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#( open: nuala )
jmoonjones · 10 months
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Elain doesn't need a man/male/fae/fox/shadowsinger to be happy and content! She's got 2 awesome bffs, and it would be swell for her character arc not be dependent on some fella.
TBH I'd also love to see some personal growth and resolved issues from everyone before committing to a healthy relationship. 🩷
(I've got no strong preference re: Elucien or Elriel, I just hope it's not a repeat of the story Feyre and Nesta both got)
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"I’ve just been served a pomegranate: / it’s crimson, dripping with seeds— // a veritable Céad Míle Fáilte of drops of blood."
Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!
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nualaofthefaerie · 5 months
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Trick or Treat! 🧚🏼‍♀️
Happy Halloween, my beloved Angel ✨️
And Happy Halloween, everyone! 🎃
For this year, I have prepared a very special trick and treat (I am literlaly trembling a bit, but it's fine).
For treating, I am sharing a small snippet from the Big Sandflower project that will be released in March 2024 for Fae Week.
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For tricking, I am giving you small cutouts from my absolutely beloved @phlegmykins and @anaviarts, who are some of my main collaborators on this project and have been working tirelessly to execute my stupid vision🩷 And of course, not only them but my precious @watercubebee @ajdhbear @faemothra (with whom we will definitely get to discussing that when our fnaf peepaw obsession settles down) and many more artists and betas have lent me their talents, for which I am eternally grateful.
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I hope that is a sweet treat for everyone! (like a good Halloween chocolate from the rich neighbours, idk, I'm trying people)
Lots of love,
Li 🪷
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morsvidet · 1 year
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Hey y’all!! Commissions are open!! Prices, tos and examples below! Pm me here for commission inquiries 🖤
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selestiials · 2 months
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smth smth, both the twins are sweet, yes! but nuala is much quicker to smile, like true eyes crinkling, beaming smile! a genuine, unrestricted smile from cerridwen is hard-won. her smiles tend to be on the more polite side, but, if you're looking, there's always this soft twinkle in her eye.
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marvelsmylife · 21 days
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One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
Pairing: Azriel x reader
Plot: After the events at your dance recital, Azriel will stop at nothing until you forgive him. Even if it means begging on his knees.
Warning: more and more angst, begging, Cassian having to step in to get his brother under control
A/n this is part two to Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don’t. I really leaned on the trope where the male fae spirals while the female fae heal and thrive without their mate. Since it’s me though, this does have a happy ending for the reader and the shadowsinger. Also, there will be one more part to this.
Part One Part Three Bonus Scene
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What was meant to be a few days apart turned into two years. No matter how much you wanted to forgive Azriel for what he did, you couldn’t get past the fact he thought you were cheating on him. You tried explaining that to him, but he didn’t want to hear it. He justified his actions by saying if you would have been home more, he wouldn’t have thought those things.
That, in turn, caused you to make the heartbreaking decision to move out of the home you shared with Azriel. Azriel desperately tried to backpedal and apologize, but it was too late. 
You packed your stuff and moved out within three days. With the help of Rhysand, you moved into a highly secure apartment. In Rhysand’s words: “You need to be in a highly secured building. Even if you are no longer with Azriel, you are still his mate, and unfortunately, that means you have a target on your back.”
The others in the inner circle were trying to convince you to move in with them. They knew you were in a vulnerable state mentally and didn’t want to leave you alone. You ultimately told them you needed to live on your own for a while but that they were more than welcome to visit you in your new apartment. 
You didn’t dare visit them at their homes though. Some of them begged you to visit and even offered to ban Azriel from their home but you refused. You told them that it wouldn’t be right, seeing as Azriel was friends with them way before you came into their lives.
Because of that, Everyone in the inner circle gave Azriel the cold shoulder for a few weeks. They were livid when they discovered what happened between you and Azriel.
Even Elain, who didn’t have a mean bone in her, scolded Azriel for his actions: “How could you do that to y/n! She’s been nothing but kind and loving towards you. You're lucky I'm not your mate. I would never forgive you,” Elain told Azriel in an angry tone. She despised Azriel the most out of everyone for what he did to you. You were the one Elain spent the most time with, and she really loved your company. Now that you asked for space and stopped visiting them, she started spending time with Cerridwen and Nuala. Which wasn’t a bad thing, she loved them dearly as well, but she missed your little chats about your day: “Let’s hope your mate is more forgiven than me.”
While Azriel was suffering without you in his life, you were living your best life without him.
With the help of Rhysand, you decided to open your own dance studio and started teaching children who couldn’t afford to attend your old dance instructor classes for free. 
It was hard at first, but with help from your dance friends and even your old instructor, who eventually apologized for banning you because of Azriel’s actions. He was so happy when he learned you were opening a dance studio for children who couldn’t afford it and even offered to come by every few weeks to teach at your studio. “You are an angel for teaching these kids for free,” your old instructor commented after finishing his class in your studio.
Every now and then, though, you would cross paths with Azriel when you would leave your dance studio, and every time he, would make a scene while he pleaded for you to forgive him.
“I told you not to make a scene in public, especially in front of my studio. You’re making my student uncomfortable,” you tried not to show you were furious at him for his action.
Before Azriel had the opportunity to reply, Cassian and Feyre made their way through the crowd that was now formed around you. “I’m sorry about my brother. I’ll try harder to keep him from coming over here,” Cassian apologized while peeling his brother off of you. Feyre stayed back for a few minutes to make sure you were ok and even offered to walk you back to your apartment, but you reassured her that you were ok.
You managed to avoid him for a week before you came face to face with him again during Elains dinner party, where she and Lucien introduced everyone to their twins.
Elain sent you an apologetic look when you realized Azriel was at the dinner party. You smiled weakly at the new mother before you took your seat between Amren and Cassian and across from Mor.
You felt Azriel’s gaze on you the entire dinner. He looked like utter shit, but he didn’t care, not when it’s been a week since he tried to speak to you again.
You tried your hardest to ignore his stare, but you also couldn’t help but glance at him and really took in his disheveled state. His usually clean-shaven face had stubble with dark circles under his eyes. It took every once in you not to rush over to him and wrap your arms around your mate. The only thing stopping you was the flashback of him accusing you of cheating on him.
After dinner, everyone sat around to pass the twins around. Halfway through the night, you decided to step out and get some fresh air. Unfortunately for you, Azriel took it upon himself to sneak out with you when no one noticed. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts about how awkward you felt being around Azriel that you didn’t realize Azriel decided to hug you from behind. “What the fuck! !” you shouted and broke out of the hug: “Azriel, what are you doing out here!”
Azriel dropped to his knees and hugged your legs out of desperation: “My love, please forgive me. I miss you so much. I can’t function without you in my life.”
“Get up. Everyone is staring at us,” you gritted through your teeth when you looked up and noticed everyone staring at the two of you from inside the house.
“I don’t care,” Azriel argued back: “All I care about is you forgive me.”
Rhysand, Cassian, and Lucien looked like they were about to walk over and pull your mate off you, but you signaled them to not intervene. Instead, you knelt down and cupped Azriel’s face: “Azriel,” you felt yourself tearing up: “You have to stop this.”
“I can’t,” Azriel placed his hands on top of yours: “I can’t function without you. I finally understand where I went wrong, and I’m so sorry I’ve caused you so much distress.”
“I’m so happy you realized it,” you replied, resting your forehead against his: “I just need you to give me time and space. Every time you show up and make a scene outside my studio, you reset my progress of forgiving you. Can you please just give me a few more days? Please.”
“I can do that,” Azriel whispered. “Do you think we’ll ever get back to how we used to be?” Azriel asked hopeful.
“Eventually,” you replied honestly. And that was enough for him to keep going, knowing that you will eventually be a family again. 
@byyalady @sheblogs @janebirkln @starsinyourseyes @cumuluscranium @honeybee54321 @pussyistasty-blog @azriels-shadowsinger @anuttellaa @pussyistasty-blog @fightmedraco @aunicornmademedoit @esposadomd @thelov3lybookworm @harrystylesfan2686 @sarawritestories @fxckmiup @sleepylunarwolf @mochibabycakes @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @stargirl1714 @tenshis-cake @tele86 @63angel @sagskylar01 @i-am-infinite @kristin813 @one-big-fangirl
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historiaxvanserra · 18 days
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These Violent Delights | Chapter Three
Summary: The day has come for you to forsake the safety of Velaris and make your solemn oaths to Beron Vanserra; the cruel and tyrannical High Lord of the Autumn Court and his son Eris Vanserra. Your mate. Cruel and beautiful and yours.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader
Word Count: 8k
I was going to add in a little spice but it was getting waayy too long so that will be a chapter on its own as a nice little bonus later this week! I hope you don't feel we're moving too fast; I just feel like Eris and Reader have a very good dynamic and a LOT of chemistry together so I wanted to give you guys something sexy. We'll get to the feelings later. We've got a High Lord to kill first.
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Waking from the ether feels like being torn from your old life again. You need a few moments to shed the fleeting remnants of your mortal life; the winter cold as it permeates the thin walls of the cabin, the warmths of the sister nestled at your side,  that feeling of hunger like a devouring cavity that lives within you even now and that dresser-- adorned in painted flame, flowers, eternal night and the murky depths of the sea. That dresser haunts your memories almost as often as that infernal Cauldron. 
In these moments when sleep still shrouds your conscious mind, you give leave to your anger; it runs like water into old wounds and it festers there. The saltwater purifies in ways that fire cannot. In a few moments, when the visions abate you, then you will be able to face the fire. To watch as the hues of your bedroom move from murky green and chalk blue into pearl and burning gold. For now, let the morning come in with the subtleness of the tide.
You're still cocooned between silken sheets, allowing the sunlight to thaw out the morning chill from your bones, when you notice the wraiths as they work. Nuala and Cerridrwen are the personification of shadow and smoke as they glide through your rooms, drawing the curtains with a flourish as golden light seems to pour into the room. Nuala tends to your laundry while her sister begins to draw your bath. The smell of steam and wildflowers from the meadow fill the air; juniper berries and chamomile soap that seems to cling to you. 
The sound of the water lulls you into a misty wakefulness which is sullied by the opening of the apartment doors again. This time three sisters spill into the room, each dressed in varying shades of night; black, navy and indigo, accented with jewels strung tight against the hollows of their throats and the morning light catches in the crystals and casts the room in speckled light.
With as much grace as she can muster this early in the morning, Elain unceremoniously slumps down on your unmade bed and crawls to sit beside you as you once had when you were girls. 
“Get up!” Nesta commands briskly leaning against your vanity. 
“Morning, love,” Elain says, her voice airy on the morning breeze. She looks particularly wraith-like this morning, her eyes are ringed purple and her rich sienna irises are glazed over, glassy and veiled with a milky film that speaks to an oncoming vision.
Your bed shifts under the weight of movement again as Feyre places Nyx, swaddled in his favorite blanket, into the space beside you. He moves against the confines of his wrappings, coiling and loosening and he is half-free before you pull him into your embrace. His smile and quiet babbling tugs on your emotions in a way that almost feels like a carefully crafted ruse. 
“Using the baby against me is cruel.” You chastise, pulling yourself to sit against the headboard as you take Nyx in your arms so that he is resting on your knees. 
“I know but you really do need to get up.” Feyre says, still half-wrapped in the arms of sleep herself. Feyre is the night; dark, and vast, strangely comforting. 
“The High Lord has asked to see you before the ceremony,” Nesta says. Her voice is filled with something sharp and wicked. They’re all looking at you now; each saturated in her own shade of sympathy as you resign yourself to action. Rising from the bed in feigned indifference, you wordlessly hand Nyx off to his mother, before walking over to the copper tub in front of the dying fire. The cold copper draws the heat from your skin and in its wake leaves an icy metallic sting that cuts bone deep. 
“Very well then,” You say with a heavy sigh, “I best not keep him waiting.” 
You look to your sisters then, once they had been three girls; mortal and each afraid and now they stand before you half-divine and formidable. And where did you stand amongst them? You don’t feel particularly formidable.
You feel fractured, all adrift in a violent sea.  
So today you will wear your sisters virtues like armor. Until you have sworn yourself to him. 
“We’ll not keep you,” Nesta says, cutting through the poignant silence as you rise on uncertain feet towards the tub nodding curtly at them as they disperse.  
The swathes of your ivory nightgown pool like water at your feet as you wade into the tub before sinking low into its comforting warmth. The water is white-hot, burns in the most sadistic way, and when the burning subsides it gives way to a misty wakefulness saturated by the aromatic smell of juniper and jasmine. You recline your head against the lip of the tub and cast your gaze to your sisters again. . 
In this light Nesta looks like a vision; draped in black and silver, her hair braided like a crown atop her head and her face has an austere beauty that could bring a King to his knees. Nesta is a silver flame; wrathful and vengeful, and should she let it, her fire would ravage worlds until all that stood between her and total destruction was herself.
Eris is flame too; terrible and red. Slow-burning, all-consuming and utterly devastating.
Like calls to Like.
Once your sisters have left you let yourself sink into the scalding waters, sinking lower and lower until you are submerged entirely; the water becomes you and you it. Nesta always said that you were water; calm and clear with a dangerous anger that swells like a storm under the skin's surface, violent like the sea. And should you let it, the tempest will tear you apart, and perhaps the world with it. Looking up from underneath the fractured rays of sunlight spill into the room and pierce through the dark waters– there is something sacred in that sinking feeling. Then visions come to you in flashes of black, red and–
“I dreamt of you last night,” It’s Elain’s voice that lingers on the edges of your room. It’s airy and haunting and her eyes are wide and glassy as she exhales. Elain is flowers; painted in the pastels of Springs early blooms and her hair shines like shadowed sunlight in the pale morning.
“I dreamt of you and him.”
“A dream or a vision?” You ask, your voice wavering and curious. 
Elain takes a tentative step into the room, her fingers buried into the skirts of her dress and she broaches the subject again, “I hadn’t had a vision in months”.
“But last night I saw you.” 
Elain’s soft hands brush over your own, the tips of your fingers tangling together and your draw in a sharp breath as something in you calls to her and all the breath is taken from you when she reaches out a pale hand to your cheek. 
It burns through you like fire and Elain begins to speak.
'These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and water,
Which as they kiss consume.’
Elain falls through the ether with a deep inhale as the trance falls away from her and she scrambles to find something to ground herself in those moments.You brace yourself against the lip of the tub as Elain falls to the floor in tears, hands desperately grasping for anything to hold onto. Soaked to the bone and bare to the world you take your trembling sister in your arms and hold her there until the ragged breaths soothe and settle to a steady inhale-exhale. You run a confronting hand through Elain’s unbound hair, pressing a chaste kiss against her hairline repeating the words to her. It’s okay. I’m here. Elain looks up at you through dark lashes, wet with unshed tears when she whispers hoarsely.
“Please don’t marry Eris Vanserra.”
---
The cloister in the royal temple on the outskirts of Verona is steeped in near darkness save for the jade light from the stained glass windows that pierces the veil of the dark, like sunlight as it cascades down into the murky green depths of the river that flanks the Autumn’s capital city. There is a solemn silence that hangs in the air and for a moment this room feels more like a watery grave than a quiet reprieve from the ceremony below. The orchestral music plays and you pick out the sounds of lyres and harps as their music washes over you. You suck in a sharp breath and all at once you feel panic hit you like a raging tempest, wild and raging as it drags you into its merciless depths--
The sharp knock on the screen door reverberates through the silence of the cloister.
“Come in.” You say, your voice hoarse and shaky as clutch at the tight lacing of your corset, trying to catch your breath again. Light spills into the room like the tide and you turn, half-expecting to see one of your sisters standing there, her face painted in sympathy as she takes you in her arms and whispers a few comforting words to you. 
The man that stands before you is a much more volatile prospect indeed. 
“My Lord.” You greet him coldly. 
“High Lord now, isn’t it?” Beron Vanserra offers you a saccharine smile as he crosses the threshold of the makeshift bridal apartments. He’s dressed in a deep crimson tunic, embroidered with threads of gold; It is wholly perverse for a man so cruel to look so poised and striking. You notice the way his shoulder length hair looks like polished bronze and his eyes shine like onyx in the morning light as he regards you.
“Don’t you make a beautiful bride,” Beron’s voice is laden with false flattery, undercut with an air of threat, “you’re going to make my son a very happy male.” 
Beron all but leers at you. His eyes trail lazily over the curves and divots of your body in the obscenely intricate dress he had chosen for you. It is adorned in rubies and pearls that catch in the light like drops of blood. You feel your skin begin to crawl when he presses a chaste kiss to your outstretched hand.
“It is a shame about Eris though.” Beron says dangerously low, as if daring you to ask what it is he means. 
“The flowers look very beautiful” you muse absently, it is all you can offer him-- some small, non-committal response to placate him.
Beron pays you no heed. 
“I’m assured no expense has been spared with the ceremony.” Beron continues, picking at some stray threads on the sleeve of his tunic. His lips are set in a straight line and you notice the grimace that graces his features as he takes in the decor from your spot in the cloister overlooking the antechamber of the temple. 
The walls are carved into ivory marble and sandstone, and the high, Gothic archways are adorned with carvings of mythological heroes and Princes from songs. The large circular window behind the altar is decorated with stained glass that casts a myriad of dappled light onto the marble tiles. You swallow thickly thinking of the obscenely large sum of money being spent on your mating ceremony to the Autumn heir. 
“So I’ve heard, High Lord.” Beron nods at that, the use of his title softening him to you again and you dip your head in a show of false deference.
“Yes, well,” Beron says, his lips twitching lightly as he traces the swell of your breasts and the slope of your neck, “I have reason to believe you will be worth every penny.” 
Beron takes a step towards you and you loose a breath as he draws nearer still. His frail, aged hand reaches out to touch you. From your position in the cloister Beron Vanserra towers over you. His presence is a looming reminder of your position in this world. His slender fingers feel warm and smooth against the skin of your throat as he tilts your chin so that you are looking in his eyes. You wonder if Eris’ touch feels as perverse. 
It wasn't that night in Hewn City, you remember. That night he had touched you with such careful reverence. 
Like you were a Goddess worth kneeling too.
“You should be warned,” Beron says to you, his eyes bore into yours and in them you see something akin to devilment cross them. Beron’s voice is soft and pensive in a way that seems rehearsed “The Autumn Court is an inhospitable place for outsiders.”
“Rhysand might be content for you to play at war and politics but you will find that in Autumn it is not becoming of a Lady of your position.” 
“Yes, My Lord” you say, your voice equally as soft, with an almost breathless quality to it as the realization of his words takes root in your chest. Your heart is thunderous in your chest-- it beats so loud you’re sure The High Lord of Autumn is privy to it. 
Beron hums thoughtfully as he lets go of your chin once more.
“Eris has a dangerous temper -- the fire runs hot in his veins” Beron’s words are chosen carefully, crafted to intimidate. “I can assure you he will not abide these foolish notions any more than I will.” 
You nod meekly, recalling the words of Elain’s vision. These violent delights will have violent ends. 
“He might be blinded by the thought of a pretty face and a tight cunt for now but it won’t last.” He muses to himself and again you see that light fade from his eyes and morph into a sadistic joy as his words spark outrage on your face. 
You don’t dare look at him again lest he see the tears that have gathered at your waterline. Beron considers you for a moment, sweeping you up in his hold so that your arm is wrapped around his bicep loosely and he begins to lead you from the darkness of the cloister and into the light. 
“And what will my position be at court?” You ask carefully, observing the harsh set of Beron’s jaw as you talk. 
“As Eris’ mate you will be a Lady of the Autumn court -- you’ll take tea and play cards, attend balls -- bear him sons.” Beron laughs, casting a glance to you as you continue your descent down the temple stairs before he takes his leave. Then he is gone with the wave of a hand and he leaves the charred scent of wyrmwood and valerian root in his wake. You lose a shaky breath and try ceaselessly to wipe the unshed tears from your eyes before continuing your descent into the heart of the temple. 
Your storm rages violent and cold then; You were born from the depths of the sea. To be cruel and beautiful. You are not some docile little girl or a brood mare destined to bear sons and obey. 
You are a storm incarnate and by the time you are done, the whole world will know it. 
The temple in Verona is carved deep into the natural sandstone of a cliff face, its sharp peak cleaving it from the valley and river beyond. The grand temple overlooks the river and on days such as this, the smell of seafoam and salt, stains the air. The stained glass windows line the junction between the walls and ceilings, and illustrated in them, is the story of birth, creation and rebirth. It breeds a strange sense of reverence in you. As the sun filters through the windows in beams of shadowed light, the aisle is dappled in a technicolor glow. The air is thick and heady with the smell of wine and smoke and from your spot at the end of the aisle, you can see The High Priestess intoning her mass. The Priestess is obscured by plumes of incense smoke and the flicker of candle flame illuminates her face. She is a vision in the lonine orange light; she is heavily veiled, runes adorn her arms and face, and her eyes shine with a cerulean clarity as she chants her blessings to the Fae in attendance. Her altar is littered with offerings to the mated pair, amphora’s of fae-wine, bouquets of lilac and patchouli, small trinkets and garlands of laurel and pomegranate. The temple is alive with ceremony; a possession of veiled priestesses, anointed with incense, leave a trail of petals in their wake, as they kneel at the foot of the altar before filing into the pews. 
“Last chance to run!” It’s Cassian’s voice that jolts you from thought. 
He laughs as you clutch at your chest as you reel from his intrusion. He’s dressed in his ceremonial uniform; it’s much prettier than the frayed training leathers you’re used to seeing him in. His broad shoulders seem to strain against the navy fabric that is decorated with embroidered silver brocade. His hair is pushed back behind his ears neatly, a few errant strands catch on the breeze and he looks more like the Cassian you had grown to care for. 
“I think it’s a little late for that now.” Rhysand says pointedly to Cassian as he retreats into the aisle to find his seat at the front of the temple with the rest of your family and friends.
On the opposite side of the aisle Beron Vanserra stands near the altar along with Eris and his favorite courtiers and trusted soldiers that gather behind him to bear witness to the hastily brokered mating ceremony his father had managed to coerce you into. And there’s a woman. She’s tall and beautiful with hair the color of sand and a face that is bright and warm. She looks out into the aisle with contempt and then back again to Eris and from here, on the outside looking in, you can see it. Not quite love but fire; consuming and searing through her and the heat seems to seep into his bones as he turns around to meet her eyes and you can swear you see the ghost of regret grace his face. 
You will make him kneel to you, you think. As you had done that night in Hewn City. He had called you Goddess then. 
A storm incarnate, you remind yourself as you approach the aisle hesitantly. Violent, merciless, and beautiful. With all the force of a raging tempest. 
As the orchestral music begins to sweep through the temple you feel Rhysand clear his throat and come to stand at your side, his eyes burning holes into the side of your face. Rhysand is dressed all in black. In his High Lord robes he cuts an intimidating figure. In this holy light he looks quite beautiful, in a boyish sort of way, never really having shed that youthful magnetism that seemed to enamour everyone so. On any other day, you wouldn’t have looked twice at Rhysand but as your freedom hangs precariously in the balance you want to cling to something you know-- something warm and familiar and safe. So you take his arm as he guides you out into the aisle. 
Your vision is partially obscured by the light mesh veil that adorns your face. It’s honey coloured and decorated with tiny ruby crystals that fall like tears. The dress itself looks like wine red; satin and chiffon that clings to you like water as it marks the contours and caverns of your body in a way that makes you feel laid bare. The fabric is gathered about your bust delicately and accentuates the slope of your shoulders. Rhysand’s cool fingers rub comforting circles into the flesh of your arm where he holds it tight. He feels your tense involuntarily as the harps swell to a stop when you step up to the heart of the temple. 
Then you see him; it’s hypnotic and slightly aggravating as he examines you, his eyes trailing over your body and coming to land on your face. He looks at you and you feel as though light goes all through you. He’s steeped in jewel tones that saturate him in autumnal light as he stands against the cool marble and stone of the temple. His hair is tousled and rust coloured in the half-extinguished candle flame and his eyes shine like amber, incandescent and devastating. His tunic is jade coloured and embellished with gold thread along the cuffs and collar. 
“Come forward, child,” the Priestess gestures to you as you take a step towards the altar, bowing your head in a show of devotion. She takes your hand in hers and kisses it chastely, murmuring a blessing against your skin. She repeats the action for Eris before gesturing to you to face him. When you turn to face him he takes a step forward on certain feet and takes hold of the sheer fabric that veils you, briefly admiring the feel of it between his fingers before bringing it over your head in one fluid movement so that your face is entirely unobstructed from view. Eris burns bright; a slow-burning flame. It’s warm and all-consuming but no less volatile, no less devastating. As the priestess continues to intone her blessings, you and Eris stand, looking at each other in the light searching for something to cling to in each other’s eyes in those sinking moments. In a flurry of movement the priestess takes your hand again before pressing the ceremonial blade to your palm, the metal glints in the dappled light and a slicing burn gives way to blood that pools like rubies at Eris’s feet. 
Stepping to the altar he grasps your hand in his as a pained hiss escapes you. His hands are broad and warm and his fingers are long and graceful as they ghost over your cold skin. Your fist clenches in his unrelenting grip and when he feels it, he yields to you, his hand going slack as your fingers curl around his. He had the strange tenderness of someone who has never been loved, it seems almost rehearsed. His palms and the pads of his fingers are rough and mottled with fire and the way he holds your hand in his is possessive. 
Sacred and perverse. 
His hand pulls away from you now and in turn he offers it up to the priestess, she turns it over in her grasp and slices into his palm as she had done to you. He places his hand in yours again. Palm to bloody palm as he sinks to his knees before you. He kneels to you in his own show of reverence; you, the visage of some ancient deity and he, the last devotee. 
Eris Vanserra works diligently, threading the ribbon through your joined hands, binding your bloody hand to his. The crimson ribbon that joins you, a representation of the oaths by which you are bound together. 
Your shared sin.
The words come next; spoke in unison and recited like a prayer:
Ode to my love; 
Blood of my blood, bone of my bone;
Here, I surrender myself unto you;
In sight of The Mother; 
I give that which is only mine to give;
My word, my bond, my fealty,
I pledge to shield your back, and keep your counsel,
I pledge that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,
And yours the arms in which i wake
I pledge to you my living and dying;
I am yours and you are mine,
From this day until our last day.
The next few hours seem to pass in a perpetual state of anxiety induced haze and you bear witness to it all from somewhere outside of yourself; a ghost or spectator to the tragedy that had become your union to The Autumn Prince. 
Your beautiful mate. 
This should have been a happy occasion; the union of two souls, bound together by the Gods themselves. Born from the same star. But Beron Vanserra had robbed you of any romantic notions that today is anything but a warning fire. 
You are a vulnerability. His mate. And whether Eris Vanserra loves you or not Beron intends to exploit that vulnerability; a pretty ornament to bring Eris to heel. 
The ballroom is a show of opulence; soaked in the amethyst fae-light and chandeliers glitter like moonglow on open water. The paintings hang on the wall, rich oil on canvas, framed in gilded gold and the high table is decorated with fine ivory place settings and delicate china adorned with painted autumn leaves. The retinue of Beron’s courtiers look like a jewel-toned fire; flames of amber, topaz, and ruby that burn through the cool light of the ballroom as they take to their seats. It’s a great farce. The way that the colours of night and autumn come together in a crude harmony. You wonder if Eris sees it too. 
The music is soft and loud and mixed with the laughter and idle chatter the hall is a cacophony of sound, no longer ceremonial and orchestral but rather, jovial and light-hearted with an undercurrent of anticipation. From your position at the heart of the high table, you can see the courtiers of Night and Autumn mingling on the lower tables, and as the fourth course is served, it seems inebriation is beginning to set in. Their faces in the crowd are exaggerated and expressive, the distinct wine-blush staining the room a specific shade of hedonism. The air is thick with it, wine and body heat. It’s almost tangible. 
The sound of Cassian’s voice echoes along the high table as he and Nesta seem to be in the midst of a heated debate. Feyre and Mor are quietly discussing court gossip with animated gasps and hand gestures that you only catch from the corner of your eye. All of that is drowned out by the conversation between Rhysand, Beron and Eris. 
You only stare on, watching and waiting as the evening begins to unfold before you. 
You cast your eyes along the table to see that it is laden with food; roasted meats, and seasonal vegetables, garnished with fragrant spices and herbs that taint the air with their aroma. It’s pure gluttony. More food than you have ever seen, piled high and largely untouched. It seems cruel to you. To be confronted with such abundance now, when once, hunger was all you knew. It should feel like heaven to live in the knowledge that you will never know poverty again but sometimes it feels like condemnation. To live knowing that your life, meagre as it was, had been stolen from you and in its place, this. 
The stiffening of the body next to you brings you back from the precipice. Eris is a vision in the sapphire light; his face is beautiful in the most conflicting ways. He’s all delicate and angular; soft slopes and harsh lines that come together in opposing harmony. His face is a perfect juxtaposition. He’s a slow-burning fire tangled in the amethyst moonglow. 
“You should eat something,” His voice is tense and low and he doesn’t deign to look at you when he speaks. Even his presence is contradictory in nature; the way his face is set in a neutral expression that arches on contemptuous, and yet, his hand, still bound to yours, is warm and tender, as the calloused pad of his thumb strokes slow tortuous circles into the skin of your hand. 
“I’m not hungry,” it is a lie, an obvious one at that, as at that moment your stomach seems to betray you. He laughs then. Much to the ire of Beron who sends one measured glance to his heir, never quite looking away from Rhysand as he talks about some foreign policy or the other.
The laugh itself is not wholly cruel but teasing, meant to make you feel small as he finally turns his gaze on you. It’s fierce and piercing, warm and you think that when he is looking at you the whole world melts away for a few moments. Eris is handsome; of that there had never been any doubt. Especially in this light he almost takes your breath away. 
“Please eat something, little fox.” is all he says finally, cutting through the tension that had settled over the two of you. 
You laugh back at him now as he watches you carefully, his stare is unyielding and burns into the side of your face. Yet you refuse him the satisfaction of looking back at him. It is Beron’s stare that has you shrinking in place, searing and critical as it bores into the side of your face. It is then you notice the woman he had brought with him looks at you both with a peculiar mixture of envy and scorn that makes heat coil in your stomach, it creeps up on you, kissing its way up your throat and ghosting over your cheeks, leaving blush stains in its wake. 
You look at him once more, forlorn and dejected when he won’t meet your gaze. You look down to the space between you to the place where your hands are bound to his. Your hands are clasped together and come to rest on your thigh innocently as his thumb continues to rub small circles into the skin of your hand. It’s absent-minded and self-soothing on his part. You doubt he realizes or cares about the comfort it has been bringing you in these moments when you feel like you are drowning. So you surrender yourself to the tide.
You are the sea; wild and untamed, sacred like salt. A force to be reckoned with. And try as he might, he will not burn you. 
When your stomach elicits another growl you relent to him and decide to eat something after all even if the satisfaction on his face is enough to awaken the storm brewing inside of you. It’s not quite anger but either way, it washes over you and awakens you with a jolt. 
With your free hand you grab the first thing in front of you; pomegranate, ripe and sweet-smelling and red. Red like the thread that binds you to him. You spend a few moments contemplating it before letting your free hand fall to your thigh, to the place where his body joins with yours. You begin tugging at the binding in an attempt to free yourself from his tender grip. 
“No!” His voice is louder and sterner than he meant for it to sound as he pushes you away with his unbound hand.
“Why not?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at the harsh tone in his voice, “it’s just a stupid ribbon.” 
You attempt to free yourself again, only this time his grip is rough and unrelenting.
“That stupid ribbon is thousands of years of tradition, girl.” It is Beron’s voice, cruel and malignant that chastises you. 
“My apologies.” you say dumbly in response, looking down to where your hands are joined in shame, “forgive me High Lord.” You’re not sure if it's Beron of Eris you are apologizing to. But it is Beron’s words that play on your mind. 
Eris bids you to look at him when his father is once again taken into conversation with Rhysand and you notice then how Eris’ amber gaze softens with his grip as he lets go of your free hand and he waves you off as you look on apologetically. These are the traditions of his people. And foreign as they are to you, they are his; yours now too you suppose.
“The ribbon signifies the sacred vows we have made to each other.” Eris explains carefully and those amber eyes never once leave yours. Even as he brings his free hand to cradle your face in one hand, or as he runs a tender thumb over the the smooth flesh of your cheek. 
“I’m sor-” you move to apologize again though the words are cut short when Eris squeezes your hand comfortingly beneath the table and offers you a secret smile. A secret courtesy to be kept between you and him.
“Think nothing of it, wife.” There’s a little bite to the words that speak to his jest and you feel once again that you are talking to the man that had enamored you so that night in Hewn City. 
He clears his throat again to speak. 
His voice is measured and calm this time as he says “It can’t be removed until the wedding night.”
“The wedding night?” you ask, looking up at him as he turns away again.
“Until the marriage has been consummated.” Eris clarifies, not daring to look at you he shifts a little in his seat, crossing his boot-clad leg over his knee.
“Ahah! The bedding!” Beron leers at you and you notice the twitch in Eris’ jaw but his face remains set in a perfectly neutral expression before morphing into his own rehearsed smirk. He mutters something to his father that you can’t quite catch but whatever it is, it is enough that Beron hums in satisfaction and turns back to The Night Lord of Night with a dangerous smile on his lips. 
You swallow hard. 
Your throat goes dry and makes it harder to swallow your dread. Silence settles over you both again, you’re not sure that he notices or pays much mind to you in those moments but drowning in the silence, you feel his hand squeeze yours with a fond pressure that makes your heart swell with something close to affection. 
After a few more moments of that awkward silence and his hand squeezing yours, you dare to look along the table again. Beside you Rhys is sat in a grand chair that marks him as a High Lord, next is Feyre who cradles Nyx in her arms as he sleeps soundly despite the music and chatter of the courtiers. Nesta and Cassian seem wholly immersed in each other, each drinking deeply from their cups as their conversation becomes louder. At some point, she catches your eye and quirks a brow at you in question. You can’t think of what to do so you only shake your head a little in response, hardly enough for anyone else to notice. 
Moving on you find Azriel in the crowd, he’s pressed against the wall, drink in hand, spectating from the sidelines as he does, lying in wait for something to catch his attention. Something does catch his attention though; it’s you. He sees the way you watch him carefully. There was something dark and reassuring in his eyes, a wordless conversation contained between you and him in that moment. He’s been a friend to you this whole time, and his distrust of Eris meant he was the only one openly vocal about his reservations regarding your marriage to the Autumn prince. Apart from you of course. Azriel slinks off into the shadows and not long after you notice that Elain has also managed to escape. There is some amusement in how obvious they are in their affections for each other and yet, not one person is observant enough to take notice of it. 
“Your sister, Elain,” he starts, there is a menace in his voice and a thread of amusement as he cocks a brow to Lucien who is dancing with Feyre now,  “She’s my brother's mate, yes?”
“She is, My Lord.” You nod, your eyes fixed on Lucien, who had been begrudgingly invited and you find yourself enamored by his graceful movements as he sweeps Feyre up in one fluid motion, turning with her in his arms before placing her on the ground again. Lucien is beautiful you think; not in the same way as Eris perhaps, Lucien is sunlight where Eris is fire-- but beautiful still. 
“Have you noticed the way she always seems to disappear in a room full of people and no one seems to notice,” It’s not meant to be a jape or a taunt just simple observation on his part as his eyes scan the room and Elain is nowhere to be found amongst the masses of bodies. 
“The spymaster, too.” he adds, his tone is careful and bereft of emotion. 
“How strange,” you say, offering him a weak smile in response. Any smart retort lives and dies on the tip of your tongue at that moment and you’re left trying to scrape some dismissal together but no matter how hard you try, nothing will come forth.  
“Perhaps they have retired to their beds for the night.” he offers, a sly smile on his beautiful lips.
Clearly, someone else is taking note. 
He turns to you then and you can see the wicked smile that takes over his features but it is gone just as quickly as he looks down at you clumsily holding your knife in hand in an attempt to tear open the fruit in front of you so that you may finally eat. 
“Here,” he says softly, reaching over you with his free hand to take the pomegranate from your hands, “give me the knife”.
“Don’t trouble yourself, My Lord,” you say quickly, your hand covering his to stop him in his tracks.
“No you don’t” he says simply waving your hand away again. Eris holds out his large hand to you, his palm open and expectant as his eyes find yours. Gods, he is devastating, you think. And intimidating. You see a flash of fire cross his eyes and Beron’s words play in your mind once more. 
You twirl the cheese knife in your hand once more before handing it to Eris with a trembling touch. Eris is skilled with a knife. His fingers are elegant and deft with a blade like he knows it innately. It is malleable under his touch and glides through the air as he carves into the pomegranate. Fruit flesh relents to the sting of his blade; sweet liquid spills onto his fingers like blood and the seeds shine like rubies in the candlelight. Eris takes a seed between his thumb and forefinger, holding it to the light before holding it to the sulk on your lips. Fruit flesh is cool and wet against your lips, the juice is tart and sweet and red. 
Almost metallic.
Almost like blood. 
It takes you a few moments to relent to him but when you do, you obediently open your mouth to him; all pretty pink lips and canines. It’s feral the way he watches you. The way you watch him. Like two predators circling their prey. There’s the ghost of a dare glinting in his eyes when you lean into him and wrap your lips around his fingers. It’s metallic and sweet, a heady mixture of skin and seed. You moan gospel around his deft fingers and when you are done he looks as though he is ready to devour you. 
The little peace that you had found in those moments seems to subside with the abrupt ending to the music as Rhysand stands beside you raising a glass to the room, with others following one by one to also raise their glasses.
“As the night draws to its close, let me be the first to wish you both well; my greatest wish is to see your bond grow strong, and with it the pledges we have borne witness to today. Your union is tangible proof of the alliance between our two courts and with your love, let those allegiances too grow strong so that we may all know peace and abundance in equal measure.”
As Rhysand’s speech draws to its close you feel Eris’s hand again squeezing at yours as if in warning for what will come next. Rhysand’s words didn’t surprise you as you thought they might, they lacked any brotherly sincerity and in its place was the proof that you had been sold to Eris so that Rhysand may profit off your sacrifice.
“As is tradition, the bride and groom will now retire to their bed.” As those words leave Beron’s lips you feel yourself pale in a mixture of embarrassment and dread. It’s Cassian who draws your attention as in his drunken stupor he hollers at the mere mention of the bedding. Nesta is quick to silence him with a jab to the ribs and she sends you an apologetic half-smile. Not that it appeases you any. This is the fate they have designed for you. It is easier to resign yourself to it, and relinquish control instead of having it taken from you. Breaking is easier than being broken. 
As the music begins again Eris seems to don a mask; his smile is saccharine as he rises to his feet in one fluid motion and you follow shortly after. He leads you to the middle of the ballroom and looks again at where your bodies are joined together. He places his free hand on the small of your back and in turn, you wrap your arm around his shoulder. He leads you effortlessly into a slow, sultry walk as you and he slink from the opulent ballroom and into the long, narrow corridors of The Forest House. 
“Are you afraid?” Eris asks gently as he examines you carefully and you don’t miss the way his eyes linger at the swell of your breasts or the way his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hip as he leads you up the grand staircase.
“Should I be afraid, My Lord?” you ask incredulously, offering him a sweet, amenable smile. That is what they want you to be, isn’t it? Agreeable, obedient, docile. A pretty thing to warm his bed and keep his counsel until his father is dead and buried.
He looks down at where your hands are bound together and you swallow hard.
You have already been bought and sold and with every passing second you can’t help but think your fate is to be a broodmare to birth sons and live in quiet isolation. 
As Eris’s own mother has. 
That behind Eris’s scheming and his initial hesitancy to claim you, there is still a lingering sense of ownership. That he felt entitled to you, to your body and your life should it come to that. All because The Mother deemed him worthy of you. For all his solemn promises he still bought you for a price.
“I won’t touch you,” there is sincerity in his voice that warms you, nerves set alight as his broad hand ghosts your uncovered shoulder.
“Not until you ask me to, anyway,” he adds, there is an air of playfulness in his voice but there is something else. At that moment you are assured that if you would have him, Eris would ravage you. He might be a cruel prince with a wicked temper, but there is an irresistible and undeniable tension between you. Something that calls your body to his. Perhaps it is the wine, or the gravity of the vows you have sworn to one another but either way, this man before you is lust incarnate. 
“What if I never want you to touch me?” you retort, there is something unserious about the way you say it. Both of you know that it is only a matter of time before you permit him into your bed.
“I can’t say I’ve ever dreamed of the priesthood.” He laughs a little. It is sweet and careless as his hand dips a little lower on your hips.
“I’m sure you’ll find some pretty little nymph to devote yourself to,” you say, thinking of the sandy-haired woman who had been watching you all night. Eris’ face twists into a fox-like grin. Like he has finally got you right where he wants you. 
“Who was the woman here today, the one with the golden hair?” you ask, your gaze wavering under the heat of Eris’ stare. 
“Her name is Chryseis, but you needn’t pay her any mind” he reassures you, forcing you to look at him. And only him. He’s right. She isn’t important, not truly. What’s more pressing is the way her eyes trailed you contemptuously and the feeling of volatile jealousy that toot root in your body. It is unnatural and selfish. Whatever Eris and that woman share predates you, and any vows he made to you. 
“She is very beautiful” You don’t quite know where the words come from but it tastes like saltwater on your tongue, “Is she what you gave up to have me?”
“She is nothing to me,” he says honestly. You think it is nice to see him like that, in those small moments where he is unencumbered by all that plagues him.
In that moment, you stand there, your hand still bound to Eris and again you allow the world to dissolve like sugar on your tongue when he is looking at you like that. His fire is gentle and slow-burning now, it comes off him in hot plumes of smoke.
“Do you always ask so many questions?” he quips as he tries to catch his breath, painfully aware of how your hearts beat in tandem, “Or only when you’re jealous?” 
He’s toying with you now and humiliation coils tight in your chest.
“Why would I be jealous of your lover?” you say, all bared teeth and venom as the tension between you cools to anger. It’s unnerving, and your hairs stand on end in morbid anticipation. As he closes the gap between you so that you are chest to chest. So close that his lips ghost over your own as he comes to whisper in your ear. 
“I never said she was my lover” Eris jibes, only half-amused as he takes in the way you shrink before him as his fathers words ring in your ears once again each time you bring yourself to fan the flames of his anger. 
“If you want me to forsake all other women, all you have to do is ask.” his breath is hot on your neck and he stares down at you, hypnotized by the rise and fall of your chest. “I offered as much that first night in Hewn City, don’t you remember?”
“Let it be my first act as your husband.” The way he says it is full of ardour and taunt. You’ve no doubt that he would too. But you are the sea; violent and willful and you will not surrender to him yet. 
You don’t say anything then only press your bound palm to his before leaning into him. His eyes pierce your soul and warmth pools in the pit of your stomach as his hot breath fans your face, lips coming to meet yours in a tender kiss. Only before you can heed the call of your soul to his, you pull away from him.
Eris hisses at the sudden loss of touch and he drops his free hand and begins to untether your hand from his. He turns his back to you, readjusting his posture to a cool, calculated slouch that exudes an aura of arrogance that he wears so well. The sounds of his riding boots against the tile cut through you like a knife. He tosses his head to the side, long russet strands framing his profile as he speaks again.
“You called me a Goddess once, do you remember?” Your eyes search his and in that strange amber gaze you see the man you saw that night is Hewn City. Wicked and vulnerable and good, despite it all. Eris nods and you watch the long column of his throat as he swallows thickly.
“Tonight I will let you kneel at my altar.” Eris Vanserra moves like a man starved; all teeth and tongue and ardent hands as he pushes you up against the wall outside of him apartments. His kiss is all consuming and devouring as he claims you with reckless abandon. His hands are warm and sure against you; one that holds your jaw gently and the other holds your hip in a bruising grip. 
“You are going to be my ruin, wife.” His echoing whisper answers as his figure retreats into the darkness with the promise of what is to come.
292 notes · View notes
thelov3lybookworm · 5 months
Note
I have a request!
Can you write something where Cassian is tasked with “babysitting” Azriel’s very pregnant mate? Like she can’t be alone for medical reasons and Rhys really needs Azriel for something and Cass is the only one not busy? I just think it would be hilarious. 😂
Babysitting
Summary: Cassian's day doesn't go as planned.
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A/n: this was so funny my baby anon 😭💀i love it so much❣️
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Rhys's pov.
"I can't leave her here alone Rhys! You know how moody and clingy she's become these past few weeks. She has also become extremely excited. She can't sit still for more than an hour or so. She can't stay alone." Azriel ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly as his anxiety built. "Hell, can you believe I found her trying to climb into our closet because she wanted to clean it the other day?"
"I know brother, and I wouldn't have asked you to come unless it was absolutely necessary. Keir is once again planning something, you know it. Your presence is needed."
Azriel sighed heavily, settling into one of the chairs in his brother's office. "Tell me again why I'm needed?"
"I want you to snoop around hewn city while I distract the court."
Azriel cursed. "And no one can stay with her? Because she will not be going to hewn city, no matter what."
Rhys contemplated for some time. He wished he didn't have to do this. He didn't want his brother to worry too much about his mate. But this trip to the hewn city was also important.
Mor was visiting Miryam and Drakon. She was not in Velaris. She was out of the question for taking care of Y/n.
Feyre and Amren would be coming along to hewn city. They couldn't help either.
Nesta had training with the Valkyries.
Rhys sighed. Nuala and Cerridwen would be spying g along with Azriel. Elain was on her trip across Prythian.
Just when Rhys was about to give up, the door to his office burst open and in stumbled Cassian. He grinned when he found both his brothers staring at him as he tried to regain some semblance of balance.
Rhys glanced at Azriel, a smile crawling onto his face.
Azriel's brows furrowed, and then his eyes widened with understanding. "No. No. Absolutely not."
Rhys's grin turned feline. "Come on brother, there's no other option."
"What are we talking about?" Cassian questioned as he dropped into the chair next to Azriel, the chair wobbling for a moment.
"Nothing much brother. Just discussing the oncoming trip to hewn city."
"Oh?"
The next few moments went with Rhys explaining why they were going and who all were coming along.
Cassian heaved a relieved sigh when he realised that he was not accompanying them.
"Don't get too happy brother. Because you are free on that day, we were hoping you could stay with Y/n. Look after her.take care of her. She is nearing her delivery date and Az here is a little concerned."
"You want me to babysit her? That's alright! She is after all like my little sister. I can take care of her."
Azriel looked skeptical, but a little more persuasion was all that was needed for him to agree.
Now all they had to do was wait for the day.
•○🌑○•
Cassian's pov.
Y/n's lip quivered as she watched her mate get ready for his trip to hewn city. Cassian felt bad as he watched her. He wished he could comfort her, but didn't know how.
Azriel stood from where he was tying his boots while sitting on the couch, giving Y/n a soft smile. He walked up to her, cupping her face in both hands. "I'll be back soon, hmm?"
Y/n nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Azriel pulled her in for a hug, rubbing her back. Azriel glanced at Cassian, who simply stood there awkwardly, trying not to intrude. He grinned before pulling away from Y/n.
After Azriel was gone, Y/n turned to Cassian. He smiled at her.
"What do you want to do today sister?"
"I was hoping you'd bake with me."
Cassian blinked at her. "What?"
"You always say you have good skills in the kitchen. Bake with me."
Cassian, dumbfounded, simply nodded. He followed her into the kitchen, staring as she pulled out whatever was needed. "I'm thinking we can make cookies. What do you say?"
"Alright."
Y/n was quiet for a moment, then she pulled out a small stool from nearby and began climbing onto it. A panic gripped Cassian as he jolted into action. "What are you doing?! Get down!"
Y/n glanced at Cassian, confused. "I need to get the flour. It's up there."
"I'll get it for you." He gently tugged her down, his heart beating in his throat. "Cauldron, you scared me."
He reached up for the container, but he didn't realise how light it would be. He pulled it out, thinking it would be heavy, but it was lighter than expected. The container jerked in his hands, and then the lid flipped open.
Before he knew what happened, Cassian was covered in flour. He turned to a laughing Y/n, clutching at her swollen stomach and leaning against the counter nearby.
A Shadow floated next to her head, and she grinned at it. That was what made Cassian suspicious.
"Why was the lid open? Was it even open?" He questioned, shaking his head to try and get rid of the flour.
Y/n grinned. "Come on Cass. Can a female not have some fun with her brother?" She again glanced at the shadow. Cassian sighed.
"Is there anything else needed?"
"Eggs."
"Where is it?"
She grinned, a twinkle in her eyes. "Above you."
Cassian was a second too late as he tried to step away. The egg cracked over his head, running down his face.
Cassian groaned. "Y/n. Please stop. This is not funny."
"It's funny to me." She laughed.
"Get out. I'll make the cookies. Go sit on the couch over there."
Y/n pouted, but at Cassian's glare, she sulked away.
Cassian sighed and set to cleaning.
•○🌑○•
When he walked out of the kitchen, he nearly dropped dead because of the fright he recieved.
There, near the fireplace, standing on a chair, was Y/n, dusting a shelf.
"Y/n. Can you please get down." He mumbled softly, trying not to scream in case he frightened her and she lost her balance.
She turned to him, a pleasant smile on her face. That smile faltered when she saw the expression on his face. "What is it?"
"Get down Y/n."
She grumbled but climbed down slowly.
"What is wrong with you?!" He burst out the moment she was on the ground.
Her lower lip wobbled, and Cassian immediately felt guilty. "What is wrong with you?"
Cassian dragged a hand down his face. "I'm sorry. You just scared me. You know it's not safe for you to be climbing on things around the house, right?"
"The chair isn't that high. And the house needs cleaning. Azzie hasn't been letting me do anything since I got pregnant. It's been irritating me."
Cassian pulled her in for a hug, cradling her head gently. "I know sister. But let's wait until after the babe's here to clean the house, yeah?"
She nodded, sniffing.
"I'm bored." She suddenly murmured, looking at him.
Cassian blinked. "Um... is there nothing you can do? We can play something. While sitting." He gave her a look, and she nodded innocently.
"We can play cards."
"Fine."
•○🌑○•
Cassian was on the verge of tears.
The two of them had played cards until the cookies were ready to eat, and after that Y/n had insisted he read to her. Apparently, Azriel always read to her when she was bored.
And Cassian, being the arrogant little prick he was, had wondered how hard it could be. Surely, a warrior who had conquered battlegrounds and men far stronger, one who was one of the best warrior prythian had seen in centuries, could read a book to his brothers wife?
Wrong. He could not read the book without wanting to crawl into a hole and never show his face again.
Y/n had insisted that he read the book she picked.
She sat munching and nibbling on the cookies he made as he struggled to get even one of the filthy words out of his mouth. Sure, he had done these things with Nesta, but reading of them in front of his someone... it felt like his soul was leaving his body.
All the while she remained oblivious to his plight.
Finally, when she took pity on him and told him to stop reading.
"I want to take a nap. Then we can cook dinner."
Cassian had never gotten rid of something in his hands faster.
She settled down on the couch, her head in his lap. He smiled softly when a sigh left her.
Then he asked her the question buzzing in his head. "Where did you get the book from?"
He phrased it casually, and thank the cauldron, she answered him without even a hint of suspicion.
"Oh, Nesta lent it to me."
Cassian's eyes practically bulged out of his head. "That's great."
Y/n hummed, already drifting off.
Cassian shook his head, smiling.
•○🌑○•
Azriel's pov.
He opened the door carefully, trying not to make any noise.
As he stepped in through the threshold, he found the home to be pitch black. His brows furrowed in confusion. Had Y/n not lit the faelights?
As he turned them on, his heart melted.
There on the couch, his brother and wife slept.
She was stretched out on the couch, her face relaxed. Her mouth was sightly parted.
Cassian was sprawled out on the armchair near the fireplace, his arms wrapped across his chest. His legs were stretched out, and he looked like he would slip off the couch any moment now.
Azriel slightly shook Cassian's shoulder, causing him to jerk awake.
He blearily blinked at Azriel, a crease between his brows. Then his eyes widened in relief, and he scrambled to stand.
"Thank the mother you are back." Cassian whispered, finally stable on his feet.
"Why?"
"Oh my. This female made me wonder if i needed more training. I'm so fucking tired." Cassian suddenly clutched at his back, groaning.
"What happened?" Azriel questioned, concerned.
"Don't ask, brother. Don't ask."
"Okay." Azriel made to turn away, and Cassian gaped ay him. With a small smile, Azriel turned back toward him.
"She took a nap in the afternoon. And then she was unstoppable. Creating trouble left and right. More so than Nyx."
Azriel chuckled. He glanced at his wife and mate. She looked so peaceful. Like she was the calmest person in prythian.
"I'll take my leave now." Cassian mumbled, stretching.
Azriel nodded. "I owe you one."
"Don't worry about it."
Cassian walked to Y/n, bending to press a kiss to her forehead before he left.
Azriel smiled. As much as Cassian complained, everyone knew he would do anything to make his family happy.
He was nice like that.
Y/n blinked her pretty eyes open, looking up at him through her lashes. "Hello Azzie."
"Hello my love. Let's get you to bed."
Y/n nodded, holding her arms out to him. "I think we should make a cake or something to thank Cassian for keeping me company today."
"That's a great idea." He spoke as he helped her stand.
"Tomorrow then?"
Azriel smiled at his mate. "Tomorrow."
•○🌑○•
General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @lizziesfirstwife
Azriel taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings
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thesunloveschips · 20 days
Text
Eye of the Storm - Chapter 8: Conflict
Summary: Nyra is one of the older Archeron sisters. Twin to Nesta. Plagued by a mysterious illness that her mortal body cannot endure for too long. And yet, it seems her curse is to see her family suffer. When the youngest of her sisters is whisked away into the land of fae, immortality soon follows for the rest of them. And as an immortal, there is more to her that she has yet to know. 
Chapter Summary: Powers. The fight between the newborn fae. Elain's first prophecy.
Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm
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Nyra looked around. The room she had been given had crimson walls and her bed was a very large one—large enough that all four of the sisters could sleep and they’d still have space. Wooden nightstands stood on either sides of the bed and the large ceiling to floor window towards the left. The entrance to the room was at the farthest left hand corner of the wall to her right.
Empty bookshelves stood tall and proud on the wall facing her, flanking a fireplace with two armchairs for a casual evening. There was also a table with bare minimum stationary and a chair. She did not recognise the decorations hanging on the walls. Two of them on each wall.
Nyra removed herself from the bed and found a door leading to a very luxurious and spacious bathing chamber. She also discovered that the wall to her right was not actually a wall but had a sliding door. She opened the sliding door and found neatly folded clothes and gowns. She headed to the windows which had a handle opening to an unnecessarily spacious balcony with a few plants.
She walked towards the edge and found that the building she was currently in was at a great height. And down on the earth below, a city sprawled with structures of different colours with streets snaking between them. There were open spaces and she could actually see the fountains, street lights, shops and people as clear as though she was right there. She could even read the names of the shops and the contents of their display boards. Far beyond, she saw the sea.
“Lady Nyra.” At the sound of her name, she flinched and took a step back. Nyra looked back and saw Nuala.
“What is it?” Nyra asked, not knowing what to do now. Should she be afraid? Should she ask this lady something? But what should she ask? She didn’t even know the first thing about this place to be having doubts. But this lady had just told her that she was in Velaris and Feyre ruled the Night Court with Rhysand. Feyre was High Lady.
“Is that Velaris?” Nyra asked quickly. The fae smiled and joined her near the railing.
“It is, indeed.”
“Will you tell me something about it?”
“A city of dreamers built ages ago—for dreamers, built by a dreamer. There are different parts of the city where the arts are promoted but the most prominent is the Rainbow. The High Lady would probably give you a tour if you asked.”
Nyra remained quiet and then she looked at the fae. “You’re not Nuala, are you?”
The fae’s eyes widened just a bit before she composed herself. “My name is Cerridwen. Nuala is my twin. She stepped back for some work.”
“And what about my twin?” Cerridwen tilted her head in confusion. “Nesta Archeron, my twin. And Elain Archeron, my younger sister.”
“Your twin and the High Lady are waiting for you outside. Lady Elain is in her room right now.”
“Thank you.” Nyra turned and headed inside. As she marched towards the door, it opened from the outside to reveal Feyre. The youngest dashed towards her sister and hugged her but Nyra couldn’t find it in her to reciprocate. She felt her sister tremble and eventually start crying but Nyra felt far too empty to care for Feyre.
“Where are the others?” Nyra asked plainly. Feyre released her from the hug partially, horrified at the similarity between Nyra and Elain. Nyra repeated her question again and Nesta emerged at the door. Something sparked in her eyes as she saw her twin. “You…”
Nyra removed herself from Feyre’s arms and headed towards Nesta. She took her face in her hands and inspected her. The pointed ears, the sharper face. Nesta had become devastatingly beautiful. It reminded Nyra of the days when Nesta dolled herself up for parties just so she could enjoy the music and dancing. Once upon a time, Nesta was steel and now, she had been forged into a blade. And Nyra released her face.
“You’re fae.” Nyra's voice held her disbelief. She released Nesta's face, not understanding why her twin felt so unfamiliar. She did not know this person. With Nesta's appearance and amplified beauty, Nyra felt like she had lost her twin.
“So are you.” Nyra froze at that. Nesta panicked, not understanding what was happening. For the first time, Nyra seemed to be losing something personal.
“Why?” Nyra whispered. She had already started feeling like Nesta was another person. Like she had lost her twin to some strange world. And now, she was also there in that strange world. Nyra felt something come alive within her. Something that had never been there before but it felt like it had always belonged within her. And like a beast waking up after almost an eternity, it rumbled within her. The tears welled up in her eyes. Why are we in yet another place where we don’t belong?
Nesta gathered her in her arms and held her tightly. Nyra cried and the twins descended to the ground. They remained unbothered by the spectators, most of whom had retreated silently.
Nyra felt so exhausted. Everything was a mess. She had never belonged in the life she was born into. Never understood why she was born in a world where woman was limited to matrimony and breeding and child rearing.
And she did not even understand the world she was now forced into. She did not even want to understand but she would have to. To learn the way of life here. But she did not want that. She felt too tired for all of it. She did not even agree to this.
And the bloody Cauldron. It took something from her and gave her something else. It violated her. The woman in there gave her too much of everything she never wanted. She felt like she’d been in there for ages and maybe that was true. Nyra looked at her hand and summoned a bit of power. Lightning thrummed at her fingertips, exactly as much as she had summoned. She had been taught how to control the power by that strange woman in some strange way.
Nesta saw the lightning on Nyra’s fingers. “You have power?”
Nyra looked up at Nesta and then at her hand. She summoned the lightning again and raised her hand.
“I didn’t get this power. It got me.” Nyra spoke and stopped manifesting it. She then stood up, offering a hand to Nesta to help her up. “I want to know what you saw.” Nyra began. Nesta stepped back, removing her hand. “Please.” Nesta did not ignore her plea. She could never ignore Nyra. And so, she held out her hand and Nyra grabbed it.
There was so much. She felt so much. Like a thousand knives stabbing her and tearing her flesh apart. Like a fire burning her soul to extinction. But Nesta did not burn easily. She clawed at whatever force that had pushed her down. Her nails found something and she struck it hard. The flame subsided and Nesta loomed over that force, grabbed it by the throat and took a bite. She relished in the resulting scream, the taste of cold liquid in her mouth.
But then another scream pierced at her. Nesta looked around, thinking it was another prey to hunt. But it was something else. Someone else. Was that her? A body with long golden brown hair and that pale skin floating. Was that her? That person’s eyes were shut tightly as though she was in agony. The woman screamed again.
Nesta watched a figure rip the girl’s chest with her bare hands and a light was released. Upon closer inspection, the figure had an expression of cruel enjoyment. But the light that appeared out of the girl’s chest material into another figure—a woman of pure light. The girl struck into the one who tore her apart and ripped its head off and threw it away.
More figures materialised. The woman readied her stance like a warrior, preparing for a battle. A spear of some sort materialised in her hand and she used it for her first attack. Nesta watched as the figure eliminate everything and everyone and bathed in the black blood of her foes. Once she was done, the woman looked at her and came near. It was Nyra. Her twin's eyes were closed and she wore no clothes but the light her skin emitted ensured her nakedness was not all that visible. And that wasn't even light. It was just a faint glow with lightning crackling all around her. Nesta recognised her sister in awe and anger. Nyra gently raised her hand and placed it on her chest, pushing her down some abyss.
The next thing Nesta remembered was rising from the Cauldron. Threatening the King, pushing away Lucien, taking Elain, looking for Nyra and losing consciousness at some point after arriving at another location.
“That’s what I remember.” Nesta spoke once they had exited her memories.
Why was it so natural for her to use these powers? To control them was one thing but to use them was completely different. When she had lived her entire life as a powerless mortal with death looming far too close then why was power so real? As if it was inherent? The beast within her rumbled again.
"What was that?" Nesta asked. Before Nyra could say anything, Nesta had touched her bare hand. And she was suddenly transported to another place.
It was completely dark. Nesta looked around for a source of light. And two blue orbs lit up at the same time. Appearing as though they had been unveiled. The blue light blinked once and a deep growl echoed all around. Nesta looked at the orbs and silver glowed in her eyes. The roar of a beast made everything tremble. Nesta felt the smooth embrace of something like a blanket. It wrapped itself around her waist and tugged her back.
"What was that?" Nesta was now breathing heavily. Her eyes were still silver but she was back in the House of Wind. Nyra was in front of her, her blue eyes glowing. Nesta had the horrifying realisation that the blue orbs she had just seen were Nyra's eyes and the growl was hers. But what terrified her to the core was when she recognised the roar of the beast as her own.
"You know what it was." Nyra replied. The twins now sat on the ground properly.
Nyra had recognised the beast Nesta was the moment she saw the silver eyes. Gods, they were beasts now and not just fae. She didn't even know if there were any fae who were just fae. She sighed. "What the hell did we get dragged into?"
"I'm sorry." Feyre's voice reached them. That was when the twins remembered that she was still there. "This is all my fault."
"Where is Elain?" Nyra asked. "Is she like us?"
"Yes. I'll take you to her room. Before that..."
Nyra looked at her, waiting for her to continue. Nesta spoke. "You're wearing a nightgown. Take a bath and dress up. We'll meet Elain soon. She's fine. Physically, at least."
Nyra frowned but she made no move to oppose. She stood up and entered her room. Nesta followed her in.
"I can't use that." Nyra whispered. She remembered how she pulled herself up to rise from the Cauldron. The Cauldron's liquid felt like acid on her skin, tiring her before she could even step out. Something had helped her get out. But before she could care for how she got out of the Cauldron, she was consumed by the thoughts of how she did not want to enter the bath tub. The image of it filled with water made her flinch.
"I know. There are buckets and mugs." Nesta headed towards the taps where the buckets and mugs were. While she waited for the warm water to fill the buckets, she watched Nyra look at her reflection in the mirror with the fascination of a child.
"I look young." Nyra poked her cheeks and grabbed them before letting go. She touched her arms and turned to see her hair. "My hair looks better." She grabbed them in her hands and admired how soft they had become. Her hair was a cascade of rich golden brown the Archeron sisters shared. Each strand seemed to catch the light and hold it for a moment, before releasing it in a warm, inviting gleam.
"You're healthy." Nesta spoke. "The healer said your body is completely fine. No illnesses. Everything is perfect. That's the only thing good about this situation." Her voice was soft as if she couldn't believe her own words. "My gods, you're okay." Nesta wiped her eyes before the tears could escape.
"I... I'm.. healthy." Nyra looked at her reflection. For so long, she had seen a sick face look back at her. How many years had passed since she had seen a healthy Nyra reflect in the mirror? She touched her cheek and held her hair. "I'm okay."
Nesta beheld Nyra as a fae. Her sister had become divine, glowing with health and power. Her eyes spoke of ancient mysteries and Nesta felt like Nyra's transition had been something different from what she and Elain had gone through. And she felt like she could not speak, not because her sister had rendered her speechless but because Nyra had become overwhelming in every aspect.
Nyra undressed and proceeded to bathe. Nesta sat at a distance now, handing her the bottles of liquids and gels for her skin and hair. Her twin had truly come into her element. She wore her beauty like a customised dress, measure to fit only her. Nesta had believed Nyra could truly attract suitors had her health permitted it. But now that they were fae, not only was she in good health but she looked ethereal. Once Nyra was done bathing, Nesta went to the shelf opposite to the bathroom mirror and took a towel and bathing robe.
"Dry yourself. I'll get a dress for you." But Nesta knew that Nyra was not that good at toweling her hair and that she'd have to do it herself.
She walked over to the sliding doors of the wardrobe filled with clothes for Nyra. Rhysand had provided Nesta and Elain with a similar room. She looked at the gowns and found a grey silk gown with leaves and flowers threaded in a darker shade towards the bottom. The skirts were not as wide as their gowns from the other side of the wall. It was a gown not too fancy but not too plain.
Both Nesta and Nyra looked at Nyra in that gown. She looked very different when she wore it. Like she was meant to be immortal. And then they looked at each other. "You look good."
"I wish I felt good." Nesta took her by the arm and made her sit on a stool before the mirror. She dried her hair and began brushing it gently.
The twins exited the room where Feyre and Cassian were waiting for them. They were talking to each other and leaning against the wall facing the door when they saw them. The pair immediately stood straight and ceased their whispers. Feyre moved forward. "Come with me."
And the four of them headed towards Elain's room. It was only two doors away. Feyre watched with bated breath as Nyra and Nesta entered the room. Elain sat on an armchair near the window, looking outside.
"Elain." At the sound of Nyra's voice, she turned to look at her immediately. Brown eyes widened and Elain stood up and walked over.
"When can we go home?" Elain asked hurriedly. "I have to get married." Her eyes glossed with tears. "I have to go home."
Nyra watched her sister cry in front of her and yet she couldn't find it in herself to hug her. Her own tears silently ran down her cheeks. Elain sobbed too loudly, too heavily, too much that she had started hyperventilating. Nyra did not process as Nesta took Elain's hands into her own and made her sit on the armchair. She was barely aware of Nesta leading her somewhere in the room and helping her sit.
Feyre and Cassian had been kicked out of the room and Nesta locked the door, walked over to Elain. Nyra was now looking outside the window, not caring about how Elain cried over getting married and wanting to go home.
"Do we even have a home left?" Nyra whispered, but her sisters heard it.
"What do you mean?" Elain cried out in agony.
"Fae and humans don't coexist. Even if we go back home, will we be welcome?"
They knew the answer to that. They had discussed that when Feyre had become fae. "Feyre had a home even when she had become fae."
"Feyre had us. Who do we have now that we're like this?"
"Father. Graysen. Lord Nolan. I'm sure they will understand." Elain sounded desparate.
"Father might. Graysen and Lord Nolan will not." Nesta shot back, logic taking over after her remembering her own analysis of these three persons.
"Why do you keep saying such things?" Elain had now raised her voice. "Neither of you want to go back. Why would you? You had nothing on the other side."
"We have nothing here!" Nyra shouted back. "What do we have here? Do we have anyone we can trust here?"
"We have Feyre." Elain retorted.
"They took us because they wanted to get to her. They took us because we hosted those meetings with the queens." Nesta snapped.
"At least, we're not dead!"
"Is this better than death?" Nyra asked coldly. She did not like Elain at the moment. She did not like anyone. "Is being tossed into that gods damned bathtub better than death?"
Nesta and Elain did not answer. They did clench their fists. Nyra watched them, wishing she could feel pity but she felt nothing. She compared their own situation with Feyre and realised that their younger sister had people and a future in Prythian to look forward to before she even became fae. Nyra looked at the moon in her palm. The three of them had no friend, no future, no home at the moment. And it slapped her in the face too many times for her liking.
"I don't know what either of you saw in there but I remember exactly what I saw. And I would've rather died than go through that." Nyra's voice had lowered. She had started spiralling into the whirlpool of her memories from inside the Cauldron.
"Of course, you'd rather die." Elain muttered, looking outside the window. The sea she could see remained tranquil unlike what was happening inside the room.
"Elain!" Nesta snapped. Nyra looked at Elain, waiting for her to continue. Challenging her to continue. She felt a tremor on her nerves, readying her for a verbal spat. The thrill of it shot down her spine and she watched her sister, like a predator poised to kill.
"Of course, you'd rather die." Elain repeated, louder and unafraid. "You were waiting for death ever since you fell ill." This was not enough. Elain only had to say more for Nyra to get the opportune moment.
"And why wouldn't I? With those disgusting medicines and chest pains and spitting blood at any given moment. Why wouldn't I choose death over all that?"
"You're a bloody coward." More. Nyra was waiting for more as she gave another answer, inviting Elain's words. Her words were still not sharp enough.
"Of course, I'm a coward. If I had any more nerve, I would've slit my own throat the moment I found out I'd probably never recover." Nyra knew that both of them were being selfish. And just a bit more and Elain would lash out.
"Enough!" Nesta shouted. Nyra glared at her for her interruption. Nesta knew exactly what she was doing. She was baiting Elain. Nesta was the one who struck first. Nyra was the one who waited for the right time. Both of them were different types of predators, but predators regardless. And Nesta knew that and felt this had to stop. "This is not what we need right now."
"I'll tell you what I need right now. I need to go back."
"To a place where you'll be hunted for being fae?" Nesta questioned, hoping Elain would see the reason she saw.
"To the place where I had a chance at a future."
"Graysen and his father are going to kill you." Nyra warned, not because she was worried about it. She would wield whatever power that her body housed against anyone who hurt her sisters but Elain had been sheltered far too long. She had to learn even if it was through the hard way. How much of a hypocrite was she at this moment?
"You don't know that. He wanted to marry me. I..."
"His affections for you are insignificant compared to his hatred for the fae." Nesta immediately began lashing out the moment she figured what Elain was going to say. About how she had given herself to her fiancé. Nesta paused and breathed. She wanted to stop but she didn't know how. The only thing she knew was to continue. "He wanted to marry you because you were the most convenient option. A face pretty enough for him to be smitten and the money from your dowry. Money to be used for Lord Nolan's fae-hunting quests."
Nesta only stopped speaking once the killing blow had been landed. She looked at Nyra, hoping that her twin would reprimand her like she had always done. Nyra did not and sat down looking at the skies.
"Say something." Nesta spoke.
Nyra looked up and met her gaze. "What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. Anything!" Nesta wanted to be reprimanded. That was the only punishment for the sin she'd just committed.
"How about the fact that we don't have anything or anywhere to go, hm? All because we have pointed ears, meaninglessly amplified beauty and powers with no purpose and glowing eyes."
"No, no, no, no, no, no..." Elain kept on repeating that one word.
"We don't have a place to return to. We don't have a home. Is that what you wanted me to say?" Nyra attacked again.
The sound of the door being banged reached them. "Nesta! Nyra! Elain!" Feyre screamed. "Open the door! Please!"
"Go away, Feyre!" Nesta shouted back.
"Please! We can talk about this!" Feyre yelled desparately. Nesta marched over to the door, determined to give her youngest a piece of her mind. She opened the door to find a crying Feyre. Rhysand stood behind her solemnly and Nesta was quick to glare at him.
"Why are you here?" Nesta coldly asked Feyre.
"Nesta! Please! I'm so sorry about this. All of it. I-" Nesta raised a hand to command silence. Feyre stopped speaking.
"Why are you sorry?" Nesta asked.
"This is my fault. I am the reason why you were kidnapped and Made."
"We're not idiots, Feyre." Nyra spoke. Nesta moved to the side to reveal her twin. "We know you're not at fault for this mess." But Nyra did not sound kind. She sounded distant as she walked over to the door. "But we don't want to be here."
"You cannot be human again, girl." Another voice spoke. Nesta and Nyra stepped forward to see who it was. The twins noted Azriel, Cassian and Morrigan standing against the wall and Amren taking a step towards them. "We are the same. What is inside you is now trapped in this body, forever."
"Don't lump us in with the likes of you." Nesta snapped. "You can be released from your body. We can't."
Nyra's blue eyes shone with the power she now possessed and Amren took a step back. "The fact that we can see that your real form means that you can be released and regain it. On the other hand, we were thrown inside the world's most disgusting bathtub and our real forms were altered. Do you understand the difference? Your skin, the one that we see, is like a wrapping paper over your real skin. Our skin was ripped apart and remade."
Nyra felt rage, ready to take over, lightning crackling on her fingertips. What she did not notice were the shadows that had reached for her hand, dancing with the lightning, ready to strike wherever she commanded.
Azriel, despite his best attempts, could not completely control his shadows. Why the fuck was he even trying to control them when he felt every part of him wanting to accept her rage and hold her hand through it? To let her wield his shadows and strike anywhere and everywhere. Was that what she wanted? How easy it would be to hold her hand and raise it? To watch her lightning and his shadows dance. And why should it be restricted to their hands when every inch of their bodies could indulge in it?
Would lightning strike whenever she felt the mating bond? Would it strike if she were to ever accept it and offer him food? Would it strike during their first kiss? He would peel off her clothes and take his time before entering her. Would lightning strike him when he gave her an orgasm? The anticipation of it definitely struck him like lightning. His chest tightened. The leathers now felt stuffy. He had to loosen it before he ripped them off and grabbed his pretty little mate.
Meanwhile, inside her own head, Elain felt herself drawn into a black hole. She crumbled under the storm that had started. And under the gust of the winds and the thunder that rumbled all over, she found light and tried to walk over. She felt her hair and skirts be blown by the wind, fighting to be attached to her scalp and her dress respectively. But the closer she felt to the light, the more she felt warm.
Nesta and Nyra looked over to Elain who was now next to them. Their younger sister's eyes were now completely white as she spoke. Nyra was startled to see this for the first time while Nesta took a cautious step closer to Elain.
"Stars and night."
"Flames and steel."
"Lightning and shadows."
"Greens and fire."
"Elain!" Their sister's eyes fluttered and closed before her body dropped from where she stood.
****
TAGLIST:
@waytoomanyteenagefeels@impossibelle@esposadomd@starswholistenanddreamsanswered@judig92@bunnyredgirl@sh4nn@a-frog-with-a-laptop@kattzillaa@ronnieglennn@wallacewillow0773638@forgiveliv@justdreamstars@donttellthecats@cat-or-kitten@jojodojo02@wandas-dream@evylynny@weasleyreidstyles@stqrgirlies-blog@why4anne@acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe@macimads@footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag @footyandformula @nebarious @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @prettylittlewrites
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minicoffee00 · 6 months
Text
Fast Changes Part 3 - Azriel x Reader
Plot: You are Feyre’s younger twin and get sent into the Cauldron with your sisters coming out as high fae. What happens on this journey
Warnings: MAJOR FLUFF
Part 1 Part 2
Feyre had left her again, when Y/N needed her more than ever.
She was all but a hallow shell when Rhysand had winnowed her back. Nesta was angry at the world, wouldn’t let anyone come near her two sisters. She kept on fighting Cassian, whenever he kindly offered a window opened or freshly baked goods from Nuala and Cerridwen to the pair of silent sisters.
Elain did however converse even though it was in complicated riddles that’s no one could really get their minds around, whereas Y/N was just an empty pit.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk, but when she had tried she could feel everyone’s excitement in the room and the emotions were far to overwhelming. So she kept to herself in her room as much as possible.
She would stand out in the balcony, looking over the city. The breeze was nice and kept the emotions at bay for a while. Kept her mind peaceful.
Azriel however, now healed couldn’t stay away. When she was on her balcony he would come onto his and just watch her. But after a few minutes her head would tilt on its side to gaze at him. It was almost as if she was judging him.
“Your empty” she had voiced one day when he had come back from a day of torture in the Hwen City.
When she was around Nesta, all she could feel was her constant anger, and she hated it. When she was around Cassian he was hurting, for many reasons and it gave her a headache being near him. Rhysand always had this sort of longing and pain when she was around him and she knew it was for Feyre. Elain had this fear yet curiosity that was less painful then everyone else.
Azriel however, she could never feel his emotions like he was empty inside like her too.
For a time she thought he was until today when he come onto the balcony. His emotions didn’t scream anything it was empty like usual, but his face was like thunder and the way he carried himself showed her he was feeling something.
“Sorry” he asked a shocked look coming up into his face. Again emotions she couldn’t feel, but she could see it just like anyone else.
“Everyone else is so loud at what they are feeling. Your the only one who doesn’t hurt” she says softly, edging closer to his part of the balcony.
He takes in her far off gaze even though she is seemingly looking right at him.
“Can i come over to you please?” He asks again so so softly.
“Yes I guess some peaceful company might be okay” she admits. Azriel opened his line up to Rhys saying he had started to get you to talk.
Should I come over? He had asked scraping at Azriel’s walls attempting to see what he was seeing.
No I can’t explain it now but I’ll come see you later. I’m making progress please don’t come interrupt. Azriel rushed out, hoping not to offend his High Lord.
Rhys slips away with all but an okay, leaving Azriel to do what he can.
Azriel flies over to her side of the balcony, touching down lightly not how he usually would.
He watches as she observes over him, she gets closer. Looking at every inch of his face. He cocks his head to the side wondering what she was looking at.
“Can i” she asks holding her hand up, he nods understanding what she meant. With that confirmation she started to explore him. She started with his hand. Holding it up and linking her fingers through his, she felt a jolt in her hand, like something was being pulled. She just couldn’t make out what.
Her fingers traced up his arm, still feeling nothing but that tug, no emotions just a nice silence she hadn’t received in a while.
She traced her hand up across his chest to where his heart beat. Then up across his collar bone and to his throat.
Azriel could have whimpered at the sensation. Her hands were so careful and soft the way they moved and there was something loving about them that he had yearned for, for over four centuries.
As she got to his neck, she tilted his neck up, and their eyes met and for Azriel it was like he felt the bond snap for him all over again. Tears coming to his eyes remembering the night he’d first felt it snap.
“What is that” she asks a weird sensations going through her that has her leaning in closer. She continues up tracing across his lips, his nose, his cheekbones and up to his forehead.
She then takes his hand before pulling on it, directing them both to the floor on their knees. She leant forward, placing her forehead on his, her last attempt to feel something from him. His emotions.
“This tugging i feel, what is it. It’s … painful, when I pull away?” She queries looking up at him.
“That’s the bond between us, we are mates” he explains softly.
“Like Feyre and Rhysand?” She asks, a doe eyed look on her.
“Yes like Feyre and Rhys” he smiles.
“Is that why I can’t feel you, like the others?” She asks
“Im not sure how your abilities work that the cauldron gave to you. But yes that could be why. But I can open my walls to you, as my mate so you can feel me” he offers making her shake her head and pull herself into him. Her head resting into his neck, a large intake of breath coming from Azriel.
“Please not yet. Your the only person I don’t feel like my head is going to explode around” she cries into him, his arms and wings envelope around her. Encasing her into him and his shadows.
“How does the mate bond work?” She asks.
“Let’s not worry about that for now, let’s worry about getting you better” he says sadly yet selflessly. Of course he wanted Y/N to accept the mate bond, more than anything.
But she was the priority.
“Will you leave me if I don’t accept you as my mate now?” She asks looking at him with those eyes that could bring an army of men to their knees in seconds.
“Never, im never going anyway”
A/N:
Omg guys what’s going to happen next!
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artists-ally · 2 months
Note
Hi! I love your writing and I just wanted to ask if you could make a fic about Azriel and a chronically ill reader? I have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, and it can be really difficult sometimes. I’m currently in a flare-up and I would love to see what Azriel would be like if he had a partner with a chronic illness 🩵 please and thank you!
{The Fixer} Azriel x Reader
Hi my love!!! While I myself do not know what it's like to live with a chronic illness, my mom has chronic migraines and I was always the one taking care of her. I hope you enjoy and are taking as best care of yourself as you can through this flare-up my love <3 Title and story inspired by this song.
Word Count: 2,193
Warnings: struggles of chronic illness, headaches, vomiting, fluff
Tagging: @cyrygher @thelov3lybookworm @librafairy @blessthepizzaman @needylilgal022 @bubybubsters @harrystylesfan2686 @justdreamstars
Summary: Azriel notices. Even when you try to hide it from him. There is nothing he hates more than seeing you in pain, and it's his mission to make you feel as comfortable as possible.
~~~~~~~~~~
Whether it was the dots spreading across my vision or the ache set deep in every bone in my body, I knew I was off. Short of the normal dizziness and weakness I had, I felt like shit.
I rolled over in bed to find Az gone, and I sighed. Getting to the bathroom was going to be tough. Half an hour went by before I could fully open my eyes and not see the world spinning before. 
The snow was blinding across Velaris, burning my eyes and making me jerk my neck too hard in the opposite direction. Much like my hips and ankles, the joints in my neck screamed for relief. Just a few steps away was the bathroom. If I could get there, to the cabinet above the sink I could get my-
My sweater pocket caught the post on the bed and I got yanked to the floor. Landing shoulders first, pins and needles raced up and down my left arm. Fingers numb. With more than a groan, I rolled off of it and found a new ache in… well, everywhere. 
It took a long time to roll on my hands and knees, but I did it, and now I was on the cold tile. It did wonders for the radiating heat in my freshly injured palms, but it chilled it to the marrow of my bones. 
As much as I wanted to, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand. The pounding of my head and the rolling of my stomach was enough to force me to sit against the wall opposite the toilet. 
I pulled my head back and tried to breathe. 
Those life changing blue pills that Madja gave me would be useless now. They could only prevent a flare-up if caught at the earliest signs. I’ve been able to catch the past few, but I wasn’t expecting this one. 
Azriel was right when he told me to take it easy during training yesterday. All I wanted to do was prove to him that I could keep up. I knew I couldn't, and so did he, but that wasn’t the point. He shouldn’t just assume I can’t because I’m sick. 
Yet here I am, paying for it on the bathroom floor. 
I could feel the circulatory pattern of my pulse. A never ending cycle of pain. Starting in my head, down my neck and in my teeth. To my shoulder, numbness down my arm and tingling in my finger. The surge of agony in my hip, through my leg and in my knee. Gods my ankle, what did I do to my ankle?
A quick check under my sock and I could see the culprit. A huge bruise accompanied by an abundance of swelling. I must’ve kicked the post in the night again. Or it could’ve been from sparring, or our sprint up the stairs.
I gave up trying to keep tabs on all my possible reasons and focused on the fact that I was all alone in the House of Wind. Azriel, Cassian, and Nesta were all away in Illyria for the day to train a group of new recruits. Nuala and Cerridwen were here, but I always feel weird asking them for help. 
I can make it to the evening. I’ll get up and I’ll take that pill, even if it will only decrease the length not the strength of this flare-up. Anything. I’ll do anything to get it over quicker so I’ll be back to normal. 
On the count of three, I’ll get up. I’ll push with the strength I’ve built up from training with Az. I’ll push myself up and grab the pill and go back to bed. 
One.
Two.
Three.
My arms do nothing but scream in pain, and my legs lose feeling. I go nowhere but back on my ass. I try again, after another count of three. Nothing. Holding my breath while doing it only makes the dizziness worse. And the nausea. 
I drag myself over to the toilet and empty whatever is left in my stomach. It’s not much, and it burns on the way up. Tears fill my eyes and mucus fills my nose and throat. I know when pain and headaches get so bad you vomit, the episode is going to be particularly brutal. 
My skin is damp and I start to shake. Water. I need water. 
I flush and manage to make it on the toilet. I turn on the sink with some blind movement and I’m greeted with the lovely sound of water. I can’t lift my left arm any more and I think it might be out of socket. I can’t tell. Doesn’t matter. I scoop some water into my mouth, but most of it makes it down my shirt instead. 
I let it run and run and run, letting the cool liquid calm my swimming head. 
At some point I laid my head down and didn’t pick it back up. I stayed in this awful state of micro sleep, sometimes drifting off, sometimes thinking I’m dreaming but I’m just letting my mind wander. The bright morning sun turned into the dull brightness of the afternoon. I think. 
My heart beat loudly in my ears. Then it would stop, and then it would start again. My pulse was taunting me. It must be. It sounded like Azriel’s wings which only made me miss him more. The memory of his scent blasted through me and the tears started. 
I want him so bad. I need him.
“Shhh, it’s okay, just breathe, Yn.”
My eyes snapped open, and through a blurry mess of tears, Azriel kneeled in front of me. “W-What are you doing here?”
“The second you woke up I could feel your pain,” his thumb slid across my cheek. “I turned around when I realized why. You need help.”
I shook my head, or tried to. It just sorta rolled back and forth. 
“Squeeze my fingers, Yn.” Azriel placed two of his digits in my palms and I squeezed as hard as I could. Not even the tips of his fingers turned red from the pressure. “Are you going to let me help you or are you going to be difficult?”
“I don't want to be difficult. I’m in so much pain.”
“I know, my shadow. I know.”
As gently as he could, he sat me up and carried me to the bed. He took off his armor somewhere along the way, the bony ridges of the scales not digging into me like they normally do. I was eternally grateful for the small detail he remembered. 
Even our mattress hurt just as much as the floor. 
“I need to take a look at you. Where are you hurting the most? Did you fall?”
I nodded deliriously, “My ankle’s a mess. And so is my shoulder. M’arms numb.”
As carefully as he could, he propped me against him and peaked around. I didn’t hear him make any gasps, but I could feel that pull on the bond that meant he didn’t like what he saw.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough for me to call Madja. She’s on her way. I told you to take it easy-”
“Don’t.”
Azriel completely disregarded whatever he was going to say next. “I’m sorry.”
“Just get me the pill, please,” I faulty gestured to the bathroom. He didn’t even move, but then a pill and a cup of water was pressed into my lips. Those shadows of his are so helpful. 
“I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just don’t like seeing you in pain. It makes me… it makes me wild.”
“I appreciate it, I do Az, but you can’t protect me from everything. And I don’t want you to. There's a reason why I wanted to train with you in the first place.”
“I know, but there's no need to exert yourself to this just to prove a point. I know how tough you are, Yn. You are the strongest, most resilient soul I’ve ever met. But making yourself like this in spite of me is something I never want you doing.”
I smiled, cheeks heating up as I leaned against his chest. His body radiated heat like a roaring fire, and I soaked up every morsel of it. 
With enough pillows and heat packs, I was propped up against the headboard. Soon after, Madja and Nuala came in. I could smell the fresh bread and juice from across the room and my stomach growled. 
“It’s cheese bread with a nice tomato and herb soup. Azriel requested the sweet tea just for you.”
I smiled up at him, my eyes suddenly heavy with love and adoration for my Shadowsinger. 
I ate as Madja poked and prodded. Az held my hand and kissed the tears away when she had to reset my shoulder. By this point, my body was in so much pain that I couldn’t think of anything else. The healer was kind enough to give a sedative and an injection that did something. 
“She’ll be asleep soon,” Madja said across the room to Azriel. “When she wakes, send for me again and I will bring one that doesn’t make her drowsy. Do not let her out of that bed unless she is in your arms, Shadowsinger.”
“Thank you, Madja.” And the door shut. Once again, the bed dipped and he trailed a gentle hand up my legs. “Just go to sleep, my shadow.”
“I hope you know that shot will do nothing, Az.”
“I thought they were working?” He asked, puzzled. 
I shook my head, “I thought so too, but they’re not. There isn't anything you can do to ease the pain, Az. No amount of pills or injections or stimulation therapy will do the trick. I just have to wait it out.”
“So you rest until it passes,” Az climbed in beside me. “I will be here when you wake up.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” I hissed, frustrated tears spilling down my face. “I want to train and go to dinner and drink red wine and dance like the rest of you.”
I couldn't bear to look at him. Couldn’t bear to see the sadness in his eyes. After a long silent moment, he took a deep breath. 
“It’s okay if you need rest. You’re not expected to work or thrive in the condition you’re in. I could tell last night you weren’t feeling good.”
That made me perk up. “How?”
“You get this hazy, far away look. That's how I know you’re in pain.” Azriel muttered, snuggling in close so I could latch on for warmth. “Let me take care of you. Don’t focus on anything other than healing and my warmth. I will be here when you wake up.”
I didn’t care to read into how much he read into me. My heart blazed with thoughts, all of him and those offhanded looks and questions he always asks. He is such an observer.
“I’m the spy for the Night Court, my shadow. Of course I’m observant. I notice everything about you. What makes you smile, what doesn’t. The foods and drinks that give you headaches and swelling. When your flare-ups are coming and when they’re finally withdrawing. I make it my mission to make sure you are as safe and comfortable as possible. I am sorry I wasn't there to help you this morning, love.”
“I felt fine last night, no need to say sorry.” I kissed his cheek, then he kissed my lips. “Thank you for turning around.”
“Cassian thought I had been shot with an arrow with how hard I dove down to the ground to turn around. I felt this rush of pain from you and I thought for a second it was my own. But don’t feel bad. I want to be here anyway. You’re much better than any of those awful camps.”
“I’m a lot better,” I smiled, nuzzling into his chest.
The glint in his voice was enough to make me swoon, “Yes, my shadow. Everything about you is better than those camps.”
-------
Through the rest of the day, Az laid with me, running hands through my hair, massaging my legs when they cramped up. He got me water, food and snacks. Kept the entertainment up when I was in too much pain to nap. All through the night, Azriel held me steady so I wouldn’t accidentally roll around. 
Madja came in the morning with more useless injections, Nuala with a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and fresh bacon. 
I made Az eat some because I didn’t see him steal a crumb earlier. 
Later, he took me into the bath where he scrubbed my scalp, massaging my temples. I tried to do the same for his back and wings, but he refused to let me move. Just sat me in his lap, chest pressed against my back and let us soak for hours. 
As we got out, he sat me on the bed while he gathered clothes for us. Per my request, he kept his shirt off and just through on a set of lounging sweats.
One foot at a time, he put me in the comfiest pair of pants I had. The fleece lined inside keeping out the cold. He put thick socks on my feet and found something to wrap around my top half so I didn't have to move my arm.
We laid back down, me tucked in his arms. I absently stroked the back of his scarred hand.
I was calm. The ache is still present, but ignorable with a few of his stories. I drifted to sleep, in the safest place in Prythian.
"Thank you, Az," I murmured, sleep evident now
He kissed me softly, "Anything for you, my shadow."
~~~~~~
158 notes · View notes
acotar-writing · 1 year
Text
Glass Shards - Azriel x Reader
Hello! So, this is my very first fic that I'm posting on Tumblr. I hope somebody is going to enjoy it, I honestly just like writing little things and felt like finally posting it on here after being just a reader for the longest time. I would love some constructive criticism if anybody reads this and feels like giving some!
Also this felt kind of like a part one thing for me, I will most likely write more parts to this story!
part two part three
Summary: Reader is a handmaiden working for The High Lord of the Night Court and The High Lady. When she gets accidentally injured, Azriel, the High Lords spymaster, feels the mating bond snap into place. Warnings: Slight mention of blood, mention of parents dying Word count: 2.013
As a handmaiden for The High Lord of the Night Court your life wasn't all that bad. On the contrary, he was a very generous employer, making sure you always had enough food on the table, clothes on your body and enough free time to enjoy the vibrant life pulsing through Velaris. 
Your only job was to keep the house clean and the family cared for. While the High Lady already had handmaidens caring for her, you mostly saw to the guests staying at The Town House, but mostly The High Lady’s sister Elain.  
You had only been working here for a couple of weeks. Your father was one of the countless artists that lived and worked in Velaris, he was a musician, making sure the streets were filled with exquisite melodies. He passed away suddenly, following your mother who lost her life just a few years prior. You were alone now, no family left. Unfortunately, you were not as gifted as your father was, art never ran through your veins. You were still trying to figure out where your life was going to lead you when tragedy struck and everything changed. A small sum of money was left in a vault, enough to keep you going for a month or two, but you couldn’t rely on that. So, you asked your friend Cerridwen for help. Cerridwen and her twin sister Nuala had been working for The High Lord for a very long time and since the two of them were the only friend's you had, they quickly came to mind. They promised you they would keep their eyes open and ask around for work. You never expected to end up with them at The Town House, serving the inner circle of The High Lord, but you were glad your friends were able to get you solid work with a pay, that was probably way more than any other household in Velaris was able to pay their workers. 
This morning you were lost in your own thoughts, not paying enough attention. While tidying up the sitting room you hit your shin on one of the ostentatious end tables, a wine glass from last night's gathering falling over, shattering on the floor. The wine also splashed on one of the luxurious white cushions that were placed on the sofa. Panicked, you took the cushion to the kitchen, scrubbing it what felt like hours. The stain just wouldn’t budge. You could have sworn it was laughing at you. When your hands started to get sore, you decided to give up, you would just have to throw it away. Maybe one of the twins would be able to tell you where to get a new one. 
Even though The High Lord always treated you with the utmost respect, you were very shy around him. The power he gave off was almost frightening. Growing up in a family of fae, not high fae, you always felt like less than these beautiful creatures wandering Prythian. As a child you were dreaming about becoming one of them, even though you knew that was impossible. If you were high fae, you could probably just fix this mess by snapping your fingers or simply thinking about it.  
You turned around to leave the kitchen, you still had to clean up the spilled wine and the glass shards from the floor. Kneeling down, you were lifting your skirt up a little bit so it wouldn’t get soaked and leave permanent stains. Carefully, you picked up all the glass, holding it with your left hand while wiping the wine away with a cloth you pulled out of your right skirt pocket. Suddenly, you heard commotion coming from the direction of the entrance to The Town House, “Stop shoving me!”, “How about you stop whining, you’ve been so sensitive all day!”, “Shut up, both of you, right now!”. 
Oh no, they are here, you thought. From the sound of it, you were pretty sure that Cassian, Azriel and Morrigan were in front of the door. You got up quickly, tucking the cloth back into your pocket, holding the glass tightly in your hand. You really didn’t want to face them, you have been able to avoid anyone but The High Lord, The High Lady and her sisters since you started working for them. Mainly, you just didn’t know how to talk to them. They seemed so much larger than life, all of them. And what would they even have to say to me? You never really thought too highly of yourself, confidence was never your strong suit. 
You swiftly tried crossing the hallway that was between you and the safety of the kitchen, from there you could easily slip into one of the homely guest rooms that were still waiting to be restocked. After a few steps, when you were next to the front door it unexpectedly and harshly swung open, clashing with you. You lost your balance, falling, landing roughly on your right side. The three members of the inner circle, that you were already expecting, entered the house. Although you’ve never met them properly, during your work you were able to catch a glimpse every now and then, sometimes even catching parts of their conversations. So, while they certainly had no idea who you were, you definitely knew them. The first one to notice you on the floor was Azriel. The High Lords spymaster.  
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you!” he knelt down, softly touching your shoulder. You have to admit, you had always liked to admire him from afar. He was the most handsome male you had ever seen. You were too stunned to speak, only able to stare into his hazel eyes. “Are you alright?”, he asked.  
“Yes, I think so, no worries.” You barely got the words out, still mesmerized by him, completely forgetting the other two standing in the entrance. 
“Shit, you’re bleeding!” The strikingly beautiful woman, Morrigan, said as she looked down to your hands. The glass shards, you thought as you opened your hand. You must have closed it out of reflex during the fall.  
“It’s fine, it’s nothing, I’ll just go get it cleaned up.” You stammered, but Azriel grabbed your hand, taking a closer look at it. 
“The cut looks pretty deep and it looks like there’s some glass in there. I’ll bring you to our healer.” Azriel said. 
“That’s really not necessary, I can take care of it.” You tried one more time, but the handsome Illyrian was already pulling you up from the cold tiles. He completely ignored your request to tend to your wounded hand yourself and scooped you up in his arms.  
“What are you doing?”  
“Taking you to the healing quarters.” He said calmly. Before you were able to protest you were already up in the sky. Instincts made you hold on to his neck as tightly as possibly. You hated heights, in fact, you have been horribly afraid of them ever since you were a little child. Azriel must have noticed your discomfort, asking “are you okay?”. 
“I’m really afraid of heights.” You got out with a shaky voice. It was almost not noticeable, but you were sure you felt his hands grabbing you just a little bit tighter. 
“We’re almost there, don’t look down.” 
After about a three-minute flight, you landed smoothly on a balcony that was just as impressive as the white building with golden decorations, that it clung to. He placed you gently on your feet, holding on to your elbow to stabilize your body. 
“I think I’m going to be sick”, you said, determined to keep the contents of your stomach where they were, but it was too late. You turned to the railing, throwing your upper body over it and retching into the brisk morning air. Azriel seemed a bit startled at first, but he quickly caught himself and without even thinking about it, he held back your hair with both hands. 
“I’m so, so sorry”, you pled, after you were done. 
“Please, don’t be, it’s not your fault. I should apologize, I didn’t even ask if it’s okay to fly you here.” He looked at you, it was impossible to read his elegant face. You looked around and for the first time you noticed the shadows that were dancing around him gracefully. 
He must have noticed the look you threw at them, as they suddenly disappeared behind his muscular body. “Sorry, they can be a bit frightening,” he said with a quiet voice. 
“Oh no, I think they’re quite fascinating!” The words left your mouth way too eager and you immediately scolded yourself for it. He didn’t say anything, but he gave you a tender smile and goosebumps started forming on your body. Keep it together Y/N, you warned yourself. 
“Let me get you to Madja.” Madja, the healer, you thought. You had seen her a couple of times at The Town House, tending to injured members of the inner circle. 
You stepped into the quarters, Madja already walking towards you. 
“She cut her hand pretty badly on some glass”, Azriel said. The healer took your hand and inspected it for a few seconds. 
“I’ll take care of it.” Was all she said. She started guiding you away from Azriel and suddenly you felt a pull deep inside of you, that made you want to stay with him. Your heart started beating faster and you felt your cheeks flush as you took a look at him. 
“Thank you”, you said in a shaky voice. Azriel stared at you, different than he had before, his eyes were wide open and he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. You gave him an unsure smile and turned away as he blurted out “Wait!” Madja stopped in her tracks, still holding your bleeding hand. “What’s your name?!” He jabbered.  
“Y/N”, you answered.  
“You’re welcome, Y/N.”  
He still looked shocked, almost afraid. Before you could say anything else, he walked briskly towards the balcony, spreading his impressive illyrian wings and flew off.  
Azriel  
He flew through the cold, calm morning sky. It was supposed to wake him up, but the adrenaline was still pumping through his body. How was this even possible? 
He went through the last few minutes in his head, he couldn’t believe it. But he had felt it, he could still feel it now, it was clear as day. When Madja took your hand to get you to another room, he suddenly felt it. It ran through his body like lightning struck him, it had almost brought him to his knees. And then he saw it, the mating bond. So clear, so golden, so pure. Right there in front of him, a bond flowing from him to you. He had never seen you at The Town House before, how long had you been working there? His heart was aching, he wanted to go back, talk to you, see you, make sure you were alright, try to make sense of this. She’s my mate, he thought as he shot down towards The Town House. He was so shaken that he stumbled a bit during the landing, crashing into the front door just like he did earlier today, when you were hit by it. The thought of your body hitting the hard floor suddenly made him cringe. Mor and Cassian were lounging in the sitting room, waiting for his arrival. 
“That took forever”, Morrigan said as he slowly walked in, eyes still open in utter disbelief. 
“What’s going with you?” Cassian asked. 
“She’s my mate.” On his flight to the house, he swore to himself not to tell, but as soon as he was asked it felt so wrong to contain it. Somebody had to know. 
“What? Who?” Mor got up from her seat. 
“Y/N” Azriel mumbled as he sunk into the sofa. 
“Who’s Y/N? What are you talking about?” Cassian started to get annoyed. 
“The handmaiden. The one I just flew to Madja. Her name is Y/N and she’s my mate.”
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danikamariewrites · 5 months
Note
omg imagine ddlg with azriel where they think they’re alone in the kitchen so they speak normaly, with reader calling him daddy and stuff, they go out to the dining room to see the whole inner circle sitting there with their mouth open bc they heard everything💀
” damn i didn’t know you had it in you y/n ”
Alone?
Azriel x reader
A/n: I changed it to just Cassian and Feyre I hope you don’t mind but I love that this would be how Cassian found out
Warnings: ddlg, daddy kink
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Before sneaking downstairs you made sure everyone was busy. Cassian and Rhys were in their respective offices and Feyre was with Mor and her sisters in the play room with Nyx. You could hear the toddler demanding his aunts attention as he played with his toys. You quietly chuckled knowing that Nyx would keep them all night if he could.
You tiptoed into the kitchen in search of a snack before dinner. Who you found would definitely disapprove of you spoiling your dinner though. You hid yourself in the shadows of the doorway, waiting for Azriel to be alone.
He stood at the island as Nuala and Cerridwen gave him their latest intel. When he nodded the twin wraiths lifted the last of the dishes and carried them out to the dining room.
One of Azriel’s shadows floated by his ear and his attention snapped to your hiding spot. A smile pulled at his lips as adoration at your shyness twinkled in his eyes. “You can come out princess, we’re alone.”
You hesitantly walk into the kitchen and Azriel’s smile widens at the sight of you in a sapphire blue dress. He opens his arms for you as you quickly fling yourself into him. You let out a satisfied hum and closed your eyes taking in his warmth. “Missed you today daddy.” You mumbled, squeezing him tighter.
“Aww I missed you too princess.” He pulled away from you, holding your hands, placing soft kiss across your knuckles. “What are you doing down here?” His eyebrow raised in suspicion. You sheepishly looked away, “I wanted a snack. But then I saw you and forgot all about it.” You smiled up at him.
He held your chin between his fingers. “Guess what I got you today.” “Oohh what did you get me daddy?” You asked excited about your treat. “Daddy got you your favorite dessert from that pastry shop in the Rainbow. I thought we could sit on the balcony and watch the stars as we eat.” Your heart fluttered at his thoughtfulness. Cupping his face, you pulled him down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss.
“You’re the best daddy. Have I ever told you how much I love you.” Azriel let’s out a soft chuckle. “You always tell me princess. Have I told you how much I love you?” “All the time.”
Azriel pulled you by your hand, guiding you into the dining room. You thought you would be the first ones at the table but you were met with Cassian and Feyre’s shocked faces. You and Azriel stopped short. Your face turned beet red. “Oh, hey.” Azriel stretched out. “H-hey brother.”
“How much of that did you hear?” Az asked, looking between them. “Umm, not much just…a little at the end.” Feyre said as casually as possible. Your face fell in embarrassment. The family has no idea about your dynamic and now that Cassian knows everyone else might as well know. You buried your face in your hands on the brink of tears from how embarrassed you felt.
“Y/n don’t worry it’s fine.” Feyre added quickly. “I think it’s sweet.” She nudged Cassian in the ribs. “Yeah, I didn’t know you had it in you y/n. You have really surprised me brother.”
Azriel stared down his brother. His shadows swirling furiously. “You better not breathe a word of this Cass.” He said darkly. Cassian stood straighter, “Yup, yup. Keeping my mouth shut.” The four of you sat at the table awkwardly waiting for the rest of the family to come down to dinner.
Feyre broke the tension by asking you questions as the brothers talked about anything else. “I know the type of dynamic can be sexual but what is it like for you two?” You smile at her, appreciating her curiosity. “He takes care to me and it helps him too. It’s more of a healing thing, like fixing your inner child. It takes a lot of trust.” You stare at Az from across the table.
The High Lady reaches out to hold your hand. “If it makes you happy and Az happy, then we’re all happy for you.” “Thanks Fey.”
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prythianpages · 6 months
Text
ACOSM | The Night her Powers Came
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azriel x rhy's sis (oc)
*disclaimer bc this takes place before Windhaven, therefore Azriel is not in this.
warnings: fluff/mild angst
A/N: this is an imagine among my collection of imagines that follow Rhysand's sister, Valeria. while I'm still working on it, you can find the masterlist for it here. Also, I don't remember when Cerridwen and Nuala first came into Rhys's life so for the sake of this imagine, let's pretend they've been with him for a long time. I think they were a gift to his mom by his dad? or maybe that was just something I read in another imagine.
**
“Rhys?”
Rhysand turned his head in alarm. He had left his door open but he hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching. He relaxed as he found his little sister peeking her head through the doorway, her favorite doll clutched in her free arm. Her eyes were tired and lips curved into a slight pout. She was never a fan of storms, always seeking comfort in her older brother during times like these so it was no surprise when she asked if she could stay with him.
“Come here.” Rhysand beckoned with a tired smile. He pushed his luggage aside and laid on his bed, patting the empty spot next to him. He had been packing for his move to Windhaven. He was now eight and it was time to begin his training to become an Illyrian warrior. Although he was the heir to the Night Court, his father had also agreed on this move. Both of his parents deemed that it was important to train so that he wouldn’t become reliant on his developing powers alone.
Valeria wasted no time in diving under the warmth of his covers, eliciting a chuckle from him. She made sure to tuck her doll in too, claiming that her doll–or Darla as she often corrected him– was also scared of storms and in need of cuddles. She turned her body to face her older brother. 
“I don’t want you to go.” She said quietly with a frown.
Rhysand’s heart dropped at her words. “I don’t want to leave you either.”
As there was no need for Valeria to train, the move to Windhaven had not included her. Of course, this didn’t mean her mother was going to abandon her. Her mother had reassured her that she would be constantly going back and forth between their house in Windhaven and the Moonstone palace as well as her father would remain to watch over her. However, the latter did not bring her any comfort. She knew this meant she’d spend most of her time with Cerridwen and Nuala and there was also their cousin, Mor. So it wasn’t like she would be completely alone but it would not compare to the same comfort as her mother or Rhysand.
“Who else is going to keep me and Darla company during–” She flinched, cowering away under the blankets as the crashing thunder roared furiously. When the sound ended, she lifted her head and peered over his shoulder to look out the window with glossy eyes. “It’s so dark.”
Rhysand shifted in his bed so that he could be facing Valeria. He resisted the urge to tease the irony in his sister being afraid of the dark when she herself was a daughter of the Night. But he knew what Valeria meant. Tonight’s sky was full of clouds so dense that not even the luminous glow of the moon or stars could cut through the darkness.
“The stars and moon are still here watching over us.” Rhysand assured her.
Valeria raised an eyebrow.
Rhysand smiled, extending his hand out as an idea popped into his head.
 “See, they’re right here,” he said as his hand began to glow, glittering stars rising from the palm of his hand and illuminating the room further. “They just needed a little break for the night. They’re sorry that their snoring scares you.”
“That sound is the stars snoring?” Valeria asked, her wide eyes tracking each and every star that rose from Rhysand’s palm as they found their place in the room.
Another crack of thunder sounded. This time, Valeria did not flinch. Her heart still couldn’t help but race at the sound but she found herself giggling this time. “They snore weird.”
“They do.” Rhysand agreed,joining her in her laughter and glad that his plan had worked. He gestured for her to also extend out her hand. “Here, you try it.” 
Rhysand had meant to transfer the floating stars above his hand over to hers but she did not reach for his hands. Instead, she lifted her own palm up, her eyebrows knitting together. He meant to correct his unclear instructions, opening his mouth to avoid the disappointment he feared coming.
As soon as he began sounding out his first syllable, his mouth shut. 
There, in the palm of her hand was the tiniest flicker of light. It took only a couple of seconds for the flicker of light to turn into a beam of star light coming straight from her palm and as she concentrated further on the light, Rhysand couldn’t help but snort to himself at the sight of her tongue sticking out.
“Look, Rhys!” Valeria cried out in excitement as the beam of light morphed into a sphere, swirls of silver rotating around it. “It’s the moon!”
The moon glowed brightly at the palm of her hand. Floating further and further up, both Valeria and Rhysand watched in awe as her moon joined his stars. 
“You have a gift,” Rhysand said with a smile.
“A gift?” Valeria gasped, turning to her brother. The moon she had conjured was quick to disappear as her attention diverted from it. “Where?”
Rhysand couldn’t help but laugh again.
**
Valeria hadn’t realized how dependent she was on her brother for company and entertainment or her mother for comfort and constant reassurance. It was no secret that Valeria was not her father’s favorite and it came as no surprise to her that his current work schedule allotted little time for her. It had been a week since Rhysand and her mother moved to Windhaven. They promised to visit once they were fully settled into their new home there, which would be a couple of days more and just in time for their monthly court meeting. 
Rhysand had just gotten fitted for his Illyrian leathers, per his notes of excitement. Before they had left, they gifted her an enchanted scroll and the three–or should she say four as she often sought out Mor’s help since she couldn’t read or write herself yet–exchanged notes every day. On days Mor wasn’t there to help, Valeria would opt to scribble hearts and doodles of them. Her doodles consisted of her family as stick figures and she always drew Rhysand’s stick figure with the biggest head to which Rhysand would respond with his own stick figure version of their family with Valeria’s stick figure having a wild bird nest as hair. Their father was never included in their family’s stick figure drawings. However, sometimes Mor would make a casual appearance in them.
A hard smack sounded throughout the room as the sound of wood against wood met, causing Valeria to flinch. “A lady does not get distracted in her own thoughts while being spoken to!”
“Well a lady can’t help it if the topic is such a bore.” Mor huffed beside Valeria in her defense. She laid her down on the table and blew her blonde bangs from her face.
“Morrigan!” Their instructor, Silvia, reprimanded as she struck her wooden stick against the table next to where Mor’s head rested. Mor did not flinch as Valeria did and instead glowered.
“Miss Silvia,” Valeria gasped with wide eyes, a devious glint flashing amongst her violet orbs. “A lady does not raise her voice.”
Valeria and Mor exchanged a look before bursting into giggles. She did not know how she would survive this etiquette class if it were not for her cousin. Mor was two years older than her so unfortunately, this was the only class they shared. But it had given Valeria something to look forward to every week day.
 Silvia slumped into a seat, across the table from the young girls with a sigh. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You two ladies have yet to learn. Count your blessings on your high statuses as it ensures you will marry. As far as keeping your future husbands happy, who knows...”
“Can we go now?” Mor asked.
“Yes, you may go.” Silvia dismissed with a wave of her hand, muttering how the two girls would give her premature gray hairs with all the stress from their lack of progress in her etiquette class.
Mor and Val squealed in excitement at their dismissal, grabbing each other’s hands as they ran out of the room and headed for the gardens of the Moonstone Palace. They loved spending time in the gardens as the flowers were always in bloom and the soft splashing of the grand water fountain always brought comfort. Not to mention the light bugs that would appear as the sun began to set, twinkling around them as if they were tiny stars themselves. Mor and Val enjoyed chasing after them until the moon took the sun’s place and they were forced to part ways.
That’s how most of her weeknights ended. On days where they’d be bored of running around the gardens or the weather was not ideal for them to be out in, they’d find comfort in the palace’s library. Mor would pick a book, usually one related to Valkyries, and read outloud to her best ability. 
That’s where the two girls found themselves after their last lessons of the week.
“One valkyrie tek-neek was mind-stilling. They used it to calm their minds and emo-tions.” Mor read, struggling to enunciate some of the words. “It is the act of sitting and quiet-ing their mind. It is used to stay calm in the face of fears..Hmm, interesting should we give it a try?”
Val nodded her head eagerly.
Mor shifted so that she sat across Val, placing the book in between them so she can walk them through the steps. Val mirrored Mor, resting her hands over her knees. “Now, we take three deep breaths. In through our nose for a count of six and out through the mouth for a count of six. Don’t overthink it, just close your eyes and breath.”
“Now let your breathing steady and focus on the sounds around you. Acknowledge them, then let them fade away.”
Val continued to take deep breaths as she continued to follow Mor’s instructions. She focused on the sound of their breathing, the light crackling of the fireplace nearby and willed them to fade away. She surveyed her body next, starting from her head and slowly working down from her wings to her toes when she felt it. A strange weightless, almost numbing feeling. The air around her grew cold and still. And before she knew it, she felt as if she were floating. It felt different from flying. When she would fly, she’d feel the weight of her wings and while her wings were out–as she was unable to glamor them as Rhysand often did–, she could no longer feel their comforting weight.
Let go, child. A chilling voice whispered. Come to us.
“Val!”
At Mor’s sharp cry, Val’s breathing faltered. She found herself all of a sudden feeling heavy and she was falling. The familiar weight of her wings came back to her and she willed them to spread wide and keep her from the horrifying feeling of falling.
She felt warm hands grasp hers, shaking them and it was only then that Val willed her eyes to open to find herself back in the palace’s library, a worried Mor right in front of her. Val blinked, feeling light headed and dizzy as the books that lined the shelves seemed to spin around them. That voice…
“Are you okay??”
“Yeah.” Val replied, eyebrows knitting in concern over the panic in Mor’s voice. “Did you hear that voice too?”
“Voice?” Mor repeated in a confused manner. She let go of Val’s hands, placing them against her forehead. Val grimaced at her warm touch. “Val, you’re freezing! Are you sure you’re okay? You were glowing!”
“Glowing?”
“So bright like the moon! I could feel it behind my closed eyes. I thought you were messing around but when I opened my eyes, you were hunched over and your breathing was all weird–”
Val drowned out the rest of Mor’s retelling as she tried to recollect herself. She hadn’t felt her breathing slow while meditating. She only felt as if she were floating and free, no longer confined to her body. And then the voice called out to her. It lured her and if it hadn’t been for Mor waking her, she feared she would’ve followed it to who knows where. 
The two promised not to speak of this to anyone and Val begrudgingly agreed not to try mind-stilling. At least not when alone. After assuring Mor that she was alright for the hundredth time, Mor said her goodbyes.
**
The next morning was a joyous one for Valeria. She could not contain her excitement at breakfast as she filled her mouth with eggs and ham, swinging her legs. The High Lord, her father, sat at the head of the table. Valeria sat at the seat to his right, choosing to take her mother’s seat as she found her seat to be too far from her father. Not that it mattered as he barely shared any words with her. However, she was just content for what little time he chose to spend with her.
“I learned what tek-nik means, father!”
“Technique.” The High Lord was quick to correct, shooting her a glare when one of her excited leg swings hit one of his own.
“Sorry!” Val apologized with a sheepish smile, the huge mouthful of food she had hastily shoved into her mouth daring to seep out.
The High Lord sighed deeply, as he always did when annoyed by his youngest. He set his fork down and rose from his seat. He didn’t bother to spare her another glance as he left the dining room.
 “Be good tonight and don’t cause trouble.”
Valeria’s eyes lit up at the invitation. She was not allowed to join the previous Night Court’s monthly meetings. It was always attributed to her age–she was only six afterall. However, she remembered hearing from the maids that Rhysand first attended when he was two. Of course, their attendance wasn’t of much importance as they were kids and they were not allowed to join in on the actual meeting between the High Lord and his overseers.These meetings were in private and meant to update each other of their respective locations as well as any growing threats nearby. After these meetings was where the fun began. There was music by the Night Court’s finest orchestra that often led to dancing and not to mention the vast amount and variety of food prepared by the best cooks in the city. That is what Valeria looked forward to the most. As she finished up her breakfast, she couldn’t help but wonder if lemon cakes were among the dessert menu for tonight.
**
“Where is my little star?”
“Mama!” Valeria cried with joy as she ran to her mother. Her wings stretched wide open as she jumped and then soared into her mother’s awaiting arms.
“Oh my, how strong you’ve gotten!” Lady Yvaine laughed as she regained her balance from the impact. She held her daughter close and tight, rejoicing in her familiar scent as Val buried her head into her neck. She hated having to be apart from one of her children and the image of Valeria’s teary eyes and pout from when they had to part ways was all Yvaine thought about the past couple of days. While it brought her joy to see Rhysand taking part of their Illyrian culture, she worried over Valeria’s wellbeing too.
As Valeria pulled away to smile up at her mother, Yvaine promised to herself she would do her best to appeal to her husband to allow her to take Valeria back to Windhaven with her. “Mor taught me how to write some words, mama!”
“Yeah? Well, tell her she’s a terrible teacher.” Another voice joined them.
Val’s head whipped around to find her brother entering her room with a sly grin. He held up a piece of parchment paper in his hands and Val had to squint to identify the contents of it. She giggled as she recognized her own handwriting. Val had learned about letters this week in her lessons and how they were used for many reasons. She had begged Mor to help her send one to Rhysand, claiming that the act of sending a letter was much more exciting than using the enchanted scroll.
“You got my letter!” Val exclaimed happily as her mother set her down, allowing her to run and hug her brother.
“To Rhys, the best big bruder.” Rhysand continued to laugh as he returned his little sister’s hug. Aside from his sister’s barely legible handwriting, the letter was filled with many different paint colors and pressed flowers she glued on to the page with the infamous stick figure drawing of Rhysand.
“I’m so glad you loved it.” Val said as she pulled away, her violet eyes twinkling in delight.
“I didn’t say I lov–” Rhysand’s mother shot him a sharp look. “What I mean to say is that I missed you too, Val.”
“Come on, you two. It’s time to get ready for tonight.”
**
“So handsome, my sweet boy.” Yvaine praised her oldest as she straightened his coat’s collar, admiring the intricate silver beading that ran along the front upper collar that she had done herself.
“And of course, my beautiful sweet girl.” She continued to praise as she then turned to her youngest, who was wearing a black dress with silver beading that matched Rhysand’s. The dress was long and tailored well so that Val would not trip over the hem. The sleeves were long and made of mesh with an overlay of silver stars running down the arms. There was a small slit among the arm sleeves to allow for a wispy ethereal look. To top off all of their looks, they all wore silver crowns adorned with stars and moonstone.
The Lady of the Night Court wanted to make sure that her children were dressed to part and shining as the stars they are for tonight’s event so she took it to herself to design and create their attire herself. She was dressed in a design of her own as well–a silver and black long gown that suited her curvy silhouette perfectly. Even her husband was dressed in all black and wearing a coat similar to Rhysand’s. The High Lord and his son had never looked more alike.
It was an important night as it would be the first meeting that the High Lord of the Night Court brought along his whole family. The last time they had made a family appearance was before Valeria’s birth. 
It had been planned to make an appearance shortly after Valeria’s birth to present her as the Daughter of the Night. But Valeria had fallen ill and was on the brink of death one month after birth while Lady Yvaine continued to struggle to heal from the strenuous birth. Rumors had immediately surfaced that the Night Court was on the verge of falling apart. If the High Lord couldn’t keep his newborn daughter alive and struggled to help his wife heal, then how could he keep the Night Court afloat? Even Rhysand had fallen victim to rumors as they began to question his legitimacy as heir as well as the powers the High Lord claimed he was developing.
But tonight was the night that all rumors would be disproved.
Valeria was a healthy six year old girl, despite her tendencies to fall to a mysterious sickness every month. The disease that had plagued her as a one month old never truly went away, choosing to linger and resurface in a milder form every new moon. The High Lord kept her isolated during those times to keep further rumors from surfacing, not wanting Valeria’s reputation to continue to taint his legacy as High Lord of the Night Court.
The Lady of the Night Court had returned to her duties shortly after her full recovery from giving birth. She radiated beauty and warmth, bringing back solace to the court. The people often wondered when there’d be another arrival of a child of the Night. It almost felt like a race of who would announce the coming of another child amongst the Spring, Autumn and Night court as they each had two children. But only the Lady and High Lord and their most trusted healer, Madja, were aware that there would be no more children of the Night. Madja feared that if Lady Yvaine became pregnant with child again, she would not survive it and the High Lord did not take this lightly. Meanwhile, the third son of the Spring Court was born a year after Valeria and the Autumn court now had four sons. This only fueled his frustration and distaste with his youngest further. She had already caused so much trouble within her six years of living. He suspected if his daughter was meant to be a curse–bestowed upon him by the Cauldron or Mother herself.
While the appearance of Valeria at the meeting would be the first, she was not the highlight of the night’s event. Rhysand was.
Tonight would be the night the High Lord of the Night Court would officially name Rhysand as his heir. Everyone could feel the strong power within the young boy. His powers had developed at a much faster and alarming rate than anticipated. With the announcement of Rhysand learning to train and fight as an Illyrian warrior, the High Lord hoped that this would quell all negative gossip of the Night Court being weak. Some even suspected that Rhysand would grow to become the most powerful High Lord of Prythian. The Night Court was strong and filled with great prospects and prosperity– a force to be reckoned with.
Lady Yvaine walked forward with her head high, a cool mask over her features as she walked behind her husband. Her High Lord. One hand held Rhysand’s hand and the other held Valeria’s as they walked into the Court of Nightmares. Together. As a family. For the first time in years.
Valeria found herself extremely overwhelmed. There were so many eyes on her and the majority did not appear friendly. She had wondered why they called her home the Court of Nightmares but now it all made sense. She found comfort in the lively and alluring music of the orchestra–Prythian’s finest, she had heard some call them.
She watched in awe as the orchestra played perfectly in tune, following along with the conductor.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Val’s gaze shifted to the person who had come to stand beside her. She was surprised to find an older blonde woman with rich brown eyes–Mor’s mother–but the surprise morphed into disappointment when she noticed that Mor was not in attendance. 
“Your grandmother used to play the violin, you know. She learned at a young age and when she was an adult, she traveled all over Prythian. They said she was among the best. She met your grandfather when performing here and well, the rest is history.”
“Did she continue to play?” Valeria asked, her curiosity piqued at the mention of her grandparents. Apart from the knowledge that they were dead, Val knew nothing else of them. She was never brave enough to ask her father either.
“For the Court of Nightmares only.” Mor’s mother replied as she nursed a glass of wine as dark as blood in her hands. “Allegedly, her music was the only thing that could bring your father–the High Lord–comfort when he was young.”
Val’s features contorted into a grimace at the thought. She could not imagine her father finding delight in anything. In fact, she couldn’t even recall a time where her father wasn’t scowling or frowning and she allowed her gaze to travel to the throne to confirm. But she couldn’t help but wonder when was the last time her father smiled–if he had even done so at all. Was it when he met her mother? Married her? Or Perhaps, the last time was when his mother last played the violin for him. She made a quick mental note to bring up the violin to her mother before bed.
The High Lord’s gaze shifted to find violet eyes that matched his own staring back at him. With a raise of his hand, he beckoned Val and Mor’s mother forward. They approached the High Lord, who still sat upon his throne. Lord Keir–Mor’s father–, Lady Yvaine, and two other Lords, ones Val had yet to meet, stood in front of the throne in conversation.
Val shifted toward her mother, her nerves unsettling as the men stared at her. Her fingers latched onto her mother’s gown and her violet eyes were wary of the uncomfortable and unwanted attention.
“This is my daughter. Valeria.” The High Lord announced.
“I was not aware you had such a lovely daughter, my Lord.” One of the older lords commented. “I have a son around her age. I would love to introduce him to you one day. Perhaps, they’d make good friends.”
Friends, Val’s eyes widened at the thought. She didn’t have many friends. Her only friends were her family, Rhys and Mor.
Lord Keir scoffed. “And what greater benefit could an alliance between your son and Daughter of the Night provide than one with my son? I could offer my Darkbringers at his High Lord’s disposal.”
Mor’s Mother turned to Val with a smile, always quick to back up her husband. “Wouldn’t you like to get to know my oldest better? Perhaps, if you and Mathis get along well, you could marry and live tog–”
“My daughter is much too young to understand, much less be involved in marriage politics. Especially to a cousin."
"Distant cousin." Mor's mother was quick to add.
Lady Yvaine placed a protective hand over Val’s shoulders. She forced a polite smile onto her face, her dark eyes tense. The whitening of Val’s knuckles as she clutched onto her mother’s dress did not go unnoticed by her.
Val was young but old enough to understand the implications of marriage. She had asked her mother about it one night, when she was braiding her hair. Her mother told her that marriage was something special, something beautiful as it was a union between two people who sometimes loved each other. But she also knew that marriage meant separating from your family to join another and it was usually the woman who had to leave her family.
And she refused to leave her family to be tied to Mor’s older brother, Mathis. She’d already met her cruel older brother multiple times before. His presence always brought her unease. He made a habit of pulling Mor’s long blonde hair and making her cry. Val wanted nothing to do with him.
“My wife is correct.” The High Lord finally chimed in. “The girl is only six. We’ll discuss potential alliances through marriage when the time is apropriate.”
The High Lord looked toward his daughter, who still clutched onto her mother. He motioned for her to leave with a nod of his head and with an encouraging push from her mother, Val hurried away from them in search of her brother with an uneasy feeling in her stomach.
 As the High Lord watched his daughter walk away, he realized that perhaps, Valeria was not entirely useless. She was the first daughter to be born to a High Lord in years–centuries even, perhaps. Pyrthian was full of sons at the moment and there were two unwed High Lords in Pyrthian. The prospects were many…
**
Valeria found Rhysand at the dessert table–the latter stuffing his face with chocolate cake. Much to her disappointment, there was no sight of lemon cakes anywhere. Her bottom lip quivered.
“What’s wrong with you?” Rhysand asked in between mouthfuls as he noticed Valeria was on the verge of tears. He swallowed and then frowned. “Are you feeling unwell? The next new moon is in two weeks–”
“I don’t want to marry Mathis.” She whispered, bile rising in her throat. Her hands were fists at her side and trembling.
“Why would you have to marry that brute? He's our cousin.”
“I don’t know.” Val replied with a shrug of her shoulders. “But I don’t like him. He smells.”
A couple of tears escaped Valeria as her shoulders began to tremble. Her fists uncurled and Rhysand’s gaze fell down to her hands as he noticed a flicker of light. It was faint and small–like the lighting of a candle at first– and he watched at a loss for words as the light began to grow bigger and bigger. It trailed up her hands and then, to her arms, casting a silver glow to her skin. It was the same light he had witnessed a week earlier, the manifestation of Valeria’s developing powers and just as he had been when his powers first developed, Valeria was losing control.
Rhysand was quick to drop his chocolate cake onto the table and grab a hold of Valeria’s hands. He was still learning to control his own powers so he hoped he knew enough to help his sister. He called upon the darkness that lingered within him, urging it to engulf Valeria’s light and dampen her glow to avoid any unwanted attention.
“Listen to me, Val. You are not going to marry Mathis.”
“You promise?”
There was such desperation in Valeria’s eyes that it made Rhysand’s own violet eyes water. Her light began to flicker and dwindled.
“I promise.” Rhysand said as he squeezed both of her hands, relief flooded through him as her light diminished, dampened by his darkness as water dampens fire. “I promise that you will marry someone that makes you happy. Someone who makes you laugh. Someone who loves you just as much as you love them.”
“Someone who smells good?” Val questioned, her eyebrows knitted in concern.
 “Someone who smells good.” Rhysand added.
Valeria felt herself calm down, soothed by her brother’s words, as she stared down at their joined hands. She watched as a crescent moon in the form of black ink appeared on the fourth finger of her left hand. A dark fine line joined on either side of the moon as it wrapped completely around her finger. Two dotted lines appear, one on top and one on bottom to the fine line along with little stars. Her gaze drifted up Rhysand’s arm as she noticed a similar crescent moon form one his left hand with similar lines and stars wrapping around his wrist. 
They both looked at each other filled with astonishment as their bodies were now marked with a permanent reminder of the promise Rhysand had just made.
Rhysand hoped that no one had seen or noticed them. 
But someone did notice.
Their mother.
Lady Yvaine’s eyes widened, her heart racing with unease and anxiety as she clutched the side of her gown. The same area Valeria had been holding onto. The same area that now had a hole, revealing the black silk that had originally been covered by black glittery mesh–the mesh that now had rough edges and appeared as if it had been burned off.
Valeria was gifted. Just like Rhysand. And she feared what would happen to her daughter if anyone else found out. Unfortunately for Valeria, she was a girl and this world did not take kindly to females with power. The lords of the Night Court already had their hungry, vulture eyes on her. If they discovered she was gifted as well–
Lady Yvaine shuddered at the thought.
She had to keep Valeria close. She had to keep her away from the hungry eyes and vultures among the Court of Nightmares. There was no way she was returning to Windhaven without Valeria.
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fieldofdaisiies · 6 months
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Feyre's Day Out
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Bat Boys and Nyx type: fluff word count: 1,4k warnings: none summary: Rhys, Cass and Az are tasked with taking care of Nyx
Slightly out of breath from all the playing and running around, Rhysand, his shirt unbuttoned, sweat glazing his forehead, is trying to warm up some food for his little son. He knows he could ask Nuala and Cerridwen to do it, but he is the father of Nyx, he wants to do it himself. 
And warming up baby food, is truly not that of a big task. He braces his hands on the kitchen counter, inhaling deeply, the happy noises his baby boy makes reaching his ears. He has to smile, his heart always warming at the little baby sounds the heir to the Night Court makes. 
Rhysand's gaze is trained on the window, and for a moment he lets himself think of Feyre. 
Feyre who is finally enjoying a little bit of freedom and alone time. The High Lady is finally going out with her sisters and Mor again, enjoying a day just for herself without having to deal with full diapers and baby tantrums. 
Rhysand leans his head back, and releases a long breath. 
In this moment, he might be a tiny bit relieved to catch a short break from all the running around and playing, knowing Nyx is in good hands with his uncles. 
And he really is. 
Cassian, his shirt also unbuttoned as he is sweating just as much as the High Lord, is frantically chasing after the little baby boy who figured out to run quite fast on such tiny feet. 
Azriel just like his brother is also chasing little Nyx from the other side, both hoping to catch the little baby before he falls onto the hard ground and hurts himself. 
In their running, both Azriel and Cassian have probably already knocked over two vases and nearly tripped over the cushions from the couch that are somehow discarded all of the floor and the carpet. 
The three males are in charge of the lovely, delightful heir to the Night Court. A task that seemed so simple when they agreed. The little boy is a true sunshine. But he also has a kernel of mischief inside of him. 
Nyx is having a blast, cherishing every moment with his uncles and his father. He is squealing, babbling, giggling loudly while his uncles, panting but also laughing, chase after him through the living room. His little wings flap happily behind his back, his tiny feet padding over the ground. 
They have been playing for hours, technically since Feyre left.
The little boy's eyes sparkle with excitement when he comes to a quick halt, his gaze moving to his father who steps into the room with a bowl in his hand. 
Cassian and Azriel nearly bump into each other, but can catch themselves in the last second, Azriel only bumping into Cassian's outstretched hands. 
"If you want to hug me so badly, Az, you only have to ask," Cassian chuckles, and pats his brother who fights the urge to roll his eyes. But Azriel also has to laugh a little, and can finally release a breath, now that the running has come to an end. 
Rhysand crouches down, opens his arms for his little boy so he can cradle him to his chest. And Nyx, without any conversation passing between them, does exactly this. He climbs into his father's arms, or rather arm, as Rhysand is still holding the bowl, and lets himself carry to the table. 
The High Lord sits his son down on his lap, the bowl in front of them on the table and soon also Azriel and Cassian join them.
"The little champ is already quite fast on his little legs," Cassian expresses, grinning at the little toddler on Rhysand's lap. 
Nyx giggles, babbling happily. "Da, da!" he cheers, before his gaze quickly moves to the spoon Rhys dips into the bowl. He lifts to the spoon to Nyx's mouth and the boy eats. Eating is never a problem, and generally Feyre and Rhys are more than fortunate to have little Nyx as their son. He truly is a sunshine, and except for the normal and occasional baby tantrums, he is the sweetest little bean parents can hope for. 
But the little Night Court heir is not just a bundle of joyful giggles and delighted smiles and lovely baby noises, he is also slightly mischievous, something Rhysand says, Nyx definitely got from his mother. 
And Feyre would always gently smack his arm when he says something like this.
Soon after he is done eating, he starts to wiggle, signalling his father that he wants to play again. Or run. His eyes twinkle when he sets out again, happily hopping over the ground, wings once again flapping behind his little shoulders. "I can't wait for the day he learns to fly," Azriel expresses, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 
"Thank the Cauldron you will be tasked with teaching him how to fly, Az." Cassian turns to his brother, a mischievous grin on his lips. "It will be a delight."
Azriel wants show his brother a vulgar gesture, but he knows better than to do this in front of a little child who picks up everything, so he decides against it, and just flashes his brother a fake smile. And just a moment later the three males join little Nyx in his shenanigans again.
The play catch with a ball, they build towers, they play with the little wooden swords, and Nyx is also running a lot again, and so are Az, Cass, and Rhys. Nyx is a little whirlwind of excitement and happiness, his joyful giggles echoing throughout the whole living room.
Cassian catches the little boy in his arms, throws him up in the air, catches him again and cuddles him to his chest. Nyx squeals and babbles, giggling loudly at his uncle. At first Cassian laughs as well, but suddenly his expression changes, and the general wrinkles his nose. He sniffs the air around him and his eyes widen a little. 
"Ahm…Rhysie, urgent diaper business is calling." Cassian saunters over to his brother to hand over the baby boy, but Rhys keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, smirking. 
"Maybe you should also finally start to learn to do it, you know, to be ready for when you have a little babe." 
"He has a point," Azriel supports the High Lord, smirking as well. His payback for earlier.
But Cassian shakes his head, handing little Nyx who is already stretching out his hands to his father to Rhys who finally has to give in. "Not yet, Rhysie, I will learn soon enough and will change too many diapers then. For now, this very full one is absolutely and completely yours." 
The general chuckles amusedly, and lets himself fall onto the couch. 
Azriel joins him soon, stretching arms and legs from his body, and leans his head back against the backrest of the couch. 
"Have fun!" Cassian calls after the High Lord, a teasing tone in his voice and Azriel can only shake his head next to him. 
Not even diaper changing causes a lot of trouble, and so Rhys and Nyx who is now much calmer return soon. With the little boy on his arms Rhysand also sits down on the couch.
Night is beginning to settle upon Velaris, the moon already bright in the night sky outside. 
Rhysand sighs when he leans back, Nyx snuggling against his chest. 
The night also seemingly fills the room, they start to yawn, their conversations turning calmer and slower until all of them start to drift off. 
When Feyre steps into the room some time later, she wants to ask how their day has been, but she does not gets a chance to do so. She is greeted not only by chaos and a huge mess, but also by the heartwarming sight of her son and the three most powerful Night Court males, sprawled out on the couch, all four of them in a deep slumber. One of Rhysand's arms, the one he doesn't have wrapped around Nyx rests on the back of the couch, his head tilted slightly to the side. Nyx his sleeping on her mate's chest, his steady breaths creating a sweet sound that is only interrupted by Cassian snores. The general's head is resting on the shadowsinger's shoulder. Azriel's scarred hand dangles off the edge of the couch, his feet placed on the couch table, legs crossed at the ankles, head tipped back, mouth open.
There is smile on Nyx's face, a reminder of the joyful day the head and the happiness he is feeling, even obvious in his sleep. 
"Males," Feyre whispers, and moves her hand over her mouth. It is a sight for sore eyes and she knows she will paint this at the first chance she gets. 
~~~~~~~~~ tags: @girlinglass999@autumndreaming7 @brekkershadowsinger
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daevastanner · 26 days
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Hiiii,
You mentioned a Gwyn rage/ Gwynsand friendship fic a few months ago, and it's a premise that has me interested.
I was wondering of this was just an idea that you had, or whether it might be an actual fic one day.
You asked this at such a good time! It’s a little side project for me right now as I work on my WIP. Here’s a little teaser:
R H Y S A N D
“My lord! My lady!”
Rhysand shot up in his bed, Feyre sitting up at his side just in time to see their bedroom door swing open. In the frame, holding a candle, was a very alarmed Nuala. The candlelight quivered on the wall in her shaking hand.
“Is it Nyx?” Feyre asked groggily.
“No, my lady,” Nuala said, her dark eyes flitting between the two of them. “High Lord, Valkyrie Captain Berdara wishes to parlay with you on the grounds. She… she awaits you in the–the Sidra.”
Feyre’s hand clamped on Rhysand’s thigh, and he heard the silent plea in the gesture.
We knew this was a possibility, Feyre. I will face her. It was my call.
Rhys, she could be unstable right now. Are you in any state to fight a supernaturally angry Valkyrie Captain who was trained by Azriel?
Gwyn will not hurt me, Rhys thought, giving Feyre a pointed look. She needs me to be her friend right now instead of her High Lord, and I owe her that much.
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