Azriel Appreciation Week

Profile Pic by @adamszkiart | https://azrielweek.carrd.co

[azrielweek-2023]

Azriel stans unite! From July 31 2022-August 6 2022 is Azriel Appreciation Week! These 7 days are dedicated to uplifting our favourite shadowsinger and sharing our favourite aspects about him. We look forward to seeing you all there and stay tuned for more details!

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“On the Nature of Hearts” Azriel/Gwynriel fic

My contribution for Azriel Week 2022 “Free Day”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40845123

@booknerd87 @azrielweek2022

[azsazz]

Looking Back

Azriel x Reader

Summary: The Inner Circle recounting when they figured out you and Az liked each other.

Warnings: Fluffy af

Word Count: 1,642

Notes: Day 3 for the win!

_________________________________________

Rhysand knew the moment you and Azriel met, that you were meant to be.

It was like time slowed down. You, injured but still spewing insults at the enemies, struggling in Cassian’s arms as he brought you into the medical tents, trying to get back into the fight. Blood stained across your abdomen and it hurt like hell but your anger eased the pain somewhat.

You were a fiery spirit who lit up the room when he set you down, the healers swarming around you, their hands warm and gentle. They’d asked Rhysand to hold down your shoulders while the warlord trapped your ankles from kicking up as they fixed up your lacerated stomach.

The shadowsinger swept in through the flap of the tent on a breeze of midnight, needing desperately to talk to his brothers about the information one of his scouts had told him, when he saw you bucking up on the table, teeth gritted as you struggled against the two Illyrians holding you down.

He froze in his spot.

Azriel watches as you fight against his brothers, doing your damndest to get back into battle. You’re wasted here, you need to be out there defending the people that you care for the most, not inside the healers tent, for you knew that they wouldn’t let you back out onto the battlefield once they were done.

Rhysand watches as you turn to see who’s entered the medical tent, body going slack as you meet the eyes of the shadowsinger. He’s the most handsome male you’ve ever seen, clad in his onyx leathers with darker hair to match. His siphons gleam a bright blue and the hand that’s holding his sword goes slack at the sight of you.

That was when he knew.

__________

It was a wild Saturday night at Rita’s. It always was when Mor had convinced the Inner Circle to go out, shoving drink after drink into your hands. You could only slurp them down so fast and you didn’t even notice Azriel’s worried gaze on you as you took another shot but Mor did. She shared a knowing look with her cousin who tutted in response, calling foul play into her mind.

They’d had a bet going as soon as she realized that one of her longest friends had fallen for someone new. She knew that Azriel was much too shy to do something about it – knew it from experience – and she thought that she’d give the both of you a little hand.

She brushed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, sauntering up to the shadowsinger and shoving a shot into his hand, her bright red lips in a cutting smirk as she told him to drink.

He didn’t. Azriel didn’t have to wait long for her to leave because her favorite song started playing as the glass was passed to him and she grabbed your hand and shoved her way to the dancefloor with you close behind.

He stared down at the liquor, grimacing before setting the glass down on the table. He sat with his brothers, who were busy talking about something his shadows would fill him in on later. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of you, Mor noticed, as you and her danced together, the alcohol buzzing beneath your skin.

You threw your head back laughing and his heart stammered in his chest. The blonde watched secretly as a small smile crossed his lips, just from watching you have fun. Her heart warmed to see Azriel this way: sneaking glances over to where you were, keeping an eye on you and admiring you from a distance.

Her heart hurt for him, knowing that he didn’t think he deserved someone as good as you, who fought for what she wanted, who loved with her entire being. You were good for him, good for each other. If only he’d loosen up.

If watching the spymaster observing you wasn’t how she figured it out, it was when another male came up to dance with you when she knew for sure.

He wrapped an arm around your waist and you turned, peering up at the male with blurry eyes, grinning way too big from the drinks and the fun you were having with your friends, your cheeks would hurt in the morning.

You let him dance with you, wrapping an arm around his neck, your glass held out so as not to spill in the other, you were a single female afterall. Azriel watched, the smile thinning to a near frown, sharp hazel eyes glaring at the male who held you in his arms.

He wished that were him.

__________

Feyre and her nosy mate couldn’t help themselves at the murmuring coming from the library. She hadn’t believed Rhys when he’d told her that Azriel was definitely head over heels into you.

The High Lady hadn’t noticed anything different about Azriel, though her eyes were glued to her own mate everytime he was in the room.

It wasn’t like she couldn’t believe it, but Azriel had been so hopelessly in love with Mor for the past few centuries that she didn’t think his attention would be stolen away so quickly, and without her knowledge nonetheless.

But here the two of you were, Azriel scratching the back of his head nervously as you held the book he’d passed over to you in your hands, examining the cover of the worn book.

“It’s one of my favorites,” he admits, hands clasped together behind his back. It makes Feyre’s heart ache, for she knew that the shadowsinger tended to hide them as an anxious reflex.

He never shared his books with anyone, ever. So this was definitely a sign that the male was into you, as he watched you with soft eyes as you flipped slowly through the pages, only to avert his eyes when you looked up, a beaming smile all of your own that dimmed when you noticed he had looked away.

“Thank you, Azriel,” you respond, clutching the book to your chest, “I’m looking forward to reading it.”

“I could–” he cuts himself off, going stock still.

But you urge him on, brows furrowed, “What is it?”

The High Lord and Lady have already winnowed out of the library by the time the spymaster tells you that you hadn’t been alone.

Sneaky indeed.

__________

Amren notices as soon as she sees the two of you in a room together for the first time.

This mission was a big one, and it would be a nasty one too, she could tell.

The entire Inner Circle was gathered in Rhysand’s office, talking over strategy and plans for the upcoming war. Azriel had always been a silent shadow in the corner of the room, staring out the window at Mother knows what, but this time, he was at the table, staring you down as you offered yourself for a dangerous part of the mission.

“You shouldn’t be going alone,” he says, and Amren can hear the slight waver in his tone, “We should be teaming up at the very least.”

“Any more than one person could alert the enemy,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. You didn’t understand why Azriel was acting like this all of a sudden, you’d been on missions like this before.

His glance is pleading for a fleeting moment before his walls are back up and he’s retreating towards the window, his shadows swirling around him, covering his clenched jaw and balled fists. He doesn’t want you to go, put yourself in the middle of harm's way, not if he wasn’t going to be there to protect you.

The short female hides her smirk behind her glass of blood as she watches you glance off to the brooding Illyrian, confused as to why he seemed so upset.

__________

He couldn’t sleep, he had too much on his mind, so Cassian decided to go up to the training ring where he could let off some steam, clear his mind, or if he was lucky, his brother would be up there to spar against him.

He rubbed his tired eyes as he made his way up the stairs to the training ring, but paused when he heard your laugh.

Cassian wasn’t sure why you’d still be awake this late, but even he wouldn’t turn down a practice match with you. Maybe he’d confide in you instead, wanting to tell someone of what was on his mind, but not wanting to talk to his brothers.

He was about to make himself known when he heard the low, husky voice of Azriel, murmuring something to you that had you giggling again. The busybody warlord peeked his head around the staircase and watched as you and Azriel stood closely, not enough to touch, but close enough that he knew what was going on.

He mentally cheered for his brother, who was never the joking type, but here he was, making you laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world. It wasn’t. Cassian knew.

It’s nice and his heart warms as he listens to his brother making you happy, each jab of banter has you leaning in a little further into the spymaster, who finally picks up the hint and goes for it, brushing a strand of hair from your face and behind your ear, staring down at you intently.

You can see the vulnerability in his eyes, can hear his erratic heartbeat as he studies you. You can’t wait, you’d waited long enough for this moment, so you take the chance, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down as you press up onto your toes, capturing his lips with your own.

Cassian grins to himself, retreating down the stairs.

And the rest is history.

__________

Taglist: @noisyinfluencerstrawberry

[acourtofsmut]

restrain yourself

switch!azriel x switch!reader

rating: NSFW/18+

warnings: oral (m. receiving), scratching, teasing, shadow play, switch vibes for both

a/n: a little something I whipped up during a car ride. seeing lots of Az posts lately since it’s Az week, so I thought I’d contribute! 😇 minimal editing and pretty short, but enjoy! much love 🤍

“When did you get that?” Azriel asked huskily, eyes darkening as he took in the pink, lace lingerie you wore, wings spreading slightly.

The set was practically see-through, the bralette and cheeky underwear leaving nothing to the imagination.

“The other day when I went shopping with Feyre,” wanting to tease him a bit, you spun around, showing him the cut out in the shape of a heart on the back of your underwear, playfully wiggling your bottom, “do you like it?”

“Oh my gods,” he groaned raking his hand through his hair, “that’s so fucking cute. You’re perfect, my love.”

You batted his hands out of the way as they instinctively reached out to touch you, caress you.

“No touching,” you tutted with a smirking grin.

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, biting your lip as you sunk to your knees between his spreading legs.

“Ughh, how do you expect me to do that?” he sighed out as you started to venture your hands up and down his thick thighs, tracing with your fingertips.

“I thought you were a male who prides himself on his self-control,” you purred, undoing his laces like second nature now and pulling off his leathers, his hard cock springing out.

“My willpower isn’t that strong, my love. Not with you looking like a goddess just begging to be worshipped in that,” Azriel argued. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on your forehead, then moved his mouth down to your ear, never touching you with anything but his lips, “Do you want that (y/n)? I could just pull your panties to the side and fuck you in that pretty pink set” he purred.

You gulped, wetness leaking into your panties as you dug your finger nails into his thighs trying to refrain from whining. Fighting against the urge to just let him take you, worship you until your begging him to stop, you slowly dragged your nails down the skin on his thighs making him hiss.

“Restrain yourself then,” you purred back into his ear, leaning back and smirking a bit when you added, “like you do to me.”

He gulped this time, jaw clenching.

“With my shadows?” he asked quizzically, brows furrowed a bit.

You nodded.

“Say please, my love.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head.

A few stray shadows swirled around his wrists, pinning them to chair beneath him, his eyes widening slightly. You started trailing kisses from the center of chest down towards his manhood.

“They listen to me, too, you know?” You purred, wrapping your hands around his leaking cock, kissing the tip, making his jaw go slack, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“You’re lucky you look so gods damn adorable between my legs,” he growled, cheeks flushed.

“Don’t let him go until he says please,” you whispered to the shadows, sending a couple more shadows to keep his legs spread.

(thanks for reading this far! much love 🤍)

[harperbrynne]

How the fandom remembers Azriel teaching Feyre how to fly:

@azrielweek2022

[fieldofdaisiies]

AZRIEL WEEK 2022: MASTERLIST

Thank you for the beautiful week; here is my finished masterlist:

Day 1: Favourite Scene 💙

Day 2: Tragic Backstory

Day 3: Azriel & his Mother

Day 4: Bat Boys 🦇

Day 7: Free Day ✨

[valkyriesbaby]

[azsazz]

Azriel Week 2022

Well, that completes Azriel Week 2022! Thank you all who supported me through this journey and I hope you enjoyed!

Here's a recap of my posts just in case you missed one:

Smirks and Shadows

Thawing a Frozen Heart

Looking Back

Quisling (Part 2)

Not the Same, But Closer Than You Think

Concord

Two Is Better Than One

[lady-riel]

Cassian: Az is even more competitive than you.

Gwyn: No he’s not.

Cassian: Is TOO.

Gwyn: Is NOT. 

*Azriel walks up*

Azriel: Whatever you’re arguing about, Gwyn is right.

Gwyn: *looks triumphant*

Azriel: *glares at Cassian*

Azriel:

Azriel: So what were you arguing about?

Gwyn: You already said I’m right. You can’t take it back.

Azriel:

Azriel: *sighs* Fine. 

Gwyn: *to Cassian* Told you so.

____________________________________

@azrielweek2022

[shadowsxgwynriel]

Day 7: Free Day

Things I want for Azriel: to heal, to love himself, to be happy, to have everything he’s ever wanted in life . . . and Gwyn. Everyone should have a Gwyn.

Rhys said, “This is Azriel—my spymaster.”

@azrielweek2022

[mystical-blaise]

Azriel Week 2022: Scars Run Deep

@azrielweek2022

This fic was inspired by this beautiful work of art.

For Free Day. Gwyn forces Azriel to confront his scars. Read here on Ao3

“Azriel?”

He didn’t stop, his emotions keeping his brisk pace even as her voice called after him as he made his way into the house. Even as the shadows told him to stop and listen. To answer the female calling for him.

Still, he ran.

Down the stairs into the House proper. Then trudging down into the living area, his boots silent even as his steps were hard. Harder than the footfalls following him from behind. The ones he pointedly ignored.

“Azriel, wait!”

Once he strode into his room, he had every intention of slamming the door—but he couldn’t when the nosy, indignant priestess had her hand on the jamb. Her booted foot blocked his attempt without hurting her. And there was certainly no way in hell when the shadows held the door open like her own personal cohorts. 

Her face was flushed from the exertion of her sparring and then her jog down the hall, the freckles a smattering of copper across her face. Those teal orbs of hers pierced him as well as any weapon. 

He narrowed his right back. 

“May I enter your humble abode, oh broody one?” she asked, sketching a bow. 

He snorted and jerked his chin. The door closed softly behind them with a wind of inky mist. This wasn’t the first time the priestess had been in his quarters. Long, sleepless nights had burgeoned into a friendship. And on nights they weren’t sparring or playing chess or reading in companionable silence? They talked. 

And somehow, one night, the conversation had turned to feelings… and his of Elain. Even if he was not quite sure what those feelings were. 

“Do you think she feels something for you?” Gwyn had questioned him, sitting cross-legged across from him on the floor, the opened book in her lap forgotten as she had given him her undivided attention.

He had answered her question truthfully. “I don’t know, but… I hope she does.”

He begged for her to. Prayed to the Mother that somehow she did. Maybe, just maybe, if she felt something for him that…

“So, why don’t you ask her?”

“That’s not how it works, Berdara,” he scoffed.

“How would you know? Was it not you three minutes ago admitting you were limited in this experience?”

Point for the priestess, his shadows tittered. The shadowsinger rolled his eyes. Traitors. They were always taking Gwyn’s side, whether or not she was right. 

Closing her book, the bluish-green eyes glittering in the firelight fell on him. “If you want to see where it may lead? Go tell Elain your feelings. Speak with her, Azriel.”

Azriel’s voice was muffled as he drew his bare hands down his face as he muttered, “I hate this relationship shit.”

Thud. There was a book thrown between them. “Females really are not that complicated, Shadowsinger. In fact, read that book. There’s nary a girl alive who hasn’t fallen for that hero. Consider it a how-to relationship guide. Just ignore the kidnapping bit and you’ll be golden.”

So, here he was after taking his friend’s unsolicited advice. Well, nearly taken.

“I’m assuming you went to her?” Her arms crossed over her chest, the battle leathers creaking in the movement. His chin dipped in a nod. “And I assume from your piss-poor attitude you had when you ignored everyone who was worried about you that it didn’t go well?” 

His eyes fell to his hands. Even wrapped with clean muslin and covered by his bracer, the uneven grips on his fingertips stood out like unintentional knicks in marble. Unfixable. An eyesore. Ruined. 

“Azriel.” Her voice was softer now, with no irritation. He heard her swallow. “I’m sorry. Did she not—”

“I didn’t speak with Elain.”

“Oh. Was she not available?”

With a derisive snicker, he tucked his hands behind his back, moving over to the mantle. Where he could focus on things other than his heart. His hands. 

His fucking hideous hands. 

Soft, tentative footsteps whispered on the floor behind him. Silence and waiting for him to continue. He’d spent enough time with the spitfire to know without turning around. Right now, she was twirling a piece of her hair while biting her lip. A nervous habit of hers, whether she knew it or not. She did that whenever she fought the swell of words down. Just as he knew she tucked it back behind her ear when she was shy or was faced with an uncomfortable situation. Which, he knew, was what was happening as her voice said, “I will not push you, friend. I’ll… I’ll leave you be. But, whatever happened, I am sorry—”

Friend. The word struck the center of his chest. Hell. Gwyn was his friend. A good one. A great one. Besides Cassian, perhaps his closest. And she was there for him, waiting to hear what was wrong. Until she wasn’t, and those retreating steps were heading away. 

“I turned around,” he said, his voice edged with panic. 

Her steps ceased.” Pardon?”

“I came back. I am not sure if Elain is at the river estate or the townhouse. Before I could land at either, I returned home.”

“I—I.” Gwyn stammered. She never stammered. Not like this. Though it worried him, he didn’t dare look. His stance didn’t last long because he was suddenly spun around with a hand wrapped around his biceps, forced to face her. To stop himself from spinning off balance, his hands fell to her shoulders, steadying himself with a grip. “You… you didn’t… but you were… why?”

“I just can’t.”

“And I say you don’t lack the courage to do anything you do not want to do, Azriel. And you wanted to know, so, again, I ask, why?”

“I simply cannot.”

“Is it the fear of rejection?”

“I do not fear anything, Gwyneth ,” his lie flew out, her name laced with venom at the end. 

“Liar,” Gwyn immediately refuted. “We are all afraid of something. It is not a failing. It is, in fact, a healthy response.”

His eyes slammed shut before snapping back open. Why couldn’t she just let this go?

Anger fanned his words as he spat, “A healthy response?” And as her mouth moved to speak, he said, “I’m not finished, Priestess. Is it healthy , I wonder, to cower when a hand is raised, wondering if you are going to be hit? Or is it not better to block before a blow? Is it healthy to flinch when someone reaches for you? Is it healthy to wonder if someone will step away from your touch? Is it—” 

It took him a moment for his own words to sink in. At what he just admitted. His eyes found his hands, his touch, still on the priestess’s leathered, trembling shoulders. His grip sure, poised—while touching her.

His eyes went wide, jerking his hands off of her as if fire had touched him again. Stumbling back until he felt bare under her watery gaze. Felt more stripped and naked than if he had shed his leather before her. He couldn’t take the way she looked at her with those unshed tears threatening to spill. The quiver of her full lower lip. 

He’d caused that. By his words. His admittance. His touch . Fuck. He’d grabbed her—Gwyn. The priestess who had been through so much and—

Go, run, he told himself, as he shoved past her. He threw open the door and hurried down the hall. Up those stairs two at a time. Until he was once again on the roof. 

He ignored his shadows, pleading to stop, to wait. He also ignored the boots slamming against the floor as she followed. 

Fly. Go. Retreat.

The only thing he heard was his instinct—so much so that he didn’t notice the Priestess in front of him now, her dainty fingernails pressing crescents into the leather over his forearms. Her hold was as strong and determined as a mountain. 

He was stronger. Physically, anyway. He could toss her aside if he wanted. But want and need were two different beasts of burden. 

“Azriel,” she pleaded. Pleaded, the gentleness in his name full of question. For an explanation as to why. 

His silence remained, a wall between them. But Gwyneth Berdara was a conqueror, removing that wall brick by brick as she guided his rapid breaths back down. And peeking through that hole in the wall, she waited. For him.

“I’m sorry I ran. You’re right, Gwyn. I am afraid,” he said, throat bobbing and wings shifting uncomfortably.

She stepped into him, her grip loosening enough for her to slide her hands up his arms. “What are you afraid of?”

A loaded question, to be sure. And still, he whispered, his voice cracking, “More things than you know. But the worst is being alone—because no one will ever willingly accept my touch. Nor should they.”

Gwyn’s gasp was full of emotion, his shadows swelling with the same shock. Better for her to know who her friend really is. 

Elain… Elain didn’t say that to you… did she?”

“No. I just know these things. It’s been my entire life, Berdara. The gawking. The outright disgust. Parents pulling their kids away, protecting them from a disfigured monster. And when I picture my hands against her skin—Elain’s beautiful, unmarred skin. These hands, my touch on her…” Rippled and bumpy, uneven and coarse upon smooth perfection. “I think I’ve finally figured out the reason the Cauldron and the Mother have forsaken me a mate.” A beat of silence, a deep, painful exhale. “Monsters are not blessed with one.”

In fact, he should probably just exile himself to The Middle for good measure.

“Azriel, look at me.” He didn’t. He couldn’t. Fingers gripped onto his chin, pressuring him. “Azriel. You stubborn ass, look at me.”

Why should he when he knew what he’d see?

“Open your damn eyes, Shadowsinger, and look at me… please.” 

Her please felt like a cosmic command, unsealing them nearly beyond his control. The shadows hummed.

Stormy aqua raged back at him. Lowering her hands, she only offered them again, palm up, beckoning for him. “Your hands, good sir.”

“And if I decline?”

“Then you can wallow and I’ll leave you up here in your self-imposed pity party.”

Despite the warring emotions, he snorted at her irreverence. The sass of this female. 

He set his palms on hers in challenge. She did not flinch or balk, didn’t look as she began to unlace his gauntlets from atop his hands.

“What are you doing?” 

“Trust me,” she said, her eyes never leaving his as she undid one and then the other, gingerly setting them on the balustrade beside them. His heart raced and jumped as her hands unwound each hand, removing the wrappings, the unspun parts flowing in the wind like the white ribbon upon the Valkyrie’s brow. 

With each precise turn, his hands shook, and with each pass, the linen bindings loosened until they were stripped from his hands.

Grabbing onto his wrists, she held up his hands at eye-level between them.

“Now tell me, what do you see when you look at your hands, Azriel?”

His pulse ratcheted. His throat tightened. No one had ever asked him this before and yet the words came out in a rush, “I see the hands of someone cursed. Someone unwanted, and marked so.” Her thumbs stroked the inside skin of his wrist. Gentle, her hold was so fucking gentle that instinct told him it was a trap. And yet… “I see the lives they have taken.”

“Many have killed. I have killed.”

“Not like me! You killed because you had to. When I look at my hands? All I can see is the river of blood that runs between each valley of this stained skin. I see the hands of a creature, not a male. A monster who is truly unworthy to touch anyone. For my touch brings nothing but pain.”

“And do you know what I see?” Gods, he didn’t want to know. Not now. “I see hands that have had to do unimaginable tasks in the name of his sovereign. Ordered him to protect his court. His friends. His family.” He made to pull away, but she held on. Her grip loosened up for her hand to move up his, her fingertip skating across the craggy base of his palm. “I see the remains of abuse, of hatred imposed upon him when he could not fight back. I see the hands the High Lord trusts to be his Spymaster. I see the hands of a male the General of the Illyrian army clasps as his dearest friend. The ones that offer comfort to his friends and family in his own way. The ones his brother trusts holding onto his son, the heir of the Night Court. The ones Nyx trusts to hold him and not let him fall.” 

Up and up, her hands skimmed over his, a whisper of a touch, until their fingers interlocked and curled. Palm to palm. Pulse to pulse, his own hammering away as he felt tears burning in the back of his eyes. 

“I see the hands that taught sword techniques to priestesses who needed a teacher.” Her voice quavered, a tear slipping down her freckled cheek as she whispered, “I see the hands I trusted to lay a cloak on me at my weakest and most vulnerable.”

Fuck. His breath shuddered, his hand trembled on its own. And not once had she turned from his touch. And not once had he hidden his hands from her. The realization struck him like a killing blow from a Siphon. 

No, he’d only ever thought of helping her, never once concerned about his hands…

“I’m going to be blunt?” Gwyn said.

His laughter was wet, and he barely managed to speak without breaking into a sob. “You haven't been already?”

She shrugged, a smug little smile tugging at her lips even as her eyes glittered with tears. “You have scars, Shadowsinger. Deep ones. Ones given to you, not ones earned. Scars are part of experience. They mark time and memories, both good and bad. Mine may not all be visible, though I do have a good one on my arm from falling out of the tree… and that damnable mark from the arrow during the Blood Rite. The others I wear are below the skin, unseen by the naked eye. And I know you bear those, too.”

She did. His hands squeezed hers. And hers squeezed right back. 

“Priestess—”

“I’m not done.”

The shadows laughed and twirled a dance. Azriel snorted, sniffling. “Of course.” He dipped his chin. “Please go on.”

“What I see when I look at your hands doesn’t matter.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No, it’s actually not. Just because people can’t see my scars outright does not mean they do not judge me for others. The first time you saw me across the training ring, and then on Solstice, there were moments I thought you saw them.” Fuck. “The only thing that matters is how you feel, Az. You play cards, so you know that sometimes the ones dealt are terrible. We were both dealt some cruel hands. And yet, here we stand.” The back of his hand, still joined with hers, skimmed across her cheek. “Your scars are reminders of your past. That you survived and prevailed despite all that had been inflicted upon you. They do not have to define your future. But only you can decide that, Shadowsinger. And any female who would make you feel uncomfortable because of your scars, both inside and out? She’s not worth it.”

He choked on a wet laugh, shaking his head. Gods, how did this young priestess become so worldly and brilliant? This priestess who now held his hand without fear, her thumbs tracing the ridges on the back of his hand like a map leading to…

Something in his chest sparked . 

“Promise me, Azriel. That you won’t settle for someone. That you will find someone, mate or not, who loves and respects you for all you are. Every scarred part.”

“As long as you do that same—and that you find someone, mate or not, who treats you like a godsdamn queen.”

Her smile gave away her rolling eyes. Pulling one hand away, she offered him her pinky. “Fine. I promise, but you have to promise the queen part, too. It’s only fair.”

“Fine. I’ll find someone who treats me like a queen. I promise, Gwyn,” he laughed, his marbled pinky twining around hers.

Magic flickered around them, pinching their wrists as a black tattoo curled in an infinity around their wrists almost like a black ribbon. Fuck.  

His eyes shot up to hers as her pinky slipped from his. “Well, my friend, it seems we have unintentionally struck a bargain.”

Not looking away from the copper-headed female, striding over to the weapons wrack, he said, “It would appear so.”

Gwyn peered at him over his shoulder. “So, Azriel, now that we’ve had that talk, are you going to go speak with Elain?” She grabbed the hilt of a sword and tugged.

“Gwyn, be care—”

Clanging steel resounded off the rock walls and railings into the night sky. 

“Mother bless it all!” Gwyn whisper-yelled. 

Wings drawing tight, he strode forward, already reaching for her. “Show me your hands. Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride.” Azriel’s playful snort answered with her scowl.

Azriel didn’t need a moment to think about getting down to help her clean up, their hands occasionally brushing as he helped the Valkyrie right the fallen blades. 

And as they worked, she asked him again, nudging him regarding the middle Archeron. But he didn’t have an answer right now. He and Cassian may have designed those obstacle courses, but it had been this young priestess who had thrown down the emotional gauntlet. There was much to consider. Much to resolve. 

And, as for right now? 

“Maybe tomorrow,” he stated as she went to place the last sword in its place. He stayed her hand and took the weapon from her, spinning it in one hand as he walked toward the center of the training circle. “Tonight, I think we need to work on your swordsmanship. Clearly.”

[freyjas-musings-deactivated2025]

Say 7 @azrielweek2022 .... here is a really special Gwynriel commission by artist Jrtart...

@mystical-blaise has written a heart-warming one shot based on the art piece do check it out... the link is attached ...

Repost not allowed. Reblogging allowed.

Azriel Week 2022: Scars Run Deep

@azrielweek2022 This fic was inspired by this beautiful work of art. For Free Day. Gwyn forces Azriel to confront his scars. Read here on

[azsazz]

Two Is Better Than One

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You give birth...again.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 927

Notes: And with this, Azriel Week 2022 is officially over :(

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“Az,” you grit through clenched teeth. Your knuckles are white from how tightly you hold the porcelain tub in your grip, glaring over at your mate. You got like this every time you had a child, four times before this, and now, as your fifth fights their way into the world.

You mate doesn’t mind though, he’ll take the glares and the squeezes, so hard that he bruises, all because you’re giving him everything he’s ever dreamed of.

He’s never had a complete family of his own. His step-brothers tortured him and his father let it happen, encouraged it even. He didn’t see his mother as much as he would like, but you had already given him four beautiful children that would never hurt each other the way he’d been hurt, he wouldn’t raise them like that. And now…now you were giving him not just one, but two more, a surprise for the both of you.

He’d worship the ground you walk on for this.

You would never get used to this feeling. As much as you loved having children with your mate, it’s always the most excruciating pain while you were giving birth. And maybe it’s because you’re not fully Illyrian and all of your children thus far have wings, but it hasn’t been slightly easier.

He’s been by your side for every single one of your children’s births, and Azriel always looks as excited and intrigued as he did when Wren was born. He’s supporting you from behind and you grasp onto his forearm as you feel the head of your first about to arrive.

“You can do it, (Y/N),” he murmurs the words softly, like he’s not entirely paying attention to what he’s saying. He can’t help it, he absolutely loves being a father. “They’re almost here. I love you so much.”

A hot tear escapes your eye, rolling down your cheek and mixing into the sweat matted hair clinging to your neck. The twins are early but not by much. You hadn’t been expecting them for another week or so, and you could feel the excitement buzzing within your family and the Inner Circle, having the two fresh new babies in the group to be cuddled and loved on.

You’re all getting soppy with all the children around, nearly out numbering the entire Inner Circle.

It’d only be a few more years before there would be more children than adults, you thought, though you didn’t think anyone would mind that.

With another big push and a cry to match yours, the babe entered the world. You and Azriel hadn’t wanted to know the genders, much to the begging and pleading not only from your own children, but your friends as well. The two of you held strong though, not allowing anyone to ask or buy or manipulate the information from the nursemaids who made sure you were alright throughout your pregnancy, with two Illyrian babes inside you.

You collapse against your mate, head resting against his toned, shirtless chest. Azriel is completely ready for the two newest additions, knowing that they’d need that skin-to-skin contact he refused to wear a shirt for this.

Gods, you love him so much.

“A girl,” the nursemaid tells you, handing her off to another who gets her cleaned up. Azriel rubs your arms up and down in excitement. Finally, his baby girl has a sister.

You don’t have much time to recover, as the other babe is eager to follow their sister. It’s slightly better, you suppose, as this one is smaller, the path already paved by the baby girl wrapped up in the healer's arms.

“A boy,” she tells you, moving away with your son to clean him up. You let out a sigh of relief at the sounds of their matching cries – too far away from each other already – like music to your ears.

The healers help you as much as they can, hands warm as their powers ease the pain you’re experiencing. You’ll be sore for a few days, but at least you’ll be able to get back on your feet quicker now that you have six children to care for.

And you couldn’t be happier. Your children are the best and they love each other so much it makes your heart melt daily.

They’re both placed in your arms when they’re all wrapped up, Azriel’s large hands supporting yours because you’re exhausted, but you’d never miss the chance to hold your children in your arms. They finally settle down when they recognize the presence of the other, eyes wide and looking around for the first time.

Az tilts his head against yours, pressing his lips to your cheek in a long kiss as you admire the newest additions to your family.

“They still need names,” the healer reminds you, a soft smile on her face as she watches you all with joy.

You look over your shoulder to your mate, your eyes gentle. He’s been mulling over names for the babes since you found out you were having twins, and you’d let him take the reins on this one, as your heart fluttered with the utmost love seeing your mate so excited.

His hazel eyes are widened, unsure. You know that he’s overthinking every name he’s suggested thus far and you give him a soft, encouraging nod, reassuring him with a thrum through the bond.

Azriel stares lovingly into your eyes as he names them.

“Knox, for the male,” a kiss to your lips, “And Malos, for the female.”

Death and Shadow.

[silverflameataraxia]

I've always had this headcanon where Gwyn is dressed up for some super formal event, and as she's walking down the stairs, making her entrance as both Valkyrie and Carynthian, Az notices his shadows adorning her outfit. Everyone else assumes that they're mates, but Az is still clueless.

@azrielweek2022

Day 7: Free Day

[bookishlilcorner-deactivated202]

@azrielweek2022 Day 7: Free day

Just a little moodboard :)

[headcanonheadcase-deactivated20]

@azrielweek2022 Day 7: Free Day

Mood board of Gwynriel being spies in the 1940s.

I created this to fulfill a request on @sjmkinkmeme

[fieldofdaisiies]

Azriel Week Day 7: Free Day

@azrielweek2022

Azriel Aesthetics

"Azriel's head dipped a bit - his night-dark hair sliding over his handsome face as if to shield him from that mercilessly beautiful grin."