#could never write a fae spring court

[plasma-studios]

The Shape of You (ao3: x)

Chapter 2: Daffodils

He wakes up.

There is a tingly feeling in his skull. When he touches his forehead, he feels small bumps near the crown; his fingers brush over the first, still blearily confused, tracing it down to his temple. 

Then he realises, then stills. He traces it again. He feels the bulb, embed in his skull, and feels it out again, uncomprehending. It is small, barely even noticeable. He would not have noticed it if it were not for the stinging pain in his skull.

Then he touches what must be the base. And when he presses down, there is pain. Striking through his head— he gasps, and instinctively lets go. 

It is when he lets go that he realises there is something growing out. It is thin, his fingers find each other around the stalk, as he feels it out in its entirety. 

He touches something soft. Almost fragile, like tear-it-apart soft. But he is gentle with it. It is growing out of his skull, after all. It is with a delayed horror that he realises what that really means. 

Blue thinks, with deepening horror, what is growing out of his skull?

He rips away the soft thing. There is a comparatively duller pain. The ache that flashes through his head is quick, lightning by comparison. 

His fingers pull away with a single yellow petal. There is a drop of blood staining it. 

The yellow blots into red. 

There is a flower growing out of his head. 

He panics silently for a few more minutes, but collects himself. This is fine. As long as he cuts out the flower stalk gently, there shouldn’t be any damage. This is just like when the boy down the street cut open a cyst and found an inch of blackberry vein. He could’ve gotten the seed lodged in before and just not noticed. 

The bulb must have been the seed.

As long as he is careful, and his hands don’t shake, he should be able to remove it. 

Blue is careful. He is still tense, but the good thing is that the tension makes his hands so stiff he barely shakes at all, when he uses the iron knife hung around his neck to cut the stalk—

The iron. He is numb. The flower falls to his feet.

The iron is rusted. The red dust sticks to his thumb, like pollen.

If the iron is rusted, then— something must have happened. Something might happen soon. There must be some Fae nearby, watching him.

He does not know where he is. He realises. He glances left, glances right, and finds himself in a meadow of the prettiest flowers. But he glances down, and thank the stars he is in a clearing. 

It is never wise to step off the path, and even if he does not know where he is, if he is on the dirt path instead of the bordering dirt hosting yellow and white flowers, he is still technically safe. Though he would be safer back home. 

But he doesn’t know which end of the path leads back.

Blue stills. 

The soil, blooming with flowers, turns to snow less than five feet away. 

He stares at the snow, and then back to the soil. He takes a step forward, watching the snowflakes glistening in the light—

“If you make it out of Winter alive, I’ll let you keep your pathetic life.”

He freezes. His hand is an inch away from where the snow starts falling. His feet, however, are still on the soil. He glances around, but the voice had come from right in his head. He touches the base of his skull, but he does not know if the icy coldness he feels there had formed with the warning. It is a memory.

The hand pressed against the base of his skull, as if to warm it, finds a second flower. He feels cold in his stomach, and reaches up. A third. A fourth. His hand flies to his knife. Snip. Snip. The flowers fall, petals gleaming in the light. When he has finally stopped gasping, he is standing in a puddle of petals. 

A cackle that slices his ears open.

Light reflected off ice, reflected off metal.

He sees himself, like prey, staring at his reflection in the gleaming knife. 

He retracts his hand. His breath has caught in his throat. He stumbles backward, away from the border of Winter. He’d escaped, then. He’d gotten out of Winter alive, so he had been left alive. 

He stares at the flowers at his feet. Flowers he had cut out of his skull. 

Oh. He hadn’t gotten out of Fae domain. He’d just broached the borders and gone further into it. 

He was in Spring. *** And then, there is the next season. The blooming of daffodils marks the beginning of Spring. Beautiful, ardent Spring. 

“Sketches of Iridescent Irises” is perhaps the most-well known depiction of its splendour. The Spring Court is beautiful, after all. The poets sing endlessly of the marvels within the Court of forever-blooms and the sweetest fruit; who could refuse the allure? The Spring Ruler himself does not refrain from indulgence. 

Come, savour the honey that will taste all the more sweet by his hand. He is not stingy with his favour. So many have been taken into the meadow already, made beautiful, made better. 

Spring is known for its beauty, not for its kindness. *** How did he get here? He lets out a breath. Was he glamourised? But he’d taken all the precautions when he’d gone to meet Dust for the last time. He’d worn red, had iron on him and had been careful not to stray from the path. He’d been leaving town by that abandoned road that took left through the forest, to the other path, right? Yes. And he’d promised to walk Dust out of town, down the fork—

There was a fork in the road. And there had been a blizzard. 

His blood runs cold.

Could they have gone right?

And what was to the right of the path? 

“Let my friend go.”

He flinches. That is his voice. He hears it again, and again.

He only makes sense of it on the second minute. He lets out a slow, unsteady breath.

Dust had been taken. And he had followed. 

He trips. He almost curses, but swallows it. Why is he on a flower path? He touches the yellow petals, everything so absurd he cannot help but be curious. He recognises the flower. It is a daffodil. Daffodils.

He reaches up and feels the stalks extending from his head. It is a halo, he realises. It is a self-grown flower crown. And now that is so absurd he wants to laugh. 

He finds a bud attached to a stalk. With his touch, the flowerbud blooms. 

He tries to press the petals together and stop it from blossoming, but the petals pull away from the centre, spreading out quite lovely, and there is one more flower growing out of his head.

The flowers grow back. They grow back in minutes. 

He is so stricken, he cannot even think.

He has to remove the seeds. The flowers grow back.

He reaches for his iron knife again, but stops. What is wrong about the flowers? Something pricks at him, some seed of longing. The flowers are so soft. Hell, the flowers under his feet fold in so easily. It would be beautiful, in some odd manner, having a flower crown poking out of his skull.

He’d woken up confused. He’d woken up, dazed, without memory.

He’d woken up with a full head of flowers.

He lets out a shattering breath. It feels like he’s been struck. A flower takes up water from the soil. What were the flowers in his skull taking up? 

He reaches up, knife in hand, and wants to cut the first seed out. The pain blooms in his head, the blood dripping, and he mops it up with his scarf. He can’t afford to leave his blood around in Fae land. Blood was used for binding. Whatever enchantment the Fae could weave with even a drop of it— he rubs religiously at the leaking blood, but he has to continue. 

He braces himself. The first seed tumbles out. 

He lets out a sigh of relief, then promptly realises he has several more seeds to go.

He allows himself the dignity of a silent swear. Then he starts cutting.

By the time he’s done, there is so much blood staining his scarf it is now a deep, bruised purple. If it were lighter, it would be just like a hyacinth.

He steps on the seeds sunken into the ground. He does not want to dwell too much on his sudden knowledge about flowers. 

Blue forces himself to get up. He can’t stay here for too long. Surely one or two Fae has already noticed the mortal passed out by the border, and if he keeps moving, it will be harder for them to catch up. 

Of course, they would just need to follow the path. He ought to leave it and find his own way through the Court.

No. That was a stupid idea. Why would he leave the path? Paths were neutral ground. He wouldn’t be trespassing for as long as he stayed on-route. That’s why the old tales always warned about wandering off, second only to giving your name away. Fae loved to exploit the unwary, luring them with sweet words into the brambles and shadows, before claiming debts for the slightest infraction with blood. 

He touches the still aching spots where he’d removed the flowers from, and sighs.

He could find the town border of Spring, he thinks. All Seasons have a border to the human world. But he finds he is unwilling. Dust, he thinks. He can’t just leave him there. 

He made a deal.

He blinks.

He made a deal for Dust. He wagered his Name, and Dust’s. 

Memories. The flowers were stealing from him his memories. 

Blue wants to travel back in time and punch his past self. But he is already very lightheaded, and he does not want to waste his strength. It’s not as if he’s going to try to forgo the deal, anyway. There’s no world where he willingly leaves him behind.

He feels the snowflake at his wrist, and swallows. One token down, three more to go. 

He has to find some way to get the Spring Ruler on his side. He’s said to have a soft spot for artists. Blue’s no artist. But if he pleads his case— the Spring Ruler was said to be the most merciful, after all. If he can just convince him of his intentions, perhaps it is really possible to earn the second token.

Blue jerks back— Ouch! His back slams into the ground. But the breath that leaves him is relieved, because he had almost stepped off the path. He looks closer, and realises the yellow blooms are not petals, but living flowers, growing right next to the path. 

The difference is almost imperceptible. He almost stepped off the path. 

He blinks and pushes himself back onto his feet. He turns, but he sees no one. He sees nothing. He tears off the shoots clinging to his clothes, and takes a minute to steady himself. 

He does not hear that chuckle. Say nothing, Blue. If you don��t acknowledge it, they’ll get bored and leave you be.

He was never good at lying. Least of all to himself.

“I know you’re there.” 

His voice wavers. His words hang in the air, and he wonders if he’s talking to no one. 

He smells something. Sweet, but thick. Roses. 

“Are you not going to come out?” He swallows. “It’s getting kind of rude.” 

The moment the word rude comes out of his mouth, there is rustling. Roses blooming thick and strong. 

“My. So impatient?”

The rustling stops. He turns. There is no one there.

And a soft laugh. Right in his ear. 

There the Fae is, looking over his shoulder. He knows better than to show his fear. And yet, he must falter for a fraction of a second, because the Fae is smiling. 

Ah. He hopes it isn’t to his detriment.

“Hello, dear. May I have your name?”

He sighs. “Nice try. No.”

“Shame. I do enjoy a good name.”

A Spring Fae. It’s obvious, the curve of his frame draped in rose-colored silk clinging to bone rather than flesh. A skeleton, like Blue. Bone gleaming like ivory. A single rose tucked behind his ear.

The Fae’s eyes linger on Blue’s skull. Pink pupils in the hollow sockets. His mouth stretches into a laugh, voice as lilting as birdsong.

The sight of him is breathtaking. And it feels so wrong.

“It would’ve been a beautiful crown.”

He’s already known this. It doesn’t stop his stomach from twisting. 

The ache in his skull is nothing if he doesn’t make it back. “Let me pass, please.”

“Pass?” The Fae makes a soft titter. “I never stopped you, did I? You’re the one lingering. Perhaps you like the way my roses smell.”

“No.” And it might just be his bad luck that the scent lifts just enough to make that moment a lie, the smell not quite as overpowering as before, the smile deepening to reveal teeth. “Not really. It’s sweet. But too sweet for me.”

“Ah. Pity.” His lie has been forgiven, or so he hopes. He has enough on his plate. “But are you sure you know which way to go?”

“The path.” The path was neutral ground. Step off, and he would be lost. 

“But surely you’re looking for something? Wandering aimlessly by the path won’t do you much, dear. Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll find you a shortcut?”

Ah, so definitely altruistic. He knows what he wants. To get Dust home. To do that, he has to get the charms. To get the Spring charm, he needs to meet the Spring Ruler. 

He has no idea how to do that.

“Are you certain, little skeleton?” The Fae presses, taking a step closer. As smoothly as silk unfurling. “Paths can twist and tangle.”

He carefully looks over the path. 

“How do I get to the Spring Ruler?”

"Ah.” The Fae hums. “How curious. A little brash.”

“How do I get to him?” He has to worry about that later. 

The Fae smiles. “Come with me. I’ll take you to him.” 

He sighs. Take my corpse to him, you mean. Or some other loophole left in the laughably vague offer.

“Come now. I don’t think you made that deal with the Winter King just to fail at the first Court, did you?”

He freezes. Slowly, he looks back at the Fae.

He traces their amused gaze to the snowflake at his wrist. He curses, or he almost does, before swallowing the curse and tentatively asking, “How long has it been since?”

“A few hours.” The Fae is still smiling.

“News travels that fast?” 

“I happen to know someone in the Winter Court. I was very curious about the mortal they chased to the border. I almost returned you, but their King ordered them to leave you be once you crossed. That’s all. Though I suspect there will be many more Fae in the know very soon.” 

“Because you’ll tell them?” He asks wearily.

“No secrets in a Court, dear. Now, where to find the Spring Ruler? I’ll grant this favour for you, and you’ll owe me one in exchange.” 

“No deal.” A favour to a Fae? Might as well give them his Name. 

“I wouldn’t leave it in the open, that would be unfair.” The Fae’s smile only deepens. The playful edge makes him want to bash his skull in. “Oh, come now.” They tilt their head. “If you want my help, you will need to give for it.”

He steps forward, shoes scuffing against the dirt. Behind him, the Fae’s laughter echoes softly. 

“You won’t be able to find him on your own. And Fae can’t lie.”

Yes. That’s true. Fae can’t lie. 

He turns. “What kind of favour would I owe? I’m not giving up my name.”

The Fae makes a disappointed sigh. “I can’t ask for your name.”

“I think that’s enough, Lust.”

The Fae stills. Their pink pupils dilate. The Fae— Lust takes a half step back. ( Lust fits the Fae to a tee, he thinks.)

“Clever lure. Pity I was just close enough to render it obsolete.” 

The voice rings clear and resonant.

Lust’s smile falters. A noise like a crinkle.

“Turn around, mortal. Are you going to make a deal with me with your back turned?”

For a moment, there is silence. Lust’s gaze darts to Blue, then back to behind him. 

“Another time, then.” He steps away. Blue blinks, and they are gone.

Blue has to turn. He doesn’t want to, but he has to. He feels the weight of the Spring Ruler's gaze, pulling at him like he’s a single leaf on a branch in a storm. He takes a breath, slow and deliberate, and then he turns fully.

He meets eyes with the Spring Ruler.

He blinks. Yellow blots into orange. A square into an oval.

“You want something from me, yes?”

The Spring Ruler is also skeletal. He thinks of Nightmare, the only other Fae Ruler he’s met. He would’ve been underwhelmed if not for the changing eyelights. 

Orange into purple. But a spiral, this time. “Gonna need an answer, Blue.”

“How do you know my name?” He has to ask, if only to stall. He notices the flower they have clutched between their phalanges. They are plucking petals from a flower— and Blue is relieved that he is no longer able to name it. 

“Why the concern? Would you like to give me it?” The ever-changing eyelights twinkle. 

He resolutely shakes his head. And then thinks, why the hell not? “I need a token from Spring for a deal I made with Nightmare.”

The Spring Ruler’s bony fingers twitch slightly. Their gaze locks onto Blue.

“Oh? Tell me about this deal.” 

“Long story. And I’m on a time limit.” 

“We can walk.” Their smile is not soft, but it feels more real. It does not help the prick of annoyance. “Then we’ll have time.”

He does not have time. A walk wouldn’t take that long. But he doesn’t know where they want to lead him, and he does not want to find out.

He needs to change the topic. He hedges his bets. “You know me, but I don’t know you. Isn’t that unfair?” 

Their laughter is harsher. Not soft like Lust’s. Whatever softness there is is edged by something rough. It’s some rough thing being ripped away. peels of sound echoing somewhere in his head. Unhesitant. Rippling. But he drinks it in, the warm sound. 

“You would make a good Fae. Most folk call me Ink.”

Blue doesn’t move. “Okay, Ink. What will it take to get a charm from you?”

Ink gazes upon him. And he reaches.

He flinches. He catches Ink’s palm, pressed against his temple. The dulling pain under his fingertips. He wants to draw back, but the now green eyelights are staring at him, pinpricks hardly visible in the hollow sockets and the pain is gone.

He blinks. The ache in his head is gone. He reaches up, and pulls away. 

There is no blood sticking to his fingers. He touches his head. Nothing. Not even the wounds left behind when he’d cut out the seeds. 

“Walk with me,” Ink repeats. He just healed him. 

“Appreciate it.” He doesn’t try to hide the sullenness in his tone. With a sinking feeling in his stomach as he counts down the days to the Winter Solstice, he steps into place right beside him. 

[beloveds-embrace]

Fae au thought

One of them storming into her chambers only for her to be in the middle of a bubble bath. Completely bare of all things fae. So utterly human, so utterly vulnerable.

yes || masterlist || trying my hand at actually writing johnny’s accent

It was Johnny.

Of course it was Johnny.

The door slammed open with the force of a man too furious to remember propriety, the wood crashing against the stone with a bang that echoed like thunder down the gilded corridor and scattering the softly glowing wisps that floated lazily in your chambers like fireflies caught in honeyed light. The very walls groaned in protest, ancient ivy carved into the pillars flinching at the fury that surged in behind him. His voice followed, sharp, brimming with a fire he rarely let show in court.

"Where the fuck were you- ?!"

Every faelight in the room flickered, dimming in tandem with his rage. Then, silence; a heavy, suffocating silence.

You turned in the tub, water sloshing gently against porcelain as your hand rose to clutch at the side. Bubbles clung lazily to your shoulders, slipping down soft skin untouched by glamour or adornment. No jewelry curved your ears to points. No talon-shaped rings or flower-laced braids. No velvet. No corset. No thorns. Bare as a whisper, as a prayer. Soaked in steam and solitude, skin flushed from heat.

Only you.

Bare, human, and blinking at him like a deer startled mid-step in a clearing.

The fury drained from him in an instant.

Johnny’s lips parted, then closed. His eyes flicked- once, only once- before they dropped to the floor, jaw tightening with restraint. The fire had not gone out, but it was merely stifled now, banked beneath something deeper and rougher.

“Dinnae mean to…” he muttered, voice cracking low, throat bobbing.

You remained quiet, shoulders curling ever so slightly inward. The room, warm and fragrant with oils and rose petals, suddenly felt too still, too quiet, even though distant flutes played, music still drifting in from the spring festival below. One of the glass windows glowed a faint blue, letting in the moon’s touch. You reached for a towel, slow and deliberate, never taking your eyes off him.

And you- so achingly human- were the only thing in the room that didn’t shimmer. It made you seem all the more delicate.

“… You could knock next time.” You said, softly, not with anger, but with a tiredness that had settled deep into your bones. The kind that no glamour could mask. The kind even Thrain’s company barely eased. The kind that had nothing to do with being fae or queen or wife, and everything to do with simply being alone for too long. With being human in a place that did not welcome it.

Johnny didn’t leave, though, even if he should have.

Instead, he stepped back once- just once- and turned his head, gaze fixed on a tapestry like it had offended him personally.

“I thought somethin’’d happened,” he said, voice low and rough, accent thick. “Ye weren’t in yer chambers, or at the table. No one had a fuckin’ clue where ye’d gone. Court’s been crawlin’ all day- bastards won’t stop askin’ for more time wi’ ye. Price is snappin’. Gaz nearly stuck a blade in some prissy noble’s gut when he asked too sweetly where’d you gone. I dinnae even know where Si’s at an’ I’m almost too afraid to ask.”

You sank back into the water, letting the warmth cradle your frame.

“I just wanted a bath,” you whispered, sinking back into the bath, water lapping gently at your collarbone. The petals shifted around you, soft and luminous. “Not a title. Not another favor asked of me. Just…” Your fingers trailed across the surface, drawing circles. “To be myself. For a little while.”

The silence stretched. But it wasn’t heavy this time, and neither was it angry. Quiet.

After a moment, you heard the sound of boots stepping away. Not leaving- just moving. Then the faint scrape of wood against stone that had been etched with centuries’ worth of wards to keep wicked things at bay.

He was sitting, less like an advisor and more a knight keeping watch outside a princess’s door. But even closer than that.

“I’ll stay,” he said gruffly, crossing his arms as though daring anyone to argue with him- even you. “Not lookin’. Just… watchin’ the door.”

A pause. Then, in a voice so quiet you’d never think he was even capable of, Johnny sighed. “… Take yer time, queenie. Dinnae let me take this away from ye.”

You had no answer for that.

But when you rose, wrapped in soft linen and smelling of dusk-flowers and magic, your bare feet kissed the glowing floor, and your eyes met his- he didn’t look away this time.

Not even once.

(You told yourself it was not hunger that colored his eyes; you doubted he’d find a human attractive.)

[mirandasidefics]

Autumn Leaves

(Late Submission for @erisweekofficial Prompt: Bonds/Bargains 👑)

Pairing(s): Eris x Archeron Sister! Reader  

Summary: Eris never anticipated to find his Mate in a former human. 

Word Count: 3.1K

Warning(s): Mention of traumatic childbirth, mentions of Beron (he’s a trigger all on his own these days). 

Author’s Note: BASED ON THIS REQUEST. I felt that this scenario fit perfectly with the prompt of Bonds/Bargains for Eris Week. I hope that this fits well with what you had wanted anon! I know the request specifically asked for Reader to be the youngest, but I felt that it would be a bit more inclusive to leave the birth order more ambiguous for those that maybe don’t relate to being the youngest sibling. My brain wasn’t functioning enough to allow me to write an understandable dance scene, so…sorry that it's not as descriptive as I would have preferred. I also didn’t go back to review any of the events that occurred in ACOWAR or ACOSF, so if it’s not exactly canon compliant just ignore that. Also, Lucien was at the Hewn City solstice ball for this because I said so. 

Special thanks to @hardcoremarvelfan for beta reading and coming up with the title for this. Also, there will very likely be a part 2.

dividers by @/tsunami-of-tears ACOTAR Masterlist

The first time Eris saw the Made female he was immediately intrigued. She was quiet and stoic, much like the two sisters she accompanied for the High Lord’s meeting. Her eyes, the same shade as her sisters, appeared cold as she took in the room. It was clear she was observing more than she let on, gaze trained forward yet keenly aware of every single one of the High Lords and their various entourages. It was apparent to Eris that she saw more than her sisters, perhaps even more than his brother’s mate who was rumored to have been gifted the powers of a Seer by the Cauldron. He could feel the power that radiated off this fourth sister and couldn’t help but wonder what gifts she may have been granted. 

The second time he saw her was at the end of the battle with Hybern on the edge of the Spring and Summer Court border. Her eyes appeared distant as if she was separated from her body and the gore that surrounded her. But his answer regarding her gift had been answered as a circle of ice forged spears surrounded her. At least a dozen bodies were skewered while she stood stock still in the center of the circle. He had been compelled to approach her, but his brother got to her first, asking if she was okay and if she had seen his mate. After a single nod and a pointed finger towards a series of tents Lucien gently guided her away from the carnage she wrought. 

The third time he saw her was at the solstice ball in the Hewn City over a year later. Dressed in a drab black gown clearly intended to prevent her from sticking out. However, it wouldn’t have mattered if she was dressed down or in the most lavish of gowns. Eris’ eyes were instantly drawn to her as soon as she processed along with the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. His youngest brother was by her side as an escort. As she approached the dias with her family, her eyes found his own, and Eris felt the world tilt on its axis. It took all of his mental will power to remain upright at the realization of what she was to him. Mate. 

Eris couldn’t remove his eyes from the female as Rhysand made his speech. Nor could he remove them when the music started and various Fae in attendance began to dance. He followed every one of her steps as she was escorted towards the dance floor, a beautiful smile spread wide across plush pink lips. He was vaguely aware of Rhysand's approach, his introduction to the High Lady’s sister. The only one that was dressed to be admired by the eyes of others. Nesta, he believed it was. But Eris wasn’t interested in the female that stood before him. He held up a hand, instantly silencing the High Lord, and simply pointed to the sister on the dance floor. 

“What is her name?” He asked, the light russet gaze never faltering. Eris could feel the tension in Nesta’s shoulders as she followed his gesture. Rhysand, always one to never give away his thoughts, supplied her name. Eris repeated it, the name tasting like honeyed wine in his mouth. Nesta attempted to redirect the conversation and offered Eris a dance, but the Autumn Heir ignored her. 

“Any bargains that you wish to make will be offered by her,” Eris’ voice was smooth as his eyes finally met purple. “Shall I introduce myself or will you make the introduction for me?” Rhysand turned his head towards the direction where Lucien spun her around as the two waltzed. His youngest brother’s head whipped in their direction, before he halted his dance and brought her over for a formal introduction. As expected, the female politely accepted Eris’ invitation for a dance. 

That first dance was all it took for Eris to know he didn’t want to be separated from her moving forward. Her demeanor was so different from what he had observed when he was only able to watch her from afar. He danced with only her for the remainder of the celebration and found himself completely enraptured by her. While he could tell that she wasn’t as strong a dancer as her sister, whom he caught out of the corner of his eye, it didn’t deter his conviction of only wanting to be by her side. Conversation flowed freely and easily as they danced. She was sharp witted, with a penchant for dry sarcasm. Her wry smile and her laugh ignited something deep within. 

Eris always had a drive to protect those he cared for, such as his Mother and Lucien, but the desire to keep her safe was stronger than anything he had experienced before. He couldn’t leave her in the Night Court, even if most of her time was spent in a city far safer than the one in which they danced. However, she couldn’t exactly join him in the Autumn lest he run the risk of her becoming one of Beron’s targets to keep Eris in line. For the first time in decades, Eris didn’t know what to do. 

“Is everything alright my Lord?” Her voice was filled with nothing but genuine gentle concern. His eyes refocused from their far away haze, taking in her sharp features. Features that were so indicative of the High Fae. Looking at her one would never guess that she used to be human. 

“Eris,” He corrected. “Please.” 

“Is everything alright, Eris?” Her cheeks flushed with the slightest tinge of pink. His own heart stirred at her reaction to the use of his name. Their dance had come to a halt, and he hadn’t even realized the musicians were taking a break. 

“Yes,” He cleared his throat. “Just a bit lost in thought.” She nodded her head, taking a slight step back from his hold on her waist. Eris had to refrain from the desire to pull her back towards his chest. 

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” She took a look towards her sisters. All three were huddled against the edge of the dance floor. Nesta and Feyre’s sharp steel gazes attempted to pierce through the mask that Eris held in place. While the other, whose name he had sadly forgotten, had a glazed over look. Upon focusing, he noticed that the brown was nearly obscured by milky white. He heard the female in front of him gasp, her eyes trained on the Seer. Her head whipped back towards him, giving a slight nod.  

“I hope that we are able to count on your discretion about the Trove,” Her speech was rushed and she gathered the bottom of her skirts. “I’m certain that the High Lord will provide support to any claim you have to being the Heir.” With a quick second bow in parting she turned to rush over to her sisters. 

Before she got too far, Eris grasped her elbow and asked, “Would you come visit me? In Autumn?” She blinked at him. Almost as if she was surprised by his desire to see her again. 

“I must get to my sister,” She glanced back across the hall, at the High Lady trying to gain the attention of the Seer who was clearly lost in a vision. 

“I understand,” He released his grip and nodded solemnly. “I will write to you.” She blinked again. What he wouldn’t give to know what that beautiful mind was processing. She gave him a curt nod, before she quickly made her way across the hall. 

Eris couldn’t even last a week before sending his first letter. Again he asked if she would be interested in visiting his home court. She provided no answer or any acknowledgement of his question. Of course this didn’t deter Eris as they continued to exchange letters. With each one he would make his offer, enticing her with descriptions of celebrations and various traditions. He would tell her about his Hounds and his Mother. Yet she continued to not provide an answer to his offer. This same pattern went on for three months before Eris had enough of the tip-toeing around the subject. He was determined to get an answer, even if it was “No”. 

Eris arrived at what he assumed was Rhysand’s townhouse as the High Lord had instructed in his brief correspondence with the Autumn Heir.  He tapped the back of his knuckles on the large oak door. A few brief moments drifted by with no response. No movement could be heard from inside either. He peered his head towards the large bay window at the front, but the curtains were drawn shut. 

His heartbeat began to quicken with each passing moment as there continued to be no response. Eris was wholly unfamiliar with the city. He had no clue where to even begin looking for his mate. He was under the impression that he was at least expected by Rhysand. So why was no one here? 

Eris turned, prepared to winnow to the Hewn City in the hopes that Keir may have knowledge of where the High Lord could be, despite how unlikely that prospect was. Instead, he came face to face with an ethereal looking female. Skin and hair dark as shadows. A billowy white dress hugged her frame, yet appeared as if it was floating in a barrier of invisible water. It took him a minute to recognize her as one of Rhysand’s half wraith servants from Under the Mountain. 

“They are all at the High Lord and Lady’s home,” The female began to explain without preamble. “If you would follow me.” She turned, not bothering to ensure that the Autumn Lord followed. When the pair approached the near ostentatiously large home near the riverfront, screams could be heard from inside. If his heart hadn’t already been on the verge of an attack it surely was now. The half-wraith opened the front entrance, beckoning Eris to follow. 

No sooner as he stepped inside did his mate come surrying down the main staircase of the foyer. A pile of blood stained sheets spilling over her arms. Her eyes were rimmed in scarlet. Stepping onto the bottom landing she finally looked up, taking notice of the male. 

“Eris,” Her voice was no more than a whisper. Her lower lip wobbled, teeth sinking into it to prevent the tremble. Eris didn’t bother with formality, taking quick strides to meet her. As he reached her side, she dropped the pile of fabric and allowed her arms to encircle his waist. Her body shook with her sobs as her finger dug into his shoulders. 

“Feyre went into labor unexpectedly,” She cried into the elaborate brocade of his tunic. “The babe…his wings…” She couldn’t get her thoughts out in a coherent manner without the sobs overtaking her completely. “ They’re dying, Eris.” She wailed upon hearing her own words spoken aloud. He pulled her in tighter to his chest, his other hand gently rubbing in soothing circles along her shoulders. Eris had no words that could provide her with any sort of comfort, making him feel as if he was already failing her as her Mate. All the male could do was hold her and hope that she didn’t feel as alone in her grief if the High Lady of the Night Court somehow didn’t survive.  

Suddenly, Elain called out to her sister from the top of the staircase, “Come quick! Nesta she…” The warm brown eyes of the middle sister swam with unshed tears, a smile graced her features as well. Eris’ shoulders relaxed as the female's expression could only be an indication of good news. His mate quickly detached herself from his hold, racing back towards where the family convened. 

As soon as the two were out of sight, Eris looked around the foyer. He quickly found a small bench and sat down. He had never felt more awkward in his life. While he had developed a correspondence with this particular sister, he wasn’t exactly part of the family just yet. 

Eris sat in the hall, waiting for what felt like hours for his mate to return. Once she did, she escorted him into a large sitting room. 

“They’re going to live,” She smiled, sitting down in a chair across from him. She smoothed out her skirt, tucking in a corner that had somehow ended up with blood spatter staining the material. Eris merely hummed in acknowledgment. He didn’t know what to do with himself now that they had a moment alone like this. He had planned this elaborate greeting and proposal for her to come and visit, not giving her the room to ignore the request. However, that all went right out the proverbial window. His hands straightened the fabric of his shirt, then went to remove a non-existent strand of hair from his trousers, before finally resting on his lap. 

“You’re fidgeting,” She pointed out. Her smile grew as she suppressed a giggle. He was happy to see that her mood had lifted so quickly. It made the reason for his visit appear less strange, inappropriate even given the intensity of the events that occurred. She gently placed one of her hands over his. Her delicate fingers soothing and calming the rolling fire that he didn’t even notice had built up within himself. He allowed himself to grasp her hand in return, interlacing their digits. The sensation of fire against ice erupted throughout his being. Opposite yet still a perfect complement of powers. Eris couldn’t help but wonder what they would be able to achieve together. 

“Eris,” Her voice pulled him from his thoughts, his deep hues meeting her own cool gaze. “I’m happy to see you, but what are you doing here?” He swallowed, suddenly realizing that his actions were a bit sudden and perhaps not as well thought out as he intended. His arrival without notice to her would be unexpected. He only informed Rhysand that he needed to speak to Archeron female, but never explained why. 

“I,” He began, voice cracking. His pale features flushed and he was reminded of his younger days when his voice hovered between childhood and deeper timber of maturity. The female before him suppressed another giggle behind her unclasped hand. 

“I’m here because you consistently ignore a very specific question,” His gaze was steady, exuding what he hoped would be seen as confidence and not the uncertainty he felt. “I’ve come to ask one final time. If you say no, I will not burden you with asking ever again.” 

“Eris,” She pulled her hand away, eyes now unable to meet his own. 

“I acknowledge that Autumn is not always considered the most beautiful, what with the decay that can accompany the season in the mortal lands, so if you don’t like it-”

“Why would I not like the place where my mate lives?” Her perfect brows furrowed as she looked at him. Eris was at a loss for words. 

“When…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. However, it appeared that he didn’t need to as her response was a perfect correlation to what was on his mind.  

“Since the Winter Solstice,” She said. “When you first asked me to come visit.” It was Eris’ turn to blink in stunned silence. She had given no indication of being aware of who he was to her. Then again, he also hadn’t explicitly made their bond known. Perhaps he was wrong in thinking that his actions were obvious. 

“It’s not that I’m afraid that I won’t like it there,” She went on. “I’m actually afraid that I would not want to leave. But I simply can’t abandon my sisters.” She lowered her head, averting her gaze from the embarrassment. However, Eris understood the desire to be with her siblings. The same desire to ensure the well-being and safety of his younger brothers was one of his reasons for not abandoning the Autumn court. For enduring the cruelty of his Father for nearly 5 centuries. 

“I would never ask that you do,” He assured. “In fact, I wouldn’t want you to call the Autumn Court home just yet anyway. Not while my father still breathes.”

“I’m not afraid-”

“I am,” Eris admitted quietly. “I can’t risk anything happening to you.” He meant it, and was surprised at how easily the truth slipped from him. But it was just the two of them at this moment. He didn’t have to hide behind that mask when with her. He tucked a strand of (h/c) hair behind the perfectly pointed arch of her ear. He watched a shiver run through her as his flesh met hers. 

“There are some places where I can keep you safe,” He explained, all of his thoughts spewing forth as his mind raced to prove that he could keep her safe enough for short visits. “Places where my Father doesn’t have the loyalty of the subjects, but they are loyal to me. I have a cabin, just along the borders of Summer and Winter. Close enough for you to run across either should the need arise. I’d prefer Summer, there is a temple not far from the border where you could claim sanctuary until Rhysand or one of the brutes could get you.”

“Eris…” 

“Please,” He implored. “I do not wish to scare you away or force you to come. But I cannot stay separated from you much longer. My brother is the one with the endless amounts of patients when it truly matters.”  She laughed, the melodic and soft sound made him feel light. 

“How often can we meet?” She inquired. Her bright blue eyes lit with anticipation of when they could have their time. 

“I can secure a few days away every month,” He explained, almost more to himself than her as he considered the variety of excuses he would need to utilize. “Maybe up to a week at most. The time of month would need to vary as well. Any semblance of a pattern would tip my Father off. He’s just paranoid enough to assume that I’d be planning some type of conspiracy against him.” Of course, his Father’s fears were not without reason. Eris was indeed planning to usurp the High Lord. Someday. 

“Alright then,” She beamed. “I will come and visit. Every month so long as it is safe and as long as I am able to return to my sisters.” Eris felt the corners of his mouth lift up, and soon she mirrored the expression. His heart flipped, and he had to clear his throat to regain control of his senses. 

“Then I shall send word when everything is ready.” He stood, preparing to leave when she clasped his hand again. 

“Stay for a while Eris,” Her voice was soothing, making it feel like she wasn’t giving him a command. Even if she had, he would have gladly done anything she bid of him. He knew in that instant he would do anything for her. 

General Tag list: @loving-and-dreaming @samslulumelon

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Glimmering Shadows | Azriel x Reader

Summary: While visiting Spring Court on political business with Rhys, Azriel meets you, a Faerie with little glimmering sparks that help you in the same way his shadows help him, and he decides that visiting you a few more times afterwards couldn’t hurt.

Word Count: ~ 1.8k

Warnings: None!

A/N: This was so cute to write, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

It had been an ordinary visit to Spring Court, Rhysand arriving with only Azriel flanking his right side. Cassian was off in Windhaven, probably about to bite Devlon’s head off, per usual.

Spring Court had shaped up since Tamlin had gotten himself together. The Court was working better now, still recovering from the war like many were, but after a few changes and adjustments to the system and ruling, the citizens seemed happier, the land and economy thriving, and most of the houses were put back together from the previous damage. Azriel’s shadows surveyed the area around them while Rhys walked to Tamlin’s manor, it also being freshly restored it seemed.

They entered, a slightly tense welcoming from the Fae at the door, before walking in, only to meet Tamlin, seeming unhappy as ever to see the High Lord of Night, gesture them to follow and led them into his office. The house was made primarily of wood and vines, with delicate colored windows that, when the sun hit them, portrayed wonderful patterns of flowers and vines shining onto the floor.

The office had a few windows open that were quickly shut by vines, those of which moved on their own, it seemed. The desk was made of what looked to be expensive wood in a deep chestnut color, bookshelves coating the wall to the left, a large map of Prythian on the right, and underneath it a map of Spring Court in personal detail. Tamlin was freshly shaven, his blond hair silky and shimmering as it flowed down, his green eyes clear, clothes ironed and expensive as any other ruler’s.

Try as he might, the son of Spring could never acquire the same casual power as Rhysand. Azriel knew that for sure.

That was when he felt it. A small feeling of something flickering, and going out, before a shadow slithered back up to him, seeming agitated. Tamlin noticed, eyes narrowing.

“I’d rather our discussion stay private.”

His voice, carefully neutral to Rhys, said. A pair of violet eyes glanced back at the shadowsinger, before Rhys gave a casual shrug, and Azriel, knowing what that meant, promptly left the room and began wandering the manor. He felt it again. More flickering, then the shadows returned to him despite his repeated attempts to make them go back out. They were agitated, but wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, it made him wonder what it could be.

Nothing around the manor seemed to be causing it, though the bugs that made his skin itch were annoying. He huffed, exiting the manor, only for his mind to promptly be told something.

‘Don’t go too far. Wouldn’t want Tamlin thinking you’re spying on his precious bug-infested land.’

The smug voice of his High Lord rang out in his mind, before retreating as quickly as it had come. A few of the servants, mostly lesser Fae, glanced at him as he passed. Some with wonder, some with fear. However, the closer he got to the area where all his shadows that had been had gone out, he found one female who only looked at him with amused curiosity.

It was a bit far into the woods, trees in hues of deep amethyst purple and a light shimmering pink hanging down like a curtain, he pushed them aside, met with an area with long grass and blooming flowers, and you, the female sitting on the somehow-not-rotting fallen tree that was hollowed out, holding the tiniest little bunny he’d ever seen.

As soon as he’d caught sight of you, the bunny had hopped off, his attention now directly on you. There were tiny little sparks around you, but when he looked closer it seemed more like globs of see-through glitter, like a toddler’s art project come to life through the shimmering pieces of what he could’ve imagined as pixie dust surrounding you. Not to mention the wings, nothing like his own, yours being thin and delicate, shaped like a butterfly’s, with a rich hue of translucent colors. A rare species of Spring Court faeries had such wings, most choosing to hide them from sight, as you promptly did when seeing him, the delicate appendages slowly fading from view.

He’d been staring.

“Who are you?”

He asked with a mild frown, you raised a brow, an amused smile on your face. The gesture sent an odd aching feeling in his chest flaring up that he tried to shove down.

“I’m guessing you’re the one who’s been sending all those shadows?”

You asked, completely ignoring his question. He sighed through his nose.

“You’re the one that's been putting them out?”

He asked with a knowing tone, shadows darting out from him to meet your little tiny pixie pieces, both warring against each other as they intertwined, some shadows sending the glittery things back to you, some of your sparks sending his dark, shadowy creatures back to him. It was almost as if they were playing.

“That would be me, yes. What’s your name, … shadowy figure?”

You asked, and he then realized that he was cloaked in the shadows that had returned to him, making him look like a splotchy black figure in this Court’s bright light. No wonder the servants had been giving him weird looks.

“Azriel. And yours, pixie-dust?”

You giggled a bit at the name, finding it amusing. He found it odd how much he liked hearing and making you laugh.

“Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Azriel.”

You said with a small smile, offering a hand to shake in greeting. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had offered him a hand besides maybe Elain, and even she’d been scared of him at first. He took your hand, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the scarring that coated his calloused hands, compared to your soft, gentle ones.

“A..pleasure to meet you as well.”

He replied, cautiously watching you, the way you held yourself. A hint of recognition entered your gaze as you examined him further.

“Oh! You’re that Spymaster, aren’t you? Night Court?”

You then asked, and he internally cringed at the fact that the only reason you knew him was because of his occupation that involved slaughtering and torturing people, not to mention spying.

“Yes..”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you continued talking. You were very talkative and friendly. It was almost overwhelming, but he found that he liked it, surprisingly.

“That’s what those shadows are for, like little spies, I’m guessing? My little pixies work the same way, they just run around and help me with things, it’s honestly —“

He stood there, listening to you talk before he was pulled to sit down by his shadows next to you on the log. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, listening to you rattle on and on first about your nieces then your one nephew who would always sneak out of his crib, or your mom who still treated you like you were a little girl despite you being at least a few centuries old….

‘Someone’s lovesick~’

A certain High Lord’s voice in his head called out, and though Azriel wanted to deny it, he knew better.

He was an absolute goner.

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

He’d been looking for any excuse to see you, honestly. Even lying straight to Cassian’s face about why he’d missed training. The truth? He’d been flying to Spring Court, visiting you.

It had become a real problem, honestly, how distracted he was because of you. Even on missions he couldn’t stop thinking of your smile, how he loved listening to you speak about things you loved, like the flowers and flora of your homeland, or the way you’d showed him your delicate little wings after his first few times visiting you. A few months passed, and his little crush hadn’t gone yet, in fact, it had blossomed into something much more than a crush, and the others were starting to notice.

“What’s got you so distracted lately, Az?”

Cassian’s confused but intrigued voice rang out from in front of him where they sparred, iron clanging against iron, bodies moving in a dance of death they’d practiced too many times before.

“Nothing.”

He said simply, shaking his head. Cassian only laughed, a sound that only reminded him of you, and your —

And then he was on the floor, Cassian’s sword at his throat as he grinned triumphantly.

“What’s her name?”

His annoying brother asked in a teasing and knowing tone, Azriel only huffed, getting back up and dusting his leathers off.

It wasn’t anything serious, he told himself.

Even when he found himself flying hundreds of miles to go see you again that very same night, he found you on the windowsill of your house, watching the sky with a sleepy smile. He landed silently, walking closer to you and stepping on a twig on purpose, so he wouldn’t frighten you. Your gaze snapped over to him, and you beamed, getting off of your windowsill in a smooth motion to pull him into a warm hug, a gesture he always melted into.

“Do your wings not get sore from all that flying?”

You asked him, separating only enough to look at him. He smiled, barely, but any sort of smile from him was enough to make you happy.

“It’s worth it, for you.”

He replied before his lips curled into a more genuine grin.

“Though maybe you should come visit sometime.”

He suggested, tone joking but also with a hint of actual meaning. He’d talked about his home, Night Court, to you before, and tried getting you to come visit it or even just let him fly you over it, but you’d always denied it.

“What would I tell my family? They wouldn’t support me with you, and-“

That was when it happened, when your eyes met, his pleading, yours empathetic, when it snapped right into place. Everything was warm despite the cold chill of the night, and the breeze as it blew past. Both of your eyes widened, the only sounds being that of the leaves rustling for a few moments, but you both knew what had happened.

Before you could get a word out, his lips were against yours, yours against his, both savoring the feeling of finally crossing that final bridge and letting each other feel. Your little pixies danced with his shadows that night, in harmony for one moment, despite being the opposite of each other.

When you finally separated, he smiled, full this time of warmth and happiness.

“Does this mean you can come visit now?”

He asked, and you only laughed despite the tears in your eyes, and the ones in his, and pulled him closer into another kiss.

He’d be lucky if you ever weren’t visiting now.

Tags:

@hqmsby

Part 2

[thewulf]

Hidden Away || Rhysand

Summary: Request -hi if ur reqs are open, could you maybe write a fic with rhys where feyre is not his mate but reader? can r also be tamlins sister so when he locked feyre up in the manor, he also locked r with her? then r is just trying to break the barrier but shes draining her powers in the process so when mor and rhys arrive, r is just on the brink of passing out. thank you so so much! hope u have a good day!!

A/N: Rhys is challenging! Let me know how you like it below :) As always thank you for the requests!

Pairing: Rhysand x Female Reader (Spring Court Reader/Tamlin's Sister)

Word Count: 8.4k +

TW: Talks of abuse, use of magic

As Tamlin's nearly unknown sister your life within the Spring Court is shrouded in secrecy. Tucked away from the public eye, you roam the silent corridors of the manor with your presence barely acknowledged. The manor's ancient stones, cool under your fingertips, are the closest companions in your secluded existence. Each day bleeds into the next marked only by your secret practice of magic in the hidden corners of the lush gardens where the wildflowers refuse to be tamed.

Tamlin had his reasons for keeping you a secret though they were rooted in a misguided sense of protection and control rather than genuine care. From the moment you were born your existence was cloaked in secrecy. Tamlin was always wary of political machinations and potential threats from rival courts. He believed that hiding your presence would keep you safe from those who might seek to leverage you against him. As you grew older this excuse became a method to maintain control by suppressing any threat your emerging powers might pose to his authority.

Whenever important guests visited the Spring Court Tamlin would go to great lengths to conceal your existence. Often you were confined to the secluded parts of the manor. Your movements restricted. Your voice silenced. These actions weren't just physically isolating. They were deeply wounding, reinforcing a sense of imprisonment. Over time you learned that resistance was futile. After a century of struggling against Tamlin’s overpowering magic, a magic that you could never hope to match due to your suppressed knowledge and training, you ceased fighting back. Your spirit, dimmed by isolation and the relentless dampening of your will, began to fade.

Despite all this you’ve learned to cloak your discontent with a veneer of obedience by teaching yourself the subtle arts of magic from fragments of ancient texts and whispers of the wind. Each spell you cast is a silent rebellion against the isolation imposed upon you. It wasn’t much but it certainly was something.

Meanwhile, Rhysand had always felt an inexplicable pull towards the Spring Court. This sensation was particularly strong whenever he visited Tamlin's lands. Each step within its borders intensified a feeling of latent connection. A thread of destiny that seemed to tug at his very soul. For years he couldn't decipher this feeling instead attributing it to political tensions or his natural distrust of Tamlin. However, he knew the sensation was far deeper. He just didn’t know he was connected to the bond that lay dormant between him and you waiting for the right moment to awaken.

This mysterious pull was part of the mating bond that neither of you were aware of yet. Rhysand’s visits to the Spring Court were unknowingly steps towards his destiny, towards you. His soul recognized what his mind could not yet understand. That his mate was hidden within the very walls of the Spring Court suppressed under Tamlin’s rule. It was a bond that defied explanation, woven by the threads of fate, magic, and a longing that transcended Rhysand's conscious understanding.

The monotony of your hidden life breaks when Feyre returns from Under the Mountain, changed. No longer the mortal girl who once crossed into the fae lands she now carries the weight of her new immortal form along with the haunting shadows of her trials. Initially your interactions are tentative. The air between you charged with the unsaid. However, as time weaves its slow dance you find in her a kindred spirit. Another soul chafing against the constraints of Tamlin’s overprotective nature.

Under the cover of night where the moon casts silver slivers through the windowpanes you and Feyre meet quietly. There in the tranquility of darkness, you share fragments of your lives. Your years spent hidden within these walls and her days under the mountain and the heavy price of her return. Each story shared tightens the thread of understanding between you.

In these stolen moments you reveal to Feyre the secret magic you’ve nurtured. Her eyes, reflecting the glow of your spells, flicker with a mix of surprise and a burgeoning sense of solidarity. Encouraged by her interest you find the courage to dream of more than just secretive practices. Together you whisper of freedom and plot beneath the starry sky. Your magic mingling with her newfound strength.

Tamlin had cast a powerful and intricate spell around the manor. Not just as a means of protection from external threats but also as a method of control over those within its walls. This spell was multi-layered, designed to enforce Tamlin's rule and suppress any dissent. For you it was a tangible manifestation of your confinement. An ever-present force that limited your movements and dampened your inherent magical abilities.

The spell was woven into the very foundations of the manor. Invisible yet oppressively palpable. It acted as a barrier not just against physical entry but against magical influence from outside. And crucially it curbed the magical potential of those it enclosed. For someone like you whose powers had been stifled and knowledge kept minimal the spell represented a severe handicap. A chain around the very essence of your being.

On a stormy night, you and Feyre found yourselves poring over ancient texts and forbidden scrolls. These documents were hidden away in the darkest corners of the library and contained arcane knowledge that Tamlin had likely never intended for you to find. They spoke of old magic, powerful and untamed, the kind that could potentially unravel the complex web of spells Tamlin had cast.

The air in the library was heavy with the scent of old parchment and an undercurrent of desperation. Each incantation you attempted, every ritual you performed to try and dismantle Tamlin’s barriers, drained you more profoundly than the last. The magical exertion pulled at the very essence of your being. Proof to the spell's strength and your own nascent powers trying to break free.

Feyre who was transformed and strengthened by her ordeal under the mountain was exactly what you needed beside you. She lent her newfound powers to your cause. Yet, as the night unfolded and the storm outside mirrored the tumult within her concern for you deepened. She saw the physical and magical toll the efforts took on you. The color draining from your face. Your hands trembling with the strain. But still, you wouldn’t give up. Couldn’t give up.

Despite the risk the need to break free from the suffocating constraints of Tamlin’s spell pushed you both forward. It wasn't just about escape. It was about reclaiming your right to autonomy, to magic, to life itself. The friendship that grew between you and Feyre was cemented not just by shared secrets but by this mutual struggle for liberation. A struggle against the literal and figurative walls that Tamlin had erected around you.

As dawn approached with the storm still raging outside you and Feyre reached a critical point in your efforts. A breakthrough seemed tantalizingly within reach. The words on the ancient scrolls beginning to resonate with the energy you both channeled. The walls of the manor groaned under the pressure of your combined powers. A sure sign that Tamlin's spell was finally beginning to falter.

Determined to break the oppressive chains once and for all you both head into the heart of the storm where the barrier's energy pulses strongest. The rain beats down mercilessly mingling with the energy of your combined spell. A desperate, powerful incantation aimed at shattering the bonds. The backlash is swift and fierce. A surge of raw, antagonistic energy from the barrier meets your spell head-on. The impact is like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs and sending sharp tendrils of pain coursing through your veins. The world tilts dangerously with your vision narrowing.

Feyre grips your hands as her own powers flared around you both in a protective embrace. "We can do this, Y/N, just a bit more—"

But her encouragement turns to a scream of horror as your legs give out completely. Your strength finally failing. As you collapse into her arms, your consciousness fading, her fear peaks. "No! Y/N, no, stay with me, please!" The raw panic in her voice is palpable. Her plea filled with a primal terror that she cannot contain. Her scream is not just vocal. It's a surge of emotional energy that travels through the bargain she shares with Rhysand.

At that moment, in the distant Night Court, Rhysand feels a jolt. A sharp, unbidden intrusion into his thoughts. Feyre’s voice was distorted by panic and edged with despair, echoes in his mind. "No! Y/N, no, stay with me, please!" The words hit him with the force of a physical blow. His heart races. His instincts scream. Without a second thought he’s on his feet. The protective and commanding part of him taking over. Mor sensed the urgency. She looks up from her work with alarm spreading across her face.

"We need to go to the Spring Court. We must go now." Rhysand barks out. His voice brooking no argument. He can't explain how he knows only that the terror in Feyre's voice has triggered something primal in him. Something fiercely protective. As he and Mor prepare to leave Rhysand's mind races with possibilities. His worry mounting with each passing second. The bargain was not one of mates but has acted as a lifeline in this critical moment. He is driven by a deep-seated need to respond, to protect, to arrive in time.

In the dim light of the storm-lashed evening back in the confines of the Spring Court, Feyre cradled you against her as her arms forming a protective barrier against the unrelenting winds and rain that battered the walls of the manor. The spells that Tamlin had woven around the estate groaned under the strain, resonating with the fury of the storm.

As you lay there nearly depleted by your attempts to break through Tamlin’s magical barriers you found every breath to be a battle. Feyre leaned close. Her voice barely audible above the howl of the wind. "Help is coming, Y/N. Just hold on. Please, hold on." Her words were infused with a mixture of determination and desperation. A fervent plea cast into the chaos of the night.

Despite her assurances you knew that Feyre had no way of knowing if help would truly come. She wasn't versed in the intricacies of the bargain she made, nor did she understand the silent, unseen forces that might be at play beyond the reach of Tamlin’s spells. Her faith was not based on certainty but on hope. A hope that Rhysand was somehow attuned to the peril you faced and would sense your need and find a way to breach the seemingly impenetrable defenses of the Spring Court.

As the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the storm outside seemed to mirror the tumult of your emotions. With every gust of wind, with every crack of thunder, you felt the edges of your resolve fray. Yet with Feyre’s presence and her unwavering support it fortified you. Together you were wrapped in the scant warmth her body provided against the chill of the rain. You waited silently hoping.

Feyre continued to whisper into the storm. Words of encouragement and silent prayers mingled with the rain reaching out into the night as if the very force of her will could summon the help you so desperately needed.

As Rhysand and Mor race through the turbulent night sky the urgency of Feyre's distress call pulses within Rhysand. However, the formidable magical barrier erected by Tamlin at the Spring Court looms as a daunting obstacle. As they approach the boundary Rhysand's expression turns contemplative knowing they must penetrate the shield without triggering a violent magical backlash that could harm those inside.

"We can't just break through. It could harm them," Rhysand says. His thoughts on Feyre and the unknown others who might be caught in Tamlin’s protective snare. He suspects there are more secrets hidden within the Spring Court than Feyre alone.

Mor nods before pointing towards a section of the barrier shimmering less steadily than the rest—a weak point. "Here, let me," she offers, her hands glowing with a soft, probing light.

Together, they carefully manipulate the energies. Mor’s magic coaxing the threads of the barrier apart while Rhysand supports and stabilizes the surrounding spells to prevent a sudden collapse. The barrier relents under their skilled hands. Parting just enough to allow them a silent passage.

Once inside they quickly make their way towards the garden guided by the unerring pull of Rhysand's intuition, which grows stronger with each step. The night air is heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and the lingering traces of magic.

There, under an ancient oak, they find you lying in Feyre's protective embrace. Your appearance is startling to Rhysand. You were someone he's heard of but never met. A whispered secret of the Spring Court. Feyre’s eyes were wide with fear and relief. She meets their stares as they approach.

Rhysand’s initial intent to aid Feyre shifts as he catches your gaze. Something profound stirs within him as your eyes lock. There’s an unexpected jolt. A powerful surge of protectiveness that grips him. His knees nearly buckle under the sudden intensity of the emotion. His breath catching in his throat. The connection is unexpected, overwhelming, and in that moment, the significance of your presence begins to dawn on him.

"We will get you both out of here," Rhysand finds himself saying, the words carrying a weight he hadn't anticipated. His voice is gentle. Meant to reassure as he reaches out to steady you. His own magic instinctively flaring to envelop you in a warm, healing glow.

The touch confirms what his heart has already started to suspect. The mating bond, still new and unexplored, thrums with a rightness that transcends his understanding. It’s only when he helps lift you, his arms secure around you, that the realization fully settles in… his fate is irrevocably tied to yours.

With Mor and Feyre's assistance they carefully navigate back through the garden. Rhysand carrying you with an ease that belies the turmoil brewing within him. Each step back through the breach in the barrier is a step towards a new unknown, a journey he hadn't planned but now cannot imagine avoiding. As they slip back into the night heading towards the sanctuary of the Night Court Rhysand is quiet. His thoughts a whirl of possibilities and new realities. Beside him Mor watches thoughtfully. She was acutely aware that the High Lord of the Night Court was about to embark on a profoundly personal journey.

-

The night was deep and still when Rhysand was abruptly torn from his sleep. A sharp, jarring pulse of panic surged through the bond—a connection still new and startling in its intensity. It was you, finally waking from your long, enforced slumber, and the raw fear that washed over him from your end of the bond had him on his feet before he fully registered moving.

His heart raced as he crossed the space between his private chambers and the room where you rested. The halls of his residence silent save for the quiet thud of his bare feet on the cool marble floor. The bond pulsed with each heartbeat guiding him directly to you underscoring the urgency of your distress with every step he took.

As Rhysand approached the door to your room, he paused, taking a deep breath to calm the storm of his emotions. He needed to be a presence of peace for you not one of turmoil. Gently pushing the door open he stepped inside. His eyes quickly adjusting to the low light that bathed the room in gentle silvers and blues.

There you were attempting to sit up, your movements clumsy with weakness and disorientation. The room's luxuriousness that meant to comfort seemed only to add to your confusion. You grasped at the sheets. Your breathing quick and shallow as if the soft fabrics were the only things tethering you to reality.

Rhysand’s heart clenched at the sight. It was one thing to feel your panic through the bond, but quite another to see it etched so clearly across your features. He approached slowly. His presence commanding yet gentle, stopping a respectful distance away to not overwhelm you. His deep-set eyes, usually a striking shade of violet were clouded with concern.

"It’s okay, you’re safe here," Rhysand said. His voice a soft yet firm anchor in the swirling uncertainty you felt. His relief at seeing you awake, even in such a state, was palpable in his tone. Despite the fear there was an underlying gratitude that you were finally conscious. That there was a beginning of recovery however fraught it might be. "You're in Velaris, the heart of the Night Court." He adds hopping to provide you some comfort.

"Velaris?" you repeat. The name unfamiliar and puzzling. You squint at him trying to place the city that sounds more like a myth than reality.

"Yes, Velaris," he continues noting your confusion. "It's a city unlike any in the fae realms, hidden and protected by powerful spells. It's a place of peace and freedom. It is far from the reach of those who would impose their will unjustly." His voice holds a note of pride when he speaks of the city, and his explanation paints a picture of a safe haven. A contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the Spring Court.

Seeing your slightly eased expression he decided to introduce himself, "I'm Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court." He keeps his tone even giving you space to process the flood of new information. "You were very ill, so we brought you here to recover. Tamlin cannot reach you here. Our city's protections are strong."

His explanation about Tamlin brings a different kind of tightness to your chest—the fear of pursuit and retribution. Feeling and seeing your growing anxiety, Rhysand adds, "Tamlin has no power here. You and Feyre are both safe and you will always have a place in Velaris."

As Rhysand speaks of Velaris and its protections you find yourself momentarily comforted by his description of the city as a safe haven. Yet, another concern quickly surfaces, tugging at your thoughts with earnest sincerity.

"And Feyre?" you ask. Your voice carrying the weight of genuine worry. "Is she okay?" Your expression reveals the depth of your concern not just for your own situation but also for Feyre who had been entangled in your fate by association.

Rhysand’s expression softens further at your question. His smile tinged with a mix of admiration and surprise. He steps closer, his presence comforting rather than overwhelming. "She is doing well," he assures you, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze more directly. "Are you going to ask about everyone but yourself?" His tone is light and teasing yet it carries an undercurrent of deep respect for your altruism.

He finds it endearing how your first thoughts are for others even in your own time of uncertainty and recovery. It’s a trait he notes is incredibly sweet. Almost too kind for someone who grew up under Tamlin's strict and often harsh rule as his sister, no less.

A faint smile flickers across your face at Rhysand’s light teasing before it quickly fades. You glance away looking out over the vista that the Night Court offers feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. "I... it's just easier to worry about others," you murmur. Your voice barely above a whisper. The unfamiliar concern in his eyes makes you unexpectedly uncomfortable. A reminder of how long you've had to rely solely on yourself. You shift away slightly putting a small distance between you and Rhysand as if the space could help you regain some control. "I'm not used to being someone's concern," you add while keeping your gaze averted. "It feels strange I guess. Not having to fend for myself."

Your words hang in the air showing the walls you've built from years under Tamlin's rule. The Spring Court was a place where self-reliance wasn't just a trait but a necessity for survival. The vulnerability of relying on someone else, even someone as seemingly gentle as Rhysand, feels as foreign as the magical landscape of Velaris itself.

Rhysand senses a subtle shift in your emotions through the bond. A twinge of discomfort, a whisper of withdrawal. He understands too well the complexities of adjusting to new dynamics of care and concern. As you glance away he gives you a moment. He respects your need for space before responding himself.

With a slight adjustment in his stance, Rhysand maintains his gentle smile, hoping to ease the tension. "Feyre visits often," he begins, his voice soft, an attempt to gently steer the conversation towards a more comfortable topic. "She's taken quite well to her roles here. She worries about you too, you know," he adds trying to build a connection through your shared concern for Feyre.

His words bring a small comfort, and you nod to him feeling a thread of relief woven through the lingering disquiet. "That's good to hear," you murmur giving yourself a moment to absorb the reassurances about Feyre's well-being.

Rhysand watches you with a thoughtful expression appreciating the selflessness displayed in your first waking moments. "Now, let’s focus a bit on you," he suggests kindly. "You’ve been through a lot and while Velaris is safe… I imagine it's quite a lot to take in."

Rhysand's words wash over you and you pause to absorb them feeling both comforted and overwhelmed by his understanding. "It is a lot," you agree softly, your gaze drifting around the unfamiliar yet beautiful room. "Everything here is so different. So overwhelming but not in a bad way."

You take a deep breath making sure to gather your thoughts before continuing. "I appreciate the safety and the peace here, Rhysand. It's just... I'm still figuring out where I fit into all of this." Your voice is tentative, reflecting your uncertainty about the future.

Rhysand nods. His expression empathetic. "And that's perfectly okay," he reassures you gently. "Take all the time you need to feel comfortable. There’s no pressure for you to decide anything right now."

Feeling a mix of reassurance and nascent courage from his support you decide to push yourself a bit. Attempting to rise from the bed, your movements are unsteady. A reminder of the physical and emotional tolls from your past. You pause, placing a hand on the mattress to steady yourself.

Rhysand notices your struggle immediately. His sharp gaze softening with concern. "You shouldn't be on your feet just yet," he cautions with his voice gentle yet firm.

You steady yourself with a hand against the soft bedding and look up at him. Your eyes were wide and earnest, silently pleading for understanding before you voice your deep-seated longing. "Please, I've... I’ve never left the Spring Court. I wish to see what other courts look like."

The raw honesty in your words strikes Rhysand deeply. He hesitates aware of the physical contact you might need to stand and walk, yet also conscious of the trauma you’ve likely endured under Tamlin's watch. His heart clenches at the thought of your centuries-long confinement. A life that wasn’t meant to be spent caged within a single court's borders.

As you continue to gaze at him with a mix of hope and vulnerability in your eyes Rhysand's resolve softens. "Alright," he murmurs. His expression a mix of encouragement and a hint of sadness for your past suffering. He steps forward offering his arm for support being careful to let you decide the level of contact you're comfortable with.

When you gratefully accept his help you leant slightly into his strength. Rhysand carefully supports you, mindful of your frailty. As he guides you slowly around the room his mind races. He was appalled by the reality that you, centuries old, have been essentially a prisoner for just as long.

"We’ll start with Velaris," Rhysand says as you take tentative steps towards the balcony. "It’s beautiful this time of year. The city is alive with lights and the people are free. You'll see, it’s a world away from what you've known."

Your curiosity brightens your features as each small detail of the room you now notice seeming to intrigue you. Rhysand watches this small transformation with a protective fierceness settling in his chest. He makes a silent vow then, to not only show you the beauty of the Night Court but to gradually introduce you to the freedoms and wonders of each of the courts ensuring you experience everything you've been denied.

With each step you take leaning on Rhysand a surprising sense of security begins to wash over you. There’s an inexplicable comfort in his presence. A safety that seems to emanate from him directly. You can't quite pinpoint why he feels so safe, why every instinct isn’t screaming for you to run from the unknown. But as you lean more heavily against him while navigating through the unfamiliar room it felt right.

Rhysand notices the subtle shift in your demeanor. The slight relaxation in your posture as you trust him more with each tentative step. It’s a trust he doesn’t take lightly as he was acutely aware of the preciousness of it given your past. He guides you gently, ensuring each movement is steady and unhurried.

“Just a little further,” he encourages softly as you approach the grand doors leading to the balcony. As he pushes the doors open a gentle breeze wafts in carrying with it the unique scents of Velaris. The crisp, clean air mingled with distant sea salt and the vibrant aroma of night-blooming flowers.

You step onto the balcony and the view that unfolds before you steals your breath away. The city of Velaris stretches out beneath a sky littered with stars. Its buildings adorned with luminescent glyphs and streets alive with softly glowing lanterns. The Sidra River reflects the lights creating a sparkling path that leads to the heart of the city. Your eyes dart from spot to spot taking in the sight of sprawling bridges. From the artistic sculptures that line the walkways to the fae moving about with an ease and freedom so alien to what you’ve known. Everything is so vibrant, so vividly alive. It's like stepping into a dream.

Rhysand watches you. His expression a mix of pride and gentle amusement. “It’s a lot to take in,” he say as his voice is barely above a whisper not wanting to break the enchantment of the moment.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe out as your voice was filled with wonder. "I never imagined..." Your words trail off as you continue to soak in the sight, the reality of Velaris surpassing any tale or description of the Night Court you had ever heard in the Spring Court.

As you stand there, awestruck, Rhysand stands close. He was ready to offer support if needed but giving you space to experience this revelation on your own terms. There’s a warmth in his gaze. A certain softness when he looks at you, moved by your reaction, understanding just how transformative this moment is for you. “This is only a part of what the world has to offer,” Rhysand finally says, his voice low and encouraging. “And you’re free to explore all of it at your own pace. You’re not confined here, or anywhere anymore.”

As his words wash over you a new fear prickles at the edges of your newfound sense of wonder. "But Tamlin..." you start. His name a dark cloud threatening to overshadow the bright promise of freedom.

Rhysand’s reaction is immediate though. He shakes his head, cutting off your spiraling worry with a firmness that is both surprising and comforting. "Tamlin will never touch another hair on your head, darling. I will ensure it." His voice is resolute as it leaves no room for doubt. The sincerity in his tone and the warmth of his smile are reassuring, conveying a depth of commitment that makes you believe him. He’s telling the truth. You can feel it not just in his words but in the protective energy that seems to radiate from him.

As you stand there on the balcony looking out over the luminous city a confusion mingles with your gratitude. He is the High Lord of the Night Court. A figure of immense power and responsibility. Why would he extend such kindness, such personal assurance, to you? His station alone would suggest a detachment from individual affairs, yet here he is, offering not just his protection but his personal attention.

"Why?" The question escapes you before you can think better of it. Your gaze turning from the cityscape to meet his eyes. "Why would you do this for me? You're the High Lord, and yet..."

Rhysand’s expression softens understanding the root of your bewilderment. "Because everyone deserves freedom and safety," he begins, his gaze steady and earnest. "And because, despite my title I see no one as beneath my care. Especially not someone who has suffered as you have under such tyranny."

His words hint at a broader philosophy. One that governs his rule, a complete difference to the oppressive leadership of Tamlin. "Here in Velaris we protect our own and now that includes you. You’re not just under my protection because of duty but because I believe in a world where everyone has the right to choose their own path, free from fear."

His explanation resonates with you. The sincerity and conviction in his voice weaving a stronger thread of trust between you. The High Lord of the Night Court you realize is not just a ruler but a protector. He was guided by a compassion that perhaps defines his reign more than his power. As you absorb his words the city of Velaris seems to glow a little brighter. Its lights a hope of the promise Rhysand offers. A promise not just of shelter but of a life reclaimed and respected.

As Rhysand's words and the gentle sincerity behind them settle over you something shifts inside you. The fear that had been a constant companion starts to ebb away instead replaced by a sense of security you hadn’t felt in a very long time. Standing beside him, overlooking the luminous city of Velaris, you allow yourself a moment to truly take in his presence. A protector not just in title but in spirit.

The tension that had knotted your shoulders begins to unwind and without fully realizing it a small smile curves your lips. It's slight but it's the first genuine smile you’ve allowed yourself in what feels like centuries. "You know, my brother made you seem terrifying," you confess as the smile growing a bit as you speak. "You're anything but that though."

Rhysand catches the change in your expression and his eyes light up with amusement. In response he flashes you a devastatingly handsome smirk, one that's known to both unsettle and charm. "Did he now?" he says lowly. His voice laced with mock severity before it softens into warmth. "Perhaps I should be offended but coming from Tamlin I'll take it as a compliment."

His response was light and teasing. Spoken to ease the atmosphere, to let you know that it's okay to relax, to laugh, to feel safe. "Tamlin has always had a flair for the dramatic," Rhysand continues. His tone playful now. "But I hope that here in Velaris you’ll see me as I am. And perhaps find that the 'terrifying' High Lord of the Night Court can also be a friend." His words were spoken with a gentle candor and encourage a lighter heart. The warmth in his voice, the open invitation to view him as more than just a lord but as a person, deepens the budding trust and comfort you feel in his presence.

As the night air swirls around you carrying with it the vibrant energies of Velaris you find yourself more receptive to the idea of a new start. Rhysand with his easy charm and sincere protection seems not just a guardian but a companion on this journey of rediscovery. His ability to blend strength with kindness, authority with empathy, makes you believe that maybe, just maybe, you can truly start anew here.

"You make it sound almost easy," you reply. The smile now firmly in place, feeling more natural than it has for ages.

Rhysand's smirk softens into a genuine smile. "I'll do my best to make it feel that way," he assures you. "You’ve had enough of the hard path. It’s time for you to experience the peace you deserve."

-

In the weeks following your awakening Rhys had been a constant, reassuring presence by your side as you navigated the complexities of the Night Court. The city of Velaris had begun to feel less like a foreign land and more like a potential home. Rhys had carefully gauged when you might be ready to meet more people. He was intentionally keeping even his closest friends, Cassian and Azriel, at a distance to allow you time to adjust. He mentioned plans to introduce them soon ensuring that you felt comfortable with each new step.

During this time your days were filled with activities that gradually stitched you into the fabric of this new life. Rhys guided you through physical training sessions aiming to strengthen both your body and spirit. But it wasn’t all rigorous. You spent serene afternoons with Feyre, dabbling in painting. Despite your initial lack of skill Feyre was a patient teacher, encouraging every brushstroke. In exchange you helped her continue learning to read turning each session into a mutual exchange of growth and laughter.

It was a clear, crisp day in Velaris. The kind of day that made the light seem to dance off every surface, imbuing the world with a vivid sharpness. You were in the middle of a training session with Rhysand in one of the secluded gardens of the Night Court practicing your swordplay. The metal felt cool and heavy in your hands as it slowly became more familiar with each controlled swing and parry.

Rhys was ever the patient instructor. He watched and guided you, his instructions both precise and encouraging. As you moved to execute a particularly complex maneuver, something unexpected happened. Amidst the focus on your movements and the rhythm of the blades, a sudden surge of warmth blossomed deep within your chest radiating outwards like the morning sun cresting the horizon.

It was an intense, engulfing wave that seemed to momentarily still the world around you. The sensation was as if a veil had been lifted, connecting you to Rhysand in an indescribably profound way. It felt as though your very souls had reached out and intertwined creating a bond that pulsed with life and energy.

"What... what was that?" you gasped, lowering your sword as you looked up at Rhysand, your heart pounding not from exertion but from the shock of the unexpected connection. The air between you seemed charged, heavy with a significance that you struggled to comprehend.

Rhysand’s eyes met yours with a spark of recognition and perhaps something akin to relief flashing across his features. His stance softened, and the world seemed to resume its usual pace, but the atmosphere remained changed. It was thick with the newfound awareness between you.

"That," Rhysand said softly. His voice steady yet filled with a warmth that echoed the sensation in your chest, "was the mating bond. It's rare, profound. A connection of souls that can occur between two individuals. It seems it has chosen to manifest between us now."

His words sank in, each one laden with meaning as you tried to process the enormity of what had just occurred. The bond, this deep and intrinsic link, had unveiled itself without warning. It aligned you with Rhysand in a way that went beyond mere physical presence or shared goals. It was as if a part of you had known him, deeply and irrevocably, for much longer than you physically had.

The weight of his confession hung in the air. Heavy with the realization of how deeply the bond affected him from the very beginning. “You mean, we’re..." you started, the reality of his words slowly sinking in.

"Mates," Rhysand confirmed gently. "Yes. And while that might mean many things, know this—you're not bound by it against your will. We can explore what it means together, at your pace." The reassurance in his words allowed you to smile, feeling a genuine connection to the path unfolding before you. The bond was no longer just an abstract force. It was a tangible link between your present recovery and a future filled with possibilities.

Rhysand watched you with something akin to awe as you carefully practiced the sword techniques he had shown you. "We have all the time in the world," he said softly. His eyes never leaving yours. "There's no rush. You’re safe here, with me, with us, in Velaris."

His words seemed to only deepen the stir of emotions within you. Pausing, the sword momentarily forgotten in your hand, you met his gaze, vulnerability shadowing your features. "And... are you okay with that? A bond with me of all people?" Your voice was tinged with disbelief as though the very idea of someone like Rhysand being tied to you was something unfathomable.

The sadness that flickered across Rhysand’s face was swift, a passing cloud on a sunny day, but it was enough to reveal the depth of his feelings. He set aside his own weapon and stepped closer with his expression turning earnest. "I can't think of anything I'd want more," he said quietly while reaching for your hand to provide a tangible reassurance. "These past few weeks of getting to know you, seeing your strength and your kindness. It's not just the bond that makes me feel this way. I... I already care about you, deeply."

His confession hung in the air between you, sincere and heartfelt. The way he looked at you in that moment, his eyes filled with a gentle intensity, made it clear that his words were not merely spoken out of obligation or a sense of duty that the bond might impose. They were rooted in genuine affection and respect for the person you were.

Rhysand gently squeezed your hand, his touch warm and encouraging. "I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have this bond with you," he continued with a soft smile touching his lips as he tried to alleviate the heavy atmosphere. "You're remarkable darling. And yes, I am more than okay with it. I’m grateful."

His reassurance was spoken with such candor and helped ease some of the uncertainty that weighed on you. The bond was once a source of confusion and a reminder of your past constraints but began to feel more like a gift. An unexpected but precious connection to someone who not only promised safety but offered understanding and companionship.

As Rhysand released your hand and stepped back, giving you the space to process his heartfelt words, a sense of warmth unfurled within you. The weight of uncertainties began to lift replaced by a burgeoning sense of connection to this man who was both your protector and, unexpectedly, your confidant.

Mirroring the soft smile that graced Rhysand's lips you found the courage to voice your own budding feelings, simple yet profound. "I like you too, Rhysand," you said. Your voice carrying a tender sincerity that made his smile widen. "More than I thought I would." The admission was shy, sweet. A genuine acknowledgment of the bond growing between you both not just magically but emotionally.

His eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and happiness. The atmosphere around you charged with a gentle, joyful energy. The training session resumed but now there was a lightness to your movements. A reflection of the ease settling in your heart. The conversation with Rhysand, though brief, lingered in your mind like a cherished melody. It was a powerful reminder of the new beginnings and genuine connections now possible in your life with Rhysand and the Night Court. A life that was slowly but surely becoming your own.

As you navigated through each day your confidence grew and the tapestry of your new life in Velaris began to weave itself more vividly. Each encounter, each lesson with Rhysand, and every quiet moment spent under the stars of the Night Court fortified your sense of belonging. These experiences were threads in a vibrant, ever-expanding fabric, each one adding strength and color to your life.

One evening as you stood beside Rhysand on the quiet sanctuary of your favorite balcony overlooking Velaris, you felt a calm certainty settle over you. Below, the city sparkled. A tapestry of light and life that seemed to pulse with the same vibrant energy that now flowed through your veins. Rhysand's gaze was fixed on the horizon, the soft glow of the city lights casting shadows across his strong features when you turned to him ready to voice the thoughts that had been crystallizing in your mind.

"You know," you began. Your voice steady and clear, "I've spent a lot of time thinking about what all of this means. The mating bond, this new life, everything."

Rhysand turned to you with his expression open and attentive. The bond between you hummed softly. It was a growing and comforting presence at the back of your mind.

"I've realized that this bond... it's not just a tie to you. It's a connection to myself. To a life I didn't think was possible," you continued. The words flowing more freely than you expected. "I accept it, Rhysand. Not just accept it… I'm grateful for it. For you."

A slow smile spread across Rhysand's face. That beautiful smile you were slowly coming to cherish. "I can't tell you what it means to hear you say that," he said as his voice was thick with emotion. "You've become a part of this world. A part of my world in a way I always hoped but never dared to expect."

Encouraged by your acceptance and the growth you had shown Rhys felt that the time was right for a significant next step. As the days progressed and you continued to integrate more deeply into the fabric of the Night Court he planned an upcoming evening that would mark a new chapter in your life. The occasion was chosen with care. Not rushed but timed perfectly to coincide with your readiness to meet new faces and embrace the wider community of the Night Court. It was a testament to your journey thus far and a celebration of the future you were building together.

With the day finally set, a gentle breeze whispering promises through the halls, the stars above Velaris began to unveil themselves in the twilight sky. The air was charged with a sense of anticipation. Rhysand who was usually the epitome of composure carried a subtle excitement mixed with nerves as he prepared to introduce you to Cassian, Azriel, and the rest of the Inner Circle. This evening was not just another night. It was a milestone, a true celebration of your integration into his world and the bonds you would soon form with those closest to him.

You had spent the afternoon with Feyre who had helped you select a gown for the evening. The dress was a deep shade of midnight blue and adorned with silver threads that mimicked the starlit sky of Velaris. It perfectly embodied the essence of the Night Court. As you descended the grand staircase the gown flowed around you like a night shadow brought to life.

At the base of the steps Rhysand waited. His usual composure shaken as he caught sight of you. The world seemed to pause, his breath caught in his throat, his heart raced rapidly. There, in the soft glow of the House of Wind you looked not just a part of the Night Court but as if you were its very spirit. The realization that you were his mate, utterly beautiful and resplendent in the regalia of his court, struck him with renewed force.

Rhysand who was ever mindful of the boundaries and comfort of those around him had been particularly cautious about not overwhelming you with the intimate connection that mind-speaking entails. Despite this, the sight of you this evening descending the grand staircase dressed for the event was simply too much for him to resist. The gown you wore reflected the starlit sky of Velaris and accentuated your presence. It made you seem as ethereal as the city itself. Overcome with admiration, he reached out with his mind. "You look breathtaking, darling," his voice echoed in your thoughts for the first time in a while, startling you slightly with its warmth and closeness.

The mental whisper drew a surprised laugh from you. A sound that delighted him to no end. Rhysand's smile broadened. His eyes twinkling with mischief as he observed your reaction. "I see we still need to work on your shields, won't we?" he added playfully. His tone warm and teasing. It was moments like these he cherished deeply. Ones that always kept you on your toes. A trait you’d come to love about him.

Blushing slightly at the intimacy of his mental caress you couldn't help but respond in kind. Your newfound boldness surprising even yourself. "Perhaps I left them down on purpose Rhysand," you flirted back. Your mental voice a soft murmur that only he could hear.

Rhysand’s eyebrows shot up in amused surprise. A rich laugh escaping him that resonated deeply in the space around you. "Is that so? Well, in that case, I might have to keep complimenting you just to see what else you intentionally leave unguarded," he teased back, the affection in his voice unmistakable.

His impulsive act, born from a burst of admiration, turned into a playful exchange that highlighted the growing ease and affection between you. Rhysand quickly added sensing your enjoyment yet still cautious of overstepping, "Apologies if that was too much, but seeing you tonight, I couldn't help myself."

This flirty banter, interwoven with moments of laughter and shared glances, underscored the deepening connection between you both. Even as Rhys continued to respect your boundaries. He also found joy in these light-hearted exchanges, each one building upon the last. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a mix of amusement and warmth from his words. This gentle mental whisper was another sign of how your relationship with Rhysand was deepening, weaving together both profound moments and light-hearted banter.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs Rhysand gently took your hand helping you to navigate the last step. His presence was comforting and his proximity a reminder of how much had changed between you. The grandeur of the staircase faded into the background as you focused solely on him.

You couldn't help the smile that danced across your lips, nor the lightness in your heart from his words. "No need to apologize, Rhys," you responded. Your voice a blend of amusement and reassurance. "I quite liked it. It's... nice, hearing your thoughts sometimes."

"We’ll make quite the team, you and I," Rhysand said, his voice now audible. A soft yet clear tone that carried through the grand space. "With or without your shields up, darling."

The playful banter that had begun in the privacy of your minds seamlessly flowed into the verbal exchange adding layers to your communication and highlighting the ease and comfort developing between you both. As you looked up into his eyes, still sparkling with that same affectionate mischief, you felt that profound connection. The bond was not just magical but deeply personal, spanning the quiet thoughts shared in whispers and the words spoken in the open.

This moment, under the soft lights and the eyes of the Night Court, solidified something essential between you and Rhysand. A partnership built on mutual respect, affection, and a delightful undercurrent of flirtation that promised many more such exchanges in the days to come.

Rhysand led you through the lush, starlit gardens of the Night Court where Cassian, Azriel, and others from the Inner Circle awaited. As you approached the atmosphere was charged with an understated anticipation. Both Cassian and Azriel rose to greet you both their expressions blending curiosity and respect.

Cassian's greeting was robust yet heartfelt. "Rhys didn't prepare us for someone quite so captivating," he remarked with a friendly nod. His tone genuine and devoid of any overstatement. His smile was infectious. He quickly added in a more casual tone, "And I hear you're as quick-witted as you are graceful. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Azriel who Rhys described as more reserved offered a calm nod. His deep-set eyes thoughtful as he assessed you with a discerning gaze. "Welcome to the Night Court," he said. His voice soft yet carrying a warmth that invited trust. During the evening as you engaged in a discussion about the strategic intricacies of the court’s defenses Azriel's respect visibly deepened. Later, he quietly shared with Rhysand, "She has a keen sense for the nuances of strategy. You've chosen well. She’s not just impressive in demeanor but in intellect."

Throughout the evening laughter and substantive conversations filled the garden. Cassian's heartier chuckles complemented your more measured humor. While Azriel engaged you with discussions that tested your insight into the court’s history and its future.

Rhysand watched these exchanges with a sense of deep satisfaction. The way you engaged with his friends. Not just with politeness but with a genuine interest and understanding solidified your place among them. Cassian’s easy camaraderie and Azriel’s quiet approval spoke volumes of their acceptance.

As the night progressed under the expansive, star-filled sky of Velaris your initial sense of being an outsider slowly dissipated. You found yourself woven into the evening’s tapestry as seamlessly as the shadows melded into the night. Each shared story, each moment of laughter, helped stitch you further into the fabric of this vibrant community.

Standing there among new friends you experienced yet another profound shift within. With Rhysand at your side and the bond between you growing stronger by the day you realized you had discovered much more than a haven. You had found a new family, a purpose, and a place where you truly belonged. The night ended not just with a feeling of contentment but with a renewed sense of anticipation for the future.

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[ironcade]

Blood Upon the Snow

Chapter One

poly!141 x fae!reader [concept] [ao3] [next]

a/n: gender and appearance descriptors will generally be left ambiguous unless otherwise stated for specific reasons. also do not hesitate to send asks with questions or requests about this au because i find that curious minds help with world building and development. also this is my first fic in a LONG time so please give me some grace. thank you. i appreciate every person that reads my things. it reminds me why i love to write.

summary: Life has always been a series of masks and facades. Born of one people but willingly traded to another to become something you could never truly be, you have lived a lie that never ends. Now, you become a new bargaining chip in a political war lasting centuries. Shipped off to a foreign kingdom, you are expected to now play the part of a king's counterpart. Except, just as you have never been what you seem, John Price and the men of his court also seem to carry something beneath the surface.

The sound of horse hooves on gravel echoed alongside the sound of a carriage being drawn. It had been the only real source of noise for over three days now. Despite being designated a royal procession, it was hardly anything of the sort. It was made mostly of men from the Duchy of Lorraine, with only a few royal knights spared for the journey. Two carriages rode among the middle of the knights and a wagon of supplies followed behind. It truly was a sorry display for what was meant to be a political statement.

Maybe that in and of itself was the political statement.

You found yourself sitting in your carriage, eyes staring out the small window but attention focused elsewhere. The events of the last month played on repeat in your mind, trying to figure out how you ended up in this position in the first place.

It started with a trade agreement. That is what your father had told you. From the things you had gleaned in the documents he had spared you, the treaty of trade between your homeland of Drelzhan and the neighboring kingdom of Orbonne had expired and was up for renegotiation. This defining period had the Queen Kalista hoping to increase tariffs and taxes levied on things imported and exported between borders, claiming that the port was experiencing a higher demand these days and thus, if Orbonne wanted to make use of the docks, the King would need to pay higher prices. This the King in question, deeming it an insult, given this was not a treatment being equally shared among the other countries that used the ports to move their goods.  

It caused quite the stir at court, for Drelzhan could not afford the ire of a general turned King. War was not an option and never could be.

Talks were had and an agreement was reached. John would take a royal of Drelzhanian blood as his spouse and in turn tariffs would become lower. It seemed like a win, although maybe more for the Queen than the King. For the treaty was ambiguous about exactly who the poor soul to wed the King would be.

Queen Kalista immediately refused to send any of her darling children. Her eldest son was set to inherit the throne and thus was out of contention. Her three daughters were either betrothed already or deemed ‘too young’ for a man of advanced years like John Price. That left the three Duchies of Drelzhan, all of whom have royal blood in some form or fashion, to take over the burden. Lorraine, being the eldest family, were all but commanded to sacrifice their kin. 

Duke and Duchess Lorraine had birthed two children, an eldest daughter by the name of Ophelia, who unfortunately could not be handed over as she was named the heir but a spring past. That left you. The second born and well known for their extremely poor health.

It had become common knowledge within the halls of Drelzhan’s court that you had been born with a poor constitution. Sickness plagued you around every corner and you hardly left the confines of the family estates. Despite being well past age, almost twenty-six summers at this point, you had never so much as made a debut into society. No one dared to ask for your hand in marriage for who would court the infirm? 

Instead, the Duke and Duchess had spent the entirety of your life coddling you within the halls of Duchy Lorraine. Always accompanied by König, your most loyal of knights, and Roach, your mute but incredibly devoted servant. At least, that is the story that had been weaved over the years, the tale that everyone knew and echoed when speaking of the second child of Duke Lorraine. 

Was it the honest truth?

There was no such thing as the honest truth in your world.

However, it was this reputation that likely put you in this carriage, being escorted to a home you did not want, to marry a King who likely didn’t want you.

As one might imagine, there was no greater insult than to provide a King with a useless partner. A gift, a political prisoner, that would offer little in return. What could you do? To the world, you held no skills, were far too weak and too soft to lead. You were sent as a resource drain, to trap a King in a marriage that would lead nowhere. You were meant to be an illness that would fester into weakness.

A light tapping on your knee pulled you from your silent musings. Eyes shifting to make eye contact with Gary, or Roach as he has insisted you call him. His eyebrows were furrowed just slightly as an indication of the concern you could tell he was feeling. There had never been a voice to accompany him, but words were not needed once you learned to read him. Roach was subtly expressive in ways that your uncanny ability to understand people had quickly picked up on. His eyes were quite literally a window to the soul, but the language he spoke with his hands also helped to convey to you his thoughts.

After he was assured he had your attention, Roach began to move his hands. You watched intently, reading the non-verbal language.

Are you alright?

A simple question, but one that indicated your silence and inattention were not going unnoticed. 

“Yes. Just thinking, is all,” you replied, maintaining a small semblance of stoicism. Your voice was not your own, but soft and polite. It had never been your voice, but rather the one stolen from the human whose skin you inhabit. It does not feel right, but it is all you had.

Roach narrowed his eyes just slightly, the soft blues becoming hyper fixated on your microexpressions for just a moment. 

About? He asked.

You purse your lips just slightly, then respond. “Just on the nature of my upcoming nuptials and what the rest of my life entails. I know so little of the King, after all.” 

This earned a slight nod of understanding from your companion. He didn’t offer much else to that immediately and instead seemed to think on what could be said. Then his hands began to move. Don’t think you’ll have much more time to ponder. We are a few hours out from the capital.

He was correct and that simple reminder had you on edge. Your eyes shifted to look back out at the passing world beyond. Long had the extravagant cities and beautiful coasts left your view. All that remained was vast forests and a fleeting knight that had taken up the position beside your carriage every so often. 

Three days had been spent traveling, all uneventful and boring. Knights spent camping under the night sky, days spent in utter silence and insipidity. They had been a long three days, but it was not something you felt the need to complain about. Truly, you weren’t ready to face the reality that, for a second time in your life, you had been traded off like some object. The first time hadn’t been so bad, for the Duke and Duchess of Lorraine, Henry and Tabitha, had loved you in some manner. They showered you with affection and did everything they could to see that you were attended to. That was exactly why you had the companionship of Roach and König, for both of them had been personally picked out by you. You were never without and that is often why you rarely complained. 

Yet, this time around, it was different. The Queen could not be argued with. Duke Lorraine had grown far too powerful over the years, his kindness and personal force of knights earning him more favor at court these days. Thus, not only was this a punishment for a King she despised, but for a Duke that she couldn’t control. Thus, you became a bargaining chip, another price to be paid in a trade. 

Eventually, you sighed and looked back at Roach. “Have you… heard much about the King?” You asked softly, slowly. 

Roach blinked, as if thinking on the question you posed. He then shrugged. His hands began a familiar motion. About as much as you. He was crowned King after deposing the previous one. The people see him as a hero. He is stern and intense.

You hummed softly, a frown pulling at your lips. “I see… “

The soft, boyish features of Roach contorted into an uncomfortable expression, as if his lack of information displeased not only you, but himself as well. Horangi said that King John has been exceptionally fair to the people, as far as he can tell. A commoner turned King. It might not be that bad.

There was a lack of confidence in that last statement that had you not feeling entirely comforted by the man's words. However, the thought was there and the fact that he cared enough to try and comfort you in some way was enough for you.  

“Horangi is a gossipmonger that will spout anything as truth if he's bored enough,” you replied dryly, earning a silent shake of amusement from the blond across from you. “But… Thank you. I think I will be fine. I have people I trust with me,” you assured him, offering a slight smile after. 

A nod was given, indicating that he agreed in some part. 

Not much was said after that.

Eventually, the last hours of your journey came to pass. Silence clung to it up until the last hour or so, when the capital of Orbonne, Rochdale, came into view. It was hard to miss, what with the intense stone palace towering above the thinning treelines. The city surrounding it was no slouch either, comparing easily to Alenris in size. However, where you were used to extravagance and openness, Rochdale seemed to be heavy and imposing. An intensity to match the reputation of its King. 

Anxiousness began to dwell in your bones, a shifting of discomfort under your skin, reaching its peak once the procession made it to the city. There, they were met with Orbonnian soldiers lining the streets and the people gathering to see the approach of their new Monarch. Curious eyes peered upon your carriage, heads craning to get a glimpse of just who has come into their home. Eventually, mounted soldiers bearing this kingdom’s crest marched alongside those of your countrymen. They, without question or hesitation, began to guide and lead the Drelzhan delegation.

You shifted in your carriage to peer out and see exactly what was happening. It was there, as you glanced out, that you noticed a knight now beside the carriage that did not don the armor of the other knights. Instead it was older, worn, and black. Upon his helmet, instead of a simple visor, this one wore… You had to shift a little but you quickly realized that upon his helmet was a part of a skull. The energy that exuded from this knight was caked in decay and loss, so much so that you felt nauseous just from the sight of him alone. 

Your eyes widened and you quickly shifted away, barely catching the knight’s eye as you ducked out of sight. Your attention turned to Roach, who seemed to catch onto your panic and reached out to touch your knee. It was a grounding touch, simple in a way that reminded you of your situation and that no harm would come to you. 

Not even from a knight plagued by death. 

It wasn’t long before the protective curtain walls of the castle were passed and your procession came to a halt. 

You inhaled sharply, realizing that your new life of uncertainty had finally come to confront you. With the help of Roach, you adjusted your clothes, hair, and anything else needed to make yourself look presentable despite the time spent traveling. 

Then the booming voice of the ambassador of Drelzhan called out, “Announcing their Grace, of Duchy Lorraine.” Then, the carriage door opened and the hulking form of a familiar knight appeared. König, with his hood of cloth and daunting suit of armor, was a comforting sight to behold. Another easy reminder that you had friends with you, those you would never leave you alone. He would be the one to help present you to your new court and that provided you with some relief. His presence beside you was and always will be a solace.

Dark eyes landed on you, before he grunted softly in greeting and held out his hand to you. Slowly, you responded by tentatively placing your hand in his. Immediately, his extremely large hands engulfed yours and gave a soft squeeze, another comforting touch from a friend. He then helped to guide you from the carriage, ensuring you to not trip or fall as you disembark. 

As you left the comfort and safety of the last touch of home you knew, your eyes immediately began to take in your surroundings. Before you, standing at the tall wooden doors of the castle, stood a number of armored knights, with a speckling of common servants. All were at attention and staring at you as you moved.

Judgement permeated from them in waves, waiting to see if you met their intense expectations.

Yet, as your gaze moved, you couldn’t find yourself caring as soon as your focus locked onto one man.

At the center of it all, only a few feet away from you, was your betrothed. 

His Majesty, John Price.

Your mouth ran dry as you sharply inhaled. There were no rumors that spoke of how… attractive this man was. Despite the crown that adorned him, he was dressed in a simple white shirt that showed off a physique he clearly worked hard for. Green pants that left very little to the imagination. A face that was well groomed and showed that he was a man well aged. Dark blue eyes met yours as you both assessed one another. 

There was a moment of silence as unspoken thoughts were exchanged. No one seemed to move or breathe, waiting patiently for the King, or yourself possibly, to break the tension that was now strung in the air. As your gazes collided and each made passive observations, the world became drowned out by the sheer presence of the other. Neither of you spared thoughts to those around you. Instead, the two of you simply stared, unwavering in your need to deconstruct the other in this moment.

Until, finally, the stalemate was shattered. 

John moved first, beginning to approach you with a few measured steps. He came to a stop maybe two feet from you. He then gave a tight smile and bowed only slightly. He opened his mouth, his gruff voice greeting your ears and surprising you with words bearing an accent.

“Welcome, your Grace. I’ve been waiting for your arrival.”

[roseadleyn]

Hi, while I dont know much about ACOTAR beyond what Ive read about it online, I want to ask for your opinion on why its depiction of the fae is dissatisfactory to the point they "arent fae", because in general it is accepted that there are multiple different ways to interpret mythical creatures such as vampires, werewolves, dragons and fey. Vampires have been depicted as everything from predatory, blood-thirsty abominations to cute and loveable heroes in children's media.

hii, how are you? i'm actually glad you've asked because now i have a reason to rant lmao

portrayal of every mythical creature varies but the mythical aspect is still kept in, yk? like for example,,, vampires have the oddly translucent skin, too-long fangs, the moon affecting them etc in every every every medium they've been depicted in ( or as far as i've seen ).

sarah j maas' fae portrayal is just. people. humans with powers and pointy ears. like feyre wears leggings and sweaters and teaches art class; what part of that is whimsical or fae? velaris is just new york if you could never leave. what is so special about it? where's the magic? the spring court wasn't very fae either but it had pools of starlight, will 'o' the wisps, etc. there was fantasy, magic.

to me it's just unsatisfactory because it's not magical or fantasy. i could pick up the average Dark Contemporary Billionaire Mafia Romance book and get pretty much the same dynamics. like you're telling me the court of night... has DAYLIGHT??? no. absolutely not. it should be night always, the plants grow sustained by dark magic or whatever.

like write the fae whatever way you wish but give them NUANCE, MAGIC, YOU KNOW THINGS THAT AREN'T NORMAL. like i don't want rhysand breaking the human status quo by fucking assaulting feyre, i want him to be too eerily flexible or have too many teeth or SOMETHING otherworldly. give tamlin a tail. lucien has thorns along his collarbones now. like please. be so fucking fr.

ALSOO how nesta and elain were changed by the cauldron but nothing changed about their physical appearance other than their ears??? they should have oddly translucent skin that shivers thinly over their veins because of their power, nesta's hands could be permanently tinged red to show how she wrangled the cauldron's heart from it, i'm sad at the lost potential now

anyways i yapped a lot but i hope this makes coherent sense <3 if u want some good depictions of fae in ya i'd recommended holly black's books

[nocasdatsgay]

Well That Was Unexpected: A Spring Time Affairs Prequel

Rating: T+ | Word Count: 1843 | Pairing: Elain/Lucien, Tamlin/Elain, Tamlin/Flora

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Content Warnings: sexual tension, innuendo, fluff and humor

Summary: Elain works up the courage to ask Tamlin if she can… join him but things do not go according to plan.

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a smut fic but my brain had other plans. For @polysjmweek Day 2: Reveal

Tagging: @ninthcircleofprythian @ysmtttty @daycourtofficial @hieragalbatorixdottir @secret-third-thing @thisblogisaboutabook @acourtofladydeath @pit-and-the-pen

“You can just ask him.”

Lucien said it like it was simple. Like one went around asking their mate’s dearest friend, a High Lord of the court they lived in, if they could- Elain flushed and shooed the thought away. She got up from the settee in their small study to pace. Lucien turned in his chair and watched her with that knowing twinkle in his eye. Infurating male.

“You asked Jurian, what’s the difference?” His eye whirled and clicked. Studying her every move.

“That was a long time ago. And I was drunk,” she replied curtly.

But she was sober when they went to bed together. For what he lacked in manners, he made up for with that wicked tongue of his. Her scent sweetened at the memory. Gods, Elain hated being a fae. Her scent gave away her thoughts and feelings without her permission. Three decades as a fae and she still wasn’t used to it.

“I can get you drunk.” Lucien gave her that suggestive, sultry tone that made her feel things. “He just won’t believe me if I’m the one asking.”

“How do you know he will even agree?” Elain worried her lip with her teeth. Her mind started to run away from her. “I know he knows about our arrangement. But what if I upset him?”

Because I am Feyre’s sister, was left unsaid.

She was starting to wonder if maybe she should go live in another court to do this. Lucien agreed if she was going to accept the bond, she needed to be less green, as he put it. She had been with one man before she was fae. It wasn’t even that good, now that she knew what good sex felt like. Tamlin knew about their- arrangement. They disclosed it early on. Last thing they needed was Tamlin thinking she was cheating on Lucien.

“You will not upset him.” Lucien scoffed and turned back in his chair to go back to sorting his letters. “If anything he’ll be too flustered to think.”

“It’s probably not a good idea.”

At least that’s what she was trying to convince herself.

“You didn’t have this issue in the Winter Court.”

“Because they weren’t your friends!” Elain made a frustrated noise and flopped back onto the settee. “I will never see that man- male from Winter again. Or the one in the bar at Summer. Maybe that’s enough and I stop this all together.”

“I’ll make a deal.” He turned again to face her. “If you work up the courage to kindly ask Tam to bed you-“ he paused, thinking. “Actually. Never mind.”

“Excuse me?” She frowned.

“I realized you obviously won’t do it. So never mind what I was thinking.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Elain said harshly.

“You are anything but a coward, lady.” Lucien smiled.

She squinted at him. “If he beds me better than you I don’t want to hear you complain.”

Lucien’s gaze turned dark and sultry, that fire making itself known in a flash. “No one beds you better than me.”

“Hmm, we will see about that.” Elain stood up, straightening out her skirts and went to the door.

“Going somewhere?” Lucien called out innocently.

“You know I am.”

She went straight to the High Lord’s study. Lucien had lit a fire under her feet with his dismissal of her courage. She would ask Tamlin. He would say no and that would be the end of it. She stopped at the door before pausing. Squaring her shoulders she knocked on the door and opened it when she heard him thankfully call out. She stepped in and all her senses went out the window.

Tamlin was writing, leaned forward onto the desk. Gods he was attractive. She didn’t really remember the incident when they first met. She felt wrong at first, for finding him attractive when they moved to Spring. He was Feyre’s ex lover. Part of the events that lead to Elain being fae. But getting to know him and help with his court- he was kind and hardworking. She’d forgiven him a few years ago fully. His voice cut through her thoughts.

“Elain, can I help you?” He stopped writing, cutting his eyes up to her.

“You’re working awfully late.” She forced a polite smile.

Forced because she was acting like the low rumble of his voice didn’t roll through her and leave her aching.

“Trade doesn’t negotiate itself.” He went back to writing, unfazed by her presence.

“That is true.”

The door clicked as she slowly pulled shut. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Oh she was foolish. Now closed in with the object of her- dare she say desire? Her feet were becoming cold quickly. The moment the door clicked shut, his eyes jumped back up to her by the door way. He slowly sat up and placed his pen down.

“Does Lucien know you’re here?” He seemed uncertain as if realizing finally he was alone with Elain.

“He’s the one that sent me.”

Tamlin’s gaze raked over her. She didn’t care if her smell sweetened, that it gave her away. Her own gaze dropped to his chest. Unlike most fae, there was hair on his chest. Blond with a hint of brown. Elain was still learning to love Lucien but his chest was bare like most fae. It was the humanity in her that made her crave it. That's what she told herself anyway.

He hummed, a deep rumble in his throat that took her breath away. “And what exactly did he need?”

“It isn’t about what he needs. I- I wanted to ask you something.”

She could do this.

“Then what do you need, my lady?”

Maybe she could not do this. He had asked her with pure concern in his voice. His brows slightly furrowed and his head tilted in a way it normally was when he listened to someone speak. Here she was about to ask him a wanton question.

“You.”

Her face flushed. She hadn’t meant to say it like that. The air shifted and Tamlin no longer looked concerned. Elain felt weak in her knees watching push out his chair and stand. He came around the desk slowly with the authority of a High Lord.

“I’m not sure this would be a good idea.”

He said it but he still stepped to her. She could smell him as much as he could probably smell her. She was still staring at his chest, the V of his shirt dipping between his pectorals in a way that would have Elain on her knees if it was a woman- female. She hadn’t broached the subject of females with Lucien yet. But that was a worry for another day. He stopped in front of her.

“And yet?”

He looked conflicted. His smell said one thing, his face another.

“Elain, I am flattered and I am not opposed. I am deeply not opposed. However-“

A knock startled them both. Tamlin’s eyes widened and he said a word Elain didn’t know. She assumed it was a curse. With a flick of his hand their scents were glamoured and the air cleared away. The door opened before he even told them to come in.

“Tamlin, I know you’re not-“ The female came in and stopped with widened eyes.

It was Flora.

Elain had seen her about and spoke with her on occasion. When she and Lucien first moved to Spring, he told her about his… dalliances with her. Elain didn’t hold any ill will. Flora was beautiful. Definitely one of the women- females, Elain would get on her knees for if she ever got the chance. The shock on Flora’s face faded and was replaced with- an air of sadness?

“Am I interrupting?” Her light eyes bounced between Tamlin and Elain.

“I was just seeing her out.” Tamlin’s tone was strained.

Elain watched the two silently stare at each other, unmoving. Her eyes dropped to the dress Flora was wearing. Flowly and just revealing enough in the cut of the neckline. Nothing like she’d seen Flora wear around court. Elain glanced at Tamlin- who looked like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. Elain put on her best smile.

“Lucien had questions about some correspondence with Summer,” she said, patting Tamlin on the arm. “He’s behind in his letters so I told him I would come and ask.”

“Oh,” Flora replied. “I can come back later.”

“No.” Tamlin’s panic started them both. “I have given Elain the information. I’m free to help you with whatever you need.”

Flora flushed.

Elain took that as her cue to leave.

“Thank you, Tamlin. We will see you at dinner! Flora, a pleasure as always.” Elain hurried out the door and down the hall.

She did not stop until she reached her and Lucien’s chambers. Lucien startled on the settee when she entered. She paid no mind to the fact his shirt was missing or the state of his trousers.

“Did he say no?” Lucien’s eye clicked madly as it ran over her body. “Why are you glamoured?”

“There’s been a development.” Elain felt suddenly flustered with a warmth in her chest. She stared at her mate clearly for the first time since she came in.

“Gods Lucien, were you?” She flushed at the idea of what Lucien might have been doing while she was gone and why. “I don’t have time for this. He said he wanted to but then Flora interrupted.”

“Flora?” His eye clicked again. “My Flora?”

“Not yours anymore,” Elain laughed. “Lu, I think they’re,” Elain still had trouble being crude so she instead said, “I think they’re seeing each other. Or they’re heading in that direction.”

“No. Tam would have told me.” Elain gave him a look and he frowned. “Don’t look at me like that! I asked just two weeks ago if he was open to sharing you and he said yes.”

“You asked him?” Elain shrieked.

“I wasn’t going to send you to him without at least ensuring you were both open to it.” He shook his head. “You’re certain it looked like that?”

“He glamoured our smell. Flora looked genuinely upset that I was alone with him. She was wearing a dress cut down to here.” Elain pointed exactly how far down that cut went on herself. “He was telling me he wasn't opposed to me but he got cut off by her knocking when he went to say why.”

Lucien looked off thinking. Then her gorgeous meddlesome mate slowly grinned.

“We will invite her to dinner tomorrow.” There was a flame in his eye as he looked at her, and the kind of glow to him that made her weak. “If Tam is truly interested, he’ll be a bumbling idiot the whole time.”

As predicted, Tamlin was indeed tripping over his own tongue to the point Elain was kicking Lucien under the table to stop him from laughing. She and her mate left dinner to start a new plan: help Tamlin win over Flora.

[acotarxreader]

Mirror Part Two

Azriel x Reader

Warnings: High angst, drama, fluff, injury, Tamlin

Synopsis: After your abrupt exit from the night court you return to your worldly travels but the rising threat of war with Hybern has Rhysand seeking out his favourite weapon once again

Synopsis: You were gifted with the ability to mirror other fae's magic with a simple touch and your free spirit nature leads you to cross very close to the borders of a hidden city, where your future best friends and soulmate snatch you out of the sky to protect their border.

Inspired by Who's Afraid of Little Old Me & My Tears Ricochet by Taylor M.F Swift

A/N: Welcome to part two of this dramatic guy! Sorry for the lil wait! Let me know what you think friends!

I think I'm gonna write my first Eris fic hehe

Requests Open

Part 1

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

The War with Hybern

You passed through the mist like the shadows of the night that swaddled you, deep south in Prythian, practically in the Mortal Realm. Spring Court had crumbled to the weeds and whims of the High Lady of Night, your mortal enemy that you never met. You drifted from the face of the earth like the ghost Rhysand’s neglect had turned you into, banished to exile from the world that broke your body before breaking your spirit. You adjusted to the loneliness with surprising ease, melting back into the solitary figure you were when taken from the skies above Velaris, your free spirit exchanged for a shattered one. The events of the budding war with Hybern came to your knowledge through the ever-winding grapevine of gossip and tales. The very escapades of your former family and its new members provided you with equal amounts of amusement and worry.

“Bad dog!” You flung your shoe playfully at the great towering beast at the entrance of the cave you were currently occupying, the green-eyed beast released a growl as he dropped the carcass of the freshly slaughtered deer on your doorstep, tracking blood all over the rock. 

“How I love your visits dear YN” He growled before tilting his head slightly and returning to the wild. You and Tamlin now had a shared interest in your hatred of the Night Court’s leadership, his welcome of your travels through the shell of his court for the first time in centuries gave you the flicker of a homily feeling you’d banished from your heart. You used the Spring Court as you had The Middle, as a base of operations before travelling to see every inch of the world you could. He offered to bring you to the countless run-ins he had had with the Court of Dreams as a new war with Hybern began to threaten the peace. You weren’t really sure if it was so much because of Rhysand that it was because of Azriel that you hadn’t returned, the shattered friendship too much to think of. You watched an onyx shadow leak from your knotted knuckles, the last trace of Azriel you had to hold on to. Your shadows pulled along the carcass of the animal, the sight turning something in your stomach. You shuddered slightly, a sense of alarm growing in you at something in your world being tampered with. 

You winnowed to the ruins of the Tamlin’s residence, the shell of once reviled power and grace much like the owner. Traipsing up the steps of the crumbling house, the sound of a male you hadn’t heard from in such a long time rocketed through your system. 

“Rhysand?” You heard your voice speak without making the conscious decision to, Tamlin lifted his head from his hands as he sat at the rotting table, Rhysand spinning with unusual unease at the sound of your voice. 

“YN-” He took a step towards you instinctively, you following your own intuition, stepping back from him. “-You’re here?” “No need for the personal visit High Lord, if you wanted me dead you should have just said” 

“YN, I can’t believe you’re really here” He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised, his best had tracked your movements to the discarded court. 

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you. Why are you here?” You chewed out, the ghost of a smirk passing Tamlin's face. 

“Just visiting the High Lord of Spring” “Why? Need him as a weapon? Find value in him now you need him for war games?” Your icy words plummeted the temperature in the room, Rhysands wings slumping. 

“YN, don’t be like that”

“You can leave, Tamlin like many others, do not need you to faux interest in our lives for them to hold value” You circled around the table, running parallel to him across the dissolving oak to land next to Tamlin as he sat back in his chair, quietly smug.

“So, are you in love?” You laughed at his question, Tamlin matching the sound. 

“No, I think you took any ability for me to feel that from me” Rhysand searched your eyes for the way you used to look at him, for any semblance of the female who’d cleave the world apart for him, for any leverage he might still have with you. 

“You’ve made your request Rhysand, go” Tamlin found some ounce of long-dead confidence in him to shun the Lord of Night. 

“Hm” Was all he replied, moving to dissolve but stopping to witness a small shadow leak from your fist, a sign you had potentially seen Azriel recently, not the truth which was that you had kept the shadows with you since you fled, the last connection to a feeling of home. He nodded his head, a small laugh leaving him before vanishing. You pushed the back of Tamlin's chair to turn him to face you in his seat. 

“What request?” “Hybern is preparing to rage a war, he needs further assistance” He practically whispered before standing again and crossing the ruins of the dining room.

“So I was right, he did just want you as a weapon” “Actually-” his hand landed on the heavy door “-He wanted you” Tamlin melted into his beast form once again, leaving you to think through the words, your eyes looking down to the scars the last Lord of Night had left you. 

—--------------------------

You winnowed to a high mountain top you hadn’t graced in some time, your eyes looking upon your formerly beloved home of Velaris, the word home like acid in your throat. You looked towards the Town House, the once monument to your love, a mausoleum to it now. You sighed aloud before turning towards the House of Wind, something calling out to you through the night air, an idea growing in you. the sound of your feet hitting the stone gently filled the library. The dark shrouded you with unnatural warmth as you called quietly into the hollow pit for an old friend of yours. 

“Little mirror, you have returned” “Bry, don’t be coy with me” You could hear the creature of nightmares smile through the shadows.

“What do I owe this long overdue visit my little mirror?” You could feel its energy swirling around you but keeping enough distance so as not to risk you mirroring it. 

“Hybern is planning to attack and I wish to know what side of the aisle you find your wonderful self on” You had thought of your old friend as the perfect addition to a team you had no plan on being directly involved with.

“They have not yet asked my little mirror” The chill of its voice met your skin with a flush of contrasting warmth, inspecting you for any trace of harm.

“When they do, bargain for something of little matter to you that they can’t refuse and then once you have completed your task, go free” “Indeed-” he hummed at your self-assured tone “-why bother trying to help them little mirror?” “Let's say it’s out of habit” you laughed lightly, the wisps of dark air feeling as though a grin could be felt in them. You looked up to the mouth of the pit above you, the faint outlines of bookshelves shrouded in darkness haunting above.

“Ask for a window Bry, you deserve to see the world you will once again grace” Energy graced over your hand in thanks so easy for you to capture and yet it had no value to you T when compared to the sentiment of what you had at your finger tips. The sound of footsteps up above had you jolting slightly, retreating further into the dark so as not to be seen. 

“Be safe friend” You whispered softly before winnowing out of the depths. 

—-----------------------------------------

Shadows sank into the cobblestone as you manifested on the singing streets, your feet felt light along the heavy rock, practically levitating towards your old haunt. You stood at the gate of the Town House, the shadows of the residence dancing across the candlelight in the window, happy fae dancing in the streets as if not in the presence of the creature they turned you into. 

The Town House was decorated to within an inch of its life, banners and streamers flowing freely from every corner as music sang through the house to the garden where the majority of the party was revelling in the moonlight. You followed the radiate path to the garden you’d spent years cultivating, willingly ignoring the changes to decor made by the new Lady of Night. 

You watched the Inner Circle at the bottom of the garden, your former family rejoiced in celebration of the birthday of a fae you only knew through stories of the Hybern War. Nesta glowed in the moonlight. You looked among the now expanded Inner Circle, Azriel noticeably missing as you took another step down the path, Cassian swirled Nesta around, you smiled genuinely at the sight, so happy to see him happy. The smile faded as Rhysand did the same to Feyre before they walked hand in hand to the other side of the garden, your once favourite spot, the perfect view of the Sidra. 

You found your feet taking you in their direction, slightly secluded from the rest of the Inner Circle. The sound of your steps on the soft grass made a silent sound that sent shivers down Rhysand’s spine as he turned to see you standing on top of the slope, staring down at them. 

The music seemingly stopped dead, your appearance at the party stopping the revelry like a record scratch as you spoke-

“Doesn’t look much like a war is nigh right now, now does it?” You clasped your hands in front of you, eyes burning into the former love of your life. 

“YN-I-” “This is YN?” Feyre stepped from behind her mate, her beauty illuminating the path up to you and you hated her for it, you looked around at the world you believed she stole from you but realised as quickly it was Rhysand who had committed the theft.  Feyre moved to close the distance between you both, stepping from her mate's grasp to practically square off to you. You could feel the power radiating from her, so tempting to take but would replace the last scrap of Azriel you had access to. Still, you enjoyed the thought of rattling Rhysand.

“Ah, Feyre, Rhysand’s lovely High Lady of Night, I don’t think we’ve had the displeasure of formally meeting” You outstretched a hand, she instinctively went to take hold of it, and Rhysand immediately pulled her back.

“Don’t let her touch you!” He ordered, some fae looking in your direction at the disturbance to their antics. “Who’s afraid of little old me?” You laughed again, it reverberating off Feyre’s chest

“Don’t go near her” “Where is this hostility coming from Rhysand, I seem to remember it was you who made the first act of aggression” You lifted the small cuff of your sleeve, the hint of a small arrow-shaped scar still marking you centuries later. 

“Leave YN” “You sought me out, I’m returning the visit” Feyre’s head darted towards her mates at the revelation.

“Oh? He didn’t tell you? My my always one for secrets Rhysand” you tsked, circling them as Rhysand’s father once had done to you, a hunter and her prey. 

“YN, I’m am celebrating with my family, if you could extend some courtesy and-” “Courtesy!?-” You scoffed loudly “-You crossed out the good years with me, cursed me the moment I treated you with the same respect you’d given me for years, banished me to the same solitude you used me to escape from! So you don’t deserve courtesy! And now, even when you are mated to pure power, I can tell you wish I stayed, you curse my name wishing I stayed! Your favourite fucking weapon!” Years of repressed anger flooded from you to the space between you and the mates, Rhysands face greying as he clutched onto Feyre’s hand like you may steal her away forever. 

“I-I didn’t do anything to you YN, I just fell into this world, this was hard on everyone” Feyre rattled out, your heated gaze landing on one of the most powerful fae to grace Prythian. You took a deep breath in before speaking again-

“Oh boo freaking hoo-” "You found yourself laughing coldly “-Figure out the Hybern thing by yourselves, I’ve already had enough” You span on the ball of your foot, striding up the very path you had designed to get the best view of the garden. 

“And those new curtains look horrific!” You called back over your shoulder to the mates before reentering the house you wished to burn to the ground with your vitriol. 

-

You returned to the now suffocating air of the Velaris streets, feet bouncing off the cobble as you walked down the hill, your muscle memory bringing you down the way to one of your favourite spots in the city. The moment your mottled shaking hands met the cooling brick of the Sidra’s boundary wall, the tsunami of tears you fought every day since leaving flooded your atmosphere. 

“YN?” Azriel crossed the same bridge you said goodbye to him on those years before, the paper bags containing Mor’s favourite alcohol smashed to the stone floor. The stream of oak-coloured liquid flowed to your shoes. Shadows darted around you like dogs flocking to their owner after a long time apart. You laughed at the feeling of them swirling around you, lightly nipping at your face in their own form of pecks to the cheeks, banishing tears. You managed to open your eyes between their displays of affection to find Azriel standing with pure shock on his face, arms hanging by his sides and wings dipping to match. 

“Am I hallucinating?” “No Az-” You smiled wide through tear-stained cheeks “-I came back to take another strip off of your dear brother” You watched him pinch his arm to ensure he was truly awake. Azriel then flew at you in a similar fashion to his shadows, wrapping his arms around you to practically crack your bones. 

“Az-You’re-suffocating-me” You managed, laughing again once he gave enough of a release to allow your lungs to expand. 

“Why is it every time I find you on this bridge you’re crying?” He wiped a thumb across a stray tear, your crooked hands holding his to your face before they could move back away. 

“I love the drama” you laughed through fresh tears.

“Why are you back YNN?”

“Well, Rhysand came to visit me in Spring Court-” an almost growl left Azriel in response “-and he’s in need of his favourite weapon again” A definite growl left him this time, his hands dropping away from you as he turned to look back up the direction of the Town House.

“I told him to leave you alone, I didn’t track you down for you to be used as-” “You what?” He turned back to your slightly tilting head.

“Well…you went radio silent on me, I had to make sure you were okay-” a shadow clipped his ear somewhat sharply “-We, we had to make sure you were okay. You left us” The last three words tinged with undeniable heartbreak, heartbreak you had felt yourself. “Az, I had to leave”

“But you didn’t have to leave without me” an element of anger leached from him.

“Az” “No, you left! Rhysand might have broken your heart but you obliterated mine! Chipped away at it over centuries” A sharpness never reserved for you cut into your skin with similar pain to what Rhysand’s father had dealt you. 

“Azriel I’m sorr-” “-It broke me every time you chose him and all he did was tolerate you! Tolerate the love I so desperately wanted! And now I watch as he gives Feyre even a fraction of everything you deserved and I hate that I didn’t fight harder for you! I hate it! Hate how he  weaponised and ruined the love of my life!” His raised tone bounced off the flowing waters of the Sidra, the sound of his century's worth of repressed resentment tumbling out of him like the small waves hitting the boundary wall. 

“YOU SAID YOU WANTED ME TO BE HAPPY EVEN IF IT MEANT RUNNING AWAY FROM ALL THIS!” “BUT I THOUGHT YOU’D TAKE ME WITH YOU”

“I SHOULD HAVE! I FUCKING SHOULD HAVE!" You roared back, an onyx shadow of your own making curling around your vibrating fists, Azriel’s eyes shot towards them, his hand taking a gentle firm hold on your wrist before you could bolt out of his life again.

“You’re still mirroring me” he whispered so softly you thought you imagined it.

“Yeah… it was all I had left connecting me to you, to my home, to someone who would always do more than just tolerate my love” You returned the words with equal tenderness, eyes fixating on your shadows swirling into his, your eyes illuminating like they hadn’t since first landing on Azriel’s. His hand slipped from your wrist to your hand, chasms and fissures of equal cruelty knitting into one another so the skin may feel whole again.

“YN! You don’t get to leave like that!” Your heads moved in unison to look up towards an enraged Rhysand, you released Azriel’s hand on sight.

“You don’t control where I do and don’t go anymore Rhys” you chewed back.

“I am regretful for what happened and how it happened but don’t let the little incident that happened between us stop you from defending your people!”

“Little incident?” Your chilled laugh returned, a shiver running down Azriel at the sound. 

“YN, be sensible here” Rhysand has his arms out as though trying to corral an animal as he steps towards you, Azriel instinctively standing between the two of you. 

“YNN is entitled to spend the rest of her life how she wants to, she owes us nothing” His hardened stare cut through his brother, shadows swirling around his feet.

“Az, we need her power to-” “-We need her to be happy, Rhysand. That’s what we always should have needed of her, we owe her everything. You took no issue in me destroying those who destroyed me, she should be given that option, even now” Azriel spoke with clear conviction, the words causing Rhysand to purse his lips in thought. 

“If she doesn’t join then she will succeed in destroying us by not helping us” He looked around Azriel to you, your thoughts racing at the words. You stepped back from the two brothers, your shoes crushing the glass of the smashed bottles. 

“Follow your own past decisions Rhys and don’t follow me” You dissolved in front of the two as they began to argue once again. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------

That day you watched Tamlin ready what little forces he had, the thought of your former family defending your homeland without your intervention ultimately being your deciding factor to join. That and the thought of giving Rhysand any semblance of moral high ground. 

You transversed the battlefield in a shielded shadow, blasting the enemy as you flew alongside the Illyrian-winged warriors. A blood-curdling call of a female you didn’t know drew your attention downward as Cassian flew down past you towards her, too fueled with adrenaline to notice you follow closely as sudden strikes of pure cauldron power shot down and destroyed the warriors you had just flown alongside. You landed on the battlefield with such force it split the soil, Cassian’s head turning towards you rapidly locking eyes on you as you both found yourselves smiling at one another. 

“YN, you came!” “I miss you Cass, stay alive” You called back before bolting back into the now-cleared skies as more and more warriors rose to replace the fallen. From above, you covered Feyre unbeknownst to her, the collective goal having more importance in this moment. You watch as she reaches the cauldron with Amren allowing you to double back and continue your onslaught. Rhysand’s true beast form rises from the ground and you feel a bolt of fear at the pure sight of him. You swoop down to meet his side as he tears into the enemy, Helion dashing to join his side as he reforms himself into his beastly counterpart. 

“YN!!!” Rhysand roars down to you as you sprint around him, you leap on top of a razor-sharp talon as he shoots towards the sky, your knotty hand pressing into the scales of the High Lord. The feeling of familiar pure unadulterated power coursed through your veins, never did you think you’d mirror the High Lord again, the traces of betrayal tinging the power as it blasted from your outstretched hands to mist a sizable amount of enemy forces. Bryaxis coursed around you, shielding you from any retaliation as Rhysand and Helion unleashed on the battlefield. 

“I have to get to Feyre!” You hear Rhysand screech out as you cover him along his way towards his mate, the shift in the air undeniable as Amren is released from her bindings. You defend the space the cauldron occupies, allowing Rhysand to rush to Feyre’s side. Something cracks deep in you as you hear the High Lady of Night shriek in pure pain, fearing Rhysand has taken his final breath. You winnow to Tamlin as he sinks tendrils of power into some stragglers of the Hybern arm. 

“Tam! With me!” He has no hesitation in taking your hand, you winnow with him to where the cauldron claimed its price, Feyre begging for help from the High Lords. A chill shoots up your spine, rattling your bones. Your face hardened before you reached for Helion’s hand, mirroring his energy before you sank back into the shadows, following your own thread to land alongside Azriel, his wings in tatters as you dropped to his side. 

“YNN” he writhed out in pain, your arms encapsulating him, you feel Helion's power course through you as you attempt to heal him back to whole, your own body crying out in pain from the events of the war.

“It’s okay Azriel I’m here, I’m here” Your tears fell into his hair as you clung his head to your chest, his own heartbeat struggling to match yours. The light flowed across your disjointed digits, stitching the centuries-old wounds together as it poured into Azriel.

“I wish I didn’t let you leave that night YN” “I wish I didn’t leave you that night” You cried out, gently rocking him back and forth, his hand landing on your forearm to hold you closer. 

“I wish to carry a piece of you with me forever YNN”

“You can have all of me Azriel” You stretched down to meet his lips before he used what little energy he had to lean in, fully surrendering to every dream he dreamt of you from the moment you pulled the knife from his wing centuries ago. The glow that radiated from your energy returned and Azriel once again wished to bask in it for the rest of his days. His torn flesh stitched together as the healing energy flowed between the two of you. The feeling of home you never thought you’d have again blazed through every cell until it was just you, Azriel and shadows of onyx mirroring one another's endless hope for the future. 

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

Whatcha think?

Tag: @saltedcoffeescotch @popcornlauncher @notepaper @panther-girl-124 @mirandasidefics @slightlyjaded @moonlwghts @tsunami-of-tears

[operationslipperypuppet]

ballad of a green knight beverly toegold

a quick (ten minute) and harrowing combination of campaign one of naddpod (and our favorite dad who made a bad deal but also his son, who shares his name) with emily's ballad of a green knight

transcript under the cut!

lyrics from Ballad of a Green Knight with NADDPod C1 moments. Lyrics are in italics. Episode numbers quotes are pulled from are in parentheses next to the line.

darling I can't see you anymore

Beverly (Caldwell): Take us to the land where my people may heal. Take us to the Feywild. (20)

I'm afraid they've summoned me to war.

Murph: The garden glows green, then takes on a gel-like consistency, then gets brighter and brighter as Bev’s dad and company are pulled into it. The last thing you see is a face full of green goo as Uncle Duck is swallowed down by the flowerbed and the green knights and the green teens escape to the Feywild! (20)

Promises I have made to the Queen and to the Fae

Cran (Murph): When we traveled through the portal, we landed in the Summer Court. King Lestibourne and Queen Cirilla accepted us with open arms. And in return, we defended their kingdom. (47)

And I intend to keep ‘em with my sword.

Cran: He went to the Winter Court to try to track down King Lestibourne. (47)

Darling if I never make it home to you

Bev Senior (Murph): You tell her the truth, Bev. You tell your mom that I died in the Feywild. (58)

I’ll visit you as butterflies and dew.

Martha (Murph): Your father, he came to me in a dream, and it was, I don’t know, I just, uh, I knew it was real. (70)

In another place and time, I swear I would have made you mine

Martha: Oh, wait, you - your father never came home. Usually - He’ll get home late sometimes but, oh boy, he works hard, you know? I love him. I don’t know what I’d do without him. (14)

But I have got a duty to strike true.

Murph: Bev Senior just Fey Stepping away and he’ll just fall and (sword noises) blade clashing against Barrett Brisden’s. (57)

 Green though I be, remember me

Murph: You see this little halfling man, this Green Knight, this Knight of the Summer Court, Captain Beverly Toegold IV, Fey Steps, doesn’t Misty Step, Fey steps over to this angel and grabs its ankles.

Bev Senior: Let go of my boy, you sons of b-s! (52)

Who I could have been if we lived in peace

Murph: You see that there are like 20 copies of him, like, trying to write you that letter and say that he was proud of you, and he kept throwing them out.. (14)

Married my blade to the fate of the Fae

Bev Senior: I sure as heck ain’t letting somebody just kill my dang queen, okay? (56)

Traded my days for honor and fame

Murph: You see Bev Senior shaking hands with Akarot. (57)

Green be my steel, be my bow, be my shield

Murph: The high priest Merrick Highhill is reading the Vizier his last rites and your father is there with a sword drawn, looking stoic. (80)

Pledged to defend the vine and the hedge

Murph: The Vizier extends his neck. Your father swings the blade.

Beverly: And I watch the blade fall.

Murph: Um, you see the Vizier’s head is severed from his neck and rolls forward. (80)

Remember me when the leaves and the breeze

Martha: It - I - I could tell he was there, but he was different, and I knew he wanted to help me, but there was something cold and distant about him. (70)

And the trees start to tease the first breath of spring

Martha: Bev, he - he told me that everything will be alright in the end if you do what needs to be done. (70)

I would’ve loved to pledge myself to you

Murph: He just was hard on you because he didn’t want you to make a misstep and die and be another person that he lost. (14)

But that is not the world that I was born into

Bev Senior: Okay, when I was growing up, I had six siblings, and now I got none. So I need you to stick around, kiddo, alright? (13)

A knight is always forged in the crucible of war 

Bev Senior: We had three Toegolds that died in the war against the Giants. We had two Toegolds that died in the war against Asmodeous, and then we had your Uncle Ronald who fell off a dang balloon, okay? And he was goofing around, okay? (13)

And that is what I gave my word to do

Bev Senior: I couldn’t - I couldn't have helped you without - without Akarot, without - without his power. (58) 

So I will fight with all my verdant might

Murph: You see your father has given you a strategy guide on how to beat him. (70)

The blight of night will never dim my light

Murph: This is the same lay on hands that your father would cast on you, like, when you fell off a horse when you were first learning how to ride. Um, this is the lay hands that was used on you when you, um, broke your nose using sparring swords, um, when you were first learning to fight as a Green Teen. This feels more like your father than this monster that is in front of you. (81)

Though the memory of you makes me turn a shade of blue

Bev Senior: You turn around and you face Thiala, the one who took our home from us. Pick a side, Beverly. (80)

A Green Knight has a duty to the Wild

Beverly: I try to reach out to the spores, I try to reach out to the amulet. I just try to reach out to anything that isn’t this, that isn’t this duty, that I’ve always felt deep down. (80)

Green from my head to my toes, ‘til my death

Bev Senior: I always, I knew I could make the deal 'cause I - I knew you’d stop me. (81)

Pledged to protect the vine and the hedge

Murph: Your dad, he retains the parts of his personality that are the worst things about him. Um, and then other than that, he’s just a devil that serves Ilsed. (81)

Green is my blood, I’m sorry my love

Alanis (Murph): I like to let other people make their own decisions, but your dad was insistent that you could stop him and I thought he was right. (83)

Remember us after I’m gone

Bev Senior: I love you, Bev.

Murph: Your father starts to weep, and you see a vision of an angelic woman with a wimple take him into her arms. (81)

Oh that I could be in love and be good

Moonshine (Emily): And it’s very important to me to get you back to Martha Toegold and keep you in Bev’s life. He just really missed you. (54)

But I made an oath to the fields and the wood

Moonshine: A child has a duty to his father, but a hero has a duty to the world. Now, I’ve got my opinion of what you are, but it’s time for you to decide. (80)

So think of us all when the snow starts to fall

Moonshine: I tried my best to bring him back to you. (71)

And though we may fall, the order lives on

Jolene (Murph): Alright, let’s do this the right way. Please repeat after me, Beverly Toegold. The Green Knights fight with all their might.

Beverly: The Green Knights fight with all their might. (90)

Darling in another place and time

Martha: You know, and if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll all just go to Shadowfell and we’ll buy a nice little house. (99)

I’d have been content to make you mine

Bev Senior: I knew you'd be able to stop whatever was in your way, even if that was me.  Part of this journey is becoming your own person. As long as you fight for what's right, that's what the light is to you. (93)

And in the dream of death, I’ll dream the life I could have had

Bev Senior: The Dusk Mother sent me to Shadowfell to do penance for selling my soul there for a minute. (93)

If  I hadn’t pledged myself to hedge and vine

Lydia (Murph): You’re looking at the captain of my shadow guard, Beverly Toegold IV. (93)

[stone-stars]

here is a post with the lyrics for every song from lullabies for the wild side! (thanks to alli @operationslipperypuppet for transcribing half of these)

Serpent’s Serenade child, don't listen to their words you're not a monster no matter what you've heard you're everything i dreamed you'd be a miracle to me they don't get to tell you what you're worth

darling, you're native to the night so take these wings i gave you and take flight don't ever be ashamed of your claws, your bite, your strength they don't get to tell you who you are

honey, don't ever change a thing your fire breath, your many heads, your poison serpent sting just because they're afraid doesn't mean that you have strayed they don't even get to have a say

i can not give you their love but i can make you strong and brave and i can make you tough their swords and arrows cannot pierce the hide of one so proud, so fierce they don't get to tell you who you are

they tell you you're a prophecy but you're a possibility they don't get to tell you what to be and let them write their histories clinging to their legacies you and me, we know just what we're worth

The Moon’s Elegy Oh, how I love you, though you’ll never know. Anywhere I go I’m in your shadow. No, I will never find the nerve to broach, anywhere you go I will follow.

‘Cause we share a sky but I still can’t seem to catch your eye. And try as I might, I’m a pale reflection of your light. I tied my life to your chariot of fire— why? Oh, why?

And the prettiest nights are the ones I cry the most, teardrops turn to stars and start to glow. And an endless chase of your golden blaze I go, hiding just behind but all alone.

Cause we share a sky but I still can’t seem to catch your eye, and try as I might, I’m forever half a day behind. I crave your light like a moth to the fire— why? Oh, why?

And you burning brightly and me so blue, how can I get close to you? And you with your fire and me with my gloom, what’s a moon supposed to do when everyone wants to be with you? That’s why I’m so blue.

Ballad of a Green Knight Darling I can’t see you anymore, I’m afraid they’ve summoned me to war. Promises I have made to the Queen and to the Fae, and I intend to keep ‘em with my sword.

Darling if I never make it home to you I’ll visit you as butterflies and dew. In another place and time, I swear I would have made you mine But I have got a duty to strike true.

Green though I be, remember me, and who I could have been if we lived in peace. Married my blade to the fate of the Fae, traded my days for honor and fame.

Green be my steel, be my bow, be my shield, Pledged to defend the vine and the hedge. Remember me when the leaves, and the breeze, and the trees start to tease the first breath of spring.

I would’ve loved to pledge myself to you, but that is not the world that I was born into. A knight is always forged in the crucible of war, And that is what I gave my word to do.

So I will fight with all my verdant might, the blight of night will never dim my light. Though the memory of you makes me turn a shade of blue, a Green Knight has a duty to the Wild.

Green from my head, to my toes, ‘till my death Pledged to protect the vine and the hedge. Green is my blood, I’m sorry my love, remember us after I’m gone.

Oh, that I could be in love and be good, But I made an oath to the fields and the wood. So think of us all when the snow starts to fall, and though we may fall, the order lives on.

Darling, in another place and time I’d have been content to make you mine. And in the dream of death, I’ll dream the life I could have had if I hadn’t pledged myself to hedge and vine.

A Gloaming Lullabye In the gloaming of the night court, the queen calls you to sleep, she blankets you with moonbeams, she beckons you with dreams. So surrender to her majesty, and heed the queen’s decree, she’ll swaddle you in starlight and beguile you with peace.

So meet me in your dreams and we will never be apart. I promise I will find you in the shadows and the dark. The day is gone, the nights are long, and this is just the start. So meet me in between the moon, the galaxies, and stars.

As the scene begins to set, the queen collects her debts. She comes to you with heavy lids to tuck you into bed. As the day turns into night, the queen demands a tithe, you cannot run, you cannot hide, but you can close your eyes.

So meet me in your dreams and we will dance across the sky, a minuet, our heart’s duet, a tango improvised. And who’s to say what lays in wait when day turns into night, so look for me in your dreams, I promise so will I.

And when the sun returns, we’ll savor all we learned; the tutelage of dreams, the alchemy of sleep. And if we spent our dreams in pleasant company, then you will wake in harmony.

So meet me in your dreams, cause I can’t get enough of you. I’ll climb the stars, I’ll scale the moon, there’s nothing I won’t do. And when we meet in sleep so deep, I think that you will find, the day is nice, but nothing beats the night. The days are nice but, oh my god, the nights.

Winter’s Mantle Winter’s Mantle, heavy with fur and snow Icy, still, until the north wind blows Frost on the panes, darkness pervades, rest my pretty babe

Flowers grown shy, dirges and lullabies

Rest, my darling, there’s no work to do Sleep, my child, night is calling you

Sunlight estranged, darkness remains, rest my pretty babe Flowers grown shy, dirges and lullabies

The Giant’s Lover gather round the giantess, beaming with tale to tell listen as she weaves her web of a lover that did excel, small though he was, the way that he loved was enormous stature be damned, he was two times the man that a giant was

met him down in irondeep, sailor of sky and sheet navigated expertly her every last giant need never before had a lover performed like this tour de force titans and ogres rendered mediocre by this tall dwarf

small folk, big fun, sure-foot, hard-won giant lover like no other thick of quad, colossal heart, his size belies a huge surprise

so she waits by window side, dreaming of his return never to be satisfied, inside her his memory burns smallfolk take heed, this tall dwarf has pleased with enormity a small folk she met but a titan she wept for when hardwon left

[qwimblenorrisstan]

A New Dawn | Eris x Reader

Summary: Feyre grows closer to you, a close friend of Lucien’s, as you visit him while she’s in Spring Court. During that time, she learns of you being given to Eris as a servant by Amarantha, but no one could’ve suspected how deep the relationship between you and the Autumn Court heir went.

Word Count: ~ 1.1k

Warnings: Mentions of slavery, tyranny, pregnancy, also this entire fic is mainly in Feyre’s perspective btw

A/N: This is actually my first attempt at writing for Eris (all bc of a cute request), but if you like it then lmk and I might try more, hope you enjoy <3

Requests are open!

Feyre Archeron first met you at Tamlin’s manor, when she was still stuck as a human in a land of immortals that were trapped and bound by Amarantha. She’d been taking a walk through the house with Lucien, him explaining all the paintings in the gallery’s old, dusty collection that he knew of, and her eagerly listening, wanting to scrape up any lick of knowledge she could get.

That was when she’d seen you, coming from Tamlin’s office, him grave-faced and you just looking sad. You saw Lucien and perked up a bit, and he eagerly pulled you into his arms and held you.

“Who is..?”

Feyre spoke, trailing off at the silent tears you shed while Lucien held you close, his face buried in your shoulder. When you finally pulled away, the fiery male wiped your tears away with his thumb and glanced towards Feyre, you also looked at her.

“Y/N, this is Feyre, Feyre, this is Y/N.”

He said simply, a bit of his usual charm lacking because of the raw emotion in his tone. Feyre hadn’t known then why you’d been wide-eyed looking at her, turning to Tamlin and whispering some questions her human hearing couldn’t pick up, but she now knew exactly why you’d been shocked to find a human there during that time.

She was the cursebreaker, and you’d suspected that she would be the one from the moment you saw her.

You eventually had to leave, with whispered words to Lucien and more silent tears, before you had mounted a horse, even though running would be faster, and ventured back off to Under the Mountain.

“Where is she going?”

Feyre had asked Lucien. The male had only shook his head.

“Under the Mountain. She was..gifted to my brother as his servant, and she’s stuck there.”

He said, sentences carefully worded in the true manner of the fox-like male. Feyre found that horrifying, the thought of being gifted to a male, forced to serve him and do gods know what for him, being stuck there and only able to leave by delivering messages to other Courts. If only she knew the truth.

However, you sometimes got excuses or reasons to leave and stay at Spring longer than necessary, and you became a sort of salvation for Feyre. You would take her out into Spring Court to your favorite bakery, or the shops that were open at the time. Even when she asked, you never had a good reason for why some were closed, nor did Tamlin.

You slowly spent more time together, and she told you of her sisters, of Nesta’s hostility, Elain’s love for gardening and the flowers she’d grow with the spare change they had after selling skins, or how she grew up hunting. In exchange, you would tell Feyre all about your life growing up, how you and Lucien had been in the same age group and because of your High Fae status, you’d been friends for centuries.

“I’ll see you next visit,”

You would tell her every time, but this time seemed different. It seemed more like a final farewell. She gave a concerned look.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know, but I hope I see you again.”

It turned out that the next time you saw her was when you had a leash around your neck like a dog, Eris holding the chain to the collar as you both watched Feyre fight for her life in the challenges Amarantha proposed to her.

“Do you think she’ll live?”

You’d asked him quietly, and Eris had responded point-blank.

“No.”

But the glimmer of hope in his eyes as he glanced at you, a silent apology promising a future together if this human did manage to free you, a future where you weren’t chained and he wasn’t trapped.

Well, you’d almost gotten that when Feyre had given her life to free Prythian’s people, and come back as High Fae. Almost, but not quite.

“Just a little longer, darling, I promise.”

He would murmur to you every night as you had to act as his servant, attend to his every need, and act like the two of you weren’t painfully in love every day and night. That was, until, the night Beron was assassinated, shot dead with an ash arrow right through his black, soulless heart during a private conference between him and some higher-up you hadn’t bothered to learn the name of.

The next time Feyre had seen you, she’d been accompanied by Nyx and Rhys, Nyx on her hip as the other High Lords idly chattered, most of which were interested in how Eris would handle being High Lord of Autumn. Even more surprising, you’d been labeled High Lady of Autumn not shortly after.

They were still in for plenty of shock when you and Eris walked in, and the scent of budding, growing life spread through the room. Rhysand recognized it instantly, and the tiny bump on your stomach told everyone else what it was as well, not to mention the smug, satisfied face of Eris, clearly filled with pure male pride at his mate being pregnant.

“Oh wow, so you two were..?”

Feyre asked you while you chatted with her.

“We’ve been mates since before Amarantha, but we didn’t want to say because of Beron, then everything happened…it was a whole mess, but we worked it out.”

You replied with a warm smile on your face, one hand on your stomach. Rhys still seemed wary of Eris, rightfully so, but after seeing how the fiery male didn’t seem as conniving or rude, or even like the Eris he’d known for centuries at the meeting all because of his pregnant wife, or maybe because he didn’t have to play the role as the unassuming heir anymore, his mindset was slowly starting to change.

“Congratulations,”

Rhys had said to you and Eris, a slight genuine smile tugging at his lips as he’d patted Eris on the back, at which the other male stiffened slightly, but didn’t seem overly hostile.

Back at the townhouse, both having glasses of wine and idly sipping on them, Nyx already asleep, Feyre and Rhys chatted.

“I think they’re cute together,”

She said with a smile. Rhys chuckled lightly, shaking his head in amusement.

“She mellowed him out, for sure. I’m glad, I don’t think they could deal with another sassy High Lord out there other than me.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Really, though. They’re cute.”

Rhys let out a little hum of thought, before nodding.

“They are.”

[elrielsgarden]

Elriel: A Note on the ACOTAR Coloring Book

I don't know how I missed this before, but the official ACOTAR coloring book, which contains art for the first three books, indicates the couples SJM knew would happen in some of the spinoff books.

The coloring book was published in 2017, a year before A Court of Frost and Starlight was released. When the spinoff novels were announced, SJM said at one point that while writing A Court of Wings and Ruin she had stories she wanted to tell about some of the major side characters. We now know this included Nesta, and her love story with Cassian in A Court of Silver Flames.

So the coloring book: it features art of scenes between Nesta & Cassian and Elain & Azriel. Given how limited the coloring book is to be able to cover all three original books, this seems quite significant.

An image of Nesta standing before Cassian, her face set in what one could call her "I don't want Cassian to know I'm reading smut" face. The quote from A Court of Wings and Ruin is this:

The moment my shoes scuffed against the stone floor, she shot straight up, back going stiff, closing her book. Her gray-blue eyes didn't so much as widen as they beheld me. As I took her in. Nesta had been beautiful as a human woman. As High Fae, she was devastating.

The coloring book also chose to include the scene in which Azriel loans Elain Truth-Teller before the final battle of A Court of Wings and Ruin. The quote shared in this:

"This is Truth-Teller," Azriel told Elain. Elain's eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in his scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard. "It has never failed me once," the shadowsinger said, the midday sun seeming to be devoured by the dark blade. "Some people say it is magic and will always strike true." He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. "It will serve you well."

We also see another image focused solely on Nesta, the moment in which she emerges from the Cauldron as High Fae in A Court of Mist and Fury.

I knew that she was different. From however Elain had been Made . . . Nesta was different. Even before she took her first breath, I felt it. As if the Cauldron in making her . . . had been forced to give more than it wanted. As if Nesta had fought even after she went under, and had decided that of she was to be dragged into hell, she was taking that Cauldron with her.

Elain, too, is the focus of another illustration, this time from A Court of Thorns and Roses.

"These bulbs," Elain said, pointing with a gloved hand to a cluster of purple-and0white flowers, "came all the way from the tulip fields of the continent. Father promised that next spring he'll take me to see them. He claims that for mile after mile, there's nothing but these flowers." She patted the rich, dark soil. The little garden beneath the window was hers: every bloom and shrub had been picked and planted by hand; she would allow no one else to care for it. Even the weeding and the watering she did on her own.

It is no accident or coincidence that the two other Archeron sisters are highlighted this way in the coloring book. Nor is it coincidental that both Nessian and Elriel scenes are included either. No, it is not "proof" of Elriel. Look to the books themselves for that. However, it is another little piece in a long collection that all point in the same direction: Elain's book, and her love story with Azriel.

[youareatragedy]

hello— this has been nagging at me for a while but why does feyre suck at being a high lady? i get that sjm probably did it to make it some sort of feminist power move— but she really only handles surface level stuff. she may be powerful and have small drops of each high lord but does she do well enough in running an entire court and overseeing their entire lives? she’s only in her twenties and is in charge of everyone. i’m ngl i’d be hella pissed if i was living in velaris and had to watch a young woman who is illiterate be crowned as MY high lady? after all that she’s done? or *after the shit she’s pulled?* yeah, she broke the curse and saved everyone in prythian— but girly your actions after that are questionable🤨 destroying of the spring court, stealing the book of breathings from tarquin which i’m pretty sure was a very important artefact— like they couldn’t have just asked him instead? and then she’s giving HIM orders, in HIS house? and then her overgrown bat of a husband claims “she’s the high lady of the night court, she can do what she wishes” mr riceman, this isn’t the fucking night court. i swear feyre is such a wack narrator— because all she cares about is rhys and the IC. never mind the people dying around them as she did what she did in the tent, or never mind the women suffering in illyria of having their wings clipped as they watch as she flies around, *or* when they decided to have s*x in the sky. where the poor citizens of velaris could have seen that. like how inconsiderate can you even be atp— smh. it’s so funny— she’s titled the high lady of the night court yet she can barely read or has any experience in running a court💀💀💀 i wonder if she knows her precious inner circle will only heed rhys’ orders and not hers and if they do follow her orders it’s because they don’t want to suffer the wrath of rhys😭💀

feyre is… a questionable character. i liked her more in the first book. but when she became high fae— girl wtf happened to you😭😭 she became riceman’s trophy wife. i just know that sjm will make them high queen and high king (totally undeserved btw) and everyone will eat it up.

i’m sorry for this rant btw— i sound like such a feyre hater. 😭😭 nesta’s book slays as always, because at least we get a perspective on someone that isn’t so biased.

Anon, let me hug you. I think you answered your own question lol. But I'd like to add that she sucks at a job that is just a fake title anyway, so I bet all of Prythian knows no one should rely on her to do anything important and still asks Rhys for serious matters. And I think they do, because after ACOWAR, what she did as a High Lady was write correspondence (maybe Rhys gave her that task so she could practice what must be her ugly penmanship), visibly look uncomfortable when visiting a dive bar (she already forgot she lived in a hovel a year ago), and create an art studio that she will use anyway but in the name of "look at this thing you will all benefit from but it will be mine to do as I please."

Most of all, I think it's selfish for both her and Rhys to have a death pact. It's not romantic it's stupid as all fuck to do that when they're supposed to govern. The chaos that would ensue if NC lost both their highest ranked leaders in the same minute? Feysand do not care about their court. Assuming Nyx would be the next HL, what would happen to him if he's only four years old when his parents die (because remember there's still a war coming soon)? Who will take care of him and the NC for him when he's still a toddler? How is that fair for the caretaker? And not to mention how easy it would be for someone like Keir to just kill Nyx. There might be a coup. Chaos. Death.

So Feysand are just bad leaders and bad parents because they selfishly think they can fuck, breed, and orphan their child because they're entitled and assume someone will step up and be Nyx's parents. And the thing is, they did it without agreement from anyone in the IC (the people who will have to take care and protect Nyx).

So Feyre is a bad High Lady, Rhys is a bad High Lord who thinks it's fine to let his wife believe she's in charge when she's actually a tradwife who will not have time to use all that power she has anymore because she's too busy being a mom and painter, and I'm sure there are things we've missed regarding how bad she is as a High Lady. But everything you said is the answer. I would not want a war criminal to lead me, but I guess her stans think it's cute that a barely literate female who doesn’t understand fae and fae laws at all can be a girlboss "first High Lady ever" (again.. fake High Lady), as long as they can have fanart of her wearing gowns, tiara and cool tattoos.

[acourtofmenandthirst]

When The Night Calls

Tamlin x Reader

Warnings: smut, slight breeding, dubcon if you will, Calanmai, beastie tamlin (not abo or actual beastiality)

Word Count: 6.6K

This Tamlin x reader was inspired by @slutbugz (nsfw) on twitter!! I got permission to write this, and here are a couple pics that inspired me. Not Tamlin, but I mean come on how hot would he be like this…

Your mother tucked a warm cup of tea between your palms and curled a strand of loose hair behind your ear. Your father had spent a majority of the evening boarding up the windows and the doors, nailing the heavy wooden slats into the frame. The incescent sound of the sharp iron nails being driven into the trim with the steel hammer had you on edge all night - and even though he’d been at it for hours, you still weren’t used to the noise.

He’d all but buried you in the house, laying stones and heavy bags of sand in front of all the doorways to create a hearty wall outside your home. He’d then shut and locked all the doors, opting to nail wooden boards across all the openings, despite the metal latches already fastened in place.

Calanmai used to be a night spent outside, with singing and dancing, letting the magic run wild across the Spring Court hills. You could even feel it twist and twirl through your ankles and across your arms, like a warm wind. It was a party most Fae snuck out to join, once they were old enough, that is. The joyous feast and dancing around the bonfire lasted most of the evening, before the Fae females were lined up for the High Lord’s choosing.

It used to be an honor to be taken for the evening, a lustful night spent with the most powerful Fae male, in which her bodily sacrifice promised good yield and high power for the following year. Her family would be well taken care of, and her likeness would be celebrated throughout the town.

The High Lord had been rumored to be a great lover. A strong male, large and well built, with shining green eyes and oh-so-pullable blond hair. The females he bedded had lived on cloud-nine for the first few days after the ceremony, and despite their lust-blown eyes and the contagious smile across their plump swollen lips, none had ever uttered a word about the male’s performance. They didn’t need to, though, as even a blind Fae could tell all they needed to from their blissed out state.

While the Spring Court males had never been too pleased that their sisters or daughters could be whisked away by the High Lord for an eventful evening, it was considered a blessing by the Mother herself, considering it was her magic that coursed through his veins that night and chose his partner.

But it hadn’t been the same in the past few years. Not even with all the years spent under the mountain - you’d still had that one night of freedom, where Fae wine and music spread across the Spring Court hills. A night of tears filled with the promise of freedom - someday. Tamlin had bedded a lovely brunette that last evening, and though seemingly possessed by a darker magic (perhaps due to the circumstances set forth by Amarantha) the female returned to the crowd with shaking legs.

But it had only gotten worse after that. After you’d been freed from the confines of the mountain, at the hands of that once-human female, you’d expected the court to return to its plush green, with magic in the wind and happiness in the air.

But then the female left - well, she was stolen.

And then the High Lord became unhinged.

Later, when it was found out that she’d up and all but left him for the Night Court - that she had willed for the High Lord of the Night Court to take her from Spring - Tamlin had broken completely.

War waged throughout the lands while he remained bastardized and miserable. Lucien, the Autumn Court emissary, had left as well. The High Lord was utterly alone.

Calanmai was skipped that year.

The harvests suffered. There was so little food to go around; the salvageable fruits and vegetables were sold at market for one hundred times their worth. There was once a point where money and gold were valued and traded for nearly as much, but you couldn’t even buy meat with three solid gold necklaces - at that time, if it wasn’t edible, it was worthless. Your small family had barely made it through the year, keeping to themselves and rationing soup and bread.

Rumor had it, Tamlin had been seen around lately. He was spotted lurking in the woods, his unmistakable green eyes glowed against the dark brush. Word had gone around suggesting he’d be back for this Calanmai. He would have to return for the magic to be restored in the lands - and it would make quite the return.

You were glad, hoping he’d retake control of the court. You all surely needed it. But the sight of your father boarding up the house only made your bones itch.

The male hadn’t been seen in human form in over a year.

He undoubtedly had built up an unquenchable thirst.

You sighed into your tea cup, rubbing the

furrow between your eyebrows.

“We should’ve sought refuge in the Summer Court,” you father grumbled, more to himself than either you or your mother. He dropped a nail, causing the heavy piece of lumber he was nailing over the final window to fall to the wooden floor with a loud bang. Your flinch caused some of your tea to splash out of your mug and onto your hands.

Your mother responded regardless: “And give them what in return, exactly?” It was the argument they’d been having for the past month: leave the Spring Court for the week of Calanmai and seek refuge in Summer. But with the poor yeild and nothing to offer in return for shelter, your mother did not think it would be a good idea. Though, your father argued it would be better to sleep on the beaches of the Summer Court than to risk the High Lord stealing you for Calanmai.

While the argument ensued in the living room, you wandered off into your bedroom, unable to listen to the same conversation they’d already had a million times over. You lit the candle beside your bed, grimacing at the wooden slats that had been nailed over your large window, the moonlight shining in only through the slivers of space between the boards. You knelt on the floor beside your bed, sighing as you read the time on the clock beside your bed: 9:07. You only had three more hours until this night came to an end.

You pressed your nose against your palms, held together in prayer as your elbows rested on the bed. You silently prayed to the Mother for an uneventful evening: that your home, your mother, your friends, and your neighbors would all be safe. You prayed that the High Lord regained his power over the court, prayed for a strong yield, and prayed that whoever he did choose the evening would make it out safe and sound.

Through the muffled sound of your parents’ argument outside your closed bedroom door, you heard the wind ruffling the leaves outside. The tree on the otherside of your window rapped against the glass, the bushes shaking wildly as they were stirred up by the wind.

You furrowed your brows as you rose and neared the wooden slats, unsure of the storm that was brewing up outside. But as you neared the glass, peering over the boards, there was a dark figure climbing through the brush in front of your window.

A pair of bright green eyes glared back at you, dark in color but shining brighter than the moon. You were frozen in place with a gasp lodged somewhere deep in your throat. He did nothing but stare at you, his large figure shielded by the leaves. His head was furry - wolffish ears standing tall above his head and glinting in the moonlight.

He radiated nothing but pure power.

You stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over the back of your skirts. As you steadied yourself, though, he took one step forward. As you moved back again, feeling for the bedside table behind you, he took another forward, his chest nearly touching the glass of your window. You watched ad his chest broadened with each heavy breath he took. The cold air swirled around his head, the air nearly freezing cold.

He raised a large hand and his fingers rapped against the window, no doubt feeling how thick the glass is. Then his eyes narrowed, staring at you between the gaps of the wooden boards. He made quick work to tear down the moat of sandbags and stones on the ground at the base of your window.

Without another look back at the half beast - you ran, calling for your patents.

But your shouts were drowned out by the sound of broken glass and heavy breathing, the male grunting as he tore through the wooden boards, breaking them right down the middle, ripping nails out of the frame.

You lurched for the door, running out into the living room, following your parents’ confused calls, shouting for help. But somehow, the male was faster, and as he was right on your heels, you took one look back before heading straight for the kitchen.

The male was build like a stone fucking wall, muscles coiling around his chest and arms, stained red from the cold air outside. He wore nothing but a pair of thick looking trousers, stained with grass and mud - unlikely to have been washed within the past year. His head was covered by a wolf’s hide, brownish in color, with glassy brown eyes. The jaw had been broken, such that the lower half of the jaw was missing, exposing the male’s face to you. The wolf’s teeth crowded his face, intimidating sharpness mirroring the Fae’s own fangs that he barred in your direction. His blond hair poked out around his jaw, mixing with the fur that flowed into the hood down his back.

The High Lord had come for you.

You screamed, rounding the corner hoping to find something to defend yourself with. As you scanned around the kitchen, unable to find anything, you heard your mother’s scream, and his footsteps indicating that he was closing in on you.

“Son of a bitch - ” you heard your dad call towards him, only to be met with a feral growl from the taller male.

Without another look back at your family, you ran out the back door.

Straight into the woods.

You went as fast as your feet could take you, using only the moonlight as a guide into the woods.

You couldn’t hear anything over the wind whirling past you, mixing with the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your pointy ears. You wove through trees and hurled yourself over boulders and fallen branches, praying to all the gods that you didn’t slip on anything. You didn’t know if he was running on his own two legs or on all fours. Nothing would surprise you, considering the rumors of the shifter male - more powerful than any other Fae… you had no doubt he’d catch up to you eventually.

But why hadn’t he caught you by now?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and pushed your legs impossibly faster, arms pumping at your sides to keep your momentum going, every so often shooting out beside you to keep your balance as you tripped over slippery rocks and fallen tree branches.

It felt like you’d been running for hours, though you knew he wouldn’t have let you - after all, there were only a few hours left of the night, the Calanmai magic had to be sealed in before midnight. You had never run so fast or so far; you wove through trees, looking for the godsdamned river that ran into Spring from the Autumn Court - but you couldn’t hear it, let alone find it. You’d twisted and turned around the trees so many times that you’d lost track of where you were. You couldn’t find any of the trails; not even the moonlight could light up the ground enough for you to track any Fae or animal footprints.

It was still so quiet behind you, maybe you lost him when you slid between the narrow spaces between the trees, surely his huge form wouldn’t fit. In the dark, though, you missed all the claw marks on the tree bark, where the High Lord had clawed his way through the thicket. His lips spread into a grin as he could hear your racing heart from where he ran behind you.

You gulped down a deep breath and your hands coiled into fists. You mustered the strength to tilt your jaw to the side, the moon lighting your sights just far enough in front of you to confirm there were no trees in front of you to run into.

Your legs kept pushing as your head turned, eyes darting out to the side to look for the pursuer.

Then he lurched.

Your breath caught in your throat as it felt like your heart stopped beating completely. He’d been shadowing your every move, no more than a step away from you this whole time. Two big hands grabbed your hips easily, his long arms barely having to stretch out to pull you into his chest. His warm palms pinned your hips to his own, your back flush against his naked chest as your feet left the ground and he came to a sudden stop.

You let out a winded groan, your chest and legs burning from the sudden stop - but your bare feet were damn near thanking the gods as they left the freezing ground, no doubt cut up and bleeding.

The High Lord took no more than a few steps forward before he set you back down on your own two feet, a strangled groan leaving your throat when the dewy leaves met your open wounds. You clawed at his forearms and the backs of his hands, panic suddenly flooding through you.

But he kept his hips pressed up against your ass as you lurched forward, trying to escape his grip. But he simply laughed, the rumble of his chest vibrating into your back as he mirrored your movements.

He was so warm, though, and the cold was quickly sinking into your bones as you were held in place. The thin layer of sweat that coated your legs and the back of your neck was starting feel like you’d been doused in an ice bath. The only thing keeping your teeth from chattering and your chest from convulsing was the beast of a male behind you.

He adjusted his grip, holding you across the waist with one arm, as the other slid over your skirts, drawing a long line down your leg until he found the hem and hiked it up over your hips. You screamed at his quick actions, one of this thick thighs found his way between yours. His pants brushed against the apex of your thighs, the sudden pressure between your legs causing them to squeeze around his.

“Scream all you want,” he growled, the sound of your panting only causing his cock to stir in his pants. “Nobody can hear you.” His breath brushed against your ear as he leaned in close to whisper to you. You shivered when his hips began to rut against you, building up in presesure that you rocked on your tiptoes when his hips jutted against your ass.

There had been years where Tamlin had looked forward to Calanmai, the magic coursing through his veins turning him into a completely different male. He used to love the sound of the female’s blissful moans and cries falling over him in praise as he bedded them for hours. He missed how they’d pull at his hair, how they’d promise him anything he wanted, that he could take them however he’d pleased.

And this was how he wanted you, heady, desperate, rocking back against him as your legs dared to curl around his, fighting for him to be even closer to you.

Tamlin grinned again, biting into the crook of your neck, right at the exposed flesh from the neckline of your dress. It was soft, just enough for his fangs to press against your skin, to which the gasp that escaped your lips almost had him sticking his cock into you immediately.

You felt the fur against your neck, the matted coarse hairs from the wolf hide he wore poking against your sensitive skin as he licked over the bitemark he’d just given you. Your knees pushed together, feet leaving the ground as you rocked against his thick thigh. Tamlin kept his vice-grip on your waist as the other hand pushed up your dress until it was hiked up over your back. He then curled his arm around your front, reaching over your hip and the mountain of skirts around your waist. He rested you on his thigh, your toes now barely grazing the ground.

It took all of your strength not to rock your hips back and forth against his leg.

And turns out you weren’t that strong.

The heat radiating off him was like a drug coursing through your body, and the only way to keep it flowing was by rubbing your cunt across his hard-muscled thigh. The friction of your undergarments against his pants was addicting.

Tamlin laughed at how eager you were.

He let you have your fun, tucking his hand down your front, fingers sliding between where your pussy was rubbing against him. You gasped, his cold fingers sliding between you legs, prodding at your clit as you shifted back and forth across him.

Your hands flew out to the tree in front of you, sharp bark digging into your palms. But you couldn’t feel it, you were just using it for balance so you could continue fucking yourself against him.

The High Lord practically moaned as you let out a shaky sigh, watching you work so hard to get yourself off - before he even started. He curled his fingers upwards, relishing in the cry that passed your lips when your clit brushed against his fingertips. He dared to move his hand further between your legs, hissing at the way your warm cunt tried to envelope his fingers even through your underwear. He swallowed hard, trying not to focus too hard on your ass brushing against his hard cock in his pants.

So with a few quick passes between your legs, he pulled his hand away abruptly, ignoring the strangled groan that fell from you as your hips faltered.

You were so close.

He lowered you down so your own feet held you up, promptly removing his leg from between yours. You practically whined, pressing your knees and thighs together, clenching around absolutely nothing as you fought to feel something - anything.

Tamlin wasted no time in grabbing all your undergarments and tearing them off you in one quick motion. You screamed, the cold air hitting you all at once, shocking your system. But before you could even register the feeling, you felt his nose press against your bare cunt, his long tongue swiping across your folds.

“Oh my gods,” was all you could gasp as your hips flew backwards, meeting his face as he opened his mouth and began his assault between your legs. He chuckled again, you felt his lips curl into a smile before he kissed around your clit and bit at the fat of your upper thighs. He licked at your clit, back and forth in a quick motion before licking up your slit.

He moaned at the taste, the first woman he’d had properly in years, even. He wasn’t planning on eating you out, the only thing on his mind was burying his cock as deep into your cunt as your body could take, but at the rate his dick was growing, he knew he’d have to loosen you up at least a little before that.

But as his tongue pressed up into your hole, feeling your warm walls, he knew that no matter how long he’d spent opening your cunt up, you’d still be so tight around his fucking cock. The taste of your juices mixed with his own filthy thoughts of bouncing you stupid on his cock had him groaning, the vibrations tickling your thighs that had esentailly trapped him between your legs, unwilling to let him go again.

Not before you came, at least.

“You like this don’t you,” he growled through barred teeth. “Want me to use you for the night? You didn’t run very fast, like you wanted me to catch you, huh?” You felt his lips moving against your pussy as he spoke. You bit back a response, all thoughts and words caught in your throat as he continued to work at your clit.

You pushed further into the bark of the tree as you pressed yourself back against Tamlin’s face. You felt the nose of that godsdamned wolf hood press against your ass, which had you grinding even further into your High Lord’s face. He fell to his knees behind you, running his tongue against your slit and clit as you fucked his face. His hands found purchase against your hips, grabbing at your ass and quickening your pace as your legs shook around him.

You felt his tongue curl up between your legs, flicking at your clit as you were left clenching around nothing, yet again. “Please,” you groaned, brows furrowed, crying out as his tongue swirled around your clit.

His brows rose at your first word spoken to him, a broken cry that was nothing but music to his ears. “Please what?”

He licked another long stripe against your pussy, stopping his previous movements until you answered. You groaned out, desperate for more friction - if rubbing yourself against his pointy nose was all you were going to get, you’d take it. “Please - your fingers, something - ” you gasped as he nuzzled his nose against your clit. “Anything.”

The High Lord laughed, smile broad as he nipped at the skin of your ass. “You’re not supposed to be the one telling me what to do,” he replied, as if it was obvious (it was - but you were desperate). But he smiled and landed a harsh smack against your ass, which burned against your cold skin, right before he returned the assault of his tongue against your clit.

His long fingers dragged up your tight and swiped across your enterance a couple times before he slid them right in your wet pussy, curling upwards against your walls. You both shared a moan, your warm walls clenching around his two cold fingers the moment he pushed them into you. Tamlin pushed himself forward, and you hiked your leg up high enough for him to turn underneath you, now sitting directly under you with his back against the tree you held yourself up against.

He worked his fingers up and down inside of you as he kissed at your clit, swirling his tongue around the nub. His eyes found yours as your head hung forward, and his emerald eyes practically glowed under the darkness of his hood. They were not the eyes of a Fae, no - the wolffish eyes with glowing iris stared up at you, watching your every move as he curled his fingers up into the gummy spot in your walls. Your eyes shut and your knees buckled as he continued his movements, tongue now sloppily licking anywhere he could reach before returning to your clit.

He shook his face back and forth, absolutely devouring you, and the nose of his fucking hide brushed against your pubic bone. With a cry, you squeezed your thighs around his head, practically falling onto his face just to feel his tongue against your clit even harder. It was a welcomed by the High Lord, as his fingers did not falter once as you rode out your high, throwing your head back with a loud cry.

He moaned underneath you, drinking up your sounds and juices as you fucked his face and fingers. But with no time to even catch your footing, the male was back behind you, standing up and hoisting you back to your feet. You kept yourself pushed up against the tree as his one arm held you like before, the other working to push his pants off. He kicked them away before taking a wide stance and tugging at his cock. He let out a shattered breath as he lined the tip of his cock against your wet folds, both of you crying out.

The High Lord kept his arm hooked around you as he nudged your clit with the thick tip of his dick, your legs nearly shutting around him in overstimulation. He nudged your leg with a bent knee, lifting his foot to kick your leg out from under you, spread apart from the other. He tutted at you, leaning forward so his chest pressed against your back again. “Legs open,” he growled in your ear. “You’re tight enough as it is.”

You couldn’t even comprehend his words as he slid the tip of his cock into your wet cunt. He grunted as he drove his hips forward, the wetness of your pussy letting him slide right in, though your walls squeezed him so tightly, and he had to grit his teeth and hold himself back from slamming his hips up into yours.

You squeezed you eyes shut and groaned, feeling his wide cock stretch your walls. You cried out as you tightened around him the farther he drove his cock into you. He moved back and forth slowly, allowing you to get used to his size, before he couldn’t take it anymore. His dick was so hard, he’d been waiting for this moment for years, the Mother’s magic surging through him like adrenaline in his veins.

So he fucked you like it - without so much as a warning, he slid out of you almost completely, so just his tip was catching on the enterance of your pussy. You arched against him, tilting your hips backwards to try to fuck yourself back onto his cock. Before you could get any farther, his hips slammed up to yours, his balls hitting your clit from behind.

You screamed out, as his cock practically pierced you, and he continued to fuck you at a rapid pace. He moved so quickly that you hinged forward, curling over his arm still secured around your waist. You lurched forward at each press of his hips, moaning each time his cock nudged that sweet spot inside of you.

Your arms had fallen from where they were holding you up against the tree, completely hinged in half as your fingers clawed at his arms - this time out of pleasure. Your legs were too weak as you clenched around him, finally giving out as they began to shake with your impeding orgasm. Tamlin’s other hand gripped your hip so that he held you completely against him, bent in half, as he continued fucking you, now so much tighter as your legs fell together under you.

The High Lord let loose a string of curses as you squeezed his cock. He held your hips up, your toes just barely brushing the ground as he fucked up into you. His breathing was ragged as his chest heaved, groaning as you tried to grab onto anything you could. He never lost rhythm as he drove into you, your slick walls allowing him to slide in and out of you with ease. Your head spun as it felt like he was just getting bigger and bigger the more he fucked you.

Tamlin let you fall to your hands an knees abruptly - to which you knew you’d feel the pain of more if you weren’t completely focused on the heat between your legs. He took a knee behind you, legs spread around your side to shove his cock back into you. “Fuck, how are you so tight still?” He muttered to himself as he continued to fuck you, faster now that he didn’t have to hold you up.

You used all the strength you had left to push yourself up and turn your head behind you to take in the sight of the High Lord absolutely wrecking your pussy. His skin was glistening in the moonlight, the muscles across his broad chest straining as he moved his hips so smoothly against yours. His hair fell over his shoulders, sticking to his neck with sweat. His face was conceleaed, only his lips and sharp jaw poking out from the wolf hide’s unhinged jaw. Your gaze fell down his chest to his taut waist, where the blond hairs underneath his bellybutton grew to surround his cock.

Gods, you knew he was getting bigger.

The base of his cock was so thick, you weren’t even sure it would fit inside you anymore. He moved you quickly on his dick, in and out so you slid down just half of his length. It was mesmerizing, truly, the High Lord thrusting in and out of you ferally.

Then he fucking smiled.

His white teeth barred in a devilish grin, fangs practically shining as you suddenly wanted to feel them bite into your skin.

Then he slammed his hips fully into yours as he pulled your waist back onto him, bottoming out inside of you.

You fell forward with a cry, the stretch of the base of his cock almost painful as your pussy tried to accommodate him. You felt him against your cervix, stirring up into your stomach. You rested your forehead against your arm, protecting your face from the dirt and ground underneath you.

Tamlin’s groaned, breathing a quiet, “That’s it, take it,” as you felt his large hand flatten against your back. In your folded position, you arched even farther against him, where he swore he could feel the end of the depths of your cunt. He kept you arched, which you almost struggled to break as he continued to fuck into you.

He leaned over, other hand ripping a line down your bodice with what felt like a sharp claw, tearing your dress from your skin - so you were just as naked as he was. He licked a broad stripe up your spine before burying his head into your neck and biting your shoulder. You gasped, his sharp canine teeth nearly breaking skin. He offered you a repreive, leaving open mouthed kisses across your shoulder and neck - undoubtedly marking you.

His leg hinged around yours, allowing him to hump into you as you fell forward underneath him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him, not with the force of how hard he was fucking you.

Like he read your mind - he pulled out of you quickly, his wet cock curling up against your cunt as he rutted against your folds a few times. Tamlin wanted to look at you just as much as you wanted to see him.

He gripped your hips and flipped you onto the cold ground so your back was against the fallen leaves and branches. He lifted your legs up so they were bent in the air, allowing him to slide right back in your ready and waiting cunt.

The hood he wore still covered his eyes, just his fangs visible. But you, on the other hand, were all spread out for your High Lord, so pliant and ready for his seed, writhing underneath him.

He truly didn’t know how much longer he’d last.

He knew you wouldn’t last, though, not by the looks of your blissed out face, mouth open and mews spilling from your lips. Your legs were shaking, and you were fighting the urge to wrap them around his waist, but again, like the damned male read your mind, he grabbed the meat of your ass and slid his hand around your thigh, curling them around him. He grinned like the fucking Cheshire Cat. Your hands landed on his shoulders as he leaned over you, hands planted on either side of your head.

He groaned, fucking you so deeply, body almost prone on top of yours now, cock going all the way into you. You met him thrust for thrust, locking your ankles behind him and using it as leverage to fuck yourself onto his big cock. He was close, meeting your quickened pace. “Desprate for your High Lord, huh?” He teased through clenched teeth. “Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how bad you want it.”

Oh you wanted it bad.

You were practically shaking as you continued to meet his thrusts, rocking your hips up and down. Tamlin’s eyes fell to your stomach, where he could see the indent of his cock poking through. He sighed at the sight, plump lips falling open. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, not as he felt his cock twitching and his balls tightening.

Your pussy was absolutely wrecked, stretched out to accommodate the girth of the base of his cock. You felt him rub against your walls, not an inch of your cunt untouched by his dick. Tamlin dropped a hand to your clit, feeling you struggle to take all of him. It became harder for you take his cock as your legs tighten around his waist, your pussy gripping down on his cock as you neared your orgasm.

Tamlin eventually lost all patience, slamming his hips into yours. You fell back completely against the ground, unable to hold yourself up any longer as your took his brutal strokes. He humped into you, his balls rubbing against your ass as he towered over you, fucking you quickly.

Your hips turned upwards and you took a sharp breath as the hairs at the base of his cock brushed against your clit. “You going to take all of it?” Tamlin growled, fucking you harder.

Your stomach coiled, legs shaking as you tried to shut your legs around him, but his body gave you no space to squirm around him. “Scream for my cum,” he moaned, falling forward and pressing his lips against your neck. “I know you want it. Tell me you want it.”

You did, so you screamed, crying out for your High Lord to fill you up.

He came as soon as you did.

His warm seed filled your cunt as he continued to fuck you, the lewed sound of your wet walls against his slowing pace made you shiver. His long cock was still nuzzled inside you as his hand drew up your waist and found its way up your chest. His fingers and thumb danced across your soft breast, swirling at your nipple before his hand danced along your collarbone and up your throat. He tilted your chin up, undoubtedly taking in all your features before his thumb swiped against your bottom lip.

He swore he’d never cum so much in his life. But never had he been presented with such a pretty pussy to fill up, one that would take him completely and be able to give all his seed to. You’d hold all of it - he’d be damn sure - as the swollen tip of his cock remained nestled deep in your cunt.

You were panting and twitching as Tamlin stilled completely above you, too enthralled in the feeling of your wet pussy coated in his cum to even try to pull out. His strong arms keep himself held above you, his face, shielded by the wolf hide, still only a few inches away from yours - but if you moved any closer, you’d certainly be knocked by the nose and teeth of whoever that once was. His blond hairs were clumped together at the ends, hanging over his broad shoulders, and you couldn’t see his eyes, surely dimmer now as the Mother’s magic was wearing out of his system, but you know they were glaring down at you from underneath the darkness of the hood.

The High Lord shifted, keeping his cock buried inside of you as he unhooked one of your legs to make room for him to slide down beside you in the dirt. You winced as he moved you, your pussy now beaten raw and sore as it shifts against the coarse blond hairs across his pubic bone. It’s the first time you’d heard his voice quiet, gruff but calm, as he murmured a quiet “Sorry.”

He moved for your hips to sit atop of his, his cock softening, but still far too big for it to slip out of you in this position. Your legs fell across his own, thick thighs shielding your softer ones from the hard ground. He tucked you in the crook of his arm, allowing you to rest against his chest.

His hood had fallen against the tree roots he rested against. It was your first look up close at him, the arch of his brownish eyebrows, the long pale eyelashes that rested along his high cheekbones when he blinked. His nose sloped into a sharp point and the hair framing his face was stuck to his bronze skin with sweat. You swore his chiseled cheeks were tinted pink, probably the cold.

You didn’t know that the male was actually just blushing, the feeling of your pretty eyes studying him made him nervous. Now that the haze fogging his mind had cleared, Tamlin was almost embarrassed with his actions, how he chased you through the woods and forced you against the cold hard earth. He’d never felt that way before - not in his many hundred Calanmai celebrations he’d had before. Perhaps he was a bit pent up, but maybe it was something about you that had him acting so primal.

You brought out the beast in him.

He clenched his jaw to keep himself quiet, unsure of what he should say - what would he even say to you after that? He usually never said anything to the females he bedded after the night was over, never had to - never wanted to.

You swallowed a shaky breath when his eyes met yours, and for the first time you’d seen him as a Fae male and not as a wolf. Those green eyes burned brighter than any leaf or flower in this forest. His gaze remained unwavering, almost in challenge. You bit your lip nearvously, his sights flickering down to your lips, now chapped and dry from the cold that swirled around the both of you.

He wanted to kiss you regardless.

But he figured he’d save that for the next time - when he’d hopefully be able to act like like a respectable male.

He studied you, and under the scruitiny of your High Lord, you spoke out nervously. “My parents wanted to seek refuge in the Summer Court.” You made no move, not to escape him nor flee the woods - if you could even find your way back home.

The High Lord scoffed, turning his head away to gaze up at the stars. His body remained still, one arm tucked under you, curling around your waist to keep your naked body flush against his own. The heat radiating off him kept you warm, both of you glowing through the thin layer of sweat coating your chests. His bright hair splayed out behind his head, blond locks mixing with the brown fur pelt that rested at the crown of his head and down his back. “To spare you of me?”

You would’ve missed the smirk that he fought hard to suppress if you hadn’t been staring at him to intently. His eyes danced across the constellations, studying them, and there was no doubt in your mind that he knew the names and stories behind each of them. His arm tightened around you, fingers gripping into the plush skin of your hips. You didn’t trust yourself to respond, just a nod of your head that he felt against the crook of his neck as you buried yourself further into him.

Tamlin licked his teeth behind his closed lips, barring his fangs but keeping them hidden from you. His voice was low when he responded, calm and confident: “I would have found you anyway.”

[some-sort-of-firefly]

For @tamlinweek day 2, I chose to focus on the prompt of Spring Mythology and Celebrations. In ACOTAR, religion does have a focus, but we are only told about how the priestesses are revered. We are told about the Mother, and we know there were Gods before her. We know they still existed, even, in Stryga, The Bone Carver, and Koschei, the Old Gods. But they can't have been the only things worshipped. So I researched some old Spring festivities, and also took inspiration from Throne of Glass celebrating Beltane, though I chose to follow SJM using the old Scottish Gaelic for Samhain (Samhuinn) in Throne of Glass, and I used the same origins for the Bealltuinn of the Spring Court. I also looked at Imbolc, and took inspiration from some of the tales I found about flowers and The Cailleach. Being a spiritual person who doesn't celebrate anything or anyone specific, it felt really peaceful to research into older stories. Ones from the part of the world that I'm so close, yet disconnected to. This was easily my favourite prompt to write. I've always loved the idea of Tamlain, and exploring them platonically was so much fun.

Title: The Court of Beauty and Bluebells Word Count: 3360 Relationships: Tamlin&Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra/Elain Archeron (Mentioned) Characters: Tamlin, Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra Tags: Mythology & Folklore, Pagan festivals, Friendship, Cultural appreciation

Read HERE on AO3

It was hard to explain. The court, his beloved court, had begun to bloom again when she moved in with Lucien. It was a temporary arrangement, but Tamlin remembered the day fondly. Elain Archeron was not the shrinking violet everyone had been led to believe. Not that there was anything wrong with being shy. He just hadn’t expected someone as vibrant as she was. Even at his worst - and he was there quite often - her smile made Tamlin want to wax poetic. Made him want to smile too.

To learn! Elain had declared her intentions at his door with a wide smile, as Lucien shrugged every so slightly, a fondness in his gaze as he watched her. Tamlin had blinked, and let them in. Mostly because it was nice to have a friendly face in his home again. He had still been confused by the time they’d sat for tea.

“I’ve only ever seen the Night Court. Since being Made, I’ve only been able to explore one court. And even then, I wasn’t learning about it. I was just… there.”

Tamlin had sat there, listening to her talk about her former contentment. The complacency. It was something he could see in himself to some extent. Of course, he had never been torn between his brothers. They had all despised him equally, mistaking his softness for weakness.

“They confuse Nesta’s sharpness for hatred,” Elain had replied to that sentiment, making Tamlin nod a few times.

He knew many fae like that. Kallias’ coldness was mistaken for apathy. Tarquin’s dreams for naivety. He found it was a cycle that many struggled to break. No one ever mistook Beron’s cruelty for insecurity (though it was), nor Rhysand’s protectiveness for controlling. They only saw the negative traits of those they thought weak as something else.

That was the problem, in truth. Tamlin hadn’t asked for details at first. But after a few weeks, he’d found himself sat with her while Lucien went for a hunt. Like old times. She’d started speaking first. Soft, and then with more power behind it. He’d heard the whispers on the spring breeze before now, but hearing Elain tell the story certainly felt more… real. Nesta. The oldest sister. Not once defended. Only ever seen as a threat, something to tame.

“Were you worried they’d hurt you?”

“I was worried they’d make me into what they wanted, without any input from me,” she’d said, in little more than a whisper, as if someone may overhear. “So I tugged on the bond, and I pleaded for a way out. Lucien was there the next day.”

Tamlin could understand that, honestly. If he had a choice, he, too, would seek out Lucien. His unyielding loyalty and unwavering bravery made him the perfect person to have around in times of doubt. And he knew Lucien was a good male, and he wouldn’t pressure the female to accept the bond. Content to get to know her first.

Wait–

“Do you prefer female, or woman?”

“No one has ever asked me that before… I think, as I am now, female is fine. I am fae, and that is something I’ve come to terms with.”

Tamlin nodded, female it was then. Frankly, it was easier for him, after so many years of using it. But he would have tried, had she suggested otherwise. Tamlin found himself glad that Elain had chosen to get to know Lucien. In part because it had brought her here. And that felt like something special. She was truly wonderful. And quite funny. And, since they had a wonderful crop of rhubarb, he got to enjoy all the treats she made with it. And Tamlin was never one to turn down rhubarb crumble.

“So,” he started after they’d found a routine. “You wanted to learn about Spring?”

“Oh, yes! I feel like I’ve barely had a chance to explore fae life, and if I’m going to live among the fae, I feel I should understand.”

They started with Imbolc. It seemed the most fitting. It was the first festival of the Spring Calendar, marking the beginning while Winter still held the strongest power of the seasonal courts.

He took Elain to the altar of Imbolc, standing in the field of Lus an Chromchinn. He could feel her delight at the sight, and as she laughed, he found his gaze drawn to her. She was so wonderful, and even the daffodils seemed to turn to her. Why wouldn’t they? She felt as perfectly warm as a spring breeze. Perfectly bright as a morning sun.

“Your laugh sounds like bluebells.”

She turned to him, doe eyed and curious as her head tilted. It was a moment that passed between them as she considered how to respond to that.

“Bluebells don’t make sound,” she finally replied. She sounded hesitant, though, as if he truly did speak the truth.

Tamlin’s gaze softened, but his smile widened. He forgot, that being Made, she never would have experienced the true scope of Spring. Especially since she had arrived at the height of its sadness. Of course bluebells made sound! Of course they did! Flowers had a wonderful place in Spring. But they’d have to wait, of course. The bluebells didn’t come out for a few more months. So Tamlin continued to talk to her about Imbolc. He went into detail about the traditions and beliefs. He talked about the Old Gods who used to roam the forests of Spring.

“You know of the Gods who sacrificed themselves in the war.”

Elain nodded. He wasn’t surprised. Everyone knew, now. The Weaver of the Woods, Stryga. The Bone Carver, his name lost to history.

“Sometimes, I even hear the whispers of Koschei on the wind. It seemed to have stopped since the visions had slowed down, though,” she had explained, voice low.

Tamlin had just watched her, sensing the shift in her mood, and he reached to touch her hand, offering a silent support. That sounded… concerning. Especially when there were whispers of more war on the horizon. When Koschei collected women with power. Held them in a lake. Cursed them. What would his magic do to one such as Elain? What would he make her See? No, if it came down to it. Tamlin would be there alongside her, alongside Lucien. The Deathless may try, but Tamlin could only hope that her visions would keep her one step ahead of those whispers.

But enough about Old Gods of other realms! They were here to learn about Spring. This wasn’t the time for him to lose himself in his thoughts. So he got back on track to the Goddess he had wanted to talk about in the first instance.

“They weren’t the only ones. Long before Prythian was known as such, there were Gods for all things. While we may primarily worship the Mother, it is good to remember the history, and that which hasn’t truly faded. Imbolc is the celebration of the coming of Spring. It lays between the height of Winter and the height of Spring. We pray for guidance on how to plant, and when we should do so. The Cailleach is one of those Gods whose names have tried to fade into obscurity. But the funny thing about Gods, is that they only truly die when we stop speaking of them.

“The Cailleach is the land, Elain. She is no mythical being to disrespect the Mother Creator of Prythian, for she existed before. She is fertility, She is death and rebirth. That is why She is the Goddess of Imbolc. She symbolises the bridge of Winter into Summer. She is Wind and Water alike, and She guides us into Spring by walking the world and granting us sight to the most fertile land. She aids our weather, to help our crop grow. Respecting the Old Gods does not mean to disrespect The Mother. But understanding that The Mother is not the only Goddess of Her type.”

Elain’s eyes were wide, filled with wonder as she contemplated the existence of Gods beyond her belief. But Tamlin just smiled, letting her absorb the information. He knew it would feel like a lot. But it also felt important to let her know about the Old Ways. Tamlin was far too young to recall the Old Ways, and only knew what had been passed down in history books and verbal retellings, but he did his best to make sure the origins of Spring were properly respected.

Part of returning Spring to its former glory was to make the traditions rise again. To fill his people with hope for the future. Just as their court was the home of rebirth, optimism, and hope, so too would Spring resprout from the ashes of war and return to them with a flourish like never before.

They held an Intention rite. The way Spring celebrated was with fields of candles among the Lus an Chromchinn, and the wrote their wishes and set them alight. They sent their intentions to the Higher Beings, and they sat among the nature around them. And for the first time since Amarantha, Tamlin heard the giggles of the Narcissae as they felt the magic flow, and he opened his eyes to watch them. He nudged Elain gently, and gestured to one of the daffodils. From the centre of the flower came a tiny creature, with clawed fingers and pollen dipped feet that glinted in the fading light of sundown. The Narcissae didn’t have hair, rather from their head they sprouted fine antennae that seemed to leave trails behind them.

He heard Elain gasp in delight, and he turned to her to see a group of Narcissae playing in her hair. He smiled, wondering if the key to Spring had been Her all along. Lucien was a lucky man.

Thankfully, the lucky man in question was not late. For when the sun went down, Tamlin smiled and raised his hands. The power of the High Lord of Spring shook the forest, and the trees granted them with a pile of loose and dead branches, which were promptly set alight by the Sun Sprites that came to celebrate. Imbolc was not a particularly loud celebration. It was a meditative time, and Tamlin closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Spring.

He felt warm like this, surrounded by… by friends. Perhaps teaching Elain about their holidays was going to remind him how Spring was meant to be, too.

As the season drew on, the bluebells blossomed, and with them came the perfect opportunity for Tamlin to show Elain what he’d meant that day when he commented on her laugh. He dragged Lucien along with them, because he did feel like he’d been neglecting his friend in favour of Elain, which was far from his intention. Besides, he thought Lucien should also see what he meant. She truly sounded like the bluebells. It was fast becoming one of Tamlin’s favourite sounds. It had been so long since he had heard laughter in his halls, and he’d made it his mission to find out what else could draw it from her.

He was lucky Lucien was so patient with him. He’d known some males who would tear his head from his shoulders for merely looking at their mates, bond accepted or not. But Lucien knew him better than that. He had no intention of trying to ‘steal’ Elain. Especially since he had learned that one couldn’t actually steal someone that didn’t want to be stolen. Feyre had not been kidnapped, and Elain was trying to see if she and Lucien would work together.

Tamlin thought it was a wonderful match. But perhaps he was biased, because seeing his best friend with his newest friend made his heart sing. The Fates worked in strange ways, after all. He wondered if they had known this would come.

They entered the Midspring, the central area of Spring which truly came to life in the months between their beginning and end celebrations. Tamlin let a breeze open up the waterfall they would have to step through, holding it for Elain, and grinning as he let the water cascade over Lucien, earning him a startled yelp and a string of curses that made Elain laugh. Wonderful. Tamlin grinned, stepping through the waterfall into the meadows. Towards the edge of the carpeted floor, the blooms were a soft pink, having only just opened. But deep in the centre, the world turned blue. And as Tamlin led them into the depths of the bluebell fields, he shifted, taking the form of a stag. To show off, really, as he pranced through the flowers, careful not to trample them, lest he upset the spirits.

Elain laughed, watching him, and Tamlin trotted over, and nudged his head between her and Lucien. He shushed them, and then lay down, inviting them to sit in the centre of a perfect circle left in the bluebells.

Silence, and then the breeze came through, and a gentle chime began to fill the meadow, the bells ringing together in a gentle symphony as they celebrated the return of the eastern winds. It had always been one of Tamlin’s favourite sounds. It was a beautiful, charming little noise that was most definitely echoed in Elain’s laugh. He heard Lucien exhale, and his head turned to his friend, inquisitive. When was the last time Lucien had relaxed like that? Around him, or at all? But he looked at peace here, in the warming sun with Elain against his shoulder and Tamlin laying at their backs, protective. Not that anyone or anything would disturb the sacred peace of Spring anymore.

It was easy to fall asleep like that, the three of them basking in the meadow as the sun filtered through the tops of trees, setting the world aflame. The chiming of bells, soft and constant like the spring breeze. The world, quiet and still outside of their little bubble.

Tamlin had missed these moments. He had missed being carefree and just existing in his court. He’d spent so much recent time trying to rejuvenate it after its fall that he’d failed to take the time to admire Spring for what it was. Paying special attention to the observances of the lesser fae and nature sprites really reminded Tamlin what he fought for.

“They used to say mortals who picked bluebells became faerie-led,” he explained later, after the sun went down and the wind turned a little colder. They were walking back to the manor, and he thought it a good time to share such tales. “Fae who found them picking the sacred blooms would judge their intentions. Those who only plucked the flowers for pure reasons, or children, would be led back to the outskirts of their villages, blessed by their newfound faerie guide. We believe in Spring, that the Children of the Blessed may be descended from those mortals, growing up with not entirely faithful accounts of benevolent fae.”

“And those with bad intentions?”

Tamlin faltered at Elain’s innocent question, peering back into those large eyes as he hesitated.

“Ah… That is definitely a story for another day, My Lady.”

Lucien rolled his eyes, and mentioned something about slavery that made Tamlin’s nose scrunch in distaste. But it wasn’t like it was secret history. It was practically recent history. Just because Tamlin hadn’t been directly involved in that first war didn’t mean he hadn’t learnt about it. He just preferred not to remember. His family had sided with Hybern then, after all. It was a reminder of what Spring had been before him. Elain was understanding though, and dropped the questions for now.

“What other flowers are important to Spring?”

“Bealltuinn!” Tamlin declared, as yet another bonfire soared towards the skies.

It was the midpoint between the height of Spring and the height of Summer. The second of their baton-passing festivals. And it was, personally, Tamlin’s favourite. It was loud, and animated. A real celebration of the nature sprites and what they had to offer.

But first, what they had to offer to them. They fetched milk from livestock, and whipped it into cream mixed with their wine from the previous year. They laid it out at altars surrounded by flowers. Sunflowers and sprouting dahlias. Alliums to zinnias. There was such an array of colours, and those only came from the mundane flowers. Those Elain would be familiar with. Later, as magic took the world, flowers from the world of fae would take their place at the base of the fire.

Tamlin led Elain to the altar with their offering, and he knelt by it and set his bowl in the centre.

“Bealltuinn celebrates The Maiden Goddess’ transition to The Mother. It’s a way to celebrate the nature sprites for all they give us. And it brings forth the true beauty of Spring.”

“True beauty?”

Tamlin grinned, and gestured behind him. In the west of Spring, the sun was setting, and it threw its rays into the Spring Crimsons and the Glitter Hibisci. The world was bathed in red through the petals, and the hibisci were plucked by children who sprinkled the delicate pollen through the hair of their friends and family. Tamlin bowed his head as a young, chitin-winged fae approached him with one of the flowers, allowing him to sprinkle the pollen into his hair.

“And some for my friends?” he whispered in suggestion.

The young male laughed, and called over some more Aurae over. Together, they sprinkled Elain and Lucien with the glittery pollen too, wings fluttering in excitement. They rarely got to play like this. Lesser faeries were still generally ignored, in spite of Tamlin’s best efforts of including them. And the Aurae were still considered such. Because they weren’t considered as ‘useful’ as the Illyrians, or the Peregryns. All because they were a peaceful people. Tamlin didn’t think it fair. But he couldn’t change perceptions overnight. He could keep trying.

Tamlin was sad to see them go, but they had plans to spend some time in Dawn. He couldn’t begrudge Lucien some time with Nuan, of all people. Though he would miss them terribly.

He still felt more and more like himself every day. He hadn’t felt so… light since Amarantha. It had been more than a dark time. But he was coming to the realisation that neglecting his court had not been the answer. He’d been too quick to reject that which he’d never wanted. He’d just needed a reason to reconnect with the land, and return to being a friend to his people. He didn’t have to be High Lord all the time anymore. He could just be Tamlin. And he knew he still loved his lands. He’d always loved them. He’d just forgotten how to help them thrive. Telling stories almost lost to time. It made him feel like he truly understood himself again.

He had Elain to thank.

As Elain and Lucien visited more frequently, the court kept growing. Even when they weren’t around, Tamlin could be found at various villages, in various forests. He could be found frollicking with fae children, and discussing prospects with adults. He supported businesses and trade. He enjoyed seeing his people flourish. And it was nice not to feel so lonely anymore.

When Vassa and Jurian visited, he felt even more grateful to Elain and Lucien. Sharing their friends with him as they were was such a kind gesture, and it did wonders for him.

Rhysand never visited. Neither did Feyre. And while he did, sometimes, find himself thinking about their former relationships, it was no longer with grief in his heart. Instead, he was finally able to look back fondly on his former partner, former friend. Some relationships were never meant to heal. And that was okay. As long as he didn’t let himself dwell on the negativity. He could remember the good times. He could reflect on his own faults and behaviours. He could move on. He didn’t need their blessings to move on. He needed his own.

Spring was alive once more. It had never felt more like home.

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