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marshmellowrio · 2 months

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Flight of the Night | Chapter 4

A/N: A bigger one, this scene goes on forever, ughh. This hasn't been proofread, like every other chapter I have posted (oops?).

Word count: 3.5K

I watch as Feyre addresses Azriel, “How did you meet?” Azriel turns to look at Cassian, I follow his gaze. Cassian is a way better storyteller than Azriel, that’s fact.

“We all hated each other at first.” A grin ghosts over his lips as he starts, his eyes flickering between the four of us, Illyrians. “We are bastards, you know. Az and I. The Illyrians… We love our people, and our traditions, but they dwell in clans and camps deep in the mountains of the North, and do not like outsiders. Especially High Fae who try to tell them what to do. But they’re just as obsessed with lineage, and have their own princes and lords among them.” He holds my gaze before continuing, pointing a thumb in Azriel’s direction. “Az, was the bastard of one of the local lords. And if you think the bastard son of a lord is hated, then you can’t imagine how hated the bastard is of a war-camp laundress and a warrior she couldn’t or wouldn’t remember.” I see the casual shrug of his shoulders for what it is, a way to dampen the vicious, ancient anger raging through his veins at the thought of his mother. “Az’s father sent him to our camp for training once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger.”

“Like the daemati,” Rhys says to Feyre, “shadowsingers are rare—coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things other can’t.”

Something I have been wary of for centuries. Being secretive around Azriel was a feat not easily accomplished.

Cassian continues, “The camp lord practically shit himself with excitement the day Az was dumped in our camp. But me… once my mother weaned me and I was able to walk, they flew me to a distant camp, and chucked me into the mud to see if I would live or die.”

“They would have been smarter throwing you off a cliff,” Mor snorts.

“Oh, definitely,” Cassian says, his grin sharpening. “Especially because when I was old and strong enough to go back to the camp I’d been born in, I learned those pricks worked my mother until she died.”

A silence falls, simmering anger hanging like a cloud in the air.

“The Illyrians,” Rhys cuts in smoothly, “are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females.”

Azriel’s vacant eyes lock on mine, my face schooled in a stone-cold expression.

“They’re barbarians,” Amren says and neither of the males object.

I keep silent as Mor nods. “They cripple their females so they can keep them for breeding more flawless warriors.”

Rhys cringes. “My mother was low-born, and worked as a seamstress in one of their many mountain war-camps. When females come of age in the camps—when they have their first bleeding—their wings are… clipped. Just a small incision in the right place, left to improperly heal, can cripple you forever.” I tell myself to keep breathing, keeping the memories at bay and listen to the story. A story I’ve heard countless times, but never becomes easier. “And my mother—she was gentle and wild and loved to fly. So she did everything in her power to keep herself from maturing. She starved herself, gathered illegal herbs—anything to halt the natural course of her body. She turned eighteen and hadn’t yet bled, to the mortification of her parents. But her bleeding finally arrived and all it took was for her to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, before a male scented it on her and told the camp’s lord. She tried to flee—took right to the skies. But she was young, and the warriors were faster, and they dragged her back. They were about to tie her to the posts in the center of camp when my father winnowed in for a meeting with the camp’s lord about readying for the War. He saw my mother trashing and fighting like a wildcat, and… The mating bond between them clicked into place. One look at her, and he knew what she was. He misted the guards holding her.”

“Misted?” Confusion laces her voice. As Cassian chuckles sharply.

Rhys floats a lemon wedge into the air and flicks his finger, turning it into citrus-scented mist. I lean forward to catch the look on Feyre’s face, she takes misting entire beings better than I did the first time. She hasn’t seen him do it yet, but the insinuation of it, was enough to make me still when I realised the extent of Rhys’s powers.

“Through the blood-rain,” Rhys goes on, “my mother looked at him. And the bond fell into place for her. My father took her back to the Night Court that evening and made her his bride. She loved her people, and missed them, but never forgot what they had tried to do to her—what they did to the females among them. She tried for decades to get my father to ban it, but the War was coming, and he wouldn’t risk isolating the Illyrians when he needed them to lead his armies. And to die for him.”

“A real prize, your father,” Mor grumbles. I cast my head down, he never did me wrong. But his methods could be…harsh.

“At least he liked you,” Rhys counters. “my father and mother, despite being mates, were wrong for each other.” I grimace, I sometimes wonder how often a mating bond is set between two beings while they’re not right for each other. “My father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. My mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met. She hated him after a time—but never stopped being grateful that he had saved her wings, that he allowed her to fly whenever and wherever she wished. And when I was born, and could summon the Illyrian wings as I pleased… She wanted me to know her people’s culture.”

“She wanted to keep you out of your father’s claws,” Mor says, swirling her wine. Azriel finally looks away from me and I let loose a breath, his memories finally clearing. I have no doubt I was involved in that memory from the way he had stared for the past few minutes.

“That, too,” Rhys adds drily. “When I turned eight, my mother brought me to one of the Illyrian war-camps. To be trained, as all Illyrian males were trained. And like all Illyrian mothers, she shoved me toward the sparring ring on the first day, and walked away without looking back.”

“She abandoned you?” I understand Feyre’s deduction but it still has me narrowing my eyes.

“No—never,” Rhys says, with as much ferocity as I felt for his mother’s memory. “She was staying at the camp as well. But it is considered an embarrassment for a mother to coddle her son when he goes to train.”

Cassian laughs, catching the look on Feyre’s face. “Backward, like he said.”

“I was scared out of my mind,” Rhys admits. “I’d been learning to wield my powers, but Illyrian magic was a mere fraction of it. And it’s rare amongst them—usually possessed only by the most powerful, pure-bred warriors.” His eyes flit to me and I give him a lopsided grin. “I tried to use a Siphon during those years. And shattered about a dozen before I realized it wasn’t compatible—the stones couldn’t hold it. My power flows and is honed in other ways.”

“So difficult, being such a powerful High Lord,” Mor teases.

Rhys rolls his eyes. “The camp-lord banned me from using my magic for all our sakes. But I had no idea how to fight when I set foot into that training ring that day. The other boys in my age group knew it, too. Especially one in particular, who took a look at me, and beat me into a bloody mess.”

“You were so clean,” Cassian says, shaking his head. “The pretty half-breed son of the High Lord—how fancy you were in your new training clothes.” I snort, I can totally imagine young Cassian thinking like that.

“Cassian,” Azriel’s dark voice cuts in, “resorted to getting new clothes over the years by challenging other boys to fights, with the prize being the clothes off their backs.” The flatness in his voice revealed how much he cared for the Illyrian ways.

Cassian chuckles, he had a completely different experience, just as horrifying, but different. “I’d beaten every other boy in our age group twice over already, but then Rhys arrived, in his clean clothes, and he smelled… different. Like a true opponent. So I attacked. We both got three lashings apiece for the fight.”

From my side of the table, I see Feyre flinch.

“They do worse, girl,” Amren cuts in, “in those camps. Three lashings is practically an encouragement to fight again. When they do something truly bad, bones are broken. Repeatedly. Over weeks.”

“Your mother willingly sent you into that?” Feyre asks with a soft voice. She has a lot to learn about Illyrians and their customs, I think to myself.

“My mother didn’t want me to rely on my power,” Rhys says. “She knew from the moment she conceived me that I’d be hunted my entire life. Where one strength failed, she wanted others to save me. My education was another weapon—which was why she went with me; to tutor me after lessons were done for the day. And when she took me home that first night to our new house at the edge of the camp, she made me read by the window. It was there that I saw Cassian trudging through the mud—toward the few ramshackle tents outside of the camp. I asked her where he was going, and she told me that bastards are given nothing: they find their own shelter, own food. If they survive and get picked to be in a war-band, they’ll be bottom-ranking forever, but receive their own tents and supplies. But until then, he’d stay in the cold.”

“Those mountains,” Azriel adds, his hard gaze locking on mine again, “offer some of the harshest conditions you can imagine.” I know he still feels guilty about what happened to me, but I only duck my head not being able to bear his loaded gaze.

“After my lessons,” Rhys ignores the exchanged looks, “my mother cleaned my lashings, and as she did, I realized for the first time what it was to be warm, and safe, and cared for. And it didn’t sit well.”

“Apparently not,” Cassian takes over. “Because in the dead of night, that little prick woke me up in my piss-poor tent and told me to keep my mouth shut and come with him. And maybe the cold made me stupid, but I did. His mother was livid. But I’ll never forget the look on her beautiful face when she saw me and said, ‘There is a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it or you can go back into the cold.’ Being a smart lad, I obeyed. When I got out, she had clean nightclothes and ordered me into bed.” She had done some good for all of us. “I’d spent my life sleeping on the ground—and when I balked, she said she understood because she had felt the same once, and that it would feel as if I was being swallowed up, but the bed was mine for as long as I wanted it.”

“And you were friends after that?”

“No—Cauldron no,” Rhys says. “We hated each other, and only behaved because if one of us got into trouble or provoked the other, then neither of us ate that night. My mother started tutoring Cassian, but it wasn’t until Azriel arrived a year later that we decided to be allies.”

Cassian’s grin stretches as he reaches around Amren to clap Azriel on his shoulder. A sigh falls from the shadowsinger’s lips and I smile fondly at the two of them. “A new bastard in the camp—and an untrained shadowsinger to boot. Not to mention he couldn’t even fly thanks to—”

I clear my throat interrupting him as Mor lazily cuts in, “Stay on track, Cassian.” He looks at the both of us, the apologize clear in his eyes, but he shrugged feigning indifference to Feyre. Mor kept her eyes on Cass as I shifted mine to Azriel, noting the tense shoulders and faraway look in his eyes.

“Rhys and I made his life a living hell, shadowsinger or no. But Rhys’s mother had known Az’s mother, and took him in. As we grew older, and the other males around us did, too, we realized everyone else hated us enough that we had better odds of survival sticking together.” Cassian finishes their story and I turn to Feyre.

“Do you have any gifts? Like—them?” She jerks her chin to Azriel and Rhys.

“A volatile temper doesn’t count,” Mor says and I grin at her, sometimes I wonder if we spent too much time together. Or if it’s Cassian that’s so predictable.

“No. I don’t—not beyond a heaping pile of the killing power. Bastard-born nobody, through and through.” I lean forward at the same time as Rhys, but Cassian continues, “Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and a half-breed. We were stronger, faster—like the Cauldron knew we’d been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys’s mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight.” I roll my eyes at that.

“Males are horrible creatures, aren’t they?” Amren says.

“Repulsive,” Mor clicks her tongue and I laugh softly.

Cassian only shrugs. “Rhys’s power grew every day—and everyone, even the camp-lords, knew he could mist everyone if he felt like it. And the two of us… we weren’t far behind.” He taps his Siphon with a finger. “A bastard Illyrian had never received one of these. Ever. For Az and me to both be appointed them, albeit begrudgingly, had every warrior in every camp across those mountains sizing us up. Only pure-blood pricks get Siphons—born and bred for the killing power. It still keeps them up at night, puzzling over where the hell we got it from.”

I feel Feyre’s eyes slide to me, probably remembering I am pure-blooded Illyrian. Cassian notes her gazing as well and confirms her suspicions. “ This fucking priss of a lady, as Rhys said, is the only pure-blooded Illyrian out of the four of us.”

“Shouldn’t you let her tell her own story?” I raise an eyebrow at Azriel’s low voice intercepting.

“If you are wondering,” I turn to Feyre properly. “I am not one of those, born and bred for that killing power.”

“You were bred for it.” Cassian intercepts, pointing out the fault in my statement.

I hum lowly, “While that may be true, sadly, for my parents anyway, I was born female. Not the son they wanted. My father is a camp-lord,” I see Feyre mentally note the present tense. “Although I was bred to kill, he wouldn’t allow me to train. He’s very traditional in that sense.”

Feyre’s gaze moves to my wings, trying to see if I bear any clipping marks, not that she’d know what to look for. Her scrutiny makes me tuck them tighter against me, straining the muscles as usual. “I haven’t been clipped.” Her gaze snaps up again to meet mine, my face void of emotion. ‘Rhys’s mother helped me in that matter, got me the illegal herbs she used herself when she was younger, stalling my cylcle. She helped me, along with these three, get away when my first bleeding came.”

“You got away.” It’s not a question. I frown, it doesn’t feel like that.

Cassian says, “Oh, she got away, alright.” Amren shoves his broad shoulder and I’m thankful for her respect for me.

“Something like that.” I respond to Feyre. Rhys and Azriel flinch in unison, I might’ve never actually talked about it, but they know.

Feyre furrows her brows, not able to hide her curiosity as to what went down all those years ago.

I don’t answer her questioning gaze, opting to stare at Rhys instead, I do not want to get into that with her on her first day with us. No matter how open Cassian is with her.

Azriel breaks the silence, taking over another part of the story. “Over a decade later, the War came. And Rhys’s father visited our camp to see how his son had fared after twenty years.”

“My father,” Rhys says, swirling his wine, “saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned.”

Cassian snickers. “So the prick separated us. He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed, and threw me into a different legion to be a common foot soldier, even when my power outranked any of the war-leaders. Az, he kept for himself as his personal shadowsinger—mostly for spying and his dirty work. Turns out he already had Lyss in his tight quarters so she didn’t pose a threat to him. We only saw each other on battlefields for the seven years the War raged. They’d send around casualty lists among the Illyrians, and I read each one, wondering if I’d see their names on it. But then Rhys was captured—”

“That is a story for another time,” Rhys says sharply, making me lift my brows. We all had our boundaries in sharing past memories. Cass might be the most open one but that doesn’t mean he’ll tell her everything, there are some things even he wouldn’t tell her upon first meeting. “Once I became High Lord, I appointed these five to my Inner Circle, and told the rest of my father’s old court that if they had a problem with my friends, they could leave. They all did. Turns out, having a half-breed High Lord was made worse by his appointment of three females and two Illyrian bastards.”

“What—what happened to them , then?”

Rhys shrugs. “The nobility of the Night Court fall into three categories: those who hated me enough that when Amarantha took over, they joined her court and later found themselves dead; those who hated me enough to try to overthrow me and faced the consequences; and those who hated me, but not enough to be stupid and have since tolerated a half-breed’s rule, especially when it so rarely interferes with their miserable lives.”

“Are they—are they the ones who live beneath the mountain?” Feyre asks.

“In the Hewn City, yes. I gave it to them, for not being fools. They’re happy to stay there, rarely leaving, ruling themselves and being as wicked as they please, for all eternity.”

“The Court of Nightmares,” Mor says as all are faces grow tight, thinking about that horrid place.

“Ans what is this court?” Feyre gestures to all of us, and the darkness clears.

It was Cassian, who answers with bright eyes, “The Court of Dreams.”

Feyre contemplates for a moment. “And you?” She says, and I know it’s directed to us females.

Amren merely says, “Rhys offered to make me his Second. No one had ever asked me before, so I said yes, to see what it might be like. I found I enjoyed it.” Always a person of little words.

Mor leans back in her seat and I focus on her. “I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares,” Mor says, twisting a curl around a finger. “So I got out.” I almost scoff at the simplicity of that statement. Her escape from the Hewn City was as simple as mine from the Illyrian camp.

I take a breath, “My father was camp-lord when those three were in the camp. Cassian was a nuisance, he followed me around everywhere to annoy my father. Even as a five-year-old he knew how to get on someone’s nerves.”

Cassian’s grin only reveals truth as he takes over. “And when Rhys and Az came to the camp, they joined in.” I purse my lips at his statement. “But she had fire, handed our asses to us, multiple times. Her father might’ve not let her train, that didn’t mean she didn’t find a way to do so anyway. Slowly, the annoyance turned into acceptance that we weren’t going to leave her alone as long as it meant pissing off her father.”

“He still seethes whenever we join her in the camp.” Rhys adds.

I smirk, “He still seethes because I outrank him now.” I hold Feyre’s gaze and see she knows there’s more to the story than what we’re telling, so I give her another crumble. “I am Cassian’s Second, Colonel of the Illyrian armies.”

A/N: Let me know what you thought! Maybe any theories on how this story is going to progress? Obviously this is a romance fanfic (I'm sorry if you didn't realise that already), but I wanted to give my character some depth and not just have her exist because of her love interest. Do keep in mind this is a slow-slow-burn. It will be some time before we will be happy go lucky, not to say that there won't be any tension. Because there will be, a lot of it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please leave a comment saying so!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe

#acotar #acotar imagine #acomaf #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar x oc #acotar x reader #azriel #cassian #rhysand #rhys acotar #morrigan #mor acotar #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar series #cassian acotar #flight of the night

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rosanna-writer · 2 months

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Love at First Sight's for Suckers (3/5)

Summary: [A Feysand Newsies AU] Rhysand had a reputation. A big reputation. But fortunately for Feyre, a newsie selling papers on the streets of Velaris, tabloid gossip about the handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir means business is booming. That is, until the city's newspaper magnates get greedy, Feyre finds herself an unwitting labor leader at the center of a strike, and Rhys becomes an unexpected ally... Warnings: None

We're back with our favorite Santa Fae <3 HUGE thank you to @itsthedoodle for continuing to beta my gift for @the-lonelybarricade!

Ch. 1 - Got a Feelin' 'bout the Headline | Ch. 2 - Beautiful. Smart. Independent. | Ch. 3 Guts and Glory

You can read the third chapter Here on AO3 or under the readmore.

That night turned out to be the longest of Feyre's life. There was barely time for a few hours of fitful sleep; instead, she was rousing newsies and mobilizing them to get the word out about the price increase before morning.

She started with Lucien. Then Bron and Hart and Alis and Les and Davey, newsies who she'd befriended and who'd listen to her. Once they learned that the marching orders came from the High Lady herself, the rest of the newsies of the Rainbow agreed to the strike readily.

And to Feyre's surprise, they also agreed to fan out across the city, spread the news, and cajole the rest of the city's newsies into striking alongside them. They looked to her for direction, and Feyre found herself dividing up the territory among them—Bone and Salt, Thread and Jewels, Hoof and Leaf.

But no one wanted to take the south side of the Sidra. That was Nesta's turf.

Given the choice, Feyre would rather fight a Middengard Wyrm than cross the Sidra for her sister's help. Any other newsie would probably feel the same; the south side fae were big and unflinchingly loyal to Nesta, who ran her side of the city like a well-oiled machine.

Nothing got past Nesta, though. Before Feyre even had the chance to summon up the courage to go see her sister, a note appeared out of thin air and fluttered down into Feyre's hands.

Waiting on proof that you won't fold at the first sign of trouble — N

That wasn't an outright insult, so Feyre supposed that was the best she could have hoped for. Even if it stung. For all her faults, though, Nesta was true to her word. Feyre pocketed the note and didn't bother with a reply; in the morning, she'd prove to her sister that the newsies of the Rainbow weren't backing down.

But it was more than just Nesta who doubted them. The responses came in one by one from the rest of the city, and they were all the same: they'd back up the Rainbow newsies…but only if Nesta did it first.

This would be a test. Feyre was sure of it, all the way down her bones, as the sky lightened in the east and stacks of papers were readied for distribution. For now, the newsies of the Rainbow would be standing alone.

Though on some level she'd expected it, Feyre's heart still sank at the sight of scabs lining up to buy papers to sell that morning. She wasn't the only one—a fight had nearly broken out immediately. Tensions might have boiled over if Feyre hadn't put an arm out to stop a newsie from charging right at them.

"Listen," she said, gentle but firm enough that the unionized newsies quieted as she spoke to the scabs, "I'm sure you were paid handsomely for this. But it isn't right. You've heard how they speak to us—if you ask Pulitzer, we're all gutter rats willing to stab each other in the back. There's no shame in being poor or lesser fae. We all deserve a fair deal. Every single one of us. So, please, I beg you…throw your papers down and join the strike."

By the time she finished speaking, even the fae passing by and going about their business stopped to listen to her. Feyre hoped the churning in her stomach didn't show on her face. For a few long moments, a heavy silence hung over the square.

One by one, the scabs dropped their papers.

The rest of the stacks of papers at the distribution window sat untouched after that. There hadn't been time to make banners or signs, but it was clear enough that the newsies of the Rainbow fully intended to ensure that every single paper went unsold. After all—by the end of the day, they'd be too out of date to be of use, anyway.

By noon, Feyre supposed, the message was received. She was already thinking ahead to votes and negotiations, demands they could make beyond just lowering the price of papers back down to what it had been originally. The strike might actually succeed.

And then a group of High Fae in identical police uniforms rounded the corner, and Feyre's hopes sank all at once. But she didn't panic, just gritted her teeth—she'd vowed to prove to Nesta that they wouldn't fold at the first sign of trouble, and trouble had arrived.

So Feyre marched forward to meet them. Head held high, she returned their stares and didn't bother glancing back to make sure the newsies of the Rainbow followed her.

The cops might have already been reaching for their nightsticks, but Feyre decided to make one attempt at resolving this peaceably. "Good afternoon," she said evenly, letting her voice carry. "Is there—"

But the thwack of a nightstick colliding with a newsie's jaw cut that short.

Feyre's hands curled into fists, her arms moving up to protect her face on instinct. Around her, the square erupted into chaos—shouting and newsies running in all directions. Something struck her in the side. She cried out in pain, too stunned to make herself incorporeal.

She scrambled backwards, glancing around for a flash of Lucien's red hair. If Feyre had to run, she wouldn't leave without him. All around her, newsies were fleeing or being dragged and winnowed away by police.

A shadow fell over the square, cast by a massive wingspan. An Illyrian warrior—what in the bottomless depths of the Cauldron was he doing in Velaris?—landed with his back to her, unsheathing a sword strapped along his spine. His wings flared out as if to shield her.

A vicious growl escaped the Illyrian. "Touch her again and you die," he spat at the cop, and Feyre recognized the voice. Not just any Illyrian warrior— Rhysand.

With a single deft movement of his wrist, Rhys used his sword to knock the nightstick out of the closest policeman's hand. It clattered to the pavement and rolled towards Feyre.

"What are you doing here?" Feyre hissed, picking up the nightstick.

"I told you I'd publicly support a strike, didn't I?"

There was no time to demand an explanation, not when Lucien was still nowhere in sight. Feyre threw herself into the fray. Hands grabbed at her, but she knocked them away with the nightstick before anyone could winnow her.

If they caught her, she'd end up in the Prison. Once, Feyre had nearly found herself trapped on that barren island of rock on the western shore. She wouldn't let it happen today, either.

She called Lucien's name, searching for any sign of him. There was none, but perhaps he'd already gotten to safety…

No, there he was, all the way across the square. Feyre called his name as she launched herself towards him. A cop was charging at Lucien, ready to strike or winnow him away.

Feyre reached for Lucien. So did the cop. But Lucien didn't see—he'd turned his head at the sound of her voice, and the officer was on the side where his missing eye narrowed his field of vision.

And Feyre wasn't fast enough. Her fingers closed around empty air. Lucien was gone.

Not just gone—taken to the Prison, with no hope of escaping that island full of monsters. Feyre choked back a sob.

Something tugged in her chest, urgent and insistent, as Rhys's voice filled her mind. Get. Home. I'm holding them off for you.

Feyre didn't need to be told twice—if she stayed any longer, she'd end up in the Prison, too. She faded until she was little more than a ghost, slipping from shadow to shadow until she was back at her tenement.

The Rainbow's High Lady should have been assessing the damage, getting a count of how many newsies had been arrested, and making sure any injured newsies who'd escaped found a healer. But Feyre was tired.

At at the sight of Lucien's empty bed, she finally let out the sob that she'd held back before running away. She'd never felt like a bigger idiot; going up against Pulitzer had been massively stupid, and now her best friend was paying the price. Dreams of a better world were just that—dreams. Nothing more.

So Feyre lifted the floorboard and gathered what she'd saved of the money Rhysand had tipped her. It was long past time to buy that one-way ticket to the Continent.

***

The force of his father's power knocked through Rhys's mental shields like a battering ram. House of Wind. Now.

Rhys sheathed his sword, glancing around the rapidly-emptying square. Feyre had disappeared safely into the shadows, and his work here was done. But the feral instinct to protect his mate hadn't disappeared with her. Rhys shot into the sky, hoping to clear his head before he misted anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

As he flew, Rhys shifted himself out of his leathers and back into a tunic—whatever explanation he gave his father, it would be better received if he looked less Illyrian. Less like a threat, if he was being honest.

But really, the only thing that would quell his father's anger would be telling him that Feyre was his mate. Rhys refused to take that option; his behavior might be excused as protectiveness typical of a mated male, but that wasn't worth exposing Feyre to pressure to accept the bond. She'd resent him for eternity for that.

So Rhys just steeled himself for whatever punishment his father would mete out. He'd endure anything if it meant Feyre had a choice.

The High Lord was waiting on the balcony of the House of Wind, and even from the sky, Rhys could see darkness swirling around him in furious, pulsing waves. He schooled his expression into careful neutrality as he landed.

"Would you please explain," the High Lord said, the mild words no less an ice-cold threat, "what exactly you were doing attacking a police officer in the middle of Velaris just now?"

"Preventing a bloodbath," Rhys said, just as coolly.

For a moment, night rippled between the High Lord and his heir as they stared each other down. Then Rhys's father turned on his heel and strode back into the House of Wind, clearly expecting Rhys to follow.

He hadn't yielded—Rhys knew this tactic well. He matched his father's long strides and awaited the dressing down that was meant to be overheard,not behind closed doors in the High Lord's study.

"A bloodbath might have been just the thing we needed, but everyone saw you protecting their ringleader. Do you understand the chaos that could cause in Velaris? A direct challenge to my authority, from my own heir. I won't have you starting riots, Rhysand."

Servants and courtiers alike scurried out of the way as they walked. Rhys made sure to keep his head held high.

"What they were doing….it wasn't right, High Lord." His father's title tasted like ash on Rhys's tongue.

" Right doesn't matter, keeping the peace does, especially in Velaris. I have half a mind to send you to Illyria if you're so intent on seeing this city burn to the ground."

Rhys nearly stumbled in shock—sending him to Illyria was the closest his father could manage to banishing him. Perhaps though, he shouldn't have been surprised. If the laws of Prythian had allowed it, Rhys suspected his father would have killed him before Rhys had a chance to ever challenge him for the throne.

"Velaris is my home now."

"You aren't acting like it. Undermine me again and I'll order Devlon to strip you of your rank and put you on border duty in the coldest corner of the Steppes."

A warning was more generous than Rhys had any right to expect. Though in truth, he suspected it wasn't mercy so much as his father's desire to keep a close eye on him that was allowing him to stay in the city for now.

"Thank you, father," he said with a curt nod.

They reached the High Lord's study, and the door slamming in Rhys's face was dismissal enough. That was fine. Feyre was probably off somewhere marshaling the newsies that hadn't been arrested, and Rhys would give her time to handle that before checking to make sure she'd gotten some safely.

Gods, he wanted to see her though.

To pass the time instead, Rhys began making his way down to the library to brood. But the sound of Mor calling his name made him freeze. A faint note of panic in her voice nearly had him reaching for his sword.

"Thank the Mother you're still here. I was just at Ressina's," Mor said.

Rhys stilled. "The theater?"

"There was some artwork I bought from her. And you should go there now because I saw—" Mor cut herself off then glanced around, eyes going wide. Rhys understood; privacy wasn't always a given in the House of Wind. Dropping her voice lower, she added, " You know who is there, talking about leaving for the Continent tonight. Go get her."

Rhys didn't need to be told twice. He set off at a sprint toward the balcony, snapped his wings open, and took to the sky. Once he'd climbed above the wards, he winnowed straight to the theater.

Feyre was alone on stage, painting mountains on a backdrop and looking as peaceful as Rhys had ever seen her. The beauty of it stopped him in his tracks halfway down the center aisle. She'd captured the majesty of the craggy peaks in Illyria—but with a hazy, otherworldly quality as if she'd seen them in a dream.

"What do you want, Rhys?" she said without turning around.

"An explanation."

"Of what? Why the strike was a colossal failure?"

"Of why you're planning on running away."

At that, Feyre spun on her heel, holding the paintbrush as if it were a javelin to throw at him. Her blue-grey eyes flashed as Rhys climbed the stairs to the stage and got closer. "Mother's tits, my best friend got dragged to the Prison today . I'm not putting anyone else at risk."

"I didn't take you for a female who backs down from a challenge."

For a moment, Rhys was sure she was about to strike him. And he probably would have deserved it. Feyre just sighed and went back to her painting.

"I tried sending a note to Lucien," she said quietly, "but he was too beat up to even send an answer back. If he doesn't make it…"

Rhys's eyes drifted to a crumpled piece of paper at her feet. "Then what's that?"

"A message from Nesta, saying next time we can count on the south side newsies. Easy for her to say when there won't be a next time."

It had been a while since Rhys had seen anyone with this sort of bitterness in their voice and defeated slump in their shoulders. He recognized it all the same—from his time in war-camps after lost battles. The drinking and partying that the gossip columns loved to write about so much had been his way of getting sights like that out of his head, to chase away thoughts of what might have happened to soldiers captured by Hybern.

He'd never expected Feyre to look broken that way.. But Rhys had commanded a legion; he knew what to do.

"Get your head on straight, Archeron," he said, a note of command creeping into his voice. Feyre stiffened for a moment, but kept painting. He pressed on. "You're winning, and don't be stupid enough to throw it away now. Pulitzer called on my father for support because you had him scared. And after what happened in the square, all of Velaris knows it. So keep moving forward."

For a long moment, Feyre said nothing, just kept adjusting the shading on one of the mountains. Rhys began to wonder if she was determined to ignore him until he left—she was certainly stubborn enough.

"Why do you care? You're a prince. I don't see why this matters so much to you," she said eventually.

Rhys couldn't tell her that the thought of an ocean between them was already ripping his heart in two. But he didn't have to lie, either.

"Because I'm Illyrian. I spent seven years breaking the news to families that they'd lost a loved one because High Fae bastards like my father think of my mother's people as cannon fodder and nothing more. Most of the newsies are lesser fae, and you can't tell me Pulitzer doesn't see you the same way. There are enough camp-lords who hate my father enough that they'll lend their support if you ask for it, and with Nesta on board, that's a powerful coalition."

Again, Feyre said nothing. But he watched as she dipped a new brush into silvery paint and slowly added three stars atop the mountain in the center of the backdrop. That was answer enough.

She turned and studied him, and Rhys had never felt more exposed than he did under the weight of her gaze. Feyre had a way of seeing right to the center of him, and when she'd drawn his portrait, it was as if she'd reproduced it on newsprint for the whole world to see.

"Does that mean you're in this with me? All the way to the end?"

Not for the first time, Rhys wondered if she knew what they were to each other. There were times—like now—that he felt the bond so acutely that every breath seemed to pull on a cord tied to his ribs. If he were a worse male, he would have slid past her shields to see if her question meant what he suspected.

But that wouldn't change his answer. "You have me. Everything I can give, for as long as you need, Feyre."

She set the paintbrush down. "Then let's get back to work."

#feysand #acotar secret santa #love at first sight's for suckers

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acertainmoshke · 4 months

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Updated Intro Post

I am just going to have to accept that I need to redo this every 3-4 months, aren't I?

Updated: 4/1/2024

Active WIPs

Cold Iron

Genre: dark urban fantasy Current word count: 39,224 Word count goal: 85,000

There are monsters lurking in the shadows. Things creep through the night. They are faster and stronger than you. They will try to trick you, hurt you, eat you. Sometimes, baby monsters are left in cribs and precious little humans are stolen away. Changeling children are almost universally hated, reviled, and neglected by grieving parents. Most are too weak to survive in a world of smoke and iron and don’t live to adulthood. The ones that do have to be mean, sharp, and cold. Just like the monsters who abandoned them. 40 years ago, in 1916, a baby girl was stolen from a Chicago apartment under her parents’ and brothers’ noses and a thing was left in her place. That thing grew up and these days Shakatra lives with their adopted brother in subway tunnels and spends much of their time picking fights with territorial wildlings. They’re excellent with a knife, and because of their—forbidden—secret weapon, they can’t lose. But when they turn 40, so will she. The innocent baby stuck beyond the veil, servant to the Fae. It’s only fair that Shakatra free her, give her the adult life she missed out on because they exist. That’s all they plan to do, find her and free her, and then they can return to their own marginal existence. If only it were that simple...

Tag list: @stesierra

Cracks in the Stone

{COVER COMING SOON}

Genre: high fantasy Current word count: 2,475 Word count goal: 150,000

Ko'a was happy to live a simple life in a small town on the edge of Halara, their dreams extending only to writing for the newspaper. But the year before they are old enough for apprenticeship, they are swept off to court to occupy the odd in-between space of being a royal bastard. Over the next two decades they work their way up from servant to tutor to acknowledged noble to royal advisor. They also build themself a new family with their half siblings. But a prophecy hangs over their head: something terrible is coming, something that could tear the kingdom apart. And the one chosen to save them all is a commoner with royal blood and impressive accomplishments. But when the tragedy actually strikes, there is little Ko'a can do but go into hiding and hope grief doesn't overwhelm them before they find a way to save everything they love.

To Die Among the Stars

Genre: dystopian science fiction Current word count: 19,569 Word count goal: 85,000

People are going missing on Zjakour. People no one will miss. Poor factory workers and illicit modders from the underworld. Burnt out hauler engineers and the incoherent mod-shattered on the surface. Failed genetic experiments and mutated clones from labs high in the spires above the yellow clouds. But everyone is missed by someone. Heartbroken siblings, amateur detectives, and a particularly lonely robot make it their mission to find out what is happening to the people no one should miss, a mission that will lead them to the secrets at the heart of their planet and into the stars beyond.

Finished/On Hiatus

7 Days for Fae

Genre: middle grade realistic fiction Word count: 23,957 Stage: finished, edited, printable but not published as I have yet to deal with marketing logistics

Fae struggles to do a lot of things that are easy for other kids. She has a hard time talking, running, and reading facial expressions. She finds other things easy: reading, making up stories about fairies, flapping her hands to tell the world she’s happy. But in 5th grade it’s not good to be different, no matter how much she can’t help being disabled. Now Fae’s aunt is moving in with her family and suddenly nothing feels right—all of the adults are quietly upset for reasons Fae doesn’t understand. Aunt Lana gets mad at her for things she can’t help and makes her feel like a baby. She just wants things to go back to the way they were. Meanwhile at school, the new kid doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo that Fae is supposed to be invisible. He sits right down next to her and starts talking about spaceships. She isn’t sure what to do with this loud boy, but when he still wants to be her friend after a meltdown gets her suspended, it seems worth giving him a shot. And now, as her life is falling apart, it looks like it might be up to Fae to discover if people really can change, and if change can sometimes make everyone’s life better.

Dragonfly Wings

Genre: middle grade historical fantasy Current word count: 2,595 Word count goal: 40,000

Current status: on hiatus while I figure out book completion priorities.

Ilse lives on a farm with her parents and siblings. She works hard and tries her best. Everyone says she’s very pretty. But she’s also Wrong. And Different. Called changeling and fae touched, her head drifts into the clouds and she screams at rain droplets on her arm. She wants only to watch insects flutter in the sun and has no interest in farming and marriage. But she tries to be a good girl, so she does her best to pretend it doesn’t hurt, to look like she understands, to mimic everyone around her. She’s not very good at it, so honestly she doesn’t really mind when the fae come back for her and take her to another realm. The only issue is, she no longer knows how to stop pretending. Nele was taken away from her human parents as a baby and raised in the snowy realm of the fae, always knowing she was there because she was strong enough to survive and one day she would be sent back. She dreams of that day, of returning to somewhere she belongs and where things make sense. She doesn't cry like some of the others when the day finally arrives, ready to meet her human parents. But she wasn't expecting it to be just as hard and confusing, with everything she doesn't know. She wasn't expecting her family to miss the inhuman changeling she replaced. And she wasn't expecting to stand out for what the fae taught her. What does home mean when you’ve never belonged? The girls may have to turn to each other to find out—and to stop something terrible befalling both realms.

Emerald Outpost

Genre: sci fi spy thriller Current word count: 5,390 Word count goal: 50,000

Current status: first draft on hiatus because of scheduling issues

No one remembers what started the war between star systems, but everyone knows what it’s about. Wars need soldiers, thousands of them, but they are won by spies. Esther Dahan, Tony Mourad, Valentina Ruiz, and their boss Minerva Thompson are young and fresh but among the most clever at the agency. Which is why they are sent away from their homes and families to a dusty little planet on the edge of the system to protect something from attack that none of them have clearance to know about. That was because they’re good at their jobs…right?

After the War

Genre: urban high fantasy Current word count: 772 Word count goal: 85,000

Current status: first draft on hiatus because of scheduling issues

Madeleine was 1 year old when the Witch Wars began. The fighting took her childhood, mother, and friends away and left her with nothing. By the time it’s over, she’s an adult with a child to raise alone and no dreams because there was never supposed to be a future. And now she’s just expected to live alongside her enemy like they didn’t gas her streets.

Aletha was a 30-year-old youth when the Witch Wars began. She had a future, grand dreams of higher education, maybe a job in politics among the elfin high council. Instead her entire graduating class was drafted to fight until their bodies were no longer useful. She was lucky, really, to marry a soldier who still cared for her—until he was killed in the final battle the morning of the treaty. Now the only way for her to fend for herself is to take her child into enemy lands and smile like she can’t still hear her parents’ screams among the bombs.

The werewolf diaspora was spread across every land, including the small human factory town where Violet was born. All of her memories of it include fear as distant wealthy werewolves threw their lot in with the elfin, followed by soldiers telling them this was no longer their home. But Violet did promise her mother on her deathbed to return if she was ever able, and it’s not like the elfin ever treated her like she belonged, so she’s going to keep her promise even if it means traveling with two babies and no husband.

Sellie was the rare vampire to live outside her homeland, but she was happy in her elfin community before the war. Many of her friends even stood by her as the vampiric committee officially sided with the humans, but it didn’t stop the laws from banning her after more than a century. And so she moved, and forged a new community. But now the war is over and her neighborhood is the home of the new “peace exchange” program, most of her friends are leaving to avoid contact with the elfin and werewolves, and Sellie is alone again.

Kellop never knew there was a war on; the mers were never much involved in others’ business. She got her first kiss to the beautiful flares of distant bombs. She grew up and married and had a family before the fighting reached her in violently dramatic fashion. One can only rebuild so many times before becoming a refugee in a war zone seems the safer option. Kellop’s family eventually reaches the point and reluctantly decides to raise their daughters in a foreign land of smog and concrete.

#moshke writes #writeblr #writeblr intro

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miss-shawdowsinger · 1 year

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Soothing Darkness - Azriel X reader fanfic

Chapter 13

Summary: Y/N is living her worst nightmares whilst Azriel tried to hold it together and find her.

Warnings: swearing and violence 🤬 a lot of angry az

AN: I am so overwhelmed with the support on this fic so I want to say thank you to everyone who is loving it!! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much ❤️ I have done a bit from Az's pov so I hope you enjoy!!

Chapter 1

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Azriel’s pov:

Azriel sat in a large chair, accommodating his wings, in Rhys and Fayre’s house. He didn’t want to go back to the house of wind and face Cassian and Nesta. Not until he had Y/N by his side. The couple wasn’t at home anyway. They had gone out, taking Nyx for a walk around the city. Azriel’s shadows curled around his arms and neck. Comforting him as he sat in silence. Only one more hour and he would go to pick her up.

Although, the bond hadn’t been accepted yet, sleeping with Y/N last night had brought out the possessive territories that the bond holds over a male. Cassian had known this morning. He saw it on Azriel’s face as soon as he even glanced at Y/N. He couldn’t help it, the fury he felt when another male looked her way. Even if it was Cassian. He needed the fight to cool off, and better with Cassian then some random fae on the street. At least Cassian could hold his own.

They both fought hard. Pummelling each other into the ground. The mating bond somehow giving Azriel even more endurance and force behind each movement. Cassian gave his best in return. The only thing stopping them from brutally injuring the other is how skilled they both were in defence. There endurance could only last so long, before Azriel came out of the bonds haze. Cassian had landed one last punch to his stomach, knocking the wind right out of him for good measure. He didn’t expect that when he returned, Y/N would be nowhere to be seen. Azriel scanned each of the females faces but she was gone.

“Y/N isn’t here” Nesta quietly informed him. She stood up tall, but he could smell the guilt on her.

“Where is she?” he asked calmly, although his head was spinning.

“I’m sorry Az. I thought she knew. I smelt you on her this morning and Elain had told me about you finding your mate” she paused. “I told her about the mating bond”. Azriel growled, his face turning into a scowl. Cassian stood in between his mate and him, blocking her from any uncharacteristic attacks. Azriel didn’t even give himself time to think. He knew the only place Y/N would go. So, he took off without a word and headed for the bakery.

He twirled a small glass of Rhys’ best whiskey around in a tumbler before taking a long sip. Azriel very rarely felt nervous but waiting for Y/N felt like a lifetime. He didn’t care if she needed space to process. He would wait another century if she needed it. It was what she had said earlier that day that stuck with him. The question scraping along his mind like a sharp dagger.

‘Do you think I am a monster?’

She had said no. But he knew the truth. He knew all the things he had done in his life. He was the High lords spymaster, of course he had done terrible things. Unspeakable things. When the mating bond snapped into place he was terrified. He had longed for it, for someone to love who could love him in return. Especially after seeing his two brothers so damn happy. But how could someone love him after everything he had done?

How could Y/N love him if she knew? She had been through enough in her childhood, like he had but if she ever knew that he inflicted that pain on others…..how could she love that? He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. Azriel had been able to feel her emotions all day. She felt a mixture of everything at first and then just pure fear. He told himself to ignore it, that at the end of the day they would talk and work things out.

Azriel took a long deep breath before finishing his glass of whiskey. It was time to go and see her. He brushed himself off as he disappeared into the shadows.

He arrived at the bakery window. Surprised to see the light was still on and the door unlocked, it was way past closing time and Y/N was usually very punctual when it came to closing. Azriel stepped into the empty shop.

“Y/N” he called out but there wasn’t a reply. Everything looked to be in place apart from a few coins that were spread across the shop floor. “Y/N” he called again. He pushed down the slight panic creeping up through him and decided to go to her apartment upstairs.

The apartment was empty. He checked every room, including the cleaning cupboard. Now he knew something was wrong. Y/N never left the shop unless the door was locked. It was the one thing that Azriel found amusing about the night of the attack. The window was completely smashed in, but she still locked the doors.

He called out through the bond, pulling on it. If she didn’t want to see him that was fine, but he needed to know she was safe. There was no answer. Azriel clenched his fists trying to steady his mind but it was too late. His shadows exploded as his mind screamed out.

‘Azriel, what is it?’ Rhys’ voice appeared in his head.

‘Y/N is missing’ Azriel thundered back.

Not a second later Rhys winnowed into the shop. His violet eyes scanning the shop floor. “Are you sure she hasn’t just gone out?”

“Do you think I would call you here if I thought that?” Azriel had to stop himself from lashing out at his high lord. It took all his strength to stand in one place.

“Cassian hasn’t seen her” Rhys confirmed. “We will find her, Az” he tentatively placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. He had barely even made contact when Azriel snapped up and grabbed Rhys’ wrist, baring his teeth.

“If someone has harmed her” he growled. A deep threatening, deathlike growl. “I will kill them……slowly”.

“I understand” Rhys’ violet eyes met his hazel ones. “More then anything, I understand. But Az, you need to tell me. Is there anyone that would have taken Y/N?”.

Azriel’s blood turned cold. “No one from Velaris” he finally let go of Rhys’ wrist. “Has anyone from the Court of Nightmares been here today?”.

Rhys’ eyes widened “Tell me everything”.

Y/N pov:

Your eyes blinked open slowly. There was a pounding in your head and some warm liquid was running down your face. Blood. You could smell it as you let your eyes adjust to the dim light in the room. The room was empty apart from you and the chains. The chains that bound at your wrists and connected to the hinge on the wall.

The only noise was the dripping on the damp, cold walls. It smelt like death in this room and it was emanating from you. You swallowed hard but your dry throat struggled against you. The last thing you remember is seeing your brother, then next thing you woke up here. At least you were still alive.

How long had you been knocked out? You attempted to squeeze your hands through the bound chains but it was useless. The pounding on your head grew with each movement you made. The moist air made it uncomfortable to breath as you slumped on the ground. You needed to find a way out, somehow.

Footsteps approached the door. You pushed yourself as close to the wall as you could get but there was no hiding in this empty room. The door swung open with such force, it shook the whole room. It was like looking back in time. The man before you had grown but he still wore the same features he had when he was just a boy. His dark hair covered his brow as his piercing blue eyes found yours.

“Your awake” he snarled as he closed the door behind him. “Finally”.

“Jasker” you voice barely croaked out his name.

“More to the point you are alive. After all these years, I thought you were dead. What about mother? Is she out there somewhere too?” he leant against the wall opposite where you were sat. His arms crossed over his chest as he assessed you.

“No” was all you managed to say.

“I saw the picture of you and her in your apartment” he growled. “Either you are lying, or she hasn’t been dead long”.

“She died in the attack on Velaris a couple of years ago” you spat at him.

“Ahh” he bowed his head for a second. He pulled a small dagger from a sheath on his belt and flipped it around in his fingers. Assessing the blade.

“Why are you doing this?” your voice was shaky.

“Doing what? I haven’t done anything to you……yet” he smirked.

“After all these years. Could you not just leave me to live my life without your abuse” you stood up, pulling hard on the chains but they didn’t budge.

“What? Let you live in peace while you and mother abandoned me to a life in the Hewn City” he stepped closer to you, towering over you but you didn’t back away. You wouldn’t let him see the fear that was shaking you to your very core.

“Father left us both on the street to die” you screamed.

“You don’t think he’s done the same to me” Jasker spat back. “I’ve been left to die more time than I could count. I was nineteen when you left. I thought you were both dead. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in a bakery in some hidden city. Older but still you. Alive. What? You and mother just decided to leave me with the monster who tried to kill you. Did you even think about me after you left?”.

You fought to hold back the tears. “You were just as bad as him” you hissed. Anger raging through you at the memories of your childhood.

“I was a child. A child who tormented his little sister. A child who went through the same abuse as you, but no one saved me” his eyes darkened as they looked down at you. Your throat tightened as you stared up at the boy you used to know. Everything he went through had shaped him into this.

“Jasker – I…” you were cut off as the door swung open once more. You looked, as the face that haunted your nightmares stared back at you. He looked exactly how you remembered him.

His dark hair matched his almost black eyes. He wasn’t as tall as your brother but he was broad. A small, rough beard grew over his jaw. The male strode in through the door, his outfit was pristine, but you could already smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen for myself”. You shuddered at the sound of his voice. “Y/N, welcome back home” your father smiled. His teeth bared like the devil himself.

Your voice failed you. You had nightmares about this moment. They would wake you from your sleep in a cold sweated panic. But this was no longer a dream, your father and brother both stood before you. You were helpless, tied down by chains. The room you stood in now came into focus. It was your old bedroom, back at the Hewn City. You had prayed to the mother to never set your eyes on these walls again but here you were.

You closed your eyes, hoping that you had just fallen asleep. Hoping you would wake up and Azriel would be there, pulling you tightly to his chest. You opened your eyes, but you were still in your worst nightmare.

“Let me have a look at you” your father stood over you. Looking at you up and down. He then took a cold, spindled finger and ran it across the scar on your neck. Pain surged through you as his talon like fingers traced the jiggered line.

Your body moved on muscle memory alone. Your leg swept round in one quick unexpected movement. Knocking your father to the floor, his head cracking on the hard surface. Within the second you were on him, striking him with everything you had. You landed punches to his head, cracking his nose and jaw. The added weight of the chains helping to break bones.

Something struck you hard in the chest and you fell backwards onto the ground. The wind was knocked out of you. Catching your breath, you sat up, watching as your brother pulled your father out of your reach. The only reason you had managed to strike so many blows was because you had surprised him. You knew that no matter how strong you were now, you were nothing in compared to your brother.

You launched forward one last time, anger and fear egging you on. Your arms snagged backwards, nearly knocking you off balance as the chains wrapped round your wrist reached its length. They were just out of reach.

“He won’t forget this” Jasker snarled as he dragged your unconscious farther from the room.

“I hope not” you snarled as he closed the door and left you alone.

Azriel pov:

It had been a whole day since Y/N had gone missing. Azriel hadn’t slept at all. There was no sign of her and no matter how much Azriel pushed, Rhys refused to storm the Hewn City.

“We have to be clever about this. I have sent word to Kier that we will be visiting tonight” Rhys informed him calmly.

“Rhys is right Azriel. You will wage war in our own court if you just storm in and knock everyone down in your path” Fayre patted him lightly on the shoulder. “We will get her back” she smiled sweetly.

“And what’s the plan when we get there?” Cassian leaned his two knuckles on Rhys’ desk. “We can’t just raid every room in the city”.

“If Az is right and someone from the city has taken Y/N then Kier won’t stand for it” Rhys rubbed his temples.

“You are trusting Kier with this?” Mor furrowed her brows.

“That’s not what I’m saying” Rhys reassured her. “Whoever took her won’t know her connections to us. Once they realise, they won’t be stupid enough to keep her. Kier knows far better then anyone the consequences of crossing us”.

“And what if that doesn’t work?” Azriel growled. “What then Rhys?”.

“She is your mate Azriel. You will be able to feel her” Rhys looked at Azriel, sorrow in his eyes. Azriel hated that look. The way they were all looking at him. Like she was already dead.

“I can barely feel her now” he clenched is jaw. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. They all sat in a comfy office while Y/N was mother knows where, probably getting hurt.

“Don’t think like that” Cassian pulled his attention away from his thoughts. “It’ll drive you mad. Trust me, I know”

Azriel felt his whole body tensing, no matter how much he tried to clear his head, it roared at him to move. To do something, to find Y/N. He was going to be sick. His blood ran cold as the group around him strategized the night. While Azriel thought about what he was going to do to the culprits behind this. How he would kill them.

“So Mor, Cassian, Az and I will go” Rhys confirmed. “Meet back here in an hour” he dismissed the group but Azriel didn’t budge. Where would he go? The hour was going to be torcher. So, he stayed planted in his seat while the others left the room. “Azriel, I know what you are going through” Rhys began when there was just the two of them left.

“Don’t” Azriel clenched his teeth. “I don’t care right now about what you or Cassian or anybody has gone through. You got them back. I haven’t gotten Y/N back and until I do you can’t tell me what I am going through” his deathly voice gritted. He gripped the arms of the chair so hard, the whites of his knuckled showed.

“I will do everything in my power to get her back” Rhys promised.

“I know” Azriel blinked. He trusted Rhys and he knew that he would do anything to help him but the fear Azriel felt was clouding his judgment. Every second that went by could be the fatal blow.

The hour had past dangerously slow. Azriel’s shadows were the only thing keeping him from erupting. They closed around his body, soothingly whispering to him. He now stood in the foyer of the house. Waiting for everyone to be ready.

Mor was going to winnow Cassian while Rhys and Azriel winnowed themselves. Mor went first, making sure that Azriel didn’t get there first and loose all sense of control. Azriel followed behind, wrapping himself in his shadows. The world suddenly turned to black, shadows curling around him until his feet hit solid ground. He stepped into the dim light of the Hewn City. Azriel hated this place, almost as much as he hated Windhaven. His feet began moving as his chest heaved, he could feel her. A solid hand grabbed his arm pulling him back.

“Don’t loose your head” Cassian warned.

“When have I ever done that?” Azriel growled, plastering his unreadable mask over his features. Rhys emerged from his own darkness, his violet eyes taking in the dimly lit hallway.

“Let’s move. Stay behind me” he directed the last order to Azriel. He nodded once and followed closely behind his high lord.

They moved calmly through the hallway into the crowded throne room. Rhys didn’t so much as lift a finger and the whole room flooded with the feeling of his power. The room fell silent as Rhys moved through the room. Everyone bowed down to him as he approached his throne at the front of the room.

Azriel, Cassian and Mor flanked him as he sat on his hauntingly beautiful throne. Azriel looked out over the crowd. Each one a cowardly snake in his eyes. He clenched his fists as he felt down the bond. Pleading to the mother to feel her reach back for him.

“Rise” Rhys instructed, and the room rose from their bows. Kier stepped forward addressing Rhysand directly.

“What do we owe the pleasure of your presence this evening Rhysand? It’s not the holidays yet” Kier sneered. He knew just how to play this game of cat and mouse. Thankfully, so did Rhys.

“A girl was taken from Velaris during your last visit Kier. Return her. Now.” Rhys demanded. No threats needed as his power pulsed around the room.

“You are accusing my people of kidnapping a girl” Kier’s eyes narrowed.

“It is not an accusation Kier” Rhys casually picked a piece of invisible lint from his jacket. “I can feel her here”. Azriel could sense the lie but Kier didn’t know the extent of Rhys’ power. “If she is not returned before I get bored, I will send my men in. The fae who stole her will deal with the consequences of my Shadowsinger. Anyone who stands in their way will also be delt with accordingly. Do you understand?” Rhys’ tone was that of someone incredibly bored. The face he always put on when visiting the Hewn City. But his violet eyes burnt through Kier with violent intent.

Chapter 14

#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #batboys #cassian #rhysand

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areyoudreaminof · 1 year

Text

Game Night

Here's another Band of Exiles drabble for your weekend.

It's Game Night at the Manor and Elain and Jurian are locked in an intense war game. Who will come out on top? With a special cameo by the IC.

Ao3 Link

Lucien had seen many terrifying things in his life. He was a male accustomed to facing fear and danger in an instant. But now, the sight of his sweet-tempered mate snarling at his best friend over a fake map of territories on their sitting room table sent a chill down his spine and locked to his sitting place on the pink sofa. This standoff had been going on for hours. It was supposed to be a silly little war game they had found in a human catalogue, something to pass the time together. Now every second dragged with a weighted dread.

It had started fine enough, but something switched once they got the rules down. Lucien was out before he could register what was happening, his territories absorbed by Elain in a brutal land war. While Vassa, an actual queen, was scared off only two hours in, giving her armies over to Elain in an alliance. Now, it was three in the morning, the witching hour, his mother had once called it. Lucien could only hope that Jurian would just surrender or relent, because Elain was not going down without a fight. But Jurian, the war lord and general was not going to lose to a tiny fae woman who needed a stool to reach high shelves.

“Give it up old man,” Elain hissed. ‘I’ve got you cornered. Just surrender and we can call it a night.”

“Oh pipsqueak, do you really think you’re going anywhere with that sad excuse of a unit?” Jurian asked nervously, “You’re barely holding down that coast as it is.”

The northern coast wasn’t heavily fortified, Lucien realized. The northern wasteland had too many archipelagos for Elain to worry about. It wasn’t a map of the known world, but rather some made up map with sprawling continents and islands. While Jurian had greater numbers, Elain had started with a fortified triangulation of territory that could only be hit from a few sides, now she had huge swaths of land in the western and southern areas, breeding a colored army of tin that chained itself around the map, that waited to strike.

Vassa elbowed him softly out of his thoughts, “No look, she’s blocked off all the warm water ports in the south.” she whispered, “He’s just trapping himself; she’s got most of the resources.”

Vassa was right, Lucien knew it, and surely Jurian did too. Elain had a 3-1 advantage by some miracle, managing to get a card at every turn. She choked out Lucien so quickly he hadn’t noticed it. Focusing on her cards, Elain absently tapped the table. “I’m waiting Jurian.”

The general swallowed thickly as he glanced down at his cards. Jurian grabbed the dice unsteady hands and rolled. With bated breath, they all watched as the dice landed. Jurian wiped his hands on his trousers, as he took a breath. “Alright pipsqueak, I’m moving south.”

Elain grinned slowly, almost catlike as she watched Jurian fall right into her snare.

“And I will be moving into attack with my northwestern units.” She sang as she snatched his soldiers up, “It’s over old man.”

Jurian flopped back onto the sea of cushions, exhaling eight hours’ worth of bated up pressure in his lungs. Elain still grinning, hummed to herself as she looked at her spoils. Her bright purple tin army covered the canvas world. While Lucien guessed that Elain’s idea of actual world domination would bring about gardens and bakeries from coast to coast, he knew now that she’d be ruthless about it. He could feel his body crashing quickly as he cleared his throat.

“As fun as that was, I think we should just stick to charades.” he said, breaking the tense silence to an oblivious Elain.

“Oh, but we had the best time! I’ve never felt such a rush before. Playing a game, I mean.” Elain declared excitedly as packed up the board with the same care she gave to her plants.

“The best time?” Vassa sputtered. “Maybe for you Elain, but that was too intense. I think you gave Jurian a flashback.” Indeed, Jurian was still sprawled on the floor, a strange faraway look on his face. “That game is more cursed than me.” Vassa continued, “I’m with Lucien. We stick to charades.”

Elain’s face fell and Lucien felt his heart skip a bit. But he had to draw the line somewhere, he reasoned. He knew Elain got intense, but this sort of intensity freaked him out, rather than turned him on.

From his pile of pillows Jurian finally spoke, “Where did you learn strategy like that Elain? How did you know to chain your armies like that?”

“Oh, I read a lot of strategy books that Rhys had lying around, and Cassian talks quite a bit about war maneuvers once you get him going. But really, I looked more at resources first.” Elain giggled.

Lucien and Jurian gawked at her while Elain obliviously began to stretch. Vassa grabbed the box while Elain was distracted. “I’m getting rid of this thing,” she hissed at the boys, “I’ll take it to the woodpile while you get her upstairs Lucien. This game is cursed I tell you.” Ever the obedient subject, Lucien swept Elain up in his arms and into their room before she knew what was happening. “I had the best time,” Elain sighed as she stripped out of her dress. Lucien was beginning to crash, how could she still have so much energy, he wondered as he slumped into bed. Wrapping his arms around Elain’s waist, he began to drift off. “Me too, I had the best time.” He slurred as he began to lose consciousness.

From the deep prison of sleep, Lucien heard Elain creep back into bed. He hadn’t realized she left at all; he was so dead to the world. Forcing one eye open, Lucien guessed it must have been midafternoon by the way the light slanted under the thick curtains. He felt the weight of Elain’s body sink into the mattress as they latched together. He smelt fresh wood and sunshine under her floral scent as he inhaled.

“Go back to sleep love. I was just checking on Vassa.”

Sleep took him back to its realm as he held her close.

Solstice: Six Months Later:

It was still early, but the party had come to a standstill.

Wrapping paper littered the floors, trinkets and baubles laid in piles next to the bodies sprawled put over couches and chairs. The family were finally feeling the feast settling in their bones and blood. Elain had gone overboard with the twins this year as buttery potatoes and garlicked lambchops and every single pie known to man was shoved down their gullets. Lucien guessed it was her way of compensating for the whirlwind year they all had, but he wasn’t complaining. With his head in Elain’s lap as she absently ran his fingers through his hair, he finally felt welcome in the Night Court.

“It’s too early for bed,” Mor whined as she looked at the clock, “shouldn’t we be doing something?”

Beneath him, Lucien felt Elain nudge him upwards as she hurried out of the room. He heard her scurry up the stairs as he reached for a wiggling Nyx.

“Why don’t we play a game?” Elain said brightly as she reappeared in the room.

Lucien froze. In her hands, was that damned box. So, Vassa hadn’t destroyed it then. Elain snuck out and saved it. But when? How? He wracked his brain, trying to remember when she could have done it, but nothing came up.

“We played this in the human lands.” She said breathlessly. “It’s a game of war and strategy. Each player is a nation, there are 42 territories and six continents on the map. The player that conquers all and eliminates the others wins.” Elain scanned the room of curious faces. “It shouldn’t be too difficult, for the famous Inner Circle.”

Right on cue, as if Elain had planned it all, the Inner Circle rose from the dead one by one. Feyre and Rhys perked up, exchanging silent looks to one another as Nesta and Cassian began to hover over Elain as she opened the box. Azriel and Mor leaned forward in their seats, while Amren snatched the booklet of rules up and scanned the pages.

“War game, huh? Where did you find this Ellie?” Cassian looked down at the map that Elain was setting on the table.

“We found it in a human catalogue. We love playing games at the manor and we just had the best time playing this one. Didn’t we Lucien?” Elain exclaimed as she met Lucien’s eyes. Deep beneath the warm brown irises, he could feel the static. She had planned this, the clever little thing.

“Oh yes, we had a fantastic time. It was quite the competition.” Lucien replied with care. “But, since it’s all your first time playing, Nyx and I will be on Elain’s team. Or rather, we’ll be innocent citizens of her nation.”

“What’s wrong fox boy? Are you scared?” Azriel sneered. Lucien chuckled dryly, “Not for me, shadowsinger.”

“We will be playing the right way. This is a human game. No mind reading, truth-telling, siphons. No powers. No exceptions.” Elain stated as she gripped the edges of the coffee table. “I want to see what you all can actually do.”

“That sounds easy enough.” Rhys said as Cassian whooped and rubbed his hands together.

With the map laid out and armies divided, Elain sat ominously on a cushion at the head of the table. “Perfect, let’s get started.”

Lucien looked at Nyx, praying to the mother, Cauldron, and whatever ancient deity he could that his sweet nephew’s innocence would survive this bloodbath unscathed. “Well sweet boy, get ready. We are in for a very, very long night.”

“Uh oh.” Nyx babbled as he met Lucien’s horrified gaze.

“Uh oh, indeed”

#elucien #band of exiles #drabble #fic

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bookofmirth · 3 months

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The one thing about the mask though is that the Night Court also doesn't have a right to make the decision either (and arguably shouldn't be the only ones in possession of such weapons). I see so many people saying that Nesta was being disrespectful of the IC by not consulting with them, but even if she did and they came to the conclusion to give it away, then the NC would still be in the wrong.

It opens such a big can of worms. You'd have to literally bring everyone in to make a decision including other HLs, Hybern, the leaders of the continent, etc in order to make that call even justifiable bc the NC wouldn't be the only one screwed over if things went wrong. And we all know how politics go... it'd take like a full century for things to be decided lol.

I'm also not arguing this therefore makes Nesta right to just give it up. But the matter is soo much more complex than Nesta should have talked to Rhys and Feyre first.

Oh I totally agree, that's why I never mentioned the IC specifically as being the people that Nesta should have consulted. This is a much, much bigger issue than just the Night Court's ego. It would make sense for her to consult them, considering they are the High Fae that she knows best in the world and they have a lot of world/political/magical experience, but it's not like they ever trusted her. There was also a sense of urgency when Bryce came through. But - like you said, and the reason I said it being an astronomical mistake is not a metaphor - the repercussions are much, much bigger.

I do think that including the other courts in this decision isn't likely because they are all very territorial and possessive. They all have a "my court comes first" attitude. Which... I get. They can't even get their crap together right now to face Koschei. I can't imagine the other courts learning info about other worlds and being able to come to a consensus about Made objects and how to handle Bryce wanting the mask, in a timeframe that wouldn't fuck Midgard over completely.

That's kinda beside the point of Nesta's role, but tl;dr I agree with you! I think that centering the IC and their feelings in what she did is... an odd choice, considering it's not all about them.

The whole thing feels very shoulda, coulda, woulda - but Nesta was faced with a choice, Bryce was in a hurry, and Nesta did what she did. None of the rest of them were faced with that same choice, so it's quite easy to judge Nesta after the fact.

And just to make some things clear, I have actually never been a huge Nesta fan. She's a really interesting character, but she has made me angry so many times. That fight she and Elain have in acosf, where Nesta throws Greyson in Elain's face and insinuates that Elain is to blame for their father's death? Fuck Nesta specifically in that situation.

However - Nesta has changed a lot from the beginning to acosf, through everything that happens in hofas. A lot. If I knew Nesta irl, I would not be her friend. I would honestly react the way that Mor does - I'd try to be nice, Nesta would be mean to me, and then I'd shrug and say okay fuck you too. But Nesta as a character has experienced a lot of growth and change, and while I do think that not reading hofas means acotar fans might not see that right away, I am excited for everyone to see it in the future.

With this fandom it's either the ship war or it's the IC versus Valkyries war or it's pitting the sisters against each other. Just let us have nuanced fucking takes, ffs. (not you anon, I am just ranting)

#nesta #hofas bonus chapter #hofas spoilers #house of flame and shadow #house of flame and shadow spoilers #ask #anon #spoilers

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shallyne · 2 years

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High Queen Feyre

Things that might point to Feyre becoming High Queen. Enjoy!

1. Amaranthas titles mirror Feyres titles (Huntress, High Lady, maybe High Queen & Faerie Queen)

2. The land chose Feyre because in ACOWAR the forest in the middle parted to let her through (around chapter 58/59)

"The woods seemed to monitor each of my steps" - acomaf page 217

3. Symbolic: the first time Feyre sat on a throne after being crowned High Lady was in the court of nightmares. She sat on the throne and Rhys leaned against it

4. I don't know if that is important but it feels important: Feyre is able to befriend Prythians deadliest monsters. Example: the Suriel, Bryaxis

5. "leave this world a better place than how you found it, Cursebreaker" - the Suriel, acowar

6. Power of all 7 High Lords

7. "You were given life by all 7 of us....what if we gave you more than expected? What if you could stand against us-hold your own, a High Lady?" or High Queen? Acomaf pg. 73

8. "No one was my master-but I could be the master of everything, if I wished. If I dared." acomaf page 319

9. "What-get rid of the High Lords?" "Perhaps. But mostly eliminate the inherent privileges of High Fae over the lesser faeries." Tarquin to Feyre in acomaf page 323

10. In acotar, Feyre sees a mural where a female hand holds the cauldron. Maybe the Mother, maybe pointing to Feyre being High Queen

11. Lady of Many Faces (Book of Breathing calling Feyre) | Queen of Many Faces (Book in Crescent City)

12. ACOSF chapter 42, Amren and Rhys talking about High King." I didn't do anything to earn my power, I was born with it." Feyre did earn her power.

13. ACOSF chapter 42 "Feyre isn't interested in being High Queen." - "She would do the necessary evil to protect her unborn child."

14. Aelin ended up as Queen | HOSAB mentioned Bryce twice as future Queen | Feyre = High Queen?

15. "Once I discovered and mastered what the others had given me, I could weave them together - into something new, something of every Court and none of them." acomaf page 451

16. Acowar page 419 "Would we fight against Hybern only to find ourselves with a King and Queen of Prythian?" Tamlin about Feysand

17. "Today Rhys's mysterious clothier made me into the Queen of Night." acowar page 464

18. "Look at you, a child of all seven courts - like and unlike all. How the cauldron purrs in your presence" chapter 64 acomaf

19. "And the new, emerging world beyond." Acofas chapter 1

20. "I loved the work, actually. This territory, it's people - they were as much my heart as my mate." Acofas chapter 1

21. "There was more that I could do to help. Personally. I just hadn't figured it out yet." Acofas chapter 1

22. "...and followed her High Lord and Lady through the darkness, back into the light." Acofas chapter 6

23. Rhys's POV at the end of ACOMAF, he thinks of Feyre as "My Queen"

24. Feyre in acomaf being like "I knew I haven't finished what I was born to do" and Suri telling her in acowar "Leave the world a better place than how you found it"

25.“His High Lady looked so young he always forgot how young she truly was, considering what she'd already faced and achieved in her life.”

26. Book of Breathings called Feyre Princess 3 times. "Princess of Carrion", "Princess of Decay", "Princess with..." (got interrupted by Amren) bc that's what she is rn, she's gonna be Queen later

Plus this tiktok that I saw yesterday. (not mine but very interesting)

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #high queen feyre #feyre archeron #feyre #feyre cursebreaker #high lady of the night court #feyre darling #high lady feyre #High Queen of Prythian #acotar theory #acotar theories #Shallyne theory #Shallyne theories #Feyre Theory #High queen

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bloodofthefates · 3 months

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x. “You know I’m always here for you, right?” (elain for nesta!) from @homebehind

The soft melodic voice was familiar, yet the words they carried felt as foreign as the sentiment behind them. Nesta remained still as stone, caught in the crosshairs of a contemplative moment and finding any reason to excuse herself from her sister’s company, from the very room itself and away from Elain’s pitying gaze. It was the same look that had been in Feyre’s eyes at the river house, the same defeat stitched together with hopelessness at the downfall and subsequent spiral of their eldest sister though the words they used remained vastly different. With a sudden jolt of movement, Nesta closed the leatherbound volume she’d had splayed across her lap with the brush of pages the only sound as she palmed the cover willing the worlds she so often escaped to of fictions and fantasy to give her power in the moment. She hadn’t yet turned to face Elain, to deign to acknowledge her entry into the sanctity of her quiet solace in the House of Wind’s library beyond the shift of her steely gaze to her periphery, not unlike a cornered or caged creature losing its territory but refusing to concede. Nesta set the book aside on the table tucked in next to the plush arm of the oversized reading chair she’d coiled herself upon with her legs tucked beneath her; the same way she’d done as a little girl resulting in only reprimands from their mother and grandmother for her very unladylike posture. If she didn’t possess the right poise and silhouette, then no suitor and certainly no husband would want her. Nesta cleared her throat at last, chasing away the echoes of human memories she couldn’t help but wonder if they too would fade away over time, over decades and centuries as the High Fae marked the passing of age. There were many things Nesta missed being human, but there were troves of closeted skeletons she wanted to leave behind to never look back on again. She pushed herself to the edge of the chair that dwarfed her in size, feet slipping out from under her to gracefully meet the floor and she half-turned in her seat to finally face Elain standing before her head-on. There was the same angry feral part of her that wanted to rail against dear sweet Elain, to combat the kindness she’d clearly come so selflessly to offer but the part of her that didn’t want it consumed her just as it had in Rhysand’s office with everyone watching her when she’d been exiled and shipped off to the House of Wind in the first place. She didn’t want anything from Feyre, her help or her pity and now she’d sent Elain in her stead in hopes of what? Getting through to her so she would cater to her little inner circle and remain under her High Lord’s commanding thumb? Nesta felt the bile of emotions rise up in her throat, heating her skin with the residual fury that was never far beneath the surface but as her glare narrowed in on Elain as her target she suddenly expelled a singular exhausted breath. All the first in her eyes and fight in the tension of her muscles went out of her and offered nothing more than a practiced and produced polite ghost of a smile. “I know…” Was all she said, voice hoarse and rasping from the control she exerted to keep herself as calm and collected in the moment as she could until the storm within her chest was doused and Elain left her again to her own solitude. Elain was there for her in all the ways Nesta felt she had failed her before, had failed both her sisters and the sting of those words unspoken were the ones that cut her the deepest.

#homebehind #✲ NESTA ARCHERON [ interaction ]#✲ NESTA ARCHERON [ dynamic ] ELAIN ARCHERON #answered #OUCH.#😭

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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Knew that without the barrier of the wall, some Fae territories were pushing the limits on what they could get away with in terms of border claims and how they treated humans.

At the start of SF, we have Nesta mention that without the wall (which we know divided Spring and the Human Lands) there is concern over human and Fae relations.

The Spring Court made Cassian itch

“Beron doesn’t have the military strength to control the Autumn Court and a territory on the continent,” Cassian countered. Eris’s fingers closed around the petals. “Who says he wants land on the continent?” He surveyed the orchard—as if to make a point.

“Beron knows another war that pits Fae against Fae would be catastrophic. Many of us would be wiped out entirely. Especially …” Rhys tilted his head back to take in the apple blossoms. “Especially those of us who are weakened. And when the dust settles, there would be at least one court left vacant, its lands bare for the taking.”

(Rhys is referring to Spring being the Court available for taking)

Eris nodded knowingly. “I can delay my father from allying with Briallyn and starting this war for a little while. But not forever. A few months, perhaps.

If war was coming, they needed Tamlin and his forces in fighting shape. Needed Tamlin ready.

With a new war possible and Briallyn up to her bullshit with Koschei, we need a strong ally. We need the Spring Court’s forces.”

And why not the Spring Court’s? Tamlin wouldn’t notice anyone missing at this point.”

“They say a beast prowls these lands now. A beast with keen green eyes and golden fur. Some people think the beast has forgotten his other shape, so long has he spent in his monstrous form. And though he roams these lands, he does not see or care for the neglect he passes, the lawlessness, the vulnerability. Even his manor has fallen into disrepair, half-eaten by thorns, though rumors fly that he himself destroyed it.” “Enough with the double-talk,” Cassian said. “Tamlin’s staying in his beast form and is finally getting the punishment he deserves. So what?” Eris and Rhys held each other’s gaze. Eris said, “You’ve been trying to bring Tamlin back for a while. But he isn’t getting better, is he?”

“But Tamlin is already hanging by a thread. You and Lucien have made it clear that he’s barely improved this past year.

Springs borders are currently open and Tamlin isn't doing anything to stop what's been going on. There is a very real concern that if things continue, Beron could take over Spring. But based on everything above, Tamlin is not the person they can look to for an ally with Spring, nor is he in any position to be it's leader.

“No. But we need to summon Lucien,” Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn’t like it one bit. “We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears.”

I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court. I went of my own free will. And we completed the Rite.”

But Elain … The Spring Court had been made for someone like her.

The magic sometimes took a while to decide, and often jumped around the birth order completely. Sometimes it found a cousin instead. Sometimes it abandoned the bloodline entirely

Honestly, can it be denied that Lucien has stepped up for Spring in a way that Tamlin has not?

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” Before I could object, he said, “You ruined any chance I have of going back to Spring. Not to Tamlin, but to the court beyond his house. Everyone either still believes the lies you spun or they believe me complicit in your deceit.

“My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles.”

Who better to clear Lucien's name?

I know Lucien is Heir to Day but I honestly don't see anything happening to Helion. So Lucien and Elain need some purpose until he takes over which could be centuries. Maybe she'll be the High Lady of Spring and he'll stand by her side as acting High Lord (or even High King which there are hints for) as he has the knowledge to actually run the Court (whereas she would initially need guidance as Feyre did). By that time he's ready to take over Day, they'll have children that are a product of Spring and Day and one would take over Spring if the magic intended.

You know what else I never really considered until my last Anon but love?

Friends, I realized. They had somehow become his friends.

“He’s keeping everything running. I think he’d have been crowned king by now if it wasn’t for Vassa.”

“Vassa and Jurian are two sides of the same coin. Mercifully, their vision for the future of the human territories is mostly aligned

Jurian to Vassa: “Last I heard, your kingdom was no longer yours. Are you still a queen?”

BUT:

Both trying to lead the humans who occupied the sliver of land at the southernmost end of Prythian. Left ungoverned for so long. Too long. No king or queen remained in these lands. No memory of their name, their lineage.

SJM really just told us that Queen Vassa and Jurian are going to eventually rule over the land near Spring Court.

What better way to help continued Human / Fae relations than to have Elain and Lucien ruling Spring together (even temporarily), a Court that borders the land that their two good friends rule over?

#acotar theory #pro elucien #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro elain archeron #pro lucien vanserra #spring court #anti tamlin #vassa acotar #jurian acotar

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zazu75 · 2 years

Text

Alfion Thumbelina AU

Uhhh I have. I just. Um. Look. Fairy wings. tiny. fairytales. idk.

but also, special thanks to @colbypuppythebaker for helping me put this together and listening to me going on and on and giving me an idea for the ending.

(also as usual i made this dramatic lmao)

I'm thinking everyone but Alfyn’s mom, Dalia, tbh? like...

Alfyn is found in the flower and raised by her

but he's away from the entire society/civilization of the smols???

idk what they're called

and he doesn’t find them until a bird snatches him away one day and then a frog tries to get him to marry his daughter.

and he escapes by a "waterfall" which is like, those baby waterfalls on a brook

and then he's pulled out of the water by Therion, who's a runaway noble/prince. I haven't decided yet

and Therion has wings and Alfyn is supposed to have wings but he doesn't because he doesn't know about drinking flower nectar and sleeping in flowers and--

Alfyn just wants to go home and Therion decides to help him because it's further away from his own home

but there's so many rules that Alfyn keeps breaking and Therion is just omfg are you an animal

but Alfyn doesn't know better

biggest one is sharing flowers. Which is like. scandalous unless you're family or married or something.

But when Therion finds Alfyn, he's very weak and almost dying so they share a flower so he can take care of him

and then Alfyn suggests they keep sharing flowers after and Therion is blushing furiously and is just "'no!!! never again!!!" and Alfyn is sad : (

and Therion cannot sleep because he feels guilty because of this fae? fairy? idk? doesn't know better

And Alfyn is so earnest and friendly and is constantly trying his best

and then after a few days of sleeping in flowers, Alfyn grows his wings! and they fly over the frog territory, Alfyn still learning how to, and Therion finds it cute how excited he is about flying because its not a big deal to him

and when they arrive back at Alfyn's home, they land at the windowsill. and the window is open so Alfyn casually flies inside, calling for his ma

Therion is horrified and is like "shut uppp we're gonna get eaten omg"

but then Alfyn yells and Therion dives inside and the frog is there! it wants alfyn to come home and marry his daughter.

Therion pulls out his sword to defend Alfyn, but is almost eaten by the frog

and right when the tongue catches him, a big jar lands on the frog and a very stern voice "let go of my son's friend!"

Dalia (because I’m defaulting to that from now on for the name of Alfyn's mother) then takes the frog out and tells him not to come back

all the while the frog is declaring war on Therion, which only Therion and Alfyn understand

Dalia is a very nice person and she's so happy to have Alfyn back. Therion finds himself warming up to her after she gives them human food and gives him some of Alfyn's old clothes to change into, becuase his are slimy from the fight

and she even has a little bath for them and they take turns getting clean

Alfyn takes the bed that his mother made for him and offers Therion the flower, after Dalia has brought it to the table.

Therion accepts sleeping there after much insistence and the whole night he's like "I’m sleeping in someone else's flower this is too much -blush blush blush-"

Alfyn doesn't know any better and is all smiles the next morning

They spend the day together and Alfyn's wings aren't working as well, because he didn't sleep in a flower the night before.

Dalia promises to go dig out a few flowers later, when she finds out, but that doesn't happen until the day after.

and that night Aflyn gets the flower and Therion cannot sleep in the bed and Dalia is still up doing needlework and he finds himself talking to her

about the fae civilization and how it works and so on

she's very nice and soft-spoken

and he finds himself telling her about him running away

see, Therion is adopted by the Tressa's parents

and as very high nobles/royalty, there's lots of arranged marriages

...I’m gonna go with prince

And his younger sister was in an arranged marriage to a major noble family’s son, Darius

Issue is, she didn’t want it, and Therion loves his sister, so he decided to do it in her stead

He was okay with it

But Darius is... rude. Easy to anger. They can get along but they are very very different people.

They’re constantly bickering and arguing and Therion haaaates it

But he had swallowed his feelings for the sake of his sister

It doesn’t help he and Darius used to be friends. He’s the one who taught Theiron everything about sneaking out

They were good friends until they grew up and had a falling out

What made Therion run away wasn’t just that tho

See he was out for a “stroll” flying about one night an accidentally found his “fiancé” sneaking out from his home

So he... followed him

And found out that 1) his fiancé had someone who he was deeply in love with. as hot headed as his fiancé was with him, as soft as he was with his beau

2) his fiancé also really hated the idea of the marriage too.

Therion just... something in him broke. He flew away and never looked back. And next morning, he found Alfyn floating on a piece of wood in the brook.

Dalia listened to his story and tells him he’s welcome to stay as long as he likes

Alfyn is very happy to have a friend around

And she promises she’ll find some nice flowers for them, so they don’t have to share if they don’t want to, or sleep in the same one many times in a row

Therion thanks her and goes to sleep soon after.

And next morning, after breakfast, Dalia goes out to get the flowers. Alfyn goes along too, and Therion opts to stay behind.

As Therion wanders the small house, a familiar voice calls to him

And it’s his retainer, Zeph!

And Zeph is just “why are you in a human home why did you run away everyone’s looking for you”

Therion refuses to go back. Tells Zeph that so long as the marriage was on, he wasn’t coming back.

Zeph tries to convince him to come back. Therion refuses. And as they argue, the door opens and Dalia and Alfyn come back.

Zeph tries to hide, but Theiron doesn’t care and greets them, and Zeph is confused because ???? who are these people

“This is Alfyn and that’s his mom.”

“Um....”

“Adoptive”

“Oh, okay.”

Therion tells Zeph he’ll stay here until the marriage is called off. Or forever.

Zeph flies off to deliver the message

Alfyn doesn’t know what it was about, and Therion doesn’t wanna talk about it, so Alfyn respects that and instead distracts Therion with talks of the flowers they brought

Therion likes it with them a lot. There’s no expectations of being a prince. No one to nag him about things. But he feels guilty for leaving everything behind.

Two days later, Alfyn hears two voices calling for Therion

Zeph is back! With a girl in tow.

Girl tackles Therion and pinches his cheeks hard

He’s not happy about this.

“Of course they’d send you” he snarls

“Hey! That’s no way to greet your sister!”

Girl’s name is Tressa and she’s Therion’s little sister

And she insists he has to come back

And Therion refuses so long as the wedding is on

“But that’s the thing! Your fiancé ran away too!”

“What?”

“Turns out he had a beau and he didn’t wanna leave him so he ran off!”

“... huh.”

“They’re going past the frog territories—“

“—what? Shit— I think one of the frog nobles kinda declared war on us?”

“WHAT?!” Zeph and Tressa scream

Alfyn and Therion fill them in on the thing with the frog.

And Tressa’s reply to Therion is “and you couldn’t just let them get married?”

“H-hey...” Alfyn protests weakly

Therion is very angry, however.

Reminds her exactly why he ran off in the first place and how he took her place so she wouldn’t be the one trapped in this.

She’s apologetic, but he’s still mad at her and tells her to go fill their parents in about what’s happening.

Tressa apologizes once more before she leaves with Zeph.

And Therion flies to a flower and hides inside.

Alfyn comes by a few minutes later. Therion tries to kick him out because no sharing!! And Alfyn just dismisses him “yeah I get it but I’m just here to see if you’re okay. I won’t stay long, honest.”

Therion can’t begrudge him. He’s too nice.

And they get talking and Theiron tells Alfyn everything that was going on

And Alfyn just holds his hand and smiles and says they’re friends now, and Theiron can stay as long as he wants, and if he needs any help, Alfyn will do whatever he can for him.

And Therion calls him a sap but he’s also trying to hide his blush because Alfyn is very sweet.

Alfyn laughs and they talk about other things before he leaves Therion alone with his thoughts

Maybe the war becomes close to being a reality? And Alfyn decides if his marriage to the frog lady will fix it, he’ll go for it?

And Theiron feels terrible because this his (crush) friend

And decides he’s the one who attacked the frog, so he should be the one married off

And interrupts the frog wedding preparations to offer himself up instead

Something the frog dad happily accepts because royalty!

But then what...

Oh! What if the frog daughter didn’t know about any of this

And she screeches? Ribbits at her dad angrily when she finds out

“They’re not even my type!!”

And Alfyn and Therion watch awkwardly as the frog dad gets yelled at.

They both get to go home, after

Therion to his family and Alfyn to his mom

Therion calls off the wedding completely. Saying he will run off and take Tressa with him if they try this again

Aaand Darius comes clean to his family about already being with someone

They don’t take it well. Because he’s supposed to marry them into a better life

And he’s contemplating running away again with Miguel when Therion comes up to him “I know the perfect place”

And takes them to Dalia and Alfyn

Alfyn is very happy to see Therion again and meet new people

And I think that’s when Alfyn asks Theiron out? Though Therion would ask if he’s sure, because he’d need to get familiar with their society’s rules. Since Therion is a prince and all of that.

And Alfyn agrees? And he gets to go visit proper fairy Society? And Dalia isn’t lonely while he’s gone because Darius and Miguel are there?

Dalia curates a nice fairy garden around her home for fairies to visit and feel safe in, after Alfyn moves away more permanently

And he’d want her at the wedding, obviously, so he’d want to be married near her home

So she’d start working on the garden and then a bunch of fairies come and help and make it look very nice for the wedding and she upkeeps it after

... maybe becomes a vacation/wedding destination for fairies after XD

#zazu writes #octopath traveler #alfion #redhead squids #alfyn greengrass #therion #Zeph Creston #Tressa Colzione

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years

Text

HEART'S DESIRE - CHAPTER 6

*Warning: Adult Content*

‘Why don’t we just ask him?’ Julian Hart asks, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

‘I mean, why does it always have to be high drama with you ‘Wolves’? Just tell him we know he wasn’t completely truthful and see what he says.’

‘Because it wouldn’t change the fact that he’s already been dishonest,’ Alpha Dane Hunter, replies.

‘This was his chance to make his case and he lied or at least withheld information. Even if he cleared it up to satisfaction, how are we suppose to trust anything else he says?’

‘He’s been through hell,’ Montreal Hunter argues.

‘You saw it. Whatever else may or may not be true, he didn’t do that to himself. If he’s not telling us something, it’s probably because he can’t. It would be cruel to force him.’

Monty remembers how Kit Montaine had got the wrong idea about the shower and grows warm with anger at the thought.

‘Maybe,’ Dane allows.

‘But there are other factors to consider. If he was anyone else, I wouldn’t hesitate. But he’s not just anyone, Monty. He is a Montaine.’

‘In name only,’ Monty shoots back.

‘And hardly that. You heard how they treated him.’

‘And therein lies the problem.’ Ambrose Thorne interjects.

‘Something we heard wasn’t quiet the truth.’

‘So we vote,’ Dane says.

‘And just so everyone understands, I’ll lay it out, granting asylum means we accept him as one of our own. If the Montaines come knocking we defend him as we would defend ourselves. Think about that, about what you are willing to risk and for whom,’ he adds, looking around the room at each of them.

‘For myself I have to vote against it. My Pack, my family come first. I won’t jeopardize that for a Montaine.’

‘You were going to marry one,’ Julian adds.

‘That was before she tried to kill my Mate and eat his heart,’ Dane growls. ‘In case you’ve forgotten.’

Julian sighs and frowns, crossing his arms across his chest.

‘Of course I haven’t forgotten that’s why I have to vote against it, too. I feel bad for Kit but Luca and Luna are as Fae as I am and I don’t want the Montaines anywhere near them.’

‘I agree,’ Chloe Foley says softly.

‘The Montaines tried to take this territory once. If I can’t be completely sure of Kit, I can’t offer him the welcome, I would otherwise like.’

Monty is disappointed but he understands.

He wasn’t here for what went down with Chloe’s crazy dad and the Montaines but he knows it was bad and he doesn’t blame anyone for not being able to forget about it.

And if what Dane had told him about the twins is true, that they are both Alpha-born, then he gets his reluctance.

Future Alphas are future threats, which makes them potential targets.

‘Objectively, I’m not sure we have the resources to defy the Montaines, if it came to a fight,’ Noah Hunter says.

‘Last time Freya, Ian and I were barely a match for Selene and her brothers and all together their Pack is about twenty strong, last I heard. We don’t have the numbers.’

‘Is that a ‘no’ then?’ Dane asks and Noah glaces at Monty apologetically.

‘It is.’

‘Ambrose?’ Dane asks, turning to him.

‘My mate’s vote is mine,’ he answers simply and Dane runs his hands over his ropey dread-locks and sighs.

‘Traditionally it’s only Pack that has a say and Chloe speaks for her ‘Shifter Clan’ but I think Ian deserves a vote, too. So what is it?’

Ian Foley shifts in his seat.

He’s a big, roughish guy with red hair and a beard and a patch over one eye.

His alternative form is a bear.

‘I don’t like the idea of turning away a man in need,’ Ian says slowly.

‘But I don’t want to bring down trouble neither. I killed a Montaine... in a fair fight but still,’ he adds with a shrug.

‘They might come looking for revenge. I am not worried about myself and I figure my little Sam can take care of himself and about anything,’ he smiles fondly at his mate.

‘But most of our Clan aren’t fighters and would be no match for a Wolf if the Montaines decide to take out their grievances that way.’

Alpha Dane nods and then turns his amber eyes on his brother.

‘Monty?’

Dane did this on purpose, Monty realizes and it makes him angry.

Dane knows him well... knows he doesn’t like to displease... and with everyone else having already spoken, he feels pressured to go along with the Pack.

He understands their hesitations, they all have reasons, none of them bad and with all eyes on him, Monty wavers.

Maybe it would be better to say no, to send Kit on to another Pack, one more established and more prepared to take him in.

Then again, the nearest large Pack is up North in Oregon, back the way Kit came and If they say no, too.

What if the Montaines caught up with Kit in between territories.

And then he remembers how surprised the young man had been to be treated with kindness and care and there’s only one answer his conscience could let him give.

‘I vote he stays,’ Monty says and Dane blows out his breath and rises, crossing the room to stand before a high, wide window.

Monty know his brother is wrestling with himself and with how to answer him.

Dane might be more democratic than most but he’s still an Alpha and he’ll still overrule Monty if he wants to.’

‘Monty,’ Dane sighs again and turns back to face his brother and plays his last card.

‘If you say he stays, then he stays. But he stays with you. You will be responsible for him, not just for keeping him safe but for any consequences that come with it. If he comes to harm or brings harm to us, that is one you, understand?’

Monty swallows.

Dane doesn’t know how close to the bone he just cut and that’s the only reason Monty forgives his Alpha brother, he doesn’t know.

He promised Kit he would be safe here but he also promised himself he would never again be responsible for another life again.

Now he has to break one of those promises.

Dane sees Monty’s hesitation and pounces on it.

‘It’s not like we’ll just toss him out with nothing,’ he says.

‘We will make sure he is taken care of. The Castellano Pack owes me a favour or two and they’re well equipped to deal with this sort of thing. He’ll...’

‘He stays.’ Monty says, getting to his feet at his full height and addresses his family and friends.

‘I’ll take responsibility. For everything.

No one objects after that, they had their reservations but nobody wanted to turn Kit away.

Monty goes to get Kit from the library and tell him the good news and finds the young man curled up and sleeping in a chair.

Now that Kit had told them that he had some Fox in him, Monty sees it.

His messy golden curls have undertones of red, his eyes are a bit pointed and his nose is long and straight with a refined tip that makes Monty want to run his finger down the slope of the bridge.

In a word, Kit Montaine is very cute.

Then again, most Shifters don’t actually resemble their alternative form, so maybe it’s because he’s part Wolf.

Cautiously Monty touches Kit’s shoulder and calls his name.

He stirs, awakens and blinks up at Monty, his face still soft and unguarded as awareness returns.

Monty smiles back at him in what he hopes is a reassuring way.

‘Hey Kit.’

Sitting up quickly, his features regain their pinched, worried aspect, his dark eyes veiled by long golden lashes.

‘You’ve decided?’ he whispers addressing the rug at Monty’s feet.

‘We have.’

‘Can I stay?’

‘Yes. You can stay.’

Only a heartless monster could say otherwise.

Or, apparently everyone else but him.

Kit’s face lights up with renewed hope but Monty raises his hand.

The young Fox Shifter hasn’t heard the caveat yet.

‘You can stay but there is a... condition.’

‘Anything,’ he says, his voice strained with desperation.

‘Please I’ll do anything.’

Kit’s thin fingers catch at the front of Monty’s shirt and he takes the young man’s fine-boned hand in his.

‘You can stay Kit but you have to stay with me,’ he explains.

Kit removes his hand from Monty’s and moves away, seemingly confused.

‘Not with the Alpha?’ he asks.

Monty rubs the back of his neck, feeling unaccountably stung by Kit’s reaction.

‘No. Not with Dane. He asked me to take responsibility for you and I agreed. So while you are under our protection, you have to stay with me.’

‘Oh,’ Kit says, lowering his eyes again and his expression clears.

‘I understand. If it is the Alpha’s wish, then I will serve you however you like... master.’

‘It’s Monty,’ he corrects, a little sharply, and the young man flinched at Monty’s tone.

‘Monty,’ Kit echoes obediently, his eyes still angled at the floor and Monty sighs.

‘Kit, look at me,’ Monty requests and Kit does

‘I am not you ‘Master’ I am just you bodyguard. Understand?’

‘Okay.’

‘Good.’

Monty nods but he’s not really sure that Kit gets it or if he is just saying it because it’s what he thinks Monty wants him to say.

‘Come on then. Come and meet the Hunter Pack and Foley Clan.’

Rejoining the others, Monty makes the formal introductions.

Kit Montaine only speaks when spoken to, makes fleeting eye contact and stays close to Monty’s side.

Monty sees a flicker of surprise cross Kit’s features when Noah introduces Ambrose Thone as his Mate but when Dane does the same with Julian Hart, the young Fox Shifter is clearly shocked.

‘But you’re not a Wolf,’ Kit gasps, his soft voice breathy with astonishment. Julian narrows his eyes at him and then exchanges a glance with Dane.

‘What exactly did your sister tell you about me?’ Dane asks.

‘What did she tell you happened between me and her?’

"She didn't," Kit answers, keeping his eyes lowered and holding very still.

"She doesn't speak to me. But I overheard. She said she tried to dissolve her arranged match with you, and that you wouldn't let her go."

Julian laughs incredulously and Dane frowns.

‘It was the opposite,’ he says.

“I’d found my Mate, my true Mate and so I asked Selene to release me From our Agreement but she refused.’

Kit finally dares to look up.

‘But... the hunt?’

“Let me guess,’ Dane says.

‘She said I demanded a Hunt as a challenge for her hand and I’d only let her go if her side won.’

Kit nods, his dark eyes wide.

‘Bitch,’ Dane growls.

‘Figures. She never could stand to lose. I bet she said Claude died defending her honor, too.’

Kit nods again.

‘No wonder she left us alone,’ Noah comments.

‘That’s an easy lie to disprove and I don’t doubt that even the Montaines would appreciate her jeopardizing the peace accord like that. The lost Wolves in the war, too, same as most Packs.’

‘The war? Kit echoes and Julian shares a look with Dane and then addresses Kit, eyeing him with caution and curiosity.

‘Do you Know what I am?’ Julian asks.

‘Not a Wolf.’ Kit whisperers lowering his eyes once more.

‘No. Not a wolf,’ Julian agrees.

‘I am Fae although I din’t know that until your sister and a few other psychos tried to kill me for it. It was that kind of hunt.’

Kit remained confused.

‘What kind?’

‘Did your Pack teach you anything? Wolf history?’ Dane asked impatiently and kit flinches.

“No,’ he breathes.

‘They taught me nothing. What I know I learnt by listening and... by experience.’

Dane glances at Ambrose but the dragon-born lifts his eye-brows and shakes his head. It’s not a lie at least.

‘Hmm,’ Dane grunts but huis expression loses a few degrees of hostility.

‘Guess you’ve got some catching up to do, then. Noah can help with that, it will be good practise for when the pups are old enough,’

Kit look up quickly.

‘You have children outside your match?’ he asks with obvious interest.

‘Like me?’

‘Huh? Oh. No,’ Dane says scratching the back of his head.

‘They’re Julian’s, too.’

‘But...’

Kit glances between them, probably wondering if he’s missing something.

‘It’s a long story,’ Noah says, taking pity on the young man.

‘In the meantime, I’ve a few books you can borrow on the history of Wolves and Fae. They’re not the most nuanced accounts but they’ll serve as a starting point.’

‘Oh, no,’ Kit demurs, his smooth dusky skin darkening to bronze with apparent embarrassment.

‘I can’t.’

‘Sure you can,’ Noah presses gently.

‘They’re not valuable or anything. Even if they were, you’re as good as Pack while you’re under our protection and lending you a few books is the least I can do.’

‘I mean... I can’t read them,’ Kit clarifies, glancing up though his long golden lashes and Noah Hunter frowns.

‘Why not?’

‘He means, he can’t read at all,’ Dane interrupts and Kit nods.

Noah and Grace gasp in unison, appearing equally scandalized.

‘The Montaines are reclusive and their territory is remote,’ Dane says thoughtfully.

‘It would’ve been easy to keep him outta school. You can do what you want when someone doesn’t officially exist.’

Monty can’t help feeling a little gratified to see several expressions turn to horror as the gravity of Kit’s situation finally hits home.

Noah takes it a step beyond and he stands, straightens his spine and addresses Dane in a firm tone.

‘I know it’s a bit late to say so now,’ he says, giving Monty his second apologetic look of the day.

‘I would like it noted that I have changed my vote. Kit stays.’

Grace claps her hands.

"Here, here!"

Alpha Dane sighs but with less discontent than before.

"Well, that's that, then," he says.

"Welcome to the Pack, Kit."

And they do welcome him. Grace vows to 'put some fat on his bones' and Noah swears he'll introduce him to 'the universe of books.'

Julian tells him about the town of Spring Lakes and Sam and Ian invite him to Sam's birthday celebration the following week.

And though he remains withdrawn and shy, still a bit shell-shocked and shivering with relief, Kit offers everyone grateful smiles.

Ambrose alone remains quiet and continues to watch Monty’s new charge thoughtfully.

When the Dragon-born murmurs a quiet word beneath his breath, Monty only hear it because he’s standing next to him, having already assumed his familiar role, present but a little apart.

‘Interesting,’ he says.

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acourtofbloodandflame · 1 year

Text

Chapter I

“He knew why he’d come here, why he always came here . For all that Amren taunted him about being an Illyrian brute, he knew his own mind, his own heart. Devlon was a fairer camp-lord than most. But for the females who were less fortunate, who were preyed upon or cast out, there was little mercy. So training these women, giving them the resources and confidence to fight back, to look beyond their campfires . . . it was for her. For the mother buried here, perhaps buried nowhere. So it might never happen again. So his people, whom he still loved despite their faults, might one day become something more. Something better.

The unmarked, unknown grave in this pass was his reminder. Cassian stood in silence for long minutes before turning his gaze westward. As if he might see all the way to Velaris.

Rhys wanted him home for the Solstice, and he’d obey.

Even if Nesta--

Nesta.

Even in his thoughts, her name clanged through him, hollow and cold. Now wasn’t the time to think of her. Not here.

He very rarely allowed himself to think of her, anyway. It usually didn’t end well for whoever was in the sparring ring with him.

He wasn’t a fool. Nesta had been human, she’d seen her sister taken and turned fae, she’d been bound and dragged from her home below the wall by fae hands, she’d been cauldron-made against her will. Her hatred of him and his ilk, her fear, her anger, he understood them all. That the rest of the court, her own sisters, even Rhys who had walked with Feyre through her own similar journey, that they all expected her to simply forgive, forget . . . He shook his head.

He’d obey. He’d go to Solstice and be the jester they expected him to be, but it didn’t change how he felt, did nothing to soothe the unbridled rage he felt on her behalf, did nothing to salve the hurt he felt for her. It had cracked something in him, the unwavering loyalty he’d sworn to his court had begun to falter with Nesta; first with the stories his High Lady had spun of her sisters, and now this.

“She’ll be there,” Rhys had said, grinding his teeth, “and she’ll be pleasant. She owes Feyre that much.”

Nesta had been prepared to give Feyre, give this court her life, she had tended to his soldiers in the last war. Yet this was the repayment she got? That she owed Feyre her smiles? The mating bond had blinded Rhys.

Cassian wasn’t afraid of the mating bond he had scented when he’d first met Nesta below the wall. But this was why he wanted nothing to do with it, a force he didn’t understand, a force he’d seen destroy Rhys’s mother, a force he’d seen destroy Tamlin’s mother, a force now blinding his blood brother distilling his political counsel to his mate’s voice alone.

Feyre had been hurting, a girl of twenty who knew nothing of Prythian’s history. She had been thrust into the role of High Lady with little understanding of the Night Court territories beyond the glittering parts of Velaris. She knew little of the storm brewing in Illyria, knew little of the wounds that festered in the Hewn City. She was his High Lady and he’d obey but he saw her missteps all too clearly.

Illyrian camp lords had marked the opulent wealth on display at the riverfront estate when Rhys had summoned them for a meeting, traders who reached Illyria had talked of the riches of Velaris while Illyria lay in destitution. Mor, his High Lady’s right hand woman only deigned to visit the Hewn City when it suited their needs. She let Keir and his ilk rule over the lesser fae who dwelt there.

Cassian shut his eyes and let out a long frustrated sigh.

Nesta. She saw it all too. He’d heard it in her cutting words to Feyre, in her dislike of Rhys. He didn’t care if she laughed with his inner circle when those laughs rang so hollow. He didn’t care if she adjusted. He didn’t care about the mating bond. He wanted to be her friend and ally; this female brimming with irrepressible power. Together, he wanted to right the imbalance the last war had left in its wake.

He had not forgotten, as the others had, that she had taken a stand against the human queens even when fear of their retribution had been sour on her scent. He had not forgotten her words to the High Lords either, the ferocity with which she’d sought to protect her new world and her old.

He had not forgotten who Nesta was even if she now wanted to. He would keep reaching out.

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areyoudreaminof · 1 year

Text

Game Night WIP Risk! edition

Lucien had seen many terrifying things in his life. He was a man accustomed to facing danger in an instant and swallowing it down. But now, the sight of his sweet-tempered mate snarling at his best friend over a fake map of territories on their sitting room table sent a chill down his spine and locked to him down on the pink sofa. This standoff had been going on for hours. It was supposed to be a silly little war game they had found in a human catalogue, something to pass the time together. Now every second dragged with a weighted dread.

It had started fine enough, but something switched once they got the rules down. Lucien was out before he could register what was happening, his territories absorbed by Elain in a brutal land war. While Vassa, an actual queen, was scared off only two hours in. Now, it was three in the morning, the witching hour, his mother had once called it. Lucien could only hope that someone would just surrender or relent, because Elain was not going down without a fight. Jurian, the war lord and general, was certainly not about to lose to a tiny fae woman who needed a stool to reach the high shelves.

“Give it up old man,” Elain hissed. ‘I’ve got you cornered. Just surrender and we can call it a night.”

“Oh pipsqueak, do you really think you’re going anywhere with that sad excuse of a unit?” Jurian asked “You’re barely holding down your coast as it is.”

#band of exiles and Elain are back baby #they might go feral for Elain's pies #but Elain is a warlord on the game board #they do play charades too

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bloodycassian · 3 years

Text

COLD NIGHTS - Cassian x Azriel x Reader - Prompt:

hi i love your work so much!!! I was thinking a cassian x azriel x reader (i just love them sm, why have one when you can have two ) where the reader is sister of a high lord maybe day or winter court, and reader goes missing (kinda angsty) and her brother (a high lord) panics and goes to the night court for help (bc if her two bat boys can’t find her who will) and az and cassian go full on panic mode and search for the reader, i was also thinking a fluffy cute ending where reader is just cuddling with azriel and cassian while her wounds heal take as much time as you need to write this, don’t pressure yourself. Take care lovely

Kallis would never forget the screams. The terror and panic that rushed through him when he realised that you were gone. He sent half the city to search for you. He called upon Helion to inspect the magic. He was frantic in finding you. But it was like you had just disappeared out of nowhere. No sign of struggle, not a drop of blood spilled. The offender was sloppy in their ways, but their magic was strong. Helion could sense it. They had a deathwish from Kallis himself if he ever found them. + The first thing you saw were your cracked and bloody hands. They were split open from the dry cold wind. Sea air drifted into the cave. The cold brutal howling outside mixed with the roar of waves breaking confirmed your nightmares. Cape Tragedy.

The islands off the coast of winter were known for their unforgiving nature to ships. Hence their name, Cape Tragedy. Also known as the Tragic coast, no stories were ever heard of any survivors of those crashes. If they had managed to survive the churning water, then the false salvation of the islands would kill them. It happened often enough that there were lighthouses set atop many of the bigger islands for ships to avoid on stormy days.

You coughed from the dry air, earning a pair of yellow eyes to dart to you. One of the three lesser fae males noticed you were awake and clapped. "She wakes! We've been waiting for you, sweetheart." His green skin was pale in the overcast light streaming in from the mouth of the cave. Snow Bear pelts lay all around. A disgrace in your culture. No citizen of Winter court would do such a thing. You looked to the walls to find weapons, and strange markings along the stone. Sailors from far away lands.

Not even sailors. Pirates. A chill ran through you.

"We're going to get your weight in gold, pretty one." The scaled male curled a piece of your hair behind you ear. Your stomach turned, and you tried to scoot away. "My brother will kill you first. And he'll take a long time doing it." You promised, trying to make your voice sound strong. Terror had you by it's grip though, and it was hard to do anything other than panic

. "Your brother? The pretty one that shears the Elk?" The green one asked. You laughed, and then were hissing in pain when the scaled male yanked on your hair. "What's so funny?"

"You think my brother is an elk herder?" You spat "You must be dumber than you look." The males glanced between each other, then to the one who hadn't said anything yet.

"Who ye think you are then?" The male holding your hair stammered, trying to keep his panic under wraps.

"Kallis' sister." You said with deadly calm. "And the high lord does not negotiate."

"If you're so noble why you got such a mouth on ye?" The third male finally spoke.

They laughed.

"Maybe we will see just how much of a mouth-" He started again. He didnt have a chance to finish his disgusting words. You kicked, bending an ice spear straight up from the rocky ice floor and through the third male's body. Then the beating from the other two came.

They bound your wrists and ankles in rope and tar. Their hands shook when they did it. It gave you a small bit of satisfaction. The potion they gave you to knock you out was just barely strong enough. You fought it as best you could, but it won. You could only hear the faint sounds of arguing then a crash of glass, then the cold winds whipping around you. And when you woke, your body ached. The cold bit into your limbs. Your fingers were pale. Far too pale to be healthy. You knew frostbite when you saw it. Your body refused to move under your own power. Your blood was frozen to the icy ground. They had used a potion and transported you to a peninsula, and you could only faintly hear the ocean below. You could feel the potion wearing off, but you knew you weren't healing. Not yet. You reached down into your own mind, picking up the fading tendrils of power. Of your bond to the two you knew could save you. And you pulled as hard as you could manage. --- "Fuck." The roaring thought shook Cassian awake. Bleary eyed, he glanced about the room as if there was someone actually shouting at him. Then he felt it. The weak tug that had been silent for so long. And he knew it was nothing good. Frenzied, he met Azriel at the dining area. Where they spent the rest of the night planning, deducing a probable reason for you to be calling so weakly. They sent their worries to Rhys, but they were shooed away. "I'm researching. Meet me in the library at dawn." The two males tried to comfort each other. But the worry pulsating through the bond was too much to focus on. So they waited. Kallis appeared that morning. He spat his story and begged for help, practically in tears as he spoke to the three Illyrians. Cassian and Az knew something was wrong the moment you were attacked. Court laws forbade them interfering on Winter Court territory though. As soon as the approval was given, the brothers winnowed to the border of Winter and started flying. + You were coming to terms that you would die in the cold. You had imagined death differently. Battle was the primary way you thought you'd die. Or at the end of a High Lord's magic for being too much of an advisor. Smiling at the memory of putting Tamlin in his place, you gave another tug down the bonds to your mates. And like a snap, they both tugged back. Almost in unison. It was hard to tell. You closed your eyes, listening to the soft waves below. They lulled you into a cold sleep yet again. + Despite the cold, the Illyrians flew as fast as they could. They could sense your light fading, and chased it for mile after mile. Their wings cut through the harsh winter winds, fueled by rage and desperation. Then they spotted the dark figure frozen to the snow below. Cassian landed first, a few feet away. The ice cracked beneath him. "Get us out of here." He growled to Azriel. "We need to make sure she's okay before we move." Cassian growled, but didn't protest. Azriel understood. He felt the anguish and frustration through the shared bond. Az's hands pressed gently to your neck, checking your pulse. He swore. "Baby, we need you to wake up for us. We're here. We got you." Cassian put a hand to your cheek and fought back the tears that threatened. You groaned in response. They both sighed in relief, their breath making clouds in front of them. "I'm stuck..." You managed through your stiff jaw. Cassian stroked a thumb over your cheek. "Stuck? Honey you're-" "Cas..." Azriel nodded to your side, to the ice that crept its way up your damp clothes. Azriel could have taken a very very long time torturing the beasts that did this to his mate. The rage coiled in his gut at the sight of your injuries. The only reason you hadn't bled out was the blood and water mix turning your wounds to ice. Cassian pulled at the ice web that encapsulated you. Under the heat of his rage it broke, and broke and broke. Azriel placed small patches of his shield over your frostbitten fingers. "We're gonna get you out of here. Just stay still." Azriel smoothed back your hair, and darkness swirled over you. The change from the harsh overcast light of Winter court to the soft sun of Night court was jarring. Madja put her hands on you and you were asleep in an instant. Her warm hands were a blessing from the Mother. + "She's lucky she has that Winter blood in her or she'd be dead." Madja wiped her hands off and handed both the Illyrians a small vial. "That is the scrap from a poisoned sword that broke off in her shoulder. I got all the pieces out, but the poison lingers. It may heal slowly, but it should get better." Anguish burned both of their stomachs. Azriel's throat tightened and he looked away, but gripped the vial tightly. Cassian stared at it, his eyes murderous. Madja left without another word. "She was almost killed. And we couldn't do anything." Cassians' voice was low, with violence dripping from it. "We need her here. In Velaris where we can... watch her." He didn't know what he was saying, but the instinct to protect was overriding every other logical thought he had. Anger burned and burned in his stomach, swallowing him with rage. He could feel Az mirroring the same feeling, but with a cold deadliness that begged to simmer out of him. "You know she wont go for that. She loves her home too much. Her brother." Azriel whispered back. "We're her mates. She should be with us." Cassian was looking for a fight. All the tension and anger of the day had to be worked out. Azriel felt it too. His shadows ran anxiously through the room.

The wind outside howled. It shifted the dark clouds that covered the moon. It seemed to be a cold day in all of Prythian. A cold day in your mates hearts to the pirates that had taken you. They spoke their rage mind to mind, imagining the ways to torture the bastards.

How to find them would be the first priority. Azriel kept circling back to that part. + The healer cleared his throat at the door. "She's asking for you." He nodded to Rhys' brothers. They left Rhys behind in unison, walking in perfect step with each other. Their minds hummed together over that bond they shared with you. "Protect protect protect." They both seemed to demand. Azriel knocked softly, his heart flipping when he heard your voice again. "Get in here." You demanded, giving them a broad smile when they practically shoved each other out of the way.

"Come keep me warm." You weakly folded the blanket back, exposing some of the bruising on your skin.

They complied with enthusiasm. Azriel's hands were cold at first, but they got better when he reached around you to hold Cassian closer. They worked in tandem to keep you covered, making sure that you weren't too crowded or too warm. Azriel summoned his cool shadows when you got too warm and had to kick the blankets off. Cassian's warm breath would keep you warm when they became too much. You traced Azriel's cheekbones, the sharp edge of his jaw while falling alseep. Cassian's muscled forearms hugging you from behind were like a heavy pillow.

"Rest now, we can have more fun later." Az winked, making your stomach flutter. Cassian groaned and pulled you further to his lap. You tried not to think of the hardness that pressed to you now. "Goodnight." The shadowsinger kissed your forehead and like a light, you were out. Finally resting peacefully wrapped between your two mates and their warm bond you all shared.

#acotar fic #azriel x reader #cassian x reader

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