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#the illyrians
nikethestatue · 6 months
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The Bat Boys
Art: Gonzalom_art
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flowerflamestars · 4 months
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In the style of @kayarai, new Effloresce pov options. The Illyrian legionnaires, because Cassian's personal legion must be having a day. Get called to the human lands presumably to do a job and go home. Instead they are given rights/respect/honor/a FUTURE by the most terrifying human(?) woman any of them have ever seen in their long, painful lives. Human villager pov, things are looking up and the fae don't take our children anymore then THIS happens.
Oooo these are both delightful!
The Illyrians, in particular, are primed for this dynamic to be successful. War is their only chance out, and for them, no matter how proud they are of who they are, they're safer/better cared for/better off, miles from the mountains. It's painful, but it's true. Cassian called for them, they came because it's Cassian, but also for them.
And at first, okay, humans have always been strange.
Humans, in their bondage, with nearly nothing to give, still shared.
(Zaphael remembers the war. Zaphael will never forget that particular war for a thousand reasons, but loudest and worst, he will never forget the humans, burying Illyrian dead with their own, singing, like the bodies of bastards were anything but carrion.)
But these aren't peasants. Slaves. These are royal women, in velvet and pearls and steel.
(If Kali had a single doubt, even one, augury a drum resounding in her bones, Nesta Archeron draped in Illyrian knives was enough to tell her the whole story Cassian's face couldn't hide.)
Giving them salt. Bread. Fire. Blessing and bounty and welcome, what they had been denied since birth, the snub a part of life. To be welcomed in honor means you possess honor in the first place, a thing no properly born Illyrian, no Lord of Night, would ever imagine.
There's nothing to go back to.
There's Cassian, the best of them, the proudest, the strongest, throwing himself into the sky just to fall back to earth at the human woman's feet, a sword so feared across the Courts it had songs sung of its blood-hungry edge pressed to her tiny, fearless hand.
It is no small thing to have a liege lord, when you've been denied even the right to have a name.
(Koram is a century old. He's never seen a human, and he doesn't understand now how the hell the fae ever had them in chains. These are their ladies, not even Queens, built like they don't know what fear is. Like it is nothing, to stand against the Morrigan. Illyrian women were allow to be that once, the true fury of the sky. He knows his stories. His songs. He'd rather drown the world in blood than go back to the life he has been given. He is not old enough to remember Shahar, their true lady, but he would have followed. It is no shame, to follow instead this scarce, ruthless chance.)
It is no small thing either, to be treated like people, not fearful animals. Audacity is a very valued trait, when paired with respect. These woman are mad, maybe, no one will say. No one would dare.
But there is questions as to what the hell they're on about, when they start talking about grain and land and contracts. To be Illyrian is to know the tithe of the imperial army above all else- to be bastard born is to know you will have nothing else.
Illyrians are not sent on rescue missions. Guard details. They're considered too dangerous, too uncivilized, too lacking in fae graces.
The Archeron want them to protect their children, no lives more precious. Their elders, their knowledge.
(All these things, Elias thinks, even the richest Illyrian lord in his freezing, iron disciplined citadel, living in the ruins of a civilization they are not allowed to rebuild- all these things they've been denied. All these things these ladies seem ready to kill and die to keep their own people from losing.)
It is insanity, but it is a chance.
On the other hand, the Archeron vassals are used to impossible things.
For years and years they had no intercession- you can dispute the crown tax without a lord to speak for you. Cannot shift around the crops in fields you don't technically own, even if they're ruining you. Cannot divorce, cannot reclaim lost property, cannot, cannot, cannot.
Respect was short on the ground for Lord Archeron.
Being wrecked by debt did not, actually, rescind his title. He left no stewardship, went off and hid in the woods when the collectors came, again and again, stripping his ancestral home until no walls even stood.
The other lords might not have listened to a man so reduced, but the estate remained.
Those three bright girls remained, and there was some question as to what happened to them.
And then they came back. Nesta Archeron, their lady, in worn out clothes and ragged cloaks, her sister Elain beside her. So poor they'd shared a horse, but still they'd come. Before their own affairs were settled, they'd sought the village council, and tried to do some good in their fathers name.
The money brought back trade, the trade brought back ships, the ships brought teachers and medicine and magic, the Archeron lands once more the beating heart of trade routes that spanned the world.
It takes time, to right years of neglect.
The lose their best every year, stolen away, their children. Women who laugh too bright, men who look too faraway. The fae come always, and then, so too, do the men.
Their ladies may run things in their father's name, but they have no legal claim to do so forever. Heiresses must marry.
And then, out of nowhere, the Lady Elain did.
A cousin, they say, an Archeron.
Not a drop of Archeron blood in that one, the vassals know. It cannot be felt, his claim. It helps, however, that he does not seem intent to enforce it to do anything but keep neighboring lords away. To protect their farms. To hold Lady Elains hand and spend his days fixing problems a Lord should not have even seen.
It takes time to notice, the fae do not come.
Not to their cradles, not to their fields. Not from the sea or to the shore.
It is the first year in memory of such safety.
And then, the gheas.
They are vassals, bound in blood to their land. When the binding breaks, all are meant to die. A complete and fae punshiment: to be erased, to be forgotten.
As though it is nothing, their lady tells them the binding in broken.
Like doom can be forestalled.
That not only have their lives been saved, they are offered places on Archeron's personal property. Equally, without servitude or cost. An escape, to somewhere that will be safe, with war on the horizon. The Archerons now, like the Archeron of old, take care of their own. Here, or on any shore.
A pride once, what was becoming a pride again.
There is fae blood among them, of course. Even now, centuries later, a rogue trait will spill over. The millers daughter has eyes like an owl, yellow, and the Lady Nesta provided glasses to hide the color. There have always been those who run too fast, who can breathe water, who live just a little too long. They often find themselves a true welcome on Archeron ships, half the crews of a continent where such mixture, such society, is safe.
Humans under the wall have never forgotten the war. It is songs they sing still, of freedom. Of fighting. Of Jurian who gave of himself to save hundreds from the wicked Clythia. Of Fatimah, who wrapt her braid around a fae princes neck as he slept, killed right in the bower he'd stolen her away to. In stories, they love fae and they kill fae.
In stories, they remember Illyrians.
Honor, kindness, devastating violence.
Fae castes are nothing to them.
But it is not nothing, for the Archerons, to share this bounty. They, who could fly away, sail away, to delay whatever punishment may come to bring along all who dare.
It is a return of heroes out a legend, when they, farmers and merchants and weavers, need it most.
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bookofmirth · 2 months
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In Silver Flames what do you think this meant:
“The world seemed to pause at the words. As if it had been following one path and now branched off in another direction. In a hundred years, a thousand, this moment would still be etched in his mind. That he would tell his children, his grandchildren, Right then and there. That was when it all changed.
Azriel went wholly still, as if he, too, had felt the shift. As if he, too, were aware that far larger forces peered into that training ring as Gwyn moved.”
I don’t want to read too into it and be called delusional. I know some like to say that for Azriel it’s the start of something new. He felt a shift. This did happen a few days after Solstice and he helped Gwyn with the ribbon. Kinda wish I knew what was going on through his head during this moment.
But the wording is interesting. I think this does show that we’ll be seeing more of the Valkyries. They’re role might be bigger/more important. I don’t see how people came up with Gwyn being evil. It doesn’t really make sense to me.
So I have actually written a post about this before! You can see that here.
People think Sarah is subtle, but honestly she's not. We can't say yet with 100% certainty that that quote will be meaningful, but... That quote is a huge flashing neon sign! She's literally telling us that something important is happening. One of my posts for after the hofas release is actually related to everything you are saying here, about fate, the Valkyries, the Illyrians, and what I think might happen next with Az.
I pointed it out here, too, more to say hey, it's canon that Az and Gwyn (and Emerie and Nesta and Cassian, and even Mor!) are going to continue working together. And not only that, sjm used some pretty strong language to describe the importance of that work.
We know for sure that Nesta, Emerie, Gwyn, and the other Valkyries are going to keep training with Azriel and Cassian. We know that after having passed the Blood Rite, Azriel and Cassian wanted to perfect their techniques. We know that Mor has toyed with the idea of training with the Valkyries. All of this is established fact in canon, it is not theory, it is fact. I don't think that it's a stretch to then say that we will see these actions continued in acotar5 is wildly out there, or that Sarah writing that "fate stood up" is meaningless. (You could say the most innocuous, un-debatable fact, like Az is an Illyrian, and somewhere, some dinghole jackass would call you delusional. Don't let this fandom convince you you're wrong.)
I don't know if you read CC or want my input on how I think hofas plays into this, but there are definitely some arrows pointing to "yes". :D
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foxcort · 8 months
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acotar & asoiaf au collection || the Illyrians as the Knights of the Vale.
"We Remember." // Ser Cassian Royce of Runestone, Commander of the Knights of the Vale, Heir of House Royce, Vassal of House Arryn.
Ser Devlon Corbray of Heart’s Home, Second-In-Command of the Knights of the Vale, a member of House Corbray, Vassal of House Arryn.
Ser Emerie Belmore of Strongsong, a member of House Belmore, Vassal of House Arryn.
Ser Balthazar Waynwood of Ironoaks, a member of House Waynwood, Vassal of House Arryn.
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healthyhoss · 11 months
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Albania
Albania is a small country located in southeastern Europe, bordered by Montenegro, Kosovo, North Macedonia, and Greece. The country has a rich history and culture that dates back to ancient times, and its people have endured centuries of foreign invasions, occupations, and conflicts. Despite its tumultuous past, Albania is a beautiful and fascinating country, known for its stunning beaches,…
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ladylokilaufeyson5 · 1 year
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Never Yours
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NEVER YOURS | Azriel x Female!Illyrian!Reader
SUMMARY: You’ve known Azriel was your mate for a long time, but you never enlightened him to the fact. When you find him kissing someone else you decide to take a trip to the Illyrian war camps to take your mind off of the shadowsinger. But the thing about shadows – they always follow.
WARNINGS: Angst. Swearing, mentions of blood and injuries, reader doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions properly. Illyrian males are sexist and pieces of shit (not our batboys tho<3). Azriel is a mean but it’s kinda justified if you think about… 
WORDS: 5.4K
I’m thinking of writing a part two where everything is sorted out. Let me know if that’s something you guys would like :))
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“He’s supposed to be my mate,” you whispered, voice cracking, echoing that of your heart.
“I know,” Mor murmured, one hand stroking through your hair, the other rubbing your back comfortingly, careful to avoid your wings. There was nothing else to be said.
A choked cry left your throat. You had thought that maybe, maybe Azriel had known. Maybe he looked at you and felt the connection – felt the bond that tied your souls together. You had thought that those long looks and small smirks he sent your way meant something more than friendship.
But when you’d walked in on him kissing Elain… it was like the world had stopped. They hadn’t even noticed you. Granted, you’d been in the room for a second and then rushed out as soon as your brain actually registered what you were seeing… But he had chosen someone else. You had waited too long to tell him, and now… now you had lost him.
“I have to go,” you hiccupped, rising out of Mor’s embrace. “I’ll, um… I’ll see you later.”
“Are you sure?” Mor asked, worry and concern visible on her face as she stood up as well. “You can stay here, if you’d like.”
You looked around at Mor’s apartment in Velaris, the one she stayed at when she needed time to herself. Everyone had their own home in the city, because while everyone loved the inner court dearly, sometimes everyone could get on each others’ nerves.
You shook your head at Mor’s offer. “No, thanks,” you mumbled. “I just… I just want to be alone right now.”
Mor pursed her lips but did not argue. She gave you a tight hug before you left, making you promise not to do anything stupid, and to get home safe. 
As you walked through Velaris, you could have sworn that the stars didn’t shine as bright, that the music wasn’t as loud, that the laughter was less frequent. It was as if your city knew the way your heart ached and ached, and was trying to reflect that. You hated the way it felt, the way your soul cried and wept, screaming at the Mother for giving you a mate that would not love you back.
You should have told him when you first realised. When he grabbed your hand to help him up after he’d bested you in training (a rare occurrence, as you were both pretty evenly matched and most duels ended in a draw), and when it snapped into place for you. You’d looked into his hazel eyes and felt like you were home, felt like all of your problems could melt away if you just got lost in them. You’d felt like a fool not realising, like the bond was always there, but now a veil had been lifted and you could see it clearly. Azriel hadn’t noticed anything, and so you pretended that you hadn’t, either. Because Elain had already arrived, and you could tell that there was already something between them. And having the mating bond rejected – well, that wasn’t something you thought you’d survive.
You had only told Mor. The thought of telling anyone felt wrong if it wasn’t Azriel, but Mor was your dearest friend, and she had trusted you with her deepest secret, so you could trust her with yours. You insisted every day that you should tell him, always nagging and never relenting, but you couldn’t. Not when he got closer to Elain and you could see the way his eyes lit up whenever she entered the room, the way his shadows would fade away when she came near.
You needed to get away. You’d have to see either one of them tomorrow, one way or another. If you stayed at the River House then you were bound to see Elain, and if you stayed at the House of Wind, then you’d definitely see Azriel. You both lived there, after all, and he was in every hallway you turned down, every room you walked into. You couldn’t bear seeing either one of them, not for a while. You had to leave.
You flew straight to the River House with a plan forming in your mind and entered without knocking, stalking straight to Rhys’s office. He was sitting at his desk, a pen in his hand, and his head raised as you entered.
“You know, most people would knock–” he started, but you interrupted.
“Send me on a mission.”
Rhys looked taken aback. “What?”
“Send me on a mission,” you repeated. Rhys looked at you questioningly, and talons delicately scraped down your mental shields in a silent request. Always a request, never a demand from him, but you shook your head and made sure your mental defences were as strong as possible. “Stop prying.”
It wasn’t a nice thing to say – Rhys only wanted to help you. You’d known him for over five hundred years, and you knew that while, yes, he and the other two Illyrians were huge busybodies, if you had something going on, he wouldn’t ‘pry’. He’d try to help in any way possible.
Rhys could clearly sense your bad mood. You weren’t exactly hiding it. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
“If I wanted to talk about it, then I would have come in here and started talking about it,” you retorted.
Rhys’s lips pursed. “Is this about Azriel?”
You scowled and snapped, “That’s none of your business.”
“You know, I’m sure if you just spoke to him–”
“It doesn’t matter,” you spat. “Either you send me on a mission, or I’m taking my vacation leave.”
Rhys sighed, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. Sending you away would only fuel your unhealthy coping mechanisms, but forcing you to stay… well, he didn’t want to hurt you like that.
“Fine,” he relented. “There’s an Illyrian War camp that needs… overseeing. They say they’re training the females, but every time I receive information from… other… sources, they say otherwise.”
You wondered if this ‘other’ source was the shadowsinger that you were currently trying not to think about.
“So you want me to get them to train the females properly?” you asked, and Rhys nodded.
That would get you maybe two or three days away from Velaris, possibly four or five if you played your cards right. Maybe by then you would have calmed down and been able to come up with a plan as to where to go from there. How to survive the crushing of your heart; of your soul.
“I’ll leave tonight,” you decided, but Rhys levelled you with a hard stare.
“Y/n, it’s already late,” he scolded. “Just wait until morning. You need rest.”
You were tempted to retort, tempted to tell him that you weren’t a baby and could take care of yourself… but he was right. You needed your strength for the Illyrian camps. The males tended not to take nicely to female warriors, and seeing as you had escaped the clippings in your childhood, they’d more than likely strike if you were tired.
“Fine,” you muttered, relenting only because it was logical.
Rhys studied you, his eyes watching you closely. Even though he generally relied on being able to look into someone’s mind to discern their thoughts, Rhys was pretty good at reading people and their body language. It was part of being a soldier, being a leader.
“You know, anything said here will stay between us,” he murmured.
For some reason, you had a feeling that he knew. Maybe you hadn’t been careful enough at hiding it in your mind, burying it beneath thoughts of your duties and upcoming birthdays and celebrations and whatever else you could come up with to hide it all.
But you didn’t want to talk about it. That was why you were here, after all – you were running from… everything.
“Thanks,” you uttered before leaving.
You could have sworn you heard Rhys sigh as you closed his office door.
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With the luck of the Mother or Fate, Azriel wasn’t at the House of Wind when you arrived that night, nor was he present when you left the next morning at dawn.
The flight to the Illyrian mountains was a long one. You could have easily winnowed to the Illyrian camps, but you wanted to drag this trip out as long as possible. Besides, flying meant planning time, and planning meant that you’d be able to tackle this situation at the war camp more efficiently.
You arrived at the camp just before sundown, touching on the ground in front of the camp warlord and eight of his shoulders. Rhys had told them beforehand that you were coming, but they were obviously infuriated that a girl was going to tell them what to do.
“Devlon,” you greeted.
The warlord had his arms crossed and a frown on his face, causing a small grin to tug at your mouth. Whenever you came to one of the war camps, usually one of the bat-boys would accompany you to make sure they didn’t miss out on you burning it to the ground if you decided to. But now that they were training the females, you’d felt less inclined to do so, even if only slightly.
“So, the High Lord decided to send you to make sure we’re completing our duties,” he sneered.
You raised your chin slightly, the smug grin on your face growing a little bit. “Indeed he did.”
You looked around at the fighting rings, seeing (as you had been expecting) only men fighting and training. The wind pushed against them and they pushed back just as hard, swords clashing against each other, steel shining in the light of the setting sun, dimmed only by the clouds passing overhead.
“We do not need you to oversee us,” one of his men said, stepping forward and flashing his teeth at you.
It was a threat, the way he stood and the way he spoke to you. You could tell he was itching for a fight, and, luckily for him, you were, too.
“You clearly do,” you chided. “I don’t see any females in the rings.”
“Why don’t you get in there, then?” he snapped, rage practically wafting off of him. “Why don’t we see if you’ve really got what it takes, huh?”
You smirked to yourself, pleased with the way this was going. You’d been training and fighting for over five centuries with the best warriors Prythian and the lands beyond had ever seen. This male here was either unaware or too arrogant to realise he would not leave the ring a winner.
“Alright,” you agreed. “Weapons, or fists?”
“Fists,” the male growled.
You walked with him to the ring, eyeing the males who stopped what they were doing to watch. You peered over the edge and down into the valley below, the sheer drop making you want to snap your wings out just in case.
“If, and when, I win this fight,” you began, “you will begin to train the females following the schedule that your High Lord gave to you.”
The male before you grunted, his eyes full of rage. “And when I win, I will send you back to the High Lord in pieces,” he spat.
You simply rolled your eyes, enraging the male even more. Devlon stood outside the ring, his arms crossed and eyes watching you. Was it childish, this behaviour? Accepting a challenge from an Illyrian brute? Absolutely, it was. But you didn’t care. You had to do something to take the edge off, to make you forget the way Elain’s hand rested on your mate’s chest as she kissed him, the way your mate’s hand settled on her waist.
“You know the rules,” Devlon commanded. “No weapons, just your bodies and your wits.”
You grinned at the male, and before you knew it, the fight began. The two of you circled each other slowly, carefully, trying to gauge the other’s weakness. This one, he favoured his left side, which would be useful for you to know for when you were ready to end this. But for now? You just wanted a fight.
The male lunged at you while your back was at the ledge, just as you’d expected him to. He was hoping for a clean win, shoving you into the valley below, but you knew when he was going to strike. The slight shift in his weight as he leaned back told you that he was about to pounce and you side stepped easily, watching as the warrior turned back around in an instant.
This Illyrian was big, as most were, but you’d been fighting against a bunch of big idiots (namely Cassian, Rhysand, and the other one you didn’t want to think about), so you knew how to use your speed, and how to use their own strength against them. 
He lunged again, and this time you came to meet him. You blocked his attack and threw a punch, but he dodged it and grabbed your arm, flipping you onto your back. After a quick manoeuvre you had his legs trapped within yours and you pushed, dragging him to the floor. All of this happened within the span of seconds, and then the two of you were back in defensive positions, circling each other once again. As the sun sank beyond the horizon, fires were lit. You could see the flames’ light washing over your opponent, painting him orange and gold.
This time, you took the offence, throwing punches and kicks his way, fierce and unrelenting. He blocked all of your attacks before you feinted left and struck right. You hit his side as hard as you could, before punching him square in the nose.
You felt no little amount of glee as you heard and felt his nose crunch under the force of your hit. Blood gushed down his face and onto his training leathers and you danced back, prompting him to try to land a hit on you. His eyes were filled with a fiery wrath at being bested, and by a female at that. That was why he had challenged you in the first place – he didn’t believe that a female could beat him, let alone hold her own against him. And here you were, proving him wrong.
You could end it. Right now, you could end this fight, have this male’s face in the mud and the girls training. But you wanted to prolong this, wanted to feel every hit he struck, feel everything before you tired him out.
So you continued the fight, and you even allowed him to get a few good hits in. He got your jaw at one point and you felt your lip split – and yet you continued. You were going to be covered in bruises tomorrow, but it wouldn’t matter. No one in this camp would challenge you again, and you’d be able to lose yourself in the battle.
As the fight wore on, you began to notice the shadows flickering in the darkness. You tried to convince yourself that it was just the fire, the wind and flames messing with your mind, but… you felt him. You felt Azriel in those shadows, watching and waiting.
Unfortunately, while you were concentrating on those shadows, your attacks became sloppy. You struck at the male with your fist and had to hold back a wince as he hit your wrist and got you in the stomach, partially knocking the air out of you.
Voices arose after the blow, and the male turned his head to the crowd which contained males and females alike. But what captured everyone’s attention was the shadowsinger standing at the edge of the ring, fists and jaw clenched and looking like he was planning all the ways he could rip this male’s skin from his body. Shadows curled around him, whispering in his ear and sliding over his wings and body.
Azriel’s hazel eyes slid to yours and you looked away, and back to the male. You should end this. Your lip was still bleeding, as well as a cut on your eyebrow. Your wrist was most definitely sprained, and you were sure you had at least a few bruised, if not broken ribs.
But you wanted to continue. You weren’t done yet, especially not with him here, knowing that you flew all the way out here just to get into a boxing match. It wasn’t fair that he was here, that he was ruining this. It wasn’t fair that he distracted you with his shadows, it wasn’t fair that he distracted you with his mere presence. It wasn’t fair that he kissed Elain even though he was your mate, even though you’d loved him in secret for at least twenty of her lifetimes. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking fair.
But… you knew you had to end it. If it went on any longer, you’d only tire yourself out and give the male more of a chance at winning. So you sighed deeply before pelting him with attacks, not giving him a moment to recover. You secured your hands on his shoulders before hoisting your body up and around, wrapping your thighs around his neck and pulling him to the ground. You squeezed your legs tightly, cutting off the airflow to his lungs. He flailed about a bit, trying to escape, and a few seconds before he lost consciousness, he tapped your leg three times, encouraging you to let go and stand up.
“Well, that was fun,” you exhaled. “Let’s not do it again anytime soon.” You turned your gaze to Devlon, his eyes shining with hatred. “The girls start their proper training tomorrow. I’ll be overseeing it, watching what you teach them and how you teach them. Understood?”
Devlon just grunted and left, his gang of males following him. You turned to the house that used to be Rhys’s mother’s and stalked towards it, sensing Azriel follow behind. You were furious that he was here – you’d come to the Illyrian war camps to escape him, and yet he’d followed you here. Had Rhys told him that you’d be here? Had Rhys sent him after you to make sure you didn’t fail? Or had your high lord sent him because he knew that Azriel was the source of your whirlwind of emotions?
The thoughts swirled around your mind as you opened the door. You were tempted to shut it in Azriel’s face, to force him to find somewhere else to sleep, but… he hated these war camps as much as you did. This house, it was a sort of refuge here, somewhere the two of you could feel safe out in Illyria. It was the essence of Rhys’s mother that gave you comfort, you knew. The woman who was more of a mother to you than your own was, the woman who protected your wings and made sure her son and his friends trained you in self defence. The woman who took you, Cass, an Az in, who gave them a home.
So you left the door open for him to follow, and he entered the home. It was just as you had left it the last time you were here; the hallway to the bedrooms that no longer smelled like Rhys’s mother; the small table next to the even smaller kitchen; the dishes that were clean thanks to the shadowsinger behind you, because the rest of you hated cleaning up.
You opened some of the cupboards, looking for the first aid kit. You found it shoved behind a mace and grabbed it, placing it on the table and opening it. You looked inside for the mirror but found it missing, and you sighed through your nose. Cleaning up your lip and eyebrow was going to be difficult now, but you’d figure it out. 
You sat on one of the wooden chairs and assessed your injuries. Split lip and eyebrow – those would need cleaning and bandaids. You assumed you wouldn’t need stitches as it didn’t feel deep, nor did it sting in the way it would if you did require stitches. Your knuckles were split, and your wrist was sprained. Those would require bandages, which you luckily had lots of. There wasn’t much you could do about the ribs – maybe you could get Madja to do a look over once you returned to Velaris.
“Why are you here?”
Azriel’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You’d almost forgotten he was here – almost, only because you could feel the string that tied you together. In a crowded street you’d be able to find him, you knew it. If you tugged on it (which you’d never done) you knew he’d be able to find you, too.
“Rhys sent me on a mission,” you replied nonchalantly.
While you had come here to escape him, it didn’t mean you had to be rude and ignore him, but you could speak as little as necessary. Azriel stayed silent and watched as you struggled to clean your wounds. He sighed and walked over, kneeling between your legs and taking the cloth from your hand, dabbing at your eyebrow. You tensed under his touch and he raised an eyebrow, pausing his actions. He’d done this too many times to count – patching you up after a fight. You all helped each other after a battle with whatever was needed, but this time, it felt… different.
“Why did you follow me?” you asked.
“Why did you start a fight?” he responded.
You glowered at him and a small smile lifted the corner of his lips. He continued to wipe the blood away, and you two sat in silence as he worked. He pulled a bandaid out of the kit and with featherlight fingers, pressed it to the cut on your head. He smoothed it out gently, and the sting was barely noticeable.
“Are you going to answer my question?” he asked, grabbing the cloth again and rinsing it before moving it to your lip.
“Are you going to answer mine?” you retorted.
Azriel chuckled lightly and placed the cloth against your mouth. You hissed as it stung, and the shadowsinger pulled back with a murmured apology. He returned to his task, dabbing lightly and carefully wiping away blood. With his hands practically on your mouth, you could barely think. All you could feel was the cloth on your bottom lip, your mouth separated from the pads of his fingers only by the material.
“You weren’t in the house,” Azriel finally answered as he moved away from your lip and rummaged around the kit for a bandage. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving, so I asked Rhys where you were.”
So Rhys did sell you out. You frowned at the thought, disgruntled by the fact that he sent Azriel after you. Noticing the look on your face, Azriel added, “It took a while for him to tell me, you know. He didn’t tell me what camp you were going to, so I found you myself.”
You scowled at him. “I can take care of myself, Azriel.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” he questioned, ignoring your statement and reaching for your hand to start the bandaging.
Your scowl deepened, and you pulled your arm away from his grasp. “You’re not my keeper, Azriel. I don’t need to tell you anything.”
Azriel eyed you for a moment, clearly seeing that something was bothering you, and trying to figure out what it was. You didn’t normally talk to him like this. Of course, he and the other two Illyrians could be overprotective mother-hens, and you would remind them that you were a warrior, just like them, but your words never had as much venom behind them as they did tonight.
“If this is about my confidence in you,” Azriel began, “I do believe you can carry out this mission on your own. I just…” He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face as if he was considering his next words. “I just wanted to be here.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You hate it here.”
“So do you,” he retorted. “And yet you asked Rhys to send you here.”
“I asked Rhys to send me on a mission, not here specifically,” you countered.
At the glint in Azriel’s eyes, you realised you’d been trapped.
“Why did you ask him to send you on a mission?” he queried.
You scoffed, “None of your business.”
You snatched the bandages from his beautiful, scarred hands and stood up. The shadowsinger rose to his feet as well, towering over you. You took a step to brush past him, intending on wrapping your wrist and hands in one of the bedrooms, when his wing snapped out, blocking your way. You glared at the male, and his eyes held concern.
“Are you avoiding me?” he questioned. 
“No,” you lied, trying to push past him again, only for his arm to stop you this time.
You took a deep breath in through your nose, staring daggers at Azriel. Azriel, who was supposed to be your mate, your other half. Azriel, who was looking down at you with pain in his eyes. Azriel, whose dreams you sometimes saw through the bond, the dreams of his past which pained you whenever you thought of it. Azriel, whose pain you could feel now, running down the bond as you tried to leave him behind.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Azriel reminded you. You opened your mouth, but he continued, “I answered yours, so you answer mine.”
You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, suppressing a wince as your wrist moved wrong. It was starting to swell, and if you didn’t bandage it soon, the others would never let you hear the end of it. It would be, “you need to take care of your injuries, Y/n” and, “you know better than to leave a wound unattended.” You’d be driven mad, because they would never let it go.
“Why did you start a fight?’ Azriel asked again, quietly and gently.
You let out a breath. “Beating that male would assert my dominance, something that you males are always doing.”
Azriel frowned slightly, and you wanted nothing more than to smooth the wrinkles in his forehead away and assure him that everything was fine.
“You could have ended the fight the second you entered the ring,” he stated. “Why didn’t you?”
You shrugged, not meeting his eyes. You couldn’t tell him. He wanted Elain; sweet, beautiful Elain who could be the perfect wife. Elain, who was soft and gentle, Elain who liked to bake and garden. Elain, whose skin was porcelain and unmarred, whose hands were calloused by tending to her garden. Elain, the woman who spoke eloquently and politely, who was able to get him to smile so easily with simply her presence. Elain, the one who made his shadows disappear entirely.
Not you, the Illyrian female whose hands were calloused by weapons and centuries of training. Not you, the female whose physical scars reflected those of her inner scars. Not you, the female who was rough and sharp, with jagged and brittle edges, the female who had been shaped by battles and wars, the female who had witnessed and brought death to many. Not you, the female who his shadows danced around, as if they could sense the darkness within.
You didn’t answer, instead deciding to refuse to meet his gaze and looking around the house, which you now realised felt too small with the two of you in it. A hand rested underneath your chin and forced you to look up and into his hazel eyes.
“Please, tell me what I did,” he begged. “I hate… I hate this. I hate you not talking to me.”
Your breathing hitched as he stared at you, his eyes conveying the hurt that you could feel pulsing down the bond, even if he was unaware of it.
“You kissed Elain,” came out of your mouth before you could stop it.
Azriel froze, and you wished you could have just kept your stupid mouth shut. “That’s it? That’s why you’re upset with me?”
It sounded so silly. You knew it sounded worse to him, because he didn’t know. He didn’t know that he was your mate, that you’d been in love with him ever since you’d learned his name. You didn’t own him, anyway – he had his own free will, and he could kiss whoever he wanted to. But it didn’t stop the ache in your heart whenever you thought of him with someone else.
When you didn’t respond, Azriel took a step back, his hand leaving your chin. You looked down in shame, feeling Azriel pull away.
“I can kiss who I want, Y/n,” Azriel said.
“I know that,” you insisted, looking up, “but–”
“There is no ‘but’, Y/n,” he argued. “You can’t get upset if I’m with someone else. Why do you even care?”
He spat the last word and you felt anger bubbling up at him and his tone. You could care if he was seeing someone. You had the right to give a fuck about his love life.
“You don’t know how much it fucking kills me, Az!” you snapped loudly. “You don’t know what it’s like, being in love with you for practically my whole life and thinking that maybe, maybe you felt the same, and then having the bond snap in place, and feeling like it was always supposed to be like that, like the Mother or the Cauldron or Fate or whatever thought that I was enough for you…”
You trailed off, breathing heavily and feeling guilt and embarrassment spread through you. You weren’t supposed to tell him like that – you weren’t supposed to lose your cool and yell at him that you loved him and… and reveal that he was your mate.
“The… the bond?” he repeated slowly, the only time you’d ever actually heard him stumble over his words. “Y/n, what do you mean, ‘the bond’?”
You sighed and rubbed your arm, once again looking away. “The mating bond. You’re my mate, Azriel.”
He was silent, and you made no attempt to change that. This was it, the moment where he accepted or rejected the bond, the moment where he either made your heart and soul feel whole, or he ripped your heart out of your chest and crushed it.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
Your head snapped up at his words, at the icy rage dripping from them. Azriel’s eyes were hard and dark, staring into you and your soul. You saw him searching through every feeling, every connection to you that he could find.
And then you felt it. The tug on the string that tied your souls together, pulling you towards him. His eyes widened slightly, and his lip curled up into a snarl. “You lied to me.”
“Omitting the truth isn’t lying,” you retorted.
“I had a right to know,” he hissed, and you took a step back.
He shook his head, scoffing at you and your choices, making you feel small and inferior. You hated how easily he could do that, how easily he could make you feel irrelevant and insignificant. It reminded you of how the other Illyrian males tried to do so, not that they ever could. But Azriel had your heart and soul, and everything he said or did affected you in some way or another.
“Well, enjoy the rest of your mission,” he fumed, the cold fury still clouding his eyes. 
Before you could say anything he disappeared into his shadows, leaving you alone in the house as if he had never been there in the first place. For the second time in two days you felt a crushing feeling in your chest, a physical pain that made it hard to breathe. You felt empty, like a part of your soul was missing. 
And it was. Azriel, the other half to your soul, he was gone. And you knew you’d always be able to feel that emptiness, that hole that was so Azriel-shaped it hurt. You were going to feel it forever, no matter how far you went or how long you didn’t see him. It wouldn’t matter if you crossed oceans and lands and skies – you would always feel like you wanted to rip your heart out, if only to ease the pain.
You would always miss what was never yours.
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thrumugnyr · 6 months
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Pants Brawl for @officialrhysandweek Day 2: Illyrian Warrior
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acourtofwhatthefuck · 7 months
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Practice On Me — Part Two — Azriel x Reader.
Summary: Azriel comes back for a little more practice. But this time, he wants to learn more than just kissing.
Word count: 7k.
Warnings: Some violence, injury detail, mention of blood. Smut 🌶️ some touching and fingering 😏
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“Is that painful?”
“A little. Keep going.”
Rhysand’s hands are gentle when, a week later, you lay face-down on his couch, naked from the waist up. You wince as his fingers skate over jagged, poorly healed scars. You can picture the look on his face without needing to glimpse it; pursed lips and a furrowed brow and barely contained rage.
But he doesn’t let that rage seep into his hands as he smooths a pleasant, cooling salve into what remains of your wings. Which isn’t much.
“Sorry,” he murmurs at your slight jolt. “Almost done.”
There are very few people you will trust with touching your back. It’s too personal for you to visit the camp healer for such treatment, however trained and skilled he may be. But Rhysand—
“I swear to you, Y/N.” His voice is deep, stoic, warm breath fanning your shoulder. “When I’m High Lord, this will be outlawed. Females will not go through this under my rule.”
He promises it every single time he helps you with this. And he means it. Which is why you trust him implicitly with the act.
“I know.” You murmur against a couch cushion. “Thank you.”
“All done.”
As he wipes his hands on a rag, you ease yourself into a sitting position, clutching your shirt to your bare chest. As always, a crackling fire breathes heat into Rhysand’s mother’s home, and the feeling is pleasant, soothing.
“I haven’t seen your mother recently.” You mention, waiting for Rhys to turn around so you can slip your shirt on. It’s not that he hasn’t seen more private parts of your body over the years, nor that you particularly care, but he does you the courtesy, anyway. “Is she well?”
A soft, loving smile curls at his lips. “She is.” And then the smile widens into a full-blown grin. “My father wants her closer to home. She’s with child.”
“Seriously?” You blink, and then you’re throwing yourself at Rhys, sheer happiness and excitement filling you. “Rhys, that’s amazing. You’re going to have a brother or sister.”
“Sister, I hope.” He snorts, squeezing you, and yet also minding your still-bare back. “We need more girls around here.”
“Well, boy or girl, you’ll be the most incredible big brother. I just know it.”
And you absolutely do. Rhys has always been that sort of presence in your life; caring and loving and protective. Stern sometimes. A shoulder to cry on. A giver of warm, much-needed hugs.
You lean into one of those hugs now, not caring nor thinking about the fact that your top half is naked and pressing against him. That is, until the front door opens behind you, sweeping a gust of icy air indoors.
You turn just in time to see Azriel kick the snow from his boots. And then he pauses in the doorway, staring between you and Rhysand.
There’s been no mention of the kiss that night a week ago. Things haven’t been strange nor awkward. Just…normal. As if it never happened.
You’ve combed over it in your mind a little, though. Maybe more than a little.
“I told her the news.” Rhys announces, pulling away from you. A beaming grin still lights up his face.
Azriel’s mouth immediately tilts up, matching his enthusiasm as he smiles at you. “Exciting, isn’t it?”
“Oh, incredibly.” You shrug your shirt on. “I’m bound to get far more stimulating conversation from a newborn babe than I do from you three idiots.”
Rhys swats you and Azriel snorts, and then you’re pushing to your feet and heading towards the small kitchen area. “I’m making tea. Do either of you want some?”
“No, I’m heading out to visit my mother.” Rhys stands. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, though.”
“Give her my love.” You tell him.
Azriel dips his head. “And mine.”
With a chipper goodbye, Rhys is dipping out of the cottage. Shutting the door behind him seals the heat inside once more, and already you have some soothing release from the pain in your upper back.
“Tea?” You offer again over your shoulder.
“Please.” Az approaches you from behind, stopping mere inches away to tie the strings at the back of your tunic. “Cass won’t be joining us. He ran into Sacha on the way here.”
You snort. Cassian’s most recent fling is coming up to a week-long stint, now. It won’t be long before cracks begin to show, and the whole thing is called off, and another female or male takes Sacha’s place. Rinse and repeat.
“I wonder which one of them will break it off. My money’s on Sacha.” You ladle a generous helping of sage tea into two cups and hand one to Az. “How are things with Kaeda?”
You can’t lie — you’ve wondered it a fair few times over the past week. Which is only natural, right? To question if the…help…that you gave Azriel was of any use. But so far, he hasn’t mentioned a damn thing.
He takes a long, pensive sip of his steaming drink. And then shrugs. “I’ve not really had the chance to see her.”
Immediately, you cock an eyebrow. Because Az seems to have had plenty of time for you and Rhys and Cass over the last seven days. Even spared one of those days to fly you to the local market to pick some things up for your father. It hasn’t been a particularly busy week for any of you — slow, even — and you’re almost positive he’s had a spare few minutes to land a kiss on his romantic interest.
Leaning your back against the wall, you shoot him a look. One that says, that’s not going to fly with me, Shadowsinger. “Wanna try that again?” You say. “The truth this time, please.”
He sighs, pressing back against the opposite wall. It must be so annoying for him that you can read him so well. Azriel doesn’t like being read. At all.
“I’m just…not confident enough yet. So, I’ve been avoiding her.” He admits. “I think I need more practice.”
You stare at him. Study him. You’re not sure if he’s implying what…what you think he might be implying. “You’re a good kisser, Az.” You tell him. “Trust me.”
The firm, truthful tone of your voice has his cheeks reddening slightly. He lowers his gaze to the floor. “But I don’t feel like one. And that’s the key to it all, isn’t it? Confidence. I’m just not there yet.”
Fair enough, you think. He’s not wrong. But the direction in which this seems to be going has your heart doing a strange, anticipatory flip in your chest.
“So…” You drag the word out. “Are you asking to practice on me again, or? Because I can totally steal one of the sparring dummies from the training ring and guide you that way—”
“Forget it.” He cuts your teasing off with a roll of his eyes.
“No, wait, I’m sorry.” You bite back a laugh. “I’m taking it seriously, I promise. Tell me what you need.”
He purses his lips, eyeing you for a long moment. You allow him to do so, even if it makes you feel a little naked.
“All I know,” he says, “is that I’m comfortable with you.”
The words are…strangely heavy. Vulnerable. He means them, and you know that, but they’re so weighty that for a moment, you can’t speak.
You suppose you’re so accustomed to your friendship with him — the familiarity and comfort of it — that you don’t think too often about how good it feels to be such a support for somebody. It makes you feel good. Useful. You want to always be able to help him like that.
So, you know you’d offer him anything, do anything he needs.
“If you need to practice on me some more, Az...” Your voice is strangely raspy. “I’m right here.”
He swallows. “But I don’t want it to seem like…like I’m using you.”
“It doesn’t.” It really doesn’t. You keep it to yourself that you need this in your own, little way. “I’d tell you if I felt like that.”
His eyes scan your face, and he seems satisfied with the truth that’s displayed there. He licks his lips and swallows and shifts from foot to foot. And then he says, simply, “Okay, then.”
And you guess this is happening right now, like it happened right then a week ago. So, you place your mug of tea on the counter and push away from the wall. Azriel does the same.
He steps a little closer. Pauses. “Do I need to do anything different to what I did before?”
“No.” You answer, probably a little too quickly. “No, you were great.”
He blushes again, and he seems to be fighting the urge to look away. But he maintains the eye contact like a champ and closes the space between you.
His scent, his warmth, is like a blanket that’s draped over you. You want to wrap yourself inside it, build a fort out of it, hide in it.
Azriel’s hands tremble as he lifts them to your face. He seemed to enjoy that last time — the feel of your skin beneath his. You enjoyed it, too. You tilt your head up just a little.
His thumb makes contact with your cheekbone, brushing a gentle sweep over the area. He leans down—
But then the door flies open, and a snow-covered, pissed off Cassian stomps in.
“Sacha and I are finished.” He announces, not seeming to notice yours and Azriel’s compromising position. “Let’s go to the mead hall.”
✧: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚
The mead hall is packed and noisy, exactly how Cassian wants it. He’s in a foul mood, and so a higher volume of people means he has a good choice of who to pick a fight with.
When he gets like this, there’s not really any stopping him.
Luckily, your father isn’t there tonight, so you’re comfortable sitting wedged between Az and Cass without his paranoid, judgemental stare. But you don’t want to be here — the males are too drunk and boisterous, and you seem to be one of very few females present. It makes their leering gazes far more apparent.
“It was a total misunderstanding.” Cassian says from beside you, leaning over you a little so that Az can hear, too. “Yes, I might have called her the wrong name—”
“I would have thrown you out on your ass, too.” You cut him off, rolling your eyes. “At least know the name of who you’re fucking before you dive between their legs.”
“I do know her name. I just got confused—”
He stops mid-sentence and looks up as, from behind, a pair of rough, meaty hands land on your shoulders and squeeze. You immediately recoil at the touch, turning to glimpse the mammoth of an Illyrian male whose name you think is Tanin. Not that you care.
He stinks of ale and sweat as he leans down and smells your hair. You tense. Cassian tenses. Azriel tenses.
“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Tanin slurs. “When are you going to let me dive between your legs?”
And there it is. Cassian’s excuse for a fight.
He’s out of his seat and on him quicker than you can even register, slamming Tanin down on the adjacent table amidst plates of food and goblets of ale. Blood goes flying as he pummels his fist into the bastard’s face, and then he’s grabbing a goblet of ale and pouring it over Tanin until he’s coughing and spluttering.
“How about you wash your filthy fucking mouth out?” Your friend snarls, diving in to land another punch. “Piece of shit.”
You turn to Azriel in mild alarm. Usually, he would have jumped in by now, pulled Cassian off before he can do too much damage. But the shadowsinger merely watches the affray with something akin to satisfaction on his face. You sigh in exasperation. This will quickly get out of hand.
“Cass.” You stand, reaching for your friend. “Cassian—”
But your voice is barely heard beneath all the yelling and jeering, and then Tanin is fighting back, landing a hit on Cassian so hard that he stumbles backwards — falls into you and knocks you to the floor, right amongst the gathering, boisterous males.
There’re feet everywhere in all directions, catching you in the side and stepping on your hand and knocking you back down whenever you try to get up. Suddenly, the fight is no longer between Cassian and Tanin. Males are punching each other for the sake of it, and more and more of them join in, not even knowing why they’re brawling. It’s the Illyrian pastime.
Just before another foot can swing into you, you’re aware of strong arms lifting you and plucking you straight from the centre of the chaos. Azriel shoves a drunken lout who backs into you, and then he’s dragging you away, his eyes fierce and blazing.
“You’re alright?” He asks over the shouting, his gaze roving your dirtied, creased tunic.
Your hand is throbbing from being stepped on, but the ache is already dulling. You nod. “I’m fine. Where is Cass?”
“Here.” Cassian suddenly appears behind you. His hair has mostly escaped the knot he’d tied it into, and his lip is badly split, blood gushing down his chin. He spits some onto the floor, and his words are thick and almost unintelligible as he cups his mouth and says, “Pieth of thit got me good.”
You scowl, knocking his hand away to grip his chin. “Serves you right. That fight was completely unnecessary.”
“I dithagree.” His eyes glitter, but then he grimaces and pulls away to spit more blood out. “Dammit. I think I need thitches.”
He definitely does. The gash in his lip is deep and pouring. And with the fight still merrily going on around you, it won’t be long before someone tries to drag him back into it. And Cass will happily oblige.
“Go to the healer and get that seen to.” Azriel tells him, not unlike a stern parent. He grips him by the shoulder and steers him out of the door, dragging you with him by the other hand. “And then sober up. I’m taking Y/N home.”
“And apologise to Sacha.” You add.
Cassian grumbles, but the fact that he doesn’t protest is a positive. He can sometimes be so stubborn that it makes you want to split his lip yourself. It would seem he’s had enough drama for one night.
“Fine.” He spits blood onto the dirt path. “Maybe Satha will take pithy on me.”
The fact that neither you nor Az agree is downright hilarious. But nor do you correct Cassian’s drunken, skewed thinking. Nights like these are a common occurrence, and to some degree, you just have to let your friend get on with it.
Cass turns, and you catch him quickly by the hand. “Thank you.” You tell him, because he was defending your honour, after all. “Love you.”
He grins a bloody grin, and then winces as it tugs at the wound. “Loveyouthoo, thweetpea.”
✧: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・ You don’t feel like going home and facing your father tonight, and with Rhysand’s mother’s cottage at your disposal, you don’t have to. It’s not unusual for you to spend nights away from home; usually he doesn’t care enough to even question it. But if he does, you always tell him the same thing — you spent the night with one of your many female friends. No males present. Such a little liar, you are.
But you’re content with that lie as you sink into the couch, your eyes flicking over to Azriel in the kitchen. He stirs a cup of tea silently, pensive as always. He’s asked about your wellbeing at least seven times since you stepped through the door.
You’re fine, you’ve answered each time, and it’s true. With him, you’re always fine. It doesn’t stop him worrying, though.
His footsteps thud against the floor as he approaches you, and he holds out a steaming mug. “Drink this. I put plenty of honey in it.”
Your lips twitch into a fond smile, and you accept it, taking a warm sip. “I was on the floor for a matter of seconds, Az. I have a bruised hand, that’s all.”
He knows this, of course, but trying to get him to stop fussing would be like beating a dead horse, and you really don’t mind being taken care of, anyway. Azriel settles into the space beside you, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. You lean into his side.
For a few moments, it’s comfortably silent. And then he snorts softly. “Cassian’s going to have a hard time apologising to Sacha when he can barely form a legible sentence.”
You laugh, tipping your head back against his shoulder. “Maybe she really will take pity on him.”
“If only she’d been there to witness his gallant display of coming to your defence. It might have impressed her.”
“Or put her off him for good.”
“The heartbreak would drive him into someone’s bed, I’m sure.”
The two of you share another laugh, and then silence blankets the small cottage. You’re always content like this, just…existing with Azriel. No need to be a certain way or do a certain thing, like you have to in your own home. With your closest friends, you have the freedom of being yourself unapologetically.
You finish your drink, and then Az is pulling you down with him, his wing draping around you. You’ve fallen asleep like this countless times — with all three of your friends at least once — and it’s one of the few places you feel truly safe.
But as you lie there, basking in Azriel’s warmth, your eyes don’t grow heavy. Rather, they continuously creep over to that spot in the kitchen you stood in with Az earlier, your bodies inches from each other, your lips very nearly meeting but not quite touching thanks to Cassian’s abrupt arrival.
A strange sense of disappointment hits you. Disappointment that you didn’t get to feel that heated kiss a second time.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” you murmur, knowing Azriel is just as awake as you are. “That we got interrupted.”
He turns his face slightly, chin brushing the top of your head. “It’s not your fault that Cassian has terrible timing.”
Your shoulders shake as you give a little laugh. No, no it isn’t. But amongst your disappointment — which is selfish, really, because the kiss was never for your sake —you feel guilt, also. Guilt that you didn’t get to help Az, despite that being what he needed.
You tip your head back enough to look up at him. “I’m still happy to help, you know. The offer is still there.”
For a couple of seconds, he merely stares down at you. His fingers absentmindedly twiddle a strand of your hair. And then he says, a hue of pink colouring his cheeks, “I still need the help.”
And in that moment, he looks so genuinely perturbed by his own inexperience that you can’t bear it. You’ll do anything, say anything, to put him at ease. To help him realise that these things are different for everyone. There’s no time frame he should be keeping to. Twenty years of age or thirty or forty or fifty, he could have come to you with these things worrying his thoughts, and there would never be any judgement. Only understanding. Only what he needs.
So, you slowly sit up, folding your legs beneath you and turning so that you’re facing him. “Would you like to practice now?”
He eyes you and swallows. And then he nods. “I would.”
You offer him a reassuring smile. “Come here, then.”
Just as you had, he pushes himself up into a sitting position. You can tell he’s tense by the way his wings fall about him; his shoulders squared. You reach for his hand and squeeze it gently.
“We already did this once, Az.” You remind him. “Just do what you did before.”
He nods — more to himself than to you. And then he’s scooting closer. His palm settles at your jaw.
He doesn’t go in for the kiss immediately. You allow him to do whatever he needs to do, whatever feels right. He seems content, for the time being, with dancing his fingers over the skin of your cheek, your jaw, your neck and the shell of your ear. His hand, scarred and callused, climbs and falls, explores each area with rapt attention. He takes note at the way your eyes momentarily flutter closed — an inadvertent reaction to his fingers skating over the pulse point of your throat.
“Is that pleasant?” His voice is deep, husky.
“For me, yes.” You clear your throat. “But I suppose not for everyone. Everybody has sensitive areas. That’s one of mine.”
You’re shamefully disappointed when, after a moment, his hand moves back up. It finds its place at your jaw again, and Az cups your cheek.
“Okay,” he whispers, and leans in.
There’s no chance for you to utter a word as he dips his head and presses his lips to yours. This time, there’s no quick, chaste peck to test the waters. Azriel dives straight in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that robs the breath straight from your lungs.
His mouth paws at yours, and you give yourself to the sensation, submitting fully to the practice. You want Azriel to take what he needs — to get a desired result from this — but as you kiss him back, you can’t help noticing the stiff, tense set of his body.
He’s not relaxed, not at all, and it shows. Something about this is bothering him, holding him back. Nerves, probably. Maybe even second thoughts. Whatever it is, you want him to communicate it, be honest about it.
So as much as you really, really don’t want to, you pull away, your face hovering a mere hair’s-breadth from Azriel’s. He seems to blink, and he licks his lips and stares at you with unguarded concern in his eyes. You know he’s already thinking a million things at once, wondering if he put a foot wrong.
“What is it?” You ask, making a grab for his hand. “You’re…tense. This is no different to what we did last week.”
Your friend stares back at you, conflict a war on his face. And for a split second, you start to think that he is having doubts, that he’s regretting having gone along with this.
And that…that would hurt. You’d understand, of course, because he’s your friend, and this is simply about helping him — but it would definitely hurt.
You don’t want to think too much about why that might be.
Rejection is never pleasant, you suppose.
“Az…” you chew your lower lip. “You can tell me. Whatever it is. If you want to stop this and just…talk…or do nothing at all…then that’s fine, too—”
“Kissing isn’t the only thing I’ve never done.”
The words leave him in such an abrupt gust that you’re stunned into silence.
You stare at him wordlessly.
Of course, it’s not that you haven’t considered that over the past seven days. Up until a week ago, you’d simply assumed that Azriel must have had a whole wealth of experience when it came to kissing people. And you’d turned out to be wrong. It wasn’t unusual to question whether there was more you didn’t know.
But you also knew perfectly well that sex didn’t require kissing. Az could have slept with a whole host of different people, and yet chosen — for whatever reason — to not kiss a single one of them.  He could have built up knowledge and experience in plenty of other areas without ever having explored what many would consider to be the first step.
You’d considered that Azriel might not have any sexual experience. And then you’d surmised that he most likely had.
That, it would seem, is not the case.
He looks more uncomfortable than ever, lowering his gaze and rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand. You want to tell him that none of that matters, that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but the words simply will not come.
“I’m just…completely inexperienced. In every way.” He admits gravelly. “I’ve come close to doing things, but…I always overthink it. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to…to progress.”
Makes sense. It’s a daunting thing to explore, and even more so when you don’t trust easily. It’s perfectly reasonable that Az has protected himself from that pressure.
“Have you…” You clear your throat, desperate to make sure you’re handling this correctly, decently. “Have you ever done anything at all?”
His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m completely well-versed where my own pleasure is concerned, Y/N, trust me. It’s with another person that I have no fucking clue.”
Right. Got it.
Swallowing down a ridiculously huge lump in your throat, you give a slow, pensive nod. “Alright. Well…these things just…evolve naturally. One thing leads to another. The absolute worst thing you can do — with kissing or anything else — is overthink it. Do that, and it’s over before it begins. You just…follow your body’s lead and do what feels natural.”
Good fucking advice, if you do say so yourself. Azriel’s still-unsure expression is the only thing that stops you from giving yourself a well-earned pat on the back.
“Right. Follow my body’s lead.” Az sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. He clears his throat. “Can we continue?”
“If you want to continue, Az, we’ll continue.”
A small, soft smile lifts his lips, and it melts your heart a little. He’s genuinely grateful for your patience and understanding; you wonder if he truly knows that you’d give him, his kind heart, the entire world if you could.
But before you can sink too far into your mushy thoughts, Azriel’s hands are at your face once more, and he’s angling it up towards him.
You wait. Allow him to make the first move. He does.
He kisses you like your lips might disappear before his very eyes if he doesn’t. His mouth slants over yours, and that coiled tension is no longer making his body rigid and unnatural. He’s heeding your advice, relaxing into it, and this time, he doesn’t hold back.
His thumb sweeps your cheek, and his tongue sweeps your lip, and you’re opening up for him, allowing him to slip it inside to meet yours. At once, his taste is overpowering you, mixed in a little with the mulled wine he drank at the mead hall. It’s a song to your senses, and you’re desperate to hear it, feel it, from start to finish.
Perhaps that’s why you’re not really aware of the way your bodies move. Az is shifting on the couch and so are you, and while one of his hands remains at your face, the other moves down and slides gently to the scars on your back. It seems, for a moment, that he might tug you closer, but in one swift movement, he’s laying you down, and he’s tucked between your legs and hovering over you so closely. He cushions the remains of your wings, always concerned about your comfort.
Kissing him like this feels wildly different to kissing him sat up. It feels…intense and yet tender. Fast and yet slow. Like this could go anywhere and everywhere all at once. And part of you wonders if it should go nowhere. Perhaps you should stop. Helping Azriel gain confidence is one thing, but he’s your closest friend, and never before have you had your closest friend more or less lying on top of you, his body moving against you, while his mouth dances over yours.
Bizarre, really.
But you still continue to kiss him back.
Your hand moves up to cup the back of his neck, and you kiss him harder, graze your tongue over his lower lip—
He pulls his face away from you abruptly. Perhaps that was a step too far—
But something in the way he stares down at you, panting heavily, tells you it wasn’t.
“Where do you like to be touched?” He asks you, so gutturally that the words vibrate through you.
And they damn well catch you off guard.
You blink up at him, flustered, not sure you heard right. “I…what?”
Azriel then licks his lips. “I mean…where do you think Kaeda would like to be touched?”
Kaeda.
You’d forgotten about her. The reason that Az is even kissing you in the first place. Because he wants to be good for her.
The thought stings a little. You try to shake it off. “That…that’s something you’ll have to learn from Kaeda herself.”
He stares back at you. Studies your face. And he looks so…so genuinely daunted, that you search for something, anything, to put him at ease.
“But me…” You clear your throat. “I like to be touched in lots of places.”
He’s still staring at you in that strange, intense way. After a beat, he asks, “Will you show me?”
It’s your turn to stare at him then. You’re starting to think that perhaps the world has been turned on its head. You and Azriel, to each other, are familiarity and comfort. You’ve seen each other at your best and at your worst, been there for some damn near humiliating circumstances. This is the male who has bathed the blood of your own cycle from your skin and held your hair back when the cramps have turned your stomach. He’s listened to some of your most embarrassing stories without humour or judgement; just understanding. To him, you are an old, well-worn, well-loved pair of boots.
And he wants you to show him how to touch.
Never, under a million fucking sunrises, could you have predicted this would happen between you.
But you’re not recoiling from the request. You’re just…surprised. You’re not balking from it, nor running out of there screaming.
Nor has Azriel ever balked when you’ve asked for his help, his guidance. Not once.
You angle your body up slightly, just to get a better look at him. And you study him a moment longer. “…Az, are you…”
“I know what I’m asking, Y/N, and I’m sure.” He says without pause. “Show me how a female should be touched.”
Suddenly, you feel like the nervous, inexperienced one. You can totally say no, of course — Azriel would put a stop to it immediately if you did. But you don’t want to.
You want to do this. Want to help.
Your hand cups the back of his neck once more, and then you’re tugging his face down, pulling his mouth onto yours.
The kiss starts out slow and soft. There will be no rushing this for either of you. It’s an exploration, a way to trace the maps of each other’s mouths. You’re both desperate to know more, feel more, before this goes any further.
So, you follow your own advice. You told Azriel to trust in his body, follow its lead, and you now do the same. You want this to progress naturally, like…like it isn’t a transaction. Isn’t something that you agreed on beforehand.
There is no breaking from the kiss this time, even when you’re panting into each other’s mouths. Azriel’s hand is firm and pleasant at your jaw, and your tongues are intertwined, and you’re kissing like you want this specifically with each other. A fact you will not ruminate on,
You nip gently at Azriel’s lip, and this time, he does not pull away. He hums quietly — seemingly unaware of doing so — and applies a little pressure to your mouth. Kisses you harder.
And it’s then — then that you reach for the hand that’s settled at your jaw. You curl your fingers around Azriel’s wrist, and slowly, you drag that hand down.
You think you might be shaking a little, but you don’t give the nerves too much thought. Azriel allows you to guide him. His fingers brush over your neck, content to explore the soft skin there, but you keep that hand moving. The warmth of his palm permeates the fabric of your tunic, and the feeling is pleasant against your chest.
When you finally close his hand over the swell of your breast, you break away just to whisper onto his mouth, “I like being touched here.”
Azriel’s eyes bore into yours, heated and blazing. He swallows.
Clothed you might be, but there’s no undergarment between your shirt and your breast. The weight of Azriel’s hand falls heavy over the swell, and there may as well be no barrier of clothing with how delicious it feels.
His gaze remains on yours as he cups you in his palm. And then his thumb inches in, grazing over your nipple. You suck in a short breath at the contact, your back arching a little.
Azriel pauses. “Is…is this okay?”
“Yes,” you say, a little too quickly. “It’s more than okay, Az.”
A soft smile appears on his lips. You smother it with yours, pulling his face closer once more. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to kiss him again, or what you’re supposed to do amidst any of this, but it feels like the right thing.
This time, there’s no hesitation. Your kiss is hot and needy, and you find yourself bunching the fabric of Azriel’s shirt in your fist as he begins to more confidently explore your breasts.
He squeezes them, palms at them, traces the turgid peaks of your nipples, and you happily arch into it all. But then, without any guidance from you, his hand is leaving your breasts. Travelling down.
And you don’t breathe a word. You figure if he has a question, needs direction, he’ll ask. You kiss him as if you were always made for kissing him, and his fingers are dancing over your stomach, down and down.
“What…” he tugs his lips from yours, his fingers now at the waistband of your breeches, “what about here? Do you like being touched here?”
You stare up at him. And you’re supposed to be guiding him, aren’t you? So, panting, you fold your hand over his and move it down. Away from the waistband. Between your legs.
You fold his hand over the very centre of you. And you wonder if he can feel your heat through your breeches. It feels blazing to you, and torturously so. Like a fire has been lit between your thighs. You’re growing wetter by the second, and your scent must be filling the room.
“Here.” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. It’s deep, smoky. “Right here.”
Azriel watches you closely. Watches your face as he applies pressure to your heat. His thumb presses down.
And you’re not thinking about his intense stare as a soft moan falls from your mouth. Your brow is furrowed, lips parted, and you want more.
“There?” The shadowsinger murmurs, repeating the action. Your moan is louder this time.
“Can you…” Already, you’re panting, but he’s not…not close enough. You grab his hand again, and you’re moving it back to your waistband. To the button on your breeches.
His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t need to be experienced to know what you’re asking from him. Sure, he could probably do this through your clothing, but surely skin-to-skin is better for his experience.
That’s what your selfish mind is telling you, anyway.
“You don’t mind?” Az asks. “I appreciate your help, but…I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want you to feel you have to do anything—”
“Azriel.” You clasp the back of his neck. “I really, really do not mind.”
For him, it will always be about making sure that you’re positive.
Your needy expression must tell him that you are.
You capture his mouth with yours, and this time, the moan comes from him. Kissing seems second-nature to him already. This one is fast and passionate and desperate, and yet he leans into it, gives himself to it entirely.
You don’t know how long you kiss for, but it’s possible that Az needs the time to build up to the moment. To get the nerve to actually cross that line.
You don’t push him or rush him. If he decides that this can’t go any further, you’ll stop immediately. You can see to the ache between your legs yourself.
But then, as his tongue rolls with yours, you feel his fingers at that button. Azriel pops it open. Your breeches part.
You lift your hips a little — a small encouragement. Az follows it. His touch is warm against your skin. His fingers slip past the waistband.
He pulls back to look at you. And he rasps, “Tell me what to do.”
“You can’t do anything wrong,” you pant. “Just…explore.”
He nods. Nods again. Draws in a slow, steeling breath.
And then he explores.
Not once does he look away from you. Not once, as his fingers slip between your folds. You bite down on your lip, not wanting to startle him. This is about him. This is about him.
His fingers dip tentatively through your damp heat. He drags them upwards, drenching himself with your wetness.
“You’re soaked…” He seems surprised by the fact. As though it’s unthinkable that your body would react in such a way to him. He explores more. “Really soaked.”
“Yes, Az.” You breathe. “That’s a good thing, trust me.”
He pauses his movements. And he’s entirely serious as he says, “I always trust you.”
And fuck, the sentiment makes you want to kiss him again, so you do. You yank him closer and slide your mouth onto his, and then his fingers are moving between your folds again.
They inch upwards with ease. And then one of those fingers is brushing over your clit.
You have no control over the way your hips jerk, bucking up into Azriel’s touch, or over the noise that rips from your throat.
Azriel pulls back to study you yet again. And repeats the action with more intent. “There?” He asks, and then adds, “Your scent reminds me of…of pears.”
“I don’t know whether I should say thank you, but yes, gods, there.”
Once more, his finger presses against your clit, and you’re gasping. His head cocks slightly, like he’s genuinely intrigued by your reaction. He watches you closely as he begins to circle the sensitive little nub.
You’re not wholly aware of the fact that you’re tipping your head back — not until Azriel is guiding it forward with his free hand and fastening your eyes on his once again.
“Can you look at me?” He clears his throat. “I just—want you to look at me.”
You swallow, and you nod. And you stay looking at him.
Even as his finger circles your clit again, and you feel the sensation like a lightning bolt through your entire body.
The pleasure is shocking. Your hips buck up into the sensation, and it seems to reward Azriel with confidence. His hand moves into a steady rhythm, his palm seeming to cup you and rub against you as his finger works at your clit.
You will not last like this. You never do. The stimulation is far too much, and you’re writhing beneath him, already feeling that tight, warm coiling in your lower belly — the sign of imminent release.
“Fuck,” you pant, rocking against Azriel’s hand. “Gods, Az, I’m gonna—”
Your words are lost, swallowed by his mouth closing over yours. Azriel kisses you, and he begins to move his finger in quick, flicking movements, and you’re gone, gone, utterly fucking gone, your body a swirling, weightless form as stars burst behind your eyelids.
The climax hits you so thoroughly that you shout into Azriel’s mouth, and you're grabbing at his shirt, simply needing to hold onto something as your hips undulate, desperate for more of the sensations he’s wringing from you and yet so incredibly sensitive that your body is already beginning to tremble.
And the second Azriel notices that you’re shaking, slumping back down against the couch cushions, his fingers cease their movements. He tears his mouth from yours and drinks in your expression.
“Are you okay?” He breathes heavily. “Was that…good?”
Good did not come close to describing what it was. There’s something magic about those fingers that still linger between your folds. You’re sure of it.
“More than good.” You gasp, your head falling back. “I just…need a moment.”
He pauses, before slowly, gently, tugging his hand out of your breeches. You think a whimper leaves you at the loss of contact. It’s an effort not to grab his hand and put it right back where you want it.
But instead, Azriel moves it up to your face. He brushes a strand of hair from your eyes, and his chest is heaving as much as yours as he leans down and brushes his lips over your cheek — an affectionate gesture. One he’s done a thousand times before.
It kind of…rips you from the moment, just a little. Reminds you that this is your closest friend who’s hovering above you. Who’s just made you come so hard, you saw stars. Who’s only doing this to learn.
You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure — but you’re stopped in your tracks by the door bursting open behind you.
You and Azriel move away from each other just as Cassian waltzes in. His lip is stitched up, but there are fresh marks at his neck; ones he seems incredibly proud of. You quickly fasten the button on your breeches before he can notice.
“Sacha and I worked things out.” He announces with a shit-eating grin. And then he pauses. Frowns. “Why does it smell like pears in here?”
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azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden
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readychilledwine · 7 months
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Hellos. Could do something where the reader is azriel mate and they are kidnapped. She sacrifices her wings to save his life. And mention how az is angry that it happened and whatever u think will look good. Thank you.
👀👀👀👀 I, uh, may have a thing for shattering my own heart only to pick up the pieces. So yes. Yes, I can. Hopefully, you enjoy it, and I did it justice, dearest!
Beauty in Pain
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Azriel x Illyrian reader
Warnings - not over descriptive mentions of torture and dismemberment, Azriel goes feral, depression, the usual unedited by an outside source.
Word count -2030
✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️
You were better trained than this. 
That reminder was echoing inside your mind like a war drum, beating senselessly into your thoughts as you were dragged down the barely lit pathway under the temple. You knew no one was coming. Faebane had blocked the mating bond, blocked your ability to call Rhys or Feyre. You'd be lucky if they found you, alive or dead.
It had started a routine mission. Head to the war camps, ask the leader for reports, speak with the females, head home to your mate.
Your mate. The one you prayed had felt the bond grow cold despite the many promises to never shut each other out. The one who'd slaughter every single male involved in this when he found out where you were, who had you, and what they planned to do or will have done.
You didn't fight as they laid you face down on the concrete block in the room. They had planned this, planned how long to keep you on a specific dose of faebane, no food, and no water. Planned the beatings used to weaken you on a cycle. You felt it and flinched as two sets of hands roughly grabbed your left wing. 
You were prepared to be clipped as a form of torture for the information they wanted. You knew it was coming. But as blinding pain left you with no choice but to scream out for your mate, for your brother, for Rhysand, you knew the plan was worse than you had imagined.
But you did not yield. You bared the pain, allowing it to try and break you until the world grew cold and dark.
—-----------
Azriel was pacing Rhysand's office. He had not slept in the 7 long days you had been overdue for, at the very least, a check in, after the missive Rhys and Cassian had received.
They have not started training the females. I will be home or rewrite soon. I promise. The three Illyrian males had trusted you to handle it. They had trusted you would be safe, unharmed, respected. 
And despite every alarm ringing in his heart, mind, and soul, Azriel had not gone to you right away. 
Rhysand's eyes glazed over, his face dropping slowly as he received whatever message he was receiving. He came back to them slowly, moving without speaking as he started grabbing weapons and tossing them to Azriel and Cassian. 
The High Lord's voice was dealthy calm as he finally spoke. "A set of wings, freshly removed, was just found outside of my mother's cabin. There's no signs of (y/n) anywhere in any of the camps the twins searched. The only thing reported to them was in the northernmost camp."
Rhysand breathed deeply. "A female was carried through the camp, unconscious with her head and body covered. That same night the camp heard screams from midnight until early into the morning."
Cassian's breath caught in his throat before he immediately grabbed Rhysand's arm. "Take me there, now." 
"How long ago," Azriel's voice had gone cold and detached. "How long ago did that happen? How long has she been sitting Mother knows where with untreated wounds or dead?"
Rhysand refused to look at Azriel, reaching to grab his brother's hand, before finally whispering. "4 days."
—------------
The rescue had turned into a bloodbath. There was zero question as a panicked shadows all but dragged the three of them to an abandoned temple.
It reeked of her blood, her sweat, her tears. 
It held an almost haunting aura as if the terror and pain of her screams had scarred the ancient stone, marking it to forever echo her agony to anyone walking inside.
Azriel didn't want to ask questions. He didn't want prisoners. He wanted payment in blood. 
He had cut through every single male that appeared in their path before Rhysand and Cassian even had a chance to interfere on his way to the dungeons his shadows were pleading with him to get to quickly. 
And now one last male stood between him and the cell she laid unconscious in. "Move or be moved," Rhysand told him coolly. "I would not push your luck." 
The male stared at a blood soaked Azriel. His shadows were curling over his shoulders like snakes waiting to strike. His wings flared wide in dominance and anger. His 7 siphons glowing. 
The young male moved, allowing Rhysand to grab him and winnow him away to the Prison before Azriel could beat him to death as well. Cassian moved quickly to the door, opening it with the key they had found, before entering the small cell containing his sister.
The anguished sob that left Cassian was the only confirmation Azriel needed. "Y/n," he heard Cassian tapping your body. "Come on, sis. Wake up."
Dying. Azriel's shadows confirmed. Infections. We cannot safely winnow her. Rhys is bringing a healing team. Need more space. 
Azriel moved into the cell, holding the scream in his throat as he was overwhelmed with the urge to run to you. Cassian had you cradled into his chest, rocking you back and forth before looking up at Azriel, eyes rimmed with tears. "We need to get her somewhere that Madja can use to work on her. Rhys is bringing her and a team of healers here." Azriel held his arms out, a silent demand in the movement. 
Cassian only nodded. Standing and carefully transferring your beaten and bleeding body into Azriel's arms, following him out of the room.
—---------------
3 long weeks of silence had passed in the House of Wind. 
No one had gone to Azriel's room.
No one had spoken to him without the male lashing out.
There was nothing they could do to comfort him but allow him to be with you.
When you first got home, while you were lying unconscious with Madja, Helion, and Lucien looking after you, Rhys had managed to get out of the male Azriel allowed to live one very simple thing. 
You let them torture you, let them completely take your wings, to force you to look into death's eyes, and you had allowed them to do it to protect Azriel. You had refused to give them his schedule to visit the camps. You refused to tell them when he'd be there alone again. You refused to tell them which pathway he flew in using or where he'd shadow-walk himself to first.
You had lost your wings to protect him. Your husband, your mate.
Azriel had lost it then, guilt eating away at him, and began beating the male to death with his bare fists as Cassian and Rhysand just watched. They knew what was echoing in his mind. She will live, Madja had said, but she will never be the same. Her wings can't be reattached or saved, no one has the ability to give her back what was taken.
You hadn't spoken to Azriel, Rhys, or Cassian when you finally woke up. You only sat in your window, staring at the sky. 
The one you'd never feel going through your hair again. The one you'd never touch again. The one you'd never taste again.
It was funny, you thought to yourself, to have been protected and trained to ensure this never happened, only for the moment it did to come 500 long years later. 
It had been a full week later when Azriel cornered you in the shower and just held your naked body for you two to speak. Another week passed before you allowed him to kiss you and hold you without him having to force the contact. You had yet to show interest in leaving the bedroom the two of you shared. 
You felt familiar scarred hands on your bare shoulders, wrapping around to your collarbones before running up the front of your neck and tilting your head back. "Dinner alone tonight or dinner with our family?" His voice was scratched from the crying you two had been doing. His eyes were swollen and red. "I already know the answer, I just need to verbally hear it."
"I wish to be alone." He nodded. Taking the cue and leaving you to your window as he sat back on the couch, head falling into his hands, as he began to cry again.
You watched his shoulders shaking, listened to his almost silenced sniffling. You knew things had forever changed in your relationship. 
There would be no more missions for you.
No more trips with Amren away from him.
No more walking Velaris alone.
There would be no more date nights spent flying.
No more jumping from high places together, allowing yourselves to fall until the last possible second, only to spread those precious wings.
There'd be no more wing play late into the early mornings, edging each other with small touches in certain places until you were both begging for relief.
But you knew deep down, more than anything, there would be a new Azriel. One that would have one more thing to hold against himself. One that would have one more moment of his life to look back on and use as an argument for how he wasn't enough.
And you couldn't have that. You would not stand for it.
You couldn't have the broken male you had spent time healing with, growing with, and struggling with. You could not have the one who blamed himself for every little thing again.
You stood on slightly unstable feet, and walked to your closet, a shadow trailing you. Rhys had immediately replaced your clothing, ensuring you would not have to go through ordering it yourself, and had the twins place the new materials into your closet. A simple black dress was what you picked. It would stop right above your knees, hug your torso beautifully. You closed the closet door, calling for Rhys silently in your mind and jumping as his hands appeared behind you. "I need help." You whispered. 
His eyes searched yours before nodding and helping you change into the dress. Allowing you to use him to balance. A kiss was placed on the back of your head as he laced it up. Gentle, but full of emotion. And he winnowed away. 
You left the closet, walking to Azriel on the couch slowly with a pair of his trousers and a black button-up shirt in hand. "I changed my mind. I'm craving that cake, the almond one with the vanilla frosting."
Azriel scoffed lightly. "I am not leaving you to go get cake. I will ask Rhysand-"
"I need you to fly me there, Az. I want to go get the cake, eat it at the Cafe with coffee, and then I want you to take me for a walk on the Sindra. And maybe go to that book store. The used book one."
He was silent before looking at you. His hazel eyes were full of question. "Y/n-"
"If my mate will not take me, I will ask my brother. I want cake, and I want my husband to take me to get it."
"I don't think you understand how heartbreaking not being able to truly fly is going to be, my heart."
You only repeated yourself, voice smaller this time. "If my mate will not take me, I will ask my brother. I want cake." You paused, eyes welling with tears. "I deserve cake and coffee. If I want cake and coffee for dinner, I expect my mate, the male who married me and bound himself to me, to take me."
Azriel nodded. Grabbing the clothing from you and he changed in silence. He stood on the balcony waiting as you took calming breaths and walked outside for the first time in many weeks.
"I am not responsible for the setback in your mental health after this." 
"No, but you are monetarily responsible for my cake and purchases. Let's go." He took you in his arms, holding you close to his chest and took off hard. 
And in that moment, you both knew something new had begun. You were laughing as he concentrated way more than usual to fly. You were smiling at how this allowed you to feel his body heat, to hear his heartbeat, to touch his face. 
You were laughing at how he began genuinely laughing at you. Not understanding where the sudden joy filling the bond and over flowing it like a faucet set to run for too long came from.
It wasn't until he paused in the sky, hovering so he could look down at your smiling face did you both realize something.
Losing your wings was just the beginning. 
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rainingriversofyou · 22 days
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Azriel - A Court Of Thorns And Roses
Recreation of “Fallen Angel” by Roberto Ferri
Artist: moonrosesxart 🖤 [original art below]
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Fallen Angel, 2011 - Roberto Ferri
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theredcrane · 5 months
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Couldn’t resist drawing Feyre in some Illyrian gear after reading acotar!
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nikethestatue · 10 months
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How do the Illyrians sit on sofas?
How do they have sex on the bottom?
Can they swim on their backs?
Can they swim on their fronts?
Are any afraid of heights?
Can they hang upside down?
Why do they need claws on their wings?
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kaelderdoer · 9 months
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Cassian, hugging Nesta a little harder on the days where the memories are too vivid to ignore.
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copypastus · 4 months
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Nothing gave me more whiplash IN MY LIFE than going from acowar to acofas.
Remember when Feyre closed the chapter on her relationship with Tamlin and wished him well? Coz the Inner Circle sure keeps forgetting.
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sapchat · 6 months
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We Are Not Our Fathers
Azriel x Reader
Summary: You get summoned to your mate and Cassian whilst they are on a mission, only to find out there was a surprise at the end of it.
Warnings: mentions of a fight, children, and an argument between two lovers.
Words: 5k
Part 1: You are here! Part 2
Fun fact: this is technically my third fanfic now, cuz I’ve got a part one for something else and I’m writing part two, I just got this idea yesterday while listening to this playlist and was like “I need angst, azriel, his mate and a child.”
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Azriel and Cassian had been at one of the Illyrian camps investigating rumors of… something. You hadn’t been paying attention when your mate told you why, he’d been getting dressed while telling. So, you could see the distraction at the time. It had been at least two hours since your mate had left and you got summoned down the bond, and a shadow seemed to tug at your hand.
So, following the bond you appeared in a typical Illyrian Steppes living room, with Azriel at the top of the steps.
“Hey, we uh, need you up here. We thought we were done but Cass found someone.” Azriel said meeting me at the bottom of the steps and grabbing a hand, rubbing his fingers on my wrist. He picked the habit up a few years into our bond, he says it keeps him grounded, especially after or during missions like these. Nodding my head, I followed the narrow steps behind him to see Cassian standing in the doorway of one of the rooms, there was a smidge of blood on the side of a wall, so I wasn’t sure what I was going to walk in on.
A little winged child was not what I was expecting. Cassian looked at me sheepishly then nodded to the side so the three of us could talk.
“So, I’m going to assume we didn’t know there was a child here?” I asked leaning against the wall.
“From what we could tell there were no reports of a child when we first started getting reports of the retaliation happening. My shadows also didn’t pick up on a child when we got here, so either he was just hiding really well because of the guests in the house, or he snuck in.” Azriel responded.
“Any idea how much he heard? Or what does his parental situation look like?” I asked, I needed to know how bad this situation could be. Especially if this child doesn’t have a family because of its father’s or mother’s choices.
“For the most part, some of them went easy. Only three of ‘em put up any real fight, hence some of the blood there by your head,” Cassian started.
“Ew, thanks for telling me that one.” I’ll just shuffle to the side.
“As for a possible guardian, he hasn’t answered any questions. He did call me a bastard though, so I guess he has listened to something while around them.” Cassian finished. He seemed almost more stressed than I. I assume because he’s become quite partial to being babysitter for Nyx in the last few months for Feyre and Rhysand to be able to go out.
“What do you think, he’s probably what four, maybe five. You have more experience in working with kids, and with Madja, what do you think his outcome is with what he’s been dealt.” Azriel asked, dragging a scarred hand down his face.
“All children are different. One could experience something awful like the death of a parent and not remember anything about it. Others could never recover from it and grow up acting out the rest of their lives. It’s just a matter of how they get help. And knowing this camp, they probably won’t get much mental help at all. You two should know that” It’s not what they wanted to hear I imagine, but it was the truth. “So, what’s the plan? I assume if you have summoned me here you want me to go talk to him?”
“Yea actually, that’s exactly what so thanks for offering that so we don’t have to ask.” Cassian states rubbing the back of his head. Little shit.
Sighing, I turn my eyes to my mates, who just shrugged. I’ve been left here with the two most awkward people when it comes to random kids. Such a surprise came from the man-child Cassian himself. I roll my eyes, but send something to calm down the bond, and turn to go into the room.
The child is on the smaller side, evidence of the winter that’s still in the mountains so it’s evident his family doesn’t have much money for food. He’s got some dirt on his clothes so he’s either been out playing today or he just doesn’t have many clothing options. His wings were on the smaller side for what we assume his age group is, so he either is just going to have slightly smaller wings, or he’s developmentally delayed for his possible age. Probably due to the lack of food and hygiene.
I step slowly into the room, trying to make my slightly tall frame smaller. “Hi there. What’s your name?”
The little boy looked at me with wide hazel eyes, a twinkle in it that I couldn’t tell meant he was scared or intrigued by my presence. “Hawthorne.”
“Hawthorne huh?” You ask, then tell him your name, “Are you okay Hawthorne?” I ask him, he sits up just a little taller, a twitch in his bat-like wing following after.
He nodded his head in response, and I nodded back in understanding. “I was wondering who you were here with buddy? It’s okay if I call you buddy, right?”
“I was with my daddy. and I don’t know if you can call me buddy. Daddy’s usually the only one that does. Daddy said it’s cause we’re friends, but I don’t know you.” He answers sheepishly looking around my body towards the end, telling me I have a shadow, likely two of them.
“Well, if I tell you something about me, and then you tell me something, then we would be friends, wouldn’t we?” He hesitates, thinking about the question then nods his head quickly.
“Okay, well you know my name already,” I say then move to sit on the corner of the bed and make it seem like I’m thinking about my fact, “One of my favorite things ever, is getting to go and watch the sunrise or sunset as it comes up or down, and it shine on the soft snow. It’s really pretty.” I say, his head perks up a little at what I tell him.
“I like that too! I also like it when it storms, 'cause that means I don’t have to go out and I get to stay inside with my daddy.” He says. I smile at his enthusiasm of getting to share something we both like.
“I’ll tell you another secret then.” His eyes get really wide, and I feel a questioning brush through the bond. “I also like it when it storms. Because that means I get to stay inside with my friends.”
“Are they your friends?” Hawthorne asks looking at Cassian and Azriel behind me.
“Yeah, those are my really good friends, Cassian and Azriel. They… came to talk to the people that were downstairs. Did you know them?” I ask, glancing at the two males behind me, who are trying to seem small, but with the size of Cassian and Azriel’s wings. They’re failing.
“It was my daddy and their friends. I heard lots of yelling. And that they called your friends bastards. So, I did when they came up here. Where is my daddy?” I looked at Azriel for an answer, he looked down and then at Hawthorne.
“We took your father somewhere so we could talk with them. Do you have a mother we could take you to? Or anyone else.” Azriel answered the child.
Hawthorne shook his head no, “Daddy says mommy died when I was little, even smaller than now. And daddy says I’m the only thing he has left. But I think that’s silly 'cause we have neighbors!”
I sigh and look at my mate and Cassian, I then look back to the hallway and back to the child, “Hawthorn I’m going to go talk with my friends really quick, are you okay here?” The boy nods his head and watches as the three of us leave the room.
It’s now my turn to rub my hands down my face. “What do we do with him? I assume mom either died in childbirth or from sickness. And now we’ve got dad where he’s going to probably be punished for what they’ve been planning.”
Cassian almost winces at the last part, “His father was one of the people to put up a fight. We’ve got him in Hewn City right now, one of the others said he’s the ring leader for wanting to try and get rid of Rhys, and ‘go back to the old ways.’”
“Gotta love males and their ever-needing reason to be on top,” Azriel said laying back against the wall across from me, one of his feet resting between my ankles.
“We asked Rhys what he thought. He thinks it should be up to you.” Cassian said.
I processed the question for a second. Thinking about the options that are available. If Hawthorne stays, he’ll be homeless, wandering the streets like Cassian did; and based on how he looks already, he probably wouldn’t last long. Or taking him with us. To Velaris and trying to find him a place there. He could stay in the House of Wind until we find somewhere or someone.
I look at Azriel and he nods, knowing what I’m going to decide. If I had it my way, there would be no children wandering the roads here in the camps. But the orphanage idea has been slow, Devlon the only one wanting to even entertain the idea.
“Take him with us. He’ll be better off in Velaris, and until we can find somewhere permanent, he can stay in the House with us all.” I say, Cassian nods knowing I’m making the decision based on what he’s told me of his past before Rhys and his mother.
“Looks like you’ll get a friend Cassian, I’ll be sure to set up playdates.” Azriel says pushing off the way and patting his brother on the back.
Cassian had a shocked look on his face, eyes following Azriel as he followed me back into the room Hawthorne was patiently waiting in.
“Hey, Hawthorne? How about you come with me and my friends for a little bit, until we can see if your father gets into trouble, okay?” I asked going in and sitting on his bed, angling my body to be eye level with the winged boy. He seemed to sit and think about it for a second, then spared Azriel a questioning look before looking back at me.
“Will I still get to do my training?”
My eyes widen just a tad. Training at five? I look over my shoulder to Cassian and Azriel in question.
“Yeah me, and Cassian can help with that. We’re both really going at flying so we can help you learn some.” Azriel told the child, putting a lot of emphasis on them being so good at flying. This seemed to make the boy happy.
“Okay then. I guess I’ll come with you. But I get to bring my toys!”
“We wouldn’t expect you to leave them behind buddy. Now where are your clothes?” I said standing from the bed and ruffling my fingers through his dark brown almost black hair.
Hawthorne jumped from the bed, his little wings flapping as he did, and ran to the dresser in the corner of the room. He pulled open a drawer almost at eye level and grabbed what little clothes sat in there. “Here they are!” He ran back over and handed them to me. He only had two shirts and another pair of pants, plus only a few pairs of undergarments.
I looked in the direction of my mate and he nodded at what I was thinking. We’ll have to get him some more clothes. I held my hand out and Azriel summoned a bag from the shadows and handed it to me. I usually use it for the farmers market, but I’ll just get a new one.
“Okay, bubs, come here and I’ll hold you while Azriel takes us back to the house.” The boy hopped over with a questioning look on his face.
“He’s going to fly both of us to your house?”
“Nope! He’s going to do something called winnow, which means,” I sat for a second thinking how to explain this to a child, “he’ll grab my and Cassian's hand, and then we’ll disappear and then reappear in the house!” Yeah, that was a great explanation.
Hawthorne seemed to question it for a second, then came over and all but crawled up into my arms. I moved the bag to my shoulder and then joined Azriel and Cassian. The three of us all looked at each other as if questioning what I’d decided.
And into the shadows we went, only for Azriel to then grab onto me tighter to glide us down to the balcony of the House of Wind. Hawthorne gripped my neck tighter looking around at all he could see of Velaris. And I knew I had made a good decision for the boy.
Feet touching the ground Hawthorne all but leaped from my arms to run and look over the balcony, pulling himself up by using his feet on the spindles to gain leverage to look out. Mouth opening by the second, I leaned back against Az watching the boy. He’s never seen so many people at once living in such a beautiful place.
“Hawthorne, wanna go get a quick snack before we get you cleaned up in a tub?” I asked leaving my mates front to join the boy at the railing. He looked up at me with wide eyes before looking back out towards the Sidra. “It’ll all still be here when we’re done. And if you’re not tired then you can even see it once the sun goes down. It looks even better.” He turned back with a slightly toothless grin and nodded enthusiastically, jumping from the side, and gripping my hand swinging from it.
Walking into the sitting room I walked the boy towards the kitchen. Already sitting on the counter was a little dinner for the boy, the House instantly knowing what was needed of it. I helped him up onto a stool he quickly dug into his dinner.
“Easy now, don’t want to eat too fast and make yourself sick,” I advised brushing a finger across his back. I walked around the counter and grabbed a small cup and filled it with water so he could drink as well.
Once he was done eating, he quickly gulped down the water and brushed his mouth on his hand, then proceeded to wipe the hand on his shirt. Boys. I grabbed him before he had a chance to run off and walked him up to mine and Azriel’s bathing room where Az sat pouring a few drops of bubbles into the bath.
I set Hawthorne down on the ground and allowed him to undress so he could climb in the bath and gave my mate a quick peck on the cheek in thanks. Admiration flowed down his side of the bond as I leaned over and started wetting Hawthorne’s hair. He splashed around a little playing with the bubbles as I washed the grime off of him.
Once I was done, I grinned and grabbed a handful of bubbles and placed them on his head. The little Illyrian quickly looked up at me and proceeded to grin. And without a moment's notice he flapped his wings in the water spraying water all over me.
We both sat in silence for a little bit, me in shock and him with a look that said, ‘Uh oh’. Then I started laughing, and Hawthorne quickly realized he wasn’t in trouble for getting water over me.
After his bath, and the fight of drying him off, and the battle of getting him dressed. I did as I had promised and walked him back to one of the balconies so he could watch the ending of the sunset and all the lights of Velaris come on. We sat quickly, him in amazement, me writing down some reports to send to Rhys in the morning.
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It was in the middle of the night I was awoken to one of Azriels shadows, Azriel rousing from sleep himself and moving a wing off of me to see what was happening. Then I heard soft padding down the hall, and a shuffling of wings. I then heard the door move a bit as someone jumped and grabbed the doorknob, and the door quietly moved open.
Raising our heads, we were greeted with Hawthorne sniffling as he waddled into the room. He looked up at the two of us from the foot of the bed, glancing back and forth. I glanced at Azriel and silently asked if he’d allow the boy in the bed with us.
Azriel looked at me, then flopped back on his stomach and grumbled “Once you feed them and let them sleep in the bed, they end up staying. Look at Cass.”
I lightly slapped his arm and raised up more and nodded to my side of the bed. Hawthorne quickly shuffled over and climbed his way into the bed and my arms. “Wanna talk about it?” I quietly asked.
He shook his head and placed his wet face into my neck. I hummed an okay and moved the blankets back over us and went back to sleep, Azriel’s wing shifting back over as he moved around.
In the morning I awoke to an empty bed, not unusual with Az doing morning training, but I distinctly remember a little boy crawling into the bed in the night as well.  
Climbing out of bed, a shadow greeted me happily and started leading me in the direction of the living room; and was greeted by Cassian holding the boy in the air telling him to get ready, and Azriel sat in a chair drinking tea.
“If he breaks something Cassian, you get to tell Rhys.” I said, walking further into the room and joining Azriel on the armrest, his hand wrapping around my hip and patting it. Azriel tilted his head in a way saying, ‘That’ll be fun’ and went back to his morning readings.
“Hey, we learn to fly by being dropped from different heights, I figured you prefer it in the living room, where he could land on the couch.” The general replied, letting go of the boy and allowing him to flap-glide his way to the couch in question.
I let the two continue and looked down to my mate, “Wanna join me in the kitchen, so we could talk about H-A-W-T-H-O-R-N-E’s F-A-T-H-E-R?” He nodded his head and took my hand to lead me in the direction of said room. Already on the counter was my breakfast, courtesy of the house which I thanked, and a steaming glass of coffee.
“I went earlier this morning. He’s not wanting to give us anything. Rhys wants to make an example of them.” Azriel said going straight to the point. I looked up from putting jam on my toast, my eyes trailing to the sounds of the child’s laughter and Cassians' praise.
“What about Hawthorne?”
Azriel sighed, already knowing I wasn’t going to let this go without a fight. Either with him or our High Lord. “Rhys is going to leave that up to you. His recommendation thought was to find someplace around Velaris so he wouldn’t be in a camp where issues may arise in the future. When he’s older.”
I looked sharply up at what he said. “What is that supposed to mean?” I made sure to keep my voice somewhat low so as to not raise attention to us.
“We both know what he means. He’s just trying to cover future bases because he has Nyx now.” Azriel tried to calm down, resting a hand on top of mine. I pulled it back from him immediately.
“No Azriel I don’t know what you mean. He’s a child what are you two trying to say?” I was angry. He’s five, if that. What was there to possibly worry about to ‘keep an eye on him in the future.’
Azriel said your name then continued, “His father was plotting to get a group of people to kill Rhys. Maybe worse.” Azriel almost seemed angry at the position I had taken, in defending this threat against his High Lord. But the threat was a child.
I glared at Azriel and all but snarled when I said, “Sons are NOT their fathers Azriel. You of all people should know that.” I even pointed in his direction for emphasis on my statement, his hazel eyes going wide in surprise at it. Shock and hurt flowed down the bond, and I pushed my feelings of anger towards him.
Turning I leave my breakfast to go join Cassian and the deemed threat in the other room to watch him stretch his wings.
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It was later in the evening, after playing with the child and having Cassian take us down to the shopping district so he could have more clothes that I had finally let myself think about the argument from earlier in the day. I had already put Hawthorne to bed almost two hours ago and was down in the kitchen sipping wine. Setting the glass down on the counter I ran my hands down my face in frustration, and then came some shuffling.
Turning my head, I expected Azriel but found Hawthorne. Bleary-eyed from what little sleep he got. “Hey, what are you doing back up, it’s late.”
The little dark-haired child rubbed his eyes, his other hand gripping a little black cat stuffed animal he begged to have. “I have trouble sleeping in the bed. It’s super soft.” His eyebrows furrowed together and then he said, “The shadows also keep me awake by playing with my hair.”
A few of Azriel’s shadows had taken a little liking to the boy, much unlike their master, it seemed. “Well. Since you’re awake, want some hot chocolate?” I asked, the boy seemed confused at my words and asked what hot chocolate was. “Hot cocoa?” He shook his head in confusion again.
“Come on, I’ll make us some cups and you can try it,” I said lifting him up to sit on the counter and wiped my finger at some of the dried drool on his cheek.
Turning to a cabinet, I grabbed two mugs to set beside him and continued to pull supplies out to make the cocoa. Hawthorne watched every move I made, measuring out the ingredients, putting them into a pot to warm up, and even helping stir every now and then. Once it was done, I moved it over to the side to allow it to cool a bit more before putting the drink into the mugs.
“Now here’s the fun part. I like to add some extra things to mine.”
Hawthorne seemed interested in whatever it was I was going to add.
“I like to take this white stuff, called whipped cream, and put it on top, then add this stuff here called cinnamon. Do you wanna try mine and see if you like it for yours?” I asked, Hawthorne seemed to think deeply about it, furrowed eyebrows, and all then eagerly nodded his head. I carefully handed him my cup and he took a little sip, whip cream getting on his upper lip and nose, then made a loud ‘ahh’ sound after gulping it down.
“I’d like some please!” The boy eagerly handed my mug back and watched me add it to his smaller mug.
We sat side by side sipping at our drinks, Hawthorne’s eyes drooping more and more as he drank before he set his almost empty mug on the counter and yawned.
“Ready to go back to bed?” He seemed a little hesitant and then said something that broke my heart.
“I don’t wanna sleep by myself, I’m scared someone’s going to come and get me.” He didn’t want to make eye contact.
I looked at him a little inquisitively, “Why do you think someone’s coming to get you?”
“Well, I really liked being with Daddy, even if I didn’t get much food. And then you guys came and took my daddy and me, because daddy was being bad. But you have been really nice, and Cassin has been helping me fly, and even though Azzie don’t like me he still lets me play with his shadows, and you guys have food and it’s warm-“ I stopped him before he could continue working himself up.
“Hawthorne, you don’t have to go back to the camp if you don’t want to. You know that right?” I said rubbing his hand in a comforting way.
He seemed sheepish as he nodded then asked, “I would get to stay here with you? And Cassin and Azzie?”
I sighed trying to think of an answer, “I don’t know if you’d get to stay with us. You could go to another place that would love you very much.”
Hawthorne didn’t like that answer. Tears forming in his little hazel eyes, lips wobbling, and I knew I needed to backtrack.
“Hey, how about this buddy?” He sniffed and ran a hand over his eye, “How about we pause this conversation, and me and you go sleep? Then we can talk when I get some answers.” Answers only the Inner Circle could answer.
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It took Hawthorne only 20 minutes to fall back to sleep in his room and me another hour lying beside Azriel. It was early morning when I awoke to Azriel getting up himself.
“Think you could call a meeting about little bits?” I asked rubbing my hands down my face.
Azriel sighed and sat back in the bed beside me. “You shouldn’t get attached to him; you know that. And it’s not that I think that he’s going to become his father or that I hate him. I heard you guys’ last night, and what you both talked about.” He sat there for a second licking his lips as I cringed knowing he heard us, “I do like him. He’s a sweet kid, and I’m glad he’s had a better life than most Illyrians-”
I stopped him, “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I know you’re not your father and I should’ve never. Ever. Compared you to him.”
“I know. You were angry and believed you had to defend him. I’m proud of you for that. But if you really want to discuss what happens with him, then I think we should talk.” Azriel said, grabbing my hand and holding it as he laid back across my stomach.
I nodded, and we started talking. About all outcomes for Hawthorne. What would happen to him, how he’d be raised, all of it. Then we went to the River House. And I joined the Inner Circle as we talked about him. Rhysand’s concerns, Amren’s and Mor’s surprise, Feyre’s support in what would happen, and how it would all be dealt with.
At the end we had an answer.
It was later in the day that I asked Hawthorne if he wanted to go walk around town with Azriel. I was slowly walking behind as Azriel walked somewhat awkwardly with the boy, talking with him as Hawthorne was eagerly pointing around at different shops.
Hawthorne’s eyes widened and grabbed Azriels’ hand, the older Illyrian tensing up at the innocent little child grabbing his scarred hands and dragged him over to a bakery to press his face into the window and stare at the sweets.
“Can we go in there?” Hawthorne asked eagerly looking between Azriel and me. Azriel looked to me for some guidance, letting me control the situation. Nodding my head, Azriel led the three of us into the bakery and let the boy pick what he wanted and got me my favorite treat too.
I led Hawthorne back outside so we could eat, take in the sights, and talk to Hawthorne like we needed to.
“Hey Hawthrone, remember the conversation from last night? Can me and Azriel talk to you about it?” Hawthrone seemed more downtrodden at the reminder of last night but nodded his head.
“Hawthorne, I got to visit your dad before we left, and I just wanted you to know that he isn’t going to be able to come home. And because of that, we need to find you a good home.” Azriel started out, not telling the boy his father wasn’t going to come home. Rhys did have to make an example and couldn’t just pardon him because he had a son.
“Azriel and I have been talking with some people, and we’re wondering what you want to do,” I said, handing the boy a napkin to clean his face as he ate. He glanced between Azriel and me, then down at the table.
“Where would I go if Daddy can’t take me?” he asked shyly.
“Well, we could find you a loving home here, in the city. Where you would be cared for and get to learn all kinds of things with kids your age and everything. Another choice is we find you a home back at your camp, somewhere that’d be able to care for you, and you’d get to be with other Illyrians your age.” Hawthorne seemed to think the two options over. Then Azriel looked at me and I nodded.
“Or” Azriel started, “You could stay with us, and we could raise you. Then you’d stay with Cassian and us, get to meet the High Lord and Lady, and all our friends, while going to school here in Velaris. And in a few years, we’d take you to a camp called Windhaven and you’d train to be a warrior.” Hawthorne’s eyes got wider and wider as Azriel continued, looking back and forth between us two, his grin starting to match mine.
“So. Which would yo-“ Azriel didn’t finish as the tiny Illyrian lunged over the table into both of us.
“YOU I WANNA STAY WITH YOU!” Hawthorne yelled excitedly, gripping the both of us as I laughed.
Azriel looked at me, love flowing down the bond and him receiving the same back from me at the new addition to the family.
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throughstarlitfields · 3 months
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“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨... 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧. 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫-𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐇𝐞'𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫—𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤.”
𝙰 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚢 𝚂𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚑 𝙹. 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚜
𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟼
🎨: @rykyartofficial
Commissioned by me
𝙋𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙎𝙀 𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙍𝙀𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏. 𝙊𝙉𝙇𝙔 𝙎𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙀 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙋𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝙍𝙀𝘿𝙄𝙏 𝙂𝙄𝙑𝙀𝙉.
#azriel #shadowsinger #spymaster #sarahjmass #sjm #acosf #acomaf #acowar #acotar #acofas
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