M

•side blog•she/her•20s•

[me-amora]

Eris protecting young Lucien but it's teenager Lucien impulsively getting a stupid kinda hippie tattoo among the lesser fae and Eris saying "You either get rid of that NOW, or I will scrape it off of you."

Meanwhile, somewhere in the future, Eris and Lucien healing their relationship: "Do you remember when you got a stupid tattoo and I saw it before father did?", "Do you mean when you threatened to scrape my skin off?", "Yes."

Canon btw

[kitherondaletyblackthorn]

there’s nothing that scares me more in this world than sarah letting lucien’s character decline. please don’t let this happen sarahhhhh. bring back book 1 lucien 😭

[emriorson]

for the ask game, #30 with azriel?? :)

this one took me a while because I couldn’t get the gears in my mind to turnnnnn— but thank you for the ask, baby xx

30. we hate each other but I’d do anything for you (azriel x vanserra!reader) reader is youngest vanserra (fem). tried to do third person all knowing… hope it makes sense

Azriel feels you as soon as his boots hit the ground in the forest. He tilts his head, straining his ears to hear your breaths, but he hears nothing. He fights the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You’re getting better.

But it seems you have forgotten one key thing: his shadows see and hear everything. Even now, they curve along every dip and curve of your body. He feels your soft breaths against his shadows as if it were fanning over his skin.

In seconds they are at his ear, whispering. She is hiding. She is close. She is—

Azriel’s hand shoots out to catch a dagger just as it flies towards his head. He swipes his thumb over the hilt, not needing to see it to know it is yours based solely on the carvings that cover it. Another dagger flies his way and he steps easily out of its way, not even flinching as it loudly hits the tree behind him.

She’s reaching for another one. She’s hiding.

Azriel waves a hand to his left and his shadows shoot out, wrapping around your ankles and dragging you out from the bush you’re hiding in. You grunt and swat at his shadows but it’s no use. He stares down at you, matching your frown with one of his own.

You smirk, trying to hide your frustration, and dust your pants off. “You’re getting sloppy, Azriel.”

“That so?” His voice is cold, cold enough to hide the slight warmth in his eyes at the sight of you.

He had not expected to run into you today— it was a simple enough mission, in and out in a matter of minutes. Though this would surely set him back. Not by much.

You stand up, the feigned nonchalance almost believable, and cross your arms over your chest, raising a brow at him. “Didn’t think anyone would catch you winnowing into enemy territory? You’re losing your edge.”

“Says the one that was dragged out of a bush by her ankles.”

You feel your face heat at that, but you force your features into an impassive mask. “Your shadows gave me away. I found you with no shadows, I—”

You’re cut off when his hand comes up to wrap around your neck, thumb pressing down just enough to cut off your words. “Except, I let you find me, ___.”

His thumb rubs over the spot he pressed, absentmindedly soothing the small hurt as he looks down at you.

You swallow, hard, and you hate that he can probably feel it. He can probably also feel the way your heart is racing, too. You hate him so much. You hate that he’s always bested you, something he has never been really modest about.

“I tracked you.” You say defiantly, gritting your teeth to stop from saying any more.

He smirks at that, “Aww, The Little Autumn Princess, a professional tracker. Just like one of Eris’ little hounds.”

Even as he said it, he hated himself for it. Hated the way the tips of your pointed ears went almost as red as your fiery hair. He couldn’t trust you as far as he could through you— very far, by the way— but that didn’t mean he should be an ass.

Azriel opens his mouth to tell you to go home, that he is meeting someone dangerous here. That even though he hates you— as he should, seeing as you are a princess of Autumn— he doesn’t want you caught in the middle of any of this. Not because he cares or anything, but because it would be more trouble than it was worth. Not that thinking of you in trouble or in pain made his skin crawl. Definitely not that.

“___, you need to—” His ears catch a faint whistle as an arrow soars through the air towards them.

“What?” One of his hands covers your mouth and the other signals you to be quiet. In a flash, his shadows wrap around you and drag you behind a bush at the same time that his wings tuck back and his arm shoots out. The arrow pierces his palm and he grits his teeth.

Why did he do that? Stupid princess playing at being a spy, wasting his time, taking up space in his thoughts— what? He hisses low as he snaps the arrow in half and pulls it out of his hand, slowly. He watches as the wound heals as the footsteps of the shooter get closer.

“Who was that other voice?” The man he is meeting looks around, and Azriel’s shadows instinctively wrap tighter around you.

“Nobody.”

“I thought I heard a female voice.” The other man sniffs at the air, and Azriel feels a wave of anger go through him at the thought of him picking up your delicate scent— even though he knew for certain that he wouldn’t be able to. Azriel had made sure that to hide your scent when he wrapped his shadows around you. Getting his scent off you will be another task on his list, though he resented the idea. For no reason.

“I said nobody, now tell me what you wanted to say and stop wasting my time.” Azriel didn’t have to try to make his voice cold, he already hates the man.

Azriel’s hands tighten into fists, hiding the slight tremble. The man, as expected, notices nothing and immediately goes into what they came here for. Azriel listens to him carefully, but keeps an ear out for you, just in case.

His shadows loosen around you ever so slightly, even as they move to cover your mouth. You watch from the shadows as he meets a man, wondering what would have happened to you if Az had not heard that arrow coming. How could you have been so stupid. One of his shadows materializes to caress your cheekbone softly and you glance at it. It disappears like smoke, melting into the rest of the shadows.

You smile. That seemed almost… shy. Your attention goes back to Azriel and you strain your ears to listen but he has hidden you far enough away that their conversation is completely lost to the sounds of the forest. You close your eyes, frustrated. This idea was of yours was stupid.

[gwynrielweeksofficial]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒩𝓎𝓂𝓅𝒽 & 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 🪷✨

Thank you krssyreads_ for allowing us to repost this beautiful lyyzis_art Gwynriel. The glow, the emotion, the tension… we can’t get enough!

If you love this art style, keep an eye on our page tomorrow. We’ve got something special planned across several platforms 😉💖

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

Writing Prompt #4106

"I'm sorry—you're choosing to move into a house you know is haunted?"

"With a mortgage that low? Absolutely! Besides, I already did some base research on who it probably is. Right now it's a 50/50 shot between a 50s housewife who got poisoned by her husband or a sad little twink who fell down the stairs. I can absolutely handle that if it means I can finally move out of my apartment."

[idkyetxoxo]

Seven | Inevitable | An Unwilling Match

Pairing - Rhysand x reader

Word count - 2k

Warnings - None

<- prev || series masterlist || next ->

It was unfair, so utterly unfair for my heart to decide it loved Rhysand.

After crying, after yelling, after insisting I wanted nothing to do with him. After telling him he meant nothing, after convincing myself he was arrogant and manipulative and dangerous.

After ruining everything.

And yet somehow, despite all of that, somewhere between the arguments and the stolen glances and the night that had changed everything, my heart had betrayed me completely.

I loved him.

And I was almost certain he no longer loved me.

He had changed. Not dramatically. Not in a way anyone else would notice. To everyone else he was still charming when required, still composed, still clever, still quietly powerful in every room he entered.

But with me... he was different. Polite. Distant. Controlled.

He no longer teased me. No longer provoked arguments just to see me lose my temper. No longer leaned too close just to watch me forget what I was saying. No longer smiled that infuriating, knowing smile that used to make me want to throw something at him.

He bowed. He stepped aside to let me pass. He spoke to me as if I were a stranger.

"My lady," he would say, instead of my name.

He had never called me that before. And somehow that hurt more than all of our fights ever had.

Because fighting meant he cared. Fighting meant he felt something. Fighting meant I mattered enough to provoke emotion.

This polite, careful distance felt like nothing. It felt like I meant nothing.

We crossed paths often, balls, dinners, social visits, endless events neither of us could avoid now that everyone thought we were to be married. Every time, the same thing happened.

He would bow slightly. "My lady." 

"My lord," I would reply.

And then silence.

Polite conversation. Weather. Music. Travel. Anything and everything except what actually mattered.

He never looked at me for too long anymore. Never stood too close. Never touched me.

It was unbearable. I would have preferred if he hated me.

I was sitting in Eleanor's drawing room one afternoon, pretending to listen to her talk about fabrics for a new gown when she said casually,

"You know Lady Maren has taken quite an interest in Lord Rhysand lately."

I looked up too quickly. "Has she?"

Eleanor watched me carefully. She noticed everything.

"Oh yes," she continued. "She asked me twice last week whether he would be attending the next ball. And yesterday she asked if he preferred music or hunting."

I tried to sound indifferent. "Perhaps she simply wishes to be polite."

Eleanor raised one eyebrow slightly. "She wishes to marry well."

My stomach twisted unpleasantly. "Well," I said lightly, "she will be disappointed."

"Why?" Eleanor asked. "You two barely speak anymore. Half of society thinks the engagement is purely political now."

That hurt more than she knew. I looked down at my hands. "Good," I said quietly. "That is what it is."

Eleanor said nothing for a moment. Then softly, "You're jealous."

"I am not," I said immediately.

"You are," she repeated calmly.

"I am not jealous," I said again, though my voice sounded weaker this time. "He may marry whoever he likes."

Eleanor leaned forward slightly. "He is going to marry you."

The words landed heavily between us. I swallowed. "That does not mean he wants to."

Eleanor studied my face for a long moment. "Oh," she said quietly. "You love him."

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. The realisation settled slowly, painfully, like something sinking to the bottom of deep water.

I loved him.

I loved the way he never lost control except when it mattered. I loved the way he watched everything and everyone like he was always ten steps ahead. I loved the way he argued with me like I was his equal, not someone to be managed or controlled. 

I loved that he had climbed through my window instead of sending a letter. I loved that he had defended my name when people spoke badly of me. I loved that he had stopped when I was afraid. I loved that he had been gentle when he didn't have to be.

And I had told him he meant nothing. I had told him he was convenient. I closed my eyes briefly. 

I had ruined everything.

A week later, at another ball, I finally heard the thing that destroyed whatever hope I had left.

I had stepped out into one of the side corridors to escape the noise and the heat when I heard familiar voices ahead.

I stopped immediately.

Rhysand. And with him, Cassian and Azriel. I shouldn't have listened. I knew I shouldn't have but I did.

"You cannot avoid her forever," Cassian was saying.

"I am not avoiding her," Rhysand replied calmly.

"You call her my lady," Cassian said. "You sound like a stranger at court."

There was a pause. "That is the point," Rhysand said.

Azriel spoke next, quieter than the others. "And when the wedding comes?"

Another pause.

I could not see them from where I stood, hidden just around the corner, but I could imagine him perfectly, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression controlled and unreadable.

"I will marry her," Rhys said finally. "If it is expected."

My heart dropped.

Cassian spoke again, more serious now. "But do you love her?"

There was a long silence. Long enough that I stopped breathing. 

When Rhysand finally answered, his voice was calm. Controlled. Empty. "That is irrelevant."

The words hit harder than any slap ever could. Irrelevant. Love was irrelevant.

I felt something inside my chest crack quietly.

Cassian said something else after that, something I didn't hear because there was a roaring in my ears and my vision had gone slightly blurry.

I turned and walked away before they could come around the corner and see me.

I walked back into the ballroom, into the music and the lights and the laughter, and I smiled when people spoke to me and I danced when asked and I behaved exactly as I was expected to.

But inside, something had gone very, very still.

Because I finally understood. I loved him. And he was going to marry me anyway.

But he did not love me anymore.

Rhysand's POV - 

I did not think I would find myself in this position again.

Yet here I stood in her bedroom, alone, having come because she had asked me to—and I had come immediately. 

No hesitation. No question. No pride left intact where she was concerned.

I should have waited until morning. I should have refused. I should have remembered every cruel word she had thrown at me.

Instead, the moment her note arrived, I was already halfway to the door.

I would cross battlefields for less than what I felt for her. Climbing a wall in the dark was hardly an inconvenience.

She stood near the window when I entered, her back to me, hands clasped tightly in front of her as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will.

She did not turn immediately when I closed the window behind me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

I had stood in political rooms with lords and dukes and felt less tension than I did standing in that quiet bedroom with her.

Finally, she spoke. "I asked you here because we need to talk."

Her voice was calm. Too calm. Controlled in that way people are when they are about to do something that will hurt them.

I said nothing. Just waited.

She turned then, slowly, and faced me. Her expression was composed, but her eyes were not. Her eyes looked like she had not slept in days.

"You deserve someone who actually wants you," she said.

The words hit me like a physical blow, but I did not interrupt.

"You deserve someone who does not fight you at every turn, who does not make your life more difficult, who does not argue with you in public and insult you in private and ruin your reputation by association."

I still said nothing, though something tight and hot had begun to coil in my chest.

"I will speak to my father," she continued. "I will tell him I refuse the marriage. I will take the blame if I must. I will say I am in love with someone else, or that I am unsuitable, or that I am ill-tempered or mad or anything he wishes to believe. I will get you out of this marriage."

She swallowed slightly before continuing.

"You should be free to marry someone who you actually want to marry."

That was the moment something inside me snapped. Not loudly. Not violently. But completely.

"You think I do not want you?" I said quietly.

She looked slightly startled by my tone but continued anyway, as if she had prepared this speech and would finish it no matter what.

"I think you feel obligated," she said. "I think you are honourable enough to go through with it even if you no longer wish to. And I will not trap you into a marriage you do not want."

Trap me. Trap me?

The words echoed in my head, and suddenly I was very, very angry.

Not at her. At the situation. At her father. At society. At every person who had ever made her believe she was something to be traded and negotiated and forced.

"You think this is a trap?" I asked.

She hesitated slightly. "Is it not?"

I laughed once, but there was no humour in it.

Then I ran a hand through my hair and began pacing once across the room before turning back to her, because if I didn't move I was going to say something reckless—and then I realised I was going to say it anyway.

"You think I do not want you," I repeated slowly. "You think I am being forced into this."

She said nothing. That was answer enough.

And suddenly I was done being controlled. Done being careful. Done pretending this did not matter.

"I have tried not to want you," I said.

She blinked, clearly not expecting that.

"I have tried to hate you," I continued. "I have tried to convince myself you are arrogant, impossible, infuriating, and entirely unsuitable for me."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"I have tried to forget you. I have tried to stay away from you. I have tried to be polite, distant, cold, exactly what you seemed to want me to be." I took a step closer to her. "It did not work."

She didn't move.

"I burn for you," I said quietly.

The words seemed to still the entire room.

"You consume my every thought. You walk into a room and I forget what I was saying. You argue with me and I think about it for days afterwards. You insult me and I replay the conversation in my head like a man who enjoys his own suffering."

I took another step closer.

"I knew I would marry you the moment you tried to climb that wall to escape me."

She stared at me, completely stunned now.

"I knew then that no other woman would ever interest me half as much as the one who would rather scale a wall than marry me politely."

Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitched slightly.

"I would rather fight you for the rest of my life than live one day without you," I said quietly. "Do you understand that? I would rather argue with you every morning, every evening, every year, than live a peaceful, quiet life with someone else."

Her eyes were shining now, but she still said nothing.

So I said the thing I had been holding back for weeks.

"You were never convenient," I told her. "You were inevitable."

Silence filled the room. Heavy. Thick. Almost frightening in its intensity.

She looked like she had forgotten how to breathe. I stepped closer until there was only a small space left between us.

"I never wanted to force you into anything," I said more quietly now. "Not the engagement. Not the marriage. Not that night. Nothing. I have been waiting for you to choose something—anything—freely."

I held her gaze, making sure she heard every word.

"If you do not want me, I will release you," I said. "I will speak to your father myself. I will end the engagement. I will take the blame. I will do whatever is necessary to make sure you are free."

The words felt like tearing something out of my own chest, but I meant them.

"But," I continued, my voice quieter now, "if you choose me... it must be freely. Not because of your father. Not because of society. Not because you think you owe me something."

I took one final step closer.

"If you choose me, it must be because you want me."

I looked down at her then, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Because I have wanted you from the very beginning," I said. "And I do not think I will ever stop."

A/n - She finally realises she's in love with him (bit late babe) and naturally convinces herself he couldn't possibly still love her after everything she said to him :(

She calls him over intending to "release" him from the engagement and he responds by delivering the most devastating, life-altering, burn-the-world-down confession imaginable x

I absolutely had to use Kate and Anthony in the header because their confession scene altered my brain chemistry and these two were giving major season 2 energy the entire time. We will always love and appreciate the blueprint!!

Thank you so much for reading  <33

An Unwilling Match tag list - @sophieliz @azrielblue @whump-loverz @galacticoceans @lilah-asteria @niiickelodeon @justtryingtosurvive02 @rosie-posie08 @mis-lil-red @dnfhascorruptedme @justreadingfanficseveryday @spookypersondinosaur @chxosangxl @ivy-34 @thecrimsonstarofvelaris @cardiganconfessions @sleepyhumanhere @karolamurdock @blueeclipsepaperstudent @sunmoonsweets @cubanfire @caitm1 @meepmoopbadabeepboop @anongirl007

[yuulina-vre]

I'll help you endure the pain

Summary: Y/N just wanted to help Nesta in the librabry. Okay no, She just wanted to read books to distract her from Azriel being gone on a mission. What she didn't want is a badly injured Shadowsinger returning home, scaring the hell out of the whole Inner Circle.

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Word count: 4.7 k

Warnings: mentions of blood and wounds

Masterlist

“You know, you wanted to help me, so you’re supposed to run around, dust covering every inch of your being and carrying heavy books. Not sitting there and reading them.” Nesta’s voice breaks through Y/N’s silent corner, ripping her out of the book she just found and lost herself in. “Huh?” She looks up finding the eldest Acheron sister in front of her, hands stemmed into her hips with a stern expression on her face. Though, Y/N can see the slightest hint of a smirk on her face. “The book. You’re supposed to sort it away and help me out.” As if slow to understand Y/N looks form Nesta to the book in her own hands and frowns until embarrassment washes over her. “Oh, sorry. I got lost… again.” Nesta just sighs dramatically. Her usual snark doesn’t come though. “Okay. I know you offered to help as a distraction from Azriel being gone, but right now, you’re not a big help.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I knew it would happen. Isn’t the first time, won’t be the last.” Nesta’s hands drop from her hips and she steps closer, squeezing herself next to Y/N into the small nook she found. “What are you reading anyway?”

“Oh… Its a biography of the Night Court. Pretty much everything that happened in the last… I don’t know how many years, but it’s interesting.” Y/N perks up with a smile but Nesta groans at her answer. “I’ll never understand how you can read such boring things.”

“Hey! It is interesting and I also read the books you recommend to me. It’s just… I like learning new things.” A bit self-conscious Y/N runs her hand over the cover of the book. It’s thick and heavy, bound in a dark leather that has seen better days. There are already stains on it, here and there is the leather a bit broken or roughed up. One corner must have bend backwards at some time. “Whatever.” Nesta scoffs and leans back against the wall. “When’s your mate coming back? Its been like, four weeks, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Y/N sighs, the book lying flat on her lap. “Its been a while since he was gone this long. But he should be back sometime this week. At least Rhys says he’s supposed to be.”

“Heard anything from him?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head sadly. She can feel a slight burn behind her closed eyes as tears start to well up. She really misses Azriel. When he told her of the mission to Hybern, he hadn’t said anything of the time he’s gonna be gone. He knew Y/N would count every second of the time he would mention and instantly start to worry if he takes longer than he said. And as usual their last day before he left was spent together, with all the things they love doing. Azriel took her to her favorite bakery for breakfast, then took her an a flight over Velaris. They stopped a bit outside the town to enjoy the sun and lie in the grass next to the Sidra and just breathed in the quiet and the company of each other. Back at home they stayed glued to each others hip until they went to bed. Y/N fell asleep cuddled impossibly close to him, knowing that he would be gone when she wakes up.

“He closed the bond so I won’t worry, and he doesn’t get distracted. He always says he can’t open the bond because he would come right home because he misses me too much.” It’s the smallest smile that slips on her face at Azriel’s words. She’s sure he was a bit red around the nose and ears as he confessed it to her, though he keeps denying it. “Hm.” Is all Nesta answers before she stands up again, brushing some of the dust form her skirt. “Well. Get back to your book then, and I’ll finish sorting this stack. Then I force you to training and afterwards we reward ourselves with the nicest dinner ever seen.”

“What, no! I can help!” Y/N is half off her seat as Nesta just lifts a hand to stop her. “You’ll just find another book to loose yourself in… or get lost again. I think I’ll manage. There aren’t that many books le-”

“Y/N!” A booming voice breaks the silence of the library. A few passing priestesses murmur in disapproval as Cassian comes running by, only to slid to a halt and step back as he passes them. “Thank god, there you are!”

“Cassian, you brute, lower your voice. Its a library!” Nesta scolds but something in Cassian’s face lets her straighten instantly. Cassian doesn’t even glance at her, his focus solely on Y/N. “I need you to come with me.”

“Why? Whats wrong?” Y/N now pushes up all the way from her seating position, book in hand and a confused expression on her face. The longer she looks at Cassian and his worried and stressed face, she can feel her heart beating faster then before. “Rhys send me to get you. He’s hurt.”

“Who is hurt? Rhys?” Confused Y/N shakes her head a bit. “I’m not a healer. Feyre would be much better for that.”

“No. Azriel.” Suddenly Y/N feels a cold rush over her that she hasn’t felt in a very long time. “H-he’s…” What does that mean? Azriel comes back hurt more often than not but usually it’s nothing meagerly bad, at least she never needed to be called like that. Usually Azriel comes home exhausted, gives Rhysand a briefing of the outcome, and then gets to the house where Y/N’s most of the time waiting for her. She’d clean up the few cuts and wounds he might have, takes a bath with him and that’s it. But this is big and scary. He’s home, hasn’t reached out, and now she’s told she’s needed. Her thoughts are scrambling from bad to worse versions of how this can go, and how bad it might be. She feels glued to her spot, like a statue, not able to do anything than breathe. Nesta is not though. She steps next to Y/N and takes one of her hands in her own, after discarding the book Y/N still holds. “How bad is it?”

“Honestly? It’s not looking good.” Cassian sighs and runs a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. “I wont get into any details but he has a lot of wounds and his wings…” Cassian stops for a moment, his expression turning sorrowful. Then he shakes his head again with a deep sigh. „He won’t hold still for treatment, though. He’s in pain but all he wants is to go see Y/N, so, I really need you to come with me now.” Unsure and highly overwhelmed she stares at Cassian, before her gaze finds Nesta. She just squeezes Y/N’s hand with a semi reassuring smile. Y/N can see the worry in Nesta’s eyes. “Go on. I’ll finish here and then I’ll join you.” Slowly Y/N feels her body nod before she even can comprehend whats happening and takes the few steps to Cassian before Nesta’s voice chimes again. “Hey.” She waits until Y/N turns around before continuing. “It will be alright, okay?” Y/N stares for a second. Her head suddenly completely empty. It feels as if everything’s filled with static, in her ears she can hear her blood rushing but otherwise everything else sounds muffled. All she can do is nod and follow Cassian blindly, who guides her with a careful hand on her lower back. The warrior looks equal worried and stressed but she notices faintly that he glances her way every few steps on the way.

Finally in Madja’s clinic, Y/N has found some sort of calm in the situation. She follows Cassian’s stride until they reach a closed door. The silence of the walk and the building is disturbed by muffled groaning, a curse here and there and, occasionally, a worrisome growl from behind said door. Even if Y/N wouldn’t know that Azriel’s behind it, she would know now from the sounds. The deep voice is unmistakable, also the small shadow that peeks from under the door is a big hint on what lies behind it. Before she’s really ready to enter, Cassian’s hand lands on the door handle and pushes the polished, slightly damaged wood open to give sight into the chaos behind it.

What Y/N sees traps the breath in her throat, a lump forms, making swallowing difficult. Suddenly she feels cold, her hands clammy and sweat running down her back. Rhy’s stands beside the bed where Azriel’s lying on. The High Lord holds Azriel’s shoulders down, trying to calm and hold the Shadowsinger down as best as he can, but the other male groans and whimpers, his lags trashing lightly, arms trying and failing to push Madja away, who’s trying to tend to one of Azriel’s wings. A sound that’s close to a sob rips from the man and breaks Y/N’s heart. She can hear him muttering silently. It’s too low for her to understand but from what she can hear it sounds like he’s only saying one word again and again. Feyre steps up to him, taking the hand, that’s already bandaged, lightly in hers. “I know, she’s here soon, Az. Cassian went to get her.” Another sound leaves Azriel, close to a whimper. Y/N’s breath stocks, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, too fast to be silent. She’s sure everyone can hear her. In that moment, Madja does something to Azriel’s wing, from what she can see, it looks like she’s dabbing something to disinfect on it. Azriel screams and trashes forcefully, almost pushing Rhys off him. “Hold him down!” Madja backs away while Rhys has to put his full weight on his spy. “No! NO, no no!” Azriel’s scream turns into a sob, seemingly too far gone in his pain. “Y/N! Where’s she? I-I need…” He doesn’t finish as another sob and jerk rip through him. Feyre grips his hand once again, but her head is angled away from him, not able to look this man, that usually is so strong, silent and self-controlled. Not able to look at the man that breaks down in front of her because of pain. Even Rhys looks away but his eyes don’t wander to the wall or Feyre, his gaze wanders to the door where he finally notices her and Cassian. His posture straightens a bit and Y/N thinks she sees him sigh in relief. She takes one last shaky breath but then she pushes past Cassian, who hasn’t said or moved the whole time. “What happened?” Her voice is steadier, calmer, as she feels. It surprises herself. Rhys stems against Azriel once more, who tries to sit up after hearing her voice but gets pushed back down quickly. His energy is leaving him slowly, exhaustion winning. “He got ambushed. They had some weapons made out of ash-wood. His wounds aren’t healing, we think the wood splintered and left some residue in the wounds. Madja needs to clean them, but he won't hold still.”

“Understandable. That hurts like hell.” Cassian mutters from the door as, he too, steps into the room, closing the door behind him. „Y/N…” Azriel’s voice is only a whisper. His eyes had been scrunched shut a second ago but now they’re open. His unfocused gaze flies to her, but he’s unable to really focus. His shadows flick around the room and some of them collect at her feet, seemingly in distress too. Y/N swallows past the lump in her throat and steps up beside Azriel, opposite of Madja to not disturb her work. Gently her hand strokes over Azriel’s cheek. “Hey, Az, it’s me. I’m here.” Her hand trembles lightly as she feels his skin under her fingertips. It’s clammy and white. His usually bright eyes are dulled and glazed over. “Y/N..” His eyes finally find her, able to focus on her face. His body sacks a bit as if he’s relaxing by just seeing her. “Yeah.” She gifts him a shaky smile before she looks to Feyre next to her. The high lord smiles equally shaky but nods encouraging at her before she lets go of Azriel’s hand to make room for Y/N, and steps to Cassian, who’s still by the door, ready to jump in if needed. “Azzie, I need-” A sob of her own threatens to make it’s way as she musters him some more. His face is tear stained and bloodied. There’s a small cut above his eyebrow and along his left cheek. His arms are, thankfully, already bandaged but his chest is still bare with cuts and blood still seeping out of his wounds.

The worst are his wings.

They’re thankfully not shredded but there are cuts and holes littered around the membrane. She knows that the wings are very sensitive. She really doesn’t want to think about the amount of pain her mate must be in. She takes another deep breath before she tries to speak again. “Azzie, I need you to stay still for me, can you do that?”

“Noo.” His eyes close again and he grits his teeth in pain as Madja dabs at another cut. Y/N takes Azriel’s free hand in hers and squeezes it. “Azriel. I’m here but you need to hold still so that Madja can help you.” A rocky breath leaves him and the tiniest nod escapes him together with another whimper. His hand instantly tightens around Y/N’s, squeezing her delicate fingers so hard that they hurt but she decides to not comment on it and just endure it. If Azriel can endure so much pain, she can manage a tight squeeze.

Instead she squeezes back and opens her side of the bond a bit more, letting all the love and affection run through it in hope of bringing more comfort. His body and expression relax once more and before she can think much of it, she leans down to press her lips against his sweaty forehead. “That’s good. I’m here. I love you. You’re safe now.” Her hand stays in his but the other one finds it’s way into his hair to gently comb through it, even as he tenses again in pain. “Y/N- hurts.” His eyes open again, finding hers once more. Y/N can feel her heart breaking. “I know. But Madja’s as fast as she can, Azzie. Just a bit longer.” She smiles a fake smile and looks at Rhys. His face is expressionless but as she watches him closer, she can see the way his lips are pressed to a thin line and his eyes are focused on Azriel. He is extremely worried and pained by the look of one of his brothers in such a state.

Over the next few minutes Y/N tries everything to keep Azriel as calm and still as possible and for most of the time it works. She tells him about her four weeks and what she has been up to, about the recipe she found and wants to try, about Elain’s garden and the books she read. Other than a hum here and a grunt there she doesn’t get much of an answer from her mate, but she doesn’t expects him to.

She just wants to bring him some sort of comfort and seemingly her voice and touch are enough for now. “He’s tiring.” Madja looks up at Rhys as she rounds Azriel’s body to get to the other wing next to Y/N. She had let him rest a bit, instead focusing on his chest and legs which are now bandaged as well. But his left wing is worse, than the right and Y/N can clearly see some wood stuck in it when her gaze grazes it. “W-what does that mean?”

“It means he’s likely to pass out soon. His body is fighting to heal but with the wood it can’t, so he’s loosing blood. The pain he’s in when Madja tends to him doesn’t help either.”

“Can’t we do something against the pain?” Y/N searches Rhys face, cursing herself for not asking earlier, but the High Lord shakes his head. “I could go into his mind but he won’t let me in, I’ve tried already. I don’t want to force him and put more pressure and pain on him.” Rhys eyes wander do Azriel’s, who’s breathing is way to shallow now. “Let’s hope unconsciousness comes fast for him so he can rest.”

Overwhelmed Y/N nods and looks at Azriel. His skin is glistening with sweat and she can see the exhaustion in his face. “Hey.” She lightly dabs a cloth over his face that Feyre gave her a while ago. Sluggishly Azriel’s head rolls to the side so he can see her better, his eyes half lidded. “It’s okay to sleep.” She gives him a smile again, hoping that it doesn’t look as crooked as it feels. “Close your eyes, handsome.” She abandons the cloth and runs her fingers over his cheek once more. “It’s okay.”

“I-I don’ wanna…” His voice is weak and breathy. His eyes close briefly but he opens them with difficulty again. “Go to sleep, Azriel. I’m staying with you.” Y/N squeezes his hand again, just as Madja mutters that she’s starting again. It’s then that Azriel’s body jerks and buckles again with pain before surrendering. From his lightly arched back he falls back on the mattress and stays still then. “A-Az?” for a moment panic surges through her, but Madja’s hand pats her back once. “Its okay, girl. He’s finally getting his rest. You did good.” Madja reassures her, lightly squeezing her shoulder before going back to work on a nasty looking wound.

For a moment Y/N just breathes and stares at the injured man that she loves so much. It’s as Rhys hand comes to rest on her shoulder that the first sob, that she held back for so long, slips out. The second it’s out there’s nothing stopping her. She starts crying and sobbing earnestly. “Y/N…” Rhys voice is soft, overwhelmed, tired and hurting, his hand tightening briefly before he lets go and a slimmer pair of arms come around her. Her head gets softly pulled into a shoulder, hands lightly stroking her hair. From the touch and smell of dust she knows that Nesta has arrived and cradles her to herself now, trying to bring comfort for the time being. “He’s alright. He’s resting and getting better. You did good.” Nesta’s arms tighten again, her chin resting on Y/N’s head.

“You did so good.” Y/N sobs against Nesta’s shoulder, wrapping her own arms around the oldest sister.

It takes a bit longer, than Y/N would like to admit, to calm down. With a last sniff she pushes away from her friend, wiping her face with one of her sleeves before looking around. They’re almost alone in the room now. The others have left and only Madja is still there. She’s now cleaning the smaller wounds on Azriel’s wing, and it looks like it might be only a matter of maybe twenty more minutes. “You okay?”

“Yeah..” Y/N takes a deep breath and releases it shakily. “It’s just…”

“A lot, huh?” Y/N nods and her eyes find her mate on the bed. He’s breathing lighter now, not really looking relaxed but better than before, now that the pain doesn’t numb his brain. “Four weeks of not seeing each other, of no contact and no bond. And then he comes back and is… like this.” She gestures to the male. “I’m not mad at him but… I’m worried. I’m always worried about him but today…” Y/N’s watery eyes find Nesta’s. “He could have not come home at all. He was so close.”

“I know, but we don’t go there, okay? He is back, he’s here and he’s hurt. But alive.”

“What about next time?”

“Next time he will fight just as hard to come back home to you. He can’t promise more than that and you know you can’t ask more than that.” Nesta looks at her with a somewhat stern face. She knows what she’s talking about. It’s not like Cassian doesn’t come home battered and hurt from time to time, too. “We’re a big family and we all do or best. More is just not possible.” Y/N nods, knowing that she’s right but it doesn’t ease her worries. And Nesta knows that too. “Go sit with him, okay? I’ll come back and bring some tea and a book for you.”

“Okay.” Y/N’s voice is weak but she lets Nesta steer her to Azriel’s other side, so Madja has enough room to work. Then Nesta pulls up a chair for Y/N to sit in.

For a while she just watches the healer work, thanks Nesta as she comes back with the promised goods or looks at Azriel just breath.

Slowly her own heart rate calms down and her mind settles. She’s still deeply disturbed by all the bandages but Madja reassures her, before she leaves the room. The male will recover, maybe with a few more scars but no disabilities. It takes her a while longer before she drinks her now cold tea and looses herself in the book Nesta brought. Of course its one of her romance books.

* * *

At first she thinks her mind plays tricks on her but as the groan comes a second time she looks up form her book. She’s almost halfway through and has to admit that it’s really good. Her eyes find Azriel. He’s still lying on the bed, still pale but not as sweaty. She sees his face twitch a bit, eyes squeezing shut a bit more, lips tightening the tiniest bit. Even his fingers twitch sluggishly and his chest rises the smallest hunch faster. The shadows that had rested in the corners of the room come flying to the bed, surrounding the Shadowsinger like little children about to receive the greatest gift. Y/N quickly abandons the book on the floor next to the third cup of tea that Cassian had dropped of not too long ago while checking in on her and his brother.

Y/N sits up a bit straighter and reach for Azriel’s hand. It’s warmer than before, not as clammy but still a bit weak as his grip tightens around hers. “Y/N?” His voice is rough, hoarse and silent, almost like a whisper. His eyes are still closed but he turns his head in her direction, wincing a bit as his muscles pull on his injuries. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“You stayed?”

“I promised, didn’t I? Not gonna leave you alone. Not after this.” She gestures at his bandages only than remembering that he can’t see with his eyes closed. “Mhm.” Azriel hums taking a few more breath’s before he opens his eyes, slowly blinking at the bit of sunlight that comes through the window, although the sun has started setting. “Hi.” Y/N snorts, unsure how to feel.

She’s still incredibly worried about him but also angry for closing off like that. She really want’s to fuss over him, well knowing that he hates it, but she’s also just relived that he’s awake now. “Hey.” Naturally, her free hand runs through his sweaty hair. “How are you feeling?”

“’m okay.” Y/N just raises an eyebrow, not believing what he just said. “It hurts.” Azriel gives in but he smiles a little crooked smile. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugs. “Means you won’t go on any missions for a while and you can’t fight me on fussing over you, also you have to listen to me lecturing you for closing off for so long.”

“Mother, please take me now.” Azriel mutters, closing his eyes but the smile on his lips betrays how he actually feels. They stay in silence for a bit longer, just living in the moment and enjoying each others company. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too.” Azriel winces as he moves, scooting a bit on the bed. “Stop that. Az! What are you doing?” Y/N jumps up, hands hovering uselessly, trying to help but not knowing how. “’m making room.”

“For what?”

“You, obviously.” Y/N blinks at him for a second, no response coming to her mind. “M-me?”

“Yeah. You say cuddling cures your headaches, has to work now, too.” He groans as he shuffles another inch. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Now it does.” Azriel shrugs but moans in pain right after. His eyes close shut and he takes deep breaths as he breathes through the worst of his pain. “Az, it’s okay. I’ll just stay here, you don-”

“No, I want you here.” He takes a last deep breath before he opens his eyes again to look at her, his arm reaching out a bit to take her hand and tug loosely at it. “Fine.” She sighs and climbs up on the bed as carefully as she can, trying not to hurt him and stopping each time she sees him wince.

Finally she lies beside him. He shut her arguing down pretty quickly as she tried not to rest her head on his shoulder but know she lies there, head on his shoulder, her arm slung around his middle, mindful of the wounds. Azriel harbors a way too satisfied smile on his lips as he presses a kiss against her hair. Suddenly she’s way too conscious about the dirt and dust on her that came from helping Nesta in the library. But Azriel doesn’t seem to mind, so Y/N pushes that insecurity away.

“I’m glad you’re back.” She whispers, her hand idly drawing pattern on his bandage, not sure if he can even feel it. “Me too.” They stay for a while longer like this and Y/N almost thinks Azriel fell asleep again but then his grip on her tightens. “’m not going on any missions for a while. And I won’t shut you out of the bond for so long.”

“Good.” She angles her head to look at him. He’s not looking at her but she can see him thinking. “I was worried about you.”

“I know. Could feel it. You didn’t shut the bond.”

“No. I didn’t.” Then his gaze drifts to hers. His eyes practically boring into hers as if he’s reading her mind. “It got me home. I wasn’t really able to do much after the attack but I could feel you, knew if you were happy, sad, relaxed or angry. And I knew I had to come home to you. So I tried so hard to get free, to get somewhere safe long enough for Rhys to get me.” His grip tightens once more. She knows it must hurt but he seems to ignore it. “You pulled me through it. You’re the reason I’m here.”

“Stop.” Tears gather in her eyes. She doesn’t want to think about what was going on with him while he was attacked or after. She doesn’t want to think about what it took him to return to her, and what she almost lost. Azriel seems to read it off her face because his expression softens. “I love you so much, Y/N. I promise you, I’m always going to do my best to return to you.” A tear slips down hear face and before she’s able to brush it away, Azriel’s hand’s already there, catching it before it can slip too far down. “I love you, too.” That seems to be all Azriel had the energy for. He presses another kiss against her hair, still holding her to his side but his grip loosens significantly. “Go back to sleep.” Y/N whispers pressing a kiss of her own onto his collarbone. Seemingly the only body part not currently wrapped in bandages. “No.” His voice is silent, dripping with exhaustion. “’m enjoying this. Besides Cassian and Rhys are eavesdropping at the door.”

“How does he know that?”

“Shit. The shadows!” Y/N can hear the muffled voices and some scrambling, probably of the two males getting the hell away from the door. Despite the whole situation she laughs and hides her face in Azriel’s chest as he chuckles himself. “They’re terrible.”

“They are.”

“But they care about you a lot, Az.”

“Hm.” Looking back up, she finds Azriel’s eyes closed, expression relaxed and breath already deepening. His eyebrow does a little twitch that Y/N knows well. It always occurs before he’s close to falling asleep and fighting it. “Azzie, go to sleep.”

“No…”

“Yes.” Y/N breathes a giggle. “I’ll nap with you, okay?”

“Yeah?” Azriel settle a bit more, burying his nose back in her hair. “Yeah.”

“’kay.” Y/N doesn’t go to sleep right away despite being tired herself. She stays awake long enough until she’s sure that the male is asleep, before succumbing to her own dreams.

[prythianpages]

Sing Me to Sleep | Azriel

Azriel x Mermaid Reader | In which a heartbroken Azriel is sent to the Summer Court to unwind and accidentally finds himself engaged.

warnings: slight angst, Az being heartbroken over Elain | wc: 5,883

a/n: This is actually an old fic of mine that I have tweaked/changed up to better fit the ACOTAR universe. But it was also inspired by The Smiths and a little bit by Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides. If you're reading this after 08/02/2026, I have edited and added more to it.

A storm was coming.

Just his luck.

Azriel stood at one of the main docks, watching as the turbulent waves lashed out against the rocks in an unforgiving manner. The air was heavy with a briny mist, gray clouds thickening and looming over him. Frantic shouts were thrown at each other as the fishermen nearby anchored their ships in a haste manner.

A dark shadow swallowed the last bit of light, turning the sky into a beautiful arrangement of various shades of grays and purples with the occasional flash of bright blue light. It wouldn’t be long before the rain touched ground on the docks.

A part of him found a strange comfort under the dark and thundering sky so he remained there for a while longer. He welcomed the storm, hearing and sharing its sorrows.

Because for Azriel, the storm had already arrived long ago. 

It raged on in his heart like a never-ending tempest.

Ever since that night, it’s felt like this. It left him to wonder if the pieces left behind could ever be salvaged.

**

Out of all the heartache Azriel has endured, this one had to be the worst. 

Because it ended exactly the way he had feared. 

Elain had chosen her mate.

In the end, fate prevailed. He was a fool for thinking otherwise. He should’ve listened when Rhysand warned him. Perhaps then, his heart wouldn’t mirror the storm before him.

Azriel’s fist unclenched, revealing the rose necklace he had gifted Elain on solstice. It was beautiful and one of a kind. He had gone to the best jeweler in Velaris to have it made. No matter the lighting, the necklace had been crafted with a jewel that glimmered from every angle. It now seemed to glimmer at him in a mocking manner, laughing at him almost, for thinking Elain could actually be his.

“You should head inside, Mr. Shadowsinger.”

Azriel didn’t bother to turn. His shadows assessed the fae beside him, deeming them a nuisance rather than a danger. The shadows recognized the small child from earlier. She was one of the merchant’s granddaughters, no older than a decade. He had caught her curiously peering at him and when one of his shadows waved, she had quickly turned the other way. 

He could feel her wide eyes on him now. Whether she was captivated by his shadows or wings, he could not tell. One of his shadows made a show of twirling from behind his wing and flew right in front of her, earning a small gasp. Her hand twitched at her side as if she wanted to reach out and catch it but thought better of it.

Azriel’s lips quirked up. “You should listen to your own advice.”

The little girl shook her head, determination and wonder flashing in her eyes. He swore her pupils dilated as she looked forward at the thrashing sea. “They say storms bring mermaids.”

“Who says?”

“My grandfather. He’s very smart so he would know.”

Azriel didn’t respond, fearing what he’d say would insult her grandfather and result in drama he did not need. He had come to Summer to avoid drama, after all. Rhysand had recommended–well, more like strongly urged–him to take a “much needed vacation.” It was just his luck that the week his vacation started on was the one week of the year with bad weather that not even Tarquin could stop.

It seemed that no matter where Azriel went, darkness and cloudy skies followed him. A shadow tugged at his hair, reprimanding him for the negative thought. They’d been doing that a lot lately, chastising him for wanting to continue to sulk. They were the ones that forced him out of his room and brought him to the docks to enjoy some fresh air, despite Azriel arguing that opening his window was sufficient.

“My grandfather also says that mermaids can grant you any wish.”

“Any wish?” Azriel echoed. 

Would a mermaid be able to undo fate? He thought. He swore he heard a disapproving hiss from one of his shadows.

“Mmhmm,” the little girl hummed happily. “Seems like you’re in need of one.”

Azriel blinked, taken aback. “Why do you say that?”

“You look sad,” the little girl replied. “Very, very sad.”

Azriel didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. Kids could be very blunt and honest, especially when you didn't ask for it. Though, he knew the girl meant well.

His knowledge of mermaids was not vast but he doubted a mermaid could fix him. There was no fixing a broken heart other than time. And at the moment, he doubted that even time could mend it.

“What would you wish for?” He decided to ask, diverting the conversation from him. A part of him was also curious as to what would make a little girl smile up at a storm as if it were a rainbow.

“I would wish for my mother to wake up. She’s been asleep for a very long time. The doctor’s can’t figure out how to wake her up. Not even High Lord Tarquin,” she quietly said, her voice taking on a more somber tone.

A knot tightened in his chest at her words. He opened his mouth to speak, to say anything to offer some comfort. But before his mouth could form the words, an older male called for her and she ran toward him, bidding Azriel a quick goodbye.

**

The storm finally reached the palace, furiously pouring down as Azriel shut the door to his room. His leathers were slightly damp from the walk back from dinner with Tarquin and Cresseida. He had hardly eaten a bite, mainly joining to not be seen as impolite. Also, to appease and quiet the complaint of his shadows. They had been smuggling him food late at night the past couple of days. He had a feeling they’d still do the same tonight.

Showered and dressed in comfortable sleeping pants, Azriel stretched out across his bed, laying on his stomach. One of his wings draped across the floor. The bed, though the biggest the Summer palace had to offer, was not made for an Illyrian. Much less for one with his wingspan. His cheek was pressed into his forearm as he stared at the towering window that nearly took up the entire wall. 

Lightning forked across the night sky. Waves slammed against the rocky shore and sometimes, against the window itself. It was so close, it seemed like the water might come pouring in.  

Azriel tried to sleep. He really did. Even his shadows hovered close to his ear to deafen the sound of the storm.

However, it wasn’t the storm keeping him up. 

It was his thoughts that kept him up. They were always louder at night.

I thought she was happy. I thought she loved me. Where did I go wrong?

It was never long before his eyes would fill with tears. He’d cry and cry until the pang in his chest became overbearing. Tonight, he didn’t cry. The tears simply did not come but that urgent sense of emptiness that made him restless and feeling lonely was all the same.

Azriel didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the vast darkness and thrashing of the sea outside, hoping and wishing sleep would finally claim him as it had done with his shadows. They were nestled quietly under one of his wings, their favorite place to rest.

It could’ve been minutes, hours. No true sign of time passing. That is, until his shadows stirred, awakened by something. He didn’t move, body was too tired to do so. His ears perked, also sensing a change amongst the howling wind outside.

Somehow, beneath the crashing sound of waves, he heard it.

A sound that could be best described as…singing? A song?

It was strange, a sudden softness creeping through the harshness of the tempest outside.  A song meant for no one, or perhaps, meant only for him.  Against all odds, it lulled him, coaxing the dark thoughts to finally loosen their iron grip around his mind. 

For the first time in weeks, Azriel fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.

**

The storm lasted for days.

The one upside was that it forced Azriel out of his room during daylight hours to enjoy as much as he could before the rain would claim the skies again. It wasn’t often that he got to visit other courts as a tourist rather than the Night Court's spymaster.

He visited the little girl, whose name he learned was Serena. She sold seashells at her grandfather’s fish stand near the market square. Though he had no use for them, he purchased several. He would slip extra coins into her palm whenever she wasn’t paying attention and pretend not to notice her delighted smile afterward. 

He had even let his shadows follow her home one day, hoping to gather more information on her mother’s situation. He was hoping there would be something he could do to help but it seemed, her mother’s condition was beyond him. A sea-creature’s poison had locked the woman in a coma that even Tarquin’s magic could not break.

A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he spotted her now.

She sat atop one of the smooth shoreline boulders, legs dangling over the side while waves lapped at the rocks below. A small bag of chocolate chip cookies rested in her lap and she appeared deeply engrossed in conversation with…with absolutely no one. 

“Who are you talking to?” Azriel asked.

Serena was startled. But it quickly brushed off when she noticed Azriel standing next to her. She grinned as she blinked up at him. “The sea, silly!” 

The little girl then scooted over, patting the spot next to her in silent request. She had come to enjoy Azriel’s presence and though Azriel reluctantly settled down onto the boulder, a part of him had grown fond of her too. At times, she reminded him of himself when he was a child. 

“Want some?” Serena offered the bag of cookies to him.

“No, thank you,” he murmured.

“I was just thanking the sea for washing up the prettiest shells on the shore this morning,” Serena’s gaze drifted toward the endless stretch of glittering water. 

“Do you thank the sea every time?”

“Of course!” She exclaimed, sounding as though she was scandalized by the question. “I talk to the sea too. It makes me feel better and…and you never know who may be listening.”

Azriel raised his brows slightly. “Such as a mermaid?” 

Serena’s eyes lit up. “See, you get it now!”

He most certainly did not.

“Oh!” Serena gasped suddenly, startling the shadows hiding beneath his wings. They eased when they quickly realized there was no threat. “I almost forgot.”

She then reached into her pocket, pulling out a small coin. Azriel watched with slight amusement at the way she wiped the small piece of metal vigorously against the fabric of her pants. She brought it up to her eye. Apparently dissatisfied, she repeated the motion again.

“What are you doing?”

“Just making sure it’s pretty and shiny. My grandpa says mermaids love shiny things.”

“They do?”

“Mmm.”

Finally satisfied, Serena held the coin between both palms. "An offering."

Azriel hummed, pretending to consider this. Truthfully, he doubted any mermaid would come anywhere near the shore. From what little he knew of their kind, they preferred isolation and rarely interacted with outsiders. In his five centuries of life, he’s never seen one himself. 

But he knew why Serena desperately wished to encounter one. Her mother. The hopeful expression on her face was almost painful to look at as she tossed the coin into the ocean.

For a moment, there was silence. Even the ocean seemed to pause, the waves stuttering, as if it were taking a breath. His brows furrowed. A second later, a swell rose from farther out and rushed toward the shore. The tide rolled over the rocks, higher than before, brushing against Serena's legs and kissing the tips of his boots. 

Serena burst into delighted giggles. 

"See?" she said.

Azriel stared out at the sea. The water had already returned to normal, waves crashing and retreating as they always had. A coincidence.

It had to be.

Yet for reasons he couldn't explain, he found himself watching the horizon a little longer than usual.

**

Azriel turned to the library as soon as he returned to the Summer palace. He scoured volumes on venomous marine life and even on merfolk. Most contradicted one another. Some described beautiful beings who guided lost sailors home. Others painted them as monsters that lured entire ships onto demise with nothing but a song.

His eyes burned from exhaustion, the words beginning to blur together. He felt as though he were getting nowhere. Still, he turned another page. At least this goal of trying to gather more information on merfolk kept his other thoughts at bay, dulling the ache in his heart.

Azriel perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, his shadows stirring beneath his feet. His persistent search caught the attention of one of Summer's scholars. He’d see him every time he visited the library, his shadows taking note of every stolen glance his way. IHe had been waiting for the day the scholar gathered enough courage to approach.

"Have you seen one before?"

Azriel blinked, registering the scholar's words slower than usual. Exhaustion was weighing down on him, his eyes and mind begging for rest. He looked to the book before him, a worn out collection of anecdotes from sailors on mermaids that read more like folklore than history.

"No," he answered, lifting his gaze to the scholar. "Have you?"

The scholar assessed him for a moment, eyes lingering on the shadows hovering above the desk. He hesitated before slowly lifting the sleeve of his robe. The scholar’s entire arm from wrist to shoulder was covered in grotesque, painful looking scars. He almost shuddered at the sight but knew better to react. He always loathed the pitiful or shocked stares he’d receive when others looked at his hands.

"I, too, was once curious," the scholar said, his sleeve falling back into place. "So I advise you to not let yours go beyond Prythian. You will only find trouble or worse, death."

The words settled heavily between them. His brows furrowed. Questions crowded Azriel's mind. In what waters did the scholar come across a mermaid? Had he been searching for one or had the mermaid found him instead? What did they look like?

"Some think differently of them. They believe that there is good in them. That merfolk possess the ability to grant any wish. What am I to make of that?"

"Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs," the scholar said quietly, a distant look settling over his features. Azriel knew that look. He had seen it in soldiers returning from battles and in spies who had survived missions they should not have.

"I can only speak from what I witnessed. My fascination was never with merfolk. It was with the sea itself. I joined a crew of fishermen hoping to witness the noctiluca scintillans—the sea sparkle. I'd spent years reading about it. I wanted to see an ocean that glowed like the stars. The crew warned me before nightfall. They passed around lumps of beeswax and told me to pack my ears if I valued my life."

He gave a hollow chuckle. "I thought them superstitious old sailors…until I heard it. At first, it was nothing more than a hum drifting over the water. I told myself it was the wind. Then the melody grew clearer."

The scholar swallowed. "I've spent my life studying music, poetry, languages... yet I have never found words capable of describing that voice. It was beautiful. A voice that made you want. Whatever emptiness lived inside you... it promised to fill it.”

“She rose from the water as though the sea itself had shaped her. She was…,” the scholar shook his head. “No painting could capture her beauty. She smiled and held out her hand. After that…”

Azriel noted the way the scholar’s hand rubbed unconsciously at the scars hidden beneath his sleeve. “After that, everything was a blur of horrors. Cold water. The taste of salt and blood. Pain. Something dragging me deeper…”

"The next thing I remember clearly was waking on the deck of the ship while the crew burned incense around me. They told me they nearly lost two men pulling me away. Their injuries were just as bad as mine.”

Azriel said nothing for several moments. His shadows had gone unusually still.

“Did you get to see the sea sparkle?”

The question surprised even him.

“No. I refuse to go that far into the sea again,” the scholar slowly shook his head.” Let’s say what you have heard of them is true…what makes us think that they would want to grant our wishes?”

"Curiosity led me into the sea." His eyes flicked to the book spread open before Azriel. "If fate is kind, yours will end here."

He turned to leave, pausing only once. "Should a mermaid ever look upon you..." He glanced over his shoulder. "Pray she loses interest right away."

**

Azriel sighed as he walked back to his room. His conversation with the scholar lingered in his mind. He had answered almost none of his questions and despite the warning, his curiosity only grew. He didn't push the scholar for more information.

Instead, he sought answers elsewhere. Not that it led him anywhere. Tarquin did not seem to regard the merfolk with the same disdain and fear as the scholar, but neither did he seem eager to discuss them. He had simply said the knowledge belonged to the rulers of the Summer Court and would remain that way. Some histories were not theirs to share. Merfolk had chosen isolation and the reigning High Lord of Summer would always respect that choice.

“Whatever it is you wish to seek from them, it is not worth the trouble,” Tarquin had said. “Perhaps it is something I can help with instead?”

“I believe you have already tried.”

A flicker of understanding crossed Tarquin's turquoise eyes. His expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “So you have met Serena. Endearing girl, she is. With a vast imagination and love for the sea.”

“What do you make of her beliefs in merfolk? Is it purely imagination?”

Tarquin's gaze drifted toward the ocean beyond the palace windows. "People believe in what brings them comfort. Who am I to steer her heart elsewhere?"

His smile slowly faded. "I'm still searching for a way to help her mother. Trust that neither of them has been forgotten. I won't stop looking."

Azriel inclined his head. “Neither will I.”

**

There was an odd, heavy feeling in Azriel’s heart. As foolish as it may have sounded, he truly wanted to believe Serena. For her sake, mainly. He knows the grief of being separated from a mother all too well. He would never wish that emptiness upon a child. 

Yet there was another part of him—a quieter, more selfish part—that wanted to believe her stories for himself too.

Perhaps that was why he found himself still returning to the library day after day despite the scholar's warning. He ignored the looks the scholar would send his way. The older male had not approached him again. The search had become less about proving whether merfolk were benevolent as Serena claimed and more about delaying the inevitable return of his own thoughts.

Because whenever he stopped...his mind wandered back to her. Elain. To what could have been. The ache in his chest had dulled since arriving in Summer, but only because he refused to give it room to breathe further.

His days settled into a rhythm.

He spent his mornings sparring on Summer's training grounds until sweat drowned out thought. Afterwards he bathed before walking the docks, looking for small tasks or jobs he could help others with. If he spotted Serena and her grandfather, he’d stop by and let the child's endless stories distract him. In the early evening, is when he’d disappear into the palace library, burying himself beneath stacks of weathered books until dinner called him away.

Anything to keep moving and outrun the heart that still insisted on looking backward.

Yet no matter how full he made his days, the nights always belonged to his thoughts. He wished the rain could wash them away. Since his arrival, the rain has come without fail every night. The familiar patter greeted him as he settled into bed. He lay awake listening to it.

Then...

The melody returned.

His eyes remained fixed on the dark canopy overhead. He had meant to ask Tarquin of it earlier at dinner, wondering if it was a Summer custom. Perhaps sailors singing beyond the harbor or musicians lingering somewhere along the coast. 

Whatever it was, it was oddly comforting. It felt less like a song and more like something reaching for him, slipping beneath his skin and winding itself around his ribs. Even his shadows stirred softly in rhythm to the melody.

He was still awake when the rain slowed to a drizzle. That’s when the melody changed. It drifted through the rain so strongly he almost mistook it for the wind. His senses sharpened, the melody growing clearer. Words formed in the tide of the sound. 

Azriel frowned, the scholar's story surfacing unbidden. He shut his eyes harder before opening them again. Ridiculous. His mind was certainly playing tricks on him. He was exhausted, after all.

The singing persisted. 

Azriel lifted his head, his gaze falling upon his shadows. They had soothed themselves into a peaceful sleep. If they were not awake and alert, then he must be imagining things. All that research on merfolk must truly be driving him mad...

Sing me to sleep…

Azriel froze, eyes heavy with exhaustion but refusing to close them. His head turned toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sea.

Sing me to sleep… 

His throat tightened, the only muscle in his body that seemed capable of moving. It was as though he had fallen into some sort of trance. One where he could only feel. He felt the pain, the sorrow and loneliness within the singing. It was one he was familiar with. And though the words were simple, they echoed too closely to thoughts he’d buried deep.

There is another world…there is a better world…

A streak of lighting lit up the sky, and for a moment, the world was painted in a pale blue. Outside his window, perched upon the jagged rocks, there was a figure. Long hair spilled down over scaled shoulders, a tail glinting faintly in the rain…

But when Azriel blinked, the vision was gone and there was only the echo of the ending to the song.

Well, there must be…

**

The sun always shines the brightest after stormy nights, they say, and it couldn’t hold more truth the following morning. The sky was as bright and clear as ever. Long gone were the dark clouds, pouring rain and angry waves. All the chaos from the storm was replaced with peace and tranquility, the waves rocking softly against the rocks.

The only one unhappy about the clear skies was Serena. She greeted him with a pouty face, disappointment in her tone as she told him she had seen no mermaid. Azriel felt for her. He almost wanted to confess to her that he thought he had heard and seen one last night but he swallowed the words. He worried he’d only raise her hopes again or worse, it’d dim her spirit even more for not appearing to her.

Instead, he made a mental note to visit some of the gift shops before he left back to the Night Court. He hoped he could find a small figurine of a mermaid to give to Serena. Of course, it wouldn’t be the same but he hoped it’d at least brighten her spirits.

The rest of the day passed on quietly. Azriel had made another trip to the library but with no more success than the nights before. His shadows were restless, urging him to take a break. That’s how he found himself walking along the shore.

He walked until he was far enough, where the only other presence was the soft sound of waves and the saline caress of the light wind. His shadows fluttered around his wings, content that their master was doing something other than sitting in his room or in the library.

The sun was beginning to set, casting soft beautiful hues along the sky. Azriel loved sunsets. Even more so flying over them. His wings twitched in response to his thoughts, yearning to take flight. 

He settled over one of the boulders close to the shoreline instead. Alive with the darkening sky, his shadows drifted away from him. Azriel watched them curiously. They skimmed across the water's surface before suddenly diving beneath it with purpose. His muscles tensed. Had they sensed something?

But moments later they burst back upward, rippling and twirling through the air like jumping fish. Satisfied, they eventually returned to his side and settled near his boots, brushing against the incoming tide.

It was stunning, the sunlight dancing across the water like scattered jewels. He never paid much attention to the sea before. Why would he? He spent centuries flying among the skies, traversing mountains and slipping unseen through cities and courts. 

And perhaps it is why it fascinated him now. The sea was giving him pause. Something he didn’t do much of in his life. He understood why Serena took great comfort here, why others sought the water when their hearts were heavy. 

Sitting before something so immense and infinite was healing. It had a way of shrinking his worries. And yet, he couldn’t help but think of her. Elain. His chest tightened. He had spent weeks trying to outrun the truth. 

Elain was not his mate. 

Perhaps she had cared for him once. Perhaps she always would in some small way. But he had seen the way her eyes followed Lucien when she thought no one noticed. The curiosity and yearning that lingered there. The bond had not created those feelings. 

And for all the hope Azriel had clung to, he had never truly been the one she chose. The realization still hurt. It probably always would.

Azriel was not her first choice and would never be. 

Would he be anyone’s first choice? The thought arrived before he could stop it. 

If mermaids–or any other being– were capable of granting any wish, that is what he would wish for. Not to love but to be loved. For someone to unconditionally and undoubtedly choose him.

The thought lingered and then, it faded. Because if he truly stumbled across a being capable of granting wishes, he wouldn't spend it on himself. There were other pressing matters, such as Serena’s mother. 

Night embraced him and he did not mind the darkness. He let the waves carry away his stress, his shoulders easing slightly for the first time in weeks. He hummed absentmindedly, matching the gentle tune his shadows had adopted. 

There was nowhere he needed to be. Nothing else he needed to do. The realization felt foreign. If only Rhysand could see him now.

He glanced up at the sky. The stars winked back at him and he lingered on them for a moment, thinking of Velaris. Home. He would return soon but it no longer carried the urgency it once had. He blinked, realizing the stars were brighter than the nights before. 

Wait a minute…

There was no cloud in sight tonight. No signs of any storm brewing. If there was no rain, would there be no song to sing him to sleep?  The thought settled strangely in his chest and he frowned slightly. Had he truly grown accustomed to that mysterious lullaby already? 

Azriel closed his eyes and sighed, listening instead to the soft roar of the waves. Even if the lullaby did not come tonight, he was thankful the sea had given him the clarity he needed. Broken hearts did not mend as quickly as they shattered. He knew that. But for the first time since arriving here, he finally believed healing was possible. Not today. Not tomorrow. 

Someday, though.

The sea had helped him finally loosen his grip on something he could never have held.

“Thank you,” he found himself murmuring to the sea.

A higher wave came forward, crashing against the boulder he sat on. Water sprinkled over his legs. His shadows let out a hiss, taken aback by the sudden splash. He laughed quietly at them. 

And then as ridiculous as it sounded, Azriel did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He began to sing. If the sea had sung to him, then it deserved a song in return.

As his voice drifted through the night, a strange sensation crept up, lingering at the edge of his awareness. The feeling of being watched. Though, there was nothing unsettling about it. His shadows didn’t seem concerned either. If anything, it felt comforting like a silent companion sitting beside him.

Perhaps, he thought, it was the sea listening.

**

The morning of his last day in Summer, Azriel returned to the shore. It had become his sanctuary. Every night after dinner, he’d come to this secluded area. Some nights he just sat and listened to the waves. Others, he would sing. Sometimes, he’d talk to the sea. He discovered one truth from Serena’s words. Saying his thoughts out loud was nice. Freeing.

But now that it was his last day in Summer, he thought it was time to be rid of something he still foolishly held on to. It was finally time to say goodbye to the necklace. Elain refused to keep it and he had no use for it himself. It only haunted him, reminding him of what almost was but could never be. He drew it out from his pocket and stared down at it. 

He let out a deep exhale. His shadows suddenly stilled. They sensed a presence nearby. His shadows darted about searching as he, too, scanned the horizon.

There was nothing. No movement, except for the waves.

Still, the unease in finding nothing lingered. He blamed it on the necklace and closed his fist around it. “An offering,” he murmured to the sea. 

The wind built up, as if encouraging him, and his shadows skimmed across the water merrily. They reported nothing back to him but the sensation of being watched pricked at his spine.

He didn’t know what came over him at this moment but he found himself speaking the words his mother would say to him after every downpour in his life.

“After every storm, there’s a calm. After every night, there’s a morning. And after every ending, there’s a new beginning...for you and me.”

He then threw the necklace as far as he could. He threw it not with the same hopes as Serena had with her coin. But with the gratitude for the clarity the sea had given him and that somewhere beyond this ending, another beginning waited. 

When it landed, the wind went eerily still and so did his shadows. An unexplainable shudder went through him, his heart fluttering. 

But Azriel shook it off and headed back to town.

**

By the time he reached the market, something had changed in Azriel. He felt lighter, hopeful. It seemed that the storm raging in his heart was also reaching its end. 

He was successful in finding a small carved mermaid figurine for Serena. He had his shadows deliver it to her doorstep. He watched from afar as her face immediately brightened with delight. She looked around (as Azriel had not left a note, wanting to gift it anonymously) before she cradled it to her chest and ran inside. He smiled as he could hear her squeal of joy from where he stood.

Azriel then made his way back to the palace. He planned to leave before dinner, longing for his bed in Velaris, specifically the one in the House of Wind. That one was the biggest and most comfortable. He also longed for his family’s company, even if dread curled in his gut at the thought of seeing Elain and Lucien together. It was one thing to accept it. Another to not be hurt by it.

When he stepped into the palace courtyard, he found Tarquin already waiting for him. Strange, he thought. The High Lord usually met him at the dinner table. 

Tarquin’s expression was cool, unreadable. Yet, there was a troubling look brewing in those bright turquoise eyes of his. Either something happened or something was about to happen.

Azriel’s shadows stirred uneasily, his wings tensing behind him.

“Azriel,” Tarquin nodded at him in polite greeting.

“High Lord,” Azriel returned, dipping his head.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

And then he saw her.

A female stepped out from behind Tarquin. Her legs trembled and she lost her balance, tripping over her own feet. On instinct, Azriel reached out to stop her from falling over. Tarquin beat him to it, his hand reaching for her arm to help steady her.

“Forgive me, your grace,” she murmured, a sheepish tint coloring her cheeks.

At the sound of her voice, his shadows gasped and his heart lurched forward in his chest. Your grace? He didn’t know what to make of this. His gaze narrowed toward the dark tendrils floating next to him. They felt that magnetic pull too. Her voice…

His attention was quickly pulled back to Tarquin and the female. The sudden urge to know who this female was, was all consuming.

Tarquin smiled softly at her, assuring her she had nothing to apologize for, before turning back to Azriel. He did not reserve that same softness for him. Azriel was not bothered by it, his attention piqued by the female at Tarquin’s side. 

Who was she and why was she staring at him like she knew him?

She was beautiful, unlike anyone he had ever seen. If he had come across her before, he would've definitely remembered. Her satin dress shimmered like sunlight on water, clinging as though it had been poured over her body. She cradled something against her throat, half-hidden by her fingers. 

Her eyes caught his, and when she smiled at him, something inside his chest stuttered. 

He blinked, taken aback by the sudden feeling, and glanced back at Tarquin. Anxiety suddenly crept over him as he waited to be introduced. But his shadows– his shadows pressed forward toward the female in an exciting manner. What did they know that he didn’t?

Finally, after what felt like eternity, Tarquin spoke her name. However, it wasn’t her name that made Azriel feel as though the world stopped spinning on its axis. It was what followed after.

“This is your betrothed.”

Betrothed.

Azriel’s blood went cold. The female’s hand shifted just enough to reveal what she held against her neck. The necklace.

The very one he had hurled into the sea earlier.

a/n: If you're reading this after 08/02/2026, I have edited and added more to it. So please proceed with this warning as some things may be inconsistent.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette,

@alwayshave-faith, @xadenswhore, @kodafics

[erin-bo-berin]

Me the moment Eris shows up in ACOTAR 6

[potatoheartsyou]

I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM he’s just my lil pumpkin spice chai latte okay???

[eco15]

As much as I love Eris Vanserra and would devour a book in his pov…I did NOT think his intentions with Nesta were genuine. I’m not saying it was malicious in anyway but we’ve got to stop mistaking him for some cinammon roll.

As soon as I read the scene wherein he, Nesta and Cassian meet after the ball, and Nesta acknowledged that there was no longing/hurt in Eris’ eyes when she rejected him, I knew.

The male is #1 hot asf and #2 ruthless with his father’s throne at the top of his priorities. Despite being a good male at heart, he IS power hungry. He was attracted to Nesta bc he saw what she could do for him. I thought that was clear from the get go.

…

Also, he’s mine.

[amandapearls]

TW: hanging

This is absolutely disgusting and vile.

I REFUSE to cover their usernames.

This is 100% racist. I hope some of the other elriels step up and say something. They might remove the post if other elriels say something.

I’m fully aware that there are plenty of elriels who are not racist. So I’m really hoping you guys say something (even if you privately message them). Please ask them to remove this.

* I’m only tagging elriels just so you guys can see this and hopefully ask that user to remove the post. *

[nightwingcourt]

So, we're either so ignorant that we don't know about Emmett Till, and how he was abducted and lynched at 14 for just supposedly whistling at a white woman (something never proved, or even if he had, it doesn't even matter because RACIALLY MOTIVATED MURDER IS NEVER OKAY??) or we don't care about the racial barely under-undertones of Elain being the white woman two brown men are pit against one another for to begin with and now we're just being overtly racist for the giggles and hahas. Got it.

[potatoheartsyou]

what the fuck is wrong with this fandom.

congrats to whoever had this “art” idea: you’ve just ruined someone’s (my) day irreparably.

i get that this might have been for shits and giggles, but it is NOT FUNNY. there are tons of issues that i won’t get into (the person who reblogged ahead of me already did).

the bottom line is that THIS IS NOT OKAY. IT IS MOT ACCEPTABLE. IT IS NOT SOMETHING A DECENT PERSON WOULD EVER CONSIDER DOING. BE BETTER. PLEASE.

also thank you to @amandapearls for screenshotting and posting. ik a lot of ppl would never have seen this otherwise or just completely disregarded it, but because you screenshotted it you now have proof and they can’t deny it.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Prompt #1317

"You never told me you loved me. Why?"

"Because I didn't want to burden you with my feelings."

[idkyetxoxo]

Six | What It Cost | An Unwilling Match

Pairing - Rhysand x reader

Word count - 3k

Warnings - Violence, fear

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I did not sleep a wink. Not a single moment.

I knew it not because I had counted the hours but because when the morning sun finally broke through my window, it felt like a punishment rather than a beginning.

The light was too bright. Too harsh. Too real.

It illuminated everything I had spent the entire night trying not to think about.

I stared at the ceiling for a long while, unmoving, as though if I remained still enough, time might reverse itself. As though I might wake and find it had all been a dream.

It hadn't.

Every part of me ached in quiet, unfamiliar ways. Not painful, no, not entirely but enough to remind me. Enough that I could not pretend.

I forced myself out of bed. Mechanically. Numbly.

I dressed with shaking hands, choosing fabrics that concealed, that covered, that hid every inch of me as though modesty alone could undo what had already been done. I pinned my hair tighter than usual, avoiding my own reflection until the very last moment.

And when I finally looked I did not recognise the girl staring back.

How could I have been so foolish? So reckless? So completely, utterly weak?

The memory came unbidden anyway, his voice, low and steady, the way he had looked at me like I was something worth losing control over.

I swallowed hard. No. I would not think of it like that. I had not been swept away. 

I had made a mistake. A terrible, irreversible mistake.

I pressed my hands flat against the dressing table, steadying myself as the thought settled in my chest like a stone.

I was trapped now. I knew it. Completely. Inescapably. What if he used this? What if this had been his intention all along?

The thought turned my stomach.

He had a reputation. Everyone said so. Charming. Dangerous. A man who always got what he wanted.

And now I had given him the one thing I could never take back.

Of course it had meant nothing to him. Why would it? Men like him did not ruin themselves with moments like that.

Only women did. Only women paid the price.

I found myself at Eleanor's door before I could think better of it. I did not remember the journey there. Only the urgency. The need.

The moment she opened the door, her expression shifted instantly.

"Something's wrong," she said.

Not a question. Never a question with her.

I stepped inside, and the moment the door closed behind me, everything I had been holding together shattered.

"I've done something awful," I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts.

Her face softened immediately. "Come," she murmured, guiding me further inside.

We sat in her drawing room, untouched tea growing cold between us as I tried and failed to compose myself.

"I've ruined everything," I whispered.

Eleanor reached across the table, taking my hands in hers. "Tell me."

So I did. Haltingly at first. Then all at once. The argument. The window. The things he had said. The way I had felt. The way I had not stopped it.

The silence that followed when I finished was unbearable.

"I am ruined," I said again, quieter now. Smaller. "If anyone finds out—if my father—"

"They won't," Eleanor said firmly.

I shook my head. "You don't understand—this is not something that can simply be ignored. He could—he could force the marriage now. He could tell my father and there would be no choice left to me at all."

Eleanor studied me carefully. "And do you truly believe he would do that?" she asked.

"Yes," I said immediately.

But the word did not feel as solid as I wanted it to.

Her gaze softened, something knowing flickering there. "You don't sound convinced."

I pulled my hands from hers, standing abruptly. "It doesn't matter what I believe. It matters what he can do."

"And what if he doesn't?" she pressed gently.

I let out a bitter laugh. "Then I am still ruined, Eleanor. It only takes one whisper. One servant. One wrong glance and it is over."

She stood as well, stepping closer. "You are not ruined," she said quietly. "You made a choice."

"A foolish one."

"A human one."

I turned away, wrapping my arms around myself. "It changes everything."

"Yes," she said softly.

I waited for the reassurance. For the comfort. Instead she added, "But not always for the worse."

I looked at her sharply. "Do not romanticise this."

"I am not," she said calmly. "I am simply saying that you may not yet see clearly what this means."

"I see it perfectly," I snapped. "It means I have handed him every advantage."

Eleanor tilted her head slightly. "Or perhaps," she said, "you have placed him in just as dangerous a position as yourself."

I frowned. "That makes no sense."

"It does," she said gently. "If he cares at all."

I scoffed, turning away again. "He doesn't."

But the words didn't land the way they should have.

By the time I returned home, the sky had darkened. The house felt too quiet. Too still. Like something was waiting.

I barely made it to my room before the door slammed open behind me. I flinched.

My father stood in the doorway, his expression darker than I had ever seen it. Not annoyed. Not disappointed. Furious. True, unrestrained fury.

A cold dread settled into my stomach.

"What have you done?" he demanded.

My heart stuttered. "I—"

"Do not lie to me," he snapped, stepping into the room. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"I don't know what you mean—"

His hand struck my cheek before I even saw him move. The sound cracked through the room like thunder.

For a moment, everything went silent.

My head snapped to the side, the sting blooming across my skin as shock rooted me to the spot.

He had never. Not once in my life. He had never raised a hand to me before.

"You will not disgrace this family," he said, his voice low and deadly. "Do you understand me?"

I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.

"I have heard enough," he continued. "Whispers. Speculation. Your name being spoken in ways it should never be."

My stomach dropped. No. No, no, no—

"You will marry," he said. "And you will do so before you have the opportunity to shame me further."

My vision blurred. "Father—"

"No," he cut in sharply. "You have had your freedom. You have squandered it."

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

"You will marry," he said, each word precise. Final. "And you will do so soon."

The room felt like it was closing in again. Trapped. Just as I had feared. Only now there was no escaping it at all.

I did not wait for an invitation. I did not send a note. I did not think.

Which, in hindsight, was perhaps the only reason I managed to make it all the way to his house without losing my nerve.

By the time I was shown into the drawing room, my heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat but the anger kept me upright. Kept me moving. Kept me from turning around and pretending none of this had happened.

The door opened behind me. I turned before the servant had even fully stepped aside.

Rhysand stopped just inside the room when he saw me, surprise flashed across his face before his expression settled into that usual calm, controlled mask he wore so well.

"Well," he said slowly, "this is unexpected."

That was all it took.

"You told him," I said.

He frowned slightly. "Told who—"

"My father," I snapped, stepping toward him. "Do not pretend you don't know what I am talking about."

Understanding flickered across his face briefly, followed immediately by something sharper. "I did not—"

"He knows," I cut in, my voice rising. "He knows, Rhysand. About us. About last night. He stormed into my room like I was a criminal and informed me I am to be married immediately before I 'disgrace him further.'"

Rhysand went very still.

"I told him nothing," he said, his voice suddenly cold. Controlled in a way that meant he was angry now too.

"You expect me to believe that?" I laughed bitterly. "Who else would tell him? The walls? The furniture? Perhaps the moon itself whispered it to him?"

"I did not tell your father," he repeated, more firmly this time.

"You are the only other person who knew!" I shouted.

"And you think I would ruin you?" he shot back, the first crack in his composure finally appearing. "You think I would hand him a weapon like that?"

"I think," I said, my voice shaking now despite my best efforts, "that this arrangement was not moving quickly enough for your liking, and this solved your problem very neatly."

His expression hardened. "You truly believe I would force you into marriage that way?"

"I believe you always get what you want," I snapped.

"And you think I want a wife who hates me?"

"I think you want control."

The words hung between us like a drawn blade.

His jaw tightened slightly. "You are wrong."

"Am I?" I laughed again, though it sounded more like a crack than anything resembling humour. "My father suddenly knows I am compromised and now I am to be married immediately. Forgive me if the timing feels convenient."

"I did not tell him," he said again, slower this time, like he was trying very hard not to lose his temper completely.

But I was already too far gone. Too angry. Too scared. Too hurt.

"You know what the worst part is?" I said, my voice dropping quieter now, sharper. "I actually thought for a moment that you wouldn't use it against me."

His eyes flickered slightly at that.

"I thought," I continued, "that perhaps you had some shred of decency buried under all that arrogance."

"That is enough," he said quietly.

But I didn't stop.

"I was wrong," I said. "You saw an opportunity and you took it. Just like everyone said you would."

His hands clenched slightly at his sides. "You are angry, and you are frightened, and so you are looking for someone to blame. I understand that. But you will not put this on me."

"I don't need to put it on you," I said. "It already is."

He stared at me for a long moment, and the silence stretched so tight it felt like it might snap in my face.

"You think very little of me," he said finally.

"I think exactly what your actions suggest."

"I told no one," he said again, quieter now. "And if I find out who did, they will regret it."

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter now. The damage is done."

He took a step closer. "Look at me and tell me you truly believe I would do that to you."

I refused to look at him. That was answer enough. 

Something in his expression changed then. Something colder. More distant. "Very well," he said quietly.

I crossed my arms, holding my ground even though my heart was hammering painfully now.

"This was a mistake," I said. "All of it. The arguments, the engagement, last night—everything."

He didn't respond.

So I said the cruellest thing I could think of. The thing I knew would hurt him. The thing that hurt me just as much to say.

"You were just convenient," I said.

The words tasted like poison in my mouth. They hurt to say. They hurt because they were not true.

And I knew it but I said them anyway.

For the first time since I had met him, Rhysand looked like I had actually managed to wound him.

Not angry. Not amused. Not controlled. Just still. Very, very still. 

"I see," he said quietly.

And somehow that was worse than if he had shouted.

"I hope," he added after a moment, his voice calm again but colder than I had ever heard it, "that you never find yourself in a position where someone you trust believes the worst of you without hesitation."

The words landed like a slap. I said nothing because I had nothing left to say.

And because a small, horrible part of me was starting to wonder if I had just made a terrible mistake.

Rhysand's POV - 

I wanted nothing more than to return to my room and drink my way through the evening until I could no longer remember my own name.

But society is a cruel thing, and reputation even crueller, so instead I found myself standing at yet another ball, dressed in black, smiling at people I did not like and making conversation I did not care about.

Music filled the ballroom, bright and lively, violins carrying over the hum of conversation and laughter. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting everything in gold and crystal and illusion.

I had been in the room less than a minute when I saw her. I always saw her immediately.

It did not matter how many people stood between us, how large the room was, how determined I was not to look for her—I always found her without trying.

She was across the ballroom, speaking to an older lady, her posture perfect, her chin slightly raised, her expression composed in that careful way she had when she was forcing herself to look unaffected by everything around her.

Anyone else would have thought her calm. I knew better.

She had not looked at me yet. That was deliberate.

I remained at the edge of the dance floor, one hand resting loosely behind my back, watching the dancers move in perfect circles while pretending to listen to whatever man beside me was talking about investments or horses or something equally dull.

But my attention kept drifting back to her.

She laughed politely at something someone said, but the smile did not reach her eyes. She looked tired.

I did that, I thought. That realisation sat heavily in my chest.

Our last conversation if it could even be called that had not left my mind for a single day since it happened.

You were just convenient.

I had heard many cruel things in my life. Very few had stayed with me. Those words had.

Because she had not meant them. And that somehow made them worse.

I dragged my attention away from her and moved toward the side corridor to escape the noise for a moment.

That was when I heard her name.

I slowed slightly, not enough to draw attention, just enough to hear the conversation coming from the shadowed alcove ahead.

A group of men stood there, glasses in hand, laughing in that low, careless way men do when they believe no one important is listening.

"... I'm telling you, I heard it from Collins himself," one of them was saying.

"He's full of it," another replied.

"Not this time. Said she's not nearly as untouched as everyone thinks."

They laughed. Something cold settled in my stomach.

"You're talking about her, aren't you?" another voice said. "The one who is supposed to be engaged to Lord Rhysand."

"Yes," the first man said. "Apparently she's already been... persuaded."

More laughter. My jaw tightened.

"Poor Rhysand," someone else added mockingly. "Buying a horse that's already been ridden."

They laughed again, louder this time. I did not move. Did not interrupt. Not yet.

Then one of them said, "If the rumours are true, I'd say she's probably more interesting than she pretends. I wouldn't mind finding out myself."

Another voice chimed in, "Perhaps we should all line up. See if the rumours are accurate."

More laughter. That was when I stepped into the light. The sound of my shoes on the marble floor was enough to make them turn.

One by one, their laughter died.

"Gentlemen," I said calmly. They went still immediately. They all knew who I was.

"Lord Rhysand," one of them said quickly, straightening slightly. "We didn't see you there."

"No," I said. "You didn't."

Silence fell over the group. I looked at each of them in turn, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make them uncomfortable.

"I am going to give you one opportunity," I said quietly, "to tell me that I misheard what you were saying."

No one spoke. One of them shifted uncomfortably. Another took a drink from his glass to avoid looking at me.

"I did not mishear," I concluded.

"Now see here—" one of them started.

"No," I interrupted calmly. "You will listen."

My voice was still quiet. That was what made it dangerous.

"You will not speak her name again," I said. "You will not repeat those rumours. You will not joke about her, speculate about her, or discuss her in any way that is not respectful."

"And if we do?" one of them asked, trying for bravado but not quite managing it.

I looked at him for a long moment. "Then we will have a problem."

He scoffed slightly. "You cannot fight every man who talks, Rhysand."

"No," I agreed calmly. "But I can start with you."

He smirked. "You're defending her honour now? Bit late for that, isn't it?"

That was the moment I hit him. I did not think about it. I did not plan it. My fist connected with his jaw hard enough to send him stumbling back into the wall. His glass shattered on the floor.

Everything exploded into motion after that.

Someone grabbed my shoulder. I shoved him back. Another swung at me and caught my cheek. I returned the favour. There was shouting, crashing, someone trying to pull us apart, someone else joining in for reasons I didn't care about.

It was messy. Undignified. Exactly the kind of behaviour I usually avoided.

I did not care.

By the time servants and a very alarmed host finally dragged people apart, my lip was split and one of the men had a very broken nose.

I straightened my jacket, wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand, and left before anyone could attempt to lecture me.

I was walking down one of the darker corridors toward the exit when I heard footsteps behind me.

I didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"You're bleeding," she said.

I stopped but did not turn immediately. "I will survive," I replied.

She came around to stand in front of me then, looking up at me with a mixture of anger and confusion.

"Why would you do that?" she asked.

I looked at her for a long moment. There were a dozen answers I could have given.

Because they were insulting you. Because I wanted to break his jaw long before tonight. Because I cannot stand hearing your name spoken like that. 

Because I am in love with you.

I did not say any of those things. Instead I said quietly, "That night meant something to me." She went very still. 

"You said I was just convenient," I continued. "I thought I should correct that misunderstanding."

She swallowed but said nothing. So I met her eyes and said, very calmly—

"You weren't convenient to me."

And before she could respond, before I could say something far more dangerous, I walked past her and left the corridor without looking back.

A/n - Eleanor tried to talk some sense into her... unfortunately it lasted all of five minutes before everything completely fell apart :(

Her father finding out, the confrontation with Rhysand, the accusations, the "you were just convenient" line—this part was pure emotional chaos from start to finish x

Despite everything she says to him, Rhys still steps in to defend her reputation!! Very messy, very angsty... all my favourite things wrapped into one!

Thank you so much for reading <33

An Unwilling Match tag list - @sophieliz @azrielblue @whump-loverz @galacticoceans @lilah-asteria @niiickelodeon @justtryingtosurvive02 @rosie-posie08 @mis-lil-red @dnfhascorruptedme @justreadingfanficseveryday @spookypersondinosaur @chxosangxl @ivy-34 @thecrimsonstarofvelaris @cardiganconfessions @sleepyhumanhere @karolamurdock @blueeclipsepaperstudent @sunmoonsweets @cubanfire @caitm1 @meepmoopbadabeepboop @anongirl007

[erin-bo-berin]

Nothing special just a post of Eris being the biggest Beron hater

[erin-bo-berin]

Friendly reminder: Eris is still Beron’s biggest hater 😀

[b3nevolent-dand3li0n]

They could never make me hate you Eris Vanserra

[shadowdaddiesclub]

The Rescue - Pt 6

Part 5 - Masterlist Azriel x Reader

Azriel was filling out some report in the living room, the fire burned low and golden beside him, while you were sprawled by the hearth with tea in your hand, knees drawn up, the warmth of the flames pressing pleasant against your skin. You liked this. The comfortable silence, only broken by the scratch of his pen against paper, the occasional pop of a log settling in the grate. You watched him without meaning to, half your face hidden behind your cup, tracking the small, unconscious furrow that appeared between his brows whenever a sentence wasn't coming out the way he wanted it to. One of his shadows had drifted down at some point and now lay curled across your lap, heavy and still, almost purring under your fingers whenever you absently stroked it.

It had become, without either of you commenting on it, a kind of ritual. Evenings like this. Quiet, undemanding, nothing that needed to be solved or survived.

Something warm stirred in your chest without warning, unfamiliar and sudden, and it made you jump. For a second you straightened forward, breath catching, tea sloshing dangerously close to the rim of your cup.

Azriel caught it immediately. Of course he did.

"Are you all right?" he asked, already crossing the room in two long strides to kneel beside you, his pen and papers forgotten entirely on the table behind him.

"Yes," you answered, without more explanation, though your heart was still doing something strange and unsteady beneath your ribs.

His brow furrowed, the same small crease you'd been watching him make over paperwork a moment ago, except now it was aimed entirely at you. "Are you sure? I saw you flinch." His hazel eyes bore into yours, searching, and you found you couldn't look away from them even as you scrambled for an answer. Your hand went automatically to rest flat against your chest, as if you could physically hold whatever had just moved through you in place.

"I, uh." You started, then stopped, then tried again. "I was just lost deep in thought," you added, with a small smile that you hoped looked more convincing than it felt.

He didn't look convinced. You watched him decide not to push anyway, some careful restraint settling back over his features. "You should rest," he said instead, gentler now. "Come. I'll take you to your room."

He extended a hand. You looked at it a moment, at the scarred, careful shape of it, thinking, not for the first time, how strange it was that something built for violence could look so beautiful resting open in front of you, before you finally slid your palm into his and let him draw you to your feet, and up the stairs.

Something was wrong. So wrong.

The dark had teeth in it tonight, a pressure building behind your closed eyes that had nothing to do with the ordinary shapes of fear you'd grown almost used to. You felt it coming before you understood what it was, some vast, cold weight pressing down from the inside, and there was no time to brace for it, no time to do anything at all.

A second later, your scream tore through the house.

The door slammed open hard enough to crack against the wall. Azriel was bare-chested, hair a mess, shadows frantic and boiling off him in every direction, spilling out into the hallway behind him like smoke, and he crossed the room in a single stride, dropping to his knees at your bedside without a second's hesitation.

"You're safe, you're safe, I'm here—" His voice had cracked wide open, hands hovering frantic over you, checking your face, your arms, like he wasn't sure yet what he was looking for and needed to rule out the worst first. "Talk to me, please, tell me what happened, I need you to tell me what happened—"

"The camp." Your voice came out wrecked, shaking, your whole body still trembling against him. "It felt too vivid. Like it was happening again, right now, like I wasn't dreaming it at all."

His arms had barely tightened around you when the door burst open a second time. Rhys, still pulling a shirt over his head, crossed the room fast, prowling toward the bed with singular focus, and nudged Azriel's shoulder, trying to make room.

Azriel didn't budge.

Rhys didn't push it. He simply crouched instead, close enough to reach but careful, waiting.

"Can I?" he asked.

Azriel opened his mouth, already halfway to an objection, but Rhys cut him off without looking away from you.

"You can't keep living like this." His voice was gentle, but there was no room in it for argument. "Nightmares that leave you screaming loud enough to wake the whole house. We need to find out what's happening in there. Tonight."

"She just woke up from—"

"I want to do it," you said.

Both of them went quiet. Azriel turned to look at Rhys instead, something raw and reluctant still moving behind his eyes, but after a long moment, some silent understanding passed between the two males, careful, wordless, an agreement neither of them said out loud.

Rhys's hand found your temple. For a long moment nothing happened at all, just the three of you frozen there in the lamplight, your breathing still ragged, Azriel's arm rigid around you, while Rhys searched. His eyes had gone distant, unfocused, the particular stillness that came over him whenever he was somewhere none of the rest of you could follow.

Then, slowly, he pulled back, something unsettled crossing his face, unlike anything you'd seen from him before. His hand lingered a moment against your skin, as if he wasn't quite ready to accept what he'd found.

"There is nothing," he said, finally.

The words seemed to take a moment to land.

"What do you mean, nothing?" Azriel's voice had gone sharp, the arm around you tensing further, and you felt his heartbeat pick up where your back pressed against his chest.

"Nothing." Rhys emphasized it, like the word itself frustrated him, like he'd expected better of his own gift. "Blank. Empty. I can't get inside. It's like there's no door to push against at all."

"That can't be it." Azriel's jaw had tightened, his voice climbing fast, pushing. "She has memories, Rhys. She has a mind. There has to be more you can do, some other angle, something you haven't tried. Try again. Try harder."

Rhys's jaw tightened at that, something flickering in his eyes, not offense exactly, but the particular tension of a male being pushed toward a line he wasn't sure he wanted to cross. He turned to you instead of answering Azriel directly, something grim settling into his expression. "There is one more thing I can try. But I need you to understand it might hurt. I'll have to search deeper into your head than I've ever gone before, further than what's comfortable, further than what's safe."

"Do it," you said, before either of them could second-guess it.

Rhys's hand found your temple again, and this time he pushed.

The pressure was immediate, and it was nothing like the gentle searching from before. You felt it as a physical thing, a weight bearing down behind your eyes, and your body reacted before your mind could catch up to what was happening.

You started to scream, your eyes rolling back, your whole body seizing against the pressure of it, back arching off the mattress.

"Stop." Azriel's voice cracked through the room, raw and desperate. "Rhys, stop, you're hurting her—"

Rhys didn't stop. Sweat had broken out across his forehead, running in a thin line down his temple, his jaw locked tight with effort, and he didn't so much as flinch at the order, too deep in whatever he'd found to pull free easily, his whole body trembling with the strain of holding the connection open.

Azriel was on his feet a second later, and for one terrible moment you thought he might actually tear Rhys away from you by force, his hands already curling into fists at his sides. Instead something seemed to catch in him, some idea arriving fast and desperate, cutting through the panic, and his gaze snapped toward your desk, toward the small wooden box still sitting where you'd left it weeks ago, half-forgotten beneath a stack of unopened correspondence. If Rhys could see it, and couldn't hold the connection long enough to describe it properly, there was still one way for all of them to see it together.

He crossed the room in three strides and opened it.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet, sat a small silver orb, no larger than a ripe apple, catching the lamplight in a way that made it seem, for a moment, almost alive.

"Show us," Azriel said, crossing back and thrusting it into Rhys's free hand, his voice raw. "Whatever you're seeing right now. Show all of us. Now."

Rhys's eyes flicked to the orb, then to Azriel, something grim passing between them, some understanding neither of them had time to explain to you.

"You won't like what you see," Rhys said, breathless.

"I don't care. Show us. Now." Azriel's voice had gone raw, urgent, brooking no argument at all.

Rhys closed his free hand around the Veritas.

Pale light spilled from the orb, clouding, swirling, and then an image bled into the air above your bed, vivid and complete. The tent. The smoke. You, bound and bleeding, a man circling you with slow, unhurried menace.

Azriel bared his teeth at the sight of it, a low, involuntary sound tearing out of him, something between a growl and a sob.

"Last chance, pretty girl," the man in the memory said. "Tell me where the others are. And I might consider keeping you here as a pet, instead of what I'll do to you otherwise."

"I will never tell you anything," you spat, defiant even through the pain, or the version of you trapped in that memory did, watching yourself from outside your own body. "You won't break my mind. Over my dead body."

The man's power surged forward, something cold and invasive visible even in the projected light, pressing against the edges of your skull. And then, so fast it was almost missed, you spoke again, quieter, almost to yourself, teeth gritted against the pain.

"You want inside my head?" you heard your own voice say, wrecked and furious and utterly unafraid. "Go take a walk, you sick fuck. I'll show you exactly what I can do."

The memory went dark.

The image dissolved, the Veritas's light guttering out, and the room fell into ringing silence. Rhys's hand slipped from your temple at last, and he sagged back against the foot of the bed, breathing hard, the orb rolling loose from his fingers onto the blanket.

Azriel had gone very still.

"'I'll show you exactly what I can do.'" He said the words slowly, like each one cost him something to speak aloud, like saying them himself was the only way to make them real.

He looked at you, something in his face gone entirely undone.

"That's not defiance," he said. "That's a weapon."

His voice cracked.

"Think about it. He's still inside her mind when she says it. His power is still moving through her skull, in that exact second." He dragged in a breath, unsteady. "She's not just talking, Rhys. She's aiming. Using the one thing she has access to in that moment. Him. Still touching her."

He shook his head slowly, like he could barely hold the shape of it himself.

"'What I can do' wasn't a threat she made with her own gift. It was his gift. Borrowed, mid-attack. She showed him exactly what she could do with it." A long pause. "She just didn't do it to him."

His hand found yours.

"She did it to herself."

"That's not possible," Rhys said, disbelief written plain across his face. "Whatever her gift is, it doesn't work like that. Mimicry needs a target outside yourself, Az, something to copy, something to reflect. You can't turn a mirror on your own reflection and expect it to do anything but show you your own face. She shouldn't have been able to point that at herself at all."

"She did." Azriel's hands had started to shake. "Her gift is stronger than any of us understood, Rhys. Stronger than she understood. She mimicked his power while it was inside her, and turned it on herself. Closed the door from the inside, so completely that the mind-walker would never be able to reach for it again." His eyes found yours, wild, wrecked, something between horror and reverence tearing through him at once. "Do you understand what that means? What that took?"

He gripped your hand, forcing your gaze up to his, his own eyes bright and wrecked in the low light.

"It was never him," he said, voice unsteady, breaking properly for the first time. "It was never the mind-walker keeping you locked away, love. It was you." He said it like the words themselves cost him something to release. "You took what he threw at you and turned it back on yourself. Not to hide something. To protect it. To protect us."

The room had gone utterly silent, the kind of silence that felt like it belonged to something enormous.

"So." Your voice came out small, thin, barely more than a breath. "I did this? I did this... to myself?" You said it like a question you couldn't quite make yourself believe, even as it left your own mouth. A short, disbelieving laugh cracked out of you, wet and wrong. "I don't, I can't, how did I—"

You couldn't finish it. The shock of it sat too large in your chest to fit into words, and the tears came anyway, hot and sudden, spilling before you could stop them.

Azriel pulled you against him without asking, and this time you went, folding into him entirely, your fingers curling into the warm skin of his back like you needed something to hold onto while the world resettled itself around this new, impossible truth.

"Breathe," he murmured into your hair, one hand smoothing slow, steady circles against your back. "Just breathe. I've got you. You don't have to make sense of it all tonight."

You stayed there a long while, wrapped in each other, neither of you in any hurry to move.

Then, all at once, Azriel went rigid, pulling back just enough to look at you, something fierce and sudden lighting behind his eyes.

"Rhys." His voice had changed entirely, urgency cutting clean through the exhaustion. "Helion. Get word to Helion right now."

Rhys, halfway to the door with the Veritas still cradled in his hands, turned back sharply. "Az—"

"He told us to find the source. Weeks ago, in his study, that was the whole problem, wasn't it? I killed the mind-walker before we understood what he'd done, and we thought that meant the source was gone with him." Azriel's grip on your hand tightened, something like hope breaking wild and unguarded across his face for the first time since you'd woken up in this house. "But the source was never him. It was her. It was always her. And she's sitting right here."

Rhys's expression shifted, understanding arriving fast. "If the source is still alive—"

"Then we have a chance." Azriel looked back at you, wrecked and hopeful all at once. "A real one. If Helion can work with the source directly, with you, instead of trying to force a door from the outside, this might actually be reversible."

You felt something crack open in your chest, fragile and disbelieving, not quite ready to let itself be called hope yet.

You didn't say anything. You simply looked at Rhys, pleading, wordless, everything you couldn't put into speech right now written plain across your face instead.

Azriel's arm tightened around you, stronger, steadier, as if your silence alone had told him everything he needed to know.

Rhys was gone within the minute, the Veritas already vanishing back into its box, his footsteps fading fast down the hall.

"I'm getting you back," Azriel murmured, lips still close against your hair. "I promise you, I am."

You believed him. You didn't need the memories to know that much was true.

Azriel had been the one steady thing through all of it, the key that kept finding pieces of you even when you couldn't find them yourself, never once failing to stand between you and whatever came next. But this door was never his to open. It never had been. You were the only hand that had ever known how to work that particular lock, whether you remembered learning it or not.

This time, you were going to tear it down yourself.

---

a/n : yeahhhhh i lied, next part will be the end. I couldn't fit everything in this part ! ;)

@cccswizzle @crybabyhaunting @chamoymangos @marrfil @alittlelostalittlefound @pageezy45 @sjejejjej @theyouthfullmoon @maplesdapperthoughts @jaziona92 @lilah-asteria @chillinini @spookypersondinosaur @sunmoonsweets @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @narcissanarcissa @strange-and-unsual4 @ivy-34 @multifandomfangirl99 @seasonallyapril @celestialgilb

[tunetales]

Can I please request prompt 66 with one of the batboys? ✨🙏🏻 Thank youuuuuu!

(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)

Summary: "No, I'm trying not to kiss you."

Authors Note: I couldn't help myself, Azriel fit in the image I had in my head for this one, so I hope you enjoy!

The Court of Nightmares was exactly as you remembered it.

Cold. Beautiful. And exhausting.

Music drifted through the cavernous throne room while nobles smiled with too many teeth and too little sincerity. Every conversation felt like a performance.

You hated every second of it.

Rhys sat lazily upon his throne, Feyre beside him. Cassian looked like he was counting how many chandeliers he'd have to break before someone asked him to leave. Mor was already halfway through her patience. Amren looked delightfully murderous.

And Azriel—

Azriel stood silently at Rhys's shoulder, expression carved from stone. The perfect shadowsinger.

Kier approached with his usual entourage, bowing just enough to satisfy protocol.

"High Lord."

Rhys inclined his head. "Kier."

The conversation remained civil for almost thirty seconds. Then Kier's gaze drifted toward Azriel, his lip curling.

"I see you've still kept your pet executioner."

The room went very still.

Cassian's smile disappeared. Rhys's violet eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.

Azriel didn't react. Not visibly. He'd heard worse.

Kier, encouraged by the silence, continued. "I suppose even monsters have their uses."

You sighed, loudly, from your place on the dais beside Feyre. Every head turned toward you.

You smiled sweetly. "Kier."

He looked mildly surprised you'd spoken. "Yes?"

"I've always wondered, how do you manage to say so much while contributing absolutely nothing?"

Silence.

Pure, beautiful silence.

Kier blinked.

You tilted your head innocently. "I don't think I've ever heard such a waste of hot air in my life."

Cassian made a suspicious choking sound that sounded remarkably like someone trying not to laugh. Mor abruptly looked away, biting to keep her snicker at bay. Even Amren's mouth twitched.

Kier's face darkened. "You would do well to remember who you're speaking to."

"Oh, I do." You smiled wider. "Unfortunately for you, I just don't give a shit."

Cassian actually snorted.

Kier looked as though he'd swallowed poison.

Before he could recover, Rhys stood. "I believe," the High Lord said pleasantly, "this meeting is over."

Dismissed, just like that.

Kier clenched his jaw, then bowed stiffly before retreating.

Cassian burst into laughter. "Oh, Mother above."

Rhys shook his head, though you caught the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "You do realise you've probably just started another political incident."

"He started it."

"He usually does," Feyre sighed.

Satisfied with your work, you wandered away from the group.

Straight toward Azriel. You slipped to his side, still feeling rather pleased with yourself.

He was already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face that didn't change even as you smirked at him.

You frowned. "What?"

Nothing. He just kept looking. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

You nudged his arm. "What is it? Are you mad I spoke up like that?"

His brows lifted. "Mad?"

"I know you don't like being the centre of attention."

A quiet chuckle escaped him. "No."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

His eyes drifted to your lips for the briefest second before returning to yours. He exhaled through his nose. "I'm trying very hard not to kiss you."

Your cheeks warmed instantly. "...What's stopping you?"

Azriel leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

"Because if I start, I'm not entirely convinced I'll stop before I have you pinned against one of these pillars."

You blinked, then grinned. "I don't think Rhys and Feyre would mind."

A low laugh rumbled in his chest. "Oh, sweetheart..."

His hand slid possessively around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

"One of these days," he murmured, "that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble."

You looked up at him innocently. "With you?"

"The very worst kind."

Before you could think of another cheeky reply, his hand slipped down and gave your bum a sharp squeeze and turned the both of you back towards the ballroom.

"Behave," he murmured, unable to hide the smile in his voice.

You smirked. "You first."

Azriel only shook his head, his thumb absently tracing slow circles against your waist as the music swelled and the evening carried on around you.

His attention might have returned to the room—but his hand never left you.

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