#scrap!mors

[sialaterornever]

Ghost Hunting???? 👀

ghost hunting :D

thats just the title for my S.C.R.A.P. doc ;)

for the ppl who have no idea what im talking abt, scrap's a silly phasmo-inspired rp server im in (w/ magic and some others around here teehee) that revolves around ghost hunters? therapists? something like that. they snag ghosts and rehabilitate them/give them therapy. i have 3 silly lil guys: azazel cantor (resident ghost prankster), mors (stoic ass prrd(paranormal research and rehabilitation department) agent who totally isnt catarina oakley i mean who said that), and cherub (silly child who was raised by ghosts and has freaky ghost related abilities for. some reason.)

anyways i have been writing something that isnt gonna be posted just yet but have a silly teaser for the scrap gang

(writing under the cut)

“We?” Mors didn’t feel like giving Azazel a gift, mainly because she didn’t know the ghost well enough. He was too much of a bother. Too much like them.

“Yes we.” Cherub said with a huff. “You’re his… the-pist.”

“Therapist.”

“Yeah! You gotta give him a gift! I’m also gonna get Mister Magic and Madame Hessonite to give him one too, since they knew him before.”

Mors held back the chuckle she was going to give at the rather professional title xi gave Hess. From what Mors researched, Azazel was an agent around the same time as Second and Hessonite, though had no clue that the two actually knew him. Or maybe they didn't, and Cherub was just dragging them along in xir plans.

Her momentary joy faded though at the thought of giving a gift to someone she didn’t even know.

“...I don’t know what to get him though.” She said, voicing her thoughts. “I barely know the guy.”

“Don’t you have weird powers? Can’t you just read his mind or something?” Xi replied.

‘This kid knows too much and too little at the same time.’ Mors thought, sighing. “That’s… I will… ignore how you know that. Among other things.”

Cherub giggled innocently, causing her to continue, “Besides, that’s not how my… abilities work. I can’t read minds.”

“But you’re ancient!” Cherub said, nearly killing Mors inside. “You gotta know something! You’re like… a billion years old! Captain told me that part.”

If this ‘Captain’ wasn’t already dead, Mors would’ve killed her by now.

[chaiaurchaandni]

also remember that no form of resistance is ever acceptable to the colonizer. and that includes non-violent resistance (the great march of return) + non-violence is only successful against a force that has a conscience. but if your opponent had a conscience, he would not be oppressing you in the first place.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent life photos

[nappingmoon]

do yk the folklore love triangle 👁️👁️

cardigan is my number one most played song of all time YES i know about the folklore love triangle

unfortunately i am a little pessimistic about it. im like the number one cheating hater i hope betty never takes him back 🗣️🗣️ also i think august lightly sucks as a person for being the other woman. STAND UP GIRL

also regarding folklore i am a true believer that half of those songs are about satosugu.

[sotogalmo]

5:36 am

Jeff the killers your Sebastian Alien Stage OC

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Never Again | Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Rhys has been too caught up in his work lately, not giving you any of his time. After forgetting the date you'd both scheduled tonight, that was the last straw, and you go out with Azriel instead, only for Rhys to plead for your forgiveness.

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

Warnings: Nothing really, just feeling unloved ig🤷‍♀️

A/N: This was such a good req from anon, I love making powerful men grovel at their woman’s feet, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

However, after he argued with Azriel, the topic again being about Elain (Azriel was still trying to pursue her despite the fact she was traumatized and recovering), he was burying himself in his work to try and get his mind off of it, also getting his mind off of you.

The two of you had agreed on a date night tonight, a night out at a restaurant you’d made reservations for weeks ahead.

However, you’d gotten all dressed up in a dress you knew made him go crazy, it was tight in the right places and all in Night Court colors, kohl on your eyelids that Mor had helped apply, nails freshly done, jewelry polished and on, and he still hadn’t left his office.

He’d forgotten.

This was probably the fifth time this week he had forgotten about something the two of you planned together, and you were getting sick of it. So instead of going into his office and begging for even a scrap of your mate’s attention, you decided that he could beg for your attention for once.

You blocked out the bond completely, and no sound of surprise came from his office, no worry, nothing. Tears welled in your eyes, angry, pissed-off tears that you wiped away as you regained your composure, winnowing to the House of Wind, walking quietly up the stairs, and knocking on Azriel’s door.

He opened the door, his gaze looking you up and down. He was dressed well enough for the occasion, in casually expensive clothes. Everyone knew the shadowsinger was rich.

“We’re going out tonight.”

You announced simply, slipping your arm around his and walking away. He seemed quite bewildered, but took it in stride and walked alongside you, his mind slowly putting the pieces together.

“He forgot.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. One he was only waiting for you to confirm, even if he already knew it was true. You gave a nod, descending the flights of stairs with him in hand.

“Again.”

You then said, the distaste clear in your voice. The shadows crept up on your fingers in gentle caresses, as if trying to soothe you in your angered, upset state. Azriel’s gaze barely changed, but a hint of empathy entered it.

You winnowed the both of you into the streets of Velaris, Azriel not seeming the slightest bit perturbed by it as he continued walking, somehow knowing exactly the restaurant that you and Rhys were supposed to be attending.

It wasn’t that unusual, you knew. His shadows often told him every little detail they managed to scrape up from the streets of Velaris.

“I have a reservation for two.”

You told the female up front, and she nodded, before leading the two of you to the table. Azriel sat down next to you, silently offering comfort.

You both ordered, the meal coming quickly as usual with this particular restaurant.

Azriel hesitated, before speaking.

“He loves you, you know.”

You sighed through your nose, swallowing the bite of your meal.

“I know that, but he’s just been burying himself in his work. He won’t even spend time with me anymore. More than half of the time I’m going to bed alone.”

Azriel gave you a sympathetic look as you leaned into him, savoring the warmth his body gave off, the warmth you should’ve been getting from your mate. Azriel let you lean into him, one hand going around your waist, the touch respectful but comforting as the two of you ate your food in silence.

*********************************************************

Rhysand, High Lord of Night Court, had completely forgotten.

He’d been busy with his work, and the alarm he had set had gone off, and he’d told himself “one more minute” if he could just get through these documents….

The room was blissfully quiet, his mind completely focused and empty, only the faint buzzing of his lamp distracting him. He needed to get that fixed.

That was when it hit him.

His mind was empty. None of your thoughts or emotions in his head, absolutely no sign of you at all through the bond. That sent him into a panic.

Had something happened? Was he not there to protect you? He checked the time and —

Oh gods, thirty minutes had passed in what felt like five. He was thirty minutes late for your date, and you had probably been so pissed that you’d blocked out the bond completely. Not that he blamed you, he’d been a colossal asshole, not giving you nearly enough attention or care the past few weeks.

Within seconds, he’d winnowed straight into the restaurant, the staff not questioning him as he’d walked briskly over to your table, only to see a sight that made his blood boil but also his heartache.

You, sitting with his brother, his hand around your waist, on that pretty purple and black dress, as you leaned into him. Azriel looked calmly up at him, but a hint of anger was in his eyes as if saying, “you should be ashamed of yourself.”

The anger in his eyes was nothing compared to yours, going from sadness to anger in seconds as you caught sight of him, the bond only opening enough for waves of anger to flood over him from your end.

“Finally decided to show up?”

Your voice snapped as you glared at him. He didn’t want to cause a scene. Not here, not now.

Azriel had already stalked off, shadows whirling around him before he’d disappeared. Rhys reached for you, having just enough contact to winnow you and him into your shared bedroom.

“Why did you go with him?”

He asked back, a foolish anger in his voice. He saw you bristle at his tone, anger shooting through the bond on both ends, tears welling in your eyes. Tears he knew were more of anger than sadness.

“At least he pays attention to me, you should take some notes, Rhysand.”

You snapped, and a bit of his heart shattered at that moment. His arms reached out for you, and you huffed, the bond finally opening up again as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close until you stopped struggling, and just began crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, darling.”

He murmured into your ears, hands deftly pulling your jewelry off, carefully grabbing tissues to wipe the tears from your eyes, as well as the makeup that the tears loosened enough to wipe off.

“I should’ve paid more attention to you, I’m sorry.”

He said, clearly pleading and begging for your forgiveness, for any sign that you might forgive him in the next few weeks. You sniffled, looking up at him.

“Please, forgive me, darling. I’ll worship the ground you walk on if you want me to.”

He said, his arms reaching out for something, and it was only when he gently slipped your dress off and helped you into a pair of your favorite sleeping shorts, and his shirt, smothered in his scent, that you realized you didn’t care about revenge or making him jealous, you just wanted to spend time with you mate.

He, too, seemed to realize this as he pulled his shirt and pants off, dimming the lights as he eased into bed alongside you, cradling you to his chest, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

As the both of you soon seemed to drift off together, his arms around you, wing draped around your body and holding you impossibly close, he whispered one last thing into your ear.

“Never again.”

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 6)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: Mentions of reader's fictional father passing away.

Word Count: 3678

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Notes: Lowkey feel like I'm losing the plot here but we'll see what happens. 🤞🏻

_________________________________________

“You should’ve dressed up as a naughty schoolgirl, show him how bad you really are,” your roommate, Gwyn, teases softly while Mor finishes the artwork that is her hair in the bathroom.

You snort, readjusting the top of your strapless green dress Mor forced you into. Dress being the relative term because this is no more than a scrap of silk with lace lining the hem. The bottom of the dress hardly covers the tops of your thighs, and if you drop something tonight, there will be no picking it up, lest you flash the entire hockey house your panties.

You don’t know how you’ve managed to get invited to another party. Of course, Rhys is Mor’s cousin and you’re sure that he had more than a little to do with you and your roommates attending this evening, but you’re surprised that Mor actually agreed to going. Usually, she’s up for any sort of antics that don’t revolve around sports, like frat parties or bars that don’t check ID’s, and you can’t help but wonder where this change of heart has come from.

Gwyn looks surprisingly chipper for someone who barely leaves the apartment, even more so for someone who has held strong on her stance never to attend a single hockey game nor party during her time at Velaris U. Another one with a harsh rule, you think, her determination reminding you of Rhys and his law that you and his teammates don’t mix.

Pfft, and here you are, getting ready to attend their Halloween party.

You’re not sure what Gwyn has against hockey, but right now, you appreciate that she’s coming more than she could ever know. You’re glad you missed out on whatever method Mor used to get her to come, but she looks cute in her pink dress. Her long, auburn hair is tied back with a big, red bow, and she has clip on bangs in for her costume as Blossom from the Powerpuff Girls. Mor claimed Bubbles, though you were hoping she would want to be Buttercup because her attitude more than matches the little green girls’.

You suppose you’ll need Buttercups strength tonight, because you’re more than determined to piss Rhysand off.

“He’s seen my psych grades, I think he already knows how bad I am,” you answer carefully, slipping your thigh-high white socks on. There’s an intricate lace fringe at the top, and you must admit, Mor picked out the perfect attire for your costumes. She’s somehow managed to give a children’s cartoon the perfect amount of skin for the occasion.

The only thing you’re not looking forward to is the tall, chunky boots she somehow managed to sneak into your dorm two weeks ago. You’ll never underestimate your best friend’s ability to curate the perfect costume.

Neither Mor nor Gwyn know that your tutor is Rhysand Cunningham. You haven’t had the guts to bring it up to Mor, even though your relationship with her cousin is nothing short of formal. Okay, so his teasing texts earlier and having to pretend to be his girlfriend in the presence of his ex weren’t keeping away from each other by any means, but there’s nothing going on between you two, so there’s no need to worry your friend.

You’re strapping your feet into the platform pumps when Mor emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of hairspray. Her pigtails are much more adult than her character in the cartoon, mostly because she has much more hair, nearly reaching the curve of her ass on a good day. She’d never let it cover one of her best assets.

“Oh my gosh, you two look so fucking good!” She squeals, jumping in place. The guys at the party are going to love this look on her because even you can’t stop staring at the way her breasts jiggle with her joy. That pushup bra is doing wonders for her already perky tits, and you’re going to have to ask her where she got it because you need to order one as soon as possible.

“You look amazing, Mor,” you compliment, pushing to your feet. You wobble a little but manage to gain your balance quickly enough. You take a tentative step towards the counter where you left your pre-party drink.

“I know,” Mor grins, flipping one of her pigtails over her shoulder. Her brown eyes sparkle with pride and a little bit of tequila. “We’re killing these costumes.” She walks in her boots like she was born in them. She flicks at Gwyn’s fake bangs with a snicker. “Gwynie, you look hot.”

Gwyn’s cheeks turn as red as her hair. “Thanks,” she shrugs bashfully. “But do we have to go to the hockey house tonight? I heard it’s going to be bumping at Rita’s tonight.”

You wonder if Mor is going to ask what the both of you have been dying to know since Gwyn’s sour reaction the first time hockey was ever mentioned under this roof. You don’t know what kind of beef she has with the sport, or maybe one of the players, but she’s made it more than known on multiple occasions that the topic is taboo, and she’ll never attend anything that has the slightest correlation to hockey.

Your gaze flicks to Mor. Her brows are furrowed and she’s not normally one to give pause, opting to blurt out whatever comes to mind, but right now she’s giving Gwyn the benefit of the doubt and thinking through her options here.

In the end, she goes for pouting, because she knows that neither of you can resist. “But you promised you’d come!”

You don’t know how Mor made that happen, let alone Gwyn promising to join, and you really want to know. Gwyn sighs in a defeated way that makes you ache for her. It’s hard to get her to come out to a non-hockey related event this semester, and that’s also something you’re going to have to talk to her about sometime because you miss your friend on nights out.

Maybe you can stay in one weekend with her, too.

“I know, I know,” Gwyn says, pouring a shot of vodka into a cup. She slams it back and you can see the way that she’s working through the battery acid-like taste, the way she builds herself up before she continues. “Let’s go.”

“You ready?” James asks, trying to smother his amusement. You’re hardly even touching him as you dance together, and yet you can still feel Rhys’ harsh glare from the center of the makeshift living room dancefloor.

“Not a chance,” you respond, and your palms are damp just thinking about it.

“Good, because here he comes,” he warns, right before you’re ripped away from him.

Rhys stands like a raging bull, complete with nostrils flaring, and you’re pretty sure he’s digging his foot into the ground like he’s about to charge. You can’t help but to giggle at his antics, and you can’t wait to see how this plays out.

James swallows harshly, all of the amusement washes from his face as he pales. He’s still too green on the team to really know Rhys all that well, and right now, he’s regretting deciding to tease his captain, even if it is for the greater good.

You and your classmate had come to an agreement. Your roommates didn’t question you when James appeared at your side with a shot in hand and a question to dance. In fact, they all but shoved you into his arms, giggling and whispering to each other before you’d even had the chance to turn around.

They’re somewhere around here, and hopefully, they’re not close enough to watch how this plays out.

He raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, cap.”

“James,” Rhys grits. He looks like an avenging angel, except that he’s dressed as a vampire. You can’t tell if the cape tied around his neck is sexy or not, but his white button down that shows off the top of his chest most definitely is.

It’s offset by the plastic fangs poking out from his lips is most definitely cuter than anything.

Everything you notice about him is a confusing jumble.

“How are you enjoying the party?” James all but squeaks, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing. You feel kind of bad for your new friend, putting himself in the line of fire like this, but as soon as your bargain falls into place with Rhys, you’re going to try your best to make it worthwhile for James.

“Scram kid, before I make you do laps the entire next practice,” Rhys grunts and you can’t control yourself, you burst into laughter.

Rhys turns towards you, confused. You straighten, wiping pretend tears from your face. “I’m sorry, did you just fucking say scram?”

“So, what if I did?” Rhys asks, and he’s clearly enjoying that smile he’s put on your face. His chest puffs with pride, but he pouts and your grin widens.

“I just didn’t know we time-traveled back to the 1900’s.”

Rhys makes a face at you that is all too endearing. He pokes you on the arm and you jerk away before retaliating.

“Hey!” You whine when he traps your wrists in one large hand, poking you in the sides with the other. The way you’re squirming makes him wonder if you’d be moving like that in his bed. He immediately releases you and you straighten your dress, feeling the shift in the atmosphere. “I’m, uh, going to get a drink,” you mutter. Finding the roommates you’d abandoned might be helpful as well.

Just as you’re about to spin on your heel, Rhys’ groan of agony stops you.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” He curses, and his entire playboy protective captain aura goes up in flames. Now he’s a frustrated, annoyed boy whose clingy ex won’t take a fucking hint.

“Who?” You question, rolling cautiously onto your tiptoes to try and see who Rhys is talking about. You can’t see a damn thing in the darkness of the house. You’re not even sure where your own roommates are.

“Amarantha,” Rhys sighs, then, more frantic. “Fuck, we made eye contact. Hold my hand.”

You hide your excitement. This is perfect. Not planned, by any means, because you’re not evil, but it will further your plans. Just after you play with Rhysand a little bit longer. “What? No way!”

Rhys shoots you a dry look. “Jesus, (Y/N), don’t spare my feelings, or anything.”

“Sorry,” you grin, sheepishly.

“Please,” he begs, and you try not to let it show how much him pleading affects you. You thought you were hot before, but now you’re fucking dripping. “I’ll do anything.”

You try not to let your mind wander into what anything could mean. Maybe you need another drink to cool yourself down, or make your mind a little more imaginative.

Rhys’ gaze flicks worriedly to where his ex is stalking your way with a purpose.

Right, back on track.

“Fine,” you hiss, mostly because you can’t stand those sad eyes he’s giving you. You know it’s a ploy, but if it gets him to stop pestering you, you’ll do it. Plus, if Rhys sees that you’re willing to play his little game, it’ll be much easier to bring up the internship you want with the team. “Put your arm around me.”

He does much more than that. Rhys throws his arm over your shoulder and pulls you into his side. You jump at the warmth and ignore the look of confusion he shoots you.

“If you don’t put your hands on me, she’s not going to believe that you’re my girlfriend.”

“And why is that?” you mutter, scouring the crowd for his ex-girlfriend. She shouldn’t be so hard to find with her bright hair and menacing presence, but there’s no sign of her yet, even with your sky-high heels on.

“Because, you’re supposed to be my girlfriend,” Rhys growls, but his unhappiness isn’t directed at you. His violet eyes dark with violence. He looks like he could still hunt James down and strangle him just for dancing with you.

“But I’m not, really,” you counter, trying to keep up your withering façade. Truth is, you’ve done exactly what you set out to do, prove to Rhys that his rules mean nothing to you and that you’re never going to be one of those girls who lets a man tell her what to do.

When you step closer to Rhys to better berate him over the loud music, you barely notice James slinking back into the crowd. He uses you as a distraction for his captain, just like the both of you planned.

“But you are,” Rhys hisses, and you refuse to like the way your body reacts to his words. His arm is a warm weight around your arm as he guides you in the direction of the living room. In the threshold, he stops you, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to be focusing on when his front is pressed up against your back like this and there’s a hardness pressing against you that you’d never be able to ignore.

“When she’s around,” Rhys starts, and his breath against your ear makes it difficult not to shiver. He nods toward the crowd, right to where his ex is oblivious, dancing with her friends. She’s dressed as some kind of sexy witch, which is fitting, since you’ve met her and know her attitude is worse than nice. “You’re all mine, (Y/N). If I want your hands all over me, you’ll do it. If I want to kiss you, you won’t pull away,” you clutch the drink in your hand tighter, and your thighs mirror the motion. “And if we get a little carried away…” he trails off. His hands resting on your hips curve around your front. You can feel him like a brand through the thin fabric of your dress. Your breath hitches in your throat and you can’t help but to lean further into him. “Well, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

You glare, but he’s right. The only reason you’re so vehemently against this idea is because Mor could catch you at any second.

“Fine. But I need your help with something in exchange.” It hurts you to admit it, but James said that there wasn’t much he could do to guarantee you an internship with the team, and you can admit that it would look really good on your applications to say that you aided in athletic training for Vulcan U’s hockey team.

Too bad you know exactly who does hold sway with their coach, and he’s also your tutor.

And an arrogant asshole.

“Oh?” He quirks a cocky brow and you regret asking him immediately. You don’t like that spark of intrigue in his eyes. “Now I have something that you want?”

You grit your teeth and shove at his chest. His hands don’t move from around your waist, keeping you pressed tightly against his body. To the other partygoers, you pushing at him might look playful, and, reading the smug smile on Rhys’ face, he thinks the same.

“Yes,” you admit, shoulders dropping. You don’t know why you’re finding it so difficult to look at those sparkling violet eyes of his, but you drag your gaze across the party, taking in the different costumes and couples gyrating in the middle of his living room. Rhys allows you to find you words, and when you return your eyes to his, you find him staring down at you with a soft look on his face.

“I was speaking with James,” you start, and his grip tightens on your hips. Rhys’ mouth flattens and his eyes sharpen, jerking from yours to scour the crowd for his teammate. “Hey,” you swat at his arm, gaining his attention. “I didn’t think you needed the reminder that I can speak to who I want.”

“And I didn’t think you needed the reminder that you can’t put moves on any of my players,” Rhys says, leaning down to growl in your ear. His lips brush the shell of your ear, sending a shiver up your spine, and your fingers tighten in his shirt. Hopefully he reads it as your annoyance and not because you don’t trust how wobbly your knees have just become. “Except for me, because I have a feeling that we’re about to make a deal. Isn’t that right, (Y/N)?”

You lean away from him, just enough to meet his eyes again. They’re as intense as they are playful, and when his thumb strokes your hip, you all but cave.

“A deal?” You echo, because they’re the only words in your vocabulary that haven’t disappeared from your mind.

Rhysand’s lips tug into the biggest self-fucking-satisfied smile you’ve ever seen, and that’s when you realize that your gaze has wandered down to his perfect, kissable lips.

You shove against his chest again and this time he relents, allowing a few inches of space between you. It’s barely enough, though. Every exhale has your chests brushing, but you manage to wedge your arms into the space and cross them over your chest.

You definitely don’t miss the way Rhys’ eyes flick down to your breasts that you’re conveniently pushing up for his viewing pleasure.

“What do you want, darling?” He purrs, and damn him for being so fucking sexy. And the fact that he’s dressed as a vampire…gods, he’s every woman’s wet dream. “Do you want my hands?” He drags his palms across your hips and it feels like there’s no fabric between his hands and your skin at all. “Do you want my brains?” He waggles his eyebrows, grinning when you break into a smile against your will. Rhys leans in closer, too close. You can’t breathe. “Or my blood?”

You squeal when he latches himself to your neck. The plastic vampire teeth poke into your skin but all you can focus on is his lips on your skin, the way you’re about to fucking combust—

“Incoming,” a voice shouts and Rhys rips himself away from you. He winces as soon as he straightens and sees his roommates charging toward the both of you with drinks in their hands. Thankfully, Cassian and Azriel haven’t seem to have noticed whatever was just happening between you and Rhysand, which is good, because you don’t know what the hell that was, either.

You don’t even have the time to think about it because the hockey players are infiltrating your space, and you lose your breath at the sight of them.

Azriel’s dressed as Nightwing. You thought Rhys was every woman’s wet dream, but Azriel, Azriel is wet dream fuel. His black hair hangs across his forehead. A black eye mask covers most of his face, but it’s the skin-tight pleather bodysuit that really does the costume in. There’s a blue bird with its wings expanded across his chest, and the costume does nothing to hide how muscular he is.

You wonder who the hell got him into that costume, and if they’re even still alive because the look on his face is set so harsh that a single glance might just make you drop dead.

Or your panties drop.

Rhysand coughs and nudges you in the shoulder, snapping you from your trance. He’s frowning down at you in disapproval, and it takes little effort to grin back up at him, annoying him further. If he really didn’t think you wanted to fall into bed with any of his teammates, he’s sure thinking it now.

And he doesn’t like that one fucking bit.

Cassian’s costume is some sort of sexy chef, sans shirt, but he dons an apron that reads, ‘this guy rubs his own meat’ with an arrow pointing south. He has a chef’s hat on and is carrying a spatula that you know can only spell out trouble, and you barely even know the guy.

Mor and Gwyn plow into the circle as well. Mor slips between you and Rhys first, and it’s really for the best, but you’re already missing his warmth, despite the mugginess in the air. He shoots you a look that tells you you’ll be finishing your conversation later and you nod softly, loosening your shoulders and focusing on the conversation at hand.

Gwyn follows, so she’s wedged between you and Mor. She looks entirely uncomfortable here, eyes downcast to the floor, avoiding any and all eye contact. Her fingers are white-knuckled around her solo cup and you worry that she might crack the thing any second, so you silently wind your arm with hers and give her a reassuring smile that she can barely return.

You think you need to get her home soon. She’s clearly not having any fun at all, and Mor’s too busy taking over the conversation to notice.

“We need to play a game, or something,” she whines to her cousin, who rolls his eyes in response. For whatever reason, Rhy is not impressed with the idea, most likely because all of the games his cousin likes to play at parties involve touching or secrets or kissing…or drinking so much that he doesn’t remember what happened and wakes up regretting his entire existence the morning following.

What Rhys wouldn’t mind would be actually kissing you, and if he indulges his cousin, she can’t be mad should fate pair you and him together for an innocent kiss. He wants to know if you taste just as sweet as you smell, because the nip to your neck was nowhere near enough.

The only problem is, his ex is lingering around his house somewhere. He can’t join the game lest she join or, even worse, out you as his fake girlfriend in front of Mor who made it more than clear that you are completely off limits to him.

It only makes him want you that much more.

“Okay,” he answers, and your head snaps to his in surprise. “Let’s play a game.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @itsinherited

[elainsgirl]

Sjm told us acowar had clues for the spinoff. No sign of Gwynriel there.

Sjm told us ACOFAS was the bridge between the og series and new spinoffs.

Again, we are not even introduced to Gwyn in this book let alone gwynriel.

Sjm in a newsletter said she knew what she wanted to do for acotar 4 (acosf) and acotar 5 yet had left acotar 6 unplanned with too many ideas and some couples to choose from.

Yet, as gwynriels so loudly claim, if Gwynriel is next which Mss would have known by acofas therefore by the time she gave the interview to be placed in the newsletter, she should have known exactly what the last book would be about…obviously Elucien especially as she had confirmed Elain’s book. Even if its the other way, elucien next and gwynriel last - she STILL would have known which couple acotar 6 would follow. Gwynriel. Yet this is obviously not the case.

The Spin-offs are 3 interconnected books yet they are standalones. Meaning, you will be able to read the og series and jump straight into acotar 5 without having read acosf. You’d still get the general gist of whats happened so far.

This doesn’t work for gwynriel, as they have no background/foundation in the og series (I mean Gwyn wasn’t even introduced), a gwynriel book wouldn’t make sense as you’d have to read acosf and a bonus chapter to understand the couple…which defeats the purpose of the spinoffs being standalones. Why would Sjm label them as such when its clear they’re not if elucien/gwynriel is endgame?

So not only do the books not support gwynriel - what Sjm has confirmed about the series doesn’t allow gwynriel to logically happen. A gwynriel book doesn’t align with what Mass has said about these spinoffs.

An elriel book however does,

Elriel have built up & a strong foundation from acowar to acofas, they haven’t come out of nowhere.

Sjm knew what she wanted for acotar 5, also confirmed an elain book. Logic dictates Acotar 5 = Elains book + Azriel’s pov, this then makes sense with her leaving acotar 6 unplanned with couples to choose from. It could be a prequel which she stated there was an interest in. Or a couple that allows her to follow the swan lake/firebird retelling, another thing she showed interest for. And if some rumours are correct and acotar 6 has been scrapped -> then that makes sense considering a book she had no plans for would be the easiest to take away. Everything could wrap up nicely in Elains book with a novella following Mor/Lucien.

Acotar 5 = elriel, fits it being a standalone genre. By acowar and even acofas, its very clear there is something going on between elriel + they have had substantial build up mirroring Nessian. Elain - just like Nesta has always been a likely protagonist. Anyone that goes from acowar/acofas -> straight into Elains book would not be taken back, confused or lost at the protagonist or ship.

[junelovesaz]

Shadows and Whispers

Note: Hello loves! I'll try to be more active and post more often, maybe once a week (this is my proof that I'm trying 😀). It's really been a long week for me, but I truly appreciate and I'm so happy for the support the previous post received. I'm very grateful for the likes, reblogs, and comments 💙💙💙 I'm not sure if I should make a second part of that one, but in the meantime, here's this. I hope you enjoy it, and sorry if it's a mess! Again, remember that English is not my first language, but if there are any mistakes, don't hesitate to let me know! I’m leaving the song I wrote this with, the slow version sounds really good :)

P.S.: I’m not really sure if this would work in ACOTAR, but I don’t know, I just liked the idea.

Words: +1k

Warnings: none, slight mention of tension

Summary: Reader and Azriel are sent on an undercover mission where they must pretend to be a couple. Reader has unresolved feelings, and the closeness with the shadowsinger leaves her confused.

The Mother definitely had a twisted sense of humor.

I was certain that in this life, I was paying for each and every bad thing I had done in my previous ones. If not, what would be the point of all this?

I had to suppress the complaint lodged in my throat ever since I had left the meeting with Rhys and he had communicated his plans for the Autumn Court.

Why? Why did these things always happen to me?

I could have gone with Cassian, Mor, or even Amren. I wouldn’t have had any issue pretending to be the lover of one of them. But of course, I had to go and pretend with Azriel.

Rhys had received a formal invitation to a ball in the Autumn Court, but decided to send us instead to investigate the political situation surrounding that entire red-haired family and how the stir was being perceived by the court’s nobles. Evidently, we were supposed to look as distracted as possible to catch any murmurs here and there, and the simplest way to do that was by pretending we were simply there to enjoy the evening as a couple in love.

Fantastic, I thought.

"I try to respect your privacy and not intrude on your thoughts" I heard Rhys’s voice in my head "but the way you’re shouting them, I could hear them even from the scraps of the Spring Court."

I grimaced but didn’t respond, letting the anger fill my mind so that he could feel it.

"Why are you so… irritated?" I heard him ask with genuine curiosity, and I sighed.

Rhys could dig just a little and find the reason, but he would never dare. Not without my permission.

"What do you care" I barked mentally, sulking.

I’d apologize later for speaking to my High Lord like that, but right now, I could feel the smoke coming out of my ears, and I guessed he could too because a laugh echoed in my mind before it simply vanished.

"Idiot" was the last thing I thought before raising my mental walls and reinforcing them with everything I had.

By the Cauldron, what was the problem? Well, for starters, I wasn’t in love with Cassian or Mor.

Hell, I had even suggested going with Amren to avoid going through this. Going undercover with Cassian was impossible—Nesta’s scent was all over him, and it wasn’t a secret that he had a mate. Mor was in the Winter Court visiting Viviane, and Amren… well, she was busy with Varian.

So that only left the shadowsinger and me free. Plus, neither of us was involved with anyone publicly, so we were the perfect candidates.

This time I didn’t suppress the groan of exasperation as I headed to my own room in the House of the River. I missed the company of the House of Wind, but now that Cassian and Nesta were there, it was impossible for me to stay—for the sake of my mental health, I fled that place. So I sighed and nearly cried when I reached my bed, bracing myself and trying to find the strength to endure what would happen in a few days.

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

Two nights had passed. Two damned nights practicing a mask of indifference and composure that I clearly didn’t feel.

I had also been more sensitive than usual, so I tried to avoid everyone, including Azriel. However, I saw Cassian every morning at training, and although I felt him casting strange glances at me, anticipating my mood, he didn’t ask about it. For that, I was grateful.

In a few hours, Azriel and I would be on our way to the Autumn Court, and I was just trying to control my breathing to avoid panicking. Even now, my hands were shaking so much I couldn’t fasten the endless buttons on the back of the pretty midnight blue dress, adorned with some crystals at the top and quite fitted from the waist down. Courtesy of Rhys.

A knock on the door distracted me from the mission, and holding the top of the dress to my chest, I opened it to come face to face with the man I had been avoiding with all my might.

I had to restrain myself from shrinking away upon seeing him in all his glory—not dressed in Illyrian leathers, but in a formal suit the same color as my dress, fitted in all the right places that made him look out of this world. If you added the large wings behind his back, the stoic hazel gaze, and the tendrils of shadows that surrounded him, giving him a mysterious and irresistible air… My breath faltered a bit.

He scanned me from head to toe as well, and the shiver that ran through me was completely involuntary. His gaze burned, but I did nothing to break the silence in which we were immersed.

"You look… beautiful" he finally said, hesitating a bit.

I swallowed hard and looked away, unsure of how to act. I had never been shy about receiving compliments, but when they came from him, they managed to destabilize me.

"Thanks" I whispered "You look great too."

Azriel nodded, and I saw his eyes drift to my chest, right where my hands were holding the dress.

"I need help with the buttons" I said in a tired tone.

He nodded again and entered my room, closing the door slowly. His shadows roamed freely, and I felt one of them caress my braided hair, making me smile.

"Sorry" Azriel apologized as he gestured for me to turn around.

I shook my head.

"I like them" I replied with a smile that died the moment I felt his fingers touch the exposed skin of my back.

"And they like you" he answered in his usual calm tone.

I didn’t respond, fearing my voice would tremble, and I focused on avoiding my skin from tingling wherever his touched. I even resorted to thinking about the painful blows to the stomach that Cassian gave during training when Azriel’s hands brushed dangerously low on my back.

I knew he also noticed the tension by the way his wings were tucked, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, I released the breath I had been holding once he finished and he removed his hands, though a strange sense of loss invaded me. Nevertheless, I ignored it.

A moment later, I turned around and faced him, tilting my head back to meet his eyes now that we were so close.

"Rhys told me you had certain… reservations about this" he broke the silence, looking at me with a calm expression.

Of course, he had told him.

I almost scoffed.

I opened my mouth to respond, but he interrupted me.

"We won’t do anything you haven’t consented to or that makes you uncomfortable"

I frowned.

"Of course I know that, Az. It’s just that I doubt this will work" I responded, smoothing out my dress a little.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Though that wasn’t the main reason. It all boiled down to the fact that doing this with him made me nervous.

"It will" he reassured me. "Rhys and I have evaluated all the scenarios. We are the most credible for this plan. Just trust me"

I nodded, though I couldn’t shake the slight anxiety of having him so close.

The shadow from before wrapped around my arm, making me smile again. Even though the touch was cold, it didn’t feel strange, so I didn’t fear playing with it with one of my fingers, not realizing I was practically brushing Azriel’s wing membrane until I noticed his shiver and the way his breath escaped him. I quickly pulled my hand away and looked at him only to find him with his eyes shut and the rest of his shadows slightly agitated.

"I’m sorry, Az" I apologized. "I’m so sorry"

I knew how reserved the Illyrians were about their wings and how they shouldn’t be touched, so his silence only increased the unease brewing inside me.

"It’s fine" he replied slowly after a moment. "It’s nothing" but I could see him swallowing hard.

I bit the inside of my cheek but said nothing more.

"We should go now" he spoke after a moment.

I nodded and took one of his hands, preparing to pretend I was in love with him, according to that stupid plan. When in reality, I would stop pretending I wasn't, for a moment.

That was what terrified me—letting my feelings out and not being able to hide them again after tonight.

But there was no turning back now.

"Ready?"

No.

"Yes" I responded with the steadiest tone I could muster.

He gave me a deep look before I felt the shadows envelop us, and soon the room lit up, leaving us at the entrance of the grand hall of the Autumn Court.

Then, I let go of one of his hands and gently brought it to his cheek, trying to convey my intentions. He held my gaze for a second before bending obediently, giving me the opportunity to leave a chaste kiss on his lips.

The sensations exploded inside me, but I held back. This was a mission, I reminded myself. So why did his hand immediately curve around my waist?

This is just a mission, I repeated.

I pulled away a moment later, smiling softly at him. Before we both straightened up.

I supposed we had made it quite clear that we were together by kissing in front of all these people. I made sure to do it at the entrance so everyone would see, and I guessed Az understood too by the slight squeeze he gave my hand.

I looked at him one last time, letting a bit of my love for him escape. And then I turned towards the crowd, with a bright smile.

All right, the game had begun.

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[bluiela]

e/riel is lazy writing

(idk why and from where people are getting the e/riel is lazy because it's "too predictable" like no one has said that...its lazy because it's boring and recycled)

Elriels love to act brand new, going, “How would Elriel be lazy? That’s such a weak argument!”

Girl. Be serious for once.Every so-called “Elriel moment” is just a copy-paste of things Azriel has already done with other women — and done better.

Azriel blushing for Elain?

He’s blushed for Nesta.

Azriel being protective of Elain?

He was protective of Mor for centuries. Also Feyre, also Nesta like idk every innocent women?

Azriel having sexual thoughts about Elain?He had those — plus actual emotional depth, longing, and idk actual emotional feelings that weren't forced thoughts stemming from forcing logical summary when she was heartbroken— with Mor.

So what does Elriel have that’s original? What makes them “epic”?

Nothing. Not a single unique emotional beat. No growth. No progression.

Just recycled crumbs that feel like leftovers from someone else’s story.

And you want to call that a slow burn?That’s not romance. That’s lazy writing.

That’s what happens when people confuse fanservice with storytelling and try to shove two hot characters together because .

The whole “4 books of build-up” you people scream about? It’s non-existent. It's recycled scenes used as red herring.

It’s been done already — and better — with Mor and Azriel, and even that wasn’t endgame.

So no, Elriel isn’t anywhere near close to endgame material. It’s underwhelming. It's overhyped. And it's built on recycled, overused tropes that make both characters feel smaller.

Elain and Azriel deserve better than secondhand scraps.

[hunnyy-bunnyyy]

The dissonance between era inspiration in ACoTaR is one of the more brushed over flaws in the book series. Looking at the Inner Circle's fashion alone, we jump between "literal scraps of fabric" (Under the Mountain, Court of Nightmares) to "orientalist painter's imaginings of the Ottoman Harem" (clothing described during Feyre's first few visits to the Night Court) to "modern 'corset' dress" (Feyre's Starfall dress, majority of Mor's clothing, most of the clothes drawn in fan art) to "modern -- almost sci-fi style -- skin-tight leather armor" to "sweater and leggings combo".

Then, between courts, we have Helion wearing Spirit Halloween's take on the ancient Grecian tunic; Feyre's Spring Court wedding dress looking like an 1830s fashion plate; and Dawn heavily implied to have traditional East Asain clothing (e.g. kimono, hanfu, hanbok).

On top of all of that, some of the Dawn Court's small cities ". . . specialized in tinkering and clockwork and clever things. . ." which -- combined with Lucien's metal eye and Nuan's mechanical hand -- implies a sort of post-industrial revolution time period. However, a decent chunk of the fandom says that ACoTaR is medieval; which, yeah, it's medieval themed in the first book -- sans the "dress" Rhysand forces Feyre to wear UTM.

The wild inconsistencies in ACoTaR's inspiration leads, not to a rich and diverse world, but a world that seems ramshackle and haphazard -- like it's creator simply threw together a board on Pinterest and called it a day. This is a major part of why the world building is so abysmal, it relies on convenience to the plot and whatever pleases the aesthetic whims of the author. Cultures deemed "pretty" or "badass" are thrown together, irregardless of how far apart they actually are. This is not only disrespectful to the narrative, but to the readers and the cultures used as inspiration.

All of this to say: Sarah J Maas is a bad author, not just because of the way she handles serious topics like power dynamics and abuse, but also because she cannot put together a world that is even the slightest bit cohesive.

[azrielhours]

Company of Phantoms

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 2k

Synopsis: Azriel has a crush that's overtaking his life. He's so obsessed with her that he starts hallucinating her lol.

A/N: inspired partly by The Haunting of Hill House and this

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel sat and watched, thanked the Mother for all his training for the privilege it allowed him to take her in. Hell—if all the knowledge he possessed peaked and surrendered to this, the holy act of observing her, if this was all it was good for, Azriel would be content. He even felt lighter about the horrors of his past, felt an absolved ease knowing it all would end with this act of penitence. An arm’s-length indulgence.   

With her.

But she was starlight, an ectoplasmic celestial body that glowed. She smiled so big and bright it made his breath catch. He’d have to look away sometimes to relieve the ache she carved into his chest.  

If she shone any less, it would be an act of mercy.

But Azriel had always veered on the side of masochism.

He was afraid his darkness would make her wink out. Didn’t want to be the cause of her dimming. Would never dream of contaminating that joy. Even when she’d smile at him, even when he’d struggle to return it, left instead with the sight of hers faltering at his coldness.

He could stand the shame sluicing through his chest cavity, take the sting of hurt all for the assurance he’d insist to himself—that this was the noble thing.

Everyone adored her, and it was what she deserved. The foul-mouthed temptress she was, making males redden at the dirty jokes she told, laughing bright and beautiful. The empathy she dealt like medicine that drew friends to her like a siren luring sailors. Secret keeper. Rhys doted on her, bought her jewelry to watch her face light up. Azriel never missed how his brother’s face would crinkle with adoration, with the ease of loving her when she opened his stream of gifts.

She was easy to love.

It was like she was slotted just right to each person.

He often wondered how she would mould to him should he ever open up, to return her generous smiles that had begun growing seldom.

She was soft with Feyre, creative and adventurous. Often found up to various artistic schemes no one else understood, discussing motifs and strokes, tragedy and yearning. Gone for hours to emerge with bright eyes and paint smears.

She cried to Cassian, and it was an effort to reign in Azriel’s envy, to listen to the drowning voice of reason telling him to be glad she was being comforted rather than to rage at his thieving brother as he’d stroke away her tears with gentler hands than those dealt to him in his life. She’d lie next to Nesta on her heavier days. Read to her, talk about foreshadowing and hope that made Nesta’s eyes light up.

It was always light brought to others. Her contagious aura.

And damn him, it was like his youth all over again, watching his brothers care for Mor, watching how she fit seamlessly.

How she chose Cassian. Never him. How she cried to Rhys, never him.

It seemed Azriel would always be haunted by the ghosts of his past.

And damn him for still possessing that otherness that punctured holes in his chest then, the same holes now that made it impossible to heave in a full breath, to sleep soundly. An undead soldier. It’d been weeks of this incessant torment. His heart would palpitate til his body perceived a threat. No sleep in the night—thoughts of her haunted him, taunting—so he’d pace like a lingering spirit.

He could see her always.

In the dark quiet of the house, there’d be a flash of silk around corners. Someone tossing hair over a shoulder. The echo of a laugh in another hallway. He’d creep to it, try to spy it out only to be met with empty corners.

Yet there in his peripherals, at the ends of hallways in the dark—

Again and again—glimpses.

His ghost.

His bed had become a grave, no peace found in it to rest. No food for the dead, only scraps—libations offered into the fire that was his belly. In the fleeting moments of rest, oftentimes in armchairs in all the wrong rooms, he’d meet her. She glowed even there, that phantom halo that marked a ghost. A beacon of light to his shadowy storm. She’d hold his hands and love him. And when he’d fade back to consciousness, in the early morning hours, if he sat still long enough, he knew he would hear her murmurs echoing down the halls.

Azriel wanted with all his might, wanted like it was his purpose.

Wanted like it could possibly mean something. Do something.

Wanting was all Azriel knew.

Beneath his shadows, beneath the contained lethal capacity of his body, any semblance of sanity, beneath ancient bone and immortal rot, he wondered if his soul was made purely of desire.

It made sense then, he supposed, that if he was wanting at his basest self, he would dream about nothing more than to have the unattainable. A ghost.

A wish.

It was impossible to eat. Sleeplessness stole his appetite. He consumed coffee in the morning and drank on an empty stomach in the evening. Nesta saw—she knew, pressing fruit and bread in his hand sometimes, but mostly she was quiet, which Azriel thanked her for in equal silence.

Tell her, Az, she whispered once. He’d shaken his head, and that was that.

Sometimes when everyone was home, he could pretend like it didn’t exist, the pull to her. He’d try to relax in his flesh and participate in having a family, but then she’d walk into the room, having just come home from somewhere Azriel knew every detail about.

The effort to not stare, to not care nor assess, to calm his heart, his mind—the shift out of the state of pretended calmness to an even worse pretence of calmness—the stream of thoughts that would pummel his brain would jolt so violently, the wanting was so violent that Feyre would flinch.

He couldn’t stand it—the lying. He knew everyone was doing it. Pretending they didn’t see what haunted him. At the first damned prod of a dark talon at his mind, Azriel stood, leaving. Ignoring how she peered at him with a pinch between her brows, stepping out of the path.

Azriel exhaled, watched his breath curl in the cool night air. Closed his eyes in exasperation as he heard footsteps approaching on the balcony. Whatever wise words Rhys may attempt to offer could be shoved up—

“Azriel,” Feyre spoke gently.

He turned, taking in his High Lady. “Feyre, I don’t really—”

“Az,” she cut him off, “I—don’t mean to pry. But you’re not—” she exhaled. “I know you haven’t been eating, and Rhys says—”

“It’s fine, Feyre,” he said softly. It was his own fault for not reigning in his thoughts. He wondered how much more he’d been broadcasting in his state, made clumsy by restlessness. If Feyre knew of the glimpses he trailed after at night—the ghost chasing.

She frowned, concern swimming in her eyes. Insomnia can cause hallucinations, she spoke gently into his mind.

Azriel scoffed. “I’m not hallucinating.”

Feyre stepped closer, caressing his elbow. “You know, if you’d just talk to her—”

“I can’t.”

She paused for a beat. “I can help put you to sleep, if you want.”

He just shook his head. Feyre accepted his boundary, leaving him to linger in his purgatory. He stayed, breathing in the cold until things quieted in the house.

Re-entering the emptied lounge, he sat, meeting wakefulness like a reluctant ally. His shadows curled at his cold ears. In her room, they informed. Saying goodnight.

Azriel listened to the sounds of his family settling in. He closed his eyes, envisioned how she might look, if she was perhaps brushing her hair, how she might look in the dim glow of a faelight. Settled and safe. Or—even better, he imagined her coming down, seeking him out. How lovely she’d look descending the stairs. If he focused hard enough, he could make out the sound—

Azriel opened his eyes, awaiting the gentle creak of wood.

His heart skipped a beat. Was she indeed coming to him?

He rose, quietly making his way to the stairs, wanting to see her descend to him.

Her steps were growing closer, and Azriel peered up the darkened stairwell—

She must’ve turned around, but Azriel caught the glow of an aura at the top, around the corner.

He made his way up, listening with all his might.

There—the rustle of silk. He sent his shadows ahead in the dark, not wanting to frighten her.

Clear, they whispered. He stalked down the hall, turning corners, walking past the low chatter behind various bedroom doors. He was nearly at the end of the hall when—

At her door, a shadow curled at his ear. Azriel frowned, if she was at her door, how could she—

A soft feminine laugh made him turn. Nothing, but he was sure—

There was that silk again, trailing around a corner.

Azriel blinked, making his way over. She was looking for him, he was certain.

More pacing around the darkened halls, trying to catch sight of that silk again.

Azriel.

He froze.

She’d called him.

A few walls over, he could recognize that voice. He whipped his head in the direction, creeping over.

Nothing.

Azriel.

There—again, he turned the other direction, blindly following.

Azriel.

He walked faster, his shadows swarming all around his body and up the walls, trying to catch his name.

Azriel.

Azriel.

“Azriel?”

He jolted, turning to the source.

Y/N stood in her doorway directly to his side, making him halt in his tracking. She took in the agitated churning of his shadows, burying him in darkness.

She was—there she was.

Azriel took a step toward her. She’d called him.

“Y/N,” he breathed.

She looked up at him wide-eyed. “Are you—alright?”

He assessed her. She—how could she be here so quickly, if he’d seen—

He looked around the hall, trying to make it make sense. He frowned, turning back to her. She was partially behind the threshold of the door, apprehension tensing her form under his scrutiny, the restlessness marking darkness beneath his eyes.

He was making her nervous.

Azriel immediately reigned in his shadows, relaxing his stance to a neutral posture rather than his previous mid-prowl stride, tucking his hands behind his back.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke gently. “I thought I…did I wake you?”

She shook her head, stepping more fully in the doorway, making Azriel relax. “No, I—your shadows were under my door, and when I came to them, I could hear…someone wandering outside.”

Azriel blinked. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She bit her lip, assessing him. “It’s alright. Why were you pacing?”

“I, uh—I couldn’t sleep.”

She nodded. “I heard Rhys tell Feyre you’ve been having trouble sleeping,” she said quietly.

Azriel’s shoulders slumped, his head dipped in confirmation.

She nodded again in thought, peering up at him again with that wonder. Azriel should’ve taken Feyre up on her offer, should’ve known better. He should apologize again and stop bothering her— “Would you, um, like to come in?”

Azriel’s breath caught.

She shifted her weight. “If—if you can’t sleep, I mean—I’m awake, and—”

“Yes,” he said.

Surprise lit up her eyes despite her offer, and she nodded and stepped aside to let him in.

Azriel’s heart was in his throat. His sleep-deprived state blurred the edges of his reserve, but he allowed himself to take the opportunity.

In her room, he took in the warm space. She closed the door behind him and came to stand beside him. She was indeed in a nightgown, hair unbound, glowing as usual. He averted his gaze when she blushed beneath his stare.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I haven’t had much rest lately.”

“That’s okay,” she said, stepping closer. “I know, I—usually I can hear you pacing at night,” she confessed. He hadn’t realized he’d been that overt. She beckoned him to walk to her bed, perching at the end of it. She smiled, gently patting the space next to her.

Azriel swallowed, making his way to her.

She looked to her bed and back at the Spymaster. “I, uh—you do look tired, Azriel.”

“Do I?” he was pleasantly surprised to find contentment in her space—in her presence. The longest he’d ever spoken to her, and it turned out to be easier than breathing.

“Mhm,” she nodded, taking him in. She raised a hand to his face, tracing the bruises beneath his eyes with gentle fingertips. “Poor thing,” she breathed, frowning. “I know how hard it can be to have insomnia.”

She lowered her hand, clasping them in her lap. She looked to the pillows again, then back to him. Azriel resisted the upward tug of his lips, seeing how long it would take her to invite him to sleep.

How careless did sleeplessness make him, indeed.

He simply nodded. “It is hard.”

“It helps if you feel someone,” she spoke softly, blushing. “I sometimes sleep with one of the girls.”

Azriel hummed in thought.

“Or—you know, we can get you a sleeping tonic.”

“We could try that.”

She suddenly averted his gaze, crossing her arms across her abdomen. In a small voice, she said, “I know you don’t—like me, Azriel, but—”

He frowned. “I do like you,” he interjected.

She paused, meeting his gaze. “You do?” The vulnerability swimming in her eyes made him shift closer to her on the bed.

“I do.” He thanked the Mother for the inhibition of his judgement.

She was silent for a beat. “But—you leave the rooms I enter,” she said in that small voice.

Azriel’s heart broke. He dared to reach a hand out, gently taking hers. “It’s—it’s because I like you,” he said lowly.

Her mouth parted in an o shape, and she squeezed his hand, a small smile overtaking her lovely face.

“You were my ghost,” he muttered.

Confusion drew her brows together. “What?”

Azriel smiled, a laziness creeping up his body that he’d missed for weeks. “I’ll explain it in the morning.”

Her brows shot up, pink tinting her cheeks. “In the morning?” Another glance to the bed.

Azriel laughed. “Unless you want to hear it now.”

She smiled, tentative and sweet, shaking her head. “The morning will do.” She rose, taking his hands in both of hers, prompting him to rise. He held her stare, let her pull him to the head of her bed. She tugged back the covers, sliding under and patting the space next to her again.

Azriel toed off his shoes, took off his outermost layers, placing his belt and various assets onto her dresser. She pulled her knees to her chest, watching intently as he offloaded in her space, basking in the belonging.

When he at last slid beneath the cover, he lay on his back next to her. She reached for his hand beneath the covers, clasping it. Without saying a word, he squeezed her hand. He felt the tension seep out of his body, felt heaviness in his eyelids that matched the one in his chest. She shuffled closer to him so they lay shoulder to shoulder. He didn’t dare move, let her settle against his arm, still only holding his hand under the covers.

As rest crept up on him for the first time in weeks, his restless thoughts were calmed by the warmth of her presence, the kindness he allowed himself to finally taste.

“You know,” she muttered in the dark. “With all your pacing, I was beginning to wonder if this place was haunted.”

Azriel huffed out a laugh. “Imagine that.”

He could hear the smile on her lips. “Guess it was just our sneaky Shadowsinger.”

Azriel shook his head, smiling. “Guess so.”

She turned, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight Azriel.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

~

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @aroseinvelaris @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123 @banasheefan56 @nyotamalfoy

[trashisstillhere]

Don’t mind me,,,, just decided to doodle an ‘oc’ from a old now scrapped Rc9gn story of mine again who happens to be a shapeshifter of some kind taking the form of Randy,, and now show him off after so long of just keeping him kinda hidden..

Yeah uh let me just-

Meet ‘Zaiaku-Kan’. His name translating to: ‘sense of guilt’. ‘Feelings of guilt’. Basically something with guilt in general- (I mostly just call him ‘Guilt’ or ‘Zai’)

But as I just said, He’s not a version of Randy but someone taking the form of Randy! Basically, this guy is a faker. He’s not the real Randy. He is a IMPOSTER- 🫵🫵

He’s a shapeshifting monster/demon of some kind, his body seeming to be made of ‘ink’, kinda.. along with having abilities related to electricity…and fire?? wtf-

And now he’s currently taking the form of Randy… with the ninja suit but no mask.. why? No clue. He can have the mask on, I just often always draw him without it mor lol.

Why does he have that name which meanings is related to guilt? Well you see, from the scrapped story he was from, he had a role that had something to do with guilt! Basically he tormented people for their guilt. For example, he would change his form into whoever that said person felt a lot of guilt towards and just taunt them, make fun of them, make them suffer for it. He literally can sense guilt too, can be able to tell just how strong that guilt is..

And yes, he obviously meets Randy soon later on.. I mean come on, do you think the guy just decided to randomly transform into the ninja boy one day? /lh

His voice I’d say is just like Randy (ofc) but with a mix of Fawful from Mario and Luigi rpg’s voice! (The rpg 3 one, to be exact) not like a fusion of them both more like them being overlapped. Like Randy’s voice with Fawfuls voice being heard in the background speaking at the same time as his. That’s exactly how Zai here sound like. Or at least how I often imagine it.

He’s actually quite childish most of the time, very playful and kinda annoying.

But yeah, this guy is just some oc I couldn’t really let go of, even though the story he is from is pretty much scrapped now. Also, there is 3 more who are the same kind as him! One of them may or may not have taken the form of First Ninja :) They all are actually genderless but they use any pronouns depending on who or what they take the form of.

That’s pretty much it really. Just have this silly, totally not crazy, guy!

..

[nickel156]

When you write the perfect response and need to share:

My response:

Oh, sweetie, let’s talk about being miserable over a book character, shall we? You’re out here diagnosing Nesta with alcoholism based on zero evidence. Withdrawal symptoms like trembling, sweating, or nausea? Nonexistent. Cravings so intense they incapacitated her? Nope. You’re labeling her an addict because it fits your narrative, but all she did was drink and party when Mor drinks all the time and where's her label?? She goes to Ritas almost every night.

Nesta’s behavior wasn’t addiction, it was depression. Sleeping all day, avoiding people, and numbing pain with alcohol is a coping mechanism. Not healthy, but hardly the spiral into substance abuse you’re trying to paint. Meanwhile, Rhys, Feyre, and the entire IC drink constantly, but where’s your outrage for that? Oh, right. It’s only bad when Nesta does it.

And let’s talk about fairness. Nesta wasn’t a “moocher.” In ACOWAR, she worked her ass off..unpaid, to help them win the war. Feyre got compensated for similar work in ACOMAF, but Nesta? Nada. Then they forced her into ACOSF, made her work even more, and still no payment. She tracked the Trove and risked her life for them, but did she get a reward? Of course not. Because the IC only rewards people they like. That’s not generosity; that’s favoritism.

You’ve written an entire thesis on why you hate Nesta, but I'm the ones who’s “miserable”? Babe, the projection is Olympic-level. The truth is, you’re pissed because Nesta doesn’t fit your cookie-cutter mold of what a female character “should” be. Submissive, quiet, grateful for scraps. You can’t handle that she’s complex, flawed, and unapologetically herself, so you slap on lazy labels like “addict” to justify your bias.

So let’s be clear: Nesta isn’t the problem here. Your double standards and selective outrage are. Maybe next time, think twice before trying to drag someone who’s clearly out of your intellectual weight class. Cheers, and best of luck finding a valid argument. You’re going to need it.

[feyrearchearon]

nesta has gwyn and emerie as sisters, but feyre doesn't have anybody

... sure lol

except, it was nesta, while fully having the friendship of her so-called new "sisters", who was STILL jealous of feyre's friendship with amren and the fact that amren chose feyre over her. some sisterhood she has if she is still envious and bitter of her baby sister's friendships lmao

nevermind that sarah has literally said nesta is jealous of the family feyre made with the inner circle, but you will also never have a single scene of feyre feeling some type of way about gwyn and emerie, or being jealous of the friendships that nesta has, a woman who had to befriend a freaking house because she's so insufferable that nobody could stand her.

feyre has mor, amren, cassian, azriel, ressina, vivian, all of prythian who absolutely adore her, not to mention the monsters who love her upon three seconds of knowing her lol rest assured, my girl is fully covered and does not need pity scraps from the bus driver characters.

[sodapopwrites]

a ballad of flame and shadow part six

pairings - azriel x rhysand's sister!reader , lucien vanserra x rhysand's sister!reader, a little bit of feyra x rhysand.

summary - rhysand has returned to the night court, and the inner circle is introduced to feyre. feyre is quick to notice the tension between the high lords sister and the spymaster.

word count - 3.1k

a/n - i'm sorry but i love a little feyre meddling. she doesn't even meddle she just is nosy as hell. which is one of my favorite traits she has. also the library scene in this. i will die on the hill that azriel is so kicked dog coded. happily taking whatever scraps are offered to him.

read the rest of the series here!

She was standing at the edge of the balcony when she felt it. Something in the air shift. Like some great weight had been lifted off the world's shoulders. It settled in her. That feeling. But all she could do was wait. 

Hours later, the inner circle milled around the dining room of The House of Wind. None of them speaking. Mor pacing in tight circles. Cassian and Amren sitting at the table. Cassian tapping a dagger on the hardwood in incessant beats. Azriel leaning against a wall shadows curling around him as he sent them out into the night, searching for any word to confirm what they all thought had happened. 

Then they felt it. His presence. Rhysand. 

He had winnowed to the balcony right in front of her. He fell to his knees, out of breath, shocked even. She let out a small sob and sank to the ground next to him and immediately wrapped herself around him in a viscous hug. The tightness of the embrace trying to convey everything she felt in the years of her brother's absence. He let one arm come to circle around her shoulders before falling limp in her arms. 

He looked around at the familiar surroundings. The house he didn’t know if he would ever see again. He took in the sight of Morrigan rushing down the hall towards him, her red gown billowing behind her. Her face etched with worry. Azriel and Cassian were close behind. Relief flooded both their features as they took him in. Mor collapsed onto the floor next to him and embraced him. The three of them stayed like that. Silent and taking each other in for a moment. Family reunited. 

He pulled away and looked to Mor first, choking out three words. 

“She’s my mate.” 

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

In the months following Rhysand’s return she had gained some weight back, let some color come back into her cheeks, finally started to let herself heal. Rhysand’s unrequited mating bond became a new problem for her to focus on. And focus on it she did. 

“Why not just go get her?” 

“It’s not that simple” 

Rhysand ran a hand through his hair. They’d been going back and forth for days now. 

“It is though. You made a deal. Once a month you bring her here. It’s been damn near three months, Rhys.” She looked around her and raised her hand in mock search, "Where is she? Cause I sure haven't seen her once."

He shook his head and let his hand fall to the table in front of him with a tad more force than was necessary. She flinched, only slightly, but a flinch nonetheless. 

“Listen. It has to be her choice. That’s vital. Her choice right now is to marry that…” 

He stopped himself. Rolling the insult over his tongue. She studied him and rolled her eyes looking around the table at her friends for support. Mor raised her hands in surrender and shook her head. Amren wouldn’t even meet her eyes. Cassian was looking only at Rhysand and Azriel….Azriel held her gaze. They stared at each other for a moment too long and Azriel cleared his throat and looked away with a small shake of his head. 

It has to be her choice. 

The sentiment rattled around in Azriel’s head. 

“It was more than that” 

He looked now towards Rhysand. Their eyes locked and Rhys tilted his head. He looked between his sister and his spymaster. He saw the desperate look in his sister’s eyes, like she was begging Azriel to agree with her, like she expected him to take her side. His eyes returned to Azriel’s face. The stone cold expression he always wore like a mask ever evident. But there was something else there, something more pained than it used to be. Rhys’s eyes narrowed as he took it in. It was like he could see that golden thread circling around Azriel’s hazel irises. 

He let out a small laugh of disbelief. Finally, He thought to himself. 

Once again his sister’s voice cut through the air, 

“You’re really going to let your mate marry the High Prick of Spring Court?” 

Cassian let out a small chuckle and stifled it instantly at one look from Rhysand. 

“Just-” 

Rhysand clenched his first turning to his sister once more, an all too annoyed look on his face, 

“Just drop it.” 

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair with a huff. Pouting almost. The sight of it brought a smile to her brother’s face. It was good to be home. 

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

When dinner was over she had excused herself immediately, casting one look at Azriel as she left the room. He followed shortly after. The rest of the inner circle watched him go with slightly bemused expressions. When he had been gone long enough for Rhysand to ensure there weren’t any lingering shadows in the room, he turned to his friends, 

“What exactly is going on there?” 

All of them looked at him with exasperated expressions. Mor was the first to speak. 

“Denial mainly.” 

Rhysand furrowed his eyebrows waiting for further explanation. It was Cassian’s turn to pipe up, 

“They were…together, if you can call it that, for a little while when you were…away.” 

“And I’m guessing that didn’t end well” Rhys kept his voice flat, trying to feign some sort of disinterest. 

“It ended when she snuck off to see the fox on Calanmai about a decade ago.” Amren’s voice was laced with disapproval. Still kicking herself for letting her go.

“Ah” Rhys mused, “And that ended even worse?” 

“It ended with her sobbing in my arms, becoming a borderline alcoholic, and refusing to talk to Azriel for twelve years.” Cassian winced at the memory. 

“That..” Rhysand sighed deeply. Remembering the haunted look behind Azriel’s eyes. “Sounds like my sister.” 

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

Azriel found her pacing the shelves in the library. He approached her carefully, like she was an animal he didn’t want to scare off, and leaned on a shelf a safe distance away. She stopped in her tracks at the feeling of his presence and whipped around to look at him. He offered her a small, strained, smile. 

“How are you feeling?” 

He let himself take her appearance in fully. Her dress that now fit better than it had a couple months ago. Her hair swept gracefully away from her face. Her spine held straight, that regal posture returned. She took a couple steps towards him, like she wanted to fall into his arms, but wouldn’t let herself.

“I’m frustrated.” 

“Sexually?” 

A smile played on his lips. He hadn’t spoken to her so casually in years. Hadn’t let himself offer even a crumb of the teasing banter they once had, since she had retreated from him all those years ago. Her eyes widened as if she never expected him to talk to her like that ever again. She looked like she wanted to laugh, but held it in. 

“Rhysand comes back from fifty years of imprisonment just to find a new way to hurt himself.” 

Azriel nodded slowly. Letting the light moment pass, returning to her annoyance. She continued, 

“Always persistent with that self sacrificial bullshit.” She shook her head and a curl fell from her updo to brush across her forehead, “My feelings don’t matter as long as everyone in the world still has feelings that might be slightly worse than mine” 

Her voice was a scarily accurate mimicry of their High Lord. He let a huff of laughter escape before tilting his head at her, 

“Sounds familiar” 

“Yeah because that’s all Rhys does.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

She stared at him blankly. Trying not to let her face betray the turmoil his words had sparked in her mind. Her regal posture faltered and her shoulders fell, infinitesimally. 

“I’m sorry” It fell past her lips in a pained whisper. 

“For what?” There was no anger, no blame, in his voice. 

“For…For pulling you in just to push you away for as long as I did.” 

“It was more than that.” 

His repetition of her earlier words sent a sharp pain stabbing through her heart. 

“But I shouldn’t have-” 

He closed the distance between them and brought a hand up to cradle the side of her face, letting his thumb brush a soothing trail across her cheek. 

“I was willing to take anything you wanted to give me. I still am.” 

Tears lined her waterline, threatening to spill over as she looked up at him, 

“Why?” 

He smiled at her softly, “You know why.” It was barely a whisper. A small and all too quiet admission. That golden thread that was begging her for release. That bond she wouldn’t let snap into place. Not yet.  She pulled away from his touch, shaking her head. 

“I can’t. Not right now. With everything going on with Rhys? With Hybern? There’s no time..”

He hung his head and laughed quietly, self sacrificial bullshit, he started to walk out of the library. 

“There never seems to be time for us huh?” 

She called after him, “Azriel?” 

He stopped as he reached the door and turned. He let himself say one last thing before leaving. 

“I’m willing to take whatever you want to give me.” 

The door clicked behind him. 

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

Cassian and Azriel stood by the dining room doors to greet Feyre. She sat at the dining table waiting for everyone to join her, studying her brother's mate. 

“Come on, Feyre. We don’t bite. Unless you ask us to.” 

Feyre seemed to let the surprise from that statement jolt her forward. Daring to step towards the Illyrians standing before her. 

“The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on that offer.” Rhysand said dryly and Azriel snorted. Cassian sent a vulgar gesture towards Rhysand before snapping, 

“Your sister’s considered it a couple times.” Azriel stiffened at the joke and Rhysand tutted while shaking his head. Feyre looked at Rhysand as if asking him, sister? He nodded his head towards the dark haired female sitting at the table, Cassian and Azriel stepping aside to reveal her. 

She set her glass down on the table and stood to greet the newcomer with a gentle smile. Feyre could feel that same power that thrummed around Rhysand coming off his sister in waves. She seemed nice enough, if not more reserved than Morrigan, as she shook Feyre’s hand with a mutter of her name. A short introduction that made Feyre wonder what lurked behind those beautiful features that so resembled her brother. If Rhysand was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. This was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, in her dress of midnight blue adorned with silver embroidered constellations. Feyre looked towards the others that stood before her, her eyes falling first on Azriel, his eyes glued to Rhysand’s sister, as if she held the moon and stars. 

Feyre took in his armor, and the obsidian-hilted hunting knife sheathed at his side. He was unreadable and as breathtakingly beautiful as the violet eyed siblings, it was like that beauty was there just to hide some deep rooted secrets. 

“This is Azriel – my spymaster” 

Feyre didn’t miss the way Rhysand’s sister used his introduction as an excuse to look at the spymaster. Her eyes narrowed at the pair briefly. Wanting to ask Rhysand exactly what was going on there. But she held her tongue and went along with the rest of the introductions instead. 

The dinner went well enough. Despite Cassian being entirely too himself. Feyre listened to the inner circles banter, studying them like she was trying to make a decision. Mulling over every word they said silently. 

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“I didn’t see you Under the Mountain.” Feyre said it more like a question than anything else. The silence that fell was tense and unmoving. None of them dared to look at Rhysand. Feyre looked around the table, confused at the new found silence of the lively bunch. Her eyes fell to Rhys’s sister first. 

She looked devastated. Like Feyre’s words had brought back fifty years of turmoil they’d spent the last three months trying to smooth over. 

“Because none of us were” The High Lord’s sister’s voice was pained and filled with what was unmistakable guilt. Feyre watched as one of the shadows curling around Azriel brushed around her shoulders as if in comfort. The shadowy touch was fleeting but unmissable. 

Rhys’s face was a mask of cold, “Amarantha didn’t know they existed. And when someone tried to tell her, they usually found themselves without the mind to do so.” 

Feyre shuddered slightly at the implication of his words, “You truly kept this city, and all these people, hidden from her for fifty years?” 

It was Amren who replied, “We will continue to keep this city and these people hidden from our enemies for a great many more.” 

Not an answer. But all the inner circle was willing to offer Feyre. The girl looked around at the Fae sitting around her, all of them studying her, waiting for a reaction. Mor piped in next, 

“There is not one person in this city who is unaware of what went on outside these borders. Or the cost.” 

The blonde’s voice was raw as she explained. The family sitting before Feyre was tense. Clearly not knowing how to continue this conversation. Azriel shifted his chair slightly closer to Rhys’s sisters. The movement was so subtle Feyre was surprised she noticed it at all. Feyre permeated the silence with a question, trying to move on, 

“How did you all meet?” 

The once human girl let them tell her of their histories. Her face grew with a concern they did not expect from a stranger as she listened to the stories of their twisted childhoods. As they told her of the horrors of the Illyrian war camps. Azriel’s hand held the arm of his chair so tight his knuckles had turned white. Rhysand’s sister looked as if she wanted to put her hand over his, but she resisted the urge. 

After a long while of listening to Rhysand talk, his sister had let herself zone out just a little, having heard the story so many times. She looked frequently to Azriel as if surveying his cold mask for any sign of wavering emotion. It wasn’t until Feyre spoke up that she let her eyes land anywhere but the shadowsinger. 

“I accept your offer – to work with you. To earn my keep. And help with Hybern in whatever way I can.” 

She let out a hum of approval at Feyre’s words and looked to Rhysand, who looked like his heart might burst. Who looked like a wave of relief had flooded his nervous system at Feyre’s willingness to stay, to help, to fight with his family. 

“Good” was all he said, even as the other members of the inner circle raised their brows, as if they had not been told this dinner was an interview of sorts. “Because we start tomorrow.” 

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

Feyre followed Rhysand out of the dining room after dinner. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Not wanting to think of what was ahead of them, waiting to be dealt with tomorrow. The prison that even Amren wasn’t willing to visit. She swallowed nervously before searching for something else to ask him about. 

“What’s going on between your sister and Azriel?” 

Rhysand let out a low chuckle, “Years worth of drama.” 

“Are they together?” 

He looked at her and raised a brow, as if surprised by her nosy-ness. 

“They are….something more than that and also less than that.” 

Feyre let out a frustrated snort at his vagueness. 

“That’s not really an answer.” 

He looked at her, that amused expression still gracing his features. She pushed a little more, 

“The way Azriel..gravitates towards her without ever letting himself actually reach out to her…is-”

“Azriel and my sister have a complicated history, made more complicated in the last fifty years, but the two of them. They might never really be able to admit what they are to each other.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Azriel…often convinces himself he isn’t worthy of truly having anything good, anything he really wants, a byproduct of his childhood probably.” 

“And your sister can’t convince him otherwise?” 

Rhys let out another low laugh and ran a hand over his face, trying to think of how to explain his sister to Feyre. 

“My sister…won’t let herself feel any of her own feelings as long as there’s someone else suffering. As long as there’s any problem at all, that is where her focus goes, not to her own problems, but to other people’s. And I have a suspicion that while I was under the mountain…my imprisonment kept her from Azriel." 

He thought of the little he had gotten his friends to tell him about what had happened. Thought of Cassian’s implication that something had happened and after she had not let herself even speak to the shadowsinger for years, until his return.

“And now that you’ve come back to Velaris?” Feyre questioned. 

“Now that I’ve come back…My sister will use the looming threat of Hybern and the danger that it poses over Prythian to distract her from thinking about Azriel.” 

Feyre thought about all Rhysand had told her about his own reasons for going under the mountain. His own reasons for letting Amarantha use him the way she had. 

“It seems like that trait runs in the family” 

He shoots her a small smile at her teasing remark. They stood in silence for a moment before she remembered a comment Lucien had once made when he came to her cell under the mountain, after she had made her bargain with Rhysand.

“Do you understand what Rhys is? What his family is?” 

What his family is. She thought of the way the flame haired fae had winced at the word family. She thought of his foul mood on Calanmai and the small comment Tamlin had made about no need to worry about any night court visitors. Her brows furrowed at the memory, 

“Does your sister know Lucien?” 

He deeply inhaled at the mention of the Spring Court emissary and let out a humorless laugh, 

“That is just another part of the long and complicated history made more complicated in the last fifty years.” 

Feyre thought of the dagger Lucien carried, the dagger that looked an awful lot like the daggers the Illyrians had strapped to their sides. She thought of the tension that simmered between Rhysand and Lucien when Rhys had discovered her in the Spring Manor. Years of tension and history. She said tentatively, 

“But you don’t know what exactly happened while you were away?” 

Rhysand started to walk further down the hall, “And I am not stupid enough to ask them.” 

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