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#azrielweek2022
Junior Spymaster
Azriel Week Day One: spymaster
Fluff. 1.2k words.
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Azriel fought the smile that was threatening to curl his lips as he lay in bed, perfectly still, feigning sleep. The footsteps shuffling across the floorboards of his bedroom were short, hurried, a little too excited. The soft drag of fabric across the hardwood followed the footsteps like a shadow, and from the dim light he could sense shining behind his closed eyelids, he could tell that it was still early dawn.
Very early. The sun was most likely only just peeking over the horizon.
The footsteps halted at his bedside, and a stifled giggle was promptly muffled by a blanket that was surely being pressed across the bedroom creeper’s lips. Azriel braced his abdominals for what he knew was to come, just as he knew his daughters’ knees were bending, readying herself to push off the ground as she fluttered her little wings and landed feet first on his stomach, her bottom following soon after.
Umph! He heard the little puff of her breath leave her as she landed on his stomach, shuffling to straddle his torso. She was still working on her crash landings, or rather, learning how to try to avoid them.
“Wake up daddy! I got you!” Rune squealed, her little fingers poked at his face, giggling as she did so. The sound of her tinkling laughter filled his heart with unbridled joy. He never thought he’d be the reason for a youngling’s happiness.
Azriel made a display of acting surprised, exclaiming theatrically “Rue! You got me good today, baby.”
Rune giggled and wrapped her little arms around his neck, stretching herself over her father’s chest, pulling her blanket up with her. A broad hand came up to rest on her back, stroking her long, unruly mane. So much like his own but softer, finer in the delicate way only a child’s hair can be. He breathed in her honey and morning dew scent.
“I’m a good sneaker, you know.”
Azriel smiled down at his four-year-old. Her little feet were planted either side of his waist as she rested her chin on a fist, her elbows digging into his chest.
Azriel arched an eyebrow, regarding his daughter. “A sneaker? Or a spy?”
“Oh, a spy!” she corrected.  “I’m gonna be Spymaster for Nyxie when we’re all grown up. Just like you and Uncle Rhysie.”
Azriel chuckled, “Oh really?”
She nodded matter of factly. “Ahuh! I’m good at finding secrets.”
He snorted, knowing very well how much of a snoop Rune was. He barely had a spare second with her mother alone.
“I know you are. But you see, what you also must understand is that you have to be good at keeping secrets, too.”
Azriel gave her a smirk as he bopped her on the nose pointedly. It was only just last week that Rune had announced to his brothers at family dinner that mama and daddy were doing yoga in bed again when Rhys had been ribbing Azriel about missing morning training sessions for three consecutive days. Cassian had looked like he was about to combust from laughter.
“I can keep ‘em!” Her bright eyes gazed back into his, the perfect portrait of righteous indignation painted across her features. She looked so much like him, big hazel eyes, raven black hair and golden-brown skin, thankfully still smooth and mostly unblemished. The only thing marring her perfect skin were the regular knicks and grazes a happy child would encounter. But her temperament, her way with people and her kindness, that was all her mother.
“Oh really? Didn’t you tell me just yesterday at bedtime that Benedict has been sneaking mama’s cookies from the kitchen?”
Rune blushed, fiddling with her blanket between her hands, her mind working to form a rebuttal to her father’s accusation.
“Yeah but… I’m just being a good spy for you daddy! You still the master now, so I tell you all the secrets. But when I’m the master, you gotta tell me when Beny steals the cookies!”
“Well in that case I guess you were just being a loyal subject then, is that right? It had nothing to do with tattling on your brother.”
“Yep! Mama said that the master is nothing without the network, daddy.” She waved her arms about as she spoke and that combined with the stern look on her little face had Azriel grimacing to contain his amusement.
“That’s very true, Rue. Mama is very smart; the Master is nothing without his network. That is why you have to all work together to protect the ones you love and the ones that trust you to protect them.”
Rune nodded solemnly; glimpses of such wisdom shown beyond her years already.
“Is that why you’re Spymaster daddy? So you can protect mama and Beny and me?”
Azriel smiled at his daughter. A whisper of sadness at the edge of his mind as he thought about the solitary reason he had been employed as Spymaster by Rhys’ cruel father centuries ago.
Shadowsinger.
So rare, so coveted.
It was no secret that his shadows could infiltrate almost any court, any kingdom. The edge his affinity over the shadows provided him, and therefore the court that he served.
Rune had always been fascinated with his vein of work. Enamoured with everything investigative and the gathering of intelligence. He wouldn’t tell his daughter today the full scope of what being Spymaster meant. He wouldn’t tell her that the pools of their enemies’ blood stained into the skin of his hands are never fully washed away. He wouldn’t expose her yet to the methods employed to gain access to vital information required to protect his family, his court and its citizens. He wouldn’t yet share with her the mental and physical lengths it takes to reel yourself back from the pit of wickedness you slip into in order to protect the fragile walls of your mind, so you do not lose yourself to the infinite realm of darkness and despair as you spiral.
No, he wouldn’t share all that with her today.
How the feared Spymaster and Shadowsinger of the Night Court had found himself with the most beautiful female he had ever known remained a mystery even to himself. Of all his proficiency in uncovering the truth, he still had no idea how a female as kind and warm as her loved his jagged and twisted soul so fiercely. And to bestow him with two children that not only loved and worshipped him, seeing not fearsome warrior, but just saw…daddy. Saw their protector, their play mate, their teacher and friend.
“That’s right baby, I do it all to protect you and mama and Beny. And before I had all of you in my life I did it all for Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cass.”
He wrapped a large hand around her head, threading his fingers gently in her soft hair and pulled her back onto his chest, pressing a kiss atop her head as she snuggled into his embrace. A small fist came to rub at her nose, her other hand still clutching her blanket.
“Mama is making pancakes,” she murmured into his chest, seemingly done with their previous conversation.
Azriel laughed. The attention spans of four-year-olds never failed to entertain him. This kid may have had his eyes and fierce loyalty, but she had Cassian’s appetite.
Rising swiftly out of bed, still clutching Rune in his arms, he exclaimed, “Well then, let’s go get pancakes!”
*******
@azrielshadowsingerweek
tagging: @offtorivendell​ @fawnandshadows​ @the-laughing-bubble​ @swankii-art-teacher​ @pagemasters​ @tswaney17​ @sakurakittypeach​ @thefangirlofhp​ @wingedblooms​
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freyjas-musings · 2 years
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All right Guys double treat for my fellow Gwynriels..... so Taylor, @amandapearls and I collaborated on commissioning this masterpiece by artist @phantomrin ...
This is a really special piece ... I absolutely loved working with Tay , Amanda and working with Phantomrin has been a dream come true 🙂🙂
Repost not allowed. Reblogging allowed.
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azsazz · 2 years
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Azriel x Reader
Summary: Your son Wren makes his first pact with his cousins and their cries of terror at the tattoos appearing on their arms has you terrified of what sort of promise they've made.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,496
Notes: Only one day left :/
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With a house full of children you are used to the crying, but this, the sharp pained wail sounding from your sons mouth has you and your mate sharing a look of terror before racing through the halls to Wren’s room.
Azriel’s shadows slide away from him immediately, faster than you both could make your way up the stairs, racing towards your destination to gather initial information. 
You can barely keep up with the shadowsinger in front of you – his legs are much longer than yours – as he darts up the stairs, skipping steps as he goes. Your heart races in your chest, adrenaline pumping through your veins, mind whirling into overdrive from the sound.
You could tell the difference between your child’s cry when he was messing around with his cousins, but this, this was a heart-dropping scream of something definitely wrong.
Bursting through the door Azriel’s shadows crawl back to him and he freezes in the doorway at the information he’s received. 
You’re right behind him, nearly slamming into his back as you round the corner. His chest is heaving against your front and you wrap your hands around his waist, peering around him to see your child and his cousins sitting in a circle on the ground, staring down at their arms with tears in their eyes.
Your stomach coils at the sight. Swirled around each of their wrists are three matching tattoos, the exact kind you get when you make a deal with someone.
“What–” the words catch in your throat as you give Azriel a frightened look. This is so bad, so so bad. You hadn’t explained where the tattoos you and your mate and the entire Inner Circle had had come from, but the children must have overheard about it somewhere and made their own pact.
You swallow harshly, afraid to ask what exactly the agreement is from your son and his cousins. Slowly, you crouch down in front of them, taking Wren’s arm gently in your hand to examine the swirling black mark wrapped around his wrist.
He’s sniffling, looking up at you with tears in his eyes, his cousins rubbing their own sore wrists. Azriel’s already sent word to Rhys, Feyre, Nesta, and Cassian. The High Lord and Lady arrive, each towing their sibling. You can hear them downstairs, their muffled worlds frantic and alarmed as they make their way to the room you’re all in.
“Baby,” you sigh softly, sensing the presence of the other parents and your mate behind you. Azriel squats by your side, a comforting hand on your shoulder while Gideon and Nyx race towards their parents with soft whimpers. “What did you do?”
Wren’s jutted lip wobbles and you have to strain to hold back the tears burning at the back of your eyes. You’re terrified for him and you pray to the mother that it isn’t something serious.
“We were just talking about yours,” he whispers, tracing one of your own tattoos down your arm. “Nyxie said he wanted some like his daddy and Giddy and I want them too so we all promised we would get them together.”
You release a breath you didn’t know what you were holding at your son's admission. All they wanted was to be like their parents, and now that they have their tattoos, the pact has been fulfilled, and you watch as the mark fades from his sensitive flesh.
“Making promises or any type of agreement can be very dangerous, Wren,” Azriel softly reprimands while you give the small boy's wrist a tender kiss. He nods along at his father’s words, hazel eyes big with understanding as he climbs into your arms. He hangs on every word Azriel says like he always does as you brush the hair back from his forehead, holding him close.
“They bind you to that deal until it’s completed,” the shadowsinger tells him, “If you make a promise on a bad decision, there’s no forgetting it. Not even the Mother can spare you.”
Your son clutches your arm tightly in his own, scared of the repercussions that could happen should he make another bargain.
“You won’t make any more promises until you’re older, right?” Azriel asks, soothing a thumb across Wren's cheek to catch a tear that had escaped.
“Yes daddy,” your son nods his head in agreement.
“Good boy,” your mate praises the little boy and you finally relax, loosening your grip around your son who slides off of your lap and into Azriel’s.
“Can Nyxie and Giddy stay for supper?” he pleads, not quite ready for his cousins to leave yet. They look like they’re getting similar lectures to the one you gave your own son, the little boys nodding eagerly at their parents' words, Gideon sniffling into his fathers chest.
You know that they won’t be making any more promises anytime soon.
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sapaul · 2 years
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I need a scene where Azriel and Lucien are in the same room (before we get any broken bonds). Then Elain sees Azriel and runs straight into his arms. In front of everyone. Ugh I NEED this to happen. I need this not only for Elain, but for Azriel.
Like this:
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Ya know?
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Azriel Week Day 4 : Romance
“𝓔𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓾𝓹 𝓪𝓽 𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓮.
𝓘 𝓼𝓪𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭: 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝓯𝓪𝔀𝓷, 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓿𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓮𝓻. 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱, 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓵𝓾𝓻𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻. 𝓛𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓹𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓫𝓸𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪 𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝔀𝓸. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓰𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 … 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓲𝓯𝓮.”— 𝓐 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓡𝓾𝓲𝓷 𝓫𝔂 @sjmaas
Art by @luuhdraw (insta)
Comm by me
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- do not repost it please 🥰✨
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clvtte · 2 years
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Azriel
This is a redraw/repaint of my first fanart of Azriel, which I did to participate in the appreciation week, but as always I'm late. Hope you liked ♡
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azrielweek-2023 · 2 years
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Hello everyone! Our Azriel Week has finally started, tell us, what's your favorite Az scene?
Art by adamszkiart on ig
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vikingmagic33 · 2 years
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Happy Azriel Ship Day 2022! @azrielweek2022
I’m excited to share my very first fanart commission. This art by the amazing @artofseda on Instagram!!
Celebrates the 1 year anniversary of my Gwynriel fanfiction series In The Name Of Science/On My Radar on AO3. Gwyn & Az are what finally inspired me to write. I wanted to tell the story of Gwyn’s struggles with flashbacks of her attack and how she sets about scientifically to overcome her touch triggers with the help of our Shadowsinger (who might have a few tiggers of his own) and the very hands that saved her.
Meet the Shadows in all their snarky glory & enjoy some free therapy and smut along the way :)
Reposting not allowed. Shares through stories allowed with proper credit for artist and commissioner. Characters belong to SJM and featured heavily in ACOSF.
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gwynethvalkyrie · 2 years
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𝓥𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽
Azriel invites Gwyn to dinner in town and they fly away because he loves to carry her in his arms...
This fanart was a gift to me from @lib-arts, please do not repost without permission.
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lady-riel · 2 years
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Gwyn: What’s your favorite title?
Azriel: For the thousandth time Gwyneth, Shadowsinger isn’t a title.
Gwyn: Oh so Torturer Extraordinaire?
Azriel: 
Gwyn: Shadow Babysitter. 
Azriel:
Gwyn: Bat Boy.
Azriel:
Azriel:
Azriel:
Gwyn: Gwyn’s Bitch.
Azriel: 
Azriel: I’ll take it.
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@azrielweek2022
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ofduskanddreams · 2 years
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AU Cassian and Azriel on Halloween
Azriel: *wears all black *
Cassian: Hey man, you forget a costume?
Azriel: I'm a shadow.
Cassian: But you wear black everyday.
Azriel: So?
Cassian: *irked* You can't wear what you always wear and call it a costume just because you label it.
Azriel: *shrugs and goes to grab a beer*
Cassian texts Nesta: babe, u still have those cat ears?
Nesta replies: we have ppl over Cass now isn't the time
Cassian: not for that. bring them to the backyard, don't let Az see.
Cassian: *holding cat ears behind his back* Az! Honey, I have a surprise for you! *grins devilishly*
----
Is this possibly a sneak peek at a scene in my upcoming modern au gwynriel fic? Maybe...
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Azriel Week Day 4: Bat Boys
Drunk Confessions. 950 words
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Azriel sits on the floor of Rhys’ office in the River manor, his head lolling back onto the plush seat of the sofa at his back. Burying his scarred fingers into the warm rug beneath him, he watches the flames as the fire crackles in the hearth.
Cassian stretches forward from his perch atop the couch where he lounges, long fingers reaching for the ornate decanter of amber liquid they’ve been sipping on all evening. Refilling his crystal tumbler and Azriel’s, he then hands it off to Rhys who is sprawled on the velvet armchair opposite them. His long legs are stretched out before him, and wings spill out across the floor; a show of utter ease for the High Lord.
“I still don’t know why we couldn’t go,” Cassian grumbles for what feels like the hundredth time that evening.
“Let it go, Cass. It’s been hours. They just wanted a fun ladies’ night,” Azriel moans, truly exasperated, having repeated the mantra numerous times already.
“And what, I’m not fun?!”
Pure indignation laces Cassian’s voice as he squawks those words from behind him.
Azriel sighs heavily, angling his face towards the heavens, seeking the patience required to deal with his petulant brother from the Mother, or the Cauldron, or whoever is listening.  
“No, you’re just not a lady.”
“Technicalities…” Cassian grumbles again, his toes digging into the arm of the couch where he kicks at it impatiently as he lays sprawled across the deep leather cushions.
Rhys chuckles before a wistful look crosses his features and utters, “They deserve it. A night out.”
Cassian and Azriel pause their bickering for a moment, both staring longingly toward the ceiling, lost in their own thoughts, before replying in unison, “Yeah.”
“They deserve it all.”
The three males all still, their minds filling with thoughts of the Archeron women, and what their lives would have consisted of if they had never crossed paths. If fate had never been so serendipitous to allow the three Illyrians the honour of knowing them, loving them.
Their little rabble-rousing trio had only had each other to depend on for so long; centuries, really. Even though they’d hated each other at first, they'd grown to be closer than brothers, truly proving its the family you choose rather than the one you are born into that defines you, lifts you up, and loves you. It was no wonder that these indomitable females had managed to ingrain themselves in their lives so thoroughly that they couldn’t imagine a life without them. They had always been destined to be here, with them. 
Cassian clears his throat thickly before rasping, “Nesta, she does this thing in the bath—”
“Caaass,” Rhys groans, “We don’t want to hear about you and Nesta in the bath.”
“It’s not like that, you prick.” He throws a beaded cushion, Feyre’s pick no doubt, at the High Lord before continuing. “I have this damned spot, right between my wings that I can never properly reach. She always scratches it for me. Every day, whether its itchy or not. She saw me struggling one time… that’s all it took.”
Rhys smiles at his brother faintly, taking another sip from his glass and allowing the liquor to further warm his insides. The thought of Nesta being so soft was still a side of her he had yet to make acquaintance with, but he suspected she preferred it that way. All the same, he was glad his brother had found happiness with her.
“Feyre calls me best daddy—” Rhys murmurs before abruptly halting as Azriel splutters, choking on the sip of drink he had just taken, and Cassian sprays a mouthful of whiskey all over Azriel’s head through pursed lips at Rhys’ admission.
“Not like that, you assholes!” Rhys interjects, scowling at his brothers’ horror-struck faces, throwing the beaded pillow back at them.
“With Nyx. She knows the kind of father I had. None of us had good role models in that department. She knows, that it’s a point of…trepidation. That I’m terrified I’ll become like him, or my child will fear me, resent me. I always hear her talking to Nyx, calling me the best daddy. I love it. I— I hope she means it.”
“She does,” Azriel utters simply, having recovered from the asphyxiation he briefly suffered, his face conveying nothing but the truth of the words he had spoken. For out of all of them, it can be argued that Azriel’s father was the worst monster of them all.
Azriel tilts the glass between a thumb and finger, his eyes downcast as he murmurs, “Elain will always capture my attention from across the room and smile. Every time her eyes meet mine, she gifts me with that smile. No one has ever been as happy to see me as she is. Every damn time…” he trails off.
Rhys peers from Azriel’s love-struck face, to Cassian’s, who is sprawled behind the Shadowsinger in a tangle of long limbs and large wings. A look of quiet elation permeates across the General’s face, feelings of shared contentment for his own brother’s long-awaited bliss.
Silence fills the study for a beat of several moments before Rhys raises his glass in a toast. His voice is hoarse, thick with emotion, both for himself and the life his brothers have been granted through the twists of fate that some higher motion of power bestowed upon them. Their chosen females providing that last divine piece of the half-a-millennium old puzzle.
“Here’s to those strong, stubborn, stunning Archeron women. May they never figure out just how much better they could have done than our sorry asses.”
“Cheers to that,” Azriel quietly agrees, clinking his glass with Rhys and then Cass.
They all drink deeply, contemplating their incredibly good fortune, before a shadow passes Cassian’s face once more.
“I still think they could have invited us though…”
*******
@azrielweek2022
tagging my general tag list: @offtorivendell @fawnandshadows @the-laughing-bubble @swankii-art-teacher @pagemasters @tswaney17 @sakurakittypeach
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freyjas-musings · 2 years
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@azrielweek2022 Day 5 SHIP DAY ...
A beautiful romantic art piece by @kolumnist-art commissioned by me ....
Repost not allowed. Reblogging allowed
This is a really special piece I saved for this event in particular hope you all love it 🙂
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azsazz · 2 years
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Not the Same, But Closer Than You Think
Azriel x Reader
Summary: You meet Azriel at Windhaven when you are young.
Warnings: Kind of sad ngl
Word Count: 1,496
Notes: 5 days later...
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News in Windhaven travels fast on a normal day, but when a young boy arrives with two armed Illyrian soldiers and shadows, well, the whole camp knows about it within minutes.
He's around your age, ten or so, eyes downcast towards the ground and arms crossed tightly against his chest. His shoulders are sunken, back hunched as if he caves inwards enough he might be invisible to all of the prying eyes on him. He seaks a glance up at one of the males flanking his sides, pleading them to take him anywhere else, but this is a war camp and no soldier cared for a child that wasn’t their own. The two abandon the child after telling him that the Lord of Windhaven will meet with him soon and instruct him on what to do and where to go.
He’s utterly alone once again, like he had been down in the dungeons of his fathers house. His heart picked up pace as he silently panicked, but you could see it in his frantic eyes. At least he can see the sun, could imagine its heat beating down on him as he tries to calm his racing heart. His hands are hidden underneath the sleeves of his long shirt, hazel eyes wide and scared. He’d learn to hide his emotions quickly, you knew, as you watched him with your head tilted in interest.
What you didn’t understand was where he came from and why exactly he was here, alone. Had he come from a different camp perhaps? Is he lost and his parents are worried sick looking for him?
Some of the older children run by, laughing and calling him names. How they’d come up with such foul comments so quickly was gutting, and they shove the little boy to the ground as they pass, spitting and sneering at him.
Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight, fingers curling into fists at your rude peers.
He catches himself with his hands and the camp takes a collective gasp and then falls silent. Your mouth opens in shock at the sight of them, scared beyond belief. Living in the camps you had seen gruesome injuries before, an ear bit off, deep lacerations to delicate flesh, broken bones, but this was your first exposure to something like this.
You hear the whispers start, some mothers even ushering their children away from the youngling, from the shadows that snaked around him angrily, ready to strike.
But you are in utter awe. Just like you’d never seen scars like this, you also had never seen lively shadows before. It was a story you’d been taught during your education, the ability to wield and control the dark tendrils of night, you could hardly remember the name off of the top of your head because your teacher told you it was so rare. A shadowslinger? Shadowtamer? Shadowsinger! They twirl in the air like a shield of protection around him and you wonder what else they were capable of.
He watches you wearily as you approach, shadows curling over his shoulders in warning. If they could make noise you’d bet they’d be hissing at you to stay away.
Instead they bring him whispers of calming words, letting him know that you don’t mean him any harm.
“Hello,” you greet, forcing your lips up into a crooked smile. You had a few friends, but none that you truly liked. You merely tolerated the other females because that’s what your kind did, while the males could push, tease, and speak to you however they liked with no repercussions.
You’re young, but you’re old enough to decide that you hate it here.
You don’t want to be some poor female who is stuck taking care of her husband's needs. You want, no, need to get out of here. Away from the horrific traditions set forth that the High Lord wouldn’t change, away from the frigid camp and the laws that kept you here.
The boy doesn’t respond, he doesn’t do much of anything except stare up at you. You take notice of the darkness that curls around his ear and your brows furrow as his eyes flicker with emotion, like the twirl of midnight is speaking to him.
You offer a hand to the boy but he ignores it, climbing to his feet. The sleeves of his coat are damp with melted snow but he doesn’t seem to mind all that much as he tugs them down over his fists.
“What happened to your hands?” You ask. The question is blunt and he wouldn’t know how to respond even if he could muster up the courage to talk about it. You were an intriguing female indeed.
“Can you talk?” The boy nods at your follow up question, still as silent as ever. 
“My name is (Y/N),” you offer softly, taking a different approach.
“Azriel,” he responds so quietly you nearly miss it.
“Azriel,” You whisper to yourself, finding you like the way it sounds on your tongue. From the slight lopsided smile on the boy's face in front of you, you can tell he thinks the same.
You want to know more about him, know everything about this little male who’d been dragged here. Why is he alone? Who hurt his hands like that?
“(Y/N), let’s go,” your mother calls and you cringe. She’s loud enough for the whole camp to hear and the group of girls snicker at you as you pass by, throwing a fleeting wave to the onyx haired boy still standing in his spot.
“I’ll see you tomorrow Azriel,” you declare. Your heart skips a beat when the sleeve of his shirt slips down a bit as he returns your wave before he blushes and shoves it back down with a fleeting glance your way.
He shouldn’t be embarrassed, you think as you follow your mother home, there is nothing wrong with his hands. In fact, you find them beautiful. An array of pink and red scars covering his skin. You know he is an Illyrian, that much is obvious, but what could have made his hands look like that with your kind’s naturally enhanced healing abilities?
Either way, it’s clear that he’s ashamed of them. As soon as you get home you beg your mother to use some of the extra fabric scraps and thread she has left over from sewing Illyrian leathers. Reluctantly, she agrees and you set off to work, scrounging through the material to find a chunk of cloth large enough for what you were going to make.
It takes you all night and you’re threatened with multiple punishments by your tired parents, but it was worth it when you present Azriel with your gift the next day.
“I made you something,” you grin excitedly at the wide-eyed boy. He’s convinced himself that you didn’t mean it when you said you’d see him tomorrow. He is half convinced that even the two Illyrian boys who have taken him under their wings want anything to do with him. He doesn’t deserve kindness.
He shakes his head but you only shove the gloves closer to him. The smile on your face is so genuine that he can’t help but to take them, making sure that most of his hands are completely covered. You don’t even look, too busy studying every expression that crosses his features as he examines your handiwork.
They’re horrible, holes and missing stitches, probably too large for his little hands, but it’s one of the nicest gestures someone’s done for him in his few years of existence. 
He looks up at you with sparkling eyes as you explain, “You don’t have to cover your hands up because they’re different.” You shrug and his throat bobs. “I like them.”
Azriel opens his mouth to respond but nothing can pass the thick lump in his throat that had formed from your kind words.
So you continue, “My wings don’t work,” you admit, and he noticed it the first time he met you, how one of your wings was tucked tightly behind your back. It didn’t move like the other one did, and you flex your working wing as wide as you can, wincing as it pulls on the marred muscle of the limp one. It hadn’t developed correctly in the womb and you’d never had use of it, were ridiculed by your own father and patrons of the war camp until you’d learned to block it out.
At least they wouldn’t clip you because of it.
“I understand what it’s like to be different,” you blush, looking down at your feet. It had been difficult for a long time and there were still days where insults got to you, but it was slowly getting better and you dreamed of a place where you wouldn’t be looked at differently.
“If you even need anyone to talk to Azriel,” you smile at him warmly, “You’ve always got me.”
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Taglist: @violet-shadows
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valkyriesbaby · 2 years
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Se o Az for pai no futuro, ele seria muito pai babão e orgulhoso dos morceguinhos dele, daria todo amor e proteção que ele não teve quando era criança 🤧♥️
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🎨celestial.kingdomsart on ig
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carol-pisarro · 2 years
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