Summary: You had always been a reader—always drawn to worlds outside of your own. Always seeking more. This world, Azriel's world, was trying to teach you something; you were sure of it. Or, maybe, it was where you were always meant to be.
Word count: 4.7k
Warnings: Confusion, self-harm in desperation/confusion, angst, reference to psychosis and related symptoms
a/n: Here we areee :) The story starts to really pick up (and the romance wink wink) after this. Reminder though that this is slow burnnn BUT I think it's worth it (I'm biased) okay ily ily bye ❤️
Part One, Part Two
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
You had read a book when you were young, though the title escaped you, that felt relevant in your current situation. Children had fallen into a different world, one more dangerous but more enticing. More alluring. You could recall creatures and magic and echoes of the past. The name was on the tip of your tongue, evading your memory each time you got close, but it wasn’t as if remembering would help. That book was not a guide for your life, and if you thought hard enough, you could recall that readers had conjured up theories that the children hadn’t actually gone to that strange fantasy world. Instead, someone had died, or someone had gone crazy, or someone was dreaming, and the story was merely told within that recollection.
It was somewhat comforting to know that even within fiction, there were those looking for a different answer. That you weren’t second-guessing your every sense because you weren’t able to accept reality, but because you were human, and that’s what humans did. They hypothesized and doubted and fact-checked. They looked for logic because the world was mostly run by logic, and so you were human. You were not insane.
But you weren’t human. Not anymore. Even if this were all a dream, or you were going insane, that was something you’d come to accept. You were no longer human.
Your refute of your fae form hung in the air, bed sheets crumpling between your fingers, expression distraught. There was no reason for them to believe you, though they weren’t outright throwing you into the dungeons you knew lurked below. That had to be a good sign. Your lungs felt as if they were going to burst.
“I swear,” you repeated, only because no one had said anything. There was only blinking and dead air. “I don’t even have any magic or special skills that would help me in an uprising. I didn’t have this body a few hours ago. You have to believe me.”
Something flickered on Rhysand’s face as your pleading faded. Another silent conversation then took place. He looked to Azriel—who seemed to flinch—and Azriel gave him one stiff nod. The High Lord ticked his jaw and rubbed his hand along his chin.
“It would be easier for us to believe your story,” Rhysand slowly replied, though his voice was void of the earlier suspicion. He sounded tired. “If you did not sit in this room, emanating power.”
You paused, brows furrowing. You looked within yourself for whatever he was talking about, but everything felt different about you, so it was impossible to pinpoint. You didn’t feel powerful, and you certainly didn’t feel emanating, but you were also interpreting a strange language and seeing colors you never had before, so your judgment was unreliable.
You grimaced. “I… am?”
“It’s quite overwhelming,” Mor gently offered, hands clasped together in front of her waist. She brought her fingers up and pinched them. “Maybe even a little bit suffocating. So you’ll have to forgive the third degree. There are many threats we have to look out for. Especially in recent months.”
“Suffocating,” you whispered under your breath. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” Azriel interrupted as your fear began to grow once more.
You craned your neck up to look at him, still so close and imposing over the bed. He had a strange smile on his face that looked as if it was meant to be comforting, but it came across as pained and lingering. You blinked at him.
“We could clear most of this up now if you were to let me in,” Rhysand posed, snapping your gaze away from the Spymaster. He tapped his temple and nodded towards you. “It wouldn’t hurt if you allowed me to look.”
“Look?”
“In your mind. I’m Daemati. I can confirm everything you say if you allow me in.”
Right. You’d read about that. You remembered. You’d wanted him to look not too long ago, but that had been before—before the pain and fear and blubbering confession. Before you realized you were even more different than you’d thought.
“How do I do that?” you posed, eagerly straightening on the bed. “Can I just say you can come in, or—”
“No,” Rhysand shook his head. “It’s more contingent on that wall around your mind. The barrier. It’s—very strong. If you get yourself to lower it, or even just find a point for me to see in, that would be helpful.”
You blinked, searching your mind for the offending force. You shifted to sit on your heels, vaguely aware that you’d distanced yourself from the headboard as the conversation had gone on. If anyone were going to believe you, you needed to do this. You needed to remove the barrier and let Rhysand—
You paused, an airy breath escaping you.
Was this real?
It had to be.
You bit hard into your bottom lip and focused, but instead of a barrier, you passed by a thread. The same thread that had led you here, and the same one that elicited such a panic within you when you pulled at it before. You formed your thoughts around it, letting a few brush along its edges. A choking sound caught in the room. You searched harder for the barrier.
Your mind was like a physical space, unusual in its layout. You could see the wall Rhysand was referring to, but it didn’t necessarily look like a wall. It was made up of fractured lines and letters that mixed into words you couldn’t read. Alarmingly, the words were so familiar you almost had the ability to make them out, but the moment you tried, they would warp and become illegible.
Frustrated tears welled in your eyes—frustrated and confused and scared. Each time you got closer to the wall, it would inch away, and you ran and ran until an ache permeated along your temples. You wouldn’t allow yourself to fall into the abyss that panicked over this strange form of your mind. But you had never been able to see inside this way, so—no, this was real. You were going to approach everything as if it were real, because if you didn’t, you would be crazy and in denial. You could only pick one. Could only accept one at a time.
There was a small dent in the wall. You could pick out where the letters wavered there, a small warped outline hovering just above the floor of the space. You were out of breath by the time you had an answer for Rhysand, the act of searching your mind more taxing than you had anticipated.
“I think there is something—a way for you—”
“I see it,” Rhysand quickly responded. He dove in before you were ready, a blinding panic filling you. It didn’t hurt, but something felt wrong. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there, and you supposed he wasn’t, but it was more intrinsic than that. The discrepancy felt ancient.
You sucked in a breath and fell forward slightly, reaching to steady yourself and grasping at the first thing within reach. Fingers wrapped around your wrist and held you steady, and you clenched your eyes shut as the invasion continued.
Memories were tumbling around behind the wall—of New York, the busy streets when you went to the city, a few moments on a train as you scrolled on your phone. You felt each memory being observed by the High Lord, but those weren’t all of your memories. You couldn’t show him everything, even though you willed it. A blurry image of your reflection materialized in your mind—the you from before. You fixed your hair in a floor-length mirror in a fitting room, ears rounded, features plain in the way any human’s were. And then Rhysand was forced from your mind with that same ancient force, a harsh shove sending him stumbling back in the physical space.
You let out a shuddering exhale. The High Lord paled.
~~
You were left alone without much fanfare, though the several baffled looks thrown your way made you feel like a sideshow. Rhysand had been quick to share what he had seen, and the fingers gently holding you in place had let go—slowly, reluctantly but not. Mor had been the last to leave the room, a fleeting smile and a promise to grab you for lunch offered at the threshold of the door—your door, you supposed.
You weren’t quite sure what was in store for you here. Oddities were not uncommon from what you could remember from the books, but this level of oddity was probably uncharted. There was also the frustrating fact that you couldn’t just show Rhysand all of your memories at once, but that frustration was also paired with the harrowing realization that you didn’t know everything that was kept behind that wall in your mind. As you had examined it, you had realized.
You rocked up from the bed for hopefully the last time that day, drifting to the window and then to the door. You’d seen enough of the billowing clouds and unfamiliar foliage, and you wanted to prove more to yourself.
This was real. This was real, and you were left to interpret it, and now that you were not an alleged member of an unknown uprising, you felt more comfortable branching out.
The door to your room clicked open, silk flowing past your calves and the floor seeping a chill into the soles of your feet. Nothing creaked or groaned as you walked past the hulking door, though you could hear other things that you shouldn’t have been able to. A wind whistling in a tree far off, the low murmur of speaking several rooms away, the rhythm of heartbeats all out of cohesion—it was all very overwhelming and rivaled the jarring nature of your sight.
Still, you trekked down the hall.
The House of Wind was similar to how your brain had conjured it up. Sprawling hallways made way for doors with intricate carvings, and you let your fingers trail along the stars and clouds in the wood. You felt the cold marble beneath your bare feet. You focused on just your heartbeat and tried to remember what your apartment looked like back home. Tried to recreate the dull hum of the refrigerator in your ears and pretend you were feeling the worn carpet that came with old apartments.
That all felt distant, somehow, but you knew it was there. You had been there, and now you were here.
You turned down another hallway and the window there was so large, so… revealing, you almost gasped. The city you couldn’t see before was in perfect view from this vantage point, and your fae eyes—you were fae, you had accepted—could make out each billowing chimney and the route of the winding pathways. You approached without meaning to, setting fingers on the window panes and nearly pressing your nose against them as well.
Velaris.
This was Velaris.
You felt yourself spiralling again, but the panic was interrupted. Someone cleared their throat, the sound purposefully gentle, but everything was startling, so you jumped, yelping and covering your mouth. When you spun on your heel, it was Azriel, and he looked pained again. You wondered if that had to do with his harrowing backstory, but you could remember that he was joyful in the books. At times.
“I apologize,” Azriel said with a slight bow of his head. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Everything scares me,” you tried to brush off with a choppy, placating laugh, but Azriel’s expression only became more closed.
“I apologize for that as well.”
Your eyes flicked behind him, taking in the massive wings that seemed glued to his back. They didn’t move as you remembered they had before, the muscle looking stiff.
“It’s not your fault.” You blinked back to meet his eyes and held them for only a second before searching for a nondescript landing place. “I’m usually very good at adjusting to things. I—I think I’m having difficulty coming to terms with this, though, so it may take me some time.”
“You said this wasn’t real,” Azriel stated. You watched his hands flex at his sides. “Do you… still feel that way?”
You nodded jerkily. “Yes.” An audible exhale. “And no.”
You looked off to the side, observing the way the light from the window reflected in broken streams along the wall. You couldn’t tell what season it was here, but the clear skies may have told the story of Spring. There weren’t very many colors in the trees when you had looked down. Perhaps it was Summer. None of that mattered.
“Is there anything I can do—” Azriel started, and when you looked up, he was leaning slightly, eyes ready to meet yours “—to show you that this is real? To help?”
“I don’t—” He didn’t know that you knew things about him. He didn’t know that this was a book, a story, and that this would perhaps never feel real. Something told you to keep that to yourself. Your mind hadn’t let Rhysand see that part. “I think I need time to adjust, maybe.”
Azriel’s brow twitched, but he didn’t give anything else away. He nodded once, eyes fluttering to the ground before pressing his mouth into the whisper of a smile. “Lunch, then?”
Walking beside him involved shadows. They whisked past you and trailed along their master, though he paid them no mind. You, on the other hand, eyed each of their movements, unsure what they were reporting back to him in their brief whispers. You shouldn’t know that they told him things. You shouldn’t know that he commanded them.
“They will not hurt you,” Azriel reassured. He held out his hand and let one pool into the divot of his palm. “They are like extensions of me, but their own beings. They collect information.”
“Should you be telling me that?”
“Perhaps not,” Azriel hummed absent-mindedly. “But you can’t spread secrets to my enemies if I am one of the only three people you know.”
An unexpected laugh bubbled past your lips, the first real bout of humor to find you. You covered your mouth again, this time from pleasant shock, and continued to walk beside the Shadowsinger. He stared at you openly as you did so, only turning back to the hallway when you cleared your throat and pressed your lips together to hide the lingering smile.
“I suppose you’re right,” you agreed. “I’ll have to meet more people.”
“You will regret wanting for that.”
“And what is that supposed to—”
You heard him before you saw him, a low voice asking several questions in the room over. He sounded serious and firm, but his words were trailing and seeking rather than demanding. It wasn’t Rhysand, and the responding female voice was not Mor. You blinked to orient yourself to the onslaught of sounds as those two also spoke up in the conversation. Four—four people in the room and four heartbeats and four paced breaths and—
“Are you all right?” Azriel asked, and you looked to see his eyes searching yours.
“Oh, um, yes.” You glanced at the door where you were sure to enter. “I’m getting used to… hearing things. It's a lot.”
“If you need more time—”
“No!” you rushed out, settling yourself when Azriel’s brow furrowed. “No, I just need a moment. I want to have lunch. I want to see more and see that this is real. My brain couldn’t possibly conjure up something so large. I need to see that it’s big.”
Azriel seemed to contemplate. He glanced at the door and then back at you, tracing the outline of your face as the muscle in his jaw feathered. You had no idea what was running through his mind, so you guessed.
“I promise I’m not a danger to anyone. It really is just the sound. Sometimes the colors and the light. Senses, I guess. But that’s part of all of this—the proving. I don’t have any plans to hurt anyone in there. If that was what—”
“It wasn’t,” Azriel shot down. He moved his hand to the door. “If it… if anything starts to hurt, we can stop. We can introduce you to things more slowly.”
You felt the confusion show on your face. “Hurt?”
“If it’s too much.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
Azriel shifted his weight between his feet. “I only mean that you can leave whenever you might need to. I didn’t understand when you first woke up, but I do know. I understand that this is more than you are used to, but it doesn’t have to be pain that makes things real.”
Oh.
Oh.
Your face heated. “Azriel. Is this about the head thing?”
He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t—”
“I promise I will not slam my head into any walls or hard surfaces again. That was—”
“Rather terrifying.”
“Right,” you blunted. “I can imagine it wasn’t pleasant watching a strange girl freak out and then try to put her head through a wall. But I’m more settled now. I promise, this will help more than anything.”
He searched your face for a moment longer, his mouth parted as if to say more, but he didn’t.
You gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry for being dramatic.”
The door wrenched open before he could speak to the troubled expression morphing his face. A grinning, much larger Illyrian took up the doorway, his wings on full display and contrasting the small shape Azriel had been trying to shove himself into. This man’s hair was longer, his features more rugged and bright. When you startled, a habit it seemed, a sturdy chest connected with your back.
“Cassian,” the man greeted, raising his brows in an inviting motion. “Heard you’re not where you're supposed to be. Happens a lot around here.”
Your gaze flicked down to his outstretched hand, and the size of it dwarfed yours as you hesitantly reached out to accept the shake. He rattled you with one firm, steady flip of his wrist, and the presence at your back seemed to become more imposing.
“Cassian,” Azriel grumbled out.
Cassian only clicked his tongue. “Yeah, got it.” He gave you a conspiratorial look. “He warned me not to be overwhelming. But you can handle it. And I’m not overwhelming.”
The casual air of his words had you blinking, your hand still connected with his. Everyone else in this world had been so formal with you. You knew the contrast to your world had a lot to do with the speech patterns and lack of modernization, but Cassian almost seemed modern. Like you could pluck him out of Prythian and smack him in the middle of Boston and he would adapt within hours. Maybe even pop onto public transit and yell at a curb-side vendor before asking any questions.
“Right. You have mastered the art of subtly, surely,” Mor spoke from around the door. She peeked her head over. “Now let them actually enter the room, Cassian.”
Another wolfish grin directed at you, and Cassian seemed about ready to tug you into the quaint dining room by your hand, but a low sound at your back halted his almost-tug. Cassian’s grin turned teasing as he stared above your shoulder, and he raised his hands up in surrender, a low whistle humming in the air.
“Oh, enough,” Mor murmured at him, smacking his chest. “Let them in.”
Things were certainly different from when you had first woken up. The suspicion was gone from each look thrown your way, replaced instead with curiosity and knowing gazes that you couldn’t place. The light mood you found in Cassian was contagious as you took in the room. Rhysand sat at a long table beside a woman you knew to be Feyre, the pair sharing a private smile and an even quieter laugh. He hadn’t wanted you to be around Feyre—you could remember him saying that.
You knew fae were territorial and protective of mates, and that plot point had been one of your favorites when you read the books, so for him to allow you near her so quickly—
“Oh, hello,” a light feminine voice chimed out. The tone was similar to yours. Familiar but entirely not. “I’m Feyre.”
You offered a nod. Your name. “Nice to meet you.”
She gave you a sympathetic look as you winced against shimmering light reflecting off the pebbled glass of several shining utensils. The entire dining room was alight. “Would you like to sit down? I’m told you have had quite the journey. I’d like to hear about it, if you would be open to sharing.”
“I don’t have very much to offer,” you replied, following her outstretched hand to the open chair at the table. “In terms of the journey, I mean.”
Mor took up the seat across from you, her gaze pointedly down, allowing you to speak. Feyre sat at your left side and Rhysand at the head of the table. There were people missing, even as Cassian found his own place and Azriel lingered near the opposite end. You wondered where the others were, and then cursed yourself for knowing too much.
On the table, the food was like the language—foreign, but eerily familiar. Everything looked like something you had eaten before, but it also didn’t. The colors were slightly off, the proportions skewed. You felt your brow twitch as you tried to make out the type of meat that rested on a bed of greenery, and then took a breath through your lips as your nose began to burn at the extra attention to scent.
“You just woke up here?” Feyre casually asked. She had begun to eat, and so had the rest of the table. Azriel had sat down at some point, though, not directly beside you. Something about that felt unnatural.
“Um, yes. There was a pain in my stomach—like a pulling. I passed out from it, and then I woke up in this house.”
Feyre briefly flicked her gaze across the table before asking, “Do you still feel the pain?”
“No. No, that’s gone.”
She hummed. Rhysand spoke. “Tell us of New York.”
He said the name with such lavish carefulness you almost snorted. “New York is the state I live in. I guess—within the continent I live on, New York is very small, but many people live there. I moved there for school.”
“Is that where scholars typically go?” Mor inquired.
“There are schools all over the country. I was—or am—getting my degree in library science. I’m going to be a librarian.”
The switch to speaking in the past tense was unnerving, and you corrected yourself quickly. You shifted in your seat and picked up your fork, poking at the resemblance of a tomato.
“Library science,” Mor enunciated. “You have to become educated in the study of the library?”
“Yes. It’s very extensive. Libraries are crucial to conveying knowledge where I’m from. Things are more digital now, which many people think makes libraries archaic, but we actually offer quite a bit in that realm.”
“Digital.” Cassian repeated the word under his breath.
“You are very passionate,” Feyre observed, a smile in her voice.
With a furious heat taking over your face, you replied, “I guess so.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence that you landed in our library, then,” Rhysand hummed, his eyes shining violet over the rim of his glass.
Maybe this would be a good time to tell them; you were talking about books, about libraries, and this would be the time. You weren’t sure how they would react, but it had been almost a full day in this world and no one had really tried to kill you. No, they were being… kind? Less doubtful? You weren’t sure, once again, what any of it meant.
Instead of talking, you shoved a piece of spiced meat in your mouth and chewed.
The flavor of it was unlike anything you had tasted before. Your taste buds reacted neutrally, as if you had whatever this was hundreds of times, but your thoughts were driving the meal, and you couldn’t connect your past to the present.
The meat became ash in your mouth. Your fork dropped unceremoniously on the table, and you pressed your fingers to the polished wood to stop yourself from spitting it out. Casual conversation had begun to flow amongst the group, but it quieted at the sound. Your face heated again. The metal clattering against wood still stung at your sensitive ears.
“That bad?” Cassian jested.
You squeezed your eyes shut tightly and swallowed with considerable effort.
“She doesn’t like boar,” Rhysand drawled back. “Noted.”
Noted. Noted?
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you coughed. You reached for the intricately gemmed goblet at your seat and sipped at what you hoped was water. It was not. More choking ensued. Droplets of blood-red wine spilled over the lip as you placed the cup down unsteadily. “Is that alcoholic?” you wheezed.
From the other side of the table, Azriel’s chair scraped against the floor. He was moving things away and pulling out your own chair in a few swift movements. You followed him up only because your brain was in too many directions at once, the unfamiliar spices from the meat mingling with wine in the middle of the day, and then there were the concerned questions peppering the air from those around you, and this room was so bright. Why was every window in this damn house open?
“Something plain,” you heard Feyre instruct as you were guided out of the room in a fit of dramatics. “And water. Do you want me to—”
“No,” was all that came from the Shadowsinger beside you. The hallways became darker. Shadows were lining the walls. When you were alone, Azriel said, “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have assumed everything was okay for you.”
“It was a normal lunch,” you argued, fingers curling around nothing as you followed his slow steps. He had to be slowing them down for you. “At least I can attest to the reality of this place even more now. I’ve never eaten anything like that in my life.”
Though even as you said the words, you held a drop of doubt firm within you.
“Feyre had trouble adjusting to the food,” Azriel said. Mostly to himself. “We should have prepared for that.”
“Feyre?”
“She was human. From the human lands here. She became fae, as you did.”
But you already knew that. You nodded and bit into your tongue. “You know, you didn’t have to drag me out. I know everyone wants to ask me more questions.”
“They can ask you another time. You have had a very long—” his eyes flickered to the back of your head and trailed down to your twitching fingers “—stressful day.”
“Another time,” you repeated. If you woke up tomorrow and were still here, maybe. “Does that mean you plan to keep me around?”
“Where else would you go?”
“You could send me away. I don’t… belong here.”
“You are here now. You landed here. You will stay here.”
“Why?”
Azriel hesitated.
You asked again, “Why would you all trust me so quickly?”
“Rhys saw inside your mind—saw that there is truth to where you say you came from,” Azriel finally offered. “And with the state of the continent, there are many unknown variables.”
The taste of the meat was still in the back of your throat and you swallowed hard. “Do you trust me?”
You caught the underlying meaning in Azriel’s words. Maybe they trusted you, trusted that part of you that you were able to share, but you were also an unknown variable. You needed to be where they could monitor you, and you didn’t blame them. If this were truly all real, all their world, you could pose a threat. But they were being nice, accommodating, and you couldn’t parse out what all of the glances and hospitality meant.
“I want to,” Azriel said.
And then he pushed into the kitchen, you close behind within a trail of shadows.
okkk but i need u to know that the bucky girlies are alive & well. been obsessed w ur writing since undisclosed <3
also the way u write azriel is so divine, to a point where im concerned the next acotar book is going to disappoint me lol
Hiii bucky girlies ily <3 Undisclosed is so special to me!!! And thank you :) Yeah I feel like the way I've built him up in my head is going to be detrimental to my reading experience but maybe (hopefully) we will be pleasantly surprised 🫢
omg i didnt even consider rhys pov but i am extremely intrigued by the idea i feel like u would eat down with that if thats the direction u decided to take
Kathieeeeee, hi how are you? ☺️ I can’t wait for the next part of source material(or the back alley jack abbot oneshot). I don’t know what you got planned for the next parts of source material but I’m really hoping for some hidden signals level confusion and misinterpretation on reader’s part. I’m also very intrigued by whatever power she has been emanating and reading all the speculation has been really fun. Your Azriel series always have me on the edge of my seat for the next parts. So excited to see how source material develops. 🥰
Hiii I’m good just very overwhelmed from work at the moment but pushing through :,) I’m excited to have more writing out (that includes the underground fic) and there will be hidden signals levels of confusion for sure ;) and of course more about the powerrrr hehe I love doing series and this one is giving me motivation outside of work so I’m having fun!! Thank you for reading 🩷🩷🩷
Did you say Bucky 👀👀I’m one of the rare ones on this blog that lives and dies for your posts about him apparently 🤣
Fun fact the only reason I have tumblr is because I read for the love of the game on Wattpad and found out you had more posts on here of him 😭
Omgggg stop that is so crazy idk why I posted that on Wattpad because I literally never go on there but I’m so glad I did because you’re here!! That is such a fun fact actually 🤭
I don’t usually read this trope, maybe I’ve read a few bad ones or at least ones that I don’t vibe with, but damn it if Source Material hasn’t changed my mind about it. Now I’m gonna have to find more that have this slant/vibe because I’m obsessed. All I keep thinking is the reader’s so convinced that the modern world is her world and ACOTAR is the dream, but what if it’s the opposite? What if she dreamed the modern world while being Made? I love the mystery and hinting at things and forever in love with a protective Az
Omg thank you so much for giving it a shot 🩷 :,) I will say there is definitely something going on under the surface and I love writing in hints and peppering them throughout ahhh thank you sm for reading!!
Absolutely LOVING Source Material, thank you for sharing your writing with us❤️. Everyone is asking for an AZ POV chapter (which would be amazing) but have you thought about writing a 3rd person POV chapter on the conversation that happens after Rhys sees her mind? It would be fascinating to see him articulate to the rest of the inner circle what he saw ans see their reactions to it too!! If not that's okay! It was just an idea😊
Thank YOU 🫵❤️❤️ ohhh that would be interesting!! I can maybe weave something like that in! And then we still get the mystery of az’s thoughts
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