#prior to acotar

[ennawrite]

Super late (I misread the dates and thought the first day was TOMORROW) but here’s a bit of a heavier piece for Day One of @tamlinweek 2024:

Title: Spring’s Stars

a Tamlin x Rhysand’s sister story

Synopsis: After Tamlin’s father gains intel on the Ladies of the Night Court, Tamlin has to pick himself up to rescue the female he loves and her mother.

Word Count: 4,709

You can also read here

For this prompt, I wanted to write about the days leading up to Tamlin becoming High Lord. I know there’s a lot of tension in the books about what happened, and so I wanted to write from Tamlin’s POV. I also played around with some of the fan theories that have been floating around. This story is a bit devastating (or at least I hope so 😉) so be warned. ***It also plays on Tamlin’s father being a shitty man. We’ve heard he was worse than BERON, and there’s bit of child abuse/torture happening***

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Tamlin awoke on the cold marbled floor of the Spring manor’s basement; the coppery tang of fresh blood filled his nose. His back was burning, the flesh in sloppy ribbons. Prior to the lashes, his father had forced a faebane tonic down his throat so he would not heal quickly. It often went that way, if Tamlin was not cooperating.

He tried to rise but could only make it to his knees before the room began spinning. Nausea filled his stomach. Tamlin closed his eyes, trying to find anything in himself to grasp onto to pull his thoughts away from the pain. He thought of music, of playing the fiddle with some of the males he met in the war camps years ago. The small spark in his chest quickly extinguished when he realized it would be weeks until he could play again, until he could do anything, really. Any movement would reopen the wounds splattering his back, that is if his father even offered him the grace of healing. He liked to linger the possibilities over Tamlin’s head, stringing him along on his sick game of life or death.

Tamlin opened his eyes and stared down at his hands in his lap, dark red ran down his arms and dripped off his fingetips onto his black trousers. He had half a mind to lay back down until he inevitably bled out, but then he remembered why his father had dealt out the beating. Why this time had been so bad, why Tamlin was not cooperating.

For some reason unknown to Tamlin, his father wanted to know the daughter of Night’s location. How his father knew his son knew her whereabouts, Tamlin wasn’t sure. Maybe it was his friendship with Rhysand, or maybe his father could sense something amiss. For fuck’s sake, he’d just seen Laila the night before. He probably still smelt like her, a mistake that he’d surely pay for if he didn’t get the fuck up now.

Tamlin gritted his teeth as he lifted off his knees, his hands shaking as he searched for any form of leverage on the blood splattered wall. His slid in the red mess causing him to jolt forward. Tamlim cried out as the gashes in his back ripped deeper from the sudden movement.

However, the pain would not deter him. His father knew where Laila and her mother were. He dealt Tamlin lash after lash, and yet Tamlin did not break. Not until his father brought a ‘friend’ in. A mind reader, apparently. He had an official name, but Tamlim could not remember it now. If anything, he was more of a mind torturer. He easily got the information out of Tamlim after worming his way through his brain, but he left visions of Tamlin’s mother being whipped on his departure. The female so badly bloodied, Tamlin actually threw up at the picture.

Tamlin realized the male was waiting outside the room the entire time, his father did not need to stoop to whipping him for the information. But Tamlin knew the lashes and the manipulated visions served a purpose of a different kind. It was loud and clear, ever since Tamlin had shown those early signs of powerful magic as a child and his mother’s worried face pleading for him to stop. Her begs him to hide his new magic. But like a fool, Tamlin eagerly showed his father.

Tamlin searched for any sign of that golden power now, but to no avail. His well was empty with the faebane in his system. So, he had to do this the hard way. Tamlin spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor, the noise echoing throughout the dingy room. There was no furniture in here, just a wooden post to tie a victim to. Usually, Tamlin was the victim. A room solely dedicated for his father’s dark hobbies.

Tamlin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing red across his cheek. He took in one deep, agonizing breath and pushed off of his own raised knee for leverage. The muscles in his neck strained, the veins nearly bursting and his teeth almost shattering from the force of him clenching them together.

Finally, Tamlin was standing. He leaned his head against the wall, trying to ward off the swaying of the spinning room, but nevertheless, he was standing. Tamlin tried to control his breathing, the air in his lungs escaped in fast, shallow pants. His back burned like it had been lit on fire, but Tamlin could not focus on that. Somehow, he had to get to Laila before they did. His father and his brothers would not be kind to her nor her mother. Whipping was just a sliver of the grotesque arsenal they proudly carried on their belt. Even worse, they really enjoyed the chase of the hunt.

Tamlin turned away from the wall, heart pounding, and fire coursing through his veins as he thought about his father and brothers being let loose on Laila.

He would find a way to save her or die trying.

•

Tamlin made his way up the stairs, relying heavily on the rail to get up. Mercifully, the door to the basement had been left unlocked. He assumed his father did not expect him to wake up so soon. In fact, he had made sure that would be the case from the intensity of the lashes, but by the Mother, Tamlin had awoken. He would not let that divine intervention go to waste.

The manor was eerily quiet, the servants must have been sent home as there was no bustling about. His father probably deemed their prying eyes as a nuisance for his big plans for the evening, whatever they may be. Tamlin’s stomach churned at the possibilities, and he quickened his pace.

He made it to his room and nearly keeled over as he leaned over his desk, flesh blood dribbled on the rug, soaking deeply into the white wool. Tamlin blindly rummaged through a drawer until he found it. A small bottle, hidden in the very back. A gift from his mother, one that would surely have them both beaten half to death if ever discovered.

Tamlin uncorked the bottle with shaky hands and brought it to his lips. The milky liquid cooled his raw throat, soothing as it went down. Tamlin nearly fell to his knees as he felt that iron chain on his power shatter.

He sighed in relief as he felt his body beginning to heal. It would still take days for him to be fully recovered, but this was enough to get him to Laila.

Tamlin pulled a dark green tunic over his head, careful not to disrupt the slowly-healing wounds too much. And then he strapped the bandolier of Illyrian knives across his chest, a gift from Rhysand last Winter Solstice.

With the power now pulsing through him, Tamlin ran out of the Spring manor and into the darkness waiting beyond.

•

Tamlin’s power hadn’t replenished enough yet for him to winnow, so he took his chances on horseback. The stable was nearly empty when Tamlin got there, the scent of his father and brothers lingering. His father could have winnowed them all to the Illyrian camp, but that wasn’t their style. They would be enjoying the ride of this night, drawing it out as long as they could. Tamlin’s blood chilled and he quickly saddled up the small white mare that had been left behind.

They raced through the woods, the back of Tamlin’s tunic now soaked. His wounds were in a constant state of healing and opening due to the movement. But that was the least of his worries. He didn’t know how long he was unconscious, how much further ahead his family was. He prayed to the Mother that Rhysand was there. That somehow, someway, something was stopping his father from harming the females.

Tamlin kicked the heels of his boots against the horse’s side, and they ran faster through the thick canopy of trees.

•

It took too long, way too damn long, for him to reach the Illyrian camp Laila and her mother were staying at. Tamlin quickly tied the mare to a tree on the outskirts of the camp, not willing to risk being seen because of animal’s glaringly white coat.

Tamlim quietly made his way down the hill, making sure to stay as hidden as he could behind the bare trees. He did not hear any yelling, which was hopefully a good thing. But he also could not hear much of anything. Like even the nocturnal animals of the forest had been run off by some threat. Tamlin willed his quickened pulse to steady as he made his way to the closest house, a small thing made up of grey mortar and bricks.

Gripping a dagger in his hand, he peered over the side. When he didn’t see any immediate threats, he pushed further. His back had stopped bleeding, though the pain still lingered, and he hoped his scent would not be too strong to any passerby.

Tamlin made his way to the front of the house, heart pounding at what he beheld. It wasn’t the gory murder scene he’d expected. No, instead, the camp looked abandoned. He made his way down the path. Houses were ransacked, like his father heavily searched each one and got angrier as he went on, his job becoming sloppier and sloppier. But there were no bodies. There was no blood, or at least none that Tamlin could sense.

Tamlin ran to the house he was in the night before. He pleaded with the Mother as he ran up the stairs and into Laila’s room. The place was torn apart, her belongings strewn about, but her scent was faint. She had not been here in hours. However, his father’s scent was overwhelmingly strong. He would not be far away, if his smell still lingered so. Tamlin growled over the mixing of the two scents and quickly exited the room.

•

Tamlin was walking back up the slope to his horse, coming up with ideas of where Laila could be when he heard it. The ever so faint sound of wings flapping. Then the light scent of lavender and cedar. In an instant, Tamlin was swept up, completely embraced in the arms he knew too well.

“Are you okay? You’re bleeding,” Laila fretted, cupping his face with both palms. Tamlin leaned into the touch. She found the nook of a large tree branch to settle them into.

“I’m fine. My father—“ Tamlin trailed off, looking deeply into Laila’s strikingly blue eyes. “Did he hurt you? I saw what he did to the camp.”

“No. One of the scouts spotted he and your brothers in the forest. I was able to winnow most of the camp out, the rest flew,” Laila shook her head fast, brows deeply furrowed. “The scout overheard your father boasting about where he would hang my wings.” Her voice broke on the last word, and tears welled in her eyes.

Tamlin grabbed her, pulling her tight to his body. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, her black curls dancing in the wind.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” He mumbled into her hair. “I should have been here. I should have—“

She pulled back from him, shaking her head. “You could not have stopped it if you were here. These evil creatures in power cannot be stopped,” Tears trailed down Laila’s tan face and onto her light purple dress, the droplets darkening parts of the fabric.

“I would have killed them for you. Or at least die trying,” Tamlin cupper her cheek, wiping the tears away with his thumb. His own eyes now burned with emotion.

“I know, my love. I know you would have. And I could not bear witnessing that,” Laila kissed his palm and continued. “My father, he’s no better. Not really. He plans to marry me off to an Autumn Court son.”

Tamlin went wholly still, his hand dropping from her face as his breath hitched in his throat.

Laila nodded, a small sob escaping her. “The papers are signed, the wedding is set for next week,” She laughed lightly, the sound bitter. “That is, if your father doesn’t kill me first.”

“No.” Tamlin demanded, shaking his head. “No. I’ll get you out of here. You and your mother. I won’t let you two suffer anymore.”

Laila smiled sadly, “There is nowhere for us to go, Tamlin,” She placed a hand on his heart. It thummed in answer to her touch. “You are a good male. My brother as well. But there are not many others like you. No matter where we go, they will either hunt us for sport or sell us off like cattle. This is not anything new.”

Tamlin’s heart broke at the look on her face, at what she had been going through her whole life. Yes, Tamlin had to deal with his father, but he was able to walk freely without outside threats looming over his head. He wished he could scoop her up and bring her to a new world, where females did not have to fear living. Wish he had the power to create that new world for her.

Tamlin embraced her tightly, holding onto her as if this would be his last time doing so. “I love you, Laila. You are bound to my soul, like roots in the spring soil.”

Laila looked up at him, her blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “And I love you, Tamlin. I will love you, even when the last star in the night sky fades into nothing.”

She stood on her tiptoes, interlocking her hands in his blonde hair. Their lips met and the outside world faded into nothing. Their problems no longer existed as they kissed, becoming one against that tree.

•

Later, Laila flew them to a nearby lake so Tamlin could wash away the blood from his body before they went to her mother. His tunic stuck to his back, courtesy of the dried blood, and Tamlin winced. Instantly, Laila was behind him, and she tenderly unpeeled the shirt from his back. Tamlin thanked her with a soft smile and waded into the water, just enough to be half submerged.

Laila followed and began lightly washing him with a makeshift rag (a piece of Tamlin’s tunic she ripped off). Tamlin looked out at the water, at how the hundreds of stars reflected on the surface. It was hard to tell where the sky ended, and the water started. A starlit lake, of sorts.

Tamlin began thinking of the starlight pool in his own court. How odd the little body of water was, and the stories that came with it. Some claimed it to be a portal, a door built by the Mother herself.

Shivers went down Tamlin’s spine as Laila hummed quietly to herself, scrubbing his hair.

In that moment, Tamlin knew what he had to do.

•

“You can’t be serious.” Laila’s wide gaze burned into him.

“We have to try, Laila. You two can’t live like this,” Tamlin said, rubbing her shoulder lightly.

They made it to the small cottage she left her mother at. The older female managed to scrounge up a small dinner for them with the few resources she had, and Tamlin decided now was the best time to lay out his plan.

“You don’t even know if it leads anywhere.”

“I will make sure of it in the morning. If it doesn’t, I will find you somewhere else to go. I will not let Beron keep you in his claws. Or my father.

Laila stared into his eyes for a moment, and then silently nodded her head.

“Rumors say the pool leads to another world. I have heard of it enough that parts of it must be true. There is always truth in rumors,” Laila’s mother spoke from the head of the small table. The Lady of the Night Court looked fragile, her skin unusually pale, with a blanket wrapped around her. Her plate left untouched.

“Will you travel through it?” Tamlin asked, setting his fork down.

“I will do anything to get my daughter out of here.”

“Okay, then. We will set out tomorrow.”

•

At sunrise, Tamlin winnowed to the Spring Court. He knew his father or brothers would get word of his arrival soon, so he had to be quick. Tamlin jumped into the water, and rapidly kicked his feet until he hit the bottom. A sliver of glowing golden light caught his eye, he swam closer to it. He did not have the time to go through it, so he threw a rogue conch shell into the crack. It disappeared. He waited a moment. Still, it did not come back. Where it went, he was not sure. But for the first time in a long time, his chest glowed with hope. With a promise for the future.

•

A few hours later, right at dusk, Tamlin was back at the pool. Laila and her mother in tow. Late last night, he’d set a trap for his father and brothers to keep them occupied with. A couple of vandals he’d picked up from Spring’s dungeons, glamoured to resemble the Ladies of Night.

“Are you ready?” Tamlin asked the females, both trembling slightly, their wings drawn in tight.

They wanted to seek out Rhysand, but time would not permit. He did not know how long the glamor would hold out on the males, or if it even would. It was a power he had not gotten a chance to utilize much, especially not on others. It was either now or never. Laila’s mother was the first to move, she nodded quickly.

“Right. I will go first. To ensure there are no threats on the other side.” She said, holding her head high on her shoulders. She hugged her daughter tightly, kissing her on the cheek. She moved over to Tamlin, squeezing his shoulder and nodding once at him. A small gesture of approval for what he was doing. Then she walked to the pool and dived in headfirst. The water rippled in her wake.

Tamlin looked back at Laila, her blue eyes shining with tears. She stumbled into his arms, her lavender and cedar scent fully engulfing him. “Please don’t make me wait too long.”

He gently rubbed her head, her hair feather soft under his calloused palm. “I would never dream of doing such a thing. Though, I do often think of that one night when I was gone for two weeks. You seemed to miss me a lot. So much so, actually, that we didn’t sleep a wink the entire night.”

Laila lightly slapped his chest and Tamlin laughed, the sound reverberating through the trees. The birds answered, their sweet songs echoing back. Laila stared up at the darkening sky, at the canopy of trees surrounding them, swaying in the warm breeze.

“I would have loved to marry you in this world, Tamlin. To leave the courts behind and live simply as you and me.”

Tamlin pulled Laila tighter to him and their lips met, the feeling so sure and right. Tamlin’s chest burned, his soul aching to be with hers. He would be with her in the next world, or the next life if the Mother did not permit this one. But he would find her soul in every life, he knew that much to be true.

“Laila, it is time,” The Lady of Night said from the pool. Tamlin looked at her, her usually braided back black hair was now loose down her back from the water, the starlight casting it in a shine. Her hazel eyes twinkled, in a way Tamlin had not seen before. “The portal is real. And we must go now.”

Tamlin’s pulse quickened and he let go of Laila. “Go,” he said. “Go and I will be there soon.”

Laila nodded, brushing his face ever so slightly with her long tan fingers. A shiver went down Tamlin’s spine. He watched as she jumped into the water. She looked back once, her blue eyes burning into his green gaze, before both of their heads disappeared fully under the water.

Tamlin quickly turned, headed towards the manor. He had one last thing he needed to take care of.

•

When Tamlin reached the manor, no one was home. His father and brothers were of course accounted for, but he had no idea where his mother could be. And he would not leave without her. Would not let her live like this any longer.

Tamlin searched every room in the manor, and then the grounds. He’d hoped she would be in her rose garden, where she often spent much of her day, but she was nowhere in sight.

Frustrated, Tamlin paced his bedroom. Hours passed, the moon rising fast in the night sky, until finally he heard the front door open. The sound of his brothers' obnoxious voices and then his father’s steps down the hall. Tamlin froze, waiting for his door to swing open. He had his knives, but that would do no good against a High Lord. Thankfully, his father’s footsteps kept going.

He heard his brothers walk by and return to their rooms as well, his mother’s rose scent with them. Tamlin sighed out in relief. She was here, he would have to get her alone somehow, but she was here.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, his body exhausted. He’d been running on adrenaline for the past two days, his back still healing from the lashes.

At sunrise, when his father and brother went on their morning hunt, he would get his mother and take her to the starlight pool. But tonight, he would rest. His chest seemed to ease a bit as he laid down fully. It did not take him long to fall asleep, and soon he was dreaming of a life with Laila. Of their wedding. Of their children running to their grandmothers.

But the sun never did rise for his mother.

•

It was midnight when Tamlin heard his mother scream. He threw his bedroom door open, knives completely forgotten in his haste. His nostrils flared as the coppery tang of blood filled his nose. Tamlin ran faster down the hall until he reached his parent’s room. His father laid bleeding out on the floor; the male’s throat deeply slit. Even his High Lord’s magic was having a difficult time repairing the wound. Tamlin looked up, his mother’s golden curls flashed as the perpetrator lifted her up by her neck, her bare feet dangling in the air.

“No!” Tamlin yelled, racing towards them but it was too late. Barely a breath later, his mother’s head landed at his feet.

Tamlin did not think as he shifted. He felt power course through his veins, more than he ever had before. Perhaps his power fed on anger. On heartbreak and devastation.

In a blind rage, Tamlin leapt on the male. The beast he’d become had long, razor-sharp claws. A real blade was not needed as he ripped through the male’s neck. Blood spurted out and Tamlin dug deeper until he sliced through bone. Tamlin growled loudly as the male’s head detached fully from his body. He stood over the body, teeth snared and dripping blood.

“What did you do?” A voice demanded from behind him. It was familiar enough that it brought Tamlin out of that angry haze.

Tamlin looked to see the son of Night. Rhysand. His friend. Tamlin looked back at the body he stood over and he finally realized whose head he’d just ripped off. Who killed his mother. The High Lord of the Night Court. Laila and Rhysand’s father.

Tamlin shifted into his fae form and stalked towards Rhysand. “What are you doing here?” He commanded from the male.

“Oh, don’t act so innocent, I know you told them. Your brothers squealed like pigs before I ripped their fucking throats out.”

At Tamlin’s bewildered expression, Rhys continued, “They sent my mother and sister’s heads in a gods damn box, Tamlin. You let them do that.”

“You don’t know wha—“

“I saw them. I opened the fucking box,” Rhysand’s face turned a sickly green. “You were my friend. I introduced you to my sister and you what? You fuck her and give her whereabouts to your father? You helped them kill, Laila.”

The sound of sentries running through the manor’s grounds filled Tamlin’s ears. They must have heard the commotion and would be here soon. Tamlin shook his head slowly, “Rhysand, listen, they—“

“No. I don’t care what you have to say. But never cross me again, or your head will be on a spike in your mother’s little rose garden,” Rhysand slowly began to disappear into the shadows whirling around behind him. “I guess congratulations are in order, to the new High Lord of Spring.” And with that, Rhysand disappeared fully into the darkness.

•

Tamlin did not linger for much longer in the hallway. Did not even wipe the blood from his hands before he was out the door and headed to the starlight pool. It was sunrise by the time he made it, the trek longer without a horse and his chest ached as he watched the morning sky open.

He failed to save his mother. The female he’d found comfort in throughout all these years being his father’s toy. The soft, broken female who deserved to live in a world far better than this one. And he was so fucking close to giving it to her.

The morning birds began their song and Tamlin felt the power course through his veins. The wind blew his golden locks across his face, and Tamlin wielded it to stop. It did.

There was now a well of power in him, so deep he knew he could never fully fathom it. He could probably spend the next century diving into it and never hit the bottom.

No longer was he heir to the Spring Court. It was now fully his. He could change it for the better, if he chose to do so. But if he stayed, he would not bring Laila back. Could not. Not with Rhysand and not with Beron looming about. It was too dangerous here, the threats too extreme. As High Lord, he would always be a target for people seeking power. He would not force Laila to be part of that game.

Even more so, if he left, then there was no telling who the power would go to. Tamlin would not let someone else like his father lead the Spring Court. Their people had suffered enough under his rule.

Tamlin thought of Laila, of his dream of their life beyond. A future that had been ripped to shreds in the span of mere hours. But perhaps it was enough to get her out of here. Her and her mother could live freely in this other world, without the limitations they’d face here.

By noon, Tamlin knew what he had to do. He just wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to. But as High Lord, what he wanted didn’t matter anymore. Maybe it was selfish, but he spent hours looking for a sign from the Mother, any sign, to lead him in the right direction. He’d put his full trust in her thus far, so when a lonesome stem of a lavender plant landed in the pool and sunk under, he knew what was expected of him.

Tamlin dived under the silvery water, stars clinging to his skin. When he made it to the crack of the portal, he threw all of his power into it. His powers shone brightly as it hit the slit, casting the water in iridescent light.

He gritted his teeth, his leverage wearing thin under the water. In a blinding flash, Tamlin was thrusted back, the impact weakened by the water. He swam back to the crevice, only to be met with a faint line in the sand. A faded, white scar left behind in this world.

A twin to the one now etched on his very heart.

[delaneytveit]

i feel like people forget that the reason the IC and HL’s were surprised that Fe/yre is a High Lady, is because they genuinely didn’t know, because to be a High Lord or High Lady the magic of the court chooses you. Its not just a title that you throw around willy-nilly.

Tamlin and Rhysand didn’t become High Lords simply because their dads died. The magic chose them, the land chose them.

Fe/yre is a High Lady in a paper crown. And the magic clearly didn’t choose her otherwise the rest of Prythian would have known about her ascension.

[anchoredgalaxy]

i do hate how much acotar discourse revolves around trying to pretend the story isn't plotted like garbage. the entire second book of this series is a giant retcon and characters are constantly changed on the fly. anytime someone tries to defend this series as if the characters are real people capable of making decisions and as if the plotting is at all organic i just can't take that seriously.

[bloomingdarkgarden]

today is my only day off for the next few days so I have naturally spent 7 hours landscaping Ch. 21 and it will be updated tonight.

10k words of sexual tension and adoration between the two most perfect beings in Prythian. Happy weekend.

just gotta finish the moodboards. It will be up by 8pm 8.30 PST. Make sure you are sitting down, maybe with a glass of liquor in hand for this one.

like,

get in bitches, we're getting vulnerable.

[hhighkey]

i will say after reading the acotar trilogy and getting to the mess of book 4/5…. and then being removed and seeing ppl talk abt SJM shit writing … IC sucks. rhysand sucks. cass sucks. mor sucks. azriel sucks. i mean fuck having elain and nesta included at the end of 2 ruined it for me. but they’re all abusive manipulative adults who need severe therapy. tamlin never shoulda teamed up w hybern but he had every right to do what he did. rhys a known damaeti… why would u believe an illiterate feyre could write u a goodbye letter. rhys is nothing but a grandstanding mayor of velaris when SJM writes him as a “good character with a mask” that is a LIE based off how he treats his people. his character would be better literary wise if he wasn’t portrayed as perfect when the mask is stripped for feyre. and let’s just take the main characters bodily autonomy away!!! feyre needed time to fucking breathe not date two men almost marry one and then marry another by 20. watched her dad die. fought a damn worm. fought in a war. yet she’s a strong girl boss?? who knows exactly how to strategize and play people?? when other fae had to fight and spy and shit for centuries she’s just perfect? okay. and now she’s having a kid?? i can’t even finish acosf and i won’t read whatever acotar books come out later but will keep up. anyways hope im not the only one

i’m at the point where i fucking hate acotar with a passion and despise the IC and seeing tik toks on it piss me off (don’t get me started on nesta but rhys as a whole is EW. and azriel would def be the type to cheat on his mate bc grass is greener! /s)… but i love lucien and eris (praying tamlin gets his healing arc) with passion. i WANT eris … and i keep getting more passionate about it and all the writing plot holes and character regressions since i eat up everything eris and have been slowly writing for him … i haven’t been able to get eris out of my mind for months and it infuriates me bc he’s too good for acotar

ALSO sjm pls have feyre leave rhys’s ass. you’d redeem urself as an author to me (but not as a person)

[bookishfeylin]

I love Feylin but trying to singlehandedly revive the ship is so tough y'all.

I'm so tired

[shesalittlelost]

Her not wanting to be a warrior and then becoming one was just character development? Nesta showed all the high lords their place in her first interaction with them, she always had a warrior inside her. She went from running away from her responsibilities to not doing so.

I don't know how to tell this to you anon but just because someone is strong and resilient doesn't mean they must become a warrior in the end.

What happens to Nesta isn't character development because by the time SF happens Nesta is barely even a character. For me personally, Nesta-the-character died after book 1 and Nesta-the-self insert is what we see from MAF onwards. And Nesta-the-self-insert's “arc” is as random as author lady's mood swings.

Nesta already had a very extraordinary ability like resisting glamours and I think SJM could've done a lot with it instead of forgetting about it and taking the laziest, most convenient route to make her The Badass Woman. Nesta's arc was repetitive and formulaic and felt rather shallow. I don't even like her and I think she deserved better.

[ohmyfairies]

Hang Me Like Jesus by crawlers is such a Rhys song

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (5.5) - Bonus

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: ~700

Warnings: azriel's pov, fluff that will make you explode probably idk

a/n: Hi so I'm crazy and needed to write this after getting asks about it and getting inspo surrounding Az singing night court lullabies to Mel. Please enjoy and I'm sorry for two posts in one day 😅

read part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part 6

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel was back in her room the moment he heard the call. 

He’d placed Melanie down in her bed only ten minutes prior, but her sleep had been fitful and disjointed over the past day and Azriel hadn’t expected her to stay down for long. It was strange—the way the bond connecting him to you burned with the same protectiveness for Melanie. 

“Hey, Melanie,” Azriel whispered, kneeling beside her bed with his fingers resting on the outer edge of her quilt. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” 

Melanie sat up in her bed with a small groan, the braid you had put in her hair earlier in disarray. “Yeah. Don’t wanna sleep. Where’s mommy?” 

Azriel hummed and pushed a wild curl behind her ear. “Mommy’s sick, so she’s sleeping. Like you should be.” 

“You aren’t sick, Mr. Azriel?” 

“No, I can’t get sick like you. Not right now, anyway.” 

Melanie’s brow furrowed and her head swayed. “Can you hold me like mommy does?” 

Azriel’s heart shattered in his chest at her request. Her sleepy eyes blearily stared up at him as he let out a shaky breath and attempted to push down some of his joy at her request. 

Maybe you didn’t fully trust him yet, but Melanie did. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” he replied, reaching out beneath her arms to hoist her up. When her head immediately found a home in the juncture of his neck, Azriel melted. “Are you feeling any better?” 

Melanie fisted Azriel’s shirt as he situated her against his chest. “Little bit.” 

Sometimes, when she spoke, Azriel could hear you in Melanie’s voice. 

He wanted so badly to be part of that connection. 

The want often scared him. 

“Can we go to mommy’s room?” she asked, pulling her head up to send him a sleepy question. “Not to wake her up. Mommy’s room is just nice.” 

The two of you always sought each other out—always found safety in being near. 

Azriel rubbed Melanie’s back and nodded with a smile that was fueled both by adoration and melancholy. 

Your room was dark when he entered. Melanie had taken a glance at your sleeping figure and then rested her head back into the crook of Azriel’s neck. He could feel each breath she took and felt each clench of her fists into his shirt. 

“Is this better?” Azriel asked, voice so low and careful he wasn’t sure if the five-year-old would hear him. 

But Melanie nodded and whispered back a small confirmation that made Azriel’s chest hurt. He held her closer to his chest and watched the rise and fall of yours as you slept an arm’s length away. When Melanie’s breathing didn’t even out after a few minutes, he placed a hand behind her head and started lightly swaying. 

“You have to try and sleep, Mel. That’s how you get better,” he whispered into her ear. 

“I’m trying,” she whispered back, strained and trying to keep quiet for her mom. “It’s hard, Mr. Azriel. My head doesn’t feel good.” 

Azriel tutted and hated that there was very little he could do for this illness. “I know, Mel. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

Her only response was to bury her face further into his shoulder. 

Azriel thought back to his youth, to the perils and hardships he had endured, and he sought after the light—the good moments. His mother’s singing stood out, the melody of a Night Court lullaby gently lulling in his mind. 

Azriel didn’t have much experience with children other than Nyx, but, with Melanie, that didn’t seem to matter. With Melanie, everything came to him with a practiced ease that didn’t feel deserved. But he took from it anyway. 

So, Azriel began to hum the lullabies from his childhood, wrapping a wing around the child in his arms to block everything else out. 

And she was able to sleep. 

part 6

[flickering-chandelier]

In Real Life

Pairing: Azriel x Real world! Reader

Summary: Reader's life in the real world is wearing down on her. So when she accidentally ends up in the world of ACOTAR and in Azriel's arms, she starts to wonder if she even needs to get home at all.

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, light smut (I did NOT know where this one was going when I started 😂 😭)

Word count: 4.5k

The stress of the last few days eased significantly as you walked into the library that you knew better than the back of your hand, the one you had practically grown up in.

Your lips curled up into a small smile as you lightly traced your hands along the familiar spines of the books, taking in the atmosphere.

As a kid, your mom had often told you stories about how this library was magical. That it could take you to new places, places that wouldn't normally be within our reach in the real world.

Of course, now you knew that she was referring to the magic of books, how you could be whisked away somewhere entirely different without leaving your chair. Still though, you often thought about the stories she told when you came back here, about how reading near the old well out back could transport you into the book you were reading.

You had tried it countless times as a kid, and unsurprisingly, it had never worked.

Today, though, you were feeling just nostalgic enough and just stressed enough that you thought it couldn't hurt to give it a try, for old time's sake. Surely wherever you could end up would be better than here.

After skimming the shelves for a bit, you picked up the second installment of a fantasy series that you had started a few weeks prior. You couldn't deny that you were intrigued.

You checked out the book and took it out to the garden that very few people ever frequented, in your experience. It was completely empty today, so you enjoyed the peace and quiet as you settled in on the bench near the well, your back pressed up against its side.

The birds were chirping, the tree branches rustling lightly as you dove into the story, and pretty much immediately, you were hooked, thrilled by the characters and the setting.

“I would not mind taking a trip to Velaris,” you murmured, eyeing the well conspiratorially.

For a moment, nothing happened. But then the wind picked up suddenly, sending the pages of your book flying, the pages turning faster and faster, and you just watched, memorized.

It was a sensation you had never felt before. You truly couldn't avert your gaze to anything else.

Then the wind died as suddenly as it had started, and your trance was broken.

When you looked up, your breath was completely caught in your throat. You weren't in the library's garden anymore, that much was clear.

You staggered back against a wall as people bustled around you. Beyond them, you could see a river, and just beyond that were jagged mountains.

Surely, it couldn't be…

You tried your best to focus on the people in front of you, and when you did, you noticed the pointed ears, the elegance that everyone who passed you possessed.

Somewhat self consciously, you reached up to your own ears, only to find that they were now pointed as well. Were you technically one of the fae now?

It was completely impossible, and yet… It was the only explanation.

The well had taken you to Velaris.

You wandered the streets somewhat aimlessly, trying to take it all in, and yet hardly believing your eyes.

Before long, your eyes locked on a man with large black wings, the siphons strapped to his body glowing blue, shadows dancing around him.

Your heart thundered in your chest. Azriel.

It hadn't occurred to you until then that not only had you been taken to this place, but the characters were here, too.

It felt completely impossible to tear your eyes from him. He moved with an assurance you could never hope to achieve. It was breathtaking, really.

The breath was completely stolen from your throat when those gorgeous hazel eyes locked with yours.

He cocked his head to the side slightly, like he was trying to place you.

Azriel seemed to change his course, heading for you, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration.

He towered over you, his eyes assessing your face. You tried not to squirm as he asked, “Do I… know you?”

How were you supposed to answer that? Did he somehow recognize that you were the reader, that you knew him?

This was getting way more complicated than you had ever intended.

Finally, you just said, “I don't think so?”

His eyes narrowed, his shadows curling up towards his ear, most likely communicating with him. Informing him that you weren't completely telling the truth.

“Try again,” he said after a moment, his eyes not wavering from yours.

You sighed anxiously. “Okay, the truth is I don't know if you know me. But I do know you.”

He stared at you for another moment, his eyebrow raised as he scrutinized you. “You're not from here, are you?”

“No,” you said quietly.

As his eyes continued to pierce yours, you understood why he was the spymaster, why he was the one sent to get information out of people. He was foreboding as hell.

“You seem so familiar to me,” he murmured so quietly that you honestly weren't sure if he was even talking to you.

“I'm not sure if I can explain that,” you winced.

He looked at you quizzically, then seemed to come to some kind of decision.

“If I ask you to come with me, will you do it willingly?” He asked.

“The alternative being?”

The side of his mouth turned up into the slightest smile and your knees went slightly weak. “I sling you over my shoulder and force you to come with me.”

You honestly debated longer than you should have. Maybe you should have him carry you out of here, just for fun. Azriel was an intriguing and gorgeous character, after all.

But you also were a little afraid of pissing him off, especially since you had no idea how long you would be here or how to get home.

Decisions, decisions.

Fuck it. When else would you have the opportunity to flirt with a hot Illyrian?

Your lips curled up into a smile and you blinked up at him, fluttering your lashes a little. “I think I'll take option two.”

He just looked at you for a moment, but then he laughed quietly, his eyes lighting up and you felt so proud that it was you that made him look like that.

Shaking his head as if in disbelief, he carefully wrapped his arm around your waist… and then you were inside a house.

Damn it. You forgot about winnowing.

You arched your brow at him and he smirked at you. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes at the shadowsinger, you took in your surroundings and came to the conclusion that you must be in Rhysand’s town house.

You couldn't help but take a step back as Rhysand, Cassian, and Feyre walked into the room, looking at you curiously.

Shit, they're intimidating in real life.

As their eyes seemed to scrutinize every inch of you, you took another step backward, running right into Azriel’s taut body.

He steadied you with a hand on your waist, but you didn't exactly feel comforted. This wasn't really what you had in mind. What had you gotten yourself into?

“Why did you bring her here?” Rhysand asked Azriel, his brow furrowing as he studied you.

“She seems… familiar,” Cassian said, his eyes lighting up slightly with recognition. “Have we threatened you before?”

You let out a shaky laugh. “No, not exactly.”

“That's why I brought her,” Azriel said, looking down at you. “There's something off about her, like she shouldn't be here.”

“Look,” you sighed, trying not to shrink back under the weight of so many powerful people. “I don't mean any harm. I'm here by accident.”

They looked between each other, like they were trying to decide if they believed you.

“Explain, then,” Rhysand said, in what must have been his high lord voice. “How did you get here?”

Your mind whirred, trying to find the words. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you…” but he would if he saw it.

You sighed. You weren't sure what the repercussions could be for you in the real world, but you were here for now, and this might be the only way for them to actually believe you.

“You can look,” you said quietly to Rhysand. “I can't explain it, but you can look.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised, but he took a step towards you, his eyes locked on yours.

“Just look,” you clarified.

He smirked at you. “Smart girl.”

Then you felt the black talons at the edge of your mind, searching inside your head, and you showed him the library, the book, the well, and you showing up on the streets of Velaris.

Rhysand took a step back the moment he exited your mind, his eyes wide in surprise, his body tense.

He just stared at you as everyone watched him curiously, waiting for him to explain.

“I told you,” you said quietly.

Feyre’s eyes widened slightly. Clearly she received the message from Rhys.

“She's not from here,” Rhysand told Cassian and Azriel, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continued to stare at you like he was trying to make sense of it all. “I … think we should sit down.”

Despite everything, you couldn't help but laugh. You had stunned the high lord into silence.

The five of you sat around a large table, everyone's eyes fixed to your face now. You tried not to shrink back from it.

“A… book,” Azriel said slowly, his eyebrow raised in question.

You nodded slowly. “In my world, you're all fictional characters. And Velaris, Prythian, magic … all of it is fictional.”

Cassian let out a snort. “You expect us to believe that magic doesn't exist in your world, and yet you showed up here?”

You opened your mouth to retort back, but quickly clamped it shut. He had a point.

“And everyone is human?” Feyre asked somewhat skeptically.

You nodded.

“Sounds dull,” Rhysand mused.

“It can be,” you laughed. “That's why we read books about… you,” you gestured at them.

For what seemed like hours, you talked through it, what had happened at the well, details about your world that they wanted to know. They mused and debated for ages about how you could possibly get back home, but not coming up with any real answers.

It was getting late by then, and when you had yawned several times in a row, they seemed to take pity on you, and Azriel was given the duty to lead you to your room.

He leaned against the wall outside your room, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“I think so,” you said cautiously. You hadn't really let yourself think about it yet, how you would get home, how long it would take. “Who knows, maybe I'll wake up at home,” you shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Azriel's mouth quirked up into the ghost of a smile. “That would be a shame,” he murmured.

Heat rushed instantly to your cheeks and his smile widened slightly as he cleared his throat. “If you need anything, I'm next door, okay?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak.

His eyes held yours for another moment before he backed away, disappearing into his own room.

You did not, in fact, wake up at home, and you honestly couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

After raiding the armoire, you got dressed in a black tunic that was way more comfortable than the clothes you were used to, and wandered downstairs, where everyone was eating breakfast at the same table where Rhysand told everyone your story last night.

They looked up at you expectantly.

“Still here, huh?” Cassian asked, nodding to the seat in between him and Azriel.

“I guess so,” you said, gratefully sitting down at the table and piling food onto your plate.

You felt Azriel's eyes on you and you were suddenly glad that you were still here.

After a minute, they started conversing as if you weren't there at all, and it was surreal to find yourself a fly on the wall during a conversation from people you knew so well, yet were seeing in a completely new way.

Azriel's eyes met yours as breakfast came to a close. “So, in the stories that you were told, about the magic in the library, no one ever mentioned how to get back home?”

“No,” you said. “That part didn't seem important when the stories were just fairy tales.”

“Fairy tales,” he repeated, raising a brow.

You laughed. “Right. I'm literally in a fairy tale.”

He just looked at you for a moment, amused. “I can help you,” he said quietly. “If you want.”

“Help me?” You asked.

“Get home,” he clarified. “Or at least, I can help you look for answers.”

“You would do that?” You felt a swell of emotion in your chest that was nearly impossible to stomp down.

He nodded. “I have an idea.”

Your curiosity definitely peaked as you followed Azriel into a massive underground library, where the priestesses took their refuge.

“If we have the answers, they'll be here,” Azriel said softly over his shoulder.

You hung back slightly as he spoke quietly with the priestess at the front desk. It warmed your heart to see his demeanor change in the library: his voice was remarkably soft, his body language made him look almost gentle, rather than the merciless shadowsinger.

The priestesses brought you a few books and the two of you got settled in comfy chairs, reading in comfortable silence.

A few hours later though, you weren’t any closer to finding answers, and you found yourself more and more frustrated.

You sighed, resting your head on the back of your chair, shifting your gaze over to Azriel, who looked very focused on what he was reading. He was distracted enough that you allowed yourself the time to study him a little longer than you would have otherwise. Your gaze caught on his biceps, on the veins on his forearms, his hands holding the book in his lap.

He looked up at you when your breath caught, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Let’s take a break,” you sighed, blinking away the hearts in your eyes. “We’re not getting anywhere, and I want to see more of Velaris before I figure out how to get home anyway.”

“You want company?” he asked.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Of course I do.”

The streets weren’t as busy as they had been the previous day, and Azriel had more room for his wings, you noticed.

He turned to you as you watched him. “The wings can be tricky when it’s crowded,” he explained.

“Have you ever hit anybody accidentally?”

Red dusted his cheeks slightly and he looked away. “No comment.”

You threw your head back laughing, picturing the scene, and when you finally looked back at him, he was smiling at you in a way that made your heart race.

Azriel took you all over the city, but the artists’ quarter was what really took your breath away. You stopped at the edge of the Rainbow, taking in the scene before you, letting the beauty wash over you.

It was somewhat overwhelming as you walked through the quarter, Azriel’s shadow never far behind. Your attention was consistently being pulled from one side of the street to the other, and you heard Azriel laugh quietly behind you as you gasped and beelined to an artist weaving a gorgeous tapestry.

It was nearly two hours by the time the two of you made it out of the Rainbow, and your heart felt lighter than it had in months.

“That was amazing,” you beamed, and Azriel steered you away from a group of fae walking in the opposite direction with a hand on your waist. You hadn’t even noticed them in your excitement. “That was what I needed. That’s why I made the wish to the well in the first place.”

Azriel looked at you quizzically. “Things aren’t going well at home?”

You sighed. “It’s not that exactly. It’s just… exhausting. And life doesn’t look the way that I always thought that it would.”

He nodded, his shoulder bumping into yours momentarily as he worked to avoid running into some clearly inebriated fae. “I know the feeling.”

That shouldn’t have surprised you, you supposed, based on what you knew about him, but still. He seemed so in control all the time, it was difficult to believe that he had ever felt unsteady.

“Can we stop and get a drink?” you asked suddenly.

Azriel blinked in surprise, but agreed, leading you to a bar closeby.

You looked quizzically at the drink menu, unfamiliar with any of the offerings. “I don't know what any of this is,” you whispered to Azriel.

He laughed and ordered for you when the bartender came around.

As you looked around the bar, you subconsciously leaned into Azriel a bit, noticing that there were plenty of male fae eyes on you.

Azriel's hand found its way to your hip, pulling you in even closer to him. “It's okay, they won't bother you as long as I'm here,” he murmured against your ear.

His breath on your neck made you shiver, and you placed your hand over his arm where it rested on the bar. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

Your eyes met for a moment and you could have sworn that you saw some heat there, but then he blinked and it was gone as the bartender put your drinks in front of you.

Azriel watched you intently as you took a tentative sip of the mysterious cocktail, which immediately had you coughing and sputtering rather embarrassingly.

He laughed as he watched you, sliding the hand that rested on your waist up to your back. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, trying to control your breathing. “Did you purposely get me the worst thing on the menu?”

Azriel raised his eyebrows in amusement. “That's the most tame drink we have in Velaris.”

“It is not,” you countered. “I'm not exactly a lightweight, but this…” you scowled. “It tastes like lighter fluid.”

“I don't know what that is, but I promise that's the one that should be least likely to make you hurt in the morning.”

You sighed, and eventually worked up the nerve to take another sip. It was still awful, but since you were prepared for it, it went down a little easier.

“Nicely done,” Azriel said, and you could've sworn there was a hint of real pride in his voice.

The two of you talked nonsense as you got towards the bottom of your glass, his thumb tracing small circles on your back.

There must have been something serious in that drink, because by the time you had finished it, you were feeling pleasantly buzzed.

You smiled at Azriel and he grinned back at you, tightening his grip just slightly. “Feeling good?” He asked.

You nodded, letting out a mortifying giggle and laying your head on his shoulder.

He surprised you when he laid his head gently on top of yours. You had half expected him to pull away from you.

This was crazy. You were drinking and flirting with Azriel in Velaris. Why did you want to go home again?

Azriel shifted slightly next to you, and pressed a light kiss to the top of your head before cuddling into you again. It was so gentle, so unexpected, you suddenly wanted to cry.

“Why do you think I seemed familiar to you?” You asked quietly, trying to calm your racing heart.

“I don't know,” he said. “Maybe I could sense you when you were reading the book?”

“Hmmm. Maybe,” you said, unable to resist running your hand lightly over his arm.

“Or maybe you were meant to end up here,” he said even quieter, like he was unsure if he should be saying it at all.

You detangled yourself from his arms to look up at him. “You think so?”

He smiled a little sadly. “Maybe it's wishful thinking on my part.”

It felt like a jolt of electricity rocked your body. “Azriel,” you murmured.

He gazed at you for another moment before he slowly leaned forward, kissing your lips with such gentleness that you could hardly believe it.

You could hardly believe any of this.

After a moment, you leaned into the kiss, opening your mouth to him and he instantly took advantage, slipping his tongue against yours with a quiet groan, his hands weaving into your hair.

“Az,” you moaned quietly, “we should go home.”

He grunted, fishing money out of his pocket and slamming it on the table without breaking the kiss.

He stood up then, his eyes locked on yours and your hand cradled in his, and within the blink of an eye, you were standing in his bedroom at the town house.

You blinked, looking up at him in surprise. “God, I wish we could do that at home.”

Azriel chuckled, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you again.

You ran your hand down his chest, heat spiking through you as you felt each toned muscle tighten and flex at your touch.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, tangled up in each other, until you started tugging at his shirt, desperately trying to raise it above his head.

He stopped your hands with his, breaking the kiss to look at you, his expression suddenly serious, his eyes softening. “Are you sure you want to go further? You were drinking --”

“Azriel,” you said firmly, and he blinked in surprise. “You are my biggest fictional crush, the man of my wildest fantasies, except now you're not fictional, and we're in your bedroom and …” you trailed off, your breath escaping you as he smirked at you, his eyes shining with a bit of wonder and no small amount of smugness. “Just -- please take your shirt off.”

He laughed and the deep rumble of it went straight between your legs. He stepped back, out of your reach, his eyes not wavering from yours as he tugged his shirt up and over his head.

Silently, he looked at you expectantly, still just out of arm's reach.

You were pretty sure you were actually drooling. His muscles… you had never seen a man look like that in real life before. His enormous wings stretched out behind him, and you never thought you would be the type of person who was into that kind of thing, but with him standing there like that -- it just made him look all the more formidable, untouchable.

But for right now, somehow, he was all yours.

You gulped audibly and his smirk only grew. “And… your pants.”

Without breaking eye contact, he let his pants drop to the ground, and you felt the air completely leave your lungs.

Holy shit.

His eyes softened, “We don't have to--”

“Stop saying that,” you breathed, rushing forward to kiss him.

“This feels a little unfair,” he mumbled against your mouth, sliding his hand down your fully clothed side.

“Then fix it,” you replied, occupied with running your hands down his back, kissing anywhere on his chest that you could reach.

He wasted no time, stripping you bare in a matter of moments.

Slowly, like he was trying to memorize you, he traced the lines and curves of your body with his scarred hands, his eyes tracking their path.

You had never felt like this before, so wanted, so important, and it made your heart ache.

He kissed lightly up your neck while his hands continued their exploration of you, murmuring with a low gravelly tone as he reached your ear, “the man of your wildest fantasies?”

You flushed, suddenly embarrassed. “Is that what I said?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, his lips still against your ear, his thumb lightly circling your nipple.

“Well,” you tried to form a coherent response, but it was impossible when he was touching you like that. You leaned your head back, giving him access to lick across your collarbone, your back arching.

“What happens in these fantasies of yours?” He asked, sliding his hands down to grip your ass, then effortlessly lifting you up into his arms, bringing the two of you face to face as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Mmm… about like this,” you said breathlessly, leaning in to kiss him.

“Yeah? What else?” he murmured between kisses.

You groaned, burying your face in his neck.

He chuckled, squeezing your ass teasingly. “Oh, c’mon, don't get shy on me now.”

Your cheeks heated, even though he couldn't see it.

“Something like… this?” He asked, lining himself up so his tip was teasing your entrance.

You gasped, raising your head to gawk at him.

“What?” He laughed.

“You're not gonna fit,” you blurted dumbly, immediately clamping your mouth shut in regret.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Trust me, I'll fit. I'll go slow. Unless you want to stop--”

Azriel pulled his hips back, leaving you aching. “No,” you cried.

Slowly, he brought his hips back to yours, gently teasing your clit with his length, a contrast to the sweet kiss he placed on your forehead.

He backed you up against the wall, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly, slowly, pushed himself into you inch by inch, giving you time to adjust with sweet kisses until he was fully inside you.

He was heaven.

And you couldn't get enough.

Hours later, exhausted and content, you laid in Azriel's bed, your head on his chest, sleepily tracing the lines of his tattoos.

“Tell me about your world,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You hummed, trying to think of something that might interest him. Finally you settled on trying to describe transportation. Cars and planes fascinated him, and you felt bad that you weren't equipped to answer all his questions about how those things actually worked.

You told him about your house, your job, your life. He asked endless questions, and it warmed your heart that he cared at all.

Eventually, Azriel either ran out of questions or noticed how tired you were, and he stroked your hair gently until you fell into blissful sleep.

In the morning, you woke before Azriel did, and you watched him sleep, his eyelids fluttering slightly now and then as he dreamed.

God, he was a dream.

You had no idea how to get home. In this moment, you weren't even sure you wanted to.

For now, you had Azriel and his friends looking out for you in the beautiful city of Velaris.

And for now, that was enough.

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @evergreenlark @ecliphttlunar @bookloverandalsocats @melmo567 @headacheseason @sillysillygoose444 @yourqueenlilith @mariamay02 @halibshepherd @azrielshadows1nger @cigvrette-dvydrevms @andreperez11 @lilah-asteria @marina468 @hanuh @owala678

[readychilledwine]

Odd request, but how do you think the acotar men would react to brushing their females cervix during sex ( you don’t have to write it if you don’t feel comfortable doing so) 💕

This kink isn't my cup of tea, but I know a lot of you like the idea of it so, let's gooooooo

The First Time He Brushed Your Cervix Head Canons

Warning - graphic link to make sure you understand some positioning

Rhysand

Rhysand's instinct as a high lord is to breed, so the first time you jump from him hitting that sensitive area, he can't help but to try over and over again

It made him practically feral, feeling so close to your womb he could practically release directly into it

He'd have your knees practically to your chest, hands gripping your ass as he plowed into you.

It turns into his goal every time you two fuck now. Even if succeeding in that goal means you won't walk for a few days.

"You like that, don't you? Like feeling me so deep inside of you. Your cunt sure swallows me like she does."

Cassian

With Cassian, it was a given, but it still made you whine for him.

He makes you look and feel even tinier than you are, and with how hung he is, it becomes a regular thing.

He always checks when it happens to make sure you're okay, but fuck he wishes he could just fuck straight through it.

Cassian didn't know he had a breeding Kink until it happened.

He's tried having you ride so you could prevent it, but his face when you sink all the way down is worth the little bit of shock.

"That's it, baby, relax. You feel so good wrapped around me, squeezing my cock so tight. Fuck, baby. Going to cum so deep inside of you."

Azriel

Azriel did it on purpose.

He knows you like pain mixed in with your pleasure, and he's more than happy to provide.

He loves watching you squrim while he's giving you deep, hard thrusts from behind

He has a filthy mouth to match the action to, mocking you as you cry out his name but beg for it over and over again.

He's a sadistic lover, so once you two discovered that was okay as long as it was discussed prior, he was sold.

"Fuck, I'm going to ruin this pussy and you'll just let me, won't you?" As he grabs your chin and forced you to nod. "That's right, you feel me, baby? Feel me stretching you out? Good girl. Good fucking girl."

Lucien

He stopped. He immediately stopped. He couldn't tell if your gasp was a happy one or one of pain.

It was one of pain, so he pulled out and immediately laid you on your back.

He buried his head between your legs for the night after that. Bring you to completion over and over until you were begging for him to be inside of you.

He was careful this time, giving you the deep thrusts you wanted but being so gentle as he bottomed out at a different angle.

"Making me feel like a God, bunny. This tight little cunt was made for me, wasn't she?"

Eris

I have a head canon that Eris is a gentle love maker, despite how I tend to write him

Eris, much like Lucien, stopped when it happened.

He only cared about you being okay. He's read enough books to know the nerves there are beyond sensitive.

When you were fine, something ignited in him. It became one of his favorite things, but he didn't plan or seek it to happen. When it does happen, though, the way he talks you through it is enough to push you over the edge.

"My pretty little mate. This cunt is perfect. Always so tight and wet for me. Is she all mine?"

Tamlin

Tamlin's reaction is very similar to Rhysand's.

The urge for a High Lord to breed breed breed turns him into a growling mess.

Claws will dig into the sensitive flesh of your hips when it happens, but you absolutely love it

Sex with Tamlin could never get boring. Shape shifter, remember?

You've gotten to experience him shifting his cock to different sizes and forms just to kiss your cervix once you two decided you liked it.

In short, if the Cauldron had not made you Tamlin's mate, you'd pick him for his cock alone, regardless.

(Listen. Liz could write a lot of monster fucking about Tamlin.)

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Punished by the Shadowsinger

Headcanon - Azriel x Reader - Smut

After you take teasing Azriel too far at training, he shows you exactly how he feels about your insolence.

ACOTAR After Hours 🌶️

Warnings: This is filth, MDNI, 18+ only, rough deep-throating, prior consent given by parties involved

- You’d been teasing him all day, exaggerating every stretch at Valkyrie training just for his viewing pleasure

- You knew he couldn’t ogle you stretched out like that, he was a professional.

- His shadows, however, were not.

- They reported exactly how deliciously arched your back was, the way the curvature of your spine met the curve of your ass so enticingly.

- Yes, his eyes were on training but that feather in his jaw and those whirring shadows told you just how in for it you were.

- The moment the last trainee left, he apparated directly before you, growling “You’re coming with me.”

- Not that you would have resisted but he gripped your wrist anyway, winnowing you straight to your shared bed chamber. Your leathers vanished in a moment, his as well.

- “How many taps, Y/N?” He ground out, tone predatory.

- “Three” you whispered.

- “Louder, Y/N. This will not be a gentle experience for you.”

- Your core turned molten at the threat in those words. “Three taps and you stop.”

- “Nice to see you have it in you to be a good girl after all” he mocked.

- Your eyes blew wide as he pushed you back onto the chaise.

- “Touch yourself for as long as you can.” He spoke with a saccharine grin.

- You didn’t have time to contemplate what he meant before one leg was braced on the seat of the lounge to your right and the knee of the other was propped on the back of the lounge to your left.

- “Open” he commanded, and you did.

- He gave a few cautionary thrusts into the warmth of your mouth, reveling in the little moans choking out of you as he did.

- You were lucky to be given the warm up thrusts, knowing that though half his length was filling your mouth now, the rest would be down your throat momentarily.

- You let out a whimper at the friction of your finger rubbing circles on your clit.

- “Aw,” he cooed “feels so good touching yourself like that doesn’t it?”

- You could only let out a hum as his thrusts quickened, inching deeper.

- “Sure didn’t feel good having to remain professional while my shadows lusted over that perfect fucking ass of yours.” His voice turned to a growl and you loved it.

- A riled up Azriel meant a vocal Azriel, and despite the harshness of his words - he would stop the moment you gave him those three taps - relaxing you further.

- Looking up, you could see the cut of his abs contracting with his thrusts, a scarred hand reaching down caressing beneath your jaw. “Ready for this, little Valkyrie?”

- “Mhmmm.” You hummed, silver already dusting the corners of your eyes.

- “Remember your taps if you need them baby.”

- You gave him a squeeze of reassurance, fingers digging into a muscled thigh. You were ready.

- And if someone walked in on you in that moment, they would have seen Azriel’s wings tucked in tight, his firm, rounded ass moving in time with the thrusts of his cock fucking your throat so deep that you couldn’t breathe.

- Your fingers were no longer able to rub your clit as they dug into the cushions, trying to keep yourself from sliding down the chaise.

- Azriel’s primal groans sent vibrations through you, the lack of oxygen making you light headed in the most erotic of ways.

- You gagged, throat contracting around his thick shaft, sending him over the edge. His hot release shooting down your throat.

- Azriel immediately pulled out, a long string of drool connecting your mouth to his shaft.

- Hopping off the chaise and kneeling down, he looked into you eyes with love and adoration. “You never tapped.” Catching your breath, you gave him a small smile, shaking your head no.

- “Fuck, Y/N. You are something else.” He shook his head in astonishment. With that he scooped you up and carried you to the bed.

- Laying you down gently he climbed over your naked form, those hazel eyes boring into yours with love. “Promise me you’ll let me know if I ever take things too far?”

- You grinned. “I promise. You’ll never break me. I trust you.”

- He gave a gentle smile in return. “Ready for your reward?”

- You bit your lip, the corners turning upward, giving an eager shake of your head, “Yes”

- Bringing a broad palm to the side of your face, his nimble fingers brushed a loose-strand of hair behind your ear. “Good.”

- And with that he moved down the bed and feasted on you like a male starved, bringing you to climax three times.

[prythianpages]

Wanna Be Yours | Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand x Reader | When the Night Court and Dawn Court strike a deal, healers in exchange for Illyrian training, you rush at the opportunity to leave your home. You plan to keep a low profile but upon meeting the High Lord of night, your efforts are futile. He takes an instant liking to you and is set on being yours.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and injury

a/n: This can be read as a stand alone imagine :) but there will be a part two. once again, we have another mini series inspired by a song: I wanna be yours by the Arctic Monkeys. I love when the guy falls in love with the girl first and I feel like it suits Rhys. This takes place before the events of ACOTAR.

The world awakens to a gentle warmth–a tender kiss from dawn. The stars are like a fading dream, bidding their silent farewell and the first tendrils of sunlight emerge, painting the sky in hues of soft pinks and purples. The world seems to hold its breath and so do you.

It’s so beautiful. The way night surrenders to day. The way that no matter how dark it gets, the sun will rise again. It makes you miss home but you don’t miss what waits for you there.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and the world tilts beneath your feet. The edge of the terrace offers a daunting view of the Court of Nightmares–a harsh landscape of rocky mountains that seems to promise a swift but unforgiving descent. A hand grasps your arm, pulling you back from the brink, the force spinning you around until you find sanctuary in a pair of strong arms.

As you lift your head, the world regains its focus, but your breath hitches at the sight before you.

 A man, heartbreakingly handsome, captures your gaze. He has sun-kissed skin and short dark hair, reminiscent of a raven’s feather, that frames features that seem almost too perfect to be real. Yet, it’s his eyes that draw you in–a shade of blue so deep it borders on violet. Flecks of silver dance within those celestial irises, mirroring the stars that had bid their farewell earlier. His gaze is intense, sparkling with an allure that feels both familiar and bewitching.

“Breathe, darling.”

His voice, a velvet symphony, wraps around you like the answer to a question you hadn’t even fathomed to think of yet–a revelation that ignites a feeling you can’t quite discern but it stirs the deepest recesses of your heart. 

Suddenly, you’re pushing away from the male with a deep exhale as a delicate pink that reflects the sky above you flushes your cheeks.

“y/n!”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your name being called.

“y/n.” The male in front of you repeats to himself and you never thought your name would sound so beautiful as it does in this very moment. His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

Alette, your guide, comes into your view. She bends over slightly as her chest heaves and she catches up with her breath. She turns to the male, bowing her head in acknowledgment. “My High Lord.”

All blood drains from your face and your heart skips a beat. High Lord. You just met the High Lord of the Night Court and embarrassingly so. You contemplate whether it’s too late to bow your head or not but the thought of Alette scolding you for not doing it sooner stops you.

“I see you’ve met one of our new healers.” Alette inclines her head toward your sorry state. “I do apologize for her entering your palace without prior clearance.”

Cauldron boil you. You caught a glimpse of him pressing his lips together, as if suppressing something. Perhaps a scowl, frown or smile–you don’t know– because you're swiftly averting your gaze. You’re too scared to move, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself than you already have.

“Forgive me,” you’re saying as you drop to your knees and bow your head. “I didn't mean to trespass. I felt a little suffocated down there and I had no idea this was your home.”

“Where are you from?”

Panic steals your voice and it’s Alette who answers for you.

“She’s one of the few healers that came from Dawn, my High Lord.”

You sense the weight of his gaze upon you, an intensity that envelops you with an almost overwhelming power. Your throat tightens.

“And what of her skill?”

“The best of this year’s cohort.” Alette replies with no hesitation. There’s a subtle fondness in her voice that makes your heart swell with pride. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

“You may rise.” It takes a while for you to register that the High Lord is addressing you until Alette is awkwardly clearing her throat. You blink and rise to your feet but keep your gaze low. 

“You’re coming with me.”

You lift your gaze, gaping at his back. Does he—No, there’s no way he can know. The High Lord pauses. 

He turns his head over his shoulder and looks at you in an expectant manner. You look at Alette, who nods her head at you, so hesitantly, you follow after him. Your heart races as you hear him tell Alette to pack your things because you won’t be staying in the Court of Nightmares anymore.

**

Velaris, the city of Starlight, is a breathtaking haven nestled within the Night Court. It’s often referred to as the Court of Dreams. It’s a place of ethereal beauty and enchantment. The stark contrast it presents in comparison to the haunting Court of Nightmares leaves you in awe. 

But what strikes you the most is the High Lord of the Night Court–the master of duality. In Hewn City, where the air is always thick with tension, he wears a cold, stoic mask and every calculated step he takes echoes the weight of his stern authority and great power. This is the High Lord you’ve heard of. So when he told you, you’d be joining him in the city of his private residence, you were terrified.

It was a short lived fear because the High Lord you’ve heard of is not the High Lord you’ve come to know over the past couple of weeks. In Velaris, he sheds the shroud of shadows and reveals a different side to him. A softer side. A leader built from genuine warmth and kindness. 

You’ve come to understand he has a complex role as High Lord of the Night Court. He is a blend that is both harsh and dangerous, yet undeniably beautiful and remarkable, constantly navigating through the delicate balance of power and compassion. 

There is one unchanging thread that weaves through both cities. A thread of charismatic arrogance. He carries it effortlessly, employing it in a charming grace. One that he directs skillfully, particularly, when he turns the full force of his charm on you. You’d be lying if you said you were immune to it.

Upon your arrival, the High Lord–or Rhysand as he prefers you to call him– introduced you to the city’s healer. Madja. Though you’ve undergone extensive training in your home court, it felt little compared to the years of experience Madja carried with her, leading her to take you under her wing as her apprentice. You were a fast learner and given the nature of Azriel’s–Rhysand’s spymaster– and Cassian’s –Rhysand’s general commander– jobs, you had a lot of practice and challenges to hone your skills.

A tired yawn escapes from you as you navigate the halls of the infirmary to Madja’s study with the intention of wishing her a goodnight before retiring to your room. Your stops falter when your ears pick up on the distinct voices of Cassian and Azriel and suddenly you’re wide awake.

“–was ambushed by dark forces–”

“–never seen so much blood–”

“–I should make haste then–”

“–he only wants y/n–”

Shadows slink out from the corners, momentarily dimming the faelight in your hand in a silent greeting. The voices, once animated, hush and then cease altogether. Madja is the first to emerge from the study, with Azriel and Cassian trailing behind.

"The High Lord requests your presence.”

**

Not much can unsettle you, given your role as a healer. You’ve tended to a variety of injuries, seen tremendous amounts of spilled blood and have had to navigate through the sorrow of heartbreaking losses. But this. This feels different. This isn’t just anyone. It’s Rhysand. The male, who despite his shameless flirting, has consistently shown nothing but kindness to you. Though the nature of your relationship is uncertain, the mere thought of him being harmed sends a sharp pang through your chest, an ache that transcends the usual clinical detachment you maintain in your profession.

There’s an urgency in your steps as you approach Rhysand’s weak form on the infirmary bed. His body is extremely pale and shivering. A thick layer of sweat clings to his skin. There’s blood everywhere. On the floor, on the bed. It continues to seep out of the wound at his abdomen.

His lids are heavy, laden with exhaustion but he still manages a weary smile when he spots you. “You’re here,” he breathes in surprise, his words carrying a blend of relief and vulnerability.

“I’m here,” you confirm with a reassuring smile as you brush back the dark tendrils of his hair from his face. Though your touch is gentle, the lines on his face seem to deepen.

The air around you begins to shimmer with a soft, golden light. You cast a keen eye over his abdomen, the golden light dancing around you as you assess the full extent of his injury. The wound is deep and not healing as it should and your nose crinkles as the pungent smell of poison drifts up at you.

Rhysand winces as your healing touch meets his wound. Despite his blood staining your hands, you move with practiced grace, drawing upon the healing energies within you. Each movement is deliberate, an intricate crossing between magic and skill as you strive to counteract the effects of the poison.

Rhysand sucks in a sharp breath. He feels like he is dying but he won’t admit that to you. He doesn’t want to scare you. “It hurts.”

“I know,” you respond, your brows furrowing in concentration. The quicker you work, the less pain he’ll have to endure altogether. “It’s the poison.”

His eyes squeeze shut and his face contorts with agony as you press further into the wound. A strangled whimper escapes from his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you frown, halting your movements. You turn your head toward the double doors, where you know Madja waited in her study despite the late hour, in case you required assistance. “Should I go get Madja instead?”

“No,” his hands weakly grasps yours to keep them from leaving him. “I–I’m okay. I only need you.”

You nod and take a deep breath, urging your powers to continue surging through your bones and veins. Charged with vitality, they embody a tender current, eager to breathe life into every fiber of the recipient’s being. You sense the poison recoiling at your touch, prompting another cry from Rhysand. Though you know the poison will put up a painful fight, there’s a sense of relief as you realize it is one you can win.

“It’s going to feel worse before it gets better,” you say, your eyes darting to your makeshift table. “I don’t have anything for you to bite down onto. I’m sorry.”

 “Tell me a story,” he pleads, his voice desperate and raspy. “Anything. Please.”

“Anything?” You say in contemplation, falling into a thoughtful pause as you search your mind for a story to tell.

“When I was a little girl and my parents were separating, my uncle would take me to the countryside,” you begin to share, your voice softening with the weight of the fond memory and in the intimate space between you and Rhysand, a subtle shift occurs. 

“It was my favorite place in all of Dawn. The flowers were always in bloom and the grass was tall and green. We would wake up early to watch the sunrise together. Those were the moments where the world felt so still yet so gentle.”

“One night, as the moon gracefully surrendered its space to the emerging sun, I cried. The realization of the sun and moon being eternal strangers gripped my little heart. The sun, in its golden glory, would never know the tender glow of the moon, and the moon, adorned in silver brilliance, would remain untouched by the sun's warm embrace. It made me sad.”

“My uncle, at first, laughed. He teased me, which made me cry harder. He realized the genuine depth of my sorrow and that’s when he shared something with me,” you continue, a nostalgic smile plays on your lips as you recall the moment. 

Unbeknownst to you, Rhysand’s gaze warms in the gentle embrace of the shared memory. He’s momentarily distracted from the stabbing pain.

"He told me that the moon's glow is but a reflection of the sun's radiance," you explain, the magic of your tale intertwining with the magic of your healing touch. "How beautiful, he said. That the love of the sun for the moon is so pure that he sets down so that people can admire the beauty of her.”

"I was still sad, holding onto that stubborn desire to witness the sun and moon together. That's when my uncle introduced me to the magic of an eclipse—a rare celestial dance where the sun and moon finally come face to face. When the next one arrived, my uncle whisked me back to the countryside to witness it, and for the first time, I felt such overwhelming joy. Tears welled in my eyes but they were tears of happiness. I didn’t know one could cry tears of joy until that moment.”

Still aglow, your hands continue their delicate work. You observe a subtle relaxation manifesting in the features of Rhysand but there’s a weariness that settles over you. You know all traces of the poison are gone because its toxic essence was absorbed by you in your haste to protect him. It takes its toll on you, wearing you down and leaving you feeling slightly unsteady, but all you care about is him.

The gaping wound on his abdomen gradually yields to your skillful touch, and a peaceful serenity settles over his face. His eyes flutter shut, and in the hushed atmosphere, Rhysand's words pierce through, lingering like a delicate whisper in the air.

"I think I might be in love with you." 

The confession tugs at the strings of your heart, urging it to soar, but you swiftly quell the rising emotions. You attribute Rhysand's words to the delirium induced by his pain, knowing he’d forget all about it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot your story as well. You swiftly clean him up and use your magic to replace the bloody sheets with clean ones before taking your leave. Exhaustion tears at your bones and you can only muster a meek smile to Azriel and Cassian, who waited anxiously outside the infirmary doors for an update. You head straight to your room after and collapse onto your bed.

The following night, as you retire to your room from another day of endless work and studying, you find a carefully wrapped gift at your door. There’s no name on it but as you read the note attached, you have an intuitive inkling as to who the thoughtful gifter was. 

To the Sun, in your golden glory, may you always feel such overwhelming joy.

A beautiful embellished trinket box lays beneath the wrapping engraved with two cosmic entities–the sun and the moon. As you open the small keepsake, you're greeted by a soft, ethereal glow that radiates from within. It casts a warm and gentle light and you watch as a projection of the moon and sun dance around you before finally converging into a mesmerizing eclipse. 

**

Rhysand's POV

Like clockwork, Rhysand wakes at the break of dawn with the tendrils of a persistent dream lingering in his mind. A dream that has possessed his nights for weeks. As sleep releases its grasp on his eyes, he reluctantly rises from the bed and decides to get ready for the day, knowing that if he tried, he would not be able to fall back asleep.

He navigates through the familiar halls of the Moonstone palace, mindlessly making his way toward one of the terraces. His steps falter.

There, amidst the soft hues of the awakening city below, stands a feminine silhouette–a vision bathed in the tender light of dawn. You. A sense of cautious curiosity courses through him, eclipsing the remnants of his restless dreams. His gaze lingers on you. There's a nuance in your presence, a fine radiance that hints that you are not from here and though he should be concerned over an unannounced visitor in his home, he can’t bring himself to do so.

 A subtle flutter dances in his chest. He’s speaking before he could even properly think.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and lose your footing. You’re about to fall but before gravity claims its toll, he moves with swift determination. He reaches forward and grasps your arm, pulling you from the dangers of the edge of the terrace and into the safety of his arms instead. You lift your head and a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes widen as they look up into his.

“Breathe, darling.”

His mind is searching yours with a quiet desperation but all you are thinking about is how devastatingly handsome he is. He doesn’t perceive you as a threat. Yet, there’s something hauntingly familiar about you.

He hears a name being called. Yours. And then it hits him like a sudden gust of wind. You’re the girl from his dreams. The one he’s dreamt of nearly every day this week and as he repeats the name, his lips curve up into a smirk.

He found you and realization dawns upon him like the morning sun. You don’t belong here but not because you’re from a different court. It’s because you belong with him.

a/n: this part came out a lot softer than I thought it would. The quote I used about the sun loving the moon so much came from something I saw on pinterest. I am a sucker for the sun and moon and stars lol

[purple-writer8]

Closure - ACOTAR

Rhysand x Dawn Court Reader (past relationship), Azriel x Dawn Court Reader?

“I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life, staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

warnings: past relationships, toxic dynamics, a bit of angst, not much tbh

1,176 words

Masterlist :)

He had a mate. A mate. 

 What were you supposed to do? You had gone back to Velaris as soon as Amarantha’s reign ended, you were so excited to see your lover again— your Rhysand. You greeted your older brother, Thesan, with a huge hug when he came back to the Dawn Court. Then you winnowed away, back to Velaris, to the place you hadn’t seen in fifty long years. 

 You were not Under The Mountain. You had been visiting your brother at his palace when everything went south, and he used his last shred of power to command you to guard the small village near the palace, and that you did. Furthermore, you lost your friends, lost your brother, and lost your lover. 

 You had been in a rather weird situationship with Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, for ninety years prior to his imprisonment. You loved him. The Cauldron knew that you loved Rhysand, that he was your everything. He was not your mate, but what you felt for him was strong. 

 It was never healthy, you knew, and he knew. You two met in a ball thrown by Thesan for your birthday a century ago. You were smitten with the fearsome High Lord, and he was instantly attracted to your golden skin and chocolaty brown hair. A decade passed, and he invited you to Velaris, his guarded and secret city— you swore to keep it from Thesan, and the rest was history.

 You forged a life in the Night Court, barely ever visiting your home court and your brother. You adored Rhysand with your entire being. Not only that, but you wanted to marry him, wanted to be his lady— but Rhysand could never commit to that.

 He let you move into his home, let you meet those who he called family, let you do what you pleased in his city— but never truly let you in. When you pushed for his commitment, everything always blew up. You two would fight endlessly, then make up. 

 And you stayed. You loved him, worshiped the ground he walked on. So when he was taken Under the Mountain, it broke you. 

 When he was released, your heart was instantly fixed again. You winnowed straight to his home, and everything was fine. He seemed happy to see you, until a woman started showing up. A human, beautiful, made into a new fae— the cursebreaker.

 It took little for you to notice that Rhysand no longer felt anything for you. No, because he had found his mate. After hearing him call her exquisite at Starfall, you left back to your home court. He didn’t even care, he had already pushed a sea between the two of you. 

 You heard many things about the two of them, the latest being told to you by your brother. “She is his High Lady,” he would tell you after coming back from the High Lord’s meeting— a meeting held at your own home, though you did not attend. 

 Now you sat on your balcony, holding a letter written to you by the very High Lord that broke your heart. A tear slipped down your cheek as you saw the shape of his name, your heart still aching for him— only ever him. 

 It was a stupid letter, inviting you back to the Night Court to ‘mend relationships’, claiming his Inner Circle missed you. You knew the truth, though, he did not want to mend anything with you. No, he was smoothing you over. 

 After you moved back home, you told Thesan everything— and as your protective older brother, he was not pleased with how Rhysand had handled you. After disagreements with the Dawn Court, you knew that Rhysand only wanted to be in your good graces again just so Thesan would lay off him. 

 You clenched your fist around the parchment angrily when a gust of power hit your balcony. A scowl crawled into your face when you took in the Night Court’s Spymaster standing there, intruding into your palace uninvited.

 “Yes, I got his letter,” you said in a disdainful manner. You knew that he only came to push you, sent by Rhysand.

 Azriel eyed you, his hazel eyes skimming over your frame quickly. “How did you know that is what I came for?”

 “I know Rhysand, and I know he is scrambling to get back on Thesan’s good side,” you reply in a simple manner. Azriel pressed his lips together and leans on the balcony’s railing, staring off into the sky.

 His shadows are gentle but present, they reach for you because they know you— but he reels them back in, “you know he never meant to hurt you. He feels bad for everything.”

 “He feels guilty, he is reaching out across the sea that he himself put between us,” you say in a snarky manner. You do not care about making amends, do not care for Rhysand and Thesan’s relationship. “It’s fucking fake, Azriel, and unnecessary.” 

 “Come on, he means well,” he says, turning back to you with sorrowful eyes. It almost is like he really cares about you. 

 “He does?” You gasp in a sarcastic manner.

“Did he mean well when he made me believe we were fine after he came back Under the Mountain? Did he mean well when he laid with me every time he knew that Feyre was laying with Tamlin? He could have let me know right away that he had a mate, but he didn’t. He used me to soothe his pain, then dropped me as soon as she gave him the time of day.” Azriel stilled as you ranted. 

 His shadows had told him you were still hurting, his shadows cared— for reasons unbeknownst to him— they cared for you deeply.

 You and Azriel got along just fine. You guys were not close by any means, but he liked you— he thought you were kind and caring. You always used to massage his hand’s scars when the cold weather made them crack to the point they hurt. You treated him with kindness for all the years you knew him. 

 You never really thought much about the shadowsinger. He was a friend, an acquaintance in the court you used to thrive in. “Are you doing better?” Azriel asked, his voice a soft caress as his hazel eyes burned into hers. 

 A cold draft of wind blew through the balcony, your hair wildly covering your face. You groaned, trying to tame your unruly strands. Azriel could not hold back the shadow that lunged forward, the shadow that tucked your hair behind your ear in a swift and gentle motion.

 A smile graced your lips, his shadows were always so kind to you. And that is when he knew. 

 His shadow coiled around your neck, you laughed and looked back at Azriel. You frowned, as his face was one of pure shock. He stumbled backwards, slinking his shadow back to his body. “Az-” 

 He was gone before you could even utter out his name.

-

Part 2

[blueariel3-blog]

Cookies

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You attempt to make a welcome home gift for your mate, but it doesn't go as planned.

A/N: This is my first time writing something for ACOTAR, let me know if you like it! Just something sweet and short. I could definitely use this right now :)

Azriel had been gone on a mission for several days across the sea and you were missing him terribly. Every time you caught his faint scent, found a clothing item of his stuffed in the bottom of the laundry basket, or spotted his favorite book lying on the coffee table, your heart ached a little bit more for him. It was hard to be away from your mate but you knew his job was important to keeping your court and family safe. 

You glanced at the clock again, noting that it was still relatively early in the night and he wasn't due home until tomorrow afternoon. Needing something to occupy your time, you decided to try some baking. Elain had bought you a cookbook for your birthday a few months prior after you admitted that you didn't have a knack for cooking and struggled to come up with recipes. 

You pulled the book from the top shelf of your pantry, lightly dusting it off and laying it on the smooth countertops. You thumbed through the soft pages and noted the little details Elain had written in and smiled at her thoughtfulness. Little notes like "Try this one!" and "Make on a cold winter night!" were scattered throughout the book. She even went as far as starring her favorite recipes. 

You found a recipe towards the back of the book for chocolate chip cookies. Despite being a very fit Illyrian male, Azriel had the biggest sweet tooth. He was always eating something sweet or drinking something sugary; you're honestly not sure how his teeth didn't rot out. You smiled to yourself, already feeling how happy he would be to come home to one of his favorite treats. 

An hour later, flour littered the countertops along with several different types of sugars, chocolate chips, salts, flour, and butter. The first batch you made was still raw on the inside so you quickly threw them out. The second bath had cooked too long (you were afraid of another raw middle) and were so hard, they didn't even budge as you banged them against the countertops. 

The third batch had too much flour and immediately crumbled when you picked it up. After each failed attempt, your irritation grew until you had finally had enough and sent the pan of unedible cookies flying off the counter and towards the front door. It happened to be at that moment that your mate walked through the door. 

His brows furrowed as something hit his leg and then crumbled into a heap by his feet, the smell of something burning filling his nostrils. He raised a singular eyebrow as he looked towards you in the kitchen, only to find tears welling up in your eyes that you were desperately trying to keep from falling. 

He was quick to drop his weapons and reach for you. His scarred hands were gentle as they grabbed your waist and he slowly pulled your body towards his. He noted the baking ingredients on the counter, the dirty apron covering the front of one of his t-shirts you wore, and the sweat coating your brow and came to one conclusion: you were trying to bake. He fought back a smile as he slowly tucked you into his arms, your forehead resting against his chest. 

You breathed in his scent and instantly relaxed. His arms tightened their hold on you and you relaxed further, slinging your arms around his waist and peeking up at him. His nose brushed across your cheek and then across your nose as he rested his brow against yours. 

"Hi," you whispered to him. Your cheeks were slightly tinted pink as you rested your chin on his chest to stare into his eyes. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ears and his eyes seemed to melt as he took in the sight of his mate. 

"Hi," he whispered back. Your soft giggle warmed his heart and he couldn't stop placing a sweet peck on your lips. "What's going on in here?" His tone was light and playful, afraid of sending you into another meltdown. 

You sighed heavily, pulling away to look at all the failed attempts at a welcome home gift scattered throughout the kitchen. 

"I was going to make you some cookies to come home to but I couldn't get the recipe right. The first ones were still raw, the next ones were too burnt, and the ones that I accidentally flung at you had crumbled because they had too much flower." 

As you recounted the day's activities to Azriel, his smile only grew out of the love he had for you. You felt the warmth through the bond and melted further into his chest. He placed another kiss on your brow before pulling back and going to retrieve the cookie sheet from the doorway. 

"Well, let's bake them together." He gave you a soft smile as he dumped your cookies into the trashcan. 

"Okay," you smiled as he organized the ingredients on the counter. He carefully read the directions and his shadows would bring you the ingredients one at a time as needed. They tickled your arms and legs as you two stood side by side and you giggled, brushing against them lovingly. 

When the batter was done, Azriel helped you carefully scoop each cookie out and place it on the tray. You placed them on the rack in the oven, dusting flour from your fingers as they set to bake for 15 minutes. 

Azriel pulled the apron off of you and chucked it behind him as he reached down and scooped you into his arms. You yelped as his hands found your bottom and squeezed playfully. 

"What are you doing?" You laughed as he walked further into your house. 

"Spending time with my mate," he replied as he settled you both on the couch. He was lying on his back, holding you tightly to his chest. You felt something soft against your skin and looked back to see the shadows placing a blanket on top of you before darting off to the kitchen. 

You folded your hands across his chest and then placed your head on top so you could see him properly. He gave you his best grin, the one you only ever got to see. It was reserved just for you. 

"Sorry I didn't have them ready before you got home. I thought you wouldn't be home until tomorrow." He brushed the hair away from your face as he flooded the bond with warmth once again. 

"It's quite alright. It was the thought that counts. Besides, I like baking with you." 

"Oh, do you now?" You grinned and tilted your head, watching as a smirk pulled at his lips. "And why's that?" 

He quickly leaned up to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. 

"Because that means I get 15 minutes with you, uninterrupted, while we wait for them to bake." 

He wiggled his eyebrows and you burst out laughing. He gently gripped your arms and flipped you so he was hovering above you. He placed a kiss on your cheek, then your other one, then your forehead, nose, chin, neck, and finally on your lips. 

You sighed as you melted into him, arms coming to wrap around his neck. You had been thinking about doing this since he left for his mission last week. His hair was soft as you carded your fingers through it, lips firm and accepting as he poured his love into you. 

Azriel laid his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as you softly brushed through his hair. His shadows whispered that there were only a few more minutes until the cookies were done, but there was enough dough for at least 4 more batches. 

He smiled and sent them back to watch the cookies. His hands squeezed your sides lovingly as he closed his eyes and basked in the feeling of finally being able to return home. 

[lunamond]

I actually love reading all the theories by the Acotar fans who noticed the weirdness of the switch-up in Tamlin's characterisation between Acotar and Acomaf and try to come up with canon reasons for it.

That said, I also think that a lot of the people looking for a genuine canon explanation are majorly overestimating SJM's writing ability.

The problem was never that Tamlin comes out from Utm a less than stellar partner for Feyre and that their relationship falls apart, trauma can do that. It's how it happens that is the issue.

As an example, in Acotar, Tamlin frequently surprises Feyre by how little he enforces rank in his court. He is frequently shown to hang out among his people as an equal. He even explains that he changed a lot of these things in his court after his father’s death, which resulted in a lot of his father's courtiers leaving because they didn't like his more hippie approach. All this happened not only prior to Feyre showing up in the SC but also which before Amarantha. Rhysand even mocks him for this, so we know this isn't just an act Tamlin put up to charm Feyre.

But then, in Acomaf, Tamlin is all about court life and upholding the traditions of his father. If this was meant to be a trauma response to Utm, it was very poorly written and thought out.

I don’t doubt that his experiences Utm might impact his ruling style and even turn him into a harsher ruler.

However, after how adamant he was about rejecting his father's legacy, no amount of trauma would suddenly cause him to decide "yeah no actually dad was right!". Especially knowing that his father was a slaver and bffs with Amarantha.

It's doubly infuriating, because suddenly Tamlin's lack of rank enforcement and staunch opposition towards the supremacy of High fae culture is suddenly given to Rhysand, who in Acomaf is all about being buddies with the IC and torn up about the discrimination present in the other courts. Despite literally having been the character mocked Tamlin for those very things in Acotar.

It's these kinds of inconsistencies that make the shift not work, and they are unfortunately not easily fixed with a convenient headcanon about how Tamlin was secretly an asshole all along or how he has a broken mating bond with Amarantha or whatever reason people can come up with.

In a lot of ways Rhysand's characterisation suffered as much as Tamlin.

Many on his good traits and justifications for his bad traits have to be tacked on in Acomaf, despite directly contradicting his prior characterisation. And even post Acomaf, they don't always make sense with what is shown on the page.

By retroactively justifing all his flaws and wrongdoings, SJM literally robbed Rhysand of any opportunity to go through a genuine character arc. If he was already doing everything right from the beginning then there is no room left for him to grow.

As much as I dislike his character and Feysand as a ship, it's actually a shame how much untapped potential there is.