Pro Gwyneth Berdara - Blog Posts

For @nestaarcheronweek day 1: Sister, I've decided to draw Nesta with her found sisters, Emerie and Gwyn, as the three Graces from Botticelli's "Spring"

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 7 - Gwyneth | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 593

My sweetest Azriel,

What despairing thoughts you have, to consider yourself the sinner in my story, to see yourself as nothing but an evil spirit, a demon as if I am clean and pure and the epitome of goodness. In fact, it is quite the contrary; I have blood on my hands from the lives I couldn’t save while you have blood on your hands for the lives you took.

But if there is anything I have learned as a priestess, it is this: we are not born sinners, but rather it is our actions that decide our fate, that decide if we get entry into the immortal land of milk and honey. Sin is something we choose to do despite knowing that it is wrong, despite knowing the repercussions.

I know you, Azriel, perhaps more than you give me credit for. I know that you do not hurt people out of spite. You hurt only yourself. You withdraw into yourself so deeply and isolate yourself, building impenetrable walls and fortresses, I wonder each time if I will be able to coax you out of your shell, your sanctuary which you hide in that will become your prison if you refuse to let the light in. I see you, Azriel. I know you think of yourself as non-existent, not quite there, your pain invisible to all, but I see you. I see all of you, and I will not balk. I see your kind heart, your lively spirit, and your dry, witty sense of humour that I have come to cherish. I see your courage and your sacrifice, I see all that you do. There is not a single part of you that is undesirable or unlovable, and I need you to know this.

I see your actions, which are crafted of so much care and a love so deep I am in awe each time I witness it for my own. Each action, each deliberate movement holds so much love in it I am entranced by how a single person may hold such large amounts of it and not combust, how one can manage to hide these parts of thesmelves and not go insane. I certainly would have.

I do not see a sinner in you, Azriel. I never have. I see is a male who works tirelessly, day and night, come what may, to support his family and his court, who fights with honour and has dignity embedded into his soul, who poses such a threat to my heart, to the borders I have erected around it so that no one may penetrate. But you have managed to do just that; not with an army, but with a few kind words that had me crumbling. I had not known such support was needed until I had someone to lean on, to share the burden with, until I had you beside me. 

All I see is a male who is valiant in his glory, resplendent in his awe, who never balks, never falters; a loyal, kind male, who saved a priestess from a temple after a horrific crime, my own knight in shining armour. A patient teacher, a ravenous lover, a kind husband. A male so multifaceted and varied in his personalities I struggle to keep up with all that you are. 

I can only hope to wake beside you each day and discover a new side of you that I have yet to see. I doubt that you will ever stop surprising me. I certainly don’t intend to. 

Unconditionally yours,

Gwyneth

Part 8

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 6 - Azriel | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 398

My precious warrior,

You are shaped like a dagger that somehow knows its way to my heart no matter the obstacles that it faces. You will seek me out no matter what, you will seek me out with such undying precision and terrifying clarity I am left breathless each time you see me vulnerable. You will find your way to me against all odds, I am left breathless each time you manage to read me like a book. It is the certainty with which you behold me that has me shaking, as if your eyes can see all the way to my battered soul and extract all the parts of me that are unlovable with a care so gentle my already fractured heart cracks just a little more, bruises a little more deeply, aches just a little more. I do not know if I shake with fear, with love, with relief, or something else entirely I do not know. I do not think I want to know, for it might just destroy me.

It is if I am shedding layers of myself around you so slowly many would not even call it shedding, or perhaps you are simply too skilled at peeling them back with those steady, stunning, unmarrred hands of yours, with a light in your eyes that is wholly unfamiliar to me. 

I had not known how flimsy my walls were until a scraped nail along them, the lightest brush of a finger had them dissolving and disintegrating into nothing, leaving my soul bare and open and utterly yours to take or consume or destroy or set fire to. Whatever you choose to do with it, whatever you do with the ruin that is me, I will willingly accept my fate, even if I am condemned by God for loving a creature as breathtaking as you, for I should have been aware of the consequences when I first became infatuated by you. When I first laid eyes upon you, when I first talked to you, I truly do not think it was possible for either of us to predict that something as explosive nor fervent could have enveloped us, a fire so purifying and cleansing it rids me of every sin I have ever committed, every malevolent thought and deed of my long-suffering existence, simply because you were not by my side. 

Your eternal love,

Azriel

Part 7 - Gwyneth

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 5 - Azriel | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 509

My precious warrior,

Surely it must be a crime to make a five hundred year old Illyrian cry, and yet here we are. But I will admit that I sobbed upon reading your letter like never before. My tears did not stop, even as I am writing to you now. I apologise for any dark spots on the parchment, my love.

I truly have no words, Gwyn. Truly. No words, save for this immense aching and longing in my chest that increases every moment we are forced to spend apart. This chasm in me; this hole, it only makes me wish for your presence, even more than I already do. 

I had not known such unconditional support and love existed in the world, least of all concentrated in such large amounts in the heart of one person as they are in you. I had not known how full of light you were until I was blinded by it, awed by the glory in front of me and stunned by its briliance. I will admit, it took some getting used to, but now I can look at the light, if not for a long time then at least for a little while and not consider myself completely unworthy. It is a process that is taking far longer than I would have liked, but it is a process nonetheless and so I must be patient as I have been patient with love.

I must learn to be patient with myself, and I have no doubt that you will stand by me always.

I am learning to rest, learning to love, learning how to thrive, learning how to simply be, because I had not been living until I met you. Not truly. I was an empty shell of survival, a hollow husk that encased my body but had no soul. A being that wandered, searching for its purpose, until it found you. 

While the fire that is embedded in my memories destroyed a part of me, your fire ignited my own. Those flickers of light, those initial, weak sputters came together to form such a raging inferno, one that burns only for you, I will be surprised if I do not burn along with it. I will be surprised if it does not swallow us whole and leave nothing but ash and ruin in its wake.

But I do not mind. I will burn happily; I will die happily, knowing I was someone who got to spend even a moment with you and consider you an integral part of my life.

Perhaps this is ironic, coming from a male who spent the better part of his life fearing fire, to say that I was entranced by a being of such passion, such love, and such unending blazing. But I have learned to love, learned to love you and life and all the wonderful things it has to offer.

I cannot wait to experience them with you, and I can only hope that you want the same with me.

Your eternal love,

Azriel

Part 6 - Azriel

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Grief

Part 1 | Part 6 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Inspired slightly by this Tumblr post

Word Count: 2516

Each week, each visit had done nothing to quell the rage and grief within Azriel. He’d gone on missions for Rhys, spent time with his family on Solstice; had even managed to go to Illyria and assist Cassian with keeping some of the camps in check.

Despite it all, despite his routine, the hollowness within him only grew. It was a festering wound, he knew, and would cause him to bleed and explode over people who had in no way wronged him. The problem with being far too self-aware was, he didn’t know what to do with this terrifying piece of knowledge about himself.

As the Night Court’s Spymaster, it was his job to notice subtleties about others that a usual glance or once-over would miss. The slightest pinch of a brow, the crook of a mouth, the barely-there shrug of a shoulder…Azriel had accustomed himself to observing and cataloguing anything and everything that he came across. The trait was as much a part of him as his wings. He didn’t know who he’d be without it.

A moment of weakness on a more recent mission when he’d failed to do exactly that, however, had nearly cost Azriel his life. He’d been scouting the continent for any sign of the mortal queens, any whisper from his spies that indicated a plan or even movement towards Prythian. Sitting on the roof of a ramshackle little hut that was no doubt abandoned, he got the perfect view of the palace they lived in. The decrepit little cottage sat on a small mound (it was too small to even refer to it as a hill) and provided Azriel with enough of a view that he could easily monitor any movements through the main gates.

He’d scoured the smaller, less frequently used drawbridges, though his shadows and his own findings had only ever led to the same conclusion: only the main gates were used. The queens likely preferred their servants to be kept out of sight and thus encouraged them to use to side passageways. Azriel had only ever found servants leaving to get to the stables or go to the market. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

At least, that was how it had seemed until a naga had pounced on him. Azriel barely had any time to react before it had ripped a decent chunk of armour off, penetrating through the metal until the muscle. He’d hissed in pain and barely fought it off, finally killing the damn thing, before he’d winnowed straight home. 

There was no way in hell he was surviving a naga attack when one of his limbs was rendered immobile.

Azriel didn’t remember how he ended up in a warm bed at the House of Wind that night. Cassian must have seen him and called for Madja.

Indeed, she was a talented healer who’d patched him up in less than an hour. He’d felt guilty for coming back so soon with no intel, nothing to report, but he also knew his body’s limits. He wasn’t about to stretch it for the sake of his pride, not when his ignorance had nearly gotten him killed. By a naga, no less.

Upon further contemplation, Azriel made a mental note to ask Rhys about the naga. He’d encountered a few here and there on his countless missions to the other courts, but he couldn’t remember them ever hunting faeries specifcally, or the ability to scale trees with such ruthless efficiency. From what he remembered, they preferred the safety of solid land beneath their feet and only ever hunted mortals for sport and entertainment.

Az? Why are you still awake? As if summoned by his thoughts, the High Lord of Night spoke into Azriel’s mind. A naga attacked me while I was doing reconnaissance of the palace. I’m fine, nothing for you to fret over, but I did have to come back and get Madja to heal me.

I don’t care that you had to come back halfway through a mission. I care about you. Damnnit, Az, why didn’t you tell either of us? There was irritation lining Rhys’ voice, yes, but also concern. It was palpable even through his absence.

I told you, I’m fine. Visit me in the morning. Cass will probably startle awake like a frenzied boar the moment you land. If this was what Azriel had to do to avoid Rhys getting all worked up like a mother hen then that was what he would do.

He’s a deep sleeper. I doubt he’d notice my presence until I made it glaringly obvious to him that I was staying for the night. A pause. Then…Good night, Azriel. I hope you feel better soon.

Sunlight streamed in through the now-open window, the House having drawn the curtains. Azriel still wasn’t used to the fact that the House was sentient, and had found it extremely odd to utter a ‘thank you’ when no one was around. Was it wrong to want a magical house which summoned nearly everything under the sun to like you?

Azriel was awake, and was propped up with a mountain of pillows surrounding him. He hadn’t had the heart to tell Madja that so many pillows would make him feel as if he was drowning in cotton; not as she’d fussed over him and groused over his deteriorating health.

By deteriorating health, she’d meant his lack of a structured sleep schedule, irregular meal times, lack of hydration…the usual. It wasn’t odd for Azriel to receive these comments from most of the healers he visited, each one expressing varying degrees of concern over how and why his regimes were so lax.

This time, however, it seemed that the female wasn’t going to leave without a proper argument. “You need to start taking care of yourself. This neglect and unwillingness to listen to you body’s needs is going to catch up to you one day, and you’ll be worse off for it.”

“I do listen to my body’s needs,” he protested halfheartedly, looking up at the healer who had her arms on her hips in a clear show of disappointment. “I came to you when my arm was nearly bitten off by a naga, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Madja.” Azriel’s tone had softened. “My body does fine on its own. There’s no point interfering in things that are working well enough unattended.”

“Except you’re not.” It seemed that Azriel’s placating voice had done nothing to ease the healer’s worry. “You neglect yourself. Your needs, your wants.”

“I go to a mind healer once every week.” That had Madja sobering up, a newer, more assessing look in her eyes as she took Azriel in again. “Since when?”

“A few months.”

“And have you found that it has helped?”

Azriel fell silent. No, the visits weren’t helping, but he wasn’t getting much better, either. It was hard to tell. A couple of months was hardly anything to the Fae, after all. The loss of his mate was still fresh as ever, the wound just as deep as the day he’d seen her die.

“I see.” Her brow furrowed, clearly interpreting the silence as a negative. Azriel didn’t even know why he’d told her. Maybe he’d needed someone to talk to, and Madja had been the closest person, the one most willing to listen. It wasn’t like there was a line of people outside his door ready to listen to his plights and tragedies, but…it felt good getting that particular truth off his chest. Azriel trusted her. She’d tell no one without explicit permission from Azriel. She was discreet that way, and that was perhaps one of the things he admired most about Madja, aside from her healing abilities.

“I will check on you once this afternoon. If the wounds are not fully healed then I will have to visit once more.”

Azriel knew his body, knew that the wounds had begun healing and would likely disappear by the next afternoon.

✦ ✦ ✦

“I just…I want to go back. To her. To a time when we would have been happy simply because we had each other and we needed nothing more. Every day, I wake up and my first thought is of her. Every morning, I think about what I wouldn’t do to go back. Just once.”

Azriel had been encouraged to go back to the mind healer even if he felt as if the visits weren’t helping. No, encouraging was too weak a word for what Madja had done. Despite being nearly a foot shorter than him, the healer had nearly threatened to freeze his balls off if he didn’t go. It had been amusing, at the very least, to see Madja so worked up, and Azriel had thought nothing but her agitated expression as he made his way down to the too-familiar, all-white room.

All laughter had evaporated, however, when she’d asked how he’d been doing and Azriel hadn’t quite known how to answer. The response he’d given had been an echo, a glimpse into the true stumbling mess that he was.

She’d looked at him as he told her the words he’d been willing to give voice to; an odd, contemplative sort of expression that Azriel hadn’t been able to place. “You could go back. But there is nothing and no one waiting for you there.”

“I am waiting for her there,” he’d answered as he fought not to let his temper get the best of him. “I’ve been waiting for her, and I will continue to wait for the day I die because then it will mean that we will be together.”

“And what will you do once you are together?”

“Simply hold each other. Bask in the other’s presence. She was my light, my sunshine, my everything, and I cannot imagine myself in a world without her.”

Audrine sighed. Not an exasperated sigh by any means, but a quieter one. No, there hadn’t been an ounce of displeasure on her face, only an exhaustion that had Azriel wondering if she was alright. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, though, and Azriel didn’t have any more time to contemplate her well-being as she asked him another question.

“What made you decide to come down here once more?”

As always, her question had caught him completely unawares, and he was only able to utter a one-word response. “Madja.”

“She forced you?” Audrine quirked a brow, but it seemed that the situation was not unusual for either of them: Madja for having to force patients to the mind healers, and them expecting nothing less as they took in patient after unwilling patient.

“No. She…persuaded me.”

The priestess snorted. “Trust me, I know exactly how persuasive she can be.”

Despite himself, Azriel snorted. “She did play a role in getting me to come visit, yes, but that’s not the only reason I came down. I was…involved in a mission recently, so to speak. The outcome wasn’t as I hoped it would be, and I found my thoughts getting the better of me once more. I thought being in the company of others in a quieter environment would help.”

“And these sessions have helped you so much that the first thing you decided to do was to talk to me?”

“Not quite,” Azriel replied with no small amount of hesitation, attempting to soften the blow. “But I told her that I take counselling when she healed me, and she encouraged me to go even if it doesn’t help. She said I lack routine, and that this will help build it. According to her, training for hours on the roof of the House without a break isn’t acceptable,” he finished with a snicker.

“No indeed.” A small smile graced Audrine’s lips as she made more notes, hastily scrawling them in the margins of her notepad. “I do have to ask, though,” she began. “Is there any specific reason you train for so long? I mean, you’re well over five hundred now. Surely the lack of training for a few days, maybe even weeks, wouldn’t be the end of the world?”

How was it possible for someone to see through him at every turn? He’d managed for a long time, so why were his walls beginning to crack now?

“No. I suppose not.” His reply was more brittle, more jagged than he would have liked it to be. At his unwillingness to supply more, she asked again. “Then why do you train so much?’

“It’s…the only way I know how to channel my emotions. It keeps them at bay. That’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember, and I can’t think of another explanation other than old habits die hard.”

“Have you tried journaling?”

“Yes.” This time, Azriel looked away, his eyes finding the wood panelled floor in front of the priestess’ feet far more riveting than their current conversation.

“How did it go?”

“I couldn’t write more than half a page. My hand cramped up.”

“Have you been to a healer to see if anything can be salvaged underneath the scarring?” It was noble of her to care so much for wounds that would never fade.

“Yes.” These were questions Azriel had endured for as long as he could remember. The condescending, pitying tone that most took on when talking about him and his hands nearly had the male seeing red. He was tired of being infantilised, dammnit. “Nothing could be done. The healer did as much as she could, and now I must live with them the way they are.”

The finality with which he said the statement might cause a fresh wave of pity to rise in some, believing Azriel was being pessimistic. He was not. He was practical, and many seemed to confuse practicality with pessimism. If others chose to believe in fantasies they’d spun out of the seemingly endless depths of hope they somehow possessed, they could not complain when that same hope crushed their spirits as it tumbled down like a house of cards blown away with the wind.

Azriel had hoped once. Long ago, before High Ladies or mates or the inevitable grief which followed death like a shroud, an invisible veil he couldn’t seem to rid himself of. He had hoped there was a better life, one where there was no pain, no punishment, no cruelty. They had been the fickle dreams of a child, and he’d held onto them so tightly his nails and cracked and left crescent-shaped marks on his palms, until his fingers went numb and all he could think about was holding on lest he was left behind in the aftermath.

Azriel remembered the days the healer had tried for hours to save at least some part of his hands, to ensure he retained some mobility. When nothing good had come of it, he’d been given a salve for the pain until that too, and rendered the scarring permanent. He’d long since given up on trying to fix it. It was too late now.

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Vibrant Velaris

AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

@nestaarcheronweek

Prompt: Day Six - Birthday Girl (While Nesta doesn’t have a specified birthday in canon, that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate our favorite character turning a year older! How do you think Nesta and the people who love her would celebrate her special day?)

A/N: I hope I’ve captured the Valkyries' banter and general interactions in a way that’s at least a little bit canon-accurate. If not, apologies! I also haven’t watched the Phantom of the Opera (even though I’d like to), so forgive any plot inaccuracies! The info is mostly from Wikipedia and fanart I’ve seen, as well as one quote from IMDb. Also: extremely slight use of drugs for recreational purposes (they get high on mirth root, which is pretty much fae weed), and general horny insanity towards the end (no actual smut, just teasing!)

Word Count: 4253

“Surprise!” Nesta blinked, bleary-eyed and still not quite within the world of the waking as Emerie’s voice floated to her, light and breezy. Sunlight filtered in through the now-open windows, and Nesta bet it was her best friend who had drawn the curtains in an attempt to rouse her.

“You couldn’t have waited a little longer, Em?” Nesta mumbled, eyes drifting closed once again. “Nope! It’s your birthday, which means it would be considered criminal if we let you sleep in late.”

“Come on,” encouraged Gwyn, who was standing on Nesta’s other side. “It’s your thirtieth birthday. You can’t tell me you’re not excited, because then you’d be lying.”

“I am excited. But we didn’t have to start this early-”

“Nonsense!” Emerie’s voice cut through Nesta’s grumbling, and she yanked the covers off. Nesta gave a small yelp as the cold air hit her bare legs. “Aren’t I the birthday girl? Don’t I decide what we do today?”

“You can and you will,” Gwyn said, nearly hauling her friend out of bed. “Once you get up, that is.”

“Cruel, evil females.” The words had no real bite to them, but Nesta let herself be dragged outof bed anyways. She rolled her eyes and began making her way to the bathroom, having figured out the hard way it was easier if her best friends got their way.

When she came out, Gwyn and Emerie were already seated by the table in her chambers. All the grander, more opulent chambers tended to have one, and the House certainly didn’t mind, not as it was currently plying the two Valkyries with pastries and sweets galore.

“What’s all this, then?” Nesta asked, glancing over at her best friends whose mouths were now stuffed with delectable pastries. “Oh, the House wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” Gwyn mumbled around a particularly delicious raspberry tart. “Mmm, these are delicious. Nesta, you have to try some.”

“Oh, trust me, I wasn’t planing to miss out on these treats.” She plopped down beside Emerie. The House had likely sensed her there, and a plate immediately appeared in front of her, along with a spoon and a glass. “Thanks, House,” Nesta said to the ceiling, beginning to pile a slice of chocolate cake and a small block of fudge onto her plate.

At her hum of approval, Emerie only grinned. “Told you. I swear, the House makes such good food.” It seemed that they’d managed to please the House immensely because it only kept serving them increasing amounts of sweet treats until they were all about to burst. Even with Nesta’s infatuation for baked goods, she could tell this was getting out of hand.

Reclining in her chair and letting out a long sigh, Gwyn closed her eyes. “Oh that was the best breakfast I’ve had in a long while.”

“Shut up,” groaned Nesta, too full herself to actually muster much of a coherent response. “You’ll only encourage the House more.”

“Ow,” came Emerie’s voice from beside Nesta’s. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts to breathe, I swear to the Mother. It’ll be a miracle if I manage to walk at all after this.”

It seemed that Emerie’s request for a miracle did not go unanswered after all. Indeed, the three Valkyries spent the afternoon wandering around Velaris after having been flown down by Cassian, Azriel, and Mor. Rhysand was at the townhouse, accompanied by Feyre, meeting with the governors of the city about a particularly pressing matter regarding labour migration.

“I thought you didn’t want anyone ‘interrupting you’ on your birthday, Nes,” teased Cassian as he flew them down. “Yes, well, it’s not like we were planning to waste four hours climbing ten thousand steps, either,” she quipped back.

“Fair enough.” Cassian’s answering grin was sharp enough to cut.

✦ ✦ ✦

The Rainbow emerged in front of them, alight with life and colour as artists and customers alike meandered through the stalls. The theatres of Velaris stood in the distance, elegant and refined in their own way as the Sidra cut through the city’s famed district, glistening in the bright sunlight.

Window-shopping after lunch had quickly turned into actual shopping, and the females had bought their weight’s worth in jewellery, clothes, and shoes, then ordered some items to be collected at a later date. Shop until you drop had been Emerie’s answering phrase when Gwyn asked if they really needed all of this, and none had objected since then.

Now hauling at least four large bags each, they clambered their way up the crowded streets, dodging hordes of people who seemed to be enjoying the pleasant weather. Spring was beginning to properly set upon Velaris, and everyone wanted to be getting as much sunlight as possible before a bout of April showers overtook the City of Starlight once more.

“What time is the play?” Gwyn asked, trying to be discrete but failing miserably. “Four, I think,” came Emerie’s response. “Play? What play?” Nesta’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. “Oh, my bad. It’s not a play. Well, it’s this romantic opera,” came the Illyrian’s clumsy explanation.

Nesta stilled, coming to a halt in front of a stall. She didn’t care if she was blocking someone’s way. The thoughtfulness behind the gesture had tears welling up in her eyes. “That’s…you’d do that for me?”

She’d once mentioned off-handedly how much she loved dance and music, and that she’d never been to a dramaturgy, even as a human. Nesta had been too young, and her family had lost their wealth shortly afterwards. All dreams of one day visiting a production had been lost until today.

“Don’t be silly. Of course we would.” Gwyn’s light voice cut through Nesta’s inner whirl of emotions. “Now come on. I don’t want to be late.”

After managing to coax the information out of them, they let slip that they’d managed to get Azriel in on Nesta’s birthday festivities. He’d found a way to book last-minute tickets for them all. The Shadowsinger had likely had to pull a few strings, but Nesta would properly thank him later.

Making their way up to the Theatre of Margravia, one of the city’s largest, Nesta had to physically restrain herself from gasping. The opulence and grace that the theatre exuded was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Fantastical domes and spires covered the entire structure, each design decorated with enough gold for a small kingdom’s treasury.

Velaris really did like to go all out, splurging on the smallest of luxuries until Nesta was sure she couldn’t possibly see any more wealth or decoration. Oh, how wrong she was.

If the exterior had been breathtaking, the interior was nothing short of heavenly. Nesta had to crane her neck to glimpse the stained glass and intricately painted murals that covered the ceilings in the main lobby. Receptionists’ desks lined in gold and crafted of marble were artfully arranged along the far side of the wall. Neat queues had begun forming as fae waited to be let in, chattering quietly amongst themselves.

To her left, an archway stood with a sign above it: Locker Area. It was beginning to get more crowded, and the three females had to make a decision before they were trampled under the throngs of Fae now entering the main hall.

Thankfully, they managed to make it to the lockers without being jostled too badly. It was half-past three, which meant that they had plenty of time to leave their shopping, go to the bathroom, and get situated with time to spare before the play started.

Leaving their coats and everything else inside, and ensuring that her shopping and woolen overcoat was neatly locked, Nesta glanced towards Gwyn. “Do we ask them at the front desk?”

“I think so.” A slight furrow was visible on the redhead’s brow as she, too, attempted to make sense of this entire social setting. She’d be damned if she committed a single social faux-pas tonight. “The operas here are so different from choirs and singing of Sangravah.”

“That’s what I saw everyone else doing. I mean, we can always ask the receptionist.”

As the three females made their way to the front desk, each clutching a small handbag, conversation resumed in full force. “See? I told you you’d need to dress fancy today,” said Emerie as they walked. “You should start listening to me more.”

Indeed, all three females wore formal dresses, though none was traditional enough to be considered entirely formal. Nesta’s was a plain, crimson gown as if she wore blood on her body. Lady Death indeed. It complenented her complexion wonderfully, and her friends’ gowns contrasted hers. Emerie was in black; Gwyn in teal, both wearing gowns with high slits. While Emerie’s showed of her shoulders with an elegant low cut, Gwyn’s was backless, the gems on it artfully placed and glittering as it caught the light.

“Alright, alright,” came Nesta’s response. “Let’s not get ourselves on a high horse over this, shall we?”

✦ ✦ ✦

“Hi. Three tickets for The Phantom of the Opera, please.” Gwyn flashed a charming, polite smile to the cashier who sat at the reception. Sporting a head of long, indigo hair and stunning silver eyes, she had a slight frown on her face. She seemed to be busy, making notes and writing things in the margins of her ledger. 

“Certainly. Give me one moment, please.” Her voice was smooth, practiced. As she took the tickets from Gwyn’s awaiting hand and crossed off what Nesta assumed to be their names on a checklist, she gave them a tight smile. “Hall three. Straight down and second door to your left. Enjoy the show.”

Thanking the receptionist, they began making their way to the hall, and Nesta’s breath left her lungs in a gasp as she saw the true resplendence that the Theatre of Margravia had to offer its guests.

Seats made of the plushest velvet were placed in a semicircle all around the hall; soft to the touch and rising in height to create a sort of indoor amphitheatre with clear views of the stage no matter where she looked from. Chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, shimmering with iridescence as the daylight struck them from different angles; entering through the elevated windows.

Balconies rose on either side with cutouts that allowed unimpeded views for the members of the audience. Sconces were place periodically along the walls, bathing the entire chamber in a warm, mellow, and almost regal light.

Finally, Nesta’s attention was dragged to the stage itself. A crimson curtain was drawn over the stage, leaving little of the oak paneling visible to the audience, but Nesta had no doubt it was just as, if not more magnificent than any other feature of the theatre.

“Oh my gods,” Emerie breathed beside, clearly as awestruck as Nesta herself. “It’s so…” She trailed off, and Nesta couldn’t agree more. The theatre had left all of them speechless, all playful banter whooshing out of their skulls as a newfound admiration for the stunning architecture overtook them.

Neither of her friends had ever had the chance to visit something so majestic, that she was sure of. Illyrians didn’t exactly value the richness and culture that Velaris had to offer, and Sangravah had its own traditions and rituals unique to the temple.

Needless to say, it was an experience in itself, and Nesta wasn’t going to waste a single moment of it.

✦ ✦ ✦

The music filled Nesta’s blood, imbuing her veins with exhiliration and making its way to her heart, giving it life. It made her feel…Nesta wasn’t even sure what she was feeling, only that she was, and it was wonderful.

She hadn’t realised she’d been crying until her vision went blurry and she could no longer see the singers on stage. Their outlines softened, and she felt a drop of something warm land on her cheek. The last time she’d been this emotional over a piece of music had been at the Solstice Party in the Hewn City years ago, and even that had been short-lived as she was forced to uphold the role of cruel, calm courtesan attempting to seduce a shrewd Eris Vanserra.

Nesta hadn’t realised how much of the world she was missing out on because she’d been healing. It brought a certain air of melancholy to her, despite being surrounded by music and art and her best friends. She made a mental note to herself to come to the opera more often.

The male on stage, a musical genius and the phantom haunting an opera, sang about his love for the singer who was employed there. His fierce passion for her, her adoration for him as he made her his apprentice…Nesta was in a world of bliss.

Their voices were more than apt for these roles, she thought. They complemented each other, and formed a glorious harmony when they sang together. The notes flowed around them and over them, arcing and circling throughout the hall until they crafted an arrow aimed straight at Nesta’s heart. It’s aim landed true, and Nesta could only stare, transfixed, as their voices raised gradually in pitch. 

Sweeping arpeggios and increasingly dramatic chord progressions had her gasping in amazement. Never had she heard something that sounded so chaotic in its glory, something so wonderful it had her heart nearly leaping out of her chest in an attempt to get closer to the music. Indeed, she found feelt her own pulse quickening in time to the escalating tempo, the thud-thud-thud of her heart becoming louder and louder until it filled her eardrums.

Suddenly, applause erupted all around them, and Nesta stood, still in trance, to applaud the performers. They deserve more than flimsy cheering and whistling as if we’re some hooligans, she thought to herself, but only clapped harder. She was still at a loss for words, and didn’t quite know how to show her appreciation for them.

“That was incredible.” Gwyn’s sigh to her left had Nesta’s mind reeling back to her friends. She could only nod dumbly as Emerie and Gwyn, who seemed to have recovered much better than she had, discussed the show.

“-And the way he said his lines-”

“They expect us to be normal after she sang ‘God, give me courage to show you you are not alone’? What the hell?”

“I swear to the Mother, his mask-”

“Did you know, I would have ripped the thing off his face with my teeth if he would have let me, and then fucked him in that suit.”

Nesta hadn’t quite managed to come down from the high, the exhilaration that the theatre pieces had brought her. In fact, it was all she thought about on the way to retrieve their jackets until Emerie’s hand on her shoulder had her jolting.

“Are you alright? You’ve been very quiet since the play finished.”

“I’m fine,” she responded quietly. “I’m just…processing, is all.” Gwyn laughed. “I can imagine. I’ve seen a similar production at the temple once before when I was younger, but the actors were so good I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. I knew what was going to happen, I knew about the Phantom and Christine and yet it felt like I didn’t. It felt like I was experiencing everything all over again. I can only imagine how amazed you must be.”

“Well, that’s enough sappy business for one evening,” came Emerie’s reply. “What’re we doing for dinner?”

“We were having a moment, you know,” Gwyn grumbled, reaching into her purse to fish out the key to her locker. “You didn’t have to ruin it.”

“I’m being practical, Gwynnie dearest. We won’t be able to discuss whatever it is you Priestesses do without something to fill our bellies, now will we?”

Their banter continued as they stepped out into the now cooler spring air. Nesta sorely regretted buying so much, because she could barely carry the bags anymore. Her arms had cramped up, and she’d be thankful if she had any ability in her upper limbs tomorrow. 

“I think it’s better if we go up the House and have dinner there, no?” She asked her friends. “We’ve been dragging these bags around with us the entire day like pirates with our loot.”

Emerie snorted. “True, that.”

“Besides,” the redhead chimed in. “If no one else is already there, then we’ll stay the night.” It wasn’t rare for the other two to spend a night at the House of Wind, seeing as it was safe and secluded enough from the city that no one would bother them. It wasn’t like they needed to go into the city in the early hours of morning or some godsforsaken time at night anyways, so the steps didn’t bother any of them, at least not as much as they used to.

Emerie’s initial trepidation at being trapped in the House had thawed, though it had taken her a while to become fully comfortable with the place the way Nesta and Gwyn were. 

“Rhys is away, I think, and Cass and Az might be in Illyria tonight. We should be fine.”

“What about Mor?” Nesta couldn’t help the wolfish grin that overtook her face at Emerie’s question. “What about her?”

“Not-not like that!” She hissed, smacking Nesta lightly on the arm as Gwyn burst out laughing. “Oh yes like that.”

“I don’t like her that way!” She said indignantly, now visibly blushing. “It’s so cute how you get flustered,” Nesta replied coolly. “One would assume you only get this hot and bothered because you fancy her.”

“I hate both of you. Did we really have to discuss this in public?”

“Yes,” Gwyn wheezed, shopping bags forgotten as she clutched at her stomach. “Our goal for delivering maximum embarrassment has been met.” She fist-bumped Nesta, who was still smirking. Emerie’s glare only deepened, and she rolled her eyes. “Why must you terrorise me so?”

✦ ✦ ✦

“Thank the Gods we managed to make it up here in one piece,” Gwyn huffed, wiping sweat from her now-damp brow.

Nesta only grunted like a heathen, not even bothering to grace her friend with a response. 

Currently, all three of them were sprawled out on the living room sofa, panting lightly in an effort to catch their breaths.

They’d made it halfway up the steps with their fuckton of shopping, as Nesta had called it, before Gwyn had the enlightening idea to simply ask the House for help. “House?” She’d called out in her sweetest voice. “Can we have a ramp or something to help get all this stuff upstairs?”

Immediately, it had summoned a platform lift of sorts, and had waited patiently as they loaded everything into it. That seemed to be where it’s tolerance ended, however, because as soon as they’d gotten situated, the lift had darted up with no warning nor preamble.

They stumbled out of the thing like drunkards, each clutching their stomachs and sporting a complexion that was such a delightful shade of green it would have given the swamps in the Spring Court a run for their money.

The nausea had yet to abate, hence, their intoxicated-like stupor and unwillingness to converse normally.

Simply collapsing on the couch had done at least some good for them, it seemed. They were all feeling much less like half-dead fish and much more like functioning people around half an hour later, and were at least speaking to each other.

It was then the debates for dinner had started.

“Okay, okay. What about…” Gwyn screwed her face up in her concentration as she tried to come up with an idea that all three of them would like. “What about lasagna?”

Nesta made a face. “I like lasagna, but I want something more…” She trailed off, not quite sure to how finish that sentence. “Nesta,” Emerie grumbled. “Just pick something or we’ll be forced to choose for you.”

“You wouldn’t,” she shot back. “I’m the birthday girl.”

“I would. Especially if you take this long to pick dinner, for Cauldron’s sakes. You must rival even me for sheer indecisiveness.” The Illyrian’s patience was wearing out, and they were all getting increasingly hungry.

“Fine. How about shawarma? Or kebab?”

“I can’t handle the spice, remember?” Gwyn objected immediately. “The House says it makes the food less spicy, but I don’t trust it.” She frowned up at the ceiling, eyes narrowing as if trying to get the House to confess.

“Oh my Gods. We’re having fajitas and it’s final.” It was the one Illyrian dish Emerie knew Nesta had fallen in love with. The first few times when Nesta had visited her shop, she’d decided to make fajitas as a treat. Meat in such large amounts was rare, but the vegetables had been no problem since Emerie grew her own. They’d made do, and Nesta had adored the recipe despite its simplicity.

“Ooo, yes, that sounds lovely. These won’t be too spicy for you, will they, Gwyn?” Nesta teased.

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled.

By the time their argument finally died down, the House had finished summoning plates, cutlery, and a large saucepan of fajitas, as well as a large chocolate cake which Nesta was sure would give them a heart attack if they ate more than two bites of. A plethora of sauces along with still-warm tortillas had also appeared, meaning the House had them freshly made.

For the first five minutes, only the sounds of munching filled the room. They were all famished, and no one wanted to waste time on something as frivolous as talking. As their bellies began to fill, though, conversation slowly began trickling back. “Mmm, this is delicious,” were Gwyn’s first words as she spoke around a mouthful of chicken, peppers, and tortillas. “You outdid yourself this time, House.”

It merely flapped the curtains once in response, as if to say, You’re welcome. 

General topics of Valkyrie training, the newest stores in the city, good restaurants, and the like drifted around, punctuated by the occasional teasing jab or giggle.

The sun had begun setting over the horizon, casting a soft, golden glow throughout the open chamber, but no one paid any heed to it. Currently, they were all scarfing down more chocolate cake than what a normal person would deem healthy, but…it was Nesta’s birthday, which meant that she could eat whatever she wanted. By extension, the same rule applied to Gwyn and Emerie, and none cared about the stomachache they were likely to be hit with later that same night. Right now, Nesta’s story was far more interesting, with her friends hanging onto every word like entranced children.

“-And then he called me a witch in front of everyone.”

“What? Just for using the weapons while you were on your cycle? What a bastard.”

“Please tell me you didn’t let the prick get off that easily, Nesta,” said Gwyn, glowering. “Oh no,” she responded, grinning. “Most certainly not. “I went up and brushed a finger along every single one of his weapons, you know the ones on the racks? And then I looked at him sweetly and told him that he had to bury all the daggers now, because I’d cursed them.”

That sent Emerie howling with laughter, and she collapsed on the couch, wheezing. Despite herself, Gwyn cracked a smile, which dissolved into a cackle almost immediately as Emerie trembled.

“No way.” Gwyn was still in disbelief. “I’m not joking about this one,” said Nesta. “I’m dead serious.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Nesta’s mind was blissfully hazy, and she had the stupidest grin plastered on her face as Gwyn rambled on about…something. She’d long since lost track of what anyone was saying. She heard Emerie’s voice join the conversation, but didn’t have the energy to pay attention.

The scent of lavender and vanilla permeated the air, as well as the distinct smell of smoke.

Ridiculously high on mirth root and lounging in a large bathtub with expensive soaps and oils, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d indulged in something like this. The joint they’d shared was currently in Gwyn’s hands, and she let out a puff, eyelids drooping shut.

“Nesta,” Emerie called, drawing her name out. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re fucking hot?”

She couldn’t help as a snicker left her lips. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back on the edge of the bathtub.

Inhibitions were nearly non-existent at this point, seeing as they’d been in here for well over an hour. The House, Cauldron bless it, had kept the water warm this entire time, almost as if it, too, was enjoying watching the three naked females’ antics.

“Thanks, babe.”

“No, like, I’m serious. Like you’re ass is so fine in those training leathers, did you know? I honestly don’t know how Cassian hasn’t fucked you yet.”

“You can’t be talking about Nesta’s ass when you were practically flashing half the city in that gorgeous dress of yours. Oh my Gods, your tits, Em.” Gwyn groaned. “I’d lick them if you let me.” With that, she passed the pipe to Emerie.

Their conversation only became more depraved after that. Comments about certain body parts quickly devolved into detail descriptions and explanations about how they’d fuck each other. At some point, the House had materalised bottles of some of the strongest liquor. Despite their best judgement, they gave in letting the sentient structure pamper them for this one night.

It was, after all, their best friend’s birthday.

A/N: The “Theatre of Margravia” I mentioned here is actually based on the Bavarian Margravial Opera House in Southern Germany. I thought the name sounded pretty and I encourage you to search up pictures! We also don’t know very much about Velaris’ Rainbow, and I’m never one to pass up an opportunity for worldbuilding!

Letters of Grief

Part 1 | Part 5 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 2380

Azriel’s visits to the healer became more frequent after that. It had taken a significant amount of bravery (more than he cared to admit to himself, let alone anyone else) to make his way there a second time lest the priestess think him a weeping, whining mess. He’d gone, though, so that had to count for something. At least, that was what he told himself.

He never shared the contents of his visits with anyone, preferring to unpack each session in the privacy of his own mind or room, where he had time to reflect or merely cry depending on how it went. 

Audrine, the priestess who had helped him, had been nothing but patient and unconditionally kind. Overly kind, he thought to himself sometimes. How was he to deserve this kindness, accept it as part of himself, his heart, when he’d let his own wife die? 

The sessions had helped in that regard, too. He was now steadily learning how to get rid of those thoughts that had dominated his life for more than five centuries. To Azriel’s chagrin, he hadn’t made any progress at all. Audrine had reassured him that such deeply rooted ways of thinking required unraveling the knots and tightly wound beliefs; only then was it possible to weave it into something new and steadfast; a clearer, better, healthier way of thinking that wouldn’t harm him nor those around him. 

They had progressed from soft hellos and awkward silences to hesitant hugs and smiles, and Azriel was starting to enjoy the relationship they had built.

It was tentative, but it was something. A budding relationship. Now, he had someone outside the Inner Circle he could talk to without judgment or remorse or comments that would set him on edge and cause him to retreat further into himself.

As much as he loved his family, their remarks often became too jagged, bearing thorns that cut wounds which lay buried so deep it was impossible for anyone to know they even existed. The thin, barely noticeable cuts they left stung with each movement, even as they were invisible to the naked eye. But they were visible to Azriel, for how could he forget the story behind each scar he bore?

Until he’d come across Gwyn, he’d had no idea how to separate himself from what had happened to him and himself. She’d taken one look at him and known exactly what it was that bothered him, which demons he harboured and hosted, and which battles he fought every day; for she had fought the same battles too. It killed something in Azriel every day to know that another sort of battle had won, had taken her from him too soon, too quick. 

He took a deep breath, inhaling for four counts, holding for four, and exhaling for four, then holding again and repeating the process until he felt like he wasn’t about to explode. She’d taught him that, how to still one’s mind when grief overtook it like an unwelcome guest who’d overstayed their welcome; pushing and prodding and shoving at every pleasant memory until they were all tainted by charcoal and soot and ash and dust, until all that was left was a hollow husk.

✦ ✦ ✦

“I hate myself,” Azriel rasped finally, the words coming out breathlessly panicked and mumbled as he fought to keep his composure. Audrine had reassured him that crying was more than okay on multiple occasions, and that it was necessary for the heart to let out the emotions that had been building up like a dam ready to explode.

“Why?” She asked, voice clear and devoid of judgment, instead sounding curious but not surprised. It must be commonplace then, for people to come to her with doubts of self-loathing that haunted them on their darkest nights, the body too empty and the soul too full. 

“I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.” The words echoed around them, but Audrine’s voice disspelled the shroud of insecurity that had begun to take form, waving away the wisps of smoke and uncertainty, filling the room instead with a clarity and surety that left Azriel feeling more grounded than he ever had before. It settled deep into his bones and calmed something restless in him, something that had awoken again after Gwyn’s passing; as if the demons he’d kept at bay had been unleashed once more. 

“What makes you feel that way?”

“I..I’m not sure.”

“Is there anyone or anything that triggers these thoughts? A specific event?” She clarified. Azriel shook his head, unsure himself of a trigger that might have led him to believe such thoughts. He’d had them rooted in his mind for so long, he hadn’t stopped to reflect on how, exactly, they came to be.

Audrine snapped him out of his superficial reflection, and the speed with which she changed the conversation had Azriel reeling as he fought to regain his metaphorical footing. “Did you ever visit a mind healer after you were let out of your cell?”

“What?” Azriel barely registered the words as unwanted memories, and the distinct scent of mildew, fear, and blood clouded his mind. Soft cries filled his ears, and he couldn’t tell if the sobs were his own or not. 

“No.” He barely managed a coherent response, and it took more willpower than he cared to admit to suppress those feelings that had resurfaced, like grime on a clean plane that had taken immense amounts of energy to be rid of.

She merely hummed and continued, “I assumed so.” “What gave it away?”

One thing the Spymaster of the Night Court prided himself on was his ability to keep his emotions hidden and locked away in the deepest crypts of his mind so they wouldn’t ever come to light. It was less of a bother, and it allowed him to focus his energy on more important matters. It grated on him to know that someone who’d known him for a few hours could pick apart his carefully crafted facade, rip it down like it was made of nothing but paper and fragile hopes. 

“The way you struggle to keep eye contact, how your eyes always dart to the all the exits in a room, your struggle to open up emotionally…it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” she supplied gently. “We’ve been seeing these signs in countless patients of centuries. Each one thinks that they’re doing a wonderful job keeping their feelings hidden, but they’re not. All it takes is one observant eye.”

“Please-” Azriel swallowed, his throat tight. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.” The last thing he needed was his family pestering him about his sessions, why he felt like he couldn’t talk to any of them instead of an unknown third party. What he most definitely did not need was anyone else outside of this Court knowing. It would create unease in his spies, and the security of his home was something Azriel would not risk, even if it came at the cost of his own sanity.

“Of course,” she replied easily. “Whatever you say within these chambers is, and will remain, strictly confidential.”

The certainty with which Audrine said those words had him nearly believing her. Nearly. 

“Forgive me,” Azriel began, shame coating his features as he attempted to get the next words out in a way that wouldn’t ruin whatever friendly purgatory he and the priestess had entered. “But I’d like to make a bargain. I know you said you wouldn’t tell anyone, but…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish his sentence lest he dig a deeper hole for himself. 

“Oh, there’s no need. All the healer’s chambers are warded so that anything discussed or done in them can in no way be accessed by anyone that is an outsider. It was one of the many shields the High Lord put up when he came into power.”

“It’s why we encourage patients to open up as much as they can,” she continued, clearly oblivious to the newfound marvel Azriel had found for his adoptive brother. “It gives them a safe space to open up about things that the outside world might not be as accepting of.”

A part of Azriel considered himself a coward for coming here, for seeking help when everything was seemingly fine. But it wasn’t, another whispered, taking its place. More insistent and demanding to be heard, it diverted Azriel’s attention from the usual self-loathing that filled his mind.

Maybe it was a good thing that he’d come. Maybe it had been time for him to seek help.

Despite that, Azriel also knew he could never tell her everything about his life. Some knowledge was best kept close to the heart. After all, he’d hidden and hoarded away secrets like precious jewels his entire life. What was one more in the grand scheme of things?

His heart would become lighter with these sessions in due time, and he’d make room for other, more vital matters.

Of course, Azriel was far from well. There was easier, and there was healthier. Azriel had been taking the easy way out in life, he’d realised. In his relationships and caring for himself, he often did the bare minimum, sustaining the relationship just enough so that it wouldn’t wither; watering it just enough so it wouldn’t die. But growing a relationship was much like growing a plant; it required much more than water. A proper foundation and soil, the right nurturing and care, and enough light in its life.

Azriel had to trust in Audrine, in his own ability to overcome the adversities that lay ahead. He couldn’t live life with the hesitation of thinking what would happen if he got hurt. He’d done that once, long before Gwyn had even come into his life, and Azriel knew he had been miserable for it. A shell of a person. He refused to go back there. 

Noticing the change in his demeanor, Audrine’s face softened. “I know that loving again will be hard. No one here is saying that you have to find romantic love right now. Or ever, if you wish. But you must trust in your own ability to be hurt and get over it. It will prevent you from enjoying the wonders that life has to offer. Quite frankly, it’s a silly thought to have when your whole life is a testament to your resilience and spirit.” “You think I’ll be able to love again?” He asked quietly. “I think that you can love someone up until the very day you are no longer here. Our past relationships don’t define our ability to love. Our strength and willingness to come back, either as who we were before or a different person entirely, does. Our willingness to sacrifice, to communicate, to care, does. And you, Azriel,” she finished, “Are one of the most caring people I know.”

He only nodded, unsure of how to accept the compliment. Whether Audrine noticed his discomfort or not, she did not let on.

A comfortable sort of silence settled over them, not nearly as damning or as nerve-wrecking as it had been previously. 

“What if…” Azriel swallowed, trying to rid his throat of the dryness that had begun to accumulate. “What if I can’t love again? What if it’s not the same?”

“You won’t if you don’t believe. But you have to trust in yourself. If not in yourself, then you have to trust in whatever you believe in that things will get better. Not immediately, not suddenly, not all at once, but so gradually that you won’t even feel it until one day, you’ll wake up and realise your life has been tilted on its axis entirely. You’ll notice these subtle changes in yourself, and you’ll have woken up a different person. Your scars might not have faded, but at least they won’t hurt, and that’s what matters.

“Besides,” she continued. “Love isn’t supposed to feel the same. It’s unfair to yourself and to your mate to expect a love that will look and feel exactly the same, because it won’t. You’ll create new memories and you’ll experience life differently, but that doesn’t mean your old life and your old memories will disappear. Your heart will only have more love, not less, simply because you choose to love. But that’s the hardest part. You have to choose to care and cherish, because the only way we can crawl our way out the hole we’ve dug is to choose our best interests every time. It’s going to be difficult, but it will be worth it.”

He’d been clawing his way out of that hole that he called his grave since the day he’d been born. It was his birthplace, and yet he felt no love for it, only hatred and a chilling sort of calm that only came with over five hundred years of surviving.

Surviving, because he hadn’t truly been living. What he’d thought was pleasant and mildly comforting, when he’d confused his lust for love was when Azriel had believed that he’d been happy. Oh, how wrong he’d been.

Love is something we all deserve, no matter what your mind might tell you. It is not a reward or prize that we must earn for being supposedly ‘good’ people. We deserve it because we exist. It can be hard to believe, and there might even be some days when you feel the exact opposite, when you feel such immense hatred for yourself it can feel as if there is no other emotion in your heart. But that is precisely when we must choose to be even kinder to ourselves, because that is when we need it most.

It was a conversation that played in Azriel’s mind constantly. No matter where he was, what he was doing, it was her words, his mate’s words, that got him through the days when he felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest by bloodthirsty talons determined to shred him to pieces.

A/N: Inspired by this and this Tumblr post. Also, I highly encourage you to check out @persianmom for motivation and quotes!

Part 6

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Grief

Part 1 | Part 4 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 1465

He hated it, how everyone seemed to walk on eggshells around him, as if they were afraid he would combust at the slightest trigger. It grated on him to know that they thought him so fragile and breakable. 

It had started with averted gazes, hushed conversations and oddly sympathetic looks from everyone around him. He hadn’t told anyone what was going on, but it was clear that they sensed a change in Azriel’s already tense demeanour. 

He was haunted by the memory of her; so much so that it was like carrying in a shroud with her name on it everytime he entered a room. How was he supposed to carry on with this life when fibers of her being were embedded in the very heart and soul of the Hosue?

No one had dared to mention it, at least not to his face, but even Azriel could see that his grief and in return their worry, was palpable. 

Tension had begun to seep into a room every time he walked in. Gradually, but it increased with every additional breath he spent in there. It was why he’d taken to fleeing a room when it became overcrowded with people.

Azriel had struggled initially with that. He remembered it vividly, how he’d shut down, refuse to speak or make eye contact until it was a socially acceptable time to make up a pathetic excuse and just leave. The only thing that had grounded him during large social interactions of any kind was his mate, kept him from spiralling entirely.

But she’d loved social events, and so he’d found a way to stay. She’d thrived with hordes of people around her, basked in the light, and so he had too. Azriel didn’t regret it one bit, but it hurt like hell. 

He didn’t know how long it would hurt for.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Good morning, Clotho,” Azriel began in a voice that sounded far too happy, even for him. The High Fae female sat at her desk; hood drawn while a pen wrote something on a piece of parchment in an elegant handwriting he couldn’t help but envy. Said pen paused mind-sentence, and the sounds of scribbling on parchment filled the air once more.

Good morning, Shadowsinger. What can I do for you today?

Azriel’s eyes flicked down to the note, reading the words swiftly. “I…is one of your healers available?”

A quizzical tilt of the High Priestesses head and next sentence had Azriel rushing to explain. Is everything alright? Of course we have healers, but I believe the High Lord’s preferred one is Madja? Is she unwell?

“Madja’s fine” he started. “But I meant…not-not normal healer. A…mind healer. For me.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he swore he saw the faintest smile on her lips before it vanished like perfume on the wind. 

Certainly. Is there anyone specific you’d like to see? “Whoever’s free and available right now.” Azriel didn’t want to disturb a priestess from their routine for something as simple as this.

I’ll direct you to a room in just a moment. 

“Is there anything specific you wanted to tell me?” Azriel’s brow quirked up.

It was clear she was smiling now.

I want you to know, Shadowsinger, that what you’re doing is incredibly brave. It takes a certain amount of courage to face demons on the battlefield, but an infinite amount more to face the ones inside our minds. Good luck.

Azriel thought his throat might close up, but he managed to get a raspy “Thank you” before gesturing for Clotho to lead the way.

✦ ✦ ✦

It still took him a decent amount of twists and turns to avoid getting lost in the labyrinthine maze that was the House of Wind’s Library, and he could only speculate at how the Priestesses managed to do it with such efficiency. The countless levels, ramps, and shelves were like home to them now, he supposed.

Like anything, he presumed it took a healthy dose of patience and an iron will that wouldn’t bend. He couldn’t help but admire the efforts they’d taken to acquaint themselves with the Library, and then take care of it as if it was their own.

Azriel was wrenched out of his thoughts and Clotho took a sharp turn, causing him to swerve and lean his hand against a bookshelf to avoid toppling over. He avoided shadows as often as he could, especially in places like the Library where he knew his covert presence wouldn’t be appreciated.

Evening out his footsteps so as to keep a steady rhythm (and hopefully calm his racing heart down) he continued further into the heart of the Library.

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel took a shaky breath, hand raised as he stood, preparing to knock on the door in front of him for the past five minutes.

The fact that he’d even made it down here without turning back was a feat in itself. He hadn’t been too sure about this in the first place, but he supposed there was a first time for everything. Better late than never, he supposed.

Closing his eyes, he let his knuckles rap sharply on the door, the sound as cutting and damning in a way he hadn’t known a simple knock could be.

✦ ✦ ✦

He didn’t know how long he’d been sat here for. A priestess had opened the door, looking over him once and asking him to take a seat. He’d complied, only because he didn’t know what else to do, and had to resist the urge to fiddle with the locket now permanently clasped around his neck. 

He’d been sat on a light grey sofa staring at the blank wall for the past…however long it had been. She hadn’t said anything, only perched on the edge of a chair, hands folded neatly on her lap, and waited.

It was his first time at a mind healer’s clinic. They were effective, he’d been told, slowly and methodically working through one’s issues until they were no longer there.

Azriel only hoped she could salvage whatever ruin was left of his mind and soul. 

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Azriel finally started, voice far softer and insecure than he would have liked. “I understand.” The calm, cool voice of the Priestess in front of him settled some of the roiling anxiety in Azriel, and he fought not to let his hands fidget like a nervous teenager. 

“I’m not quite sure what to say,” he admitted after the silence had begun to become unbearable. “Anything,” she prompted. “Anything you’re feeling or something you want to talk about. Something that’s happened that’s making you feel a certain way.” “My-” he swallowed, clearing his throat as the lump that had formed threatened to take over. Not here. Not now. “My mate passed a while ago and I’m just…having a hard time coping, I suppose.”

Well. The words were out now, and he couldn’t do anything save for praying that the ground would suddenly open up and swallow him whole, hopefully saving him from the imminent embarrassment that was sure to come.

Instead, the priestess nodded, bright brown eyes glinting in the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. So young. She was so young. He wondered if she’d found her mate yet. If she had, he prayed to the Mother that she’d get longer with them than whatever fleeting moments he’d gotten with his own wife.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can only imagine what you’re going through.” Not I know what you’re feeling or Oh, you must be so sad, but rather a grim admittance that she didn’t know his feelings; had no idea of the inner turmoil that hounded him every day.

“I had her for such a short time, and now she’s…gone,” he finished lamely. He didn’t know what else to say. It was what he’d been thinking, and he owed at least that much honesty to himself after locking his emotions away in the dusty, undiscovered crypts of his mind. 

He owed it to his Court, to his family to not spiral, to get better, to heal. He owed it to his mate, damnnit. 

“What was she like?” It was the first question she asked, and yet it pierced something in Azriel. She likely sensed his aversion to the question and added, “You can tell me as much or as little as you would like. But I’d like you to try.”

“Kind.” The word escaped his mouth in a whisper.

Something wet landed on his hands that he’d kept in his lap. Tears, he realised. He was crying.

It only took one card falling for the entire house to come crashing down, and suddenly, Azriel was drowning in his own grief.

A/N: I’ve never been to a therapist before, so sorry if something is inaccurate! I also sort of extrapolated based on which healers we've seen (and my own imagination of course)

Part 5

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Grief

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 949

Clutching a locket in his hands, the cold metal biting into his skin, he let out a shaky breath. Perhaps flying would be a better option today. He didn’t trust himself not to collapse on the way home.

Azriel checked that his mental shields were up for what seemed to be the thousandth time today. It wouldn’t do to have Rhys or Feyre checking in with him. As much as he understood their concerns, they were busybodies, no matter how much they tried to deny it. It wasn’t like Azriel was in the mood for interaction, anyway.

It hadn’t stopped Rhys from knocking on his mind a few times. He’d promptly ignored, it, and Rhys had given up. If something was truly an emergency, Rhys would shatter his walls with little more than a thought. 

He took off into the air, the thoughts swirling around his mind like the air he’d blown up as he took flight. The calming, relentless sound of his wingbeats filled his ears, and Azriel was reminded once again for his love of flying. 

To be a spectator of people’s lives and not an actor, to be given an outside perspective as he pondered were opportunities Azriel wouldn’t ever forget. He knew he was blessed by whatever higher power there was, to be able to fly despite starting so late. Not many managed to do that, but he had. It hadn’t been a matter of choice; rather one of survival, but he tried not to dwell too long on that. 

Azriel had still not let go of the locket he’d bought moments ago. Flat on one side and engraved with a compass on the front, it was slowly becoming his lifeline.

A compass, he’d requested the jeweler, because that was who Gwyn was. His true north, his guide through his most trying times, his north star. His light, who would make sure that he never sat alone in the dark for too long. His confidante, his nymph, his love. His, his, his. 

Every beat of his heart thrummed with the knowledge that they were made for each other. 

The tears he’d been holding at bay threatened to spill over, and his throat tightened to point of pain.

Veering to the right, he made a beeline for the House of Wind. No one would be there at this time of day: Cassian was in Illyria to make sure the laws were being upheld, Rhys and Feyre were at a meeting with the Governors of Velaris, and Amren was in Summer. Mor was probably out in the Palaces, shopping. Azriel didn’t think she’d make it back past midnight, or without a partner in tow.

Seeing everyone pair off with their significant others had left Azriel feeling more adrift than he cared to admit. He was supposed to have had that, dammnit. 

Azriel only increased his pace, wanting to get to solid land before he broke down again. The crackle of the shield that surrounded the House buzzed through him, sending small jolts of electricity through his veins. 

He landed in no time, feet touching down on one of the larger balconies. The only people who might be here today were the Valkyries, but he knew they had a day off. Nesta and Emerie tended to spend their holidays curled up in a wing of the House, reading with enough chocolate to make any decent person sick, or downstairs in the Library. 

Thankfully, his room was far away from theirs, so the chance that he’d bump into them was minimal. 

As he walked, Azriel couldn’t help but ruminate over the initial days after his mate’s death. How he hadn’t been able to bring himself to eat and how Rhys had to nearly shovel food in his mouth lest he die. How he hadn’t trained for weeks, staying holed up in his room and refusing to talk to anyone. It was too painful, to heart-wrenching to see her friends try to move on with their lives as he tried desperately to piece back his. To be honest, he didn’t have much of a life before Gwyn. It was her who showed him how to live, to thrive, to enjoy life and its glorious moments. 

How sleep had evaded him, elusive as ever, how his nightmares forced him to live through the memories of that horrific day, as if the waking thoughts that plagued him weren’t enough. 

At long last, he reached his bedroom door. Unlocking it, he stepped inside, and fished the locket out from where he’d tucked it into his pocket mid-flight. It was too precious to lose. 

With shaky hands, he stroked a thumb over Gwyn’s letter. It had been lying on the mantle of his fireplace. No matter where he’d been these past fw days, his mind and his heart had been right beside her. Close to the letter she’d written him, as near as he could get to that declaration of love. 

He hadn’t been able to let go of it, no matter how much he’d tried, and so Azriel had decided that the best way to preserve what little was left of his mate was a locket.

Folding the note into crisp, neat sections, he slipped it into the locket. The click of the locket as it closed echoed around him; through the room and into his heart, as damning as the final peal of a bell before the grief struck, uyielding and unreleting.

It was over, he knew it, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to move on. She was his, and he was hers, in all the ways that mattered, and then some more. 

The only thing that wasn’t there was her.

Part 4

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Grief

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 395

The letter had become as much a part of his soul as was Gwyn.

He slept with the piece of parchment every night; Truth-Teller and the letter sharing the coveted, dark space under his pillow. Kissing it goodnight as a lone tear slid down his cheek, he closed his eyes, and the only thoughts that occupied him were those of his mate, as he drifted into a deep slumber.

He dreamt that night. 

Of a meadow filled with sunshine and flowers, where they would run through the tall grass, Gwyn’s giggles echoing around the area like warm honey poured over his cracking heart. The sun would be shining, resplendent and glowing in all its glory. He’d hug her around the waist, press a kiss to her neck, and they’d lay down in the meadow, holding hands as they gazed at the sky, talking about everything and nothing all at once. A light kiss on the cheek, a deliberate brush of their hands as they lay together. A pointed finger at the sky, and soft laughter filling their souls. He would gaze into her eyes, and fall in love with her, all over again, just as he had the first time.

Time would slip through their hands like water as they had eyes only for each other. They would lay there, drinking each other in like starved lovers.

But the fog would soon dissipate as soon as it had arrived, and Azriel would wake with a pit in his chest so deep he didn’t know how he’d survive. He’d wake with the soft scent of water lilies so deeply embedded in his nose he didn’t think he’d be able to forget it if he tried.

Love, in all its wild, unruly, unforgiving forms, had decided to haunt him, too. 

It was a nightmare, in the most agonizing way possible, to know that Gwyn would never be his other than a memory. A memory that he couldn’t touch, couldn’t hold, couldn’t be close to, a memory that brought him so much pain as his heart overflowed with all the love he had. The love that he harboured for her was now quickly turning to grief, faster than a fire setting ashes to all they had built. Their life, their home, their family, all crumbling to dust after the tragedy that left nothing but ruins in its wake.

Part 3

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Grief

Part 1 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Summary: Gwyn has written a letter to Azriel after her death, and he finds it when he’s cleaning out the attic.

Word Count: 955

The dust blew up in great swathes, settling in his nose and deep inside his lungs. Heaving a great cough, he swatted at the air until the dust motes settled, glimmering faintly in the sunlight shining through the small attic window.

He’d been up here for hours, combing through old boxes and crates to find an old report that Rhys had wanted.

“Can’t Nuala or Cerridwen look?” He’d asked his brother this morning, exhausted from the previous night. Rhysand sighed, running a hand through his immaculate hair. “No. It’s confidential.”

“What don’t those two know?”

“Normally, I wouldn’t have a problem with it, but these ones are dealing with our relations to Autumn. With Eris already on our backs like a fucking hound, I need to know as much as possible about him and his cursed court with as few leaks as possible. Hopefully we’ll find something useful that we can use against him.”

Azriel fought the urge to say it was him that would be doing the searching, and all of Rhys’ dirty work. There was no we. Instead, he asked, “What about the Library? Surely you can send Clotho or Merrill to take a look?”

“Those priestesses have enough on their hands.”

Giving in, if only to avoid hearing piss-poor excuses from Rhys, he agreed. “Fine. Where, exactly, do I find this information? If it’s all historic, then I doubt it’ll be in Autumn right now. Besides, it’ll either be destroyed or so deep in their libraries it would be foolish to infiltrate, merely on the chance that we might find something.”

“You’re right.”

And that was how Azriel had found himself knee-deep with nothing and no one but cardboard boxes and crates that seemed to be at least a couple of centuries old as his only company. His shadows, promptly sensing the dust, had hidden themselves away and refused to come out, no matter how Azriel coaxed them. Fine. I suppose I’ll have to do this without magic then, he’d muttered to them. And so the relentless digging had begun.

What he was looking for, even he wasn’t sure. Just bring back something that’ll give us an upper hand at the meeting in the Hewn City. Remember, it’s in a week, was all Rhysand had said. Vaguest fucking instructions, he thought to himself, grumbling, as he rummaged through the deep trenches of cardboard boxes.

But just as he was getting up to examine a container in the far corner that he’d likely missed, his wings, far too large for the attic, knocked another box over, causing the contents to spill out onto the rotting, half-maggot-eaten wood floor. 

He groaned, running a hand over his face. Wonderful. More for him to clean up. He could be at home right now, eating a good meal, or training, but no.

As he squatted down to rifle through the contents, a piece of parchment caught his interest. It was blank, but wasn’t as old or frayed as the others. In fact it seemed relatively new, considering its colouring and the edges of the parchment. 

Gingerly, he picked it up with a scarred hand, and flipped it over, and his eyes widened. The handwriting, the font, the way the g’s curled and the way the y’s arced…it was all familiar to him, familiar to his soul like a symphony he’d been waiting years for. His mate’s handwriting. His mate, who was no more. His mate, who had left this world far too early. 

He hadn’t realized he was crying until he saw a teardrop land on the paper, right where she had signed her name in an elegant scrawl. Immediately, the ink began dissipating, running over the parchment like black, swirling hands. So similar. Too similar to his shadows, the way they flowed in and around each other. 

He couldn’t bring himself to read it, and yet he knew he had to know what his mate had written. Through blurry eyes, he could barely decipher the text, but he tried nonetheless. Every word caused his breath to get lodged in his throat, the lump increasing, and it became harder to speak. To think, to function. Her. Only her. That was all his mind kept telling him, all it kept drifting back to, and he didn’t know how to make it stop.

Furiously blinking his tears away, he locked eyes with the text on the parchment, the sole reminder of his mate.

Dearest Azriel,

How I wish I was with you. It’s so dreadfully boring here, and Nesta and Emerie are at it again. Over a piece of chocolate cake, no less. Can you believe it? A Carynthian and Oristian warrior, having won the Blood Rite, are fighting over a piece of chocolate cake. 

But as entertaining as it is to watch them have a go at each other, the reason I’m writing this letter is because I’m so terribly lonely without you. Every minute that I am way feels like torture, and no matter what I do, my thoughts seem to lead back to you. Awake or asleep, my body can’t relax, not without you by my side. It is almost like it knows, some deep, subconscious part of it knows that you are not here. It makes me wish for you all the more. 

As hopeless as it sounds, as pathetic as it is, I know I must get my feelings down somewhere. There is no way, no chance I shall ever tell you these words. For you will never find this letter, and never know how deeply my soul craves yours, despite us being mated. 

Unconditionally yours,

Gwyneth

“Gwyn,” Azriel whispered thickly. My love. Oh, how I wish we could be together one last time. 

Part 2

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

My First Love

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: This can be read as an alternate ending to “The Final Goodbye” (with a HUGE time skip) but also as a standalone! Inspired by the sentence “Who was your first love?” This was also originally meant to be posted on Valentine's Day, but whatever

Summary: When asked about his first love, Azriel doesn't quite know how to respond.

Word Count: 1665

Bright sunlight streamed in through the half-open cream curtains, the voices of Velaris’ citizens making their way up through the open window. The smell of freshly baked pastries wafted in, and the shouts of vendors as they tried to sell their goods drifted in as well.

The chatter and laughter of people on the streets as they meandered in and out of the stores by the Sidra eased something in Azriel. He sat on the couch, an ankle over a knee. His glasses were propped up on his nose as he perused a particularly interesting book, one he hadn’t had time to pick up in quite a while due to his never-ending Spymaster duties. 

It was mid-afternoon, and it was his day off. Rhys had insisted that he worked too hard and that Azriel deserved to take a day for himself. Grumbling, he’d reluctantly agreed, and was now trying to occupy his time in other ways which didn’t involve work.

Suddenly, the front door creaked open and two little balls of energy came running in. Throwing their school bags onto the floor, kicking their boots up in disarray, and haphazardly hanging their coats up that he would surely end up fixing later, they made a beeline straight for Azriel. 

“Uncle Az! Uncle Az, do you know what we did in school today?” Chuckling, Azriel set his book aside with a receipt to mark his page. Nyx’s cheeks were flushed with the cold, now tinged pink, and his little hands were freezing. Azriel ruffled his nephew’s hair, stroking a light thumb over his cheek and asked with a smile, “No my little star. What did you do today?”

“We made cookies! Miss said that the humans celebrate something called Valentine’s Day, and that they give each other food and stuff!”

After the war, they had all made an effort to try to include education about the humans in the young fae’s education, so that he’d grow up without the biases that they themselves had embedded in them. “If we’re to build a world free of prejudices,” Mor had said, “we need to ensure that it starts with our children.” Azriel had loved the idea even then, but he hadn’t realized how beneficial it would be for Nyx.

“That’s so cool, buddy!”

At Azriel’s growing delight, a few shadows escaped his reins and wove themselves through Nyx’s hair. He giggled, running his hand through them, before he said, “And guess what?” Azriel only raised his eyebrows at Nyx’s excited demeanour, urging him to continue. “We got to keep them, too!”

“That means that I’ll be the first one to taste them, am I right?” he teased, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

“Of course Uncle Az!”

“Miss also said that the humans celebrate this day to show their love for each other, and that sometimes children in schools give each other small presents too.” Azriel nodded, humming. “Yes, that’s correct.” A beat of silence passed, and Nyx’s next question nearly swept Azriel off his feet, never mind that he was already sitting.

“Uncle Az, who was your first love?”

His heart tightened to the point of pain. How was he to tell his seven-year-old nephew that his first love was his radiant, stunning, glowing mate? The mate that he had lost to countless horrors; to war?

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“My mate,” he answered finally. Nyx’s bright blue eyes showed no signs of straying from his uncle’s face, eagerly awaiting an answer. “I didn’t know you had a mate!” he exclaimed excitedly. Azriel only nodded. “Her name was Gwyn.” His voice was tight by now, and it took everything in him not to collapse internally. Indeed, nine years was hardly anything to the Fae, and in his heart, he was still grieving.

Nyx hadn’t seemed to notice though, and instead prompted him, “What was she like?” Azriel hadn’t known such an innocent question would cause his heart to nearly stop beating. “Kind,” he said softly. “And so, so, intelligent. She did everything she could to make me happy, and I tried my best to bring her happiness, too.” Swallowing to get rid of the lump in his throat, he continued. “She had hair that shone like copper, straight as a ruler and flowing down her back. She loved to have it down.”

“Red hair?” Nyx giggled. “That’s funny. I haven’t seen anyone with red hair before.”

“It’s quite common in Autumn, star. I’ll take you there one day when you’re older.”

“Why does everything have to be when I’m older?” Nyx grumbled, crossing his arms and wrinkling his nose. “Why can’t it be now?” Chuckling, Azriel only pressed a small kiss to his forehead. “Soon. You’ll be able to travel all over Prythian very soon.”

Azriel’s eyes swept over Evie, Nesta’s and Cassian’s daughter. “You haven’t spoken to me at all, sunshine. What’s up?”

“Nothing. She…your mate, I mean, she sounds lovely,” Evie said quietly, resting her head on her hands which were propped up on the couch. She had a look of unmistakable awe in her storm-grey eyes, glowing with curiosity. They matched her mother’s perfectly, Azriel thought to himself for what felt like the thousandth time. 

“She was,” replied Azriel, not quite sure how to tell his nephew and niece who would never meet her. “What happened to her? Why don’t I ever see her?” Evie asked, a slight furrow in her brow.

“She’s gone,” he said softly, unwilling to look at Nyx lest he completely break down and lose control. Azriel focused instead on the mantle above the fireplace to avoid the tears spilling out from his eyes.

“I already love her so much.”

“And she would have loved you.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel sat by the fireplace in the House of Wind, whisky in hand. Velaris glittered beneath him in all its nighttime glory; the shimmering Sidra, the Palaces and markets in full swing, and the Rainbow in the distance, alight with colour and life.

Suddenly, he felt a knock on his mental shields. The presence outside was one he’d recognise any day; awake or asleep, alive or dead. His brother-in-arms, Rhysand. 

Azriel immediately went on alert, and began strapping his siphons on. He’d winnowed them in as soon as he’d felt Rhys. Was everything alright? Was anyone hurt?

Az? Are you awake? His brother asked once Azriel opened a slit through his fortress of cobalt blue stone. Yes. Is everything okay?

Everything’s fine. Are you busy right now?

No. It was nearly midnight, and he was about to head to bed. Being a morose drunk, albeit one who adored the city in front of him wasn’t beneficial to anyone, and he had an early start tomorrow to meet with Devlon. He told Rhys as much, who Azriel swore almost sighed with relief.

Good. Feyre and I are landing on the balcony right now.

Azriel barely had time to make it three flights of stairs before he saw his High Lord and Lady landing, the latter curled up in her mate’s arms. 

As soon as Rhys touched down, Feyre made a beeline for Azriel.

“Az, I’m so sorry,” she said first, embracing him and burrowing her face in his shoulder. He was taken aback, but curled his arms around Feyre anyhow. Whatever did they have to apologize for? “What-”

“Nyx shouldn’t have asked you about Gwyn. I’m so sorry.”

Ah. So that’s what this impromptu visit was about. 

“Don’t be,” came his reply as he hugged Feyre tighter. “He’s just a child. He didn’t know-”

“Regardless,” Rhys cut in smoothly, sauntering over to them. “Just because he’s a child doesn’t make it okay.”

“Rhys, he was curious. Surely you won’t let Nyx ask questions simply because he wants to know something?”

“No. No, of course not. But he needs to learn how to better phrase his questions so he doesn’t end up accidentally hurting someone,” came his brother’s smooth reply.

“It’s alright. Besides, he was going to get to know about her eventually.” Right now, saying her name made him far too vulnerable, and he was already aware of the slight tremble in his voice that he had no doubt Rhys had already picked up on. Thankfully, his brother hadn’t said anything, letting Azriel handle the situation how he thought best. 

“My mate deserves to be talked about and praised. I can at least honour her in that way.”

Rhys only gave a solemn nod, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I talked to Nyx this afternoon after he came home,” Feyre continued. “And he told me all about your conversation. He said he’d never heard you talk about anyone like that. He said that whoever she was must have truly been wonderful if she could get his Uncle Az to show his emotions so clearly.”

Azriel couldn’t help the corner of his mouth tugging up just slightly at her comment. It was true, after all: Azriel had started to show more emotion after he’d met Gwyn and after Nyx’s birth. But all that steady progress he’d been making with his mate, though it had been slow, had been torn away the minute she had left this world. He’d been colder than ever recently, though not to Nyx. Never to him. Azriel was perhaps one of the people who knew best what happened when someone had absent authorities in their lives. Nyx didn’t deserve that.

And so, despite his feelings that threatened to drown him every passing day, he decided to wake up each day and be a better person. Gwyn would have wanted him to. That was perhaps the only thought that frequented his mind nowadays, and he did his best to live by it. He was going to live a life that Gwyn could be proud of when he did finally get to meet her in the next world or the next life. He would do his best to make his mate proud, wherever she was. 

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Missed Chances and Stolen Glances

Part 1 | Part 6 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Since we canonically know Az’s dad was pretty shit I imagined him to be like Gabriel from MLB (don’t judge okay that was one of my favourite shows growing up and I am prepared to defend it with my life). Anyway, since @GwynStacyy on AO3 requested equal simping, I hope this chapter satisfies our (mutual) craving for our favourite simps!

Word Count: 1615

“I don’t love you anymore

A pretty line that I adore

Five words that I’ve heard before”

~ The Cut That Always Bleeds, Conan Gray

Azriel hadn’t managed to get their encounter out of his mind since it had taken place yesterday in the hallway. 

Hi.

Hold on, what are you doing at school so late?

God, why was her voice replaying in his head like some sort of incessant speakerphone he couldn’t manage to get rid of? It wasn’t like they were…involved in anything, for lack of a better term. They were just friends, if even that. Gwyn had started tutoring him two weeks ago. Other than that, he’d met her a grand total of twice outside their lessons. 

So you mean to tell me you just happened to land in detention?

It could hardly be counted as friendship, merely an amicable…exchange of information. Azriel cringed at that. Who the hell went around saying they were amicable with a girl two years younger than them?

He had another lesson with her tomorrow, and he didn’t know how he’d survive an hour of her maddening scent of water lilies. Damnnit, he didn’t even like flowers. 

And why had he thought it would be a good idea to follow her to the library? In hindsight, it was more of a desperate decision than anything, but…did Gwyn think he was desperate?

Normally, Azriel was never one to overthink, and certainly not small encounters like this. But no matter what he did, his brain was in overdrive, and it wouldn’t let him rest. 

So Azriel did what he always did when he was thinking too much: he threw on a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, and made his way down to the home gym.

It wasn’t like his father was ever there. To be honest, Azriel had no idea why they had a home gym at all, but he wasn’t about to complain. It actually saved him time now that he thought about it. He didn’t have to waste time travelling in pursuit of a half-decent gym, having fought tooth and nail to even make it onto the train, then realise the gym was completely full and he’d have to wait until a spot opened up on one of the machines. No, thank you. He was perfectly content with the gym he had. 

Spending the next hour or so on his chest and arms (Thursdays were exclusively dedicated to his upper body) he clambered upstairs, sweating buckets and stinking like he’d just crawled out of a swamp. Lifting weights, pushups, and curls in a hundred positions had left him with a soreness that he had come to enjoy. It served as an excellent distraction from whatever else in his life as he compartmentalised processed while he was working out; not to mention it helped keep him fit. It was a win-win. 

Just as he came out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and wet hair that hung loosely around his head, a polite knock sounded on his bedroom door. Concealing his surprise, he answered in a neutral tone. “Come in.”

Alfred, their butler, poked his head in. “Sir, your father would-” he cut himself off. “Perhaps I should come back later?”

“No, that’s alright. What does my father want?” Azriel asked instead. “He would like you to join him for dinner.”

Now the surprise really set in. His father, and home for dinner? What had happened? He never came home early unless something hadn’t gone well at work and he needed to stew in a way that wouldn’t backfire on the company. Instead, Azriel seemed to be the punching bag and eventual collateral damage.

“Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.” Alfred merely nodded and shut the door behind him with a light click. 

Rushing to throw a hoodie and a pair of jeans on, he managed to wrangle his hair into somewhat of a presentable form. He scrambled downstairs in a pair of slippers, and caught his breath right outside the dining room archway. 

Grand, opulent, and ridiculously over-the-top, it was decorated in gold accents and swirls of  white marble. It was also the sort of thing his father loved to waste his money on. Once upon a time, Azriel had loved this kitchen. Now, it only served as a reminder that his mother was no longer around, and hosted a house of memories he wasn’t prepared to reopen. The emptiness of it all, the aloofness and the impersonality that one room could hold…it was why he spent so long holed up in his room like a hibernating bear. 

Exhaling, he entered the room and took a seat at the one end of the banquet table; the one closest to the door. The other end was already occupied by his father, a pair of glasses sitting on the tip of his nose. He hadn’t even looked up as Azriel came in, focused on and reading through what looked to be important documents. Azriel wasn’t stupid enough to ask what it was, exactly, that took precedence over basic human decency. Quite frankly, he didn’t care what his father was reading.

As long as he didn’t get berated at dinner, he was fine. Indifference, even outright neglect he could handle, but begin talked down to and humiliated? It was surprising Rhys hadn’t bailed him out of jail for a homicide charge on his father years ago. 

Despite his reservations against his father, dinner went by seemingly okay. They both ate in silence, though his father hardly ever touched his food. Warm lamb chops straight from the grill, freshly mashed potatoes, and sautéed vegetables lathered in butter would be enough to make anyone salivate at the mouth. He dug in, not wanting to waste a good meal over his father’s bickering that was bound to come once he’d had his fill.

Just as he was finishing up and about to leave the table, his father spoke. “Azriel,” he called out, voice cold and demanding. Restraining a sigh, Azriel stilled, and faced the man at the other end of the table. “Yes father?” he asked in a voice that was equally as numb and lifeless. “What have I told you about coming late to dinner and looking like a homeless vagabond?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. Told, he thought, was a tame way to put it. “I changed out of my usual shorts and t-shirt into this, father,” he bit out. He only hummed in disapproval, eyes trailing over his clothes in clear disapproval as his lips pursed. “And yet you still dress like this. You know, maybe private school wouldn’t have been a bad option,” he mused. “It would have gotten this nonsense out of you.”

“Father,” Azriel tried, “I would really like to stay in the school I’m in right now. My grades are fine, I have friends. It wouldn’t make sense to change school halfway through my senior year. Besides, I’ll be going to university next year and I’ll have people who are much better influences on me.” People who will have hordes of money to throw away and who are in the same social circles was what his father really meant, but two could play this game. His father was never swayed by emotion or heartfelt confessions; it was logic and reason that persuaded him.

You know, if you’re that good at using logic and reason, you might as well join the debate team. I’m sure they’ll want someone as experienced at arguing as you are. A light, feminine voice floated through his mind, and he tried his very best to avoid his cheeks reddening. Now he was hearing Gwyn’s voice when she wasn’t even here?

“Mmm. I suppose you have a point, though I would hardly count B’s and B-pluses as good.” Ignoring the jab, Azriel spoke again. It wasn’t worth the argument right now. “If that’s all, father?” He just wanted to go up to his room and- “No. We’re done when I say we’re done.” Fine. “Now, about those tutoring lessons. Have you grades improved at all?”

Fuck. Of course he was bound to ask about that. He’d been naïve to think that he’d simply let him off the hook. “It’s going well father. I’ve managed to learn a decent amount and my Spanish seems to be getting better.”

“I don’t care whether or not you speak the language. I didn’t ask about your Spanish skills, boy, I asked about your grades. Have they gotten better?”

“We haven’t had a test, and it’s only been a week or so since we’ve started these lessons, so my grades haven’t really changed-” “I need results, not excuses,” he spat. “Now go and do your homework. You could certainly use the extra studying.”

Azriel fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead got up. Well, that dinner could almost be considered tranquil and serene compared to the previous ones still etched in his memory.

✦ ✦ ✦

Instead of studying for a test or doing homework, Azriel spent the next hour or so gaming. A master procrastinator, he somehow always managed to get things done and score decently well on tests. Enough to keep his ather satisfied so he wouldn’t pull some bullshit out of his ass about grounding him, but not high enough that he would have actual expectations regarding Azriel’s performance in school.

He’d learned early on that if you disappointed everyone, they’d have no expectations and would be ecstatic when you put in more effort than the bare minimum. The strategy seemed to be working so far, and Azriel wasn’t a person to fix things that weren’t broken. 

A/N: We’ve seen a bunch about Gwyn’s home life, and it was only fair we get to see what’s happening at Azriel’s house too, even though not much happened in this chapter.

Part 7

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Missed Chances and Stolen Glances

Part 1 | Part 5 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 1972

“Baby, I know she creepin’, I feel it in the air”

~ Savage Love, Jason Derulo

“I can’t figure out this equation for the life of me. What the ever-living fuck is…” Emerie pointed at the equation she’d scrawled in her notebook, and looked at it as if it had personally offended her. 

“I don’t know,” Gwyn groaned. “I actually have no clue. I don’t even think we’ve done this in class.”

“Well, we’re going to have to get it done sometime today, because Mr. Davis won’t teach us shit, so…”

“Library?” Gwyn asked with a look. Emerie, heaving a long-suffering sigh, got up and began packing away her things. “Library it is, Gwyneth dearest.”

The school library, it seemed, was a poor option to get some work done. While it was normally a quiet place hosting busy students preparing for exams or attempting to finish last-minute homework, Gwyn and Emerie were…distracted, to say the least. 

“You have to read this book. It’s so amazing I swear, I haven’t been able to sleep because it was so good,” Emerie gushed. Gwyn’s best friend and a (normally) focused person, they were usually most effective together. Today was not one of those days. 

“Really?” Gwyn prompted, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her hip against the bookcase. “What’s it about?”

“This girl is a princess and she’s not allowed to be with the knight of her guard, and they’re in love with each other. They get together in the end, though. It’s so cute,” Emerie sighed wistfully. Gwyn scrunched her nose up and shook her head. “I’ll pass.” While Emerie tended to love high fantasy novels revolving around complex political worlds and magic, Gwyn preferred sweet, contemporary romances that didn’t involve swords and killing. 

She glanced at her watch and startled. “Shit, Em, it’s nearly four. We ended half an hour ago and we haven’t even begun studying for chem yet.” Emerie’s face fell, then turned upwards into a sheepish grin. “Can we not do chemistry? We’re in the library anyways, and, well…”

Gwyn groaned. Now she remembered why she didn’t study with her best friend. “We came here to study. We have a test soon, remember?”

“That test is in over a week,” Emerie tried protesting halfheartedly, but Gwyn was having none of it. “Yeah, a week and a half to learn basically everything about polymers!”

Emerie rolled her eyes. “Buzzkill,” she muttered. “You’ll thank me when you pass, Em,” Gwyn called out as she walked ahead of her.

Begrudgingly spending the next hour studying for chemistry, they’d managed to get through most of the content. Other than a short bathroom break, they’d been laser-focused and had gotten the work done, only talking when one didn’t understand something and needed clarification. 

Gwyn put down her pen and stretched as she sat. Arching her back like a cat and raising her hands up, she barely managed to stifle a yawn. It had been a long day after all, and she was tired. Emerie was still working, it seemed, and had a crease in her brow as she muttered something under her breath. Tapping her lightly on the shoulder, Gwyn said, “I’m going to get a drink of water.” At her nod of confirmation, she got up, retrieved her waterbottle, and was walking down the hallway, the water fountain just in sight when she glimpsed…was that Azriel? It had to be; there was no one else with quite the same build or those same midnight locks styled artfully around their head. Her breath caught, and she tried desperately to fill her bottle with quick precision so as to avoid any interaction.

Her clumsiness, it seemed, wanted the opposite. She’d managed to spill half the Pacific trying to fill her waterbottle, and he was coming closer. Just turn around, please, she begged. She couldn’t talk to him right now. It wasn’t because she was mad, in fact it was the contrary. Seeing him again would set her exhausted nervous system alight. Gwyn had simply had a long day and wanted to rest instead of getting worked up all over again. 

Azriel, however, had already glimpsed her, and stopped midway. “Hey,” he said lightly. “What’s up?”

✦ ✦ ✦

Seeing Gwyn in the middle of the hallway was not something Azriel had been prepared for. He’d made up the excuse that he needed the bathroom just to skip class. 

What he truly hadn’t been prepared for was seeing Gwyn in a cream turtleneck, straight-leg navy jeans, and black boots with jewellery enhancing her already lovely features. Her hair was in a messy bun, a few copper strands hanging loose, and they glinted in the grimy yellow lighting. Even in school with its disgusting air, she still managed to look pretty. 

“Hey. What’s up?” He had to start a conversation before he became utterly speechless. She gave him a small smile. “Hi,” she replied. “Not much, I was just working in the library with a friend. Hold on, what are you doing at school so late?”

Azriel tended to stay out of the library when he could avoid it. In fact, the last time he’d come here was to make out with a girl in the back, where even the nosy librarian’s gaze couldn’t reach them. 

Mentally discarding the memory, he realised she’d been asking him a question. “I’m supposed to be in detention.” Her brow quirked up. “Detention? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbled.

“So you mean to tell me you just happened to land in detention?” Her voice had a playful note to it. Despite that, he couldn’t help but be slightly riled up by it. “I forgot about my chem homework and Ms. Rogers hates my guts, so.”

“Ms. Rogers?” repeated Gwyn. “She’s really nice. I had her last year. I mean, okay, she’s a little boring sometimes, but the homework is sort of useful.” Except that I couldn’t care less about organic chemistry at 8:30 on a fucking Wednesday morning. That didn’t mean he wasn’t passing her class with decent grades, he just didn’t like chemistry.

He hummed distractedly, not wanting to cuss a teacher out in the same building she was probably working in. If he was with his friends, he wouldn’t have minded, but with Gwyn the rules seemed to be different. He didn’t know why, but they just did. 

“I can see you don’t quite agree with me,” she said, her voice light but carefully diplomatic. A slight pause thickened the tension between them before she broke it. “Anyway, I should be heading back to the library. I need to pack up and head home. Emerie’s probably wondering if I’ve collapsed in some sewer,” she joked. 

A small chucjkle spilled out of him, and before his brain could catch up, his mouth was already moving. “Mind if I follow you to the library? I need to get a few books too.”

“Don’t you have detention?” Gwyn asked as she made to turn away. He merely shrugged. “They’ll survive without me for a few more minutes.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Their walk to the library was…dare she say pleasant? She’d only known him for a little over two weeks if she counted all the gaps between their fleeting interactions as time elapsed too. 

They talked about the smallest things; their favourite foods (california rolls sushi or linguine with white sauce and chicken), their favourite colour (blue), and their favourite TV shows or movies (James Bond, Doctor House, and Brooklyn Nine-Nine, in that order). Granted, they were stupid things, but it made Gwyn happy to know that they had more in common than what she’d first thought. 

They entered the library talking animatedly and Gwyn gesturing wildly in the air until the librarian shushed them so hard she nearly flinched. Undeterred, she merely giggled as she made her way to her table. Emerie had finished working and had already packed up, and was lounging in the chair as she scrolled on her phone. “Hi,” she said, glancing between the both of them. “Long day?” This question was directed at Azriel, and he merely shook his head. “You have no idea.”

“Well, it was lovely saying hi, but it’s quite late and I have to go before my bus pass expires.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened. Stay with Azriel…alone? No way. Please, she tried, begging Emerie with her eyes. She merely winked and made her way out. 

Emerie hadn’t lied, but she’d also left when it was convenient. Oh, she was going to pay for this one. She lived a good forty-five minutes away, and her pass expired at seven in the evening each night. She could have stayed a little longer, Gwyn thought. Now what was she supposed to do?

Thankfully, Azriel spoke before she had a chance to make a fool of herself. “I remember her,” he said carefully, eyes narrowing. “She was at that party two weeks ago.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, she was one of my friends who dragged me there because she felt I didn’t go out enough.”

“And is it true?” Gwyn couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “What?”

“Is it true, that you don’t go out enough?” A small blush crept up her cheeks, but her pride wasn’t going to take a blow this easily. “Of course I-” she started indignantly, but had to cut herself off. “Mmm?” Azriel merely hummed as if in question. “So when was the last time you went out, when you weren’t being forced by your friends?”

“I-” she faltered. She couldn’t remember. 

“That’s what I thought,” he said with mock satisfaction.

Despite what many people thought, Gwyn had a vicious competitive streak, and she did not enjoy being bested. 

“Maybe you do need to go out more often,” he mused. Ignoring his comment, she merely said, “Didn’t you come here to get books from the library? What happened to that?”

He laughed openly, and something, albeit small, lit up inside Gwyn. “Lead the way.”

✦ ✦ ✦

“It’s so stupid,” she complained. “Why the hell did he sound so…proud when he talked about how he was in detention?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he thinks you’re into that sort of stuff.”

“Emerie, what the hell? All I’m doing is tutoring him. There’s literally no way he likes me.” Her friend only gave her a look that made Gwyn want to strangle her through the phone.

“I’m serious, Em. I’m not going to date him or whatever. He’s two years older than me.” “Two years isn’t all that bad,” she contemplated. “Besides, he’s hot.”

Gwyn slapped a palm across her forehead. “That’s your reasoning? That he’s hot?” Emerie only gave a half-shrug, clearly not as invested as Gwyn, who groaned in exasperation. “You don’t even like men!”

“Yes, but I’m not blind,” her friend retorted. “I can recognise when one looks good.”

“I don’t even know why I bother calling you. You’re useless.” Emerie placed a hand over her chest in mock offense. “I'll have you know I’ve actually dated people, unlike someone.”

Indeed, Gwyn’s love life was non-existent, save for…whatever this was between her and Azriel. Nothing. This was absolutely nothing between them. It couldn’t be. She was tutoring him, and they’d had one conversation outside their lessons. It wasn’t even a friendship yet.

Emerie, on the other hand, had flings and relationships and a whole manner of…things in between. Honestly, she was surprised Catrin and Emerie weren’t best friends yet.

“You know, if you did eventually want to date him, I’d be more than happy to be your wingwoman,” said Emerie, waggling her eyebrow. Gwyn snickered. “Thanks, Em. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, I need to go. My dad’s calling me down for dinner. I’ll talk to you later?” Emerie asked. “Yup.”

Part 6

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Missed Chances and Stolen Glances

Part 1 | Part 4 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: I sort of needed a filler chapter before we have any more tutoring sessions, so this is it

Word Count: 1613

“And I’m sad to the core, core core

Every day is a chore, chore chore

When you give, I want more, more more

I wanna be adored”

~ Primadonna Girl, Marina

Dumping her bag in her room, she collapsed face-first onto her bed and didn’t move.

That had gone much better than expected. Honestly, Gwyn had thought he’d be nice to her on the day of the party, and then either ghost her on the actual day the tutoring was scheduled or just turn into a narcissistic, whiny teenager. There seemed to be a concerning amount of those in her classes right now. 

She breathed a sigh of relief as she flopped down onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Why was her heart racing? And why was she suddenly so warm? It was the middle of freaking January, and there were heaps of snow scattered on the sidewalk. 

She’d been nervous in the beginning; skeptical and worried. She didn’t speak much Spanish outside her house. Other than her mother and sister, there was no one at school who was Spanish or spoke enough at a conversational level; at least no one she knew of. It was like baring a part of herself, her culture to a stranger who might not have even shown up. One part of her brain told her that she was being ridiculous. Of course he’d show up. He wanted the tutoring, damn it. He said he’d pay her for it. Another part of her, the part she didn’t particularly want to confront right now, was a steady beat of insecurities against the walls of her mind. I mean, he could have. He’s popular. What if he just got dared to ask you to do something like this? I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been a no-show and decided to do it just for laughs.

That was actually why she’d made a beeline for a the encyclopedia section of the library; to calm her racing heart. Gwyn was a nerd, sure, but she sure as hell didn’t read encyclopedias for fun. She’d just needed to get away from him, and the non-fiction books happened to be the furthest away from where they were sitting.

Gwyn groaned into her pillow. She was supposed to be studying, but couldn’t focus on anything other than him. His presence was magnifying. It made the entire room seem smaller, even as she sat far away from him or went up to get a book as he did his homework or the exercises she’d assigned him. She could tell he was watching her every time she got up to examine the bookshelves, could feel his eyes between her shoulder blades or on her back as he constantly kept one eye on her.

Despite herself, Gwyn could feel herself getting excited at the prospect of someone liking her. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if she liked him yet, and it was probably too early to tell. You’re so stupid, I swear to God. It’s been one measly hour with him and you’re already fangirling. Let’s keep his ego down on Earth, yeah? It’s not like he needs any more horny and desperate girls hounding him.

Indeed, he already had a horde of popular and pretty girls following him like a swarm of bees around school. Insistent, buzzing, and irritiating, they always seemed to be wherever he was. It happened often enough that it couldn’t be likened to chance, so she knew it was because they wanted to hound him in the hopes that he’d pick one of them for a date after school, or whatever it was they did outside of classes. Drugs, vaping, God knows what else. She shuddered. It wasn’t frequent for students at their school to be doing something like this. There were some from her class who did such…activities, but she’d made sure to stay far away. 

Groaning, she got up and dragged herself to her desk. Moping about and reminiscing over an hour of tutoring was certain to bring her nothing but immense amounts of regret when exam season rolled around. She’d have to do the studying anyway; why not get started on it now?

✦ ✦ ✦

“So?” Azriel asked, unable to hold his eagerness in any longer. He was practically swaying on his heels like a small girl about to get a pony. “Who is it?”

“You’re not gonna believe it,” muttered Rhys as he shook his head. “It was the last person we expected.”

Azriel’s eyes widened in alarm. “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way, apparently,” he grumbled, clearly irritated.

“You’re dating Nesta Archeron?” 

Cassian only nodded, a smug smirk on his face. “Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

Cassian’s grin widened. “Not a fucking clue.”

“You’re going to get hurt,” Azriel deadpanned. “She’s a bitch. She’ll eat you up for breakfast and will have gone through at least four more guys before the next week is up.”

“Yeah, but she’s hot.” Azriel rolled his eyes. Typical Cassian. 

“And it doesn’t hurt that she has that killer look on her. You know, the one that says, fuck with me, you won’t be able to fuck with anything afterwards.”

“Yeah, because she’ll chop your dick off!” Rhys nearly yelled. Despite himself, Azriel barely held in a laugh. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to see how terribly it would bruise Cassian’s ego to be castrated.

Banishing the entertaining disturbing vision from his mind, he schooled his features into neutrality. “Rhys is right, you know. You should stop before it blows up in your face.”

Cassian merely waved a hand, ever the portrait of nonchalance.

He shared an exasperated look with Rhysand. There was no way they were going to get Cass to back down. Once he’d decided on something, he was a stubborn ass, and wouldn’t rest until he got it. He was also incapable of taking advice in the areas he most required it. It was ironic, really, seeing as it was one of the many qualities which had led to Azriel befriending him, but right now, he was pissed at his friend.

“Haven’t you heard the rumours about her, you moron?” Rhys added. It seemed that he’d called Azriel for backup when their annoying, headstrong buffoon of a friend refused to listen. Azriel had decided to drop by Cassian’s, since Rhys had already taken the liberty of inviting himself in. And so they were sat on the couch, each with a bottle of soda, as they bickered over Cassian’s newest paramour. 

“I met her at the track two days ago, and she looked so fucking hot, like you don’t even get it. I swear, those shorts-” 

“If you’re going to talk about how hot your new girlfriend is for however long we’re going to be here, Rhys and I might as well leave,” Azriel interrupted. 

Cassian huffed, albeit dramatically, and crossed his arms. “Would playing Fortnite or GTA convince either of you to stay?”

Rhys and Azriel immediately broke out into wide grins, took one look at each other, and rushed towards the controllers, shoving each other out of the way as they tried to get ‘the best one’, as they liked to call it. All it had was a small red dot to mark it as Cassian’s, but they all believed it brought them luck.

Cassian merely took a seat on the sofa and crossed his legs. “Heathens,” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear, but they knew his words had no real bite to them. 

Azriel spent the evening at Cassian’s since his parents were out of town. Gaming, eating takeout pizza from Domino’s and general guffawing over the stupidest things, they ended up passing out on the couch at around one in the morning.

The next day, Azriel was sorely regretting his past self’s decisions. Who the hell had decided that they should stay up late and game instead of going to bed? His head was heavy, eyes drooping and hair mussed as he fought exhaustion. Clambering into the car and stifling a yawn, he rubbed at his eyes.

“Shit,” Azriel muttered as they pulled up to school. Rhys was their designated driver, and Azriel thought it was unfair how he always managed to look so well put-together. Hair neatly tamed, hoodie, a pair of jeans, and fancy cologne were Rhys’ go-to’s. Cassian often teased him, saying that it was silly how much time he spent on his stupid hair. Rhys merely retorted, stating how important it was for one’s hair to be healthy and well-maintained. Neither of them believed this of course, but they went along with it just to make Rhys happy. 

“I forgot my chemistry folder at home. Ms. Rogers will kill me if I show up again without it.”

“Just skip,” Rhys said over his shoulder as he eyed a side mirror to attempt to park the car. “I’ve done it so many times I don’t even think she knows my name.”

“You do realise my father will have my corpse hanging by the gates by this evening if I pull another stunt like that, don’t you?”

Rhys and Cassian had always assumed Azriel’s father to be far more lenient than he actually was, but neither knew the true extent of his wrath, or how far he’d be willing to go to ‘keep his son in line’. Azriel wasn’t a fucking dog, but his father had made it clear that until Azriel lived under his roof, he was to follow his father’s rules; no questions asked. 

Cursing himself internally for forgetting again, he walked inside, bag slung over one shoulder and already dreading the day ahead.

Part 5

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Missed Chances and Stolen Glances

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: I’m sorry this chapter focuses on Azriel actually learning Spanish. The end does have a slightly more simpy Az though, and the next chapter won’t have tutoring in it. This is going to be a (sort of?) slow-burn, so we need them to get through some tutoring before they get freaky. Also, this is how my brain understands verb conjugations in Spanish. I didn’t Google this information. I’m a B2 level speaker (which is why I made Azriel bad at Spanish on purpose.) If I did make any mistakes, please leave a comment!

Word Count: 2789

“It’s a taste test

Of what I hate less

Can you die of anxiousness?

I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here”

~ Next Semester, Twenty One Pilots

“Okay, so what’re you doing in Spanish now?” Fuck him if he knew. “I don’t really know, if I’m being honest.”

“Just anything that comes to mind. Grammar, vocabulary, what’s your main theme for the next couple of weeks?” He racked his brain, trying to come up with any semblance of an idea, but consistently came up short. There had to be something he remembered learning about. Gwyn waited patiently for him all the while.

“I’ll text a friend. I’m sure he knows what we’re doing.” He probably doesn’t. It was a last-ditch attempt, yes, but could you blame him? Quickly pulling up his phone to text Rhys, Azriel saw that he was coincidentally online. 

Azriel: hey

Azriel: what r we doing in spanish

Rhys: why do you think i know?

Rhys: i’ve been skipping class for like a month

Azriel: welp guess i have to talk to cass

Rhys: lmao good luck

Azriel: fym good luck? 

Azriel: is he in a pissy mood or smth

Azriel: omfg its a girl isnt it

Deciding to ask them about it later, he turned to Gwyn and sighed. “Nope. He doesn’t know what we’re doing either.”

“Well do you know what your test is going to be about?” she asked, unbothered. “Past tense…something,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he had a eureka moment. Knowing his luck, that was about as far as the extent of his memory stretched. “Probably.”

“Well, that’s a good start. Ms. Williams say anything about verb conjugations?”

“Verb- oh yeah. Yeah, she did. Um, something about three verb types, and endings or whatever. And accents.” Azriel was rambling and he knew it.

Spanish always made him nervous, only because he felt like he was constantly out of his element. He’d spent a considerable amount of time agonising over the subject; more time than he cared to admit. To make things worse (as if they weren’t bad enough already) Gwyn made him nervous. She was a native speaker, after all. She wouldn’t expect him to know a ton of Spanish (why else was he asking her for tutoring?) but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d judge him for whatever unknown reason.

“Right. We’ll start off with the basics.” She cut off his inner monologue, which clearly wanted to sabotage him. In her notebook, she drew a table, seven rows down and three across. 

“There are three types of verbs, correct. Do you remember which ones?” He shook his head, and thankfully, she took it at face value and didn’t push further. “There’s ones that end in ‘-ar’, ‘-er’, and ‘-ir’. They’re called ‘-ar’, ‘-er’, and ‘-ir’ verbs respectively. Any verb that ends in these three forms is called the infinitive. It can be adapted to fit the context.” In the first row, she wrote the three verb names. “You’re following so far?”

“Yep.” She didn’t continue, setting her hands on the table, and he realised with a jolt that she wanted him to be writing things down. Three verb endings called the infinitive. Got it. 

Once he’d jotted it down hastily in his notebook, she continued. “Good. Now, depending on the verb ending, you have to adapt, or conjugate the verb. Conjugating is just a fancy way to change the end of the verb to fit the tense and person.” It had been ten fucking minutes, and his mind was already spinning. “I-I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” His voice came out far softer and much more insecure than he would have liked. She nodded, not the least bit unphased, and explained again, “Think about it this way. In English, we have the verb ‘to choose’, correct? That’s the infinitive. By changing the ending and adding a little s at the end, say if I write ‘she chooses’, then that changes the meaning entirely. I can’t very well say ‘she, to choose’, now can I?”

Somehow, that made sense so he nodded, urging her to continue. “Depending on the tense, so past, present, future, whatever, and depending on the person, for example you, me, or them, means that we have to conjugate the verb differently.”

“That seems complicated for no reason.” She smiled, and said, “We do the same thing in English, though. ‘I go, you went, she will go’; they’re all different forms of the same verb but relating to different people and a different tense.”

His mind whirled. “I…didn’t realise English was this complicated. I just sort of knew, you know?” She nodded, jotting something down. “Don’t feel bad for not knowing. Most people that learn a language don’t learn it with all this grammar, and definitely none of these strict rules. We pick it up as we go along, and our parents and siblings correct us when we make a mistake. That’s what helps us develop that feeling of knowing when something looks or sounds wrong. We know how it’s supposed to look like; intrinsically, it’s how we’ve been taught. Our brains just can’t figure out why.”

Frankly, he couldn’t care less about how people learned languages. All he needed was a passing grade in Spanish, not a discourse on the particulars of the best pedagogical approaches to learning.

At Azriel’s lack of reply, a silence fell, which somehow seemed to be heavier than the hesitant hello’s they’d shared not more than fifteen minutes ago. Gwyn stared down at her notebook, and he could see her desperately trying not to fidget. “I’m sorry for the rambling,” she chuckled awkwardly. “I don’t usually lecture people like that. I promise the rest of our session won’t be like this.”

“It’s fine,” he shortly. It wasn’t fine. He was tired, and he wanted to go home. He cursed his stupid brain for coming up with an idea so spectacularly stupid, and his father even more, because he was forced to follow through with it.

He’d realised a couple of days after the party that he couldn’t possibly hold off with the tutoring for any longer. He’d texted her, asking her if she was free on a Wednesday evening, but she’d replied saying it wasn’t possible. I have chess club from five to six-thirty. Besides, I end school at half-past four. He’d suggested Monday, but it turned out that wasn’t possible either since she had debate. Tuesdays and Thursdays were impossible since he had training which lasted for a minimum of two hours, and he’d rather break a limb than spend his weekend on fucking Spanish. 

And so they had ended up at the school library on a Friday evening, the rain pouring buckets and thunder flashing in the distance. If he stayed here another moment, he was going to fall asleep. 

“So,” she began again, clearly trying to get rid of the tension in the air. “Have you got that down?”

“Yep,” he said, brow furrowing slightly as he took down all the important points she’d said. Conjugation: verb changes depending on:

who you’re talking to/about

what tense you’re in

“So you said that Ms. Williams is quizzing you on the past tense?”

“Yeah.”

“Has she mentioned anything about which verbs you’re currently conjugating, say, irregulars?”

“Just verbs overall, she said. I mean we haven’t done much, really. I think we only started this a week or so ago. We’ve only had two lessons.” Two glorious hours of naptime was what he’d actually gotten from her lessons, but Gwyn didn’t need to know that. 

“Alright. Did she say which past tense?” Azriel narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, which one?”

“Well, there’s two main ones. Did she say indefinido or imperfecto?”

“The-um the first one,” he answered. “Does it matter though?” 

“Yes. If you learn a different tense, you won’t say whatever it is you’ll be trying to say. Besides, one’s easier than the other.”

“Oh thank god.”

“You sound far too happy,” she replied with a hint of glee in her voice. “I certainly wouldn’t be. This is the harder one.” Azriel merely put his head into his hands and groaned. “It’s not that bad,” she said. “Yes, it is,” he mumbled back, and he thought he saw a hint of a smile on her face before it vanished. 

“Well, it certainly won’t get better if you sit around complaining. Come on, we need to get through this sometime today.” He only nodded, his head slumping onto the table as he supported it with an elbow. 

“Okay. Well, you see this table I’ve drawn? Everything under the ‘-ar’ column is going to have the conjugation for ‘-ar’ verbs. In pretérito indefinido, or indefinite preterite as it’s called in English, the -er and -ir verbs have the same conjugation. Lucky you,” she finished. “You’ll only have to learn two.” 

Azriel wasn’t feeling extremely lucky at the moment, but for once he decided to shut up. She was right; they really needed to get some work done, otherwise he’d have wasted a perfectly good Friday night on nothing. 

“Now, there are six people we conjugate for in Spanish. Me, you, we, and them. He, she and a you with respect is one person, and you-plural, or I suppose you can call it ‘you guys’, is another. We don’t have these in English, so it’s fine if it takes some time to get used to. You with respect, or usted, as we in Spanish, can be used to refer to an older, distant relative, or someone you don’t know very well. You-plural, or vosotros, is really useful because you can figure out how many people I’m speaking to just by looking at the verb.”

As she spoke, Azriel made to write everything down. Even if he wasn’t going to use these notes later, (or use them to a minimal extent), he would at least try in these sessions. 

“We organise them this way.” Referring to the table she’d drawn, she wrote yo, tú, él/ella/usted, nosotros/as, vosotros/as, and ustedes in the left column. “Me, you, he or she or you with respect is one, us, you-plural, and them,” she pointed out, gesturing to each person she’d written. 

“Let’s take the verb hablar - to talk. What type of verb is this?”

“‘-Ar,’” he replied. He knew that much. “Right. If I wanted the yo conjugation for it in the past tense, that would mean I wanted the verb ‘to talk’ as ‘I talked’.”

“Correct,” he said slowly, still trying to process and take notes at the same time. Thankfully, she waited until he’d finished writing to continue. “To conjugate a verb, we take off the ‘-ar’ part, which leaves us with the stem. Think of it like taking leaves off a plant and leaving a stem that you can do a bunch of stuff with.”

Useless analogies. Was she ever going to get to the point? “The stem we’re left with is ‘habl-’. To make it ‘I spoke’, we add an e with an accent at the end. That makes it yo hablé.”

“So…so take off the ‘-ar’, and put an e at the end?” He tried. He’d probably forget as soon as he got home. 

“Not just any e,” she corrected. “It has to have an accent.”

“It can’t make that much of a difference, can it?” She was either being really particular because she was a perfectionist, or she wanted to be a pain in his ass. He wouldn’t put it past her to do the latter. It was what he would have done if he’d had to begrudgingly tutor a student two years older than him. 

“If you write hable instead of hablé, it means that you want to speak with someone instead of just being ‘I spoke’.”

“So the accent’s that important, then?”

“It helps distinguish between two words that look the same. To pronounce it, all you have to do is stress the syllable that the accent is on. So saying ‘ha-BLÉ’ instead of ‘HA-ble’ like you would on the first one.”

He tried saying the words out loud, albeit shyly, and relief flooded through him at her nod of confirmation.

“So what’s after hablé?” They’d only gone through one form right now, and it wasn’t long before their hour was up.

“The next ending is ‘-aste’, for ‘you spoke’. So you’d take away the ‘-ar’, and have the stem left, which is…?” She trailed off, raising an eyebrow at him. “Habl-?” he asked tentatively, and she smiled. “Yup.”

“So it would be hablaste?”

“Very good. Can you try conjugating the rest of the verb with the forms I give you?”

“Sure.”

“The next forms are -ó, -amos, -asteis, and -aron. Good luck.” Azriel balked. “Where are you going?” She merely shrugged, already making to walk away, and said over her shoulder, “My friend told me there’s a book here that I really want. I’m going to go check if the librarian has it.”

Her footsteps disappeared down the aisle, and Azriel heaved a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair. Might as well get to work. The sooner he finished this, the better. 

✦ ✦ ✦

“Why the fuck does Spanish have two past tenses? One wasn’t enough?” he muttered to himself not two minutes later. He’d almost finished the verb hablar, but…

“They’re sort of useful when you put them together.”

“Fuck!” He hissed. He’d banged his knee on the table as he tried to whirl around at the voice he’d heard. It turned out it was just Gwyn. 

Rubbing at it and muttering a few more curses, he realised his mistake. She’s Spanish, you idiot. You can’t insult her language like that. He might not have given two shits about Spanish, but even he drew the line at disrespecting people. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I-”

Instead, she only laughed openly, clutching a book between her hands and said between chuckles, “Don’t worry I think it’s stupid too. You don’t need to apologise. Trust me, if you want to vent to me about how dumb the language is, you can talk to me. My mum forced me to become absolutely fluent when I was younger, so I know how you feel.” He tilted his head in confusion. “Hold on. Didn’t you say that children don’t learn their language with all these explanations about conjugations? How come you’re so good at this stuff?”

“Well, like I said, my mum was really adamant that I knew everything there was to know about the language. That included the grammar. I mean, I haven’t been over it in a while but I still remember a decent portion of it. The stuff I’ve forgotten is mostly really advanced, things to do with essay writing and all the other complicated tenses that show up later, and that make me want to strangle someone.

“Yeah, Spanish gets complicated the more you learn. It’s like everything else, I suppose. Never mind that though, how did you manage to conjugate it?” She leaned over his shoulder to look at his notebook, and the scent of water lilies and something that reminded him of the ocean invaded his nostrils. Was that the same perfume she was wearing at the party? He couldn’t remember. His mind had gone hazy, and he tried his best to snap out of it. 

Her hair fell over her shoulder, the copper strands tickling his neck as he fought to keep his breathing even. It seemed that she was oblivious to his suffering however, as she stayed there for a moment longer, then withdrew. “It looks good. Let’s get started on the ‘-er’ and ‘-ir’ verbs. How about…” she pursed her lips as she tried to come up with one. “Comer.” To eat. “We’ll do it like we just did. I’ll give you the endings, you write them down in the table I made for you, and you conjugate the verb.” Azriel nodded, pen in hand and ready to take notes. “-í, -iste, -ió, -imos, -isteis, and -ieron.”

She took a seat, and began scrolling on her phone. “Aren’t you supposed to be tutoring me?” he asked with a scowl. “I have been tutoring you. For…over an hour, actually. I deserve a break.”

“And I don’t? This is unfair.”

“You’re the one who needs help with their Spanish. Not me. I’ve already done this more times than I care to count. You could wake me up in the middle of the night and I’d spit these conjugations out because they’re engraved in my brain. You still need to practice.” Rolling his eyes, he complied. 

Part 4

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Missed Chances and Stolen Glances

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: I’ve never been to a party in my life before, so I have no idea what they look like- I’m going off what I’ve seen in movies and read (please don’t come at me). I hope I captured Azriel's and Gwyn's first meeting in a way that feels natural but also slightly awkward. I hope I described both their insecurities but I also hope I didn't overdo it! I’ll be switching POV throughout this fic so we can see who’s simping harder (because you can't convince me that no matter what AU it is they'll be whipped for each other). I also wanted to have some domestic scenes with Gwyn at home you get a bit of context before we start the actual fuckin- I mean tutoring. *cough cough, clears throat* of course I meant tutoring.

Word Count: 2240

“See you walking ‘round like it’s a funeral

Not so serious, girl, why those feet cold?”

~ Cake By The Ocean, DNCE

Chugging a glass of a drink he didn’t bother to figure out the name of, he coughed slightly. “Damn, this shit is strong.”

“I told you,” Cassian quipped back with an air of superiority.

The music blasting over the speakers was doing nothing to ease his anxiety or the headache that was beginning to build. Indeed, today was the last day he had to find a tutor; the last day of the desperate, foolish bargain he’d made with his father.

The alcohol wasn’t helping much in that regard. He’d thought that by sneaking out, going to a high school party, and getting black-out drunk would help, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect. 

“Y’know, you’ve been weirdly quiet since yesterday,” Rhysand said, another one of his nosy friends. He’d arrived a couple of minutes ago, and had made a beeline straight for the bar where he knew Cassian and Azriel would be sitting, moping about like the losers they were. “Quiet? No, not really,” Azriel answered. “Liar,” Rhysand joked fondly. “Tell us what’s really been going on.”

“I swear to fucking God, Az, if it’s a girl-”

“It isn’t, Cassian. Now will you please shut up?” Azriel responded, irritated. “Oh look, little Azzie still has manners, even when he’s pissy,” laughed Cassian. 

“You still haven’t told us what’s bothering you, you know,” Rhysand said, bringing them back on track. “You two aren’t going to let this go unless I tell you, are you?” Azriel asked, exasperated. 

“Nope,” they responded in unison, grinning like wolves. “Fine,” he sighed. “But it’s far less funny than you would have thought.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Ten minutes later, after he’d told them the entire story, Rhys merely laughed. “You should get your head out of your ass sometimes, you know that?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Azriel asked, bristling. “I mean that if you’d actually bothered to socialise once in a while and not been cooped up at home like a chicken, you’d meet new people. There’s a girl who speaks really good Spanish, I’m sure she’d be willing to tutor you if you asked politely.”

“You can’t be serious.” 

As it turned out, Rhysand, or Rhys, as they liked to call him, was dead serious. His luck, however, seemed too good to be true: him finding a tutor on the very last day of his deal with his father? Unlikely at best, impossible at worst. But, Rhys told him, a sophomore girl who’d only recently joined, and, by his luck, happened to be Spanish, was looking to tutor students as an extra credit…something. Probably for university applications. Azriel had stopped listening halfway. He didn’t care about her sob story. All he needed was a tutor who wouldn’t bitch too much about teaching him. 

Azriel might not have been the best when it came to school and academics, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of his weaknesses. Not being an A+ student was one such weakness that he’d recognised a long time ago; his patience for learning shorter than his temper. 

“And you’re sure she’ll agree to teach me?” He asked for what felt like the millionth time, still sceptical that his friends were trying to trick him. “Oh my god, yes,” Rhys sighed. “Now go talk to her, you fucking twat.”

Setting his now-empty glass down with a dull thud, he wove his way through the crowd, some of whom were dancing on the makeshift dance floor that was in fact the floor of someone’s garage. 

He only had his eyes on one person, though: this…new girl, whoever she was. He didn’t have to look for long. Copper hair glinting in the dingy lights and a pearly smile that seemed to permanently grace her face, she was easily recognisable as Gwyneth Berdara. 

She was standing at the other end of the room, chatting and giggling and doing whatever it was teenage girls did with a large group of friends. 

They didn’t seem to mind when he approached, though some gave him casual once-overs, then disregarded him entirely. “Hi,” he started lightly, tapping her on the shoulder. “I’m Azriel.” She turned, regarding him with teal eyes that reminded him of the sea, confidently took the hand he held out, and shook it. Azriel couldn’t help but stare down and admire her manicured nails. What did they do to make them look like that?

“I’m Gwyneth. You can call me Gwyn. What’s up?”

“I…actually heard from a friend that you’re Spanish?” He asked, still doubtful of Rhys and his meddling. “Yeah,” she answered with a grin. “Why?” 

“I’m actually not doing too well in my Spanish lessons right now, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to tutor me. I’d pay you and everything. Just for a short while, until I get my grades up,” he added, fumbling, when she didn’t respond and her brow furrowed. “I can tutor you,” she started slowly, drawing out each word. ““For twenty dollars a lesson. Do we have a deal?”

✦ ✦ ✦

Gwyneth Berdara had never thought that one of the most popular seniors, Azriel, of all people, would ever notice her, let alone talk to her. That being said, she hadn’t wanted him to, but…it was nice to think you were special, at least once in a while. 

Unable to resist, she’d had half an eye on him since he entered the dingy, so-called “party” with his friends, each more muscular and good-looking than the next. Everyone within a five-mile radius could sense the arrogance and testosterone oozing out from them; she was sure. 

But for him to strut up to her so casually as he did and start a conversation like it was nothing…her basically non-existent social skills could never. Indeed, she’d been dragged to this party against her will, much rather preferring to stay in the comfort of her own home. It was her friends’ doing, she grumbled to herself, nursing a glass of apple juice. Yes, that was how much of a loser she was. Fucking apple juice at a party where people were plying themselves silly with alcohol she couldn’t even begin to name. Then again, she’d always been strict with herself about not drinking until she was of age. Or anything illegal, really. 

“I’m Gwyneth. You can call me Gwyn. What’s up?” She asked in a voice that sounded fake, even to her. She was fighting to keep her heart rate even, and trying to suppress the roiling anxiety that had made a permanent home in her stomach. She had to come off as slightly approachable, goddamnit. The first couple of words he said went completely unnoticed by her, and she stood mesmerised, fascinated by the colour of his honey-hazel eyes. “…pay you and everything. Just for a short while, until I get my grades up.” Was he asking for tutoring?

“I can tutor you.” Gwyn was aware she sounded sceptical, but instantly remedied it with her next statement. “For twenty dollars a lesson. Do we have a deal?”

✦ ✦ ✦

Twenty bucks for an hour of tutoring in a subject he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about? Did she think she was the Queen of England?

“Ten,” Azriel bit out. If there was anything he’d learned from his father, it was negotiating. Brutally. “Eighteen,” she countered smoothly, clearly unphased by his unwillingness to such an incredibly high amount. They were in highschool, for fuck’s sake. She didn’t think he was going to pay her twenty dollars on a whim simply because he could afford it. “Twelve,” he replied. “I’m not going higher than that.”

Her friends watched with varying degrees of interest. Some were so intrigued by their encounter he was surprised their eyeballs hadn’t popped out of their skulls yet. Others were trying to sneak subtle glances at their conversation while pretending to be wrapped up in their own, while a few were very clearly disinterested and bored. 

“Well I’m not going lower than seventeen,” Gwyneth said. It was clear she’d done something like this before.

“Fourteen.”

“Fifteen. This is my last offer. If you want to go lower, you can find another tutor.”

“Fine,” he ground out. “Fifteen it is.” Fuck his life. And his bank account, apparently

While his father didn’t police his money, he’d let Azriel have his independent account on the condition that he’d only spend a limited amount each month. 

This…scam that he’d gotten himself into because his piss-poor lying skills had backfired terribly.

Azriel had no doubt it was about to get even worse.

✦ ✦ ✦

He must truly be desperate if he wanted Gwyn to tutor him, she thought glumly. No way in a hundred years would we willingly talk to her if he didn’t have some sort of ulterior motive. Then again, what did she have that he didn’t?

The question baffled her, and she’d worked her mind into a tangle trying to unravel it all. 

Gwyn had come home from the party slightly delirious and tipsy, never mind that she hadn’t touched the alcohol. She’d spent the subsequent week trying to understand why anyone like him would be remotely interested in her, and generally trying to keep on top of her homework. One of these days, high school was going to kill her, and she’d be glad for it. 

So many fucking essays and tests and assignments and all sorts of other bullshit she was sure she’d never need the minute she stepped out of school. It was only her second year, and she already felt like she was drowning. God, what would the next couple of years be like? And what about college?

“Gwyn!” Her mother called from downstairs, and she jumped. She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that her voice startled Gwyn. 

Sandra Berdara was a strict woman and even stricter mother. Her expectations from Gwyn when it came to school were crystal clear from the very beginning: high grades, no picking on anyone, and certainly no drinking, smoking, or drugs. In all fairness, Gwyn thought they were fair assumptions to make. Not like she would have done lines of cocaine or beat some kid up if her mother hadn’t warned her. She had that much sense in herself, but a good amount of kids in her grade didn’t.

Not wanting her mother to charge upstairs and break down her door with a battering ram, she made her way downstairs. “What’s for dinner?” She asked.The sounds of the kitchen filled her ears as her mother bustled around, chopping vegetables and making a sauce. “Pasta,” she called over a shoulder. “Can you set the table?”

“Sure,” Gwyn replied, already reaching for the plates. “Where’s Cat?” Though Catrin was her actual name, they called her Cat at home.

While Gwyn tended to be the quiet, more reserved twin, her sister was the true life of any social gathering. Charming and vibrant, it seemed she had an aura, a sort of allure that occasionally made Gwyn jealous. She molded into any social gathering, fitting in with people like she was made to be around them. Parties, hangouts, and other events only seemed to make her come alive, and she thrived in the chaos and art that was interacting with all sorts of people.

As corny as it sounded, Gwyn wasn’t like that. She had a harder time with…everything, it seemed. Catrin had already had her first kiss, and had moved through at least two proper boyfriends from what Gwyn could recall. 

“At her boyfriend’s,” Sandra replied, a slight edge to her voice. Neither of them had properly met the guy, Gwyn only having seen him in passing. He seemed okay, but appearances could be deceiving. It was clear her mother didn’t approve, but she also didn’t want to stop her daughters from having a bit of fun outside of school. As long as they were doing fine academically, it was alright. 

To be honest, Gwyn didn’t know how Catrin found time for her…social endeavours, as her mother liked to call them. It seemed that she was on top of everything; schoolwork, the latest trends, and her social life. 

Her mother carried the pot to the table, having laid out a coaster beforehand. “I’ve tried a new recipe today, so you’ll have to tell me how it is. I didn’t taste it, since I wanted you to have the first taste.” Gwyn’s heart warmed, and she hugged her mother tightly. The comforting weight of Sandra’s hands on her back made her instantly relax, making her feel as if everything was okay, just for a little bit. As if she wasn’t swamped in schoolwork every second of her life, as if the overwhelming stress of school and picking subjects and college and whatever other nonsense simply ceased to exist. 

She gave her mum a small peck on the cheek, and sat down. Sandra ladled a portion of pasta in red sauce and prawns onto Gwyn’s plate. Reaching for the cheese, she grated some on top. It truly looked like something out of a food magazine, one of those rare features where the chef described the food in all sorts of tantalising ways. 

Taking a forkful into her mouth, Gwyn hummed in approval. “Mum, you’ve outdone yourself. Es delicioso.”

“Gracias, mija.”

Part 3

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Missed Chances and Stolen Glances

Part 1 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Here I am, back again with a new work instead of finishing my WIPs 🥰 anyways I hope you enjoy! Also I know this fic is gonna have so many classic and overused tropes 😭 don’t come at me ok? I wanted to portray Azriel’s father here as cruelly as possible while also keeping him compliant to how bad parents can be in our world. This is just my interpretation of how Az’s father would look like in a modern AU!

Summary: Az is failing high school Spanish, and he desperately needs to get his grades up in order to graduate. He manages to conveniently find a tutor a couple of years younger than him, but there's no way he'll fall for her. Right?

Word Count: 1444

“Scattered ‘cross my family line,

I’m so good at telling lies”

~ Family Line, Conan Gray

Az ran a hand through his already messy hair, groaning. What the hell? How had he failed his Spanish test again?

“So, what’d you get?” His friend asked, leaning down to get a glimpse of his test. Quickly snatching it off the table before his buddy could get a look, he scowled up at him. “Piss off, Cassian.” He’d always been too nosy for his own good, and Azriel knew it was bound to land him in trouble. 

“Not in the mood, huh?” Cassian inquired. Azriel didn’t even bother responding, only flipping him off as he grumbled internally. 

I swear to god Azriel, if you fail one more test, you’re not playing on the basketball team this semester, his father had chided when he’d flunked chemistry. He couldn’t stop playing basketball. He simply couldn’t. He was well on his way to getting a scholarship from one of his top sports universities, and even his middle-aged, cranky father could see that this was the opportunity of a lifetime. 

How was Azriel going to break the news to his father this time? Truth be told, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Spanish, but he needed to continue playing basketball, and right now, that was the same thing. 

Shoving the paper into his backpack, not caring if it got crumpled or ripped or utterly destroyed, he dragged himself home without so much as a goodbye to his friends. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Standing outside his father’s study, he stared at the mahogany door and the gold engraving in neat, elegant letters. Mr. Ellison. 

He’d been standing here for the past five minutes, not being able to work up the courage. Useless coward, he chided himself. Absolutely pathetic. 

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, and knocked twice. The sound echoed all around the marble lobby, and did nothing to ease his nerves. 

“Come in,” boomed his father’s voice from the other side. Slowly pushing the door open, he slipped inside. He was trapped in his father’s lair.  Nothing and no one was saving him now. 

✦ ✦ ✦

“Father,” he started, voice devoid of emotion. His father merely nodded, brow slightly furrowed as he perused what seemed to be vital documents. With no further directions, Azriel took a seat across from him in one of the plush burgundy armchairs, the sheer size of them dwarfing him despite his considerable height. 

He supposed it was another one of his father's tactics, to have over-the-top, extravagant furniture that caused nothing but discomfort to the client. It would make it so that they’d want to leave as quickly as possible and give him additional time to exploit loopholes in their statements and contracts. At least that was what he told himself, because there was no other explanation for his father's ghastly interior décor choices. 

“Well? You came to see me for a reason, didn’t you?” His father barked out. Impatient, ruthless man. “Yes. I…do you remember our deal about me being kicked off the team if I failed another test?” He asked sheepishly and immediately realised how stupid of a question that was. Of course he remembers. His father was never one to forget, especially not when it came to the deals he made. He prided himself on it, flaunting his ‘greatest quality’, as he so happened to call it, like a badge of honour. 

Azriel’s statement seemed to catch his father’s attention, and he paused, staring at the paper as he contemplated…whatever it was selfish, old, stuck-up businessmen contemplated. His eyes narrowed, lips pursing. The only way Azriel could make out his clear displeasure was because he’d been forced to learn how to read the man like a book his entire life. Mood swings and bouts of anger were more common than was healthy, but he’d learned to live with it. Stay out of his way, and wait until the dust settles, his mother had told him before she’d died. Cancer, he remembered. 

Indeed, he couldn’t remember much of his mother at all, seeing as she’d passed when he’d been around six and had only begun to understand the world and its fleeting mechanisms, the slippery nature of some people. What he did remember was the hospital visits and the long discussions with the doctors late into the night. His father was never present for those, instead choosing to work late because of whatever pressing issue there had been at the office that he simply had to take care of. He hadn’t cared for her treatment, delaying it until she was practically begging to be taken to the hospital. He hadn’t even shed a tear at her funeral, only been his somber, distant, aloof self that had made Azriel hate him even more than the day of his mother’s death. 

His father’s sigh brought him back to the present and he could see how irritated he was as he rested his forehead on his index finger and thumb. “Please don’t tell me you failed yet another test?” Azriel opted to stay silent, only placing the ruined test paper on his pristine, polished desk. His father’s eyes flicked down to read the number on the paper, marked in red ink, and then looked straight at Azriel. Avoiding his piercing gaze that would make even the bravest uneasy, he looked down at his lap and his folded hands. “You know what this means,” continued his father. “I’ll have a talk with your coach. You’re benched. Until you get those grades up boy, you won’t be seeing a basketball, let alone touching one.”

“Yes father,” he said solemnly, even as his heart plummeted. He knew what was coming, he knew it, but it still hurt to hear it said out loud. 

As he made to leave, his father called, “When’s your next progress report coming?” He turned, facing him fully, and answered, “Not until March, father.” Why the hell was he asking about these things like he gave a damn? He merely hummed to indicate that he’d heard, then inquired, “And how are all your other subjects coming along? Any more that you’re on the verge of failing?” Without waiting for a reply, he ploughed on, “Or rather, let me phrase the question differently. Are there any subjects that you’re actually passing, boy? Any real chance that you’ll graduate at all?”

He was seething. He wouldn’t have been surprised if actual steam was coming out of his ears, because this was an entirely new level. Indifference he could handle, could handle being treated like he was invisible or that he didn’t matter. It was easier that way. But direct confrontation? He’d never mastered that. It was clear on his face as he stumbled for words, and his father being the vulture he was, pounced on the opportunity. “I thought so,” he hummed. “Well, there’s no use in you standing here like a statue. You can go make yourself useful. How about you actually sit down and study for once, hmm? Try to get those drowning grades afloat?”

“Father,” he cut in, heart beating rapidly, knowing he was playing a dangerous game. He was an egoistic man, and thrived on power, on oppressing those who had nothing to call their own. “You don’t have to bench me.” Before he could really yell at him, Azriel rambled on, not quite sure what he was trying to say. “I can find myself a tutor. If I get my grades up with a Spanish tutor, I’ll be able to pass high school with decent enough grades to be accepted by the university I’m aiming for, and I’ll be able to play basketball. It’s a win-win situation for everyone,” he finished, slightly out of breath and hoping he wasn’t about to get thrown on his ass for suggesting something like this. 

His father was silent, and cocked his head to the side as he mulled over the proposition. It was seal-tight, after all. Why would he say no?

“Fine,” he answered curtly. “You find yourself a Spanish tutor within the next three days, and you’ll get to keep playing.”

“Three days? I need at least a week, father, please.”

“Five days,” the man bargained. “Final offer. Take it or leave it.” Suppressing the urge to tell him how unfair it was, he said coolly, “Okay. Deal accepted.” They shook hands on it, his father’s iron grip unrelenting, as if it was trying to squeeze the very life out of him. Taking a deep breath, Azriel managed to leave the office slightly relieved, if not entirely satisfied, and his heart beating like anything.

Part 2

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Cooking

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: A fluffy, domestic drabble

Word Count: 805

The smell of pasta drifted up into Gwyn’s nose. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, and sighed. Setting a lid on top of the pot, she moved to the sink to rinse her hands off. Azriel would be home any minute now, and she wanted to make sure dinner was ready for him. She’d decided to make his favourite today; shrimp pasta with red sauce. Not more than ten minutes ago, she’d set the table, unsure about when he would arrive, but wanting everything to be in place when he did.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she frowned. He wouldn’t be home for at least another half an hour, and she simply couldn’t wait to meet her mate. He’d been gone longer this time, and had been on the continent for a good three months under Rhysand’s orders. As much as she loved her husband, she knew being Spymaster of the Night Court was also his job. She couldn’t prevent him from doing that. His heart beat for this Court and its High Lord, after all.

Deciding to curl up on the couch with a book, at least until he arrived, she wrapped herself up in blankets and got cosy. As if the House was a mind-reader, a cup of hot chocolate plopped down onto the table beside her. Silently thanking the House, she took a sip, and nearly groaned in satisfaction. Rich, creamy, and utterly delicious, it had to be her favourite thing in the world, save for Azriel, of course. 

The city glimmered around her, glowing with faelights as the House provided her with a view fit for a queen. The glimmering lights and the winding Sidra as it snaked through buildings and the famed Palaces of Velaris. There was a reason it was known as the City of Starlight, why it came alive at nightfall. Indeed, all activity seemed to multiply immediately at the stroke of moonrise, but it was just another blessing she had come to appreciate. 

But Gwyn wasn’t looking outside. Nose buried deep in her favourite romance novel, she sipped the warm liquid that nearly melted her insides, until she remembered the pasta she’d left on the stove. 

She got up, grumbling internally at having to leave the blissful haven she’d made for herself. Just as she was stirring the pot, ensuring nothing had burned in however long she’d been lounging on the couch, warm hands grabbed her waist, and the scent of night-chilled mist and cedar filled her senses. Inhaling, she let herself relax into Azriel’s warm body. He was just as eager to see her, it seemed, as he buried his nose in the crook of her neck. “I missed you,” he mumbled into her hair. “I missed you too,” she managed to whisper without her voice cracking. 

His shadows reciprocated immediately, coming out of hiding to tangle in Gwyn’s hair and loop around her arms as she chuckled in delight. The cool sensation of them as they felt like velvety, liquid night given form, was something she still hadn’t gotten used to. 

Noting her happiness, Azriel tugged on the bond, and her heart melted. He was finally home, and she couldn’t wait to have him to herself for at least another week.

She leaned her head back, resting her head on his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut as she let herself revel in this moment. This calm, this peace; that was what she missed whenever her mate was away. 

“Did you eat today?” Gwyn asked, hating to break their little moment. Azriel only gave a non-committal hum as he buried his face deeper into her flowing copper locks. “Azriel?” she said, a little more sternly this time. “No,” he mumbled finally. “But I’m ready to eat you.” She giggled, and said between laughter, “I meant actual food, Az.”

“But you do count as actual food.”

“I made your favourite pasta, you know. Can’t let that go to waste.” That seemed to catch his attention, as he raised his head and spun Gwyn around to face him. 

Laying a gentle, scarred hand on her cheek, he whispered, “You’d do that for me?” Gwyn’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Of course I would.”

“But the ingredients-”

“I had Rhys ship them over.” Being friends with a High Lord really did have its perks. Azriel’s expression softened further. “That’s so incredibly sweet of you.”

“Well, what kind of a mate would I be if I didn’t cook for my husband after a long, grueling mission?” He only enveloped her in a kiss, warm and sweet, until she went pliant in his arms. As they broke away, she gave him a peck on the cheek, unable to resist her mate any longer. She ran a hand over his cheekbone. “Let’s have dinner. Before it gets cold.”

A/N: I don’t know if I captured the vibe here but I just wanted to try out a short drabble. Inspired by this Tumblr post.

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

The Thought of You

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: This can be read as an alternate ending/continuation to “The Final Goodbye”. He has to learn to live with his grief, but he resorts to extreme methods. Includes alcohol abuse/alcoholism, depression, grief, mourning, mention of major character death, self-hatred, self-doubt, and self-sabotage.

Summary: Azriel tries desperately to cope with the loss of his mate.

Word Count: 1240

The dark liquor burned his throat as he threw back another glass. “Bartender,” he called, waving a scarred hand to get his attention. “Another one.” He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had tonight. He didn’t care. 

Neither did he care about the females who had been eyeing him like a piece of meat all night. A few, the braver ones, had even approached, but he had politely declined each time, offering them a polite but firm rejection. It had nothing to do with attraction; not at all. In fact, he would have been happy to have a good fuck if it meant drowning himself in his emotions. But he also knew it wasn’t fair to the female. It was unfair to assume that she wanted the same things as he did, simply because he was depressed. He wanted to be in the right state of mind to take a female home, and right now, he was far from it.

Az, where are you? Rhys’ frantic voice cut through his mental shields, which must have been down now that he was heavily drunk. Out, he answered, not bothering with an actual reply. Rhys, the busybody, wasn’t ready to give up quite yet, as he heard his brother’s voice in his head once more. Yes, I know. Care to tell me where you are so we make sure you don’t pass out in some sewer? 

Watch it, Az snarled back, his jaw ticking. Normally, he would have joked and laughed along with his brother, but tonight, he couldn’t take it. His patience was already wearing thin, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with his brother’s bullshit, High Lord or no.

You don’t want to talk to me, fine. But at least talk to someone about it, cam Rhys’ voice once more.

I’ll talk whenever I feel comfortable, he snapped back. Now let me be.

He felt Rhys exit his mind, and he was left alone to wallow in his sorrow.

“Az,” came Rhys’ voice. Didn’t I tell you to get out of my mind? When Azriel didn’t get a response, he realized that Rhys was physically here, and not in his mind. “What do you want?” he sighed as Rhysand took a seat on the barstool beside him. “I want to check how you’re doing.”

“And how do you think I’m doing, Rhysand?” He only called his brother by his full name when he was pissed. “Rhysand? Truly, Az?” When he didn’t bother gracing him with a response, Rhys merely continued, his voice more serious, “Like I said, I want to check how you are. Obviously not well, since I can smell you’ve been drinking the day away.” He wrinkled his nose, and Azriel had the urge to pummel something into the Earth.

Rhys noticed his jaw ticking though, and said instead, “You’ve had more than enough to drink, Az. Let’s get you home.” 

“No.”

“Why not?” Because if he moved from his barstool, he might actually throw up. Worse, he might cry. His brother did not need to see him in such a vulnerable state, and certainly not on the anniversary of his mate’s death. Rhys didn’t know. That was fine. But surely he could be granted the courtesy of spending a night however he wished without any interference?

But even as he drank, Azriel knew that no matter where Gwyn was right now, another life or another world entirely, she would not be proud of who Azriel had become this past year. She was most likely scowling down at him, cursing his name to the winds for being a Cauldron-damned drunkard. He deserved it. Deserved it all. The pain, the heartbreak, the torture. Her anger and her rage. He always had. Drinking simply made it easier to deal with, to drown out his emotions and the thoughts that had become too loud with each passing day, haunting him day and night, eating away at his conscience ceaselessly like a colony of maggots.

Indeed, he’d come here, to this very bar, nearly every day since her death and drank himself into oblivion. The bartender hadn’t asked why, only giving him the endless supply of alcohol he so desperately needed to keep the flood of emotions at bay. It seemed, however, that no matter what he did, how much he drank or how much he avoided the others, the dam only seemed to build up. It would crash soon, he knew it, and he’d be six feet under. Good. It was better than whatever hell he was living in now. Surely this couldn’t be worse than living without his mate, his true love with whom he’d had far too little time with. His mate, who’d been stolen from him like Death’s personal prize simply to spite him. Perhaps this was his punishment: his mate in return for all those lives he’d taken. It seemed fitting, after all; his true love for the countless soldiers and spies he’d killed and maimed and tortued and done Cauldron knows what to. He understood. Or at least he tried to, but that didn’t do anything to ease the pain. If anything, it made it worse, the constant, searing, blinding pain that had him feeling so horrible he could hardly get out of bed most days. Rhys hadn’t pushed it, thankfully, and neither had any of the Inner Circle. He wanted to talk to them, he really did, but they were all dealing with their own demons. Amren, who was adjusting to a new life as a new creature. Feyre, who had been pulled into this world at a far too young age. Rhysand, who’d sacrificed everything and bled himself raw for this court. Cassian, who’d used every ounce of cunning and strength to help unite the armies of Prythian’s largest court. Mor, a queen in her own right, who managed the sections of this court seamlessly and still managed to look stunningly elegant while doing so. And him. The killer, the wounder, the spy. The one who’d taken far too many lives, hurt even more, and would likely spend the rest of his existence rotting in the worst cell Hel had to offer. He couldn’t blame the Devil, after all. He was simply doing his job, and right now, Azriel’s cards were full of nothing but suffering. It hurt, but he also knew that his mate was in a better place. 

Sighing, he got up, brushing Rhys out of the way, and shot skyward.

✦ ✦ ✦

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to his mate’s grave. Here lies Gwyneth Berdara, it wrote. Beloved by all, hated by none, a fearless warrior in her own right, who showed others that light could be found anywhere, if only one bothered to look for it. 

“I’m sorry for being such a pathetic mate, such a bastard after you left. I just…didn’t know how to handle the fact that you’re not here beside me.” Azriel took a breath to steady himself. Honestly, he was sure he’d have started crying by now, but the alcohol had numbed him so thoroughly it would be a miracle if he felt anything at all.

“I realize this is about the most worthless apology I can give you, seeing as you’re gone. I suppose my words don’t mean much anyway.”

Summoning a bouquet of white lilies, he lay them at her grave, brushing a light kiss to the petals. “I love you.”

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

The Ghost of the Grave

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Includes mentions of character death, grief, mourning, depression, and mental health struggles. Please read with caution and take care of yourself. Your mental health is more important than a fic. Quite an angsty fic. I just watched Bhool Bhulaiya 3 (amazing Hindi movie, horror-comedy but also really sad) and I can’t get the vibe of it out of my head (or the song, ‘Ami Je Tomar’ out of my head! It was amazing!) So I decided to write a fic about it. If it’s my problem, I’ll make it my personal mission to make it yours too. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1445

It was a gloomy day in Velaris, the clouds having set over the sky well over a day ago. They had all expected rain, but it seemed that the weather was keeping them all on eggshells as the storm brewed, more vicious than any they had witnessed in a long while.

Azriel, instead of opting to stay indoors, had made the decision to hike down to the hills near Velaris. Rolling green and full of meadows, they had always been his favourite place to go to when he felt that the din of the city became too much. He had grown up in the countryside, after all, those meagre hours with his mother doing little to satisfy his love for the wild and everything untamed.

At least that was what he told everyone who asked. While not entirely true, it wasn’t the only reason he came to visit nature. 

The War with Hybern had impacted them all, in many ways than one. And when Azriel had frequently left the Townhouse, claiming he needed time to sort out his thoughts, no one had objected, merely telling him to take care of himself. He’d nodded mutely, his mind elsewhere. 

Namely, his mate, whom he’d lost, and whose grave he was currently making his way to. She’d been buried right outside Velaris, Azriel having commissioned the ceremony himself, somber as it was. He’d wanted to make sure she got a resting place deserving of her, of the light and joy that was his mate. And so, Azriel had promptly decided that close to Velaris, close to her chosen home, was the best place he could have chosen for her. 

Making his way through the cemetery gates, he glanced around. Not to check for where she was buried, no. He knew where she lay, could probably find his way to her in the darkness and blindfolded even in Death. He was in a delicate state of mind right now, and he wasn’t entirely ready to meet anyone else grieving over her. 

Finally, he made his way to a clearing where the gravestones changed colour, become slightly more of a slate grey rather than those eroded by weather and the Mother herself. It was still fairly intact, the engravings and etchings still there.

Gwyneth Berdara - Warrior, Priestess, Lover

It was simple, and yet every time he saw those five words, it brought tears to his eyes. He hadn’t been able to think of anything else for his mate, any other words to tell the world after he, too, joined the realm of the dead and was reunited with his love, how utterly wonderful and charming his mate was. Words didn’t seem to do her justice, anyhow. 

Kneeling, he stroked a scarred hand over her grave. as if caressing her cheek. He had to swallow to clear his throat, choked with emotion, before he spoke. “Happy anniversary, my love.” Closing his eyes, he let the tears flow freely down his face. He was allowed to mourn her, at least today, he told himself. Mourn her thoroughly, so that her soul may know she was loved, even in Death.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his hands never leaving the gravestone as his forehead bent forward to touch the slate. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you, my love. It will forever haunt me until the day I die.” His body wracked with sobs as he broke down completely.

Perhaps this was his punishment for killing on the battlefield, for staining his hands with a blood so red no God or higher power could grant him salvation. For torturing and maiming and wrecking his body, tainting his soul the black of Death. How ironic, he thought to himself. Death’s messenger himself, who killed without a second thought, was devastated by his lover’s passing. Fate truly did love to be cruel, then. Relished in the misery it brought him as the mourning drove him insane, tore him apart shred by painful shred.

But it was something he’d have to make peace with, as he’d made peace with everything that had been thrown at him. As foreign a concept as it was, he’d also learned that peace for himself, for his heart, was something he’d have to live without. 

Sighing, he lifted his head, wiped his tears away and stared at her gravestone.

And began to sing. 

दो दिलों की ये प्रेम कहानी

ले आई देखो कहाँ

इन लकीरों में मिलना अपना था

जन्मों पहले लिखा

हमारे मिलन को

है तरसे जो नैना

इन्हें आज ना रोकना

जुदा अब ना होंगे

करो हमसे वादा

मेरा साथ ना छोड़ना

तुम्हें आज पाएंगे

या मर ही जाएंगे

ये ख़्वाब न तोड़ना

His voice arced and swirled, echoing around the clearing as he poured his heart into it. The story of two lovers, meant to be together in every way as one met their demise and the other was left grieving. He couldn’t think of a song better suited to them than this. Azriel had closed his eyes at one point, and hadn’t realized he’d been crying until he felt a tear land on his hands.

As he took a breath to continue, he heard a second, distinctly feminine voice singing along with him. 

मेरे ढोलना सुन

मेरे प्यार की धुन

मेरी चाहतें तो

फ़िज़ा में बहेंगी

ज़िंदा रहेंगी

होके फ़ना

अमी जे तोमार

शोधू जे तुमार

Beseeching her lover to listen to her dreams and pleas, her voice rang out, raw with emotion and a desperation that only the cruelty of love could bring about.

Opening his eyes, though now wet with tears, he stood up, hackles raised and senses alert. Drawing the twin blades at his back, his eyes tracked every small rustle of the leaves, every puff of the wind with lethal precision.

He’d expected a warrior, maybe someone coming to disturb him, or even a fellow mourner. But what he hadn’t expected, was the glowing, silvery form of his mate, floating above her gravestone. “My love,” she said, her voice as ethereal as the first day he’d heard her. “How I’ve missed you.”

His body was malfunctioning, it seemed, as he dropped the weapons he was holding and staggered forwards towards her non-corporeal form. “Gwyn,” he breathed, eyes wide and tears streaking his face.

“I’m here, my love. But tell me, why do you cry?”

“How could I not cry? Even the slightest of things remind me of you. Every day I wake up, and I see you in everything. The sun, glowing and warm. A book, full of knowledge and stubborn as hell. The ocean, how vast and utterly enchanting you are.”

It seemed that Gwyn was fighting back tears now too, as she said, “Happy anniversary, Azriel.”

Involuntarily, he made to hug her, but as his hands passed through her floating form, his face had a look of nothing but pure agony on it. 

“I can’t-”

“I know,” she soothed. “I know. My heart is clawing its way out of my chest because it senses your presence. But we can’t.”

“Why not?” he whispered, sinking to his knees once more as the weight of the situation overtook him.

“Because I am no longer part of this world.”

Azriel felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He’d spend another decade in his father’s cell, go through another two wars, watch the best of warriors as the life drained out of them, but he never wanted to hear those words. “No, you’re not,” he rasped out. “You’re not gone. I won’t allow you to be. I’ll-”

“Azriel,” she cut in, her voice calm, and yet limned with such exhausting sadness. “How long will you keep my memory alive?”

“Until I die. Until the day me soul leaves my body, and even then I won’t forget about you.”

“You have to,” she whispered, raising her hand as if to cup his cheek, but realizing too late that she couldn’t. That fate had made separate plans for them. “You have to move on. Find someone else. It’s not fair to you to be shackled to me, even in Death. I told you, my love. I told you when we were both in the realm of the living: you deserved so much better than me. You’re free,” she finished, her voice breaking on the last word as she let out a sob.

“I was never shackled to you,” Azriel breathed. “Never think that. Do you understand me? I don’t care if we’re worlds apart, but I’ll do everything I can to get to you. I am not free, and I most certainly will not move on. This isn’t some stupid fling I was involved in with you, Gwyn. This was our mating bond. You are everything to me. No other female can change that.”

“You think that now,” she said, her voice rising with desperation. “But one day, you’ll meet someone else, and think about you’d wish you’d met her sooner.”

“Never. My heart will always belong to you, broken and bloodied and shattered, but yours to keep. Do with it what you will. Step on it, crush it, blow it to smithereens. And still I will love you, as the waves love the shore, incessantly, without purpose or reason. I will come back no matter what. No matter that every interaction with you leaves me breathless, and panting, and the absurd and overwhelming need to see you again. I shall sacrifice it all to see a glimpse of you, a glimpse of us, a glimpse of what could have been or never was.”

Gwyn kneeled in front of him, silently urging Azriel to look at her. When he did, he found tears flowing down her face, too.

“I am with you, Azriel. From now until the end of time.”

“From now until then,” he echoed back, his voice filled with love and adoration for his mate. Gwyn, who had not deserved to leave this world so early, with whom he should have a thousand years more. And yet he knew that no matter how much time he spent with her he’d never be satisfied. She was as much a part of his soul as he was of hers, their lives irrevocably twined together: a thread of darkness and a thread of light, balancing each other out so perfectly he knew the Mother had made the perfect choice. 

It didn’t hurt any less, however, that Gwyn wasn’t beside him to tell him this, as she had disappeared into a mist, leaving behind only the smell of the briny, salty ocean.

A/N: Here is the song link on Youtube and Spotify

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

The Sight of Cobalt

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: A fluffy fic about our two sweethearts going shopping in Velaris <3

Word Count: 1445

Velaris was awake now more than ever, it seemed, the sun having set hours ago and the night sky twinkling above them. And yet the patrons of every bar, every club, every restaurant, only seemed to celebrate harder as the night wore on. The Rainbow of Velaris shone beautifully, the neat cobblestone streets and windows decorated with flowerpots bringing Azriel a sense of peace only his home could offer. The perks of living in the Night Court, he supposed. 

Business never truly stopped in the City of Starlight, the Palaces of Velaris always crowded, always with new wares to offer and new people to meet. A true metropolis.

The mountains shone in the distance, great behemoths of granite that towered over the city like its solemn and duty-bound protectors. The jagged tips reflected the moonlight, making it seem as if they were coated in snow, despite it being the middle of summer.

But what he found most ethereal wasn’t the scenery or the stores. It was his mate, who he currently linked arms with as they meandered along the Sidra, the riverbank glowing with silver moonlight. The water rippled calmly, the sound soothing balm to his otherwise rough day. Gwyn’s copper hair shone in the light, and despite hailing from Autumn, he couldn’t help but admit that she seemed so in place here in Velaris, but most of all, with him by her side. 

Indeed, her eyes brightened at every store they passed, and she only seemed to increase in excitement with the more people they met. 

A sudden gasp from his mate had him raising his eyebrows and nearly crashing into her. “What’s wrong?” Gwyn didn’t say anything, merely pointing to something. A dress, he realized. And a damn stunning one at that. 

Navy blue and cinched around the waist, the dress pooled around the mannequin’s ankles like a liquid sea of cobalt. The tight-fitting bodice had intricate patterns woven onto it that glimmered under the shifting light, and was accompanied by sheer lace gloves going up to the elbows. Small gems adorned the entire gown like stars plucked from the night sky itself, adding an entirely new aspect to the already breathtaking gown. It was stunning in its splendour, utterly mesmerizing to the eye. It shimmered and gleamed under the light, making it seem heavenly. Even Azriel, who knew next to nothing when it came to dresses, could admit that this was a one-of-a-kind piece that he’d be extremely lucky to find from anyone but the crafted artisans of the City of Starlight.

Gwyn sighed dreamily, her eyes refusing to leave the dress, and said, “Can you imagine what it would be like to wear a dress like that? Oh, I’d have so much fun dancing around in a ballgown like I was a princess of my own.”

Azriel knew it was one of Gwyn’s whimsical dreams to own a collection of ball gowns that would put the Night Court’s treasuries and hordes of gold to shame. It had been a coveted wish since she was a child, and he’d been meaning to buy her a dress for their anniversary anyway.

Now seemed like the perfect time. After all, why not sooner than later?

“Come on,” he said firmly, gently grasping her arm and pulling her into the store as she protested weakly. “Az!”

When they were inside the store, the door clinking lightly with a little bell above it, he made a beeline for one of the more secluded racks on one side. It’d be quiet here, enough to allow them to talk without any of the attendants coming to check on them. They weren’t annoying, by any means, but he didn’t want them privy to a conversation between him and his mate. “Now, which one of these dresses do you like?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with us being-”

“Which dress,” he cut her off, “do you like?”

“The indigo one in the window,” she replied sceptically, narrowing her eyes at him. “What’s your point? What are we doing here?”

“What we’re doing here is buying my stunning mate a dress.”

She didn’t reply immediately, instead choosing to look at the price tag as subtly as she could. Unfortunately for Gwyn, her husband was the Spymaster of the Night Court, and he noticed everything. “Don’t worry about the price,” he coaxed gently. “I’ll take care of that.”

“Just because you’re my husband doesn’t mean that you have to pay for everything, you know,” she grumbled, refusing to look him in the eye. “I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own things.”

“I know that,” he said, fighting back a laugh. Gods, his mate was truly stubborn. “But can’t I spoil my wife?”

Gwyn’s eyes widened as she finally found the price tag, letting out a gasp. She dropped it immediately, almost as if it would burn her. “Not if it’s 40,000 gold marks!” she hissed. “I am not letting you pay for that!”

Azriel’s brow creased. The amount wasn’t by any means large to him, but surely it was overpriced for a dress? He bent to examine the price tag, and his mouth flattened into a line. “We can always ask them to put it on Rhys’ tab.”

“Just because he’s the High Lord does not mean he’s going to be subject to my childish whims! And besides,” she added a tad more quietly, though Azriel could see how she tried to conceal it, “I didn’t need the dress anyways.”

As she made to walk out of the store, head bowed low and a pink hue on her cheeks, likely from embarrassment, he stopped her with a light arm on her shoulder. “I’ll buy it for you.”

“No, you won’t,” she shot back. He merely raised an eyebrow at that, daring her to challenge him.

“Azriel no, it’s far too expensive-”

“It’s not,” he cut her off. “Nothing is too expensive for you.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I can’t have you simply throwing money away on a stupid dress that I wanted to buy because I was bored one night! 40,000 gold marks, Azriel! I could never pay you back half that amount in a year!”

“You don’t need to pay me back anything,” he insisted. “It’s a gift I’m buying you because I love you.”

“If you want to buy me a gift this badly, you can buy me something cheaper. Something that will be useful to me.”

“Nonsense. I’m buying this gift because I love you, and because you’re my wife.” When Gwyn didn’t budge, he added, “I’ll have you know Rhys has been paying me very well over the last couple of centuries. Sweetheart, you’d be surprised at how much money I have saved in my accounts.”

“You don’t need to waste your money on me like this,” she insisted yet again.

We can’t have people thinking the Night Court’s shadowsinger is stingy when it comes to his own wife, now can we?” He smirked at her, and despite herself, she grinned. “You’re insufferable.”

“Oh, I know.” His smirk widened even more at her response. “But what matters is that my mate is happy. She can bleed my accounts dry so long as she is content.” She laughed openly, and rolled her eyes, finally conceding. 

As her husband finished paying for the ridiculously overpriced dress, chatting with the shopkeeper, she couldn’t help but adore him. Money had never been a priority for her, but for a male to spend such large amounts of money simply because he loved her? That seemed like something straight out of a romance book, and she had no idea how she’d become so lucky. 

She had been waiting outside, and as soon as she heard him step out, she wrapped her arms around him, leaning into his touch completely. “Thank you,” she said, her expression softening as she looked into Azriel’s hazel eyes. Slowly, his hands came to wrap around her waist in a soft embrace, lightly stroking her hair. “Really.” She linked her arms around his neck, and to anyone passing by, they looked like mannequins themselves. Mannequins deeply in love, that is. 

Azriel only smiled lightly at Gwyn’s confession, that special smile that only came out when they were alone, and planted a small peck on her lips. “Whatever for?”

“For this dress. For being here, with me. For…everything, I suppose.” “I’ll always be with you, Valkyrie. Don’t you forget that.”

They walked out of the store that night, arm in arm, content, and blissfully happy, Velaris’ stars shining brightly above them like a blanket of glowing lights.

A/N: Based loosely on this dress and this dress

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

The Final Goodbye

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Includes major character death, canon-typical violence, fatal injuries, blood, gore, violence, su!c!de, war and battle, and themes of tragedy. Dead Dove. Do Not Eat. Please read with caution and take care of yourself. Your mental health is more important than a fic. Generally a really angsty and AU fic with love declarations and forbidden romance with fate acting against Azriel and Gwyn.

Word Count: 2955

The roar and din of battle all around him did nothing to calm his already exhausted self. Armies of all the Courts combined, as well as their High Lords fought on land, each doing his best to wipe out as many people as he could with every carefully aimed blast of power. The Illyrians and Peregryns fought side by side in the skies, diving and twisting and dodging spears and arrows of faebane hurled at them. If he squinted west, he could just make out the navy that had come to help them, an army from the continent he hardly knew. They fought their own battle on the seas, skilled sailors and warriors in their own right. But now was not the time for friendly acquaintances. This was war, after all. 

Sweat ran down his brow as he fought against a particularly difficult Hybern soldier. Though he’d managed to land a few good blows, he’d received just as many, if not more in return. His head throbbed as a cut on his forehead healed itself. Even then, he could feel his already rapid fae healing slowing down, and Azriel did not like that one bit. He needed to be in top condition to fight, and they still had many more days of war to go. Indeed, Hybern’s army managed to stretch out endlessly, grey and black masses hovering over the contours and valleys of the land like  Death’s ambassadors, crafted of grey smoke.

Just as he did a particularly difficult manoeuvre, bringing his Illyrian blade down on the Hybern soldier’s head and promptly splitting him in two, a sharp pain shot through the bond. It had Azriel’s already hyper-aware senses perked up. He scanned the area, the clouds overhead, taking off into the air immediately, the rest of Hybern’s soldiers and minions be damned. He didn’t give a shit if they lived or crawled into a hole and died. Besides, he was sure his army could handle them, and he had larger priorities. He needed to get to his mate. Their bond was still fairly new, and the overprotectiveness was something he was still getting used to.

Soaring through the smoky air, the whizz of weapons only irritated him further as he tried tracking Gwyneth down. Where was she? Suddenly, he spotted a large group of familiar people close to his current position. Rhys. Making a beeline towards him, he landed roughly, stumbling slightly. Oddly enough, it wasn’t just Rhysand, but rather the entire Inner Circle, as well as some others whose names he hadn’t been bothered to learn, and was certainly not going to learn now. They were all huddled around something. Or someone, he supposed, seeing as they all seemed to be kneeling down to whoever was on the ground. Were whoever they were injured? He hoped not. They already had few healers within their ranks, and he really didn’t want to see someone close to him get injured. 

“Az,” Rhys breathed as he came closer, spotting Azriel through the crowd immediately. He’d never seen his brother like this, all ruffled and his violet eyes blown wide with fear. He’d only seen this sort of fear once; after Rhys returned from Under the Mountain as a ghost, but even in his gut, Azriel could tell that this was a different sort of fear.

But there was something else, too. A scent Azriel would never forget in his five centuries of being alive, and wouldn’t forget for however many more centuries he had left. The distinct, metallic scent of blood. It was warm and thick in the air, yet he couldn’t see anyone bleeding. The tension and odd, thrumming murmuring only seemed to increase as he made his way in through the circle of people.

What he wasn’t prepared to see, however, was his mate sprawled on the muddy ground, her body covered in dirt and filth, and bleeding out profusely from her abdomen. The ground near her practically ran red with her scarlet blood, and he didn’t think he’d forget the sight anytime soon. No, this was a memory, along with many, many others, that would forever be etched into his soul. 

He stood, frozen as a pillar. He’d been used to blood, had dealt with injuries and gore and mutilation since the day he’d been old enough to wield a dagger. But seeing his mate injured like this did something to him, to his cracked heart, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it. He was utterly immobile, had no clue what to do, and yet couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Finally, his knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground beside his mate. Cauldron, she was pale as death. “Azriel,” she managed to gasp. “What are you doing here?”

“Gwyn,” he breathed. “What the hell happened?”

“Bad cut to the side,” she said, her eyes already beginning to become hazy. Indeed, he could see the blood seeping out from her lung. Likely ruptured. His meagre battlefield healing wouldn’t do anything to staunch the blood flow; this would need a proper healer.

“Gwyn please, stay with me. Don’t fall unconscious.”

As if responding to his command, his shadows near-swarmed Gwyn, whirling around her and each other in a desperate attempt to check how bad the wound was. They nearly engulfed her in the thick blanket they made; their panic clearly visible. With half a thought, he had them scattering, and told them to stay away, if only for now.

“It’s so cold,” she murmured. “And it hurts so bad.”

“I know it hurts. I know, love. Just hold on. The healers will get here soon.” Even in his heart, Azriel knew that was a lie. The healers were on the other side of camp, and it would take them at least half an hour for him or his brothers to fly and retrieve someone. Rhys and the others were too drained to winnow. They were all at their limits, and he could see the exhaustion weighing everyone down. Hell, even he was worn out and desperately needed the sleep he’d been slacking off on. 

But none of that mattered. So long as his mate stayed conscious, nothing made a difference. Leaning down, he brushed a thumb over her cheekbone. She was freezing. The blood loss was worse than he’d expected, then. Trying desperately to send the tiniest sliver of warmth through the bond, but not too much lest he hurt her, he watched as she gasped lightly. Good. At least the bond wasn’t ripping. Besides, Gwyn needed that reassurance just as much as he did.

He saw Gwyn’s eyes starting to droop once more. “There are so many things I want to show you, my little warrior. Please don’t leave. There are so many more places we have to go to. Think about the continent, about how I’ll spoil you rotten with sweets and dresses and jewellery, and we’ll stay up late on summer nights watching the sunset and the stars. And during Solstice we’d sit inside and have a mug of hot chocolate with your favourite chocolate cookies, the ones with caramel in them. We’ll decorate a tree with ornaments, and give each other presents in the morning. You’ll jump up with excitement as you realise I’ll have gotten you exactly what you asked for,” he whispered, his voice growing hoarse with strain and emotion. 

“And then we might have children of our own. A life of our own, with our own house and everything. Can you imagine? Two little fierce monsters running around. One with my hair and your eyes, the other with your cunning wile and my spirit. Would you want that? A life with me?”

Azriel didn’t know what he was rambling on about then, but he needed to know that she’d be alright. She had to be. There was no other alternative. He couldn’t let there be one. 

She chuckled weakly at his confession, her pale, bloodless lips now cracked and dry. “I’ll always want a life with you, my mate.” That only made the tears in Azriel’s well up harder. He had to say what was on his mind before she passed out. “Don’t go before I can give you the world, sweetheart. There wouldn’t be my life left without you in it.”

“Who knew the world’s most feared Shadowsinger could be so romantic?” she teased. But even that sounded hollow. Death was in the air; he could feel it. They all could. Creeping up like the plague, an unwanted visitor that he wanted to banish from this battlefield before it truly claimed anyone. But he could feel Gwyn slipping away, could feel the bond getting more and more subdued with each passing second, as if someone had placed a thick blanket over it. Their bond was being suffocated, snuffed out of existence like a flame that had never existed.

“Azriel,” she managed to choke out. “I don’t have long left.”

“No. No, stop. Stop talking like that. You’re going to be fine.” She smiled sadly at that, which only made his tears fall even harder. “I wish that was the case, my love.” Her voice was nothing more than a soft murmur now.

“You’re going to make it through, I promise. Just hold on.” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, and he was sure his mate could hear it too. But he didn’t care, so long as Gwyn came out of this unscathed, it didn’t matter.

“Cauldron save me,” she whispered to the sky as she tilted her gaze upwards. Her eyes had fluttered shut, and Azriel was terrified that any of these breaths could be her last. “Mother hold me. Pass through-” she broke off, a wheezing cough making its way through her ruptured lung, wracking her failing body with tremors. “Pass through the gates, and smell the immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no-no evil. Feel no pain.” He could hear her voice getting softer and how she fought for every breath. His little warrior, who fought Death itself with bared teeth and weapons flying, even as she lay dying on the harsh ground, shivering and trembling with such vigour.

Azriel could see the effort it took for Gwyn to open her eyes again, and as he was about to object, she cut in. Her voice quivered when she spoke, but he didn’t dare stop her. 

Tears streamed down her face as she took wheezing breaths. Azriel hadn’t realized how warm he was until Gwyn’s hand, cold as death, freezing as the grave, came to cup his cheek. It trembled with the effort it required, and the soft touch sent a warm glow to his very core.

“I love you, Azriel. Be strong for me. I believe in you, and we will meet in another life. I promise you this.”

With that, Gwyn took her last breath, and the bond snapped with such force Azriel thought it might have been less painful to rip his damn heart out instead. He barely registered her stunning teal eyes, now frozen and lifeless as they drifted shut, or her hands slackening to the sides, unmoving and motionless.

The scream he let out was nothing short of pure agony and undiluted rage. Kneeling, he looked nothing short of a broken knight, a mockery of a warrior, a shame to the Carynthian name. A gaping hole was left between his ribs, where the bond should have been. Tears streamed down his face as he roared at the sky and any ancient God who listened, his leathers covered in dried, flaky blood. He had streaks of it on his face, too.

But what did all this bloodshed bring him, if nothing but pain and heartache? What did that bloodshed mean if he was unable to save his mate when it mattered the most? He’d promised her he’d protect her, no matter what, and he’d broken that promise. 

It was then Azriel knew that the priestess who had lit his world up so beautifully was gone forever, and would never come back. 

He hadn’t deserved Gwyn in the first place, but then she was taken from him. To think that his glorious, wonderful, radiant mate had died in this hellhole of a place, killed by some nobody? It enraged him to his very core. He couldn’t abandon her, even in death. He had promised. 

“Stop. No. Wake up. Wake up! I said wake up!” He didn’t know how many times he screamed the words over and over again, out loud, through their bond. He shook her shoulders, begging her to come back; the words playing back in his head like a desperate, pleading mantra. Wake up, wake up, please wake up.

Each attempt only proved how futile it was, but that didn’t mean Azriel’s grieving heart would stop.

“Gwyn,” he sobbed, refusing to let go. “Please come back.”

Touching his forehead to hers, those three words were all that he whispered as he mourned.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, but it must have been a while. As he took a shaky breath to compose himself, his tear-streaked face nearly unrecognizable with puffy eyes, he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Azriel,” came Feyre’s voice. “No,” he answered, voice cracking. He’d never spoken like that to his High Lady, but he didn’t care. “Leave me alone. Let me grieve.”

She sighed, a thing of pity and understanding. “Of course you’re allowed to grieve. But please make sure that you don’t hurt yourself in the process,” came her gentle words.

How was he to not hurt himself knowing that his mate was gone? What point was there anyway? His court, his High Lord, everything paled in comparison to Gwyn, and now that she had left, he didn’t know what he truly stood for. He’d thought he’d known, those dark days before Gwyn had entered his life like the first sunrise after a cold winter, tentative and warm and glowing. She had warmed his heart up, bit by bit, until it was a twin to hers.

His heart was frozen raw again, and he wasn’t sure anything could thaw it. 

“Az,” Feyre coaxed again. “At least drink some water.”

“Fine,” he exhaled, too tired to object anymore. Summoning a glass of water from whatever pocket-realm she kept things in, she extended a tattooed hand towards him and tipped the cup to his mouth. Once he had drank the entire cup, she took a step back, and brushed a light hand over his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you alone,” she said, and walked away.

The tears that he’d been trying so hard to hold back for the sake of his mate flowed freely once more, the dam inside his heart now completely in shambles. He didn’t want anyone’s pity. He just wanted to mourn.

He slept with her corpse that night. Not her corpse, he kept reminding himself. Just her. She was just sleeping. She’d wake up in the morning, and then everything would be okay. It might have just been a fever dream. Maybe he’d wake up, realizing he passed out from too much alcohol in the Townhouse, and find himself in bed with his mate once more. He’d tell her all about his dream, and they’d laugh, Gwyn chuckling at his overactive imagination. Maybe they’d share a plate of cookies. Chocolate-chip; Gwyn’s favourite.

He’d slept with his weapons on the previous night, unwilling to go back into that husk of a tent without the warm presence of his mate. As uncomfortable as it had been, he’d needed to be prepared for whatever happened. They were still in enemy territory, after all. Getting up, he unbuckled his weapons, Truth-Teller included. He could tell it was still the middle of the night from the stars’ positions above him. Right now, they were the only witnesses to what he was about to do.

Glancing at his mate, he realized someone must have come during the night to shut her eyes. Now, it just looked like Gwyn was sleeping. Pressing a featherlight kiss to her brow and brushing a thumb over her cheek, he whispered, “I love you.”

The waves crashed against the cliff walls, creating a cacophony of noise that somehow soothed him. Gulls flew overhead, screeching and bellowing, and he thought they roared exactly what his heart wanted to say. 

He’d always found the sea soothing, had always found solace in the depthless waters of the ocean. But now, it was just a reminder to the mate he had lost. She was part water-nymph, after all. It seemed as if her body was moulded to the sea itself, and she might as well have been a siren in her past life. But it hurt too much to think about now, and so with great difficulty, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind. 

Slowly creeping up to the edge of the tallest cliff, he peered down.

The brutal, unforgiving rock jutted out at odd angles, seeming to him like the maw of a great beast that seemed all too eager to consume anyone who dared get too close to the edge. It didn’t take a genius to work out what would happen if someone took a wrong step or missed their footing. 

He sighed, and willed his wings not to work, to stay completely motionless.

He took a deep breath.

And jumped.

The world lost two great warriors that day. But they were so much more. Kind, selfless, radiant people, who would have sacrificed anything for their families and then some. But most importantly, they were in love, and were finally reunited, though it was in the cold embrace of Death.

A/N: HC that Az calls Gwyn “his little warrior” because he’s so proud of every battle she fought, whether it be with herself or a physical battle and he wanted to make sure she heard it one final time before she died (crying rn btw, idk why I keep doing this to myself). Inspired by this Pinterest post.

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Drunken Ecstasy

Part 1 | Part 5 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: I debated for a long time how I would write this scene, and this is what I finally decided upon! Also, the lyrics I use in this chapter are 100% intentional, I love my girl Sabrina so much but I don't know if the buildup is too much. Includes teasing, lingerie wearing, Az getting flustered but no actual sex

Summary: Azriel is away on a mission and Gwyn can’t stand to be away from after being mated so soon. He doesn’t have a choice as Spymaster of the Night Court and he’s put off his duties for long enough so he has to leave. Desperate, she sends him…spicy pictures through his shadows (we don’t have phones in Prythian y’all I had to improvise okay?)

Word Count: 2879

Gwyn sighed, flopping back onto the mattress as her hair the colour of firelight pooled around her in a halo. Flicking a strand off her face with irritation, she sighed again. It was so boring without him here, without someone to talk to or joke around with like she was used to doing. 

One of his shadows flicked around her head, clearly annoyed as well. It had been getting increasingly restless, refusing to stay still or hidden whenever she had to step outside. Azriel had insisted on keeping one of his shadows on her at all times, just in case she needed to contact him. Gwyn had figured it was just him being overprotective and overbearing but had shrugged it off. 

Now, it seemed to be on edge and in desperate need of some coaxing, maybe someone to talk to, but it was clear that the shadow was missing its master just as much as his mate.

Even before they were mated, Azriel had never been gone for more than a week, sometimes even returning sooner than he said he’d be gone. A mission lasting over two months, especially so soon after mating, had set Gwyn on edge for the past few days. No matter what she did or what she tried to immerse herself in, her thoughts always seemed to stray back to Azriel.

His hazel eyes, full of love and adoration and a hundred other emotions she couldn’t name, reserved just for her, for those long nights when sleep found neither of them. Instead, they basked in their companionship and love for each other, staying up until the break of dawn. Watching quiet sunrises dye the sky in shades of crimson and violet as they transformed into blush pink, watching the city awaken as its denizens bustled around to start the day. She was grateful for all of it; for every moment that she got to spend with Azriel.

Any spare moment with her mate was treasured, and it was her lifeline. Indeed, she didn’t know who she’d be without him. Some lost, desperate priestess who had nothing and no one to call her own, no calling or purpose in life. Yes, that was what her life had looked like before she’d met Azriel; monotonous and filled with routine.

It had brought her comfort in the aftermath of the attack, to have a steadfast rhythm as steady as her heart that she could follow, an unwavering, pulsing thrum that kept her going no matter what happened outside the red walls of the House of Wind.

Lately, though, she’d been craving an impulsivity in her routine, a break from the mundane. Occasional surprise breakfasts or lunches with her mate, outings with Nesta and Emerie, along with frequent meetings that involved Merrill and Clotho to oversee the development of the Library had become progressively more common. Gwyn couldn’t exactly say she was distraught about it.

She had a life now, one that didn’t solely involve serving the Mother and cloistering herself away in case anyone got too close to see the ruin in her heart. Of course, that didn’t mean that she was any less devoted to the Mother, but rather that she had found joy in other activities. Socialising, helping to develop the Library and goodness knows what else she and her mate got up to had helped restore some semblance of balance into her life. 

Currently, however, her mate was away on the Continent. She didn’t know where; hadn’t wanted to. I’ll only worry for you even more if you tell me exactly what your mission entails, she’d said, brushing a hand over his heart as he prepared to depart for the journey, strapping a last dagger to his thigh. If I know, I’ll have to stop myself sprouting a pair of wings and flying out right after you.

He’d only smiled, a slight crook of his mouth that he knew drove her mad, and had kissed her lightly before leaping off the balcony and into the midday sun.

Gwyn was missing him terribly, and she couldn’t stop the tugging of the bond as she tried to pull him closer. Come home, she wanted to say. She missed every part of him: his chiselled face, sharp jawline, and that glorious body of his.

Her thoughts about him had never been particularly holy, despite her being a Priestess, but lately they’d been getting downright depraved as she fought the lust pooling low in her gut at the mere thought of him.

A vision made its way into her mind: his abs flexing, face screwed up in bliss as she rode him- 

Shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear her mind, she rubbed a hand over her face. This was getting out of hand. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Dunking her head in a bowl of ice water, she spluttered as she came up for air. Desperate times call for desperate measures, she thought to herself glumly. The shadow, whom she had affectionately nicknamed Umbra, flitted around, occasionally perching on the shelf above her head.

On a positive note, the desire had abated with the bowl of ice (if only slightly) but there was still that stirring deep in her stomach. Gwyn dried her dripping face off with a towel sitting on the marble counter in front of her, courtesy of the House. “Thanks,” she murmured to it and deposited it where it had appeared. It vanished in an instant, and Gwyn was left once more to the heavy emptiness of the House that had begun to grate on her.

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel sat in his room after a long day of meetings and discussions about trade routes and political partnerships with the Dukes of Vallahan. Night had fallen over Alryne, the capital of the behemoth kingdom that was Vallahan. Indeed, it spanned a decent chunk of the continent, and its territory was vast, hosting both lesser and High Fae alike.

Rhys had sent him to the Continent as an attempt to establish a steady relationship with the monarchs. Such an alliance was unheard of, an inter-continental one that could ease the strained relationships that had festered after the Second War.

The Night Court had wanted to be the first to attempt reconciliation in the hopes that it would benefit all of them. No more masks, the High Lord had declared with finality. 

He should have said ‘no more meetings’, damnnit, Azriel grumbled to himself. While ‘court business’, as Gwyn liked to call it, didn’t exactly intrigue him, he’d always been decent at it, his patience being a virtue that had helped him more times than he could count. His observation skills didn’t hurt either; he picked apart opponents at a table nearly as quickly as he did on the battlefield.

Right now though? He was irritated, tired, and missed his mate. He just wanted a good night’s sleep.

Just as he’d changed into a pair of shorts that he tended to sleep in, he felt a thrum through the bond, and his heart flooded with warmth and another feeling that had him sighing and closing his eyes under the covers. Love, he’d realised. That was what that feeling was called. Love, so deep and bottomless he didn’t think it would be possible to stop feeling it for as long as he lived. 

So Azriel tugged right back and tried to pour every single thing he was grateful for into the bond, hoping that whatever Gwyn was doing, it would brighten up her day.

✦ ✦ ✦

Gwyn spent the rest of the day trying to do everything but think of her mate. Unfortunately for her, nothing had helped. Reading had only made her sleepy, and training wasn’t an option: Nesta and Emerie had bickered over the stupidest thing. “The unicorn likes me best!” They’d both sung in unison, and promptly decided to tackle each other to the floor at one of their sleepovers, each pummeling the other with pillows like there was no tomorrow. 

They’d both been convinced that the magical unicorn the House had summoned for them seemed to have a preference for either of the Valkyries.

Gwyn, out of desperation, had nearly begged the House to summon them another unicorn just so they could be over with the entire ordeal. The House, damn it, had refused. And so their silly little argument had continued until they’d passed out on the living room floor from sheer exhaustion and a giggling bout that didn’t seem to abate, made even worse by how many glasses of wine they’d consumed under the guise of ‘book night’.

Everyone knew what they did under the pretense of staying up late and ‘reading’, but Gwyn wasn’t about to judge when her mate and his adoptive brothers sat naked in a sauna after an annual snowball fight. We won’t judge you if you won’t judge us, Nesta had demanded once she found out about their yearly Solstice plans.

A smile quirked up on Gwyn’s lips as she reminisced over her first days with her family. The Inner Circle, they liked to call themselves. It was a fitting name, she supposed, seeing as they were the top executive branch of the Night Court. 

She still couldn’t believe she was part of their family; their world.

The mating ceremony had felt ethereal and stunning and a hundred other emotions she couldn’t describe, only that she’d been incandescently happy and crying tears of joy. It hadn’t felt real until she’d moved in and until they’d started living their lives together as a real couple.

And just like that, her traitorous mind strayed back to her mate. The flowers he’d adorned her with on the day of the ceremony, courtesy of traditional Dawn mating ceremonies, the delectable and unique sweets he’d bring from every trip he went on…she sighed. 

Gwyn had half a mind to talk to Rhysand right now; ask him to call back his Spymaster. But she also knew how incredibly selfish that would be of her.

It wasn’t fair to Azriel, nor was it fair to her to pull her mate away when he was working. “I serve this Court, Valkyrie,” he’d whispered to her, cupping a hand under her cheek as they lay tangled in bed together. “It’s my job. It’s what I’ve been born to do. I can’t live without this Court, and this Court can’t live without me.”

Gwyn had relented, though only because she knew she couldn’t deny her mate anything. He’d ask her to lay the world at his feet and she would. One word from him, and she’d do whatever it was he wanted her to.

✦ ✦ ✦

Gwyn lay in bed, utterly fed up with her mate. Velaris had come alive now that dusk had shrouded the city in colours straight from a painting, allowing thoughts of her mate to occupy her mind once more.

“He’s been gone too long,” she said to the shadow perched on the headboard like an eager pet. “He deserves a little punishment, don’t you think?” she asked with a sideways glance to Umbra. It merely wrapped around her wrist once, their signal for yes. “I have just the thing in mind. We’ll see if this coaxes the dear Spymaster from the depths of the continent.” 

A moment later, she’d sent Umbra off into the night to find its master.

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel’s first reaction upon seeing his beloved shadow come flying in was panic. He fought to keep his face neutral as utter panic, and a healthy dose of fear enveloped him. Was everything okay? Was Gwyn-

But Umbra tugged insistently at his sleeve after having woven its way through the throngs of people around him, and Azriel was forced to reconsider. It had never acted like this, like it was…eager, almost, for him to see or hear whatever message it had for him. Not eager due to urgency, but because of amusement and mischief.

Must see, it whispered gleefully. Can’t miss it. “Alright, fine,” Azriel grumbled to it under his breath. “But this had better be worth it. If this is another one of those pranks-”

Have to see, it insisted again, cutting him off. 

“Azriel?” Duke Ferdinand asked upon seeing his worried expression. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” he answered. “There’s a matter I must attend to, but rest assured that I’ll be back as soon as I’ve taken care of it.”

“Are you sure?” His brow pulled in tightly at Azriel’s sudden need to depart. “We can always-”

“Your Grace, I would hate for your night to be ruined because of something like this. Don’t stop on my account, please,” Azriel insisted.

Still skeptical but reassured nonetheless, conversation began flowing freely between the others again, though it was stilted and slightly more wary. A few glances were shot in the Shadowsinger’s direction, but Azriel paid them no heed as he dodged groups of Fae gathered in the cavernous hall, each resplendent and glowing in gowns befitting royalty.

As soon as he made it out into the quiet passageway, he let Umbra free. He’d reined the shadow in after it had delivered the message, but Azriel couldn’t afford for people to see his shadows out in public like that. They were one of his most guarded abilities, and though it was no secret he was Prythian’s Shadowsinger, he didn’t exactly like to flaunt the fact around. 

He followed it away from the raucous music and glimmering festivities that were going on at the other end of the Palace. He’d guessed that this gala would be vital for information gathering, all the Dukes of Vallahan present for a meeting regarding trade routes and other courtly matters.

It had proved useful, not only for Azriel to make new acquaintances across the world, but also for the Night Court to have eyes and ears everywhere they could. This was something he’d needed to do on his own. Politics and diplomacy required showing your hand just as much as it required being able to take a look at others’. 

Besides, he always had his shadows to help him if something truly did go wrong. Not that it would, seeing as Azriel had centuries of experience of brokering deals with courtiers from other lands. It was yet another skill in his arsenal, as was patience. Right now though, as Umbra led him further and further away from the festivities into a quiet alcove, the skill he considered a virtue and one of his strongest points was wearing thin. 

“What is it?” Azriel hissed. “Just tell me.” In response, Umbra only turned and flitted over Azriel’s ankle, making its way up to his face, flicking his eyes shut. The signal was clear enough. Stand still, and close your eyes.

Azriel did neither. Instead, a frown built up on his forehead, but before he could say anything, his eyes were enveloped in darkness, forcing him to halt. 

He’d expected a heartfelt message from his mate, a small note, or maybe her voice drifting through the shadows. They could carry sound just as well as images, he knew.

All thoughts eddied from his mind as he saw Gwyn in a dark, candlelit room, legs spread as she kneeled on a rose-petal covered bed wearing a set of such scandalous lingerie it had him hardening in his custom-tailored trousers. 

Images of thigh-high garter belts crafted of indigo lace and a bra that left little to the imagination filled his mind, and Gwyn’s half-open mouth and eyes blown wide with lust were a clear invitation. Gods, she was going to be the death of him. 

The set was the exact colour of his siphons, he realised with a start. Damn him if it didn’t turn him on even more. It contrasted wonderfully with her copper hair, luscious and rolling down her back in waves of fire. Oh, how he’d like to wrap a fist around that hair and tug as he drove into her. 

“Where art thou? Why not uponeth me?”

The lyrics of one of Gwyn’s favourite music artists echoed faintly over her portable Symphonia set on the side table. Knowing her, she’d likely planned it all to coincide with her little message.

“Like what you see, Shadowsinger?” came Gwyn’s sultry voice, just a shade deeper than usual as she trailed a hand down her collarbone over her breast, not subtle in the slightest. “I know you do. So you’ll just have to come and get it.”

The little minx was going to pay for this when he got back. 

Umbra darted away, ripping Azriel away from his fantasy. His breaths came out heavy, as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs. He so desperately wanted to finish right here in this alcove like a horny teenager, but he couldn’t. There was no way he’d be able to go back without everyone scenting his own arousal on him like a fucking animal.

He barely managed to compose himself upon returning to the ballroom after his little…detour. “A minor crisis,” he’d answered with finality, refusing to elaborate to anyone why he’d really left the room.

All Azriel could think about that night was his mate, and how simply couldn’t wait to go back home.

Part 6

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Drunken Ecstasy

Part 1 | Part 4 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Since we don’t know much about Dawn, I decided to do some worldbuilding of my own. Since Thesan’s mother is High Fae from Xian I thought, why not make that the capital too? Also, an alcazar (which is the actual spelling even though I changed it a little) is just a more open chateau/villa kinda thing

Word Count: 4958

The sun rose over the horizon, gradually staining the sky hues of magenta and violet and indigo. The bright rays filtered in past puffy clouds as they drifted along, carried on a phantom wind. Glimmers of sunlight fell on the opulent marble floors of the half-open alcoves and scattered balconies. Gleaming and pristine, they shone in the morning light, glowing a dusty pink, as the light finally entered through the billowing curtains of the Alqazar.

The High Lord’s private residence in Xian. The capital of Dawn; its shining, treasured gem. Filled with craftsmen, healers, and nobility alike, the palace exuded an aura of breathtaking beauty and harmony. Energy thrummed from every inch of the structure, light and yet undoubtedly powerful. 

Quiet resilience and opalite grandeur seemed to coat each slab of marble of the palace, luxurious architecture and spiralling domes arcing across the sky as iridescent clouds enveloped the turrets in a warm embrace.

Then again, harmony was what the Dawn Court was known for. Balance, tranquility, and how everything always seemed to fit together, like pieces of a puzzle that had found their way to each other.

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel tugged at his collar, the suit too tight and nearly suffocating. Who had shut the windows?

“They’re open,” came Rhys’ voice as he lounged on the bed, one leg crossed over the other. “What?”

“The windows,” he clarified. “They’re open.”

Damnnit. Azriel had let his shields fall. To be honest, he didn’t have the energy to hoist them up; not in the state he was in.

“Azriel,” said Rhys once more. “You’re going to be alright. Take a deep breath.” At his brother’s refusal to comply, Rhys got up and placed his hands on Azriel’s shoulders. “Look me in the eye, brother.” He continued only when Azriel followed his instructions.

Azriel had been expecting judgement, a mocking laugh or a small tease, but what he wasn’t expecting to see was a softness in Rhys’ eyes that grounded him. “You deserve this, you understand me? You deserve it all. She’s going to be more than happy to see you, and then you’ll both be sappy and lovey-dovey to each other forever like I know you are.”

Despite himself, Azriel couldn’t help a slight chuckle from spilling out, albeit a nervous one. “Thanks, Rhys,” he said softly. “It means so much to me that you and Cassian are here. With me.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Speaking of,” the High Lord said, turning to the door. “Where is our dear General?”

Azriel snorted. “Knowing him, either taking Nesta in every room of his chambers or absolutely drunk and passed out from last night.”

They shared a laugh before a distinct, booming voice sounded from beyond the pristine opalite doors. “Az! You’d best be awake!”

“Cassian,” they both muttered to each other in unison, sharing a glance, before a certain Illyrian’s wings peeked in from the door. “There’s my brother!” he nearly yelled, and made a beeline straight for Azriel, half-shoving an unsuspecting Rhysand out of the way.

“Cass,” Azriel wheezed. “I’m going to need you to let me go if I want to be alive for the ceremony. I don’t think the guests want to see a corpse hauled in.”

“Nonsense,” Cassian grumbled, the smell of whiskey clearly still on his breath from the night before. “This is the proper way to give a hug.”

“Be that as it may, Cassian, you’re going to have to let poor Az go if you don’t want to winkle his suit. That cost me a fortune, I’ll remind you.”

Begrudgingly, Cassian let go of Azriel, only to scan him from head to toe. “Rhys did a nice job getting you all dressed up.”

Azriel snickered. “No, Rhys didn’t help. I mean, he tried to, but we’ve all seen how his fashion sense is. You’d have to be well past blind to even consider a suggestion from him. Did you know, he tried to get me to wear an orange suit? I looked like a ginger gift-wrapped Illyrian.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed indignantly. “You two complimented me on my last birthday-”

“Out of pity,” Cassian interrupted as he tried and failed to hold in a laugh.

“Pricks,” Rhysand only muttered under his breath, though they all knew the words held no bite to them.

The gentle, half-hour chime of the clock had them all sobering up. Taking a deep breath and straightening his tie for the last time, Azriel exited his chambers and stepped onto the awaiting terrace.

✦ ✦ ✦

A bouquet clutched in her sweaty palms, Gwyn took a shuddering inhale. “Nesta,” she squeaked. “I…What am I doing?”

Her best friend only came to stand beside her and fixed a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place. “You’re getting married,” she whispered conspiratorially. “To one of the hottest males in Prythian.”

“Nesta, if I laugh too hard it’ll crease my makeup. Stop that.”

“Ah, what’re we bullying Nesta about now?” came Emerie’s voice as she made her way to Gwyn, stunning in a resplendent violet dress of her own. “How she’ll ruin my makeup if she doesn’t shove it,” hissed Gwyn. Emerie only turned to look at her best friend and tsked. “Play nice, Nesta.”

Lady Death merely rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “We need to get Gwyn to stop fretting like a mother hen. I’m merely improvising. I haven’t seen you do anything about it Emerie,” she said haughtily.

“Yes, because I’ve been helping with the actual wedding preparations and not debating over whether carnelian, vermilion, or crimson were better shades for the flowers. They were all horrible choices, I’ll have you know.”

Indeed, Gwyn had decided to go for more…established colours, as she liked to put it. Nesta had been slightly put off, though she recovered quickly by instead taking over the food, namely the menu. Gwyn and Emerie had to review it to make sure Nesta hadn’t placed any actual orders, but she was glad her best friend was enjoying herself. 

Nesta’s mating ceremony had been ridiculously over-the-top as she singlehandedly drained Rhysand’s bank accounts. Accounts, because he had multiple, and she had somehow found a use for all of them. He’d been too thankful to her for saving his mate’s and son’s lives, so he really hadn’t minded.

This, however, meant that Nesta wanted to hijack Gwyn’s ceremony to see exactly how much she was allowed to get away with. Gwyn had rejected the idea immediately, not wanting a lasting negative impression on her otherwise clean reputation, and most definitely not to her future brother-in-law and High Lord of Night.

“Gwyn,” called Deirdre. Gwyn had invited the other Valkyries to be her maids of honour. “I think it’s time for us to head out.”

“She’s right,” Nesta gasped, craning her neck to look at the clock hanging on the opposite wall.

As the other priestesses began to make their way out in a line, Nesta hugged Gwyn tightly before whispering, “We’ll see you outside.” Gwyn only nodded mutely, unable to form any words with the nausea roiling in her gut. 

She knew intrinsically that this was the right decision. She’d wanted to marry Azriel for a long time now, so she couldn’t figure out what, exactly, was wrong. Her palms were sweaty, and what if her hairstyle was crooked? What if-

She needed to calm down. It was a mating ceremony, dammnit. It was her mating ceremony. It wouldn’t do to be nervous and skittish like a rabbit. Cauldron knew she’d spent long enough doing just that. She should be grateful and appreciative that the High Lord of the Dawn had even allowed them to have the ceremony in his court. In his private residence, no less. 

She and Azriel had decided to have their mating ceremony a couple of months ago. Though Azriel had initially been against the idea of a large, grand celebration, saying that the crowds got to him, he’d warmed up. Seeing Rhys and Feyre plan theirs and have it at the Moonstone Palace had intrigued him, he’d admitted. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event, he’d said, when Gwyn had sceptically raised an eyebrow at him. Of course I want to. If you want to, that is. 

Of course she wanted to. It had been her dream since she was a little girl to have a big, magnificent, splendid commemoration of the mating bond.

Little Gwyn had imagined being whisked away by a tall and ruggedly handsome male, who would love her like no other. It seemed that the Mother, whoever and wherever she was, truly did answer prayers. She had really gotten the man of her dreams, and she couldn’t believe any of this was real. 

The light, ethereal singing of the choir outside snapped Gwyn out of her stupor, and she took a deep breath as the doors to the terrace unlatched, and grand double-doors swung open on a breeze. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel’s first thought when he saw Gwyn walk out into the aisle was pure, utter awe. His breath caught as soon as he took in the sight of her, and he didn’t think he’d be able to look away even if he’d wanted to.

Adorned in a floor length cream wedding dress and skirts of tulle, she walked down the aisle holding a bouquet of gardenias and hydrangeas, looking like the Mother herself. The sun beamed from behind her, setting her copper hair alight and her skin glowing with warmth as if she was shining from within. 

He had no words, save for that his mate looked resplendent in her wedding gown, and that he was so thoroughly and wholly entranced by her. His jaw was likely agape on the floor right now as he took her in, but he didn’t care; not one bit. 

The steady, graceful chorus of the gathered choir only emphasised his belief that Gwyn was the Mother herself, and was being welcomed in by angels as she walked in, skin aglow and a lovely smile on her face. She was looking straight ahead, he realised. Not at the altar, but at him. She was taking him in just as he was observing her, neither having enough self-control to stop their eyes from wandering; greedily taking the other in as if there was no sight more holy and divine, as if this was the last they’d see of each other.

Neither noticed the aisle strewn with flower petals, the magnificent backdrop of castles and turrets peeking out as they were shrouded in misty, gold-rimmed clouds. Neither noticed the guests looking at the couple so besotted and in love they had eyes only for each other.

As Gwyn made her way to the altar, chin high and eyes alight, Azriel leaned down to whisper, “I can’t believe we’re getting married.”

“Me neither,” his soon-to-be wife murmured. 

They left it at that, no words needed as they took the other in; eyes scanning the other’s face but finding nothing save for such unfiltered, raw love as it brought tears to both their eyes. 

Ananke’s voice broke through their infatuated haze. One of Gwyn’s friends and a priestess herself at the House of Wind, was officiating their ceremony. There was no other priestess Gwyn considered holy enough to preside over such an important event in her life, and the female had been overjoyed.

“We are gathered here today to witness the bonding of two souls, crafted by the Mother Herself. May She grant you many joyous years together, may your disagreements and differences in opinion be fleeting, and may you never fall out of love.”

Light applause followed her short speech, and she continued once it had died down, now facing the would-be couple. “Would you like to begin your vows?”

They nodded at her, and Azriel pulled a piece of paper from his suit pocket. Had his hands always been this sweaty? And did they always shake so much? Shut up, he muttered to that irritating voice in his head, and reeled himself in. This was it. This was his one chance to show the world how much he loved her. He took a deep, albeit shaky, breath and started. 

“Gwyneth Berdara: Priestess, Valkyrie, Carynthian. None of these titles do you justice, not in the way it matters. For you are so much more than what you do, so much more than your appareance. Your fiery personality, your unwillingness to give up and the kindness you spread in the world are only a few of the reasons I am so deeply infatuated with you. 

You are everything I have not managed to be in life. Light, stunning, ethereal, graceful. Sunlight personified, and the kindest person I’ve known.”

Your competitive streak seems as if it was made to rival my own. I could give you a hundred reasons as to why we are each other’s half, why we fit so well together and how we seem to be perpetually in sync, each attuned with the other in a way I had not known was possible. I feel as if we are in our own world, a world filled with light and warmth, with a music so soft and haunting that only we can hear it as we dance to its rhythm. To anyone else, it may seem as if we are going insane. But all I can think of in that moment is my unending, undying passion for you. 

“You appeared in my life like an angel of some sort, perhaps a saviour, and I felt compelled to know you. Not simply know you, but befriend and grasp your very essence; know all those lovely details like the tiles of an ever-growing mosaic that make you who you are. What brings you joy, what makes you contemplate. But most importantly, what draws that radiant smile of yours out; and that laughter. I hear echoes of it when I am lonely, I am reminded that no matter where I am, your presence will hover over me; a thing of calm, lovely beauty. It rings in my ears as the clear chime of a cathedral, signalling that a new era in my life has begun.

“You floated in like a dove, elegant in a way that set my heart ablaze. Even if we lived in a hundred separate lifetimes, I would choose you, over and over again until fate tried to pull us apart. But I would have fought for you like no other. I would have waged war so that every other hero in history would have been put to shame.

And though these wedding vows are a feeble attempt at poetry, and forgive me for this, know that there is no real way for me to convey my adoration of you. Gifts will do you no courtesy, so these words will have to do.”

Azriel was met with thunderous applause from everyone gathered, and it took everything in him not to kiss Gwyn right then and there, mating ceremony and tradition be damned. He barely restrained himself, knowing she would have the skin off his back if the ceremony went any other way than perfect.

“Gwyn?” Ananke prompted, teary-eyed herself. Clearing her throat and fighting the urge to bite her lip, a nervous tick of hers, the bride began speaking.

Her voice rang out clear as the pealing of a bell as it floated around the courtyard. “Azriel. My mate, my Shadowsinger, love of my life. I cannot believe that we have known each other for almost four years, and yet it feels like so much longer. They say we no longer have the ability to accurately perceive time once we find those we love. Perhaps I, too, am guilty of this, though I do not regret it at all. If anything, I have learned how to be eternally grateful.

“We have known each other for just short of half a decade, and yet so much has changed. I would be lying through my teeth if I said that I didn’t find you enchanting from the moment I set my eyes on you. I think my soul knew who you were to me, and I was simply too scared to accept it. There was something so magnetic, so alluring about you that I quickly found I couldn’t stay away. Maybe it was the shadows, maybe it was something else entirely, but I was so smitten by you I felt like a giddy schoolgirl every time I lay my eyes on you.”

Her last comment earned her chuckles from the audience, each member waiting with bated breath for them to finish their vows.

“Your dry humour is so enchanting to be a part of. Jokes that only the two of us know, jokes that mean more to me than jewellery or clothes. Memories are a different kind of wealth, one that I hope you will continue to have for however long it is that we may know each other. I am praying that it will be a lifetime, but we are all aware of how utterly unpredictable everything can be despite our best efforts.

“I am so utterly blessed to have you, not only as my mate, but as my husband, my friend, my confidante through my toughest times. To know you as intimately and profoundly as I do has been worth more than I express. I hope that you will never forget that. And if you do, if you think that you cannot do this, that it is too hard, that it is impossible, that for some reason, you do not believe; remember: I will believe in you enough for the both of us. I will always have enough love in me for the both of us, no matter where I am, who I am with, or what I might be feeling. 

“You are my first priority. You have always been. What I have tried so desperately to say here is, Azriel, how much I love you. I love every single aspect of you and your personality, the sunshine radiance that seems to emanate from every fibre of your being.

I could keep going, but I am afraid the world would eternally be short of paper. I could keep going for eons and the world would be much better off for it.”

Whistles and cheering filled the veranda, and Gwyn’s eyes glazed over with unshed happiness. She heard quiet sniffles in the background, a few whoops and a distinctive whistle she was sure belonged to Cassian, but her eyes never strayed from Azriel’s. 

“The rings, if you please?” Ananke asked, facing Nesta and Rhysand, both of who were the maid of honour and best man respectively. They stepped closer, extending the ornate jewellery box to the couple. 

“Do you, Azriel, take Gwyneth to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.” His voice was rougher, more gravelly, as if he was suppressing the urge to cry. “And do you, Gwyneth, take Azriel to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” she echoed back.

With that, Azriel slid an intricate band on silver onto Gwyn’s finger, and Gwyn did the same with a slightly thicker and plainer ring. Those hands. Oh, what hadn’t they seen? What hadn’t they done? They had been with her when she’d most needed it; comforting her, holding her, simply being with her. She only hoped she could do the same for him.

“These rings are a symbol of of your life long commitment to each other. They seal the vows you have made to love and cherish each other for the rest of your lives. By the power vested in my by the Mother and the Cauldron, and by the strength of your own love, I declare this union as official. You may kiss the bride.”

Azriel’s mouth was on Gwyn’s before the words were out of Ananke’s mouth.

Their kiss was everything a kiss could be: sensual, promising, and full of so much love she was sure it had been injected into her bloodstream. Her eyes closed on instinct, and she felt a light touch on the small of her back, Azriel clearly unable to hold himself back from touching her. Gwyn melted into it; into him, and grasped Azriel’s jaw in equal parts anticipation and desperation. 

They broke apart, slightly panting. Neither took their hands off the other, and the love floating through the air was more than palpable for everyone present.

“Time for the food,” Ananke said, winking at Gwyn, all her stately charm having vanished as it was replaced with warmer. 

Azriel descended from the altar with a brush along the small of her back and offered a hand to Gwyn. His hazel eyes were alight with a promise that had Gwyn’s toes curling in her heels. Lightly placing her hand in his, she stepped down, and they made their way to the tables that had been set up prior to the ceremony.

As they took their seats, facing each other, everyone waited, the apprehension in the atmosphere thick enough to drive a blade through.

While the ceremony at the altar was more of a…formality, giving a mate fresh, home-cooked food was what really sealed the bond. 

Gwyn had thought long and hard about what to make him, but she’d decided on something she knew Azriel loved. Risotto. He’d mentioned off-handedly how he’d had it on a visit to Dawn, and that it had quickly become his favourite, if only because the ingredients needed were so fresh there was no point making anything with them by the time they came to the Night Court. 

She up a morsel of everything: shrimp, rice, and vegetables and raised the fork to his mouth. He hummed around the food, a delightful sound that had Gwyn’s heart bursting with joy. It was rare she got to see her mate truly content, and she would take every opportunity she had, from now until however much time they had left with each other to fill every moment of theirs with bliss.

In turn, Azriel fed Gwyn a morsel of knafeh, one of her favourite pastries made with layered semolina and soft cheese filling, then covered with a tooth-achingly sweet sugar syrup. The flavours flooded into her mouth, each bite a burst of ecstasy as the flavours wove themselves over her tongue. 

Of course, feeding each other food that they’d made was more of a…formality, seeing as they’d already accepted the bond at the House after their night out. This was symbolic, something they wanted to share with the rest of the world while their real acceptance of the bond had taken place at home. 

Home. That was they were to each other now. Their sanctuary, their safe place, where they could find love and caring and warmth, no matter how tired or frustrated at the rest of the world they were. 

It was all so sickeningly sweet, and yet it was perfect. It was just how she’d wanted it, and Azriel, ever the caring, attentive mate, had stepped right up to this challenge, exactly as he had to the all others in their relationship. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel had never thought he’d experience a peace so deep he felt it in his bones. Surrounded by his friends and family, by Gwyn, he was the happiest male alive. 

They laughed and joke as they ate, the formality of the evening melting into the casual banter and teasing that everyone was comfortable with.

Nearby, the choir stood in traditional Dawn attire, all flowing robes, warm hues of iridescent colour, and glittering gold jewellery that caught in the light as they serenaded the feast now taking place. It was magical, how their voices melded into one living, breathing, and utterly ethereal being that had Azriel’s heart clenching, not for the first time that day. 

A tap on his shoulder had him turning, eyebrows raised. He relaxed immediately when he realised it was only Cassian. “So, how does it feel to be mate and married?” his brother grinned down at him, carrying a plate of food, clearly just about to being eating himself. It was customary for the couple to eat first, which was why some guests were still by the buffet, taking their pick of the glorious food as chatter filled the clearing.

Azriel exhaled. “Like I’ve never been happier,” he responded quietly. “Like I never want this day to end and that I was such a fool for ever believing that I didn’t deserve her.” He likely still didn’t, but he wasn’t going to question whatever greater power had granted him his radiant mate. Cassian’s eyes softened, and he placed a warm, comforting hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “You deserve it. You and her both. You’ve been through so much, but I…have I told you how happy I am that you’ve found each other?”

Azriel swallowed, fighting the tightness in his throat. “Thank you. It…means a lot to me that you and Rhys are here. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Cassian boomed a laugh. “Of course we’re here, you dolt. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Also, there’s free food.”

The groom sighed, rolling his eyes. “You couldn’t have let it be a sweet moment, just this once?”

“Nope,” came his brother’s reply as he sauntered off, likely to find Nesta.

Chuckling and shaking his head, he turned back to his food, only to find Gwyn watching him, teal eyes sincere as she watched the interaction between the two Illyrians. “What?” He asked, breaking the silence. “Nothing,” she murmured, giving him a soft peck on the lips before dragging her attention back to her friends, each sat on one side of her. 

✦ ✦ ✦

They spent the rest of the evening mingling and laughing with the guests, until it was clear that Azriel wanted Gwyn for himself. “Sweetheart,” he whispered to his wife. “Can we leave? We’ve stayed here long enough for it to be polite.”

She laughed openly at that, the couple just having gotten rid of some ministers that Rhysand had invited as a courtesy. “It’s our mating ceremony, Az. It would be terribly rude to leave halfway through.”

“Exactly. It’s our mating ceremony. That means we have free reign to leave whenever we want to.”

She smirked and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I promise you’ll have me all to yourself soon, Shadowsinger. Be patient, hm?” She accentuated her last sentence with a slow, deliberate drag of her nails down his chest that had Azriel’s eyes fluttering shut. Gwyn practically heard his heart rate speed up. “Fine,” he breathed. “But if you try to tease me, you’ll pay for it.”

“Me? Tease you?” Gwyn tilted her head, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “Does that really sound like something I’d do?”

“You little minx. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“What do I do to you, Azriel?” Gods, the sultry way she said his name.

“Why don’t we go upstairs and I can show you what you’re doing to me.” He had no doubt that his eyes had darkened to near obsidian now, and he felt the incessant, all-consuming need to fuck Gwyn like never before. If this was how he felt after having already accepted the bond, he didn’t want to think what would have happened if they’d waited until the ceremony to officiate it. He probably wouldn’t have been able to deal with it; he’d have taken her on every inch of this fucking balcony without giving a damn who was there or who wasn’t.

He blinked, clearing the increasingly lust-induced thoughts from his head, attempting to fight the haze clouding his mind.

“I spent two hours getting ready for our ceremony, Azriel. We have to stay for at least four before we leave.”

✦ ✦ ✦

At long last, the celebration had begun winding down, increasingly tipsy guests giggling and making their way back into the palace. Females with mussed hair carrying their heels in their hands and males with their ties either loosened or completely missing was a sight that made Gwyn chuckle, filling her heart with a pleasant sense of contentment and…peace. 

The day had gone exactly as she’d planned it, passing through in a dreamy haze as she’d had eyes only for Azriel. 

It seemed that her husband was thinking the same as their eyes caught, and they gravitated towards each other as if they were drawn in by the thread that connected their souls.

“Hey,” she breathed, glancing up at Azriel and placing her hands on his chest. “Hi,” he echoed back. “My name is Azriel. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Gwyn shoved at him lightly, scoffing, sending Azriel into a fit of laughter. “Idiot Illyrian,” she muttered, but couldn’t help the slight upwards tug of her mouth at his unrestrained, unbound laughter floating throughout the now secluded courtyard. Her words held no real bite to them, but she continued anyway. “Should we head up?” Indeed, it was quite late, the stars beginning to peek through the perpetual mosaic of colour that seemed to adorn Dawn’s skies. The mountains lay in the distance, hald-shrouded in mist as swallows called to each other, soaring overhead, likely heading back to their nests to retire for the night. 

It was enchanting, how much beauty there was in the world when she looked for it.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Azriel’s laughter had quieted to a steady, unrelenting thrum of reassurance beside her, sensing her quiet contemplation and change in mood. He placed a hand on her shoulder as he guided her up the staircase and into the palace above.

Part 5

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Falling Asleep

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 508

Azriel landed roughly on the balcony of the House, having narrowly avoided the storm that was due to make its way to Velaris all the way from Illyria. It had still rained considerably though, and he’d been caught in the rain if not the outright storm itself. To make matters worse, he’d also been flying, which meant that he was thoroughly soaked to the bone, his hair and leathers dripping water everywhere. 

Drying himself off with his magic didn’t do much to the cold which had begun to seep its way into his bones. Deciding to warm up by the fireplace indoors, he started to make his way inside.

What he saw when he entered, however, made his heart completely melt.

Gwyn was sprawled out on the sofa, her head lolling back as she snored lightly. She had a blanket covering her legs up until her calves. The book she’d presumably been reading had fallen to the side and was now lying on the sofa, half-open with her hand resting on top. It seemed that his mate had tried to stay up for him, but had fallen asleep. The symphonia that he’d given her as a mating gift played softly in the background. The sight brought a smile to his lips, despite how tired he was. 

Quietly making his way in so as not to wake her abruptly, he took off his leathers to reveal his damp clothes underneath. Immediately, the House took care of them for him, and her muttered a quiet “Thank you,” so as not to disturb Gwyn. 

He gave an involuntary shiver. He’d known his leathers weren’t going to be enough to keep the cold at bay, and Azriel had instead opted for layering his clothes, a decision he thanked his past self for immensely. He didn’t care what the House did with them though. Right now, he just wanted to be close to his mate. I’ve missed you terribly, love.

Creeping up to the sofa and crouching dow, he brushed a stray lock of hair to the side, thinking Gwyn would stir. He had to wake her up, he realized with no small amount of guilt. Her muscles would ache terribly tomorrow if she continued sleeping like this, and she’d be terribly sore.

He decided to run a light finger over her cheekbone, and she leaned into his touch, almost as if her body knew that her mate was back. “Gwyn, love?” he asked her, his voice soft. She mumbled something incoherent that he thought was simply adorable, but didn’t bother deciphering it. She’d admitted to him that her dreams tended to be a bit odd, and that she’d say quite literally anything asleep.

“Sweetheart?” he tried again. No response. Sighing, he hooked an arm under her legs and the other under her shoulders. He prayed she wouldn’t wake up. Thankfully enough, she didn’t, and only nuzzled deeper into his shoulder, practically burying herself in his scent as he carried her bridal style to their shared bedroom. 

“Let’s get you to bed, love.”

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Afternoons Indoors

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Modern AU where our favourite couple plays Mario Kart. Azzie boy is absolutely WHIPPED for Gwyn lmao

Word Count: 528

The sun had disappeared for almost a week now, with the days being either rainy or terribly windy, usually a freezing combination of both. Autumn had begun to sink into Velaris, and while it was usually stunning, the gloomy weather, especially for long periods of time, felt unwelcome. This afternoon, sleet was pounding on the windows, turning the atmosphere gloomy. A bout of laziness had washed over them all, no one willing to actually be productive.

Indoors, however, it was warm, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth as the overhead chandelier illuminated the living room where Azriel and Gwyn were sitting. They had promptly decided to spend their evening inside after realising that the weather had refused to clear up.

“There’s no way I’m letting you win again, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn mocked, as she grasped the controller tighter with a determined expression on her face. She was sitting cross-legged on their shared sofa, her eyes trained solely on the TV in front of them.

Azriel snuck a glance towards his mate, and had to repress a chuckle at how seriously Gwyn took their gaming.

He had introduced Mario Kart to her one evening, thinking it was something she’d enjoy. And she had. Perhaps a little too much, he thought to himself. Indeed, she’d spent the entirety of the next week practically glued to the television, refusing to leave it even for food or water. Her new love, he’d teased her. Looks like I’m getting replaced. She’d only thrown a pillow at his face and resumed her fervent gaming.

It was one of the many things he admired about his mate; her determination and stubbornness to do anything she set her mind to. It was what had made him fall hopelessly in love with her the first time he’d met her, and what reignited that spark every time he so much as looked at Gwyn.

Dragging his eyes from his mate, he looked instead at the screen. He was currently in the lead, and had a power-up. He could practically sense how badly Gwyn wanted to win, the anxious yet excited energy seeping off her.

Feigning clumsiness, his car veered off the track and crashed into a nearby tree.

Gwyn practically cackled at that, throwing her head back onto the sofa as peals of laughter overtook her lithe body. “The infamous Spymaster,” she said in between breathless giggles. “Can’t even control a car in a children’s video game.”

As the computerised voice began to speak over the menu that had popped up, Gwyn sat bolt upright.

“I won!” she exclaimed. “Az, I won!” Giggling, she jumped around and promptly declared “Admit it, Shadowsinger. I’m just better than you.” Responding with a chuckle of his own, he said, “Yes, you are Gwyn. Looks like I’m going to have to up my game.”

“Oh, most certainly. There’s no way you’re going to beat me now.”

Smiling, he shook his head, and let out a contented sigh. He didn’t care who won Mario Kart so long as he got to see his mate happy, and see that glorious smile light up her face and her teal eyes shimmer with mirth and teasing.

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Weekend Mornings

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Another short, fluffy, completely self-indulgent drabble!

Word Count: 590

It was a lovely Saturday morning, the best, in Gwynn’s opinion. Indeed, she’d always been an early riser, as could be seen when the female sat on the sofa, reading a book. She was curled up with a warm mug of tea and her legs huddled under the covers while the sunlight streamed in through an open window, casting a warm, golden glow over the floor. She was completely immersed in her novel, a little furrow in her brow, when suddenly the door clicked open.

“Love, I’m home,” Azriel’s voice rang out through their shared apartment. He’d just come home after a morning at the gym, and as he made his way into the living room where Gwyn was lounging, he knelt down to press a kiss to her brow. Much to his chagrin, she leaned back so he couldn’t kiss her. Immediately, concern lined his features, and he looked worried. "Gwyn?" What's wrong?” She only crinkled her nose at him, pouting, and continued reading her novel. “Why won’t you hug me?”

Sighing, she put her book down. Her clingy mate really wasn’t going to let it go this time. “Sweetheart, I love you, but you’re sweaty and disgusting!”

“Well then, why don’t you be a good mate and join the club? We can both be sweaty and disgusting together-”

Azriel’s dialogue was cut short as a pillow went flying straight for his face. Merely chuckling, he caught the pillow with ease. Gwyn, however, took it as her cue to continue. “I’m not kissing my mate while he stinks like a dying raccoon.”

Showing mock offense, Azriel placed a delicate hand on his chest. “Dying raccoon? By the Mother, Priestess, you wound me so.”

She only laughed at that, throwing her head back so her copper hair caught the sunlight, now creeping up towards the east.

“Did you forget our wedding vows, Berdara? Whatever happened to “in joy and sorrow, in health and sickness, I vow to always be at your side?””

“I would never forget your vows, husband.”

Indeed, her wonderful, radiant mate, who always went above and beyond to ensure she was more than comfortable. She couldn't imagine her life without him now that he was here at her side.

“I would never forget what a pain in my ass you were that day,” she reminisced instead.

“Pain in your ass? Whatever did I do?”

“Do you want me to start alphabetically or chronologically?” He merely crossed his arms and raised a brow, his lips quirking up in a smile, as he encouraged her to continue.

“You spent at least half the wedding irritating all my bridesmaids, asking them if I was feeling alright, if I needed anything, until the point they got so irritated Nesta had to threaten to kick your sorry ass out of the wedding, never mind that it was our wedding to begin with.” He mockingly placed a finger under her chin, and pretended to have a good think. “Why do I remember something vaguely similar happening when it came to you, Gwyn? Do you want me to remind you of every little embarrassing thing you did at our wedding too?”

Promptly, she shook her head. He grinned. “That’s what I thought. Don’t start something you can’t finish, Berdara.” He lunged for her, and managed to grasp her in his arms to tickle her for all of two seconds before she darted off, presumably to another part of the house.

“Oh, Gwyn, you’ve done it now,” he called, and chased after his radiant mate.

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Come To Bed

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: This is more of a fluffy oneshot/drabble because I was bored at 9:45 on a random Wednesday (please ignore the spelling errors, or comment if you see anything truly atrocious)

Summary: Gwyn is fed up with her mate and husband, Azriel, having to work so much.

Word Count: 542

“Az, love, it’s been hours.”

Indeed, Azriel had been sitting at his desk for the Cauldron knew how long, his brow furrowed, hunched over and trying to work on his reports for Rhys.

Gwyn knew how busy their lives would be after they accepted their bond, but she hadn’t expected her husband would have next to no free time at all. It almost seemed like Rhysand, the bastard, was piling more work on top of her already exhausted mate. She made a mental note to have a firm talk with her High Lord…after she got to spend at least a week in bed with her mate.

She’d been trying to coax him out of his desk for ages now, and yet his pace was unrelenting. He didn’t stop or slow down even once, not bothering to eat dinner and instead deciding to forgo it and continue working on his paperwork.

“Az,” she whined again, throwing her head back on the loveseat she was lounging on. It was her favourite seat in his entire office, save for him, of course.

“Nearly done, love.” The low timbre of his voice did something to her, though she wasn’t quite sure what.

“You said that nearly two hours ago.” Indeed, she’d watch the time tick by, slow as ever, as her mate continued to work on that damned paperwork.

“But now I’m really almost done.”

“You said that too.”

“Come here.” Huffing dramatically, she pulled herself off the comfortable lounge and padded over to her husband. Just the scent of him, cedarwood and night-chilled mist, along with something she’d never been able to place, something distinctly…him, calmed her irritated self immediately. 

While one hand was busy writing, the other wrapped around her waist and pulled her down onto his lap. While he wrote, he idly drew circles on her hips, her thighs, her waist, and Gwyn couldn’t help but relax into his touch, and leaned her head back on his shoulder. Even then, her husband continued working, sometimes running a hand through her auburn hair or brushing a thumb over her cheekbone.

When Azriel finally turned to look at her though, she had a pout on her face. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “You promised you’d be done earlier.” Azriel couldn’t help his eyes flitting down to her breasts in her silk nightgown as she crossed her arms over her chest. Despite it, he grinned.

“I wouldn’t have been able to see this adorable pout, then, would I?” He pressed a small kiss to the side of her neck, just far away enough from the spot that drove her mad.

“It’s not adorable, I’m mad at you.”

“Sure you are, love.” Indeed, Gwyn never stayed cross at Azriel for long. It wasn’t as if she was truly mad at him now either, simply annoyed at how much his job kept him from truly enjoying each other’s company. He knew it too, and capitalized on it any moment he could.

“Come on, I’m done.” Gwyn didn’t think she’d heard a more satisfying sentence, and promptly wrapped her arms around his neck as he picked her up bridal style and carried them to their room. “I’m all yours for the night, love.”

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings