#read the faerie on and didn't even bother reading the rest

[luvvyouforever]

starcrossed - azriel shadowsinger x reader

-> in a world in which the cauldron grew tired of mates never finding each other, faeries are born with a constellation of stars on their skin that match only one other faerie. after years of never finding your match, everything snapped into place.

-> acotar soulmate au! some sweet fluff mostly with a little action in it :) i just have something for writing about azriel meeting his mate i can't help it. i also don't know how i feel about this writing so don't judge it too harshly please <3

rhysand's town home was packed with the night court and the utter largeness of their presence. azriel and cassian did not bother to tuck their wings in and instead let them drape over the back of the couch where they sat with legs spread. mor and amren took up arm chairs on either side of the couch, feyre was seated calmly next to rhysand, and you were perched on the edge of the couch closest to azriel.

an emergency meeting was called and within seconds of the communication going out, the living room was filled and heartbeats were racing. emergency meetings were reserved for dire cases only as each member of the court was impossibly busy with their own duties.

"there's a lot of movement happening in hybern right now and we don't like the sound of it," rhysand said with a serious, grave voice. "things are going to happen sooner than we would like, but we need to be prepared. knowledgeable."

azriel shifted in his seat which made you straighten out your back and prepare for your duties. you had an odd position in the night court as both healer and spy when need be. you worked and trained with azriel to assist him in the field and when he shifted in his seat, you knew that you were about to be gone for several days once more.

"azriel and y/n will go to hybern to listen in and try to figure out what they are working towards. mor will stay here in velaris in case what they are preparing holds danger over our people's heads. cassian, feyre, and i will go to illyria and alert them of new information. amren will continue to read these books because it may just be our last line of defense," rhysand called out orders with the grace of a high lord who was made for this job.

you noticed how feyre's hands trembled with nervousness and her fingers ran over the small pattern of stars on her wrist. rhysand's hand intertwined with hers and as an act of reassurance, he flipped his hand over, revealing his own pattern of stars to feyre again.

watching the interaction, your own hand traveled up to your collarbone where there rested your own little constellation of stars. the stars that would signal to you that you had found your mate, the one for you, forever. and yet, the years pass and you had yet to find that person with the matching constellation along their collarbone.

suddenly, azriel's hand touching you shoulder brought you out of your reverie. "come on, let's go get ready," he said. you stood up and followed him up the stairs of the town home to the roof where he held his arms open for you to climb into so you didn't have to walk to the house of wind.

"do you think this'll be a bad mission?" you asked azriel over the whipping of wind around your heads. his wing subtlety closed in on you so that you wouldn't have to strain to hear his words.

"i don't know. hybern could be planning anything. we need to be on our guard at all times," he answered back. even his shadows seemed to be nervous about what was coming. they whirled around your figure, one coming to rest on your collarbone, just above the stars.

-

azriel's feet landed with a soft thud on the shores of hybern. with gentle movements, he released you from his arms where you adjusted your clothing after so long spent flying. you were dressed in illyrian fighting gear, blades strapped all along your chest. down along your waist, however, were not more weapons but rather healing supplies that would prove important in a dire situation.

azriel was a vision of coldness. his gaze was fixed upon the land before him and despite the wind from the sea messing your hair, he was perfectly fine. on his body was matching illyrian fighting gear with his blue syphons gleaming brightly. truth-teller was sitting on his torso, gems glinting in the sun.

there was a second where you felt something deep down flutter, an unexplained notion that azriel was attractive but it was squashed upon entry. you had a job to do and that job was not staring at the high lord's spymaster despite the odd urges in your chest calling you to do so.

azriel sent his shadows ahead of the two of you as scouts, whispering in his ear of the things they saw ahead. you followed behind him silently, feet carefully stepping on the ground and eyes scanning every inch of what lay before you.

suddenly, a shadow perked up and pointed azriel to the left of both of you. there, a soft hum sounded from something and you weren't sure what it was which was all the more terrifying. azriel didn't dare to move an inch closer and your feet held the same pause.

"what is that?" you whispered as quietly as possible.

"i don't know," he whispered back. "stay alert. i don't want anything to happen to you."

later, when you were safe, you would wonder what prompted him to say that. was it the fact that you held the healing supplies which he knew nothing about? was it because you were his best partner in these missions? or was there something else? the pull that you had felt earlier?

none of that mattered right now though. right now, there was a mysterious hum coming from the left of you on territory that it is growing more dangerous to be on by the minute. azriel thought for a second, his careful eyes trained to his side. slowly, he went to grab a small blade from the holster around his hip when his large wing brushed against the ground. within a matter of milliseconds, hundreds of ash daggers shot from the origin of the humming.

you rolled, dodged, ducked, and winnowed all to avoid the attack. in the midst of the chaos, you lost sight of azriel which petrified you.

"azriel!" you shouted with little care about who on hybern heard you.

in just a few short moments, the ash dagger swarm stopped and in the silence, you heard a faint male groaning coming from behind you. with a turn quick enough to make your head spin, you found azriel on the ground, clutching at his sides which were rapidly spilling blood. with a whisper of a swear, you dropped to your knees to examine the damage.

your hands found the buttons on his gear, but with great effort, his hands stopped yours. "you gotta get out of here," he choked out.

"no, i'm not leaving you here. i won't," you whispered back, shrugging his grip on your hands off. it would be difficult to do, but you could winnow the two of you out of here, at least off of hybern's land. your palm found azriel's shoulder and for a second you felt like you were falling, but then you appeared on the shores away from hybern. the mortal lands, you realized. it was a risky manuever, but the beach seemed clear of humans. despite azriel's groans, you dragged him back from the ocean and to the forest line.

the fighting gear you had on was impossibly heavy and only inhibiting your ability to efficiently help azriel. with a quick flourish, you tugged off the leather, revealing the thin tank top you wore underneath. there at the top of your collarbone peaked the tattoo of stars which you had completely forgotten about. azriel made no noise, but his eyes immediately fell to the patch.

"i have to take these off of you so i can see where you're hurt," you told azriel. if he protested, you would still have to do it. the wound was too deep and too messy to heal from the outside.

gently, you pulled the leather away from azriel's body which caused him to groan more. with one final wince, he laid on the rough ground shirtless. there, at the top of his collarbone, was a littering of stars. in the same pattern as your own. there was no notice on your part as the wound your hands were currently working on healing took up your attention.

but then, just as you reached for an ointment tucked in the pocket of your pants, there was a touch to your hand. you looked up finally with a wild look in your eyes that told azriel how panicked you were about losing him.

that moment of eye contact, while azriel is slowly healing himself, while you were breathing deeply to calm your worry, is when it snapped. your eyes shot down to his collarbone where the tattoo of stars seemed to shine. azriel reached out a weak arm to trace your own version of the stars on your collarbone.

"i really didn't expect that, you know?" you whispered.

there was that pull again, the one from earlier. and then azriel's shadows reached out to you again, dancing around your form, circling the spot on your collarbone as they had before. they knew long before you did.

"there's no better time like the present," azriel shrugged but immediately followed it up with a groan.

you were shook back into reality and continued your healing. your eyes kept flitting back and forth from the wound closing on azriel's side to the stars on his collarbone that matched yours.

the man that you had spent so long side by side with. the man that you learnt everything from. the man that was your closest companion for years. when he felt strong enough, you would winnow him closer and closer to the night court before he could fly into velaris. there, you'd take him to your kitchen, make him dinner, and accept the bond.

for now, you appreciated this feeling of quiet understanding in both of you that you had found the one you were meant to be with, no matter if the bond snapped into place on a beach in the mortal lands with your healing hands tirelessly working on your mate.

#acotar #acotar series #fluff #fanfic #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #i don't know how to feel about this #but i think i like it #i don't know

[wetcatspellcaster]

Hi! Sorry to bother you again, I'm the one who asked you a while ago if it was okay to ask for some tips on writing dialogue. Thank you so much for your availability and time 🙇‍♀️ I'm mostly curious about how you structure your dialogues and how you manage to build chemistry between the characters through banter. Do you follow a particular set of rules or does it just come natural to you? You write so many ideas and cool dialogues, how do you manage to come up with so many? In general, if you have any tips for a fledgling "writer", they are super welcome. No pressure, of course, I really don't want to intrude/steal your time. P.s. I forgot last time to tell you that I also really loved your AU fic, Party Favours. I was hooked from the first lines and I had so much fun reading it. It was a really comforting and entertaining read, like drinking a hot chocolate in winter. Honestly, thank you so much for gifting us with such a warm and funny story. 🥰☕

Hey! Thank you for being so nice about my writing and the strengths you think I have - I didn't know I had them, so it was interesting to see my work from someone else's perspective.

And also don't worry, it's not a bother to answer this question. Although I'm not sure how helpful I'll be as I have no formal training and that might mean my explanations aren't useful!!

I'll try to answer as best I can :)

I don't really have rules for chemistry, I'll be honest, but my favourite dynamic (as is fucking obvious from many a fic I've written) is overconfident flirt/straight-laced practical killjoy. Luckily for me... there are a lot of these in media (Howl/Sophie, Tamaki/Haruhi, certain flavours of Buffy/Spike, Jude/Cardan from The Cruel Prince, Labyrinth fanfiction, whatever was going on with Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries)! So I guess, if I was to give advice on that... I'd say if you really like a certain dynamic, go and look for examples of how they work elsewhere. Work out what it is about the pairing that makes your brain itch, or examine how these characteristic interactions play out, if there's any kind of formula to them - for instance, in Party Favours, the bit where Astarion is actively and overconfidently faking while talking to Threnn while Rose gets more and more flustered, was based partly on a fake relationship episode of Buffy lol. Like I didn't copy it word for word or anything, but it was an idea I saw elsewhere that I knew would be good for the pairing. .

Coming up with ideas... again, idk how idiosyncratic my process is. I maladaptive daydream a lot, and I really like scripting arguments (see above about what dynamics in fiction work for me, lmfao). i just love to hallucinate bickering, apparently. If I have any lines of dialogue that occur to me in any situation, I tend to put them into my notes app on my phone, to revisit later. If I have a scene with a particular purpose, I might look through my dialogue on my phone and try to find a series of quotes that work. Other times the maladaptive daydream for a few days might be the scene, and I'll write down any notes on what I want to happen and let it percolate for a few days before I actually write it. Sometimes pieces of dialogue will come to me before the scene does - Astarion's speech in chapter 7 of pieces happened before any of the rest of the fic, and then I was like "fuck. well. now i've got to get myself there." Mostly, this seems to just be a result of having these people live in my head rent free, but I'm also pretty autistic and so I script conversations a lot in social interactions anyway. .

Dialogue. I think dialogue comes naturally to me (see above comment about autism) and as such, I don't really follow any strict rules, I'm afraid... but these are some things I do formally try to do-

If a person is talking at someone (again, see how much I fucking love writing people bickering), you need to make sure it's not just a wall of text. Adding in paragraph breaks, even if it's a monologue, is kind of essential (speaking as someone who did not do this in the beginning, and it shows, particularly when you're reading my earlier fic on mobile rather than desktop). Often I will break it up with a one sentence interjection, a false start from the other person trying to get a word in edgeways, or a stage direction. I had a problem with one pairing I wrote for where one of the characters just would never speak... I needed to engineer lines for him to say even if it was completely superfluous. Sometimes, now I look at my writing, I feel like these are obviously fake and unnecessary... but they help break up the text and give the reader pauses. So they must be helpful, even if they're kind of just... there. it makes the dialogue a dialogue, with two people involved and reacting to each other. -

Similarly, speeding stuff up can be useful when creating banter, to keep pace and avoid people monologuing at each other. The key ways I tend to speed stuff up is usually a) characters finishing each other's sentences (derogatory or affectionate), b) interrupting each other (you'll notice my repeated 'Astarion-' is often used to get Astarion to just talk quicker and at more length and in more detail until Rose loses her goddamn mind), c) quicker back and forth where you don't need dialogue tags or stage directions bc characteristic voices will make it clear who is speaking. -

I read everything aloud as I post. This is how I proofread. Reading aloud helps me find spelling errors/sentence errors, but it also means that I have to speak all my dialogue aloud to my own wall like a crazy person. If I'm speaking it aloud in a different way, like the phrasing changes subconsciously to what's more natural in my mouth, I will often edit the dialogue to reflect that. I speak it, to see how it is spoken. -

Second to the above point, if you have a character who's voice you struggle with, listen/watch clips of their voice. I do not think I can write Lae'zel (or Gale tbh, and I'm now writing a whole fic from his pov so I clearly hate myself). I watch back clips of them all the time, and then I go to my dialogue, and see if I can hear it in their voice. If I can, I keep it. -

...Be brave enough to tell jokes. I genuinely can't tell you how much I don't think I'm funny. Every joke I write in my fic, I have no idea if anyone else will enjoy it, or if it only makes me laugh. But I put it in there, for me. I'm lucky, bc now some people tell me they found a joke amusing, and I'll know it landed with someone else other than me. But you tell jokes with your friends, presumably, and you're playful with them. So allow your characters to joke with each other, even if you're scared that no one else will 'get it'. If no one else finds it funny, at least the characters are having fun! -

Anyway, those are my main 'tips', I don't know if any of them are helpful!!

My other one main piece of advice is... read. Seriously. Even if the media you want to write for isn't a literary novel, read other people's writing, and I do mean both fic and published books, because published books (if they're good) have an editor. I read a lot of books/webtoons/manga before I ever wrote a fic... like for 12 years or something. I was a big reader, and reading good writing is useful - it's inspiring, it's also just technically helpful. These writing tips might be useless, because lot of what I've done in my own writing I've learned through osmosis - just by reading a fuck tonne of books, good and bad. I'm not saying you have to read 60 books a year or w/e, but read like, a few good books!

(also, just write a bunch. I am only becoming a 'read' fic author on my 11th project??? basically??? so I've had a lot of practice at this point, and grown in confidence. The more things you finish, the more ambitious you get. I couldn't have conceived of Pieces when I was writing my first fanfic, bc I thought plot was my main weakness... now I'm writing an almost entirely original premise and that's bc I've learned a lot since I started writing!)

#asks #i hope this is helpful!!! #lovely words from lovely people #long posts #emma rambles #my writing #personal #honestly... a lot of my advice boils down to 'my brain does things i thought were normal until it took a therapist exactly 18 minutes- #-to diagnose me' #also the way all the formatting got lost is sending me

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (11/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.1k

Feyre faces her first task Under the Mountain.

Some dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from ACOTAR book one.

Read on AO3 or you can find the eleventh chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11 - she underestimated just who she was stealing from

I heard the crowd before I saw it. The passageway reverberated with the roaring, which could only mean that everyone Under the Mountain was here to witness this. As long as Rhys was among them, I didn't mind.

As the guards hauled me closer, the floor became slick and muddy. That was strange—all of the rooms and passages down here had been hewn from dry stone. I suspected it had something to do with the task ahead of me, but I couldn't imagine what. There hadn't been any mention of mud when I'd gone over maps of Under the Mountain in Velaris, and Rhys hadn't mentioned anything about it, either.

The shouting grew louder as we approached, and the faces of the fae closest to me were twisted in feral, bloodthirsty delight. I kept my chin high. Amarantha sat on a wooden platform erected above the crowd, surrounded by all seven High Lords. I didn't bother to look at Rhys or Tamlin, as much as I was tempted to.

Instead, I turned my attention to the strange labyrinth of tunnels and trenches along the floor. I was to be thrown into it, I realized. Perhaps there was something for me to find without getting lost, traps to avoid…

Then Amarantha raised a hand, and the crowd went quiet.

I looked straight at her, doing my best to seem faintly bored. She wore that usual mocking smile that was becoming far too familiar. Rhys kept out of my head, so I just waited for her to speak.

"There's not a scratch on you, Feyre. Don't tell me Rhysand decided to be a gentleman last night and make your first time soft," she said.

"Daemati don't leave marks," I said coolly, "but I'm not surprised you'd forget, considering how utterly unremarkable your whore turned out to be in bed."

The words were out of my mouth before I thought to warn Rhys I was about to insult him. He knew perfectly well that I had to keep up appearances, but to use that word that had been spat at him for fifty years…it might have gone too far. I sent a pulse of regret down the bond.

He slipped into my mind just long enough to say, Unremarkable in bed? It's difficult to be offended when you're being such a liar.

Good—he saw through the mask I was wearing, too. Forcing myself not to let my relief show, I kept watching Amarantha. Even from a distance, I caught the way her eyes flashed and her lip curled in the beginning of a snarl. My words had been a touch too defiant—I braced myself, ready to bear the brunt of her anger.

She merely rested a possessive hand on Tamlin's knee, a clear display of dominance that flaunted the ring with Jurian's eye. It was a miracle I managed not to look irritated. Even with the power of all seven High Lords at her disposal, she clearly seemed to consider my apparent devotion to Tamlin a threat. Pathetic, really. She could have him for all I cared.

"Did you solve my riddle yet?" she said, voice dripping with false sweetness. I said nothing and kept my face blank. "Of course not, and what a shame. It was so simple, but I suppose humans just can't handle faerie wine. You don't even remember it, do you?"

"No. I don't remember it at all," I lied, cheeks burning.

That, at least, seemed to satisfy her. She sat back in her throne contentedly, and I did my best not to look too relaxed.

"Then you'll have to face my tasks, I'm afraid. Though I suspect you'll like this one—Rhysand tells me you're a huntress."

I held back a smile at the confirmation Rhys had come through for me. I might not have a bow or supplies to make a snare, but I was by far the the best hunter Under the Mountain. I'd all but proven that on Calanmai.

My sense of relief was short-lived as claws dug into my armpits and lifted me into the air. I let out a shriek. The crowd laughed. I twisted to see what had grabbed me—the Attor. I was dangling from its claws like a mouse caught by an owl.

Two more powerful wingbeats, and it dropped me into the trench.

I fell to my knees, mud soaking through my pants. The muck seemed to suck me down, and I prayed I'd tied the laces of my boots tight enough to keep them on. I struggled to my feet and tried not to gag at the smell.

The smell—if I was hunting, I'd need to cover my scent. The mud itself might not be overwhelming to a creature that lived here, and it seemed safe enough to assume whatever beast she'd have me fight would have an acute sense of smell.

The sound of Amarantha's voice pulled me from my thoughts about the possible direction of the airflow through the arena. "Hunt this, Feyre," she said, then called, "Release it."

I barely kept my balance as a grate rose, sending rumbling vibrations throughout the trenches. Heart pounding, I bent my knees, ready to push off and run in any direction. Amarantha was saying something else, but I ignored her.

My quarry appeared.

And it was a worm.

A giant worm, surprisingly fast, with a mouth full of rings of sharp teeth, but a worm nonetheless. I barreled down the trench to put space between us, to give me time to think and come up with a plan. I'd hunted plenty of game in the woods, but I hadn't the faintest idea how to hunt a worm.

Rhysand had to be out of his mind if he thought this was part of my skillset.

I kept running, veering around corners and hoping it was enough to give me space to breathe. There were no weapons down here, nothing but mud. Perhaps I'd be able to hide myself in it, but that wouldn't do any good if all I had to kill the worm with was my bare hands.

After turning enough corners, the worm was nowhere in sight. I risked stopping in the middle of a long straightaway. It seemed safe enough to pause here, somewhere I'd see it coming. Bent forward with my hands on my knees, I considered what I'd seen. Most of my attention had been on that terrible mouth and razor-sharp teeth, but then I realized—I hadn't seen a pair of eyes.

The worm was blind.

It had to rely on smell to navigate, and it was almost certainly used to the mud. And the first rule of hunting was to conceal your scent. I dropped into the mud and rolled. There was precious little time before the worm came slithering around a corner, but I made sure every inch of me was covered—my hair, my face, my neck—even as the damp seeped through my clothes and chilled me down to my bones.

The crowd tittered, clearly confused by this turn of events, but I tuned it out. I was invisible now, but I still didn't have a weapon or a plan. Until I did, I couldn't waste a single shred of my attention on anything else, though I couldn't help but notice Rhys saying my name and something vaguely smug.

Now that I'd caught my breath, I hurried through the labyrinth and looked for something that could be of use other than mud. I had no weapons on me, nothing to use as a projectile beyond the clothes on my back. And my shoe would hardly be enough to fell the worm, no matter how hard I threw it.

I skidded to at stop at the end of another long straightaway, nearly falling into the pit before me. The Mother only knew how deep it went. If I fell in, I'd be trapped. But there was nothing in this labyrinth for me but mud. And the worm was coming.

So I dove.

I dipped my chin, tucking in my head to avoid landing on it just as Cassian had trained me. The mud softened my landing as I rolled, then got smoothly to my feet. There was some scattered applause from the crowd. I ignored it, intent on finding a tool. Or at least a way back up.

My eyes hadn't adjusted yet—I couldn't see what it was, but I nearly wept for joy when something hard crunched under my foot. I crouched down and dug it out. Bone. Piles of bones came into view, the remains of whatever the worm had been eating. But more importantly, my way out of here.

I could retreat farther into the darkness—there had to be a second way out—but I wouldn't be able to see. To get out, I'd have to scale the the mud walls. There was nothing to grab but mud that fell away in my hands. The bones would have to do.

I found a long, thin bone and broke it in half over my thigh. It snapped in half, even as my own body protested at the effort. But the ends were sharp. Deadly. And I felt better with a weapon in hand.

I fastened one half to my belt, then got to work setting my trap. I cracked as many bones as I could, breaking them over my knee until my thigh was probably dotted with bruises under my mud-soaked pants. I stuck them into the ground, sharp side up. When the pain of snapping them over my thigh became too much to bear, I broke more with my foot.

The crowd was roaring above me—at some point I was vaguely aware of a taunt from Amarantha and something else smug from Rhys. But I was too intent on what I was doing to care.

By the time it was done, my hands ached and stung, covered in scrapes from bone shards. The trap was set, but I still had work to do. None of this would matter if I didn't have a way back out. I pressed the last few long bones into the sides of the pit, a makeshift stepladder to haul myself out. That is, if they didn't snap under my full weight and send me falling onto the spikes I'd set up below. I fastened as many more bone fragments to my belt as I dared, hoping they'd prove useful later.

It had to work, if only to spare me the embarrassment of being killed by my own trap in front of an audience.

The bones wobbled under my weight as I scrambled up the makeshift ladder. My stomach flipped, the feeling too familiar after climbing up trees with too-thin branches. Before I could fall, I heaved myself upwards. I flopped forward, landing inelegantly on my stomach. But I'd made it.

Pulling the bone-spears from my belt, I pressed them into the mud so they jutted out sideways. They'd force the worm to slow down as it rounded these corners. It would buy me some time, a few precious seconds.

Now it was just a matter of baiting the worm into the trap.

I unfastened the last bone, holding it out like a sword, and stalked down the trench. With the dull roar of the crowd and my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, I could barely pick out the slithering sound the worm made as it moved. My instincts were screaming at me to go faster, but years of hunting had trained me to ignore them, to look and listen before every single step.

As I rounded a corner, it slithered by, completely unaware of me. I'd change that in a moment. Gritting my teeth, I cut open a gash along the side of my arm. It was small, but if the worm's sense of smell was as acute as I suspected, a few drops would be enough.

Leaving blood behind me in a trail, I ran.

The mud sucked my feet down, and my legs were groaning with the effort to pull my feet out with every step. The squelching sound seemed to echo in my ears, drowning nearly everything else out. I'd kick off my boots and run barefoot if I had to. I prayed it wouldn't come to that.

The trench didn't seem to end, and I'd half-convinced myself I'd spent the rest of my immortal life running from the worm when the pit opened up wide before me. I dove again.

But this time, my energy was sapped. I put every last drop of strength into the leap, but I didn't travel quite far enough, landing too close to spikes. I barely managed to remember to tuck my head and avoid slamming it into the mud.

A bone shard dug into my arm as I flipped myself over, crisscrossing the first gash with another one, tearing open the flesh all the way from my shoulder to my elbow. I screamed. Tears pricked at my eyes.

I scrambled back, away from the mouth of the pit, not thinking, just seeking the darkness on instinct. Even with pain clouding my mind, I knew darkness was safe. Bone-spear in hand, I pushed myself deeper into the worm's den.

I turned around just in time to watch the worm plummet after me into the pit. The wet, crunching noise that followed would replay in my nightmares for the rest of my days, the worst thing I'd ever heard since that very first snap of a rabbit's neck.

But the worm didn't move.

Out of habit, I reached towards my thigh for a hunting knife, ready to fight through the exhaustion to skin and butcher a kill, the way I'd done at the end of countless long days in the woods. But for once, I didn't have to.

I staggered forward, still clutching the bone-sword in my uninjured hand. The crowd was cheering, but the only thing I could focus on other than the pain was the gentle brush of talons at the edge of my mind. I let my shields down—it was a wonder I'd even managed to keep them up this long.

The wave of relief down the bond was so strong I nearly lost my grip as I climbed back out of the pit. But Rhys wasted no time, pressing his talons deeper to take away the pain from the wound in my arm. It cleared my head, at least somewhat.

As I walked back through the labyrinth, Rhys said, I have never been more grateful to have the bravest mate in Prythian.

And I had never been more tired of being brave. Yet again, I'd found myself in danger, setting a trap and killing a beast just to keep myself and the people I cared about alive. Rhys had been right that the task had played to my strengths—at the end of it all, the worm's labyrinth of muddy trenches wasn't any different from the labyrinth of snow and ice I hunted in each winter. For a while in the Spring Court, I'd thought I'd finally put hunting behind me, but after finding out that had all been a lie, ending up right back where I'd started was so much more infuriating.

"Well," Amarantha said with a little smirk as I approached the platform, "I suppose anyone could have done that."

The words broke the dam that had been straining to hold back my overwhelming rage. My lips pulled back from my teeth, I snarled like a faerie, took a few running steps, and hurled the bone-spear at her.

It landed just in front of her, embedded in the mud, quivering and splattering filth onto her gown. I nearly screamed in frustration—I'd been aiming for her heart, but my strength was too depleted to throw the bone far enough.

But then Rhys dropped his shields completely, and from his side of the bond, a wave of the best feeling in the world washed over me. I didn't recognize it at first, but it was warm and golden and beautiful, something far too good to exist in this hellhole Under the Mountain. Even as I wanted to let myself melt into the feeling, I struggled to find a name for it.

A sob nearly escaped me when I realized what it was: love.

Amarantha was picking up a piece of parchment and saying something about it, but I paid her no attention, just focused on the way Rhys's mind curled around mine. I love you, too, I said back, wishing that as I did it, I could look at him and not the see the mask, just this once.

But before that he'd called me brave, and something about it had been familiar. As Amarantha continued on with some nonsense about wagers, I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what it was about the word "brave" that had stuck in my mind. I'd heard it before, somewhere significant.

I drew enough strength from the feeling of Rhys's mind against mine to remember. But I bless all those who are brave enough to dare. I had been brave enough to dare to come Under the Mountain, and there was only one thing that had truly felt like a blessing since I'd arrived, the feeling he'd just sent me through the bond.

And it was the answer to the riddle.

I turned my attention back to Amarantha, who was saying, "…and just one person said you would win." I knew exactly who that person was, and it was all the confirmation I needed that I was right.

"By the way," I said, my voice strong as it rang through the arena and carried over the crowd, my cocky tone making me sound just a bit like my mate, "the answer to the riddle is love. And Tamlin isn't my High Lord—that honor belongs to Rhysand."

The whole room was instantly plunged into darkness. There were screams of terror from the crowd, but I wasn't the least bit afraid. This was the darkness that sang in Rhys's veins, the same power that had greeted me like an old friend the first time I'd set foot in the Night Court.

On the platform where Rhys was standing, I could just barely make out the outline of membranous wings, razor-sharp talons, and raven feathers, as if the darkness was letting me see through it, allowing me a glimpse of the monster that lurked underneath it all.

I smiled at it.

I could feel the sense of victory, though I wasn't sure if it was entirely mine or Rhys's or something that belonged to the magic I'd just released. But regardless of where it originated, I knew exactly what it was.

This was Night Triumphant.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

[ladylilithprime]

Snowbounding

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: General

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Selkie Jack Kline, Sam Winchester Is Jack Kline's Adopted Father, Magical Snow, Non-Canon Mystical Worldbuilding

Summary: The average snowfall per year for southern New Jersey is around ten to fifteen inches. Getting twenty inches overnight leading to an unexpected snow day is bound to raise a few eyebrows.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 1: Snow

Read on AO3

IF ANYONE BOTHERED to ask one of the many, many magical beings who had come out in the open at the turn of the millennium, particularly the more long-lived species who tended to measure their lifespans in the hundreds and thousands as a matter of course, the question of global warming would have been put definitively to rest. Several groups had, in fact, asked about it, along with asking if any of the more magically powerful beings could do anything to fix it. (The answer to that was complicated and boiled down to selfishness and the balance of debt versus what could be done without magic and incurred debt, which didn't really make anyone happy.)

It wasn't that snow never fell in or around southern New Jersey - they averaged about ten to fifteen inches a year compared to the more northern parts of the state - but the average was spread out and sporadic, and had been getting moreso in the last twenty years. So it was regarded as somewhat odd by the people of southern New Jersey when the town of Avalon got a solid twenty inches of snow in one night. The National Weather Service remarked on the last time the area received such a heavy snowfall and reminded people to bundle up and drive carefully. Schools and several businesses closed for inclement weather and most everyone just treated the heavy snowfall as slightly unexpected but still within normal bounds.

The kids were much less restrained, running up and down the streets with glee, making snow statues and forts for snowball fights. Many of them darted into Lighthouse CommodiTeas for hot cocoa from Sam and the snowflake shaped iced gingerbread cookies made by Jimmy and Cas. All of them gleefully shouted thanks to the half-faerie man and his boyfriends, and then darted back out into the frozen fray once they had warmed up enough to handle the snow again.

Most of the adults were perfectly willing to go along with that, even the ones who knew better, and the ones that weren't largely kept their grumbling to themselves. Places like Lighthouse CommodiTeas, The Kitchen Witch, and The Black Cats' Kettle stayed open to offer folks hot drinks or hearty soups to warm up with. A few customers even quietly found an excuse to tip extra, though whether it was for the hot sustenance or for the gift of the extra snow and a respite from work was kept to themselves.

And in the thick of it all was Jack, his seal form well insulated against the cold as he galumphed about with the kids. All morning and well into the afternoon, he could be found posing as a model for a snow selkie sculpture for one group of kids, balancing snowballs on his nose for them like a circus act or batting them from one team to another across the street, burrowing into drifts to retrieve lost toys or shoes, and generally having the best time ever under the rotating indulgently watchful eyes of his family.

"Do I even want to know how much effort it really took for you to do this for Jack?" Jimmy asked in an undertone during one of the lulls in the flow of customers.

"Actually boosting the storm so we'd get four times as much snow?" Sam chuckled. "Not as difficult as you might think, though the harder part was balancing the energies to keep it from producing a backlash somewhere else. Rowena helped in exchange for one free drink a day for two weeks, and Tasha traded a bag of hellfire roasted coffee beans for her help."

"She's using them in the brown bread she's baking to go with the soup at the Kettle," Cas spoke up, one of his hands finding Jimmy's to play with the spinning ring. "She usually buys them from Crowley for the autumn and winter seasons, so trading her magic for them to you instead of him lets her keep on top of that while still helping out."

"Besides," Sam murmured, casting a glance out the window at his frolicking son. "They're trades I have no reservations making to see Jack so happy, and I'm positive that both Tasha and Rowena know it."

"Good point," Jimmy conceded. He snickered. "Looks like we're about to get another wave of chilled children and a snow-covered selkie."

"And another round of hot cocoa requests," Sam predicted with his own chuckle, exchanging kisses with his boyfriends before stepping away to get started prepping the cups for the cocoa.

No one was surprised when he was proven right.

#fluffy february #rk writes #supernatural fic #sastimmy #faerie cafe au #sam winchester #castiel #jimmy novak #jack kline

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 | 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Rowaelin modern AU ▶ Masterlist

note: sooo, i apologise in advance for what you're about to see. this chapter was hard to write so I'm sorry if it isn't my best or something.

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Rowan tried to ignore the pitiful stares he received in the diner, two and a half hours after he arrived. Aelin was supposed to meet him here but so far, there was no sign of her. He was convinced she would come, refused to accept the alternative. A week ago, if she hadn't shown up on time, he would have believed she had forgotten him. But now, Rowan refused to believe that. She wasn't irresponsible at all and she would never make someone wait for her like that. He knew her now.

Rowan was sure she was running late. Something unavoidable must have come up at home. She'd come running as soon as she could.

Another fifteen minutes passed and she didn't show up. Rowan was exhausted now and the pitiful stares from people all around didn't help at all. He tried his best to not notice the sympathetic looks people sent his way, wishing the Earth could crack and swallow him whole right there. Rowan wanted to leave, to return home and rest on his own bed, relax for a while. But Aelin had promised to meet him here and even if she was late, he knew she would come. She had to.

So Rowan waited and waited and waited for Aelin to arrive. She never did.

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Aelin didn't approach Rowan until recess when the two of them were alone.

He felt like a fool for believing that the two of them were starting to become friends, a fool for believing someone like Aelin would befriend him of all people. She had been more than cordial with him, all bright smiles and charming words but Rowan doubted she planned to stick around once the project was over with. Her absence at the diner the previous evening confirmed that.

When she approached, all his walls were back up as if the last two days had never happened. "Rowan, I am—"

"Sorry? Yeah, I've heard that before." The harsh tone surprised him but Rowan didn't regret that. He had waited for her for three and a half hours, had deluded himself into thinking she would come. When she remained silent, he added: "I called and texted and you couldn't even let me know you won't come?! I don't—I don't want excuses, Aelin. Next time we need to meet up somewhere and you decide not to show up, send me a text." And then, he was walking away, some wretched part of him delighted in the stunned silence that settled over Aelin.

"Rowan, please!" She called out. "I had a reason for being late. If I could, I'd have come as soon as possible."

He halted, then turned around. "Yeah? Then tell me what was so unavoidable."

She fell silent again, wrapping her arms around herself. Her lips curled into a frown, all traces of mischief gone from the turquoise eyes. Rowan was seething with rage but he wasn't so far gone. He said, "Whatever, Aelin. Just—don't do that again. Next time you're late, I'll leave." He left without another word.

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Aelin had never felt so horrible before. Gods knew how long he had waited for her to arrive in that diner.

She must have looked as miserable as she felt because Lorcan asked, "Woah. What's that sad face for?" His words were casual as could be but the tone wasn't. She had learned to recognise that tone as the calm before the storm, like he was preparing himself.

Aelin looked up. "Rowan and I had plans to meet up at the diner. I stood him up and he's pissed and I feel horrible."

The teacher hadn't showed up still, most of the students loitering around the room. Lorcan pulled a chair and sat down beside her. The loud voices were making her head hurt. Now she knew what Aedion and Lorcan were complaining about when she talked in her 'obnoxiously loud' voice. Groaning, Aelin buried her face in her friend's shoulder, mumbling incoherent words about having made Rowan wait.

Lorcan patted her back, ever the awkward friend. "You stood him up? That's not nice, Ace."

"It was unavoidable!" she argued.

He asked, "What was?"

Aelin sighed, voice muffled when she spoke again, face still buried in Lorcan's chest. "Arobynn—he came back drunk. I didn't—I didn't want to come out of the room. He confiscated my phone." She felt him tense beneath her, lips pressed into a thin line. She said, "If you're about to go all overprotective bastard—"

"I didn't even know he was back. Gods! You didn't even tell us." He scowled, running his hands through his dark hair.

"I'm fine. I can handle him, I promise. Most days, he's too drunk to even bother with me. We have to wait until I can move out." She pulled back, surprised to see the teacher still hadn't come. Before Lorcan could push more, she changed the subject. "Can we decide what to do about Rowan? I don't want him to be pissed at me." That much was not a lie, at least.

Lorcan gave her a look. "You could tell him the truth. Whitethorn seems like a nice guy. I'm sure he'd understand."

"No! I don't—Let's hold off on that. I don't want to scare him off." She had crushed on him for so long, she wanted him around for as long as she could instead of dumping her baggage on him like that.

"Whatever you're comfortable with," he nodded. "Make it up to him somehow?"

Make it up to him.

Aelin remembered Rowan's words from before and grinned. "I think I know how to fix this shit." Then she was running down the hallway.

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Despite Rowan's warning, Aelin was a half hour late once more. This time though, she had something to show for it. Convincing her cousin to help had proved itself harder than she assumed. After, Coach Cairn had made them wait in his office fifteen minutes before he heard the two of them out. Aelin came running over to the diner, covered head to toe in sweat, her bangs sticking to her forehead. She looked around the diner, surprised and then disappointed to find Rowan wasn't there.

He had said he'd leave if she didn't arrive on time but it seemed unlike him.

"Looking for someone?" A voice interrupted from behind. The waiter grinned at her. "Hi, I'm Sam. I, uh, work here. How can I help?"

Aelin knew Sam Cortland, infamous for his reputation as a prankster at Adarlan High—their rival school. She often heard his name in gossips and rumours but all that talk had done him no justice. He was tall—perhaps not as tall as Rowan or Lorcan—but taller than Aelin. With bronze hair and beautiful brown eyes, he looked handsome.

She flashed him a winning smile. "I'm looking for someone. Silver hair, tall and muscular, permanently scowling? We were supposed to meet here."

Recognition flashed across his features. "Rowan? Yeah, he's in the washroom." He quirked an eyebrow. "You're here on a date?" With him? His expression said.

Aelin reined in the urge to defend Rowan, not wanting to assume what Sam meant. She leaned closer, smirking. "Jealous, Cortland?" She noted with no small amount of satisfaction that his cheeks had turned pink.

"If I admit I'm jealous, what then?" he asked, smiling. Some stray curls fell across his forehead and Sam pushed them back, nose scrunched up in annoyance. Something about the expression reminded her of Dorian when he fussed over his hair.

Aelin's smile widened as she reached her hand over to fix it. "If you admit that, then I'll tell you I'm not here on a date."

Sam blushed, cheeks turning a darker shade of red. He opened his mouth but was cut off before he could start.

"Really, Aelin? You have time to flirt but no time to spare for our project?" Rowan glared at her with an intensity that made her wish the Earth would crack open and swallow her whole. She didn't like him pissed at her.

Aelin started. "Hear me out. I wasn't—"

"Drop it, Aelin. I think you should leave." His words were clipped, tone harsh. It was as if the last three days never happened, as if they were back where it started. Aelin remained standing, debating what to do. "Leave, Aelin."

"I'm sorry, I really am! Hear me out once and I'll leave," she argued.

But Rowan, it seemed, was not in the mood to listen because the next thing she knew, he was walking out of the diner, a scowl on his face. There was nothing of the caring friend she had discovered on his face, not an ounce of feeling except for mild rage hinted with annoyance. His silver hair were mussed out as if he hadn't bothered to run a comb through them before he arrived. Aelin watched him from the glass door, transfixed, until he disappeared around the corner and sighed. In her attempt to fix stuff, she had made it worse.

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tags:

@thesirenwashere // @judexcardanxgreenbriar //@fangirltrash74 // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @b00kworm

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! Thank you for reading!

#throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver #dancing in the dark #aelin-queen-of-terrasen #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #tog #fanfiction #tog fanfic #sarah j maas #acotar #feyre archeron #feysand #sjm fandom #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius

[booklovingturtle]

Jude Tells Cardan About Locke

Hiya! This is a kinda like a part two to this fic and once again, dedicated to @duarteegreenbriar for the idea! I also reference this one at the end.

In this fic, Cardan notices Jude has a nasty new scar and Jude tells him about what Locke did to her the night before Taryn’s wedding. Buuuutt...some Jude mildly-nsfw (fluff) before he sees it because I had time so why not make it long-ish.

Cardan flopped into his bed, feeling drawn out after an intense day full of arguing with the lower courts. It’s only been two weeks since the High King split his throne in two; he was already wishing that he could go back to the carefree life he lived as a serpent. 

“You should get out of your court clothes before you call asleep.” Jude was already in her closet so her words came out muffled.

As much as he loved sharing his room with her, Cardan didn’t love her completely valid ideas that required him to get back up from bed.

“I was hoping you could help me out of them, Your Majesty,” he called out to her.

She laughed from the other side of the room. “I could hear you snore during Lord Roiban’s proposal. I don’t think you have the energy for that tonight.”

Cardan didn’t bothering hiding the coy smile on his face. He felt a blush on his cheeks but his eyes were still sealed shut. The warm caress of sleep was already pulling him under. He heard her door open and close. She stepped towards him, still laughing at the High King of Elfhame falling asleep on their bed.

“Come,” she whispered, tugging at his arms.

Cardan felt her fingers curl around his. She gently pulled his upper body up. He sat up while still kept his eyes closed. He faked a loud snore and she kicked him but giggled at the sound. God, Cardan loved the sound of her laugh. For so long he thought he would never get to hear it and now he couldn't go an hour without trying to get her to smile at him.

“Hurry up. If you don’t change then you’ll ruin your ugly coat and be upset with yourself tomorrow.”

That did make him open his eyes. “You think my coat is ugly?” His question was already forgotten as he took one look at Jude.

The High Queen of Elfhame looked sinfully beautiful in her sleeping clothes. Mortal day clothes, or “pjs” as Jude had called them, were very different from Faerie ones. Jude wore different clothes to bed, some times Faerie day gowns, sometimes these black pants that she called “leggings”, and other times nothing at all. The latter was his favorite outfit of hers.

Tonight she wore a simple, over-sized white shirt that was clearly mortal in fit. It went down to her the middle of her thighs, allowing Cardan to admire her beautiful legs. Her hair was twisted into a messy knot at the base of her neck.

“No.” Jude swatted his hands away. “Go change.”

He groaned, extending his arms again to pull her waist closer to him. To his luck she let him draw her in this time. “Jude dear...”

“Yes?” Her hands were on top of his and she made eye contact with him without any hint of malice. Months as husband and wife and weeks of a true relationship yet Cardan still couldn’t believe that she was really his. And he was hers.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She smiled gently. Jude and gentle almost never belonged in a sentence together but he was her exception. 

“I know,” she played with his fingers.

He chuckled. He knew that the smile on his face was probably too wide to be kingly but he didn’t care. “You love me, too. You said so yourself.”

“Really? I don’t remember saying that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Come here,” he begged, loving the way her mouth teased him with every word.

She obliged his request. Cardan tasted mint and the sweetness of happiness on her lips. His whole body started to wake up as her hands moved up his arms and buried themselves in his hair. Cardan’s own fingers danced under the hem of her shirt. She tugged on his curls and his fingers curled agains the material of shirt. He gasped when she surprised him by bitting his lower lip.

“Jude.”

“Somebody seems awake all of a sudden.” She played with his tail that twisted around her leg.

That drove him to the edge. He closed the little space between them by twisting their bodies so she was pressed against the plush mattress. He was in between her legs, feeling the slope of her stomach and the curves of her body under the shirt. She gasped under hime, her body arching at his touch.

“And somebody seems to be wearing far too many clothes,” he smirked and continued to push up her shirt to reveal all of her body to him.

“Not so fast, High King,” Jude shook her head. “You first.”

Cardan didn't even hesitant to yank off his coat and shirt, then his bottoms. She laughed at his rushed actions. He cut her laughter short with another heat-filled kiss. His lips ran down the length of her body until he reached her naval. She moaned once his mouth moved lower down. Then huffed as he skipped to the soft skin of her thighs. His hands brace the back of her knees, lifting them to position her better until his fingers feel the ragged skin of a scar.

Cardan froze at the feeling of an old puncture wound, one he didn’t remember from the first time he touched her. Cardan tried to remember if it was there the last few times they were together. It was possible that in the heat of the moment he’d never noticed it before but now that he had, he couldn’t ignore it.

“Jude?” his breathing was ragged and his voice deep but his head had cleared just enough for him to talk.

“What’s wrong?” she looked down at him, clearly confused.

“What is this?” He traced the edges of the scar again.

She paled, curling her legs into herself. “It’s nothing. An old scar.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t break eye contact with her as he sat on his knees. “No, it’s not. I don’t remember it being there before. Where did that come from?”

She gave him a frustrated sigh. “I have lots of scars, Cardan. Some old, some new. It’s really nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. If it was really nothing then you would have answered me the first time.”

Jude rolled her eyes. “Cardan-”

He took her hands from where they’d been resting at her lap. He brought her left hand up and kissed her ring finger. “You can tell me. Part of being husband and wife is sharing each other’s burdens.” 

She watched him, not resisting his action. Finally she spoke, “It happened the night before Taryn’s wedding.”

The night before she was taken. Before Balekin and Orlagh got their hands on her. Before Balekin-

Cardan blocked the thoughts from his mind, trying to focus on Jude’s words instead of the ones he’d read in his brother’s handwriting. He still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask her about what he’d read.

“I was on my way to see Taryn when seven riders attacked me in the woods. It was dark and they caught me by surprise. Don’t worry, I left most of them with worse than a little scar,” she tried to brush off the attack.

“Seven riders? Faerie riders?”

“No, seven teletubby riders.”

“What?” Cardan had never heard of any faerie creatures by the name. After a beat he realized the deadpan nature of her words meant she was being sarcastic. “Oh, never mind.”

A small smile played at the edges of her cheeks. “Yes, faerie riders. I don’t know for sure if they were trying to kill me but they definitely wanted to make sure that I was scared.”

“Did Orlagh send them after you?” Cardan had never forgiven the Undersea Queen but if he knew that she’d somehow managed to hurt Jude in his own territory, he’d find a way to repay her for that crime as well.

“No...it was Locke.”

Cardan shook his head in disappointment. He wished he could say that it was a surprise. That he’d never suspected Locke to be capable of leaving such a nasty scar on his fierce wife. But he knew better than that. He knew that Locke was a cruel Master of Revel who relished in sadistic games. Of course he'd gone after Jude that night. She would have been too preoccupied with trying to keep Oak safe and Taryn happy for the wedding to truly protect herself. If Locke was still alive, he’d have had him strung to a tree by the points of his ears.

“Locke did this to you?”

“I’m not sure if it was his arrow but it was him and his rider friends. They chased me through the woods until I scared them away. Not before I could chop a few down with an axe.”

His jaw ticked in anger. “Who were the other riders?”

“I don’t know. It was dark so I couldn’t really see anything. The only reason I know for sure that it was Locke is because he took my wedding present for Taryn and gave it to her himself.”

“I don't understand,” the High King shook his head. “Why would he do that?”

Jude gave him a sad look. “There’s nothing to understand, Cardan. Locke was a bad man who enjoyed causing others pain. He hated me and probably you for loving me. I should have seen it coming.”

Cardan looked at her in disbelief. “No, this is my fault. I entertained his games far too long. I made him Master of Revel for God’s sake. I should have paid better attention. I should have drawn a line for him to stay behind. Instead I was too afraid of my own feelings to ever protect you.”

That sounded ridiculous even to himself. Jude was an unstoppable force. She was the rock that sharpened the sword, and the hand that wielded it, and the tip that pierced skin. She had protected him time and time again even after he'd failed her. But never again. There would never be another Locke or Valerian or Orlagh or Balekin. Not as long as he was alive.

“That was in the past. It’s over now. Besides, Taryn handled him well enough for the both of us.” Jude caressed his face.

“I know I can’t protect you the way that you’ve been there for me. But Jude I swear to you as long as I live no will ever leave another scar on your body and last through the night.”

Her smile was a bright as the morning sunrise. “How about you wait to make those kinds of threats until we’re able to pick up our training sessions again.”

Cardan groaned, throwing himself back on his back. “Please no more training. You’re High Queen now. I can’t handle your wrath anymore.” 

He knew she was changing the subject on purpose but he didn’t mind. She’d opened up to him and that was enough. Tonight was just another reminder of how far they’d come together and how much Cardan and Jude still had to look forward to.

#booklovingturtle writes #holly black #The Folk of the Air #Folk of the Air #the cruel prince #tcp #the wicked king #twk #queen of nothing #qon #cardan greenbriar #prince cardan #king cardan #high king cardan #jude duarte #jude #high queen jude #queen jude #high king of elfhame #high queen of elfhame #jurdan #jurdan fic #jude x cardan #cardan x jude

[sarahreesbrennan]

Hey I'm just curious since you've now coauthored both Nothing But Shadows and Cast Long Shadows. Matthew Fairchild is one of my fav book characters ever and I was wondering what your favorite thing about him or writing him is? ❤ Is it difficult to write a character that you didn't create? Sorry to bother you, coauthoring fascinates me (and Matthew makes me smile)

Aw, what a nice question, and you’re not bothering me at all! It’s really fun to have the Ghosts of the Shadow Market stories coming out, and to do this adventure with my friends and Cassie’s great readers! I was super nervous about Son of the Dawn, and the reception has been really lovely.

I was actually with Cassie on tour when she came up with some of the big moves for The Last Hours, so I’ve always been super into it. Me, Cassie and Maureen Johnson were touring together to promote the upcoming The Bane Chronicles which we all co-wrote, as well as Cassie’s Clockwork Princess. That night Cassie and I were sharing a room, and since it was just after the release of Clockwork Princess, we got to talking about the future for the Infernal Devices characters and Cassie’s favorite Dickens book being Great Expectations (mine is Tale of Two Cities, which we’ve squabbled over, so I was all, you have to do books referencing Great Expectations because you love it so much you want to marry it), and we got out the family tree and started telling it to each other as a bedtime story. (WRITERS. We are like this.) And we co-wrote The Midnight Heir, the first time we see some TLH characters, on that same tour. It’s much nicer to co-write when physically together and able to chat it out, but sometimes that isn’t possible as Cassie and I live in different countries–America and Ireland–and we both travel loads. For instance, lots of my bits of Cast Long Shadows I wrote while in the Seychelles, weeping gently on the beach as I discussed Matthew’s life over the phone.

So the TLH characters and I have been friends a long time, and they’re maybe my favourite set of Cassie’s. It definitely is tricky to write a character you didn’t create–but uh, I’ve written fanfic in the past, so I’ve done it before! And this is different and better: Cassie is there every step of the way, so you know you can’t go too far wrong, and you know where everything is going, and it is really an honour to get to contribute a little to her world, and to know if I feel at sea I can push the computer toward her with an ingratiating smile and promise to do more on my next turn, and she will stop me or fix it if I have committed a great faux pas. Plus, through writing characters sometimes you come to love them more–I truly have with several of them. Co-writing with someone I didn’t know really well, and really trust, would be much more difficult. Mostly what I worry about is letting Cassie or the readers down. But because I came in on the ground floor with the TLH characters, they come easier to me than, say, the TDA characters. Not to tell you guys my Awful Weaknesses, but my most difficult Shadowhunters work was Bitter of Tongue, even though I do truly love the TDA characters, and Mark, and Helen and Aline’s wedding. But just… faeries. Why are they the way they are? How do Cassie and Holly Black, faerie queen extraordinaire, do it? I don’t know. I don’t get it. I sat across from Cassie while we wrote it, and sadly threw flowers at myself and at her, to feel more faerie. (I don’t know why any of my friends ever speak to me, all I do is pick them up and carry them, or belabour them with blossoms, or make them try k-beauty products.)

Anyway, I think you can now see that I do go on, as I have now been rattling on without answering your question for some time. (Both Cassie and I tend to write super long, which is a failing our friends must deal with. ‘For God’s sake ladies would you quit it’ said Maureen and our co-author Robin Wasserman for Tales from Shadowhunter Academy, when we handed in Born to Endless Night, which was twice as long as planned.) But I hope it’s clear that co-writing these characters is fun as well as challenging, and Matthew is especially great and easy to co-write, and has always been a special favourite of mine. He makes me smile, too, and that was lovely to do in Nothing But Shadows: James discovering Matthew, at the same time the readers were discovering him. ‘The facts are… I love him,’ I have said urgently, many times. (I am a horrible favourites picker, and will sit campaigning for story time for my chosen darlings and death for my least favourites through every critique session with every one of my writer friends. Soon I may just start waving cards with ‘RAPHAEL!’ or ‘NINA!’ or ‘CARDAN!’ or ‘THE CARSTAIRS SIBLINGS!’ or ‘THE MOON!’ written in sparkly letters. They all have to deal.) When Cassie, Robin, Maureen and our new fabulous addition Kelly Link discussed writing Ghosts of the Shadow Market in a pool in Italy, we knew that chronologically we’d start with the Last Hours characters–Jem seeing the new generation, his friends’ children, as his friends move forward in time and he… doesn’t. 

I have long complained about getting the first stories in these anthologies–introductions are difficult! It is a lot of pressure. ‘Hello, welcome to Magnus’s warlock gang.’ ‘Here is George Lovelace, we have big plans for him, gosh I hope Cassie saves me from screwing this up.’ Cassie told us of Matthew’s great sin. ‘I GET THE MATTHEW STORY!’ I shrieked. I have a piercing scream. ‘I’m doing it with you, right? Right?! ME!’ My friends swam uneasily around in the pool. ‘Yes Sarah. You can have the Matthew story. Stop that noise. Stop it.’ So I bagged the first story, this time around. (And then it was decided that Son of the Dawn would come out first, so I got a double first. Like I said, very nervous! But I did it for Matthew.)

I think writers are always interested in a dichotomy, so it’s fascinating to think of warriors growing up against the background of the aesthetic movement: CLS is set in 1901, a really exciting time tipping wildly from history into modernity, careening all unawares into the Great Wars. (In fact, a significant historical event occurs in CLS: you’ll know it when you see it.) Matthew is an artistically minded warrior raised by a scientist and a politician, and he passionately loves modern art and modern ideas of beauty and an ideal of living beautifully, in a way that doesn’t fit in with his society’s values or way of life. Matthew has everything going for him–he’s a talented warrior, he’s extremely adept socially–but the thing setting him apart from the rest is what he loves: his father, disabled and not valued for his scientific brilliance, his parabatai, under a demonic shadow, and his other particular friends, a boy who represents the next generation of science with new ideas about disease and technology, and a sickly small kid who people murmur won’t make it as a fighter. Matthew could’ve loved anybody, but he chose them, and in CLS it was great to write from his POV, and see those he loves through his loving eyes. He especially loves Oscar Wilde, who is a great Irish literary figure and who I grew up loving–and who got by himself on being witty and charming and brilliant, until tragedy struck. (I have read the play The Importance of Being Earnest… more than a hundred times, and Cassie and I saw a performance together in London, with David Suchet playing Lady Bracknell, which I feel Matthew would have enjoyed.) Show me what someone loves, and I’ll show you who they are: Matthew’s sensitivity, and appreciation for what others don’t appreciate, is what I like best about him. (Plus: funny and blond.) Being suited for violence, and choosing love, being drawn to love, is really endearing–it also means choosing to be easily hurt. How much Matthew loves makes him lovable, and seeing readers like him from the short stories is amazing–and I know they will like him even more in the books.

Our story comes full circle here: Cassie and I were roomies at the North Texas Teen Book Festival when we released the Cast Long Shadows snippet, and we planned to put it up when we were together for extra sleepover fun. ‘Let’s do it now!’ I urged Cassie wickedly on. ‘Plus try these gold and snail eyepatches, you will like them, go on, try a snail.’ And we will be together at a writing retreat–appropriately, in England, when Cast Long Shadows comes out! We will be eating toastie cheese sandwiches and hoping that you like it.

#gotsm #cast long shadows #matthew fairchild #writing