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thefangirlofhp · 1 year

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Apaixonar-Chapter 22

as always ao3

Though sleep is needed, it doesn’t come to Elain who spends her time watching the strange magical sight before her with bright eyes high on fondness. She is discovering in the midst of her David Attenborough-like observation, that when Azriel sleeps, it’s like he’s still solving crime in his dreams; with the same downturn to his lips and the gentle furrow between his brow. She can’t help but liken it to something gentler than a scowl, unaggressive, but disturbing the peace of his mind all the same and she has to hold back her hand from smoothing it out from his skin for fear of waking him up.

Sometimes she catches herself having the tendency to watch people sleep because it’s then that people’s put up walls disappear, and the lies and clever masks they construct about themselves cannot hide the truth anymore—usually she looks away, like she’s seeing something private. And yet, as dawn rises, Elain’s eyes wide open and studying every line and spot on his handsome face, she decrees that Azriel has been wearing his heart on his sleeve around her; there’s little change, in her opinion. Someone else might have a different opinion, but not she who is used to seeing past his facades and impressions.

A cherished discovery she keeps to herself: there’s a constellation of sparse little moles on the curve of Azriel’s cheekbone and the ridge of his orbit. Another small fleck at his jaw. And there’s another, tiny and prone to being missed, at his temple.

She’s got his arm under her neck, stretched out neatly and the other hand holding one of her own between them like a subconscious promise that breathes hope into her mind despite her reserves. The blanket falling short of his chest, mussed and bunched at his waist and the majority of it over Elain. And still he is warmer than she is. A portable, live heater. She curls closer into him, careful not to majorly move.

The door handle turns, before the door cracks open slowly and pauses. Elain figures who it is just from the momentary pause, where weight is dropped back from tip-toes to feet and she discreetly smiles to herself, hiding it in the duvet as Winnie wanders into the room.

“Mama?” the girl hoarsely whispers, still half-asleep as she makes her way over.

Elain pushes herself onto her hands, and pulls Winnie up onto the bed as quietly as she can, her baby snuggling into her before Elain carefully deposits her on the mattress between them.

“Boo-boo?” Winnie mumbles, pointing at Elain’s mouth.

“Little,” Elain softly reassures, taking care not to move her mouth much, carding her fingers through her silk-soft hair. “Go to sleep.”

Winnie mumbles some more, her eyes sliding shut as she wiggles a comfortable burrow for herself and turns on her side, slipping into their familiar routine. Elain watches her notice the additional presence she finds herself against, and her eyes blink wider, as she makes sense of what she’s seeing. It’s like watching a cartoon character’s face transform with surprise. The mouth shape, the eyebrow curving and eye widening. Elain holds back a smile.

“Ssh,” Elain whispers in her ear, pulling the covers over her, careful not to tug it from under Azriel’s arm. “Don’t wake him.”

A beautiful smile appears on her small lips as she reaches out a hand and touches Azriel’s jaw softly.

“Tant ‘oo, Mama,” Winnie conspiratorially whispers back.

“Go to sleep,” Elain instructs. “He’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Something must have taught her daughter in her very short years not to trust that notion, because the girl tucks her hands under her cheek and shakes her head.

Elain can’t argue with that, nor can she force her go back to sleep.

“You wanna watch over him, huh?”

Winnie nods. “P..Potet.”

Her heart spasms and she kisses her small head. “It’s okay. Mama will protect you both, baby.”

“Tant ‘oo.”

The time passes by, and the house wakes up. Elain hears Felix go wake his parents, the housekeeper Alis arriving from the back door, Feyre moving in the hallways, Rhys going downstairs and then coming back up to interrupt their peace with a gentle knock on the door.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice hoarse, once he’s seen her awake. “Oh, princess is up too?”

“Nonin, Ree-Ree,” Winnie whispers loudly from her mother’s arms.

“Good morning, princess. Want to get up and have some breakfast?”

“Otay,” Winnie agrees easily.

“Amazing. Why don’t you go see Auntie Fey-Fey downstairs and hash out the menu together? Alis can make you your favorite.”

“Azeel sweeping,” the child points out.

Rhys smiles, the softness easily reaching his eyes in this undisturbed morning. “Is he? That’s good.”

“You want to wake him?” Elain pipes up reluctantly and internally protesting the notion.

“I’m supposed to drop him off at work,” says Rhys. “Didn’t think he’d get any sleep, really. You think another half-hour will do him good?”

Elain glances at his face, visibly exhausted even while he’s resting, dark circles and purple bruises beneath his closed eyes and lines accentuating the fact. She nods, and swiftly extracts both her and Winnie from bed without a hush of disturbance, crosses the room on swift tip-toes, fleetingly smiling at Rhys who closes the door after them softly.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks as they climb down the stairs.

“Not much,” she admits, lowering Winnie to her own feet. “But I’m okay.”

The morning is a balm to Elain’s heart, as her nephew vocally delights at the sight of her and gives her a tight embrace, and Winnie’s already squealing and laughing with her family before long as Rhys and Feyre argue over breakfast till Elain interjects and takes the wheel.

Coffee and showers and lots of subdued laughter. Brushing teeth, braiding hair, getting dressed and the quiet reassurance that things can be okay, will be okay, if they’re together to look out for each other, holding on to each other.

“Remember I have that thing at two,” Feyre presses a kiss to Rhys’s cheek and loops her arms around his shoulders as he scrolls through his phone with his coffee absent-mindedly held aloft in one hand.

“Mm, yeah, I remember. I’ll be there.”

She leans close and audibly whispers in his ear, as he looks up and bears witness to his sentence. “I swear to God if your secretary ‘forgets’ to clear a meeting you magically happen to have, I’ll punch her in the fake tits so hard she won’t be able to breathe for a month.”

He barks a startled, loud laugh as Elain snickers discreetly into her coffee and Felix is staring at them blankly wondering what is so funny.

“Don’t worry,” Rhys stands, and kisses her with the sweetest, tooth-rotting love-infested look in his eyes that makes Felix pretend to gag in his pancakes. Winnie giggles at the spectacle, which only triggers further gag-reflex semantics from her cousin.

“What’s going on?” Elain asks her sister as she takes a seat next to her.

“Nothing serious, just a doctor’s appointment,” she reassures her, as if the mention of doctors called for normalcy in the first place.

“Everything all-right?”

Feyre shades the side of her face with her hand so her son can’t see her mouth ‘Might be pregnant.’

‘Ooh’ Elain responds and then grins at her ‘I knew it!’.

Feyre shrugs exasperatedly before glancing at the time on her smartphone. “Better get a shift-on, Mister My-Secretary-Isn’t-Into-Me.”

“She’s not,” Rhys warns, before stretching. “I’ll go get dressed. Would you do the honours of waking Sleeping Beauty, Elain?”

As if she’d give that opportunity up.

But the day’s already out to get him. Sinks her fangs and nails into his flesh before he has a chance to wake up, betrayed by his own mind into frightful dreams he cannot suppress or control, the irony of finally managing a night of deep sleep that betrays him too cruel for Elain to bear. Elain catches him lash out just as he leaps up in bed, a strained shout of “No!” escaping him before his mind registers his surroundings, his outstretched arm slowly dropping to the mattress.

His body deflates, and he buries his face in his hands. Elain’s gathering him in her arms before she tell herself to move, and he’s sobbing in her shoulder before she can even say a word.

“I can’t do that to you,” he sobs, the syllables breaking in tone and rising sharply muffled in her clavicle. He clutches her tightly, with shaking arms, pulling her close, sobbing more, so fucking petrified in a way she’s never seen him be before. She’s never seen someone more terrified in her entire life, and she’d watched her entire classroom of children hide for their lives in a shooting.

“Calm down,” she murmurs, running her fingers in his hair, pulling him close as he latches on tightly enough to permanently fuse her to himself. “It’s all-right. It’s okay to be scared.”

He cries, shattered wheezes and broken breathing and a spillage of precious crystal tears overflowing like they’ve never had before. Like she’s already dead and it’s his fault and her blood’s covering his body.

“I’m here,” she whispers thickly, fighting back tears. “I’m still here. It’s okay.”

“Mama?”

Fuck, she didn’t hear Winnie come up. “Baby, it’s okay. Go downstairs, Winnie. It’s okay.”

The girl lingers in the doorway, fearfully watching them, wide-eyed listening to Azriel’s unquiet sobs. She walks in, ignoring Elain’s sharp order to go downstairs, and holds onto the pants of Elain’s jeans. Azriel trembles the way buildings in earthquakes do, too far gone to gain his wits back. Elain desperately rubs his curved back, over and over, incessantly shushing and hushing him.

“I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Life’s not guaranteed for anyone. It’s okay to be scared.”

“Azeel,” Winnie pipes up, tears wobbling in her eyes as her lips pout. “Iss okay.”

“Hear that? Winnie thinks everything’s going to be okay. She’s not wrong. Come on, Az, take a deep breath. It’s going to be all-right.”

“Azeel,” Winnie reaches out, pats his knee. “Azeel. A-zeeel. Azeel!”

He violently hiccups, face buried in Elain’s shoulder, hands fisting her sweater. She rubs her hands over his back, rhythmically, repeatedly. When he stops shaking, and Elain’s shoulder’s positively soaked, she tilts his head to catch his eyes.

“It’s okay,” she softly insists, glistening eyes flickering between hers, face damp and distressed as he looks up at her. “You’re gonna make sure we’re all ok, aren’t you? Yeah, ‘cause you’re the smartest, kindest person I know and you can make sure we all are ok.”

He presses his lips together, the skin around his eyes tightening.

“You can do it,” she insists, leaving no room for doubt, vanishing it the way she vanishes cobwebs with a duster. “And you will.”

“Azeel,” Winnie reaches out her arms. “Won hurt, bees strong.”

His expression crumbles, slumping against Elain’s chest as he sadly looks at Winnie.

“Oh, Bunny…”

She climbs on the mattress when she’s not lifted up, and determinedly worms her way into his lap, squishing herself between them. She throws her arms around his torso, barely reaching his sides, and stubbornly presses her face to his chest.

Azriel deflates against them. Eyes sliding shut, sigh fading away like wind in the mountains.

___

He didn’t think that so soon again he’d be staring down the barrel of the executioner’s gun. But there he was that night. Had he suspected it, maybe he would have stopped Nuala from dashing after the too-good-to-be-true tip she receives on the phone. He was too busy grabbing his coat and running after her as her partner, the backup she didn’t ask for but Varian felt was best someone went with her and he had his hands tied with a new case. And had he known, damnit, he’d have made her sit down and stay. But he hadn’t heard what she was told, what her tip was, too busy in his office piecing his incriminating memoirs into a sensible prosecutable case. Only that Nuala had shot off like a bullet escaping its chamber, shouting over her shoulder something about jackpot.

“Ask for fucking backup,” Azriel shoots at her the second he is out of his haphazardly parked car and she is checking her gun. He studies the construction site, empty and abandoned at the late hour, and the large building before them. “What is it?”

“Tamlin Monroe,” she slides the gun in its holster and makes her way towards the building, ducking under the red and white tape restricting entry into the site. “Meeting Amarantha. In there.” Azriel’s heart drops and he follows her in.

“My source said she’s giving him an assignment,” Nuala adds quietly, her feet silent as she climbs the front stairs into the empty open space meant for a large entrance.

“Amarantha?” He repeats, just to make sure he’s heard her correctly.

“Meeting Monrose,” she confirms softly. “If I can tag them…”

Azriel’s heart has escaped his chest. Then she’d lead them to Hybern, to Anvil, right to the burial site where most skeletons are buried.

He pulls his gun out.

“We’re not going to engage,” Nuala warns.

“But I’m not taking chances,” he slides the magazine out and clicks it back in place. Debris and cement crunch and scratch beneath his shoes. “And we won’t split up.”

“We’d find them better and—“

“No,” he says flatly. “Together or not at all.”

“Fine,” Nuala grumbles.

“I didn’t know he got out,” Azriel says softly, his mind darting to his sister in law and his brother. A warning is due to them, a non-alarming notice. Tamlin was obsessed with Feyre even after she’d betrayed them, Azriel’s not sure that a few years in a cell cleared it out of his head.

Empty first floor, they sweep it together quiet and quick as a late night breeze passing over a hill. Azriel palms his gun, shoulders hunched and ears finely tuned and feet treading with more care than they would over cracked ice in a frozen lake. It is in times like this that his mind absolutely shuts up, and nothing is heard as every muscle and bone in his body is tensed up in anticipation, an army called to standby, waiting for the announcement—a drill or action?

A scuffing sound and he’s whipping around, arm outstretched, heart hammering in his ears—drill or fucking duty? Nuala at his five, just as tense and quiet.

Mistaken tip or jackpot?

Five floors they search, like listless shadows on walls, the cold violent air numbing the skin on his face frozen until the sixth floor yields something interesting.

It’s the smell of perfume. Feminine, and distinct.

“Someone was here,” he murmurs. “Or is. Take the right, I’ll go left.”

Nothing. He checks and double checks, sweeping empty rooms and checking building equipment. Goes so far as to check the exterior of the walls just for the off-chance someone’s waiting or hiding outside—

“No!”

Heart drops as he shoots off, gun at the ready, leaping over mounds of cement and blocks and half-finished walls, towards Nuala. Where he finds her staring in horror at a darkened corner, her arms slack at her side, her flashlight rolling at her feet and her eyes wider than they’ve ever been—

“Nuala—?”

“No, no, no, no—“ she panics, stumbling over the words and her own feet. Azriel’s stomach lurches, because light or none, those are a pair of human bodies hanging against the wall. He snatches the flashlight off the floor, shines it on their faces and wishes he hadn’t because Jurian’s face is missing an eye, face infested with rot and maggots worming their way out of his empty socket and a gunshot in his forehead, grey and pale. And hanging next to him with his hands swinging from his neck is someone Azriel’s never seen before but Nuala’s horrified intonation of “Henry” says enough, the swinging of his detached crushed jaw and the blood coating his entire front a morbid image speaking of the Heptad’s execution.

Nailed to Jurian’s chest is a board that Azriel forces himself to shine the light on: REAP WHAT YOU HAVE SOWN. And beneath it, the venta black executioner’s mask stamped starkly clear.

“Oh fuck,” Nuala hoarsely whispers, numbly stepping into the doorless room just as Azriel finds his voice.

“We have to get out o—“

But he never managed to finish his sentence, or hear what Nuala was saying to herself in horror, or say anything when Nuala’s foot trips a thin wire. His hand shoots out before it happens, or maybe as it does, he doesn’t have any recollection of what was or is or any sensible comprehension of the series of events. Only that his hand clamped on her shoulder, violently yanked her back as the room exploded, and in an unholy violent consecutive series of explosive events other bombs are triggered like dominoes falling on each other. And he’s on his back, fire exploded everywhere, a severed limb over his chest, his ears ringing and head spinning when he realizes he’d momentarily blacked out. He stumbles upright, though he’s unaware what is up or down and where he is, isn’t sure where gravity is tugging him because it’s everywhere and his vision is blurry. It’s smoky. And loud. The ground beneath his palms and knees trembling violently, threatening collapse. Something falls on his back and he cries out, loses his holding and collapses on his side. Everything is in circles. He wants to close his eyes but his heart is screaming with the way it’s hammering inside him. He tries to breathe. Grasping at pure air and smoke and trying to find anything to get himself upright. When he does, violently coughing and heaving for breath, he tries to look through the smoke.

Nuala, he tries to shout, but he’s lost his voice and any mental function. What he sees is a head and part of a shoulder beneath stone and dust. His vision hazes out, his head tips to the side but the order is clear in his mind. Forward. So he does. Makes himself grab her shoulders and pull her out from beneath the rubble, to stumble up on his feet—or is it his hands? Where is up? Where’s down?—and heave her into his arms. It’s entirely autopilot, his mind and body running a coup while the system that governs them crashes. Right, they order. He runs so, towards where the stairs had been. Explosions going out all around him, walking-stumbling-running through fire. He twists his ankles, falls to his knees, drops to the floor, gets back up, never once letting go of her limp body clutched against his chest in a death-grip. He falls down the stairs, multiple landings, crashing against walls. Hands tight on her, her. Nuala. Get them out. Outside, outside, outside, outside. OUTSIDE. GET OUTSIDE. THE WALL’S GOING TO DROP DOWN ON THEM.

It’s like running in his dreams and perhaps this is all one big nightmarish hallucination? He cannot think, at all. Running towards the nearest opening, narrowly evading rubble falling down before him, the black night outside the brightest finish line in sight—one more, one more step, one more, one more!

He collapses onto the outdoors stairs and rolls the entire landing down, Nuala’s body crashing a foot before him as the pair of them finally reach a stop on the ground outside, bones crunching. The stars wink at him, he feels himself forcefully blinking, but doesn’t know if he is, or if those are the stars, he’s getting up. Falling back down. He cannot move anymore. Mind and body calling it quits now that he’s outside.

Pushing himself up, only to fruitlessly collapse against his side. Nuala in his sight. Eagle-spread body and matted hair and dust coating her body white. It coats him like violently exploded baby’s powder save for the red blood on his palms and sleeves.

His eyelids collapse shut against themselves.

-----

If there is any place on Earth that Rhysand actively dislikes being in, it has to be the intensive care units of hospitals. Other departments he can stomach: paying a friend a brief Get-Well visit after a burst appendix; a nasty chest infection needing monitoring; congratulating someone on a new baby; broken bone—whatever the manageable reason. But the ICU meant something personal, dangerous and entirely out of his hands.

He wonders when Azriel put him as his emergency contact, how confident had his brother been in him being his saviour in crisis?

Rhys stares at his ashy-coloured face and tries to find it in himself. All there is in him is fear. It makes his hands freezing cold, clenched over his cellphone, his heart rate higher than normal. When the phone buzzes he nearly jumps out of his skin, the buzz revealing a short text from Elain, of all people.

He clenches his jaw, his eyebrows knitting together as he assess Azriel spread on the bed, his breathing irregular and noisy. Another buzz. Cassian.

Another.

Rhys stuffs the phone in his pocket and clenches the side railing, screws his eyes shut while counting, very slowly, to ten. By eight, he’s calmed down enough to wilfully control his breathing. Takes one mighty breath in, holds it as his abdomen trembles and then slowly lets it out.

His brother’s going to be all-right. Smoke in his lungs and an infection and little burns and scratches and cuts and bruises but fucking alive and well. He was told that had they remained in the burning building, neither would have lived. Whoever pulled them out saved their lives. Rhys reaches out and clenches the hand without the cannula, excessively warm against his skin, and tells himself: he’s going to be all-right.

Nuala, on the other hand…

Her sister’s behind the curtain of the other bed, quietly crying. Rhys is thankful, entirely so, that their places aren’t reversed. He can handle Azriel being like this: asleep. Not a coma with brain haemorrhage.

He reaches for his phone, taps out a message to Elain—‘ICU’—and a status update to Cassian, Morrigan, tells Feyre it’s going to be all-right and asks her to kiss Felix and Winnie goodnight for him.

When Elain comes, quiet and subtle as a breeze, it feels like the weight of an anchor has been lifted off his chest. He can’t help the smile that flits his lips briefly before she tightly hugs him, asks him how he’s doing—smoke in his lungs, he starts, but she says that she meant him—gives him a bottle of water from her handbag as she perches next to Azriel’s legs, her hand lightly tucked around his, and her concern something warm and reassuring. Does to him what a warm blanket thrown around him does. It leeches the anxiety and fear out of him, and Rhys gets the familiar strength back to be himself.

“What happened?” she asks softly, her eyes trained on his brother, shoulder pressed to his. Still in her uniform. Elain had gone back to her job the day after she was attacked, as if nothing had happened. Pulled that red t-shirt on like armour and marched right back into the store and if that doesn’t make Rhys feel he can take on the world, there’s little else that can.

“Varian said they were following a lead,” Rhys quietly responds. “They found two bodies.”

Her eyes widen.

“They probably walked into a trap—“ Rhys begins, before he’s interrupted by Azriel’s chest spasming followed by a series of violent coughs, the man waking up roughly as he tries to sit up, limited by the attack on his lungs, shoving the oxygen mask off his face like batting away a mosquito.

Rhys and Elain hurry to elevate him by the shoulders and make him sit upright while he coughs up his lungs. Rhys holds an empty cup before him, into which he spits up a bout of grey and black rusty sputum, while Elain rubs his back. Azriel gasps out when he finally calms down, his eyes a terrifying watery red wide in their sockets.

“Hey man, it’s all-right,” Rhys reassures him, feeling a chill run down his back when their eyes lock together, Azriel heaving for breath under his hand. “It’s been a few hours, you’re all-right now.”

Elain brushes his hair away from his face, the act drawing attention to her. Azriel deflates immediately, under their hands, enough to lower him back against the mattress. Elain gently brings back the oxygen mask up over his face, and cradles her hands around one of his.

“How’re you?” she’s barely heard. Azriel’s eyes squint momentarily, trained on her lips, his brows furrowing and twitching.

Rhys leans forward. “Az?”

Again, Azriel’s eyes train on his lips. One shaking hand rises and points to his ear.

“Oh,” Rhys’s mouth forms. “From the explosion, probably. Should be fine. I think.”

“Both of them, Az?” Elain asks, holding up two fingers. His eyes flutter shut as he nods. He pulls off the mask to rasp one word that makes Rhys’s gut sink.

“Nu-ala?”

____

Nuala doesn’t wake. Several sentences are thrown around that float around her beautiful body like permanent curses of an ancient civilization keeping her locked up, away from them. There, but not there.

Brain damage.

Elain held Azriel while he sobbed on the bathroom floor.

Life support.

Cerridwen broke in the hospital’s well-acclimated-to-grief halls. Elain sobbed with her, held her while her own heart fractured and disappeared under the torture of this senseless pain and the words evaporated off her tongue—what can she say? There’s nothing in her vocabulary to offer. Only a tightness in her chest, and how can you share the existence of something like that?

There’s nothing of the incident in the press; a small marginal column about an explosion and two wounded officers. And nothing comes of it.

When they discharge him, a few days later, Azriel stays at her house night after night, something she insisted on to keep him looked after—the look he carried in his eyes said he’s not thinking of anything but his obsession, much less looking after himself. He agrees, bringing with him his devilish schedule of staying up all hours and never sleeping, spending more time on his laptop and outside the house doing God only knows what. There’s no smile to be found on his face, or any of that easy-coming contagious laughter, his face growing more and more sullen and withdrawn with every day that passes and work is nothing more than additional weight on his limbs. He says little, has little desire to do anything but his work and exist in Elain and Winnie’s vicinity. Elain doesn’t ask what it is he’s currently doing—she has no interest in cases of new crimes and deaths, and an obstructed justice, her concern limited to only what they do to him.

However, on the night he returns, visibly devastated and looking like he’s had his spirit run over, she asks.

“The evidence we’ve been gathering is missing and what’s left is destroyed,” he discloses, throwing his jacket on the hanger and yanking off his boots.

“W-What?” she blurts.

“You heard me,” he quietly replies.

“All your work’s gone?” she whispers horrified. “Do you know who did it? How?”

Azriel brushes past her, his jaw clenched tight. “Yes.”

“What are you doing to do?” she follows him.

“Nothing.”

___

His mind will be the death of him.

It is a conviction he has the utmost of faith in, of no particular reason to only recently come to believe in, but it’s one that is reinforced tenfold all the same. His problem used to be a lack of sleep, but now that he’s getting some, his problem is the content of his sleep. As if a poor quantity isn’t enough, he has to now face quality issues. Which is exactly what the doctor ordered, thank you very much.

She is to blame for this development, of course, surely. Completely. No one else is at fault. Before her, Azriel was perfectly content to stare at the ceiling for hours and overthink himself within an inch of sick death, but now that she’s in the picture, Elain asks from him shit like: “Come to bed?” which he counteracts—well, used to—with the pointlessness of it, to which she cursed him with the plague of his curse:

“I sleep better when you’re there.”

So.

Which brings them here. This trickery of hers that has gotten him to go to bed at reasonable hours, holds her with no intention of falling asleep himself, only to be roused awake by daylight on his face and a squirming toddler kicking him in the ribs in her sleep only five minutes before his alarm is due, flashes of distressing images echoing their trauma on his brain as he blinks sleep from his eyes.

Checkmate, Bougainvillea.

But, his nightmares are a distant echo of a memory long forgotten when he looks into her eyes, as Elain lathers shampoo between her fingers and reaches up on her tip-toes to work it into his hair. He has no thought in his head, standing obediently still before her.

“What?” she murmurs, catching his eyes and the intensity with which he practically feels himself staring at her, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. The sensation of her fingers scratching his scalp brings about a feeling so foreign but familiar enough to call tingling pleasure that runs down the back of his neck and makes his eyes drift shut a little, bowing his head to give up more of himself, his forehead resting on her shoulder.

“Nothing,” the word doesn’t make it past his lips, which feels glued shut, comes out as a throaty hum.

“No-one’s ever washed your hair for you before?” she asks.

Can’t remember, he means to say. Instead, he deflates, and would have fallen if not for the wall behind him.

“Hey, look at me,” she requests gently, withdrawing her fingers, to tilt his head up. Doe eyes flicker between his, she rubs thumbs against his jaw. He frowns at the bruises around her mouth, reaches to cup her face, only for his hands to imprint blood on her skin.

“Az?”

Streams of it spool down her neck. His heart picks up.

“Look at me.”

He does. Only to stare into blank dead eyes. Dirt and blood on her beautiful face, swollen with bruises, cuts marring the skin, and a gaping red empty hole in her forehead.

“It’s your fault.”

“No!”

His heart bursts in his chest as his body jolt, and his eyes snap open. He is frozen still, and dare not move as his eyes take in his surroundings. Living room. Afternoon. Fuck. He’s fallen asleep.

“Ssh,” a quiet voice hushes, and he registers then that he’s sleeping against someone. Elain. Her fingers in his hair lazily scratching his scalp. “Just a dream.”

He stares so hard and long at the Lego set on the ground, the television turned on to a nature documentary, and Winnie watching it silently from the ground, Rebel’s curled in her lap. He’s on Elain’s chest, arms looped around her torso, and his sides sharply aching.

“You fell asleep,” she quietly says, her voice faint and hard to make out with the tinning in his ears. “It’s a little past two.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, he sits up, peeling the side of his face off Elain’s sweater and feeling an imprint of a button on his cheek. His hand grips his forehead as he tries to regain his bearings, remember his fucking name and what day it is. Her hand rubs his back.

What the fuck was that?

“It’s okay,” she reassures. “You weren’t asleep ten minutes.”

He looks up, at her face, at the time, at his hands. Clean, same scars, same tattoos. He deflates with a trembling sigh.

“Your shift, remember?”

“Mmm,” he finds his voice as he rubs his face. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Elain looks at him with a knowing look of sympathy, and it’s a sad pain in her pinched expression as she reassures him. He remembers the flash of her face in his dreams. Remembers Jurian’s face. Missing an eye. Azriel had gotten him put there. They buried him in pieces, not entirely sure what parts were him and what were Henry.

His heart sinks.

He doesn’t know if he can give her what she asked for. Not when he can practically see himself lowering Elain six feet into the ground.

By the flash in her sad eyes, she’s read it in his face.

“Give it time,” she quietly says. “It was just a dream.”

A very, very possible future if the past events counteracted by miracles are any indication. He grits his jaw. They nearly buried Winnie.

She was confident he could do something about it. Keep them safe. Make them safe.

His eyes flicker between hers, brow furrowing, before he looks away. Sight falling on Winnie’s back, the wavy strands of golden falling from her head, the shorter strands tightly curling up on themselves. Rebel’s tail swishes on the floor.

Despite his fears, he wants this, he realizes. Despite everything. The danger he’s brought to their doorstep. He wants it with his entire being, as he’s never been capable of wanting anything else before. Not only stolen moments between his shifts and Elain’s. But entire days, afternoons, endless time with them. Wants to have his hair played with and craves intimacy, sweet and vulnerable and terrifying as it is, with everything in him.

Throat dry, he stands up.

He’ll have work to do, in that case.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmurs.

[@tswaney17@julesherondalex@mis-lil-red@gorl-power@thesirenwashere@stars-falling@trying-to-read@dreamerforever-5@hail-doodles@eloeloeheheh@i-am-lost-in-my-world@abraxos-is-toothless@queen-of-glass@elrielllll@negativenesta@b00kworm@harmonyindark245@ducksmurf135@empress-ofbloodshed@sleeping-and-books@thewayshedreamed@agem10@superspiritfestival@maybekindasortaace@maastrash@courtofjurdan@ireallyshouldsleeprn@gracie-rosee@bookstaninthesoul@elriel4life@fawnandshadows@123moiaussi@impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

#apaixonar #azriel fanfic #nuala #i am sorry #ey new moodboard theme tho do u like #elriel fic #elain archeorn #rhysand

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cateyesinlove · 3 months

Text

“ 𝑨 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒉𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒎 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆’𝒔 𝒄𝒚𝒄𝒍𝒆, 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒌 𝐨𝐟 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏“

𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐲 @misslion.arts

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞

Happy birthday to meee 🥳😂 ( it’s actually tomorrow but I have mo patience) I’m finally back and 100%

I actually had this commission for @elainarcheronweek but sadly I wasn’t on the best headspace to post it but now I am back at it. This year I hope to read more and be more present on my witchy journey and hopefully take some of you along for the ride!

I have always felt like Elain fits the right description for witch rather than Nesta. We still don’t have a clear answer to what’s a witch in the acotar universe but I would die if Elain practice it 🙏🏼😭🙌🏼 I have always though that her love for flowers and nature, including the baking made her such a green witch and kitchen witch. She and I have such a parasocial relationship 🤣

#acotar #elain archeron #elriel #pro elain #pro elain archeron #acosf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #elain fanart #elain acotar #Elain archeorn art

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rhysand-vs-fenrys · 3 years

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Feyre mainly trusts Madja’s evaluation of Elain because she’s old af XDD

#the ancient ones #they know things #feyre #madja #elain #elain archeorn #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acowar #a court of wings and ruin

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epochofbelief · 4 years

Text

Breath Control, Chapter Eight

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters belong to SJ Mass!

Feysand + Elriel as of now

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged!

Enjoy!

EIGHT

That night Rhys and I remained in our respective bedrooms, unwilling to get caught and have my dad put up a fight against letting me go with Rhys on Friday. Thanksgiving passed without event, and Friday morning found Rhys and I back in the car, headed north to his hometown. His foot seemed to be improving--either that or he insisted on walking on his boot more and more without the express permission of our trainer. I’d given up on trying to keep him off of it. He usually found ways to convince me to forget about it, anyways.

I was still driving (my father had sent my car to the shop to be fixed and it had been returned to us Wednesday evening) and Rhys held my hand for the first half of the ride. We continued to alternate our song selections in order to keep the peace.

Finally, we pulled into his father’s driveway. The house was enormous, more of a mansion. It was a little ominous, if I was being honest with myself. Built from dark black stone, the black roofs and pristine green lawn, complete with a walkway lined with perfectly trimmed hedges, the house looked like the site of a classic horror movie. I glanced over at Rhys, who winced. “You're not the only one whose father has extravagant tastes.”

I chuckled halfheartedly. “How do you plan to introduce me to your father?”

He pursed his lips and tilted his head back, feigning deep thought. “I don’t know, Feyre darling. What would you like me to introduce you as?”

I looked at him.

“Friend? Teammate? Girl whose bed I’ve been sleeping in the past few nights?”

“Any of those would work,” I said nonchalantly. But something inside me faltered a little at his words. I hadn’t realized that I would much rather be called his girlfriend. It would make all the making out… and other things we’d moved to doing… make more sense.

I opened my door before he could respond and pulled my overnight bag from the back seat. He did the same, and I was about to march down the path to the front door when he caught my elbow and swung me around to face him.

I stared up into his eyes.

“Feyre. You know I’d much rather call you my girlfriend.”

Oh, fuck. I wanted him, then. In the middle of his father’s driveway, in the shadow of his enormous mansion, no matter where his father was.

I nodded. “Say what you want to your father, then.” But I smiled.

He dropped his bag and placed both of his hands on the sides of my face, pulling me close.

A long, lingering kiss that only made me want to rip off all his clothes even more.

We broke apart and I cut my eyes to the earth.

“If your dad is watching us through the window, he definitely already doesn’t like me.”

Rhys grabbed his bag and took mine from me after a silent argument, during which I tried to retain the bag but gave up after he kept tugging on it. As we started back up the path, he spoke. “Please. My dad doesn’t care. He’ll probably be incredibly rude to you, passive aggressive to me, and then say he has work and we won’t see him for hours. That’s usually how these things go.”

“Hey, I’m used to that. Nesta sounds similar.”

“My father is nothing like Nesta.”

I quieted as we neared the house, and he rang the doorbell.

The grin he’d been wearing since I’d agreed to let him call me his girlfriend slid from his face as the door swung open.

Rhys went still as death. I glanced back and forth between him and the young woman who had answered the door.

“Amarantha.”

“Rhysie!” The young woman flounced outside and gave him an enormous hug, her voluminous red hair bouncing in the sunlight.

~~~Elain~~~

I couldn’t sit still. I’d moved from my bedroom, to the sitting room, to the kitchen to watch Nesta attempt to make cookies, and had landed in the living room, on the floor on my back, staring at my phone. I couldn’t decide how to respond to the last text I’d gotten from Azriel.

Az: What are you doing today? I’m only an hour away…

It had been an hour since I’d read his message. Was I free? I mean, obviously I was. Feyre had already left with Rhys. But was I going to tell Azriel I was free…? It would mean I’d have to explain to Nesta where I was going…

I tried to open up a book and read but immediately I could tell the book centered around romance. I shut it and laid back down on the carpet.

Then I sat up, grabbed my phone, and responded. I wanted to experience romance, damn it, not just read about it!

Me: I’m free all day, why do you ask?

Immediately the three dots popped up, signaling that he was responding. I loved that he didn’t feel like he needed to wait a long time before responding to me.

Az: I just figured that since our hometowns are so close, we might as well get that date over and done with now rather than later.

Az: Right?

Me: I like the way you think. But we are meeting halfway. You’re not driving an hour here and back.

He started typing again but I messaged quickly because I knew what he was going to say.

Me: I INSIST, or we are waiting til we are back on campus

The dots disappeared. Then reappeared.

Az: Fine.

Az: Meet me at this address at noon.

He included a link below.

“What are you grinning about?”

I looked up sharply. “Nothing.”

Nesta smirked. “Bullshit. You look like a deer in headlights. Spill, Elain. I know it’s a guy.”

I sighed. If I was going to leave the house today, I’d have to tell her.

“If you must know,” I started as she threw herself on the couch, “I have a date today.”

Nesta arched a brow. “With whom, may I ask?”

I bit my lip.

“Tell me.”

“Azriel Umbra.”

“Isn’t that….”

“Feyre’s teammate and Rhys’s best friend. Possibly. They don’t know about us yet. I haven’t even met him in person… We connected online.”

I’d expected Nesta to grill me for details about whether he was a decent guy, whether he’d treat me better than Greyson, and a million other things. I’d expected her to tell me I had to tell Feyre and Rhys and to stop sneaking around. But she only stood up and brushed my shoulder as she passed.

“He must be worth it if you’re leaving the house on the day after Thanksgiving just to see him, when you could just wait three days until you’re both back at school.”

I think he is, I thought to myself.

~~~Feyre~~~

I had no idea who Amarantha was but Rhys was obviously shocked at her appearance in his house. He stood there, stiff as a board, while Amarantha embraced him. When she pulled back, she finally looked over at me.

“Oh. Hello.” She smiled, but something was off about it. Maybe it was the fact that she was gorgeous, and just had her hands all over my newly-christened boyfriend. I shook my head. Don’t be jealous, I told myself. I didn’t even know this girl.

“Hi, I’m Feyre,” I said, extending a hand that she gripped with her own. I couldn’t help noticing how perfectly white her skin was, how perfectly manicured her long red nails were.

“Amarantha. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She turned immediately toward Rhys again. “Well aren’t you going to say something?”

“Why are you here.”

“I work for your father now, of course! I’m his secretary. He didn’t tell you?” Something about her tone told me she knew this was an enormous surprise for Rhys. “And I run the business while he’s out of the country. I work in one of the offices in this lovely mansion, and he needed me to come in to work today for some sort of emergency. Come inside.”

She turned and clicked away on extremely high heels.

Rhys’s shoulders slumped. “Holy fuck,” he whispered.

I waited.

“That is… my ex-girlfriend. Things did not end well between us, although apparently she’s completely forgotten about the not-small fight we had and her following actions. She slashed my tires and keyed my car.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say. I had a feeling there was a little more to the story. Rhys’s expression was a cross between murderous and that of a helpless five-year-old. “And your dad hired her?”

He shouldered the bags and led me across the threshold. “I told you. My father is twisted. He probably thinks she’s hot, and that having her here will make me uncomfortable, which will bring him a lot of joy. I’m really sorry she’s here.”

I bit my lip as the enormous entryway of his house revealed itself. It was… huge. But rather bare. And kind of dark. My own father’s home had at least been tastefully decorated, cozy. This was all sharp, modern lines, with an obvious lack of furniture. No rugs, just cold marble floors. No paintings on the walls. Just a plethora of mirrors. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m your girlfriend now. You didn’t invite her here.” I couldn’t help smiling at the words.

He looked over his shoulder at me. “True.” He attempted a smile. Which promptly faltered as we entered the living room. A man that must have been his father sat at an oak desk in the corner. He stood. Amarantha had taken a seat on a couch nearby.

“Rhysand.”

“Father.”

“And who is your guest?”

“This is Feyre… my… girlfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Night,” I said, crossing the enormous room to shake his hand. Thank goodness he took my hand in his, cold as his hand was.

“You as well, Feyre. I hope you had a pleasant Thanksgiving.”

“It was very nice. I hope you did as well.”

He sighed and resumed his seat behind the desk. “It was quiet, as usual. My own son prefers to spend his Thanksgivings elsewhere.”

Rhys said nothing. His eyes were focused on Amarantha, who was picking at her nails, ignoring the piles of papers she had set in front of her and the laptop balanced precariously on her crossed legs.

“Well, Rhys, you had better show your guest to her room. There’s lunch in the kitchen, and Belle will have dinner ready at 6:30.”

“Alright,” was all Rhys said, and I followed him out of the room and up the marble staircase. Neither of us spoke until we had traversed down several hallways, coming to a stop at an isolated set of double doors at the end of the house.

“So… That’s my father.” Rhys said, setting the bags down but making no move to open the doors.

I nodded. “So I saw.”

“He doesn’t give a shit that I didn’t show for Thanksgiving. He just enjoys trying to make me feel guilty.” I could tell that Rhys did feel guilty, though, and I took his right hand with both of mine. “And that…” He placed his forehead in his other hand, still holding tightly to my other hand. “Was my ex-girlfriend?”

“So I saw.”

“Do you regret coming here?”

I slid my hands around his waist and rested my head against his chest. “No. And if me being here will help you deal with them this weekend, then I’m even more glad I came.”

He placed a kiss on top of my head. “How’d I get so lucky?”

I looked up at him. “Beats me. Now show me your bedroom, Rhysand. I insist.”

He pressed a kiss to my lips and turned to push open the double doors. “It’s not just my bedroom, you know. You’re staying in here with me. My father won’t care, and probably won’t even notice, anyways.”

I entered the enormous room, taking quick note of the dark rugs that covered the floor--the only rugs I’d seen so far in the whole house, the enormous fireplace on one side, a desk and wardrobe on the other. The bed, covered in a dark blue duvet, was absolutely enormous. The view from the windows revealed an enormous manicured backyard, complete with a pool, several seating areas complete with fire pits, and a distant tennis court.

“Wow. Does your dad even use all that stuff?” I asked, crossing the room to peer out the window.

“I doubt it. But we can. It doesn’t sound like he plans to see us for the rest of the day until dinner.”

“Perfect. I can’t wait to kick your ass at tennis.”

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

Tags:

@musicalfae @sleeping-and-books @queen-of-glass

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fireheartblackthorn · 5 years

Text

Incorrect ACOTAR #12

therapist: what is rhysand’s most annoying quality?

feyre, rolling her eyes: how dramatic and cocky he is

rhysand: *removes glamour revealing a fog of pure darkness and starlight surrounding them* what can I say, I was born to shin-

feyre: the prick wouldn’t know humility if it punched him in the face

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featherymalignancy · 3 years

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About your answer to the anon who asked the Feysand's PoV in VV question, what inspires you to write from Nesta, Cassian, Elain and Azriel's perspectives?

I just got curious lol love your writing ❤️

Like a lot of people, I have always really identified with Nesta’s temperament and her struggles, so writing from her POV is very cathartic for me! I love what a complex creature she is and I love getting to delve into all the different pieces of her and try to make better sense of why it is she does what she does.

In terms of Cassian’s POV, I feel like strong, complex women like Nesta sometimes get branded as “too much work” or worse “crazy/psycho/unstable” so I love delving into this delightfully unproblematic man who just loves Nesta for who she is without ever asking her to change. Someone asked me before about whether I use characters’ personalities from the books or whether I make up my own, and I can say for Cash, I definitely have no adopted him being a hot-headed or rash, doing and saying things he later regrets. Without fully realizing it, Cash is actually grown to be a reflection of our own significant other: a laid-back and patient king who loves Nesta even in the moments where he doesn’t understand her.

What I love about writing Elriel is that since it’s not a canon ship yet, fingers crossed there is a lot of freedom to shape their romance to be exactly what I want to see. I also love how well their personalities seem to lend to mutual pining. For Elain, i also see a woman seeking to find her place in the world and in her family. As the most reserved of all the Archeorn sisters, she sometimes told by others who she is or should be. I like showing her as strong even though she’s not the most vocal or dominant!

Azriel is just a sweet baby angel and I love torturing and worshipping him in equal measure 😂♥️

Thanks for the ask!! xx

#feathery answers #fanfic friday

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acourtofcouture · 4 years

Text

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist- Characters & Courts

Characters

Alis- 1, 2, 3

Amarantha, High Queen of Prythian- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

Amren, Second in Commander to the High Lord and High Lady of Night- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Amren at the Summer Court- 1, 2

Azriel, Spymaster of the Night Court- 1, 2

Cassian, General Commander of the Night Court Armies- 1, 2

Cassian, General Commander of the Night Court // Azriel Spymaster of the Night Court- 1

Cresseida, Princess of Adriata- 1

Daughter of the Night Court- 1

Elain Archeron- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Elain and Nesta Archeron- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Feyre at Starfall- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Feyre at the Court of Nightmares- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Feyre at the Spring Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

Feyre at the Summer Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23

Feyre in Velaris- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Feyre Under the Mountain- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Ianthe, High Priestess to the Spring Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Lucien Vanserra- 1

Miryam, Lady of Cretea- 1

Morrigan- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Morrigan in Velaris- 1

Nephelle, the Best of the Seraphim Warriors- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Nesta Archeron- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Nuala and Cerridwen- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Stryga, the Weaver of the Wood- 1, 2, 3

The Archeron Sisters- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

The Ladies of the Night Court- 1

Viviane, Lady of the Winter Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

The Courts

The Spring Court

The Spring Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

From the Vault of the Spring Court- 1, 2, 3, 4

The Summer Court

The Summer Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

From the Vault of the Summer Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

The Autumn Court

The Autumn Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

From the Vault of the Autumn Court- 1, 2, 3

The Winter Court

The Winter Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

From the Vault of the Winter Court- 1, 2, 3, 4

The Seasonal Courts

The Seasonal Courts- 1, 2, 3, 4

The Dawn Court

The Dawn Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

From the Vault of the Dawn Court- 1, 2

The Day Court

The Day Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

From the Vault of the Day Court - 1, 2, 3, 4

The Night Court

The Night Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

From the Vault of the Night Court- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

The Court of Nightmares, the Hewn City

The Court of Nightmares- 1

The Court of Dreams, Velaris

The Court of Dreams- 1

The Court of Nightmares vs The Court of Dreams- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

The Solar Courts

The Solar Courts- 1, 2, 3, 4

Modern AU x ACOTAR

Amern- 1

Elain Archeron- 1, 2

Feyre Archeorn- 1

Morrigan- 1

Nesta Archeron- 1

Viviane, Lady of the Winter Court- 1

#new masterlist!#a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #masterlists #posts

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achaotichuman · 3 months

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My mutual told me to post something interesting so we here we go.

Beron/Tamlin/Elain.

Tamlin and Beron meet for diplomatic reasons aka Beron is planning to siege Spring and Tamlin’s caught onto his plans.

Elain is desperate for her mortal life back, but knows she can’t have it. She settles on finding power where she knows she’ll find it.

Goes to Autumn, demands to speak to Beron. She gets an audience with Beron and Tamlin.

Beron is about to cast her aside because what would the flower girl know about power.

Tamlin wants to hear her out.

Elain tells her tragic tale, she wants to find control and power over herself and the people who have wronged her then put her in the box of being the ‘empty headed flower girl who will just end up someone’s wife.’

Tamlin resonates with her story. He was a younger sibling only regarded as the spare son who his father tried to use for a marital alliance with Amarantha, obviously he refused.

Tamlin agrees to work with Elain. Now Beron wants in after he hears about Elain’s seering powers and how she’s been secretly learning to control them.

Anyway, plot plot plot etc etc, Elain Tam and Beron take over Hybern, they fuck on Hybern’s throne. Elain meets with Vallahan’s Court and gets them to agree to an alliance after promising to seer for them (she never said she had to be truthful in what she told them she saw in her visions so yay loophole Vallahn is now under their thumb)

Yada yada yada, they fuck in the Spring manor on the throne. Lucien catches them, yada yada yada screaming fighting, broken bonds and angst.

Tamlin’s runs after Lucien, they fight, Tamlin convinces Lucien he deserves to take back power too. Eventually convincing Lucien to the dark side.

Blah blah blah Lucien uses his lineage in Day to kill Helion and take over the Court, they siege Winter and Dawn. By now Tamlin has convinced Tarquin he also deserves to take back power now Summer is on their side.

Blah blah blah, they walk dramatic style into the Night Court. Lucien, Vassa and Jurian burn Velaris to the ground. Rhysand is executed, the IC is imprisoned. Beron, Elain and Tamlin fuck on the Night Courts throne.

The end, I just made this up, so sorry if none of it makes any sense.

@fell-in-luvs was this interesting enough for you?

#acotar #tamlin #elain archeorn #beron vanserra #pro tamlin #pro elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #anti rhysand #anti ic #they fuck a lot #on a lot of thrones #its very hot #acotar headcanons #acotar au #berlain #berlin #tamlain

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achaotichuman · 4 months

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Pining, angst and hurt/comfort, oblivious idiots to lovers, dumbasses in love, two chaotic idiots/one sane idiot.

But it’s Eltamcien.

#Elain and Tamlin are the two chaotic idiots #if you didn’t know #eltamcien has taken over my brain #acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #acotar headcanons #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #acotar au #elain archeorn #pro elain archeron #eltamcien #tamcien #elucien

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achaotichuman · 3 months

Note

Tamlin dared to look Elain in the eyes, going so far as giving a little smirk. All he knew about Elain was through Feyre. She didn’t seem at all like Feyre had described her. Then again, Feyre did seem to lack the ability to see very far out of her own ass. But that didn’t mean Tamlin couldn’t use what she’d told him to goad her. Tamlin knew it was incredibly stupid to do so, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The pain was part of the fun, right? “Funny, Feyre said you were the soft one. The timid one. A gentle grower. Do you really think you can handle me, little woman?” Elain’s eyes flashed with rage, and for the first time, Tamlin understood why the Mother had paired her with Lucien. Even if he resented her for it. Even if he wanted Lucien for himself. “Do you think you can handle Lucien?” Elain’s anger diminished as she stared at her fingers, idly twirling a rose that grew there. “You know the thing about gardening, Tamlin? You only see the end result: the beautiful, delicate flowers. You didn’t see how dirty the gardener’s hands had to get to make them so beautiful.” Then she angled one of the thorns of the rose towards him and slashed his cheek. Tamlin only laughed like a maniac. “Roses. Thorns. Believe me, I know.” He shook his head slightly. Elain leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. “Keeping talking, Tamlin. You’re only sealing your doom.” “I would welcome doom at your hands, Elain Archeron.” She only rolled her eyes, and Lucien stalked over to Tamlin. “You flirt with Elain one more time, and I’ll be the one punishing you,” he hissed. Tamlin laughed again. He had probably gone crazy, but he goaded Lucien too. “That’s exactly what I want, Lucien.” Lucien looked down Tamlin’s body and back up to his face. Nothing but dismissal lay there. “You’re right. It would be far more fun to see how touch deprived you can get.” Tamlin shook. “Please, master…I’ll be a good boy, I promise.” Lucien smirked then, leaning back. He made a hand gesture to Elain, who resumed her offensive stance in front of Tamlin. She ran her fingers through his hair before yanking on the ends. Her other hand traced his face: his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his lips, his jaw. Her fingers hovered over the wound she’d made in his cheek. Then she licked- actually licked the blood off of his face. The cut sealed completely, and Elain licked her own lips, staining them with Tamlin’s blood. Holy shit. “What were you saying about roses, slave?” Elain purred. Tamlin tried to maintain his bravado, saying, “This court used to be full of them. Roses. And the first time I confessed my love to your sister Feyre…after we’d made love.” Tamlin’s bravado returned, a smirk forming on his face. “I told her I loved her, thorns and all. I always compared Feyre to a rose. Full of beauty and sharp edges.” That rage returned to Elain’s fine face. Her lips tightened, and she snarled. Even Lucien blinked at the feral sound before he smiled in utter delight. “How dare you mention another female’s name while I’m before you-my sister, no less.” Elain took that rose thorn again, digging it straight into his collarbone. She rose onto her tip toes, finally moving to kiss his lips. Tamlin groaned in relief. Finally! Elain was absolutely lost to lust- she was so savage with her tongue and teeth that it felt more like blood lust or anything. And the whole time, Elain wrenched out that thorn and stabbed Tamlin in a different spot. Again and again. Lower and lower. Until she finally pulled away and bent towards his bleeding guts. “I can think of a way to make this look prettier,” Elain crooned. Tamlin braced himself for prickly thorns to dig into his bowels, but instead, lovely tulips of all shapes and colors caressed his small intestine lovingly. Tamlin sighed at the brief respite from the pain; it felt slightly less raw, at least. “Thank you, merciful master,” Tamlin gasped. Elain smiled. “Don’t thank me yet,” she crooned. Then she got on her knees.

Okay, I’ve always thought Elain was a switch who could dom like no other. But to see Tamlin calling her master is a whole other level of hot.

Mita, abandon calling this angst because this is pure horniness and I am here for it. I love this so much and I cannot get enough of these three. I love how you written them, and how they interact, even if it is technically torture.

MAKE ME MORE PLEEEEEAAASSSEEE

#acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #elain archeorn #pro elain archeron #eltamcien #tamlain #tamcien #elucien #acotar headcanons #acotar au

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achaotichuman · 3 months

Note

Part 4 because I'm super nice like that

Back in his restraints, Tamlin’s body burned with more need than ever before. It had been ages since they’d tied him back up here and left. Tamlin’s only sense of time was the steady drip drip of his blood as it fell to the ground and hissed. His entire body ached, no part more so than his cock, and he couldn’t get the images out of his mind. Lucien tying him up, Elain forming that collar on him, Lucien biting him, Tamlin’s hands on each of their legs before Lucien stopped him from touching further. He began to worry they’d never come back, but finally they strolled back in, dressed immaculately in clothing fit for a ruling couple. A very familiar crown sat on Lucien’s head. “Yes,” Lucien replied to Tamlin’s unspoken question. “We were just crowned High Lord and Lady. We’ve sent out notices to Summer to start migrating back into Spring. Everyone thinks you’re dead. But you will be soon, anyhow, won’t you?” Tamlin knew better than to answer. Lucien smiled viciously at his utter obedience before saying, “Speak.” “Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, I will be dead soon. So, I ask for one parting gift from you. Please.” Lucien casually slung an arm across Elain’s shoulders, staring Tamlin down coolly. “Yes?” Tamlin shuddered, then got out, “Touch me. Please.” Lucien turned to his wife and ruling lady with amusement. “Did you hear that, Elain? He’s so touch starved he wants us to touch him before he inevitably dies.” Elain laughed lightly. “What do you think, husband? Should we fulfill his last wish?” Lucien tapped a finger to his lips as if he were thinking, and Tamlin was torn between wishing that finger was his own and wanting to suck Lucien’s finger into his mouth. “Well, I’m a benevolent male, so I’d be willing to grant him one last gift before he dies. But only on one condition.” Lucien slowly walked up to Tamlin, savoring the way every step closer made Tamlin more and more desperate. Then he gripped his chin, fingers digging against Tamlin’s cheeks. “One more piece of your power. Not for me,” Lucien said. He turned to Elain. “But for her.” Lucien began to glow like he was the god of the Sun. “Recognize this light, Tam?” Lucien asked seductively as Tamlin gritted his teeth to draw out one more orb of power. “It’s Helion’s light. I’m his son, you see. Have you ever wondered how hot someone could get with both fire and sunlight running through their veins?” Tamlin finally produced the orb, and Lucien nodded at Elain to step forward and take it. Tamlin’s hand dwarfed Elain’s by quite a large margin, her hand unexpectedly rough as it brushed against his. Tamlin found himself stroking his thumb across her hand, unable to resist the urge to touch her- Quick as lightning, Lucien’s hand darted to Tamlin’s forearm, fingers digging in. Tamlin hissed as Lucien’s touch heated up, and he dropped Elain’s hand, staring at the brand marks as Lucien released him. “I didn’t give you permission to touch her,” Lucien said in a low and dangerous voice, and Tamlin heard Elain suck in a breath: she was just as aroused as him. Then Lucien turned to Elain. “Let us yield to our beast and conquer him together.” Elain smiled flirtatiously at Lucien. “It would be my pleasure.” Tamlin stared at them in awe as Lucien transformed into an enormous dark red creature with gold spikes all across his back, his eyes the same shade, and wings so large that they would span the length of the stables if he stretched them. He snarled and fire blew out from his mouth. A dragon. Beside him, Elain had also transformed. She had a head disproportionate to the size of her body, with long white wings as graceful as a dove’s. But it was the inquisitive eyes that gave her away: her beast form was a gigantic owl. And all of a sudden, Tamlin knew why Lucien had wanted Tamlin’s orb of power.

OOOOHHHHHH

High lord dragon form???? LUCIEN TURNNG INTO A DRAGON??? LUCIEN BEING A RED HEAD WHO TURNS INTO A DRAGON????

Sorry I have an original story with a POC red headed male character who turns into a dragon so LUCIEN MADE ME EXPLODE.

Tamlin is so desperate, my wet pathetic man, I love him so much. He’s gonna die and its gonna be painful but he also got tortured by Lucien so he’s gotta be happy about this.

You’re an amazing writer, with an amazing talent, and I love every word of this.

GIVE ME MORE.

#acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #elain archeorn #pro elain archeron #elucien #tamcien #tamlain #eltamcien #acotar headcanons #acotar au

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achaotichuman · 4 months

Text

Finished this chapter in a haze of 2am caffeine induced writing, but it is finally here, shoutout to my beta reader @pathfinderofnight love them so much!

Summary-

She had eyes like starlight and a grin that could outshine the moon, "We'll rule the world."

"What if we fail?"

"Then we'll burn it all down."

In hindsight maybe it could only have ever ended like this. Making a man who was never made to rule, High lord. This was all inevitable.

With his Court in ruins and everyone gone, Tamlin lives amongst the broken pieces of his Court and has no intentions of changing that. Lucien, however, will not stand to leave his oldest friend alone.

When Lucien takes Tamlin back to the human lands, they discover a darkness coming for Prythian. If something does not stop it, it will completely rewrite the way Faeries and humans alike live as they know it.

Fandom- A Court of Thorns and Roses.

Relationships-

Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra, Azriel/Eris Vanserra, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Tamlin & Lucien Vanserra, Tamlin & Eris Vanserra, Past Tamlin/Feyre Archeron, Past Lucien Vanserra/Jesminda

Characters-

Original Female Character(s), Andras (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Original Male Character(s), Lucien Vanserra, Tamlin (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Elain Archeron, Eris Vanserra, Azriel (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Death-God Kosechi, Morrigan (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Cassian (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Nesta Archeron, Tarquin (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Tamlin's Brothers (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Amren (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Band of Exiles (A Court of Thorns and Roses)

Tags-Tamlin Redemption (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Depression, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Secret Relationships, Mating Bonds, Flashbacks, Self-Harm, Found Family, Abandonment Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Grief/Mourning, Dissociative Amnesia, Forced Marriage, repressed trauma, Panic Attacks, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Demisexuality, Overthinking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Horror, Body Horror, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorders, Hewn City Rebellion, Illyrian Rebellion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Enemies With Benefits, Deep Dive Into Elain's Past, Deep Dive Into Tamlin's Past, Bisexuality, Anxiety Attacks, Elain Archeron Character Arc, Heavy Angst, Necromancy, Smut, Psychological Torture, idiots to lovers, dumbasses in love, Fluff

Part one of A Court of Outcasts, Thieves and Assassins.

Hope y'all enjoy chapter 24!

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achaotichuman · 4 months

Note

Could you pair Raven with Rhysand in the masc! Feyre AU and baby drama happens when one of them gets pregnant? ( rhys or feyre)

HAHAHAHA Ngl when I threw Rhys into the original one-shot of this, it was just for shits and giggles, but I love this request sm. I made Rhysand the pregnant one here because I personally think its fucking hilarious. I had to split this one into two, but that just means I get to write more of this later.

This AU you can also read on Ao3. This is chapter two of what will be four part. Here is the first part on Tumblr.

“Tamlin.”

Tamlin would recognise that sneering voice anywhere. His eye twitched and he gripped the knife in his hands a little tighter, without looking away from the herbs he was cutting up, he said, “Rhysand, what have I said about knocking?”

The witch could practically feel the smirk that appeared on Rhysand’s face. Tamlin tried to ignore the dark presence behind him as he threw the herbs he had chopped into the cauldron bubbling over the fireplace in the kitchen.

“Yes, yes, yes. Always knock and leave if the door is not answered, but just look!” Rhysand insisted.

Tamlin breathed in, then out. Repeating in his mind, Don’t curse him, Lucien will get mad. Don’t curse him, Lucien will get mad. Don’t curse him, Lucien will get mad.

Tamlin turned, and there he stood. The half Illyrian looked as good as he always did. Wearing a black silk shirt, a black porcelain corset wrapped tightly around his waist. Black trousers and a coat on his shoulders. He was smiling as he held up a basket, no doubt holding an offering.

He wanted to make a deal. Gods above.

“What is that supposed to be?” Tamlin snarled as if he didn’t already know.

“A sacrifice for the witch.” Rhysand hummed, he put the basket on the counter, “If you’ll do me a deal.”

Tamlin pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have much of a reason to dislike Rhysand as much as he did. But since the day his powers began to grow, something whispered in his ear that Rhysand was dangerous, that he was unpredictable. Even if Tamlin was very good friends with his sister Branon, he tried to stay away from her older brother.

“I am busy at the moment.” Tamlin said, not a lie, he was incredibly busy. Lucien’s friend, a human male named Jurian who had once served as a General during the War had recently been freed from the grasps of that fucking Amarantha. Someone assassinated her after word spread of her attempting a siege on Prythian. That ring was stolen and taken to the Faerie market. Where Lucien had found it, and with a few of Tamlin’s spells they managed to free to male.

Lucien took him back to the human lands where they struck deals with a famed Lord. Not long after, Jurian fell sick with an unknown illness. It was undoubtedly something Amarantha had cursed him with whilst he was in that eye ring.

Amarantha may have been a witch in her own right, but Tamlin was ten times more powerful than her. He had no doubts the cure he had come up with would work.

“Oh please, it will only take a few moments, I know you can do it.” Rhysand pleaded.

“I don’t believe the word ‘please’ has ever passed through your mouth before.” Tamlin snapped, stirring the cauldron before him with a long wooden spoon.

“All the more reason to believe this is urgent!” Rhysand appeared next to Tamlin. Tamlin closed his eyes, sucking in a breath.

“Come on, Tam. It's just one little deal, one bargain, I brought you an offering.”

Opening his eyes, Tamlin released his breath very slowly.

With a resigned sigh, Tamlin asked, “What did you bring?”

Rhysand’s violet eyes lit up excitedly. Quickly he retrieved the basket, opening it up, he revealed its contents.

Tamlin glanced down at it, then his eyebrows raised.

Inside were jars and jars of rare herbs and spices from the continent over. Tamlin took the basket from Rhysand’s hands and rifled through it, “By the Mother, where did you find these?!”

Rhysand shrugged, “I have my connections.”

Tamlin needed some of these. Some of them could help this cure for Jurian…

Gods above.

“Fine, what do you want in return?” A curse of ill fortune perhaps, maybe a death spell. Knowing Rhysand it was likely to be something sadistic.

“I need you to turn me female.”

Tamlin nearly dropped the basket. Before it could slip out of his grip, he carefully placed it on the counter before choking out, “You want to be female?”

Rhysand nodded yes.

“May… may I know why?”

“No.” Rhysand said simply.

Tamlin blinked at him. Rhysand blinked back. Tamlin sighed, “Okay then. If that's what you want, though with these, I won’t require another offering to turn you back.”

“Perfect!” Rhysand smirked, lifting his head as he waited.

Placing both his hands on Rhysand’s shoulders, Tamlin felt a drop of power leave him as it flooded Rhysand’s veins. Morphing, shifting, shaping, moulding. Rhysand closed his eyes, letting the magic work.

A heartbeat passed, then the next. Tamlin released him and took a step back.

Gods above.

He wasn’t half bad to look at. Or… she wasn’t half bad to look at.

Rhysand opened her eyes. The front of her shirt now stretched to accommodate the larger chest pressed against the buttons. She was slightly shorter and her wings were considerably smaller. As if noticing the lost weight on her back, Rhysand fluttered her wings for a moment, adjusting to the new size.

Her angular face was now softer. She ran a hand along her jaw, then her fingers danced on the stretching fabric around her breasts. Her eyes flicked up to Tamlin’s, she smirked, a smile flashing all her teeth, “I see you were quite heavy-handed with the chest.”

Tamlin gritted his teeth, “I shift based on the genes I already find within your body. If you were born female, you would look exactly like this.”

Then Tamlin turned back to the cauldron on the fire, tossing a handful of red spices into the mixture, “If you wish for me to customise anything I shall, but I don’t believe it is a good idea to mess with your body too much.”

“Well then, I suppose this will do. Thank you, Tam.”

“Get out, Rhysand.” Tamlin snapped, glancing back over at her.

Rhysand just smiled, before she turned on her heel and left.

Even with the spices he had now acquired from Rhysand. Tamlin couldn’t help but wonder what she would do with the new form he had given her.

***

“Another marriage proposal, Lord Raven.” Morrigan declared as she flounced into Feyre’s office.

Feyre smirked, then held out her hand, “Alright, let’s see who this is from.”

Morrigan shot her a grin as she handed it over. Feyre tore the top open and pulled out the letter, her smirk growing as well as her ego as she read it over, “My my, Lord Aiedian is looking for a marital prospect for his daughter.”

“Oh Gods above.” Morrigan huffed as she fell into a velvet chair, draping herself across it like a statue carved from marble, “Do these Lords have nothing better to do?”

“Probably not.” Feyre hummed as she tore the paper in two and let it turn to nothing.

Morrigan laughed, as the sound rang through the office Nesta walked in. Morrigan’s eyes brightened the second she laid eyes on her, Nesta smiled at her before looking at her youngest sister, “We have a ball to attend tonight.” She announced.

Feyre nearly groaned, she had been to too many parties and balls in the past month. How long would this continue?

“Feyre, whilst the Court is still settling into this new way of ruling, you have to appear at all of these gatherings.” Nesta told her as she settled into the chair next to Morrigan. Morrigan kissed her cheek and pulled Nesta to sit in her lap.

“I know, I know.” The High lord said, “I’m just tired.”

“We all are,” Morrigan sighed.

“Of course you two are.” Feyre mumbled.

“What is that supposed to mean, High lord?” Morrigan asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh please, Morrigan, I beg of you, put up a silencing ward around your bedroom at night. The sounds I have heard I shall never unhear.” Feyre shuddered, nearly gagging at the memory of the cries she heard from her sister and Morrigan’s shared room.

Nesta went red and glared. Morrigan tipped her head back as she laughed. The blonde kissed Nesta’s neck, whispering something to her that made the eldest Archeron roll her eyes.

Feyre smiled at the scene but… she couldn’t help the strain on her heart. The longing for someone of her own to hold and treat as hers like Morrigan and Nesta did for each other ached in her chest.

She longed for someone to hold like that, to call mine. Nesta had found her person; she and Morrigan fit together like a hand in a well-worn glove. Elain didn’t feel romantic attraction for any at all. And Feyre… well despite having double the options due to her enjoying the company of both females and males she hadn’t settled down with anyone.

She supposed her options were now incredibly narrowed down, due to the fact she couldn’t marry at all unless she was absolutely certain it would be in the best interest of the Court. Then there was the responsibility of bearing an Heir…

At least she didn’t have to be the one to carry the child. She had always cringed at the idea of pregnancy. Had seen the uncomfortable and often dangerous things that would occur. At the same time, she didn’t particularly wish to inflict that on another either.

Unfortunately it wasn’t an option, it was a requirement.

At least she had a little bit of time to choose a female she liked before she had to bear an Heir.

***

Raven tapped his feet to the music in the air. His arms crossed as he looked out at the sea of people. Hewn City citizens, Velaris citizens and Illyrians all mingling. All acting alike. He smiled. This was what the Night Court was supposed to be. This was what it should look like.

Someone put a hand on his shoulder, Raven turned his head to see Elain smiling at him, dressed beautifully in a floor-length, sparkling white dress, it dipped in at the neckline, but had sleeves that ran down to her wrists. She looked like a beam of moonlight.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Of course.” Raven replied, his voice a little gruff. Truly he was exhausted, the idea of his bed being the one thought in the forefront of his mind.

“How about you mingle?” Elain asked, Raven knew she’d start pushing for her brother to join the crowd, he had to at some stage afterall. In order for neither to waste anymore of their time, Raven sighed and said, “Fine.”

Elain brightened and discreetly pushed him out towards the floor. Raven rolled his eyes but went with her motions. Joining the bodies moving, twisting to the music.

Immediately females and males alike tried to drag him into dances. Hands were on his waist, hips, arms, biceps. Pulling, pushing, squeezing, touching. Raven pulled away as politely as he could muster, smiling and swaying. Allowing the people around him to decide his motions.

Then someone pressed up against him, Raven was about to pull away from them as well, until he laid eyes on them.

The most beautiful female he had ever met in his centuries of living smiled up at him. She looked to be half Illyrian, with pointed ears but Illyrian wings tucked in tightly to her back. What she was wearing could barely be classified as a dress, just two panels of black, shimmering fabric that draped over her shoulders, just barely covering her breasts, connected by a silver ornament below her navel. Raven blushed hard as he observed the silver of fabric.

Her hair was short and midnight black. Her eyes were a sparkling violet that shone up at Raven like amethysts. Her eyes were lined with kohl, and her full lips twisted in a brilliant smile that stole the breath from Raven’s lungs.

“Evening, High lord.” She murmured.

Raven opened and closed his mouth, eyes darting all over her body. Barely able to feel anything except her full chest pressed against him.

Finally Raven mustered a “Evening.”

Blood was rushing through his veins, the world became colours swirling in the corner of his eyes as the seductive temptress slid her hands up his chest, murmuring, “Surely you mustn’t mind a dance?”

Raven couldn’t resist. His blood sang for the woman before him. Every inch of his body longed for her touch. Like something was pushing and pulling them against each other, a writhing song and dance, a want, a need for touching.

Maybe it was his own loneliness coming through, but Raven, for the first time tonight, accepted a stranger’s offering to dance.

“I don’t mind at all.” Raven said, and the female smiled like she had won. Without another word, Raven placed his hand on her waist, and took her soft hand in her other. She placed a hand on his shoulder and allowed Raven to take the lead.

They were swept into a swirling dance, the world became just star and moonlight, the pounding of hearts, the rushing of blood, the sounds of music in the distance. Raven found himself lost in violet and specks of silver. Following the beat of the footsteps around him. Letting himself, allowing himself, to fall into the mesmerising song and dance.

The female was a siren. Her body swayed with his, each movement a song in itself, a song that made all blood in his mind rush down.

The night went on. They never stopped. Raven never wanted to stop. Everything was a spinning haze and all he was locked on was the female in his arms, who smiled, and whispered to him, he laughed at her quips, he smirked at her words.

Then she pressed in closer, as the music slowed from fast and hard, to slow and soft. She pressed her warm body against his. Her breasts pressing into his chest. Her pearly white teeth biting down on her plush bottom lip. Raven nearly faltered in his step.

Then she turned, pressing her backside against his crotch. And the world seemed to come to a stop. Raven nearly groaned, when he pressed forward, she pressed back. And soon enough they were grinding on the floor, hidden from the eyes of the public by the drunk bodies laughing and dancing around them.

Seemingly done with the dance, the female turned her head back and whispered, “Lets take this somewhere private.”

Raven felt a grin on his face and his heart beating out of his chest, He squeezed her hips and ground against her ass, “Lets.”

With a flick of his wrist they winnowed to the palace. To Raven’s bedroom. Before he could get a word out, her lips were on his. Raven was only shocked for a moment, before he ran his hands down to the back of her thighs and lifted her up, placing her on his hips.

She groaned into his mouth and he mirrored the sound, they both rocked against each other, desperate for friction. Raven then walked to the far side of his bedroom and dropped her down onto the silk black sheets.

She grinned from her place below him, spreading her thighs open she said, “Go on, take what's yours, my Lord.”

A sound vibrated through his chest, a dark sound made feral with need and want. Raven crawled on top of her, her hands immediately went to his shirt, unbuttoning quickly, then her right hand travelled down to the hardness pressing against the seam of his pants.

A moan escaped him when she rubbed the fabric, providing well-wanted friction.

Raven captured her mouth in his own. When she bit his lip, the final tether of his control snapped. The Night Lord pushed the fabric of her ‘dress’ away, revealing the space between her legs. No undergarments.

Raven’s eyes went wide and the female smirked.

“Well?” She murmured.

A grin slowly spread out on his face. With a snap of his fingers all his clothes were gone, and Raven took her mouth in his, saying, “Moan for me, beautiful.”

***

When Rhysand awoke that morning, he was tangled in black sheets. There was a pounding in between his legs that made him groan in pain. Blinking his eyes open, he stared up at a ceiling that was not his own. When he sat up he was in a bed that was not his own.

Looking down at his chest, at the full breasts now sitting there, and the garments he had worn for tonight, he remembered where he was.

He had fucked the High lord of the Night Court.

Or.. gotten fucked. If the soreness sitting in his core was any clue.

A low groan could be heard beside him, quickly he looked down and there he was.

Raven Archeron, in all his naked glory. Arms that could completely encircle him. A broad, strong chest rising and falling with every breath. A sharp-cut jawline. Long hair that had been in a braid last night was now spread out over the pillow. Rhysand stared at him for a minute, in awe.

The High lord rolled onto his side, his face pressing against Rhysand’s thigh. The half-Illyrian held his breath, fingers dancing on the fabric of the pillow before travelling to the burnished gold that was Raven Archeron’s hair. Ever so gently, he twisted a strand of hair into his hand.

He was beautiful, completely and utterly beautiful.

He opened his eyes. Rhysand’s breath was stolen from him. Eyes a blue-grey like storms fluttered, looking around before landing on Rhysand’s form. His eyes widened for a moment before he groaned low in his throat, sitting up on his forearms.

“Good morning.” Rhysand smiled, still playing with that lock of hair.

Raven grinned up at him.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He rasped, voice deep and scratchy from the lack of usage. Rhysand felt a shiver run down his spine, his skin feeling like it was on fire.

Raven sat up and looked about his room. Rhysand bit his lip, the air turning slightly awkward as neither party knew how to proceed.

They didn’t need to make a move though, as the door burst open and a female with the same hair and skin as Raven walked in. Her face was sweeter, her hair was in tangles, her eyes were irritated from rubbing them. She looked as though she just awoke.

Her eyes landed on Rhysand and her sweet mouth curled into a sneer. Quickly Raven covered Rhysand in a blanket, and Rhysand’s own wings curled around himself. At a closer inspection, Rhysand recognised the female. She was the middle child of the Archerons, Elain. The supposed sweetest and kindest.

She didn’t appear so sweet when she bowed her head ever so slightly and said, “Raven, who is this… lovely female you have brought to our home.”

“I…” Raven didn’t seem to have an explanation and looked as though he was caught. Rhysand felt very on display now.

“I must have forgotten to tell you to take the results of last night's drinking and dancing to the pleasure halls, not our home.” Elain all but sneered, still keeping that sweet smile and laughing eyes, but her tone was turning dark.

“Yes, yes Elain, I just- we were… caught in emotions of the night, the Lady will be off this morning.” Raven said. Rhysand cut his glare to Raven, whose eyes were skipping between Elain and Rhysand, as if deciding who was worse to piss off. Apparently he decided on Elain.

“The Lady best be going soon then, as noon approaches.” Elain snarled, losing her kind facade before she slammed the door shut.

“Shit.” Raven swore, jumping out of bed, Rhysand didn’t even get a chance to appreciate the artistry that was Raven Archeron naked as he was forcing himself into a pair of trousers whilst opening the light curtains, letting the late morning light in, “Its nearly midday, I’m sorry but you have to go.”

“But I-” Rhysand tried to persist. He didn’t want to leave yet, not when he was right in the bed of the High lord.

“Please cover yourself, take any clothing you want from my wardrobe, but be gone by the time I return.” Raven said, the words were harsh but his voice was apologetic, Rhysand still loathed it all the same.

But before Rhysand could express his distaste, Raven stormed from the room. Opening then shutting the door firmly.

Rhysand sighed.

“So much for getting out of the slums.”

***

Cassian and Azriel didn’t blame him when Rhysand came back with no luck. His friends just nodded, disappointment clear in their eyes but both of them just said he did what he could. Azriel even admitted that he would’ve preferred not to resort to marrying Rhysand off to the High lord to try and get them out of their situation.

But Rhysand knew all that was just talk. At this point any of them were willing to do anything to get out of their situation.

Rhysand had been the son of a famed Lord, who had a fall from grace. After his father was found forcing himself on the to-be-wed thirteen year-old daughter of a merchant, he was cast out from the Hewn City, and Rhysand wanted nothing to do with him.

Given that without his father Rhysand had nothing, he was left to the streets. No one wanted anything to do with the bastard son of the male that raped the young daughter of the highly regarded merchant.

He had been sent to Illyria on the Steward of the time’s orders. Keir had smirked when he

made the order, he had never liked Rhysand, but given he was the son of his now exiled brother he hadn’t been able to express until then.

Rhysand ended up in Illyria, where he was sent to a remote village, where he had also been rejected.

After a good hike in the snow and nearly freezing to death, he found a small cabin like construction. It was made out of a large fallen tree and carved to be a shelter. Having no one else to go he entered, and there he met Cassian and his mother.

Cassian’s mom had run from her village upon finding out about her pregnancy, after a male had raped her. She along with her two sisters had made that little cabin and resided there. Cassian was fifteen and Rhysand was thirteen when they found each other.

Cassian had been stronger than Rhysand on account of being a full-blood Illyrian. But being completely isolated from the rest of his people. He didn’t fight. Rhysand had been trained to fight by his mother who was taught by one of her older brothers, one who didn’t agree with not teaching the girls how to fight.

So Rhysand taught Cassian, who at first was hesitant, but eventually learned to love the thrill. He didn’t like the idea of killing in a war at all, but still liked to spar with Rhys.

Then after a few years, another small boy came to the cabin.

A boy with scarred hands and shadows swarming him. Azriel didn’t know how to fly when he came to them. After gentle coaxing and patience, the older two Illyrians taught him to fly.

A trio was born. A trio that helped their mother, and lived on the outskirts of Illyria.

That was until the War was reaching its peak. Being so far removed from the War itself, Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian had no idea it was even happening. But an order went out for all boys of age to fight. All were called for, and Rhysand was remembered.

The Illyrians hunted them down and found the cabin. The three boys were taken and never saw Cassian’s mother or her sister again.

Rhysand still hoped every day they were out there.

The only bright side to any of it was Rhysand saw his sister again. She wound up in the same section as them, a General now, bigger, stronger and so much meaner. When Rhysand saw her, he couldn’t believe who he was looking at, but those violet eyes didn’t deceive him.

Branon was there, in the flesh, living and breathing. She too had been sent to Illyria, where they attempted to clip her wings and marry her off. Didn’t expect that Branon was not just stronger than she looked, but a powerful magic user. Utilising the dark magic of the Hewn City folk, she was capable of warding away Illyrian males that came near her and tore many to shreds.

No one could stop the female from climbing the ranks, spitting out blood when she was knocked down and getting back up.

It hadn’t been a tearful, happy reunion like Rhysand had dreamed. Instead his sister had looked at him with a blank stare and delivered the news that their mother had passed.

Then she snarkily remarked that he would’ve known if he ever bothered to come find her. Rhysand knew then that she blamed him for never leaving the sanctuary of Cassian’s home to go after what was left of his family.

Their relationship improved over the years. Instead of being hostile, now it was simply strained. Branon rarely came to see him, and Rhysand rarely saw her. She worked in Illyria, and lived there most of the time.

Rhysand however, lived in the outskirts of Velaris, in the only place he could afford.

Cassian and Azriel went with him. None of them had money, and they were shunned from the villages of Illyria. They did what they had to.

Azriel and Cassian found ways to make money, ways that Rhysand didn’t care to know the extent of it. But from the disgusting smells and red stains they tried to hide when they came home from their ‘work’ Rhysand knew it they didn’t like it. At least would rather not do it. His friends had learned to be apathetic to death, Rhys learned when he was a child.

He knew Azriel and Cassian had been marked by the Court. Nothing could be proven to put them in any kind of facility, but they weren’t welcome anywhere really.

It also meant that they didn’t qualify for the housing being provided for those living in the slums. They were trapped there. With nowhere to go.

Three months passed, and nothing got any better. In fact Rhysand started to get sick, throwing up in the mornings constantly, a headache pounding in his head constantly and being so tired all the goddamn time.

Rhysand picked at his breakfast, the dry bread with butter was better than most days, but still he wanted more. He knew what luxury was like and Gods he missed it.

He missed Cassian’s mom’s cooking, he missed his own mom’s cooking. He missed his father before it was found out what a horrible person he truly was. He missed the Hewn City of all things.

“Rhys, you have to eat something.” Azriel said. Looking up, Rhysand met his old friend’s eyes. How they had changed, once they had been filled with a constant fear and anxiety, then Cassian and himself helped to fill them with life and joy. Now they were dull, weighed down by memories. By guilt.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

“I will.” Rhysand grunted out. He was still in the female form Tamlin had given him. The torn, dirty clothes he wore stretched at the bulge of his breasts. He wished they could’ve been smaller, because Gods these hurt.

He had squandered so much money getting those herbs for the witch. On some delusional idea that he may be able to seduce a fucking High lord. Because of him the three of them now had to take turns for who would eat in the morning.

They had tried to leave the Night Court. Tried to go anywhere fucking else, but word had spread of Azriel and Cassian, how dangerous they were, what crimes they had committed. Word spread of Rhysand, of his father, what he had done. What Rhysand had done during the War. The bloodthirsty brothers were shunned from everywhere they went.

Not fucking fair.

Though a small voice began to wonder if it was…

“Rhys.” Cassian murmured, Rhysand looked up at him, face near grey and eyes downcast.

“It’ll be okay.” His brother promised, Rhysand didn’t believe him.

The half-breed looked back down at his meal. And forced himself to choke it down.

It was only a few minutes before Rhysand was jumping from his chair and sprinting for the bathroom. Azriel and Cassian watched, listening as he threw up until he was slumping back against the wall, breathing hard and hungrier than before.

“God fucking damnit!” Rhysand screamed.

Cassian was the one to appear in the doorway, “You need to see a healer, this has gone on too long.”

“And waste more money?!” Rhysand shouted, forcing himself to his feet.

“We’re wasting money because you keep vomiting everything you eat.” Azriel called out from the kitchen, “If there's anything to stop this, we need it.”

Rhysand put a hand on the wall to keep himself from falling.

After a moment he sighed, “Fine, fine we’ll see a healer.”

***

Cassian’s face had gone completely white and Azriel’s shadows swarmed like a storm while his eyes went wide as saucers.

Rhysand had gone silent, before he choked out, “Please no.”

“I’m afraid so.” The healer said, a lovely small female with long brown hair and green eyes, “But I will say that I know it seems overwhelming right now, but it will get better as you accept his new reality of yours. You know Rhys, it is so incredibly rare for a High Fae to conceive. I promise this is just a new gift.”

A gift?! A fucking gift?!

A baby…

He… he was going to have a baby.

Rhysand wrapped his arms around himself, his wings cocooning around him, before a broken sob was ripped from his throat. He had always wanted a child, but not like this, not when the future was unstable and tomorrow could be the last meal he eats for weeks. He didn’t want to bring a baby into this world. Not when it was like this.

Not when it was so fucking unfair.

Cassian wrapped his arms around Rhysand and held him as he cried and cried. The tears refused to stop, streaming down his face, racking his body with a constant trembling.

Azriel spoke to the healer, but Rhysand didn’t hear it. Cassian picked him up and walked home with Rhysand in his arms. Flying through the air whilst holding the shaking Illyrian.

Everything else a daze of blurry nothing. Rhysand just remembered being placed on the small thin mattress of his bed and falling into darkness.

***

When he awoke the next day, Cassian and Azriel could be heard arguing in the kitchen. Silently, Rhysand crept from his bed, opening the door and looking out into the room. The apartment wasn’t big at all, with just one small bedroom, bathroom and attached kitchen.

Looking through the crack in the door, Rhysand watched as Azriel paced back and forth and Cassian sat at the small creaky table with his head in his hands.

“We can’t do that to him, Az. He is our brother-!” Cassian argued.

“Lower your voice, you will wake him. Listen Cass, we, along with him starve in these Godforsaken slums, that child in his womb will not survive the conditions here.” Azriel stopped his pacing as he spoke, glaring at Cassian.

On instinct Rhysand’s hand fell to his navel, pressing gently against the flesh there. Memory of the visit to the healer’s yesterday was thrown back at him. Rhysand swallowed.

Pregnant. He was pregnant. He now had the budding of another life inside of his body, a fake body, a body that he had constructed to try and seduce the High lord of the Night Court.

“We cannot allow that child to die, it will be the most likely contender for Heir of the Night Court.” Azriel stated.

Raven’s eyes flashed through Rhysand’s head. He remembered the warm hands that had pulled him down on his hard cock, the mouth that sucked bruises into his skin, the eyes that had looked into his own.

“Fuck!” Rhysand swore, smashing a fist into the threshold of the door. Needing to let out some of the excess energy.

Azriel and Cassian quickly snapped their eyes to him. They both shared a look, before Azriel sighed and gestured to the seat across from him. Rhysand gritted his teeth. Hating how weak he was now. Hated how this was a situation he had no control over. He couldn’t do anything here. He wasn’t in control anymore.

He hadn’t been for centuries.

“Sit, Rhys.” Azriel said.

Rhysand stared at the chair, before he gave up. He walked over and slouched in the chair, glaring at nothing. Glaring at his own stupidity.

“Listen, Rhys, we…” Azriel trailed off, the male had never been good at handling emotionally delicate situations. He opened and closed his mouth, not knowing how to phrase his next words.

Cassian’s eyes betrayed his anger for the situation, for the grief of his mother and his aunt. For what they had done in the War, and what they had done after.

The grief that none of them truly cared about what they had to do. Rhys sucked in a breath, straightening his back until it was stiff as a rod. Rhysand wished he cared more about the death he had inflicted in the War. Rhysand wished he cared more about what he did to Tamlin’s father-.

Cassian finished what Azriel couldn’t say, “We will need to speak to the High lord, Rhys.”

Rhysand knew what would happen if they went to the High lord. He would be either killed silently before word could spread, but if he was as kind as he proclaimed to be another likely event would be Rhysand being stolen away to a palace high in the mountains never to see or speak to another again.

But they could use this. Rhysand fluttered his wings a little, the smaller, faster wings that could allow him to zip through tight spaces. The curve of his hips, the swell of his breasts. Everything he used to seduce the High lord to his bed was now being used to house something that would eventually become another person.

“I’ll go to the High lord,” Rhysand said, “I’ll go to the High lord.”

Azriel looked at him with saddened eyes, but a firm look in his face that Rhysand knew was the acceptance they didn’t have another choice.

They’d go to the High lord.

***

When they went to the High lord, a month had passed and it was starfall.

At least that was a nice part of living outside the Hewn City. The Hewn City wasn’t a good place, but Rhys could skate by fine. He was a high-ranking male so most had accepted him finely.

But it was dark and shrouded in shadows down there, with snakes breathing down your neck at every corner. Up here though. You could see the stars.

Rhysand remembered his first true starfall. He had been out in Illyria and Cassian had dragged him outside. Then the stars had rained down upon the Earth and Rhysand thought the world was ending.

Now he saw the magnificent shades of silver and blue. How they fell across the sky like an avalanche of magic.

Though tonight even the wonder of the magic splitting the sky, covering the world in a deep shine, he couldn’t shake the sickness sitting in the pool of his gut. Nausea lept up in him with nearly every movement. He wanted to vomit.

“Are you alright?” Azriel whispered, a hand sitting on Rhysand’s shoulder. Rhysand nearly gagged but he managed to nod. The Shadowsinger furrowed his brow, Cassian leaned into say, “You look like you are about to pass out.”

Rhysand shook his head, a hand falling to his stomach. A small bump had now begun to form on his belly. Stretching out his shirt ever so slightly. It had annoyed him, mostly because the tighter dresses he had bought for the female form he had been given now no longer fit him. Azriel had disappeared when Rhysand was near ready to cry over the mourning of his outfits. When he returned it was with a midnight blue over the shoulder dress with long flowing fabrics and white gloves.

Rhysand had been immensely thankful for it. Tears streamed down his face as he put it on. Azriel and Cassian had shared a look, Rhys refused to acknowledge the fact he was acting more emotional than he normally would. He didn’t care. Not at this moment.

He wanted to vomit, to run away and never come back. To go back to the small world he lived in centuries ago.

Azriel squeezed his shoulder and Rhysand looked up.

There he was.

Tall, dark, foreboding, handsome Raven Archeron. He grinned and shook the hands of the courtiers that came his way. His shoulders loose and rolling, his fingers tapping against his thigh to the beat of the music, his blue stormy eyes sweeping the crowds with a scrutinising gaze.

Rhysand sucked in a near pained breath. His ribcage groaning at the stretch of his lungs. A reddening flush spread up his body, making him shake his hands by his sides to relive the growing need to run far and fast.

The three stepped into the light of the moon and stars. A falling star fell through the large gathering, smattering the crowd in shimmering blue, sprinkling across Rhysand’s hair, making it glow in the light.

He lifted his eyes to the falling sky above. It was pretty in a desperate way, stars falling down to the grounds below. Falling from their place amongst the night sky. A final goodbye to the lives they lived, a desperate last cry to the world that they once existed.

Rhysand loved Starfall.

When he brought his eyes back down to the sea of people. His heart nearly stopped in his chest. From across the party, feeling a world apart, a pair of sharpened green eyes met his own.

Shrouded in the shadows, leaning against a pillar. Tamlin tilted his head in a manner not unlike a curious cat. Although his expression was not curious, no, it was knowing. Tamlin had a glint in the emerald of his eyes that made Rhysand feel as bare as the day he was born. Barer even, like Tamlin could see past his skin, to his muscles, his tendons, his veins expanding with every pump of blood. His bones covered in the gore of his body.

The child in his womb.

Azriel and Cassian didn’t seem to notice the gaze that had locked and targeted Rhysand. They both slipped away with a murmured assurance they would be nearby. Leaving Rhysand alone amongst the blabbering of the public.

Tamlin looked him up and down, incredibly slowly. Locking each and every part of his form into his memory. Before he kicked off the pillar and strode through the crowd. Then his form disappeared behind a person and Rhysand felt his body relax as the Witch fell out of his sight.

It was quickly replaced by dread as Rhysand looked back over at the High lord to see him conversing with none other than Lucien fucking Vanserra.

The red-headed male was grinning and drinking as he was sprawled across a velvet purple lounge, the High lord of Night beside him. A drink in his hand as well. They chatted away seamlessly, exchanging easy smiles and lazy tilts of heads. Gesturing as their conversation flowed.

Rhysand tried to push back into the crowd, to disappear from sight. But it was too late. As hands wrapped around his shoulders. He turned over his shoulder to see the middle sister of the Archerons.

Elain Archeron smiled at him, a beautiful wide-mouthed grin with soft doe eyes. Different from the morning they had originally been acquainted where she had been pissed without a doubt.

But even now that sweet facade was not genuine, when Rhysand glanced over his shoulder to see Tamlin behind her, his face one of stone indifference, Rhysand knew his time was up.

Rhysand smiled anxiously at the female behind him. Putting on his sweetest voice he fell into the rhythm he had created. The mask he put up.

She not he. Her not him. Her’s not his. Rhysand breathed out ever so gently and let everything he knew and wanted slip away.

When Rhysand snapped in his next breath, she fixed her smile to be sweeter.

“My Lady, Elain, is there anything I may help you with?” She asked, voice sweet as honey and smooth as butter. A gentle curtsey bending her knees.

“Yes there is, my Lady…”

She lowered her head, tilting her gaze up, “My name is Esmeray, my Lady.”

“Esmeray,” Elain repeated slowly, each syllable sweet and soft on her tongue, “A pleasure to formally meet you Esmeray. Perhaps you don’t recall but we had an… interaction a few months past.”

How could Esmeray not remember? The very evidence of that night was now lying in her womb. Mother above, it appeared the woman before her still did not approve.

“I do remember that… interaction, Lady Elain.” Esmeray curtseyed once again, “I do wish our first meeting had been smoother, but I would gladly make it up to you.”

Elain smiled, but her eyes said, ‘Oh you best make it up to me.’

Esmeray swallowed hard.

Soft easy footsteps caught Esmeray’s attention. She wasn’t sure how throughout all the crowd noise she heard them, but she did. Elain seemed to as well, they both looked over Elain’s shoulder to see the Witch striding for them.

Elain’s shoulders loosened, her back relaxing ever so slightly. Tamlin’s eyes were pinned on Esmeray. Keeping her locked in the spot where she stood.

It had to be magic. The way the crowd seemed to part and become nothing but a flurry of background noise was not natural.

Tamlin’s green eyes glowed in the light of the night. Gleaming like metal in direct sunlight. Reflecting into Esmeray’s own.

“Elain.” Tamlin smiled softly at her, Elain tilted her head to him in acknowledgement, not correcting him to say ‘Lady Elain’.

So they’re friends, Esmeray mused.

Tamlin then turned his eyes to Esmeray, “Forgive my eavesdropping, my Ladies, was it Lady Esmeray you said?”

“It is indeed.” Esmeray replied stiffly.

“A pleasure,” Tamlin said, taking her hand in his own and gently grazing the back of her palm with his soft lips. Esmeray straightened. She didn’t need Tamlin to ruin this for her. Would he expose her? Take away what they had bargained for?

Now that she thought about nowhere in their agreement did it say Tamlin could not change her back whenever he pleased. Would he? How would that affect the baby?

Could that kill it?

Esmeray felt panic beginning to rise in her but before she could break down, a miracle, or perhaps a curse fell upon her.

“What is going on over here now?” A deceptively soft, seductive voice murmured from behind her.

Esmeray didn’t need to turn to know the High lord stood behind her. She closed her eyes briefly, kissing freedom and perhaps even her life behind as she turned to face Raven Archeron.

She looked up and smiled. Raven’s eyes widened by a fraction. Then he glanced down, as Esmeray took a step forward.

Raven’s jaw dropped for just a moment before it was quickly snapped shut. They both knew what it was that caught his attention.

The scent of pure starlight, a gift that should not occur to Esmeray naturally, that could only occur if the High lord had affected her with his power in some way.

Or in this case.

Put a child in her womb. Esmeray smiled sweetly as she looked upon the High lord's shocked face.

“Hello, my Lord. Do you remember me?” Esmeray asked in a delicate tone.

Raven didn’t reply as he took in a sharp, short breath. With a shaking hand that didn’t escape Esmeray’s notice, Raven gestured for Elain to leave with the words, “Elain, please see a room is made up, we have a guest.”

Elain nodded quickly, her eyes turning harsh when they landed on Raven.

Esmeray turned to Raven again to see that Lucien Vanserra was walking towards them. Raven turned and gave him a stern look that the Vanserra raised an eyebrow at.

Tamlin walked up to Lucien and put a hand on his shoulder before dipping into whisper words in his ear. Lucien’s eyes went wide. He looked over at Esmeray and she knew Tamlin told him who she really was.

But Raven didn’t seem to know. He just stared at her like she was some kind of horrific creature.

“Perhaps we should talk in a more private area.” Esmeray said.

“Perhaps we should.”

***

“You just couldn’t pull out!” Morrigan shouted as she threw her hands into the air.

Feyre leaned back in her chair. Staring into nothing. Feeling everything.

A child, her child, a baby, her baby. A stranger was pregnant with her baby, her Heir, the Court’s Heir. She was going to be a mother. The Court had an Heir. She had gotten someone pregnant.

It was so much. It was too much. She pulled at her hair before collapsing over the desk and putting her arms over her head.

Nesta was not nearly as angry as Feyre had thought she would be. She just seemed…. Disappointed.

Which was so much worse than anger.

“I’m sorry.” Feyre insisted, “I didn’t mean-”

“No one means to get someone pregnant, Feyre Archeron.” Nesta snapped. Feyre met her sister’s eyes, Nesta was a cold stone to her, a mask of indifference, but clear disapproval shining in the silver.

“I know I just…”

Elain has her head in her hands, whispering under her breath, “The one thing I don’t say, don’t get someone pregnant, I don’t say it and then she goes and does it.”

Feyre curled her hands into fists, “Do you think I wanted this?!”

Elain snapped, “Am I required to spell out every single you thing you cannot do for you not to do them! Do I also have to tell you not to murder people or can you figure that one out by yourself!”

“Alright!” Nesta clapped her hands, exchanging a harsh glare to both girls, “What’s done is done. There isn’t any going back now.”

Elain threw one leg over the other before huffing, “I’m just glad Tamlin told me that Esmeray was there, with the scent of the High lord all over her.”

Feyre rolled her eyes at the mention of the ‘scent of the High lord’. She shuddered thinking about how both her sister’s could… smell that.

She nearly gagged.

“How did Tamlin even know that?” Morrigan asked.

Elain’s eyes flashed and Feyre narrowed her own, Elain brushed off Mor saying, “He’s a Witch, they aren’t Fae, he can sense things we don’t.”

Mor glared and opened her mouth to argue further, but Nesta put a hand on her knee and the blonde sighed, “I’d like to know what happened exactly.”

Elain shrugged, “What is there to know? Feyre got a girl pregnant four months ago, she’s shown up tonight no doubt to bring it to light. Tamlin noticed, and told me so I could step in to make sure she didn’t make it into a scene. I called Feyre over in my mind and here we are.”

Feyre leaned back in her chair, nearly wincing as she recalled the sounds of her sister screaming and banging on her mental wards like she wished to kill her.

Morrigan sighed, leaning back in her chair and throwing an arm back around Nesta’s chair, “Where is she now?”

“Esmeray is in a guest room.” Elain replied, “Morning is coming quickly, she fell asleep after being taken there.”

Morrigan nodded, then her face twisted into a grimace, “She won’t like us.”

“What makes you say that? We’re great company.” Feyre snarked.

Morrigan hissed, “She won’t know what is going to happen to her or her child. We need to put her at ease, be kind.”

“We’re always kind.” Nesta sneered.

“Of course you are my love.” Morrigan raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

At that moment a polite knock echoed through the study. Feyre stood from her desk as a power that called to her own slithered past the gaps of the door. Nesta and Elain shared a look. Morrigan stood, with a final glance at Feyre. She headed for the door.

When she pulled it open, the group was faced with a servant, a girl with dark hair and a shadowed face. Behind her, she stood.

She looked just as beautiful in the soft early morning light. With her hair in a loose braid down the side of her shoulder. A dress of dark blue, sparkling in the light. Her violet eyes met Feyre, and the High lord could’ve sworn they darkened ever so slightly.

Feyre closed her eyes.

Raven opened his eyes. He cleared his throat and sat back down, kicking his legs over the desk, trying to appear casual. Nesta raised an eyebrow as she scrutinised the girl, Elain offered a tight-lipped smile. Morrigan dipped her head in respect.

With a quiet word, the servant left and Morrigan gestured for Esmeray to enter. She did. Light footsteps echoing through the room until Raven was certain they were reverberating in his very bones.

It was Morrigan who spoke, “Welcome, Lady Esmeray, to our humble abode.”

Elain nearly snickered, but bit her lip.

Esmeray gave the ghost of a smile before looking around the lavishly decorated office, “Humble indeed.”

Raven tossed his head to one side, “How did you sleep?”

“Very well, my Lord.” Esmeray replied. Her eyes followed Raven’s. Glowing slightly, power writhing underneath that gaze.

Esmeray smiled at him, Raven smiled back.

That smile quickly faded, when the mating bond snapped into place.

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