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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

Note

Prompt-

Basically one where Nesta calls out the hypocrisy/disrespectfulness of Cassian and Morrigans ‘relationship’ infront of the whole inner circle- maybe at like dinner or something? And makes Cassian and mor realise the error of what they’ve been doing

I know that was weirdly specific, but it’s always annoyed me how nothing was ever actually said to Morrigan OR Cassian about how selfish she’s being when it comes to him even tho it’s so obvious and was one of the reasons nesta pulled away from him

This was so cathartic to write. This is Nesta's anthem during the final scene. Obviously very anti ic/mor/cassian (azriel is safe).

What utter foolishness had persuaded Nesta to attend a dinner with the Inner Circle? It had been five days since she had moved her scant belongings into her crumbling apartment in the most squalid district of Velaris. It had been three long weeks since her father’s death yet it felt like no time and an eternity all at once. Three long weeks since Nesta had cradled Cassian’s broken body with her own and been ready to die with him.

They had not spoken once. Nesta found that she was glad for it. No longer did his eye track her every move since she had departed the River House. So, why had Nesta agreed to dine with them? It was set to be a public dinner in a beautiful restaurant that overlooked the Sidra on what was sure to be one of the final golden sunsets of Autumn.

The blame fell on a pair of big, brown eyes. Elain had met with Nesta for breakfast in the city. She had chatted giddily about her days, of her favourite tea houses, or the last crop of sunflowers growing on the edge of the city. Elain hadn’t noticed that Nesta did not eat a bite of her croissant. Did not notice the haunted look in Nesta’s eyes. Each day felt like she was wading through cobwebs, fighting to breathe. Dust and regret coated her skin.

‘Nesta?’

‘Yes.’

She blinked away the vision of Elain, pale with terror, returned from Hybern’s war camp. Her brown eyes had been emptied out then like two cold hollows. Now, the light shined in them. They were warm and bright like a gentle doe.

‘You will? Oh, wonderful! Feyre will be so glad.’

‘For what?’

Elain’s face faltered. ‘For the meal on Friday. Were you not listening to me?’

Elain carried her hurt too publicly, did not nurse it in secret like Nesta. The notion that Nesta had not listened intently to her speech on proving bread had her bottom lip wobbling with betrayal.

Like a curtain had been ripped away, ruining the illusion, Nesta could finally acknowledge her sister’s faults. Elain could be conceited, content for the world to turn around her, to be treasured or doted upon without ever expecting to get her hands dirty in return. Not once had she enquired over Nesta’s new home or asked how she was settling in.

‘You’re not listening to me again.’

Nesta swallowed. She saw Elain’s flaws but felt guilt not to indulge them, an obligation to apologise and fuss around her.

‘Sorry. I was thinking of the route to the restaurant from where I live.’

‘Cassian could escort you.’

‘Not him.’

Elain flinched at the snap in Nesta’s tone. ‘Look, I know what happened between you that day changed things, but I think you should-’

‘Stop.’ Nesta rose from her seat. ‘I have never given you my opinion on your relationships with Graysen or Lucien. If you cannot extend the same courtesy to me then I ask that you do not speak at all to me.’

Leaving Elain in the café, blinking back tears, had made her feel like an utter wretch. The idea that any of them knew at all what had occurred was absurd. Death had looked them in the eye. Hope had abandoned them. And Feyre had seen fit to broadcast what she had witnessed to all of them like they were a commodity there for entertainment purposes.

A messenger had delivered a letter to Nesta that afternoon bearing the Night Court seal. She expected a telling off from Feyre, but it was in Elain’s neat handwriting.

Dear Nesta, I wasn’t trying to cause an argument and I am not criticising you for your reaction. I understand this is a sensitive topic for you, but we all lived through the war. I feel the same hurts as you. This is a chance to celebrate that we all made it. It would mean a lot if you would attend. Love always, Elain.

Nesta had caved in – as she always did where Elain was concerned.

On Friday evening, Nesta had readied herself for dinner. It was difficult to know how to dress in a faerie city with little morals and with a group of people who all dressed as if they were attending different functions. Mor, Elain, and Rhys would likely dress to the occasion. Feyre would favour comfort. The Illyrians were rarely in anything other than armour.

She opted for a finely-tailored, pewter gown that straddled the line between every-day comfort and sophisticated. However, on the way out of the front door, Nesta caught the handle of a pan with her elbow. She made a pig’s meal out of trying to catch it, showering her skirts with mushroom soup.

Cursing herself, she stripped off the dress, used it to mop up the spillage then tossed it onto the growing pile of laundry. In five days, she hadn’t yet purchased a washboard to scrub her clothes clean. She’d grown too reliant on the twin wraiths who did everything for her these last few months.

There was little else clean in her wardrobe that was suitable except for a dress she had shied from previously. It had been prepared for a visit to the Court of Nightmares but Nesta had changed her mind at the final moment. Out of options, she pulled it on. The velvet slid softly over her skin, moulding to the curves of her body. It flattered her figure, especially the breasts she preferred to hide. Time was ticking. She didn’t have the luxury of questioning if the dress was too scandalous. Quite frankly, she did not care either way. Propriety was not known in Prythian.

Nesta arrived at the restaurant with flushed cheeks. The sun had begun its descent, showering the city in golden warmth. The rooftop terrace had been reserved solely for the use of the high lord, of course. It had been bedecked with garlands of flowers and tiny, glittering balls of fae light.

‘Nesta!’ Feyre called, surprise ringing in her tone. ‘We didn’t think you were coming.’

Her cheeks burnt at the accusation. Surely, she was only a few minutes late; she had practically jogged across Velaris to make up the minutes spent cleaning soup from her floor.

Elain blushed. ‘I’m so sorry. That’s my fault. I gave you the wrong time by accident. I thought we were meeting at five thirty, not five.’

There was a collective murmur of understanding then Rhys said, ‘It can happen.’

Nobody could have told Nesta the correct time. Nobody could have been spared to come to her apartment. None could have waited the extra thirty minutes. Their drinks had been started on and a waitress came up the spiral staircase with a tray of appetisers.

‘We’ve already ordered,’ Feyre explained, grimacing slightly. ‘Sorry. We really thought you weren’t coming. If you go downstairs, I’m sure you can order too. Should I come with you?’

‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ she bit out.

As Nesta passed, she saw Mor’s not-so-subtle roll of the eyes to Feyre. Why did Nesta even bother? She wasn’t welcome. She deserved better than a pity invitation.

On the descent to the ground floor, Nesta convinced herself to simply walk back out. Perhaps they would realise once pudding was served that she hadn’t come back.

The exit was blocked by a colossus male. His wings were traps for sunlight; it flooded through them so they glowed. Cassian was shaking a male’s hand in farewell, conversation coming to him easily. Then he pivoted. His gaze snagged on Nesta. What could she do? Barrel past and pretend she had not noticed the biggest man in Prythian in the doorway she was squeezing through?

She abruptly changed course aiming for the bar. Nesta felt the quiver in the room as Cassian verged towards her as if their paths were meant to meet at this end point. No matter how fast he made her heart race, how many butterflies that erupted when Cassian was near, Nesta could always craft a cold, steady exterior around him. She raised a menu, pondering the choices whilst pointedly ignoring his arrival, even as he loomed over her.

‘Aren’t you going to say hello?’

Nesta continued reading, scrutinising every single item on the menu, then, finally, ‘Hello.’

‘I’d recommend the steak,’ he said, leaning closer. ‘Everything is delicious though. The whole restaurant is amazing.’

Nesta examined the wing that dangled a hair’s breadth from her bare shoulder. ‘They seem to have a vermin problem.’

The joke landed with a wry grin from Cassian. ‘Look who came to play.’

He prowled to her other side of her body as if he was asserting his claim on her, circling like a shark. She hated how big he was, how he dominated the spaces he was in. Hated the eyes flickering their way. Their story had gained wings and spread throughout Prythian. The Cauldron-born king slayer ready to die with the Lord of Bloodshed.

‘The seafood risotto, please, and a glass of your most expensive wine,’ she said to the server. ‘I presume Rhysand is paying?’

Cassian did not respond. His eyes devoured every inch of bare skin on display. It wasn’t a dress she would ever wear. It bared one of her legs, both of her arms, and too much of her chest. It was as black as the darkest night – a colour she never wore.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said, voice low and rough. ‘So beautiful. Black suits you.’

It was the same voice that he’d used just before they had winnowed into the Dawn Court for the high lords to meet. The next time, Emissary, I’ll come say hello. It rubbed against her skin with such an intensity, Nesta felt dizzy. He closed the space between them, forcing her to meet his own hazel eyes.

‘Have you settled in? Does it feel like home yet?’ A pause then, ‘Do you need anything?’

That was what she had been waiting for. Somebody to ask her how she was. How her home was. It was the first place she had ever been able to call her own, the one place she had chosen for herself. A thumb brushed against her arm as Cassian stood in front of her, all but pinning her to the bar. Nesta’s eyes dipped to his mouth, felt her breath hitch in her lungs. His wings unfurled, offering them a tiny parcel of privacy.

‘There you are!’ A bright voice called. ‘We thought you got lost!’

Cassian sprang away like he’d been scandalised. ‘I have too many friends wherever I go.’

Mor galloped forwards and threw herself into his arms. Cassian lifted her with ease, spare hand rubbing down Mor’s back in greeting.

‘I just need to order.’

‘Already done it for you. You’re an open book, Cass. Everybody knows your order.’

She felt like something one would scrape from their shoe. Of course, Cassian had arrived late but they had included him. Tears prickled Nesta’s eyes as she swept past their jolly greeting. Her feet stomped up the metal stairs, trying to loosen her anger before she reunited with the others.

Why did she care? It wasn’t the first time Cassian had discarded her in Mor’s presence. Some innate voice had alerted Nesta to Cassian’s injured wrist in that war camp. All of her focus had been on caring for him. For once, Nesta had not cared that other people watched her. Cassian had been the priority. Exhaustion – the likes of which she had never seen on him – etched itself into his handsome features. He had stayed holding her hand even after she had finished binding his wrist. Then Mor arrived. Cassian could not have let go any quicker. He had shifted his entire body away, sheepish to be caught fraternising with Nesta in any form.

‘Oh, that’s Mor’s seat,’ Feyre said as Nesta’s hand enclosed around the back of the chair. She moved to next vacant seat. ‘That’s for Cassian, I think. Unless he’s not here yet.’

‘He’s here.’

Nesta stepped back. There was no other seat available. They hadn’t even included her in the number for the table.

‘Take my seat,’ came a cool, crisp voice. Azriel stood and gestured to his chair between Varian and Elain. ‘I’ll ask them to bring up another table.’

As the male moved past her, Nesta felt the faintest hand on her back either offering support or urging her into the chair. She couldn’t tell if it was him or his shadows that had done it. Nesta only knew that she was glad for that touch, that miniscule reassurance that she had a place here.

Her first glass of wine was empty before the waitress had even finished delivering drinks to the whole table. ‘Would you like another?’

‘I certainly would. Thank you.’

Nesta tried to keep her eyes away from Cassian. In between lulls of his conversation with Mor, she felt his gaze on her often.

‘So, when will you start training your powers again, girl?’

‘Stop calling me girl,’ she snapped to Amren, causing a ripple of silence to leak down the table.

Amren, unperturbed, grinned. Her black nails drummed on the table as a vicious smile spread across her face. Varian, at least, had the good sense to look uncomfortable at that grin. ‘It is a waste, Nesta.’

‘I don’t have my powers anymore.’ She sipped at her wine, staring resolutely at her lap.

‘You are a terrible liar.’

Nesta refused to even give Amren the satisfaction of replying, of protesting that that horrid silver fire which churned inside of her had faded. No, it hadn’t. The war had excited it. Nesta was drowning in her power now that it knew what freedom was. Every day, it sought to find release – and every day she pushed it back down, built her walls wider, deeper, jailed it.

‘Let’s not turn this dinner into an interrogation, Amren,’ Rhys winked.

‘The real question is who is joining me at Rita’s tonight?’ Mor asked, sitting up in her chair. ‘Feyre?’

‘Not me.’

‘No, she has plans with me tonight,’ Rhys purred, pulling her in for a kiss. ‘It was a mistake on my part not to send half of your salary directly to Rita’s each month to clear your tab.’

‘I’ll come,’ offered Azriel.

Mor gave a little cheer then wrapped an arm around Cassian’s neck. He was eating, but that hadn’t stopped her from holding her own face inches from his. ‘You won’t disappoint me, will you? You’ll come to Rita’s with me.’

Nesta saw it then, the same flash of disappointment in Azriel’s eyes that she had worn often. A shadow had risen up, briefly, to wrap around him before disappearing again. Whatever history had occurred between Azriel and Mor, Cassian would always be there to step into the middle of it. Neither of them would ever be regretful of the pain it caused the shadow singer.

Cassian liked to play the hero, liked to rescue Mor from Azriel’s looks of longing. More than once, Cassian had been Nesta’s knight in shining armour. She glanced towards the House of Wind carved into the mountain. When Hybern’s twin ravens had attacked her and Feyre in the heart of the library, Cassian had appeared like a vision there to save her. Nesta had fallen into his arms, known she was safe the moment he touched her. Nesta refilled her glass again, almost to the brim.

‘Are you thirsty?’ Feyre joked.

Elain was doing a mental tally of how many glasses, Nesta had drunk. This would be number three. ‘Maybe you should slow down, Nesta. You’ve barely touched your food.’

‘No,’ Nesta said with a sickly smile. ‘I don’t think I will.’

It was never a problem for them to sink a bottle of wine each at every single meeting, so why should Nesta’s drinking fall under scrutiny? No judgement was cast on Mor who revelled in drinking herself sick at Rita’s each night. Nobody ever told Cassian to slow down his drinking.

‘Where is Lucien?’ Nesta could not help the venom seeping into her tone as she addressed Elain, her voice loud enough for the conversations around the table to simmer into nothing.

Elain shifted in her seat, colour flushing up her neck.

‘Lucien’s busy in the mortal lands.’

‘This is to celebrate the war efforts,’ she replied, turning her face to Rhys. ‘Or so Elain told me. Lucien should be here, shouldn’t he? He brought the armies. He brought Vassa.’

Rhys held her stare with equal amounts of steel.

‘Father did those things,’ Elain said meekly.

‘Lucien went to the continent because he is a good person who knows how to do the right thing. Father did those things to extend his wealth and ensure he received fame. Do you think he did those things because he cared about us? He didn’t even know we were in that war. He abandoned us to grow the fortune that Tamlin gave us. Everything he did was for his own benefit.’

At what point had Nesta become this creature which such sharp talons that she could shred through any body too slow to escape her? There was not a single moment that she could pinpoint. Elain clenched her jaw shut, staring into her lap to keep from crying. Angry red circles dotted Feyre’s cheeks.

The silence was heavy.

Finally, a low voice pierced it. ‘How is the rebuilding of Adriata progressing, Varian?’

The table heaved a collective sigh of relief at Azriel’s attempts to spark a conversation. Varian seized it, launching into a longer-than-necessary speech about the Summer Court.

From the glazed appearances of the high lord and lady, Nesta suspected they were communicating across their mental bridge. Likely they were discussing how to clip Nesta’s claws and muzzle her. Elain had turned back to her dinner. Azriel feigned interest in Varian’s poetic talk of fishing exports to the Spring Court. She risked a look opposite her; Mor and Cassian were play-fighting over a chunk of food on her fork. She dangled it near his lips then withdrew, silently giggling as he tried to chomp it. Another set of eyes branded into Nesta’s skin. Amren was staring at her with another malicious grin.

‘I need the bathroom,’ she declared, tramping back downstairs.

When she emerged to wash her hands, Mor leant against the sinks. Her blonde hair hung in loose waves past her shoulders. Her full lips were painted crimson.

‘Go easy with the alcohol. It’s stronger than mortal wine.’

Nesta scrubbed her hands under the stream of warm water. ‘I’m not mortal.’

No thanks to you, she thought. No thanks to your court who dragged me into this life I did not want.

Mor’s arm blocked her exit from the bathroom.

‘You’ve upset Elain tonight. Snapped at Amren. If you cannot manage to keep your forked tongue behind your teeth-’

‘Get some new material,’ Nesta interrupted.

Memories of that day, after the battle at Adriata, when Nesta’s nerves had been wrung out with worry over Cassian rose to the surface. How she’d even dared to ask after him in front of the others, to let her guard down and show her weakness for him. When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. Mor would forever be an obstacle if she ever wanted Cassian in her life.

‘Move.’

Although both wore heels tonight, Nesta was still taller than her. Mor did not intimidate her in the slightest. Whatever legendary status Mor had carved in the first war, Nesta had been the one to excel in the second. She had her own powers, own reputation now.

The blonde did step aside, brows high in surprise.

Nesta could not move past her dislike of Mor. They lacked any common ground except for Cassian. If Nesta tried to reach him then Mor was always waiting to block her path, to snip her attempts at growing towards him. In that war, all day long, Nesta had worked filling buckets and cutting bandages, assisting where she could with healers. Her hair had been plastered to her scalp with freezing cold rain, dirt splattered up his shins. She’d lost one of her shoes in the river of mud. She didn’t even know whose blood covered her after seeing so much death. Cassian had been injured. She had seen him carried into the healer by Azriel, blood pouring from his abdomen. Saw him fall in the battle. All Nesta had wanted was to know he was safe. Shouldn’t you be refilling that bucket? Mor hadn’t even allowed her to worry over him, far less go to his tent to see for herself if he was alive.

‘I ordered you chocolate cake,’ Elain said as she sat back into her seat. ‘Since you hardly ate dinner.’

‘I had not known I was under observation,’ she replied tightly.

Mor arrived back on the roof, eyes simmering. The blonde’s fierce guarding of Cassian was not solely dislike for Nesta. Cassian was big enough to make his own decisions. It was her own selfish interest that had her swooping towards him the moment Azriel came too close. Nesta was not blind. She knew very well that Cassian was Mor’s shield against Azriel’s advances. Feyre had let slip once that Azriel had longed for her touch for nearly five centuries, but she had chosen to bed Cassian instead to break off her betrothal to Eris.

The conversation churned around Nesta as a muffled, indistinct noise. A plate of cake drizzled with cream was placed in front of her by the waitress. She had managed to eat a few bites to settle her stomach. It was dark now, the warmth fading from the air.

Cassian had loosened the tight straps from Mor’s shoes and pulled her bare feet onto his lap. ‘I don’t know why you wear these things.’

‘Masochism,’ Amren replied, fingers wending into Varian’s hair.

Cassian began kneading his thumb into the arch of Mor’s foot. There were deep indents where her shoes had bitten into the skin. Blonde hair landed onto Feyre’s shoulder as Mor tipped her head back with a satisfied moan.

She dared a look at Azriel at the end of the table. It was the longing there – beneath desire, beneath lust – so full of sorrow that Nesta could not keep her eyes on him. The shadow singer loved Mor in his own way. He’d fight Eris for her, fight Beron or Keir. Mor was happy to embrace him, touch him tenderly when it was on her terms. The moment he got a little too close, too familiar, Mor would block him with Cassian rather than speak to him. She’d done it that night already; Azriel would have followed her to Rita’s, but rather than be alone together, she’d leant on Cassian. Both of them disregarded Azriel’s pain, pretended not to notice the disappointment tucking his wings in, the shadows comforting him. If Nesta could notice these things then surely Rhys and Feyre could. Not one of them would ever intervene. Not one of them would ever rock the boat because their dynamic would alter. If Mor acknowledged that she did not want Azriel, perhaps his loyalty would waver. Cassian was stupid to go along with it. Nesta was perhaps even stupider to have ever thought that he might prioritise her over Mor.

Nesta had had enough. Enough of the foot rubs and massages. Enough of the declarations they were siblings then the strange, flirtations a moment later. Enough of the constant proximity, the feet in laps, arms around shoulders. Enough of the hair stroking and kisses on foreheads. Enough of the pain in Azriel’s eyes each time they chose to hurt his feelings rather than face them properly.

‘Must you do that at the dinner table?’ Rhys said, wrinkling up his nose as Cassian squeezed the ball of Mor’s foot.

‘Must you do it at all?’ Nesta gritted out. ‘How can you stand them?’

Without realising, she was stood and addressing Azriel. From the set of his jaw, the shadow singer knew exactly what she was referring to.

‘How can you do this constantly to him?’

To me. To me was what she wanted to say but Nesta held her words back. How can you ignore me every single time she enters the room? How can you not know that it hurts me every single time I’m unwanted?

‘Nesta,’ a warning pealed in Feyre’s voice.

‘Do not try and leash me,’ she bit back. ‘Not now, not ever. I have asked you a question. Why can you not face this situation and be responsible?’

‘You’re reading it wrong, Nes.’

‘He’s like my brother,’ Mor reassured, drawing her feet out of Cassian’s grasp.

‘Do you massage each other’s feet too?’ Her eyes snapped between Rhys and Azriel then she turned to her sisters. ‘Have I ever massaged your feet? Varian.’

‘I don’t need to be part of this,’ said Varian, seeking Amren for support.

‘You have a sister. Did you ever sleep with her? Have you spent five hundred years flirting with her? Did you ever recoil from Amren when your sister was present and throw her hand away?’

The memory landed on Cassian. His eyes widened with regret. Feyre and Rhys had been witnesses to that moment in the camp. Their lips pursed in unison.

‘I think you need to grow up. Both of you. You,’ she pointed a finger at Mor in the same way she had done to the King of Hybern, ‘need to grow a spine and be honest with Azriel. And you,’ the finger pointed now at Cassian, ‘need to stop being so damn stupid to go along with it and disrespectful to Azriel – and me. You need to rename yourselves to the Court of Hypocrites.’

That was as much as Nesta would give in acknowledging her feelings for him. She pulled her coat from the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulders. The silence ringing across the roof was almost painful. Nesta knew she’d regret her outburst in the morning. For now, it felt good like letting out all of the poison that had been clogging her veins.

She settled a hand on Azriel’s shoulder on her way towards the stairs. ‘They’re not worth it. I hope you know that.’

#nesta going apeshit #nesta archeron #anti ic #anti cassian #anti mor #nesta vs the buffer

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carelessflower · 2 years

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afterglow

The New York Institute hadn't changed anything in ten years, at least in Magnus's eyes. Even weirder, the shadowhunters were all dressed up today.

A blond girl approached him, hand holding out in a friendly manner.

"Excuse me if I'm wrong, but you're Magnus Bane, right?"

Magnus looked at her, curious. "Indeed, I am. And you are?"

"Elaine Woodstone. But most people call me Elly." She smiled. "I've heard so much about you! I can't believe I get to see the Magnus Bane in the flesh, and today, nevertheless. I told them, again and again, you would show up and nobody believed me!"

Being gushed over by a shadowhunter, of all people, was an experience Magnus never thought he would have. Ten years wasn't the longest compared to his immortal life, but a lot could change in ten years. Magnus was part amused, part curious how much.

"May I ask whether there is any special occasion today? To be completely honest, I haven't been around much, and it appeared I have missed out on a lot."

Elaine pulled a surprised face. "Oh. No one told you? Oh wow, Lightwood definitely sucks at giving out wedding invitations cause there's no way- How can Isabelle- I can't believe she would forget your invitation like that."

Magnus winced. For the past few years, he had been trying to ignore everything sent from the Lightwood, fire messages and phone calls alike. At one point, they stopped trying to reach him and Magnus, along with his liquor cabinet, had their expected reunion. Isabelle's invitation being lost among thousands of his unanswered letters wouldn't be a shock.

Before he could ask the girl for more information, Clary stepped into view, talking about something to Elaine, who made her exit.

"Magnus!" Clary exclaimed, grinning brightly, reaching out to hug him. "I didn't know you would come." Magnus returned the hug, equally happy to see Clary had grown into such a fine young woman. The same fiery glint was still in her eyes, but there was also this maturity that washed over her like a glow.

"Neither did I. But I'm here now." He paused, looking for the right word. "And I wonder which poor soul decides to get married here in this Institute, your decoration hasn't changed in years."

It wasn't quite the thing Magnus wanted to know the most, but he needed to have that conversation with someone else. Magnus had too many steps to make up for, he couldn't afford to be impatient and impulsive.

Clary looked amused. "I tried to tell her, but she wouldn't listen, going on something about the symbolism between shadowhunter and downworlder allegiance. Eventually, we all just gave up. Come, let me show you to the venue. We did have a seat saved for you if you decided to show up."

Following Clary, Magnus's mind started to wander. Isabelle had invited him to her wedding, undoubtedly with Simon, the young Lightwood had never managed to hide her affection for that boy. Though Magnus didn't have any gift on him, he could think of some way to compensate for it. Surely a honeymoon to Spain wouldn't be too much, would it?

The wedding venue was nothing sort of stunning, stained glass window and marble floor, an arrangement of daisies, lilies, carnations, and daphne blossomed in the air. It was no surprise that Isabelle would go all out for her wedding, a distant fondness growing in Magnus's chest.

"Okay, you're sitting here. There are some errands I need to check on, but I hope we can catch up later. Again, lovely to see you, Magnus." Clary gestured to the seat next to the aisle, almost front row for him and left.

Many guests already arrived at the venue, old and fresh faces, shadowhunters mingling with downworlders. Magnus had no problems catching up with them, scanning through the room from time to time in the hope of finding a familiar dark-hair, blue eyes figure to no avail.

Bells rang through the venue, and people went back to their seats, Magnus included. Everyone stood up in anticipation.

Maryse Lightwood waltzed into the room, a vision in her elaborate gown, face almost an iridescent joy, but Magnus's eyes were glued to the person next to her. Messy black hair, broad shoulders, a soft smile that was unmistakably Alec's, still as beautiful as the day Magnus last saw him.

There was a new sureness in Alec's steps towards the aisle, lights pouring through the stain-glass and reflected back in his suit jacket, coating Alec's figure in a stream of golden light.

Gold for a bride in her wedding gown.

All the breath was promptly knocked out of Magnus's lungs.

for @malectober day 31 prompt golden

#malectober #malectober22 #malec #alec lightwood #magnus bane #anh writes stuff #told you i have something waiting

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downingg2001 · 2 years

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Trembling Fawn. Part 2

Elain had ignored Azriel for the last two weeks and ignored Rhysand too. Both males, the cause of her anger, her pain. She grumbled as she pulled the pearl clips from her thick hair, running her finger through the curled locks. She shut out the image of Azriel's hair tangled between her fingers, sighing as she stepped away from her vanity, not wanting to look at herself any longer. Her cobalt blue dress shifted from under her, cold air from her open window brushed against her bare back, causing her to shiver. Azriel being able to see her vision had confused her. He confused her. How could he call her a mistake..yet do those things to her? He had not sought her out either. Not like before. Granted, she told him to leave her alone but still. She was about to start unlacing her dress when Cerridwen appeared. "The Highlord requests your presence in his office." Elain nodded. "I will be there in a moment; thank you, Cerridwen." The shadow wreath inclined her head and disappeared. Elain slipped her shoes back on but left her hair down, not bothering to pin it back up. She left her room and walked down the hall, shadows greeting her. They wrapped around her fingers, and she giggled, letting them pull her toward the office. She knocked on the door, letting the shadows disappear, probably returning to their master. Elain heard a brief "Come in." Rhysand sat at his desk, Feyre perched on the armrest, her hands rubbing her mate's shoulders. Elain stiffened, feeling the uncomfortable tug of the mating bond. She looked over to the bookcase and saw Lucien. She tried to hide her surprise. She turned back to Feyre, a guilty look on her sister's face. "What's going on?" Feyre and Rhys Hesitated, but Lucien moved towards her. She took a step back. "I have asked for Rhys permission to take you back to the Autumn court." "I..What?" "My father thinks it is time.." Lucien started… Elain cut him off. "I don't give a damn what your father thinks," anger coursing through her. She could feel it stirring, just waiting to be set free. There was another knock at the door, and Azriel entered, checking his surroundings; his shadows darkened at the sight of Lucien but said nothing about the foxes' presence. Instead, he turned to His Highlord. "You needed me." "Yes" was Rysands only response. Elain watched the two stare each other down, having a silent conversation. Rhysand broke first, returning his gaze to Lucien and Elain. Elain was watching the floor ignoring the Autumn court's seventh son's gaze. "Elain, I know that you have been hesitant about…." Elain cut him off. "You know nothing Rhysand" she sneered. "You didn't even ask me if this is what I wanted…your just going to let Lucien have me. Once I accept the bond, I lose my last ties to my human life…my human life, which he helped strip away from me." "Don't look at it that way. He is your mate; he has every right to claim you as he sees fit." Elains face grew hot. "Lucien does not own me. And neither do you, Highlord. So don't throw that mate bullshit in my face right now." "Lucien of you will please excuse us just for a moment." Lucien stared at the ground as he exited the room. Elian waited till she heard him leave before turning back to Rhys. "How dare you ?" She was seething "Lainey.." "Don't you Lainey me, Rhys…You had no right." "I have every right." "You are NOT MY HIGHLORD" Elain wanted to scream "You are a part of MY COURT…I am just trying to keep the peace." "NO, you are trying to use me as a pawn for your political game." Rhys was about to lose his temper, that she knew, but she also knew that he would be evenly matched. She felt Shadows reach out for her fingers and calmed, "I won't be used, Rhys. I won't be forced into a mating bond that I do not want." "Lucien can call upon the blood duel if he sees fit." "That is an Autun court tradition," Elain replied. "He has no reason to call upon it." Rhys paused at her words. Taken back before clearing his throat "Lucien is an heir of the Autumn court…You would be gone for only a few weeks at the most." Elain cut him off again. "WE both know that isn't true." She didn't specify which part, but she knew Rhys would falter at her words. "The bond isn't right, Rhys. It's cold and uncomfortable. I don't feel anything when I look at him…from the way both Feyre and Nesta exp[lained it to me, that isn't how the bond works. Something is wrong, Rhys. Please" Rhys held up his hand, silencing her. "I won't hear any more of this, Elain." "Rhys," Feyre started, "Maybe we should hear her out." "I've made up my mind Feyre..I won't risk my son's life for a meer infatuation." Elain looked at Rhys. "This isn't about the blood duel or Nyx, is it?… This is about Azriel and I..about Solstice" She refused to look at Azriel, but she could feel him tense behind her "How do you know about.." Elain cut off Rhys. "I'm not stupid, Rhys. Very few have power over the Shadowsinger." "What happened on Solstice?" Feyre asked. Elain inclined her head. Feyre didn't know. Rhys hadn't told her. She was glaring at Rhys, and he cleared his throat. "Well, feyre darling.." Elain spoke, "Az and I had a moment..and Rhys pulled rank and told Azriel to stay away from me." Elain refused to let Rhys spin it to his advantage. Feyre sent Rhy's death glares, but Rhys's eyes were on Elain and Azriel, watching the former as he stepped closer to Elain in case she needed his protection. "Did you even attempt to stay away from her" Rhys powers flickered across the room Cold rage fell off the Highlord. Before Azriel could even speak, Elain whispered, "You have no right to demand he stay away..I have seen the future Rhys...and Lucien isn't at my side. He stands with the Human queen and I.." she looked up at Azriel "I stand with the Shadowsinger" Azriel's eyes flickered towards hers and warmth spread throughout her body as she gave him a small smile. One that he returned. Rhys snarled as the pair now stood side by side. "I am going to reject the bond, and you will not stop me, Highlord." "Elain," he growled, threatening. Azriel's hand immediately went to truthteller, stepping in front of elain, ready to fight if necessary. Rhys saw this, and he faltered, sighing, slumping in his chair. "Why are all of you Archeons so stubborn" he knew he would not win against Azriel if it came to a fight. Feyre hit Rhys on the back of his head. "I'm glad we are." She stepped around Rhys and his desk and engulfed elain into a hug. "We will look into the bond and figure out what's wrong with it." "There is no need. It's already broken" Elain smiled a secret smile. "Lucien and I broke the false bond earlier this week." "But he came here…." "He came here because I asked him. To make it official. Neither one of us wanted it. His family was about to force his hand …and mine," Elain eyed Rhys. "Lucien needs a scapegoat…and I…I need for you to let me make my own choices instead of deciding for me. Both of us are done being pawns in other people's games." "So all of this," Rhys's hand rested below his chin, "was to prove a point?" Elain looked at Azriel and smiled. "Mostly, some other factors played into it as well, and I will tell you everything…eventually. But right now, the shadowsinger and I need to have a talk." "How very night court of you...Kingslayer" A small smile graced Rhysand's Face. Elain held out her hand, searching his face. Azriel looked at his own hands, almost afraid to touch her immaculate skin. Elain nodded, and Azriel grabbed her hand hesitantly before relaxing in it. She led him to the door before stopping and looking at Rhys. "Rhys?" "What, Lainey" his voice was soft, a hint of anger still there. The Highlord probably didn't take kindly to being tricked. "Just remember my own power, untamed as it is, exceeds your own…I won't take lightly being forced into anything ever again." She wasn't a trembling fawn but a fanged beast with her own wants, her own desires, her own needs. And mother helps if anyone ever forgot that. Rhys looked at her, into the fae she had grown into. "You would make a good spy Lainey." Elain smiled, pulling Azriel out the door and headed to the garden She pulled him to the ground, the grass vibrant and soft around them. "Are you going to tell me what just happened" Azriel looked at elain, her smiling face as she watched the stars. "Lucien came to me shortly after we shared that vision. He told me about his father's plans…to use the three of us…Lucien wasn't sure why or when, but he didn't want to be a part of it. He just wanted to be free of his brothers, His family. He wanted to remain in the human lands…with Vassa and Jurian…, and he didn't want to be shackled to me knowing I would never come to care for him in that way ...." Elain squeezed his hand az whispered, "Only an idiot wouldn't want to be shackled to you." Elain giggled but continued, "I told him that the bond between us was wrong. It didn't feel right…it was rancid, like a bad piece of fruit in my mouth, and it was numb half of the time, never fully there. He admitted it was the same way for him, and as much as he wanted it to be there, it simply wasn't". ' Azriel watched her. "We both agreed to break it..we knew neither one of us wouldn't fall for the other. I knew that it had to be some kind of spell. We went to Helion, and we broke it and what Lucien doesn't know is that he was the one who put it on us, to begin with." "Why?" "Your guess is as good as mine, but I have some theories. Maybe he was guilt-ridden from turning Nesta and me over, and it was the last effort to protect me." "You know Lucien is Helios's son?" Elain nodded, pushing herself up from the grass and tucking her legs underneath the skirts of her dress ." Once it was broken, this weight that had been pressing in my chest went away, and this sense of freedom washed over me. This sense of relief, and I felt..felt my powers wash over me in such a way that I could see this invisible gold thread that linked them. It honestly wasn't that hard to figure out." Azriel chuckled, leaning into elain, his lips pressed against her forehead. "So, Vassa?" "Vassa," Elain confirmed, "Lucien won't even know what hit him," Elain mused, but then her face darkened slightly. "We are going to need them. Soon. I'm not sure why just yet, but I've seen it." "We will worry about that later. Right now, let's just enjoy the dusk and shadows around us." "Dusk and Shadows," Elain whispered to the stars, letting Azriel hold her.

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nikethestatue · 3 years

Text

La Dolce Vita

Summary: Elain Archeron and Azriel - in love, in lust, in Italy

Modern AU *slight TOG crossover. If you read my stuff, you know it’s LONG

Warnings: bad language and THIS IS NSFW (not kidding, this is a story, not just sex, but there is a LOT of explicit material here. You can still read the story, but if you are sensitive or underage, skip the naughty bits)

Comments are always appreciated/wanted/needed. Anon or not, just do it! Obviously, reblogs are appreciated.

Part I (Flowers)

La Vie En Rose

De l'homme auquel j'appartiens (Of the man to whom I belong) Quand il me prend dans ses bras Il me parle l'a tout bas (He speaks to me softly) Je vois la vie en rose (And I see life in pink) Il me dit des mots d'amour (He speaks words of love to me) Des mots de tous les jours (They are every day words) Et ça m' fait quelque chose (And they do something to me) Il est entré dans mon coeur (He has entered into my heart) Une part de bonheur (A bit of happiness) Dont je connais la cause (That I know the cause of) C'est lui pour moi (It's only him for me) Moi pour lui dans la vie (And me for him, for life)

Now

Riding in a Ferrari, being enveloped in its supple, buttery leather, gulping in the cypress and cedar-scented air of Tuscany was everything that Elain Archeron had ever wanted. She never knew that this is what she wanted, because riding in very fast, very expensive, sleek Italian cars wasn’t on her ‘fantasy radar’, but now that she was in one, she suddenly came to the realization that this was perhaps one of the best experiences of her life.

The whole thing, so far, has been the best experience of her life.

Well…maybe not the best-best.

Her happiness was deeply intertwined with and caused by the man in the driver seat of the said Ferrari—Azriel. Azriel Archeron, as he loved calling himself. Even if this wasn’t his last name, he preferred using it over his family name, for a variety of personal reasons. There was nothing better, more sublime, more beautiful and more loving than Azriel. The perfect male specimen, if she could say so herself. No one would argue with her assessment either.

Elain

They were introduced by her sister’s then-boyfriend Cass, who was giving her a lift one afternoon, and then suggested that they stop by Azriel’s car atelier, because he needed to pick something up.

Elain’s heard of the mysterious Azriel from her sisters, both of whom had claimed that he was the most handsome man that either one of them had ever seen. Elain chuckled at the exuberant praise, doubting its truthfulness. There was no such thing as the ‘most handsome’ man. Beauty was in the eyes of the beholder.

She wasn’t sure what a car atelier was, and when Cassian pulled up to a modern-looking building, she said that she’d stay in the car and wait.

“Come on, petal, don’t be shy,” Cassian urged her, holding the car door open for her in a way that indicated that she’d have to get out and follow him.

They entered the foyer, a vast space with racing stripes painted on the polished cement floor, and a sea of model cars dropping from the ceiling. Behind a wall of glass, Elain spied a row of gorgeous cars, none of which were familiar to her. Some unique European models, fit for James Bond’s consumption. There were also neat antique cars, probably from the 50s. She immediately had visions of Grace Kelly and Cary Grant riding in one of these along the Riviera coast.

“What’s this place?” she inquired, looking around at the mid-century modern building that resembled a spaceship.

“This is Az’s baby,” Cass explained vaguely. “Conceived, conceptualized, restored, outfitted—all by the brilliant mind of one Azriel Bagarat.”

“Are you bragging?”

A deep, sensual voice, that could only be called ‘midnight’ sounded behind them, and Cassian’s handsome, tanned face broke in a mischievous smile. “Only about you, brother!”

When Elain turned around, her breath was knocked out from her lungs.

She didn’t know that it was possible, to be actually stunned by someone’s beauty, but there she stood, gaping, feeling the world slow and move in a different manner for a few moments.

Standing at a towering 6”4 or so, the man was at least as tall as Cassian, and Cassian was the tallest man Elain’d ever met. She was just as muscular, but not as bulky. Clad in all black, from expensive, well-tailored Diesel jeans, to a soft t-shirt that stretched over his sharply cut torso, emphasizing the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders, and the narrow waist, true to her sisters’ word, this Azriel was simply exquisite.

Cassian draped his heavy arm around her shoulders and nudged her forward, just a bit, and said,

“Petal, say hello! This is my brother, Azriel. Az, this is my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, the one and only Elain Archeron.”

At the words ‘sister-in-law’ Elain whipped her head to Cassian, who grinned maniacally at her, nodding and answering her silent question.

“When? What are you talking about?” she exclaimed, Azriel momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean? You’ve only been seeing each other for like three months?!?”

“Baby girl, I don’t need three years to decide…Nes is Nes and she is the one for me.”

He shrugged with his usual ease, acting like they were discussing the weather or a good burger that he just ate.

“If Nes hears even a whiff of this, I will know it’s you, petal, and well, I am not sure what I will do,” he decided upon reflection, but then pleaded, “please, don’t tell her. This one,” he nodded towards Azriel, who was standing still, green eyes peeled to Elain, “I can trust. He hardly ever talks,”

“That’s because you talk for all of us,” noted Azriel with a smirk.

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

He extended his hand to her, with an odd, tentative movement, and when she looked down, she saw old, mottled scars that covered his palm and part of his wrist and forearm. A vintage Patek Phillipe on his wrist.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, and he gave her a surprised look, unsure of what she was referring to.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet another Archeron sister,” he said with a soft smile, which made Elain lose her ability to speak for a good few moments, because she was finally able to take in that face that defied description. The sharp cheekbones and the mesmerizing amber and emerald eyes, almond-shaped and slanted hinted at a varied heritage, and unfairly, the man also possessed a perfect nose, and a full, sensuous mouth. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with skin of burnished bronze, which was so in contrast to his bright eyes and raven-black hair, cut in a fashionable undercut. The physique, as she already noted, quickly skimming over the body, matched the face.

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

Graceful, like a courtier, he offered her his arm and said,

“Would you like me to show you around?”

She didn’t want to be impolite, though she suddenly felt sweaty and nervous, and completely out of her league. But she threaded her hand through his arm and lightly squeezed the firm, alarmingly thick bicep.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She wasn’t sure what she was thinking him for, so she added, “yes, I’d love to see it.”

“Why haven’t we met?” he inquired, those green eyes watching her with such intensity that she felt almost undressed, bared under the gaze. It wasn’t unpleasant, because it wasn’t lascivious, and he didn’t strike her as someone who’d be disrespectful to women.

“I’ve been busy for the past half a year,” she explained.

“Doing what?”

They walked down the wide passage, past all the cars, which Azriel pointed out with a wave of his scarred hand, and dropped names like Pagani, BMW I8, Bugatti Divo, Bugatti Centodieci, Lamborghini Veneto, Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita and so forth. Elain might not have known a ton about cars, but she was not so unaware not to know that a Bugatti and a Lambo were expensive cars.

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

“I was opening my own business,” Elain said, her head thrown back, looking at an entire toy racetrack mounted to the ceiling, with cars zooming by, and somehow, not falling on patrons’ heads.

“What sort of business?”

“Flowers,” she said absently, once they reached another space—a two story-restaurant, bar, and a patio outside as well.

“Flowers?”

“Oh, a flower shop,” she explained at last. Then muttered, awed, “this is really incredible!”

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

She didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, her hand migrated from the crook of his arm to his hand, and now, they walked along the walls lined with Ferrari posters, memorabilia and expensive everything. Walking and holding hands.

“I wouldn’t call myself one,” she admitted, “but I find cars aesthetically pleasing…Never got to ride in anything fancier than a Mercedes or a Lexus,”

“Well, we should remedy that at once!” he decided easily and then said, “pick you up on Friday at seven?”

That sobered her up a bit and she turned to face him. They stopped at the long, chrome-lined bar, and he said, “An espresso?”

“Um,”

But before she could respond, he was behind the counter, playing with a very fancy coffee machine that required a PhD to operate with all the levers and hooks and buttons, and in a few minutes, he poured her a tiny cup of coffee, thick with natural foam, and heady with its enticing scent.

He chugged his own in one go and she followed him, gulping her espresso in two sips. It was better than anything she’d ever drunk in her life.

“Like a date?” she finally asked, truly confused by the offer.

“Would you like it to be a date?” he leaned on the bar, biceps flexing, his arms covered in tattoo sleeves that reached all the way to his fingers. They were quite beautiful, the tattoos, the placement and the design, and Elain recognized the style, since Cassian and Rhysand wore the same kinds of tattoos, if not so extensive.

“Did you draw these?” she asked bluntly, touching her finger to a thick snaking black line, which was shaded with cobalt.

He looked down, at her hand and his arm and nodded, following her finger with his eyes.

“I did. For the three of us. When we made Navy Seals,”

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

He smiled and nodded, “Well, we all grew up in foster care—not all, Cass and I,”

“I heard,”

“Until Rhys’s parents adopted us. But we weren’t the…best of boys,” he chortled, “so to get our heads straight, we were sent to the Navy after school. We figured we’d only stay a bit, but we stayed for a while.”

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

“How old are you?” she blurted. Then blushed and said, “I am sorry. I am usually not so impolite,”

He laughed, “I figured. But that’s alright. I’ll tell you on Friday, though. If you don’t mind?”

“I mean, I don’t mind,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to her espresso cup, “but,”

“How about this—I take you on a drive in one of these fancy cars—and then you can brag to everyone that you’d driven in a,”

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

“Throw something at me,” he urged, eyes glinting with feral delight.

Elain, blush deepening, finally said, “Do you have a Ferrari? I’ve always wanted to drive in a Ferrari.”

“Ahhh, a Ferrarista at heart!” he nodded with approval, folding his arms on his chest, “stick with the classic and the best. And yes, gorgeous, I do have a Ferrari or two.”

Gorgeous.

Azriel

The girl who’d arrived with Cassian, was not Nesta, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. The girl who’d arrived with Cassian was the most gorgeous creature that Azriel had ever seen. Gorgeous and completely unaware.

Women like her, if they were smart and cunning and ambitious, used their beauty for all things good and terrible. But this exquisite creature that Cassian was so blatantly hugging and teasing wasn’t one of those women. Azriel was all too familiar with the types—the maneaters, who hounded him like sharks. He was wealthy, and good-looking, and a decent person, if not exactly a saint. He hobnobbed with celebrities who came to order his cars, which he designed and outfitted based on their specifications and desires.

He was finnicky when it came to taste though. No matter how much rappers asked him to clad their Maybach in gold or some vapid Gucci print, no matter how many heiresses pouted and asked for a bubblegum or Barbie-pink Ferraris, he did not betray the essence and soul of the vehicle. Modify, define, sharpen, stylize—he did it all with precision and skill which was unparalleled. But Azriel Bagarat was known for rejecting even the juiciest of offers, if the request did not coincide with his aesthetic or the history of the car.

He was at his shop—that’s what he called it, though atelier sounded infinitely better and more expensive—that afternoon, knowing that Cassian was going to drop by and select a car for his grandiose proposal to Nesta. There was some concern that Cassian would not fit his 6”5 form into an Aston Martin or a Bentley, so they needed to make sure that the car was appropriate for the occasion and the occupant. Cass insisted on a British vehicle, feeling that Nesta would like something classic and timeless. So be it.

What Azriel did not expect to see that Tuesday afternoon was a girl--because he hesitated to call her a ‘woman’, since she looked so lovely and perfect and innocent--who took his breath away.

His breath had been taken away only once before, by Rhys’s cousin, who strolled like a ray of sunshine into their broken lives.

However, Morrigan chose Cassian. And then Cassian promptly impregnated her, causing a great discontent and strife between everyone. Morrigan, or rather Morgana d’Adda, though she anglicized her name, even if Morrigan d’Adda sounded funny, was just about disavowed by her family for tumbling, and being so stupid and blind as to get knocked up by a hulking nobody mulatto, as her father Keir called Cassian. Rather, sneered, at Cassian.

Even if Azriel didn’t impregnate anybody, he somehow got looped into the family bullshit and once he and Cassian turned 18, they were both shipped off to the navy. To the dismay of the entire Darling clan, Rhys followed them, tossing away his guaranteed admittance to Brown. An Ivy League school for rich stupid heirs. Only Rhys wasn’t stupid. Neither was Cassian a hulking nobody mulatto. And Azriel wasn’t just the ‘fucking weird kid, who might be a serial killer’. They served and they passed the insane Navy Seal training, and they proved themselves.

Nowadays, Cassian now ran security for the Darling conglomerate, while Rhys took over the reins when his father was killed in a car accident. Azriel found his own path, though the association with the Darling name certainly helped his exposure and in building relationships and meeting all the right people. And meeting all the women. The three brothers had gone through their share of wild times, but in the past 3 years, things began to calm down for them.

It began with Rhys meeting Feyre Archeron at an art gallery, where she was exhibiting some of her pieces. Azriel had tugged along with Rhys to see the exhibit, because Rhys was looking for some art for his new office, and he trusted Azriel’s taste and knowledge, and wanted a second pair of eyes.

Rhys followed Feyre like a dog throughout the evening—Azriel was there to witness the pathetic display—and then they ended up at a bar, doing shots and feeding Feyre virgin Cosmos, since she wasn’t even 21 yet. They went to some dance club, Azriel playing the third-wheel and ‘chaperone’, though by the end of the night, Rhys and Feyre disappeared together and weren’t heard from for the next three days.

… “What if he killed her?” proposed Cassian for 100th time, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his long black hair. “Or what if she killed him?”

“I thought that I was the serial killer among the three of us,” drawled Azriel, sprawled on a sofa, watching a game. He wasn’t as concerned, having seen Rhys dripping with intense lust at the sight of the brown-haired teen. It was unusual, since at that time Rhys was almost 25, and Feyre only 19, and the three of them typically tried to avoid teenagers like the plague. But Rhysand Darling seemed genuinely enthralled.

“No, you are the guy with the sex dungeon,” corrected Cassian.

Azriel rolled his eyes, “serial killer with a sex dungeon, huh? Sounds like an interesting story. Alas, much as I’d like to, I don’t have a sex dungeon.”

“Aren’t you building one? In that new garage of yours?” Cassian shrugged.

“Only cars. No sex toys,” sighed Azriel, looking like that might have been an omission on his part.

“Gents, I think I am in love!” the door burst open and a wild-eyed Rhys appeared, his normally pristine hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed, wearing only a white t-shirt and jeans.

“Where the fuck were you for three days?” growled Cassian, showing considerable relief at the sight of his brother.

“Falling in love,” crooned Rhys, falling into a chair, a stupid, dazed look on his face.

“You look like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Sabrina’,” noted Azriel.

“I feel like Audrey Hepburn!” exclaimed Rhys. “She is perfect. Feyre is perfect.”

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

“Feyre Darling,” whispered Rhys with delight, eyes closed, tasting the sound of the name on his tongue. “Feyre Archeron Darling. Or Feyre Darling Archeron?”

“You alright there, buddy?” Cassian frowned. “A little early to be talking last names?”

“She’ll be my wife,” announced Rhysand with his usually unwavering confidence.

And that was that.

Now, the ‘society wedding of the year’ was coming up in three months. Rhysand Darling and Feyre Archeron, the toast of the town, the power couple, the young and beautiful billionaires.

Now, Azriel stood in front of the most stunning female he’d ever seen and for once, he felt like Rhys. His brain turned into a soupy mess, and he found himself tongue-tied and concentrating was suddenly difficult. He wanted to be a gracious host and a confident, formidable man, who had a reputation to uphold—though he wasn’t sure if Elain was aware of his reputation—but inside, he was a mess. All his insecurities, doubts and self-hate rose to the surface at once, and he hesitated to extend his hand in greeting to her. His mangled, horrible, revolting hand, which was sullied beyond its extensive scars. A hand that killed, and touched way too women, some of whom he probably shouldn’t have been touching at all.

“Beautiful,” she murmured softly, that gorgeous blush spreading over her rose-petal cheeks.

He was so taken aback by the comment, he was nearly flabbergasted when she didn’t pull away, didn’t frown or grimace in disgust, didn’t display any of the usual signs of revulsion that most women did when they saw his hands. Perhaps it was the Patek Phillipe, he tried to convince himself, but deep down he knew—she called his scars ‘beautiful’.

And then she took his arm, her hand strong, surprisingly calloused, if light, and small.

And from that moment on, Azriel became obsessed with that touch.

His body heated and as he led her to the bar, and showed her around his pride and joy, watching for the subtle reactions, for the gleam of wonder and appreciation in her eyes, he couldn’t release…wouldn’t release her hand from his. She asked questions, took in all the memorabilia and gawked at the cars, and then the guest area, and finally, when he sat her down at the bar and made her a coffee, he stepped closer. Trying not to scare her, or seem obnoxious, he couldn’t help invading her personal space, and stood next to her, pretending to take interest in his drink, while hoping that her arm would brush against his own. Skin to skin.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t shy away.

He didn’t expect himself to ask her on what amounted to a date, because he wasn’t even sure how dates worked. His usual ammo consisted of a brief introduction, an even quicker seduction and then a hook up. That’s how he liked it. He preferred no-strings-attached approach to his involvement with women, and it’s been working rather well for him. He never had to sleep with anyone in the same bed, he never had to make anyone breakfast, there was no room for idle chitchat, and usually no second or third dates. It was so easy.

This fucking girl, with her caramel-brown eyes, her golden-amber curls, her soft lips and that damn blush on her cheeks—she was driving him veritably insane with her unique mix of immaculate beauty and a friendly, almost naïve, strangely innocent disposition. And he wanted to go on a date with her. Without an ulterior motive, because at it stood right now, he didn’t care to even get her in bed. That would come later. He was absolutely determined to have this happen later. But…later.

Cassian

“Alrighty, I think I am going with the Bentley,” Cassian sidled to the bar, and interrupted.

If Azriel was annoyed, he didn’t show it.

Cassian spied them at last, making his way through the cavernous entrails of the garage, with all its gleaming cars, the beautiful patrons who were discussing options with no-less beautiful sales people, and even on-premises tattoo shop, which specialized in Azriel’s sketches and catered to those who didn’t have money to actually outfit their Bugatti to their heart’s desire, but could at least claim that they got a Bagarat tattoo inked on their skin.

Elain and Azriel were standing side by side, somehow melding together nicely, her pretty dress and high-heeled sandals and piles of loose hair in drastic contrast with Azriel’s all-black ensemble, his massive height and the span of his shoulders. But she did not balk from him. Cassian also noticed that she didn’t react to the scars, which Azriel was very self-conscious about, and seemed genuinely interested in the garage.

It was inevitable that the two would eventually meet, especially with the wedding coming up and all the wedding related brouhaha. However, Cassian wanted to have the dibs on gloating down the line, and reminding the two of them, forever, about how it was he who introduced them. Yes, Azriel fucked a lot of models and rich girls, for whom he, strangely, was a riff on a ‘bit of rough’, while being hardly ‘rough’ at all. Azriel was elegant and possessed excellent taste in everything, and he probably had the best manners out of the lot of them. But the tattoos, the cars, the aura of brooding mystery about him, and his generally quiet ways were like honey to the throngs of women who lusted after him.

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

Cassian knew Azriel probably better than anyone alive, and even that wasn’t saying much, but he was very aware of Azriel’s ‘secret type’ of woman. Basically, it was Elain. Everything about Elain Azriel would like—of that Cassian was certain. Elain was the elusive ‘ideal woman’ of whom Azriel dreamt, but never actually pursued. Slightly unconventional, soft, kind, generous—lovely, would be a good word—Elain was everything that Azriel never had with any other women.

Cassian could already see the hunger and flicker of completely besotted adoration in Azriel’s normally cold eyes.

He was less certain about Elain, having never seen her with a boyfriend. When he had asked Nesta about Elain’s situation, Nesta shrugged and said that Elain was beautiful, but naïve, dreamy and rarely dated.

“A Bentley it is then,” Azriel turned around, though his elbow still touched Elain’s arm. “You’ll fit, big boy?”

Elain giggled.

“I am not Rowan,” Cassian muttered. “I am human sized.”

“Only just.”

“You are the same height,” Cassian reminded him coolly.

“I am a little more human-shaped too.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and said, “Come on, petal. While I love to stand here and listen to his insults, we gotta go.”

Elain’s face dropped into a sad frown only for a second, but she recovered immediately. Cassian noticed it, nevertheless. His petal of a girl didn’t want to leave his brother’s side.

“Bye Azriel,” she said, taking his hand in hers again, of her own volition, and squeezing it lightly. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said. His fingers wrapped over her palm, and he said, “I’ll walk you two out.”

So, his brooding brother didn’t want to release the newfound petal of a girl.

How interesting.

Once they were in Cassian’s Jeep, Elain looked out the window, a dreamy look on her face.

“Oh-oh,” Cassian chuckled, as he navigated the narrow NYC streets.

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

“The ‘oh gods, Azriel is so handsome!’ look. Oh, he is so gorgeous look. Oh, he is so sexy look.”

“He is handsome,” she agreed blandly, knowing that arguing would be silly.

“I hope that you gave him your number,” he said. “Because if you didn’t, I will.”

“It’s none of your business,” she crossed her arms on her chest, and Cass howled loudly.

“You are welcome, by the way,”

“You are ridiculous,” she muttered. “I don’t know how Nesta tolerates you!”

“Oh, Nes tolerates me and then some,” and winked again.

Now

“My love, slow down a bit,” Elain requested, as the road zigzagged among rows of cypresses.

“I thought that you wanted to make it to Florence before traffic hit?” Azriel squeezed her fingers and brought her hand to his lips.

“Seeing that we are already running late, we might as well enjoy the drive,” she shrugged.

A honey-coloured strand of her hair fell out from under the gauzy wrap that she wore around her head a-la Grace Kelley.

“Good.”

“Good what?” she turned her face to him and knocked him out all over again. By the Mother she was superb in every way, and she was his. He couldn’t believe his absurd luck. Things like these didn’t happen to him. Elain was not meant to be his. Yet, here she was, his lovely gentle girl, who loved him with incomprehensible passion and devotion. His.

The hefty, borderline outlandish ring on her finger was proof of that.

He’d worked hard on that ring, designing it himself, wanting to incorporate everything that he loved about her and about the two of them into the design. The result was this stunner that glittered madly in the Italian sun, sitting on her manicured finger, the skin of her arm kissed by a golden tan.

His beautiful girl loved flowers, and she loved him, so her ring, in its platinum setting was a remarkable rose, reflecting Elain’s green thumb and life’s work. He selected the diamond himself, and the amethysts that comprised the petals, even the tiny onyx inserts, to signify him and the black ink of his tattoos. The ring was both extravagant—especially in carats—but intimate as well, a flower that spoke of his eternal love for this woman.

“I am going to take you somewhere, which I think you’d like,” he teased.

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled.

Azriel

For gods’ sake, he was nervous. Azriel was not prone to nervousness or panic or discomfort, but this date, or whatever it was, filled him with dread.

He shouldn’t have asked her.

He was stupid and blinded by her beauty, by her deliciously voluptuous body, by the long, slender legs, by her shy, sweet smile. Those blushes. For the love of everything, those fine, adorable, sexy blushes.

She was part of the family network—both of his brothers were now in love with her sisters. It was cliché and unrealistic and unbelievable that she and he would end up in the same boat. Besides, he wasn’t so lucky as to have someone like her accept him. So, he was making a huge fucking mistake. If this was all going to go sour—which inevitably it would, of that he had no doubt—he’d mess up the delicate balance that existed between the Darling, Bagarat and Cavalhe brothers and the Archeron sisters. She’d reject him and then it would be awkward. Awkward for the upcoming wedding, in which he and Elain were supposed to couple up and be together in the wedding party. Rhys said, ‘fuck it’ and asked both him and Cassian to be best men, while Feyre had both of her sisters as maids-on-honour. There was no escaping it. Therefore, it would be awkward for the wedding, and then for Christmas and all the summer BBQs and pool parties and…well, he might just have to find excuses to never attend anything, ever.

But here he was, standing in front of an old-fashioned, cute corner storefront in the Village. Flower displays spilled on the sidewalk, and the windows, along with the marble edifice reminded him of Paris. This was exactly how he’d picture Elain’ store—slightly whimsical, elegant, classic, but modern. Au Nom de la Rose – The Name of the Rose—perfectly appropriate for Elain’s store name.

She wasn’t waiting for him outside, and he circled the block three times before, by some miracle, finding a parking space and leaving the silver Ferrari, and then made his way back to the store, arriving 4 minutes late, which was completely unacceptable. The store was technically closed at this hour, but he knocked and heard Elain’s voice telling him to come in. Some internal pressure inside of him released at the sound of her voice.

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

“Azriel, I am so sorry, I am not ready,” Elain came from behind the counter, looking a bit frazzled.

“It’s alright I will wait,” he assured her, but she shook her head and said,

“No…I just received a huge order. An emergency order for an anniversary party. Azriel, it’s my biggest order ever!”

“That’s excellent!” he found himself feeling genuinely happy for her, if not for her concerned expression. “What’s up?”

“I…I,” she stumbled. “Feyre or Nesta would usually come and help out if I need them, but Feyre is in LA, and Nesta…” she swallowed, “Nesta is indisposed.”

Nes is on her period and is feeling like crap, read Cassian’s text from earlier today. I am going fishing. Care to join? Or are you busy romancing a certain Archeron sister?

Nesta was indisposed indeed, though Azriel didn’t feel like he needed to know the details.

“It’s a 25th Anniversary, and I have to make 25 bouquets and 15 centerpieces. The couple’s original florist fell through and they contacted me, in a panic, and I agreed,” she babbled, tugging on her long braid nervously. “And it’s for tomorrow,”

“Alright then,” he shrugged, “what’s the problem then? I am here.”

She looked up at him, her gaze both hopeful and confused.

“You? What are you going to do? I am sorry, Azriel, I am so sorry, we’d have to postpone,”

“We’d have to postpone our drive, but I am here. Use me.”

“Use you?”

“Use my body,” he chuckled, and she giggled an amused laugh.

“I appreciate the offer,” and when he thought that she’d continue rejecting his offer of help, she did the right thing and was a smart girl, nodding at last, and said, “will you truly help?”

“I am not a flower expert,”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she grinned.

He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and said, “Teach me, Archeron. I am an apt pupil.”

He was. Elain showed him model bouquets and thankfully, he wasn’t dumb or clumsy enough to screw them up, once he began copying the originals.

Night fell, and they ordered pizza and he went to get a bottle of wine from the store across the street.

Sitting on the floor of the store, surrounded by piles of flowers, vases, ribbons and twine, they ate pizza, laughing throughout the evening. She stretched her long, bare legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankles, and he couldn’t get enough—the pretty toes, the pale golden skin and the sexy pink nail polish. He didn’t want to seem like a creep, but he snuck more than a few glances at her feet when she wasn’t looking.

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

He stretched on the floor and tucked his arm behind his head.

She kneeled above him, at his side, and said, “Azriel, thank you. I can’t, honestly, thank you enough. You saved me. Maybe my business too!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he retorted gently, “but this was fun…and educational.”

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

“Well, well,” he drummed his fingers on the floor, pretending to think. “So many possibilities,”

At that, she flushed, and he licked his lips, loving the sight of that pink on her cheeks.

“Let’s make a bargain,” he proposed at last.

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“For my exceptional assistance during your time of trouble and despair, you will agree to an outing with me, of my choosing. To do whatever I want.”

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

“Are we going to do something bad?” she finally asked uncertainly.

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

He drew his thumb over her soft skin and she leaned into his palm just a little bit. Gods it felt good. So good. So good to have her so near, so receptive, so unafraid. But he dropped his hand.

“You think I will take you to knock off a couple of 7-11s?”

“Well, if I am entering this death bargain with you, then who the hell knows?” she shrugged.

He laughed, “Death bargain? A little dramatic, are we?”

She was still sitting there, biting her lip, and all he wanted to do was drag his tongue over it. Kiss her large, brown eyes. Fist his hand around the thick mass of her hair, tilt her head and kiss her until she was breathless.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

He was a rational, controlled, some said, cold man.

Not to say that he wasn’t able to find a woman immediately attractive, or want to fuck her, but this was different. This was unknown.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

“Don’t make me do anything bad,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he promised. “I wouldn’t lead you astray. But,” he sat up, draping his forearms over his knees, “where do you live? Let me take you home,”

“I can take an Uber,”

He gave her an incredulous look and she nodded without further arguments.

“Where do you live?” he asked, once they were outside, somehow internally thrilled that perhaps, she’d invite him inside. He wouldn’t expect anything, obviously, but it would be nice see where she lived, what her private space looked like. So far, he couldn’t pinpoint her style with any accuracy, an interesting mixture of vintage and modern, of flowers and thorns.

“Just two blocks down,” she said, as she locked up the shop.

He gave her his arm, and it seemed like she almost expected it, because she immediately thrust her hand into the loop and he smiled softly.

The little white shorts and the flowery top did things to him, and he was glad to walk side by side, so to prevent himself from staring at her long legs and her neat, lush ass. He was already a mess over her legs, over her bending and squatting in front of him for the past four-five hours.

It was dark and quiet on the street, and they walked in a comfortable silence, each thinking of something of their own.

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

She cried out, landing on her knees on the asphalt, just barely having the time to brace herself on her hand, and ripping the skin of her palm.

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

Tears glistened in her eyes. Possibly from pain, because as she flipped on her butt, they saw that her knees were torn and bleeding, as was her palm, or maybe from shock, as well as embarrassment.

“Shhh,” he cooed gently to her, “are you okay?”

She shook her head. A lonely tear spilled from her eyes.

“Tissues?” he asked quickly, surveying the damage. Bruises were already blossoming on her scuffed kneecaps, all around the wounds.

She wordlessly handed him her bag, allowing him to rummage through it and he found a packet of old tissues, which he gingerly pressed to her bleeding knees.

“My ankle hurts,” she muttered, reaching down to inspect it.

“Let me,” he took her legs and looked over her ankle. She glared questioningly at him, still in some sort of stupor, not understanding what had occurred, and why she was now sitting on the ground, bleeding.

“You broke your heel,” he nodded to her foot and she glanced down, finally realizing that her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. The impact was so strong, it actually fully detached from the sole of the shoe.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

“You should be,” he chuckled, “you gave me quite a scare. I thought you were shot; you went down so quickly!”

She pushed at his arm, half laughing, and have crying.

“Stop making me laugh!” she ordered, sniffling and giggling. “Auuu, it hurts...”

He was lightly pressing on her ankle, and then said, “it’s just twisted. You’ll need ice, but it should be okay…”

“Ok, Doctor Azriel,” she even rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed, flicking her nose.

“I am trained on how to treat combat wounds and catastrophic field injuries, I’ll have you know,” he said and then gave her his hand. “On your feet, soldier! Let me see if you can stand.”

Moaning and groaning, she managed to stand up, but putting any weight on her foot caused a yelp to escape her lips.

“Alright, come on now,” he stepped and opened his arms, “jump in.”

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

“What are you planning to do? Swing me around?”

“I could swing you around, but I was planning on carrying you home, and then making you an ice pack and disinfecting all your cuts.”

Without waiting for her to decide, he scooped her off the ground and she gasped, and he wasn’t sure what the little huff meant.

“But it’s like two blocks!” she protested feebly, and unconvincingly, “I am heavy.”

“Ooohhh,” he groaned dramatically, hefting her to his chest, as they started off. “Sooo, so heavy!”

“I am the fattest of my sisters,” she argued, and even in the darkness he saw that she was blushing realizing how silly her comment was.

“Well, considering that Nesta is like 90 lbs. and Feyre 110 lbs., that’s not saying much,” he assured her.

She was soft and warm in his arms, and when, without prompting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, he felt utterly at peace. Because the pieces of them fit. She fit him.

Blood still dripping, and her arms thrown over his neck, Azriel walked steadily, cradling her to his chest, until they finally reached a pre-War building, and she said, “There is no elevator.”

“Don’t tell me you are on the 6th floor!” he laughed, looking up.

“The third.”

“Guess I will have to haul the fattest of the Archeron sisters to the 3rd floor!” he sighed, and she smacked his arm, protesting,

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

Her apartment was small, but she’d arranged the furniture in such a way that everything seemed more spacious, and orderly, without unnecessary frills. Mostly grays, turquoise, cobalt and creamy-white. For some reason, he thought that there would be much more pink and general fluff. This though, this he liked.

He sat her down on the sofa and went to the bathroom to find bandages and plasters and other items. She called out from her spot, telling him where to find things and he finally emerged and began working on all her wounds.

“Haven’t lost a soldier yet,” he told her with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of her, and his touch was firm, but surprisingly gentle, as he thoroughly washed every scuff and tear, and then disinfected and decided what needed bandages and what didn’t.

Elain remained mostly silent throughout the procedure, watching him from under her lashes.

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

“Everyone just says how handsome you are,” she lay her head on the back cushion, watching him. He gave her a painkiller, and it was making her drowsy. It was also late. She rarely stayed up this late. “But you are also very nice,” she added.

Elain

She woke up that morning, and was struck by the unfamiliar environment. And pain.

Her knees ached and screamed and hurt, as did her palm.

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

She found herself on her sofa, haphazardly covered by a throw, and with her legs resting on Azriel’s lap.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

She was a clumsy cow, as always, but the incident was unusually embarrassing, even for her. She always spilled or dropped stuff on herself, tripped, stumbled, and fell on her ass at inopportune times, but last night…By the Mother!

The man was gosh darn saint. Not only did she screw up their evening plans, made him work and make bouquets with her, which, probably wasn’t the most exciting thing for him to spend the evening on, but she also almost ate the pavement, and then he carried her for half a mile! And cared for her when they came here. And spent, what must have been a horribly uncomfortable night in a half-seated position, with her, no doubt, pushing at him with her feet.

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

Good going, Elain. Fine job you did of this ‘relationship’. Now, for the rest of her life, she’d be forced to see him at family gatherings, probably with some stunning model of a wife, and he’d always remember her as the girl who tore her heel on the pavement.

She wanted to cry.

Not that she ever, even for a second, believed that this would go anywhere. Her and Azriel. That wasn’t possible. Things like these didn’t happen to her. She was strange and solitary and even if others claimed that she was pretty, going so far as to call her ‘beautiful’, she never felt like that. When Nesta got mad at her, she’d call her a ‘petty idiot’ and Elain felt like that more frequently than she cared to admit. And Azriel…he was cut from a different cloth. He was…

She looked at his face, still perfect, but ever so slightly relaxed and softened in sleep, his eyelids heavy and enviably long, thick lashes fanned over his golden-brown cheeks. He was funny, with a quick, dry sense of humour, intelligent and interesting, and when they talked last night, she couldn’t get enough! He told her fascinating stories from his time in the Navy, about his dream, which resulted in the creation of his beloved garage. It took him three years to open the place—conceptualize what he wanted, how to deliver it, the items to showcase. The result was not just the ‘garage’, but also the popular bar, and recently, a restaurant as well.

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, squinting at her. “How are you? How’s the pain?”

“Azriel,” she murmured, not even knowing how to thank him, but she attempted, “I want to,”

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

“May I make you, or us, pancakes?” he proposed. “I’ve been sort of thinking about this all night. How I’d like to make you pancakes,”

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

“No, no. My Italian mother would tell you that you should never thank anyone for providing medical help,”

“Why?”

“According to my psychotically superstitious Italian side of the family, the remedy or healing won’t take, if you offer thanks. Imagine, I was forbidden from ever saying ‘thank you’ to a doctor,”

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

“Mom’s side is half Neapolitan and half from Lazio—near Rome.”

He sat up and rolled his neck.

“Can I at least say that I am sorry that you had to be so uncomfortable and sleep on the couch?” she asked.

“It’s alright. Not the best night I’ve ever had, but not the worst one either. The company was nice too,” and he patted her legs.

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

But she didn’t allow herself to have it take root.

Maybe not until he gathered her legs together on his lap and drew his fingers up and down her calf.

“But really, how is the pain?” he asked at last, watching her with his intense, warm eyes. The eyes didn’t warm frequently, it seemed, but when they looked at her—

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand, not wanting to burden him any longer with her dumb injuries.

Those long, scarred fingers glided over her skin, and a small smirk touched his lips, “May I kiss it better?”

She blinked at him.

“I hear that I am very good at making pain go away,” he added proudly, and then, his lips descended on her scuffed and bruised knees. She kissed each one, tenderly, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, and pressed his mouth to the inside of her palm. Her breath hitched and she stared at him, wide-eyed, as he watched her, unblinking, gaging every minute reaction. He kissed her hand, inside and then out, and then kissed the other, even though it wasn’t injured, and then returned to her knees and kissed them again.

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

…Azriel, by the stove, flipping pancakes was the sexiest thing Elain had ever seen in her life.

Clad in dark slacks, in his white shirt from last night, with sleeves rolled up and the tattoo sleeves on full display, he stood in her kitchen, barefoot and flipped pancakes like a pro.

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

“I don’t know,” she was still perched on the sofa, like an invalid, but after she washed her face and brushed her hair, he ordered her to sit and not make unnecessary moves. “Everything?”

“My repertoire is limited, when it comes to the kitchen, but what I know how to make, I make well. Cassian is a better cook.”

“Cass?” she smiled.

“Nesta is lucky to have him,” Azriel added, somewhat wistfully.

Elain looked at him and nodded. “I think so too.”

“He is a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known. Where my own family failed, he stepped in, though he is a year younger than me. But he taught me…how to be. Accepted me. Unconditionally. Taught me how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to fight.”

“And you?”

“I? I helped him with his reading,” Azriel rubbed his chin, his stance a little tense.

She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he felt like sharing more.

“It was neglected,” he said at last. “His reading and writing. So, we sat together, late at night, at our foster parents’ house and read.”

He then asked, “coffee?”

The moment of reminiscing was over, and Elain did not press.

She nodded to one of the cupboards and he pulled out a tub of coffee and grimaced.

“This is what you drink?”

“Hey, it’s good coffee! I buy it at Trader Joe’s!” she laughed defensively.

“Baby, we are drinking Italian coffee in this house,” he decided, and there was no arguing with that logic.

That’s how Elain became Azriel’s ‘baby’.

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Thanks Nu,” Azriel greeted a lanky, very thin, very tall girl, who handed him two packages and then winked at him and disappeared wordlessly.

“My assistant, Nuala,” he explained, showing Elain two packages of Lavazza coffee. “This will do for now.”

Elain hobbled to the small butcher block island that she’d restored from a console that she found at a flea market. “You text someone and they just appear?”

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you do. Are you in the mafia?”

“First of all, rude,” he placed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and then poured her coffee, “second of all, I just know a guy.”

“Who knows where to buy Lavazza on a Saturday morning?” she wondered, tucking into the pancakes.

“I have a network of spies,” he winked at her.

She sipped on the coffee, perhaps not as good a cup as he’d made her at his garage, but glorious nevertheless. “Are you in the CIA?”

“Not in the mafia or the CIA. Just a lowly car guy.”

“Uh-uh.”

They toasted with their coffee cups and Azriel said, “not bad for a first date. Blood and flowers. Very romantic.”

It was that morning, that sunny Saturday morning, over a plate of pancakes and some Italian coffee that Elain Archeron fell in love.

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

Azriel turned off to some side road and how he knew where to go, Elain had no idea, but she just enjoyed the scents and warmth of the day.

“You know,” she laughed. “We are literally under the Tuscan sun right now!”

“All your dreams are coming true,” he ran a loving hand over her bare arm and she tore her gaze from the scenery around her.

“My dreams came true when I met you,” she confessed. “That was the day.”

“So easily impressed!” he teased, but she saw that her words touched something in him. His face softened with happiness.

“Az, slow down,” she whispered, an almost painful pull to kiss him spreading over her. “I want to kiss you.”

He looked at her, eyes hidden behind his Aviator shades, but slowed down and she leaned towards him and planted her mouth on his cheek.

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

“Baby, I don’t want to bust up this nice Ferrari,” he laughed. “And you, who is riding in it.”

Pouting, she ordered, “Then pull over so I can kiss you!”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back, his gorgeous tanned neck annoyingly desirable.

She wanted to bite his vein, lick the salty skin of his neck, and then sink her teeth into his shoulder. Elain was a biter. And a scratcher. Good thing that Azriel was a benevolent lover, who didn’t care if she left his body marked with her love, and didn’t mind the pain. In fact, he encouraged it.

His heavy brown hand lay on her knee, under the hem of her summer dress and he said,

“Why don’t I do something nice for you… then you can kiss me…”

“But I want to kiss you now,” she frowned playfully.

His hand slid a little higher, up her bare thigh, and he pressed his scarred palm into her thin, tender skin, rubbing slowly, indulgently. This was just as much for her as it was for him.

She threw her head into the back of the seat, eyes closed.

Until she yelped softly, when his wicked hand slipped higher and higher, pushing her dress up as well.

“Azriel Bagarat,” she murmured, “what am I going to do with you? And your love for public nudity and lovemaking…”

He shrugged oh so innocently and said, “firstly, it’s Archeron to you, and,”

“Not just yet,” she wiggled her ring-clad hand in front of him, “not until we got the paper and all, to make us official,”

They rolled their eyes at the same time and then laughed.

“And secondly, who can blame me?” he leaned and kissed her shoulder. “You are very hot. And I sort of want to fuck you all the time.”

His long, very experienced fingers made their way even higher, until he drew them along the cotton of her underwear, lightly pressing into the cleft, teasing ever so lightly. She shifted against the fingertips, her thighs falling apart in silent encouragement.

Elain was a giving and a receptive lover, innately knowing what he wanted and accommodating both of their needs thoughtfully, and easily.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmured.

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

He huffed his amusement, and then pushed his finger deeper, firmer against the cotton, whispering,

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

“Only nice?” he withdrew his finger in warning and she grabbed his wrist, and thrust it back in place.

“Maybe a little better than ‘nice’, huh?” he teased.

“A little,” she agreed, gasping when he cupped her fully, swiping his heel of his palm against the length of her folds, feeling the dampness against his skin. Bold, as he always was, he moved the strip of cotton to the side, and hiked up her dress ever higher, exposing her to his exploration.

He snuck a glance at her perfectly peachy, pink pussy, bare and succulent, like a ripe fruit dripping with its sweet juices.

He groaned and then hissed, “I am stopping, right now. I want you coming on my tongue in the next four minutes,”

“So confident, ombre?”

She took to calling him ombre or ‘shadow’, when, early in their relationship, he kept materializing in front of her out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows. He laughed, but didn’t mind the endearment. What’s more, it became a private thing between the two of them—he’d call her ‘rose’ and she’d call him ‘ombre’. It wasn’t nauseatingly sugary sweet and could be used in public without making people gag. Unlike, for example, the Darlings, who, for whatever reason called each other ‘my darkness’. Or Cassian, who sometimes went with ‘schmoopie’, braving Nesta’s wrath.

Azriel laughed, while incessantly dragging his finger back and forth over the wet slit, without doing much else, and making her gasp and squirm.

“That I can make you come on my tongue in 4 minutes? Fuck yeah! Want me to prove it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she shook her head, “you don’t get to just do whatever the hell you want, when you want it. If I don’t get my kiss, you don’t get to,”

“What? Lick your pussy? I feel like the punishment is unreasonable,” he protested.

She gave him a sultry look, a look that only he was privy to, and then murmured, spreading her legs a little wider for him,

“Maybe I want to lick something of yours?” she proposed, her voice husky, pouring like honey over his ear.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out, finally parting the soft cushions of her folds and dragging his knuckles over the wet spread of her. The intoxicating scent of her arousal, mixed with the Italian sunshine and the smell of grass, flowers and cypresses was so heady, he almost swerved, stopping only quick enough to grip the steering wheel tightly in his left hand.

Gods, if he was going to make it to their next destination, he would be impressed with himself. But it was close.

Azriel

Elain loved getting fingered. That was the first thing he learned about her sexually—kissing and fingering.

In the privacy of their world, he fingered her constantly.

It was almost an obligation on his part by now, to have her wake up, tucked into his side, while gently, but thoroughly pumping her soft, indescribably tight center. No matter how many times he’d been inside of her, she remained tight, as tight as the first time. That was a blessing, but a curse as well, for all he could typically think about throughout the day, was sinking into that glorious tightness.

When she was finally semi-awake, she rolled on her back and spread her legs in front of him, so he could finger her in earnest. Two fingers first, nice and deep inside of her, as he knelt in front of her and watched her come undone before him. And then, there was always a moment when her eyes flew open, and her back arched, and he slipped the third one in. The plush, warm walls of her sex stretched and pulled to accommodate him, but he went slow and deep, only grazing the sensitive spot in her, making her moan low and begging, the pressure of his hand steady and firm.

She cried and cried into the pillow, head thrown back in utter extasy, her hair a tangled halo about her. She wasn’t permitted to move her hips, his only order in that early-morning game of theirs, therefore she was wholly dependent on him for her pleasure. If she ever did begin a sensual undulation of her hips around his hand, he’d allow her to continue for a few moments, aware that she was lost in her own pleasure, before cruelly yanking his hand out of her.

“Was my girl allowed to do that?” he’d ask simply, and amidst her disappointed panting, her pleading for more, her sweet, innocent “sorry. I am sorry,” she’d beg him to fill her again.

Then she’d lay still, eyes wide and pleading, her little opening vibrating at the loss, before he placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust in her anew. This time, his scarred, rough, brown, inked fingers disappeared in her completely. She buckled and let out a wild moan that reverberated from the very depth of her, because all four fingers were inside, and his thumb finally, finally began a gorgeously slow torment around her clit. She just lay there, tense and unmoving, watching him, the slurping, obscene sounds of his hand inside of her filling the sleepy morning air around them.

Elain came quietly. She moaned and twisted and gasped as he rubbed her clit, but when the waves finally descended upon her, when he felt the tight, silky flesh grip and pump all four of his fingers, which were now pressing up into her perfect spot, the exhale was soft and intimate. Only for him.

Now

“Don’t wreck the car,” Elain muttered, eyes barely open.

“Will this be the second one?” Azriel asked, while Elain wrapped her hand around his wrist and forcefully jammed his hand inside of her.

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

He’d provide her with at least four daily orgasms. So far, he typically exceeded expectations. It wasn’t particularly difficult, because he often played with her at odd times—when they were watching TV, he’d slip a finger onto her clitty and rub her slowly and leisurely, until she melted from the stimulation. She enjoyed it when he bent her over counters or sinks, and sunk his fingers deep and hard into her perpetually ready hole.

Elain, to his complete delight and fascination, was always just a bit aroused. Always, always just a bit wet, just a little damp for him. He’d make an unscheduled stop at her shop and if it was empty, he’d step behind the counter with her, and soon, she’d be splayed over the counter, his hand between her legs. Yes, they’ve been almost caught plenty of times, but Azriel had the ability to disappear into shadows as soon as he sensed someone coming. Sometimes, when someone would walk in the store, Azriel even pretended that he was a customer, buying flowers, watching her patiently, while she got his bouquet ready for him. Never mind that his hand might have been soaked with her slick, or that he smirked, watching her press her thighs together, while she wrapped the flowers, as she avoided eye contact with him, and handed him the bouquet which he’d inevitably bring home for her.

When he was around her, she jokingly complained that she was of constant need for him, and it was his very enviable and pleasant task to soothe the ache inside of her.

Azriel

Their friends, family, found their relationship perplexing. But Elain kept her sisters firmly at an arm’s length when it came to the discussion of their sex life. No matter how they tried to pry, she gently, but firmly rebuffed them. Nesta complained and said that they were too obsessed with each other. That Elain was too in love and that Azriel was too dependent on Elain’s love for this to be normal. Elain only shrugged and didn’t argue.

“It’s not normal!” seethed Nesta, watching Elain and Azriel wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Elain’s body shimmying and swaying around her, arms raised in the air, her hips swooshing to the beat, bumping into his pelvis.

“You think they are gonna do it right on the dancefloor?” Cassian contemplated quietly, not sure if this was outside the realm of possibilities.

“He would!” she spat and gulped down her Aperol spritz aggressively. “I am surprised he is not bending her over…more surprised she isn’t agreeing!”

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

“They never—never—argue. It’s not normal!”

The way Cassian saw it, as long as the two were happy, he had no right to judge.

Nesta was a hot pepper. Feyre, an apple—solid, tasty, dependable. Elain—whipped cream—a delicious topping over anything, but especially Azriel.

Nevertheless, the word got around.

One day, Azriel, Rowan and Cassian were sitting in Elain’s flower shop, toiling diligently over a huge order of flowers.

They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not to each other, or their women, but they quite enjoyed hiding in that flower shop and arranging flowers. They claimed that they were doing it for Elain’s sake, to help her out, so she didn’t have to hire additional help just yet, but,

Well, they liked it.

At first, Elain wasn’t sure if Cassian was cut out for the task, because the very first try was a little rough.

“Cass, these are not your enemies that you are about to smite,” Elain instructed gently, prying his fingers from the stems of irises, which he was clutching like he was about to throw a lance.

“Pfff, you look like you are about to choke a chicken,” Nesta teased. And promptly realised her mistake, biting her lip.

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

“What chicken am I choking, sweetheart? My own,”

“Oh no,” Elain stepped in between them, hands on her hips. ��No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“Lainey, don’t allow Cass to choke his chicken in front of us,” begged Azriel, working quickly and deftly, and soliciting an envious look from Cassian, whose flowers were in complete disarray, compared to Azriel’s neat piles and methodical assembly line.

“Yes, no one is choking chickens, penises or each other in here,” ordered Elain sternly, while Nesta and Azriel were laughing silently.

“Hehe,” smirked Cassian, “Elain said ‘penis’!”

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

Cassian began rocking to his own singing, imitating the gravel of Brian Johnson’s voice rather successfully, headbanging over his babybreath, bluebells and irises.

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

As Cassian fussed over a vase, working on each stem and arranging them just so, wearing a little white apron no less, he asked casually, “So, brother, four?”

Azriel was in his own headspace, and he didn’t even hear Cassian, as he was busy with his own flower arrangement.

There was, expectedly, a competition going on—who’d complete the most arrangements in an hour. Rowan, a veritable giant, and Cassian’s best friend, also wore an apron, but a long one, like a butcher, and was significantly ahead of the pack. That bothered Azriel more than he cared to admit. So, he was re-strategizing his strategy.

“Four what?” Rowan inquired, not taking his eyes off the flowers, working like a machine.

“Ask Az here,” Cassian suggested. He was catching up to Azriel with an alarming speed.

Azriel had never lost, so far. He wasn’t going to lose today.

“Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that our Az here provides the flower girl with a minimum of four orgasms on the daily,”

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

“If that’s true,” Rowan drawled, “good for you, man. Though you are putting us to shame with this ridiculous offer of yours. How do you keep up?”

“Easily,” Azriel shrugged. “But it’s freaking me out that you two are talking about my sex life so casually.”

“But fucking four? Daily?” repeated Cassian, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Elain, man,” Rowan rubbed the back of his head, mussing his silver hair, “who would’ve thought?”

Cassian nodded, “No offense, brother, but Elain doesn’t strike anyone as particularly adventurous in the bedroom,”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Azriel said simply.

“Very beautiful,” offered Rowan pacifically, “but…you know…Kind of like Elide, I guess. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her,”

Cassian was nodding. “Yeah, she looks like she eats macaroons and reads Jane Austen,”

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“One is a French biscuit, made with almond flour and filled with a creamy filling. The other, is a coconut concoction that one usually eats at Passover.”

Rowan was chuckling. Cassian was shaking his head, grunting, “you would know. So, does she? Eat maca--,”

“No, she doesn’t even like macarons. And she doesn’t read Jane Austen. She reads espionage novels. She likes Daniel Silva. Any more stupid questions?”

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

Elain and Elide met through Rowan and it was friendship at first sight.

Azriel couldn’t argue—the two women were similar in many ways. Both were on a quiet side, polite, well-mannered. Elain—a ray of sunshine, tall, slender and curvaceous, smiling and affable, with piles of golden-brown locks and warm brown eyes. Elide—the opposite—small, pale, with perfectly straight, silky black hair and dark, midnight eyes. Both—crafty in the ways of the world, charming, when needed, capable of getting into everyone’s good graces, and therefore, getting what they wanted.

“No, no more stupid questions,” said Cassian. “Just don’t know how you two grumps attracted such lively girls,”

“Lorcan and I aren’t ‘grumps’. We just talk when we need to and don’t have the need for instant gratification or to be the center of attention. Something I can’t say about you,”

“It’s not about me,” Cassian protested, but Azriel stopped him, by raising his finger,

“Now, if you are not going to shut the fuck up about my woman and me, I will spread a rumour amongst your women, that it’s not four, but six. Daily. Let’s see how you measure up then.”

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

Now

“Yes, the second,” Elain nodded with a satisfied smile.

Azriel

Naturally, today, he woke her up properly, as he always did.

They stayed in an adorable little villa, near Montepulciano. It was everything a Tuscan villa was supposed to be…

including the dust that settled in its 800-year-old walls. And Elain coughed and coughed and coughed, surprisingly not coughing up a lung.

“We can’t stay here,” Azriel said, frowning.

“Where are going to go? We are in the middle of Tuscany and it’s 10 pm,” she reminded him.

Ever resourceful, he dragged the mattress off the antique bed and plopped it down on the floor of their small balcony.

“We sleep here. Under the night Tuscan sky.”

It was a lovely, if chilly night, and Elain would’ve enjoyed it if she didn’t fall asleep almost immediately and slept through the night.

She was still asleep, when the birds began their morning song and Azriel positioned her on her hands and knees, and carefully removed her nightgown, baring her to the dry, cool morning air.

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

She tucked her hands under her cheek, and followed the direction of Azriel’s hand on her hip, rising her butt high up, and arching her back for him.

Azriel loved having sex out in the open. Especially if she was completely naked. He wasn’t overt about it, but the thrill of being found out, the titillating desire to be watched was always present. She knew it. She indulged his fantasies.

“I don’t think anyone would mind watching you,” he whispered hotly in her ear and lightly bit the apple of her cheek. “But it’s also like 4:15 in the morning. So maybe they are still sleeping.”

He settled behind her and she felt his hands on her back, smoothing over the sharp cut of her tight waist and then the soft curve of her hips.

“Spread your legs for me, my love, I want to play with you a little bit,” he guided her, and she followed his direction, squatting inelegantly on her knees, thighs wide apart for him. He cupped her fully in his palm and then pinched her clit, hard, twisting it and rubbing it between his two fingers, until she bit her forearm, trying to stifle her cries of instant pleasure. He pinched again, then again, rubbing tightly, while he bit her buttock playfully, but hard enough to leave a pink mark.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, when he nibbled on her flesh again, tugging on the swollen clit with relentless dedication. She managed to twist enough to kiss his knee and whispered, eyes still closed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her wet, stretched opening, dragging his tongue around and around the rim, “and you are so nice and wet for me in the morning. My good girl, what do you want?”

“Only you,” she vowed. “Only you, my Az.”

“Let’s fill your pretty little hole then,” he licked on it again, and then slid one strong, long finger inside. As he began to pump her slowly, he proposed, “When I fill you with my cock later on,”

“Uh oh,” she moaned dreamily, smiling a loving smile, enjoying his finger to the fullest.

“I think I’d like to add a finger or two as well. What do you think?”

“I’d like that, I think,” she complied easily.

Elain was not a particularly imaginative lover, but Azriel was the opposite—he had too much imagination when it came to everything. Especially Elain, and what he liked to do with her sexually. What was absolutely fantastic, and he thanked all the gods for this phenomenon, was that Elain was willing to try anything. She was an absolutely willing and eager lover, who learned from him and learned of her body with readiness and joy. He dominated her completely, but that was the nature of their relationship, and they easily fell into their roles, from the very beginning. She was submissive, loved praise, and loved being guided and told what to do. More than anything else, she loved pleasing him. There was never any pull and push, no competition, no power struggles. Elain was made for him, created and carved from something that was innately his, whether it was his body or his mind, and they lived and loved harmoniously. He complimented her perfectly: her temperament, her needs, her wants. He treated her with admiration, gentleness, adoration and respect, and while his own expectations were high, she met them all with ease. She took control when she needed to. Received what she wanted from him, however she needed to. And he gave and gave.

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

Perhaps that’s what they were. Or maybe, they were even more than that.

Azriel stretched his legs on either side of her curved body and then added another finger inside of her sopping, slippery opening, reaching deep into her and pumping her firmly.

“Auuuu, babe, it’s good…” she squealed, “it’s so good.”

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her buttocks apart with his available hand and swept his tongue over the tiny opening, causing her to seize with surprise and pleasure. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his tongue, pushing her backside into his lips. He licked the little hole in earnest, dragging his tongue back and forth between both of her openings, making her tremble and shudder every time his tongue reached one or the other.

As he sat to the task of licking and sucking her tight hole, he thrust a third finger into her dripping passage, feeling her shift against his face to accommodate the stretch. It was a lot, and she whimpered and moaned from the pressure, but he knew that she could take four, though he wasn’t in a hurry, and worked her diligently and steadily, his tongue laving the other hole just as eagerly.

She was shaking between his legs, her toes curling beneath her, rapid pants escaping into the morning mists, her hair draping the tiled floor in front of her, even spilling through the balcony rails.

Somewhere they heard sheep bleating and Elain laughed softly, before arching her back even further, not caring how splayed she looked. There wasn’t a part of her that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched or licked or kissed, not an inch of her that wasn’t caressed by his rough hands, not an orifice that he hasn’t penetrated with his magnificent cock. He’d burrowed inside of her so deeply, so wholly, he possessed all of her and she knew what it’s like to truly be part of another person, to be loved with egregious passion.

He fed another finger inside of her and she cried out, trembling and grunting, as she grabbed and squeezed his foot with mighty strength.

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

“Love, when you are in labour with our baby, I am fully prepared for the fact that you will break my fingers, maybe even my hand.”

“I am sorry,” she laughed, and kissed his foot, dragging her tongue over his toes.

There wasn’t a part of him that she did not love, did not worship with everything she had. No part of his body remained un-kissed, un-touched, un-caressed. A lazy Sunday, especially if the weather was crap and they had no plans to go out, was her favourite time—she could spend the day loving her Azriel. On those days, she pleasured him. And if she spent hours with his cock buried in her throat, or his balls between her lips, or her tongue in his ass, she was only too happy.

The tips of his fingers crawled into that hidden spot inside of her, curling just so, so he could massage and rub her into a frenzy. He stilled for a moment, to allow her to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, as she bit his foot, trying to stifle her screams. She leaked slowly over his hand, as most of it was situated in her clutching, hungry tightness.

“Very good, my baby,” he praised, kissing her buttocks and then giving her anus a few approving licks, “taking all four inside of you,”

“Oh my god, oh,” she groaned, “it’s so tight…Az, my love, I am so full,”

“I know, love,” he coaxed evenly, his hand beginning a steady, firm barrage of deep, pounding thrusts, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeess,” she only managed, voice thin, pleading. She could barely hold herself up, so he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her ass up. She grabbed the balcony wrought-iron spindles, squeezing them tightly, forehead pressed into the mattress, as he pumped her harshly, keeping her on the verge of constant climax, but pulling back just so, for her to moan and beg him in a never ending litany.

“Baby, you want to come?” he teased, still busy with her butthole, which softened under his furious sucking and if they had more time and privacy, Elain would be ready to take him anally soon enough.

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

“Ugh, you are such a horrible tease,” she complained, biting his foot in spite, and he laughed, before slapping her firm, soft buttock.

“Biting a person who is making you come so nicely?” he slapped her again, and she yelped with pleasure, wiggling her ass, silently asking for more.

The walls of her passage clenched desperately over his fingers, and she made a choking, frantic sound in her chest, now beyond pleading or even moaning. He sucked, and slapped, and bit, and thrust, pumping her open, the sounds of the wet and the skin inside of her completely obscene, and music to both of their ears.

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”

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echotzzz · 3 years

Text

Elriel Mate Behaviour

1. So after reread some of acotar past book and some of others post lately about elriel mate behaviour and parallel, i am really convince that elriel are mates and the second mate thing is real. Sjm said that if there are two mate bonds only one will be activate and in elriel situation this explain why Azriel couldn’t be in the same room with Elain and Lucien because of the mating bond scent. Elriel bond are not activate but the uncontrollable instinct as a mate eg.to eliminate any threats and protective towards their mates are there.

“ Lucien as Beron’s son, has the right to demand it (blood duel) of you.”. “ I’ll defeat him with little effort.” Pure arrogance laced with every words, But it was true.

Azriel only said coldly, “If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance.”

2. Next are the parallel of elriel between Feysand and Nessian regarding mate behaviour are also undeniable

Elain just linked her arm through Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.

Just staring—and listening to that beautiful laugh. My mate’s laugh. I rubbed a hand over my chest at that sound—the joy in it.[...] I smiled. Smiled wider as Feyre’s laugh sounded again—as I felt it down the bond, sparkling brighter than the entirety of Starfall.

So Azriel search for the cause of Elain laugh because maybe he felt it same as Rhys when he heard Feyre laugh. And the laugh that they made are not like any laugh but the genuine laugh that comes with joy that even the bond could capture.

They were speaking, Azriel with some urgency, but Cassian didn’t hear him, heard nothing but the roaring in his head before he said to no one in particular, “I’m going after them.”[...] “Winnow me to her. Az, you find Emerie and Gwyn.”

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

The similarities of this two situation is that both male are ready to sacrifies their lives and they aware of the repurcussions. Cassian knew the rule of the blood rite that he would be hunt down and executed if he retrieved Nesta while Az would die (nearly die) if enter the Hybern camp that even his shadow recoil. Eventhough Cassian decided not to rescue Nesta he still feels worried and restless for four days and just hope that she survives.

“You’d know if she’d died,” Azriel said, pausing his work and looking up at Cassian. He tapped his brother’s chest with a scarred hand. “Right here—you’d know, Cass.”

I don’t know but this feels like that Azriel has the same understanding and have been through it to said it to cassian like that🤷🏼‍♀️

“How can I possibly be his mate?” Mates were equals—matched, at least in some ways. “He is the most powerful High Lord to ever walk this earth. You are … new. You are made of all seven High Lords. Unlike anything. Are you two not similar in that? Are you not matched?”

3. So to be mates you must somehow match, equal and complement each other. We know that Azriel are one of the most deadliest Illyrian ever lived and his siphon contains only the killing power of an Illyrian and his shadowsinging ability was developed and feared by enemies. As for Elain we know that she is a seer can see vision and future and a lot many more that would be discover in her book but same as Nesta and Feyre she was made by the Cauldron and it turns out Cauldron likes her to purr at her presence and found her so lovely. At this point Elain could regard as powerful for the Cauldon itself blessed her with a seer gifts. And to add to the mix, Elain also practise stealth and maybe some spy stuff.

She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

I am not saying that Lucien is weak but in terms of powermatch and similarities between elriel it seems to make them as equal and best partner especially doing mission that giving good cause to save Prythian and Cauldron seems to play match maker in this👀

From Amren: an illuminated manuscript, ancient and beautiful. From Azriel: rare, vibrant paint from the continent. From Cassian: a proper leather sheath for a blade, to be set down the groove of my spine like a true Illyrian warrior. From Elain: fine brushes monogrammed with my initials and the Night Court insignia on the handles. And from Mor: a pair of fleece-lined slippers. Bright pink, fleece-lined slippers.

Okay this may be nothing but i can’t help myself to point out that even in present buying Elriel are buying the best gift and complementing each other ( what are the odds that Az bought paint and Elain gave brushes).

4. The last one i want to point out is Mor. So Mor have the power of truth right and she always there in mate situation. What if she could know a mating bond because of her power truth and reveal secrets ( A thing of secret, lovely, beauty)👀

Mor stayed overnight, even going so far as to paint some rudimentary stick figures on the wall beside the storeroom door. Three females with absurdly long, flowing hair that all resembled hers; and three winged males, who she somehow managed to make look puffed up on their own sense of importance. I laughed every time I saw it.

This scene was Mor painting in the wall during Feyre retreat after her mate revelation and before the sisters were made. At first i thought that the three female were mor, feyre and amren but amren has short hair👀. Maybe this is a forshadowing of the three brothers and three sisters🤷🏼‍♀️

Mor leaned back against the steps, utterly unrepentant. “Let him live with his Band of Exiles. Let him deal with Tamlin in his own way. Let him figure out where he wants to be. Who he wants to be. The same goes with her.” She was right. [...] Mor continued, “Just be patient. It’ll sort itself out. It always does.” Another kernel of truth.[...] “I want them to be happy. All of them.” “They will be.”

At this point Elucian will not be endgame okay i truly believe so and sjm said it is OBVIOUS (elriel👀) and it seems like Mor also thinks the same. She knew something we dont.

He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel..

So Cassian said that not only Azriel somehow gave up on Mor but Mor also stop to make Azriel jelly maybe because she sees there is no need to do it any longer. Maybe she knew abt Az feelings towards Elain.

But I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me.

I think this when Mor started to see the truth between elriel feelings?? mating bond?? i just found it weird why she have a certain reaction towards them and maybe it has something to do with her truth power.

I just want to say that if elriel are not mates than it is fine too but the parallel and the crumbs really make me thinks the second mate are real. Lucien action towards Elain also show mate behaviour but much weaker?? compare to Azriel reaction. i dont know will find out in the next book to confirm. just sharing my two cents😘

#elriel #elain and azriel #elain azriel #pro elain #sjm #elain archeron #azriel #acosf #pro elriel #sjm books #azriel x elain

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aelingalathyniusrailme · 3 years

Note

'Hello life ruiner' 'oh calm down that was years ago and your life doesn't look that ruined to me' for Lucien and Eris?

ok so sorry this took me so long but here it is. I kind of went for a Damon/Stefan Esque vibe so hope you enjoy

A knock on the door had eris up from bed too early.

“Are you kidding me?” his lover asked. Their time together was rare as they were typically both occupied during this time of day, setting aside a few hours a week to make time for each other.

“I’m sorry love, I’ll be back to bed soon, and” eris smirked. “We’ll finish what we started.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“I’m counting on it” Eris quickly put a shirt on and walked to the door and peered through the hole. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Eris took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Hello, life ruiner.”

Lucien gave the appearance of looking around. “Oh calm down, that was years ago and your life doesn’t look that ruined to me”

“Yes well, when you left my reputation shattered with my father's blood on my hands it took half a century to get back to a fraction of where I was.”

“So dramatic and we both know that that was only partly my fault.” When Eris didn’t respond, Lucien filled the silence. “Half a century? Huh, has it really been that long?” god his brother was infuriating, it took all of eris’s self-control not to smack him across his face.

“I actually believe it’s been about 75 years.” Eris turned around to face the voice. “Hello, Lucien.”

Lucien looked amused. “Hello Azriel.”

“That mate of yours making you lose track of time?” Azriel chuckled as Lucien tensed.

“Elain is doing well thank you for asking, I see you and my brother have remained close throughout the years.”

“Extremely and thoroughly” eris provided, enjoying the way Lucien shifted uncomfortably. “And as fun, as this little visit was, I have more important” Lucien's eyes flicked to Azriel. “Things to do.”

“Can’t get rid of me that fast brother, I was instructed to reconcile with you or sleep outside.”

“That bad? Seems to be a regular occurrence for you.”

“There’s that sense of humor I missed so much,” Lucien drawled. “So will you have a drink with me?”

“No.” Eris began to shut the door before Azriel stopped him.

“Sorry, can we just have a minute please?”

Lucien appeared grateful. “Of course.”

Eris turned to Azriel, “he destroyed my life, I am not going to have a drink with him.”

“Sweetie, it’s been almost a century and it was mostly beron’s fault.”

“Keyword being almost. Check back in 25”

“Minutes?” Azriel asked hopefully.

“Years.” Eris was about to walk away when Azriel stopped him gently grabbing his arm.

“Eris.” He turned to face him, Eris's gaze softening.

“Please, if not for him then for me, have a drink with your brother and maybe there will be some rewards after.” Eris hated when he got like that, everything about his resolve crumbled and all he wanted was to melt into his hard chest.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But those rewards better be nothing short of spectacular.”

It was Azriel's turn to smirk. “Oh, they will be.” He turned, dropping Eris’s arm, and walked back to his bedroom on silent feet, fading into the shadows. He looked like a god and Eris had to force himself to turn away. He opened the door once more to find his half-brother standing against the side of his house in a nonchalant manner, pretending he hadn’t been listening.

He shot Lucien a look. “Not a word.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“There are rules.”

“The control freak strikes again.” Eris shot him another look. “Ok ok, what are they?”

“You get 1 hour, and the words Mom, dad, hellion, Gwyn and our dead brothers do not come up.”

“No family, got it.” he held his hand out, eris knew he expected him to ask where they were going so he didn’t. Instead, he took his hand as Lucien winnowed them away.

A second later Eris opened his eyes immediately recognizing the stuffy summer court. It reeked of joy and pleasantries Eris did not want to participate in. They walked in silence into the town square to whatever trashy bar or club Lucien was taking him to. Suddenly he stopped in front of what appeared to be a lingerie store.

“Need some new panties brother?” He ignored him instead walking inside and whispering something to the cashier, something even his fae ears couldn’t pick up. The cashier flashed them a sly smile and walked to a rack of clothes. She snapped her fingers and a door appeared, Lucien turned to Eris and although this was unexpected, he kept his features completely neutral. Alright, at least he’s trying to make this interesting. He followed him through the door and down the stairs to a dark room lit with neon lights. The room was large and filled with high fae and faeries alike.

“It’s a chain, across all 7 courts, called the underground beluga.” Lucien provided even though Eris had pointedly not asked.

“Inconspicuous.” He chuckled at that. They went up to the bar and sat down.

“Bourbon please” and at the same Lucien said “a round of shots.”

The waiter looked confused, “So which is it, bourbon or shots?”

“We’ll have both.” Answered Eris to both the waiter and Lucien’s delight.

“I like your style.” responded the waiter.

Lucien clapped him on the back and pushed him to sit down. “As do I.”

Drink after drink came and just 1 had turned into 5, 7, maybe 10? It was hard to keep track. It started off tense but by drink 3 Eris and Lucien had dissolved into jokes and memories. Reminiscing the good, eluding the bad. They spoke of their childhood and when they had been close. He did well with avoiding the topic of family.

Eris was drunk as fuck. His mind was hazy and his vision blurred but he was sure that it was his name being called up to the stage. “Eris vanserra you’re up for karaoke, it was requested by a member in this club, that would like to remain anonymous, for you to sing don’t stop believin by journey to the middle.” He blinked twice and turned around to face his brother. The sly fox was smirking.

“Oh, you little shit.”

He took a sip from his bourbon, “I have no idea what you mean”

The host's voice came again “Eris, come on lad you’re not above karaoke get your ass up here.”

“You heard the man.”

And then the cheering began. “ER-IS ER-IS ER-IS”

“Come on brother, give the crowd what they want.” but eris had a better idea.

“Alright,” He paused, smirking, “brother.” Eris pressed his hand on Lucien's shoulder and winnowed them both to the stage. “This performance will now be a duet,” he announced to the crowd, causing an epidemic of cheering. Lucien’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, one not too different from the color of his hair. The music began and the lyrics to the song appeared in the air. Well this was happening, eris thought, might as well lean into it.

He gripped the microphone in one hand, letting the alcohol take over, and belted. “JUST A SMALL TOWN GIRL.” he winked at a seraphim, walking to the center of the stage. “LIVIN IN A LO-NELY WORLDD. SHE TOOK THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN GOIN AN-Y-WHERE.”

Eris looked to Lucien, enjoying the shock on his face, he gave him a look as if to say, your move brother.

Lucien cracked his neck, ran a hand through his hair and took the microphone in both hands. “JUST A CITY BOY. BORN AND RAISED IN SOUTH DESTROITTT.” with each word, his voice became more and more confident. “HE TOOK THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN GOIN AN-Y-WHERE”

Eris took the next two lines. “A SINGER IN A SMO-KEY ROOM. THE SMELL OF WINE AND CHEAP PERF-UMEE.”

Lucien cut him off. “FOR A SMILE THEY’D SHARE THE NIGHT. IT GOES ON AND ON, AND ON, AND ON.”

He joined Eris in the middle of the stage and they sang together. “STRANGERS, WAITIN. UP AND DOWN THE BOULEVARD. THEIR SHADOWS.” With the snap of Eris's fingers, their shadows reflected on the curtain began to dance on their own and he lit everything up in a heatless flame. “SEARCHIN IN THE NIGHTTT. STREETLIGHTS, PEOPLE. LIVIN JUST TO FIND EMOTION.” Eris and Lucien looked to each other and then at the crowd that was going crazy. “HIDIN, SOMEWHERE IN THE NIGHTTTT.”

In reality, they were sweaty, off-tune, drunk idiots doing karaoke. But to Eris in his drunken stupor, thought they were gods on that stage. Leaving every emotion he had felt in his almost 600 years with don’t stop believin. He was on a high and could not be brought down no matter what. Up on that stage with his brother, he was invincible.

They sang at least 4 more songs, each one more insane than the last. They drank and joked until the sun came up. And though Eris had nowhere near forgiven his brother, maybe just maybe he had taken a step in the right direction.

#one shot #drabble #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra #azris #elucien #some good old fashion brotherly love #brother banter

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forget-me-not-s · 3 years

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Forbidden

Day 4 of Elriel Month

Word count: 2401

Content Warning: Slightly NSFW, spoilers for ACOSF and Azriel exclusive POV.

These past few weeks had been a new kind of hell for Azriel. Since Rhysand ordered him to stay away from Elain, his days have been immersed in darkness and his nights restless. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, her smile had lightened up every room, her laugh his favourite sound and her smell his favorite aphrodisiac.

Part of him understood the reasoning behind Rhys command, but Rhysand had risked everything for Feyre. What he didn’t comprehend is why his own brother wouldn’t want to see him happy. Elain should be able to choose who she wants to be with, even if she never ends up choosing him. He knew he would always put Elain’s choice first even if it meant destroying himself.

In the past months he had realized the true depth of his feelings for the seer. Azriel had thought he would never stop loving Mor, but since Elain came into his life, he realized that he was deceiving himself. He was in love with the idea of love, not with Mor, at least where the last centuries were concerned. Deep down he knew he had loved her once, but Elain’s kindness had opened him to another kind of love, more pure and real, one that he never thought he would have or deserve.

The Cauldron had to be punishing him for all the sins he had committed, Azriel knew he wasn’t deserving of love. He had finally found the female he wanted to share his immortal life with, just so the Cauldron would choose another male for her.

Today was going to be especially hard for him as he wouldn’t be able to escape seeing her. He had tried to avoid her after the incident on the stairs, but today would be impossible not to be near her. Part of him needed to see her one more time, as he was a starving man and her sight would be the only thing that would satiate him. Feyre had asked his council on a matter regarding the human courts, and Nuala had confirmed Elain would be present during the meeting.

Surprisingly, when he arrived at the River House Elain was the only one there, no sign of their High Lord and Lady to be seen. She looked beautiful, her hair down, ruffled by the early spring breeze, face sun kissed probably after spending the morning tending her gardens under the sun. Azriel knew the moment she saw him, as her scent changed, he had to contain the groan that wanted to be released.

Elain felt more than saw the shadowsinger appear in the kitchen, her breath catching and her cheeks blushing. She couldn’t help it, she had been preparing herself for this encounter for days. It had been almost three months since the ill fated night, and he had been avoiding her. She still couldn’t believe how close she had been to kissing him, part of her was still furious at the interruption. The moment she had believed what Azriel had told her, that it had been a mistake. That’s why she returned the necklace, because the last time a male had gifted jewelry, he had called her a monster and rejected her love and she didn’t want to feel like that ever again, even if it broke her heart parting with that thoughtful gift. But now she knew it hadn’t been a mistake. Azriel had been forced to flee her side and to never approach her again. What made her furious was that it wasn’t caused by an enemy force; the cause of this had been her own brother-in-law. When she saw what had happened in one of her visions, she confronted Rhys.

She had had enough, she wasn’t a child to be coddled. Her life had been taken away from her since the moment she was forced into the Cauldron, her future forever changed. None of it with her consent, none hadn’t been her choice.

So she was mad at Rhysand as he was taking away her choice once again, by forcing Azriel to never follow that path with her. Even if it meant hurting them both. It seems like she would never be able to choose for herself, the Cauldron forming a bond with a male who didn’t understand her, that played a small part in her trauma and that he wasn’t HER choice. For the first time ever she made her voice heard, she wouldn’t be stifled again, not with this and not with anything else moving forward. She had had enough, she was the only one who would decide her own destiny. And she had chosen Azriel. She wouldn’t hide her feelings for the shadowsinger, she wouldn’t let Rhysand or anyone dictate her life, she wanted to love freely, her love wouldn’t be a forbidden union. She realized that in her new world people would tell her who she needed to be but she would have none of that, she would fight back and say no, this is who I am.

Her first step had been speaking with Rhys and telling him she would talk with Lucien, that’s when she found out she could actually break the bond. Knowing this felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She clarified that she wanted to break the bond. Not because of what had happened during the Solstice but because she needed to make her own destiny and the bond was a prison for both herself and Lucien. Feyre had been present for the last part of the conversation as her powers had gone out of control with all her emotions running wild. That’s how she managed to trick Azriel into coming to the River House, he thought he was meeting her sister. She had tricked him, but they needed to talk.

Her conversation with Lucien had gone better than she expected, it hadn’t been an easier one, but necessary nonetheless. After hours of talking, they had agreed that it was better if they broke the bond. She wasn’t surprised when Lucien had been a bit reluctant at first, as the mating is more instinctive for the male, but what had shocked her was that Lucien told her how he believed he was starting to develop feelings for Vassa. She teased him endlessly. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking, morning came and they had still been deep into conversation, funny how the day they had finally broken the bond was the day they talked as friends, free at least from those invisible chains.

Azriel saw Elain’s shy smile appear and he couldn't help returning it. There was something different about her, her eyes were clear, she looked rested, and somehow free. Her distinctive smell had also been altered.

“Elain, I thought I was supposed to meet Feyre” he said while walking closer to her.

“I know, I asked her to fake the meeting so we could talk” he stopped walking, surprise appearing on his expression.

“Are you ok? Has something happened?” His facial expression turned murderous, if someone had hurted her, he was dead.

“No, I just wanted to talk to you about what happened that night” Elain's heart melted at his concern.

“Elain I…” Azriel started to say, part of him just wanted to tell her how he never thought she was a mistake, he wanted to make things right, but he was scared that it would hurt her more, as they couldn’t be together, he wasn’t deserving of love.

“Azriel I know what happened, I know it was Rhysand that stopped it” she interrupted him.

“What do you mean?” he knew he sounded stupid, but she took him by surprise.

“I know it wasn’t a mistake, '' Elain said while she closed their gap, her hands softly grabbing his “a few nights later I had a retrocognition. I saw everything that happened after Rhysand saw us. He had no right to stop what would have happened” she said while her hands brought his scarred ones to her lips. Azriel's voice cracked as he talked “I shouldn’t have said it was a mistake, Rhys or no Rhys you could never be a mistake Elain, you are everything that’s good” his hands moved to grasp her face, bringing his forehead to lay on hers. “I know that now, but I would be lying if I told you, you didn’t hurt me, it felt like Greysen all over again” Azriel heart broke, that was never his intention, he would kill himself before hurting her “I am so sorry, what can I do to fix it?” he needed to get things right, he would beg on his knees for her forgiveness. “Just kiss me and make me forget it ever happened” she murmured.

Azriel didn’t hesitate, he closed the gap and finally ley his lips on hers. The kiss was soft, innocent even, an apology and a promise all wrapped into one perfect gift. Elain’s arms wrapped around his neck, bringing them closer, her tongue graced his lower lip asking for permission, turning the soft kiss into an explosion of passion.

Azriel hands were everywhere, he needed to touch her, to prove this was real, that it was actually happening and he wasn’t in one of his dreams. Elain let out a moan when his hands graced her sides, getting closer to her aching breasts. “Elain as much as I love this we need to talk” he said trying to distance himself from her even though it pained him, but they needed to discuss what happened next, he still had orders and she was still mated.

“Fine” she said, not without giving him a quick kiss. She would be his death.

“What happened after you had your vision” he asked, his fingers running small circles on her arms.

“I told Rhysand that that would be the last time he would take away my choice for political reasons. All my life I’ve been an afterthought, I never had much choice, and when Hybern took me and I was forced into the Cauldron I was stripped of everything. Now that I was finally getting my voice back, Rhysand took it away from me once again, and I had enough. No one will tell me who I should love, not a High Lord and definitely not an ancient bond”

He now realized what the change in her smell meant, under the small hint of arousal, he smelled her and only her, no trace of the bond couldn’t be found. He almost fell to his knees begging for a chance to love her as she deserved to be loved. His kiss was bruising, the passion soaring, he wanted to convey everything that he was feeling on that kiss. Elain was giving him everything he thought he would never have, she was choosing him. For the first time in his life someone was willing to risk everything to be with him.

“Azriel” Elain said in between kisses, her melodic laugh appearing when he couldn't stop giving her small kisses around her neck, making her shiver. “All those moments we shared in our gardens, the small touches we were brave enough to have, made me realize that you are my choice, that even if the Cauldron didn’t tie us together, you are my mate, the one I choose. The one I love” she said while tears running down her beautiful face “don’t cry my rose, you have made me the happiest male, I love you more than words can convey, you are my everything Elain” he responded while lowering her on the soft grass, his hands tenderly caressing her face, collecting those happy tears.

Elain’s hands grabbed his hips, making him fall on top of her, straddling her hips. Azriel let out a groan at the friction this position bringed to his aching cock, her hands started untying his fighting leathers“ Are you sure Elain?, We have the rest of our lives for this” he said while giving small kisses where her neck met shoulder. “Yes I need to feel you, to feel our love in the most carnal of expressions ”

They made quick work of their clothes, Azriel started a trail of kisses, lowering himself between her legs. Elain’s hands wreaked havoc on his hair as he finally got his first taste of her, sweet, she was so sweet and wet. Her whimpers the only sound beside the birds chirping, his tongue creating an increasing crescendo of pleasure as he licked her soft folds, putting pressure on her clit making her even more wet. He was a starving male and Elain his only salvation. When she felt she was close to her climax, she pulled him off her “I want to fall with you inside me” she said, her eyes dark with lust. He kissed her, her mouth warm and soft, he bit back a groan as she took his cock and brought it to her entrance, the sensation overwhelming. They both moaned as he started moving. Slow at first, making her go crazy with desire, she needed to feel more “harder Azriel, I want to feel all of you, you won’t hurt me” she said while coaxing him with her hands on his back, his body went still, his entire world stopped at her soft cares on his wings. The groan he let out was feral, deepening his thrusts making them both moan louder. The sound of sink on sink and their encouraging sounds the sole symphony as they chased their climax. Azriel kissed her to stifle her moans, his hand touching her at the apex of her tights making her go over the cliff, Azriel joining her thrusts later when Elain found a sensitive place on his wings. Making him roar with pleasure.

Afterwards when they were both satiated Elain kissed him softly, her hands drawing small circles on his back. A sweet smile on both of their faces. Happiness, utter happiness ran through them as they rejoiced in their love making. They both knew this was a new beginning, their relationship barely starting, they had so much to learn and discover. War was starting once again and they would have to fight for it, this time would be different, the stakes higher as they would fight to get back to each other. But together they would overcome everything. Together they would fight as one.

#elriel #elriel month #elrielmonth #elrielmonth21 #pro elriel #elriel ff #elain archeron #Azriel

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foxybananaaaz · 3 years

Text

Elucien Week, Day Two,

June 8th :: Song Association

@elucienweek @ladyvanserra @vanserrasvalkyrie

Song: Good to You, by Marianas Trench, ft Jessica Lee

Everyone's around // No words are coming now // And I can't find my breath. // Can we just say the rest with no sound?

I got to be honest, I have been struggling with today's prompt, until I came across this song in the car with some friends. I thought immediately of Elain and Lucien. And even better, in the music video, there is a guy trying to pull Jessica Lee away from Josh Ramsay. Which, after reading Azriels bonus chapter makes even more sense.

And I know this isn't enough, // I still don't measure up // And I'm not prepared; // Sorry is never there when you need it

Lucien is aware that a mating bond isn't enough for Elain, and that he doesn't measure up to her human life, and the love she had for Greyson. He isn't even aware that he is ultimately the reason Greyson called off the engagement to Elain, but Lucien is aware that right now, he isn't what Elain wants.

And I do want you to know // I'll hold you up above everyone // And I do want you to know // I think you'd be good to me // And I'd be so good to you

And we arrive at the course. And we KNOW Lucien would be good to Elain. He's aware that if they both fully accept the bond they could be good to each other.

I thought I saw a sign // Somewhere between the lines // But maybe it's me // Maybe I only see what I want

Here we get to Jessica Lee's part of the song, and thus, Elains part of the song. This sign would probably be seen when Elain goes to take a step forward as Luciens about to be winnowed away by Rhys to the Continent in Wings and Ruin. Or perhaps a vision. But she saw something in Lucien. She saw something that caused her to warm up to him in Wings and Ruin, only to freeze again come Frost and Starlight.

And I still have your letter // Just got caught between // Someone I just invented // Who I really am and who // I've become

The letter is the jacket. Elain still has Luciens jacket from the night she was made Fae. But right now we know she is struggling with the fact that she is no longer human. There are theories that she is trying to become human again, hense the "Who I really am and who I've become." Elain, I believe needs to accept she is truly fae before she can accept Lucien and the mating bond.

And now I do want you to know I'll hold you up above everyone // And I do want you to know // I think you'd be good to me // And I'd be so good to you

Both Josh and Jessica sing the final course, and they have come together. They have accepted that they would be good for each other. They have accepted that the Cauldron did not make a mistake. They have accepted each other.

This is my entry for day two. And I'm standing by this choice. Hope you accept it. Listen to the song, it's a good song!!

#Spotify #elucien week #elucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x elain #elain archeron #elain/lucien #good to you marianas trench #acosf

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

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High Lord's Heir

A/N: I'm not super in love with this, but I wanted to get it out so I could focus on other things. It's not technically Elucien, (don't worry I'm still an Elriel fan), I just needed these two to resolve some tension)

Summary: Lucien finds out he's Helion's heir and tells Elain about it. They offer some truths about themselves.

Words: 2705

Elain was in the River House’s garden - she had been hiding there for hours now. Well not hiding, she had been very productive in the weeding the flowerbeds, but at this point she was just passing time until the house was safe. Lucien had arrived after lunch and had been locked in a study with Feyre and Rhys for hours now. She knew it made her a coward, but she didn't care.

She felt unsettled and uncomfortable - attributing it to too many hours in the sun. The tea Nuala had brought out for her would kick in soon enough. But it wasn’t a normal feeling - she didn’t feel sick in a way she had ever felt before - this feeling was coming from something else.

When Elain was about ready to give up on her gardening and risk running into Lucien, Feyre spoke to her mind to mind: Lucien is coming out to the garden. He wants to speak to you. I have to feed Nyx, but shout in your head for Rhys if you want an escape.

Sure enough, Elain saw Rhys and Cassian walk onto the roof of the house, as if they were casually sunning their beautiful wings. She waved up at them and Cassian waved back.

We’ll be here if you need us. Rhys said.

What is going on? Elain asked

He’ll explain. He wanted to be the one to tell you.

Will you be listening in?

Only if you want me to.

I think I’ll be okay. Thank you. she said back to Rhys.

She heard the glass doors leading to the garden open and shut quietly. Elain found the source of her discomfort standing before her, wringing his wrists. Lucien was always extremely well dressed and put together, but from the look on his face alone, Lucien looked rough. Undone almost. Elain knew something was very deeply bothering him. It wasn’t just the mating bond - she was used to that feeling after two years of avoiding him - this was much much worse.

Elain stood from where she had kneeled next to a flower bed and turned to face Lucien. “Hello” she said, as she wiped her hands on the skirts of her dress.

“My lady.” Lucien said from a polite distance away. “I’m sorry to bother you - I wouldn’t have disturbed you if it wasn’t important.”

“Feyre warned me.” she said as she walked past him toward the table and chairs she had put out.

“Of course she did.” He chuckled half-heartedly.

“Shall we sit in the shade?” she said, as she moved toward her usual chair.

Lucien blinked in surprise before he followed her, settling in the furthest chair from hers - Azriel’s usual chair. She stiffened at that - Azriel used to sit in the garden and read his reports while Elain worked. She often missed that quiet companionship, even though she understood the distance the shadowsinger had put between them. Every time they were in a room together, the tension felt palpable.

“Are you alright?” Lucien asked quietly. He stretched out his long legs as he sat in the chair. The angle of the sun made his red hair and golden eye shimmer in the light. If Elain hadn't been so against the mating bond, she may have even found him attractive, beautiful even.

“I think I’ve probably spent too many hours in the sun, but I’ll be fine.” She answered with a half-truth. “Are you alright?” she added even though she knew the answer. Whatever conversation Lucien was having with Feyre and Rhys had caused Lucien to feel the turmoil and pain she now was experiencing. It wasn’t often she felt the tug of the bond between them, since she largely ignored that it existed. Every once in awhile, she would feel emotions that she had no reason to feel, or have dreams of events from eyes that weren’t her own.

He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a minute. “I’m…..I’m dealing. I received some news today, which may impact… your safety. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, actually.” Even though his words were filled with discomfort, Elain was relieved he wasn’t there to talk about their bond. “Have you met Helion Spell-Cleaver?”

Elain had met the High Lord during the war, when he had broken off the enchanted chains Hybern had used when the kidnapped her. She only survived because her sister and Azriel had come to rescue her. Pushing away the painful memory, she said, “High Lord of Day? He was at the Starfall party.”

“I suppose he was.” Lucien observed her. “It's a long story, but your sister has discovered that I am his Heir. Apparently, he and my mother had an affair over the centuries. I don’t know why I didn’t see it until now.”

Elain didn’t hide her surprise. She hadn’t ever met Lucien’s family, but had heard terrible things about them. What Eris had done to Mor, how they acted during the war… part of her was glad Lucien wasn’t truly one of them.

“Why are you telling me this?” She couldn’t stop the words coming out. She realized it may have come out as callous, maybe even rude, but she had to know. She barely knew anything about the male, how would this impact her safety? Feyre had told her that Lucien had fled the Autumn Court, but she had left the other details out. She never bothered to ask more about his story either, she didn't want to her sister's hopes up.

Lucien put a weary hand over his face, covering his russet eye. “When I was young, I fell in love with what my fa- Beron would call “a lesser fae." I thought we were mates, that it was a matter of time before the bond would snap in place - we were planning on leaving the Autumn Court together. When he found out… he killed Jesminda, and made me watch. When he was done with her, he sent my brothers after me. That’s how I ended up in the Spring Court.”

All of the words went out of Elain’s mind at the revelation. She had dreamt or seen something like what Lucien was describing often - a beautiful female being killed by a brown-haired man. Red-haired sentries holding her, or Lucien she supposed, down while she pleaded for her life - Jesminda's. Occasionally, she saw her face or Vassa’s, instead of the females. Or she saw Jesminda go into the Cauldron in her place. She always thought it was a vision from the future, but she realized now she had seen one of Lucien's nightmares. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Elain murmured.

“Don’t apologize. It was long before you were even born. I’m telling you this, because being connected to a High Lord’s Heir puts a target on your back. Feyre and Nyx are safe, only because people fear them, believe Rhys is the male they knew Under the Mountain. If my fa- If Beron realizes what I am, that I'm powerful, he'll go after me and he'll likely use you to do it. He'll stop at nothing to make sure another court does not have access to his - to my mother's power. Just like how Amarantha used Feyre against Tamlin and Briallyn used Cassian against Nesta. ”

“But… we aren’t...we aren't like them.” She said quietly. It wasn't fear that made her uncomfortable, it was acknowledging the thing between them, the mating bond.

Lucien looked out onto the garden. “It doesn't matter.” He said. “Ever since I met you, my instinct has been to protect you. It may even be why I warmed up to Feyre so quickly. Even if you ended up… even if you never acted on it, the bond makes it my instinct to shield you from harm. Hurting you would hurt me.”

His throat bobbed, as if he was debating what he said next. “And the death of a mate... whether it be mine or yours… it would be… unsurvivable, even if we never... act on it at all, we'll always be linked in some way.”

The pain in his voice was something she had never heard before. Elain knew he was telling the truth - she fought hard to keep memories of Feyre’s labor at bay — Rhys’s yelling, his fighting, barely restrained by Azriel and Cassian’s fourteen siphons. It was something she would never forget.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel like a pawn in all of this. I know you haven't had many choices in any of this." He added. Part of Elain wondered if Lucien’s pain and devastation was because of her, of the role he would play in her death if history repeated itself, and the risk his new role created for her.

That thought made her say, “Don’t - don’t apologize for something you have no control over and don’t worry about me being a pawn.” His eyes snapped up to meet hers in surprise. “I have been a pawn from the moment the King of Hybern broke into my father’s house and put me in the Cauldron, even before that. The fact that you’re in the Night Court shows I still am one. Adding another court to a mix doesn’t change much.”

His expression was one of pure guilt. “I’m - I- “

She cut him off before he could deny anything, “Don’t apologize for that either. I know neither you nor Tamlin knew what was happening and I know you fought against Hybern’s wards to help me.”

Lucien’s shoulders sagged. He said sighed wearily, “I should have known then. I had never used that power before - Helion’s power. I thought it was the bond's reaction, but I realize now that the fire came from my mother, not Beron. He opened up his palm and let fire dance on his fingertips. "He won't pleased to know I have Autumn and Day gifts."

She's never seen Lucien use his power before. It was mesmerizing, they way he did it so casually, as if he didn't fear getting burned. Part of Elain wondered what her power would look like if she trained, like Amren had suggested.

He let out a chuckle, extinguishing the fire on his hands and snapping Elain's attention back to his face. “For someone who has switched court allegiances and had my world turned upside down as often as I have, you would think I would be used to it.”

Elain made herself laugh at that, and looked around for way to relate or lighten the mood. “I spent my whole life thinking iron would protect me from faeries. And now, I am fae sitting in a iron chair, talking to a High Lord’s heir, while living in another High Lord's house. I know it's not the same, but...the world way of turning upside down when we least expect it, you can’t plan for things like this.”

“When Feyre told us she thought faeries couldn’t lie, Tam and I laughed ourselves hoarse.”

The shadows in his eyes shifted - a different guilt taking their place.

Elain only nodded again, deciding to offer a truth the way Lucien had offered his own. “I’m sorry” she said.

“Whatever for?” Lucien asked, surprise coloring his voice.

“You wouldn’t have left Tamlin if I wasn’t, if we weren’t -“ she trailed off. “I know it pains you to see him like this.”

Lucien looked at her as if he was disappointed, not in her, but what she had said. “I thought we weren’t apologizing for things we can’t control?”

He let out a hoarse breath. “I was blind to a lot of things, Lady. After losing Jes, Tamlin was my only friend, my protector. After he refused Amarantha for what she did to me -“ he gestured to his golden eye and scar - “I couldn’t see past that loyalty. But the male I knew, I haven’t seen him since he sent Feyre back to the Human Lands.”

Elain just looked at him, realizing they had never spoken for this long, never this openly. She didn’t know what to say, if she could say anything to make him feel better about this. She was almost as shocked that she wanted to make him feel better, as she was by his honesty.

Lucien continued. “I didn’t want to see what he was doing to Feyre. I wanted to believe that he didn’t act Under the Mountain. because it would harm more than help. I wanted to believe that the Spring Court was my home, and I need to help keep things stable, show unity. But when Feyre came back to us, and she pushed back on him - I realized how wrong I was. I let her use me to get to him and Ianthe, because I was angry with him. Angry for how he got us into the war, angry for how he hurt Feyre, angry for trusting that two-faced priestess. ” He shuddered.

“It took a lot of time to realize that. When I came here, I realized what a court could be like when people are treated like equals. For all my power, I could never question Tamlin the way your friends question Rhys and Feyre. I would try, but he never listened." A long pause. "So yes, it pains me to see my friend in pain, and it pains me that the Spring Court will suffer because of my choices, but I do not regret leaving with your sister. Even when she lies to me, and fights with me, and uses me, and pushes me, she was a better friend to me than Tamlin was in years. Jurian and Vassa are too."

Elain was speechless for the third time since Lucien had walked into the garden. She let his words wash over her, and the tightness she felt, that feeling of turmoil in her gut - it was duller now, as if saying the words had given Lucien a release he desperately needed.

She reached for his hand, laying hers on top of his momentarily, before pulling away. “I’m glad you got out.” she offered.

Lucien went still at her touch, but mastered himself enough to say, “Me too, Lady” smiling softly. “Me too.” Lucien began to stand, as if forcing himself to put space between them, “Speaking of Jurian and Vassa, I should probably head out. If I’m not back by the time Vassa shifts to her human form, I’ll have hell to pay,” he said with amusement in his tone.

Elain hadn’t realized how quickly the sun had begun to set around them.“Of course.” She said. He stood, and Elain joined him, deciding to walk with him until the anti-winnowing wards ended.

The silence was overwhelming, so she asked: “Do you like the Human Lands?”

“I do.” He said, smiling as if he was thinking about some memory. “I can’t say I fit in, but I enjoy Jurian and Vassas company. They are at each other’s neck’s constantly, but I can’t say I’m ever bored.” She couldn’t imaging Lucien fitting in particularly well in her old home. She supposed that with humans as strange as Jurian and Vassa were - a centuries old human that was resurrected by the Cauldron and a firebird cursed by a Death Lord, who had been freed by her own father - they could at least bond over how they didn’t fit in.

“I suppose you aren’t used to experiencing seasons.” She found herself saying.

“After spending most of my life in eternal autumn and spring, it’s refreshing to feel the weather change. I can’t say I loved the winter, but it’s different... It makes me appreciate time more.”

“I haven’t been to the seasonal courts, but I enjoy it too - seeing how the seasons change. I would like to see more of Prythian, more of the world some day.” She said in response. It was true. Elain loved watching the leaves turn and watching flowers bloom again in spring. She longed for a time where her greatest wish was to see the Tulip fields in the continent with her sister.

“I think you would like the Spring Court in its former glory, the gardens were almost as enchanting as yours.”

“Thank you.” She forced herself to respond to the compliment. Feyre and Nesta had both mentioned how she would love spring. Elain was content to watch the seasons change in Velaris.

Lucien nodded to her, coming to a standstill where the wards ended. “I’ll be back in a few days to meet with Helion. Thank you for speaking with me... Are you truly not scared, knowing about the risk?.”

"I'm not."

“Maybe we can… talk again soon, Lady.”

“Elain. Call me Elain. I’m not technically a Lady, and you needn’t be so formal with me. I'd like us to be friends.”

He looked surprised at that, and well - Elain was too. She had no idea what possesed her to say that. To offer up friendship, when she was still hurt from another loss, still processing her new life, her role in this Court.

Lucien just smiled at her in a way she had never seen before, and said “I'd like that too, Elain.” before disappearing.

#elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #there's hints to elriel and vucien but they are subtle #elucien #kp writes #acotar series #mtp

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vidalinav · 3 years

Text

Queen of Monsters: Chapter 4

I still don’t really have an official summary for this, since every one I write makes me cringe, but alas... Azriel is in the chapter for a brief moment and more of Cassian’s POV!

Bet you didn’t think I was going to meet my Tuesday/Wednesday update deadline! I for sure didn’t think so.

Chapter List, General Masterlist

“Rhys wants a detailed report in two weeks.” Azriel noted, setting the box of this week’s supplies on the counter. Cassian eyed it with impatience, his stomach rumbling at the prospect of food. He’d hoped Nuala and Cerridwen had missed him enough to put a dessert or two in the contents. Maybe a few extra steaks for dinner this week. Mother knows he’d missed Velaris’s food.

Azriel rolled his eyes as he stepped back from the table, giving a wide girth for Cassian to trample past. It was such a Mor-like thing to do, Cassian wanted to ask if he’d been spending more time with her now that he was gone but thought better of it. No sense in touching on subjects that might make Azriel run back quickly when Cassian wished he’d stay longer.

He was not ashamed to say he’d missed his brother.

“He says that we’ve given the clans enough time making a ruckus, and it’s about time they remember who their high lord is.”

Cassian huffed a laugh at the words. Leave it to Rhys to be dramatic even in messages.

“What does little Rhysie want me to do about it then?”

Azriel shrugged, his wings rising slightly as if they too didn’t know what to make of Rhysand’s command.

“I’d like to imagine that’s up to you, but who knows what he’s planned.” Azriel spoke, his words strait-laced and dismissive. “Rhys says he wants Kallon dealt with before the Rite this year.”

“No shit, but why does it have to be so soon? It’s not like I’ve been sitting on my ass.”

Cassian understood the urgency, of course. The longer this went on, the worse the situation would be and right now it was on attainable levels. Rhys called for civility. Cassian would abide of course and so would Azriel whether he liked it or not, but Cassian knew exactly what Azriel would have done in his place. So Cassian was not surprised at his nonchalant tone.

“With the games coming up, Rhys thinks that this will be the perfect time to stop any more speak of rebellion. He’s giving you twelve days—”

“You just said two weeks!”

“He thinks the momentum will give you an edge.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and was about to tell Azriel exactly what he planned to give Rhys, but Azriel straightened. His shadows twisting around his arms. Not being one to take any of Az’s suspicions lightly, Cassian braced himself for the unknown threat.

Well, until he heard the door slam shut.

Nesta walked past them, those braids of hers tucked into a wool hat. Her nose was red, and her cheeks were blushing. But her eyes were as callous as the moon.

Cassian stepped towards her without a thought, “I left a cup of tea on the table.”

Cassian watched as Azriel lifted a hand in greeting and Nesta nodded slightly, but to him, she did not acknowledge. The gesture made his temper flare and one of his wings rose to cover Azriel in her line of sight.

Nesta jeered, her head cocking slightly before she dismissed him with a cold turn of a shoulder.

Azriel tilted his head towards the female who headed for her room, the door shutting with a soft click. “I take it it’s not going well.”

Cassian grunted out a reply. No, it had not been going well, he wanted to say. It had been far from well. A fucking disaster.

Azriel sensing the mood change, started opening the box. “Elain made sweets for her and packed a few books.”

“And Feyre?”

Azriel shrugged. “I didn’t open the box. Elain just caught me before I left and told me to bring them to her.”

Liar, he wanted to say. Like those shadows of his hadn’t told him exactly what was inside and who exactly had packed each item. But, Cassian decided against arguing about it.

“And how are the sisters doing?” He asked.

Az shrugged. “As well as they can, I suppose. As well as all of us.”

“That’s not very specific.”

Azriel pulled out a box of sweets and Cassian grinned, swearing he’d find gifts to repay Cerridwen and Nuala’s kindness.

“What do you want me to say? I’ve barely been at the house since you've left. Mor’s been in between her estate and the human lands. Rhys is always with Feyre doing something or other..”

Something or other, indeed.

“Glad to know you’re all empty without me.” He said, only half joking.

Azriel gave him a mocking smile.

Together they pulled the rest of the contents out of the box. Steaks, luckily, had been included. Along with breads, spices, notes, and candles. There were things for Nesta, too. Books that Nesta probably wouldn’t read and clothes that she definitely wouldn’t wear. Because she hadn’t the last few weeks her sisters had sent them over.

It seemed that Nesta was set on making all of them pay for bringing her here.

Azriel took a deep breath.

“Advice?” He asked softly.

“For me or for you?” Cassian grumbled. Az only gave him a look.

He knew what that meant.

“Ask her to go with you.” Cassian groaned at the idea, but Azriel silenced him, “or the next time I come, I’m going to make sure this box is filled with everything you hate.”

Cassian slapped a hand over his eyes but conceded. He thought of all the ways Nesta could learn how to castrate him in the next 24 hours. She already knew where he slept.

A terrible fucking disaster, he thought.

It always seemed to snow in Illyria. Sleeping mountains under blankets of sterile white. Nesta wanted to grab the pots from the kitchen and bang them as she stomped around. Wake up, wake up, she wanted to yell.

Giants, Nesta imagined shouting. Sleeping, slumbering giants made of stone. Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

But Nesta did not yell the words from the living room hallway and they did not blink their tired, beady eyes. In fact, the snow seemed to come in harder as she watched from the window. A reminder, she thought, that only the dead and the dormant remained in Windhaven’s eternal winter.

Nesta swiped the glass, her hands scrunching at the cold. The puffs of her breath clearing patches of frost. She could just envision her feet sinking to the ground. One step and then another. Her body shuddering at phantom shivers.

“I can take you to town if you want.”

Nesta stood taller at the rough tone.

“I thought you left already,” She heard herself say.

Cassian’s footsteps pressed into the spines of the floorboard and it creaked as he stepped. Nesta could only close her eyes. The vision of legs… and arms… and severed heads and white—white like bone and snow and bloodless faces and the outline of his eyes as he lied beneath her.

Nesta curled her hand on the window, the urge to push through the glass almost too much.

“I was waiting for you.” He replied, a thousand pieces of glass scratching at his throat. She could hear the tapping of his foot and Nesta wondered if that was what he always sounded like in the morning. Rough from heavy sleep.

She didn’t want to look at him and try as she might Nesta wanted to resist, but her eyes moved and her shoulders moved, and just like all of the other times, her body looked without permission. Her hands itching to touch him as he stood plain in Illyrian leathers. Nesta dug her nails into her palm.

She hated him, Nesta reminded herself. She hoped he suffered.

But half of her brain wanted to chastise her for such a thought.

No, you don’t, it argued.

His hair was tied in bun at the base of his neck and a belt sat at his waist. His leathers fit well, Nesta noted, because she could see the outline of his muscles indented in the fabric and… he was tall. He had always been tall but he stood looming and heavy in front of the hall that led to the front door.

Hulking size was right.

She finally met his gaze and Nesta was annoyed to find that bright, unwelcome gleam and that small tilt of his brow. As if he knew exactly what she was looking at and was satisfied that she’d indeed liked what she saw.

Nesta wanted to grab one of the brown accent pillows and throw it at his head.

“You should have just left,” she fumed, his figure stepping back only slightly as she brushed past him heading toward the dining room.

Nesta took her coat and her gloves from where she had placed them on the table.

The gloves reached her elbows and every time she put them on, she thought of those days where her problems were reduced to something as small and meaningless as becoming a proper young lady. All of that pompous, poshness wrapping around her fingers like silk.

“Nesta…”

She paused at her name from his lips. Such a soft word in that tired sigh.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

Nesta laughed at that, something terribly cruel settling in the pit of her stomach. Something she felt in her chest, that burned her lungs and made her whole-body tense up.

If only he knew how much she had yearned for their arguments when she was locked in that so-called House of Wind. It had seemed like a tower then, but Nesta had been no princess and Cassian was no prince.

That anger his words caused made her do strange things and she prowled towards him, noting the way he sized her up. His wings growing taller and taller. She raised a brow, as she set a hand on his chest. Her head lowering as she stared at him through her lashes.

He stared at her lips, and Nesta could smell that firewood scent. It brought back memories she did not want to remember.

Nesta could feel the heat of his hands as he settled them at her waist.

“You don’t want to fight?” She teased. “Well, I do.”

Nesta laughed, the sound stark and wicked to her ears.

“You want me to play nice? I won’t.”

“You want me to behave like those sycophantic fools in Velaris. I would never. I am not your lover, I am not your Night Court companions, I am not those idiots that fall at your feet.”

Nesta pulled away, noting the way his eyes hardened where hazel pooled into white. His nostrils flaring as he breathed harshly.

“You are nothing, Cassian.” She hissed. “You have never been worth my time.”

She watched as he swallowed, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

Then he was gone, brushing past her and stalking towards the door with loud steps. A giant in a small house. But he looked back, towards her. Her own breath coming out in silent pants.

“At least, I have a family to go home to.” He spoke, and Nesta clenched her fists. “What do you have?”

Blood rushed to her face, her ears and Nesta stalked towards him, as he pulled the door open and let the freezing air in.

You did this, she wanted to screech, the phrase tasting like blood in her mouth. Nesta wondered when she had begun to hunger for the taste. But she let the words fill her. Her body wanted all of its nourishment.

This is your fault, Nesta wanted to sing, the sentence tasting sweet on her tongue. You failed us, she heard whispered in her ears. Feyre. Elain. You failed me.

But Nesta didn’t say those words out loud and couldn’t even if she tried. Cassian twisted back, taking a breath as he said, “I’m leaving for Ironcrest in a few days.”

“Don’t come back,” she spit, even if the words sounded foolish to her. This was his house.

“I hope you rot there,” Nesta corrected.

Cassian didn’t look at her, but she could see how his shoulders dipped even if the rest of him staid positively still. But he pulled the knob at last, stepping through the door that lit like a beacon in sterile, placid white.

He looked back only once, and Nesta couldn’t name exactly what she saw in that gaze, but she knew what he saw in hers.

“Don’t forget your scarf.” He said, and Nesta raged at every syllable.

The door shut with a click and just like that Nesta was alone. The whirring wind louder than all of her thoughts. Nesta pulled her coat tighter around her, the fabric suffocating her in fur. But she left the scarf on the chair. She didn’t want to touch it at all.

She watched his figure from the window, felt the boom of his wings as he left and only then did Nesta step outside to feel the chill soak into her skin.

Wake up, Nesta whispered.

Ira reminded Nesta of Amren most days. She tried to pinpoint exactly what it was, between the harsh, often critical words to the pragmatic way they both talked.

Ira, though, for all her knowledge, did not invite her to learn more than what she taught, and she seldom answered any of Nesta’s questions like Amren had indulged. Nesta was reduced to cutting up bandages, to clean up duty, to dusting old books handwritten in that language she could not pronounce. It was dull work, tedious work, but Nesta didn’t complain… most days.

Today was no different as Nesta entered the tent to pick up the mop and bucket she’d left there yesterday. But Ira, anticipating her routine, held a hand out in her tracks.

“I need you to go collect these.” She said, handing her a piece of paper with names scribbled in neat cursive. Nesta grazed over the list. “You know what they look like don’t you?”

She nodded her head, the images appearing in her mind between pages and ink. Rose hips and chickweed. Black walnuts, pine, and chicory. She could see the list so clearly; her eyes having studied the pages for weeks.

“Good. Take this before you go,” she took a chain tacked to the wall. One lone bead hanging from the metal. “Our stock is running low and that seems to be the perfect time for Illyrians to start hurting themselves and getting into all sorts of accidents.”

She placed the chain in Nesta’s hand and it laid flat in her palm, the black clay cool against her skin.

A symbol was carved into the center and Nesta yearned to know what it meant. She wanted to ask the female, but she shooed her off.

“Get going. We don’t have all day, do we?”

Ira gave her a look of impatience, shuffling around the expansive tent without so much as a glance, busying herself with collecting herbs and material.

“Where would I go?” Nesta asked lightly, her lips pursing at the lack of knowledge.

“Where would you expect to find plants?” She asked derisively. “You think the kitchens will have them? Maybe the blacksmiths?” The female sighed, shaking her head as if the idea of Nesta exhausted her. “Go to the forest, past the training fields. Show them the medallion and the guards will let you in.”

“You want me to go into the woods. I thought no one was allowed there.”

“You ask too many questions” Ira snapped.

Without further explanation, Ira grabbed the gloves and the scarf from her own chair, shoving them in her hands. “Off you go.”

Nesta refrained from sneering as she picked up the basket, the forest already taking up space in her mind.

Against the entrance of the forest, stakes of wood crossed in a line of X’s. Nesta couldn’t see where the barrier ended or began, but the trees stayed tucked behind common lines.

Windhaven was surrounded by forests, one bleeding into the next, and she found it odd that the Illyrians had tried to contain them. Fences and guards… She half wondered if all the security was made to keep Illyrians out or… something else in. For what was stopping anyone from sneaking all the way through? She, herself, had walked past those damning woods every day.

She looked towards the skies, the color pale and ashy grey. Nesta wished to reach up, wipe a finger along the surface until baby blue shown beneath, but she traced figures instead. The Illyrians flying high above as their shadows played with the sunlight.

Two males stood tall and lean beside the entrance, and Nesta stared as they shuffled at her perusal. Walking towards them, she took the emblem and squeezed it tightly in her fist.

The taller of the two, looked past her and she studied his features. His eyes were a deep shade of brown and his golden skin was lightly dusted with freckles. He was large too, not quite as large as Cassian, but he was strong and muscular and Nesta might have had her eyes on him if she’d been someone else. Someone she hadn’t been in a long time, though she yearned for somehow.

“No one is permitted past these lines. Get back!” The male called out. The other raised a sword in front of the entrance as if he thought she might run through. Nesta wanted to scoff at the gesture.

She noticed the way they eyed her. Not with the subtly of soft sheets or the images of playthings and allure, but with a dark look. A cautious look. As if they didn’t know exactly what would pounce at them if they squirmed.

Interesting.

She smirked softly as they stilled, stalked slowly as they rose in height for every inch lost in distance. Each of her steps a question as to what she was going to do to them. Oh, to have so much power over those who feared her.

Nesta laid out her palm, the emblem pressing against her skin.

“Your healer is requesting I go get supplies and you are standing in my way.” She said coyly.

The male to the left only glanced at his comrade, the bridge of his nose dipping in a silent language that Nesta could imagine meant you deal with this. She pulled the chain back, the emblem falling from her hand as she let it dangle between her fingers. She tilted her head as the male on the right shirked back, sinking into himself in answer. Nesta wanted to laugh.

“You seem to think I have all day,” She taunted, rolling her eyes, but the males did not part. They kept looking at each other, going back and forth and Nesta’s patience wore thin as she tapped her foot.

“For Mother’s sake, one of you follow me in if it makes you feel better!”

But the male to the right, at last lifted the sword from the entrance, unblocking her way. She scrambled past before he changed his mind.

The two closed off the entrance as she became enclosed around trees, and Nesta distantly heard the pretty one grumble something about her lacking manners. Nesta scoffed. Manners of Brutes, she decided.

Nesta surveyed the area.

It was uncommonly dark in these woods where light escaped between fingertips. The forest tops splitting into veins, the trees pulsing. Nesta looked at the note again, though she already memorized it.

Good thing, too, since she had to squint at the paper to see. Even with fae sight, she could barely make out the words.

She set the list back in the basket and sighed.

Nesta looked towards the clearing of rock and roots, spotting the chickory stalks as she walked closer. Nesta knelt to her knees, her hands brushing off snow. She plucked the roots from the ground, digging until it was easy to pull and setting it in the basket.

She’d found the pine on the evergreens, of course. An easy conquest, and sooner than later she had most of the items checked off.

The only thing left was the rosehips… She hadn’t found the rosehips.

Nesta didn’t know how far she’d gone searching for them. Before she knew it, she was circling the area and everything had looked the same to the last 30 minutes. She could barely see the sun.

Nesta shivered as the air seemed to grow colder in the dark, and she pulled her scarf closer to her. Her teeth chattering louder than anything she’d heard thus far.

It was quiet in these woods. Nesta heard her feet crunching beneath her with every step. But in her last attempt, she spotted the vibrant color tucked into wood. Stark against snow, it gleamed red and Nesta reached for it. Twisting her arm between branches where the rosehips had barely brushed her fingers. She tried again and still could not pull off more than a few.

She crouched low, aiming to some at the roots of the evergreen. The front of her dress was already soaked with snow.

Her palm brushed against the branches and it was only then that Nesta realized she was alone in the forest. She was alone in the forest and it had been quiet, and it had been dark. But it had not been this dark, and it had not been this quiet.

Nesta could feel the hair on her arms rise, shivers dancing along her spine like fingertips trailing up her neck. She scrambled to move, but she felt her body lock up and Nesta inhaled slowly as she heard a branch snap.

Nesta closed her eyes, squeezing her lids together as if the sound might disappear again, but she heard another snap a little farther away and she blinked awake. Her hands pushed off the ground without a second thought and suddenly her body was moving.

The sky grew darker still, the trees creaking as they twisted.

Nesta ran into that darkness, ran until she saw the gleam of swords and the wings of two men who would not be happy to see her.

“Did you grab everything?” Ira questioned as a way of greeting. She held a mortar in her hand, crushing contents that made a thick purple paste. Nesta sniffed at the smell.

She set the basket of herbs on the table as she rattled off the list. “I could only find a few rosehips, so I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Ira didn’t so much as look up from pounding away at the concoction.

“I can come back in the evenings after my shift in the kitchens is over,” Nesta continued, pulling out the plants and plucking away at the dirt.

Ira lifted her head. “You never work late.”

“I can,” she admitted, biting her lips. “For the next couple of weeks anyways.”

Ira lifted the pestle until the purple mucilage fell like paint from a brush. Pursing her lips, she eyed her squarely, and Nesta straightened at the look.

“I don’t need you in the evenings.” She drawled.

“Oh,” Nesta remarked, her fingers tracing the needles of a pine branch. “Well, if you need me though, I am free.”

“So, you’ve mentioned.”

Nesta twisted the branch in her hand, the sap sticking to skin. The scent was strong and she wiggled her nose at the smell. “I could start taking inventory… or making list of people we’ve seen.”

Ira slammed the mortar on the table and it rattled so loud, Nesta jumped.

“Illyrians.” Ira corrected firmly.

“What?”

“Not people. Illyrians.” The female clarified, rolling her eyes, groaning as she continued. “I’ve heard you use that word so often. We are not human. And what is this free business? You’ve been firm about that schedule of yours since you’ve gotten here. A fact I find odd since you were the one who begged for a job.”

“I did not beg!” Nesta insisted, dropping the rosehips, the red scattering on the tabletop.

Ira waited for her to explain, and Nesta felt unnerved to be watched by the female who began tapping her fingers nails on the counter. One sharp flick after another.

Nesta tried hard not to twiddle her thumbs… or bite her lips like she wanted to when she got nervous. She’d knocked that habit when she was young. It was strange, she thought, for it to come out now.

“Cassian—you know I live with him.” Nesta began to explain.

The females mouth soured. “The general—yes.”

Nesta nodded her head in agreement, “He’s going away for a while and… I don’t have anywhere to be and I have all of this time. I can work a bit longer.”

“Where is he going?” She asked abruptly.

The question caught Nesta by surprise, but she repeated the name he’d told her that morning.

“He’s going to Ironcrest.” The Illyrian echoed, reaching out a hand to grab a bottle. Nesta watched as she began to spoon the purple contents into the vial. “Marvelous. When you go, you can pick up something for me.”

Nesta’s body tensed. “But I--”

“It’ll save me a trip in the spring.” She admitted. “I’ll get you a list before you go. It shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

At Nesta’s look, Ira quipped a brow. “You asked for extra work, didn’t you?”

The walk back was prettier than she’d expected it’d be. The stars seemingly brighter when they were not hindered by city lights and people’s dreams. Nesta had always wondered what made up the night skies.

She distantly remembered discussing the idea under blankets and sweet giggles. Elain jumping on the bed to declare that stars were hopes manifested, all the accumulation of people’s wants and wishes. Feyre with a laugh shook her head. No, stars were the friends of the moon, she said in that innocent way of hers. So many to shine, so that the moon would never be lonely.

Nesta had not said anything. She was far too logical for that. She needed to research more—find every word hidden in anthologies, alphabetized by S for star or perhaps A for astral planes, or C for constellations… celestial… cosmic… She couldn’t find an answer that satisfied her without proof so she laid back, her head hitting the pillow as her father smiled waxing crescents.

The stars are made of fire, he’d said, tucking the girls in one by one. Feyre at her right and Elain at her left because they still never wanted to sleep alone. It is why they shine so bright and it is why they will keep on shining—like the flickering flame of a candle. To light our way in the dark.

Nesta had held onto those words.

Her father had wanted them to fall asleep to pretty answers, but the questions had danced in her mind, rattling like jumping beans in all corners. How would the stars burn? She wanted to ask. If they were indeed made of fire like her father had said, what caused the fire for they were not made of wood? And if they did burn what would happen when the fire ran out as every fire had before?

But her father, seeing her look, had merely kissed her forehead. A good night to stop those sleepless, ceaseless thoughts of hers and all that would beat across her mind until she was satisfied with an answer.

Nesta couldn’t imagine the stars being made of fire now when they glittered like moving silver in kaleidoscope colors. She didn’t understand how Velaris could be named the City of Starlight, when the residents didn't see this view. Nesta was sure they’d agree had they stood on these mountaintops and snowy plains.

She’d gotten use to the trek, as long as it was. Learned to be excited for it. A moment where she could be by herself, thinking nothing at all.

But Nesta was not alone tonight, where the stars blinked their beady eyes above her. They watched her… and something else did too.

Nesta looked to the unmarked path, the halfway point between Windhaven and the cabin. Too long to run in either directions, she thought.

Standing in the middle of the snow, a cat sat lazily in her way, blinking at her with bright blue eyes. Its fur was orange. Long, and thick. With puffs of white at the chest, and Nesta didn’t know what to make of the creature, whose tail swished back and forth. A curling finger, she imagined, coaxing her forward.

Nesta looked beyond it and then looked behind herself. Too far indeed.

She tried to shoosh it away, flapping her hands forward and hissing at it. But the cat blinked softly, tilting its head at her as if she were the one that didn’t belong, not itself who appeared out of thin air.

Nesta decided then to walk around it. It was just a cat, she thought.

Just a cat, just a cat, just a cat. She repeated.

Only when she’d past it, it’s body twisting to look at her, only when she was sure she was far away, did Nesta turn to survey it again. She jumped as the cat stood beside her.

Nesta stepped once more, and she watched as it did the same. She stopped and it stopped. She walked and it walked. Nesta made motion run, but the cat picked up speed, running alongside her.

Nesta gave up trying to shoosh it away, but that didn’t stop her from watching every swoosh of its tail and counting every time it tried to rub against her. The cat simply trotted in step.

When she reached the cabin, Nesta noticing the lights, rolled her eyes, slumping forward as she kicked up the snow. The cat meowed as the snow hit its face, but Nesta paid no mind.

Cassian was standing in the door frame, his stance wide and open, and she remembered that time across the wall. Her knee hitting the most sensitive parts of him. Nesta doubted she could get away with it now, but he was asking for it she thought, with that stance alone.

Hulking, indeed.

Nesta looked back to the cat, wondering exactly what it thought about this male who stood in their way, but when her gaze finally landed on the snow beside her, the cat was gone. She twisted around, combing the field and the forest surrounding, and nothing. Just as the cat appeared, it had vanished. Into thin air.

Cassian squinted his eyes at her, wanting to see what she saw. Nesta had to restrain herself from grumbling, thinking of orange fur and blue eyes.

Coward, she thought.

Nesta looked back to the pathway and Cassian squinted his eyes to see what had caught her attention. He watched her as she shook her head and looked back at him. Her once serene face swiftly changing to that You are dead look.

“What were you—”

“Is there a reason you're standing in the doorway like a psycho?” She hissed. Cassian stepped away from the door, Nesta brushing past him. He had to try to maintain some figment of composure as he caught a whiff of her scent. Fresh air and lavender.

She caught Azriel’s gaze and Cassian could feel the uneasiness rise. Her eyes squinting at the sight of the two of them conversing in the kitchen, entering her space, pushing the limits she had set in their time here. Azriel hadn’t left like she probably hoped, a reminder that she could not run from any life she’d left behind.

Cassian drifted in front of her, meeting that murderous look.

“I’m leaving for Ironcrest in a few days,” He repeated as he had that morning. Nesta tilted a fine-groomed brow. “And since you don’t want to come with me, Azriel is going to stay with you until I get back.”

“Who said I didn’t want to go?” She voiced flatly. Cassian met her stare, the blue of her eyes a sterile, pale color.

He looked back at Azriel slowly, unsure and a bit confused. His brother merely lifting a shoulder.

“You said this morning that—”

“And now I’m saying I’m going with you.” Nesta said quickly, her words ringing and loud. “Is that not clear? Or are you going to say I can’t?”

Cassian gulped his impatience down, his eyes closing for a moment and the opening again. Who was this female? He wanted to ask aloud as Nesta crossed her arms.

Her cheeks were still red from the cold, her neck still flushed from the heat of the house and perhaps all of that anger that seemed to simmer in her veins, coat her skin, keep her alive, he thought, because he’d not seen her live without it.

In another time, it might have been fun to see all the parts of her that bloomed that pretty red, but now... it was starting to eat away at him in ways he couldn’t satisfy.

“We leave the day after tomorrow,” He managed to grit out, his teeth rattling with restraint.

Pleased with the answer, Nesta took one last look at him, gave one last look to Azriel behind. As if she dismissed them from her presence. As if this was her castle to do so.

She stepped lightly away and when Cassian heard the click of her door slamming shut, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Cassian sighed, his wings falling in exasperation.

Azriel simply laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

Tagged: @my-fan-side @ekaterinakostrova @anastasia-orlov @lord-douglas-the-third @autumnsletters @soitsgorgeous @sjm-things @courtofjurdan @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives

Cassian and Nesta’s relationship is very slow in this fic as with any fic that I have ever written. I just don’t think they can really get together without a whole bunch of scenes in between, maybe whole books even. Authenticity is the game I play always. Also, I wanted their narratives to sound different, so that’s why Nesta’s is sometimes a lot more introspective and descriptive than Cassian’s may be, which may change a little bit as the story progresses.

I’ll edit this later too, my priority was just posting it...

Comment, like, reblog, ask to be tagged etc if you enjoy this fic and you are anxious to get another chapter! We’ll be in Ironcrest in the next one and maybe we’ll see some Illyrian celebrations... and perhaps Cassian and Nesta start the process of becoming not enemies!

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acosf #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofs #qom #vidalinav

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beloved-31-proverbs-women · 3 years

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ENLARGE YOUR TENT & EXTEND YOUR DWELLING PLACE

A couple of nights ago I had a dream about a huge open flatbed truck containing cardboard boxes wrapped in plain brown paper. There was a man standing outside the truck named Chris who I believe was going to distribute these boxes. When I woke up I immediately recorded this dream which I knew was from the Holy Spirit. Then I heard the Lord say: I am sending these gifts to My people. They are supernatural gifts and they are not only to be used by the leaders and the fivefold ministry, but the body of Christ will also be used in the gifts of the Holy Spirit. I looked up the name Chris and found several definitions such as “A follower of Christ”, “Anointed” and another said "One who carries Christ”.

The Lord says; I am about to expand ministries and release a diversity of gifts to My people. They are about to move forward expeditiously to what they have been called to do. Each believer is given continuous revelation by the Holy Spirit to benefit not just himself but all. The spiritual gifts are: the word of wisdom, the word of knowledge, faith, gifts of healings, working of miracles, prophecy, discerning of spirits, diverse tongues, and the interpretation of tongues. You ask: Could any one person have more than one gift? Absolutely. The Holy Spirit distributes them as He wills.

Then He brought me to the book of Isaiah chapter 54:1 which says: Sing oh barren women, those of you who bore no children. Many of you may be in a season of barrenness but that is about to change. We are coming into a season of exponential growth. You may have a ministry that seems to be stagnant and dried up. Some of you pastors have lost members of your congregation or spiritual children but the Lord says “Sing oh barren woman”. More are the children of the desolate than the children of the married woman.” For many of you, the Lord is about to enlarge the place of your dwelling.

Isaiah 54:2 (TPT)

“Increase is coming, so enlarge your tent and add extensions to your dwelling. Hold nothing back! Make the tent ropes longer and the pegs stronger.

The Holy Spirit is expanding ministries. Those of you who have had great loss the past season will be rebound if you go back and pursue Gods plan. Jesus wants to raise the expectations to those who lost hope. The just shall live by faith and the Lord has no pleasure in those who shrink back. He is calling you to move forward with determination and a fresh vision. There are some who are emotionally and physically traumatized, Jesus wants to release you and set you free. You will have peace in your hearts and minds to make decisions that are divinely directed by Him. Confusion and discouragement will be a thing of the past.

Many of you who have been on the same spiritual plateau for some time, you will be catapulted into a new place. Just as Jabez called out to the Lord to bless him and enlarge his territory, the Lord will also grant the request to those who cry out to Him.

1 Chronicles 4:10

And Jabez called on the God of Israel saying, “Oh, that You would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, that Your hand would be with me, and that You would keep me from evil, that I may not cause pain!” So God granted him what he requested.

✏️ Elaine Tavolacci

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houseofhurricane · 3 years

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ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (2/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: This chapter, from Tamlin's perspective, required a lot of careful thinking and revising and research on my part, specifically on whether abusers can ever recover and what that looks like. Personally, both in real life and in the ACOTAR world, I do believe that recovery is possible, but that abusers must admit the harm they have caused, reckon with themselves to create new patterns of thinking and behavior, and make amends if possible. This has shaped the way I've written Tamlin here and in future chapters. I do think that in the ACOTAR novels and fandom, Tamlin gets criticized for his behavior in a way that other characters with similarly abusive patterns of behavior (Rhys, Nesta, Eris) do not. I also think that redemption is possible for him. All that said, if you don't agree, or if you find Tamlin triggering, I completely understand. You can find all chapters here.

There are footsteps in the darkness, and Tamlin follows them, the breeze disappearing from his skin as he’s surrounded, pulled from the scent of flowers by walls of stone. It is impossible to gnash his teeth in this form so he growls instead, the sound amplified and echoing in the hollow chambers of his estate. Once, they were full of his courtiers and servants, studded with visiting nobles who sought his favor or his counsel.

Now, only Rhysand waits for him, at home in the darkest corner of the great hall.

“What do you want?” Tamlin asks, his voice clotted, scraping his throat.

“I’d like to send Elain Archeron to your court as my emissary.”

“Running short of spies, Rhysand?”

“If I wanted to spy on you, would I be here asking your permission?” He drawls the words but Tamlin has been listening in the forests, his hearing even sharper in this form, and he can hear the slightly anxious pitch in the man’s voice. And it’s curious that he would send someone, let alone his mate’s sister, as if he hadn’t ordered Lucien to make regular visits to Spring. “I’d like to be assured that she’ll be safe.”

“My lands are none of your concern but the dangerous creatures have all been put in their places.” He feels a fraction of his old self when he’s hunting, the mission clear and certain. He loves the feeling of his body obeying his commands, the only being in Prythian in whom he can put his trust.

“I need your word that she will be safe here.”

“You think I’ll lock her up in a ruined castle and throw away the key?”

Rhysand, damn him, simply takes a look around, the gloom deep enough to make his tan face pale as milk.

“Does Lucien stay here when he visits you?”

As if he doesn’t know that Lucien winnows himself to that castle in the human lands when their meetings and councils are over, preferring to spend his time with that Band of Exiles than stay a night in his ruined bedroom, or search the estate for another room that managed to escape its High Lord’s wrath.

Sometimes, he looks back at the being he was during the war with Hybern and feels no spark of recognition. Sometimes he has to coax himself to admit that it was he himself at those moments, starting a war over a woman he knew, even then, did not love him. And sometimes he does not force himself to recognize the truth of his own actions because the realization is always an explosion inside of him, blinding and horrifying, destroying another part of him every time he realizes what he became. What he is, still. It’s partly for this reason that he avoids the face he wore in those days.

“When would you like the Archeron sister to come to my court?” As if he doesn’t know who Elain is.

“She would like to arrive as soon as possible. I believe she stayed up last night packing her trunks.”

“So eager to get away from you?” The pleasure he feels at saying the words catches in the throat of the beast, unused to speaking like a lord, smooth words concealing the whirling of his mind.

“All the members of my court are free to go where they wish.”

Rhysand must really want this outcome, to tread so lightly. Usually his response would have been along the lines of Fuck you, you imprisoned my mate, and now Tamlin watches as he coaxes his mouth into a line resembling a smile’s curve and, as he so often does, picks a nonexistent piece of lint off his tunic.

“What do you require for her?”

“Nothing too impossible, I think. A bed, a bathing-room, a door that locks. A guarantee that she’ll be fed at regular intervals. I did mention that Lucien and Queen Vassa would be joining Elain, didn’t I? So it will be three of everything.”

“Such confidence in their desire to reside here.”

Rhysand’s lip curls. “If you think this is impossible--”

He should decline, insist again that these lands are him, but compulsion pulls at him, a heady thrum.

“It will take at least a month to make this estate adequate to your needs.”

“Elain would like to be here sooner.”

“There is a cottage in the village.”

“If I assist?”

Tamlin lets the growl build in his throat. He’s not sure which is worse: Rhysand knowing the exact layout of his home, or having Rhysand’s people build it because Tamlin himself isn’t sure who would dedicate this kind of service to him, now that they’ve seen the rot at his core. At least they still fear him enough to leave his jewels untouched, or else are unable to breach the surrounding wards.

“Am I to believe that you would send your precious artisans to build the home of your enemy?”

“I’ve given you reason enough to believe anything of me,” Rhysand says, and the words are transparent, infuriatingly so: a person could see that he was truly good if only they were in the mood to look. That Tamlin had allowed himself to believe otherwise for centuries gnaws at him, even as he wants to believe that this decent version of the male is just another mirror, a trick of the light.

“If we begin with the kitchens and three bedrooms, a week will be enough.” He shifts from paw to paw. “Ask Elain what she would like to look at, what colors she prefers.”

“Elain likes the colors of flowers. Soft and delicate furnishings.”

“And she cannot speak for herself?” The words come out harsh, grating, nothing like the tone he’d envisioned in his head, which would, all on its own, indicate the irony of Rhysand taking an Archeron sister for granted, presuming her words. He would say, if there was anybody who cared enough to ask, that after so much time in this form, he has lost the art of modulating his tone.

“I’ll ask her,” Rhysand says, soft and dangerous, “my precious artisans and builders will arrive tomorrow at first light, then. Should I advise them to look for you in this form?”

“I’ll look as civilized as you.” He manages to match Rhysand’s tone. The control required is exquisite. “Though I’m sure you’ll be around to make sure they survive the morning.”

“Prove me wrong, then, Tamlin.”

Of course, Rhysand disappears before Tamlin can lunge for him, his claws snapping on nothing but laden air. The marble floor, dull with inattention, pounds his paws and then his joints as he, the beast outside and inside, hits the floor. The foundation of the estate rumbles in complaint.

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There are no mirrors to allow Tamlin to observe the face of his Fae form, but his arms and legs are only skin and muscle. If he were slaughtered and prepared as a meal, the diners would complain about the gristle of him, the sharpness of the knife required to make the meal palatable.

He finds a clean shirt and pants and boots which are not spangled with embroidery or jewels, and though the fabric gives off a musty scent, he doubts that Rhysand, his artisans, or his builders will get close enough to judge the stink. Tamlin knows the way that gossip travels across the seven courts, imagines there are stories about his haunting of the Spring Court forests, that they’ll only be surprised he doesn’t appear with fur and claws or else covered in dirt. With this in mind, he scrubs his face and body with water and the last gritty bits of soap until the skin squeaks clean under his fingertips.

After centuries of seeing his own reflection, Tamlin knows how he might look, but no matter what he envisions, the result is disappointing. Any beauty undone by the rot inside, which tears inside of him, an animal gnashing its teeth. The reason he prefers to be transformed, the creature outside matching the way he feels inside. He knows that he deserves this punishment, does not stop imagining Feyre’s wasted body, the sound of her retching, Amarantha destroying that weak and beautiful human frame while he was so careful to be still and silent. He deserves this feeling for Hybern, for calling Feyre a whore, for her sisters in the Cauldron and all the hurt he caused. The list is endless and he recounts each item on it, filling up the hours when his forests are silent, when all the monsters within are too afraid of him to stir.

Despite all his years as a warrior, he never thought that he was such a terror. For a time he tried to blame Feyre for this unleashing, then Rhysand, but too soon there was only the stark reality that he himself was the only one to blame. How he’d never noticed the horrible thing inside his chest is beyond him, a question that will tear him up for all the centuries remaining to him.

Still, in spite of the punishment he is owed, Tamlin is tired of lurking in shadowy corners, in the parts of his forests that made even Amarantha’s creatures hesitant. He does not know what will happen when he is not alone, but finds himself thinking that even the harshest punishment would be better than this life.

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The builders arrive, the artisans and gardeners and even an architect, all peering over Rhysand’s wings to get a glimpse of Tamlin. He can see disappointment in her eyes, that he is all High Fae, and for a moment he wants to tell them how strange it felt, to spend the night so naked and unarmed. Then he thinks the sight of his estates will generate pity enough.

Then, beside Rhysand, the Morrigan appears, holding the hand of Elain Archeron, who does not break his gaze, not even when he feels the length of the stare, the blaze of his own eyes.

“Elain wanted to assist in the gardens,” Rhysand says, by way of introduction. “She has quite the talent for arranging flowers.”

“I see you will put anybody in your court to work for you,” he snaps back, just to watch the Morrigan lurch toward him, her beauty gilded with her fury. Rhysand’s court will bark at any slight towards their High Lord.

“I have heard about the famed beauty of the gardens of the Spring Court and I wanted to see them for myself.” Elain Archeron has dipped into a curtsy, the pearls at her ears gleaming in the first rosy fingers of dawn, her gown the colors of sunrise, rosy pink and coral and orange delicately interwoven. When she looks back up at him, her face is all serene, except her eyes, which stay fixed on Tamlin, assessing his expression as if a face could be a trove of knowledge. All he’s ever heard about this sister is her beauty, her kindness, her sweet softness, as though she were a statue made of sugar, but now she regards him like a goddess, piercing and certain amidst the glow of herself.

“Spoken like my emissary.” Rhysand nods at her and she aims a thin-lipped smile at him. “Elain will walk your gardens and propose a design for them. I think you’ll find her taste to be exquisite. And Laella has come with her proposal for renovations to your estate.”

The architect steps forward, scrolls in her hands, which she unfurls and explains to Tamlin without so much as a greeting. While she speaks, he realizes two things: that she is a dryad, and that her plans for the estate are lovely. She will polish the marble, working with the existing design, but add windows and open-air spaces so that those in residence can enjoy the breezes and the sunlight without having to step outside. Tamlin has never been to the palaces of the Night Court, but he cannot imagine that this design is a copy, and as the architect’s fingers scratch over her parchment, he finds himself nodding along. Laella has erased the border between indoors and outdoors. In such a house, he would not feel so surrounded by stone, so deprived of air. He could even imagine wanting to stay, always.

And if, in the end, he cannot bear to stay inside, it will give him a certain satisfaction to watch Rhysand’s reaction to the ruin.

“The complete renovation will take at least a month, but I will have a better estimate once I inspect your home and have your approval for changes.” The dryad’s voice rasps and moans, wind in the branches and the strain of the tree trunk beneath. Tamlin can feel Rhysand’s eyes on him, waiting for a slight, a show of prejudice against this faerie, not a High Fae, and while he aims a smirk at the other male, he nods over the plans.

“You are aware that I’m a beast?” He points, at random, to a large room made brighter and more spacious in the plans.

“Our High Lord has told us stories,” Laella tells him, a wisp of deep green hair escaping from its arrangement, her gray skin flushing in spite of her professional composure when she sees the talons that appear on the backs of his hands, summoned without a thought. “He also said you saved his life.”

“I imprisoned his mate in this place,” he counters, his voice rising, the artisans and builders and architects no longer straining to hear. Rhysand and the Morrigan have taken subtle steps to block Elain Archeron from view. “I had her sisters kidnapped by the king of Hybern. Ransomed my lands for an obsession with a female who rightly wanted nothing to do with me.” He can hear the ragged edge in his voice, the growl, and fears that in a moment he may turn animal again, that he has been cursed with an unwilling transformation without his knowing, an inversion of his powers.

“A truly evil person never believes they have done wrong,” Elain Archeron says, from behind Rhysand’s wings. Her voice is soft but pitched to carry. “From what I’m told, these lands are filled with beings who do evil deeds with no remorse for the suffering they leave behind.”

Rhysand has turned towards her, staring as if he’s never heard Elain say so many words. Everyone is staring at her. Tamlin feels the weight of their eyes fall off his shoulders, heaves a breath.

“Anyway,” she continues, more hesitantly, as if she’s aware that everyone is watching her, “I have to believe that the path to becoming evil is hard to distinguish. That we could get there with the best intentions.”

She flushes and goes silent, and he notices that she said we instead of you, and he thinks that maybe Rhysand’s sister-in-laws are not as moon-eyed over him as the rest of his court. The Morrigan squeezes her hand, and for a second Tamlin almost smiles; seeing the Morrigan out of battle and her armor will never stop amusing him, like seeing a jungle cat begin to sing.

“Are the plans to your liking, Tamlin?” Rhysand asks once it is clear that Elain will not say anything else. “I will pay for the renovations in exchange for one favor.”

“I have enough gold in my stores to compensate your people fairly.” He learned in the cradle, never to accept a favor as payment, especially without detailing very particular terms.

“You don’t know what I’ve promised them in payment.”

Tamlin growls and nods his head toward Laella.

“I offer double what your High Lord promised,” he snarls. “So long as you finish within the month.”

Those smiles are the first he’s received in years. No matter that he had to purchase them. The gold was sitting in his vaults, unused.

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Hours later, Tamlin stalks the grounds of the estate. The builders have already begun basic repairs under Laella’s guidance, the artisans scouring each room for pieces which might fit the dryad’s vision. Noise echoes throughout the halls, a mirror effect that leaves him dizzy. He has spent too many days in the forest.

“Have you come to see my plans?” Elain Archeron asks, appearing at his elbow, breathing hard.

“You followed me.” He growls, wanting to scare her off. No good can ever come of an Archeron on his trail. He’ll tell this to himself until it feels true.

“Your gardens are too beautiful to be so overgrown.” Again, no malice and no flattery, only gentle confidence. “I’ve been making all kinds of plans”

“You want to change everything.”

“You have an opportunity to have the greatest gardens in all of Prythian, maybe all of this world, and you are letting them go in favor of thorns and rot. As a gardener, I’m honestly offended.”

Tamlin stops mid-stride and watches her, assessing the truth of the statement. Her hands settle on her hips, the parchment of her plans bunching under her fingers. One colored pencil, pink, is tucked behind her ear, and three more are tucked into the bodice of her gown, thinnest fingers of blue and green and gold reaching for her clavicle.

“Your sisters must have warned you about me.”

“Oh, I don’t think Nesta’s ever been afraid of you,” she says, a smile forming on her lips.

“I don’t mean Nesta.”

He can feel the strain in her as she keeps her eyes on his, her breath hissing past her teeth.

“I will not talk about Feyre with you. If she ever wants to see you again, she knows how to find your doorstep.”

“Then why is Rhysand sending you here?”

“Night Court business.” She’s trying to say the words smoothly, but she blushes, the tip of her nose going pink.

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t owe you every single morsel of the truth.”

“You’re on my lands,” he says, only realizing the menace in his tone when she takes one step away from him and then another. “Why are you here?”

“My sisters have often told me that I need to see the gardens of the Spring Court.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair, catching a snarl so roughly that he has to hold back a wince. “That is a trip for an afternoon. Your High Lord sends you as his emissary and his gardener.”

“He -- I volunteered.”

“Tell me, Elain Archeron, are you Rhysand’s spy as well?”

“I would be a horrible spy if I told you that, High Lord. At any rate, do you think I have the skills for such a mission?”

“I hear you came out of the Cauldron with gifts, but their dimensions are vague in every recounting.”

She goes pale, as if she remembers who she’s speaking with, the calculus that made her Fae and took, he’s heard, a life story she deemed precious.

“You forgot for a moment that I ruined your life,” he says. He does not want to draw out the awkwardness. Let her walk away, let her leave, if she’s so inclined.

“Did you know that Hybern would capture us?”

“I believed the king. I thought that Feyre would be rescued, the enchantment broken, that we would live happily in my court for a thousand years.”

Elain snorts.

“You’re an idiot,” she says.

Tamlin just stares at her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some fearsome warrior?” she continues, crossing her arms at her chest, “Even someone with no idea of strategy could tell you that Hybern would have never honored your promises. Even a human could have told you that.”

“You have never been in love then. You’d believe anything. Give anything. Do anything, just to have your beloved in your arms again.” His chest is tight and yet his skin feels too big for his body. He wants to hug himself but wills his fingers into fists, feeling the strain of the claws against the muscles of his hands.

“You nearly destroyed my sister.”

“You need to--”

“What I want to know,” she says, as if she doesn’t hear him at all, has no regard for rank or even danger, “is if a part of you did it on purpose. If you saw her suffering and wanted it to continue.”

He holds her gaze, the warm brown like whiskey, strong and sparkling.

“You do not believe what you said earlier, then.”

“I want to know if it could be true.”

“Is that what brings you to the Spring Court?”

She sighs, then uncrosses her arms.

“First,” she says, unfurling the parchment between them, “I’d like you to tell me what you think about my ideas for your gardens.”

He decides to look where she’s pointing instead of breathing another threat. She speaks of hyacinths and peonies and ferns, the lilac and forsythia bushes, and cherry trees and weeping willows that will line the paths, under which she proposes he install benches for lingering.

“Who do you think will be staying in these gardens so long?” he asks, the words more melancholy than he intends. He hates the way this male sounds, all longing and self-pity and no action at all, but he can’t keep the noise from escaping him.

She rustles the parchment, making it thunder. “There aren’t any other residents of Spring Court?”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“Why don’t you try to keep them?”

“You think I could have done something different?” He’s daring her to make a list of her suggestions. Cauldron boil him, his own list is endless and ever-growing.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she says, sighing as if there is more to say but she is too weary to muster the words, and he cannot believe that Elain Archeron, with her soft voice and her poise, all the glow of her, would be ignored, but Tamlin keeps quiet, allowing her to speak. “Anyway, I haven’t shown you my favorite part of my plan. I want you to install a field of tulips where the grounds meet the forest.” She sweeps her hand in that direction. “Mor has promised to find bulbs on the continent. I grew up hearing stories of tulip fields that went for miles.”

“You don’t think it sends a message of weakness to our enemies, to greet them with flowers?” It’s the second time within the moment when he’s asked for her opinion instead of stating his own.

Her nod is decisive, no sweetness in the gesture.

“Your enemies will know that the true terror is inside. Only the weak require a strong wall to hide behind.” He wonders if she’s thinking of her human lord, the one who left her. Tamlin has wandered as a beast for months, but the gossip of Prythian still finds him. Lucien has an ear at every door, and Rhysand’s monthly meetings are full of updates on political dealings that make Tamlin’s head ache.

“I’ll allow the tulips,” he says. “After all, you’ll be living here for a while, according to your High Lord. If my enemies are encouraged, you’ll see the result yourself.”

She nods, absently, no longer looking at his face but off into some middle distance. Probably considering a different arrangement of flowers, Tamlin thinks, deciding not to wait until she trains his eyes on him again. Instead he lets his feet carry him into the forest without only the smallest nod of goodbye.

He travels miles before he can rid himself of the image of her in his hall, rosy with the dawn light and fragrant as the gardens she dreams up. It is dangerous to think of an Archeron sister more than fleetingly, though, and so gradually Tamlin fills his mind up with the sights of the forest, the dappled light and the creatures that dart away when they hear him coming.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #elain is my queen #elain x tamlin #tamlin #tamlin redemption arc #tamlin x elain #lucien vanserra #queen vassa #vucien #vucien is goals #inner circle #nessian #feysand #post acosf #acosf spoilers #gwynriel

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