#azriel centric

[somnas-writes]

Sharing my writing on this website feels weird but

Imagine an Azriel that doesn’t exist. He’s a ghost in the eyes of the world, he isn’t known publicly, by the courts or even by his closest friends.

His job is the night courts spy, his job is to be sneaky and unknown, so why would he be a public figure? Why would there be records of his existence?

There are rumors about a male made of shadow, it’s a horror story maids tell the children of lords, so they behave. It’s an urban legend among the higher fae, the night courts monster that has no problem going undetected through your wards.

The high lords have a suspicion that a shadow spymaster exists, but they’ve never seen him nor do they have any proof.

Azriel who makes appearances as often as the planets align, whose existence is only confirmed to the Inner Circle of the night court. Even then, they rarely meet face to face, only relying messages through letters and notes.

An azriel who doesn’t exist, but desperately wants to.

[mipwrites]

*pokes head in* Somebody order a Batboys snippet?

[praetorqueenreyna]

Accidentally made a pro-elriel/anti-gwynriel modern AU multiverse

[thatbloodymuggle]

MASTERMIND (vi)

SIX - FROM ASHES

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, lots of plot building, reader-centric, non-canon usage of real history

A/N: no eris in this chapter, but he'll be back soon🫠

“No luck?” the High Lord of the Night Court drums his fingers along the oak of his armchair.

“She’s stubborn as a mule,” a disgruntled Cassian slumps into his usual spot at the meeting table, “I think I’d have better luck convincing Tamlin to join our court.”

Rhys’s leisure finger-tapping halts, his knuckles turning white as he grips the arms of his chair so tightly it starts to splinter. Beside him, Cassian runs a hand through his unruly hair, shoulders tense. And across from him, Mor’s despondent eyes study the stem of her wine glass as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. The rest of the table is a mixture of similar states of frustration, anger, and worry: Azriel’s jaw ticks, Feyre’s hopeful smile falters, Amren’s eyes roll. Everyone shifts with unease at the thick tension in the air, hallmarked by the glaringly obvious empty seat between Mor and Cassian. Well, everyone except Nesta, whose stone-cold expression doesn’t so much as twitch at the admittedly predictable news.

It’s been three months. Three months since you returned to the House of Wind in a heap of heartbreak. Three months of Azriel’s shadows chasing you down as you hop from court to court like a vagabond. Three months filled with visits from nearly every member of the Inner Circle. But despite their best attempts, their most heart-wrenching pleas, you remain steadfast: you are not the woman you used to be, and until you can find her, the Night Court cannot be your home.

“Where is she now?” Feyre breaks the heavy silence.

“Winter Court,” Azriel grunts, “She moved from Dawn last week.”

“And now that she knows we’ve found her, she’s probably gone already,” Cassian grumbles, face still sour from his rather unpleasant encounter with you.

The waning wood of Rhys’s chair finally snaps, sending pieces of splintered oak flying through the air. Feyre winces beside him, and for the first time Mor’s eyes move from the crystal glass. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Rhys seethes, “We’ve given her space. She’s had her fun running around like a nomad. It’s time for her to come back home.”

Azriel grunts in agreement, the muscles underneath his sculpted arms flexing as he crosses them across the table. Feyre pulls her bottom lip between her teeth in contemplation.

“We can’t force her back here if she’s not ready,” Feyre counters softly.

“Yes, we can,” Amren snaps, “Ready or not, serving in this court is her duty.”

 “If we force her against her will, she’ll never forgive us,” Cassian grumbles, his wings fluttering slightly in a sign of irritation, “She made that painfully clear today.”

Mor sets her wine glass down on the table, and the soft clink draws everyone’s attention. They all stare, waiting with bated breath for her to speak.

During the first few weeks of your disappearance, Mor was an emotional wreck. She visited you each time she caught wind of your new location. She couldn’t stand to see her sister, her own flesh and blood, destroyed by the same male who hurt her centuries ago. But as the weeks stretched into months, and each visit became more and more reviled, she’d begun losing hope. It was a pain like no other—being unable to connect to the one person she loves unequivocally. The emptiness in your eyes, the disdain in your lips, only grew with each attempt, until she’d given up completely. Until she’d resigned herself to sulking in the corner of the room, staring at inanimate objects with a permanent frown on her face. 

“Leave her be,” Mor’s uncharacteristically cold tone slices through the air, “If she wants to wallow in her own self-pity, then let her.”

Azriel shifts in discomfort. His shadows swirl around the empty chair, as if mourning your absence. His wings twitch behind him, itching to search every inch of Prythian until he relocates you—or throttles Eris Vanserra’s throat.

The aftermath of your abrupt departure was explosive, to say the least. Watching you return bloodied and bare at the hands of him was far too familiar. It was a sight Azriel had witnessed once centuries ago—one he so deeply wishes could be cleansed from his memories forever. Once the panic that accompanied your return had settled, it was a blazing fury that took its place. The second the Autumn Court heir stepped into the Spring Court for his monthly meeting with Cassian, the Spymaster had him pinned against a tree with the Truthteller to his throat. It took every ounce of his will power, along with Cassian’s incessant reminder that Eris would be no use dead, to keep Azriel from slitting his throat on the spot. 

With your unabating avoidance of the topic, the Inner Circle is still ignorant to the details of your affair. Azriel, on the other hand, knew from the second he laid eyes on you, crumpled and broken on the living room floor. The rest of the Night Court entourage was quick to catch on—but it was him, the true limerence, who knew it from the start. And with his centuries spent pining after a female who can never love him back, he is unable to fathom the notion of a male rejecting a bond gifted by the Mother herself.

“She needs us,” Azriel avoids Mor’s penetrating gaze, “We cannot leave family behind.”

Red, hot ire contorts onto Mor’s features, but her retort is cut short by Rhys’s commanding tone.

“So we don’t force her,” Rhys crosses his arms over the table, “We deliver a message. Tell her that if she wants to keep her position in this court’s assembly, she is to report back to the House of Wind within the week—otherwise, we’ll find someone else to fill her position.”

Nesta, who’s been eerily quiet, scoffs humorlessly, “If you think that’s going to work, then you must truly be dense.” Rhys’s nostrils flare and he grinds his teeth. Cassian places a steadying hand on her thigh underneath the table, but the eldest Archeron sister continues, “If you’re going to give her an ultimatum, you might as well chain her up and lock her here. She’s far too intelligent, more than all of you combined, might I add, to fall for something as foolish as reverse psychology.”

Rhys leans forward and a menacing snarl curls onto his lips at his sister-in-law’s insubordination. Feyre shoots a warning glance at her sister, but the damage has already been done. 

“I’m not chaining anyone up,” the High Lord seethes.

“It sure seems that way,” Nesta retaliates, ignoring Cassian’s blunt nails digging into her thigh through her leathers, “It’s your fault she’s too traumatized to come back here. You sent her there. You encouraged her to get close to him. So maybe you should stop projecting, and give her the space she needs to sort her shit out.”

 Pure, unbridled rage blazes in Rhys’s violet eyes. His fists slam against the table, sending red liquid sloshing out of Mor’s glass. Feyre flinches, and the two Illyrian warriors keep their eyes down. But despite the fury pouring from the High Lord, Nesta keeps her chin held high, her eyes narrowed in a punishing glare. 

“The only person at fault is that Autumn Court piece of scum, girl,” Amren snaps, her cold eyes just as deadly as Nesta’s, “We’d be better off getting rid of him, once and for all.”

“He’s no use dead,” Feyre counters, placing a steadying hand on her mate’s shoulder.

“He’s not much use alive either,” Azriel grumbles.

 “I’m done with this conversation,” Mor abruptly stands from the table, her doe eyes void of emotion, “Do what you will. I don’t care.”

“Sit down,” Rhys’s tone is commanding, leaving no room for debate. She purses her lips, but reluctantly follows his instructions. Mor diverts her gaze back to the stem of the wine glass, retreating to her earlier fascination with the unfascinating object. “As much pleasure as I’d take in seeing the light leave the bastard’s eyes, we’re not killing Eris,” Rhys reasons, “And as it stands, I see no better option than leveraging her position as a member of this court’s politics.”

Nesta narrows her eyes, and he matches her glare. 

“It’s worth a try. We’ve all tried reasoning with her, and it’s only pushed her further,” Amren affirms before grumbling under her breath, “Stupid girl.”

Rhys relaxes back into his seat, but the tension in his shoulders remains, “Well, then if we’re all in agreement, I can draft a—”

“Let me talk to her,” Nesta interrupts.

“No,” the syllables roll off Rhys’s tongue before she can even finish her sentence.

The table falls silent when Feyre immediately retaliates, “Yes.”

The High Lord and Lady stare at one another, each unrelenting. The youngest Acheron sister cocks a brow, as if challenging her mate. Her pink lips are pulled tight, shoulders back; leaving no question that she is, in fact, his equal. Rhys bristles as Nesta’s voice sounds through the air once again, but keeps his gaze trained on Feyre.

“Clearly, all of you have failed miserably getting through to her,” Nesta’s cold tone softens slightly as Cassian kicks her foot underneath the table, “I’ve—” she falters, “I’ve been there before—in that seemingly impenetrable darkness. So let me talk to her.”

The anger laced onto Rhys’s features wavers, his lips dipping into a frown. His hard gaze softens, and he releases a long sigh. “If the High Lady wishes it, then so be it,” he relents.

Feyre fights the triumphant smile tugging at her rosy lips. Nesta does not.

With that, the plan slowly unfurls. Azriel will begin his search first thing in the morning, and once he relocates you, Nesta will pay you a visit. Much to her displeasure, Rhys still insists on writing his stupid letter for her to deliver. However, with agitation clear in the air, Nesta decides to let him have this small victory—if only to preserve his fragile ego. Through it all, Mor’s eyes don’t waver from her wine glass. But despite her detachment, a small sliver of hope dares to break through the solemn room. Everyone is wary, for hope has proven time and time again to be futile. And still, they can’t help but latch on to it for dear life.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A wise philosopher once said, “By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.” But in all Confucius’s wisdom, you wholeheartedly believe his list should be reordered. 

First should be imitation, which you agree is easiest. You’ve acquired wisdom through imitation for as long as you can remember. From immersing yourself between endless shelves of books, to regurgitating the words of Prythian’s most treasured scholars, you are well practiced in imitation. And despite its short-sightedness, it has granted you wisdom, albeit superficial.

Second, in your mind, is experience. In your 70 years of existence, you’ve only recently started to dip your toes into this derivative of wisdom. And it is your precisely your thirst for wisdom that has driven you to seek experience in the first place. It’s that insatiable hunger, like a demon lurking on your shoulder, that initiated the cascade of experiences that has stripped away your sense of self entirely, leaving you an empty canvas, ready to be remolded. But despite the soul-shattering pain that has come along with experience, you don’t agree with Confucius. For reflection is far more bitter.

How does one practice introspection when they’ve lost their sense of self? When all there is to reflect on is an empty void, filled only by imitation and limited experience? It was meant to be an impossible feat, you suppose. If wisdom was so easy to come by, then wars wouldn’t ignite. Hate wouldn’t fester. And love would prevail.

It’s that void that plagues your mind as you stare into the crystal-clear lake below, shimmering with the reflection of a ghost of a woman. Even as you stretch your lips and wiggle your fingers, watching how it mirrors in the water, you don’t recognize the being staring back. The irony of it is glaring—staring at your physical reflection in search of that otherworldly one. But what else can you do when you’ve traversed all travelable land, met every breed of faerie, and still your only semblance of self is that tug deep in your chest that grows duller each day?

The woman in the lake ripples as a bright, orange fish breaks the surface briefly before swimming back down into its depths. With a long sigh, you peel your eyes from the crystal-clear water and divert your gaze to the surrounding trees. They shine a deep, emerald green underneath the beating sun. After several days spent traversing the mountains, creeks, and valleys of the Day Court, you’ve found that this little nook, tucked quietly along the southern border, is your favorite.

The rolling hills and warming, golden rays are something out of a children’s book. The nights are short; a stark contrast to the beautiful darkness of Velaris. And although you do miss the winking stars and smiling moon, something about this place feels…calming.

During the first two months of your excursion, you stayed far away from Night and Day, and you avoided Autumn like the plague. Feeling so disconnected from yourself, you opted for the more foreign parts of Prythian. A week in Summer, followed by a few days in Spring, before venturing into Dawn. Winter was your favorite. Without a real home, and with a handful of supplies, the biting winds were vicious—but they numbed the ache in your chest. That is, until you were sniffed out for…what is it, the sixteenth time now?

Your lips dip into a scowl at the thought. Each time you feel like you’re on the brink of something—of some kind of clarity, some self-discovery—Azriel’s meddling shadows rip you away from solitude. You know that your family means well. But telling them, time and time again, to kindly fuck off is becoming rather tedious. You’re not heartless; it’s quite the opposite, really. Each time you look into their eyes—their pitiful, dejected eyes—it rouses a storm of emotions deep inside your gut. You can’t stand the way they look at you like some helpless, wounded animal that bites at any helping hand. The way they look at you like you’re broken. It’s an unwelcome confirmation of your deepest fear: that you are, in fact, irreparable, crippled by the only person who’s made you feel alive. 

So, you continue to bite at their helping hands, constantly moving in search of that stupid introspection Confucius speaks so highly of. It’s how you’ve found yourself here, in the place that your mother once lived in, the place she once loved. It’s odd; exploring land that is technically your home, but that you’ve never seen before. You can’t help but wonder what your life would look like had you grown up outside the walls of that library. You imagine that you and your mother would have lived in a quaint cottage in this little nook in the south, where the hills stretch so far into the horizon, they seem infinite. You imagine you would have grown up swimming in this lake, climbing the luscious, green trees until your fingers splintered. 

The soft smile on your lips drops instantly as you catch sight of a dark movement in your peripheral. You whip around, just in time to see tendrils of shadows retreat into the trees. A scowl contorts onto your features. The stupid Spymaster should have known that his shadows wouldn’t fare well in the blistering daylight of this court. 

“Fool,” you shout out into the air. Only the birds chirp back—but you know the message was received.

You reluctantly haul yourself from the grass and begin your trek back to your temporary abode. The grass quivers beneath your stomping feet. Is a week of peace and quiet so much to ask? How many hurtful words does it take for them to give up? You don’t slow down as you approach the abandoned cottage. The hinges of the broken door groan in protest as you swing it open. Sun rays peak through the holes in the roof, shining down onto the dirty, wooden floorboards. It smells of rust and mildew, a testament to its centuries of neglect. But with only a handful of coins left in your pocket, it does the job.

Your hands tremble with agitation as you haphazardly throw your few personal belongings, strewn about the small house, into your single bag. You don’t have time to spare. Azriel surely knows he was caught, and he no doubt alerted Rhys immediately. Someone will be here soon with another futile plea to bring you home. You can only hope that you’ll be out of here before they arrive. Just as you snap the buttons of your bag shut, the hinges of the door groan again behind you.

You squint your eyes shut and clench your jaw, willing yourself to maintain some semblance of composure. You can tell by their light footsteps that it’s not one of the males—thank the Mother, because if Cassian returned he would be hobbling back to Velaris missing a limb.

“Isn’t this charming?”

That aloof tone could only belong to one person. Your tight grip on your bag loosens slightly, and your eyes widen with surprise. You turn slowly, brows furrowed as you take in Nesta’s appearance. Her golden-brown hair is braided on top of her head as usual, not a strand out of place. She wanders around the dreadful space, studying each dust-covered corner as if you’re not there. The initial shock fades, and the frown returns to your face.

“I didn’t know you were doing Rhys’s dirty work now,” you retort coolly. 

She pauses her mindless exploration and turns on her heels. Her cold eyes are striking, as always, and she doesn’t hide her scrutinizing gaze as she scans you from head to toe. You’ve looked better, it says. Nesta looks dreadfully bored as she replies, “I’m not—Well, I suppose I am,” she pulls a crumpled piece of parchment from her brassiere, “He requested that I deliver this. But if I were you, I’d burn it.”

Your eye the letter in her hand warily, as if touching it will somehow transport you back to the House of Wind. Nesta rolls her eyes and waves the parchment in her hand, “If you don’t take it, then I’m going to have to answer to his bruised ego.”

Reluctantly, you take the letter from her waiting hand and blindly set it aside, “Is that it?”

“Pretty much,” she quips.

“You’re not going to grovel and plea for me to come home?” you cross your arms over your chest.

“I don’t grovel,” she scoffs.

The tension in your body unfurls slightly, but you remain alert. You know Nesta is honest—but why on Earth would Rhys send her here?

“I’ll see myself out then,” the eldest Archeron sister juts her chin slightly in a farewell nod. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching intently as she turns on her heel and strides back towards the broken door.

“Wait,” you blurt before you can stop yourself. She pauses, ears perked expectantly. Maybe it’s her complete nonchalance, or her abrupt bluntness. But the way Nesta looks at you, like a real person and not some kicked puppy, strikes a chord within you. It stirs a realization that it’s not company you want to avoid, but rather the wrong kind of company.

“You can stay, if you’d like,” your voice is hesitant, but doesn’t waver.

Nesta turns slowly. Her icy eyes remain, but a ghost of a smile plays on her rosy lips, “Okay. But not in this dump.”

You roll your eyes at the way she crinkles her nose in response to the mildew seeping through the walls. You’re sure you don’t smell much better, not having had a proper bath in at least a week.

“Fine,” you deadpan, “We can walk.”

Nesta lets you lead the way, out of the abandoned cottage and into the green beauty of Day. The sun shines as brightly as ever as you fall into a comfortable rhythm, striding leisurely side by side. You note the wonderment in Nesta’s piercing eyes, drinking in the sweet breeze that hallmarks the Day Court. 

“I’m surprised it took you so long to venture here,” she remarks, “I’m not sure I’ve seen such…serenity before.”

You shrug as you step over a fallen log, “It’s nice.” Understatement of the century. “I quite liked Winter, though.”

Nesta snorts, “What did you squat in there? An igloo?”

She can surely feel your glare burning holes in the side of her head, but her eyes remain trained on the full-bodied trees above. 

“A tupiq, actually,” you retort. In retrospect, an igloo would have been better. “I liked the cold. It was…numbing.”

An unspoken tension hangs in the otherwise crisp air. You’re not sure why the small sliver of vulnerability rolls off your tongue. It’s not a new revelation—but saying it aloud, for someone else to hear, is different.

“A stark contrast to the blazing inferno that drove you here,” Nesta states flagrantly. 

A dull tug deep in your chest halts you in your tracks. Your eyes narrow to slits, and Nesta finally meets your punishing gaze.

“What’s your play here?” you hiss.

She quirks a brow, “There’s no play. I didn’t realize Eris was a dirty word.”

His name rolls so nonchalantly off her tongue, and you physically stumble back with a wince. You haven’t heard his name in months. It was a boundary not even your half-sister dared to breech during her many unwelcome visits. Hearing that four-letter name brings on a swirl of feelings you’ve tried for so long to suppress. Nesta’s piercing expression softens slightly as she observes the change in your demeanor. She opens her mouth to apologize, but you speak before she has the chance.

“It’s not—he’s…he’s not,” you try, and fail, to keep your voice steady.

She nods slowly and wets her lips before replying, “Well, I’m glad you’re not letting a male dictate your life.”

Your lips curl into a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. The irony of it is sobering. Despite your expert avoidance of any thoughts plagued by him, he has dictated your life from the moment you left Velaris. You’ve run like a coward, chased by his ghost, in search of some mirage of clarity that he has made unattainable. 

“I noticed your copy of Confucius’s Analects,” Nesta halts your rapid spiral, “In that shithole you’ve been squatting in. Interesting choice, given your…light packing.”

You can’t help but glance at the lake in the distance. Déjà vu washes over you as you’re reminded of your earlier musings by the crystal-clear water. 

 “I didn’t know you’ve read his works,” you reply simply.

Nesta shrugs and examines her long nails, picking at the cuticles, “I might have indulged myself in your personal copy while you were in Autumn.”

A faint smile plays at your lips, “You’ve outgrown your smut books?”

“Not in the slightest,” she laughs unabashedly, “Just thought I’d supplement them with some light reading.”

Ancient philosophy is hardly light reading. But this is Nesta you’re talking to.

“What did you think?” you ask, eyes still trained on the blue in the horizon.

She sits down on a nearby log, picking at her nails in thought. You seat yourself on a large rock across the path.

“I agree with most of his musings,” she hums, “Although I find them to be rather unremarkable. I find it silly that the world still marvels a regular, old male, as if his theories were anything more than common sense.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Nesta’s pessimism shouldn’t surprise you—yet you’re still taken aback by her blatant disregard for one of history’s most renowned scholars.

“I think you underestimate the acuity of the general population.”

She shrugs, “All I’m saying is keeping my nose stuck in books written by senile males is futile when I have a mind sharper than theirs,” she pauses, “Maybe one written by a female as wise as you would be more worth my time.”

You scoff, “I’m far from wise.”

“I think you’re plenty wise,” Nesta holds your gaze, “If you dare to believe it.”

Goosebumps prickle along your arms, and you’re not sure if it’s from the billowing breeze or Nesta’s candidness. You avoid her gaze, opting instead to stare out at the blue in the horizon. Silver lines your eyes as you mull over her words. Perhaps she is right—reading about introspection does not grant one knowledge. It’s merely another form of imitation. And maybe if you looked within yourself for long enough, you’d see what she sees—that wisdom comes from within. You blink back tears, and your bottom lip quivers.

“I miss you all. More than you know,” you barely speak above a whisper, “But every time I look at them—every time I look at her…it feels like drowning. Like gasping for air, and water rushing in. Because I can’t be the friend, the sister they want me to me.”

The billowing breeze stops, leaving the air around you deadly quiet. The trees seem to lean in, holding their breath as they wait for your next words.

“I can’t look them in the eye when all I can see, touch, taste, feel is…is Eris.”

The onlooking trees shudder as you utter his name for the first time in three months. And for the first time in three months, a hairline crack appears in the walls you’ve so carefully constructed. The floodgate hasn’t broken, but a single tear slips out. It descends the apple of your cheek and into the corner of your trembling lips. The droplet stirs something inside of you, tugs on the string buried deep within your chest in a mournful plea.

“Don’t come back.”

The breeze billows again as Nesta’s steady tone slice through the air. You peel your watery eyes away from the lake, and look at her…really look at her. Her expression is nearly indiscernible beneath the stone-cold mask she wears so well. But the slight dip in the corners of her eyes betray her, exposing the heart-wrenching understanding that lies within.

“What?” you barely recognize your own voice.

“Don’t come back,” she repeats with conviction, “Don’t let them tell you what to do. Don’t let them dictate how you heal.”

You watch, dumbfounded, as she rises from the log and brushes the dirt from her silky dress. For the first time in your life, Nesta gives you a smile. A real, honest smile, so fleeting you think you could’ve imagined it. Before you can utter another word, she’s gone with the billowing wind.

You raise a shaky hand and wipe the pooled tear from your lips with the pad of your thumb. The golden thread tugs steadily in the chasm of your chest, like the beat of a heart that doesn’t belong to you. You rise from the boulder on wobbly legs and begin your walk back to the dingy cottage. You time your steps with the tugging thread. The wistful breeze doesn’t reach your ears as you immerse yourself in your swirling thoughts. You don’t give yourself the reprieve of blocking them out, of suppressing them—not this time. Instead, you let them carry you inside the mold-filled house, guide you to your packed bag, and urge you to dig out a roll of parchment and a pen.

You slump onto the dirty ground. As you roll out the parchment, you feel your head clear for the first time since you left Autumn. The fog of guilt, doubt, despair lifts. And as you set pen to page, you’re able to discern your own handwriting—delicate pen strokes that belong solely, perfectly, to you. Daughter of Marjorie, Friend of the Night Court, Sister of Morrigan, and Mate of the Autumn Court Heir. You’re all of it, all at once. 

Ink smudges from the soft pitter-patter of salty tears. With each droplet that falls, another boarded window is ripped away, shining light that’s been hiding for months. Even as they stream down, wracking your body to its bones, you let that tug deep inside your chest guide your steady hand. 

As the days blur into nights, you write with an intensity born of both clarity and urgency. The tears that once fell now blend with ink, each drop a testament to the rawness of your words. And each soft scratch of the pen draws you just a little bit closer to reclaiming your voice. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’re not quite sure what brought you here, to the House of Wind. Maybe it’s a moment of madness, brought on by the endless stream of tears you’ve been holding back for months. Maybe it’s the unedited, albeit complete, manuscript in your satchel. Or maybe it’s sheer exhaustion from writing from dusk till dawn, and the whole day in-between, three times over. Perhaps all of the above. But there’s three things you’re sure of: your head feels like it’s about to split in two, your hand aches so badly it may fall off, and you’re so nervous to walk through those doors that you might be sick.

You rock back and forth on your heels as you stare at the entrance atop 10,000 winding steps, frozen in place. You feel like a dog, returning home with its tail between its legs, after biting the hand of its caregiver. And you have absolutely no idea what the hell you’re going to say. Nesta was right. You should’ve stayed far away, continued your aimless journey until you could work up the courage to do this. You stumble backwards, but before you can flee the doors swing open.

Your breath catches in your throat as violet eyes stare back at you. They’re wide, like an open book. You can read it all, every footnote of his emotions: trepidation, remorse, but above all, relief. You’re not sure if he wants to punch you or kiss you. But before you can utter a word, he strides forward and engulfs you in his strong arms. He holds you tight, afraid that if he lets go, you’ll slip through his fingers once again. The unstated desperation twists your gut, washing away every ounce of hesitation. For the first time in months, you don’t deny yourself the comfort of human touch and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He shudders underneath your hold and buries his faces into the crook of your shoulder. It’s in his embrace that you realize you’re not a dog limping back to its owner—rather, you’re a soldier returning from war, battered, but whole. 

“I’m sorry,” Rhys mumbles, his heavy breath tickling your skin.

You frown and move to push him away, but his grip around your frail body only tightens.

“For what?”

“For sending you there,” he doesn’t miss a beat, “For not being there for you—for not being the brother you needed me to be.”

His words chip at a piece of your healing heart. “Please don’t apologize,” your voice wavers, “It’s not your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault. This is just one of those things life, in all her ambiguity, throws at us—and I’m better for it. Even if she’s a raging bitch sometimes.”

He chuckles deeply, the vibration warming your whole body.

“She is,” he grins against you, “I’m just happy you’re home. Even though you reek.”

You release a watery laugh, “I know.” You swallow down the lump in your throat and unravel yourself from his tight embrace. “I haven’t decided yet, though—if I’ll be staying or not.”

The brilliant violet of his eyes dims, and it takes every ounce of willpower to hold your ground. 

“You’re not staying?” his voice is eerily steady.

 “I don’t know,” you avoid his penetrating gaze, “I want to. But I have…stipulations.”

Rhys’s hopeful gaze hardens slightly. “Stipulations?” he deadpans.

Something moves in your peripheral, and you glance up at one of the arched windows just in time to see the curtain snap shut. “Can we go somewhere more private to talk?”

He nods tersely. He remains deadly calm, wary that one wrong slip of his tongue could send you running again. You immediately miss the warmth of his welcome, but he still maintains a certain softness as he holds his arm out to you. You hook your arm through his, wrapping your dirty fingers around his bicep. You close your eyes as the world twists and folds until you’re standing with him in a familiar room.

The extravagance of his office makes you harshly aware of just how filthy you are. Months of travel have coalesced into the grime underneath your uncut fingernails, the tangled knots of hair on your head. Rhys takes a seat behind his desk, and you warily stare at the chair opposite it. A blush dusts across your cheeks at the prospect of dirtying the velvet cushion, but he nods his head in a wordless command, and you take a seat. 

“Before I start, I want to…apologize,” you swallow down the lump in your throat, “It was never my intention to hurt or worry any of you. I just needed some time to sort things out.” They’re far from sorted. “But I could’ve done so without my unkind words.”

Rhys nods, his sharp features softening slightly, “I know. And I should’ve given you space, so it cancels out.”

Some of the tension slips from your shoulders, but your back remains stiff. You wet your chapped lips and take an anchoring breath before continuing, “I don’t know if I’m ready to return. But I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready. And if there’s one thing my…absence has taught me, it’s that I can’t sit around and wait for life to pass me by.”

The bag on your lap weighs heavier as you’re reminded of the manuscript tucked neatly inside. The glimmer of hope returns to Rhys’s brilliantly violet eyes, but he remains composed as he waits for you to continue.

“So, I’d like to return. But under three conditions.”

 “Okay,” Rhys drags the word out, “But I have to warn you that neutering Cassian is off the table.”

You can’t contain the giggle that escapes your lips. Rhys’s broad chest rumbles with laughter, and for a split second, it feels like no time has passed at all.

“As much as I would delight in it, cutting off the Lord of Bloodshed’s balls wasn’t what I had in mind,” you reply once your fit of laughter subsides.

A small smile remains on Rhys’s lips, “Then what is?”

The humor of the moment passes, and you purse your lips. You close your eyes briefly. In and out. Your chest expands, and as you exhale, your eyes shoot open. It’s now or never.

“First, I want an apartment in Velaris. No more being cooped up here—I want freedom to roam about the Court as I please,” you declare.

Rhys takes less than a minute to think it over before replying, “Done. What else?”

Your brows arch slightly with surprise. Your first request is definitely the tamest of the three—but you didn’t anticipate quite how…agreeable he would be. One down, two to go. Now, for the big one.

“No more secrets,” your tone is steady, self-assured, “No more hiding my identity.”

His jaw shifts, and his bright eyes darken. It’s deadly quiet. You find yourself holding your breath as you wait for his brewing reaction.

“What about your father?” he challenges, his voice gruff with apprehension.

“I don’t care,” your reply is immediate, “Kier won’t so much as lay a finger on me so long as I’m a part of your circle. I don’t give a flying fuck if anyone knows who I am, for that matter.” He opens his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it. “I’m aware that I would no longer be able to act as a liaison between citizens of the courts. But I know for a fact that my time and energy is just as well-served elsewhere,” you don’t so much as stutter as you speak, “I want to be renamed Scholar of the Night Court.”

The High Lord leans forward in his seat, crossing his arms over his desk. The position exudes power, but you don’t so much as flinch at his commanding demeanor. “And what would you do as Scholar?”

You lean forward, mimicking his stance, “Draft your communications. Document your correspondences. Conduct research as you see fit,” the list of tasks rolls off your tongue effortlessly, “Although Amren deserves credit for cracking that book during the war, you wouldn’t have been able to do it without me. There’s not a soul in this Court as proficient as me in ancient tongues, history—overall intelligence too, for that matter.”

The hesitation is clear in the cinch between his brows. Losing you as a liaison is a loss for his ranks. But gaining you as a scholar could be even more valuable. More than that, you know that Rhys will do virtually anything to have you back here—to have you home. Just as you predicted, he releases a long sigh and unfurls his arms before leaning back in his chair.

“Okay,” he relents.

Your lips twitch, threatening to spread into a wide grin, but you suppress it. You still have one more demand, and you have a feeling that this one will truly test his resolve. 

“My last stipulation,” you brace yourself for his rebuttal, “Is that I want full involvement in Court politics. Visits to the Court of Nightmares, meetings with other High Lords—whatever the rest of your Inner Circle accompanies you to, I want to be in attendance.”

“No.”

You frown and cross your arms over your chest, “No?”

“No,” Rhys repeats with conviction.

Irritation blossoms, but your face remains impassive, “May I ask why?”

“You have no idea the…intricacies of the politics I must deal with. It’s not safe,” he trails off, his eyes glazing over with a sense of detachment.

You’re not sure if it’s your comparatively young age, or the fact that you were dropped on his doorstep as a refugee soon-to-be-orphan so many years ago; whatever the reason, Rhys has always been protective of you—overly so. You know it’s the goodness of his heart that’s speaking, but you still have to take a deep breath to calm yourself. 

“I’m more than capable of learning them. Besides, don’t you think it’s a little too late to prevent me from getting involved with High Lords and their heirs?” you quip.

A pang of guilt tugs at your heartstrings at the remorse on his face. You know it’s a low blow. But even in the presence of your gnawing guilt, the truth behind your words is louder. 

“I promised your mother I would keep you safe,” he rasps, “And I nearly failed her once. I won’t make that mistake again.”

The mention of her makes your heart skip a beat. Your palms grow slick with sweat, and you instinctively rub them against the leather of your pants. His confession sheds light on his recent obsessive behavior—how he prioritized tracking your movements over other pressing matters. Any lingering resentment you held melts away as you shift your approach, grappling with the weight of his words. 

“I understand,” sincerity laces itself in your tone, “But is ensuring my safety really worth it if it comes at the expense of my happiness?”

Rhys opens his mouth, but words fail him. His brows furrow as he mulls over your question. Finally, he’s able to muster a reply, “I want you to be happy, Y/N. But I saw—we all saw how miserable you were when you came back from Autumn, and I struggle to see how continuing to involve you in court politics could bring anything but.”

A chill crawls up your bare arms as a vivid image of your burned wrists flashes through your mind. You glance down at your hands in your lap, flexing your fingers to remind yourself that the wounds are long gone—even though the heartache remains.

“I don’t regret a single moment I spent there,” you reply, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Yes, it brought me pain, and I still bear those wounds. But it also brought me joy.” A sad smile graces your features. “It gave me the greatest adventure of my life. It gave me him—heartbreak, and all its beautiful ruin.”

  A rivulet descends your cheek into the crevice of your smile. A sense of newfound understanding weaves its way between Rhys and yourself. An understanding that the villain in his story may very well be the hero in yours.

“When did you become so wise?” he hums.

A wistful note lingers in your voice as you meet the High Lord’s gaze. “When I realized that wisdom doesn’t come from avoiding the fire, but from walking straight through it and letting it burn away what no longer serves you.”

Rhys’s eyes soften, “And what did it burn away?”

Your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of pain, fear of loss. What remains is the understanding that pain and joy, loss and love—they are one and the same. And I would rather live a life touched by both than one shielded from them.”

Rhys leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable, as if weighing every word you’ve spoken. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, he speaks, his tone resigned but tinged with a deep respect. “If this is the path you choose, then I won’t stand in your way. But promise me that you’ll be careful. That you’ll come to me if you ever need anything—no matter what it is.”

You nod, the weight of his words settling on your shoulders, “I promise.”

He studies you for a long moment, as if committing this version of you—the one who walked through fire and emerged stronger—to memory. The warmth in his eyes is unmistakable as he stands, rounding the desk to pull you into another tight embrace.

“Welcome home, Scholar of the Night Court.”

As you rest your head against his chest, you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to simply breathe. This is home. And no matter what lies ahead, you know that you have the strength—and the wisdom—to face it.

taglist:

@selfishlittlebeing @babypeapoddd @scarsandallaz @fourthwing4ever @raginghellfire

@deepestmentalitypersona @lilah-asteria @goldenmagnolias @myromanempiree @i-know-i-can

@hannzoaks @olive-main @lilylilyyyyyy @stuff-i-found-while-crying @moni-cah

 @6000-fandoms @melsunshine @roseodelle @rcarbo1 @paliketerson

@ktz-bb @l-adynesta @asteria33

[grandlinedreams]

|| [AS!reader Masterlist]

|| warnings: as!reader, semi reader-centric from Az's viewpoint, more detail to pre-Cauldron meeting, protective Nesta, mentions of previous pieces to this series, little touch of angst, fluff, starfall!fic, mating bond, suggestive, nsfw: piv, unprotected sex (make informed decisions, kids!), soft sex, fingering]

The first time Azriel meets you, you're human. Painfully mortal but beautiful, even for the wary way you watch him from beside your sisters.

He thinks you may orbit closer to how Elain views it all, frightened rather than combative, no teeth on display like Nesta. But you do not shy away, nor do you lash out ㅡ you simply watch. You don't speak, but the protective shift of Nesta, other side of your fair coin, says enough.

He hears you for the first time, however, before they depart. You stand a few feet away, watching him before your lips part.

"For what it's worth," you tell him, "Feyre looks happier now. Happier than she ever was with us." You pause. "I'm glad."

The second time that Azriel sees you, it's as you're being thrown into the Cauldron. You fight much like your sisters, but you still go under ㅡ and reemerge as something you'd never wanted to be.

And just like that, you're launched into Azriel's life with all the force and grace of a shooting star.

"Guess what?"

From the way Cassian is grinning at him, Azriel isn't sure that he wants to know. There are a thousand reasons for him to be looking like that, all amused mischief as his eyes gleam.

"What," he says, weary as Cassian throws an arm around his shoulders.

"Mor told [Name] about how Starfall is coming up," his brother says and while his tone is conversational, there's smug edge to it that makes Azriel want to punch him.

"And?" He prompts, pulling free of Cassian's grip to avoid giving into that temptation.

"Come on," Cassian goads, "it'd be the perfect time to tell her about the mating bond." When Azriel tenses, Cassian gives him a look. "Everyone knows, Az. We can all tell."

The Illyrian doesn't blush outright, but color blooms a little on his cheeks as he counters roughly, "Everyone but [Name]."

Cassian's smile dims. "Well, yeah. But if you told herㅡ"

"No." Azriel's tone is quiet but sharp. "I won't do that to her." He won't force you, refuses to. You've already had so much taken from you, decided for you ㅡ he won't be the one to add more.

He's content with what he has with you now, truly ㅡ even though there have been several instances this last week alone where he's wanted to do nothing but kiss you.

He's waited this long, after all ㅡ what's a little more?

Despite being your twin, it isn't often that Nesta indulges in anything particularly affectionate with you ㅡ so when she offers to braid your hair for Starfall, you accept.

Sitting down in the chair before the vanity in your room, you watch her pluck your brush from the counter before you speak.

"Hey, Nes?" You wait for her soft sound of acknowledgement. "You and Cassian are mates, right? Like Feyre and Rhysand?"

"Yes," she answers slowly, watching you in the mirror ㅡ trying to figure out what you're trying to get at as she sets the brush down and begins finger combing through your hair. "Why?"

Your gaze drops from hers to your fingers, brow furrowing in thought about how to tread forward. "...What...what did the bond feel like?"

Her fingers still in your hair for a moment, and you can feel her gaze on you. Weighing, assessing ㅡ wondering why you're asking. Your gaze doesn't leave your hands. The fingers through your hair resume, sectioning it out.

"I don't know how to put it," she says quietly, quieter than you've ever seen your sister be as she begins plaiting your hair. You lapse into silence, watching her. For all her sharp edges, she's just as beautiful as she's always been ㅡ and you understand why Cassian loves her as fiercely as he does.

She sweeps the braid off your neck, winds it into an elaborate halo the same shade as her own ㅡ pinned into place by a handful of pearl-head pins.

"Like coming home," Nesta finally says, and your eyes lock. "It felt like coming home."

In the countless centuries that he's been alive, Azriel genuinely doesn't think he's ever seen anything as beautiful as you are.

You turn as he approaches, and he forgets how to breathe for a second, heart stuttering in his chest. Silhouetted against the night sky, your dress shimmers like liquid starlight ㅡ but his eyes flick to your earrings, the necklace that rests against your collarbone. Both are deep blue ㅡ the same shade as his siphons, his Starfall gift to you.

He tries not to read into it, even for the way it sends his heart beating faster at the idea of the subtle claim to you.

"There you are," you say as he approaches, "I was waiting for you."

"I was looking for you," he counters, smile tugging at his lips as you answer with your own, and when he reaches the railing of the balcony, you slip to stand beside him. "Not one for parties?"

"Not really," you admit. It'd taken a hearty glass of wine from Mor to keep you from changing your mind and hiding in your room ㅡ and even now, the slow sweep of Azriel's eyes over you makes nerves buzz beneath your skin.

Turning away for a moment, you pluck the neatly wrapped parcel from beside you and present it to him, trying to keep your voice steady. "This is for you."

Azriel blinks and then reaches to take it from you, paper crinkling beneath his fingers. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," you say, trying not to think of the other parcel still on your bed, neatly tied with a bow. Instead, you busy yourself with watching as Azriel tugs the paper free carefully, popping the box open.

It's a sheath. Made of dark to match his fighting leathers, polished metal clasps wink dully in the light, and words are tumbling from your lips before you can stop them.

"It's for Truth-teller," you say, resisting the urge to wring your hands, "I saw some like it at a shop and went in to ask if it'd be possible to make one custom."

Hope sparks in Azriel's veins, sings at the fact you had it made especially for him. "It's beautiful," he murmurs. "Thank-you."

Relief floods you, but you're not done yet. You exhale softly, steeling yourself. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about, actually."

Azriel stills.

"I'm still adjusting to all of...this," you say, gesturing vaguely, "but it's been easier for me, because of you. I appreciate what you've done for me. And I ㅡ I'm not sure if I really understand the whole concept of mates, but.." You can feel his attention on you, unfaltering as you force yourself to meet his eyes. "You make me feel safe in ways nobody else has, and I ㅡ I love you, Azriel."

Azriel stares at you. And for one horrifyingly too-still moment, you think he's going to reject you. That you're wrong, that the pull you've felt has been all you ㅡ and then he's kissing you.

His hands, scarred and just as beautiful as the rest of him, cup your face gently as you lean into him with wordlessly eager curl of your own fingers into his shirt.

Idly, Azriel notes that the stars have begun their yearly descent, but neither it nor the sweet strains of music matter when your lips are so soft against his.

"We are," he murmurs against your mouth when he finally convinces himself to pull away, wiping at the tears that slip from your eyes. "Mates. I've known for a while."

You blink up at him. "How long have you known?"

He thumbs at the soft plush of your cheek. "Since that first time I took you for a flight at night."

Your lips tremble. "Oh," you say. "Oh."

And then you're crying again, and Azriel is all too happy to kiss every single tear away.

If he died right now, he'd die content.

You're against him in the way he's only allowed himself to dream about, face tucked into his neck and breathing steady, heartbeat a perfect match for his.

Gone is your dress, draped against a chair in your room, swapped for the comfort of a sweater of his, black material that drapes to your mid thigh and wreaths you in his scent. The earrings and necklace have stayed, and he'd be lying if he said it doesn't feed into that instinctive, territorial need.

"Still have something for you," you mumble, half-asleep lilt to your tone that makes him squeeze you to him tighter before he relents, letting you pull away from him.

"You're going to spoil me," he says, and you huff a soft laugh.

"Maybe you deserve to be," you answer with a gentle tug to that bond, one that he answers in kind. You return with a small box, presenting it to him with the glimmer of starlight in your eyes as he sits up.

The ribbon wound around it is also blue, a touch that makes his lips quirk before he's opening it. Nestled in the middle is a tiny tart of flaky crust and mixed berries, sugar sprinkled carefully over it.

"I was told that I had to offer you food to show that I accepted the bond," you say, quiet as you watch him pull the tart from the box. "Hopefully it tastes as good as it looks?"

Azriel blinks. "You made this?"

You nod. "Before everything," you say, voice quiet, "when we were still...I used to sneak down to the kitchen and watch the cooks."

Azriel brings the tart to his lips. It's sweet, the crust crisp ㅡ but more than that, he lives for the way your eyes light up, the happiness that vibrates down the bond and magnifies his own.

He swears he'll do whatever he has to in order to keep seeing that beautiful smile of yours.

"Come here," he murmurs, opens his arms for you as you crawl back onto the bed to fold yourself back against him ㅡ and then his fingers are under your chin, tilting your head up for a kiss.

Kissing Azriel is something that you're absolutely certain that you'll never get tired of. The kiss deepens, and he tastes of berries and sugar, making your head spin more than wine ever has.

The creep of his fingertips against your bare legs makes you shiver and press into him, soft noise leaving your lips. Azriel's hands curl against your legs for a moment before he's kissing you harder, a little rougher ㅡ and then he's turning, pressing you into your bed as his mouth leaves yours.

The work of his teeth against your pulse makes you jolt with a soft moan, and you're squirming by the time he pulls away to look at his handiwork, pupils almost engulfing his iris. "Beautiful," he rasps, and you reach to pull him back against you.

Your fingers slip beneath his shirt to span against toned muscle and warm skin, delighting in every twitch and shiver you get as you explore.

There are slots in it to allow his wings, and you slip your hands free so that he can remove his shirt before you're touching him again. Your fingers trace the dark whorls of ink over his shoulders, following the delicate curls until he's pinning your arms above your head.

"If you keep touching me like that," he tells you, "I'm going to lose my mind."

Slotted between your legs, you can feel the hard press of him against your inner thigh, and he groans when you arch into him.

One hand keeps your wrists above your head as the other shoves the material of his sweater up, pulling until he's tossing it over the edge of the bed.

The soft sound he gets when he palms at your breast makes him wonder if he can come from just your noises alone ㅡ and then he's mouthing at your ribs, kissing against your navel and then back up to your lips.

The kiss is deceptively sweet for how he pairs it with the slip of his hand between your legs, groaning at the abundant arousal that wets his fingers.

A choked moan leaves your lips as he slides a finger into you, the pulsing clamp of your walls around the intrusion as your brow knits, hips jerking against the exploratory thrust of his digit, soon joined by a second.

You pant as he works you open, the curl and spread of Azriel's fingers making you writhe as pleasure pools in your lower belly.

Azriel doesn't miss a thing, taking in every little twitch of your body, the sounds that you make ㅡ committing it all to memory. It's all far better than what he'd imagined, and his name has never sounded better than when it spills from your lips as you tighten around his fingers.

He eases you through the pleasure that sweeps over you, murmuring such soft praise into your skin that your chest aches. His fingers slip out of you, your whine of protest cut short by the way he kisses you soundly.

There's the gentle coax of your legs to part them a little further ㅡ and then he's bare against you, nudging at your slick folds before he sinks into you.

Light sparks at your fingertips, calmed by the slot of Azriel's fingers between yours, pushing them down into the bed beside your head as his hips roll against yours.

Azriel takes his time with you. He keeps his pace steady and languid, the creak of the bed beneath you and your shared moans a quiet symphony he wants to hear for eternity.

Your pleasure crests a second time with the warmth of his mouth at your breast and this time you take him with you, the hot spill of him making you whine his name ever so sweetly.

He takes you two more times after that, finishing with you splayed out over him, your backdrop the night sky beyond your window as you put all the stars to shame.

[azsazz]

Little Sneak

Daddy!Azriel x Mommy!Reader [Zuzu Centric]

Summary: Anon Req: What about a part 2 to Sticking Together where all the children are older and Zuzu is upset about not being able to go to the camps like her brothers and cousins. Maybe she ends up sneaking off and gets hurt or something. Some lovely angst would be appreciated. Only if you want to of course, pls and thank you.

Warnings: Angst, suggestions of a child going to be harmed (child is not actually harmed)

Word Count: 2,357

_________________________________________

“Why must all my children defy me?” Azriel questions, pacing the length of the room. You’re almost dizzy with it, how long his strides are and how short the path he’s making is. He’s nearly turning in circles now, wings flared with agitation, growing larger and larger the more he works himself up. When he nearly knocks a lamp burning low with a single faelight over, you slip from the bed.

You halt your mate with a soft hand to his shoulder. His wings tuck in tight, not because you’re going to touch them, because his body automatically moves to give you room. You take it, curling yourself against his chest, hands snaking around his waist and thumbing soothing patterns across the dip of his back.

You can feel his muscles contract as he shifts his wings to cocoon the both of you. Darkness shrouds you, but the light casts red through the membranous skin.

It’s a safe place for the both of you, tucked away from the rest of the world without actually removing yourselves from situations where you’re needed. You and Azriel had found yourselves in this position many times—when you first found out you were pregnant with Wren and Azriel was worried you’d have trouble delivering a babe with wings, when Baz nearly burned his hand on an unattended fire. When you had found out that Knox wasn’t going to be able to speak, and when your eldest sons wanted to be allowed to train in the Illyrian camps.

It’s funny that you find yourself here for the exact same reason. Your daughter, Zuzu, Mother bless her, yearns to join her brothers. Both Wren and Baz have completed a year, along with Nyx and Gideon. The four have formed a group just as their fathers had, not taking anyone’s shit no matter how much larger in size they may be. With the High Lord on their side, the young boys got away with much more than they should, though Rhysand does his best not to stick his nose into matters that should be left to camp leaders.

They’ve found their places as young warriors, and though they often get into trouble, you and Azriel are able to spend more time in Velaris, working on a schedule with both Cassian and Rhys, so that one of them is always staying in the family cabins when the boys are in training.

The beat of Azriel’s steady heart is strong, comforting, even though you know he feels as helpless as you do. Each and every one of your children are as stubborn as their father, even the more stoic of the six, like Jax and the twins. Malos could hold a grudge for ages, even against her own siblings. And poor Azriel refuses to admit that it’s a trait he’s bestowed upon the shadowsinger clan. 

You squeeze your mate tighter, breathing in his comforting scent. Night-chilled mist from the long fly he’d had to take when Zuzu had told him the news. He hadn’t wanted to hear any part of it; his firstborn daughter wanted to train with males in the camps that will do nothing to look after her well-being. They won’t care if she’s beaten into the snow until she’s unable to move, if she can train as hard as the males, if she can do aerial maneuvers better than them. All they’ll see is a little girl who should be put in her place by the only means they know how.

The females won’t take kindly to her either. They’ll likely be jealous of the girl who’s wings are in perfect shape, who has the ability to fly and train and doesn’t have to spend back-breaking hours washing or cooking. No one but her brothers and cousins will be nice to her.

But she’s determined and headstrong. She’d confided in you first, and while you’d tried to talk her into joining Valkyrie training, she insisted that if there were young girls here willing to fight and join such a cause, why wouldn’t they extend the opportunity to those in the mountains? Your heart aches for your little girl, who wants to see the best in people, give them the chances they’ve long since needed. If she can encourage a single girl in the camps to join them as warriors, she will be proud.

“She means well,” you sigh against Azriel’s chest, hugging him tighter. 

“Does she have to mean this well?” he asks, exasperation lining the frown on his face. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, and you know it’s helping him as much as it helps you. His chin rests on top of your head and a moment of silence stretches on as his shadows crawl from the walls, whispering in his ears, reporting back to him on how all of his children are under one roof, sleeping peacefully in their beds. “In a few years, Asteria will want to follow, and I think Rhys will actually kill me.”

“I won’t let him,” you grumble stubbornly, but it doesn’t carve a smile on Azriel’s face like it normally would. “And neither will Zuz.”

All your mate can do is sigh and hold you closer. “I hate that they’re growing up.”

“Me too,” you answer sadly, rocking in place with Az. He caresses the nape of your neck, tilting your face to meet his sad, hazel gaze. “Why didn’t anyone prepare us for the part where our children start growing up?”

Azriel shakes his head, dipping down to kiss you softly, tenderly. You are always his rock in the storms of his life. Always will be.

“I don’t know,” he pecks you on the mouth again, and there’s a glint in his eyes that has your body growing warm. “I do know that we can have another. Then we’ll have a little babe. It will make me feel like I’m not so old, that our youngest aren’t five-years-old.” He says it with a grimace. 

The time is flying by, watching your children grow. Wren is a teenager now. A teenager, Mother help you all. And Baz is only growing rowdier with age. Zuzu wants to join her brothers and cousins in the camps, and Jax is still the stoic little boy you’ve ever seen, focused on working through his powers daily. He still struggles sometimes, needs to cuddle up with his father or you for a moment's peace, and he hasn’t shown any interest in being a warrior like his elder siblings, though if Azriel allows Zuzu to join, you’re sure he won’t be far along after. The twins are as inseparable as ever, stirring up mischief with their pesky little shadows. It’s nice to have them all still so close, but you know it won’t be that way soon.

“Can you imagine another one?” You ask, amused at the thought. More chaos, and you’re not entirely sure how your six children would react. You already have so many, what would they think? 

“Yes,” Azriel answers, tone heated. He presses his hips more firmly against your own and you can feel the hardness of his cock in his pants. It makes your thighs go molten, especially when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’s going to both devour and worship you all night long. “Let’s put this conversation on hold.” 

You can’t disagree with that. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

His shadows wake him up. 

Azriel has gotten used to their presence, but his body is accustomed to them, awakening at the slightest sort of unease from them. Like right now.

He bolts from the bed, awakening you in the process. He almost feels bad at the hammering of your heart he can feel echoing in his chest, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been alerted that one of his children is currently missing from his home, and she hasn’t been located in the darkness of the camp yet.

“What’s going on?” You’re alert now. There’s something seriously wrong, by the look on Azriel’s face. The way that it’s set in stone yet his brows are furrowed with worry. Not the kind of worry where something is amiss in Velaris, but it looks like he had when Knox had been taken from you, the horror riddling his hazel gaze makes your stomach plummet.

“Zuzu isn’t in her bed,” Azriel answers, and he’s already dressed and heading out into the cold. You don’t expect him to wait for you, the both of you have a way of attacking these things as a team now, and you’re safer here with the rest of the children, anyway, and he curses himself once again for allowing his children to train at the Illyrian camps.

He doesn’t know how she’s managed to evade his shadows this time. His children are sneaky, quickly learning and testing how to keep from his radar, but Azriel is 500 years old and prides himself on his alertness.

Up until now.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. His mind is a mess with ‘what if’s’ and he can’t allow himself to begin pulling at that thread or he might very well decimate this entire camp. 

He very well might, anyway.

Azriel’s already reaching out to Rhysand, waking him from his deep slumber and alerting the Inner Circle. He knows the High Lord will be here within minutes on a plume of black that no one wants to see. Zuzu has been Rhysand’s favorite from the moment she decided to toddle behind him into the longest meeting he’s ever had the displeasure of attending. But Zuzu had made it bearable, sitting in his lap and cuddling up in his arms like he wasn’t discussing convicts in the Prison nor how his armies might be able to help Springs.

A soft yelp is carried on a wisp of darkness from his shadows, his head whipping to where they’re alerting him. It’s Zuzu, and she’s whimpering a little as sharp nails dig into her coat, despite the thick jacket she’s pulled haphazardly around her shoulders. Her boots are untied, and the powdery snow is downtrodden with her footprints.

Azriel moves as quick as the night. He’s known for being undetectable, a whisper of a chilled breeze chasing through the trees. Tonight, though, he doesn’t mask the crunch of his boots in the snow, doesn’t smother the bright blue beaming from the seven stones adorning his armor. His knives are unsheathed at his side, steel singing for the promise of blood.

There’s a soft sound, like his daughter's cry has been muffled, and it fuels his anger, letting his body fill with black ink. It spills off of Azriel in waves, a death god come to seek his vengeance.

The clearing is a circlet of trees and fresh snow. The moon drips down into the open field, where Zuzu scratches at her captor. The female trying to pin his little girl to the ground hisses as her skin breaks beneath Zuzu’s nails. Azriel’s heart swells with pride as his daughter fights back, but this moment alone has made him realize that she does need proper training, and if she wants to join the ranks with her brothers and show all of these Illyrian swill what she’s made of, she will get that.

Azriel doesn’t recognize the female as he rips her away from his daughter by a fistful of hair. The female yelps in surprise, then screams in fear as she topples backwards, the avenging shadowsinger towering over her.

As if she thought she could get away with attempting to harm one of his children.

He feels the night air shifting behind him as he makes sure that his daughter is okay. Rhysand and Cassian appear before the female can gain her footing and take off, Cassian planting a foot in the middle of her back to keep her pinned to the frozen ground while Azriel consoles his daughter. Zuzu’s sniveling, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks as they escape. She doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want to show her father that she’s scared, but they fall without her permission anyway.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

Azriel’s heart cracks a little, molten lava of anger filling the cracks. This female won’t last the fucking night. And if she does, it’s because he’s going to make her death last as long as possible for even thinking of touching his daughter. For making her cry.

He hushes her, a soft noise that makes her clutch onto his shoulders tighter. Azriel’s not wearing a coat, but he’s used to the temperatures, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins helps quell the bitter chill. He sends a reassuring feeling down the bond to you and your relief flushes his body tenfold, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Are you okay, my love?” Azriel asks her, wiping the tears from Zuzu’s eyes. He swings her up into his arms, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead as he pins the female to her spot in the snow with furious golden eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Zuzu shakes her head and his knees nearly give out with relief. He sways them back and forth, whispering reassurances into Zuzu’s ears until she’s calmed down, before passing her off to Rhys who holds her just as tightly. 

“Uncle Rhys is going to take you back to mommy, okay, Zuz? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

She agrees, blinking up at him with her big eyes. Azriel watches her try to look over her uncle's shoulder to see the female spitting vitriol at Cassian. Rhys doesn’t allow her gaze to see what’s going on over there, instead drawing her attention to him, shifting her so she can’t see, and disappearing into the night to bring Zuzu home. 

Cassian crouches down to the female, grinding her face into the snow to stop the comments spewing from her lips. He whispers something so low that makes her entire body freeze, then thrash as if she actually has a chance of escaping.

Azriel steps up to her, a murderous look in his eyes, and he lets his blades do the talking.

[acourtofquietdreamers]

Sarah J. Maas was recently featured in Marie Claire’s “Power List” and once again, it’s emphasized that Sarah focuses on women’s stories (not stories about mates, what a shocker).

“women’s pleasure is front of mind” “female-centric universe” “the promise of the happily ever after”

What would Elain Archeron’s happily ever after look like? The girl who hoped love would trump a mating bond? I don’t think her reluctantly falling in love with a mate she shrinks and loses her boldness around fits the bill.

“But in a romance story, no matter how bleak things seem, it’s reassuring to know that the characters you love will still find each other.”

No matter how bleak things look with Elain and Azriel, they will find each other again and get their happily ever after. Elain will get to be with the man she’s shown interest in, regardless of the obstacles standing in their way.

[skyjasper]

Betray You Like A Man.

Azriel X Rhys sister oc (but Rhys Centric kinda?! Rhys and Az angst?)

Summary: HOFAS bonus chapter inspired. Azriel and his mate Y/N Moonbeam aka Rhysands little sister have been hiding for over 50 years. When her older brother finds out he is anything but happy.

Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of SA, Yelling, lots and lots of Angst, quite Az.

Words: 1,382.

~~~

She and Azriel had been seeing each other secretly for over 50 years now. They had been through hell and back together, finding out about Rhysand under the mountain, Supporting her brother with his mate, fighting a damned war, and even finding out they were mates. Not once did either of them let on to their secret relationship, always passing each other with cold glances and curt words. The only form of kindness shown was on important occasions. But the minute they were alone, when they got back to their secret apartment, they were perfectly fine.

That was until Rhysand barged into Azriel’s apartment yelling something about Nesta telling Feyre something about their babe and found the two of them laying on the floor. Y/N reading and Azriel mulling over paperwork with a biscuit. In an instant, albeit a second too late, Azriel’s wing was covering her. Rhysands words fell away and he stood still, she could see him just barely through her mate's wing but she knew that her older brother could smell her.

“Azriel,” Rhysand growled out. With a knowing sight, Azriel released his wing that covered Y/N’s frame, not hiding her wings.

The moment Rhysands eyes found her matching violet ones he turned and walked out, slamming the door. She turned her head to her mate whose eyes were glazed over in silent conversation, she decided to listen to what Rhys had told him.

“Do we go? We should probably give him time to calm down shouldn’t we?” She asked, staring at Azriel’s golden eyes. He just nodded quietly.

Silently and with deathly calmness they gathered themselves and flew to the river house. She winced as they walked in the door, taking in the ruined vases and the loud shouting of her other brother and sister trying to calm Rhysand down.

“I DO NOT CARE. THAT IS MY SISTER.” He screamed at Cassian. She turned to Azriel, putting a hand on his chest to stop him,

“Maybe I should go in there alone.” She offered. And with a short nod he agreed, before she could walk away he grabbed her arm, and with a deadly voice he spoke,

“If he even thinks about yelling at you I will be in there. I will just be right outside.” Then he let go so she could enter the room. When she did she gasped at the sight of her older brother.

“Rhysand,” she spoke firmly, only slightly scared as his raging eyes turned on her.

“Is that bastard here?!” He spoke.

“It doesn’t matter, Rhysand.” She went to place her hand on his arm when he flinched away and stared at her with disgust.

“Don’t even get me started on you.” He raised his voice, tears springing to her eyes at his reaction. The pair of them had always been as thick as thieves, never staying mad, and definitely never yelling at each other like this.

In an instant, Azriel was behind her, hands on her waist to inform her he was behind her. Her brother didn’t even glance at the male behind her before continuing,

“I can’t believe you slept with my brother like some common whore.” He spat out like a slap in the face, he knew what she had been through, what she had done for him while he was under the mountain. A cry fell out of her mouth, his words inflicting more pain than any physical blow could.

Before she could say anything the entire room went still, the bottom half of the room covered in angry shadows. Before she could blink her mate had her brother around the throat against the wall.

“Be very careful how you talk about my mate,” Azriel growled, she could feel his anger festering through the bond. She sent a comforting phantom hand over his shoulder.

“Your mate?!” Rhysand laughed, “That’s hilarious brother, no one could ever love a bastard like you. We all know it, just admit it Azriel, you aren’t capable of loving a female.”

And then it was Y/N who was on top of her brother, facing him with a slap that resonated throughout the entire room. Not a single soul spoke as the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room. Not even Feyre said anything as her sister-in-law hit her mate.

“Fuck you Rhysand.” She yelled. “Fuck you for reacting like this! You are nothing but a cowardly piece of shit. You blame everyone else for everything that is your fault. Did you ever stop and think as to why we didn’t tell you?!” She yelled, Rhysands mouth opened to respond but she continued, “No Rhysand, you don’t get to speak. Maybe if for once in your godsforsaken life actually looked at anyone other than your mate you see that the people around you are going through shit! You would see the face that Elain is on the verge of breaking, that Nesta was going through something none of us could possibly imagine, that Cassian was coping and that I, your fucking sister, was traumatized. I get it Rhysand, what you went through under the mountain, trust me I get it, but it does not give you the right to treat everyone else like shit because they don’t react the same way you do to trauma. You do not get to sit here and act like my brother trying to defend my honor when you haven’t actually acted like a decent brother for the past 3 years!” She screamed in his face.

She gave him one more resounding slap before standing up and finding Azriels hands.

“Do not come find us brother, for I do not want to see your pitiful face.”

Then, hand in hand with her mate, they left. They both flew, flew for hours till they were at the cabin Azriel had built for his mother before she passed. When they arrived and got out of the cold she sunk to her knees, tears finally flowing.

Az’s rough hands came to hold her face, “Shh my love, he is not worthy of your tears.” He murmured into her hair. Instead of trying to calm her again he just let her cry, not once letting her go, instead instructing his shadows to gather water and blankets.

So she fell asleep crying in his arms over the hurt her brother had caused. And when she woke she found Azriel’s dark hair. She stared at him as her fingers twirled in the onyx strands.

“You know what he said wasn’t true right, you know how to love and you are worthy of it Azriel. You and I are the proof, this right here,” she gestured in between the two, lightly pulling on the golden ribbon that flowed between them. “This is the proof. I love you beyond words Azriel. I know you feel the same shadow singer.” She told him. Observing as his hands tightened around her waist. They had both suffered far too much to let the words of her cruel brother diminish all the progress they had made.

It wasn’t easy at the beginning, getting Azriel to open up and come to accept himself. It took him years to realize he was worthy of her love. That he wasn’t a broken bastard.

“I love you beyond the sun and the stars, I would travel worlds for you Azriel. And if the stars would vanish then I would voyage through the darkness with nothing but my bare hands to find you.” She whispered, “I would rip the wings off my back if yours were ruined because I know how much you need to fly. I would kill gods and kings alike to ensure you are safe. For as long as I am alive you will no longer be alone ever again, you will always be loved. I will always love every part of you.” She brought his scarred hands to her lips and kissed the skin on them. When she released his hands her lips found his mouth.

“There are not enough words in this world for me to express my love for you Y/N Moonbeam, So instead let me show you.” He spoke against her lips before moving his kiss down her neck.

And show her he did.

~~

Taglist:

@littlelunatica @going-through-shit @annaaaaa88 @i-am-infinite @impossibelle

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

I was gonna elaborate last night, but then fell asleep lolol

Something that I actually talked about in the past (and damn do I wish I had some of the old blog stuff lol), but I think the point I'm making is that Nuala and Cerridwen are really not tangible characters in the series.

Nuala and Cerridwen have been in the series for over five and a half books - and still, we don't know anything about them. The moments that we do have with them are all in service or in servitude. It isn't enough that they are spy-masters, they also just randomly choose to also pick up occupations as maids. Think about it like this - we've known Emerie for one (and a half) books and she has more personality than we've ever seen from Nuala and Cerridwen - and although I argue that Emerie is not treated well (in fandom spaces) and is victim of bad writing, she still is talked about as an actual character. Go look through the Nuala and Cerridwen tags, look at the way they are commonly drawn, how they are characterized, and what positions they are most commonly depicted (spoiler: its always in service).

And even within the story, they aren't considered fully-fledged members of the Inner Circle, they don't have conversations with other members, and even though Azriel is the leader I can't think of any conversations they've had together. When Rhys gives his little end-game speech, he doesn't stop and thank Nuala and Cerridwen for their loyalty through those fifty years. Rhys doesn't even seem to have anything more than a professional relationship with them. They are very much treated like employed maids who work for the Inner Circle.

"I'm so excited for Elain's friendship with N+C! They're gonna match Azriel with Elain!"

Yeah...okay. Even the Valkyries weren't that invested in Nesta's relationship with Cassian. I think there's a yearning to recreate a dynamic similar to the Valkyries, because its the first time we've seen a friendship group between women in this series. I also think there's this rush to claim the same for Elain and Nuala and Cerrdwen - yet its very elain-centric, and the they seem to just be reiterating a very handmaiden-esque dynamic. I also think its VERY weird that so much energy is put into how N+C "really brought out of her depression" yet they were imprisoned over fifty years UTM and yet we've never seen them be vulnerable about that experience. Why can't elain comfort them? Why isn't it both ways? Why doesn't the story or stans point out how they've gotten better? Its just like a lot to unpack. Like the optics of these women of color being these eager handmaidens and then having that dynamic pushed as friendship is kinda?????????????

[infinitefolklore]

Fanfic Master Post

*request a fic through Ask Me Anything*

Elucien

In The Darkness Before the Dawn, Leave a Light On

About: Elain is sent to the Mortal Lands to live with Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa to work on her Seer abilities, find a way to break Vassa's curse, and try to discover information about Koschei. Elain and Lucien are forced to live and work together, and get to know one another along the way.

Status: In Progress

Tropes/Tags: Forced Proximity, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Mutual Pining, Lust, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Canon Compliant

A Little Bit of Light Reading

About: Elain is all alone at the Town House and Lucien makes a surprise appearance. They decide to "explore the mating bond," but for how long can they keep it a secret? And what happens when the Inner Circle starts meddling in their business? Note: This fic became slightly AU towards the end!

Status: Complete; 43 Chapters; 120,896 words

Tropes/Tags: Smut, Dirty Jokes, Secret Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Drama, Banter, Library Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Family Shenanigans, Sneaking Around, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Fluff without Plot, Drama Llama, Fist Fights, Jealousy, Love Triangles

Little Dove

About: Human!Elain and Fox!Lucien. This is a slight canon divergence deleted scene. After Feyre is taken to Spring Court, Tamlin sends Lucien to go check on the Archeron Estate. Lucien finds Elain all alone and offers her some company. Elain discusses her upcoming betrothal to Graysen, and Lucien tries to convince her to change her mind.

Status: Complete; One Shot; 10,895 words

Tropes/Tags: Alternate Canon, Deleted Scenes, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, One Shot, Fox Mask Lucien, Flirtatious Rake Lucien, Inexperienced Elain, Flirting

Healer in the Night

About: Lucien has been away on the continent on a mission. No one has heard from him in over two months. Elain is worried. On a dark and stromy night, he shows up bloody on her doorstep. Elain nurses him back to health.

Status: Complete; 5 Chapters; 12,750 words

Tropes/Tags: Healing, Injury, Injury Recovery, Angst, Fluff, Elain takes care of Lucien, Lucien is a gentleman, And a flirt, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Mating Bond, Eventual Smut, because everyone convinces me to write smut

Meet Me On The Battlefield

About: Lucien is captured by Koschei and our poor fox boy doesn't think anyone is coming to save him. He's wrong.

Status: Complete; 6 Chapters; 12,022 words

Tropes/Tags: Dungeon, Prison, Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, Angst, Mention of torture, blood and injuries, don't worry this will have a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Final Battle, Lucien is hopeless, Then he changes his mind, I don't want to give too much away in the tags, Lucien Vanserra-centric

Four Minutes

About: The Night Court attends a party in Dawn Court. Lucien finds out some information and turns into an absolute flirt. There's ballroom dancing, except hot. Elain can barely contain herself.

Status: Complete; 4 Chapters; 12,425 words

Tropes/Tags: Ballroom Dancing, Forced Proximity, Regency Romance, Lucien is a flirt, hot and bothered, Lust, Longing, Drinking, alcohol use, Gossip, Song Lyrics, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Teasing, Smut Obviously

Solstice Traditions

About: Lucien comes to the River House on Winter Solstice eve with another gift for Elain. He is pleasantly surprised by her reaction.

Status: Complete; 3 Chapters; 16,198 words

Tropes/Tags: Winter Solstice, holiday fluff, Gift Exchange, Cute, Fluff, Mating Bond, Smut, Honestly was not planning smut but you all asked for it, absolute filth, Elain wears lingerie

Gwynriel

Beautiful Can't Begin To Describe You

About: Azriel and Gwyn take a bath together.

Status: Complete; 1 Chapter; 5,590 words

Tropes/Tags: Smut, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Bathroom Sex, Bubble Bath

ENJOY <333

[stargirlfeyre]

opinions on the next book being about nesta (again) and reviving the dusk court to become valkyrie HQ? just to be clear, the theories are that it's an azriel/nesta centric book, but azriel/gwyn are the narrators bc it's still gonna be a gwynriel book, apparently

Let me take my Nesta hater cap off for a second.

Her getting another book does not make sense and is high unlikely. Short answer: there’s not enough plot left to give each sister more than one book and given how Acosf left off, it’s clear that that won’t happen.

Long answer: If Nesta was getting more books then Sjm wouldn’t have shoved her healing all into one. Acosf wouldn’t have been rushed as much as it was and the end wouldn’t have been as “finite”. A lot of things that happen in her book would have been done later (like her getting into bed with Cassian which happened way too soon in my opinion but that’s another conversation).

Think of how Feyre’s books ended during her trilogy. Acotar ended after she had just been killed, turned Fae, and was entering arguably the lowest point of her life. Acomaf ended…a damn mess to say the least. And finally Acowar’s ending is very similar to Acosf’s. Feyre’s not fully healed but on the right road to it and ended up with Rhysand (and acofas is kind of a continuation of that). Feyre’s last book directly mirrors the ending of Nesta’s first and last book (Acosf).

If Sjm was planning to write more Nesta centric books then she would have left Acosf’s ending more open like she did with Feyre’s books. Yet she didn’t.

Now I can maybe see her giving Nessian a novella like she did Feysand but I don’t think she likes them enough to.

Also in reference to the Dusk Court…it already belongs to Rhys. It’s his territory and it’s even stated that even if it’s an 8th Court, it still falls under his jurisdiction. He’s literally blood bound to it. The only way the Dusk Court is going to became a Valkyrie headquarters is if Rhys gives them permission for it seeing as his blood is the only thing that can open the gates. Again it all comes back to him. If that Court is revived it’s going to remain his as it’s always been.

And lastly why would Sjm write a Gwynriel book but have Nesta as the female center and not…Gwyn? Are some Gwynriels really pushing for that to happen? Wow.

[sunshinebingo]

The Angry Valkyrie

Gwyn is mad at Azriel. What did he do and how will he make up for it?

A Morning at the Berdara Household

Follow Gwyn, Azriel and their twins as they get ready for the day.

At Her Fingertips

Some dirty texts exchanged at the dinner table followed by smut, smut and more smut. - [smut]

Her Jealous Side

Ficlet where Azriel pushes Gwyn to admit that she is jealous.

Tell Me

Gwyn tells Azriel exactly what she wants him to do. - [smut]

Love is a losing game

What others thought was seven minutes in heaven for Azriel and Gwyn turned out to be seven minutes of confrontation about their breakup.

She is gone...

House of Wind gang/Gwynriel drabble - Cassian comes home to a sad Shadowsinger.

Cat and the Doggy

Fluffy ficlet of Gwyn and her daughter.

His Angel of Light

Ficlet of Gwyn and Azriel stargazing.

Good Girl

Gwyn experiences the pleasures of being blindfolded and bound by the Shadowsinger. [smut]

First Day

Gwyn and Azriel watch their twins take a new step in their lives.

Imagine...

Witnessing Love

Emerie watches Gwyn and Azriel, and thinks about her own (lack of) relationship.

Be home by midnight

Gwyn and Azriel stumble across Rhys as they leave for their date.

Stuck Together

Gwyn finds herself unable to move lest she disturbs a half asleep Azriel.

Two Idiots and a Bigger One

Cassian and Rhysand watch an interaction unfold between Azriel and Gwyn when the latter comes to see the shadowsinger while they are drinking together. Azriel has no idea what they find so funny about it. But they certainly find it hilarious. - Check out my Gwyn Week 2024 masterlist below for the 2nd part with the Valkyries

Of Scowls and Growls

A heated argument between Azriel and Gwyn turn into a smutty sort of reconciliation. [smut]

A tiny little something...

Finding Azriel

Gwyn looks for Azriel in the House of Wind after they have an argument.

Flaws

Azriel makes a list of Gwyn's flaws.

A writer's fantasy

Gwyn tries everything possible to put a stop to her writer's block, unbeknownst that her source of inspiration will appear right at her door.

✨Gwynriel Weeks 2023✨

Everything I posted for Gwynriel Weeks 2023. Some fics, a moodboard, and more Gwynriel fun stuff!

✨Gwyn Week 2023✨

Everything I posted for Gwyn Week 2023. Gwyn-centric so contains some stuff that are about Gwyn but not Gwynriel

✨Gwynriel Weeks 2024✨

Everything I posted for Gwynriel Weeks 2024. Fanfiction, moodboards, and more Gwynriel content!

✨Gwyn Week 2024✨

All the fanfics written for Gwyn Week 2024. Also include some things that are not Gwynriel

[nikethestatue]

i'm a little bit worried about sjm obsession with azriel because i didn't see her like that with rhys. He's everywhere and got more background that even nesta who is the main character of ACOSF. Also it seems like even HOFAS is very nesta/azriel centric and it makes me wonder if she's gonna give az and gwyn a book just because of her weird obsession with everything nesta related. Like it seems she's forgotten about elain/feyre and now her books evolve around nesta and azriel and nothing for elain

She is definitely obsessed with Azriel, but I think that's because he has a big role to play in the next book. i think that like Rhys, he is going to be paramount in being a major player in the next book (and not just seed supplier). Now, Nesta's ACOTAR storyline is over. The crossover is slightly different--she was utilised for her powers and because of the Trove Objects.

Azriel's story is just starting. If you think about it, up until...well, the crossover, we knew very little about Azriel. He SEEMED to have been present in ACOSF, but his role was pretty episodic and we don't know a whole lot about him at all, by the end of ACOSF. Actually, kind of like Elain. We know there are powers she needs to dust off, but she's been just as mysterious as Azriel.

Which brings me to the last point--yeah, the next book will heavily feature Azriel, but Gwyn? Why? What indication have we had that it would feature Gwyn? Especially as the LI? Literally none. Taking the shipwar out of the equation, and pretending like it didn't exist, what, in ACOSF, indicated that the book would be Gwyn's????????????????

Literally, NOTHING.

Zero. Zilch. Bupkas. Nada.

Did ANYONE in the world (well, except like 2 people) closed ACOSF and proclaimed loudly, well, next book is Gwyn's!

No.

Do you really think that someone will close the book on HOFAS and proclaim, well, next book is Gwyn's! No.

Like why is the world would the next book be Gwyn's?????

Why in the world would SJM leave Azriel, the last remaining single batboy, someone that she clearly very much likes and not have him end up with an Archeron sister???? Like 'you get an Archeron! You get an Archeron! You get an Archeron! And you...well, you get Gwyn!'

LOL. No.

[edanmaia]

hofas spoilers below; my random thoughts based on my shoddy translation (very acotar-centric)

lidia having kids is WILD. and ruhn's character really pivoted from frat boy to adult man...

the book was 800+ pages and yet so little happened

character motivations, character arcs, and whatnot were very surface level

I dont think nesta actually lost her ability to wield the trove?

azriel azriel azriel wow what an observant man 😊 we've never seen him talk this much

the one elain and gwyn mention made me giggle

DUSK COURT / PRISON !!! WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR BOOK 5

language translation pill is weird...

rhysand's sister mention?????? so fucking random

i need to think about how this ties into the next acotar book

The ending wasn't satisfying but it wasn't unsatisfying

i'm guessing the bryce / az / nesta bonus scene is about cellphones and them taking pictures

ember / randall bonus scene will be feysand and some nessian & azriel

the ruhn lidia bonus chapter was just an extended HEA.

sexual assault... there's a decent amount... and it's kinda brushed over

where tf is mor LMAO

the cauldron was wrong... it's also corrupt... mmm m mating bonds chosen by the mother vs by the cauldron????

no rhys/ruhn look alike explanation 😭

that ending made it seem like there wouldn't be a cc4 but maybe a novella similar to acofas?

i feel like she really toned down the sex scenes, which i am so grateful for. it gives me hope that acotar 5 will have a good plot.

high king plot wont happen. bryce abolished the monarchy... so will rhysand if he became high king

will elain use the orb Bryce used to share her visions?

[gwyns]

“Gwynriel’s know Gwyn cannot carry a book on her own. She needs to piggyback on Nesta’s relevance to even have half a decent storyline and the overarching plot.”

I don’t think any Gwynriel has ever said that Gwyn will be getting her own book. I think most of us have said that Gwyn will have the other pov in Azriel’s book, similar to Cassian in Nesta’s book. Gwyn does have a decent enough storyline and potential plot if you would actually read the scenes that she is in (I’ve actually seen some e/riel’s say that when Gwyn appears they skip the page). Gwyn became the first one to cut the ribbon and become a Valkyrie; she won the Blood Rite and became the first non-Illyrian to do so; there have been many theories on her possibly being connected to Gwydion or possibly finding Narben since acosf came out; she hasn’t left the library but we know that she wants to; she feels unworthy of using her invoking stone; accepting that her sisters death wasn’t her fault; overcoming her trauma and healing; Autumn Court heritage (possibly a Vanserra); whatever is going on with Merrill and the research to other worlds; things we found out from hofas, like the Prison being connected to Nesta, and Gwyn (Emerie also) are her friends and Pegasus used to roam there and we know the Pegasi loved Gwyn the most; Ramiel with the Asteri/daglan, the black monolith at the top, Enalius.

Gwyn definitely has main character energy, it’s just some people don’t want to see the potential. And after hofas, I do believe that it’s Azriel’s that is next (of course it could end up being Elain’s or the novella). Say the next book is Azriel’s and obviously he is the main character with the first pov; Nesta played a big role in hofas, but I don’t think Sarah will give her another book or let her have the other pov, I think it will go to Gwyn since she’s a Valkyrie and connected to Nesta, so this way we can get more information. I really don’t think that the Valkyrie plot line is over.

And wasn’t Sarah originally going to have Nessian’s book be about an Illyrian rebellion or disarray happening in Illyria but scrapped it? Perhaps she’s saving it for Azriel since we know how he feels about that place/his people (similar to how Bryce feels about the fae) and given what we got from hofas (truth teller/Ramiel/Enalius), and it will also tie in the Valkyries, because honestly, I don’t think the males in Illyria are too happy with three women, two of which aren’t Illyrian, participating in the Blood Rite and winning.

and nesta had to "piggyback" off of feyre's relevance, what's their point? that's how spinoffs work

gwyn has heaps of potential as a main character, they're just SO insecure about it, it's plain as day in every word they write. that's why they have to get online to write think pieces about their hatred and downplay gwyn's significance since no one ever taught them how to properly deal with their emotions. basically, they're making it everyone else's problem

i've been here since the dawn of time and have never once seen a gwynriel say gwyn would be the actual mc of a book, we've always theorized about how she, her storyline and her abilities could compliment an az centric story. e/riels know this but they don't have anything proper to cry over so they ignore it and lie, much like they do with the actual books lol

agreed. i feel like hofas only reinforced that the valkyrie plot is far from over, all the connections nesta had with bryce and the dusk court. i definitely think that'll be the valkyries base or something. as much as i love nesta, i feel the same. i don't think she'll get another book or have a centric pov again (obviously this can change), so who is the next character most connected to the valkyries? who helped reform them? who did research on them and was the first to cut the ribbon? who, alongside emerie ANOTHER founding valkyrie, was one of the first females to win the blood rite? the same blood rite that's a sacred illyrian tradition that is connected to azriel, the other acotar character that took center stage in hofas, personally? hmmm... seems like miss janet has quite the coincidence on her hands here!

yup! sjm set up an illyrian rebellion in acofas, showed us that acosf snippet where nessian were going to the illyrian mountains and everyone (rightfully) assumed they were going to deal with that. but years passed and acosf finally came out and the rebellion is just... on the back burner for now? the leader of it was killed quietly off page and now the story centers on the dread trove and valkyrie training but we are still told that another rebellion is brewing. it's clear to me, and many others, that sjm changed her plans a tiiiiny bit and decided to have azriel deal with this plotline. i, for one, am excited to see how sjm handles it!

[azsazz]

Cuddle Me In

Azriel x Reader (Jax Centric)

Summary: Anon Request: I LOVE YOUR DADDY!AZRIEL FICS!!!! CAN YOU MAKE ONE ABOUT JAXS CUDDLES WHEN HIS MOMMY IS SAD

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,881

Notes: I think Jax might just be an empath...

_________________________________________

It was just one of those days.

One where nothing seemed to be working in your favor.

You had hardly gotten any sleep due to Malos’ incessant crying, though why she was so upset you had no idea.

The loud wails of your youngest daughter, in turn, had her twin brother wide awake as well. Though Knox was normally a very calm babe, the continued distress of his sister was disturbing him from his spot in his cradle next to hers.

Not even your mate could calm her, with his gentle fingers brushing through her hair, cooing softly at her while you held Knox. The both of you had been so worried that he’d even taken her to see a healer, uncaring that it was the middle of the night. He took off with Malos bundled close to his chest, you and Knox watching them grow smaller and smaller.

The healer hadn’t been able to find anything wrong with the tiny babe, and Azriel had returned with a teary eyed Malos, whom he had hoped would fall asleep on the flight back.

No such luck.

For hours the two of you tried, exhausted and near hysterical as you watched your daughter wailing her little head off, the both of their shadows swirling around the twins, agitated. 

It had been that she was too far away from her brother, you both found out when you had noticed the way that their shared shadows had reached out to each other. The babes immediately settled when they were together in their bassinet, tucked up close to one another as if protecting the other.

You and Azriel only shared a sigh of relief as you quickly slid back into the cold bed, hoping for a restful few hours of sleep before the rest of your brood awoke.

______

Baz, in his true nature, was the one to wake you up.

Azriel had awoken with a start, his shadows hissing to him of the second oldest standing at your side of the bed, ready to rouse you from sleep. 

But he was too late to stop him, as Baz shook your arm gently with a sad mewl, “Mommy?”

“Hm?” you hummed, blinking your eyes open as your heart picked up in your chest at the sound of one of your terrified children. “Baz?”

“I had a bad dream,” his voice quivers and you’re quick to tug him up into bed with you and Azriel, the shadowsinger cocooning the three of you in his warm wings, a shield that would help calm Baz, sandwiching the little lad between the two of you.

You brushed the boy’s hair back from his forehead, “Do you want to tell us what it was about, love?”

He stared at the ceiling for a moment as his lip wobbled at the thought, “Well Wrennie told me about a scary monster that lives out in the woods,” you share a look with your mate, “and I was all alone out there mommy! Not my brothers and sisters, not you or daddy, just me and the ugly beast!”

You rub his back as Azriel talks Baz down, trying his best to calm the terrified little boy. The soothing pattern you’re stroking into his back combined with the warmth of your mate’s wing and the low baritone sound of Azriel’s voice lulls you back to sleep.

_____

Azriel had been summoned away for the morning, so you were in charge of breakfast for your six children.

Which was normally fine except that you had hardly gotten any sleep, had zero reinforcements, and your children were feeling particularly naughty today.

You truly did not think that you had the energy for this today, though being a mother never took a day off.

All you’d like to do is crawl back between your sheets and sleep for a while, get the energy back that had evaded you from your night of unrest. Each shout, clang of a utensil, hand smacking against the table has you tensing further and further, unnaturally irritated with your unruly children.

Jax, the most empathetic of the six, tugs on the leg of your pants, reaching his hands up when you glance down at him, signaling to you that he would like to be picked up.

“Hi Jax,” you can’t help but give him a soft smile, “What are you doing?”

He shakes his hands again, grabbing the air with tiny fists. You know exactly what he wants, but he was one of the quieter children you had, and you and Azriel were more than a bit concerned when you realized that Jax wasn’t quite as outgoing as his siblings, tending to stick to you or him in favor of being around any of the other family that had known him since birth.

This was your way of prompting the young boy to use his words to ask for what he wanted instead.

Jax blinks up at you once, before his face contorts into a pout. Your body tenses, ready for the little boy to start wailing, something he excelled at. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t. He doesn’t look happy as you move your attention from him to the pancakes you’re flipping before you, nearly ready to be served to the hungry bunch chittering away at the table behind you, the other five lined up in their chairs eagerly.

“Up.”

You raise an eyebrow, plating the breakfasts, “Up what?”

His soft huff is entertaining, “Up please.”

“There’s my good boy,” you beam, smiling down at your son as you pick him up and tuck him against your hip. You plant a loud kiss to his cheek that causes the pout to disappear and giggles to bubble up out of him, and you feel a bit lighter because of it.

Until Wren and Baz start arguing.

You hardly know what it’s about, don’t even care because you’re so drained from last night.

The two boys don’t listen to your commands for them to cut it out and calm down. Not even your threat of telling their father stops them from yelling at each other this time, and that trick always worked. Their faces are so red you’re worried they aren’t even breathing through their screams.

Next to Baz, Zuzu is covering her ears with her hands, an annoyed look on her face while she stares you down, waiting for you to end the fight.

It seems as if Malos wants in on it too, babbling loudly in their direction. She hadn’t seemed to have enough screaming and crying for the night and deems now the perfect chance to join in.

You clutch Jax tighter, shutting your eyes for a moment and trying to block out the sounds of your children, if only for a moment, as Jax yells from your arms at them to stop. Their arguing grates against your skull, and your eyes burn with lack of sleep. You so badly wish to handle this like a rational parent but you’re about to snap–

“Wren, Baz,” a familiar voice calls, and your shoulders slacken with relief immediately, “What are you two arguing about?”

Azriel had chosen to return at the perfect time, sensing your utter frustration down the bond. He shoots you a worried glance but you smile stiffly, turning back to the plates loaded up with pancakes for your children.

The two boys fall silent, cheeks rosy under the stern stare of their father.

Neither of them dares speak. 

Azriel is quick to solve the matter and meet you in the kitchen where you’re leaning against the counter with Jax cuddled close in your arms, breathing in his fresh scent of sandalwood and citrus, uncaring about the cooling pancakes on the plates for the awaiting children.

“Come here buddy,” Azriel says softly, opening his arms up for Jax, “Let’s let mommy relax for a bit, yeah?”

“No,” Jax protests, and his arms clasped around your neck tighten, “Mommy!”

“It’s okay, Az,” you respond softly, enjoying the feeling of the cuddles you’re receiving. You rest your head atop Jax’s and Azriel’s eyes soften at the both of you.

He nods, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek and then Jax’s. His hand is a warm caress at the base of your spine and you’re hit again with just how tired you really are.

“Why don’t you and Jax go eat breakfast in bed,” he offers, sliding the pancakes from your plate onto Jax’s and handing it over to you, “I’ll feed the rest and get them ready for the day. Cassian said he and Nesta would watch them for a bit.”

You bite back your grin. Cassian was always one to offer up his help, though every time you arrived to pick your children back up he looked like he’d been to hell and back, swearing he’d never watch them again.

You loved him for it.

“Thank you,” you murmur, letting Jax take a pancake to munch on while you give Azriel a peck on the lips, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he murmurs, giving you a soft, admiring smile.

“I love you, too,” Jax exclaims around his mouthful of breakfast.

You share a laugh, readjusting him on your hip as you retreat from the chaos that is the morning meal.

You and Jax cuddle up in your large bed and you instantly relax, quietly eating the pancakes while enjoying each other's company. 

He is so much like Azriel, quiet in nature but rational and empathetic. The way he’d clung to you moments before his brothers started arguing as if he knew that you would need a calming presence if you weren’t going to snap at them.

You definitely were but it was the thought that counted.

Azriel appears some time later, when the other children have all eaten and are ready for the day, his shadows keeping watch as Wren helps his siblings get their shoes and coats on right while he goes to retrieve Jax.

He finds you and your fourth in a comforting embrace, Jax curled up into your side as you read him his favorite book.

He can’t help but to admire the sight, heart swelling with the utmost love as he watches the two of you together.

Feeling that warmth fill your body down to your bones draws your attention to the door.

“I’ve just come for the little one,” Azriel says softly, like if he’s too loud he’ll break the cloak of peace the both of you have created.

“I want to stay with mommy,” Jax frowns, clutching your shirt tighter.

Azriel looks to you for confirmation but how can you say no when your baby is making a face like that? Pulling on your heartstrings because he’s already such a caring boy.

“I think we’re both enjoying our time together too much to move,” you smile at your mate, resting your temple in Jax’s soft hair.

Azriel’s smile sets your heart fluttering, “Alright then. I’m taking the other’s to Cassians. I’ll come check on the two of you a little later, maybe bring you some lunch?”

“Spoiling us?” you grin up at your mate.

“Always, my love,” he responds, leaning down to tuck you both in and give you a sweet kiss on the lips, “Always.”