#azriel week 2022 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

impossiblescissorspeachpaper · 2 years

Text

Azriel Week Day 4: Bat Boys

Drunk Confessions. 950 words

Azriel sits on the floor of Rhys’ office in the River manor, his head lolling back onto the plush seat of the sofa at his back. Burying his scarred fingers into the warm rug beneath him, he watches the flames as the fire crackles in the hearth.

Cassian stretches forward from his perch atop the couch where he lounges, long fingers reaching for the ornate decanter of amber liquid they’ve been sipping on all evening. Refilling his crystal tumbler and Azriel’s, he then hands it off to Rhys who is sprawled on the velvet armchair opposite them. His long legs are stretched out before him, and wings spill out across the floor; a show of utter ease for the High Lord.

“I still don’t know why we couldn’t go,” Cassian grumbles for what feels like the hundredth time that evening.

“Let it go, Cass. It’s been hours. They just wanted a fun ladies’ night,” Azriel moans, truly exasperated, having repeated the mantra numerous times already.

“And what, I’m not fun?!”

Pure indignation laces Cassian’s voice as he squawks those words from behind him.

Azriel sighs heavily, angling his face towards the heavens, seeking the patience required to deal with his petulant brother from the Mother, or the Cauldron, or whoever is listening.

“No, you’re just not a lady.”

“Technicalities…” Cassian grumbles again, his toes digging into the arm of the couch where he kicks at it impatiently as he lays sprawled across the deep leather cushions.

Rhys chuckles before a wistful look crosses his features and utters, “They deserve it. A night out.”

Cassian and Azriel pause their bickering for a moment, both staring longingly toward the ceiling, lost in their own thoughts, before replying in unison, “Yeah.”

“They deserve it all.”

The three males all still, their minds filling with thoughts of the Archeron women, and what their lives would have consisted of if they had never crossed paths. If fate had never been so serendipitous to allow the three Illyrians the honour of knowing them, loving them.

Their little rabble-rousing trio had only had each other to depend on for so long; centuries, really. Even though they’d hated each other at first, they'd grown to be closer than brothers, truly proving its the family you choose rather than the one you are born into that defines you, lifts you up, and loves you. It was no wonder that these indomitable females had managed to ingrain themselves in their lives so thoroughly that they couldn’t imagine a life without them. They had always been destined to be here, with them.

Cassian clears his throat thickly before rasping, “Nesta, she does this thing in the bath—”

“Caaass,” Rhys groans, “We don’t want to hear about you and Nesta in the bath.”

“It’s not like that, you prick.” He throws a beaded cushion, Feyre’s pick no doubt, at the High Lord before continuing. “I have this damned spot, right between my wings that I can never properly reach. She always scratches it for me. Every day, whether its itchy or not. She saw me struggling one time… that’s all it took.”

Rhys smiles at his brother faintly, taking another sip from his glass and allowing the liquor to further warm his insides. The thought of Nesta being so soft was still a side of her he had yet to make acquaintance with, but he suspected she preferred it that way. All the same, he was glad his brother had found happiness with her.

“Feyre calls me best daddy—” Rhys murmurs before abruptly halting as Azriel splutters, choking on the sip of drink he had just taken, and Cassian sprays a mouthful of whiskey all over Azriel’s head through pursed lips at Rhys’ admission.

“Not like that, you assholes!” Rhys interjects, scowling at his brothers’ horror-struck faces, throwing the beaded pillow back at them.

“With Nyx. She knows the kind of father I had. None of us had good role models in that department. She knows, that it’s a point of…trepidation. That I’m terrified I’ll become like him, or my child will fear me, resent me. I always hear her talking to Nyx, calling me the best daddy. I love it. I— I hope she means it.”

“She does,” Azriel utters simply, having recovered from the asphyxiation he briefly suffered, his face conveying nothing but the truth of the words he had spoken. For out of all of them, it can be argued that Azriel’s father was the worst monster of them all.

Azriel tilts the glass between a thumb and finger, his eyes downcast as he murmurs, “Elain will always capture my attention from across the room and smile. Every time her eyes meet mine, she gifts me with that smile. No one has ever been as happy to see me as she is. Every damn time…” he trails off.

Rhys peers from Azriel’s love-struck face, to Cassian’s, who is sprawled behind the Shadowsinger in a tangle of long limbs and large wings. A look of quiet elation permeates across the General’s face, feelings of shared contentment for his own brother’s long-awaited bliss.

Silence fills the study for a beat of several moments before Rhys raises his glass in a toast. His voice is hoarse, thick with emotion, both for himself and the life his brothers have been granted through the twists of fate that some higher motion of power bestowed upon them. Their chosen females providing that last divine piece of the half-a-millennium old puzzle.

“Here’s to those strong, stubborn, stunning Archeron women. May they never figure out just how much better they could have done than our sorry asses.”

“Cheers to that,” Azriel quietly agrees, clinking his glass with Rhys and then Cass.

They all drink deeply, contemplating their incredibly good fortune, before a shadow passes Cassian’s face once more.

“I still think they could have invited us though…”

*******

@azrielweek2022

tagging my general tag list: @offtorivendell @fawnandshadows @the-laughing-bubble @swankii-art-teacher @pagemasters @tswaney17 @sakurakittypeach

#azriel week 2022 #drabble #bat boys #azriel #azrielweek2022 #cassian #rhysand #t writes #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #sjm fandom #prompt fill #drunk confessions #acotar drabble #acotar fic #sjm fic #nessian #elriel #feysand

315 notes · View notes

offtorivendell · 2 years

Text

Shadows and Attors and Wolves, Oh My!

A very short bit of nonsense, posted for @azrielshadowsingerweek Day 5 - Hobbies. It could also work for Day 3 - Friends and Family.

Feyre stepped softly up the stairs to her now twelve month old son's room, looking forward to some cuddles after a long day meeting with Velaris' city planners, and hoping that Rhys had kept him up just a wee bit little later than usual so she wouldn't have to wake him. Nyx, a bright and cheerful child, was always happy to hug his Mama, but his mood did suffer a little the next morning if his sleep was interrupted.

Rounding the corner of the landing, she heard the dregs of a whispered suggestion, followed by some sort of deep, muffled question, and then a quick, "Do it, he loves the scary ones best," in her mate's night-kissed voice. Giggling cut through the silence of the river house, full of joy.

Curiosity piqued, she winnowed silently, landing just outside the doorway to Nyx's room, finding Rhys and Azriel inside. Rhys was lounging in the rocking chair, with two arms full of one very excited Nyx—who was clapping his hands and wings in time with each other, nearly smacking his father in the face—while Azriel was standing off to the side of the faelight set on the bedside table, using his shadows to create extravagant creatures against the wall.

She smiled at the sight.

Azriel must have been practising, because these animals were readily identifiable and even moved independently. A far cry from his earliest efforts.

As Feyre watched, she saw the wolf and puppies romping across the wall transform into a winged faerie, then five, with wings and talons spread as they flew across the wall—all Attors, she quickly realised. Concern for her son rose, as she didn't want to put him to bed primed for nightmares, but before she could say anything a soft, dark presence stroked at the edges of her mind.

It's okay, Rhys said, Nyx here seems to appreciate the fell beasts. The more horrific, the better.

Relaxing, Feyre sent a single message back down their bond: If he wakes up crying, I blame you.

Rhys chuckled, and Azriel, who had almost certainly known she was there from the moment she had entered the house, simply raised his eyebrows at his brother. "Silent conversations are rude when one person can't participate, you know."

Rhys raised one hand in apology as Feyre stepped into the room. "Alright, shadow master. What next?"

Feyre grinned wickedly, taking Nyx into her arms and perching herself on the tufted arm of the chair, dropping a kiss on the top of his soft, dark hair.

"Try Bryaxis."

~🦇🦇🦇~

Please excuse this short, fluffy nonsense. I just think it would mean a lot to Azriel to be able to use his powers for innocent fun. To know that his shadows, which might be considered scars of a sort - of his time in his father's dungeon, if that is truly when they came to him - are thought of as beautiful by his friends and family. That they, he, can create things of beauty, and bring joy.

#azrielshadowsingerweek2022 #azriel shadowsinger week 2022 #azrielweek2022 #azriel week 2022 #azriel appreciation week #azriel shadowsinger #pro azriel #feyre archeron #rhys acotar #feysand #feyre and nyx #rhys and nyx #azriel and nyx #feysand and nyx #acotar #acotar fic #my writing

91 notes · View notes

nyxreads · 2 years

Text

Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports—

It's so nice to see Azriel so relaxed around Elain. This guy had gone through sm, thinks low of himself and was rejected but there she was, bringing comfort and contentment.

#azriel week 2022 #azrielweek2022

100 notes · View notes

athena-85 · 2 years

Text

Azriel talking about his heritage

He opens up around the middle Acheron sister.

One of my favourite Azriel moments

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel week 2022 #azrielweek2022

75 notes · View notes

mystical-blaise · 2 years

Text

Azriel Week 2022: Scars Run Deep

@azrielweek2022

This fic was inspired by this beautiful work of art.

For Free Day. Gwyn forces Azriel to confront his scars. Read here on Ao3

“Azriel?”

He didn’t stop, his emotions keeping his brisk pace even as her voice called after him as he made his way into the house. Even as the shadows told him to stop and listen. To answer the female calling for him.

Still, he ran.

Down the stairs into the House proper. Then trudging down into the living area, his boots silent even as his steps were hard. Harder than the footfalls following him from behind. The ones he pointedly ignored.

“Azriel, wait!”

Once he strode into his room, he had every intention of slamming the door—but he couldn’t when the nosy, indignant priestess had her hand on the jamb. Her booted foot blocked his attempt without hurting her. And there was certainly no way in hell when the shadows held the door open like her own personal cohorts.

Her face was flushed from the exertion of her sparring and then her jog down the hall, the freckles a smattering of copper across her face. Those teal orbs of hers pierced him as well as any weapon.

He narrowed his right back.

“May I enter your humble abode, oh broody one?” she asked, sketching a bow.

He snorted and jerked his chin. The door closed softly behind them with a wind of inky mist. This wasn’t the first time the priestess had been in his quarters. Long, sleepless nights had burgeoned into a friendship. And on nights they weren’t sparring or playing chess or reading in companionable silence? They talked.

And somehow, one night, the conversation had turned to feelings… and his of Elain. Even if he was not quite sure what those feelings were.

“Do you think she feels something for you?” Gwyn had questioned him, sitting cross-legged across from him on the floor, the opened book in her lap forgotten as she had given him her undivided attention.

He had answered her question truthfully. “I don’t know, but… I hope she does.”

He begged for her to. Prayed to the Mother that somehow she did. Maybe, just maybe, if she felt something for him that…

“So, why don’t you ask her?”

“That’s not how it works, Berdara,” he scoffed.

“How would you know? Was it not you three minutes ago admitting you were limited in this experience?”

Point for the priestess, his shadows tittered. The shadowsinger rolled his eyes. Traitors. They were always taking Gwyn’s side, whether or not she was right.

Closing her book, the bluish-green eyes glittering in the firelight fell on him. “If you want to see where it may lead? Go tell Elain your feelings. Speak with her, Azriel.”

Azriel’s voice was muffled as he drew his bare hands down his face as he muttered, “I hate this relationship shit.”

Thud. There was a book thrown between them. “Females really are not that complicated, Shadowsinger. In fact, read that book. There’s nary a girl alive who hasn’t fallen for that hero. Consider it a how-to relationship guide. Just ignore the kidnapping bit and you’ll be golden.”

So, here he was after taking his friend’s unsolicited advice. Well, nearly taken.

“I’m assuming you went to her?” Her arms crossed over her chest, the battle leathers creaking in the movement. His chin dipped in a nod. “And I assume from your piss-poor attitude you had when you ignored everyone who was worried about you that it didn’t go well?”

His eyes fell to his hands. Even wrapped with clean muslin and covered by his bracer, the uneven grips on his fingertips stood out like unintentional knicks in marble. Unfixable. An eyesore. Ruined.

“Azriel.” Her voice was softer now, with no irritation. He heard her swallow. “I’m sorry. Did she not—”

“I didn’t speak with Elain.”

“Oh. Was she not available?”

With a derisive snicker, he tucked his hands behind his back, moving over to the mantle. Where he could focus on things other than his heart. His hands.

His fucking hideous hands.

Soft, tentative footsteps whispered on the floor behind him. Silence and waiting for him to continue. He’d spent enough time with the spitfire to know without turning around. Right now, she was twirling a piece of her hair while biting her lip. A nervous habit of hers, whether she knew it or not. She did that whenever she fought the swell of words down. Just as he knew she tucked it back behind her ear when she was shy or was faced with an uncomfortable situation. Which, he knew, was what was happening as her voice said, “I will not push you, friend. I’ll… I’ll leave you be. But, whatever happened, I am sorry—”

Friend. The word struck the center of his chest. Hell. Gwyn was his friend. A good one. A great one. Besides Cassian, perhaps his closest. And she was there for him, waiting to hear what was wrong. Until she wasn’t, and those retreating steps were heading away.

“I turned around,” he said, his voice edged with panic.

Her steps ceased.” Pardon?”

“I came back. I am not sure if Elain is at the river estate or the townhouse. Before I could land at either, I returned home.”

“I—I.” Gwyn stammered. She never stammered. Not like this. Though it worried him, he didn’t dare look. His stance didn’t last long because he was suddenly spun around with a hand wrapped around his biceps, forced to face her. To stop himself from spinning off balance, his hands fell to her shoulders, steadying himself with a grip. “You… you didn’t… but you were… why?”

“I just can’t.”

“And I say you don’t lack the courage to do anything you do not want to do, Azriel. And you wanted to know, so, again, I ask, why?”

“I simply cannot.”

“Is it the fear of rejection?”

“I do not fear anything, Gwyneth ,” his lie flew out, her name laced with venom at the end.

“Liar,” Gwyn immediately refuted. “We are all afraid of something. It is not a failing. It is, in fact, a healthy response.”

His eyes slammed shut before snapping back open. Why couldn’t she just let this go?

Anger fanned his words as he spat, “A healthy response?” And as her mouth moved to speak, he said, “I’m not finished, Priestess. Is it healthy , I wonder, to cower when a hand is raised, wondering if you are going to be hit? Or is it not better to block before a blow? Is it healthy to flinch when someone reaches for you? Is it healthy to wonder if someone will step away from your touch? Is it—”

It took him a moment for his own words to sink in. At what he just admitted. His eyes found his hands, his touch, still on the priestess’s leathered, trembling shoulders. His grip sure, poised—while touching her.

His eyes went wide, jerking his hands off of her as if fire had touched him again. Stumbling back until he felt bare under her watery gaze. Felt more stripped and naked than if he had shed his leather before her. He couldn’t take the way she looked at her with those unshed tears threatening to spill. The quiver of her full lower lip.

He’d caused that. By his words. His admittance. His touch . Fuck. He’d grabbed her—Gwyn. The priestess who had been through so much and—

Go, run, he told himself, as he shoved past her. He threw open the door and hurried down the hall. Up those stairs two at a time. Until he was once again on the roof.

He ignored his shadows, pleading to stop, to wait. He also ignored the boots slamming against the floor as she followed.

Fly. Go. Retreat.

The only thing he heard was his instinct—so much so that he didn’t notice the Priestess in front of him now, her dainty fingernails pressing crescents into the leather over his forearms. Her hold was as strong and determined as a mountain.

He was stronger. Physically, anyway. He could toss her aside if he wanted. But want and need were two different beasts of burden.

“Azriel,” she pleaded, the gentleness in his name full of question. For an explanation as to why.

His silence remained, a wall between them. But Gwyneth Berdara was a conqueror, removing that wall brick by brick as she guided his rapid breaths back down. And peeking through that hole in the wall, she waited. For him.

“I’m sorry I ran. You’re right, Gwyn. I am afraid,” he said, throat bobbing and wings shifting uncomfortably.

She stepped into him, her grip loosening enough for her to slide her hands up his arms. “What are you afraid of?”

A loaded question, to be sure. And still, he whispered, his voice cracking, “More things than you know. But the worst is being alone—because no one will ever willingly accept my touch. Nor should they.”

Gwyn’s gasp was full of emotion, his shadows swelling with the same shock. Better for her to know who her friend really is.

"Elain… Elain didn’t say that to you… did she?”

“No. I just know these things. It’s been my entire life, Berdara. The gawking. The outright disgust. Parents pulling their kids away, protecting them from a disfigured monster. And when I picture my hands against her skin—Elain’s beautiful, unmarred skin. These hands, my touch on her…” Rippled and bumpy, uneven and coarse upon smooth perfection. “I think I’ve finally figured out the reason the Cauldron and the Mother have forsaken me a mate.” A beat of silence, a deep, painful exhale. “Monsters are not blessed with one.”

In fact, he should probably just exile himself to The Middle for good measure.

“Azriel, look at me.” He didn’t. He couldn’t. Fingers gripped onto his chin, pressuring him. “Azriel. You stubborn ass, look at me.”

Why should he when he knew what he’d see?

“Open your damn eyes, Shadowsinger, and look at me… please.”

Her please felt like a cosmic command, unsealing them nearly beyond his control. The shadows hummed.

Stormy aqua raged back at him. Lowering her hands, she only offered them again, palm up, beckoning for him. “Your hands, good sir.”

“And if I decline?”

“Then you can wallow and I’ll leave you up here in your self-imposed pity party.”

Despite the warring emotions, he snorted at her irreverence. The sass of this female.

He set his palms on hers in challenge. She did not flinch or balk, didn’t look as she began to unlace his gauntlets from atop his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Trust me,” she said, her eyes never leaving his as she undid one and then the other, gingerly setting them on the balustrade beside them. His heart raced and jumped as her hands unwound each hand, removing the wrappings, the unspun parts flowing in the wind like the white ribbon upon the Valkyrie’s brow.

With each precise turn, his hands shook, and with each pass, the linen bindings loosened until they were stripped from his hands.

Grabbing onto his wrists, she held up his hands at eye-level between them.

“Now tell me, what do you see when you look at your hands, Azriel?”

His pulse ratcheted. His throat tightened. No one had ever asked him this before and yet the words came out in a rush, “I see the hands of someone cursed. Someone unwanted, and marked so.” Her thumbs stroked the inside skin of his wrist. Gentle, her hold was so fucking gentle that instinct told him it was a trap. And yet… “I see the lives they have taken.”

“Many have killed. I have killed.”

“Not like me! You killed because you had to. When I look at my hands? All I can see is the river of blood that runs between each valley of this stained skin. I see the hands of a creature, not a male. A monster who is truly unworthy to touch anyone. For my touch brings nothing but pain.”

“And do you know what I see?” Gods, he didn’t want to know. Not now. “I see hands that have had to do unimaginable tasks in the name of his sovereign. Ordered him to protect his court. His friends. His family.” He made to pull away, but she held on. Her grip loosened up for her hand to move up his, her fingertip skating across the craggy base of his palm. “I see the remains of abuse, of hatred imposed upon him when he could not fight back. I see the hands the High Lord trusts to be his Spymaster. I see the hands of a male the General of the Illyrian army clasps as his dearest friend. The ones that offer comfort to his friends and family in his own way. The ones his brother trusts holding onto his son, the heir of the Night Court. The ones Nyx trusts to hold him and not let him fall.”

Up and up, her hands skimmed over his, a whisper of a touch, until their fingers interlocked and curled. Palm to palm. Pulse to pulse, his own hammering away as he felt tears burning in the back of his eyes.

“I see the hands that taught sword techniques to priestesses who needed a teacher.” Her voice quavered, a tear slipping down her freckled cheek as she whispered, “I see the hands I trusted to lay a cloak on me at my weakest and most vulnerable.”

Fuck. His breath shuddered, his hand trembled on its own. And not once had she turned from his touch. And not once had he hidden his hands from her. The realization struck him like a killing blow from a Siphon.

No, he’d only ever thought of helping her, never once concerned about his hands…

“I’m going to be blunt?” Gwyn said.

His laughter was wet, and he barely managed to speak without breaking into a sob. “You haven't been already?”

She shrugged, a smug little smile tugging at her lips even as her eyes glittered with tears. “You have scars, Shadowsinger. Deep ones. Ones given to you, not ones earned. Scars are part of experience. They mark time and memories, both good and bad. Mine may not all be visible, though I do have a good one on my arm from falling out of the tree… and that damnable mark from the arrow during the Blood Rite. The others I wear are below the skin, unseen by the naked eye. And I know you bear those, too.”

She did. His hands squeezed hers. And hers squeezed right back.

“Priestess—”

“I’m not done.”

The shadows laughed and twirled a dance. Azriel snorted, sniffling. “Of course.” He dipped his chin. “Please go on.”

“What I see when I look at your hands doesn’t matter.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No, it’s actually not. Just because people can’t see my scars outright does not mean they do not judge me for others. The first time you saw me across the training ring, and then on Solstice, there were moments I thought you saw them.” Fuck. “The only thing that matters is how you feel, Az. You play cards, so you know that sometimes the ones dealt are terrible. We were both dealt some cruel hands. And yet, here we stand.” The back of his hand, still joined with hers, skimmed across her cheek. “Your scars are reminders of your past. That you survived and prevailed despite all that had been inflicted upon you. They do not have to define your future. But only you can decide that, Shadowsinger. And any female who would make you feel uncomfortable because of your scars, both inside and out? She’s not worth it.”

He choked on a wet laugh, shaking his head. Gods, how did this young priestess become so worldly and brilliant? This priestess who now held his hand without fear, her thumbs tracing the ridges on the back of his hand like a map leading to…

Something in his chest sparked .

“Promise me, Azriel. That you won’t settle for someone. That you will find someone, mate or not, who loves and respects you for all you are. Every scarred part.”

“As long as you do the same—and that you find someone, mate or not, who treats you like a godsdamn queen.”

Her smile gave away her rolling eyes. Pulling one hand away, she offered him her pinky. “Fine. I promise, but you have to promise the queen part, too. It’s only fair.”

“Fine. I’ll find someone who treats me like a queen. I promise, Gwyn,” he laughed, his marbled pinky twining around hers.

Magic flickered around them, pinching their wrists as a black tattoo curled in an infinity around their wrists almost like a black ribbon. Fuck.

His eyes shot up to hers as her pinky slipped from his. “Well, my friend, it seems we have unintentionally struck a bargain.”

Not looking away from the copper-headed female, striding over to the weapons wrack, he said, “It would appear so.”

Gwyn peered at him over his shoulder. “So, Azriel, now that we’ve had that talk, are you going to go speak with Elain?” She grabbed the hilt of a sword and tugged.

“Gwyn, be care—”

Clanging steel resounded off the rock walls and railings into the night sky.

“Mother bless it all!” Gwyn whisper-yelled.

Wings drawing tight, he strode forward, already reaching for her. “Show me your hands. Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride.”

Azriel’s playful snort answered with her scowl.

The shadowsinger didn’t need a moment to think about getting down to help her clean up, their hands occasionally brushing as he helped the Valkyrie right the fallen blades.

And as they worked, she asked him again, nudging him regarding the middle Archeron. But he didn’t have an answer right now. He and Cassian may have designed those obstacle courses, but it had been this young priestess who had thrown down the emotional gauntlet. There was much to consider. Much to resolve.

And, as for right now?

“Maybe tomorrow,” he stated as she went to place the last sword in its place. He stayed her hand and took the weapon from her, spinning it in one hand as he walked toward the center of the training circle. “Tonight, I think we need to work on your swordsmanship. Clearly.”

85 notes · View notes

harperbrynne · 2 years

Text

How the fandom remembers Azriel teaching Feyre how to fly:

@azrielweek2022

#i thought he was really patient and he helped her up when she fell #he even pulled splinters out of her wings 🥺#azriel week 2022 #azriel #feyre archeron #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #feyre acotar #acotar memes #acowar #a court of wings and ruin

115 notes · View notes

sahana-draws · 2 years

Text

"You're the new ribbon, Az" - Nesta, ACOSF

-- Gwynriel art for @azrielweek2022 Day 5: Ships! ❤️ --

Feel free to repost, but do tag me! I'm @sahana-draws on tumblr, and @/books_and_draws_eclectic on instagram!

#gwynriel #azriel week 2022 #azriel #gwyneth berdara #nesta archeron #a court of silver flames #acosf #acotar #sjm fandom #gwynriel fanart #sarah j maas #sjmaas #cassian #you're the new ribbon az

77 notes · View notes

daevastanner · 2 years

Text

“On the Nature of Hearts” Azriel/Gwynriel fic

My contribution for Azriel Week 2022 “Free Day”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40845123

@booknerd87 @azrielweek2022

#Azriel #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel week 2022 #hurt/comfort gwynriel fic

58 notes · View notes

lunatay13 · 2 years

Photo

Azriel and Elain 🦇🌺💕

I just love these two together, and I have such a great time drawing them.

Art by me. ❤️❤️❤️Still learning how to do everything digital ITS HARD MAN 😭

#elriel #elriel fanart #Elain #elain archeron #azriel x elain #elain x azriel #azriel and elain #azrielweek2022 #azriel week 2022

59 notes · View notes

starlightandsouls · 2 years

Text

Azriel Week Day 3: Azriel and his Mother

Chocolate Cake

A/N: This is sad people. Like really sad. Also warning mentions of death and captivity.

The Illyrian camps never changed. Centuries passed. Azriel grew from a petrified child, clinging to the dark corners to hide from the sneers of others to a male feared across Prythian. Now it was others who hid from him. The thought should have provided more comfort, some semblance of karma or vindication...only he felt nothing. But then again that was what the occasion called for. If he pretended to be uncaring right now, his brothers would surely take him to a healer or a shrink.

Darkness was his closest companion. Other children had their toys or their parents or their friends. All he had was the cold, unrelenting abyss. It never gave way to light or warmth. Only retreating when the cell doors were thrown open to drag him out. It always signalled one thing only. His reprieve was here. His hope. His light.

While it wasn’t freedom in its truest form, Azriel still cherished that one hour like it was heaven. One of his father’s guards would pull him out of the cell by his hair or his ears, not caring one bit that it was a young child who they hurt. Wings dragged behind him, feet stumbling as he rushed to keep up.

Finally, they would reach a small room at the end of the hall, a cell in and of itself. Only this one had proper doors and huge windows that let in blinding light. Azriel always squirmed at it, never being used to it after all his time in the dark cell.

Then like an angel descended from the heavens, his mother would always be waiting for him in the same spot. Her wings and the golden light pouring in from the windows made her look like an angel descended from the heavens. And just like always he would wrench himself from the grasp of the guard and run to his mother.

She would always lean down and pick him up, holding him as close as she could. Today was different. At least it seemed like it was from his mother's expression. She was always strong for him, never letting any sadness show. It was bad enough that he would break down in her arms. She always kept herself together, knowing she had to be the strong one out of the two, at least for her son’s sake.

But today she seemed genuinely happy. Her eyes shining and face glowing, no longer fighting back any tears. The familiar scent of lilacs and rain filled his senses. It was one that always soothed his soul, no matter how sad or afraid he was.

The guard merely sneered at the pair before walking out and slamming the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone, just how they liked it.

His mother walked over to a sofa in the corner and sat down with him in her lap. Little Azriel only gazed up at his mother with awe in his eyes, trying to take in as much as he could, knowing he wouldn’t get to see her again for a long time after this.

His mother smiled and kissed the top of his head,

“Today’s a very special day is it not darling?”

Azriel shrugged and gazed back at her, at a loss for any answers. His mother looked at him with an exaggerated mocking expression, tightening her grip on him, tickling him in the process. And Azriel laughed. Truly laughed. A loud, boisterous, unafraid laugh. Only with her could he ever let go like this.

“Mama! Stop!” he shrieked out in between bouts of laughter.

“Oh no darling. This is what you’re going to get! Who forgets their own birthday?” his mother asked incredulously.

It was then that it hit him. It was his birthday. He was turning 11. If he had a normal life this would have been a cause for celebration. But his life was far from normal. His father barely tolerated his existence. Celebrating anything related to him was out of the question. His mother always did though. At least as best as she could.

His mother reached into the small bag she had brought with her. And from it she retrieved his favourite thing. Chocolate. It was nothing short of a luxury for him. The scraps they fed him in the cell were just that. Scraps. Left overs. Tasteless food meant to provide minimum sustenance. Nothing was as rich or delicious as chocolate. But his mother always sneaked some in on his birthday. It was difficult for her to get as well, considering she was also a mere maid. Getting it all the time was not possible for her with her earnings anyway. So it was an annual luxury, reserved for his birthdays. And Azriel never complained. She was enough for him. Anything else she did was merely an extra blessing.

Today she had brought him a small cupcake and some more chocolate candies wrapped in pale blue paper. His favourite colour. He threw his arms around her and kissed her face five times over. She merely hugged him back and implored him to eat, knowing they did not have time. They never had enough time.

Azriel fell upon the chocolates like an animal, muzzling them down as fast as he could. He got chocolate all over his hands and face in the process and his mother implored him again and again to not eat like an animal, to eat slowly. But it was always half heartedly. She knew that one, he didn’t get enough to eat in the cell, and two that this was the only time he could truly act like a carefree child. So she always encouraged him. To be loud. To be... himself.

“Thank you mama,” he mumbled out, face stuffed with chocolate.

“Anything for you my darling son. I would give you the world if I could. You’ll see ont day we’ll get out of here and have our own home far, far from here. And we’ll have chocolate like this everyday and the best birthday parties. With food and music and gifts. We’ll get the life that we deserve Azriel. I promise.”

Azriel only nuzzled his head further into his mother’s chest. Closing his eyes and for once entertaining the dream his mother spoke of. They would have it. One day. One day.....

That had been almost two centuries ago. The memory had slammed back into him as Azriel had walked into his mother’s house. They had that dream of theirs. It had taken a long, long time. But Azriel and his mother had survived the Illyrian camps. He had kept his word and taken his mother to Velaris, far from those wretched bastards.

He had built her a house on the hills around Velaris, overseeing the Sidra. It was everything she had always wanted. Big. Beautiful. Surrounded by nature. And ever since then their birthdays had been joyous, exciting occasions. While Azriel was normally a quiet, reserved person, on these occasions he always put aside his usual demeanour. He laughed and sang and ate with his mother. Often times he would also take Rhysand and Cassian with him. All of them would party long into the night. But no matter what or where they celebrated, his mother would always bake him a chocolate cake. It was tradition. One that was marred with memories of his childhood, of being locked up like an animal, of being separated from his mother. But it also marked new beginnings. They had escaped. They had survived. Now they were free to enjoy whatever luxuries they wanted.

So chocolate cake was a tradition that had been upheld for centuries on end. On both their birthdays. A chocolate cake with bright candles was always gracing their table. It was his favourite dessert. He had travelled to all the courts and the continent as well, had tried countless dishes and cuisines. But chocolate cake was always his favourite dessert. Not a single birthday went by without it.

Until this year. His birthday had been three days ago. Only this time there was no chocolate cake, no candles. And there would never be for him ever again. His mother had died just a week before his birthday.

He had been so excited. Not for the birthday itself. He has had enough of those for the idea to lose its value. But for the idea of spending time and celebrating with his mother. She had been fine. Completely fine. Then a fever. And then... she was gone. Centuries of life snuffed out just like that.

While he had lost his mother, he had wanted to uphold their tradition of being together on his birthday. What could he say? It was a habit spanning centuries. How could he let go so easily?

So he had followed tradition and visited her grave on his birthday. In hindsight, it was probably not a good idea. Because now he felt like burying himself next to her. How had he thought he could do this? How had he been stupid enough to entertain the idea?

That was when it hit him. Truly. He had been numb the past few days. Had been numb even during the funeral, even when he had buried her with his own hands. He had been blank and unfeeling, ignoring the concerned, pitying glances of his family.

And now... as the reality dawned on him, he fell to his knees. The truth was so shattering that it pulled the very ground from beneath him. He collapsed and a piercing scream made its way out. Rhysand and Cassian were by his side in an instant. Vaguely he registered their arms around him, their comforts a distant whisper in his mind. He knew they were there but they might as well not have been. It made no difference.

His mother was gone. Forever. There was no coming back. No seeing her again after the week ended. No running from the guard into her arms. No. This separation was permanent. It was endless. Final. As sure as the sun rising after a night of darkness. Only there would be no light in his life anymore. No sunrise. No hope of seeing his mother again after a tough week. Never again would he feel her love or warmth.

It was at that cold, damming realization that Azriel finally cried out to the slab of stone before him, once again that eleven year old child begging the guards to take him back to his mother, begging for just a few minutes more,

“Please come back Mama. I can't do this without you. I can't live without you! Please! Please come back! Please!” he screamed, slamming his hands against the stone, as if willing it to speak, not stopping even when his hands had started to bleed.

Cassian pulled him back, not letting up even as Azriel thrashed against his arms. The general held him close as the High Lord whispered comforts to him. But Azriel was lost in anguish, far beyond their reach. Finally after what seemed like an eterntiy, Azriel went limp and stopped fighting.

He just looked to the skies and screamed. He cried for his mother. For himself. For the time they would no longer have together. Cassian and Rhysand didn’t leave or move the whole time. The two were rocks trying to anchor their lost brother as he drowned in a sea of despair. He cried until his voice and soul were both felt hollow. Tired and empty, he rested his head against Cassian’s shoulder as his body wracked with silent sobs, tears still flowing freely.

That day the Shadowsinger broke. The mask of the unfeeling, cold spymaster fell away. He had lost a piece of his heart. That was what his mother had been. His reason for life. His very soul. And how did one live without their soul?

It would take Azriel centuries more to even speak of his mother again, her memories always threatening to break him down again into a mess of pain and longing Eventually he returned to life, at least as much as he could. He had a duty, to his court, to his High Lord. He had to protect his people. And to his family it seemed that he had gradually moved on. Azriel let them believe it. If only for their own relief. They thought he didn’t celebrate his birthdays anymore as a means of honouring his traditions with his late mother. What they didn’t know was that Azriel went to her grave every year to let out all the agony, to scream and cry like a child once again for her to come back. Each year he would return to her house over the Sidra, on his birthday and hers, drained and exhausted. The house now empty and cold. It no longer had music or light or warmth or his mother's familiar scent filling the air. He couldn't bear living here without her.

Each year he would buy a chocolate cake and light its candles just as his mother had. Each year he would blow out the candles, whispering a quiet happy birthday to the darkness. And each year he would walk out after that to cry himself to sleep once again. Never did he eat the cake. That tradition died with his mother.

Centuries after that when Nesta offered him chocolate cake on Feyre’s birthday, he would respectfully decline,

“I’ve never been a chocolate person. Don’t really have a sweet tooth.”

He would say. A lie. But a necessary one. When his mother died, a piece of the Shadowsinger died as well. When his mother died, Azriel started hating chocolate cake.

.............................................................................................

Taglist: @mooncleaver @cheshmetkoshgele @elegantranchcowboytree @azrielweek2022

#azriel #acotar hc #acotar headcanon #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel headcanon #azriel acotar #azriel x mother fic #azriel week 2022 #azriel week #azriel headcanons #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction #imagine acotar #azrielweek2022

34 notes · View notes

impossiblescissorspeachpaper · 2 years

Note

request! for the secret dating au heheheheh: elain finding her dream engagement ring on pinterest and showing it to azriel as a joke (or him seeing it on accident) and then him proposing with it months later 🥰🥰🥰?????

Thank you so much for sending this prompt! I hope you like where I took it, and I think it fits in nicely for day six of Azriel Week: wishes for the future 🥰

Azriel cracked open his eyes slowly, letting them gradually adjust to the buttery morning light streaming in from behind his blinds. Instinctively reaching out in the direction he knew his girlfriend would be, his fingers explored the rumpled sheets, the stirring in his chest settling contentedly as he finally located her smooth curves. Grazing his palm along her waist, yearning for the contact of her skin in the morning, he tugged her body across the sheets toward him. Rolling onto his side, he wound his thick arms around her middle, enveloping her snuggly into the cradle of his chest.

Elain’s hair was a wild tangle of curls, her thick mane tickling his face as he buried himself deeper in the golden tresses, breathing her familiar jasmine shampoo into his lungs.

“Morning, peanut butt,” Azriel murmured sleepily.

Elain, snorted at the nickname. Always with the ridiculous nicknames. “Morning, water weasel,” she replied.

Azriel huffed a laugh, his breath warm on her neck. “Water weasel?”

“Ahuh, I like them. They zoom about, making everything wet,” she answered slyly, distractedly scrolling through her phone.

A wicked grin bloomed across his face. “They sure do…” Azriel purred, his hands spreading low on her belly as he pulled her body more solidly into his front.

Elain shook with silent laughter.

“Mmm what are you looking at so early in the morning,” he croaked, his voice still warming up.

“Just scrolling the socials.”

“Oh yeah? Anything interesting?”

“Feyre and Rhys just got to Paris.”

Azriel hummed absentmindedly behind her, his hands exploring the soft skin of her belly beneath the oversized t-shirt she wore to bed. One of his.

He gazed over her slim shoulder as Elain closed out of Instagram and opened Pinterest. Heavy-lidded hazel eyes inattentively watched as she scrolled around, pinning a few images to her collections, as he continued lazily stroking at her curves.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed before he heard a little involuntary gasp escape her lips. Glancing at her screen to see what had caught her attention, he noticed she had come across the image of an engagement ring.

It was simple. Elegant and understated, just like Elain. It had a light, rose gold band, so fine and dainty that he knew it would look perfect on her elegant finger. And crowned in the middle, was a single, solitaire oval diamond.

Hovering over it for a moment, her finger lingering at the edge of the screen, he watched her pause before eventually scrolling past.

Curious, Azriel asked, “Not worthy of your standards?”

“Hmm?” She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, not realising that he had been viewing her screen too.

“The ring,” he nodded toward her phone. “You didn’t like it?”

“No, it’s not that. It was absolutely stunning.”

“Why no little red heart then?”

She laughed, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Oh, no reason. I just… don’t really let myself think about that stuff.”

Azriel pressed a quick kiss to her shoulder blade. “What stuff?”

“You know. Engagement rings, marriage…”

“You don’t want to get married?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… don’t need it. I mean sure, the idea of promising yourself to one person forever and wearing a beautiful ring as a symbol of that vow is nice and all… but I’d rather have someone’s complete trust and loyalty, regardless of a piece of jewellery.”

He knew Elain came from a somewhat unconventional family. Her own parents’ marriage hadn’t been a particularly healthy one, and as a result, marriage wasn’t a constitution any of the Archeron girls seemed to be particularly concerned with. Having spent considerable time with Elain and her sisters since Rhys had introduced them, it seemed evident that the scars of their parents’ ineptitude had left each of their daughters with slightly varying desires within their own lives.

“What if you were offered both?”

A little huff of a chuckle left her throat. “Well, that’s best-case scenario now, isn’t it?”

Azriel hummed again, his hands now roving down to explore the soft flesh of her hips and thighs, his scars scraping deliciously along her creamy skin. She was always so soft in his arms, so perfectly warm and welcoming. Her body melding seamlessly against his, ensuring they fit together like two halves of a whole.

Trying to ignore his thundering heart and appear as nonchalant as possible, he asked, “If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes?”

He’d decided long ago that he was going to marry this girl. This smart, wickedly funny, kind-hearted girl. He’d be an absolute idiot not to. He just needed to find the perfect moment to give her the ring. The one that was currently hidden deep in his underwear drawer, almost identical to the one she had gasped over just moments before. He’d purchased it not long ago, having commissioned a jeweller to custom make the perfect ring he thought would feel like Elain. She deserved something that was truly hers. That fit her personality perfectly.

Initially, he’d had absolutely no idea there was so much to consider when it came to diamonds. But he’d become a damn near expert throughout the process. Apparently, the weight of carats wasn’t nearly as important as the clarity grade and colour rating. Never in his life would he have thought that he would care so much about jewellery or designing the perfect piece to gift the woman he loved. But, throughout the process, he’d realised that creating something that may seem ordinary, but have the true depth of its beauty revealed if you knew where to look, was exactly what Elain would appreciate. A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

He wasn’t in a rush to marry her, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was only ever going to be Elain for him. So, he had gone and put plans in place, so when the time came, he could make it happen.

Elain chuckled, thinking nothing of his question. They hadn’t even been dating for a year after all, and they still hadn’t told their family or friends they were together. Although they suspected some of them were starting to catch on…

“Have I ever managed to say no to you yet?”

Azriel hummed seductively, kissing her just behind her ear where she had a little beauty mark. He wondered if she knew of its existence. Azriel would happily spend all day mapping the constellation of freckles across her skin, trace each one with his mouth and tongue.

Elain threw her phone off to the side, inhaling deeply and angling her head to give him better access to her throat.

“I suppose not. Please don’t start now,” he whispered against the skin of her neck, his lips brushing her fluttering pulse.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she uttered, rolling onto her back and getting into a better position to capture Azriel’s lips with hers.

Threading her fingers into his hair, she slanted her lips across his and kissed him deeply, slowly. Languidly tasting every corner of his mouth, exploring with her tongue and lips. Azriel groaned, rolling onto his front and settling between her thighs, deepening the kiss.

Soon, so fucking soon, he’d ask Elain Archeron to marry him.

*******

@azrielshadowsingerweek

#fic request #secret dating modern au #azrielshadowsingerweek2022 #day six: wishes for the future #azriel #elriel fic #elriel #t writes #elriel fanfiction #prompt fill #azriel week 2022 #azriel fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfiction

118 notes · View notes

offtorivendell · 2 years

Text

Could SJM's 'Mr Brightside' comment be a hint about Azriel's powers?

Day 2 of @azrielshadowsingerweek - shadows and powers.

We all know that SJM has said that Azriel's song would be Mr Brightside, by The Killers. If you listen to the lyrics, the situation described is reminiscent of him pining over Elain while she has a bond with another male.

youtube

But what if it's more?

I've suggested before that I think Azriel could have ancestry among the Starborn fae, like I think Rhys and Mor, and Helion and Lucien do (at the least, I'm sure there are others as well). For Azriel, I imagine it could be through a Hewn City ancestor - maybe even Clotho, if @ladynightcourt3 and I are correct about the many parallels that exist between the two.

Could Azriel, whose "shadows" can brighten into sunshine (and, I suspect, can also become invisible, possibly as a halfway point between dark and light) be more like Ruhn Danaan that we know, with Starborn light that is hidden under shadows?

It ordinarily took Ruhn a good amount of concentration to summon his starlight, and it usually left him with a headache for hours afterward, but … He was intrigued enough to try. Setting his index finger onto the crystal of the prism, Ruhn closed his eyes and focused upon his breathing. Let the clicking metal of the orrery guide him down, down, down into the black pit within himself, past the churning well of his shadows, to the little hollow beneath them. There, curled upon itself like some hibernating creature, lay the single seed of iridescent light. He gently cupped it with a mental palm, stirring it awake as he carefully brought it upward, as if he were carrying water in his hands. Up through himself, the power shimmering with anticipation, warm and lovely and just about the only part of himself he liked. - HOEAB, chapter 14

It's well known that Azriel experiences headaches - to the point Elain noticed and gifted him a headache powder. Could this be related, at least in part, to his untapped powers trying to break free?

Cassian said Azriel was interested in the orrery in Rhys' office. Could he, and maybe Elain - whose powers were associated with Azriel's own, in ACOWAR - use it while learning to harness their magics?

We haven't had much of his shadows described from his own POV, but it's plausible that he could have a similar sort of wellspring inside.

Like Ruhn's hibernating Starborn magic, Azriel's siphons were described as a "half-slumbering beast" in ACOMAF (chapter 22). Is this because he only has access to the shadowy half of his powers at the moment?

A mental palm... @wingedblooms is the expert on magical hands, but given Azriel's shadows can both manipulate objects and disappear as required, this could possibly be a parallel to other suspected Starborn fae, such as Rhys and Clotho.

"Warm and lovely" - Azriel is often described as cold and icy. I suspect that will change in the future, and this may be part of the reason why.

Let's have a closer look at the lyrics...

Coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine

Gotta, gotta be down, because I want it all

We know that Azriel's shadows can light up, or brighten, often in response to him feeling happy or secure... just like Ruhn. What if, also like Ruhn, he has to burrow under his shadows to reach and free his hypothetical Starborn light from its cage?

Or possibly, as I've wondered before in a post I never finished 😅, and @wingedblooms has suggested in this post, could Azriel have a beast form of some sort? Is that why his siphon was likened to a "half-slumbering beast"?

He wants it all, not just one half of his powers. Are shadowsingers and lightsingers two halves of the one whole, or two sides of the same coin (bigger theory on it's way when I get my arse in gear), and is Az, potentially, both? And Elain, who has strong links to both shadows and light?

Now I'm falling asleep

This is more plot than power related to be fair, but @elriell has a great Sleeping Beauty theory from right after ACOSF's release.

And I just can't look, it's killing me, and taking control

I know I've suggested this before, but will someone, perhaps Koschei, take control of Azriel or his shadows? Is this why Azriel's ability to spy on key figures has been somewhat lacklustre of late? Has someone or something hijacked them, preventing them from seeing, or reporting, important details?

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea

Swimming through sick lullabies

This one is thanks to a prompt from @wingedblooms, who shares my theory that Azriel could become a conduit of sorts for a god or god-like being: if the space between flows, could saints refer to the conduits? Could he turn his hearing to the Void of the murky realm, as Elain appears to turn her Sight?

Again, this is more plot than powers, but we know that songs can hold spells, as one such song lulled Nesta into an unwitting scrying in ACOSF. Combine this with the magical ear plugs that Azriel was gifted at solstice in the same book, and it makes you wonder why that may have been. Will this relate to @elriell's SB theory?

But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me

Open up my eager eyes, 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside

Is Azriel's destiny to be some sort of heir or conduit to Koschei, or even a Prince of Hel? Thanatos might be known in the Hewn City...

Azriel's siphon was likened to the "eye" of a half-slumbering beast. Could he have some sort of eager eye himself, or help a certain Seer?

Is he eager to break free from his shadows, and harness his hypothetical light? Is that what the spark he experienced in his chest when he was standing next to Clotho meant (in his ACOSF bonus chapter)? Did Clotho spark Azriel's Starborn powers, as Cormac did for Bryce? But at what price will this come?

I could be way off track, of course - and obviously I don't think SJM based a character's powers and arc off a song from over a decade ago, no matter how good it is - but I've been wondering if there was more to her 'Mr Brightside' comment for a while.

It's probably all a coincidence, but it's still fun to theorise. I think Azriel's powers could end up being more like Rhys and Ruhn's than just his shadows.

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel's powers #azriel's shadows #azriel #pro azriel #azrielshadowsingerweek2022 #azriel shadowsinger week 2022 #azriel week 2022 #azrielweek2022 #azriel theory #acotar theory #starborn #shadowsinger #lightsingers and shadowsingers #hoeab spoilers #hosab spoilers #acotar cc tog crossover theory

100 notes · View notes