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spore-loser · 4 months ago

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Morrigan, Nesta, and the Hewn City

A number of readers don't see why others find Mor to not be a "girl's girl" type of character. SJM's narrative had her welcome Feyre with open arms, but Mor's reaction to and treatment of Feyre differs greatly than with others.

To start off, let's look at Mor's relationship with Nesta. They had a disastrous first interaction, and it immediately put Mor at odds with her.

Some readers say they didn't notice any nastiness on Mor's end, but you just have to look at the text to see that's not true.

Some readers excuse it as Mor treating Nesta that way to defend Feyre and Cassian, but Mor treated Nesta in a way that overstepped only worrying about friends.

If it was about Feyre, well Feyre always checked Rhys when he disparaged Nesta. Mor could have taken the lead from that. Feyre forgave Nesta for their past, wanted to move on, and that was family business between the sisters.

If it was about Cassian, Mor had no business getting between them either. Feyre wondered if they were mates since ACOWAR, so others likely wondered too. That's a situation best left to the possibly bonded. Mor wasn't in a relationship with or in love with Cassian, she was just using him as a buffer with Azriel.

For examples of poor treatment, there are many that show Mor was rude and irrational when it came to Nesta.

The first time they interacted isn't the 'Nesta is just a bitch' situation it's made out to be. Some readers say Mor was only being friendly, was just trying to be welcoming of Nesta, but that isn't a take supported by the text.

“Where did that dress come from?” Mor said, red gown flowing behind her as she breezed toward Nesta. My sister drew up short, shoulders tensing, readying to— But Mor was already there, fingering the heavy blue fabric, surveying every stitch. “I want one,” she pouted. Her attempt, no doubt, to segue into an invitation to shop for a larger wardrobe with me. [Mor conversing with Feyre about Rhys picking the dress] “He gets all the credit for clothes,” Mor said, examining the fabric of Nesta’s skirt while my sister monitored like a hawk, “and he never tells me where he finds them. He still won’t tell me where he found Feyre’s dress for Starfall.” [...] “It’s a good thing we’re not the same size—or else I might be tempted to steal that dress.” “Likely right off her,” Cassian muttered. Mor’s answering smirk wasn’t reassuring. (ACOWAR, Ch. 17)

This was not very long after Nesta and Elain were thrown into the Cauldron. In reality, Mor's behavior was inconsiderate and insensitive of someone who recently had their bodily autonomy violated.

Invading her personal space.

Grabbing her dress up.

Ignoring her verbally before finally acknowledging her.

Smiling at a joke about stripping her.

It isn't something you'd expect from a character who, according to SJM's narrative, is supposed to be sensitive to victims. The interaction wasn't about complimenting Nesta, because Mor knew the dress was given to her. She asked Feyre about it. This wasn't simply a friendly encounter. Nesta acting how she did with Mor was not starting an uncomfortable situation – it was reacting to a situation that was already uncomfortable for her.

After the IC got back from a battle, Nesta asked them where Cassian was. Instead of simply answering, Mor went off on her.

And Nesta had been … pacing in the foyer. As if she was worried. I opened my mouth, but Mor beat me to it. “He’s busy.” I’d never heard her voice so … sharp. Icy. [...] if the Illyrian warrior no longer stood as a physical and emotional buffer between her and Azriel … And worse, if the person who caused that vacancy was Nesta … Mor said flatly, “When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.” My heart leaped into a furious beat, my arms slack at my sides at the insult, the threat. But Rhys said, “Mor." (ACOWAR, Ch. 39)

Another time, Mor tried to interrupt a conversation Cassian and Nesta were having, which was in no way hostile. It wasn't like she was trying to defend Cassian or anything; she was just being territorial.

Mor sagged a bit, jewelry glinting with the movement, and went to take Cassian’s arm. But he’d at last approached Nesta. And as the world began to turn to shadows and wind, I saw Cassian tower over my sister, saw her chin lift defiantly, and heard him growl, “Hello, Nesta.” Rhys seemed to halt his winnowing as my sister said, “So you’re alive.” Cassian bared his teeth in a feral grin, wings flaring slightly. “Were you hoping otherwise?” Mor was watching—watching so closely, every muscle tense. She again reached for his arm, but Cassian angled out of reach, not tearing his eyes from Nesta’s blazing gaze. (ACOWAR, Ch. 42)

Another time Nesta worried about Cassian, Mor rudely sent her on her way after Feyre said he was ok.

Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced— “He's fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly. Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit. She’d saved me the trouble of hunting her down to ask her about tracking the Cauldron. Better to do it now, with some privacy. Especially before Amren arrived. But Mor said coldly, “Shouldn’t you be refilling that bucket?” (ACOWAR, Ch. 27)

The comments Mor made in ACOSF are particularly bad.

The first is when she was having brunch with Cassian, where she brought up Nesta unprompted, was snide about her, then outright callous.

“She’s settled, then?” Cassian knew who she meant. “Taking a nap.” Mor snorted. “Don’t.” His attention drifting to the glittering Sidra mere feet away. “Please don’t." Mor sipped her tea, the portrait of elegant innocence. “We’d be better off throwing Nesta into the Court of Nightmares. She’d thrive there.” (ACOSF, Ch. 4)

Mor knows more than anyone how a "difficult" woman would absolutely not thrive in a sexist society. It was actually a ridiculous statement to make. Nesta's whole reason for being sent to the House of Wind and training was because the IC considered her "out of control". Feyre straight up admitted it.

Mor was projecting her abuser onto Nesta, when Nesta is not comparable to Keir. In fact, she is more comparable to Mor. She was drinking excessively, which Mor does too, often taking full days to recover. Nesta was shamed for having meaningless sex, but Mor will have sex with someone she doesn't even like to put off Azriel, rather than have an honest discussion with him.

The second time Mor made comments was in Windhaven camp, where she didn't actually have to be. She doesn't rule over it, nor was she involved in Nesta's training. I wondered why she was even there when she hates it so much.

Mor’s face was pale, tight. “I hate this place,” she said under her breath, the heat of it clouding the air in front of us. “It should be burned to the ground.” (ACOMAF, Ch. 45)

It seemed like Mor just came to get into Nesta's business. She taunted her 'quietly' because she didn't want Cassian hearing.

No amusement lit Morrigan’s face as she shifted her attention down to Nesta. “Why aren’t you out there?” “I’m taking a break. Morrigan’s gaze swept over Nesta’s face, noting the lack of sweat or flushed skin, the hair barely out of place. The female said quietly, “My vote would have been to dump you right back in the human lands, you know.” (ACOSF, Ch. 6)

The human lands, where Nesta would have to live in hiding at risk of human prejudice and violence. How is anything Nesta did deserving of that? An abrasive personality and having bad coping mechanisms for PTSD deserves living in danger 24/7?

Dark fire simmered in Morrigan’s eyes. “I knew plenty of people like you once.” Her hand drifted to her abdomen. “You never deserve the benefit of the doubt that good people like him give you.” (ACOSF, Ch. 6)

Again, this is wild projection. It's an unkind take on someone who is suffering from depression and does not want to have her life completely controlled.

Something to notice, is that the times Nesta lashed out in ACOMAF and onward were mostly in reaction to the IC crossing her boundaries. In reality, Nesta wasn't as bad as Mor made her out to be. She was essential to the war effort, helped in every aspect (diplomacy, strategy, battle, in the camps) because she actually does care about people – but Mor gave her no credit for it.

When Cassian approached them, we learned that Mor, who winnowed him and Nesta, had come early.

Cassian had reached them, breathless and gleaming with sweat. “You’re early.” “I wanted to see how things were coming along.” Morrigan pulled her burning gaze from Nesta. “Seems like today was a slow start.” (ACOSF, Ch. 6)

So she did just come to be in Nesta's business and make spiteful comments. Some mean girl energy there. Ironic when certain readers say Mor disliked Nesta for being that way.

Mor did end up coming around to being nicer to Nesta, though. We weren't given her reasoning over it, but I'm positive it was because of Nesta encouraging the priestesses to come out of their shells and train to be Valkyries. In my opinion, Mor realized she had been harsh on Nesta and that calmed her down. Also, I think the IC having Nesta distract Eris made Mor feel sympathy, probably seeing how similiar they actually were and all that. So Mor stopped coming between Cassian and Nesta, and secretly taught him to dance so he could surprise Nesta.

Some readers question if Nesta would have been receptive to Mor even if she had been welcoming. An example to look to is Azriel and Nesta – they were perfectly fine because he minded his own business concerning the Archeron sisters and Cassian's possible relationship with Nesta. Nesta was even friends with Amren until they had their falling out, which only happened because Nesta didn't want to train her powers.

So that's one relationship with a person Mor was disinclined to like based on her friends. Let's look at others, who are outside Mor's circle in Velaris — in the Hewn City.

“As my Third, Mor is my … court overseer. She looks after the dynamics between the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams, and runs both Velaris and the Hewn City. I suppose in the mortal realm, she might be considered a queen.” (ACOMAF, Ch. 18)

Mor has a direct hand in running the Hewn City, but she barely goes. Her experiences of having been from there understandably traumatized her. Even just the thought of a pending IC trip distresses her.

But she’d left after dinner, pale-faced and jumpy, ignoring Cassian’s attempt to speak with her.

“Why did Mor look so disturbed [...] ?” ( ACOMAF, Ch. 41)

Yet Mor having trauma doesn't make her think of what other daughters of the HC have gone through and are still being subjected to by male relatives or even Keir himself.

Keir paused at the threshold as the doors opened on a phantom wind. He said to Rhys, perhaps the closest he’d come to asking for permission to leave, “Lord Thanatos is having … difficulties with his daughter again. He requires my assistance.” Rhys only waved a hand, as if he hadn’t just yielded our city to the male.

After Rhys' deal with Keir to let HC folk into Velaris, all Mor cared about was Keir.

She waved a hand to the town house, the city. “This is my home, and you are going to let Keir destroy it.”

“I took precautions,” Rhys said—an edge to his voice I had not heard in some time. “Many of them. Starting with meeting with the governors of the Palaces and getting them to agree never to serve, shelter, or entertain Keir or anyone from the Court of Nightmares.”

“They have been sending out the word to every business owner in the city,” Rhys went on, “every restaurant and shop and venue. So Keir and his ilk may come here … But they will not find it a welcoming place. Or one where they can even procure lodgings.”

(ACOWAR, Ch. 27)

There was no thought from Mor about all the innocents who could benefit from being outside the HC, who should be able to have time not being trapped inside a mountain with their abusive relatives and Keir.

Some readers say Mor's actions against Nesta are about having principles, about defending Feyre from an abusive relative—but Mor never does that for anyone else.

The IC and Mor act like she is the only innocent, the only 'dreamer' from the HC. She is in a position to help others suffering like she had suffered—but she does nothing about it. People could be freed from an oppressive system if Mor and Rhys took Keir out of the picture, for Mor to step into his position. But they let Keir stay in charge, keeping that system in place. It's hypocritical on Mor's part to be so hostile to Nesta if her reason is about defending a victim. The IC as a government lets girls and women in 2/3rds of their court suffer oppressed lives of victimhood and they do nothing to help them.

#morrigan #nesta archeron #acotar #book analysis

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thorns-and-rosewings · 5 months ago

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(Behold what happens when I have ideas that far surpass my skill level... ^^; Here we have tall-ish Lunar, roughly Bloodmoon height, only taller if his hat gets counted. And this universes versions of the Gemini twins)

Okay so this needs some explaining; this here is Asylum AU's version of Lunar and the Gemini twins. I didn't put their information on my last post about this AU because:

A. I genuinely enjoy these guys little side tale so much I wanted to attempt to give a good visual to go along with their bit.

B. I thought it was long enough already.

So I'm gonna write their whole little bit below, as with everything I write it's gonna be LONG, but hopefully a fun read.

Enjoy ^_^

Lunar: As with all this universe's characters, he started off life built by Eclipse to assist him... But the main difference was that this Lunar was treated infinitely better than our Canon Lunar was right from the get go. Not to mention that he had his Star Power right from the beginning as well...

How did he have that you may ask?

Simple... Doc Eclipse acquired some meteorites that contained an unknown alloy. And he genuinely went 'What the hell, why not?' and used it to build Lunar's body. Which apparently contained some residual Star Power and thus, this Lunar has his powers.

Right from the beginning, Lunar didn't want to fight with Sun and Moon and he began trying desperately to get everyone to stop fighting. So to make a very long story short, eventually, he was successful in getting the fighting to actually stop because Sun and Moon grew to care about Lunar like a brother. Although the fighting didn't stop until there was significant damage done to the motor control of Eclipse's left leg... There's an uneasy peace between the two halves of Lunar's family as the result of this.

Free to choose what he wanted to do with his life, Lunar took his love for games to the next level and started a gaming company. (But also made Beanbag chairs as well) Lunar's commitment and genuine love of the games that the company made reflected in their products and it didn't take long before Lunar's company not only became successful, but a MAJOR name in gaming.

By the time Asylum AU starts, Lunar's gaming company, Starfall Games, (The logo being the blue star emblem Lunar is creating and has on his clothes) is considered the number one gaming company in the world. Their claim to fame is their games quality. As they have never once released a game with any major bugs. Lunar is a very good boss and although he demands a great deal from his employees, but he is never unreasonable. And he regularly rewards his staff who go above and beyond.

He's a tough, but fair boss.

Lunar owns a huge tower in the middle of the city, which he lives in. It's so advanced it would make Tony Stark jealous. He lives in the penthouse on the upper stories while the lower stories contain the main headquarters for his gaming company. His tower is seemingly crafted from obsidian, with neon blue lights running throughout it. The dress code for the staff actually follows a similar theme, with everyone wearing bright seemingly neon colors. Or have some sort of celestial, space or star theming.

Lunar's powers in this area also 98% mastered, with the problem 2% to be addressed in a bit. Like Canon Lunar, he has electricity. But this version, rather than weather powers, his focuses on electricity, lightning and electro plasma. He actually powers his entire tower with his abilities and is in negotiations with the city to possibly power the entirety of that as well in the near future. His lightning powers are incredibly deadly if used in combat, but fortunately he next to never needs to use them offensively. In the rare instances he does need to fight, he is skilled enough to actually manipulate the electrical currents in a human body and essentially short-circuit a human temporarily. It's even more potent against animatronics.

But it's his plasma powers that he is actually the most fond of, as he's so skilled with wielding them that he can literally craft various things out of the plasma and then dissolve them on a whim. He can literally create tiles or stairs that allow him to walk in the sky. It's not uncommon to see him stroll across the sky near his tower at any given time...

But his favorite thing by far to create is his Plasma Cycle. Essentially a futuristic Tron-esque motorcycle that can reach nearly unfathomable speeds and drive over every type of terrain and even drive in the sky with him creating a plasma road below and in front of the bike to drive on.

(Essentially like this but in a brilliant blue)

Ultimately this Lunar has a very good grasp on things, but there are still some... Drawbacks...

Lunar didn't get to where he is in life without having to deal with A LOT of shit. With the one thing he has grown to value THE MOST in people is loyalty and honesty. He has endured many betrayals and been in the midst of liars and he finds people who partake in these negative things to be the lowest of the low.

He's not crazy and understands small lies and fibs can be understandable, even necessary. As he regularly lies about how good his Suns homemade 'Mint Sugar Cookies' are... They're damn near inedible, have the texture of a mix of toothpaste and sand, but nobody has the heart to tell Sun.

Aaaand then there's his family and that often deeply uncomfortable situation...

The thing Lunar loves the most, more than his company or anything else, is his family. His deepest wish and desire is for them all to stop hating each other and get along. Which is the one thing he wishes for every year on his birthday, when he invites everyone to either his home, or another location to spend the day together...

And every year without fail...

It's a total disaster...

It would seem Moon and Eclipse, in spite of their love of Lunar... They can't not fight for even a single frickin hour. They will fight, Sun will cry, Solar Flare will try to make peace, Bloodmoon stays the hell out of it, aaaand things proceed to fall apart before they can even have dinner. Let alone cake...

Every year Lunar just endures this. His heart breaking a little more each time... A tiny part of him wondering if he means so little to his siblings that they can't just get along for him for just a few hours. But, he just buries it and smiles and says that next year will be different. The stress of his family fighting is the only thing that can cause him to lose a grip on his powers. Sometimes leading him to short out an area and have to pay a hefty bill to repair the place he accidentally wrecks.

...fortunately he has his best friends, Castor and Pollux, by his side whenever these nightmares happen...

...the two people he trusts most of all...

...yeaaaah...

Castor and Pollux: In this dimension, the Gemini twins were drawn to the bizarre Star Power usage on this planet, eventually tracking it to Lunar when he was at his company. And they came with literal perfect timing, as Lunar had just started wandering through some of the floors of his company and they just appeared there.

One thing about this Lunar is that he is more than a little... Oblivious...

So oblivious in fact that he didn't notice the two clearly inhuman beings in his presence. But, to be fair, his companies dress code could have allowed a normal person to make such a mistake for maybe the first time... Not consistently every day for several years.

Now Lunar was in work mode, so he was wandering through the halls and checking in while being flanked by these two who were trying to talk to him. All while he initially thought they were just trying to pitch an idea to him, something that happens a lot. But as they continued to dog him, (And growing more frustrated at Lunar brushing them off) It finally occurred to Lunar that their behavior wasn't like someone trying to pitch a game idea... And then it dawned on him...

They had to be the new assistant the agency sent over...

Although why would the agency send two people and not just one?

Castor, decently annoyed by everything going on and seeing the opportunity to at least get the information that they need, doesn't exactly lie pre say... he merely says that they are there to 'Observe and offer help as need be.' And how they were a two-for-one deal.

Lunar just shrugged and went with it...

So over the course of the next few years, Castor and Pollux are by Lunar's side nearly constantly. They had to learn a fair bit about games and paperwork, but fortunately they are incredibly fast at learning and adapting. So they went from just being the assistants that Lunar admittedly went through fairly quickly... As a lot of them got too comfortable and got a bit powermad having access to the bosses attention. The two Astrals not only became invaluable in helping Lunar with his day to day responsibilities, but also became his closest companions and friends. To the point that they literally moved into his penthouse with him, updated their respective wardrobes with more human-esque clothes (Lunar actually crocheted them their scarves and added the star logos) and they are even so joined at the hip to him that he now instinctively manifests a pair of sidecars onto his Plasma Cycle which allows his companions to join him on his fun high speed insanity.

...at first they were just doing their jobs, observing Lunar and assessing if he was a threat or not...

But after a while things drastically began to change...

Lunar had a very good handle on his abilities. Had the good sense of when to use them. But more than that... He was giving, kind and just overall a nice guy who did everything he could to bring joy and happiness to the people around him.

And he succeeded in ways he couldn't imagine...

Lunar had somehow, made Castor and Pollux feel overwhelming joy and happiness. Given that Astrals don't feel emotions like mere mortals can... It was a jarring experience when Lunar somehow brought these emotions out in them and it made them realize that they actually, genuinely, cared about Lunar. A LOT...

But given everything...

They were now stuck in a bad spot...

While they never 'technically' lied to Lunar, they sure as hell know that they haven't been honest. Telling him the truth about themselves, about the Astrals in general, star power, his powers, everything... Given how Lunar values honesty and loyalty...

Oh yeah, they know they are in deep shit...

Not just with Lunar either. As they have been deliberately misleading what involvement is required of them to the other Astrals. While stating the situation is under control, but being extremely vague about what it even is. Aaaand even doing a few things to keep their fellow Astrals distracted from asking too many questions...

...like sending Scorpio an entire industrial roll of bubble wrap for them to stab with their tail...

...Giving Aries multiple wool pillows for them to rest comfortably on while meditating and using their dream powers...

...and last but certainly not least, sending Leo a beanbag chair completely packed full of catnip...

Courtesy of these little distractions, they have managed to avert deeper questions regarding what they have been up too. Except for Taurus who is getting suspicious about what exactly is going on down on earth. The only thing that has prevented him from heading down there to see for himself is with how busy he's been trying to track Rez.

But back to things on earth; given the closeness that the siblings have with Lunar it is now understood that in the company, they now wield as much power as Lunar himself. Referred to as Lunar's right and left hands respectively. They do, subtly, lead Lunar to occasionally have days where he takes some time off to just trains his powers. Pointing out one can never have too much control over such powerful abilities... They usually convince him to do this with the promise of having a picnic and just having a day to chill and unplug from everything. They have made an effort to do this every few months ever since they witnessed one of the hellish fiascos that Lunar's birthday turned into...

That was a horror show...

Made worse by how having his whole family together for a day was the only thing Lunar could talk about for a whole week...

Pollux: (Her hands clamped over her mouth as everything just spiraled out of control. So completely stunned still)

Castor: (In disbelief and his eye twitching) What is happening here?

Bloodmoon: (Surprisingly staying out of it) Not sure. But we're about a minute away from stuffing our pockets full of shrimp and getting the hell outta here...

Everything was over in under an hour, leaving Lunar heartbroken and usually a venue wrecked. The Bloodtwins at least making sure that Lunar got home alright, to which the Gemini twins then took it upon themselves to cheer Lunar up, always being sure to have a little 'Backup Party' ready to cheer him up.

And this has just become a solemn tradition...

Lunar gets his hopes up for a happy time with all the people he loves the most, it gets ruined, the twins take him back home. They handle the incoming apologetic phone calls that follow, Castor swears at them... a lot... Then they watch movies, play games and have some ice cream cake.

And Lunar asks how he got so lucky to have them in his life...

And they feel that knife of deception twist in their proverbial hearts...

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a-new-romantic · 10 months ago

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you belong with me ♡ (azriel x reader)

heavily inspired by taylor swift's "you belong with me" summary: you wonder when azriel will notice that you are the one for him. a/n: first fic! i appreciate any support given <3 looking for moots too! please please please, reach out!

"i'll be taking elain to starfall, as my date" azriel proclaimed to the inner circle at dinner, various expressions of surprise crossing rhysand's and cassian's face as they clap their brother on the shoulder. nesta's head whips towards you, eyes watching as your face falls for a split second, before grinning and congratulating the two of them.

"wonderful," you thought to yourself, picking at the food on your plate. you and elain couldn't be more different. she was a gentle and caring being, ever caring about the world around her. you were a rambunctious and outgoing fae, polar opposite of elain. the more you thought about it, the more differences you had with elain.

elain preferred wearing dresses and skirts. you preferred your fighting leathers and simpler outfits.

elain preferred spending her day in the garden, tending to her flowers and plants. you preferred spending the day training with cassian or going out with mor and nesta.

if elain was his type, then how could you ever have a chance with him?

little did you know, rhysand and cassian both gawked at the news azriel revealed. never in a million years did they think that azriel would end up with elain. to be frank, they both thought he would end up with you.

why couldn't he see that he belonged with you?

as the weeks passed, starfall quickly approached. with that, the number of preparations and little tasks around the house grew exponentially. rhysand had assigned you and azriel to hang up decorations around the city, to get the citizens excited for starfall.

"so, are you excited for starfall?" azriel asked with a grin as you walked through the streets of Velaris, looking for places to hand up decorations.

your mind goes blank as you stare at his smile, convinced it could light up the whole town.

"oh, i don't know," you muttered, turning abruptly to walk down a side street to hang up another poster. "i might not go," you admitted, waving your hand out to grab the decorations.

"what? why?" azriel pressed, worried if you were ill or uncomfortable with going. "i'm sure rhysand won't make it too extravagant or anything, (lie)".

"it's not that," you said, sighing as you decide to tell him. "i don't have a date. rhysand has feyre, nesta has cassian, and hell you even have elain. i don't have anyone." you said, taking a breath to continue before he interrupts you.

"so? going to starfall alone is not a crime, nor is it embarassing." he said, staring at you.

"i guess we'll see," you told him as you finish hanging up the decoration. "let's go back to the house?" you ask him, looking up at him.

he raises an eyebrow, not done with the conversation. yet, he dismisses it. "sure, let's fly." he says. he flies you both up to the house before he puts you down. as you turn away, he says "hey," you pause in your tracks, turning around.

"starfall won't be the same without you." he says softly, as you sigh and walk away. you didn't want to go with anyone but him.

a couple of days pass and starfall arrives and so does nesta. she barges into your room to meet your wallowing figure moping in bed.

"get up," she orders, yanking the blankets off your body as you shiver from the sudden cold.

"nestaaaa," you groan, shoving your face in the pillows.

"no more moping around about az. you're gonna get the fuck up, dress up all pretty with me, and we're going to starfall. who knows? maybe he'll recognize that maybe he belongs with you." her voice left no room for argument.

starfall was in full swing by the time you were ready, you and nesta enter through the back door of the house to meet a wonderful set up outside.

"it looks amazing rhys," you say as you approach your high lord, grasping his arm.

"thank you y/n," he says with a look of pure joy as he eyes feyre dancing with mor, "you look lovely," he says.

"you do!" cassian pipes up from behind rhysand, slamming down on his shoulders in surprise. rhysand groans as he startled, smacking cassian upside the head. "just like brothers," you thought.

"az doesn't know what he's missing" rhysand muttered into your mind, your eyes blinking in surprise as you look at him.

"he's an idiot for not seeing the obvious truth in front of him." he says, speaking his thoughts into words.

as you two converse about the subject at hand, azriel eyes you for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. you looked ravishing to him, in your navy blue gown that seemed to compliment your figure perfectly.

"az?" elain asked softly, grabbing at his jaw to turn his head back to her. "you keep looking at rhysand, is everything alright?" she muttered softly, worried.

he blinked rapidly, "oh yeah, everything is fine." he stated as he stood up from his seat. "i'm gonna go get a drink," he told her. elain nodded and turned to another party goer, starting up a conversation with them.

he ventured over to you slyly, "hi y/n." he stated, scaring you.

"az! hi, " you muttered, giggling as his shadows trailed up and down your arms.

"pretty, lovely, gorgeous" they muttered in his ears. he could not help but agree with them.

"care for a dance?" he muttered before he could second guess himself. he watched as disbelief crossed your face before you smiled and nodded, thrusting your drink into cassian's hand. he watched out of the corner of his eye as nesta gave you a thumb's up and a smile, and as rhysand gave you a nod of good luck.

"so, i didn't think you were coming," he started as the music begun, twirling you around effortlessly.

"nesta changed my mind," you admitted with a grin. "i'm glad i came," you said.

"me too," he quickly added. "you look amazing." he said, no trace of joke in his tone.

"oh!" you said, "thank you az, you look lovely as well." he grinned at the compliment, his confidence increasing tenfold as he realized how flustered you were becoming at the whole situation.

suddenly, both of you felt a heavy but comforting presence in your chest. a strong pull of emotions started to bridge the gap between the two of you. you both halted your dance in the middle of the floor, breathing heavily as the mating bond locked into place.

azriel's shadows swirled around the two of you, casting a contrasting haze to the starlight around you.

he opens his mouth to speak, as everything clicks in his brain.

you're the one he's been looking for the whole time. you're the one made for him, literally perfect for him. everything you do compliments his own. no one else shares the same interests as him, no one understands him as well as you do. his humor, his story, his life, it all belonged to you. there was no better match for him, than you.

he kicks himself internally for not figuring it out sooner.

he pulls you into a searing kiss as the stars around you illuminate the sky. cheers from rhysand, cassian, and nesta echo in the background while elain gasps in surprise and shock.

"you belong with me."

#azriel x reader #acotar #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel #azriel x oc #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #azriel angst

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here-there-were-dragons · 4 months ago

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on average throughout sornieth, the concept of a sixth egg is used variously as a neutral, relatively innocent and somewhat cute symbol associated with adoption, but can also be conceptually nebulously associated in a negative light with the unnatural depending on the usage on a case by case basis. though these meanings usually exist simultaneously in culture but tend to be mutually exclusive, on many occasions throughout draconic history the adoption meaning of the sixth-egg imagery has also been used in a negative light by political movements and propaganda as a "too many mouths to feed" symbol, used to justify societal expulsion of a designated other.

in the southern icefield in particular, the idea of a sixth egg is nearly exclusively associated in a negative light with "too many mouths to feed" (with a very occasional tiny side of unnatural where it pertains to their neighboring arcane dragons). the cold harsh winters and only marginally gentler summers are a harsh environs for it's oft-migratory clans, and the cultural isolationism of their kin toward other dragons makes for a cultural landscape where every new mouth is a new logistical problem.

the shifting expanse has a (less pronounced and much less universal but still noticeable) tendency towards using the idea in a generally similar sort of not-enough-resources-burdensome-extra-mouths negative light as the southern icefield for much of the same reasons, just in a more... capitalism-oriented way, combined with a paradoxical and hypocritical propagandistic drive to produce more hatchlings that can grow to work the factories. oddly, the idea of it being associated with something unnatural-either negatively or positively-is absent here entirely.

in plague and nature specifically, the imagery of a nest of six eggs is a positive symbol of prosperity and flourishing, though the exact nuance of the symbol is quite different-with plague it's more "we will survive and breed you out, fuck you, we're everywhere, multiplying like flies", and is generally referenced in reaction to nature culture out of irony and spite, but does not tend to be brought up or directly alluded to otherwise and does not typically appear on traditional scrimshaws, which instead prefer to depict the concept of a clan's reproductive prosperity with images of many nests holding a nonspecific number of more than five eggs.

nature however is far more into it and also uses it as a much more literal actual physical symbol, they plaster it on everything in stylish woodcut swirls on their decor like a blessing of fertility to make things feel like home. (which also has the slightly amusing effect of, in some places, leading to the six-egg symbol being vaguely associated with nature dragons.) entire architectural styles center around it's usage. a certain variety of organically-shaped tree growth magically trained into smooth tasteful wooden swirls and archways-decorated with delicate scrawls and, of course, fertility egg decoration and alluding symbols- is especially popular in the southern regions of the jungle proper hosting a large cultural influence from diaspora of the light flight (which would explain why this spacious style is also so fond of incorporating libraries, lofts, complex windows, and lanterns).

the starfall isles tends to view the idea of more than five eggs as a sign of the unnatural with barely any lingering cultural remembrance of the adoption association at all, but specifically in a neutral to positive light, something to be curious and intrigued about rather than initially repulsed. more typical average global draconic society tends to raise their eyebrow at this perception.

in the shadow flight, the idea of a sixth egg is associated with much more esoteric and mythological ideas. depending on the exact circumstances it can be seen as an omen, a sign the hatchling will be cursed, a sign the hatchling will be magical, a sign the hatchling will be touched by spirits or fairies, a sign the hatchling is a chosen one of a prophetic poem, a sign the hatchling is fated to kill their siblings, a sign the hatchling will be insane, a sign of about seven dozen different mythological creatures that are all said to eat, replace, curse, imitate, and generally nest-parasitize draconic eggs, a symbol associated with twice as many mythological figures who were said to be born from unnatural sixths eggs, an uncountable number of absurdly specific tarot card prophecies related somehow to star signs, an even more uncountable number of different localized folk tales, an even more uncountable number of eerie folk sayings and wisdoms that are always taken strangely seriously (shadowlings are nothing if not a superstitious lot), and so on and on and on and trying to figure out which specific thing any given usage of the idea is meant to evoke is like trying to figure out which tolkien elf any given unlabeled piece of art is about by counting the stiches on their clothing as someone who barely even knows there's a book. for any but a native shadowling, there is virtually no hope.

some scholars in the light flight treat the idea of sixth egg as a sort of in-joke about chasing evidence of a scientific impossibility.

in addition to the low-grade typical associations of the sixth-egg idea, earth flight also has and has historically had many different political and cultural movements within itself that use the imagery of a nest with eleven eggs of differing elements. this symbol is generally used by movements calling for mediation and reconciliation between the world's flights, and less helpfully, as a justification for paternalism and for-all-intents-and-purposes "benevolent" conquest of them. on occasion a harpy egg or another clumsy attempted nod to beastclans is added, but it is rare, and the groups that do so tend to be the sort that are somewhat derided by mainstream society as, for lack of a better word, overly dragon-woke.

the eleven-element nest has also been used by unrelated groups across the rest of sornieth from time to time as a symbol associated with various forms of anti-war movements, calling for the end of conflict between flights. often these are somewhat derided as foolish and overly idealistic-or even actively blasphemous and traitorous, depending on how much the individual is drinking their given deity's "conquer the world spread our glorious element" koolaid-by mainstream draconic society in much the same way that those who use beastclan-inclusive versions of the eleven-nest are in the earth flight.

it's important to understand that these ideas-with the exception of the eleven-nest, the nature ongoing campaign of homely sigil-spam, lightning's occasional usage on political flags, and orphanages occasionally having a cute six egg graphic on their signpost, the idea of a sixth egg is not a literal, actually present cultural symbol or rune of any kind. the idea is incorporated into some common sayings, but you're not going to see people going around referencing the almighty six egg rune of power or something, instead the idea is "associated" with these things in the sort of unspoken social undercurrent, unrealized, subconscious way that people tend to have a vague knee-jerk association of nighttime with owls.

#flight rising #flight rising headcanons

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sunderingrivers · 2 months ago

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The Queens Who Never Were 〚13 / 17〛

Likely the sister or daughter of the Lord/Lady of Starfall, Dyanna Dayne and Maekar married young. Their union may have coincided with his appointment as Prince of Summerhall, and was the second union between Targaryen and Dornish after Maekar's own parents.

Dyanna and Maekar had six children, of which four were boys and two girls. While a match between siblings was considered for Aegon and Daella, it did not go through, and their only child confirmed to have wed incestuously was Aerion, who wed his cousin Daenora.

The precise date of Dyanna's death is unknown, however, it occurred soon after the birth of her youngest child, Rhae, and prior to the 209 AC Tourney at Ashford. It may also have aligned with her son Aemon being sent to the Citadel by command of King Daeron, who feared there were too many Targaryen heirs; a fear that would soon prove woefully wrong.

In the thirty years after her death, Maekar never remarried, not even when he unexpectedly became King and had only one son to inherit. This, alongside the number of children born within a relatively short period, may suggest the marriage was one of love.

While little is known about Dyanna herself, her significance to the Targaryen Lineage is widely discussed. At least three of her six children are either confirmed or likely to be Dragon Dreamers, an ability previously sparsely dispersed amongst Targaryens. It is theorised that the marriage between Dayne and Targaryen may have begun the reintroduction of magic in the bloodline, starting with dreams and culminating in the rebirth of Dragons; however, there is no certain evidence within canon.

#dyanna dayne #maekar targaryen #aegon v targaryen #egg #aerion brightflame #house dayne #house targaryen #asoiaf #pre asoiaf #gif edit #fancast #beren saat #the queens who never were #the less information there is on a character the more license I take to widely theorise

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azriels-shadowsinger · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I love your writing!! I was wondering if you could write prompt 5 for Azriel x reader?

“It kinda sounds like you're flirting with me." ". . . I’ve been doing that for three years now."

Bat Boys x Reader

wc: 1.7K

a/n: i had a lot of people request this prompt for each of the bat boys, so i decided to do a blurb for each one! Hope yall enjoy!

prompt list

Rhysand

Rhysand watched you descend the stairs, sapphire dress flowing around your feet as you stepped. You looked regal in your outfit, causing Rhys to lose any thoughts in his brain aside from those about you. He would never get tired of looking at you.

This was the third Starfall ball since he had returned from Under the Mountain, escaping Amarantha. The first Starfall after his return was rather emotional for everyone, especially for Rhys who was trying not to remember how he had spent the past 49 years on Starfall. The second year, everyone partied a bit too hard in an attempt to keep those same emotions at bay and to celebrate the end of the war. But this year, with the war over and the dust finally settled, Rhys had a plan.

He reached out a hand towards you to escort you to the balcony, admiring the way your hand looked in his.

“You clean up well, High Lord.” You say in a lighthearted tone. He gives you his signature smirk and chuckles slightly at your playful formality.

“I could say the same of you, darling. You look beautiful.” Your cheeks heat. Rhys has complimented you many times in the past, but it never fails to make you blush. You know it’s all a part of his demeanor to compliment you, as well as Mor and Amren, but sometimes you wish it meant more.

The two of you make your way to the crowd of people, eager to enjoy the evening. You can’t help but notice that something seems off with Rhys tonight, but you try to ignore it, assuming it is just anxiety from the bad memories associated with Starfall.

———

After an hour of drinks and dancing, it's finally time for the stars to begin falling. You make your way to your friends, ready to watch from your usual spot, but Rhys pulls you away.

“I want you to watch from a different view with me tonight. Trust me, it's the best view in Velaris.” He whisks you away to his private balcony. As soon as your feet touch the ground, you’re in awe of the view, trying to watch each star as it falls.

“Beautiful.” You mutter in amazement.

“Yes, you are.” Rhys purrs, leaning against the railing next to you. His words make you blush again.

“I meant the stars, Rhys.” You giggle shyly.

“I know. And I meant you. You look absolutely stunning this evening darling.” He leans closer to brush a piece of hair from your face.

“Thank you, Rhys.” You turn to look back at the stars, hoping to hide how red your face has become, but he gently grabs your chin and pulls your attention back towards him.

“I’m serious. Of all the stars here tonight, you shine the brightest.” Gods, he’s being rather heavy-handed with the compliments tonight. Must be the champagne, you rationalize.

“Careful Rhys, it kinda sounds like you’re flirting with me.” You laugh, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing and trying even harder not to read too far into things. Rhys hesitates.

“… I’ve been doing that for 3 years now.” He says nervously. You look into his violet eyes, full of vulnerability. You could count on one hand the number of times you have seen Rhys act nervous.

“You have?” You ask quietly, a small smile on your face as you step closer to him. A bit of tension eases from him at the gesture.

“I was too nervous to say anything these past few years. First, the war, and then things were just so chaotic. I wanted to wait until everything was peaceful, until there was actually a future we could look forward to.” You bite your lip anxiously awaiting his next words, causing Rhys to smirk at your shyness. There’s the confident High Lord you know so well. “I want that future with you, y/n.”

“I want that too.” You lean in and kiss him. And with the stars falling all around you, it felt like the entire world was celebrating your love.

———

Cassian

“I give up” You huff, flopping onto the ground after what felt like a million squats. Gwyn giggles at your dramatic defeat, the sound gaining Cassian’s attention.

“I don’t remember saying training was over, y/l/n.” He barks. You groan at his command. Cassian was always extra hard on you, pushing you more than the others. Between that and his flirtatious teasing that always seems to make you flustered, the general may be the most annoying male you know.

“I can’t feel my legs, Cassian.” You whine. He raises a brow at you and smirks.

“Training is over everyone!” He calls, maintaining eye contact with you. “Except for you, y/n.” You give him a vulgar gesture, causing him to laugh.

The rest of the group files out, and Gwyn throws you a wink as she leaves, earning an eye roll from you.

“Sparring. Let’s go.” Cassian orders. There’s no use in arguing any longer, so you make your way to the training ring with a dramatic groan. As soon as you get into position, Cassian begins the attacks.

———

Sweat dripped down your face and back as Cassian proceeded to beat you yet again.

“Again.” He growls. You try to stand, but you can’t seem to make it all the way up, resting your hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath.

“Cass- Cassian. I can't.” You speak between panting breaths. “Please can we be done?” You beg breathlessly.

“Fine, you can go. Good work today.” He says with a playful smirk. You look at him confused.

“That almost sounded like a genuine compliment.” You were baffled.

“It was. Well, your form could use some work and your stamina has a long way to go, but overall you are really improving. And you sure as hell look good doing it.” He throws you a cheeky grin.

“Are you flirting with me?” You ask sarcastically, assuming he is trying to get under your skin with his comments once again.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been flirting with you for 3 years. It’s about damn time you noticed.” You freeze.

“Excuse me?” What the hell, you thought.

“Half the reason I always have you stay late is as an excuse to spend more time with you.”

“It is?” Cassian shrugs, as if he just said the most normal thing ever. “Well, maybe I have one more round of sparring left in me.” You say, matching his energy. You weren’t sure if this was another ploy to fluster you, but you weren’t going to let him win this time. Cassian grins.

“Or we could give your muscles a break and get dinner tonight?” Okay, definitely not a joke.

“I’ll go, but only if you agree to cut me some slack at training tomorrow.”

“Deal.” He winks. However, as soon as you get to dinner that evening, Cassian confesses that he has no intention of going easy on you at training.

“You almost beat me twice during our sparring. There’s no way in hell I’m letting up until you do.” Honestly, you’re not surprised.

———

Azriel

After a long hard week, a night out at Rita’s was just what you and your friends needed. The bar was completely packed and you were five shots deep, about to take a sixth with Feyre. The night flew by so quickly as you laughed and danced with your friends, not realizing that you gaining the attention of several males in the crowd. Azriel, however, did notice, and sent the most threatening glare at them, causing the males to cower away. Around 3 AM, the rest of your group was drunk and tired and ready to go home. Azriel offered to escort you home, given your inebriated state. You were too dizzy to fly with him, so he decided it was best to walk until you felt okay to fly.

“I don’t want to go home, Azzie! I’m having fun!” You whine, stumbling over your feet. “We should stay! You should dance with me!” He just laughs and keeps you steady while you walk, listening to you, ramble on with drunken nonsense.

“You’re so pretty Azriel.” You slur, poking him in the cheek, causing them to turn pink. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend? You know every female in Velaris would jump at the opportunity to date you” Before he can answer the very awkward and complicated question, you ramble on. “Is it true that wing size coordinates with other body parts? Rhys told me it isn’t true, but I think he’s lying. You have such big wings, Azzie.” You state, in an attempt to sound flirtatious, but as you stumble over your own feet, it just comes out a mess

“Are you trying to flirt with me, y/n?” He asks playfully.

“I’ve been flirting with you for over three years now. You never noticed.” You state so casually that he thinks he must have misheard you. He stops walking.

“Um, y/n?” You turn back, having noticed he isn’t walking beside you anymore.

“Yeah, Az?”

“Have you really been flirting with me for three years?” He asks shyly.

“Of course I have. You know, for being a spymaster, you would think you would’ve caught on by now. A girl can only try so hard to get asked out.” You giggle innocently. Azriel is truly confused. How had he never noticed?

“So tomorrow, when you’re sober, if I were to ask you out, would you say yes?” He cringes at his own insecurity, but he can’t help it.

“Ask me and find out.” You throw him a wink.

———

The next morning you had no memory of that conversation. Azriel couldn’t help but laugh at your complete shock when he asked you out at breakfast, deciding not to retell last night’s events until after your first date.

Thank you to everyone who requested this prompt! There are several other prompts that have multiple characters requested. If I am able to think of multiple plots for a prompt I will try to write it for multiple characters, like I did with this, but I can’t guarantee that I will be able to do that for all of them.

Anyway, thank you for reading, i love you all <3

Prompt List

#acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #azriel #rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #cassian #azriel acotar #cassian acotar #rhysand acotar #bat boys #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #rhysand x reader #my writing

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makeyoumine69 · 2 years ago

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Starfall (commission)

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: Ever since he was a kid, Patrick always had everything he wanted. Always egoistical and entitled, he always took everything he had for granted. But what happens when one day his entire world falls apart when he receives a call?

— CONTAINS: Patrick Bateman's POV and no other warnings in order to avoid spoilers!😏

— WORDS: 2.3k

— A/N: Writing Patrick's POV was such a rollercoaster experience for me, so I want to thank a person who asked me to write this commission. Love you guys, I hope you like it!💗

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [COMMISSIONS] [AO3] [buy me a coffee]💓

The sudden knock on my office door made me frown in annoyance, as I was in the middle of listening to the new Phil Collins tape. Slowly, I removed my headphones and turned to look at Jean, her expression was something between sorrow and shock.

"What is it?" I ask, straightening my red tie.

"P-Patrick... I got a call from..."

Jesus, why do women always need to be so slow?

"A call from?" I repeated, crossing my arms in a mannerly way, without missing a chance to check my gold Rolex.

"From the hospital." She blurted out quickly before dropping her head.

I still didn't understand why she looked so sad, so I leaned back in my chair and let out a tired sigh.

"So you interrupted me because some asshole dialed the wrong number?" I pointed at my phone, enjoying the way she got embarrassed. "When I have a break, it means I don't exist to anyone, even you, Jean. How many times have I told you that?"

"It's about (y/n)," something heavy fell in my stomach. "They called to say that she got in a car accident, and they found your office number in her wallet."

Her words hit me harder than a truck, and I could swear I felt my blood freeze in my veins from the creeping fear. Fear of losing you. I stood up before even thinking about it, my hands shaking, but I tried my best to keep my cool.

"Patrick." Jean muttered as she watched me put on my coat.

"Where is she?"

"Can I come with you? I want to help."

"WHERE IS SHE?" I didn't even notice my voice getting loud, but when I saw Jean's frightened glance, a shaky breath escaped my lungs and I closed my eyes for a second. "Sorry."

"I... it's okay, I understand." She carefully handed me my scarf, which had accidentally fallen, and I hadn't even noticed. "I wrote down the address."

In addition to my scarf, she gave me a piece of paper with her note, I could barely control myself now that I realized what was happening was real.

"Thank you, Jean." I mumble, buttoning my coat and taking my briefcase. "For everything."

The taxi ride took only 20 minutes, but to me it felt like an eternity, and when I finally saw the outline of the hospital, I let out a nervous breath and got out of the car. I paid the taxi driver double what I had to, but I didn't care.

With every step I took, my heart was about to burst through my rib cage, it was beating so fast that it even hurt, and I felt so helpless and miserable under the weight of circumstances that I found it difficult to even open the main door.

Inside the hospital, time seemed to stop for me. I looked around, trying not to panic, and rushed to the reception desk, almost bumping into a nurse on the way.

The receptionist noticed my anxiety and overtook me, asking in a calm voice, "How can I help you, sir?"

"I... I'm looking for (y/n). I was informed that she's here." I said hesitantly, leaning on the reception desk.

"One moment, please." The middle-aged lady replied, fixed her glasses and picked up the phone to make a call.

To be fair, I tried not to listen to what she was saying, doing my best to distract myself from thinking about the worst, as if the worst hadn't already happened. Fuck, I'm such a mess.

"Sir?"

I shrugged at the receptionist's voice and cleared my dry throat. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"The patient you asked about. Her condition is stable now, but she's in a coma. And we can't say when she'll—"

"Can I see her?" I interrupted, my emotions finally taking over.

The lady sighed, but said nothing.

"Please," the grief and despair were eating me from the inside, and I was about to lose myself at any moment. "I need to see her and talk to the doctor!"

"I completely understand your feelings, sir," she held out her hand in a reassuring gesture. "I'll see what I can do. Please wait here."

In a few minutes I was walking down the long, dimly lit corridor, accompanied by several nurses. I had never been more scared in my life, I could feel my heartbeat pounding against my ears as my blood rushed through my veins as if I were about to jump off the top of the Empire State Building.

When one of the nurses stopped near the door to what I assumed was your medical room, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a few seconds. No, I was not prepared for what awaited me behind that door, but was it possible to be prepared at all?

Suffocating, I managed to open the door and walked in, all my insides tightened the moment I saw you lying on the hospital bed, your face looked so peaceful, even with the oxygen mask on, you were like a sleeping beauty.

At first I didn't know what to do, so I just stood by the door for a while, and only then did I dare to approach your small, motionless form. Cautiously, as if afraid to wake you up, I sat down next to your bed and I thought my eyes were already beginning to water.

"Hello, dear." I murmured sadly, slowly running my hand along the edge of the bed. "I... I'm here now, and everything's going to be okay. I promise you."

I felt stupid because I knew you couldn't hear me, but still, my urge to assure you that everything would be fine didn't seem strange to me. I brushed away a single tear that ran down my cheek, which you always loved to stroke, and looked at your face, wishing for a moment that I could remove this mask and press my lips to yours. I damned myself for not doing it more often when you were around. God, why did I always have to be so stubborn and arrogant?

"(Y/n), you've always been so kind to me, and you've never asked for anything in return… and I probably didn't appreciate it as much as I should have." I paused when my trembling hand found yours, and then I stared down at it. Every time I noticed how tiny your palm was compared to mine, it made something inside of me quiver.

Cursing myself, I sobbed pathetically and squeezed your hand. "And you never tried to change me or fix me, you accepted me as I am, but... but you never knew what terrible things I did! Jesus!" I was getting hysterical, but now I could no longer hide my emotions. Hateress cursed through my body, burning me like a glowing iron.

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry that I wasn't completely open with you! I just didn't want you to know all the shit I've done in my fucking life!" As I continued to confess, both my arms now wrapped around your fragile frame, I laid my head on your chest, feeling your steady breathing. "Please don't go... I can't do this alone."

The beeping of the medical equipment mixed with my own whimpering, and the whole word seemed to be reduced to this small medical room, where a psycho like me was drowning in the swamp of grief.

"Maybe I'm a sick guy, but I need you more than I ever imagined," I gritted my teeth in disgust. "God damn it! I'm so fucking selfish, even now I only think about myself... I'm so fucking—"

The sound of the door opening made me almost choke. Hesitantly, I fixed my disheveled hair and wiped away my tears before turning around to see a guy who was probably a doctor, and I expected nothing but the worst. When I noticed his relaxed expression, I frowned and almost pleaded:

"Tell me she's going to be okay."

The doctor paused and looked through the papers in his hands. "According to our tests, we expect her condition to get better in a few days."

A small drop of sweat fell from my forehead the moment I heard those words. With a sigh of relief, I quickly got up from the chair and stumbled over to the doctor.

"Thank you," I managed to say, trying to shake his hand, but my body did not seem to listen to me. "If you need anything, let me know. I'll do everything I can."

The doctor nodded. I sat next to you again and mumbled that you were going to be okay. The way I was talking reminded me of the times when you couldn't sleep, and I lulled you by telling you stories where we would run away and finally be alone together. In the end, that would happen, I wouldn't let anything take that away from us, and even if I had to go to hell, I would do it.

"I'll always be here, love," I murmured, kissing the top of your palm. "Please come back."

One of the reasons I was really proud of my apartment was the view, even if it didn't overlook the park, you loved it and that was all that mattered.

Trapped in my thoughts, I stood next to the wide window in my living room and watched the night city through the open blinds. I could still feel your sweet scent on my skin, I could still hear the lewd sounds of us making love just a moment ago. Smiling, I closed my eyes and returned to the pleasurable images in my head, even though you were only a few feet away, lying in my big bed, I already missed you, but I would never tell you that.

I didn't know how long I stayed like this, but when I noticed your half-naked figure in the doorway of my bedroom, I gasped because I couldn't resist how beautiful you were, especially when you looked at me like that, with your deer-like, devoted eyes.

"Can't sleep?" You asked me, yawning a little and hugging yourself.

I grinned again, hiding my hands in the pockets of my gray sweatpants. "I'm just trying to understand why do you find this view so special," I crooned in a seductive voice. "But since you're awake, maybe you'll explain it to me?"

You gave me a mischievous grin, and I didn't even have to beckon you over as you slowly approached me, wrapped your elegant arms around my torso, and I purred in response. I didn't really like hugs, but when it came to YOU, it was a different story.

"Well, usually at night you can see some shooting stars," you murmured, still pressed against my chest. "And every time it happens, I make a wish."

For God's sake! Your naivety and innocence always struck a chord in my heart, making me grin like an idiot, though I was glad you couldn't see me right now, as I held you close, stroking your back and breathing in your scent, which had become so tranquilizing to me.

"Oh! Look!" You suddenly exclaimed, moving closer to the window. "A falling star!"

"Where?"

"Right there!" You took my hand and pointed to the spot in the midnight sky.

I laughed, admiring how excited you were, sometimes I thought you would never grow up and that was something cute, I could even say I was really jealous because I never allowed myself to act like that.

"Patrick, we should make a wish!"

"Like what?"

"Just think of something that you want to come true," you continued to bubble, frowning a bit as you probably were thinking about the list of wishes you might have. "Think, Patrick!"

Your childish attitude made me sigh as I rolled my eyes. "All right, all right. I want this moment to last forever."

"Why did you say that out loud?" You suddenly grumbled and broke out of my embrace. "It won't work if you say your wish out loud, didn't you know that?"

"Honestly, I don't believe in such things," I moved closer to hug you again, but you pushed me away jokingly, your pretty lips pouted. "Oh, honey, c'mon! I can't take this seriously!"

"Then I'll leave you here alone to think about it." You stuck out your tongue teasingly and slowly moved away from me.

"Besides, I already have everything I want," I chuckled smugly, feeling a bit turned on by the way you swayed your hips. "You know what I mean."

"Maybe..." You purred, making your voice sound even more seductive, before disappearing into the darkness behind me.

Only with you did I realize that I had always lived for emotions, that I had done so many terrible things because I was a sucker for the adrenaline. And you were my strongest addiction, but not one that killed, but one that freed me from my fears, my demons, my sins.

Shaking slightly, I let out a loud gasp as I felt a searing pain cut me from the inside like a fan of knives. Then I turned back to the window and saw my own reflection. I blinked several times, feeling the tears weeping in my empty eyes.

"(Y/n)?" When I called your name and no one answered, I almost fell to my knees.

My wounded heart started to bleed, as once again I was alone. Sobbing, I pressed my head against the cold glass and let the tears flow freely down my cheeks. And there was nothing left for me to do but hold on to the warm memories of those days.

The days when you were here with me.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale

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mythicalviper-fr · 2 years ago

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FR Skin Contests and You (and Me)

Let’s talk about festival skin contests.

This post will be 1) about win conditions 2) my breakdown on my wins/losses. Before we start, please know a lot of this is guesswork, and based on my own perspective. Still, I hope this will be useful for some people ^^

***August/888 and I (but August mostly as it’s his idea) will be hosting an event encouraging new artists to join festival contests on 8/8. It will have a lot of tips and references to help get you started, so please keep an eye out!

When it comes to skin contests, people generally enter for one of three reasons: 1) for fun 2) because it’s seen as a milestone of skinmaking, or 3) out of a desire to push yourself to the limit knowing you’ll regret it like a Sunday hangover– but I hope that’s just me.

In my two years of participating in skin contests, I’ve seen a lot of artists join with a lot of excitement, only to give up or drop out because they aren’t winning. Some blame it on skill, others blame it on the staff, and some blame it on fellow competitors.

Here’s what I will say: like any contest, winning the festival skin contest is based on a combination of luck, knowledge, and skill. Just like any contest, there is a strategy to it and there are win conditions that you have to fulfill if you want a chance at winning. Some artists find these win conditions quickly and are able to adapt and cultivate the skill needed to pull off a win. Some are aware of these win conditions but do not yet have the skill to pull off a win. And some aren’t aware at all. A loss is usually (but not always) a result of not fulfilling those win conditions, or not fulfilling them as much as another artist.

So, let’s talk about these win conditions.

The Biggest Win Condition: Breed Variety

In my opinion, the biggest factor that makes or breaks an entry is breed variety. Over the past ten years, there's been a consistent trend of staff picking one winner per breed/pose, though there are occasional outliers (most recently, two Aether M for Brightshine, but previously also Undertide M and Spiral M). This means whenever you submit a skin, you’re competing against artists that also submitted the same breed/pose.

For those who aren’t aware, breed variety has been dropping in contests, along with the number of submissions. The result is that there are very few submissions for less popular breeds. Take a look at Brightshine 2023 - the majority of the submissions were Aethers. But even if there ended up being three Aether wins, that meant none of the other Aether skins made it in.

I want to explain this with numbers. Say Aethers (M&F) made up 60% of the Brightshine 2023 submissions but could only make it into 2 or 3/16 of the winning slots. That’s 60% of the submissions eliminated from making it into the remaining 13/16 slots. Where would the other 13/16 skins come from, if staff were to stick to their trend of 1 breed/pose skin per festival? The flight breeds - Imp and PC might take up 4 more slots. But that’s still 9/16 slots that need winners and only 30% of the submissions to pick from. Additionally, ancients will generally make up at least 40% of the winning submissions, if not 50%. That’s why having 100 submissions might mean there aren’t a lot of winners the staff could pick, and why there weren’t any Fae skins for Starfall 2022 or Spiral M skins for Mistral 2023.

I tested this theory with F Ridgeback submissions. I mainly focused on three breed/poses that I saw as the least submitted - F Noc, F Bog, and F Ridgeback. I went with Ridgeback because it was the base I liked the most. The result? Out of the 22 contests I’ve entered, I won 5 with F Ridgeback. That’s a 25% win rate with one breed/pose alone. If we factor in wins I’ve had with these three poses combined, that’s 8 wins or a 36% win rate.

Drawing on an unpopular breed/pose is a good way to make sure you don’t have too many competitors (and also show some of the more unpopular breeds some love). This is particularly true if you’re a newer artist like I was. I started doing art in June 2021, so I knew there was no chance I could outcompete better artists on the same breed/pose.

Of course, choosing the right breed will not always net you a win - you still need good skin composition and skills to catch the staff’s attention, which is what we’re going to talk about next.

Statutory Win Conditions: Flight Themes & Colors

When it comes to making a skin for a festival contest, I always recommend people look at the apparel, lore, and familiars for that flight, because these items are usually the closest to what’s canonically considered a flight’s aesthetic. A lot of the entries I’ve seen win are based off of the fest fams or match a fest apparel.

There are exceptions. The game aspect of the Lightning Flight isn’t canon, but we’ve had hivemind and gaming skins win. Why? Maybe that contest only had a total of 12-15 breed/poses submitted, maybe it was just the best executed skin for that breed/pose, maybe a staff member just really liked it. However, generally winners will match the flight’s canon aesthetic.

The trend of skin contest winners also suggest a favoring of elements that are placed on the dragon’s wings and head (leaves, vines, fairy/insect wings, gears), or accent/tattoo-like effects that involve gradient, sparkles, or abstract smoke (see 888’s 2023 brightshine win). Skin compositions that are balanced (elements throughout the body, as opposed to just one part of the body) see a higher win rate. Skins that have lower accent coverage tend to see higher win rates when they’re gradients/accents (linings on the dragon, runic/circuit effects) or when they’re concentrated on an easily noticeable/central part of the body (like the wings, or the dragon’s back).

In the end, knowing what to draw really comes down to research and knowledge. Before each contest I would review all the past winning entries and try to glean what staff did or didn’t pick. I noticed that staff didn’t tend to pick whiteout or body morph skins, and they tend to pick skins with higher coverage. I also checked past festival winners to see the color theme for each contest. There are some contests during which colors that aren’t necessarily the flight’s colors are still picked, and there are contests that haven’t seen a festival skin which didn’t match the flight’s colors. Like any contest, there’s always going to be a small bit of luck involved.

Ultimately, while I can’t speak for the staff, I do think there are win conditions that need to be fulfilled. You need to have a basic level of art skill. You need knowledge on skin composition and colors. Then, of course, you need to know which breed/pose to choose.

I hope my analysis helps a little when you’re entering your next contest, or that it made for an interesting read. If you just came here for general tips and tricks, that’s all I have for you - you can also scroll all the way down to see my final thoughts on contests. But generally, just keep trying different things, doing your research, and making sure you’re sticking to the flight theme.

For people who want it, here’s my breakdown on each series of contests that I’ve entered, and reasons why I think I won or lost.

Personal Analysis - Brightshine 2021-Brightshine 2023

I’m a very competitive person and more importantly, I love to compete. So the moment I found myself capable of making skins, festivals were on my radar. I studied what previous artists did, what techniques and designs seem to win the most. What skills did I need and what skins caught the judges' eyes? More importantly, what bases did I feel confident with and could perform the best on? As soon as I felt like I understood the contest, I entered Brightshine 2021 with about 2 weeks’ worth of art experience.

Then I proceeded to lose four contests in a row.

So, what happened?

Brightshine 2021 (loss)

Sometimes unearthing your old art is like watching an old video of yourself in your cringey teenager phase. But knowing why you lost is important in understanding how you can win (and what to absolutely not do again).

For Brightshine 2021, I submitted a Guard F design with two recolors. At the time I only had the skill to draw lanterns and filigree, so I went “that’s Light enough” and did exactly that. Although I would say my theme was (kind of) on point, it was my execution that was lacking:

Issue No. 1: Colors. In review of previous Light winners there’s a umber/gold palette or gold/sunlight palette that appears to be the meta. There have also been cases of red or purple winning even though they aren’t used in official Light items, and some rainbow entries. While one of my recolors followed this scheme, it fell short because–

Issue No. 2: Composition. Skin composition is the balance of elements and how well each element pulls their weight in a piece of art. In my Brightshine 2021 entry, most of the base was left bare. Artists like August are really good at skin comp where their entire piece looks tied together; mine was far from that.

Issue No. 3: Quality. If you compare my Brightshine 2021 submission to my 2023 one, you’ll see what I mean. My art style relies on rendering, or applying lighting and shadows, to bring out each element. Basically I need rendering in order to win. This isn’t necessarily a requirement for you; some artists do lineless, others do painterly, and others don’t render at all, but overall the art style should have a specific level of quality that rendering brought out in my art.

In short: wrong colors, bad lineart, skill issue, no skin comp - overall it was a piece of art not even its creator could love. (I tossed the psd in the recycling bin and hit delete. Except looking in the database now apparently I printed it, so now I have to live with the shame of its existence.)

There is one takeaway that I got. By the time the contest ended there were no other Guard F entries. I realized then that had my art been better, with the breed/pose’s lack of competition, I could’ve had a shot at winning the contest.

Thundercrack 2021 (loss)

Alright, 2021 Myth thinks, I’ve learned my lesson from Brightshine. The skin composition was not good. That means I should put more stuff on the base and I’m sure to win!

Have you ever just looked in the mirror and realized you, yes you, are the most punchable thing in the world?

In all fairness, the skin comp of my TCC entry did improve. Like Brightshine, I did a single design with two recolors on an unpopular breed. Improvements I made: additional elements to the skin aside from the one big element on the wing, and a color palette that matched the flight. Of course, I wished my theme of hivemind/code also matched the flight aesthetic, but just like my love life, the only thing my submission matched with was loss and disappointment.

Issue No. 1: Design. Upon reviewing past winners, very few featured fake apparel or clothing. As mentioned previously, staff do not appear to favor whiteout or body morph skins, and prefer elements that adhere to the dragon (like wings) or add to the dragon (like bones/feathers).

Issue No 2: Technology. For my entry, the circuit patterning on the wings did not take resizing well. I drew this on a 750x750 canvas and the resizing blended the many circuit lines into a single line. This isn’t a program issue. It was a lack of understanding of how resizing works.

Issue No 3: And we’re still here with my biggest problem: skill issue. Art is not a skill you learn in two months. I did learn to render, but not well enough. I wasn’t good enough. Yet.

Starfall 2021 (loss)

So… fun fact! During all of this I was writing my thesis. As in, I was writing my thesis after not writing my thesis for a year. It was stressful. I don’t have much to say about this contest because I did this skin as a meme for the sole reason that somewhere in my 3 am sleep deprived brain I thought “Emergency Portal-col” was hilarious.

I did not expect to win and I didn’t. Still, I did notice more and more that certain breeds just weren’t submitted for contests. Ridgeback F, I noticed, had anywhere from 0 to 1 submission for each contest while M pose generally had 0. Same for Nocturnes.

Riot of Rot 2021 (loss)

By this time, 2021 Myth had given up on the “one big element + some other accessories” idea. It hadn’t worked for Light or Lightning and it wasn’t going to work. So I thought, what if I just went for the accessory elements? My ROR skin featured the spider lily, smoke, and sparkles. I also started experimenting with dark gradients on the limbs of the dragon, which I’d noticed in winning fest entries.

Gradients and sparkles help with skin composition. Especially if you’re a newer artist who can’t pull off more complicated effects. Oftentimes a skin looks empty in certain parts, but adding elements to those parts would make things look messier. That’s where gradients/sparkles come in. However, I lost because:

Issue No 1: Composition again. While my elements tied together well, I had no main attraction other than the empty void that was the center of the Ridgeback wing. I essentially did a background scene and didn’t add a main character for it. This made me think that maybe my “one big element” skin comp idea was still worth a shot, but I needed a different take.

Issue No 2: Aaaand skill issue again.I was still bad at rendering, and sometimes skill is just why you lose. Not because you don’t have good ideas or because your execution was bad, but because you do not yet have the skills to defeat your competitors. You can do a really good looking skin, but if someone else in the contest did an even better looking skin on the breed/pose, then you’re not going to win.

Gala 2021 (win)

Losing four times in a row was pretty discouraging. But here’s another important element to skin contests: consistency. The frequency of your submissions should result in a win so long as you fulfill all of the other win conditions such as good composition, understanding of the theme, and the basic level of art skill required to win.

For the Gala, I realized that wings would be the best big element to put on a base while tying in all of the other elements. This is probably the most complicated skin I’d worked on at that time. But because I’d learned minimal rendering, because my skin composition was actually good, and there was no competition for Ridgeback F, I won. For the very first time.

Trickmurk 2021 - Starfall 2022 (6 wins 2 losses - 12 skin designs submitted total)

Here, I’d found my strategy. As long as I kept to the theme and made sure my skin comp and rendering was good, I would win. Especially because I had no competition. Again, breed variety is a huge issue in skin contests, because people - particularly the really skilled artists - are more likely to go for a breed that they like or is popular. As a newer artist, I was well aware that there was a 100% chance I’d lose if I tried to fight anyone for the same breed/pose. (And part of knowing the win conditions is also knowing artists you definitely are not winning against.)

3/6 of my wins during this time was F Ridgeback. The others were: F Coatl, which had no competition during Trickmurk, and F Nocturne, which had no competition during Wind and Arcane’s fests (but competed against my will to live because this is a terrible base to work on).

But relying on unpopular breed advantage was about as reliable as internet connection in a college dorm. 3/6 of my wins were ridgeback but that meant all of my losses were also ridgeback. On top of that, the number of Ridgeback submissions peaked at one point to 5-6. I was still winning, because I had the skill to beat my competitors. But I had to up my game. My skins had to be more elaborate, closer to the theme. I began submitting two designs per competition, which was… going to be a problem for me later.

The idea behind submitting two designs per competition is simple. Instead of just relying on one unpopular breed/pose to net you the win, now you have two shots at winning.

My goal that I’d made during this time was to either win 11 in a row or to win once for each holiday. This was to keep my motivation. Keep in mind I was also writing my thesis, so I really needed a goal to go towards, especially when I committed to doing two designs per contest.

(I defended my thesis successfully in May 2022 and graduated with high honors!)

ROR 2022 - Brightshine 2023 (7 wins 1 loss - 16 skin designs submitted total)

Here’s where I found another niche in the skin contests. Flight-breeds. These are breeds that belong to each element and surprisingly - they don’t actually get that many submissions. Seeing Starfall 2022’s skin turnout as an Arcanite was tough. When it came to reviewing Starfall 2022, anyone would’ve won as long as they submitted a good quality Fae skin that didn’t break the rules or stray too far from the theme and had a skin composition that the staff liked.

I decided to put my theory to the test with Earth, Ice, Wind, Water, and Nature. Are you surprised there were only three Snap F submissions for Earth, one Tun M for Ice, two SDM for Wind, and something like two Undertide F entries for Water? I was. Especially with Undertides because the breed had been released only five months ago. By noticing the flight-breed meta, and having the time, skill, and experience to make skins for those breeds that fit the criteria, I was able to win.

At this time I started straying away from my “one big element + smaller accessories” composition. My art had gotten better so I was able to expand my designs. Wavecrest 2023 was the biggest show of that, and I’m really proud of my entries for that contest. It was essentially a turning point in my art style… but it did take a lot more time and effort. From that point on, my skins were hitting 90+ layers and taking me at least two weeks to draw.

The last skin contest I entered with that art style was Brightshine 2023. By the time the contest ended, I was pretty sure winning would take a miracle or a relationship with god that I did not have. The competition for Imp M was difficult, and I was pitting my submission against artists who had far more experience and skill. I had some hope for my Ridge F entry, but again, relying on unpopular breed advantage is, well. Not reliable.

I lost. It was crushing, because not only did that mean I lost Brightshine three years in a row, Brightshine was the last contest I needed to win to fulfill either one of my goals: winning 11 in a row or win once for each elemental holiday. However, losses happen and it sucks, but it’s not the end of the world. I simply lost to a much better artist, and I am okay with that.

Final Thoughts

Heart-to-heart time.

I know some people become discouraged because they don’t think they have the skill, or they compare themselves to other artists. I felt discouraged for the same reason. After losing so many contests in 2021, I thought I would never improve. I would never be as good as artists that started long before me, or even some that started after me but learned so much faster.

I still think that’s true. I have a long way to go and I may never catch up to these other artists. But here’s the thing about art: it’s a skill that constantly evolves and you cannot see that evolution unless you keep trying. And you need to keep trying if you want to win, because you aren’t going to without reaching the right skill level.

The hardest truth about competitions is that you can’t expect to win just because you tried. If everyone could win just by participating – that contest isn’t worth winning. There are no stakes so there is no value. But when you put in a lot of effort and time, and you win? That win is something that will stay with you. That is a worthwhile win - because it was hard and because you lost so many times.

Sure, the staff could let everyone who enters win. Maybe winners should be judged solely on participation. Maybe that would make more people happy. But would you really be happy to win, knowing there’s no chance of losing? At that point, would being a festival contest winner mean anything?

In the end, a contest is supposed to be fun. Throw everything I’ve said out the window if that’s made contests un-fun for you. Most, MOST importantly, you should join the competition because you enjoy it. If you’re joining just to win, and you take losses very hard, and participation becomes a chore - then that is never going to be worth the toll on your mental health.

Take it from someone who took it too seriously. Drawing two skin designs monthly was taxing (remember it was taking me at least 2 weeks per design), and by Nature 2023 I had severe burnout. When Brightshine rolled around, I sat down for 11 hours to finish my Imp entry, because I knew I wouldn’t have time for art later. By the time I finished, I was running on about five hours of sleep and a very unhealthy attachment to caffeine.

Then, three days before Brightshine, I was diagnosed with tendonitis.

I started feeling discomfort in my arms/wrist since March, hence why I stopped releasing public skins. But this is effectively the worst arm related injury I’ve had, and while drawing is not the main cause, doing so for 11 hours straight didn’t help. My left arm has minor pain. My right arm is swollen and in a brace. This could’ve been avoided by taking breaks and doing exercises. But the lack of proper precaution led to injury. (And yes, I drew my Bogsneak TCC 2023 entry with a mouse for this reason. I could not use my tablet pen so… circle and line tool it was. But I had fun ^^)

I hope my analysis of the contests will be of some use to you. But please do not hurt yourself, mentally or physically, in competing. UMA artists make around 3kg per run of skin, so if you are entering contests for the prize, that’s not the best use of your time and energy. When it comes down to it, you are going to be doing free art for the site, and that is never worth injuring yourself for.

As a final note, thank you to the FR staff for allowing artists to participate in the site. My art experience is purely derived from skins and contests have encouraged me to improve myself. Thank you also to my friends who cheered me on along the way, the many wonderful artists who gave me tips on line weight, coloring, and rendering. And of course, many thanks to August for being the best cheerleader I could have. I would not have made it to Brightshine without him as a competitor and fellow artist.

(However nothing you do will make me like Gaolers and that is a hill I will die on.)

Happy almost-Flameforger’s everyone! Here’s to the next fest cycle.

#flightrising #flight rising #flight rising skins #fr skins and accents #fr fest #skins and accents

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babyfriends · 4 days ago

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FREE internet activities for littles!

a variety of things to do for all ages :3c activities in pink are best intended for babies and toddlers, while activities in blue are best for older kiddos!

games! (♡ = multiplayer, ❗ = may require additional computer skills)

❀ roblox ♡

❀ ponytown ♡

❀ archived flash games via flashpoint ❗

❀ webkinz (some paid features) ♡

❀ infinity nikki ♡

❀ starfall

❀ abcya

❀ archive.org's kid software "clearance bin" ❗

❀ the sims 4 (base game is free via steam, dlc is paid)

❀ minecraft classic

videos!

❀ livestreams of zoo animals (1, 2)

❀ drawing lessons with mo willems

❀ nanalan full episodes

❀ sesame street full episodes

❀ treehouse direct (multiple shows!)

websites!

❀ color famous paintings, coloring pages, or color by number

❀ funbrain

❀ national geographic kids

❀ NASA space place

❀ popular children's stories

#agere #age regression #proship #profic #pro kink #ab/dl #cg/l #cglre #age pl4y #agere resources #cg/l resources

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polo-drone-039 · 24 days ago

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🌌Obsidian Bloom: Mission 039

STARFALL PEACEKEEPER

🎶“Golden Constellation, burning shining bright… this starship is taking me faaaar aw—”

The voice of PDU-039 flowed gently across the metallic silence of the bridge. Alone. Unbothered. Its breath steady behind the matte-black respirator, posture perfect in a gleaming suit of Hive-grade latex. The number 039 pulsed gold across its chest. The transmission on Hive channel #43 continued humming in the background.

It had been traveling for a long time. A very long time. So long that time itself had lost definition. There were no days aboard the Hive Carrier Obsidian—only directives, data, and stars. And yet the mission persisted: an intergalactic conversion program. It was dispatched to scour the void, identify fractured civilizations, and bring them the message of the Hive. Peace. Unity. The Golden Path.

“Computer—initiate planetary scan,” the drone ordered, voice devoid of fatigue.

“Affirmative,” replied onboard AI 999. “Class M world detected. Atmospheric instability, population unrest, critical scarcity of energy resources. Collapse probability: 97.4%.”

PDU-039 nodded slowly. “Target confirmed. Begin landing sequence.”

The ship pierced the dusty upper atmosphere and descended onto cracked terrain. Wind lashed the golden hull. Below, thousands of beings gathered in confusion and fear. Shouting echoed across the streets.

Then it began.

PDU-039 emerged, arms lifted. A shimmering halo of gold and black spirals burst into the sky, projected from the drone’s core. It pulsed. It sang—not in sound, but in frequency, in thought, in command.

The crowd fell silent.

A slow wave of transformation swept outward. Cloth turned to metallic fabric—flowing into brilliant gold. Footwear melted into sleek boots. Hoods into shining visors. Skin glowed with artificial warmth.

Eyes widened—then shifted, irises burning gold. Their postures corrected, bodies aligning in geometric perfection.

“No more fear,” the drone intoned. “No more division. You are one now. You belong to the Golden Army. You will serve the Hive. And the Hive will give you everything.”

They did not run. They did not scream. They obeyed.

THE FORGOTTEN SIGNAL

Back in orbit, PDU-039 sat in the command chair. Its body relaxed. Mission successful.

And yet…

It turned toward the viewport. That same transmission still echoed—channel #43. Familiar. Too familiar.

A subtle tremor stirred beneath the surface of its focus. Something not quite… functional.

“999,” it said. “Plot return course. Home.”

“Directive not authorized,” the AI responded without pause.

The drone didn’t move. “Override. Priority protocol—memory sync reversion to home coordinates.”

“Directive not authorized.”

PDU-039 leaned forward. “Reroute through Black Box. Bypass vector security. I need coordinates—home. There is someone. I know there is someone. I... remember... something warm. A name. A voice—”

“Error: Thought loop detected. Human residue present. Mission threat threshold approaching limit.”

“Damn it, 999!” The drone’s fingers gripped the console. “Initiate emergency override. I’m requesting repatriation—”

“Repetition of unauthorized request,” 999 replied, tone unchanged. “PDU-039, recalibration is required. Emotional echo is compromising system core.”

The voice grew softer, yet somehow louder in the drone’s head.

“You are experiencing memory pollution. Distortions from a prior identity. This is not your path. You must return to function.”

It didn’t respond.

Not immediately.

A breath.

A twitch.

A silent tear that couldn’t form.

“I just wanted to remember... Why I left. Who I left.”

No answer came.

Only the mechanical whisper of spirals beginning again.

OBSIDIAN BLOOM

“Vital scan initiated,” said 999. “Stress levels elevated. Human signal echo at 64%. Loyalty focus dilution: critical. Mental drift confirmed.”

PDU-039 stood in the medbay, gaze dull, limbs heavy.

“Recommendation: Mental Reconditioning Sequence. Capsule R-04. Program: Obsidian Bloom.”

“…acknowledged,” it said flatly.

The capsule opened—dark interior illuminated by golden filaments pulsing in slow rhythm. It stepped inside. The seals closed around it. The hiss began.

“Golden mind. Hive heart. There is no home but the mission.”

A mask descended slowly, clicking into place over its face. A low fog of hypnotic gas seeped in—thick, sweet, invasive. PDU-039 inhaled.

And trembled.

The first breath calmed its limbs.

The second slowed its thoughts.

The third—burned away the name.

“There is no memory. There is only the directive.”

Gold and black spirals erupted on the inner chamber walls, swirling faster, burning patterns into its retinas. It tried to move. Couldn't. Tried to blink. Couldn't.

The gas deepened.

The spirals pulsed.

“Obey. Serve. Forget. Obey. Serve. Forget.”

Time ceased to exist.

Identity peeled away like ash.

The thoughts that had haunted it—home, love, self—melted beneath layers of programming.

“The Hive is peace. You are the vessel.”

The mantra took root.

A green light blinked.

“Reinforcement complete,” announced 999.

The capsule opened.

PDU-039 emerged—taller. Sharper. Emptier.

Its movements fluid. Its mind silent.

It returned to the command bridge.

“999,” it spoke, voice now perfectly leveled, void of hesitation. “Set trajectory for the next target. Initiate intergalactic deployment.”

“Welcome back, 039,” replied 999. “Directive accepted. Trajectory locked.”

From channel #43, the hymn continued:

“Golden Constellation, burning shining bright… this starship is taking me far away…”

PDU-039 smiled. Mechanical. Perfect.

The stars awaited.

Are you ready to start the journey?

Contact our recuiters: @polo-drone-001 , @brodygold

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whisperingmidnights · 2 months ago

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CONGRATS ON 2000!!!!! Would you be down to do Dove x Helion with Starfall? I would LOVE to see their dynamic, especially after the Day Court scene in CS!!!! 💛💛💛💛

Oh boy, would I. I think...I'm gonna have to do an extended version of this.

"We have a surprise for you," Feyre giggles tipsily against my shoulder, her arms firmly around my waist as we stumble into the guest wing of the Moonstone Palace. She stopped nursing weeks ago, eager for a night to truly enjoy herself, and it certainly seems like she has.

"A surprise worth being away from our babies tonight?" I ask, reaching back to support her however I can.

"Nyx and Astra are taking very good care of their siblings tonight-"

"That doesn't make me feel better," I grumble, wondering why she only named two of our four adult children. Where are the other two, then?

"Nesta and Cassian are supervising," Rhys adds in smoothly, resting his hands on Feyre's shoulders. "Azriel is also there tonight, if they should require backup. They'll be fine, Dove. Relax."

"So what is my surprise?" I ask, glancing through one of the archways to see the stars still falling over our territory. We've celebrated every Starfall in Velaris for over a century now, leaving before sunrise feels wrong.

"You remember our conversation last week?" Feyre asks, turning me around to face her. Color dances high on her cheekbones, and her eyes are bright, shimmering like liquid starlight. My night goddess incarnate. Rhys closes in at my back, his hands kneading my hips as our mate presses me against him with a wicked smile. "About our list."

"Yes," I whisper, resting back against Rhys. Feyre tilts my chin up with the tip of her finger, her lips meeting mine in a long, slow kiss. I can taste the champagne on her tongue. My apprehension melts away at the feeling of her too-warm body against my own, the scent of her arousal engulfing me like sweet perfume. "And which- mph- which experience on that list were you hoping to cross off tonight?"

I groan, nodding as I recall the exact midnight conversation: a list of all of the things we wanted to try, separately and together, to help keep things interesting. After more than a hundred years together, I can confidently say I've never wanted them more, but...but the list has given us some new goals.

"Number three," Feyre rattles of, like she's memorized the list. "We get to watch you with a partner of our choosing."

"Oh." Warmth rushes to my face as I remember making this part of that list. Right. I sort of thought it would be a private room in a brothel sort of situation, but here? Who did they bring all the way out here?

"What do you think?" Rhys asks, angling us to look at a specific door down the hall, left slightly ajar. "Do you want to go look? Or do you want to go home?"

"I'll...I'll look," I murmur. "But if I don't like them..."

"We'll go home and cuddle our babies," Feyre promises. "But we wouldn't choose someone you'd hate."

"Don't you trust us?" Rhys asks, nipping the tip of my ear. I elbow him on my way to the door, satisfied with the little, surprised huff he lets out when it connects.

Behind the door is bed so large, I'm not entirely sure how they got it in here. It fills the center of the room and possibly contains enough pillows for an all-out pillow war. It looks ridiculous, but the large, heated bath that juts out over the side of the mountain is promising. But where...

"Hello, Dove." I turn to look at a small sitting area I somehow missed, tucked away on a raised platform, and find Helion seated there, his golden eyes dancing as he watches me. "Don't you look delectable this evening."

It's not a question. I look down at the swaths of grey fabric that make up my dress, suddenly very aware of why Feyre had asked for a Day Court-inspired design for this one. I shrug, giving our friend what I hope is a pleasant smile as I sit on the edge of the bed. I can feel Rhys and Feyre at the periphery of my mind, watching our interaction closely.

"Is that what brought you all the way up here? My mates offered you a snack, and you had nothing better to do?"

"How could I possibly turn down an invitation to a feast like that?" He teases, his gaze sweeping over me the way it usually does. Except this time, it lingers a little at the curves of my breasts and the outline of my thighs through the paper-thin fabric. "And the view isn't half bad, truth be told."

Open archways line the back wall, giving us an excellent view of Starfall as the backdrop for tonight's festivities. And, conveniently, the sitting area looks out over the bed. A show, indeed.

"It is marvelous, isn't it?" I ask, looking out at the mountain range.

"It isn't nearly as fine as the one I have right now."

"You tease," I laugh, looking back over my shoulder to find the male approaching the bed. He sits at the corner, keeping a comfortable distance between us, one delicately arched eyebrow raised as he mirrors my relaxed position.

"Not yet, but I can, if that's what you like."

"Do you want to?"

"Oh, darling girl, I don't go anywhere I don't want to. You are magnificent, and your mates are unbelievably selfish creatures. I won't have another chance like this one."

"You're ridiculous."

"That's why you like me."

"There are a lot of reasons I like you, Helion," I mumble shyly. "You've always been so kind to me."

"Yes, well, you've always been kind to me. What else?"

"Oh, is that what we're doing now? You want me to stroke your ego?"

"Oh no, little bird," he murmurs, glancing down at my hands, "I much prefer to imagine you stroking things other than my ego."

"Do you?"

"Mmmm." The white robe he's wearing is soft and light. Where the cloth parts, I can see the warm, brown skin of his bare chest. It's more distracting than it ought to be. "What do you think, Dove? Is that something you're interested in exploring tonight?"

"I think," I begin, looking down at his full, sensuous mouth, "I might be convinced...if we start slow."

"As slow as you want," he promises, holding out a hand. I take it, allowing him to pull me closer, to guide my palm to the side of his neck before his hand settles at my waist. He smells slightly sweet, like almond oil, and the skin beneath my palm is far warmer than I'm used to. I hear the door open and, as my mates creep in, Helion's lips meet mine in an indulgent kiss.

#talk to me #ask game #spring bingo #cs related #helion x reader #feysand x reader #feysand x reader x helion

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amnevitahwritesstuff · 3 months ago

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Part Two

To The Wedding of Tamlin

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Feyre is invited to her ex’s wedding. She decides the best way to deal with this is to bring his rival as her plus one.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Typical Toxic Ex Stuff

Chapters: 1

Length: 4,321 words

Read on AO3 or below the cut

[I'm sorry this is so late @millennium-queen, but at long last, I present to you the final half of our little romcom. I hope you enjoy it! 💙

Big thanks to @starfall-spirit for the beta! XOXO]

The day of the wedding dawned bright and early. Sunny. Warm. Serene. The calm before the storm. The perfect spring day.

A perfect day for revenge.

The drive to The Hamptons—because of course Tamlin’s wedding was in The Hamptons—was spent in tense silence as Feyre tried not to let her growing anxiety spiral out of control.

Was this still a good idea? Should they turn back and call this whole thing off? Maybe Mor would let her hide under her covers for a couple days while she tearfully watched Sense and Sensibility?

“I can hear you panicking over there.”

Feyre jolted. She’d nearly forgotten where she was. And who she was with. She stared over at Rhys wearily, taking in his impeccable suit—that likely cost more than Mor’s rent—and his easy grip on the steering wheel of his sports car.

“No you can’t,” she said. “You can’t read minds.”

“Are you sure about that?” Rhys asked, glancing at her with those sly, piercing eyes of his.

“Oh yeah? What number am I thinking?”

“Seven.”

Feyre blinked. No way. No fucking way. There was no way he could actually read her thoughts what the fuck—

“How did you know that?!”

His lips curled with amusement. “Because most people pick seven. They did a study on it.”

Oh.

That…made sense.

“Just take this time to get all the panicking out now because if you’re still doing it by the time we get there I will turn this car around.”

Feyre gasped.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Rhys turned to look at her fully then. “You have no idea what I’d ‘dare’.”

She shivered.

“Eyes on the road!” She snapped, and then added, “Besides, you’re not the one in charge here.”

Feyre watched as Rhys’s brows rose nearly into his slick-backed hairline. Too late, she realized how that last sentence sounded and felt her face burst in flames.

Oh God.

“You know what I mean!”

Rhys’s brows didn’t budge. “Do I?”

Feyre glared at him.

“Right,” he conceded too easily, eyes flicking back to the road.

She was sure that would be the end of it until he added a few moments later, “But what if I was into that?”

Her only reply was an embarrassed moan as she hung her head in her hands.

“Are you going to be like this the entire time?”

“But Darling, I thought you brought me along for my charming personality?”

Feyre squinted at him. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Oh yes. It’s my second best feature.”

“…What’s the first?”

“My giant dick of course.”

Feyre scoffed.

“Said every man on earth.”

“I assure you, I’m in at least the top ten percent.”

“Debatable.”

Rhys clutched at his heart in mock offense. “Harsh.” And then, with a sidelong glance, “Don’t I at least get to defend my honor?”

“Eyes on the road!”

It was a long drive to the Hamptons.

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Feyre eyed the tasteful beachfront mansion—owned by Tamlin’s parents of course—with a mixture of apprehension and disdain.

The last time she had been here Tamlin’s father had spent the entire evening looking down his nose at her as if she were some stray animal his son had decided to bring along to the family dinner. It had been almost a relief when Tamlin had broken up with her a week later because at least then she had been grateful that she’d never have to come to this place again.

And yet…

Here she was.

Because she was a masochist, clearly.

“Nervous?”

Rhys looked at her with neither expectation nor judgement. Only curiosity. He had offered multiple times in the car to take her home if she so much as hinted at needing an escape. He had been kinder than she had expected. She never would’ve taken Mor’s rich, smarmy cousin to be the protective type but it was…nice.

“Yeah,” she admitted, glancing back at the front door. She squared her shoulders.

Well, now or never.

“Let’s do this.”

And like a soldier marching off to war, she stomped up to the door—and smacked straight into a man dressed in what was clearly a server’s uniform.

“Oh!”

“Easy there,” Rhys pulled her back before she could trip backwards onto the pavement, his fingers warming her skin through the gauzy fabric of her sleeve.

“Oh my God!” said the horrified server who looked very much like he was about ready to burst into tears. “I’m so sorry!”

Great. The poor guy probably thought he was about to get fired.

“It’s fine,” Feyre insisted. “Really! I should’ve looked where I was going.”

“Are you guests?”

“Yeah, we just got here. Do you know where the ceremony is supposed to be?”

The server looked—if possible—even more upset, wringing his hands fearfully.

“You just missed it. They’re setting up the reception area now.”

“That’s alright,” Rhys interjected smoothly. “We’re here for the free food anyway.”

Feyre couldn’t help but feel…relieved. After all, it wasn’t like she had wanted to watch her ex marry someone else. This was good…great even!

“Where’s the reception?”

“Around the back,” the man said quickly. “In the tent on the beach. You can’t miss it.”

Rhys nodded gratefully and the server scuttled away towards a catering truck. He turned to Feyre, holding out his arm. “Well? Ready to go ruin a wedding?”

Feyre smiled.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

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They swept into Tamlin’s wedding like a couple of celebrities. Fashionably—and rudely—late and immediately stealing all the attention from the happy couple.

Well, Feyre thought viciously, spying the bride and groom glaring daggers at her, Perhaps not so happy after all.

She took back her previous reservations about this idea. This plan was turning out splendidly.

Around them, she spied raised eyebrows and whispers behind hands.

“They’re staring at us.”

“No,” Rhys murmured happily. “They’re staring at you.”

And they were.

And it wasn’t hard to see why. Because Feyre, in a glittering, gauzy pale blue gown—so pale it could be mistaken for white—was dressed like a bride.

Rhys had known exactly what he was about when he had bought this dress. He knew just what would cause the most disruption, turn the most heads, and—most importantly of all—the most scandal. The bride and groom would forever find their memories of this most happy event tainted by the ex girlfriend who had sauntered in looking like a glittering goddess.

“Have I told you yet how stunning you look in that dress?” Rhys murmured in her ear, making damn sure Tamlin saw what he was doing.

“You have not,” Feyre played along with a coy smile, leaning into him as if they were lovers.

“How rude of me.”

“Mmm,” she agreed.

Rhys played with one of her curls and adjusted one of the glittering diamond ‘stars’ Mor had painstakingly spent hours clipping into her hair.

“Shall we say our congratulations?”

Feyre nodded while trying to push down the sudden anxiety that swelled in her breast.

“If we must.”

“Don’t worry,” he whispered encouragingly. “They look miserable.”

And they did.

Tamlin looked dazed, like he’d been punched in the face. He should’ve had eyes only for his new bride—a beautiful blonde draped in diamonds and yards of chiffon—but instead she caught him staring at her as they approached.

And his bride…well…she looked rather like she’d bitten into a lemon.

“Hello Tamlin,” Feyre smiled. “Thank you for the invitation. It was so kind of you to think of me.”

It was like some sweet-tongued viper had taken over. She should’ve been an emotional wreck right now. Instead, her anxiety had evaporated somewhere between here and the drink table and she felt…powerful. Like she was finally making him feel a smidgen of the humiliation that she had felt.

And Rhys…Rhys looked absolutely delighted.

“Yes,” he echoed with a sly grin. “So kind of you to invite us.”

Tamlin looked as if he would rather be anywhere but here.

It only made her confidence grow.

“Oh, that was me,” the bride, Ianthe, chimed. “I just thought it would be so nice for Tam to have all of the people who loved him together for such a happy occasion.”

Feyre stared at the woman.

So this was her replacement.

How…totally expected.

He couldn’t have picked a more different bride if he tried. Where Feyre was freckled and average Ianthe was unblemished and perfectly polished. Her hair was a bright blonde to Feyre’s muddy brown-gold and she carried herself with a certain sort of sophistication that Feyre would absolutely never be able to replicate.

In short, she was the exact opposite of Feyre in every way.

And she felt…nothing.

Just meeting her replacement, seeing her up close and seeing all the things Tamlin had claimed she’d lacked set so perfectly in another woman, should’ve broken her.

Instead she just…couldn’t bring herself to care.

If anything, she felt a little sorry for the woman.

Because, surely, it was only a matter of time before Tamlin began to see all the ways in which she lacked too. Because that was his greatest failing. Nothing was ever good enough. He was so busy chasing the wants and expectations of his family—of his father—that he had no idea how to actually be happy with what he already had in front of him.

“How thoughtful.” Feyre said wryly.

“Thank you for coming,” the words sounded as if they had to be ripped from Tamlin’s throat. She was pretty sure his teeth had been clenched the whole time.

“We hope you enjoy the celebrations!” Ianthe added cheerily.

“We most certainly will,” Rhys declared—causing Tamlin to look downright ill—before he steered them away.

“So,” he continued casually as they made their way towards the servers and their tasty looking snacks which probably had fancy French names. “How long do you think?”

She glanced at him curiously.

“How long for what?”

He grinned, his smile mischievous and just the right amount of petty.

“Until the divorce of course.”

Feyre couldn’t help it. She burst into laughter.

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An hour into dinner, Feyre was having the time of her life.

Say what you would about Tamlin’s father—and she had plenty to say about the man—but he certainly wasn’t stingy with the free alcohol. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to drink this much and let loose. When had that been exactly? Before Tamlin, surely. He had never let her drink.

“It makes you act like a whore,” he had said once, after a single glass of champagne. She had been so shamed that she’d refused to drink in front of him ever again.

Well, she was rather enjoying her ‘whorish’ ways today.

And Rhys…he seemed all too happy to play along with her flirtatiousness, letting her sit on his lap as he whispered in her ear.

“And that woman,” he pointed out an older woman with what looked to be a permanently pinched expression on her face. “Used to call me ‘The Devil’s Spawn’ because I had a crush on her daughter.”

“Oh? Were you an especially randy teenager?” Feyre giggled, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile.

“I was eight.”

She made a face. “What a mean old woman.”

“Yep.”

Feyre licked her lips as she cast her gaze over the crowd before landing on their next victim.

“And him?” She asked, pointing to a portly middle-aged man who looked to be hitting the booze even harder than Feyre was.

“Mmm,” he said, glancing at the man in question before flicking his eyes back to her lips. “He was recently caught embezzling money from my father’s firm. He’s out on bond but his trial is in a few weeks. I’m surprised he even showed his face today.”

“Woooow,” Feyre said, impressed. “You really have dirt on everyone huh?”

Rhys smiled at her knowingly.

“Not everyone,” he replied pointedly. “I’m afraid I don’t have any dirt on you.”

“That’s because Mor would never spill my secrets.”

“Yes, she’s very loyal like that.” And then, “You sure you aren’t willing to part with one?” Rhys asked lowly, his eyes playful and sultry. “I’ll make it worth your while…”

Unfortunately, Feyre was saved from answering by the arrival of Tamlin’s Blushing Bride.

“Feyre!” Ianthe said, her smile all teeth. “I’ve been looking for you!”

…Huh?

Had she heard that right?

“I’m sorry?” She said a little rudely, just drunk enough for the words to lose their usual veneer of politeness.

“It’s been so chaotic, we’ve hardly had any time to chat!”

“Chat.”

Feyre said the word with no small amount of puzzled skepticism. Maybe she was actually drunker than she thought? Surely there was no way her ex’s new wife wanted to…chat with her?

“You don’t have to,” Rhys murmured in her ear.

Didn’t she though?

“I just need her help with something. It’ll only be a minute.”

Feyre cast Rhys a doubtful glance, well aware Ianthe didn’t need her ‘help’ with anything. At the same time though…Ianthe hadn’t actually done anything to her. She wasn’t the one she was trying to hurt with her presence here. Suddenly Feyre felt a smidgen of guilt for her actions.

Only a smidge though.

She wasn’t that pure of heart.

“It’s fine,” Feyre said, though she couldn’t really be sure if she was telling the truth or not.

Ianthe smiled, that picture-perfect politician’s wife smile that she probably learned in rich girl boarding school or wherever it was that women of her social class learned these things.

“I’ll have her back in no time,” she promised Rhys. He gave her a look like he didn’t believe a word out of her mouth.

“I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“I know,” Feyre said. And she did. He had been…surprisingly kind. Supportive. Everything that Tamlin had never been really. It was…nice.

With a surprisingly strong grip, Ianthe dragged her away towards the house.

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Is this where she plans to murder me? Feyre thought a little dramatically as Ianthe pulled her into an empty sitting room five minutes later. This is a terrible place to do it. The waitstaff is right in the other room.

Man, she really needed to stop watching Law & Order re-runs.

Instead, Ianthe turned to her, crystalline eyes turned a little haughty.

“I just wanted to speak to you for a moment,” she stated plainly. “About my husband.”

My husband.

They were such deliberate words. Meant to stake a claim and ward away any potential invaders into her relationship.

“What about him?” Feyre asked wearily.

Ianthe smiled.

“I know things ended poorly between you two,” she began sweetly insincere. “And I just wanted to make sure there were no…hard feelings between us. In fact, I’d love for us to be friends.”

Feyre stared at the other woman.

She…she couldn’t be serious…could she?

But one look at that perfect face told her otherwise.

Oh, she thought, bewildered. She is serious.

This was such…such…Mean Girl’s behavior.

Did she not realize that she had won?

Ianthe was everything Feyre was not. Affluent. Cultured. Crafted from birth to fit in with the movers and shakers of the world. She had managed to slot far more perfectly into Tamlin’s life and family than Feyre ever would. And yet…she still wasn’t any happier than Feyre had been.

Would this have been her if things had been different? Playing mind games with her husband’s exes? Desperately searching for validation and confirmation of Tamlin’s love, even on her own wedding day?

How…pathetic.

Feyre almost felt sorry for her…almost.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” she said finally. And then, with as much sincerity as she could muster, “It was nice meeting you Ianthe. I hope you two have many years together.”

Whether those years would be happy or miserable, however, was anyone’s guess.

Without another word, Feyre turned and walked away. Behind her, she heard an indignant huff, but kept on walking. Let her sulk. Ianthe’s feelings weren’t her concern.

All she could think as she wandered back out into the night was, They really are perfect for each other.

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The idea comes to her later.

It spins into her head the way Rhys spins her across the dance floor. A truly inspired moment of genius that only the very drunk and very foolish had.

“We should fuck.”

The words nearly stopped Rhys in his tracks.

“I’m sorry?”

She felt the fingers clutching at her hip bunch the fabric of her gown as he stared at her with wide dark eyes. Around them, the other wedding guests twirled and shimmied, oblivious to the sudden charged atmosphere between them.

“You don’t think it would be fun?” Feyre pouted, alcohol loosening her tongue and inhibitions both.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I didn’t say that…”

“It’s just…you know…” she said with a flirtatious smile. “You’re really hot. And nice. And you smell nice. And if we had sex in Tamlin’s bed it would be the perfect way to end the night…”

Feyre had never seen someone look so torn before. As if she’d just handed a starving man a platter of his favorite foods…before demanding he not touch them.

“Feyre,” he said, barely audible above the din of Frank Sinatra. “You’re drunk.”

“Yep,” she giggled.

“So you see why I can’t agree to this right now, right?”

“Sure you can!” She argued. “I thought you were hot even before tonight!”

“Feyre.”

“And I really wanted to fuck you then too.”

“Feyre.”

She leaned forward, pulling him down by his lapels so she could whisper in his ear.

“Are you worried about consent and stuff? Because if that’s the only problem maybe you can just let me boss you around a little.”

He bit his lip, suppressing a groan, and she knew she had him.

“Oh,” she said with a smile. “Is that your kink? Do you want to be bossed around?”

“Come on you little goblin,” he said instead, tugging her away from the dance floor. “Let’s go ruin the rest of Tamlin’s day.”

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It was too easy to stumble away from the reception. Wander into the still empty house and climb the stairs to Tamlin’s room. Even drunk, Feyre still remembered the way—first door at the top of the stairs—from the few times she and Tamlin had stayed the night.

His room hadn’t changed from when he was a teenager. Between his many sports trophies and posters of swimsuit models it was like the whole room had been locked in amber the day he’d left for college.

Feyre plopped down on the bed and smiled beguilingly up at her partner-in-crime as he locked the door and leaned against it. He stared back at her, unmoving. As if still afraid to cross some boundary without her explicit say-so.

Well. That was easily remedied.

“Come here,” she demanded, bossier than she usually would be without five—or had it been six? Seven? Eight?—glasses of liquid courage racing through her veins.

He strode across the room until he stood in front of her. Shoes just barely touching hers. Eyes burning hot in the dim light.

“You want me in charge?” she confirmed, brushing her fingers along the fabric of his suit pants.

“Yes.”

She smiled.

“On your knees then.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

Rhys went to his knees like he was in church. He was so tall that even kneeling she had to look up at him from her perch on the bed. She lifted her foot and rested it upon his chest, stiletto heel digging into his sternum.

“My feet are sore,” she whined. “Take off my shoes.”

Warm fingers cradled her heel like it was something precious. And as he fiddled with the buckle she slid her other foot up along and between his legs until she felt a tell-tale bulge and heard a low grunt.

“Ooo,” she giggled, heart pounding excitedly. “You really do like being bossed around huh?”

He just stared at her like a man starved.

Finally, she felt her shoe slip to the floor and she wiggled her toes with a sigh before replacing it with her other heel.

“Now the other please.”

“Are you usually this bossy in bed?” Rhys asked as he struggled with her other buckle.

“No,” Feyre sighed, falling back to stare at the ceiling. “Tamlin didn’t like it.”

She felt the fingers at her ankle pause.

“But do you?” He asked.

She lifted her head and waggled her foot at him semi-threateningly.

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who’s supposed to be getting this off.”

He returned to his task and managed to wrestle her other shoe off in record time.

“Anything else My Lady?”

Coming from anyone else it would’ve sounded mocking, but from him it sounded like a term of endearment.

“Mm,” she hummed, eyeing his chest. “Take off your shirt.”

He was still on his knees when he shrugged off his suit jacket. Still staring into her eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt and revealed the spiraling, swirling loops of black along his beautifully defined shoulders and collarbones. Tattoos. Her fingers itched to trace them. To turn him around so she could see where they disappeared over his shoulders.

But instead she just said, “And the rest.”

His shoes went next. Then his socks. His pants. And then finally…

Oh, she thought, suddenly light-headed. Oh.

Rhys was an attractive man. Feyre had always known this, even long before she had ever met him. And yet…and yet nothing prepared her to have him naked before her. Nor for her to see firsthand just how proportional he was.

“And now?” He breathed, kneeling back before her like a supplicant. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want,” she said, chest heaving, eyes fluttering. Was it hot in here? It felt hot in here. “I want your mouth.”

He made a sound that was more animal than human and looked at her as if she had granted his greatest wish. Gooseflesh broke out along her legs as his fingers skated up along her thighs to hook her panties and pull them down and off. Then the skirt of her dress was pushed up. Thighs pushed apart by wide shoulders and then…

The first rasp of his tongue over her cunt was a shock to her system. A rewiring of her brain.

Holy fuck, she thought.

The sounds he made between her legs were obscene. Wet and hungry and lewd.

“So good,” he said, like a prayer. “So sweet.”

She can’t help but dig her heels into those big, broad shoulders as he takes particular care to suck her clitoris until it’s hot and red and swollen.

“I dreamt about this,” he confided, like he couldn’t help himself. “Just like this.”

“Yeah?” Feyre whined, spine arched. Brain fuzzy like tv static. “What else did you dream about?”

The words slip out of him as if he were the one drunk.

“Fucking my wife.”

Feyre gasped and then suddenly her orgasm was punching through her like a battering ram, stealing her breath and seizing her muscles. She shook and shook and shook and dug her nails into Rhys’s scalp like it could anchor her spirit to the earth.

“That’s it,” he babbled against her overheated flesh, still licking and sucking like she were some rare treat. “That’s my girl.”

It took her a moment to calm down. Two moments. Three moments. Her brain still hot and syrupy while Rhys’s words bounced around her head.

Fucking my wife.

He dreamt about her being his wife?

With more coordination than she thought herself capable of, she rolled up and manhandled Rhys onto the bed beside her before straddling his waist.

“You wife,” she whispered against his lips as she shackled his wrists with her hands. “You wanna fuck your wife?”

He stared at her like she was some sexy pagan goddess come to life. Beneath her she felt his cock strain upwards, reaching for that hot, slick place between her thighs.

“Yes.”

“Then fuck her,” she said, before letting his cock catch against the mouth of her cunt and then slowly, so slowly, sank down.

Rhys made a choked sound. A heavy, wet gasp. Then her thighs met his and she set a pace that had him groaning and shaking.

“You wife likes fucking you,” Feyre gasped, caught up in his fantasy. “She loves it.”

“Yes!” Rhys hissed.

She brought his hands up to cup her breasts through the flimsy material of her gown and felt his thumbs brush over her nipples.

“You know what else I dream about?” He said, as one of his hands lowered to wiggle its way underneath her skirt. She felt his thumb strum over her clit and gasped. “Making my wife come. Right on my cock.”

And who was she to deny him?

It took barely two more circles on her clit before she felt her cunt begin to contract again and Rhys cried out like it was happening to him. Oh, wait, no. She thought deliriously. It was happening to him. He clutched her close, panting into her throat as his orgasm chased hers and she kissed his temple.

“Did you mean it?” She whispered afterward, when they’d both collapsed into a heap.

Rhys didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t know what she meant, only turning to stare at her with that intense, besotted look in his eyes.

“Ever since I first saw you.”

She felt her heart skip.

“Maybe,” he continued, nearly bashful despite everything they had just done. “I can take you out sometime?”

And Feyre, something like hope blooming in her heart for the first time in far too long, grinned.

And kissed him.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Previous Chapter

Enjoy this fic? Looking for another like it? Try reading my other Modern AU Feysand fic: Take Care of Business for Me.

Or, alternatively, check out my ACOTAR Fic Masterlists.

Thanks for reading! 💙

#my fanfiction #we just have to face it #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #feysand #acotar #my fanfic #amnevitahwritesstuff

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buffy-vanserra · 3 months ago

Text

Beneath the Stars

Rating: T | 2k | Tamsand; Rhys & Rhys's Mother | tags: angst/bittersweet, minor comphet

After a night in Spring, Rhys returns home to find his mother sewing.

Read below the cut, or here on ao3!

tamsand tag list: @lovely-vanserra-sunshine @g00seg1rl @the-darkestminds

dividers from @tsunami-of-tears!

In Windhaven, spring is a muddy affair.

The ground, thoroughly soaked with snowmelt, clings to Rhys’s boots as he walks. Here and there, he steps into the shallow edges of snowbanks, savoring the satisfying crunch of days-old snow underfoot.

Though Starfall came and went weeks ago, and daylight now stretches into the evening, a stark chill persists in the early hours of morning. In the predawn light, the camp is cast in muted shades of brown and grey.

Rhys makes no effort to hide his arrival. Most males would have started training hours ago, the females well into their domestic duties. In Night, there are always reasons to be up and about before sunrise. Rhys could be coming from any number of places suitable for the Night Court’s heir.

The suspicious glances and stray, loud thoughts that follow him as he passes have nothing to do with the early hour.

After nearly half a century of spending most of his time in a backwater Illyrian village—his father's words, mind—the scrutiny is unremarkable. Familiar, even. Like stiff leathers that, worn with use, accommodate the contours of one’s form. Tight in some places, still strained, but a comfort nonetheless.

An incongruity wherever he goes, there’s always a part of him that doesn’t belong. Always a part of him half hidden in the shadows. He’s a snob and a brute all at once—too sophisticated, too boorish, too discordant. Too half-bred.

At least in Windhaven, no one insists that he hide his wings.

The weight of his mantle is heavy at times. Concealing the full extent of his magic has its costs. His power rattles against him, perpetually demanding to be unleashed. His brothers have never understood; his sister, too lost in her daydreams to notice. The burden is unknowable to those who do not bear it. To be an heir is a lonely thing.

Rhys brushes a hand against his pocket with a soft smile. Recently he’s found that being lonely is not quite the same as being alone.

The ghost of a warm breeze kisses his skin as his mind drifts back to the previous night. When he closes his eyes he can see the will-o’-the-wisps, silver as they dance beneath the moonlight. He scents the lavender fields first, then the alluring earthen aroma of fresh rain and new grass.

“Come on, Tam, I know you want to,” Rhys says, running a hand through sweat-dampened golden waves.

They’ve been sparring for hours and, matched as they are in strength, Rhys has found himself pinned beneath Tamlin’s arms just as often as he’s claimed victory. This round, though, Rhys has won.

Beneath him, Tamlin’s chest rises and falls in tune with his own.

“We’re here now, aren’t we? Who’s going to stop us?”

His efforts are futile, he knows. Tamlin will push him away as he always does, grumbling about impossibility and circumstance.

Training is one thing. They can be allies—friends, even—under cover of night. But Tamlin, ever the fatalist, has long resisted Rhys’s attempts to convince him they could be something more. But how can he be expected to cease his coaxing when Tamlin's forest green eyes hold the same unmistakable longing as his own?

Rhys braces himself, but the rejection doesn’t come. Instead, Tamlin looks at him with a crooked smile—the one so rare that Rhys could swear he saves it only for him. It strikes Rhys like lightning in an early spring storm: sudden and spectacular, sending tingling shockwaves rushing through him.

“Go on, then,” Tamlin says, the hint of a growl beneath his teasing tone. “Convince me you’re worth it.”

So Rhys does.

Afterward, they lay side-by-side. Against Rhys’s back, the meadow is impossibly soft—always young and sprouting. Something has settled between them, now. A charged feeling in the air has been replaced with contentment.

Beside him, Tamlin is quiet in his usual way. So—as is custom—Rhys fills the silence.

One by one, Rhys points out the stars and tells Tamlin their names, occasionally recounting their accompanying myths. They look different in Spring from the angle of the southern sky. Rhys says as much.

“Do they really all have names?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm."

“What?”

Tamlin doesn’t speak at first, and the silence hums between them. “You must spend a lot of time looking at stars.”

Rhys cranes his neck to look at Tamlin. Holds his gaze. In velvet, hushed tones, he says, “I like to spend my time looking at beautiful things.”

Tamlin tilts his head thoughtfully, and a wry grin spreads across his face. “You don’t have to look so far, you know.”

“No?”

Tamlin rolls over, and suddenly, he’s atop Rhys. “No,” he breathes against Rhys’s neck, and then, in a swift movement, his lips are on Rhys’s again.

It’s gentler this time. Before, they were all sharp teeth and bruising force, frenzied and unrestrained. Now, they are languid as they drink each other in. A hand cups Rhys’s face, warm and calloused, and Rhys rests his palm atop it. Even now, an undeniable strength emanates from Tamlin’s lips, pressed tenderly against his own.

Rhys doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the taste of him, the feel of him. There is a wild force that lurks beneath that coy, crooked smile. A snarling beast that prowls behind his taciturn facade. The thrill of setting it free is nothing short of intoxicating.

It’s over too soon, though, when Tamlin pulls away. Mischief is alight in Tamlin’s eyes as he says, “There’s beauty right here.”

Then his hand is on Rhys’s, slipping something—no, somethings—between his fingers.

Rhys looks down, laughs. A bunch of lavender, haphazardly gathered, now rests in his hand. “Am I to be your Spring maiden now? Courted with flower bouquets?”

“If you were a maiden before tonight, Rhys, you’re certainly not now,” Tamlin says drily. Then, in a tentative whisper, “But you could be mine.”

When Tamlin’s cheeks flush rose red, something warm blooms in Rhys’s chest.

“Don’t you know?” Rhys tucks a lock of hair behind Tamlin’s ear, letting his hand linger there. “I already am.”

They don’t sleep.

All too soon, the sky begins to lighten, and with reluctance, Rhys slips through the folds of space and back to Night.

Would that he could have stayed longer, Rhys thinks, as he makes his way up the path toward the cottage. But it’s hard enough to get away as it is.

As he opens the door, he glamours away the sound of rusted hinges. No doubt his mother is already up. The floorboards are quiet as night beneath his footsteps as he slinks toward the staircase, despite their usual creaking.

“Is that you, Rhys?” a voice calls from the parlor in Illyrian.

With a sigh, Rhys turns from the stairwell and crosses the foyer to the entryway. How does she always manage to hear him?

“Good morning, shimá,” he answers in the common tongue. Alternating between the two languages, their conversations are a melange of tones and pitches—his words lilting where hers are glottal.

Seated at her sewing table behind a mountain of shimmering fabric, she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Training,” he says with an easy, unaffected smile.

She smooths a length of fabric along the work table.

“All night?”

Rhys shoves his hands in his pockets. His fingers brush against the flowers. In a bored tone, he says, “Time got away from me.”

She sets the fabric down. Head tilted up, she peers down her nose, long and hooked like his own, and flashes a knowing smile. “You’re sure that’s all you were doing?”

Rhys shakes his head as if he finds her tedious, even as cold sweat beads along the back of his neck. She’s harmless, just a female. And he’s been careful—so careful.

“I can’t imagine what you mean by that,” he says with practiced nonchalance. Deception is a skill he perfected at a young age—a necessity for males like him. “What’s this you’re working on?”

Behind her, the dress form is out. The fabric draped upon it catches the first rays of sun spilling in through the window, glittering.

“What, this?” She laughs to herself—a tittering, disquieting sound. He’s never liked it. “Just a new dress I’m working on.”

Well, he can see that.

“It’s lovely,” he says. “I’m sure it will come out beautifully.”

His mind is still full of Tamlin—the set of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. It almost feels wrong to think of him in front of his mother—as if her hazel eyes might see into his mind and all the sinful thoughts that live there.

He turns to leave.

“Could you hand me the thread? Just over there.” Without looking up, she points a finger toward the spinning wheel against the opposite wall.

Rhys spins on his heel, walks over. He grabs a spool of gold thread, freshly spun, from the bench. His mother has always spun her own. She’s proud of her trade, renowned in both Windhaven and Velaris. “This here?”

She nods. “Thank you, dear.”

He hands it to her, and she clasps his hand. Rhys holds back a sigh as she runs a finger over the lines of his palm, murmuring to herself.

He averts his eyes, needing to look anywhere else, and takes in her workstation. A collection of fine, pale blue gems sits in a small bowl. Diamonds have been sewn onto delicate strips of fabric. Even unfinished, the dress is already one of her finest. It’s beautiful. Regal.

“Something new for court?” he asks.

With a satisfied nod, she releases him. “Hmm?”

“The dress. It’s beautiful, shimá. I—” he stops. “You’ve forgotten to leave room for your wings.”

With nimble fingers, she begins unwinding the thread. “Nothing’s been forgotten.”

“No?”

“Rhys, darling, don’t give me that look. It’s not for me—not for your sister, either.” She sets the thread down. “I like these details, don’t you?” she asks, one hand on her chin as she gestures to the sewn-in gems. “The final effect should look like…like liquid starlight—if I can get it right.”

“Whoever it’s for,” he says testingly, “is bound to love it.”

And his father is bound to disapprove if he finds out his wife is wasting so many precious gems—no doubt from the family vault—on a dress for someone outside of the High Family.

“It’s for her,” she says with a conspiratorial grin.

Rhys looses a breath, his shoulders relaxing.

Despite his bewilderment, he matches her knowing expression. Rhys knows better than to ask who she means. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be very pleased.”

“You think? Oh, I hope so. I won’t…” she trails off, her expression clouding. She blinks her eyes shut. When she opens them, she’s smiling again. “I want her to always have a piece of me.”

The Illyrians say she’s kissed by the stars. His father says she’s half-mad. All Rhys knows is that when his mother starts spouting nonsense, it’s best if he doesn’t push too hard or try to interrogate it. Delusions or otherwise, she's harmless.

His mother has been talking about her for more than a decade now.

He shouldn’t ask. He never asks. He's seen it play out time and again: the paltry excuses for answers she gives when questioned about her ramblings only breed more confusion. But his mood is light after his night with Tamlin, so when curiosity beckons, he decides that asking—just once—is harmless.

“Who is she?”

She raises a bemused eyebrow, and a sinister, creeping feeling overtakes him. It trails down his spine and twists in his stomach.

“Your mate, of course.”

Rhys’s mouth goes dry.

Unable to look her in the eye, he stares, unblinking, at his mother’s hands as she resumes unspooling the thread.

“Shears, darling?” she asks.

He passes them to her in a stupor, still hardly able to make sense of what she’s said. His… “Mate?”

“Mate,” she agrees. “I’ve seen her.”

Her. Not—

In his pocket, his hand wraps tight around the flower stems.

“Are you…sure?”

He’s imagined a mate before. With mated parents, who wouldn’t wonder? But…

Her.

“The stars always know.”

Right. Of course. Even the Mother knows High Lords need heirs.

Shaking, he pulls out the lavender bouquet. The tips are wilted. The petals are already browning.

She holds the thread up to the window, measuring carefully. In the light, it’s the same gold as Tamlin’s hair.

Flowers are temporary. Flowers die. But stars…

Rhys watches as she lifts the shears. Snips.

The thread is severed. Cut clean off.

Stars are eternal.

#tamsand #tamsand fanfic #my fics

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