#acotar ficlets

[animezinglife]

Secrets in the Night

If there's anything Elain has learned during her time in Prythian, it's that some secrets are best kept hiding in plain sight.

Genre: Romance/Fluff/What-If? Post-canon Elucien ficlet with a small dash of Regencycore. More Elucien fics can be found through my masterlist or on AO3. As always, I want to give a shout-out to @lucienarcheron, @zenkindoflove, and everyone else who's been so supportive of these small, humble fics. You've all helped make writing fun for me again, and I sincerely appreciate it!

Everything about this crowd is alive. From the colorful dresses of the females to the glittering lights hovering above and illuminating the rooms, everything about this Solstice celebration that doubles as Feyre's birthday gathering is stunning. There’s a vibrant hum from the crowd as Elain smiles and weaves through them, trying to keep the way her eyes wander subtle. 

She feels him near before she sees him. 

Hears his heartbeat through these walls, echoing through her body as if it were her own.

She doesn’t need to follow the sound. Not for long.

She’s shrouded in his scent–that familiar blend of embers, earth, and cinnamon–before he even speaks.

“Good evening, Lady.” His voice is a low timbre that echoes through her, and she feels a hint of heat prickling at her cheeks and core. She turns, her skirts swishing in the process as she takes in his form. Mother, he is devastating: part of his molten hair is pulled back at the crown, with the rest flowing over the collar of his finely-tailored jacket in a cascade of red silk. It’s a sharp, fiery contrast to the dark green of the jacket, and the subtle golden thread woven at the collar and cuffs seems to only enhance the gold and russet of his eyes. 

“Lucien.” There’s a knowing gleam in those eyes as he offers her a slight, courtly bow. She gives an equal curtsy in response, entranced by the way the corners of his mouth twitch upward and curve into a smile.

The bond hums between them, pulsing so loudly in her mind she thinks surely others must hear it. Yet all around them the Night Court’s guests carry on with their evening, laughing and drinking and chattering without notice.

Of course, Elain knows both she and her mate know better: know it’s rare that Feyre and Rhys aren’t aware of everything happening within their own walls. They know that Nesta is always watching like a hawk, and that Azriel has eyes–and spies–everywhere. Nothing hides in the shadows here.

She’s been cautious where Lucien is concerned–there are no secrets there, not truly. They’ve simply mixed some truths while not divulging others, and as far as either of her sisters know–as far as Elain can tell–they’ve grown to accept that she’s no longer willing to let the circumstances of their mating bond control her. She's told them as much. That if her mate must be present to discuss courtly matters or join them for a holiday, she’ll have no real objections to it. 

Though that, of course, is only a small fraction of the story.

As the two of them have gotten to know each other, she’s begun to understand why Feyre had been so skeptical initially, and why her own instincts had both pulled her to him with all their strength and why she’d fought against them equally hard.

Lucien Vanserra is a good male. 

He offers her a hand–a bit formally, she notes–and she takes it carefully, letting him pull her into his strong frame. A memory floods through her all at once then: of him doing the same during their recent visit to the Court of Nightmares; of how those awful carvings on the walls and suffocating darkness of the ballroom seemed to disappear when there was only the music and him before her. She had clutched his hand tightly; relished at the warm, strong hand at her back as he’d led her through one waltz then another; some flashier, more aggressive style she’d known she would’ve been lost on without his lead. 

She inhales deeply as they begin to sway in something similar to a waltz, remembering how his warmth and familiar scent had grounded her during that visit; kept her tethered to the music and their dance despite the unease she’d felt every single time she’d stepped inside that dreadful place.

How he'd made her feel safe.

He’s entirely too easy to be drawn to, she thinks. That still unfamiliar voice, partly from the bond and partly of her own admission, murmurs an addition in the back of her mind.

Entirely too easy to love.

“Are you enjoying your evening?” he asks her, and carefully meets his gaze. 

“I am,” she admits, a part of her surprised by the honesty of that statement. “You look nice.” 

His lips twitch again at that, and her heart flutters as his eyes briefly skim over her. “You look nice yourself, Lady,” he teases, and despite herself, she smiles back. 

Elain is suddenly aware of at least one set of eyes watching over them, and as if recognizing the same, Lucien shifts and guides her so that she knows her back is to their onlooker. Her voice drops low–so low that she wonders if he can even hear her over the music. “Who is it this time?” she whispers.

“Both your sister and the Shadowsinger,” he replies equally softly, and her blush deepens slightly at how carefully he sets his mouth when he speaks, as if barring both from reading his lips. “No doubt trying to make sure I don’t steal you away or ravish you right here in the middle of the party.”

“We certainly can’t have that,” she replies, giving his hand a light, knowing squeeze. Heat pools in the pit of her stomach as she surprises even herself as she continues, “Besides, I have very particular tastes.” 

"So I've learned."

His thumb traces down the side of her hand slightly, and his eyes gleam as she’s certain the same memory flickers through him. He sends a caress down the bond and, though she doesn’t return it fully, gives him a playful tug through it. Mother, she thinks as heat floods through her and the gleam in his eyes turn nothing short of flame. He might as well take her in the middle of the party for all that look implies, and she realizes–senses–that she no longer feels Nesta’s or Azriel’s focus on her either. The feeling of his fingertips tracing down her spine confirms it, and she relishes the heat she feels from them even through the layers she wears.

It’s a risk, she thinks, the way he’s looking at her now. A look she knows she’s returning whether intentionally or not.

Part of her wants to snake her arms around him: relish in his touch, scent, and taste. That she were ready to act as freely with him under her sister’s roof as she does outside it and among the other courts even when she and Lucien aren't alone. Her thoughts drift to the rolling meadows of Spring; the private, heated moments they’d stolen together in Day.

By the look in his eyes and feeling of his heart pounding so near her own, he’s thinking of them too.

Elain knows whatever act they’ve been putting on won’t last long at this rate, and when the song draws to a close, she takes a step back, and they end in a polite curtsy and bow. She separates from him completely, not bothering to conceal her blush as she turns her attention pointedly to a floral arrangement in a nearby vase. When his eyes follow hers she turns, and as the distance between them grows, she sends another tug down the bond. 

One that asks him to follow.

She weaves through the crowds again, knowing none will question it. There was a time when she would have wanted to hide from the bond; what it made her feel around Lucien. There had been times when she had begun warming up to him when it still overwhelmed her, and she needed to spend time in her gardens to think.

This, she knows, will appear to be no exception.

She’s already wandered through the garden’s neat rows once when he manages to discreetly slip away and join her. She listens carefully: hears nothing beyond the trickling of the water fountain and the sounds of the party inside the estate. Hears nothing but his heartbeat and the way it syncs with her own. 

Confident they’re alone, she closes the remaining distance between them and kisses him, letting out a small, relieved hum as his hand gently rests beneath her chin. Hers find his chest, feeling the elegant fabric of his jacket before sliding over his shoulders. He pulls her closer with his free hand, his other finding the curve of her neck and tracing her jawline with his thumb.

She savors this secret kiss: gentle and lingering no matter how much it makes her want more. Crave more. 

Though it’s neither the time nor the place, and when they finally separate, she lets out a soft, shaky breath. 

It’s like a dream, she thinks as she forces her eyes to slowly flutter open. She takes him in in the moonlight: the red hair, striking beauty, and warm, clever eyes. Breathes in the cool night air and the gardens and him. 

He extends an arm to her, and she loops hers through his. As they begin to walk through the garden together, she finds herself relaxing more with each and every step. While warmth floods through her at his nearness and everywhere they still touch, so does a sense of peace, and she smiles to herself.

She knows their secret will come out eventually, and she’ll be ready when it does. There’s still one left that even Lucien doesn’t know, and it’s one she plans to share with him soon.

One that she’s already spent countless days and nights alike thinking about. One that’s led to her jotting notes down in her favorite recipe books, and one that she’s come to accept at her own pace.

For now, all she needs is this.

[zenkindoflove]

Kiss prompt asks

🌷Elain x Lucien🦊

20...on a scar

23...in relief

7...to shut them up

10...desperately (NSFW)

26...as an apology

19...for luck

45/47...out of anger/spite

4... where it hurts

💍Sathia x Tharion🦦

46...out of envy or jealousy

15...passionately

17...to distract

49...out of necessity

🍁Eris x Alexius (OC)🔆

34...to pretend

9...in public

[ae-neon]

Nesta on the Continent

8 Years After the War with Hybern

Nesta Archeron stood panting on the side of the wide street. Her breath coming in small steamed puffs and her legs buzzing with energy from having half run, half winnowed across the city.

She stood nestled in the crowd waiting to cross, her black coat snug around her body as a rush of carriages flowed by. Some drawn by horses, some by reindeer and others by woolly unicorns.

It was the beginning of winter in Rask; one of the oldest and largest Fae territories on The Continent. The capital, Neva, had already turned white with a thick blanket of snow.

She could have winnowed across, had developed a habit of moving through the city in half jumps, but she intended to let herself be a little late. The only way to punish Dmitri was to test his patience.

It was his own fault for sending her to Stohl's lecture on the newest volume of The Philosophical Reality of Magic.

It was a class he shared with the Nordan crowd, a group of social and intellectual elites, who always opened and closed with long, barely meaningful discussions. And the Nordans liked Nesta almost as much as they liked to talk.

She might have been a little irritated she'd been forced to sit through their babbling if she hadn't become fascinated by the subject of the lecture.

Stohl's series had become a favourite once she grasped the more abstract concepts on how the lived experience of each species, territory and era distinguished what was considered magic from what was natural.

...It also happened to be a welcome distraction from the fact that winter meant Feyre's birthday was close...and that she hadn't spoken to her sisters in 5 years...

Finally, a loud whistle blew out and the carriages came to halt to allow the crowd to cross.

Nesta moved carefully past an elderly Fae with moth wings no longer strong enough to carry them above a slight hover. She slipped her hand from the pocket of her coat and, with a wordless curl of her fingers, seeped some of the age from their wings.

It was intrusive magic. Technically fell under the umbrella of the kind of thing they were attempting to regulate on a judicial scale.

Idiot, she could almost hear Dmitri's voice, just ask them if they want your help, no one is foolish enough to say no to a Shaman

Shaman. Sorceress. Witch

She had hated those names once, had regretted revealing her story to Dmitri the first time the words had left his lips.

“But you are magic,” he'd said, taking her to that first lecture on the reality of magic when she had insisted that all Fae are magic.

Nesta picked up speed with each step, unafraid of slipping in the ice having finally settled into her immortal bones around the third year she'd spent in Rask. The same year she started translating and transcribing in Dmitri's office above the Fat Cat Café.

He was, surprisingly, sitting at his desk when she arrived. The room was a familiar chaos, books and pamphlets on a hundred different subjects sat on a dozen different surfaces.

"You're late." He was attempting to remain stern but they both knew it wouldn't last.

She removed the scarf she'd worn on her head, sniffed the air and glared at him, "You've been smoking again."

"For good reason!"

"And I can't say the same about being late?" Nesta moved to open a window, "You understand that without the Nordan's we'd never have gotten the invite to Zurik's? Or got that merling lord to see to the case of mandatory heating magic for humans in Lapplund? If you keep skipping lectures, you're going to end up aliena-"

The words died in her mouth as she turned and almost collided with the half human, he held up 2 envelopes in each hand. It took Nesta a second to recognise the seals but her heart skipped a beat when she did.

Each letter held the insignia of a Court of Prythian - Summer, Day, Dawn and Night.

She reached for Dawn first. They had been her best hope. Nesta didn't scold Dmitri for having already opened it, he'd been working towards this for almost a decade before they met.

She could see Dmitri grin out of the corner of her eye, heard him quote, "We have received your letters and extend an invitation to further discuss your proposals."

She reached for Summer, where she'd had to include her estrangement from the Night Court. When she reached for Day, Dmitri added, "This one didn't invite us but someone named Helion says he looks forward to your return."

Finally came Night. The unease in Nesta hiked when she realised it had remained unopened. She wished Dmitri weren't such a good friend, that his face might have warned her about the contents of the letter.

Her hands were almost shaking when she finally ripped open the letter and unfolded the single page within.

To the office of Dmitri Petrov

We of the Court of Night have received your papers regarding the "Legal Regulations Regarding Magic; How it is Used For and Against Human Settlers in Fae Territories" as well as the letters crediting and recommending your work.

On behalf of my Court, and as a friend to Lord Osling of the Northern Sea, I must congratulate and commend your efforts to achieve harmony between Humans and Fae of all kind.

We look forward to further correspondence.

PS, it is my understanding that you have become the acquaintance of the Lady Nesta. No doubt it is she who has encouraged you to include Prythian in your work.

Please give her our regards and well wishes.

High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand

Nesta handed the paper to Dmitri and took a shaky breath as she sunk into the leather chair nearest to the hearth.

She hadn't quite known what to expect, maybe Morrigan or Azriel if not Feyre...but this...his name alone...felt all the more deliberate

"...would be best, yes?"

She blinked, "Sorry, what?"

Dmitri moved to lean against his desk, arms crossed, "I was saying we should write back immediately, take the Summer Court up on their invitation and wait out the winter in a palace." His face softened, voice dropped a little, "You don't have to go back if you don't want to. Or if you do, you could stay in Summer. I'll take the Nordans with - it'll be enough to get back in their good books and they'll do all the royal ass kissing for us."

Nesta couldn't help the little laugh that escaped her. The man never missed an opportunity to take advantage of those with more than enough to spare. She knew Dmitri would visit Night and Day regardless of their lack of invitation, might even push his luck and try for Spring and Winter.

But this had become important to her too, it has saved her life, she smiled, "And what, let you ruin our one shot at diplomacy because you think tricking someone into drinking Faerie wine until they can't lie then interrogating them on their politics is the best way to get to know someone?"

"And it is, it worked with you didn't it?" He shrugged, "When I met you, you wouldn't even greet me. I thought you hated that I was half human. Now, I trust you with my life and more importantly, I trust you with my work."

She steeled herself against the ache in her heart, "Give me the ink. Then head home and shave. The Nordans have invited us to an exhibition at Zurik's. You'll be the one to tell them we're going to Prythian."

[duaghterofstories]

Warrior Mind

My submission for Day 2 of @tamlinweek 2024. Warrior.

~~

Tamlin was raised among the warriors.

He was never in the running for the High Lord, so he spent his days training with soldiers.

“Good job little Prince.” said one of the sentries, one only a few years older than him. He was a wolf shifter named Andras.

“I’m not a kid.” said Tamlin, brushing sweaty hair off his face and turning back to the dummy he was practicing on.

“You’ll always be little to me.” Andras teased, and it was true, Andras was quite a bit taller than Tamlin, and could easily rest his chin in the space between Tamlin’s antlers.

“Maybe,” said Tamlin, flexing his upper body. His muscles ripples underneath his leather practice armor. “But I am your prince.”

“Aww, not baby Tam-Tam trying to pull rank.” teased Eran, an older sentry who was pretty much the one who raised Tamlin.

“Eran!” said Tamlin. He shoved lightly at Eran, and he grasped Tamlin’s arm.

“Honestly Tamlin, you’re still a kid. You’re only 37. I’ve met parents who refuse to let their children younger than 40 join the sentries.” Eran ruffled his hair. “Honestly, I don’t see why you’re here even. Don’t you have that friend from the Night Court? Why don’t you hang out with him instead of spending all your time around here?”

Tamlin shrugged. “Don’t want to.” He held up his sword. “Spar?”

Andras smiled and walked forward. “Sure.”

~~

It was raining. Thudding heavily against the windows and the ground. The Mother crying for her dead children, the High Lord and the Lady of Spring. And their family. Except for one.

Tamlin stood in the rain, the tears on his face hidden by the relentless pounding of water. He couldn’t figure out why he was crying. He didn’t really love his family.

Maybe, he mused as he hit the training dummy with his sword again, and again. Maybe it was the loss of his life. He would be High Lord now. He could feel the rush of magic when everyone else was dead, standing there and watching his ex best friend kill his entire family.

“Oi! Tamlin!” yelled a voice. It was Adras. “Fight me!”

Tamlin spun around, feeling wild as he swung his sword. His eyes turned slowly more animalistic. His teeth grew sharper. As he fought Andras, he could feel the power rippling through his body. He couldn’t use it though. It shouldn’t be his. It should have gone to Amarin, his oldest brother.

He was supposed to be Amarin’s supporter, his number one ally. To be the general to his High Lord, and fight in the wars alongside his older brother.

But now Amarin was gone, and he was the High Lord.

Andras had to be getting tired. Tamlin was wired both from the adrenaline from his family's death and the kick of his powers. Andras couldn’t have kept going forever. But he didn’t stop fighting, swinging his sword.

Finally, Tamlin swung his sword with enough force against Andras’ slowly failing strength that he tossed Andras across the training area.

Tamlin didn’t stop. He kept stalking forward, his body changing to become more beast-like.

Andras backed up, scared. Tamlin wasn’t used to seeing Andras scared.

Andras turned into a wolf and bared his neck toward Tamlin, a sign of surrender. Eran walked forward in the rain, hand raised to create a shield in the water, not letting himself get wet.

He knelt down and grasped Andras’ neck, shaking him slightly until he dropped his wolf form and became himself again. Then he made his way to Tamlin and gave him a glare.

The part of Tamlin that was still a kid turned back into himself at the judgment and obvious disappointment of the person who raised him.

Eran, always strong, picked up tamlin and started to walk back to the lockers where the sentries changed in and out of their uniforms. Adras followed behind him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Eran as he took the armor off of Tamlin, who was sitting there with a blank look.

“They’re dead.” whispered Tamlin. “Rhysie… Rhysand killed them. I’m High Lord now. I’m not supposed to be High Lord.”

“Well you are.” said Eran, never one to mince words. “And you’ll be a great High Lord. You were a great Warrior, a great friend, and a great ally to the people. You’ll be a wonderful High Lord.”

Andras nodded, moving forward and gentlylicking his cheek. It was his way of showing affection, wolf instincts. “And we’ll be here for you every step of the way.” he muttered.

Tamlin smiled and choked out a sob, falling into Andras’ arms and sobbing into his arms. “I shouldn’t be here. He should have just killed me when he had the chance.”

“Hey, hey, no.” Eran said. “You’re alive for a reason. The Mother knows you’ll be a great High Lord. She wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise. Don’t give her a reason to regret her choices.”

Tamlin smiled weakly. “Thanks,” he muttered. Then, exhausted from the day, his adrenaline finally running low, he passed out in Andras’ arms.

[foxybananaaaz]

It is my headcanon that after the Lady of Autumn had come back after her time spent with Helion, Beron had locked her away. Not right away, though, as he reminded her that she was his wife, with an unusually kind family meal, where not onle Beron, but their six sons had also attended, followed by an evening alone.

But after, the Lady of Autumn found herself locked away in an unused corridor of the Forest House. Eris had ensured that she was well taken care of and fed three meals a day, but this would be her only company.

The solitary time, with only the company of the servant bringing her meals, was fine with her when she learned she was with child, too far along for it to be Berons.

The Lady of Autumn had planned to have the child sent off and grow up with Helion in the court that was their birthright, as their father would one day be its High Lord.

The Lady had it planned with the servant that after birth, the servant would wait until everyone was asleep and then bring the child out into the night, ready to go to their new home.

Everything was ready until the day before Autumn's dear lady went into labour, as her third son had come to check on her, seeing she was pregnant.

Thrilled, her son insisted they go and inform his father of the news.

Beron was less than thrilled but refused to deny a child of his. He ordered the servants to prepare a birthing room for his wife.

During the birth, it gave her a reason for the tears. Helions child, a son! He would not get to grow up where he belonged. He would not get to know his father, and worse, he would not grow up to know a father's love at all, as not one of her sons did.

Already, the dear Lady could see traces on her son, Helions son, of his father's features on his face. He had his father's nose, the shape of his father's lips. He was a tad darker than her other sons.

But none of these features were too noticeable unless you were looking for them, as she saw her own features as well, more prominently, in the red hair and the eyes. The shape of his little ears, where the tip was just ever so slightly curved. Features all of her sons had.

The Lady of Autumn loved all of her sons equally, as every mother should. But she knew, as she cradled her new son to her chest, she would have to care for her little Lucien just that little bit more, should Beron or his brothers learn of his identity.

I'm so sorry Helion, My Love. I wanted to send him to you. And now you both must suffer from my secret.

This is my headcanon. Yes, yes, it is. It started out with LoA sending Lucien to Helion after his birth, but, well, this happened.

I hope you enjoyed!

[extremewritersblock]

Ficlet - Draco forces Hermione into an Unbreakable Vow in exchange for her freedom.

Word Count: 2,100+

TW: dark themes/signs of abuse/unwilling confinement - AU Voldy Wins (ACOTAR inspired)

“What a… precarious situation you’ve found yourself in, Granger.”

Hermione’s head snapped toward the stranger’s voice and watched in disbelief as Draco Malfoy strolled into her dungeon, toying with a set of keys in his hands. She caught glimpses of his face as he passed the dimly lit candles that hung in intervals against the wall. His blonde hair, almost white in its hue, was groomed and neat, his suit so immaculate it looked wrong within the filth of this prison, so black that he resembled a shadow more than a man. He wore an expression that Hermione couldn’t quite place.

She looked around for the guards, who were meant to be watching her, but they were gone from their usual post. Now that she thought about it, it’d been a while since she’d heard the stomp of their boots on the stone floor.

It didn’t take Draco long before he reached the bars of her cell. He peered down at where Hermione sat on the floor, her shackles clinging miserably at her sides.

She tried to remember how long she’d been held captive - at first, she’d been counting her days locked down here, but she’d lost interest after the tenth day. That must’ve been at least three days ago she stopped etching marks into the wall.

She was suddenly very aware of how she must look to him. Dirt and grime was visible on every inch of her exposed skin. The clothes they’d given her - made of a rough material and hardly covered her modestly - were also caked in dirt.

She tried not to let him see her weakness. She sat up straighter, using the wall to keep her from slumping over. She knew her face must be gaunt from her hunger, but her meals, which appeared magically twice a day, were table scraps at best and did little to stave her appetite. She became stoic as Malfoy looked down at her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her desperation.

“What do you want,” she nearly spat at him. Hatred coursed through her at the sight of him so close.

He clicked his tongue at her. “Now, now. That’s no way to speak to your rescuer.”

Her ‘rescuer’ was a war criminal - a sympathizer to a powerful wizard, responsible for the deaths of hundreds, possibly thousands. If it were her dying wish, she only wanted some power back in her feeble bones to maul whatever part of him she could reach.

With the key in his hands, Draco unlocked her cell door and walked in, pulling it back behind him with a *click*. The power dynamic wasn’t lost on her - she sat, half clothed and freezing on the ground while he stood tall above her, with the literal keys to her freedom now jingling in his pocket.

He knelt in front of her and all she could do was pull against her chains in a useless attempt to free herself from his pitying gaze.

“Your taunting is cruel, Malfoy,” she said through clenched teeth. It was useless to point out his cruelty, though. He knew who he was. “Here to finish the job yourself?”

She could see his face more clearly, now that he was mere inches away from her. His grey eyes were a pool of ice, as cold as his heart.

“You jump to conclusions too freely,” Draco tutted. “I’m only here to make you an offer.” He contemplated something for a moment before adding, “Or rather, a request in exchange for your freedom.”

It’d been days since she had allowed herself to hope for freedom. Her thoughts had flitted between recaps of the war and thoughts about the remaining members of the Order. She mourned silently in her cell for all of those she was certain had been lost, and she mourned the ones that they’d undoubtedly lost since her incarceration. She wondered if there’d be anyone left to mourn for her when she was gone.

Her fight instinct wanted to yell at him to go to hell, to kick and scream and show that she was still fighting for her cause. But her empty stomach and her weakened body and the aches in her wrists begged her to follow any opportunity that could save her from her impending death.

So, hands clenched within her chains, she asked, “What is it you want from me?”

She saw his expression relax, as if he’d been deeply concerned she would turn down his offer. She wondered what the repercussions would be for him if she were to deny his help.

“I’m glad to see you so - amiable, given the circumstances,” he purred, in that same pretentious voice he’d had since they were first years. “My offer is a simple one - I will aide you in your escape from your imprisonment, affording you refuge in my chateau outside of Paris in exchange for your...help.”

She kept her eyes locked on his as she tried to push for more information. “That’s a - very vague offer. You expect me to agree without more information than that?” Her voice grew more hoarse every time she spoke.  

“If you want to stay alive, you will.” His dark voice sent chills through her body. He sighed, as if this conversation were causing him strife. His hand snaked around to grip the back of his neck - a sign of stress. “I can’t divulge all of my secrets, Granger. In due time, you’ll come to understand your use to me. For now, you have a choice to make: either you come live in my chateau - far away from those trying to kill you - or you stay in this cell.”

“You’re not included in the list of those who are trying to kill me?”

“I don’t wish death on you anymore,” he said. She tried to find the same hatred in his eyes like what she felt for him. She saw his determination, possible desperation, but any malice he felt for her was buried by his need for her help.

She thought over his offer and the lack of details he’d provided. What use she could be to him was a mystery to her. Did he require information from an ex-member of the Order? Was she meant to switch sides and aide Voldemort somehow?

Her mind wandered into darker, more sinister reasons he could want to keep her imprisoned in one of his homes, but she didn’t linger on those thoughts. If she had, she’d have chosen to die in this cell instead.

When she didn’t respond quickly, his coaxing continued.

“Consider your options here - you can have freedom with me, tucked away safely in the French countryside. Or,” he said, standing to pace slowly in front of her, “or, you can wait for someone else to come and rescue you. Potter or Weasley, possibly, if they ever make it out of Azkaban.”

Her heart gleamed at the thought that Harry and Ron were still alive. She wondered how long they had left.

There were two things that Hermione was certain of:

First, Draco was not bluffing - he’d made his offer and, though vague in his details, he seemed serious about it.

Second, she would die down here if she didn’t accept his proposal.

The seconds felt like minutes as she battled between her will to live and her loathing of the man here to rescue her.

She considered the possibility that his offer was a ploy for something more sinister. But regardless of whether she turned down his help, or whether she accepted it and he had murderous intentions - both options led to the same bitter end. What did she have to lose?

“So, Granger? Do we have a deal? Or should I leave you to enjoy the rest of the time you have in peace?”

As she watched him walk back to the doors of her cell, she knew she would do it, come what may.

“Wait,” she called to his back. He turned, an eyebrow lifted in anticipation. “I’ll do it,” she breathed.

Draco said nothing, but walked toward her and knelt again so that his face was so close, she could feel his warm breath on her cold skin. He grabbed one of her arms and she lashed out in response.

“Stop struggling,” Draco commanded, his grip on her arm tightening. “The faster you let me do this, the faster I can get us out of here.”

He took his key and softly inserted it into the lock of her cuff. After a quick turn, the metal fell to floor and she felt the blood rushing back into her frozen fingers, regaining some of the warmth they’d lost a while ago. Draco dropped that hand and did the same to her left. When he was finished, he stood again.

“Why are you saving me?” she asked as she rubbed the sore spots where her cuffs had dug into her skin.

“Let’s just say I’m feeling a bit rebellious tonight,” he said, and Hermione suddenly realized this was the expression he wore as he’d entered the dungeon - rebellion. Whatever he was doing, it was known by only a handful of people.

She looked down the hall at where the guards usually took watch. “They’ll know I’m gone,” she said. “When they see the cell empty, they’ll search for me.”

“The guards related to your imprisonment have all been - heavily compensated for their discretion and compliance. In a few days time, the story will make headlines about your death down here. Everyone will mourn their lost hero, but no one will question whether you’re still alive.”

A sound from the dungeon entrance made Hermione jump, but Draco maintained his cool demeanor. He must’ve been expecting this visitor.

“Crabbe here will act as our Bonder. A witness to our - agreement.”

As if summoned, Crabbe entered the cell and came to stand in front of them. She didn’t have time to consider Crabbe’s role in Draco’s plan - realization waved through Hermione in a crash, stealing the breath from her lungs. This was how Malfoy planned to ensure she held up her side of the bargain.

An Unbreakable Vow.

“Are you able to stand?” he asked, his hand outstretched in front of him - an extension of help.

Knowing she couldn’t stand without assistance, she grasped his hand and felt the other grip under her arm, helping her to her feet.

She knew how to perform this spell only by what she’d read in textbooks. So when Malfoy grabbed her forearm in his right hand, she did the same, as Crabbe stood between them, wand in hand, issuing the silent incantation.

Silver strands of light - the same color of Malfoy’s eyes - crept from his wand and laced around their hands. Malfoy began to speak the terms of their Vow.

“Do you swear to live in my chateau in exchange for your freedom from imprisonment in this cell?”

She swallowed, a sudden ringing sound piercing her ears. “I swear,” she said in a whisper. She was sure the pounding of her heart could be heard by everyone in the room.

“Do you swear to continue to stay in my chateau until I have deemed the need for your presence.. satisfied? With the knowledge that your attempted escape will result in a break of this contract and your subsequent death?”

This nearly caused Hermione to drop her hand. “So you’re not saving me - you’re keeping me as your own personal prisoner!”

“I don’t pretend to be a savior, Granger. Perhaps… just a smart negotiator?”

She felt like she might faint, had Malfoy’s grasp on her arm not kept her upright. Draco grew impatient as Hermione fought to think of some way, any way, out of this.

“Answer my question. Do you swear it?”

Her pause before this answer was longer than the last. She had to make her lips utter the words.

“I swear,” she said again, though the tremor in her voice gave away her trepidation. She hadn’t just been saved from imprisonment. She had just agreed to be Malfoy's prisoner, instead.

She watched in fear as flames wrapped around their grasp, weaving and blazing in a mesmerizing dance. She felt the flames lick at her hand as they wound around and around until, finally, they extinguished themselves.

She removed her hand from his, examining it for any damage done and noticed a small scar near her wrist. It wasn’t flesh colored, but rather resembled the black of smoke, as if those flames had burned her skin and left charcoal remains. She looked over to see that Draco’s hand possessed the same identical scar, visible until he covered it with a pair of gloves from his pocket.

A second noise outside of the dungeon caused all three of them to look over towards the prison doors. Crabbe ran out of the cell first, leaving the door open behind him. She could run out, but she was more afraid of what Crabbe was running towards than she was of this cell.

Draco turned back to Hermione, his face looking panicked - clearly whatever was happening was not a part of this plan that he’d fabricated. He grabbed her arms, gripping them like the next words that came out of his mouth would be the key to survival. He spoke hurriedly.

“Listen to me - you are to run to the end of this hallway as quickly as you can. Do not stop until you reach the dead end.” He looked back over his shoulder briefly before continuing his instructions. “You should find a Portkey that will take you straight to my home in France. My house-elves are expecting you - they will tend to you from there.”

She knew she was stupid not to have asked more questions, but it was too late now. She could hear the changing of the guards outside the dungeon doors.

“How do I know that I can trust you?” she asked.

“The only way to find out is by trusting me, Granger, now go.” Draco took off in the same direction Crabbe had run, supposedly to take care of the unexpected guard, but Hermione didn't turn back to look. She hoped this new guard was also an ally.

In her weakened state, her legs wobbled without Malfoy to balance her. Regardless, her immense desire to get out of this dungeon allowed her to move her shaky limbs, step by step, towards the end of the long hall.

Just as she thought she might give in to exhaustion and her limbs were screaming in protest, Hermione finally reached a dead end and a crumpled sheet of parchment lying on the ground. Hoping that Malfoy had been telling the truth, she touched the paper Portkey and felt her feet leave the cold prison floor, her body being pulled upward and away from her shackles and her ‘rescuer’.

Away from one prison and onto the next.

[slytherhys]

Home

A short domestic oneshot of feysand and baby nyx

Rhysand was sprawled on a couch, his hair longer and curlier than usual, a lazy smile on his lips as he read a book to Nyx, who eyed both his dad and the book with adoring amazement, trying hard not fall fast asleep. Feyre felt her heart squeeze inside her chest. Had it really been a year since her baby boy had been born? She simply couldn’t wrap her head around it. How they had gone from frantic nights and painful recoveries to gentle smiles and peaceful living. Feyre was afraid to blink and miss any of it - miss the way Nyx would babble incoherently; miss the way his little wings would flex whenever he was laughing too hard (something quite frequent when Cass was around) and even miss the way he would follow his dad everywhere, his little legs clumsy even when Rhys slowed down so he could keep up.

Time had gone by too fast.

“Did you enjoy the day, my love?” Rhys asked in a soft voice, his large hand holding Nyx close to his chest as the baby snored softly. Feyre sat on the floor, her head resting against Rhys’ thigh. She couldn’t help but smile at the picture they painted. She would paint it tomorrow and hang it someplace she could see it every day for the rest of her life.

She found herself tearing up as she watched them. All her life she had wished for love, for a family, and this beautiful male, her mate, had given her everything she could’ve wanted and more. They were here. They were alive and they were happy.

“Darling,” Rhys hummed, his thumb wiping a tear. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s okay.” She whispered, understanding flashing in Rhys’ face. He smiled softly at her, his hand softly stroking Nyx’ back.

“He’s okay.” He voice was soft, a comforting hug to her heart. “We’re all okay, love. We’re home.”

Feyre pressed a kiss to his thigh, smiling softly at Rhys as she fought the tears threatening to fall. “We’re home, Rhys.”

[toast-com]

Anew (1-30-23)

Spring was...different...since he had seen it last. Eris had visited Spring only once, and it had been...pleasant, soft, and flowery. Exactly as Spring should be. But now...

A new scent pervaded Rosehall, as he climbed the manor's steps. It was not the fragrant scent of roses, no, this scent was...Untamed and vicious, like old blood and rusted iron, with the peculiar aroma of wildflowers, all intertwined. The plants were growing wild, spreading up and into the manor.

Eris entered the manor, and as his eyes adjusted, he made his way to the throne room.

It was Tamlin, but it also wasn't.

In his place...was something else entirely. Still High Fae, but also...other. As Tamlin made his way towards Eris, the Autumn High Lord was suddenly reminded of the Spring Court's crest, a royal stag.

Long, majestic antlers curled from Tamlin's skull, protruding from his golden hair.

He was dressed in a simple, forest-green tunic, his baldric strapped across his chest, and brown trousers. He wore no boots, for his legs ended in the cloven hooves of a stag.

The Lord of Autumn was burning with questions. What had happened to Tamlin? To his magic? To Rosehall? What had happened to Spring?

"The other High Lords assume you dead, and yet..." Eris mused aloud. "You aren't. What...what happened?"

[bookishfeylin]

hello!! i am writing a book one!feylin fic (for some reason i feel like i have to emphasise the fact that it's acotar!feylin in case i get people coming for me with pitchforks and rhysie's mind powers) and since feylin is one your ships. . . and i need a prompt. . . would you prefer a soft!feylin of where they perhaps sit together in front of a fire and read to each other or where feyre teaches tam how to paint? <3

"coming for me with pitchforks and rhysie's mind powers" lmao

Yes Feylin is my OTP now and forever. I'd be happy to help you out, and I have to say definitely the prompt where Feyre teaches Tamlin how to paint!

[thehaemanthus]

SOS how do i quickly find prompts and shit for feysand month

like all thing i do, im impulsively joining lol

[animezinglife]

Imagine Elain showing subtle signs of falling in love again without fully realizing it herself (and others noticing).

Staring off into space, but serenely.

Little smiles at nothing in particular and small, quiet laughs to herself.

Humming contentedly while baking or gardening.

Her upbeat moods becoming more frequent.

Becoming more social again beyond just courtly affairs and gardening.

Leaning her head back and closing her eyes to feel the sun on her face and the fresh, warm air.

Being way too giddy/giggly over something that's not actually that funny to anyone else.

Being a little too aware of Lucien or his absence somewhere. Not realizing a detail included in something she says gives it away.

Her ears turning pink every time he approaches.

Suddenly no longer having small injuries from gardening from wearing gloves.

Somebody else--maybe Feyre or Nesta--nearly missing the gleam of a pearl earring when she brushes her hair back.

The way she slowly seems to be more interested in whatever Lucien's talking about than the others (and far more engaged in that conversation).

One of her sisters not knowing where she learned some skill or another, and Elain being vague at best or sheepish about admitting she learned it from Lucien.

Her knowing more than expected about some topic, court, etc. that implies she and Lucien have been having plenty of their own conversations.

Little looks and touches that imply far more of a story than what they're actively showing the world.

Basically, I love the idea of Elain's love life blossoming again outside of any watchful eyes and to see her happy and flourishing from it.

[thedragonagelesbian]

I'm not at the part of the book where we learn that protag killing a fey to trigger the treaty and her kidnapping were all staged but i AM at the part where protag is feeling most profoundly her guilt about killing the fey, and knowing the twist thats coming, it rings so so so hollow because even this singular moment of doing a genuinely bad hateful thing is justified and excused by the narrative because that was actually the plan all along

[melancholiaincarnate]

so far so good

warnings - none

authors note - hi :P this is my first published acotar fic :3 i mentioned in a post a couple of days ago i wanted to start a series with ficlets about mated azriel x reader who happen to adopt a shadowsinger child named piper. here's the first installment :) i plan on making more so if you have requests for them send em in :D

"okay piper," azriel stretches, an action that causes a swirl in your stomach as his shirt lifts up slightly, revealing the hair decorating his tummy. "ready?"

"i'm ready!" she bounces on her feet, excitement visible on her face. shadows zip quickly around her - faster than you can blink. her shadows are impatient and easily excited, unlike azriel's, who prefer to wait and watch.

"remember, we're practicing winnowing. can you do that?" azriel cracks his knuckles and his wings shudder, then he disappears. he shortly reappears behind piper, and she squeals with delight. "i can't winnow so my winnowing looks a little different than yours but i promise - it's practically the same thing."

"yes! yes! i know! you told me! i can do it, azzy, i swear!" she shouts back at him, shadows twirling at her feet, "it's my turn!"

"alright, alright. it's your turn, pip." he smiles softly at her, crouching down to whisper something in her ear before she shuts her eyes so hard her whole face squishes.

"remember to envision where you want to go." his voice is soft in the child's ear. you watch as he smoothes down her hair as he stands to observe.

piper's body begins to slowly disappear but when she murmurs a "i'm doing it!" her body comes back into focus.

"you have to stay focused, pip." he reminds, giving her a nod. "focus is key."

"focus is key." her small voice repeats, and then suddenly she's at your side.

"hi! wait - woah- hi- hi! i did it! look, i was over there and now i'm over here!" you're sure you've never seen such delight on a single person's face before. "i did it! i did it, azzy i did it! look!"

"good job, piper." his voice is as stoic as ever but pride swims in his veins. azriel assumes that this is why cassian and rhys want children. the pure joy that sits in his chest right now has no match for anything he's ever experienced.

and yet, there's a clawing deep in his mind. it's in his chest, his bones, in the scars on his hand. he feels an attachment to this child - this girl that he and you found in the woods alone. this is not his daughter.

as piper runs off with you in tow, screaming about telling cassia, azriel glances at the scars on his hands. azriel could never think about hurting piper. it'd taken half of the inner court to restrain him from going to hunt down piper's attackers.

piper was not his daughter but he was his fathers son. anger rises through him - how could his father look at his own child and do what he'd done, when azriel could not fathom doing it to a child he had no part in creating?

shadows swarm in his ear chanting incomprehensible words to him. the anger is white and hot and it's so consuming that it sends a throng down the bond towards you.

in return, he feels you tugging the bond, tugging towards you, tugging him towards the light again. he breathes - he is not in that basement. "come, az." you whisper softly down the bond, "please."

and who is he to deny you? he unclenches his fists, steadying his breathing once more before tucking his wings and strolling away from the room as if he hadn't nearly fallen into a pit with no way out.

[foxybananaaaz]

I know I'ma regret this. #9 for the angst prompt!

● Golden Thread ●

《 “Of all the times to tell me, why now?” 》

ANGST ONELINER PROMPTS FOUND { HERE } Send an ask with a number

Summary :: A conversation between Feyre and Elain doesn't go as planned.

Pairing :: SQUINT Elucien

Word Count :: 1k

Authors Note :: It's been so long since you requested! BUT I have been trying to figure out the right way to write this. I'm sorry you waited forever! But here we go!

“You aren’t who he would have chosen as a mate.”

Before the words had even fully sunk in, Elain had turned her head to her younger sister, only to see shock, mixed with frustration on her face. It wasn’t until the words, and their meaning, settled into her mind, that she fought, and failed, the urge to flinch back.

“That didn’t come out the way I meant for it to.” Feyre spoke up again, fully aware of how her original statement affected Elain, even though she wished it wouldn’t have.

Elain, proving to be more stubborn than either her sisters remembered, especially surrounding this topic, simply turned her head, and looked away. She hoped to give the impression that she did not care, nor did she wish to discuss him.

He was visiting, of course. Elains sisters only ever brought up the subject whenever he was around, but not near.

“He thought he had a mate, but the bond never snapped into place.” Feyre spoke, as though Elains dismissal of the topic had not happened.

Closing her eyes, she fought against the surge of jealousy that reared its ugly head. It was not hers, it did not belong to her. The emotion came from that thin golden thread that came from the deepest part of her being, and connected her to the red haired male. The emotion, though she knew what it was, and why it was there, was foreign.

“They loved each other so deeply, they genuinely believed they were mates.” Elains younger sister continued. She continued, ignoring, or just not knowing, the jealousy growing.

Elain hated it. She had no right to react this way. She did not wish to react this way. Yet here she was, jealous enough anyone who did not know the situation, might think that she had not ignored that thread.

“Clearly, they are not.” Elain clipped back. Her words, sharper, her tone, harder than she had planned. She hadn’t intended to respond at all, yet she could not help it.

“No. They aren’t.” Feyre responded, seeming to finally get a sense of where Elains mind was at. “It didn’t stop him from believing she was, even in the centuries after her death.”

Elain, as much as she loved to believe she was great at controlling her reactions, when it came to the golden thread, or him, she had a hard time keeping any reaction to herself, especially when she could not control it.

There was a small flicker of relief at learning this unknown female that he loved so much, had wanted to be his, had wanted the golden thread to tie him too instead, had no longer been alive. She couldn’t help it. She desperately hoped her face remained neutral. What kind of person had any sort of glee learning someone had died, no matter how long ago?

But there was one thing Elain could not figure out. This was not her sister's story to tell. She knew why her sister was telling her. Elain wouldn’t speak to him. But it still wasn’t Feyre’s story to tell.

Beyond that though, Elain was curious.

“Of all the times to tell me, why now?” Though she asked, she refused to look at her sister. Asking the question may have been too much, letting her sister think she was giving too much interest in him. Turning her gaze to her sister wouldn’t help Elain.

“I thought you should know, you aren’t the only one who found yourself in this bond, having had hope for a past love.” Feyre responded.

It was the first time anyone had mentioned, even though indirectly, Greyson, at all since the war. What he had done, had said to her.

He was the reason Elain had started ignoring the heartbeat she could still hear. Greysons cruel words, and the harsh way he spoke to her was the reason Elain would not look within herself, knowing she would only see the golden thread. The way Greyson had broken her heart was the reason Elain refused to look at the male with the red hair.

Refusing to listen to her sister any longer, Elain stood, and walked out of the room, without another word.

She was tired of everyone expecting her to do something about her situation. She couldn’t even try to distract herself, like Nesta could, without this situation ruining it.

Maybe she hadn’t done anything because maybe she may want to be happy like her sisters one day. But that day kept getting pushed further, the more her sisters brought up the topic like she should take pity on him.

Elain hadn’t realised where she was walking, hadn’t caught the flash of red through the window, hadn’t heard his laugh as she turned the corner. She wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.

Yet, when Elain had entered the town house, thinking she might be free of the entirety of him, she ended up face to face with him, barely registering his human friends.

He still had the laughter in his eyes, though it was quickly dying, as he realized that it was Elain who stood in front of him.

Elain couldn’t help the longing, the pain, the sadness upon seeing how quickly his laughter and joy died. She did that to him. And this was the worst part of this bond. The guilt, seeing his expression fall, anytime he saw her.

Though, now, her mind had something new to supply, seeing the fallen joy. Even though her sister hadn’t meant it in a way to be painful, her words came back, which added more uncontrolled, and unwanted pain in Elains chest.

‘You aren’t who he would have chosen as a mate.’

Without saying a word, Elain turned on her heel, and walked back out the front door, completely forgetting why she had come to the town house to begin with.

The only thing on her mind was how Lucien Vanserra’s face always fell, whenever she came into the room, and how it was probably because she wasn’t who he wanted.

THIS, is the first thing I've written in a while! It's short, sorry. But also, tried to keep that angst. Hope I did well?

[lady-riel]

Masterlist

My AO3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ACOTAR (general)

All incorrect ACOTAR quotes

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

Azris - ACOTAR

The Fight (complete) Part 1 | Part 2

Life By A Thousand Cuts (one-shot, complete)

All incorrect Azris quotes

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

Gwynriel — ACOTAR

Sworn His Shadows Sang (WIP, probably abandoned) Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22

NSFW-Alphabet (one-shot, complete)

Splinter (one-shot, complete)

I Think I Kissed Az Last Night (complete) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Gwyn Goes Down in Training (one-shot, complete)

You Need to Quit It (one-shot, complete)

One Bed (one-shot, complete)

Broken Ankle (one-shot, complete)

Ten Reasons (one-shot, complete)

Reason #7 (one-shot, complete)

Daddy (one-shot, complete)

The Dream (complete) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Azriel’s Secret (one shot ficlet, complete)

Too many Valkyries in Cassian’s bed (one shot ficlet, complete)

Drunk in the Wrong Bedroom (complete) Part 1 | Part 2

Little gwynriel ficlet (one shot, complete)

Surprise (one shot, complete)

Eyeliner (one shot, complete) 

She Knew (one shot ficlet, complete, also Nessian)

Gwyn the Baby Whisperer (one-shot, complete)

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

Nessian - ACOTAR

She Knew (one shot ficlet, complete)

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

Elorcan — Throne of Glass

Show Me Everything (one shot, complete)

What the fuck am I doing in your bed (one shot, complete)

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

Wrath/Emilia — Kingdom of the Wicked

All incorrect KOTW quotes

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

Dana/Arawn — Faeriewalker

Finding Home (complete) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[shadowqueenjude]

hi, sorry to bother, i like the vibe of your acotar posts (if that makes any sense). do you, by any chance, have any fanfic recs to match it? 😅

Thank you so much! I do have a few recommendations; it was actually rereading some parts of ACOSF and reading fanfiction that made me realize how good Nesta and Eris could be. https://www.tumblr.com/a-court-of-valkyries/693892238207500289/neris-week-day-one-angstforbidden-love?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/houseofhurricane/708746397230481408/ficlet-ask-nesta-and-eris?source=share Also someone shared with me a fanfic that shows what Lorcan did😂😂

There's a lot of good elucien stuff on the elucien tag on tumblr too