“I Can’t Focus In Class Because I’m Too Busy Thinking About All The Things My Big Mouth Could Do.”

#27

I smile, to let everyone know I'm alright, even as my heart shatters and cracks into a thousand pieces. I wait for someone, anyone, to come and save me, only to realize it is futile. I scream, and cry, and wail so terribly I wonder how it is possible for anyone to not have heard my screams of terror and agony as I shred myself apart, or how I drown in my own tears, the room I lock myself in stifling and trapping me rather than becoming my haven.

Then one day I realize that I am alone, and that no one will come. I do not have the luxury of a knight in shining armour, or the love of my life, appearing out of thin air to save me, and vanish me away to a land of peace and tranquility. My heart does not know those words, and they sound foreign, odd, even in my mind.

I am alone, and will die so.

masterlist

#59

Perhaps I love sunsets so much because they too, bleed in a thousand different colours, precisely how my heart does for you.

masterlist

#116

Pour so much love into me that all the cracks in me are filled and I become whole once more. Heal me, fix me. I am tired of living as a shell of a person; I am tired of being a husk. I crave for your love, not because I think I deserve it, but because I pray that your holiness may wash away my sins; those black, dark stains on my soul. Perhaps the light will seep through until that is all I am full of, until it replaces the rotting self I have become acquainted with.

masterlist

A Court of Shadows & Healing

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

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

Word Count: 2610

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✦ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✦ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

Truth-Teller.

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

Part 12

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#88

I am the sun, and you are paper. I am afraid I shall burn you, that I am too much, too soon, all at once. That I will hurt you, that you are not ready, that you will balk, and refuse to see me for who I am. What I am. 

You will run, and flee, and never look back, and I will be left all alone, alone as I started, yet even more so now that you have departed, your radiant soul with it. 

For it is not a matter of if, but rather when. When you will leave me as I stay here, trying to give you the pieces of my broken heart that I hope so desperately you will be able to put back together. I give them to you, even as there are far more than I can carry, too many for me to hold, too sharp, too jagged. They cut my arms, and my blood seeps into my heart. But it does not matter. It has already become so tainted with bloodshed and ash, become charred ruins and a husk, a mockery of what it used to be. I will not be able to tell the difference.

But I wonder if you will. I wonder if you will take me for who I am, without fleeing. But my soul knows the answer. You will not. You will run, and I will stay here, having collapsed from sheer exhaustion and the overwhelming pain of heartbreak as I try to piece my heart together after you have once more torn it to shreds.

You are not the first person I have lost, and I am willing to bet my life on the fact that you shall not be the last. I seem to have an innate talent to lose those closest to me. Those who are most important, most covered, most cherished. I will lose you and then mourn you. Even as you are alive and well I will mourn you. And it hurts so terribly to hurt about something that has not even happened. And yet that is how my heart is. It borrows grief from the future, stealing it, for it is anxiety that keeps my brain going and the thought of you that fuels my already broken heart.

masterlist

#13

The jewels embedded in her crown looked as though they had been drawn from the heavens themselves, drops of cobalt glistening in the moonlight. They, too, were as depthless as her enchanting eyes, and when his eyes roved over her body, he couldn't help but fall hopelessly in love with the witch who had entered the cavern.

masterlist

#112

Why must I be hurting to be able to create? Is my value only in my cracks? Am I only useful when I am broken and still giving? Is that what defines strength and courage? For if it does, I choose to be a coward for all eternity. It is better to preserve the rotten husk of my being than face damned ruination again, when after all I will have nothing to show for it save the scars and pain I will be forced to endure under the false name of nobility.

masterlist

#120

Do not consider yourself so special that you think you will be the first to be struck by immeasurable agony and suffering. All pain is recoverable, and all longing can be healed. You are not the first, and you shall not be the last. There is beauty and a certain humbleness to be found as we get fade into the passage of time, another unknown, nameless, faceless person. There is peace in anonymity, knowing no one shall judge us for simply existing. After all, how will they condemn a ruined empire and scattered ashes on the wind? We cannot be convicts if the evidence of our failures and crimes has long since disappeared.

masterlist

#61

I remember a love from my childhood. Sweet, pure, innocent. I do not know if I shall love the same ever again. If my love has now been tainted with the vitriol I spew to keep everyone and everything away from the rabid monster that I am. That I have become. A raging, snarling, hungry beast whose rage knows no bounds. Perhaps she was born from the dark depths of my mind, those crypts that I insisted on isolating myself in. Perhaps. I do not know. I do not know when that happened, only that it did. That is how much of life seems to be. Then again, life does not seem like very much at all.

They made me like that, I say, because it is easier to put my blame on someone else than own up to my own failings as a person. A friend. A sister. A lover. Those words now seem foreign, like the ashes of love on my tongue. I know that I am undeserving of such titles, and will spend the remainder of my worthless existence, my fragile, mortal life, trying desperately to make up for time lost.

masterlist

#31

Some, like you, were designed to love, and have all that you ever wished for, a life right out of a fairytale and bathed in luxury and riches beyond our imaginations. You were offered, and took, the opportunity to be with your lover forevermore, while others, like me, the unfortunate, desperate, and longing souls, were also designed to love, and yet lose. 

I, however, could not grant my lover money, or fame, or the other hundred things you have managed to obtain. I could not even grant them the gift of life. For my kind were designed to love, yet sacrifice, both the person of our dreams, our soulmates, our everythings, yet also ourselves.

Your lover helps you thrive, to truly live, and enriches your life like a thousand different spices, paints your canvas in a million different colours. You, my dear, got the life so many of us can only dream of.

My lover exists only in my fantasies and memories, and even then there are days when their face blurs and I cannot quite recall how their voice sounds, how their hair feels under my fingers, how perfectly their head fits into the crook of my neck, how many sunsets we enjoyed together and how many nights we spent with only the stars and each other to keep us company.

I do not know if it is fate keeping me from my lover, or my own actions which make me undeserving of the love you share with your beloved.

masterlist