#now its time for someone to make tamlin

[faekept]

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[inkedinshadows]

Calanmai

Day 28: Breeding kink — Tamlin x f!reader

Warnings: oral (f receiving), p in v, rough sex

Word count: 1.507

A/N: sorry again for the delay in posting this one. I’m not sure about how this turned out, I honestly don’t know what to think of it. It's not exactly what I wanted it to be, but it also is what I wanted? Idk, I have no idea lol

Tamlin had warned you about Calanmai. He explained what it was and what he was required to do, and he made sure you knew you didn’t have to go if you didn’t want to. But you had stood by each other’s side since the day you met months ago, and you weren’t about to abandon him now.

Especially because you knew he hoped you would be there, even if he never said it and left the choice to you. And you wanted to be there. You wanted to see this part of him, too, and love it as much as every other part.

You stood among the faeries lining the path that led to the cave where the ritual would take place. They were all female, all waiting for Tamlin’s arrival and hoping to be chosen.

Would he choose you? You had no way of knowing for sure. It was the magic flowing through him tonight that would make the choice, not him. But you pushed the thought away, unable to stomach the idea of him with some other girl. Even more so because he had told you he needed to “complete the rite inside the chosen one.” You needed it to be you.

The drumming picked up rhythm and volume until it was an almost deafening frenzy. Swaying on your feet alongside the others, you resisted the urge to cover your ears and instead focused on the other end of the path, where every faerie—lesser or High Fae—had gone utterly still.

You felt the thrum of power before you saw him, and when he appeared, he looked like a god.

Tamlin wasn’t wearing a shirt, his muscled chest painted with swirls of blue ink that shimmered in the light of the bonfires. His hair was unbound, and a crown of golden leaves rested on the top of his head. His back was rigid, his stride long and unhurried as he surveyed every faerie gathered just for him. A part of you swore he was looking for someone specific.

But what if you were wrong? What if he wouldn’t pick you? The question crawled its way into your mind, and this time, you couldn’t shake the concern—not when you heard the girls next to you sigh dreamily. You couldn’t blame them, but something churned in your stomach.

Suddenly, Tamlin stopped in his tracks. He seemed to smell something in the wind, and then his head snapped in your direction, his eyes immediately locking on yours amidst the crowd. You held your breath as he stalked closer, and only when he stood in front of you did you realize what he meant when he said he wouldn’t be himself tonight.

His pupils were blown wide, his short fangs exposed, just like his claws. Even his beautiful features seemed more animalistic than usual—sharper. There was nothing soft in his face, nor in his voice, as he snarled, “Y/N. Come with me.”

Every worry disappeared the moment he grabbed your wrist and headed for the entrance of the cave, not bothering to glance back to check if you were keeping up.

You followed silently as he led you deep into the hillside, the rock walls illuminated by only a few lanterns casting long shadows. Tamlin stopped after a turn in the tunnel and pointed to several blankets laid out on the ground.

“That’s where I’m going to take you,” he growled.

The sound trembled down your body, a shiver of anticipation and excitement coursing through you at this new version of him. He pulled you closer until your chest pressed against his. The paint smeared on the front of your dress, but you were too caught up in his eyes to notice.

You caressed his cheek as you normally would, and something softened in his gaze, if only slightly.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” he said, but there was a light tremor in his voice that revealed just how much he was struggling against the magic of the land.

You smiled, shaking your head. “Don’t.”

As if the word were a trigger, the softness you had glimpsed disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only that feral, lustful gaze. His mouth descended on your neck, and he bit the tender spot where it met your shoulder, not hard enough to pierce the skin and draw blood, but enough to make you yelp at the jolt of pain. Yet, there was a sort of tenderness to it all—the way he soothed the spot with his tongue before he pulled back, how his claws retracted until they were nothing more than sharp nails so he wouldn’t hurt you.

Tamlin was already panting, a victim to whatever greater power flowed through him. His cock was straining in his pants, and you reached for it, palming him through the fabric. He flinched, as if not used to being touched in such a situation.

“Let me,” you murmured.

He bared his teeth in another growl. “Later.”

He was on you again, kissing you with such hunger that a moan escaped your lips. He dragged a short claw over the laces at the back of your dress and the fabric soon slipped off your body. You shivered as the cold air of the cave hit your skin, and a guttural groan came from Tamlin at the sight of your peaked nipples.

For a moment, you caught another glimpse of your beloved High Lord in his eyes when he helped you lay down on the blankets. But soon, his clothes joined yours, and he was back in the grip of the magic-induced frenzy.

The male that would normally murmur sweet nothings and soft praises as he pleasured you was gone. This Tamlin kept silent while he spread your legs and lowered his mouth to your cunt. His thumb drew tight circles on your clit, making sure to use just the pad and avoid scratching you with the sharp nail. Your eyes closed as he lapped at you, but he stopped shortly after—once you were wet enough for him to slide in effortlessly.

He thrust into you with a single roll of his hips and you cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth when he kissed you again. He immediately set a punishing rhythm, fingers digging into your thighs, and you welcomed the slight twinge of pain, relishing in the knowledge that he would leave little marks on your flesh. By the time the night was over, you hoped there would be many more all over your body.

Tamlin looked like he couldn’t get enough of you. He was nibbling on your neck one moment and sucking on your nipples the next, and then his mouth was on yours again. Yet his pace never faltered, pounding into you relentlessly as if his very life depended on it.

“Tam,” you whimpered. You held on to his broad shoulder, your hands smudged with the blue paint that was now also smeared on your breasts. “Gods, this is—”

“I’m not stopping,” he interrupted you with a snarl. “I need to come inside you to complete the ritual.”

His words were accentuated by a deeper thrust that had you almost screaming, but concern about him stopping was actually the last thing on your mind. You knew that already and you wanted him to come inside. A primal, hidden part of you wanted—needed—him to breed you.

“That’s not what I—” you tried again, but Tamlin was too lost in the magic.

He growled and kissed you, teeth slightly sinking into your lower lip. His hips slammed into you faster, harder, and you were soon arching beneath him as you neared your climax.

“I’m about to come, princess.” His voice was barely recognizable. “I’m going to fill you up.”

“Yes… yes, please,” you whined. “Breed me, Tam. Put a baby in me.”

His grip on your thighs grew tighter, his thrusts became frantic and he came with a roar that echoed off the cave, spurting hot seed inside you. The sensation pushed you over the edge and you reached your own orgasm just a few seconds later. You clenched around him and as you did, you felt a wave of power shake the ground beneath you and expand all around.

“The ritual,” Tamlin muttered. He sounded more like himself now, though the animalistic growl lingered, along with the unnatural glint in his green eyes.

You went limp beneath him after coming down from your high, but Tamlin was still moving, slowly dragging his cock in and out of you, pushing his cum deeper inside you.

“We’re not done yet,” he warned you. His hands let go of your legs to roam up your body and cup your breasts. “That was just the bare minimum we had to do.”

You were still panting, but you offered him a smile. He had told you that too. The Great Rite could take hours, if not the whole night.

“Then keep fucking me, High Lord.”

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[yourlittlebunnyy]

fawn -tamlin x reader

masterlist

summary: Y/n is the youngest Archeron sister. The Cauldon trasforms her into a fairy, and there's only one certain thing in her life: she doesn't belong in the Night Court.

warnings: slightly suggestive, Tamlin (haters step back🙏🤺)

wc: 5,5k

enjoy😉

The Cauldron made you a fairy. A fairy. You scoff at the thought. Nesta has become death itself, Elain a seer. You a stupid, little, useless fairy.

That day, when Fae warriors came into your and your sisters' home and forced you into that place, you never thought you would end up with pearl-colored wings and be able to talk to flowers.

You've always been shy, you've always made yourself small in front of others, and when they threw you into that pile of magic, the Cauldron was generous, in the telling of your sister's lover.

"You went in last. It could have given you nothing, as it could have killed you, but it gave you wings. And flowers, plants, and everything a fairy possesses. You shouldn't pout." But you never asked for that.

When they pulled you out everyone's eyes were on you. How could they not? They had never seen such a thing. Sure, the Cauldron could turn a mortal into a Fae, but a fairy?

You didn't look anyone in the face that day, or the weeks that followed.

"I would like to learn to fly," you once said to Azriel. He replied that he could not teach you, that the fairies belonged to the Court of Spring and that even there they were so rare and secretive that no one knew anything about them.

"But you have wings, too. You just need to teach me how to move them. Please."

Azriel shook his head, a neutral expression on his face.

"I can't. Besides helping you support its weight, your wings are shaped differently from mine, they are smaller and more fragile. I cannot put your life in danger." The authoritative tone makes it clear that the conversation is over. You would have hoped to find a friend in him. Instead, every time you try to talk to him, his gaze has only coldness to offer. Perhaps all his warmth-which doesn't seem much to you at this point-is reserved for Elain.

So, for you, the days go on with no clear meaning. You are not allowed to leave the house, and you can only afford to observe Velaris, such a beautiful city and full of life, from the balcony of the house.

When Feyre returns, you thought for a moment that things would finally change. That she would convince someone to help you get to know your new form, your new being. But you were okay, sure, you were a little confused, but you were living. Elain was much sicker, and all your sisters' priorities belonged to her.

You found comfort in Lucien instead. A charming, red-haired Fae who had lived in the Spring Court for years. That's how you became friends: no one would take you into consideration, and you were desperate for some information, some help. And Lucien fortunately seemed to have answers to your questions.

"I remember you. That day, I mean." You and Lucien are playing chess. It is rare that you talk about that day, but sometimes it happens. You don't care much, talking about it with him has helped you in the past, "Actually, I don't remember much. I remember what Tamlin reminded me of."

Now that's new. Never once had the Fae told her about his High Lord turning his back on her sister. She knew something about it, but she didn't know the whole story.

"Did Tamlin recall to you about that day?" She asks a little incredulously. Lucien nods and tightens his lips, makes a move with a chessman, and a feline smile lights up his face.

"I think...," he freezes for a moment, as if to think carefully about his next words, "he's playing some kind of double game, with Hybern. To get information. He's a good male, only sometimes he struggles to show it."

You feel a twinge in your heart. You don't know why, you should be furious with the man who took your life to give you this. The man who hurt Feyre so deeply. But the way Lucien talks about it, with so much regret....

You are sitting on the armchair in your room, already wearing your nightwear. You have a book in your hands and are completely immersed in reading, so much that you don't hear someone's footsteps outside your door. You gasp when they knock. You place the book in the small coffee table, and you don't bother to fix yourself: Lucien had told you he would come by and deliver a few things before he leaves Velaris for good. You get sad at the thought.

When you open the door you find not the familiar face, but Feyre's.

"Hey." She greets you. You return the greeting and wait for her to tell you why she is here. Although your new life started off on the wrong foot, feeling ignored by your family and useless, everything healed over time. Now the relationship between you and Feyre is closer than ever, Nesta is doing well, Elain is working on it. You have also learned to accept your sister's Fae friends. You even talk to them from time to time.

"I'm sad that Lucien is leaving. Especially for you" You nod, you know there is something else she is not telling you, "You know how much I told you about the High Lords meeting? I'd like you to come too, if you feel like it." You don't hesitate when you say yes. Your sister told you that not everyone had confirmed their attendance, of whom Tamlin. And she did not tell you about what happened with him. But something inside you urges you to go and meet him. It's for my being, you think, I just want answers, that's why I'm so impatient.

That night you struggle to sleep. At dawn you stop tossing and turning in bed and start getting ready, by now you give up: you won't rest that night anyway.

"You look wonderful" Feyre's words make you smile. She takes Azriel's hand, and in the blink of an eye they transmute into the palace of the Court of Dawn.

After greeting the others politely, you realize that Tamlin is not coming. You do not understand the reason for the disappointment you feel. Perhaps it is even better, so you avoid any awkward situation that might arise with your sister and Rhysand.

The meeting begins, and it is just as you start to disassociate yourself from the High Lords' boring talk that Tamlin appears.

He is alone. You don't remember him from that day in the Cauldron. But he is as you always imagined him. His blond hair reaches a little below his shoulders, clearly unkempt. His green eyes remind you of the blossoming plains. His skin tone is a rosy tint, his facial features delicate, almost princely. He is the very definition of spring, you think. He is a beautiful man, and you understand why his sister was once in love with him.

The silence in the air is tense. Tamlin looks at each person and takes his time with each one. And when he gets to you -- you feel his gaze run through your body, but you ignore him. You make a mistake, though. You look up too soon and meet his eyes. And now the thing is clear as day to you, what you feel in the center of your chest.

A bond.

Tamlin is your mate.

His expression turns surprised, his lips tight and his jaw contracted. He doesn't say anything. He moves on to the next person as if he hadn't heard it himself. But you can't contain yourself, and before you can stop it, a gasp escapes your mouth and tears cloud your eyes. You back away, stumbling back in your chair.

"Are you all right?" Feyre asks you, visibly concerned. You do not answer, but it is Beron, High Lord of the Court of Autumn, Tamlin's friend, who answers for you.

"A bond." He says simply, his tone both haughty and amused. Feyre sniffs the air, looks at you. Then she looks at Tamlin. And then back at you again. The look in his eyes... Rhysand says something, but everything around you is a blur.

First the Cauldron made you a useless fairy. Next the Mother punished you by tying you to Tamlin.

You listen to no one, with hurried steps you leave the room. No one follows you. Good, you think, I don't have to explain myself to anyone for a while.

With one exception, someone has followed you. Your body recognizes him before you do, your heart beats wildly, and you could cry from how wrong this all simply is. Your sister was going to marry this man. And she didn't, she ran away because he did something terrible to her, and now it was going to be your turn.

You stop in the middle of the hallway, and Tamlin grabs your arm gently, leading you into a small room. You try to ignore how such a soft touch puts a pleasant twinge in your stomach. No, you would never do that to your sister.

When you enter, no one says anything for a while and you feel his gaze on you, making you blush. He doesn't even know your name, probably.

As if he hears your thoughts, the Fae speaks to you. "Y/n." His serious tone makes you set your eyes on his. This is so wrong, yet looking at your mate feels like the right thing to do.

"How-how do you know my name?"

Tamlin smiles at your words. An expression so different from the one you saw on his face when he first walked in. It fits him, you think, and fear invades your senses because of the things you realize you would do, because of that smile...

"I remember it ... from that day, with the Cauldron..." Your body stiffens, as if remembering who the male in front of you really is. What he did to you. What he has done to your family.

It doesn't matter that he is your mate, you think. Your body may react to his look and touch, but you will not be betrayed by it.

Tamlin probably feels your emotions through the bond, and with a step forward he grabs your arm gently. He needs to touch you, and you don't realize how much you needed him to touch you, too. You welcome his warmth without fighting back.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. I'm not just saying this because you are my mate, " Both of you seem to feel satisfaction when he says such words, the bond in your chest seems to glow and sing "I... had to do terrible things to protect my court. To protect Prythian. It was not in the plan to do such a thing to you."

You think about his words, his eyes shining with sincerity. Lucien has told you things that would explain Tamlin's words, that actually make him a good male.

"Tamlin." To the sound of his name on your lips, the man suppresses a growl. "I... Lucien has been telling me things. And I believe you, and I believe you are good male. But the thing with my sister..."

The look in the Fae's eyes becomes embarrassed, and the emotions you feel through the bond are a mixture of shame and remorse. You don't know what happened between the two, but it must have been really difficult if it causes him such a reaction.

"I regret how I behaved. What I did. I was broken, as was she, and I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to protect her, and to this day I realize my mistakes."

You study his face. You find nothing but honesty and pure feelings, and he is really putting your instincts to the test. He's so handsome that you want to jump on him, but on the other side of the coin-you still don't know if you can trust him. But he's your mate, and he deserves at least a chance. There's such a battle inside your head.

"I forgive you. For the Cauldron, I mean. I don't know if she has forgiven you, or will but..." Your hand moves to his where he still holds your arm, both of you smiling. "I think you deserve a second chance, Tamlin. And I -- I'd like to try."

The smile he gives you, so genuine that it makes his eyes sparkle with brightness, makes you realize deep down that you made the right choice.

You have not made the right choice.

Neither you nor Tamlin ever returned to the meeting.

When you see your sister and the Inner Circle again, they are all furious with you. As if you chose the bond. You scoff at their looks.

"You disappeared all day with Tamlin. Do you realize that? What was I supposed to think you were doing with your mate, huh? Do you realize who we're talking about?" Rhysand yells at you. Feyre, who does not look angry but grieved, lays a hand on his arm, and after what seems like a brief mental conversation, the High Lord comes out with one last murderous look directed at you. Tears sting your eyes.

"Y/n, he didn't mean to be so mean, it's just that they have so many unfinished business..."

"What about you? What unfinished business do you have with him? Why do you all hate him here? And I'm not talking about the alliance with Hybern."

"None, Y/n. I have none. I have had my revenge. In all sincerity I wish him the best. And I want the best for you, too. So if you-if you've talked to him and he seems to-you seem to like him I won't have anything against you, or him, if you accept the bond." Saying these words seems like a great effort for her, but you appreciate it very much. Mor grimaces.

"No one? That male locked you up - no, he let you drown locked up inside his house. Don't you remember what condition I found you in? Well, in case you don't remember, I'll remind you, Y/n. That male after she was turned into a Fae locked her up in a room, denied her every single space of freedom until she went crazy and we rescued her. So don't-"

"Enough, Mor." Feyre says annoyed.

"You want the best for your sister, and you send her into Tamlin's arms without warning her what he would do to her?"

You are speechless. Tears wet your cheeks.

"But he told me-he told me he regretted it. That he was just as broken as you and that he just wanted to protect you..."

"Those are just words, Y/n. But in actions--what do you think is keeping him from doing the same thing to you? We will have no right to rescue you and bring you back here, because you are in fact his. Think carefully about what you want to do with such an individual." And with these words, Mor leaves the room, leaving you whimpering and afraid. Feyre approaches you and wraps you in a hug.

"Everything will be all right. I know you are afraid, honey. You just try, never stop trying, okay? You don't have to accept the bond right away. Even when you move in with him, if you decide to, you can wait and see if it's worth it. And in case it's not worth it, you can always come back as a free woman."

"I thought you hated him."

"No. Everyone deserves happiness, honey."

Before you can even consider your sister's words, war breaks out. Tamlin takes Hybern's side, but as you expected, it actually turns out to be all a double-cross.

You can feel his emotions through the bond, and you know he can feel yours, too. Sometimes your dreams come together and you are able to talk. If you were uncertain about trying before, now you are convinced.

Once you even woke up in the middle of the night. The bond in your chest overflowing with emotion - lust. Excitement. Pleasure. It didn't take long to realize that your mate was pleasuring himself. Just the thought of it was able to make you damp between your legs, and you discreetly slipped a hand under the sheets and touched yourself fantasizing Tamlin in front of you, rubbing his hard cock with one hand, while his eyes were fixed on yours. You reached your climax in the same moment he did, and you could have sworn you heard his laughter on the other side of the bond.

It was also the first time you tried to touch that bond, pulling on that sort of golden thread that connects the two of you. Tamlin responded by doing the same, and when you went back to sleep, you fell asleep with a smile. That night you dreamed about how your mate taught you how to fly.

The next day you were not able to look anyone in the face, though.

But that was a long time ago.

Now you are not in the comforting warmth of your bed. You are in a tent in a war camp and you are freezing. Your body shakes as you try to rub your hands together. Your wings are sore and have taken on a worrying purple tint, you are almost tempted to go to some healer's tent and ask for an extra blanket, but surely they would be full of injured people, and they would need it much more than you do.

A wave of warmth through the bond radiates through you, and you are grateful to have Tamlin right now, but it doesn't stop there. He touches the bond, like he did all those nights ago, and you find yourself out of your sleeping bag, but not to go to the healers. You meet no one as you head to the Spring Court camps. Your heart pounds - you haven't seen Tamlin since that day at the High Lords meeting. A slight blush covers your cheeks. How will you look that charming male in the face after what you did that night?

You don't know which tent is his, but your body seems to know. The bond takes you straight to him. You can smell him - citrus and spice - even before you see him. You enter without even knocking or warning of your presence, aware that he is able to feel your closeness just as you are able to feel his.

"I've been waiting for you." The male offers you a mesmerizing smile. He is different from how you had seen him. He has cut his hair, and it now reaches just below his ears. He no longer has such dark circles under his eyes and looks decades younger. He is now the living definition of spring more than ever. The mere sight of the man could bring you to your knees.

"Hey." You greet him softly, still a little embarrassed. He notices, because his smile now turns feline. You're my little prey and I want to play with you, he seems to say. Only now do you notice a pungent note in his scent - blood. Your worry fills the bond. Yet you have felt no pain through it lately.

He seems to sense the direction of your thoughts, because he shifts his gaze from your figure to his chest. That's where he bleeds. He has been wounded in the chest.

"Tamlin... You're bleeding." He nods, then offers you a reassuring look.

"Oh, don't worry, it's just a little scratch. You, on the other hand, looked very cold earlier." He cannot hide his concern.

"It's already better here, much warmer." You still feel the tips of your wings sore, though.

"To get to such a situation you must have been freezing for a long time, Y/n. Didn't they teach you how to take care of your wings in this situation?"

"Not really-I tried to ask, but I never got an answer." The anger on his face is impossible to mask. He takes a couple of deep breaths before speaking again.

"'Brute bastards." He hisses through his teeth. You feel in awe at his words; they are still your sisters' family.

"Tamlin..."

"No, Y/n. I'm fine, but you...fairy wings are different from Illyrian wings. They should have done some fucking research. You could have lost them, and do you know how painful that is? You could still be losing them." He finally realizes, and jerks around to get his blanket from his sleeping bag. It's thick and woolen, and as he wraps it around you, it smells of him in the best way.

"You're taking care of me." He looks at you surprised.

"Of course I'm taking care of you, Y/n."

"I want to take care of you, too. These days I've treated the cuts of the wounded, I can help you." Tamlin lets out a low growl, then shakes his head. He sits you down on his sleeping bag and positions himself next to you. Shoulder to shoulder. Even this small contact, divided by several layers of fabric, is capable of making your heart race.

"Please, mate. Let me take care of you." Tamlin sighs, then murmurs an unenthusiastic consent. You get up with the blanket still tangled around you, leave the tent without a word, and return a few minutes later with gauze, alcohol, and a clean bandage. You freeze in the doorway when you realize the man has taken off his shirt.

A shirtless male body was no stranger to you. You had often accompanied your sisters to see their males working out. You had gotten to appreciate the muscles. But Tamlin... seeing your semi-nude mate activates something in you, something similar to that night when you came with his name on your lips. You blush and approach slowly, he still has his back to you, as if he didn't hear you come in.

"Didn't they tell you it's rude to stare?" You know he's only joking, yet you still get embarrassed. Yes, you are used to a shirtless male. But to a shirtless male flirting with you? Absolutely not.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself, but the thing that cools your blood is the wound you see ripping through his chest as he turns around. You look at him surprised, anguish and disquiet flow freely through the bond.

"It's nothing, Y/n. I'll live." You find it ironic how he is the injured one, yet you are the one being comforted. You approach in silence, your eyes fixed on the injury, and let him rest his back on the sleeping bag. You kneel beside him, the blanket now forgotten on the ground, and soak the gauze with alcohol.

"Put the blanket back on, Y/n. It's cold." You ignore him, focused on wetting every last millimeter of the fabric. Tamlin is about to get up, but you place a hand on his chest, blocking him. The contact with his warm skin makes your cheeks warm, but the blood on his chest freezes them.

"What is it?"

"The blanket. Put it on."

"No, I'll be uncomfortable while I medicate you." Tamlin growls when you answer him. You snort a laugh, protective males. "Do you find my worry funny, fawn?"

"Fawn?" You startle at the nickname.

"Don't change the subject, put it on."

"But I'm uncomfortable, Tam."

"Then sit on my lap and wrap it around both of us." You don't let him tell you twice. You do as he says and start dressing his wound, which reeks of Faebane. That's why it didn't heal. You notice Tamlin clenching his teeth from the burning and as if on instinct, you reach down to kiss his chest above the wound. At the level of his heart. You both smile, but do not utter a word. When you finish bandaging his cut, you give him another gentle kiss, this time over the bandage.

"So you heal sooner and feel better." You smile at him.

"You are such a little fairy."

"Is that an insult?"

"No, fawn, how could I ever."

You don't converse much longer, the fatigue of battle preventing you from doing so. You get off his lap and lie down beside him on top of the sleeping bag. You remove the blanket and he seems to inspect your wings. A satisfied expression appears on his face and without needing a word, you remove the blanket and use it to cover yourselves. Just five minutes, you think, then I go back to my tent or I'll risk worrying my sisters.

Five minutes turns into the whole night.

When you wake up, Tamlin is not there. You are under the sleeping bag, though. You smile at the thought. His side is cold, and you wonder how long you slept for. You get up and stretch, and take some time to poke around his tent, something you didn't do the night before. There isn't much there, but you were expecting it. You find a blanket with a note.

Take care of your wings.

You smile like a little girl under her Christmas tree. You leave the blanket there, but take his instead. It smells like him.

A little alarm bell rings in your head. Oh, God. Your sisters must be worried sick. You quickly grab your new blanket and run through the camps until you get to your tent. God, why did they put the Night Court and the Spring Court at opposite ends? It's an almost 10-minute walk.

You enter your tent panting where you find a very, very worried Feyre.

"Are you crazy! Where have you been!" She shouts without even looking at you. But then she does. She smells Tamlin's familiar scent on you. His blanket in your hands.

"Feyre...I can explain, I swear-" She turns a mocking smile on you.

"Ooookay. Maybe next time you warn before you leave. You gave us a scare!" She says without even time for you to respond, leaving you standing in the middle of your tent like a fool.

You and Tamlin have a kind of unwritten agreement. In the evening he pulls the bond slightly and you join him in his tent. The Inner Circle knows this, but says nothing about it. It's better that way. Once Nesta even came to call you, making Tamlin chuckle and you die of embarrassment.

He never tried to do anything more than cuddle you. And you are fine with that. You don't want your first time with your mate to be in a war camp, on a sleeping bag, with the screams of the wounded in the background. One time he even took you to the top of a hill and you stayed and watched the stars until dawn, then he had to go back to fighting, and you had to go back to helping the healers.

You are afraid to admit it to yourself, but you are falling in love with that wonderful man. And you are afraid of not knowing what will happen once the war is over.

The fear of not knowing doesn't last long, though. Because the war is over. Hybern has died by the hands of your sisters, and Rhys has even died and risen again. You meet Tamlin as the camps are being shown.

"Hey, fawn." He says, smiling at you.

"Hey, Tam." You return his smile, but a motion of sadness contorts your lips into a grimace. Tears are quick to stream down your face. You don't want to cry in front of everyone. Tamlin seems to understand this, because he grabs your arm and within moments you are on the hill where he took you to see the stars a few nights ago.

"It's nothing, it's just ... I don't want us to be apart." Tamlin can swear he feels his heart break and recompose itself at the same time at your words, at your tone. At the emotions you are sharing with him.

"Neither do I, y/n. Neither do I."

Tamlin kisses you. It's sudden and unexpected. It is not a real kiss: he simply lays his lips on yours. His hands caress your face gently. After a few moments, you relax and respond to the kiss with just as much sweetness. Just as much love.

"Come home with me, Y/n. Come stay with me at the Spring Court." You think about his words. The words of the male you are in love with, your mate. Your heart tightens with happiness at those words. You will think of your sisters later: for now you just want to be in Tamlin's arms.

"Yes."

Communicating this to Feyre was easier than expected, and since you had nothing significant in Velaris, you went straight home with Tamlin.

The Spring Court is... beautiful, breath-taking even. You can't hide the warmth in your chest, the feeling of home it communicates. And seeing your mate in the place where he belongs enhances the experience.

It is warmer than the dry cold of the camps, and you begin to sweat under the layers of heavy clothing. Tamlin notices, and invites you to follow him inside his palace until you reach a bedroom.

You take time to look around. The house seems full of life, smells of flowers and nature, and glows with gold. It is different from what you expected: Rhysand had mentioned, years ago, that he had paid a visit to the High Lord of the Spring Court, and found him in a miserable condition. And like him, so was his house. But to you that sounds like a far definition from reality.

The room he takes you to is beautiful. It is very different from the typical ones in the Night Court. There the wood is dark, the floors are rough, and everything looks like it's been through a battle. They're not ugly, they're just - gloomy.

While the Court of Spring is full of light and warm colors. The bed frame is made of a light, delicate wood and is carved with flowers and leaves. The room does not have much besides the well-prepared bed. There is a closet that echoes the pattern of the headboard, and Tamlin heads straight there.

He opens it, revealing a surprising amount of clothing.

"You can choose whatever you like, I'll wait outside." He smiles at you and you smile back.

You leave the room wearing a new dress. It is the one you liked most. It makes you feel like a fairy, but positively. It is definitely better than what you wear in the Court of Night. The fabric is softer, the pinkish white of the skirt is a color you've never seen before but already love. Tamlin's face lights up as soon as he sees you.

"You look beautiful in my Court clothes, Y/n." Your cheeks take on a rosy hue as you whisper a vague thanks. He holds out his hand to you and you immediately take it. Without a word, he begins to drag you through the corridors you admire all the way to outside. Into the gardens.

As soon as your eyes meet such beauty ... your breath catches in your throat. Your mind immediately wanders to your sister, Elain. How she would love it.

Your mate looks at you smugly.

"Do you like it?" You can do nothing but nod. Tears well up in your eyes at the relief you feel, and you realize you have lifted a burden, the opression of the Night Court.

The words come out of your mouth before you can even think them, let alone stop them, "I want to accept the bond."

Tamlin looks surprised. "What?"

"I-obviously if you want to. But-"

Your mate interrupts by kissing you. You are surprised the first few moments, but you quickly recover, responding to the kiss. The bond in the center of your chest seems to sing with joy.

"Now?" He asks when he pulls away from your lips, a gentle blush covers his cheeks and he is short of breath. He has never looked so good. You nod.

"A little further on there are some fruit trees. If you want we can go there."

You nod, and he takes you by the hand, fingers interlocked with yours, and once again leads you to some fruit trees. You take the opportunity to admire the beauty of his court again. Which will now become yours as well.

You stop in front of a loquat tree. In a comforting silence you turn to pick a fruit. You have nothing with you, and you struggle a little to peel it. You split it in half and offer it directly in front of his lips. He bites into the loquat with his eyes on yours. He finishes the whole fruit.

The bond seems to rejoice and shine and seems to unite your two souls even more than before. His gaze communicates to you that you have a long day ahead. A long night, too.

He kisses you fervently, his hands gripping your hips making you moan in the kiss. You didn't expect to feel this way. Sure, your sisters told you something about the frenzy ... but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely. The intensity of what you feel is almost overwhelming.

You pull away from the kiss with a heavy breath. Tamlin's predatory gaze, the lust in the look, is impossible to mask.

"Fawn... tell me no now, or I won't be able to stop later." You don't even think about saying no. You desire him as you have never desired anyone. You want to feel him all over.

"Please, Tamlin. I want to be yours."

You spend all afternoon making love on the fields, careless of who might see you. You return only when it begins to get dark. A huge smile on your face.

You made the right choice.

@rcarbo1

[rosewood-cafe]

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand's sister.

AN: Omg, I have never written for Eris before, and I am so nervous. Sorry if the ending seemed rushed, I am planning for a part two, but it will take me a long time to do lol.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The sound of blood trickling down your back and onto the cold stone floor filled your ears. Drip Drip Drip. Another involuntary back spasm had you writhing with pain. Bile burned your throat as you empty out the contents of your stomach onto the floor next to you. Not having enough strength to move further away nor care to. Your cell was dark and cold. There was a small metal fireplace in the back. The fire was down to cinders and ash mocking you with false hope of warmth.

You were going to die here, you thought. Your wounds still have not healed yet. You had no proper clothing to fight off the cold, and you were stripped bare except for a pair of raggedy trousers. Shame hit you, clawing its way up through your chest. If the wounds would not kill you, you would surely die from the embarrassment alone. Being put on display in front of everyone, stripped, and had her wings taken. Even someone as powerful as the 'Princess of the Night Court' could not have saved her wings.

You wanted to laugh at the irony. You fought against Tamlin and his father to keep your wings, only for them to be ripped away years later. A small laugh escaped your throat at the cruel twist of fate. Hours had passed, yet you still bled, your fingers growing numb. Unstoppable tremors racked your body from the shock and cold still running its course. This must be what Hell is, you just knew it.

"I am going to die here." You finally admitted to yourself, tears collecting in your eyes. Dripping down your face in a steady stream, no matter how hard you tried to stop them. Screams echoed through the cell bringing you back to the harsh reality, you are still under the mountain, and you are going to die here.

'Where is Rhy's?" You thought of your older brother, surely he would gave come to help you out by now? No, you thought. There has not been a scrape at your mental sheilds, or no quick visits like times before. Just absolutely nothing since the... latest punishment. You trembled harder, knocking your upper back into the makeshift bed making you cry out in agony. Your wounds bleeding harder from the force, making you dizzy. A scrape of metal on stone grabbed your attention, and your eyes snapped up to the intruder.

"Hello, little Fawn." You looked towards the intruder with wary eyes, desperately trying to stay awake and aware. Your eyes caught the signature fiery red hair and those piercing amber eyes. Eris Vanserra was in your cell. You threw your arms over your bare chest, feeling the sharp claws of embarrassment digging into you once again. His eyes raked over your body, sending icy chills down your spine. A small whimper of pain escaped your lips at the slight movement.

"What are you doing here?!" you all but growled at the Autumn heir. A smirk formed on his lips as he stepped further in and shut the heavy door. You retreated further back into the cell, "G-Get out!" you hissed, venom laced in your voice. He ignored you, his eyes raking over you once again, noticing the blood pooling underneath you. Too much blood, he thought to himself. He wondered how you had even lasted this long bleeding out. "Where is Rhysand?" he asked. "Or does being Amarantha's whore take more priority than his dying sister?" You narrowed your eyes in warning. You knew of Rhys's sacrifices and the game he has to play. Amarantha's whore is a title he will bear for the rest of his life. Your eyes fell towards the stone floor before answering.

"I do not know where he is," you finally say after a few seconds of silence. He lets out a humorless laugh. "His precious little sister, Princess of the Night Court, lies on death's door, and he doesn't even bother to show up for your last moments?" You huff in annoyance, "Don't act like the Vanserras are anything but cruel. I would be careful, Eris. You have a mighty fine bounty on your head. I'm just waiting to see which brother takes it for his own personal gain."

"I doubt you'll get to see it, considering you'll be dead before the morning rises," he stated, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. As if on cue, another tremor hits you full force, and you scream out in agony. "If you only came here to insult me and my brother, You. Can. Leave." you gritted out slowly, the pain seeping back into your body. You let your arms fall from your chest, leaning over to your cot to rest your aching head. Eris studied you for a moment with a calculated stare. "I can help you if you like." A flame appears in his hands, its light casting eerie shadows on the cell walls. "I am no healer, but I can at least stop the bleeding with my flames." You remained quiet, until a scoff interrupts the stretched silence. "Unless you rather die? Let me see your wounds." Not a request, but a demand.

"Why do you care? I'm almost dead anyway," you ask, tears lining your eyes once again. He takes a tentative step towards you, his mask of indifference faltering. "Because you do not deserve to die here." Another step closer. "Because you deserve a better fate than this." He was in front of you now. "Because you do not yield, not now, not ever." Seeing you in this vulnerable state unnerved, Eris; he didn't know why he had offered his help to you. It was, as if he was under a spell, a string tied to his rib, drawing him towards you. Perhaps witnessing you this broken, stirred an emotion he thought had been snuffed out years ago. He did not, could not dwell on the feeling now. A frustrated tear steamed down your face as you let out a shaky breath. "Okay." You said, you feel like you shouldn't trust him, but the way his words seem so sincere... fuck it. You put your trust into Eris Vanserra, and hope it wouldn't bite you in the ass later.

His shoulders sagged slightly with relief as you turned your back to him, revealing your wounds. Eris walked over to the fireplace and with a flick of his wrist, ignited a small fire. "This will not last long; it's nearly all ash," he said. "But I need the light to see your wounds." He moved behind you. "May I?" he asked before touching you. You let out a small hum. "Words, Fawn." You let your head drop, "Yes." You stated weakly, the adrenaline, finally wearing off. He puts his hands on your shoulders and gets on his knees.

"I have dreamed of burning you and your Court with my flames, but never like this," he said, his voice carrying an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. "Forgive me Y/n, for, my flames aren't so forgiving." He places his large calloused hands onto your back. Your back was ablaze with searing flames, the agony so intense it made Aramantha's torture seem like child's play. A guttural scream tore from your throat, accompanied by scalding tears streaming down your face. You were engulfed in unbearable torment. "Stop moving so much," Eris grunted, firmly pressing an arm across your chest to keep you still as he continued his grim task. Your throat felt raw from the incessant screaming, the pain blinding and merciless. The acrid stench of burning flesh was so overwhelming, you feared you might vomit. You gripped onto Eris's forearm as a sob fell from your lips. "Stop! I-I Can't!" You almost pleaded with him, Eris let out a curse under his breath as you bucked against his hold.

"You can, and you will," he snapped at you, his brow furrowed in concentration, a bead of sweat trickling down his face. Blood smeared his hands and stained his clothes. "I am almost done," he muttered, more to himself than to you. The cell door suddenly swung open, crashing against the stone wall with a resounding thud. Eris froze, his eyes darting towards the door. Finally, he released his grip on you, and you exhaled in relief.

"What the hell are you doing to my sister?!" Rhys's voice thundered through the room, his fury radiating like a palpable force. "Rhys..." you whispered weakly, your strength ebbing away. You collapsed onto your side, letting the darkness envelop you completely.

[shadowivyy]

“elain just needs time to be with lucien and connect with him” uhh girly pop she had SEVERAL books to and she still doesn’t want him. you think it’s going to miraculously happen in one single book when she’s been actually connecting and secretly yearning azriel. you think all those scenes in the background between them just means nothing? NO. please be realistic here. by the end of silver flames, azriel and elain STILL want each other. that. is. CANON. now there is just obstacles between them and miscommunication DUE to those obstacles that is causing conflict (which is shown in the BC)… literally the pattern of any love story. especially forbidden ones.

now, back to the red head. lucien wants the mating bond to work. honestly… i don’t blame him. the cauldron, their religion, tells you that this bond is above all and is beyond sacred. the cauldron tells you that its picking of mates is correct and to not question it. so yes, he wants this bond to work out. i would want my own mating bond to work if i had one to be honest. i don’t blame him for trying. but do i believe that he actually wants elain? no. i dont. he wants his mate. not really elain herself. in my head, those are two singular things. if their was no mating bond to even begin with, i personally do not believe lucien would have even pursued elain.

on a side note, if nesta was chosen as his mate like sjm originally planned, i believe he would do the same exact thing - try to make it work.

by the end of silver flames, i KNOW elain does not want lucien (obviously) and i believe lucien is giving up on it. he’s focusing his attention on others (like the little misfit trio) and is quite possibly finding a connection with a certain someone (hint hint vassa) that he may not realize at the moment. sjm has given the tiniest of hints to this.

now, do i believe that elain and lucien will come to an understanding and possibly become good friends by the end of the next book? yes. i actually hope for that. this would parallel to bad mating bonds, like rhysands and tamlins parents, who should have rejected their bond but didn’t. a rejected bond that ends in civil respect for one another. both finding true love over a so-called sacred bond that neither actually wants. both have had past loves that have ended in tragedies (jesminda and graysen). but this time around, instead of letting the cauldron push them into a relationship, they both defy fate together and choose the love that they truly want (vassa and azriel). now that i find more beautiful than anything else. i know it won’t be easy to get there, but that’s what makes conflict in books interesting to read and so satisfying by the end.

i trust in sjm. at the end of the day, i choose elain over anything else. if sjm makes a beautiful love story with lucien and elain, then so be it. i’m rooting for her and her only. but with the way sjm has written this story with obvious intentions, i don’t believe that’s the route she’s taking. hence, my long ass post and my dedication to elriel. this story will end in a rejected mating bond and choosing who you love for both elain and lucien (or the fact that the cauldron was actually wrong and something is amiss in its pickings of true mates… but that’s a post for another time).

sjm please announce this book soon. i’m going stir crazy.

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Badum tss

Plss talk to me guys 😭😭 I love reading and answering comments, it's literally the joy of publishing here 🫶🏻

Also, I don't know why but there are people I can't tag (someone help 😭😭

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, Tamlin is getting worse, not 100% book following, a bigger level of degradation (not on the good side), Amarantha still alive 🤢, a tiny little bit of gore (the wyrm yk?), Rhysand 🔥

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 5: To Ashes and Blood

Amarantha leaned lazily against her throne, a smile that made your stomach turn curving her blood-red lips. The crowd around her murmured, the scent of sweat and fear thick in the air.

You stood shoulder to shoulder with Feyre, shackles releasing the grip in your wrists, your heart a steady drum in your chest. You could feel him nearby. Rhysand was still lounging at Amarantha’s side like he couldn’t care less about any of this, but now he was way more free, further away from here. His violet eyes flicked to you once—just once—before returning to the show. A silent reminder. He was watching.

Amarantha tapped a long, curved nail against her throne. "Before we begin..." Her voice slithered through the room, echoing off the stone walls. "There is one little detail to attend to." She smiled—all teeth and venom. "The riddle. I will say it once, and later you can ask anyone to repeat it, if you want. I heard once that the more you repeat it makes less sense, so feel free to do it.” The Attor laughed at the side of the room, as amused as her. “Ready?”

"I can bind two souls or shatter them apart

I am a weapon, a blessing, a cage for the heart

I bloom in silence, yet scream when denied

What am I, when truth cannot hide?”

Feyre's breath caught beside you. Of course. The riddle. The cursed loophole that could end this nightmare without a drop of blood spilled. You knew the answer. You knew the moment she'd spoken it. But Amarantha's eyes flicked to you—like she could see right inside your head.

"I see that little brain of yours turning, human." Her smile widened. "But I'm afraid you'll have to bite your tongue."

Your shackles clinked as your fists curled.

"One rule," Amarantha purred, rising slowly from her throne. "Feyre is the only one who will answer the riddle."

Feyre flinched at the sound of her own name.

"And you"—Amarantha's gaze sliced back to you—"will have to be the one to strike the final blow in each trial."

The breath caught in your throat. "What?" Feyre whispered.

Amarantha grinned like a cat playing with its prey. "Did you really think I'd let you both come here with... the same odds?" Her eyes glittered. "One of you will need to be the brains, the other... will need luck."

The shackles around your wrists felt heavier.

"If Feyre solves the riddle before the final trial, you both walk free," Amarantha continued smoothly. "But if she fails, you will both bleed for me."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. The crowd was silent. Rhysand hadn't moved an inch—but you felt him watching.

"Am I understood?" There was no choice.

"Yes," you said flatly.

Feyre's head whipped toward you, panic flaring in her eyes. "Y/N—"

"Yes," you repeated, louder this time.

Because if you refused—Amarantha would find a way to kill you both instead. You knew it.

"Do you want to give it a try, little rat?” Feyre didn’t answer, she clearly had no idea of the answer. Amarantha's grin spread wider. "Wonderful." She clapped her hands, the sound cracking through the room. "Take them to the arena."

☆

The guards seized you both, yanking you toward the iron doors. You barely heard Feyre's frantic whispers as they dragged you through the corridors—

“What are you doing? Why would you agree to that?”

Because there was no other way. Because you'd rather spill anyone's blood but hers. Because Amarantha wanted to break you both—and she didn't realize she'd only given you a weapon to survive. Your own hatred. Your own rage.

And somewhere in the shadows, Rhysand's voice echoed through your mind—soft, amused, and entirely too calm.

“I can't wait to see what you'll do today, little mouse.”

☆

The iron gates screeched open. Blinding sunlight that you have been deprived of in the last days. Roaring crowds that almost made you deaf with how loud they were. The arena stretched out before you, a pit of bloodstained sand and jagged rock. Feyre's breathing turned sharp, shallow. You reached out, catching her trembling hand in yours.

"I'll fight for you," you whispered. “We'll fight together and win.”

Her blue-gray eyes snapped to yours, wide with fear. "But who's going to fight for us?"

You just smiled. Because you already knew the answer. Violet eyes burned into your back from the shadows above.

The crowd roared around the arena, a cacophony of cruel laughter and hungry whispers echoing off the stone walls. The Middengard Wyrm suddenly slithered through the trenches of the labyrinth, its putrid breath carrying the scent of death and rot. Feyre trembled beside you, her eyes wide and fixed on the looming beast.

You, on the other hand, couldn't stop grinning.

"Oh, she's beautiful, don't you think?" you mused, almost breathless.

Feyre's head snapped toward you like you'd lost your mind—and maybe you had. "Are you out of your godsdamned mind?" she hissed.

"Possibly." You crouched low, scanning the maze's layout. "But if we're going to die, at least let me enjoy the scenery."

Feyre looked like she was about to strangle you—if the Wyrm didn't get there first. The crowd above shrieked with laughter as the beast's massive, scaled body slithered closer, sniffing the air.

Amarantha leaned forward on her throne, golden eyes narrowed. "What is wrong with that one?" she muttered, half to herself.

Rhysand smirked from her side, swirling his goblet lazily. "Perhaps she's just having fun."

Amarantha's gaze flicked to him, then back to you.

The Wyrm's guttural growl echoed through the arena. You grabbed Feyre's wrist, dragging her behind a mound of rubble.

"Listen to me," you whispered urgently. "It's blind. It hunts by scent, not sight."

Feyre's breath was ragged. "How do you know that?"

You grinned wider. "I met one of those before."

The Wyrm's massive body crashed into the walls behind you, sending stone flying. Feyre flinched, but you only laughed.

Laughing. Like you were at some godsdamned festival instead of a death pit. Bets started to be made—loud calls from the crowd above.

"They'll last two minutes."

"One, if the beast is hungry."

"Three, if the older one is as mad as she looks."

Amarantha's lip curled. Rhysand swirled his wine, eyes fixed on you with open amusement.

"I'll take that bet."

Amarantha blinked, then smiled cruelly. "What?"

"I bet they survive."

The Queen of Prythian leaned back, eyes narrowing.

"And why would you waste your money on such stupidity?"

Rhysand's smile turned wicked. "Call it... curiosity."

Down in the pit, you crouched lower in one of the hollow points in the wall, still grinning like a lunatic.

"Okay, Feyre, you're going to make a trap for that thing."

Feyre gaped at you like you'd grown a second head. "A trap?"

"Yes, you're smart—you can figure it out. Cover yourself in the mud, so you don't smell and make your magic."

"I can't—"

"You can," you snapped, eyes locked on the beast. "Dig. Now."

The Wyrm let out another earth-shaking growl, sniffing the air. Feyre's hands started clawing at the dirt—clumsy, desperate.

You stood out in the open, arms crossed, whistling. The Wyrm's head snapped toward the sound.

"Y/N!" Feyre gasped.

"Shhh," you grinned. "I'm flirting."

The crowd howled. Rhysand's laughter echoed through the arena—low and rich.

You paced slowly along the edge of the trench, clicking your tongue.

"Here, wyrmy wyrmy wyrmy..."

The beast lunged—and you bolted, barely dodging as its massive jaws snapped shut behind you.

"You are insane," Feyre screamed at you, still digging.

"You should try it—might make you more fun."

Minute after minute passed. The crowd was having the time of their life, apparently. Bets doubled. Tripled. Amarantha's smile began to falter the longer you could run from that thing without getting tired. The hole Feyre was making grew deeper by the second. The Wyrm circled, its forked tongue flicking out, scenting the air—but every time it got close, you darted just out of reach, laughing breathlessly.

Feyre's hands were raw, bloodied—but the pit was nearly finished. When it was ready, you sprinted in front of the Wyrm one last time, your voice ringing through the arena:

"You've been a lovely audience!"

And then you jumped inside of the hole, landing on your knees as pointed at the biggest and sharpest bone you could find while you ran in the labyrinth. The Wyrm lunged straight into the hole—straight into you.

Silence.

Then your singing voice while you climbed out through the beast's body. "VICTORY IS MIIIIIIINE—"

Feyre clamped a bloody hand over your mouth, her breath heaving. "You're going to get us killed."

You licked her palm. She yanked her hand away with a curse. “By the gods, what is your problem?”

Up on the dais, Amarantha's face was a mask of rage. The crowd had fallen into stunned silence. Only one person was clapping. A slow, deliberate sound. Rhysand. He got closer to the railing then, violet eyes locked on yours, a secret smile playing on his lips.

"I believe that means I win."

You pushed to your feet, brushing dirt from your torn clothes. With the most mocking, exaggerated bow you could muster, you turned to Rhysand. "My lord."

His smile sharpened as he raised his goblet of wine to you. "My lady."

It was the last thing you saw before the Attor's fist collided with the back of your skull. Pain exploded behind your eyes. The world tilted. Feyre screamed. Another blow—this time to your ribs—sent you crumpling to the ground. The Attor's claws wrapped around your arm, twisting until something in your shoulder snapped. You bit down on your own scream, tasting blood.

"Just to remind you, this game isn't fair," Amarantha's voice rang out coldly.

The Attor wrenched your arm harder. "Her Majesty is unhappy with the outcome."

You gritted your teeth, blinking through the pain. Feyre was screaming—fighting—but the guards held her back.

You spat blood onto the sand, then smiled through crimson teeth. "Oh, but you should see how happy I am." The Attor punched you again.

The last thing you saw before the darkness took you was Rhysand, still watching, still smiling. Still betting on you.

☆

When you woke up, the first thing you felt was the searing pain in your shoulder, radiating down your arm. Your mind was foggy, almost like you were trapped underwater, catching only bits and pieces of the conversation echoing from somewhere nearby.

"Bargain..."

"One month..."

"Healing…"

"Helping both at the trials..."

"Keeping me company during Amarantha's balls..."

The sound of his voice — that voice — made something flicker inside you, drawing you closer to the surface.

"Since your cousin set me free from Amarantha's control... I have a lot of free time now that I don't need to entertain Your Majesty anymore."

Your eyes snapped open, the cell spinning around you. Rhysand. That bastard.

You tried to sit up, but the sharp pull in your shoulder made you hiss in pain. Your arm hung at a wrong angle, still bleeding — your healing magic had been locked away while you were unconscious.

Before you could even think about fixing it yourself, darkness curled through the cell like smoke, and in a blink, Rhysand was crouching beside you — that same amused smirk tugging at his lips.

He leaned close, voice a low purr only for your ears. "Easy, you little menace... I'm only here to help."

His voice was softer than you'd ever heard him speak — not the mocking, wicked tone he used with everyone else. It pissed you off instantly. Your mind bolted awake, ignoring the pain as you sat up and glared at him.

"Really? My cousin?" you rasped. You looked at Feyre with as much indignation as you could. "You made a bargain without my supervision? I'm unconscious for what… five fucking minutes? And you're out here selling your soul to the prettiest male with powers?

Feyre, standing on the other side of the cell, looked utterly baffled — probably still dizzy from seeing all of the blood loss and the whole selling-her-life-to-the-High-Lord-of-the-Night-Court thing.

"You were going to die if he didn't help you!" she snapped.

You just scoffed, rolling your eyes even as your vision blurred. "I would’ve been fine if you just gave me time to wake up."

You called for your magic — clawing at that deep well inside you — and the familiar spark flared to life. It slithered beneath your skin, washing away the lingering fog. Rhysand's hand was still on your good shoulder, fingers light — but when your magic pushed out against his touch, something flickered in his violet eyes. You didn't give him time to question it.

With one sharp yank, you snapped your shoulder back into place. Pain lanced through you, but the broken bones began knitting back together almost instantly — skin sealing, bruises fading, blood drying.

“We have a lot of lack of trust here. Next time you wait for me.” You said to Feyre, out of breath from the amount of effort.

On the other side, Rhysand's eyebrows lifted. "You're... half-fae."

You deadpanned him, panting. "No shit."

His smirk grew wider — like you'd just handed him the most delicious little secret on a silver platter.

Feyre blinked at both of you, still pale.

"Wait— what?"

You flicked the rest of mud off your filthy clothes, feeling your old hometown accent slip from your tongue as your control started to fray.

"Oh, don't look so shocked, cousin. It was pretty clear that faes have healing abilities. You knew that! I told you!" You tested your shoulder, rotating it a few times before shooting Rhysand a glare. "And you too! The hell? Honestly, I've been locked up in that miserable Spring Court for months, pretending to be a sweet little human that knows nothing and does nothing, hoping for the day I could end this misery! There were perfectly good Courts out there with wine, silk sheets, and males who actually know how to speak like civilized beings. But no! It had to be Spring! So apologies if I am really pissed off that you just tricked my favorite cousin into a bargain that I have no idea what is while I was suffering the consequences of being a nice person for once."

Rhysand laughed softly — a low, decadent sound that sent heat curling through your stomach. "You're from the Night Court."

You flashed him a grin, letting your accent slip even thicker. "No shit."

Feyre's mouth fell open. "You're from the Night Court?!"

You deadpanned her. "What gave it away, smartass?"

"... The accent?" she mumbled, absolutely lost.

Rhysand's smirk grew even sharper, his violet eyes gleaming. "I could get used to having you both around.”

You shot him a dirty gesture. "But don't get too excited, darling, you won't get good guy treatment, you’re still the second prettiest male I've ever met."

His grin turned positively wicked. "Who's the first?"

You leaned heavily against him, using his arm to push yourself to your feet. "Haven't met him yet."

His low chuckle curled around your ribs — but you ignored the way it made your knees weak. Instead, you glared between the two of you, absolutely done with both your shit.

"Would one of you explain what bargain Feyre, and consequently I, just agreed to before I throw myself off the first cliff I find?"

You straightened your filthy clothes, flicking a bit of dirt from your sleeve like you weren't still half-dead.

"So, let's say I was desperate and thought you were going to die. And then I sold my soul to him for two weeks per month for eternity to live in the Night Court and apparently, we're his new party decorations."

Rhysand smirked wider, reeking of satisfaction. "I do love a good deal like this one. It's fair."

“I mean, he's going to help us in the next trials too… I'm not sure how, but It's in the deal so…” Feyre kept talking, unsure of your reaction. So you shot a smile to her and turned to Rhysand, a death glare in your eyes.

"Then let's hope you got a lot of patience left, darling, because you're going to be seeing a lot of us. And that's a threat."

His violet eyes glinted with something darker — something only you could see. You weren't sure if you'd won or just signed your own death warrant. Either way... You were going to have the time of your life.

☆

The second trial was worse than the first. Not because of the blood or the screams or the stench of death that clung to the air like a curse. No— It was worse because Amarantha had made sure this trial would break both of you from the inside out.

Lucien hung on the bridge of death, a few meters away from being smashed into pulp by the spiked ceiling that would be itching lower and lower for every second you didn't finish the trial. Feyre stood on one side of the the carved hole on the ground, in front of a stone wall written with lines and lines of text — her hands shaking as she stared at the levers below, numbered from one to three.

You stood on the other side of the hole, with only Lucien screaming between you both separating you. You were in front of a different wall, your own question hidden behind a sliding stone panel.

Amarantha's voice slithered through the arena like a knife. "The younger girl must answer first."

You glared at the bitch on her bone throne, grinding your teeth. "What kind of fucked up game is this?" you snarled.

Amarantha just smiled, cold and cruel. "Only once she answers correctly, your question will be revealed. Two minds should work together to save the life of a common friend. You should start.”

The ceiling began to go down on Lucien, he still had a few meters before he would need to get down. In the first few seconds he already sat on the ground, as if to give you space to look at Feyre. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps. You could see her eyes flicking over the carved text, could feel the panic rising in every line of her body. What—

Why was she just standing there?

"Come on, Feyre—"* you shouted, even as your own heart pounded against your ribs. "Read it."

Feyre's wide, terrified eyes snapped to yours. "I—" She swallowed hard. "I can't."

For a heartbeat, the entire throne room went silent. You stared at her—

The girl who had traded everything to get you both here. The girl who always read the prices at the market and reported them to you. The girl who had memorized every shortcut, every bargain, every hidden trick of surviving in that miserable village.

"What the fuck do you mean you can't?" you said, cold dread curling around your ribs.

Her face flushed, shame flickering across her pale features. "I only ever learned the words of things we needed to buy and the numbers. To read the prices."

The breath caught in your throat.

No.

No, no, no—

You thought—

You always thought she could read because of the market, because she always knew what things cost—

But of course.

Numbers. The same repetitive words. She only ever needed to differentiate the numbers. And she had never told you.

Rhysand's voice slipped through the bond, low and silky. "Surprised, little mouse?"

You clenched your jaw so hard it ached. "Get out of my fucking head and help her."

He only laughed softly — like he was enjoying this far too much. But then... you felt it — the whisper of his power curling around Feyre like a gentle breeze, guiding her.

And when she reached for the right lever —

You knew. He was indeed helping her. You could have kissed him if you weren't so busy trying not to vomit from nerves.

The lever clicked.

Lucien's strangled scream echoed through the arena as the spikes halted for now. You almost forgot he was there, as his body was already lay down on the ground, less than a meter separating his body from the imminent death.

Amarantha's smile faltered. "Lucky girl." She turned her eyes to you. “Your turn, maniac.”

“Honestly, as long as it's not mathematics I think I will be fi—” Then she snapped her fingers. Your stone panel slid open and the question carved into the wall was written in ancient fae language — twisting symbols that blurred together in your foggy mind. “Fuck.”

Fuck.

The ceiling began to dip lower on Lucien. You knew only fragments, aleatory words your mother had taught you in hurried nights when you were barely talking in the common language. The amount of time you spent without it was crushing down on your brain.

Rhysand’s voice slithered through your mind again. "Do you need help too, abomination?"

You clenched your fists. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Fuck off."

His dark chuckle echoed through your bones.

Focus. You scanned the symbols—

"Soul."

"Price."

“Owl?”

"Death."

“Thousand years.”

Was that supposed to be a name or was just a word? The answer clicked into place in your mind like a puzzle snapping together, an old story of a man that traded his soul to be transformed into an owl for a thousand years so the death God would bring his wife back. One word for each of the five levers in front of you. The question was what kind of action the man took to save his loved one. You pulled the "Sacrifice" one without hesitation.

The spikes stopped. The whole place went deathly silent, before shouts and happy screams started to unravel. Even Amarantha looked... surprised.

Only one voice broke the noises — low and lazy, dripping with amusement. "Well... two lucky little girls, then."

Rhysand — lounging in the shadows like this was his own private entertainment. You turned toward him, heart still thundering in your chest. Without missing a beat, you broke out the biggest smile you could, dirt and sweat streaked down your face. "Thank you for your generous encouragement, High Lord."

His violet eyes glinted dangerously. "Anytime."

You straightened, grinning despite the ache in your body. Right before Amarantha's smile returned, sharp as a blade.

"How lovely." She purred. "We shall have a ball tonight to celebrate their victory."

Your stomach dropped straight to the floor. You could see that Feyre's face paled now that the spiked ceiling was rising up again. Rhysand only smirked.

You could feel his voice purring through your mind "I hope you brought something pretty to wear, little mouse."

☆

Nuala and Cerridwen were shadows wrapped in silk as they slipped inside your cell with bundles of fabric under her arms and a hand extended to each of you. "Time to get ready."

Feyre's face went pale. You just grinned despite the fathom ache in your shoulder and the bruises still colored — but not aching — across your ribs. "It's just a ball, cousin. What the hell should we be nervous of?"

Nuala's dark eyes flicked over you, amused. "You're not scared, are you?"

"Terrified," you deadpanned, making Cerridwen snort.

They traveled through the shadows until you got to a large and beautiful room. They dressed Feyre first — a midnight blue dress, almost modest and simple. Just a whisper of cleavage, the fabric flowing down to the floor like liquid night. No sleeves were attached to the dress, but the shadow covered females painted intricate details all over the remaining skin. They painted a little bit of Feyre's face with eyeshadow and lipstick, to bring a bit of color back to her face. Then they turned to you.

You knew the second they unwrapped the purple silk that Rhysand had chosen it himself. It was darker than a blue, the color of a sky right before the stars bled through, the color of his eyes — cut to cling to every curve, not as revealing as you had seen in the Undercity... but not exactly modest either. Just a few strategic slits across your thighs, the neckline dipping just enough to make a male think about what might lie underneath, and two cuts made to reveal your waist to the public.

But the real weapon was the jewelry they offered — silver pendants woven into the fabric, little glinting stars that winked every time you moved. Delicate chains wrapped around your bare arms, hanging from your wrists like shackles. Chains that dripped with shining pendants rounded your exposed waist. A collar circled your throat — simple, silver... Possessive.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. You looked like Night Court royalty, in the way you used to be dressed like by your mother — dangerous and untouchable.

A familiar voice purred from the shadows. "That's more like it."

Rhysand leaned against the wall, so fucking smug. His eyes dragged over your body — slowly, lazily — before flicking to Feyre.

"I expect you'll be on the dance floor tonight, Feyre... maybe with Lucien? Or Tamlin, if he can crawl down from his throne." Feyre's mouth pressed into a thin line. “The paint is to make sure they don't touch you while I'm not present. It doesn't dry, so if anyone but me and your cousin touch you, we will know.”

"And me?" you asked, tilting your head.

Rhysand's gaze snapped back to you, his violet eyes glowing faintly. "You'll be sitting with me."

You knew what he meant — that you were supposed to perch on a chair beside him like some pretty little pet. So when the ball began and the music swelled… You sat in his lap instead.

His hand gripped your hip the second you settled on him, claws barely sheathed. His breath ghosted against your neck — low and dangerous.

"What do you think you're doing, you little menace?"

You leaned back against his chest, fingers tracing the rim of the wine glass he'd handed you. "Sitting with you. Like you asked."

Rhysand's chuckle vibrated through your spine. "You're playing a very dangerous game."

"For your information, I've always been a sore loser."

His teeth grazed your ear — so softly no one would see. "I'll keep that in mind."

The wine tasted like sin and starlight, just like you remembered — but the second Feyre's fingers twitched toward a goblet, both you and Rhysand shot her matching glares.

"Don't even think about it." you hissed.

Rhysand's grin sharpened. "I'd hate to see you lose what's left of your mind, Feyre darling."

She rolled her eyes in annoyance, but quickly left after spotting Lucien in the crowd. She needed a distraction if she wanted to pull him aside to talk. You swirl the wine in your goblet — then glance sideways at Rhysand. His eyes were already on you. You could feel the heat simmering beneath his calm facade, the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly on your waist.

Without breaking eye contact, you tipped your head back — letting the wine trickle slowly between your lips. Rhysand's pupils flared. You held the last mouthful on your tongue. Thinking. Calculating.

Then you pulled the hair in the back of his neck to tilt his head and leaned forward — so close your noses almost brushed — just to press your mouth to his.

He froze for half a heartbeat. Then his lips parted, and you tipped the wine from your tongue to his. Hot. Slow. Filthy. You could feel that the entire room stared.

It was supposed to be a brief kiss — just enough to make every eye fixate on you instead of Feyre slipping away to Lucien. But Rhysand's hand slid up your spine, burying in your hair. His other hand gripped your thigh — fingers digging into the slit of your dress, dragging your leg higher across his lap.

You felt him smile against your mouth and then he bit your bottom lip hard enough to make you gasp.

"Good girl," he purred so low only you could hear. When you finally pulled away — panting, flushed — his thumb traced your bruised lip. "You wear my colors so well."

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. "I grew up wearing them anyway."

Rhysand's eyes snapped to yours. And for one sharp second, you saw something flicker beneath that perfect mask. Recognition. Home.

But then the music shifted. A slow, haunting melody that made your entire body seize. You knew that song. A traditional Night Court dance — one they'd played at every Solstice, every masquerade. One your mother had taught you when you were barely tall enough to reach her waist.

Rhysand's mouth curved. "Do you still remember this one, little mouse?" Your heart was hammering now. "How long has it been since you left our home, after all?" You stood without a word — grabbing his hand and dragging him onto the dance floor.

The dance was intimate naturally. Every step demanded the couple stay close — chest to chest, thighs brushing, breath mingling. But when Rhysand's hand settled heavy on your waist, fingers splaying beneath the slit in your dress, you knew the two of you were about to make it worse.

Your own hand slid up to his shoulder — nails scraping against the silk of his jacket. The first step was slow — a teasing slide. The second, he pressed you against him, your breasts brushing his chest. His thumb stroked along your spine — once, twice — before curling possessively around your nape. You tilted your chin up — daring him.

Rhysand's breath fanned over your lips. "How many times have you danced this on your time in the Night Court?"

"Not enough."

His mouth curved. "Then let's fix that."

He spun you — so hard your dress flared, flashing a hint of thigh.

When he caught you again, his knee slid between your legs — the faintest pressure against the ache building there. You bit back a gasp. His grin was pure sin.

"Careful,” he murmured. "You're supposed to be distracting them... not making me distracted in front of the entire Court."

Your laugh was breathless. "Multitask, High Lord."

His mouth brushed your ear. "I could have you begging by the end of this night."

You leaned in, lips grazing his throat. "You'll have to catch me first."

He growled so softly you almost didn't hear it. And then spun you into another step.

☆

By the time the song ended, you were both flushed and panting. And everyone in the Court was watching you.

Feyre was gone.

Lucien was gone.

Tamlin hadn't moved from his throne like the coward he was. Amarantha's nails carved little half-moon dents into the armrests beside her. Rhysand only leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear—

"You always were the best distraction, little mouse."

You were still catching your breath when he led you back to his lap. Where you belonged.

Taglist: @rcarbo1 @raisam @itsinherited @romantic1stories @nebarious @mystirica-blog @willowpains @xelladarlingx @lucilia9teen @lifetobeareader

[crazy-ache]

ACOTAR 5 and the matter of urgency

Urgency. Urgency drives plot forward and provides stories with momentum. Without urgency, stories have no stakes and lack intrigue to the reader. It drives characters to act, it makes events unfold, and it builds conflict. SJM has weaved several instances of urgency into ACOSF that signal to us what is important NEXT and what needs to be deal with now—meaning it cannot wait.

Urgency that signifies Elucien’s book is next:

Lucien being stationed in Spring / Elain’s consistent references to being “made for Spring” -> Lucien is in Spring now while serving the Night Court’s demands.

Koschei says, “Tell my Vassa I’m waiting.” -> This is essentially a reminder of Vassa being bound to Koschei’s curse and her time that Papa Archeron negotiated for her is running out.

“He should have asked someone before coming here how much time remained before Vassa would be forced to return to the continent—to the sorcerer-lord at a remote lake who held her leash.”

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

“You will need Tamlin as an ally before the dust has settled. Tread carefully.” -> Tamlin will return to the narrative in some form and he will be needed.

“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 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.” / “You’ve been trying to bring Tamlin back for a while. But he isn’t getting better, is he?” -> How much longer can Spring/Tamlin lay in destruction before we resolve and save the court? Especially now that Lucien is there? And Elain has been hinted towards being involved in it?

“My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.” -> This tells us that Beron is a ticking bomb ready to go off any second in alliance with Koschei.

“Lucien stared out the window—as if he could see the lake across a sea and a continent. As if he were setting his target.” -> Setting your target indicates you will be taking a shot soon.

“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.” -> Could she be anymore clear? This shit is urgent.

“Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.” -> Is she really going to sit around and do nothing for another book? After she tried to help with the troves / fought with Nesta about being caged to their expectations but was denied?

Examples that indicate a LACK of urgency for a Gwynriel book:

Gwyn laughed hoarsely. “The Illyrians are going to be furious about our winning, you know. Especially because I have no intention of being called Carynthian. I’m content with being a Valkyrie.” “Oh, they’ll be in hysterics for decades,” Emerie agreed, grinning.

“Are there truly no female fighting units amongst the Illyrians?” She hadn’t seen any during the war. His smile faded. “We tried once and it failed spectacularly. So, no. There aren’t.” “Because Illyrians are backward and horrible.” He winced. “Have you been talking to Az?” “Just my observations.” He untied his hair, the thick, straight locks falling around his face. “The Illyrians … I told you. Progress is slow. It’s an ongoing goal of ours—me and Rhys, I mean.” -> They are not in a rush to fix this.

“So they would keep training, until they were all well and truly Valkyries. Gwyn, despite the Rite, had returned to living in the library.” -> There is no deadline, no time sensitive need, no urgent call for them to hurry and train or for Gwyn to leave just yet.

“But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history.” -> This is Eris referencing Mor but I do think its also SJM speaking to us directly about “ancient history” like Ramiel as he then proceeds to tell the characters to focus on BERON.

“Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians were never curious enough to see what secrets lie beneath Ramiel.” -> Again, not a current, pressing issue in the narrative.

The highlighted red words indicate actual, factual evidence of urgency. Plot points that emphasize: need, time, importance. Over and over Elucien plot points demonstrate what the story NEEDS or the consequences they will suffer (Beron/Koschei). These plots are TIME SENSITIVE. They cannot wait in suspense for another book or there would have been no point in incorporating all of this urgency. Big thank you to @acourtofthought who has discussed these points with me so many times and how important urgency is when theorizing what is next.

But the Gwynriel points in blue showcase a lack of urgency. Nothing that needs to be resolved NOW, especially in comparison to all of the plot points surrounding Beron, Koschei, and Spring which are ticking bombs waiting to go off, as repeatedly shown in the SF narrative. IF those points had been urgent, she would have written the threat of the Illyrians being angry to be taken much more seriously and much more urgently. Much of what was resolved for Gwyn/the Illyrians/Ramiel plot points can wait until later.

Urgency will drive a plot forward. That is why I believe Elucien is next.

[saraannereads]

Who is Elain Archeron?

Elain is the seer for the Night Court, as well as sister to the High Lady, Feyre Archeron, sister-in-law to the High Lord, Rhysand, and sister to Nesta Archeron, warrior.

She is one of 2 cauldron made individuals in the entirety of Prythian and the mortal lands.

She is someone who sees the good in everyone, volunteers to help others, lives with kindness, and embraces change.

She works to help others after the second war with Hybern in an effort to bring more joy to the world through teaching people how to cultivate and tend to gardens.

She offers a helping hand and nurtures others, such as when she saddles up Feyre's horse in ACOTAR and packs supplies for her.

She welcomed Feyre back home despite the fact that Feyre was now high fae, and Elain had been taught to fear high fae her whole life.

She is humble, despite being noted as a great beauty, and is gracious towards others, often making friends everywhere she goes.

She is highly observant and makes use of her observations in important moments such as when she encouraged Feyre to be kind about Winter Solstice and noted that people had died to preserve the right to have those traditions.

She is thoughtful and on several occasions goes out of her way to get gifts for people that she thinks might help them or make their lives better, such as when she gives the twin wraiths, Nuala and Cerridwen, plush blankets in ACOSF. She also gives Nesta a book from her favorite bookstore and gives Azriel headache potion, which she had made for him, based on her observation that everyone always gives him headaches.

She is also able to meet the moment when needed. She was the one who convinced Nesta to help Feyre and the IC during ACOMAF and allow them to meet the human queens at the Archeron Manor.

She is the one who shouted a warning to Feyre during ACOMAF that Tamlin was trying to forceably take her and winnow away despire the great danger she was in and fear she felt.

She was the one who offered to go to Grayson to ask for his help in providing safe haven for the humans in her former village, despite the pain of seeing him.

She used her visions to kickoff the search for Vassa, who was integral to winning the war.

She was the one who offered to use her sight to find the Suriel to help Feyre during the war in ACOWAR.

She kicked the hounds off of Azriel despite being chained and encouraged Briar to jump on his back to escape the war camp.

She was the one used her visions to prevent Hybern from killng Cassian and Nesta by stabbing him in the neck using Truth Teller. She may have also wielded shadows and used Truth Teller to its full capabilities in order to clear the battlefield and make it to Nesta and Cassian in time.

She shows her love and care for her family, even when they are unkind or when it is difficult for her. She often prepares meals for them, and she designed Feyre's birthday gift and made a point to acknowledge Feyre's role as the foundation of their family, which further shows her observation skills and humility.

She volunteered to continue scrying to help the IC find the Trove despite the Cauldron luring her away to danger in ACOWAR because she wants to help her family and her court. Even after Nesta interfered to disallow it, Elain confidently asks that they find her when they are ready.

She is brave and has shown a willingness to act for herself, take the reigns of her own life, be independent, and free herself of patriarchal traditions that dictate she is another fae male's property due to a mating bond she did not ask for and actively does not want. And she does this all while recovering from being groomed by her mother and trained to be a people pleaser.

She will not let a mystical, corrupted cauldron control her life or make her choices and will take risks to live her life on her terms.

She processes her trauma, her pain, and her sense of loss after being turned against her will and having her bodily autonomy violated by taking her time to feel her emotions and grieve in her own way. She healthily makes it out on the other side of her pain and settles into her new life even though it is not the one she chose for herself.

Her visions about heartbeats are widely believed to be about the Dusk Court, and her visions about a black box are theorized to be about Koschei, both of which will be integral to future ACOTAR books.

She has shown a keen ability for stealth and secrecy, both traits that are highly prized for spies and by the spymaster of the night court.

She is not afraid of people's darkness and often makes friends with people who are surrounded by shadows.

She can make Azriel feel seen, calm, and understood without needing to say anything, and even he notes that she knows how he feels and why he does the things he does without him needing to say. She makes him laugh with a joy and fierce happiness in his eyes that one of the people closest to him had never even seen.

She brings light and joy to his eyes, and he has stayed up all night to listen to her talk and has chosen to sit with her in companionable, comfortable silence. She is who he wants, who he thinks of at night, and who he will choose.

She makes Azriel question his religion, his customs, and his high lord.

She is who he will beg on his knees for. She is who he will fight for.

She is the woman that calms his shadows and makes him feel safe and brings him peace.

She is the one he will choose, his chosen mate and life partner, and together they will change their culture and their lives.

And that my friends is facts. Sorry but a ribbon and a sassy one-liner is not erasing this.

Elain Archeron, kindness incarnate and Azriel's future.

Art by Termesart

[invisible-lint]

Everything Could Be Okay: Chapter 2

Rhys x Tamlin's sister!reader

Summary: Time for a wedding... Or is it?

Warnings: nothing I can think of!

Word Count: 1.4k

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 3

You had never been a fan of parties. They were too loud, the air too stuffy, and the gossiping of the Spring Ladies you were forced to be with was obnoxious. But you had endured, not wanting to leave Feyre to fend for herself. Or worse, alone with Ianthe who had gotten on your nerves with how pushy she had been while planning what was supposed to be Feyre’s wedding.

Feyre had made her escape nearly an hour ago, heading up to bed, and here you were, stuck, nodding along as you pretended to listen to the gossiping females surrounding you.

"From what I hear, Tamlin is looking to find a husband for you." That got your attention. The room is suddenly suffocating, air struggling to find its way to your lungs. Your hand reaches to your necklace, finding the ring on it. The group of females look worried as you back away, feeling as if the room is closing in on you.

"Excuse me," you manage to mumble, fleeing the room.

You run out to the gardens, not noticing Tamlin following you. You stop, sinking into a bench, trying not to hyperventilate. How could he do this? Just because he wanted to pretend nothing had happened doesn't mean that you would. He sits next to you and you stand, anger flooding your body when you see him, pushing out the panic.

"How dare you?" You hiss, blinking back the angry tears stinging your eyes.

He sighs. "What is it I've supposedly done now?"

"When were you going to tell me you were looking for a husband for me?"

"You're overreacting. Someone asked about marrying you, and I simply said I would think about it."

"No. You don't get to make that choice for me. I am not ready for that. I am not ready to replace him!" You start to pace, trying to keep your temper in check. 

"It would be good for you to move on. You can't be unhappy forever." 

You lose your temper then, whirling to face him, pointing a finger at his chest. "You don't understand! I felt it when he died! It was like my soul was cleaved in two! That is not something I can just move on from! Had Feyre's death been permanent you would not have moved on as quickly as you're asking me to!" He growls at you, claws sliding out. You flinch, knowing you said too much and turn to run further into the garden. This time, Tamlin doesn’t follow.

The next day is the wedding, and you sit with Feyre as several females prepare her. You watch silently, trying to gauge how she is feeling. You know about the nightmares, and have noticed the weight loss, but you don’t know what to do. What can you do? You’ve offered companionship, tried getting her to eat more of the foods you know she likes, but still, she is wasting away before your eyes. You can’t talk about Under the Mountain, no one talks about it. No one can. 

You notice Feyre is looking more and more nervous, and you ask for the room to be cleared. Once it’s just the two of you in the room, you pull a chair over so you’re right next to her, taking her hands in yours.

“I was nervous before my wedding too. I couldn’t eat anything and then I almost fainted right before the ceremony.” You squeeze her hands gently. “But I knew it was what I wanted. Andras and I had courted for nearly 20 years before I agreed to marry him. I suppose what I’m trying to say is if you’ve changed your mind, if you need more time, I will come up with some sort of reason to postpone the wedding. Tamlin doesn’t need to know about any of it.” 

Feyre sits for a moment, thinking before shaking her head. “I’m ready. I want this.”

You nod, squeezing her hands again. “Then I’ll be right there with you.”

You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised, Rhysand was prone to making dramatic entrances after all. Showing up right as Feyre was walking down the aisle seemed just like the kind of thing he would do.The part of you screaming its relief is hard to ignore, but you manage to shove it down.

You stride across the lawn, chin held high, interrupting the argument. "I will be joining Feyre as a chaperone." The violet eyed male quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “Oh?”

"Yes. No part of your agreement said she had to spend her time in your court alone." 

"I suppose not."

"So I'm joining her." 

At that moment Tamlin finally finds his voice. "Absolutely not."

"You'd have her go alone?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at your brother. 

He sputters, before making an exasperated noise, knowing you're right. 

"Don't worry Tamlin, I'll treat her better than you treated my sister," Rhysand taunts. You shoot him an exasperated look, ignoring your brother's snarl. He crosses over to you and Feyre, wrapping an arm around each of you and winnowing away, whisking both of you off to the night court.

You wander the halls of the mountain palace, thinking back on the past few hours. It’d been hard not to laugh when Feyre had thrown her shoes at Rhysand, the look on his face had made it even harder. But more than anything, the interaction made you feel relieved. Somewhere in there, who Feyre truly was still resided. And he had managed to draw her out. 

You walk out onto a balcony, glad that whatever magic seems to be heating the interior of the palace extends to out here. You gaze up at the stars, lost in thoughts about how you might help Feyre. When you eventually turn to go back inside, Rhysand is standing in the doorway, staring at you, the expression on his face unreadable. He walks over, leaning against the railing of the balcony next to you. 

“This is the second time now I’ve found you roaming in the middle of the night. I’m starting to think you don’t sleep.”

“I don’t.” He raises an eyebrow in response.

“Not well at least. It’s… a long story.”

“One you won’t share with me?”

You cross your arms, shooting him a hard look. “I don’t know you.”

“Ah, yes. But I assume you intend to accompany Feyre everytime. One week a month for the rest of your life gives you plenty of time to know me.”

“I think I know enough.” You squeeze your arms, trying to ignore the way your heartbeat races at the idea of getting to know him.

“Do you make it a habit of assuming you know people based on what you’ve heard?”

“Do you make it a habit of being so obnoxious?” You huff, flinging your arms down to your side, temper stirring. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile as he tries not to laugh.

“Are you always so easily irritated?”

You snap, letting everything you’ve been holding in flood out. “You would be too if you were me! I have lost so much and I’m supposed to just smile and pretend I’m okay. That I don’t dream about my dead husband every night. It has barely been a year since he died and someone asked Tamlin if they could marry me. A year! I was with him for almost 100 years and people have the audacity to think I should move on because I can’t be miserable forever! Not to mention that without him, without his sacrifice, Feyre wouldn’t have been able to save anyone! Oh, and speaking of Feyre, I don’t think she wants to marry my brother. But she refuses to admit it and there's nothing I can do and she’s going to end up as trapped and miserable in Spring as I am! And I have nobody to tell this to because the only person who I could ever truly share my feelings with is dead! So I’m so sorry if I’m a little bit irritable.” You finish your rant, chest heaving. Rhysand just stares at you, a little wide eyed, at a loss for words. Suddenly realizing how much you had shared, you turn and run, heading anywhere but there, but he remains rooted to the spot.

He had felt it. Felt all your anger, frustration and anguish down the blossoming bond. Mate. You’re his mate. He lets out a shaky breath, turning to grip the railing, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t tell you. How could he when you had just shouted at him about how you're still grieving your husband? So this, like so many he already carried, would be his sole burden to bear.

A/N: And there it is! I'm already working on chapter 3 and hope to have it posted sometime either this week or early next week. it's already a LONG one! As always, requests are open and feel free to send them on in!

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @readingislife2006 @acourtofimagines @mistymoocow @irelanrose @darker-december @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loving-and-dreaming

[readychilledwine]

Another Way Out

Summary - After rumors start going around Autumn regarding you a certain High Lord, your mother has to ensure you escaped before it was too late

Warnings - Mentions of abuse, purity culture, misogynistic views, canon Beron behavior

A/N - I have been playing with this for a long time. This is actually the idea that sparked me asking my friends their feelings on the Forest House. I'm so happy to have the chance to have collaborated on @thehouseofvanserra with so many people. Thank you all for letting me go crazy with this idea.

Running away from home was the thing you had ever imagined you would be doing. Yet, it was where you found yourself right now as another twig cut the tender skin of your cheek. You had no doubt your dress was torn, your feet aching and potentially bleeding. 

This was the only time the house agreed with your mother to allow you to leave, so in the dead of night, you ran toward Spring.

Midnight summons to tea with your mother had never meant good news. The first time had been when Lucien and Jesminda were discovered. The second the night you found out that two of your brothers had died chasing Lucien to the very court you found yourself looking for. 

Mother had been sitting in her tea room lit only by the light of the moon and candles. There was no tea. No snacks. Only a small bag and her and Eris speaking in hushed tones.

Eris had looked truly panicked the second he glanced to look you over. Your brother was a mask, cool and collected. To see him so shaken was not good.  “Is.. someone hurt,” you had not meant to sound so insecure, but the tension of the room had you on edge.

Your mother didn't answer you. She simply stood, taking the bag in her hands, “Beron knows about Tamlin,” Eris spoke for her. “He knows you two.. enjoyed each other company.”

You froze, “It was a walk in his garden-”

“With no chaperone,” your mother interrupted. “And rumors of inappropriate things have spread like wildfire.” 

“Your purity has come into question. Father feels you have embarrassed him,” Eris's voice was tight. “He plans to make a public example of you.”

You were pulled from the memory as you slipped on a rock, tumbling down. You squeezed your eyes shut, heart racing as you began to hear them. Hounds. Beron was forcing Eris to chase you. To hunt you down with the very hounds you had loved. It was part of the plan. You had been given a 30-minute head start, the trees no doubt telling your father you had somehow escaped and were running. Squeezing dirt between your nails, you stood, heart pounding as you slipped back into the memory and continued to run. 

“You will leave the Forest House tonight,” your mother whispered, handing you the bag. “Tamlin knows you are coming. The second you are over the Spring border, ask your mate for sanctuary.”

Shaking hands felt like they weren't your own as you grabbed the leather pack and slipped it on. “The exits are too guarded. There's no way out of here?”

Eris shook his head, “No way out that you know of, little sister.”

Your mother took in a deep breath before taking your hands in her own. “When I was seeing Helion, the House gave me a way out that only Eris and I know of. It has agreed to open that doorway for you until midnight.” Your eyes shot to the sundial. The shadows pointed to 11:55. You swallowed hard. There would be no lingering goodbyes. No last-minute hugs or questioning it. 

Eris touched the wall, nodding at you. The scent of campfire, the Forest House’s magic, came into the air. Brick and stone shifted, dark oak taking its place. It was heavy, old. Eris pushed it open as your mother moved, her forehead against yours, “I love you. I love you so much that I have to let you go. I.. I can not let you end up like me,” her voice broke. “You have to go.” You stood there as she let go of you, a lump forming in your throat.

“Go,” the urgency in Eris's voice made you move. “Follow the fire sprite. Do not look back. Do not go off the path it leads you down.”

Rough hands grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you to him so he could place a soft kiss on your forehead. “I will bring you home,” his voice broke. “I will do everything to bring you home.”

The change in the air brought you back to the pathway. The fire sprite had long abandoned you once she realized the hounds were coming. You were so close to Spring. The sounds of twigs snapping, your heavy breathing, and barking the only thing you could hear. 

Fear was driving you. Your mother would carry evidence of Beron's abuse long after he was gone. Her back was marred and distorted from whips dipped in fire. Eris bared scars, knives, and daggers carving out pieces of his skin. A brand resting far too close to intimate places. 

Beron was a monster, and if he caught you now? If he caught you now, you would be sold to someone he trusted to beat you. And that's if he didn't make the choice to execute you. Rumors had made your father believe you were impure. That you had ruined yourself under Tamlin's hand. You no longer held value, even if it was untrue. You were of no use to Beron in his mind. 

The trees began to change, the burnt orange, golden yellows, and deep reds replaced by budding flowers in whites, purples, and pinks. “Tamlin,” you yelled for him, knowing you had entered Spring. 

The barking grew closer, the hounds no doubt on your heels as you continued to run. Spring had no wards. It was open territory meant for refugees. Something of which you had never imagined yourself, a princess, becoming.

A raised root tripped you, body falling to the mud just as the first hound came into view. Its sleek black body went low, hunting you. That's when full horror set in.

These were not Eris's hounds. 

They were your father's. 

Beron had hunted you himself and if Reaper's body language was any indication, you would never even make it to a public execution if he caught you. 

You didn't get up as you backed away. You refused to look away from the hounds, refused to risk turning your back on him. “Tamlin,” you yelled out of fear, hoping he was close enough to hear you, to feel your terror as you tugged on the bond. 

Reaper was low to the ground, stalking and getting closer but not pounding. His teeth were bared, capable of ripping your throat out if ordered to. Hand found your shoulders, your scream filling the air. 

Tamlin lifted you up, forcing you behind him and backing you to a tree as Beron came into view, two more hunting smoke hounds at his side. “Call them off,” Tamlin's growl as you dug your face into his tunic was met with another deep growl from a hound. “Call. Them. Off. You are not allowed to hunt in my court.”

“I am allowed to claim what is mine,” your father's voice was matter of fact, almost amused. “Hand me my dear daughter and we will be gone.”

“Over my dead body,” Tamlin spat. 

Beron only chuckled, “That can be arranged.”

“Father, perhaps it would be best if we left,” Eris's smooth voice filled the growing silence and pressure. “If he has truly soiled her, he may feel he has claim to her.”

“Sanctuary,” you breathed into Tamlin's back. “High Lord, I ask for sanctuary.”

Beron snarled at that, Tamlin's green eyes locked on his, “Granted,” your mate answered.

The scent of rain and roses was a hug, the sudden zip of ripping through the folds of the world disorientated you as cool marble took the place of dirt below your feet. Tamlin's shoulders relaxed, falling as he let out a deep breath. “The Forest House let you out?”

You paused, glaring up at him, “How did you know?”

“Lucien,” he pulled you to the dining room and sat you down before grabbing a bowl of warm water and a rag. He kneeled down to take one of your feet in his hand. “This is going to sting,” he sunk it into the water, watching as your body winced.

“Lucien has his own way in and out as well,” Tamlin continued. “As does Eris. They had thought maybe you just didn't know how to ask the House, but perhaps that wasn't the issue. Perhaps Beron never told you it was alive for a reason.” 

Your mate began to tenderly wash your scraped and muddy feet. “Alive?” He nodded at your question. 

“Most courts have one house that is sentient,” his voice was even. “Autumn's is the Forest House. Summer the Shore House. Winter the Mountain House.” You hummed as he spoke and began to massage a healing ointment onto the damaged skin. “Beron must have decided you knowing was too dangerous.”

Silence passed as he took care of you. Once he was satisfied, he took you to the bath. He left you alone with your thoughts. Your knees curling up to your chest. 

The Forest House being sentient should not have shocked you as much as it did. And dangerously, it gave you hope. Hope that maybe one day you'd find a secret way in, and once you find that way in, Beron would pay. 

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[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War Pt II

Summary: Warlord!Rhys takes his mate back to his mountain camp and Tamlin's!sister!Reader has to decide the best way to try and escape

Content Warnings: Morally Grey!Rhys, talks of violence

Part I

--------------------

We ride for hours. The first two riders I’d seen join us after the first; they too have wings, tucked tight against their backs. Under different circumstances, I might be tempted to ask why they bothered with horses at all when they can simply fly, but thought better of it. The less I learn about them the better. All the easier to keep them in my mind as some faceless evil so I feel a little less guilty about putting an arrow in their eye when I escape. Rhysand has foolishly left me with my weapons, I'll put that mistake to good use when the time is right. 

By the third hour, we’ve left the bog and the forest behind, riding through what was once a sprawling plain but is now nothing but weeds. There is no magic left to keep this place fertile and thriving. Hybern’s Cauldron backed powers have stripped most of the land of its power, leaving ruin and famine behind in its wake. Little has managed to grow since, he’s been using the Cauldron to make sure a majority of the crops grow in his fields, where his slaves can tend them and ensure he gets the bulk of the harvest. There's nowhere to run out here.

Especially not when the rest of the riders regroup. There are twelve of them in total, all falling behind my captor as his great, midnight black stead takes the lead. 

I haven’t ridden a horse in a long time, could not afford to keep one, but the ones that I had, back in my youth, had never been this graceful. Even with my added weight the horse gallops like it has wings, swift as the wind, its blue-black mane trailing gracefully behind it. I almost don’t mind the ride, minus the circumstance and company, as the sun begins to set ahead of us, the sky a symphony of purple, orange and pink.

Eventually, we come to a river, flowing with large chunks of ice from a not yet frozen ice flow further upstream, where they stop to water their mounts. 

My captor dismounts first, large, gloved hands gripping my waist to help me down. By the Mother, his hands are so large against my hips! I’m suddenly very aware of my own size. 

“Don’t try and run,” he warns.

I glance around to my lack of escape routes and roll my eyes. “Darn, I was planning on throwing myself into the river.”

One of the others, the male I’d spotted first I think, snorts beneath his hood. 

Rhysand grunts out a warning before leading his horse to drink and filling a canteen he had tucked in his saddle bag. His back is, foolishly to me, I could easily draw my knife and stab him right here, but a quick glance around tells me that really would end with me taking a trip down the river. All his men carry swords and knives and there’s one with a wicked looking dagger strapped to his thigh; I barely reach the chin of the shortest among them, and that doesn’t account for at least a hundred pounds of muscle difference between us. I know that I have thinned, my ribs poking out beneath the heavy, hole ridden sweater. Some days I feel… brittle. Today especially. I’m not winning any fights against one of them, let alone twelve.

No, I just need to be smart. Wait for an opening, steal a horse, and run as far away as possible. So far, whatever this monster thinks I’m supposed to be to him has saved me from harm, I don’t plan on sticking around to see how long that protects me. Even if I did believe in mates-- as if the Mother ever cared enough about me to give me a soul tie to anyone--I’ve seen the worst in people enough to know it didn’t mean much in the end. What’s a mate but someone obligated to be a breeding mare? What’s a bond if not a magically induced aphrodisiac? I have little doubt that I’m actually safe here; just alive and conscious because it’s too much of a hassle to try and drag my limp body around.

My scheming comes to a grinding halt as Rhysand returns with the canteen, water sloshing the edge as he holds it out for me. It hasn’t occurred to me just how dry my mouth is until I see that water. 

Of course, I’m not going to let him know that. “No thanks.”

“I’m not going to poison you,” he returns.

“Poison's the least of my concerns,” I retort.

He grabs my hand and pushes the canteen into it. “Drink.”

“Bite me,” I snarl.

His men chuckle at that, which must upset him because his wings twitch behind him. He draws a deep breath before saying, “Ask nicely, mate.”

I should dump the water directly on his head, and my hand twitches around the canteen as I debate it, but in the end I decide against it. This male murdered half my family in cold blood, whatever thin amount of protection I might have remains only as long as he doesn’t think I’m a threat. To escape, I need to be smart.

On that subject, does he even know who I am? Does he remember riding into our camp that night, sword drawn, slaughtering my people as they jumped from their mats? Or were we just another blurred face in the mass of lives he’s taken in the name of conquest? He’s as bad as Hybern. Even if he has forgotten, I won’t.

I twist the lid back on without drinking anything, ignoring the way my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

“Don’t say I didn’t try,” he growls as he takes it back and slides it into his saddle bag. There’s a rolled up sleep mat, a blanket, and another sword all tied neatly to that bag. Nothing too heavy, meaning their encampment can’t be far. I need to find a way to get away before they reach it; there will be too many eyes there.

“Your bow,” he says, holding out his hand. 

My hand tightens instinctively around the belt across my chest, the leather worn and cracked from years of use. “No.”

“You can’t ride into camp with them.”

“Great, then you can just leave me here.”

It takes him two steps to be back beside me, and I’m embarrassed to admit how easy it is for him to snag the strap and yank it over my head, despite my best efforts to keep that from happening. 

“Give that back!” 

“The knife can stay, as long as you don’t do anything stupid,” he says like I’m a misbehaving child. 

He keeps his back to me as he ties my bow and quiver up next to his second sword, my stomach rolling at the sight of my things next to his. 

Rhysand orders his men to mount up as he turns back to me, and I get the impression he’s looking me over for more weapons beneath the hood. I still have no idea what he looks like. Ugly and scarred, like most warlords are, I imagine. I’d never gotten a good look at him that night, had only seen those three stars on his hood and that giant sword between his wings, dripping blood. 

“You won’t need any weapons,” he says, in what sounds like it’s an attempt to be gentle, but falls flat. “You’re safe with me.”

I’d have been safer with the kelpie. But I don’t say it, I don’t say anything at all as those large hands lift me back onto the horse, or when he swings into the saddle behind me. I don’t say anything when we cross the river, icy water biting through my thin pants, making my teeth chatter, or when the wind whips relentlessly at us as we leave the grassy plains and head into the mountains. The chill feels like a thousand needles being jammed into my skin, but I will bear it silently. He will not get the satisfaction of seeing me weak; will not be gratified by any sort of conversation for the duration of our journey.

Or at least, that was the plan. 

“You’re shaking,” he says, one hand gripping the reins as he uses the other to slide his cloak off his shoulders and over mine.

The material is thick, lined with fur inside, so startlingly warm between his own body heat and the fur that when it settles over me I give a little sigh of relief. The sleeves are too big, swallowing my hands as I try to pull it more fully over my body. “Thanks.” It slips out of me before I can stop myself.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” he replies as he settles around me again.

The smell of him, jasmine and citrus and the sea invades all my senses. I want, more than anything, to get it out of my nose, to keep the knowledge of him far, far away from me, but yet, despite my mind’s protests, my body burrows deeper into it. 

There’s still no encampment or settlement on the horizon, the horses moving deeper and deeper into the mountains as night falls around us. As long as we’re not stopping to make camp, I think I’ll survive. 

“And you haven’t told me yours.” If there must be a conversation, best I can do to buy myself time is steer all conversation away from me.

“I’ve had many names, but most call me Rhys.”

Most called him Death Incarnate amidst a number of things that would make a sailor blush, but I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone call him Rhys. That was entirely too normal. 

“Ok, Rhys,” it tastes like bile on my tongue, acknowledging him as anything other than the monster he has always been called back home. “Where are we going?”

The moon shines bright above us, illuminating the slender path we take through the mountains, a steep drop off on one side of us, nothing but sheer rock wall on the other. 

“Home,” he replies. 

I can’t help the scowl that escapes me, but at least he can’t see it. “And where is home exactly?”

“You’ll see soon,” he replies as he expertly guides his mount up a rocky path. There is no hesitation in his movements; he’s ridden this path many times.

I run a hand over my forehead. “I don’t remember coming this far out.” It slips out of me. If he knows this path then we’re close to the Illyrian borderlines, where his warband can make a semi-permanent encampment. These are grounds I’m not supposed to be anywhere near, nor did I think I was. 

“Where were you headed?” 

My brother’s made his claim through the Grasslands, the ground barely fertile to feed the livestock in the summer. With winter coming fast, he’d tried pushing his boundary lines into the forests near what had once been the Human Lands. I meant to go through the woods, skirting around Hybern’s slave camps and slip into the Uncharted Territories to find some game. I must have skirted too far past the slave camps when I’d lost my map running from those Highway Men.

“The Uncharted Lands,” I say because I honestly can’t come up with a lie that doesn’t make it look like I belong to Hybern or Amarantha. The boundaries between the warbands shift too often, encroaching too close. Sometimes I can barely tell who’s who and this is the only world I’ve ever known.

“Why?” He asks as we crest an incline and lead the men over a long, smooth plateau on the mountain’s western face. The wind is worse here, snapping at us like whips and before I can even burrow into my borrowed cloak, he’s drawing the hood of it over my head.

His arm tightens around my waist as he barks at his men to start riding single file. 

“Was looking for food.”

The horse’s hooves echo between the valley of rock beneath us as we press forward, the precariousness of our situation buying me time to figure out my lie. If I’m not hunting for my brother, what am I doing out here? It’s been a long day; a long week honestly. The rumbling of my stomach and the wind at my face and the warlord at my back seem to occupy the limited space in my quickly tiring mind. The hood of the cloak doesn’t help. It is embedded with some sort of magic, because even though it makes everything dark and warm, I can somehow see right through the fabric, right where that cluster of stars are, as if they’re eye slits. Magic items are rare these days, and expensive, I could probably buy out the Grassland’s market of deer jerky for this item alone.

Eventually the plateau dips, taking us down the other side of the mountain, into the misty canyon below. If I didn’t know where I was before, I really don’t now. Mountains are Illyrian territory, as forbidden and unwelcoming as the Imperial City Hybern had erected in The Middle centuries ago. I need to be paying attention so I know the way back; my eyes are sharp, sharper than most, I should be able to make out a deer path or trail easily, even in the dark, but my eyes are so heavy.

I give myself a little shake. Gotta be paying attention.

The swaying, even gate of the horse reminds me of being a small child, sitting in my mother’s rocking chair as she reads me to sleep. She and my father had always loved telling us stories, my father his made up theories and tales from the road, my mother her books and poems. I try to sit up and adjust my position in the saddle so I’m not slouching forward.

“You do not ride often,” Rhys says, his grip pulling me back more solidly against his chest, so I can feel all the hard planes of him. He’s got to be freezing without his cloak, even if he is still wearing long sleeves and gloves.

“No,” I bite back the rest of the story; how my people had suffered with the loss of my father. How Tam hadn’t been able to organize our survivors in the aftermath, how he’d been unable to store enough food for us that first winter and many of our rider’s had deserted. How he’d had to decide if keeping our stables full was worth the price of the lives hunger was stealing from us; how we’d been forced to eat and sell a few of them, my father’s prized war horse included. 

“We’ll change that,” he says, half to me, half to himself. “I think I like having my mate ride with me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds. At least I’m awake now. 

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

The mist settles around us as we step into the valley, even as the path ahead becomes nearly invisible, he doesn’t slow or get down to walk the horse. He knows where he’s going, has done this so many times he could do it blind. A rare gift many of our traveling cities don’t receive. Envy swells in my chest. I have never had  a place secure enough to set up a permanent camp. The Grasslands are our borders sure, but we move through them daily in fear of an attack, keeping ourselves vigilant for whenever Hybern or Amarantha decide they want more than they’ve already taken from us. Always changing our paths, our camp layout, always moving. How come this monster gets this luxury and my people don’t? 

“You are so hesitant to give it,” he muses, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Do I know it already?”

Shit.

“No, that can’t be right. Our bond is too obvious, I would have remembered.”

He’s as clever as he is quick on his feet, unfortunately.

“So I will know you by association, is that it?”

I should just fling myself off the horse and try to lose myself in the mist. If I’m lucky, maybe one of his men will trample me by accident and this horrible nightmare will be over. At least, if I’m dead I will not have to explain my failure to Tam, or face the alternative of being this male’s breeding mare. Neither is a future I wish to meet.

It is only then that an alternative solution occurs to me.

Tam said I couldn’t come back without food; I’d made a nuisance of myself back home and had swiftly suffered the consequences of it, and with winter coming in fast, my brother has to know he sent me on a fool’s errand. Perhaps intending to keep me out of his way for a while; or to finally get me to bend the knee and submit to his authority as warlord. I hadn’t been of age to take father’s mark, and my allegiance had fallen through the cracks in the years after. Until I was integrated, Tam couldn’t marry me off, as I suspected he wanted to do often, and was probably using this opportunity to try and make me see reason. A future I also loathed to picture. Perhaps, if I played my cards right here, then I could find something more useful than a deer to bring back. If I played along with this little mates concept, what could Rhysand show me? Couldn’t I use any knowledge he gave to my advantage? Surely Tam would find other uses for me than marrying me off with this sort of leverage. My brother was known for his grudges, if I found a way to offer up his enemy on a silver platter, perhaps I’d never have to worry about being married off again.

My stomach twists as the plot plays out before my eyes: This fool taking me into the lands my people had never been able to access before, convincing him to let his guard down, to show me where his people were vulnerable. I could get my hands on camp movements or their supply lines; I could count the fighting men or the horses, make list after list to take back in the place of a few meals I know deep down I’d never be able to find before winter. 

My parents faces flash before my eyes. My mother, so gentle and…sad. She had been sad long before my birth, always missing a home she couldn’t go back to because of Hybern. But she had always tried to be there for me. To sing to me and hold me. She had been good and kind and if she knew where I sat now… what I thought I might do…

And my father. He was cruel and cold and I’d spent a long time wondering if he’d ever loved me at all, but he had been a good leader. He had inspired the men, even on days that had been bleak. He’d been willing to shed whatever blood was necessary to ensure the survival of my people. If this opportunity had been presented while he was alive, he would have tossed a collar around my neck and dragged me to Rhysand’s doorstep himself. 

As for Tamlin, well if he so much as saw Rhysand’s arm around my waist as it was now he would have torn him to shreds. He would hate it, but I think my brother was as calculating and ruthless as my father had been. His protective nature could be overruled by what he deemed necessary to keep us alive. 

I’d need to play my cards right, if I was to make this work. “Yes,” and I force my voice to a whisper, my shoulders hunching in feign defeat. I will have to find ways not to look so utterly revolted about this male touching me; will have to bury all my base instincts to run and claw and fight every time he calls me his mate. But I can do it.

I will do it. For vengeance. For my angel of a mother. For the survival my father died for. I’d damn myself a hundred times over for a chance Tam had never found. 

He rests his chin on my shoulder, thinking and it takes every inch of willpower I possess to not shrug him off. A few hours together and this prick thinks he can just touch me so casually? As if I have no say in the matter because he is my mate and therefore owed whatever affection he sees fit to grant me?

“You can tell me, I promise I won’t hold it against you,” his voice is… gentle. Far more gentle than a man in his position should be and I have no idea how to respond to it. 

“My name is Y/N,” I saw softly, like I’m scared the wind will hear me. “Tamlin is my older brother.”

He stiffens behind me and I find myself holding my breath. This is it.

“He never mentioned he had a sister,” he says more to himself than me.

I almost audibly let loose a massive sigh of relief. “Yeah, well he isn’t too fond of me at the moment.” Never mind I didn’t know that he and Tamlin had ever talked on a mutual basis. Sometimes, usually over a mutually beneficial wedding ceremony, did rival camps come together and exchange weapons, food and sometimes training. If I remember correctly, I think there might have been times when we’d done so with the Illyrians, but never did Tam mention that he knew Rhysand personally. Rhysand was always a name whispered like a curse, as if saying it too loud would bring death and destruction upon us. 

“He sent you out here? Alone?” That last bit comes out like a growl.

“Banished, is more of the term he used,” I say under my breath, hoping the tone conveys embarrassment. 

“For what?” He hisses, his tone promising violence. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Now what would convince Death Incarnate that I was something meek and fragile and in need of protection from my big, bad brother? If we really were mates, it would be in his nature to want to protect me, from both physical and emotional harm, but I needed to be careful. Too extreme a lie and I was likely to restart the war between our camps that had cost me my parents. I needed something to pack enough punch to convince him he needed to keep me close, to be looked after, but not so bad that it sparked a fight.

Perhaps my best bet was to appeal to the bond. “He wants me to take his mark,” I twist the sleeves of the cloak between my fingers as I speak. “So he can reap the benefits of marrying me off to one of Autumn’s commanders.”

Rhysand has gone still as death itself behind me and every nerve ending in my body feels like it’s on fire as whatever dark power lives within his skin comes to life. All my instincts scream at me to run, hide.

“But Eris is… cruel and I told Tam I couldn’t do it.” Eris was probably too old for Tam to try, but there had been talks, even when I was a girl, about how my father had wanted an alliance with Autumn, and Eris had his own history with the Illyrians. “He told me I needed to sort out my priorities and when I didn’t, he threw me out.”

“That’s just like him,” Rhysand snarls.

I bite down on my tongue to keep from snarling all the things I’d rather say in my brother’s defense. 

“How long have you been out here on your own?”

“About a week, I think,” I could say longer, but on the off-chance he has spies that could check that sort of thing--and I’m fairly certain the stories about Illyrians and their shadow agents are not far off--I’d rather play it safe. 

He brings his mount to a brief halt as two, looming carvings in the mountain’s face appear through the fog. The touring statues sporting the same great, talon tipped wings as Rhysand, stand guard over the pass ahead of us, their hewn sword held aloft. Sleeping wyverns lay at the base of each statue, their carefully carved eyes at eye level with us as the men fall in line behind us. The air is tinged with magic--overly sweet and oppressive-- as we approach, some sort of shield.

“From here,” he says softly in my ear, the mask still shielding the lower half of his face from the wind rough against my cheek. “You’ll never have to worry about being alone again.”

I’m going to be sick!  Play it safe. Play the game. For Tam. For Mom and Dad. I will myself to picture their faces again, to keep reminding myself what is at stake. 

Rhysand kicks the horse into motion again, passing through the shield with a flick of his gloved hand, soft ripples of magic parting for us like someone had pulled back a curtain. I’ve never seen anyone use magic so casually, so fluidly. Once all the riders have passed through, I feel the shield fall back into place behind us. No turning back now.

Ahead, the path begins to widen. At the far end of the path, still shrouded on either side by the mountains, sit two torches, the light guiding the way. When we reach them, the path dips dangerously into a valley, all filled with large, midnight black tents. More torches and bonfires light the cloth city, the sounds of drum beats and revelry beckoning from beneath us.

“I see the party started without us,” one of the men says from behind us.

“Devlon must have had a good run,” Rhysand muses as he takes us down into the valley. 

As the lights draw closer, I can start to make out the tribal markings and depictions sewn into the sides of the tents. There’s singing to go with the drum beats, all in a language that makes no sense to me, just like the markings. Something from the Mountains none of my people had ever been privy to. 

When we reach the outskirts of the city, we are greeted by two towering males, wearing little other than loose, dark paints and a smattering of blood red paint along their bare chests and faces. Each holds a spear, a dagger strapped to their muscled thighs. 

One barks something at Rhysand in Illyrian, his slate colored gaze fixed on me, still wearing the lord’s cloak. I’m grateful they cannot see my face, the fear I know will be clear in my eyes. It is hard enough to hide the trembling in my hands.

Rhysand dismounts to greet them, still speaking in Illyrian until they retreat into the maze of tents beyond. Despite the raucous laughter and music coming from the center, the rows of tents are organized into clear streets and sectors, some dancing bodies visible in between the rows, though most of the camp seems to be in its heart at the moment. 

He runs a gloved hand over the horses neck as he turns to face the men, their mounts dancing beneath them. “We will strategize in the morning.”

That is apparently dismissal enough, as his men bow their heads and kick their steads into motion around the outskirts of camp, soon disappearing into the darkness. My stomach drops as I realize I’m alone with my enemy for the first time all night. My anxiety only heightens as he takes the reins and guides the horse forward without a word of where we’re going.

I’m too scared to ask either.

Staying on the edge of camp means I cannot see any of what is happening within, though I glimpse bonfires and revelry often enough to guess. It is not unlike our own celebrations, even if the music is different.

Rhysand still doesn’t speak as we pass another group of sentries and head up a well worn path in the heart of the valley. The grass is lush here, would be up to his knees were it not for the cleared stretch lined by torches. It is quieter here, the music distant.

Overhead, the stars glitter like a million little diamonds, all the constellations I have memorized a stark contrast to the dark shadows of this hidden mountain world. We’re surrounded on all sides by mountains, shielded from view and harm by stone. It is so different to the rolling hills I am used to, it is nice to know that the stars, at least, have not changed.

The path leads to a secluded circle of larger tents, still black but stitched with stars not unlike the ones on the cloak I’m still wearing.

We pass yet another group of sentries as we approach, and only once we’re face to face with the largest tent in the circle does Rhysand finally stop.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

I should have run. Should have thrown myself into the river. Should have risked a quick death trying to fight my way out of this than subjecting myself to this.

Rhysand grabs my waist again and lifts me off the horse as if I weigh nothing. Compared to his size, I’m sure I do. In the torchlight, this is the first time I’ve managed to glimpse his face. I’d been drastically wrong about his appearance. The monster that haunted my nightmares was not some old, scarred thing as I had pictured, I wasn’t sure he was even older than Tam. A young lord, his features sharp, but clean cut. Some of his raven black hair fell loose around his sun kissed face, framing a set of violet eyes so bright they practically glittered like stars in his head, the rest was braided with strands of blue and purple thread. By far the most beautiful male I’d ever seen in my life and I think I hate him a little more for it. 

“You must be tired,” he says finally.

I don’t know what to do or say, so I just nod, which I think might be a mistake because now we’re heading inside the tent and all I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears because I have made a terrible mistake!

By some magic trick, torches flair to life as we enter, the soft orange glow cast in eerie patterns against the sleek black leather walls. On one side of the tent is a bed large enough to accommodate someone with such massive wings, piled with furs and pelts of various animals. On the other end, a table with some chairs and various weapons and books and trinkets scattered about the top of it. There’s chests piled in the corner, locked and dusty like they haven’t been opened since they’d been moved in. The floor is covered in a dozen different rugs, all overlapping in an attempt to make the place feel cozier but the patterns and colors are all so different that it looks like a whacky patchwork quilt. Clearly a layout chosen by a male.

“I apologize for the mess,” he begins as he takes off the scarf tied around the lower half of his face and places it over the back of a chair. “I… was not expecting to come across anybody out there, let alone bringing anyone back.”

“What were you doing out there?” My voice shakes too much for my liking and I’m convinced I asked that far too quickly to not be totally obvious, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“Scouting,” he says with no further explanation as he tosses his gloves onto a heap of more gloves on the edge of the table. 

My muscles stiffen as I watch him warily. If he starts undressing I might really change my mind and try to run for it.

I am prepared to do what is necessary for my people, but that is a line I cannot cross yet. Not tonight.  

He steps closer to where I stand dumbly in the center of the room, drowning in his cloak, and he nudges the hood off my face with his knuckles. 

I have to remind myself to stop biting my lip as the fabric slides off my head. Even fully clothed, standing this close to him, with those violet eyes drinking me in like that, I feel very exposed and vulnerable. 

“You’re shaking,” he says softly, his hand drifting down the side of my cheek.

I hate that I shiver under his touch. Hate that my eyes go to his full lips and how soft they look in this torchlight. I hate that I find him beautiful, hate that I do not pull away as he cups my cheek. I hate myself for putting myself in this position in the first place. 

“I…” this is not an act, I really don’t know what to do or say here. My chest aches with the way he’s looking at me, like maybe there really is some strange, mystical thread linking us together and it’s coming awake the more he has his hands on me. Yet my mind balks and screams all the same and I cannot tell which of them is supposed to help me do this. “This is a lot.”

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he assures, his voice low and husky, a tone I think might be better suited to the bedroom. “You are safe with me.”

Safe.

As if he could ever make me feel safe.

His thumb rubs circles in my cheek, the calluses along his palm from years of sword play scratching pleasantly across my skin. Violet eyes rove over me, studying the plains of my face like he’s cataloging every detail. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

I let loose a breath as he heads back to the tent flap, where his horse is still waiting.

“For now, it would be best if you stay here. Don’t go anywhere without me. At least, not until you take my mark.”

And then he’s gone, finally leaving me alone for the first time in hours, but even if I wanted to do some snooping, I can’t. All I can do is stand there as my stomach rises in my throat. 

His mark.

How the hell was I supposed to go home bearing Rhysand’s mark? 

I rub my temples with my fingertips. I need to find something useful to take back to Tamlin and get out of here fast, because if I don’t, I may never be allowed to go home again.

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Tag List: @judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor

Let me know if you would also like to be added to the Tag List! I have a good couple of chapters planned :)

[nocasdatsgay]

Beauty and the Beast

(A Spring Time Affairs Prequel)

Pairing: None | Word Count: 1028 | Rating: Gen | Master List | Read on Ao3

Summary: Someone is in the Manor. Tamlin Leaves his woods to investigate. For @tamlinweek Day 2 Dark Spring.

A/N: I wrote this in 2 hours. @mika-no-sekai-blog you had me spiral with asking what happened later and instead I ended up with what happened first. (Also check out her Tamlin fics. AMAZING)

Gen Tag: @ysmtttty @hieragalbatorixdottir @thisblogisaboutabook @daycourtofficial @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @ninthcircleofprythian @pit-and-the-pen @lady-of-tearshed

Tamlin knew someone had entered the old manor. 

He knew when anyone stepped foot into spring. He had not lost that ability despite what others had thought. He knew when the eldest Vanserra entered his grounds, bringing the Witch and the Night Court General. Yet what did it matter? 

He prowled through the forest, still shifted. The bright leaves had grown dark in their shade of green, the grass and the weeds growing wild. The sun barely shone through anymore. His eyes had long adjusted to it, making it harder to leave the forest where he roamed in the noon of day. 

Why he went to the manor to investigate the trespasser, Tamlin didn’t know. He winced as the trees thinned, light getting brighter the farther out he went. It was almost blinding when he reached the field. With a shake of his head, he focused his gaze to the ruins of his home. He approached, admiring the force that was the Mother herself, the way the vines covered the manor walls and windows. His mother’s rose garden had spread over its enclosure through the cracks of the stone paths. He stopped before the manor, his home, now a tomb waiting for him when he was ready to die. 

It’s funny how he wished he’d died long ago and yet- 

A breeze blew, gentle unlike the storm welling inside him. The door creaked where it had been left open. Anger welling in him, his paws echoed on the cracked stone steps and as he entered the manor. He caught the smell of something citrus and sweet amongst the rot and musk. He followed it, lumbering up vine covered stairs to the second floor. He let out a growl as he wandered the hall. The fae was close by, had to be. 

Another open door when he turned down the hall. He stepped lightly over the broken glass from the frames that used to line the hall. It didn’t matter if he cut himself. Why was he even here? But he reached the door, nudging it open further. He planned to roar to startle the fae who dared trespass. Instead the fae startled him. 

This room was a courtier’s. The furniture was covered in dust and vines. The double doors at the end of the  were open, leading out to the small balcony. He crept forward. A female stood on the balcony, looking out to the gardens below. The sun shone bright against her blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders, gently rustled by the breeze. Then she turned. She twirled a rose in her hand, blood red like the dress she wore. It was Autumn fashion, too heavy for the warm Spring air. He knew exactly who she was. Tamlin snarled when her light eyes connected with his own. 

“Lord Tamlin,” she curtsied in the doorway. 

“Get out.” 

His hoarse voice sounded weaker than he intended. She stilled, gripping the rose tight in her hand, the smell of blood instant in the air. This girl was a fool. 

“Get. Out.” 

“Lord Tamlin, respectfully no.”

She showed no sign of fear. He roared and while she flinched, she didn’t move or winnow away. 

“What is wrong with you girl?” He growled. “Do you wish to meet death?” 

“I wish to come home,” she said softly. “Lord Tamlin, I cannot stay in that rotten court any longer. The villages are gone. I had hoped the manor was untouched but-“

“You will not find a home here.” His claws clanked against the wooden floor while he crept closer. “Leave.”

“Lord Tamlin.”

He tilted his head, some of the matted fur in his mane pulling taunt. 

“Leave.” He commanded. 

She fought it. She closed her eyes and squeezed the rose stem again, blood running down her wrist. The flower brightened, her magic seeping into it. 

“I am not the only one who wants to come home.” She said it with pain in her voice. “Please, Lord Tamlin. Let us come home.”

“And who, Lady Flora, is foolish enough to want to return to this ruin?” She opened her eyes in shock. Was she shocked he remembered her name? “If it is your things you need, get them. Do not come back.” 

He turned to leave. He did not think he had any pride left to be wounded. Yet he felt it. 

“My family,” she called out. He stopped but didn’t turn. “My family and others. My father and several others in Autumn have talked. To offer aid to rebuild if we can return.” 

“Do they think they will gain my favor?” He turned and growled. “Do they think I will offer them riches? They are fools.” 

There was pain in her eyes. She stepped towards him, flowers blooming under her feet as she walked. She stopped in front of him, shoulders squared. 

“This is my home. My court. I do not care if it is you or the next High Lord of Spring that allows me entry. I will come home.” 

“You threaten me, girl?”

She had the audacity to shrug. “What is a threat to a beast? You would have killed me by now if you wanted.” He snarled again, his pride wounded further. She continued with a slight smirk, “you forgot how stubborn I am, Lord Tamlin.”

She stepped close. Too close. He should have left. He should have used his power to force her out. Instead he stood still. She reached out with the rose and he didn’t move as she tucked it in his mane, near his horns. When was the last time anyone had touched him? 

“I will be back with my father in three days time whether you’re here or not. You can be the beast in the woods or the High Lord that welcomes his court back home. That is your choice to make.” 

She winnowed away leaving a smell of citrus, floral, and iron in the air. He shifted into his fae form, the rose falling to the ground. He did not feel ready to greet his court but maybe, he thought as he picked the rose up, maybe he didn’t have to be. 

[a-court-of-mischief-and-madness]

Midnight revelations

Part 1 ----------- Part 2

Eris Vanserra x rhysand sister reader!

Summary: rhysand's sister has always felt lonely considering all the demons and skeletons from her past make her heart ice cold. What happens when she meets someone who has enough fire to warm her heart and unravel her?

Note: hi everyone this is my first time ever posting a story, I have always been addicted to writing but I have never publicly showcased my work. Therefore I urge you all to enjoy this. Feel free to leave a comment about what you think :)

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You clutched the fabric of your dress, a breathtaking gown that shimmered with every subtle movement. The deep, royal blue material cascaded down to the floor in luxurious folds, catching the light and creating a mesmerizing array of sparkling reflections that mimicked the starry night sky. The bodice was meticulously crafted, hugging your curves with an almost ethereal grace. Tiny, delicate crystals were sewn into the fabric, forming intricate patterns that danced along the neckline and down the fitted sleeves. These sleeves, adorned with intricate floral patterns, exposed just a hint of skin, creating an alluring contrast against the otherwise modest design.

The slit of the dress was daring, extending provocatively up to your upper thigh. With each step, it revealed a tantalizing glimpse of your leg, adding an element of sensuality to the otherwise elegant ensemble. The cool night air whispered against your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Despite the chill, you felt a surge of confidence wearing the dress, its beauty giving you a sense of empowerment.

The Night Court had always been your sanctuary, a haven with your brother Rhysand and his mate, Feyre, after the harrowing events under the mountain. You silently cursed Amarantha for ever laying her hands on him, for the ball of trauma she had inflicted, now masked by his composed exterior. Tonight was a reunion for all the High Lords and their families, celebrating Amarantha's defeat. The meeting was to take place in the Court of Nightmares, a place you dreaded—not only because of Keir, but also because of the lecherous behavior prevalent there. Everyone had to mentally prepare to ensure nothing went wrong. You hated that daily routine of donning a cold mask, a habit that began over a hundred years ago...

"Kill the woman first," Tamlin's father barked, his voice cold and merciless.

"No, please, no. I'm begging you, please don't," you pleaded, your throat raw from weeping. Blood coated your arms and legs, seeping from the wounds on your back where the High Lord of the Spring Court had tried to clip your wings. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the terror you felt for your mother. Your wings had vanished when he tried, baffling him and fueling his rage. In his anger, he slapped you, the sting of it radiating from your cheek.

"It's okay, please do it to me but let her go," your mother sobbed, her voice trembling with fear and desperation. You tried to protest, but your mouth was clamped shut by some unseen force, preventing you from speaking or moving. You were helpless, forced to watch as the nightmare unfolded before you.

The High Lord of the Spring Court approached your mother with a knife, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light. Your mother looked at you with tear-filled eyes, her face etched with sorrow and resignation. "I love you," she mouthed, her lips trembling.

You screamed against the spell that held you, your heart shattering with every step he took. The knife glinted in the light, each reflection a dagger to your soul. He reached your mother, and without hesitation, he slashed her neck. Blood spurted from the wound, staining the ground crimson. Your mother crumpled to the floor, her eyes wide with shock and pain.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, louder and more primal than any sound you had ever made. It broke the spell that bound you, and Tamlin and his father staggered back, their faces painted with agony and shock. You rushed to your mother's side, falling to your knees beside her lifeless body.

"Mother, no," you sobbed, cradling her head in your hands. Blood seeped between your fingers, warm and sticky. Her eyes, once so full of life and love, were now empty and glassy. You rocked back and forth, your cries echoing through the cold, heartless chamber. The world around you seemed to blur and fade, your vision clouded by tears.

Suddenly, a familiar presence enveloped you, a comforting darkness that wrapped around your soul. Your brother Rhysand appeared, his power crackling in the air, but it was too late. The light in your mother’s eyes had already faded, her body growing cold in your arms. Rhysand's eyes widened with horror as he took in the scene, his rage palpable.

"She’s gone," you whispered, your voice broken and hollow. "She’s really gone."

Rhysand knelt beside you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. "I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with grief. "I’m so, so sorry."

The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that consumed your entire being. You clung to your mother’s lifeless form, your sobs echoing in the silence. The room around you seemed to spin, the walls closing in as darkness began to creep into your vision.

And then, everything went black.

When you awoke, the memory of your mother’s death was etched into your mind, a scar that would never heal. The image of her lifeless body, the blood, the pain, all of it haunted you. It was a nightmare that you relived over and over, a wound that time would never mend.

Tears sprang to your eyes, but you held them in. "Are you all right?" Azriel asked, his voice soft but filled with concern. His eyes searched yours, a hint of worry flickering in their depths. You smiled, stood from your seat, and quickly brushed away invisible stains on your dress, avoiding eye contact. "If you need to talk, I'm here, you know," Azriel spoke softly. You glanced up at him. Azriel wore a tunic of deep, rich purple that seemed to complement his dark, mysterious aura perfectly. The fabric clung to his muscular frame in all the right places, accentuating his strength and grace. It was clear that every detail of his outfit had been carefully chosen, from the intricate stitching along the seams to the subtle shimmer of the fabric in the candlelight.

The tunic was adorned with subtle embroidery, delicate patterns that seemed to dance along the fabric like shadows in the moonlight. The designs were understated yet elegant, adding a touch of sophistication to Azriel's otherwise simple attire.

His hair was freshly combed, the strands falling in dark waves around his face. Each lock seemed to catch the light, creating a halo of darkness that framed his chiseled features. There was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself, a sense of power and authority that was impossible to ignore."You look handsome tonight, Shadowsinger," you said with a deflecting grin. He sighed, not appreciating the change of subject.

Just then as you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, a gentle hand touched you from behind .You turned and your heart swelled with warmth as you beheld Feyre, her eyes sparkling with affection and admiration. She wore a gown as resplendent as your own, adorned with jewels that seemed to catch the light and reflect it back in a dazzling display of beauty.

"Feyre," you breathed, a smile spreading across your lips. Her presence was like a balm to your soul, a reminder that you were not alone in this world."You look stunning," Feyre said, her voice soft and full of sincerity. She reached out, taking your hands in hers, her touch gentle and reassuring. "Truly, you take my breath away."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, moved by her words and the genuine love that shone in her gaze. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "You look absolutely radiant yourself."

Feyre's smile widened, and she pulled you into a warm embrace, holding you close as if she never wanted to let go. The scent of her hair, mingled with the subtle perfume of flowers, enveloped you in a sense of comfort and belonging.

"I'm so glad you're here," Feyre murmured against your hair, her voice filled with emotion. "Tonight is a celebration of freedom, of hope, of new beginnings. And I couldn't imagine sharing it with anyone else."

You squeezed her hand, feeling a surge of gratitude and love for this woman who had become not just a friend, but a sister to you. "I'm glad to be here too," you replied, your voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill over. "With you, by my side, I feel like I can face anything."

Feyre pulled back, her eyes searching yours with an intensity that took your breath away. "You're stronger than you know," she said, her voice soft but filled with conviction. "And tonight, we'll show the world just how powerful you truly are."

As you shared a tender moment with Feyre, a familiar presence approached from behind. You turned to find Rhysand standing there, his eyes shining with pride and love. His gaze swept over you, taking in every detail of your gown with a mixture of awe and admiration.

"Wow," he breathed, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You look absolutely breathtaking."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips at his words, feeling a swell of warmth in your chest at his sincere praise. Rhysand had always been a pillar of strength and support, and his approval meant more to you than words could express.

"Thank you, Rhys," you replied, your voice soft but filled with gratitude. "It means the world to me."

Rhysand stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, yet electric, sending a shiver down your spine. "You deserve all the happiness in the world," he murmured, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "And tonight, I hope you find it."

"I'm just grateful to have you both by my side," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "You and Feyre mean everything to me."

Rhysand smiled, a soft, affectionate smile that reached his eyes. "We'll always be here for you," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "No matter what" you gave him a small smile.

"I suppose Nesta and Cassian won't be joining us tonight," Rhysand remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. Feyre chuckled, shaking her head knowingly. "I believe they've found a different way to celebrate," she said with a teasing smile. Rhysand groaned theatrically, rolling his eyes. "Let's just hope they don't add to the drama with some new trauma," he quipped, his tone filled with mock exasperation.

Feyre giggled, her laughter ringing with warmth and affection. She nudged Rhysand playfully. "Oh, come now. They're just taking advantage of the freedom we fought so hard for," she said, her eyes dancing with mirth.

Rhysand sighed dramatically. "Well, let's hope they remember their manners this time," he said with a smirk, earning a laugh from Feyre.

You linked your hands with Azriel and shot Rhys a wink and a smirk. "Not like you were any different, brother." Feyre laughed, and Rhys nudged her playfully before Azriel winnowed you away.

The ballroom was opulently decorated, the light casting a warm glow on the throng of guests. All the High Lords were present: Tarquin, Tamlin—who you barely glanced at—Kallias and Vivien, looking regal as always, and Beron with his son Eris. You despised Eris for what he did to your cousin Mor, the reason she couldn't attend tonight.

For a moment, your gazes locked. Eris's amber eyes roamed over you, lingering on the delicate embroidery that adorned your gown, the way it hugged your curves with subtle grace. There was a glint of curiosity in his gaze, an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His smirk deepened slightly, a knowing glint flickering in his eyes as he took in your appearance.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks under his unabashed scrutiny, a mixture of annoyance and a strange thrill. With a subtle shift, you turned away but his amber eyes seemed to catch yours at every turn despite your efforts to avoid him, a smirk forming on his lips as he assessed you. You blushed, heat rising to your cheeks as you took your seat next to Azriel.

Rhysand began briefing everyone as each High Lord took turns expressing their joy at being free.

You looked down as Feyre spoke, "Please enjoy this party, take it as a new beginning." All the High Lords rose and began to mingle. You stood, but Azriel caught your hand. "Where are you going?" he asked, worry in his eyes. "Relax, Azriel, I'm just getting a drink," you said, and he nodded, releasing you. Rhysand seemed to have noticed and looked at Azriel; you knew they were communicating silently. As you moved gracefully through the crowded ballroom, the delicate fabric of your gown rustling with each step, you made your way towards the wine table. The air was filled with laughter and music, the chatter of High Lords and Ladies mingling in a harmonious symphony of celebration.

Just as you reached for a glass of wine, a sudden commotion broke out nearby. A drunken couple stumbled past you, their unsteady steps threatening to knock into you.

You stumbled, your balance faltering as you teetered on your heels. In an instant, you felt a pair of strong hands grip your waist, steadying you before you could fall. Heat surged through your body at the contact, your heart pounding in your chest. You looked up, breath hitching, and met those familiar amber eyes. Eris. His gaze was intense, filled with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken. The smirk on his lips was infuriatingly confident as his hands lingered on your waist, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive drawl that sent shivers down your spine. "Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

His words were laced with a teasing edge, but there was an underlying sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. You tried to step back, to create some distance between you, but his hands tightened slightly, holding you in place. The room around you seemed to blur, the noise of the party fading into the background as your senses narrowed to the man standing before you.

"You should watch where you're going," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. "This place can be dangerous."

"Thank you," you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to appear unaffected. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. "But I can take care of myself."

He chuckled softly, a rich, melodic sound that sent another wave of heat through you. "I'm sure you can," he replied, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The touch was light, almost tender, and it took everything in you not to lean into it.

You finally managed to step back, his hands reluctantly releasing you as you put some much-needed distance between you. "Is that any way to thank someone?" Eris drawled, the smirk never leaving his face.

You took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the lingering warmth from his touch and the way your heart was still racing. "Thank you," you said again, more firmly this time. "But I don't need your help."

"Of course," he said, inclining his head slightly. "But the offer stands."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your mind swirling with a mixture of irritation and something else—something you weren't quite ready to acknowledge. You watched him go, his confident stride and the way the light caught his hair making it hard to look away.

Finally, you took a deep breath and made your way back to your seat, trying to ignore the way your skin still tingled where he had touched you. You sat down next to Azriel, who gave you a questioning look. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," you replied, offering him a reassuring smile. "Just ran into an old... acquaintance."

Azriel's gaze flicked briefly to where Eris had gone, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "If you need anything..."

"I know," you said, cutting him off gently. "Thank you, Azriel."

As the night went on, you tried to focus on the celebration, on the laughter and the music and the sense of freedom that permeated the room. But every now and then, your thoughts would drift back to Eris, to the way his hands had felt on your waist and the look in his eyes. And you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to him than you had ever realized.

[extremely-judgemental]

Feyre’s autonomy in the books is a sham.

From the start of the series, Feyre is the voice of agency and independence. Even before she is taken to the fae lands, she’s headstrong and stubborn and insists on making her own decisions against the advice of her sisters and father. And once in Spring Court, she often retaliates against Tamlin, sneaks out of the mansion, and wanders where she isn’t allowed for her own safety. After her rebirth, once again, she fights for her autonomy which causes the rift between her and Tamlin.

It’s very clear where Feyre’s values truly lie. So, let’s talk about how they crumble in her new life.

Feyre shares three different bonds with Rhysand.

Under the Mountain, Feyre makes a bargain with Rhysand which leaves a spying eye on her palm. This only proves beneficial to her during Amarantha’s second task and later, when she wants to stop her wedding in Spring Court. From the bargain marks on Nesta and Cassian, it’s obvious they don’t act as a communication channel. Rhysand deliberately fashioned theirs to enable his voyeurism. In FAS, he turns this mark to the insignia of Night Court, which raises the question, if he had control over such powerful magic, why didn’t he change it or release her when she left for Spring Court if he had no intention of spying further or harming her? Moreover in WAR, she admits missing this specific tattoo and is relieved to have the one on her other hand, implying Feyre is addicted to his influence over her mind by now.

Rhysand trains Feyre to control her Daemati powers and shield herself against the others. Yet at the end of it, Feyre admits to leaving an open channel for Rhysand at all times. While she never blocks this path often, other than that time in Spring Court, Rhysand chooses to whenever its convenient for him, like when he decided to give Nesta away to Eris, allow Keir and his people into Velaris, or during the battle of Adriata. This shows Feyre allows him more reign over this bond and encourages him to do so whenever he’s making decision without consulting her.

Finally, the mating bond. This is the one that influences emotions the most. For someone who’s already being influenced mentally to have an open emotional line to the other only makes Feyre prone to be a sheep herded by Rhysand.

Feyre prefers to be Rhysand’s lackey.

Feyre learns to control her powers, learns to read, and trains to wield her newly made fae body. Though these are her desires even before she moves to Night Court, they all conveniently fit into Rhysand’s grand schemes. So, if none of it had amounted to much, would he have let her? We have proof of it in SF where Nesta’s trauma and healing doesn’t matter to him and he chooses to prepare a traumatised woman to find the trove and fight for them.

Time and again, Feyre does everything Rhysand asks for because she ‘understands his reasons’ or they are vital in the upcoming war like stealing the Book of Breathings from Summer Court. She has a moment to make a choice of her own, she contemplates telling Tarquin the truth instead of deceiving him and decides against it because Rhysand doesn’t trust him. Not a night ago, Feyre has no problem violating Tarquin’s mind and yet she couldn’t recognise his true intention.

It shows Feyre doesn’t even want to think. She’s happy to follow along with whatever Rhysand says. She dismisses her instincts in favour of believing every word he feeds her. How does Feyre have an agency when she refuses to even think for herself?

Velaris is a gilded cage.

Feyre is first brought to the Moonstone Palace and introduced to Velaris only after she promises to never speak of it or go back to Tamlin (iirc). The city is protected by a ward that hasn’t been breeched in 5000 years. She’s brought to the Town House (Rhysand’s personal home) and left with the wraiths who answer to him. The word ‘choice’ is often brought up here when in truth, Feyre is a homeless fae taking ‘help’ from the first person who offered. If she denies, she’s on her own in an unknown, and possibly enemy, territory.

But all that turns out fine and Feyre becomes the High Lady. Now, she’s never left the city alone of her own volition. She never explores the city on her own. She doesn’t even know the true boundary of Velaris or the court other than seeing it on maps maybe. Whenever she’s out of the city—to CoN, to Illyria, to the Prison, to Summer Court, to High Lord’s meeting—she’s always escorted by Rhysand.

Her life in Velaris is very similar to the one in Spring, except the entire city is her mansion. What Feyre condemned Tamlin for is exactly what she accepts with open arms in Night.

Feyre has no true friend or ally.

The first people Feyre meets in Night Court are the very and only ones who ever become her friends—Rhysand’s family. Whenever Feyre is not with him, she’s always found with one of these ‘friends’ who are also more loyal to their High Lord than her. They prove this in SF when none of them care for her agency as much as they care for her unborn child or Rhysand’s feelings. Moreover, Feyre has even isolated herself from her sisters by choosing her new family over them again and again.

High Lady who is just another lady.

During her rule, Feyre does nothing but fight and wage wars for inappropriate reasons. She either doesn’t or can’t make rules. While Rhysand makes decisions without consulting her and employs it, Feyre only ever gets to know of these when everybody else does—Keir’s visit to Velaris, offering her own sister to Eris. She is only a High Lady by name and has no authority to do anything with her crown. In fact, she hasn’t even tested this new power except for lording it over her sisters and so-called friends. It’s merely a title enabling her to run amok destroying courts and insulting High Lords without consequences.

Feyre is a prize to be claimed.

Feyre is tossed back and forth between two men, especially since MAF. She’s never the one choosing what’s best for her. She doesn’t reevaluate her situations, tally them, and decide where she wants to be or who she ends up with. She chooses the first man who is willing to give her an inch on the leash. For a woman who’s meant to be the badass female who never relies on anyone, her freedom is controlled by, bargained by, and fought between two domineering men. She could have chosen to go back to her sisters. She could have chosen to live separately for a while, to explore at least Velaris on her own without someone breathing down her neck all the time, and then she could have decided on a path for herself. Instead Feyre is willing to jump from one man’s arms to another because it’s easier than to have true autonomy.

What if Feyre wants a break from Velaris or Rhysand?

She has no home of her own to go to. She’s bound her own sisters with her inside Velaris. She’s established herself as Rhysand’s whore in Hewn City and his racist queen in Illyria. The only people she can rely on for help are Rhysand’s friends. No one can enter the city to rescue her, nor will anyone choose to fight the ‘most powerful High Lord’ for her. She had the opportunity to befriend Tarquin and instead she made an enemy out of Summer for Rhysand. If she had explained her situation to Tamlin, he could’ve been her one shot but then she destroyed Spring on a personal vendetta.

The High Lords meeting is interesting as Rhysand uses that to isolate Feyre furthermore from the other courts. Despite what happened with Spring, they still had respect for her. But Rhysand constantly throws ‘She’s a High Lady’ around cementing that Feyre is the one making the choices when it came to aggression when he passively fuels her actions. He refuses to hold her accountable for her crimes proving he’s capable of but wouldn’t stop her even when she’s wrong. He allows Feyre to lose control of her powers when a minute ago, he gladly took control of Tamlin’s mind. He casts a shield around them after her little outburst. He is capable of taming her temper and chooses not to, making a show of his influence over her, essentially destroying every alliance she’s built on her own.

Also, when the Wall comes down, Rhysand senses it all the way from the Dawn Court. If his powers have such reach, would it be impossible for him to find Feyre wherever she was even without the bonds aiding him? Considering the city wards, the three bonds, and the extent of his powers alone, he has little to worry about Feyre’s safety. If one of those were lacking, it’s not far-fetched to believe he’d go ballistic. And this is obvious from the shield he caged Feyre in during her pregnancy. Would Tamlin have acted the way he did if he had an ounce of Rhysand’s powers or had a secret city? Rhysand is calm and assured not because he trusts Feyre but he knows she can’t get too far from his reach.

These circumstances are completely ignored and Feyre chooses to believe she’s better off in Night Court when her life is not so different. She is too blind to realise her fate and life is heavily influenced by Rhysand—from her home, to friends, to family, to her own mind. She sees the city he wants her to see. She meets the people he wants her to meet. While every other court is still recovering from Amarantha’s rule and rebuilding their cities from ruins, Rhysand flaunts Velaris as the ideal home for her and Feyre is more than willing to take it. She never once questions him or his beliefs. She even accepts and embodies his morals as her own to the point of hating two whole cities she has no clue about.

And where is her autonomy in that? In some ways, Feyre had more power as herself in Spring than she has as High Lady in Night.

[prythianpages]

A Thousand Feelings | Rhysand's Sister

Azriel x Carina (Rhysand's Sister OC) | Years have passed since Carina’s death, and Starfall hasn’t been the same. Everyone has mourned her absence alone, the once joyful night now marked by grief. But this year is different. Carina’s memory reaches out to them, drawing them together once more and shining bright, even reaching the distant borders of Spring.

warnings: angst, mentions of death, grief, inner circle mourning a loss, Tamlin also grieving and going through it a bit

a/n: Dia de los muertos (day of the dead) is one of my favorite holidays & I've been wanting to write something to share my feelings about it. And of course, I was also inspired by a song, Humbe's Fantasmas.

The streets of Velaris are quiet, the stillness thick and solemn. Businesses and shops have closed early, their fae lights dimmed in anticipation of the yearly migration of spirits. Starfall, a silently beautiful holiday.

But when you’re missing someone, Starfall is deafening. The sky is different, the air is different. Everything is different.

The stars still shine the same, bright as ever against the dark. But every time Azriel looks up, he feels a scream tearing through his heart. A raw, endless cry of longing and grief.

Because the one he loved with all his being, the one he’d gaze up at the stars with has left. And with her, she’s taken all the light that used to fill Velaris, the laughter that used to echo down the halls of Rhysand’s townhouse, the joy that warmed his heart.

Now, every Starfall is a cruel echo of past years when she stood by his side, her hand wrapped in his and eyes wide in awe as she gazed up at the glimmering blue night sky. Now, he stands alone, feeling only the faintest warmth from memories that are fading too quickly. Now, he is forced to watch every day as the world goes on without her.

Azriel thought it was cruel how the city seemed so unchanged. As though nothing had ever happened, as though she’d simply vanished and the world had barely blinked in response. The small crepe stand, where he’d spent countless mornings waiting for her to choose a flavor only for her to always pick the strawberries and cream, still set up each morning, the nice older fae vendor smiling just as brightly as before. 

As he walked further down the cobblestone streets, he came across another favorite place of hers–the craft shop. He had so often found her, her hands stained with paint or glitter. How many times had he pulled her away from there, laughing as she made excuses, promising just a few more minutes. Now, he walked past it, with faltering resolve because he’d never step through those doors again. He no longer had reason to. And despite the heavy ache in his chest, the shop stayed open, as lively as ever.

Then, there was the bookstore. The mural she had spent days painting still glowing in shades of purples, blues and greens. She had painted her favorite view, the Sidra River on Starfall. The mural shone just as brightly as it always had, its colors unfaded by time. It seemed to mock him now.  

Carina was a part of this city, and yet somehow it went on without her, indifferent to the hole she’d left in its fabric. His heart twisted painfully. How could everything feel so normal? 

But what Azriel couldn’t see was the way the crepe vendor now served her favorite flavor every morning with a wistful gleam in his eyes. The craft shop owner left a set of her favorite brushes by the door, never selling them. And the bookstore staff polished the mural every week, making sure the colors stayed as vibrant as the soul who painted them.

Azriel continued down the familiar path he walked through every night he stayed in Velaris, unaware that the city mourned with him. His wings were tucked in tight and shadows hidden amongst them, silent yet attentive to their master’s tensed muscles. It was only when he finally reached the gates of his destination that they had slithered out to open them for him. 

His breath became shaky as the house came into view. It was the house he had bought for Carina. A place of sanctuary they had chosen together after marrying. Now, it is a sanctuary for animals. It’s what she would’ve wanted. When she lived, stray kittens and pups and smaller critters would find their way to the house, as if they knew of her gentle and loving heart. 

And though Azriel had been indifferent to animals at first, who was he to say no to her? He’d do anything for her. He still would and it’s why he came often to check up on them. He couldn’t bear living in the house without her so he hired someone to help.

Azriel always made sure the house was warm and safe and full of food. His devotion to this place was his devotion to her.

There was a flicker of light coming from the window and then the door was being thrown open, small but mighty footsteps making their way toward him.

“Mr. Azriel!”

A young fae girl threw her tiny arms around his leg. A soft smile curved his lips as he patted her head, his shadows curling affectionately around her small frame in response. From the doorway, another figure appeared—Bess. She stepped out with a sheepish smile. Bess was the fae Azriel had entrusted to help him run the sanctuary. She had been a long time friend of Azriel and Carina and shared the same love for animals as they did.

"Good evening, Azriel," Bess greeted, nodding to him as she coaxed her little girl back to her side. Her daughter grinned up at Azriel, giggling as one of his shadows playfully brushed over her arm.

“We were just heading to my parents’ to watch the stars. All the animals have been checked on and fed."

“Thank you,” he murmured.

"Shadow ate—" The girl paused, concentrating as she held up her tiny hand, counting her fingers slowly. His heart gave a pang he could not suppress as he looked down at the little girl by her side.  "One… two… three! Shadow ate three banana slices. He almost ate Peach’s slices, but I stopped him. It wouldn’t be fair for Shadow to eat four and Peach only two.”

“Oh, of course,” Azriel replied. He mustered a small smile as Bess smoothed her daughter’s hair, her eyes full of fondness. How many times had he imagined coming to this house to see an image like this before him. But instead of Bess and her daughter, he’d dreamed of it being Carina and his daughter. Their daughter.

When he looked up, Bess’s gaze met his, soft and knowing. 

“And then the butterflies hatched from their little chrysanthemums—” The girl babbled on.

“Chrysalis, Rina,” Bess corrected, chuckling. But at the sound of the name, her name, Azriel’s chest tightened.

Bess had named her daughter after Carina. She had still been pregnant when Carina passed, carrying the child that now stands before him. Yet he felt certain that Carina still saw her, still got to meet her in her own way. 

“She’s going to be the loveliest of girls with the loveliest of names,” Carina had whispered to Bess the moment she learned her friend was expecting.

“She? How do you–”

“Just trust me.”

“Chrysalis,” Rina corrected herself, continuing on her story of how the butterflies had emerged and fluttered about, captivating not just her but the kittens.

“Sounds like you had quite an eventful day.”

“Oh, yes!” Rina beamed looking up at him with bright eyes. “And now we’re going to wait for the stars! Would you like to come with us, Mr. Azriel?”

“Thank you but I think I’ll keep Shadow company tonight.” Azriel politely declined.

Bess’s smile faded slightly, her brows knitting in concern. “Are you sure? We’d be happy to have you over…”

Azriel held her gaze for a moment, seeing the quiet worry in her eyes. No one should be alone on Starfall, he read. But Azriel had spent every Starfall since her death alone.

So he managed a nod. “I’m sure.”

**

Azriel’s shadows stirred as he stared at the house. It stood quietly under the dark night sky. Ivy draped along the porch railings and up the walls. Night-blooming jasmines blossomed in the garden, their petals glowing softly. Moths and butterflies fluttered around, drawn to the pale flowers.  Every now and then, a firefly would blink, casting a tiny spark of light before disappearing back into the dark. Some of his shadows couldn’t help themselves, fluttering about just as the moths and butterflies did, to chase after the fireflies.  

Crickets chirped nearby and occasionally, there was the sound of a faint splash of a frog in one of the ponds he had made. He could also hear barking coming from the shed he had built in the backyard. A purring sound followed by something rubbing up against his leg pulled his attention downwards.

Azriel crouched down to pet the gray cat at his feet. Carina had named her Smoke, inspired by her smoky gray fur. Though she cared and loved animals deeply, she was not creative when it came to names. Smoke closed her eyes briefly, content with the loving pets from Azriel.

The cat was selective with her affections. Only Carina and Azriel ever earned her trust, Bess still slowly earning it. Moments later, Smoke’s kittens, barely a few weeks old, bounded out from the shadows, eager for his attention as well. His heart warmed at the sight. If only Carina could see them…

After a couple of moments, Azriel stepped inside, where he knew a little bundle of black fur awaited him. Shadow. Further proof of Carina’s lack of creativity with names as the small bunny with dark fur blinked back up at him. Carina had a long history of rescuing animals and finding homes for them. She drove her parents and Rhysand mad and though Azriel feigned annoyance, he honestly didn't mind it.

Shadow had been the first animal Carina brought to this house. She had found him by the Sidra, scared and injured. Despite his small size, Shadow had made his distaste for Azriel’s shadows clear, hissing at them and even biting Azriel a couple of times when he got too close.

But there was a time where Carina had fallen sick, leaving Azriel to care for him. The two came to a mutual understanding and eventually grew close. By the time Carina had recovered, the bunny was following after Azriel as if it were one of his shadows, living up to his name.

Cradling Shadow close, Azriel let his gaze drift down the dim hallway toward the grand staircase. He hadn’t ventured upstairs in months, maybe even a year. That part of the house had been theirs alone. A private corner of the world where they could escape, untouched by anyone else’s presence. But tonight, he felt drawn to it, tugged towards it in the wake of a dream of Carina. In it, he had been content to just hold her while she embroidered. He held her tighter in his dream, dreading the moment he’d wake up.

Setting Shadow gently back in his cage, Azriel made his way toward the stairs. One of his shadows rushed to him and curled around his ear. The message it gave had his muscles tensing in alarm.

Someone was in the house. 

His shadows coaxed his gaze to one of the rooms. Carina’s studio. The door was always closed and locked but tonight, it was wide open. His hand instinctively gripped the dagger strapped to his thigh as he approached, moving soundlessly until he reached the doorway.

Standing in the studio, holding a paper bag, was Rhysand. A scent drifted from the paper bag that Azriel knew well. Strawberries and creme. Carina’s favorite.

Rhysand seemed lost in the room, surrounded by countless paintings, sketches, and memories brought to life by Carina’s hand. She had painted Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian atop Ramiel, the three stars of Night Court glittering above them. Nearby, a sketch captured Mor mid-laughter, a glass of wine in hand, while Carina’s mother beamed beside her. Her desk overflowed with paintbrushes, pencils, and scattered paper. Above her desk, two portraits hung proudly. One of Carina’s mother and one of her father. 

But Rhysand’s gaze was fixed on a larger portrait leaning against the wall between the former High Lord and Lady of Night.

Carina loved painting everything and everyone but herself. She especially loved drawing Azriel, her greatest muse. One night, he had asked her to draw herself. She had paused and looked at him, a strange but profound look in her eyes. One he didn’t understand then but he understood now. She knew she wouldn’t be here for long.

His throat tightened as he stared at the painting, grateful she had left him something so precious to hold onto. Her beauty, even in paint, commanded attention. She shared her brother’s sun-kissed skin, raven-black hair, and striking violet eyes. But Carina’s hair tumbled over her shoulders in silken waves, a single, captivating streak of white framing her face, her brow on the same side also streaked with white.

A mark her mother always said was a blessing, kissed by the moon herself.

“I thought I’d bring these,” Rhysand said quietly, holding up the bag. “She’d never let me come here without something for her.”

Azriel’s heart clenched. He hadn’t expected to see Rhysand here, but of all people, he understood the pull of this place. Azriel had lost his partner, his wife. But Rhysand had lost a sister, his twin. The studio held the weight of memories, settling heavily on his chest.

Since becoming High Lord, Rhysand had refused to celebrate Starfall publicly. Everyone who had made the holiday joyful was gone. His father. His mother. His sister. Carina had always looked forward to Starfall, making grand arrangements at the House of Wind so they could all watch the stars migrate together.

Starfall was a celebration for those that had passed, to honor those migrating souls. But to celebrate it for Carina rather than celebrate it with her…

 It was a truth Rhysand did not want to accept, even though it’s been years. Nor Azriel.

They stood side by side, silent as they gazed at her portrait, almost expecting her to step out from the canvas, to fill the room once more with her warmth and laughter. Rhysand set the bag of crepes on the table below the painting, and Azriel noticed the slight tremble in his fingers.

“I thought... I thought it would get easier if I came here,” Rhysand admitted, his voice cracking. “But it’s as if I’m still waiting for her to walk through that door and tell me it’s all been a bad dream.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze not leaving the portrait. “I feel the same,” he murmured. “It’s hard being here but keeping this place and taking care of it...it’s the closest I can get to her now.”

A sudden, loud barking came from outside, disrupting the silence that had followed. Rhysand straightened, sharing a brief, wary glance with Azriel as the sound of a door splintering rang through the house. In an instant, they were on high alert, Azriel’s shadows coiling around him, ready to strike.

Their muscles relaxed only slightly as familiar footsteps echoed through the hall, quiet but unmistakable. Cassian appeared in the doorway, breathless from breaking in through the back. His eyes widened in surprise, taking in Rhysand and Azriel.

“I–I didn’t think anyone would be here,” he admitted, a sheepish tone slipping into his voice. “If I had known you were here, I would’ve knocked.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Azriel deadpanned.

Cassian’s mouth quirked up in acknowledgment. Azriel was right. Barging in unannounced and loud had always been his style. Carina never minded it, though. Somehow, she’d always seemed to know he was coming, greeting him with a bemused smile rather than annoyance while Azriel would glare from behind her.

“I dreamt of her and I thought she would like to see a dear friend again,” Cassian said, pulling a small rag doll from his coat.

The faded fabric was frayed at the edges, and a patch covered where one arm had once torn. It was Carina’s doll—the one Cassian had accidentally ripped one night. He’d felt so terrible afterward that he’d begged her mother to teach him to sew, spending hours pricking his fingers to stitch it back together. The doll had never quite looked the same, but Carina had cherished it even more, carrying it with her everywhere. After her passing, she’d left it for him on his bed with a letter. She had written letters for all of them.

He set the doll next to the crepes Rhysand had brought, a silent offering.

Before any of them could speak, a sharp, indignant meow cut through the air. Azriel’s shadows tensed again, hovering near the door as more sounds drifted up from downstairs. Rustling, footsteps…sniffling? 

“Stupid cat,” came a familiar voice, thick with tears, louder with each step. “I brought you, your stupid salmon…only the best, for Carina’s spoiled little brat…” The voice trailed off as Mor appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening in surprise the same way Cassian’s had just a couple of moments ago. “What are you all doing here?”

Mor glanced between the three males, eyes lined with silver.

“It wasn’t planned.” Azriel said.

“So we all dreamt of her last night, didn’t we?” Rhysand asked quietly.

They all looked at each other, eye glistening with tears and a shared understanding that needed no words. For years, Starfall had come and gone, each of them grieving Carina alone in the darkness. Too shattered to reach out, yet silently yearning for each other’s company. They had mourned in solitude, drowning in their quiet sorrows. A grief Carina would never have wanted for them and she most certainly would not have wanted them to spend Starfall, her favorite holiday, apart. 

Mor’s gaze drifted to the desk where a small portrait of Carina rested, capturing her cousin’s warm, spirited smile. Her features softened, and her hand rose to her chest, fingers grazing the silver mood ring that hung on a simple chain. It clashed with the golden mood ring she wore on one of her fingers but she hadn’t cared. Carina and Mor had bought the matching rings together at one of the night markets. On nights when Mor wished to be closer to her beloved cousin, she wore the ring around her neck.

Her gaze then landed on the crepes and doll carefully placed in front of her portrait. She then decided to unclasp the necklace from her neck and placed it gently in front of Carina’s portrait. An altar had formed–a small collection of memories now laid before Carina’s portrait. 

“Do you remember,” Mor began, her gaze still fixed on her cousin. “How she’d make us toast Starfall with raspberry wine? She’d insist it had to be raspberry, even though none of us liked it.”

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. “Not a single one of us had the heart to tell her.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a fond smile, a rare warmth softening his features. “Oh, she knew,” he revealed, sharing a secret they’d kept for years. His gaze grew distant as he remembered Carina’s delighted grin, the gleam in her eyes as she’d pour each glass herself, ignoring the grimaces as they took their first sips. “But she said it was ‘tradition.’”

Rhysand let out a soft exhale, violet eyes glittering with both amusement and sadness. “Her own tradition, mind you, not one she inherited.”

“Well, we should keep up the tradition, right?” Mor turned around to face Azriel. “Do you have any?”

Azriel nodded, his throat tightening. “Yeah,” he managed, knowing there was still a stock in the cellar—bottles he’d left untouched and unopened since the last Starfall they’d shared with Carina. “I can get us some.”

A few moments later, he returned with a bottle, his shadows carrying five glasses. The dark tendrils handed a glass to each of them, setting the fifth in front of Carina’s portrait. Azriel filled her glass first.

“It’s clear to me Carina didn’t want us alone tonight,” Mor said, cradling her glass to her chest.

“She would’ve never wanted us alone,” Cassian murmured in agreement.

“She would’ve absolutely hated it.” Azriel chimed in, his voice barely a whisper. He looked down, feeling a pang of regret and guilt. “I’m sorry. I thought it would’ve been easier alone…”

Rhysand placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulders, a look of pure empathy on his face.  “I thought the same. But I’m grateful to be here now. With all of you.” He raised his glass. “Carina has brought us together this Starfall and we’ll spend it together as she would’ve wanted.”

“To Carina, the sweetest and most loving soul.” Cassian raised his glass toward her portrait. 

The others followed after him, each lost in their own memories. As they toasted, Carina’s violet eyes seemed to shine with a spark of life. Just then, the doors to the balcony swung open, and a cool breeze swept through the room, rustling papers and lifting brushes. They felt it—a presence. Something familiar and bittersweet.

Starlight trickled through the window, casting a faint glow around the room. 

Rhysand’s breath caught as the faint hum of a melody drifted through the air, one his mother used to sing on Starfall nights. He could almost hear the distinctive footsteps of his father, the crinkling of his old leather boots. And then—the clear, bright sound of Carina’s laughter, echoing as if from a dream.

Cassian’s eyes shone with unshed tears, his hand reaching out to clasp Azriel’s other shoulder. Mor reached for Rhysand’s hand, squeezing it tightly, and he returned the gesture, pulling her close. In that moment, they were united by the memory of the female they’d all loved.

As Rhysand looked at Carina's portrait, a tear traced down his cheek. Happy Starfall, sister.

Azriel looked up at the sky, already shimmering. They all stepped out onto the balcony. The world seemed to fall silent, even the animals still as the first star streaked across the sky. It’s as if they also knew that Carina would be amongst those migrating spirits. Along with her mother and father. Along with Cassian’s mother. 

A thousand emotions surged through them. A mix of sorrow, gratitude, and love that blurred the line between the past and present.

They say that when someone you love dies, a part of your soul dies with them. They had each felt it—that aching void, the heavy absence. But as they stood together, they came to understand something else. When someone you love passes, a part of them remains with you. They remain in every cherished memory, in love and in moments like these. 

Carina may have passed, but her memory lived, woven into the very stardust that fell around them. She had come to them tonight, reminding them that her light would remain in their hearts, glowing a little brighter with every Starfall.

"En esta casa no existen fantasmas. Son puros recuerdos. Son mil sentimientos, de lo que vivimos cuando tu estabas aqui." which translates to "In this house, ghost don't exist. Only memories. A thousand feelings of what we lived when you were here."

Meanwhile in Spring Court…

Tamlin sat slumped against the rough bark of a tree, his gaze fixed on the night sky. A sense of immense guilt gnawed at him. It was Starfall tonight. He knew this because the holiday had meant so much to Rhysand and Carina. His friends. Or at least, they used to be. The twins had always spoken of the streaking spirits that lit up the sky in the Night Court.

But here, in Spring, the migrating stars were hidden beyond the distant horizon. Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the stars that dotted his own skies, searching for something he couldn’t quite name.

Would Carina be among them tonight? he wondered, his heart heavy with regret. 

Tamlin couldn’t shake the feeling that her death and her mother’s was his fault. His choices had led to this moment, to this hollow loneliness that sat like a stone in his chest. He lost everything that night. His family, his friends.

But he deserved to feel this way, to feel this pain. 

Rhysand hated him, he couldn’t even look him in the eyes at the first High Lord meeting after the tragedies. And Rhysand had every right to. It was all Tamlin’s fault...

Tears pricked at his eyes and then he felt it. Something cold yet comforting like the softest of touches. Startled, he raised his hand to his cheek, feeling the dampness against his skin. He looked up to the sky but there was no rain, no storm clouds in sight. When he brought his hand up to his face, he saw pure stardust glowing back at him.  

And then he saw it– a second star. It soared across the sky, coming closer and closer. It disappeared into a pool of water just in front of him, lighting the still surface. The pool shimmered, turning to liquid starlight.

A starpool, bright and ethereal. 

Tamlin wiped hastily at his eyes before leaning forward to get a closer look. He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing along the water’s edge. The water lapped gently against his hand, coating it in the same stardust residue that coated his cheek.

The sight made his heart ache. It can’t be, he thought, looking back up at the sky for answers. There were no more shooting stars. Just the steady gleam of the ordinary ones blinking back at him. A breeze stirred through the clearing, cold yet oddly soothing. It whispered through the branches, through the leaves, a murmur he couldn’t quite decipher, but in his heart, he understood.

“I forgive you,” it seemed to say and he just knew it was her.

Tamlin’s composure shattered completely. He buried his face in his hands, not caring over the stardust that smeared his face. His tears spilled freely now as he leaned over the water, his shoulders shaking.

The weight of his grief, his guilt, his longing for forgiveness—it all poured out into the stillness of the Spring Court, witnessed only by the stars, the quiet voice of the night and the starpool that had been gifted to him by her.

[masterlist]

a/n: There's not much details about Starfall other than it being migrating spirits so I tweaked it a bit to resemble Day of the Dead more. I love this holiday so much and look forward to hearing memories of loved ones that have passed away. For the inner circle, I imagined the death of Rhysand's sister hit them all hard and in this particular au, I could see them suffering alone. But Carina definitely would not have wanted that so she visited them in their dreams and brought them together. Hope you enjoyed getting a glimpse of her. I can't wait to write more about her!

I debated a lot on whether I should've included Tamlin's bit or not but decided, why not? I think about him a lot and how alone he must've felt after becoming High Lord.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[ninthcircleofprythian]

tell me about everyone's ideal partner: Who they want versus What they need

pls and thank you

Ok - big brain time.

Rhysand - He wants an equal. Someone just as adventurous and strong willed as he is. A level playing field. Someone soft but also fierce. What he needs is someone to put him in his place every now and then lol. I think he's so used to being in charge and making all the important decisions that someone taking control and making him beg for it would do wonders. I also think someone willing to indulge in his obvious desire for a threesome would make him ecstatic.

Cassian - I think Cassian wants a strong personality. He like a sassy, kinda bitchy partner. It's fun for him. I think he likes giving orders and taking charge - you know - being a General and all it makes sense. He likes a little pushback. What he needs is to be stepped on. And I think he would love it. I think Cassian has a hidden desire to be bossed around and told what to do. Would he crawl on all fours and love it? I think so. Cassian needs someone to collar him and tell him he's a good boy.

Azriel - OK, strictly canon speaking - I don't think Az knows what he wants. Az's ideal partner is actually therapy lol. But vibes? I think he wants someone soft and delicate. Someone he can protect and nurture. I think he has it in his head that he needs to be the more dominant one that he's put himself in that role. What he needs is someone who will flip the script from time to time. I don't think Az is strictly JUST dominant or JUST submissive. I think it varies. And he needs someone that can do both. Not necessarily in a kinky/bedroom kinda way but just in an emotional way. He carries a lot of guilt/shame/fear/trauma and he needs someone to get past that with him and make him feel seen and loved.

Eris - I think Eris does kinda favor the beauty/power combo which is why he was so drawn to Nesta. Eris is hard because he very much is like 2 different people. The one he presents and the one he actually is. Presentation wise I think he wants beauty/power because its expected and also alluring. What he needs is a strong personality but not necessarily strong in POWER. He needs someone that can stand his wit and sassiness without offense but can also be his safe space. He needs to be able to let the mask fall and still have a place to land ya know? I do think he would enjoy a partner who kinda takes the spotlight off of him a bit. Strong in opinion or morals or whatever. Outspoken. I think he would like to show off his partner a bit and would take a lot of pride in seeing them at his side and not shrinking. I've said it before and I'll say it again, Eris is a bit of a sugar daddy lol. Behind closed doors though I think that Eris and his partner both are very tender and loving and compliment each other with quiet and calm.

Lucien - I think Lucien wants someone to love him fiercely. He's been outcast in so many ways for so long that he craves being wanted. I think he would also love a partner who surprises him a bit. Maybe they come across as very demure and softspoken but they have some kick too. Someone funny and a little bit silly. Overall Lucien wants and needs happiness. I just want that poor man to be happy damn it.

Tamlin - He wants to feel like the protector. He wants someone a little bit on the fragile side. Someone who makes him feel useful and needed. I do think that Tamlin falls more on the masculine end of the spectrum as far as falling into a traditional role in a relationship. He needs someone he can love tenderly. Lead a quiet life rebuilding his Court and live happily ever after.

Beron - What he wants? I truly don't know lol. What he needs? Someone who will match his freak and let him steal their underwear all he wants. Maybe they hide it secretly around the house as little surprises for him. I think he also needs someone who won't get too attached and be ok leading a bit of a seperate life.

This got kinda long winded so if you want me to do the ladies in a seperate post I'm more than happy to.