#modernau!acotar

[delulustateofmind]

A City of Dreamers [Part One]

Series Summary: ModernAU of ACOTAR, Azriel breaks away from the small town of Windhaven to escape his toxic family and chase his dreams with his newfound family. Leaving behind his small-town life for new ventures in Velaris. 

[Part One]{Part Two]

Work Count: 1.5K

Trigger warnings: Tabaco use and trauma mentioned, I think that's it!

Another night, another nightmare. Azriel awoke to the gentle sunlight creeping through his window, emitting a small groan as he stretched amidst the boxes littering his bedroom, remnants of his recent move taking a toll on him. Another task he needed to complete to a list that already seemed endless. 

Three years prior, Rhysand, fresh out of university, pitched the idea of starting a tech company called ‘Night Corp.’ Rhysand’s father, a real estate mogul, agreed to fund the venture under the condition it operated in Velaris. As the company prospered, they moved into an apartment closer to work. 

The company ‘Night Corp’ is the biggest in technology. Booming after a year of the three of the ‘brothers’ working eighty-hour weeks. Azriel running the programming and hardware side. Cassian working on management and dealing with the paperwork. While Rhysand was the face, he made sure to bring in the investors and funding. Over time, the company grew larger and larger. Which led to the boys moving into an apartment closer to work. 

The apartment boasted amenities, including separate bathrooms and balconies for each room. Azriel found solace in his smoke breaks on the balcony, appreciating the alone time overlooking the city with a faint scent of tobacco in the air. Cassian however would always chastise him for smoking, but old habits are hard to die out. 

Struggling with the sleepless nights fueled by long coding sessions and haunting memories, Azriel joined Cassian in the kitchen. Finding Cassian making breakfast and doing a small dance as he jammed out to his booming music. 

Azriel moved past him to start his morning coffee, much deserved from the late night he had. Cassian shot him a big grin. 

“There’s a boxing gym nearby if you want to check it out with me later today,” Cassian mentioned as he removed his headphones. 

Azriel shook his head, his messy dark curls bouncing. “I need to ensure the program is fine for the next big launch. Security reasons” Azriel shrugged. “I’ll check it out later with you some other time.” 

Cassian raised a brow. “You know, Az, you don’t have to work yourself to the bone anymore. We’ve got a solid team now. Gone are the days of us slaving away in Rhys’ mom’s basement. Remember, you hired the best from Velaris Tech. Let them shoulder some of the load.”

Azriel shrugged, pouring his coffee and taking a sip. “I’ll think about it” 

It’s true, that Azriel did seek out some of the best programmers for the business. A business that started in a business that now had several major buildings around Prythian. While Velaris remains to be headquarters. 

Rhysand, already at the office, tasked Mor, who was already busy as the marketing director, to find him a personal assistant. Signaling the start of yet another busy day at Night Corp. 

*****

In an apartment two doors down from the boys lived Feyre and Y/n. Childhood best friends who grew up in a small town together that later reconnected. Both of them had faced their challenges.

Feyre is one of three sisters. The oldest was Nesta a famous ballet dancer, one of the best in all of Prythian who frequently traveled, rarely visited unless for the holidays. The middle child, Elaine, worked as a florist in the Springs. However, she did visit more frequently than Nesta. Feyre was the youngest and unfortunately, her father already exhausted most of his income on his other two daughters, leaving Feyre to figure her life out on her own.  

Feyre never was able to go to college unless she wanted copious amounts of debt. Though her artwork was enough to pay for rent, her income wasn’t stable enough. Some months were better than others, leaving Feyre in the middle of applying for a position as a personal assistant, there was no guarantee she would even get an interview without a degree. She was still going to give it her best shot. The job paid well enough that she could start saving up for her studio and be able to pay rent. 

Y/n on the other hand, inherited her parents' coffee shop. After they had passed away, left her with nothing but the deed to a business that she never knew her folks owned. Y/n spent her days tirelessly researching how to even run a business and while sorting through her emotions of losing her parents- cleaned up the place. From time to time Feyre would come and help. Painting the walls, even including a beautiful mural of the Sidra River on one of the walls. After a year of opening the business, the income was stable enough that she could hire a full staff.

The coffee house was unique in a way that instead of being open in the early hours of the morning, the cafe would instead be open late into the night. Allowing night owls like herself to feel the comfort of a good cup of coffee.

It was late afternoon when y/n woke up, she had worked a double late night shift after one of her managers called out. Climbing out of bed, groggy, hoping that her staff could handle the shipment coming in today, reluctantly checked her phone. Finding no calls from the afternoon staff, she considered it to be a small success, a small smile appeared on her face before walking into the living room to find Feyre on her ancient laptop typing away at her resume. 

“Morning” Feyre murmured with her brows furrowed in concentration as she slowly typed away. 

“Morning. Didn’t Tamlin get you the latest model from Night Corp?” y/n murmured sleepily. Taking a spot next to Feyre on the couch. 

“He did, but…” A deep sigh escaped Feyre’s lips “We broke up” she reluctantly met y/n gaze. “He proposed and I said no…” her face showed regret as she didn’t meet y/n’s curious glance. 

Y/n gazed at her, a look of pity for her friend on her face as she leaned her head onto Feyre’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Feyre. What made you turn him down?” 

“Funny thing is, Tam wanted a traditional housewife. Someone to plan parties, wear fancy dresses, and be pampered” Feyre explained, her tone tinged with sadness. “That’s just not me, I need room to grow. He was kind, but I think I really hurt him y/n” She shook off the sadness and continued with determination “So, I’m applying to Night Corp for a personal assistant position. How hard could it be?” 

“I’m here for you if you need anything…with the whole Tamlin situation. But I have to say, I’m proud of you for coming to that conclusion about what you want in life. That wasn’t an easy decision I’m sure.” Y/n gave her a soft smile before laughing softly. “You? Applying to a tech company, Feyre you had to ask me the other day how to download an app on your phone. Feyre you still use BuzzFeed!” Feyre playfully nudged y/n. 

“Buzzfeed will always have a special place in my heart, how else am I supposed to know what kind of pizza my zodiac sign is?” Feyre said with a chuckle “But seriously, the job pays well, and it can’t be that challenging, right? Plus, they’re on the rise. Word on the street is that their main office has a slide! How cool is that?” 

“I wish you the best of luck, I know you would nail that interview” Y/n grinned before getting up to get ready for her shift. “I have to be in early today, to help with the truck order. Let me know if you get a call from them, we can go celebrate!” Feyre gave a warm smile before slowly typing away at her cover letter. Feyre was absolutely awful with anything technology-based. 

After an hour of getting ready, y/n waved goodbye to Feyre and headed out the door. Locking the door to the apartment and heading down the hallway. Scrolling through her phone she bumped into someone. 

“Sorry,” she stammered before peering up at the man before her. Dark raven black hair with a slight curl that almost covered his eyes, a black face mask that hid most of his face, and hazel eyes that resembled burnt honey. He was beautiful, a classically handsome man. The man peered down at her roughly a whole foot taller and said in a voice that was so deep it sounded sinful. 

“You’re alright,” he murmured before gliding past her down the hallway back to his apartment. The sultry voice sent shivers down her spine. A blush had warmed her cheeks before she made her way to the elevator, their brief encounter replaying in her mind. Seemingly hypnotized by the deep voice, a melody she deeply wanted to hear again. 

Azriel returning from his run, sliding in the front door of the shared apartment, couldn’t shake the comforting scent of vanilla and coffee the girl exuded. 

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #cassian #rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #rhysand acotar #modernau!acotar #modern au #sjm #azriel x you

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: A Feysand Modern AU

She's a law student turned confidential informant. He's a federal prosecutor with only one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for illegal activity . . . What could go wrong?

Chapter Two

Masterlist Link

Thanks for your patience, everyone. Here's chapter two! Things are going to start happening very soon. I'm very excited. Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Just a heads up, there were a few who requested to be tagged whose profiles wouldn't let me link them!

PS: Here's the link to the masterlist of one of my other full-length Feysand fics: What to Expect When You're (Not) Expecting

Happy Reading :)

-----

Feyre turned to locate the source of the voice and came face to face with the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

He was tall, taller than Jax, his all-black suit impeccably tailored to the contours of a lean but muscular body. His dark hair matched his suit, and eyes a peculiar shade of blue—almost violet—locked onto Feyre for a moment before the man turned his attention to Jax.

“You’ve been monopolizing Ms. Archeron’s time, Smith,” the man said, arms crossing over his chest, muscles shifting beneath the fabric.

“Rhysand,” Jax sneered. “We were just having a friendly conversation.”

The man—Rhysand—raised one dark eyebrow, moving closer. As he stepped into the alcove, the space grew smaller. Like Rhysand's very presence couldn’t possibly be contained by the shadowy corner of the event center.

“Be that as it may,” Rhysand said, stepping up to Feyre’s side and staring down at Jax. “I believe my father is looking for you.”

The blood drained from Jax’s face, his head whipping toward the center part of the room.

“It seemed urgent,” Rhysand drawled, adjusting one of his cuff links. “And we all know how much my father despises being kept waiting.”

Jax turned back around to glare at Rhysand, his eyes flicking back down to Feyre as he inched backward toward the event center. “Until we meet again, Feyre.”

Feyre barely had time to flash him a close-lipped smile before Jax whirled around and bolted out of the alcove.

Feyre swallowed, turning toward her savior, once again struck by his beauty as he gazed at her, his violet blue eyes searching hers.

“I owe you one,” Feyre breathed, leaning back against the wall behind her, partially due to relief at escaping Jax and partially because she needed to put some space between her and the beautiful man standing mere inches away.

Rhysand lifted a shoulder, taking a step back, as if he could sense her need for space. “Jax Smith is . . . Well, let’s just say I eagerly await the day he gives me a reason to report him to the Office of Discipline for an ethical violation.”

“You should’ve given him a few more minutes. He might have gotten there,” Feyre said. Rhysand blinked, and then Feyre clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Oh, my gods. I—I should not have said that.” She muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. Gods, she was stupid. And unprofessional.

But a soft chuckling had Feyre freezing where she stood against the wall, eyes fluttering open.

Rhysand was even more attractive when laughing. His blue eyes twinkled, and he extended a hand in her direction.

“Rhysand Night,” he said, hand warm against Feyre’s as she took it. “United States Attorney for the Eastern District of Erilea.”

“Feyre Archeron,” Feyre said. “I’m a 3L at Prythian Law, but I’ll be starting at Hybern & Night next year.”

Rhysand's brows lifted. "Impressive."

Feyre shrugged. “You said your last name is Night,” she ventured, arms folding across her chest. “But you don't work for Hybern & Night?”

Rhysand ran a hand through his silky hair, fingers slipping through the inky black strands. Feyre's eyes tracked the motion so closely that she almost missed what he said next.

“The ‘Night’ in Hybern & Night is my father, and I suppose my grandfather before him,” he admitted, and Feyre could have sworn his jaw tightened at the words. “But no, I don’t work for his firm. I’m much better suited for federal prosecution.”

Something in his voice told Feyre that wasn’t the sole reason Rhysand had chosen not to follow his family’s legacy. But she didn’t press the issue.

“How long have you worked as a prosecutor?” Feyre asked.

“About five years,” Rhysand said. “I graduated from Prythian Law in 2018 and worked as a state prosecutor for a year before I landed this job.”

Silence fell, and Feyre drained the last bit of wine from her glass. “Well, thanks for your help,” she said, skirting around Rhysand and aiming for bar. Even as she glanced back over her shoulder at him, as if she couldn't resist a final look.

“Please, let me get you another glass of wine,” he said, following behind her. He kept a respectful distance between them as he fell into step at her side.

Feyre shrugged, even as an odd relief swept through her at his continuing presence. “I’m headed that direction anyways.”

But getting across the room proved more cumbersome than Feyre anticipated—it seemed as though everyone knew Rhysand and his reputation. People were either falling over themselves to shake his hand, eager to congratulate him on a recent case he had just won, or they were glaring at him as he passed, muttering to their companions as soon as Rhysand was out of earshot.

But even the ones who didn’t outright glare, even the ones who seemed desperate to speak with him, seemed to approach him with a certain . . . hesitation. Like interacting with Rhysand was a necessary evil, something they were reluctant to do but did anyway. Perhaps because of his father? Or his reputation?

Feyre made a mental note to do some serious LinkedIn stalking later.

While Feyre desperately wanted another glass of wine, walking across the room with Rhysand gave her plenty of opportunity to network, exactly as she had set out to do in the first place. Rhysand was incredibly polite, introducing her to whatever lawyers crossed his path and drawing Feyre into each of the conversations they pulled him into. And even if the person he introduced her to shook her hand and turned back to Rhysand, intent on engaging him in conversation, Rhysand went out of his way to ask Feyre what she thought about the legal issue or topic they were discussing. Feyre felt herself growing more and more impressed, especially when Rhysand turned all the “congratulations” he received away from himself, emphasizing that he couldn’t do anything without his department and the many interns it employed.

So not only was he incredibly polite, but he was gracious and humble as well.

At last, they made it to the bar, and Rhysand procured two more glasses of wine, slipping a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar as he did so.

“Sorry,” he said, as he and Feyre drifted over to the front of the event center, finding a table to stand at as they sipped their wine.

At some point, Feyre couldn't identify when, an unspoken agreement to stick together had formed between them. She had accepted the glass of wine from Rhysand and followed him to this table without question. Like it was them against the room full of ambitious lawyers, desperate to network their way to the top.

“For what?” Feyre asked.

“Dragging you through all that,” he said, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “I’m sure that was more networking than you bargained for.”

Feyre shook her head, hair shifting over her shoulders. “It was entertaining.”

“Oh?” Rhysand raised an eyebrow.

“I enjoyed watching you scare the shit out of everyone,” Feyre said, shocked at her own daring even as the words floated into the air between them.

Rhysand barked a laugh, drawing several gazes, the eyes of those nearest to them widening as the United States Attorney chuckled so freely. “You know what? I enjoyed doing it.”

Rhysand smiled at her, and dammit if Feyre didn’t almost swoon at the sight. She opened her mouth to ask him more about his job, perhaps to start figuring out why he was a prosecutor instead of working at his father’s firm, when her phone vibrated in the pocket of her suit. Sighing, she pulled it out, glancing at image glaring up at her.

TAMLIN SPRING flashed across the cracked screen of her iPhone, a picture of him from one of their initial dates on full display. They’d gone on a hike at the Illyrian mountain range about an hour outside of town, and Feyre had snapped this photo when they’d reached the top of their hiking trail, Tamlin smiling in front of a gorgeous overlook, the mountains tall and green behind him, a sparkling river trailing across the bottom.

Feyre hit the power button, setting the phone face down on the table. “Sorry about that,” she said, shooting Rhysand an apologetic smile. “Where were we?”

But Rhysand had gone still as death, his gaze fixed on her overturned phone.

“Rhysand?” Feyre asked.

He still didn’t answer, his violet blue eyes so wide she could see the whites all the way around his irises. “Is something wrong?”

Rhysand blinked, his shoulders loosening, eyes softening so quickly Feyre almost thought she had imagined his strange behavior. “Who was that?” He asked, sipping casually from his wine, gaze slipping coolly over the room in front of them. As though nothing had happened.

“Um… My boyfriend,” Feyre said, figuring it was a harmless enough question. “He must have forgotten I had this event tonight.”

Typical Tamlin. She had told him she would be busy until at least eight, and he had clearly forgotten, or just didn’t care. Of course, if Feyre called him when he was busy at work, she would hear about it for the next two days, be forced to listen to him complain about her “distracting him” while he was doing business.

“I see,” was all Rhysand said.

Feyre asked Rhysand a few more innocuous questions about his job, how he enjoyed Prythian Law, and whether he had any advice for her. Rhysand was just asking her if she’d had the same Criminal Law professor as he did when he was at Prythian when her phone buzzed again.

And then again.

Feyre picked up her phone, sighing as Tamlin’s image blazed on the screen once more. She shot Rhysand an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to take this. It could be an emergency.”

She didn’t wait for Rhysand to respond, instead stepping a few feet away and picking up as quickly as possible. If he called too many times and she didn’t answer, it was just another reason for him to start a fight.

“Feyre. Where the hell are you?”

Feyre frowned. “I’m at that networking event. Remember?”

A long-suffering sigh. “I had a really bad day at work. Can I pick you up now? Take you home? You’re downtown, aren’t you? Probably just a couple blocks away.”

Tamlin almost sounded frantic, more worry than anger seeping into his voice as his words tripped out one after the other.

“Are you all right? What happened?” Feyre asked, pressing her hand against her free ear to drown out the noise of the event. To her left, Rhysand was tracking her every movement, wine glass forgotten on the table in front of him.

“I’m fine. Just need my girl.”

Feyre bit her lip. If she said no… She would never hear the end of it. And she’d met and spoken to plenty of people tonight, hadn’t she? And Rhysand was an excellent new connection to have. Plus, it had been a long day. A nice, long shower sounded divine…

“Alright,” she relented, telling him the name of the event center she was at. She knew it was only a five minute drive from the apartment she shared with Tamlin, so when she hung up, she hurried back over to Rhysand.

“Is everything alright?” Rhysand asked, his deep voice level, almost calculatingly so.

Feyre shrugged, downing the rest of her wine. “It’ll be fine. My boyfriend is on his way home, and offered to pick me up so I don’t have to walk in the dark to get there. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

If only that had been the real reason Tamlin wanted her to come home. Because it was dark, and getting later, and she would have had to walk home alone in her heels and suit through the city streets if he hadn't called. But the lie slipped easily across her tongue—it was simple enough, really. It wasn't the first time she'd lied about the way her boyfriend treated her, and she knew it wouldn't be the last.

Rhysand nodded. “That’s very kind of him.”

Feyre sighed. “Thank you again, for helping me out back there. And introducing me to all those people. It made the night worth it.”

Rhysand nodded, his expression earnest, although bereft of any of the easy smiles he had flashed at her earlier in the evening. “It was my pleasure, Feyre. Perhaps I’ll run into you at another one of these events.”

“Perhaps,” Feyre said, then stiffened as Tamlin’s truck pulled up in front of the building. “That’s him,” she said, shouldering her purse and backpack. “Thanks again, really. Good luck with everything!”

Feyre allowed herself to look back at the event center only once. Not as she strode back through the entrance, nor as she clicked across the sidewalk to the passenger side of Tamlin’s car. Not even when she opened the door and clambered into the enormous truck.

No, she waited until she was safely behind the tinted windows before her eyes found Rhysand.

He was still standing at the table they shared, wineglass half-empty in front of him, his eyes fixed on Tamlin’s truck with hawklike focus, tracking it until Tamlin turned the corner, leaving the event center, and Rhysand, far behind.

------

Tamlin drove like a maniac through the heart of downtown. Feyre doubted he lifted his foot off the gas until he pulled into the parking garage beneath their building. He was out of the car and halfway to the elevator banks by the time Feyre caught up with him, lugging her bags along with her, trying not to exacerbate the blisters on her heels as she struggled to keep up.

“What’s wrong?” She demanded when they finally made it up to their apartment.

Feyre kicked off her heels, dumping all her bags on the ground. Home.

Now if only she could sleep. But instead, she had forty pages of reading to do for her Environmental Law class, and she had a feeling the next hour would be occupied with comforting Tamlin.

“Just a long, horrible day at work,” Tamlin sighed, striding towards her, his hands wrapping around her waist as he tugged her against him.

Feyre bit her lip as she felt him against her—he was already ready for her. She twined her arms over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his lips.

She knew he loved her, in his own way.

Hadn’t she been the one he called tonight? Wasn't she the one he relied on when things got tough? The one he trusted when times grew more and more trying?

“How are you now?” She breathed as his lips moved against hers, his hands sliding down to her upper thighs. In one swift movement, he had lifted her off the ground and into his arms, pressing her against the wall.

“Better with every passing second,” he growled, lips covering hers once again.

Feyre hummed against him, her lips parting to allow his tongue to sweep in, tracing the seam of her lips before her own tongue tangled with his. Her breaths grew short, and she adjusted herself against him and the wall, Tamlin hissing as she brushed against his hard length. Feyre gasped as he ground against her in return, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of his back.

It had been a very, very long day, Feyre told herself, as Tamlin carried her through the house and laid her down gently on the bed, with a tenderness he only ever showed when he was touching her. He knew exactly when to be gentle with her, and when to give her everything she wanted. It was a sharp contrast to the dynamic they shared at all other times in their relationship.

But here, in their darkened bedroom, the lights of the city shining in through the wall of windows to Feyre’s left . . . Here, Tamlin knew just where to touch her, how to hold her.

And she was putty in his hands.

---------

Feyre broke her vow.

One week after she met Rhysand, she was still doing the same exact thing.

Waking up, going to school, coming home, going to Crossfit, and spending all of her free time with Tamlin and Lucien, who had been present more frequently than usual the past week. And while having Lucien around usually made things more interesting, and it was lovely to have a buffer between her and Tamlin, Feyre couldn’t help but feel relieved when she waved the pair out the door on Friday morning. They had a last-minute business trip somewhere out west, and would be gone until the early hours of Monday morning.

Feyre was looking forward to spending the entire weekend by herself. She already had everything planned out:

Study for most of the day Friday, then go for a walk in the enormous city park before it got too dark. On her way home, she was going to splurge and order takeout, and then spend the rest of her night on the couch, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a book in the other. An actual novel this time, not one of her textbooks.

So after spending a day in the library, Feyre walked the ten minutes from the Law School over to Sangravah Park, her headphones blasting the Pride and Prejudice (1995) soundtrack at top volume.

The park was lovely this time of year—in late September, the summer heat had finally leached away, but the crispness of autumn hadn’t fully set in. Feyre was perfectly comfortable in a pair of leggings and a long sleeve t-shirt, her golden-brown hair tied back in a high ponytail. She set off on her usual route through Sangravah—a three-mile path that took her through her favorite parts of the park. Past the enormous pond, still covered in lilypads, through an enormous copse of willow trees, and past several of the enormous architectural structures that called the park home: the Prythian Art Museum, a sculpture garden, and an enormous temple-like building that sat in the center of another pond, no way to reach it unless you wanted to swim.

For the first time in a while, Feyre felt like she could relax. She didn’t have to be anywhere, to do anything, at any time. Tamlin was hundreds of miles away and she was at her leisure.

Lost in thought, Feyre was about halfway through her route when a man jogging in the opposite direction clipped her shoulder with his.

Feyre almost went flying, the force of the blow sending her stumbling a few steps off the path.

“My apologies, ma’am,” the man said, striding closer to her. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Feyre cleared her throat, finding her feet and holding back a glare. Best not to anger the strange man in the middle of the park with no one else around. “No worries,” she said, and made to resume her walk.

“Miss?” The man’s voice filtered through her headphones. Feyre turned, settling them around her shoulders.

“Yes?” She asked, hand on hip.

“I’m Special Agent Cassian Claret.” He reached a hand into his pocket, and Feyre stepped back, wondering if she would finally have a reason to use the pepper spray she kept with her on walks precisely for moments like these.

But the man merely pulled out a small leather wallet-thing, flipping it open. “I’m with the FBI. Do you have a few moments to speak with me?”

His introduction finally registered. Special Agent Cassian Claret.

Feyre stared at him, her jaw slackening.

Cassian cleared his throat after several long moments. “Ms. Archeron?”

“How do you know my name?” Feyre asked, backing up further, her hand gripping the pepper spray on her keychain, the bottle suddenly feeling pathetically small as she faced down Cassian, who was simply enormous.

His dark hair fell to just below his ruggedly chiseled chin, a five o’clock shadow already prominent on the lower half of his face. The sweats he wore did nothing to conceal his muscular frame—he was taller and broader than even Tamlin. His hazel eyes tracked her every movement with a laserlike focus.

Feyre’s pepper spray didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re not in trouble,” Cassian said. “I can assure you. I just need to speak with you for a few minutes.”

Feyre stared at him.

“Here. These are my credentials.” He tossed the wallet-like thing at her, and she managed to catch it in her sweaty hands, peering down at the credentials inside. It looked real . . .

“Do you have a business card?” Feyre asked, partially because the man didn’t feel dangerous in the way others she had encountered in the park did, and partially because she had a feeling that if she tried to run, he would have no problem chasing her down and catching her.

Cassian nodded, pulling out a business card and handing it over. Feyre examined it, then pulled out her phone.

Cassian waited, hands clasped behind his back. No one had passed them on the path for a very long time. Was it his doing?

Feyre did a quick Google search for the local FBI office, then called the 24 hour line. Cassian’s forehead creased as she held the phone up to her ear.

Minutes passed. She was placed on hold. Then—

“Prythian County FBI. How can I assist you?”

“Hi,” Feyre said, voice shaking slightly. “I need to verify the identity of an agent.”

She provided Cassian’s name. The woman asked her to ask him for some sort of identification number, which Cassian relayed without protest when Feyre asked. Feyre repeated the number back to the woman, who told her that yes, Feyre was currently speaking with Special Agent Cassian Claret, who was on assignment.

“Thank you,” Feyre said, shutting off her phone.

“Satisfied?” Cassian asked, not a trace of irritation present in his voice.

Feyre swallowed. “Yes. Um. What is this about? What could you possibly want from me?”

“Well, Ms. Archeron. We need your help with a rather sensitive matter. It’s best not discussed here,” Cassian said. “Perhaps we could walk back toward my car?”

“I’m not getting in your car.”

Cassian held up his hands. “That may be your choice. I completely understand your caution. But I think if you see who’s accompanying me, you might feel differently.”

Feyre blinked up at him, returning his wallet and card and falling into step beside him as he turned, leading Feyre back the way she had come.

“Who’s accompanying you?”

As they crested the small hill Feyre had just trekked down, a black car came into view, parked on the street alongside the park. Cassian didn’t answer Feyre’s question as they drew close to the car.

Close enough that when the back window rolled down, Feyre recognized a familiar pair of violet-blue eyes.

“Rhysand,” she breathed.

---------------

Taglist:

@rhysiedarling @shedoessoshedoes @popjunkie42 @adreamof-spring @that-little-red-head @witch-and-her-witcher @cinnamonmelody @muaddib-iswriting @queenofdivas

#acotar #feysand #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #rhysand x feyre #modernau #feysand fanfiction #feyre #rhysand #sarah j maas #feyre cursebreaker

[duskandstarlight]

Hey girly! When can we expect the next chapter of A Golden Opportunity? It’s so so good, I cannot wait! No pressure tho 💕

This week, maybe even today! I'm just finishing it up :)

#agoldenopportunity #duskandstarlightwrites #nessian #nessian fic #nessian fanfic #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acosf #modernau

[danydragons21]

The Undoing: Chapter 3

Pls accept my most sincere apologies for this update taking FOREVER! hope you enjoy <3 

Read it here on ao3.

Chapter 3: Sugers

It’s late on Friday evening and Elain is curled up in her California King bed, wrapped in her favorite fuzzy blanket while her go-to comfort movie, Pride and Prejudice (the 2005 version, of course), buzzes in the background. A half-empty carton of Baskin Robbins ice cream sits on her nightstand, melting.

“I just don’t understand,” she says for what must be the upteenth time. 

“Honey, it’s nothing to do with you,” Nuala reassures her over the phone. “You can’t control the insecurities of men.”

“Write that on my gravestone,” she hears Cerridwen yell from the background. 

“How does him treating me like a piece of garbage equate to him being insecure?” Elain asks incredulously. 

“Clearly, there’s something about you that triggers him. Something that makes him act like a douchebag from hell,” Nuala says matter-of-factly.

“Even more so than usual,” Cerridwen adds dryly.

Nuala and Cerriden both work at the Night Agency, and in the near-month since Elain had been hired, she and the twins had become close friends. They have lots in common: they love to bake, they love to garden, and most importantly, they love to talk shit about their infuriating asshole of a boss, Azriel De Valois. 

“Well, I wish he would just tell me what it is I’m doing that’s so triggering,” Elain says. “I’ve racked my brain over and over, trying to figure out where I went wrong, and I’m coming up blank. And believe me, I am self-deprecating enough to identify my own faults. But I can’t think of anything that I’ve done to this man that makes him treat me like this. We barely interact, for gods’ sake!”

“He’s a douche to everyone, Elain. I know it’s hard, but try not to take it personally.”

“He might be cold and aloof to most everyone, but he is especially so to me. And I’m fucking sick of it.” Her dejection was quickly transforming into anger. “I’ve wanted to be a private investigator for years now, worked my ass off in school to become one, and he has the audacity to tell me I don’t have the grit or ethic for it?! Prick,” she hisses, and then sighs. Anger is exhausting. 

“What do I do?” she asks the twins. “How do I make him like me? Scratch that,” she frowns. “I don’t care if he likes me. But I do care if he respects me. More than that, I care about this job. It’s important to me, and I’m not giving up.”

“Well, of course you’re not!” says Nuala. “You’re going to show that broody man-child why you are the best person for the job.”

“Damn right I am. And I’m going to do it without changing a thing about me.”

“Damn right,” the twins echo simultaneously. 

***

When Azriel walks into work Monday morning, he’s surprised to see Elain sitting at her desk. Truly, he thought his dickhead actions on Friday would have been enough to make her quit. Not that he was hoping she’d quit, necessarily, but it certainly would have made his life easier. Better she hate him and exit his life forever than remain here, a tangible reminder of what he couldn’t have - and what he so clearly did not deserve. 

He’d made her cry, for God’s sake. This sweet angel of a human cried because of his awful and unforgivable words. Because of how poorly and unfairly he’d treated her these past few weeks. He knows why he’s been keeping her at arm’s length - knows why he can’t risk getting too close to her - but when those big brown eyes welled up with tears…

Well. Suffice it to say, Azriel does not often experience guilt, but he is at least emotionally competent enough to recognize it when he does, and since the moment Elain ran out of his office on Friday afternoon, guilt has gnawed at his insides like the savage and unforgiving beast it is.

He decided yesterday that he had to find a way to make it up to her. He wasn’t going to apologize, of course; Azriel De Valois does not apologize, not to anyone, not for any reason, but there are other ways to make up for shitty actions.

“Miss Archeron,” he murmurs as he passes her desk. 

“Good morning, Mr. De Valois,” she says politely. “I’ve placed a stack of potential cases on your desk for you to peruse at your convenience. If you’d like me to reach out to any of the client contacts, just let me know. Happy to help in any way I can.” 

Her cordial and professional attitude, along with the pleasantly neutral expression on her face, makes him feel even worse. Why isn’t she regarding him with icy and indifferent eyes? Why isn’t she huffing and turning her nose away at his very presence? 

The answer is simple, really, though it does not provide him any sort of solace: Elain Archeron is a good person. He knew this already, of course; knew it from the moment they met, but now it dawns on him anew, and in doing so strikes a significant chord. 

He enters his office only to immediately swivel back around. 

“Let’s go,” he barks at Elain as he passes her desk. 

“What?” she asks in confusion, her mouth parted at his sudden command.

He glares at her. “We’ve got a case. Come on.” Then he turns and stalks for the elevator, not looking to see if she is behind him. Azriel is already kind of regretting his spur of the moment decision, and a part of him hopes she doesn’t follow. But when he steps inside the elevator doors, Elain is right on his heels, slightly out of breath. 

The elevator doors close and there’s a few seconds of dense silence before Elain starts babbling.

“Where are we going? What kind of case will we be investigating? Are we walking or taking the L to get there?”

“You’ll see where we’re going. You’ll see what kind of case it is. And you’ll see if we’re walking or hopping on the L.” He answers all of this without looking at her.

The elevator is moving impossibly slow. It doesn’t help that the Night Agency office is located on the 99th floor; inevitably, and because God clearly enjoys torturing Azriel, they stop at nearly every floor on the way down. By the time they reach the lobby, Azriel’s patience has worn incredibly thin.

 It also doesn’t help that, just before they exit the elevator carriage, he registers that Elain is wearing the kind of flowy, romantic sundress that isn’t inappropriate in and of itself, but certainly fills his mind with thoughts that are anything but appropriate. She looks like summer, with her tanned, glowing skin and the sunshine hue of the dress. His jaw flexes while his eyes rove over her toned thighs peeking out beneath the frilly hem. He was going to have a word with their HR director and ask (by “ask”, he really meant “force”) them to update the company dress code and ban any and all dresses.

 Also maybe the color yellow.

***

If there is one place Elain did not expect to be at 11 a.m. on a Monday morning, it is at a strip club. 

The name of the club is Sugers, but the scent that engulfs her as she walks through the doors is anything but sweet. The entire establishment smells like cigarettes and sweat and cheap perfume. Two circular stages with long silver poles create the centerpieces of the room. Only one girl is dancing right now, performing to Billie Eilish’s “Bad Guy,” while a bored-looking bartender dries a glass behind the bar. There’s only one other patron, and he’s sitting in the corner nearest them partially obscured behind a thick cloud of smoke.

Elain has never felt more out of place. It isn’t that she judges or thinks worse of the girls who work here - in fact, she has significant respect for anyone who possesses the self-confidence to get up on stage and dance in front of a crowd of people, especially while wearing minimal clothing - but it could not be clearer that she doesn’t belong. In her bright yellow sundress and navy ballet flats with a matching headband holding back her curls, she looks like a Sunday School teacher about to give a lesson on the importance of loving thy neighbor. 

Not that there's anything wrong with Sunday school teachers, either, but hell if Elain isn’t feeling like a fish out of water.

De Valois, meanwhile, fit right in. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark suit, all wrapped up in one darkly handsome package, right at home in the dimly-lit club. 

“Let’s take a seat,” he mutters. Awkwardly, Elain follows him to a small table at the far left-hand corner, right near the stage. The dancer’s eyes greedily track their every movement, and the second they sit down, she shimmies her way over.

“Hello, handsome,” she says to De Valois in a low, scratchy voice. Her wine-red hair is heavily teased, and there’s a tattoo of a whale on her hip. She hooks a finger under her lacy bra seductively, sliding the strap up and down, up and down. “Care for a dance?”

“Maybe later,” he replies easily, and though his tone isn’t necessarily encouraging, Elain can’t help but notice that he does not outright turn her down, either. She bites her lip to hide the stupid and strange scowl that threatens to appear. “Though I know that my friend here wants one,” he nods toward Elain. He pulls a twenty out of his pocket and waves it at the woman.

Thank God it is dark in this strip club, because Elain’s cheeks begin to burn furiously red. What game is he playing at, buying her a strip dance? What the fuck did this have to do with a case? Is he just trying to make her uncomfortable enough to quit?

Well, two can play at that game. Elain flashes the girl her sultriest smile. “I’d love a dance. You’re very beautiful,” she says. Her words come out rather shy, because let’s face it, Elain is feeling extremely bashful right now, but thankfully the dancer seems to find her demureness endearing. A moment later, Elain is getting a lap dance. 

Oh, Mother above. It isn’t even noon yet. Is she going to hell?

Glancing sideways, she sees De Valois biting his cheek, probably in an attempt to keep from laughing. She narrows her eyes and sticks out her tongue when the dancer isn’t looking.

“What’s your name?” he asks the dancer a few moments later. Currently she’s swiveling her hips on Elain’s lap, facing the stage. 

“Cherry,” the woman answers, flipping her hair and grinding all the way to the floor. 

“How long have you worked here, Cherry?”

“A few months, now,” she answers. As Cherry rises, she shakes her ass right in front of Elain’s face. Embarrassment heats her cheeks, and her gaze instinctively finds De Valois’. She is more surprised to see that he is not looking at the dancer at all. Instead, his mesmerizing hazel eyes are latched onto Elain and Elain alone. A very different kind of heat spreads through her veins.

“Do you happen to know someone named Bunny?” De Valois asks.

Cherry suddenly turns and straddles Elain’s waist, pushing her generous cleavage right in her line of vision. 

“You have very nice breasts,” she squeaks, unsure what to say. She has never been in a situation like this before, but if she was dancing for money, she knows it would make her feel better to receive a compliment. Especially a genuine one. Cherry does have very nice breasts. 

With a scratchy laugh, Cherry throws her head back. “You’re sweet, girly,” she says. “And yeah, ‘course I know Bunny,” she tells De Valois. “She’s in the back right now, but it’s her turn on stage in just a few. Can’t say I’m too pleased to hear you prefer my friend to me, though. Am I not beautiful enough?” Cherry pouts, though Elain is sure the only reason she’s upset is because she’s noticed the wad of hundreds sticking out of De Valois’ wallet.

He smiles. “It’s not that,” he says. “You are certainly beautiful enough for any man, myself included. Too beautiful, perhaps, and much too good.” Cherry blushes hard, and even Elain feels a little lightheaded, despite the fact that the compliment had nothing to do with her. 

If only the man could use his silver tongue for good and noble purposes rather than being an absolute dick toward all of his colleagues. 

“Do you think you could ask Bunny if she would mind having a chat with me? Just need to ask her a few questions.” 

Cherry frowns. “You a cop?” 

“No,” De Valois replies. Cherry considers him suspiciously for a moment before sliding off Elain’s lap. 

“Let me go get her,” the dancer says, and then she’s strutting off and disappearing through a curtained hallway.

Elain turns to her boss. “Mind telling me what the hell is going on here?” 

De Valois takes his sweet time shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair. He even unbuttons the cuffs of his button-down and shoves up his sleeves, exposing some very ripped and very distracting muscles covered in intricate tattoo sleeves. By the time he finally decides to answer her question, she has to wrench herself out of the ridiculously dirty fantasy that unwillingly popped into her head the second she saw his arms.

“Our most recent client is a man named Michael Dennon. He is a father trying to track down his son. He swears that his ex is purposely keeping his child from him because he cheated on her a few years ago, and it's her way of exacting revenge. He wants us to find his ex and then unearth some evidence that will help him convince the court that he should have sole custody of the kid.”

“Okay,” Elain says slowly, “So why are we at a strip club?”

“Because on Mondays they have a BOGO lap dance special, and I simply cannot pass up such a good deal.” 

Elain blinks, not willing to let any amusement show, and De Valois continues talking.

“Michael’s ex is named Susie Corrado. Because I am a talented private investigator, I learned that in high school, Susie’s close friends called her Bunny. And through an additional series of investigative work, I discovered there was a dancer here who also - ”

“Goes by Bunny,” Elain finishes. Something like dread crowds her chest. “So we’re here to do what exactly? Dig up dirt on a single mother and turn that evidence over to law enforcement?”

De Valois sends Elain a heavy glance. “We are here to do our job. The first part of that includes getting all the information.” 

He looks away as a petite brunette approaches the table. She is young, probably around Elain’s age, but the worry lines and heavy bags under her eyes make her look a decade older. 

“Cherry said you were askin’ for me?” Bunny’s head is tilted curiously, eyes narrowed as if trying to recall if she knew the man requesting her by name. “Are you a regular? I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“I’m not a regular,” De Valois replies. “Just have a few questions for you. Why don’t you sit down?”

“The dancers aren’t allowed to sit when we’re workin’ the floor.”

“Okay. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Elain hates that she is impressed with the calm and respectful way De Valois is talking to the woman.

“How can I help ya?”

“Your name is Susie, right?”

The woman looks around awkwardly. “Call me Bunny.”

“Okay, Bunny,” De Valois agrees. “I’m friends with your ex-husband.”

It is startling how quickly Bunny’s demeanor shifts. If she was weary and confused at first, now she is on high-alert, every muscle tensed, the color in her face completely gone. The terror is undeniably evident. 

“Plea - plea - please,” Bunny stammers out, hands trembling into a sort of prayer motion. “Please don’t tell him where I am.”

“Why not?” De Valois asks, his voice still quiet and controlled. 

Some of Bunny’s fear melts into anger. “Because he is an abusive and sadistic asshole, that’s why. Thought you were friends with him? You should already know.” Bunny shudders. “I have to go. Tell Michael to fuck off, that he’ll never find me and Jaxon.”

“You’re terrified of him,” Elain says. 

Bunny’s eyes are sparkling. “Yes,” she says. “Please, I’m begging you. Don’t tell him where I am. I won’t let him take Jaxon. I won’t let him hurt my son.” 

Elain, at a complete loss of what to do, turns to Azriel. She knows that it is Michael, not Bunny, that is their client. She knows that she has just met this woman and knows virtually nothing about her.

But in her gut of guts, she also knows that Bunny is not lying, and in her heart of hearts, she knows that she cannot morally do this P.I. job if it means endangering an innocent woman and child. 

Elain is about to beg De Valois to drop the case, to please not turn Bunny over, any consequences that come her way be damned, when Azriel beats her to it. 

“He will never know,” De Valois swears. “You have our word.” Perhaps the promise would seem insincere coming from a normal stranger, but there is something in Azriel’s profound assuredness and quiet confidence that convinces Bunny he is telling the truth.

Bunny swallows, nods once, and scurries away. 

Elain stares at De Valois. “Why did you do that?” she asks blankly. It’s not that she doesn’t agree with what he did - in fact, she is utterly relieved - but she doesn’t understand. Nothing about this situation fits with the opinion she had drawn up about the scowling man before her. 

“There are two types of people who come to a P.I.,” De Valois says finally. “The first are the desperate ones. They are the family members and friends of victims of cold cases. Of missing persons who the police stopped looking for long ago, or cases they never took in the first place. Of anyone who is considered a lost cause. I would say about 90% of clients fall into this category. Private investigation is often a last resort - a hail mary - and so it is our job to find that which others may have overlooked. To do our damned best to tie up the loose ends left in so many lives.

“But then there are the aggressors. These people are not good people. They are trying to find those who would rather remain hidden, and they are not doing it for selfless purposes. There is nothing noble in their pursuits. And as investigators, we have to discover which kind of person our client is. From there, we decide how to continue with the case. Not every file we’re offered is a proposition to solve an issue. Sometimes it is to create one. We have to make a decision about where we draw the line.

“More importantly, sometimes we have to make the decision to step over the line,” he says, nodding toward where Bunny disappeared behind the curtains. “Technically, what I just did is against the P.I. client code. We are supposed to have sole responsibility to our client and our client alone. But that’s not how the Night Agency operates. We take morals and ethics far more seriously than money.

“I had a feeling that Michael Dennon was a piece of shit trying to punish his ex for leaving him. Now that I’ve talked to Bunny, I know for sure. I’ll make sure her husband doesn’t bother her anymore. So that’s what I mean when I say we have to get all the information and then make a decision. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it’s easy. But in the end, we should always choose the right thing to do, even if it’s not black and white.” 

Elain is flabbergasted. Who is this man and what has he done with Azriel De Valois, aka bane of her professional existence? She is at a complete loss of words.

“I told you,” he mutters, shifting awkwardly under her stare, “our job is to get all the information. 

For a while, the only sound is the Miley Cyrus song blaring in the background. Eventually, though, Elain finds an adequate reply.

“That was a very decent thing you just did,” she says quietly. “And I am grateful to work under someone who approaches the job with such grace and dignity. Thank you for taking me along.”

A flash of something more than gratitude sprints across his face. He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table. “Thank you for coming,” he murmurs, and the husky timbre of his voice coupled with the tick in the protruding veins that lace his glorious arm muscles send a shot of adrenaline through Elain. Her mouth falls open on its own accord, and she lets out a breathless sigh. 

Suddenly, De Valois is standing up. “Time to leave.” His voice has returned to its usual gruffness.

Elain, feeling like someone has just thrown cold water over her, does her best to keep her face blank as she gets to her feet.

On their way out, they pass a table of rowdy newcomers. One of them catches sight of Elain, who is once again wishing that she wore something other than her sundress, and whistles. 

“I’d like to see you dancing on stage, pretty girl,” the man yells at her. 

“How about you get up there and show us your moves, sweet thing,” another calls out, and a few others whoop in agreement. Elain turns her gaze downward, embarrassed and red-faced, and starts walking faster. She is hoping De Valois has noticed her discomfort and is keeping up with her increased pace, but when she casts a covert look over her shoulder, she sees that De Valois has not followed her, and is instead standing next to the table of catcallers, wearing an expression so formidable Elain is not the least surprised to see several of the men shaking. 

He says something else to the men that Elain can’t make out, and the guy who whistled at her originally goes white as a ghost. A few moments later, De Valois returns to her side, straightening his tie. 

“Shall we?” he gestures toward the door, breezy and casual, like he didn’t just scare a bunch of grown men absolutely shitless.

“What was that about?” Elain asks when they are outside. The mid-afternoon sun is out, warming her skin. 

“Just a friendly conversation between men.” They begin walking down the sidewalk back toward the office, skyscrapers towering over them on all sides.

“Oh really? What did you say to them during this ‘friendly conversation’?” Elain hooks her fingers.

De Valois cuts her a dark glance. “No one disrespects you like that and gets away with it,” he says. 

Oh. A gulp travels down her throat at the intensity in his gaze at the same time a wave of heated desire rushes between her legs. 

It should be pointed out that Elain, like most people, has a type. And her type is nothing like Azriel De Valois. In fact, the kind of guys Elain usually goes for are the exact opposite: engaging and approachable with clean-cut, preppy styles, easy grins and polished manners. Certainly no tattoos. It’s safe to say that De Valois certainly does not fit any of her typical standards. But she’d be lying if she said his dark and dangerous persona didn’t intrigue her. 

And she’d be lying if she said the raw and animalistic power the man so inherently emanates doesn’t have her thighs slick with arousal. 

Elain is so lost in her inappropriate thoughts that it takes her a few beats to realize De Valois has asked her a question.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” 

De Valois raises a brow. “I asked if you would want to grab lunch at a nearby diner before we head back to the office. I can fill you in on the details of another case I’m working on. One that I’d like your help with.”

Her heart soars. “Of course I would!” She tries to keep the squeal of excitement out of her voice, but the result is that her words come out high-pitched and breathless. 

Thankfully, De Valois doesn’t comment on it, instead turning and striding off toward whatever diner he has in mind. When Elain falls into step beside him, he glances over at her and, for the first time in the month they have known each other, smiles at her. Her heart stutters in her chest as the smile transforms him from attractive to ridiculously breathtaking. 

And it is in that moment that the tightly-wound threads of her steady and disciplined self-control begin to unravel.

#elriel #elrielfic #elain archeron #elain acotar #pro elain #elain acosf #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acosf #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #elrielfanfic #pro elriel #danydragons21 #modernau #modernacotar

[featherymalignancy]

The way you wrote Claire will always be funny 😭😭

Okay like part of me feels bad bc she’s obviously a very tragic figure in canon, but in the modern context she made sense as a childhood friend of the Archeron girls, and her slightly-vapid personality just sort of wrote itself so…here we are.

I’m glad people can forgive me!

#feathery answers #Clare Beddor #acotar modernau

[msfeyredarling]

Married at first sight pt1

So this was a bit of an experiment for me with writing a modern au. This will most likely be 2 parts but could move to 3.

Context: modern au in velaris

Warnings: alcohol, language

All characters belong to SJM

ao3

This is the life. Drinking with my sisters, dancing with strangers, and sleeping during the day.

Ever since the nasty breakup with my ex, I’ve been needing some fun. And where on this planet do you go to have that sort of fun, Velaris. And that’s exactly where we are.

One day my sisters came home with three plane tickets to Velaris and a hotel booking, saying we needed a break from our life. My birthday also just happened to fall in the middle of our trip and they claimed it was an early birthday present, but I knew the real truth. Not that it mattered, I knew they wanted to help me forget my ugly past but I was just glad to be participating in some much-needed fun.

So here the Archeron sisters are, partying until the sun comes up. Except tonight is a little different as it’s my birthday. Tonight Elain and Nesta are choosing to spoil me.

“First drinks are on me,” Elain announces to us, and Nesta cheers. Elain walks off to get drinks and Nesta turns to me with a look of mischief.

“So, see any guys you like?” She asked carefully.

“Nope and I’m not looking. It’s my birthday and I’m making it a girls-only night.” I declare.

Nesta laughed, shaking her head at me, and says, “tell me that four drinks later,” while I scowled at her.

“Absolutely not. I’m swearing off men for good.” I say. Nesta just smirked in return.

“Drinks are served!” Elain says enthusiastically, placing three shots on our table, “bottoms up!” All three of us threw back our shots of vodka. I winced at the familiar burning sensation before slamming my glass back down.

An idea forms in my head and a high pitch squeal leaves my mouth as I get excited about my idea.

“We should play never have I ever!” I shout over the loud music of the club, “I’ll get the next drinks.”

“Yes to the first part and no to the second. It’s your birthday and as our gift to you, we will be buying the drinks.” Nesta says, daring me to challenge her.

“We also have something that is just for the birthday girl,” Elain says over the music and passes over a pink, sparkly plastic crown. I place it on my head and do a pose for them. “Now you can be a princess on your birthday.” Both my sisters smile at me and I laugh.

“Let’s get this party started!” I shout.

                                                              ***

Three shots later.

“My turn. Never have I ever been obsessed with plants.” Nesta says in a mocking tone.

“Hey, that’s not fair. You targeted that at that me.” Elain says with a frown.

“Drink up sis,” I practically sing.

Elain throws back the shot, with a glare in both Nesta and my direction. Both of us smile innocently at our sister.

“If you weren’t the birthday girl, I would be out for revenge.” She pauses then continues with a wicked smile, “never have I ever been married.”

I’m pretty sure if Nesta could kill someone with a look, Elain might be dead. Nesta begrudgingly takes her shot, not even bothering to complain about it.

“Oh my god.” I blurt out and both my sister's heads snap around to me in concern.

“What is it-“

“What’s wrong?”

A laugh escapes my mouth at the show of concern from my sisters. “I have an idea … I want to get married!” I announce to my sisters. The looks of confusion on their faces was enough to send me into a fit of breathless laughter. I think I’m slightly tipsy but what the hell, it’s my birthday.

After five minutes of my ridiculous laughing fit, I say to my sisters again, “I want to get married. You know, here in Velaris. I can have a blind wedding and marry some random.” I say.

“Feyre, I think it’s best if you wait until your sober-“

“You’re drunk-“

“Nope, not drunk, just tipsy. I’m getting married whether you like it or not. Plus it will be fun. I also declare you guys as my maids of honour.” I say smiling at them.

“Okay fine, but if you don’t like the person your marrying, do not complain to me,” Nesta says through a smug look, as if I will indeed be complaining when I’m sober. My eyes roll so hard, they could practically fall out of my head.

                                                             ***

After lots of directions from an unhelpful Siri but helpful ones from locals, we arrive at the 24hr chapel, fifth teen minutes later.

We walk inside and as the assistant spots us, her eyes bug out of her head in excitement. “Oh my, will this be three weddings today? Or maybe a triple wedding. Oh, it’s been so long since we’ve had sisters get married on the same day.” She sighs at the memory she resurfaced.

“Ugh, no just one blind wedding for our sister, the birthday girl,” Elain says with a slight blush on her face.

The assistant looks at me with hopeful eyes, “is that right my dear?”

“Yes, it is.” You can hear the excitement in my voice, as I shift from foot to foot, almost dancing. When I think about this tomorrow I’ll probably cringe at how excited I was feeling.

“Well, follow me through this way. Just like you, we have a young man wanting to have a blind marriage. He’s already waiting at the altar. Good luck,” the assistant says with a cheerful smile.

I follow after the assistant and stop at the door as I see my surprise groom waiting at the altar with his back to me. He turns around slowly, and suddenly I’m feeling less excited and more nervous. And I swear, the guy standing at the altar, is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. With his dreamy star-flecked violet eyes, blue-black hair that is practically begging me to run my hands through it, and the hint of a tattoo revealed from his slightly unbuttoned shirt. Oh, this man is a dream and I am thoroughly objection-less to marrying this man.

Nesta elbows me in the ribs while whispering in my ear, “you’re practically drooling all over the carpet.” She gives me a small shove towards the alter and says, “go get married!”

To be continued…

#feysand #feyrhys #feyre #rhysand #rhys #nesta #elain #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #fanfic #fanfiction #modernau #marriage #velaris #oneshot #books

[moodymelanist]

hi friends, I did another thing and posted my one shot The Last Sketchbook on AO3 last night. If you’re into Nessian, especially a cute Christmas shopping modern AU, then this is for you 😚

Imagine Nesta and Cassian both rushing to find a last-minute Christmas gift and both reaching for the same item at the same time. When they find out it’s the last one in stock, they begin arguing over who should get it. Cassian agrees Nesta can have the gift if she agrees to give him her number…

#acotar #cassian #nessian #nesta archeron #ao3 #oneshot #modernau

[pinecone5678]

Witness Protection--Feysand One Shot

“Let’s be honest, Feyre darling. You don’t have it in you.” Rhysand pulled Feyre close, their breaths came out in large puffs thanks to the frozen air. “You don’t have the nerve to tell me no.”

Feyre swatted at his large bicep and tried to wrench herself free but there was no use. “You know what you did, my father will have your head for it.” Feyre was furious at him, the nerve, the gall, the absolute toad of a man had stolen her from her wedding day. Granted the real toad was her ex-fiancé who had been sleeping with her ex-best friend Ianthe.

And that he was a spy for some little country called Hybern.

She really hated men right now.

“I swear to you Rhysand, if you so much as come near me again, I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” He seethed, the soft snow falling around them the wrong setting for their heated exchange. Feyre’s father had gone missing days before and she couldn’t do anything about it because she was currently in witness protection, with HIM.

Their new neighbors thought they were throwing a house warming party for the newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Nox.

“They really are a  lovely couple.” One woman sighed, watching the two speak so closely together. “You can really tell how he holds her so close. Oh, how romantic!”

Another woman smacked her wife across the shoulder, “Why can’t we be that romantic anymore?”

The other woman just sipped her coffee, “Maybe when you learn how to wash the damn dishes Karen.”

Karen threw a small cube of cheese in her wife’s coffee mug before walking off, her begrudging wife in tow.

“Can you not be such a rutting ASSWIPE to me?” Feyre shrieked, kicking him in the shins. That’s one thing her neighbors couldn’t misconstrue. Thankfully they were all intently watching Karen and her wife, Nina, get into it over the dishes. More cheese had been thrown.

Rhysand let go of Feyre long enough to grab his shin in pain. “I just-“ He started through gritted teeth, “wish you would let me explain myself. I had to kiss you in front of them! We are pretending to be married! I’d like to not die because you can’t play along.”

“I can make both happen!” Feyre yelled, causing their neighbors to turn their attention back to them.

One neighbor, Emmanuel stuck his head between the sliding glass doors. “Everything okay out here?”

“Oh yes,” Rhysand said, grabbing Feyre’s hand. “Feyre darling was just asking what I wanted for dinner and I couldn’t decide.” He patted her hand and looked at her lovingly. “My apologies, my love.” He bent down for a kiss but Feyre ducked down and away.

“Now, darling, let’s not be rude to our guests any longer.” She hopped up their steps, careful as she could in the snow before following Emmanuel inside.

Rhysand would have rathered just stay in the snow and scream.

That night, as they crawled into their shared bed (and yes, of course, there was only ONE BED in the entire place and both were too stubborn to take the couch), Feyre found herself ready to actually do it this time. She was ready to murder him.

She rolled over to face him. “I swear if you would just cut your toenails. Just once!”

Rhysand, half asleep, mumbled, “If you would just say thank you for saving your life at your own wedding from that stray bullet then maybe I would.”

There it was. There was the truth.

Rhysand, in all of his pomp and circumstance, had, in fact, noticed the man in the back cocking a gun behind the bride and groom not too long after he’d ousted the groom as a scoundrel. And a spy.

Rhysand had dived for Feyre, after all, his feelings for her had grown during the time she’d been spending with him, learning Pyrthian to impress her soon to be in-laws. Rhysand wouldn’t have set foot at that wedding if he hadn’t of learned the truth.

But then the gun was loaded and Rhys did the only thing he could, save the woman he loved.

Said woman was openly gawking at him, at a loss for words.

“That’s what I thought,” He said before rolling to face away from her. “I’ll cut them in the morning, Feyre darling.”

And just like that, Feyre started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she was glad she was stuck in witness protection with the man who ruined her wedding and saved her life.

#feysand #oneshot #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar #fanfiction #witnessprotectionau #modernau

[erisvanserraweek]

Eris Vanserra Appreciation Week ✨

Join us in celebrating everyone's favorite asshole, Eris Vanserra!

Becca ( @wrathscannoli ​ ) and Gigi ( @moononastring​ ) are hosting a week to celebrate our love for the future High Lord of Autumn, Eris Vanserra. A week long event where you can post edits, art, or simply write out your thoughts in response to the prompts given!

When is it?

11.01.2021 to 11.07.2021

How to participate:

Follow us here to see and share everyone’s creations! You can also feel free to follow our personal accounts but not necessary :)

Starting November 1st, you can post your work to go with the prompt according to each date!

Tag us @erisvanserraweek and use the hashtag #erisweek or #erisvanserraweek

We would love and encourage you to create every day, however this is not necessary. We just want a to spread the Eris love!

Prompts

November 1st - High Lord of the Autumn Court

Eris has already been scheming to get rid of his wretched father and claim the Autumn Court throne. We're itching to see it.

November 2nd - Modern AU!Eris

What does ModernAU!Eris look like to you? Share your thoughts/moodboards/edits and more!

November 3rd - Ghost Hounds

He's our favorite ACOTAR Dog Mom™️ Let's highlight that!

November 4th - Favorite Headcanon

What’s your personal headcanon about this messy prince? Or a favorite one you’ve seen around?

November 5th - Favorite Ship

Eris is one of those characters we can ship with...many people. What's a favorite Eris ship of yours?

November 6th - Family Ties

Keeping Up with the Vanserras is a full-time job. Show off with an edit, hc, or fic about Eris and his family*. Whether that's a future family, found family, LoA, or Lucien, it up to you!

*you also may use Beron or his other brothers but they're dicks so 🤷🏻‍♀️

November 7th - Free Day!

Today, you may choose whatever your heart desires for our Prince of Autumn. The opportunities are endless! Surprise us!

-

If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to reach out to us by sending an ask here or our personal accounts!

We look forward to everyone’s creations! ❤️‍🔥

#eris vanserra #lady of autumn #lucien vanserra #a court of thorns and roses #Eris Vanserra #erisvanserraweek #keeping up with vanserras #erisweek #acotar #acosf #autumn court

[delulustateofmind]

A City of Dreams [Part Two]

Series Summary: ModernAU of ACOTAR, Azriel breaks away from the small town of Windhaven to escape his toxic family and chase his dreams with his newfound family. Leaving behind his small-town life for new ventures in Velaris. 

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three-Coming soon!]

Word Count: 2.1k

Trigger warnings: Pet names (lil fawn), drinking, clubbing, let me knew if I'm missing any!

A sigh of relief escaped you as you finally beat the morning coffee rush, rolling your shoulders back as you leaned against the counter. Your managers handled the coffee order today, so it should be an easy day. The summertime menu was soon ready with your next shipment of strawberries. That meant strawberry pastries and strawberry lattes, your favorite time of the year.

The bell connected to the door chimed as it swung open to reveal Feyre approaching you with heavy steps. She released a deep sigh as she ran her hands through her shimmering brown hair—how does someone have that much volume? You will never understand.

"I just got the rejection email," Feyre sighed heavily as she took a spot next to the coffee bar, laying her head on the table. Deciding to whip her up a matcha latte with vanilla cold foam, you could always tell what type of drinks suited people. Feyre was a not-too-sweet individual, and Matcha complimented her. Something about Feyre was calming enough but had bitter undertones like Matcha; it can be sweet or bitter. A soft hum escaped your lips as you made her drink. "Did it say why you got rejected?" you murmured as you whisked the green powder with warm water.

"I don’t meet the five fluent language criteria. I mean, who knows five languages, y/n?" Feyre exclaimed through a frustrated sigh as she pressed her forehead on the counter. "What kind of personal assistant does that guy need?"

Handing Feyre the drink, you couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion etched in your friend’s features. Watching Feyre take a sip, her silver-blue eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration and resignation. 

"Let’s go out tonight, close early, I want to get trashed," Feyre sighed. "I’m now a single, jobless, freelance artist. Who can’t even manage to meet the requirements for a stupid personal assistant position."

You reassured her, “The guy was probably a jerk anyways," as you cleaned up the counters. "You probably would have hated it. Anyways, yeah, I could always close early tonight. Let’s go to Rita’s?" Looking over your shoulder, you noticed Feyre on her phone staring at a photo of her and Tamlin. "You could always go back to him, you know? He seemed kind of obsessed over you."

Feyre deleted the photo after finishing her latte but didn’t say a word. You couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. You took the glass from her, and she stayed for a while making small talk with you before mentioning that she would see you at home later tonight. Leaving with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

******* 

Azriel finished his shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. A few more hours of code, and he should be done for the day. His phone chimed, a text from Rhysand in their group chat:

"Rita’s tonight 🍻🍾 to celebrate the new update."

An annoyed sigh escaped Azriel’s lips as he put the phone back down and got dressed. After getting ready, he took a seat at his computer and began working on code for what felt like hours. The eye bags under his eyes seemed to only get heavier.  

*******

The club pulsed with energy, the bass thumping in time with the pounding of your heart. Neon lights danced across the walls, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional shout. Yep, a typical Friday night at Rita’s. 

Feyre was wearing one of the skimpiest dresses you’ve ever seen her wear, and she was rocking it, of course. You opted for a black tight dress that hugged your body. Feyre held your hand, guiding you to a spot at the bar, where she ordered you both drinks. Both of which were fruity cocktails that you both downed the second they touched your hands. Setting them on the bar, you both left to go dancing.

"Tonight! We put past all of our worries; tomorrow will be a new, better day," Feyre laughed as she danced before you.

You both danced, feeling the rhythm of the bumping club music. The lights strobing, intoxicating both of you. Clubbing in Velaris was a whole other level compared to both of your small-town lives. People here were here to be seen; everything was about who or what you knew in Velaris. While dancing, neither of you realized the violet eyes piercing Feyre as she swayed her hips. It wasn’t until a waitress tapped on Feyre’s shoulder and pointed to a table on the second floor, claiming a man up there was requesting you both to meet him.

You weren’t sure if it was the environment, the drinks, or the way Feyre was blushing when she caught the gaze of the man. He was breathtakingly handsome, the typical rich guy with tailored clothes that seemed to hug his silhouette. As he manspread at the table drinking a glass of whiskey, his friends chatted amongst themselves. When Feyre began walking over to the table, he set down his glass in one swift motion and came up to her, grabbing her hand and planting a soft kiss on top of it.

"You are absolutely divine," He said in a sultry voice as his violet eyes met her silvery blue ones. A blush crept onto Feyre’s face as she met his eyes.

"Thank you," she muttered sheepishly as he guided her to sit down next to him. The man’s name was Rhysand; by the looks of it, the man was loaded. For someone so young, he seemed accomplished and fascinated by Feyre. Before you knew it, he bought a bottle for the table.

You sat next to her, of course, being cautious of your friend. You hear stories all the time of attractive men leading women to their doom. You sip on your drink, keeping a watchful gaze at Rhysand’s hands, who seemed to be kept on his lap.

At least he was respectful.

You felt a piercing gaze at you from across the table, meeting a pair of hazel eyes that had dark undereye bags underneath them. You recognized the look. It was the man from earlier. Instead, now you could see his whole face.

Rhysand was a different type of handsome, like what you would expect a CEO to look like or some actor that would star as the male lead. The man before you looked like a tired prince or even an idol. Soft black curls covered his face just below the brow, and he had these full dark lips…that you couldn’t stop staring at. Why couldn’t you stop staring at them? Was it the drinking? A smile tugged his lips as he moved closer to you.

A low voice, almost a whisper in your ear, "You live down the hall? What a small world we are meeting here." His breath was hot, sending shivers down your body. Instead of responding, you took a sip of the champagne that Rhysand bought for the table—champagne you would normally never be able to afford. You finally gathered the courage to meet his gaze, his hazel eyes held warmth.

"Yeah…about two doors down from you, I’m assuming," you mutter sheepishly. He was so intimidating, yet you felt comfortable enough that if he asked you a question, you would be able to answer it without hesitation. You couldn’t help but notice his hands. Burn markings scattered all over them.

"Azriel, that’s my name. What’s yours?" He followed your gaze before setting his drink on the table and folding his hands over his lap. A stutter spurred from your lips, "Y/n, a pleasure to meet you Azriel," you look at him, yet your eyes are once again drawn to his lips.

An amused smile tugged his lips as he looked over at you up and down. "Y/n, pretty name for a little fawn like you. You don’t seem like the clubbing type," Azriel’s gaze met your eyes again as he tilted his head. "What brought you here tonight?"

"Celebrating losses, to say the least." You gave a slight nod to Feyre, who seemed to be laughing at Rhysand’s joke as she leaned against him. You looked around the room and back at him. "How about you? You looked exhausted."

Azriel leaned a bit closer; you both were touching at this point. "Celebrating losses? Well, I suppose we are opposites because we're celebrating wins." A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned to grab his drink from the table and took a sip. Not breaking eye contact with you. "What’d you lose, little fawn?"

"Personally, I didn’t lose anything, just supporting my friend- who is getting very comfortable with your friend over there," You glance at him as he notices them with a smile on his face. "She needed a little pick me up, rough day for her."

"Hopefully tonight will be better for her then," He smiled. "Also, don’t worry about Rhysand; taking home drunk girls was in his early twenties. He was captivated by her dancing. Wait til he finds out, she lives down the hall from him." a teasing tone in his voice. "Clubs are nice and all, but do you want to get out of here? Maybe grab some food?"

Was he asking you out, was he expecting more, is it okay to have a playful fling with your extremely attractive neighbor?

As Azriel’s gaze bore into yours, your mind raced with questions and doubts. Was he asking you out? Did you want him to? The alcohol buzzed in your veins, clouding your thoughts and judgments. Loosening your inhibitions. “Yes” escaped your lips without a second guess, the words hanging in the air like an unspoken promise. 

The two of you left; Rhysand had given you his number and said that he would take Feyre home and he would text you when he did. Nice guy, especially for paying for your drinks the whole night.

Azriel took your hand, his large hands grabbing your soft ones. The callouses from working out rubbing against your soft palm. A part of you wondered what they would feel like around your… no, no naughty thoughts, you barely just met the guy. He had guided you outside the club.

"Do you like ramen?" He asked as he looked down at you; he was nearly a foot taller than you. You gave a small nod, and he guided you to a place he knew down the street from your apartment. You were starting to limp, your heels scraping the back of your ankles causing a blister. Azriel looked down and noticed before stopping at a bench.

"Sit here, I’ll be right back," He said with a smile before doing a slight jog to the nearby convenience store. The cold breeze made you slightly shiver. A curious glance at the back of Azriel as he entered the store a block away. Perhaps, he was getting beer?

Moments later, Azriel came back with a bag. He pulled out a package of bandaids and bent down on one knee. Looking up at you he murmured in a soft voice, "Can I touch you?" a blush met your cheeks as you nodded. His warm hands took off your high heels and placed a bandaid on the blisters. His touch was gentle. "There," he said softly "I can carry you if you want?" He looked up at you, his eyes that once seemed intimidating, almost seemed like a puppy full of concern.

"It’s fine," you responded bashfully, "You didn’t have to do that, you know," looking away from his gaze.

"I wanted to, I can imagine that high heels alone don’t feel good, much less with the addition of blisters. How about we postpone ramen and instead get you home," He smiled before reaching for your phone. “I’ll add my number, so make sure you save the date.”

Azriel even took a selfie for the contact photo, a gift honestly to see this man’s angelic face.

After placing his contact information in your phone, he put your high heels back on and stood up, reaching for your hand. “Let’s get going, shall we?” You nodded and took his hand, feeling the scars. Perhaps one day, you’ll learn about them.

Tag list: @lilah-asteria, @brieflyclassymortal

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar azriel #modernau!acotar #azriel #rhysand acotar #feyre acotar

[delulustateofmind]

Upcoming Modern!Azriel Fic

Trigger warnings: mentions of abuse and an affair.

In the facade of Windhaven, the mayor portrayed perfection—a loving family, accomplished sons, and a jovial demeanor in public. But behind closed doors, he concealed a darker truth, subjecting Azriel, his illegitimate son, to relentless abuse.

Conceived from an affair with a maid, Azriel's existence became a shameful secret. The mayor adopted him to maintain appearances, while the maid disappeared under the guise of a paid silence, leaving Azriel to navigate a hostile household.

Lonely and longing for his mother's warmth, Azriel endured the torment of his stepbrothers, who saw him as nothing more than a villain in their games. Isolated and yearning for companionship, he found solace only in the confines of his room.

As years passed, Azriel's torment escalated, culminating in a horrifying incident orchestrated by his brothers. Left scarred both physically and emotionally, he faced his father's contempt and the cruel decree of boarding school—a final banishment from the only home he'd ever known.

But amidst the darkness, a glimmer of hope emerged as Azriel embarked on a journey to a new life in Velaris, leaving behind the shadows of Windhaven to pursue his dreams and find belonging with his newfound family.

A/n: This will be a Azriel x Reader taking place in the modern world. The first part will be his childhood with his father and brothers in Windhaven, will be pretty angsty!

#acotar #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #upcoming #modern!au #modernau!acotar

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: A Feysand AU

Chapter Masterlist

She's a law student turned confidential informant. He's a prosecutor with only one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for illegal activity . . . What could go wrong?

Summary

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

#acotar #feysand #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #sarah j maas #feyre archeron #rhysand #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #fanfiction #modernau #feyre x rhysand

[danydragons21]

Are you planning on some updated to "the undoing"?

Yes, I 100% am. For whatever reason The Undoing has given me writer's block like no other story I've ever written...but last night I had a bit of a breakthrough and whipped out a solid ten pages. The next chapter isn't quite done yet but expect an update in the next week or so!

In the meantime...here's a teaser for your patience:

The elevator is moving impossibly slow. It doesn’t help that the Night Agency office is located on the 99th floor; inevitably, and because God clearly enjoys torturing Azriel, they stop at nearly every floor on the way down. By the time they reach the lobby, Azriel’s patience has worn incredibly thin.

 It also doesn���t help that, just before they exit the elevator carriage, he registers that Elain is wearing the kind of flowy, romantic sundress that isn’t inappropriate in and of itself, but certainly fills his mind with thoughts that are anything but appropriate. She looks like summer, with her tanned, glowing skin and the sunshine hue of the dress. His jaw flexes while his eyes rove over her toned thighs peeking out beneath the frilly hem. He was going to have a word with their HR director and ask (by “ask”, he really meant “force”) them to update the company dress code and ban any and all dresses.

 Also maybe the color yellow.

#elriel #elrielfic #elrielfanfic #acotar #elain x azriel #post acosf #elain archeron #azriel #azriel x elain #pro elriel #modernau #modernacotar

[msfeyredarling]

Not from here, darling?

Im not really sure where this piece came from, I just started writing and this is what I ended up with. ALSO happy Easter for those who celebrate it

Context: modern au

AO3

All characters belong to SJM

******ೃ༄

Feyre placed both feet on the cobblestone path and stepped out of the taxi. Her eyes widened at the beautiful, prehistoric building before her. Smooth sandstone with decorative arches and intricate designs lined every corner premises. Frosted glass windows with grey vintage lamps emitting warm light, perched on the edge of each window, creating a space that felt ancient. The soft glow of the moon, shone down upon the building and replaced a towering structure with a building that seemed alive. Feyre looked towards the sky, taking in the twinkling stars and smiled as the cool wind caressed her cheek.

The smell of burnt popcorn met her nose and instantly she looked towards to the small shop selling the famous local food. She frowned as her stomach grumbled, unsatisfied with the healthy diet she was partaking in. The reminder of her previous meal of salad with chicken, brought a wave of disappointment. The melodic sound of laughter from her left, brought her back to reality. She glanced back at her destination and her veins suddenly filled with excitement, urging her to enter the alluring building in front of her.

As Feyre walked towards the atavistic establishment, she stumbled as a result of the uneven ground. Her clumsy side appeared as she almost toppled over but at the last moment righted herself. Many pairs of eyes swung in her direction upon noticing her mishap. It could have also been because of the sparky, deep blue blazer that contrasted her golden brown hair. Her face flamed but she carried on and plastered a confident smile on her face. An idea of a painting flashed before her eyes. ‘A statement of the century’ is what she would call it.

Upon reaching the end of the queue, she promptly opened her bag, searching for an item, only to realise its absence. Her wallet. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to purchase the well-known treat of this place and luckily, she still had her ticket. She patiently waited as the lined shortened until she was at the front. The usher with a nametag that said ‘Rhys’, dressed all black and eyes so blue that could have been violet, pointedly glimpsed at her outfit and rose a single brow. Feyre offered up a dazzling smile as she said in the old language,

“Have to make an impression on Velaris somehow!”

Rhys chuckled and it was then she noticed just how beautiful he was. Possibly the most beautiful man see has ever seen. Her admiring was cut short when he replied smoothly in her language,

“Not from here, darling?”

Feyre’s brows rose and her smile slipped,

“How did you know?”

His eyes sparkled as he answered,

“You sound like you’re speaking straight out of the old text.”

Feyre gasped in surprise. She thought use of the old language was impeccable. Rhys laughed upon noticing her face as he opened his hand, an indication for the ticket to be handed over. She placed the creamed coloured ticket in his waiting hand, and then he reached behind him pick up the informative brochure for tonight. He turned back around and gave her the brochure. He smiled at her and said,

“Don’t worry, your old language is perfect. What I really meant was I wouldn’t forget a beautiful lady such as yourself.”

Feyre felt heat rise to her cheeks. Never would she have expected that response. She wanted to exit this situation fast and slow her racing heart. She looked back at Rhys and responded with a simple,

“Thanks.”

She quickly walked away, hoping to calm her nerves before the show started. Feyre continued on and walked through the imposing wooden doors. Her eyes glanced at the paper in her hand and as she flipped the brochure over, she stopped in the middle of the hall to read the words written in delicate writing,

Darling,

If you ever feel like practicing in your old language in a new environment, I can be the perfect person ;) Or if you just want to talk in general, find me at the house of wind. Hope to hear from the beautiful lady soon.

-Rhys

Feyre’s heart stopped beating all together, then a grin as blinding as the sun emerged. Suddenly this man held more interest to her than the actual performance. An idea formed in Feyre’s mind but with being already full of nervous energy, she suddenly felt shy. She glanced at the message again and decided to just do it. She hurriedly walked back towards the entrance and as she spotted Rhys again, he looked up, directly at her. Their eyes connected as the air around them sang, as if they were being pushed them together.

As she reached the booth, Rhys gave her a questioning look. Feyre looked deep into his eyes and said one simple word,

“Yes.”

It was like she had hung the moon and stars with the smile Rhys gave her. It was so contagious that she joined in too. Another painting flashed in her mind; this time of a future filled with beauty. One where her life was quiet and beautiful, just like the night sky. Rhys would be there, and everything would feel perfect, like a dream that she wished for and was answered by the stars. She knew in that instant what it would be called,

‘To the stars who listen and the dreams that are answered.’

#feysand #feyrhys #feyre x rhys #rhysand #rhys #feyre #feyre acheron #acomaf #acotar #acowar #acosf #acofas #fanfic #fanfiction #modernau #oneshot

[featherymalignancy]

What careers do you think Lucien would fit best in an modern au? What career does he have in IVV?

Okay you know I love questions like this! ♥️🤩♥️🤩♥️🤩

So let’s talk a little about Lucien real quick and then I’ll get into how I envision his career.

As we know, Lucien is the son of Flavia—Beron’s 3rd wife—and Clifton Miles, Flavia’s college sweetheart.**

**in the IVV universe, Helión is a friend of Rhys and Cash’s and thus is too young to be Lucien’s dad/that would be too weird a coincidence even if he were the appropriate age

Lucien is 12 when Flavia’s on-again, off-again affair with Clifton is revealed, and obviously it’s a lot. Not only is he coping with the realization that his dad isn’t really his dad, he’s also finding out that he is mixed-race and trying to figure it out what that means.

The affluent neighborhood Lucien and the Archeron girls grew up in was sorely lacking in diversity, and Lucien was frequently the victim of the micro-aggressions and casual racism which is too often permitted in mostly-white communities. Navigating this bullshit teaches Lucien how to play social politics and how to use his words to put people in their place.

Meanwhile, Lucien has become a chess piece in Flavia and Beron’s divorce, and as much as Flavia tries to keep Lucien out of it, Beron is equally as determined to drag Lucien in.

Beron is both a overly-doting father who spoils Lucien to undermine Flavia and a harsh disciplinarian fond of witholding affection. Because of this, Lucien grows up fairly desperate for Beron’s approval, even as he grows to resent Beron in his teenage years.

Despite being equally as hard on Eris when he was growing up, Beron makes a habit of constantly comparing Lucien to Eris (who s five years older) when Lucien is in high school. Why should Beron be impressed that Lucien made the Junior Varsity soccer team as a freshman? Eris was on varsity his freshman year! Oh, Lucien got an 33 on his ACT test? Eris got a 35 the first time he took it, and a 36–a perfect score—the second time

So what does any of that have to do with Lucien’s job?

Well, much as Lucien felt he’s freed himself from Beron’s influence by the time he turned 18, he still goes into college knowing what his career path is going to be: he’s going to attend law school and become a lawyer just like his dad and older brother, who is a 1L at UC Berkeley.

However, when he’s a sophomore at USC, Lucien takes a Real Estate Finance course and falls in love with it.**

**we aren’t talking residential real estate, where agent helps you buy a house. Lucien is interested in commercial real estate. Think buying/selling office buildings, industrial warehouses, etc.

It doesn’t hurt that Lucien’s birth father Clifton—with whom Lucien is slowly developing a relationship—works in commercial banking, and has a lot of connections in the commercial real estate world.

The summer after his sophomore year, Lucien scores and internship at CBRE Investment Management. CBRE is the BIG dog in commercial real estate brokerage, with over 100,000 employees $23.8 billion in profit in 2020 alone. I guarantee that even without realizing it, you’ve seen CBRE leasing signs on office buildings and retail spaces in your city.

Lucien proves to have a real talent for both valuation theory and the art of making deals, and when he graduates from USC three semesters early, he gets a job at JLL, one of CBRE’s top competitors, as an associate broker.

Beron scoffs, saying any monkey in a suit can sell office buildings, but the truth is that Lucien is crushing it.

Even starting at the bottom with a smaller commission than the rest of his team, Lucien is swimming in deals, and I will tell you, commercial real estate brokers RAKE in the dough.

By the time he’s 23 (and we meet him in In Vino) Lucien is making close to $100k a year, and that is only the tip of the iceberg. As his cut of the deals he works on grows, Lucien will have the opportunity to make over a million dollars a year, out-earning hot-shot lawyers like his dad and brother, all with zero student debt.**

** if you’re thinking this all seems unrealistic, I can tell you that I work in commercial real estate and I am looking at a invoice right now where a broker made $334k on a single deal 🥲

So what does Lucien’s job look like?

First and foremost, Lucien’s job requires a lot of networking, which means that Lucien is out a LOT. Taking clients to lunch, golfing with associates, etc. Making plans with Lucien can be tough because if he isn’t out for work, he often just wants to be home on the couch to unwind.

Lucien is still in a suit and tie most days, though the the firm doesn’t care that he still has long hair. The industry is full of characters so you can get away with more eccentricities than other finance jobs.

Lucien would have a lot to discuss with Rhys, who is also in the real estate industry on the hospitality side.

Brokerage is—at its core—basically just a sales job, and Lucien is very much a salesman. He can talk his way around problems, he’s got a blinding smile he uses when wants something, and he is always negotiating to get the possible deal in every situation. Elain offers tells him “turn it off” when he’s inadvertently using his sales smile on her when wants something.

Lucien also works a LOT, which makes dating hard. That, and he’s developed a lot of defense mechanisms to keep people from hurting him like his dad did.

What do you think? Do you agree or do you imagine AU Lucien with a different job? Let me know!! ♥️♥️

#feathery answers #in vino Veritas asks #Lucien Vanserra #acotar x tog modern au crossover #acotar modernau

[featherymalignancy]

Please put us out of our misery and update In Vino Veritas 🙏🙏🙏

Okay well “out of our misery” night be beyond my power, but can I interest you in a heart-wrenching snippet? Okay, great. Here you go!

In Vino Veritas, Part VIII TEASER

Cash opened his mouth to snap out what a pathetic excuse that was before catching sight of her face and falling silent.

This was Tomás, Cash realized. This was what Tomás and his bullshit had done to her. Made her afraid to make a mistake, or admit when she was drowning and needed help. How must he have belittled Nesta in bed to make her so worried about displeasing Cash? The idea made him sick to his stomach.

#nessian #in vino veritas #featherywrites #featheryanswers #acotar modernAU