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azsazz · 1 year

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Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death (Part 2)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death, ACOWAR spoilers, blood, gore, mentions of abuse, smut.

Word Count: 3,991

(Part One)

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Absolute silence. Absolute stillness.

The tremor of magic slides through the room as shield after shield locks into place around each High Lord and their retinues. A wave of heat flashes across your face as even Beron’s protective shields come out, and something exciting stirs in your chest because of it. The power flitting through the room weighs heavy on everyone’s shoulders, their faces solemn as they look between each other wearily, sizing each other up, but your lips twitch, itching to break out into a grin.

You can almost smell the bloodshed waiting to happen.

You can’t help but watch how the Night Court participants react to Tamlin’s arrival. Rhysand’s face is set into that well-practiced bored look that Eris had told you about. You can practically feel the dark power rippling beneath his skin.

Feyre tries to school her face into the same cold caution her elder sister wears, but she fails so miserably your laugh nearly slips. Not even the daggers the shadowsinger shoots you has your smile faltering, and you lean in a little closer to Eris beside you, if only to play the part you knew so well as you dismiss him, feeling the embers of Beron’s eyes following your every move. At the sight of the vague distaste on Mor’s face, you’re on the edge of your seat.

Feyre’s discomfort is palpable in the large room that has suddenly shrunk three sizes since the arrival of the missing High Lord. Your attention returns to Tamlin, his gleaming green eyes fixed solely on the new High Lady of Night and her mate.

He smiles broadly, his sharp teeth white as crow-picked bones, the kind that can rip through flesh with the ease of the freshly-sharpened blade at your side, the kind that can land a killing blow with one well placed bite. A shiver slides up your spine at the thought of Tamlin slaughtering someone with those wolfish teeth.

Thesean rises from his lush chair as if to greet the tardy male. His captain remains seated beside him with a hand on his sword.

“We were not expecting you, Tamlin.” Thesean gestures beside him towards his cringing attendants. “Fetch the High Lord a chair.”

Tamlin doesn’t acknowledge Thesean, instead, his eyes stay locked on Feyre and her courtiers.

Something in his smile changes, turning more subdued. You can see clearly the effect it has on Feyre, the way she stiffens under his unfaltering eyes, turning more and more vicious the longer he looks.

He’s clad in a green tunic, the color of full grasses you’d only seen once. He dons no crown, no adornments that show off his wealth like many of the other High Lords. Eris twists his thick gold ring around his first finger, a circlet of leaves that make up his family crest, his only true show of wealth.

Beron is the one who breaks the tense silence and you refrain from rolling your eyes, knowing what punishment it will catch you if he notices.

You still hadn’t fully recovered from his last disciplinary action.

Azriel’s brows furrow in your direction as you shift uncomfortably in your chair, fingers brushing over your sleeve where the mark lays. It’s a fleeting brush of his golden gaze as it hardens on the Autumn Lord two seats down from you.

“I will admit, Tamlin, that I am surprised to see you here.”

Still, the High Lord of Spring does not look away from his prey, watching every breath Feyre takes.

Beron continues anyway, “Rumor claims your allegiance now lies elsewhere.”

You have to give it to the asshole High Lord that you’d very much like to put in the ground. He isn’t afraid to ask the real questions, the ones everyone so desperately wants answered but doesn’t dare ask.

Finally, Tamlin’s gaze shifts, not towards the male speaking to him, but to the shining ring on Feyre’s finger. To the dark swirl of ink etched across her hand, flowing beneath the glittering, pale blue sleeve of her gown. It trails up, up, up to the crown of onyx jewels in her hair, glittering in the sunlight.

Nobody moves.

You’d heard of what she’d done to him and his court. The deceptions, the lies, all of it had spread across Prythian like a wildfire, poisonous and all consuming. What she’d done to him in her rage…you would have to agree that the beast keeping her holed up in his mansion deserved nothing less. If the Autumn and Night Court weren’t on such terrible terms, you think you'd actually like to get to know Feyre and become her friend.

The change in Feyre’s stare is evident. Her molten wrath at the memories of what he’d done to her turns her pale gray eyes into something sharp-edged and brittle.

Thesean’s attendants return, hauling a chair between them. They set it between Oakland and Helion’s entourage. Neither look thrilled about it, Oakland trying to smother the look of disgust with his wine glass, but they aren’t stupid enough to physically recoil as Tamlin sits.

The High Lord of Spring says not one word.

Helion waves a scar-flecked hand and your head tilts as you stare at the pink slashes cutting across his dark skin, curious as to how he’d gotten them. If he’d been close to Death when he’d received such an honor.

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

Thesean clears his throat, but no one looks his way.

Not as Tamlin surveys the hand Rhys has resting on Feyre’s knee.

The loathing in the Spring King’s eyes practically simmers.

Everyone in the room braces themselves as he opens his mouth to speak.

“It would seem congratulations are in order.”

His words are flat–flat yet sharp as the claws he’s hiding beneath his golden skin.

Feyre says nothing.

Rhys holds Tamlin’s stare. He holds it with a face like ice, and yet utter rage roils beneath it. A cataclysmic rage, surging and writhing around the room, threatening to take everyone out in a single snap.

But Rhys addresses Thesean instead, who has reclaimed his seat, yet seems far from any sort of ease, “We can discuss the matter at hand later.”

Tamlin tacks on calmly, “Don’t stop on my account.”

The light in Rhysand’s eyes gutters, as if a hand of darkness wipes the very stars from his violet gaze. He reclines in his chair, withdrawing his hand from Feyre’s knee to trace idle circles on his seat’s wooden arm. “I am not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.”

You, along with Helion, across the reflection pool, grin like lions.

“No,” Tamlin replies with equal ease, “You’re just in the business of fucking them.”

The entire Court goes silent.

Cassian, Azriel, and Mor are as still as Death, fury rippling off of them in silent waves, something that has utter delight rushing through your veins. As if Eris can feel your excitement, he places a hand over your knee under the table where no eyes can see, not that anyone is paying the two of you any attention anyway, not while there is something far more interesting to watch.

He squeezes softly in warning.

Don’t fuck this up.

Whether Tamlin notices the courtier's anger or cares that the three of the deadliest people in the room are contemplating his demise, he doesn't let on.

Your mouth parts slightly to taste the air. It’s all you give yourself for now, the metallic tang of bloodshed waiting to happen. You want to feel that red warmth across your skin, ache for the slickness between your fingers, painting your skin crimson, warm like the Death you love so dear.

Rhysand only shrugs, smiling faintly. “Seems a far less destructive alternative to war.”

“And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.”

The Night Court ruler’s blink is the only sign of his confusion.

A claw slides out of Tamlin’s knuckle.

Kallias tenses, a hand drifting to the arm of Viviane’s chair–as if he’ll throw himself in front of it. Honorable of him. But Tamlin only drags his claw lightly down the carved arm of his own chair. You’re wickedly transported to the thoughts of all of the times you’d done the same with your blade, watching the life drain from your foe’s eyes. Your stare becomes more intense.

Tamlin smiles at Feyre knowingly, the High Ladies pallor turning white as the motion triggers something within her.

“If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.”

Feyre says quietly, “The sun was shining when I left you.”

Your smile hurts.

Green eyes slide to her once more, glazed and foreign. He lets out a low snort, then looks away just as quickly.

Dismissal.

Kallias asks, “Why are you here, Tamlin?”

Tamlin’s claw digs into the wood, puncturing deep even as his voice remains mild. “I bartered access to my lands to get back the woman I love from a sadist who plays with minds as if they are toys. I meant to fight Hybern–to find a way around the bargain I made with the king once she was back. Only Rhysand and his cabal had turned her into one of them. And she delighted in ripping open my territory for Hybern to invade. All for a petty grudge–either her or her…master’s.”

“You don’t get to rewrite the narrative,” Feyre breathes. “You don’t get to spin this to your advantage.”

Tamlin angles his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

The grin drops from your face.

Feyre’s cheeks are stained red. This isn’t an outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of her dignity, her credibility. Beron beams and your stomach churns at his delight–while Eris carefully monitors.

Rhys turns his head, looking Feyre over from head to toe. Then back to Tamlin. A storm about to be unleashed.

But it’s Azriel who says, his voice like cold death, “Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. Something preens in your chest at his words, at the open threat on his face, bright eyes dark with the shroud of Death itself.

Surprise flashes in Tamlin’s eyes–then vanishes. Vanishes, swallowed by the pure fury as he realizes what that tattoo coating Feyre’s hand is for. “It was not enough to sit at my side, was it?” A hateful smile curls his lips. “You once asked me if you’d be my High Lady, and when I said no…”

A low laugh. “Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his?”

Tamlin finally faces the other gathered High Lords and their retinues. “They peddle tales of defending our land and peace. And yet she came to my lands and laid them bare for Hybern. She took my High Priestess and warped her mind–after she shattered her bones for spite. And if you are asking yourself what happened to that human girl who went Under the Mountain to save us…Look to the male sitting beside her. Ask what he stands to gain–what they stand to gain from this war, or lack of it. Would we fight Hybern, only to find ourselves with a Queen and King of Prythian? She’s proved her ambition–and you saw how he was more than happy to serve Amarantha to remain unscathed.”

You catch Feyre holding back a snarl at the heinous words aimed at her mate.

Rhys releases a dark laugh. “Well played, Tamlin. You’re learning.”

Ire contorts Tamlin’s face at the condescension. But he faces Kallias. “You asked why I’m here? I might ask the same of you.” He jerks his chin at the High Lord of Winter, at Viviane–the few other members of their retinue who remain silent. “You mean to tell me that after Under the Mountain, you can stomach working with him?” A finger flung in Rhysand’s direction.

The silvery glow about Kallias dulls.

Even Viviane seems to dim. “We came here to decide that for ourselves.”

Mor stares at her friend in quiet questioning. Viviane, for the first time since the Night Court had arrived, does not look toward her. Only at her mate.

Rhys says softly to them, to everyone, “I had no involvement in that. None.”

Kallias’s eyes flare like blue flame. “You stood beside her throne while the order was given.”

There isn’t anything anyone can do, except watch Rhys’ golden skin pale. “I tried to stop it.”

“Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered,” Kallias says, and this time you don’t feel that loving caress of Death, you only hurt for the children that had been ripped away from their parents at such a young age. You know that Death herself will take the best care of them, and sometimes not all death can be justified. “That you tried.”

Rhys’ mouth tightens. “There is not one day that passes when I don’t remember it,” he says to Kallias, to Viviane. To their companions. “Not one day.”

“Remembering,” Kallias answers, “Doesn’t bring them back, does it?”

“No,” Rhys says plainly. “No, it doesn’t. And I am now fighting to make sure it never happens again.”

Viviane glances between her husband and Rhys. “I was not present Under the Mountain. But I would hear, High Lord, how you tried to–stop her.” Pain tightens her face. She, too, had been unable to prevent it while she guarded her small slice of territory.

You had heard the whispers of things of what happened during Under the Mountain and snippets of what Eris could choke out, but you had never really believed it to be much truth as it came from the gossipping handmaids of the Autumn Court manor that you were bound to, even while the High Lord and his family were trapped below.

Rhys says nothing.

Beron snorts, the sound makes you cringe. “Finally speechless, Rhysand?”

Feyre’s hand slips to Rhys’ arm. Tamlin marks it, but she doesn’t seem to care. She says to her mate, not bothering to keep her voice down, “I believe you.”

“Says the woman,” Beron counters, and it’s all you can do to not look like you’re a part of their façade as a unified family. “Who gave an innocent girl’s name in her stead–for Amarantha to butcher as well.”

Rhys swallows and Feyre’s grip tightens on his arm.

His voice is rough as he says to Kallias, “When your people rebelled…” And you recall exactly how Winter had rebelled against Amarantha. And the children…that had been Amarantha’s answer. Her punishment for disobedience. “She was furious. She wanted you dead, Kallias.”

Viviane’s face drains of color.

Rhys continues, “I…convinced her that it would serve little purpose.”

“Who knew,” Beron muses, “That a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’ voice is low with warning. His hand tightens on your knee.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Feyre fix their gazes upon the High Lord of Autumn. None of them are smiling.

They look as though Eris might become High Lord sooner than he plans.

That flutter kicks up in your stomach again at the lethal looks in their eyes, especially that extra sparkle in Azriel’s.

If only you could help make that happen.

But Rhys goes on to Kallias, “She backed off the idea of killing you. Your rebels were dead–I convinced her it was enough. I thought it was the end of it.” His breathing hitches slightly. “I only found out when you did. I think she viewed my defense of you as a warning sign–she didn’t tell me any of it. And she kept me…confined. I tried to break into the minds of the soldiers she sent, but her damper on my power was too strong to hold them–and it was already done. She…she sent a daemati with them. To…” He falters, but you all know what had happened. The children’s minds–they’d been shattered. Rhys swallows. “I think she wanted you to suspect me. To keep us from ever allying against her.”

What he must have witnessed within those soldiers’ minds…

“Where did she confine you?” The question comes from Viviane, her arms wrapped around her middle.

No one is entirely ready for it when Rhys answers, “Her bedroom.”

His friends do not hide their rage, their grief at the details he’d kept even from them.

“Stories and words,” Tamlin says, lounging in his chair. Your anger flares like the fires of the Court you’ve been chained to for nearly a century. “Is there any proof?”

“Proof–” Cassian snarls, half rising in his seat, his wings starting to flare.

“No,” Rhys cuts in as Mor blocks Cassian with an arm, forcing him to sit. Rhys adds to Kallias, “But I swear it–upon my mate’s life.” His hand rests atop of Feyre’s.

Your stomach whorls at the realization that he must have known what coming here, presenting his front just as they are, would cost him. What he might have to reveal beyond the wings he’s managed to hide so well for so long.

Tamlin rolls his eyes. You can see the utter restraint Feyre has to keep her from lunging for him–from ripping out his eyes in the name of her mate.

But whatever Kallias reads in Rhys’ face, his words…he pins Tamlin with a hard stare as he asks again, “Why are you here, Tamlin?”

A muscle flickers in Tamlin’s jaw. “I am here to help you fight against Hybern.”

“Bullshit,” Cassian mutters, and you silently agree, catching his glowering gaze with a slight nod of your head. His brows twitch into a furrow before he dismisses you, untrusting of the pet so cozied up to Autumn.

Tamlin glares at him. Cassian, folding his wings in neatly as he leans back in his chair once more, offers him a crooked grin in return.

“You will forgive us,” Thesean interrupts gracefully, “If we are doubtful. And hesitant to share any plans.”

“Even when I have information on Hybern’s movements?”

Silence. Tarquin, across the pool, watches and listens–either because he’s the youngest of them, or perhaps he knows some advantage that lies in letting them battle it out themselves.

Tamlin smiles at Feyre again. “Why do you think I invited them to the house? Into my lands?” He lets out a low snarl, and Rhys tenses in his seat at the sound. “I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that?” His teeth shine white as bone. “It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family.” A sneer towards Nesta, who is frowning with distaste. “Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?”

“Watch your mouth,” Mor snaps.

Tamlin ignores her wholly and waves a hand towards Rhysand’s wings. “I sometimes forget–what you are. Have the masks come off now, or is this another ploy?”

“You’re beginning to become tedious, Tamlin,” Helion says, propping his head on a hand. “Take your lovers’ spat elsewhere and let the rest of us discuss this war.”

“You’d be all too happy for war, considering how well you made out in the last one.”

“No one says war can’t be lucrative,” Helion counters. Tamlin’s lip curls in a silent snarl that makes you wonder if he’d gone to Helion to break Feyre’s bargain with Rhys–if Helion had refused.

“Enough,” Kallias says. “We have our opinions on how the conflict with Hybern should be dealt with.” Those glacial eyes harden as he takes in Tamlin again. “Are you here as an ally of Hybern or Prythian?”

The mocking, hateful gleam fades into granite resolve. “I stand against Hybern.”

“Prove it,” Helion goads.

Tamlin lifts his hand, and a stack of papers appears on the little table beside his chair. “Charts of armies, ammunition, caches of faebane…Everything carefully gleaned these months.”

“Noble as it sounds,” Helion continues, “Who is to say that the information is correct–or that you aren’t Hybern’s agent, trying to mislead us?”

“Who is to say that Rhysand and his cronies are not agents of Hybern, all of this a ruse to get you to yield without realizing it?”

Nesta murmurs, “You can’t be serious.” Mor gives her a look as if to say that he certainly is.

“If we need to ally against Hybern,” Thesean said, “You are doing a good job of convincing us not to band together, Tamlin.”

“I am simply warning you that they might present the guise of honesty and friendship, but the fact remains that he warmed Amarantha’s bed for fifty years, and only worked against her when it seemed the tide was turning. I’m warning you that while he claims his own city was attacked by Hybern, they made off remarkably well–as if they’d been anticipating it. Don’t think he wouldn’t sacrifice a few buildings and lesser faeries to lure you into an alliance, into thinking you had a common enemy. Why is it that only the Night Court got word about the attack on Adriata–and were the only ones to arrive in time to play savior?”

“They received word,” Varian cuts in coolly, “Because I warned them of it.”

Tarquin whips his head to his cousin, brows high with surprise.

“Perhaps you’re working with them, too,” Tamlin said to the Prince of Adriata. “You’re next in line, after all.”

“You’re insane,” Feyre breathes to Tamlin as Varian bares his teeth. “Do you hear what you’re saying?” She points toward Nesta. “Hybern turned my sisters into Fae–after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!”

“Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress–I’m sure the trait runs in the family.”

Nesta lets out a low laugh. “If you want someone to blame for all of this,” she says to Tamlin, “Perhaps you should first look in the mirror.”

Tamlin snarls at her and your excitement returns. You may see some action after all.

Casisan snarls right back, “Watch it.”

Tamlin looks between Feyre’s sister and Cassian–his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorts. “Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.”

Feyre’s power begins to rumble throughout the room–a behemoth rising up, yawning awake.

“What do you want?” She hisses. “An apology? For me to crawl back into your bed and play nice, little wife?”

“Why should I want spoiled goods returned to me?”

Her cheeks flare.

Tamlin growls, “The moment you let him fuck you like an–”

One heartbeat, the poisoned words spew from his mouth–where fangs lengthen.

Then they stop.

Tamlin’s mouth simply stops emitting sounds. He shuts his mouth, opens it–tries again.

No sound, not even a snarl, comes out.

There is no smile on Rhysand’s face, not a glint of that irreverent amusement as he rests his head against the back of his chair. “The gasping-fish look is a good one for you, Tamlin.”

The others, who have been watching with disdain and boredom, now turn to the High Lord of Night. Now possessing a shadow of fear in their eyes as they realize who and what, exactly, sits amongst them.

You can’t help but to smile again. Wicked.

Brethren, and yet not. Tamlin is a High Lord, as powerful as any of them.

Except for the one at Feyre’s side. Rhys is different from them as humans are to Fae.

They forgot it, sometimes–how deep that well of power goes. What manner of power Rhys bears.

But as Rhysand rips away Tamlin’s ability to speak, they remember.

#azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel #acotar #acowar #acowar rewrite #acomaf #azsazz

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duaghterofstories · 3 months

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Mmmm... I'm going to rewrite all of the Acotar series, but make it what we deserved. I can and will take suggestions. Things I already decided upon include:

No Tamlin villification.

Nesta not changing herself for Cassian, and Cassian remaining her whipped horndog husband in a couple that defines the 'Walk him like a dog' tiktok audio.

Making Rhysand an actual femenist.

Gay characters. And actual queer rep.

Fayre knows how to read and has actual fucking muscle.

I am also taking title suggestions.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar series #pro tamlin #anti rhysand #acotar rewrite #pro nesta #anti cassian #anti mor

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achaotichuman · 3 months

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Is it just me or does Ianthe feel like such a filler villain?

Like she exists just to cause issues and that's all to her character. We know she is hungry for power, but why? She is already an incredibly high-ranking person of power in the Spring Court as a High Priestess. She has the capabilities of influencing and even downright controlling the High lord through manipulation. She had access to the Night Court, so her influence very clearly stems far beyond the SC.

She is a religious icon, so does what does her worship look like? What does her day look like with the Priestesses? Magic clearly influences their religion. Do they have ceremonies dedicated to the fertility magic? What's the story.

Why is she so evil? Does she want to take over the Court itself? Did she want access to the Cauldron, a powerful tool for a High Priestess to have in hand, and that's why she pushed to suck up to Hybern.

Does she have any hobbies? Interests? What was her relationship with Tamlin as a child? When and where did they meet? How close were they?

She is such an important character that drives the plot of the series, yet we know nothing about her. She is written off as a rapist and given no complexity.

She only exists to further villainise Tamlin and it shows.

#we could have had so much with ianthe #a badass female villain with pure intent but evil ways of going about it #or someone who wanted to unify prythian using the power she had #or a woman who wanted to liberate women from oppression #but noooooo #we get a character who we barely know anything about #ianthe #someone rewrite ianthe for me #anti acomaf #anti acowar #tamlin #pro tamlin #pro spring court #acotar #acotar headcanons #acotar au

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a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire · 4 months

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Ive complained about acotar's weird plot structure before and I was gonna talk about how I would fix it as well, but then I forgot so Im talking about how I would fix it now

Just get rid of Amarantha, Rhysand's the villain now. He gets her Woman Scorned motivation of being rejected by Tamlin but hes still the high lord of the night court and instead of him ruling over all of Prythian, he basically just torments Tamlin and hes got the spring court locked down with magic so no one can come in or out for help. One idea that I like is that instead of the mask curse, everyone is cursed to just cant stand being near Tamlin, like he comes into a room that a few servants are cleaning and they immediately feel compelled to leave without another word. Idk, the idea is that Rhysands trying to break him through isolation while convincing him that hes unlovable so he'll come crawling right back to him. And then theres obviously still that caveat of 'the curse gets broken if you can find a human whos killed a fae with hate in her heart and get her to fall in love with you, but until then everything stays as is'

From then on, things mostly happen as they do in the book with Tamlin and Feyre bonding except Lucien's not there because of that curse. Or, actually you could still have him around since Feyre wouldnt be affected by the curse, just not anywhere near Tamlin. Oh, I really like the idea of Lucien very begrudgingly coming up to this human girl he dislikes so that he can be like "hey, can you please tell Tamlin that we're still friends and that I still love him even though I cant speak to him" thatd be sweet

(uhhhhhh this got way longer than anticipated, have a readmore)

I think if you still want Rhys to be like, the hot and sexy badboy alternative love interest you could have him corner Feyre whenever shes alone and try to seduce her in order make absolutely 100% sure she never breaks that curse. But its not working, she just keeps bonding with Tamlin and he notices that shes getting more and more comfortable with him and seems to be slowly falling in love with him and hes getting nervous, because Rhysand is absolutely not above just coming in and hurting her in order to torment him some more so he sends her away, again, like in the book

Then Feyre comes back and maybe she finds that the spring court is now shrowded in eternal night for 💫Atmosphere💫 and Tamlin has submitted to Rhysand. But hes still not quite satisfied because Tamlin basically begged him not to hurt Feyre because he loves her, and Rhysand just needs him to say that he doesnt love her after all. And Feyre comes in and demands that her high lord be set free and Rhysand issues the same three trials as Amarantha, I dont think he should give her the riddle because idk, i always thought it was really weird and stupid to have these trials AND a riddle, just pick one. And Im picking the trials because Rhysand is a sadistic mf. I dont think the trials should happen over the course of three months though, I think they should happen over the course of three days with one trial a day, because Rhysand is very confident that Feyre will just die and hes getting a little impatient, like he just wants to have his Tamlin already yknow

And then she completes the trials, Rhysand has to release them and thats the end of the story. I think this would work best as a standalone, but if you still wanted to make it a trilogy and you still wanted to have the Feysand bargain, maybe Feyre could completely break down during that last trial where she has to kill those innocent fae because shes bonded with them so much (in this version she would get to know more of the household than just Alis and Lucien) and she cant bring herself to do it and Rhysand is all smug like "do you give up?" but then Feyre pulls herself together and goes to stab the first one, and he realizes that she might actually do it for Tamlin's sake and that all of his plans are about to be ruined, so hes basically like "okay, you know what, Ive changed my mind, I'll lift the curse and I'll leave you and Tamlin be, but you'll have to agree to this bargain with me where you have to stay at my court for two weeks every months" the idea is basically that if he cant have Tamlin's love, hes gonna take Tamlin's beloved, and Feyre agrees

Idrk how the next book could play out from that point. I have this image in my head of like. okay so, one of my favorite obscure dark romance dynamics is ancient evil vampire/newly turned evil vampire/kind-hearted innocent human guy, bonus points if the newly turned vampire and the innocent human guy were in a perfectly normal loving relationship before the other vampire entered their life. And what Im pitching is basically the fae-version of that for Feylinsand. Im invisioning Feyre having a corruption arc and slowly falling for Rhysand but she also still loves Tamlin and Rhysand also still loves him so they entrap him in this fucked up and evil but also hot and sexy poly relationship. That might be a little self-indulgent but idk man, this whole series is built on self-indulgence and its not even interesting because sjm has the most boring sex fantasies ive ever read. which yknow, im not necessarily judging, I just dont like it. Also actually nvm I think it would be funnier if Feyre didnt fall for Rhysand, like its not a thing of her coming down to his level so she can kiss him, she turns evil for completely unrelated reasons

Another thing you could do if you wanted to make it a trilogy, but maybe one thats less focused on sex because what else are you gonna do with a hot evil polycule, is you have Rhysand take Tamlin to the night court which is like, all the way on the opposite side of Prythian. So then the first book could be everything I just described except when Feyre comes back to the spring court, she finds that Tamlin is gone and it ends right there, on a cliffhanger. The next book would be her and Lucien and maybe Alis or some other fae she befriended traveling all across Prythian to get to the night court and we see a bunch of Prythian because godddd I despise the fact that in the actual acotar series, we're just trapped in the night court for 4 books and barely get to see anything outside of the night court, nay, velaris. And then the third book would be them trying to find Velaris, which would be a secret city in the sense that no one knows where it is but like people do know the name and that it does exist somewhere, and Feyre either does the trials and frees Tamlin that way or maybe theyll get the Illyrians on board to just kill him and that breaks the curse idk

And yeah, thats it, this got way longer than I thought. I was just kinda spitballing here because again, I dont like the first book's structure at all and I think the existence of Hybern is so unecessary. Like, Prythian has seven courts with plenty of potential for interesting politics to happen between them, whyyyyyy does there need to be a kingdom full of evil people for them to unite against?? I hate it

Anyway, Ive been thinking about this idea for a little while but I had no plans for fleshing it out in any way, but now that ive written all that down Im thinking of maybe cleaning all of that up and actually making it a whole rewrite at some point. I make no promises though, I suck ass at writing longer stories. So until then, let me know what you think of this

#anti acotar #acotar rewrite #anti rhysand #tamsand #feylin #not tagging fey//sand cuz i feel like th #the people who like that ship wouldnt appreciate this lmao #whatever the shipname for feyre/tamlin/rhysand actually is #feylinsand?#feysandlin?

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slutsofren · 10 months

Note

would you mind writing a little ficlet (or hcs) of the batboys and reader taking care of their newborn?

ever since i read the oneshot where reader goes into labor, i've been going FERAL at the thought of the batboys being loving dads set in the hloc universe🥺🥺

but only if you're comfortable and if you want to!!! you don't have to do this if you don't want to, no hard feelings 💜

OOH THIS IS GOOD

okay so i should start with a blanket message. i, personally, do not have children, i do not know how to raise a child save for a cat who is my pride and joy. i do not wish to have a child in my life. with that being said i will likely get a lot of things (lol everything) wrong in more detailed ways but hey, that's why this is a fantasy fic right lol

as always, details under the cut!! i went for general attitudes towards your pregnancy in the high lady universe but if you want something a wee bit different just shoot on over an ask :> 🤍🌹

**i will not be posting this to ao3 so it is a ✨tumblr exclusive✨

cw: babies, a little bit of violence mentioned but nothing bad :>

Azriel

az was the first one to try and get you pregnant and yes, he was trying multiple times a day for it to take so when the little flutter first happened, he cried. big fat tears.

when the babe was born with dripping black onyx wings az had weeped, they all did

he began to take less spy missions that would keep him away longer than a few hours just to stay home with his child, at least until they would old enough yeah right

it would take him months before he was able to stay a single night away on a mission at which point you had to reassure him with multiple kisses that the two of you would be fine

he cared for you in every single way possible, physically, mentally, emotionally, and would do everything in his power to keep you both happy

you wanted a bath? absolutely, here is your bath but let him take the baby, no it's fine he wanted to hold them :)

there would be nights where the babe would wake and cry and az would jump up and immediately take to them, consoling their cries

you'd watch as az would gently murmur stories from memory, of a high lady who fought to the death for her lovers, stories of you

az always was and always will be the protector of your little family

Cassian

absolute loser of a daddy

he didnt know the first thing of being a dad and he sure as hell did not know how to care for one

all brawn and very little brain for baby 101

he was never sure if he wanted kids when he first met you but seeing you pregnant, seeing his family, he was satisfied with whatever the outcome may be

he once tried to give baby a dagger when they were still a toddler and if you listen closely you could still hear Rhys’ voice shouting “NO” from the mountains of Illyria

for the first few weeks, cass was afraid he was going to drop the baby so he avoided holding them at all costs, leaving it to az and you

it wasnt until you assured him it was going to be fine did he give in, only to immediately start crying when he realized this was his family. he had a family. everything he fought for was for this.

cass was a warrior and he was absolutely going to be the one who trained your babies how to kick ass like him

Rhysand

rhys always was and always will be the most hesitant of the daddies

it took him time to come to terms with your pregnancy only because he lost his first family so violently, he wasn't sure if he was ready for that step but he knew he wanted it with you

rhys was the one who would secretly take the babe under the cover of darkness outside to practice flying as a surprise for you all

knowing the childhood of your other mates, he did everything he could to ensure none of your babies would ever grow up in violence like them or be in want of affection

with that being said, he became much more violent towards members of his court of nightmares.

he was a high lord so he was often not home but he would be damned to let the disease fester and grow under his reign, and he would make sure none of your children would shoulder his burden

to him, rhys did not care if he was biologically the father of any of your babies but he would fight wars for them so they would never have to

#the high lady talks #anon ask #the high lady of cunning #acotar rewrite #rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader

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autumnshighlady · 11 months

Text

I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 14)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: Reader and Azriel have a talk, Nesta discovers Eris’ secret

warnings: Night Court slander, semi graphic torture, Rhysand is horrible

word count: 7.1k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: IM BACKKKKKK!!!!!! SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!! This is some of my worst writing but I love the concept so here ya go, I hope this was worth the wait! More action coming soon, chapter 16/17 are gonna be HUGE!!!!!! x

feedback is appreciated, just no hate pls! these are just my opinions, i’m more curious to see how you all like the writing and characterization and storylines!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 /

read on ao3

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READER POV

You didn’t know how long it had been since Rhysand left you bloody and strung up in the cell. In some ways, you were grateful that the past while had been a blur. Your memory was a haze of flashes of searing pain, Rhysand’s voice in the background demanding you reveal the bond to him and admit the details of your conspiracy against his court. Yet you did not break, even as those tendrils of dark power carved into your already open wounds.

Despite not being able to feel her on the other side of the bond, Nesta was what got you through it. The thought of her in Autumn, far away from the Night Court’s reach, made you grit your teeth and fight the urge to crumble in front of the High Lord. You closed your eyes and pictured the eldest Archeron sister wandering through the paths of the woods, brilliant leaves of red and gold falling around her and landing on the soft grass. Her creamy skin adorned in a soft emerald dress, that golden-brown hair trailing down her back, finally free. You pictured her happy, content in her new environment. With Eris.

Even in your half-conscious state, you wondered how well the two were getting along. While the Inner Circle thought the Autumn heir was a cruel, sadistic bastard, you always knew Eris as your best friend’s older brother… the aloof, sarcastic male who would attempt to charm you to piss off Lucien. You never told Lucien, but every wink Eris had sent your way made butterflies swarm in your stomach. Eris was clever, a good intellectual match for Nesta at least. You had faith in her to be able to navigate the Autumn Court politics. After all, she had been raised to be a perfect courtier. Why the Inner Circle wanted to ignore that and make her into a warrior instead was mind-blowing. Even Lucien, who was incredibly skilled at negotiating and getting along with other courts, was treated like trash by the Inner Circle.

You missed him terribly. It had been months since you had seen Lucien, who was reportedly dwelling in the human lands now. You suspected he was being fed lies by Feyre and Rhys about your involvement in their court. No doubt their version of the story told a tale that painted you as the obedient female who eagerly immersed herself into the Night Court, grateful to be given this chance.

The eerie quiet of the cell was broken by the rush of air in the corner, the soft sound itself deafening against your pounding head. You couldn’t recall the last time you drank water, your throat dry as sandpaper. You didn’t lift your head up, for the weight of it was too much for your neck to bear. You did nothing, just accept the fact that Rhysand had returned for another crack at you.

But it was not Rhysand’s sneering voice that muttered, “Mother above.”

“Az…” Your voice was raspy and almost unrecognisable as you lifted your chin up. The spymaster stood before you, eyes widened slightly. His jaw was tense, and there was something about his expression you couldn’t decipher.

When he didn’t say anything, you tried again. “Please… help….”

“What happened?” He asked coldly, his shadows swirling around him. You flinched as they approached, drifting towards you like Rhysand’s mist had. The action didn’t go unnoticed. Azriel blinked, the only indication of surprise he was likely to give. Still, you could see it in his eyes as he put the pieces together. Not once had you ever flinched from the shadows that hovered around him. Until Rhysand’s own likened darkness had cut through your skin like butter.

“Water…” You mumbled. For a moment, you thought Azriel was going to ignore your request and continue to just stand there staring at you. But after what appeared to be a moment of contemplation, the spymaster pulled out a small canteen and unscrewed the lid. With his scarred hands he lifted it up to your lips. Your entire body sagged in relief as you eagerly drank the water, taking as much as he would give you. After downing about half of the liquid, Azriel stepped back.

“Thank you.” You said, voice clearer this time now that your dry throat had vanished.

“Rhysand did this to you.” Azriel said more as a statement than a question. After training with the spymaster for months, you could read him a bit easier than before. There was something behind his expression, revealed by the widened eyes and tensed jaw, that made you think whatever Azriel had expected his High Lord to do in his interrogation of you, this was not it.

So you nodded, and the tears that had been pooling in your eyes finally spilled down your cheeks. You hated crying in front of Azriel, or anyone really. But you were too tired to hold your tears back. Days in this cell, tortured without food or water… It was too much.

“Gods,” Azriel muttered, running a hand through his tousled locks. “When Rhysand told me he wanted to interrogate you himself, I didn’t expect…. this.”

You choked out a laugh. “Why does it matter to you anyways, Azriel? You were willing to send me to die on an impossible mission. My fate here is really no different.”

Azriel stiffened visibly, brows narrowing. “How did you–”

“Does it matter?” You interrupted bitterly, twisting your wrist around in the chain to try and relax the stiff muscles.

“You know if you want any shot of getting out of here, you’re going to have to tell the truth.” Azriel growled, his voice dropping. “You’ve been hiding things from me this entire time, and I’d like to know what. And why, starting with how you knew about the confidential mission to the continent before I even told you.”

You laughed again, a hollow, bitter sound echoing throughout the cell chamber. You were beyond caring at this point. No matter how you answered their questions, or if you answered them at all, there was no escaping the fact that telling the truth or not, you would not make it out of these dungeons. “You don't understand,” You retorted. “It doesn’t matter how I know. Telling you how will not change the fact that neither you nor Rhys will let me out of here anytime soon.”

The shadowsinger folded his arms, his cold gaze unblinking. “You do realise that if you want me to help, you’re going to have to be straight with me.”

It killed you that you couldn’t tell Azriel what was really going on. Some part of you yearned to, hoping that he’d finally get his head out of his High Lord’s ass. But you couldn’t shake how he just left you in here with Rhysand. Rhys apparently has his claws so deep in every member of the Inner Circle, it would take a lot more than a few months of training one on one with the spymaster for him to change.

“Please, just…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you hung your head, ashamed. “Kill me. Get it over with.”

You heard him scoff. “I am not going to kill you.”

“You basically were by letting me be sent to die on the continent.”

“Damnit, (Y/N) I was trying to help you!” Azriel snapped, his tone rising.

You froze as you were lifting your head up. “What?”

Azriel rubbed his face with a scarred hand, leaning against one of the rocks that jutted out from the wall. He looked exasperated, the weariness on his face visible even in the dim lighting of the cell. “I was trying to find a way to get you out of the mission.” He said. “I told Rhys it would take months, years even to get you ready for that level of assignment. He did not listen. I spent those four weeks trying to find a way for you to escape, to get out of here.”

Your mind reeled from more than just exhaustion. Azriel had been trying to help you this whole time? He may not be brave enough to put his foot down to Rhysand, but had enough sense to try and get you out of this mess.

He continued. “I was trying to set up refuge for you, in a village far south on the continent. You’d have been safe there, if you laid low. I would have told Rhys that my spies reported you were killed.”

“Why?” You couldn’t help but ask. “Why lie to him for me? He’s your high lord.”

“Yes. And he always will be. But that does not mean I am not allowed to have my opinions on the way he handles some matters. It is unfair to drag someone into this line of work who does not want it, and it is even more unfair to send them on assignments they are not ready for.”

You chose your next words carefully. “You know why he did it, right?”

Azriel only stared at you, saying nothing.

“He wants me dead,” You whispered. “He wants me dead and you know it. That’s why he arranged the mission-”

“No,” Azriel cut you off, his voice sharp. “He was desperate for another spy, and could not send me. Braillyn would have expected that. You were the best one for the job, because they don’t know you. He just didn’t understand that you weren’t ready.”

You shook your head, heart sinking at Azriel’s denial. He wasn’t stupid, some part of him had to know the truth – that Rhysand wanted you dead because your defiance of him could cause unrest, even more so if you were plotting against him. Which you were. The first big step had been a success, getting Nesta out of the Night Court in a way that, by the law, prevented them from coming after her.

There was much more you had in store for the Inner Circle, but only time would tell if you would be able to pull it off. None of which would happen if you did not escape this cell.

“That’s not true, Azriel.” You said. “I wish you would see it. He knew I wasn’t ready, but if I died then he wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore. But if I somehow survived then he’d get the intel he wanted.”

The spymaster’s glare hardened. You shrank back slightly as he propped himself upright once again and stalked towards you. Large wings flared slightly, a menacing sight as he asked you firmly, “I will ask you this one more time. How did you find out about the mission?”

You didn’t answer, wondering if he was going to try and carve answers out of you like Rhysand had. Azriel had likely done such a thing countless times, perhaps in this very cell. Your wounds were crusted over and raw, fae healing abilities diminished in the darkness of the prison.

“It was Eris, wasn’t it?” Azriel said after a few minutes, bitterness and disappointment lacing his voice. “That’s why he proposed to Nesta, and why she insisted on you coming with them. It was part of a plan, wasn’t it? A plan for you and Nesta to escape.”

You did not bother confirming nor denying it, any defiance you had long ago wilted. Half your body had gone numb, and the other half ached beyond belief. You could feel yourself slipping further and further away, a discouragingly slow descent towards death. It was almost worse than the torture itself, being so close to death’s arms embracing you and carrying you to freedom, yet not quite there yet.

“Why?” Azriel asked sternly, taking your silence as an answer in and of itself. “Why would you want so badly to leave? To take Nesta away from her family?”

Bitterness coursed through you, igniting a fire in your voice. “If that is truly how you see it then you won’t even try to understand.” You hissed at him.

Azriel perched himself atop one of the rocks in the corner, those massive wings folding in. He shrugged, arms folded. “Humour me.” He challenged dryly.

These moments were crucial, you knew. It was your chance to either convince Azriel to help you, or to seal your fate and be locked in here forever. The choice weighed upon your already heavy shoulders like a rock. Rhysand would likely return soon and Azriel would disappear again, along with this one chance. And so you chose.

“Nesta will never be part of the Inner Circle, and you know it.” You said. “All you guys have done is try and muzzle her, control her, make her docile enough to sit quietly alongside you at the table but never truly be a part of everything.”

“We were trying to help her–” Azriel interrupted, but you quickly cut him off.

“By forcing her to train? Do something she never wanted? There are many ways to help someone, Azriel. This method may have worked for you and Cassian, but it is not for everyone. Nesta was hurting after the war, and all she received was judgement. You lot consume a bottle of wine every Friday night at Rita’s, but when Nesta does it, suddenly it’s a bad thing? You’ve all slept around, but when Nesta does it, she should be shamed? You have all held her to an impossible standard and refused to give her time to heal. But none of you ever cared about her healing, only how she made you look. You’ve done exactly to her what Tamlin did to your High Lady.”

You expected Azriel to argue, to fight back in defence of his found family. But he merely stared at you, eyes unreadable. You took it as a sign to continue.

“Nesta is drowning in the Night Court.” You said, locking eyes with the shadowsinger. “She will never be accepted here, and being a warrior is not what she wants. You are not stupid, Azriel. You know this. Feyre has found her new family, and that is fine. Let Nesta find her own. Please, just let her go.”

The eerie echoes throughout the cell were the only sound for the next few minutes. Your gut churned at Azriel’s reaction to your rant. He had said nothing, made no defence nor an agreement. That was almost more nerve-wracking to you.

“You see much of yourself in Nesta, do you not?” Azriel finally spoke, unfolding his arms. “That’s why you resorted to involving Eris to help get Nesta out. You have known him for as long as you’ve known his little brother, so you went to him for aid, did you not?”

“Yes.” You muttered. You didn’t have it in you to deny anything anymore. With what you had already admitted, Azriel would figure everything out on his own. You just hoped that Nesta had solidified her position in the Autumn Court quickly enough to prevent a war from breaking out.

“And he was at the meeting where Rhysand discussed sending you to the continent,” The spymaster continued, hazel eyes gleaming in the darkness. “So that’s how you knew. And you came up with the idea of marriage to get Nesta out, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Azriel stood up, once again looking down at your withered form. “That plan involved a clean way out for everyone except you. Why? Were you wanting to get sent to the continent to die?”

“It is because she loves Nesta.”

The arrogant voice of the High Lord filled the room, chilling your bones. Your entire body went stiff with panic, and even Azriel’s eyes widened as Rhysand appeared from behind you. Clearly, he hadn’t expected his brother back so soon.

The sound of footsteps and a dark presence was all your senses noted as you closed your eyes, feeling Rhysand walk around you to stand next to Azriel. You couldn’t bring yourself to open them, to look into the face that had sneered as tendrils of dark mist tortured you for hours.

“Good job, Az, you got her to talk!” Rhys clapped Azriel’s stiff shoulder, shock still evident on the spymaster’s face. “She said a hell of a lot more to you than she did to me. But I don’t recall ordering you to interrogate her. Unless my excellent memory is wrong, of course.”

Azriel straightened his spine, glaring at the High Lord. “You didn’t,” He said plainly. “But seeing the results of your last meeting with her and how little information you gathered, I believe it best you leave the rest of it to me.”

You finally opened your eyes, greeted by the practically feline smile of the High Lord. He bore a triumphant look on his face, one that made your body shake with nerves. Somehow, he had heard almost everything – Azriel’s shadows not even detecting his presence. Deep down, you knew that you were never getting out of here now.

“No.” Rhysand said. “You’ve done enough. You can carve her up all you want and nothing will make the magic mark appear, so I don’t need you for this next part. You are dismissed, Azriel.”

Unlike before, Azriel stood his ground. “No,” He growled. “As your spymaster, it is my job to be involved in these things. I am staying.”

Rhysand merely shrugged, showing no signs that he cared about his brother defying him. “Suit yourself. But you are not to intervene, do you understand?”

“Intervene with what?”

Rhysand hummed, taking a step towards you. You flinched as he brought his hand up, taking one of your tangled locks and pushing it behind your ear. An act so seemingly gentle, filling you with more fear than you had ever known.

“You look famished, darling.” He crooned, stroking your ice cold cheek. “If you show me the mark that allows you to communicate with Nesta, we can get you a nice hot plate of food and some water.”

With your mouth no longer dry, you gathered up as much saliva as you could manage and spat in the High Lord’s face. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Azriel’s jaw drop open slightly at the action, and you almost laughed.

But Rhysand only chuckled, wiping your spit off his face before standing back up to his full height. “I may not have been able to get into your head before,” He said. “But now that you are weakened, I will be able to break through your shields.”

Searing pain shot through your skull and you screamed. Those dark tendrils that had sliced your flesh before were now in your head, scraping down your shields like nails on a chalkboard. The pain was unlike anything you had experienced, the worst migraine of your life times a hundred.

Through the screaming, which you weren’t sure if it was in your head or out loud, you could hear Azriel’s muffled voice in the background. “Stop it, Rhys,” He was protesting. “You’ll kill her.”

Rhysand ignored him, continuing to try and force his way into your head. It felt like the entire force of the sea had come crashing down on your skull, pushing and pounding in every direction in search of a crack. Your entire body shook, the pain from your physical wounds nonexistent in comparison.

“This isn’t right.” Azriel was saying. “I will get her to talk, just stop this. She’ll never trust us if you keep doing this.”

“I don’t care about her trust.” You heard Rhysand say, his voice both in your head and echoing throughout the room. “Once I get into her head and get what I need, she will be of no more use to us. Then she’ll be your problem.”

The sensation of white hot needles pricking into your head took over, and you let out a wail. It was a thousand times worse than before, especially in your starved state.

Please, You begged the Mother, or any gods out there. Please kill me. Grant me this mercy and end it.

Amidst the pain and your screams, a warm sensation brushed your shoulder, like someone’s hand was grasping it in reassurance. You can do this. It seemed to say, in a voice so familiar yet like nothing you had ever heard before.

“What are you saying?” Azriel growled.

The High Lord’s next sentence was all you heard before darkness overtook your vision. “When I am done, I need you to kill her, Azriel.”

NESTA POV

The smell of a freshly made breakfast sandwich and tea roused Nesta from her sleep. As her eyes crept open to meet the golden glow of the sunrise, she became rapidly aware of the presence lounging beside her. Nesta’s vision focused after a few blinks, a male with red hair coming into focus.

Instantly, she shot up, wincing as the pounding headache she apparently woke up with protested. “What the fuck, Eris?” She practically yelled, bunching up the bedsheets to cover her nightgown.

“Ah, finally you’re awake!” The prince said casually, as if he was not laying next to her sleeping form with his head propped up against the bed frame. “Half the day has gone by already while you slept.”

“It’s sunrise, asshole.” Nesta hissed furiously, wishing she had a dagger nearby to stab him with. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“Exactly,” Eris quipped, turning to the next page in the book that he was currently reading. “And no, watching you sleep is rather boring. Especially when you snore. Besides, this novel is way more interesting.”

Growling, Nesta snatched the book from him after noting it was a smutty romance one she had snuck from the library and was currently reading. Eris smirked knowingly, making Nesta’s cheeks burn. “I did not take you for a romance novel type of female,” He purred, arrogantly reaching up his arm to rest behind his head. “Especially ones with such erotica.”

Nesta gave him a hard shove, unbalancing him. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

Eris chuckled, raising his hands in mock defenselessness. “But I brought you breakfast! Am I really not allowed to bring my loving fiancé breakfast in bed?”

She shot daggers at him with her eyes. “Your loving fiancé is going to murder you before the wedding if you don’t get out within the next fifteen seconds.”

Eris sighed in defeat. “I do not know what I did to deserve this type of treatment from my future wife.” He muttered in obvious sarcastic pity, but climbing off the bed nonetheless. Nesta crossed her arms over her chest, cursing inwardly at the headache that plagued her. If she had better control of her magic, she’d send a stream of silver fire after Eris’ ass on his way out.

It had been one week since the dinner with Beron where she was granted one month to train her powers, and every day had been the same routine. Get woken up before the sun has even risen, ride Diadoro and Calypso to a remote clearing in the forest about an hour away, try over and over again to follow Eris’ instructions only for either nothing to happen or absolute catastrophe. The day usually ended in an argument, either about training, Eris’ progress in finding you, or where he was on his plan to dispose of his father. And then followed by a very silent ride back to the manor.

“Meet me by the lake in 10 minutes.” Eris called out as he shut the door, leaving Nesta to eat the breakfast laid across the tray. She groaned, rubbing her eyes and wishing for just an hour of rest.

Sleep hadn’t been coming easily lately. Every night was the same dream – Nesta running around a dark maze with walls of stone, trying to get to you. She could hear your screams as if they were real, echoing throughout her head whenever she was left alone with her own thoughts. Eris insisted he was doing everything he could to find you, but the more time passed the more worried she got. Every day Nesta woke up, she was plagued by the aching in her chest.

In record time, she managed to consume half of her breakfast and get herself dressed. The outfits Eris had always prepared for her were admittedly perfect, and today was no different. A forest green gown with gold buttons up the front, and a subtle dark pink trim. Nesta had no idea where Eris was pulling these gowns from, but she didn’t complain as she slipped on the comfortable material.

Eris was waiting with Calypso and Diadoro, the creatures tacked up and ready to go. Calypso was pawing at the ground impatiently, as if she had been waiting a while.

“At last she graces us with her presence.” Eris called out as Nesta approached hurriedly. It had taken her an extra few minutes to get ready, as her hair did not cooperate in its usual cornet. For the first time in Autumn, Nesta had simply pulled her golden brown locks back into a simple braid before hurrying out the door.

“You said ten minutes, I took fifteen, get over it.” She snapped, taking Diadoro’s reins from Eris’ outstretched hand. “Besides, I needed a few minutes to recover from the fright of looking at your face the first thing waking up.”

Eris chuckled. “A sight to look forward to after our wedding day, my dear.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, climbing into the saddle as Eris held the stirrup in place for her. He had insisted Nesta get used to riding, something she had protested at first. But admittedly, it was fun, not that she’d ever admit that in front of Eris. As the Prince got on Calypso’s back, the pair and their horses headed off through the path they had taken every day for the last week.

It was a scenic route, the Autumn hues throughout the forest bringing Nesta a sense of calm that she had never quite found at the Night Court. She was no longer always cold, bones chilled by the crisp night air that seemed to somehow be present during the day, even though none of the Inner Circle seemed to feel it. She only wished she could share this stroll with you.

After about twenty minutes of riding, Nesta decided to change things up and break the usual silence that they rode in. “Where are you with your search for her?” She said quietly.

“Well, my spies are convinced she is still somewhere in the Night Court.” Eris responded cautiously, his voice flat.

“So why can’t we go back and get her?” Nesta pressed as they continued to ride through the trees.

“Many, many reasons,” Eris said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Firstly, you know that the High Lord and the brute would snatch you up immediately. You would never get out after that. Secondly, neither of us knows the terrain. The Night Court is large, and she could be anywhere. It is not easy to pinpoint exactly where she is out of the dozens of places she could be.”

“Eris, every night I have the same dream. I’m running through an underground maze of stone, with walls of black rock. And I hear her voice. And you’re saying this doesn’t help at all?”

The Autumn princeling sighed, halting the horses. “Correct. Because the Night Court has hundreds of mountains, all of which could be harbouring some underground dungeon. So no, it doesn’t help.”

Deep down, Nesta knew he was right. She tangled her fingers in Diadoro’s mane to soothe the sea of worry churning within her. “Why did we stop?” She asked after a few moments.

Eris turned to face her, his eyes serious for once. “Nesta, I know how badly you want to find her. I do too. But with how well hidden and warded the Night Court is, not to mention remoteness, it is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. And if the magic from your bond can’t reach her, I’m afraid I’ve done everything I can.”

“No.” Nesta refused to believe it. You had been her anchor to this earth for months, her reason for keeping her chin up and moving through the relentless stormy sea it seemed she was destined to wade through.

Eris’ voice was gentle. “Nesta, you are immortal now. You have a long life ahead of you. Clinging onto this will only hold you back.”

“Easy for you to say,” Nesta shot back, not caring how deep her words cut. “You don’t care about anyone. Must be no problem for you to just drop people once you’ve gotten what you want.”

For the first time since she had known him, Eris’ face fell slightly. Regret washed over Nesta immediately at the hurt flickering in his amber eyes. Insults were part of Nesta and Eris’ routine now, but this…. She knew she had gone too far.

“Do you truly think so little of me?” Eris asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. There was no trace of the arrogant prince she had grown used to.

“I just…” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t know what to think anymore. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“I know. And I’m doing my best to get things back on track, but it’s proving almost impossible.”

Nesta swallowed the familiar lump in her throat that indicated tears were going to begin welling up soon. “I know.” She said before coughing and regaining her composure. “Anywho, you were the one insisting we were late. Let’s get going.”

Before she could move Diadoro forward, Eris turned Calypso to the right and headed off the path. “We’re doing something else today,” He called out. “Follow me.”

Nesta didn’t have to do anything, as Diadoro was already following the white horse off the path, expertly stepping over roots and branches in his way. “Where are we going?” She demanded.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Tell me.”

“That would ruin the surprise.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do. Keep moving.”

Nesta huffed, but didn’t protest. She had never been on this route before, and the further they got the rockier it was. Trees grew sparser, and the soil became harder. The journey reminded Nesta of something from one of the fantasy books in the library at the House of Wind, and with a pang she thought about Gwyn and Emerie.

She wondered how her disappearance had been explained. Most likely, they had been told that Nesta was kidnapped by Eris or something. Nesta missed them terribly – Emerie’s snorting laughter, the way Gwyn’s eyes would light up as she explained something in her research, how they both took an instant liking to you.

“Eris?” Nesta asked about thirty minutes into their trek.

“Yes, my fearsome goddess?” Eris singsonged over his shoulder in response.

“Can I bring my two friends to Autumn?”

“I did not realise you had friends other than (Y/N) in the Night Court.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I do. I met them at my training, and…” Her voice trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it without seeming weak. Nesta had never needed anyone before, but the lack of Gwyn and Emerie’s presence in her life lately was beginning to weigh on her.

“You miss them.” Eris finished her sentence for her. “Once I am High Lord, we can invite them to come here.”

“For a visit?”

He shrugged. “Or to stay permanently, if that is what they wish.”

Nesta’s heart fluttered with excitement at the idea. She knew Gwyn would love it here certainly, once she got used to it. Emerie too, who would be relieved at being miles away from her vile family. “I’ll hold you to that, Eris.” She said sternly.

“Consider it one of the many wedding gifts I shall spoil you with.”

Nearly two hours later, Eris finally halted Calypso and got off. It was the longest ride Nesta had been on thus far, and her inner thighs ached. Luckily, the prince was already reaching up to grab her waist, lifting her out of the saddle with an impressive amount of strength.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, cheeks red with embarrassment before asking, “Where are we?”

There was nothing notable in her surroundings, save for a rocky cliff that loomed above them a few metres ahead. Calypso and Diadoro had pressed their noses to the ground in search of grass amidst the sparsity.

“All will be revealed.” Eris winked, then extended his hand. He glanced up at the cliff, and Nesta crossed her arms.

“I am not scaling that cliff.” She said sternly, causing Eris to chuckle.

“I would not make you, certainly in those skirts,” He said. “We’re winnowing up there.”

“You know I hate winnowing.”

“Fine, if you’d like to climb it then I’ll see you in a few hours–”

Nesta quickly grabbed Eris’ hand, cutting him off. It tingled against her own, like electricity in her veins was jumping out to meet his own. She ignored his smirk as the world went askew and the ground fell away underneath her feet.

A split second later, they stood atop the cliff. The wind immediately whipped across Nesta’s cheeks, but it was not cold. Oddly enough, it was warmer up here, like the very rocks they stood on were heated. The colourful forest spanned across the horizon, bright with the now late morning sun. Nesta’s braid whipped in the wind, coming undone within seconds.

“I’ve been keeping this from my father,” Eris said, turning away from the edge of the cliff and walking away, leaving Nesta to follow. “A secret weapon, if you will.”

Nesta hurried to catch up, her long strides matching his own. “A weapon to kill him with? Up here?”

Eris chuckled, shaking his head. “No, between you and me we are perfectly capable of doing it ourselves. This weapon will help solidify me as the High Lord and prevent other courts from going to war with us. And I think it will help you with your magic.”

Nesta halted, dread forming in her stomach as she thought of the last few magical weapons she encountered. The mask, that took away everything she felt and made her raise an army of the dead. The Cauldron, that stole her humanity away from her and turned her into a creature she had grown up learning to hate and fear. The thought of something else like that made her knees go weak.

“It’s nothing like the Cauldron, I swear to you.” Eris said calmly, as if reading her thoughts. “Come, I promise it’s something entirely different.”

After a second of hesitation, Nesta resumed following Eris. They walked further and further, approaching a large mountain with a cave entrance that was bigger than anything she had ever seen.

“Are we seriously going down there?” Nesta gaped. The closer she got, the warmer the air was. It sang to the silver flames within her, and she felt them dance.

“Yes.” Eris said, igniting a flame in his hand in place of a torch before entering the darkness. Not wanting to lose the light and be stranded in the dark, Nesta followed. They walked down the large cavern, and the further they went the more her power begged to be let out.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Eris asked, pausing at the bottom of the slope they had just crawled down. “Like calls to like, Nesta.”

Eris’ flame didn’t illuminate much, but by the way their footsteps echoed, Nesta could tell whatever chamber they were in was large enough for a small city. “What is this place?” She asked.

As usual, Eris continued his lecture and neglected to answer her question. “You fear your power too much, Nesta, because you haven’t seen anything like it. You are letting your fear control you, and you need confidence if you are to wield your powers in a manner that impresses my father. There are many fire-wielders in this world, Nesta Archeron. Yours may be different, but you can learn from others. And not just me.”

Nesta took in a sharp breath, the taste of smoke and ash on her tongue. “This secret weapon…” She said slowly. “It’s not a ‘what’.... it’s a ‘who’.”

Eris nodded, his pale face a striking gold in the light of the flames. “Do not be afraid.”

Before she could ask what he meant, a low but fierce growl vibrated throughout the chasm. It quaked her bones, and the floor began to tremble with what felt like the footsteps of a large creature. And then another, and another.

Nesta trembled as they grew louder, but refused to shrink back. She would not be a coward, not in front of Eris, even as whatever weapons Eris had approached them. The prince stepped forward, lifting up his flaming hand and illuminating the dark space a bit more to reveal not one, but three massive, scaling heads.

The heads of dragons.

The one in the middle had onyx scales, barely visible within the darkness. Its head was only illuminated by its glowing amber eyes. The one on the right was almost as big, but it had golden scales and larger horns on its head. And the one on the left crawled opposite from Nesta, a shining shade of silver with a longer neck. Each beast exuded sheer power and might, the space in the enormous cavern almost too small for their bodies.

Time seemed to slow down and stop as the three dragons approached, the orange glow from their mouths and bellies lighting the chasm. They were a thousand times bigger than a horse, almost the size of an entire palace.Nesta gawked, and her magic began to thrum excitedly at the beasts. Realistically, her instincts should have screamed at her to run before she was burned to ash, but she felt none. No, Nesta was rooted to the stone in fascination and awe.

Eris approached the black dragon, who lowered its head and growled. For a second, Nesta thought it would simply devour Eris whole. But instead, it let out a crooning noise and pushed its nose into Eris’ flaming palm. He began murmuring to the dragon in a language Nesta didn’t recognize, and the beast purred in response.

Her fixation on Eris with the dragon was broken by a low growl, and she flinched as the silver dragon snaked its head towards her.

“Summon a flame.” Eris instructed, still stroking the snout of the black dragon, despite its head being twenty times his size.

“What?” Nesta said, still frozen in place as the dragon crept towards her.

“Just do it.”

She raised a shaky hand, taking a deep breath. She tried not to think about the size of the dragon’s teeth approaching her as she reached down and grabbed a hold of a silver tendril of her power.

Yes please! It seemed to cry. Let me out to play. Let me make new friends.

Just as Eris had taught her, a ball of silver fire began to dance in the palm of Nesta’s hand. The dragon paused, lowering its head even further towards her hand. Nesta tensed up, but her flames had other plans – they flickered in the direction of the dragon, almost as if they were excited to greet it.

The silver beast made a low rumbling noise in response, and pressed its nose into Nesta’s hand, just as the black dragon did with Eris. She gasped, expecting her flames to burn the creature’s nose and cause a wake of destruction, yet it did not flinch from her fire. Its eyes met Nesta’s, and she felt as if her very soul was being gazed into, as if the dragon could see every raw, vulnerable part of her. The scales were smooth against Nesta’s slightly shaky hand, hotter than the warmest coals yet they did not burn her. Her flames danced along the scales, exploring the dips and horns of the dragons’ head. But it did not seem to mind, only continuing to gaze into Nesta’s eyes.

For a moment, she was overcome with emotion. The sensation of touching a creature so mighty, so powerful, one that she thought only existed in the stories she read. But then she, too, was now a creature that existed in storybooks. One that was admired for its beauty yet feared for its power, much like the very beast before her. It looked at her with such understanding, such intensity Nesta felt like she could both crumble on the spot and conquer the world at the same time.

“Her name is Athariel,” Eris’ voice broke her out of her trance. “I figured you’d like her. The one with me is Morgoth, and the golden one is Zorzimril.”

“I…” Nesta swallowed her emotion, tentatively stroking the dragon’s scales. It made a purring sound, the silver flames dancing around it excitedly.

“I found their eggs here just over a century ago.” Eris explained, his voice echoing in the chamber. “I thought they were rocks. There were rumours of dragons existing at the beginning of the world, but the last rumour comes from the wild hunt. No proof of them existed, until I found the eggs. No amount of research helped me figure out how to un-petrify them, until I felt them call to me. I used my magic and lit the hottest fire I could manage, placing the eggs inside them. A few hours later, they hatched. I’ve been raising them in secret for almost 150 years, training them. They are my secret weapon.”

“Like calls to like…” Nesta murmured, observing how her silver flames played with the dragon, who remained unscathed.

Eris smirked, patting Morgoth on the cheek. “Exactly. I have bonded with Morgoth, and I figured you and Athariel would be a good match. You can learn a lot from her, and she can help you conquer your fear. From everything I’ve learned over the past century, they’re loyal beasts. If you bond with her, she will defend you fiercer than anyone in this realm.”

The thought of this powerful creature looking out for Nesta made her overwhelmed with emotion. Maybe they were both seen as monsters by the rest of the world, but they could face it together, if Athariel let her. Nesta thought back to all the times she felt true fear – at the Hewn City, Illyria, the battlefield, there was no trace of that now. Somehow, she felt safer with this dragon than she had in the Night Court.

Nesta glanced at Zorzimril, the golden beast. “What about her?”

Eris sighed, resting his shoulder against Morgoth’s head. “I had hoped that with (Y/N) here, she would bond with her. It seems like fate, does it not, Nesta Archeron? Three of us, three dragons. I am not particularly religious, but it seems the Mother has set this out for us. Zorzimril is the reason I still have hope that we will find (Y/N).”

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-9 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @

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nocasdatsgay · 9 months

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I’m still throughly upset that Cassian has one of the most romantic lines in all the books and then in the following two books treats Nesta like shit.

Home girl needed to know she was worth it and be held for once in her life, but you listened to an old ass eldritch bitch who should have died in book 3 and waited until Nesta broke as a person and rebuilt herself in the image of the night court before you decided to love her.

Note: This is my onion and I will not be taking criticisms. I don’t hate nessian I’m just triggered and I know that’s a me problem 😂

#he threw her gift in a river cause he was pissed #I was so triggered reading that #and they listened to Amern???? that bitch never had emotions until she started fuckin what’s his name #I’ll never forgive SJM for that #nesta deserves better #I also bet money mor was hogging the room while cassian was healing #I wouldn’t go in there either #not after he yanked his hand away when she walked in #like cassian you had such potential #if I had the time and attention I would rewrite acosf #don’t even get me started on that fuckin hike #or the fact he didn’t get mad that Rhys threatened to kill his mate #I’m in my feelings #unpopular opinion: acotar edition #acotar #it’s my opinion!#im not anti nessian I’m just anti whatever the fuck acosf was #cause I’m bias for nesta #acotar spoilers #also no I don’t care nesta didn’t go hunting #the house was never dirty now was it? someone had to clean it and cook #sure as hell wasn’t Feyre we would have heard her complain about it #the real villain is the patriarchy but y’all ain’t ready to hear that 🤣#even in this fantasy world it wreaks havoc

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maisonaime · 4 months

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Ilithyia's Blessings

I got Covid-19 as a college graduation/early Christmas present :) enjoy the fruits of me being stuck in my parent's basement.

Summary: Rewrite of Feyre's reaction to finding out about the risks of her pregnancy! I (like many) hated how this was dealt with, and would personally love to see her rip the entire IC a new one for that bullshit. Diverges from canon the moment Nesta leaves the townhouse. Heavy angst and hurt for all, BUT a happy ending! Please note that I am atrocious at writing dialogue so forgive me.

Warnings: Pregnancy complications, family dysfunction, mentions of past trauma, emotionally abusive & generally unhinged behavior from all!

Part 1:

As the last of Nesta’s burning fury trailed out of the door after her, Feyre’s eyes once again met Amren’s. The tears there had turned sharp as glass shards. Power imbued with the abundance of life nestled in the High Lady choked the air of the townhouse, damp and salty and so very wrong. They had been so very wrong.

Amren did not falter, but her stance was one of false ease. She had never wished so badly to be well-versed in the nuances of emoting and made a note to herself to observe her peers' reactions more closely; that she might glean some useful mimicry for a similar situation in the future. A creature of preternatural stillnesses and pregnant silences, Amren waited until Feyre spoke in a voice so deep it may have been derived from the pits of the Mountains themselves.

“How long have you all known?”

“You should really ask your ma–” bared teeth cut her off.

“I asked you Amren. How long?” Feyre snarled.

It was becoming uncomfortable to breathe, reminiscent of the cloistered air of the Prison. Amren was struck with the sudden realization that her powers were no match for her High Lady, not anymore.

“Too long” she admitted unflinchingly. “I will apologize for my part in it, but Rhysand had his reasons and I saw the practicality of it. As your friend, I know it was wrong. You must understand Feyre, I have to be the one person who can separate emotion from decisions in this Court, it’s my first nature and my duty as Rhys’ second.”

Feyre just stood there, eyes wide, breathing hard. Her tattooed hands still clutching her stomach as though the babe would rip its way into the world for all the horror she felt in that moment.

“Has it ever once occurred to you…” – her voice burned through the condensed ether like the birth of a star, Amren winced – “has it ever once occurred to any of you, that when Rhys made me High Lady, he made me High Lady of this Court, not just his High Lady. I am High Lady of the Night Court, I am your damn High Lady. And if you Amren are his second, then you are also mine.”

Tiny ancient one be damned, she needed backup for this. She only prayed Varian had the good sense to bring Elain back to the townhouse, no one else would do any good for this moment.

And to think I was lecturing Nesta on respect.” she seethed. “To think that I’ve put up with this ridiculous sequestering of my family by my family. Elain and Nesta are flailing as they grapple with bodies and lives they were born and bred to fear, just as I did. We treat Elain like a vapid flower as if she is not burdened to see between fucking worlds. And you all act as though Nesta’s viciousness will tear chunks out of me but you forget she is my sister. I have known her my whole life and she has not torn my throat out yet. Vicious she may be, but at least she’s godsdamn honest.”

“No one is denying this Feyre but I don’t see–”

“What this has to do with me? With my child? There’s plenty you lot are failing to fucking grapple with right now. The very basic premises of duty and friendship to start with. What about the principle of allowing a female control over her own life, her own body?” there was a jagged edge of panic making its way into her tone, the air grew impossibly tighter.

At that moment the door banged open once again and Amren winced again as Morrigan pushed her way into the room against the wave of unyielding magic pulsing from Feyre. She silently cursed Varian.

“Feyre, I’m so sorry. If we had thought there was any other way to keep you and the babe safe–” she began before she was cut off by a dark wave of Feyre’s magic. Not the same magic that silenced Tamlin’s voice at the meeting of the High Lords, but a plume of magic that quite literally took the place of the air in Mor’s lungs, bringing her swiftly, silently to her knees.

“Surely you aren’t going to tell me you knew what was best for my womb Morrigan, you couldn’t even protect your own from desecration.” Feyre spat down at her.

Amren stood frozen in horror, watching Mor claw at her neck, eyes bulging and mouth agape like a fish out of water. The spell lasted only moments before air rushed back into her purpling face with a harsh gasp, but both Fae were still frozen in place before their High Lady.

“You all seem to have forgotten, that I live and breathe the powers of all the Courts of Prythian. That I am Made, my sisters and I. We are creatures to be feared and served before we are loved. You’ve failed me, and in doing so you’ve failed this Court. Make sure you let Rhysand see me say that when he looks into your mind.”

Mor blanched, “Feyre you can’t leave now, Rhys and Madja are so close to finding an answer.” Where the hell was Rhys, how had he not yet sensed the chaos threatening to level the entire block of buildings the townhouse occupied?

“I can and I will. I am not safe here, nor is my child. I will seek refuge where I can find healers and friends who will allow me the dignity of deciding what I do with my body, my child. That I would put my life in the hands of a healer who answers to my mate over me, a husband who seeks to deceive me and involve my entire family in doing so? No, I would be a fool to give away my life so passively.” she paced before them frantically, power collecting into thick bands that coiled around Feyre in a churning, horrid shield.

No longer their friend, no longer their family. A mother and a female burning with primal rage and fear for the safety of her child, guaranteed only by her ability to protect it. Protect it from the world, and in these agonized moments, protect it from her family. A family that could no longer be trusted.

“He will rip apart the world to find you and the babe Feyre, this won’t do any good.” Amren spoke as bluntly as usual, but the edge in her tone betrayed her wariness.

“Let him try. I’ve never had the chance to test my powers against him, have never needed to until now. I confess I’m curious to see if I can inspire the fear in him that he’s attributed to my name.” The crazed glint in Feyre’s watery eyes was wholly unnerving.

“Feyre, I’m begging you, don’t do this. We all lived with the fear of losing each other during the war– you and Rhys actually did. Don’t let this tear us all apart again.” Mor was practically weeping, still draped at Feyre’s feet in submission.

“Mor, it’s not my decisions that have led us here. I’ll leave it to you all to decide how to proceed; this Court seems to conceive of its most coordinated efforts without my knowledge.” Feyre had stopped pacing and closed her eyes, all of that asphyxiating power rushing from the room back into those bands of black power coalescing around her. The hair on the back of Amren’s neck stood tall.

“Will you return girl?” she asked quietly, refusing to look away from the fierce specter of power they had so woefully forsaken. Accepting that there was little they could do to stop the events that had been set in motion.

Feyre’s head snapped to her, eyes black with rage, looking every bit the Made Fae that could undo curses and courts.

“I will return when I have proven to you all that I can give birth to my son without your duplicitous interference. I will return when I have a Court and friends and a mate that I trust to bend the knee, not bring me to my own.” she said with finality.

The vortex of power around Feyre crackled and snapped as Rhys’ careful warding of Feyre’s body collapsed under her iron will. A new source of power, alarmed and frenetic and reeking of Rhys, swept through Velaris and into the townhouse. It crashed into the whorls of Feyre’s might with a piercing screech. The windows shattered sending glass through the air. Amren and Mor curled into themselves to avoid the spray.

When the chimes of falling glass had stopped and Mor and Amren could uncover their eyes, Feyre was gone. Where her scent, her power, her body had overwhelmed the room, there was absolutely nothing left to indicate that the High Lady of Night had ever stepped foot in the townhouse.

Somewhere in the distance, mountains rumbled, birds took flight and the citizens of Velaris cowered as Rhysand let out an unearthly roar.

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florencemtrash · 10 months

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The Wisp Between Worlds: Masterlist

Acotar fanfic/rewrite. Inner Circle x OC. Eventual Azriel x OC.

Summary: Have you ever wondered what you would do (and do differently) if you found yourself trapped in the fantasy world of your dreams? For Nora, this fantasy of hers is about to play out when she finds herself portaled away to the Moral Lands south of Prythian. But all is not as it seems. Feyre Archeron is missing and the deadline to break Amarantha’s curse draws near. Who will save Prythian now?

Started: 06/30/2023

Last updated: 09/02/2023

Chapter One: Black Waters

Chapter Two: The Girl and the Wolf

Chapter Three: Over the Wall

Chapter Four: The Fox and the High Lord

Chapter Five: Look at me

Chapter Six - In progress

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #inner circle x oc #azriel x oc #angst #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar rewrite #a court of thorns and roses #azriel mate #inner circle #writeblr #fantasy writing #fantasy #I want to believe I would survive in the ACOTAR universe

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ae-neon · 9 months

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Hybern. (Rewrite version)

To the West lies a cursed isle, ruled by a deathless king.

It was from Hybern that blessed Clythia came, red as a rose, sweet as a songbird.

Earning her title as emissary with such wit and charm as to win even the favour of those who opposed her father's dark ways, for she shone with the Mother's light and was said by the priestesses to be wisest Athinen come again.

And when the traitors rebelled, when wicked Jurian's iron hand cut through Prythian's magic like a sword through silk, it was to clever Clythia and her songs of sorcery that the good Lords turned, desperately seeking salvation.

A drop of magic, a binding spell of blood and soil. No one but the Mother Goddess, who weaves all threads, knows the truth of it.

But by the end of it, ardent Clythia had drawn on the power of all of Prythian and crowned her sister, fiery Cleo, a sword of the eight crowns, a true knight of the Fae.

Desperate and with the Mountains of Nephel at his back, Jurian hatched a villainous plan and with his arcane knowledge performed such magic as to curse the sky itself. With ill-fated Clythia's blood upon his sword, he cleaved the land in two.

Blessed Cleo, wrought with sorrow and anger, called upon the Mother to spare her the turning of the weaving wheel until her soul was sated with bitter vengeance and sweetest final grief.

And so she was gifted everlasting youth and dominion over the land, crowned High Queen in pertuity, and came to be known as Amarantha, the unfading flower.

A biased account of events

#a grave of thorns and roses #acotar : the rewrite #random ass hybern lore #ae aesthetics

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captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship · 9 months

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FM2M Ch5- Truth Be Told

Update later today, just thought I would give a preview

Catch up on Ch 1-4 in the meantime here

Update: Read Ch.5 here

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azsazz · 1 year

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Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death (Part 3)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death, ACOWAR spoilers, blood, gore, mentions of abuse, smut.

Word Count: 4,818

(Part One) (Part Two)

_________________________________________

Only Rhysand’s friends don’t seem surprised.

Tamlin’s eyes are a green flame, golden light flickering around him as his magic seeks to wrestle free from Rhysand’s control. As he tries and tries again to speak.

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand says blandly, “Consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

A flare of interest carves a hole in your mind.

Only Beron is stupid enough to scoff. Eris angles his body in his chair, not towards you, but to block the path of his mother.

“Yet here I am,” Rhysand continues, and you can’t take your eyes off of him, hanging on to every single one of his words. If you play nice with the Night Court would he be able to break into Beron’s mind and force your deal off?

The High Lord of Night doesn’t deign to give Beron a glance of acknowledgement. “Here we all are.”

Absolute stunning silence.

The Tarquin, silent and watchful, clears his throat.

Everyone waits for his words as he turns to Feyre, to Rhysand, “Despite Varian’s unsanctioned warning…” A glance at his cousin, who doesn’t so much as look sorry about it, “You were the only ones who came to help. The only ones. And yet you asked for nothing in return. Why?”

Rhy’s voice is a bit hoarse as he asks, testing the salty waters between Summer and Night, “Isn’t that what friends do?”

It’s a subtle, quiet offer.

Tarquin takes him in. Then Feyre. And the others. “I rescind the blood rubies. Let there be no debts between us.”

“Don’t expect Amren to return hers,” Cassian mutters. “She’s grown attached to it.”

You could swear that a smile tugs on Varian’s mouth.

But Rhys faces Tamlin, whose own mouth remains shut. His eyes are still livid. And Feyre’s mate says to him, “I believe you. That you will fight for Prythian.”

Kallias doesn’t appear so convinced. Neither does Helion.

Rhys loosens his grasp on Tamlin’s voice, the only give is the low hiss that slips from the High Lord of Spring. But Tamlin makes no move to attack, to even speak.

“War is upon us,” Rhysand declares. “I have no interest in wasting energy arguing amongst ourselves.”

The better man–male. His restraint, his choice of words…All of it a careful portrayal of reason and power. But Rhysand…you know he means what he says, you can sense it in a way you can sense all threats, not just the ones that result in death, although with war upon you all, it does hang heavy in the air.

But Beron says, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” He gives him a wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Even Tamlin looks towards the Night Court, towards Feyre.

Your heart clenches at the thought and you dare not look at the son next to you. You know you won’t see a flash of emotion in Eris’ auburn eyes, he’s carefully mastered the art of schooling his features neutral, learning just how dangerous wearing his emotions on his face can be. Beron made sure of that.

“Helping to guard our city,” she answers simply. It’s not a lie, not entirely.

Eris instead snorts and surveys Nesta, who stares back at him with steel in her face. Oh how you know that he likes that. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

It’s your turn to clamp your hand over his under the table and give him a squeeze of warning. Not even you would bait the Night Court during such an already tense meeting. Your friend is going to get himself into more trouble than he can handle, and even if you’re itching for a fight, you don’t want it to be against the only court that might have a chance of helping you get free.

Mor replies smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’ mouth curls into a smile at her words and your hand slips away from his. There is no going back now, not as his fiery gaze locks onto her chocolatey brown eyes, preparing to melt her.

The pair are good at pretending they haven’t seen each other in years, and Eris responds, “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.”

One moment, Azriel is seated across from you.

The next, he’s blasted through Eris’ shield with a flare of blue light, tackling him backwards, the wood of Eris’ chair shattering beneath them.

“Shit,” Cassian spits, and is instantly there–

Meeting a wall of blue.

Your heart aches in your chest, eager to move closer, to join in perhaps, to feel the blood pouring from Eris’ nose on your fingers, to lick away the remnants of crimson from Azriel’s split knuckles. You’re nearly vibrating in your seat with need, hands clamped around the arms of your chair so tightly your skin is stretched white over your bones, teeth grinding in your mouth.

You allow yourself a deep inhale of the heady scent of blood.

Azriel has sealed them in, and as his scarred hands wrap around Eris’ throat, Rhys says, “Enough.”

But Azriel’s hands only tighten, and you can feel the pinch of Eris’ breath being cut off underneath those marred hands, born from Death. Even though it’s your friend thrashing beneath the shadowsinger, you know that Death is nowhere near, but you can’t help but to want to crawl closer, watch how the Taker finishes the job, watch his shadows consume Eris; eyes as his body goes slack and his soul fades to black.

“Enough, Azriel,” Rhys orders. Perhaps the shadows that slide and eddy around him hide him from the wrath of the binding magic. No one else makes a move to interfere, as if wondering the same.

Azriel digs his knee–and all his weight–into Eris’ gut. He’s silent, utterly silent as he rips the air from Eris’ body. Beron’s flames strike the blue shield, over and over, but the fire skitters off and fizzles out on the water. Any that escape are torn to shreds by shadows.

“Call off your overgrown bat,” Beron orders Rhys.

The High Lord of Night is enjoying it, as you’re sure many of the people in this room are. But despite the bargain they’d made with Eris, he could have ended it seconds ago. Beron swings around in his seat, a warning in his eyes, a command for you to stop it, pure unadulterated fury in that molten amber gaze.

You swallow harshly at the sight. You know exactly what that look is, the underlying threat if you don’t stop this immediately.

Holding Beron’s gaze, at the same time Feyre stands, placing a hand on the hard, near-invisible curve of Azriel’s shield and says, “Come, Azriel,” You let your powers out.

Azriel stops.

You flood his mind with your presence, slipping past those well built barriers made from darkness and shadow. They part easily under your gentle caress, as if you are one of them and they can’t tell the difference, letting you pass like a wisp of wind.

He knows you’re in his mind, curling up against his walls and it sets his teeth on edge. But there’s something different about it, about how easy it is for you to overtake him, command his fingers to loosen from where they’re locked around Eris’ throat. The princling gasps for air as his scarred hands loosen and he feels like a prisoner in his body. He’s angry about it but you don’t seem to give off any threatening feelings, only calm ones.

Azriel’s gaze slips over yours as you relinquish control just long enough to let him look up at his High Lady, demanding his attention. In that single glance he really sees you for the first time. You can feel the cogs turning in his head as you slip away, releasing your powers on him completely.

Feyre offers him a hand. “Come sit beside me.”

You notice that her sister has already moved her seat, and an extra chair has appeared beside Feyre’s.

Azriel’s eyes slide back to Eris, the High Lord’s son panting beneath him. And the shadowsinger leans down to whisper something in his ear that makes Eris blanch further.

But the shield drops. The shadows lighten into sunshine.

Beron strikes–only for his fire to bounce off of a hard barrier of Feyre’s making. She lifts her gaze to the High Lord of Autumn and it’s all you can do not to roll your eyes at the hot-headed male’s antics. “That’s twice now we’ve handed you your asses. I’d think you’d be sick of the humiliation.”

Oh, you like her.

Helion laughs and you smother your smile, eyes flicking back to the shadowsinger. He’s already looking at you, gaze narrowed as he assesses you from where you sit next to Eris’ empty seat.

He takes Feyre’s still-offered hand and rises.

Mor opens her mouth to say something to Azriel, but Cassian puts a hand on her bare knee and shakes his head. Feyre leads the shadowsinger to the empty chair beside hers–then walks to the table to pour him a glass of wine.

No one speaks until she offers it to him and sits down.

His motions are too smooth, too calculated for the pure rage you’d felt in his mind. You watch closely as his rough hands hold the wineglass gently, waiting for the stem to snap in half.

“They are my family,” Feyre says at the raised brows she receives while waiting on him. Tamlin shakes his head in disgust and finally slides that claw back into his hand. Feyre meets Eris’ fuming gaze, her voice as cold as Azriel’s face as she says, “I don’t care if we are allies in this war. If you insult my friend again, I won’t stop him the next time.”

The look Azriel’s backs her up with makes your heart stumble and your powers urge to reach out again.

Only Eris knows how far their alliance goes. The one that he doesn’t think you know about, but it’s your job to know these things, even if this particular secret is one you’ve withheld from the current High Lord of Autumn.

Mor stares and stares at Azriel, who refuses to look at her, who refuses to do anything but give Eris his death-gaze.

Eris, wisely, averts his eyes. And says, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

Beron gawks at the words. But something like approval shines on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settles himself once more.

When Azriel’s sure that the son of Autumn sitting next to you won’t look Mor’s way again, he turns those golden beams on you.

Thesean rubs his temples. “This does not bode well.”

Helion smirks at his retinue, crossing an ankle over a knee and flashing those powerful, sleek thighs. “Looks like you owe me ten gold marks.”

Helion waves a hand, and the stacks of papers Tamlin had compiled drift over to him on a phantom wind. With a snap of his fingers–scar-flecked from swordplay–other stacks appear before every chair in the room. Including your own. “Replicas,” he says without looking up as he leaves through the documents.

A handy trick–for a male whose trove is not in gold, but in knowledge.

Perhaps if the High Lord of Night wouldn’t hear you out, the High Lord of Day would. Maybe he’d be able to break the curse holding you to Beron’s side, though if he had possibly refused Tamlin’s request to free Feyre from her bargain so long ago, why would he help you?

You can feel Azriel’s eyes on you, so you turn to meet his flickering gaze. The wine glass has been set down, not a single drop missing from when Feyre had filled it up, as he thumbs the corner of the papers before him, like learning about you is suddenly more important than the impending war with Hybern.

A shadow so light it’s nearly invisible to the keen Fae eyes in the room curls around your ear as he scrapes against your walls with icy, death-dipped claws. You shudder. It feels good.

You raise your brow at him, daring him to continue, but he finally ducks his head and tucks into the paperwork before him.

“If all of this is true,” Helion clicks his tongue, and Tamlin snarls at the haughty tone, “Then I’d suggest two things: first, destroying Hybern’s cashes of faebane. We won’t last long if they’ve made them into so many versatile weapons. It’s worth the risk to destroy them.”

Kallias arches a brow. “How would you suggest we do that?”

“We’ll handle it,” Tarquin offers. Varian nods. “We own them for Adriata.”

Thesean says, “There is no need.”

Everyone blinks at him. Even Tamlin. The High Lord of Dawn just folds his hands in his lap. “A master tinkerer of mine has been waiting for the past several hours. I would like for her to now join us.”

Before anyone can reply, a High Fae female appears at the edge of the circle. She bows so quickly that you barely glimpse more than her light brown skin and long, silken black hair. She wears clothes similar to Thesean’s and yet–her sleeves have been rolled up to the forearms, the tunic unbuttoned to her chest. And her hand–

Her right hand is solid gold–mechanical. The way the youngest son of Autumn’s is. It clicks and whirrs quietly, drawing the eye of every immortal in the room as she faces her High Lord. Thesean smiles in warm welcome.

“My Lord,” she greets Thesean.

The High Lord of Dawn gestures to the female standing tall before the assembled group. “Nuan is one of my most skilled craftspeople.”

Rhys leans back in his seat, brows rising with recognition at the name, and jerks his head to Beron, to Eris. “You might know her as the person responsible for granting your…errant son, as you called him, the ability to use his left eye after Amarantha removed it.”

Nuan nods once in confirmation, her lips pressing into a thin line as she takes in Lucien’s family. She doesn’t so much as glance your way, her gaze skipping over yours, and she doesn’t even so much as turn in Tamlin’s direction. He certainly doesn’t bother to acknowledge her, regardless of the past binding them, their mutual friend.

“And what has this to do with the faebane?” Helion demands. Thesean’s lover seethes at the High Lord of Day’s tone, but one glance from Thesean has the male relaxing.

Nuan turns, her dark hair slipping over a shoulder as she studies Helion. She does not seem impressed and you bite back a snort. “Because I found a solution for it.”

Thesean waves a hand. “We heard rumors of faebane being used in this war–used in the attack on your city, Rhysand. We thought to look into the issue before it became a deadly weakness for all of us.” He nods to Nuan. “Beyond her unparalleled tinkering, she is a skilled alchemist.”

Nuan crosses her arms over her chest, the sun glinting off of her metal hand. “Thanks to the samples after the attack in Velaris, I was able to create an…antidote of sorts.”

“How did you get those samples?” Cassian demands.

A flush creeps over Nuan’s cheeks. “I–heard the rumors and assumed Lucien Vanserra would be residing there after…what happened.” She still doesn’t look at Tamlin, who remains silent and brooding. “I managed to contact him a few days ago–asked him to send samples. He did–and did not tell you,” she adds quickly to Rhysand, “because he did not want to raise your hopes. Not until I found a solution.”

You watch Feyre and Rhys exchange a glance, obviously unaware of the fox they’d let into their lands.

Nuan continues, “The Mother has provided us with everything we need on this earth. So it has been a matter of finding what, exactly, she gave us in Prythian to combat a material from Hybern capable of wiping out our powers.”

Helion shifts with impatience, that glistening, white fabric slipping over his muscled chest.

Thesean reads that impatience, too, and says, “Nuan has been able to quickly create a powder for us to ingest in drink, food, however you please. It grants immunity from the faebane. I already have workers in three of my cities manufacturing as much of it as possible to hand out to our unified armies.”

Even Rhys seems impressed at the stealth, the unveiling.

Tarquin asks, “But what of physical objects made from faebane? They possessed gauntlets at the battle to smash through shields.” He jerks his chin to Rhys. “And when they attacked your own city.”

“Against that,” Nuan says, “You only have your wits to protect you.” She doesn’t break Tarquin’s stare, and he straightens, as if surprised that she does so. “The compound I’ve made will only protect you–your powers–from being rendered void by the faebane. Perhaps if you are pierced with a weapon tipped in faebane, having the compound in your system will negate its impact.”

Quiet falls.

Beron says, “And we are supposed to trust you,”– a look at Thesean, then at Nuan–“with this…substance we’re to blindly ingest.”

“Would you rather face Hybern without any power?” Thesean demands. “My master alchemists and tinkerers are no fools.”

“No,” Beron says, frowning, “But where did she come from? Who are you?” The last bit is directed at Nuan.

“I am the daughter of two High Fae from Xian, who moved here to give their children a better life, if that is what you are demanding to know,” Nuan answers tightly.

Helion demands of Beron, “What does this have to do with anything?”

You couldn’t help but to agree with the Day King.

Beron shrugs. “If her family is from Xian–which I’ll have you remember fought for the Loyalists–then whose interests does she serve?”

Helion’s amber eyes flash.

Thesean cuts in sharply, “I will have you remember, Beron, that my own mother hailed from Xian. And a large majority of my court did as well. Be careful what you day.”

Before Beron can miss a retort, Nuan says to the Lord of Autumn, her chin high, “I am a child of Prythian. I was born here, on this land, as your sons were.”

Beron’s face darkens and you tense in your seat. “Watch your tone, girl.”

“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” Feyre cuts in, coming to her defense. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” She turns to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”

Beron rolls his eyes.

But Eris says, “Father.”

Beron lifts a brow. “You have something to add?”

Eris doesn’t flinch, but he seems to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nods towards the High Lady of Night. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it–”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan says, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curls into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”

A female of pride and hard work. Something you didn’t consider yourself to be.

Eris says, startling you, “I will take it.”

Even Mor blinks at his words.

Beron studies his son with a scrutiny that makes you itch. You’d often catch this look between them, a father examining his son as if trying to decide if he’s proud or that his son is worth less to him than the lower-tiered fae of his court.

Beron only says, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.”

Indeed, the others seem rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne isn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.

Rhys says simply, “Then don’t take it. I will. My entire court will, as will my armies.” He gives a thankful nod to Nuan.

Thesean does the same–in thanks and dismissal–and the master tinkerer bows once more before leaving.

“At least you have some armies to give it to,” Tamlin says mildly, breaking his roiling silence. A smile at Feyre. “Though perhaps that was part of the plan. Disable my force while your own swept in. Or was it just to see my people suffer?”

Those claws poke through his knuckles again. “Surely you knew that when you turned my forces on me, it would leave my people defenseless against Hybern.”

Feyre says nothing in return.

“You primed my court to fall,” Tamlin says with venomous quiet. “And it did. Those villages you wanted so badly to help rebuild? They’re nothing more than cinders now. And while you’ve been making antidotes and casting yourselves as saviors, I’ve been piecing together my forces–regaining their trust, their numbers. Trying to gather my people in the East–where Hybern has not yet marched.”

Nesta says drily, “So you won’t be taking the antidote, then.”

Tamlin ignores her, even as his claws sink into the arm of his chair.

Thesean clears his throat and says to Helion, “You said you had two suggestions based on the information you analyzed.”

Helion shrugs, the sun catching in the embroidered gold thread of his tunic. “Indeed, though it seems Tamlin is already ahead of me. The Spring Court must be evacuated.” His amber eyes dart between Tarquin and Beron. “Surely your northern neighbors will welcome them.”

Beron’s lip curls. “We do not have the resources for such a thing.”

“Right,” Viviane says, “Because everyone’s too busy polishing every jewel in that trove of yours.”

Beron throws her a glare that has Kallias tensing. “Wives were invited as a courtesy, not as consultants.”

Viviane’s sapphire eyes flare as if struck by lightning. “If this war goes poorly, we’ll be bleeding out right alongside you, so I think we damn well get a say in things.”

Damn straight.

“Hybern will do far worse things than kill you,” Beron counters coolly. “A young, pretty thing like you especially.”

Kallias’ snarl ripples the water in the reflection pool, echoed by Mor’s own growl.

Beron smiles a bit, the same smile he gives you when he pulls such a reaction from talking down to you. “Only three of us were present for the last war.” A nod to Rhys and Helion, whose faces darken. Your gaze slips to Azriel, but his level-minded gaze is focused on Beron. “One does not easily forget what Hybern and the Loyalists did to captured females in their war-camps. What they reserved for High Fae females who either fought for the humans or had families who did.” He puts a heavy hand on Amaretto's too-thin arm. “Her two sisters bought her time to run when Hybern’s forces ambushed their lands. The two ladies did not walk out of that war-camp again.”

Helion watches Beron closely, his stare simmering with reproach.

The Lady of the Autumn Court keeps her focus on the reflection pool. Any trace of color drains from her face.

“We will take your people,” Tarquin cuts in quietly to Tamlin. “Regardless of your involvement with Hybern…your people are innocent. There is plenty of room in my territory. We will take all of them, if need be.”

A curt nod is Tamlin’s only acknowledgement and gratitude.

Beron says, “So the Seasonal Courts are to become the charnel houses and hostels, while the Solar Courts remain pristine here in the North?”

“Hybern has focused its efforts on the southern half,” Rhys says. “To be close to the wall–and human lands.”

Feyre and Nesta exchange looks.

Rhys continues, “Why bother to go through the northern climes–through faerie territories on the continent, when you could claim the South and use it to go directly to the human lands of the continent?”

Thesean asks, “And you believe the human armies there will bow to Hybern?”

“Its queens sold us out,” Nesta says. She lifts her chin, poised as any emissary. “For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep away any resistance. They might very well hand over control of their armies to him.” Nesta looks at her sister, at Rhys. “Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the wall intact…Many might rather risk waiting than cross over the wall anyway.”

“The fate of the humans below that wall,” Beron cuts in, and you know what will next fall from his mouth will not be good, tensing up in your seat alongside Eris. “Is none of our concern. Especially in a spit of land with no queen, no army.”

“It is my concern,” Feyre says. The voice that comes out of her is different, more sure, like how a High Lady’s should be. “Humans are nearly defenseless against our kind.”

“So go waste your own soldiers defending them,” Beron says dismissively. “I will not send my own forces to protect chattel.”

You watch closely as Feyre takes a breath, your own ire rising at his insolent words.

“You’re a coward,” she breathes to the High Lord of Autumn. Even Rhys tenses.

Beron only says, “The same could be claimed of you.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“No, but perhaps to that girl’s family–but they’re dead, too, aren’t they? Butchered and burned to death in their own beds. Funny, that you should now seek to defend humans when you were all too happy to offer them up to save yourself.”

“As my lady said,” Rhys drawls, “She does not need to explain herself to you.”

Beron leans back in his chair. “Then I suppose I don’t need to explain my motivations, either.”

Rhys lifts a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

Your stomach plummets at Beron’s answer.

“I have not yet decided.”

Eris goes so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for his alliance with the Night Court, you can’t tell.

“Armies take time to raise,” Cassian says. “You don’t have the luxury of sitting on your ass. You need to rally your soldiers now.”

Beron only sneers. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.”

Feyre looks positively wild at his insult. Not only her, but the wrath on Casisan’s face and the icy rage on Azriel’s and Rhys’ is enough to get your blood stirring, excitement rushing through your veins at the prospect of a blood bath right before your very eyes.

If Beron is occupied trying to fight off the three stacked males of the Night Court, maybe you will be able to slip in with a few punches or kicks of your own.

And if they kill him, surely your bargain will break.

You already know that hateful bastards blood will taste like the finest of wines, and his death between the shadowsinger’s and your own will give you peaceful dreams for the next few centuries.

“That bastard,” Nesata says with utter coolness, though her eyes begin to burn, “May wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.”

She doesn’t so much as look at Cassian as she says it. But he stares at her–as if he’s never seen her before.

This argument is pointless.

Feyre says to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”

At his side, Eris has the wits to actually look worried. But Beron continues to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hisses back, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

She doesn’t offer him a response.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

Cassian’s trembling two seats down from Feyre, who is looking sickly pale.

Rhys says nothing.

It’s Tarquin who murmurs, “That’s enough, Beron.”

Tarquin, who had guessed at Rhysand’s sacrifice, his motives.

Beron ignores him. “And now Rhysand wants to play hero. Amarantha’s Whore becomes Hybern’s Destroyer. But if it goes badly…” A cruel, cold smile. “Will he get on his knees for Hybern? Or just spread his–”

Fire explodes out of Feyre.

Raging, white-hot flame that blasts into Beron like a lance.

#Azriel #azriel/reader #azriel x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar rewrite #azsazz #acowar #acosf

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