#feyre is wearing a white gown

[illyrian-dreamer]

Congratulations on 500 darling!!!!!!!! Can I please request 30 with azriel? Thank youuuuuuu 🤍🤍🤍🤍

Confessions at Starfall

Azriel x Reader one shot

Summary: It's the night of Starfall, and you're hopelessly in love with the Shadowsinger. When Azriel keeps flirting with Elain, you're pushed to your final limits.

HELLO AND WELCOME TO DAY 1 OF 5 FOR 500!

Thank you @cityofidek for requesting 30 - Unrequited love/pushing loved one away.

Warnings: None.

Words: 3,048

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It was the night of Starfall, and you were utterly miserable. 

Sitting at the dining table with your family, the rest of the inner circle exchanged jokes and light-hearted conversations as plates of steaming roasts, vegetables and pies were passed around. While it was usually your favourite holiday – the night ahead promising dancing and celebration, you were feeling far from festive. 

It had everything to do with the male you loved, who sat across from you now, dotting over Elain Archeron. His eyes rarely left her, and you would know, because yours rarely left him. You noted the way he sat, his body tilted slightly in her direction, his wings folded back to make provide her more space to move. To the untrained eye, it wouldn't look like much – but for Azriel this spoke volumes. 

That was the kind of detail you had learned to read over the past year. It had been twelve excruciating months since you had realised your own feelings for the Shadowsinger. Gone was the comfortable friendship you two shared – instead it was quickly replaced with blushing, timidness and uncontrollable awkwardness, all thanks to you. And while you once held out hope that Azriel might notice, or even return your feelings, overtime your friendship had drifted – pushing him further into the arms of the middle Archeron sister. 

Elain made you seethe with jealousy. It wasn’t her fault, she was nice really, all be it a bit simple. But she had a way about her, like a doe-eyed fawn their first steps. It made you uncontrollably angry the way people would line up to help her, especially the males. Not to mention her undeniable beauty. You knew she and Azriel made a very handsome couple. 

So you sat here tonight, marking every bit of attention the Spymaster gave Elain, longing for him to look at you the way he did her. Jealousy didn't even begin to cover it. 

“Y/N?”

You blinked, not realising Azriel was speaking to you even though you had stared off straight in his direction. You coughed, straightening in you seat. “Sorry, pardon?” Your heart beat at the thought he might have started a conversation with you. 

“Can you pass the potatoes?”

Your heart dropped, and you tried to hide the disappointment on your face. Of course he wasn't interested in talking to you, he hadn't in weeks. Without replying, you passed over the dish, reaching straight for the white potatoes instead of the orange kind. Azriel didn't like how sweet they were, and you knew that. It was the kind of detail you remembered about someone when you’re hopelessly in love.

“Ooh, can I please have the sweet potatoes?” Elain chirped. “They’re my favourite.” Of course the sweetest female in all of Prythian liked yams the most. You had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. You passed the dish over silently, and watched Azriel load up his plate with those too. It took everything you had to stop the scowl that twitched at your eyes. 

You pushed your fork and knife to the centre of your plate, suddenly having lost your appetite. 

————

The luminescent glow of the stars shooting above had been going for over an hour, and the party was in full swing. You breathed in, letting the magnificent sight lighten your heart the way they did the night sky. 

Gathered on a large marble terrace of Rhys and Feyre’s river home, almost a hundred guests had come in fine gowns and suits to celebrate the event. 

Wearing a dress of midnight blue that sparkled with night, you laughed lightheartedly as Cassian and Nesta joked with you, champagne in hand. The musicians at the base of the terrace reclaimed their seats, raising their instruments and beginning a new set of elegant melody. 

“I hope you don’t mind Y/N, but I must show off my mates dancing,” he winked at you before offering his hand to Nesta. She smiled, placing a delicate hand atop of his, nodding to you before being lead to the dance floor. 

Couples now twirled and stepped in unison, the sight almost as magical as the sky above. You felt a large presence slide beside you, and your heart fluttered as shadows caught the corner of your eye. 

“Are you enjoying your night?” Azriel had finally come to spend some time with you. 

“Of course,” you lied, smiling softly as you gulped the rest of your champaign, earning a slight raise of Azriel’s brow. “And yourself?”

Azriel nodded. “It’s as beautiful as always.”

“Yes, it is.” You couldn't help but stare straight into his hazel eyes, your heart lurching as your words hung with double meaning. Ask me to dance, you begged in your head. We dance every year on Starfall, c’mon, just ask me. If Azriel was paying any attention, he would have read your pleading gaze. But he wasn’t, of course, because his eyes fell beyond you, at the pretty Archeron who wore a gown of delicate blush. 

You looked down, suddenly overwhelmed with insecurity as you smoothed the ripples in your dress. Of course he didn't like you – you looked like a witch of death compared to the femininity that blossomed from Elain. 

“You look quite beautiful tonight.”

Your heart leaped. Your anger from earlier quickly vanished as you breathed in to thank Azriel, already blushing. But as you looked up, your heart immediately sank as you realised Azriel wasn't complimenting you at all, but rather Elain, who had made her way over. 

It felt much like being punched in the gut.

Your mouth was dry as you silently watched Azriel offer her an arm, her petite hand slipping through as he guided her to the dance floor. 

That felt much like being kicked in the gut while you were down.

You couldn't help the steady flow of tears that now stained your cheeks, or the broken crumple that formed on your face. Unable to withstand any more blows, you fled the party.

————

Slumped against the frame of a large window, your body shook with cries so hard they fell silent. You didn't care if it was the most special night of the year, you had never felt more abandoned, underserving and unloved. 

You were crying too hard to hear the footsteps that trudged up to the lookout room you were hiding in, and you didn't hear the faint knock at the door. It wasn't until Cassian placed a gentle hand on your shoulder that you noticed his presence, his face soft with concern as he crouched next to you. 

You blinked back at him, your vision completely blurred by your tears. You were broken and there was no hiding it. 

“I love him, Cas,” you sobbed, your voice break halfway through as a cry shook through your body again. 

“Oh, Y/N,” Cassian said softly, his voice full of understanding as he immediately embraced you. You flung yourself to him, wrapping your arms around his solid waist as he rocked and stroked your hair. You weren't surprised that Cassian knew, anyone could have noticed months of hopeless pining and one-sided puppy love.

You continued to cry, your voice muffle by the embrace. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing Y/N! There’s not a thing wrong with you.”

“Then why doesn't he love me?”

“Because he’s a damn fool.”

You sniffed against his chest, trying to regain yourself. “But he loves her.”

Cassian sighed, the strokes on your hair pausing for just a moment. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Of course he does. She’s perfect.” Jealousy was not a good colour on you, but you were unsuccessful at hiding the bite in your words. 

Cassian drew back, levelling his eyes to yours. “I know it hurts right now doll, but I promise, any male that doesn't see you for the beautiful, intelligent and fiery bombshell you are, is an outright imbecile. Even if it is my own brother.”

You chuckled at that, shaking your head as you gently wiped the makeup your were sure had stained under your eyes. “Thank you Cass,” you whispered, reaching for his hands tightly. He stood now, leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead. 

“Will you come back to the party with me?”

You forced a fake smile, but shook your head. “I happiest up here. Thank you though Cass, I mean it.”

Cassian nodded, throwing a tight smile of sympathy before ducking out of the room. 

You paced to the other side of the viewing room to the window facing the terrace below where celebrations continued. Dresses of all colours fanned against the marble of the terrace, the music flowing up to the height of the room. And the stars, Gods they were beautiful. 

You saw Cassian rejoin Nesta, his arms snaking around her waist as they admired the view. Next to them were your High Lord and Lady, and beside them, a dress of pale blush. Your heart stung with envy at the site of Elain, and you narrowed your eyes as you scanned the crowd for Azriel. 

“Y/N?”

You jumped, whirling on the spot to find Azriel sheepishly standing in the doorway. 

You cleared your throat, quickly wiping under your eyes again. He had hurt you, broken you without even knowing it. You straightened your spine – the least you could do was have your pride. 

“Are you ok? Cassian said you left the party.”

You nodded tightly, not trusting yourself to speak. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The words flew out of your mouth too quickly. 

Azriel frowned, stepping through the door towards you. You stiffened, drawing one step back. “Go back to the party Azriel,” you said tightly.

“Have you been crying?”

You scowled. How dare he note that detail when he was the one who caused it. “Don’t pretend to care,” you spat. Gone was the ache in your heart from moments ago. Seeing Azriel here now, it was quickly replaced with fiery hurt.

“What?” Azriels brow was now contort with confusion as he reached for you. You stepped back again, your arms folding over your chest.

“Why are you angry with me?”

“How can you ask that?”

“Is it because we’ve been distant lately?” So he did have some clue after all. You didn't answer, instead breaking from the intensity of his stare, your eyes focusing outside as glowing spirits that shot past the other side of the window.

“Listen, I know I haven't been around much, or maybe it’s that we haven't spent time together lately. But things have been difficult between us for a while now Y/N. I can't help but feel you’re pushing me away.”

A scoff escaped you before you could stop it. “I’m pushing you away?!”

“Yes!” He exclaimed, his hands outstretched. “For months now. You don't open up to me like you used to, every time I look at you, you look away, and you never suggest spending anytime together.”

You blinked at him, biting your lip as you tried to process what he had said. You hadn’t realised that in an attempt to burry your feelings for Azriel, you had actually pushed him away. 

“Tell me, what have I done?” Azriel’s voice was pleading as he stepped closer.

“You haven't done anything,” your voice was barely a whisper, and you were unable to meet his eyes. You had stepped away so he could explore his feelings for Elain, that was your truth. But when was the last time he made an effort for you? “But you can't pretend like you’ve been trying either, Azriel.”

He sighed then, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re right, I’m sorry ok? I’ll make more of an effort from here on.”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes again as you blinked quickly, casting your gaze sideways yet again. You couldn't tell him – it would ruin everything.

For once, Azriel caught on to how upset you were. “You’re still angry with me?”

“Gods, Az! I wish I was angry!”

The male blinked at you before frustration overtook. “Well perhaps you could stop talking in riddles, and actually tell me what’s wrong!” he gritted.

You let out a quick breath, shaking your hands as you blinked upwards, trying your best to stop the tears that welled. “I can’t,” you whispered. It would kill you to say it, and it would kill everything you two had. 

Azriel’s gaze softened when he saw how tortured you were. Uncrossing his arms, he walked over, cupping the side of your face. “You can tell me anything, Y/N. Just tell me, what’s going on?”

His hazel eyes scanned your face, begging you to open up. But there was so much at stake here, and even if you confessed, you knew his heart lay with Elain. 

You shook your head, moving out of his hold. “If you can’t see it for yourself Azriel, I don't know what to tell you.”

Azriel frowned. “You’re speaking in riddles again.” 

You threw your hands up in defeat. “Perhaps I am,” you sighed, suddenly drained of any energy you had left. “Listen, I’m exhausted. Please Az, just enjoy the rest of your night, ok?”

“I’ll walk you to your room.”

“No,” you said too quickly. Guilt struck you at the twinge of hurt on Azriel’s face. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” Your voice was tight, and you quickly turned your heel, leaving Azriel still and silent as he watched you leave.

These feelings – these stupid, foolish, unrequited feelings. They hurt you and everyone involved, and you hated yourself for it. It was obvious Azriel didn’t return your affection, so why did you have to drag him down and cause a scene? You needed to do better, needed to push your love for him down, burry it in the depths of your heart so it would no longer get in his way. 

————

You were in your room for barely an hour before there was a forceful knock on your door. You jumped, pulling down the length of your silk night slip as you spoke out loud. “Who is it?”

You door flew open then, Azriel’s large frame filling the entrance as he stepped inside, his expression wild, with another emotion you couldn't quite place. His wings were outstretched, and you could tell he had winnowed here hurriedly as his chest heaved with quick breaths.

Shocked, your eyes darted over him in panic. “Azriel, what –?”

Azriel stalked towards you, closing the distance as he towered over you.

“You love me?”

You gawked, your eyes moving back and forth as you tried to connect the dots. “Who–?”

“You love me?”

Cassian. You gritted your teeth and your fists clenched. How could he share something so private? 

“No! I mean, yes, I mean, I have feelings for–”

“You, love, me…” he repeated, slower this time. It was no longer a question.

Your body burned in shame – you needed air. Pushing the double doors to your private balcony open, you grasped the railing as you tried to breath deep. Azriel was right on your tail.

“Az, I’m sorry. I’ll get over you. I promise. These feelings, they’re— they’re only temporary, I swear. I—I’ll get over you–”

Azriel bought a single scarred finger to your lips, hushing you instantly. You swallowed, panic in your eyes as they darted between his hazel ones, trying to read his reaction. As per usual, Azriel’s face was unreadable, the only movement was the gold that swirled within them. 

“How long have you loved me?” he asked, his voice cold as ice. You felt as if you were tied to a chair, under his interrogation. 

“Twelve months,” you whispered against his finger, your cheeks stinging in shame. 

Azriel raised his brows. “So for a whole year, you have loved me, without so much as a thought to share that information?”

Your frowned in confusion. “I had no plans on telling you, Azriel. I didn't want to get in your way. You and Elain–”

“What of Elain and I?”

You levelled a look at him now. “C’mon Az, its clear you have affections for her.”

“You have no idea how I feel.” There was a bite to his words, something you weren't used to from the Shadowsinger. “I am a friend to Elain, because her transition as fae has been difficult. I enjoy her company, that’s true. But I am there to support her as my High Lady’s sister, and a member of our family. If I am someone she can trust, someone she can open up to, I will be there to support her.”

You sighed. “I understand that Az, but–”

The finger returned to your lips, cutting you off. “That does not mean –” Azriel drawled, his voice low, almost dangerous. “– that I have affections for her.” He was dancing with your emotions, using them against you to teach you a lesson.

You blinked back at him, your heart fluttering with realisation before denial quickly took over. “You love her,” you whispered, more to yourself, refusing to believe the dynamics you had built in your head were an embellishment of your own idiocy. 

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I do not.” Azriel’s voice was a growl now.

He moved in closer, and your heart began to thunder. The finger against your lip fell to cup your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. Azriel’s eyes swirled with dominance, his expression almost predatory as shadows danced between you. He leaned in close, his fresh scent filling your nose as his lips were now mere inches from your own. 

“I have affections for someone else,” he said huskily. “One might even say I love her, for many years now.”

It took all that you had not to gawk. Instead, you kept your eyes on his. “Don’t mock,” you replied, your voice a half gasp as you tried to control your breathing. 

Azriel’s mouth pulled into a smirk. “I’m not mocking.”

You flicked your gaze to his lips, then back up to his eyes, your expression bewildered and completely uncool. 

“Azriel–” was all you got out before he closed his lips over yours, his arms snaking around your waist as he dipped you back, kissing you as the stars continued to fall around you.

--------

AN: I just want to say another HUGE thank you to anyone who's been following along with my fics, you mean the world to me <3 I hope you liked this story, I would love to hear any feedback you have. Please take care, and comment if you'd like to join any of my tag lists ✨:)

Tag list:@kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies

#azriel fluff #azriel angst #azriel #azriel x elain #azriel x reader #azriel x jealous reader #azriel unrequited love #azriel acotar #azriel oneshot #acotar fanfic #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #shadowsinger #cassian fluff #cassian acotar #elain archeron #elain jealousy #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #sarah j maas

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Shadows and tears

So this is a series about Azriel and reader. English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes. I hope you like it!

Summary: Reader is a tortured soul who barely escaped the brutality of the Illyrian camps finding shelter in the Day Court. Her identity was well hidden until she caught the attention of the Night Court’s Shadowsinger. Will the mating bond be enough for their love to settle in?

Warnings: angst, mentions of abuse and trauma, minor descriptions of reader

You don't need a tissue box.....yet.

Masterlist

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 9 , Chapter 10

Prologue

Goodnight Shadow singer.

It wasn’t surprising that Helion went over the top when he arranged a ball. After the war the relationships between night and day court were better than they ever had been so the inner circle were the first ones to be invited. Rhysand was staring at the ball room in awe.

“And I thought you went over the top with these events” it was Cassian who spoke breaking Rhysand’s trance of thoughts. Rhysand let a scoff and took his seat at the assigned table. The ball room was decorated with gold ornaments and fae lights, there were flowers on the walls and tables and huge mirrors on the walls and ceiling, even the floors were so shiny that you would think they were gold mirrors. Feyre dressed in a black gown with gold details to honour the host sat next to Rhysand, Mor took the seat on his other side with Amren and Nesta next to her. Cassian and Azriel were sitting at the other side of the table. Cassian was cracking jokes about Helion’s taste while Azriel was trying to hide in his shadows -or what was left of them since he sent a good amount outside to check for any possible danger- feeling overwhelmed by the huge crowd and loud noises. Don’t get him wrong he was used to the loud noise, he lived with Cassian for crying out loud, but this was different, he didn’t know most people in the room, all dressed in their finest and shiniest clothes laughing and enjoying the music that was played by the 5 musicians on the stage that was built on the left side of the room. The room went silent when Helion walked in, power was radiating off him while he was walking towards their table, sending winks and flirty smirks to the blushing women who were on his way bowing their heads. “Well hello to the beautiful night family” Helion said taking a seat at their table sending a wink to Feyre who had a genuine smile on her face upon seeing one of the males outside her court that could be considered a good friend. “It’s nice to see you again Helion thank you for inviting us here” Rhysand told him keeping the formal attitude of a high lord. “It’s my pleasure to have all of you here my dear friend” Helion replied, and servants filled the glasses with wine. Conversation went easily at the table, everyone was laughing and having a great time, when a beautiful female approached, her golden hair was pulled in a high bun with two strands framing her face, a small tiara decorated the crown of her head. She was wearing a white gown which was tied around her neck, tight on the upper part of her body and loose beneath the waist as it fell on her feet. She looked like a goddess full of light. Azriel was staring at her while his shadows tried to approach her with him having to use most of his power to pull them back. “I’m sorry to interrupt but the chef wants to know when you would like to have the food served” she said looking at Helion.

Helion had a big smile on his face, not the flirty one he usually had but a genuine one full of care and kindness. He turned to his guests on the table “Everyone this is y/n, one of my dearest friends” he said with such a pride and protectiveness. She stared at the table and bowed her head “High Lord Rhysand and High Lady Feyre it’s an honour to meet you” she said and offered them a tight smile. When Rhysand and Feyre returned her greeting, she turned her glance back to Helion without acknowledging them any further. This piqued the interest of the shadow singer who felt the need to protect his family as he realised that she isn’t happy about their appearance in the ball. Helion told her that now is a good time to serve the food and she left without looking at them again. Rhys sent a questioning look at Helion who acted like he didn’t notice. Suddenly the shadow singer stood and excused himself following the way he saw her going to. He found her curled on a window staring the city outside the palace and he stood in the shadows watching her. “Hello shadowsinger” she said catching him out of guard. How did she know that he was here? He had never been spotted, the shadows always kept him well hidden, and he had mastered moving without any sound. He was so lost in thought that he hadn’t realised she was staring at the darkness he was into.  He shook his head and stepped from the shadows.

“You know it’s not polite to creep on a female like that” she said turning back to the view outside.

“You knew I was here…. how?” he said trying to remember if he made any noise.

“Maybe you’re not that good at your job as everyone thinks” she said without looking at him. He scoffed and took a seat next to her noticing the way she flinched when his wings got close to her. He moved a bit further from her and stared the side of her face. “Are you planning to hide here the whole night?” he questioned making himself comfortable while also staying on guard wary of the strange female. “Crowds this big make me feel uneasy” she replied and shrugged.

“I feel the sa….”

“I know” she cut him off surprising him. He didn’t question her knowing that he wouldn’t get the answer he wanted so he settled for the comfortable silence around them. He didn’t know how long they stayed like this, watching the city full of life and at times some of the drunk guests who decided to dance in the gardens of the palace. He stared the women dancing and caressing the flowers twirling around them. It reminded him of Elain for a few seconds, but his thoughts were gone as he looked at the female next to him who was now more relaxed and had a sad smile on her face. He took a breath ready to start conversation, but he was once again cut off as she got up and left.

“Goodnight shadowsinger”.

#azriel #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar #azriel spymaster #fanfic #acotar series #rhysand #feyre archeron #azriel x reader #velaris #night court #day court

[harrystylesfan2686]

Starfall

Pairing: Mor x Reader

Summary: Day 6: Character A was so busy planning the perfect Starfall party, they forgot to get a date. Character B has an idea.

Warnings: Unedited, I'll do it after.

A/N: First of I am so sorry this is taking me this long, sorry if this one sucks I wrote it in a hurry. This is my submission to starfall week. Hope you like this 💕

Tagging: @carinaswife @starfallweek

Dialogue Prompts Masterlist

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

You sigh looking around The House of Wind. It was your responsibility to hold a party this year, you had volunteered after seeing how much work Rhysand and Feyre already had. He was a little hesitant at first, never having given someone else the job of organizing the festival celebration, but he ultimately agreed because you were right, he didn't have time to think about such things.

You knew you had to do your best, having a dull party wasn't an option. There was no way you were forcing Rhys to take a break one year only for him to regret and never give the responsibility to anyone else.

You went all out, no limit on anything. Alcohol, decoration, food. You were busting your ass from an entire month, planning this party. You wanted it to be perfect, wanted everyone else to think it was perfect.

"You've done a brilliant job." Mor's voice filled with wonder as she looks around the room. A small group of people had gathered around the room, chatting and drinking, waiting for the show to begin at night. The actual crowd yet to come, considering the party had just begin.

You had heard a lot of compliments this evening, everyone seeming to like what you did with the opportunity. The heavy decoration getting special attention and wondering eyes. You admit, if felt really good, the appreciation but you were yet to get the approval of your high lord and lady.

When you turned around to look at More, your breath caught up. Wearing a shimmering white gown that started at her chest, just the right amount of her cleavage picking out from the hem, with no sleeves, showing off her smooth skin, and ending at her ankles, her feet tucked in light blue heels. And adorned with a thin diamond necklace and earrings.

She looked break takingly beautiful.

Gods the things you want to do to her.

Her eye brows raise in a silent question when you dont say anything and just stare at her. You close your opened mouth and clear your throat, trying not to seem like a hopeless in love. She doesn't know of your feelings and you don't intent on telling her.

"Thank you. You look- really good." You silently curse at youself for being dumbstruck. Her lips pirk up in a smirk, the slight hitch in your voice revealing a lot more then you wish for it too. She thanks you and stands beside you, looking over at the people.

"So, why are you not ready yet? You planning it would make people believe you would be the first to get ready." Her tone teasing but that doesn't stop you in sighing.

"There was a problem with the music band, trying to clear it took more time then I thought it would." You glance down at yourself, standing in a plain shirt and pants, while everyone else was looking thier finest. You should probably get ready now, before more people come.

Mor lets out a hum before speaking again, "And who is your date for the evening?"

Your cheeks flush and you look away from her brown eyes, "I don't have one."

She turns to you, eyes furrowed. "Why not? The last I heard you were with a handsome cook."

"That was months ago." Before I realized just how deep my feelings run for you. You don't speak the words you think. "And I didn't get any time to ask someone." You shrug.

"But you want one, don't you? Seeing you without a date on Starfall in wired for me." It's not a dig, you know it because it's true. You always had a date at Starfall, different males and females in your arms every year, inhopes that someone will spark your interest more then the female standing in front of you, none have made it to second year though.

"It's alright." You shrug again, trying to make your statement believable.

She is silent for a minute before nodding to herself, seeming decide on something and smiles. "I will be your date."

You freeze. Your eyes snapping to hers the second later. Mischief written clearly in them as she takes your hand. "Oh- No, no. It's alright you don't need to do that for me- I mean, I'll be alright. Cause like I don't need a date. Not that I don't want one but, I don't need one- I'll just stay single fur one year. It's okay. You don't need to-" You babble in nervousness, unable to think straight as her smile widens at your state and her hand grips tighter on yours.

"Y/N, shut up." You quickly do, knowing if not then you'll probably say something you'll regret later. "I will be your date It's finale. Now go get ready."

She releases your hand and nudges you toward the bedrooms. You go obediently, without another word as you try to process what just happened.

This is like a dream come true.

-☆-

A knock your door disturbs you as you try to think yourself up in the mirror. You are ready, wearing your dress and hair the way you decided. You look beautiful, smiling at yourself as you turn to look at yourself from every angle. Mor having told you about your plans just made you more motivated to look your best.

You nod at yourself one last time before turning to open the door. Standing on the other side is Morrigan, holding a bouquet of flowers. Her mouth openeing slightly as she looks at you, up and down, and again, not knowing what to say.

"You, look really beautiful." She smiles at your and you blush under her stare. "And these are for you." She hands you the bouquet. "My date." Her smirk widens when you take it from her, your face unable to hold your smile. You thank her and she holds out a hand,"Shall we?"

"Why not." You nod and put aside the flowers, taking her hand and closing to door behind you. "I still can't believe you declared yourself my date." The two of you laugh and you prepare youself for the night ahead.

-☆-

At the end of the night, you stand at a balcony, looking over the stars crashing into each other. The colours illuminating against your face and you close your eyes to bask in them.

"You truly are so beautiful." A murmur laced with wonder speaks from beside you as Mor comes, leaning on the railing ahead of you. Your smile automatically widens at her voice, her perfume, her presence. You open your eyes to look into hers.

Oh how gorgeous she is.

You want to hold her close and never let go. Kiss her and touch her until all she knows is you. Love and pamper her in the way no one ever has. Stand on this very railing and scream on top of your lungs, declaring your love for her until the entire world knows just who you belong to.

Maybe you've had quiet a lot of drinks.

"Kiss me." You whisper, your drunken mind not caring about the consequences of your words.

Her eyes flare in surprise, "What?"

"Kiss me." You repeat, grining widely at her.

She is silent for a moment before she lifts her hand to cup your cheek. "You don't mean that."

"I do." You nod enthusiasticly. "Kiss me." You say aloud for the third time, looking at her lips and licking your in anticipation.

"No, you kiss me." Now she can't help but agree, seeing the happiness in your eyes. She wants you, so much, but if your doing this just because your drunk, she might as well let herself this small moment of content.

Your hands lift to wrap around her neck and your lips rest on hers. Both of you sighing in content when you finally kiss the other. In a rush of moment, your tougnes mangle, your breaths mix as you moan in the others taste. Having tiptoed around the other for years, you finally let yourselves have this small moment, not caring about the future.

You kiss each other like your life depends in it. Your head spins, from the alcohol or the kiss your not sure. Mor's lips just as intoxicating. You kiss until your lips feel numb, you finally pull back, resting your foreheads together, looking into the others eyes with equally widened smiles.

You don't care what happens in the morning, only that you love her now and kiss her again with everything you have.

○●○●○●○●○●○●

#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #morrigan x reader #mor x reader #mor #morrigan fanfiction #starfall week 2024 #starfall week

[slytherhys]

12 Days of Christmas - ACOTAR Edition

In the spirit of the Holidays, I will be writing & posting short stories about the ACOTAR characters for the next 12 days. Please note that some will be shorter than others and that this is simply meant to be a fun time for everyone that loves these characters as much as I do!

PS. I'm open to requests.

You can also find this story on my AO3.

9th day of christmas - solstice ft. high lady's birthday (i spent the 21st of december doing some christmas shopping so pls forgive me for posting this a day later)

A life by your side (A Feyre's birthday oneshot)

The High Lord of the Night Court had spared no expense in throwing a party to celebrate his mate’s 24th birthday. People from all around Prythian gasped with wonder as they entered the ballroom, surprised to see it so beautifully decorated for the winter solstice and the long night awaiting them.

The floors were so thoroughly polished guests could see their own reflections staring back at them in awe; white tulle drapes covered the archways leading outside, their fabric dancing as the wind flowed between them. The ceiling, too, reflected the night sky, but no cold touched the guests’ skin. The tables were covered in food and champagne tastefully decorated with both fairy lights and beautiful flower arrangements.

Feyre was by the champagne table with Mor, her sparkling blue gown making her easy to spot. It didn’t take long before guests were wishing her a happy birthday, toasting to the High Lady, and wishing the Night Court a prosperous year. Helion himself had already pulled Feyre away for a poorly executed waltz (entirely her fault), and Cassian had taken her for whatever disastrous dance the band had chosen to play.

Rhysand, however, was still nowhere to be seen.

Feyre tried not to frown, but Morrigan just sighed dramatically. “He’s just taking care of something, he’ll be here in no time.”

“What’s so urgent he couldn’t have given me a kiss before running away to Mother’s knows where?” Feyre grumbled, taking a sip from her champagne glass.

Mor narrowed her eyes, eyeing the glass in Feyre’s hand before saying, “I think you might be a little more drunk than what we first thought.”

“Good.” Feyre huffed. “Might make me a better dancer by the time my mate decides to grace me with his presence.”

Mor chuckled, eyes scanning the room as she presumably searched for her cousin. “I promise it’ll be a worthy surprise.”

Feyre perked up at that, setting down her empty glass on the table behind her. “A surprise?” She inquired. “What surprise?”

“I think that defeats the purpose.” She deadpanned. “Don’t you enjoy surprises?”

No at the moment, no. “Well, you’re no help.”

Having fun, my love? Rhysand’s voice rang down the bond.

Feyre frowned deeply. Where are you?

Doing something very important.

“Are you talking to him, right now?” Mor asked. “It kinda weirds me out when you guys do that.”

Feyre ignored her. What’s so important you can’t even bother to see me in this ridiculously expensive dress?

You look beautiful, came his reply a few seconds later. Feyre spined around, scanning the ballroom for him.

Can you see me or are you just guessing?

His scent enveloped her, an arm going around her waist as he pulled her against his chest. “Of course I see you, darling.” He said, lips gently pressed against her ear. Feyre turned around, cheeks heating as she found his eyes drunkenly taking her in.

Good. It had been a pain to fit inside the dress, so he might as well appreciate it.

“And that’s my cue.” Mor announced, quickly fleeing in the direction of a pretty female wearing a beautiful, black dress. Emerie, if Feyre recalled correctly.

She turned to Rhys. “You’re late.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Feyre narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to answer my question?”

He shook his head, a smirk on his lips as he watched her. “Dance with me.” He whispered instead.

Feyre was slightly taken back. “You wish to dance with me?”

“I wish to have you in my arms,” He smiled softly. “Even if it means sacrificing a few toes.”

Feyre pushed him playfully. “You’re an asshole.” Rhys chuckled, smoothly grabbing her hand and pulling her to the dancefloor without another word. Feyre let herself follow him, suddenly too giddy at the thought of dancing with him.

“Is it another house?” She eyed him contemplatively. “A palace, maybe.” She searched his face for a reaction, but Rhysand only smirked.

“Are your expectations that high?”

“You have no one to blame but yourself.”

He twirled her before pulling her body back against his. “A blame I can easily take.” His eyes softened as he looked down at her. “You really do look stunning.”

Feyre smiled primly. “I think so too.”

“Nothing I offer you can ever compare to how I feel when I see you smile.” He leaned down, kissing her softly. “But I can try.” He whispered before raising his head, his violet eyes focusing on the clear dome above them. Feyre looked around quizzically, quickly raising her head when she noticed everyone’s attention focused on the sky above them.

Feyre gasped, his hold on Rhys tightening ever so slightly as she watched the sky. A spectacle of lights seemed to dance in front of her eyes, fireworks of every colour and shade painting the night sky in a colourful display. Wherever she looked, different forms took shape – the stars, wolves… A message to her. For her. Tears filled her eyes.

Before she could even think to kiss Rhysand senseless, a door to her left opened with a flourish, a large cake making its way towards Feyre, quickly followed by a grinning Elain. People clapped, cheering for the lavish display of love, but Feyre could pay them no attention: not when her attention was on Rhys, who looked at her with something akin to adoration on his face.

“Not that long ago,” He said in a low voice meant only for her. “the stars made sure I knew you belonged right by me side.”

Feyre let out a surprised laugh, a tear running down her cheek. “Is this your way of reminding me how young I am?”

“Or a way of reminding you how old I am.” He smiled fondly, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have lived many years, but I have yet to believe that I deserve to truly have this life.” He reached for her face, gently swiping away a stubborn tear. “To have found the love of my life, to have our family around us.” He leaned down, his lips a whisper away from hers. “That I get to share a life with you.”

“Is it worth losing a few toes?”

Rhysand grinned. “Absolutely.”  He said, kissing her once more. “Happy birthday, darling.”

Feyre leaned her head into his chest as Rhys swayed them softly to the sound of a music only they could hear. “Happy Solstice, Rhys.”

#feyre archeron #pro feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand #12 days of christmas acotar edition #happy solstice #feyre's birthday #christmas stories #christmas prompts #winter prompts #acotar fic #feysand fic #feyre x rhys

[separatist-apologist]

Buried Alive Inside My Dreams

Summary: An evil enchantress has locked Princess Feyre Archeron in a tower, secluding her from her family and removing her entirely from the outside world. Trapped and alone, Feyre turns her gaze to the stars, dreaming of returning home to her sisters- of finding peace. She's determined to escape before her birthday and the annual starfall that marks the occasion just as soon as she can figure out a way down.

When a thief breaks into her tower, Feyre takes her chances and leaves with him, unaware of who this man is and the price freedom will try and extract from her

Happy @officialfeysandweek2023

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

It was the hottest bath Feyre had ever taken in her life. She was grateful Rhys left her for the hour, giving her time to wash out her hair and her skin, which required her to empty the tub twice so she wasn’t sitting in filthy water. By the time he returned, she was standing naked in the washroom, towel drying her hair.

“I got you something to sleep in,” he called from the other side. “I’ll close my eyes if you want to grab it.”

So grateful he’d brought her anything at all, Feyre hadn’t considered it was Rhys until the silken nightdress was in her hands. 

“You’re ridiculous!” she complained, though she pulled the outfit over her head all the same. The thin straps did nothing to hide her shoulders, and the lacy front dipped, revealing the faintest amount of cleavage. It halted above her thighs and felt utterly scandalous to sleep in. 

Feyre braided the damp strands before coming out in the cloud of steam. Rhys was laying clothes out on the trunk that were clearly meant for her. Wool-lined pants and a thick, white, long sleeved shirt with stockings and a hat and a deep, purple cape.

“This is too much,” Feyre breathed, noting he’d gotten himself some things, too. “Where did you get all this money?”

Rhys only grinned. Right. He was a thief. She didn’t feel so bad accepting when he’d stolen it. 

“One last thing,” he said, pulling out a garment bag. “For Starfall. Everyone will be dressed up. You should be, too. I’m going to take a bath, but there’s food on the table. Help yourself.”

And that was that. She swore she caught a hint of red crawling up his neck before he vanished behind the door. Feyre didn’t move until she heard the tap squeak and the sound of rushing water. Not wanting to think about Rhys without his clothes on, she turned to busy herself with the last thing he’d gotten for her.

It was a dress. The kind of dress meant for a princess, she thought, as she pulled the silvery blue, beaded gown from the bag it had been set inside. Twin combs of pearl nearly clattered to the floor, caught in the skirt just before they could shatter. Feyre wondered if they’d hold her hair back at all and hoped they might. Perhaps she could twist it into a pretty knot rather than its usual, unmanageable braid. 

Feyre admired the dress for a long moment before gently putting it back in the back and laying it overtop another nice bag which she assumed must hold something for him. It was tempting to look, but not as tempting as the meat on skewers from the table. She’d see, besides, and that would be enough. The last thing Feyre needed was to spend the next two nights fantasizing about Rhys looking like a prince when she knew the minute he dropped her into Avalon, he’d turn around and leave her. 

Scrambling for her pants, Feyre found Rhys’s ring still hidden in the pocket. There was nowhere to put it in her nightdress. Nowhere but her hand, and she thought he might lose it if he saw her wearing it. Making her way to the large bed they were meant to share, Feyre slid it beneath her pillow by the window. 

By the time Rhys returned, utterly clean, with droplets clinging to his dark hair, Feyre was sitting at the table halfway through her food. Through all the good, if she was being honest. Rhys merely grinned, ignoring that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and her mouth that was currently hanging open at the sight. 

“You eat like an army,” he teased, dropping into the chair opposite hers. “I could have gotten more.”

“Now you know,” Feyre replied, not bothering to mention this was the first good meal she’d had in ten years. Maybe he knew it, because Rhys didn’t make another comment on what she ate.

He merely put things on his own plate, turning his face toward the window to watch the bustling crowds below. Night was only just beginning to fall, leaving street lamps to flicker on. It did nothing for the people moving about. Tables began to fill, set beside warm braziers so the chill didn’t feel so oppressive. 

Feyre wanted to be among them. Rhys seemed to guess that, too. “Tomorrow, let’s eat outdoors.”

“Will we be paying?”

“If you’d like,” he said with an easy, handsome smile. “I’d be happy to take you on a date.”

Feyre’s heart nearly exploded in her chest. “It’s not a date.”

“Of course not,” he said with a roguish wink. “We’re just…what are we, then, darling?”

“Whatever two people forced together are called,” she replied, ever the liar.

“Friends, then,” he decided. Yes, that did feel true, in a way. He’d saved her life, and in turn, she’d saved his, hasn’t she? And yet somehow it also felt like a lie—they were “friends” in the most terrible sense of the world, because friends certainly weren’t daydreaming about Rhys taking off his shirt.

And his pants, too.

Feyre hoped he couldn’t tell what she was thinking about. Rhys ate and Feyre kept her expression sullen to keep Rhys from guessing what she was thinking. The undeniable truth was staring them both in the face in the form of that large bed, practically mocking her when there was nothing left to do but get into it. 

Rhys busied himself by straightening up, his golden brown skin flushed. Every once and a while she’d catch the violet blue of his eyes snag on her, settling beneath soft blankets until she finally snapped. “Do you plan to sleep tonight? Or are you going room to room offering maid service.”

“Desperate to—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Feyre warned, holding up a finger. “Just get in bed.”

His smug smirk did little to ease Feyre’s nerves. The bed dipped beneath his weight, his legs so long that his feet were flush against the footboard. While she turned off the lamp beside her, Rhys shucked off his shirt and oh. She wished he hadn’t. Rhys was nothing but pure, carved muscle. Up close, Feyre could see little white knicks against his skin from a blade and battles he’d fought and won, marked alongside the black ink of his tattoos. 

“What do those mean?” she asked, tracing one of the runes on his shoulder before she realized she was touching him.

“They’re for luck,” he said, though Feyre very much doubted that was the whole truth. What kind of thief needed that kind of protection? And for that matter, what thief was built like he was—like a battle honed warrior who’d been born with a sword in hand? There was a mystery about him swirling like fog. Feyre wanted to untangle it, which was a mistake.

Pulling her hand back, Feyre murmured, “Oh.”

She knew better than to touch him by now. Rhys was too still, his gaze burning her skin. Feyre settled into the bed, turning her back to him. Rhys remained propped against the headboard for a long minute, the wheels grinding loudly in his head.

Don’t comment on it, she thought silently. He heeded her, joining her on the mattress with a soft sigh.

“What are you going to do when you get to Avalon?” Rhys asked her. 

Marry a Vanserra and pray he’ll give me an army. “I don’t know,” Feyre admitted. The thought of marrying some foreign prince seemed atrocious to her. “I just—”

Another pause. “You just what?”

“I have this dream,” she dared to say, not turning to look at him. Rhys shifted.

“Tell me.”

“She has my sisters, too. Amarantha, I mean. And in my dream, I imagine the three of us are free. That…that we’re happy again, like we were when we were little. Before she came along and messed it all up. All those years in that tower, and sometimes that thought was the only thing that made me feel sane…and the lights on my birthday. I know they’re not for me, but they come every year and sometimes I’d pretend someone sent them just for me, to remind me I wasn’t alone. That people were looking for me, too. It’s stupid—”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupted quickly, his voice soft and hoarse. “I think it's a good dream. I—” 

Feyre waited for Rhys to collect his thoughts, forcing herself not to turn, not to look at him. She knew whatever she saw would be her undoing. 

“Do you need Avalon because you need a prince?” he asked her after a moment. “Do you need an army?”

Heart hammering in her chest, Feyre whispered, “Yes. Someone who can defeat Amarantha.”

“I see,” he murmured. “There are other princes in other realms—”

“None half as strong as the Vanserras, though,” Feyre protested, racking her brain for who he could possibly be thinking of. There was the rumored bastard prince of Illyria, of course, though Feyre assumed him to be little more than myth. A legendary warrior who’d managed to unite the mountainous people seemed more than she could ever hope for. The royal family of Velaris was gone, slaughtered by a vengeful uncle desperate for power. Scythia had a princess—maybe she’d become queen by then—and then Avalon. Everyone else was on other continents, too far to travel over treacherous waters Feyre wasn’t willing to risk.

“He has seven sons,” Feyre added. 

“He’s dead,” Rhys told her, his voice finally convincing her to turn and look at him. “His eldest son now holds the kingdom. They say he’s…more forgiving…than his father. You might not need to marry anyone at all if you can offer him something he wants.”

Rhys was on his side, too, eyes bright even in the dark. The scent of him washed over her, dark and masculine from his bath. She wanted to touch him again. Wanted to scoot closer until his strong, muscular arms were wrapped around her. 

Feyre didn’t budge. “What does he want?”

“You’ve got magic hair, right? Or blood…or…whatever it is about you?”

“I don’t want to be another pet,” she admitted. That had been her plan once, too.

“How is offering yourself up in marriage any different?” he questioned, a soft bite to his words. Feyre’s heart thudded angrily, her stomach flipping.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Rhys laughed bitterly. “Right. I have no idea what it means to sacrifice. At least I’m honest with myself, Feyre—”

“No, you don’t have any idea because you’re holding a ring for your true love. That’s a possibility for you, but it's not for me! While you’ve been out thieving your way through the five kingdoms, I’ve been a prisoner and this is my only shot to get my life back, so you’ll excuse me if I don’t care to get on my high horse and wax poetic about love and marriage.”

Rhys turned on his back, arms folded behind his head. “The princes of Avalon will be looking for high born women and princesses. Neither of which are you. Either way, you’ll have to tell them what you are if you want to secure their help, and you’ll end up their little toy.”

“So there is no happy ending for me, then?” Feyre asked, hating the way her voice warbled. Rhys turned to look, but she was already kicking off her blankets, unsure where she was even going. Far away from him—because this had been a mistake. Coming here, asking him to stay, thinking she could have peace. All of it. 

“Feyre—”

“Shut up, Rhys,” she whispered, certain she was going to cry. Feyre reached under her pillow for his ring and threw it at his face, if only to distract him so she could quickly dress herself. “Just shut up.”

“Feyre!” he said again, her name a plea. He scrambled for it, while Feyre yanked her shirt and pants from the same chair her dress was draped over. That was just another silly dream. Thinking her life was going to turn into something more than just a girl trapped in a tower was a fantasy. Rhys was right. What did it matter if they knew the truth about her? They’d lock her away, too, and Feyre would trade one prison for another, even if it meant saving her sisters.

Rhys caught her before she made it to the door, fingers wrapping around her arms. “Don’t go,” he said, chest pressed to her own.

“I can make it the rest of the way. You have your ring back—”

“I made you a promise—”

“I’m freeing you of it. Go back to your life, I’ll go back to mine, and—”

Rhys lowered his face before Feyre could finish speaking, his lips brushing her tentatively. She froze, her heart exploding with excitement. No one had ever touched her like that before. His eyes found hers, big and wide like he, too, wasn’t sure what he was doing. Feyre didn’t know what to say.

But Rhys did. “I want to celebrate your birthday with you, Feyre.”

“I don’t think you need to be so close,” she replied, praying he wouldn’t move. Rhys reached for her face, callused fingers deliciously rough against her skin. 

“I’m not close enough,” was his infuriating reply. “For the next two days, let me pretend you’re mine.”

“What—” Feyre never got to ask him what he meant by that. Rhys finished what he’d started, fingers curling in her hair to bring her closer and oh. He kissed her, mouth soft and warm contrasted against the roughness of the dark stubble gracing his jaw. 

When had she reached for his broad, powerful shoulders, nails digging in his skin like he might vanish at any second. Rhys exhaled sharply, slotting his lips between her own and Feyre thought she might be floating. Dreaming, certainly, because this was far better than anything she could have possibly imagined. 

Rhys grabbed her hip, yanking her into him and that was, she supposed, the moment the fight was over. There was no pretending she hated him, or was even mad at him. Feyre wanted him so badly she let him hold her closer, trying to get ahold of her thoughts just long enough to figure out what it was she wanted.

Beyond him, anyway. Because the world was reshaping itself around him, remade in his image. Rhys slid his tongue against her mouth, drawing a soft moan from her throat as he tasted her. Groaning, Feyre found herself pressed between his body and the door, grateful for the solid strength of them both. She might otherwise have melted into a pool of water on the floor. 

“Stay with me, Feyre darling. Please. Get back into bed,” he whispered, forehead against her own. Rhys was breathing like he’d just run uphill for miles.

“Will you keep kissing me?” she asked, feeling shy for the first time in her life. Rhys smiled.

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to. I thought you knew that by now.”

Feyre smiled. “Two days, Rhys. That’s all I can give you.”

He kissed her again. “I’ll take it.”

RHYS:

Two days. Rhys had two days to figure out a way to convince Feyre not to go to Avalon, but to come back to Velaris with him. His plan had two parts, each more impossible than the last. Step one: tell her the truth. And step two? Make her fall in love with him. 

Long after Feyre had grown too tired to kiss him with true enthusiasm, Rhys had plotted in his mind. What did he have? A torture artist and a bastard prince from Illyria and their combined armies, in exchange for sovereignty and a place in his court? And an enchantress he was hoping to make his wife. Who could complain if he showed up already married, Rhys reasoned? Feyre was powerful, with blood that could keep their armies going, that could fix the ails of his people. Surely his court would understand his reasoning.

And if he was successful, well…maybe it didn’t matter if they understood. Once that crown was on his head, he could strip anyone who disagreed with him of their titles, their lands—everything they cared about. He could send them all to the chopping block. 

It seemed too daring to dream he could have his home and Feyre. 

Two days. Rhys could do this. He woke wrapped around her body, slipping out before he could make a fool of himself, and returning with breakfast before she ever stirred. She needed the sleep and Rhys wanted to give her something she’d never had before.

Comfort. 

He suspected she’d been taking care of herself her entire life. Rhys very much doubted Amarantha had lived up in that tower with her, raising her and keeping her safe. Feyre operated like a woman who’d had to learn independence young, eyes gleaming with distrust. So step one was merely taking care of her. Finding her clothes, bringing her food, showing her things he knew she’d never seen.

Injecting romance in the middle of them, so it was still courting. And then he’d bring her back to bed and show her what she meant to him with his lips and tongue and teeth. Barring that, if none of it worked, he’d merely get on his knees and beg. He wasn’t above it. Not anymore.

Not for her, anyway. 

Feyre stirred, blanketed in her beautiful hair he was desperate to touch again. Rhys was sitting by the window for practical reasons—the mere sight of Feyre waking in the morning was enough to excite his cock. Laying beside her, arms wrapped around her? Rhys wasn’t convinced he could control himself. Sitting, fully dressed, was far safer. In his dreams, she came to him with those blazing eyes, lips parted, hands—

“Did you get breakfast?” she asked, pulling him out of his fantasy.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Yeah. Come eat with me.”

Or lay back down and let me eat you—

“Did you steal it?”

Rhys huffed. If only she knew. “No,” he offered truthfully, well aware she didn’t believe him. That knowing look on her face was all wrong, but still pretty as she clambered out of bed. Gathering up her hair, Feyre let it drape in her lap as she sat in her chair and Rhys had to remind himself to breathe. 

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and her mere presence made a mockery of him. Clenching his fingers to fists beneath the table, Rhys nodded at the food. “There are things I want to show you today.

“What kind of things?” she asked suspiciously. Rhys merely clicked his tongue against his teeth. 

“You’ve spent your entire life in a tower. Let me show you a little bit of the world, Feyre.”

Those blue eyes of hers widened, pretty pink mouth forming a silent oh. Rhys felt a little too smug, having rendered her speechless. Smugger still when Feyre ate quickly, shoveling food in her mouth so she could slip into the bathroom and dress herself.

The clothes he’d picked out for her were a dream. The pants conformed to the curves of her lithe body, the white shirt clinging to her chest even when she’d tugged it from the band of her trousers in an attempt to hide her shape. Rhys watched her clasp the cloak around her neck before shoving her feet in the fur-lined boots. She’d be warm and, maybe, a little grateful?

Rhys was angling for a kiss. 

“Ready?” he asked.

Feyre drank him in and he wondered if she didn’t see him for what he was right then. A liar of the tallest order, running from his destiny in order to show her around. Squashing that thought, Rhys took Feyre into the cold, silent when she leaned a little closer to leach some of his warmth. It would have been so easy to slide his arm around her body, to draw her against him.

She didn’t have that frying pan on her, so the likelihood of giving him a concussion was low, too.

But not impossible.

“What’s so important it couldn’t wait?” Feyre demanded, unable to hide the wonder on her beautiful face.

“The world, Feyre darling,” he replied, eyes glued to her face. “I want you to see the beauty you’ve missed.”

She gave him a look of skepticism—fair, given how the rain left a gray parlor over the world, creating a rather unappealing slush over the roads and buildings. The sun overhead would dry some of it up, but right there, on the curb outside their tavern, the world must have looked just as it always had to her. 

A bolt of yearning slammed into Rhys as he began leading her toward the best part of the town. He wanted to show Feyre his home. He wanted her to see snow-capped mountains and lush valleys dotted with spring flowers. Rhys wanted her to dip her feet in the clear water of the Sidra, to see Velaris in the Summer when traveling playwrights put on shows in the entertainment district. He wanted her to taste the food, to learn their dances and songs, to crown her in their jewels and make love to her at night.

Rhys knew it was a fool's errand, because Feyre’s dream was going home—the same as Rhys’s. He couldn’t bring her home for a million reasons he’d already outline and yet he thought he’d die if he didn’t. He had to. He’d like, make her a princess of some sliver of land the lords had forgotten about. Maybe he’d change his agreement with Cassian, demanding he declare her nobility and marrying her would unite them in a tangible way that somehow benefited them both. 

Or he’d do what he already wanted to—murder anyone who opposed him, start a new court, and marry Feyre anyway.

Of course, Feyre would have to agree to it, and Rhys still had no army he could promise her. Not without betraying his home—because what kind of king gave his army to a woman he just met so she could battle an immortal witch? How could he show his face before his people, knowing he’d left them to rot in service to his own feelings?

It was so damn unfair. 

Rhys spun himself up in knots trying to find some solution, nearly missing the first thing he wanted to show Feyre. She, blissfully unaware of the plotting she was doing on her behalf, kept close enough their fingers kept brushing.

“There are so many people,” she breathed, her words a mingled mixture of awe and fear. “I’ve never seen this many people before.”

Of course not. As the sun rose overhead, more people spilled into the streets to conduct their daily business. Instinctively, Rhys grabbed Feyre’s hand before he thought better of it. A beat passed between them, long enough for her to yank back if she wanted.

Instead, Feyre laced her fingers between his own, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. Rhys exhaled softly, trying to keep himself calm.

“This way,” he murmured, pulling her off the main road toward a glittering fountain he’d always found rather lovely. The statue itself was nothing special—two faeries, with wings carved lovingly of marble that had once been white but now was blue, intertwined in a lovers embrace. The water poured from their open mouths, creating a rainbow of color to spill against the gathered pool. It felt like magic, even now that Rhys was a man and not a boy, seeing it for the first time while clutching his mothers hand.

“They say if you make a wish to the lovers and toss a coin, the gods will grant it. People come from far and wide to make their dreams a reality.” He procured a coin from his pocket, offering it up to her. Feyre eyed it skeptically, sliding her hand from his. “What kind of luck could a stolen coin have?”

“It’s not stolen, darling,” he replied, wishing he could tell her the truth. “Make a wish.”

“Will you make one, too?”

He hadn’t intended to. There was no amount of wishing that could give Rhys what he wanted right then, because Feyre wasn’t something so easily bought. Rhys could scheme until his heart was content and Feyre would likely still walk away from him. It didn’t stop him, though.

Keep us together—let her love me, too.

Rhys flipped his coin, watching it splash into the water before it settled to the bottom. Feyre tossed hers just behind his, biting her lower lip. “What did you wish for?” she asked him, inclining her neck to look. Rhys flicked her nose, earning another of those endearing scowls.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t come true.”

“How does that make sense?” she demanded, yanking her hand away when Rhys reached for it. 

Exasperated, he replied, “That’s just the rule.”

“It’s a stupid rule.”

“Tell me, then,” Rhys said, curious what she’d wished for. 

Color bloomed over her cheeks. “No.”

“Not that stupid, then,” he teased, bumping her with his arm. Feyre offered the faintest hint of a smile, causing his heart to stutter in his chest. 

More, he thought. I want more of that look. “What else is there?”

Rhys grinned unabashed. “Come with me.”

It was nightfall by the time they settled in, choosing a table over a wide bridge that arched against a glittering, violet river. The smell wasn’t great, and the wine was cheap, but Feyre didn’t seem to notice either. It wasn’t starfall yet—merely a prelude. He’d paid a little extra of money he really couldn’t afford to lose, in order to procure two little lanterns and tools they’d need to light them and send them toward the heavens.

“For the souls we’ve lost,” he explained to her when he’d been paying the street merchant. “The lanterns guide their way back.”

After that, it was merely waiting for things to get dark enough. They weren’t the only ones counting down the minutes. Parents gathered along the edge, their children laughing and hollering, playing some game only they knew the rules to. Feyre watched a couple holding hands, the woman whispering something into the ear of her grinning partner. Rhys wished that was them when they stood, paper lanterns in hand.

“Here,” he murmured, holding a lit match. Feyre let him, blue eyes big and reverent as he lit the flame. He was quick to do his own before burning his fingers.

“Now what?”

Around them, little silver and blue lanterns began floating upward. Rhys demonstrated silently, sending his lantern upward for his lost mother and sister and father. Come back safely, he thought silently. I’ll be waiting for you. 

Feyre did the same, eyes big and bright and gods, Rhys was about to do something stupid. Something she’d asked him to do, right? Keep kissing me, she’d said.  “What do you think?” he asked, grateful she was unaware of how he was crowding her space. 

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” she replied. 

“Yes,” he agreed, unable to tear his gaze from that look on her face. It wasn’t a smile—not really. But it was soft and beautiful, tying him up in knots. Rhys slid his finger under her chin, delighted when she blinked, looking at him.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he whispered, giving her enough time to hit him if she wanted. 

“Why would you do that?” she replied, lips parted. Rhys drank her in, savoring this moment and this time with her. He was going to lose her soon and he wanted to remember her exactly as she was.

“Because you’re beautiful.” Because I’m in love with you. 

“Oh,” she breathed. 

That was all the permission Rhys needed. Lowering his mouth until they were sharing a breath, he brushed his lips against her own. Feyre shuddered, fingers digging into his shoulders as though she needed to steady herself. Rhys understood that well—the world had tilted all at once, pushing him closer to her. 

In retrospect, he realized it was just someone brimming with too much excitement that shoved against him, ending their little dance. Feyre inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering shut mere moments before his own. She melted into the arms he’d slid around her body, holding her close. Feyre smelled like violets and pears, like something familiar and lost to him all at once. 

Feyre tasted like home. He could see it behind his eyelids like he was standing at the base of those three peaks that marked his territory. And he could see her, crowned in starlight, grinning ear to ear as she urged him to join her. 

Rhys broke away with a gasp. “Feyre,” he breathed, resisting the urge to fall to his knees. She looked up at him, eyes hazy and dark. It was different than before, he thought wildly. That first kiss had been borne of panic, of the thought he might lose her but this? This was pure want, it was need.

It was love. 

“Should…should we go back?” she asked, biting that plush, lower lip.

Rhys nearly groaned.

“Yes,” he replied, reaching for her hand. Feyre let him take it, drawing close as wintry wind whipped around them, trying so hard to pull them out of this realm and into another. Rhys swore, right then and there, that he’d figure out a way to keep them together. That Feyre wouldn’t end up in the clutches of the Vanserra’s and their vulgar, ugly sons. That her life would be easy—soft. 

He swore, with the gods overhead as his witness, that he’d make her a queen.

#feysand #pro feysand #we're getting somewhere now

[thesistersarcheron]

Elain's "ridiculous" plainness in black at the Solstice ball was deliberate.

The Inner Circle's strategy for the ball hinges on Nesta being the most intriguing and valuable asset the Night Court has to offer. She's seducing Eris into continuing their alliance after his confidence is shaken, in Rhys's own words. This seduction includes leveraging her looks to capture his attention.

Mor confirms this when she gets involved in preparing Nesta:

[While tutoring Nesta in Hewn City waltzes, Mor] asked Nesta suddenly, “What are you wearing to the ball, anyway? Eris... He’s all about appearances. You have to wear the right thing."

Then, upon entering the ball, it's noted again by Cassian that the entire royal family's appearance upon entering the throne room was planned:

Both sisters wore black. Both walked behind Rhys and Feyre, a silent indicator that they were a part of the royal family. Had mighty powers of their own. They’d planned it that way, wanting Eris to see for himself how valuable Nesta was.

However, Nesta herself notes in Chapter 19 that Elain is the prettiest sister:

When human, Elain had easily been the prettiest of the three of them, and when she’d been turned High Fae, that beauty had been amplified... Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful.

So something has to be done about that.

And it is. At the ball, Elain is suddenly the plainest sister who is notably, visibly an outsider of the court:

Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once... found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.

To contrast Elain’s outfit with Nesta’s:

Nesta in Night Court black threatened to bring him to his knees. She’d braided her hair over her head in her usual style, but atop it, a delicate tiara of glinting black stone rested... Each spike was topped with a tiny sapphire... And the dress … Silver thread embroidered the skintight velvet bodice, the straps so narrow they might as well have been nothing against her moon-white skin. The neckline plunged nearly to her navel, where the silver thread gathered to hold a small sapphire... The full skirts brushed the dark floor, rustling in the rippling silence. Nesta’s chin remained high, accentuating her long, lovely neck. Her red-painted lips cocked in a feline smirk as her kohl-lined eyes took in the room watching her every breath. Nesta seemed to glow with the attention.

Nesta is specifically dressed in Night Court black, which may very well be a deeper, richer shade, given that it’s important enough to distinguish it from Elain’s simple black. Eris is also specifically wearing "Night Court black," not just black; what a coincidence that they should match on the very night they are meant to be subjects of the Inner Circle's matchmaking, since Eris is very concerned about appearances, no? It's almost like the Inner Circle knows a spy in regular contact with Eris who might also know what he plans to wear to the ball.

Not only that, but Nesta is also in a tiara to mark her as a valued member of the royal family, her dress is cut to reveal her body and embroidered with precious thread and stones to reflect the light off of the black and onto her, she’s in a familiar hairstyle that prevents her hair from casting additional shadows and suits her, and she wears makeup—which isn’t even noted for Elain—to accent her features.

Now, let’s also look at Feyre:

Feyre… The room gasped… She wore a dress of sparkling black panels, much like the one she’d first worn here—and it did nothing to hide her swelling belly. No, it showed off her pregnant womb, gleaming in the candlelight. Rhys’s face was a portrait of smug, male pride. He’d let everyone here smell it, further confirming that she was with child. Feyre might as well have been a goddess of old, crowned and glowing, her belly swollen with life. Her serene face was lovely, and her full red lips parted in a smile at Rhys.

Note the parallels between Nesta and Feyre: revealing dresses with sparkling detail, tiaras, makeup to accentuate their features, a glow. Nesta is a dressed as a High Lady—one Eris might want to charm. We often also assume that Feyre and Rhys, who have the power to make objects glow or to obscure them in darkness, aren’t magically influencing this moment as well. Rhys, the drama king who winnowed into Feyre's wedding with thunder and darkness.

Feyre and Nesta are the focus of the night. They planned it this way, because these two sisters each have a message to send.

And much like royals in the real world, everything they wear is deliberately chosen to send their desired message, as confirmed by Mor, Rhys, and Feyre here and in every passage of them getting dressed to visit the Court of Nightmares or important diplomatic meetings in previous books. Leveraging one's beauty and talents (or lack thereof) is also a strategy Nesta was taught at her mother's knee, which we learn of during her flashbacks in ACOSF.

So Elain looking "ridiculous," "plain," and lifeless in black is not an indicator of anything but the Inner Circle's skill for planning a very basic royal sleight-of-hand trick.

And all this without once assuming Cassian's natural attraction to Nesta or his knowledge (or, again, lack thereof) of fashion also influences his perspective of whether or not Elain is desirable or not.

#elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #pro elain #pro feyre #pro nesta #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #mor #rhysand #elain #feyre #nesta #and you know what? #elriel #I like royal fashion theory so ofc I'm applying it to the best royal family

[daevastanner]

Feyre going to visit Elucien in the Day Court years and years from now and…

They reside in a large, but somehow very homey manor. When Feyre winnows to the entrance, she’s immediately overcome by the warm, buttery sunlight and the large sprawling garden that seems to wrap around the entire house. Various windows are open, ferns and ivy and all manner of potted greenery tumble out of them as though the home they’ve made for themselves can hardly contain Elain’s green thumb.

It’s Elain who answers the door and ushers Feyre in, and it never fails to surprise her just how much the Day Court suits her sister. Her blush pink gown is made of light, elegant fabric and cinched at her waist by a gold belt. None of the fuss of the gowns that hindered her gardening with all of the beauty of the dresses that had made her the belle of every ball.

Elain says she’s set up tea in the back garden. Lucien is at the local market with their children and will join them soon. While they sip tea among the daffodils and the daisies Elain proudly tells her sister which flowers each of her children have planted, and how poor Sorrell kills most everything he touches.

About an hour later Feyre and Elain can hear the front door open and then the excited voices of Elucien’s brood as their father leads them inside.

“My hands are sticky!”

“A tragedy for the ages, my darling. Lily, you can help Poppy wash them, can’t you? That’s my favorite eldest daughter.”

“I’m your only eldest daughter. Come along, Lily.”

“I’m still hungry, papa!”

“Of course you are, Aster, I’d expect nothing less. I bet your mother has some snacks out in the garden. Aunt Feyre should be there.”

“Papa, can you make me some soup?”

“Papa said he’d help me with the bow today!”

“Jasmine, I’ll make you soup — I know, not too hot. Sorrell, we can still do the bow but I need to get Basil into bed before Im soaked in drool.”

Feyre’s brows are high as she listens to Lucien patiently and diplomatically address each need from within the house. He may be Helion’s heir, a charming courtier and a talented emissary, but he is a natural father. Elain just sips her tea with a small smile, like the sound of Lucien interacting with their children is her favorite melody. Little Aster, who looks every bit his father, comes running out into the garden on skinny legs and tackles his Aunt Feyre with a hug before diving into the cucumber sandwiches.

One by one, everyone but baby Basil comes and visits Feyre. Sorrell and Jasmine depart to go “explore” the woods. Poppy and Lily excuse themselves to make flowers crowns. Aster has some carrots he swears are ready to pick.

Finally, Lucien joins them, and Feyre thinks to herself how much domesticity suits Lucien. The Autumn and Spring Court Attire seemed to stifle him and while the Day Court attire his father wears isn’t exactly his style either, he’s somehow found a balance that suits him. A comfortable white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and sage colored trousers tucked into riding boots, his fiery hair down but tied back at the sides. He looks dashing decked out in finery, but when Elain rises to kiss him and Feyre sees them together, she can’t imagine him in any other fashion but this. After centuries of clawing his way through darkness, he is in full bloom. Casual and stylish but practical and comfortable.

Feyre stands to embrace him, and she finds it’s hard to recall the time that there had been a wedge between them. The time they were both healing and seeing one another had only reminded them of their shared trauma. Now he plants a kiss on the top of her head and when he sits and joins them for tea, he asks all about Nyx and Andromeda.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a similar fashion with the three adults enjoying the never emptying tea pot, but every twenty minutes one of Elucien’s brood will approach the table. Each time, Lucien drops everything and leans forward to meet them at eye level. He answers every question, listens to every story. Before they resume their activities they always go to Elain for a kiss.

“You’ve both been fortunate to have been blessed with so many children,” Feyre smiles over her tea cup. “Any plans for a seventh?”

Elain sets down her tea cup and saucer with a clatter, her lips in a faint but exhausted smile as she gives her mate a knowing look. Feyre turns her attention to Lucien who grins at Elain from across the table.

“She’s cut me off,” Lucien says, russet eye glinting with amusement. “Give me a few centuries. I bet she’ll go for number seven.”

“You and your father wish,” snorts Elain.

Feyre almost balks at her sister’s flat tone, Lucien has brought out such fire in her.

“I can be very persuasive, lady…”

Elain rolls her eyes. “Oh please.”

Lucien opens his mouth to retort again, but then his metal eye whirs and his lips turn up in a wry smile. “He’s up.”

Feyre realizes that he means Basil. His metal eye somehow imparted this to him. Elain moves to stand, but Lucien is on his feet sooner, motioning for her to remain seated.

“No, enjoy your time with Feyre, lady,” he says, leaning over the table kissing the crown of her head. “I’ll see to him.”

“You’ve tended to them all day,” Elain frowns.

But Lucien is already walking backwards towards the house, rolling his sleeves up a little higher. “And I expect a substantial reward for such acts of heroism tonight.”

Feyre blinks and bites back a smile at Elain’s flushed face. Lucien disappears into the manor.

“To think,” Feyre says, unable to keep the smugness out of her tone, “there was a time I had to elbow you to get you to invite him over.”

Elain laughs softly. “I always knew it would be him. I didn’t need you to elbow me. I was just… taking my time.” She gestures to the garden, the manor. “I saw the eternity he would give me, but I wanted to wait. I wasn’t ready for all of this. For them.”

Feyre knows by ‘them’ she means their family. She doesn’t blame Elain for waiting. Her life here in the Day Court was quite an alteration to when she’d first been Made, quite the commitment. One she now loves.

“To have such certainty must’ve been a blessing and a curse,” Feyre murmurs. “But you always knew?”

Elain looks up at the second story window belonging to the nursery. “Of course. I could hear his heart.”

#Elucien week #Elucien #Lucien Vanserra #Elain archeron #Elucien fic #Elucien family #Lucien Vanserra dad #Elain archeron mom #Elucien parents #feyre Archeron

[aldbooks]

A Strange Melody - Chapter 6

@sunshinebingo you get 2 chapters today!

Read on AO3

Gwyn found the queen and her sister in the library as she’d been told, each of them curled in their own arm chair with a book, a tray of tea between them. When they saw her enter, they leapt up with excited smiles. “Well?” The queen asked. “How did you like flying? Exhilarating isn’t it?”

There was no stopping the smile that spread over her face. “Yes! It was thrilling. I’ve never been so high.”

Nesta leveled a smirk at her. “You and Azriel were gone for quite a while. How far did he take you?”

Gwyn felt a blush creeping over her face as Feyre gestured for her to join them on a nearby couch and poured her a cup of tea which she took gratefully. It may have been the height of summer but they had been right about the chilly temperatures up in the skies. Clutching the warm cup between her cold fingers she smiled dreamily. “Just around the islands. We stopped in one of the villages to eat and there were so many people out shopping and selling things and delicious food!”

“Oh, yes,” Feyre grinned, leaning back in her seat. “Market day. Rhys and I like to visit now and then. The islands have slightly different wares than the mainland markets and such beautiful craftsmen.”

“It was amazing.”

“He took you to lunch?” Nesta asked, exchanging a glance with her sister.

Yes, lunch. That was what the fae called their midday meals. Gwyn nodded and the sisters smiled at each other. “What?”

“Oh nothing,” Feyre said, waving a hand dismissively as she took a sip of her tea. “It’s just- Azriel never takes females- well, anywhere. Not to eat, or for so much as a stroll. He’s… well, let’s say his ‘relationships’ so far have been mostly transactional. Rhys and I have been trying to set him up with someone for years, hoping he might settle down but he’s never been interested.”

“Yet, he agreed so easily when we suggested he take you flying this afternoon,” Nesta chimed in. “And took you for a meal.”

“Oh,” Gwyn said. Unsure what else to say. The sister exchanged another smile before changing the subject.

When Gwyn returned to her chamber later that day to change for dinner, she found a neatly folded scarf on the edge of her bed, the same one she had been admiring in the market. As well as a dainty bracelet of lapis beads and a tiny star carved from white stone the size of her palm. All items she had taken a liking to while looking through the various stalls. They could only have come from one person.

Smiling to herself, Gwyn skipped over to the wardrobe to find a dress to go with the bracelet to wear that evening.

When Azriel met Gwyn in the hall to escort her to dinner, he nearly swallowed his tongue as she emerged in a shimmering silver gown that made her teal eyes even more vivid, the bracelet he had purchased for her at the market around her wrist.

Grinning, she lifted her arm, showing it off. “It’s beautiful! Thank you.”

Swallowing hard, he bowed slightly. “You’re welcome. It looks lovely on you… as does that dress…” His eyes traveled over the fabric hugging her lithe curves once more and was surprised when she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Azriel was sure he could count on one hand the number of times he’d blushed since he was a boy but just then his cheeks burned as hotly as they ever had before. Flustered, he shook himself slightly, offering her his arm. Her copper hair had been styled in soft ringlets that fell around her shoulders, Parted deeply to the side so it swept across the side of her face. Looking at her, he could believe she was descended from bloody syrens the way her very presence sang to him. A strange melody that muddled his thoughts pleasantly. 

She took his arm and they made their way down to the dining room. The others greeted them as they entered, Cassian whistling playfully in a way that earned a jab in the ribs from his wife and a faint growl Azriel. Rhys’ laughing voice pushed into his mind.

“Feeling protective are we, brother?”

“Stay out of it, Rhys,” he growled back before a thought struck him. “Was this your doing?”

“Pardon?” Rhys asked, sounding amused.

“Gwyn. Did you- is she here as another one of your attempts at matchmaking?”

There was no response but across the room, he saw Rhys smirk. 

“What bargain did you make with her?”

“Client confidentiality,” he purred. “That’s between Gwyn and I.”

“Bullshit.” Rhys had never made a secret of the bargains he made. At least not with them, his inner circle. His brother was clever, calculating. Every bargain he made had a purpose, some advantage he hoped to spin for his court. But what could he possibly hope to gain from an orphan with no family and no discernable backstory?

Of course, Rhys refused to answer and when Azriel tried to prod him once more, he was met with walls of mental steel. Frustrated, he had barely noticed as Gwyn had led him towards the others and was now chatting amiably with Feyre and Nesta though no longer holding his arm, much to his disappointment. 

All throughout dinner Azriel could barely keep his eyes off Gwyn who seemed to glow as she filled the rest of the table in on her first experience flying and all the things she had seen and tasted on the island they had visited, blushing prettily as she showed off the bracelet he’d given her. Which earned him a few curious looks from his family. 

All the while, Rhys leaned back in his chair with an indulgent smile, looking for all the world like a proud parent listening to his progeny drone on about even the most mundane of their day's events. In fact, the entire table seemed just as enchanted with her as he was beginning to feel.

It was somewhat disturbing to note just how captivated he had become by this woman in so short a time. Rhys had essentially vouched for her when he’d brought her to his home but one side effect of being the Spymaster for so many centuries was his need to verify all information through secondary sources. And Azriel desperately needed more answers before he allowed himself to become any more involved with Gwyn. Or allowed his family to befriend her further, for that matter.

Thus, he had spent the majority of the next day visiting the various islands and a few nearby villages on the mainland, casually inquiring about a red haired orphan woman with eyes like the ocean on a sunny day.

But, of course, there had been nothing to learn…

obviously this is Gwyn's silver dress lol

#gwynriel

[deathsweetblossoms]

Elain, like Elide, Uses Appearance to Make People See What She Wants them to See

I've been playing with this idea for awhile and as soon as I started reading TOG for Elide & Lorcan, it really pulled the whole theory together. Elide is able to borrow the personas of people she knows to get people to do what she wants. Similarly, she knows how to change her appearance (and even Lorcan's) to get people to give her information or do what she needs them to. She knows how to play a role. And Elain? "Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles".

In Feyre’s bonus chapter in ACOSF, Rhys suggests Elain “felt she had to be (sweet and innocent) or else she’d disappoint (everyone).” My personal headcanon is that almost every article of clothing she wears plays exactly into this sentiment. In my theory, she is very similar to Elide, in a way that guarantees a future in espionage. For Elide this was a survival tactic, for Elain she was almost compelled to play into the roles expected of her so as not to disappoint those she cares about. Both motivations for their manipulations play into each woman's journey to self empowerment. It's not seen as "evil" or "bad", it's simply a tool in their arsenal.

The infamous black dress in Hewn City. "Both sisters wore black. Both walked behind Rhys and Feyre...they'd planned it that way, wanting Eris to see for himself how valuable Nesta was." "Elain in black was ridiculous....the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face....Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight*, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl." Elain is canonically the most beautiful sister. Knowing that, she and everyone knew the political game required all curious eyes to avoid her and to gravitate towards Nesta. The best way to do this is to dress so far down that none of the members of Hewn City would even look twice at her -- which she achieved. Cassian mentions that "he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled (Elain)", but that she'd squared her shoulders and insisted she was a part of the Night Court anyway. That she would do what needed to be done. Knowing that, I think Cassian played right into how she intentionally dressed herself for this event. When Elain wants to feel beautiful, she braids her hair or adds adornments to her body (*see my next point to further prove this), but she purposefully avoided doing that to the extreme. Cassian played right into what she wanted him to see, in the same way that Lorcan played right into Elide's ploy to come across as a naive girl. (Until she isn't anymore and he starts to see who she truly is).

In ACOWAR, when Feyre returns from the Spring Court and comments: “Her hair was down — not even braided. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen it unbound. She wore a moon-white silk dressing gown.” Elain was obviously in crisis mode here, but it says a lot that Feyre can’t remember seeing Elain’s hair unbound — so even when they were starving, even when she had visited her in ACOTAR and ACOMAF, Elain always puts some effort into her hair. * Furthermore, in ACOFAS when Elain sees Azriel in the potato scene, she immediately excuses herself to remove her apron and "rebraid her hair". Canonically, she returned with her hair rebraided. For Azriel. Because she wanted to look pretty for him. Only when Elain was in basically a deep depression was she unable to care enough about her appearance to leave her hair completely unbound. Keeping this into consideration, it casts the scene in Hewn City in a different, curious light in that she put very minimal effort into making her hair look presentable (unbound and simply pinned back with the pearl clips? The girl didn't want ANYONE to notice her).

In ACOTAR, Feyre says this about Elain: “my sister was beaming, content — prettier than I’d ever seen her, even in her simple muslin gardening dress. Her cheeks were flushed beneath her large, floppy hat.” This quote is what inspired this whole theory. I have always wondered if this was Elain's "natural" state, when she felt most comfortable, when she was happy, when she wasn't putting on a show was when she was wearing her simple, muslin gardening dress. In this scene, she was talking about her passions and showing Feyre the garden she grew with her own efforts. She didn't need to put on a show for queens, or neighbors, etc. She was simply with her sisters.

So, what does this all mean? Personally, I think we will see the inner workings of Elain's penchant for intentional fashion in her upcoming POV and we will finally see what it looks like when she isn't playing into the "sweet and innocent" role. Like Elide, I believe she will continue to use appearances and charm as a tool to protect herself and to assist the IC. I also wouldn't be surprised if it assisted with a particular skill set required for gleaning information from rival courts to bring down the bad guys. A few people have expressed that they wish to see Elain wear THE SLUTTIEST DRESS OF ALL TIME when she revisits the Hewn City, and I fully believe she will. It will play into her journey of self discovery and self empowerment; a way to express herself that is still her but with a little more kick to it.

#elain archeron #elain theory #i dont think shes going to pull an entire 180 and go full goth or anything hahaha #but i do think a lot of this is a front #not in an EVIL way #but in a way I can really relate to as i was growing up and people expected me to play into this.. disney princess-esque persona #to keep me in line and keep me soft and keep me obeying the rules #and thats what elain has been doing #as she starts to show her claws more i think this will drop and her choices in appearance will start to change a bit #i just really cant wait for her POV because there is A LOT going on underneath the surface #and im convinced she's the FREAKIEST of all three sisters lol #queue #there’s a mention of elriel in here so I’m tagging it #elriel

[acourtofthought]

Elain’s silence was … hollow.. Empty. She wore a moon-white silk dressing robe. I realized then that the color of death, of sorrow, was white. <- just to get ahead of anyone who tries to bring the fanart of Elain & Lucien wearing Togas into things: This isn't some sort of foreshadowing that Elain can't end up in Day Court wearing a Stola (female version of Toga) considering: "Stolas appeared to have been made in a variety of colors, from bleached white to red, yellow, and blue." Keep in mind that Helion's own entourage is noted as wearing robes of "cobalt and crimson and amethyst". There's also nothing to indicate she or Lucien would be forced to wear Togas / Stolas there though I don't see them having an issue if it was showing respect for a Courts custom. And again, Elain would have other colors to choose from. Fanart also doesn't have to follow Canon so the argument has no real place here.

Elain didn’t turn. She was wearing a pale pink gown that did little to complement her sallow skin,

She set down the tray and wiped her flour-coated hands on the apron she wore over her dusty-pink gown. Even in the middle of winter, she was a bloom of color and sunshine.

Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown. Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health.

replaced by a gown of amethyst velvet, her hair half-up and curling down to her waist. She glowed with good health.

Elain's, possibly more than any other character, personality is reflected through the color of her clothing. It seems we are supposed to pay attention to the details of what she's wearing which reflects her mood and the way she thinks. White is used during a time when Elain was at her lowest. Similarly, pale colors did not complement her at that point in her life either. But we see Elain vibrant and healthy when she's wearing mid to darker shades of pink or purple.

The colors that seem most symbolic of the IC and the Night Court are black, gray and red. Heavy emphasis on black, it's called Night Court Black for a reason.

If you look closely at Nesta's color transition, she started off wearing purples which changed to blues, then gray, and then ended up rocking Night Court Black. Am I reading too much into this? Maybe, but it just feels extremely symbolic that Nesta finally discovers who she is, where she was meant to be and this all aligns with the shift in her wardrobe.

But Elain in the color that is so strongly tied in to the Night Court:

"Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around." "He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her."

Gone was the ill-suited black dress

The characters seem to find it extremely necessary to point out how vibrant Elain is in specific colors.... And how much certain other colors are absolutely terrible for her. Not just because of how they look with her complexion (sorry, I really don't think Cassian gives a shit as to whether Elain is an Autumn, Spring, Summer or Fall) but because they symbolize who she is. White is the color of sorrow for Elain, an absence of emotion, and extremely unlike the sister who was once full of hope and optimism that Feyre had known her to be. Black, the color of the Night Court, a color which represents them as warriors who bring fear to their enemies, sucks the life from Elain and removes the light from her face. Only when Elain takes off the black dress do we have characters noting that she's once again glowing. Bright colors are best suited to Elain because of her bright and optimistic personality. What does not suit Elain, however, is no color at all or a color that represents darkness and death and that means Elain will not be at her best when that is the part she would need to often play by staying a member of the NC.

#antie/riel #anti e/riel #pro elucien #elucien

[fawnandshadows]

Elriel Month Day 21

Chapter Six

Rating: T

Word Count: 1000

Warnings: Language

Elain’s garden had never looked more beautiful, not to her at least. 

She peered out from the tallest window of the townhouse, the same one that Azriel used to watch her through. For so many days and nights, for so many hours Elain would toil in the garden and pretend that she did not know he was there, watching her. She planted his favorite hydrangeas — the kind that bloomed in brilliant blues, pale pinks, and soft purples, the colors of a dusk sky — all along the perimeter of the garden. Shrouding her garden in the colors that reminded her of them. 

A iron arbor canopied with roses was the centerpiece of the garden, and aisles of elegant chairs all faced the arbor where Azriel stood. Shadows swarming him as he stood in the center of attention, his hands gently tugging at his formal wear — he stood with his back facing her, speaking to Cassian. Azriel’s wings folded tightly to his back. 

Cassian stood by his side, wearing his formal Illyrian leathers, looking every inch the decorated general. His hair was combed and slicked back for the occasion, a brilliant and broad grin spread across his face as he spoke to his brother. 

“You look beautiful.” 

Elain turned and saw Feyre standing in the doorway of the room, looking absolutely stunning in a sparkling cream dress that gleamed as if someone had sewn stars into the fabric. Nesta stood behind her in a gown of midnight blue. 

“Thank you,” Elain said, fingering the lilac silk of her dress. Cobalt flowers were embroidered throughout the dress, and matched the ribbon that wrapped around her softly curved waist — the sleeves were made of chiffon that flowed loose and elegant until it collected around her wrists. “You both look lovely.” 

Elain took a deep breath, trying to tamper her excitement. She could feel the light weight of her rose necklace resting against her chest. 

“Are you ready?” Nesta asked, peering around Feyre’s shoulder. Her blue eyes were warmer than Elain had ever seen. 

“Yes.” Elain said with a shy smile. 

She slowly walked towards her sisters, and the three of them walked down the two flights of steps — excitement buzzed through the air as the sisters exchanged glances that only they could decipher. 

Rhysand stood by the back door in an elegant black suit, his violet eyes sparkling as he watched the sisters approach. He leaned down to give Feyre a kiss on the cheek, careful not to smudge her lipstick, and he raised his fingers to signal the music to start — where that music came from Elain didn’t know, but an enchanting melody played through the air. 

Feyre picked up one of the rose bouquets which was placed in a vase by the back entrance. She gave Elain a tranquil smile before walking into the sunlight. 

Nesta followed suit, giving Elain’s hand a comforting squeeze before grabbing her own bouquet and walking gracefully outside. 

Rhysand held out an arm to her, and Elain gingerly placed her hand in the crevice of his elbow. He smiled down at her — not the cool and calculating grin that he had perfected for when he performed in front of the High Lords, and not the lovesick smile he would show Feyre, and not even the soft, contented grin that graced his face when he saw Nyx playing with his family. It was a broad, unrestrained grin that Elain had never seen before. 

“Ready, sister?” Rhysand asked, his hand coming up to rest against her in a brotherly fashion. 

“For anything. For everything, actually.” Elain replied, her smile matching his own. 

Rhysand looked at her, his hand leaving hers to adjust the white lily in her hair. It was the one flower that Azriel had managed to grow in her garden — Elain had dedicated a small patch in her garden for Azriel’s lilies, and she melted just a bit every time she saw him tending to them. 

“Beautiful.” Rhysand said, kissing her cheek as he reached for her bouquet. 

Elain accepted the flowers he handed to her, and quietly admired the way the sun glinted off of her ring as her fingers wrapped around the stems of the roses. 

Slowly, Rhysand led her into the outside — all of the guests let out a gasp as Elain stepped into the golden sunlight. There were friends that Elain had made throughout Velaris: some of the older fae that she had gardened for, Nuala and Cerridwen sat in the front row next to Azriel’s mother (a beautiful fae who brought herself out of seclusion just for today), and Nyx kicking his feet against the iron chair. 

Elain noticed none of them. 

It was impossible to look anywhere that wasn’t Azriel. 

His golden eyes lit as he took in Elain on his brother's arm, walking down the aisle towards him. His shadows completely vanished the second his eyes landed on her, leaving him exposed. Bare for her eyes to devour.

The adoration that shone on his face settled any nerves that were buzzing within her, and a glorious calm spread through her. 

Somehow, she ended up in front of Azriel and was vaguely aware of Rhysand gently taking her hand and placing it into Azriel’s outstretched one. The callouses that had become so familiar brought back a sense of reality, reminding her that she was here with Azriel, the male she loved — the love that they had both chosen. 

“Hello.” Elain breathed, her fingers curling around his. 

“Hello,” Azriel whispered, a smile gracing his lips, showing off his white teeth and dimple that only Elain knew about. It was one of her favorite features, that and the little eye freckle that she loved to kiss. “You look beautiful. Perfect. Immaculate.” 

She blushed at his words and felt her smile grow, causing her cheeks to plumpen. 

“You are more handsome than ever.” Elain said, delighting in the way his cheeks turned red. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Cassian lean forward. 

A teasing grin on his face as he whispered, “Are you ready to get married?” 

——

Tagging: @thefangirlofhp @azriel-shadowsinger @achelois-daughter @reverie-tales @elrielbliss @frogsdeservelovetoo @sakurakittypeach @kingcasteel @shedoessoshedoes @cassianfanclub @strangecreationchaos @silverdreamscapes @shy-violet-soul @feyredarlinq @starswhogaze @alwayssara @tswaney17 @imjustslytherin @downingg2001 @fuckmelifesucks @swankii-art-teacher @mrspettyferr @elriel-month

#elain x azriel #elriel #pro elriel #elain archeron #azriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #fawnandshadows writing #elrielmonth #elrielmonth22 #in the garden #fawnandshadows elriel month #my writing

[shallyne]

SJM Crackshipmonth: Proposal

Beach Promises

It's Feyre POV but the couple is Elain x Vaughan! For. Day 24 @sjmcrackshipmonth

Words: 1,072

TW: none

Elain, Feyre, Mor and Nesta are spending a girls day together with a big surprise for Elain at the end.

Today was the day that they all had prepared for the last few weeks. Feyre felt nervous because she didn't know which answer she would want to hear from Elain and she knew that Nesta and Mor in the backseat felt the very same way although they perfectly hid their worries as they all argued about where they should get dinner. Elain also suggested some places, not knowing that she either wouldn't join them or she would be sad.

It's not that they wanted Elain to be unhappy, the opposite. Elain knew her boyfriend not even a year and they just drove her to her proposal and she didn't have a single clue. Whatever decision she would make today, they would fully support her, it was her choice after all. Nesta and Feyre tried to talk to Vaughan, asking him if it wasn't too early for this but Vaughan was sure, he loved Elain and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. So Feyre, Nesta and Mor helped him picking out a ring and planning this day. They told Elain it was just a girls day, they got their nails done and then got ready to eat somewhere fancy, using this excuse to get Elain to wear her newest lavender gown, which complemented her sun-kissed skin. Elain looked like she stepped straight out of a fairytale. When Feyre turned into another street, away from their original route, Elain got quieter until Feyre turned into the street that led right to the beach.

"Where are you going?" Elain asked. "The restaurant here is full, you only get in with reservations."

"I know." Feyre replied "I just need to check something." when Feyre looked in the rearview mirror, Mor smiled at her and showed her a thumbs up, Nesta only watched Elain.

When Feyre came to a stop, she turned to the right and smiled at her sisters. "We're here!" she announced as she unbuckled the belt.

"What are you talking about?" Elain laughed nervously.

"Come on!" Mor said, jumping out of the car and opening Elain’s. More nervous laughter escaped Elain as Mor helped her out of the car and walked a few steps ahead with her. Evening wind was tearing at their hair and their clothes, Elain had to brush hair out of her face when she looked back at Feyre and Nesta. "Could you please tell me–" her gaze found something behind the girls, they turned to see what it was. Nesta found it first as she subtly pointed to it for Feyre. Vaughan's car. They looked at Elain again. The confusion was written on her face now. "Is Vaughan here?"

"Maybe you should look for yourself." Feyre said, shielding her eyes from the setting sun with her hand and pointed with a nod to the path that led to the beach. Unsure, Elain stepped forward and kept glancing back to her sisters and the distance that grew between them. She came to a sudden stop when she looked forward again and found her boyfriend waiting for her. Feyre craned her neck to take a quick look at him, so did Nesta and Mor. He was dressed finely in a white, open-collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. The setting sun made his tan skin glow golden and it looked like he cut his usual shoulder length hair which was now close cropped. Feyre couldn't see his face from the distance but she could imagine that the new hairstyle brought out his jawline more.

Elain looked back for a moment, teary eyed, before hurried down the path to the beach, following the rose-pedaled trail.

"Maybe we should have gotten someone to film this." Mor murmured. They slowly followed the trail to watch Elain flinging her arms around Vaughan.

"Don't worry, Rhys and Cassian are already at Varians beach house to record the proposal." Feyre said. Mor and Nesta looked surprised at Feyre, the former because she knew that Varian didn't like to let people into his beach house, the beach house that had the best view of the beach and the latter looked surprised at the mention of her husband's name. Feyre grinned at them and looked back, watching as Vaughan now held her sister's hand, saying something that made Elain laugh and sob. Feyre sneaked a glance at her sister, who looked serious, as usual.

"What?" Feyre asked nonetheless.

Nesta sighed and said "Should she really be with a man that is so obsessed with ostriches?" Feyre laughed and shook her head.

"I remember that you were obsessed with mermaids, what is the difference?" Feyre asked.

"They are mythical."

"Are they?"

She scoffed. "And I was twelve."

"Please," Feyre chuckled. "You think I don't know what kind of smut you're reading?"

Nesta blushed and crossed her arms, looking forward, dismissing Feyre. Mor on Nesta's right grinned at Feyre.

"Look." Nesta said, pointing forward to where Vaughan was now kneeling.

"What is he saying?" Mor asked, bending slightly forward as if it would help her hearing anything.

"He's telling her that he loves her and that he can't imagine a future without her and that he'd be the luckiest man alive to call Elain his wife and that he can't wait to travel the continent with her and then he asks her if she wants to be his wife." Nesta said nonchalantly.

"Can you lipread?" Feyre asked.

Nesta turned to her confused. "What? Wh– no!" She scoffed. "He showed me his speech this morning."

Feyre grumbled and turned back as she looked back at her other sister. Vaughan stopped speaking and was clearly waiting for an answer as he gazed up at Elain.

"Do you think Rhys gets what they are saying?" Mor asked.

"I don't think so, but they will have beautiful pictures." Feyre said "And if–" Feyre stopped as Elain furiously started nodding. Vaughan's shoulders slumped in relief as he slid the ring on Elain’s finger, then embraced her so fiercely that he picked her up from the ground. Feyre could hear Elain's laugh so far back to where they stood. Every worry ebbed from Feyre at that sound and when she looked at Nesta, her face also softened. Mor smiled brightly, jumping from one foot to another.

When Elain turned to them and raised her hand to show them her ring, they jumped into a sprint towards the beach to congratulate her

Taglist: @timesconvert

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #throne of glass #tog #elain kingslayer #elain archeron #elain acotar #Vaughan #Vaughan tog #Tog vaughan #Elain x Vaughan #Vaughan x Elain #sjmcrackshipmonth23 #sjmcrackshipmonth #crackship

[elliemarchetti]

A Court of Deadly Virtues (Book 1)

Plot: A Court of Mist and Fury retelling from Nesta’s POV, starting from Chapter 39.

This is going to be more canon-divergent further on, but for now every change involves mostly Nesta and Cassian’s relationship.

Part 1 Part 2

Words: 1106

Patience [3/7]

On the day the Mortal Queens agreed to meet at the Archeron Manor, the hostesses decided to wear gowns so elegant they would make their guest pale, but when Feyre showed up in a white chiffon embroidered in gold, both her sisters were left amazed at how ethereal she looked. The High Lord at her side was as always all in black, his wings invisible and a dark crown nested on his head, sister to the golden diadem resting on his beloved’s shiny hair. Whatever was happening between the two of them, it was growing and changing so fast it made Nesta wonder if it was safe, considering what happened the last time her youngest sister gave her heart to a High Lord. The bright side was their father was blissfully unaware and would remain on the Continent for another two months, pursuing vital business from one kingdom to another. If all went according to plan, he would’ve never learned that his own daughters allowed some Fae to use his home as a venue for one of the most dangerous meetings since the Treaty. The tension on Cassian and Azriel’s face was enough to show that if things went badly they could all go to their early grave, and so did the impatience of the newcomer of the group, whom everyone had forgotten to introduce. The two Illyrians, however, often casted sidelong glances at the blonde beauty dressed in red, but she ignored them, stomping her foot on the patterned carpet.

“Welcome,” Rhysand said with placid calm as a mix of women of different ages, colours and heights suddenly appeared in the living room, each with two guards in tow. The eldest of the Queens wore a very dark blue woollen robe, perfectly matching with her sharp, cold eyes. The two who looked middle-aged were at opposite extremes, one dark and one fair, one with a sweet face and the other carved out of granite, one smiling and one frowning. They even wore a white and a black dress, and it seemed as if their movements represented mutual questions and answers, leading Nesta to wonder what their kingdoms were like, what relationship they had and if the identical silver rings they wore connected them in other ways. The younger Queens were something else entirely, one as young as Feyre, who scrutinized everyone with guarded shrewdness and the other, barely thirty, kissed by amber and gold, her body soft where men favoured it but lithe where necessary, graceful yet feline. Nesta was sure she could move entire armies with just a glance, but the Fae weren’t as charmed, and Rhysand advanced towards her stately, proud to have brought with him the Morrigan of the War, whatever that meant.

“Please, take a seat,” said his cousin, as if just accepting her presence made her partly owner of the house. Nesta bit her tongue, forcing herself to be patient in her rebellion until the time was right. If only she had the power, she would’ve already killed all those vain women with her own hands.

“An emissary in a golden crown,” said one of the Queens, casting a sharp look at Feyre. “Is this a Prythian tradition?”

“No,” admitted Rhysand casually, knowing full well there was nothing casual in his choice. “But she’s so pretty in it I couldn’t resist.”

Everyone stiffened, and Nesta wondered if the High Lord realized he just gave their enemies a notion far too succulent to not put it at use. Sure, Feyre proved she could fend for herself just fine even when she was still mortal, but if the idea of these women hurting her because of their connection hadn’t occurred to him, then they all really deserved to die for his arrogance.

“You have an hour,” the older one intervened, pragmatically. “Use it well.”

They talked about many things, but mostly it was a victory for the Queens, although Nesta learned the ability to move from one place to another – it was called transmutation – had been gifted to them along with the half of the Book the Night Court desperately needed as a repayment for what the Fae did to their subjects.

“War is imminent,” Feyre insisted, “yet the humans of this territory seem unaware of the greater threat and we’ve seen no signs of preparations to defend them.”

“This territory,” the golden Queen explained coldly, “is only a tiny strip of land compared to the vastness of the Continent. It’s not in our interest to defend it and waste resources.”

At those words, which were to Nesta and Elain a death sentence, Rhysand objected with reason and compassion, but the golden witch seemed to have an answer to everything and suggested the High Fae of Prythian as their defenders, if they cared so much. A heavy silence fell upon the room, and Nesta wondered if anyone would have the courage to say aloud what everyone was thinking. In the end, cowardice won over the truth, and only Feyre murmured one last plea.

“I’ve been Made by the Seven High Lords because a General of Hybern killed me, but before she did it I saw what horrors she was capable of,” she explained, and the light coming from the outside slightly diminished, as if Rhysand momentarily lost control of his powers. “One of them was enough to cause such destruction and suffering it will leave its mark for decades to come, if we allow a whole army of people like her to destroy the Wall, the consequences will be brutal and the survivors will be enslaves, as will the generations to come.”

Not even her story stirred the Queens’ hearts of stone, and when they were gone, it was Elain who wished for them all to burn in hell. Based on the look in Azriel’s eyes, it seemed like he was about to grant her desire.

“We should really do it,” Cassian growled, close enough for Nesta to hear. “If we kill them, we can crown someone who isn’t so stupid and scared.”

“It would take too long,” Nesta retorted, looking out of the window, hoping Feyre was too caught up in her conversation to notice how close she and the General had actually gotten on his last visit, though nothing of importance actually happened.

“And here I thought I was too quick,” he joked, but Nesta shut him hastily. Everything she needed to know about Tomas’s death came to her via a gossip so fast it outrun the wolves that seemingly attacked and devoured him with unheard-of voracity, their hunger so blind the corpse even missed both its cock and balls.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #future neris #canon feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #mor #the morrigan #acotar fanfiction #acomaf fanfiction

[thebadgerclan]

Unto Death

Pairing: Feyre Archeron x Rhysand

Summary: With the newfound peace, there can be a proper ceremony...

There hadn’t been time for a proper mating ceremony, not with the looming threat of war, so Feyre and Rhysand had settled for a private verification of their bond, as well as swearing Feyre in as High Lady.  But now that the war was over, Rhysand wanted to give his mate everything, including the lavish mating ceremony she deserved.  Everything had been planned and was ready, and when Feyre woke the morning of the ceremony, she was filled with giddy delight.

Nevermind that she was already High Lady, that she and Rhys had already accepted their bond; she was excited.  It was the equivalent of a mortal wedding, she supposed, and Feyre hadn’t dared to dream of one when she and her sisters had been destitute.  Nuala and Cerridwen arrived to dress her, each twin wearing a smile.  Her gown was elaborate: panels of white silk and lace fluttering from her waist to the floor, the bodice encrusted with shimmering gemstones.  Ramiel was embroidered on her back, the three sacred stars above his peak.

Feyre’s hair was left loose, held back from her face with a diamond comb; the same she’d worn on her first Starfall, when she’d fallen in love with Rhys.  She’d selected a new crown for the ceremony: a delicate winding of diamonds and obsidian that perched above her hairline.  The twins nodded, still smiling as they stepped out of the room, leaving the High Lady alone.  She wasn’t alone for long, as Cassian entered, wearing his full Illyrian armor, red Siphons gleaming.

“Well don’t you look half decent,” he said, and Feyre laughed, taking his offered arm.  In the absence of her father, Cassian had offered to give Feyre away.  They’d decided to meld this mortal custom into the mating ceremony, though she was no longer human, the High Lady still cherished her ties to the mortal lands.  And Cassian was happy to do it, for his High Lady, for his friend, he would do anything.

The day was warm and bright, not a cloud in the sky.  People crowded the streets of Velaris to catch a glimpse of their High Lady, shouting their well-wishes as she passed.  Cassian kept Feyre on his arm, his wings spread wide, both shielding her from the sun and any would-be attackers.  But the people were joyous, feeding on their High Lord and Lady’s happiness.  The temple sat on the western bank of the Sidra, its doors thrown wide open for the occasion, and Cassian led Feyre inside.

A priestess stood at the altar, Rhysand before her.  His wings were out, though they were tucked to his back.  When he saw his mate, his beautiful Feyre, tears sprung to his eyes, and Rhys wiped them away.  The guests were few: Azriel, Mor, and Amren, of course, as well as Elain and Nesta, but they all looked on with happy eyes as Feyre was brought to the altar.  Cassian pressed a fleeting kiss to her cheek before clapping Rhys on the shoulder and taking his seat.

The priestess began, calling upon the Mother to bless the union, but all Rhys could focus on was Feyre.  You are so beautiful, he said through the bond.  My darling, I love you so much.  Feyre smiled, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks.  I love you too, Rhys.  “High Lord,” the priestess said.  “Do you swear to protect and defend your mate unto death?  To love, honor, and cherish her until your breaths cease?  To respect and value her, both privately and publicly?”

Rhys had to clear his throat and blink away tears before he answered, “I swear it upon my life.”  The priestess nodded, shifting her attention to Feyre.  “High Lady, do you swear to protect and defend your mate unto death?  To love, honor, and cherish him until your breaths cease?  To respect and value him, both privately and publicly?”  “I swear it upon my life,” Feyre answered, and when the priestess nodded again, she turned.

When she turned back, she was holding a bowl of soup.  Rhys laughed softly as Feyre held the bowl out before her, a soft, loving smile on her face.  He took it from her, lifting the spoon to his lips and taking a bite.  It was purely symbolic; there would be more food than they could stomach at the feast afterward, but traditions must be upheld.  Once the food had been offered, Rhys took his mate’s hand, laying it atop his.

Their guests stood in a line before them as the priestess held a length of black ribbon.  “May this ribbon symbolize your souls twining as one,” she invoked.  “Never to be separated.”  She made the first loop around Rhys and Feyre’s joined hands before handing it off to their family.  Cassian was the first to wind it, smiling broadly at his brother.  Azriel was next, and he offered Feyre a soft, almost imperceptible smile.  Mor and Amren followed, the former giving her High Lady a bubbly embrace, the latter, merely smirking, but they both conveyed so much love.

Feyre’s sisters went together, Elain pressing a kiss to her cheek.  “I’m so happy for you, Feyre,” she said, and Nesta nodded, tucking the end of the ribbon against Feyre’s hand.  “So am I,” Nesta said, squeezing their joined hands.  “Treat her well, High Lord,” she said to Rhys.  “Or else.”  Her eyes flashed silver, and Rhys nodded.  “Of course I will.”  Their hands bound, Rhys stepped closer to his mate and kissed her.

The feast was held at the Town House, and Nuala and Cerridwen had pulled out all the stops.  They’d prepared a medley of fae and human delicacies, and had managed to make the human foods taste as good as the fae ones.  It was a bit difficult to eat with one hand bound to Feyre, especially when it was his dominant hand, but Rhys managed.  Cassian had secured a symphonia, and after sharing a dance with his mate Rhys invited everyone else to dance.

It was pushing midnight when the last of the guests, Cassian and Mor, filtered out, leaving Feyre and Rhys alone.  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, keeping a hand on the small of her back.  “Mate,” he said, relishing the way she shuddered when he whispered in her ear.  “Should we head upstairs?”  Feyre smiled, batting her lashes.  “I suppose we should.”  Rhys wasted no time lifting Feyre into his arms and winnowing them to their room, where they once more spent an entire week ravishing each other.

#feysand #rhysand x feyre #feyre x rhysand #acotar fanfiction

[nomattertheoceans]

Listening to Feyre and Tamlin's wedding and I'm like.... could this get any more similar to a white American traditional wedding??

#istg she didnt change a thing #like #they spend thee night before apart #feyre is wearing a white gown #tamlin proposed with a ring #feyre has a bouquet and she's walking down an aisle #the guests are sitting and get up when she walks #they're married by a priestess #uuuugh #this whole thing just bugs me soooo much #like omg i know it's kind of a detail scene from the beginning of the book but like... #she put zero effort into being creative with wedding traditions and it bothers me #also yes im listening to acomaf again lmao #sjm critical

[selene-kaito]

Febuwhump Day 17: Self Inflicted

Fandom: A Court of Thornes and Roses

Characters: Nesta Archeron & Eris Vanserra

ANITI INNER CIRCLE

TW: SELF HARM

Eris felt sick.

Looking at his wife staring at him in horror he felt sick.

“Nes,” he murmured softly, stepping closer to her. “Can you give me the knife darling?” Eris tried not to look at them, but they were right there.

The red lines marring her perfect skin.

Nesta had once told him that when she had been depressed she made sure to cut anywhere but at her wrists. Because of her short-sleeved gowns, too many scars would have been too noticeable.

Clearly, in her distressed state, she had forgotten about her rule.

Nesta looked up at him, panic filling her blue gaze. “I didn’t mean to.” She said looking up at him horrified. “I swear on the Mother I didn’t mean to.”

“I know darling,” Eris said gently removing the dagger from her stiff fingers. He knelt in front of her from where she was perched on the bed and removed a handkerchief from his jacket.

As he pressed it against the three self-inflicted wounds his gaze fell on her pretty golden dress. Nesta had taken to wearing traditional colors of whatever court she was visiting on her diplomatic missions.

Gold meant Day.

“Did something happen with Helion?” Eris asked already plotting how to murder his favorite brother’s father.

Nesta didn’t respond instead she chose to tug his arm forward. Eris immediately understood what she was trying to do and pulled himself up on the bed next to her. Eris leaned against one of the pillars that held up the gauzy white curtains and Nesta immediately placed her head in his lap and curled up around him.

Eris waited for her to speak as he gently freed the ruby pins from her hair until it looked like a river among his dark breeches. Just as he was about to pull the last pin away and with it his hand she gripped onto it.

Eris looked down at her at the same moment she said, “I saw my sisters today.” Eris clenched his jaw at the mention of her sisters. He remembered the day they were both crowned as High Lord and Lady. Rhysand’s whole court had been snarling and insulting them all night.

All but that shadow singer who was attracted to Gwyn.

Nesta and Eris hadn’t been in love at that point but why had still liked each other enough to defend each other.

Eris still laughed at the thought of Emerie snarling at Mor and Nesta’s fire scaring the living shit out of Amren. The best part of it however would have had to be how Gwyn went out of her way to inconvenience Rhysand at that party.

Spilling her wine on him, tripping him, and scoffing at him were the least amusing things Gwyn had done that night. And watching the mighty and powerful Lord of Night sprawled in front of a redhead female had been very amusing.

“What did they do?” He asked his now crying wife.

“They told me that I was nothing like Feyre.”

He was tempted to ask if that was a bad thing when he realized that Nesta probably wouldn’t be in the mood for one of their games tonight.

“They said that Feyre helps people while all I do is sit on my ass and wear pretty gowns.” Eris realized that he was very lucky that Gwyn and Emerie hadn’t been there.

If they had been then Eris would be hearing of two very dead Archeron sisters.

It was also very lucky that Eris wasn’t there. If he had been he would have roasted Feyre and Elaine Archeron on a spitfire and then eaten their bones. And he knew that his wife’s real sisters would be all too happy to join him.

Suddenly Nesta shot up from his lap, her hair forming a curtain over her tear-stained face. “Is it true?” She asked. She didn’t let him respond before she asked again. “Do I really only care for myself and not do anything for others?”

Eris sucked in a breath telling himself that he could not murder either of the Archeron sisters.

Now wasn’t the time to murder them.

Now was the time to tell his wife that her sisters were idiots.

He raised a hand a gripped her chin in his hands before saying, “You were High Lady for two weeks before you changed the marriage laws. You were High Lady for two months before you changed the fate of thousands of young women and let them take fate into their own hands. You were High Lady for half of a year when you helped oversee the building of houses for people across Courts. You have been High Lady for a year now and you travel across Courts just to ensure the recovery of courts displaced in the war. You have done so so much for others that sometimes I wonder how you can breathe.” Eris released a tense breathe as he finished his speech.

Nesta stared up at him in wide eyes as if she was surprised that he’d taken her side.

He hated when she did that. Didn't she know that he would always be on her side?

He supposed that her mate never had. Cassian was always infuriatingly loyal to Rhysand. Loyal above all else. To him, Rhysand would always be above Nesta.

“How many years has your sister been High Lady Nes?” Eris asked the high fae woman in front of him.

“Three years,” Nesta said looking confused at the turn in the conversation.

“In those three years, she wrecked the Spring Court, wrecked the Summer Court and didn’t reimburse them, and made a large house for herself while her people starve. She may live in Velaris but she forgets that Illyria and the Court of Nightmares are both her domain too.”

Nesta sat up straighter as he continued speaking. “She says she builds homes for those displaced by the war but was it not her who destroyed your apartment simply because she wanted you to follow her footsteps? She paints while others suffer. She expects others to respect her even though she had done nothing to earn their diplomatic respect.” Eris was out of breath when he finished. Nesta seemed to understand him as she smiled softly at him.

That look nearly made him burst into flames.

“I didn’t make you High Lady because we are married. I made you High Lady because those weeks before we were crowned you showed me how much you desired change. You showed me that you didn’t believe in change that would take centuries. The second I saw you demand me to change the marriage laws when I became High Lord, I knew you deserved to be High Lady.”

Suddenly Nesta arm’s were around him and his face was buried in his neck. Eris brought up how own arms to wrap around her and used one of them to cradle her head as he buried his face in those lavender-scented locks.

Eris suddenly remembered that his handkerchief was still wrapped around her wrist. He got up from the bed and pulled her up, “Come we need to go to the healer. Please never do this again Nes. Please. Just talk to me or Gwyn or Emerie. Just don’t do this to yourself.”

Nesta nodded as she said, “I’ll try my best.”

And that was enough.

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