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sapphenaa · 9 months

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winter's frost | azriel x fem!reader

Summary: As Kallias' sister, you're expected to help maintain good relations with allied courts. Your newest ally leads you to the Starfall celebration, and it ends up changing your life much more drastically than you expected.

warnings: cursing

part two

It wasn’t your choice to go to the Starfall celebration in the Night Court. No, with your brother’s newfound alliance, you were required to attend the foolish party when you would rather be curled up in your room at the Winter Court, preferably with a good book and a steaming cup of tea.

Involuntarily, you rolled your eyes as you made your way out of your room, the gossamer of your steel blue gown whipping around your feet. You hated to admit it, but Viviane did a wonderful job at hunting down this dress. It was plated with silver metal around your bodice, the bejeweled collar connected by interwoven chains. It was complete with a smattering of sapphires adorning it, twinkling out at the top of the mostly sheer skirt. A warrior’s dress, beautiful but deadly, the plating similar to the armour you so often wore.

As you made your way down the stairs, you heard Viviane gasp in excitement whilst you fiddled with the quartz crown that adorned your head. “You look magnificent!” Viviane breathed out, a wide smile on her face. Her hand reached out to adjust the stray curls framing your face before stepping back to get another look at you. You smiled tightly at her before flicking your gaze to your brother.

“How long do we plan on staying there?” Kallias’ icy eyes were made of stone, his lips set in a harsh line.

“However long I deem is necessary to show Rhysand that he has our support.” You huffed out a breath at his response, your hair swaying at the movement.

“Then lets get this over with,” you quipped as you placed your hand on his arm. The three of you were swiftly encased in black smoke as Kallias winnowed your group in front of the House of Wind. You couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips as you caught sight of the dazzling house, more akin to a castle than anything. However, you weren’t given more than a couple seconds to admire it as your brother and his mate made their way to the front doors. You followed suit rather languidly, coming to a stop in front of the marble doors. Kallias raised his hand to knock, but the doors flew open before his knuckles could even touch the doorframe.

“Kallias, I’m glad you could make it.” A dazzling smile flashed and you knew immediately that the raven-haired man at the door was the High Lord of the Night Court. “Viviane, pleasure to see you again. You’re looking lovely as always,” he spoke as his eyes flicked over to hers before landing on you. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Rhys, and you are?”

You refused a curtsey, instead bowing your head slightly as you chimed out your name and rank. He smiled again before waving the three of you in, his magic swelling, nearly causing a tremble in your hands at the intensity of it. “Well, I won’t let you idle outside in the cold any longer. We have wine and an assortment of food waiting for you.”

Once again you followed, keeping to the back in hopes that conversation would not be struck with you. However, as always, your luck was as rare as a four-leaf clover in winter.

“I never knew Kallias had a sister.” Rhys stated, his violet eyes meeting yours for a split second. You willed your expression from a scowl to a tight-lipped smile, already dreading the night to come.

“I’ve kept well hidden.”

“You have indeed.” He responded. Before he could inquire any more about you, a swift excuse left your lips.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to grab a glass of wine.” With a dip of his head you were excused, and you heard the start of a courtly conversation that would have had you ripping your hair from your head. You neared the refreshment table, admiring the faelights above you that twinkled like starlight as you walked. There wasn’t much for Starfall decorations, though you didn’t think the House of Wind needed any more ornamentation.

As you filled a glass with deep red wine, you let yourself study the room and its occupants. It was filled with nobles, all dressed in extravagant clothing that was similar to your own. At least you didn’t come overdressed, you thought to yourself. Another pass of the room had a glint of blue sparking your curiosity. Your gaze shifted over to a male dressed in a simple black button down and trousers, that blue flash coming from the jewels atop his hands. His wings protruded from his back, tucked in tightly as if hiding from sight. Your eyes widened a bit at the muscles flexing beneath the fabric, the slight scowl on his face, and the allure in his hazel eyes as they gazed back at you. Quickly you looked at your drink, swirling its contents as you tried to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

You didn’t usually get caught staring, but by the gods was it hard not to stare at him. Risking another glance, you brought your glass up to your lips to hide your wandering eyes. His attention was focused elsewhere, now intently set on the male in front of him and the blonde on his right. You swallowed harshly, watching as a small smile perked up at his lips. Shadows lapped around his feet and shoulders like a running river, constantly moving, never ceasing to slow, but rather always fluttering. He was ethereal, and that was a thought that had never crossed your mind when it came to a fae.

“You must be Kallias’ sister.” A voice soothed in your ear, causing a slight jolt to wrack your bones. The female laughed, a sound that rang like a windchime. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Feyre.” As your heart lulled to a soft beat once again, you nodded out of respect, admiring her kind eyes and the twinkling onyx jewels atop her head.

“It’s a pleasure.” She smirked, motioning towards the male you had been eyeing with a dainty hand.

“I assume you haven’t met Azriel yet, considering your staring.” Your cheeks flushed again and she giggled, obviously sensing the shift.

“I wasn’t staring,” you grumbled, taking another sip of your wine.

“He doesn’t bite.” She laughed, taking your hand and dragging you towards the three fae that you had been spying on from afar. “Hey!” Feyre called in greeting, gaining the attention of them, much to your chagrin. “This is Y/N, Kallias’ sister. Y/N, this is Mor, Cassian, and Azriel.” You smiled softly with wide eyes, cursing your unfiltered thoughts for this moment. If you had kept to a corner, eyes glued to your glass, then this wouldn’t have happened. Yet, here you were.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you. Gorgeous dress, by the way.” The blonde smiled warmly, her eyes glittering and glazed from a couple glasses of alcohol.

“Thank you.” You muttered, fidgeting with a stone on your gown. You chanced a glance at Azriel again, only to find him already looking at you. A common occurrence tonight, you supposed.

“Well, I’m going to grab another drink.” Feyre declared with a wink as she pulled Cassian and Mor along with her. The two of them were smirking as well and you knew that she had put her Daemati skills to use. You cleared your throat, intending to refill your glass as well, just to get out of the conversation that was bound to take place. But as you went to take your leave, Azriel’s hand clasped around your wrist softly, keeping you in place.

“Why have we never heard of you before?” He asked, his words practically matching Rhysand’s from earlier. Usually you would grace that question with a forced smile and a short response, however, breathing in his euphoric scent had you feeling rather vulnerable.

“Um, Kallias and my father thought it best to keep my existence within the shadows.” You replied, nerves caressing your skin, inducing a shiver to crawl down your spine.

“Because of your magic.” He stated. You blinked at him in shock.

“How did you know that?” A miniscule smirk pulled his plush lips up, and for some unknown reason you wanted to kiss it off of them.

“I can sense it. It’s strong.”

“My magic is glamoured. How can you–” He shook his head in answer before gesturing towards your glass.

“Let me refill that for you.” There was no time to respond as he took it from your grasp and disappeared amongst the crowd. You glanced after him, but instead you met Kallias’ eyes and Viviane’s cheeky thumbs up. With a scowl you stalked off to the balcony, hoping for some privacy to redo your glamour. Much to your surprise, you found that your glamour was fully intact, leaving you in awe.

“How?” You muttered to yourself. Nobody else had sensed it, nobody but him. An electric touch hummed underneath your skin. You pressed a palm against your heart, feeling it skip, that pulse buzzing against your bones before you turned to face him. He was swathed in shadows with a hand extended out, a full glass of wine as an offering. You took it with an uneasy smile as that electrifying static increased at the brush of your fingers.

“Starfall will start soon.” You nodded at his words, glancing warily up at the sky as he came to stand beside you, your shoulders nearly touching.

“What’s so special about Starfall, anyway?” His lips tilted up in that ever soft smile that he seemed to own.

“Just watch.” As his words left his tongue, a streak of light entered the sky, covering you with a dull glow. Another and another passed by until the sky was full and your eyes were wide in wonder. You had never expected Starfall to be spectacular; it always seemed like just another pointless reason for fae to get together and drink themselves drunk, but standing there, you knew that was far from the truth.

“Shit,” you breathed out, eyes never leaving the sky, even though you felt his piercing gaze on your skin. You reached a hand into the darkness of the night, stretching over the railing as if you could touch one passing by. Azriel chuckled beside you, causing you to quickly pull your hand back in embarrassment. When you turned to look at him, a chord struck in your chest and that tingle of electricity that had been sizzling in the distance sparked. You felt a tug, body jolting a step toward him as he did the same.

“I–”

“You’re my mate.” He took another step, your noses almost touching, breathing in each other’s air as you just stared, taking in his eyes as if they were the stars that fell from the sky.

“Shit.” You repeated, placing a hand just below your throat as if the touch could bring more air into your lungs. Azriel reached out, a glimmer in his eyes as he placed his hand over yours and you knew that this was the touch of an exploding star, that he was the one you were reaching into the sky for. The bond plucked like a harpsichord string as soon as the two of you touched. It felt like home–it was home. He was home.

“Funnily enough,” you started, a brittle laugh leaving your throat, “I was actually dreading coming here tonight.”

“And now?” He queried, his head tilting like a curious animal, fingers moving and intwining with yours.

“Now, I can’t quite see why I was dreading it so much.” A smile lit up his features, bigger than you had seen all night, and your lips twitched to reciprocate the motion unknowingly until the two of you were grinning at each other like long lost friends.

“I’ve been holding out hope for a while now.” He murmured as he leaned closer, noses gently brushing, lips almost touching.

“Hope for what?”

“Hope that you existed.” You could feel his heartbeat in the crisp air, feel his wings stretching as he began to close the gap between you, to interlock your two souls as one.

“Y/N, we have to go now.” A voice broke the two of you out of your trance. Azriel’s hand fell back to his side as you were pulled away, his eyes unwavering from yours until you disappeared behind the door. You had your sights set on nothing but his lingering figure as the rooms flew past you in a blur. Once the cold air of winter hit you in the face, you snapped out of your stupor and wrenched your arm free from your captor.

“What the hell!” You exclaimed, the bite of the wind fueling your immediate anger. Viviane’s eyes bored into yours, silver lining her tear ducts as she moved to grab you again.

“We have to go,” she pleaded, “we just caught word that several Naga are loose on the grounds and they’re wreaking havoc. We have to go.”

As swiftly as your anger came, it dulled, your eyes turned to steel, and your jaw set. You nodded once, ripping the crown off of your head as you followed Viviane to Kallias’ form. A dull pain sat in your chest as you placed a hand on your brother’s arm. You still felt his eyes on you as the three of you erupted into shadows and smoke, leaving the Night Court and your mate behind.

#part two will come!#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #sjmaas #sarah j maas #text #textpost #a03 #a03 fanfic #a03 writer

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acotarfrustrations · 4 months

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Honestly we could REALLY get into the fact that a lot of the insanity in Acotar is an excellent exercise in why you can't really separate the art from the author.

Sjm's zionism is OBVIOUS in the text. The ic destabilize governments to the detriment of people they will never have to care for, steal artifacts from other countries, displace people, cause invasions, commit war crimes for 50 years "for the greater good" all while their own people are living under unchecked brutality and poverty.

They are rich megalomaniacs that care for no one but themselves and their own emotional and material satisfaction and they are PRAISED for it. In fact anyone who even remotely disagrees with the IC is almost always one of the villains in the story (Beron, Tamlin, etc) as if to condition the reader that asking questions that are critical of the IC puts you on the wrong side of the narrative morally.

All of that sounds REALLL familiar huh?

#and the funny thing is sjm brought this on herself #unlike most authors she creates a clear framework in the text of what the narrative considers morally right and morally wrong #and her characters are always in the side that is morally right in the books but is morally abhorrent in real life #you have NO CHOICE but to question the actual author atp #like if the ic were real they would be the gop #and i think its funny that a lot of the havoc they wreak is most centered on people that are poc or marginalized in the book #but im supposed to get behind it because its some white teenager having a girl boss colonial moment #i hate these novels #if sjm wanted to do this she should have straight up just made feyre and co villains #anti sjm #anti acotar #anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti ic #anti acomaf #anti sarah j maas #anti inner circle #anti acowar

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perseusannabeth · 3 months

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Chapter 9 - Nesta

A/N: Hello everyone! Long time no see. I'm gonna keep this short and sweet. Shout out to my beta for encouraging me to work on this!

Trigger warnings for the following in this chapter: mentions of suicidal thoughts, death during childbirth, miscarriage, starvation and physical abuse. As per usual, if there's anything you think I've missed that could be a trigger, please let me know!

Word count: 6119

LMBYH Masterlist | My Masterlist | My Ask Box | Read on AO3

Nesta was at the point where she had reached a steady routine, which rarely deviated. The routine gave her structure, predictability and peace she had never had the comfort of knowing in her previous marriage unless Tomas locked her in their rooms. At first, when he would lock her in their rooms for days, he would beg him to let her out, which only made him angrier. Then, he would deny her food during her punishment. Once she got used to living in that house, she saw him locking her away for what it truly was: a blessing in disguise. She was safely locked away in the rooms, with nobody watching her or worse.

Of course, eventually, Tomas realised she actually enjoyed the time alone, so it stopped. He couldn't have his wife enjoy her punishment after all. Instead, he decided that the physical punishments were better suited since Nesta enjoyed her own company.

Her current husband had clearly decided that her punishment for misbehaving was to just continue like nothing happened. Her wrongdoings from the ball had not been mentioned, and he seemed to avoid the subject while simultaneously wanting to speak on it. Nesta was fine with the indecision and continued to spend her days in the library. She would do so happily if she could stay there all night, too, but she didn't want to push her luck. Her husband seemed reasonable, but you could never predict what would make a man snap. Still, she knew that in the library, she was safe.

Her husband seemed nervous when he entered the library and rarely seemed to do so. Nesta assumed the years of neglect his family's legacy had seen made him feel uncomfortable, or perhaps it was something else entirely. Still, either way, Nesta did not mind that he rarely entered.

She had thought she understood men very well up until her second marriage. There were men like Tomas, who wanted to show everyone how powerful they were, puffing their chests out like peacocks, just because he wanted to show the world something other than what he was. He seemed unable to move out of his brother's shadow and turned to anger.

Then, there were men like Philip, who would crush anything they could not control. They were as slippery as an eel and sly as a fox and rarely had anyone tell them no. Those types of men were worse because they were much more confident in themselves compared to the kind of man Tomas was. At least with Tomas, Nesta knew she could play to his ego, which would appease him.

Then there was the kind of man Robert Mandray was. He was so gentle he was almost like a woman. His brothers had no respect for him because of it, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself more like his brothers. His wife had once disrespected his brother at the dinner table, so he slapped her across the face. Philip had looked proud, but Robert had looked horrified. He had left the house the following day, taking his wife with him. Nesta understood why; it was unsafe for either of them in a house like that. Robert was too gentle, and Philip was known for wandering eyes, hands and penis, too, if he could help it. It didn't matter if the recipient of his advances were open to them.

Perhaps the Duke was more like Robert, but then she wasn't sure if she believed that. He could command a room, and nobody could say he wasn't powerful. Nesta didn't understand much about the running of estates, but she knew the Duke of Illyria was good at it and had many profitable estates up and down the country. That kind of money came to someone other than someone who would run like Robert. Her husband had also gifted her with so much; she knew other men would dislike her being given such freedom and power. She was sure Tomas was turning in his grave, yet the Duke did not care.

Perhaps this was the freedom someone with his status and power could expect. The Duke did not care that Nesta could run wild with all the freedoms he gave her. He was too rich and powerful to care. Even the talk of society didn't bother the Duke; it seemed not to reach his ears. Important people clearly didn't have the time for such things. The issue was that Nesta had never been around someone with such importance, so she had yet to learn how she should act.

As Nesta steadied herself at the top of a ladder to clean the top of yet another shelf, she thought about how easy it would be for her to fall from this height. She could injure herself pretty badly if she landed on her head in the right way. She could die, and nobody would realise until lunchtime. But as soon as the horrific thought popped into her head, she shook it away. She couldn't do that. The burden that would put on her sisters and, worse, the Duke was too much. Feyre was so heavily pregnant, and she didn't want to do anything to put the baby at risk. Elain couldn't stop mentioning her children and wanting them to meet their aunt Nesta. And then, of course, the Duke would be the subject of a lot of scandalous talk if she died. No, she couldn't do that to them. She had a responsibility to them all. Her mother had always said it was her burden to shoulder these responsibilities. Even after her mother's death, she had been unable to move past that feeling.

There was a knock at the door, one that startled Nesta out of her thoughts. Only Claude and the Duke came here, but neither knocked so timidly as this person did. There was another knock, this time a little louder at the lack of response. Nesta called for them to enter and started climbing down the ladder.

To her surprise, it was a little boy who entered. The awe was evident on his face as he walked in, scanning the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The boy was so entranced by all the books he tripped over his own two feet but managed to catch himself before he hit the ground. He quickly straightened himself out, but his face started to colour when he looked over and saw that Nesta had been watching him.

He cleared his throat awkwardly before finally speaking. "My Lady," he said and then paused. Then, he did the stiffest, most awkward bow known to man.

Nesta stifled a laugh at that but decided to put the clearly nervous boy out of his misery. "How can I help you this fine morning, good sir?" She said, matching the boy's formality and curtsying back to him.

The boy's eyes widened in horror. "Please, My Lady, you don't need to bow to me. My name's Arthur and I'm Eleanor's son; my mother said she's your maid?" The boy was clearly unsure if Nesta would even know who his mother was.

Now that the boy mentioned it, she could see their similarities. "Of course, it's nice to meet you, Arthur," Nesta said, putting on her best smile. It had been so long since she had smiled that she felt out of practice. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, well, I was wondering if you needed any help, My Lady?" he said awkwardly while shifting around, avoiding eye contact.

Nesta tried to control her facial expression at that. Why would this boy want to help her? Well, her first thought instantly went to her husband. He must've wanted the boy to spy on her. But then, another part of her questioned this logic. Why would the Duke wish to spy on her when nothing else entered the library? It would only make sense if he was worried about Claude, which also didn't make any sense. Claude loved the Duke far too much to risk doing anything that would anger him.

"Why do you want to help me?" Nesta said, trying to keep her suspicions out of it. She didn't want the boy to feel like he was being backed into a corner. "This isn't where a young boy like yourself would want to spend his day. Surely, you'd rather go outside and play instead?" Nesta said, smiling so the boy didn't feel attacked by her words.

"Well, ma'am, I know I'm young, but I want to work to help my mother. We- well, we don't live with our father anymore, so my mother works really hard. I'm the eldest, so I want to help her. Maybe, if I help you, the Duke will see and give me other tasks to do, too," the boy was nervous about telling her his motivations, but Nesta couldn't help but smile at how sweet he was.

She had no idea Eleanor didn't have her husband with her, but her son was clearly nervous about mentioning him, so Nesta didn't delve into that anymore. "Well, as you can see, there's a lot to do around here, so I certainly wouldn't mind the help," Nesta said, gesturing around them.

That put a smile on the boy's face. He rolled his sleeves up, readying himself for some action. "What do you want me to do first, ma'am? Just so you know, I know I look small, but I'm very strong, so if you need me to carry things, I can do that too!"

Nesta wanted to avoid lumbering the poor boy by carrying books around for her, not when they were so heavy. The boy was skinny-looking, and although very eager to prove himself, she didn't know if his little body could take so much manual labour. Instead, Nesta looked for a kinder task that would allow him to help her without injuring him. She didn't know Eleanor very well, and while the woman was taciturn, she knew that there was a possibility that Eleanor could get angry if her son came back exhausted from a day in the library.

"Well, actually, there's a task I've been putting off because I've been finding it too daunting," Nesta said conspiratorially. The boy nodded eagerly, waiting for her to carry on. "You see those piles of books over there?" Nesta said, pointing at the piles of books practically covering the lone table in the room. "Well, I need to figure out an order for them; the shelves I took them off were a mess. If someone could put them alphabetically, we could put them back onto the shelves much tidier. What do you think?" Nesta asked.

The boy bit his lip anxiously before eventually replying to Nesta. "Well, ma'am, I think you could do that, and I could carry on cleaning. Wouldn't that be better?" Nesta was confused; clearly, the boy could see she wouldn't accept that without questioning him. "Ma'am, I can't read, so I can't organise your books. But I can clean for you," the boy said with a smile.

Nesta blushed at that, cursing herself for being so thoughtless. Of course, someone like Arthur couldn't read. Although schools were around, they weren't open to accepting people from a lower class. Some factory owners in the north were known to build schools for the children who worked with them, but this was rare. Nesta wondered how many children on the Duke's estate couldn't read while she spent her day in a library.

"Would you like to learn?" Nesta asked impulsively. It was too late to take the offer back, though, and now it lingered between the woman and child.

"Would you really teach me?" Arthur asked cautiously.

"If you want to learn, then yes. I've never taught anyone how to read before, but if that's alright with you, then-"

Before Nesta could continue, Arthur cut her off. "Yes! Please, I would love to learn how to read. I could get so many other jobs if I learned how to work. Please, ma'am, I'll work day and night if you teach me."

Nesta smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear you're so excited to learn. All I ask for is an eager student, so you don't need to work day and night."

As they both walked towards the table, Nesta finally felt that, for once in her life, she was doing something good.

***

Her day with Arthur had been one of her best days in a long time. Nesta had spent two hours writing out upper- and lower-case versions of the alphabet and saying the phonetic sounds for them. Then she let Arthur try to copy her letters to the best of his ability while he said the sounds. While Arthur repeated the process, Nesta cleaned, staying close in case he needed her help.

Claude had been delighted to see the boy with Nesta when he had come to serve lunch. Nesta had been glad that Arthur was a growing boy because he had eaten with such gusto that it had hidden how little she had eaten. The smell of the delicious food had made Nesta feel nauseous, so she had taken two bites and then left the rest while she listened to the energetic back and forth between Arthur and Claude.

Claude had such a brilliant way with children, and his personality was infectious. She couldn't help but smile as she watched Arthur and Claude laugh. Nesta usually felt like an outsider left in the cold; being an outsider while Arthur and Claude talked was like being doused in sunlight. The warmth seeped into her bones, and she felt something inside her thaw as their joy hit her.

When Claude had left, much later than he usually would, Nesta felt like she had been given a new burst of energy. She cleaned with renewed vigour, and Arthur decided to help her, which made the time go faster. Nesta also felt like she had gotten more done today, probably because there were two of them rather than her tackling things independently. Plus, when she was on her own, she tended to get distracted by the books she found, and before she knew it, the sun would be setting, and she had read a chunk of the most bizarre book ever. She wasn't sure which of the Duke's ancestors had been so obsessed with crocodiles, but she had found five copies of the same book.

Nesta assumed that her lack of distraction today was why her body ached so much. Arthur had thrown himself into cleaning the lower shelves, so Nesta had felt like she needed to match that energy, but now she was paying the price since the boy was over ten years younger than her. Sitting at the dinner table across from her husband, struggling to lift her spoon to her mouth, certainly put her in her place. She wasn't feeling hungry. That queasy feeling from earlier hadn't dissipated as she had hoped.

Claude had cooked a feast fit for kings, but she couldn't taste anything. Everything tasted like ash, so she kept her face passive. She didn't want anyone noticing, especially not her husband, who sat opposite her, talking about one of his tenants. Nesta never understood why her husband needed to tell her the ins and outs of his tenants; she couldn't imagine he wanted her opinion. Perhaps, like all great men, he wanted to talk about all the important things he did.

Still, it was better than when he decided to be polite and ask her about her day, which was inevitable.

"Claude told me that Arthur was helping you today," the Duke said. His tone was even; there were no accusations of anything, but she couldn't tell how her husband felt about Arthur spending time with her. Right now, he was just a boy, so there was no danger of him thinking Nesta could stray, but she wondered if that would come eventually as Arthur got older.

"I had never met him before today, my Lord. He walked in and asked me for work," Nesta explained, not wanting her husband to think she spent her days talking to strangers.

The Duke just laughed, startling Nesta. "Arthur is ambitious and most likely getting underfoot wherever he had been spending his day before. I think it will do him some good. The boy is responsible; he just needs some guidance. He's a smart boy, and I'm sure he'll do well for himself in the future."

Nesta paused. The talk of Arthur's future made Nesta hesitate. Clearly, the Duke wanted the boy to succeed, but Nesta wasn't sure how he would feel about her teaching the boy how to read. While she had been helping the boy, it had occurred to her that she should've asked her husband for permission before taking something like this on, and of course, she should've asked permission from Eleanor, too. Some people could be peculiar about who their children spend their time with.

"My Lord," Nesta said nervously. She could feel herself getting warm, the sweat gathering on her brow as she took a deep breath to calm her nerves before Nesta told her husband what she had offered without his permission. "Today, while in the library, Arthur mentioned that he could not read."

"Ah, well, I suppose that is to be expected," the Duke said with a sad smile.

"Well, I offered to teach him," Nesta said quickly, looking down at her hands. She interlocked her hands to try and stop them from trembling so much. She knew she had done something wrong, and now she would have to pay whatever price her husband felt necessary. She just hoped that Arthur wouldn't suffer because of her.

"Is that something you want to do with your free time?" the Duke asked Nesta as though her opinion mattered to him.

"If you're happy to allow it, my lord," Nesta admitted. It was risky to say she wanted to do something, especially since she had already gone behind his back. He could see that she wanted to do this and take it away as a punishment.

"Of course, I'm happy for you to teach the boy. He's ambitious, and I didn't know what to do with him. It seems like you've found the perfect solution for him. I'm sorry that I didn't think of something like that sooner," the Duke contemplated.

Nesta didn't reply; it felt like a trap to say she thought of something he didn't. Even suggesting such a thing would've gotten her the beating of a lifetime from Tomas. Despite knowing this act of the Duke was too good to be true, she wouldn't look the gift horse in the mouth.

"There is no school for the lower class in this area. Rhys's mother once campaigned for it, but as far as I'm aware, she was told that unless there was evidence of some interest within the community, the government wouldn't be willing to throw that kind of money at the lower classes. They believed they could build a school, and the lower classes wouldn't send their children because it was easier for them to send them to work. I'm not sure how much truth there is in that, but it's a shame these children can't learn to read and write."

The Duke sounded thoughtful as he spoke, which Nesta had not expected to hear. Nor had she expected to listen to thoughts about supporting the lower classes. The Duke's family was an ancient one which could be traced back to the founding of Prythian. Meanwhile, the Mandray family had only recently been given their current rank. Yet, despite being so new to the money and social standing they currently had, neither Philip nor Tomas had ever looked at the lower classes with anything other than contempt or disgust.

It was strange. Nesta had not expected her current husband to be so progressive. Then again, how he spoke of the issue made her feel like he had not thought about it in much detail before she had mentioned Arthur. But now that he knew it, he took the issue very seriously.

Nesta had heard whispers that her husband treated the issues of the tenants and people under his general management in such a way, too. He was unaware of all their problems, but if he was made aware of it, he would always try to help. He had apparently once helped a tenant whose ewe was birthing. The Duke had only been passing by, but the man had called out, needing some help, and the Duke had not faltered in rolling his sleeves up. The man had recounted the tale laughing one night, saying he had done little more than take instruction from the actual farmer, but Nesta couldn't help but think that he downplayed things a little.

Nesta took a sip of her water as the silence started to linger. Where she'd usually water down her wine, she had bypassed it all together today. Nesta knew it wouldn't sit well in her already queasy stomach. She had hoped the water would help settle her stomach or, at the very least, end the pounding in her head, but it had not helped.

"Are you alright, Nesta?" the Duke asked her, frowning.

Nesta straightened her back, hoping her posture would help her look better. She didn't want to admit she wasn't feeling well. Any sign of weakness could be used against her; she had learnt that the hard way. Men didn't want to hear that their wives were not well. They didn't care, and it was disgusting to have to hear about anything like sickness. Women were meant to suffer in silence.

"You look pale, and you've eaten less- I mean, you've not eaten very much," the Duke fumbled over his words. Nesta didn't have the energy to figure out what he really wanted to say; she was too tired, and her head felt full of cotton wool. She wondered how the Duke noticed she wasn't feeling well and why he would pay so much attention to her when he had better things to do.

"No, no, I'm fine, my Lord," Nesta said, shaking her head and plastering on a fake smile. The Duke didn't seem convinced, but he didn't comment. He still eyed her plate, so Nesta knew he wouldn't stay quiet for long. "The food isn't quite sitting well with me; it's quite strong flavours and stodgy. I'll go to the kitchen to speak to Claude and get something to settle my stomach; it's nothing to worry about."

Nesta was loathed to explain herself further, but she knew the Duke enough to realise she needed to give him some sort of explanation. She didn't wait for him to reply, as she quickly got up and rushed to the kitchen before he could stop her. Perhaps there was something Claude could give her that would help- or at least something she could eat without being sick.

There was chatter in the kitchen, but Nesta was past the point of processing it. The heat hit her as she rounded the corner and was met with various smells and sounds. She couldn't take it in; so much was going on, and her brain couldn't process it all in its overwhelming glory.

Nesta had been to the kitchen only a handful of times since she had married the Duke. She knew she was not well-liked in the household, which was fine. They were very protective of their master, and everyone else kept their distance apart from Claude, who seemed like he could be friendly with a bear. That was fine; the distance meant fewer chances of anyone spying on her to report back to her husband.

"My Lady, are you alright?" a younger man asked her. She didn't even notice when he came over to her. Claude had yet to notice her, but Nesta hadn't announced herself as she walked in. Her head felt so fuzzy that she had just ended up staring off into the distance at nothing.

"I apologise; I know you all must be busy," Nesta said, trying to wade through the treacle in her brain to remember what she had wanted to say.

"It's no problem, ma'am. We're not busy; it's just Claude's chaos," the man smiled. Nesta had been introduced to him but couldn't remember his name for the life of her.

At the sound of his name, Claude whipped around and beamed brightly as he saw Nesta. "Matthew, get back over there. You're not paid to chat with Lady Nesta," he said jovially.

"Of course, Claude," Matthew replied, a grin adorning his face, and mischief sparkling in his eyes. That's you who's paid to talk to the Duchess."

Matthew ran off before Claude could say anything, but Nesta could see the humour dancing on his face. "Now that Matthew is doing his real job, how can I help you, my lady. Is there something wrong with the food?" Claude said, looking anxious.

"No, Claude, definitely not. I just am not feeling too well. Is there anything you have that I can eat that will help?" Nesta said, blushing at her admission.

"Oh, of course. I make some wonderful soups, but some tea might be quicker. What seems to be the issue, my lady? Perhaps Cassian needs to call the doctor instead," Claude said kindly, leading Nesta to a nearby stool.

Nesta shook her head. "It's fine; I just feel a bit queasy," she lied.

Claude didn't look like he believed her but, thankfully, didn't say anything. To keep him from pressing the topic, she quickly spoke up, changing the subject. "Why do you call the Duke Cassian, but you're so formal with me?"

Claude smiled at that. "That idiot doesn't know how to treat a lady. He's the stupidest Duke I've ever seen," he laughed. "I jest. I've known him for a long time, and we've always been friends first, so it was natural to call him by his name. With you, well, I don't know you as well, so I wasn't sure if you would like me to be so forward and familiar with you. I wouldn't want to insult you."

"Well, I'm asking you to call me by my name. I would like to think we're friends," Nesta said softly. It was true. Claude was the closest thing she'd had to a friend for a long time. The last friend she'd had was long gone now.

"I'm honoured, Nesta," Claude said, testing out saying her name. Here, let me make you some tea. What about having some pastry with it? Really, you should eat something if you don't feel well; it might help to settle your stomach."

"Thank you, Claude, but the tea will be more than fine. If I can manage something else, I will let you know," Nesta said kindly but firmly. She knew her stomach wouldn't be able to handle all that liquid and then food on top of that.

Claude hesitated for a moment, weighing something up, before speaking. "Nesta, if we are friends, then I just want to say something as a friend. I hope you don't take offence, and I'm sorry if you do; it's just that I need you to know something. If you don't like something about my cooking or something specific you would like to eat, it would bring me great joy if you told me. I know you've said that you like my cooking in the past, but I can't help noticing you don't eat very much." Claude looked guilty like he had said something he shouldn't have.

Nesta was frozen. She didn't know what to do or say. She knew her eating habits hadn't gone unnoticed, but she hoped people would just leave her to it. She should've known that Claude would never leave a food-related matter alone. Food was too important to him, and she knew he had perceived it as an insult because she didn't eat much of it.

She could see no way around it. She had to tell him the truth. If she didn't, he would think she was rude, and in a house where he was one of the only people Nesta enjoyed the company of, she couldn't do that. She knew it was dangerous, becoming so attached to the man, but he was so soft and full of love and joy. Nesta couldn't help but be drawn into the man's orbit. She didn't think she had seen anyone so kind and willing to help others. She didn't even know people like Claude could exist.

She took a deep breath, Claude studying her as she opened her mouth to finally voice the truth. "In the Mandray household, the wives were not to eat first. Tomas and his brothers would eat first at the table. Their mother and sister did not sit with them often; they ate in his mother's rooms. The men ate without any abandon and were not the tidiest of eaters. Once they had done and left the room, the wives could eat what was left," Nesta said quietly. She had never admitted it before. She had never had the bravery to say anything, unlike others.

Nesta looked up at Claude, only to notice how horrified he looked. Nesta had never seen horror etched so clearly onto someone else's face, but with Claude, it was hard to mistake it for anything else. "Nesta," Claude rasped out, his eyes filled with tears. "Did they starve you?"

Nesta hesitated. She had never really thought about it like that. At first, she thought it was so strange and questioned her husband about it a lot. Tomas had told her it was a long-standing tradition in their family when it came to married women, but it had always been about controlling them.

"I never thought about it, but yes, they did, I suppose. There were times when we got nothing if we angered them. And then there were rules for if one of us was pregnant," Nesta explained, although she had no idea why she was explaining it. As the words came out of her mouth, she knew it all sounded horrific.

"Were you- did you ever become?" Claude asked, clearly unsure how to proceed in that conversation.

"No, not me, but my friend. She was married to Philip, Tomas' older brother. Her name was Clare, and she was the only person who understood what it was like in that house," Nesta said, her voice breaking as she spoke about her friend. She felt terrible for using Clare's pregnancy to avoid talking about her own, but then again, it was safer that way. She had no idea how the Duke would react if he knew she had been pregnant before, even if she didn't last very long.

"What happened to her?" Claude whispered

"She died in childbirth. The baby didn't survive either," Nesta said, wiping a tear which had escaped. Claude put a cup of tea down in front of her; she hadn't even noticed that he had done anything; she had been so consumed with her thoughts.

"I can't believe how much you've been through, Nesta; how did you bear it?" Claude asked, clutching his own cup of tea.

Nesta shrugged. "I did what I had to do. It was better when Clare was around; she understood how it was. I got used to things; I got into a routine. I knew how to avoid things." She knew getting used to things wasn't okay, but that was the truth. She didn't want to say that she had wanted to die. Claude seemed concerned enough as it was.

"That must've been hard, especially after your friend was gone," Claude said quietly.

"She was the only one who understood it, but I knew I had to carry on for her," Nesta said, taking a sip of her tea to give her some time to gather her thoughts. "Claude, I didn't tell you these things because I wanted you to pity me. I just needed you to understand that I'm trying my best. It probably doesn't seem like much, but it's all I can give now."

"No, of course!" Claude exclaimed. "And I'm honoured you felt like you could tell me."

Nesta didn't want to rain on his parade and tell him it was because she felt guilty for not eating his food, but then again, she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she felt some comfort around him. There was something about Claude which made her feel safe. She knew he wouldn't use the information against her like the staff in the Mandray household did. It was a strange sensation for her to actually trust someone. It had been so long she had forgotten how it felt.

"Will you tell Cassian?" Claude asked.

Nesta's eyes widened in horror. "No, absolutely not!"

Claude felt guilty for alarming her, so he held his hands out in surrender. "Sorry, I was just wondering if it would help understand the things you've been through," he said, trying to soothe her.

"He can't know Claude. He didn't want to marry me; he just agreed for my sister's sake. I'm grateful to him, but I know he's burdened by my strange behaviour. I'll get better, though; I'll become the wife he wants if he just gives me some time. I just need to learn more about his likes and dislikes. Once I figure him out, I'll be the wife he wants, and then he won't have any problems," Nesta said without even thinking. Her brain felt full of cotton wool; she had no idea what she was saying. She felt like she was speaking too fast and too slow simultaneously.

"Nesta, you know that's not what Cassian wants, right? I agree; I think you do need to get to know him, though, because when you do, I know you'll realise what he wants." Claude said.

Nesta didn't know how to react. Her brain was slowing down, so she raised her mug to take another sip of the tea. She didn't realise how much her hands shook until she spilt her tea down her front. Thankfully, the tea wasn't warm enough to scald her, but the shock of feeling the liquid on her startled her enough to make her drop her mug.

She shot to her feet as Claude got up and grabbed a cloth. The room was spinning, and Nesta eventually concluded that she had not managed to fight the horrific feeling she'd been having all day. Her stomach churned worse than ever.

Of course, her husband walked in on this chaos. "I heard some noise. What's going on?" the Duke asked, looking concerned.

Claude said something, but Nesta didn't register it at all. The Duke clearly understood whatever it was that Claude had said, and took Nesta's hand to guide her away from the broken mug.

She wouldn't usually be so glad he was so close to her, but she felt so unsteady that she gripped his hand like it was her lifeline. His hands felt so cool compared to her burning skin, and she fought the temptation to put his hand on her brow. Thankfully, her senses hadn't entirely left her, and she refrained.

"Nesta, you look pale and unsteady. Please, tell me what's wrong?" the Duke said in a frightfully close tone to begging her.

"I'm not sure, I just feel-" Before she could downplay how ill she felt, she felt the bile rise in her throat as her stomach churned. To her horror, Nesta turned to throw up the contents of her stomach on her husband's shoes.

It was over as quickly and suddenly as it had started, and Nesta felt the tiny bit of energy she'd managed to conserve throughout the day had left her body and lay at her husband's feet.

"Nesta? Fuck, are you okay?" the Duke sounded discomposed now, but his voice was starting to sound far away. She felt a hand touch her forehead, and some unsavoury curse words left the Duke's mouth. "Nesta, you're on fire; why didn't you say?"

Nesta tried to say something, but her head was swimming, and even thinking of words took energy she didn't have. She just wanted to sleep, and she could feel it calling her like a siren calls a sailor. Everything was too much for her, so Nesta simply embraced the darkness. She had just enough time to register strong arms grabbing her as she fell into the darkness lingering in her mind.

Tags list (ask if you'd like to be added or removed)

@sannelovesreading @bookstantrash @superspiritfestival @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @sayosdreams @letstakethedawn @and-she-burns-with-it @nahthanks @arinbelle @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @claralady @rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @tswaney17 @duskandstarlight @live-the-fangirl-life @oversizedbats @nestaisgod @vidalinav @vanserrass @moodymelanist @emily-gsh @lady-winter-sunrise @dread3r @starryblueskies7 @simpingfornestaarcheron @mis-lil-red @catplayinvioline @vinylcryes @vasudharaghavan @a-court-of-valkyries @nestaspegasus @sv0430 @champanheandluxxury @nesquick-arccheron @a-little-disguised @nestable @illyrianshadowhunter @readiajin @lordof-bloodshed @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @rachmkerch123456 @autumnbabylon @burningsnowleopard @hnyclover @that-little-red-head

#acotar #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #text #lmbyh

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lunamond · 7 months

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While I'm not at all a fan of Sjm (I only read Tog, Acotar and dnf'ed Acomaf) and overall strongly dislike almost everything I know about her and her writing, I do have a strange fascination about the Acotar series in particular, partly because despite the bad writing there is so much untapped potential in this series.

One of the things I've been thinking about recently is how easily Sjm could have fixed a lot of the issues with Feysand, while still indulging in her super fucked up SA kink with one simple tweak in book 1.

Instead of having Ratman Sa Feyre "for her own good" Utm, just have Amarantha order him to do this as a way to further punish and humiliate Feyre. This immediately shifts the coupability onto Amarantha (the actual villian) while giving the opportunity to explore Rhys' guilt and the ways in which his actions under duress Utm impact his reputation as a bad guy.

It would also give us sth more concrete to explore as far as Rhys sexual trauma goes compared to canon where Sjm only uses his trauma to shield his character from any sort of criticism.

It would also change the very problematic "romantic" dynamic between Feyre and Rhys from victim/abuser to 2 people with shared traumatic experience (Yeah trauma bond).

It would also make the switch between love interests much more compelling and allow for actual nuance.

But instead we got Feyre being handed off from one hot immortal fey highlord who kidnapped, gaslight, and locked her up to a totally different hot immortal fey highlord who kidnapped, gaslight and locked her up but it's ok because this time he has dark hair and batwings.

#anti sjm #acotar critical #anti feysand #anti rhysand #this of course wouldn't fix everything #but if sjm really intended to make ratman endgame from the beginning this is such a easy fix #it would literally change zero plot #like I even remember reading acotar when I was 16 #and I already could tell the bat would end up a romantic rival based on his description #so when the SA happened I was like obviously this is Amarantha's doing #but nope #the text literally specified that Amarantha didn't like that Rhys was bringing her to the party #he literally just did because he wanted to make Tamlin mad #and Sjm has the audacity to then turn around and say the the Riceman is the better romantic option

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swansworth · 10 months

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Y'all ever sit there thinking about...

Azriel going down on you and devouring your cunt with expert level skill while he implores his shadows to swirl around your tits or along your body to pin your hips or wrists down?

Azriel grinning up at you from between your spread legs, his hazel eyes glistening with something akin to mischief as he drags his tongue over your labia?

Azriel sliding up your body with a sinuous grace before giving your mouth the same attention he'd given the rest of your body because at the end of the day, nothing compares to the taste of your lips?

Azriel whispering filthy sweet nothings in that deep voice of his, his lips dragging against your own or against your ear lobe before sucking it between his teeth?

#t: text #c: azriel #lit: acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader

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iwillwalkthroughthefire · 11 months

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Rhys, who thinks Gwyn seems like a sweet girl: You are to treat Gwyn with kindness and respect.

Nesta, who has already decided that she would die for Gwyn and is honestly just waiting for the opportunity to do so: Mind your own business.

#is it actually incorrect if the dialog is direct from the text?#incorrect acotar quotes #acosf #sarah j maas #nesta archeron #gwyn acotar #gwyneth berdara

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faeteller · 1 year

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Here to remind everyone how amazing Gwyn is.

Nesta's found family including Gwyn and Emerie is one of the best things SJM gave us.

#acotar #acosf #gwyneth berdara #gwyn #!text #!mine #!acotar

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hunnyy-bunnyyy · 9 months

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I can't help but think that the only reason Rhysand/Feysand stans claim to stan Feyre is because they like her, not as a character, but as an extension of Rhysand. In this essay, I will --

#anti rhysand #anti feysand #acotar #acowar #acosf #acomaf #anti sjm #anti acomaf #sjm did feyre dirty #i'm pretty sure this is already a well established fact #but a different post made me think about this enough to make a text post #anti rhysand pt 2 #have I mentioned how much I hate Rhysand?#i hate him #a lot #anyways #this fandom is full of mysoginy that most ppl won't address bc sjm is pretending to be a feminist while writing deeply anti woman literature

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nesta-attorney · 3 months

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me, when sparkling in the chest, music between their souls, anything with a golden thread gets mentioned in Sarah’s books and she ALWAYS uses that rhetoric to mean mates:

#acotar #acosf #all of her couples had this used #I love how this is canon text #cc #tog #I just LOVE canon #certain cult ships should stop taking fanon as gospel when canon is right there

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sapphenaa · 9 months

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winter's frost part two | azriel x fem!reader

Summary: After a rather abrupt ending to your Starfall celebration, you find yourself on death's edge, and only the touch of your mate can lull you to safety.

Warnings: violence, bloodshed, cursing, nudity, smut

part one

“How the hell did they get here?” You cried out, your magic surging towards the vicious creature, severing one of its heads with a blade of ice.

You had barely any time to change into your fighting attire before scrambling into the fight, and the same had been said for Kallias. The two of you and three guards had been fighting for what seemed like hours, struggling to behead the beasts. They held seven heads each, the most you had ever seen.

One of the heads lunged, narrowly missing your arm as you fired again, your magic steadily dwindling. A fatal scream filled your ears, and out of the corner of your eye you saw a guard get ripped to shreds. With gritted teeth you called to the ether, letting blue wisps seep from your palms and form three wolves made of sharply cut ice.

“I have no idea.” Kallias called as he battled his own monster, now only bearing three heads and close to its looming death. You focused, vision straight-lining towards the next Naga that wasn’t currently being ravaged by your wolves. It set its eyes on you and came barreling towards you with an ear-piercing screech. A claw swiped and made contact with your abdomen, throwing you to the snow-covered ground. You threw back your own hit, severing two heads with three blades, the third a whisper in the wind as it imbedded itself into a tree.

You struggled to stand, the pain almost unbearable as your blood hit the ground, but you had to keep going. Its teeth were threatening your flesh, and you were keen on not letting it.

“I am going to slaughter the monster that set these upon us,” you muttered before laying down a path of ice toward the Naga. As you slid, you unsheathed two blades and dug them up into the underbelly as you gained momentum. You slowed once you reached the snow and rolled back onto your feet, dodging a head and severing another. The monster, now gutted, was easy to kill. You cleaved off the heads that remained and shot three blades into the air. They reached their target, and the Naga that was terrorizing the guards fell to the ground.

Your wolves skulked back to you as the last Naga withered underneath Kallias’ well-placed blade. With a heavy breath you slumped to the ground, dropping your swords and pressing your hands against the wound on your abdomen. The wolves vanished as your magic subsided. Your vision was waning and you were barely able to see Kallias as he came upon you.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He dropped to the ground next to you and added his hands to yours, digging them into your skin as you grimaced.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you laughed, letting your eyes close.

“Get me a healer!” Feet shuffled, and you assumed that the two guards scurried off to complete his request. Kallias lifted you, a groan leaving your lips as he adjusted you into his arms. “Open your eyes.” You tried, you really did, but the wind and the falling snow wrenched them shut once again.

“Kal, I need to tell you something.” You murmured, feeling woozy from the blood loss. He hurried his steps, outright sprinting to your home where a healer would no doubt be waiting.

“You can tell me later.”

“No, Kal, I need to tell you now. I met my mate at Starfall.” Your breathing was ragged, your hands weakening, no longer able to stop the blood from seeping out.

“I know, I saw.” He huffed, throwing his shoulder into the door. You were encompassed in warmth, soft cushions pressing against your back as he set you down gingerly. “You can see him again once we get you healed.”

“Yeah.” He slapped your cheek, hard enough to sting, but not enough to seriously hurt. Your eyes flew open as he held your face in his hands, his icy eyes glaring into yours.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up now. You’re not dying in a fight with some idiotic Nagas.” You chuckled, blood trickling out of the side of your mouth.

“No, I’m not dying. I’m just tired.”

“Sleep later.” He commanded before removing himself and letting the healer take his spot beside you. She smiled solemnly at you before placing her hands over your abdomen and closing her eyes.

“Oh my gods,” a female voice sounded. You turned your tired eyes to stare at Viviane who stood by the stairs, still in her gown, a hand over her mouth. Kallias slid past the healer and wrapped her into his arms, murmuring words into her ear that you didn’t quite hear.

“Can you send for him?” You asked into the air, wincing as your wound slowly knitted itself shut under kind hands. “My mate. Can you ask him to come?” Kallias pulled away from his own mate and, with a nod, headed upstairs towards his study. Viviane came to you then, settling herself above your head, smoothing your hair down.

“How many were there?” She asked, her voice soothing like a dove’s. You struggled to recall, having not bothered to count in the midst of the fight.

“Four, maybe five. Maybe more, I can’t remember.” She nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You did well. We’re going to figure out who’s the cause of this.” You reached a bloodied hand up to wrap around her wrist, searching for comfort as the pain began to lessen.

“And once you find them, give them to me. I’ll make them regret messing with the Winter Court.” Viviane chuckled.

“I know you will, darling.”

Kallias returned then, scarlet dripping from his clothes and hair. “I sent Rhys a letter,” he stated, coming to stand beside Viviane. He rested a hand on your shoulder, a grim smile pulling at his lips. “He’ll be here soon.”

“Good.” You mumbled, sending Kallias as warm of a smile as you could muster before looking up at the silver-haired female. “Did you see, Viviane?” The healer was nearly done now, but the blood loss was starting to get to you. “Did you see that I found my mate?” She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I did. I’m happy for you, Y/N.” You smiled as well, looking up at her and your brother, no longer feeling a sense of jealousy toward their connection. Now you had your own, your other half, and he was on his way. You blushed at the thought.

The healer removed her hands from your skin, wiping them off on the apron that she wore. “You should sleep now, My Lady. Let the rest of your healing take its toll overnight.” You nodded, a quiet ‘thank you’ leaving your lips as she disappeared from your line of sight.

“Do you have any ideas of who did this, Brother?” He didn’t answer, but rather laid a fur blanket on top of your form. The action had you realize that you were shivering.

“We’ll talk about it later. For now, get some rest.” So you did. The second you closed your eyes, you drifted off.

Your dreams were filled with shadows and amber hues. It was comforting, not a single nightmare afflicting your hallucinating mind. But rather, you knew he was there, keeping your thoughts safe and your pain at ease. He even appeared, too. His eyes were alight with that familiar sparkle, his lips set in a soft smile, shadows circling his head akin to a halo.

“Azriel,” you called out, and he came to you, arms outstretching before he wrapped them around you. “You remind me of a falling star.” You mumbled into his shoulder, embracing the warmth that radiated off of his body as he embraced you.

A chuckle brought you seamlessly out of your slumber, and as you opened your eyes, hazel irises met yours. You blinked lazily, surveying his face as a cat would with a butterfly. Curiously, happily, intrigued. “You’re here?” You croaked out the question, bringing your fingers up to caress his cheek.

“You said my name in your sleep.” You reciprocated his smile as your hand dropped onto your stomach.

“I was dreaming about you.” He quirked a brow and your cheeks flushed as you came to realize his interpretation. You softly slapped his shoulder as a squeak left your lips. “No, not like that, you fool.” He threw his head back and laughed, shoulders shaking as his laughter continued in silence.

“You were dreaming about me.”

“Oh shut up.” You remarked, feeling heat roaring up your neck and face even stronger than before. You shifted, trying to sit up to see him better. His hands helped guide you, pressing softly against the skin that sat in between your shoulder blades.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as he came to sit beside you, shoulders brushing. A wing curled around you, and you sighed out at the warmth that felt so similar to your dream.

“Better, but I need to bathe.” Azriel nodded at that and crinkled his nose in mock disgust. You went to swat at him again, but he clasped your hand in his and kissed it, not minding the dried blood that was flaking off of your skin.

“I fear we never finished what we started at Starfall.” He murmured, inching closer to you, brushing his nose against your cheek as he held your hand firmly against his chest.

“You mean you want to kiss me?” You mocked with a sardonic smile. Azriel nodded eagerly, placing a kiss just below your ear. Your eyes fluttered shut involuntarily as you let out a gentle sigh. “I want our first kiss to not have me covered in blood.” He stood at that, tugging on your hand.

“Then let’s get you cleaned up.” You tried to stand, but phantom pain shot through your abdomen. Azriel let go of your hand and wrapped his arms around your waist to help you stand. You leaned against him, letting him lead you to the stairs with staggered steps. He brought the two of you up the stairs, yourself practically useless as sleep drudged in your veins. But he was patient, and he was kind, and gods he was ethereal, like he was a god himself.

You pointed him towards your chambers and he opened the doors, stepping in and leading you to the only other door. He sat you down on a chair before rolling his sleeves up and turning on the bath’s faucet. Water spurted out, immediately steaming up the spacious room and you heaved out a relieved sigh.

“Do you need any help or do you have it from here?” He questioned, amber eyes admiring you even in your post-battle state. You smiled lazily and stood on shaky knees, gripping the arm of the chair as you faltered.

“I might need help, if that’s alright,” you whispered, shame tinting your cheeks at the thought of him seeing you bare in such a state. In mere seconds he was before you, hands on your waist as he led you over to the bath and set you on the edge. He made quick work of your shirt, peeling it from your skin. Azriel then went to your boots, untying each lace and throwing them into the corner where your shirt ended up. Then came your socks, then your trousers, and you were left in a bra and panties.

Red tinged his neck as he kept his eyes away from your body. You sucked in a breath, eyes shutting as you braced yourself. You tried to undo your bra, but your fingers stumbled.

“You can look.” Your voice was near-silent. You so wished to shy away from his eyes, not let him see you, but you knew it was impossible to bathe when your body still felt so ragged. Help was needed and he was willing. Azriel’s eyes met yours before trailing down your body, taking in every little scar that peeked through your blood coated skin. He reached behind you and unclasped your bra with ease, lifting you up in his arms to take care of the last of your underclothes. Carefully he dipped you into the water once the clothes were on the floor and you let out a blissful moan.

“Gods, this is nice.” He chuckled, dipping a rag in the water before running it over the back of your shoulders. The two of you sat like that for a while, the silence comforting as he gently removed every speck of blood from your skin. His touch was welcome, you thought, now that the embarrassment and shame had washed away in the dirtied water. You leaned back into him, the back of your head coming to rest on his shoulder as he cleaned your collarbones and dipped, dipped down to your breasts.

When it came to your legs, he handed you the rag and and pressed circles into your shoulders, removing the tension from the muscles. With your head lifted as you focused, his lips came to the side of your neck, trailing kisses and nips up to the bottom of your ear before moving down the path he had carved. You dropped the rag in the water when you were done and scooched forward, dunking your head and mussing your hair.

As you came back up, his hands massaged your head with soap that smelled of white tea and violets. You floated down again, washing out the soap, and you took the towel he offered as you rose above the water. The bath seemed to wake you, your body thrumming, that electric pulse vibrating underneath your skin. You stepped out of the bath as you wrapped yourself up and you smiled at him. Pure and utterly holy as you stepped toward him, one hand holding your towel as the other sunk into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You pulled him closer and breathed in his scent of pine and cedar before joining your lips, moving in tandem with softness and love. Love–even though you had met only the night before, you felt the love in your chest, in the bond that held you together and you tugged, filtering those emotions into his soul. The same was sent back, a wave of undying love and hope and anticipation as he brought you ever so closer, chest against chest, lips against lips, hands tangling in hair.

Falling, you were falling so hard and so fast. You dropped your hand, the towel long forgotten as you brought it up to his jaw and held him as close as the universe would allow. He deepened the kiss with a nibble at your bottom lip, tongue meeting yours in the middle, moving with the synchronicities and familiarities of old lovers.

He felt right; the piece of the puzzle you were missing finally in place, setting into motion what the Mother had granted your two souls. Azriel lifted you up into his arms and walked out of the bathing room before setting you on the bed and climbing on top of you, lips disconnecting as he trailed those sweet kisses down your neck, along your collarbones, and down to your breasts. He suckled a nipple into his mouth, a free hand caressing the other and you gasped, threading your fingers into his hair again. Your core was on fire, pain and lethargy forgotten in the water of the bath.

“Az,” you breathed out as he released your nipple and drifted those plush lips down your stomach, landing on the inside of your thigh and making his way to your knee. He looked up at you then, those amber eyes as dark as hot caramel and as rich as the taste. Those kisses went back up, a shudder going through you as he placed a chaste one over your bud, then licked a stripe up your clit. A sigh came from you then as he connected, bliss shutting your eyes, tightening your grip on his hair, sigh after sigh after moan falling out of your lips as he worked.

His tongue felt sacrificial on your clit, those shadows of his swirling around your wrists and arms and head, bathing you in a divine darkness. You felt a coil in your stomach, ready to burst at any second as you repeated his name over and over again. Euphoria released itself, washing over you, a sacred promise of more to come as he worked you through it, one hand holding your stomach down, the other pushing your thighs open.

As you came down from your high, he lifted his head and wiped his chin, a muted chuckle leaving his throat.

“Gods,” you muttered, untangling your fingers from his dark locks and guiding him back up to your lips. His body dwarfed yours, bulge digging into your already sensitive core as you devoured each other in unholy matrimony. You swiftly lifted his shirt and he pulled away to bring it over his head and throw it. He came back down, lips moving with yours in tandem as you hurriedly tried to undo the laces of his trousers. Azriel shrugged them off, boxers joining them on the floor. He unconnected your lips, eyes opening to search yours, an unasked question swirling around in those russet irises.

“Yes,” you voiced, and that was all the confirmation he needed. He guided himself to your clit, gliding up and down to collect your slick before slowly pushing in. A guttural moan left you as he leisurely slid himself in until he bottomed out and waited with shut eyes. You whined and bucked your hips, an unworded sign for him that he took with a grunt. He pulled out slowly and pushed back in, eyelids fluttering open to watch as ecstasy took over your features. It stayed like that, eyes searching the other's as he made love to you, as he soaked up every sound you made, every twitch, every tremble until you were coming undone once again underneath him.

You clenched around his length and he moved faster, more desperately as he came upon his own demise, sinking deeper and deeper into you. His lips found yours again as he thrust in one last time, letting his own release take over him, relishing in the feel of your lips against his, of your skin against his, bodies covered in sweat and souls filled with adoration.

He fell upon you then, a kiss placed at the junction of your throat and collarbone. “I love you,” he whispered into your sticky skin, and you whispered it right back, holding him against you and stroking his hair. Sleep threatened to lull you back into its grasp, so he pulled out and clung to you like he would never be able to again. Azriel’s wings wrapped around you and all to soon you drifted away, content in his arms. You had found your safekeeper, and your home was no longer a place, but rather a fae.

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