#a court of dark spring

[achaotichuman]

I can't help but feel like @achaoticalien is this blog's hotter older brother. Idk why that's just the vibes.

[wallflowers-in-the-wind]

Reading Tamlin not holding back on his anger toward Feyre during the High Lord meeting has to be the best form of revenge he can do without causing another full out war. And Feyre and Rhysand deserved every bit of criticism and scathing remark against them.

I still can’t believe people defend Feyre’s actions during the meeting and against the Spring Court. Her problem was with Tamlin. Not the entire court who she previously kept insisting she wanted to help, whose lives she destroyed. She may have sworn to destroy everything Tamlin loves over actions that weren’t even his fault but punishing innocents out of anger is uncalled for.

From Tamlin’s perspective Feyre was SA and held captive by Rhysand. When she was finally home he apologized for what he did wrong and promised to be better and gave her space. He didn’t tell her about his secret about being a spy against Hyburn because he didn’t want to overwhelm her and still had some doubt that she truly was being manipulated and wanted to come back. Yet he still gave her a chance only for the woman he loved to manipulate him and destroy everyone and everything out of some form of sick revenge.

Even his best friend Lucien left him and while some of the reason’s were caused by Tamlin it was due to manipulation by Feyre. She made Tamlin believe she was having an affair with Lucien. Something I will never forgive because Lucien was innocent and was trying to help her ungrateful ass.

Everyone turned on Tamlin yet he managed to earn their trust again after being framed as an abusive partner. A mindset Feyre implanted in everyone’s minds not to mention the mind manipulations she used on Tamlin.

Feyre better thank whatever unnamed god SJM refuses to world build that Tamlin hasn’t gotten revenge against her for everything she put him and his people through and for being merciful enough to bring Rhysand back to life for her happiness. Because if Tamlin ever did decide to get revenge people would truly understand the wrath of Spring.

[sad-scarred-sassy]

The tragedy of spring

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter One

Series Masterlist

CW: Angst

50 years, 50 long years... Well, 50 years, 3 months and 1 day if anyone was counting, which she was.

Every day was the same for the past years, Velaris was dark, the darkness didn't come from the night, but from sorrow. Everyone felt an absence of their beloved High Lord. They all mourned him, feeling the last of his power when they tried to leave Velaris and were met with a forcefield that had glamoured their city, making it invisible to Amarantha's magic, adding another layer of protection to the City of Starlight just like their previous High Lords had.

Rheana stood at the edge of Velaris like she had every day since her brother was taken from her, her wings out and stretched for flight. She waited for the feeling of her brother's magic to spike, but it never did. After her initial panic, she destroyed the shield he had created to alter it with just a simple thought, creating her own glamour to hide her city so their Inner Circle could go in and out as they pleased. She and her sister, Morrigan, had taken to rule over Night Court. Mor took over The Court of Nightmares, those few who were spared the so-called High Queen's wrath, Rheana was sure it was to just throw it in her father's face of how powerful she was now, nearly untouchable, while she ruled over Velaris and kept the Illyrians from revolting in the absence of a power keeping them in line.

When her mind started screaming at her, Rheana flew to Illyria, sometimes she would spar with any Illyrian male who thought he could best her or she would teach the girls who would watch her beat up a male larger than her, despite Devlon's wishes for the young females to stay in the house and help their mothers. She found peace in teaching the girls to fight, she saw something of herself in the hoard of teenage females that she taught. All of it was a good distraction for half the century that made her want to peel her skin off, the hollow of her heart had only increased as the days went by.

If physical aggression couldn't calm her mind, she would lock herself in the library of the House of Winds, greeting Clotho curtly and sitting on a soft couch, reading books till her eyes crossed and she couldn't see straight. She had managed to study everything in the giant library twice and talked to some of the priestesses who worked there. One of them had suggested she talk to the female who helped them with their trauma but she had denied it, thinking how could her trauma compare to any of theirs.

Her mind snapped back to her body when she felt a playful shove of Illyrian wings. "Hey Rhe, I got you some food."

She turned to meet Cassian's eyes, her eyes softened seeing her friend. "Cassian..." She shoved him back with her wings, a greeting of 'hello' that they had since they were children.

Cassian and Azriel, her oldest friends, were the only were who made sure she ate and was hydrated. Azriel himself threatened to shove some proper nutrition she needed down her throat if she wouldn't eat willingly. While Amren rolled her eyes at their motherhen antics, claiming Rheana wouldn't die of some unhealthy choices.

"Rhe, you there...?" Cassian waved his large hand in front of her face, making her snap out of another trance, she went in and out of the maze in her mind a lot after losing Rhysand.

"Yeah, yeah..." She nodded, made her wings disappear and sat down next to him on the grass, taking the basket he'd gotten her. "I've just been thinking."

"The usual?" Cassian sitting next to her, wrapping a wing around her. She nodded back, chewing on some meat he'd brought her. The usual, Rhysand, the Illyrians, Rhysand's safety, the priestesses in the library, and Rhysand being dead.

"It's been 50 years... he's dead..." She swallowed hard, "Amarantha hasn't died, if she had he would've been here 3 months ago."

Cassian leaned into her as she forced food down her throat, he and Azriel had been the only ones who kept her from breaking down about her brother's life at any and each moment. "I'm sorry, something must have been going on-"

"I hate not knowing what's happening to my own brother!" She exclaimed and cut him off, Cassian let her get up and pace around. "We don't know nothing of what's happening Under the Mountain, what she has planned, who..." She inhaled deeply, her siphons glowing purple, "Who all she might have killed until it's always too late! There is word in the wind that my brother killed two dozen Winter Court children. He would never. Not children." Her voice broke slightly, not wanting to think of the fact that whatever was happening to him Under the Mountain might have... No, she would not think that.

Cassian stood up after her, stroking her back to calm her, "Rhysand must have thought of something, and besides, you would feel it." He pointed to her chest over her heart, "Right here... Even if you can't feel his magic, you would just know, if there was evil in your blood or if he was dead."

She knew what he meant, whatever was in their bloodline was a lot different than they had ever seen, it was a different type of fibre that connected their blood. Connected them on another lever. Powerful children of a powerful man. The only blood family either of them had left alive.

When he pressed his fingers over Rheana's heart again, she gasped, and she felt a sharp rush of power. It wasn't her power. It was his power. She looked up at her giant of a friend with a wide smile. Her violet eyes were suddenly full of life. Velaris also felt it, as little the power was, of its High Lord's return.

"Rheana... What's wrong?" Cassian asked before correcting, "What's so right?"

"He... He's." She gasped again. "We need to get to the House of Winds."

She flew before Cassian registered her words, her wings spread wide as she leaned forward to fly faster. She saw a pale figure standing in the House, she felt it in her, and her insides sang his name. Her brother. Her family.

Rhysand... Rhysand is safe... Rhysand is alive...

She stood next to him too fast, and the two eyes met, beings made from the same thread of fabric, they each took a step closer to each other, there were no words said, but everything that needed to be said was heard.

Both of them were glad that the other was there. Alive. Just an arm's reach from each other. Safe, safe, safe. The power in their blood sang.

He looked like a ghost, and she would have thought he was one, she had dreamt of this moment so long she wondered if this was just another dream. But he was not a ghost, not as a smile appeared on his lips, he took another step towards her, Mor appeared behind them a worried look on the female's face as he fell into Rheana's arms, and Rheana noticed the lack of muscles on him, noticed how pale he was.

"She's real, Rhea... My mate is real. She's my mate." Rhysand whispered before passing out in his sister's arms.

It was silent since Rhysand had returned, he had only said one sentence to Rheana before he passed out. She had decided against bringing their entire Inner Circle to see him at once, given that he hadn't woken up.

She had almost cried when she was able to lift him up like he weighed nothing, had she been able to lift him under any other circumstance, she would've teased the hell out of him. But there was nothing funny about how much weight Rhysand had lost in his captivity, nothing joyous about Rhysand being so thin that she could nearly see his bones in some places. It spooked Rheana that whatever went down Under the Mountain turned him into nothing more than a pale, thin, tired creature after fifty years of it. Her brother, the High Lord, was so weak it cracked her to pieces.

Rheana tucked her brother in his bed at the townhouse in the clothes he'd worn when he had winnowed back at the House of Winds, she set the messy hair that had now fallen over his face back, they had grown a lot since the last time she'd seen him, she despised the physical changes she saw, not liking that thought of equally scaring mental changes. She watched him, taking a seat next to his bed, he looked so tired and tensed in his state, and she kept her breathing quiet, feeling that he might be disturbed by any light movement.

The bargain tattoo on the right hand's pinky finger hummed against her skin, the word 'Alltaf' written in cursive, surrounded by swirls of starlight. An old fae language. She looked at his hand to see the matching tattoo in the same place but the word 'Aeternum'. Their oldest bargain. Her eyes followed his hand to the thinness of his arms. She'd only ever felt the way she did looking at him once, felt so melancholy, she couldn't help her mind wandering to escape from her body. To that one awful day. The awful memory.

Rheana was sitting moodily in the House of Winds, her father had put wards up in the house so that she couldn't leave the place even by the 10,000 stairs. Her father and brother had gone after the Spring Court royalty that had taken the lives of her sister and mother. Her mother and sister's final words were still ringing in her ear, their deaths should have been her revenge to take too, but Rhysand had not taken her side and watched as her father locked her in the house.

It had been a few days since that loss, she could feel the hollow darkness in her father's eyes that stayed long after he'd screamed so loud she wondered how it hadn't deafened her and her brother. The sound was so gut-wrenching their hearts broke the same every day just remembering it. When her father had scented the Spring royals in the air, he had vowed to kill them all. The loss of his mate was felt by everyone in the court. A male as powerful as her father, with the loss of his mate and a child, was just a chemical waiting to give off a deadly reaction.

After she was brought back home, Madja was instantly by her side, a new healer back then, she had helped bathe Rheana and put a tight bandage on her. As days passed, Madja tried every salve, but the giant gashes the High Lord of Spring had given her would only scar, never heal. Her scars of shame, she would call it while trying to look at the wounds in a mirror. Three large, perfectly symmetrical claw cuts on her back, half-healed forever.

She'd fought trying to join them in their murder spree but that had ended with her father locking her up. She waited for them, and as the minutes passed by she grew worried.

Had they been ambushed? She wondered. No... Her father was more powerful than the High Lord of Spring. She reminded herself

After half an hour of worrying, the shield her father had put up fell, which meant either that he wanted her to come to them or... she would not think of the other reason.

She felt Rhysand winnow in the House of Winds before he did, he carried a newfound power with him when he landed in front of her. She looked at him, seeing her brother covered in blood and guts of the Spring heirs. There he stood, not just her brother, but the High Lord of the Night Court. The two siblings wordlessly rushed to each other and melted in a tight hug, falling to the floor, Rheana not caring about how foul Rhysand smelled, or that her clothes were getting dirty as they both silently cried in each other's hold. Only knowing one thing, that the other was safe and they were to keep it that way.

"Wake up, brother." She whispered to a sleeping Rhysand, she had refused to finish eating the food that Cassian had brought back for her, she would only eat after her brother was up, and she would eat her meal without her brother, which was a week ago.

It had been a week since he had returned and he had not moved an inch, she could feel his heart beating low, there had been a cut on his chest that had bloodied his shirt making her rip it off and call Madja instantly, seeing the cuts and bruises, bile rising in her throat seeing some whip lashes, to be marked by some lashes, she couldn't fathom what he was hit with, or how frequently. Madja had put bandages on his cut, and a salve on the lashes, some of them in his skin while some were still fresh enough to look red. Everyone had come to visit him one by one after, while she had not moved much at all from her spot, she'd only done so to put another top on him and cover him with a blanket, so that he would not get cold. Or to cut his hair back to his usual hairstyle.

She also noticed a new inking at his hands, making her wonder who he had bargained with and what he had given away.

He thinned every day, he grew more pale than when he had arrived each day of that dreadful week and she feared her brother might not wake up. Her hunger didn't matter, she hadn't had a bite of food or a sip of water, and she'd starved for way longer than that anyway. Azriel had decided against being true to his words and let her be with her brother while he visited, not forcing her to neither eat nor drink.

"Please wake up, Rhysie... Please, I need you." She gripped his hands, a tear falling from her eyes. As she said those words, the tattoos on both their little fingers began to glow. Their bargain began to glow, as if energising at the contact and the words.

"I need my brother. I need him." She said more to their bargain now. It was as if the tattoo and their bargain itself gave Rhysand most of his colouring and muscles back. Gave him his health back.

His heart picked up a faster and steadier pace, and the High Lord of the Night Court woke up with a startled gasp.

{Taglist: @anuttellaa }

[arson-09]

My personal Theory/Headcanon for the seasonal courts in acotar

I like to think that the seasonal court’s actually do have seasons, its just not as varied as normal seasons.

for example (i will be using our months and for reference i live in the northern hemisphere)

Spring- During the typical spring months (march-may) its very well. spring. Very average spring temps at 50-60 Fahrenheit, lots of spring showers but low humidity, very misty in the morning. Now in summer (june-mid september) it gets a bit more humid, temps peaking at probably 80-ish, theres less rain-showers but when it does rain its very dramatic storms. Fall (mid september-mid november) is similar to typical spring, its the period where plants start to ‘die off’ and stuff starts fresh. it gets a bit colder but never super cold and humidity goes back down. Winter (november-february) is the coldest with lows in roughly the 40s, its very foggy in the mornings and early afternoon.

[shadowqueenjude]

Tamlin/Dark Spring Court themed birthday party for my pretty boy @achaotichuman who has never had a birthday party 🎂🥳

[chirp-a-chirp]

Court of Darkness: Prince Reactions to MC Being Cold/Shivering

GUY

MC sits on one side of a couch in Guy’s room, reading a book for an upcoming lesson. Guy sits on the other side, reading various Avari royal correspondence.

MC’s rubs her arms quietly, not wanting to disturb Guy’s work by asking for a blanket. Suddenly, without warning, MC is lifted in the air and plopped on top of Guy’s lap. Her face turns bright red as Guy licks her lips. He pulls back, a triumphant smile on his face.

“You’re warm now. Heh.” Guy trails a finger down MC’s blushing cheek and neck.

“You noticed I was cold?”

“You were hardly subtle.” Guy smirks as he kisses the length of MC’s neck. “Not that I mind keeping you warm like this.”

TOA

Toa is a mother-hen. If it’s cold outside, the MC isn’t going out without gloves, coat, appropriate shoes. If a room is cold, he lights a fire in a nearby fireplace. So it would be very rare for MC to be cold around Toa.

Toa, however, is a different story. His hands are constantly cold from anxiety. And he’s not into giant public displays of affection. So, MC looks for ways to subtly warm Toa’s hands—knitting him gloves to wear; holding his hands discreetly under a table; making him a thermos of hot chocolate to keep at all times.

MC: *Rubbing Toa’s hands underneath a blanket in his room* Do you feel better Toa?

Toa: *Kisses her temple* Yes. Thank you for bringing warmth to my life.

LYNT

Lynt: MC, are you cold? Do you want to snuggle with me?

MC: …

Lynt: No? *Pouts slightly*

MC: Lynt, we’re in class…

Lynt: *Blinks in confusion* And? So?

MC: Well, you’re teaching the class right now…

FENN

Fenn is the equivalent of a human jacket, needing zero excuses to drape himself on MC for extra snuggles. If anything, he’ll suggest to MC to wear short sleeves on chillier days so that he can wrap his arms around her in public more (“Just imagine how else we can be wrapped up in one another my dear…”).

MC catches on to Fenn’s antics. She meets Fenn outside the Academy’s gate, in long sleeves and a jacket. Before Fenn can react, MC pulls out a gigantic purple scarf, big enough for two people. She wraps it around both their necks smiling. “Now we can be close and warm!”

Fenn smiles tenderly at her. “How you surprise me Treasure.”

ROY

Roy notices MC shivering while in town. He begins to take off his jacket to offer it to her, but thinks of a better plan. Smirking, Roy puts a spell on his jacket so that it grows in size. He wraps the jacket, which now is big enough for two people, around him and MC, grabbing her around the waist as they continue walking.

“This is a cozy, warm hold, is it not?” Roy looks rather pleased with himself.

MC snakes an arm around Roy’s back, placing her hand inside the back pocket of Roy’s pants. While blushing, she gives a squeeze and retorts back “I think THIS is a cozier hold, no?”

RIO

Rio is the king of sleeveless shirts and vests. There’s no jacket he can gallantly provide MC. However, when he rummages in his pockets…

Rio: You look a bit cold and peck-ish MC. Here! I got just the thing!

*Rio roots in his pockets and brings out several warm bread rolls, muffins…*

MC: How are these rolls still warm? Magic?

Rio: No magic! I guess they’re just naturally warm! *Wipes crumbs from his back pants pocket*

MC: *Oh GOD, this roll’s been warmed by Rio’s—*

Rio: Why’re you blushing Sunbeam?

LANCE

Lance walks to his favorite resting spot by the lake in the forest. He finds MC asleep, sitting up against a tree. Her cat familiar Robin is curled up in her lap and the wolf Grushia’s head rests against MC’s outstretched legs.

Sunlight normally streams through the forest’s canopy. Not today; a cool mist hangs in the air, the sky an indeterminate shade of grey. Lance peers closer at MC and sees goosebumps prickling her lower arms. He takes off his jacket and drapes it like a blanket over MC’s upper half. Lance’s heart warms at the sight of those he cares for the most huddled together.

Not that he’ll admit it out loud, of course.

[the-hedge-has-thorns]

Stars in the Night Sky

He reeked of gin and olives, and of another woman's perfume.

I was at the door with a dirty martini in hand, the purple dress he'd always favored, and dinner on the table. The model wife.

I kissed his cheek and guided him to the dinner table where he could drink his martini while I served his food.

He loosened his tie, returned the kiss to my cheek, and I felt his lips burn with the memory of another woman. I served. His food. As his audience. As a soundtrack to a one-sided conversation.

"Daisy?" he called, snapping his fingers.

I blinked, taking in his cleaned plate and empty glass. He appeared to be waiting for something, but I had lost track of the conversation. It wasn't hard to do, he rarely spoke of anything that held real importance. I sipped the one glass of wine he allowed me with dinner to gather my thoughts. "Whatever you think is best, dear."

He seemed pleased with my response. Not unusual - he preferred when I deferred to him rather than voice any of my thoughts. I stood and picked up a dish to offer it in his direction. "Seconds, dear?"

*****

I sat on the edge of the bed, still in my dress and heels, wearing the diamond necklace he'd gifted me for our 10th anniversary. It matched my engagement ring, and the diamond earrings for our 5th anniversary. I'd always liked pearls better, but he liked the way the lights struck the diamonds when we were out.

The noise of him in the bathroom drifted away as I looked out our window, to the neighbor. With just the right angle I could peer down into a corner of their living room. They were dancing. More in love than I had ever felt.

"Daisy."

I pulled away from the fantasy.

His mouth crushed over my own before I could speak, crushing the words from my mouth. His tongue forced in, scraping out the syllables. "I missed you. I need this." Minty words breathed into my lungs.

Of course he did. I was a creature born to satiate.

A mother's need to love something in a marriage falling apart. A father's need to love something unstained. A husband's need for the perfect image, and a complacent thing to fuck.

His fingers circled my nipple through the dress, hardening at the touch. He liked me in purple. I preferred red. Purple was a compromise for a good mood.

"Turn around," he commanded.

I stood and turned, catching a glimpse of his nakedness. At the start, I had been attracted to him. Someone that was outside of the world my family was entangled with. I'd never have to worry about scrubbing blood out of his clothes, or mending bullet holes. Or be worried the next phone call was going to be from prison collect.

Over the years, as he collected lipstick colors and new perfumes, I'd grown repulsed. Sickened at the grip of his fingers on my hips, and the slap of his skin on mine. It'd turned my stomach.

Now... well, it didn't matter anymore. I was perfect. Untouchable. Unattainable. The stars in the night sky.

"Can you shut the lights off?" The darkness helped. Made things softer, and easier to imagine things were different.

He didn't move. He shoved my legs apart and I stumbled as he hiked up my skirt to feel my wetness. "Always ready for me," he murmured against the back of my neck.

My thoughts slipped, clattered down the rungs of sin until it was another man's hands drawing down the zipper of my dress so it puddled around my heels. Another man's hands unhooking my garters and cupping my breasts as he bent me over the bed. Another man filling me.

I was grateful I'd snuck several pulls from the bottle of wine when he'd left me to clean the kitchen. The soft, low buzz made the imagining easier. I'd long since stopped trying to guide for any of my own pleasure, but I dreamed.

The other man didn't have a face, or a name. But that was fine. Less disappointment when even the dreams inevitably began to fade and lost their luster.

He moaned, his pace picking up.

I couldn't feel him inside me though.

Tonight, I didn't feel anything at all.

He finished quickly. I realized too little, too late, he hadn't used a condom when I felt the heat dripping down my thighs. My stomach bucked as I straightened, turned to kiss his cheek, and make my way to the bathroom.

It still smelled. I flicked the fan on, the hum and the sound of the water drowning out the small noise that left me. A whimper. I wet a rag and cleaned myself and tried not to think of the consequences of his decision.

I slipped on my nightgown, stripped the makeup from my face and padded back out into the bedroom where he was in bed already. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I felt him move behind me.

"I think we're going to have to cut the wine out. It looks like you might have put on a few pounds." He spoke the words casually. "Now let's go to bed. I have an early morning and probably a late night at the office again."

"Of course, dear." Shifting, I laid down next to him, feeling the bed shift again as he rolled to face away from me. It was the only thing I felt as the stars glittered through my window, out of reach.

[goforth-ladymidnight]

Tamlin Week, Day 1: Spring

The Spring Court was a land of rolling green hills and lush forests and clear, bottomless lakes. Magic didn’t just abound in the bumps and hollows--it grew there.

~ A Court of Thorns and Roses, Sarah J. Maas

[sonics-atelier]

Gaea's Embrace: A symphony of Death and Decay.

Summary : The product of Lord Huron and Hoziers Songs, which I drew inspiration from and you can listen to below -

a/n : Blame @achaotichuman for encouraging me, also I wrote this in a flurry, not proofread.

Beneath the crescent moon, a solitary figure wandered through the enveloping shadows of the forest, where the crackle of dried leaves and the soft sigh of the wind were the only audible companions in the stillness. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay, a fragrance both alluring and ominous, weaving through the ancient trees whose gnarled branches etched dark silhouettes against the starlit heavens, as if recounting tales borne in the Chaos of distant epochs.

With deliberate steps, the figure moved as if in reverence, each stride a deliberate caress of the earth beneath. Eventually arriving at a clearing, where wild grasses sprawled untamed, a verdant tapestry amidst the heart of the woodland. Here, they reclined, surrendering to the cold embrace of the soil. Above, the night sky stretched like an infinite canvas adorned with countless celestial jewels, forging a fleeting connection with the boundless Ouranous.

In this sacred stillness, the flora and fauna of the shadowed ecosystem stirred. Mosses of deepest green and black crept nearer, their tendrils delicately entwining around limbs with a gentle, persistent touch. Luminous mushrooms bloomed nearby, their caps casting ethereal glows in the moon’s pale embrace, their spores perfuming the air with an otherworldly aroma. Fungi in shades of violet and bordeaux wove intricate patterns amidst the grass, their presence a haunting blend of beauty and eeriness.

Unseen, yet omnipresent, bacteria began their silent choreography, dismantling the boundaries between the figure and the earth. They murmured of the secrets veiled within the dark loam, of the eternal dance between life and demise. The figure listened, finding solace in their whispered revelations, feeling the ancient rhythms pulse beneath their form.

Drawn by the inevitability of transition, denizens of the forest’s depths approached. Beetles with iridescent carapaces, worms aglow in moonlight, and other inscrutable beings commenced their ritual feast. They moved with a grace that belied their task, stripping flesh from bone in a solemn communion, drawing sustenance from the essence of the figure. This process, neither rushed nor cruel, unfolded as a natural ballet—a reverent return to origins.

The earth seemed to exhale in acceptance, enfolding the exposed bones in a gentle shroud of soil. It consumed them with fervor, reducing remnants to dust and earth. No fear lingered within the figure, nor regret; only tranquility, a profound merging with Gaea’s dark heart, an acceptance of the inevitable cycle.

As the night progressed, the clearing underwent a metamorphosis. Where once a solitary figure lay, they now melded seamlessly with the earth, indistinguishable from the mosses, mushrooms, fungi, and verdure that surrounded them. The soil whispered of its sacred offering, of the new life poised to burgeon from this communion with mortality. The forest, ensconced in its spectral allure, thrived amidst the poignant beauty.

Thus, the figure’s essence became an integral thread in the tapestry of eternity, their final thoughts not of loss, but of profound unity. They had surrendered to the radiance of perfection, willingly merging with the chill embrace of the earth, discovering a hauntingly beautiful eternity within Gaea’s embrace.

- @sonics-atelier 2024 ( do not repost or reuse in any way shape or form, I will decapitate you )

( dividers by @cafekitsune 🫶 )

[achaotichuman]

Stupid little headcanon.

The Beast form isn't Tamlin's High Lord form. As we see with at least Helion and Rhys, when they change to their High Lord forms, they become power itself, Helion turned into (paraphrasing) 'A creature of light' And Rhysand (again paraphrasing) 'Become a creature of terror and darkness'

So even though they have become some type of animalistic beast, there is nothing to say the High Lord form HAS to be an animal of some kind.

I think it would be more fun, if instead of the Beast being Tamlin's High Lord form, it was just a creature he had taken a liking too, after being called a wild beast all his life.

Which brings me to what I think Tamlin's High Lord form should be.

He should become the land around him. A creature made up of the land, being able to control it at every whim. His body turns into the ground itself, his consciousness is now a part of the earth around him. He can take the form of a humanoid figure, but it would be made up of roots and leaves and natural composition, which can disappear into the world around him.

He can open up the ground and swallow people above. He can strangle people with vines. He can infect people with spores from fungi. He is the earth and wind.

Idk, this isn't canon, it's just more fun to me.

@sadisticdevile I think you'll like this idea.

[autistictaylorhebert]

i mean I do think practitioner!Lisa would be some kind of fae mage.

whatever practice she'd go into willingly would probably be something that revolved around speech and discourse, and other practices that involve this (law? spellbinding?) wouldn't fit her as well as fae stuff.

Reading subtle expressions and tells in body language, building up a model of people and their story, and using subtle wording and patterns in speech (specifically with fae magic woven in) to bind or push their story in a certain direction. fucking around with connections also.

[disjointedaria]

Man you know what I entirely neglected to post here? This cool bit of merch art I made! Wanted to do something you usually only see for D&D but for other tabletop games I play and why not start with CtL? Not my usual kind of art but I had a lot of fun with it and learned a lot in the process!

[silver-rose-moodboards]

Masterlist

⭐- over 50 notes

Castles

Dark royalty⭐

Dragons

Dark butterflies

Night Court

Day Court

Dawn Court

Winter Court

Autumn Court⭐

Summer Court

Spring Court

Jily: The Pact. (for a fic by @rose-of-the-grave)

Rose Of The Grave

Mattheo Riddle x Reader: The Great War (for a fic by @rose-of-the-grave)

Jily: All A Bad Dream? (for a fic by @rose-of-the-grave)

[htylmg]

i think i need to breathe in some crisp early morning air maybe that will fix me

[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.