The Ghost Of The Grave

#109

How much love, and desire, and passion, and longing, and lust can one gaze hold? Brimming to the edge with feelings unsaid, a plethora of emotions swirling in those deep pools that are the windows to the soul. Emotions that the voice has yet to convey, or has decided against for whatever reason of its own. Perhaps they have decided that they are better off buried in the crypts of the mind, never to see the light again; its fate is only to be condemned in the deepest hollows of my rotting, decaying brain. Gathering cobwebs and dust of memories long-forgotten. 

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Drunken Ecstasy

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

A/N: I debated for a long time how I would write this scene, and this is what I finally decided upon! Also, the lyrics I use in this chapter are 100% intentional, I love my girl Sabrina so much but I don't know if the buildup is too much. Includes teasing, lingerie wearing, Az getting flustered but no actual sex

Summary: Azriel is away on a mission and Gwyn can’t stand to be away from after being mated so soon. He doesn’t have a choice as Spymaster of the Night Court and he’s put off his duties for long enough so he has to leave. Desperate, she sends him…spicy pictures through his shadows (we don’t have phones in Prythian y’all I had to improvise okay?)

Word Count: 2879

Gwyn sighed, flopping back onto the mattress as her hair the colour of firelight pooled around her in a halo. Flicking a strand off her face with irritation, she sighed again. It was so boring without him here, without someone to talk to or joke around with like she was used to doing. 

One of his shadows flicked around her head, clearly annoyed as well. It had been getting increasingly restless, refusing to stay still or hidden whenever she had to step outside. Azriel had insisted on keeping one of his shadows on her at all times, just in case she needed to contact him. Gwyn had figured it was just him being overprotective and overbearing but had shrugged it off. 

Now, it seemed to be on edge and in desperate need of some coaxing, maybe someone to talk to, but it was clear that the shadow was missing its master just as much as his mate.

Even before they were mated, Azriel had never been gone for more than a week, sometimes even returning sooner than he said he’d be gone. A mission lasting over two months, especially so soon after mating, had set Gwyn on edge for the past few days. No matter what she did or what she tried to immerse herself in, her thoughts always seemed to stray back to Azriel.

His hazel eyes, full of love and adoration and a hundred other emotions she couldn’t name, reserved just for her, for those long nights when sleep found neither of them. Instead, they basked in their companionship and love for each other, staying up until the break of dawn. Watching quiet sunrises dye the sky in shades of crimson and violet as they transformed into blush pink, watching the city awaken as its denizens bustled around to start the day. She was grateful for all of it; for every moment that she got to spend with Azriel.

Any spare moment with her mate was treasured, and it was her lifeline. Indeed, she didn’t know who she’d be without him. Some lost, desperate priestess who had nothing and no one to call her own, no calling or purpose in life. Yes, that was what her life had looked like before she’d met Azriel; monotonous and filled with routine.

It had brought her comfort in the aftermath of the attack, to have a steadfast rhythm as steady as her heart that she could follow, an unwavering, pulsing thrum that kept her going no matter what happened outside the red walls of the House of Wind.

Lately, though, she’d been craving an impulsivity in her routine, a break from the mundane. Occasional surprise breakfasts or lunches with her mate, outings with Nesta and Emerie, along with frequent meetings that involved Merrill and Clotho to oversee the development of the Library had become progressively more common. Gwyn couldn’t exactly say she was distraught about it.

She had a life now, one that didn’t solely involve serving the Mother and cloistering herself away in case anyone got too close to see the ruin in her heart. Of course, that didn’t mean that she was any less devoted to the Mother, but rather that she had found joy in other activities. Socialising, helping to develop the Library and goodness knows what else she and her mate got up to had helped restore some semblance of balance into her life. 

Currently, however, her mate was away on the Continent. She didn’t know where; hadn’t wanted to. I’ll only worry for you even more if you tell me exactly what your mission entails, she’d said, brushing a hand over his heart as he prepared to depart for the journey, strapping a last dagger to his thigh. If I know, I’ll have to stop myself sprouting a pair of wings and flying out right after you.

He’d only smiled, a slight crook of his mouth that he knew drove her mad, and had kissed her lightly before leaping off the balcony and into the midday sun.

Gwyn was missing him terribly, and she couldn’t stop the tugging of the bond as she tried to pull him closer. Come home, she wanted to say. She missed every part of him: his chiselled face, sharp jawline, and that glorious body of his.

Her thoughts about him had never been particularly holy, despite her being a Priestess, but lately they’d been getting downright depraved as she fought the lust pooling low in her gut at the mere thought of him.

A vision made its way into her mind: his abs flexing, face screwed up in bliss as she rode him- 

Shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear her mind, she rubbed a hand over her face. This was getting out of hand. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Dunking her head in a bowl of ice water, she spluttered as she came up for air. Desperate times call for desperate measures, she thought to herself glumly. The shadow, whom she had affectionately nicknamed Umbra, flitted around, occasionally perching on the shelf above her head.

On a positive note, the desire had abated with the bowl of ice (if only slightly) but there was still that stirring deep in her stomach. Gwyn dried her dripping face off with a towel sitting on the marble counter in front of her, courtesy of the House. “Thanks,” she murmured to it and deposited it where it had appeared. It vanished in an instant, and Gwyn was left once more to the heavy emptiness of the House that had begun to grate on her.

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel sat in his room after a long day of meetings and discussions about trade routes and political partnerships with the Dukes of Vallahan. Night had fallen over Alryne, the capital of the behemoth kingdom that was Vallahan. Indeed, it spanned a decent chunk of the continent, and its territory was vast, hosting both lesser and High Fae alike.

Rhys had sent him to the Continent as an attempt to establish a steady relationship with the monarchs. Such an alliance was unheard of, an inter-continental one that could ease the strained relationships that had festered after the Second War.

The Night Court had wanted to be the first to attempt reconciliation in the hopes that it would benefit all of them. No more masks, the High Lord had declared with finality. 

He should have said ‘no more meetings’, damnnit, Azriel grumbled to himself. While ‘court business’, as Gwyn liked to call it, didn’t exactly intrigue him, he’d always been decent at it, his patience being a virtue that had helped him more times than he could count. His observation skills didn’t hurt either; he picked apart opponents at a table nearly as quickly as he did on the battlefield.

Right now though? He was irritated, tired, and missed his mate. He just wanted a good night’s sleep.

Just as he’d changed into a pair of shorts that he tended to sleep in, he felt a thrum through the bond, and his heart flooded with warmth and another feeling that had him sighing and closing his eyes under the covers. Love, he’d realised. That was what that feeling was called. Love, so deep and bottomless he didn’t think it would be possible to stop feeling it for as long as he lived. 

So Azriel tugged right back and tried to pour every single thing he was grateful for into the bond, hoping that whatever Gwyn was doing, it would brighten up her day.

✦ ✦ ✦

Gwyn spent the rest of the day trying to do everything but think of her mate. Unfortunately for her, nothing had helped. Reading had only made her sleepy, and training wasn’t an option: Nesta and Emerie had bickered over the stupidest thing. “The unicorn likes me best!” They’d both sung in unison, and promptly decided to tackle each other to the floor at one of their sleepovers, each pummeling the other with pillows like there was no tomorrow. 

They’d both been convinced that the magical unicorn the House had summoned for them seemed to have a preference for either of the Valkyries.

Gwyn, out of desperation, had nearly begged the House to summon them another unicorn just so they could be over with the entire ordeal. The House, damn it, had refused. And so their silly little argument had continued until they’d passed out on the living room floor from sheer exhaustion and a giggling bout that didn’t seem to abate, made even worse by how many glasses of wine they’d consumed under the guise of ‘book night’.

Everyone knew what they did under the pretense of staying up late and ‘reading’, but Gwyn wasn’t about to judge when her mate and his adoptive brothers sat naked in a sauna after an annual snowball fight. We won’t judge you if you won’t judge us, Nesta had demanded once she found out about their yearly Solstice plans.

A smile quirked up on Gwyn’s lips as she reminisced over her first days with her family. The Inner Circle, they liked to call themselves. It was a fitting name, she supposed, seeing as they were the top executive branch of the Night Court. 

She still couldn’t believe she was part of their family; their world.

The mating ceremony had felt ethereal and stunning and a hundred other emotions she couldn’t describe, only that she’d been incandescently happy and crying tears of joy. It hadn’t felt real until she’d moved in and until they’d started living their lives together as a real couple.

And just like that, her traitorous mind strayed back to her mate. The flowers he’d adorned her with on the day of the ceremony, courtesy of traditional Dawn mating ceremonies, the delectable and unique sweets he’d bring from every trip he went on…she sighed. 

Gwyn had half a mind to talk to Rhysand right now; ask him to call back his Spymaster. But she also knew how incredibly selfish that would be of her.

It wasn’t fair to Azriel, nor was it fair to her to pull her mate away when he was working. “I serve this Court, Valkyrie,” he’d whispered to her, cupping a hand under her cheek as they lay tangled in bed together. “It’s my job. It’s what I’ve been born to do. I can’t live without this Court, and this Court can’t live without me.”

Gwyn had relented, though only because she knew she couldn’t deny her mate anything. He’d ask her to lay the world at his feet and she would. One word from him, and she’d do whatever it was he wanted her to.

✦ ✦ ✦

Gwyn lay in bed, utterly fed up with her mate. Velaris had come alive now that dusk had shrouded the city in colours straight from a painting, allowing thoughts of her mate to occupy her mind once more.

“He’s been gone too long,” she said to the shadow perched on the headboard like an eager pet. “He deserves a little punishment, don’t you think?” she asked with a sideways glance to Umbra. It merely wrapped around her wrist once, their signal for yes. “I have just the thing in mind. We’ll see if this coaxes the dear Spymaster from the depths of the continent.” 

A moment later, she’d sent Umbra off into the night to find its master.

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel’s first reaction upon seeing his beloved shadow come flying in was panic. He fought to keep his face neutral as utter panic, and a healthy dose of fear enveloped him. Was everything okay? Was Gwyn-

But Umbra tugged insistently at his sleeve after having woven its way through the throngs of people around him, and Azriel was forced to reconsider. It had never acted like this, like it was…eager, almost, for him to see or hear whatever message it had for him. Not eager due to urgency, but because of amusement and mischief.

Must see, it whispered gleefully. Can’t miss it. “Alright, fine,” Azriel grumbled to it under his breath. “But this had better be worth it. If this is another one of those pranks-”

Have to see, it insisted again, cutting him off. 

“Azriel?” Duke Ferdinand asked upon seeing his worried expression. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” he answered. “There’s a matter I must attend to, but rest assured that I’ll be back as soon as I’ve taken care of it.”

“Are you sure?” His brow pulled in tightly at Azriel’s sudden need to depart. “We can always-”

“Your Grace, I would hate for your night to be ruined because of something like this. Don’t stop on my account, please,” Azriel insisted.

Still skeptical but reassured nonetheless, conversation began flowing freely between the others again, though it was stilted and slightly more wary. A few glances were shot in the Shadowsinger’s direction, but Azriel paid them no heed as he dodged groups of Fae gathered in the cavernous hall, each resplendent and glowing in gowns befitting royalty.

As soon as he made it out into the quiet passageway, he let Umbra free. He’d reined the shadow in after it had delivered the message, but Azriel couldn’t afford for people to see his shadows out in public like that. They were one of his most guarded abilities, and though it was no secret he was Prythian’s Shadowsinger, he didn’t exactly like to flaunt the fact around. 

He followed it away from the raucous music and glimmering festivities that were going on at the other end of the Palace. He’d guessed that this gala would be vital for information gathering, all the Dukes of Vallahan present for a meeting regarding trade routes and other courtly matters.

It had proved useful, not only for Azriel to make new acquaintances across the world, but also for the Night Court to have eyes and ears everywhere they could. This was something he’d needed to do on his own. Politics and diplomacy required showing your hand just as much as it required being able to take a look at others’. 

Besides, he always had his shadows to help him if something truly did go wrong. Not that it would, seeing as Azriel had centuries of experience of brokering deals with courtiers from other lands. It was yet another skill in his arsenal, as was patience. Right now though, as Umbra led him further and further away from the festivities into a quiet alcove, the skill he considered a virtue and one of his strongest points was wearing thin. 

“What is it?” Azriel hissed. “Just tell me.” In response, Umbra only turned and flitted over Azriel’s ankle, making its way up to his face, flicking his eyes shut. The signal was clear enough. Stand still, and close your eyes.

Azriel did neither. Instead, a frown built up on his forehead, but before he could say anything, his eyes were enveloped in darkness, forcing him to halt. 

He’d expected a heartfelt message from his mate, a small note, or maybe her voice drifting through the shadows. They could carry sound just as well as images, he knew.

All thoughts eddied from his mind as he saw Gwyn in a dark, candlelit room, legs spread as she kneeled on a rose-petal covered bed wearing a set of such scandalous lingerie it had him hardening in his custom-tailored trousers. 

Images of thigh-high garter belts crafted of indigo lace and a bra that left little to the imagination filled his mind, and Gwyn’s half-open mouth and eyes blown wide with lust were a clear invitation. Gods, she was going to be the death of him. 

The set was the exact colour of his siphons, he realised with a start. Damn him if it didn’t turn him on even more. It contrasted wonderfully with her copper hair, luscious and rolling down her back in waves of fire. Oh, how he’d like to wrap a fist around that hair and tug as he drove into her. 

“Where art thou? Why not uponeth me?”

The lyrics of one of Gwyn’s favourite music artists echoed faintly over her portable Symphonia set on the side table. Knowing her, she’d likely planned it all to coincide with her little message.

“Like what you see, Shadowsinger?” came Gwyn’s sultry voice, just a shade deeper than usual as she trailed a hand down her collarbone over her breast, not subtle in the slightest. “I know you do. So you’ll just have to come and get it.”

The little minx was going to pay for this when he got back. 

Umbra darted away, ripping Azriel away from his fantasy. His breaths came out heavy, as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs. He so desperately wanted to finish right here in this alcove like a horny teenager, but he couldn’t. There was no way he’d be able to go back without everyone scenting his own arousal on him like a fucking animal.

He barely managed to compose himself upon returning to the ballroom after his little…detour. “A minor crisis,” he’d answered with finality, refusing to elaborate to anyone why he’d really left the room.

All Azriel could think about that night was his mate, and how simply couldn’t wait to go back home.

Part 6

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#134 - Contrapuntal Poem #3

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A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 8 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 1833

“This is middle C,” said Adira, placing a neatly manicured thumb on the key. “It’s called that because it’s in the middle of the instrument.  Your right hand’s thumb goes here.” 

She had explained to him earlier this morning that the instrument he’d been losing his mind over was called a piano, and was quite popular on the continent.

“Now you try.” Gingerly, he lifted a finger and put it down on the piano, his movements far less elegant; his posture a mess. 

You’re not going to be amazing at this right now, she’d said. It’s your first time. You shouldn’t expect yourself to be a professional at something you’ve only started twenty minutes ago.

He’d nodded along, still not quite convinced. Back at Windhaven, it was either you were good at something immediately and got rewarded for it, or you were left in the dirt while everyone else around you slaughtered their way to the top.

He’d told her that much, and she’d hummed in response, her lips pursing slightly in distaste.

Shaking his thoughts off, he tried again, the sound clearer this time. “Better,” she said. “But you want to curve your finger more. That’s what will help you move your hand across the piano more smoothly, and make sure that you don’t hurt your fingers while you play.”

Pointing to the key on his right, she said, “Now try placing your index finger on the key beside it. That one’s called D.”

“So all the notes are named after the letters of the alphabet?” That seemed like an odd way to go about things, seeing as there were many more keys than twenty-six. 

“Yes. But they repeat themselves after they get to G, so we don’t run out of names for the keys. That’s something called an octave, but we’ll get to that later.”

“Would the next key be called E?” he couldn’t help but ask. Adira broke into a grin. “You’re a quick study.” He shrugged, and she continued, “Don’t worry about the other keys just yet, we’ll get to them later. For now, I want you to be comfortable playing these three white keys: C, D, and E. We’ll work through the rest when we get to it.”

✦ ✦ ✦

He missed his brothers, he realized as he sat down at his desk. It had been nice, he supposed, being able to spend some time alone without them, but he was starting to feel quite lonely without their boisterous nature. Cassian’s laughter, Rhys’ comments, and the moments they spent together in the evenings or after training made him long for them more than ever.

About half an hour later, he’d managed to write them a letter.

Hi Rhys (and Cassian, obviously),

It’s dreadfully boring here without you. I am learning loads though. The female who came to Windhaven said her name was Adira, and I’ve been training with her recently, working on ways to strengthen my muscles. It’s really different from what we do back at Windhaven. Oh, and you wouldn’t believe how large her house is. It’s practically a mansion, I don’t know how she finds her way around without a map. It’s got so many floors and fancy furniture, it’s absolutely ridiculous. She could probably pay for all of our expenses for a year and not make a single dent in her finances. She’s really kind though, she’s helped me a bunch.

Never mind me, how are you? How’s training? I hope Dove isn’t giving you a hard time. Have you started learning anything new? I’m going to suppose no, since all we’ve been doing since I arrived is hand-to-hand and the occasional spar.

I love you both. I really hope you haven’t pissed too many people off.

~ Your brother, Azriel

 And Rhys, say hello to your mother for me. Gods, I miss her cooking.

Every single letter that entered or left Windhaven was moderated and checked thoroughly, which was why they’d had to decide on code names to talk about people. Dove was their code name for Devlon. It was ironic on purpose: Devlon was anything but peaceful and full of harmony, the very things a dove represented. He would hate it if he found out what they’d been calling him; another reason they’d picked that particular name for him. They laughed every time they used it. It was defiance, he supposed. They couldn’t directly call Devlon out on his bullshit, but small things like this? This they could do without consequences.

Getting up and stretching like a cat, he folded the paper in half and decided he’d give it to Adira the next time he saw her. Surely if she was as powerful as she claimed then she could get a letter to Windhaven?

✦ ✦ ✦

He found Adira propped up on a couch on the top floor, a pile of documents beside her and a frown on her face as her eyes scanned the paper in her hands. A whole heap of what he took to be reports were scattered around the room, too.

Noting his presence, she looked up, and her frown gave way to a tight-lipped smile. “Hi.” She gestured for him to take a seat, then realized her mistake. “Actually, I don’t know how you’d sit down with the amount of papers I have practically littered all over this couch.” With a snap of her fingers, half the papers vanished, presumably into her office. “Those seemed important,” Azriel said neutrally. Actually, he had no clue as to what she’d been reading. “I’ll worry about them later,” came her reply as she waved a hand and set down the papers she’d been holding on the side table. “How can I help?”

Fishing the note out from his pocket, he gave it to her. “Could you send it to Windhaven? It’s a letter,” he added hastily as she didn’t comment. “Of course. To Rhysand and Cassian, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to let them know I’m alright, and that I’m training here with you.” She smiled, albeit a bit sadly. “You’re entitled to your own thoughts and correspondences, you know. No on’es going to be checking them. Honestly, it’s really none of my business.”

He didn’t know how much he’d needed to hear those words until she’d said them. He’d grown up with the need to overexplain himself constantly, first in his father’s keep where he wasn’t believed no matter what he said, then at Windhaven with Devlon.

Adira must have scented his shift in emotions, because she steered the topic to less depressing subject. “What else did you need me for? I’m sure you didn’t climb a good four flights of stairs just to give me a letter.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I…it’s something I’ve been wondering, actually.” Adira hummed, encouraging him to continue. “What, exactly, do you do when you don’t train me?”

“I take care of a lot of things,” she responded coolly, and Azriel knew he wouldn’t have gotten a straight answer out of her no matter what question he asked.

She continued this time, not leaving him on a cliffhanger. “I usually take care of the more serious or high-profile cases, patients that require special care or certain equipment that only we have.” 

“Who have you healed?”

She waved a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, thousands of people over the centuries. But I did help the High Lord of Autumn, and the Emperor of the East. I’ve healed Generals, Commanders, Valkyries, goodness, who haven’t I healed?” His eyes widened at that. High-profile indeed. He’d expected some lousy count or duke that she’d helped heal, but Adira was far more modest than she gave herself credit for, he decided. He wanted to tell her how talented she was and how much he admired her, but his speech, ever-eloquent, failed him. “Woah,” was all that came out, his mouth agape.

She gave him a couple of seconds, and when he didn’t exactly recover, she said, “I’m heading down for dinner. Would you like to join me?”

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “I…sure.” It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Besides, he was probably expected to dine with her more often now that she was training him. The thought of putting on an appearance and fake smiles every meal from here on after made his stomach plummet, and he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“It’ll just be us,” she said. “As this is my private residence, no one is allowed in here unless I give them outright permission. Not even the students you saw this morning,” she added as Azriel made to open his mouth.

Feeling slightly more relieved, he followed her down the winding steps until he got to the dining room. 

Glass chandeliers with burning braziers filled the room with an warm, flickering glow. The walls framed stunning paintings of landscapes, and the furniture was so ornately carved Azriel couldn’t help but wondering which artisans worked in that wondrous city of hers to have crafted something so regal. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have a ceiling,” he asked as he inspected the fractals of light dancing over the walls.

“This dining room is slightly more…formal,” she said. “Recieving guests in an area that might well be a spa doesn’t bode well for negotiations, I’m afraid.” He supposed she was alluding to the room he’d first seen when he’d arrived. Indeed, it seemed far less daunting than the room he was currently in.

“Sit, sit,” she said breezily as he stood, slightly awkwardly too, he realized, as food appeared on the table. 

Dinner went fairly well, he supposed. He dined with Adira on what could only be considered a whole plethora of foods. Honeyed sweets and nuts, warm, spiced rice with the richest meats, and drinks that left bubbles in his mouth left him reeling. It so was unlike the food from Prythian, and yet he loved it as soon as he tasted it.

“How come I didn’t try this food before?” he asked as he chewed on a particularly sweet candied nut, his stomach sated and full. Adira finished chewing before she replied, wiping her mouth gently on the napkin beside her.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable with your own food. You’d already gone through so many changes in such a short amount of time that I didn’t think you’d want even that to change.” Azriel nodded, considering. Yes, he supposed, she was right. 

As Adira made to rise, he rose with her. “Thank you for dinner,” he said, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “No problem at all. Keep practicing on the piano. It’s yours for the time being. No one used it anyway,” she said as Azriel made a noise of protest. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

And so Azriel made his way to his chambers that night, more full and happy than he had felt in a long, long while.

A/N: This is a bit of a filler chapter, sorry if it’s a little boring

Part 9

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

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

Word Count: 905

Azriel spent the next week or so holed up in the chamber that had become his. Adira had never officially said anything about it being his room, and he hadn’t had the guts to ask, but seeing as she hadn’t barged in to throw him out on his ass, he was fairly certain he was allowed to stay here.

The days mostly consisted of him waking up later and later each day, with breakfast right outside his door. He’d always wondered what people on the continent ate, but it didn’t seem to be any different from Prythian’s food: Bacon, eggs, toast, and a cup of tea or coffee seemed to be the norm.

After breakfast, he’d usually mope around his room, either taking a nap or wondering what he was going to do now that he was here. He couldn’t very well go back; not yet at least. Adira had told him about his powers after he’d woken up that day, and he didn’t want to go back to Windhaven without knowing what it was, exactly that he could do with them. If she didn’t manage to teach him anything, he could always travel to the continent when he was older and ask someone else for help. If not, well, he’d survived well enough on his own without them, and would surely continue to do so.

Just as he was beginning to become bored of his own company, and the racing thoughts circling in his head like vultures, waiting to pounce, he decided to send her a letter. After scrounging the room for spare parchment and a quill, he sat down and began to write.

✦ ✦ ✦

The letter shouldn’t have taken him that long to write, seeing as it was only a couple of lines:

Dear Adira,

I’m starting to become frightfully bored of this chamber. Any chance you could teach me more about these powers of mine?

The Illyrian brat you picked up from Windhaven,

Azriel

Folding the piece of parchment in half, he slid it under his door, and awaited her response.

✦ ✦ ✦

One morning, just as Azriel had finished bathing and dressing himself for the day (never mind he didn’t go further than the attached balcony), Adira breezed in, donning robes of opal which glowed with the early morning light.

“Well then, it seems someone is done moping around,” she said by way of greeting. “I got your piece of parchment last night.”

“I wasn’t moping,” he grumbled.

She winked. “Sure you weren’t.” Rolling his eyes, he asked her, “Are you going to teach me more about these powers of mine or have you come to bully me?”

“I never bully you,” she scoffed, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, which somehow seemed to make itself every morning. Some odd magic of this place, he supposed. He’d been too preoccupied with his own thoughts to question it.

“Before we start training your powers, we’re going to need to train your body. Magic takes a very heavy toll you, mentally and physically, and can be absolutely exhausting to recover from if you’re not used to wielding it to such an extent,” she started, crossing one leg over the other.

“I train my body plenty at Windhaven.” Surely sparring, footwork, and other menial chores around the camp had to be enough?

“Yes, but that’s not anywhere close to where I want you to be. Swordplay, sparring, abdominal exercises…they’re useful, and a wonderful start, no doubt about that. But to make sure your body is at its healthiest, we need to train it in different ways. That way, we train and strengthen all the different muscles and body parts. And besides,” she added. “Consider this extra preparation for the Blood Rite.”

“Now, have you ever wrestled before? What about archery? Horseriding?” She asked as Azriel shook his head at each one. “Alright then. We’ll start with the basics, then have a look at other styles and training techniques. Meet me at nine tomorrow morning. You’ll stretch, warm up, and then you can show me what you already know from your time in Windhaven.”

“We haven’t done anything besides practising with wooden swords, footwork exercises, and the occasional spar.”

“I want to see how much you know, so I know where to start. I’m not risking hurting you.” It was a blunt statement, leaving no room for arguments.

Azriel blinked. No one had ever cared for him outright, as she was doing now. Devlon hadn’t given a shit whether he’d lived or not, usually treating him like some sort of feral animal. Rhys’ mother and his brothers cared about him, though none held enough sway to change anything about their living conditions or their training.

Not quite knowing how to respond, he settled instead for a murmured “thank you,” refusing to meet her gaze, lest she find pity in it, and looked at the armoire beside him, suddenly finding it very interesting.

Adira rose, and exited the room with a soft click of the door. He could have sworn she’d paused by the threshold for a split second, almost as if she was going to say something, but had thought better of it.

Now alone, Azriel didn’t know what to do with his half-formed and utterly chaotic thoughts. He sighed, lying down on his bed, and awaited dusk, as well as the impending anxiety that was sure to follow.

Part 6

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#111

I am afraid my love is too much, too strong, all at once. I hold on for too long. What if I suffocate that which I love, adore? What if I crush a heart the way one might crush pomegranate seeds, their red staining the space around them and existing as a haunting, ever-present halo? No matter how many times I wash my hands, I will not get rid of the blood I am guilty of. It drips down my chin as my fangs are coated in the crimson substance. Devastating in its glory; carnal, sinful, and yet so full of tragedy. How have we come to romanticise that which kills us; the poison that will one day be our fatal demise?

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#73

And in the end, it was those eyes I had come to love, and cherish, and adore with all my being. 

Those charmer’s eyes, those eyes that transported me to a universe a thousand leagues away every time I gazed into their unfathomable depths.

I hadn’t realised I was falling until I had already done so, and was chest deep in the throes of love.

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Original Writing Masterpost #2

A collection of my original writing (not inspired by fandoms, fics, and such) is here. It includes poetry and my general ramblings (in progress) here and on AO3. I'm updating as I write, so this masterpost won't ever be 'complete'.

If you find something that is inappropriately tagged or if you find something missing, please DM me and I'll fix it.

Enjoy!

POETRY

| AO3 |

Part 76 | Part 77 | Part 78 | Part 79 | Part 80 | Part 81 | Part 82 | Part 83 | Part 84 | Part 85 | Part 86 | Part 87 | Part 88 | Part 89 | Part 90 | Part 91 | Part 92 | Part 93 | Part 94 | Part 95 | Part 96 | Part 97 | Part 98 | Part 99 | Part 100 |

Part 101 | Part 102 | Part 103 | Part 104 | Part 105 | Part 106 | Part 107 | Part 108 | Part 109 | Part 110 | Part 111 | Part 112 | Part 113 | Part 114 | Part 115 | Part 116 | Part 117 | Part 118 | Part 119 | Part 120 | Part 121 | Part 122 | Part 123 | Part 124 | Part 125 |

Part 126 | Part 127 | Part 128 | Part 129 | Part 130 | Part 131 | Part 132 | Part 133 | Part 134 | Part 135 | Part 136 | Part 137 | Part 138 | Part 139 | Part 140 | Part 141 | Part 142 | Part 143 | Part 144 | Part 145 | Part 146 | Part 147 | Part 148 | Part 149 | Part 150 |

Part 151 | Part 152 | Part 153 | Part 154 |

Original Writing Masterpost #1

Masterpost of masterposts

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Missed Chances and Stolen Glances

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

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

Word Count: 2789

“It’s a taste test

Of what I hate less

Can you die of anxiousness?

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

~ Next Semester, Twenty One Pilots

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

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

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

Azriel: hey

Azriel: what r we doing in spanish

Rhys: why do you think i know?

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

Azriel: welp guess i have to talk to cass

Rhys: lmao good luck

Azriel: fym good luck? 

Azriel: is he in a pissy mood or smth

Azriel: omfg its a girl isnt it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

who you’re talking to/about

what tense you’re in

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh thank god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So it would be hablaste?”

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

“Sure.”

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

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

✦ ✦ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I don’t? This is unfair.”

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

Part 4

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#81

My soul is the one that calls your home,

Racing faster than the winds and swifter than the storm.

It seeks mine out as would a lover,

It arrives quicker than the joy I discover.

As fated, do our souls finally meet,

Tangled as flames as they do greet.

They dance and rejoice and celebrate once more,

To know they are home, and shall be so forevermore.

But tragedy comes to the brightest of homes,

And as it came to ours, I felt it in our bones.

Slowly but surely it did creep in,

Infecting and poisoning all our kin.

Like black mould spreading over the Earth,

I thought it would end us, and ruin the birth

Of the child that was growing inside your womb,

It did eventually become a tomb.

The grievances arrived, one by one,

Until finally I couldn’t take it, and said I was done.

I was done, I said, and couldn’t anymore,

Not with the sadness, or the pain in my core.

I didn’t know what hurt truly was,

Until the desperation of being alive truly does

Hurt the soul and hurt the mind,

I fear I shall lose it, in due time.

And perhaps that time is not far away,

Not at all, when all I wish is to stay.

But this tomb of our life, 

This shell of sorrow,

Shall never compare

To the feeling of morrow.

To desperation and hope,

All at once,

To my heart’s cracking,

As it does.

It will continue to crack, until nothing is left,

Nothing at all, but a husk and a cleft.

A husk so deep, and dark and gray,

I doubt I shall ever see the light of day.

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