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readychilledwine · 9 months

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Runaway Love

Summary - Amren and Rhysand's sister have begun to grow closer since Feyre took her duties from her. Amren, seeing she's hurting and needing time away, invites her friend to Summer, she just didn't plan on happened next or having to explain it to Rhysand - Tarquin x Rhysand's Sister reader - told from Amren's pov

Warnings - none I can think of. Lots of italics?

A/N - a side from some Tamlin smut, we are at the end of my maternity celebration, which means we will go back to our regular updates 💜 part of me wants to turn these two into more, but that may be a project for another day

Amren watched from the hill as Tarquin and you sat facing each other in the sand. Your foreheads were rested against each other, fingers laced together.

You two had done the one thing your brother had made Amren promise to prevent from happening. You two had left the seaside Palace late in the night, when everyone else was fast asleep and gotten married on the very beach Tarquin now held you on. Married under the watchful gaze of Summer’s high priestess and the stars.

By time Varian and Amren had found you, the ceremony was done. Vows had been exchanged, the kiss had been shared, the priestess had left. You two had been there, standing as the waves lapped your glittering white dress, just staring at each other.

A throat cleared next to her, turning to her own lover the ancient being sighed. “How will you tell him,” He asked softly. “He will want to know why she refused to come home.”

Amren looked down at you again, a smile forming on her lips as Tarquin tilted your chin up and kissed you. “I will tell him the truth.”

Rhys sat down, Feyre having left the room with Nyx as soon as tension began Building over Amren's avoidance of her mate's questions.

Violet eyes stared at her, waiting for an answer to the question that was hanging in the air like a cold unwelcome breeze. Rhysand rose a brow to Amren and Varian. “Do not make me ask again.”

Amren finally answered, voice showing no signs of emotion as she sighed. “She is not coming back. She is staying in Summer with Tarquin.”

Rhysand's gaze darkened, “And why Amren, did you as her chaperone allow her to make that decision?”

Varian answered, feeling the need to defend his own lover. “Your sister is a grown female. She does not require permission from-”

Rhys growled, gaze going to the visitor in his court. “I did not ask you. I asked my second in command why SHE did not perform her duty to protect my sister and bring her home.”

Something in Amren snapped in that moment. Her loyalty to y/n coming forward.

She couldn't help but to growl at the High Lord as Varian shifted uncomfortable next to her. "When was the last time you paid attention to her, boy? The last time you actually listened to one of her mission reports instead of telling her to leave it in your office?”

Rhys opened his mouth to defend himself only to pause as Amren snarled at him. "You have not given y/n a single ounce of care since your mate came. You even stripped her of her duties to her home and court so your mate would have a place." Amren settled back into the chair, not even realizing she had stood in her anger until Varian gently grabbed her small hand in his.

"They married, Rhysand." He said softly. "Unless you plan on ripping the bride of the High Lord of Summer away and starting a war, there is nothing you can do but ask to visit.”

The High Lord's face fell. “They-” He shook his head, “She wouldn't have willingly married him without myself, Azriel, and Cassian there.”

Amren looked at him again, her eyes then lingering on Rhysand's wedding band. “There was a time where she believed the same of you.”

His head hung in shame. “Show me.”

They both shook their heads. “We weren't there,” Amren said calmly. “They knew I had specific orders and made the choice to get married in the dead of night. By time we found them, it was done.”

Rhys stood turning away and walking to the window to hide the tears that were about to fall. “Then show me them leading up to the decision. Show me she is happy.”

Amren couldn't help the small smile, a rare thing gracing her face, as she thought back to their first day in Summer.

Tarquin smiled down at Amren, welcoming her back to Summer as he motioned towards the veranda where a table was set for 4. Cressida was there already, eyes wide as she stared behind Varian.

She stood immediately, telling a servant to get another chair and moving so she would not be at her cousin's right hand. "I brought another guest with me,” Amren stated coolly. “I hope you do not mind.”

A soft gasp was heard, followed by the voice that would haunt the Night Court until they heard it again. “Amren! You did not warn him you were bringing me? You-”

Tarquin was moving to her, to his mate, immediately, taking her soft hands into his. “Y/n,” his voice was breathless as he studied you. Eyes locking on your own the second he had decided you were well. “This is the most wonderful surprise. Even the sea has become more fair in your presence.”

Amren chuckled as a blush spread from your cheeks to your softly pointed ears. “I believe your seas only reflect their master's emotions, Tarquin,” you stated softly.

“Then they calm while my heart races at the sight of you alone.”

Varian had his own favorite memory in mind. One from a night spent on the Pleasure Barge.

Varian watched like a hawk ready to attack anyone who may approach you or Amren. The two of you had your arms linked, whispering secrets to each other as he watched the sheer skirts you two wore sway in the soft salty breeze.

You had not been on the barge before, having been banned from it during your last visit by Rhysand, and the two older fae were excited to bring you to watch the activities taking place.

Tarquin had come beforehand, ensuring the private balcony you would be watching from was perfect for his mate.Varian knocked on the door as Amren told you to behave as she went to their own balcony.

He opened the door and ushered you in. “I trust you have an idea of what will be happening here tonight?” Varian led you in by your waist, holding you close to him as the guards watched. “If at any point you are uncomfortable, tell my cousin.” You nodded, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you stared ahead.

Tarquin was standing there, his back to you two as he moved pillows exactly how he wanted them for the night. He had brought in expensive champagne for the two of you, chocolate covered fruits, flowers.

It was clear to Varian you had never been truly courted in that moment. You had never had another fae ensuring everything was perfect for you and you alone. That they had brought the best for you and you alone. He bent down to your ear, “Be good, little star.”

Amren had thought of another memory, smiling again as she heard your laughter echoing in her mind.

Varian and Amren had found a shady spot on the beach, enjoying cool wine and fresh fruits and cheeses on the beautiful, warm day.

The ocean was gorgeous today. Soft waves rolling in, a breeze cooling the air.

That same breeze carried your laughter as Tarquin chased you through the sand. The two of you had just come out of the water after you had decided a swim was absolutely a must.

Amren immediately froze as you screamed, panic setting in until she realized it was because Tarquin had caught you and lifted you into his arms. Your back was to his chest, legs kicking out as your head fell back and your laughter filled the air again.

“He's moved her things into his room,” Cresseida mumbled. “Tell me, dear Amren. How will Rhysand feel about his precious baby sister breaking all of his rules while she's here without him? Sleeping in Tarquin's bed. Wearing a Summer Crown. She is sitting with him during court meetings. Need I bring up the nights on the barge?”

“Let them be, sister.”

“Do you plan on dealing with him if be storms here with his Illyrians in tow?”

Amren rolled her eyes. “Rhysand has hardly paid y/n a single mind since Feyre came to the Night Court. She was brought here on that first visit as a distraction without knowing what was happening. If Rhys wants to be upset, he can speak with me.”

Tarquin was carrying you over, holding you bridal style as he smiled down at you. The tail end of his sentence could be heard. “Tonight then?”

“Tonight,” you whispered.

“And then they married,” Rhysand concluded at the end of Amren's memory. He sat back down, head in his hands. “Did-” his throat tightened as Azriel and Cassian walked in. “Did she look beautiful?”

“Breath taking,” the Summer general answered immediately.

Amren ran to the hillside by the beach they had spent the day on. “No no no no,” she kept muttering under her breath. “This damn girl-”

Varian shot an arm out to stop her. “Do not say-"

“It's done, my goddess.” He pointed down the beach. There, just barely in the water, you and Tarquin stood. He had both hands cradling your face as he kissed you. The white dress you had packed, the one that was lightweight and shimmered like glitter, was sparkling until the light of the full moon. Your hands were resting on Tarquin's chest, hair flowing in the wind.

You were glowing, like starlight during Starfall, as your foreheads came to rest together. Varian sat in the grass, pulling Amren down with him as he did. “Beautiful little creature,” he said, nodding down towards you. “and her beautiful chaperone should not take this as a failure on her end.”

Cresseida joined them, tears in her eyes as she sat next to Amren. “It's the perfect ending, is it not? A runaway wedding?”

Amren shook her head as you and Tarquin turned towards them, hands held and fingers laced together. As you walked, you looked up at him and only him, trusting him to guide your feet to your friends. “No,” Amren finally said. “It is a perfect beginning.”

Silence had filled the room as Cassian sat, and Azriel just nodded. “So, she isn't coming home then,” Cassian said slowly. “And our little sister now resides over a court I am banned from.”

Azriel nodded, moving to the window Rhys had previously stood in front of. “Did she say anything to you before you left, Amren?” Azriel looked over his shoulder at her. “Anything at all?”

Varian nodded. “Be happy,” the couple said together. “Be happy and take the leap.”

Amren held her own left hand up. There sat a sparkling large diamond centered in gold and rubies. “I will be packing my things as well, High Lord.”

Rhysand sighed heavily, nodding. “Do you plan on a year-long engagement?” The two nodded. “I am happy for you, both of you.”

“And your sister?”

Rhysand shook his head. “Her I will deal with later.”

Taglist - @kemillyfreitas @biancabldss @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @hnyclover

#acotar #acotar x reader #tarquin x rhysands sister!reader #tarquin x reader #tarquin acotar #tarquin

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twisting-echo · 29 days

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My Top 25 Crossover Couples (Pt 2)

(Please click on picture for better quality)

It's finally finished! I've had this sitting in my PicsArt drafts for over four months, and that's why some of the other pictures are blurry because it's been rendered so many times, but there had to be changes made based on my mood!

Top 25 Crossover Couples (Blank) by Daniarts19 on DA.

(This will also be the last time that I'll use this template by Daniarts19 due to her disrespecting my DNI and breaking her promise about not saying mean/rude things to me.)

Loona (Helluva Boss) x Izuku (MHA) (Dekoona/MoonRabbit): My friend @amethystoceandespiser got me to ship them. I'm invested in their chemistry and emotional connection.

Sunita (ROTTMNT) x Tucker (Danny Phantom): My friend @amethystoceandespiser brought this ship to my attention and I love it!

Octavia (Helluva Boss) x Danny (DP) (Spectral Owl): This is the ship that started the friendship between me and @amethystoceandespiser and I love it! Their emotional connection and chemistry has my heart.

Jazz (Danny Phantom) x Raph (ROTTMNT) (Tough Cookie & Smart Cookie): This ship came to me after my friend and I made our Scott Pilgrim AU. They're both older siblings who just want the best for their younger siblings. They understand each other's pain.

Mayor Lionheart (Zootopia) x Anna (Frozen): My reasons for shipping Anna and Mayor Lionheart are explained in this post here.

Sparky (Atomic Betty) x Amethyst (Trollz) This ship came to me as a kid.

Buttercup (PPG) x Nergal Jr (TGAOB&M) I love Tomboy x Nerd dynamics, but it's even more interesting considering that Buttercup fights monsters for a living and Nergal Jr. is a monster-demon-demigod-nerd-boy, lol.

Lobster Claws (SVTFOE) x Bubbles (PPG) (BubbleClaws) This crackship is based on a joke between me and my sister @small-tragedies

Goo (FHFIF) x Blossom (PPG) (GooBloss/PinkGoo) This ship came to me when I was a kid, and I thought that they were cute together.

Alice (AMA/AMR) x P/Pinocchio (LOP) (Palice) I have to thank my friend, @frie-ice for getting me to ship them.

Violet (The Incredibles) x Varian (TTS/RTA) (Virian) I have to thank @virianhaven for getting me to ship them.

Lola Bunny (TLTS) x Minnie Mouse (Minola) I have @dawn64 to thank for getting me to ship them so hard.

Lucifer Morningstar x Poppy (DuckPop/PopStar/ApplePop) I have @hah-studios to thank for getting me to ship them. Watch this video here.

Rapunzel (Tangled) x Fred (BH6) (Fredpunzel/Rapzilla/Sunzilla) I have to thank @rapunzelcrossoverqueen for getting me to ship them.

Minerva Mink x Marvin Martian (Minervin/MartianMink) I have to thank @dawn64 for getting me to ship them.

Panini (Chowder) x Lincoln/Warren (Loud House): I had an idea based on the "White Hare" episode, where Lincoln has a dream about being a rabbit named Warren with 15 extra sisters but instead has an Alice in Wonderland-type adventure being transported to Marzipan City, and you can probably guess the rest.

Ami (Sailor Moon) x Sonic (Sonic X) (SonAmi, I guess, lol): Being a die-hard SonElise shipper, it's easy to assume that Sonic has a type~

Daisy Duck x Cruella (Cruaisy): I started shipping them years ago when I watched this Disney short called Electric Holiday. I've made a couple AUs where Daisy works for Cruella in the fashion industry, and they become close friends and lovers in a May-December relationship.

Tom (Tom & Jerry) x Bright Eyes (Pound Puppies Season 1): I like to headcanon that Tom and Bright Eyes are childhood friends to lovers. I explain it more in this post here.

Frank Wolff (Jungle Cruise) x Jack Sparrow (TPOTC) (SparrowWolf/WolfSparrow): I don't really ship characters from live-action movies and shows, but Disney Mirrorverse got me to ship these two goofballs.

Cinderella x Gojo (JJK) (Gojoella): Don't get me wrong. I love Sukuella, but I solely blame @peachudumplings for giving me Fairy-God-Gojo, and thus I ship Cinderella and Gojo too, lol.

Stitch (Lilo and Stitch) x Tinker Bell (Peter Pan): My reasons for crackshipping Stitch and Tinker Bell are explained in this post here.

Alice x Peter Pan (PanAlice): I've always shipped Peter Pan and Alice, but because of their Disney Mirrorverse counterparts, I shipped them harder.

Yuji Itadori (JJK) x Yuliy Jirov (Sirius the Jaeger) (YuYu): They have so much in common! That's all I'll say about these two for now~

Tiana x Nanami (Tianami): I have to thank @peachudumplings for getting me to ship them so hard. They're perfect for each other~

I am cringe and I am free!

Here is a link to my Top 25 Crossover Couples (Pt 1).

🚫IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THIS SHIP, PLEASE DON'T COMMENT OR REBLOG 🚫🚫 PLEASE DON'T STEAL OR REPOST MY EDITS 🚫

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fieldofdaisiies · 9 months

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secret santa gift 2 for @moonlightazriel ❤️ @acotargiftexchange ship: Feyre x Rhysand type: nothing but pure fluff word count: 3k words warnings: none summary: We all know SJM is not a fan of writing wedding scenes and since you (my lovely secret santa recipient) indicated that you would love to see their wedding scene, I decided to write it for you. @moonlightazriel I acted as your lifesaver (hope you are not disappointed that it is me haha). I am sorry didn't have that much time hence why the story is a little shorter, but I added a playlist at the end, hoping I included a lot of your favourite songs. Love you so much❤️

read on ao3

Beneath the starlit sky of the Night Court, in the middle of a forest, where trees stand tall, and the moon casts a gentle glow upon the land, is where their union will happen. Twinkling faelights adorn the bushes and the leaves of the large tress, creating a magical atmosphere that makes the forest glow softly and come alive. Further between the towering trees, shadows dance along the soft rustle of leaves that accompanies the silent chatter of the people gathered here on this day.

"Are you ready, my darling?" The High Lord of the Night Court smiles up at his High Lady, his demeanour showing a male who is fully contented and at ease with his life. A male who finally has everything in his life that he deserves and has longed for for centuries. A male who has suffered the worst possible in life, and has survived this hell. A male who can finally be happy.

His family is finally complete with a mate and a son, who brings joy to him every day — the greatest luck in his life. Nyx's smile alone could light up the darkest night, and more than once a day Rhysand finds himself marvelling at the small wonder.

The High Lord's eyes lock with Feyre's, violet clashing with blue and something sparks inside his chest. Once again the bond comes alive, glowing vividly, its tendrils stretching out and curling around their souls like a warm embrace.

Feyre smiles at him, at her mate, her husband, the father of her son, her heart brimming with love and admiration, and she is once again reminded that she is mated to the most beautiful male on this planet, the most amazing one. He is stunning and perfect - absolutely breathtaking, his dark suit perfectly complimenting his whole appearance. His hair, black-blue, is glowing in the faelights, his eyes shimmering with nothing but love and affection.

Feyre's giggles and it reaches Rhysand and reverberates through his entire body, her smile just like Nyx's able to light up even the darkest part of the Court of Nightmares. His mate is stunning and breathtaking, and he fights the urge to punch himself to make sure this is really all real.

"To marry you again?" Feyre quips, a sheepish grin on her lips.

A proud grin spreads over the High Lord's face. "To marry me again, my High Lady." He exhales deeply. "But now with everyone present. With our whole family and most importantly with our little son joining us."

Rhysand takes her extended hand, and steps into her, drawing in her scent, drinking her in. For a split second, his gaze moves to Nesta standing behind his mate, standing behind her sister, and he smiles at her. Then he looks to his own brother. The tall Illyrian is wearing the biggest grin possible, eagerly waiting for Rhysand to take his place in front of him. Cassian's hands are folded behind his back, wings tucked in, he is dressed in a fine suit, hair neatly combed back.

Below the small dais they find themselves standing on, is their whole family. Mor has been the one to lead Feyre down the aisle, holding tightly onto her arm, supporting her when Feyre felt like sobbing out of happiness. Her family cheered for her, their love wrapping around her like a tight embrace. Everyone is here on this special day — all the others as well, Elain, Lucien, Amren, Varian, and of course little Nyx, happily bouncing on his aunt's lap, smiling brightly at his parents, his eyes glowing with joy and love.

The path leading up to the dais almost seems like a dream, petals scattered like confetti amid the lush green leaves. Strings of fae lights hang above, painting the scene with a soft, twinkling glow. Lanterns flicker, casting gentle shadows across the mossy ground, creating an absolutely enchanting atmosphere. It feels like a dream! It is a dream! But one that came true. Feyre's very own dream - the one the stars have made possible for her. The dream that was answered.

Feyre knows that her older sister Elain, with the help of her mate, Lucien, has truly outdone herself. They did all the decoration as well as the food preparation and Feyre couldn't be more happy and impressed about what they have created. It is truly stunning, so stunning she has to fight the tears now bubbling up in her eyes. This day…it is all she could have ever dreamed of.

A starlit sky spreads above them, a breathtaking dome of twinkling lights and with a crescent moon in the middle, creating a magical ambience.

When Rhysand takes both his mate's hands into his, he leans in and kisses Feyre's brow and then takes a moment to look at her, just admiring her - her beauty, her smile, her eyes, his mate.

His gaze strays again, landing on Gwyn and Azriel, standing next to the altar made of wooden branches with flowers and ribbons adding the finishing touch to it. Candles stand among the flower arrangements, their flames adding warmth and intimacy to the setting.

The High Lord has to fight the grin from spreading over his face, knowing it would reach from one ear to the other. The priestess truly managed to get Azriel up here to sing with her. She is the only one who he would do it for, Rhysand knows this, and it makes him happy. His brother has also finally found happiness. In his mate. In Gwyn.

Next to Gwyn and Azriel, Deidre, a priestess and Valkyrie from the Library steps forward, a large and ancient book open in her eyes. She wears a smile on her lips, edging on pride - after all she is allowed to hold the ceremony.

She looks at Feyre first, then at Rhys and smiles anew. "We are gathered here on this wonderful evening to witness the union of Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court and Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. Although they sealed their bond a long time ago, they decided they wanted a wedding celebration where their family is present." Deidre pauses and smiles. She brushes her finger down the page and moves over to the next one.

Feyre and Rhys can't tear their gaze away from each other though, their love for each other still so strong. Nothing could ever come between them. They are still fully enthralled by each other, hearts beating in the same rhythm.

Rhysand admires how beautiful she looks in her dress — another one his mother made back then. It is breathtaking, long and light blue, just like her eyes, adorned with small diamonds, lace and sparkling elements. She almost reminds him of one of the travelling spirits in the sky — bright, full of life and joy, stunning.

You look breathtaking my mate. Absolutely beautiful. Feyre feels a warm brush against her mental shields and her smile brightens.

And I love this dress so very much, but I have a feeling it will also look very good on the floor tonight.

His eyes sparkle, glowing almost a little mischievously. She can't wait for the moment where he will pull the dress down her body, where his lips and hand will then touch her skin where formerly her dress has been.

Tugging at her hands, Rhysand brings her a little closer, the warmth of their bodies mingling, as well as their scents, hearts beating in the same rhythm.

It is then that Deidre continues. "Feyre and Rhysand have met a long time ago, and their start and their journey was definitely not easy - no, not at all. But all throughout they had each other, held each other, supported each other, became each other's anchor. Only together they could get here. Only together they managed everything the way they did. Their relationship is one of power and strength and most importantly love. With every obstacle put into their way, this love got stronger and stronger. They conquered everything, saved the world. Became parents to a wonderful child, the biggest sunshine of the Night Court."

Deidre pauses again when a shuddering sob leaves Feyre. She turns her head, and Elain places Nyx who is almost vibrating with excitement and anticipation on the ground. Elain gives him a little push, signalling him that it is fine to run up to his mother and father. And Nyx does not hesitate.

Carrying the box with the ring made of silver with a small diamond of the deepest blue on top, in his hand, he starts running. His violet eyes sparkle like the brightest stars in the sky when he sets out for his parents, his little feet loudly padding on the in pedals and leaves covered ground.

All formalities are forgotten — why should they even care about them on such a beautiful day only surrounded by their family. Feyre sweeps him up, cradles him in her arms and kisses his cheek. Simultaneously, Rhys presses a kiss to the young boy's forehead, a single tear slipping out of the corner of his eye and landing on Nyx's suit.

"Oh, daddy," Nyx mumbles and reaches for his father who immediately takes his son into his arms. "Don't cry." But Rhysand can't stop it. But he has to laugh through his tears, a big grin parting his lips and he tips his head back. Nyx is so big already, it is scary - just a short time ago he was nothing more than a tiny bundle in his arms.

And now…now he is no longer a baby. He is the biggest luck and joy of his life. Rhysand's happiness is right in front of him, right in his arms. He is so proud of him. Nyx is so wonderful and amazing and he couldn't be any prouder to call the little boy his son.

With Nyx everything became truly perfect. This family is home and happiness and he knows he couldn't be any luckier. Everything has happened for a reason. Everything has happened for them to end up here, for them to get right here, to experience this sort of bliss. This is fate. Meeting his High Lady was fate. Their lives had been planned out long before they were born and everything has happened just for them to end up here, right in this moment.

On one arm the High Lord of Night holds Nyx, his other hand once again reaches for Feyre's hand, holding it gently, his thumb sweeping over the back of it. Rhysand calms himself a little, meeting Feyre's gaze when Nyx rests his head on his broad shoulder. Then the High Lord dips his chin at Deidre, signalling her that she can continue now.

She nods at him and inhales a deep breath, then opens her mouth. "The couple has always stayed true to each other, believed in each other, relied on each other and endlessly loved and supported each other. You can't picture one without the other anymore. There is no High Lord of the Night without his High Lady. The two of them share a huge amount of love, but also a bond stronger than anything else. The mating bond, tying their souls and hearts together with invisible strings stronger than any other force."

"I love you," Feyre breathes when Deidre finishes. "So much." She holds Rhysand's gaze but reaches behind her where Nesta unfolds a piece of paper and hands it to her little sister.

"And I prepared something for you."

With trembling fingers, she holds the piece of parchment in her hands, her heart rapidly beating inside her chest, hammering against her rib cage. She steals a glance at Rhysand's eyes, then looks at her son, cradled against his chest. With a smile, her gaze returns to the paper and drawing in one last deep breath she finally opens her mouth.

"Rhys, when we first crossed paths, I admit, I didn't quite see us here. It would have been the last thing I could have imagined. Our start was, well, rocky at best. I called you a prick more times than I can count on two hands, and well, the shoe I sent flying at your head…let's not mention that, alright?" She giggles and looks at him again.

Rhys is close to breaking, chest heaving with deep inhales, his eyes glossy.

"But through it all, I've learned that love isn't always born from instant harmony. You have to get to know the other, manage to cross obstacles, to fight for love, to accept and respect to live and let live."

A happy smile graces her lips. "We've weathered storms, and I've come to see your true self—the parts you hide from the world and for a long time hid from everyone apart from yourself. I didn't shy away from you. You did not scare me. I love you, I love every part of you - darkness, power and everything. In you, I found a partner, someone who helped me find the person I was meant to be. Someone who taught me how to read and write and how to love and accept myself the way I am."

"You encourage my strength, you make me feel alive, you gave me wings so I could fly and see the world on my own, conquer every part of it and find happiness."

She gazes deeply into his eyes, the love evident in her every word. "And you, you never feared my power. You are unafraid of what I am capable of, of my true self. You respect my choices, value my opinions, and always, always ensure that I have a voice and can speak my mind. You see me, respect me, and have always done so."

The tears run freely and Cassian steps forward, placing a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder.

"And lastly," Feyre says and stifles a giggle. "Rhysand is the best mate in the whole word. Rhysand is the best husband in the whole word. Rhysand is the most amazing father any child could ever hope for. Rhysand is my mate, my husband, the father of my son, and I couldn't be happier."

As she finishes, a wave of applause, loud sobs and cheers fill the forest.

With Nyx on his arm, he lunges for her, cradling Feyre to his chest as well, showering her face with kisses.

His vows, he reveals to her mind-to-mind, speaking softly, gentle, reciting everything he has told her so many times in their life together while Gwyn and Azriel start to sing their second song, falling into a perfect harmony, their voices beautifully matching, creating the most beautiful sound the Night Court has ever heard, enchanting everyone.

Rhysand closes his eyes when he speaks to his mate through their mental bridge. He loves her, endlessly, and will never again leave her side, that is clear. "I love you my mate," he eventually says out loud, still holding her close, face wet with tears, kissing her brow.

The song finishes, and Gwyn leans against her mate, Azriel folding his own hand over hers, holding her close while the two of them watch the High Lord and Lady.

"Thank you for the beautiful words, High Lady," Deidre says, "Please, now, repeat after me!”

“I, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court take you Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court to have and to hold”

“...for better or for worse,”

“...for richer or poorer,”

“...in sickness and in health,”

“...to love,”

“...to cherish. … As long as we both shall live!”

“I do!”

“I do!” Both of them say, tears gently streaming down their cheeks as they exchange smiles, their faces illuminated by sheer joy. Rhysand swiftly brushes his thumb across her cheek, locking eyes with her. Sniffling, she stares back at him, lost in the captivating gaze of those wonderful violet eyes she fell for years ago.

“I shall now pronounce you husband and wife once again,” Deidre announces.“You may kiss the bride now!”

With eager anticipation, Rhysand draws her close. Their hearts beat in unison as his lips meet hers in a tender, passionate kiss. It seals their vows. Cheers echo through the forest, celebrating love and joy.

With radiant smiles, Feyre and Rhys step forward, hand in hand, their hearts brimming with love. Their family and friends line the path, their cheers and applause echoing through the forest, a symphony of joy and bliss reaching every nook and corner.

Rhys carries his jubilating son, cradling him in his arms with a tender strength. The boy, wide-eyed and filled with wonder, looks around at the enchanting scene, his small hand grasping onto his father's shoulder.

Feyre, her eyes sparkling with love and gratitude, walks beside him. Her hand, held by her husband, by her mate, warm against her own.

Petals rain down upon them. They meet everyone's gaze, full of love and joy while they walk over to the place where they will have dinner, the table and buffet once again beautifully decorated by Elain and Lucien - just like all the meals that have been cooked by them.

Embraced by the warmth of their loved ones and the magic of their union, they celebrate until late into the night, Feyre and Rhysand joined by their whole family, dancing beneath the night sky, the wonderful songs enchanting their feet to keep moving and moving.

Rhysand lets her twirl, her dress swishing over the ground, the lace and tulle rustling with every spin. When he collects her in his arms again, holding her close he kisses her head and in a low voice says, "To the stars who listen, Feyre darling."

"And the dreams that are answered." She beams and presses her lips against his, her hand placed on his chest, right atop his steadily beating heart.

They dance and celebrate for long hours, getting lost in the love and joy of this day. And later, when Nyx is already fast asleep at Elain and Lucien's place, Rhysand makes love to his wife, to his mate, beneath a skylit sky, worshipping her and reminding her once again how much he loves her.

#feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar #acosf #acotar gift exchange

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tcringetourney · 1 year

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here is the official tcringe tourney bracket! the first wave of polls will go up tomorrow. since this is such a large bracket, i’ll be rolling out polls in waves of 8. the first round will be open for a week, with waves dropped on a one-day delay! and under the readmore, you’ll find a transcribed list of the bracket. be warned, there are 128 characters here!

Left side:

Scout (Team Fortress 2) vs Maximus (Tangled)

Crona Gorgon (Soul Eater) vs Kevin (Up)

Dirk Strider (Homestuck) vs Raine Whispers (The Owl House)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb) vs Dismas (Darkest Dungeon)

Harrier DuBois (Disco Elysium) vs Ellzor Umberspore (Not Another D&D Podcast)

Shiver (Splatoon) vs Miss Frizzle (Magic School Bus)

Marik Ishtar (Yugioh) vs Tumblr Anon Profile Picture (Real Life)

Asa Mitaka (Chainsaw Man) vs Tadashi Yamaguchi (Haikyuu!)

Penny (Pokemon Scarlet and Violet) vs Vriska Serket (Homestuck)

Link (Legend of Zelda) vs Kaname Date (AI: The Somnium Files)

The Collector (The Owl House) vs Venti (Genshin Impact)

Luz Noceda (The Owl House) vs Magne (My Hero Academia)

Yes-Man (Fallout New Vegas) vs Apollo Justice (Ace Attorney)

Reigen Araraka (Mob Psycho 100) vs Kuina Hikari (Alice in Borderland)

Doug Eiffel (Wolf 359) vs Jesus (The Bible)

Me (Real Life) vs Leorio Paradinight (Hunter x Hunter)

Fabian Seacaster (Dimension 20) vs Briar (Branching Out)

Dipper Pines (Gravity Falls) vs Alex Fierro (Riordanverse)

Castiel (Supernatural) vs Waluigi (Mario)

Ivankov (One Piece) vs June Egbert (Homestuck)

Mr. 2 Bon Clay (One Piece) vs Sokka (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Ur mom (Real Life) vs Leo Valdez (Riordanverse)

Pyro (Team Fortress 2) vs The Dragon (Jane and the Dragon)

Crowley (Good Omens) vs Eddy (Duolingo)

Emperor Belos (The Owl House) vs Peter Parker (Toby Maguire’s Spiderman)

Sweetheart (Omori) vs Nick Danforth-Evans (Julie and the Phantoms)

Jerma (Real Life) vs M&Ms (Real Life)

Kajiyama Fuuta (Milgram) vs Jeremy Heere (Be More Chill)

Shin Tsukimi (Your Turn to Die) vs Ena (Ena)

Isaac (The Binding of Isaac) vs Allied Mastercomputer/A.M. (I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream)

Ranma (Ranma 1/2) vs Klaus Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy)

Fred Grant (Hamster & Gretel) vs Benrey (Half Life VR AI)

Right Side:

Spy (Team Fortress 2) vs Varian (Tangled)

Sanji (One Piece) vs Milhouse (The Simpsons)

Gonzo (The Muppets) vs Hero (Omori)

Cecil Gershwin Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale) vs Makoto Naegi (Danganronpa)

Hardwon Surefoot (Not Another D&D Podcast) vs Mina Zarei (Paranatural)

Bugs Bunny (Looney Tunes) vs Sabine Wren (Star Wars Rebels)

Deuu Dino (CNP) vs Nightblood (The Cosmere)

Benny (Fallout New Vegas) vs Klavier Gavin (Ace Attorney)

Alphys (Undertale) vs Angel Devil (Chainsaw Man)

Dave Strider (Homestuck) vs Elliot Dunkel (El Goonish Shive)

The Onceler (The Lorax) vs Chuck E. Cheese (Real Life)

Buggy the Clown (One Piece) vs Hinata Tachibana (Fabiniku)

Jake English (Homestuck) vs Kris Dreemurr (Deltarune)

You (Real Life) vs Tsukishima Kei (Haikyuu!)

Tome Kurata (Mob Psycho 100) vs Neptune (RWBY)

Ianthe Tridentarius (The Locked Tomb) vs Osiris (Destiny)

Vash the Stampede (Trigun) vs Fox Mulder (The X-Files)

Evan Kelmp (Dimension 20) vs Paracelsus (Darkest Dungeons)

Bocchi (Bocchi the Rock) vs Terezi Pyrope (Homestuck)

Haruhi Fujioka (Ouran High School Host Club) vs Bakugo (My Hero Academia)

Nagito Komaeda (Danganronpa) vs Luther (The Umbrella Academy)

Fujisaki Chihiro (Danganronpa) vs Dean Winchester (Supernatural)

Sniper (Team Fortress 2) vs Fujimoto (Ponyo)

Space Boyfriend (Omori) vs Zirk Vervain (Not Another D&D Podcast)

Rouxls Kaard (Deltarune) vs Robbie Rotten (Lazytown)

Ranboo (Minecraft Youtube) vs Arthur Dent (Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy)

Sakurai Haruka (Milgram) vs Luke Patterson (Julie and the Phantoms)

Hunter (The Owl House) vs Dib (Invader Zim)

Jesse Pinkman (Breaking Bad) vs Wheatley (Portal)

Grell (Black Butler) vs Viktor Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy)

Shut (Go Princess Precure) vs Kakashi Hatake (Naruto)

Wonderlands x Showtime (Project SEKAI) vs Rodney Copperbottom (Robots)

#tcringetourney #tournaments #not polls

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kazoosandfannypacks · 2 years

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Masterlist of my fics on Ao3!

Once Upon a Time:

"Operation Lunchbreak" (Captain Cobra, oneshot with a hint of Captain Swan, post canon, canon compliant)

"Mrs. Crocodile" (Captain Book, oneshot with a hint of Captain Swan and some Rumbelle, season 4A, canon compliant)

"Emma's First Perfect Christmas" (CSGiftexchange2022, Captain Swan, Captain Cobra Swan, post-canon)

"Working Hands" (Captain Swan, oneshot, season 3B, canon compliant)

"It Now Belongs to You" (Captain Swan, post canon, canon compliant)

"Road Less Traveled" (Beauty and the Puppet [August/Belle,] season 4 gap, canon divergent)

"Open to Interpretation" (Captain Swan, formerly oneshot, now multi-chapter, art museum au)

"Wildflowers" (Beauty and the Puppet [August/Belle,] oneshot, canon divergent/possibly au)

"A Sleepy February Afternoon" (Captain Swan, oneshot, post-canon, mostly canon compliant)

"That's Just the Way We Roll" (Captain Swan, the brothers Jones, Frozen Jewel, modern au, highschool au)

"Every Crappy Morning" (Captain Swan, season 7 finale missing moment)

"Wishing it Wasn't" (Captain Swan, oneshot, season 2, canon divergent)

"Potion Commotion" (Cygnet Scholar, oneshot, season 7 au)

"Critical Fail" (Cygnet Scholar, Captain Swan, Violet Believer, oneshot, season 7 au)

The Shuttle

"I Hit Sir Nigel In The Face With A Brick" (Anti Sir Nigel Anstruthers, three sentences long, contains violence)

"Five Life Changing Words" (Saltinna [Dunstan/Bettina,] soulmark au, oneshot)

"How The Vicar Says 'I Told You So'" (Saltinna, Penzance and Dunstan, missing moment, post canon, canon compliant)

The Proposal Fic (Salttina, still in progress)

Tangled/Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure:

"A Little Bit Brighter" (platonic freckle siblings)

"What Sisters Are For" (found family, Kiera and Catalina sisters)

"Poor Little Orphan Eugene Fitzherbert" (Light Angst)

"Worlds Within Words" (Catalina and Varian)

"The Monsters" (Light Angst, Catalina and Varian)

"Dreams of Adventure" (Tangled AU, New Dream)

"Second Chances" (Tangled AU, sequel to Dreams of Adventure, Kiera, Catalina and Varian)

"Something To Believe In" (New Dream, canon compliant, fills in a small gap in the movie)

Miscellaneous Fandoms:

"When Duty Calls" (Lego Nexo Knights, Clacy) (cringes at teenage self but is still proud of her)

"Seventy: Audacity Under Opposition" (Star Wars, Sequel Trilogy, Canon Compliant, Retelling, OC X Canon) (cringes at teenage self but is still proud of her)

#fic recs #tangled the series #once upon a time #lego nexo knights #fanfiction #kazzy writes #masterlist

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simplynotaneggworks · 2 years

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Fandoms and Ships

Disney Ella x Henry Cinderella Lady x Tramp (Human AUs) Lady and the Tramp Mary x Bert Mary Poppins Duchess x Thomas O’Malley (Human AUs) The Aristocats Pete’s Dragon (no specific ships; both original and live-action) Ariel x Eric The Little Mermaid Belle x Adam Beauty and the Beast Nala x Simba (Human AUs) The Lion King Kiara x Kovu (Human AUs) The Lion King Bo Peep x Woody (Human AUs) Toy Story Jessie x Buzz (Human AUs) Toy Story Mulan x Shang Mulan Jane x Tarzan Tarzan Kida x Milo Atlantis: The Lost Empire Dory x Marlin (Human AUs) Finding Nemo Violet x Tony The Incredibles Janice x Jesse Bridge to Terebithia Clarion x Milori Tinkerbell Tinkerbell x Terence Tinkerbell Tiana x Naveen The Princess and the Frog Alice x Tarrant Alice in Wonderland Rapunzel x Eugene Tangled Brave (no specific ships) Elsa x Hans Frozen Anna x Kristoff Frozen Inside Out (no specific ships) Judy x Nick (Human AUs) Zootopia Coco (no specific ships) Izzy x Buzz Lightyear Miranda x Roland Sofia the First Sofia x Hugo Sofia the First Amber x Hildegard Sofia the First Elena x Mateo Elena of Avalor Isabel x Javier Elena of Avalor Cassandra x Varian Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure

Dreamworks Miguel x Tulio The Road to El Dorado Fiona x Shrek Shrek Astrid x Hiccup How to Train Your Dragon Valka x Stoick How to Train Your Dragon Roxanne x Megamind Megamind Rise of the Guardians (no specific ship) Eep x Guy The Croods

Illumination Lucy x Gru Despicable Me The Lorax (no specific ship)

Sony Ericka x Dracula Hotel Transylvania

Blue Sky Linda x Tulio Rio

Harry Potter (in no particular order) Willow (OC) x George Draco x Harry Nymphadora x Remus Sirius x Remus Lily x James Narcissa x Lucius Emma (OC) x Charlie Merula x Rowan Penny x Ben Molly x Arthur Oliver x Percy Hermione x Ron Seamus x Dean Luna x Neville Luna x Rolf Tina x Newt Queenie x Jacob Albus x Scorpius Andromeda x Ted Victoire x Teddy Fleur x Bill

Other Jedidiah x Octavius Night at the Museum Norman x Ethan Heavy Rain Kara x Conner Detroit: Become Human Simon x Markus Detroit: Become Human North x Josh Detroit: Become Human Rose x Hank Detroit: Become Human Aloy x Erend Horizon Zo x Varl Horizon Beta x Drakka Horizon Elisabet x Sylens Horizon Alva x Kotallo Horizon Jane x Gunther Jane and the Dragon Jester x Smithy Jane and the Dragon Pepper x Rake Jane and the Dragon Gwendolyn x Caradoc Jane and the Dragon Nancy x Jonathan Stranger Things Steve x Dustin Stranger Things Will x Mike Stranger Things Joyce x Jim Stranger Things Fran x Maxwell The Nanny Katniss x Peeta The Hunger Games Effie x Haymitch The Hunger Games Lucy x Coriolanus The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes Emma x George Emma Elizabeth x Fitzwilliam Pride and Prejudice Marianne x Christopher Sense and Sensibility Elinor x Edward Sense and Sensibility Daniel x Johnny Karate Kid/Cobra Kai Robby x Miguel Karate Kid/Cobra Kai Ali x Amanda Karate Kid/Cobra Kai Dutch x Bobby Karate Kid/Cobra Kai Demetri x Eli Karate Kid/Cobra Kai Kumiko x Chozen Karate Kid/Cobra Kai Ellie x Alec Broadchurch Beth x Paul Broadchurch Rose x Ten Doctor Who Yuuri x Viktor Yuri on Ice Yuri x Otabek Yuri on Ice Marinette x Adrien Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir Alya x Nino Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir Chloe x Luka Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir Luka x Adrien Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir Elizabeth (OC) x Ydris Star Stable Online Maya x Alex Star Stable Online Elizabeth (non-OC) x Avalon Star Stable Online Anne x Lisa Star Stable Online Novalee x Forney Where the Heart Is Claire x James Outlander Elizabeth (OC) x Fergus Outlander Brianna x Roger Outlander Aziraphale x Crowley Good Omens Anneliese x Julian Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper Erika x Dominick Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper Sophie x Nicholas Barbie: Princess Charm School Skipper x Jonas Barbie and Her Sisters In a Pony Tale Barbie x Ken Barbie Dreamhouse Adventures Barbie (Margot Robbie) x Ken (Ryan Gosling) Barbie

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my-inner-crisis · 2 years

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Liability: Chapter 4

Summary: A mating bond is supposed to be sacred, right? It seems to be working out just fine for everyone but him. At the first Solstice Lucien tries to spend with the Inner Circle, just to see his mate, everything goes wrong. The second Solstice is even more of a disaster than the first one. And there seems to be no end to his descent to rock bottom. As Lucien navigates his everchanging bonds with family, old and new friends, and enemies, his thoughts race towards self-destruction, only halted by a mischievous and dangerous glimmer of hope, a thread tying him to reality. And that thread is indestructible. Is that a blessing or a curse?

Chapters

AO3

Warnings: major angst and some promise of adventure in the next chapter. Eris has arrived.

That’s what you get for a tiny sliver of hope creeping up your spine. He wasn’t even angry. The talons of disappointment shot directly into his heart. Why did he have to leave that room just at that moment? Why did he have to see it? He winnowed out of the River House. He would never come back.

All Rhysand heard was the distinct hiss of magic. He stepped outside of his office and Lucien was no longer there. He… winnowed out. Again. The home his mate and newborn were sleeping in, Lucien Vanserra could winnow in and out of. He cast his mind out, searching for those present. Feyre upstairs, with Nyx, Helion accompanied by Amren, Varian and Mor. Azriel and Elain. Azriel and Elain. It all made sense.

He stormed towards the hall and cleared his throat loudly. The pair jumped apart.

“What are you doing?” The High Lord demanded, his eyes flashing violet. Tendrils of dark power rippled from his skin as he waited for Azriel to explain.

“Why is that your business?” Elain challenged, though her cheeks were flushed.

“It is my business when your mate is in this house. How long am I meant to count on his discipline before he snaps?”

Elain folded her arms across her chest. “So what? I’m supposed to live like a nun because I have a mate I don’t want?” Azriel squeezed her shoulder gently.

Rhys ran his hand across his face, his frustration palpable. “He caught you. He winnowed through my wards. All of them. He could’ve just as easily gone for Azriel, which would have been a problem the size of the Moon. Especially if Azriel killed him.”

Elain flinched, looking between the two brothers. She hadn’t thought about it. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “But I’m not obliged to be with him, am I?” Her will was cast in iron. No meandering dreams and ridiculous future possibilities would change her mind.

“He has no claim‒” Azriel started, to protect her from Rhysand’s wrath.

“You, Azriel, should know better,” the High Lord growled, slivers of darkness pouring from him. “He has no claim, as I had no claim, if you need to refresh your memory. Remember what I was like? Does he not deserve at least some decency?”

“I didn’t realize you were so interested in protecting his feelings,” Azriel answered sharply, his hand not leaving Elain’s shoulder.

“I truly don’t care what happens to Lucien Vanserra one way or another,” the High Lord waved a dismissive hand. “He is Feyre’s friend, so she does, which means I shall too. And, if your lust-filled thoughts would subside, you might remember that the male you keep poking and poking incessantly is connected to Autumn, Spring, and well-liked by the people of Dawn, to name a few. Even if his intentions would never be to harm the Night Court, you know Beron would use his son’s mistreatment to advance, to do something brash, to rope in Tamlin, and on top of our problems with Koschei and the human queens, this is the last thing I need to deal with.”

Elain listened carefully, her face sharpening into cold rage. “So… I’m a pawn in your game?”

Rhysand looked at her and for the first time, Elain saw that simmering rage that made Rhysand famous for being the strongest High Lord in existence. “I do not wish to use my mate’s family as pawns. But you’re here, you live here and I expect you to not cause problems.” She opened her mouth to protest but Rhys raised his hand to keep her quiet. “You don’t owe Lucien anything. You don’t owe me anything, you don’t owe me to string him along. But it would be decent and safe to at least reject the male. In that case, even if he loses his wits and tries anything, Azriel, and even I, would be justified to protect you. No one just claims a female in the Night Court.”

Elain pressed her lips into a thin line, frowning at Rhys. “So, what? I just tell him to leave me alone?”

“Do whatever you want, but at least not when he’s right here.” His gaze shifted towards Azriel. “He winnowed out of here. Straight out of here. I wouldn’t have known had I not heard it as I was leaving the office.”

“Do you think him a threat?” Azriel’s voice was cold and deadly, ready to strike at any moment.

“Truthfully, no. I don’t. But you can’t keep doing this until he truly snaps. I don’t want his blood on my hands.”

A few weeks had passed before Lucien requested a meeting with Rhysand. He didn’t go to the River House, he didn’t even really want to step foot into Velaris, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Rhysand invited him to the townhouse that had used to be his home before his family outgrew it.

“I don’t want to report to the shadowsinger,” Lucien muttered, extending his legs as he sank into the armchair Rhsyand had offered him. “Can that be arranged? I can talk to his spies, or deliver news to someone else, write letters, or‒”

“You don’t have to report to him.” Rhysand interrupted his ramblings, his voice not unkind. “I know this is unfortunate enough. You can reach out to me directly and report that way.”

“I’d prefer not to go to the house either. This seems alright. Or I have an apartment in the city as well, for now,” Lucien hummed, pursing his lips. He didn’t know if there’d be a reason to continue paying for that place. He never stayed there. And now he probably never would.

“It can be arranged. If the bond is chafing you, it’s for the best.”

“It’s not chafing me,” Lucien snapped before he could bottle up his rage. His fingers sank into the armrests of the armchair, digging into the leather. “I just don’t wish to be exposed to all of this. It’s shit enough as it is.”

Rhys merely nodded, furrowing his brows. “I wish it wasn’t this way. But you must understand that I will protect her and her choice.”

“Do you see me interfering?” Lucien bit out impatiently, his one good eye lighting up with that fire that burned in his veins. “I haven’t interfered in anything she’s done, ever. I just wish to protect my own sanity, so I would like to avoid putting myself in situations where the Mother is further testing my ability to just swallow all the shit that is being shoveled down my throat.”

“Understandable. And I don’t want to scold you, Lucien. But my mate’s sister, and my brother, they will be protected. Don’t do anything brash,” Rhys warned.

“Of course.” Lucien didn’t push this conversation further. He stood and winnowed out of the room, his magic flashing white as it cut through the wards of yet another home Rhysand thought to be proofed for his family. You’re definitely Helion’s son, he thought to himself. Would this be his burden to uncover? Would he cause more trouble by letting Helion know? Would he even believe him? Would the Lady of the Autumn Court suffer if her secret was revealed? Rhysand rubbed his temples, lost in thought.

Your stress thoughts are distracting me from my class.

I’m sorry, darling. I’ve had a visitor of the red headed variety, he answered his mate.

Eris or Lucien?

He didn’t bother explaining it, he simply showed the conversation to Feyre. There was no reason to keep anything from her. His mate… she was everything. His heart ached at the thought. Lucien’s good eye had held no emotion, it had seemed as dead as the mechanical golden orb clicking about in his head.

I can’t lie, I’m glad Elain is here, with Azriel, but seeing Lucien like this… he used to be a completely different person, Feyre commented, her mind wrapping around his, as if to make sure that her bond was as strong as ever. Rhysand welcomed the gesture, letting comfort and solace wash over him.

I think I would’ve done something brash by now. It’s been nearly three years. I barely managed three months, he confessed. Just thinking about the time when Feyre had still been betrothed to Tamlin, when he had gotten back to Velaris, the way all the joy had been sucked out of his life, as though he couldn’t breathe. I would’ve definitely done something brash by now.

Well, you are a brash person, aren’t you?

She still hasn’t rejected him. I think he’s avoiding being near her.

Maybe he’s trying to avoid the rejection? Feyre mused, earning a sigh from Rhysand.

All this talk of depressing mate issues is making me miss you much more than usual. Cut that lesson short, or I’ll show up with at home High Lady duties to hand out.

He could hear Feyre’s delicious giggle in his mind. He let it wash over him and fill his chest with happiness, like it always did. No other could elicit such a response. Only her, and Nyx now.

This is one of my High Lady duties, Rhys. You’ll just have to wait your turn.

“You look like shit,” Tamlin commented, in his fae form now more often than not. The Spring Court still hasn’t regained its beauty, the land was barren, the magic weakened by remnants of Amarantha’s blight, and the High Lord’s mental state seemed to affect it as well. He was in ruin, and so was his court.

“If you’re one to talk, then I must truly look like shit. I mean, you were covered in fur an hour ago,” Lucien shot back weakly, his voice missing that teasing edge it had once had.

“It’s easier to block the thoughts out that way. Maybe I should turn you into an actual fox for the day, so you can run around and wrangle some rabbits to soothe the rage,” Tamlin suggested with a smile. It was strange to hear it, to be comforted by him, sort of.

“I’ll pass. I don’t have much rage to work out,” he answered simply. Rage would have been easier. More manageable. Tamlin merely nodded, running his fingers through his hair.

“I’ve started clearing out the briars. I don’t want the servants to do it. I want to be perceived as at least a somewhat manageable High Lord to them before I reach out to try to rebuild this court…”

“You need help then?” Lucien asked silently.

“I didn’t say that to trick you into helping me,” Tamlin muttered his answer. “You can report to the Night Court that I’m… improving, I guess, but I don’t wish to‒”

“I want to do something to keep my mind busy. Cutting overgrown thorns seems like it needs a lot of attention, it’ll take a fair amount of time too,” Lucien said, cutting off Tamlin’s rambling.

“If that’s what you want, I could use a hand,” Tamlin nodded, getting to his feet in a swift motion.

Within an hour, Lucien had taken off his emerald jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and started working on cutting off the overgrown briars that dug into the manor’s walls, almost as though they were squeezing the life out of it. It was laborious work, the rose bushes grew into thick branches covered in thorns. They dug into his skin whenever he wasn’t paying enough attention, they required considerable force to cut them off, even with the help of various tools. And the manor… it was all but destroyed under the thick bramble. The entire scene was a metaphor laid on so thick, Lucien wanted to roll his eyes every now and then. The manor in ruin, just like the High Lord who lived in it, the thorns digging into the walls, just like Tamlin’s pain, the neverending briar surrounding the home, the way his old friend’s heart had been engulfed in rage directed at himself as punishment, and at others to keep them away. Lucien wasn’t certain if Tamlin perceived all of that. He seemed lost in thought, pulling the thick branches off the manor’s walls with the incredible physical power the land had gifted him long ago.

“It’s funny,” the High Lord began after some minutes spent in sort of comfortable silence, “the way we both landed in a similar situation with an Archeron girl.”

“It’s not quite the same, is it?” Lucien challenged, annoyance washing over him. “You treated Feyre like shit, Tam.”

“I know I did. And I know you didn’t treat your mate that way, and I know my shortsightedness played a role in your situation now.” Tamlin’s eyes were fixed on the manor’s wall as he spoke. “Other than what I’ve done to Feyre, the thing I regret the most is the way I treated you, especially after we escaped Under the Mountain.” No response came from Lucien, so Tamlin continued. “I am sorry, Lucien. Maybe you don’t wish to come back here, and I respect your decision. But you’re welcome in this court, even if it is in shambles. You’re welcome here.”

“Thanks,” Lucien croaked out after a few moments of silence. He wouldn’t come back, not to live here, not to end up back under his thumb when things would inevitably start looking up. But he wouldn’t make an enemy of Tamlin. He would heal these wounds as he did with others. If not heal them, at least cauterize them so the pain could finally stop.

A few hours of work, efficient but exhausting, and the manor was at least recognizable as the estate it once had been. Evening was upon them by the time they dug the house out from under all that bramble. Tamlin huffed out a chuckle, throwing the last of the branches into the large pile they had been creating over these few hours. “Do me the honors and burn them, please,” he asked and Lucien obliged. His hand filled with the familiar lick of fire, hot but never burning, and he sculpted it into a ball that he dropped atop the briars, igniting them instantly.

“Get your fiddle, maybe the light and the music will attract some of your court,” Lucien suggested. It would be good for optics to see the High Lord celebrate. Tamlin, surprisingly, obliged. Lucien brought up a barrel of wine from the cellar, just in time for his old friend to start playing an oh-so-familiar tune of the Spring Court. Soon, members of the court came by, sentries, curious wraiths and faeries, even some high fae from the nearest settlement. Someone was roasting meat over the large fire, females were singing the song Tamlin was playing, and, Lucien observed with some pride, maybe his people would start believing in the High Lord of Spring again.

He would remember this day as a sunny one, gleaming dimply in the eternal darkness his mind had trapped him in.

Her skin was the most beautiful shade of rich brown, tanned in the gentle autumn sun. Sprawled out on the blanket below him, he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, how long her eyelashes were, brushing against her plump cheeks with such grace. She smelled like freshly cut grass, wild rivers, the chilly air on a cold morning. He had never been so in love before. She had to be his mate, the bond would snap any day now. He would marry her, he would leave his title, his father, his home, everything for her. Two russet eyes met two of dark ebony, he ran his fingers down her cheek gently as he whispered “I love you” for the thousandth time to her. To make sure she knew. She would shudder, wrap her arms around his body with a giggle, tease him about being sappy before whispering the words back to him. And then her body would be under his, like clockwork. Covered in blood, lifeless, the radiant rich skin turning grey, those dark eyes flecked with gold never opening again. Her blood was all over him, her neck… cut so brutally, the life snuffed out of her with such force.

That’s usually when he woke up. Sometimes he woke up screaming. That hadn’t happened in a long time, not that he had noticed anyway. Tamlin certainly had noticed, long ago. Since then, the dreams only came infrequently, usually after a particularly hard day. Jesminda. She hadn’t even been his mate… if he had just left her alone, she could’ve found her own mate, she could’ve lived a long and happy life. She could’ve been happy forever, without him and his ridiculous family troubles that he couldn’t really even understand sometimes. Why was he the one singled out, he couldn’t tell. He never even wanted to be High Lord.

The dreams returned in frequency now. Sometimes Jesminda’s face morphed into Elain’s. She would look at him lovingly, she’d whisper that she loved him and then the cauldron would swallow her. The blood, Jesminda’s blood, would mix with that dark water. Sometimes both of them would be murdered by his father. Sometimes the bond would break.

He took up a habit of only sleeping when he absolutely couldn’t take it anymore and a dreamless, restless sort of slumber claimed him for an hour or two.

The autumn months passed without incident. He stayed away, met Rhys at pre-arranged locations. Sometimes the High Lord winnowed to see him in the human lands. They didn’t talk about Elain. The last time he had stepped foot into Velaris, Feyre had invited him to solstice.

“You can come earlier. Or the day after. I wish to see you, Lucien. You’re my friend,” she had pleaded. He had agreed.

And there he was again, two boxes in hand. Feyre smiled widely and hugged him, inviting him in.

“How are you?” she asked gently, surveying him with those bright blue eyes.

“I’m well,” Lucien answered his typical answer. Feyre narrowed her eyes. “Happy early birthday,” he smiled smoothly, handing one of the neatly wrapped boxes to her. “It isn’t much, but I thought it to be fitting for a HighLady, and her baby, heir to a court.”

Feyre unwrapped her present with endearing excitement, examining the leather-bound tome carefully. The golden lettering on the almost comically large book read A History of Prythian and Its Seven Courts.

“It is a revised edition,” Lucien hummed, gesturing for Feyre to open the tome. He tapped over the very last chapter of the Contents. Feyre Cursebreaker: The Liberation of the Seven Courts. “It has some nice art of you.”

Feyre opened the tome to the last chapter with delight, blushing lightly. “Oh, Lucien, this is beautiful… I didn’t even know something like it existed.”

“The Day Court is filled with scholars and scribes who keep our histories. Most courts have their own, but Day is known for compiling these large anthologies and things. I thought you would appreciate it, and… an heir to a court should know of all these things, so I brought Nyx some homework,” he explained with a small smile.

“Oh, he’ll be delighted, I’m certain,” Feyre smiled fondly, flipping through the book carefully. “Thank you, this is very thoughtful of you. It’s beautiful. Have you been to Day?”

“Yes, I visited Solaris a month ago. I was trying to look into Vassa’s curse, but I haven’t come up with much.”

“Did you ask Helion?” Feyre asked softly.

“He gave me access to the libraries and a scholar to help, but she hasn’t come up with much. We’ve been going through ancient spell books and any information about monsters, the prison, old gods…” Lucien ran his fingers through his hair, heaving a sigh. “There’s a lot of useless information to swim through to find a mention of Koschei’s name at all. I’m fortunate enough to take some of the books home.”

“That’s really nice of Helion,” Feyre murmured softly, her eyes glinting.

They fell into easy conversation for a while. It worked. They had managed to heal their friendship over the last few months, even though the odds had been stacked against them. He stayed away from the topic of mates as much as he could, but Feyre let Elain’s name slip in conversation accidentally. There wasn’t a universe where he could simply ignore it.

“How is she?” He asked silently, the dull ache settling into his chest.

“She’s doing well, I think, she’s much better than after the Cauldron,” Feyre answered, avoiding any details. But Lucien needed to know.

“She’s seeing the spymaster, right?”

“Lucien…” Her tone wasn’t unkind, but it held an edge of warning anyway.

“I won’t do anything. I just want to know. I can feel it through the bond anyway…”

“Then why do you need confirmation?” Feyre questioned quietly, looking into his eyes, as if to search for the answers there. “Why hurt yourself further?”

“Ignorance isn’t bliss when she sends these bursts down the bond every now and then, and I know she’s having a good time,” Lucien shrugged, running his fingers through his hair. “I know I don’t deserve much, her time, her love, her… anything. I deserved to at least be told. I thought I did.”

“You weren’t together, you weren’t even speaking…”

“Because she wished to have nothing to do with me, not because I didn’t want to,” Lucien snapped and blew out a breath to steady his mood.

“I know… I told her to handle it at least,” Feyre mumbled silently, her eyes cast towards the ground. “You did deserve that much. To be told at least.” Lucien merely shrugged, his fingers tapping over the box he had brought his mate.

“I got her this. I’ll stop doing this for next year. It feels pathetic, and I don’t want to be the creepy male who can’t take a hint. I guess she can consider this a farewell present, if she opened it.”

“What is it?” Feyre asked, leaning closer to Lucien to look at the box.

“I’ve collected packets of seeds from a few different courts I visited throughout the year. They’re flowers from the human lands, from Spring, from Autumn, even Day. Maybe she’d like them.”

Emotion flashed across Feyre’s usually composed features before she smoothed them into an easy smile. “That’s a brilliant idea, Lucien. I’m sure she will enjoy them.” He merely nodded again, letting the conversation move back towards easier territories.

He was just about to leave, after a few hours spent with his friend, he had put his jacket on and was headed out of the house when he smelled her scent.

“Lucien.”

It was her voice, coming from the garden. She was there. He had left the present with Feyre to give it to her in his name. His heart began hammering in his chest as he turned, spotting her easily. He needed no further indication, his nose, his eye, his heart, who knows exactly what, led him to her immediately. “Lady,” he murmured silently and bowed his head.

“We need to talk. I’ve heard you were here…” Her eyes only shifted towards him for a second before she averted them back towards her lap.

“What do we need to talk about, Lady?” Lucien asked, panic rising from the pit of his stomach. This was it. She would formally reject him. He knew it was coming. No one ever said anything positive after ‘we need to talk’. He schooled his features into a neutral expression, approaching the bench she was occupying. His anxiety was a thunderstorm, a hurricane of flames, a cyclone of misery approaching his space, the tiny fortress in his mind. He had no chance.

“Would you like to sit?” Elain asked quietly, still barely meeting his eyes. He weighed his options.

“Just get it over with,” he managed after a moment of deliberation.

“What?” She asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

“I don’t think I can handle niceties. Just lay it on me,” he muttered, his tone dropping dangerously low. His scent lingered somewhere near. He was watching from somewhere to make sure Lucien didn’t do anything brash. It only filled his heart with rage. It barely fit next to all the emotions he had already been trying to keep at bay.

“Well… I thought you should know that I’m seeing someone, and…” She was considering her words carefully, wringing her hands nervously in her lap. Lucien braced himself. “I want to reject you, formally. Is there anything I need to do or is that it?”

“That’ll do,” Lucien muttered. His grip on his self-control was slipping. Elain sucked in a deep breath, as if she too was bracing herself. “Enjoy your life then. The bond can only be broken by death, but it’ll weaken now, so maybe I won’t see so many of your dreams.” He couldn’t help himself, his feet were about to give out under him.

“Well, I don’t wish to see yours either,” Elain snapped, her tone sharper than before. A shadow curled under the bench she was occupying. Lucien couldn’t stay any longer.

“You have never given me a chance. I know I am not entitled to one. Maybe you know better, you did get dealt a pretty weak match compared to your sisters. Happy Solstice.”

He was gone after that, he didn’t wait for a response. He winnowed with remarkable speed.

Elain’s lips trembled as she pressed her hands against her chest. The pain was suffocating. The guilt, the shame, the yearning for love ‒ it was about to crack her heart in two, and then it suddenly stopped. It took her a moment to figure it out. Those were Lucien’s emotions pushing through on that bridge between their souls, creeping over to her side until he had likely clamped down on them. Her chest heaved from the sheer force of those feelings.

“Are you all right?” Azriel stepped out of the shadows at that moment, sitting down next to her. His gloved hands were holding hers already, no sign of his shadows as he pulled her close to his chest. “Did he aggravate you?”

She shook her head, the ache still dull in her chest. “No, no… I’m glad to be done with it,” she smiled instead, lacing their fingers together. Azriel was her safety ‒ he was compassionate, he was kind to her, and protective of her. He reminded her of Graysen, his good qualities anyway. He looked the least male too. His features were elegantly and devastatingly beautiful, his ears were not pointed, apart from his wings, he looked almost like a human man. There was no long red hair, no scars, no enchanted eyes. She could find comfort in that, and passion and love too, eventually.

The first week was pure and unbridled self-pity. It was pathetic. He just stayed mostly in his room, ignoring the humans like a petulant child. He pulled himself together by day six. There was no justification to ignore Vassa’s plight, to act like such a huge thing had occurred. Realistically, nothing changed. His last bit of hope was squashed. The pain felt like his heart was put into a vice, an ever-crushing vice with no way to stop that tension. That is why some males had gone mad, he mused as he pulled his hair into a careless braid. It made too much sense now.

Jurian greeted him with the indifference he appreciated and expected. He didn’t need to be pitied. The man had a short temper and a tortured soul, his tongue was his sharpest weapon, but that same man had a gentle nature and great perception of others’ feelings. He didn’t push him, he simply offered him breakfast and talked about his plan to rebuild administrative buildings in the nearby village. Lucien was happy to listen.

He continued his day doing the routine things he needed to get done, just so the minutes would pass. In the evening Vassa turned back to normal and tried to cheer him up with gestures of care and gentle questions. He smiled dutifully and answered in reassuring sentences. From the way those blue eyes were staring daggers into him, he knew he was not fooling anyone.

He was about to retreat back into his room when a familiar scent hit him. His body went utterly still, to the point where his human companions noticed, looking at him in alarm.

“My brother is here,” he muttered, getting up to his feet. He opened the door right as Eris stepped in front of it.

“Little brother, the runt of the litter” he greeted with that smug smile that never seemed to falter off his face. Just what he needed at this very moment, for Eris to ruin his godsdamned day…

“What do you want?” Lucien bit out as Eris slipped into the manor, uninvited. Lucien wasn’t sure whether his blood chilled or heated up, but he did not have the patience for this bastard.

“What. Do. You. Want.” His patience was running thin as it was, he didn’t need his asshole brother to goad him.

“I want you to help me kill my father,” Eris muttered, his voice dropping dangerously low. Lucien gaped at him.

“‘Are you out of your mind?”

“No. No one will eliminate him, if I don’t,” Eris shot back, sitting down at the worn kitchen table. His russet eyes were aflame with simmering rage. “He’s colluding with the human queens, he plans to move on Tamlin’s territory, he wants to either take it over or pull that brainless bastard into a fight against the other courts. A fight he can’t win, mind you. He’s going to destroy Autumn.”

“And your only plan is to‒” Lucien couldn’t finish his sentence as Eris snarled, drumming his thin white fingers on the table.

“Yes. And I will become High Lord and whip that place into shape.”

“So, that’s it then? You want to become High Lord so bad, you would kill our father and rope me and presumably our brothers into it too? Or will we kill them too?” Lucien challenged. “What of mother? What if the magic doesn’t choose you? Why don’t you ask the other three?”

“Don’t mistake the end of my patience for frivolous bloodlust, little brother,” Eris answered, leaning closer to him. “The magic will choose me, there is no one else to choose. I wield the strongest power of the four of us. Mother will finally be freed from years of torment. And you? You’re not Beron’s son.”

Lucien stared at his brother for a while. All of his thoughts were running away from him, he couldn’t grasp any of them in his hands, he couldn’t form a single question. He just stared and stared, his mechanical eye whirring as if it was trying to discern what was told to him.

“How have you not figured it out yet? That’s the biggest mystery, oh so sly fox,” Eris muttered, staring down at the table as though the wood grain held the secrets to all of his problems. Lucien couldn’t even fire back a response. His jaw went slack as he blinked at his older brother.

“You have been winnowing in and out of every place effortlessly for the last few months, wards be damned. You broke through Rhysand’s wards like they were nothing. When in Spring Court, you just slipped through Tamlin’s simple wards without any effort. Rhysand’s wards weren’t like that and yet you still did it. Did you ever think how?”

“I-“ What was he supposed to say? He had always done that. He could detect wards, track spells, he even had some healing magic.

“What, little brother? You just thought you learned it? I certainly can’t do any of it,” Eris muttered, a vicious smirk spreading across his face. “You’re the only one. The only one born from love. Why do you think I’ve protected you all these godsdamned years?”

“What are you talking about?!” Lucien stared daggers into his brother. “How do you even know… any of this?!”

“I guess it is time I let someone know.” Eris straightened as he watched his brother, his fingers still drumming on the table. “That shadowsinger can take claim of the dark corners, but the fire whispers to me, and there’s a hearth in most houses, there’s a bonfire on the beaches, there are fires in kitchens, and outdoors, where you cook your freshly caught game. And there’s fire wherever father is, but that fire whispers to me.”

“What?” Lucien muttered as he watched his oldest brother whose eyes were filled with quiet rage. “So… all this time, you just spied on everyone?”

“I didn’t need to. The fire started whispering secrets to me when I was but a fledgling, but I kept it to myself. The Vanserras, our ancestry can be traced back to Hestia herself, she who first breathed fire into a hearth. We’re descendants of the old gods, but their gifts are not common to inherit anymore.” He ran his fingers through his fire-read hair, cut shorter than Lucien’s. “I knew about you before mother did. And before you ask, no. Beron is not given the same gift, or curse, depending on how you look at it.”

“Why do you call it a curse?” Lucien stared at his brother, barely able to wrap his mind around everything he was bombarding him with.

“I can easily get information about everything, about the scum my father is, about what plans Rhysand has to string me along, anything. Not all of it is complete, fire doesn’t reach everywhere. But sometimes knowledge is a curse.” He cocked an eyebrow as he asked, “Aren’t you curious about who your father is, little brother?”

“Uh… yes. I think‒”

“You’re the only one born out of love, of all of us,” Eris cut him off, his fingers drumming incessantly on the table. “The only one. And that’s why I protected you. You’re mother’s child with Helion. Which makes you the sole heir to the Day Court. That’s why you’re cleaving spells left and right, Lucien. That’s why you have healing powers. That’s why you look a lot like Helion. I can’t believe people haven’t put this together yet.”

Lucien gaped, a small chuckle escaped his lips, then an incredulous sigh. “You can’t be serious. This is not funny. My power is fire, just like yours. It’s not singing me bedtime stories but it’s certainly not cleaving spells and controlling light or wind or whatever it is Helion can do.”

“This is no joke.”

“Oh, really?” Lucien snapped, anger bubbling in his chest. “And how come you’re the only one who knows?”

“Don’t you think Beron suspects it, idiot?” Eris shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. “He tried to murder you multiple times, he tried to get me and our brothers to murder you, he made sure we viewed you as the enemy, he tortured you wherever he could, he pushed you out of his court before your parentage could be revealed. Those were no mere accidents.”

“Or… he was a fucking asshole, like to all of you.”

Eris rolled his eyes, leaning over the table. “Mother named you Lucien. L-U-C-I-E-N. She was never sure, but she suspected it, and she marked you with that name. Helion, the wielder of the power of the sun, fathered a child who is going to be the sun, light and fire. Mother cried tears of relief when she saw that your hair was as red as hers.”

“She knows?” Lucien’s lips pressed into a thin line. His whole world was turning upside down and he had no handle to hold on to.

“Suspected it. She had a centuries-long affair with Helion.”

“This is insane,” Lucien muttered, running his fingers through his hair. “Why is it always me? Why do I get to have these life-altering revelations out of the blue?”

Eris snorted before his expression turned deadly serious. “Be glad you’re not born of that monster. Helion is a good male. And he’s not manipulating his kin to be soldiers against one another in an endless blood duel for power.”

“I can’t‒ I can’t picture him‒”

“As your father? Well, you’ll have time to figure it out,” Eris hummed, raising his fingers elegantly. His ring glinted in the dim light of the fire as he put a ward around himself. “Break it.”

“What?” Lucien countered dumbly, his thoughts escaping like startled rabbits.

“Cut through my ward, Lucien Spellcleaver.”

“Don’t call me that,” Lucien muttered with a frown. But the challenge got his attention. Was he truly able to do it? Did he truly have that power? He blinked and extended his hand towards the edge of the ward. His eye revealed the intricate details, the way the magic weaved into a wall like a basket, forming a solid shield around Eris. It was easy to undo it. His fingers worked quickly as he sliced through a few strands of the magic, and suddenly the entire ward disappeared.

“Should I call you Prince Lucien then? You’re a Prince in the Day Court. The only prince, if my sources are not mistaken.”

“Don’t‒” Lucien took an exasperated breath. “Don’t claim anything like that. I don’t have a great track record of being wanted or accepted by those whose lives I’m supposed to be a part of. Maybe Helion will want to murder me because I threaten his reign.”

“Helion knows you might be his son after your run-in with him during Nesta’s mating thing,” Eris shrugged easily, studying Lucien’s features. “You have mother’s hair color and eye color, but your face is the spitting image of him. It’s ridiculous.”

“I know I should be happy, but he did some things and I wasn’t even his son…” He could have had a normal childhood in the Day Court, he could have been free of all that torment. He could have never met Jesminda, or he may have met her and she wouldn’t have been killed by a maniac… so many people knew the truth, no one bothered to tell him.

“Don’t go into a doom chamber, Lucien. We couldn’t tell you, we weren’t even sure, your powers were never honed or taught to you, it took you a long time to even show a sign of it.”

Lucien sighed, rubbing his temples. “When Elain was taken to the cauldron, that’s… that’s the first time I used those powers. I didn’t notice. Tamlin asked about it later, he asked how I freed myself. I didn’t even realize I did it.”

“You’ll have time to freak out on your own terms about your mate and your new dad and all that. Now, you need to help me eliminate mine,” Eris muttered, a dark grin tugging at his lips. “And if you do, I’ll help you figure out your human queen’s deal with Koschei. I can help you sniff out his weakness, and you can break that magic. First things first, you need to develop a mental shield. Rhysand and Feyre will not know of my gift.”

#elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #eris vanserra #helion spellcleaver #tamlin #Elucien

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exquisitley-obsessed · 4 years

Text

Totems of Comfort [Elriel]

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: The inner circle just had an evening meal following the events of ACOSF and Azriel and Elain are no where to be found. What Feyre and Cassian stumble across pulls more heartstrings than expected.

Pairings: Azriel x Elain, Elriel

Warnings: None - it might be sickly sweet though ;)

A/N: Guys I haven’t read ACOSF. I don’t care about spoilers so I kind of know how the novel ends, but if it seems like anything’s amiss know that’s why! This is just pure fluff, something to keep you going in these difficult times! <3

“What are you looking at?” Feyre finally quipped as she walked into the lounge.

Tonight the inner circle had had their first proper evening meal in what had felt like a lifetime. With Nyx’s arrival to the family, it would be reasonable to say things had been a little hectic. It was Rhys who finally snapped, sick of having his closest friends, his found family, scattered across Prythian like marbles. He had promptly sent out a strongly worded invitation to all their friends, softly demanding their attendance to a family dinner the coming Friday - or else.

Cassian said nothing to Feyre, didn’t even look away from whatever it was that had got him so enthralled, he just held out an arm and lazily gestured for Feyre to join him.

The dinner had passed without a hitch. Amren and Varian had come up from the Summer Court, Mor was even in town, Cassian and Azriel had rescheduled their upcoming training rotas to fit the visit, Nesta was in the best mood she’d been in, in a long time, and Elain was Elain. If Rhys was the spine of the group, Feyre the heart, and if Cassian was the muscle and Azriel the mind, Amren the gut, Mor the face and Nesta the tongue, then Elain was the soul - the whimsical organ, the incomprehensible one. And Nyx - Nyx was their hope. All of their hope.

Rolling her eyes, Feyre moved over to where Cassian was standing in the living room in front of the crackling fire, looking down at the sofa closest to the French windows, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. The dinner had been coming to a close over the past two hours. The group fracturing into pairs and couples who stumbled out onto the chilly streets of Velaris, only the alcohol and their coats to keep them warm. Rhys was now upstairs, finishing off paperwork he’d put on hold for tonight before he would inevitably come to find Feyre. She knew based on the amount he had laughed tonight, his violet eyes nearly brimming with joyous tears, that he was full of love - love he would no doubt pour into her when the house finally fell asleep.

“What is it?” Feyre asked Cassian again as she sidled up to him. Nesta was currently in the library, swapping out a few of their collections for her own before she headed back to the House of Wind with Cassian. The love between her sister and Cassian had been so visceral tonight, like a tangible thread of spun gold between them, she could practically feel it’s summery warmth from across the table.

“Just look,” Cassian murmured softly, his voice like a navy cloud, his eyes sparkling at the scene before him.

“What...oh...” And it seemed that Feyre had just found where Elain and Azriel had ended up - she had wondered where they had gone off to.

Towards the end of the dinner, Nyx had come bounding in, his nanny apologising profusely as she followed. Feyre had merely brushed her apologies off with a grin before taking Nyx and telling her to take the rest of the night off. Mother knew she deserved it. Nyx was more than happy to stay up past his bed time, bouncing from lap to lap of his adoring aunts and uncles.

After Amren and Varian had been the first to leave, Feyre and Rhys quickly found themselves overwhelmed with trying to clear away the plates and pour everyone a fresh glass with Nyx bouncing between them. Elain had walked over and bundled Nyx up in her arms, apparently hearing the couples silent plea.

With Nyx bouncing in her arms, she walked him out of the dining room into the living room, her long skirts swishing around her as she moved. Feyre missed it, but Azriel must’ve followed her out, blending with the shadows as he so often did. Of course he did, Feyre now reprimanded herself with a coy smile. Nothing Elain did these days ever went unnoticed by the shadowsinger. But the soft brushes of fingers, the prolonged longing stares, the heavy breathing and blushing that even Feyre had noticed between them, seemed hilariously shy to what she now saw.

Azriel was splayed on the left hand side of the sofa, his arms stretched out along the sofa’s back and arm. His head was thrown back against the cushions, his neck exposed and his eyes closed as he breathed heavily in sleep. Azriel’s legs were wide, allowing Elain to have thrown her own legs over his lap and curl into his chest. She too had her eyes closed, and her breathing was delayed. And between them both, tucked into Elain’s lap and resting against Azriel’s chest, was Nyx, passed out just like his aunt and uncle.

“Oh my god...” Feyre whispered excitedly, unable to contain the grin that was so large it made her cheeks ache. The picture was so perfect, such a simple moment of the people she loved, an image of this life which never in a million years did she ever think she would be blessed enough to have. “They look...cosy.”

Feyre knew by the slight shaking of Cassian’s shoulder that he was withholding a snort. But tearing her eyes away from the sweet picture in front of her, she didn’t fail in picking up the slightly emotional look in Cassian’s eyes. So similar to his brother’s tonight - the look that threatened to spill joyous tears.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so...relaxed,” Feyre couldn’t stop herself from saying. But it was true. Azriel kept to himself, not just in an emotional way: the reality that even his closest friends, his found family, didn’t truly know everything he had been through. But also in a physical way. He crossed his arms the same way Rhys shoved his hands in his pockets, a physical totem of preservation. As though by wrapping his arms around himself he was forming a barrier, not to let anything in, nor anything out. He stood at the sides of rooms, could never permit himself to get comfortable even when he had scouted the place for threats thrice. He was self-contained and self-conscious, aware of everything whilst remaining in mystery.

And here he just looked so, vulnerable. It dawned on Feyre that she had never seen Azriel with his guard down, not like this. Not to mention Elain who was still sensitive touch, still not used to having her brothers pull her into their chests in greeting. Feyre swallowed something bitter in her throat - like Azirel’s past, no one was quite sure what had happened with Grayson. If he could be so cruel in public, in front of the High Lord of Night, God knew what he had done behind closed doors. Cassian pulled her from her bitter thoughts with ease.

“You know it’s weird...I knew Azriel struggled to be completely comfortable around us but, I thought he had let his guard down.”

“I don’t understand?” Feyre murmured as her eyes followed the curve of Azriel’s exposed throat, an animalistic splay of vulnerability.

“I just...I never realised he could be this happy. I thought he’d just always be closed off, that that was just a part of him. It never occurred to me that he would ever - could ever - open up more than he already had, that he would ever fully relax.”

“Do you really think that this her?” Feyre murmured, wringing her hands to try and ease the itch to paint. “You think Elain’s really helping him?”

“I know Elain now,” Cassian murmured cocking his head as he zoned in on Feyre’s sister, his own sister now, his eyes still uncannily bright. “And...it makes sense doesn’t it? The way they sort of, fit together.” Feyre hummed in agreement.

Feyre hadn’t failed to notice the miasma of harmony that clouded Azriel and Elain whenever they came together. She knew that at their core they shared similar values: honesty, kindness, forgiveness, and beyond that, they seemed more at ease in each other’s company than when they were alone. Often Feyre has caught them sitting together in the library or the living room, not even talking, Azriel rummaging through his paperwork, Elain pouring over her gardening books, more comfortable in each other’s silence than their own.

There was a spark of course. The way the air between them sometimes turned charged, as though electricity was zipping between them when they caught the others eye. Azriel often sought out Elain’s laughter, a hidden smile lighting in his eyes as he searched for the source. Elain went out of her way to tell him all the things he deserved to hear, the things even Feyre found herself forgetting to remind him.

She’d overheard them one day. They were coming back into the garden from the town house, an inch of air between them as they walked, their tones warm and relaxed. Elain was asking him if he was to come to her birthday celebration that evening, Azriel was stumbling on his words, something he only ever did around her. As a joke he made some off-hand comment about how he wouldn’t fit in with the floral decorations that were flowing from every corner of the house. Feyre had scowled from where she was perched in the kitchen, he was brushing her off, claiming he was to ugly, to scarred to be around something, or rather someone, who was so beautiful. Looking up Feyre had watched as Elain stopped walking, the afternoon sun pouring over her like liquid gold. She had looked at Azriel with a sudden intensity, a ferocity that reminded her that Elain was Nesta’s sister. And the same way Elain’s kindness was hidden in Nesta, Nesta’s fire was hidden in Elain.

“I’ve always thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen,” Elain had said simply. Her eyes were bright and clear, her hand reaching up to rest on his shoulder, nothing but earnest truth rippling from her soft voice, so compelling Feyre knew that even Azriel couldn’t deny her statement. And he didn’t, he didn’t do anything, some kind of internal meltdown wringing inside him as he peered at the girl at his side - someone who, Feyre suspected, had come along and had slowly begin to unravel the shadows Azriel had being binding himself in for 500 years.

“I...” Azriel began a sentence that hadn’t fully formed in his mind, but Elain just smiled wider, the action seeming to fill the room with golden light.

“Just be there,” her voice was honey and butter, and Feyre could see some part of Azriel begin to melt. “For me.”

He had come of course, and whether it was the alcohol or the sun, or perhaps Elain’s compliment ringing in his ears, he had spent the entire evening wearing a lopsided grin.

Elain currently cuddled closer into Azriel’s chest, her arm wrapping around Nyx before gripping onto Azriel’s waist, and as though in response, Azriel moved in his sleep to wrap both of them closer to his chest. The movement, though done unconsciously, had stirred Azriel slightly, enough for him to acknowledge the two figures grinning down at him. He tried not to jump.

“You comfortable there buddy?” Cassian’s thick voice stirred him further, and all at once he seemed to come into his body. Glancing down he first saw Elain’s legs, exposed from where her skirt had been pushed up in her sleep and draped over his thighs. Her soft skin illuminated in the firelight, more of her skin than he’d ever seen. His head snapped up, his eyes now bright and awake and he shifted as though to stand up.

“Woah, woah...don’t move you idiot,” Cassian chuckled as quietly as he could. “You don’t want to wake them.”

Azriel paused. No, he didn’t want to the wake them. But that didn’t mean his body was going to stop screaming at him. Ignoring the snickers of his brother and sister, he glanced down again.

On his chest lay perhaps the two most precious and vulnerable things in his life. A voice inside his head, a voice that sounded somewhat like his father, was screaming at him to winnow away. That he was going to somehow, somehow hurt them, even now. That the mutilated skin of his palms would mar their delicate, smooth flesh.

But then he saw Elain breathing. Saw the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest which Nyx currently had snuggled into. Unconsciously, Azriel timed his breaths to her own. In, out. In, out. Breathe - he could practically hear her soft voice whisper in his ear. And for the first time, in a long time, he allowed himself to be swayed by someone else. Allowed for his gut instinct to subside and pass, like a black wave that had rolled through his body before evaporating and floating away. Breathe, he imagined her voice again and he felt his muscles loosen under her warmth. Breathe, not taking his eyes off her he permitted himself the indulgence to uncurl the arm wrapped around her, and run his knuckles along her exposed arm, slowly dragging his scarred knuckle up and down.

He looked at them both now, honestly this time, with no fear.

Elain wasn’t his, wasn’t his mate or even his lover, in the same way Nyx wasn’t his son, and technically not even his nephew. But for the first time, ever, Azriel felt something prick inside his chest. It was pure and gold, and managed to pierce an inch of his shadow-clad heart with perfect light. It was unfamiliar but it’s name rolled into his head as though it had always been there, as though it had been dormant, just waiting for the spark.

Hope.

For the first time, ever, Azriel had pure, tangible hope in his heart. Not the messy hope of battle or espionage, the erratic hope that he might survive the days predicament and make it back home to his brothers. But a personal hope, something that felt innately closer to his wants and desires - like all at once the idea of happiness, of having someone there to share just some of his love and some of his pain, it all dawned on him in that one prick in his chest.

Elain. Her name whisked through his head like a lone petal in the wind. And he felt safe, he felt his own personal sense of home.

Ignoring Cassian and Feyre, ignoring the voice in head, ignoring the world - Azriel stroked the golden hair away from her neck, relishing in the feeling of her snuggling closer into his chest, a soft content sigh escaping her lips. He did it again, slowly stroking her hair, then running his knuckles down her arm, then back to her hair. This would be all he permitted himself tonight. This inch of indulgence; this totem of comfort.

And it would be enough. It was more than enough - it was everything.

#elriel #elain #elain acotar #elain archeron #elain and azriel #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel acosf #acotar #acomaf #acofas #acosf #acowar

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virianhaven · 1 year

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I never know what to do with a first tumblr post but hear me out…

in my 5am tumblr scrolling I have seen every ship involving Varian and Violet Parr except “Varian x Violet”. and there is nothing to be found on the whole internet hello?? allow me to fix that and put you on to the absolute adorkableness that is ViRian <3

Like- LOOK AT THEM? this whole blog is to shine all the light on them and appreciate them <3 with my brainrot edits that I’ll be pumping out like clockwork because I make like 3 a day skajksjaa.

anyways, they’re in love and it was scientifically proven by Varian, thank you ♡.

*sniffles and cries hysterically* like please, they’re so precious. look at them 🔪💜💚

#tangled the series #rapunzles tangled adventure #varian #ViRian #violet parr #the incredibles #disney #Pixar #rta #rta varian #idk what else to tag #ship art #they’re so precious #criminally underrated #tangled #your honour i love them #new ship #theyre so cute #okay i’m done

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 3 years

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Heat Seekers II Genre: Dark Cyberpunk AU Pairing: Chanyeol x f.reader Words: 8k Fic Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. I’m serious people. If any of the chapter warnings are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please do not read this. Do so at your own discretion. Lots of angst and hurt, eventual smut. Chapter Warnings are below the cut. Author’s Note: There are some specific things in this fic that I’ve personally experienced, and some that I have not. Please understand my intention with this fic is a way of healing not just for myself but hopefully for others who unfortunately have experience with these types of situations. I did a lot of debating about whether or not I should even post this fic, and have spoken to a few individuals about it. Ultimately, with the intent of healing and moving past such trauma, it’s been decided OK to post. Please take my warnings seriously.

Chapter Warnings: panic, anxiety & triggers. Mentions of sex trafficking. Political injustice.

You push your way through the heavy doors into Blue House, ticking your chin forward in greeting to the entertainers standing in the comforts of the lobby, familiar faces you once considered colleagues. The one you’re looking for is at the bar along the back wall, sleek black beneath your fingers, unable to help the way they fan and smooth across its surface as you address him. “Thanks for the tip,” you grin, pausing momentarily to chastise the man before you, “Can I have the info now? I know you were looking out for me by taking it to save, but don’t you think you should have a little more faith in me?” Chan, who is your sole confidant- grins right back. “We don’t believe in faith, remember?” he retorts, flourishing two fingers in front of him to awaken his Atlas, fuzzing to synthetic life between you. You laugh mirthlessly at his reminder because he is right. He flicks his fingers and turns his wrist in a smooth motion, then waits while you blink your own to life and accept the request for sync that takes up the main holo in front of you. He waits for you to collect the job from his inbox and read the description; watching you with a blank expression you don’t see. “In search of a female escort, early to mid-twenties for one night job. The escort must possess advanced skills with Atlas Tech, and hacking. Body measurements are required prior to the job. Deliver in-person to coordinates 94.0114” N 94.0412” E. Details to follow. Payment is dependent on job success. 1200c.” Admittedly, the job description is short but to the point. If anyone were desperate enough, which everyone is, anyone could have collected this job. Now you see why Chan called you for this. Even without the price tag, the requirements complement your skillset spot on. You notice the job expires in two days. Good thing you didn’t have any other plans tonight, you muse to yourself. “Thanks, Chan,” you say with a smile, disconnecting the sync between your Atlas drives. He gives you a warm, dimpled smile in return, “Don’t mention it, babygirl. Just don’t be a stranger, yeah? You know Blue House will always be here for you.” His affectionate pet name for you makes your stomach flutter, just the same as it always did, but you sigh and turn away with a nod, plugging coordinates into your H.I. Pulling up your GPS menu, your smart tech automatically asks you if you want to register the coordinates it recognizes from any recent files you opened. You tap the green ‘register’ button on your interface the moment you slide onto the smooth leather seat of your hyperbike. You pull the visor of your helmet down, giving your H.I a moment to complete the reaction and pop up in your helmet visor. When it does, you scan the map, telling your Atlas you wish to start your bike. The artificial chime of understanding is a comforting sound, as is the low humming purr of the engine starting within the metal between your knees. Intimate, like a heartbeat between a ribcage. The route isn’t terribly long, about thirty-six minutes through the city… if you go the speed limit. A ridiculous notion to still follow, if only out of principle for the older generations. Nobody uses the rule of it anymore, and most people who use the road these days consider it an insult to the growth of safe traveling anymore to have ‘limits’ on speed, and by extension, how well a vehicle moves. Why make such advancements if the restrictions placed on them refuse to evolve? You tick your head to the side with a slight scowl. The trip takes you two-tenths of a second longer than you initially gauged. To a tech hacker such as yourself, inaccuracy is a flaw you’re desperate to rid yourself of. It makes you green with envy of Artificial Intelligence. The coordinates take you to a jewelry store on the north side of the city, closer to the outskirts and the wilderness of the Old City beyond it. Despite the location, the street is lined with tons of high-end shops that glow in the night, open for business. Odd, considering the best shopping districts in the city are further toward the center, and none of them look as classy as this street. You enter the store, raising a brow at the large panel that reads ‘Cloak & Dagger’ in clean, bold lines in the window. A strange name for a jewelry boutique. It feels out of place for you to be here, but you march forward carefully regardless of the uncomfortable way the white polished floor shines back up into your eyes. “Hello?” you call, approaching the largest glass case- it appears to be the counter, with a small tablet resting on a stand in the center. A woman stands up from behind another case to your left, sliding the glass panel closed with her hand before she approaches you. “How can I help you?” Her accent is older, perhaps European, and she looks as if she could be in her sixties. Even at her apparent age, she is exemplary. Your eyes drift down to the items in the case, drawing out a hum because the contents of the case are not what you expected. Now the name makes perfect sense. The jewelry doesn’t just mean your typical rings and pendants. The case is full of self-defense jewelry. Defender rings, ring knives, and other small weapons that are worn. Without answering her, you round the case to the one she stood from, and notice an assortment of larger wearable weapons. From strings of magnetic senbon to actual daggers and piercing finger cuffs. “Find something you like?” she asks, trying to prompt you again. Part of you immediately dislikes the way she’s standing. She seems too proud of your reaction, and with her back straight and hands folded perfectly on top of the counter, she has an air of superiority. With narrowed eyes, you stand back to your full height, “I’m here about a job that’s due in two days.” Her face is unreadable, and she nods minutely, “Can you show me what you’re referring to, dear?” She makes a finger gun and points it directly toward you, tilting her fingers up with the motion of it going off. It sets your adrenaline running with panic until she smiles and her Atlas opens between you. Her motion for opening it is horrifying, and you’re bewildered as to how she came about making that her initiation sequence. You don’t want to close your eyes tightly for the full second it takes to open your own, but you hold you breath and do it anyway. She hums in approval and understanding when you twist your H.I toward her and show her the job posting on your personal assignment bulletin. “I see,” she says, letting her eyes rove you up and down. Nothing you’re not used to, having worked in a brothel for years. “Very well then.” She types something into her own H.I and motions for you to come back to the center of the shop floor. When you do, she presses a button on her interface that expands it around the room. Suddenly, you’re standing in the center of some program she’s running, and the security cameras in the shop come to life. A bright blue light beams from each, pointing at your feet as they scan up your form. Momentarily, you’re impressed with the way she’s made her tech work. Multiple programs running from the same cameras, she’s clever, and you like her a little more for it. Perhaps a bit unorthodox and fitting to her shop’s name, cloaked in mystery, but you’re interested in how she came to be in this moment. She stands in front of you, one hand on her hip while the other goes between touching her lips to touching her main holographic interface, or H.I for short. She’s mumbling to herself as she works, letting your now holographic form float into the space above you. Reaching out, she pulls you out of the center and away from your holoclone. “Fry, darling, give me measurements without her clothes, will you?” “Yes of course, dear,” a disembodied voice echos back. Albeit quite synthesized, it is distinctly male, with an American accent. “Pardon me for the intrusion, miss. Varian Fry, at your service.” the voice says to your holoclone. No clothing is actually removed from either you or your clone, but the AI brings up a separate holo screen for each piece of your clothing. It’s fascinating, to see how quickly he can tell everything about the items, from their thickness and fibers to how many millimeters they equate for in your initial measurements. “At your request, dear,” he says, and an upbeat chime rings on her main interface with your naked measurements. The woman looks at you over her reading glasses, smiling, “He’s impressive, isn’t he?” You realize she asked because you’re smiling at his handiwork. Simply, you nod at her. “Fry, take these into manufacturing. Rush order, number…” she trails off, pausing as she tilts her head at you, “seventy-two, please. In black and violet.” You have no idea what she means and part of you feels like this is some strange super-suit she’s making for you. “Right away, dear.” Fry says, and her H.I blinks into nonexistence. She sighs, glancing at you wistfully, “I think he’ll be most pleased.” You know you shouldn’t because it’s cliche and quite honestly, she shouldn’t tell you, but you ask anyway, “Who?” She laughs, “Your partner for the evening, of course. Don’t worry too much, he’s one of the good guys.” That’s all she tells you before she’s ushering you back toward the door. “Come by again tomorrow midday, it’ll be ready,” she assures you just as she lets the door shut between you. The encounter leaves you feeling a myriad of emotions, though most prominently was the anxiousness of such a mysterious job. You’ve only had a small share of jobs from outside sources, and none that appeared to have so much riding on them. Without anything else to do, you ride back toward Blue House, craving pizza. Smiling, you decide to stop for a quick payday and a free dinner at The Cave. It takes less time than usual to make your rounds of the arcade cabinets, easily earning enough credits to pay for a large pie to take back with you. Plain cheese, well done. Same as always. When you walk through the doors of the brothel with a smile and a pizza box, Chan knows, “Oh no, how many people’s day did you ruin?” “Just a few, I promise. I really just wanted the pizza.” you comment, admitting that a few extra coins in your pocket from beating out cheating gamers never hurt anyone. His eyes zero in on the box settled on your palm with a swallow, “Did you just bring that here to make my mouth water?” There’s a hopeful spark in his eyes, but you decide to enjoy the chance to tease anyway, “We both know this isn’t the kind of thing that makes your mouth water.” Your eyes float around the lobby with a grin. His smile slides off his face briefly, until you shake your head, “Come on. Got some time to spare?” Immediately, the guardian of Blue House morphs his stance- away from the imposing spread of his arms across the sleek counter to the boyish delight of the one person you’ve grown to trust in this world like a starry-eyed puppy. His childlike wonder brings a smile to your lips at the stark contrast of his nickname in the business, as the Wolf of Blue House. He doesn’t mind it, and most of his clientele pay top dollar to have the attention and affection of that persona. You know the way, and Chan follows you through the door on the right, ascending the stairs tucked narrowly between the lounges. The rose-colored light gives the cramped space an intimate feel, and part of you takes artificial comfort from this familiarity, and the memories of it you can feel permeate your consciousness. Of the way you grew up here, together with Chan. Of how thankful you are to him for teaching you and helping you survive. The embarrassment of teenage years made you closer, and you try not to smile, remembering once when you were drunk and nineteen, after your first official orgasm ever, at his hands, and the victory of such a thing made you so emotional you confessed that you loved him. Gently as ever, he brought you back down and reminded you that pleasure isn’t love. In the darkness of your personal room in this very building, your tears fell from the sudden fear of weightlessness that overtook you with such release, and he was there for every step of the way. Chan was there, keeping you grounded and guiding you on a path that would make you strong enough, smart enough, to stand on your own feet and never need anyone else. You could want to your heart’s content, but you would never need. That seems like a distant past, now. Somewhere after eating the whole pie with Chan on the rooftop, you fell asleep. You’re positive he carried you back down the stairs to his den and let you sleep in his bed. The only difference was your jacket had been removed, neatly folded over the open door of his armoire. You’ve woken up here before, sometimes alone, sometimes not when you needed to feel safe so you could sleep without screaming. Weeks or months between. Never more than 3 nights in a row. Today, only the familiar scent of Chan lingers in the room. When you rise, you notice he’s left you some of your old clothes, if you feel so inclined, and a fresh towel. The mirror of his bathroom has wispy remnants of condensation still, and the balmy humidity in the room feels relaxing. The warm water kickstarts your tired bones while you shower, giving you time to think against the white noise it provides. You wonder what time it is, but don’t bother with rushing the moment. As usual, you find Chan working in the office with his natural curls still damp atop his head. They’re unstyled, the dry strands a bit frizzy- mused from his fingers running through them no doubt. Even though you know he’s very busy, he looks comfortable. “I’m out.” you coo quietly from your position, leaning against the door frame with your jacket tucked over your folded arms. It’s a little awkward saying goodbye, knowing you’ll be back in a few weeks after you’ve rotated through your other caches. You can never stay in one place for too long. His head snaps up with the sound of your voice, and he gives you a dimpled grin, “Okay. Stay safe out there, babygirl.” It’s obvious your decision to even say goodbye makes him happy, although he has never judged you for disappearing without small talk. Neither of you owe each other anything. You remain as you both are, separately autonomous. The time you share together is a boon of respectful interest and allied friendship. It’s half past noon as you sling your backpack over your shoulder and head outside, inhaling a deep breath as your palm habitually runs across the leather seat of your bike. Mounting, you bring up the routes of your recent destinations and take in the swell of momentary bliss you get when the bike beneath you roars to life. The midday sun feels good, the heat of it through your clothes and on your hands warming you the moment you ride onto the city streets from the cool shade of the undercity. When you arrive at Cloak & Dagger, you’re whisked inside by the same older woman from yesterday, and she makes a lot of fuss over you. “We’ve got to get your nails and your hair done before you can wear that dress,” she’s muttering, pulling at your hair and your hands to see your fingernails. “Excuse me?” you ask. The job didn’t entail all of that fuss. Why is going to that extent necessary? She gives you a dazzling, perhaps a little overeager smile. “You’ve got to look the part, doll. You’re not bad,” she comments, standing back to assess you from head to toe with a twist to her lips, “but we’ve still got to even out your ends and do you up for the event.” You’re uncomfortable with this, but when she confirms it will cost you nothing, you remind yourself it’s all for the money. Plus, you haven’t had a haircut in a while. “Close the shop, dear, we’ve got important work to do!” she coos in excitement loudly to her AI. Fry’s voice answers her with amusement, “We never opened today, dear.” She laughs, “All’s well that ends well, then!” as she takes your hand and walks you back behind the counter and into a large space that appears to be a dressing room. Immediately, she guides you to a comfortable-looking chair stationed in front of an old-style makeup mirror and begins talking to her AI. “Mm, yes, I think this one will do.” she says as she flips through a couple of hairstyles from a menu you don’t recognize in her H.I. Two arms fold down from the center of the ceiling here, sleek and soundless as they move. Fry’s voice is directed at you, “This is happening to you, my dear. Which of these would you like? I can do either with the length your hair will be once I even it out.” A display appears on the mirror in front of you and four hairstyles are displayed. You’re still trying to wrap your head around this ordeal and all the fuss over you, but you blurt out “number two” anyway. “Excellent choice, my dear.” he says, gentlemanly as always in his American accent. The arms behind you start working immediately, folding out to comb your hair and part it, taking clips from a tray that’s been set up just behind the chair. It takes longer than you anticipated for the AI Varian Fry to cut your hair and style it into the selected choice, all while he comments how wonderful it looks on you. You’ve lost count of how many pins he’s put in by now. The quirky woman jabs often at you with small talk that you needn’t reply to, or she comments on the work Fry is doing while she tends to your nails. “I can do that, darling. No need to fret.” the AI says to her while she fusses over evening out your nails, but she waves him off. “No no, I want to. It makes me feel useful. We never get to have this kind of fun anymore.” Her words are cryptic and the way she says them tells you there’s a mountain of information behind the comment, but she says nothing else about it. Your nails aren’t something you get a choice with, as she layers gel onto them, building it up and evening the edges before she finishes. You watch, moving your fingers in all kinds of ways to get used to having longer nails, almond-shaped no less. Admittedly, you like the matte hue she chose as the color. Once she’s finished, she stands and walks to the left side of the room. There’s a long, rolling pole with clothes hangers adorning it, and a single garment is neatly folded in a black bag. She removes it and unzips it just as Varian Fry places the final bobby pin in your hair, covering your eyes with a metal visor briefly while hairspray plumes into a cloud over your head. “I can’t wait to see this on you,” the woman coos excitedly, “You might just be our best work yet.” When Varian finishes your hair, the arms spin your chair in the direction of the woman, and she’s holding up a black and violet dress, the heavy yet gentle shine of velvet catching light. Typically, you’re not the dress type, but again, money is money. At least it isn’t hideous, and the colors and style are gorgeous. There’s isn’t much you find that would annoy you with it, other than perhaps the inability to run if necessary. “We’ve only got your makeup left to do!” she chimes while she hangs the dress on a hook high off the floor, just beside the mirror. Another cart is wheeled over by one of Varian’s arms, full of high-end makeup brands you recognize from huge ads in the shopping districts of the city. She takes your hand with a laugh, “Up up up, come on now, let’s get you into this.” Ushering you into another room, you’re granted a moment of privacy to use the restroom and collect yourself before she’s knocking at the door and shamelessly stripping you of your outer clothes. Being naked in front of others stopped making you feel insecure a long time ago, and the benefit of it is the efficient speed of doing the task you needed to do instead of milling about in a flustered state of undress for longer than necessary. It doesn’t mean you enjoy being in the nude, but when duty calls you do what must be done. The older woman of Cloak & Dagger doesn’t seem to bat an eye either, assuming years of her dressing up others in her creations has kept the professional efficiency all the same. If she notices any of your battle scars, she doesn’t pause or comment on them. When you look at yourself in the mirror, you don’t recognize the woman staring back at you, except for her eyes and the color of her hair. The dress hugs your form like a thick and warm blanket, accentuating the lines of your body and appealing to the curve of your hips you hadn’t realized were so generous. You turn several directions, analyzing yourself. Perhaps it had been too long since you looked in the mirror at your body. You could appreciate the shape of your own ass, and the swell of your breasts, the gentle caress of line that was your own spine, clearly visible in the cutout back of this dress. Even the muscle of your own legs, visible from the mid-thigh down to the shiny black heels on your feet. For once, even with every sad story of the scars you know riddle your body, you couldn’t stop staring at yourself, liking the way you looked. Finished with fussing over yourself, the woman cracks a grin at you, cooing with excitement at the spectacle before her. “You look ravaging, darling.” She opens the door and takes your hand. Leading you back into the center of the prep room, she waits. Walking in heels is going to be the death of you- you’ve never worn any quite this high and pointy. In your mind, the only upside is the way you could stab someone with one if warranted. When Varian doesn’t respond and no movement is noticed from any of the things he can control, she asks, “Varian dear are you awake?” To which the hand-like ends of the limbs from the ceiling give her a single finger of silence, he whispers, “No, no please I need a moment to enjoy this absolute dream.” The woman barks a loud laugh, giggling to herself with pride. The joke does not go over your head, realizing with a smile that Varian was giving you a compliment. The entire ordeal has taken far longer than you think is appropriate, but if you try to think about your feelings, you can admit you enjoyed the pampering, and you feel good. You’ve never done anything like this, and there are small parts of you that had always wondered about why women fuss over their appearances so much. Now, you know. “The car has just arrived, dear.” Fry’s voice cuts in just as the woman finishes applying one more layer of lipstick to your face. She claps her hands together and smiles, “Right then! One last piece.” With a sway in her step, she leads you back out to the front of the shop and muses over the selection of handbags to her right briefly, deciding on a black leather clutch with a silver crossbody chain that she drapes over your body. You spy through the front window curiously, eyeing a man standing beside a car door wearing a black suit and tie with dark sunglasses. He’s not moving. “One more thing.” says the old woman, her finger raised in the air as she rounds the counter. She pulls a small 10mm pistol from somewhere below the register, checking it with a speed you find almost as alarming as the immediate panic that sets into your bones. You’re frozen as she checks the six spaces are all filled with bullets, snaps it shut and puts the safety lock on. Then, she’s standing in front of you, holding it out for you to take. Slowly, as if the gears of your body have been rusted still far too long, you shake your head. “What’s the matter dear, don’t know how to shoot? I don’t think you’ll need it, but just in case.” “No,” your voice quivers. She makes a sound of disbelief, misunderstanding you as she reaches for your bag, attempting to put the gun in it. “Get that thing away from me.” you command, wrenching the bag out of her fingers. She gives you a look, open-mouthed and taken aback a bit. When the pause between you grows too heavy, the man at the car breaks the silence by knocking on the door. The old woman blinks, “Oh, goodness okay okay, have it your way. Just be safe. I don’t want any idiots ruining this stunning creation.” she says to you with a wistful smile and a pat to your shoulder. Once she ushered you outside, you’re not sure why, but your head seemed to turn of its own volition, back to the front window of Cloak & Dagger, where you spied Varian’s metal arm whipping a handkerchief from an unknown place and offering it to his wife. The SUV in front of you is dark. Black paint, black trim and rims, and every window except the windshield looks deeply tinted. The man in front of you, painfully obvious with his secret and important aura, sticks out like a sore thumb. His only motion is opening the rear door for you. You’re desperate not to wobble or fall as you climb inside, already scowling at the heels on your feet. The inside of the SUV is more spacious than you gave credit for, with the seats rearranged in a way that opens the space like a lounge of sorts, complete with ice bucket and the glow of colored lights overhead. You perch yourself on the edge of an open section of the long seat across from the only other person in the back of the car, save for the sound of the man closing the door behind you and climbing into the driver’s seat of the SUV from the other side of a thick panel of black glass. The eyes of the person across from you are dancing along your skin, you can feel them, but it’s not in a way that raises the hair on the back of your neck. When you look ahead, you find a pair of dark eyes, crinkled at the outer corners and smiling at you, one hand extended in your direction. “Good evening, thank you for coming.” His voice is smooth. Neutral, with a hint of amusement. You say nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. He is handsome, you’ll admit, but in an almost too-pretty way. Hair swept up and to the side, in a full three piece suit that looked as if it cost an absurd amount of money to buy. His posture, with one knee over the other and his torso draped at an angle, with one arm over the back of the seat across from you. He raises his thick brows once when you say nothing, still analyzing him. “Right.” he chimes, placing the glass from his hand in the holder beside him. “I’m Suho, the one who posted the job.” he states matter of factually, in a calm and even tone. The first indicator that his request is legitimate, you think. His posture is too relaxed and he speaks too clearly to be afraid of being overheard by nothing more than an anxious or guilty conscience. He is not out to get you. “What is it exactly that you need my help with?” you ask, matching his tone. A small part of you relaxes into the seat at your back, adjusting to sit a little more comfortably. He smiles wistfully, “I’m glad you asked,” a pause, before he sits up and places his elbows on his knees, hands folded together in front of him so he can address you directly. “We’re headed to a Gala as we speak. The Medical Advancement Technologies Gala, to be precise. There’s a certain politician attending that must be dealt with, but there is information I need from him in order to deal with him appropriately.” Suho explains, skirting the details. Whether at your expense or not, it pisses you off. “You don’t need to sugarcoat it with me, just so you know. So what did he do and why do you care?” He blinks at you, then quickly collects himself with a smile, “Apologies.” There’s a brief moment where his brows knit together before he continues, “He is… someone who uses his political power to do unforgivable things. I care, because one of those things is sex trafficking.” You don’t flinch, you don’t move, you don’t blink. You want to ask why that’s what Suho cares about, but you remind yourself that’s not the most important line of questioning right now. It’s not about Suho, it’s about the politician. Nodding when you notice he’s waiting for your response, “How is it that you came to find out about it, and how do you know it is him? Does he use an alias?” Suho hums with agreement, “He does. I’ve been tracking his association with trafficking for months, and have done what I can to gather information, but it is that last missing piece he keeps locked up that I need help with.” He makes a distinct motion with his right hand, elegant and graceful, almost as if dancing, so subtle and strange you almost miss it. It takes you a moment to realize that was his initiation to awaken his own Atlas. He begins flicking his way through a series of locked programs and folders in his own archives. Bold of him to do so directly in front of you. He doesn’t know what you’re capable of, and although it isn’t easy to read some of his things both backwards and at a speed to see anything useful, it isn’t impossible to pick out the keywords ‘Olympus’ and ‘Tartarus’ from some of his files. “So you need someone to hack into his Atlas to retrieve the final key.” you assume of him, understanding now exactly why the job was so specific. The man in front of you motions for you to open your own, intending to share some files with you. Blinking it to life, you accept his immediate offer to link up after a brief moment of hesitation. You have plenty of safeguards on your own tech, and there should be virtually no way for anyone to hack and see anything of value since you are the sole creator and user of Ghost tech, but something else tells you this won’t be the last of Suho you’ll be seeing. Suho nods when you accept, “Yes. You’ll be with me all evening, and I’ll introduce you to him. I promise there will be no sexual favors or activities involved, whatsoever.” You tilt your head, puckering your lips for a moment. Your eyes trail him up and down through the glowing blue lines between you, gauging his reasoning for a woman rather than a man. “Why a woman then?” He blanches momentarily, before shrugging, “Just my personal preference I suppose.” He meets your stare but doesn’t express any other emotion, as far as you can tell. “Yet you wish for no acts of sexual service?” Suho nods, “That’s right. Just be my date. I won’t even kiss you.” Nothing here screams danger to you, no fight or flight instincts kick in, but you find yourself asking a question and playing a game regardless. A game your inner self loathes, and your survival self thrives on. The addiction of power that comes with winning in any form. You make a show of eyeing him from the dark hair atop his head, all the way down to the perfectly polished tips of his shoes. “That’s a pity.” Suho, who you barely know, blinks at you and surprise settles on his face, trying to hide the smile in the apples of his cheeks while he pretends to look out the window. You wait, openly watching him for any subtle signs of odd behavior. For any slip ups. This is where checkmate is called in the game. The part where your victory is certain but the game drags on. And yet, no such euphoric victory sweeps through your bloodstream. Instead, he murmur’s a simple phrase to flip the tables and lance you with the first striking blow of information. Information that is dangerous. “This is why it had to be you.” Quickly your dress seems to morph its shape into the most constricting piece of clothing you’ve ever worn. You can do nothing, sitting perfectly still. Suho takes a moment to realize your reaction was intense, a deep furrow in his brow when he understands. “You’ve got nothing to fear from me, though.” he attempts to pacify your anxiety, holding up his empty palms. “Explain. Now.” is all you can force from your throat. With a sadness to his expression, he tucks the corner of his mouth into his cheek and gives you a hard stare. Then, he sighs. He sags a little more along the bench seat across from you, letting his heavy head hang a little lower, shoulders a little looser. Relaxing his posture to appeal and seem less dangerous. “We need your help, Ms. Maneater.” he breathes at last, as if the face were plain as day. Your silence is heard everywhere like the command of a god in the small space of the SUV. “I’m one of the rare someone’s who gives more fucks to humanity than to money. I came from money, and lots of it. Until my humanity was handed over to a human trafficking trade by my own parent’s filthy hands.” For the first time in a full minute you take one small breath. Nothing in his posture or words or expression rings false. There is no tension in his throat, wrought tight with lies. “You could say I had my eyes opened. Today, I manage a team of others like me, with their own trauma and stories of how they’ve survived to rise from the ashes. Our scars are what keep us motivated to put bad people away in the deepest pits of hell forever.” He talks lowly now, just low enough to be more than a whisper. Your lips form a word, barely audible, “Tartarus.” This time, it is Suho’s turn to be taken aback with shock. “Where did you find that name?” His reaction gives you the strength to relax a fraction, fighting through the tension in your jaw to speak, “You’ve got nothing to fear from me.” He scoffs as you throw his own words back at him. “I just read it on your Atlas.” It takes him a moment to weigh your words, understanding how careful he should be. “I didn’t think that was possible, I moved through them so quickly.” You nod, folding your hands together, “Well, you did say it had to be me. I can only allude to that meaning of my technical abilities if you know my moniker.” His smile reappears, not too much, but just enough to curve his lips, “We need your help.” “How exactly am I supposed to trust you? You didn’t tell me how you knew it was me.” Suho pouts his lips, considering your question, “You’re not as stealthy as you think you are,” he begins. “Although we mostly went off of clues and a hunch, Mrs. Fry and her AI did their due diligence to confirm your identity through your Atlas.” You narrow your eyes at him, ready with a threat. “Varian is amazing, yes? There is so much he can do to go undetected if he only looks, but doesn’t touch.” Your rage is simmering, in part that you are impressed, “Why not have him do the hacking for you then?” Suho clicks his tongue, “AI are not allowed at the MAT Gala, and even if he were it would be incredibly suspicious to bring an AI for a companion to such an event.” “And you prefer women anyway.” you chide sarcastically. You sigh, “How did you know I would come?” At this question, he fixes you with a hard stare as if deciding what to say, “I didn’t, but I had hope that the price tag would catch the Wolf’s eye for you when I had Varian post it on the brothel’s board.” “Excuse me?” you growl, ready to whip off your heel and stab him if necessary. You push the shame down that you let your guard down with Chan. What if he is in danger because of you? Although no danger seems to come from Suho, it doesn’t mean there aren’t other targets on your back. You can only hope that Chan isn’t as stupid as you are. “Relax,” Suho says, “I’m not interested in that information, and I hope I’ve already established that I’m not in it for the money.” A tap on the black glass between you and the driver pulls Suho’s attention away briefly, “We’ve got about 20 minutes to talk about the job.” It takes you a moment to nod at him, “Fine. Tell me what I need to do.” He smiles at you, “Thank you.” It takes ten minutes for Suho to share the information he’s gathered with you so far, from pictures to audio recordings and statements of witnesses given to others and collateral information taken from various sources. All with the initials of CIG under something called ‘Project Zero’.

Suho gently tries to escape the horrific details that ‘Project Zero’ uses funds from taxpayers in order to feed, shelter and educate homeless persons and families in an effort to reduce the number to zero, and the fact that it more than likely means the funds are being used to eradicate or enslave them in the trafficking market.

In the last ten minutes, you think of how you’ll collect the piece of information Suho needs. An offshore account where his embezzled funds are kept and used, under the alias of one CIG. Suho shows you backdated statements of funds going to and coming from the account from another account, a tertiary, privately owned finance management company connected to ‘Project Zero’.

Suho has the login information for the accounts, and is certain the politician is the CEO of the finance company managing the whole thing. All you have to do is hack in and find the items necessary to link all three together.

The Gala is… impressive. Deciding to trust Suho for the evening, at least, you walk beside him, arm in arm down the velvety carpet rolled out between the street and the venue.

“How are you connected to all this?” you whisper to him as you pause, waiting your turn for the media and news outlets to take your photos. It makes you uncomfortable.

Suho hums beside you, smiling and patting your hand affectionately, “Do you know Guardian Hospitals?”

The name is not uncommon to anyone as a well-known chain of general hospitals across Korea and China.

He pulls you forward gently, walking to the center space between two glittering, fluorescent obelisks that frame the ‘MAT GALA’ backdrop for photos. Several cameras flash in succession, making you squint against the headache you receive by waving a hand and smiling, playing your part beside Suho.

“I own the Korean branch.” he says when you’ve passed the threshold into the venue, grinning from ear to ear at your expression.

You suppose that’s not too far-fetched an explanation. You know three things about Suho now, and although you don’t have time to consider the surely intricate way to link it, you idly wonder if his connection to the hospital chain is how he knew to find you. Once or twice you’ve had to go, for illness or injury and at Chan’s insistence.

He doesn’t freely give up any other personal details about himself or ask you any questions. Nor do you, and the fact that he is patient and doesn’t pry is something you accept with good grace.

There’s an excruciating amount of idle small talk fluttering around you and Suho where you’re seated. Other people of importance come to the assigned table and take their seats. Some leave and come back. The same conversation floats around the table over and over again, asking the same uncaring greeting questions.

Some, like yourself, are deep into their Atlas’s, reading articles or working to answer emails or draft important papers or speeches- even in the middle of an event like this, too preoccupied to leave their work alone.

You can’t say you blame them, considering you’re here doing the same thing, regardless of it being the sole purpose you’re wearing this ridiculous outfit in the middle of an uncomfortable situation.

Suho’s fingers gently caress the point of your elbow, subtle in the way he directs your shoulders to turn acutely to the right. His face leans close enough that only you will hear the words whispered at your ear, not that anyone else cares to listen.

“There, coming this way. Red suit.”

Only one person fits the description, and you reach for your drink on the table, taking a small sip as you watch to fit in with the movement of people around you. An older man, average build with a suit that looks just as expensive as the rest of the people here, a dark and bloody red.

You watch, leaning back slowly into Suho’s grasp as he slings one arm over the back of your chair and curls himself toward your shoulder to talk. A tactic you know to create a more intimate space and make watchful eyes turn away with discomfort.

Suho’s talking in your ear again as the man approaches. A slight moment of unexpected anxiety raises your heartbeat a fraction, wondering if you’ll have to speak to him. The tension dissipates as he stops at the table directly behind yours and pulls out a chair, talking immediately with someone he knows at the table. The breath you didn’t know you’d been holding escapes from your throat in a long, quiet exhale.

Suho notices your anxiousness, taking your hand and patting it gently as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to touch you with such care. Somehow, the action quells you nerves.

You’ve hacked people before, but never someone who looked as powerful or important, and never in the presence of the public eye.

Your counterpart leans closer to your ear again with a smile, “Relax,” he says. “Nobody is paying you any attention.”

His words aren’t enough to hold back the wildness in your expression, and he chuckles softly, “Not that you trust me very much, but I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. For once, you have someone literally looking out for you.”

This time, his assurance cuts deeper, but not in a painful way. There’s a sincerity in his tone you can’t dispel, and it helps ground you.

You blink, slow and purposefully, and the soft and familiar blue glow of your Atlas casts a wave of color on your skin that washes over you like a comforting touch. It steadies you to dive deep into your world.

Part of you is weary about Suho watching, afraid he may somehow know about your Ghost tech. You briefly consider this a test to see how true to its name your self-made program is, and the part of your conscience that wins is curious to see if you pass.

Refusing to let it weigh you down, you get to work.

________________________________________

Fourteen hours later, you’re sitting at a window seat table sipping strawberry milk and fidgeting with the in-ear piece you just finished outfitting with the latest hologlass tech.

The rays of sunlight warm your arm where its closest to the window, and the chattering of the bustling cafe helps fight your drowsiness. There isn’t a crowd here, and the noise is just the slow side of steady that its easy to pick up the conversation of anyone around.

So, you listen. To an older couple talking about the vacation they are on, although you’re not sure why anyone would vacation in this city. You listen to the table of young people in the corner booth talking about homework and research papers as they simultaneously watch a single tablet with a lecture playing at the head of the table.

You listen, when the middle aged man closest to your table laughs. “What a deplorable monster.”

The sentence piques your interest. Stealing a glance, you notice he’s commenting on the news.

News that shows a headline of ‘Breaking News’, and a video clip of a politician being walked down the wide and pristine granite steps of the city judicial building. He’s handcuffed, and there are tons of reporters and cameras in his face that the police are shoving out of their way as they descend.

Your blood runs cold the moment you realize it’s the politician from last night. You freeze, with a mouthful of strawberry milk you refuse to swallow, and wait for the rest of the information.

“Choi In Gyong will go on trial for the undeniable and anonymously leaked evidence of embezzling funds from Project Zero- a campaign he sired to help the homeless- and participating in the purchase, acquisition and selling of people in an American sex trafficking cartel.” explains the newscaster. Her expression of disgust is plain for all to see.

Her AI counterpart, wearing a suit and tie, gives further details, “Jumbotrons all over the city, as well as the police headquarters were somehow hacked, but only to blast the evidence of his connection to such atrocities. Details on who or how the information was obtained and who hacked into these secure networks are still unknown. Many have speculated it was the work of Maneater, but one detail snufs out that option.”

The woman anchor smiles, turning to her co-host, “Oh? And what’s that, Yeoguk?”

Anchor Yeoguk cocks his head to one side, a quirk all his own, “The only indicator from whom the evidence was sent was the letter ‘O’.”

You jump as your phone rings, facedown on the table beside your forgotten milk. When you turn it over, you recognize the first two digits of it as a payphone number.

“Hello?”

A hum from the other end of the line, followed by a familiar voice, “Have you seen the news recently?”

You’re still a little shocked, but snort at the obvious excitement in his tone nonetheless while you stand and make your way out of the cafe.

“I just happened to catch the headlines.”

“And have you checked into your collections yet?”

You smile, “Not yet. Why, is there 1200c sitting prettily in there for me?”

Suho laughs from the other end of the line, “Yes, and more if you’re willing.”

The meaning of his statement catches you off guard, “What are you getting at?”

He hums again, but this time there’s no excitable tone to his voice, “I’d like to make you an offer, Ms. Maneater.”

You pause, pulling your phone away from your ear briefly to look at it questioningly.

“Last night’s job was… a test of sorts. We’ve had our eye on you for some time and last night proved you are just what we needed.”

“Am I supposed to be offended or impressed?” you ask through clenched teeth. You feel uneasy about this, you’ve never worked directly with anyone before on your hacking, and certainly not with such high risk and reward.

Suho laughs again at your reply, “Consider this the official, cordial invite to join Olympus.”

You scoff, of course he would call it that. However, you can’t deny that it is worth considering. After getting past the shock of your work having such a huge, direct effect, you feel… content.

Content that what you did was important to a lot of people like you. Content to know that there is a little bit of hope out there. Content to know that Suho wasn’t all bark and that perhaps, you can learn to trust him and his crew.

“I’ll give you some time to consider. It’ll be in your inbox.” Suho says. “Thanks for everything.”

“Wait!” you try, hoping to get some more information, “What will be in my inbox? How did you get my number? Hello? Hello…?” To your frustration, the dial tone is the only response you receive.

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