Thoughts In Process

I’m Lindsay. I used to love reading and writing and literary analysis. I thought maybe it was time to reclaim that love.

[insulindsay]

Fundamentals in Caring for House Plants

Chapter 1, "Ensuring Proper Light Exposure," of Fundamentals in Caring for House Plants by Insulindsay on AO3

Tips and tricks for nursing your fern, ficus, and succulents back to health.

(Elain is a novice house-sitter and Azriel has an abundance of house plants in need.)

Set in between the events of A Court of Frost and Starlight and A Court of Silver Flames

If she’d been wearing pink, he would’ve thought they’d traveled back in time.

The fading summer sun sat on the other side of the Sidra, washing the front room of the River House in decadent golden light. In front of the large windows bathed in that brilliant warmth, a simple lounge faced him, it’s occupant seemingly oblivious to anything around her as she stared out toward Velaris. Legs gathered on the cushions, the train of her gown fell to the floor below in a curtain of lavender. No books lay next to her, but the almost impossible silence of the room was identical to the memory of that day he carried her to the Town House–the day they’d walked through the gardens together.

She hadn’t worn that pink gown since then.

“Did you enjoy the lemonade?”

Azriel’s shadows fell away from him, disappearing like the rising smoke of a candle. Elain tore her gaze from the window to see his frame pausing in the doorway, a faint smile on her lips as he made no effort to appear casual whatsoever.

He nodded, quickly but stiff, like it was a gut reaction instead of a calculated answer.

“And the asparagus?” Amusement danced in her eyes.

Hands twitching behind his back, Azriel entered the room and cleared his throat. “Lovely. Thank you for preparing it.”

She shrugged gently. “It’s easy when your audience is so receptive.”

“I suppose that’s true. Cassian doesn’t pay very close attention after the first few bites.” His brother was not only an easygoing dinner guest but nearly always made sure there were little to no leftovers available when everyone finished eating–a habit he had likely picked up from his formative years.

“He might have noticed that I asked about lemonade and asparagus when we actually had wine and brussels sprouts, though,” she teased with a laugh, mouth quirking to the side.

Shit.

She was grinning at him as she patted the seat next to her on the lounge. “You can tell me if the chicken was overcooked. I can see how that could be distracting.”

“No–I…it wasn’t.” Azriel moved toward her, face faintly flushing a deep red. He sat, facing away from the window as Elain remained angled toward the golden sun streaming into the room. If he blinked for too long, it was like the images were combined into one, her sullen face from a year ago a shadow beneath the freckles that splashed across her skin today.

“Then would you like to talk about what’s on your mind? I may not be as strategic or sharp as my sisters, but I’ll always be willing to listen.”

It was more than honor or duty that drew him to watch over the middle Archeron sister, and it made Azriel grimace to think she didn’t see how valuable she was to the makeup of their court. No, she wasn’t just a good listener–and even if she wasn’t strategic or quick-witted, it wouldn’t change the fact that she deserved to live a life that she found purpose in.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, “forgive me.”

“Nothing seems like quite the puzzle. Do you always get so fixated on nothing?”

He almost grinned at her prodding–when was the last time someone had tried interrogating him? “I try not to.”

“So perhaps nothing can be solved? Let me know if I can help, then. I’ve got nothing but free time.”

Her smile had faltered on the last few words, chipping further at Azriel’s peace of mind. He knew she was doing better these days, that she’d found a better rhythm to daily life in Prythian after the war with Hybern. But with the passage of time there was always change, and even though Feyre’s pregnancy had brought the two younger sisters closer, Azriel had still noticed the melancholy in Elain’s idleness–A glance toward the floor in discussions of home renovations. A swift exit during diplomatic visits from neighboring High Lords.

He took a slow breath and found himself doing something with ease that had normally never come naturally to him: he let someone in.

“There’s one thing, actually, yes.” Azriel tried not to focus too intently on her eyes brightening before him. “If you’d...like.”

“I believe I would.”

A knot had found its way in between his brow, but his tone was smooth and calm. “I have an apartment in Velaris.”

Elain paused, a hundred different questions forming on her lips.

She’d admit she hadn’t considered the possibility of something so...simple for where Azriel might have spent time when he wasn’t away on a mission or around the other members of the Night Court. It had occurred to her, yes, that he might have had a personal life outside of being the spymaster, but it had always seemed more likely a proclivity for sharpening his knife...or sitting in silence. “An apartment? Why?”

“I like having something that’s mine,” he said quietly, matter-of-factly, and his expression turned more vulnerable than she’d ever seen it. “Something the others don’t know about.”

“And you’d share that part of yourself with me?” A flutter in the pit of her stomach threatened to give her away, to get too excited for what this moment might have meant if she didn’t know any better. The sun was nearly under the horizon now, casting a softer glow on Azriel’s enormous wings, almost purple throughout the sprawling surface.

He shifted, only a fraction of an inch, toward her. “I think you could benefit from having something that’s yours, too.”

Sense wouldn’t come to her. Elain grasped at any logical reasoning for why Azriel might have been telling her this, why he might have wanted her to know something that even his most trusted family members weren’t privy to, but she only found herself hoping for a possibility that could never be. It took all she had to squash that hope as she always did–to remain as neutral as possible.

“Are you suggesting I buy myself an apartment?” she said playfully, stomping that flutter out of her like an extinguished flame. “I’m not sure I can afford one quite yet.”

A frown. Did he dislike hearing the truth of her new life, not quite independent but more vulnerable than she ever expected to be as a lady in society?

“You shouldn’t be concerned over money ever again.” He’d gone stony in an instant, a muscle in his jaw twitching as the only indicator he wasn’t actually made of carved marble.

“It’s alright, Az–”

“It’s not,” he said lowly, stare fixed at the ground. “You saved us all, Elain. Paying for a home should not be something you ever have to worry about.” He shifted once more, a fist hidden at his side.

Elain hadn’t exactly thought of it that way–hadn’t considered her role in the final battle with Hybern to be some sort of payment toward any future debt she could incur. She had been warming up to the idea of calling this place home when it held the promise of her family being with her for the rest of their lives, so it wasn’t necessarily her first thought to consider what independence she’d expect to have once the dust settled on a time of peace.

When that time came, it might have been more appropriate to seek a position outside of the court politics, barring any necessary training or involvement that she would be required to have for her “seeing” powers that they still didn’t understand. Such a life would be outside anything she would’ve had in the human realm, but seemed almost….preferable in Prythian given that her sisters were close by. Above all, she knew she always wanted that.

Perhaps, at the moment, she just needed to understand where she fit. How she’d live. “Is this an invitation to live in your garden, then? Or just a roundabout way of asking for advice on how to keep a fiddle leaf fig alive?”

A smile, as small as an upward tilt of his mouth, bloomed on his face. “The plants have never listened to me. Neither has Cattiopeia.”

“Cattiopeia?”

“My cat.”

“You have a cat?”

A nod.

“Did Cassian help you name her?”

Azriel shook his head, his tone playful. “The other’s don’t know she exists, nor is Rhysand fond of pets.”

Elain laughed in earnest thinking of Azriel, weapons strapped onto his armor, refilling Cattiopeia’s litter box. She took him in then–his rigid posture, the way his hair was neatly pushed away from his face, the siphons atop his hands that were only a dim blue while he sat in silence. He was the epitome of order, but this new information about him softened edges that she’d already knew to be just a protective layer built over time.

“That’s a shame, then. She sounds like she’d give Amren a run for her money.”

The laugh that escaped him was like the bubbles of champagne, bright and crisp, and she felt it run through her veins in a way that didn’t quite make sense. As if it would remain there, reminding her of what joy sounded like.

He stood, then, his smile a remnant of that beautiful sound she would linger on. “Would you like to meet her?”

She smiled, nodding so she didn’t reveal how much she would enjoy that, indeed. Talking about Azriel’s personal life was one thing, yes, but seeing it? Elain thought she might never feel so honored again.

He offered a hand to her as she rose from the lounge. She took it, the touch warming her in a way the sun could not.

The building was unassuming in nearly every way. Elain didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been the last address on the end of a little street bordering the ocean.

Azriel set her down gently on the sidewalk, a stone staircase on the side of the two story structure before them both. She turned to face him, hair still windswept in her face from the flight across the city.

“The ocean?”

He only nodded once, not raising his voice above the sounds of the waves only a few yards away. “You’ll see.”

They ascended the staircase together, a key appearing from seemingly nowhere in Azriel’s hand. She looked beyond his broad frame at the beach, a vast expanse of rocky tides that smelled of salt and...jasmine, somehow. Little birds in the distance pecked at the sand, burrowing in to find what lurked beneath. Long, soft grass swayed with the breeze, dancing in sync with the nature of the untouched landscape. “I already do.”

His face was unreadable. Inside, he placed his keys in a dish, appearing so normal it almost made her laugh. Perhaps it was silly to think that apartments in Prythian were just magically assigned an unlocking spell for when their owners arrived, but keys and dishes for keys were just so...practical.

“Cat will be around here somewhere,” He murmured, his hands clasped once more behind him, his stare moving intently to her.

Elain raised a brow. “You call Cattiopeia ‘Cat?’”

He pressed his lips together slightly, a faint raise of his shoulders his only response.

They moved into the main room, his statement from before becoming abundantly clear in the near moonlight outside an entire wall made of glass. The waves crashed on the beach below, dusk settling on the indigo water that spanned the entire view of the massive wall. A couch, large enough to comfortably accommodate an Illyrian winged male–plus a cat–faced it, books littering the coffee table in between.

Elain smiled. The Evening Garden sat worn and marked open in the center.

The apartment was as open as one might assume it would be for a male with enormous wings. A kitchen with an island occupied the other end of the expanse, a small dining table and two chairs only right nearby. It felt like Azriel, like her friend, and made sense that he would choose a place so unrestricted for what he described as his.

The only rooms not visible from the main seating area were the bathing room and his bedroom. Curiosity tempered for a moment, Elain gestured to the window as Azriel continued to gauge her reaction however he could. “This is remarkable, Azriel. Truly.”

“I’m relieved you think so,” he replied, his voice conveying no emotion she could detect, “because I’d like to ask you to stay here while I’m away.” Elain felt a brush of fur on her arm, looking down to see Cattiopeia scaling the back of the couch next to her as a way of greeting.

“Stay here?”

“Yes,” he moved to the house plant near the window, brushing a finger over a leaf that had gone a bit yellow. “Watch over things...keep Cat company...perhaps nurse a plant or two back to health.”

She laughed and offered her hand to Cat, who paced back and forth to rub her arm as closely as possible. The silky white fur of her tail wrapped around it, big blue eyes blinking at her curiously. She’d never had a pet in the human realm, but had always thought it might be like having a little friend–like tending a garden that needed attention and care.

Azriel continued, slowly inching toward her before stopping a few feet away. “Morag in the unit below is moving into town to be closer to her great-grandchildren, so she can’t come by anymore.”

“I see,” Elain said, thinking of how lovely a little life he had here with a neighbor to watch his cat and a view of the edge of the world, open and unobstructed so long as he wanted a reminder of the peace that came with that freedom. “And what do you normally pay Morag for her service?”

Azriel’s half-grin returned. “Chocolates, usually.”

“That could work,” Elain said lightheartedly, “although I must warn you, I’m a novice at house-sitting. You’d be taking a gamble on me.”

His stride toward her rushed the indulgent scent of his body to her sensitive fae nose, a breath catching in her throat at the proximity. He held out a hand as he did at the River House, but holding a new key in it this time. “A bet I’d be a fool not to take, given the chance.”

She wondered if he’d been holding the key for a while–wondered if he’d simply hoped for the right time to ask her this–and noticed the gold of its handle polished to perfection.

“I suppose you’ll need to show me where Cattiopeia’s food bowl is.”

Outside, the waves crashed on the shore–the rhythm unpredictable but steady as the rising moon.

[insulindsay]

BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out. 💕

Oh gosh, where do I even start with this message, Lid ?!?! I adore speaking with you and hearing all of your stories (they’re always juicy - never boring), and I love your iconic monologue (there’s nothing that brings me greater joy).

P.S. Thanks for introducing me to the wondrous world of “Ice Planet Barbarians”. I’ll never forget the immense joy that you have bestowed upon me. 💜💜

I adore you. That is all.

P.s. I have no idea what book you’re talking about xoxo Lindsay 💙🤗

[insulindsay]

ACOTAR characters as Shrek characters, go !! :)))

I feel like the easy answer here is that Rhysand and Feyre are Shrek and Fiona, but stay with me here:

Shrek: Nesta (grumpy. wants to be alone in her swamp but has Layers)

Fiona: Feyre (not like *other* princesses)

Donkey: Cassian (I will not be taking questions at this time)

Dragon: Azriel (could kill everyone but chooses to be pretty)

Fairy Godmother: Rhysand (a sucker for the Drama)

Puss in Boots: Elain (I once had a Shrek GameCube game and the puss in boots level was so much fun and I have no other reasoning)

Lord Farquaad: Tamlin (ugly)

The Three Pigs: Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa (don’t think about this one just go with it)

Magic Mirror: Mor (both would Stir up some Shit on the bachelor, I cannot explain further)

The Big Bad Wolf: Amren (the part where the fairy tale characters are moving in to the swamp and she’s just in Bed)

Thank you for your time. Xoxo, Lindsay

[insulindsay]

Hiiiii!

I hope you’ll have an amazing day, remember to take care of yourself and drink a lot of water!💗

I have a sneaking suspicion that you are secretly my fairy godmother and I’d like to chat to you about a raise. Xoxo, Lindsay

[rhyssescups-deactivated20211222]

im new to tumblr so could you recommend me some good elriel accounts to follow?☺

Of course !! 💜

Here are some of my favorite Elriel blogs:

@silver-flames (the mother of all elriels and my fellow Aidas lover <3), @queenringer (the sweetest person you’ll ever meet / talk to) , @offtorivendell , @wingedblooms , @insulindsay (my fellow pro-Scottish Elain bestie ;)), @suelky , @azriiel , @courtofwingsandruin , @dracolovebot , @azrielisababe , @daisybrekker , @livlochan (they post wonderful Elriel art !!) , @psychee92 , @shadow-singing (posts stunning art as well !!) , @juusworld5728 , @bookstaninthesoul , @moonlightseaker , @mrspettyferr , @shadowsinthegarden , @demonlovesangel , @hacawijo , @forget-me-not-s , @silverdreamscapes , @heyliasworld , @dreamofdaylight , @nikethestatue , @onceupona-chaos , @sciencebaetch , @elrielonlyfans @cottageblossoms @elriel-fireheart .

NOTE: There are many more lovely elriel accounts that I wasn’t able to mention in this post (I thought that posting too many accounts at once would be too overwhelming), so I might do a part two sometime in the future !! :)

[insulindsay]

I’d be perfectly happy if all the acotar characters (maybe minus tamlin bc he’s very clearly English) were Scottish, tbh. Geography who? They adopted the accent when they moved to the Night Court 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 lol

💜 u, sweet friend

[sleepylivart]

𝘈 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘨𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦, 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘦. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.

Little headcanon to go with this: Nyx’s baby clothes are also made by Rhys’ mother.

Reference used: https://pin.it/4nSq7Fh

(Art by me. Kindly do not repost elsewhere.)

[sleepylivart]

𝘈𝘴 𝘙𝘩𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥.

I swear, I keep working on a full Feysand & Nyx piece but ironically keep getting sidetracked by pieces of them individually or in pairs…needless to say, a Feyre & Nyx one is on the way 😅

References were used for this work.

(Art by me. Please do not repost elsewhere.)

[sleepylivart]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒎 𝑹𝒉𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒆𝒚𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝑵𝒚𝒙, 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆. (-𝑨𝑪𝑶𝑺𝑭)

I meant to draw this older Nyx as an add-on to a Feyre, Rhys, and baby piece but his little face demanded more rendering. Guess I’m just another being wrapped around his finger :’)

Hairstyling credit obviously goes to Rhysand.

References were used for this piece.

(Art by me. Please do not repost elsewhere!)

[insulindsay]

Nyx has “favorite camper” energy and I stand by that. YOU’VE OUTDONE YOURSELF, LIV 💞

[elriell]

We (the fam) commissioned a magical Elriel art based on the iconic theory that Elain will become the High Lady of the Dusk Court & will freeing the 8th Court based on all the foreshadowing! [Insp: 1, 2 , 3 , 4, 5, 6, 7]

So with that in mind please enjoy this dusk court/colours inspired Elriel throne art by the incredible @arospaintbrush on Insta so please click the link and show her the love!! It was a true pleasure speaking to you over weeks and watching it be created over weeks, it was such a fantastic experience and you made this process to easy and fun! ♡

[insulindsay]

A Place to Land

(Breathtaking art from @livlochan on tumblr and twitter/@livlochan.art on instagram appears throughout this story. Liv is my favorite artist of all time.)

Below is an Elain/Azriel fanfic titled A Place to Land (from my Ao3, EndlessSoliloquy) written for Day 5 of @elrielmonth: "Meet me in the Silence." Please Enjoy!

Autumn came and went, orange and red fading from the trees in favor of empty branches bristling in the winds of early winter. Snow fell and fell–more than ever before, when Azriel had considered years past. Some days, they simply sat together and watched as blankets of fresh powder settled across the glades of the university’s campus, leaving wet slush in walkways and roads across the city. Fewer and fewer cars roamed around in the evenings, leaving more of Velaris in its most peaceful state–quiet, accompanied only by the sounds of icy wind. Azriel liked it best then, when it was just the two of them, sat in her bay window with a shared pillow and duvet.

“Our father used to tell us stories of the snow where he grew up,” Elain murmured one day, nestled in Azriel’s arms. “He always wanted to take us there to see it.”

She stared out, a memory flashing in her eyes as she looked to the mountains beyond the city. Azriel had known that Elain and her sisters had lost both their parents–their mother when the girls were children and their father just the previous year–but had never spoken with her about them, unsure if the wounds of grief had still been open in the months they had gotten to know each other.

He considered her for a moment, quiet as she cradled her drink on top of the blanket, and imagined that Elain had been forced to learn early on in her life how to withstand pain that might never ease.

“Where was he from?”

She smiled. It was small–so minor it might’ve been a reflex leftover from the days when those wounds had just been a concept far from her reality. “A little south of here. The snow he remembers–” she paused, blinking, “remembered...was probably much like this.”

The bittersweet melancholy of her soft voice, barely above a whisper, sounded as far away as the ships sailing out of the continent. Azriel tightened his arm around her, the tips of his fingers holding her waist as if to keep her next to him, sat in that window. He lowered his face to her hair to nuzzle the top of her head, aware that he couldn’t yet understand where that hurt had resided within her. He tried nonetheless to knock on that door of her mind to remind her she wasn’t alone if she didn’t want to be.

“Can you tell me more about him?” He asked gently, seeing the street lamps in front of the house illuminate the yard.

She was silent for a moment, but then nodded, just once, and reached for his hand, brushing a thumb over the scars there.

“He was my best friend,” she began, words thicker than she could hide. “I loved him very much.”

Azriel listened–and held on.

With the Autumn, their lingering glances gave way to unbroken gazing, each in a silent competition for who could memorize the lines of the other’s face first. Onlookers might have thought they could read each other’s minds–their friends accused them of such after losing in countless rounds of charades.

“You’ve slipped her the answer, you dickhead!” Cassian bellowed at him on one occasion, his hair wild after pulling at it in frustration when Nesta had misunderstood his depiction of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ for ‘Titanic.’

“Oh, shut up, Cassian,” Nesta had quipped, “It’s not their fault you didn’t know Leonardo DiCaprio was in both movies.”

Elain was laughing, her eyes still fixed on Azriel as he triumphantly walked back to their spot on the couch, holding her hands up for a high five once he reached her.

“How about we switch to Pictionary instead?” Rhysand interjected, standing up from the arm of Feyre’s chair. She smirked in return, eyeing him from the corner of her vision as she rolled her eyes.

“I’m not sure it’ll even make a difference.”

“Of course it will, darling,” Rhys cooed at her, “especially when you see Amren’s attempt at a sketch of a puppy.”

They all laughed and laughed, Azriel again next to Elain, his hand settling on her thigh, brushing his thumb back and forth in absentminded strokes for the rest of the night.

If Azriel lingered on it for very long at all, he would come to the same conclusion each time he considered what had been obvious from the beginning: he’d been waiting for her all his life and hadn’t known it–hadn’t understood what belonging truly meant until his heart belonged to hers. He knew telling her as much would’ve shown too much of his hand–too much of what he wasn’t sure would scare her away–but if she truly could read his mind, he prayed that she felt the same.

Outside of their classes and gatherings with their friends, It hadn’t taken long for the two of them to fall into intertwining routines, their days often playing out as endless songs of togetherness that went on for nearly every waking moment. Casual study sessions had led to late night walks in the park that had turned to embraces of unabashed passion that became mornings of lazy, soft touches and afternoon goodbyes with no real intention of parting. Azriel could feel himself hanging onto each word she uttered–could feel himself drunk on the sound of her laugh and calmed by the evenness of her breathing, her cheek on his chest and hand on his heart. She often slept like that, sprawled on him, each evening a test of his willpower not to confess how well the warmth of her body lulled him to a peaceful rest he never thought he’d be capable of.

Before either of them realized it, the semester came to a close–lines of exhaustion had faded from their faces after what Elain had emphatically declared to be the “Finals Week from Hell.” She’d laughed when she said it on one particular afternoon, but Azriel could see that there was something behind her warm brown eyes when she’d breathed in a little roughly afterward. His hand had found hers on a park bench nearby their favorite tea shop, eyes softening and face gently tilted to the side. She returned his stare, her mouth pressing together in a small grin that didn’t quite reach the rest of her expression. Squeezing his fingers, she quickly looked downward and took a sip of her drink before quickly getting up and pulling him to his feet.

“Let’s go,” she breathed, “We’ve got to start chopping vegetables if we’re ever going to try that pasta recipe.”

He looked down at her, returning the squeeze as he nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they turned in the direction of his apartment. She reached around his waist, leaning her body into his as the cool air bit at their cheeks.

Azriel suddenly found himself thinking that it might have been wonderful if she could read his mind, then, for she would know that if her heart ever needed rest from the exhaustion of life–from that occasional reminders of grief that ebbed and flowed–it would have his own for however long she needed.

She pushed aside the ache that had been lingering among nearly every one of her thoughts for the time being–time with Azriel was quickly becoming sacred to her, and she didn’t dare darken the mood during what had been a perfect day together. With her body pressed against his side, she allowed the smell of cedar and mist to flush away the reminders of why that time of year had reminded her of the ruins that her father’s passing had left her in–why she’d be spending so much time with the group of friends she and her sisters had gathered since coming to Velaris for university.

From up ahead, she could hear a faint scratching in the distance as they approached an alley next to Azriel’s apartment building. She lifted her head from his side, her brow furrowing in concentration as she looked forward toward the noise.

“Do you hear that?” She asked, her hand loosening from his waist and pace quickening as a lone cardboard box pressed against the side of the building came into full view.

Azriel frowned. “It sounds like an animal.” He said, his hand reluctantly returning to his side. “Surely not…”

Elain bent at the side of the box, lifting the unsealed flaps so that it hung open before them. Two kittens–one as black as night and the other white as snow–sat on a blanket within, soft meows escaping them at the sight of Elain peering down.

“My goodness…” she let out, a hand floating to her mouth that hung open in shock, “th–they’ve been left here.”

She picked one up, gently so as not to startle it or its sibling, and cradled it to her chest. It was cool to the touch, fur tickled by moisture that was all around them in the frigid air. “It’s been snowing...these poor things...they’re so cold.”

Azriel bent to his knee and reached into the box, gathering the white kitten in his hands as she looked at him. His expression was soft as he lifted the little thing to his chest as well, cradling it so that it lay pressed against the dark gray of his sweater.

For a moment, she saw something that hadn’t been there a moment ago–a sadness in him that she felt mirrored her own in a way that she could only attempt to explain. It came in subtle movements of his hand, stuttering its movement when petting the kitten’s head, and his eyebrows, furrowing so slightly when the kitten moved closer to him in search of warmth. She didn’t dare ask–didn’t dare prod for something she saw as the likelihood of concealed anguish, but instead tried to keep her voice gentle as she spoke again.

“Who could do such a thing?” She asked no one in particular, glancing around as if there was a chance at seeing the person who had left them here fleeing the scene.

Azriel stayed quiet for a moment, but then cleared his throat. “Cruelty is not so hard to come across, I find.”

It was the deepness of his tone and distance in his eyes that told her something within him had indeed been awoken by how lonely and cruel the world could be–for something even so defenseless as a kitten. Elain’s heart clenched for him–had hurt for the reflection of pain that he could not hide as well from someone like her...someone who knew it well.

The intense desire to show him he wasn’t alone in whatever hurt he might be enduring seized her like nothing ever had before. Deep within her, she felt a cord tight around her heart anchoring her to that thought as she held her breath in fear he would sense her concern.

The kitten in her arms nuzzled the crook of her elbow, a soft purr rumbling through it as she scratched behind its ear. She attempted to focus–they’d figure out what to do once they got them both inside, warm and fed and sleeping on a soft pillow, perhaps. What mattered most was that they had a place to rest–had somewhere safe. She knew, somehow, that Azriel would feel the same.

“We can’t…” she began, shaking her head, “we can’t leave them here all alone.”

His eyes met hers. He nodded once, silent as his scarred hand stroked the kitten’s fur.

Face unreadable in the dimming daylight, Azriel focused on the kitten in his arms as she gently reached out to him, straightening her legs to stand. Looking up at her, at her outstretched hand, he smiled softly and let the warmth of his scarred palm radiate through them both, rising to meet her as they moved to enter the building.

Silently, Elain wished then to let him know somehow that she would never leave him out in the cold, either–to let him know the cruelty of the world wouldn’t touch him if she had any say in the matter. However, for now, she could only squeeze his hand and hope that it relayed the sentiment in some way he’d understand.

“I think this one likes me,” Elain smiled, legs crossed in front of her on the hardwood as the midnight-colored kitten climbed over her ankles on its journey to her lap. She smiled at it, her long golden brown waves falling over her shoulder. Azriel glanced down at her on the floor, his hands stilling from the chopping of an onion in the kitchen of the apartment he shared with Rhysand and Cassian–both of whom were notably absent, likely having already made weekend plans with Elain’s sisters that included neither Azriel nor her.

He remained fixed on that image of her, leaning against his couch, wearing a pair of black jeans and white collared shirt. She sniffled once, wrinkling her nose, brushing her hands up and down her arms once as the heater attempted to warm the living room. “I think you’re right,” he mumbled. She lifted her eyes to him, grinning in response.

“There’s a sweater on top of my dresser, if you’d like one, by the way.” Azriel added, nodding his head toward his bedroom–closest to her from the hallway that led to his brothers’ doors. “Rhys is surprisingly quite frugal when it comes to using the thermostat.” He rolled his eyes. “I apologize.”

Elain laughed. She uncrossed her legs, thick socks brushing on the floor as she moved to stand and walked toward his open door. “Better for the environment, though.”

She disappeared for a moment, leaving only the sounds of the near-boiling water on the stove and the soft crunch of Azriel’s resumed chopping.

She returned, a white sweater with the ringed pattern knit in blue and gray hanging loosely down below her hips, a knowing smile on her lips as she approached him in the kitchen. “Matching sweaters?”

He grinned. His own, dark gray version of the same pattern, fit much more appropriately on him as he pushed the sleeves up once more to accommodate the chopping he tried again to focus on. It was difficult–she was utterly delightful in his clothing, her hair now spilling across the thick material and hands drowning in the long sleeves. “I like what I like.”

“Ah,” Elain grinned, “I see. And what else do you like, Chef?”

He peered down at her moving closer behind his back to wrap her arms around his waist. The sleeves on her arms squeezed his torso, her body pressing into him as he carefully chopped the onion again, adding the contents to the pile of vegetables ready to add to Elain’s recipe. Azriel smiled gently to himself as he replied, “I think our new roommate could give you a hint.”

He felt the rumble of her laughter on his back, sending a jolt through him. Both kittens laid together on the plush blankets that Elain had laid down for them, their little paws curled beneath them as they pressed into each other. “Careful. Rhysand might not like you referring to them that way before he meets them.”

“Rhysand can deal with it,” Azriel said playfully, “contrary to what he thinks, he’s not the boss of this apartment.”

Elain laughed again, moving her hands so they brushed small circles on his stomach atop his thick gray sweater. He found himself staring at them, transfixed by the simple act of intimacy that stirred something in him he wasn’t sure had ever been there before.

The water began boiling behind them on the stove, prompting Elain to remove her arms from his waist. Azriel frowned.

“Almost done with that? The sauce is quite simple once you saute the garlic and onion,” Elain said, pouring the pasta shells into the pot and grabbing a wooden spoon from the counter to stir the contents. She hummed a simple melody to herself, pouring oil into the pan on the other burner as Azriel joined her, gently emptying the contents of his chopped ingredients.

Leaning over her, Azriel grabbed a spatula to begin pushing the contents of the pan around, their bodies coinhabiting the same few feet in front of the stove. Elain smiled up at him, bumping him gently with her hip. The glow in her brown eyes warmed him thoroughly as she spoke, her voice quiet. “I like you, too.”

Azriel stared at her. The right words to describe how he felt eluded him as he leaned down, brushing his lips softly against her cheek. They continued to cook the rest of the meal in a daze–Azriel wondering how exactly to tell Elain that like didn’t really begin to cover how he felt.

Soft murmurs floating from the television awoke Elain in the darkness, her head lifting from Azriel’s chest as she took in the room around her. Beneath their spot on the couch, the two kittens slept in the same spot as before, nestled together on the blankets close enough to them that they could hear if anything was wrong. Smiling at the serenity of the image of them sleeping so comfortably, Elain reached over Azriel’s body to grab the remote and paused the episode of The Great British Baking Show that they’d fallen asleep to. The TV clicked off, leaving them in the stillness of the night, only the sound of Azriel’s soft breathing and the hum of the heater filling the room.

She looked at him carefully, her head turning upward to get a glance at his closed eyes and softly parted lips. His hair hung across his forehead in loose waves, causing a deep desire within Elain to be able to push it back for him. As if he could sense that she was watching–that she was thinking of him–she felt his hands tighten around her, his right arm pulling her closer to his side, ignoring the simple fact that she was already glued there completely. His left hand, she realized, had been clutching her right, placed on his heart while they slept.

Beautiful, she thought, as his broad chest rose and fell, right beneath her, ready to hold her when she relaxed again. She felt herself melt toward him subconsciously, so encircled by his warmth, his scent, and his….strength that she couldn’t resist but to lay her head back down on him. Eyes fixed on his scarred hand covering hers, she slowly blinked, breathing in his presence.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered, so softly she almost wondered if he had still been asleep. She cursed herself for waking him, so aware that he rarely got enough sleep as it was.

“About how lovely of a cushion you are,” she whispered back, “and how soft a landing you created for me.”

The rumble of a silent chuckle on his chest made her heart clench in joy. She loved nothing more than to hear that laugh, but feeling it would do for now.

She didn’t know if there had been a word to describe how she felt about him–about the way he made her feel. He was beautiful–painfully so–but she found that it was in the casual familiarity and intimacy that her love for him had bloomed. Only in the past would Elain have considered that companionship was just an element of love, realizing fully in those moments that falling in love (and falling in love with Azriel in particular) had been a long continuous revelation that it wasn’t so outrageous to give your heart to someone and believe it it might’ve been theirs to care for all along.

He was silent for a moment, rubbing his hand up and down her back as he held his other above hers on his heart. When he spoke again, it was slightly louder than before, his voice a deep, smooth sound that she swore narrated her dreams as of late. “You have all of me, Elain. A place to land, for one. But an ear to listen, as well….a heart,” He squeezed her hand, “....and everything else.”

She closed her eyes. He couldn’t have known she was thinking of all the ways she admired and trusted and cherished and loved him, but if he could indeed read her mind, he would’ve understood that she unflinchingly offered the same to him–had known she would give him everything she had, as well.

“You know...” she found herself whispering back, the room around them keeping them cloaked in silence, “I’m not sure I ever understood what the poets meant about love until I saw you holding that kitten today.”

Elain felt Azriel stiffen slightly at the words hanging in the air. She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest so she looked up at him briefly, their eyes meeting in the darkness. He breathed slowly, his face deep in thought.

Time passed, and Elain felt unsure if Azriel had gone back to sleep as she lay there, thinking about how she wouldn’t mind if that moment never ended. It was only when she heard a soft breath above her that she looked up again.

The corners of his mouth gently curled up, so softly and sleepily as he raised his hand to the side of her face, brushing a strand of hair away and holding her gaze on him.

“I could get used to you saying that word.”

She smiled. “Which one? Kitten?”

“Love,” he said, stroking his thumb on her cheek, “I’ve never heard it like that before.”

Despite the fact that she could confess her love a thousand different ways to Azriel and still feel new sensations on her tongue each time, she knew that this would be her favorite: quietly, where only they could hear, when their hearts could lay together as she believed they always would.

“Like what?”

He paused.

“Like it was chosen for this,” he said simply. “Like it was meant for us.”

They held each other, quiet in that darkness, for what might’ve been proof to them both of love that could drive out the deepest pain and sadness–pain that could not touch them as long as they didn’t let go.

[insulindsay]

A Chocolate Muffin at Dawn

(Breathtaking art by @livlochan on tumblr and twitter, aka @livlochan.art on instagram)

This is a re-post of my fic on Ao3 titled A Chocolate Muffin at Dawn. Previously, I hadn't included the full text on my tumblr, so I'm taking the time to do so now! Please enjoy.)

It was far too early for any kind of pleasantries.

Azriel passed Cassian in the hall of the House of Wind, taking in the way his brother looked almost rabid for a chance to discuss some unknown topic with him in the dim, blue light of the dawn filling the House. He merely held a hand up in front of Cassian’s face, his eyes only half open and shoulders stiff with the hunch he’d been positioned in all night.

Cassian paused, tilting his head. “Rough....day? Night? You look terrible.”

“I’d rather not explain at the present moment,” Azriel replied, moving a finger to his temple. Without a wink of sleep to fuel him, he was on his way to the River House to relay information he’d gathered in the past few days about the whereabouts of the mortal queens. He wasn’t sure if Rhysand and Feyre were even awake yet, but Azriel knew he was in dangerous territory of potentially oversleeping if he rested now.

Cassian smirked at him, clapping a hand to his shoulder in encouragement. “We’ll talk later.”

Perhaps his brother had understood the level of exhaustion Azriel felt, because Cassian simply nudged him with that hand on his shoulder, moving to bounce down the hallway with a particularly saccharine smile on his face as he rounded the corner. He made a mental note to ask Cassian about it later—so rarely did Cassian bounce in delight, indicating there was a piece of good news Azriel suddenly looked forward to hearing.

Smiling at the thought of his brother’s well-deserved happiness, however early in the morning, Azriel emerged to the brisk, misty air outside the House.

There was much to do today—he silently prayed that the River House would enchant a coffee pot for him.

The dew in the air as he landed at the River House slicked Azriel’s wings a touch, dripping to the stones below when he shook them out at the top of the pathway. The house was in slumber—the only sign of activity coming from the swirling smoke rising out of the chimney. Turning the knob as silently as possible, Azriel noted a pair of lilac slippers covered in mud next to the door, the earth soft and wet on the worn silk. He wondered if they had been there for very long at all.

He paused—undoing his own laces as his shadows swirled around those slippers, straightening them and scraping off a bit of mud on the surface. A soft, low chuckle escaped him as he noted how much dirtier the silk was than the leather of his boots. He entered the house with that laugh warming his face, stepping into the quiet peace of Rhysand and Feyre’s new home.

The stillness of the air was settling to him—his shadows fell to the cool marble floor of the foyer, spreading like fog over a moor. The sun, still yet to fully peek over the mountains, managed to illuminate the rooms around him in that pale blue light of the dawn. Ahead, Azriel noted the delicious scent of roasted coffee beans as he sent a silent Thank You to the magic enchanting all of his family’s residences.

“Oh,” Elain breathed, a melodic break in the silence of the kitchen as Azriel pushed through the door. Her eyes widened, a smile raising her cheeks and twisting her lips softly. “Good morning.”

She stood before him, barefoot, a cup of that brewed coffee in her hands. The apron on her waist was tied in a bow on her back, markings of flour dusted atop it. On her nose was a smear of chocolate. Azriel sucked in a breath, unsure whether to continue through the doorway.

“Good morning,” he replied, clasping his hands behind his back. “Apologies—I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Elain’s soft laughter filled the room. The sound was sweeter than the song of any bird he’d ever listened to. She placed her coffee on the kitchen counter as she motioned for him to enter. “You didn’t. I can usually hear your footsteps, but you took off your shoes this time.”

He blinked, taking a few slow steps into the room. It had never occurred to him that anyone noticed his movement, his shadows usually masking the sounds of his footsteps on the ground. He might have asked her to elaborate, had she not already taken the liberty to stretch on her toes to reach for another mug on a shelf in front of her and pour a full mug of coffee from the brewed pot.

“You like a splash of milk, correct?”

A nod. Azriel sat at the table, as quiet as possible, his eyes never leaving her form as she spun to the refrigerator for the milk.

He cleared his throat, finding it suddenly dry. “How did you know that?”

He’d known she was perceptive—her Cauldron-given power had reflected something already obvious in her character before being Made. Azriel didn’t know if it was perhaps her Seeing power that had informed her how he preferred his coffee, but somehow it occurred to him that however she knew, she had indeed remembered such an ordinary fact about him.

“Is it a secret?” She tilted her head to the side, raising her eyebrows a touch. “I noticed you once pursing your lips at a cup that Feyre handed you. She drinks hers black—she gave you the same.”

Her wide, warm brown eyes held his stare for a moment. Then, pouring a splash of milk into the cup with one hand, she tucked a strand of her golden brown hair behind her ear with the other and handed him the steaming drink.

“It’s...just not something anyone has ever asked,” He said slowly. “I usually make it myself.”

She pushed her bottom lip up a bit, eyebrows knitted together. “I suppose it...might not have come up, even if if you all are five hundred years old...” Behind her, a kitchen timer in the shape of a ceramic rooster sounded a gentle alarm, rousing her from her thought.

She was uncommonly polite. Azriel knew her upbringing would prevent her from outright insulting his family members for being so nonchalant about his trivial preferences, but he could see in her confusion that it somehow bothered her that they didn’t care to ask. Under different circumstances, she might have defended them for such an oversight, but it was clear that paying attention to him was something she made a point to do, and would think that others would want to do the same.

The near-silent brush of her long, powder blue skirts on the tile floor mesmerized him for a moment before he tore his gaze away to the cup in front of him. Taking a sip felt like awakening from the most restful sleep he’d ever had—It was the perfect amount of milk.

“Would you like a muffin?”

He nearly spit out his sip of coffee. Looking up to her, that smear of chocolate still on her face, she held a tray of speckled muffins with bright pink oven mitts. She again tilted her head to the side at his outburst, raising her eyebrows in question.

He set the mug down on the table. “I—I can perhaps get one myself, if that’s alright.”

“Please forgive me—did I offend you?” Her eyes widened as she set the tray down on the cooling rack on the counter. “I must admit, it has taken me a bit longer to understand the customs of your people.”

Your people. For a moment, Azriel felt saddened by her choice of words to exclude herself from what was now their culture. Although Elain was not the last of the Archeron sisters to come to terms with her new life as a Fae, she had still used the type of language that removed herself from the narrative of Fae culture. Azriel thought that no matter her role at the Night Court, Elain would perhaps always feel like an outsider in Prythian, caught in between a human life she missed and a Fae life that was forced upon her. It hurt him to consider, knowing how deep and painful that isolation could feel—how much it could affect her to not feel like she belonged.

“No,” Azriel quickly said, “No, you’re very kind. It’s you who should forgive me...it is impolite to react in such a manner when you mean well.”

He stared at her again. She began removing the muffins from the tray, keeping her attention to him while she worked. Azriel wished for nothing so much than the ability to move to her, to help her, to be in her orbit.

“May I ask you to explain why it is...improper, then, for me to offer you the muffin?”

Azriel stilled, wincing at the question he knew she would ask. He looked away from her, murmuring, “It...It is customary for a female Fae to offer her mate food as a confirmation of their bond together. It has thus become a more...commonplace way to indicate interest in a partner in Fae culture.”

The blush spreading on her cheeks was quick and bright. Elain bit her lip, taking a moment to remove her other oven mitt and tuck her hair behind both ears.

“I see,” she said quietly. She looked down to those muffins again, pressing her lips together. “I didn’t know that.”

“Of course,” Azriel started again, “I—I don’t mean to embarrass you. They smell delicious, and I would love to—”

“I’d like for you to have one,” She nearly whispered, “If you...if you’d like one.”

Azriel nearly stopped breathing. The sun, now beginning to illuminate the room from the large, sparkling windows behind Elain at the counter, gently warmed them both in the silence. He stood from the table, ever so slowly, and moved toward her.

They hadn’t dared to be so explicit in the emotions that had been quietly growing each time they looked at each other in these past months. After the rescue from Hybern’s camp and Elain’s role in the final battle—wielding Truth-Teller in the finest manner the blade had ever been used—they could both admit to a number of lingering glances and brushes of skin that ignited something between them each time. This, however—an admission of something....more—meant that it hadn’t just been Azriel daring to dream of an alternate reality where Elain could indeed offer him a muffin as something more than just breakfast.

Seeing Elain’s eyes still on the plate before her, Azriel released a breath that made his wings tremble softly, standing so close he could smell the jasmine of her skin and the soil that likely stuck to her petticoat. So gently, as if to prevent breaking the shield that had paused everything else around them, Azriel brushed a scarred hand to her smooth, delicate chin, moving it to face him. She stared back, eyes so wide that he saw the world begin and end in the warmth of that brown he could stare into for the rest of his life.

Silently, he reached the other hand up, wiping away the chocolate on her nose with a towel from the counter. The blush in her cheeks brightened, a smile blooming on her lips again. Azriel returned the smile in earnest—she could have said anything in the world to him and he wouldn’t have heard it over the pounding of his heart beneath his chest. They laughed together, a symphony of night and day, dusk and dawn, shadow and light.

Lowering his hands from her face, he stepped back once. “Your freckles are getting more pronounced.”

“They are?” She said dreamily, the sound a melody he would’ve sworn he’d heard in a past life.

He nodded. The freckles that indeed crept along her cheeks and over her nose were the color of cinnamon, splashing atop her collarbones and shoulders beneath the sheer fabric of her sleeves. He thought of an exchange they’d had long ago about the sun’s rays, and wondered if she remembered to wear the sunscreen that he’d asked Madja to send to the River House for her. Unwilling to admit that it was specifically for Elain, he had asked the healer to place it in all the bathing rooms unceremoniously.

“You’ve been gardening,” Azriel said simply. Elain beamed at him, nodding vigorously as she untied the apron at her back. She moved to the sink, the enchantment flowing the water over her hands that were delightfully speckled with chocolate from the muffin tray.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she sighed, “I’ve been ‘round already to the orphanage. Their peonies are going to come in really nicely with the new beds Cassian helped me build,” she glanced at him for a moment, adding with a blush, “I’ve been told I’m rather clumsy with a hammer and I didn’t want to bother Feyre to use her magic.”

Azriel had known she often visited the orphanage a few miles down the Sidra. She’d told him before about it, about the children that she’d met, and the stories they told her as she taught them how each of the flowers she planted were unique and required certain help to grow to their fullest potential. She’d let them help her place the flowers in their new soil—their new home—and encouraged them to come back out to the garden to check on how they adjusted to their new surroundings. They’d report back to her on how much water the flowers might need that day, how much shade the nearby trees were starting to provide, and how the warming of the weather helped prevent any damage that might have come with the winter cold.

“I’d like to see that one day, if you’d show me.” A soft request, putting her under no pressure if she did not wish it. “The children must love having you there when you visit.”

She twisted her lips again in a small smile that made her eyes sparkle, reflecting that beautiful sunshine now warming the room thoroughly. Azriel thought that, for a moment, it looked as though she was ready to cry, thinking of how dearly she loved tending the different gardens in Velaris and visiting with its people.

“They are such beautiful little ones,” Elain smiled, a memory passing by her eyes. She hesitated for a moment, looking as though she might have been considering her manners before taking a step toward Azriel and gently, slowly reaching for the scarred hand that rested on the kitchen counter. The touch of her skin was like no feeling he’d ever been graced with in his life as she continued to him in that same melody he couldn’t get enough of. “They’d love you, too, I think.”

Unable to do so much as nod, Azriel merely blinked at her. Without another word, she squeezed his hand and turned to go back toward the door—to her muddy slippers and her gardens.

Azriel watched her depart, reaching slowly beside him to the plate on the counter. The light in the room was as bright as the smile on his lips as he took a bite into the chocolate muffin he hadn’t realized he was waiting his entire life to eat.

[insulindsay]

A Begonia in the Shade

(Remarkable art by @livlochan on tumblr and twitter, aka @livlochan.art on instagram)

This is a re-post of my fanfic on Ao3 titled A Begonia in the Shade. Previously, I hadn't included the full text on my tumblr, so I'm taking the time to do so now! Please enjoy.)

The sun was high above as Rhys’s brows knitted together in concern, an almost unnoticeable rush of several emotions flickering on his face. Azriel stood before him, the only of his brothers to now wear his Illyrian armor in preparation for the visit to The Court of Nightmares in a few hours.

Azriel had drawn the longer of two sticks when they had decided who was going to be attending this evening—the shorter stick would indicate who would watch over the elder Archeron sisters instead of going to Hewn City. Though Azriel had known why it was important for him to be present there tonight, he had quietly thought the other task not worthy of Cassian’s tantrum when they’d pulled the sticks out of Rhys’s hand.

“Fuck,” Cassian had said flatly, his shoulders sagging, as if he knew what might be in store on an evening with the group now staying at the House of Wind—or one of its inhabitants in particular. “Best two out of three?”

Rhys had just rolled his eyes and asked him to continue with his thought about what the Bone Carver had requested in exchange for his help in the war: the Ouroboros. The three of them had already heard—or, rather, seen, at the courtesy of Rhys’s projection into their minds—Cassian’s account of his visit to the Prison with Feyre. The situation, it seemed, was getting more and more complicated as they approached the meeting with the other High Lords twelve days ahead.

The others would understand soon enough indeed just how complicated. Azriel’s visit the day prior to the Autumn Court had made his skin crawl for hours after he had returned, reminding him of what the true costs of this war were going to be—what they had always been—with their impending alliance with Eris. The memory of that crisp, russet and emerald wood yesterday flashed in his eyes for a moment, as it sometimes did when he remembered why he hated the crunch of maroon colored leaves beneath his boots and the smells of apples falling to a forest floor.

Rhys’s voice brought him back to the warm, golden sunshine of Velaris as the look of concern ebbed on his face. “We’re taking the sisters and Lucien to the Town House.”

Cassian glanced between them, still sulking. “Which one of you is taking Lucien?”

The brothers were in the air before Rhys could roll his eyes again.

Feyre said she’s in the library, Rhys said into Azriel’s mind as they landed atop one of the balconies. Remember her state, brother.

Azriel had only nodded, knowing Rhysand was referring to how the middle Archeron sister had spent the last few weeks in the sun-drenched library at the House of Wind—in silence, her warm brown eyes fixed on the distance outside the windows leading to the ocean. He had been up to the House only a handful of times in those weeks, but each time had sent his shadows swirling ‘round those large windows, testing the wards locking them in place. The locks yielded no movement each time. The most recent visit found Azriel taking a few silent moments to return some of the strewn books to their places on the shelves, he remembered, as he now noticed a copy of a book titled The Evening Garden in the same location he had placed it on the bay window on his last visit.

The inhabitant of the seat at that window now seemed to be angled toward it, as she continued to look out toward the glittering water in the distance. He gently cleared his throat, making his voice little more than a soft hum. “Elain?”

She did not stir. Sitting alone, she was a portrait of soft grace as her pale pink gown flowed to the floor next to her legs curled up on the cushion. Azriel took a few cautious steps toward her, his wings tight behind him and his shadows quiet in the glow of the room. “I’m here to assist you down to the Town House. May I—May I get you a shawl?”

She was so pale—so translucent that the sun was likely burning her cheeks as she kept staring out. Certainly no longer the lady who had clutched a fork in fear at the prospect of sitting next to Cassian at the Archeron Estate a few months ago. No longer was she the sun-kissed doe who had pushed against the innate terror that quickened her human heartbeat while facing those who she had been taught to fear—different Fae than had taken her sister away a year ago, but still Fae all the same.

No—the life in those soft eyes had been dulled when she was forced into the Cauldron at the palace in Hybern. Azriel had been all but dead in those moments that she was pushed into the depths of of darkness within the Cauldron, but he had somehow known that something had changed when she did. He didn’t know if perhaps it was because he had understood that the Archeron sisters were three of a kind—three examples of the exceptions in Fae history. Or, perhaps, if it was because his shadows had been trying to communicate that things were going very, very wrong in the aftermath of the elder sisters being Made.

Different, they had whispered to him, bleeding out on the floor. Those eyes are different, aren’t they?

Looking at her now, he thought of how much a tragedy it would be to never see that girl again; the one who had prepared the finest tea available for the mortal queens, so courteous to those who had never deserved her kind heart.

She at last turned to him, a look of solemness surrounding those warm eyes. “Does the sun burn your wings when you fly?”

He blinked. Slowly, he took another step toward her, clasping his hands behind his back as he said, “Not quite. There is a pigment that lays within the membrane that absorbs the sun’s rays to protect them from such a burn. Your skin, with less of that pigment, needs protection from those rays.”

It was as if she had looked straight through him at those wings upon his back, and he suddenly felt them shudder a bit at her gaze. She looked again into his eyes, nodding once toward him and holding out her arms in such a way that would imply she might have desired something like a hug, under different circumstances.

Azriel approached her fully then, kneeling before the bay window as he let her wrap her arms around his neck, smoothing her dress so that his right arm cupped her knees and his left settled just above her waist. He ensured her dress covered her fully before lifting her in one swift motion, leaving the copy of The Evening Garden sitting on the window as he carried her from the room.

It was a short flight down from the House of Wind—Elain hadn’t so much as looked away from Azriel’s chest as he very smoothly landed on the steps leading up to the Town House. He stepped along the sun-warmed stones as her hold around his neck loosened, causing his grip to firm as he walked toward the house.

“If I may,” Azriel said, indicating he would carry her through the door, “the foyer carpet is much cleaner than the path.”

“My skirts used to drag through soil all the time,” she replied, a ghost of a memory on her otherwise empty expression.

He merely nodded. Feyre appeared behind them, her face a half-concealed picture of guilt and concern. Azriel turned back toward Elain before him on the carpet. Her hair, golden brown and falling around her shoulders, was windswept in such a way that reminded him of how falling cherry blossom petals swirled in the air before touching the ground. He smiled at the thought.

“Would you like me to show you the garden?” He asked, thinking she might like to have some soil on her otherwise pristine dress.

She looked back at Azriel’s face then, and for a moment he swore her irises had brightened in color at the mention of such a tour. She nodded once, and Azriel offered her an arm and she laid a hand on it, her flawless skin touching just next to where his scars began below his Siphon.

“Beautiful,” she breathed, as her thumb brushed ever so slightly on that arm, so soft it would not be caught by any other’s eye. Azriel did not look away from her face as he led her toward the door, the others gathering behind them in the foyer.

Elain sat at one of the garden tables, glancing at some marigold flowers in the shade of an oak tree. She stared and stared at them as Azriel returned with a tray holding a steaming tea pot and two cups with saucers. On the lounge nearby, he’d placed a stack of reports from his contacts in the Autumn Court—a cluster of information he did not look forward to organizing.

As he poured a cup for her, he felt the silence in the absence of his shadows around him—it was like they had taken a break for just a moment to bask in the glow of the warmth around them. Above them, Rhysand and Feyre’s bedroom window seemed to rustle with movement as a faint smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. It’s certainly a better place to keep an eye on her from than the House, he thought loudly, knowing that Rhys would be listening as Feyre watched her sister.

I don’t think she’s been outside in a month, Rhys returned to his mind. Feyre...thanks you, for her company.

Elain glanced at the tea, then up to him. Picking up the saucer, she hooked a pointer finger through the handle of the little cup and nodded at him in silent gratitude—or, what he assumed was gratitude.

She looked back to the marigolds. “Begonias would be more suited to the shade there.”

Azriel glanced up from the spot he’d returned to on the lounge. Her eyebrows knitted only half a centimeter as she continued, “Marigolds thrive in the sun. Begonias need a bit of shade to grow.”

The faint smile that reached his eyes was warm as Azriel couldn’t help but think he was sure now about her brown irises brightening for the garden. His shadows, a whisper somewhere in the distance, peered at Elain in the sun. A bit of shade indeed, young fawn.

A bit of shade indeed.

[sleepylivart]

Elriel Month Day 2 - Your Lips on My Scars

She would always think his scars were beautiful, and she would remind him everyday until he believed her. 

Version with musical accompaniment on my Instagram: @livlochan.art

(Art by me. Please do not repost elsewhere.)

[insulindsay]

Looking at this art makes me feel like love actually might be real.....because I love your art with my whole entire heart. Thank you for sharing this with us, Liv. You’re exceptional in SO MANY ways.

[ladylochan]

I just wanted to see Azriel in a turtleneck...and then Elain in a turtleneck...

I'm thinking this is some kind of Modern Fae Uni AU but I'd like to hear any of your ideas if you want to share!

[insulindsay]

Hi friends! I was so inspired by Liv’s turtleneck art that I felt the overwhelming need to write (with Liv’s permission) a drabble about Elriel in matching sweaters. You can read either at the following link or directly below the cut. Please enjoy! 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30654569

The bell above the door of the coffee shop jingled softly in Azriel’s ear, his gaze fixed on the book he held on his lap. The rain had picked up - he’d sat long enough in the shop that heavy storm clouds had rolled in before it was too late to walk home without getting soaked. It was of no fault of his own, he thought – the conversations around him had been particularly interesting that day, successfully distracting him from the headache that had grown beneath his temples back at the apartment. 

“I’d say this is quite the coincidence,” a soft voice twinkled above him, his head whipping up at the too-familiar melody, “but perhaps it’s more like serendipity, wouldn’t you think?” 

Elain, hair windswept in a braid down her back, smiled back at Azriel, a dripping umbrella printed with little strawberries at her side. The conversations around him went silent suddenly, the book closing in his hands. He stood, suppressing the urge to pull out the chair next to him as he cleared his throat. “I–Elain. Hello.” 

“How are you?” She tilted her head, her smile spreading on her cheeks that blushed from the weather. “Are you looking forward to the Halloween party tomorrow?” 

Azriel nodded. “I am.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Elain laughed, gesturing to his black turtleneck with her fingers wrapped around a to-go cup from the cafe. “I regret not asking if you’d like to go as clones of Steve Jobs with me.” 

She wore an identical sweater tucked into high waisted black jeans, provoking a chuckle from Azriel’s lips. Her eyes sparkled, warm and rich like the scent of coffee beans still wafting in the air. 

Behind them, rain pelted the thin window. Elain’s gaze shifted to it, her eyebrows raising as she continued, “Do you not have an umbrella, Mr. Jobs?” 

He laughed again. “I didn’t see the clouds roll in. I don’t live too far, though.” 

“I know. But would you like to share? I’ve been meaning to pick your brain on that poly sci homework,” She pulled her braid so it rested in front of her shoulder, twirling the pink bow that tied it together between her pointer finger and thumb. “Care to walk with me?”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on the motion, admiring the blush that still painted the skin beneath her freckles despite the warmth of the room. “Of course.” 

~*~

She shivered, one arm wrapped around her waist as she extended the other above her to accommodate Azriel’s height in the umbrella’s protection. He glanced down at her from his already-hunched position underneath it, pressing his lips together as he took a hand out of his pocket, gesturing to the handle. 

“May I?” He asked her, voice smooth like the honey that colored his eyes. “I promise I won’t get us drenched.” 

A chuckle escaped her, shaking slightly as the wind bit at her cheeks again. She let him take the handle from her, raising it only a fraction of an inch so that she stayed close underneath. Crossing her arms around her midsection, she noticed him angle his torso toward her, blocking the gust that came from his left. 

“Are you not cold?” She asked. “No one warned me that the Autumn was so cold here.” 

Azriel shook his head, eyes drifting downward to their feet as he matched her stride. She could see the smile on his lips again, painting his beautiful face with curves meant for the lines painted on masterpieces. “I’m from around here. Rhysand and Cassian and I look forward to the colder weather – it’ll snow soon.” 

November was only a day away, and snow was indeed on the horizon. Elain glanced at the path ahead of them, orange leaves piled on the ground next to the cobblestones slicked with raindrops. Her sneakers were soaked, the only warmth from her thick wool socks keeping the chill from her toes. 

They reached a lamppost that flickered on suddenly, the sky a dark gray that hid the light of the fading sun. Elain looked up to Azriel again.

“Do you prefer it?” She asked, curious to know more about her sister’s quietest friend. He fascinated her – rarely did anyone say so little to make her head spin with so many questions. 

His eyes remained fixed on the path. “I do enjoy what the winter brings,” He began, his tone soft. “Togetherness...excuses to gather…chances to give thanks.” His beautiful face turned down to her, then, as the smile on his lips reached his eyes. “However, it’s hard not to count down the days until the snow melts. The flowers are especially beautiful here in the spring.” 

Something in his voice made the shiver in her spine cease in favor of a warm, comforting glow that spread through to her fingertips. Elain smiled, thinking of the bluebells she remembered would grow outside his apartment in May. She’d meant to ask him if they’d always been there or if he’d planted them after reading The Evening Garden, which she noticed him holding frequently these days. Even now, her gaze floated down to his other arm, where he tucked the copy away from the rain. “I look forward to it.” 

“So do I.” 

~*~

Azriel slowed their pace along the stones that led to the house Elain and her sisters rented near the university’s botanical gardens – he’d meant to ask if she would’ve liked to walk through them, but their conversation had thoroughly distracted him from anything other than the smell of her jasmine perfume and the occasional brush of her shoulder on his chest as they splashed through the shallow puddles. 

They reached the staircase, a pair of muddy gardening boots propped near the door. Elain turned to Azriel, who motioned to close the umbrella. She reached out, laying a hand on the one that clasped the handle, laughing softly. “Please, keep it.” 

“You won’t have one for the morning,” he replied, his heart rising in his chest at the touch of her hand still on his. “The storm’s meant to continue through the weekend.” 

She furrowed her brow at him. “I won’t have you catching a cold on my account. Take it, Azriel.” 

A breath escaped him at the sound of his name on her lips, flooding his senses as it quickly became a sound he was prepared to beg to hear again. He nodded. 

“May I ask you one more thing?” She called, smiling as she turned to climb the stairs of the porch.

He remained on the stones of the patio, his gaze locked on the braid falling down her back. “Anything.”

Elain turned, lifting a hand to point to the book in his hand. The Evening Garden. “Would you mind if I borrowed that after you’re finished? It’s been checked out of the library for months.” 

“Of course,” he said, welcoming a soft pull on a string somewhere deep within him. “How serendipitous.” 

She smiled. They lingered. The rain poured.

[ladylochan]

I just wanted to see Azriel in a turtleneck...and then Elain in a turtleneck...

I'm thinking this is some kind of Modern Fae Uni AU but I'd like to hear any of your ideas if you want to share!

[insulindsay]

ELRIEL TURTLENECK ELRIEL TURTLENECK ELRIEL TURTLENECK!!

LIV!! You already know this is everything to me. I’m typing this from beyond the grave. YOU ARE MY ELRIEL FAN ART GODDESS G O O D B Y E. 

[elriell]

So @insulindsay @suzumepark @suelky & with the assistance of @ladylochan we had a Elriel colouring party where we all started the Truth-Teller scene from the colouring book whilst on the VC 💕💕 and while I am nowhere near finished (i dont think any of us are, i want to share because im impatient and crave validation ahahahah)

[insulindsay]

............did.....I just.....get mentioned by....... @silver-flames? ............

His hair looks great btw. And that stubble 😏 I am regrettably going to be plagiarizing your armor detailing and the texture on her cape—OOPS! 😎

[ladylochan]

They got married at dusk, as the sun set and light shifted to dark. 

Despite her love for sunshine, Elain had always had a special fondness for when the skies would turn pink and purple, shadows stretching until they were a blanket over her. There was comfort in that darkness, in the truth that it would always return, in the familiarity as if seeing a cherished friend. A lover. 

Maybe that was why Azriel had never felt like a stranger, even at first when she was scared to death of him and his kind. 

And so they traded their vows as the sun dipped below the horizon, fae lights twinkling in the darkening night. Although their loved ones were there, sitting amidst the gardens of Rosehall, it was hard to see anyone but Azriel, to know anyone but Azriel. Hard when she looked into those glistening eyes and saw the unfaltering promise of forever. 

When it came time for her to speak, though her throat stuck, Elain reached up to gently swipe away the tears on her soulmate’s cheeks. They were precious, those tears, only witnessed by her a handful of times. She smiled, voice unwavering, and vowed, 

“I choose you, Azriel. I always will.”

-

I started this piece after finishing the “Beautiful” scene, and initially I was just going to draw Elain in a pretty dress and headpiece. But as her face came together, I kept thinking about how serene and happy I wanted her to feel, and how that happiness will come about after the trials she’ll go through. From there the wedding came to mind and I was a goner. 

And so I blame you wholly @suelky for your endless inspiration that leads me down these rabbit holes of feelings. 

Also a special thanks to all of you who gave me input, support, and company - you know who you are :).

(Art by me. Kindly do not repost elsewhere.)

[insulindsay]

Maybe📣that📣was📣why📣Azriel📣had📣never📣felt📣like📣a📣stranger📣

Can I decorate my future library with this? I’d make a wallpaper out of it, tbh. Her earrings...the halo....the sparkle in her dress....the bouquet 😭.....this is breathtaking. QUEEN, YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN!

You know all the rest—I’m near speechless 😭💜