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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 26 days

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Winter's King 22

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: this week isn't going great but we're hoping.

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You peer up at the silhouettes of the vultures perched on the peaks of the castle. Your return is met by a clear sky as the snows recede to crawling clouds across the slate expanse. The king lets you down outside the stables before he walks the horse within.

You stand just inside the doorway, outside the gathering winds that whistle through the passes and hidden crevices of the mountain. You hug yourself, shivering endlessly as you struggle to chase the cold from your bones. Once the chill creeps in it is near impossible to expel.

King Geralt’s rocky voice carries through the stable as he speaks to Roach. You glance over as another mount huffs and gives an impatient whinny. You slip further inside, letting the door shut completely. You trod along the edge of the aisle and turn down the next row. There you find Daisy’s speckled nose.

“Oh, girl,” you greet her softly and untangle a mat in her mane, “there you are.”

She sniffs you as you pet her neck. She nuzzles the collar of your cloak and you feel along the thick tendons beneath her fine hair. There is comfort in her familiarity. You long to stay there with the horses. You belong more than you do in the king’s chambers.

“Treasure...” he calls for you as you still and keep your hand on Daisy. He speaks your name next as you hear his footfalls march down the next row, harrying faster with each step. The door swings in then clatters back against the frame as Daisy knicks. “Little maid?”

You pat Daisy’s nose and retreat. You shuffle to the front and turn to follow the wall, “your highness.”

King Geralt backs out of the doorway and it snaps shut with the wind. His eyes blaze a moment before they dim. He pushes his gloves over his hair, stray strands puffing out around his hairline.

“There you are. I worried you might have blown away,” he steadies his timbre. Was he truly afraid? Did he think you would try to escape?

“Apologies, I was checking on Sir Bryce’s mount,” you explain.

“Bryce, yes,” he reaches for you and takes your hand, “he has kept you safe, has he?”

You nod, “he is a good man.”

The king’s cheek ticks, “he is my man. He only does as I bid. I commanded him to see after you. Me.”

You take a breath and bow your head, “certainly, I know so, your highness. Thank you for your protection.”

“Do you see, so long as you are close to me, you won’t need to fear,” he girds.

For so long as he keeps you close, you will only be afraid. You will fear him, you will fear his courtiers and his enemies, and you will fear the day he no long wants you near. Every flame must burn itself out and every flame will singe those who get too close.

“Yes, your highness,” you answer and look up at him again, his eyes glimmering, “Geralt.”

Your voice shakes, with more than just the cold, and you let the shiver spread through you. The king brings a hand to your chin and brushes his leather glove against your cheek. He draws you into him, holding you again his chest.

“I forget, my summer treasure, the cold is new to you,” he embraces you and bends to speak against your hat, “we must warm you before an ague might creep in.”

He lets you free reluctantly and grips your hand instead. He takes you out of the stable and towards the rear entrance of the castle. You slip in the snow, keeping you footing only for his hold on you. He stops and turns to you, tugging you near as your feet kick through the powder.

He sweeps you up in his arms without effort. He is strong and holds you across his body, cradling you as he stalks to the door. You wriggle as angles to hook two fingers through the loop and hauls open the door around you. He sidles inside and turns you, bidding you to pull the door shut. You obey and close you both in dim unlit corridor.

“Thank you, your highness,” you pat his chest lightly, “will you let me down?”

“I don’t mind. You are hardly a burden,” he grits. “Having you in my arms has me feeling much lighter.”

You drag your hand to his shoulder and squeeze through the layers, “but what if someone should happen upon us?”

He’s quiet. He keeps you aloft, shifting one way then the other, peering up and down the darkness.

“And what if they did?” He asks.

It’s your turn to be silent.

“I am king, what should they do, treasure?”

You fidget and pull your hand away from him.

“You speak true, your highness. You are the king, you may do as you will.”

He sighs and his chest heaves against you. He clicks his tongue and slowly shifts you down until your feet meet the floor. As he straightens, he drags his touch over your figure, his hand delving between cloak and dress.

“You fret very much,” he rebukes, “though I suppose caution is wise.”

“I think of you, of your reputation as king,” you assure him, “I wouldn’t want to tarnish your name. I serve the crown and I wouldn’t bring shame to it.”

“Shame?” He snarls, “never.”

He hooks his arm around you and spreads his hand across the back of your head. He pulls you into him and kisses your forehead as you tremble. He holds you like that for a moment before he parts.

“We must warm you,” he proclaims, “this way, treasure.”

He nudges you along with him. You follow his footsteps down the corridor, towards the lantern light that light the main ways. He takes you through the castle without pause, not tarrying for soldier or lord alike, though few appear in the halls. It is much too cold to leave their hearths.

You climb upward and he leads you to the winding tower. He let you up ahead of him as he holds the door. He touches your lower back through the cloak.

“You will wait for me. I have some matters to attend to,” he says, “it shouldn’t be very long at all.” He trails up your back, sending a flash of heat through you, “sit close to the hearth.”

“Yes, your highness,” you dip your head and press on, ascending as you lift the hem of your cloak and dress over your feet.

The lower door shuts only as the hinges at the top whine at your entrance. You close the chamber door and look around the space. The hearth burns still, fed by servants at intervals, and the lantern on the table shines through the steel slats that shade its flame.

You remove the cloak and hang it from an iron hook. You sit in the chair and strip off the hat, mittens, boots, and stockings; You leave the damp layers nears the hearth and lower yourself before the flames. You close your eyes and hang your head forward. You could sleep then and there.

Your peace doesn’t last very long. You raise your head as you hear someone on the stairs. You stand, readying yourself to face the king, but instead are met by a pair of pinch-faced maids. The resident servants carry steaming vessels and cross to the tub stood to the other side of the bed. They pour the water into the thick wooden walls and retreat without a word.

You spin and fold your arms. You’re taken back to the day it was you and Merinda filling a tub. Before everything became so muddled. A simple existence where you knew exactly what was expected of you.

Your heart rents when you think of your estranged companion. Merinda would know what to say. She could ease your fears, she always knew how. Ever since she came Debray, she always kept you from worry. Without her, you are lost. You only wish you’d realised then all she was to you. You were more than just maids, you were friends.

You stare at the cinders beneath the licking flames. You don’t look again as the servants come upon their second trip, and a third, and a fourth... anon and anon until the chamber thickens with the steam of the tub. You daren’t remind yourself again how much you’ve lost; how much you didn’t even know you had to lose.

You’re left in silence, facing the fire. The winds batter the tower from outside and the shuttered windows rattle. Heavy steps come up the winding staircase and you know without looking who enters behind you. The king’s sigh confirms your assumption.

“The water will ease the cold,” he says as the door shuts, “and the aches of the road.”

You shift so your stand sideways to him, “thank you, your highness.” You swallow and cough out the lump in your throat, “Geralt.”

He hums at your correction. You stand still as he moves around the chamber. He unbuckles his cloak and hangs it next to the one he gifted you. Then he nears to remove his gloves and boots, lining them up before the burning fireplace. As he stands straight, he faces you.

“You should bathe. The water is hot,” he says.

“Thank you,” you nod and reach behind your nape to untie the single lace of your dress, “so I should.”

You whisk away from him, pacing towards the tub as your hands clash clumsily. The thought of undressing before him makes you numb. You stop as the steam plume around you and drop your arms. You can’t get a grasp on the fabric. You grip the edge of the tub and stare into the water.

“You needn’t be meek,” you hear the subtle creak of his leather coat as he removes it. You peek over as he drapes it over a wooden chair. “The cold is dangerous for summerborn, you shouldn’t let it get too deep.”

You can't. You're trying to find the will. You think of all you've done. Faced the Duke and his clan, travelled to the capital, the to hinterlands, you've done it all without doubt, but the layers of fabric are too heavy a task.

You flinch as you feel a tickle along your side. You push away from the tub, dropping your arms as he king bends behind you. He raises the hem of your dress and the air is crushed from your chest. You serve, you obey, and the king’s will is plain.

You lift your arms as he strips the dress up your body and over your head. He swipes it towards the bed as your shift rumples at your hips, the unhemmed edge along your thighs. He steps even closer as he curls his fingers around the undyed linen.

You keep your arms up as he guides the fabric higher. He keeps his thumbs hooked in the cloth and turns his hands so his fingertips brush your shape. Bumps bristle over your skin and have you even colder than before. You quake as the linen blinds you for just a moment and in another, you're naked.

Your shift flaps through the air to land on your dress. The king's breath wisps out through his tight chest and he frames your hips with his large hands. He's shaking too.

He draws away slowly and you feel a rustle against you. You stand frozen as he undresses at your back. Don’t look, you can’t look. If you look, it’s real. If you look, it’s over. His clothes pile at his feet as he shifts you gasp as he presses his hot body flush to yours.

He brings his hands up your arms and along your neck. He frames your head and kisses your crown, his thumb toying with a shank of your uneven hair. You bite down as he urges you closer to the tub.

You move without without resistance, one leg over the edge then the other. He follows, thick legs plunging into the roiling water. He keeps you snug to him as he lowers himself, easing you atop him. You rest over him and his need makes itself known between you. You stare at the stone wall and steel yourself, the water adding fire to the ice inside of you.

He exhales as he relaxes under you, letting his hands crawl over your stomach and hips, feeling every inch of you. From the crook of your neck to your thighs. He smears water over your face as he touches your cheeks and traces your jaw. He quivers as snarling breaths escape him.

“This is how it should be, treasure,” he wraps his hands around yours and folds your arms, resting his clutches over your chest. “I suppose you’ve never heard the tale of Cerill and Wynifred.”

You stare at his knuckles, the hair that trims his rough flesh, the grip in his paled joints.

“Never,” you assure him.

“Cerill was a warrior. A loyal soldier. A man who served his king with all his being. He was knighted on a battlefield. Once a stablehand, then a hero. The king, Fazon, he had a wife, Wynifred. A queen who was kind and sweet. They were ill-matched for every misfortune he aimed at her, rather than its true crux,” he regales you as his voice fills the chamber, wafting with the steam.

“But she was obedient. She lived by her vows. For years. But she was mortal as any woman might be and the cruelty of her husband weakened her. And Lord Cerill was valiant and strong and gentle. Everything her husband was not. How could she restrain herself from the comfort he offered? Neither meant to betray their king but some things, some forces, are strong than those writ by men and their quills.”

You listen, certain of the purpose of his telling. You are not legendary lovers, you are not lost to wives’ tales and children’s stories, you are here, you are alive, and there is nothing fantastical about any of it. He might believe whatever but you haven’t that luxury. He will not hear the doubts, you will feel them.

“And what happened to them?” You ask with foreboding. There are stories similar in the summerlands; of pages and their masters’ wives or daughters.

“Yes, well, we know of them because they were found out, I suppose. They knew they would not evade the king’s vengeance but they refused to bend to it. So, they fled into the forest and found a sacred root. That plant is meant for the sickly, to ease their end. They consumed it together and died in each others’ arms. Just as they were found.”

You lay in silence. The forbidden love hardly tweaks at your heart, but more, you tremble to think of the king’s wrath. Of how a king might wrought his temper upon any and all. Even a wife, even a knight. It is no romantic tragedy; it is a lesson in the power of men.

“Apologies it is not a happier conclusion,” he says.

“The stories are never very happy,” you murmur. Or the truth.

He hums as squeezes your hands. The water is still as you lie in his mercy. This cannot last. Just as in his story, there will only be pain.

As if to confirm your unspoken dread, a knock sounds on the door. The king jerks, the water sloshing around him as he sits you up with him.

“Geralt, King of Rivia and the Hinterlands,” the growl cuts through meanly, “come rule your people!”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #winter's king #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au

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theladyofbloodshed · 3 months

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Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shall I open a door for you, then?

Yes! Damn you, yes!

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

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

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

No. Just let me out.

As you wish. Pluck the first string, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What the fuck,’ came a female voice.

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

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

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

‘She’s armed, Hunt,’ somebody said.

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

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

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

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

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

Where was she? This wasn’t Prythian.

Where are we?

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

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

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

‘Now your instrument.’

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

***

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

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

‘Where are you taking me?’

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

She frowned. ‘The 33rd what?’

Hunt glanced at her. ‘Legion.’

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

‘Are you fae?’

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

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

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

‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘Coffee?’

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

He met Isaiah in the corridor.

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

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

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

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

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

‘What’s your name?’

‘Nesta.’

‘A last name?’

‘Archeron.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘What can your magic do?’

‘I don’t have magic.’

‘Why do you have a magical Harp?’

‘I’m a bard.’

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

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

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

‘What’s the sword for?’

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

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

‘Which king did you pledge allegiance to?’

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

‘Who is the king of Avallen?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Is she one of the Avallen fae?’

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

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

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

‘A fascinating conclusion, Danaan.’

‘Let me talk to her.’

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

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

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

‘Need sugar?’

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

‘Are you high fae?’ she asked Ruhn.

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

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

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

‘Who else?’

‘Peregryns.’

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

‘Malakim.’

Which she only knew because Hunt had told her.

‘What’s Sabine?’

‘I don’t know her,’ she replied.

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

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

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

‘She’s clearly not from here.’

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

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

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

‘Calling daddy?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘How do you know Ruhn?’

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

‘You looked like you did.’

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

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

‘It was foul.’

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

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

‘A week? I need the Harp.’

‘Playing in a tavern?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘That device allows you to communicate?’

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

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

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

This female would cause him a headache.

***

Seven days.

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

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

Nesta didn’t know what to make of it.

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

The city was so noisy.

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

Something was moving across the bridge towards her.

It made her skin prickle.

It wasn’t walking. It was gliding.

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

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

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

The air went static.

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

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

‘You will not feast this night.’

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

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

‘What were they?’

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

‘We have creatures just as foul.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘It is so sweet.’

‘Yeah because it’s all sugar.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘What do all of those buttons do?’

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

‘It controls it?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#hunt x nesta #acotar #crescent city #hunt athalar #nesta archeron

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yazthebookish · 4 months

Text

Chapter 100

“You said you had an eight-pointed star tattooed on you,” Bryce explained. “And you found the chamber with the eight-pointed star in the Prison, too.”

Nesta lifted her head. “So?”

“So I want you to take the Starsword.” Bryce held the blade between them. “Gwydion—whatever you call it here. The age of the Starborn is over on Midgard. It ends with me.”

Oh?

“I think that eight-pointed star was tattooed on you for a reason. Take that sword and go figure out why.”

ACOTAR5 let's fucking go!!!

@bookofmirth theorized about the Prison turning into the Valkyries main headquarters and I'm very intrigued about that idea 👀

#hofas spoilers #yaz reads hofas

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nestaismommy · 4 months

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HOFAS spoiler alert

So I just finished it, and I haven’t recovered yet, especially from this scene:

“You said you had an eight-pointed star tattooed on you,” Bryce explained. “And you found the chamber with the eight-pointed star in the Prison, too.”

Nesta lifted her head. “So?”

“So I want you to take the Starsword.” Bryce held the blade between them. “Gwydion—whatever you call it here. The age of the Starborn is over on Midgard. It ends with me.”

“I don’t understand.”

But Bryce began backing toward the portal, taking Hunt’s hand, and smiled again at the female, at her mate, at their world, as the Northern Rift began to close.

“I think that eight-pointed star was tattooed on you for a reason. Take that sword and go figure out why.”

Are you saying we are getting more Nesta? Her story did not end yet, clearly.

Ember at last pulled away from Nesta. But she gently put a hand to the female’s cheek and whispered, “You’ll find your way,” before walking toward the portal.

Excuse me??

Praying Nesta leaves the night court

Manifest it with me yall

#pro nesta archeron #pro nesta #nesta archeron #nesta deserves better #hofas spoilers

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wingedblooms · 3 months

Note

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel shot her a warning look.

[…]

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

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

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

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

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

[…]

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

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

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

[…]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Similarly, Bryce takes Truth-Teller from Azriel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”

“I—I don’t know how to use it—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#hofas spoilers #elriel #azriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #elain x azriel #bryce quinlan #hands #truthteller #tt #wingedblooms answers

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b00kdiary · 3 months

Text

A Ballad of Flame & Shadow | Azriel

Chapter Five Snippet:

"You seem awfully certain you could have killed us both," I teased and Nesta peered over her shoulder at me. Silver flames in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. "A little arrogant, don't you think? Especially considering you have no idea what Bryce and I can do."

Bryce chuckled, her starlight expanding when we entered a larger chamber. But Azriel's body went stiff, his wings erecting behind him, so large I felt the cold wind hit my back at the sudden move.

"Relax, handsome," I smiled sidelong at him, seeing his eyes flash to mine at the mocking pet name. "I was just joking. You do know what jokes are?"

"Yes, Alexis, I am familiar with the concept," He drawled, and the sound of my name on his tongue, the flicker of that deep accent made my stomach twist. He smirked, nodding ahead, "That's not something I'd consider to be all that amusing though- wouldn't you agree?"

I furrowed my brow, turning – to where a huge skeletal carcass lay ahead.

No, not amusing at all.

"Pretty, hunky and handsome," Azriel mused quietly. His chest pressed against my back, and his lips whispered at the shell of my ear. I shivered, the breath expelling from my lungs. "Glad to know I'm appreciated, sweetheart."

I huffed out a laugh, stunned, as Azriel brushed past my shoulder, powerful form moving with an almost swaggering gait to where Bryce and Nesta stood staring at those bones. I narrowed my eyes at him, wings tucked in, shadows wreathing him, and back muscles rippling.

"Prick," I muttered.

I swear I heard a whisper of a laugh escape him, echoing through the dark tendrils resting at my neck.

LITTLE SNIPPET OF CHAPTER FIVE, POSTED ON WATTPAD AND AO3 (linked)

Comment to be added to a tag list for more updates and sneak peeks like this!

@hellodarling1357 @charlineraven @starrystarkey93 @mockingjaytributes @nelapeach14 @alessiazeni @bishhh2003 @impossibelle @firebreathingbishqueen @lovely-susie @sarawritestories @hellowinterlane @minnieoo @charlineraven @acotarfics-mharmie009 @ithan-holstroms-girl @bionic-donut @blackgirlmagicforever @azzydaddy @shinyghosteclipse @shinyghosteclipse @pinkcowracing @marvelouslovely-barnes @mysticalfuncollectorus @daughterofthemoons-stuff

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blackcatsnstrawberries · 4 months

Text

Post HOFAS Thoughts

Obviously everything below here is a spoiler, so read at your own risk.

This isn't going to be in any particular order, just as things pop into my head.

What I liked

How Bryce and the ACOTAR characters weren't buddy-buddy at all. It's was more realistic that both groups would be super hesitant of the other

Nesta's characterization- wonderful, stunning, powerful. This is the Nesta that ACOSF deserved and didn't get.

Bryce and Nesta's reluctant friendship, I loved that these two misunderstood women were able to create even just a minimum bond

Az and Nesta asking about the cell phone, amazing (BC)

Understanding the death mask and it's abilities more.

The information dump about Theia- I did not like how much of it there was to process BUT I loved how the characters saw the evil the Fae had brought with their colonization and did not try to bury that.

Bryce stealing TT, Az wasn't giving that up and it would be out of character for him to do so (unless he was giving it to his mate (🌷)

I kind of liked the Sassy Asteri (Verperous?)

Ruhn cracking jokes about two angels and a Fae walking into a dungeon- hilarious

Lidia's arc was interesting seeing as she has murdered and tortured people before she defected, but SJM was able to give her a redemption arc where people aren't forgiving her for that past, but seeing her for trying to make amends in the present/future. That is a hard arc to pull off.

Lidia nuzzling Ruhn before running off my god my heart

Hypaxia dumping Celestina (good), getting thrown out of her coven (bad) and THEN becoming the head of the HOFAS? Yas Queen! Slay!

Hunt working through his PTSD and Bryce giving him tough love about it, either you're with us or you're not. I know it's harsh but with what was going on it was realistic.

Ithan becoming prime

Sabine dying and being thrown into a sewer. TBH the sewers deserve better.

Hypaxia in general. No one in this series would be anywhere without her. I said what I said.

Tharion stepping up to marry Sathia (was that her name) More on this f*cker later

This one is weird: the torture chamber. SJM made that as messy as possible. She did not have to mention the poop and pee on the floor (these things happen during torture, but it's not exactly sexy for 3 characters to be rolling in it) so props to her I guess? Told you it's a weird one

Bryce and Ruhn taking down Fae Kings and making Avellen a Fae paradise WITH PEGASUS!!!!

The Princes of the Pit. I want them to have their own series omg.

LIDIA TORCHING POLLUX AND EVERYONE

Did I mentioned wanting more of the Princes of the Pit?

Bryce killing and Asteri by hand. Again, slay Queen.

Sahar coming in at the end and helping Hunt save Bryce

JESIBA! My girl sacrificing herself for her assistant (I laughed while crying)

Nesta and Ember's relationship

Bryce dismantling the Fae monarchy.

Ruhm calling Rhys something along the lines of "that High Lord dude." Yes. Excellent. More people need to do this.

Bryce and Hunt being endgame. Forever. Full stop.

What I didn't like

Bryce seemed to lose a few brain cells in this book...like opening the sarcophagus of an Asteri is dumb...

Bryce hearing Azriel when he was following her and Nesta- Cassian even said in ACOSF that unless Az wanted to be heard, you don't hear him.

Az using his power to try and bind the Asteri- bb no. They absorb that, did you also lose brain cells since ACOSF?

THARION YOU DUMB MF. This man pissed me off so much with all his bad choices one after another since the end of HOSAB.

Sigrid? Like...what was the point of her? Literally it was WE HAVE A NEW FENDYR ALPHA! Oh no I accidentally decapitated her....like what?

Ariadne was there and then not and then there. Ok?

Pollux.

Ithan's b plot, which I understand why it was there, really slowed down the pacing.

All the middle fingers? Why was everyone just flipping everyone else off all the time?

Also lines like this showed up a few times, "it could have been minutes, years really." When something was happening...like what?

I love me spicy scenes, they were awkwardly placed in this story.

RUHN AND LIDIA JUST LIKE NOT CARING THAT DEC AND FLYNN WERE MISSING?

What I think will happen next

SJM said we're getting more CC books, I am thinking they are going to focus more on other potential couples now that Bryce and Hunt's story has seemingly ended. And I swear if Bryce is pregnant in the next one...

I think a big all out war is coming (in ACOTAR) against the Asteri/Daglan somehow, and all characters from all three world with go to Prythian for a battle

Lidia is absolutely a decedent of Aelin and Rowan so that has to play out somehow.

Lidia's kids are going to become important- I am wondering about their bio dad because it's said he was a shifter, and this is me being all conspiracy theory but: What if their bio dad was a descendent of Fenrys? They are twins, one with fair hair (Fenrys) one with dark hair (Connall) and we don't know their abilities yet...it's a reach but I am calling it

Monarchy systems of government suck, democracy all the way, but uh here's to hoping SJM writes one in that works better than what most democratic countries have (looking at you USA)

The emo like Reaper that Hypaxia used to compare samples to, I am curious if he is going to turn into someone/something in later books. Just the whole scene seemed like he would become important later on. I don't know it's just a feeling.

As I have more time to process and marinate with this book I'll probably add more. In the end I'd give HOFAS a 3.5/5 it got bogged down quite a bit with exposition, characters just making dumb choice after dumb choice, and plot lines seemingly leading to nowhere. Bryce and Hunt remained a really strong FMC/MMC lead, my fav of all the series, the side characters were mostly interesting and kept everything going (looking at you Ithan) but all and all, I enjoyed the book!

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thebugthatruinsyourpicnic · 8 months

Text

Actress bios on the Workin' Girls playbill:

ZOEY CHAMBERS (Henrietta) is humbled beyond words to be part of such a groundbreaking production. Zoey has been entrancing audiences for years with her portrayal of badass girl-bosses like Sandy from Grease and Fantine from Les Misérables. Zoey would like to thank her brother, Zack, for giving her the acting bug all the way back in the third grade! It's ironic that Zack thought he was the actor of the family, but Zoey would go to completely overshadow him in every way. Sucks to suck, doesn't it, Zachary? Zoey would also like to thank her roommate and fellow cast member, Hailey! Hailey is perfectly cast in her small and inconsequential part. The role of Marge is just so uninteresting and one dimensional that it masks Hailey's limited range as an actress, as well as other flaws, such as not being pretty enough to pull off an ingenue. Enjoy the show and be sure to check out Zoey's Only Fans for spicy pics, [something I can't really read, it kind of looks like it says JQls], and other lewd content!

HAILEY DILMORE (Marge) is so lucky to be part of the best cast in the world! She has no idea how she managed to worm her way into this talented group of ladies! You may recognize Hailey as a Pink Lady from Grease or Disciple #3 from Godspell. Hailey would like to thank her fellow cast member, Zoey Chambers. Zoey has been and inspiration, a mentor, and above all, a friend. She'd also like to thank her parents and her dog, Walter. Also, she'd like to apologize to the cast for blowing up the bathroom every day during rehearsal. She's so sorry she made it stink so bad that everyone had to cross the street to use the toilet in Bank of America. She really doesn't know what's happening to her bowels. She's going to the doctor after the show closes to get everything sorted out. Enjoy the show!

RUTH FLEMING (Secretary #4) is so fucking stoked for her acting debut! This is the best thing that's ever happened to me, I mean, her. Ruth ran the lights for her school's shitty production of The Barbecue Monologues and was the Assistant Stage Manager for The Wizard of Oz... it sucked. She got bullied and excluded by the whole cast, even though her job was just as important as theirs. More important, actually! Being in the cast is way better. You don't have to think of an excuse to barge into the dressing rooms. You can just waltz right in! Everybody takes off their shirts and lets their titties tumble free! It's the most awesome thing I've ever seen... I mean, she's ever seen. Anyways, Ruth doesn't wanna thank anybody because nobody ever did anything for her.

Richie's hand is in the way for Bryce's character, but her name is Cassandra King (Eve), Matt said she's being haunted by extraterrestrial forces

#workin' boys spoilers #workin' boys #hatchetfield #starkid

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elains · 4 months

Note

what do we find out about the dusk court/ “dusk’s truth” ? Do we see the court revived?

Information below.

I will be using the Dusk Court to refer to the Prison & Associated lands for easiness, but one thing that is important to note is that the Dusk Court was never a formally Court like the present ones of Prythian. It predates them all, and it fell to ruin before the High Lords came into existence. It's more like thr Kingdom of Dusk.

The Dusk Court's archipelago was originally ruled by a daglan named Vesperus, the Evening Star, who is not the same nor related to Hesperus, the other Evening Star on Crescent City, and it was where Theia grew up. Once the daglan were ousted from Prythian and Fionn became High King, Theia became his High Queen but also the sovereign of the Dusk Court in her own right. She built her little court there.

The area is a Thin Place. That means it's on knot of the ley lines and the barrier between the worlds is thinner, making it easier to worldwalk; as such, it's also a land where magic naturally gathers. As Theia's connection to the land grew, so did her powers. Eventually, she and the brunt of her people crossed to Midgard, seeking to conquer more worlds.

Okay so, when things went to shit in Midgard and Theia bid her daughters to return to Prythian, she divided her starlight between the three of them. At the start of the series, Bryce only had the one passed down to her from Helena's bloodline. There's two missing: Theia's fragment, which she had imbued in the Starsword, and Silene's, who crossed back into Prythian.

On the Midgard side of things, Bryce has Helena's fragment to start with. Later, they go to Avallen, which is like a medieval park. Things have been kept nearly unchanged in thousands of years and land us off. Flynn and his sister, Earth Magic fae, HATE it. Their magic hates it. It turns out that Avallen is withering/dying because it's also a thin place, a nexus in the ley lines, and Helena used their power to keep Theia's part of the starlight imprisoned. Once it's freed, the land blooms anew, verdant and abundant. Even missing islands return.

Fifteen thousand years in the past, Silene chose the Dusk Court Island as the place to leave behind her part of Theia light. The place was already left alone by the fae, who seemingly deemed it cursed, so she decided to make it cursed for real. There's an evil in the Island that lingers, so she searched MORE evils to hide it — Silene as the power to shift thr rock and the Island's architecture, erasing the castle and leaving only the dungeons and the eight pointed chamber we see. She filled it with monsters and made it into the Prison. Then, she left her part of the light there.

The land died as a result.

Bryce speculates that once she freed Avallen's magic that she might have reawakened the Prison as well, that they're maybe connected as they're both Thin Places. The Prison and the Dusk Court are the legacy of Silene, she was the one who keyed it to the High Lord of Night's bloodline — her son's bloodline.

It's unconfirmed if the island has truly reawakened and if it has, what the actual fuck happened to the monsters, or if it's still a Prison.

(The great evil Silene felt was Vesperus hiding beneath it all which was taken care of lol)

#hofas spoilers #lacie talks hofas

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vigilskeep · 8 months

Note

how open were Eleanor and Tristan with their magic at Castle Cousland? I think you said pretty much everyone knows, but in that case how did they arrive at that level of trust ?

not open to the point of foolishness. the staff knowing is part of that secrecy, i think; everyone in important positions has been kept on since tristan’s childhood, to maintain that loyalty and insularity. it’s a weird kind of open secret. it’s like... if you’ve seen house of the dragon, it’s like how everyone knows rhaenyra’s sons are bastards, just by looking at them, but if anyone says it that person has to face savage consequences because it’s the saying of it that threatens everything.

the mac eanraigs have always been rumoured to have magery in their blood, and eleanor as the sea wolf used her magic as a storm witch archetype sinking orlesian ships. people know that or suspect it, they just don’t say it. especially not after she married a political titan like the young reigning cousland who could have been king. (though i doubt he could have been king and faced that scrutiny with such a wife, which is super interesting, as a choice bryce made that might affect his very public very firm loyalty to cailan, and tristan’s opinions on the succession.) as for tristan, it’s hard to hide a young mage, they’re explosive, and young noblemen have so much contact and so many teachers. that secret could not be contained. the couslands are relying on what’s obviously the incredibly strong culture of local loyalty that they especially foster among their servants

nan, brother aldous, mother mallol, ser gilmore—they all know tristan is a mage. i think they also draw a distinction between their teyrna and young lord and those Other Terrible Mages. mother mallol in particular i think is doing some truly incredible theological acrobatics to have raised this one, but since she belongs to the couslands’ private chapel and would have been personally selected by them, i would love to get into regional variants in fereldan andrastianism especially in terms of ferelden being relatively pro-mage. i mean, i could totally see them keeping an andraste-was-a-mage style heretic on the payroll to suit their interests, and that would fucking rule. the couslands and mac eanraigs being ancient fereldan families who are perfectly good andrastians i’m sure but also might keep to some of their old ways and traditions is also very, very fun. i’m interested in the, i assume alamarri, styling of the story told by nan: when our fathers’ fathers came down from the mountains... maintaining those traditions and hiring from among those shared belief would again make it much easier to maintain insularity against any threat from the orlesian chantry, even easier than it would be considering the fereldan mistrust of the outsider and the well-earned hatred of the orlesian interloper in our business

with eleanor, i use her lines about abandoning her shieldmaiden era for the “softer arts” to interpret her as being very glad to abandon her magic. eleanor keeps her skills sharp in extreme privacy but otherwise uses it as little as possible, and if it wasn’t for tristan she’d be able to maintain her fantasy of normality almost completely

tristan himself was trained as a warrior alongside his brother, in order to maintain visuals, and also because i’m not sure bryce would know what the hell else to do with him lmao. he carries a sword in the castle, but does own a stave, which is kept in his chambers for use in study. (rigid training is still demanded to protect himself in the fade, eleanor’s not stupid.) he might be willing to do spells behind closed doors; he fired a few at the rats in the larder, for example, because it was just gilmore and they’d shut the door to the kitchen and nobody minds spells when it keeps you from getting bitten by giant rats. he’s not going to be stupid about it, but he’s not worried about it day to day either. at the same time, pre-joining tristan is a bored tiger in too small a cage with magic roiling up inside of his chest who thinks he will never get to use it and takes whatever little opportunity he can get

howe would know, i think, which is fascinating, by the by

#tristan cousland #the mechanics of this are soooo fun to work through

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 19 days

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Winter's King 24

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: hey hey.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Before you get too far, Bryce appears from the shadows. You don't know if he was listening or if he's only stumbled on you but it hardly matters. He offers only a sullen look, too meek to mention the tension that stands between you. He left you first to King Geralt, then Lord Vesemir; he's more their ally than your own. But what can a maid expect?

"I am to return to the queen's service," you state matter-of-fact.

"So I've been informed," he says grimly. "Perhaps you might quell her restlessness."

You stop along the corridor as your surroundings grow familiar. You’re halt and sway as the soldier scuffs to a stop a few steps ahead of you. He turns to face you as you unclasp the cloak from around your shoulders. You drag it away from your form.

“Sir, will you hold this for me,” you fold it over your arm and offer it to him, “I shouldn’t require it during my work.”

He looks at it and takes it with a frown. He pets the soft fur around the neck as you catch a peek of the wolf’s badge sewn into the lining. You lift your head and look past him.

“I will make sure it is not lost,” he promises.

Your dread mounts with each step. You’re weighed down by the last day and all that’s come to light. You cannot shake the shackles newly clasped around your wrists and the links only draw tighter and tighter. For now, the danger has calmed but it will not dissipate entirely. There is only doom ahead, even if now, it remains obscure.

You will have no safety, not even in the familiar; not even in your duty. How can you keep on in serving when you are at the same deceiving?

Jazlene, once Lady, now Queen, has rarely been easy to calm. You've come to expect her virulent behaviour, never once forsaking her the habits inherited from her mother. Now, you fear her fiery emotions and what wrath she may rain upon you should your betrayal be discovered. It almost seems wiser to confess and be done with it all, yet your fear restrains your guilt.

As you come upon the queen's chamber doors, you give pause, as does the soldier at your side. You share a curious look between you. There are no guards at her door.

"Gods, I beg, do not tell me she has escaped once more," Bryce mutters.

You step ahead of him and go to the door. You turn your ear to it and lean in, dragging your palms along the wood. You ball your hand and rap upon it, certain you hear some sound from within. There is scuffling and the queen's trite voice. She is within.

You peer back over your shoulder at your escort as he squints. The door opens from within and you spin back. It's that orange-haired guard; Gilles. It’s odd and the noise that escapes Bryce’s throat says as much.

“Queen having another tantrum?” The soldier behind you scoffs.

“Eh, she is your queen too,” Gilles accuses, “it is treason to mock your liege.”

“Mocking? No, merely the truth,” Bryce chirps, “let the maid in. She’ll do better work of serving our admirable queen, eh? Tend to her lady needs with a softer hand.”

Gilles grabs your arm and shoves you through the door, “do not worry her--”

“Eh!” You feel another tug and you’re turned back as Bryce tears the guard away from you, “unhand her. She is but a maid. If you need feel big, you might go squash insects in the stables, yea?”

“Be wary of crossing me, king’s pet,” Gilles pushes away the other soldier, “I do not fear any old man, no matter his name.”

“Young twerp like you, I’ve known many,” Bryce stands unflinching, “my name comes from tossing fools like you in the dirt. Don’t think the years have taken that much.”

“The maid is a maid, as you say. She hardly needs a guard herself,” the carrot-headed man rebukes.

“And you hardly need the witness, eh,” the soldier sneers and chortles, “heed your own warning, man, you dance in a pit of snakes.”

“I am the snake,” Gilles makes himself as big as he can but pales against the taller soldier.

Bryce pokes his tongue in his cheek and smirks. He doesn’t reply, instead looking past the younger man, “maid, attend your duty and I’ll attend my own.”

“Sir Bryce,” you utter tremulously.

“Don’t worry for me,” he assures as his gaze returns to the man before him. “I’ve sworn never to draw steel against a man of the crown, and I shan’t, so long as the man in question does not offer doubt to that title. We are allies,” he slaps Gilles’ arm, his other hand on his pommel, “aren’t we, loyal guard?”

Gilles’ gauntlet flinches towards his own sword but does not finish its path. He raises his chin and backs up against the wall.

“In the name of the king and the queen,” the guard proclaims.

Bryce’s eyes linger on the man and he shoos you with a flick of his fingers, “go on, maid. You needn’t worry for the matters of men.”

You quickly flit inside, your heart fraught and your veins flooding with ice. That look in the soldier’s eyes worries you. He is a man of war and the mere scent of conflict seems to enliven him. Certainly, you know, if the guard gives the merest of reasons, there will be blood.

Jazlene is within, abed beneath layers of fur. She lays with a hand against her forehead in a constant state of dismay. The door closes behind you and she sighs.

“I called for a bath ages ago!” She decries, “if I must be imprisoned in this horrid place, I will at least be warm!”

The mention of a bath disarms you. You waver on your feet before you can reclaim your wits. You ignore the memories stirring in the base of your skull. The king’s heat creeps up your back as the sensation of his touch tickles in your sides. You could sob for the way your chest rents.

“Your highness, I will fetch the water,” you acquiesce in a brittle voice.

“Oh, and where have you been?” She bawls, “here I am, with child and miserable and cold, and you are off, a maid, without a care? Abandoning her queen, as my very husband does the same?”

You lower your chin at the mention of the king, “my apologies, I was bid to... other duties.”

The lie is like poison in your mouth. You could gag at your own deceit. You keep your head low. You wish she would rise and pinch or lash or kick you.

“All I wanted was wine,” she babbles at the canopy as she throws her hands up, “and company. He will not allow my own father to see me. He chased him out like some stray dog. The only family I have close and he keeps us apart. I want to play cards and I have no one to win against.” She thumps her fists down on the mattress and kicks her foot, “how can a queen have no power?”

She sits up, her eyes fiery as her curls puff out wildly from her head. Her eyes are sparkling from her tears and pretty features twisted. The blankets fall away from her torso. She mops her face with the sleeves of her gown; they are wrinkled and her bodice is crooked.

“And that Lord Ves... whoever he is, he is a nasty old troll,” she blusters, “I hate him. I hate them all, these winter pests. These animals. Beasts!” She snarls, “how can they live like this? I swear, when we reach the king’s castle, this will not go on. I must have my court. I am a queen and I should be crowned!”

She sneers and shakes her head, closing her eyes as she presses her long fingers to her nose, “why are you just standing there?” She hisses. “I want a bath!”

She pushes the blankets off of her and like a storm, she blows out of bed and towards you. You flinch but do not shield herself. She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. She shoves you away from her and you stagger.

“I will fetch the wat--”

You cannot finish your words as she strikes you across the cheek. You taste blood. The punishment you longed for is not so freeing as you expect. The sear across your face cannot assuage the flames of your guilt.

“Go before I knock your teeth from your stupid head,” she snarls.

You retreat and pull the door inward, letting yourself out. Gilles remains and does not look or comment at you. You rush away, your mouth pooling with blood. You swallow it down as you get to the kitchens, a pair of servants in gray working in the light of the stove.

“Water,” you murmur as you rub your jaw, “please, can I have a pot to boil?”

A woman, slender and silent, moves to fetch the large vessel. She hands it to you and you thank her. She clings to the other handle.

“You will need help,” she declares.

“Yes, thank you,” you flutter your lashes as the sting sticks in your skin.

You know her. She is the same who welcomed in the king’s party to the castle. She helps you carry the pot down a corridor. You feel cold creeping through the air and your teeth chatter. She doesn’t react to the chill and leads you out a door into the frigid outdoors. She stops at a cistern pump and angles the pot beneath it.

She takes a small mallet from next to the spout and beats the lever until it dips, ice falling away from it. She pumps without a word as you watch. You offer to take over but she shakes her head. You linger close by, feeling useless.

“Lift,” she orders as she stills the pump and you grab the handle as she takes the other. You carry the pot together back into the castle.

The act reminds you of another time. The night you and Merinda carried water to the king’s chamber in Debray. The woman across from you is a stranger and as cold as the winds. You raise the vessel over the flames and leave it to boil.

She turns to you and nods, “hard work serving strong men. Best us maids work as one.”

Her words are kind though her tone remains as hard as iron. Your cheeks tense and your lips tremble, “yes, thank you, miss.”

“Same as you,” she dismisses the title you give her, “let me know when it steams.”

You agree and turn to face the pot as it sits above a brazier. You are comforted in knowing that not all is changed in the Hinterlands. That camaraderie among servants has not frozen over like everything else.

As you carry up the first pot of steaming water, the servant offers a name. Ezme. You return your own before you reach the queen’s chamber. You make several trips up and down, between the boil, and fill the large tub nearly to the brim, adding a pot of cool water to mellow the heat.

Ezme leaves with the empty pot as you remain to attend the queen’s bath. As Gilles pulls the door shut, you notice how his eyes search past you. You turn and go to Jazlene as she tugs at her dress. You help unlace the piece of her gown, then her corset, and lift her shift over her head.

She lowers herself into the tub, her dark skin flawless and her figure still as sculpted and firm as ever. She must be early in her state as she has yet to show the effect of her condition. She reclines with her arms over the lip of the wooden tub.

“And what do you suppose the king is about?” She speaks with her eyes closed, frightening you as you stand quietly by the wall. “Hm? Why does he keep my people from me? Not only my father, but those other summer nobles who have accompanied us?”

You don’t speak or move. It’s best to act as if you aren’t there. She speaks to herself; for herself.

“First, he forbade my mother to come. Kept her from seeing me conceive her first grandchild,” she sneers, "and now he has banned my father from my chambers. All because he thought to provide me with a bottle of wine.”

She is back to that. The wine. She is childish in how she latches onto that one grievance and will not let it go.

“Because he would defend his daughter,” she snivels, “well, who else will keep me company as my husband remains errant? Oh, how bound he is to his kingliness. Oh, the hero he is. He has brought his wintry misery to the summer people and cursed us all to his wretched ways.”

You stare at the floor, scalded by the dangerous inference of her complaints. She treads close to those things even a queen should not voice. She might be unhappy but she cannot be so unwise. It is like the game with the dice; she does not think of the turns to come, only what she holds in the moment.

“He must plot against us. It’s what we all believe,” she sits up the water swishing around her.

You try not to react, especially as the king’s command returns to you. ‘...you will watch and you will listen...’

“He has baited us all into his lands, into his snare, and he means to close it on us. He must,” she puts her hands up as if what she says is only the truth. Without a doubt, she must be right, “he speaks of uniting us and yet he means to extinguish us. He will do away with the summer’s blood and invade our lands as he always meant to.” She scoffs and drags her fingertip over the water’s surface, “he gives to all the same empty vows he gave me...”

Silence, the sort where you can hear your own heart beating. You hold your breath. She needs to stop speaking. You want to stop hearing.

“We are not as foolish as he thinks. We will be ready,” she smirks and tilts her head, “and he would not hurt his own prince, would he?” She plunges her hand under the water and rubs her stomach. “Even he cannot deprive his people of their future.”

She hums and the water swishes around her as she lays back again. She snickers and sighs. You tuck your chin down and clutch your hands tightly. In this war of winter and summer, of king and queen, of husband and wife, you will surely be lost.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

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dawninlatin · 4 months

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As usual, here are my thoughts and reactions while readingHouse of Flame and Shadow! It’s obviously full of spoilers, and if someone’s looking for really intelligent theories and comments, this is not the post for you🤡

• there are still five days left and 30 minutes ago i complained to my roomie how impossible it was to wait….then, as if she heard me, SJM herself posts the first chapter??😍 thank you mrs maas😭🙏

• lidia🥺

• thanks to fucking tiktok, reading the words «ruhn danaan, crown prince of the valbaran fae» will never be the same😔

• NOT THE PIERCINGS😭😭😭😭😭

• i’m seriously going through the five stages of grief over a few piercings😭😭

• is bryce in az’s torture chamber?👀🥵 gurl do you know how lucky you are-

• zaddy azriel🥵🔥

• THREE WORLDS MANAGED TO KICK THEM OUT?!?!?! IS THE THIRD WORLD THRONE OF GLASS?!?!?!?! WILL I FINALLY GET MORE MANORIAN?!?!😍😭🙏 future me, can i finally rest?🥹

• lmaooo amren isn’t a historian, she’s just really fucking old

• YASSSS GET NESTA RHYS😍😍😍

• They might be tortured, but at least Baxian has friends now😭😭

• this ruhn and lidia angst is everything😭😭

• so rhys has a bunch of pet crocodiles?? good to know😀🐊

• okay, i wasn’t gonna mention it, but now i simply have to….WHAT IS UP WITH ALL THESE NORWEGIAN NAMES??? first einar, then sigrid, and now FUCKING HILDE?? sarah i know these names sound exotic and fantasy-like to you, but to me, these are just your average middle-aged people, and it’s throwing me off💀

• A MIDDENGARD WYRM??? babes i haven’t seen you in ages🤩😍🫶

• LIDIAAAAAAAAA👏👏 i bet she’s gonna team up with the frat pack to save her mate ruhn🔥🔥

• i wanna read about lidia living with the frat pack in their….house so bad💀

• YAY RESCUE MISSION

• OMG i had forgotten how good bryce was at bullshitting people💀 this whole middengard wyrm plan is aelin level🔥🔥

• there is no way feyre, AS A HUMAN, killed that wyrm so easily in acotar🤡

• ruhnlidia is SERVING WITH ALL THIS ANGST😩😩

• «Trying to figure out what it does has been driving us all crazy.» NO BUT I NEED TO READ THIS SCENE😭😭 i just want cassian with a phone, is that too much to ask?🥲

• hunt imagining his and bryce’s future kids😭😭

• 😳😧😦🖐️🦴🩸

• THE FUCKING HARPY???

• but she was beheaded?!?!

• also pollux is actually worse than tamlin himself🤢

• RHYSAND’S SISTER??????? I NEED AN INHALER

• DUSK COURT CONFIRMED???

• FAE FROM ANOTHER WORLD??? PERHAPS ERILEA🤩

• more asteris😒

• YASSS NESTA SLAY THAT ASTERI

• bryce just left prythian? no cassian?🥺🥺

• ALSO DID SHE TAKE AZRIEL’S EMOTIONAL SUPPORT DAGGER WITH HER????? SHE CAN’T DO THAT

• he needs it to sleep🥺

• JESIBA JESIBA JESIBA JESIBA JESIBA

• mommy😍🥵

• LIDIA😍🤩😭🫶🙏🧎‍♀️👑

• what do you mean lidia isn’t coming with them?😀

• SHE BETTER NOT HAVE FUCKING DIED🤺🤺🤺🤺🤺

• i was supposed to go to sleep after this chapter😭😭

• NEVERMIND SHE’S ALIVE😅🙏🧎‍♀️

• hunt🤜🤛baxian

• them being bros is all i wanted from this book🥺

• #throwback to all the memes i made about it last time🤡

• bryce booping the autumn king’s nose with her sword just became my favorite moment of all time

• i’m sorry….WHAT??

• the woman was too stunned to speak

• 👁️👄👁️

• i knew she was MOMMY, but she’s also mommy?????

• «Bryce Quinlan, Queen of the Valbaran fae» *que music

• *holds lidia as i glare at the ocean queen😠* «hasn’t she been through enough????😭»

• HE CALLED HER SWEETHEART😍😭🫶🧎‍♀️🙏🥺👑😩

• rhys being referred to as «that night court dude»💀💀

• fae and stags?👀🤩

• tharion for once just use your fucking brain🫠

• finally some smut😩⚡️

• if i ever get my hands on that bitch-ass rigelus-🤬🪓💣🔪🔫🧱

• THEY JUST KILLED ALL THE HUMANS IN LUNATHION????

• i need ruhn and lidia to just fuck already😭😩

• and so does flynn and declan, apparently💀 thanks guys😌🤝

• not the autumn king again😒

• if flynn and declan getting kidnapped is what it’ll take for ruhn and lidia to get together, IT’S FUCKING WORTH IT😩🧎‍♀️

• WE WERE SO CLOSE😭😭😭😭

• them cuddling is almost as good tho😍🥰😭🌸🫶💕

• «I’m calling it now, the Star-Eater is Hunt’s father» - me, reading HOSAB in 2022

• I TOLD YA

• it feels great to be me😌

• okay i wasn’t entirely correct but CLOSE ENOUGH

• YASSSSS BRYCE GASLIGHT GATEKEEP GIRLBOSS THOSE FAE KING BASTARDS🙏🙏

• RUHN ILY😭

• i’m not crying i swear😭👑🌷🌈🏝️✨

• i laughed out loud at the fact that declan’s biggest priority was checking if they had internet now💀💀

• Hotel Horseshit💀💀 baxian you’re my fave🫶🫶🫶

• «please don’t fuck right next to us» i’m deAD

• I THOUGHT WE WERE DONE WITH THE WATERY BOWELS SARAH😭😭

• SYRINX😍😍😍😍😍

• Bryce and her mom😭🥺

• SO THE SHIFTERS WILL BASICALLY BECOME TRONE OF GLASS FAE???!🤩

• i’ll never tire of the prime coming to the rescue last minute🙏 hang in there old man✊

• SABINE YOU ARE ON THIN FUCKING ICE RN

• ithan🥹

• lidia in her girlfriend era😍💕✨🫶🥰💅

• OTTER😍🦦

• NESTA😭😭😭

• i just know ember is gonna yell at rhys😍

• i just read the ember&randall bonus chapter, and she did😍😍😍

• also I GOT TO SEE CASSIAN😍😍😍😍😍😍

• rare river queen W?

• NOT POLLUX🤺🤺🤺

• OMG THE UNDER-KING IS FROM ERILEA???????????????

• is he a skin-walker?👀

• WYRD???

• AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

• go hypaxia, slay him🔥

• 🍆💦👀😏

• i also miss your piercings, ruhn😔 gone but never forgotten✊🙏🕊️

• «…she was his and he was hers, and there was a word for it, but it eluded him.» THAT WORD IS MATE😍😭

• HE SAID «I LOVE YOU»

• screaming crying throwing up rn😍😭🥹🫶😩

• HE SHOT HER???????

• this level of angst is giving me life

• «She’s my mate, you fucker.» THE SCREAM I JUST SCRUMPT (sorry, roommates)

• 😍🥰😇🫶🔥🙏🥹😭😍😩🤩🥰🙏🔥😭🫶🫶✊🙏🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

• SARAH JANET MAAS I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU KILL RUHN NOW-

• BRANNON?!?!?!?!?? FIRE MAGIC?!?!?!?!?!AKAJQKQKQJQKQKQLBDHFJFKEBEBJWJDVFJEJSVAVJSJAHSH

• DEAD. DECEASED. UNABLE TO FUNCTION.

• NO LIDIA DO NOT SACRIFICE YOURSELF-

• BRYCE?!😳😭

• shahar😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

• NONONONONONONONONONO

• SHE CAN’T BE DEAD, RIGHT?!?!

• i’m fucking crying, i swear😭😭😭😭

• THEY’RE ALL THERE😭😭😭

• NESTA AND CASSIAN😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

• ember quinlan not caring about how deadly rhys is whatsoever is the greatest thing i’ve ever read💀

• and azriel got his dagger back? he can finally sleep🥹

• yeah bryce, cassian is a fine piece of ass😏

• NESTA GOT TO SAY ALPHAHOLE😍😍😍😍😍

• ruhn getting a hug from one of his new stepkids😍😍

• nooooo ruhn moved out of the frat house? they grow up so fast🥺

• omg hunt getting a fine for fucking bryce so bad it caused several thunderstorms is EPIC

• PEGASUSES?!?😍😍😍😍😍😍

• i can’t believe it’s over….

• i’m…..empty

• i need more🥺

• BUT I’M SO HYPED FOR ACOTAR5🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

• i also have bonus chapters to read😏😏

• THE PIERCINGS ARE BACK🙏🧎‍♀️😭😍

• DID SJM FINALLY WRITE A WEDDING SCENE?!

• this has to be a first

• i am speechless

• 👁️👄👁️

• milly garkunos you queen🫶🧎‍♀️

• i need someone to draw lettuce-baby-hunt asap💀

#hofas spoilers #crescent city #sarah j maas #house of flame and shadow #hofas

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