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Yes. Please. Im hurting. I want more.

secret dating 6th year

dramione

imagine draco coming back from the winter holidays with the mark on his arm. at first, he tries to evade hermione. because the longer he can keep it to himself, the longer she will stay by his side.

it happens one day in class, on a particularly simple and yet unfortunate occasion. being left handed, draco is taking down his notes when the sleeve of his robe catches the edge of the wooden desk.

a slight bit of skin shows. and the end of the mark.

having been watching him, hermione sees the end of the snake head, recognizing it for what it is.

draco pulls down his robe and continues writing. but hermione. she slams her textbook closed, garnering attention from everyone. she sweeps the mess of parchment and quills and books into her bag before swinging it over her shoulder.

“ms. granger!” the nameless professor calls.

she ignores them. she ignores harry grabbing her hand. she ignores draco and his piercing gaze as she storms out of the classroom.

when hermione granger finds out her boyfriend has taken the mark, she is everything but forgiving.

she is ruthlessly self-righteous, high on her horse at 17 years old. i know better because i do. i know you’re wrong because i’m always right.

you shouldn’t have done that because it’s wrong.

17 year old hermione granger only lives in blacks and whites. despite being in love with shades of grey.

a moment in the halls. she’s pulled behind a portrait into a tiny broom closet. he stands before her, above her, but she is not afraid of him.

“what’s wrong?” draco asks.

she scoffs. she grabs his arm.

he tries to pull away but she stops him.

“i know.”

and the curtain flies open. his performance is revealed—though not the haughty, blood-thirsty Shakespearean piece she thought it to be. no, draco malfoy breaks down. his performance, a sad apology. one not good enough for her.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” he keeps repeating it. she doesn’t understand. is that all he has to say?

“you lied to me!” she shouts over his meaningless words. “you lied and you kept it from me! you said you wouldn’t!”

“i didn’t have a choice!” he yells back.

she shakes her head. “everyone has choices, draco.”

he rips his arm from her grasp, shaking his head all the while. “maybe you do. maybe you and potter and weasley have all the fucking choices in the world but i—“

“yes, we do! we chose to fight for what’s right! we chose to stay by each other’s side and never lie! ever!”

they both seethe. they both think, ‘i will never be understood.’

“i didn’t want to lie,” draco whispers.

“but you did.”

“so that’s it then?”

hermione is quiet. then she nods. “yes.”

draco steps back. his eyes turn dark and his brows furrow down. “that’s it? i lie to you one time and that’s it? hermione—“

“it’s the mark, malfoy, it’s not the lie.”

“but it is, it’s both. like your little friends have never lied to you. hm, haven’t they?”

“don’t pretend you know anything about my friends.”

“oh but i do, granger. i know everything. and this mark changes nothing.”

“it changes everything! i cant trust you!”

draco shakes his head and moves for the portrait door.

“i don’t think you ever did,” he says. “because if you had, you would’ve listened to me. you would’ve understood.”

the door slams in her face.

she’s left in the darkness.

she’s left with her blacks and whites.

[elidereads]

THAT scene from Measure of A Man by @inadaze22

"It was human nature to seek connection, knowledge, and meaning through an avenue as primal as touch, and in that moment, it was okay to stop denying that she was hungry for it.

Starving to be seen.

Ravenous for a belonging that was all hers.

Proof that she wasn't alone.

To feel something. Anything.

Her feelings were natural as she—after a few mishaps with noses and angles—began working Malfoy's mouth open with hers, feeling each new sensation as they rolled in, one right after another like the tide. An electric tingle ran through her veins when she moved a hand to Malfoy's chest, right over his heart, and felt the way it thumped against her palm.

His pulse pounded, just like hers.

It was sheer insanity. The potions. The silence. The atmosphere. The charge from their conversation. The setting sun and its energy.

It was the faint smell of ash from the bonfire in the air around them.

Or perhaps it was a combination of nothing and everything that created the need for her to squirm and struggle against the rising emotions in her chest.

The hard clench of her belly. The want.

The beat of her heart, the pulse in her veins, the breath in her lungs.

It all reminded her, chanting over and over and over again, that this was Malfoy kissing her. Malfoy touching her. Malfoy with whom she had fallen into a rhythm of lips and hands, a delicious push and pull, a sharp rise and a steep fall. Malfoy that had her heart lodged in her throat, had her hands shaking from the stress and strain of angling her head just so.

But it was also Malfoy that blindly walked them backwards, still holding on, kissing her thoroughly, not breaking the tenuous new connection. Not even when his legs hit the back of the stone bench Hermione had all but forgotten about. He sat and pulled her between his open legs, angling his head up, tilting hers down…

And yes.

Yes.

This could be it.

Aside from talking and arguing, breathing and sighing, kissing each other may have been what their mouths were made for.

But that wasn't right… because this meant nothing. It couldn't.

"Am I too heavy?" Hermione whispered when he shifted her on his lap for the third time.

Calculating eyes were focused on her in that intense way that made her unsteady, like she might sway on her feet if not for him beneath her. Malfoy never answered; he swallowed her question with a kiss so shockingly uncertain it hurt. But it was easy to use that hesitancy to assert herself, to guide him into kissing her exactly the way she wanted, showing him what she liked, letting him unlock her—just this once." - chapter 16

I mean.. this scene alone deserves more art 😅😅😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

Also... you HAVE TO start reading moam ..

[elidereads]

I’m very emotional over this.

Theodore Nott & thestral

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House of Sky and Breath : Theory 1

Spoilers after the cut

Theory 1 : Spell-Made Mating Bonds

Starborn power originated in Dusk Court and migrated to Day Court.

- Dusk Court confirmed in HOSAB, birthplace of Theia and Starborn powers. 8th Court of Prythian that is now the island that is the Prison.

- Pegasus confirmed in ACOSF (p.420) migrated from the Prison to Day Court.

Lucien and Bryce have the Starborn powers found in Dusk and Day Courts.

- Feyre glows after sex with Rhys and they comment that that's a power she inherited from the Day Court.

- Bryce also glows after sex with Hunt.

- Lucien's father is Helion, High Lord of Day Court. It can be assumed that he's inherited some of his Starborn/Day Court powers.

A precursor to Lucien/Elain and Hunt/Bryce mating bonds is a dangerous situation and a burst of light.

Elucien and Quinlar mating bonds have scents that are noted.

- Typical mating bonds scents aren't noticeable till after the bond is accepted.

- Azriel is bothered by Elucien's mating bond scent, no one elses.

- Ruhn remarks on Quinlar's mating bond scent, after the flash of light in the Bone Quarter.

#crescent city #hosab #house of sky and breath #sjm theory #cc theory #acotar theory #mating bonds #elriel #elucien #quinlar

[elidereads]

This is my theory for CC3 and ACOTAR 5

*spoilers ahead for house of sky and breath*

Keep reading

[elidereads]

“I made a promise to protect you. I will not break it, Elide. I will always find you,” he swore to her. Her throat bobbed. Lorcan whispered, “I promise.

[elidereads]

Sixty Days : Part 2 (Angsty Elriel FanFiction)

Summary: Elain tries to get over Azriel after his "rejection" at Solstice.

Word Count: 1,700

Warnings: n/a

Notes: Any feedback would be greatly appreciated it. 🖤

AO3

The next time she sees him is after sixty days.

And she’s doing fine.

She’s barely been thinking about him the few days.

That’s entirely because she has more important things on her mind. Like her sister who is about to have a baby that could end her life, or the baby’s. Or her other sister who’s been kidnapped and forced to compete in a deadly competition.

When she first sees him, down the hallway as he enters the Estate while she’s rushing to the kitchen for more water, that’s what she tells herself. As she fills Feyre’s cup with more water and she realizes, in her brief moment of calm and quiet, that she has just seen him, she tells herself she has not thought of him in days (maybe only hours) and she is fine.

Then she rushes back into the room, definitely not noticing him standing by the window.

The next few hours pass in a blur.

Then her attention is on a different male and she realizes any notions of any other male being perfect are now laughable. Because he is perfect.

Nyx.

Her sweet nephew. The perfect combination of his parents. Looking at him for the first time, she knows he’s not her son, that Feyre must feel a different and stronger attachment to him, and yet Elain feels all of the love and emotions she has tied to his parents overflowing from and into him.

Her sister who always fought for her. Who never let her go hungry. Who supported her entire family when she was so young. Who died for a man she loved and a country she barely new.

Her new brother who sacrificed everything for his people, his family. Who risked it all to protect her because of Feyre’s love, who offered everything and anything to her when she couldn’t offer a word or smile of gratitude.

These two people who had shown their love for each other and for her time and time again.

These two people who, if that had made different decisions, if maybe once they had rightfully chosen themselves instead of others, could’ve changed her entire future.

And what a bleak future that would’ve been.

All of her love and gratitude for them and for this life of hers, is suddenly culminated in this little boy. This perfect little boy, who she knew she would give up the world for.

It didn’t change her brokenness she felt in her heart, but it did make her glow with a different kind of love. If Feyre loved him even more than his aunt did, she wasn’t sure how she could even stand it?

Elain held him and rocked him and never wanted to let him go.

And for a brief moment she wasn’t counting the days.

She may have held him for minutes or hours until she was forced to give him up. She hadn’t process Rhys’ questioning if someone else in the room had held him yet, nor the stammered reply of the person in question. Rhys’ repetition of her name is what pulled her from her reverie the the boys long, dark eyelashes, the thin skin of his eyelids and mesmerizing ways his eyes moved under them as he slept and dreamt.

“Elain.”

She tore her gaze away to look up to whoever was calling her name. Rhys. She felt as if she was waking from a dream herself and she tries to gain consciousness and understanding of her surroundings. Some part of her felt his presence before her eyes found him. Standing close to her, much too close to her. Her heart speeding up at his proximity no matter how much she hated it for its response. He had the decency to look bashful. His hand rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes refused to linger on Elain, dancing from her eyes, to Nyx, her hands, back to Nyx before he eventually reached his hands out towards her.

No. Not towards her, towards the child in her arms.

The conversation Elain had overheard but hadn’t given the thought to understand finally clicked into to place and she realized that Rhys had told him to hold Nyx. She stood up slowly, using her core to balance herself as her hold on Nyx tightened as she stood. Azriel took another step towards her before she could move any more.

“Of course.”

She kept her eyes on Nyx’s face for as long as possible as she extended her arms to Azriel. Only shifting her gaze to Azriel as she began to release the baby. Her vision snagged on the scarred hands, weaving their way into the folds of the blanket, equally tender and protective.

She thought she would cry at the sight of the beautiful juxtaposition and as she finally moved her own hands off of the blanket she allowed them to brush over his. Because she knew him and she knew just as the beauty of his hands holding his nephew could bring her to joyful tears the image he saw would fill him with shame. So she allowed herself to touch him, for him, to remind him that he didn’t need to feel shame about his scars.

Maybe she touched him for herself too.

Maybe that slightest drew a sharp inhale from her.

Maybe she heard one from him too.

She didn’t linger to allow any of maybes to become definitelys and she moves away.

And then she moves further away.

She think she hears someone call her name.

Maybe it’s him.

But she’s moving because she’s already holding herself too tightly and she doesn’t trust herself to continue to keep it all in.

She falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow. It’s a reminder of how difference of this break. With Greysen she could never sleep. She tossed and turned and cried the nights away. With this breaking she sleeps better than she has before, falling asleep swiftly and sleeping without dreaming. It took her to the fourth day when her whole body is sore regardless that she realizes why she sleeps so soundly. It’s because of how stiffly she holds herself throughout the days.

Sixty days have passed and she continues to sleep better than she ever has and wakes to a body so sore that she immediately longs to return to her bed.

So she sleeps more and more. Nyx’s cries are what motivates her to get out of bed. She busies herself holding him and helping Feyre. She soon finds herself indebted to the little babe. For giving her a reason to hold onto the fragments of herself and for distracting the rest of her family from how little of her remains.

She’s confident there is only one person who would have seen through the excitement of Nyx’s arrival. But she’s kept herself at a safe distance from him.

So it is only her. And Nyx, if babies have any intuition, she thinks that he must.

Her next opportunity to see prove her sixty day theory comes at Nesta’s mating ceremony. Another event Elain can throw herself into. To distract others with her eagerness to help, to distract herself with the busyness of it all.

She even allows herself to contemplate what it all means. Mates. Perhaps that’s when she should have allowed herself to admit that this breaking was, indeed, not over. Because the topic that she had so adamantly avoided in all ways was suddenly a welcome path to direct her thoughts towards.

Feyre and she had started the conversation once, what would happen if she didn’t want her mate. An unremembered someone had accidentally interrupted their conversation and then life had happened. There were so many other, more important things to discuss with Feyre than her mate who they barely ever saw. Out of sight and out of mind was an apt expression to use. She initially avoided the thoughts because she hated how lingering on them made her feel and the less she saw him the less she thought about how she had a mate. Sometimes on her best days she completely forgot.

But this was a mating ceremony and her mate was here and the topic felt very hard to not think about it. She preferred this topic over “the other” anyways.

She watched Lucien from across the lawn and she allowed herself to considered what she wanted to do.

Greysen didn’t want her.

Azriel didn’t want her.

She wasn’t sure Lucien wanted her necessarily but, would accepting the mating bond be better than the alternative of being alone?

How awful did it make her if this was the sole reason she was considering accepting it?

She tried to picture their life together. Where was he even living now? Was he still living at Greysen’s estates? She involuntarily shivered at the thought of moving there too.

Okay assume he lives somewhere, anywhere else. Spring Court? Autumn Court? Would she be happy with him? Feyre said he was kind enough. There was no reason for her to think otherwise of him, aside from how he had allowed Feyre to be treated. But that was years ago and people were allowed to change. Forgiveness of others was something Elain prided herself on. She could forgive him for his inaction when her sister needed him.

She didn’t think life with him would be bad, but she also had a feeling that it would not be good. The longer she considered it the more strongly she felt that a life on her own would be better. More free. Perhaps that’s when you knew you had found the person for you, she mused, someone who when you were with them you somehow found even more freedom than when you were on your own.

Even if no one wanted her and she was destined to be alone she would not pursue this bond. She would talk to Feyre about it and she would not wait any longer. First thing tomorrow she would press the conversation.

She finished the wine in her hand and moved towards Feyre with the plan to offer to put Nyx down. Her care of the baby had yet to fail her as the perfect cover when she also wanted to excuse herself.

#elriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #elain archeron #azriel #nesta #azriel acotar #post acosf #angsty fanfic #angsty elain #forbidden love #elriel is endgame

[elidereads]

The Library of Alexandria – by @senlinyu 📚

Commissioned by the lovely @willowalla!

Digital drawing, do not repost, do not use without permission.

#dramione #senlinyu

[elidereads]

Gwyn’s song and Cauldron’s song

This post is linked to lightsinger gwyn theory so if you don’t like that theory...scroll past this post!

Also if you want to read about lightsinger gwyn theory @silverlinedeyes made wonderfull posts about it. You can find them >> Part1 and Part2

As we know Cauldron lured elain in acowar and captured her.

What’s suprising about that scene is that cauldron’s luring was described as a song.

It was a song

Invitation and alluring(this is going to be important in the first point)

Sang its siren song

Now let’s look at the similarities between Cauldron’s song and gwyn’s song

1.

Beckoning light

So I searched for the synonyms for beckoning and look what we have:

Invite and Allure

Two words that were used to describe Cauldron’s song.

2.

As you can see Graysen was beckoning to Elain. Calling to her. Saying things that she wanted to hear.

And with gwyn’s song nesta thinks

Like Gwyn was calling only to her

More important part is that “in a way that others’ hadn’t” as if gwyn’s singing is different than others’

3.

As we see here. The shadows could hear the song of the Cauldron.

And in the bonus chapter we see that one of his shadows danced with gwyn’s breath like it heard some silent music.

In both senarios azriel himself couldn’t hear it but his shadows could.

4.

In acowar when cauldron went away it was described like this.

The presence, the weight... vanished

And in acosf chapter52 nesta was scrying with the song. And when the song halted the vision stopped.

So all of this can’t be coincidence with how sarah chooses her words very carefully.

We learn that luring can happen with a song

Sarah gives us a new creature called “lightsinger” that can lure people

In the same book we get to know a new character who glows while she is singing

#gwyn #lightsinger #acotar #acotar theory #acosf

[elidereads]

Sixty Days : Part 1 (Angsty Elriel FanFiction)

Summary: Elain tries to get over Azriel after his "rejection" at Solstice.

Word Count: 1,400

Warnings: n/a

Notes: The first chapter, not sure how many more there will be. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated it. 🖤

AO3

Sixty days.

Two months.

Two months.

Sixty days.

Since Solstice that has been her mantra.

That’s all it would take.

With Greysen it had only taken thirty continual days, give or take. But those days coincided with the world falling apart, not only her world. Her family may say it was more, but she knew it was thirty days of falling asleep crying and waking up hoping her dreams were only dreams but always waking to find them her reality.

To some the mourning of Greysen should take longer than this because he was “more”. Her fiancé, her first everything and supposed to be her last.

But she could almost laugh at how much he was less.

Sixty days.

Two months.

She only had to make it that long and then she would be okay.

That’s what she reminded herself in the mornings, throughout the day, with every breath. When her heart and mind and gut ached.

She could do this.

Feyre had conquered death.

Nesta had looked it in the face and laughed.

Elain had a broken heart.

Who was she to complain?

That was the bitter question she asked herself. When it felt like her mantra wasn’t quite working. When she was threatened to confide in her sisters that she was barely hanging on.

Instead she tried harder. That’s what she always did and it worked, depending on who your asked.

Nesta and Feyre were upset and mad. She was calm, gentle and peaceful.

They were running out of food? She watched neighbors children, even the children across town, to make money to buy seeds. Nothing grew. She tried again, and again, until finally - a sprout. Only after the sprout grew did to find out she had been fooled. Her seeds were only for flowers, not produce. Nothing useful. Feyre made a begrudging comment, Nesta defended her saying she did it on purpose, that she wasn’t an idiot who spend their money on the wrong seeds.

What was she supposed to say after that?

Her father struggled. She tried to help him, care for him, smiled at his compliments, didn’t let on that he only had one compliment for her in many words. Pretty. Never strong like Nesta, never clever like Feyre. Pretty. The one attribute that had very little to do with Elain herself, she was rarely able to bathe and her clothes were constantly tattered. Her looks were something she had very little control over. But it was the only compliment she got so she kept it.

When Feyre was taken and Nesta’s hoped for engagement to Tomas didn’t happen Elain tried again. She wouldn’t settle for pretty, she would be beautiful. She would marry and save her family.

Feyre beat her to it. A few weeks after Feyre left their fortunes turned. It seemed thanks to the beast that took her.

One of the reasons she loved Greysen was because he didn’t need her to try. He just needed her to be. That’s what she thought love was, that was the kind of marriage she was looking for.

Until everything changed.

That change brought many bad things but also many good.

Like Rhysand and Feyre.

Because when she saw them, and their relationship, she began to see how different it was with Greysen.

He wanted her to be. That was it. Just be. Not live, not thrive, not change, never change. Just be.

So her heart only broke for him for thirty days. The mourning after that was not for him, but for the life she had. A life free of the random visions, memories she wasn’t sure were hers. A life where she could choose who she tied herself to, instead of fate telling her.

Those losses she mourned longer then her fiancé, until she saw that her new, changed life offered so much more.

A family that was full a joy, friends who encouraged her, a place where she was provided for, safety and an ability that offered her a sort of strength she had never expected.

Now she did not mourn her expectations or her future.

She only mourned the rejection of a person, one singular person, one singular friendship.

But when she compared him to Greysen, her old life or her old future, he was so much more.

Even when she compared him to all three.

So she told herself she would need sixty days. Double the amount of time it had taken with Greysen.

That was all.

If she could’ve fully avoided him it would have been better. He had been avoiding the house the best he could for months before. She assumed after Solstice he would continue to avoid it.

She would repeat her mantra and she try harder.

She took more on more gardens to fix, she never said no to helping Feyre prepare for the baby, she offered to cook with the twins more. She walked more, cleaned more, did more.

The only things she did less was sleep and smile.

But there wasn’t anyone around to notice.

Not that she blamed them.

She never blamed them.

Rhys and Feyre had so many other things on their mind.

Nesta and Cassian were figuring things out.

She thought Nuala and Cerridwen must suspect something, but they kept to themselves. She wasn’t sure if they were waiting for her to talk or if they were told not to pry.

She tried to not consider that.

Feyre had taken to more naps, which was the perfect excuse for Elain to avoid any meetings a the River Estate. She was helping take care of Feyre, naturally, that’s what she did. She helped.

There was only one time in the sixty days that she saw him. Rain had cut her time working on a garden across town short and she didn’t think Rhys was expecting anyone that day. Thankfully she was halfway up the stairs before the doors to the office opened. She had paused, expecting to greet Rhys, when instead he stepped out.

All it took was seeing the top of his hair for her breath to stop shot. His blue-black hair, thick, slightly curled from the humidity the rain brought. Then his wings, she still found herself in awe of them. He was looking back into the office, as if he was still saying something to Rhys as he was walking out. She knew she should make her dash up the stairs now. Before he saw her, or worse, made eye contact, because then she would have to see how he looked at her.

She had always thought his gaze held such tenderness, especially for her. That this male, who others eyed warily when they were in the same room, had looked at her as if she had hung the moon. She knew better now. When he had said that word, mistake, it was as if she had be shot with a bolt with clarity. His looks were not of tenderness but pity. He wasn’t a unique person who saw her for who she was, that’s only what she wanted to see in his eyes, his words. He saw her the same as the rest of the world, someone to be coddled. She was the fool for picturing things between them differently.

No, she wasn’t ready to see that look in his eyes. It had not been sixty days, only forty, she wasn’t ready to face it. She couldn’t be expected to face it.

But it was as if the moment he opened the door and they breathed the same air he knew and his head whipped around to look for her.

And their eyes met.

And she wasn’t sure when she had last taken a breath.

She thought she saw concern in his eyes, but that wasn’t anything new. Most everyone found something to imagine they should be concerned about for her.

He took a step towards her, not breaking eye contact. His lips parted, as if he was about to say something, possibly her name.

Or perhaps that was a hope that had another twenty days before it faded.

Because then Rhys was saying his name and he blinked.

It was as if the spell was broken. Elain quickly turned away and rushed up up the stairs, to the safety of her room.

As she closed the door she thought she heard the sound her name, whispered like a thought not only considered but acted upon. Later that night, when she finally left her room to descend the stairs for dinner she had convinced herself that another thing she wished for, not a part of her reality.

#elriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #elain archeron #azriel #nesta #azriel acotar #post acosf #angsty fanfic #angsty elain #forbidden love #elriel is endgame

[elidereads]

Azriel: I am the mighty shadowsinger, wielder of Truth-Teller. I have no weakness and—

Elain: *appears*

Azriel: *on his knees* Take my blade. Take it. Take anything you want😩

#elriel

[elidereads]

Elain's Little Black Dress is foreshadowing, not ridiculous; a theory

Please don't screenshot this post without credit.

Disclaimer: as usual, theories are theories, and just like all of my other theory posts, this one also makes no claims of accuracy. We'll have to wait for Elain's book to know for sure.

I'm going to include the following passage from ACOSF in a much longer meta that I'm working on, but it deserves its own post, because it's such a divisive moment, and I haven't yet seen this argument against Cassian’s statement.

For reference, I'm basing this rebuttal against the opinion that Elain not wearing black well means she will be leaving her family for either the Day or Spring Courts on my Dusk Court theory post; it's a 10k word monster, so I'll briefly sum up the pertinent information:

Elain is warmth, spring and rebirth. She is hope and light.

Azriel is cold, winter and death. He is the knife in the dark.

The Dusk Court originally occupied the land that is currently known as Hybern; the Court itself is hibernating, due to the lack of a High Lord... for now.

I suspect Azriel is, unknowingly, descended from the High Family, and may be selected by the High Lord’s magic. This may or may not be shared with Elain as, together, they are Dusk personified.

The Court of Nightmares, in the Hewn City, descends from a group of Dusk Court refugees.

The fae in the Court of Nightmares - and the many other groups of faeries who are likewise trapped to varying degrees - are, essentially, faeries in a "mound," potentially based on the Tuatha De Danann. There are associations with the mounds of the Tuatha De and the Otherworld/the dead.

These faeries are waiting to be revived... for the Dusk Court to be reborn. To live again.

Aside from the fact that I'm not sure why we are taking fashion advice from General Lives in Leather (I'm sorry Cassian, I love you), I suspect that it's significant that SJM had Cass use the phrase "sucked the life from her" when Elain was at the Court of Nightmares, which is, I suspect, an offshoot of the fallen Dusk Court, currently acting as a subcourt of Night.

We know SJM is huge with her imagery, so pay close attention to her choice of words:

"... leeched the brightness from her face."

The Court of Nightmares, as I theorise it, could have detected Elain’s (potential) life-giving magic - her brightness - and is attempting to wake itself up by "leeching" it from her. Not unlike the way that Azriel's dagger, Truth-Teller, "devoured" the sunlight. I wouldn't be surprised if Elain weilded Truth-Teller again in the future, and was able to feed it more power, unlocking new abilities.

"But she hadn't hesitated to come."

Just like any other time Elain has seen the right thing to do, after the beginning of ACOTAR - even if it wasn't necessarily the easy option - such as hosting Feyre and the bat bros in the human lands, and begging Graysen and his father for sanctuary for others after she was Made, she has acted, even when she had everything to lose, regardless of the effects on her. I suspect that this will happen again in her book, likely in association with the Court of Nightmares.

"Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court--and would do whatever was needed."

Notice that Cassian doesn't mention that Elain had declared she was a part of the "Night Court," rather, she declared that she was a part of "this court." Cassian also thinks this at the Hewn City which is - potentially, of course - actually a different Court entirely. Is this a hint that Elain is actually a part of the Court of Nightmares?

Again, Cassian notes that Elain will do what is required of her. Reminding people that she can and will act to do "whatever" was needed to protect her people.

"He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her."

Once more, Cassian mentions the vague "this court," rather than specifically naming the Night Court. Coincidence? Potentially. Or it could be intentional.

As for the colour black sucking the life from Elain, maybe the dress just had the wrong undertones for her complexion - maybe she was wearing the Void fabric, for whatever reason - but what if it was symbolic of the hibernating fragment of the Dusk Court, that resides in the Hewn City, recognising what Elain will represent to them, and attempting to suck her life-giving magic from her without her knowing?

Please note that I don't think that this will harm or kill Elain, as I think her character's representation as a gardener - someone who grows and nurtures life - is a metaphor for her role in reviving, or rebirthing, if you will, the fallen Dusk Court.

*

This was just an incredibly short and quick post - by my usual standards, anyway - and it feels weird stopping here, but my point has been made. The above text includes an equally valid interpretation of this brief passage from Cassian’s POV that could explain why SJM felt it necessary to draw the reader's attention to Elain not looking her best in "Night Court black" at the Court of Nightmares.

This may seem like a crack theory right now, and it could certainly remain that way, but I wouldn't be surprised if, once the sequel trilogy has been completed, this is a passage that sticks out as a moment of foreshadowing on a re-read.

#elriel #dusk court #elain archeron

[elidereads]

Loved this a lot and makes me wonder if this is why Rhys was acting the way he was in ACOSF?! Hmmmm

Hey, love yours Elriel posts! You write so beautifully! It's a delight to read your one shots and fanfics. Was wondering if you could write something about Azriel having an insecure moment and Elain reassuring him which leads to them having their first time.

Thank you so much! Here you go!

An Elriel one-shot.

When Stars Were Falling

The party inside was in full swing, people coming in and out of the House of Wind, drunk on champagne, on the afterglow of the falling stars, on this magical evening.

Elain, picking up the hem of her cobalt velvet gown, made her way out onto the terrace.

She’d noticed Azriel’s face after the announcement. She’d known how he felt, even if his expression remained stoic and emotionless. But the eyes…the eyes were a giveaway. The eyes ached with pain, and disappointment, and such longing, that even across the room, she felt that gaze lacerate her heart.

If only he understood that this wasn’t her fault. That she had no idea. She was just as shocked, as surprised and as unsettled as he was. Yet she felt unbearable guilt, for whatever reason. As if she’d been lying to him all this time. He was a rational male, and there was no way that he would be blaming her for this turn of events, but she sensed that something snapped into him. He plunged into a darkness that was deeper and thicker and more dangerous than any of his natural brooding.

Up and down the balconies and terraces she searched, her high-heeled strappy sandals only a hinderance to the search. Once she moved to the darker, less-prominent side of the house, there were fewer people around, and she hiked up her skirt above the knee and launched into a veritable run. Gods, she hoped that he didn’t fly away. Her winnowing abilities left much to be desired, and she had no idea how to winnow to a male who did not want to be found. Last thing she needed was to get lost in the folds of the universe where even Rhysand wouldn’t be able to find her.

She found him at last.

Azriel. Her Azriel.

Alone, he was sitting on the balcony, upon the stone railing with his feet dangling off of it, and he seemed unperturbed by the dark chasm below him. His wings, usually tightly pressed and meticulously cared for were drooping limply behind him, dust and debris smudged over the delicate membrane.

“Azriel,” she said softly, so not to startle him.

He did not turn to her, though the shadows skittered away, allowing the two of them privacy. She was glad for it. She didn’t want to think that he needed them around her, to protect him from her.

“You left,” she noted the obvious. Her palms were sweaty. This new Fae body of hers certainly wasn’t terribly useful when it came to preventing her fingers from shaking, her breath from stalling, her heart from hammering in her breast.

“I was there for Starfall,” he reminded her listlessly.

She looked at the dark sky, and said, “They are still falling.”

“I’ve seen this for 520 years…” he shrugged.

“And you no longer see the beauty in all of it?” she pressed, coming closer.

“Perhaps appreciating beauty such as this isn’t a gift that is given to a bastard-born maimed nobody like me,”

“Azriel!” she exclaimed, horrified at the words, at the hate that she heard in his dark, controlled voice.

“Elain,” he whirled to her, “please leave.”

He’d never been so blunt with her. Never said something like this to her face. She always assumed that he never wanted her to leave his side.

“Why?” she pleaded.

“You’ll be a High Lady,” he spat. “Mated to the heir to Day Court! What do you want with me?”

She cried, “I didn’t know! Lucien didn’t know! Nobody,”

“But it’s irrelevant, isn’t it? You still are. Congratulations, by the way,” his tone was somber, but resentful too. Mocking. “The golden crown of Day would look lovely on you. You are sunshine personified,” he chuckled bitterly. “It only makes sense. The Cauldron, after all, doesn’t make mistakes. It’s never wrong.”

She walked across the balcony and stopped at his side.

“Look at me,” she demanded.

“I’d rather not.”

“Please,” she reached out to touch his shoulder, but he flinched away, as if she was going to burn him with her fingertips.

“Elain, I will humbly request that you leave,” he said curtly. “Please. I will deal with this myself, as I see fit. I know exactly what I am. What my role is. I am the spymaster for the High Lord of the Night Court. Someone I thought of as a brother, but who betrayed me, hid things from me that he ought to have revealed so not to play with my heart and emotions,”

Her throat bobbed, but it was not her place to defend Rhys. This was between the two of them. All she wanted to do was to reach and gently tug on his jacket, to ensure that he did not fly away from her, from the conversation.

“I am no heir. I am not fit to be mated to you. To be loved by you. To be chosen by you. I know it now. I think that I’ve known it always…”

Tears streaked down her cheeks.

“I am sorry that I am making you cry,” he sighed. “That I could never make you happy.”

“Az,”

He finally turned to her and then gently, tenderly ran his scarred thumb over her cheek, catching her tears.

“I am sorry, Elain. You deserve it all. You deserve the world. You certainly deserve to be the High Lady of Day. You deserve Helion as your father-in-law and Lucien as your mate, as your husband,”

“I do,” she nodded solemnly.

Perhaps he wasn’t expecting this simple agreement from her, but he looked at her with some surprise, his scarred hand still cradling her cheek, her jaw.

So, he couldn’t keep away, after all. Elain maintained her expression, but her heart beat a little faster.

“I do,” she repeated, nodding slowly, as if considering her thoughts.

“You do,” he concurred.

She looked away, at the falling stars that streaked across the sky.

“There is only one problem,”

The harsh skin of his palm scraped the tender skin of her cheek when his hand tightened on her face a little.

“I don’t want to be a High Lady. Not unless you are a High Lord. Perhaps,” she mused, “we are missing a Court? Maybe you should become the High Lord of Dusk…”

Everything in Azriel stilled. His hazel eyes darkened. His body tensed, coiling around her every word.

“That’s the only way I would be a High Lady,”

She continued, in the same light tone, “I do know a secret.”

“Another secret?”

“Well, I didn’t know about that other secret. But I do know another…”

“Tell me?”

“Aren’t you the spymaster? Do you want to venture a guess?”

He sighted, looking exhausted and shook his head no.

“What secret, Elain?” he pressed. “Please,”

“The Cauldron does make mistakes,” she offered simply.

She threaded her fingers with his and pressed his palm to her cheek, and then kissed it. Kissed the inside of his palm, then the hand.

“It made a mistake with a bastard born nobody Illyrian and a human girl who didn’t like and feared the Fae. It made a colossal mistake when it decided that this girl could ever love anybody but this Illyrian. Because that’s all she could do. She loves his scarred hands and his scarred, tormented heart, and his beautiful brain, and his smile,” she kissed his hand with each proclamation. “She loves his glorious wings, and, if she is being honest, his face doesn’t hurt either—not that she is vain or anything,”

“No.”

He exhaled a shaking breath.

“Anything else she loves?”

“Oh, yes,” Elain took his other hand, and began her slow barrage of kisses anew, “she loves his humour, and she even loves his walk…The Illyrian saunters, did you know that?”

He cocked his brow, “Saunters?”

“Yes. Very distinct walk. You know, sometimes, when he isn’t watching, she’ll play with his shadows?”

“He does know that,” he chuckled. “The shadows don’t listen, and sneak out to play with the girl,”

She stepped closer, and her breath bathed his ear, when she whispered, “And she wants those shadows to glide over her naked body when their master is inside of her,”

Azriel started, breathless.

A wild, teasing glint lit up her brown eyes when she pulled away,

“I want you, Azriel. I choose you. I need you. No one else. Never anybody else. Never.”

“Elain, do you understand,”

“I understand,” she interrupted him. “I know what I am doing. If I am going to walk the path of Eternity with someone, it would be you. Only you. My love. No High Lady titles or riches could ever sway me.”

She looked at him and then, through the tears that were streaming down her face, she smiled and said,

“Kiss me, you stupid man. Male. Whatever. Shadowsinger. Azriel. Because I love you.”

And he did.

Because he loved her too.

When Azriel winnowed them to Hewn City, into its dark palatial glory and into his bedroom, Elain had no hesitations. It was always going to be the two of them. Bonds and Cauldrons be damned.

In the frenzy of the next few days, her clearest recollection was that of his voice.

It’s his fucking voice.

Azriel and his damned midnight voice, that flowed over her like the velvet of her favorite dress, smoothing along her lips, her neck, and down down down her body, where it whispered and praised and instructed and paid homage to every little part of her. Elain listened to that voice, tempering it with the way her hips tilted up to meet his thrusts and loved how it deepened for her… Dragging her nails down his back and listening to his voice groan and delight in her. She moaned, moaned, moaned for him and came to his every touch and heard how he applauded her. Yes love. Just like that. Good, good, good. Again, again, again. Elain, Elain, Elain. And the I love you that ruined her every single time he parted his lips and told her.

#elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #elain x azriel

[elidereads]

Prompt: Azriel and Elain get stuck in an elevator.

All fluff with a dash of awkwardness. I hope you enjoy, nonnie. :)

My masterlist + Other answered prompts

Elain was late for work.

Considering she was the owner of the little flower shop downtown, and currently it's only worker, it wasn't good for business to not open on time.

And yet, as if the entire world was against her, the elevator was running late.

She looked at her watch.

She was supposed to flip the sign from closed to open in twenty minutes.

She needed a miracle.

"Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon," she murmured, rocking back and forth on her heels.

Finally, the light above the closed elevator doors dinged, and they opened. Elain hurried inside, even though the doors didn't close again until minutes later.

She had been in such a hurry that she hadn't noticed she wasn't the only one in the elevator.

The stranger standing on the far side of the elevator, on his phone, was no stranger at all. In fact, she saw him around often. Azriel, Elain thought. She was certain he was familiar with Rhysand, her younger sister's boyfriend.

Not that she had ever spoken to Azriel.

He looked up from his phone and spotted Elain, blinking, as if he just noticed that she'd arrived.

He nodded his head in acknowledgement. 

Elain found the notion both awkward and charming, so she gave him a smile.

And that was it. 

Once the elevator doors closed, it resumed its destination from the 23rd floor down to floor 1. 

Elain hated the apartment life. One day, she’d have her own home just outside of the city. Nothing too big, but with a yard big enough for an extravagant garden. She didn’t need anything too fancy, just as long as she got her dream garden.

Someday.

When her new business in Velaris took off. 

Around floor 15, Elain’s late morning got a hell of a lot worse.

The elevator jolted, and Elain had to grab onto the rail next to her to avoid falling over. It seemed Azriel had to do the same, his phone long forgotten.

The elevator stopped, and the light went off, the emergency lights coming on, making the room reflect in red. 

Elain wanted to curse, but she reined in the temptation. At least, until the realization hit her. “We’re stuck.”

“It seems so,” Azriel said, his voice deep from the opposite side of the elevator. 

“I....can’t be stuck,” Elain said, beginning to panic. “I’m late. I have a bridal appointment ten minutes after opening, and I’m not going to be there-.”

“No sense in worrying about something that can’t be changed,” Azriel said, completely interrupting her. 

Her eyes shot to his, but it turned out he was already looking at her.

She was taken aback. 

Usually Azriel hit beneath a hood or a hat, and in the handful of times that she had come across him, she had never really seen what was underneath. Today he wore no hat, though, and his long-sleeved tee that he wore with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the dark ink beneath, had no hood. His choppy black hair was pushed back off his forehead, and Elain could see his face perfectly well, even in the dimmed light. 

He blinked, shifting in discomfort from being stared at. “What?”

Elain cleared her throat and straightened her back. You’re quite handsome. “It’s rude to interrupt people.” 

He laughed, quietly, then nodded. “Sorry.”

He leaned back against the wall of the elevator and pulled out his phone, yet again.

“How can you be so calm?” Elain asked, sounding not calm at all.

He looked back up at her and shrugged. “I was just going to get a haircut then go to the grocery store. I think I’ll survive the delay.”

Elain frowned, her dark brows furrowing. “You were going to get a haircut?”

Azriel’s brows rose. “Yes,” he said, slowly. 

“Well,�� Elain began, pulling her purse strap higher onto her shoulder. “I think your hair looks nice, as is.” 

Perhaps it was the red lights, but Elain swore the softest shade of pink appeared on Azriel’s tanned cheeks. 

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Eventually, he said, “Well, maybe I’ll just go to the market then.”

Elain nodded, and looked down at her hands as they fell into silence, the hum of the lights the only thing to be heard. 

“I’m sure if you call your fiance or whatever, he can take care of your appointment-.”

“My fiance?” Elain asked, her turn to interrupt. 

When she looked back up at Azriel, he was already watching her, sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You said you have a bridal appointment.”

As Elain’s confusion faded, she began to laugh. “Oh, no, I’m a florist. I’m meeting with a bride to discuss what flowers she wants for her bouquets.” 

“Ah,” Azriel said, and his smile was mesmerizing. “I see. So, there’s no fiance, then.”

Elain’s voice grew significantly quieter when she said. “No, there’s no fiance.” 

Azriel nodded as he bit his bottom lip. “It’s Elain, right?”

Elain nodded. 

“Are you busy tomorrow night, Elain?” Azriel asked, and Elain swore there was a touch of nervousness in his tone. 

Elain shook her head. “No, I’m not busy.” 

The elevator jolted again, and it slowly began to move. Elain hardly noticed, though. She was looking at Azriel, and he at her. 

“Care to join me for dinner?” he asked, as they passed the 14th floor, then the 13th. 

“I’d like that,” Elain said.

“Great,” Azriel breathed, the timid tension fading from his shoulders. “I’ll head down to your floor at seven?”

“I’ll be ready,” Elain promised.

They reached the first floor and the doors opened. Elain took a second before getting out, Azriel just behind her.

“Maybe we should take the stairs tomorrow,” Azriel said, chuckling. 

“I don’t know,” Elain said, looking up at him as they stopped by the doors that led out to the streets of downtown Velaris. “That wasn’t so bad.”

He smiled that smile again that had Elain’s stomach in knots. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night, then, Elain.”

“I’ll see you then,” she said, and then they were walking out of the doors and saying their goodbyes, Azriel going right, Elain going left onto the sidewalk. 

As she walked, she had completely forgotten that she was late. 

#Elriel #Elriel fanfic #happy fanfic

[elidereads]

I Do Bad Things with You - Part 28

We’ve finally made it! I can’t believe we’re finally at this part with all the words of affirmation and confessions. It wasn’t long ago when this part seemed so far away. And now I can’t wait to get to all the fun, sexy times that we’re going to explore. Yes, I promise smut is coming. We’re just a tiny bit away from that, but it’s definitely in sight. And now I’m rambling. So, I hope you like it! 

I’m not doing a tag list anymore because they’re really more trouble than their worth. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💙💜💚

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy​​​ for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, language, NSFW

Word Count: 3,783

Keep reading

#i do bad things with you #elriel #elriel fanfiction

[elidereads]

Nyx and Rhysand Training

I’m not strong enough for this. Imagine Feyre painting them nearby and watching them train. The winner has to go against her next and they are all laughing, betting, and teasing💕😭

Credit: ‪Madschofield‬ (Instagram)

#nyx #nyx and Rhys

[elidereads]

me reading my fav fic for the 1000th time

#fanfic #fanfic memes