A Court Of Wings And Ruin - Blog Posts

Silly Game Time: Bringing back a crowd favorite! Pick one story you really like (could be a movie, a show, a book, a game, etc.) and summarize it in *one* sentence. The more absurd-sounding the sentence is, the better!

Uh ACOTAR. from book one to three.

A hunter is bound to her thought to be fictional kidnapper, who she gains love for, faces trials against a tyrant for him, gains supper powers after actually dieing, finding her mate (abo style) in the process, who she then leaves her kidnapper for, because he was abusing her, only to face another tyrant on the brink of war with an emo alpha male with his winged and non-winged cult followers serving them as their new king and queen.

This is not one sentence, this is a paragraph but I really can't summarize it that much

No, but Rhys saying "There you are. I've been looking for you" gives so Howl's "Yaah, gomein gomein(which in the subs is "There you are, sorry I'm late" which ik it isn't but still) and the whole scene. Well, except for the fact that Feyre was in a more sour pickle than Sophie bit that's the whole vibes of them. So yeah. That's that

Hello there!! So a few nights ago I was just thinking about how it's kind of ridiculous that we call Tamlin a tampon. Because a tampon is actually kind of useful, ykwim? And then I was like, but we needed Tamlin so that Feyre would go to Prythian. And then I was like, "Yeah, and you gotta throw away a used tampon cuz it gets toxic, just like Tamlin did" and idk if this was it, but that made me realize that this is it

Friendly Reminder

Rhys had a little sister that we'll never see him get over protective over. We'll never see her push his hand off as he ruffled her her(I feel Iike that would have happened a lot). We won't ever see her interaction with Feyre. Or anyone else as a matter of fact. And idk if better or worse that we never saw her, we know nothing of her, but at least we're not attached as much. Unlike the inner Circle, I wonder how much they miss both of them.

(PS: I have read only till ACOWAR so if I'm missing something after that, yeahhhh)

Friendly Reminder

Rhysand, in order to prove his cruelty and this loyalty, is known to some pretty guttering stuff. I wonder who did Amarantha order to cut off that faerie's wings in ACOTAR. Illyrian bat baby. Wings. EVEN IF HE HADN'T BEEN THE ONE TO CUT THEM OFF CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE HOW IT WOULD HAVE FELT TO EVEN HEAR THE FAERIE. IM DYING

acotar, a summary: horny faeries, everyone hates each other or wants each other, stabby, the word “mate” x500 more times than you want to see it, socio-political struggles?, vin diesel level “family” dedication, giant bat babies with tickle spots, himbos and bad bitches, smut

And I love it

This whole Elriel and Gwynriel debate has turned into a very messy, toxic, and violent capture-the-flag event with every single word SJM has ever written, and it's both very upsetting and exhausting. The complete lack of respect for other people in the fandom just because they believe different theories or ship a different couple or whatever is ridiculous. Please just chill. If you find yourself mad enough to send unwarranted hate to a random artist because they made fun fanart of a couple you don't ship, maybe you need a glass of water and some food. Redirect that energy into taking care of yourself instead of tearing down others for no reason.

✨ Night Court Haute Couture 🌙

Inner Circle

Soooooo if I were to say the inner circle (Rhysand, Cassian, Az, Mor) are weird asf would I get jumped for that bc.......

I heard that it's @tamlinweek and thus I had to draw the obligatory Brilin art piece... This was originally intended for Day 3 or 4 (Mates or Happily Ever After, respectevly), but I unfortunately couldn't finish it in time for either. Well, I suppose that by posting it for Day 6: Dreams, I can also use it as an excuse to promo my brilin fic as well.

✨please do not repost or use in any AI programs✨

ricemale: I am Rhysand, the Most Powerful High Lord™!1!!1! I am High Lord of the Night Court, Night Triumphant, Death Incarnate, Hot Feminist!1!!1! I can snap your mind without moving and I am Very Powerful!!1!!1!!

women of illyria and hewn city: can you use your power and privilege to help us and provide us a safer life and end wing clipping and stuff???

ricemale, for the 300 something years of his rule: lol nope

An Insider’s Guide to Velaris: the Winter Solstice Market, 1/?

An Insider’s Guide to the Court of Dreams: Feyre and Rhysand, 1/?

GUYS I FOUND FEYSAND'S ACOMAF THEME SONG

no bc i swear Walked Through Hell by Anson Seabra is literally Feysand's theme song in ACOMAF:

I guess all the mountains that I moved just weren't enough And all those nights I walked you home From crowded bars when you were drunk Well they meant nothing 'cause you up and walked away And I just wonder what it'd take to make you stay

ALL THAT TIME RHYS SPENT TRYING TO GET FEYRE TO EAT AND SMILE ALL WHILE FEYRE STILL LOVED TAMLIN SO "IT MEANT NOTHING CAUSE SHE'LL UP AND WALK AWAY"

'Cause when you said jump I said how high But when I jumped you said goodbye

RHYS WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR FEYRE, BUT FEYRE IS STILL MAD AT HIM FOR TRYING TO SAVE HER FROM HERSELF BY TAKING HER AWAY FROM TAMLIN

I would've walked through hell To find another way I would've laid me down If I knew that you would stay

HIM CRAWLING TO SAVE HER FROM AMARANTHA!! AND THEN LATER NOT CARING ABOUT THE CONSEQUENCES AND SAVING HER FROM TAMLIN AS LONG AS SHE'S HAPPY.

I would've crossed the stars To keep you in my life But now I'm falling hard Without you here tonight Without you here tonight

STARS- NIGHT COURT HE WOULD'VE DONE ANYTHING FOR HER AND THERE WAS ALSO THE BARGAIN BETWEEN THEM

AND EVEN THOUGH SHE'S IN THE SPRING COURT HE'S STILL FALLING FOR HER EVERYDAY

What did you do with all that love you couldn't give And do you need someone to help you tell you what to do with it It must be nice to love someone who puts you first Then walk away when they expect it in return

SHE LOVES TAMLIN BUT IT WAS A TOXIC LOVE BUT RHYS CAN "HELP TELL [HER] WHAT TO DO" WITH HER TRAUMA. BUT RHYS IS ALSO BITTER THAN TAMLIN GOT THE GIRL AND HE DIDN'T HENCE "IT MUST BE NICE TO LOVE SOMEONE WHO PUTS YOU FIRST" AND THEN "WALK AWAY WHEN THEY EXPECT IT IN RETURN" SARCASM AIMS TOWARDS FEYRE!!!!

Remember how I said SJM was to blame for me failing Algebra bc of the acotar tv adaption?

Well guess what, I failed Mandarin :>

ACOTAR TV adaption

I’m seeing a few comments abt how we need to stop freaking out about acotar’s tv adaption. Tbh, I'm actually fine without the tv adaption, I mean I’m happy for SJM, but I really don’t want how I pictured the story and characters to be changed. (obviously, no one could be as perfect as Rhysie and I really don’t want certain scenes to change) 

But yes, I am still VERY excited for it, even if i do have conflicted feelings too. ​

Dear Sarah J Maas

I WAS FINE UNTIL YOU TOLD ME THAT ACOTAR IS BEING MADE INTO A FREAKING TV SHOW, NOW I CAN’T DO MY HOMEWORK, IF I FAIL ALGEBRA, IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT. 

Where are my ACOTAR friends?!

ig: Cozy.Creative.Lifestyle

stay with me pt 5

<azriel x ofc>

warnings: angst. lots of it. SH kinda, mentions of suîćîdë

part one, part two, part three, part four

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Azriel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe. The overwhelming tightness was strangling his lungs, crushing his already broken heart. And someone was screaming, he couldn’t hear anything over the screaming.

Where was he, anyway?

He tried to take in his surroundings, to see where and what was going on. But his vision was so fucking blurry he couldn’t make out anything other than the outline of people. They were standing over him, trying to haul him up. Apparently he was laying on the ground, clutching something wet and warm to his chest. But the pain, which radiated over his entire body, wouldn’t let him move, even if he wanted to. It hurt too much.

“Azriel!” Someone screamed.

He felt the sting of a slap land across his face, and suddenly the whole world came back into focus.

It was Azriel that was screaming, voice raw. His vision cleared, of what he realized were tears, and the grief stricken faces of his family appeared. And he also realized he was speaking, repeating the same words over and over again.

“No, no, no!”

“Stay with me!”

All consuming anguish slammed into him. Ophelia was dead. Ophelia, his mate. His fucking mate, was dead. Azriel couldn’t feel her on the other side of the bond anymore. Couldn’t feel her chest rise with life-saving air, he just couldn’t feel her. Her beautiful eyes would never open, her mouth would never tip to the side with a cheeky smile, and he wouldn’t ever get to hear his name on his lips again.

Dead.

He held onto her tighter, how he should have all those nights ago. He should have told her everything when he had the chance, should have beared his fucking soul to her. Even if she had rejected him, he still should have told her.

“Madja is on her way.” Azriel heard someone say. He was so lost in his agony he had no idea who was speaking. “Azriel, we need you to let her go”

A primal snarl tore from his lips, and they backed away, hands up in a placating gesture.

“You’re going to have to knock him out.” Another said.

“I know. I’m just afraid of what he’ll do when he wakes.”

Cool hands grabbed onto his temple and Azriel thrashed, trying to throw whoever that was off of him. He was like a raging wild animal, like something out of the Middle. He was no longer the calm and collected male like everyone knew. It was pure carnal rage.

Long, razor sharp claws tore their way through his minds shield, destroying them to get inside. Azriel screamed louder, blood trickling from his nose. The sounds of his family faded away, so all that was left was the sound of soft spoken voices, cooing and hushing him. Lulling him to sleep. He fought, pushing back against those claws. But they only held on tighter.

Slowly, he slumped to the ground, arms falling away from Ophelia’s bleeding body.

And sleep consumed him.

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Azriel woke with a start, like something had scared him out of his deep slumber. That hadn’t been a normal sleep, it was only darkness with him floating forever in the nothingness. But he still felt pain raging all over his body. The pain of the mating bond breaking, slowly fading away into nothing.

Would that be all that’s left? Nothing?

He sat up sluggishly, the joints in his body popping and cracking. He was no longer out in that cursed field, but tucked into his room in the House of Wind. His bloody leathers had been stripped from his body, replaced with leisure clothes. Someone had changed and bathed him, as he saw no signs of her blood anywhere on his body. How long had he been out?

Getting to his feet, he walked towards the door. But he stopped as he passed the mirror, seeing his ghastly reflection. Azriel studied himself, hating what stared back. His wings now dragged behind him, the talons scraping the floor. There were deep purple marks under his bloodshot eyes, like he had been crying while he slept. And he looked incredibly pale, skin taking on a sickly pallor.

The look of someone with an utterly shattered heart. That’s what he looked like now.

A messy knot of emotions rose up his throat and Azriel stumbled, grasping the wood of the dressing table. His shoulders shook with each deep inhale he took, but it just seemed like he couldn’t catch his breath. His fingers gripped the wood so tightly that they turned white. He just couldn’t get his head clear, couldn’t stop hearing her broken cries.

Whimpering with frustration, he lashed out, his closed fist connecting with the mirror. It exploded into a thousand tiny pieces, small shards embedding themselves in his knuckles. Thick red blood seeped out of his wounds, but already his Illyrian healing was trying to take control. He watched numbly as his cuts turned pink with new skin, but was instantly shredded back open by the glass.

Suddenly, the door flew open and Cassian rushed in. He halted in his tracks, taking in the scene of his brother standing there with a shattered mirror and blood running down his hand.

“You’re awake.” He croaked, eyes misty with unshed tears.

Azriel didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up a scrap of linen and wrapped it around his knuckles to staunch the bleeding.

“You’ll need that cleaned out, there’s glass-”

“No.” Azriel snarled.

“Az…” Cassian tried, taking small steps in his direction.

“I said no!” His teeth flashed. “Fuck the glass, fuck everything! There is nothing left for me here, my mate is fucking dead. DEAD. And I might as well join her!”

They both stood there in deafening silence, just staring at each other. The realization of what Azriel had just admitted struck Cassian like a slap. His breath hitched in his chest, and Cassians mouth opened and closed, as if he were a fish out of water, trying to think of something to say. But there was nothing he could say that would take away this hurt.

“But she lives.”

Except that.

Azriels head snapped towards his brother, eyes going so wide that they almost popped straight out of his head.

“What?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Madja brought her back. She’ still unconscious but-”

Azriel didn’t stick around to hear the rest of what he said, because he burst past Cassian, sprinting towards her room. Alive? She was alive? He couldn’t wrap his destroyed thoughts around it. He had felt the bond break, and watched her take her last breath, how could she be alive? This had to be some type of cruel joke his brothers were playing on him, there was no way-

He opened Ophelia’s bedroom door so hard that it bounced off the wall, hinges rattling with the force. He took a step, and then another, before his knees gave out. But Rhys was there, catching him under his arm, and kept him upright.

“Easy, brother.” His voice was soft, softer than he had ever heard it.

What Azriel saw confused him. Ophelia was there, laying on her bed as if she was sleeping. She had been washed and changed just as Azriel had, no traces of blood remaining on her. Feyre and Madja stood on the other side of the bed, and the two stared at him, unsure of what his next move would be.

“How?” Azriel’s voice broke, and for the millionth time that day, tears rushed to his eyes.

“We got to her just in time.” Madja was there, putting various medical supplies back into a bag. The old female turned to Feyre and said something under her breath. But his shadows heard her.

Watch him. The bond hasn’t returned, and I’m afraid he’ll do something…something I can’t heal.

Feyre nodded and thanked the healer before dismissing her.

“How are you feeling, Az?” Feyre asked, and just then Rhys released the grip he had on Azriels arm.

But he didn’t hear her. Instead, he slowly crept towards the edge of Ophelia’s bed. She looked so incredibly peaceful, like the events of the past week hadn't happened at all.

He took her slender hand in his, and it was so cold. He supposed that was normal considering how much blood she had lost. They had been laying in a puddle of it. And still, it just didn’t seem possible that she was alive.

“Why hasn’t the bond returned?” Azriel whispered, scared that if spoke too loud it would wake her.

“Madja said it would take time.” Rhys said, coming to his side.

Time. If there was anything Azriel knew how to do was wait. He had waited his entire life for Ophelia, he could wait just a little bit longer. So, he grabbed a reclining chair and dragged it to the side of her bed, and plopped down in it.

“What are you doing?” Feyre asked softly.

“Waiting.”

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Three things were clear to Ophelia as she laid in the eternal darkness.

One, her mother was Lady of the Autumn Court and her father was Lord of the Day Court, and Lucien was her brother.

Two, her entire body was screaming in pain. It was a never ending barrage, it felt she was being set on fire over and over again. It felt like she was being stripped of her flesh, and someone was sticking needles in the exposed skin.

Three, Azriel was her mate.

Mate.

The cauldron had blessed and cursed her with a mate. And out of everyone, in the entirety of Prythian, it was him. Azriel.

His name on her tongue felt like taking a cold, refreshing gulp of water. It felt like life, death, and everything in between. Something as big as ruling the world seemed possible with him by her side, or even just getting out of bed for the day. Knowing that he was there, waiting for her. She could do it all.

But where was he?

He wasn’t here with her, in this endless pit of dark nothingness. But she could sense him, his scent lingering on the tip of her nose. It was smokey and sweet, the boldness of each taste coming together each time, it was intoxicating. Like she could drown in him, but he would be there to keep her afloat.

Ophelia could feel him now. He was so close but yet so far away. It felt like she could reach out and touch him, but when she tried, her body screamed in protest. Everything hurt. Every miniscule movement that was made had her already exhausted mind slip farther and farther into the darkness.

So she laid there, feeling nothing and everything. Waiting for her mate.

Azriel.

stay with me pt 1

<Azriel Shadowsinger x OFC>

short story of one of our favorite bat boys.

warnings: heavy alcohol consumption, mentions of trauma, light smut, 18+ MDNI!!!!

part two, part three, part four, part five

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The pulsing music at Rita’s felt like it was mimicking the rapid heartbeat in Ophiela’s chest. Every dip and sway that she was led into by strange males made her feel heady and dizzy. It felt like her feet barely touched the floor as she was spun into arm after arm, song after song. The three bottles of wine that her and Mor consumed before coming didn’t help either.

Like Nesta, dancing made her feel something. Less empty, less of a broken shell. Like the patterns she twirled into on the dance floor could somehow form the broken shards of herself back together.

From her place in the crowd she could spy her friends sitting at the permanently reserved table, playing a game of cards. All were focused on the current hand, throwing chips into the pile and cursing at each other. All except one pair of dark hazel eyes. He was almost invisible, tucked into the corner, his black leathers causing him to blend in even more. But beneath the swirling mass of darkness, Ophelia could see him.

Maybe that was one difference between her and Prythians most notorious spymaster. He was comfortable in the dark where no one could see him. But Ophelia was most comfortable under the blazing lights, where almost anyone could see her. Where she could paint a face was calm and happy, and no one would suspect a thing. They were almost exact opposites, but maybe that’s what attracted her to him.

Strong hands suddenly gripped her waist and she was being pulled against a hard chest, breaking her staring contest with the spymaster. The male laughed in her ear, saying something. But she wasn’t sure what he said, her head was swimming by this point. She danced with him for a bit before excusing herself and pushed her way through the churning bodies, making her way to the table.

Those hazel eyes were on her again, watching her hips sway to the music. Placing her hands on the table and leaning over, she shouted at them so they could hear.

“Does anyone mind taking me home?” Winnowing while drunk was a bad idea. She learned her lesson the hard way when she almost drowned in the Sidra. She didn’t want to end a few inches off from the balcony of the House of Wind and fall to her death. That would be embarrassing.

Feyra opened her mouth to speak but Azriel beat her to it, setting his cards down.

“I fold.” He told the table. “I’m ready to get out of here anyway.” He stood, his wings ruffling at the movement.

As the two made their way to the doors, Ophelia could have sworn she heard Cassian yelling that Az had a full house. There was no way he could have been on a cusp of winning for him to just walk out like that, Az was too competitive. She must have heard him wrong.

They walked out into the muggy summer night. It was scorching this time of year, the night time only a little more tolerable than the day. The light blue dress that Ophelia had on stuck to her in the most uncomfortable of places. It was a pretty dress, a little on the short side, but one that would now have to be thoroughly washed. It reeked of sweat and wine and unfamiliar males.

Azriel and Ophelia walked in silence for a bit, the sounds of distant parties and conversations being drowned out by the rushing water as they approached the bridge to the Sidra. She traced the amazingly carved detail with her fingers on the rails, before stopping and turning to look down at the water.

Azriel inhaled softly as if he were about to speak, but Ophelia cut him off.

“Did I tell you about the time I almost drowned in the Sidra?”

She glanced behind her to the Illyrian, whose stoic features wavered just slightly at her admission. Whatever he was about to say, she had stopped him. If she were being honest with herself, which was rare, she’d wish she had let him speak.

“Mor and I had a few too many glasses of Rhys aged wine,” She continued. “Didn’t think it would hit me that hard. When I tried to winnow home I landed face first into cold water. Sobered me up pretty quick.”

She turned around, gazing up into those damned hazel eyes. She expected to see some sort of amusement in his eyes, but all she found was worry.

“I could have taken you home that day.”

Ophelia shrugged. “Honestly, I think you were on a mission for Rhys. Plus, I wouldn’t want to bother you with my drunkenness.” She lifted her palms up to the sky, a smile twitching at her lips.

“I don’t mind your drunkenness.” That same smile creeping up on the corners of his own thick, lush lips.

Damnit.

Something had changed, shifted, between Ophelia and Azriel. For centuries, she had considered Azriel as a friend, a good friend. But almost three months ago, that had changed. She didn’t know what it was, or didn’t want to admit to herself what it was, but it happened. Az and her had been sparring early in the evening like usual. They were trying to perfect a new technique they thought of, when somehow Ophelia managed to knock Azriel on his ass.

He had stared up at her with such awe and bewilderment she thought he might have cracked his head open on the ground. When she helped him up his hands were clammy and hot, and he quickly excused himself from the session.

Ever since then, Azriel had been, well, nice. Not just the forced politeness she was used to when it came to the spymaster. He had been offering to help her, spending time with her scouting out the Autumn Court, which she knew he hated. It was strange, even Rhys admitted his brother's actions were strange.

Ophelia, snapping out of her thoughts, realized she had been staring far too long at Azriel. Clearing her throat, she looked away. She was glad it was hot out or else she felt like he might have called her out on the blush that was creeping across her cheeks.

“Do you mind?” She asked, lifting her arms out to him. “I’m ready for bed.”

Azriel nodded silently, and picked her up like she weighed less than a feather. She laid her head on his chest and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the feeling of her stomach to drop once he took flight. Hearing the leathery snap of his wings, the ground whooshed out from underneath them. She sucked in a breath as his wings caught the warm breeze, spreading them out behind him.

Velaris was always beautiful, but Ophelia was convinced it looked the most beautiful from above. She watched as the streaming lights grew distant as they flew farther away from the city. It made her heart hurt to watch it go.

They flew silently towards the House of Wind, the only sound of Azriel’s wings occasionally flapping. She looked over his shoulder, the thin membrane of his wings looked so silky. Ophelia knew how prized an Illyrian's wings were to them. They would rather be dead than be without their wings.

Still, they looked so smooth and soft. Tentatively, she reached a hand out and lightly ran her hand across the cool skin. She heard Azriel gasp, and they dipped in the sky.

“Shit!” She squawked, nails digging into his neck. “Sorry! I didn’t think-”

“If you don’t want me to drop you, sweetheart, I wouldn’t do that again.” Azriel grunted. Something had changed in his voice, it sounded gruffer. She was so caught up in what just happened she almost missed it.

He had called her sweetheart.

Azriel landed on the balcony without any more close calls. Though Ophelia supposed she was to blame for that. He set her down gently and she smoothed out her dress, making sure everything was covered.

“I need a drink.” She announced, but mostly for the house to hear.

“You had about three bottles of wine, four shots of vodka, and a beer. You need more?” Azriel said from behind her, humor laced in his tone.

“Well, looks like someone was counting.” She smirked to herself. “But no, I need tea. Care to join?”

Sauntering into the kitchen, she saw the house instantly set out another hot mug and she picked it up, handing it to Azriel. “It’s my secret blend.” She smiled, picking up her own mug. Taking a small sip, she sighed contentedly.

She hopped up on the counter watching as Azriel did the same. “Jasmine, lavender, and chamomile.” He offered. “With a hint of lemon.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes, smirking. “I suppose being a spymaster you have to know the differences between tastes. Wouldn’t want someone to be poisoned, now would you?”

“No, it’s just what you smell like.”

Ophelia’s heart skipped a beat. She stared down at her mug in her now trembling hands. Desperately, she tried to think of a witty come-back. Something to diffuse to tension that was quickly building in the kitchen. She heard the clink of his mug being set down on the counter, and the shuffle of his boots as he approached her.

“Phia,” Azriel whispered. “Look at me.” Inhaling sharply, she did just that. She felt his hands grab hers and set the mug down, his eyes never leaving hers. His eyes were alight with swirling colors, his pupils almost covering his entire iris.

“Az…” Before she could get another word out, his lips were on hers.

Gasping at the electric shock that started at the base of her skull, making its way down her tailbone, she shuddered. Did she shudder because of that or because of Azriel, Azriel was finally kissing her? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer right now.

He broke away from her after a long moment, resting his forehead on hers. He was panting, they were panting. This time when Azriel tried to speak, she was the one to cut him off. Her lips slotted over his, her slender arms wrapping around his neck pulling him closer.

They were a blur of gnashing teeth and tongues, their breathing turning almost frantic. Azriel’s rough hands gripped her hips, pulling her even closer to him. Instinct kicked in and Ophelia grabbed onto his waist with her legs. Nothing but a few scraps of clothing separated them now.

Wait.

Azriel bit down on her bottom lip, a quiet moan rippled from her mouth. He pulled away, but not going very far. He kissed her cheek, then her jaw, then that spot right behind her ear. Ophelia moaned again, louder this time, arching into his touch.

She said she didn’t want this.

Azriel’s chuckled, his breath tickled against her overheating skin. He continued kissing down the length of her throat, and her hands found their way to his thick hair, tugging softly. Ophelia felt triumphant when he let out a moan of his own. Then, she was leaning farther and farther back so he could have easy access to her, gasping and moaning when he bit down just to soothe the sting with his tongue. His mouth was setting ablaze a burning path down her chest that she thought the coolest of waters couldn’t put out.

She wasn’t allowed to want this.

His hand came up to cup her breast through the material of her dress, his thick thumb swiping lazily over the peaked nipple. She was squirming now, her soaked core rutting ever so slightly against the very large bulge in his leathers. She wanted more, needed more. Needed to feel him in every way possible, to feel exactly what the honed muscles could do.

She shouldn’t want this.

Azriel finally pulled away from the assault he was levying against her front and his eyes found hers. “Sweetheart, do you-”

“Well it’s about damn time!” A voice boomed from down the hall.

Ophelia had never seen Azriel move so fast. One moment she was sprawled out on the counter top, the next Azriel had her behind his back, guarding her from being seen by Cass and Nesta, who had just caught them in a very compromising situation. A snarl she had never heard from Azriel ripped from his throat.

“Oh come now, Az! How many times have you walked in on me and Ness? It’s only fair I get you back.”

But she didn’t wait for Azriel’s reply, because she was already sprinting to her room.

She couldn’t want this.

Romance, Requests, and Redirection

Part 1 - Romance, Requests, and Redirection | Part 2 - Eris' Reply | AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

A/N: This is Eris' reply to Nesta's letter (which I wrote for Nesta week linked above), as requested by @aleksandra25cracow. I hope you like it!

Word Count: 590

Dear Nesta,

I must confess, I was puzzled at the correspondence that arrived this morning at the Forest House. I certainly wasn’t expecting a letter bearing the telltale signs of the Night Court to show up at my breakfast table. Even lacking the official insignia, I would recognise a letter from Night, though I can assure you the surprise was a pleasant reprieve from the monotonous court life here in Autumn.

Solstice was another such welcome break, a place where I could enjoy the festivities, though they took place elsewhere, a place I will acknowledge I am not particularly fond of. However, I must admit, the dancing that night was perhaps the jewel in the crown, so to speak. It has been a while since I have been able to dance so freely, to revel in the celebrations as one ought to do but as politicians rarely get the chance to. A night to let my inhibitions down and rid myself of my mask, if only for a fraction of a while with a skilled dance partner is something I will be grateful for. I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy that night thoroughly.

But while I would love to converse at length regarding your love for the noble art, I must confess how pleased I was upon hearing of your interest in exploring Autumn and the wonder it has to behold, despite hearing what troubles you. My court is truly a wondrous place, like no other in Prythian, and though talking about it at length is perhaps one of my favourite pastimes, I will let you see this jewel for yourself.

Regarding your previous letter, I implore you to be careful with your words, lady. Though each court has its own ways of punishing treason, the Night Court’s being no less brutal than any other nor any less creative in the torment, I must ask you to avoid throwing caution to the wind when discussing such matters openly. The fae are never what they seem, and they will certainly grasp any opportunity they can to lie, contrary to the mortal myths I am sure you have heard. We will keep correspondence (we will have to, if you are to visit), but like you, my letters may be cryptic, and I will leave it to you to decipher them (though I have no doubt you will be able to do so without an ounce of difficulty, from the brief glimpse I have gotten of you).

A visit could be arranged, though it will require immense amounts of planning and logistical support from both sides. Despite this, it will be fleeting, and that will have to suffice, if only for now. Though we do not know each other, though we have hardly met, I shall need you to trust me in these upcoming weeks, if you truly mean to visit. We shall have to work together to create a plan so intricate that nothing and no one will be able to deter it. We will need to have contingency plan upon contingency plan, though I can assume this is not news to you. We will be able to talk at length upon your arrival. Rest assured that our conversations will remain confidential at all times. I trust the High Lord and Lady have informed you about the nature of Fae bargains, and the terms of one shall be discussed at length should you see the need for such a measure.

I will await your arrival.

~ Eris Vanserra

A/N: When Eris said “I need you to trust me” the only thing going through my head was Aladdin and how he asked Jasmine to trust him before they went flying on the magic carpet (can you tell it’s one of my favourite Disney movies)

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

Karaoke Night

AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

@nestaarcheronweek

Prompt: Day Seven - Free Day (Any topic of your choosing!)

A/N: This is my first time writing for Manon, so please forgive any mischaracterisations!

Word Count: 1644

“Babe, I’m home!” Her girlfriend’s voice echoed through the entrance lobby, and she heard a muffled curse follow the greeting. Chuckling, she made her way downstairs to see an irritated Manon rubbing her ankle and frowning at the piece of furniture she currently held a vendetta against.

Eternally clumsy and forever bumping into things, it seemed that today, she’d managed to trip over the shoe rack. “That damned thing always gets in my way,” she grumbled. Nesta couldn’t help the the slight upward tug of her lips at her girlfriend’s adorable expression.

“I’d think you get in the way of that poor shoe rack, seeing as you manage to stumble over it every single day.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Nesta said, barely containing a laugh at her girlfriend’s indignant protests. “Whine about the shoe rack later. Dinner’s ready.”

That one sentence sobered Manon up immediately. She took off her long, tan overcoat, and popped her black boots off. Her dark nails glinting in the overhead light as she tucked a strand over silver hair behind her ear. “Ooo, what’d you make?”

“Pasta,” Nesta answered over a shoulder as they began making their way to the kitchen.

Piling a generous amount of her girlfriend’s favourite pasta onto her plate (lemon, chicken, cream, prosciutto, and arugula) and then serving herself, they sat down. Conversation resumed as easily as it had begun; talk about each of their days punctuating the room. 

“I swear, I hate him so much,” Manon grumbled, aggressively stabbing at a piece of chicken. “He always thinks he’s so much better than everyone else just because he’s worked here for a few years longer than I have.”

Manon worked as an optometrist, offering patients routine check-ups to see whether they needed any changes made to their eyesight, among other things. The more serious parts of her job involved examining them for eye diseases and other health conditions. It was enjoyable enough, not to mention the pay was more than decent, though not necessarily a profession she wanted to spend her entire life doing.

Nesta was the opposite. She’d known from a young age that she’d need to pick a stable job that would get her money, if only to support her ailing father (never mind that he’d been negligent at best and an outright horror at worst) and her two younger sisters. Through sheer dedication, hard work, and many years at university, she was now a successful lawyer well on her way to starting her own firm. 

She’d always been told she had a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, so she’d found a good use for both of them. It didn’t hurt that she was rolling in money, either.

“Is he really that bad?” Nesta asked gently. “He’s irritating, sure, from what you’ve told me, but…don’t waste any more energy on him. He’s not worth it.” She stroked a light hand over her partner’s exposed wrist, and Manon calmed immediately. It was a small touch; grounding, and yet all she’d needed.

Manon’s boss, an older, stricter, and far crankier person than her previous mentor, was getting on her nerves. Micromanaging her and acting as if he knew so much better than Manon were only a few of the complaints Nesta had to hear about on the daily.

“Fine.” Manon rolled her eyes, and took another bite of the food. “Oh, by the way, love the pasta. How do you get it so creamy?”

Nesta only grinned. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“Not even to her extremely hot and seductive girlfriend?”

“Seductive?” Nesta questioned, quirking a brow in mock challenge. “That’s not quite how I remember you being last week when we slept together. I wasn’t the one begging to cum.”

“I think you might need a reminder of just how seductive I can be.” Manon’s golden eyes had darkened, turning hazel more than anything, and a light blush had crept over her cheeks at Nesta’s casual comment.

“How about we finish dinner first? Then you can show me all of this supposed skill.”

“Supposed skill?” It was always so easy to rile her up Nesta couldn’t help but chuckle.

And so their banter continued. Teasing remarks, the occassional joke, and laughter filled the room, until Nesta’s eyes drifted to the clock on the microwave. “Manon, it’s eight already.”

Yawning, the silver-haired woman got up. “I’ll get to the dishes.” 

It was a rule they’d established quite early on that whoever made dinner didn’t have to do the dishes.

“Do them later.” Nesta got up too, plopping her plate and cutlery into the sink, and collapsed onto the couch. Her limbs sprawled out in all directions, and Manon knew she was only doing it to be dramatic.

“Nesta-”

“Come on,” she whined, drawing out the last syllable in a pathetic attempt to drag her girlfriend to the sofa with her. “It’s Friday night. Live a little.” Her voice was muffled, seeing as she’d squashed her face into the sofa cushions, but Manon found it oddly…endearing.

“It’s ironic that you’re the one saying this,” Manon muttered under her breath. Indeed, she was usually the one that had to coax Nesta to take a break, but it seemed that today, Nesta was having her way. “What do you want to do, anyway?”

Nesta made a show of putting a finger on her chin and tilting her head. “Mmm,” she said. “How about…karaoke?” Without waiting for an answer, she got up and made her way to the TV cabinet. 

Manon couldn’t help the laugh that broke out of her then. “No way in hell am I singing to some 2010s Britney Spears song that’ll make me lose my voice.”

Nesta frowned. “Britnery Spears isn’t all that bad. Besides, when was the last time we did something like this together?”

“Nesta, there’s a reason I don’t sing.” At Nesta’s quizzical look, she clarified. “Everyone within a five-kilometre radius will go deaf if I do.”

She merely scoffed. “Nonsense. You’re singing and that’s final.”

“What do I get if I do sing?” Manon would be damned if she didn’t let this go without a scuffle. She didn’t hide the way her eyes roved over Nesta’s body and the tank top and shorts that she had on. 

Nesta didn’t say a word, only approaching Manon until she had to crane her neck to look at her girlfriend. If she moved forward ever so slightly, she’d brush thighs with Nesta. She didn’t, instead choosing to wait for her to break the creeping tension now building.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me tonight if you sing with me.” Her voice came out breathless, perhaps the only indication that Nesta was as excited for this as she was.

“Whatever I want? Don’t you think that’s a steep deal?” Manon only barely managed to keep her voice from betraying what it was she was thinking (specifically, how badly she wanted to bend her girlfriend over the sofa and fuck her senseless.)

“No.”

“Really? I would have expected something more…concrete, coming from a lawyer.”

“This isn’t working, and I know I don’t need to be specific with you.” A small pout had overtaken Nesta’s face, and dammnit if Manon didn’t give in.

“Fine. One song.” Nesta’s expression changed almost immediately, lighting up with joy as she settled in beside her.

“Since you agreed, you pick.”

Ten minutes, multiple hurled insults, and at least five tossed pillows later, they decided on a song. Well, Manon had. Nesta, it seemed, was still hesitant.

“Do you have to pick songs that so depressing? Like, are you doing this on purpose or something?” She asked, frowning at the TV screen as if it had personally wronged her.

“It’s Lana Del Rey! How is she depressing?”

“How isn’t she depressing? That’s literally all she writes about.” Manon rolled her eyes. They really weren’t getting anywhere with this. 

“Okay. You know what? We’re spinning a wheel. If neither of us can decide, we’ll just randomise it.” Despite Nesta’s protests and her half-hearted attempts to snatch Manon’s phone right out of her hand, she spun the wheel.

“See?” Manon exclaimed indignantly once it had stopped spinning. “It landed on Lana Del Rey.”

“You cheated,” Nesta huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “But fine. Miss Depressed Del Rey it is.” 

Manon took the remote from her, and browsed songs until she found her favourite. “Ready?”

✦ ✦ ✦

A drunken giggle passed from Nesta’s lips as she lay sprawled on the sofa. She’d long since given up on karaoke because she’d been laughing too hard. She couldn’t even remembered why she was laughing, only that it was silly, and that she was incandescently happy.

Manon, to her credit, hadn’t stopped once; not to get a drink of water, or even the bathroom. Of course, that didn’t mean she was any less drunk, but at least she was standing.

“All the grace, all that body

All that face makes me wanna party”

Her raucous voice filled the living room, and though it was ridiculously off-key, it was the most fun she’d had in a while.

It only made Nesta laugh even harder, and she doubled over as she lay shaking on the sofa.

The song ended, and she shrieked as Manon grabbed her around the waist. “You promised me you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” she managed between wheezes.

“Oh yeah?”

“I swear!”

“How about I do whatever I want to you and we can see if you were lying?” Manon’s taunting threat caused a delightful heat to spread between Nesta’s legs. 

“It depends. What will you do to me?” She asked, puffing out a breath.

Nesta yelped again as Manon hurled her over a shoulder and began making their way to the bedroom. 

“So eager tonight, hm? Let me show you.”

A/N: Thank you to my best friend for giving me the idea of a karaoke night!

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!

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 11 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: I made sure to make this one a little special, seeing as autumn is here. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2610

“How long this time?” he asked and opened his eyes to the cerulean sky overhead, squinting at the sunlight now piercing daggers through his eyes. “Four minutes.” 

Azriel visibly slumped at that, and Adira pocketed the watch she’d been timing him with.

“You’re getting better,” she assured him for what felt like the millionth time today. “I know,” he grumbled. “But it doesn’t seem to be helping, does it?”

“The more you practice the easier it will get. And besides, progress at these kinds of skills is difficult to measure. We won’t know if you’re improving or not until at least a couple of months.”

“It’s already been a couple of months.”

Indeed, Azriel had spent the whole autumn here, and had watched the city shift from a warm, tropical town to one that had begun to exhibit it magnificent autumn foliage, with coloured leaves that glimmered and shone like jewels in the sunlight. That certainly hadn’t stopped the city from being any less lively, though. In fact, it was quite the opposite: the citizens had seemed to be preparing for some sort of festival or celebration, the energy more vibrant and buzzing with life.

The servants had been preparing these last few days, too. Pumpkins of all shapes, sizes, and colours were being hauled away, presumably to be carved, and lights being strung up for the long winter ahead. His Fae eyesight helped him see, even from here, that children gathered hordes of crimson and amber coloured leaves, jumping up and down on large piles they’d managed to gather. It warmed his heart, to know that there were children here who were happy; who could enjoy life and their childhood. Who hadn’t spent years being locked up in their father’s cells simply because of hatred.

Shaking his head, he tried his best to clear his thoughts and made to get up. “I honestly don’t think I can train for any longer.”  She brushed off his complaint with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense. You’re doing wonderfully.”  He very much doubted that, but decided to keep his mouth shut. “We’ve been going at it since eight in the morning. Please.” The clock had struck over half past nine a few moments ago, and he was tired. “Once more and then you can go down.” He groaned at that, and sat back down. “I heard that,” she hummed. “And just for that, you’re getting an extra five minutes.” Azriel made sure to keep his groan strictly internal at that. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Those ghastly mind-stilling exercises were only the beginning of the training Adira made him do. They made him unusually tired, and asking her about it seemed…Azriel didn’t let himself finish that thought. What would it mean for him if he couldn’t do what Adira had asked of him? He didn’t know, mostly because he hadn’t failed at anything, and so he didn’t know if Adira would be mad at him. 

“Focus.” Her sharp voice cut through the haze of his thoughts and he blinked, trying to clear his messy thoughts away. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and glanced back down at his hands placed over the piano, the scars making them seem uglier and more vivid in the mid-morning light. “Saying it doesn’t mean anything. I won’t be convinced until I see at least some improvement.”

Adira had begun to be harsher on him these past couple of weeks, crticizing his piano playing skills more firmly than he would have liked. They’d moved on to the more intermediate skills now, including basic chord progressions. He knew she wasn’t doing it to hurt him, he knew she’d never do something like that willingly. And yet it did. He was trying, after all. He was just…overwhelmed. Yes, that seemed to be a good word for what he was feeling right now.

“Adira,” he started, his voice softer than what was normal, even for him. She merely hummed, encouraging him to continue. “I’ve been feeling slightly overwhelmed lately.” She turned fully to him at that. “Is there any reason why?”

How was he to tell her that it was because she was pushing him too hard?

Adira understood though, even through his silence, and her expression softened immediately. “Cauldron, it’s been me, hasn’t it? Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-” She took a breath, cutting herself off. “I’ll make some changes to our training plan. We’ll do one thing at a time, if that sounds alright?”

He nodded. He could feel a stress lifting itself off his shoulders even when he hadn’t said anything. It was enough that Adira understood. He felt lighter, and sat up straighter. “I’d like to keep the piano lessons though, no matter what.” 

“Of course. Is there anything you want to keep? Or something you have a moral aversion to?”

“Mind-stilling,” he grumbled. She let out a laugh at that. “Alright. We’ll reduce the times of your mind-stilling. But we’re not getting rid of it.”

He rolled his eyes. Of course she wouldn’t. 

“I would actually like to start with something though. Something new.” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, aren’t you the teacher? Shouldn’t you know?” She laughed at that. “Very well, you had me there. We won’t be able to start with something new though. Not right now.”

Azriel couldn’t help that his face fell. Adira noticed, and rushed to console him. “We will start with something new, I promise you, but I mean that something’s come up and I won’t be here for the next couple of days.”

He knew Adira travelled, but she’d never travelled while he was at the house. Anxiety pooled in his gut; sour and constant, the feeling unwelcome. 

“It won’t be for long, just until the celebrations are over.” He decided to change topic just then, and asked instead, “What kind of celebrations?”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and knowing. “You’ll see.”

✦ ✦ ✦

There was so much merriment and commotion Azriel wished he had about five more pairs of eyes. Bundled up in a warm coat, scarf, and gloves, they walked through the centre of town, though his winter gear still let some of the chill in. He shivered once more, and shoved his gloved hands deeper into his pockets. 

She’d dragged his ass out here right after lunch, after he’d spent the morning practically moping around seeing as Adira wasn’t here. She’d left early nearly a week ago, long before dawn, and he hadn’t had the chance to even talk to her before she’s left for wherever it was she needed to go.

He’d had nothing better to do this past week, and so he’d decided to sit trying to play the piano. It had been harder without her seeing as she wasn’t there to coach him through his warm-ups. It wasn’t his piano playing that was suffering, but rather the state of his hands, even if he didn’t want to admit it out loud. No, he’d rather drink a bottle of acid before his ego would let anyone admit that they tended to become stiff with the cold, and the skin cracked, making his scars all the more painful.

Thankfully though, she was here in this evening, and had insisted that they step out to spend some time together. Not wanting to disappoint her, Azriel had relented, and decided that he was going to keep as close to her as he could. 

He thanked himself for that decision later, as the crowds in the streets were simply ridiculous. He didn’t think this many people lived on the continent, let alone this city. Although Windhaven was relatively large as compared to the villages in Illyria, it was still small, with only a population of a couple of hundred. It drove him mad, to know that there were this many people who could afford to live in this glittering jewel of a city.

“Everyone is allowed here,” she’d explained to him as they walked the length of the now crowded and bustling street. “For one night, no matter who you are, the doors of the city are open to anyone and everyone. Each person, resident or otherwise, is allowed to come here and sell whatever it is they want to sell, or buy as many trinkets as one can possibly carry.” He’d nodded, and then asked her, “By ‘otherwise’, do you mean the people from just outside the city?”

“Oh, Cauldron no,” she’d said. “When we say everyone, we mean everyone. All the folk from the countryside and people from other lands than ours are invited too. When we celebrate, Azriel,” she’d said, a hint of mischief in her caramel eyes, “We really celebrate.”

He supposed the celebrating involved immense amounts of liquor, and he wanted to be home before the drinking and debauchery truly started. He was sure that despite this being the continent, there were still immense amounts of drunkards hulking around the city at night, especially on an occasion like this, and every passing moment caused him more anxiety. He had always assumed that the city was relatively safe, but who knew what it became like after nightfall? He’d always grown up to be wary of his surroundings, and the training that had been drilled into him didn’t suddenly leave his body as he came to the continent.

He tore his eyes away from Adira, instead looking at the mountains in the distance. They loomed in the background, and he saw the snow coating the tip of it too, snow that was there all year round, no matter the weather.

“Adira,” he asked, tugging on her navy coat sleeve when she didn’t respond. She leaned down to hear him, and he asked, “How come the climate here is so different all year round?” He’d only every lived in Illyria, not counting the years in his father’s keep. He didn’t know much about how warm it could really get, seeing as the North of the Night Court was known to be brutally cold and unforgiving, local or no. 

“Since the mountains are to the North but we’re still surrounded by oceans, it makes sense that the weather fluctuates so. I suppose we’ve got the best of both worlds.”

As the meandered through the winding streets decorated with faelights, Azriel couldn’t help but fall in love with the city even more. It was even more stunning up close, and now that he’d truly experienced it he didn’t think he wanted to leave. He had half a mind to ask Adira why she didn’t have a house in the city rather than have to winnow at least a couple of miles to get to centre o the city.

Realizing Adira had halted and he could barely see her, he stopped too. 

“Honestly, it’s absolutely ridiculous,” she was saying to a faerie dressed in all black as he made his way back to her side.

“I know,” he replied, his accent thick in a way he hadn’t heard before. Chalking it up to how those on the continent must talk, he ignored it, and instead moved closer to Adira’s side.

As Adira stood talking to her friend (or acquaintance, he couldn’t tell,) his eyes wandered over to a nearby stall. A stall of weapons. Daggers, swords, maces, bows and arrows and at least a hundred other weapons he didn’t recognize sat on proud display as the man behind the stall sat in a chair and dozed. With a hat pulled over his face and the man sprawled out over his wicker chair, Azriel was seriously contemplating whether or not to go. 

It was almost like he was drawn to the dagger then, the blade newly sharpened and lethal in its own ethereal and charming way. It enticed him, to know there were weapons so carefully crafted and made around the world.

He knew it was far too big for him, and that there was no way he’d be able to properly wield the dagger unless she taught him. But that didn’t stop him from wanting it.

However, Azriel made up his mind, and as he made to approach the male, he seemed to sense him, somehow, and woke immediately, stirring before taking the hat off.

“Buenos,” he mumbled, his voice still slurry, either with the nap he was taking or with the alcohol he’d likely been drinking last night. 

“Hi,” he said, his voice quiet and uncertain, suddenly feeling insecure. Why was he here? He certainly couldn’t afford to buy any of these handcrafted weapons.

“Do you want it?” a soft voice asked from behind him. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly-” he started. “Nonsense.” She waved him off with a hand, and instead faced the man, talking rapidly in a language he didn’t understand. He must have realized Azriel didn’t speak it though, as he looked at him and said in a thick accent, “Three hundred gold.”

His eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He’d never even seen three hundred gold marks in his life, and this man was so casually asking for it.

Adira however, seemed unphased as she said coolly, “One.”

“No madam no, is very…how you say, hard to make. Very good quality, promise.”

“Yes, I know that,” she said stiffly, “But surely it can’t cost three hundred?”

“Expensive metal,” he merely said, and crossed his arms over his chest as he awaited her response.

“You’re not even going to bargain?” she asked. The man merely hummed, looking up in confusion. Adira switched language, and it seemed as if they were arguing as she finally let out a clipped sigh, the air around her puffing like a white cloud, and said, “Fine,” before rolling her eyes.

“How much?” he asked her immediately. “Never you mind,” she said, albeit a with a little more bite than was necessary.

“But I do mind,” he insisted. “If you’re going to buy it for me, which you really don’t need to, then I need to know how much it’s for.”

She turned then, and glanced down at him as she remarked, “I’m covering all your expenses. Food, clothing, shelter. Why would you possibly need to know how much it costs?”

He started at that. “Well if you’ve been paying for everything, then surely I’m expected to pay you back.”

Her expression softened at that, and she looked as if she might pull him into a hug. Instead, she said, “I gave you all of this because your living condition in Illyria wasn’t healthy. To demand that you pay me back when I provided for you at your time of need is simply cruel. I would never.”

It was Azriel that pulled Adira into a bone-crushing hug then, and she crouched down to hug him better. As she stroked a warm hand over his hair and whispered, “Hey,” it only made him sob harder. “Thank you,” he managed to get out before another round of sobs overtook him. No one had ever bought him anything that was solely his. Adira held him through it all, soothing and consoling him, ever a steady presence.

But that didn’t sit right with Azriel as they made the trek up to the house. “What are you thinking about?” Adira asked as she realized he’d fallen behind in his own world of thought. “Nothing,” he mumbled. She smiled at that. “You’re sure?” 

“Yes.”

“Very well then,” she said, a little too coolly, almost as if she knew that he was, in fact, thinking of something. 

He lay awake that night, glancing up at the stars. And as his mind kept drifting to his dagger, he decided on a name for it. His new companion.

Truth-Teller.

A/N: I really wanted to write lore for how Azirel got his favourite dagger. What better way than to get Adira to buy it for him? It just seemed right yk?

Part 12

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 10 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Chapter includes descriptions of injury and blood (very little though, it doesn’t get descriptive)

Word Count: 2783

Sweat dripped down Azriel’s body, doing absolutely nothing against the bitter wind of the Illyrian mountains. He had shed his jacket at some point during his training, Rhys following suit not long after. Their shirts had long since been soaked through, and his fingers had turned numb, skin on the verge of cracking from the frost. As they circled each other, Rhys’ eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to decipher his next move. Azriel only grinned, and rolled his neck, trying to loosen his muscles. 

Rhys made the first move. Lunging, he tried to get Azriel with a blow to the side. Merely ducking nimbly out of his way, Azriel retaliated with a hook to his left flank. Rhys blocked it, and Azriel was forced to spin to avoid getting a fist to the stomach.

And so their training continued. Spinning, twisting, dodging, neither seemed to show signs of exhaustion, even as their official lessons neared an end. Azirel’s resolve was beginning to crack, and he was trying his best not to let it show. Just as he was about to call it quits and ask Rhys to call it a draw, pride be damned, Rhys managed to disarm him.

One moment, Rhys was in front of him, and the next, he lunged so abruptly that Azriel did not anticipate it. He was thrown onto the ground so quickly that the air was knocked from his lungs. As Rhysand hovered over him, his body reacted and he jerked violently. He didn’t quite know what happened in that moment, only that something dark struck Rhys in the stomach and he collapsed on the other side of the ring, coughing harshly. 

Azriel himself, however, seemed rather unharmed as he got up, his lungs screeching in protest, and made his why to his brother.

“Rhys-”

“Get my mother,” he rasped. Two large, violent gashes seemed to have appeared on his abdomen and Azriel’s stomach turned at the sight of it, at the sight of his torn shirt and the blood now seeping through it.

“But I can’t leave you-”

“Go.” Azriel sprinted to their cottage, as fast as his legs could carry him, and he could have sworn that he’d never run so fast before in his life. 

Not bothering with formalities, he rushed in, his cheeks flush from the cold and his breath panting. His hazel eyes were blown wide, and Rhys’ mother appeared from the kitchen. “What’s wrong? Why are you scared?” she asked, drying her hands on a rag. He supposed it would make sense she would smell the fear on him after he’d come barging into the house like a feral animal.

He barely managed to get the words out. “It’s Rhys. He’s hurt. I don’t know-”

“Take me.” She grabbed her healing kit, throwing on her threadbare coat and worn-out shoes. Just seeing the woman he had come to love as his mother in such clothes tugged at his heart, but they had bigger problems as of now.

He jogged along with Rhys’ mother until they came to the clearing where Rhys lay sprawled on the ground. Devlon, conveniently, was nowhere to be found. Bastard. There was, however, a crowd of onlookers by his brother, all murmuring and pointing at him as if he was an animal on exhibit. “Move, all of you.” His voice rang out, louder than he’d normally speak, but no one did. Not one person spared him a glance. It was only when one of the older Illyrians whose name he didn’t know called out, “Leave the boy alone. He’s injured.” Finally, people began dispersing, though it was clear most wanted to stick around, if only to see whether the High Lord’s heir would live or die. 

Azriel and Rhys’ mother made their way to Rhys. Crouching down, she began examining him. “Don’t you want to transfer him to a bed or something?” Azriel asked, and remained standing. He’d seen her work on enough patients to know that the first thing she did before even touching the wound was making sure they were in a sterile environment. “It’s too dangerous,” came her reply. Azriel didn’t want to think of what that meant for Rhysand.

✦ ✦ ✦

Curled up in the tattered sheets of his moth-eaten mattress on the floor, Azriel stared out at the night sky. Some dark part of him, deep, deep down, knew that it was his magic, his shadows that had attacked Rhysand. What would he have done if his brother had died today? Would he have been able to live with himself? He didn’t think so.

It was only when the first rays of the sun began creeping in through the cracked window, its buttery light casting a soft glow over the wooden floor, that he made his way down to the kitchen where he knew Rhys’ mother would be making them breakfast. “I’m sick,” he said, trying to make his voice sound extra raspy, and coughed a few times for good measure. He hoped it was believable. Her brow furrowed. “Sick? You were fine yesterday.”

“Yes, but I feel a fever coming on. I don’t know if I’ll be able to train today.”

“Go upstairs and rest then, I’ll make sure to send Cass or Rhys up with a cup of warm tea and porridge.”

“Thank you.” He felt bad, exploiting her kindness like that, but he couldn’t bear to be around Rhys right now. Not after what he’d done.

The afternoon passed by agonizingly slowly. Rhys’ mother kept him company the whole time as lay in bed, pretending to be ‘sick’. His guilt ate away at him, both for hurting his soul brother, and even more for taking time away from the chores that needed to be done. 

At long last, however, she hobbled down to the kitchen, telling him that she had to start preparing for dinner for when Cass and Rhys came home. “Will you be okay on your own until dinnertime?” she’d asked. He merely nodded, and let her go. As soon as she closed the door behind her, he hopped out of bed, and started writing.

Dear Adira,

I’m terribly sorry for running, but I need your help.

Squinting at the words he’d written, he scrawled another word on the slip of parchment before praying that she’d answer. 

Please.

“I feel better today, I think I can train.” 

Rhys’ mother had only narrowed her eyes at him, arms on hips. “You’ve barely just recovered. At least give it another day.” He refused, claiming he felt much better after a day of rest, and that he might have overreacted. Begrudgingly, she served him breakfast at the table with the others, and he did his best to avoid Rhys’ eyes. Cassian, mercifully, seemd to be the only normal one, clearly not picking up on the awkwardness of the situation. Azriel was sure he knew, but it was likely that he’d forgotten about it. As Azriel got up to make his way out, (Rhys was still healing as was sleeping on the bottom floor for his mother to keep a watch on him) he saw a piece of paper appear on the worn-out dining table before him, right where the porridge had been a moment ago. It was an effort to keep his face neutral as he read Adira’s response, and an even bigger effort not to rip the damn thing open.

Meet me by the main training ring at nine. 

∼ A

“Got a lover, brother?” Cassian teased. Azriel only blushed slightly, shaking his head, and pocketed the note. Cassian smirked at that, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

When he arrived at the training rings with Cassian, a couple minutes late because of Adira’s letter, he found her waiting by the main training ring, simply observing everyone. Far too many Illyrians tried to look at her, (or rather, certain parts of her, Azriel realized with no shortage of horror). Looks that Azriel could see, even from here, were far from friendly. Either Adira did not care or did not notice that the males were eyeing her like a piece of meat. 

“See you later.” Cassian clapped him on the shoulder and made his way to training ring five. 

Devlon had insisted that Cassian and Rhys train together, while he trained with the beginners. No matter that he was far from it, but Azriel never had the energy to argue with Devlon. It was enough that him and his brothers knew of his skills when it came to combat.

Merely nodding, Azriel watched Cassian leave, and made a beeline for Adira, nearly tripping over himself in the process. 

He barreled into her, and he could tell she was caught by surprise as she stumbled back a step. She recovered quickly, however, and a lithe hand caressed his head. He relaxed instantly, the adrenaline now wearing off. “Easy,” she whispered. “I’m here.” He let out a small sob at that, and burrowed his face deeper into Adira’s warm embrace.

He didn’t care who saw. They likely all knew that he was training with her anyway.

“You and I put on quite the show back there,” she smirked as they winnowed in to the house. The Lakeside Chateau, it was called, he remembered her telling him during one of their piano lessons. Gods, that felt a lifetime ago. 

“Adira, please. I’m really sorry. I need your help. My magic, it just-”

“I heard,” she cut in, a tad sharply. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair and said more softly this time, “I heard.” 

“It was so scary. I didn’t know what happened. One minute I was fine and the next…” he trailed off, not quite knowing how to finish. One minute I felt fine and the next I’d thrown Rhys onto his ass with his guts near spilling out.

“I can only imagine how scary that was for you.” He only nodded mutely at that, not quite sure how to respond. “And I have a solution. I promise you, nothing like this is going to happen. At least not if you train your magic.” She fished in her robes, and pulled out a package. It was small, maybe a couple of inches. 

“Here, put these on.” She pulled back the paper from the package, and inside were two stones of the deepest cobalt, as if they’d been crafted from the oceans themselves. Siphons. He’d seen the older Illyrians, the ones who had gone through the Blood Rite, wear them, but for him to be getting them at such a young age… “Aren’t I too young for these?”

“It’s…complicated,” said Adira with a wince. “Normally you wouldn’t even get to touch a siphon until you passed the Blood Rite, but I’m sure you already know that.” He nodded his confirmation, and she continued. “The thing is, your power is growing very quickly. If we don’t find a way to harness it, there will be severe consequences. But before we start actually using them, how much do you know about siphons?”

“Not a lot,” he admitted sheepishly. No one had bothered explaining to a bastard-born Illyrian what siphons were or how they worked, and the little he knew of them was information he picked up from listening in to the older Illyrians’ conversations. Adira nodded, her brows pulling together. “I thought as much.” 

“I know that they’re used to control your power, and the more siphons you have the more powerful you are,” he said. 

“Very good. Think of them as…channels, shall we say, for your power. They help you hone and control it, helping it to flow more easily. Without your siphons you power would be…crude, to say the least,” she explained.

“You know, I’m honestly surprised not one person has tried to give you siphons. As shitty of a person as Devlon is, I thought he cared for his warriors.”

“They hate me,” he said flatly. “And besides, Devlon loves his warriors, not the low-born children like me that he thinks are pests.”

“Low-born you may be, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t Illyrian. If not Devlon then there must surely be one half-decent person willing to help you?”

“None,” he shook his head definitively.

“Well then, I suppose you’re stuck with me,” she joked, winking.

“Try them on,” she coaxed again, and placed holsters on the table in front of them. “Fasten these around your wrists, and place the siphons in them. “And they’ll fit?” he asked, still skeptical. “Yes. I had these siphons made for these specific holsters.” Swallowing back his nervousness, he fastened the holsters on his wrists. He tried not to let it show, how much these basic motor skills were hurting his hands, but if Adira noticed, she made no comment. Finally picking up the siphon, he examined it. It caught the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and made it glow from within, as if the siphons themselves were magic. He supposed they were. 

Placing the stone above the oval shaped crevice in the holster, he pressed. The siphon fit like a glove, fastening with a soft click. He repeated the movement once more for his other hand, until he had polished cobalt siphons gleaming in the light of day. Twisting his arms this way and that, he didn’t quite know what to make of them just yet.

“When do I start training with these?” he asked her, still not looking up from his newly adorned hands. 

“Whenever you want to.”

“Now?” She chuckled at that. “I always forget how eager children are. Yes, you can start now.”

She spirited them away to the training ring at the top of the house, not bothering with stairs, and said, “The first thing you need to remember is that you control your power. Not the other way around. Secondly, when your emotions get high, it’s easier for the power to break through and flow more naturally. To avoid that happening, it’s vital that we start with mindfulness exercises.”

“Mindfulness exercises?” he repeated. He’d never heard of these before. The ways of the continent truly were different from Prythian’s. 

“Yes. They include everything from breathing exercises to observing the thoughts that enter our minds to help us develop razor-sharp focus. This focus, this…concentration, it helps us regulate our emotions and avoid any unwanted outbursts. It’s essential, not only for being a good warrior and a successful athlete, but also to be a calm and rational person.”

“I’ll start off by showing you how to do these exercises, and soon enough you’ll be able to do them quite literally wherever and whenever you wish.” She took a seat on the edge of one of the training rings and crossed her legs. Azriel copied her, although still a tad bit unconvinced. 

“Now close your eyes, and focus on your breathing. Inhale for four counts, hold for four, and exhale for four. Focus only on each breath that goes in, and each breath that comes out. Nothing else.”

Not two seconds in and he could already feel his thoughts drifting. Gods, it was warm up here. And was that the screech of a seagull? He hoped that Adira couldn’t hear his stomach rumbling. This mindfulness exercises felt like eternity.

“I can feel your restlessness from here,” came Adira’s voice, laced with amusement. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He really was trying his best to focus, but the sounds around him…

It was as if all of his senses had been heightened considerably now that he had his eyes shut.

“It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s a skill. And like any skill, you can develop this too. It takes practice, and loads of patience. I know it’s not easy, but you’ll get better.”

“How long, exactly does it take for someone to be able to properly meditate?” 

“It depends. For some who have done similar exercises in the past; weeks. Others; months.”

He started at that, his eyelids flying open, concentration be damned. “Months?” 

She laughed openly at that. “It all depends on how much you practice and how much you’re willing to improve.”

He reined in a sigh, and tried not to look too dejected at the fact that his next few months were to be filled with learning to breathe. 

A/N: I don’t know anything about mindfulness or meditation, I just went off what I know (don’t come at me please). If you have any tips or suggestions though, please comment!

Part 11

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 9 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 1622

Azriel woke, panting, his hazel eyes blown wide open. Sweat ran down his body, having soaked through his nightclothes and dampening the pristine sheets.

And yet everything seemed to be in order. The hills and fields gleamed as the moon illuminated the lands beyond, the stars an eternal witness to the everlasting beauty of the continent. 

Pulling the covers back, he stood on shaky legs and ran a hand down his face. Adira. He had to find Adira- tell her what had happened. A part of his mind told him he didn’t need Adira, that she wasn’t his mother for Cauldron’s sake. He’d dealt with nightmares like these for a long time. He didn’t need to be coddled. And yet he was sure it was something Adira would want to know about. She’d cared for him until now, and he was certain that involved his mental wellbeing too. After all, how was she to teach a student who woke with such horrifying nightmares that would make any sensible person practically heave their guts up?

Navigating the mansion at night seemed to prove far more challenging than he’d initially expected. All the hallways looked the same, with the same wallpaper, identically carved doors, and perpetually spotless flooring, and it wasn’t long before he realized he’d rounded what looked to be the same corner at least twice. 

He was lost. Truly and utterly lost in this labyrinth of a house, and he had no idea how to get back to his room, much less find Adira. Perhaps wandering the house at godforsaken hours wasn’t the best idea. He could tell her about his nightmare tomorrow during his lesson. 

Just as he made a left that he thought would get him back to where he started, he heard two familiar voices. Pressing his back to the wall to avoid being illuminated by the light overhead, he recognized one of the voices as Adira. The other sounded familiar, though she spoke just as smoothly. 

- “doesn’t know, and I don’t know what to do.” All thoughts of telling Adira about his nightmare eddied from his mind, a newfound focus on the conservation just a few steps away from him. 

“Obviously. Have you considered actually telling him?” This voice was colder, and yet smooth. Polished, as if they’d grown up around nobility, or at least adopted their ways of speech. She. It was a she, he noticed, the way her voice seemed to flow around Adira’s in the otherwise empty room.

“I did. He panicked. He fainted, for Cauldron’s sake. I won’t speak a word of it until I know for certain he’ll be okay with hearing it.”

Him. Who was this person they were speaking about? Did he, whoever he was, know?

“He fainted?” the voice scoffed. “Well then, that just proves he’s-”

“Do not,” warned Adira. “Finish that sentence.”

“Honestly, Adira. You’ve got to stop being so emotional. You’re treating him like your own-”

“Enough,” she bit out.”I’ve heard enough. If you cannot hold your tongue and show a lick of respect when it comes to him, then get out.”  Azriel had never heard her voice sound like that before, and even from outside the lounge he felt goosebumps rack his body at her tone. He felt sorry for whoever was sitting in that room, though he supposed the female must be used to that tone of voice if she sat there, unbothered.

Azriel didn’t want to get in the way of whomever Adira was livid at. He had no intention of being caught in the crossfire should she lash out at him, too. It had happened enough times at Windhaven for him to know that it was better to stay away from whoever was pissed and wait it out. Turning around, he managed to take a few paces, when he heard Adira call out, “I know you’re there, Azriel.”

His eyes widened, and he froze mid-step. Shit. She wasn’t supposed to know that he was listening in. Mentally, he prepared himself for whatever punishment was sure to follow. Adira didn’t seem like the type to whip him raw, and yet she radiated power. She might even get someone else to do it for her, seeing as how she practically bathed in riches. No, Adira wouldn’t want to get her hands dirty on something like this. 

Swallowing his fear, he inched forward into Adira’s lair.

“Perfect timing. Come, sit with us,” she said, waving him over, either not caring or not willing to bring up the fact that he had been eavesdropping on them a moment before. “Caoimhe was just about to leave, though I suppose it’s good she hasn’t.” Caoimhe sat across from Adira with her legs crossed, wearing what looked to be expensively made trousers and a sweater that practically screamed royalty. The jewellery she had chosen to accentuate her High Fae features didn’t go unnoticed by him either, and Azriel thought recognized her from a few days ago, when he’d seen her and another female training. 

Azriel didn’t miss the sharp look Adira gave her apprentice, as he stood there and admired the female who had been insulting him. Caoimhe looked as if she couldn’t care less, simply rolling her eyes. Their hierarchy must be completely different to that of Illyria, if the female could roll her eyes at Adira without having a limb chopped off.

“Now then, darling Caoimhe, do tell Azriel what you were saying before.” He didn’t miss the smile or the edge in her voice, both of which held none of the warmth she had shown him before. No, this facade was pure intimidation, and didn’t reach her eyes one bit.

Caoimhe shrugged, looking directly at his teacher. Without missing a beat, she said, “I was just saying that if the boy can’t handle his own shit, what’s he to do when Adira’s not around?” Not waiting for a response to her rhetorical question, she continued, “I supppose he’ll hide in that little den of his and piss his pants at the prospect of leaving his sanctuary, all coddled and perfect.”

The words found their mark as Azriel fought to hold back tears. He was used to profanities being hurled at him in Windhaven nearly every other day, and yet this one hurt. He’d thought he was in a safe space where he would be respected, and it was in that moment his hopes that had been so carefully crafted out of glass came shattering onto the ground.

Thankfully, Adira decided to cut in at that exact moment. “He’s just over a decade old, Caoimhe, cut him some slack.” Ignoring her completely, Caoimhe turned to Azriel.

“Are you mute? Cauldron, she’d told me you were pathetic, but it turns out you’re just a coward.” Not waiting for a response, she threw back the rest of whatever it was she’d been drinking, and strode out, the sound of her heels a hammer to his heart. 

As soon as she was out of earshot, Adira turned to Azriel, concern limning her eyes. She lay gentle hands on his shoulder, and whispered, “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that. What she said-” He pushed her arms away roughly. Thankfully, Adira didn’t try to hug him again, and simply sat there, worry written all over her face. But Azriel couldn’t deal with her now. He couldn’t deal with anyone now. He was going to be sick. 

“Take me home,” he said, his voice cold and foreign, even to himself. “Adira, take me home. Now.”

“Look, I know-” “No, you don’t,” he practically snarled, whipping his head towards her. “You don’t. I thought I’d be safe her, that I wouldn’t have to deal with people like that. You told me this was a safe space, Adira. You promised.” His voice broke on the last word, and the dam inside his heart broke completely. As the tears he’d been trying so desperately to hold back began to flow freely down his cheeks, he hissed, “I don’t ever want to come back here. And if you try to make me, I swear by the Mother I’ll rip you and your entire damned palace apart.”

For the first time, he saw Adira look…sad. He didn’t care though, not in that moment. Not as the trust he’d built up so carefully had come crashing down. All he cared about was going home to his brothers.

She didn’t object further though, as she took his hand, more tenderly than she’d ever done, and whisked him home.

He’d had no desire to go back to the continent since the incident with Caoimhe. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had, if he was honest to himself those nights when sleep evaded him, but the thought seeing the vile female again made his stomach roil with nausea and anxiety, and all desire was magically quenched.

He missed the beauty of those lands; that much he could admit. The city, the ocean. The piano. His piano. His heart ached, if only for the peace that the citizens of Qardala seemed to take for granted.

It normally hurt too much to even think about the continent now, and he avoided remembering as much as he could lest he burst into tears. He’d been training more than ever, and he could sense Cassian’s and Rhys’ unspoken worry for him growing day by day as he pummeled whichever sorry ass Devlon paired him up with into the dirt. Mother help the idiots that crossed his path. Was it healthy, what he was doing? No. Was he still going to do it? Yes. It was better than allowing his emotions to catch up with him and leaving himself vulnerable in the den of wolves that was Illyria. 

So he continued. The days bled into weeks, until thoughts of Adira and the continent no longer plagued his every waking moment, and breathing became easier. 

She had not tried to contact him. He had not wanted her to.

Part 10

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings