#harp fae

[artbyrichi]

This one was a ride but im glad i finished it! I think this piece is about joy of creation - as long as it makes you happy it`s worth it and you should percieve it no matter what, remember about that 💜

[trashbins-stuff]

Harp in the au >:D

Sorry if it look a bit bad im havinf a headache

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

would love your opinion of the newest episode of DW, if you get the chance.

HAHAHAHA YES I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS

Alright okay so

I only have one complaint, which is that that wasn't a faerie ring. You could still have the shamble, no problem, but it should have been over the top of an actual faerie ring, which should be a mushroom (or, at a push, stone) circle. Not some cotton that would blow clean off the cliff edge in three minutes.

HOWEVER

This is the first time I've seen Doctor Who do a time travel story using, not Doctor Who time travel lore and rules, but Welsh faerie rules. (First time I've seen anything do it, in fact.) In Welsh myth, people who enter faerie rings or get entranced by the music become suspended in time, out of sync with the real world. They think they danced for a night, but when they return it's been 100 years, and they crumble to dust as soon as they eat/drink/step on land/etc.

In this case, this is what I think happened to Ruby. She spent that time in Annwfn, seeing what would happen if the binding on the ring was broken. When she 'dies', she returns to the spot and lasts long enough to give her younger self the warning, then crumbles to dust.

But, a time travelling Ruby is not the woman who follows her throughout the episode. That, in fact, is a gwyll.

The gwyllion were hag faeries, usually of mountain tops (though Pembrokeshire's liminal cliffs are 100% from Welsh mythology - it was said that if you found a faerie ring on one but only put one foot in, you could see the faerie islands in the sea. And that faeries used to visit the human markets in Pembrokeshire and Ceredigion. So while gwyllion are unusual there, it's not an impossible relocation.) They were malicious and sometimes vicious faeries who delighted in making people lose their way, could strike an uncontrollable and ungodly terror into travellers, and who feature in more that one myth as an old woman that someone tried to approach, but they always appeared at the same distance away, impossible to catch up.

CAN YOU SEE THE PARALLELS

And the best part!! Is that this is why she defeats UNIT!!!

Kate tells Ruby that her agents have necklaces of silver and salt to keep out the supernatural, but that's just generic fairytale shit. That doesn't work on gwyllion. Salt drawn in a line would provide a barrier, but the UNIT soldiers aren't trying to trap or block the gwyll; they're trying to capture her. What works, very specifically, is a knife. Iron or steel for preference of course, but it needs to be a knife.

But UNIT has no Welsh employees and the soldiers have guns, not knives. And so they all become entranced.

(This is also what I think the gwyll 'says' to everyone to turn them against Ruby. She doesn't say anything - she sings.)

This is also the first time I've ever encountered any mainstream media doing Welsh faeries and understanding the tone to strike, which is 'unknowable, unstoppable and fucking terrifying'. I think I've only ever read it in Catharine Fisher books, and she's a Welsh author so... yeah, obviously. But I basically vibrated with delight and excitement for the entire episode.

Oh my god, hang on, Roger ap Gwilliam! Okay, I have two theories about him.

My weaker theory and the one I don't like is the kind of boring and obvious one, which is that he is himself not human. A lot of Welsh folklore features the devil, and I get that vibe from his role in the story. But, I'm not keen, because I can't see the link to the gwyll.

But my strongest theory, and the one I have chosen to believe, is that he's a human who made a deal with the Fae for power, and then reneged. There's a Metric Fuckton of stories about humans fucking up Fae gifts in some way, and the punishment is usually something ironic but always results in the loss of the gift. It could be a faerie harp that makes everyone dance, and the Fae tell the giftee not to abuse it, but they cruelly force everyone to dance so long and so hard that the faerie returns, takes back the harp, and then takes the human's ability to ever make music again, so example (by taking fingers or eyes or tongues as well, often.)

So I think Mad Jack strikes a bargain for power - but, then tries to abuse that power (nuclear war). But part of the bargain is that the Fae cannot approach him directly ever again. In the real world, they therefore tempt him into the faerie ring and bind his soul there, problem solved - until the Doctor accidentally lets him out, and gets his own soul stuck. Ruby, therefore, becomes the instrument through which they manage to take that power away once again - and then, her final Fae gift for her service is that they use the temporal anomaly of the faerie ring to send her back, at the end of her life, and give her a second chance. This time, with Mad Jack's soul left bound in Annwfn.

The fun part is, RTD is a writer who understands the power of not explaining everything and leaving some things up to the viewer's imagination, so none of this is ever going to be explained lol. But yeah, that is a gwyll. The moment she appeared, I said out loud "Oh holy fuck, gwyllion." That was a gwyll.

As a final observation, I loved seeing Siân Phillips, and I choose to believe they filmed those scenes in a pub because they could only get Siân if they agreed to just come to her local. The woman is a queen.

[crooked-crows]

I’m realizing any art on my profile is horribly outdated, so here’s a (dreadfully compressed) file of something more recent! Ft. @magpips’ Epona and Ainsald, as well as my bard Silas! (left to right).

[wingedblooms]

The dreams that are answered

When they were children, the Illyrian brothers dreamt of wielding the legendary sword, Gwydion, to slay wyrms and rescue damsels.

And the stars who listened answered those dreams. Feyre slew a wyrm and rescued Rhysand. Nesta rescued Cassian in their book and now, with the release of hofas, has slain a wyrm. These patterns tend to come in threes in Sarah’s writing, like a Welsh triad, so it wouldn’t be surprising if Elain defeated her own wyrm (or better yet, if it yielded to her, like the scaled creatures yielded to Bryce) and she rescued Azriel in their story.

The Starborn blades have been returned to the Night Court for a reason. Nesta has her own trove of blades, and Azriel clearly cannot carry them by himself…

He hasn’t even unlocked the full potential of Truth-Teller’s blade after possessing it for years.

Vesperus, the Asteri in the Prison, makes an interesting comment here that reminds me of the Illyrian brothers’ childhood games. She accuses the Fae of playing with weapons they don’t fully understand. Their minds couldn’t hold all the possibilities at once. But we do know someone whose mind might be able to hold multiple, if not all, possibilities at once: Elain, the seer.

It was Elain who appeared out of nowhere, out of shadow, with Truth-Teller:

She may have opened a portal into nowhere, the void, with her power (which, like the Harp, might influence time and space) while linked to Truth-Teller, allowing her to appear exactly where she was needed, when she was needed to protect her loves ones.

Our damsel made her moment with a legendary weapon count. And it wouldn’t surprise me if we learn that—with her heightened, Cauldron-blessed senses—she can hear the blades singing to each other, tugging at her hidden powers.

And perhaps, when they explore the powers of those legendary blades together, Elain and Azriel will open a portal and travel the space between to places she’s only seen in her dreams.

Because the stars do listen—and dreams are answered.

Special thanks to @willowmeres, @offtorivendell, and @psychologynerd for their inspiring reactions to and thoughts about these connections.

[milswrites]

Can I have this dance?

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Summary: Lovingly trapped in a moment on a roof in the Rainbow, you and Azriel take advantage of the little time you get alone, enjoying your evening together until dawn makes her appearance.

Warnings: Just cuteness!

Notes: Don’t know why this made me feel homesick for a place that isn’t real. (I definitely didn’t base this off the song from High School Musical 3 👀🫣)

Life couldn’t get any better than this. You had just shared in the most magical evening with Azriel. The delectable meal at his favourite restaurant , secretly hidden down one of the narrow, twisting streets of the illuminated city. The blissful walk along the Sidra, hands entwined and swinging between you as you spoke about everything and nothing all at once. Then finally to end your evening the perfect view of the rainbow, enjoyed only by you and the shadowsinger, hiding away on the roof of Feyre’s studio, not yet wanting the most wonderful of nights to come to an end.

So here you were, sat together on a blanket Azriel had materialised from his shadows, your head resting against his shoulder as you admired the scene. Eyes closed softly as you appreciated the humid kiss of the evening breeze against your cheeks, ears perked as you listened to the bustling streets below. Friends laughing with friends as they crawl out from the rustic bars, ready for an exciting night ahead in the clubs of Velaris. Artists calling out enticingly, attempting to squeeze in a few more sales from the interested public before they packed up for the night. Velaris was a city full of life. The rising of the moon, and the dotting of twinkling stars appearing in the inky sky, called its people from their homes like a sirens song.

You and Azriel had always been wallflowers, preferring to sit back and absorb the moments you were in. So being here, sat only with each other for company on the silent roof, heightened senses taking in the sights, smells and sounds from the streets below, was your idea of heaven. You mainly sat in comforting silence, though Azriel occasionally released a low rumbling laugh from his chest, pointing out a poor fae who had drank a little too much and was struggling as they stumbled wildly down the cobbled streets. Or you would gasp in adoration each time a dog ran by, tongue hanging out as its tail wagged happily. You were watchers and this was the perfect place to observe.

Hypnotised, you were unsure just how long you had been sat there entwined together, the night sky being your only guide as to what the time was, hundreds of stars now shining in the night sky. The vendors had all taken their leave, wheeling their lightened carts away as their places were taken by musicians and performers seeking to make a few coins and share their passion with the keen citizens of Velaris, who were all too willing to stop and watch as if they had all the time in the world.

Which it felt like you did, you and Azriel sat here on the roof trapped in your little moment with no concept of time. It was almost as if you were merely figures in a painting. Too enticed by the transfixing tug of the city that was Velaris. The only thing that could ruin your enjoyment would be the rude interruption of dawn breaking, and so until then you would absorb this picture in its entirety.

The wind carried a melodic tune from the streets which you overlooked. The airy whistling of a flute accompanied by the harmonic pull of a harps strings. It was the type of music you liked to imagine the gods would listen to, the skilled musicians drawing all kinds of emotions from you through their beautiful symphony.

Azriel, who had always been appreciative of good music, softly hummed along to the tune, his voice beautifully harmonising with the notes from the instruments below. Captivated, the song made you sway softly, continuously brushing against the shadowsinger’s shoulder as you did so.

Gleeful giggles joined the orchestration, you could almost feel the vibrations of the joyful sounds as the wind gently blew them towards you. Curious, you moved from your comfortable position to lean over the edge. Still humming contentedly, Azriel absentmindedly shot out a reassuring arm to hold onto your own, ensuring that you wouldn’t topple over the ledge, interrupting the magic that was being produced below.

You peered over, merriness filling your eyes as you watched couples, both young and old, joined together in an enchanting dance. Arms embracing their lovers as they swayed to the mesmerising tune.

You squealed at the sight, hopping excitedly to your feet as you wanted nothing more than to do the same, Azriel lurching forwards in fear at your sudden movement. The male stilled as he saw you were alright, eyes glancing in confusion to the open hand you were holding out for him to take.

You chuckled at his furrowed brows marring his handsome face, his thoughts still lost to hypnotising rhythm of the music. “Dance with me” you grinned, waving your arm about energetically as impatience flooded your system, wanting to start the dance before the melody came to an end.

A matching smile crossed his face as he placed his hand in yours, “I’m not much of a dancer” he nervously mumbled, afraid to disappoint you with his skills, or lack thereof. Mustering all the strength you could you pulled the male up from the floor, “it doesn’t matter Az, all that matters is you, this. Right now.”

You raise your entwined hands just as you saw the elder couples doing below, resting your head on Azriel’s chest as you wrapped your other arm round his muscular back, the male following suit and doing the same to you.

Taking the lead you began to sway in time with the tune, taking small steps which Azriel copied, his eyes locked onto your feet to ensure he didn’t step on them. Briefly, you removed your hand from his back just to take him by the chin and move his face to meet yours before returning it to its original position, his golden-amber eyes which were fogged by lust meeting your own.

Gaining confidence as his eyes bore into yours, Azriel began to guide you, steps widening as the two of you began to move around the roof, spinning together in broad circles, allowing the moment to take over and let your bodies do all the work. He raised your joined hands, allowing you to twirl under his arm, being mindful not to bump into his wings which were slightly curled around you both in your embrace.

You moved fluidly, two shadows dancing together under the moonlight, the powerful music controlling your movement. It was an elegant mess of unplanned yet coordinated spins and dips, Azriel doing whatever felt right at the time, allowing his instincts to work for him. He drew you into a deep dip, your back arching over his supportive arm as he did so before lifting you back up and spinning you in a circle once more, pulling you close to his chest after you were steadied on your feet.

Beginning to run out of moves, both your arms drifted up his body until they locked around his neck, his own hands coming to rest at your waist. You resumed the gentle swaying, head pressed against him feeling the vibrations in his chest as he once again began to hum the melody as you moved.

You continued this dance until the music began to fade, still making the small steps even after the last note rang out through the wind, too enthralled by this perfect little scene shared between you. Enjoying the rare time you get alone when you are both off work and aren’t joined by your family - as much as you loved them.

And so the dance didn’t end with the song. The sound of your steady steps against the roof echoed until dawn finally made its appearance. The two of you still tangled in your enveloping embrace until the sun had long since risen. Allowing your perfect night to carry through into a beautiful new day.

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

Notes: literally had this idea and wrote it in an hour as I was just too excited

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

The real insult, Edgin thought, as the rest of his mind turned to jelly, was how fucking small the dragon was.

This was his first encounter with a faerie dragon, and he hadn't taken the whole thing very seriously. A bright green dragon no larger than a cat, cooped up in some miller's chimney? It barely felt worth the coin, not that he told the miller that.

The dragon, however, had other ideas. They'd managed to wrangle it outside thanks to some keen shapeshifting from Doric, but as soon as she'd gotten it through the front door and into Ed's arms it had hit him with an enormous blast of glittering fae magic.

Ed was no stranger to Euphoria Breath - there were bars in all the seedier spots of Neverwinter that sold a concentrated hit of the stuff for a reasonable fee - but he'd never had it straight from the source.

The last lucid thought that passed through his head before his knees hit the floor was oh, this is pretty good.

They gathered around the stricken bard, no one keen to get too close. No one had any idea what to do.

“I’m sure Xenk has something up his sleeve,” Simon said, pleadingly. “Right, Xenk?”

Xenk gave him a long look. “I assure you,” he said, “the only thing up my sleeves is my arms.”

From the floor, Ed made a choking noise.

“He speaks!” Xenk was beside him in a blink, grabbing his shoulders. “Speak to me, my dearest friend, or has some foul scourge taken thy tongue?”

Ed stared at him, unfocused. Behind Xenk’s shoulder, Holga rolled her eyes. Ed opened his mouth.

“Speak!” Xenk commanded.

“Wh—”

It was no more than a broken whisper. Xenk moved closer. “What is it, my friend?”

“Where—” Ed took a deep breath that collapsed in upon itself. His eyes had gone red, watering with the effort of speaking. “Where does— where— Xenk—”

“Yes, Edgin?”

Ed hauled himself to his elbows unsteadily. “Xenk…”

“I am with you.”

“Where…” he took another, gasping breath, like a man drowning. “Where does Xenk keep his armies?”

Xenk blinked at him. He had never had the honour of command, nor did he have the inclination.

“Your mind has been rattled by the scourge,” he said. “You must rest, and hope that you may—”

“Up his sleevies!”

Holga burst into snorting laughs. Ed looked thrilled, laughing until tears rolled down his cheeks. Even Doric began to giggle.

“I—” Xenk was lost. “I am not sure I understand your riddle, Edgin.”

Edgin clapped his shoulder, gripping tight. “Up his sleevies,” he breathed. When Xenk did not respond, he slumped back down with a groan.  “Fucking harp—”

And then he swooned clean away.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Ruler of the Abyss.

Kneel to the Thorn Fairy, who shall make manifest one’s dreams—the wishes made by the heart.

He promises happy endings for all. Woe to those who doubt and defy his vision.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Alone.

He has always been alone.

But alone he is no longer—not when he is in his castle, surrounded by hordes of his people. He will never be alone again. No one will, all thanks to his efforts.

Never, never, never.

Malleus easily traverses the thorn-crusted lounge, floating across them like a specter. The bodies of school staff and fellow students lie limp in chairs and couches. Eyes closed, chests rising and falling rhythmically.

As he passes, he runs a hand along their scalps. Brushing their hair, patting their heads. Tender touches wishing them well.

Here is a king's domain, and here are his subjects. He, the dragon guarding his trove of invaluable treasures.

Malleus turns to face his captive audience, arms spread out toward them. “Today is something of a special occasion: Night Raven College’s Founding. I do believe this warrants a celebration—and, of course, all are invited to the festivities.”

A wave of magic washes over the room. Conical party hats manifest on each person's head, decorations appearing from thin air. Banners drape across the walls, streamers spill from black-clothed tables laden with food, and balloons tuck into the corners, safe from the needle-like thorns.

He projects applause, stunned oohs and aahs. Here, he is not a monster, but fellow man.

"Hmm, we're still missing something." Malleus strokes his chin, deep in thought. He snaps his fingers. "Ah, that's it! Music. It's not a proper party without any music."

With the wave of his hand, he summons a series of floating instruments. Bass, cello, viola, violin, harp, each bathed in an eerie green glow. They start playing by themselves, as if being handled by skillful, invisible hands.

Soft orchestral song fills the venue.

The guests rise, puppeted by the strings of his magic. Thorns on the floor retreat, allowing his peers to spill over onto the area repurposed for dance. Heads loll over--Malleus frowns and fixes them.

"There we are."

A glittering assemblage.

He smoothly conducts the bodies into neat pairs.

A waltz, he thinks, is ideal. It is also one of the few forms of dance he is familiar with. A waltz it shall be.

Palms link, fingers intertwine. Hands upon shoulders and upon backs. And then they are set to the hypnotic swing of the music, slow and sweet and intoxicating, like a steady drip of honey into one's mouth.

Malleus threads past the avid dancers and to the one person that has not been matched. The little bat who had almost flown away, far out of his grasp.

"Lilia," Malleus breathes raptly, "look at how happy everyone is. No one was left out. No one was forgotten. No one has to be alone anymore."

With this gift... my blessing... I've protected their smiles.

The duty of any Draconia.

He's proud--elated--but Lilia, alas, does not share the sentiment. Instead, the ancient fae wears a placid expression, eyes sewn shut. The same as all the other guests.

Malleus chuckles. No one hears it but himself.

"How exciting your dream must be. Action and adventure, at the best of your strength... I'm afraid this humble gathering cannot compare."

He’s sure Lilia would agree with him, were he awake.

“Never mind that," Malleus says, dispelling the thought. No more what ifs, only there ares. "Would you care for food? You'll need to keep your energy up for the celebration--it just may last all night."

He beckons with a finger, and a platter with a large cake hovers over. It is an extravagant seven layers, each a different flavor. Details are piped on in buttercream icing, invoking the image of each dormitory. A chocolate raven, wings open and prepared for flight, crowns the dessert.

A cake knife slides into Lilia's hand. His fingers slowly closer around the handle. With Malleus's guidance, he cuts into the topmost layer--Diasomnia--of the cake.

Something thick, red, and sticky leaks from the insides. The knife is coated as it is pulled back, freeing a slice. The violet crumb is fine, the frosting neon green with a dark chocolate drip.

Devilishly decadent.

"Come, you must try this," Malleus insists, stabbing a fork into the cake. He stuffs the bite into Lilia's mouth--but it doesn't stay, just rolls out and lands with a squishy splat on the ground.

Malleus eagerly waits for Lilia to beam at him, to praise him for its deliciousness.

It never comes.

Malleus laughs as though Lilia has responded as he imagines him to. He's drunk with delirium.

The strings abruptly screech, the dancers ceasing in their revelry.

He lets the unfinished slice fall. The plate shatters, reflecting one hundred Malleuses, one hundred Lilias. So many realities, and yet this is the one he has been dealt.

He guides the corners of Lilia's mouth upward, forcing a smile.

"Happy Night Raven College Founding Day," Malleus whispers, "and may you all have the sweetest of slumbers."

To his guests, to Lilia, to himself. And to the world that will soon be joining them in this delightful, never-ending dream.

Raising a hand, he unleashes fireworks from his palm. They explode in wild shapes and colors, emitting warmth and dazzling lights. The display is beautiful but fleeting--long shadows running along the walls before they blip out of existence and return to the darkness.

Every dream is like a firework, he surmises. A fiery flower frozen in time at the height of its bloom. They shall never wither nor fade.

Malleus reclines into his seat--a spiked and scaled throne, mounted high above the party venue. A lone king, untouchable.

Seated upon a mountain of lies, he looks out at his twisted kingdom. It’s a scene of his own creation, props lovingly places and toys carefully posed, acting out situations in his head.

The average school day at Night Raven College: students bickering, teachers watching over them. They see him, smile and wave. Talk with him, invite him.

Stay with him.

A loop playing, forever and ever.

Malleus sighs contentedly.

This is his happily ever after—from now until the end of eternity.

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 1

Notes: This is set after the canon events of ACOSF when Nesta and Cassian go to the Prison. Instead of opening the wards to the cells, she ends up in Lunathion. Bryce doesn't exist in this universe and no magic language beans are required.

Nesta could not do more than twitch her fingertips as an invisible, oppressive weight bore into her, like it’d flatten her into dust upon the starry ground of the strange chamber in the Prison.

Let go, she silently bade the Harp, gritting her teeth, fingers brushing over the nearest string. Free me, you blasted thing.

A beautiful, haughty voice answered, full of music so lovely it broke her heart to hear it. I do not appreciate your tone.

With that the Harp pushed into her harder, and Nesta roared silently. Her nail scraped over the string again. Let me go!

Gone was Cassian’s voice. He was kept out by the wards, witnessing it all.

Shall I open a door for you, then?

Yes! Damn you, yes!

It has been a long while, sister, since I played. I shall need time to remember the right combinations…

Don’t play games. Nesta chilled at the word it had used. Sister. Like she and this thing were one and the same.

The small strings are for games—light movement and leaping—but the longer, the final ones … Such deep wonders and horrors we could strum into being. Such great and monstrous magic I wrought with my last minstrel. Shall I show you?

No. Just let me out.

As you wish. Pluck the first string, then.

Nesta didn’t hesitate as her fingertip curled over the first string, grasping and then releasing it. A musical laugh filled her mind, but the weight lifted. Vanished.

And then everything swirled around her like she was being sucked down a plughole into a vast emptiness. The stars on the floor span, turning white with their speed.

Nesta clung to the Harp as wind whipped her face. She was falling – but into what, she didn’t know. It reminded her of the Cauldon, that endless dark, the never-ending cold. Nesta drifted through space and time until she plummeted downwards.

Her body hit stone, taking the wind out of her.

Nesta blinked, trying to right herself. The lights around her were blurred but there was noise – chatter and distant music.

A bright light came towards her. A long, blaring sound pierced her ears. There was a screech and the light stopped feet from her body curled on the stone.

‘What the fuck,’ came a female voice.

Something slammed and footsteps sounded. ‘Are you alright? I nearly hit you. You landed in the middle of the road.’

‘Move back. Official 33rd business,’ a male voice said.  

Nesta was shaking. The bright lights were still in her eyes. Her hip and leg throbbed from the landing.

‘She’s armed, Hunt,’ somebody said.

The male who’d spoken gave a wearied sigh. ‘Ten minutes left of our shift and a fae has to leap in front of a car.’ He stepped closer to her. ‘Hands up. Don’t reach for the sword.’

Something silver and metallic was pointed at her by his hands. The male was fae. Or, looked it. He had wings similar to the Peregryn that she’d met in the Dawn Court with beautiful, grey feathers. Across his brow was a tattoo. Sable hair hung to his shoulders. The other male was slightly shorter with white feathers and fair hair.

Neither was dressed like anybody she’d seen before. Their clothes reminded her slightly of Illyrian leathers but the materials were different.

Nesta looked around, now that her eyes had adjusted to the light. Nobody was dressed in familiar clothing. People had small rectangles in their hands bearing lights and sounds. The fair haired male tutted and started moving them off, saying she was not a spectacle.

‘I’m going to need you to slide that sword over to me in its sheath. Do you understand?’

Where was she? This wasn’t Prythian.

Where are we?

The Harp refused to respond to her, going mute in this strange, new world.

‘Hey,’ the male with grey wings said, not unkindly. ‘Slide it over now.’

Slowly, Nesta reached for Ataraxia and pushed it across the smooth stone towards him. He kept his metal object pointed at her as he bent down and slung her sword over a shoulder.

‘Now your instrument.’

The other male had returned and collected that. He turned it from side to side, examining it. The first handed the sword to him. ‘Fly those to Vik. Get her to run her tests on them. I’ll bring her in.’

***

Ten minutes. That was all they had left after seven days straight. Hunt was looking forward to a glorious day off but Logan had said they should walk back to the 33rd rather than fly. If they flew, they still likely would have seen a female fall from the sky, but they could have pretended it didn’t happen and finished their shift on time. Now, it meant hours of questioning plus paperwork for what he guessed was an undocumented fae who’d rocked up in Lunathion.

The female in question seemed compliant thus far. Hunt hadn’t cuffed her. She was a skinny thing that couldn’t overpower him. From the spike of her ears, she was fae, not human. After basic questioning, they’d likely call in the captain of the aux from the fae side – and Hunt planned to be in his bed by then. Technically, this female had done nothing wrong except fall from the sky with a sword and nearly be hit by a car. It was strange enough though that Micah would demand their heads if they hadn’t brought her in. He was off in the north, summoned by the Asteri. Peace for once.

‘Where are you taking me?’

He kept his hand clasped around her upper arm as they walked. ‘To the 33rd.’

She frowned. ‘The 33rd what?’

Hunt glanced at her. ‘Legion.’

How had she never heard of the 33rd? Who the hell was this?

‘Are you fae?’

She must have hit her head hard. Hunt ushered her along, surveying her for obvious injuries as they went. ‘No. Malakim. Definitely not fae.’

Her silver eyes stared at him then at the ground, processing something. A med-witch would need to see her to remove her concussion.

Hunt led her to one of their interrogation rooms. The white walls looked yellow beneath the lights and she shielded her eyes from it. It was protocol to at least chain her to the table to prevent her from running, but from the bewildered expression on her face, Hunt couldn’t do it.

‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘Coffee?’

‘I’ll get you a coffee,’ he said, offering a tight smile as he backed out of the room.

He met Isaiah in the corridor.

‘Viktoria’s already working on the items. Both are definitely imbued with magic,’ he said by way of greeting. ‘Logan’s filled me in. Fell from the sky?’

‘Yup. Literally.’ Hunt pressed the coffee cup into his hand. ‘I don’t think she knows what coffee is so good luck.’

Isaiah gave a short laugh. ‘Do you think she’s one of the Avallen Fae?’

‘I have no fucking clue where she is from. Another planet by the looks of things.’  

Naomi was waiting behind the interrogation room, computer at the ready. Hunt waited behind the screen of glass too as Isaiah introduced himself and put the cup of coffee in front of her. From the thin frame, Hunt should have grabbed her a snack too. She wore leathers like she was about to do battle. The sword would explain that too – but not the instrument. It seemed to be a common theme that swords were toted by pricks in Lunathion, however this female seemed not too bad so far.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Nesta.’

‘A last name?’

‘Archeron.’

Naomi’s fingers flew over the keyboard. ‘Not a single Archeron in history. Or a Nesta.’

‘I don’t think she’s lying,’ Hunt murmured. It would be a strange name to make up. Better if she gave a common one.

Isaiah spoke gently. ‘What house are you aligned with, Nesta?’

Nesta blinked a few times then, ‘Uh. The House of Wind.’

There was another click of keys beside him then Naomi drew a blank again.

‘What can your magic do?’

‘I don’t have magic.’

‘Why do you have a magical Harp?’

‘I’m a bard.’

The delivery was so flat from Nesta that Hunt couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

Isaiah’s wings flexed at the table. ‘Will you play for me?’

Nesta inspected her nails. ‘I don’t play for free.’

‘What’s the sword for?’

‘When people don’t pay me,’ she quipped.

This female had woken up and found her dry sense of humour then. Hunt examined her through the glass. She didn’t look like the fae of Lunathion. The majority had the same colouring as the king – red hair, tanned skin. Others were brown-haired. The prince was a rarity with black hair, but not unheard of. It tended to be the Avallen fae who were blonde. She certainly fitted the description for now with a limited knowledge of technology; she’d stared at everybody’s cell-phones with utmost confusion. But even Avallen fae knew how to use technology when they left their misty isles.

‘Which king did you pledge allegiance to?’

At that, Nesta gave a harsh laugh. ‘None of them and I never will.’

‘Who is the king of Avallen?’

‘Fionn,’ she said, brandishing her hands in the air with disinterest.

‘Danaan is here,’ a voice said over the intercom. ‘Sending him down.’

Ruhn Danaan was captain of the fae auxiliary unit and exemplified what it meant to be a fae prick. One day, he’d also be their king. And Hunt could not stand him.

He swaggered in, tongue flicking against his lip-ring. ‘This better be good, Athalar.’

Hunt gestured to Nesta Archeron currently stonewalling Isaiah as he attempted to interrogate her on her origins.

‘Don’t know her,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Wish I did.’

‘Is she one of the Avallen fae?’

‘No idea,’ replied Ruhn in a blasé tone. Hunt could stink alcohol on him. Likely the prince had been with his little pals doing what they did best and partying until dawn.

Sensing his frustrations, Naomi stepped in. ‘She fell from the sky. There’s no record of her family name in the history of Midgard. Nesta isn’t aligned to any house, seemingly has no knowledge of Lunathion. She cannot name either fae king – but did mention Fionn. She came with a sword imbued with magic – and a Harp.’

Ruhn finally took notice. He leaned closer to the glass, nose almost touching it. ‘Her eyes are silver.’

‘A fascinating conclusion, Danaan.’

‘Let me talk to her.’  

It was Isaiah’s call so he allowed the prince into the interrogation room, claiming that not only was he fae royalty which gave Ruhn a pass to do what he liked in the city, but also a member of the aux. When he entered, Nesta knew him. Her eyes went wide then she stared down at her lap, murmuring something to herself.

‘Hi,’ said Ruhn who turned the chair around and leant his chest against the back. ‘Your coffee’s going cold.’

Nesta raised the cup to her mouth to take a sip then promptly spat it back out. ‘That’s vile.’

‘Need sugar?’

She folded her arms across her body. Anybody else would have called for their lawyer now or asked what they were being charged with. The thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Nesta seemed more interested in the security camera and even the lights above her head.

‘Are you high fae?’ she asked Ruhn.

‘I’m fae,’ he said. ‘Vanir. What other Vanir do you know?’

Nesta swallowed. Eventually, she suggested, ‘Illyrians?’

Ruhn gave an encouraging nod and lied that he knew them. Beside Hunt, Naomi was doing her best to search for the term.

‘Who else?’

‘Peregryns.’

‘Yeah. Peregryns.’ Ruhn gave another nod. ‘Those big birds that brought you to the 33rd. What are they?’

‘Malakim.’

Which she only knew because Hunt had told her.

‘What’s Sabine?’

‘I don’t know her,’ she replied.

Well, shit. She definitely was not from Lunathion because everybody knew Sabine, unfortunately. Naomi’s laptop made a pinging sound. ‘Toxicology report. Nothing in her system. Not even a drop of alcohol. Definitely no drugs.’

On arrival, the on-duty med-witch had given her a once over but had not found any major injuries beyond a few bruises from her heavy landing.

Isaiah drummed his fingers on his watch face. ‘We can’t hold her for anything. By rights, we’ve held her longer than necessary with nothing to charge her for.’

‘She’s clearly not from here.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I’m reluctant to call Micah back until we have full specs on the items that she brought with her.’

‘We can keep those for a week,’ said Naomi.

Ruhn emerged from the room, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his long, black hair. ‘She’s fae. Definitely. No idea where she’s from though.’ Ruhn pulled out his cell.

‘Calling daddy?’

He threw Hunt a grin. ‘Not a chance. I’ll keep her at mine.’

‘No,’ said Hunt with a snort. ‘Do you think we’ll hand over a disorientated female to you and your little pals?’

‘Careful with what you’re insinuating, angel.’

Isaiah cleared his throat. ‘Until we know more, Nesta Archeron is a free citizen of Lunathion, not under anyone’s jurisdiction.’

‘She’s fae,’ Ruhn insisted. ‘She answers to my father.’

‘You didn’t hear her, Danaan,’ Hunt said, fighting the grin from his face. ‘She’s pledged allegiance to no king and never will.’

‘Hunt, discharge her. Ruhn, I wonder if you could take a look at the sword,’ asked Isaiah, guiding the prince out of the room.

Hunt cared little for the fae but he wasn’t going to send a lone female who had no clue where she was to the Ruhn Danaan home for parties and orgies. He took up Ruhn’s vacated seat, also sitting backwards on it at the table. Nesta watched him closely.

‘How do you know Ruhn?’

‘I don’t,’ she replied, voice clipped.

‘You looked like you did.’

Nesta furrowed her brow. ‘I thought he was somebody else.’

Hunt nodded his head towards the cup. ‘You didn’t like my coffee?’

‘It was foul.’

‘Oof. No offence taken.’ He began writing out her discharge forms, explaining them to her as he wrote. It would go under a section two; the 33rd reserved the right to question any citizen at any time without reason or without consequence. Anybody from Lunathion would have kicked up a fuss over how long they’d been held for. This one had no cell, no purse, no identification, literally nothing on her person so she likely didn’t know her rights. ‘You can collect your items in a week.’

That was if they found nothing they could charge her for.

‘A week? I need the Harp.’

‘Playing in a tavern?’

Hunt glanced up at her then jerked back. Her eyes were swirling. They looked as if silver flames were trapped within, writhing to get to the surface.  

‘You’re free to go, Nesta. I’ll see you out.’

The walk out of the Comitium was just as interesting. The most inane technology snagged her attention. At the coffee machine, she came to a halt to stare at it in wonder then in the waiting room, her eyes catalogued the television screens, jaw hanging open.

‘Don’t worry. You won’t miss Fangs and Bangs.’

Nesta opened her mouth to say something then the phone rang in the office. That also hooked her attention. She was child-like in her wonder as a malakh answered the phone.

‘That device allows you to communicate?’

Hunt touched two fingers to her forehead. The temperature seemed fine. ‘Try and see a med-witch. Have them check you over for concussion.’

He held the door open for her as she stumbled off into the blackness, just as perplexed as she’d been when they’d found her in the road.

Nesta wasn’t Hunt’s duty. His shift should have ended two hours ago. He was a slave, but a slave who could be off-duty – especially when Micah was out of town. Yet, he couldn’t stop the sense of dread from clawing in his chest as he watched Nesta amble aimlessly into the night.

This female would cause him a headache.

 ***

Seven days.

Nesta needed to survive seven days with only the clothes on her back in this strange city. There were worse places that she could have arrived to. The dungeon had not truly been a dungeon. It lacked the prowling beasts of the Hewn City. The only issue had been how bright the lights were. They hadn’t been the faelights that Rhysand conjured.

There were more lights hanging from towering metal poles on the smooth roads. There were still many out in the darkness but not all of them were fae. Some were like animals with cloven hooves instead of feet or caprine horns that jutted out from their hair.

Nesta didn’t know what to make of it.

She’d left Cassian calling her name in the Prison. Now she was in Lunathion. Wherever that was.

The city was so noisy.

Nesta needed space to think and to breathe so she fought her way out of the densest areas of the city towards a massive river. The sounds of it calmed her. She crossed over it, into the darker area where it felt more peaceful. Nesta sucked in breaths, thinking of Gwyn and her teachings to focus on the inhales and exhales and nothing else. That was easier said than done in a foreign land with no allies, no weapons, and no way back to Velaris.

Something was moving across the bridge towards her.

It made her skin prickle.

It wasn’t walking. It was gliding.

Her hand reached over her shoulder for the pommel of her sword and remembered it had been taken.

The creature made a low, gurling sound from the back of its throat then reached out a grey hand stripped of flesh in places.

Nesta backed up a step, but more were behind her, moving in that same eerie way without a sound.

The air went static.

A bolt of lightning hit the ground which forced one of the creatures to retreat.

The male who’d chaperoned her to the Comitium landed between her and the bulk of the creatures. Lightning wreathed his hands. His hair rose from the static.

‘You will not feast this night.’

Hunt jerked his chin at her, summoning Nesta to him. An arm clamped around her shoulders then he pushed off from the floor. As they lifted off, his other arm swooped beneath the back of her knees.

The motion was surprisingly fluid. Nesta did what she always did if Cassian flew her and put her arms around his neck for support.

‘What were they?’

‘Reapers,’ he replied. ‘I’m guessing you don’t have them where you come from.’

‘We have creatures just as foul.’

‘Yeah. Well, maybe don’t go for a midnight meeting with the Under-king if you want to see the dawn, Nesta.’ Hunt flew them a short distance then landed back amongst the lights on poles. He kept one hand clasped around her wrist like she might run while pulling one of the metal rectangles from his pocket. It displayed numbers that he tapped. His thumb moved down the screen, the words it showed flew by too quick for Nesta to read. ‘It’s Athalar. As you said, she’s one of your kind. She needs to be put up in a hotel.’ A pause. ‘Near the Dead Gate. I’ve flown her near Jesiba Roga’s house of horrors, but she’ll end up wandering through the meat market if I leave her.’ Hunt gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Either a hotel or the barracks with me, but not a chance I’m leaving her in your custody.’

Hunt slid the device into his back pocket. ‘The prince of pricks is booking you a hotel for the night. You hungry?’

The malakh lifted her into the air again to cross the city. They returned to the huge building where he had first taken her but did not stay long. Nesta was told to wait in the corridor outside a room while Hunt retrieved a bag of items. They stopped off at a restaurant along the way while he waited for news from the prince of pricks, whoever that was.

‘Noodles,’ he said, gesturing to the flimsy packaging.

Nesta stared down at them. They reminded her of yellow strings but there were chunks of meat and vegetables amongst them and a sweet-smelling sauce that made her ravenous. Hunt paid for it all, including the drink that was filled with bubbles.

‘Not a fan of coffee, but you like soda,’ he said between mouthfuls.

‘It is so sweet.’

‘Yeah because it’s all sugar.’

Nesta slurped it down, not caring if the ice hurt her teeth.

Hunt pulled the device – a cell phone – from his pocket. ‘Danaan came through. Let’s go.’

The lodgings were nice. One of those moving portrait boxes was hung on the wall and Hunt pressed a button on another rectangle to make it work. He pressed a few more buttons, the portraits changing rapidly.

‘Here we go. Fangs and Bangs, as promised.’

There was a half-naked female on the screen lounging on a long chair near a body of water. A male, equally as bare and bronze, was discussing their relationship beside her.

‘What do all of those buttons do?’

Hunt shrugged one shoulder. ‘Nobody knows. That’s volume. Channel up and down. On and off.’

‘It controls it?’

‘Yes. A remote. Where the hell did you come from Nesta?’

Nesta said nothing. She couldn’t bear to think of the people she had left behind. There was no guarantee that the Harp would be returned to her or it would even let her pluck a string to return to Velaris.

‘Bathroom’s through there. This is a key card. You press it to that black panel on the door handle to get in but try not to leave tonight, alright. I don’t want to retrieve your body from the Istros in the morning.’ Hunt blew out a breath. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll be by in the morning.’

Despite the day she had endured, the sight of the bed with tightly-pulled white sheets was calling to her. As soon as she hit that pillow, Nesta would be out.

Hunt rummaged in the bag that he’d collected from the Comitium. There were soft, grey pants and a white top. ‘For you to sleep in. There are slits on the back for my wings, but it will be comfier than those,’ he said, pointing to her leathers. ‘I don’t know how you breathe in that.’

‘Thank you, Hunt,’ replied Nesta, clutching the clothes to her body.

‘Tomorrow, we will talk. Off the record. About you.’ He swept his hair from his face. ‘I want to help but I can’t if you’re not honest with me. Sleep well.’   

[offtorivendell]

Is an oily residue corrupting Azriel's hypothetical mating bond and making him feel off kilter? Is it related to Valg-type magic?

Disclaimer: this theory is a continuation of a few of my others that I've been too lazy to post until now - first I was going to post it for Elriel Month 2023, then Azriel Week 2023... it never happened - but like everyone else I'm having massive FOMO before HOFAS, so here we finally go, even though I know I've forgotten something lol. As usual, this makes no claims of being accurate, it's just theorising for fun.

A massive thank you goes out to @wingedblooms, @tswaney17, @silverlinedeyes, @psychologynerd, @ladynightcourt3, @cassianfanclub, and anyone else I've forgotten (sorry!) for all of our discussions that finally became this post. Love you guys. 💜

Spoilers: this is a Maasverse post, and draws from the ACOTAR series, CC 1 & 2/HOEAB & HOSAB, and the TOG series. It is CC 3/HOFAS spoiler free, as I'm waiting to read it in its "original English" 🤓 on the 30th of January. Please be respectful of that if engaging in the comments before it's published!

Plenty of people, including @silverlinedeyes, @icedflames and myself, have posted our thoughts on mating bonds in the Maasverse, and this theory builds on those previously established - though again, as yet hypothetical - ideas. Specifically, this post about the use of “oily” throughout the ACOTAR series is recommended reading.

What we do know is that:

Mating bonds contain threads, and so do spells.

Mates are the song/music of the soul, and their laughter is likened to music.

Different fae, and magics, contain different scents, be that personal or regional

First, let's go back to ACOWAR, when Feyre described the Ravens' entrance into the library as being like an off-kilter chord:

I felt it at the same moment she did. The ripple and tremor. Like … like some piece of the world shifted, like some off-kilter chord had been plucked. We turned toward the illuminated path that we’d just taken through the stacks, then to the dark far, far beyond. - ACOWAR, chapter 30

Initially, I had wondered if the King of Hybern had had Jurian use the Harp to infiltrate Velaris, but it was @merymoonbeam (I think) who theorised that the Cauldron might be mimicking the Harp, and maybe not doing the best job of it. Which made me wonder, could it do the same with mate bonds?

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. - ACOSF, Azriel's bonus chapter

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

What if the Elucien bond, as either a spell or piss poor Cauldron-Made approximation of a bond, causes Azriel - and maybe Elain, possibly Lucien - nausea when Lucien is around because it's constantly changing, or reverberating over the top of, what remains of a hypothetical Elriel bond?

What if it's making the Elriel bond off-kilter, out of whack, imbalanced?

Does this make Azriel feel sick, nauseous, or simply overwhelmed/overstimulated?

When people are feeling off-balance, for whatever reason, they can feel sick or nauseous. It's one of the symptoms of vertigo, which can be triggered by severe headaches such as migraines. And guess who rubs their temples? Azriel!

Alternatively, certain chords played loudly enough on a string instrument can really mess with your chest - and where do mating bonds attach - if you're standing close enough for them to vibrate through you (at least, they do for me haha). It can be weirdly disconcerting, and I'd imagine that if Azriel or Elain feels something like this, no wonder he describes such severe discomfort that he needs to leave, and she shrinks away from Lucien, the unintentional cause of her pain.

Same with the smell; if the magic of the Cauldron, in whatever way, is messing with the smell that should be there? Contaminating it? Unbearable.

Is this too crack for you? Well, let's get even crazier.

I have previously suggested that the Cauldron's actions throughout the series could be tracked, in part, by SJM describing a feeling or quality as “oily,” and I've also wondered if the dark maker of the Cauldron - Koschei? - could have hijacked it in some way, as the Book of Breathings being made from leftover iron gave me “One Ring” vibes. I still stand by that, but with a clarification (and here is where the TOG and CC spoilers come in, FYI). I think it's only half of the magic belonging to the Cauldron that is "oily":

Throughout TOG, the Valg are heavily associated with “oiliness,” in terms of their blood and magic. The smell “reeks” and always results in the involved characters experiencing extreme revulsion, including headaches. Sound familiar?

Wyrdstone has an oily, hideous aftertaste.

Even in CC 1/HOEAB, Danika was described as oily when she came into Griffin Antiques.

Celaena looked at the sealed door, her stomach turning. A half-dried pool of blood lay at the base of the door, so dark it looked like oil. She crouched, swiping a finger through the puddle. She sniffed at it, almost gagged at the reek, and then rubbed her finger against the pad of her thumb. It felt as oily as it looked. - COM, chapter 45

“What the hell is that?” Rowan demanded, kneeling beside her, sniffing her outstretched hand. He jerked back, snarling. “That’s not dirt.” No, it wasn’t. It was blacker than night, and reeked just as badly as it had the first time she’d smelled it, in the catacombs beneath the library, an obsidian, oily pool of blood. Slightly different from that other, horrific smell that loitered around this place, but similar. So similar to— “This isn’t possible,” she said, jolting to her feet. “This—this—this—” She paced, if only to keep from shaking. “I’m wrong. I have to be wrong.” There had been so many cells in that forgotten dungeon beneath the library, beneath the king’s Wyrdstone clock tower. The creature she’d encountered there had possessed a human heart. It had been left, she’d suspected, because of some defect. What if … what if the perfected ones had been moved elsewhere? What if they were now … ready? - HOF, chapter 45

The overseer roared, thrashing as her magic swept into him, melded with him. But there was nothing inside to grab on to. No darkness to burn out, no remaining ember to breathe life into. Only— Aelin reeled back, magic vanishing and knees buckling as if struck. Her head gave a throb, and nausea roiled in her gut. She knew that feeling—that taste. Iron. As if the man’s core was made of it. And that oily, hideous aftertaste … Wyrdstone. The demon inside the overseer let out a choked laugh. “What are collars and rings compared to a solid heart? A heart of iron and Wyrdstone, to replace the coward’s heart beating within.” - EOS, chapter 15

* Side note, it's giving Tamlin and his stone heart.

Danika didn’t just look like she’d been rootling through the garbage. She smelled like it, too. Wisps of her silvery blond hair—normally a straight, silken sheet—curled from her tight, long braid, the streaks of amethyst, sapphire, and rose splattered with some dark, oily substance that reeked of metal and ammonia. - CC HOEAB, chapter 1

The Hind held Ruhn’s gaze as the game began. She was the spitting image of Luna, with her upswept chignon, the regal angle of her neck and jaw. As coldly serene as the moon. All she needed was a pack of hunting hounds at her side— And she had them, in her dreadwolves. How had someone so young risen in the ranks so swiftly, gained such notoriety and power? No wonder she left a trail of blood behind her. “Careful now,” the Harpy said with that oily smile. “The Hammer doesn’t share.” The Hind’s lips curved upward. “No, he doesn’t.” - CC HOSAB, chapter 33

I think the dark maker of the Cauldron could have been Valg, whether that's Koschei or someone else I don't know though Koschei currently makes the most sense. I also don't know when the dark maker would have had the chance to influence the Cauldron; was it always made from dark and light, or - as @fawnandshadows theorised a while back - did Koschei bastardise it after the fact? Where the Valg would fit in with the Daglan and the Asteri is also a mystery, though my current train of thought is that they could be family names or allegiances, like different clans of the same parasitical species, thanks to the description of Danika in HOEAB.

But, back to Azriel and his severe reaction to the Elucien bond.

I know I'm not the only one who wonders at the very Valg-ish themes with which Rhys and Azriel's powers have been described - maybe one day I'll post my thoughts about the possible link between lightsingers, shadowsingers, daemati and the Valg (but it is not this day lol) - and how that may have come about. For example, are the Valg interwoven, genetically, with the Avallen people, or is it because the Princes of Hel are also involved, and have similar magics? Are the Princes of Hel a similar species as the Valg, Asteri and Daglan, or completely different? Ugh, let's stop this spiral here.

Oily: the obvious train of thought being that oily things are slippery, which can lead to an imbalance… ie. becoming off-kilter.

Sounds like Azriel could be suffering from some sort of vertigo, of which symptoms can include nausea; severe headaches, such as migraines, may trigger an episode… and who rubs his temples enough that Elain noticed it?

Maybe Azriel can sense the corruption in the bond, either the current Elucien bond, or the hypothetical original bond between Elain and himself; if like calls to like, and his shadows are Valg-ish, maybe it is because his OG bond was fucked with. So, what if:

Azriel's shadows can slip away from spells and binding magic (Slippery > oily > Valg).

The guards at the prison know what he is.

Valg magic making Azriel nauseous and Elain sourcing/making a healer's powder for him? It's giving Chaol and Yrene. Especially since Elain (and Mor) make his shadows brighten.

So, we have in-text mentions of Azriel feeling overwhelmed due to the proximity of the Elucien bond, as well as Elain shrinking from Lucien - an action that parallels Azriel hanging out in the doorway, and even Lucien retreating to the human lands, if he feels any bond-related discomfort around Elain. But what about his initial response to seeing Elain, and thinking she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen? The quote that sent me down the “oily” rabbit hole to begin with?

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

Well, Aelin felt oily disgust at the thought of marrying someone who wasn't Rowan:

“There are no allies,” Darrow said. “Unless Her Highness decides to be useful and gain us men and arms through marriage”—a sharp glance at Rowan—“we are alone.” Aelin debated revealing what she knew, the money she’d schemed and killed to attain, but— Something cold and oily clanged through her. Marriage to a foreign king or prince or emperor. Would this be the cost? Not just in blood shed, but in dreams yielded? To be a princess eternal, but never a queen? To fight with not just magic, but the other power in her blood: royalty. She could not look at Rowan, could not face those pine-green eyes without being sick. - EOS, chapter 5

This example from Aelin could describe Azriel and Elain’s potential future if Elain accepted a theoretically Cauldron spelled bond to Lucien, but also for Lucien and Jesminda, if they were originally true or fated mates before she was murdered.

Some final thoughts:

We know from TOG that healing light is known as the Valg executioner. In a parallel to Yrene killing Erawan with her healing light in KOA, Elain killed the King of Hybern - who I suspect was possessed or assisted by a Valg, as Feyre described his magic as a “galaxy” in his palms - with Truth-Teller, which had recently devoured the (her?) sunlight; does this mean that Elain could heal or purify Valg possessed things, with or without the magical, Made dagger? Could this be extrapolated to Azriel's magic, the Dread Trove, or even the Cauldron (possibly with Feyre and Nesta for the bigger ticket items)?

If the Asteri are the same species as the Valg, and the Valg somehow had a hand in making or twisting the Cauldron, it could follow that they used the Cauldron to create offspring bonds for a more powerful food source. If this pans out then Elain, bright light, could hypothetically heal the Cauldron. Maybe that is why Azriel describes her with purity language? Not because SJM wants to display Azriel's apparently toxic thoughts about her (🙄), but because she, along with her sisters, will be his/their salvation? Rhys once said as much to Feyre!

@mrspettyferr has suggested that Azriel's shadows ability to hide him from binding magic - see: the High Lord's meeting in ACOWAR - could have prevented his true bond from snapping with Elain when she came out of the Cauldron. This could be supported by any Valg/shadow link.

Thank you for reading! Please don't mention any CC HOFAS spoilers in the comments or reblogs until after it has been officially published. 💜

[yazthebookish]

I posted my take on the Lightsinger theory and Gwyn's "luring" powers theory on Reddit two days ago but thought I'll reshare it here (with some additional thoughts)

The only canon information we have on Lightsingers:

Nesta winced. Cassian went on as she scanned the bog, "There are lightsingers: lovely, ethereal beings who will lure you, appearing as friendly faces when you are lost. Only when you're in their arms will you see their true faces, and they aren't fair at all. The horror of it is the last thing you see before they drown you in the bog. But they kill for sport, not food."

Does this correlate with anything Gwyn did in ACOSF? The answer is no.

I am not saying it is impossible for her to be a Lightsinger though where things stand it's unlikely in my opinion, but I'd attribute any potential powers either singing or glowing to her River Nymph heritage. We have no idea of her powers and she's also half High Fae of course she'll have powers like every other High Fae.

I think a lot of the "canon evidence" are different interpretations of the text but sometimes try to present itself as concrete evidence or proof when it isn't. Some attribute her singing during the services as the cause to Nesta having vision of the Prison and the Harp, but that also means we will have to ask what connection is there between Lightsingers and the Prison/Harp? And some believe it's the lyrics that trigger the vision as they're written in the ancient language and "Nesta saw what the song spoke of". Some believe Nesta power reacting to the crackling energy around Gwyn is a sign that she is a Lightsinger, but like... that's an indicator she has powers just like how Nesta in a later chapter felt Merrill's ornerry power. How is crackling energy means it's a Lightsinger when we never saw them? Powers recognize each other sometimes, just like how Feyre was surprised when Eris was able to detect a cold flame in the Dagger Nesta forged when it was given to him as a gift (like calls to like, Eris also has flame power).

In the bonus chapter, it's described at one point that the Shadows danced with Gwyn's breath as if it heard some Silent MUSIC (emphasis on music and not song). What was referred to as Music between Souls? The mating bond. Interestingly enough it was that same night when Nessian consummated their bond and they were connected by a music between their souls. So that could be a hint, and at the end of the scene Azriel hears a distant beautiful singing and the shadows sing back, hard to tell whether if it's Gwyn, who went back to trying to cut the ribbon, starts to sing or it's also another wording for a hint at the mating bond (also called the Song of the Soul).

I'm more keen to believe it's the mating bond because there are far more parallels and similar mate language to support it across all her three series and if someone is going to tell me "but Lorcan's chest glowed after he took the blood oath from Aelin—" my love context matters in this case and it doesn't invalidate the 10+ examples I can pull out of similar mate language like in the bonus chapter.

To ADD, for Azriel to be lured to the library at 7pm because of said Lightsinger singing, he has to be able to HEAR the singing for the power to influence him and Azriel didn't hear any singing, he was conscious and aware of his actions. It was mentioned Nesta sang with Gwyn at the services frequently and she didn't make any comments on a vision being triggered or her constantly seeking out Gwyn so there are holes in those kind of conclusions—again, because we never see Lightsingers on page.

"But when he arrives to the library it chimed 7pm!! That's when they sing for the dusk service" welp that's another hole in the theory, it depends on Azriel being drawn to the library because of Gwyn's singing but if he showed up at the library and they don't sing until 7pm then before the clock chimes at 7pm, they weren't singing so... not a convincing answer. Also, Clotho is usually seen during those services and Azriel still found her at her desk.

Early on when ACOSF came out, some readers made connections between Lightsingers and Shadowsingers and made the assumption that Lightsingers are the Shadowsingers' Light counterparts. That's why you had people musing about Azriel's mate being a Lightsinger, but canonically Lightsingers are evil once we go back to the text but we don't even see them to know for sure how they wield their powers or if they even sing because Shadowsinger Azriel doesn't need to sing when he uses his power.

In an Elain book (in this scenario it's her and Azriel), I don't see any purpose of Gwyn being revealed as a Lightsinger or anything about her powers because it'll be used as a plot device for an Elain/Azriel romance rather than contribute to Gwyn's own growth and that's why I don't like it. It will have implications on Nesta and the Valkyries dynamic too. If that's the case it will mean Gwyn will need more page time in an Elain and Azriel book to tackle something like that, especially if they're going to "help" her since that's the reasoning I see often—that she's not evil but she doesn't know it and if she did they will help her but like... why? To make her realize she has been keeping them apart or that she wanted a necklace she didn't even have any clue about.

Given Gwyn's history who even at the end of the book said despite training it didn't erase the fact that she let her sister die, she is still dealing with survivor's guilt, she still refuses to wear the priestesses stone, and also her desire to leave the library and see the world (which we didn't see yet). She has a lot of promise as a character than be a plot device for someone else's relationship.

The way I see it, Gwyn's theoretical powers is used to absolve Azriel of any accountability for his actions (ala Necklacegate) because it's not a good look on him, so it's better to pin it on someone else by saying he was lured against his will (since I often see that the reasoning behind her presence in the bonus chapter is to hint at her powers).

So if I have to read about Gwyn dealing with her powers whether they're good or bad, I'd rather see it from her point of view and for it to be beneficial for her own personal arc and healing journey. My problem isn't her having questionable powers (which I don't mind because many SJM characters had questionable powers but used it for good), I don't want it to be used as a plot device for another couple just to smear her as a character and clear the actions of the other male character so his "love interest" doesn't blame him for his actions.

Whew, this was long but I adore Gwyn and I am not a fan of the current version of the Lightsinger theory. I think even if SJM makes it happen, it would probably play out way differently than the fandom expects.

Also, it's not in SJM's style to use other woman drama in her romances. The other women are often 💀 or insignificant past lovers. I don't see her taking that route with Gwyn at all.

She could be half Asteri and I would still love her and be eager to explore her powers and story, I just don't like it being used to further another couple's conflict or whatever (they already have Rhys and Lucien).

And no, I hate the idea of Gwyn being controlled by either Koschei or Merrill because it takes away her agency and the suggestion here is about her doing things that harms others, how will that not have any implications on Nesta and Emerie and the trio's healing journey? Given her own tragic history and the fact that she was helpless and powerless to help her twin sister and she's still dealing with survivor's guilt over it all.

"Why did you sign up for this, then?" Nesta drank the glass Gwyn extended. "If you already have mind-calming exercises you're accustomed to?"

"Because I don't ever want to feel powerless again," Gwyn said softly, and all those easy smiles and bright laughs were gone. Only stark, pained honesty shone in her remarkable eyes.

Her being controlled is putting her in a powerless position again because she has no choice but to do Koschei or "evil" Merrill's bidding that could potentially harm Nesta and the others. I despite it.

And if I have to read about any comparisons between Gwyn and Ianthe as proof that priestesses can be evil, I'll go insane.

Also, if Gwyn's power can influence anyone through her singing, it would've influenced every single person in the services. It would have influenced other members of the IC. This particular theory is weak and depends one interpretation of the text that tries to present itself as evidence of an evil creature that never even shows up on page.

Gwyn wasn't added in the bonus chapter by coincidence. Sarah confirmed she left crumbs all over the book and specifically his bonus chapter, and what we speculate may or may not be confirmed in the next book so you can't dismiss the bonus by saying it has no relevance when the author said she left crumbs for readers to theorize about, which leads me to believe she wants us to come up with different theories until she publishes the next book where we'll know for sure if we nailed it or not.

[boopshoops]

TWST OC INTRODUCTION - TCOAV

Ezra Goldspire - Who Knows Best

Name: Ezra Goldspire

Nicknames: Ezzie, Killifish

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Homosexual

Birthday: May 7 (Taurus)

Age: 362 (In canon and AU)

Height: 5'11 or 179cm

Voice Claim(s): Caleb Hyles

Twisted from: Mother Gothel/Esther Gothel of Tangled

Unique Magic: "What Once was Mine" Through the use of magical herbs and alchemy, Ezra is able to capture the likeness of himself and other individuals. He can share and change other's physical features with these concoctions, ranging anywhere from shoe size to facial structure to vocal coords. These changes last as long as he desires as well as under his own set conditions at the cost of requiring outside materials to complete. Typically the magic is contained in what appears to be a type of spice or powder, and the change leaves a mark/tattoo on the individual which the magic is cast to indicate what exactly was changed.

Grade: Primarily teaches Sophomores and Juniors

Class: Teaches art and music, along with being the homeroom teacher of class 3-D.

Hobbies: Alchemy, botany, herbology, singing, painting, playing the harp, improv.

Likes: Broadway, theater, pasta alla gricia, small spaces, spring, jewelry, floral arrangements, experimental learning, any music.

Dislikes: Crickets, wrinkles, scars, wasted talent, mumbling/whispering, tracking time.

Fears: Aging, other Changeling Fae, not being recognized by those he cares for, forgetting people.

Summary: As the most easygoing teacher on the entirety of campus, many of the students and fellow staff members view him as a scatter-brained daydreamer. However, his dreams filled with immense passion, as he desires for nothing more than to watch his student's talent blossom... and keep the bloom contained and protected in a glass case.

Now, don't get him wrong! He has the best intentions, of course. There are many, many scary people and places out there in this Twisted Wonderland. People who would take advantage of such bright minds. He is simply preventing that from happening. The man has been around for a long time and has been through his own share of ordeals, so he would most definitely know.

He has a big heart. While he goes about an odd, constrictive way of showing it, he does truly care. He has a hard time letting things go, and he simply wants the best for those he cares for. Ezra would spoil every single one of his students rotten if he were able. Even as a rather new professor at NRC, he wishes to guide every single one of them on the right path.

Outfit Inspiration

Author's Notes: ARGHHH MY BOY... Ezra is a very new character I made only a few months ago. He was created specifically for TCOAV, but alas I have grown attached. Given we already have quite a few gaslight gatekeep girlboss type characters over here, I decided to focus more on twisting different aspects of Mother Gothel. I particularly focused on her parental tendencies as well as her means of "caring" for Rapunzel. Whereas whether Gothel truly cares for Rapunzel or not is still up in the air, and they truly had a toxic relationship nonetheless, I wanted to make Ezra a more misguided but good individual.

[trashbins-stuff]

Harp in the au >:D

Sorry if it look a bit bad im havinf a headache

[bramblesse]

Faeries 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

allegedly we get a new occult every fourth gamepack and i'm cross at people arguing that faeries would be too much like spellcasters so here's my manifesto of content that would make it worthwhile. feel free to pass this on to the nearest eaxis snoop. if you are the eaxis snoop, please read carefully and take notes. 🍄🌱

all the tuning for the 'erratic' trait built-in to every faerie's personality from the jump — laughing or crying at seemingly inappropriate times, combustive fits of rage, a playful moodlet that won't kill them for being quirky or random, etc.

not only speaking to plants but singing to them — and loudly!

either far more attentive or far more neglectful of infant, toddler and child sims. [historically fae parenting mileage may vary, they are either the worst or the best! see: changelings!]

spontaneous dancing, with or without music, and lots of it.

tampering with food such as milk for an awful rotten surprise.

higher likelihood of something being stolen by them. toys, trinkets, decorations, other sims... [i have never read a tale about a faerie who wasn't casing a joint! they like shiny objects!]

faerie bargains! they have special interactions for bargaining and haggling with human sims for things in their inventory.

bestowing gifts and curses interactions. existential gifts like longer lifespans or giving human sims green thumbs or blessing a sim with an unexpected fortune. curses that involve having human sims mindlessly going around in circles, dancing to exhaustion, having all their crops never grow to fruition, etc.

grilled cheese want replaced by a want to eat cake.

other sims find them instantly attractive and more charismatic, even more charismatic than normal sims who have high charisma skill. [listen the everything about fae tells me they are v cunning.]

an affinity for all music and boosted skill level when learning to play an instrument. [it would be nice to have a lute, flute or harp added to the game but could easily be put in a bands or medieval pack.]

setting traps everywhere but particularly in forests with trees surrounded by toadstools that trap human sims in their realm. imagine a new death type from a faerie ring object...

exceptional at locating the garbage your normal sims can find whenever they go digging. [a faerie troupe whisking by during a faerie hunt is p commonly depicted in art and literature so their ability to track things down is probably wild.]

rather than incessant need to exercise, they have an incessant need to sunbathe and/or moonbathe.

insects and animals are drawn to them and easily convinced to do their bidding without any training — for instance, they can set bees upon their enemies. [unrelated, sort of, but we need bee and butterfly spawners in build mode!!!]

a court system that is a hybrid of groups from get together and the packs in werewolves. seelie, unseelie. spring, summer, autumn, winter. day, night. it really doesn't matter. let us decide what each court represents and place our faeries accordingly!

[maevecrom]

I really want to talk about the pregnancy situation in acosf.

(Just to preface - I don't excuse nor condone the withholding of medical information from a patient; Feyre had every right to know about Madja's concerns, this post is simply a word-for-thought about how harshly we, as a community, condemn Rhys for hiding it.)

I think the biggest thing about this situation that frustrates me is the pregnancy arc in its entirety. I am so unbelievably happy for Feyre that she is finally content. She deserves to have her hae. But what I do not appreciate is SJM using her as a sacrificial lamb for Nesta's redemption arc. Feyre and her maternity should not have been changed for the sole purpose of bringing another character peace/grace. Nor do I appreciate the complete and total rewrite of Madja's abilities; you're telling me in a world where there are contraceptives, there are no forms of abortion? Or in a world where Azriel could drag Cassian off the battlefield with his organs hanging out, he could come out unscathed but they couldn't perform a cesarean? Not only that, but withholding said information from Feyre had absolutely no impact on the story. Rhys could’ve told her from the beginning and nothing would’ve changed.

Now, let's get into Rhys:

I haven't seen as much hate towards him for this as of recently since CC3 came out, everyone has been harping on him for getting mad at Nesta. So, I think now that everything has calmed down we can have a logical conversation about this.

Logically, from the start Rhys should've known, or at least speculated, that his child could've been born with wings. But, I also want to bring of the point of Illyrian's lack of education. Mating outside of Illyrian camps was practically unheard of, and it was kind of an unsaid rule that Illyrian men mate with Illyrian women. So, on some level, I'm not sure the difference in pelvic sizes really came up in his mind because the difference between Illyrian and Fae anatomy was probably never taught.

It's also important to recognize that this was never mentioned in the book as a conflict. We have no idea what Rhys knows or doesn't know because we were never given that interaction. So, in my opinion, it's not really fair to base your hatred of an event based on speculation.

Now, onto the actual withholding of information: I'd like to make it known that he had only hid the information from her for 12 days. Not even 2 weeks. I think that is very much a reasonable amount of time to keep information from someone if you are still looking for a solution. Now, do I think that entirely excuses it? No. But I do think it provides context and at least eases up to effect of keeping it a secret.

I also keep seeing people say it was out of character. It's not. We have seen Rhys sacrifice his own sanity for his loved ones, taking on the brunt of burdens in order to keep those around him safe and euphoric. We all read how mentally unstable he was becoming towards the end of acosf and that's because, although we all keep forgetting this, he isn't just a husband or father; he's also a High Lord. Not only did he have an entire court to run, he's going person-to-person, teaming up with Helion, making visits to the Dawn Court, desperately trying to find a solution for Feyre. So he could one day go to her and say "We found a complication, but it'll be okay bcause we know how to fix it."

Onto the Nesta situation, I'm so tired of seeing the whole "she told Feyre because when it comes down to it she really does love her." Are we forgetting that she ALSO kept it a secret? Nesta withheld the information until she could wield it in a way to harm Feyre and villianize Rhys. She didn't do it out of the kindness of her heart. Was I glad someone told her? Yes. But she didn't deserve to find out that way.

She's not a saint. She's not a martyr. She didn't do half the shit she did in acosf out of love or peace, she was cruel and mentally unstable.

I've also been seeing so many people mention the IC and how they should've punished Rhys, but they didn't aid the investigation in any way. None of them offered to help find a solution for Feyre's issue.

What really went wrong is that we didn’t see the discussion that was had. We didn’t know what was happening during Feyre’s pregnancy. This not only exacerbated the situation, but also forced people to come to their own conclusions and speculations. People saying Rhys wasn’t punished have no idea what happened between Rhys and Feyre privately. All in all, I absolutely hate this trope for using Feyre as a pawn to further Nesta's character development and as a plot device.

[wingedblooms]

I am a fan of Elain and azriel but I really want to ask why azriel was holding Bryce hands for a long time. We all know he hates physical contacts, but that part has been on my mind for a while

Thank you for sending this to my inbox. 🫶 You’re right, he doesn’t often initiate physical contact so it is worth noting when he does. When I read the scene below, though, I laughed because it reminded me of when I hold my child’s hand as we’re crossing the street. My child will run off, straight into danger, without my guidance. I know that Bryce is an adult, but Azriel acts a bit like a parent in this whole sequence. He does not trust Bryce to walk on her own or do what she says she will do and tries to exert control (for everyone’s safety) as a result. And to be honest, his suspicions are valid: she lied and drew a wyrm to them with her bleeding hand before this, and distracts him and runs for it in this specific scene.

“There are caves and doors throughout the land,” Azriel said, “that open into distant places. Maybe that was one of them.” His gaze flicked to Bryce, noting how closely she was listening to all that, and said, “Let’s go in.”

He took Bryce’s hand in his broad, callused one, pulling her toward the chamber beyond. His face was a mask of cold determination in the light of the golden orbs floating over them, his hazel eyes darting around to monitor the gloom.

This close to him, hand in hand, she could feel the sword and dagger again thrumming and pulsing. They throbbed against her eardrums—

The hilt of the Starsword shifted in her direction—she could have reached out and touched it with her other hand. One movement, and its hilt would be in her grip.

Azriel shot her a warning look.

[…]

Bryce sucked in a breath. “I’m going in. Keep a step back,” she warned Azriel.

“And miss the fun?” Azriel muttered. Nesta chuckled behind them.

“I mean it,” Bryce said, trying to tug her hand from his. “You stay here.”

His fingers tightened on hers, not letting go. “What do you sense?”

“Wards,” Bryce replied, again scanning the arena-sized cavern ahead. And there, right in the center of the space…

[…]

Azriel scanned the chamber, still not letting go of Bryce’s hand as he said to Nesta, “We don’t know what else might be kept at bay in here.”

“I didn’t sense anything except the Harp last time,” Nesta replied, but she still assessed the chamber with a warrior’s focus.

“We also didn’t sense that there was a second entrance into this place,” Azriel countered. “We can assume nothing right now.”

[…]

Bryce’s fingers tightened around the amulet. Then she looked over Azriel’s shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Watch out!”

He dropped her hand instantly, whirling to the unseen, unsensed opponent. The nonexistent opponent.

Bryce moved with Fae swiftness, and by the time Azriel realized there was nothing there, she’d already crossed the ward line.

Cold fury tightened his features, but Nesta was smirking with something like approval.

“You’re on your own now,” Azriel said, blue stones glimmering at his hands with a cold fury that matched his expression. (hofas)

This does not carry a hint of romance to me. It’s even more noticeable when we compare specific scenes:

He took Bryce’s hand in his broad, callused one, pulling her toward the chamber beyond. His face was a mask of cold determination in the light of the golden orbs floating over them, his hazel eyes darting around to monitor the gloom. (hofas)

He took Bryce’s hand and pulled her. But Elain?

“Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.”

“I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand.

Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went. (acowar)

He offers his hand, she accepts it, and they walk out together. Offer and permission.

Similarly, Bryce takes Truth-Teller from Azriel.

There were two blades practically screaming for her to use them. Bryce again reached out a hand, her will, toward Azriel. And as surely as the Starsword had done, Truth-Teller flew from his grip. He tried to grab it, but even his swift lunge wasn’t fast enough to stop it. To stop Bryce as the knife soared for her fingers.

The dagger’s hilt landed in her palm, cool and heavy.

Her body began to hum. Like having one blade in each hand—the Starsword and Truth-Teller—electrified her.

And proceeds to leave with it despite his panic and pleading (🥺).

“Please,” Azriel said, his gaze now on her hands. On the Starsword—and on Truth-Teller. Something like panic filled his hazel eyes.

Shaking her head, Bryce backed toward the hole she’d made in the world. In the universe. She could only pray it would lead her to Midgard. (hofas)

But he offers Truth-Teller to Elain and she accepts it. Azriel has never allowed anyone to touch his dagger, but he chose to give it to Elain…amid the sighing meadow grasses, poetry once again dripping from his lips in her presence. This act required deep trust and care. He could have offered her a different dagger, but he didn’t. He gave her the one that meant the most to him.

And now, standing amongst the sighing meadow grasses in his Illyrian armor, all seven Siphons gleaming…

Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard.

“It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, midday sun 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.”

“I—I don’t know how to use it—”

“I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” I said, grass crunching as I moved closer.

Elain weighed my words…and slowly closed her fingers around the blade.

Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel lent out that blade—

Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. (acowar)

And she immediately returns it to him, most likely grasping its importance and proving his instincts and trust are well placed.

But Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back. (acofas)

Sarah made the dynamics very different for a reason. There’s a reason the shadowsinger would only give up his dagger to and spout poetry for the lovely fawn, and I am excited to learn more about that in the next book. ✨