#Nesta is getting break up supplies

[daycourtofficial]

I Know Something You Don’t Know

Summary: Everyone else finds out you and Azriel are expecting a baby before you and Azriel do.

Author’s note: this is something? Isk where it came from, just went with it.

Cassian loved calm mornings. Coming home from training, cleaning up, and enjoying a few hours of calm to himself. He usually just lounges about the house, in various rooms, soaking in the silence, thinking about his day, his family, anything really.

He was sure this was to be one of those mornings, until he hears you bustling down the stairs in a quick pace.

Upon seeing Cassian at the table, calmly eating his array of sausages and bacon, you give him a nod.

The general laughs at his brother’s mate, whose arms are full of supplies to do mother knows what.

“Do you still have a body under all that stuff or are you just a tent with legs now?” He asks, laughing.

“Har har,” you reply, walking briskly through the room, “I told my nephews I’d teach them how to set up a tent and I’m running late. Can you open the door for me?”

Cassian rises, obliging your request. He loved ribbing you, but he also adored you as a person and as Azriel’s mate. You and Feyre were the best people to have as in-laws, a sentiment his brothers likely don’t share about his own mate.

“Well, I hope you all have a great time camping, don’t get eaten by any bears, please.” He says, opening the door for you.

“Ah, we’ll just be in my sister’s backyard camping, but it’ll be loads of fun. See you later, Cass!” You say, walking through the door.

Once the door is shut behind you, Cassian freezes as your scent lingers in the doorway. Your usual scent, of course, with a very soft, delicate undertone of flowers mixed in. So soft, he didn’t notice it while you were here.

Pregnant.

-

Cassian got the relaxing morning he thought he would. No one else came back to the house for several hours, an opportunity Cassian would usually relish and take delight in. Today his thoughts would only allow him to think of his brother and you and your babe.

His first thought was if Azriel knew, and knowing his brother, if he had any inclination you were pregnant, he wouldn’t have let you leave alone.

When the two of you mated, Azriel was insufferable. He was certain you would die from suffocation due to his hovering. On your first time seeing everyone after the frenzy, Cassian went to hug you and Azriel growled at him. You were incredibly patient and understanding, recognizing that it came from a mixture of his instincts to protect and his fear of anything happening to you.

It got so bad at one point you started bringing a spray bottle and would spray him when he was being too territorial.

Nesta and Feyre had walked into the house to find Cassian sitting at the table, pulling on his hair, a mixture of excitement and concern on his face. It was obvious he’d been sitting there for hours, his long forgotten breakfast gone cold hours ago.

“Cass, are you alright?” Feyre asks, coming to sit next to him.

Feyre’s voice breaks him out of his stupor, “Pregnant,” is all he can muster.

Fwyre looks at Nesta, “no no, not me,” Nesta replies, sniffing the air, “not you either.”

Feyre looks back at Cassian, “are you the pregnant one, Cass?”

“Azriel is.”

Feyre’s smirk drops from her face, “w-what?”

“Well okay not Azriel, but she is. She’s pregnant. They’re having a baby!”

Cassian feels ten pounds lighter being able to share this with someone. He jumps from his chair, standing in front of Feyre and Nesta.

“They’re having a baby, and neither of them know it.”

-

This day was absolutely rubbish for Azriel. Boring meetings, messy work, and stupid paperwork had him leaving early and staying incredibly late. All he wanted was to come home, eat dinner, and lay in bed with you on top of him.

He walked into the doors of the house, not expecting to find anyone, let alone finding his whole family in the foyer bickering like children.

“Okay but where will the banner go!” Cassian yelled at Mor.

“We already have a banner, we don’t need yours!”

“Yeah but I hand painted mine! I want them to know I was the first to know and that I’m the most excited for them!”

Feyre scoffs at Cassian, “if you’re the most excited, then why have Rhys and I already hired a team of nursemaids and nannies and have been gathering nursery supplies all day?”

Cassian rolls his eyes at his sister in law and high lady, “okay fine, you’ve spent the most money on the child, but I’ll teach them how to fly and all the best swear words.”

Mor starts to rebuttle, “yeah but I’ll be the best aunt, we’ll go shopping and,” she pauses, the first to notice Azriel’s return home, “Az, you’re home.”

All eyes snap to Azriel in the doorway, and he is no closer to figuring out what he’s looking at. Balloons are strewn about, as are streamers, there’s confetti, cakes, and what look like two banners that he can’t see what they say.

“What’s all this? Is it someone’s birthday?” He asks, walking forward and swiping some icing off a cake as Elain tuts at him and swats his hand.

“Uh,” Cassian replies, “it will be someone’s birthday.”

Azriel looks at him, “what does that mean?”

Cassian walks towards his brother, his arms outstretched, clamping down on his shoulders.

Looking him the eye, Cassian says, “do not freak out in that Azriel way you do when big things happen.”

Azriel scoffs, trying to shrug off Cassian’s hands. “I do not ‘freak out’,” his last words in air quotes.

Cassian continues speaking, “yeah says the guy who hid for two weeks when the mating bond snapped for him.”

Azriel opens his mouth to argue, but Cassian continues. “Speaking of, I saw your lovely mate as she left this morning.”

Azriel looks at Cassian, waiting for him to continue. “And after she left I realized there was a… scent.”

Azriel stiffens, his instincts kicking in as he responds, “what kind of scent?”

Cassian immediately shuts down Azriel’s thoughts, “whoa nothing like that, no. She’d never smell like another male, she’s too obsessed with you. No, it was a-a baby. She’s pregnant.”

As Cassian’s words were registering in his brain, Mor slowly lifted the banner so he could see that it said “Congratulations Bat Baby!”

Azriel looks at Cassian, deep-rooted fear of allowing his hopes to rise just to have them taken from him, “you’re sure? Absolutely sure?”

Cassian, unable to gauge Azriel’s reaction, replies with a quick, “yes.” Azriel wastes no time, sweeping Cassian up into a hug, lifting him off the ground. This show of affection was abnormal for Az, especially initiated by him, but Cassian gladly enjoys the moment.

Cassian can feel Azriel laughing into his chest as he sets him down, and everyone in the room is smiling at him, feeling his joy.

Azriel looks at Cassian, “but wait - do all of us know? Except for her?”

Cassian looks a bit sheepish, “well… maybe?”

-

Walking back towards the house, you walk through the open markets of Velaris, loving the smells of all the flowers and fresh bread. Walking through the vendors, several of them stop you, giving you gifts. You try to decline them, unable to accept their flowers, their chocolates, their breads. But they won’t let you give them back, and they absolutely refuse to allow you to pay for the gifts.

“I can’t just take these without paying!” You tell one vendor you frequent, Lila.

Lila scoffs at you, “it is called a gift! Have you never received one before?”

You roll your eyes, “of course I have, but this is different-“

Lila interrupts you, “it is not different. This is a gift. Accept it. Congratulations.”

You look at her in bewilderment, but a customer comes in at that moment and takes Lila’s attention. You walk through the market, your arms full of gifts from the vendors you frequent, confused as to why you have them.

You walk up the steps into the townhouse, toeing open the door after spending several minutes trying to find your keys.

“Honey?” You call out, removing your keys from the door. “The people of Velaris have gone nuts.”

You start making your way into the living room, still carrying what feels like 50 pounds of flowers. “They kept giving me things. We have like 20 bouquets and 10 loaves of bread!”

You feel him approach, helping grab things out of your arms and setting them down. “Did something happen and I missed it? Lila even congratulated me-“ Your words stop as you see the banners over the doorway.

“CONGRATULATIONS BAT BABY!” in beautiful writing, with little bats painted all over it.

Another one reads, “CONGRATS ON THE BAT!”

One written in what appears to be Cassian’s handwriting says, “I’M GOING TO BE AN UNCLE!”

You look at Azriel, still not understanding. “What’s happening?” You finally take a good look at him, and he is on the verge of crying.

“When you left this morning, Cassian smelled you. I didn’t want to get too excited until I smelled you myself, but oh gods.”

He wraps you in his arms, deeply inhaling you. “You’re pregnant,” he laughs into your shoulder.

“Pregnant?” You ask him, clearly not having heard him correctly.

You and Azriel stopped taking contraceptives a few years ago, knowing it would probably be a century before you had a baby of your own.

“Me? Pregnant?” He laughs, “yes.”

He pauses, thinking about something. “Is this still something you want? We jumped the gun a bit with the decorating, but I assumed because we talked before.” He looks into your eyes, “if you’ve changed your mind, that’s okay. We’ll figure something out. It’s-“

You cut him off, “I haven’t changed my mind, I’m just..” you trail off, looking around you, “amazed I’m the last one to know!”

The both of you laugh, Azriel grabbing your face and kissing you deeply. When you pull away, all of the inner circle has winnowed in, Cassian shooting off confetti.

“Surprise!” They all yell, laughing. The joy thrumming through the bond with Azriel is all consuming from both ends, and you’re sure everyone around you can feel it.

Cassian approaches you, embracing you in a big hug. He kisses the top of your head, then crouches down so he’s eye level with your stomach.

“Hi Cassian Jr.” he says. Azriel scoffs, pushing him so he falls on the floor.

“What? I figured it out, I get naming rights!”

“I don��t think that’s how it works, dummy.” Mor tells him, giving him a pointed look as she sweeps you into a hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” she says, pulling back to look at you. “Me too,” you tell her. She looks at Azriel, who has let the happiness fade enough for his instincts to kick in, “not happy to deal with him during your pregnancy.”

You laugh, “it’ll be a miracle if he lets me leave the house.” He scoffs, as if he’d ever let you out of his sight again.

Feyre approaches you, cradling Nyx in her arms. “They’ll be, what, a year and a half apart?” You smile at her, cooing at the baby in her arms. “They’re going to be best friends,” you tell her.

All of you spend the evening laughing, drinking, eating all the sweets Elain baked, and soaking in all the joy from the newest addition to the family.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff

[separatist-apologist]

Buried Alive Inside My Dreams

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

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

Happy @officialfeysandweek2023

Read on AO3

PROLOGUE: 

And at last, I see the light. 

Feyre Archeron was ten years old when she was locked up in that tower. Ten, because she was already a threat with her bow and arrow, and too clever for her own good. She’d been caught hiding in alcove, spying on her wicked step-mother. She’d seen the spell cast over her father, but when Feyre tried to intervene, two blackguards tossed her in the dungeon while Amarantha decided what to do with her.

Perhaps killing felt too messy. Or maybe she didn’t trust the servants not to spill her secret. Some lie was made up about Feyre needing a governess because she was so miserably behind her sisters. Her father, enchanted to do nothing but agree, signed off on the entire thing. Feyre was whisked away without so much as a goodbye from her sisters.

There had been a time when Feyre was sure Nesta and Elain would figure it out. Feyre was content to wait…and then she wasn’t. Days became weeks, became months….became years. Feyre began to forget the faces of her sister. She forgot her father, her home, the palace. 

She might have gone insane in that tower too tall to leap from had a little basket of supplies not been sent up, complete with a paint set. It was practically nothing—twelve tiny tins of paint, three brushes, and no paper. What she did have was the empty stone walls of the tower and her imagination.

And so Feyre Archeron, still just a child, began to paint. All the while, dreaming of the day she might finally get back home.

- - -

Combing out Feyre Archeron’s hair was a task that took the entirety of the morning. Every night, before she fell asleep, she’d braid it loosely hoping to avoid tangles and knots and every morning she woke half trapped in the floor length hair she was desperate to cut. It left her to the chore of washing her hair with the scant bucket one of the black guards occasionally sent up—their once imposing, constant presence had lessened over the years to the point that Feyre was lucky to see them once every two weeks. 

Today was lucky. There, at the bottom of the large window she often sat in, was a bucket and a basket of provisions. And more paint—she’d left a note for more and whoever oversaw her imprisonment letting them know she needed water more frequently, which didn’t come, and that she was running low on paint.

At this point, Feyre barely had space left on the walls. Nearly every inch, from the pointed ceiling to the floor beneath her feet, was covered in her drawings. Sighing, Feyre turned her attention toward a piece from years before, back when she’d still been struggling to find a style that worked for her, and too angry to paint anything truly productive. She could cover it in white and start again. It would take a day to dry, but that meant tomorrow would be filled with nothing but menial chores and painting—the only thing that made her still feel sane. 

But, first—her hair. Feyre dragged out the little, porcelain tub she typically kept propped against a wall. It was built for the child she’d once been, forced to fold her body uncomfortably in order to get clean.

Feyre scrubbed her body with a cake of violet scented soap before quickly rushing from the cold water and dunking her thick, long hair into the water. It took an hour to carefully wash through it, carefully combing out little tangles and burs that accumulated thanks to the length. Getting it out and wrapped in a threadbare towel was another challenge, and by the time Feyre had managed to brush it with a comb made of bones, her arms and neck ached. 

Water sloshed over the edge of the tower, spilling to the vibrant grass made newly green in the open spring air. Feyre sighed, even as a lilac scented breeze caressed her cheek. Oh, but what she wouldn’t give to be out there. She’d thought of jumping more times than she could count and knew if she didn’t immediately die, she was likely to break both of her legs which would make escape useless. The black guards would find her eventually and were just as likely to cut off her legs as they were to help her. 

Sighing, Feyre turned back to the tower and the mural she was working on.  Inky night, with flashes of purple and green and blue—starfall. In Feyre’s mind, it was so vivid, so real. Every year on her birthday, showers of light fell from the sky, illuminating the world just for her.

Well—not really. But when she’d been a child, it certainly felt that way. Feyre had been isolated for so long that she’d take anything, and to comfort herself, she’d spun a story that someone was looking for her. Someone so powerful they could pull the stars from the sky.

At nineteen, she knew that wasn’t true. No one was looking for her, no one was pulling the stars from the sky and no one was coming to rescue her. Feyre was on her own with no idea how she might get herself out. Sighing, Feyre turned to her paints, wet her brush, and began working. It was the only thing that made her feel human anymore.

The loneliness was starting to wear on her. Feyre often found herself talking to the lizards that ran the length of the tower, peering in with jewel bright eyes. They didn’t stay long, but when they did, Feyre unloaded her every thought.

She would have given anything for conversation that didn’t exist in her head, though.

Feyre got her wish three days later. Sitting on the edge of the tower, one leg swinging over the side while her purple dress caught in the breeze, she was carefully braiding her thick hair as three black guards approached. That was unusual in and of itself. The fact that they were armed, and headed right for her?

She supposed it was going to happen eventually. Feyre had no weapons of her own—only a heavy, cast iron skillet she was allowed to cook in. How many could she take out with it, she wondered? Maybe one, before they stabbed her in the back? 

“Princess!” one of them called from the ground, his reedy voice grating on her senses. 

Examining her fingernails, Feyre replied, “Yes?”

“Are you alone?”

She paused. Why wouldn’t she be alone? Her reaction must have betrayed her, because all three guards slowed their steps, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. Feyre turned to look in the tower where no one but an errant bird remained. “As always,” she replied with a heavy sigh. 

“A criminal is on the loose,” another informed her, his voice somehow more awful than the one before. “Your safety is of the utmost importance. Please go inside and close the shutters.”

“I won’t,” she replied with all the haughtiness she could muster. Truly, Feyre was channeling her elder sister as she remembered her. It was a perfect day—not too hot, with a nice breeze. Feyre wanted to feel the sun warm her skin, wanted to indulge in her daydreams of running across the hilly countryside and vanishing into the forest in the distance. 

“Princess—”

“Run along, now,” Feyre dismissed, waving a hand while turning her eyes back to the sky. They grumbled, but as long as they were forbidden from killing her, they were forced to obey. Her mind shifted to the criminal. If her step-mother was chasing this person down, Feyre very much doubted they were much of a criminal at all.

Feyre watched the black guards return to the forest they’d run from, intent on hunting down their missing criminal. “Good luck,” she whispered into the world. Foolish, to wish someone on the run any luck at all.

But Feyre knew better than most what Amarantha was like. 

It took three more days for Amarantha to show her ugly face. She merely appeared while Feyre was in the middle of painting, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Filthy as always, dear.”

Feyre’s heart immediately picked up. “Is it that time, again?”

“How compliant you’ve grown. What happened to the little girl who bit?” Amarantha crooned, tucking a piece of ruby hair behind her ear. Feyre indulged in a fantasy in which she bashed Amarantha’s face in with her skillet until her blood dripped through the cracks of stone floor of the tower and Feyre was left with nothing but a rotting, sneering corpse. 

“Just get it over with,” Feyre said, thrusting out her wrist. It was the same story. Something in Feyre’s blood slowed Amarantha’s aging, and something in her hair made her step-mother eternally young. It had to do with her mother, and how she’d become pregnant.

A prick of her finger, and three small drops of blood against the snow, promised three beautiful, magical daughters. Amarantha had told her this, once—as a child, sobbing in the tower and begging for her sisters. 

“This is where you belong, pretty Feyre. You were nothing but my magical little tool.”

Feyre sometimes wondered if Amarantha wasn’t responsible for her mothers death. If everything that happened to her hadn’t been planned before Feyre had ever been born. She did feel like a pawn in Amarantha’s game, with rules so complex it would take Feyre a thousand lifetimes to untangle. 

Reaching for her wrist, Amarantha dragged one long, blood red nail against the delicate, fair skin and the blue vein pulsing just beneath. Feyre hissed, turning her head while Amarantha lowered her mouth and drank her fill. She didn’t need much—a few drops at most—but Amarantha liked to torment Feyre by taking whatever she liked. 

“That’s enough!” Feyre hissed, yanking back her arm when it became too much. There was nothing pleasant about it. Just the feel of Amarantha’s teeth biting hard, leaving another crescent shaped scar on Feyre’s body.

“Someone is in a mood today. And here I thought you might like news of your sisters.”

Feyre’s head snapped up. “Are they well?”

“Hair, first,” Amarantha replied, tutting softly. Reaching for the end of her thick, long braid, Feyre raked her fingers through the ends until she had a few golden brown strands. Amarantha took them, pocketing them in her velvet, black dress. 

“Your sisters are well. In fact, Nesta intends to visit you soon. That’ll be nice, don’t you think?” 

The way her step-mother said those words, with that sharp, gleaming smile, made Feyre’s stomach sick.

“I don’t want to see her,” Feyre lied. She wanted nothing more than to see her sisters. And if Nesta came, it meant that Nesta would learn the truth of things—Feyre would tell her everything, would beg her to take her out. Had Nesta changed so much that she’d leave Feyre behind? It was her biggest fear, that her sisters had become poisoned the way their father had, and didn’t care if she was alive or not.

“Oh, don’t be so petulant,” Amarantha crooned, caressing Feyre’s face. Feyre jerked back furiously, her rage threatening to drown her. “All you ever want to talk about is your sisters and now you don’t want to see them?”

“Take me home, then,” Feyre pleaded.

Amarantha only laughed. “Feyre, you amuse me. Wild animals don’t belong in the palace.”

Her words were a kick to the gut. Feyre halted, eyes wide. Don’t cry, don’t cry—It didn’t matter. Amarantha’s loud, shrill laugh floated through the air as she vanished like smoke, leaving

Feyre standing in the middle of her tower with a bleeding wrist and a bruised heart. 

Screaming at the top of her lungs, Feyre made her way to the window. She was going to jump, she swore it. Jump and see what happened, see—

A twinkling star overhead caught her eye, settling her for just a moment. Head inclined, Feyre whispered, “Please, save me.”

But she suspected, as the wind carried away her wish, that the stars weren’t listening.

And they’d never answer her. 

Feyre woke to the sound of someone swearing. Without light in the tower, all she could hear was thudding coming from beneath her feet and a masculine voice—deep and rich like the night around her—cursing softly. Heart thudding, Feyre didn’t move, waiting to see if it was just another dream. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d hallucinated company only to realize it was her lonely mind playing tricks on her. 

“Fucking kill me,” that voice whispered again. The sound of grinding stone propelled Feyre up, racing for her skillet and then, realizing she was just standing there in a thin night dress, for the closet to hide. Just in case this was a blackguard come to kill her in her sleep—she’d have the upper hand. 

She left it open just enough to peek through a crack. Dust erupted from the floor as a large stone shifted. Feyre hadn’t known that even existed. Certain she was about to see a blackguard, Feyre gripped the handle of her frying pan with clammy fingers. Nerves were threatening to get the best of her, heart pounding so hard it was all she could hear.

The man who wedged his way through the tight hole was not a blackguard. Even in the dark, he was far too beautiful to work for Amarantha. She would have leached away his beauty before discarding the husk of whatever remained.

“The Mother fuck me,” the man whispered, shaking dust out of his midnight black hair. How he’d managed to get his broad shoulders through the opening was its own kind of magic. He seemed tall, muscular beneath the blue vest and white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. A bag was slung over his chest, hand protectively touching it as thought to reassure himself it was still there.

“Hello?” he called, violet blue eyes finding her murals on the wall. “What the fuck is all this?”

Feyre waited until he was right against the mural, brushing his stupid fingers through her still-wet paint. She didn’t trust him, creeping through the dark unnoticed. 

“What the—”

Feyre swung hard, hitting him upside the head with her pan. The man crumpled to the floor with a woosh of air, eyes rolling up into his skull. She waited a moment before a hysterical laugh exploded out of her. 

“I did that,” she whispered, crouching beside the stranger's lifeless form. A quick touch of his neck revealed he was still alive—merely knocked out for the time being. He was far too heavy to move, though Feyre did manage to get him into a chair. She bound him in thin rope that wouldn’t hold him forever—just long enough to get some answers.

And then, waiting for him to wake, she decided to rifle through his bag. Inside she found some food, a couple gold marks, a folded up piece of paper, and a small, silver ring with a blue gem encircled by pretty white diamonds. Feyre pocketed the ring, intending to hold it hostage for the time being, before unfolding the piece of paper. 

Wanted! Dead or Alive For Crimes Against the Crown! 

There was no name, and the picture didn’t quite line up with the beautiful man in front of her. His nose was off—crooked and overly large for what was staring in front of her. But the image was close enough.

Feyre had found her stepmother's criminal.

And, perhaps, a way out of her tower once and for all.

RHYSAND:

It was not the worst week Rhys had ever had, all things considered. Being on the run was nothing new—he’d been running since he was a teenager and his father’s kingdom had toppled under the hands of a fucking witch, who had been looking for Rhys ever since. Ever the chameleon, he’d taken to crime like a fish took to water.

She’d come close a couple times, but Rhys was always one step ahead. At least, until he started circling back to Illyria, looking for the so-called bastard prince that supposedly commanded an army of dragons and monsters. They’d been allies once upon a time—Rhys hoped they might be, again. 

Her blackguards had been hunting him through the woods for a good two weeks, trying to corral him away from the valley, which only made Rhys curious. What was she hiding? What secrets did the witch have? Exploitable secrets, he hoped. Something that made her vulnerable. 

Killable. 

Which was how he’d found himself tied to a chair, head throbbing, while a pretty young woman held a skillet in front of his face.

“Where…” Rhys blinked, his mouth sour. “Who are you?”

The woman blinked starry blue eyes at him. Who was she? Young, no older than twenty two if he had to guess, and so beautiful it made his teeth ache. In a different world, he would have wanted her. 

In this world, he wanted her to untie him. 

“Who am I?” she asked, shoving that stupid fucking skillet further beneath his throat. She could absolutely kill him with it, given his hands were tied behind his back and no amount of working them against the rope was freeing him. “Who are you?”

Time to turn on the charm. “Hi,” she said, offering her his most dazzling smile. “I’m Rhysand.”

She blinked and then, the little shit, pulled out the folded wanted poster he’d had in his bag.

His bag. His mothers ring. “Where is my bag?!” he demanded, wrestling against his bindings while the woman looked at him smugly.

“I’ve hidden it! Somewhere you’ll never find.”

Rhys glanced around the room before returning to her lithe, curved frame. “It’s in your pocket, isn’t it?” he growled, holding her gaze. Her cheeks darkened and gods, was it her first day holding someone hostage? Sweeping his gaze over her, he thought she seemed just a little too thin judging from the way her collarbones jutted from beneath the pretty lavender dress she wore. Her hair, too, was braided and rebraided, likely hiding just how long that thick mass of golden brown strands truly was. 

No shoes on her feet, no jacket hanging on a hook. No fireplace for warmth. “How did you get here?”

She blinked. “Don’t try and change the subject. Why are you here? What do you want with me? Is it my hair? Do you want to cut it?”

“What?” he asked, genuinely stunned.

“Sell it? Sell me?!”

“I don’t—I don’t care about your or your hair!” he insisted, finally snapping the bindings holding his wrists. She skittered back when he stood, rubbing his raw skin. She was far shorter than he’d first realized, a fact he wished he didn’t care about. “Give me back what you stole from me, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Or what?” she challenged. 

“Or—” she’d removed his dagger. Reaching for it, Rhys only found an empty pocket against his chest. She grinned, so obviously pleased with herself. “Feeling me up while I’m sleeping, darling?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” she snapped, but Rhys was a little too intrigued by the idea of her hands on his body, even if he’d been unaware of it. “I’ll give you back your ring if you do something for me.”

“I’m not in the business of taking maiden heads anymore, so—”

“Shut up,” she hissed, fingers curling to fists at her side. “Stop talking. I don’t want you, and if you touch me, I’ll turn your face into pudding.”

Rhys thought he might be in love with her. Maybe that was just the concussion talking, but anyone else would have backed down. He was bigger than her, stronger than her, and had her trapped in a tower he didn’t think she could escape from. All she had was his dagger, which he suspected she’d hidden somewhere other than on her person, and a skillet he could have easily pulled out of her grasp.

And yet she wasn’t scared. She was mad. Crossing his arms over his chest, Rhys arched a brow. “Well. Go on, then. Tell me what it is you want from me.”

“I want you to take me to the Ellesmere palace—”

“No.”

Fuck no. There was no way in all the seven hells he was going anywhere near that cursed place. Amarantha would have him before he got halfway and would kill him for it.

“Then you’ll never get your ring back.”

Rhys took a threatening step toward her. “I could just take it from you.”

“I dare you,” she replied. Rhys took a breath, trying to calm himself down. His cock had responded to that bratty tone and the flash of defiance in her eyes. Who was she? What was so important about her that she needed to be locked away? 

Maybe she was dangerous. Hadn’t she immediately assumed he wanted to sell her? Perhaps she was another enchantress. That might explain his inexplicable attraction to her, despite not liking her. 

She took a healthy step back, still holding that skillet. Rhys sighed.

“What could you possibly need from the palace?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Revenge.”

Intriguing. “Care to share?”

Pressing her lips together, the woman shook her head back and forth. Rhys sighed. “Look. I’m not going within a hundred miles of that place. Pick anywhere else and I’ll do it—but not Ellesmere.”

The woman considered this for a moment. “Because you’re wanted?”

Because their queen is a witch and she’ll kill us both. “Sure. Let's go with that.”

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she asked, “Would you take me to Avalon?”

Right to the border, he thought darkly. He didn’t trust Beron Vanserra, either. Still, it was a week of walking to get her there which seemed a reasonable price to pay to get his mothers ring back. Besides, if this woman turned out to be working for Amarantha—and Rhys suspected she might be—he’d have some leverage.

Or he could kill her and wound the witch. 

“Fine. I’ll deliver you to Avalon and in return, you’ll give me back my ring.”

There was a question there, gazing back at him. Rhys had no intention of admitting the ring had any amount of sentimental value. Let her think it a stolen trinket he intended to sell. Anything but the truth. 

She extended one hand, the other still clutching her frying pan. Rhys grasped it, shaking those delicate, paint splattered fingers beneath his own rough, calloused palm. She smelled like violet and pear, and a dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose were reminiscent of a constellation of stars. 

“After you, princess,” he said, trying to put emotional distance between them. That did little to settle his racing heart.

“I’m not a princess,” she snapped, tossing an errant strand of hair over her shoulder. “My name is Feyre.”

Feyre. Why did that name sound so familiar to him? It did little to calm him down. Feyre, Feyre, Feyre.

Her name felt like the answer to a question he’d been asking his whole life. She wasn’t a princess she said, and Rhys believed her.

But as he moved that slab of rock to the side again, and watched her gingerly lower herself within it, he couldn’t help but wonder if she wanted to be.

What was wrong with him?

#feysand #pro feysand #feypunzle!

[moodymelanist]

You Showed Me Love Was All You Needed

happy day 5 of @cassianappreciationweek everyone! I was throwing around some ideas with @arinbelle about what to write for today and this was calling to me so much that I had to do it. hope y’all enjoy and happy birthday Cassian ❤️‍🔥 title from Heaven by Beyoncé!

Cassian spent the day before his thirtieth birthday sweaty, exhausted, and not even in the good way.

“Please tell me that’s the last box,” Nesta groaned as she set a medium-sized box down in the center of their new living room. They’d finally made the decision to move in together, and had picked up the keys to their new three-bedroom this morning.

Cassian briefly ran outside to double check, closing their small moving van and locking their cars with relish before returning inside. “Looks like it, sweetheart.”

“Oh, thank God,” she replied, still panting somewhat from all the boxes they’d brung in. “Hell of a way to ring in your birthday, huh?”

Of course their leases had managed to both be up right around Cassian’s birthday. He had moved enough times to know that he’d be too exhausted to do something on his actual birthday, so his big plans to celebrate turning thirty were on hold until the weekend.

“No one I’d rather ring it in like this with,” he responded honestly. She rolled her eyes at the open affection, but that didn’t stop him from stealing a brief kiss. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”

They spent the next few hours cleaning their new place and unpacking as many boxes as they could. The movers weren’t bringing the big furniture until tomorrow, so today was about getting as many boxes done as possible. They took a brief break to order pizza and relax on the floor of their living room, but they worked late into the night to get as much done as possible — namely, their kitchen supplies and all the essential bathroom items.

“Cassian,” Nesta said after hours had gone by. They were standing side by side in the master bathroom, and when he looked ovef at her, she held up her phone to display the time was now 12:01. “Happy birthday, my love.”

“Thank you,” he said back, smiling. He pulled her into a kiss that quickly turned heated, as they usually did, one of his hands digging into her hair while the other snaked around her waist to pull her as close to him as possible.

“Wait, wait, I got you something,” Nesta told him, pulling away from him. She poked him in his chest as her expression turned firm. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“There’s nowhere to go!” Cassian called out to her retreating back. He couldn’t help but smile as he waited for her to return, wondering what she’d managed to put together even though they were both sweaty and exhausted.

“Happy birthday to you…” Nesta sang quietly as she returned, her voice completely off-key but no less endearing. In her hands was a tiny vanilla cake that had a single, blue candle burning in the center of it. “Happy birthday dear Cassian…”

“Sweetheart,” Cassian said, swiftly reminded of the strength of his feelings for her. He really was the luckiest bastard in the world. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I shouldn’t have celebrated your birthday?” she asked, raising one of her brows. She beckoned him out of the bathroom and managed to sit on the floor of their bedroom without jostling the cake. “Come on, make your wish.”

He gladly sat next to her and took the cake to make his wish, blowing out his candle with relish. Maybe it was corny for him to wish that she’d say yes when he asked her to marry him, but he didn’t care. That would stay between him and the birthday gods.

“Do we even have plates?” Cassian asked, setting the cake down on the floor between them. Today was such a blur that he couldn’t remember if they’d done all of the plates and forks yet, and he was in no shape to dig through their many, many moving boxes to find out.

“I’m not an amateur,” Nesta scoffed as she rolled her eyes. She stood up and briefly disappeared into the kitchen before returning with a set of plastic utensils and some paper plates. “Do we even have plates, he says.”

“I should know better than to doubt you,” he replied, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Sorry, Nes.”

“Just shut up and eat your cake,” she answered. Still, she kissed him back and let him cut his slice first, so she couldn’t have been too mad.

Cassian was halfway done with his slice of cake when the thought hit him. “Fuck.”

“What?” Nesta asked, looking up from her own slice.

“I’m older than my mom was when she died,” he told her honestly.

“Fuck,” she repeated.

“It’s not like I didn’t know it was coming,” he continued quietly, “but… yeah. Fuck. I miss her.”

Cassian had only been ten years old when his mother’s life had been tragically cut short. She’d been just shy of her thirtieth birthday when she’d gotten into the car with his father and hadn’t gotten back out, the only one not to walk away from a car accident so bad there had been hardly anything left to bury. He missed her so fiercely it hurt, and he certainly hadn’t realized how it would feel to outlive her before it had become reality.

“I know,” Nesta told him softly. She put down her plate and reached out to grip his hands in hers. “It sucks, and it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” he echoed quietly. He put down his cake and raked his hands through his hair, wishing that his mom was here to do it instead. “I wonder what she’d think about all this. If she’d be proud of me.”

“I think she would be,” she answered just as softly. After a few moments she added, “I didn’t get the chance to meet her, but I’m lucky enough to know you. You’re the best person I know, Cassian. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their son.”

“You think?”

“I know, Cassian. How could she raise such a good guy and not be proud of that?”

At Cassian’s silence, Nesta stood and reached out her hand. “Come on. Let’s shower and go to bed.”

He took her hand without hesitation, letting her lead him back to the bathroom and fiddle with the shower settings until the water was warm and inviting. It felt good to stand under the spray and wash the day’s grime off, and even better when she held him and didn’t push for him to say anything before he was ready.

“Better?” Nesta asked once they’d moisturized, put on pajamas, and laid down on their air mattress.

“Better,” Cassian answered quietly. They were laying facing one another and he reached out to cup her face, gently rubbing his thumb against her cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” she told him, leaning into his touch with a happy little sigh. “Happy birthday.”

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @pearlfortears | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard | @thatsowlmazing

#cassianappreicationweek2023 #Nessian #Cassian #nesta archeron #Cassian acotar #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #moodymelanistwrites

[minicoffee00]

Up and Coming Part 2

Again so I can actually organise my life, because being a uni student and having a job is harder than I thought… I now have a ROUGH schedule for the next few weeks of when something may be uploaded.

Get your diaries ready folks!

Also please let me know in the comments if you guys like other fandoms and what that reach is.

Right now I’m heavily hyper fixated on the Formula 1, it’s always been a part of my life because of my dad, and I was obsessed when I was younger then throughout covid when they streamed and media was funny, and I was alone and grasping for any type of realism, it was all I would watch aswell as Marvel and StarWars. And now it has resurfaced … so if you guys enjoy any other fandoms and you’d want me to write for them I’d be more than happy too!

TBP / too be posted

Fast Changes Part 7 Azriel x Reader

Plot: You are Feyre’s younger twin and get sent into the Cauldron with your sisters coming out as high fae. What happens on this journey

TBP: 13/11/23

The one that got away Part 2 Rhysand x Reader x ?

Plot: you are the closest thing Rhysand has to a mate before he is taken away by Amarantha, what happens when you haven’t seen the man you adore and love in 50 years to come back claiming he has found his mate and he wants nothing more to do with you.

TBP: 14/11/23

You’re killing me Part 2 Morrigan x Reader

Plot: Morrigan finds her mate, finally after years of not being out to her family and refuses to come out to her family still. And her mate becomes insecure thinking she doesn’t think she’s worthy of the Morrigan.

TBP: 16/11/23

I’m just here as a distraction right? Part 2 Lucien x Reader

Plot: After Lucien finds out Elain is his mate, he spends the first year pining after her. After seeing her getting closer to Azriel and her found family in the Night Court, he starts to have feelings for a High Fae Girl who stumbled in Jurian, Vassa and Lucien’s home.

TBP: 17/11/23

You never saw me Nesta x Sister Reader

Plot: you are the second youngest Archeron sister in the family and get fed up with the way that Nesta and Elain did nothing to help. So you ended up getting a job as a mercenary and became a hollow shell of your former self. You provide for Feyre and Feyre alone, supplying her with food and better weapons. What happens when you find she has been taken to the fae realm?

TBP: 17/11/23

Baking and Shaking Elain x f! reader

Plot: You find some peace in Elain, and slowly start to fall for her and somehow you also manage to woo the soft girl … her fav activity to do with you is bake as it’s one of the only places SHE has the upper hand and can tease you, but you won’t fold!

TBP: 18/11/23

Fuck Buddies Hellion x Reader

Plot: every year, your High Lord of the day court chooses a young female to have as his companion in hopes he will find his mate.

TBP: 20/11/23

Look what you made me do Part 3 Eris x Reader

Plot: Eris is your mate, and when you’ve tried your hardest of a long week to see himself and Nesta dancing together, you run away.

20/11/23

Winter Solstice Kallias x Reader

Plot: we’ve heard of winter solstice in the Night Court but just imagine Winter Solstice in the court of eternal winter with your love

21/11/23

Massive break until the first of December for my 24 days of Christmas!

Taglist:

@cat-or-kitten

@sstrohma

@horneybeach1

@its-sam-allgood

@starryhiraeth

@xcastawayherosx

@glitterypirateduck

@azriels-mate123

@mavropouloupanagiota

@chasing-autumns-chill

@justdreamstars

#acotar #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #a court of mist and fury #acowar #acosf #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #high lord eris #eris vanserra #eris x reader #rhysand x reader #high lord rhysand #hellion #hellion x reader #nesta archeron #elain archeron #archeron sisters #cassian acotar

[darling-archeron]

Many months have passed since the end of the War, but not all wounds have healed. Repairs, both emotional and physical, are still underway. When Feyre finally finds a break in her schedule, she feels duty-bound to visit the one place she thought she’d never return to: her old village. With Rhys by her side, she takes a trip through old memories. ✨ Rated T, 1.2k words | Part 4/4 | Masterlist @charliespringsleftconverse @acotargiftexchange

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Exhaustion hit her like a stone as they landed in the foyer of the River House. So much had happened since they had left from this foyer, only that morning. Isaac and his family, the repairs, her old cottage…

As both of them had expected, she could already hear the bright chatter of their family coming from the living room down the hall.

It was so typical of everyone to let themselves in that she wasn’t even surprised anymore.

“I guess I don’t have time for a bath,�� she said, a tad mournfully.

Rhys ran a hand through his hair – somehow, still nearly perfect – and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You can run upstairs and get changed. I’ll keep our guests occupied.”

She sent a wave of gratitude down the bond and quickly made for the stairs. Blessedly, Rhys was already making his way into the living room to try and wrangle their family.

--

When she returned downstairs – having taken a speedy bath and changed into leggings and one of Rhys’s old sweaters – the group was already a few bottles deep into the supply of wine, seated around the dining table.

“Feyre!” Cassian called as she padded into the living room. “What took you so long?”

She raised an eyebrow. “The better question is, why are you in my house when I’m not here?”

From his place at the table, with Gwyn at his side, Azriel piped up. “You two leave the door unlocked. You’re practically inviting all sorts of riffraff in.”

She made a show of surveying the room. Next to Gwyn was an open space at the end of the table. On the pair’s other side Cassian and Nesta, Nesta practically in Cassian’s lap. Emerie sat in the chair nearest the other end, Mor across from her. Elain and Lucien sat side by side, with Amren completing the row, a good distance apart from the rest of them, perched delicately on the edge of her chair.

“I can see that. Rhys, we need to invest in some better wards.”

“You said 9,” Amren added pointedly. “It’s 10:15.”

“Cranky because it’s past your bedtime?” Rhys quipped.

Amren bared her teeth. “Careful, High Lord.”

“Another drink, anyone?” Mor piped up.

“Pour me one!” Feyre said, moving to sweep Mor into a tight hug as the months they had been apart crashed together.

Mor squeezed her tight in a bone-crushing hug, pressing Feyre’s face into her golden hair. “We have so much to talk about!” she squealed, rocking her back and forth.

“I missed you,” Feyre said with a grin, pulling away at last and letting Mor pour her a glass of red wine. Distantly, she heard Cassian complain that there had been enough drinking and snacking, because he was starving.

Feyre slid into the remaining open seat on the end next to Gwyn, Rhys sitting at an empty seat between Mor and Lucien.

“It’s good to see you both,” she said, addressing Az and Gwyn, giving Gwyn an especially warm smile. She had just started getting to know her sister’s friend as she gone closer to Az. It was an unfamiliar dynamic, but she liked the priestess.

“How did your trip go?” Gwyn asked, smiling slightly.

“It was…eventful,” Feyre admitted. “I ran into some people I haven’t seen in years. But we made some good progress, and I’m glad we went.”

Gwyn nodded sympathetically. “That must have been difficult – going back after such a long time. I know it would feel strange for me.”

“It was. But it was also cathartic to go back again. Have you ever been to the mortal lands?”

“I haven’t.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow – he had been wordlessly listening to their conversation. “Will I offend the High Lady if I say you’re not missing much?”

Feyre scoffed. “That all depends on what parts you visit.” Somehow, she still hadn’t made it to the continent. “Besides, the same goes for parts of Prythian.”

“I won’t disagree with you there,” Gwyn said, and Feyre raised her drink and took a long sip in agreement. Cassian and Mor had broken out the good bottles for tonight.

“I do want to see the world one day,” she added. “And I’m dragging this one along with me, even if he insists he’s seen it all.” She playfully elbowed Az in the chest.

Az pressed a soft kiss to Gwyn’s forehead, a small smile playing on his face. “So you’ve been saying, love.”

“You should talk to Elain,” Feyre remarked. “I’m sure Lucien has shown her all the best spots to continent has to offer by now.” Recently, Elain had begun joining Lucien in the continent. It had been good for her sister to get out of Velaris, to have a purpose. Across the room, she saw her sister chatting animatedly with Mor.

Elain had once told her that she wanted to see the continent and all the gardens it had to offer. She was glad her sister had finally gotten her wish.

The night wore on as the group caught up on their many adventures and exploits over the past few months. Her family’s adventures had taken them near and far, to all sorts of places. Dinner was served, and by the time they were done with dessert, Feyre found herself stuffed, curled up on a couch in the spacious family room. Big enough for their whole family, and all the antics they might bring.

She tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn. Today had worn her out. Still, today had been good, even if it wasn’t easy. They had made progress in more ways than one.

It was growing late, but she couldn’t bring herself to call it a night yet. Not when her family was together like this, all of them warm and joyous and laughing.

A wave of gratitude washed over her as she looked around the room once more. Who would have thought it would all turn out like this? All of them were alive, despite the war and everything that had come after. Her sisters were happy and no longer had that haunted, dead look in their eyes. Mor had finally felt safe enough to let her secret free, and grew closer to Emerie by the day. Even shadowed, scarred Azriel had found someone who saw him for who he was.

All of it was such a gift. In those other lifetimes, had things turned out as blessedly as this? There were still wounds that needed tending, both in the human lands and Prythian. But she wouldn’t complain about where they were now. Not one bit.

Exhaustion continued to creep up on her, like a wave lapping at the shore, and Feyre let her head fall against Rhys’s shoulder as he joked with Az.

In those long years of unforgiving darkness in her family’s little cottage, never had she let herself dream of happiness like this.

And Feyre knew she wouldn’t change a thing.

🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨

Happy Holidays to my Secret Santa giftee! I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.

🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨

taglist: @thron3ofbooks @the-lonelybarricade @swankii-art-teacher @ghostlyrose2 @brieq @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life@achernarlight @reverie-tales @starfall-spirit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @areyoudreamingof

let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #feyre archeron #rhysand #kat's writing #in any lifetime darling

[thatmadshifter11]

The Shadowsinger and The Mistress of Love and Lust Pt.2

As the first rays of dawn break over the horizon, I finally allow myself to rest, leaning against him, our bodies entwined. His once bloody and torn wings are now starting to heal, the skin slowly knitting itself back together. There's still a long way to go, but we've made it through the night, and that's a victory in itself. I let myself relax against the man who I had loved for centuries the one who is now my mate, we haven't even gotten to talk about it the way we are bound to each other. To be completely honest I don’t know if I should even be sleeping beside him since he has said nothing to me other then “Mate” that doesn't mean he accepts it but it also doesn't mean he doesn’t.

I close my eyes, allowing the exhaustion to take over. But even as I drift off, I know that when I wake, I'll be ready to face another day, to continue the fight, to heal and protect my mate. I also know that he will do the same for me even if he doesn’t accept the Bond because that is just the type of man he is one with a heart. You may not be able to tell under all the brooding and shadowy exterior but he is one of the kindest most genuine men I have ever met.

His soft whisper rouses me from my sleep, "Thank you, Cici," and I squeeze his hand in response, and blush lightly noticing our proximity and the way we are both covered in his blood. “uh how about a bath?” I ask easing up from the bed moaning my exhaustion taking over me. Before my pain fully takes over I could’ve swore he said something about how he’d only take one if I joined him. I feel my old scars they are sore and my eyes are slowly lose their sight. I think quickly and using the last of my strength I winnow to Cassian and Nesta’s tent. “Cass? Nes?”

I stumble in blindly bumping into a wall- wait not a wall my best friend, Cass! “Cia are you alright?” he asks shaking me lightly and looking me over. “Where's Az is he ok” he asks frantic. “H-he's fine but I need help,” I say shakily. “My powers are weak and without anything to refuel them before I'm done with Az….” My eyes are welling up with my bloody gold tears and I let them fall.

Cass scoops me into a warm, brotherly hug. I hear Nesta approach, “What do you need to refuel?” she asks me and I can’t help but assume she is crossing her arms like I have watched her do for years when she gets curious. I smile, my senses and skills really show when I'm blind it almost makes me want to stay this way, but I will miss colors and glitter being able to see my family's smiling faces.

“Blood,” my voice shaky as I say it. Nesta huffs and hear footsteps shuffling around next thing I know I loose the presence of my best friend and I'm left myself. I can’t help but let my tears fall. I hear them again and Nesta approaches me grabbing my hands. “Eris said he’ll help he said he's done it before,” she says in a hushed tone.

Which brings me back to the time I spent with Eris camped in a cave hiding from threats, as he survived on animals we killed and my powers keeping him afloat as I kept myself replenished with his strong High Fae blood. He was the first High Fae I had ever drunken from. He allowed me to keep drinking from him as long as he stayed strong and healthy we survived 4 months out in the wilderness that way.

“Where is he?! I need it now,” I say agitated wanting to get back to my mate. “He is going to the healing tent to gather supplies,” “Alright thank you so much Nes,” I said leaning up to give her a kiss on the check which ends up rather sloppily on her ear. She laughs, a sound I haven’t heard from her in awhile. Eris helps me and gives me a few bags of fresh blood so I don't have to wonder around like that again. I rush back to Az fully recharged and ready to help him as much as I can.

#feyre archeron #cassian #i am living for jealous azzy #acotar #feysand #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x female!reader #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel spymaster #acotar oc #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #acotar fandom #nesta is a queen #cassian is readers bestfriend #reader/oc loves red glitter #reader is obviously rhysands sister #healer reader #reader is a high lady #court of dreams and nightmares #love vampires #blood drinking #blood lust

[panicatthenightcourt]

Stealth

@sjmnextgenweek​​ Day Seven: Free Day

Pairing (mentioned): Feysand, Nessian, Gwynriel, Elucien

Summary: Nyx, Val, Indi and Griff decide to break some rules. Surprisingly, they get away with it....or so they think. 

Warnings: Implied underage alcohol use, implied alcohol use

wc: 840

a/n: Valentina is Gwynriel’s daughter, Indigo is Elucien’s daughter, Griffith is Nessian’s son and, of course, Nyx is Feysand’s son. They're all between the ages of 16 and 18. Also...yes, overgrown bat is my favorite insult and I will use it everywhere I can.

“My dad is gonna kill you,” Nyx hissed in a whisper. He was hovering very close behind her as she ventured further into the room.

Valentina flashed him a cocky grin. “Only if he catches me.”

She began rifling through the rows and rows of bottles of his dad’s wine cellar. His special wine cellar. The one for grand parties held in the House of Wind.

“Val, just grab something and get out,” Griffith piped in. He had popped his head into the doorframe.

Val felt Nyx tense behind her as she whipped her head towards Griffith. “Griff, shut up! You’re supposed to keep watch, don’t worry about me,” Val responded. She turned back to her task of choosing the fanciest wine they could all get rip roaring drunk off of.

Bottle after bottle, she scanned each one at length. A sweet berry wine from the Summer Court. One that claimed to taste of the salty sea breeze from Day. A wine infused with peach blossoms from Spring. Each one did not strike her fancy.

Until one did.

She let out an excited huff as she lunged for a sparkling bottle on the shelf above her head. Just as she wrapped her fingers around the shimmering wine, a spiced apple one from Autumn, Val heard a distinct crash from behind her.

Her heart began to hammer loudly. Beside her, Nyx’s face paled with anxiety. Val flung herself around to examine the cause.

Standing there, wet shards at her feet, was Indigo. Her big brown eyes were wide with fear.

“Indi…” Nyx gave a disappointed sigh. They were so screwed.

Flame flickered in Indi’s eyes. “It’s not like I meant to do that,” she threw back in a scathing whisper.

Griff came into the wine cellar, an action that Val knew meant that if they were going down then they'd go down together. They all waited with baited breath for their parents to come bounding down the steps to the cellar and rip them all a new one. They waited a minute. Two. Three.

A breath flew from Val’s lungs. A shit eating grin grew on Griff’s face. Nyx’s eyes twinkled with mischief. Indi’s chin was confidently high.  

They were gonna get away with this.

“Alright,” Val called, a wicked smile spreading on her lips. They turned their heads to her in answer. “To the training ring.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

She sat on the couch in the living room of the House of Wind with her feet tucked under her mate’s thigh. Lady Death swirled the wine in her glass, bringing it to her nose to sniff the sweet notes. Beside her sat her sister-in-arms, Gwyn, snuggled into Azriel’s side. Across them were her sisters, contently draped over their mate’s forms. The fire was roaring and the room was doused in comfortable silence.

Nesta broke it to say, “So we’re really going to let them do this?” Cassian huffed a laugh.

A smirk stretched onto Rhys’s features. “Oh absolutely not,” he told her. “We just have to wait until they crack the bottle open, feel like they really fooled us.”

“I’ve been practicing delivering my speech since they all went suspiciously quiet,” Lucien told them. The look in his eye was wickedly amused.

“Oh yes,” Gwyn supplied. “I’ve got mine well rehearsed.”

Chuckles resounded through the room. They began to settle again, content to wait and let their children stew in their victory. Nesta lifted her wine glass to her lips once more, poised for a sip.

A loud thump sounded.

“Mother’s tits!”

Cassian’s eyes met hers in an instant, an unimpressed look passed between them. That one’s our’s, their stare seemed to say.

“Shhhhh!”

“You come stub your pinky toe, Indi, and see how quiet you can be,” was Griffith’s hissed response.

“I wouldn’t stub my toe,” came Indi’s snap. “Because I’m not an uncoordinated toddler, you overgrown bat.”

Nesta spared a glance to Elain and Lucien. Elain’s lips were pursed in an attempt to hold back laughter, Lucien’s eyes were positively ablaze with mirth.

“Both of you shut your mouths, or I swear to the Mother I will throw you off the roof,” was Val’s response.

A glance to Gwyn and Az confirmed they, too, were keeping their snickering at bay.

Nyx’s thoroughly unimpressed drawl reached their ears when he said, “You all are already drunk without even touching the bottle if you think they haven’t heard us by now.”

Rhys couldn’t contain his snort of laughter. Feyre smacked his knee in reprimand.

Their loud footsteps and constant bickering followed all the way until the group reached the door accessing the rooftop training ring, taking them outside and out of earshot. The door slammed shut behind them loudly.

Howling laughter came from the mated pairs.

They laughed until their cheeks were tinged pink and a tear or two had escaped.

Once they had reeled themselves in, Feyre spoke. “I think our reprimands need to be short tonight,” she started. She faced Azriel as she continued. “Spymaster, how about an impromptu lesson on the art of stealth?”

#sjmnextgenweek2023 #feysand #elucien #gwynriel #nessian #acotar fanfiction #acotar next gen #acotar writing #acotar fandom #feyre x rhysand #elain x lucien #azriel x gwyn #nesta x cassian

[eeereee]

His Sleeping Vixen

Picking up right after ACOSF—

Azriel helps Gwyn find the courage to leave the Library for Cassian and Nesta's mating ceremony. He never wanted to cash in a favor with the priestess but has no choice after an awkward encounter with Elain leaves him in hot water with Rhys. Azriel then asks Gwyn to pretend to be in a relationship with him to throw all the busybodies off the scent.

Meanwhile, Gwyn and Azriel unlock the mysteries of Ramiel and embark on a quest to find the death sword, Narben, under the pretense of hunting for Bryaxis. Along the way, Gwyn discovers new magic powers and finally finds the answers to the secrets of her family tree.

Also on AO3, if that's where you'd prefer to read it 😊

CHAPTER 1: Gwyn’s List

“Oh please,” Emerie rolled her eyes and said, “They’ve already consummated the bond at least a thousand times by now.” She gingerly lifted her arms and hinged forward to reach her feet.

Cassian said nothing but gave a look to Azriel that could only mean, She’s not wrong.

Azriel slightly raised his brows as if to answer, I’m well aware.

Gwyn sat between Nesta and Emerie in the back corner of the training ring as Cassian continued to lead the priestesses through the cool-down stretches. Nesta shot a dirty look at Emerie who blew her a kiss in return.

Gwyn threw her head back as bright, musical laughter burst from her lips.

Azriel’s head whipped around, following the melodic sound of the copper-haired priestess’s voice.

Nesta remained mum about Emerie’s comment, neither confirming nor denying it. She did, however, send a lust-filled look to Cassian as if to say, they might consummate the bond a few more times later.

“Technically, the frenzy starts after the official acceptance of the bond, so the bet starts the moment they tie the ribbon,” Gwyn explained.

The priestesses had placed bets on how long Cassian and Nesta’s mating frenzy would last. Today was the last training session before the Valkyries went on break. Training would resume when Cassian and Nesta returned from their mating frenzy.

Deidre bet three days. She claimed Cassian’s old age would likely cause him to pull a muscle or fracture a bone and cut the frenzy short. Cassian’s orders for the priestesses to run a tenth lap around the ring may or may not have influenced Deidre’s decision.

Ilana generously gave the couple a whopping four weeks in opposition to Deidre’s bet.

Cassian howled at it while Nesta hid behind her hands.

“Who knew priestesses could be so scandalous?” Nesta exclaimed.

“You clearly don’t know many priestesses,” Gwyn casually told her.

Emerie giggled and said, “Seriously Nes, you’ll never guess some of the new romances Gwyn picked up.”

Gwyn suddenly fell into a coughing fit.

Nesta asked with a furrowed brow, “Gwyn, are you okay? Do you need water?” then with a sly gleam in her eye, “Azriel, could you get Gwyn some water?”

“Nope, nope! I’m fine,” Gwyn shouted after shooting Nesta a deadly stare. Nesta and Emerie snickered behind their hands.

Gwyn proceeded to neatly write down the Valkyrie’s bets on a piece of paper on the ground. Somehow, she always had a pen and paper on her.

Azriel often wondered where Gwyn kept all the supplies on her so well hidden. He paced between the priestesses while they finished up another stretching exercise. He looked over Gwyn’s shoulder from a few paces back to take a peek at her list of bets. Gwyn swung her head to face him.

“Do you want to get in on the bet, Shadowsinger?” Gwyn asked.

Azriel bent over and leaned in towards her. “The Inner Circle has their own bet going,” he told her in a voice that came out lower than he intended, “Besides I don’t know how I feel about taking priestesses’ money.”

Gwyn scoffed. “You’re that confident you’ll win?”

Azriel simply shrugged, stealing Gwyn’s signature move.

She threw him a withering stare in return— her other signature move.

Nesta and Emerie snickered openly now.

Azriel wanted to smile then but felt the piercing, discerning gaze of Nesta’s eyes on his back. So instead, he returned his attention to the priestesses in his charge.

Cassian called out, “Let’s call it a day, Valkyries! See you in about a month.” He winked at Ilana who instantly blushed.

A few of the priestesses made their way to the water station while the others approached Nesta and Cassian. Each one wished the mated pair congratulations and offered them prayers and blessings from the Mother before descending to the Library under the House of Wind.

The only ones left in the ring were Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, and the Batboys.

Nesta and Emerie strode over to the water station in the other corner while Gwyn remained on the mat. Her arms reached over her long and limber legs, hands clasped comfortably behind her feet, stretching her legs, her back. She sat up, her hands reaching for the sky over her head. Every muscle of her body visibly stretched tight underneath her Illyrian leathers. She released a low moan in relief.

For one second, Azriel might have forgotten what he was doing… What was he supposed to be doing?

The mats! His shadows reminded him.

Right. Azriel returned his focus to picking up the mats off the ground.

Gwyn leaped up and sauntered over to the water station where Nesta and Emerie took their sweet time rehydrating. Cassian and Azriel finished clearing the training mats and joined the females soon after.

“The ceremony is at dusk so either Mor or Rhys will pick you up sometime in the afternoon.” Nesta told Emerie, “That way you can get ready with me at the River House.”

Emerie nodded in confirmation and chirped, “Can’t wait!”

Gwyn then asked in the sweetest, most saccharine voice, “And who will be picking me up?”

A beat passed.

High-pitched squeals echoed across the training ring. Emerie and Nesta each grabbed one of Gwyn’s arms and jumped up and down.

Nesta shrieked, “Are you saying that both of you will be at my mating ceremony?”

Gwyn nodded at her two friends.

“Thank the Mother!” Emerie grinned at Gwyn. “I was so worried that I’d be by myself the whole time.”

Gwyn returned the grin. “I couldn’t let that happen,” she turned to face Nesta, “Besides I can’t just miss your mating ceremony. I’d regret it forever.”

Silver lined Nesta’s eyes then, knowing how much it meant for Gwyn to leave the Library. Still, it didn’t stop her from asking, “I’m over the moon you’re coming to the ceremony, but it was only yesterday you were still on the fence,” she arched a brow. “What changed?”

Nesta glanced at Azriel. She clearly had ideas brewing in her head but no evidence to solidify her suspicions. Azriel offered his future sister-in-law nothing, not even a change in his expression.

Gwyn simply shrugged. “Just found the courage, I guess.”

Nesta opened her mouth to further investigate, but Gwyn promptly changed the subject, “I can’t wait to see all the outrageous things the High Lord has prepared for you.”

Nesta’s face lit up and started listing all the ornate decorations her friends could expect to see at the ceremony.

The lovely, teal-eyed priestess sent the smallest flicker of a smile at Azriel. It hit him like a bolt of lightning. His lips twitched up, but the smirk disappeared in seconds. Despite the detour in conversation, Azriel still felt the suspicious gazes of Nesta and Emerie. They might have had a reason to, after all, he did know just how Gwyn found the courage to attend the mating ceremony in two days.

Cassian groaned obnoxiously as Nesta continued to describe every frivolous detail of their ceremony and reception. Despite his brother’s mock protests, Azriel knew that Cassian found comfort in Nesta’s excitement about their mating ceremony. Even if it came at the cost of frills and fuss.

“And I can’t wait to plunder the High Lords’ fancy wine collection,” Emerie said.

“Emerie!” Gwyn exclaimed.

“What?” Emerie shrugged. “Nesta all but encouraged it.”

“You have no idea the level of ridiculous Rhys has reached for the ceremony,” Nesta said, “Any little thing I mention, he goes out and buys it.”

“I’ll never live this down,” Cassian grumbled.

“He installed a grand fountain in the garden the other day, just because I said I thought it might look picturesque,” Nesta revealed, “There’s even fish in it! Elain was in stitches.”

Gwyn and Emerie exchanged bewildered looks.

“And there’s going to be a chocolate cake. Taller than even Cassian!” Nesta said.

A glowing grin appeared on Gwyn’s face, her bright teal eyes sparkling.

Azriel didn’t know why, but he found himself chasing it these days. Her smile. A beacon of light that helped him find some semblance of peace, relief. So much relief that he did not even feel the crooked smile that surfaced on his face.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Cassian asked him.

Azriel instantly donned a neutral expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cassian’s eyes remained planted on Azriel.

“So, who will be picking me up for your mating ceremony?” Gwyn asked Nesta and Cassian again.

With a feline grin, Nesta said, “How about Azriel?”

The Shadowsinger still gave no reaction.

A soft, cold breeze drifted through the ring. Wisps of darkness paved the way for the High Lord who now descended upon the training ring. Rhys arrived to take Emerie back to Windhaven. His brother always did know how to make a dramatic entrance. This time, Azriel felt grateful for it. As soon as Rhys’s feet hit the ground, Nesta’s machinations were forgotten.

Rhys greeted each of them one by one with a nod.

Gwyn shyly gave Rhys a half curtsy, “My High Lord.”

Rhys warmly smiled and drawled, “Please call me Rhys.”

“If you insist,” Gwyn said, “My High Lord, Rhys.”

Emerie giggled behind her hand while Nesta rolled her eyes.

“I suppose I should head back to the Library,” Gwyn said. She hugged Nesta and Emerie and gave a small wave goodbye to the Batboys. Then she half ran, half leaped towards the stairwell.

Her long and lithe legs carried her seamlessly to the doorway. Gods, her legs went on and on.

Azriel’s shadows chuckled as they watched the priestess with him from behind his back.

Gwyn stopped and cheerfully called over her shoulder, “See you in two days, ladies!”

One of Azriel’s shadows left him and darted straight for Gwyn. The shadow swirled in front of Gwyn’s face as if to bid her goodbye. She chuckled and gave it a little wave before disappearing down the stairwell.

Nesta and Emerie were already ganging up and teasing Cassian so did not witness the exchange between Azriel’s shadow and Gwyn. It did not, however, go unnoticed by Rhys.

Azriel did his best to avoid the gaze of his brother. Unsure of what Rhys may ask or how he could even begin to explain what just happened. A dark, cool, hand slightly brushed against his mental shield but before Azriel could answer the request, Emerie asked, “My High Lord Rhys, could we get going? I’m expecting an order at the shop.”

Rhys smiled casually and nodded, “Of course.”

He offered his arm to Emerie who promptly took it. The two of them launched into the sky before winnowing away to Windhaven leaving behind Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel in the ring.

The Shadowsinger made up a vague excuse to leave the couple. An unnecessary gesture. Cassian and Nesta’s limbs were already entangled and attached in ways Azriel did not want to figure out.

He raced down the stairwell before that twinge of jealousy crept into his heart. The scent of the mated couple, any mated couple seemed to trigger sharp pain in his head. Each step away from them seemed to bring some relief to the ache.

When Azriel finally arrived at the level of the Library, his shadows ventured ahead to seek out their lovely priestess.

Not that it mattered, Azriel didn’t need his shadows to alert him of Gwyn’s silent presence behind the wall around the corner. He thought Gwyn’s attempts to sneak up and scare him were adorable. A few times he even let her get the jump on him, but his reactions never seemed to satisfy her.

“Oh no, you really got me this time, Berdara,” Azriel would say deadpan.

Gwyn usually gave him the most adorable frown and snarky response.

It was definitely childish but he couldn’t help himself. Azriel loved when that red blush spread like wildfire across her freckled nose and cheeks. He loved it, even more, when Gwyn grew so frustrated that only musical gibberish slipped from her pouty, rosy lips.

Azriel halted on the step and waited. A few long seconds of silence later, a teal eye popped out from behind the corner. An exasperated sigh followed. Gwyn stepped out from the wall and towards him in defeat.

“Nice try, Berdara.”

Gwyn’s eyes narrowed at him as she pouted. Azriel tried to resist the urge to laugh. He failed.

In an attempt to get back on topic, Azriel cleared his throat and held his scarred hands behind his back. They had business to discuss. He stepped toward the priestess to confirm their plans.

“Ready for the final step tonight?” Azriel asked.

Gwyn straightened her back and whipped out a piece of paper and pen that were hidden and tucked under the band at her waist. She delicately unfolded the paper and tapped it with her pen.

On the paper laid out a list of neatly written baby steps to help her develop the courage to leave the Library and attend Nesta’s mating ceremony. A satisfying check marked off beside each step, but there remained two steps left unchecked:

- Practice flight to the River House.

- Attend Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony.

“You and your lists,” Azriel said whilst shaking his head.

His shadows followed suit, undulating side to side behind him, mimicking the motion.

“Don’t sass me, Shadowsinger.” Gwyn struck a derisive finger at him. “You guys too!” she moved her finger towards his shadows.

The shadows danced around Azriel and Gwyn thought she caught a crooked smile on the Shadowsinger’s face.

Azriel’s face serious, voice low and raspy, “I would never dare.” A mischievous glint illuminated the amber and green in his hazel eyes.

She ignored the core-melting deep tone of his voice and focused on narrowing her eyes at him with great exaggeration.

He mirrored the expression back at her.

Gwyn rolled her eyes and took her pen to trace down the list of baby steps. She stopped at the second to last item. Practice flight to the River House.

Her fingers suddenly felt weak and tingly. The thought of being so far from the Library, so soon after the Blood Rite honestly made her want to hurl up her breakfast. The possibility she may hurl and humiliate herself in front of the Shadowsinger made the urge to hurl even worse.

Gwyn watched Azriel draw in his bottom lip, his look growing inquisitive. She panicked, her head spinning.

“Gwyn, I was only teasing,” Azriel said, his brows slightly furrowed in concern.

“I know.” She quickly folded up her list and tucked it back into her waistband, then shrugged and said, “Sorry.”

Azriel took a few steps closer to her. He slanted his head to meet her eyes but she turned away to avoid him.

From her periphery, Gwyn saw Azriel release his hands from behind his back. It almost looked like he might reach for her but they fell at his sides instead. Gwyn couldn’t decide if she was more disappointed or relieved.

She took in another deep breath, and in a voice that was surprisingly firm, “Training ring at midnight. We’re going to the River House tonight, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel and his shadows nodded after each of her statements and when she finished, he said, “Good, because I may or may not have prepared a prize for you after you finish tonight’s baby step.”

Gwyn perked up. “A prize? Since when do you give out prizes?”

“I figured a reward would be in order, for when you complete your list tonight,” Azriel said.

A greedy gleam sparkled in her teal blue eyes as the gears in her mind twisted and turned, wondering what prize Azriel might have prepared for her. Then a thought dawned on her, What did this mean? That the Shadowsinger prepared a prize for her?

The Shadowsinger prepared a prize. Practically a gift! For her. Because he believed in her. The Shadowsinger believed in her.

Nope. Stop. Do not make this bigger than what it is.

“It means nothing,” Gwyn muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Hm?” Gwyn feigned innocence.

Azriel’s brow barely lifted, “I thought you would be pleased.”

“I am,” Gwyn said, “But technically, I won’t be finishing my list tonight.”

Azriel slanted his head to the side with a raised brow. His shadows copied the slanted gesture beside him as if they too were confused by her statement.

“Technically the list won’t be finished until I attend the actual ceremony,” Gwyn said.

Then another thought dawned on her, “And you’re the one doing me the favor. If anything, I should be giving you something.”

Somehow Azriel’s face looked even more perplexed. Gwyn rolled her eyes. “Besides it seems silly to be rewarded for something as trivial as leaving the Library. I mean you leave the Library every day.”

Azriel’s face softened. He stepped even closer. She felt the ghost of his fingers reach for her chin as if to lift it, but they never did. Gwyn looked up, chasing the ghost only to find his face inches away from hers.

Usually, Gwyn was not one to turn away from a staring contest, unofficial or not, but this time Gwyn couldn’t handle his haunting hazel eyes. She hung her head low.

“It’s not silly and it’s not trivial,” Azriel said, “Don’t ever undervalue all the progress you’ve made.” He drew in a sharp breath and in a quiet voice, “What you’re doing is brave and when I see how far you’ve come, it gives me hope.”

Gwyn moved to tuck her hair behind her arched ear, but Azriel beat her to it. It was as if he knew that was exactly what she might do at that very moment. His scarred hand carefully reached for the copper-brown strands and ever so gently pushed back the loose locks of hair.

Gwyn’s sight locked onto his hand. She couldn’t stop her eyes as they trailed from the polished siphon attached to his scarred hand all the way to the smoldering gaze on his otherwise unreadable face.

Azriel’s eyes too followed that same trail except his sight landed on the friendship bracelet wrapped around Gwyn’s wrist. The friendship bracelet Nesta made for Gwyn this past winter. The friendship bracelet which included blue threads that just happened to match the cobalt siphons on Azriel’s hands.

Oh, Nes.

“And you don’t owe me anything,” Azriel said, “It’s been my honor to help you, with one of your many lists.”

A shadow grazed against her cheek. The cool touch brought some relief to her now heated cheeks. Azriel’s burning stare still hadn’t yet extinguished, melting Gwyn’s knees into jelly.

A faint, ethereal song floated by Gwyn’s ear. The same ethereal song she heard emanating from the Shadowsinger those many months ago when she saw him in the training ring for the first time. The first time she saw him since that night he saved her in Sangravah.

Azriel made no indication that he heard this song, so she kept her lips tightly shut.

Gwyn stepped back and down the stairs. Azriel too snapped out of whatever daze he had been in, his shadows moving excitedly around him once more.

Gwyn wondered if she imagined all that transpired in the last few minutes. She shook herself out of her thoughts and plastered on a cheery smile.

“So, I guess I’ll see you tonight, Shadowsinger,” she said before running into the Library before Azriel could say or do anything more to make her knees completely liquify.

#gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #gwynriel #gwynriel fanfiction #i guess the title is sorta a spoiler

[flowerflamestars]

Tidal sneak peek

“He must hate me,” Feyre sobbed, bent over at the middle like she’d been punched.   Carefully, slowly, Cassian pulled her back upright and patted her shoulder. The kid needed a big sibling- Cassian could do that, until Nesta came back to take over.   Soon. Hopefully.   “Rhys doesn’t hate you,” Cassian told her.   Rhys hated himself, and probably the entire world right now- but Cassian could only handle one teen crisis at a time. Rhysand liked to be alone to thoroughly stew in his emotions first, anyway.   “But- but- I’ll have to see him again and he will.”   Blind- Cassian had time to think, fuck, is her face swelling?- Feyre twisted to face plant into Cassian’s chest.   The part of Cassian that had eight thousand little cousins took over in one fell swoop. “Hey, hey, honey no. Worry about you right now, okay? It’s okay, Feyre.”   “I’ll never see him again,” Came the next sob, muffled and somehow, even worse. “He- he just introduced me to Az- and I-“   Cassian made the obvious, immediate mistake. “Do you…want to see him again?” “Yes!” It was a shriek.   A blink, too easy honesty, that he hoped she wouldn’t repeat. “You know your sister and I…we aren’t…ranger teams stay”-   Another howl of a cry interrupted what Cassian was trying not to say but still make clear: Feyre was always going to be in his life, and by extent, Rhysand’s, when he was done throwing teen angst fits and pretending he didn’t have brothers. She’d always have Cassian in her corner,  Azriel with him.  Always- because Cassian wasn’t going to leave Nesta Archeron’s side.   In the Drift, in the war, beneath the tide, for a single god damned day if she’d stop fighting him about it.  

#I've cracked it guys #stupid teen feysand is the ONLY way I can write them #Cassian is Big Brother shaped #but also #his only girl cousin is seven #and can be cheered up with piggyback rides and hair braiding #Feyre is too old for both those things AND just dumped his brother #Fey is an ugly crier #Nesta is getting break up supplies #Cassian at any second in Part 2 #WIFE ME UP #RIGHT FUCKING NOW NESTA #I AM DOWN #WIFE ME THE FUCK UP #Cas: I just have to convince her #Nesta: you soulmate take care of my sister #its just as good as her with me #pacific rim au #Cassian: smooth and cheerful and easy to talk to #until a kid starts crying #when Nesta comes back: habibti I don't know how to do the sister thing never leaveme again

[cest-la-vieve]

A Court of Pain and Pleasure (Ch. 1)

Summary: An ACOTAR fanfic series - eventual Azriel x Reader - detailing the life and story of Evelyn Archeron, the fourth Archeron sister. She’s a year older than Feyre with a physical disability that leaves her unable to help once her family loses its wealth and her father is crippled. She loves Feyre unconditionally and continues to search for her once she is taken to the Spring Court. Little did Evelyn know her little sister’s adventures would help her in more ways than one. 

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: none?? talks of disability/chronic pain but this is mostly just intro stuff lmao

Notes: this has been bouncing around my head since i read all of acotar over my spring break. i’ve been obsessed. hope you guys enjoy!!

Next Chapter: Chapter Two

My Masterlist

---

This was not good. As I stood shielding my older sisters from whatever this… thing was in the doorway to our small cottage, that’s what crossed my mind.

Feyre had just brought us a deer and a wolf pelt not soon before this. I had ignored the warning in my stomach when I saw the pelt, something I now regret. I listened carefully as Feyre took the deal to go across the wall with the High Fae, despite my protests. As I watched her leave our cabin with this stranger, I vowed that I would find a way to get her back. I had to.

As the second youngest Archeron sister, I did my best to help Feyre provide for our family but my physical disability prevented me from doing so. My hips were deformed, something inside them not being built quite right, and they prevented me from standing for too long or walking far distances. I did my best to help with what I could - preparing the meat Feyre brought home, keeping the house tidy, repairing clothing that had torn, but my sisters didn’t make it easy. Nesta was too stubborn and preferred to hate my father and yearn for our wealth. Elain, bless her heart, just didn’t quite have the grit or determination to do anything like what Feyre did for us.

So when Feyre was kidnapped to the Faerie realm, something only Nesta and I seemed to recall, though also something we never discussed, I lost one of my best friends. The memories of the hours we had spent talking and supporting one another as our family seemed content to wither away, the laughs we had shared in the darkest moments, the way she would rub my back for me after a particularly painful day, and the lack of just her overall presence made me feel hollow inside. Sure, we had our money back, Nesta was a bit more agreeable, Father traveled more for work, and the men of our small village began courting Elain, but something was missing. I just sat. I read. I plotted ways to get past the wall and rescue Feyre.

On the days I felt up for it, I would take a horse to the nearest pub or any other place I could, asking questions, buying books, and slowly learning more and more about the Fae realm. Strangers would offer stories of their encounters with Fae or tales that had passed down the generations of when humans served as slaves to the High Fae. I learned about this supposed Cauldron and the Mother who the Fae believed created our world.

One night, as I curled up next to a candle with a book that held fables about the Fae-human war, I heard a rustling. My head snapped up. I studied the doorway wearily, not sure if I should prepare to yell, fight, or defend myself. A shadow crossed the floor as someone attempted to sneak past.

“Nesta?”

The figure stopped and turned towards me. Sure enough, Nesta stood with a hooded cloak and a small bag, presumably of food and other supplies.

“Surely you’re not running away now that we’re wealthy again?” I laughed.

“No,” she said seriously, “Not running.”

“Sneaking out to meet a boy then?” I asked, hesitant about her tone.

“I’m going to find Feyre.”

My breath hitched. We hadn’t talked about Feyre since our father had said something about her visiting a sick aunt, despite the knowing glances passed between Nesta and me.

“Can I come?” She shook her head. “You’ll slow me down, it’s a long journey to the Wall.”

I tried not to let that hurt me, knowing she was right that I couldn’t keep up with her for a trek that long. It did hurt, though, knowing that I physically could do nothing to help Feyre.

“At least let me teach you what I’ve learned. I can do that much.” If I couldn’t help her find Feyre and bring her home, I could at least make sure she knew how to protect herself. I watched as she battled internally before slowly nodding and moving forward to sit on the chair across from me.

I smiled slightly and launched into everything I knew: how to kill a Fae, that iron actually didn’t defend against them, how to hide in the woods, where possible weaknesses in the Wall were. We sat like that until the sun began to rise, me trying to dump the most necessary information I could to help Nesta save our younger sister. We came up with a plan for her to leave the next day, I’d cover for her by telling Elain about some business she had with a family across the river. It would buy her enough time to take our fastest horse to the Wall and see what she could discover about Feyre’s whereabouts. 

I did my best not to get my hopes up, but the thought of having Feyre home again was more than exciting. I couldn’t wait to hug her again, see her paintings, and, surprisingly, I was excited to hear about her time in the mysterious Fae world. I knew Nesta hated the faeries and I knew Elain was afraid of them, but I found myself more and more curious about their customs, their powers, and their stories. What had started as a research project to get Feyre out of some blood debt to the Fae became a genuine interest and a desperate need to understand them.

Nesta’s first trip didn’t yield much. Nor did the second. Nor the third. After that, she seemed to give up trying to get past the Wall and rescue Feyre on her own. We didn’t talk much after that.

As the months came and went, seasons passing slowly, I began to train myself to walk further, stand longer, and ride a horse as far as I could. If Nesta wasn’t going to continue scouting the Wall, I would have to. I refused to give up. 

Most days, I pushed myself so hard that I would cry myself to sleep as my hips and back ached and my body screamed at me for rest. Elain would sit with me sometimes, soothing me, thinking that my condition was just getting worse. I knew, though, that this meant it was getting better. I would have to go through this pain in order to find my sister.

Soon, I was able to move a bit smoother, not without pain but a bit easier. It took a few months until I deemed myself ready to venture to the Wall. I didn’t tell Nesta - I couldn’t tell Nesta. There was no way she would let me go alone and I wasn’t going to let her convince me to stay behind again. So in the middle of the night, I slipped away. I rode and rode until I came upon the Wall. I could feel it, sense it. I swung myself off of my horse, stretching a bit as I tentatively walked forward. I reached out a hand, feeling the power emanating from the not-quite-visible barrier between the human world and the unknown. I pushed my hand against it and my body seemed to hum with energy, but I couldn’t breach it. I walked as far as I could, continually testing for weaknesses, hoping that I could find a spot to cross. But it was useless. How could I, a mere powerless, disabled human hope to best the culmination of decades and centuries of power and magic?

I sighed, made my way back to my horse, and started home.

By the time I arrived, I was exhausted, hungry, and in more pain than I had ever felt in my life. I released my horse back into our family’s stables and was prepared to sneak back in, but I was too tired. I knew Nesta would have a harsh verbal lashing to dole out once I walked back in, but I tried to keep my head held high as I opened our front door. I took one step in before I heard my name, “Evelyn?”

My heart stopped. “Feyre?”

#acotar #feyre #feyre cursebreaker #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #elain archeron #azriel x ofc #azriel smut #fanfic #acotar smut #acofas

[the-lonelybarricade]

I totally stole this from one of those writing prompt blogs, but can you do Rhys and Feyre going to couples therapy together as a joke when they only just met?

Okay my love, I literally just finished writing this and haven't actually proofread it. It was meant to be silly and jokey but ended up being a bit more serious than I intended, but I'm a sucker for fake dating tropes so maybe I'll continue their story at some point. Anyway here's a modern Feyre and Rhys going to couples thereapy together (whilst not actually being a couple):

Feyre was absolutely determined to prove Nesta wrong. Usually her sister’s grating comments didn’t penetrate Feyre’s hardened demeanor at home, but something about their stint yesterday had thoroughly gotten under her skin. Nesta had a talent when it came to barbed words, so it was the casualness with which she’d said Feyre was boring and predictable that had kept the words ringing between Feyre’s ears. They lacked the usual bite and venom that was characteristic of Nesta, and somehow that made them impossibly worse.

Was Feyre a creature of habit? Sure. But she had always been content with her quiet, unassuming life. They’d grown up poor, with little luxury, and as a little girl Feyre had always believed all she’d need to be happy was paint supplies and enough time to get lost in a blank canvas. Feyre had that now, and she was happy. She spent almost every day in her studio, a paintbrush in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. And that was fine. She may not spend a lot of time with other people, but that was fine.

Routine is fine. Being focused on your career is fine. So why did the implication that her life is stagnant rile her up so much?

Feyre couldn’t articulate what, exactly, had bothered her so much, since she was perfectly happy with the current state of her life. Yet the next morning she’d woken up, vowing to take a day off and spend the whole day being entirely unpredictable.

She was going to pull a Jim Carrey in Yes Man. She was going to seize this damn day. And any voice in her mind that pleaded her to stick to her comfort zone was going to be diligently ignored.

When she set out to get her morning coffee, she ducked into the first cafe she came across without checking the reviews. And instead of ordering her usual chai latte, she asked the cashier to make her their favorite drink. She sat at a booth and sipped it experimentally. It was sweet and tasted of caramel; she decided she quite liked it. So far so good.

She sat wondering what brave venture she should do next, something that would be worthy of telling people about. Something so brash and crazy and unexpected Nesta would eat her stupid, truthful words.

“Mind if I take this seat?”

The voice was like smooth velvet. Feyre glanced up to meet a pair of eyes that were such a deep, peculiar shade of blue they almost looked violet. She was momentarily stunned speechless, which caused the impossibly handsome stranger to lift one of his perfectly groomed brows in question.

“Of course,” Feyre answered, her mouth feeling a bit dry. She quickly took a sip of her coffee to quell this strong reaction her body was having to this man.

She’d been expecting him to take the chair to sit elsewhere, but he slid into the chair at her table, directly across from her. Feyre spared a cursory glance around the cafe. Customers milled about, but there were plenty of empty seats strewn here and there. It was far from necessary to share a table with a stranger.

Her interest piqued, Feyre turned her attention back to this strange, alluring man.

“I’m Feyre,” she said, sounding much more confident than she felt. But today was about branching out of her comfort zone. Making the first move with an attractive man certainly qualified.

“Rhysand,” he answered with a charming grin, extending his hand into the space between them. Feyre accepted it with a mirrored smile, for a moment marvelling at the way his hand completely enveloped hers.

Feyre cleared her throat. “So tell me, Rhysand, what brings you to this table in particular?”

The way he wrinkled his nose was unfairly endearing. “Call me Rhys,” he said. “I only really use Rhysand in a business setting. And I chose this table in particular, because I saw a beautiful woman sitting here and was feeling especially forward.”

Feyre laughed in surprise. “Forward, indeed. Well, Rhys, I have spectacular news for you.”

“And what’s that, Feyre darling?” the suggestive tone to his voice sent shivers down her spine and instantly those warning bells in her mind were blaring. This man was too handsome and he was a complete stranger.

“I’ve decided to do something completely stupid and spontaneous today, and you’re officially invited to join me.”

Rhysand grinned, his eyes flickering with mischief at her proposal. She supposed that should be concerning, too, but she felt her pulse quicken. “And what stupid, spontaenous thing will we be doing, darling?”

Feyre leaned back, trying to regain composure by taking a too casual sip of her coffee. “I haven’t decided yet. I’m open to ideas.”

Across the cafe, a man stood up so quickly his chair tipped over with a loud thunk. Rhys and Feyre both whirled their heads at the commotion.

“This is why we need to go to therapy together!” the woman across from him screeched. “You can’t control your stupid temper!”

“I don’t have time for this shit,” he growled. “I’m not going to sit there for an hour so you can manipulate some dumb bitch into agreeing with you!”

“It’s not about sides,” she groaned. “I want to work through this with you!”

Feyre felt a tug of sympathy at the desperation in the woman’s voice. She could feel her pain and frustration second-hand, having been in similar shoes herself.

“Fuck this,” the man grumbled, storming for the door.

The woman followed after him. “Our appointment is in 10 minutes! Please, let’s just try it.”

The door swung shut behind them. Feyre watched the couple continue their walking argument down the city pavement, gesturing wildly with their hands.

Feyre sighed. “Man, that poor woman. It sounded like she really wanted to work things out.”

“That guy sounded like an absolute ass, maybe it’s for the best,” Rhys said. Then, his eyes lit up and he turned to Feyre with a slow, conspiring grin. “It does give me an idea, though.”

“What’s that?” Feyre felt a bit intimidated by the roguish expression on his face, even if it did make her feel breathless.

“Well, I do happen to know there’s a psychiatrist's office right above this cafe. If I had to guess, that’s where our friends were going to have their first session. And from the looks of it,” he nodded towards the couple, who were now striding in opposite directions through the city, faces flushed with anger, “they won’t be attending.”

“And your point is…?”

“Let’s go in their stead. Make a game of it. First person to break character loses.”

“And what does the winner get?”

“Well, if I win, then I get to take you to dinner.”

Feyre considered for a moment. Dinner with a handsome man certainly didn’t sound like losing to her. “If I win, then I get to use you as a model.”

“You’re a photographer?” His brows rose in interest and Feyre summoned all her will power not to blush. Since when was she bashful about her career?

“Painter.”

Rhysand grinned. “If you win, you can use my body anyway you wish, Feyre darling. Nude would be best.”

And that was how Feyre had ended up in Dr. Suriel’s office, Rhys by her side on the sofa. It was perhaps the most adventurous thing she’d ever agreed to.

“So, Mr and Mrs Mandray. Apologies, I didn’t get your names on the forms.”

“I’m Feyre, this is my husband Rhys,” Feyre answered, thinking it lucky they didn’t have to guess at the mysterious couple’s forenames.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Feyre and Rhys. What brings you to my office today?”

Rhys immediately slipped into his role of the concerned husband. He placed his arm around Feyre’s shoulders and tugged her close. Rhys opened his mouth, then shut it, glancing at Feyre hesitantly.

“My wife and I have been getting into a lot of… disagreement lately,” Rhys answered carefully, and already Feyre thought this was going much better than it would have if the actual Mr Mandray had turned up.

“My husband,” Feyre said flatly, channeling her inner Nesta to put venom into the word. “Is insisting on painting our house purple.”

“I see,” Dr. Suriel says, assessing the displeasure on Feyre’s face. “And I’m assuming you want to paint the house a different color.”

Feyre pressed her lips into a thin line. “See, that’s just the problem,” she said, crossing her arms. “That’s exactly the color I would want to paint our house.”

Dr. Suriel frowned. “So you do want the house to be painted purple, as does your husband. Am I understanding that correctly?”

“No,” Feyre sighed. “He wants to paint the house blue, but is insisting we paint it purple, because he knows it’s what I want. This bastard refuses to be anything but accommodating.”

“We’re going to try to refrain from name-calling in my office,” Dr Suriel said calmly. “So, Feyre, you are clearly unhappy that Rhys wants to paint the house purple. What color would you paint it?”

“Blue,” she answered. “I know it’s what he secretly wants to paint it.”

“She doesn’t see the hypocrisy in what she's saying!” Rhys complained. Then, he turned to Feyre, looking impossibly serious. “Darling, I know you want to paint the house purple, and I already told you I’m fine with it.”

Feyre groaned. “I don’t want to paint the house purple! I want to paint it blue.”

“You’re only saying that because you think I want to paint the house blue.”

“Do you?”

Rhys hesitated. “No.”

“Don’t lie in front of our therapist,” Feyre said with narrowed eyes. “We promised to tell the truth while we’re here.”

“Then you tell me the truth, Feyre. Do you genuinely want the house to be painted blue?”

Now it was Feyre’s turn to hesitate. She could see the corner of Rhysand’s mouth twitch as she did so. “No. I mean yes! I do!”

“It sounds like at the heart of this argument, you are both ultimately concerned in pleasing the other person, is that fair to say?”

Feyre and Rhys glanced at each other, then nodded in agreement.

“Do you think there’s a color you could both compromise on, so that you don’t feel as if your partner is the only one making a sacrifice in this decision?”

Feyre met Rhysand’s brilliant violet eyes. In truth, she’d blurted the color purple because she’d been thinking about the color of his eyes. She'd never seen eyes that color, and they were wonderfully vivid. Feyre was lost thinking of painting a world in a monocrhome of violet, like a city that lived within his gaze.

Feyre realized she’d been momentarily swept away, snapped out of it by the humor that washed behind those starry irises. She blinked back the haze and tried to think of an answer to the question.

“Mustard yellow?” she proposed.

Rhys pursed his lips in mock consideration. “Mustard yellow,” he agreed with an emphatic nod of approval.

Dr. Suriel blinked in surprise. “All right, well I’m pleased we could solve that issue. Is there anything else you’ve been arguing about?”

“Yeah, actually. My wife,” Rhys gave Feyre a pointed glance. Somehow, despite being strangers, hearing Rhys refer to her as his wife sent waves of pleasure jolting through her. She felt her stomach flip on itself. “Isn’t satisfied with our sex life.”

Feyre instantly flushed at such an accusation, however fabricated.

“Is this true, Feyre?” Dr. Suriel turned her eyes towards Feyre and she shifted uncomfortably at having to make up stories about her sex life with Rhys. Making Feyre imagine rolling in a bed with him was certainly his goal, and she’d lie to say it wasn’t affecting her. Rhysand looked absolutely delighted to have made her squirm. Fine. Two could play at his game.

“Y-yes, well,” Feyre stuttered, the burning in her cheeks condemning. “I keep telling Rhys that 16 orgasms in a session is excessive. He’s much too generous a lover and he never lets me give as good as I get.”

Feyre felt satisfied with the way Rhysand’s face went crimson.

Dr. Suriel’s brows rose. “This seems to be a common theme in your marriage. Rhysand, would you say that you’re often prioritising Feyre’s desires over your own?”

“I think Feyre sorely underestimates how much pleasure I take from satisfying her desires,” he answered, his eyes flicking to Feyre with enough of a sensual promise that her heartbeat turned staccato.

“Rhys, it sounds as though your generosity is part of the way you express your love, is that safe to say?” Rhys nodded. “And Feyre, it seems as if you have trouble accepting your husband's generosity, both in and outside the bedroom. Do you feel that’s a fair statement?”

“I-I suppose so.”

“Sometimes people have trouble accepting their loved one’s generosity when they feel like they aren’t giving something in exchange. It can be hard to accept that kind of love when we don’t feel like we deserve it. Do you feel like this could apply to your situation?”

Feyre blinked. This was meant to be a gag, something daring and experimental. She hadn’t expected to be psychoanalyzed by Dr. Suriel, or at least for her analysis to hit so close to home.

Rhysand shifted forward on the sofa. “Is this true, darling?” he asked, sounding concerned. He took Feyre’s hands in his own, brushing his thumb along her skin as he met her gaze. “I think you deserve the world.”

She would almost think he was being genuine if she hadn’t met him only an hour ago. Feyre marked the conviction on his face, those burning pools of earnesty in his eyes, and marveled at what an incredible actor he was.

Somehow she ended up blurting part of the truth. “My family life growing up was kind of tough and I’ve never really known what unconditional love was like. I think a part of me still believes it's something I have to earn.”

“That sounds like it must have been very hard, Feyre. But it sounds like Rhys loves you very much, and that this is an issue the two of you can overcome together. When you feel the instinct to reject his generosity, try to remember where that message is coming from. And Rhysand, try to keep in mind that this is something your wife is still working through, and be patient if she feels more comfortable giving you something in exchange. This is her way of expressing love, too. At the core of your issues is both of you thinking about the other person, try to remember this when a breakdown in communication occurs.”

Somehow they’d lost control of their therapy session and were receiving actual therapy, which wasn’t part of the plan at all. But somehow, despite not actually being married to Rhysand, what Dr. Suriel said was reassuring.

Feyre turned to Rhys and smiled. “I think I understand better, now. You’re free to give me as many orgasms as you want, honey.”

Rhys grinned fiendishly. “And I’ll let you reciprocate in whatever way you feel comfortable, darling.”

Dr. Suriel clasped her hands together in approval. “Excellent. I think so long as the two of you take measures to accurately communicate your needs, you’ll find these breakdowns will occur less frequently. And that’s it for our time today, but I am happy to have the two of you back any time.”

Feyre walked out of the session hand-in-hand with Rhys, feeling a bit dazed. It had certainly gotten more serious than she’d expected, but perhaps her judgement had been misplaced in thinking therapy could be anything other than serious, no matter how joking the complaints.

“Well, that was certainly stimulating,” Rhys quipped once they’d left the office.

“And it seems we’re at a draw, considering neither of us broke character.”

“You do play my wife convincingly well,” Rhys practically purred, “perhaps I’ll let you take up the real role, if you feel so inclined.”

Feyre laughed. “I’m expecting a few other offers to come through. Give me a few days to look over the applicants, then I’ll get back to you.”

“Okay, well how’s this. I’ll give you my number, you can wait until all those applicants come back to you, and once you’ve decided that I’m clearly the obvious choice, you can call me.”

Feyre smiled as she pulled out her phone and handed it to him to insert his number. “You do make a very convincing husband. Perhaps I can hire you for weddings and Thanksgiving dinners?”

“Real husband, fake husband, a partner to do spontaneous, outrageous things with. You call me, and I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Feyre.”

It was perhaps the strangest and most generous offer she’d ever been given. When they parted ways, Feyre thought that she’d certainly filled her quota for an interesting story to tell. And maybe, most likely, she’d be calling that number very soon.

#Feysand #prompt fill #pro Rhys #pro Feyre #fake dating kind of #Feysand fic #acotar #acotar fic #ask #not proofread sorry #fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

[moodymelanist]

Set My Soul Alight Part Nine

I can't believe we're really almost done with this! Enjoy part two of the final three parts ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

♕♕♕♕♕ Beron’s first attack nearly knocked Nesta off her feet, but she managed to conjure up a shield of silver flames at the very last moment. The magical collision was so bright she had to look away, but Beron didn’t allow her a break for long. Her shield didn’t survive his second blast of flames, and she was forced to dive out of the way or risk being incinerated on the spot.

Nesta wished she’d had the foresight to change into sturdier shoes as she nearly lost her balance trying to stand up, but there was nothing to be done about it now. She had to channel every bit of focus to stay alive, especially with how deadly Beron’s attacks were. His supply of power was seemingly endless, but so was hers – she just needed to focus it long enough to make her way over to Eris. She couldn’t spare a glance in his direction long enough to check, but she hoped her husband was doing his best to get out of his magical restraints.

It was hard work to keep Beron’s attention long enough for Eris to begin freeing himself, grim determination clearing her head as she countered and dodged the High Lord’s attacks. If she hadn’t been training her magic for months, she would have been dead from Beron’s first blast, but her education had been extremely thorough. 

Nesta kept her body fluid as she dodged Beron’s attacks, the two of them trapped in the most dangerous dance she’d ever performed. Her body ached from countering the sheer force behind Beron’s fire, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to keep this up without making a mistake. She was the most powerful fae in Prythian, but even raw power couldn’t keep up with centuries of training forever.

Keep reading on AO3 here!

tag list: @dustjacketmusings | @burningsnowleopard | @a-court-of-valkyries | @rarephloxes | @jaskierismyrideordie | @vidalinav | @ssardothien | @theladyofbloodshed | @lyzriel | @my-fan-side | @iamreykylotrash | @theeternalstruggle | @meher-sumedha | @sv0430 | @wannawriteyouabook | @separatist-apologist | @aaajvgjki | @embersofwildfire | @acotar-anna | @envytheearth | @arinbelle | @sugardoll22 | @adelainaasher

#acotar #acosf #neris #eris vanserra #nesta archeron #nesta archeron x eris vanserra #set my soul alight #moodymelanistwrites

[bookofmirth]

9, 12, & 13 for Gwynriel & Nessian 😍

Hellooooo sorry you sent this and then I went on a small break hehe

I will do nessian first!

9) What’s their guilty pleasure instagram follow? Nesta isn't tied to a certain content creator, more a certain kind of content. She loves videos where employees quit and tell their bosses off using lots of f-bombs. Also those posts of poor pick-up lines or misogynistic dudes getting owned in public. She has a special place in her heart for obscure history, too. Cassian doesn't consider anything a guilty pleasure, he will follow the Bold and the Beautiful cast and like every single cute pet video he comes across. What of it?

12) What’s their favorite season? I'm gonna go with summer because Cassian has a special distaste of the cold, based on his childhood, and Nesta hates trying to train in the cold. It's a win-win that they both like summer.

13) What is their dream vacation spot? Someplace isolated. Tourist traps are the definition of hell, but they like exploring. I can see them going to the Galapagos Islands or something.

And gwynriel!

9) What’s their guilty pleasure instagram follow? Gwyn doesn't have a guilty pleasure either, she's like Cassian in that way. She will like every single thing you call cringe and she will do it with a smile on her face. Azriel, on the other hand, has tons of guilty pleasures. He has so much security on his phone that Gwyn calls it Fort Knox. But she knows that he likes to watch ASMR, which isn't even a guilty pleasure but he's just intensely private.

12) What’s their favorite season? Fall! Gwyn loves all the colors, and she loves knitting things for her friends so she breaks out the supplies every fall. Az doesn't like extreme weather of any kind, so he leans more towards fall/spring as well.

13) What is their dream vacation spot? Gwyn would want to go somewhere she can learn something. Museums, old libraries, churches, historic school grounds. Azriel isn't that into travel, so if it's closer, that's better. He's the type who looks up crime stats for whichever place they visit.

I can do more if y'all don't mind waiting forever haha - different headcanons

#gwynriel #nessian #acotar #acotar headcanons #gwynriel headcanon #nessian headcanon #ask #courtofsunandshadow

[snelbz]

I'll Be Seeing You {2}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @tacmc​

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away.

Trigger Warnings: war

A/N: Enjoy a surprise chapter a couple days early, we’re just too excited for y’all to read this story.

Chapters will be posted every Monday.

Word Count: 2336

IBSY Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist 

Nesta was making her rounds as the sun set outside of their desolate war camp.

It had been a long day, one filled with losses. After the ambush two days prior, their tent had become full. Now, there were far too many empty beds.

It never became easier.

With every soul that she attempted to heal that passed from this world to the next, she felt like a failure, even though it was impossible to save every soldier that had been injured in the heart of battle.

There were victories, though.

Those who were left in the tent were improving.

The ambush had brought in nearly fifty injured soldiers, and just over twenty of them remained.

Including Corporal Cassian Nazari, who she was walking up to now, a glass of water in hand.

He blinked a few times against the light of the guttering candle on the table, but after a moment his eyes settled on her. Settled, but still glazed with pain.

“Nurse Nesta,” he said, voice rasping from sleep, attempting to resituate himself in the uncomfortable bed, with one good arm. “Is it time for my sponge bath already?”

She sighed through her nose and closed her eyes, resisting the urge to rub her temples.

Most men in the infirmary were polite, respectful, grateful to be taken care of, especially knowing what befell their fellow soldiers who hadn’t been quite as lucky as they were. The first day she’d attended to the corporal, she’d assumed his inappropriate comment about foreplay had been some sort of unintended joke, something he hadn’t been able to control as he awoke.

But as Cassian slowly healed, Nesta learned those little comments were quite regular for him. And when he learned that they made her blush, or even snap at him occasionally, it only made him say them more frequently.

“I’ll give you a bucket and a sponge and you may help yourself,” she quipped. “Does that interest you?”

He laughed, quietly, but winced as it seemed the simple shaking of his shoulders brought a bout of pain. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Why do you think that?” she asked.

“You joke with me,” Cassian said, shrugging a shoulder. “You joke when you’re in a good mood.”

“I don’t joke,” she replied. “I only give back what is given to me, even though I do it in a far more appropriate way.”

“There are worse things than being inappropriate,” Cassian promised her.

Nesta simply shook her head. “Here.”

He took the pill from her palm and took it, swallowing it with the glass of water she gave him. For a moment, his eyes closed and he sighed, deeply.

“How are you feeling today?” She asked, sitting down in the chair next to the table. He opened his eyes and she reached out to feel his head. He had been feverish the night before, and she was worried about infection setting in.

He was just as clammy as he’d been, if not more so. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, but before she said anything, she wanted to hear it from him. Even if she was fairly sure it would be a lie laced with male bravado.

“Fine,” he replied, though he attempted to sit up with one arm again and winced. “Like I could get back on the battlefields right now.”

Rolling her eyes, she stood. “Too bad that won’t be happening yet.”

She strode for the medicine cabinet in the center of the tent, aiming for an antibiotic strong enough to stave off the infection. His own inability to keep still had led she and Madja to band his fractured arm to his side, but this kept the bullet wounds on his back from airing out. It was about choosing the lesser of two evils with this man it seemed.

Last night, they’d elected to set his arm. Tonight, it seemed he’d go back in the sling and she’d see what needed tending to on his back.

“Are you allergic to penicillin, Corporal?” Nesta asked, coming back to his cot.

“Not that I’m aware of, but I have a feeling that we’re about to find out for certain,” he noted, chuckling, then breaking into a cough fit.

“Alright,” she sighed, and pulled him fully into sitting position. “It seems you still have a fever. I’m going to give you this penicillin. Then, I’m going to take off your bandages and clean your wounds.”

“And then?” he asked.

Nesta blinked, hesitating as she a needle with the drug. “Pardon?”

“After you clean my wounds, what will you do?” Cassian asked, that sly smile remaining. “Because I have a few ideas-.”

“Corporal,” Nesta interrupted. “I am here to heal you, and nothing more.”

Cassian lifted a brow. “First of all, it’s Major, actually. It’s been years since I was a corporal. Secondly, I thought we could play a card game. What was it you were thinking?” Nesta’s cheeks heated and she ignored his pointed question. “My apologies, but Private Hale said—.”

“He knows nothing, which is why he’s only a private.”

She cleared her throat and held out her hand, letting him take the two pills in her palm. He did so, without any commentary, which Nesta took as a blessed relief.

She retrieved the sling his arm had previously been in, as well as fresh bandages, an ewer of fresh water and a bottle of antiseptic.

And a bit to put between his teeth in case the pin became too unbearable.

With a few tugs on the knots tying them together, Nesta unwrapped his arm from his body, not taking a full look at his back yet.

Almost immediately, Cassian tried to stretch out his arm, which earned him a chastising look from Nesta. “It’s tight,” he defended.

“If you move it too much before it’s had time to set and heal, tight will be the least of your worries, Major,” she replied, carefully tying the two ends of the fabric sling around his neck. “Not to mention your shoulder is still too weak as well. Do you want to dislocate it again?”

He grumbled something that sounded similar to No, ma’am, and sat still while Nesta settled his arm into place.

Once she tended to his arm, she prepared herself to examine his back again.

“This isn’t going to feel good,” she warned, taking in the angry, red skin puckering the edges of the wounds. They’d been able to retrieve the bullets while he was unconscious, but they weren’t in the most ideal and clean conditions for a healing to take place. Gently pressing her fingers around the mildest looking one earned a hiss and sudden jerk from Cassian. As well as puss, far more puss than Nesta was expecting. “I’m going to have to clean these out.”

“Can’t you give me more of that stuff that put me under and do what you need to do?”

His words weren’t unkind, but the tone… Nesta knew he was in pain.

She could, of course, but the powdered pain killer was much stronger than what she’d already administered. Not to mention is much, much shorter supply. It was reserved for surgeries, mostly, or life-threatening injuries.

An injury like the major had been brought in with at the time.

Not for a standard, but nasty, infection, unfortunately.

War was unfair, Nesta decided then. She’d known it for quite a while, watching good men die for their lands, but it was evident in that moment as she looked at the man’s ravaged back before her.

“Unfortunately, no,” she said, at last. “But I promise to work quickly.”

He gave her a curt nod and braced himself.

The alcohol burned, she knew that, she knew that it had to feel like fire was being lit to the surface of the skin, but as she poured the alcohol over the wound and began to clean it, the only sense of pain that Cassian showed was his rigid posture.

“Bear with me,” Nesta muttered, beginning to rebandage the wound.

“Got any whiskey?” he asked.

Despite herself, Nesta snorted. “No, I don’t. Is that your drink of choice, major?”

She was trying to distract him, trying to make the time go by just a little bit quicker as she worked.

“Usually,” he said, and huffed. “Every now and then I like to order a simple lager.”

“Lager,” she repeated. “What a luxury.”

“It has been a while,” he agreed.

She worked in silence for a few minutes, having to go so far as to scrape out the bits of skin that were too far gone and only likely to slow down the healing process. But when his breathing became ragged as she started on the worst of the wounds, the one right near his spine, she asked, “What’s the first meal you’re going to have when you get home? What have you been dreaming of since you enlisted?”

Mindless chatter, she reminded herself, was just as effective as a painkiller.

He was quiet for a moment, only hissing as she pressed the alcohol-soaked rag to his back. She had accepted he wasn’t going to answer when he softly asked, “Don’t you mean if?”

She was suddenly very thankful that she was working on his back and was unable to see his face. Playing dumb, she kept him talking. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Don’t you mean if I get home?” He asked. His voice was hollow, lacking the warmth it usually did when he spoke. It was unlike what she’d started to grow accustomed to. “This is a war we’re in the middle of, ma’am.”

She cleared her throat, continuing to work. “I think you ought to change your manner of speech, major, or you’ll be more likely to conscribe yourself to believe the worst.” Pressing a clean bandage to his skin to staunch the bleeding, she asked, “Now about that meal, sir?”

Surprising her, he laughed, quietly. “I guess I haven’t thought about it too much. My mother used to make a mean pork roast. With carrots and potatoes. That would hit the spot right about now.”

Nesta couldn’t help but lick her lips at the thought of a nice, hot, homemade dinner. “How about dinner rolls?”

Cassian hummed. “My mom used to make the fluffiest dinner rolls. She used to make me roll the dough. I hated it, until it was time to eat them.”

She smiled to herself. “My sister Elain loves to bake. She makes this pear crumble…” Shaking her head, she sighed. “It’s the best. Especially when she whips cream to put on top.”

“I don’t remember the last time I had a warm dessert,” he admitted, wincing as she applied antibacterial cream to the wounds. Turning to glance at her, he amended, “Actually, I don’t remember the last time I had a hot meal.”

The words hurt Nesta’s heart. The food they had in the med camps weren’t great, but she was sure they were better than rations the soldiers were issued.

“Tell me more about your sister,” he breathed, clearly needing the distraction while she worked.

Nesta sighed. “Which one?”

“How many do you have?” he asked.

“Two,” Nesta said. “Couldn’t be more opposite of one another. Feyre, the youngest, would rather spend her time painting, or outdoors in the woods behind our house, while Elain prefers to spend her time baking, or in her garden.”

Cassian nodded, thoughtfully. “And you?”

“What of me?” she asked, beginning to rebandage his wounds.

“What do you prefer to do with your time?” he pushed.

Nesta’s hands slowed. She wished she had more time to fill as of late. “I enjoy reading, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” he asked, then chuckled.

“What’s so funny about that?” Nesta asked, eyes narrowed at the back of his head.

“You either do or you don’t,” he said, shrugging, and wincing from the simple motion. “But, you suppose.”

Nesta scoffed. “Fine. I enjoy reading.”

“What manner of books?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Romance.”

He snorted. “Of course. Let me guess, a knight in shining armor, coming to rescue a damsel in distress?”

Nesta’s cheeks heated as his guess was nearly spot on of the plot of one of the tattered, well-loved books she kept in the small bag she brought with her from home. “And what’s so wrong with a knight saving a lady who needs help?”

“Nothing,” he replied, trying to shift his hurt arm. She adjusted the sling to hold him tighter. “I just think it’s a silly ideal to hold. Not everyone is going to have someone come save them.”

She was suddenly very aware of the fact that they were in a med camp in the middle of war.

“I guess you’re right,” she mused. “But I don’t see why that should stop anyone from dreaming.”

Cassian huffed and said nothing more.

When Nesta was finished, she asked, “How does that feel?”

“As good as it can,” he answered, in grumpy sincerity. “Although, I still wouldn’t mind that sponge bath.”

“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculously impossible you are?” she asked, the words flying out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

Cassian’s smile only grew. “If only you knew.”

Nesta’s chin rose as she tried to make sense of his remark, but she asked, “Can I get you anything else for the time being?” Cassian opened his mouth, but Nesta interrupted with, “Nothing that has to do with sponges.”

He laughed, quietly. “A cure for boredom?”

Just as Nesta was getting ready to reply, a cry came from just outside the tent, and her body was tensing, preparing itself. Madja’s eyes connected with hers, and Nesta’s feet were immediately in motion.

Another body coming in, caught in warfare.

It seemed he would have to entertain himself, as Nesta was once again vividly reminded that no one may ever come to save her.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t save someone else.

#snacmc ibsy #i’ll be seeing you #nessian ibsy #snacmc collab #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

[wilteddaisies]

Yours - Chapter One

Azriel x Female!Reader (acotar)

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You are Feysand’s daughter and you’ve just come home from your studies in the Day Court. Azriel needs someone with extensive training in magic in order to complete a mission for the Night Court. You happen to be just what he needs.

Fic Warnings: age gap?, probably cursing, eventual smut, wing kink ;)

Chapter Warnings: injury, mentions of blood

Note: The first chapter is here! I am so excited to share this fic. I usually don’t write fanfiction but I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so here it is. As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated!

CHAPTER ONE

Gods, you loved flying. Sure, winnowing back to the Night Court would have been faster, but there was absolutely nothing like soaring through the clouds, so high that the ground below faded away and there was nothing but you and the wind in your wings. You sighed as Velaris came into view. As much as you loved the ancient libraries and golden light of the Day Court, the winding streets and twinkling night lights of Velaris would always call you back home. 

Your father was waiting for you in front of your family’s river estate. You landed gracefully before taking off again in a sprint into his open arms. You squealed as he lifted you off your feet and spun you around.

“Daddy!” You laughed as he set you back on your feet, but still held you. You breathed in his familiar scent. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He gazed down at you and smiled warmly. “Your mother is at the studio but she should be home soon.” He picked up your bags and led you inside, prattling on about your mom’s business and the hell Cassian has been raising in the Illyrian camps. The elegant river house was just as you left it in the fall. The familiar lavishly furnished rooms and ever lingering scent of flowers welcomed you home. You followed your father up the staircase and to your room. 

“I’ll leave you to unpack and settle in,” he said, setting your things on the bed. He turned around to place a kiss on your hair. “Welcome home.” 

A welcome home, indeed.

That night, the entire inner circle met at the river house to celebrate your homecoming and the completion of your studies with Helion in the Day Court. The atmosphere was warm and lively in the dining hall, Cassian had no trouble convincing your father to open some bottles of his precious good wine to celebrate. You were happily chatting away with Mor about how difficult it was to focus on your studies with so many gorgeous Day Court males around, when Cassian chimed in.

“Males? What males? What are their names? I just want to talk,” he said with mock intensity. 

“You do know I am old enough to date, don’t you, Uncle Cass?” you laugh. “But anyways, they’re all too intimidated by me. And by who my father and uncles are, of course.”

“Damn straight.” He winked and Mor elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Come on, there must have been someone that kept you company while you were in the Day Court,” Mor insisted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Even Amren and Nesta looked interested to hear your answer, but your father just tried not to look too invested in your conversation, looking down at his plate in a miserable attempt to look disinterested. 

“Well. . .” you began, trying to steer the conversation away from the truth, which was that you had never actually felt that sort of connection with anyone. Well, no one except a certain broody shadowsinger who was considered very, very off limits. 

Thankfully, you were spared the trouble of coming up with some half-assed excuse when a loud crash sounded outside the manor. Everyone at the table tensed, the mood instantly shifting. The darkened eyes and battle ready stances of your family were quick to remind you that centuries old warriors were beside you. Suddenly, weapons you hadn’t even realised they had concealed were drawn. You should have known that no one in your family would show up anywhere unarmed. Cassian drew a sword from who knows where, Mor and Amren held daggers, and Aunt Nesta just summoned her power, that alone being a deadly weapon in itself. Your mother drew your Aunt Elaine close to her. You could see darkness curling around your father’s fingertips and you followed suit, the familiar tingle of magic in your veins sparking a rush of adrenaline. 

Your father led the way as you all stalked out the front door to see. . . Azriel. You rushed forward, pushing past your father to kneel by a bleeding Azriel. 

“Oh Az, your wing.” Your heart shattered at the sight of his broken left wing, the flesh in shreds. It must have been done with something strong and fast, very fast if it managed to reach Azriel, who was amazingly swift on his wings and with his winnowing. The rest of the circle gathered around him, trying to help him up and assess the damage.

“The mortal queens,” he managed to croak out, “I heard whispers of a weapon they made to rival the fae. And when I tried to investigate it, I encountered the beast that guarded it.”

“That’s enough.” Feyre said, “Let’s get you cleaned and healed up. I’ll summon a healer immediately. You can tell us the rest after.”

“I can help.” You say and everyone turned towards you. Your hands were still shaking and your voice wavered at Azriel’s state but you steeled yourself. “I learned a lot of healing magic while I was in Helion’s court. Let me help you.” You met Azriel’s eyes and it was like he tethered you to earth, the strength and resilience you found in them seemed to flow into you, too. 

He nodded once. That was enough for Cassian and Rhys to haul one arm over each of their shoulders. 

“Where to, boss?” Cassian teased but you found pride in his eyes. And when you looked to your father, you saw the same thing. 

“Get him into my room. I’ll take it from there.”

The inner circle had retired to the river house’s various guest rooms by the early hours of the morning, but you stayed awake, the gentle glow of the healing magic from your palms never faltering even though it had been hours. After Cassian and your father got Azriel onto the bed, you made him a salve from the various powders and tonics you brought from the Day Court that would assist the healing process. Aunt Elaine had even supplied some more supplemental herbs and flowers from her garden. 

They all stayed for nearly an hour after you started the healing spell, watching as flesh and bone slowly knitted back together, when your mother finally ushered them all out, insisting that you needed to focus. You shot her a grateful smile as she also stepped out and shut the door behind her. Now that everyone was gone, you could finally focus on the spell. Well, focus as much as you could with Azriel’s shirtless torso gleaming with perspiration. You would think after training in and mastering healing magic, you’d be unfazed by the male body, but Azriel’s stunning beauty was not something you could just get used to. 

It was nearly two in the morning when you heard a soft knock on your door. Your father’s head poked in.

“Sweetheart, you need to take a break.” He said and wiped a bead of sweat from your brow. You hadn’t even realised you were this physically strained. 

“I can’t, dad. Not until he’s healed.” You turned back towards Azriel’s healing wing when your father’s hands enveloped your own, stopping their magic. 

“Dad! He needs-”

“You’re the one who’s going to need healing if you try to continue this spell without taking a break.” His brows furrowed with concern. You knew what he saw, you must have looked a mess. Hair mussed, dark circles under your eyes, and a near permanent wrinkle on your forehead between your brows from holding your deadly focused expression for so long. 

“I know.” You sighed, giving in. “I suppose I could stop for a moment.” He enveloped you in a warm hug that you hadn’t realised you needed until that moment. “I’m just. . . I’m worried about him, dad. He’s always going off on these dangerous quests with the interests of the court being a bigger concern than his own well being.”

“You’re one to talk.” He scoffed. “What was that you said about putting other people’s needs over your own well being?” He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and then sighed. “That’s my girl, always so selfless and always so stubborn.” He planted a kiss on the top of your head. “You’re a lot like your mother in that way, you know.”

You reluctantly pull away from his arms. “I know, dad.” You rolled your eyes and huffed a sigh, stretching your back, you just realised that standing over Az for so long had really taken its toll on you. “I suppose I could take a shower and change out of this dress.” You were still in your cocktail dress from dinner, you also realised. 

“Yes, please do. I mean this in the gentlest way possible sweetheart, but you stink.” You halfheartedly shove him out of the room. 

“Gee thanks, dad. It’s no wonder how mom fell for that suave charm.” And you shut the door in his face, but not before catching his teasing smile that only he could pull off, somehow managing to look loving and full of himself at the same time. You rolled your eyes before walking into your en suite.

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I promise the next one will have more Azriel and a bit more spice. If you wanna be added to the taglist for this fic, you can leave a comment below :)

I do not consent for my work to be reposted or translated on tumblr or any other site, but reblogs are always welcome!

Taglist: @moonchild-cf​ @pansexual-booknerd​ @huffypuffyme​

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel smut #azriel fluff #azriel fic #sarah j maas #feysand #nessian #acowar #acomaf #acofas #fanfic #illyrian #my writing