongwordsslutty @amalhe-kofee @rentfreeatticsquirrel @donnadiddadog

[jules-writes-stories]

[jules-writes-stories]

“A library is a temple of sorts, but priestesses here… They are special, unique.”- Sarah J Maas🩵✨

[jules-writes-stories]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXXIII

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: This chapter has taken me so long to just sit down and edit, thank you a million times over to everyone who is still following along and to those who took the time to comment!!! Your kind words motivated me to continue writing and outlining <3 A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds / @lady-of-tearshed / @what-about-elvenis / @gameafoot /

The air inside the temple had grown too still.

Lucien stood motionless beneath the great wooden arch, its pale beams shaped from ancient trunks harvested centuries before. Open and lovely, he had hoped that the gentle breeze twisting between the columns would calm some of his nerves. The carvings of the Mother and the Cauldron curled up the pillars like ivy, weathered smooth by centuries of reverent hands. Crimson leaves had drifted inside, catching in the corners of the stone steps, vivid against the pale wood like spilled blood.

He frowned, adjusting the cuff of his jacket. 

Lucien’s golden eye clicked softly as he scanned the gathered crowd. Dozens of nobles from every corner of Autumn, their finery brushed in earthy tones, made it so that the Inner Circle stood out awkwardly, uncomfortably. 

The silence of the forest stretched outward, pressing at the edge of his mind. Even the wind had gone quiet, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath.

Where was Elain?

He could feel her faintly, like a flickering candle, just fine. 

He swept his gaze over the crowd again. Cora stood near the front of the guests, mouth pressed into a tight line, just behind his mother. Callum stood beside her, visibly alert now, eyes scanning the woods as if he too sensed that something was out of place. Felix had broken from them, pushing past a group of guests who moved to make a narrow path for him, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable.

Ronan was noticeably absent. 

Drinking. 

Lucien told himself it was simply to be expected, had noticed stumbling steps and slurred words all too often in the past fortnight to brush all other warning thoughts aside. 

“She's late,” Feyre murmured from her place just next to the alter, just loud enough for him to hear, shifting nervously on her feet. 

Lucien did not answer. He felt the tension ripple through the members of the Night Court. Rhys’s violet eyes swept the shadows, assessing, as he inched impossibly closer to his High Lady. Cassian’s wings shifted, but Lucien’s attention snagged on Nesta.

She stood as if anchored, spine rigid. Her silver gaze kept drifting to the woods. Her expression was unreadable, but something in her eyes flashed, discomfort and something that bordered on recognition. She had not stopped frowning since they had arrived.

Lucien felt as a shiver crawled up his spine, his feet heavy as he walked down the steps of the altar. He turned his head at the gasp that seemed to force itself from deep within Cora’s chest. The sound unleashed a wave of nervous murmurs in the large temple, ones he could barely hear over the sound of his rapidly beating heart. 

Lucien had never noticed such an absence of sound in the forest, unnerving and unnatural, and he knew that the rest of the guests were beginning to sense a shift in the ancient woods. 

Lucien pressed a hand over his chest, where the bond began to thrum. His magic stirred uneasily, and he barely saw in front of him as panic washed over him and he tried to reach his mother. 

Elain. 

Lucien had been so sure that he had only thought of her, that her name had only echoed in his skull. He had not been expecting someone to respond. 

“She won’t be joining us,” the High Lord of Autumn said calmly, stepping right into Lucien’s line of sight. Beron emerged from the rear of the temple like a shadow made flesh. His velvet jacket clung to his broad frame, deep crimson embroidered in golden thread so fine it shimmered like firelight. A circlet of twisted gold sat atop his brow, catching the glow of the dim lanterns.

Everyone in the large space seemed to hold their breath, even the Night Court stayed rooted in place, watching. In Beron’s domain, deep within the heart of Autumn, even Rhysand was not evenly matched with Prythian’s oldest High Lord. 

Lucien’s fingers moved to find the hilt of his blade before he realized he was reaching for something that was not there. 

Beron’s face was impassive, the perfect example of a regal and composed courtier. “Such a shame,” he said softly, as if lamenting a small misfortune. “Though, I suppose every court needs its tragedies.”

Lucien stepped forward slowly, like approaching a wild animal in the dark. “Where is she?”

Beron’s mouth twitched into a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Gone.”

The word struck like a blow, whip sharp. 

“Father,” Lucien growled, the word a curse. When Beron rolled his dark eyes, it took centuries of practice to hold back a wince. “Father—”

“You never understood,” the High Lord interrupted. “Not really. You thought power was in courts and alliances. In promises and bloodlines. But power, Lucien, is older than that.”

Lucien stepped forward, voice dropping to a rasp.“Where’s my mate?”

He already knew, would have bet his life on the answer as all of the pieces slowly but surely fell into place. 

Beron’s expression softened, his shoulders lifting in an elegant shrug. “With someone who will make use of her gifts.”

Koschei.

Lucien felt the bond jerk violently, like someone had grabbed it on the other end and pulled. The pain was sharp, wrong. 

A low noise escaped Lucien’s throat. Half-growl, half-breath.

“She’s Made,” Beron said simply. “Do you think I didn’t notice it? That this was a secret you could all keep from me?” A small, mocking pause. “Your brother didn’t even realize what he’d delivered to our door.”

Lucien’s blood ran cold.

Eris. 

Only moments before, he would have considered Elain safe at his eldest brother’s side, had assumed that there was a growing trust between them. 

“Where’s Eris?” Lucien asked, afraid to hear that it was just one more betrayal added to his ever growing list and yet afraid to hear otherwise. 

Beron frowned, pain etched briefly onto his stern features, the most genuine expression Lucien had ever seen on his father’s face. “He won’t be joining us either.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind Lucien, the rustling of heavy skirts as someone moved suddenly. Panic. 

Lucien could not imagine a world without Eris, cold and harsh and awful and still his favourite brother despite everything. The ground beneath his feet seemed to tilt. “Eris is—”

“Eris was my greatest disappointment,” Beron said, stepping to the center of the altar, a cruel glint in his eyes as they landed on his wife. “Too much like his mother.”

The words burned through Lucien’s chest. “So you allied with Koschei,” he said, breath ragged. “You gave him Elain, and betrayed all of Autumn.”

“I saved us from irrelevance,” Beron answered calmly. “Do you think Rhysand would have let us hold power once peace reigned? That the Night Court wouldn’t have turned its attention on us next? Spring is nearly theirs already.” 

Lucien shook his head, but he understood. That was the worst part, he saw it, just for a moment, through his father’s eyes.

Nesta flinched. Her silver gaze glistened, fixed on Beron.

“I felt this,” she whispered. “The moment I stepped into these woods. This… rot.”

Beron offered her a pleased smile. But his next words were for Feyre and Rhysand. “The Hewn City. Velaris. Both will make fine additions to my court.”

Night was exposed.

Spring was undefended.

As the realisation dawned on Lucien, every lantern in the temple flared, then shattered. Flames extinguished and shards of glass rained to the ground in sparkling fragments. Nobles began to panic, birds ready to take flight, and Lucien heard as Callum tried to maintain some semblance of order. 

All of it in vain as figures began to emerge between the trees, silent as falling ash.

At first they looked like soldiers, but then Lucien saw the truth.

Corpses.

Armour half-rotted, flesh hanging in strips, faces leering with eyeless sockets. They dragged swords, scratched and dark with use, their footsteps leaving more rot in their wake. Some rode skeletal beasts, horses with empty rib cages and stags with blackened bone for antlers.

Hundreds, marching in absolute silence, toward the temple.

The guests screamed, magic flared and the ground seemed to shake. Rhysand vanished in a whisper of night, Feyre clutched to his chest, no doubt back to Velaris and to Nyx. Nesta’s power surged around her, ancient and silver, shuddering the stone and wood of the temple.

Lucien turned to face the High Lord of Autumn, eyes wide with horror, but he too had disappeared without warning.

Lucien ran with the wave of nobles as they shoved their way out of the sacred place of worship, watching as the corpses closed in around the ancient building. He reached for the bond again as he stumbled on the steps outside, hoping for any sort of response from Elain. 

An army of undead closed in around the temple, trapping the nobles like fish in a pond, and Lucien could not breathe, choking on the scent of their approach. 

He searched for Tamlin, for Cora, for one of his brothers in the panicked crowd, and saw no one. 

Defeat began to seep its way into his bones, and Lucien looked up at the sky.

There was not a single star, only a thick, rolling darkness creeping across the moon.

[jules-writes-stories]

A Song for All Seasons

Azriel x Eris | The re-telling of Orpheus x Euridyce | Chapter 2 on A03

The scent of steel mixed with mist and silt rose to the sound of water rippling. The shape of a boat materialized with a lone figure at the mast. And Azriel, demon, Illyrian, and warrior, did what every one of his type had done since the beginning of time when faced with Death. He bowed. 

The boat thudded against the shore and a slender female stood before him in long, blue robes. Her hood was down around her shoulders, and her eyes flashed like blades in the sunlight. “I was told you were coming.” Head cocked in a gesture more bestial than Fae, those silver eyes traveled the length of his body. They held amusement and something Azriel preferred not to ponder. “Glad to see Elain did not murder you, as was her original plan.” 

He simply did not have the time to ponder this either. “Lady Death, I come bearing gifts.” He fished into his pocket for two gold coins, and placed them in her outstretched hand. Boarding the boat, he braced himself as Nesta pushed off the bank with a long staff-like oar. 

Azriel closed his eyes and held the boat’s edge with a white-knuckled grip.

“Ah, winged creatures don’t do well on the water.” She smiled. “My mate is one. Turns green each time.” 

He did not enjoy being referred to as a creature, but Azriel knew better than to argue with Death herself. A comfortable silence gathered as his stomach settled. There was only birdsong and the call of frogs. He recalled what Elain had shared, figuring it could not hurt. “I hear you enjoy music, Lady.”

Nesta turned to look as Azriel rested his lyre on his knee and began to pluck out a few chords. They were light as spring rain on flowers. Azriel relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes. The tempo picked up as he imagined summers with Eris. Barefoot on the riverbank, collecting flat stones and smelling of sweet grass and salt. 

He let his mind wander to every color of autumn, to longing for what could have been. Eris smirking at something that didn’t quite warrant a smile, but amused him all the same. His hair, a cloud of fire on Azriel’s pillow. And the wicked way Eris watched him from across the room, eyes like resin, sticky with want and drawing Azriel in like a wasp to ripened stone fruit. 

The song shifted to winter and goodbye. To the white rowan berries in his funerary crown, small moons that orbited Eris's head, like he was the center of every world. 

Nesta had stopped rowing, her eyes melting to silver ore. The rocking of the boat bobbed with the current. She silently resumed the fluid motion of her arm, bringing them to shore. 

“Tell my mate to let you pass through the gates. If Bryaxis makes a fuss, play your lyre for them.” 

. . .

Special thanks to @pippsmcgee for beta reading

Please let me know if you ever want on/off my Azris tag |

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[jules-writes-stories]

"If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?"🧡

-

~Lucien Vanserra🍁

-

He's probably my favorite male character from Acotar and well, he deserved a fanart!😂🧡

[jules-writes-stories]

Azriel was sweaty.  Old Lady Tess had convinced him to chop wood again, much to the delight of the village ladies. Chapter 5 - Musings and Meetings - The Chairs

I commissioned the ever-talented @fourteentrout to help bring one of my favorite scenes in The Chairs to life. Mother Above, this is perfect in all ways. The shirtless Azriel with gauntlets and siphons, gorgeous tattoos, and the perfect expression. This male knows he is being exploited as eye candy, and while trying to be stoic, is amused. @fourteentrout's eye for detail is exquisite - just look at that face!

Tags below for my Azris fic folks - let me know if you want on or off the tag list. And if you haven't already, give the talented @fourteentrout a follow! @chunkypossum @olenvasynyt @g00seg1rl @greenvelvetcouture @iftheshoef1tz @ysmtttty @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @mudandmire @mistandmemories @neciebee @nus4y @palomita-de-la-sangre @shadowsandlint @talibunny30 @makinglongwordsslutty @thesourcabbage @fourteentrout @eatsbooks @molcat07 @irithiadourden

[jules-writes-stories]

Timshel

Epilogue

Notes: The first section of this chapter features both main character death and suicide. The second half doesn’t have either of those things, so if you want to skip the first part, the second part still acts as an epilogue.

Thanks to @queercontrarian for reading this over for me - it’s her fault I wrote this epilogue the way I did. Let’s be real, though, I was thinking about writing it anyway!

The tripwire goes off around 2 am, and Eris glances up without much focus. He’s expecting the CFO of Alpha and Omega Enterprises, which is why the tall werewolf on his alert screen doesn’t surprise him. There is even a fastidious knock, three quick rat-tat-tats on the frosted glass pane of his office door.

Eris swallows down his displeasure. A fellow vampire had done something similar a few months ago and broken the damn thing. The woman had looked at him through the shattered remains of his window and said, “My daddy can fix it, don’t worry.”

Her daddy had, though not for several long weeks. And he wasn’t her daddy, not really, but that’s none of Eris’s business.

Read now on ao3.

[jules-writes-stories]

In Silt and Sun

Chapter 4 on AO3

Thesan x Peregryn

. . .

Only a few more feet to freedom. He could see the wards' wavering translucence, where they were frayed in the sunlight. Almost there. I wish to be covered in sunlight and silt, beloved and cracked open by this single fleeting, immortal lifetime. 

His outstretched hand slipped through a torn edge, right as strong arms circled his waist, turned and dragged him back against a muscled chest covered in warm leather. Thesan arched, then kicked up his legs, losing a sandal. 

He was in a full panic. His limited martial training would not help him here. It was strategy and swordplay, archery and centering the mind. But what he did remember was Fatima’s lecture about “an alpha’s soft bits.” The parts of the body that were most vulnerable: eyes, throat and—

“Fuck.” Sahar grunted as Thesan’s knee dug straight into his groin. The guard instinctively released him and bent at the waist. Now. Thesan reached down to remove his remaining sandal and took off towards the shimmering seam of magic. His fingers grazed the frayed edges of time and space, lunging forward. 

“Please.” He whispered the wish through sawing breaths. Please. Just for a few hours, just let me feel something. 

But instead of being pulled through time and space, he was hurtling to the ground, breath knocked out by the solid weight atop him. Wrists pinned above his head with one hand, the alpha had deftly turned Thesan to land on his back, his other hand cupping the back of his head to cushion the impact. 

Involuntarily, Thesan wrapped his legs around the narrow hips pinning him down, arching his back. At the contact, the friction of his cock rubbing against the muscled plane of Sahar’s abdomen, desire pooled low and warm.

Thesan’s breath hitched. “Alpha.”

He needed something. It was a word at the tip of his tongue, a memory dwelling at the fuzzy edges of consciousness. But his body was taking over and all he had to do was let go, let his instincts lead. His hips canted up, seeking more friction. 

“I can smell you, omega. ” A low rumble, the scent of rain on earth, of smoky amber and sex. 

Chapter 4 on AO3

Thank you to @the-darkestminds and @mistandmemories for help and hype and so much more ✨

Please let me know if you want on/off my Thesan tag | @mistandmemories @the-darkestminds @zenkindoflove @g00seg1rl @themadmorrigan @ejkreader @buffy-vanserra @chunkypossum @weyward-fae @wovendreamscapes @thesourcabbage @irithiadourden @disney-acotar-hp @chaiblossom-code @pippsmcgee @futurehunt

[jules-writes-stories]

A Song for All Seasons is soooo good You're so talented 💖

Aw, thank you anon! I know mythical retellings are not everyone's cup of tea, so I appreciate your kind words so much. You truly made my day!

[jules-writes-stories]

Yes.

Can we as a fandom agree that Eris raised Lucien ?

[jules-writes-stories]

✨Azris first Starfall in Velaris ✨

Gave Azriel a slutty jacket to show off those Illyrian titties bc why not

[jules-writes-stories]

"But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien" -ACOWAR

What originally began as an azris sketch inspired by BMTH's Die4U- completely switched tracks to our autumn brothers having a moment 👀🍂

[jules-writes-stories]

Timshel

Chapter 3

Notes: So this chapter was supposed to be the final chapter, but @queercontrarian read my mind and said “what if…” With that in mind, please note that the next chapter (NOT THIS ONE) will have main character death. If you decide that’s not what you want, you can read this chapter and it will count as an ending.

“Have you eaten yet?” Azriel asks softly. The blue light of Eris’s screen spills out over his desk and hands, making it hard to see Azriel standing on the other side of the monitor. His hands in his pockets, he looks content for the first time in a long time. He asks again, this time in Farsi, “Have you eaten?”

It’s a language Eris has come to know through kindness – have you eaten, have you slept, azizam? – and one Azriel has spoken more frequently in the year since his mother’s death. Though he had only heard her voice a handful of times, Eris can hear the curl of the words in Farzaneh’s voice when Azriel speaks.

Eris checks the clock in the bottom corner of his screen. It’s nearly two in the morning, and Eris has been at his screen since it got dark around ten. He fed two days ago and doesn’t feel hungry.

But Azriel is still standing there, with that softness around his mouth, and Eris knows he doesn’t mean Eris’s type of hungry.”

Read more on ao3.