#morrigan Black wing

[highladyofterrasen7]

You can have the powers of any fictional character, who do you choose?

I’d choose Dorian or Feyre probably

#sarah j maas #acotar #throne of glass #holly black #the cruel prince #fourth wing #percy jackson #harry potter #crescent city #fbaa #the plated prisoner #the prison healer #morrigan crow #fantasy books #fantasy #fictional characters

[libraford]

Okay so here's what's going on with the bird crimes.

On thursday I was going to Powers Park when I saw what I thought were 2 chickens hanging out in the parking lot, and a lady watching them from the fence. I thought... they could belong to the lady, but chickens aren't the kind of pet that you just let hang out loose.

I approach.

Lady: "These aren't mine."

I look closer. Its actually 2 roosters, one of which is a very small breed and is missing his tail feathers. Both of them have an injury to their backside- like its been plucked.

So we talk about what to do, I end up calling Animal Control. The actual Animal Control officer doesn't get there until noon, I get a police dispatcher. She says she can send one of the cops to grab them until the actual professional gets there.

I tell her that the roosters are being kept by the woman I met, she's coaxing them into her house.

I post about it on the facebook group in case someone knows who they belong to. The comments are full of jokes, obviously. But no leads. Eventually the big rooster gets caught by someone running a sanctuary for abandoned and abused livestock, but they're still looking for the little black one. Evidently they got out of the lady's backyard and were loose again.

I figure he's going to be a coyote snack and don't think about it for the rest of the week.

So now it is Sunday and I'm opening up the bathrooms. I'm at Summit Grove park and as I'm about to reserve the shelter for a birthday party I see...

A black pigeon.

Pigeons are not a common animal in this area- you're more likely to see house sparrows, crows, and mourning doves. So that's odd. What's more, she doesn't seem to be skittish and is definitely accustomed to humans. And she keeps trying to bite my fingers, so she associates hands with food and she's skinny as a rail so she's been abandoned for a minute.

Why does this keep happening to me? Is this the Morrigan come to teach me a lesson in pigeon form?

So I remember the number of the woman running the sanctuary and I give her a call. I tell her I've got a pigeon here that can't fly, is super hungry, and doesn't seem to have any issues biting fingers. She says she can't take her, but she can find a home for her because pigeons have specific needs. But she won't be able to get there until 12:30. We (my work partner and I) have to deal with the bird in the meantime.

We absolutely cannot take this bird with us on our route because we are in a tiny truck cab and don't have a cat carrier to put her in. So our solution is to lock her in the janitor's closet until the rep can get here.

Around 12:15, we head back to the shelter to make sure she's still there and hasn't been disturbed... and I realize that the reason I even saw her in the first place...

...was because there was supposed to be a birthday party at the shelter at noon.

The party is strongly underway and they have shoved a table against the door of the closet.

The sanctuary lady comes by and waves, we ask the party people politely to move the table slightly because we're trying to rehome a pigeon that's inside that closet.

They move the table, but not all guests see this interaction- because it looks like a bunch of maintenance people are just here to boss folks around during a little girl's birthday party and this draws a crowd.

The sanctuary rep arrives and we open the door just a little bit to let the bird out. She bobbles towards us, hoping for food, when one of the older ladies at the party exclaims:

"Does that ANIMAL just LIVE in there?!"

I mean... sure. For the past few hours, she did live in there.

"Do you have any IDEA how many DISEASES pigeons carry?"

The rep scoops the pigeon into her arms and takes her out of the shelter area to inspect her wings, feet, and back. She shows us her breastbone and explains that its been several days since the bird ate anything, which was why it was going for fingers.

Meanwhile, Aunt Ornithophobia over here: "I can't BELIEVE you would just TOUCH a BIRD like that in front of CHILDREN!"

We take the bird away to the van so the rep can thank us and explain what likely happened- which is that someone abandoned the bird when they couldn't take care of her anymore they just let her loose.

"I understand you got one of the roosters," I said.

"Yes, the big one. But the little bantam rooster is very fast- he darted into someone's backyard and I never found him again. If you see him, give me a call."

"I've been told that chickens are legal to own here, but roosters are not."

She gets an exasperated look on her face. "If you're going to allow backyard chickens, you're going to have to allow roosters. It's impossible to sex an avian chick and they don't get their dimorphic traits until they've reached the young adult stage and chick sellers don't care about whether they're a hen or a rooster. They care about the sale. We get roosters more often than egg-layers because someone sold them a male as a female and they don't want to pay the fine. I'd rather have the laws allow both, or neither. But disallowing roosters is patently stupid."

"Hm. Well. Note to self."

"Anyways, you're heroes to this little rock dove and I want you two to know that. She's going on a trip to a bird sanctuary in Toledo where she'll have lots and lots of snacks to eat that aren't fingers."

#parks and wrecks #life as a temporary twig pig

[tsunami-of-tears]

But Daddy I Love Her

Mor x Vanserra!Reader (sapphic)

A/N: IMO this is some of my best writing yet. Thank you to the anon who requested some angst with Mor. I’ve been wanting to write some more sapphic stuff, so this was fun 💕  Also thank you to @daycourtofficial for being my sounding board ✨ As you can tell I didn’t go with either title option we discussed 😘

Wordcount: 4.4K

Warnings: Female Reader; Angst; Beron being Beron; Controlling father dynamic; visit to the Court of Nightmares; coming out; canon homophobia + patriarchal bullsh!t.

Reader

Your father was a complex character, to say the least. 

He was every bit the callous ruler that he portrayed to the world, but inside his blackened, hateful heart there was a soft spot. You. His only daughter.

While your brothers were pitted against each other and forced to fight for his approval, you couldn’t do much wrong. 

He was protective of you to a fault. So much so, that you were never allowed to court anyone. No one was good enough for his precious pup. Not that you were very interested in males anyway, having grown up with a litter of brothers. You found males irritating at the best of times, and utterly repulsive at the worst. 

You were closest to Beron’s eldest and youngest sons – Eris and Lucien. They were very protective of you too, but in more of an annoying way. They always had your best interests at heart. 

You were never allowed out of the Forest House unsupervised. Adventuring with your brothers was the only time you got let off your leash. You could run with the hounds, fish in the stream with Lucien or just simply be – relaxing under a tree, reading aloud to Eris. 

You often dreamed of a world where you were free. Free from your father’s strict rule. Free to do as you please. Free to be whoever you wanted to be. 

But alas, this was not a world for the dreamers. 

————

The conflict with Hybern was drawing nearer and your father was summoned to attend a meeting with the six other High Lords of Prythian. 

Your entire family was to attend, to showcase the strength of Beron’s brood.

You enter the meeting room together, sticking close to Eris and trying to seem confident, bored even. You keep your head held high, ignoring your brothers’ sneers beside you. 

“Enough” Eris murmurs, calling all three brothers in line. 

You take in the grand room around you, and the wealth of power convened within. 

You recognise most faces from Under the Mountain but some were new to you, their allegiance given away by the shades of midnight blue and black that they wore - the Night Court. The Court that your father despises the most. The Court you were raised to hate.

The High Lord, Rhysand, sat with a casual grace, his great taloned wings stretched out behind him. Beside him was his High Lady, Feyre - the saviour of Prythian - in a glittering dress that looked like it was made of pure starlight.

They were a beautiful couple, and you wonder how evil the male could truly be if he proclaimed his wife as his equal, something that had never been done in all of Prythian’s history. 

The rulers of the Night Court meet your curious gaze; for a second there is understanding on their faces and you have to remind yourself not to smile. 

You break their stare and your eyes flit over two more winged males and a female who shared the same golden hair and blue-grey eyes as Feyre before they settled on a blonde female. 

To describe her as breathtaking would be an understatement. 

She needed no introduction. Not with the rage upon her face as she watched your family, the pure venom in her eyes.

The Morrigan.

You’d never met the female your eldest brother was formerly betrothed to, and he never spoke about her. 

Morrigan’s fury wanes as she looks at you. For a moment you can see behind the mask she was wearing. You can feel the pain underneath, you can see the love for her family and her Court. Only for a moment before she built that wall back up again, sealing herself within. 

You knew her anger towards your family was justified and you couldn’t help but empathise with that. Like so many women, your mother included, she’d been dealt a losing hand.

You successfully kept your eyes off Morrigan for the remainder of the meeting, remembering the role you had to play – the shy, pretty pawn of the Autumn Court. 

If you failed at this game, the results would be devastating.

————

After the meeting ended so terribly, you were hiding out in Eris’s quarters, avoiding the path of Beron’s temper. The pair of you were curled up in front of the crackling fire with Clove, your favourite hound, asleep in your lap. 

Eris has been quiet since returning from the Dawn Court. His mind was surely racing after the encounter with her. 

You turn towards your brother slowly, breaking the silence, “You never mentioned how beautiful she is. You never speak about her at all.”

Eris knew exactly who you meant. “What’s there to say?” He shrugs, “She’s free from the burden of being with me in this festering court.”

“You think so low of yourself, Eris. Someone will be very fortunate to have you doting on them one day.” 

Eris wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head affectionately. “Until then it’s just you and me, bright spark.”

You smile at his nickname for you, one he gave you when you were just a faeling. “Don’t forget Clove!” You exclaim, ruffling the hound’s coat.

————

In the months following the final battle against Hybern, Eris spent a lot of time in the Night Court, working to secure a strong alliance for Autumn. 

Eris was about to head off again, to a ball at the infamous Court of Nightmares. 

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Morrigan. 

You needed to see her again, but she’d never step foot in Autumn. 

You’d have to go to her. 

By the grace of the Cauldron, Beron said yes to you attending the ball with Eris. You were both so stunned by his answer, that you were lost for words. Before dismissing you both, your father had one order for Eris: Do not let her out of your sight.

And so you found yourself in the Night Court, deep inside the Court of Nightmares.

You did your best to bite down on your anxiety as you walked up the dimly lit hallway leading to the ballroom. The intricate carvings of beasts on the walls only add to your feeling of unease. 

You breeze through the large doors, arm-in-arm with your brother. The two of you are the epitome of Autumn. 

Eris wears a suit in a deep burgundy colour, much like the spiced wine you drink to warm your belly on a crisp evening. Your gown of burnt orange swishes around you as you walk, the sequins catching in the faelights, twinkling like the embers of a dwindling fire. 

All eyes turn to you as you walk down the aisle, but you don’t notice them. 

All you see is her, and that golden thread connecting your souls, sealing your fate.

Oh no.

Oh no no no. 

Panic floods your veins as you realise who you’re walking towards. 

Your mate. 

Your brother’s ex-fiancé. Your father’s enemy.

Not her, it can’t be her.

Not here, with so many people watching. 

Your feet slow to a stop halfway to the dais and you turn to Eris. Concern flickers on his face - he can sense something is wrong, he has no idea just how bad it is.

You drop his arm, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’, before disappearing into the air. 

You don’t know where you’re headed or what you will do next. All you know is you need to leave. Now. And get someone safe. 

The thought, somewhere safe, echoes through your mind as you appear in a clearing atop a mountain. 

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, making the sky glow a brilliant shade of orange. The air is cold against your skin, and you rub your hands on your biceps in an attempt to regain some warmth. In moments like these, you are thankful for the fire within your veins. 

You look around, attempting to glean your location. You spot a cabin on the other side of the clearing. As you turn towards it, the front door swings open. An invitation. 

You approach the open door and wonder if there’s a spell on the cabin, tricking you into a false sense of safety to lure you inside to your death. 

You glance around, the only movement you spy is the rustling of leaves in the wind. 

You peek inside and see the small dwelling is well-maintained, but there doesn’t appear to be anyone home. It looks comfortable and homey, with whimsical paintings of vines and flowers framing the door.

Whatever is inside that cabin can’t be worse than the wrath you surely face back in Autumn, so you step over the threshold. 

————

Rhysand

Rhys watches intently as his guests from Autumn walk towards the dais. 

Eris is his usual cocky self, strutting beside his sister. Every bit the High Lord’s heir. Y/N looks like a living fire, glowing as she walks beside her brother. Despite being siblings, there were clear differences between the two fae. Unlike Eris, who Rhys found to be insufferable at times, Y/N had a kind warmth to her. A sweetness that somehow hadn’t been soured by her father over the years. 

She was like the flames that dance in a hearth. The kind of fire used to warm a home or cook a comforting meal that chases away the cold and loneliness. 

Of course, those flames could still burn you if you got too close. 

Y/N stops in the middle of the room. Her eyes not moving from Rhys’s cousin, stood beside his throne. 

‘Something is wrong,’ Feyre says into his mind. 

Rhys quickly throws a glamour over his guests, shielding them and his Inner Circle from the rest of his court. 

Rhys glances at Mor, whose eyes are glued to the flame incarnate before her. 

The expression on Y/N’s face is pure terror as she disappears into a cloud of smoke. 

Eris grabs at the wisps of darkness but it’s too late. Y/N is gone. His eyes are filled with panic as he turns back to Rhys. 

“You Vanserras love to put on a show.” Rhys drawls. “How did she get out past the wards?”

Eris rakes his fingers through his hair, tousling the slicked strands. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know she could winnow.”

Rhys clicks his tongue, “It seems the little fox was hiding some tricks.”

Eris looks Rhys in the eye. “We need to find her,” He says. 

Rhys raises a brow at the Autumn heir. “We?” 

“Beron will kill us all if she’s gone missing. His only order was not to let her out of my sight.” Eris shakes his head in shock.

‘Azriel, go. See if your shadows can find her.’ Rhys orders his spymaster mind-to-mind before the male vanishes into the shadows.

“If she’s still in this court, we’ll find her,” Rhys says calmly, expertly masking his concern that the Jewel of Autumn vanished while in his court. “Let’s go, we can continue this little chat somewhere without an audience.” He rises to his feet, dropping the shield and addressing his court. “I’m afraid I have to leave you to play amongst yourselves. Keir, don’t make too much trouble while I’m gone.” 

Rhys strides out of the ballroom with Feyre by his side. Eris follows behind closely with Cassian and Mor on his tail. 

————

Once out of view, Rhys takes Eris’s hand and winnows him to the Moonstone Palace on top of the mountain. Rhys heads straight to one of the living rooms, opting for somewhere more comfortable to continue the conversation. He silently requests Nuala bring up a tea service as he sits comfortably in one of the plush armchairs. 

Eris slumps down in the chair opposite Rhys, rubbing his temples. His complexion has paled to a colour much like the white stone walls of the palace. Eris’s usual swagger and charm disappeared with his sister. 

“I shouldn’t have agreed to bring her,” Eris sighs, hands ruffling his red hair.

“I’m surprised Beron let her out of the palace,” Rhys admits. As much as he detests the male, he can’t help but feel sorry for him. 

“No one is more surprised than me,” Eris says. “She was the one who asked to come. When Y/N really wants something, not even my father can say no.” Eris smiles softly, as if picturing his sister’s compelling arguments.  

Rhys nods in thanks to Nuala as she sets down a tea service. He starts pouring a cup for Eris as he turns towards him. “What happened then?” Rhys asks. “Y/N looked as if she’d seen a ghost.”

“The bond snapped,” a female voice says from the doorway. 

Both Rhys and Eris’s eyes snap to Mor as she strides across the room and sits across from them on the sofa. 

“What bond? And who with?” Cassian asks from behind her. 

“With me,” Mor says quietly.

Rhys can’t keep the shock from his face. “But you’re…” He trails off, gesturing at Mor’s figure. 

Mor just sighs, “Cousin, I’ve always known that I preferred the company of females. That’s why he, you know.” She risks a glance at Eris who is meticulously masking his real feelings as he sips on his tea.

“Cauldron, I didn’t think I was that bad,” Cassian jokes.  

Mor rolls her eyes and nods her head towards Eris. “He knew. That’s why he didn’t touch me.  That day on the autumn border, Eris gave me my freedom. I let you believe him to be horrible because I wasn’t ready to embrace that part of myself, truthfully I’m still not.” Feyre places her hand on Mor’s arm as she makes her admission. 

“We’d never judge you for that, Mor,” Rhys says sincerely. 

“It’s been instilled in me since I was a faeling, the fear is not something one forgets easily,” Mor shrugs.  

“When did it snap for you?” Eris asks, his face still void of emotion. 

“At the High Lord’s meeting,” Mor responds. “That’s the only reason I came today, hoping to see her again. I know Beron would never let her be with me, but I still had some shred of hope. Clearly, he’s poisoned her view of me…” 

“He hasn’t,” Eris interrupts. “You’re not a frequent topic of conversation, and Y/N never asked about you until after that meeting. She never said, but I suspect it’s why she wanted to come today. In some ways, she’s lucky that she’s been so sheltered. She’s still kind. She saw how all of you acted that day, she saw through the masks. My father’s only weakness is her. Beron is completely blind where Y/N is involved. He will start a war if we don’t find her.” 

“We’ll find her,” Rhys says. “Do you have any idea where she would go?”

Eris rubs his chin as he contemplates. “She doesn't ever go anywhere unsupervised. She loves being in the forest, but there’s no way she could transport herself that far.” 

“I’ve got Azriel searching,” Rhys says. “There’s not much more you can do right now. You can stay here, I’ll show you to your suite.” 

Eris nods, “Thank you, but if you think I will sleep while my baby sister is missing, you are sorely mistaken.” 

Rhys smirks back at the male. “Oh I know, but this way you can sulk in private.”

————

Eris

Eris is pacing in his room when there’s a soft knock on the door. He exhales before opening the door to the blonde female in the hall. Eris folds his arms across his chest and inclines his head, inviting her inside. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell them the truth,” Mor says. “I’ve been lying to myself for so long, I’d convinced myself that part of me didn’t exist.”

“There’s always got to be a villain, I understand why you did it. But thank you for apologising.”

“This bond... It is not going to go well with your father.”

Eris nods, agreeing with her. “We’ll deal with that later. When I’m High Lord, you’ll be welcome in Autumn again, if you ever wish to return.”

“Will you have me over for tea?” Mor scoffs. “I don’t know how this will work with Y/N or if she even wants it. But I’d like to try if she does.” 

Eris straightens defensively. “I’ll support whatever will make her happy,” He says. 

The pair stand in silence for a few moments before Eris smiles sadly, shaking his head. “I should’ve known,” He laughs. “When she was a child, she never wanted me to play as a prince, we both were princesses… As she grew, she never took much interest in courting anyone. If Beron had forbade me or my brothers there would’ve been a riot on his hands. But Y/N was never phased by it. Truthfully, I think she was relieved.” 

Mor returns his smile. “I’m glad she has you. We’ll find her, don’t worry too much.” 

————

Reader

In the cabin, you stare at the eyes on the wall. You would know them anywhere. 

You knew your mate had been here, maybe it was even her cabin. Deep down, your heart knew you’d be safe here. 

You feel so tired, right to your core. You didn’t know you could winnow, your leash had been so tight you never even tried. Mother knows how far you just travelled. 

A steaming cup of tea appears in your hands, the scent of cinnamon and chamomile reminding you of home. Somehow, the cabin knew what would calm you down.

You pull a blanket around your shoulders and sit on the lounge, worn with decades of use, admiring the colourful paintings adorning the walls and every surface. You can tell this place is well-loved, and many happy moments have been spent here. 

Exhaustion nags at you and you fight your drooping lids until you can’t any longer. You slip into the darkness of sleep, wrapped in the blanket, with your mate watching over you. 

————

You’re woken by a cool sensation on your ankle. You look down and see a wisp of shadows wreathing around. It circles a few times before disappearing into the air. 

It’s early in the morning, the first light creeping over the mountains outside. You’re still wearing your ball gown, the fabric creased from your slumber. 

Your head spins as you remember the events of the night before. 

‘How long have I been sleeping? Oh gods, Eris must be going out of his mind…’

A sharp knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. 

You stand slowly, stretching your stiff limbs and go to answer it – for a moment you forget it’s not your house.

One of Rhys’s winged friends stands on the porch. “Y/N, are you okay?” He looks you up and down, taking in your dishevelled hair and wrinkled dress. “You’re not injured? And how did you get inside?”

“I’m okay, I guess. The door opened for me. It felt safe.” 

The male nods, “Eris is worried about you, I’ve just let Rhys know I found you and you’re unharmed.”

“Thank you,” You say. 

“Mor wants to speak to you, is that okay?”

You nod in answer, “Yeah, we probably need to have a chat.”

“She’ll be here soon, can I get you anything?” He offers.

You shake your head, pulling the blanket further around you. 

“Okay, stay inside, she’ll be here soon.” 

————

Eris

Keeping to his word, Eris didn’t sleep at all. He was watching the sunrise breaking over the mountains when he heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” Eris calls out. 

Rhys enters the room. “Azriel found her, she’s safe, Mor has gone to bring her back.” 

Every cell Eris was tensing is released at Rhys’s words. He tries to roll his shoulders but they are stiff after a tense night.  

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Eris asks. “She ran because of the mating bond.”

“Mor wanted to speak to her privately. They are the only ones who understand.”

Eris nods, feeling relieved that his sister has been found. He’ll be able to rest once he lays eyes on her again. “Thank you, for helping,” He says. 

Rhys waves a hand dismissively. “It does work in my favour to return her safely,” Rhys drawls. “But I would do it anyway.” He turns to leave, “You should eat something, it’s been a long night and we have much to discuss now.”

————

Reader

You do your best to freshen up while you wait. You smooth out your hair and change into some fresh clothes summoned by the cabin – a soft v-neck camisole, cropped at the navel and flowing harem pants, more skin than you’ve ever shown outside your bathing room. The matching set is a brilliant shade of forest green that perfectly complements your hair. 

A knock sounds on the door, announcing your mate's arrival. 

“Hello Morrigan,” you say stiffly, unsure where to look or where to put your hands. You settle with holding them clasped at your front to stop their trembling.

“Just Mor if you like, can we talk?” 

You nod and sit across from each other, the air hangs heavily around you.

Mor sighs, breaking the tense silence. “I guess it snapped for you?”

You nod, the words not making it past your lips. 

“This is a cruel twist of fate,” She laughs darkly, leaning forward on her knees.

“Do you not want it?” You ask, trying to hide the hurt in your voice.

“No,” Mor answers quickly. “That’s not what I meant. With my history and our fathers, I don’t see how it could work.”

Why beat around the bush, you suppose? “What happened, with my brother?”

Mor looks at you curiously. “He never told you?”

You shake your head. 

“We were amicable, not quite friends, never lovers. I confided in him about my preference for–” She waves at you. “Female companionship… and that I didn’t want to be someone’s wife. Of course, my father had other plans. I ruined them by… sullying myself, and my father dumped me on the border of your court. I’ll spare you the grizzly details right now, but your brother gave me my freedom. I wasn’t ready to tell people the truth, so I let my friends believe Eris to be a monster. In truth, I was the monster all along.”

You allow her candid words to wash over you. What your brother had done, allowing himself to be the villain when nothing was further from the truth.

You stand, moving to sit closer to Mor.

“I never believed the things Beron said about you,” You admit, looking into Mor’s warm brown eyes. Eyes that are full of hope. 

“I know that I’m sheltered, but I see the way he treats people. Even my brothers, Lucien especially. I do love him as a father, but as a person… he is awful. I long for the day when Eris takes over Autumn, and I can finally be free. Until then, I will dream of a better world.”

A tear falls from the corner of Mor’s eye and you rest a hand on her knee. 

You steady your breathing before continuing, “I’ve never had much interest in males and never allowed myself to consider alternatives. I’d like to try this, if you want to. I know courting in secret will be difficult, but I’m willing to give it a go. I’m ready to start building the world I’ve been dreaming of.”

Tears stream down Mor’s face and she pulls you into a hug. You savour the moment and for the first time, you allow yourself to hope. 

————

“ERIS!” You call out, running towards your brother and jumping into his arms. 

He catches you easily, wrapping his arms around you. “I was so worried, bright spark,” He says softly into your hair. 

“I know. I’m sorry to do that to you. I panicked. I didn’t even mean to winnow, it just happened.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay. But maybe don’t show that trick to anyone else,” Eris puts you down and stands back, taking in your appearance. “It seems this court suits you, Y/N,” He smiles. “Come now,” he extends his arm for you to take, “We’ve got business to discuss with Rhysand. We need to figure out something official so that Father will let you return here with me.” He winks as he walks you to meet with the High Lord.  

————

You’re convinced your brother is a genius. 

He told your father that you and the High Lady got on well and that your presence allowed him and Rhys to get on with business while the females ‘talk about fashion and whatever else they like to discuss.’ 

You had batted your lashes at your father, insisting that the High Lady needed some help with fae etiquette and that she was seeking your help on how to be a proper lady. 

Beron scoffed at the thought of the ‘wild human harlot’ ever being considered a lady, but he couldn’t say no to your wide-doe eyes. Especially not when Eris mentioned that the friendship could give Autumn more sway in political discussions. 

Eris winnowed you both to Rhysand’s Moonstone Palace for your regular ‘meeting’, where Rhys, Feyre and Mor were waiting for you. 

Mor looks ethereal under the starry night sky. Her hair flows like liquid gold in soft waves down her back. Her dress is a deep wine red, paying homage to your home court and hugs her curves perfectly. Your eyes linger on her figure for a few moments before moving back to her face. 

Thank you, Mother.

Rhys steps forward. “Welcome back, we won’t be staying in the Court of Nightmares this time,” He explains. “We thought it was time to show you our true home.” 

Feyre smiles warmly, her eyes twinkle with anticipation. 

Rhys takes Eris’s hand and Mor takes yours, winnowing you into the sky above a sparkling city. 

Wind rushes around you as you free-fall. The stone floor of the balcony getting closer and closer until it hits your feet. You steady yourself, feeling grateful for your fae reflexes. 

Still holding Mor’s hand, she leads you to the balcony's edge. You look out at the city sprawling below you, alive and bustling. The humming sound of life below is like music in your ears.

Mor smiles widely at you. “Welcome to Velaris,” she says. “The Court of Dreams.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #mor acotar #mor x reader #mor x y/n #mor x you #morrigan #vanserra!reader #requests

[lanitalay]

One Day : Chapter 2

Azriel x reader

warnings: none

Word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

“I can’t believe we get to be on the boat this year!” Bec was giddy that you had been invited to the High Lord’s Summer Solstice party. Talking about it nonstop since you told her.

“It’s not that big of a deal Bec, relax.” She threw a pillow at you “it is a big deal! We would never be going if the Shadowsinger didn’t invite us.” You smile as she mentions Azriel. He had been gone for a month on a mission and you were dying to see him again. “I can’t believe you still haven’t hooked up with him.” 

“Like it's inevitable?” Bec laughs and continues to apply her cosmetics “I think it’s inevitable for you guys, I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“And I’ve seen how he looks at Mor.” You recall all of the times in the last year you caught Azriel staring at her, a longing, faraway look in his eyes. “Mor?” 

“You’ll meet her today, she’s lovely and Az is totally in love with her.” Bec glanced at you from the corner of her eye, not believing a word. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

The boat was massive. It stood four stories high. The first floor had many seating options, the second was where all of the food was, the third was a fully stocked bar and the fourth was an open air dance floor, complete with a band that would accompany the party all day. “I’m going to find Azriel, '' you informed Bec, who nodded and told you she would get a drink for the two of you.

You climbed the stairs, not having a clue where the Spymaster might be, when a pair of giant hands landed on your shoulders. “Y/n! Az is gonna be so happy to see you!” Cassian then pulled you in for a hug, nearly collapsing your lungs from the force. “Hi Cas, where is he anyway?” He pulled away and motioned for you to follow him. “How is your shoulder doing?” Rotating his arm to show you the improved mobility he says “good as new.” 

You are never surprised by him, or his injuries, but the way he seems to not care what comes his way boggles your mind. Like he enjoys showing off a new injury. Maybe it’s an Ilyrian thing. You walk up the stairs and it takes longer than it should to reach the bar since every two steps someone stops Cassian to say hello. Then you finally see him. Inky black hair and huge wings allow you to spot him easily. “There she is!” Bec waves you over and Azriel turns around to see you walking up. He smiles when he sees you running up to him, not wanting to wait a second more to hug him. 

His laugh wraps around you as his arms do. You pull away and frown at a line going down his cheekbone. “What happened there?” He doesn’t have to look to know what you’re asking about. “Just a scratch.” You narrow your eyes at him, sensing the lie. Just as you are about to scold him for being careless and for not using the healing ointments you give him, Rhysand appears with two bottles of sparkling wine and the party officially begins.  

You are dancing with Bec when a blonde joins you. “Bec, this is Mor. Mor this is Bec,”  you introduce the two and Bec, having gotten two drinks ahead of you blurts out “holy shit you’re stunning.” Mor laughs and you widen your eyes at your friend, trying to tell her to chill out. “Thank you, how have you been y/n? It's been months since you’ve been to the house” she’s swaying her hips to the music. Her hair catches the sun like a golden grown. Of course Azriel would pine for her, it was impossible not to. 

“I’ve been good. There was an outbreak in one of the schools by the Rainbow so I’ve been handling that while Madja attends to our regular patients.” Mor nods, “we’ve missed you. Come by whenever you’re free” she glances at Bec “you can bring her too, she seems fun.” Pink heat rushes to her cheeks as she blushes, also falling for the allure that is Morrigan. 

You're standing by the railing and looking to the Sidra, people on the shore as the Sun begins to set. Sweat had dried and left a sticky coat on your skin. Hours passed by on the dance floor and you did not notice. You breathe deep and a familiar midnight mist alerts you to Azriel approaching. 

“Tired so soon?” You chuckle “I’m just taking a break, I think Bec is trying to kill me.” She’s still dancing. Hadn’t stopped for more than a few seconds to sip whatever drink she was handed. To your surprise Mor still danced with her. “They seem to be having fun together.”

“Bec knows how to have a good time.”

“Happy anniversary.”

“Hm?”

“We met exactly one year ago today, remember?” You shake your head. “We actually met the day after Summer Solstice. It was way past midnight when we got to Rita’s.”

“That’s a technicality.”

“I’m grateful we met.” Over the music you didn’t notice that once again, his heart skipped a beat. “Me too.” You sidestepped until your arm brushed against his and leaned your head on his shoulder.  “You never told me how the date with the scribe went.” You groaned, hiding your face in his shirt. “I never told you for good reason, it was awful.”

His chest shook with a laugh “what made it so bad?” 

“Well after lunch he took me to the archives and I thought it was to make out but no. He gave me a tour and showed me the research on volcanic rocks he was developing. After an hour of listening to him drone on and on I left. Haven’t heard from him since.”

“Sounds like last Summer Solstice was the best date you’ve been on.” He laughed when you smacked him. “That was not a date, Azriel. It was a failed one night stand.”

“It only failed because you stopped it.” 

“You were having a panic attack!”

“So?”

“You’re ridiculous. Even if I put a stop to it that night you never tried to make it happen again.” Azriel turns his head to face you. “You’re not serious.” 

“What?”

“Why do you think I kept inviting you out?” 

“You mean to have dinner with Cassian, Rhys, Amren and Mor?”

“Yes.”

“I thought it was your way of friendzoning me.” His jaw slackened. “Well you were wrong.” 

“Let me get this straight, when I thought you were trying to gently reject me you were actually trying to woo me, or something?” 

“I guess so.”

You burst out laughing. “Az, sweetheart, you need to step up your game if you want to have a love life.” 

His head lowered close to yours “do you want me to take you out on a proper date then?”

You stay laughing and in between breaths say “gods no, we are better as friends. I meant for future reference.” 

“Ah, understood.” 

“Let’s dance!” Grabbing his hand you pull him back to the dance floor where the rest of the group was. 

“You’re wrong,” Bec startles you by wrapping an arm around your shoulders while you wait for your drink at the bar. “About?” She looks around to confirm the coast is clear “Azriel does not have a thing for Mor, at least not anymore.” You roll your eyes. Of course she would come to an incorrect conclusion after a day. You spent the last year getting to know the Inner Circle and knew, for a fact, that Azriel had feelings for her.

“How would you know?” 

“I just do…” she stole your drink and disappeared into the crowd.

After the ship docked everyone aboard rushed out, eager to continue the party on the streets. But you were moving much slower, because clinging to your side like her life depended on it was Bec. 

“Let me help you.” A sigh of relief escaped your lips as Azriel carried your mostly black out friend for you. “Thanks, Az.”

After Bec was snuggled up to a bucket on your couch you walked Azriel to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” You forgot for a moment that Rhysand had scheduled a meeting with you in the House of Wind and Azriel offered to fly you. “Oh, right, yes. I can meet you at a cafe if you want to grab a bite before.” 

“That sounds great, I like the one just down the street. With the peach tarts?” 

“That’s a good one, I’ll see you then.” You pull him in for a quick hug. 

Before he lunges for the sky he winks at you “it's a date.”

#acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acosf #rhysand #azriel x reader #azriel #azris fanfiction #azriel acotar #acotar series #az x reader #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin

[bubybubsters]

A Distressing Solstice

a/n: For my lovely @icey--stars I hope you have a wonderful holiday and thank you to the amazing people at @acotargiftexchange for making this a thing!

w/c: 2000+

warnings: 🐱

masterlist

*****

Eris’s POV

Eris glanced in the full-body mirror one last time before taking a deep breath and praying to the Cauldron that nothing would go wrong. He was in a dark red vest that had black patterns covering a black shirt paired with black dress pants. It was the Winter Solstice and Azriel had invited him over to meet his family on good terms and to come clean about their not-so-secret secret relationship. Rhysand and Feyre had found out when catching the two lovers making out 30 minutes before a meeting. Surprisingly the High Lord and Lady had already suspected and was willing to hear them out. Lucien had also found out in a similar way, accidentally walking in on something he definitely never wanted to see again. Eris also knew Morrigan suspected because Azriel had dragged him halfway through Velaris to apologize and explain why he’d left her in the woods that day. If Mor knew, then all the females in the night court probably did as well. Really this was only for Cassian (because Amren always knows everything), the ‘poor oblivious Illyrian baby’ as Azriel liked to call him. Still, Eris’s nerves jangled nervously as he winnowed to the River House. Sparing a look at his watch, Eris realized he was fifteen minutes early. Oh well, couldn’t very well go back now… well he technically could…. Shaking the thought from his head he scanned his surroundings. Although he would deny it to the grave, the River House was as incredible as Az had told him. As he approached the house mansion, he glanced at the windows. Two silhouettes were too close to be casual. He smiled, happy for their love. Then, suddenly realizing one had giant wings, Eris froze, fearing what he was seeing. Creeping closer, he peered through the window focusing intently on the figure with wings. That same jet black hair. Oh no. It couldn’t be. Azriel would never. Eris’s face drained of all color as he saw his lover against the counter with Elain Archeron leaning forward to kiss him. Fire roared through his veins as his own heart broke at the sight and he thought of how devastated Lucien would be. Using every scrap of self control to not smash through the window and beat both Azriel and Elain up for their betrayal, Eris backed up. Indifferent mask falling into place as he watched their lips meet. He turned down the pathway and started the walk back to the unwarded areas. All while slamming up those steel walls in his heart and mind. Pushing his feelings into a teeny tiny box and once more becoming the High Lord. The High Lord that showed no mercy, no compassion, no joy, no love, nothing except cruelty. The High Lord he’d been before Azriel. When Eris reached the end of the wards, he looked back at the River House and without a single trace of emotion winnowed out.

***

Bright light greeted him along with the shocked face of his little brother. The day court. “Eris! I thought you were with Az?” Lucien’s slightly worried voice broke Eris’ facade of indifference. His body gave out and he dropped to his knees in the middle of Lucien’s cabin. “Eris?! What happened? What’d he do?” Eris chuckled. He loved his brother. In a weak voice he asked, “Why do you assume he did something?” “Because you’d never hurt him.” Lucien’s arms encircled him and Eris felt himself being lifted off the ground. “You love him. You would do anything for that shadowsinger. He doesn’t deserve it, but you’d still do it.” “I loved him.” The words were another stab into Eris’ heart as Lucien sat him down in an armchair. “No, you love him. You, of all people, can’t unlove in twenty minutes. I know you Eris. You’re blocking your feelings, making yourself feel nothing. It’s not healthy, you’ve got to at least have closure if you’re going to end it with Az.” Eris glared, hating that Lucien was right. His damned emissary training made him absurdly good with words. “So, I ask you again. What happened?” “Luci… Ela- Elain kissed him. Your mate kissed my mate.”

*****

Azriel’s POV

It was eleven, Eris was four hours late. He probably wasn’t even coming at this point. Azriel drained his wine, glancing towards the door once more before Feyre drew his attention. “Do you know where Elain is?” It was the fifth time the question had come up, all directed at him. “No.” He’d rejected Elain again after she’d forced herself on him. She’d pinned him between the kitchen counter and not willing to hurt her, he’d been helpless. But she’d kissed him and he knew he had to do something but his body froze. He’d shoved her off after a moment and harshly told her he didn’t want her. He’d never wanted her. She’d just been a placeholder while he tried to find someone who was right for him. And he’d found that someone. She’d run off crying. He glanced outside again and still no fiery red head. “Az?” Rhysand placed a present in front of him as he looked down and Azriel with a worried gaze. “You alright?” Azriel nodded at his brother before taking the present. Carefully unwrapping the squirrel and acorn wrapping paper, Az pulled out the present. It was a small box. When opened it was a heart locket the color of autumn leaves. Upon closer inspection Azriel noticed that the locket was broken in two. He opened one side; it had a picture of Eris staring at someone not shown with a heated, loving expression. Frowning, Azriel opened the other locket to fine a picture of him staring with the same expression at someone else. He smiled slightly, putting the lockets together to show a picture of the couple locked in a heated gaze. Looking up at Rhys, his eyes watered at the incredibly thoughtful present. “It’s lovely Rhys. I love it and I’m sure Eris would if he’d bothered to show up.” His voice turned bitter and he let a little bit of his pain show. Anger shown in his brothers eyes. “I can’t believe he stood us up. I thought he was good. Do you want to go find him?” “He is good. I’m not sure. Give it another hour, if he’s not here by then we’ll go see what happened.” Rhys nodded, smiling at his brother before moving back to Feyre’s side and tucking her into his side. Azriel’s heart clenched at the love his High Lord and Lady had. He wished for it, especially the mating bond. But it seemed the Mother had deemed him unworthy of even that. Barely minutes later, Rhysand was once again standing in front of him. “Screw it Az, let’s find that asshole.” His brother had that look on his face that said he wasn’t going to back down on this front. “Fine… just let him explain before murdering anyone.” Rhys’ grin was a slash of white, “I make no promises.” He grabbed Azriel by the shoulder and winnowed them out. The scent of fresh fallen leaves hit him and Az relaxed slightly. He opened the cabin door and stepped in, Rhys a step behind him. “Er?” No answer. “He’s not here Az. Hasn’t been for hours.” Azriel nodded, stepping back into his shadows and winnowing away. There was only one more place Eris could possibly be. Az felt a knock against his mental shields. “I wish to do this alone, Rhys.” “Then best of luck, brother.”

*****

Lucien’s POV

Lucien heard a light knock against his cabin door and sighed, already knowing who stood outside. He couldn’t believe Azriel had cheated on Eris with Elain. Of all people. He wanted to give up on Elain, to find someone who wanted him and cared enough to accept and use his damn gifts. But she was his mate and that string connecting them wasn’t so easy to block. Lucien disentangled himself from his sleeping brothers arms and silently crept toward the door. “He won’t want to see you.” Meeting Azriel’s hazel eyes he felt a surge of anger, especially at the very faint smell of jasmine and honey. The shadowsinger looked confused at Lucien’s words. “Why? What did I do?” Lucien’s brows pulled together slightly, was it possible that Eris had gotten it wrong? That the situation he’d seen wasn’t what it’d looked like? An unwanted flare of hope ran through his body. “You… where were you fifteen minutes before 7:00?” “Umm.” Realization dawned on Azriel’s face. “Kitchens. Oh. So, Eris was early and saw through the window when Elain kissed me and assumed that I was cheating on him?” Damn. He’d gotten it right away. “Yep. And now you can come in, explain you hopefully weren’t cheating on him and make it so I don’t have a brooding high lord in my getaway cabin?” “If you’d step out of the doorway.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Do you think he’ll hear me out?” Fear and sadness laced his tone. Lucien shrugged elegantly, “good luck!” He needed wine, maybe he’d stop by the River House and take a few of Rhysand’s good bottles and be back in time to kick his brother out before he had sex with the shadowsinger in his bedroom, again.

*****

Eris’ POV

A hand shook him out of his sleep and he groaned, batting the hand away. Said hand grabbed his hand and pinned it to the bed. Said hand wasn’t just calloused like Lucien’s but also had scars. Burn scars. Eris shot up, suddenly wide awake as he looked to his side and was met with a pair of hazel eyes. “Azriel.” He jumped off the bed as the memories of why he was at his brothers cabin came back. Azriel had cheated on him! With Elain. His brothers mate! “Eris, please. Let me explain.” A hint of desperation sparked in his eyes. “No! You kissed her! You-“ “Eris!” Azriel cut him off, rounding the bed to stand in front of him. “She kissed me! I-“ “You kissed her back! You know how much she means to Lucien and you still kissed her back!” “Lordling.” Azriel pushed him onto the bed and hovered above him, pinning his wrists to the mattress. “She kissed me and it took me by surprise so I froze. If you’d only stayed and watched another five fucking seconds you would have seen me push her away and tell her I don’t want her.” Eris’ emotions spiked, “Of course I didn’t stay to watch my mate kiss another! It’d tear me apart!” Azriel stilled above him. “Mate?” That’s when the bond snapped for him and Eris felt the mating bond go taunt. Rushes of desperation, surprise and love flooded his side of the bond. “Mate.” The confirmation alone made the bond glow with life. He leaned up, even as Azriel still pinned him to the bed, placing a gentle kiss on his mates lips. “I’m sorry I ever doubted your loyalty to me… I just assumed the worst and I shouldn’t have.” Azriel’s eyes softened and his body relaxed as he let got of Eris’s wrists and collapsed on top of him. “I love you, lordling.” Azriel’s hands cupped his face and he kissed him passionately, letting the bond between them come to life with shared love. “I’m the high lord. Not a lordling.” Eris grumbled into Azriel’s chest. “But I love you too, shadow boy. A waterfall of ice cold water hit the couple and they both yelped jumping up and out of bed. Eris glowered at his grinning brother as he magically dried himself and Azriel. “You’ll pay for that, Luci.” He grabbed Azriel’s hand and started to drag him out of the cabin. “At least I won’t have the scent of your sex in my cabin for weeks again!” Azriel glanced at Eris, “That long?” Eris grinned nodding, “Longer.” He winnowed them to his own getaway cabin. “Now mate, where were we?”

*****

A/n: Thank you for making it through that… hopefully without any cringing!

taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @stargirl1714

thank you @artists-ally for keeping me sane with promises of that one thing and suggesting a name for Az.

#bubybubsters #acotar #fanfic #acowar #azriel #eris vanserra #azriel fanfic #azris #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #eris acotar #high lord eris #azriel x eris #acotar secret santa #acotar gift exchange #thank you! #icey stars

[theladyofbloodshed]

You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be - Chapter 16

Night was the time for secrets to be offloaded, for the veil to be removed. Night was when the truth could be uncovered, caressed then examined. Under a starry sky, where the moon hung like a pearl in the dark, Nesta Archeron was hyper-aware of everything. There was nothing that the dark could hide from her. Every breath of Azriel’s, every slight twitch of his wings, every single rapid thud of his heart registered with her.

Azriel was as awake and alert as she was.

Even after the noise of Cassian and Morrigan’s drinking had ceased, Nesta remained in the shadow singer’s bed. Azriel had not pushed her to leave, had not even acknowledged the noise had ebbed or even spoken a word to her.

But he remained awake.

As did she.  

The wind-chilled scent of his skin clung to the bed sheets. Every movement that came from his side of the bed had her biting her knuckles to keep from grazing them against the membrane of his wings.

It was agony.

Nesta turned onto her hip.

Azriel was facing her. His dark lashes swept against his cheek. The blankets were pulled down to his waist; a tantalising strip of brown skin was on display where his top had risen up.

The light breeze that crept in through the open window parted the curtains and poured silvery moonlight onto his hand. She leaned in to inspect it splayed out on the pillow.

At once, shadows came to obscure it. A long-kept defence to protect him from stares. Nesta wasn’t put-off by his scars. If anything, she was intrigued. Was he a hero? Did Azriel make it his business to rescue damsels from burning buildings? Was that why he had been so bereft – because he hadn’t managed to save her?

The shadows surrendered to her as Nesta reached her fingers out to touch Azriel’s scars.

They were burns, she realised. His entire hand had been damaged, the scars melding into each other like cooled wax when a candle had been lit over and over again. Nesta could not imagine the pain that he’d have been in – or what wounds he still carried from a horrific event. But he was a good man. Regardless of what happened to gain his scars, Azriel was a good man; one who had not given up on her; who’d stepped up and did what he could to ease her into this uncomfortable new life.

Azriel was staring at her, holding his breath, as she stroked against his hand.

Rather than lose her composure and flee, Nesta slid her fingers against his to hold his hand.

She could sense the conflict in Azriel as keenly as she could feel her own. The instinct to run to protect himself was warring with the desire to remain holding her hand. Nesta felt the same way. She had never cared for men, had never been interested in Elain’s dreamy talks of the gentlemen that father met. None ever set her pulse racing and none would ever want her to say what was on her mind yet there was an immovable force compelling her to hold this man’s hand, to grip it tightly rather than pull away.

And Nesta did not know why.

She couldn’t say what it was about this faerie that compelled her to be near him, only that Nesta never wanted to let go of the hand she was clinging to.

Their eyes met in the darkness and Nesta swore the ground beneath them shifted. An ineffable feeling of need made her heart shudder.  

She didn’t think.

She just moved.

Moved until her body was flush to his on the mattress and her lips were pressing against Azriel’s. His fingers slid against her golden tresses, raising her chin to elevate his access. Nesta let him lead, expecting the shadow singer to be more experienced than her. Azriel was gentle, never taking more than she could give. His cool hands slipped down her neck so Nesta mirrored his movement and trailed her hand against his black hair, along to the strong column of his neck. Beneath her fingertips, his pulse thrummed.

It might have been hours that they kissed hidden beneath the stars. Nesta did not want it to stop, not the warm crush of his body against hers, not the teasing flickers of his tongue, nor the sweet caresses he gave to her.

Eventually, Azriel broke their kiss although only after he had kissed her forehead and smoothed down her hair.

‘Try to sleep,’ he murmured. ‘It’s late.’

It felt as though cold water had been thrown onto the embers of a fire, extinguishing it suddenly.

Nesta rolled near the edge of the bed, suddenly conscious of what had just happened between them. Had it been bad? Had she done it wrong for Azriel to stop so abruptly?

The mattress dipped as Azriel inched closer then a hesitant arm settled around her body.

***

There would be no sleeping, not after that. Azriel should never have carried Nesta to his bedroom, never should have encouraged her to stay, never ever should have kissed her back. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Azriel needed to tell Nesta that they were mates – needed to explain what mates even were so that she could understand. So that she could stay far away from him.

He should not have kissed her back. Hell, Azriel was old enough to know that Nesta needed more time and space to heal rather than diving into things with him.

But he would be thinking of kissing Nesta Archeron for many nights, maybe months. It had taken all of his willpower to pull away before they went any further.

It did not take long for Nesta’s breathing to even out as she fell asleep, but Azriel remained with an arm curled around her middle. If he had any sense, he’d not do this. He would return to the floor, put distance between them, let Nesta make the decision to be near him when she had all of the information.

Azriel was a bastard. As much as he loathed himself for staying beside her, he could not give up this chance to hold her.

***

The dawn crept in early. Azriel was already awake because Nesta had felt him tracing patterns on her skin or stroking against her hair. Despite only a few hours of sleep, when her eyes opened, she felt rested. A wing cocooned around her; soft, golden light was trapped by the membrane.

Without a sound, Nesta slipped out from beneath his arm – and wing – then exited the bedroom and Azriel let her escape without a word exchanged between them.

Once returned to her own room, she checked on Elain who was slumbering then hurried to the bathroom to wash away his scent from her skin as if it had been a scandal that they’d shared rather than kisses. Each time that Nesta thought of the way his hands had gripped her hair or manoeuvred her face to an angle he preferred, shivers ran up her spine.

She splashed water on her face, trying to chase away thoughts of him, but when she glanced in the mirror, shadows were hovering behind her.

‘What are you waiting for – a debrief?’

Nesta pulled a towel from the rail to dry herself off. They were still lurking behind her, clearly eager to know her thoughts on last night.

‘It was utterly terrible. Never again.’

They shrunk away and concentrated so the shape was smaller, denser in colour – and immediately Nesta felt guilty for her words.

She clutched the towel near her face, wishing she could hide behind it. Colour dotted in her cheeks as she found her tongue. ‘It was lovely. I liked kissing Azriel.’

The shadows were bolstered by this news so they swarmed her and hung barely inches from her face.

‘More details? You were there. You know what happened,’ she said, attempting to play coy.

‘Who are you talking to?’

Nesta shrieked. The towel flew up in the air.

Stood like a spectre, Elain was in the doorway.

Azriel’s shadows skittered past her on their escape route.

‘Nobody was talking,’ lied Nesta. She gathered up the white towel from the floor and folded it neatly back onto the rack to try and act as though she hadn’t just been chatting to faerie shadows with scarlet cheeks.

Elain carried on standing in the doorway, as if she was figuring out her purpose for being there. Her hair was lank and her skin was sallow, but the sunny day had revived her. It was rare for Elain to get out of bed and the evidence of her muscle wastage was apparent. Her frame was as thin as Nesta’s now. Her nightdress had been worn for days.

‘Let me wash you while you’re here,’ prompted Nesta.

It took an effort, but Nesta managed to bathe Elain while cataloguing the malnourishment that was ravishing her body. Her hair had been washed and allowed to dry loosely since it was a warm day and her sister preferred it unbound.

‘When will Feyre return?’

Nesta pulled a sock onto Elain’s foot. ‘I do not know.’

‘You left last night.’

Heat flooded her. Of all nights for Elain to register her absence.

‘I fell asleep in the library,’ she replied which wasn’t entirely a lie.

Elain’s mouth twisted downwards. ‘I could hear their hearts.’

‘Whose?’

‘All of them. The women in the walls.’ Unprompted, Elain stood. ‘I need sunshine.’

Nesta followed after her, brandishing the other sock and her shoes while Elain made a sure path through the House of Wind. She seemed entranced.

‘Elain,’ called Nesta.

Again and again, she said her sister’s name, trying to block off her path.

Elain veered to the left towards the narrow stairs that led to a part of the house that Nesta had never been to before, not since her arrival: the roof.

Panic leaked into her voice as she chased after Elain. The door was opened which allowed sunlight to stream in, silhouetting Elain as she hurried onto the roof. All of Nesta’s words dried up as she scrambled up the stairs and onto the stone. She had known the home was carved into a mountain, but she had not anticipated the height, hadn’t really thought about. Up here, there was a constant wind despite the bright sun. The city below was blurry from the massive height they were at.

‘Elain,’ Nesta called again, desperately trying to summon her sister back to her.

As Elain approached the edge of the roof, a figure appeared in the sky by magic. Azriel’s black wings sprawled out and his boots crunched against the top of wall as he blocked Elain’s path.

‘I need sunshine,’ she repeated in a fragile voice.

Only when Azriel had placed a hand on Elain’s elbow and guided her away from the edge could Nesta release the breath she was holding. Her heart began to beat again, the icy feeling of her limbs rescinded too.

If Azriel hadn’t had arrived, Nesta did not know what could have happened. Elain had moved so quickly in her pursuit of sunshine. Now that she was on the roof, Elain seemed to slip out of her strange lucidity and glaze over once more. On the spot, she blinked a handful of times as though not sure how she had even found herself on the roof – which worried Nesta more.

‘I can take you to a garden,’ offered Azriel.

The offer was extended to both Archeron sisters.

‘It it safe,’ he added, with a pointed look across the roof.

If Elain needed sunlight, Nesta would follow her to where she needed to be. If that meant being ripped out of her comfort zone, it was the sacrifice she had to make.

The boom of wings sounded and Nesta could feel the gusts of wind created by their power.

‘It’s not a fair race if you winnow most of the way there, prick.’

Cassian landed on the roof then stopped in his tracks at the sight of them all gathered on the roof. His black hair was tousled from the wind. Instinctually, one of Azriel’s wings curled in front of Nesta, blocking her off from his sight.

‘I was about to take them to the Town House. To the garden.’

‘We’ve just got here,’ complained Cassian.

Nesta stood on her tip-toes to peer over Azriel’s wing. The man stood tense, one hand still gripping Elain’s elbow, the other curling into a fist. None of it was noticed by Cassian whose body was loose and open as he crossed the distance.

‘Elain needs sunshine.’

Cassian glanced upwards. ‘Is there no sun in the sky here?’

‘Elain needs sunshine,’ Azriel said again, but there was a flat note to his voice that chilled Nesta to the bone. The intensity was blisteringly cold and it seemed to give Cassian pause too.

‘Alright. You carry Elain and I’ll take Nesta down.’

Nesta could have sworn that Azriel was reaching for the blade sheathed at his hip, riled by Cassian’s suggestion. She touched his hand briefly, breaking him from the spell he was under. ‘Please, take Elain where it is safe.’

Because I trust you to carry her carefully, she wanted to say. Because you know how important she is to me.

His hazel eyes branded her skin as he lifted Elain into his arms and stepped backwards from the roof before winnowing into Velaris.

‘Promise I won’t drop you, Nes.’

Nesta gritted her teeth.

‘You’ll have to hold on nice and tight,’ said Cassian, grinning at her.

Oh, how she’d love to punch those teeth straight out of his mouth. But Cassian was right. It was ridiculously high and she utterly hated heights. If she had to stand on a chair to reach something, her legs would begin to quiver. Once, she had even gone up a wooden ladder to retrieve a book from the top shelf in their old library and it had taken her an age to be able to move back down it.

‘Please,’ she uttered.

Cassian encroached on her space. She never knew if he meant to annoy her or if he simply did this to everybody because his body was so large.

‘Please, what?’

She fought the urge to roll her eyes when she was at his mercy. ‘Fly slowly and gently. I haven’t done this before.’

‘First time?’ Cassian gave another warm grin. ‘An honour for us both.’

‘Don’t drop me,’ Nesta said, listing her rules out on her fingers. ‘Don’t maim me. Don’t touch me where I don’t want to be touched.’

‘But I can touch you in all the places you do want to be touched?’

Nesta levelled him a cold, flat stare. Perhaps leaping off the roof would be preferable to being cradled in this brute’s arms.

Merry Christmas and thank you for reading so far <3

#nezriel

[dreadfutures]

Happy Friday! For Morrigan, "The Applewoods are dappled with shadow and filled with succulent midnights. Come closer."

For @dadrunkwriting, Morrigan leaves Kieran behind in Serault and goes to cure the curse in the forest. An in-between moment that won't be shown in my fic.

-:-:-

Morrigan knows better than to tempt Serault's Twilight.

She was raised in a place much like this, though the resemblance is not in the flora or fauna found in either locale. Instead it is the oppressive awareness of trees that are more than trees, the neverending eavesdropping of land that is not only alive but *aware*, and the shadows ravenous for secrets, that united the Korcari Wilds and this wooded land she now walks.

Her mother had taught her well enough the dangers born of magic-steeped land. But her mother had also pushed her out into that wild darkness and left her to fend for herself.

Morrigan knows it is dangerous to stray into the greenery, beyond the protection of the Marquise, as the sun begins to set.

But the Applewoods are dappled with shadow and filled with succulent midnights. She is sure of her power.

She strides through the forest, her arms outstretched, and calls out to those who might dare challenge her.

"Come closer," she dares.

Whatever wild things lurk in the forest know that she is a wild thing, too. Her feathers are as dark as their reclusive haunts; her claws are as sharp as the secrets they keep. If she is exposed, here in the Twilight--then so are they.

Only one such creature braves the encounter: a black halla, with red eyes and long, carnivorous fangs.

"Come closer," it taunts in a tongue more ancient than any she should know--but she knows it in her bones.

When the halla turns and springs away into the dark, Morrigan hesitates.

She knows better than to let this opportunity pass her by. She is sure of her power.

And yet.

As Morrigan takes wing, and the last sounds and smells of Serault fade into the distance, she cannot help but think that she is not the one being swallowed by the Twilight. Instead, it seems terribly clear that what she is leaving behind will be at its mercy in her absence.

She can only hope that she has taught Kieran better than she herself was taught. He would be alone, now.

And she did not know for how long.

#bloodied and broken bits #old blood older still #morrigan #da drunk writing circle

[lucydarkrain]

The Big Four - American Gods AU

Hiccup is a pet store employee and a volunteer in an animal rescue group. He adopted a black cat named Toothless with bicolor pupils from an animal shelter in high school and has kept it ever since. Every time he sees an animal in trouble, he instinctively rescues it.

The green chameleon found by the street is the per belonged to the youth goddess, the injured brown bear rescued in the forest is actually the family of the goddess of war, the hummingbird with a broken wing is actually the messenger of the God of Winter, and so on. The old gods hide their identities and live as usual humans in the human world, and are connected with Hiccup for his help with the animals, giving him quiet attention and playing tricks on him. However, the peace ended recently, when some of the old gods discovered that a horse Hiccup had been helping to feed turned out to be the Dark God's spirit animal.

Hiccup’s memory was blocked and he did not know his true identity was Vidar, the Norse God of primitive nature and forest. The dark god used the contradiction between human and nature to trigger the war of the gods, and then the Moon God blocked his memory as a god. The scar left on his lip during the war is the key to unlock his memory.

- Jack Frost -

The elusive silver-haired boy, an apprentice at an antique toy shop, is actually Jokul Frosti, the God of Winter. He participated in the great in war of the gods and had his memories stolen. North helped him disguise as an apprentice to find his identity, since then he has been in the identity of Jack Frost and is trying to find the old gods around the world. After learning that his hummingbird had been saved by Hiccup, Jaco secretly visited him on a snowy winter day. Due to the weather, Hiccup thought Jack was a phantom at that time. He would play pranks on Hiccup but will help him out when Hiccup is actually in danger.

- Rapunzel -

The real identity of this girl that’s living on the hill tower house was Idun, the Norse goddess of youth. She was in charge of the golden apples that could keep the gods young in the age of the old Gods. However, due to the chaos of the war of the gods, she transferred the power of these golden apples to her long hair, and was the only god who did not need believers to sacrifice. Did not participate in the Great War of gods, but disappeared after that. Since Sunday is the Idun day of the sun so she often appears on Sunday, also known as Miss Sunday. The forces from all across the world desperately sought her to use her power. Knows Hiccup’a true identity the first time she saw him.

- Nicolas St. North -

The winter sun god, who the Slavs believed represented the weak and old sun, was defeated by the Black God and died, but would be revived on the winter solstice as the new god Koleda (meaning "Christmas "). He was the god of war and war in Slavic mythology, and was the supreme god among the Slavs along the Baltic Sea. The War of the Gods ended in defeat when Hiccup was used, and then they tried to find all the old gods to prevent the return of the Black God.

- Merida -

The keeper of pastures and forests, her real identity is one of the major gods in Celtic mythology, Morrigan, the goddess of war. She was once the main object of worship for the armies in the Old Gods era, and had a close relationship with the nature god Hiccup, who was indirectly used because she did not participate in the great war of the gods. Since then she has been watching his movements and alert for the return of the bla

#rise of the brave tangled dragon #how to train your dragon #tangled #rapunzel #brave #hiccup #merida #mericcup #httyd #jack frost #the big four #jackunzel #rotg

[maisonaime]

Ilithyia's Blessings - Part 3

I am posting this in the middle of the night hot off the dome because I am exhausted but want to get this out there. Please forgive any errors grammatical or canonical and go with the flow for me please :) I actually love where this went and I'm excited to flesh out the consequences of this chapter as the story continues to develop. It will likely be anywhere from 8-12 parts in total with epilogues and whatnot. 1.6k words

Warnings: Dark Feyre, blood, unhinged behavior, pregnancy trauma, familial trauma, mentions of illness and death

Part 1;  Part 2

Part 3:

Centuries of the Illyrian winds echoing off his wings allowed Azriel to sense the unique shift in the air at the House of Wind as he remained for a few final moments, in blissful ignorance of the circumstances unfolding. For the first time in centuries, the spymaster would be one of the last to know. 

Sweat beaded at the nape of his neck and curved a path down his spine as he performed his training routines in the ring. Lost in the movements he had led his body through for centuries, he hardly noticed that his shadows had abandoned him, their relentless whisperings silenced. He would have thought nothing of it; they often slipped away to their own devices when he entered the meditative state his training permitted him. It seemed even they understood that the training ring was one of the few places Azriel could find complete solace from his roiling mind.  

Until his shadows were suddenly back and swarming him and howling, their chorus an indiscernible fever pitch. On his next inhale the air tightened, punctuated by sharp bursts of the metallic redolence he knew to be his brother's magic. 

On the exhale he tilted his head to the sky, and murmured a prayer to the Mother, siphons flaring as he steeled himself for whatever bloodshed was imminent. Instinctively his mind was both latching onto and pushing away the bolt of dread he felt for the most obvious potential source of this frenzy of wrath from his brother. 

As he turned to push himself into the sky and take stock of the tenebrous horizon, Nuala materialized from a haze of smoky shadows with wide eyes and shaking hands.He had never seen such dismay surfaced in his trusted apprentice; dread carved another chunk from his stomach. He nodded towards her, encouraging her to speak.

“Feyre is gone, she – she disappeared from the townhouse.” Azriel’s heart dropped in the pits of his stomach. “Nesta told her about the boy having wings and she unleashed herself on Amren and Morrigan and then she left. Not a trace of her. Rhys has gone absolutely feral, he’s barreling towards Nesta as we speak – along with everyone else. Cerridwen followed them.”

Azriel stood stock still, unblinking as his heart and his fists clenched. This gods damned family would be the death of him, he felt so incredibly tired. At the same time, he just barely noted the relief he felt knowing the next time he spoke to Feyre he wouldn’t be lying to her. 

They’ll level half the city and throw the entire Court into question if this unfolds publicly.” she added, earning a knowing glare from Azriel as he reckoned with his next steps. 

“Thank you Nuala” he managed to bite out. “Pack a bag for Nesta, Cassian will want to get her as far away from Rhys as possible. Leave it on the balcony, then check every residence they share. The cabin, the palace in the Hewn City, everywhere.” 

Nuala was already evaporating back into the ether to do just that, having anticipated the request from Azriel and already running through the mental list of possible dwellings she had compiled. 

Azriel took flight and looked towards the city, where churning black clouds thundered towards the center. He drew his shadows around him, prepared to let them carry him on the wind to where his circle of friends was just beginning to converge.

He was winnowing as he had a thousand times before – the thousand time prior was how he knew something was so wrong about this journey through space. He was being pulled towards something, absorbed into a pit of angry, despairing power. He assumed it was from Rhys creating some sort of dismal vacuum of fury, as he yielded to primal and unholy powers alike. Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying to the Mother that his brother didn’t inadvertently rip him to shreds in his fit of rage. 

But when he opened his eyes, breathless and on solid ground. He was not in Velaris. He was not in the Night Court. He was not anywhere near the specter of power he had known and dealt with for centuries, knew like the back of his hand.

No. He was faced with a new beast entirely. And as he met the eyes of his High Lady, he knew he was considerably fucked. 

“Hello Azriel.” Feyre’s wolfish grin was empty, her eyes red and puffed. “I think it’s high time I find out how valuable you really are as our resident Shadowsinger.” Any relief he previously felt winked out as the weight of their errors settled on him with her pointed gaze.

Her distress was obvious, her outrage palpable. She clutched the swell of her stomach like she might hold the child in her, lest it rip itself out by the talons on its bastarding wings. Azriel gulped as he was faced with malevolence he had not even seen from Feyre in the Court of Nightmares. 

Azriel saw instantly that there would be no straightforward path out of this mess, that he along with the rest of them had grossly miscalculated the consequences of shielding Feyre from the truth of her pregnancy. Her pregnancy Azriel repeated to himself, dumbfounded by his own stupidity. Her child they had all lied to her about, intentions set aside. 

Though far from possessing the necessary biology to truly understand Feyre’s feelings, he imagined how he might feel if his family kept a secret of that magnitude from him. If he perhaps contracted the rare wasting sickness that caused Illyrian wings to rot and disintegrate from the inside out. Easily detectable, but highly fatal and only symptomatic in its final stages. He imagined he wouldn’t take too kindly to the lack of dignity in having his own fate concealed from him until there was no chance of a say in the matter. 

He sank to his knees and lowered his eyes, laying himself prone to her judgement. He said nothing, conveying his submission to her through his posture, yielding to the might of her power without protest. 

“Let’s make a bargain.” Feyre sneered, eyes shining with spite. “You will tell me everything that is said about me and this child; every detail of how our family plans to proceed; everything you see, do, hear will be memorized and relayed to me. You will find a way to get the information to me as close to instantly as possible. You will do so without telling or alerting anyone to our correspondence.” Azriel said nothing. “And you will not look for or even consider pondering a way to get out of or around this bargain.”

“In exchange I will consider allowing Rhysand to be a part of mine and this childs life.” dread finally claimed the last of his abdomen as the severity of her words struck him.

He opened his mouth to try to agree, to do anything that might help the situation and preserve a thread of connection with Feyre to her family, her support system. The words caught on his tongue as his fealty to Rhys overpowered his independent will, the betrayal of his vows a physical manifestation of pain ripping through his chest. 

He spoke through gritted teeth “Feyre I can’t swear myself to anything that disavows my loyalty to Rhys. I am bound to him, by magic as much as love.”

“And what of a blood oath? Would that usurp your vows to your High Lord?” she spoke without missing a beat and Azriel’s eyes snapped back to hers, gaze narrowing. It was in this moment he realized they stood at the center of a vortex of darkness, the eye of a formidable hurricane that concealed any hint of their whereabouts for Azriel to report if he somehow found a way out of swearing a gods damned blood oath to Feyre. Magic so old it called to the marrow of his bones. Magic that would render him little more than a slave to her will; he would be hers entirely to use and dispose of as she pleased. And yet, and yet, and yet… if it was the only way…

“Yes.” he breathed. 

“Yes what.” she insisted.

“Yes I will swear a blood oath to you. Feyre.” he affirmed, only a touch of the lament he felt seeping into his tone. 

“Good” she purred, unrecognizable to his eyes. And in a flash she was before him, a slash across her wrist pressed to his mouth for him to drink from. She tasted like life and mountain air and power and fury and something deep in his chest tugged as his life force latched to hers. Then it was his turn to offer blood for her consumption directly from the junction of his shoulder and neck. The bargain was sealed and thrumming in his chest, so much like what he imagined a mating bond to be but so exquisitely wrong in its essence. Even his shadows recoiled from the shift, as if recognizing the parasitic force that had latched itself to their master while simultaneously adjusting to submit to it. 

Azriel let out a hysterical little chuckle as he realized Rhysand was going to tear him limb from limb, and Cassian might even help. He had not only swore an oath that usurped the vows he swore to his brothers, but an oath that rivaled even a mating bond in its powers and manifestations. Tricky magic that would not be easily untangled. Magic that compromised every promise he had made to his Court and family. Magic that sealed itself into and across his chest with a tattoo of a gleaming golden band that wrapped around his torso, directly across his pounding heart. 

“Wander back home now Azriel, I’ll call on you when you’re needed.” there was nothing in her voice, her eyes; it was the most chilled he had been during the whole encounter.

He blinked and he was freefalling through the sky, careening from the exact spot he had dissolved from minutes earlier. He let himself fall for a moment, pondering how well and truly fucked he was. In the next moment, he twisted, shot out his wings, and dove towards his original destination, praying that he wouldn’t be greeted with the carrion he knew the gathering forces were capable of. 

#acotar #fantasy #acotar fanfiction #rhysand #azriel #cassian #night court #inner circle #feysand pregnancy rewrite #feysand #nyx #nyx archeron #feyre cursebreaker #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #get em girl #i support womens wrongs #was there a hint of kink there or am I dreaming #azriel is desperate for a mating bond #I want everyone to be happy #but not yet

[drenchedfireworks]

Of Stolen Moments

Helion X Lady of the Autumn

One of the thousands of stolen moments between Helion and Lady of the Autumn before Under The Mountain.

Word Count: 3.2K

Mostly unedited.

Rhysand is purple (obvs) and Helion is orange.

###

Helion picked another flute of champagne from the passerby waiter, his third one in ten minutes.

In his defense, it took much, much more to get him tipsy and Cauldron be damned, he was trying to get there.

Coming to the Autumn Court always had that effect on him. Beron loved throwing lavish parties the week of his birthday and while all the HighLords were invited to stay the entire week, by some unspoken agreement everyone only arrived on the eve of his birthday and left the next morning.

This year, Helion had been tempted to pull lots and the whichever poor minister of his pulled the shortest end of the stick would have attended as a representative. The idea was vetoed and he had been sent to the hellish court to participate in the even more hellish celebrations anyway. The only saving grace was the fact that it was a masquerade theme which meant Helion had all the reason to not have to greet Beron and simply blame it on the fact that he hadn't recognized him under the masks.

And Helion was going to stick to his story even if it was crystal clear who Beron was considering he sat on a freaking dais, all alone.

Finishing the contents of his champagne flute in one go, Helion was about to go for another one when a whiskey glass was placed in his palm instead.

If he was dressed like the Sun, all whites and golds with the matching white mask with its gold undertone and threads, Rhysand was dressed like his night counterpart. Decked out completely in black with silver linings in his jacket and a midnight black mask resting on his face outlined in silver that was only found on starlight.

"Stop playing safe sober games and drink up"

Helion chuckled, raising his glass to that and throwing it back in one gulp. Rhys grinned, tipping his own glass in cheers before he, too, finished his drink in one go.

"Can you believe this pretentious party?"

Rhys shot him a look, easy to decipher despite the mask he was wearing. "You think this is the only pretentious party we attend in one year?"

"You're right. Tamlin's are just as awful"

Rhys laughed sardonically before making a shuddering gesture "Somehow they are even worse. It's like an invite for pollen fever"

"Where is your lovely cousin?" Helion asked, eyes roaming around like he was searching for a blonde and not trying to avoid looking at a certain redhead.

"With Vivianne" Rhys jut his chin in the direction of where Morrigan and Vivianne were standing next to an exasperated Kallias who rolled his eyes behind his mask exaggeratedly when he found the two Highlords looking at him.

"Think you can take Morrigan away for enough time to let Kallias grab a dance with the girl he swears he's not in love with?" Helion snickered, flagging down a waiter carrying champagne.

"I can also keep an eye on Beron for enough time so you can do what you actually came here for"

Helion paused in the act of taking a sip, slanting a look to the Highlord of the Night Court who casually picked off a piece of non-existent lint off his jacket.

"And what might that be, dear Rhysand?"

"Don't insult my intelligence by pretending to be obtuse, Helion" Rhys smiled, feline-like. "This is the only bracket you might get, don't waste it"

"Who is to say where she is and how many sentries surround her?" Helion gritted out, despite his better judgement.

Rhys smiled, patted him on the shoulder and made his way toward Kallias. Helion watched him go, turned the other way and made his way deeper into the crowd.

On the East Wing, on the 2nd floor, last room. Shares a balcony with the adjacent one. You'll have a ten minute window to slip into that room. I'll let you know if Beron so much as shifts in his seat.

Helion smiled, a secret one. I owe you one.

Stop bothering Cassian and Azriel for a threesome.

Aw, Rhysie, jealous? You can join us too.

Don't forget to put up wards.

Helion made sure he was in Beron's line of sight as he danced with a curvaceous red-head, running hands all over her too-eager intoxicated body. A few minutes of dilly-dallying and then he was leading her into a corridor, through a silent hallway and away from the festivities till they finally encountered an empty bedroom. To her credit, she tried her hardest to pull him in but Helion sent a silent apology to her as he put her under a sleeping spell, warded that room so no one could enter and silently made his way to the other side of the mansion.

Glamouring himself as he passed Autumn Court sentries so no one would recognize him, Helion made it to the East Wing in record time. When he reached the second floor, however, his steps slowed. One of the sentries turned to him, head lolled at an uncomfortable angle, looking at him as if he was seeing right through him. Helion slipped into the adjacent room.

He made quick work of climbing over the balcony into the adjacent room's. Wards, he told himself as he silently put those up. He couldn't trust himself to remember to put those up after he laid eyes on her. Wasn't sure he'd remember to do anything.

Unlocking the balcony door, he stepped inside the candlelit room just as she stepped in through the connecting doorway.

Their eyes met and for a moment, the world went still. Her breath caught, he could hear it, her hand flying to her chest.

"You shouldn't be here-" She started toward him the same time he moved toward her.

"Seraphina" He breathed, one second before her mouth was on his and he was kissing her for all the years spent apart, all the yearning.

Her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer as he ran his hands over everywhere he could touch, trying to familiarize himself with her all over again, worried that this was one of his cruel nightmares where she'd disappear come morning.

"Helion-" She whispered, but Helion didn't stop kissing her to give her a chance to say more "Helion-" She tried again, but he took that chance and plunged his tongue in her mouth, the force of the kiss making her knees weak and his arms around her body the only thing keeping her up "Heli-" She gave up, kissing him back with all the desperation she felt.

"Sera" He breathed, moving from her lips to her cheeks, her nose, eyes, forehead and jaw, anywhere he could reach to kiss her, hands in her hair and around her waist and on her back, scared their time would be up.

"What are you doing here?" And it broke his heart to see she looked worried not for what Beron might do if he found her with another man but for him.

"Ten years" He cupped her face, bringing his forehead down to hers "Ten years I've dreamt of holding you in my arms again" She was crying before he was done talking but so was he.

"You shouldn't be here. He- He can't find you"

Wrapping his arms around her, Helion picked her up and carried her to the bed "I know" He said, sitting on the edge and bringing her down on his lap.

She took his face in her hands, lovingly running her fingers over his cheeks and lips, his eyebrows, the slant of his nose before she moved in to kiss him again "How I've missed you"

And it was as if they couldn't stand to stay clothed for one more second as Helion began undoing her robe and she was pulling at his tunic, while he kissed a path down her throat, biting and nibbling against the skin knowing he'd have to heal it before he left. Knowing she'd have to mask his scent before Beron came to check on her.

Realizing they didn't have that much time to waste, Helion simply loosened his pants, pulling his cock out and positioned himself below her.

"Sera, are you sure?"

She leaned in once and kissed him "Give me all of you, Helion"

Driving into her to the hilt in one go, Helion bit her shoulder to hold in the roar that was building at the base of his throat. Her breath had caught and her legs were trembling but the scent of her arousal was thick in the air, mixing with his own.

He gave her a moment to adjust "I've missed you so much" Helion was soothing the spot he'd bit on with his tongue "This is not how I wanted to do it. I want to do it right, Sera"

"We don't have that time, Helion" Tears were forming in her eyes and the string around his chest tightened, pulling taut against his ribs "But we will" She kissed his brow "And when we do, we will do all of it right" Moving her hips, she pulled a groan of long-suffering from him as he started to move inside of her slowly.

"You feel so good" Helion gritted out, his pace quickening, his movements feral and his thrusts almost animalistic. He was tapping into his beast side, using centuries of his training to hold off on shooting into her like he was a pubescent teenager. She met him for every thrust, arms wrapped tightly around him, lips hovering over his own as her breaths shortened.

"Helion.." Her fingernails were digging into his shoulder "Helion, I'm so…so.." The rest of her words dissolved into a moan that Helion swallowed as he kissed her, his tongue plunging into her mouth in sync with his thrusts.

Holding her by her thighs, Helion made quick work of picking her up and flipping them over. Bringing her ankles over on his shoulders, he was enveloped completely in her warmth, her walls impossibly tight around him and driving him half mad. Wrapping her arms around him again, she brought him down to kiss her as his movements turned frantic, one hand on her belly where he could feel himself inside her.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful" Biting her jaw, his movements turning frantic as he reached a hand between them, rubbing circles on her clit as she whimpered. Helion gritted out "Come for me, Sera" He was kissing her, speaking against her lips, one hand pulling on her nipple peeking out of her robe "Come for me, love"

And she did. Legs trembling, shivering and shaking, Helion swallowed her scream as he kissed and fucked her through her orgasm, his fingers working her up all over again till the tears in her eyes were those of pleasure and she was chanting his name like a prayer.

Helion pretended not to notice the glow of his skin, the string that was pulling uncomfortably inside his chest, groaning while he held himself back as Seraphina moaned loudly, her eyes rolling back in her head.

"Please..please…HelionHelionHelionHelion- oh my-" She was already coming a second time and this time Helion detonated with her, shooting into her without stopping, pulling back only to watch his own cum dripping down her legs mixed with her own. Gathering all of it, he pushed it back into her pussy as he pulled out, a whimper escaping her at the loss.

Helion leaned in to kiss her “I’m kidnapping you” He whispered against her lips, something he’d been saying for decades, trying to get her to agree to disappear with him.

Shaking her head, Seraphina rested her forehead against his “I can’t leave my sons alone with him..he treats them horribly as it is” At that she broke down, sobbing in earnest as he held her, running his fingers through her hair and pulling her against his chest.

“And you?” Helion managed to ask, his eyes catching the bruising against her arms where her robe sleeves had fallen back. Eyes narrowing on them as Seraphina quickly covered them “I’m going to kill him”

“No, Helion” She brushed her fingers against his face as if she, too, was memorizing his face for she didn’t know how long it would be before they got a chance to be together again.

“Mate, Sera” His voice broke, catching at the word “You’re my mate” Her eyes closed as if the reminder pained her, shoulders shaking with silent sobs “I will adopt all your sons if that’s what it takes”

Helion.

Ignoring Rhysand’s voice in his head, Helion took both of her hands in his “Say yes and you don’t have to suffer at his hands for a second longer”

Seraphina pulled her hands back, crying against his shoulder “You should go, Helion. P-Please” But she was kissing him, her actions a complete contrast to her words.

“Sera-”

Helion, Beron’s sentries are alert.

“Go” Wiping at her tears, she stood up, putting much needed distance between them "And thank Rhysand for me"

“Sera- please”

Beron seems to be looking for you.

She turned her back to him, like she had done countless times “I-" She began, considered her words “I-It’s not the time..b-but-” She peeked over her shoulder at him “Please wait for me?”

He was hugging her then, wrapping all of himself around her as he buried his face in her hair “Forever. I will wait another millenia just for you”

Helion. Beron is leaving the banquet hall.

“I have to go” He murmured and she nodded, refusing to watch him go or her control would snap “Stay safe, please take care..I-I’ll try to come back soon” With one last squeeze, he let her go, turning around and leaving immediately or he’d have been tempted to follow through with his earlier plan of kidnapping the Lady of another court as he removed the wards, wiped her room clean of his scent.

Helion, where the fuck are you?

Out.

By out he meant jumping the two floors down from the balcony, so distracted that he had no time to smoothen the fall and dropped straight into a bush, the poor plant flattening under him. Helion had no time to complain, making his way hastily toward the banquet hall hoping he didn’t encounter the birthday boy. For Seraphina’s sake more than his own.

His escape was going successfully until he ran straight into another problem. More like the problem ran into him.

The youngest Vanserra scowled up at the Highlord of the Day Court, rubbing against his forehead where he had accidentally collided with Helion’s side.

Crouching down to reach his level, Helion held an arm out to inspect the damage “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Even if it does, as the Highlord with healing abilities, shouldn’t you be able to soothe it?”

Helion opened his mouth, closed it, utterly and completely speechless before he threw his head back and laughed “Listen here, boy, I’m Helion Spell-Cleaver, Highlord of the Day Court”

“And?”

“And?” Helion gaped “You are talking about Thesan”

“You’re not Thesan?”

“Ofcourse not. Having even 1/4th of my looks would be a blessing for him”

The youngest Vanserra looked unimpressed “Atleast he doesn’t announce himself with a title” he muttered.

Helion blinked, realizing that the little boy who hardly looked to be 8-9 years old, had known who he was this whole time “Who are you?”

At that, the little boy jut his chin out, his aristocratic nose high in the air as he replied “Lucien Vanserra, son of Beron, Highlord of the Autumn Court”

Helion smiled at the arrogance that looked like it was hereditary in the Vanserra household, noticing how Lucien’s hair color was similar to Seraphina’s “Well, Sir Lucien, while I cannot heal your injury as well as Thesan can, I could do something better”

To his credit, Lucien tried not to look too intrigued as he kept a straight face “I doubt it but let’s hear it”

He even had Seraphina’s stubbornness, Helion noted with amusement as he gently took Lucien’s hand in his, sidelining the zap that went through his body and the goosebumps on his skin “I can show you a spell that won’t make you feel hurt at all”

At that, Lucien turned his entire attention to the Highlord, his voice betraying his excitement “How?”

"You do this" Helion drew the symbol on Lucien's palm to demonstrate.

Eyes lighting up, Lucien watched entraced before taking Helion's palm in his and trying to replicate the symbol "Like this?"

Helion corrected it for him, holding his hand and drawing it over his palm again "Like…this"

Lucien looked like he had achieved enlightenment as he laughed, doing and redoing the symbol to make sure he got it right "You're sure this works, right? Right?!"

"Go ahead, try it on me" Helion held his arm out and while he was sure even without the spell, little Lucien wouldn't be able to do much harm he gave him his best weary look "Go easy on me"

"Nuh uh" Lucien tutted, pulling his fist back and swinging with full force, the hit not registering in the slightest.

"See?" Helion asked "What do you think?"

"You could be lying" The amber-eyed prince was not having it "Go ahead, you try it on me now"

Helion worried he might actually end up bruising the kid if he used even a tenth of his energy so he chose to go the easy path and flicked his forehead. Hands flying to his forehead, Lucien pulled them away a second later, his face a kaleidoscope of awe and disbelief.

"I-It didn't hurt at all!" He was jumping around now, making flicking gestures and little punching actions.

"This will come in handy when your older brothers push you around, huh?" Helion teased, a smile breaking on his face replicating Lucien's.

"Nah" Lucien was still in the middle of his happy dance "I’m gonna teach it to my Mom" When Helion's smile dropped, Lucien realized what he had accidentally divulged.

Immediately recognizing that the little boy was about to panic, Helion decided to do instant damage control even if his blood boiled at the reminder of Seraphina's bruises "You're too strong when you playfight with your mother and she needs to be shielded?"

Lucien latched on to the excuse with desperate hands "Yep. I'm going to be stronger than all my brothers one day!"

"That's very commendable" Helion nodded along "However, take care of your mother and don't hurt her. That's not how good sons behave. You have to protect her"

Lucien was silent for a moment before he stepped away "L-Like I need you to tell me! I will protect my mother from everyone!" He was getting flustered and Helion knew it so he stood up and dusted off the dirt on his clothes.

"You're a good boy, Lucien. I'm proud of you"

"I don't care!" Lucien turned away, walking toward one of the entrances too quickly before he seemed to second guess himself and turned back toward Helion "Thanks..for your help"

Helion grinned, all toothy and cocky "You're welcome, little Lucien"

"I'll come visit you in Dawn Court sometime!" Lucien turned away and was already running, an all too familiar mischievous smile on his face.

"I'm the Highlord of the Day Co-! Ah damnit" Helion laughed as Lucien disappeared around the corner, something in his chest warming.

Helion stood there for a long time before he turned and made his way back to the party to pester his favorite Highlord, thoughts of his mate and her youngest son still fresh in his mind, his heart full.

###

My contribution to the Helion X LoA community because I don't see a lot of fanfics on this pairing (or maybe I'm looking at all the wrong places). This is a plea to send all and every Helion X LoA fanfic my way.

#a court of mist and fury #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #lady of the autumn court #helion spell cleaver #rhysand highlord of the night court #rhysand #rhys acotar #feyre archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #amrenofvelaris #cassian #nesta archeron #azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagines #acotar fanfiction #lucien acotar #helion acotar #loa x helion #helion x lady of autumn

[broodwolf221]

happy dadwc friday :) sending you "rollover reaction [when your dream about someone you know skews how you feel about them all the next day ]" for dai morrigan...

i had a totally different idea for this at first but then i got to thinking about kieran and this ended up going into a familial and kinda angsty direction @dadrunkwriting 516 words cws: none

She was walking, fingers brushing against the flowers; their soft petals, the downy pollen, their rough leaves. She was content, feeling like this was what she was meant to do, barely paying attention to her surroundings.

Until she heard a voice. Kieran’s voice. Suddenly the flowers were gone and she was focused on that voice—did he sound scared? Upset? Where was he? Where was her son?

Dusk drew a curtain around her, and then it got darker still. She tried to transform, to grant herself a wolf’s vision, but although she felt the change ripple over her skin she could see no better for it. The darkness enveloped her, a warm cocoon, a peace, the night sky, serenity…

But no, she had to do something, had to—

Kieran—

She forced her way through, out, and suddenly she knew where she was. In the Fade. Dreaming. The ruins of ancient memory floated around her, paradoxically beautiful, rotten and preserved all at once. She stepped forward, and again, and then she was running, uncertain if she was getting anywhere but unable to stop.

Between two great shapes lay a narrow path; like cliff faces, only closer they were revealed to be ancient walls, higher than the tallest buildings she had ever seen. A miracle of craftsmanship, now sequestered to this deep part of the Fade, but they did not matter. What mattered was pushing through the narrow, hushed passage between them, following the faintest whisper that might be Kieran, until eventually she emerged into a wide clearing.

Her son in the center.

But not alone.

He turned to her with a smile, something amorphous and shifting beside him turning as well. Red eyes—but she blinked and they were golden. Or grey? It could not—or would not—hold a single shape; one moment like a man, the next on all fours like a beast, and then with great shapes like wings, and many things between each transformation. Her eyes skated away from it every single time she tried to focus. “I am glad you two get to meet,” Kieran said to her and the shape, and she looked at her son, saw the boy she knew. And a hint of something else. Red. Gold. Grey, white, black. A hint of shifting color behind his eyes.

She stepped forward. Closed the distance. Something in her expression worried him, for he frowned, reached out for her. The shape just watched and waited.

And then she was awake, bolting upright with her hand on her chest, drawing in deep lungfuls of cold mountain air. She was in Skyhold. And Kieran, where was he? She threw off her bedclothes and rushed from her room to his, opening the door and slumping against the wall to find him asleep in his bed, his breathing easy, the rise and fall of his chest visible. She closed the door quietly and sank down the wall, sitting and staring at him, needing to be sure he was safe.

She knew what that shape was. Who it was. And it was her fault he bore it. All her fault.

#broodwrites #dadw time #morrigan #kieran #urthemiel

[thomasisaslut]

Eris Vanserra x Azriel Shadowsinger

Exhibitionism — KTober

Word Count: 1k

Includes: Exhibitionism, Light Bondage, Hickeys, Mating Bonds, Creampie, Anal, Anal Fingering.

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50893822

On Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1390441855-𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑-𝐄𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦-𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐬-𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚-𝐱

Navigating a relationship was tough for both parties, Azriel having to explain to the entire Inner Circle about his boyfriend—to Morrigan. Eris having to hide the entire affair from his father, luckily, he will be executed by no other than Azriel. Then, they can be happy in peace.

Well, not saying they aren’t happy. Currently the two males are outside of Eris’ Forest Cabin. The Autumn Court’s breeze gusting past the two—Azriel instinctively wraps his wing around Eris like a shield—in a cold blow. The forever color shifting leaves falling before them and their feet, sometimes landing on their thighs.

Eris’ hounds are also out, running and playing with each other around the house.

“Az?” Eris’ voice rings out as he rests his head on Azriel’s shoulder, looking up at the toner man.

“Hm?” He hums back, looking down into the deep, brown eyes.

Without replying Eris smirks, his smaller hands connect to Azriel’s chest before pushing him onto the grass. Eris soon moves on top of him—now lying on the Illyrian’s chest.

“What are you doing, little fox?” Azriel chuckles at his mates actions.

“I like your chest.”

“Oh, do you?” Azriel smirks, near cocky.

Eris rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Shadowsinger.”

“But you just said how much you like it, Eris.” Azriel sees Eris begin to slide off his chest and quickly takes the chance to grab underneath his armpits—flipping their positions and pinning Eris to the ground.

“Don’t you want to see how much I like yours?”

Eris’ cheeks flush a deep crimson before he weakly nods, his chocolate-colored eyes meeting the burning yellow.

The shadows move, unhooking the buttons of Eris’ white shirt—revealing his pale, scarred chest. In a second Azriel connects his lips to the scars, delicately kissing the previously wounded areas. Eris whimpers.

“Az… you better not be teasing me.”

The taller chuckles. “Of course not, we will get there soon.” Azriel moves up Eris’ chest before nibbling at the soft flesh—he begins to leave red marks before sucking, turning the bites into deep purple hickeys. “You’re mine, Vanserra.”

“Then prove it, spymaster.” The red-ginger smirks.

Azriel only smirks back, he tugs down the black pants that Eris wore—now he is fully nude and on display for his mate.

Azriel could moan at the sight if he lost self-control.

“Suck.” He brings his scarred fingers to Eris’ mouth, he happily obliges and takes Azriel’s fingers into his mouth—covering his index, middle, and ring with a thick coat of saliva before Azriel pulls them out.

Slowly, Azriel inserts his index finger—Eris squirms under the cold touch, even with the saliva he groans.

“Are you al-“

“More, please, Az.” Eris cuts him off with a plea, his own breath hitching as Azriel does so.

He begins to pump his fingers in and out of Eris’ hole, slowly increasing the pace before he inserts a third finger. Azriel then begins the scissoring process, stretching the tight muscle so his throbbing cock would be able to fit.

“Can’t…” Azriel finds that mushy spot deep inside of Eris and begins to abuse his prostate. “Fuck!” Eris moans. “I need you, your cock, please.” The orange-red headed male begs.

“Of course, my little mate.” Azriel bites onto Eris’ bare neck again before speaking once more. “I need more lube, Eris.” He brings his hand back up to Eris’ mouth.

Eris complies and opens his mouth, Azriel stuffs the three of his fingers back—Eris tastes himself on the scarred fingers, moaning at the taste. Soon after, Azriel retracts his hand then brings it to his throbbing cock, he lubes up his cock before aligning the tip of his member and sliding in.

“Oh… Azriel!” Eris moans, praying his hounds are still playing with each other instead of smelling the heavy scent of sex.

“You need more, little fox? Need to feel my cock pulsing deep inside your aching hole?” Azriel teases, his cocky smirk only grows.

“Yes! Oh, please!” Eris grunts as Azriel pushes in further, finally he is situated fully.

“May I move?”

“If you don’t I’ll fucking-“

“Fucking what? Huh?” Azriel begins to thrust, pounding harshly against Eris’ prostate—abusing the sensitive spot deep inside his hole.

“That’s what I thought.” He smirks.

“Azriel!”

“My little mate, my mate.” Azriel emphasizes the word ‘my’. “Who do you belong to, Eris Vanserra?”

“You! Only you, m-my Illyrian brute!”

Even in a rough fucking Eris remains to be snarky, it causes Azriel to laugh.

“Yes, and who do I belong too, fox?”

“Me!” Azriel thrusts again, harder and faster than before. “Only… me.” Eris pants out.

“That’s right, my love. My little High Lord.”

Eris nods, his breath ragged and panting as Azriel continues his rough fucking session. He feels the scarred hands move to his cock, one of them fumbling with his balls whilst the other strokes his cock. Azriel’s shadows hook around Eris’ hips, holding them down against the grass.

“I’m so close, little fox.”

“M-Me too!” He moans. “So… faster!” Eris begs.

Azriel kisses his temple then begins to fist Eris’ cock faster, stroking and stroking until he cums. His release covers both his scarred hand, forearm, and Eris’ lower stomach.

“Azriel!” He moans as he cums. “Inside, inside! Let me feel you, my mate. Claim me! Mark me!” Eris pleas, hooking his legs around Azriel’s waist and tugging him closer.

Azriel removes his shadows from Eris’ hips then replaces it with his hands, he holds them to the point of bruising as he continues to pound.

“Cum with me for a second time, little fox.”

Eris nods, he moves his pale hand to his own cock and begins to lazily stroke it—completely overstimulated by the prostate abuse and his cock being fisted.

“Oh! Eris!” Azriel moans, shooting his load deep inside of Eris’ stretched hole. He doesn’t stop moving inside of the pale man until he cums for a second time.

Eris finally cums again, covering his stomach in another layer of release. Slowly, Azriel pulls out. He leans forward and pecks Eris’ temple.

“Is your back alright, Eris?”

He hums, now in a cockdrunk state of mind. “Inside…” Eris shivers in the cold Autumn Court breeze.

Azriel smiles then hooks his arm under Eris’ thighs, then under his neck—hoisting him up into his arms then bringing him into the Forest cabin for another night of relaxation—at least while they could.

#azriel x reader #azris x reader #azris #azris fanfiction #azriel #azris supremacy #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel shadowsinger #eris x reader #eris my beloved #erisweek2023 #eris vanserra x reader #azriel x eris #high lord eris #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #acowar #acofas #acomaf #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

[acourtofladydeath]

A Dark Black Night

In "Take These Broken Wings" chapter 3, Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta will have to face the Camp Lords during an Illyrian trial. Emotions run high, and unwanted truths must be faced. Who will the new Camp Lord of Windhaven rule in favor of, and what will it cost?

This chapter is dedicated to all the victims who have survived their assaults and their trials. The system is brutal, and you are seen.

Start reading below the cut and find the full chapter here on AO3.

There was one thing that Cassian had avoided more than any other during his recovery. Rhysand had pushed it off as long as he possibly could, but there could be no further circumvention. The Camp Lords had to be held accountable for their actions, and Cassian would have to face them, and by extension, himself.  Illyria had its own judicial system to try and convict crimes, and since Cassian’s assault was committed by and against Illyrians on their home soil, they had to return to Windhaven for the trial. Rhysand, as High Lord of all fae within the Night Court had attempted to find a way around it, but eventually Nesta and Emerie had stopped him.  “You do realize that this is exactly why Illyria distrusts you right? You’re trying to circumvent a process that’s been in place for thousands of years because it helps your family. Whether the trial happens in Velaris or Windhaven, Cassian will still have to testify, and he will still have to face those lords. You can’t protect him from this,” Emerie explained in a private meeting with Rhysand. Her voice softened in recognition of what their friend would be subject to, but continued nonetheless. “But you can help him by working with Illyria on this instead of against them.”  They’d had several of these get-togethers since Emerie’s talk with him outside Cassian’s room. The pair spent time discussing how his court’s lack of action had caused as much damage as incorrect action would have. Rhysand had listened, and while not much had changed in such a short time, Emerie was hopeful.  The day of the trial, Cassian had requested that Morrigan be the one to winnow him, Nesta, and Emerie to Illyria. She had been more than happy to oblige, but his brothers were left feeling helpless and hurt. Ever since the confrontation in front of Cassian’s door, Rhysand received nothing but a cold shoulder from Nesta. Azriel was another story, though no one knew the tale. Emerie had been most forgiving, and tried to encourage Rhys and Azriel to keep the faith. Rhysand hoped that what had happened between him and the Valkyrie had set some things straight not just between them, but between Velaris and Illyria.  Nesta saw Cassian’s body stiffen immediately once they landed in Windhaven. It was early spring, but the snow still lay thick on the ground. The sharp, cold air cleared her lungs and Nesta reveled in the crisp scent of pine, of home. Despite the impending worry of what was to come, Nesta felt a pang of longing for all Illyria had become to her. It hit Nesta then just how strong the bond had become between her and her chosen home.  And as much as Nesta was glad to be back on Illyrian soil, she watched carefully, ready to be there for Cassian the moment he asked. Cassian’s home had been stolen from him. As he took his first steps, solid from their balancing practice, part of him cowered. An untrained eye might not have noticed, but Nesta could read every flex of every muscle in her mate’s body. He was not okay.  In front of them stood a permanent tent fixture, the material and appearance so much like those celebration tents from the Day of Breaking. Nesta took a deep breath as she remembered the last time she’d walked up to a tent like this, the violence and bloodshed she found within. Today she approached again, ready for a different kind of battle. And she knew that if the tent affected her this much, it must pale in comparison to Cassian’s experience. Nesta approached his side to grasp his hand. Her mate wore a determined look on his face as he slowly began to walk forward, but she felt the slight tremble in his fingers.

Continue reading on AO3.

#nessriel #nessian #acotar fanfic #cassian #TTBW #nesta archeron #TTBW ch3 #LD writes #assault trial #survivor testimony #reliving of trauma #azriel #OC camp lords #rhysand #emerie #emerie of illyria #acotar #acosf #illyria #windhaven #aznessian #tribunal #general cassian #acotar fanfiction

[darksaiyangoku]

RWBY: Grim Tales

The Wrong Demon

Sun: You know, Blake, this isn't exactly what I had mind when you asked me out.

Blake: What do you mean?

Sun: ...you're summoning a demon. What's romantic about that?

Blake: Come on, it'll be fun! I never get to do anything like this with my team. Please? For me?

Sun: *sighs*Fine, I'll play along.

Blake: Yes! Alright, do you have the chalk?

Sun: Check!

Blake: Now draw a circle on the floor.

Sun: *draws circle* Check!

Blake: Finally, we say the incantation from this spellbook. *ahem* From the depths of Makai, I command you! Come forth and do my bidding!

The cicrle shone a bright, green light and sparks of purple frizzed in the air. The light died down and, standing at the center, was a tall, female demon. She had long, green hair, black bodysuit with long, purple stockings and black boots. On her back and head were black bat-like wings. She opened her eyes and walked over to Sun, carressing his face.

Sun: Uh, Blake? *blushes* I think you've summoned the wrong demon.

Blake: ...

Morrigan: My dear, I am Morrigan Aensland. Are you the one who summoned me? *smirk*

Blake: *shifts Gambol Shroud to gun form* I am and unless you want your wings clipped, back away from my man!

Morrigan: *turns to Blake* Your man, eh?

Blake: That's right. Got a problem with that?

Morrigan: Not at all, my dear. *giggles*

Blake: Glad we understand each other.

Sun: *whispers* ...this might be a good date after all.

#rwby #grim tales #rwby grim tales #halloween #blake belladonna #sun wukong #morrigan aensland #darkstalkers #blacksun #rwby blacksun #blacksun rwby #sun x blake #blake x sun #blake belladonna x sun wukong #sun wukong x blake belladonna

[kauriart]

How Alistair Fell in Love with Bethany Hawke

Chapter 1: A Drink in the Dark A Dragon Age fic  | Alistair x Bethany Hawke | Read it on A03

Alastair jolts awake in total darkness, hand sliding unerringly to the hilt of his sword even as he realizes—

There are no darkspawn.

Someone is shouting, and there are no darkspawn.

It is the middle of the night, and someone is shouting, and there are no darkspawn.

Stroud will have their head.

Alistair shakes off the last bit of fogginess from sleep and begins to stuff himself into his boots and armor by force of habit, attention entirely fixed on the sharply rising voices on the far edge of the camp. It isn’t one of the other Warden’s, he’s sure. But whoever they are, they’ll draw every darkspawn within a league if they keep up with that noise.

He grimaces at the thought. It’s too bloody early for a fight, but adrenaline zings through him anyways. He slings his shield over his shoulder, but keeps his sword in hand, secure in its scabbard — just in case — and strides to the far side of the camp where the commotion is growing.

Stroud is there, surprisingly still in just breeches and shirt sleeves and bare feet. Directly in front of him is a man with coal black hair and a beard to match, armed and armored and nearly vibrating with violence. His voice ratchets up and down like the swelling of the seas. Tucked behind the bearded man is a ruddy-haired Dwarf, face bare, and serious. He flinches a little at the noise, but remains quiet himself. And standing beside them is—  

“Anders?” Alistair blurts, mouth dropping open.

The Warden-Mage turns towards him briefly, the ghost of a smile on his lips, though much of his attention stays fixed on his noisy companion. “Hullo, Alistair.”

Four years have changed Anders dramatically. He was always tall and thin, but now there's a gauntness to his face that is more than the toll paid to the deep roads. The shadows beneath his eyes are dark as bruises, and the easy humor has been all but wiped away, replaced by something grim and… resigned.

“What’s going on?” Alistair asks.

“Foolishness,” Stroud answers curtly.

The bearded man makes a sound that’s akin to a growl, and though he doesn’t move, everything in his demeanor looks even more menacing.

Anders glances at him warily. “Hawke and I have come seeking help, and have found the Wardens... less forthcoming than I remembered.”

Stroud waves away the observation. "We've no way to help, Anders, and you know it. What were you even thinking coming here? If you can find us then you’re still enough of a Warden to sense that you’ve been dragging half-a-legion of darkspawn naught but a days march behind you. What do you think will happen when they catch up? I cannot see how a corpse can be worth such a risk.”

“Corpse?” Alistair blinks, startled, noticing for the first time the figure laid out on the floor, wrapped in a heavily stained blanket nearly head to toe. A pair of ugly, worn boots poke out of the bottom, but that’s all.

Hawke — Alistair assumes — makes a loud, angry noise, but he keeps his eyes on Stroud. "She's alive. Or what the fuck do you think we're doing here?”

Alistair kneels, and carefully pulls a hood-like fold of the blanket away from the figure’s face.

A woman.

And she's—

Alistair has been stunned utterly speechless three times in his life.

The first time was vertigo. A stunning sense of falling through the floor the first time he’d seen his father from afar. Seen his own features mirrored and muted; wrapped in spun gold and topped with a crown.

The second time was shock. Morrigan, mouth twisted in a line like she’d bitten a sour lemon, offering something absolutely ridiculous. What do witches know of Warden matters anyway?

The third time was horror. He’d seen an archdemon before of course, in his dreams. But it was different in the flesh. Ten thousand pounds of malice and terror, with wings broad enough to blot out the sun. Death lingering on the horizon.

But this… This time it is something else entirely. Something indescribable stirring deep in his belly.

She's—

He blinks.

Maker, she’s lovely.

And clearly dying.

She’s pale and cold as marble, with black spidery veins of the taint winding up her limbs. She's conscious, but barely, breathing ragged, and shallow, and strained. She’s young. Perhaps even a few years younger than himself, and finely featured. Dark hair falls in tangled curls around her face. Her eyes flicker open, a surprisingly bright, coppery sort of brown, but they’re unfocused, drifting over him in listless patterns.

“Hullo,” Alistair says quietly, fingers drifting towards the curls on her brow.

She doesn’t respond.

"You’d let her take the Joining like this?" Stroud's voice rises for the first time, cold and brittle. "Are you mad? A knife would be a quicker death, and a kinder one."

Hawke takes a slow step forward until he's nearly nose to nose with Stroud. "I wasn’t asking.” He isn’t shouting any more. His voice is low and mild. Almost pleasant. Conversational. “You’ll do it. Or I'll kill you.” His hand raises with that same, slow deliberateness, and fits itself around the collar of Stroud’s shirt. " You. Specifically. And I promise it won't be quick, or kind."

“Threatening a Warden with death is not particularly effective,” Stroud says with a raised brow. “And you are outnumbered. Badly.”

Hawke chuckles darkly through his teeth. "Am. I?”

Stroud’s eyes narrow, and Alistair can feel his heart rate pick up in response to that look from his Warden-Commander. Every time he’s seen it, death has swiftly followed.

Oh fuck.

Hawke must pick up on the subtle shift of the atmosphere. The chuckle drops nearly an octave, into something more like a growl, all rumble and danger and every hair stands up on the back of Alistair’s neck.

Double fuck.

He shifts his body so the bulk of him is directly above the girl. If it comes to a fight he’ll keep her safe. Stroud will be careful enough, but Hawke seems the type of man whose violence gets messy. This way at least, he can have his shield over them both in a heartbeat.

The silence drags, a solid wall of tension stretched between one man and the other. A strange sort of stalemate. Hawke doesn’t give an inch, and neither does Stroud.

But Anders is the bridge between both worlds. “She’s a mage, Stroud,” he offers to the silence. “You know what that would mean to the Order.”

Mages are rare. Warden mages, rarer still.

Stroud takes a half-step back, head inclining slightly. Even Hawke turns away, though in his case it is to shift his glare to Anders.

Alistair holds his breath, waiting, heart still hammering away.

He has served under three Warden Commanders. Duncan was all instinct. Emmory was blind courage. But Stroud is tradition; well-rooted in discipline and pragmatism. He might be… He should be…

But—

“No,” Stroud shakes his head. “If I was that interested in a mage, Anders, I’d just insist that you stay where you belong.”

Hawke reacts instantly, folding his hand into a fist and punching Stroud square in the gut. The Warden Commander doubles over with a strangled rush of air. A handful of Wardens rush forward armed and angry, but Stroud manages to wave them back, glaring.

"Last chance,” Hawke warns quietly.

“The joining is not a cure, Anders,” Stroud says. He ignores Hawke, though his voice is noticeably strained. One hand casually spans his middle. “I would have expected you of all people to know that.”

“It’s a chance,” Anders insists, stubborn as ever.

"Not for her,” the Warden Commander says.

There’s a sudden flurry of motion as Hawke launches himself at Stroud, the flash of a blade in his hand. Magic flares, and a barrier springs up between them, before settling around them both. Hawke spits out a series of curses — first at Anders, then at Stroud, and then at Anders again. He jams his dagger back into its sheath, rogue-quick, and grabs Stroud’s shirtfront, shaking vigorously. Stroud grabs him back and the stand-off quickly devolves into a shoving match.

Hawke makes a determined and largely ineffectual attempt to knee Stroud in the balls.

The shouting starts again after that — mostly from Hawke, describing in detail his plans for Stroud’s entrails — and Alistair winces. Not at Hawke’s descriptions which seem anatomically improbable, but at the damn noise. Noise draws the attention of darkspawn, as does the scent of blood. And there’s quite a lot of noise right now, and quite a lot of blood.

Despite all that, Alistair’s attention slips back to the girl. Her breathing is still shallow and uneven, but the bright copper of her eyes seems duller now , irises slowly going grey and gummy. Something swoops in the pit of Alistair's stomach. A sick sort of emptiness, all hard-edged, and desperate. Someone has to do something.

Something beyond posturing and bluster.

Maker, someone has to do something. He has to—

"We'll do it," Alistair says all at once, the words so hurried the syllables are all pressed together into a single sound. "We’ll do it,” he says again. “Anders is right. We can help her. We have to.”

Hawke and Stroud both freeze, varying levels of surprise on their faces.

Then Stroud's expression sharpens. “Alistair.”

“We have to,” Alistair insists, gesturing helplessly. “Please. She’s—“

“You had your chance to lead,” Stroud interrupts tersely. “Now you must follow.”

Alistair’s brows shoot up. It’s the truth, but it hits him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t wanted command. He hadn’t sought leadership. Had refused Weisshaupt on the matter, repeatedly. And when Stroud had been named Warden Commander in his stead, he had sworn both publicly and privately, to follow his lead, without question. And he had never broken that oath.

Never wavered.

Never once.

And yet he can feel his jaw shift stubbornly. (His father’s jaw, square-set like all the old Kings of Ferelden. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard sometimes to bend.) “Perhaps,” he squares his shoulders and takes a breath. “But Warden Commander or no, you’ve not seen half of what I have as a Warden.”

Stroud's expression remains steely.

He raises a single black brow.

“We can help her,” Alistair insists. “We have to at least try.” He scrubs his hand through his hair, feeling panicky. “You don’t understand. We wouldn’t have ended the fifth blight so swiftly without the mages. You don’t— you’ve no idea what it was like to fight the— Well. At Denerim. Or Amaranthine. And we haven’t yet regained even a third of what the Order lost at Ostagar. We need every Warden we can get. Every last one,” he glares up at Stroud. “Especially her,”   he says as firmly as he can. “We need her. So we are going to help her.”

There is a stunned sort of silence.

Anders shifts back and forth, expression unreadable.

Stroud pulls himself from Hawke’s grip and steps back, flicking his hands down his chest, smoothing out his crumpled shirtfront; one of the buttons has been torn free and he picks at a loose thread. “Mage or no, I am not in the habit of making people suffer needlessly.” Stroud looks at Alistair pointedly.

“Me neither,” Alistair glances down at the girl. “But we’re the only one's who can save her.”

Stroud looks at Alistair for a moment as though he has never seen him before. He makes an amused sound, and shakes his head, but the gesture is all exasperation. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing," he asks mildly.

Alistair grins reflexively, all nerves no humor. “Not the least little bit.”

Stroud is silent a moment more, then he scrubs a hand across his face as if exhausted. “She’ll not survive it.”

It is no different than what he’s said before, but now there is a gentleness in Stroud’s voice that makes Alistair’s throat close up. He tries to speak, but instead gives a hitching, one shouldered shrug.

Stroud takes a deep, slow breath, air dragging noisily through his lungs. “Fine. I conscript her. It’s done.”

And with that, the girl belongs to the Wardens.

“Thank you,” Anders says after a quiet moment, and sets a hand on Hawke’s shoulder, forearm across his chest as if to offer a protective embrace.

The anger in Hawke’s expression dissolves nearly instantly, and he sags into Anders’ touch. It’s clear now that the rage was all but holding him together. Without it, he looks almost lost; empty, and strangely vulnerable. The hands at his side open and close in slow motion, as if grasping for something no longer there.

“You'll leave immediately,” Stroud says crisply, focusing back on Hawke and his companions.

“I can take them,” Alistair offers. He goes to stand, but his knees sort of lock up. He doesn’t want Stroud and Hawke to have the opportunity to knife each other, but he doesn't want to leave her, more.

“I’ll take them,” Stroud says firmly. “I’ll not leave Hawke alone with any of my people. Besides, the girl is your responsibility now.” He gives Alistair a meaningful look. “Mera,” he calls to another Warden over his shoulder, not looking. “You have command.”

Ever the antagonist, Hawke moves to block Stroud’s path.

“I am not leaving her.”

“We said she’d take the joining, and so she will,” Stroud says, voice cold. “This is Warden business now. And you have no place here.”

Hawke's eyes are hard, and so haunted they are nearly black. For a moment Alistair thinks it may come to violence after all. Instead Hawke nods with a fair bit of bad grace. Anders' head drops briefly, relieved, and the barriers he cast fizzle out of existence.

It is over.

Hawke kneels, and with a fierce and startling tenderness, leans in and kisses the girl’s forehead. He murmurs something against her skin, too faint for Alistair to hear, but his meaning is clear enough.

He is saying goodbye.

Alistair turns his head to give them what privacy he can, but when he turns back Hawke is staring at him with a manic sort of intensity, brown eyes dark with grief.

“Keep. Bethany. safe.” Every word is a command, bitten in half with anguish and lined with despair.

No matter if the Warden’s succeed — or not — Hawke is unlikely to ever see her again. And Alistair is struck anew with the quiet tragedy of it all.

Bethany.

He folds her name in his palm, like a secret, and nods, trying to keep his voice steady and certain. “I will. I promise.”

***

The black draught is a foul concoction. Dark as tar and nearly as thick, the potion smokes faintly and smells like a Darkspawn’s hindquarters. If memory serves, it tastes just as bad, too.

Alistair has overseen dozens of joinings, but it’s only his second time crafting the black draught himself. The first had been for a woodcutter from Jader. The man had been all sunburn and freckles and ginger curls; the least likely person to face the Deep Roads. Maybe that was why the Maker had marked him to die in the joining, choking and gasping with black foam all across his lips.  

And Alistair standing above him, helpless and horrified.

Certain it was all his fault.

Certain he should have known better.

And yet here he is again.

Somehow.

Alistair holds his breath, heart hamming halfway through his chest. His hands are slick in his gloves.

Stroud's not wrong. Dying of the joining is no easy death. But neither is dying of the taint. Even now he can see the pain carving itself into Bethany, pronounced even above the exhaustion and the spray of dried blood that stains one cheek. And yet even through the blood and the dust and the sickly cast of her pallor, something clean and bright shines through. A tiny spark. No bigger than a firefly. And for one dizzy moment, Alistair thinks he would do anything to see the girl open her eyes — look at him — and smile.

He raises the chalice, careful not to spill, and takes a breath. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant,” he begins. “Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworned. And should you… should you perish,” Alistair clears his throat to mask the tremor in his voice, “know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And know that one day... we shall join you.”

The last words are little more than a whisper. Alistair kneels, gathers her up in his arms, and gently tips the rim of the cup against her lips. “Drink?” He asks quietly, watching the column of her throat carefully.

Black leaks from the corner of her mouth, running towards her ear. He wipes at it with his thumb. Thick and almost tarry, it smears.

“Please, drink.”

Maker if she is beyond even this…

“You have to drink. Please.”

Her eyes crack open a little. They’re nearly colorless now, pupils fixed and staring.

“Please, Bethany…”

She swallows.

Once.

Twice.

“Very good.” Tears prickle at his eyes, and he wipes at her mouth with the hem of his tunic. He tries to smile, but can’t manage it. His eyes dart to the pulse point beneath her jaw. “That’s very well done.”

He lays her back down as gently as he can, hand against black curl of her hair for the barest of moments.

And then he prays to the Maker.

He has not prayed to the Maker since — well, long enough that the words are stilted and slow, rusty as an old hinge.

Alistair has no illusions as to the danger of the joining. He’s seen grown men healthy and hale, die mere moments after taking the black draught, choking on foulness and dark magic alike. And suddenly it all feels like hubris, to tear her away from people who knew her — loved her — and to let her die, alone in the dark amongst strangers.

And he did that. He did that to her.

The breath rattles noisily in her chest, black spilling from the corners of her mouth, and Alistair nearly chokes on his own fear.

He presses a trembling fist to his lips and prays harder.

***

It is a terrible night.

Death is a part of a Warden’s life. It is not a thing to be feared or avoided. It is what they do. The Maker grants the Wardens a singular sort of immortality — they survive the taint so they may kill darkspawn.

(In war, victory.)

That is all the Order is, at its core. Death. Death. And more death. And one day it will come for all of them, with a sweet song of madness in their ear. And the Maker will grant them peace.

(In peace, vigilance.)

Death is nothing to a Warden if not a familiar.

Alistair himself has survived a blight, an archdemon, and the needless slaughter of half of all living Wardens.

(In death, sacrifice.)

Witnessing this tiny battle waged in the bleakness of the Deep Roads, should be a small thing. Insignificant at scale. No armies are at stake. No kingdoms hang in the balance. Her death will be of no true consequence. And yet…

It doesn’t feel small at all.

It feels… heavy. There is no other word for it. A weight pressing down on his chest so every breath he takes is short, and sharp, and strained. A twisting in his gut, an uneasiness that sits awaiting the strike of a blade. And a terrible helplessness that hangs across his senses like a veil.

After the joining, once it was clear she wouldn’t instantly expire from the draught, the remaining Wardens had moved as swiftly as they could, hoping time and distance would mask Bethany’s scent from the darkspawn.

Alistair had carried her. Slung across his back like a rucksack. Still, and feverish, and unsettlingly light. Sometimes he couldn’t hear her breathing over the sound of his own heartbeat. So he’d run his thumb over the pulse points of her wrists, searching. Searching. Able to breathe again when he found her heartbeat — light and erratic, but there.

It’s still there.

The Wardens make camp for the night. Cold food and no fire. They can’t risk it until they’ve put more distance between themselves and the horde. The darkspawn are nearly out of range now, but not quite. He can still feel them lurking faintly at the edges of his consciousness. He would have preferred if they’d pressed on for a few more miles, but Mera had ordered him to rest — foolish to wear himself out entirely.

And he knows she’s right. If it came to it now, he’d be slow and sloppy in a fight. Maybe get Bethany killed. Maybe get them all killed.

Maker, he hadn’t even thought about the risk to the others.

He crouches beside Bethany, trembling with nerves, guilt, and exhaustion, until Mera lays a gentle hand on the his head, fingers digging into his scalp, urging him to rest.

They’ve no spare bedding — no spare anything, really — so Alistair rolls Bethany up in his own blankets, with his surcoat pillowed beneath her head, and lies on the bare rock beside her. It isn’t the first time he’s slept on naked stone and it won’t be the last, though this time he gets little in the way of sleep. He can’t. He’s too wound up.

Bethany… She is—

Not dying. Not dying.

—fragile as spun silk.

Her pulse is as faint as a butterfly's wings, and seems to stutter to a halt with a terrifying regularity. Alistair barely removes his hand from her wrist now. Counting the seconds between each heartbeat and the next. There’s so much time between them. So much empty space for him to fall face-first into cold terror. And then he finds the little bump of her pulse again, irregular and light, and his head blooms with an irrational sense of relief.

Twice he thinks she slips away, and quiet agony coils around his heart until she takes a noisy sort of breath that sounds like she may be drowning, and the faint bump bump of her pulse starts again.

He pulls the blankets down to her waist, afraid that their meager pressure will be too much strain for her to overcome. Then he frets that she’s too cold, and pulls them up again. But mostly he just tries to will her heartbeat into alignment with his, and struggles to stay afloat of his own growing despair.

***

In the morning there is no dawn to greet them. No gentle sunrise to reward her fight. The camp simply begins to stir, coming alive with the soft, familiar sounds of Warden’s waking.

Alistair is a wreck. He’d sweated straight through his tunic from anxiety, and can probably count on one hand the minutes he'd actually managed to fall asleep. His back aches and he’s got pins and needles all down his arse and the backs of his legs. And the muscles of his jaw are stiff and sore from grinding his teeth all night. Still. He cracks the biggest smile at every Warden who comes to check on them.

Because she is still alive.

***

“She’s not dying,” Alistair says firmly, but can’t help but wring his hands as he says it.

“Aye,” Warden Runsk sighs heavily and pats Alistair’s back mechanically. “You’ve said it a hundred times. Not sure you have anymore say in the matter now, as before. She’s had two days like this. She’ll not last a third.”

She can’t take any real food –– the risk of choking is too high –– but they stop every hour, like now, and Alistair drips a water-thin gruel into her mouth, a tiny bit at a time, stroking her throat to encourage her to swallow. She’s visibly lost weight, the bones of her wrist are sharp and sparrow-light. But the blackness of the taint has slowed it’s advance through her veins, and the pulse beneath his thumb is stronger, he thinks, but still irregular.

He takes comfort from that when he can.

“I’ve heard of someone lasting five,” Alistair mutters stubbornly.

Runsk shakes his head, unconvinced. “The Order is nothing if not half make-believe.”

“But it’s working. She’s not dying.”

“Aye, I know.” Runsk pats him on the back again.

***

In the blink of an eye, your whole life can change.

Alistair has learned that lesson so many times over, you’d think he’d never forget.

Once, he’d thought all life had to offer him was a drafty stable and the smell of Mabari all around. Caring for the hounds as well as the horses, with dirt on his breeches and bits of straw in his hair. It had been hard work — lonely work — but that was life, wasn’t it? And at least the animals were never cruel to him. And he’d always slept with the runts and hand-fed them so they’d never be culled. He’d been… resigned. Happy enough, he’d supposed.

But then he’d gone to the Templars, and it was all different. No dirt, or straw, or horse manure. Just metal, and magic, and that awful silence of the Circle’s Chantry.

Then came the Wardens. And Ostagar. And the Landsmeet — he’d been so terrified then. So aware of everything that would shift should things go poorly.

He should be ready for such things, always. But somehow he never is.

Bethany makes a sound.

Not the horrifying death-rattle as she struggled to breathe, or the tiny, pain-filled moans she would occasionally utter. This is something soft and sleepy and wonderful.

A sound of wakening.

A sound of his whole world shifting.

Alistair scrambles over to her, heart pounding. “Hello?”

Brown eyes blink open, then promptly close again.

And Alistair feels the little bubble of relief fade abruptly. “You’re not dead,” he says in a rush of breath, jaw tightening in reflex.

That’s true at least. Whatever she is, she isn’t dead.

Her eyes flutter open again, focused, though very bloodshot, and Alistair feels his face split in an enormous grin. He tries to school his features into something reassuring and dignified, but he doesn’t quite manage.

Her eyes alight on him briefly before she turns her head, searching. “Garrett—?” Her hand stretches out, distressed. Flailing in the empty air. Searching.

“Oh,” Alistair blinks, surprised by the jealousy that twinges through him absurdly. It’s faint as an echo behind the relief, but there. So stupid. He swallows it back. “Was that the shouty one with the terrifying… and, ah…  rather… ” He stumbles, searching for a word to describe Hawke that isn’t violent or bloodthirsty. Instead he gestures to his own chin. “Um… beard?”

The girl makes a pained noise that lances through him, and a credible attempt to sit up.

“Hey now, none of that,” Alistair presses her back down before she can hurt herself. “You’ve been out for three days. Stroud— that is, the Warden-Commander wasn’t… was sure you wouldn’t— Well. You’re not dead.” He says again firmly, squinting at her as though she might change her mind about it at any moment, though he knows that’s not how the joining works.

“Where is my brother?” The words come out like a shaky rasp, all jagged-edged with dread. She’s so weak she has to breathe after each one.

Oh.

Of course.

“He was your brother then?” Alistair hopes he doesn’t sound as relieved as he feels. He’s not sure if it’s easier to lose a brother than a lover — never having had much in the way of either — but he can’t say he isn’t glad that’s the way of it.

Not that he has any right to be glad that —

“Was?”  The word is all heartbreak. All despair and grief. She wrenches herself upright, panic lending her a sudden burst of strength. She gets her legs under her, nearly tries to stand. And Alistair — the world's most monumentally thoughtless arse — only just gets his arms under her as she collapses, trembling, and all broken out in a cold sweat.

Shit.

He backtracks as fast as he possibly can. “No no no, hey. He’s not dead. Stroud took some men to escort them back to the surface.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, and sees her eyes follow the gesture, jittery with adrenaline. “Never should have been this deep. Surprised any of them made it out in one—” She flinches and Alistair wants to bite off his tongue.

Damn.

Maker, he’s doing none of this right.

He wipes sweating palms on the backside of his breeches.

“Well, hmm.” He takes a breath and forces his voice lower. Softer. Steadier. “You were lucky you brought a healer. Luckier still that the healer was a Warden— is a Warden,” he corrects with a frown. “You never really get to leave the Order, after all.”

“Lucky?” She repeats, voice small and lost. For a moment her eyes drift restlessly back and forth as if trying to understand.

The world changes so easily, after all.

Alistair understands. She didn’t choose this. She didn’t join the Wardens, she was taken by them. By him. And now everything she knew in life, everything, even her own being, is fundamentally, permanently altered.

It is worse than being carted off to the Templars; to join their ranks or become their charge.

Worse than being nearly made King.

He hopes it is less worse than dying.

“What do you remember?” Alistair asks as gently as he can.

She shakes her head in mute confusion. Tears spill down her cheeks. His fingers twitch, wanting to wipe them away, but he doesn’t move.

Always start with the easier questions.

“What’s your name,” he asks instead.

She blinks at him through the tears, sticking her hand out automatically, as Alistair tries not to be thoroughly charmed. “Bethany Hawke.”

Bethany.

It sounds prettier the way she says it, like the chime of a tiny bell, bright and clean, and he cannot help but grin.

“Alistair,” he takes her hand, and his thumb brushes across the top of her knuckles, a tiny show of affection he can’t quite stifle. “Welcome to the Ferelden Wardens.”

#Alistair Therin #bethany hawke #alistair x bethany #bethistair #dragon age #my fic #sunshine in the dark #part 2 #how alistair fell in love with bethany hawke

[achaotichuman]

Oooooh can I ask for your take on Gender fluid/Gender neutral Tamlin where he has body dysmorphia so he constantly changes his form? Because for me Tamlin has body dysmorphia and he sometimes changes form by the regular like clothing.

Sometimes he's a female

Sometimes he's more of an animal like in appearance

Sometimes he looks the same but he changed some features about himself that people with keen eyes can only notice, like how his eyes are a bit more pale green, his hair was more darker brown, he was taller and lanky, and he has small like antlers on his head.

You have no idea how much I love genderfluid Tamlin. They are my favorite.

So.

Tamlin changes his body constantly. It was something everyone knew.

When he was young, he was bullied relentlessly. He was a bit skinny, a bit awkward. His brothers though, they were hulking, massive warriors. They looked down upon him. They made sure he knew he was the outsider. They practically carved into his body. Breaking his bones, leaving bruises where everyone could see, marking his skin with scars.

The changes were at first small. Using his powers to hide the bruising. Then he saw how he could change other things as well.

Once he left for the War Camps, he no longer had to hide from his father or his brothers. Out there he was free to be unapologetically him.

He was still reserved in the beginning, fear from his brothers had been driven into him, so he started small. He changed his hair color, going from blonde to brown, trying out black at one stage, then he went into some other colors, easing into red, then trying out orange. That moved into green, then blue and purple. Soon he was known for having odd and strange colors in his hair.

Then he met Rhysand, who had the strangest eye she had ever seen. Tamlin then began to experiment with eye colors. He was born with blue, but it turned out green was his favorite color. He stuck with it most of the time, but every now and again he would do a color to match his hair that day.

Tamlin had always hated mirrors. They were a symbol of what he was but wanted to be. He thought he wanted to be his brothers, big and tough and strong. Powerful. Seeing the slender frame in the mirror that he owned was enough to make him cover any reflection he owned.

But after his family was killed. Once the threat was gone completely. Tamlin started to go a little further. He was used to transforming into animal like forms, he used to spend all his time outside, away from his home when he was little. He used to shapeshift into small mammals to blend in with the wildlife.

But now, he went a little bigger, got a little braver.

He shapeshifted to have antlers in his High Fae form. He tried a tail once. Then wings like Rhysand. He especially loved giving wings and tails to the children that liked to play in the Manor gardens, they were always quite delighted at that.

Tamlin was still too afraid to go further than that.

Then Lucien fucking Vanserra rocked up.

First thing out of his mouth when he heard that Tamlin could shapeshift into anything he wanted was asking if he had shapeshifted into a female before. Tamlin was shocked but answered that he hadn't.

After weeks of pestering to try it out. Weeks of Lucien saying how he could take him shopping, how it would open a whole new world of style. Tamlin finally tried it.

The first words of Lucien's mouth when he saw Tamlin in female form for the first time was that she looked like a younger, hotter version of The Morrigan.

Obviously that compliment led to Tamlin being in female form a lot more.

Tamlin, at Lucien's request (cough demand cough), wore more feminine style clothing. She tried dresses, corsets, and skirts. She grew to especially love laying long flowy skirts atop each other, and wearing shirts that revealed her midriff.

Tamlin then began to experiment with changing their body into other forms. Sometimes their forms were a little less than striking. Once they scared Lucien half-death by appearing in his room with wide, wide all black eyes and two sets of arms.

Then they tried a form that was unlike anything else. they weren't male but not female either. Something completely in between.

Now they changed up their form depending on the occasion. Tamlin's favorite time was when she turned female for a calamnai and picked a male for the rite (cough Lucien cough).

Once she went to a High lords meeting in female form and no one recognized her. She simply sat down, wearing a long, green silk dress with a sash tied around her waist. No one questioned it until half-way through the meeting when Beron finally spoke up and asked who the fuck she was. Tamlin lost a bit of hope for Prythian that day, because how the hell did six High lords not figure out who she was?

Sometimes he looks in the mirror and hates what he sees. He remembers the little boy who used to only see a failure of a son when he looked in the mirror.

Then other times, they look in the mirror and they see what they have grown into.

Something worthy of the title they carried. High lord of Spring. Shapeshifter.

I loved answering this question so much! Let me know if there's anything you would like for me to expand on!

#acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #genderfluid #genderfluid tamlin #acotar au #acotar fanfiction #acotar tamlin #tamlin headcanons