#the priestess and the shadowsinger

[wingedblooms]

Heart of the Night Court

This meta is a continuation of theories in forbidden secrets, blooming dreams, and bright as the dawn, as it narrows in on Illyria, Ramiel, and their connection to Wyrd. Please avoid if you do not want to read hofas spoilers. 

Facing Ramiel

The northern region of the Night Court is where Ramiel, one of the three sacred sister peaks, is located. It is considered the heart of Illyria and the Night Court. 

Ramiel. The sacred mountain.  The heart of not only Illyria, but the entirety of the Night Court.  None were permitted on its barren, rocky slopes—save for the Illyrians, and only once a year at that. During the Blood Rite.  Cassian soared toward it, unable to resist Ramiel’s ancient summons. Different—the mountain was so different from the barren, terrible presence of the lone peak in the center of Prythian. Ramiel had always felt alive, somehow. Awake and watchful. (acofas) [...] Ramiel rose higher still, a shard of stone piercing the gray sky. Beautiful and lonely. Eternal and ageless. (acofas)

Cassian describes Ramiel as alive, awake, and watchful, and so very beautiful as she rises from the earth. Likewise, Feyre emphasizes that Elain is alive and somehow infinitely more beautiful as she rises from the ground after she is Made in the Cauldron. Her legs are even bare, which remind me of the barren terrain, and her sheer nightgown might even be a hint for thin places, as @offtorivendell observed. Elain’s strength has also always been different than her sisters, just like Ramiel among her sacred sister peaks.   

And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water.  And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown.  Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare.  The queens pushed forward. Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live– Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again.  Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

As each spring dawns on the world, Ramiel is crowned with three stars, and the Illyrians—who we learned may have been the Asteri’s soldiers and therefore may carry on rituals that would have benefited them—honor bloodshed on her land rather than new life. 

No wonder that first ruler of the Night Court had made this his insignia. Along with the three stars that only appeared for a brief window each year, framing the uppermost peak of Ramiel like a crown. It was during that window when the Rite occurred. Which had come first: the insignia or the Rite, Cassian didn’t know. Had never really cared to find out.  The conifer forests and ravines that dotted the landscape flowing to Ramiel’s foot gleamed under the fresh snow. Empty and clean. No sign of the bloodshed that would occur come the start of spring. (acofas) 

Some even seem to take great pleasure in the killing that is permitted during this rite, and Ramiel, which we know is alive and watching, is forced to witness it every year. Azriel calls it a week of pointless bloodshed, but we know now that is likely untrue. @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell and I believe the Asteri may have created or warped an existing rite to suit their needs. @silverlinedeyes pointed out that this spring rite reminds her of the Great Rite, and that made something click for me: perhaps the Blood Rite is the Night Court's Great Rite. Is the secondlight from slain warriors absorbed by the land? And do those few who reach the stone, which I suspect might be the Maiden in this rite, provide firstlight to the cache hidden in Ramiel’s heart? Is it any wonder the winds around her howl, and her land is often frozen and inhospitable?

The mountain neared, mighty and endless, so wide that he might as well have been a mayfly in the wind. Cassian soared toward Ramiel’s southern face, rising high enough to catch a glimpse of the shining black stone jutting from its top.  Who had put that stone atop the peak, he didn’t know, either. Legend said it had existed before the Night Court formed, before the Illyrians migrated from the Myrmidons, before humans even walked the earth. Even with the fresh snow crusting Ramiel, none had touched the pillar of stone. (acofas)

The shining black stone on Ramiel’s face is able to heal and transport those who touch it. In acosf, it knew where Nesta’s friends were needed most and sent them to the River House. It is also on the southern face of the mountain, which in the northern hemisphere, is the part of the mountain that receives the most sunlight. Cassian tells us that he doesn’t know who put it there, but legend says it was before humans even walked the earth. While it is very likely that the Asteri warped it (into a tool to sustain them, like the gates in Lunathion as @merymoonbeam so cleverly pointed out), I believe it may have also originally been linked to the Cauldron. 

In hofas, we discover that Ramiel used to bear the Cauldron on her land:

“The Cauldron,” Nesta said hours later, pointing to yet another carving on the wall. It indeed showed a giant cauldron, perched atop what seemed to be a barren mountain peak with three stars above it. Azriel halted, angling his head. “That’s Ramiel.” At Bryce’s questioning look, he explained, “A mountain sacred to the Illyrians.”  Bryce nodded to the carving. “What’s the big deal about a cauldron?” [...]  “All life came and comes from it,” Azriel said with something like reverence. “The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed.” (hofas) […] The snows around Ramiel parted, revealing a massive bowl of iron at the foot of the monolith. Even through the vision, its presence leaked into the world, a heavy, ominous thing. “The Cauldron,” Nesta said, dread lacing her voice. […] “The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced…those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage.” (hofas) 

I wonder if long ago, before the Asteri desecrated them, the stone and Cauldron together resembled this depiction of Wyrd: 

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin…they were like tattoos. […] “And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

This depiction is interesting because it mirrors, almost exactly, the figurine Nesta assumes is the Mother in the House of Wind: 

It was a fire. Not her father’s neck. Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.  Another log cracked, and Nesta flinched. But she remained sitting there. Staring at that carved rose. (acosf) 

For some reason, she needed to set Elain’s rose, half-hidden in shadow, next to this depiction of what appears to be Wyrd. In hosab, the Under-King also described Wyrd as a mother to all, which is why I theorized that she is actually a triple goddess: Mother, Cauldron, Fate. They are three parts, or faces, of the same force. The three sacred sister peaks and three blessed Archeron sisters are intentionally linked to her. Perhaps the moon in the female’s hands isn’t just a moon, but a world too. Immediately after this scene, the House of Wind shows Nesta her heart in the lovely darkness of the mountain, which she calls the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. 

Heart racing, Nesta lifted the lantern in one hand and gazed at the darkness, untouched by the light from the library high, high above. The heart of the world, of existence. Of self.  The heart of the House.  “This…” Her fingers tightened on the lantern. “This darkness is your heart.” [...] Let the darkness sweep in. Embraced it. “I’m not afraid,” she whispered into it. “You are my friend, and my home. Thank you for sharing this with me.” (acosf)

Nesta embraces the heart of the House of Wind, which naturally makes me recall the heart of the Prison asking Bryce to open her heart to it…it might sing again. Awaken. There was a beating, vibrant heart locked away, far beneath them. We’re not sure exactly how Avallen might have affected the Prison island, and I suspect there is more to come with that plot thread. While I had always hoped the Valkyries might re-establish themselves as an intercourt army in the Middle, which does not have ties to any court in particular, I can also appreciate the possibility that they might ultimately settle on the Prison island instead. It would be incredible to see Pegasi return and for the Valkyries to learn how to fly on them. 

This plot is related to the core thread driving us forward, and it is something that can occur in a book that is centered on Elain and Azriel. Together, they have the vision and gifts needed to map the secrets of the land, starting with the sacred sister peaks, which I believe will ultimately help them restore Wyrd. This would fit all of the seeds Sarah has planted for the third sister’s arc with Azriel, Nuala, and Cerridwen. It would also be powerful for a character who has been underestimated and ridiculed for gardening to heal the land and the very source that created it. 

As I said prior to hofas, this exploration will inevitably bring them to the very heart of Ramiel. As a bearer of Wyrd, the source of life, Ramiel may even be the heart of the world, not just the Night Court. Will they discover that she was once very different? Did she change, as her sisters did, when the Asteri burrowed into her heart? Or was it because the Cauldron, Wyrd’s physical form, was warped into a tool of destruction by the Asteri and later removed from her land? Were the Illyrians created to guard the Cauldron since it was the Asteri’s most precious weapon? And is that why, as @cassianfanclub wondered, the Asteri were so desperate to reach the stone at the top, where the Cauldron was once depicted? Enalius may have prevented it from falling into their hands as he defended the Pass, which would’ve been a critical turning point in a rebellion. Unlike the rite they currently use to honor him, Enalius’s defense was in the service of life, which is what made Nesta’s sacrifice so inspiring. Her sacrifice is now depicted in the heart of the Court of Dreams, which is dedicated to building a better world.

Descending into Ramiel

We learn that Ramiel may be hiding secrets from Eris, of all characters: 

Eris shrugged, and Nesta knew Cassian monitored his every breath. “There are three of them, you know. Sister peaks. This one, the mountain called the Prison, and the one the Illyrian brutes call Ramiel. All bald, barren mountains at odds with those around them.” “We don’t know why they exist, but do you not find it strange that two out of the three have underground palaces carved into them?”  […]  Eris gave him a mocking smile, but continued, “Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians were never curious enough to see what secrets lie beneath Ramiel. If it, too, was carved up like the others by ancient hands.” “I thought Amarantha made the court Under the Mountain herself,” Nesta said.  “Oh, she decorated it and made us act like a sorry imitation of your Court of Nightmares, but the tunnels and halls were carved long before. By who, we don’t know.” (acosf)

He tells us that the three sacred peaks are sisters. Sacred is another word for blessed. And two out of three of them have been at least somewhat explored, but the third? Still mysterious. No one was curious enough to see what lied beneath her beautiful face, at her heart. This is such a lovely parallel for the three blessed sisters, and seems like a clear hint for the third one in particular. 

In hofas, we receive confirmation that these secrets might be connected to the Asteri, who are known as Daglan in Prythian lore: 

“They fought the Daglan and won, she went on. Using the Daglan’s own weapons, they destroyed them. Yet my parents did not think to learn the Daglan’s other secrets—they were too weary, too eager to leave the past behind.” (hofas) 

-

Vesperus backed up a half step, hissing at the gleaming weapon. “We hid pockets of our power throughout the lands, in case the vermin should cause … problems. It seems our wisdom did not fail us.” “There are no such places,” Azriel countered coldly. “Are there not?” Vesperus grinned broadly, showing all of her too-white teeth. “Have you looked beneath every sacred mountain? At their very roots? The magic draws all sorts of creatures. I can sense them even now, slithering about, gnawing on the magic. My magic. They’re as much vermin as the rest of you.” (hofas)

Bryce concludes, after Vesperus is able to draw the power from her secret cache below, that there is a firstlight core in the root, or heart, of the mountain. We see what happens in Avallen when the land is forced to contain magic where its ley lines overlap, rather than allowing it to flow as it should: it binds the magic of the land and causes it to wither like a plant with root rot. And that seems to explain why the sacred peaks are so odd: barren yet thrumming with power. 

I have theorized that the caches of power may need to be released leading up to the restoration of Wyrd, and I suspect there may be clues—especially within Ramiel—about how the Asteri warped and bound her to the land. If Elain is as tied to the land as we suspect, this could also strengthen whatever magic she possesses. 

In the cavern illustrations Bryce views in hofas, we see what might lie beneath Ramiel, maybe even the entire Night Court:

Scenes of a blessed land, a thriving civilization. One relief had been so similar to the frieze of the Fae male forging the sword at the Crescent City Ballet that Bryce had nearly gasped. The last carving before the river had been one of transition: a Fae King and Queen seated on thrones, a mountain—different from the one with the palace atop it—behind them with three stars rising above it. A different kingdom, then. Some ancient High Lord and Lady, Nesta had suggested before approaching the river.  She hadn’t commented on the lower half of the carving, which depicted a Helscape beneath their thrones, some kind of underworld. Humanoid figures writhed in pain amid what looked like icicles and snapping, scaly beasts—either past enemies conquered or an indication of what failure to bow to the rulers would bring upon the defiant.  The suffering stretched throughout, lingering even underneath that archipelago and its mountaintop palace. Even here, in paradise, death and evil remained. A common motif in Midgardian art, too, usually with the caption: Et in Avallen ego.  Even in Avallen, there am I. A whispered promise from Death. Another version of memento mori. A reminder that death was always, always waiting. Even in the blessed Fae isle of Avallen. (hofas) 

This might merely be a hint for the Asteri secrets that remain buried in the earth. But I agree with others (including @offtorivendell, @ladynightcourt3, @cassianfanclub, and @silverlinedeyes) who have wondered if this Helscape is in fact a hint that Prythian, and the Night Court in particular, is tied to Hel. We learned that the worlds in the Maasverse are tied together through ley lines, and the veil between worlds is thin where these ley lines overlap—like the lines in a star. 

That may be the true meaning of star symbols throughout the Maasverse, and the one specifically found in the Prison that is connected to the Starborn: as I theorized pre-hosab, it is a compass rose, and it seems to be linked to other places in the grander tapestry of the universe. There is power in the space where the lines meet; these lines represent ley lines. Certain people (Asteri, Starborn, etc.) are able to use that power to travel, communicate, or even light up entire worlds. Depending on how those lines are woven in certain areas, they might even be able to draw you to one place more than another. That may explain why the Prison seems more connected to Midgard. So, could Ramiel be more connected to Hel, and the Middle to…Erilea?

I wonder if Elain, Azriel, Nuala, and Cerridwen’s exploration in the heart of Ramiel might lead them to Wyrd’s Temple in Hel, except @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell, and I think she goes by yet another name there: Chaos. It’s possible they could use black salt or another substance to achieve this, as @offtorivendell and @cassianfanclub have discussed, especially with Elain’s sight. I am personally hoping for a physical trip to Hel and Ramiel might possess a doorway, or rift, as @offtorivendell has theorized. 

The black boat that Aidas led Bryce and Hunt into was a cross between the one that had brought them into Avallen and the ones that carried bodies to the Bone Quarter. But in lieu of a stag’s head, it was a stag’s skull at the prow, greenish flame dancing in its eyes as it sailed through the cave. The eerie green light illuminated black rock carved into pillars and buildings, walkways and temples. Ancient. And empty. Bryce had never seen a place so void of life. So … still. Even the Bone Quarter had a sense of being lived in, albeit by the dead. But here, nothing stirred. […] “It’s like a city of the dead,” Hunt murmured, draping a wing around Bryce. Aidas turned from where he stood at the prow, holding in his hands a long pole that he’d used to guide them. “That’s because it is.” He gestured with a pale hand to the buildings and temples and avenues. “This is where our beloved dead come to rest, with all the comforts of life around them.” […] Before Aidas could answer, the boat approached a small quay leading to what appeared to be a temple. A figure emerged from between the pillars of the temple and descended its front steps. Golden-haired, golden-skinned. […] “The Temple of Chaos is a sacred place,” Apollion said sharply. “We shall never defile it with violence.” The words rumbled like thunder again.

This sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It sounds an awful lot like other beliefs in the Maasverse:

Bryce asked, because some small part of her had to know after what she’d seen of the Mask, “When you die, where do your souls go?” Did they even believe in the concept of a soul? Maybe she should have led with that.  But Azriel said softly, “They return to the Mother, where they rest in joy within her heart until she finds another purpose for us. Another life or world to live in.” (hofas)

-

“We’ll collect the dead tomorrow,” Manon said, her voice low. “And burn them at moonrise.” As both Crochans and Ironteeth did. A full moon tomorrow—the Mother’s Womb. A good moon to be burned. To be returned to the Three-Faced Goddess, and reborn within that womb. (koa)

Wyrd (Chaos) is the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. And that is where people rest in joy until they are reborn. Could this be where the spirits are migrating on Starfall?

We know the Princes of Hel are intergalactic helpers, so a trip to Hel or an encounter with a Prince (Bryaxis? Thanatos? Even Balthazar, if he isn’t Elain? 😉 still my favorite crack theory) might give us insight into their role in Prythian. It could also involve Azriel’s peculiar magic that makes him, like Ramiel, so different from even his Illyrian brothers. Let's be honest, he’s always had a Prince of Hel vibe—down to his reverence for Wyrd (Mother, Cauldron, Fate/Chaos)—that I would love to see come to fruition. 

Beyond Azriel himself, I also think we will learn the origins of the Illyrians in the heart of Ramiel. Were they connected to Hel before the Asteri made them their soldiers, like @silverlinedeyes and @offtorivendell theorized? Or were they an experiment like the blessed sisters? Did the Asteri put humans (hence the ears) into the Cauldron after it was imbued with their void magic and create beings of night and pain who could combat enemies, including demons? This might be another reason why the three most powerful Illyrians are a match in power for the three blessed sisters. 

Together, they balance opposing forces as @silverlinedeyes previously theorized. They seem to represent the forces of Void and Chaos, and their power can be combined in the space between to achieve impossible feats (eg, physically healing the Cauldron and the rip in the world). All three sisters seem to be chosen bearers, or conduits, for Wyrd (Chaos), so I wouldn’t be surprised if we see another example of this in a different way for Azriel and Elain, and/or a scene where they are all linked magically.  

My lips tugged toward a smile. But Rhys stared at all of us, somehow assembled here in the sun-drenched open grasses without being given the order. Our family—our court. The Court of Dreams.  […] He surveyed them all again—and held out his hand to Cassian. Cassian took it, and held out his other hand for Mor. Then Mor extended her other to Azriel. Azriel to Amren. Amren to Nesta. Nesta to Elain. And Elain to me. Until we were all linked, all bound together. (acowar)

Since Ramiel is connected to Wyrd (Chaos), and there may be a doorway to her temple in Hel, this journey will likely also uncover secrets about her. Will her story come from illustrations in stone, members of Hel, or…my personal favorite, Wyrd herself? I believe that is one of the many reasons she gifted Elain with such powers, including sight: so she could tell her story to someone who could see differently. Someone who could see the creator within the darkness, just as Elain saw the dark cottage as a shelter rather than a prison. This gift may provide them the information they need to uncover the Asteri’s secrets and unravel their magic from the sacred peaks and Wyrd, which could lead them to at least two other places: (1) Midgard, where the Book of Breathings is now kept by Bryce, and (2) Cretea, where the Cauldron is currently hidden. Could Azriel even pay back Bryce for stealing his precious dagger? It would only be fitting. 

Ramiel Springs Eternal 

I was so cold I might never be warm again. Even during winter in the mortal realm, I’d managed to find some kernel of heat, but after nearly emptying my cache of magic that afternoon, even roaring heart fire couldn’t thaw the chill around my bones. Did spring ever come to this blasted place? (acomaf)

Illyria is known for being bitterly cold, to the point where Feyre wonders if spring would ever arrive there. Sarah has consistently described Elain as blooming life amid death and winter, and this imagery starts to become really apparent in Illyria: 

Mor let out a snort that made the Illyrians stiffen. But she shifted, revealing Elain behind her. Elain was just blinking, wide-eyed, at the camp. The army.  Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon…She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. (acowar) 

Compared to Nesta, a newly forged sword, Elain is a blooming flower even in an Illyrian army camp, which is essentially saying she is a bloom of life and color in the middle of winter. This imagery is so fitting because she commits her time to creating and restoring gardens wherever she goes. She brings life and joy and beauty into the world. Even her scent is a promise of spring: 

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. […] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. (acosf)

We also know she is also capable of hearing sound, specifically hearts, through stone. In their conversation about heartbeats, Lucien even wonders if she is speaking to him: 

She looked away—toward the windows. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth. “When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”  Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A bramble of words. (acowar)

Was Elain actually speaking to one of the sister peaks, or even Wyrd, during some of this conversation? Her response to Lucien even seems to echo the song of the land: no one had ever truly looked, not really. No one knew what secrets they carried in their heart. This is such a lonely existence. As Elain and Azriel heal the land, I believe they will also heal their own wounds. Feel seen and heard. Understood. 

Elain was also wearing a blue cloak in the Illyrian camp. Could that be a hint of her future work with others who wear something similar, like the priestesses who worship Wyrd? She answered her sister’s prayer during the war rather than Wyrd and has led her own sister in prayer before. Is she more priestess—more healer—than warrior, and is that the different sort of strength needed to garden on a larger scale? @willowmeres and I were discussing this the other night: perhaps like Gwydion and TT (which I theorized singing to each other across space), Elain’s rose necklace was called to the library when the priestesses were singing about Wyrd. And because like calls to like, the necklace answered and drew Azriel to the library instead of the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Like her sisters before her, Elain might receive help from priestesses as she hones her vision and gifts. I would scream if this turns out to be true because that necklace is pure Chaos (pun definitely intended).

It’s also possible the priestesses could be helpful in unbinding Void from the Book of Breathings, a book of spells. I doubt this will be a simple matter, however. It might rival the unraveling of Erawan, which required massive raw healing magic. Will the Asteri’s void magic manifest on another plane as Elain battles it with raw healing magic, shining bright as the dawn? Could a dawn ritual help ground her during this battle? And will Azriel, the sisters, the brothers, even priestesses with their healing stones, need to create a living chain to defeat Void and fully restore Wyrd (Chaos) in the end? Will we finally get a glimpse of her, unbound? 

Maybe with the help of Azriel and others, Elain will even restore Wyrd—blossoming life—to Ramiel’s sunniest face, the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. And true spring will finally come to her sacred land.

#ramiel #the third sacred sister peak #mysterious as the third blessed sister #healing the land and Wyrd #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #elriel #wyrd #mother cauldron fate #a temple in Hel #nuala and cerridwen #archeron sisters #illyrian brothers #court of dreams #priestesses

[r-biter]

@feyres-divorce-lawyer Azriel Au

#this azriel is thankfully not a shadowsinger but IS a scary ass priest #still sad we havent gotten any follow up on the whole 'Priestesses could actually fuck u up' lore

[orphicauroras]

#they're the same picture 😤 #i ship them so hard lol #a court of silver flames #gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #gwyn x azriel #gwyneth x azriel #gwyn x az #gwyneth berdara #gwyn berdara #gwyn #gwyn acosf #gwyn acotar #the priestess #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #acotar memes #acosf memes #pro gwynriel

[athena-85]

So disclaimer:

1. I am inebriated ( do recommend)

2. If you are a Gwynriel well I am sorry this post is not for you however you are the ones that peddle this narrative so suck it.

But this is how it would go down…. Because you think that a woman’s worth is related to her ability to bear children so your fav will obviously have your own “gurl boss” characteristics:

Feyre: “Rhys I cannot believe you told Az to stay away from Elain when they both have feelings for one another.”

Rhys: …. Well Lucien….Feyre calm down… 😬

Feyre: what about HER choice??!!🤬

Nesta: Excuse me Rhys did what!!! 👿

Cassian: Nesta remember we talked about this, no killing my high lord😅

Gwyn: well Nesta you said you had to change your sisters Feyre’s pelvis so she could have Rhys’s kids and you could have cassian’s, so Elain and Azriel can’t be together

Nesta: are you , Gwyn, saying that my sisters can’t be with the male she wants and Azriel can’t be with the woman he wants because Elain can’t have his children?

Gwyn: yes…? That’s the point of female fae, the priestesses always talked about strong bloodlines. So they can’t be together…

Amren: do you read any books in that library GIRL?

Rhys (thinks): Priestesses and freaking bloodlines 🤦🏽‍♂️

love is more than just making babies.

Feyre is going to kill me ☠️

I am sorry but is this what you think will happen??? Gywn doesn’t care about Azriel in any way!

#sorry i am not at my best #elriel #azriel shadowsinger #elain archeron #pro elriel #acotar theory #anti gwyn #gross priestesses

[sydneyhasdepression33]

Okay another hot take

martyr by KiNG MALA screams Gwyn and Az.

#books #reading #it even says I’m your favorite priestess like come on! #king mala #acotar #azris fanfiction #gwyn acosf #az x gwyn #azriel shadowsinger #sjm universe #sjm ships #az would worship gwyn let’s be honest here

[azrielhours]

Soft Spot

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 3k

Synopsis: Azriel is very particular about his lovers; typically hard-hearted women chosen so they don’t develop an emotional attachment. Reader is one of these lovers, except she’s the sweetest and cheeriest on his roster. This causes Az to begin breaking his rules about intimacy, especially when she unwittingly ends up at his home for work one evening and spends the night.  

Warnings: Smut

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel Shadowsinger. Methodical, efficient, focused. Rigid dietary habits, discipline in training, unwavering proficiency in espionage. The spies he trained were held to that level of diligence—hell, even the priestesses he oversaw knew he expected order even in his absence.

That detail orientation carried over to his sex life. The lovers he sought were deliberately chosen to allow him to maintain the level of control he desired. Women that understood what he wanted—how he wanted them. Women that didn’t grow emotionally attached, that understood it was purely a physical transaction. Women that he could keep from his busybody family, situated in parts of Velaris that weren’t in their usual line of frequenting.

Azriel found a positive correlation between softer, sweeter women, and their likelihood to form emotional attachment, and an equally positive correlation between women who fucked rougher, who were colder, more jaded, and their ability to remain unattached. Those who didn’t demand he slept over after, that he take them to dinner.

You were the closest thing to an exception, being the cheeriest on the roster, yet you never displayed any attachment to him. Never looked disappointed when he left without eating breakfast. That was one of the things he liked most about you; you were lively—more than any of his other lovers—so he could enjoy the more girlishly charming, satiating parts you offered, but you stayed within the limit of his preferred emotional detachment. It was like a controlled dosage of indulgence.

Besides your vibrant energy, the other thing that made you feel different from the rest was the way you touched him. In a sea of meticulously selected, hard-hearted lovers, you were the only one that touched him softly. The first time you stroked his face tenderly while he was rutting away inside you, he thought you’d crossed some emotional threshold, that you’d begin asking him to be exclusive. To let you meet his family. But that never happened, so he dismissed it.

But it happened again when you once pressed your entire torso to his in an embrace that caught him off guard while you rode him. Held him to your heart until you both found your release.

Azriel figured this was just another avenue of indulgence you sought from him. Pretences of intimacy. If you could enjoy them, so would he. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, even when he began seeking you out over his other lovers. He was still in control.

It was the morning after he’d spent the night at your house. He awoke early, his circadian rhythm in tune with his perfectionism. His fingers felt across the sheets—just to gain his bearings. The sheets felt cold. Good, he insisted. This suited him better anyways.

He dressed, washed up, and made his way out. Maybe you had an early shift, or you liked to meditate. It didn’t matter, it was just his spymaster mind naturally seeking answers. In the kitchen, you were nowhere to be seen, but a singular plate on the island caught his eye.

It was homemade banana bread, each slice in a neat paper wrapper. Beside the plate, there was a note.

Gluten-free, sweetened with honey, full of organic nuts for protein. Made yesterday evening. Hope you like ‘em! Had to run to meet with a friend.

Huh.

Azriel wondered if you’d prepared them specifically for him, or if you just happened to have similar nutritional regiments. He took a slice, leaving your apartment.

He strolled, basking in the emptiness in the streets so early in the morning, and admittedly, the banana bread was very good. Who did you have to meet so early in the morning? Or was it a means to keep him an arm's length away? If anything, that was appropriate—it was simply an occupational by-product to find curiosity in everything. Azriel pushed the thoughts aside, finishing his dillydallying, and winnowed home.

~

Cassian sat next to Azriel in the lounge while everyone transferred there after dinner. He hadn’t seen his brother all day with their respectively packed schedules, but Rhys called an impromptu gathering at the Town House.

“Long night last night?” Cassian asked.

Azriel shrugged. “It was fine.”

“Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Just another girl. Kind of bubbly.”

“I didn’t know that was your type,” Cassian laughed.

“It’s not. Just trying something new.”

Cassian shook his head, chuckling. “Long as you’re happy.”

Azriel didn’t know if he was necessarily happy, but an image flashed in his head of you baking in your apartment. If you had that concentrated furrow in your brows while you worked.

“What was the meeting called for, again?” he changed the subject.

Cassian shrugged. “Nesta had some new contact she thought would help with research.”

On cue, the twin wraiths entered the space. “Your guest is here,” Nuala spoke, stepping aside.

Azriel’s eyes widened as you walked right into his living room.

Nesta stood from her seat. You squeezed her in a tight embrace, joy unconcealed as you laughed brightly. Nesta began introducing you to everyone who you greeted with similar enthusiasm, the sweetness practically dripping off you. Your pretty smiles and firm handshakes had everyone matching your warm energy, and Azriel found his throat going dry.

Your eyes scanned the room, halting and widening when you spotted him. Then snapped back to the High Lord who was asking you about archive sources for the library.

“I—I have a friend who works in the Day Court. They—um—” another glance at Azriel, cheeks bright red— “they accidentally duplicated some texts. I’ll get the details for you soon.”

Cassian noted your glances at Azriel, not necessarily a rare sight for females to be smitten by him, but when he saw his brother’s shadows snaking the ground hastily—a tell of Azriel’s restlessness—Cassian narrowed his eyes.

You made your way over, shaking hands with the General, pointedly avoiding Azriel’s eye. Cassian tried to ease your apprehension by smiling kindly, making a joke about walking into a den of vipers to which you laughed.

Then it was Azriel’s turn, and he was facing his lover in front of his entire family.

You stared up at Azriel, brows raised and eyes wide like a doe. Your blushing cheeks and nervous fidgeting had Azriel biting back a smile despite the ordeal, unexpectedly amused by the fluster. It was adorable.

Azriel stuck out his hand, seeking to ease your nerves, surprising even himself at the urge. You placed your hand in his, still hesitant. “Y/N,” he spoke softly. “Nesta introduced us earlier,” he lied.

“Oh. Yes. It’s good to see you again, Azriel,” you quickly recovered, and Azriel was impressed, resisting the upward tug of his lips.

His shadows whispered of Nesta frowning at the lie, then just as quickly, her mouth parting in realization. She came over, pointedly staring at Azriel, then looped her arm through yours and guided you to sit as everyone retook their seats.

Conversation resumed. You were occupied with the High Lord and Lady, answering questions about the texts. Azriel glimpsed at you again, taking in how expressive you naturally were, how he could read your every emotion. The way your eyes shone when you showed interest in something, how you nodded eagerly. He’d always taken pleasure in how responsive you were, but he’d rarely seen you outside the bedroom; didn’t get to enjoy it otherwise. Cassian leaned over to Azriel. “Not your type, hey?”

“Shut up,” Azriel muttered as Cassian chuckled.

Someone eventually brought out Rhys’s good wine, and the group indulged themselves. You listened eagerly as Cassian told stories at Azriel’s expense, peering over at him shyly. Azriel couldn’t help but wink, making you blush all over again and break his gaze.

Soon the respective couples began retiring. Nesta was making promises about meeting with you again when she suddenly faced Azriel, mischief bright in her eyes. “Azriel can fly you home, Y/N. Have a goodnight.” She rose, taking Cassian’s hand who was biting back a laugh.

When the room finally cleared, it was just you and Azriel.

You faced him. “Azriel, I’m sorry—I didn’t know this was your house,” you stammered. Azriel had never seen you so nervous before.

“It’s alright, this was an unexpected… coincidence. I hope it wasn’t uncomfortable for you.”

Your brows rose earnestly. “No, your friends are lovely. I just hope you’re not upset or anything.”

Azriel shook his head. “Not at all.” He scanned your tense form. “It’s alright, I’m not upset.”

You nodded, forcing a tight smile. “I can just walk home by myself, it’s okay.” You collected your bag, looking to the door, but Azriel found himself speaking before he thought twice.

“I didn’t know you knew Nesta.”

Your attention was drawn back. “I met her at a bookstore a while back. I was just with her this morning.”

Ah. “So that’s who you snuck off to see,” Azriel smiled teasingly.  

You gaped for a beat before smiling comfortably. “We had a very important meeting.” You finally seemed to relax; he found himself wanting more.

“Is my company so dull that you needed to replace it with books at eight in the morning?”

You laughed openly now, making Azriel grin. “Oh, yes. Real monotonous guy. Quite the prude.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Azriel stepped closer, and you craned your neck back. “I’m just not doing it for you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re not enjoying yourself?” he murmured.

You shook your head, staring up at him as he stepped even closer.

Then he bent to whisper in your ear. “That’s not what it felt like.”

Azriel relished the sight of your mouth parting in shock. Then your eyes narrowed, and you rose on your tiptoes to whisper back, “You can’t prove that.”

His brows rose. “Is that a challenge?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I suppose.”

Azriel shook his head, glaring playfully as he weighed his options. He’s never brought a lover home. All escapades were done at their houses or some ulterior location. He eyed the stairs, wondering if he could muster the willpower to turn you down, especially with the way you were looking up at him.

When he met your gaze again, he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell. He scoffed, wrapping an arm around your waist, and winnowed to his room.

You gasped, clutching onto him before the world rematerialized. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d be here, that Azriel would ever let you in like this. You stepped out of his hold, nervousness creeping up on you all over again. Azriel was the most enigmatic male you’d ever come across, but this felt unpredictable even for him.

Azriel watched you pace, taking in his space in the dark. Watched as you crossed your arms across your abdomen, the stress he’d noted in your body earlier becoming visible again.

Worst of all, Azriel had the distinct urge to comfort the anxiety away. Again.

You’d lounged with his family, and now he bore witness to the sight of you in his room. It was too intimate. It broke his rules, taunted his discipline.

Azriel walked over to where you stood near the window, and you turned to face him. He brought a hand up to the back of your neck, cradling it. “Have you changed your mind?” he asked lowly.

“No,” you stepped closer to him.

Azriel kissed you. There was nothing soft about the way he moved his mouth, how he pressed into you demandingly. He felt your gasp in his mouth, gripping you tighter to him. His other hand moved through your hair, fisting it at the scalp and tugging it back for more access.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, matching his fervour, and it only spurred him on. He walked you back to his bed, yanking at your clothes blindly, stripping you without releasing your mouth.

You were naked by the time your knees hit the mattress, and Azriel broke off to watch you fall back into the bed.

His bed.

He growled and began yanking off his clothes. He crawled to where you lay, hovering over your body. Your legs widened instinctually, allowing him to cushion his hardening length against your core, relishing in the warmth. He ground into you, kissing your neck. Your gasps were frequent, hands carding through his hair as your hips bucked of their own accord against his movement. You reached down between your bodies and stroked his length. Azriel shuddered, leaning into your touch. But then you looked up at him again with those damned eyes, and Azriel’s breath caught.

“Turn around,” he rasped.

You stared for a beat, brows faintly pinching before obliging him. He lifted off you to give you the breadth to turn, watching as you braced yourself on your hands and knees.

Azriel stroked himself against you a few more times before easing in, groaning at the tight fit. He waited a few moments as you adjusted to the stretch before he began moving.

Azriel had never made love before, but even when he regularly fucked his women, he did so within the limits of what they wanted. What they could take. But as he repeatedly withdrew and buried himself, there was a distinct urge to take you harder. Like being rougher would salvage his detachment, annul any inklings of intimacy. Erase the etching of your wide-eyed gaze from his consciousness. So he pounded hard, savouring how you massaged him from the inside. How you arched forward from the force, bracing yourself on your forearms from the harsh snap of his hips.

He’d taken you from the back before, but even then, you’d managed to work some tender touch into the act; grasping his hands where they gripped your hips, a stroke to his thighs from beneath your body. But this time, you weren’t making any attempts as he jackknifed again and again.

No soft touches.

That observation grounded Azriel in the haze of his unrelenting carnal chase. He studied your form. You were panting, taking him well and clenching around his length, but he noted that tension was still present in your body—your shoulders and back were stiff. Azriel gentled his thrusting. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” you breathed. Then you reached a hand back as if to touch his reassuringly, but you froze mid-reach and retracted it. That sent an ugly pang through his chest.

Your words from before echoed in his mind. I hope you’re not upset.

Azriel halted inside you.

He was a bastard for making you endure his callousness.

You pushed back against him, trying to urge him on, but Azriel didn’t let up, holding your hips firmly in place. “Why’d you stop?” you whined.

Because you’re not touching me like you usually do.

It was like cold water to the face, realizing what he wanted.

But Azriel couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to admit to it—the urge to treat you softly, to soothe away your worry. That he sought your caresses. So he didn’t try to verbalize it. Instead, he pulled out, gently guiding you onto your back, and lowered himself to his forearms on either side of your head. You stared in awe.

When he entered you this time, it was slower, more intentional. Immediately, your face contorted in pleasure, and Azriel could feel how your body eased beneath his, how you relaxed. And when he lowered his mouth to yours, you sighed. He kissed you deeply and softly. Sweetly. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him tighter to your torso, to wrap your legs firmly around his waist. Azriel’s deep groan reverberated through your chest, bringing you back to the edge of release.

He moved with deliberate, deep strokes, adjusting according to how you responded, which angles made you gasp. There was no space between your bodies; with each push, you felt him everywhere, felt him brush against your breasts, felt his hips move languidly between your trembling thighs.

He noted how close you were from your writhing against him, how you arched further into his heaving chest. So he snaked a hand down to your apex and rubbed gentle circles, tipping you over the edge. Release tore through you, and you couldn’t breathe, white-hot ecstasy coursing through you as he worked you through it. He raised his head to watch you fall apart.

When the waves abated, you pulled his head down against yours, his cheekbone resting directly against your lips. His eyes fluttered shut when you stroked his other cheek softly, whispering breathily for him to let go, baby, let go, and you felt his orgasm tear through him, how it erupted warm bursts of his seed deep in your belly. You kept stroking his cheek as he came down, only releasing him when he stopped shuddering.

When he pulled back and looked at you, there was something in his eyes you’d never seen before. Then, a tiny smile tugged the edges of his lips up, and he finally removed himself from you, laying next to you.

Before you could even consider whether he wanted you to stay, Azriel tugged the sheet over your body and wordlessly caressed your hip. By his standards, it was an invitation if you’ve ever seen one, so you silently shuffled closer with your back to him and basked in the way he pulled you to his chest.

For the first time, Azriel initiated the soft touches. He cupped your shoulders, stroking down your arms to your hands, interweaving his fingers with yours with his palms cradling the back of your hands. He crossed your clasped hands across your abdomen.

You sighed, pressing closer to his chest, savouring his body heat. He’d never held you like this—never held you at all. “You’re so warm, Az,” you breathed, squeezing his fingers.

Rules be damned, he thought.

When he was sure you’d fallen asleep, he whispered, “You bring it out of me.”

~

Azriel awoke; the remnants of a feeling lingering in his mind… something peaceful. Something hopeful.

You’d stayed the night. At his house. Slept in his arms.

He reached across the sheets. When they were cold, he couldn’t lie to himself, couldn’t deny his disappointment.

Had he taken it too far? Was it because he’d been so rough before he gentled himself?

Azriel frowned, rising out of bed.

It was ten in the morning. He’d slept in. Whatever’d gotten under his skin lately was really giving him a run for his money. He had a sinking feeling it had to do with a bubbly girl with a wide-eyed stare.

Azriel entered the kitchen, finding his entire family already eating.

“Late morning?” Cassian grinned.

“Late night, more like,” Rhys added as Azriel rolled his eyes, taking his seat.

The food tasted bland. Azriel frowned into his coffee; why did it bother him this much? You were only doing what he always did—leaving immediately. Should he expect something different just because he’d been soft with you?

Then Nesta entered the kitchen, and you walked in right behind her.

Azriel’s eyes widened, and you halted. “Oh,” you breathed.

Nesta smiled devilishly. “I was just showing Y/N the library while you slept in, Azriel.”

Oh.

Azriel nodded in silence, finding his plate suddenly very interesting.

“I—I’m just going to get my bag,” you said, turning to leave hurriedly.

In your absence, all eyes turned to Azriel, who let out a longwinded exhale. When he deigned to look, everyone was smirking.

“Looks like someone had a big boy sleepover,” Mor teased.

Cassian drawled, “Anything you’d like to share, Az?”

“Not particularly,” Azriel replied, standing to leave, ignoring the innuendos tossed around, the wolf whistle sounding above the laughter.

Azriel walked back to his room, an unexpected nervousness creeping up on him. You stood inside. “Y/N,” he spoke softly, drawing your attention.

“Azriel, I don’t mean to impose. I didn’t know your friends would be in the kitchen.”

He shook his head. “It’s alright. You’re not imposing. I’m—I’m glad you stayed,” his cheeks warmed at his own admission.

You bit your lip. “It’s just—I know you’re very… um, particular. With your methods.”

Azriel smiled. “My methods?”

You fidgeted, smiling shyly. “Mhm.”

He walked closer. “Well, it seems you’re making a rulebreaker out of me.”

Your eyes narrowed, glinting with mischief.

“Will you stay for breakfast?” He beamed when your mouth parted, fond of your candid nature. “Unfortunately, I can’t say I baked any pastries for you.”

But you quickly recovered, glaring accusatorily. “Who’s to say those were for you?”

There was that sass he adored. Azriel laughed. “My apologies for assuming.”

You gazed up at him in wonder. “I’d love to. It’s just—you know, your prude tendencies,” you shrugged. “They’re not to my liking.”  

Azriel chuckled. “Not the prude tendencies again.”

You smiled warmly. “I didn’t think I’d be—you know… I didn’t account for our time. I have to run, unfortunately.” Damn. Before he could sit with the sting of disappointment, you continued. “But I’m gonna be really hungry this evening.”

“Dinner, then?”

You touched a hand softly to his arm. He wondered if you knew what those touches did to him. “Yes, dinner. I’ll see you at seven, Shadowsinger.”

Moments later, as Azriel stood by the foyer window watching you leave, Cassian approached him, leaning over his shoulder. “Look’s like someone’s got a soft spot,” he muttered. Azriel scoffed, but the words rang true. Cassian added, “I’m happy for you. Are you happy?”

Azriel unwittingly smiled as you turned at the end of the street, peering over your shoulder, catching his eye and winking.

“Yeah, I’m happy.”

~

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @aroseinvelaris @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123 @banasheefan56 @nyotamalfoy

#azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel smut #azriel x you #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azrielhours #azriel fluff

[separatist-apologist]

Happy @gwynrielweeksofficial!It's my first time participating and I'm super excited to show off my vision for Gwyn and Azriels first mission together. The shadowsinger is an excellent perch for spying...and the priestess a comfortable perch for tired shadows.

Major thanks to @witchlingsandwyverns for doing this for me last minute.

#Gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel

[azrielbrainrot]

Such a Perfect Place To Start

Azriel x Healer!Reader

Description: Something happens that has you questioning the nature of your relationship with the shadowsinger.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3911

Notes: When I started writing this I didn't think it was going to lead to that. Hope you like it!

part of the healer!reader universe

When you were called to the House of Wind so urgently by the High Lady herself you were expecting a more pressing matter, a life or death situation like you're used to, not exactly a library full of books. You don't know how long you've been sitting in this chair but you couldn't feel your butt anymore, no matter how many different positions you tried to sit in. You were used to doing some research while studying new healing techniques or herbs but these millenia old books on magical symbols were a little different.

There had been some attacks across the Night Court, including in the mountains surrounding Velaris, with some pretty disturbing details. After being killed, the victims' eyes had been removed and a symbol had been carved into their chests. All the symbols were different and, at this time, their meaning was still unknown. Unfortunately, none of the victims had survived either so there weren't any witnesses and, even after Azriel's thorough investigations, there was no evidence left behind by the culprits. It was as if no one had even been there.

You had heard some rumors about this before getting called in. Gossip spread around fast in Velaris and, even with the Inner Circle's efforts to keep panic to a minimum, people had found out about some of the details. The area around Velaris is relatively safe so to have multiple killings in a short time and in such gruesome ways was causing a bit of a fearful atmosphere to fall upon the city of dreamers. The increase in security wasn't easily missed either.

After being summoned to the River House, Feyre and Rhysand had briefed you on everything they knew and asked you for your help, seeing as they could only trust a few select people. Since there were no other clues left behind besides the symbols, the High Lord decided that, for now, everyone should focus on finding their meaning, so he sent his most trusted people to his private library to look through every book that might help.

You had obviously felt incredibly honored and happy that they trusted you this much. You've been getting closer to the inner circle after your talk with Azriel a few months ago, and sometimes still feared your friendships were a bit one sided.

As honored as you felt that they trusted you, though, you had spent days searching through old books just to come up empty. It was more tiring than a week at a war healing tent. Not to mention having to do so by Amren's side. You had no personal problems with the newly turned high fae but she still scared you profusely. Your power gave you a sense of people's aura and hers had always felt unsettling at best, even after getting turned.

At least, you weren't alone with her, everyone in the Inner Circle and some of the Valkyries had shown up at the library to help at some point. There was no way of knowing who could be behind these attacks and, from what you gathered, these fae had been moving across the court too easily, meaning they could be from the night court or even Velaris, so you couldn't involve the priestesses in the library.

The sky was already completely dark outside, making way for the millions of stars to shine in the sky. The atmosphere was a little too quiet for this time of night, usually there would still be fae walking around the city, in and out of bars and theaters. Amren had already left. The ancient one had tucked a book under her arm and walked out without much of a goodbye, leaving you with Feyre and Azriel in the library.

“I think it's time to stop for the day,” your High Lady's voice cut through the silence suddenly, “Rhys just finished at the office too.” Sometimes you envied how convenient the daematis abilities were. As her eyes glaze over and a smirk threatens to play at her lips, you know her mate is giving her a good reason to go home.

“I'll stay a bit longer,” you hold your finger over the passage you were reading, these old books had tiny fonts and you'd already lost yourself in enough of them to know better now, “I have to go to the clinic tomorrow so I wanted to at least finish this book.” There were only about half a dozen pages left of it so, even if your body was screaming at you to go to bed, you wanted to get this done first.

“Alright,” the High Lady adds her last book to the pile and looks at you one more time, “Don't stay too long. We need you to be focused at the clinic.” Her eyes shift to the shadowsinger and narrow slightly, her tone a little sterner, “You too, Az. Get some sleep.”

The spymaster nods dutifully at his friend's warning and she seems content enough with the response or in enough hurry to meet her mate, as she gives you both one last smile and turns to the door, saying one last goodbye over her shoulder.

Azriel stayed with you, even though his book had just started and there was no way he would finish it tonight. You were torn between thinking it was because he didn't trust you in the House by yourself, as the ever protective spymaster, and just writing it off as his willingness to help his court even at the risk of his own health and comfort, you don't even wanna think how many sleepless nights the spymaster has spent working lately.

You shake off your thoughts and keep reading the boring book. The sooner you finish the sooner you can go to sleep. Even your healing abilities can't do much to fight the headache you were feeling after spending the whole day reading symbols and their uses in dark magic, some of the rituals described were also making your stomach queasy.

Just as you're about to finish the last page, you hear a soft groan coming from Azriel and can't help but look up at him. His head was thrown back, showing off the column of his neck. His eyes were closed tight like he was fighting the same headache as you. With his wings stretched as far as they could go, it looked like they were taking up most of the private library, not that it was a small room by any means.

The spymaster looked exhausted. He's been spending his days meeting up with his spies and informants all around Prythian, trying to find any information on the attackers and investigating any strange movement in the court. At night, he comes home and joins you in the library to help with research, sometimes even staying up later than everyone else. You know he will do the same thing tomorrow and the day after, until you find any relevant clues and catch the killers.

Azriel takes these things more personally than maybe even the High Lord and Lady. His job as spymaster is finding any threats to the court after all, preferably before they happen. You know he must feel like he's failing his court and you wish you could show him that he's doing more than enough, that it's not his fault. Under the tough exterior and immense power, Azriel has an extremely kind soul, you've felt it. He'd make the impossible happen if it meant he could protect his court, his family, even if it cost him his own life.

“You should go to sleep,” you can't help but worry for him, “You were out all day before you came here. You must be really tired.”

You wonder how long it's been since he's had a good night of sleep. Even before this situation, it was no secret that the shadowsinger was a bit of an insomniac. You had given him a few sleeping tonics before in hopes of helping him have at least a few moments of peace.

“I'll wait for you,” he tells you, meeting your eyes. You can see the fatigue swirling around in his unguarded gaze, it seems you had been right to assume he hasn't been sleeping. “You're almost done.”

You look back down at your book and wonder how he's been keeping track of what you've been doing while reading his own book. Still, if finishing this means Azriel can go to sleep, you'll do it as fast as you can. Reading through the last page intently to make sure nothing escapes you.

Just as you're about to finish you make a silent request to the House, and two steaming cups of tea appear in front of each of you. Passionflower tea to lessen his stress and help with sleep, you've given it to him before and he told you it helped so you hope it does the trick once again.

Since you're focused on the book, you miss the way his eyes finally stray from your form to look down at the tea now sitting in front of him. You also miss the smile on his face when he reaches for it and the way his shadows let him know you were the one who asked for it, gushing about how you took care of their master.

“Do you still not trust me, Spymaster?” You close the book and put it into the ever growing pile. Stretching a bit before taking your tea into your hands and blowing on it gently.

“I trust you with my life, sweetheart.” The seriousness in his statement makes you pause with the cup halfway to your lips for a moment. You didn't need the Morrigan's gift to know he was telling the truth. The nickname takes a little longer to register but as soon as it does color rushes to your cheeks.

“Then why wait for me?” You hadn't actually thought he didn't trust you in the library but you still weren't sure why he had stayed behind after Feyre left.

“Wanted to keep you company until you finished,” he shrugged. His voice is a little gravely with sleep which is a big problem for the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. “We've been spending a lot of time together but we've barely talked.”

He wants to talk to you. You can't help the smile or the giddy feeling washing over you. He's tired but he chose to stay up a little longer to do something as trivial as talking to you.

“What did you want to talk about then?” The way he's picking at the painted decorations in his teacup makes you think he might be feeling a little nervous but you're not sure why.

“Anything you want,” he answered a little too fast. Maybe it's the low lights in the room but you swear there's some color dusting his cheeks.

“It's hard to pick a topic like that,” you say before biting your lip slightly. For some reason you suddenly feel a little pressure to come up with a good topic, not wanting to disappoint or bore him. “Lately, all I can think about is this,” you run your finger over one of the books' spines, “It's hard to focus on anything else after spending hours in here.”

“If you feel like this is too much you can tell me. I'll talk to Rhys and he'll send you back to the clinic,” he frowns. His shadows reach a little towards you, as if wanting to comfort you. You didn't mean to worry him.

“That's not what I meant,” you start, “I want to help. I've just never dealt with anything like this. I've been to war but this… killing innocent fae in such a disturbing way is different.”

“I understand,” he nods, “If you need anything you can tell me. Even if you just want to talk.”

“Alright.” Azriel has a way of talking that leaves you not knowing how to respond sometimes. He's so sincere in what he says that you almost feel like any response would fall short. “You too. If you need help with anything I'm always here for you.”

He gives you a single nod before hiding what looked like a bashful smile behind his tea. You finish your teas like this, enjoying each other's company in the quiet of the night.

You can't hold back a yawn when you set your teacup down. As much as you'd love to stay up talking to Azriel all night, your body is about ready to crash on you.

“We should go to sleep,” he says as he stands up, making the teacups disappear. “You have to be at the clinic early.”

“You're right,” you agree with a sigh, standing up to follow him to the door. You've only been going to the clinic twice a week ever since Feyre asked for your help with this case so you know you'll have a long day ahead of you. “Will you fly me down tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he tells you as he opens the door for you, “What kind of male would I be if I let our favorite healer walk down the thousands of steps by herself?”

“Favorite? I'll tell Madja you said that,” you point your finger at him playfully.

“Second favorite then,” he takes it back with a wink, making you laugh. The smile lingers on your face all the way to the guest room you're staying in and it only deepens when you realize he walked you all the way to your door.

You turn and look up at him expectantly. It looks like he wants to tell you something with the way he's searching your face and his shadows pool at both of your feet. If you didn't know any better you'd think they wanted to crawl up your legs. You've found that they can give some of Azriel's emotions away sometimes, when he doesn't have a grip on them at least.

Your body doesn't react when he bends down slowly, pausing for a brief moment before kissing your cheek softly, murmuring a good night against your skin. It doesn't react after either, when he pulls back to watch your reaction. In fact, it's not until he walks over to his door and lets out a small chuckle, that you finally move and almost crash into the room, fumbling with the doorknob and slamming the door behind you.

As you lean your back against the door, you put your hand over your chest and stare wide eyed at the window across the room. You almost thought you were imagining things. He can probably hear your heart beating all the way in his room across the hall, you wouldn't be surprised if everyone in Velaris could hear with how loud it's beating. You let yourself slide against the door until you're crouching.

You hadn't expected him to kiss you. You know Azriel isn't one for a lot of physical touch. You've only gotten a hug out of him once, during the war after an attack on the healer's tent. He had thought you were dead then, after watching so many die he'd just been glad to see someone he knows still breathing. Actually, you might have been the one to hug him first. You had never been so close to death and were scared out of your mind. It was your first war after all.

You and Azriel had been getting closer over the months, closer than you were with the rest of Inner Circle. Even before your talk that night, he's always been friendly to you, but the shadowsinger was kind to all the healers - to everyone that wasn't his enemy really - so you never thought much of it. But this felt different. Tonight felt different.

You hadn't fully admitted it to yourself yet but the more time you spent with the shadowsinger the more your crush evolved. What had once been a silly crush based on appearance and his kind nature had quickly turned into palpable feelings. You liked him. A lot.

However, acknowledging this could destroy the friendship you had built with him for the past few months, maybe with the rest of his family as well. That's what you thought before at least. You assumed Azriel would never have feelings for you. The idea seemed so preposterous it never even crossed your mind, but now you're not so sure.

Maybe it seemed like you were exaggerating to think this after a little kiss, on the cheek no less, but this kiss made you think back on the last months you've spent with Azriel. He's been insisting on flying you up and down the stairs every time he's around, usually this task would be left to Cassian, who loved showing off his wings to you.

He's been going to the clinic more often too, stocking up on anything he can think of when he's never done that in the century you've been working in Velaris. Azriel was always one to not think much of his own health, it bothered you to no end. He also came to you with every injury. Usually when a member of the Inner Circle was hurt, Madja was the one who was called. You'd only accompany her if she needed assistance or go in her place if she wasn't able to go herself. Of course over the years they'd come to use you more and more, which is why you didn't even think of it, but looking back now… You don't know what to think anymore.

Getting up with a sigh, you make your way to your closet to change. Your thoughts consume you while you get ready for bed but your tiring day catches up to you as soon as your head hits the pillow. However, this doesn't spare you from dreaming of a certain shadowsinger.

You take longer to wake up than usual, making you hurry through your morning routine. Your body isn't used to the schedule you've been putting it through lately, and it's starting to show. But because of this, it isn't until you go to open the door to the guest room that you remember Azriel is going to fly you down to the clinic. And the incident that had you spiraling before going to sleep.

Deciding walking down the steps by yourself isn't a viable option, you go to find him and pray to the Mother things aren't too awkward between you. It had just been a little kiss on the cheek and your lack of reaction could totally be blamed on the long day, your brain was just having trouble catching up, that's all. It had been a completely normal exchange between friends, not that you're blushing just thinking about it or anything. You could just pretend it didn't happen.

As you make your way to the front door, the shadows dancing around in the hallway catch your eye instantly. You've seen them do this before, when Azriel doesn't need them and they don't want to brave the light, they just linger around the room in curious little wisps. You can't help the smile as they gravitate slowly towards you.

Right after they notice you, their master appears through the door. One of them must have warned him of your arrival, they're so cute sometimes you forget they're spies. Of course they'd tell on you.

“Good morning,” he greets. Azriel may be a shadowsinger but he looks breathtaking in the morning light. His skin glows beautifully and his eyes look a little lighter, it makes him look younger. Gods, how can he be so beautiful?

He looks a little relieved to see you. Maybe he thought you'd escape by yourself or ask someone else to fly you to the clinic to avoid him. It makes you feel a little bad that you had him worried but it's his own fault for playing with your heart like that.

“Good morning,” you smile, walking up to him. “Are you ready?”

“I was just waiting for you,” he says as he extends a hand for you to take. This has the nerves already lingering inside your body make themselves more noticeable. You almost forgot flying you down means he'll have to carry you. It had taken a while for you to get used to not only the flying but also the way he had to hold you - funny how you never had this problem with Cassian.

You take his hand and try not to move too much or gasp as he picks you up off the floor like you weigh nothing. He immediately starts walking to the edge of the stairs, holding you close to his chest.

“Hold onto me,” he breathes into your ear, extending his wings and getting ready to take flight. You do as he says and wrap your arms tighter around his neck, praying he can't feel your heart beat inside your chest.

You'll never get over how stunning Velaris looks from above or how the wind passes around you as you soar through the clouds. It's a real shame that you weren't born with wings. You understand why Illyrians are so protective of them, after knowing what this feels like, it's hard to imagine never being able to do it again.

“You know I won't drop you.” You look away from the landscape and meet his gaze. He can probably feel how tense you are but you can't tell him it has nothing to do with the height or any fear of him letting you fall.

“I know,” you assure. “What would you do without your favorite healer?” He lets out a small laugh in response and your body finally relaxes.

The flight doesn't take long, and, before you know it, he's landing right outside your clinic. He helps you get down and even holds onto you a little longer, giving you a once over to make sure you're steady on your feet.

An idea passes through your mind and you bite your lip, wondering if you'd truly lost it. You take a quick look around before you lose your nerve. It was still early enough that the streets were almost deserted, no one should see you.

Turning back to the shadowsinger, you hesitate again when you notice him watching you, probably wondering what you were up to. If you read the situation wrong this could make things very awkward for the two of you.

Deciding not to let your anxiety reign your life, you grab his shoulder gently so you can pull him a little closer to your height. Standing on your tiptoes to clear the rest of your height difference. You hold onto his cheek and place a soft kiss on the other side of his face, murmuring a “thank you”.

You step back again and look up at him, still slightly bent from where you pulled him to you and looking at your face with wide eyes. You're not sure if you've ever seen the feared spymaster so caught off guard before. There was a small smile playing at his lips though, so you assume you hadn't completely misread the situation. You can't help but form a grin of your own and turn around to go inside the clinic, leaving him behind just as he did to you last night. Your heart soaring higher than you had just been.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar #divider by saradika #healer!reader

[mischiefmanagers]

Rhysand Fic Rec Library 🦇💜

"Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord. Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord. Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord."

here's a list of one hundred Rhysand x Reader and Rhysand x OC fics to celebrate the most handsome High Lord ✨

🌼 personal favorite 🥀 angst 💞 fluff 🔥 smut

by @sarawritestories

The Most Beautiful High Lady 🥀💞

You Looked Like You Could Use a Partner 💞

by @lalacliffthorne

starshine (series) 🥀💞

by @marvelsmylife

Not As It Seems 🥀💞

Protecting his high lady 🥀💞

I think I wanna marry you 💞

by @swansworth

The Handsome Stranger 🥀💞

My High Lady 🔥

by @writingsbychlo

how we survive 🥀 platonic Rhysand x Reader but it's AMAZING

Home To Us 💞🌼

How to Save a Life 💞

by @azrielsdove

The High Lords 🥀🔥

Til Death Do Us Part 🥀🔥

Money, Power, Glory 🥀

Beautiful Girl 🥀💞

by @historiaxvanserra

What Our Souls Are Made Of 🥀💞

by @honeybeefae

Pretty Little Tears 🔥

by @wishfulwithwine

The Great War 🥀

by @leafsandstarlight

Against Your Brother's Wishes 🥀💞

Easy Like Sunday Morning 💞🔥

Welcome Distraction 🔥

Little Reminders 💞

by @cherhys

Anything, Always 🥀💞

Colliding Visions 💞

by @k-daydreams

Touch in the Dark 🥀

by @azsazz

Dioxazine 💞

Lavender Haze

Hung Up 🔥

by @jeannineee

Pining 🥀

Daddy Kink 🔥

by @ughthatimagineblog

love and loathing 💞🔥

forever and a day 💞

by @fieldofdaisiies

I Never Mean to Hurt You 🥀

by @daydreaming-nerd

The Bonds That Break Us 💞🥀🔥

by @hellcat8908

Returning Home 🥀💞

by @thehighladywrites

This Isn't Goodbye, This Is Simply See You Later 💞🥀🔥

Just One More, I Know You Can Do It 💞🔥

by @lure-of-writing

Where my soul can rest 🥀

by @saphirered

The Ice Queen and the High Lord 🔥

May We Meet Again

by @bookish-whore

'Til Death 💞

Never Made A Difference 🥀

by @tadpolesonalgae

mine 🔥

Knocked up 🔥

by @itsphoenix0724

Promises 🥀

by @fanttasttica

I hate you more.. 🥀

Shy priestess 💞

Finding you 🔥

Your love healed me 🥀💞

Just love me 🥀

One plus one makes three 💞

by @illyrian-dreamer

Dance with the devil

Make a bargain with me 💞🥀

by @azrielbrainrot

My Body Keeps Saying it's Yours 🔥

by @b00kdiary

Dreamer

by @solbaby7

Lose Control 💞

Put On A Show 🔥

Testing the Waters 💞🔥🌼

by @luxsky

Kicking out 💞

by @themusingsofacurlyhairednerd

Warm Me Up 💞🔥

Datura

by @starstruckunknown-princess

Black Rose 🥀

by @acourtofwhatthefuck

Needs Must 🔥

With Me, Always 🥀💞

Shrinking Violet 🔥

Forget Me Not 💞

by @lanitalay

At sea 💞🥀

by @redheadspark

Truth 💞🥀

Carry 💞🥀

My Pleasure 💞

Title 💞

by @azrielslightintheshadows

Game night disaster 🥀

Between you and danger 🥀

by @danikamariewrites

Take Them All Down 🥀🌼

Only For You 💞

Pointless Meetings 💞

Pranks 💞

by @bloodycassian

winter court runaway

by @thevanserrras

The Stolen Night 🥀💞

by @thelov3lybookworm

Winter Without You 🥀

Love Needs No Voice

by @prythianpages

Wanna Be Yours 💞

by @milswrites

Out of the Mountain 🥀

by @readychilledwine

Requiem for a Dream (series) 🥀💞

Broken 🥀

Flight Patterns 🥀💞🌼

Subtle 💞

Scream 🔥

Plot Measure 🥀

Drumming Song 🔥

Family Matters 🔥

Pieces of You 🥀🌼

by @clairebear08

Questioning Motives 🔥

by @serpentandlily

Falling Apart for You 🥀

by @shadowdaddies

Heavy is the Head 🥀💞🔥

Crawl to Me 🥀🔥

by @throneofsapphics

if you insist 💞

surprise reunions 🔥

by @azriels-shadowsinger

Reunited 💞🥀

by batboylover

secretly mated 🥀💞

#rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x oc #rhysand x you #rhysand angst #rhysand fluff #rhysand smut #acotar #rhysand acotar #feysand #azriel #cassian #feyre archeron #rhys x feyre #rhys x you #rhys x reader #rhys x oc #rhysand x feyre #cassian x reader #azriel x reader #rhys acotar #high lord rhysand #high lord of the night court #rhysand fic #rhysand fic recs #acotar fic rec #acotar fic #pb speaks #x reader fic

[theostrophywife]

heat wave.

pairing: azriel x reader x cassian.

request: Hi I don’t know if your requests are open but if so would u write something with reader x cassian x Azriel maybe smutty little bit ( I feel like cass would have a size kink and Az a corruption one anyway🤷🏻‍♀️😂)

author's note: size kink cassian 🤝 corruption kink azriel. i swear i haven't forgotten about the bat boys, i'm just deep in the slytherin boys brain rot rn.

Summer swept through the city of starlight with a sweltering heat wave. The blistering sun left you feeling hot, damp, and sticky as sweat dripped down your back. The only relief to be found was in the sugary sweet cone of strawberry ice cream that Azriel had brought back for you from his trip to the market square. The shadowsinger kissed your temple before sauntering into the training pit to come face-to-face with Cassian.

The Illyrian warlord raised an amused brow. "So that's why you were late." Cassian mused, sending you a conspiratorial wink from your place underneath the shade. "You spoil her, Az."

"You're just jealous he didn't buy you a cone too, Cassie."

Cassian grinned. "You're the only sweet treat worth indulging in, and I'll have my taste of you soon enough, pretty girl." The suggestive words made your body buzz with excitement. "Right after I kick Azriel's ass for making me wait."

The shadowsinger chuckled before disappearing in a dark blur. He reemerged seconds later with twin blades in his hands and a mischievous grin. "Show me what you've got, Cassie."

You leaned back in your lounge chair, enjoying the cool relief of the sweet treat. It would've been cooler inside the house, but nothing, not even the thick muggy air could stop you from watching the two males spar.

By nature, Azriel and Cassian were competitive males.

The Illyrian warriors were opposite sides of the same coin—Cassian with his boldness and passion and heat; Azriel with his mystery and brooding and seduction. You always thought of them as fire and ice. The best of both worlds.

While the competition between them was fierce — whether in fighting or drinking or fucking, you found that Azriel and Cassian worked best in tandem.

More specifically, when they worked you in tandem.

At first, you were skeptical about the dynamic, but the more the three of you explored, the more comfortable you became with one another. It didn’t hurt that you had Cassian and Azriel completely wrapped around your finger. They would do anything for their sweet, innocent little priestess. Though the thoughts running through your mind as you watched them train were far from virtuous. If anything, they were downright sinful.

Underneath the sweltering summer sun, Cassian and Azriel moved swiftly, shedding their leathers to reveal planes of smooth, hard muscles that flexed with each movement as they darted across the red sand. Mirroring the treat in your hand, you were reduced to a sticky pool of desire as you shamelessly ogled your two favorite males.

Azriel glanced at you, a knowing smile gracing his handsome face. “Better lick it up fast, angel. You wouldn’t want to make a mess.”

Strawberry ice cream dripped all over your fingers and while you did your best to lap up the melted liquid, the heat was working against you. Besides, you were too distracted by their glistening bodies, golden brown and sweat slicked and all too tempting. You licked your lips, indulging in the lingering sweetness of strawberries and cream and wishing it was the taste of a set of deliciously sinful abs instead.

“I think she’d rather lick something else up, Az.”

You flushed, suddenly feeling hot all over despite your refuge in the shade. Cassian was a shameless flirt, but it was all in good fun. Teasing was his favorite part of this little game of yours, but in the end he always gave in. At your core, the two of you were absolute hedonists. Both too impatient to deny each other gratification.

Azriel, on the other hand, wasn’t as self indulgent. The shadowsinger could hold out for hours. Make both you and Cassian really beg for it. This time, you decided to get ahead of the game.

You shot a sly glance at Cassian while the shadowsinger had his back turned, urging him to play along. The Illyrian warlord grinned like a devil and discretely nodded before pivoting so that Azriel was facing you.

With a saccharine smile, you licked long, deliberate stripes along the cone while holding the shadowsinger’s heated gaze. “I was wondering,” you pondered as you wrapped your lips around the scoop rather suggestively. “If it feels as good for males as it does for females.”

Azriel cocked his head, intrigued. shadows twisted through his dark wings. “If what feels as good, angel?”

“Pleasuring someone with your mouth.” The shadowsinger stilled. Behind him, Cassian’s mouth dropped open. “I’ve never done it before, but I’d like to try. Maybe you could teach me, Az.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched as he inhaled deeply. Hook, line, and sinker. “Then you and Cas could both confirm my theory.”

Moments later, you found yourself crammed into the shower between Cassian and Azriel. The Illyrian warlord spread out on the built in marble bench, water dripping down his shoulders as his unbound hair formed a dark curtain around his face. He looked like the god of war, all lean muscle and rugged beauty.

Warm, honey eyes tracked your movements as you discarded your dress and stepped underneath the steady stream of water. The shadowsinger's gaze hungrily raked over your naked body as he tucked his wings in close.

"Get on your knees for me, angel."

You followed azriel’s instructions and knelt in front of Cassian. When you looked up, you found nothing but dark pools of lust staring back at you. Cassian suppressed a shiver at the sight of you on your knees, watching and waiting. Hanging onto every word.

Azriel brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “Open your mouth, baby. Go slow at first. Treat it like the ice cream. Lick from the shaft to the tip.”

You did as you were told and gave tentative little licks along the underside of his cock. Cassian was warm velvet in your mouth. “That’s it, angel. You’re doing so well.”

Cassian moaned in agreement while the shadowsinger gathered your hair into a ponytail. “Now, hold your breath and take him as far as you can.”

You obliged, slightly gagging as Cassian settled in the back of your throat. Azriel knelt behind you, pressing encouraging kisses behind your ear. Sharp teeth grazed the column of your throat and you moaned, which elicited a hum of pleasure from the male above you. Peering through your lashes, you waited for Azriel’s instructions. he smirked, knowing he was in full control.

“Bob your head up and down. Make it messy, my love.” Cassian groaned as you picked up the pace, his dark lashes kissing the tops of his cheekbones while the back of his head rested against the marble tile. He gripped the edges of the bench so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

Azriel chuckled darkly. He caressed your cheek, stroking over where Cassian was slotted in your mouth. “Our perfect little whore. So good at following instructions when you want to, yeah?”

You groaned as Azriel pushed your head down. Cassian hit the back of your throat, making you gag on his cock. His head fell back, mouth opening to release a filthy moan.

“That’s my good girl. Do you see what you’re doing to poor little Cassie? You’re unraveling him, angel. I bet he’s close to coming. Aren’t you, Cas?”

Cassian shuddered, his wings flexing behind him in confirmation. “Gods, don’t stop. Your mouth is perfect. Feels too fucking good.”

"Use both hands, love." Azriel instructed as he helped you get a firm grip on cassian. Water trickled through his perfectly sculpted abs, clenching as his release came closer and closer.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cassian growled. His hazel eyes burned as he watched you take all of him. Rough, calloused fingers caressed the hollow of your throat. He could feel you gag around him as he fucked your pretty mouth. You were so tiny and delicate, but absolutely fucking filthy too. Cassian was obsessed. "You're so pretty when you suck my cock."

You hummed in response, making the winged male buck against you. He gripped the back of your head and thrusted in and out as you moaned your approval. "Oh gods, Y/N. I'm so fucking close."

The shadowsinger grazed your earlobe with his teeth. "Swallow, baby. Every single drop. Do you understand?"

You nodded as Cassian shot hot ribbons into your mouth. The Illyrian warrior shuddered as you milked him dry, savoring the salt and musk of him hitting the back of your throat. He pulled you under the running water, droplets catching in your lashes as Cassian pressed you against the cold tile.

A mischevious grin curled against his lips as he caged you in. You startled at the way he completely enveloped you, the cover of his wings blocking out the light as his lips met yours. Cassian loved towering over you like this, his large hands roaming your body as he gripped your hips and lifted you up with ease.

You groaned as he wrapped your legs around his waist, his gruff movements making you feel as light as a rag doll as he kissed you fervently. He tasted like cinnamon and whiskey, an intoxicating combination that you chased with your tongue as you pulled at his hair. Cassian returned the favor by biting down on your bottom lip, chuckling darkly as your stiffened peaks pressed against the hard planes of his chest.

"Feisty little doll, aren't you?" He growled against your ear. Cassian hiked you up, letting you feel the effect of the kiss poking against your inner thigh. "I could take you right here and then without even breaking a sweat, sweetheart. You're such a tiny little thing, but you take cock so well, don't you?"

You responded with a whimper. Cassian bit into your neck, hard enough to leave a mark. "Cas, please."

The desperation in your voice was enough to make Cassian's cock twitch against your leg. You knew that with the right combination of pleading eyes and trembling lips, Cassian would be putty in your hands. You rolled your hips against him and he moaned against your neck. When his gaze met yours, his pupils were nothing but dark depths of desire.

"I need you, Cassian."

"Cauldron fucking boil me," he muttered. "Have me then, pretty girl."

You smirked, satisfied with your little victory until Azriel hovered behind Cassian's wings.

"Now who's spoiling her, Cas?" He nudged his brother aside and pulled you back down. Cassian smiled sheepishly, knowing full well that he would've fully given into you if the shadowsinger hadn't stepped in.

Azriel's smile was a cruel slant. "You're a devious little minx," he said. "You may be the perfect picture of innocence, but you're nothing but a filthy little slut, aren't you? It's too bad that I know all your tricks, angel. Seeing as how I’m the one who taught them to you."

You grinned. "It just means you're a great teacher, Az." The shadowsinger raised a brow as you snaked your arms around his neck. "You should be proud."

Azriel chuckled darkly before peeling you off of him. A dark curl clung to his cheek, covering the mischievous glint in his golden eyes. "I'll be proud after I make you squirt in my mouth two or three times." He nodded back to the marble bench. "Now be a good girl and lie down. You’re about to reap the consequences of your actions. I don't take kindly to being teased, my love."

The shadowsinger briefly glanced at Cassian. "You too, Cas. Hold her hips down. I don't want her squirming away before she's learned her lesson."

Cassian winked before settling onto the marble bench. Azriel instructed you to lie back against his brother's chest before kneeling between your legs. You swallowed thickly as the shadowsinger spread your thighs apart.

Azriel smirked as he secured your ankles around his neck. "You're dripping, angel." His seductive laugh skittered up your spine. "You like being a tease, don't you? Do you enjoy bringing Cassian and I to our knees?"

"Only because I love the view," you said with a smile. "But not as much as I love the both of you."

Cassian chuckled and wrapped you up in his arms. "We love you too, sweetheart, but Az is going to make you pay like he promised. Can't save you from him now, baby doll."

The shadowsinger kissed the inside of your knee and smiled. His warm breath fanned against your overheated core as he licked a teasing strip along your folds. You instantly arched into him, your body begging for more. Azriel signaled to Cassian, who shook his head and held your hips down.

"Don't let her up, Cassian." Azriel said. "Not until she begs."

Cassian only nodded and kept you firmly pressed against him as Azriel went to work. His tongue explored every inch of you, licking and sucking as though you were the strawberry cone from earlier. You nearly cried when he teased two fingers in, his mouth working in tandem to push you over the edge. The sensations were overwhelming and the combination of his mouth and fingers was enough to make you want to weep.

As always, Azriel set a punishing pace. It was like he was gauging how far he could push you until you completely lost your grip on reality. Your first orgasm felt like an explosion. Stars flooded your vision as though you were witnessing the demise of a dying star. A supernova.

The second time Azriel made you cum, you thought you were going to pass out from the intensity of the pleasure. When the third rolled around, you couldn't even remember your name.

"Az please," you cried. "I can't take any more."

Azriel glanced up at you, a damp curl clinging to his cheek as his mouth glistened with your arousal. He looked like a lion after devouring a fresh kill. Dark, lethal, and utterly dangerous. And you fucking loved him for it.

"You've got one more in you, darling. Doesn't she, Cas?"

Cassian smirked, his rough hands biting into your hips. "Maybe she needs a little motivation."

"Oh?" The smirk on Azriel's lips spelled nothing but trouble. He licked his lips, gathering the juices with his tongue. "Come and taste her on me, then. That should inspire her to ride another one out."

You swallowed thickly as Cassian kissed Azriel hungrily. The shadowsinger's scarred fingers snaked through Cassian's hair possessively, claiming him with his tongue and his touch. You groaned, whining until Azriel shot you a glare. He wasn't going to let you join in on the fun.

Cassian pulled away, looking dazed and disoriented. "You taste like heaven, doll." He kissed your cheek and chuckled as you tried to turn and catch his lips instead. "Be good and give Azriel one more, sweetheart. Then you can get all the kisses you want."

You pouted, but did as you were told. Azriel disappeared between your thighs again. Despite how overstimulated you felt, release found you in record time. Before you knew it, you were writhing against Azriel's mouth and coming for the fourth time.

It felt like both heaven and hell. Heaven because the pleasure was unlike any other. Hell because receiving that many orgasms back to back had you utterly spent even though you would've begged for more if you had the energy to speak.

"What did you learn today, angel?"

"Don't interrupt training." Azriel nodded in satisfaction. "And—"

The shadowsinger raised a brow. "There's an and?"

"And you eat pussy like a god," you stated matter-of-factly.

That earned you an amused smile. "Hear that, Cas? I think I might get a plaque made to put in my office."

Cassian only rolled his eyes. "She's only saying that because I haven't worked my magic yet." He brushed through your hair and kissed your temple. "I'll prove myself soon enough, but for now, you should get some rest pretty girl."

You nodded in agreement. "Cuddles?"

"Cuddles," Cassian confirmed.

After you cleaned up and dried off, you settled into bed. Sometimes the three of you slept in Cassian's room. Other times at Azriel's. But since your bed was the biggest, the three of you tended to prefer sleeping in your room most nights.

Your eyes felt heavy as Azriel snuggled behind you, smiling gently as Cassian tucked you underneath the blankets. You threw your leg over his, giggling as he complained about your cold feet.

"Shut up, you love it."

With the moonlight glistening against Cassian and Azriel's shirtless torsos as they snuggled up on either side, you couldn't help but feel like the luckiest female in the realm. The shadowsinger leaned over to kiss both of you good night.

“The next time you two conspire against me like that, I won’t be as nice. Do you understand?”

You and Cassian nodded, but the moment that Azriel looked away, you smirked at each other.

There would definitely be a next time.

You two never learned.

#i missed my bat boys #azriel smut #cassian smut #azriel fic #cassian fic #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #cassian x you #azriel x you

[wingedblooms]

The space between

This post explores how Elain and Azriel might use their powers together to uncover hidden, lost, or forgotten information. They both seem to be able to navigate the space between, sometimes called the in-between, which is not unique to Prythian and seems to be governed by the same force. As such, spoilers for all three series (TOG, ACOTAR, and CC) will be discussed. These ideas also build upon parallels and powers from the following posts:

A perfect blend: Quinlar and Elriel power parallels

Two sides of the same coin: Elriel parallels

Elain’s murky realm: her connection to the sacred trio, oracles, and mystics

A secret, lovely witch: Elain’s connection to witches across series and mythology

Merrill, a descendent of Dusk: a new order of spies

Forbidden secrets: unearthing the secrets of the sacred sister peaks

Azriel’s bonus chapter: my thoughts on a thing of secret, lovely beauty

The Space Between

The space between is a place of connection and balance where opposing forces meet. We see this concept surface in all three series. And it is particularly associated with the sacred trio—Mother, Cauldron, and Fate—which seems to be synonymous with Urd in Midgard and Wyrd (perhaps even the Goddess) in Erilea.

Prythian

Mother, Cauldron, Forces That Be (or Fate, as Rhysand says in ACOWAR; these seem to be interchangeable) that are part of existing fae beliefs and worshipped by priestesses. Services occur at dawn and dusk, which are liminal times where day and night meet.

We honor the Mother, and the Cauldron, and the Forces That Be. We have a service at dawn and at dusk, and on every holy day.

Midgard

Urd, a force, vat of life (vat is a container, like a bowl, which is how the Suriel describes the Cauldron), mother to all, secret language. The goddess, who may not really be a goddess, is part of the old beliefs of the Fae. It winds between worlds and takes many forms.

I thought the Fae bowed to Luna, but perhaps you remember the old beliefs? From a time when Urd was not a goddess but a force, winding between worlds? When she was a vat of life, a mother to all, a secret language of the universe? The Fae worshipped her then.

Erilea

Wyrd, a force that governs and forms all life, fate. Once part of an ancient religion and secret language forgotten long ago. There are gates that allow travel between worlds. Sometimes used in the same breath as the Goddess (who, according to priestesses, is called the Goddess and her gods, and we later learn that the gods are individuals within one consciousness, who can change their form).

Some books claim the Wyrd is the force that holds together and governs Erilea—and not just Erilea! Countless other worlds, too.” [….] “I’ve heard of it before,” he said, picking up his book. But his eyes remained fixed on her face. “I always thought the Wyrd was an old term for Fate—or Destiny.”

“A Wyrdmark,” the princess replied, giving it a name in Celaena’s own language. […] “They’re a part of an ancient religion that died long ago.” […] “You should leave it alone,” Nehemia said sharply, and Celaena blinked. “Such things were forgotten for a reason.”

She prayed to the Goddess, to every god she knew, to the Wyrd, to whatever was responsible for her fate, that she wouldn’t have to use it.

The Wyrd governs and forms the foundation of this world. Not just Erilea, but all life. […] There are gates—black areas in the Wyrd that allow for life to pass between the worlds. There are Wyrdgates that lead to Erilea. All sorts of beings have come through them over the eons.

The High Priestess walked onto the stone platform and raised her hands above her head. The folds of her midnight-blue gossamer robe fell around her, and her white hair was long and unbound. An eight-pointed star was tattooed upon her brow in a shade of blue that matched her gown, its sharp lines extending to her hairline. “Welcome all, and may the blessings of the Goddess and all her gods be upon you.” Her voice echoed across the chamber to reach even those in the back.

Sarah likely drew inspiration for this sacred trio from Norse mythology: völva, which is another name for wise woman, seer, or witch, use seidr to exert influence over Wyrd (Fate). Seidr is a type of magic that is strongly associated with household duties, such as weaving, and often involves spá (prophecy) and galdr (song/spell). It is also connected to gods and shapeshifting. As I have said before, it is likely no coincidence that Elain was so curious about the weaver’s creation of Void and Hope, and whether or not Amren was able to change her body in ACOFAS. It also makes sense that this sacred trio is connected to witches and priestesses across series, and explains why they will be important in Elain’s journey as a powerful seer.

The parallels don’t end there. Due to the nature of the sacred trio, it is connected to beings and symbols that bridge time and space across all three series.

Prythian

In his cell, the Carver—who is ancient—draws three interwoven circles in his cell as he tells Feyre the history of his family. He calls Koschei and Stryga death-gods who delighted in this world and were feared and worshipped by the fae thousands of years ago, similar to the gods in Erilea. It isn’t until ACOSF, however, that we start to notice a mysterious being—which is assumed to be the Mother—help Nesta. It is unclear, however, how gods are created. Are they all Made, and therefore part of the consciousness of the sacred trio? Nesta herself was described as a death-god with her Cauldron-blessed powers. So, is this mysterious presence a god or a powerful fae who has been gifted god-like powers (which might include speaking to beings across worlds and guiding them when needed)? Or did a god or two escape their fate in the hell-realm they were forced into and find refuge in Prythian? Nesta felt the need to place Elain’s rose next to a figurine of what she suspects is the Mother herself, and it is balanced in a liminal space, half-hidden in the shadows. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.

In the bonus scene that occurs after this chapter, Elain is then gifted a delicate rose amulet with hidden layers that glows with three colors: red, pink, white. Like the amulet itself, she is briefly gilded by faelight and glows like the dawn. I suspect this is a hint for her hidden Cauldron-blessed powers, which may be similar to the higher beings who can change form and navigate the in-between to guide others. Is that what the Cauldron meant when it gave her such powers?

The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. […] The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white.

Elain and the Cauldron seem to be connected, as both are described as blooming flowers:

The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower—and then she came.

She was a rose bloom in a mud field. […] If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta … she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood.

Her amulet is also made of stained glass, which naturally reminds me of the hidden witch mirror in the Eye of Elena, or Eye of the Goddess, as Manon later corrects. Witch mirrors, as we’ll see, can be used for various purposes—including navigating the in-between for secrets or holding power. It is interesting that this amulet finds its way to Clotho, a High Priestess of a religious order that still worships the sacred trio and has services where seven priestesses weave songs together like spells, under strange and mysterious circumstances.

Midgard

Bryce is given a delicate, golden amulet with three layers of circles. It is is called an Archesian amulet, which is eerily similar to the surname Archeron. Jesiba Roga, who gave this amulet to Bryce, goes by a name that is similar to Jezibaba, which is another name for Baba Yaga, Baba Roga, etc. And she just so happens to be hiding the remains of an ancient library, which was guarded by priestesses who are connected to the amulets (@silverlinedeyes has an amazing theory related to this). Is it possible that these priestesses are connected to witches and priestesses in other worlds, like Baba Yellowlegs, an Ancient with witch mirrors and knowledge of the sacred trio? Or High Priestess Oleanna, who used the Cauldron to create powerful objects that defeated the Daglan thousands of years ago? Was Oleanna’s role, like Elena in Erilea, forgotten for a reason? And will Elain, like Aelin, need to uncover her past for answers? (Bonus if there’s an ancestral connection, too.)

Bryce zipped a tiny golden pendant—a knot of three entwined circles—along the delicate chain around her neck. […] Bryce’s daily armor consisted solely of this: an Archesian amulet barely the size of her thumbnail, gifted by Jesiba on the first day of work.

“Says the female with the Archesian amulet around her neck. The amulet of the priestesses who once served and guarded Parthos. I think you know what’s here—that you spend your days in the midst of all that remains of the library after most of it burned at Vanir hands fifteen thousand years ago.”

Symbols like the amulets and stars represent balance. As we learn from Hypaxia—the Witch Queen in CC—there is power in the union of opposites, and specifically in the space where they meet and merge.

“A six-pointed star,” he said. Like the one Bryce had made between the Gates this spring, with the seventh candle at its center. “It’s a symbol of balance,” she explained, moving away a foot, but keeping the dagger at her side. Her crown of cloudberries seemed to glow with an inner light. “Two intersecting triangles. Male and female, dark and light, above and below … and the power that lies in the place where they meet.” Her face became grave. “It is in that place of balance where I’ll focus my power.”

Roses are also connected to liminal spaces—light and dark, goddesses, dreams, spirits, and travel—in all three series. But perhaps it’s not so strange when you consider their association with secrecy, divinity, and psychic powers.

He caught her, and sighed. She could have sworn he sounded … exasperated. He gave no warning as he hauled her over a shoulder and tromped down a set of stairs before entering somewhere … nice-smelling. Roses? Bread? They ate bread in Hel? Had flowers? A dark, cold world, the Asteri had said in their notes on the planet.

Erilea

In Erilea, Aelin meets her ancestor, Elena, in a dream after navigating secret passageways. She is drawn to a portal that smells warm and pleasant, like roses.

Celaena dreamt. She was walking down the long, secret passage again. She didn’t have a candle, nor did she have a string to lead her. She chose the portal on the right, for the other two were dank and unwelcoming, and this one seemed to be warm and pleasant. And the smell—it wasn’t the smell of mildew, but of roses. The passage twisted and wound, and Celaena found herself descending a narrow set of stairs. For some reason she couldn’t name, she avoided brushing against the stone. The staircase swooped down, winding on and on, and she followed the rose scent whenever another door or arch appeared.

The rose scent is connected to her ancestor, Elena, who descends from a goddess and uses the in-between to give Aelin a delicate amulet that has three layers of circles that forms an eye and has hidden depths of its own.

She expected to find a dark, forgotten room, but this was something far different. A shaft of moonlight shot through a small hole in the ceiling, falling upon the face of a beautiful marble statue lying upon a stone slab. No—not a statue. A sarcophagus. It was a tomb. Trees were carved into the stone ceiling, and they stretched above the sleeping female figure. A second sarcophagus had been placed beside the woman, depicting a man. Why was the woman’s face bathed in moonlight and the man’s in darkness?

In her hand lay a coin-size gold amulet on a delicate chain. She fought against the urge to scream. Made of intricate bands of metal, within the round border of the amulet lay two overlapping circles, one on top of the other. In the space that they shared was a small blue gem that gave the center of the amulet the appearance of an eye. A line ran straight through the entire thing. It was beautiful, and strange, and—

The phantom breeze flowed through her room, smelling of roses.

Elena goes on to protect Aelin with her golden light, which no doubt comes from her mother—the Lady of Light—who glows like the dawn.

And from another world, Elena swept down, cloaked in golden light. The ancient queen’s hair glittered like a shooting star as she plummeted into Erilea.

We find out after the fact that Nehemiah opened a portal with Wyrdmarks, which might be the secret language the Under-King mentioned. Elena is able to use the In-Between to help:

But the queen was both in and not in this world. She was in the In-Between, where she could not fully cross over, nor could the creatures that you saw. It takes an enormous amount of power to open a true portal to let something through—and even then, the portal will close after a moment.

Elena’s role was forgotten for a specific reason. We see Elain disappearing from the battle narrative already, but that might relate more to her powers. Is she bound to be known as the Seer more broadly, like the Shadowsinger, and others who are closely connected to the sacred trio? Those who have the power of sight, in particular, are solely known by their power—oracle or mystic. Is she willing others to forget for an important reason we will discover in the future? Whatever the reason, her presence and actions seem to be hidden intentionally.

“There are many things history has forgotten about me.” Elena’s blue eyes glowed with sorrow and anger. “I fought on the battlefields during the demon wars against Erawan—at Gavin’s side. That’s how we fell in love. But your legends portray me as a damsel who waited in a tower with a magic necklace that would help the heroic prince.”

Because I was sleeping—a long, endless sleep—and I was awoken by a voice. And the voice didn’t belong to one person, but to many. Some whispering, some screaming, some not even aware that they were crying out.

Like Elain’s amulet, the Eye of the Goddess (Eye of Elena) has hidden depths: it is a witch mirror that contains power.

A large circle—and two overlapping circles, one atop the other, within its circumference. “That is the Three-Faced Goddess,” Manon said, her voice low. “We call this …” She drew a rough line in the centermost circle, in the eye-shaped space where they overlapped. “The Eye of the Goddess. Not Elena.” She circled the exterior again. “Crone,” she said of the outermost circumference. She circled the interior top circle: “Mother.” She circled the bottom: “Maiden.” She stabbed the eye inside: “And the heart of the Darkness within her. […] That is an Ironteeth symbol. Blueblood prophets have it tattooed over their hearts. And those who won valor in battle, when we lived in the Wastes … they were once given those. To mark our glory—our being Goddess-blessed.”

Witch mirrors are incredibly powerful and they play a critical role in the TOG series.

The marking of the Eye of Elena. A witch symbol. […] It was Manon who answered, glancing sidelong at the grim-faced queen, “It’s a witch mirror.” […] “You can see the future, past, present. You can speak between mirrors, if someone possesses the sister-glass. And then there are the rare silvers—whose forging demands something vital from the maker.” Manon’s voice dropped low. Dorian wondered if even among the Blackbeaks, these tales had only been whispered at their campfires. “Other mirrors amplify and hold blasts of raw power, to be unleashed if the mirror is aimed at something.”

A different witch glass allows Aelin and Manon to discover what happened in the past and what must be done to fix it. They get a glimpse of the higher beings that have watched over and influenced their world:

They had no forms. They were only figments of light and shadow, wind and rain, song and memory. Each individual, and yet a part of one majority, one consciousness. […] Not just gods, but beings of a higher, different existence. For whom time was fluid, and bodies were things to be shifted and molded. Who could exist in multiple places, spread themselves wide like nets being thrown.

These parallels seem too precise to be coincidental: a sacred trio, amulets, secrets, roses, gods, priestesses, and witches all bridging the space between. It is likely, then, that we will see another symbol of balance: a bridge of power between two characters.

Conduits and Carranam

In HOSAB, Hunt and Bryce are encouraged to explore the similarities between their powers and train together:

“Both of you would benefit from training. Your powers are more similar than you realize. Conduits, both of you. You have no idea how valuable you and the others like you are.”

But it had worked. He’d taken the power and converted it into his own. Whatever the fuck that meant. Apollion had known—or guessed enough to be right. And Bryce … the sword …She’d been a conduit to his power.

Apollion calls them conduits, which derives from the Latin word for bring together. Conduits create a link or pathway between two things, and in this context, that thing is power. The presence of the Horn makes the link between Bryce and Hunt particularly unique. When their powers merge, they are not only able to convert magic, but even able to teleport together:

Falling through time and space and light and shadow—Up was down and down was up, and they were the only beings in existence, here in this garden, locked away from time—

Something cold and hard pushed into her back, but she didn’t care, not as she clenched Hunt to her, gasping down air, sanity. […] Sweat coated their bodies, and she dragged her fingers down his spine. He was hers, and she was his, and—

“Bryce,” Hunt said, and Bryce opened her eyes. Harsh, blinding light greeted them. White walls, diving equipment, and—a ladder. No hint of a garden.

Hunt describes how it felt to have her magic travel through him:

He didn’t know how to describe it—the feeling of her magic wending through him. Like he existed all at once and not at all, like he could craft whatever he wished from thin air and nothing would be denied to him. Did she live with this, day after day? That pure sense of … possibility? It had faded since they’d teleported, but he could still feel it there, in his chest, where her handprint had glowed. A slumbering little kernel of creation.

Her magic is described as a force that winds through him, making him feel like nothing and everything at once. They achieve that space of in-between, of balance, that Hypaxia uses to channel her magic. That magic remains with him, a slumbering kernel of creation waiting to be activated again.

The word conduit is also used in Prythian when Feyre, who is Made, acts as a conduit for the Cauldron—to both unbind and bind. After the spell she works unbinds Amren and the Cauldron, she has to act urgently because it has torn a hole in the fabric of the world. Like Hunt, she becomes both something and nothing at once. Rhysand’s magic flows through her to bind the Cauldron and he expends his power, his entire life force, to do it.

I was both form and nothing. And behind me … Rhys’s power was a tether. An unending lightning strike that surged from me into this … place. To be shaped as I willed it. Made and un-Made. […] I remembered a mural I had seen at the Spring Court. Tucked away in a dusty, unused library. It told the story of Prythian. It told the story of a Cauldron. This Cauldron. And when it was held by female hands … All life flowed from it. I reached mine out, Rhys’s power rippling through me. United. Joined as one. Ask and answer. I was not afraid. Not with him there.

Rhys’s power flowed through me, out of me. The Cauldron appeared. Light danced along the fissures where the broken thirds had come together. There—there I would need to forge. To weld. To bind. I put a hand against the side of the Cauldron. Raw, brutal power cascaded out of me. I leaned back into him, unafraid of that power, of the male who held me.

This pathway for sharing magic seems to function the same as carranam in TOG. According to Rowan, carranam bonds are rare and require deep trust. Some do not even risk exploring their compatibility given the vulnerability it requires, but it can be extremely advantageous in dire situations. Carranam can also communicate silently with one another.

Before we discover that Aelin and Rowan are carranam in TOG, Aelin uses a sacred object—Damaris, Sword of Truth—as a conduit for her magic:

She had little control over the power, but she did have a sword—a sacred sword made by the Fae, capable of withstanding magic. A conduit. Not giving herself time to think it through, she threw all her raw power into the golden sword. Its blade glowed red-hot, its edges crackling with lightning.

This scene, where Aelin reveals her fae heritage and channels her magic through another source, seems like intentional foreshadowing for her carranam bond with Rowan, which is introduced in the next book. And the language Sarah uses to confirm they are carranam is similar to language she uses between Elain and Azriel during their key scenes, which I will get to soon.

Rowan reached her, panting and bloody. She did not dishonor him by asking him to flee as he extended his bleeding palm, offering his raw power to harness now that she was well and truly emptied. She knew it would work. She had suspected it for some time now. They were carranam.

He had come for her. She held his gaze as she grabbed her own dagger and cut her palm, right over the scar she’d given herself at Nehemia’s grave. And though she knew he could read the words on her face, she said, “To whatever end?”

He nodded, and she joined hands with him, blood to blood and soul to soul, his other arm coming around to grip her tightly. Their hands clasped between them, he whispered into her ear, “I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”

Rowan’s magic punched into her, old and strange and so vast her knees buckled. He held her with that unrelenting strength, and she harnessed his wild power as he opened his innermost barriers, letting it flow through her.

A spear of black punched into her head—offering one more vision in a mere heartbeat. Not a memory, but a glimpse of the future. The sounds and smell and look of it were so real that only her grip on Rowan kept her anchored in the world.

So she was not afraid of that crushing black, not with the warrior holding her, not with the courage that having one true friend offered—a friend who made living not so awful after all, not if she were with him.

Offer and permission. Rowan came for Aelin and offered his hand, his power. She accepts his offer without the need for explanation. Their hands remain between them. Blood to blood, soul to soul. This language also appears in the witch curse, and the next sentence is: be the bridge, be the light. Together, these couples forge a bond of friendship, trust, and power. And it usually changes the course of the world.

Opposing forces

It is no coincidence that Elain and Azriel are described as opposing forces that achieve harmony together: light and dark, life and death, Hope and Void. They represent two halves of a magical whole, just like the Cauldron. And I suspect their opposing powers are pointed out for a reason.

All three are described as slumbering before their key scenes together:

But the Cauldron. As if some great sleeping beast opened an eye. The Cauldron seemed to sense us watching. Sense us there. […] She only panted, and that monstrous force swelled behind us, a black wave rising up.

I watched the light shift inside the sapphire Siphon instead, as if it were the great eye of some half-slumbering beast from a frozen wasteland.

The gates to her mind … Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns.

The Suriel calls Elain the trembling fawn (an echo of the Book of Breathings), and Azriel’s powers are compared to a beast. Together, they create a fanged beast and trembling fawn, though I still believe Elain could represent both on her own.

As the fawn, Elain is linked to the warmth of dawn and spring: the rebirth of life after the peaceful slumber of night and winter. And that wild power Azriel possesses is often associated with a cold, final rest: death.

“The Cauldron.” Another awful smile. “Yes. That mighty, wicked thing. That bowl of death and life.” It shivered with what I could have sworn was delight.

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber.

Azriel, his face a mask of beautiful death, silently promised them all endless, unyielding torment, even the shadows shuddering in his wake.

They also seem to combine Hope (iridescent light, or luminous colors) and Void (dark that devours all other light and color), which again creates balance associated with the Cauldron.

No crackling braziers, no faelights. And in the center of the massive tent … a darkness that devoured the light. The Cauldron.

Tendrils of light drifted between the sisters. And one, delicate and loving, floated toward Mor. To the bundle in her arms, setting the silent babe within glowing bright as the sun. […] And as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta’s back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore. A bargain. With the Cauldron itself. Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether.

Azriel’s black hair seemed to gobble up the blinding sunlight.

Azriel silently faded into blackness—until he was my own shadow and nothing more.

Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows.

Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn.

And while they may be at odds—as opposing forces naturally are—there is beauty and harmony in the place where they meet.

Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports—likely information on the Autumn Court that he planned to present to Rhys once he’d sorted through it all. Already dressed for the Hewn City—the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within it.

The place where they meet

These aren’t the only important scenes, of course, but they are scenes in which all three—the Cauldron, Azriel, and Elain—play a central role. The first scene occurs when Elain is lured and stolen by the Cauldron, and Azriel is the one who notices and plans to rescue her before others, even her own sisters. At this point (and I’d argue that this truly began at their very first meeting, like @offtorivendell) we can see they have a special connection. So what I am about to suggest may sound a little wild, and likely isn’t the case (yet), but I think it may at least be possible in the future.

Azriel and Elain are both perceptive and seem to read each other well without words, like those who are carranam. Unlike Mor and others, Elain does not need to pester Azriel to make him explain or talk about feelings.

Rhys loosed a breath. “It’s hard to tell with him—and he’d never tell me. I’ve witnessed Cassian rip apart opponents and then puke his guts up once the carnage stopped, sometimes even mourn them. But Azriel … Cassian tries, I try—but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor. And that’s only when she’s pestered him to the point where even his infinite patience has run out.”

In fact, Elain is able to elicit explanation and feeling from Azriel on her first attempt in their very first meeting: he admits that it can be frightening to fly, especially in bad conditions. It’s interesting that her first question, while seemingly simple and obvious, is focused on travel, something we know she desires, and something he wasn’t taught until later, which surely she couldn’t have known at that point.

Elain said to Azriel, perhaps the only two civilized ones here, “Can you truly fly?”

He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.”

“That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“It is sometimes,” Azriel said. Cassian tore his relentless attention from Nesta long enough to nod his agreement. “If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away.”

Similarly, Azriel seems to be able to read her without his shadows from this first interaction. Even with this connection, his reaction to her capture is noteworthy for a couple of reasons. First, he speaks from the shadows, as if in silent conversation with someone. This statement could simply be a response to the shadows, or it could be a response to someone, like Elain, who has powers that allow her to appear to and potentially communicate with others across realms. If they share a bond of power, then this might be yet another clue.

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

And most unusual, his eyes glow golden rather than darken like we would expect when he is upset. This could be attributed to strong emotions (like his joyful laughter in ACOFAS), but…it could also be connected to Elain’s magic. The only thing the Suriel notes of Elain’s search for it was that it could see her doe eyes peering at it from across the world. We don’t yet know what it looks like from the other side when mystics make contact, but we do know the ones they connect with—namely Princes of Hel—can, like conduits, peer back through their eyes to ascertain where they are. And like @silverlinedeyes and @offtorivendell have theorized, the Illyrians might share heritage with Princes of Hel.

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

If Azriel was engaging in silent communication with Elain, as @offtorivendell has suggested before, and she was trying to use a new power she didn’t fully understand, then her shock makes even more sense. My personal headcanon is that she told him not to come, tried to convince him she was okay…and he came for her anyway. (Yeah, yeah, this likely didn’t happen, but a girl can dream. That’s why I said it was headcanon.)

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

This small moment sounds a lot like the way Aelin responds when Rowan comes for her and offers her his power in another dire situation.

I love how this entire rescue sequence conveys their natural chemistry as they work together quietly and harmoniously even under dire circumstances. And when Azriel loses the current and drops a few feet suddenly, Elain is notably silent unlike Briar. She isn’t afraid with Azriel, her friend who came for her, holding her. Just like Feyre and Aelin weren’t afraid when their counterparts held them. It’s almost as if they were designed to travel together.

But he snarled, “Fly,” and I veered toward the way I’d come, back trembling with the effort to keep my body upright. Azriel turned, the girl moaning in terror as he lost a few feet to the sky—before he leveled out and soared beside me.

Sarah reminded us of this rescue sequence more than once in ACOSF for a reason, and I think that reason relates to their connection, but we won’t know for sure until the next book.

The other Cauldron-centric scene with Elain and Azriel involves rescuing the world. Azriel does something noteworthy in her presence yet again: he entrusts Truth-Teller to her, which is described like him and the Cauldron. As @ofduskcourts has pointed out, he arms her with this legendary blade gently, tenderly.

“It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”

And then their eyes meet and hands linger, words yet again not required for them to read each other. Blood to blood and soul to soul.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

Be the bridge…

I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection…that knife.

While I do believe feelings motivated Azriel in his gesture, I also can’t help but wonder if the blade wanted to be given to her (remember, Made items like Truth-Teller often became sentient). As @merymoonbeam suggests, it may have even recognized her as kin and sang to her like the Starsword sang to Bryce, who is the Starborn heir, not simply someone who has Starborn heritage. This inheritance seems to pass down through females, so what if that is the case for Truth-Teller? It may also explain why her eyes widen at the sight of the blade.

Be the (dark) light. Elain accepts the blade and uses it to change the course of the war and the fate of the realm. My favorite part of this rescue is that she appears to answer Feyre’s pleas, instead of or in coordination with the Cauldron, as though they are linked. I suspect this may have happened at the end of ACOSF as well (which I explain more in a reblog of the murky post). The Cauldron—part of the sacred trio—then purrs for Elain. Purrs. (If she can make that beast of a bowl purr, does that mean she can also make Azriel purr? Sorry, had to ask.)

For a moment, I thought the Cauldron had answered my pleas. […] Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.” […] The Cauldron purred in Elain’s presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat. Elain backed away a step.

And perhaps like Nesta, who needed to maintain distance from the Trove objects after recovering them, Elain returned the blade to Azriel in the same gentle manner and did not look back. The level of trust Azriel displays is noteworthy enough for Mor and Feyre to discuss in ACOFAS, which acts as a bridge between the main trilogy and spin-off novels. In other words, like the rescue scene, we aren’t quite done with that thread of the story yet.

Those two scenes, along with the other clues, lead us to the bit about how their powers might be brought together in future books. If you’ve read any of my recent theories, you know I have been circling around how they might travel together using their powers. @silverlinedeyes and @offtorivendell also suspect that both Azriel and Elain have access to Void. A while back, @elrielbliss posted about their ability to teleport, and @merymoonbeam reminded us of the pocket-realm Apollion uses to speak with Hunt. A pocket-realm is the space—or void—between, where life can pass through as we learned in Erilea.

“I am not in your mind, though your thoughts ripple toward me like your world’s radio waves. You and I are in a place between our worlds. A pocket-realm, as it were.”

I believe that those who have been granted access to the space between—like Elain and Azriel—can use it to travel. Not only are they both connected to the Cauldron, which is a magic bowl of power and a portal, but they are also both gifted with unique powers that allow them to travel in ways that uncover secrets, truths that have been hidden or forgotten over time. These powers are given to them in the dark: Azriel’s powers came to him while he was locked up in an airless, lightless cell, and Elain’s sight was gifted to her when she was tossed into the dark womb-like waters of the Cauldron.

In the centuries I’d known him, he’d said little about his life, those years in his father’s keep, locked in darkness. Perhaps the shadowsinger gift had come to him then, perhaps he’d taught himself the language of shadow and wind and stone.

More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown.

They both possess the gift of moving unseen and unheard:

I didn’t want to think about where they’d go, what Azriel would do. I hadn’t even known Azriel possessed the ability to winnow, or whatever power he’d channeled through his Siphons. He’d let Rhys winnow us both in the other day—unless the power was too draining to be used so lightly.

But we were gone. Azriel’s dark breeze was different from Rhys’s. Colder. Sharper. It cut through the world like a blade, spearing us toward that army camp.

And as if he’d summoned him, Azriel stepped out of a pocket of shadow by the stairs and scanned us from head to toe.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her, “Using me.”

Do they access the space between when they travel physically, giving themselves over to wind and darkness?

She didn’t dare see if Hunt still stood after his flawless shot. Not as the air of the Gate’s arch turned black. Murky. […] Bryce gave herself to the wind and darkness, and teleported for the Gate.

Does time slow when they travel, similar to when Bryce accesses the gate with the Horn?

Rigelus roared as Bryce jumped into the awaiting darkness. It caught her, sticky like a web. Time slowed to a glacial drip. […] She fell, slowly and without end—and sideways. Not a plunge down, but a yank across. The pressure in her ears threatened to pulp her brain, and she was screaming into wind and stars and emptiness, screaming to Hunt and Ruhn, left behind in that crystal palace. Screaming—

Her teleportation is associated with terms that remind us of the Cauldron (the icy darkness of Void), Azriel (his icy rage and cold, dark breeze), and Elain (murky realm). Murkiness, like darkness, is ambiguous enough to describe air or water, and it is this dark setting that both oracles and mystics use to activate their powers. Like the higher beings who are part of the same consciousness (which I believe is the sacred trio), they also possess different forms: one is a sphinx and the other is a wolf shifter. Elain persistently asked about changing bodies in the book that is meant to act as a bridge for future stories, so the connection between gods, sacred sight, guidance, and different forms might be another hint that Elain can shift between forms and places, like the sacred trio. Similar to the gate that allows Bryce to travel, the mystic wolf’s water is described as murky:

But Ithan stormed to the nearest tub. The wolf mystic floated in the murky, salt-laden water, hair spread around her, eyes closed. Breathing mask and tubes back in place.

Just like Elain’s inner sight:

Elain was staring at the unlit fireplace, eyes lost to that vague murkiness.

Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.

@offtorivendell also pointed out this thought from Feyre, which reinforces what we suspect. Elain can access the space between through her murky realm, and uses it to wander, like the sacred trio:

Elain had been told—by Amren. She now sat at the table, more straight-backed and clear-eyed than I’d seen her. Had she beheld this, in whatever wanderings that new, inner sight granted her? Had the Cauldron whispered of it while we’d been away? I hadn’t the heart to ask her.

If she does travel like the sacred trio, does it look like this?

I lunged for them, but the Cauldron was too fast. Too strong. It whipped me back, back, back—across the battlefield. […] We arced away, across the field. […] We whisked by so quickly I couldn’t hear what was said… […] The Cauldron sucked back into itself, and I was again atop that rock. […] I snapped back into my body. My hand remained atop the Cauldron. A living bond. But with the Cauldron settled into itself…I blinked. I could blink.

Like Nesta flowing into the Prison during her song-induced vision, Feyre is whisked across the battlefield by the Cauldron. It moves like a force. When her hands are on its iron body, she describes their connection as a living bond. As I have theorized before, Elain seems to possess a living bond with the Cauldron through her murky realm, which may be just beyond the vine-covered iron mental gates. This living bond allows her to move through the world, and in between worlds, like the higher beings who are part of that sacred consciousness, providing guidance and support when needed. And when she withdraws from the endless, murky pathways of this consciousness, she blinks.

Accessing the past, rather than watching the present, may function slightly different. But it also resides in that space between. When in the witch mirror, Aelin and Manon have bodies that are not bodies. It is a void, a place of dark light, and the memories they witness ripple and expand—like air or water.

Aelin had a body that was not a body. She knew only because in this void, this foggy twilight, Manon had a body. A nearly transparent, wraithlike body, but … a form nonetheless. […] Not … this. Not absolutely nothing. […] The eddying fog darkened, and Manon and Aelin stepped close together, back to back. Pure night swept around them—blinding them. Then—a murky, dim light ahead. No, not ahead. Approaching them. But the light rippled and expanded, figures within it appearing. Solidifying. […] They stared into the swirling mist again, where the scenes—the memories—had unfolded.

Is it possible that Elain can access both past and present, but they require different pathways in the space between? Will she travel those pathways with someone else—her wraithlike friends, one of the priestesses, or her bonded partner and friend? Like Rowan is for Aelin, I suspect Azriel might also be the voice, a tether for Elain in the void—a secret, silent dreamer.

He was a voice in the void, a secret, silent dreamer. And so were his companions.

And with Azriel’s presence, she won’t need to be afraid of what she uncovers. They will face it together. The big question for me is, what does travel look like when their powers merge and they access that space between? Can Elain take Azriel wherever she travels mentally, like the Cauldron does when it is connected to Feyre through a living bond? Is it possible for them to navigate those pathways and physically appear together wherever they focus their intention? Or is it simply that, with Azriel’s power, Elain might travel deeper and faster without losing herself to the cosmos like others have? It would make sense that he can—as carranam do—physically and mentally anchor her. Any of these possibilities might help Bryce find Hel and, ultimately, uncover lost truths to defeat the Asteri, who will likely use every advantage they possess—including a network of mystics, if they haven’t already—to exact revenge. Elain and Azriel will need to explore their powers and travel to whatever end to find the answers, all to weave a more hopeful future together.

“It was those voices that woke me. The voices of those wishing for an answer, for help.” Elena’s eyes slid to Manon, then back to hers. “They were from all kingdoms, all races. Human, witch-kind, Fae … But they wove a tapestry of dreams, all begging for that one thing … A better world.

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #seer elain #azriel shadowsinger #elain x azriel #carranam #conduits #hosab spoilers #cc acotar tog crossover theories #this is the longest post I’ve ever written #sorry not really sorry #witches and priestesses and seers oh my #the space between

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fourteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Secrets are revealed, relationships are tested, and the arrival of new guests at the River House make things all the more complicated. Oh and some canon typical violence.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

There was something cold and damp against your forehead, the bitter taste of medicine lingered on your tongue, dry and acrid, and a faint pulsing near the base of your skull.

“She’s waking up.” Gwyn’s voice came to your ears through fifteen feet of water. “You can hold her hand, if you’d like. She can handle it now.”

A hand slid into yours, palms calloused from hundreds of years spent swinging a sword. Warm and heavy. Golden light pricked behind your eyes like sunlight through thin curtains and you woke up to the sun smiling down on you, red-eyed and weary.  

“Helion?” His healing touch traveled over you, whisking away any remaining tenderness in your stomach. You whimpered when he wove his fingers through your hair, gently peeling apart any tangles. It felt nice to be touched by him. Safe.

“I’m here.” 

“It hurts,” you murmured, even though you couldn’t identify the pain very well. It seemed to exist both within you and outside of you, pressing down on your chest until even breathing felt unnatural. Everything just… hurt. Your head, your heart, your throat. Like you’d swallowed a mouthful of hot ash. “I’m so… I’m so tired.” 

Again Helion combed your hair back with his fingers and you felt the sore spot on the back of your head prickle when he touched it. The blood had been cleaned, the wound closed, but you could still feel it there like a stamp sinking into your skin. The same way you could feel the stretch of scar tissue over your stomach. A thick, pale line a few inches below your sternum.  

“You’re ok, my dear. Rest. I won’t let anything hurt you.” 

“Thanks Dad,” you whispered, but you were already slipping away. You wouldn’t remember what you called him when you woke up again. 

Helion gritted his teeth and brushed away the stray tears that dripped down your cheeks, then his own. 

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” he said to the empty air.

The next time you awoke was not so pleasant. There was no caressing hand down your face. No slow murmurs from your father. No warm light blinking in the darkness. 

There was the banging of doors. Cassian’s alarmed shouts mixing with Rhysand and Mor’s, and Feyre’s commands for Nyx to take Velaria upstairs and lock the door behind them.

“Don’t come down until I get you, ok sweetie?” The boy’s footsteps were light and quick up the stairs as he calmed a startled Velaria with gentle coos. 

“Gwyn?” You reached across the bed for the priestess’s hand. Her robes looked like they were glowing to your sleep-dazed eyes. 

Her teal eyes were hard. The grip on her knife tight. 

“Gwyn, what’s happening?”

“Shhhh. Go back to sleep.” 

Helion roared and the River House shook down to its foundations. The silky covers stuck to your weak arms, slippery and cool as you gripped Gwyn’s arm and forced yourself to stand. Your knees immediately buckled and Gwyn’s awaiting arms caught you in a sprawl of heavy limbs. 

The House trembled once more. The wooden banisters creaked. The faelights that sat on swooping, wrought iron curls blinked on and off, signaling the House’s alarm as the floor slipped and slid beneath your feet. Help me! The House seemed to shout. 

“Gwyn.” 

“Hold onto me.” 

You leaned heavily against the priestess’s side, her arm wrapped around your waist, and together you stumbled out the door and into the hallway. 

You blinked, eyes adjusting to the lamplight just as Cassian flew across the room, crashing into the fireplace mantle in a burst of color that had you turning pale. The glass figurines and picture frames cracked and shattered in a rain of glass. But Cass only grumbled, “This is what I get for helping,” before bouncing onto his feet and charging back into the foyer where Rhysand, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor stood. Rhysand kept his arm out in front of the two sisters and grabbed Mor’s arm before she could step further. 

“Let them go.” Rhys said, his voice low and deadly. He knew something they didn’t. “Helion has a right to this.” 

“It wasn’t Azriel’s fault,” Mor seethed.

“Doesn’t matter. I’d do the same if anyone hurt Velaria.” 

“What the hell does that—” 

Helion slammed Azriel’s bloody and bruised body against the wall with a snarl. The shattered vases in the hallway and the blood dripping from Azriel's broken nose clear evidence that you'd stumbled upon this fight a few minutes late.

Helion held a fistful of black leather in one hand and a gleaming sword of pure light angled up just beneath Azriel’s sternum in the other. His skin burned so brightly even Azriel’s shadows had slunk away to seek shelter in the few remaining dark corners of the House.

“You bastard,” Helion spit out the words like venom. 

Azriel hung limp and exhausted, wings brushing against the floor. The bruises beneath his eyes and the cut of his cheeks spoke of days spent without sleep. Days spent prowling Velaris for Andrian. Days spent waiting outside your door for you to wake up. 

“You think I don’t see what game you’re playing? This pathetic pattern of yours?” Helion’s eyes flashed a dangerous yellow. 

“Helion!” Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be. “Let him go!”

“It’s not a game,” Azriel said through gritted teeth. “It’s never been a game. Not with her.” “Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” Helion snarled. He pulled Azriel off the wall only to slam him back into it. Cracks splintered out like spiderwebs. Dust floated down and landed in Azriel’s hair like snow. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were convinced enough about a mating bond with Elain to invoke a fucking Blood Duel with Lucien Vanserra. Now you’re chasing after Y/n’s skirts like a dog? Looking at her with lovesick eyes as if being near you won’t bring anything but death on her head?” 

You went still.

He’d… he’d challenged Elain’s mate to a Blood Duel?

He’d believed they were mates?

All at once it made sense why Elain and Lucien had disappeared to the Mortal Lands, chased away by a violence that should have ended with either Lucien or Azriel ritualistically buried in the ground. Nothing but a pint of blood and a name to remember them by. All at once it made sense why it had been so long since their family had lived under one roof. 

Your words shriveled up in your throat and died there.

Azriel stiffened, eyes flashing dangerously. 

Helion clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not the only one who hears whispers, Shadowsinger,” he hissed. “First it was Mor you pined after for five-hundred years, then Elain, then the priestess. One right after the other like a prize just out of reach.” 

Gwyn tensed beside you and your heart tightened in your chest like untempered glass ready to shatter. 

“Gwyn?” You whispered. 

You had no right to Azriel, no right to know about his past exploits with females, but still it felt like something you should have been told after long nights spent in the priestess’s presence. Months of living under their roof, eating their food, and falling in love without a whisper of warning. The things they must have whispered about when you weren’t in the room. 

Her silence was all you needed to hear. Greasy and rotten.

Azriel’s hands shook the more Helion spoke. 

“You like your females broken and vulnerable. You like it when they need you. When you get to swoop in feeling like some grand hero. So you felt you had the right to go after my daughter! And then you were too weak to protect her when the time came? You dared to lay a hand on her are you fucking kidding me?!”

The world froze at those two words. The Inner Circle was shocked into complete silence. 

You swayed dangerously as the floor tilted beneath your bare feet. 

Is that what they thought of you? Is that what Azriel thought of you? Broken. Weak. Pathetic. Someone who couldn’t handle their own. Someone who had needed saving. An easy target to charm and dazzle. A Librarian who’d been left alone for so long she’d throw herself at the first handsome male who smiled in her direction. 

Azriel stiffened. 

You were Helion’s daughter. And somehow that made everything worse, because Azriel knew how lonely you’d been as a child and how much losing your mother had nearly destroyed you. You’d shoved yourself into the Alcove where everything was familiar and safe, and all this time Helion had just stood by and done the bare minimum. 

Azriel had been holding back his rage — his pain — but he felt it erupt with new passion. Lingering jealousy, that acid that had been building up every time you mentioned Helion or touched the necklace he’d gifted you, added fuel to the fire. Shadows burst out from his hands and ate away at Helion’s magic like a plague.

“Don’t you dare,” Azriel growled and spit blood onto the floor by Helion's feet, “You weren’t even here. She could have died on those streets.” His voice was hoarse and on the verge of breaking, “And you wouldn’t have been there.” 

And he might not have been there either. 

Rhys had held him back, refusing to let go even as Azriel had tried to crawl to you on broken bones. Even as Azriel had screamed for you. 

Helion's face twisted into something ugly and foreign to you, because deep down he knew the true reason he was so enraged at the Shadowsinger. It was like looking in a mirror. They’d failed you in similar ways. 

“Helion… Helion no!” But your father didn’t listen. 

His power shot out in a blaze of light and heat and slammed into Azriel’s chest. His shadows were barely able to soften the blast. Azriel saw you then, shock and horror seeping down the bond along with something that felt a lot like heartbreak. You watched wide-eyed and slack jawed as the wall bowed out and then snapped in two. Azriel was thrown onto the front lawn, a gaping tear left in the House like a knife wound. 

Helion stepped outside and stalked up to Azriel like a lion out for blood. There was murder and hatred in his eyes. 

Everyone was shouting again as he raised his sword. 

You felt a flare of something bright and hot in your chest, like a shot of whiskey or the first bleeding rise of the sun. You stood up on your own, eyes burning with a glassy, gold sheen that had Gwyn stepping away from you with a gasp. You were glowing, pure and clear and strong. 

You’d only felt like this twice before. First, when you’d grabbed hold of Henna and stopped hiding who you really were, and then once more at the Palace of Hoof and Leaf mere minutes before Azriel had turned the book to ash. Both moments where your power demanded to be felt. Moments when your emotions turned to magic. 

“Helion.” Your voice echoed throughout the room and into the wide open space beyond, eerie and calm. So loud. So quiet. Like an aching whisper in pitch black darkness. “Let. Him. Go.”

Helion blinked in surprise with his arms still raised over his head. Inch by inch that blade of bright light faded away with the dying light of a sunset. His eyes cooled and that magic rage left his body. He staggered away from where Azriel lay on the ground. 

Your hands were trembling, but you forced them to be calm as Azriel got back on his feet, hazel eyes boring into yours. He drank in the sight of you. Your wrapped forearm. The white bandages around your middle peering through your thin nightgown. Your clean hair. 

The smell of blood was but a distant nightmare, even if he swore he could still feel it on his ruined hands. Slippery and dark. 

You turned to leave.

“Y/n, wait!” Azriel shoved a stunned Helion out of his way, racing back into the House in a blur of darkness. “Y/n,” he begged and reached out his hand, “Please let me explain.” 

You froze. The weight of his hand wrapping around your wrist and the rough feel of his scars against your fluttering pulse pinned you to the floor. You felt uncentered — off kilter — and without meaning to, you were thrust into his mind. 

You felt the way he’d pined after Mor for centuries. Always close by. Waiting. Watching for the moment she might actually look at him and realize what he was willing to become for her. Someone to love and kiss and take to bed. Someone who’d never have cast her off into that wood. Someone who would do whatever she asked until she was smiling and whole again. 

You felt the way he looked at Gwyn, like she could be the answer to all his questions. Like she could be the one to hone all his sharp edges with her delicate smile and her creamy skin and dewdrop eyes. Because if she could love him, it might actually mean something. It would mean he was capable of fixing, not just destroying. 

You… you knew the ways he’d imagined Elain. Three sisters for three brothers. Mates. Fate. Love. How he’d imagined touching her. How he had touched her. The thrill of hiding away in dark corners and the soft skin of her fragile neck beneath his lips. The arch of her back. Wood grain beneath his fingers as he pressed her up against a wall and kissed her. How he couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else ever again. 

You felt the acidic contents of your stomach surge and wrenched your hand out of his grasp. 

Azriel faltered, eyes wide and staring. Something inside of him fractured and broke. You hadn’t pulled away from him like that since Summer Solstice back when you were strangers and meant nothing to one another. But even then you hadn’t looked at him with this much feeling. This much betrayal. 

His arm was still outstretched and hanging in the empty air. 

Tears dotted your eyes, but you forbid them from falling. Not in front of him. Never in front of him. 

“I am not broken.” 

You went back to your room and slammed the door shut. 

“I thought he liked me,” you murmured pathetically, leaning against Helion’s side. He’d slid into your room quietly and approached you like a wounded animal ready to scatter. 

Your father hesitated, fingers caught in hair that reminded him so painfully of Leda — of your mother. Things had not ended well between them, but he could think of her with nothing less than fondness and gratitude. After all, Leda had given birth to you. Brilliant, wonderful, beautiful you. 

He listened to the House and the way it seemed to be holding its breath. The doors shut a little tighter. The curtains hugged the windows. And across the hall shadows lingered by the door of Azriel’s room, reaching out towards yours but never crossing the threshold. They were held back by their master’s tight leash. 

“I know this might come as a surprise after what I did, but I… He did like you. He does like you. They all do. How could they not?”

You shook your head slowly. “But not in the way I want him to. Not in the way I lo—” You shut your mouth and sighed bitterly. Your cheeks flushed with warmth and before you knew it you were crying again, leaking tears onto Helion’s bare shoulder and feeling wretched. 

Azriel curled in on himself, collapsed on the floor like a broken doll with knees pulled up to his chest as he ignored the pulling of his shadows. 

She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. They repeated over and over again, yanking on his leathers and strands of ebony black hair. Helion had left for one of the guest bedrooms upstairs after you cried yourself to sleep. Now was Azriel’s chance to beg for your forgiveness. To explain himself. To hope.

She needs you.

Azriel shrugged them off, scattering their disembodied voices with a wave of his gloved hand. He was back to wearing them. 

I am the last thing she needs.

“Lucien’s found one of Bethsevah’s descendants.” 

Gwyn stood by the doorway, pale skin and blue robes outlined by the mountain’s red walls. The priestess kept her hands behind her back, wringing them in a nervous twist of bitten fingernails, and waited for you to finally look up from your notes. 

You didn’t like spending time at the House. You hated the way everyone’s attention shifted to you whenever you entered a room; the look of tight, empathetic smiles and knowing glances filling their eyes. It wasn’t that they were trying to be unkind, but you knew they whispered about the power you’d displayed. About your status as Helion’s bastard daughter. About the absolute state that Azriel was in. 

This morning, when you’d left your room for Cagniv Library, Azriel had been waiting, filling his bedroom door frame with a hauntingly tortured look in his eyes. 

“Y/n, please—” 

You’d left without a second glance in his direction, footsteps hurried and head bowed down. His shadows had followed you to the front steps of the house, but no further and you couldn’t help but feel a weight in your chest thinking about how Azriel had looked. He’d started wearing the gloves again. 

Bethsevah’s name rang through the air like a jolt of electricity. After thousands of years, her name still held a strength that demanded to be felt. The book was gone. Whatever magic Azriel had been forced to perform had swept it away to the Continent, and Rhys and Feyre had been wracked with worry and preparations ever since. Favors called in. Threats made. Weapons forged. Bodies armed. At any point they might be called away to the Continent, or forced to reckon with a Death God at their door. 

You’d helped in your own way by digging through your notes on mating bonds and the manuscript that was becoming more useful each day. 

Thanatos and the Bone Carver, one and the same, and mated to Bethsevah Mordeigh. Magic that wasn’t the same, but perfectly complementary. Magic that worked as a lock and a key. 

You were made to ruin me.

Your initial theory, the one you’d shared with Azriel in that cramped apartment at the Alcove, had turned out to be true. Bethsevah, and Bethsevah alone as Thanatos’s mate, had possessed the ability to split him from his power and lock him away, and because his magic was cut from the same kind as his siblings, Beth had been able to do the same with Stryga and Koschei. Her blood, her genetic connection to that magic, would be the only thing capable of releasing the power in the lake. 

All magic could trace itself back to a biological underpinning. 

You were made to ruin me.

The memory was burned behind your sleepless eyes and haunted your dreams, but sometimes when you stopped concentrating so hard on the harsh angles that made up the Bone Carver’s face, you caught him transforming. Black eyes turned to brandy. His reed thin body filled out and grew strong. Wings sprouted from his back. His pale skin turned tan and scarred.

You were made to ruin me, Y/n. Azriel would say, and you’d pretend that the look of utter love and adoration in his eyes was real. 

“When will they be arriving?” 

Gwyn sighed in relief. You’d been so quiet the last few days. “Tomorrow.” 

Mor bit her cherry red lips, glancing at Rhys and Feyre with worry in her eyes as they all stood in a row ready to greet their guests. Rhys was schooling his features into one of careful neutrality, but Mor had known him for centuries. She’d seen him through his awkward teenage years when his skin wasn’t so perfect and his body grew like a weed in Spring. Back when his temper wasn’t so honed and his ego undeserved. She knew when he was agitated. The squaring of his shoulders. The set of his eyes. The faintest twitch of his left ear. 

What a fucking mess this all was. If he thought about it too hard it gave him a raging headache. 

Azriel and Y/n were mates, although Y/n didn’t know and no one knew how to tell her, especially after Azriel had stabbed her through the chest under Andrian’s influence. Helion had nearly killed Az. Azriel had nearly killed Lucien. And if anyone ever told Lucien about Y/n being his half-sister, he was sure Lucien would try and kill Azriel too… again. And— oh FUCK. Helion didn’t know Lucien was his son. Y/n didn’t Lucien was her half-brother. Fuck fuck FUCK. Cauldron boil me.

Rhysand rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. 

Azriel stood motionless, nothing but the minor sway of his wings and the masked look of anguish in his eyes to hint that he was still reeling from that day in the market square. He couldn’t stop glancing over at where you stood between Mor and Cassian, every inch of your skin covered and a forcefully blank look on your face.

Truth Teller was no longer strapped to his thigh. His shadows had returned, but with hesitance, and Rhys couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Azriel eat something. Every family meal that you didn’t attend, Azriel would just stare at your empty seat and flinch at the sound of knives dragging through meat.

Feyre winced at the onslaught of Rhysand’s thoughts. Do we even want to attempt to fix any of that right now?

Feyre darling, where would we even begin?

At least Helion’s moved to the House of Wind. Feyre offered it as a small consolation. Took me a while to convince him of that.

Rhys gritted his teeth. And he will stay on that fucking mountain.

Lucien had gone his entire life not knowing about Helion precisely because when he stood next to his brothers he blended in. There was just enough similarity there in the silhouette of their faces and their overwhelmingly bright red hair, that no one had ever batted an eye at the seventh son of Autumn. But put Lucien and Helion side by side and a keen eye would make out the same strong slope of their noses, the same dimples on their cheeks when they smiled, and the way their brow bones hung over deep set eyes.

You possessed such an eye — an eye for details and specifics. So when Lucien Vanserra walked through the front doors with the setting sun splashing his frame with fire and light, Elain glowing and beautiful beside him, you knew immediately who he was. 

Fuuuuccccckkkkkk. Cassian groaned. Nesta, she knows. 

Stop it. There’s no way she figured it out that quickly. Nesta said. Then she actually looked at you. Your mouth was open in a round “o” and your face had gone pale. Oh for fuck’s sake. Really?

Your gaze was locked on Lucien as he walked up to Rhysand and shook his hand. 

“Lucien, welcome back to the Night Court. It’s been too long.” 

His golden eye whirred, moving up and down the line and lingering first on Azriel. His full lips flattened, freckled nose twitching with thinly veiled distaste. “Not long enough.” But his many years spent as emissary wiped the emotion from his face quickly and he moved on, greeting everyone with a detached kindness. 

“Luc.” The High Lady grinned, finally tugging a genuine smile from Lucien Vanserra’s lips. 

“Hey Feyre.” 

She wrapped him in her arms, closing her eyes and giving him a hearty squeeze. 

“It’s good to see you again.” 

“You too.” 

There was a somber familiarity there, and you got the sense that Feyre was the only one Lucien truly felt connected to. Whatever history he had with the other members of the Inner Circle was tolerable at best.

You finally caught his eye — the one strange face he’d never seen before. He easily towered above you, built with Helion’s strong legs and resplendent in a deep green riding cloak and cream-colored trousers that accentuated the tinge of color in his skin and his mismatched eyes. 

He tipped his head to the side, his long braid falling over his shoulder, and smiled softly. “You must be the Librarian that got roped into all of this madness.” Yes. Because that’s all you were to him — some unnamed female from the Day Court. An unfortunate victim of circumstance. “Y/n Halwynn.” 

You blinked, surprised to hear him speak your name so casually when you were reeling over the fact that standing in front of you was another one of Helion’s children. Another bastard that perhaps should never have been. Your half-brother.

“The one and the same.” 

Lucien evaluated the shrewd set of your eyes and the fit of your clothes over straightened shoulders and found that, at first glance, he quite liked you. You were of the bookish variety — that much was evident in the small novels dragging down your pockets and the smudged inkstains on your fingertips — but you held yourself in front of him well. You looked kind, if not skittish. 

“Lucien Vanserra.” He held out his hand and you regarded it with hesitance before accepting it. 

“I know the name.”

“It is a rather infamous last name.” 

“Bit of an infamous first name too.” 

Lucien smiled a little wider. Yes. He quite liked you. 

Elain hugged her sisters in turn, breathing in their familiar scent and gripping them tightly. Her time in the Human Lands had served her well. Gone were the days of frail bones and heavy eyes always looking out sunny windows. Her skin was flush with color, her hands strong and calloused, and her knees pleasantly bruised after months spent laboring in the fields outside Vassa and Jurian’s manor. She smelled like soil and flowers. She was as lovely as everyone had always described her. The second Archeron sister who’d been born with an unnatural beauty even before turning fae. 

Your eyes dropped to the floor so you wouldn’t have to see what Azriel did when she greeted him. But it didn’t matter. They avoided one another carefully, and Azriel kept looking at you, begging you to lift up your eyes so he could offer you a smile. 

A word. 

A glance. 

Anything.

Bethsevah’s descendant appeared next, willful and stunning in her own way as she waited by the door. Her frizzy grey hair was held away from her face with a strap of leather, stormcloud eyes staring out unflinchingly from a time-worn face. Everything about her was grey from her hair to her clothes and the iron jewelry that hung from her neck and wrists. Cassian sometimes forgot how humans wore their age so openly, and how this woman in particular seemed to brandish it like a weapon. 

“Ione Morgana.” Her voice was deep and hardy. Her eyes narrowed at everyone now that the familiar introductions had finished. “That’s my name and it’s the name my family has carried as long as we can remember. Although the redhead seems to believe otherwise. I am old, as you creatures can very well see, and I am tired. My parents are long gone. My sons dead. My sisters dead too. Now,” she banged her walking stick on the ground, although she hadn’t used it when walking up the steps, “Which one of you will see me to my room?” Her words came out more as a command than a question. 

Rhys tipped his head to the side, his surprise evident on his face. “You’re a very bold woman. Do you not comprehend who you’re standing in front of? My wife in particular?” 

“Boldness comes with age.” She stuck her nose in the air like a wolf sniffing for a bunny, “Something you’d do well to learn.” 

An amused smile grew on Rhysand’s face. “I’m over five hundred years old.” 

“You certainly don’t act like it, standing all crooked like a tryhard.” 

Cassian coughed into his fist and Mor snickered. 

“I could kill you.” 

Rhys!

Relax, my love, I’m just curious how she will react. 

The woman — Ione — hardly reacted at all. In fact, she almost smiled. “Time can kill me. Sickness can kill me. At this point a stiff wind could knock me down and break my back. You’re not special.” She whacked her walking stick again, harder this time. “Now. My room?”

Nesta raised and then dipped her head in silent acknowledgement and together they disappeared into the east wing of the house looking like two grey chess pieces moving over the tiles. 

“Wonderful isn’t she?” Elain commented with a fond look in her eyes. She was Ione’s favorite by far.

Jurian came in last, sweat beading his brow as he dragged a huge steel cage up the steps, and Lucien and Elain’s faces turned solemn. Vassa flitted inside her prison — a cage within a cage so that she couldn’t snap at Jurian’s hands when he got too close. His eyes were bloodshot, knuckles bruised and bloody. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You’d imagined the firebird as something majestic. You’d imagined feathers dipped from the richest dyes trailing light from their ends like red, green, and blue sparklers. Instead, her eyes were the only vibrant feature about her, and they were sharp from hunger. 

“What’s happened to her?” Cassian breathed. When he stepped forward, Vassa lunged from her perch, screeching when she clashed with the steel grate. Her claws tore at the metal but never broke through the magic Lucien had placed there. 

Jurian whispered words of comfort and love through the metal, and in time, Vassa seemed to settle. 

“It started last week,” Lucien said through clenched teeth, “The day Koschei got his hands on the book, Vassa started going mad. She can’t sleep, not in her human form or as a firebird, and she keeps… hungering for something she can’t name. The day we found Ione, she…” 

“She tried to kill me.” Jurian raised his hands and slid his sleeves down. Claw marks, barely healed, ran jagged down his arms. “Let’s not mince words, Lucien.” He grimaced. “Koschei’s trying to call her back to the lake, but she’s fighting it with everything she has.” He looked back at Vassa, eyes dull and tired. She screeched once again and feathers fell from her body before curling up into blackened husks on the floor. You could just make out the sections of skin where she’d ripped out her own feathers, raw and dotted pink with blood. “I suggest you give us a room far away from everyone else.” 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

^^ Me writing this chapter because Helion finally beat the shit out of Azriel and revealed all the tea about his past relationships with Mor, Elain, and Gwyn and because I got to bring Lucien to the Night Court. And soon! We'll get to see how Lucien reacts when he learns that Y/n is his sister!!!!!!!

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x reader angst #yessssss Helion beat him up! #Daddy Helion to the rescue #we love a character with “don't touch my daughter” energy!

[marvelsmylife]

Escaping reality

Pairing: Azriel x reader 

Plot: Azriel accidentally makes you feel bad when he jokes about the types of books you read. Nesta tears him a new one when she finds out what he said and reveals why you’re so attached to that book.

Warning: angst, mention of attempt of SA. Cassian is protective of the reader. Nesta sees her as a sister. The Valkyrie wants to kick Azriel’s ass.

a/n this one is a tiny bit darker only because it involves SA so please don't read if that triggers you

Request

Azriel never had a problem talking with females throughout his lifetime. That changed the day Cassian brought you to the house of wind.

Cassian had rescued you from four males who were about to do unspeakable things to you. Fortunately, he was walking past and heard your pleas for help. After slaughtering the males that were about the harm you, Cassian flew you to the river house, where he got Madja to do a check-up on you just to be safe.

Once he got confirmation you were physically ok, Cassian suggested that you move to the house of wind with him, Nesta, and Azriel. Even though the males who were about to assault you were dead, he wanted to make sure you were not going to be assaulted again.

Luckily, he got approval from not only Rhysand but also from Nesta and Azriel. They saw how shaken up you were and didn’t think it would be a good idea for you to be on your own. Nesta took you under her wing and became very protective of you. She saw a lot of Elain in you and had the instinct to protect you.

As for Azriel, he found himself thinking about you constantly and always asking both Cassian and Nesta if you were doing ok but never actually had a conversation with you. He would send at least one of his shadows to watch over you at all times even though you never the house. Cassian would often tease that Azriel was afraid to talk to you because had a crush. That would result in Azriel punching Cassian and storming away. 

To Cassian’s credit, he did suggest to Azriel that he should start a conversation with you about the book you were reading. Since moving in, you basically lived in the library with Nesta. You would constantly recommend books to each other and actually started a book club with the other Valkyrie and some of the priestesses. Cassian knew you would open up to Azriel if he talked to you about something you were passionate about.

Taking Cassian’s advice, Azriel made his way into the library, where he spotted you reading at a small table. Azriel bit back a smile as he watched the shadow he had sent to watch over you caress your cheek as you read out loud.

Not wanting to scare you, Azriel let out a cough to get your attention: “Mr. Shadowsinger, what brings you down here?”

“Please, call me Azriel,” Azriel replied. His heart started beating fast when you smiled at him, “I was just looking for something to read in bed. What are you reading?” 

You began to explain to Azriel the book you were reading, and Azriel jokingly said: “I thought that book was for children?” The smile that was once on your face disappeared and was replaced with a frown. Azriel realized he messed up and tried to apologize: “Y/n, I’m sorry that came out wrong.”

You tried your best to put on a happy smile before replying: “It’s ok. You don’t need to apologize. It is a children’s book,” you stood up and held the book against your chest: “I-I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Mr.Shadowsinger.”

“Y/n, wait-” Azriel watched as you disappeared and flipped over a table out of frustration.

Azriel knew he was going to face the wrath of Cassian and Nesta, but nothing could have prepared him to face the wrath of all three valkyries and his brother at once the following day. “Are you kidding me, Azriel ! ! !” Nesta snapped at Azriel and caused the shadowsinger to wince.

“I meant it as a joke, but-” All three females covered their faces out of frustration while Cassian did everything in his power to not lunge at his brother.

Nesta let out an exaggerated groan at Azriel’s explanation: “That book is important to her. She didn’t have the best home life and used to read that book as a way to escape her situation,” Azriel felt like a complete asshole at Nesta’s explanation. He wished he could turn back time and stop himself from making that joke.

“Fix the mess you made or else,” Cassian pointed towards the three females who were ready to murder him: “I’m going to let them skin you alive,” Cassian warned before leaving with the Valkyrie to train.

Azriel was already planning on apologizing, but knowing that the Valkyrie would, in fact, murder him, he decided to stop by your room later that night. 

Azriel lost his train of thought for a brief moment when you answered the door in a nightgown. He tried and failed to avoid checking you out, and he started to feel like a creep for his actions. “Mr. Shadowsinger. How can I help you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I wanted to apologize for the comment I made about the book you were reading the other day.” Azriel apologized: “I didn’t know how important that book was to you, and I made a horrible joke.”

Looking into his eyes, you could tell Azriel was being genuine: ”It’s ok. If anything, I overreacted to your comment. I know it’s just a book, but-”

“No buts.” Azriel cut you off: “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. That book is special to you, and I made a dumb comment. I just hope you’ll accept my apology, and we can start over.”

“Of course, I accept your apology, Azriel.” You sent him a shy smile.

Azriel was close to falling onto his knees at you using his actual name. Knowing what he was feeling towards you was more than just a crush he suddenly started picturing what his life would be like with you by his side. How he would protect you from anyone who would dare touch or even look at you in the wrong way.

Azriel was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t realize he was just staring at you until you waved your hands over his face. “Are you ok?” you asked in a concerned tone.

“Yes, sorry,” Azriel cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head: “I was just going to ask if you would like to get coffee with me tomorrow and talk about our favorite books. I promise I won’t make mean jokes about the books you love to read.”

Azriel knew it was a gamble making a joke about the very thing that got him in trouble in the first place, but to his delight, you started laughing. “I would love to, but” you poked his chest, “you have to buy me my coffee.”

“I was already planning on paying. I am a gentleman, after all,” Azriel agreed, sending you a crooked smile. You playfully rolled your eyes and said goodnight before closing your door and sleeping.

@sleepylunarwolf @paankhaleyaar

#azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar imagine

[gwynrielweeksofficial]

Such an adorable art of our favourite Priestess and Shadowsinger by @: alexandraczerw_art!

#gwynriel #gwynriel weeks 2024 #gwynrielweeks2024 #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel fanart #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #gwyneth berdara #pro gwynriel #acotar

[bloodycassian]

Striking a Deal - Reader x Azriel

Reader is a demon, capable of granting information in exchange for things she wants. When Azriel summons her, she may be more than he can handle. 

Warnings - ‘forced’ sex due to circumstance, bondage, unbreakable ties, choking, teasing, orgasm denial, HFO/hands free orgasm, cock milking, squirting, cum paly, g-spot and clitoral stim, fingering, mention of knot (no knotting), hand job, wing play, mention of blood ingestion (not super sexual, not in scene),

As always, skip to ++++++++++ for just the nasty stuff. <3

NSFW 18+ MDNI

Azriel was desperate. Fully, truly desperate for stooping this low. 

Still, he chanted on, plowing through verse after verse of the summoner’s spell.

He had little regret over what he’d done. Scaring away fifteen priestesses hadn’t been hard, but finding the right tome had been. He should have asked for the book first. 

“Of blood, and by this flame I summon you.” He finished, slicing a cut into his wrist deep enough to coat the pile of bones and herbs he’d gathered for this ritual. 

And there was silence. He glanced around, taking in the painted walls of the temple and carved archways. The moon was little more than a sliver, the thing he’d summoned could be anywhere. He scented his own fear and clamped down on it, forcing his mind to ease. 

To fear would be fatal, now. 

“I expected someone more powerful than a shadowsinger.” Her voice was like honey dripping into his ears. His neck went stiff, as if a puppeteer was controlling him. His shadows lashed out into the darkness, quickly finding the owner of the voice and wrapping them - no.. her - in bindings. 

Very much her. Gorgeous proportions and the hair, his mind went foggy with lust. He saw her now that his shadows had pinpointed her, and was wholly overwhelmed with the perfection of her. Something deep inside him rumbled with warning, though. 

This was no witch or sorcerer, not even a Queen. This was something far more powerful and deadly, and he struggled to remember that.

“I may be more powerful than you know.” He said, attempting to put on the saam air of seduction the female radiated. 

She walked through his shadows as if they weren’t even there, and again his mind quaked with unfamiliar fear. 

“What is it such a powerful shadowsinger needs then?” She hummed, bending beside him and plucking a bone from the floor. She stuck out her tongue and lapped at the length of it, staring at Azriel the whole time. His cock surged, and he cleared his throat. 

“I seek a weapon. Something to end a God.” Azriel began, gauging her unimpressed reaction. 

“And?” She prompted, taking another lick of his blood. Goosebumps broke out along his flesh.

“Would you be able to help with something like that?” He his his irritation behind an easy smile, watching her tongue. At least her beauty made up for such informality. 

“I suppose. It depends how much the asker is willing to pay for such a thing.” 

“I have gold.” He supplied, not convince his lowest bid would be enough. Especially not with a demon this peculiar. 

“I do too.” She smiled, and waved a hand. His vision went blurry for a moment, then all around him appeared as if he were in a vault of gold marks, gold pillars, stretching from the floor going up and up into the blackened sky. A hot breath fell on his neck, and when he whipped around, the golden eye of a massive beast greeted him. 

He jumped backwards, knocking his ritual items over, sending them clattering through the temple. He whirled back around, facing the demon he’d brought here. She shrugged, casting the bone aside and approaching him. 

“Show me what you’re really willing to lose, Shadowsinger.” She walked two fingers up his abdomen, to his chest and rested them under his jaw, forcing him to look up. “A weapon that powerful is going to cost more than anything I sense you carry.” 

“What do you want?” He hissed, hating how much her touch turned him on. Her nails scratched down his neck, and it was like a branding iron on his skin. Chills raced along his arms. 

She sighed, admiring the way his throat bobbed, the way the tendons in his neck stuck out when he was so tense. “I’ve been so… lonely, stuck in the Pit by myself.” She pouted, making his cock ache with the suggestion of what she was proposing. “No one summons us anymore. All you fae and mortals trust so much in your common magics and healers. No one is desperate enough to call upon us anymore.” 

He took a steadying breath, his heart hammering in hsi chest. She leaned in, so close to his ear he could feel her hot breath against it. “I want you… to summon me. To bring me back to this planet and allow me to live. Even for the short while before they pull me back. Cast this same ritual, and bring me back.” She took his hand and brought it to her breast, squeezing his fingers tight around it. A groan fell from him, and before he could even think about the implications of striking such a deal, his mouth was on hers. 

The deal had been struck.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The searing burn of his tongue upon yours was so deliciously delightful, so full of need and challenge that you could hardly feel the brand of the deal writing itself on your neck. 

The kiss had sealed the bond, the rest of this would be just for fun. 

“Your weapon-” You say between moans, pulling his tunic off and freeing his muscled body. “Will be found in the deepest lake on the highest peak-” 

He rips your clothes off, tearing and urgent with need. “I didn’t summon you for a riddle.” He growls, dipping his head to catch a nipple between his teeth. A sharp gasp escapes you, and you squeeze his cock in your hand. 

“You didn’t summon me as your whore, either.” You correct, yanking him back by the hair. He bares his teeth, and his shadows wrap around your ankles, thick and cool against your skin. 

“You certainly act like that’s what you’re here for.” He grunts, and those shadows snake farther up your exposed legs until they’re massaging into your thighs. A ripple of want shoots through you at their closeness to your waiting cunt. 

You’re too distracted by his hands and shadows on you to really give him a comeback. Truthfully, his filthy mouth could be saying anything at this moment and you wouldn’t care, not as long as he was touching you. It’d been a century since you’d seen anything other than the black pit of your home, and with such a gorgeous male before you, how could one resist? Your blood had been thrumming with need the second you’d crawled out of your home.

He pulls you forward, onto one of the short steps that leads to the recessed center of the room. “Now, what do I have to do to get you to bring me this weapon?” He rasps against your skin, biting your shoulder as he sat you down on the step. He pulls away, only to start lapping down your body until he is between your thighs, joining his shadows there. 

“You want another deal, Shadowsinger?” You pant, leaning back on the step behind you and spreading your legs wide for him. He groans and the shadows ghost over your folds with teasing, almost-touches.

“Tell me.” He demands, and laps at you with a flattened tongue. “Such a pretty pussy.” He praises. 

Your legs snap together, squeezing his head. “I cannot retrieve it for you, but I can take you to where it is.” You promise, and the half - truth of it feels sour on your tongue. You could retrieve it, but it’d take much more time than you had after you were released from the Pit. 

He hums, seemingly content with the answer as he laps at you. His shadows join, dipping into your pussy and writhing there, fucking you softly but with ferocity. Your breaths are coming in shallow, frantic spurts as you focus on not coming on his face. 

You want his cock for that. 

A lick of your power lashes out, breaking his shadows away and freezing him in place with a leash of your own making. Magic bound, he straightens at your command and the sight of his surprise sets you giggling. 

“You’re eager.” You critique. Sitting up, you take his cock in your hands and admire it, loosening your magic on him when you feel him relax and sigh at your touch. “Much too eager.” You observe the thick rivulets of pre-come dripping from his tip. You dip down and take a taste of him, humming at the sense of it. The salty, needy taste of him. 

You wrap your hand around him and give him a long, slow pump and he shudders. His cock is magnificent. You can barely touch your fingers together around him with his thickness, and the knot at the base of him is hardly formed. Was he one of the fae able to change his cock at will? A ripple of excitement rolls though you at the possibility of it. You stroke him again, and another drop of precome wets his tip and you tap the tip of your finger with it, trailing it over his shaft and up his abdomen until you reach his lips. He takes it eagerly still, enjoying the taste of himself it seems. 

You bind his hands to his sides, and ghost your fingers over his cock. Barely touching him, just as his shadows had teased you. He spits venom, cursing you with each delicate touch. You stroke him hard and through occasionally, but watching him be so needy for the touch is such a turn-on.

Your nails trail from his balls and up his shaft, then you circle the tip of him gently with the pad of your finger, swirling his lubrication there. He’s watching you the entire time, his brows pulled together and his lips a deep shade of red that matches the tip of his cock.

“I am glad that you were the one who’s summoned me.” You hum, getting up and going behind him. Even with him on his knees, he still reaches the height of your breast. He’s huge and lithe in his build, even his wings are a powerful kind. You touch them gently, humming when he hisses curses under his breath. 

That gets your attention.

“Sensitive. Illyrian wings are different than the wings of other winged species, aren’t they?” You question, raking your nails over the arches of them. He cries out, lurching forward but your magic catches him, hauling him back up and in place before he can fold onto the step. 

You kneel behind him, and wrap an arm around to take his cock into your hand again. He shudders and thrusts forward, into your grip. He’s needy and desperate and with you touching his wings he’s going to cum embarrassingly quickly. He hates how much he’s loving this, how the control you have over him is making him so fucking desperate. 

He fucks into your hand, his precome wetting him enough that it heightens the experience further. Your hand is wet and hot and not nearly as good as your mouth had been but it’s better than the teasing touches you’d been giving him earlier, and he’s grateful. His need is rising and his muscles are working, his balls going tight with the need of release. 

Then, you pull away. Your hand is gone and he’s left fucking the air like an animal, and he’s shuddering. “You fucking- bitch..” He grinds out, his abdomen flexing with how close he’d been. His balls tighten and relax, his cock twitching and slapping against his stomach. 

You stand and go back to be in front of him, watching him twitch and writhe uncomfortably. His cock is surging and desperately seeking more stimulation, The angry redness of the tip a delicious strawberry color that makes you salivate. 

You go back to tracing over him, and you can feel his power, his every fiber struggling against your magic. He’s close, so on the edge that you’re sure he’ll break with only a few more strokes. Good. You want him to. You want him to remember the only female who’d bested him at his own desires. You want him to fuck you endlessly, if that is the only time you have on this planet.

His balls are tight and heavy, and when you trace a finger along his ridge he shudders, leaning forward again. You allow it this time, catching his lips with yours and letting your tongue flick over his own. He groans into your mouth and snaps his hips forward when you make a loose fist over his cock. 

His needy cries echo across the temple like a song. 

You tighten your hand, allowing him to fuck into it for a few more strokes before pulling away again. But it’s too late. You pull back and watch as he thrusts into the air, his cock pulsing with his orgasm. He’s snarling and cursing as the pleasure takes him in a violent way. You watch in supreme pleasure as he gets what he finally wants. His cum shoots out and lands on your legs, your belly. The stone floor and steps. His spend is hot and dribbles from his tip when you release his bindings. 

He wavers, and his shadows return slowly. His muscles flex as he leans forward, clearly exhausted with the experience. 

His hands shake when he leans over you, catching your chin in his hand. “You are a horrible little thing.” He curses, then forces his tongue into your mouth.

He forces you back, so you’re arched against the steps, and the fingers of his other hand go between your folds, slickening them before plunging in. The most exquisite burn fills you, and is then eased by his curling fingers. He draws out your wetness, coating your clit with it and rubbing firm circles for a moment before pushing deep back inside of you. 

He uses his entire forearm and wrist while he does it, truly fucking you with his hand. His fingers are thick and they do satiate a part of your own need, but it’s nothing compared to what his cock would be. 

But this part of the game is up to him. You’d had your fun, and now it was his turn. 

His tongue is aggressive in your mouth, fighting your own and showing you exactly what he’d been doing against your pussy before. He pulls away, leaving drool on your chin. His shadows go to your wrists, and you allow them to lock you in place, legs spread wide and wrists bound to the floor. 

This is his turn. If you want him to stay true to his bargain not just for bargaining sake, you’ll let him have his turn. You could use him, sure, - force him in place and take him as you wanted - but where was the fun in that? 

“Azriel-” You pant, and he takes your throat in a hand. Not hard, not dangerous, but certainly a silent command. 

He’s working you deep and swiping against your g-spot with every stroke, and if he doesn’t stop you’re not sure if you’ll be able to either. 

“Making me cum without even letting me really touch you first?” He scolds, punctuating it with his thumb stroking over your clit. Your yes clamp shut, your thighs desperately trying to do the same but his shadows - as weak as they are - won’t allow you to. You moan, the pressure of his hand against your throat a devious thing. 

Your body is betraying you, reaching your high peaks so quickly while he rubs your clit. Your walls squeeze him, wanting more. Needing more than just two fingers. But his thumb is relentless and consistent, you try to fight the building orgasm but it only makes your g-spot more sensitive. 

“Azriel please-” You whine, panting and squirming as much as you can under him. His hand leaves your throat and instead goes to the back of your head, knotting in your hair there. He forces you to watch his hands word, how spread you are for him, the way your wetness shines against this dark skin. He’s humming something in your ear but you can barely hear it over the mounting pleasure, the cascade of twitching need that writhes inside you, begging to be released. A dam too overflowed, your control slips, and slips.

 You push against the heat, the pressure of the orgasm but again, he brushes into that spot inside you and your clit again, and you’re shaking - coming apart in his grasp. Wetness coats him, your own juices flowing out of you in an intense way, splattering against the floor and coating his arm. The wet sounds of his fingers still working you echo against the high ceilings and stone walls. 

You’re shaking, shuddering and breathing hard when he gently removes his fingers then laps at them. 

The sight nearly sends you into another orgasm. 

“Safe to say you’ll be summoned often, little demon.” He says, offering you a finger wet with your own juices. 

You take it greedily, sucking on his finger the same way you wanted to suck his cock.

“Next time I expect you to last longer.” You critique, earning a laugh from him. 

“If I make that promise now, does that mean we get to fuck again and seal that bond?”

#azriel #azriel x reader #reader x azriel #acotar fic #acotar smut #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger #azriel fic

[starsreminisce]

Azriel's three looks:

Mor

“And you were never with anyone after it?” Not the cold, beautiful shadowsinger who tried so hard not to watch her with longing on his face?

Elain

Rhys was frowning, Cassian and Mor were both grimacing, and Azriel … It was pity on his beautiful face. Pity and sorrow as he watched my sister. - ACOSAF Chapter 12

Gwyn

Cassian glanced over at Az, but his attention was fixed on the young priestess, admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face. - ACOSF Chapter 60

#antie/riel #antielriel #gwynriel #pro gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #gwyn x azriel