#starfallweek2024

[milswrites]

To the stars who listen

~Rhysand X Fem!Reader

Summary: Looking upon the stars for the first time since leaving the mountain, Rhysand makes a wish. Only to be surprised when his dreams are actually answered.

Warnings: Mentions of what happened to Rhys under the mountain. (otherwise the only way I could describe this is as fluffy angst?)

Fic for @starfallweek

Prompt: Character A is a fallen star. Character B finds them.

The world was full of dreamers.

Humans, Fae and Faeries alike. The power of the night sky knew no bounds. All were welcome to look up to the heavens and all were able to wish upon the astral beings to their hearts content.

The stars knew nothing of discrimination, shining for all should they only choose to look up.

They were infinite. Unyielding.

Having centuries of experience when it comes to lighting up the night sky.

A patient guide, a willing listener, a teller of stories.

To Rhysand, stars were just as important as the air he breathed.

Which is why he found himself here, on his first night of freedom after escaping the mountain, sat alone on his balcony at the House of Wind. His violet eyes, dulled after half a century of pain by Amarantha's hand, locked onto the sky above him.

Fifty years.

That was how long the High Lord had been deprived from watching the stars. Fifty long years without their comforting presence to whisper to. Unable to share his dreams, his prayers for the future. Hidden from the golden twinkle which told him they heard him, storing away his wishes, holding them safe until they came true.

So here he was, staring longingly at the night sky. Searching his mind for what he wanted to say. Wondering exactly how he would greet them again.

It was a beautiful night for it.

Not a single cloud hovered overhead. Allowing the stars to shimmer brightly in all their majesty. Rhysand couldn't recall a time where he had ever seen the stars gleam with this intensity.

Heart twinging with hope, he imagined their vivid illumination was for him. That it was their way of saying hello to an old friend they had missed. Their way of showing him they were listening.

So Rhysand spoke.

A soft breath from his lips as he whispered to the brightest star in the sky, the reflection of its almighty glory danced in his soulless eyes.

"I wish I felt like me again."

His own eyes watered at his confession, throat turning dry as his mind never failed to stop playing out the horrors of which he had endured under the mountain. Each blink of his eyes brought along the flashes of deep red hair and rouge painted claws.

Rhysand no longer considered himself a dreamer. Not as long as these nightmares plagued his thoughts.

He was a broken man.

A cracked mirror. Only he couldn't figure out how to piece himself back together again. How to move on from the trauma of his past which had settled in his bones.

So he repeated his wish, his words floating into the cool night air like a prayer. Desperate eyes searching the glowing stars, begging for an answer. Begging for some instruction as to how he could move on, how he could be Rhysand again.

But there was nothing.

The stars were silent.

There was no shimmer of acknowledgment. No sign that they had heard the broken call from the male. They stayed unchanging, staring back at him with no acknowledgement of his wish.

Disheartened, Rhysand cast his bitter eyes to the ground. Cursing himself for being so foolish as to believe that the stories his mother used to tell him held truth.

Perhaps that's all they ever were. Just stars. And Rhysand was just the fool who had hoped that they could be something more.

Sullen, he made to move inside. Disappointment welling in his system at the knowledge that sleep most likely won't come to him. That dark-eyed and exhausted tomorrow, he would have to pretend to his family that all was ok. That he was ok.

For one last time he cast his violet eyes back to the sky in despair. Taking turns to stare at each glistening orb. Forcing himself to look for something he no longer believed was there.

Then, just as he was about to give up and retire to his room, there was a flash from the corner of his eyes.

It was only small, the white light which had crept into his vision. But it was definitely there. A streak across the inky black sky. Breaking the darkness as it barreled over Velaris and towards the forest-cloaked mountain in the distance.

Rhysand was driven by pure instinct.

He leapt from the balcony. Large wings growing from his back until they began to powerfully beat against the gravity pulling him down, carrying him upwards towards the mountain. Towards the mysterious light which was still barreling through the sky, gaining momentum as it was moved downwards. Almost appearing as though if it was falling.

This stirred the male to act faster. To urge his wings to close the difference between himself and the light quicker. Beating them and beating them until a dull ache had settled in his muscles.

But he had to get there.

The white light disappeared between the trees, its intense aura had dimmed to a low glow. It's flickering energy enough for Rhysand to still follow the trail as he flew down to the ground in order to land. Curiously threading in-between the tree's as he made his way towards the source.

His eyes squinted as he neared the fallen light, heart pounding as he was able to make out the shape of a figure from inside the glowing orb.

The ethereal being walked towards him as the brightness dimmed, allowing Rhysand to drop the hand which he had lifted to shield his eyes. Though whilst the orb of light had faded, the skin of this otherworldly being still glowed strongly.

"Who are you?" He questioned weakly, unable to don the mask of an all-powerful High-Lord because he knew whoever this was, whatever they were, he would be no match for them.

"I think you already know the answer to that."

Their voice was soft, angelic, as though the words they were speaking came from the melody of a song. The gentle tone reverberated in the quiet forest, clinging to the air as it failed to fully disappear. Hovering closely by like an inextinguishable echo.

"No. . .no. It's impossible. You're not real" his head shook in disbelief, violet eyes wide in shock. There had to be another explanation to this. To who this strange being was.

"You called, Rhysand. So I came."

"But- but how? Am I dreaming?"

An amused smile crossed her face, soft pink lips lifting into a gracious curve, "Is that what you think this is? A dream?"

His brows furrowed as he considered the star's words.

"No" he concluded, heart sinking at his realization, "This is real. I haven't had a dream in fifty years."

"And why is that?" she questioned, her siren's song attempting to draw the words out from his lips, even though Rhysand had the unsettling feeling that she already knew the answer. That she probably already knew everything about him.

The thought of which churned his stomach in an unpleasant way. Had she been able to see everything that happened under the mountain, even though Rhysand couldn't see her? His rising anxiety over this prospect rendered him unable to speak.

"You've asked me who I am," she started attempting to soothe his rising worries by giving him something else to think about, "But who are you Rhysand? You want to feel like you again so badly? Who is that?"

"I. . . I don't know. I don't know who I am" he cried, searching eyes boring into the star's as if her silver orbs would hold the answer that he's looking for. But they remained untelling, instead they only willed him to continue speaking.

"What I do know. . . Is that I'm not the same man who entered that mountain."

Her unwavering smile remained, its presence pouring through Rhysand, relaxing him until it reached his very soul.

"And why do you have to be?" she asked, moving closer to the male so he could absorb some of her calming energy.

"Because it's what's expected of me?" he meant to say it as a statement, make the point that his court and his family were relying on his council now he had returned, yet his words came out more as a question, seeking truth from the empathetic features of the star.

"Expected of you? From your court? From your friends and family? Or is it just yourself telling you that."

She was right of course. Her piercing eyes already knowing the truth about the male before he did. Yet, where he usually would have found it annoying, there was something rejuvenating at the way she was able to understand him.

At the way she was able to peel apart the layers of his swirling thoughts, unstick the pages of the book who made him who he was. Mend the broken edges and the cracked spine. Her words acting as the hands which where smoothing the pages back to normal.

She turned her face to the sky, eyes casting beyond the overhanging canopy to meet the night sky. Silvery eyes lovingly looking upon her family.

"We never stopped waiting for you Rhysand. Fifty years we looked down to that mountain. Waiting for when the day would come that you returned from its depths."

His heart ached sweetly at the knowledge. A sad smile creeping onto his face at the awareness that the stars had longed for his return.

That whilst he had been trapped within the shadows of the mountain thinking of them, they had kept their eyes on his prison, waiting for him to return.

"You're not broken Rhys" she confided, "You're still the same man who went under the mountain, if not an even stronger one. You stared death in the face and you lived. You're here. Allow yourself to feel the pain. Give yourself the time to heal. There is light on the other side."

"But what if I can't find it?" Rhysand worried, "What if I get lost?"

"You never will. We will guide you Rhys, just as we always have."

She began to glow with more ferocity, Rhysand having to squint his eyes once more from the force of the light she emitted. Fear sparking inside his chest at the realization that she was leaving, that her time here was drawing to a close.

"No, you can't go! I need you!" he begged, doing his best to desperately stare into the light so she knew just how serious he was being.

"I'm always there Rhys. I'll watch over you every night, all you have to do is look up."

By this point the sheer brightness of her presence was too overwhelming, Rhysand having to turn around to avoid being blinded. His violet eyes turned to the ground where they locked onto the shadow of his figure. Onto him. Not the fractured male he had assumed crawled out from the mountain. But Rhysand, High Lord of the night court.

"We're always listening Rhysand, and every dream you send to us shall be answered. All you have to do is ask."

The light behind him vanished. Leaving the male standing in the dark solitude of the forest. But he wasn't alone. He knew that now as he turned his glistening eyes to the night sky.

Lips upturned in a peaceful smile.

"Thank you" He whispered gratefully to the stars.

And Rhysand could have sworn that the stars smiled back.

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand x reader #rhysand imagine #rhysand fanfic #rhysand acotar #rhysand #starfall #starfallweek2024

[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

Replacement

Azriel X Reader

This is my go at the prompt "Character A was so happy planning the perfect starfall party. They forgot to get a date. Character B has an idea." for @starfallweek.

Can't wait to read what everyone came up with!

Might write more of these two. Not sure. If people want more i will

~~~

She’d been planning this for weeks. Y/N had always loved Starfall and the joy she gets from spending time with her family no matter how tired she gets afterwards so when she finally moved out and was able to plan the parties herself she went all out. This year was her first time planning for her husband's family.

Y/N and the night court’s shadowsinger, Azriel, had married earlier that year and she’d made a promise to herself to plan that year's starfall party to give the Highlord time to spend time with his family and take a break after all he did for her. He helped her family get back on their feet after the war, and fully paid for the wedding and, her and Azriels new house. That proved to be a very good idea.

Y/N had somehow convinced the high lord and lady to take a week off leading up to the holiday giving her plenty of time to plan a surprise party without them and the only way for it to be successful was if they were gone. Y/N had realised pretty quickly how much of a busybody the high lord was.

She had to tell the rest of his family about the plan but couldn’t do that while he was getting suspicious of everyone sneaking around so she dropped hints of a holiday in his head. Even though he was the most powerful high lord he didn’t seem to be the smartest so she turned to his wife the highlady and straight up told her to take her husband and child on a holiday.

~~~

Y/N was out of breath after running up a street and then stairs to catch up to her highlady who was now walking only a few metres in front of her. She pushed a stroller which most likely carried the young night court heir. “Feyre.” Y/N more puffed than yelled out.

Feyre spun around quickly in response, gasping when seeing Azriel's new wife bent over puffing her lungs out. “Y/N are you okay? Should I call for Azriel?”

Y/N put a hand up. “No-” she breathed a deeper breath before standing “-I just ran like 5 blocks to find you but you walk so damn fast.”

“You had to run to catch up to me?” Feyre raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow.Y/N shushed her, “You know what I mean”

Feyre chuckled a light and airy sound. “Well, what did you need?”

“I’ve been trying to convince your mate, Rhysand-” Feyre giggled again at Y/N’s clarification “-to take you and Nyx on a holiday but it seems that he is thicker than Cassian’s biceps and can't get the hint.”

“So you want me to take him?”

Y/N nodded slowly.

“Why?”

“I’m trying to plan a Starfall party so he can take a break in thanks for everything he did for me but I can't get help when he’s such a busybody.”

Feyre laughed again before agreeing allowing Y/N to run straight back home to start properly preparing.

~~~

Now it was the day before Starfall and everything was ready. Well, almost ready. Y/N had realised that neither she nor Azriel had formally asked each other to be the other's date as they had done since before they even started dating. It was technically now a yearly tradition between the two and she wasn't going to break it this year. But even though she wanted to keep the formality they held in earlier years she was too tired to plan anything else.

Y/N had planned non-stop for the past week and that was exhausting. Rhysand, Feyre and Nyx got back from their holiday earlier that day so everyone in the inner circle was walking on glass around the highlord hoping he didn’t mention his own party or even Starfall itself.

Y/N finally convinced herself that the not-tradition tradition she’d created with her husband was worth continuing and set down her book before starting her search for the elusive male. She looked around upstairs in the bedroom, study, and bathroom(hoping to find an undressed shadow singer) before making her way downstairs. Walking into the foyer she stuck her head into the lounge room to see a large bat wing popping up from the lounge.

She winced internally, knowing Azriel was lying on his back and thinking of how uncomfortable it would be for him.

“Az?” Y/N whispered incase he was asleep. His head popped up over the back of the lounge and she smiled at his mussed-up hair and droopy eyes, clearly indicating that he had previously been asleep.

“Yeah?” Azriel muttered in a sleep-ridden voice before rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. Even after just waking up, he was gorgeous.

“I kind of assumed we would since you know-” Y/N shrugged “-we are married, but will you be my date to the Starfall party?”

Azriel woke up instantly at that sentence before pulling a face like he sucked on a lemon. Y/N’s face dropped along with her stomach. She immediately started thinking of what he did to have that reaction. What did he do?

Azriel noticed his wife’s distress immediately and sat up more ready to jump over the lounge in case he needed to do some quick damage control. “Sorry. Im going with Cassian.”

Y/N’s face blanked as she reeled back. Her mouth opened and then shut. Before opening again she tilted her head to the side and furled her eyebrows in thought. “Why?”

“Well you see, Cassian can't go with Nesta because she is going with Gwyn.” Azriel started explaining. He realised it wasn’t enough of an explanation before continuing. “Nesta is going with Gwyn because Emerie is going with Mor.”

That was enough of an explanation for his wife because her bewildered look turned to one of thought.

“Oh,” Y/N turned to walk away. “Okay.”

“Sorry!” Azriel called out with a wince on his face.

~~~

It was now Starfall and people filled every inch of the inside of the home and the back garden.

Y/N had invited everyone from Azriel's side of the family that he liked and she invited all from her side of the family who in return invited more people resulting in Y/N being stopped by every second person who claimed to be a distant relative of hers. But she didn't listen to what they had to say. She was too stressed by the fact that Rhysand, Feyre and Nyx hadn’t shown up yet. 

Additionally, the sight of Cassian pulling her husband into a dip and kissing him passionately had set her on edge. She’d almost shatter the glass she was holding from anger. Y/N knew it was all a joke but there was this nagging feeling creeping up her spine which could only be described as murderous when watching Cassian and Azriel put on this happy couple act for the joke they had going.

Y/N moved throughout the house towards the front door and pushed her way outside to sit on the front porch to wait for the high lord and lady.

Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long for they arrived almost as soon as she sat down and she stood to greet them quickly.

“Rhysand, Feyre. Welcome back to Velaris.” Y/N smiled broadly as she hugged the couple before turning to Nyx. “Welcome back too little soldier.”

“We are grateful to be back.” Rhysand chuckled.

“And grateful for you to have organised and sent us on that trip.” Feyre added nudging her husband and mate.”

Suddenly everything turned serious as Y/N looked at the two parents.

“I need your child for something.”

~~~

The musicians hired quickly turned up the tempo of the party after the show of stars and everyone started dancing. Azriel had been searching for Y/N for a while now, wondering where she had gone. He was filled with concern and anxiety that something must have gone wrong. So much that he broke the little joke he and Cassian had going on to voice his concerns to the other male.

Azriel kept looking around the backyard hoping to see Y/N somewhere and slowly started slinking into himself when his searching failed until Cassian roughly jabbed him in the arm.

Azriel's head snapped to face Cassian but the other male just pointed to the makeshift dance floor.

Azriel looked and saw his wife carefully dancing around with a little bundle in her arms and relief filled his body. He smiled at her happiness and took the few minutes the song took to admire her.

When the song finished she looked back up to him and smiled a big toothy grin. Azriel followed it with a grin of his own as she started a walk over.

“So Y/N,” Cassian started, “who's your date for tonight.”

Y/N glared at the male before smiling at the now-moving lump in her arms. 

“Nyx needed someone to go with so I volunteered.” She smiled back down at the young fae looking up at her in her arms.

“Well, I’ll say that you make a wonderful couple.” Cassian mocked.

“Why thank you, my lord.” Y/N mocked back with a slight curtsy. “Now if you’ll excuse me my date and I must go to bed.”

Azriel watched as Y/N walked off inside the house, Cassian’s teasing of replacement flying straight over his head until an older fae female walked up to them.

One Azriel recognised from his wedding.

“So when are we recreating that image with my grandchild Azriel?” His mother-in-law asked expectantly.

#acotar #starfallweek2024 #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #rhysand #cassian #nyx #feyre #feyre archeron

[thelov3lybookworm]

White Roses And Lies.

Summary: Rhysand and Y/n realise they might not make it to starfall. They make the most of what they have to celebrate.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: im convinced rhysie poo is going to murder me because all the fics i have ever written for him are sad 😇

Anyways, this is a lil smth for the third prompt for @starfallweek

(also you can all fault @thehighladywrites for making me hurt rhysie poo because she picked him to be hurt)

Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n glanced up from where she was picking chamomile from the wild bushes in her backyard, her eyes squinting to make out the shape materialising out of nowhere.

"Rhys? Is that you?"

No sooner had the words left her lips that he appeared fully, stumbling forward.

A wide smile split her lips, and she moved too, just happy to see her lover.

It was just one moment before the two of them were wrapped in each other's embrace, but it was enough for Y/n to realise that he did not have the big smile he usually had on when he met Y/n.

He looked haggard, like he hadn't slept or eaten in decades, but what scared Y/n more was the fact that those were tear stains on his cheeks.

He crushed her to his chest, his arms wrapped so tight around her it was hard to breathe. Concerned, Y/n tried to push away from Rhys.

He wouldn't let go.

"They're hunting us." Rhys spoke directly into Y/n ear, pressing his face into her hair.

Y/n froze, her struggle to breathe now forgotten.

"W-what?"

If possible, he pulled her even closer. "My father. He told his courtiers to hunt us. You and me."

All of a sudden, it all clicked for Y/n.

She didn't even bother to pull away from him and ask for an explanation then. She just wrapped her arms around him, and let her head rest on his shoulder, under his jaw.

After all, she knew low born fae and high fae, especially a high lord's heir, were never supposed to even talk, let alone be involved.

She'd always known it was all a moment's bliss, but who could have faulted her for having hope?

"We were always doomed." She mumbled into the expensive fabric of his shirt, a tear escaping her left eye and staining the fine material.

She felt Rhys shaking his head against her, and her heart clenched when a torturous sob ripped out of him.

"Why Y/n?" He questioned, his voice wobbling and choked with tears. "Why us?"

She said nothing, because there was nothing to say. She simply rubbed his back, and let him cry.

"Why couldn't we have been an example that the class system was bullshit? Why could I not have had a better father? Why could I not have been born as a lower fae-"

"Rhys."

"Why did he find out about it? Why-"

"Rhys-"

"Why hasn't he fucking died yet? Why-"

"RHYS!"

He stopped then, stiffening a little.

"Rhys please." Y/n's voice broke, and he finally loosened his hold on her. She quickly drew in a deep breath, her first full one since Rhys had showed up, and looked up at him.

She did not let go of him, but leaned back so she could see him better.

"Its starfall." She smiled a little as she spoke, but apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as another tear escaped those eyes that had captivated her since the moment hers had met them.

"Exactly. I was planning on sneaking away to meet you once the stars started making the journey, and he found me. He broke my mental walls, and he found out."

Y/n swallowed, looking around for anything to help her. She found a flower staring back at her.

A white rose.

The white rose he had gifted her once he had started courting her, one she had decided to plant.

Quietly, she untangled herself from Rhys and walked over to study it. He followed her like she knew he would.

"Do you remember when you first gave me this rose?"

A smile bloomed on his face just like everytime she reminded him of that day. "I can never forget it."

Her face split too at the sight of his happy face. "Me neither."

He stared a the flower a moment longer, then turned to her, the look on his face knowing. "You're trying to distract me, aren't you?"

She grinned sheepishly. "I mean, whatever works, right?"

He laughed, the sound wet and full of sorrow, yet so full of joy as he sat back, his arms coming to rest on his raised knees.

"Y/n... I hope you know I love you. That no matter what tomorrow holds for us, whether they do hunt us down, I will love you forever. Even when I'm nothing but bones and dust in the wind, I'll be yours."

Y/n had to look away at that in order to stop herself from breaking down.

"I do. I love you too Rhys, more than you can know. More than words are capable of expressing."

Rhys glanced up, towards the clear sky, just as a star shot past.

His eyes lit up. "Look!"

Y/n followed his gaze, nodding and laughing at the childlike glee in his voice.

"Starfall has begun." Y/n mumbled, laying her head on his shoulder.

Suddenly, his demeanour changed. "This could be our last starfall."

Y/n sighed. "So let's enjoy it Rhys."

She knew he had a retort at the tip of his tongue, so she pulled away, meeting his eyes as she began pushing him to the dirt so he would lay down.

"It's our last starfall Rhys, so let us enjoy it." She stared at his eyes intensely to make sure he understood. "Hmm?"

He nodded, and she smiled again, laying down next to him, uncaring that her clothes were getting dirty as she lay her head on his chest.

His heartbeat was calm, so at odds with the erratic rhythm it had beat when he arrived.

And so, there, in the middle of nowhere, on the hard ground in front of Y/n's small hut, under the star filled sky, Y/n got lost in the soft sounds of Rhys's breathing.

And sure, those were the sounds of warriors and fae males who served the high lord coming closer, and those were definitely the barks of the hunting hounds, but here, nothing existed other than Y/n and her lover.

Not an heir, not a high born fae. Not a low born fae, not the scum stuck under the boot of the higher ups.

Just him, and her.

And as she felt his presence in her mind, grabbing hold of her conscious, she smiled and closed her eyes- the white rose twinkling in the light like an enchantment her last sight, a testament to their love- content and satisfied despite the unexpected and quick end to their story.

Go to sleep my love. I'll be there when you wake up.

Y/n didn't point out that she knew it was a lie, for right now, that was all she needed as she lost herself.

Lost herself in the sound of his voice in her mind, his scent in her lungs and his love in her heart.

•○🌑○•

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @eve175 @starsinyourseyes @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@artists-ally @riddlesb1tch @clairebear08 @thehighladywrites @berryzxx

#rhysand x reader #rhysand fanfic #rhysand #acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar series #acotar writing #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon #mating bond #starfallweek2024

[astarlitsoul]

Morning Star

Azriel x OC

@starfallweek prompt: Character A is a fallen star, Character B finds them.

A/n: This is my first time posting on tumblr (Ik I'm a decade late) and my first time trying to write fanfic. I wanted to give this prompt from Starfall Week a try. I hope to make at least a second part bc I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Feedback is appreciated, I hope you enjoy.

This is set a year after ACOSF when the red star (likely Aelin) was seen by Rhysand on Starfall.

Warnings: Angst, blood, wounds (not too graphic), I think that's it...

Rhys had truly outdone himself this year. In anticipation of Nesta and Cassian’s wedding, the High Lord had created his largest guest list yet for the upcoming Starfall. The House of Wind had been undergoing preparations for the week prior to the holiday in preparation for all the guests. The residence was being readied to host the courtiers and their plus ones, the ruling families of allied courts, and Keir and Lord Devlon plus their ilk. Even the owners of businesses the Inner Circle frequented had been extended an invitation. 

Azriel had attended far more of the balls than he could remember. In his youth, Rhys, Cassian, and he would perch atop the roof of Rhys’ mother's house to watch the streaks of light until they dwindled away. In his adolescence, it was not uncommon for one of them, often Cassian, to bring their lover at the time and share kisses under the show. (Of course, the perpetrator would be teased to no end the following day.) More recently, as Rhys and Cass found their mates, Azriel found himself missing those days. He was happy for his brothers, and he loved his found sisters. But that didn’t change the feelings of unworthiness that were spurred when he was left without a date at event after event. 

In the recent weeks leading up to Starfall, these thoughts were the subject of Azriel’s dreams. The dreams were not nightmares, per se, which Azriel was well acquainted with. They all began with a depiction of a different Starfall from his youth. However, the good memories were soured when Rhys and Cassian would fall silent beside him atop the roof. Azriel would call out for them, but their eyes would remain glued to the sky as if seeing something he couldn’t. They pointed and murmured things he couldn’t hear before they grabbed him in an attempt to winnow away. 

Even now, as he flew home the morning before the holiday, he found himself thinking over the dreams. Lost in thought, he was surprised to find himself flying over the quaint cabin. He had subconsciously altered his flight path to pass the first home he’d known. Landing softly in front of Rhys’ mother’s house, he scanned his surroundings before entering. Assured that the sun was just beginning its ascent and that much of the world still slept, he entered the cabin. 

Strolling through the small foyer and into the kitchen, he observed just how worn it was. As boys, they did a number on the cabin, leaving lasting scuffs on the floor and permanent dents in their favorite chairs. He loved the damages now, seeing them for what they were. Signs of life, proof that joy and love had filled the space. Proof that even he had known joy and love. After walking through the small rooms, he exited and flew up to the roof. He told himself he wouldn’t get too comfortable, that he’d rest for only a few moments before heading to the House of Wind. Facing the spot where the sun threatened to rise from the ocean, he took in the orange and pink hues of the pre-dawn sky. While Velaris was mostly obscured by the trees, he could glimpse the city in the distance. 

His musings were interrupted by a rising feeling that moved from his stomach up behind his ribs. His shadows, which had settled into languid movements upon arrival at the cabin, began flaring out from him in a frenzy. He inhaled deeply at the foreign sensation, and it was then that he noticed the first star in the darkening sky. Azriel cocked his head at it. Prythian's brightest star — and the last to disappear each morning — should lay behind him in the sky. His confusion only grew as the star began flickering and growing.

No, not growing, approaching. The white-hot mass was careening towards him. He ducked, lying flush against the roof, his shadows making themselves scarce in the presence of the foreign glow. He closed his eyes against the brightness before he felt a wave of searing heat through his leathers as it passed overhead. Only when the light stopped attempting to shine through his shut lids, did Azriel open his eyes. Standing once more he looked himself over, then at his surroundings. Whatever it was had bowed the trees in its path, unobscuring the view to Velaris and leaving char marks and a glittering substance in its wake. 

Let us see. Let us investigate. A few of his shadows hovered in front of his face, and he permitted them to follow the path. Reaching for Truth-Teller, Azriel wracked his mind for any information he’d know of objects falling into their atmosphere. He’d gone with Rhys to see multiple experts about the upcoming celestial event. The High Lord was still shaken by the red star he’d seen during last year's Starfall. Yet none of the court’s prophets nor astronomers had forecast this. They’d all claimed the view on Starfall was set to be uninterrupted, that only good things would come from the spectacle. It was another reason that Azriel’s dreams confused him. And a reason why he didn’t mention it to his brothers.

There is blood, Master. So much blood. His shadows whizzed back to him, wrapping around his middle and tugging him in the direction of the foreign object. Taking to the sky, he spotted a clearing a few hundred feet behind the cabin that hadn’t been there before. Upon passing the last of the trees, Azriel drew up short and hovered over the sight. There were so few things that turned his stomach after centuries of horrors. But the sight of a body laying in the crater, a tangle of limbs and wings and branches and moss had the foreign feeling returning to his chest. Landing softly, he rolled the hilt of his dagger in his palm, a nervous tic of his. He stood at the edge of the crater and found his throat tightening as he took a closer look. 

The being was breathtaking, even as it lay limply in the ground. Pale blue feathers lay beneath the body, adorning wings that bent at a too-wrong angle. The being was dressed in nondescript robes of a darker blue hue, which now lay in tatters. Much of the flesh that wasn’t shredded, was obscured by long, curly locks of dark hair and a thick layer of glittering dust. His shadows were snaking their way towards the body, picking up some of the glistening flecks as they approached when they froze suddenly. 

Alive. But the breaths are too shallow. There is a great wound.

A faint groan escaped the being and he found himself stepping down into the crater. Precaution thrown to the wind, he saw no need to intimidate the dying creature. It appeared female, as he took in the soft facial features and shapely figure as she lay against the dark soil.

“Hello?” he asked gently. 

Another groan, then a cry as the being shifted. Tightening his grip on Truth-Teller, Azriel watched a shaky hand emerge from beneath a heap of feathers to reach for what he believed was a thigh. It was then he saw the wound. The Illyrian winds had been known to whisk away even the largest tents and banners, typically with sandbags and iron posts still attached. The stake of one of those posts was protruding through the leg, too close to the center for her femur to still be intact. 

“Hey hey hey,” he sputtered as he reached for the delicate hand hoping to prevent her from causing herself further harm. While he was no healer, he knew that the bones and arteries in the thigh posed a life threat when damaged. The moment his scarred hand closed around her wrist her eyes flew open. 

Time may as well have frozen. His eyes met her own, pools of a similar hazel but flecked with stardust. Within his chest, he felt a new ebb and flow. Not of his diaphragm as he remembered to breathe, but of his end of the mating bond that had awoken within him. He was shaken from the moment when another cry left her lips.

She began speaking frantically in a language he’d never heard as she attempted to move, her eyes jumping between his face, his shadows, his flared wings, and the weapon in his hand. Her feathered wings shifted again, as she attempted to free her other arm. Sheathing his dagger, he held up his hands, a sign that he meant no harm. Realizing the efforts to free herself were futile, the female stilled, throwing him a pleading look. 

He brought his hands towards the wound slowly, one hand steadying the bloodied stake before the other felt beneath her leg. Wherever the stake had come from, this piece had broken off when it caught in her leg. 

She must be moved. She will not last long. His shadows had been working their way around her form, through the hair, feathers, and tatters as they tried to gain a full picture for their master. A few of them brushed the hair off of her face, while others seemed to stroke her hand. Something in his chest squeezed at their report.

“Let me,” he gestured to himself, “help you.” He finished by making a scooping motion with his arms. Azriel had no idea if she understood his miming, or if the bond had come to life in her chest too, but she nodded once in agreement. He pushed an arm under her back gently, before leaning her torso up from the ground. Her face screwed in pain and he paused as she took a shaky breath. He ordered his shadows to steady the stake before pushing his arms under her legs as well.

Standing up, he took note of her limp wings. What he had believed were two large wings, were actually two sets of wings. Looking up at her face, he flared his shadows as he prepared to shadow-walk to Velaris. Once again, despite her ragged breathing and pained face, she nodded at him with resignment in her eyes. Azriel was unsure if she could feel it, but he tried to soothe her through the bond before he allowed his shadows to envelope them. He hoped that she was able to receive the calming waves he sent her, and none of the panic he felt as his mate’s blood soaked his leathers.

#starfallweek2024 #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar oc #starfallweek #starfall #its my first post be nice plsss

[dawneternal]

Starfall Guest

✷ Azriel x OC

✷ Summary: Something unusual drops from the sky on Starfall. A messenger with a threat and a promise.

I wrote this for @starfallweek for the prompt 'Character A is a fallen star. Character B finds them.'

I'm not sure if I like it or not, but hopefully you do lol I know a tiny bit about Crescent City but I've never read it so none of this is supposed to be related to that/canon compliant:)

Calytrix is pronounced cal-uh-trix (meaning: star-flower)

✷ Listen to City of Starlight by Taylor Ash

✷ Word Count: 4.9k

✷ Warnings: None

✷ Ao3 Link

This year would be the first Starfall celebration at the River House. The view at the House of Wind was still objectively better, but it would be easier to wrangle Nyx here with all of the childproof wards built in. It would be a house warming of sorts, Rhys said. 

They had spared no expense, setting up the back lawn with tables, chairs, blankets, trays of foods and star-themed decorations, bottles and bottles of champagne. All of it was beautiful. All of it was perfect. Rhys and Feyre leaned into each other, holding little Nyx between them as they gazed up at the night sky and waited for the stars to appear. 

Still, Azriel could not help the ache in his chest. The chasm of loneliness, opened wide by the sight of all the couples curled up together. He sat alone, ignoring the dark clouds gathering in his mind. He’d let it catch up to him later when he was by himself. He'd let it consume him for a while and then pull himself together before morning.

The crowd around him let out a collective gasp as the first star fell, hurtling towards the earth and falling into the sea with a strange sizzling sound. It was different to see it up close and not from the view of the balconies. Closer, you could see a ring of stardust coat the surface of the water where the thing had landed. The churning of the waves spread the shimmering color further over the water, illuminated by the moon. The whole sea was gilded. Luxurious.

Azriel settled into himself, glass of champagne in hand, and watched the streaks of metallic light paint the sky. An odd sensation joined the longing in his chest, something akin to anticipation. 

Like the hiss of a matchstick before the flame sparks to life. The glow of his siphons before a blast of power. 

His shadows began to dart back and forth, as if they felt it too. He looked around for anything amiss, but everything was as usual. Party goers laughing and whispering and gasping, dodging the bits of star that fell on the lawn. 

Azriel turned his gaze to the sky, squinting as he searched for something out of the ordinary. There was something unordinary there. One star, bigger and brighter than the rest, falling far slower than any star ever had. He watched as it dropped, blinking and flailing, surrounded by an aura of changing celestial color. He looked over his shoulder at Rhys and saw the High Lord watching the same object with pursed lips, clutching an awe-filled Nyx in his arms. This was something new. 

When the odd light was in range, his shadows darted out to meet it. Azriel set his glass on a tray in the grass, preparing to stand. 

A woman. A star. The shadows whispered in his ear. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. But the whole lot of them rushed away again as if they hoped to catch her. He wondered if a person could survive that kind of fall. Then he broke into a run, weaving through blankets and bodies toward the sea. 

“Azriel!” Rhys’s voice called to him, but he didn’t stop. 

The grass gave way to sand then rock, the waves lapping gently on the shore and leaving glowing stardust behind. As he neared the edge of the water, he could see how limp the being was, falling with no resistance. They were too far over the water for him to reach, but he pulled off his boots anyways and tugged off his shirt in case he needed to go in. His shadows swirled underneath the plummeting body, but she fell through them like they were nothing. Her body hit the water with a sickening splash, a layer of glimmering color left behind just like the other stars. 

Azriel paced over the rocky shore, waiting for a head to appear above the water, the echo of that splash replaying over and over as his heart beat against his ribs. 

Then he heard the familiar snap of winnowing, and that shimmering being was kneeling on the beach a few feet away, hands braced before her as she choked and heaved. She looked like a piece of the night sky itself. 

Her skin was deep blue, covered in swirls of gold and silver. Elaborately woven braids of deep violet draped over her shoulders, dripping ocean water over her naked form.

“Are you alright?” Azriel crouched beside her, pebbles digging into his bare feet. Closer, he realized that the outline of her body was transient, moving in a slow pattern like smoke floating through the air. She was not covered in stardust, but made of it. The ends of her braids flowed into nothingness, dissipating into the night as particles of violet. 

She looked up as he spoke, bright eyes meeting his. They could have housed an entire galaxy in their depth. Indigo, purple, gold, and silver swirled like pools of water, flecked with stars. The shadowsinger found himself a little awestruck. His shadows enveloped her, looking for any more information to give their master, but they would only tell him the same thing as before. A woman, a star.

“I need to speak to the High Lord of the Night Court,” She spoke, her voice deep and raspy. It sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. 

“Why?” His brow furrowed. She had nothing on her, no weapons, no magical items, not even clothes. But if she could winnow, she had other powers.

“Is this the Night Court?” She asked instead of answering, pushing off the ground and attempting to stand. Her legs were wobbly and she stumbled forward onto her knees once more. Azriel grabbed his shirt from the grass and held it out to her. She tried again and managed to stand this time, though her limbs trembled.

“What is that?” She asked him, staring at the cloth in his hand. 

“You’re…naked?” Azriel swallowed, keeping his eyes on her and not the glittering curves of her body. The woman looked down and pursed her lips, as if mildly annoyed by this realization. She took it from him and slipped it over her head. She was much smaller than him, the t-shirt falling to her knees. 

“I need to speak to the High Lord of the Night Court,” She said again, rising to her full height.

Rhys, it’s a woman. Azriel spoke into his mind, remembering his brother existed. 

Enamored was not strong enough a word for what he was feeling. She exuded night in the same way that Rhys did, such cunning grace and soft beauty. All with a threat underneath. Rhys appeared with a snap, expression smoothed over into the mask of the High Lord. He studied the being before him with his hands in his pockets. 

“High Lord,” The woman’s eyes widened and she bowed, braids falling in a curtain around her face. Her voice was like personified darkness.

Azriel and Rhys shared a look, wondering how she possibly recognized him. 

“Please,” Rhysand said, and she straightened. “Are you hurt from the fall?” 

“No,” She shook her head, taking a step toward him. Azriel tensed, hands curling into fists. “Please, High Lord, I have something important to tell you.”

“I’d rather you introduce yourself first,” Rhysand drawled, still studying her, “Forgive me, but I am finding this meeting a bit strange. You don’t seem to be from this…area.” 

The woman nodded her head, and the brothers watched as her form changed. Her skin became solid, a rich shade of brown, free of stardust. Her hair remained violet but now appeared tangible, no longer flowing like a waterfall. In this form her ears were pointed like Rhys’s. She looked like another fae now, save for the galaxy in her eyes. 

“My name is Calytrix. I come from a celestial realm. My father is King Izar and a few weeks ago he made a deal that threatens your court.” 

Rhysand and Azriel shared another look. 

Then Rhysand reached for Calytrix’s arm and they were winnowing. Calytrix squealed, reaching toward the High Lord as they fell through the air. Rhys's wings flared out and he caught her in his arms, slowing his descent toward the balcony. Azriel was close behind, and he could see Cassian and Feyre in this distance flying toward them.

Calytrix shoved away from Rhys when they landed, stumbling once more to her knees and drawing in deep breaths. 

“Apologies,” Rhys said, shoving his hands into his pockets again, striding past her into the House.

Azriel grasped her arm and helped her up, ignoring the sparks under his skin as they connected. He followed the High Lord and led her into the dining room. Rhysand sat at the head of the table and gestured for her to sit. She took a spot beside him, looking a little more wary as she looked around the grand room. 

The glass doors opened again and Feyre nodded as she entered, saying nothing as she sat across from the strange woman. Azriel and Cassian remained standing, the former beside Rhsyand and latter beside the High Lady. 

“Princess Calytrix, this is my wife, Feyre,” Rhys gestured to his stony-faced mate, “Now please, continue your story.” 

Calytrix’s gaze swept over each figure. She had become surrounded before it could even register, and she assumed that they had done this on purpose. The four of them stared at her, unrelenting. 

“As I said,” Calytrix swallowed, “I came here to warn you. My father made a deal with a death god that threatens your court.” 

“What deal?” Rhysand demanded. 

He conjured a pitcher of water and poured a glass for each of them. Calytrix didn’t take it, keeping her eyes on the raven-haired man beside her. He seemed as though he wanted to trust her, but he was holding back. She’d anticipated this, and she hoped her idea would be enough for him to trust her. 

“My father offered soldiers in exchange for territory in this realm whenever Koschei has gained control. Night Court territory.”

A jaw in Rhysand’s muscle twitched, the only reaction he’d allow to show. Azriel felt his stomach drop at the mention of Koschei. His blood ran cold.

“How has Koschei managed to establish contact with other realms?” He asked, voice firm. 

“I do not know that, my Lord,” Calytrix shook her head, “Only that my father speaks to him through an enchanted object that he keeps hidden.” 

“And why do you come here, princess? What do you gain from exposing your father’s secrets?” He countered, sitting back with his arms crossed. 

She looked so small in her chair, draped in Azriel’s shirt. The shadowsinger remembered her body hitting the water and a thread of sympathy wound through his chest. But he kept his expression neutral and said nothing.

“I believe Koschei is using my father,” She said, averting her gaze to the marble table and the crystal glass before her, “A King in our realm tried to occupy land here before, but our types of magic are incompatible and it did not end well. I believe my father has sacrificed a great number of soldiers for no gain. He will destroy our kingdom and your court.” 

She shifted in her seat, skin flushing as she said the next words, “And I have studied the Night Court extensively. I consider myself…a fan. I do not wish to see it destroyed.” 

“How are you here?” Feyre asked, her voice soft, “If the magic is incompatible?” 

“The gates are open on this night,” She said, “As the stars travel through the realms. And I come as a visitor. I won’t try to claim anything as my own.” 

“What are they?” Rhsyand blurted, his eyes gleaming. The conflict was momentarily forgotten as the answer to his centuries old question came within reach. “The stars?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you, my Lord,” Calytrix smiled at his eagerness, “They are a mystery to us as well.” 

Then she stood, ignoring the warriors tensing as she took a step toward Rhysand. 

“I understand my words may be hard to believe,” She began, drawing herself up again to her full height, “I have read about the customs of the Night Court and I am prepared to offer a bargain in exchange for your trust. I believe this ordeal with the death god will harm my people just as much as yours. I have much to gain from your trust.” 

“What bargain?” Rhysand asked, tilting his head to the side. His violet eyes locked onto hers, some familiar thread of magic seeming to sing between them. Like calling to like.

“If anything I have told you proves to be untrue, I will owe you my firstborn son.” 

Cassian coughed and Azriel’s eyes widened. He searched Calytrix’s face, but she was utterly serious. 

“Princess,” Rhysand sputtered, “I hardly have use for your firstborn son.” 

“Well I don’t have one yet,” Calytrix said, shifting her weight as she noted the amused half-smiles, “It would be a promise. I understand that these bargains are very serious.” 

“I have a better idea,” Rhysand said, biting back a laugh, “If you allow me to, I can use my power to look into your mind and read your intentions.”

Calytrix went still. Her eyes shifted ever so slightly toward the shadowsinger, wondering if the High Lord would be able to see her admiration for his warrior. For the beautiful figure that had been stuck in her mind since he’d found her on the beach. Far more beautiful than she believed the people in this realm could be. 

No one saw that glimpse, except for Rhysand, of course. 

“I’ll make you a bargain,” Rhysand said, his expression softening. She was young, likely no older than Feyre or her sisters. She was brave to come here. “If you show me the truth, I will not intrude on any private thoughts.” 

Calytrix nodded, lips pursed. She went stiff  as she felt his onyx claws scrape against her mind, eyes shutting tight. Azriel winced, swallowing the impulse to comfort her. No matter his intentions, it never felt good to have Rhys search your mind. 

The High Lord sorted through her thoughts, evidently hitting a sore spot when Calytrix let out a choked whimper. Rhysand pulled away, his face grim. It was not often he enjoyed that task. 

“She tells the truth,” He announced. Calytrix heaved a sigh and slumped in her chair. 

“Your father doesn’t know you’re here,” Rhysand said carefully, brow furrowing. 

“No,” She chewed her lip. 

“How can we keep you safe, then?” 

“I…was hoping to stay for tonight,” Calytrix said sheepishly, staring down at her hands in her lap, “And then I’ll go back and tell him I was kidnapped. He’d never guess I would come here.”

“Don’t you need to go back while the gates are open?” Feyre asked. 

“Not if you have an Astraeus Ruby,” Calytrix shrunk into herself. Rhysand stared at her for a moment.

“Indeed I do,” His lips twitched up into a smile, “You have done your research well.”

���I don’t like it,” Azriel spoke for the first time since the beach. All heads snapped towards him, reminding him that he was still barefoot and shirtless. Feyre's eyes flicked over him with curiosity. He kept his expression firm, unmoving. 

“There’s too many variables. What if the King guesses where you’ve gone? What if he sends someone after you? What if Koschei knows you’re here? I don’t think you should wait.” 

Rhysand thought he saw Calytrix’s shoulders fall, just slightly. As if the shadowsinger’s words disappointed her. 

“I can’t go back tonight,” She swallowed hard, “I snuck out before the party began, but the gate is in the grand room and they would all see my return. The party likely won’t even end until tomorrow midday. I tried to put a spell on myself so Koschei could not track me, but I do not mind if you would like to check it over.” 

“Will they notice you’re not at the party?” Rhys asked. Calytrix pursed her lips again and said nothing. They took that as a yes. 

The room fell into silence, each lost in thought. Azriel was kicking himself for making his attachment known. He should not care so much for this star girl, so shy and yet so brave. But he was drawn to her, like a planet in her orbit. 

“We’ll figure something out in the morning,” Rhysand said softly, “For now, Feyre will show you to a guest room and find you some clothes. You’re welcome to rejoin our party if you wish, or rest if you need it. And tomorrow,” 

Rhys paused and flashed a wry smile at Azriel, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “Azriel will give you a tour of Velaris.” 

Azriel opened his mouth to protest, but Feyre was already whisking Calytrix away. The princess looked back at him with eyes alight and eager hope written clearly across her face.

So, he found himself nodding, offering her a small smile. And elbowing Cassian in the ribs as his brother giggled.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Azriel waited on the balcony, bouncing on his toes in an attempt to rid his body of nervous energy. He had been up early to meet with Rhysand, Cassian, and Feyre. The best they had come up with was sending the princess home with a way to contact them. If she needed some sort of evidence to aid her alibi, they would provide it. 

Rhysand had checked over her spell and found it to be solid. No one would be able to track her. And since her father had no inkling of her plan, they should have a long while before he thought of searching other realms. Thus, she would stay for today and leave tonight at nightfall. Her tour of Velaris was the only gift Rhysand could give her for her bravery.

It made Azriel nervous, sending her back all alone with no protection, even if she insisted that she could take care of herself. Her skill with magic had admittedly impressed them all. But he was still worried and that made him wonder why he cared so much. He couldn't explain it.

The glass doors opened and Calytrix appeared, shaking the shadowsinger from his spiraling thoughts. She wore a Night Court outfit, flowy lilac pants and a cropped shirt with sheer sleeves. The colors suited her well, complimenting her hair and bringing out the warm tones of her skin. She had arranged her braids in a bun on top of her head, held in place with a piece of lilac silk. And Feyre must have gifted her earrings, sparkling amethyst tear drops. 

Azriel found himself staring, gaze drifting over the curves of her body, her generous hips and exposed stomach. 

“How do I look?” She flashed him a shy smile and turned in a little circle, ending with a flourish.

“Lovely,” Azriel breathed, his voice cracking, “You're a vision.”

He scolded himself internally one more time and cleared his throat. 

“I thought we'd start with a snack and a coffee, how does that sound?” 

Her eyes lit up, the stars and swirls glowing with excitement. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Azriel was a fool. He should have known from the first time she had locked eyes with him that he would never quite recover. The hold that she had on him left something behind that he would never be able to get rid of. 

He was falling harder with every moment they spent together. Every tiny thing she revealed about herself knit into a story he was desperate to hear more of. Her eagerness to learn more about the night court, excitement over new things he showed her, her kindness to everyone she encountered. She seemed to trust him completely, blindly following him through the city.

He’d almost laughed when she pulled out a notebook and began taking notes in the cafe, writing down the name of the coffee and pastries he’d ordered. But he’d swallowed it down, not wanting her to think he was making fun of her. 

She was as curious about his shadows as she was the city. Every time they ventured close, she held out a hand. Some of them shied away and some of them wound around her fingers. She told him that the feel of them was similar to running a hand through a nebula.

Next, Azriel took her to the aviary, drinking in her delighted laughter as she chased and studied the colorful birds. 

“You don’t have an aviary in your city?” He asked, when they’d sat down for a break. Side by side under a willow tree filled with singing birds and fluttering wings. It was one of his favorite places in Velaris.

“Maybe,” She said, her gaze following the little creatures, “My father is very strict and protective. I don’t get out much.”

“I suppose that explains your eagerness to see the city,” He said, watching her as she watched the birds. 

“How could I not be eager?” She smiled, “When the secret of the city was revealed a few years ago, the whole world had questions. Now I've seen it, and I might even be able to write up a paper and get it published.” 

“You’re a writer, then?” Azriel asked. It made sense now, the grandiosity with which she described things. How desperately and diligently she wrote down every detail.

“Under an alias,” She met his eyes and he swooned all over again, “I spend a lot of time in our library since it’s one of the few places my father considers safe for me.” 

“Do you know much about the Day Court?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. She looked back down at her notebook, suddenly shy. 

His whole body itched with the desire to fly her to the Day Court right then. He would plant himself by her side as she skimmed every single book in the court and he would be sustained by her joy alone.

“Not much,” She confessed, “I must admit that my fascination with the Night Court has become a bit of an obsession over the past couple years.” 

“They have hundreds of libraries there,” Azriel said, eyes twinkling. Her face lit up, as predicted. “You could spend an eternity there, I’d imagine.”

“With a friend to keep me cnompany, I suppose I could,” She dared to look at him again, letting her gaze linger. Her eyes flicked down to his lips for a split second. 

Before he could register, she was standing, tucking her notebook back into her bag. It did not escape him the way her fingers trembled as she did so. 

“Where next, tour guide?” 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Their tour definitely stretched a bit longer than what Rhysand had in mind, but Azriel could not bring himself to give her up. Calytrix did not seem eager to end their tour, either. At first the shadowsinger was certain it was only due to her research, but then she had worked up the courage to touch him. 

She’d grasped his wrist and let out an excited sound when she’d laid eyes on the collector's section of his favorite book shop. Azriel swore his soul left his body. But then she did it again, brushing arms with him as they walked together. When he took her to the Sidra so she could dip her feet in the water, she grasped his hands for balance and didn’t let go for a long time. 

Azriel felt like he was glowing. Like basking in her presence had woven his entire being with threads of her stardust. He would search the whole of Prythian for every Astraeus Ruby if it meant he had the chance to see her again. The looming goodbye tasted bitter, growing heavier as the sun reached toward the horizon. 

“Have you had a good visit, princess?” He asked softly as they sat back on the balcony at the House of Wind. 

They sat side by side again, legs dangling over the edge, almost close enough for their shoulders to connect. Only the anticipation of that touch between them. 

“Are you kidding me?” She grinned, leaning her temple against the railing as she looked at him, “I’ve toured the entire city, met the High Lord and Lady, and I made a real Night Court bargain.” 

“That wasn’t a real bargain,” Azriel’s lips twitched up into a smile, “He was being nice. If it had been a real one, you’d have a tattoo.” 

Her eyes widened, flashing with something wild and determined.

“Make me a bargain,” She breathed, “I want a tattoo.” 

“Is that a good idea?” Azriel’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Won’t your father see it?” 

“Only when I’m in my fae form,” She said, grin growing with excitement, “Which only happens on special occasions. I’ll be so careful.” 

“Okay,” Azriel chuckled, “What kind of deal can I offer you?” 

Then she was quiet for a moment, staring at him. Deep in thought as the galaxies in her eyes whirled. Her smile faded and her breath quickened, and Azriel felt his own chest flutter in response.

“I want you to kiss me,” She whispered, eyes searching his, “If you kiss me, I’ll promise to come back next Starfall.” 

Azriel’s heart leapt in his throat. This was probably a bad idea. Rhysand would never approve of it. The kiss, the tattoo, his lovesick stupor after only one day of knowing her. But he heard himself answer anyways,

“Yes.” 

She leaned toward him, grasping handfuls of his shirt as his own hands reached to hold her face. They fit together so neatly, so comfortably. Calytrix leaned ever closer, tucking herself into his hold, and brought her lips to his. Her skin was so soft under his fingers, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as he kissed her. 

The bitterness grew to an ache, and then to a sharp pain erupting with sparks. A lump rose in Azriel’s throat as she tilted her head to kiss him deeper, lips brushing over his with such sweet reverence. 

He had to give her up, send her back to the skies. This wonderful thing between them would cease. She made a sound against his mouth and he pulled back, frowning at the sadness written in her expression.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered, not letting go yet. She didn’t let go either, running her knuckles along his collarbone. 

“I don’t want to go,” She croaked. “For so many reasons.”

Her eyes dropped from his face, pulling his shirt down farther to reveal the shooting star now inked on his chest. She released one hand and pulled down her own collar to see the matching tattoo. 

“At least you have something to remember me by,” He smiled softly. 

She shifted closer to rest her head on his shoulder, relishing the warmth of his body. They stayed like that until footsteps in the distance drove them apart. The High Lord appeared between the glass doors.

“It’s time to go,” Rhysand said softly, Astraeus Ruby in hand, “Feyre sends her regrets that she can’t see you off, but our son is throwing an especially spirited tantrum at the moment.”

“That’s alright,” Calytrix smiled as she stood, “But please, thank her for her hospitality.” 

“Of course,” Rhysand handed her the gem, a blood red crystal that looked particularly delicate. Flecks of glowing silver danced inside it.

Calytrix pulled the scarf from her hair and shifted forms again, umber skin replaced by swirling cobalt dust. As she had said, the tattoo was never to be seen on her celestial form. 

She said nothing more to Azriel, only held out the slip of purple silk for him to take. He grasped it with gentle fingers, rubbing his scarred thumb over the soft fabric. 

“Please do not hesitate to tell us if you need anything,” Rhysand bowed his head, “We are grateful for your help and we will contact you as soon as we have decided our next move.”

“Thank you, High Lord,” She said, voice trembling. 

She turned back once more to the shadowsinger and held his gaze as she placed the ruby on the ground. She raised her foot and crushed it under her shoe. Instantly, blue light burst from the shards and reached toward the sky in a wide beam. 

In the last second before the light carried her into the night, her eyes widened, lips parting, as she stared at Azriel.  A hand reached out of the beam but it did not reach him before the magic pulled her away.

Then both the light and the shards disappeared and Calytrix was gone. 

Rhysand stared for a moment at the spot where she’d been, reminded of a similar moment so long ago. He glanced at the shadowsinger, cautiously, but Azriel was oblivious. He stared up at the stars, holding the lilac silk in his hands. 

So, Rhysand said nothing, heart aching for this brother.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Azriel woke in the middle of the night to a snap, a flash of light visible from behind his closed eyes. He shot upright in bed, shadows darting out to assess the threat. 

They found nothing, save for the folded note on his nightstand. The paper was deep blue, translucent and cool like the misty touch of his shadows. He opened it and found written in gold ink, 

See you next starfall, my mate.

Your star,

Calytrix

#hides under a rock #starfallweek #starfallweek2024 #starfall celebration week #starfall #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #rhysand #feyre #cassian

[velarisbynight]

How to Soften Teeth

Azriel x Eris

Prompt 3 for the last day of @starfallweek : Character A & B realise they won’t make it to Starfall. They make the most of what they have to celebrate.

a/n: I had hoped for something a little more joyful, but I enjoy the thought of them struggling their way through things together 🩵🩵

warnings: a little angst but it gets resolved, potential spelling errors as it is currently not proofread

Word Count: 4.5k~

~~~~~~~~

Absolutely nothing shifts over the Spymaster’s expression, blank and stony as usual, but disappointment is palpable. Poignant and thick at the back of Eris’ throat, disliking the flavour.

“I was under the impression you would have this matter wrapped up long before we were due to return,” Azriel says, resting comfortably in a darkened corner of the heirling’s chambers. Around him shadows roll idly, giving no hint to the emotions tightly cocooned beneath his roughly wrapped exterior.

“Matters shift,” Eris replies neutrally, a hint of apology in his amber eyes, not to be verbally expressed. “I will remain here for another week. It must be seen to promptly.”

The Spymaster says nothing, the silence judgemental enough—weighing enough—for the heirling to lean forward in his chair, forearms braced on the desk, momentarily putting aside the appeal he was looking over in favour of attending to— to his mate.

The word is just as foreign in conjunction with the male before him as it was months ago, when it first clicked.

“You understand the nature of these things,” he says matter-of-factly, if a touch fainter than his usual razor-sharp drawl. “They are out of my hands.”

“A fine reason indeed,” the Shadowsinger replies neutrally, the truth of his accusation echoing just beneath, following in the silence. A fine excuse indeed. “I wouldn’t expect any less of you—your court is important.” More important than I am, at least.

Eris’s jaw works faintly, a small tell the Shadowsinger has come to familiarise himself with over the last few years, and one the heirling was initially unaware he had. This time though it is not the accusation itself that aches, but the lack of one. Bland understanding is clear in the Spymaster’s hazel eyes, used to skipping his five stages and settling seamlessly into acceptance. There’s little time for grievances in his line of work, and he is a master at nothing if not brutal efficiency—practiced and perfected to a ruthless degree.

The right words sit on Eris’ tongue, but he swallows them down thickly, tasting overly-sweet to an almost insincere level—who would have believed words like those would ever have sprung to his mind, let alone flourished in his mouth. They’re nonsense, is what they are—pretty things designed for manipulation and coercion. It is the right choice to not disgrace the—…his mate…with expecting him to believe them.

Yes, it is the right choice to keep those words of reassurance to himself. They have no place between the heirling and the shadowsinger before him.

Instead he settles on something more fitting. The words he had been temped by now twisted and warped to fit his chosen cadence. “I do not expect you to remain with me, of course,” he starts with, bland and nonchalant. “You are free to return to your home court. I recall you mentioning the wonders of Starfall over there.” It would be a shame for you to miss it, is what he edits out—seemingly too close to touching something so personal. He will not intrude where he is not welcome.

Something flickers on the Shadowsinger’s end of the bond, hardly corporeal enough to be labeled as a bridge, but the swirling fog sweeps in before Eris has a chance to examine it.

“I had no idea I was in need of your permission to return, heirling,” the Spymaster replies neutrally, hazel eyes reflecting the dancing flame of the fireplace, despite the distance between them.

Eris’ lips press together in what appears like displeasure, but the Spymaster has come to learn is nearer resentment. Azriel finds himself torn between the habitual rise of pleasure at seeing even slight discomfort upon his elegantly sharpened features, and the fresher tug of guilt in his gut—tugging faintly as if in chastisement for deliberately misunderstanding.

They seem to come upon disagreements frequently, much more than mates ought to—if they are truly suited to one another, a small voice reminds him. Yet he feels largely responsibly for causing those small turbulences. How is one to embrace another he’s spent so long trying to loathe and detest, almost as much as himself? It is no small feat to draw oneself from the bloodlust of battle, greater still to overcome it entirely.

Perhaps that is the reason for so many disturbances, to fall back on familiarity, settling into a dance they have been waltzing for centuries. It is easier, but that hardly means it is better. He did not become a warrior through softening his hands with laziness, nor through remaining idle where action was required—and yet it is undoubtedly preferable to rage and argue rather than to remove the armour he’s so accustomed to wearing.

Maybe they’re on a path set for failure—Azriel is sure they both understand nothing with change if the same steps are repeated. And yet footprints are being trodden into the unforgiving stone of the mountain they are traversing together, starting at the foot, then falling when one does not help the other, only to both be dragged down from the bond that binds them, set to try and try again, repeating endlessly until they learn to co-operate.

“You do not,” Eris agrees stiffly, yet no flashes of victory appear in the Spymaster’s eyes, not even a wisp of appeasement over the bond they share. Absolute desolation—a rope leading off into the thick mists and rolling fogs that coat a stretching fen. “Is that all you have to say?” The Shadowsinger questions, the air recognisably shifting, concentrating into tension, palpable enough for the tendon stretching down the heirling’s back, across broad shoulders, to grow taut.

“You know,” Eris muses, leaning back in his chair, inclining his chin as he regards the male stood in the corner of his chambers. He knows the shadowsinger’s reasoning, even if it is unclear to the male himself why these disputes occur like clockwork. He can dance a few more steps, if that will allow the tension to fade, for the wariness to abate. “If you would like to speak longer with me, you need only pick a topic,” Eris drawls, noting the deepening in the Spymaster’s brow, how the shadows darken in the hollow above his eyes. “You seem to be unaware of how regularly you fall into combativeness—all for the sake of a longer conversation. What is it you want to say to me?”

There’s a distinctive shadow rising behind his eyes, malice that is too easy to stir, that Eris must learn to assuage and calm before he can ever hope to reach what it’s been made to guard.

“Speak with you?” The Spymaster echoes, tone deadened with cold amusement. “What might I ever wish to speak with you about?” The ice incites fire, roaring to life to keep from being snuffed out. “Any number of things you might desire—assuming you have wants of your own,” Eris replies, blood heating. “You seem to detest my presence almost as much as you revel in it.” A look of disgust crosses the Shadowsinger’s features, summoned so swiftly it appears instinctual for him to despise.

“And you?” Azriel replies lowly, shadows gathering like thunderclouds atop the taloned peaks of his wings. “You are the one who suggested this arrangement; now you are the one hastening my departure. Your temperament is mercurial at best, volatile at worst.” Just like your father’s, are the unspoken words, practically spat across the bond. “I wonder if there’s even a sincere bone in your body, or if they were crushed out of you all those centuries ago.”

“And yet mates are supposed to be equal,” Eris replies sharply, ire blazing at the disturbed wound, hackles raising, canines bared to snap and bite in retaliation. “Everything you detest in me, is already present in yourself.”

Ice comes down heavy over the Shadowsinger’s eyes, expression stony as shadows grow blacker, densifying until it’s a struggle to look at them, as if sucking away the light of the room. Difficult to look upon them in the way it is difficult to peer at white parchment reflecting the midday sun. A blinding type of void. “Is that why you’re pushing me away, then?” Azriel spits lowly. “You would prefer solitude than my kind of company? How adoring of you.”

Eris stiffens as the Shadowsinger pushes off from the wall, looking about ready to leave. They can’t keep leaving arguments between them.

“Then you would stay with me and miss out on your so-very-dear Starfall celebration?” Eris presses pointedly. “It is you who chose to twist my suggestion into something gnarled and ugly when we both know it is the decision you would have come to regardless of my input.”

“I don’t appreciate your assumption to know me so well.”

“You would have stayed?” Eris reiterates, voice low and roughened with tumultuous emotion. Wicked and wrecking.

“I would never have come in the first place,” Azriel spits out, that gut-wrenching split of delight and disgust cleaving through him as he feels the flicker from across the bond, how something recoils sharply, curling back in on itself like a wounded viper.

Then a shield of smoke billows over amber eyes, a fire raging so fiercely ash burns through the sky, smog so dense that lungs scar with agony. “Then I will remind you I have already bade you farewell,” Eris returns sharply, ire blazing from his flame-like tongue. “You are more than welcomed to skulk back to your family, and lie about your whereabouts as you usually do whenever I am involved.”

“At least I have a family to go back to,” Azriel snarls lowly, unable to help the impulse that has been honed for centuries.

It seems that is a step too far even for Eris’ threshold for mistreatment, accustomed to the burn of scorn and the searing ache as fire is put into his body, flame licking across burnt and healed skin over and over.

Even the Spymaster is unable to conceal his flinch as the logs crack in the fireplace, fire flaring at the heirling’s fingertips, licking up his clothes until the flame seems to be living off him, while leaving his finery untouched. He’s across the floor in the blink of an eye, fire-wreathed palms shoving against the Shadowsinger’s shoulders, lip curled back as ire blazes across his features.

Azriel instinctively makes to grip the heirling’s wrists, but shrinks away when the memories rise from within, kept tucked away, embedded in tissue to recoil from the slightest of sparks. Instead he finds himself flattened against the wall, wings tucked in tight in attempts to pull from the living fire before him. Flame he provoked, stupidly. All because he’s unable to change.

“I will reduce you to cinders myself if you dare speak like that again,” Eris seethes, pupils narrowed into slits, skin white with fury. Azriel has never seen the male so riled, always kept pristine and immaculate, absolutely spotless beneath a cover of cultivated malice. Azriel’s breathing hard, vision tilted, grappling for sense, falling back on training to fight back.

“You couldn’t if you wanted to,” the Spymaster hisses lowly, throat closing up as his lungs sting with that unforgettable burn of smoke and charred flesh. “You’re shackled to me whether you want it or not. If I go, you’re going with me.”

“Maybe it would be worth it so I wouldn’t have to put up with you,” Eris snarls back, voice taking on the quality of roaring flame and rasping smoke. “To rid myself of you.”

“No need,” Azriel spits viciously, venom practically dripping from his clipped words. “I’ll leave you to wallow in your bed of knives on your own. Mother knows you fucking deserve it.” Shadows rise from the floor, overpowering the blinding glow of flame with staggering vehemence, wrapping around the male like deadened hands, stealing him away quicker than Eris can think to prevent it.

Flame still burns at his back, but it dims swiftly, magic snuffed out over the span of a few breaths. Leaving him feeling starkly cold. Skin hot to the touch, but cool on the inside.

The room is far too big now, far too empty.

Breaths drag from his lips, feeling the taste of smoke on his tongue, bitter and burnt.

Singeing his lungs.

————

The icy bite of the wind is welcome as Azriel finds himself on an open hill, long grass swishing at his legs as he strides across the terrain beneath the pale moonlight.

He is being unfair, but it is difficult to remember the male—his male—is undeserving of that treatment now. Eris had confessed the truth of what had happened centuries ago, between the boarders of Autumn and Winter: the collaboration; the planned deceit.

Hundred’s of year’s worth of loathing and hatred now having no place but to sink inward, biting at his flesh with sharpened teeth.

It is not as if he still despises the male, though it feels like that at times—when fury rises up and he makes no attempt to change. No attempt to better himself. Change takes time, and an idea as deep-rooted as this one will take forever to undo. To separate Eris from the male he’d thought he was.

Winds breathe across the landscape, swishing his hair about, and the instinct to fly surfaces. It is a wonderful night for flying: the moon is out, the skies are clear, the breezes are harsh but not overpowering. Easy to glide on, so he will have time to think without having to keep an eye out on their currents.

Wings spread wide, and then he’s soaring high to the midnight blue of the heavens, sailing further and further from the ground, as if to free himself of the tumultuous emotion of his choices. Yet they follow him as usual, clinging to his skin, soaking through his flesh, itching at the back of his mind no matter how many times he folds his wings in entirely, free-falling down through open air, pulling up and gliding away, coasting over the grassy hill tops.

He had wanted a fight, he had been looking for a reason to argue. Why must he be as he is?

He’s desired a mating bond since he was young, but the yearning only became more acute as they were delivered to his brothers, able to watch as they flourished, blossoming in full while he is left struggling to make it through the next season. And now he’s been given one, but it wasn’t what he had expected. Males have never before taken his attention, yet this one…

His jaw hardens, struggling to resolve the questions that have been surfaced within him.

The male—his mate—had been the one to volunteer his departure first, and it had bothered him. Why not allow him to make the suggestion of his own accord, rather than pushing it up into the light? Surely there was no reason for it unless he had not been welcome. Maybe he’d been foolish enough to think progress was being made—that the sharp words they had exchanged over the past week had been more amicable than hostile, that it was simply the easiest way of communication between them. More on the side of sparring than real battle. Yet the words than had been exchanged not even an hour ago had not been muffled. Those words were laced with poison and forged from steel, designed for war—not play.

Azriel folds his wings in again, plummeting down from the heights he’d soared, sinking through the air faster than a millstone in a pond, or a ball of iron through the ocean. The ground comes closer, and he gently flares his wings, easing his momentum, slowing until he can smooth out the curve of his fall, eventually returning to gliding low through fields, weaving round the occasional tree before beginning the ascent anew.

He’d wanted to show the beauty of his own court.

It had seemed almost personal in a way, the plan to spend time in the other’s homeland, to accompany them through menial, almost domestic tasks. After seeing more than he had anticipated, a small part of him had been hopefully anticipating returning. Getting to reciprocate the feelings he had experienced when walking through the forest he though came from a jewellery box, to try the unfamiliar cuisine specific to the Autumn Court. Sharing a part of his own identity.

It was personal.

But maybe it simply wasn’t enough of an enticement to pull Eris away from his work. Work the Shadowsinger had carefully managed to set aside, so there would be time—time—to spare.

He had wanted Eris to watch the stars fall.

He had wanted to watch Eris watch the stars fall.

But all of that feels continents away from where they are now, emotions too deep to share this early on. Surely Eris can at least guess at how much Starfall means—to everyone in the night court, but him too. Maybe he’d tried to take things further before Eris was ready.

So many problems; so many confusions.

Why had he been asked to leave?

Surely nothing was as urgent as Eris had made it seen. He had to be deceiving him. He had to be. What other reason could it be, aside from—

A cold winds slams into him from the North, icy and merciless, catching beneath his wings as he’s flipped over in the skies, knocked off course. He tucks them in tight, dipping lower to the ground to pull himself out of the draft, lowering to smoother parts until he’s reached the calmer weather near land.

He settles on the ground, empty rolling hills surrounding him, not a fae light in sight.

Nothing could have been that important, unless Eris hadn’t wanted to intrude on something as precious as Starfall. Allowing Court matters to be prioritised so Azriel would be free to enjoy the night with his family, without having to keep to the shadows, to make sure they weren’t found out.

Azriel’s chest expands as he inhales deeply, pulling the crisp air down into his lungs, feeling its chill nip at his throat, before exhaling heavily. He can’t keep causing problems as he does. Not if he still wants the happiness his brothers have been given. As much as he struggles to admit it, Eris had been the more civil one throughout these past few months. Whether that was because he was accustomed to an attraction towards males, because he had been more aware of the undercurrent between them beforehand, or he simply didn’t hate Azriel as much as the Shadowsinger had hated the heirling…he doesn’t know at the moment.

But it’s clear to see he’s the one who’s been dragging his wings.

He was undeniably the one who caused the vulgar exchange of words, spat with enough venom to render stitching useless. Wounds bleeding afresh.

Can he change? Can he adapt himself?

Is he capable of that?

Is it possible to break the loop he’s caught himself in. To not aim to kill with the commencement of each interaction. It’s been months, but he feels little progress has been made in any way that matters. It’s habitual, and it’s easy. Easier than trying to open himself up, at least.

The heirling’s tongue is sharp at the worst of times, poignant and cutting without knowing the Spymaster’s intimacies, his habits, and worries. He’s unsure if he could survive, should he chose to bring his heart out from his ribs.

One of his incisors pierces at the skin of his lower lip, almost deep enough to draw blood, but self-inflicted injury will not absolve him—he knows it will never work, that it will never be enough. Unless something changes. Unless he changes.

The words that had passed between them had stung, deeper and more acutely than he had anticipated. And they will continue to sting for a while longer.

He must try while he still can. Before the already ghostly bridge between them vanishes entirely.

————

Eris is caught off guard when he finds the Shadowsinger in his chambers—sat on his bed, no less.

Amber eyes narrow warily, not in the mood for more blood to be spilled. He didn’t enjoy their fights like he thinks Azriel might have. Might still, somewhere inside of him.

“If you’ve returned to cause more wreckage, I suggest you leave promptly,” Eris says from the doorway to his washing chambers. “I will not participate.”

The Shadowsinger stands, and Eris straightens a little at the action. “I…” he begins, tongue wetting his lips. Hesitating. Wariness deepens in the heirling’s chest, caution raising as he regards the Spymaster, who seems to be struggling with an inner conflict. “The night is clear,” he says at last, causing Eris to raise an unimpressed brow. “There’s no cloud cover,” the Shadowsinger supplies, as if he’s making sense.

“If I wished to know the weather forecast I could have simply shifted my gaze to the skies,” Eris drawls, forcing a laziness into his tone he does not feel. Azriel swallows, but does not appear to be put off, rather his hands shift at his back, eventually sitting in their usual placement at his sides. “Spit it out,” Eris drawls, marking the wariness in the Shadowsinger’s body. “If you don’t hurry, you won’t be able to make it back to your beloved Starfall.”

Something unkind flickers through the male’s hazel eyes, before it is quelled, coming to a simmer instead of a rolling boil, then calming further to simple heat. His jaw works, gaze flitting through the room without his attention shifting. Eyes lock again, and Eris feels the urge to lean for the sincerity he had earlier scorned. “We can watch from here,” Azriel says at last, tone neutral, though Eris has to wonder if that’s simply how it’s natural for him to speak, rather than actually being so guarded. “The night is clear. We will be able to still see a few.” He’d glanced at the balcony before—leading out into the darkness where the stars would be visible.

Eris raises a brow, not quite kind enough to allow the Spymaster to escape unscathed. “Is that what you came back for?” Eris muses with surprising ice. “Staying here to keep from lying to your family about where you sometimes sneak off to? I suppose it’s easier to commit shameful acts in the dark. You would know.”

“You have no interest in it?” The Shadowsinger asks, a touch quieter than before.

“Watching a few stars fall from the sky?” Eris mocks, arms folding across his chest as he leans into the doorframe, appearing at ease and unruffled though he is intent of pushing the Shadowsinger further—gauging the depth of his sincerity. “I would rather sleep. Besides, you’re supposed to spend Starfall with loved ones—family, if I remember correctly,” Eris drawls with a rueful curve to his sharpened mouth, ever so slightly self-deprecating. “It would seem like an offence then, for me to intrude.”

Azriel’s jaw works, something almost like regret fleeting behind the thick mists that the bond leads into.

“You can spend Starfall with whoever you like,” he counters quietly. “Or would you rather I leave, so you can be rid of me?”

Eris’ lips thin, pressing together in a pursed line, hearing the point. Again, he’s unsure if the Shadowsinger is aware of how much he’s revealing of himself by the simple lack of accusation.

“I suppose it would be too punishing to refuse you now,” Eris drawls, voice hard as he allows his sharp amber eyes to slice through the male before him. “After you’ve so generously made the long journey back. We’ll see what measly stars we can spot.” He pushes off from the frame, heading for the glass door that lead to the balcony, making to brush past the male, but a scar-roughened hand settles around his wrist, pausing his motion. The touch is light—hesitant. As if cautious of the flame that might spring up. When none does however, his touch presses closer.

“You’re cruel for saying the things you did,” Azriel murmurs, noting how rigid the male’s body goes, how his pulse spikes with what he can only assume is something close to rage, by the look in his eye. “But,” Azriel continues, pushing forward swiftly, not allowing himself time to doubt, to fall back on those habits that will only hasten his self-destruction. “If my words…if they cut like yours did… Then I am sorry.”

Amber eyes blink at him, a small sign of surprise, and Azriel releases his grip, quietly stepping back, waiting for whatever punishment is dolled out in consequence. But Eris only nods, a sharp dip of his head before also stepping away.

A few beats of silence pass between them, before Eris breaks it, turning swiftly for the balcony.

The moonlight is bathing the stone ground in silver, and Azriel joins the heirling’s side, looking quietly to the sky, in search of a falling star.

“You crossed a line with my family,” Eris speaks into the night, not facing the Shadowsinger. Although the words are damning—a sure proclamation that he’s already gone too far, that he’s inevitably ruined the one thing he has spent countless nights considering—he can’t help feeling there might be something to salvage, if he is being told his own wrongs. That there might be a chance to put things right, or at least begin to amend them. “You had no right to make a comment like that, to throw what you have in my face.” His heart sinks a little, but he does not retreat from the balcony.

“Still,” Eris murmurs, voice without tremor, “I hope you will remember that my flames did not burn you, though they may have appeared to want to.”

Azriel does indeed remember, though he had not realised it in the moment—that they had meant no harm to him. Simply a pure expression of rage on Eris’ side, yet not so overpowering that it would be harnessed to inflict more scars.

Unable to voice the emotion in his chest, Azriel nods, glancing at the heirling from the corner of his eye.

Amber eyes instinctively shift, sensing the gaze effortlessly. “You’ll miss them,” Eris reminds blandly, unaware of the conflict warring inside the Spymaster. “I’ve seen them many times before,” Azriel responds, hoping Eris will be able to figure out the rest.

“I’ll be unable to concentrate with you staring at me like that,” the heirling replies, glancing over the Shadowsinger. “At least try to be subtle about your thoughts. I don’t want to hear your internal debate over how you think you feel about me.”

Azriel’s upper lip curls slightly, before he’s forcefully pushing against the rising urge to spit something back. “I know how I feel about you,” the Shadowsinger replies neutrally, turning to look at the skies.

“Intriguing,” Eris muses, “I had no idea you were such a confident liar.” The Spymaster’s brow narrows, but there’s no anger he has to quell, no resentment tucked between them.

“You’re insufferable,” he mutters, shadows pooling on the floor, having not noticed the way they’d been slowly weaving outward, hiding their feet from view.

“Because I’m everything you despise?” Eris asks lightly, seemingly uncaring for the darkness that is carefully winding its way higher, flicking at the fine fabric covering his long legs.

“And more,” Azriel murmurs, quiet enough a breeze could have stolen the words, uttered without a note of inflection.

#azriel x eris #azris #azriel x eris angst #starfallweek2024 #azris angst #azris fanfiction

[velarisbynight]

Speckled in Stardust

Mor x Elain

Prompt 1 for @starfallweek : Rumour has it, stardust increases attraction, and Character A could really use some help right now…

a/n: a little sapphic affection never hurt anyone 🩷🩷

Word Count: 2k~

~~~~~~~~

Mor eyes the shimmering red coat atop her nails, considering the merits of sliding her teeth beneath their ridge and biting, a habit she hasn’t encouraged since she was a teenager. But nerves seem to be rising in her stomach, regardless of how many times she’s rehearsed and practiced, writing out her points, strategising the different outcomes down to plotting out every exit in the establishment.

From her selected vantage point on the balcony, raised into the night sky, she can spot the sleek figure as she floats, ethereal, between the bobbing bodies, making her way to the door far below. Mor swallows thickly, stomach hollowing out, ears popping as a slight ring sounds from somewhere inside her mind. She glances away, turning on the balcony, taking a deep sip from her glass flute, breathing slowly to settle the increased thrum of her pulse.

She doesn’t have to do this, Mor reminds herself, the strain on her shoulders, the tension in her throat, she’s willingly subjecting herself to. If not tonight, Starfall, then when? When will she grow out of keeping her feelings quiet, when they desire nothing more than to bloom from her chest, blossoming in full, to be looked upon by the one person her heart stumbles around. She’s lived a long life; she doesn’t want it to end with secrets still stored away. Affection left untouched and secluded from feminine hands.

It won’t be the end of the world, Mor reminds herself. She’s had her own heartbreaks and lived to remember their tales, she can face this one female.

Mor pries her tongue from the roof of her mouth, swallowing again, finishing off her drink, settling it on the small, copper-wrought table, a lovely green blue after the metal’s been touched by air, changed and coloured.

Elain is just one female, she thinks over and over. Mor has faced armies, has survived two wars, she can face one female. But in battle she has armour, when fighting she has weapons, armed to the teeth with razor sharp steel and centuries of training. She is a warrior at heart, and it is not in her nature to easily discard her shields. It would be a battle of itself to face Elain as she is, honest and as true as she can manage.

Is she even still capable of doing so?

But her seconds have slipped by, and the familiar scent of lavender is brought along a night-kisses breeze, one that has the golden threads of her hair shifting, a few stray wisps floating up to brush her cheeks as she turns, spotting the elegant figure stepping over the narrow threshold.

Despite extensive training, breathing seems secondary as Mor takes her in.

Elain’s hair is half up, half down, and slightly curled, loose ringlets of burnished gold springing gently over slim shoulders. Her eyelids are dusted with an iridescent pink, dusky and faint enough to not overshadow the natural beauty of her lashes, the smooth curve of her cheeks as they lead to the slight roundness of her full mouth, ever so slightly glossy-looking beneath the silver moonlight. An apricot flush colours the softness of her cheeks, cocoa eyes latching to amber from across the balcony, welcoming and warm.

Mor’s eyes dip to the dress Elain’s wrapped herself in: a diaphanous outer layer of pale pink, the fabric so thin it appears more as a ghostly cover between the outer air and the shimmering dress beneath. It’s comfortable looking, gently hanging from her shoulders, curving around the fullness of her chest, then subtly cinching in a little below without hugging her waist, content to let the dress be the interest rather than her own shape. With sharpened eyesight, Mor can pick out the floral swirls stitched into the skirting of the dress, embroidered in a golden thread that twinkles as Elain moves forward, the fabric swishing lightly over the exposed bridge of her foot, the shoes she’s chosen round and delicate.

Mor wishes she had something more than memory to savour the sight with—nothing will compare to being before her in this moment, witnessing her smooth approach as she sweeps across the balcony.

Elain’s lips curve into a warm smile, and Mor swiftly pulls herself back together, back down from the skies, reciprocating the expression, praying she hasn’t somehow managed to wind up with lipstick on her teeth. Despite Mor knowing the one she’s chosen will not rub off, it would be just her luck for something like that to happen.

“It’s a wonderful sight, isn’t it? Seeing everyone together like this again,” Elain says, coming to a pause a little distance from Mor’s side along the balcony railing. “If you mean drunk out of their minds,” Mor counters amused, “I’m fairly sure Cassian’s already drank his body weight in alcohol.”

Elain offers a conspiratorial smile, “nonsense, he passed that point an hour ago.”

Mor can’t help the stretch of her lips, that warm, soft feeling that spreads throughout her chest. Like candle-heated butterflies are brushing their pillowy wings over her skin, sweet and delicate. “Starfall will be starting soon, at least,” Mor muses, “I’m sure he’ll keep his wits about him until the last one falls.”

“And then he’ll fall with it,” Elain laughs quietly, unaware of the amber eyes memorising the shape of her smile, the silver-bell ring of her humour.

Again Mor’s heart flutters, but she can’t find the will to draw her attention away, even as she knows the longer she looks, the more likely Elain is to sense her affection, no matter how Mor might struggle to conceal it. But, tonight, Mor reminds herself, she’s not trying to hide it away. She’s made the decision to allow openness, and this is the first step toward that freedom. Doubtless the first of many, but she won’t concern herself with those for the moment. Tonight she will live as herself, allowing the night air to at last kiss bare skin.

So she doesn’t look away.

Even as cocoa lifts to her own amber, the smile fading into something tender, and Mor finds herself swallowing. “It’s starting,” Mor breathes, sounding hoarse even to her own ears. Elain’s eyes sparkle, swirling like a recently stirred cup of tea, fresh milk poured into its depth to splash and swirl with streaks of colour.

Sure enough, the first star winks into existence, pale and shimming as it grows brighter in the inky sky, speckled with light further away like tiny motes of illuminated dust. A faint greenish gold shimmers in its wake as it falls across the sky, cresting the night with celestial glory. A second follows minutes after, their frequency increasing until the inky darkness of the heavens are alight with the pure glow as stars fall, dripping like tears, twinkling within the night.

“I can’t believe it’s already been a year since last Starfall,” Elain breathes, utterly enchanted by the wondrous display. “I could swear it was hardly a week ago.”

“How the time flies,” Mor murmurs in agreement, eyes settling to the female at her side, heart swelling as she picks out the star’s reflection in Elain’s eyes, the sparks of rapture shooting across the slightly wet surface. Tears, Mor realises. Recognition more devastating as Elain blinks the dampness away, content to live and remember in the moment.

Stardust speckles through the sky, floating down gradually, sprinkling the city in starlight, and Mor prays the tales are true—that if there is even a spec of affection within the female before her that might be reciprocated, it will be brought to her shining surface. Amplified enough to mean something.

“Elain,” Mor says hoarsely, “there’s something I must—”

A star falls from the sky, dropping lower than the rest, dusting the shimmering red of her dress as it splatters on Mor’s hip before stubbornly continuing on its trajectory, whizzing past into the sky, returning to find the others it had come with, rejoining the glittering shower.

Another star dips low though, catching Elain on the shoulder, stardust speckled over the diaphanous fabric, some of the dust smattering the elegant length of her neck, shimmering on her cheek.

Cocoa blinks at her, then rosey lips are parting in a divine laugh, the apricot flush of Elain’s cheeks deepening as she clutches her stomach, leaning over slightly, free hand trying to grip the railing as the laughter pours from her lips like honey, and Mor finds herself reflecting the feeling. Laughter bubbles up from her chest, a little panicked at first before settling back into comfortability, choosing to savour the moment, even if it is at her own expense.

The ringing sound eventually fades, leaving sore lips and flushed cheeks, Elain managing to straighten again, brushing down the skirt of her dress, choosing to leave the sparkle now adorning her slim shoulder. Meeting Mor’s gaze, she smiles one of her smiles, sweet and happy, and Mor’s heart melts a little further into Elain’s smooth palms. “What were you going to say?” Elain questions, closer than before.

Mor falters for a moment, before pulling herself together. “Would you like to dance?” She blurts out, slightly breathless, and Elain blinks in surprise, evidently not having expected it. “There’s no music,” Elain laughs, but steps forward regardless.

Stardust, don’t fail me.

Evening out her breathing, Mor settles her arms around Elain’s waist, the female’s own wrapping over Mor’s shoulders, acutely aware of their proximity. “I’m afraid I’m still unfamiliar with most fae dances,” Elain admits bashfully, head dipping a little, but not averting her gaze. “That’s fine,” Mor answers quietly—there’s no need for raised voices with their closeness. “We can just…” They begin swaying gently, to and fro in slow, lulling movements, small rippling waves rolling in then washing back out.

The moon’s pale light shimmers across the pigment topping Elain’s eyelids, catching on the inviting gloss of her lips, practically twinkling. Mor dares lay her fingers closer to the loose fabric, able to feel soft and supple skin beneath, heat sinking into Mor’s fingertips as they settle together, growing more comfortable, pressing as close as either dares. Seconds tick into minutes, then minutes into longer sections of finely spun time, and Mor takes in a quiet breath as she realises they’re closer than when they started.

Elain’s eyes have fluttered shut, cheek resting on Mor’s shoulder, allowing her to feel the increased pulse that flutters beneath her smooth skin despite her content appearance. Mor’s own beat spikes, how they’re embracing, swaying together gently, allowing the slight breeze to influence their motions.

Music floats up from the street, musicians having brought their instruments outside to play beneath the falling stars, and the two come to a slow—not entirely pausing, but their motions are paced, slightly subdued. Elain pulls away enough to peer at Mor, practically close enough for their lashes to brush, and Mor could swear she feels the air flutter over her cheek each time Elain blinks.

“Are you going to kiss me?” She whispers, refusing to break the gaze, arms remaining wrapped over Mor’s shoulders. Mor blinks, freezing up a little at the boldness, throat rolling heavily, running her tongue swiftly over tinted lips. “Would you like me to?” She breathes, somehow keeping her voice steady.

Elain smiles faintly—more in her eyes than her mouth. “I don’t think friends look at each other like we do,” she murmurs, expression soft and open. Mor’s pulse spikes, a slight tremor running through her fingers as they tighten in Elain’s dress.

Slowly, giving her time to pull away, Mor raises her hand to cup the nape of Elain’s neck, brushing against silky soft ringlets, fingers grazing their loops. Lashes flutter shut as Elain tilts her head, raising herself in quiet invitation. Permission.

Mor doesn’t dare breathe as she pushes her mouth carefully to Elain’s, soft and pillowy lips warm against her own, soaking in the heat and fragrance that makes Mor’s heart soar. She hadn’t dared even dream what a kiss would be like, chaste and fleeting, but altering her foundations as they pull away.

Both Mor’s hands now cradle Elain’s face, Elain’s own hands lightly gripping the shimmering red fabric of Mor’s dress, pupils dilated, cheeks deeply coloured.

“Was that okay?” Mor whispers, pushing back the tremble that’s creeping into her fingertips.

Cocoa eyes twinkle with starlight, and Mor’s heart tightens.

“It was wonderful,” Elain whispers back, smiling.

“Will you do it again?”

#mor x elain #starfallweek2024 #starfallweek #acotar #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses