Dedication Part 1: Shadow Song - A Moriel Fic

part one of the pre-series angst monster is finally here! the second and third parts should follow quite soon, I have them written they just need to be tidied up a little. In the meantime enjoy the angst. (and let me know if you like it? this has been a while in the making) bless @blackbeak for letting me babble about this (a lot) during the writing process. 

Title: Dedication Part 1: Shadow Song 

Summary:  Pre-series, Azriel’s POV. The story of Azriel’s rescue of Mor after the Incident.

Teaser: It had probably happened some time in the night then. In that court of festering demons and monsters that was aptly named for the horrors it bred. But that was not so long. She was strong. She was so strong. She could still be alive. He could still find her. He would still find her. He pushes down on that feeling too until it is as small and insignificant as the pain that had rattled him for all those years.

“Where is she?” he murmurs quietly.

Link: AO3

When Azriel steps into the room his brother had summoned him to not even knowing the whisperings of his shadows could have prepared him for what he found within.

Cassian slumps in a chair, nearly doubled over on himself. His wings droop pathetically until they drag on the floor. His face is buried in his hands as though he can’t bear to look at any of them. And he sits still and silent.

Cassian was never silent and never still. He favoured action, always. Where others may be content to sit and plan and plot and analyse and debate he never was. He considered that to be a waste of time. The more dire and precarious a situation the more he wanted to act immediately. He trusted his gut and he acted on his instincts and did whatever he thought was right. Thoughts of the consequences came later. Usually when he was faced with them and had to think his way out of trouble. And that was if they ever came at all.

And Rhys. Rhys who had called him here and taken charge – always taking a charge, a leader without a crown – looks lost. Rhys whose power could already level a city with a thought and grows every day looks powerless. Rhys is paler than Azriel has ever seen him in all their years together. It looks as though he’s been trapped underground and away from sunlight for decades. And he’s shaking. His brother is shaking.

The shadows that sing secrets to him have no answer for him now and so he speaks. He is the one that breaks the silence between the three of them. Him. A warning to the world that something is very, very wrong.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

Rhys only grips the back of the chair he’s bracing himself over, his knuckles turning white and the wood groaning at the pressure. He opens his mouth several times but words seem to fail him and he eventually lapses into hopeless silence, shaking his head.

It’s Cassian who finally manages to tell him.

“Morrigan,” he groans without raising his head. His voice is a hoarse rasp and he refuses to look at either Azriel or Rhys as he answers.

That one word, her name, said in that way makes Azriel’s heart slam to a stop within the cage of his ribs. His body locks up and he snaps his eyes to Rhys, mutely appealing for a fuller explanation that he knows Cassian is unable to give right now.

Rhysand clears his throat and looks up at Az, his violet eyes shadowed and heavy. “Mor’s family learned….Learned about what she did with Cassian.” He still grinds out that mistake in such a way that Azriel knows it will cause a rift between his brothers for some time to come.

Beneath his broad, rough hands he knows his brother’s face is still faintly bruised. Relics of Rhys’ fists and the beating he’d given him when he found out what they’d done. He’d been seeing straight through to this moment. This is what had caused that rage. What exactly ‘this’ is Azriel still doesn’t know. But from the way his brothers have reacted…

His stomach churns horribly in fear for her.

“Eris refused the marriage,” Rhys says, his usually smooth, steady voice little more than a brittle whisper. “They punished her for it. Brutally.”

There were enough sickened layers in that last word that he didn’t want to press for further details. Not right now. Rhys is still trembling – with rage or fear or grief – he can’t be sure. And Cassian looks as though he might be sick at any moment.

As he should Az thinks viciously. Fool, fool, fool, fool. He pushes those thoughts away. It wasn’t Cassian’s fault, not truly. His brother had meant no harm, even if so much harm had been done by it. And this was punishment enough.

“When?” Azriel hears himself ask.

The horror he would think of later. The pain and the fear could wait until then too. For now he stuffs them roughly into that box in his head. The one in which he has hidden so much of his childhood in order to stop it destroying him. The one he had gotten very good at closing and keeping closed in the last few years.

He knew they thought him cold and empty and flat but he did not know how else to be. If he let himself feel a little he would feel it all and it would have killed him years ago. In that darkness in which he had lived and sunk into so deeply – until the darkness began to whisper its secrets to him- he’d had no choice. Shut down or die.

Rhys seems a little startled by the question and at the cool, calm way Azriel had asked it. “I don’t know,” he admits, his violet eyes shifting as they meet his own hazel. “My father only deigned to tell me about it an hour ago.”

It had probably happened some time in the night then. In that court of festering demons and monsters that was aptly named for the horrors it bred. But that was not so long. She was strong. She was so strong. She could still be alive. He could still find her. He would still find her. He pushes down on that feeling too until it is as small and insignificant as the pain that had rattled him for all those years.

“Where is she?” he murmurs quietly.

The shadows around him swirl and twist like agitated serpents, flying from his body, spearing out in all directions, all asking the same question. He does not give them orders. He does not tell them what to do or where to go. They respond to his will, his wants, his needs, even if he doesn’t always know what they are. They have a kind of life and intelligence of their own and he had trained them long ago to obey. They found him the secrets that he needed to know without him having to tell them what he needed exactly or where to find them.

The answer is whispered in his ears a heartbeat before Rhys says hollowly, “The Autumn Court.”

In a mess, neither has to add. A mess that her family no longer wishes to acknowledge. A mess that is now Eris’ to deal with. They have thrown her away, used and useless to them. They have thrown her away as she no longer has value to them, no longer has meaning, no longer even rates as a person any longer. Like an animal. Impossible to break to their will so it had been destroyed instead. Like a patch of rot, cut away before it tarnished the house it belonged to. Like a bastard boy shoved into a black pit to suffer for the crime of being born lest he live to stain his step-mother’s pride.

But he had survived. And so would she.

Azriel’s Siphons burn blue, like the reflection of a shooting star blazing on the surface of a lake. Rhys and Cassian’s ragged shouts of protest both come too late to stop him. He channels his power inwards, pressing it into his body, forcing it to become small, to become as insubstantial as his shadows, as smoke caught in a breeze. And then he vanishes.

It wasn’t winnowing, he had been told. Winnowing was like walking while magic reeled the desired destination in close. This was different. This was dangerous. The power that burned in his blood was not named the killing power for no reason. It was unstable and difficult to hone and control, even with the Siphons that glittered about his body. It was a force to be reckoned with. It was a force of nature and it had been created, as he had been, to destroy. One did not attempt to saddle a hurricane. But this is what he does now. For her.

For this girl. This burst of sunshine made flesh. This bright spark made of warm smiles such as he had never known, and easy laughter that echoed in his bones longer after she had gone. This girl with the power in her blood that burns and roars and calls to his. This girl with the rich velvet eyes he could spend a lifetime drowning in and still breathe thanks to the way she said his name. This girl his heart had dedicated itself to the moment their eyes had met across that war camp.

This girl who has been brutalized by her family – the way he had been. This girl who has been hurt and crippled and broken by the ones who should have treated her with gentle love and tender compassion. He had never known that. And likely never would. But he could try to find some – for her. To spare her from this. To save her; as he wished for so long that someone would have saved him. For her. For her he will do this. For her he would do anything.

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anonymous asked:

How is vmin not the most popular ship...even before i got into bts i shipped vmin can u believe it....i saw tae's fc post on jimins bday on my dash and i was like damn. and started looking for fics..i didnt even know their names before that. and then i got into bts but my otp is still vmin altho im like. A hardcore jk stan now

i lie awake and stare up at the ceiling every night and ask myself this question.. why is vmin not loved


This is not my fault. I was happily enjoying myself writing Marvey, with a sprinkle of Saphael, Malec, Jarvey, Sallen (okay so I am poly- polyfandom that is- but dont get it twisted Marvey is still my OTP)- now where was I again. Oh, yes- bitching.

I was on vacation when my good friend @novemberhush tells me to check out Sherlock on Netflix (No, I had never seen it). Try it she says, you’ll love it. So i binged watched all three seasons (seriously 3 episodes in a season WTH??) and got hooked. Then I started reading Johnlock fics- bad idea; seriously bad idea. And now this happens…


John feels like he is on fire and the only person who can quench it is staring at him with ice blue eyes. Sherlock is a walking dichotomy; brilliantly mad, and maddeningly beautiful. John had no idea that the man who has no time for things, people, sentiment, and the like; who views the world around him through the lens of a microscope, was really a caged beast. A predator wrapped in a belstaff, who keeps himself on a very short, self-imposed leash.

And right now John was prey.

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Draw the squad as: drunk shenanigans I witnessed at a house party the other day

(Fun fact: More than half of these were caused by the same dude)

–If you end up using any of these please link back to here so I can see! :D–



  • Cas:DEAN?
  • Dean:yeah?
  • Cas:where is my angel blade?
  • Dean:what?
  • Dean:I, uh, put it away.
  • Cas:WHERE?
  • Cas:I NEED IT!

honestly adam is the only person in the gangsey who actually has any game when it comes to flirting

like, gansey’s idea of flirting is sharing spoons and pointless facts

blue’s is late night phone calls and angry driving

noah’s is basically going “i’m dead wanna hook up”

ronan’s is giving gifts accompanied by arguments and memes

and then adam just sends flowers and holds hands and carries on nice conversations like a normal fucking human being, and really, none of that is objectively that impressive, but compared to his friends adam is the smoothest operator on the planet when he’s interested in someone, and when that interest officially turns to ronan in trk i fully expect ronan to lose his shit entirely. rest in fucking pieces lynch