#reading it from her chaise in her townhouse:

[junewongapologia]

On The Origin Of The Species was feasibly published within the lifetime of Edmund Bertram, and you just know he would have been insufferable about it.

#edmund bertram #mansfield park #i love him!! #i really do!! #also relevant: #he wouldve been like 65 #ppl not known to be open minded: #old victorian clegrymen #this is not anti edmund i love him and fanny #hes not this dick that a lot of ppl make him out to be #loves fanny #is a good person #is also the exact kind of person who was aghast at this book #(mary crawford #reading it from her chaise in her townhouse: #boy do i know somebody who is gonna hate this book lol)

[loneliestluvr]

𝑻𝒐 𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝑰 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑮𝒐, 𝒊.

i. ii.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron OC

Synopsis: Caught up in a world of hollow grief for her people, her life, and her father, Blair Archeron is forced into a life under the light she wants no part of after ghosting through immortality since being Made. But what she finds, is not what she expects.

Warning: depression, worthlessness, cauldron trauma, angst, that’s kinda it for now tbh.

Word Count: 1.9k

taryn thinks: ive been thinking about eris vanserra for a long time and reading lost bonds by @readychilledwine about tamlin kind of gave me some inspo and motivation i haven’t had in a while to write this. also ttpd because ive been down in the dumps and feeling angsty so… enjoy!! 🫶🏼 i apologize if it’s a bit scrambled lol, i just wanted to write it out.

The fabric Nuala and Cerridwen had dressed her in erased any and all traces of the truth. The destitute it had felt her life became since this newfound immortality ripped everything Blair Archeron had ever known away from her, tucked away. Hidden behind the gauzy chiffon.

There had been small pockets of awareness, of feeling like she had control over herself lately. Where she didn’t rot away in bed, or a chaise— alone and wrapped in the quiet of her mind. Staring into open space, ghosting through whatever this life was.

Those times were hard to come by, and even when the war against Hybern was raging it was decided Blair would stay safe in Velaris. Where she had always remained. Where she did not leave, until today.

It was a pointed argument among their small circle that this life was no better than what Feyre had been through with Tamlin, but Blair did not fight it. Simply… existed inside of it.

It wasn’t that nobody tried to help, they did. They asked questions, gave the second eldest sister every chance to open up. To get out, to experience this new world. To talk.

Elain would argue even when she did, it was mere hollows of the person Blair had been who responded. The echoes that remembered how to speak, that walked so smoothly and carelessly that she seemed to float on a hot wind.

Blair was not fearless, she was not cunning, she was not soft, nor was she anything that her sisters were. She was simply… other.

And maybe that was the furthest thing from simple, that there were no words to describe the ethereal beauty of her hollowness. Maybe there never would be.

Blair didn’t seem to mind, and she got away with it.

Content was the feeling that seemed the most appropriate to describe the life she lead now. Moved into her youngest sisters River Home, with a large room at the end of the house overlooking the winding waters. The gardens Elain had crafted and tended when she wasn’t at the townhouse sat below, the large expanse of the land out to the river in full view. The snow capped mountains that danced across the skyline, one’s she sometimes watched Feyre paint in front of from her window day after day, month after month.

She supposed she had it coming when Nesta was forced to the House of Wind. When her older sister by a mere year had pointed out that Blair had amounted to nothing in the time Nesta had been taken hostage inside that House on the side of the mountain. When Nesta had been expected to work and be something, Blair had still remained as useless as before.

“She is adjusting,” Feyre had argued on Blair’s behalf. Blair had been the kindest of their sisters to Feyre when they were in that cabin, poor and broken and nothing. Who had helped with no qualms, who had genuinely cared for them all— even their seemingly worthless father. “—she did not ask for this, the same as you. At least she is not drinking herself to death.” The smartest of them, as Feyre had described to Rhys’ Inner Circle before those meetings in the mortal realm, others would have thought the same if they knew her before.

Before she became this… thing.

“You let her wither away, sitting about in her sadness and grief and her muteness. I would think she had forgotten how to speak if it weren’t for the utterly mundane responses she gives.” Nesta had barked back at their little sister while Blair sat by the window, unmoving. Her face a mask of cool indifference like she wasn’t quite hearing anyway. “How is what she’s doing any different than what I have? Because she isn’t spending your money? Because she hasn’t tainted Rhysand’s precious Court image?”

She didn’t care how they spoke of her, didn’t care to defend herself from Nesta’s forked tongue— it took more energy than she had to argue. Blair could have washed away right into the water that rushed through the river she stared into for all she cared.

Everything had just gone so… wrong from that point. As if Nesta’s breaking point was seeing her first baby sister be so broken and discarded, she had ripped into a secret nobody had even bothered to tell Feyre or Blair— that Feyre’s babe would kill her.

The rest had been a blur like usual after and here they were, dressed and gowned in the finest clothes they had. In the short time since finding out about Feyre’s deadly predicament, everyone seemingly had agreed with Nesta about Blair’s lack of presence in their court… or any at all.

The only people who knew she existed were those that were present when she was forced into the bitterly cold water of the cauldron. When it had felt as though she drowned, that she had died there and something else had filled her body. Felt as though she could only see herself from outside of her body, outside of whatever she had became.

Blair Archeron would be making her debut to the Court of Nightmares in the same fashion Feyre would be revealing her pregnancy. She didn’t know much else, didn’t care for the details or even why Nesta had been training in dances they both knew since childhood. Just what she was to wear and to come when called.

To admit the dress she was now wearing wasn’t utterly beautiful would be a disgrace in itself, and she looked stunning.

Despite her pointed ears being viewable, Blair’s long and heavy gold-brown hair had been curled gorgeously, cascading down her freckled and fair bare back to cover where her dress did not. Kissing and tickling the skin when she moved her head, half of her hair pulled back from her face into loose twirls and braids.

Her face painted in light cosmetics that she didn’t need. It was no secret that her beauty came first out of the four sisters, even before dear Elain’s— skin freckled, dark lashes and brows, cheeks usually tinted pink naturally. But her eyes, her eyes were the rarest of her sisters and what made her so profoundly different.

A base of that gray-blue that grew more vibrant as it met her pupil. But the flecks of nearly golden amber splattered like an artist had flicked their wrist in a rush is what made them so different.

Why the black of her dress fit her so much better than it did poor Elain, her second youngest sister nearly washed out by the bleak darkness she had been presented to wear.

The dress clinging to Blair’s torso was bedecked in gold sparkling beads that formed lines of detail along the bodice and the hem by her feet, the fabric black beneath it. Hugging tight to her figure. Eating and drinking had gotten easier after the war and had allowed her to fill out again.

Her full breasts wrapped tight to her chest where they sat prettily, the dips in her hips and waist outlined by the sheer sleeves that flared well past her hands, capped around her shoulders but left her back utterly bare despite the illusion of the chiffon looking like a cape.

The dress hung from her body as she waited almost carelessly to enter the throne room of Hewn City, and Blair felt a little like she might die.

The air here, anywhere, was so much colder than the sweltering heat of her bedroom where she kept the fire roiling day and night— where she felt like she was at home even if it was just in her head. Sleeping on the floor in front of it most nights, where the crackling of the fire could drown out the sound of her thoughts. Where the warmth could make her feel something other than empty.

Now. Feyre’s voice rang warmly in Blair’s head, echoing outside of the thick walls of forest she’d been taught to put up. Spruce and oak, winding paths lined with red poppy’s and orange geraniums, fogged over meadows to traipse through at will. A maze for anyone else, with no beginning and no end.

The rest of them had gone in a half hour ago it seemed, Blair to be used if they needed to pull a distraction or anything. She would be introduced no matter what, but timing was to be used as an advantage.

The towering doors to the throne room boomed open as Blair turned the corner to the hallway, the curls in her hair bouncing with every step despite the light wind billowing through her flowing sleeves as if she were gliding.

The music continued as she kept her head high and entered the space, hands folded neatly in front of her. A small upward twitch of her pretty red lips, her face calm and still.

Still as the room became when her feet hit the marble across that threshold.

She walked, one foot in front of the other. Head in a full fog before she even entered the throne room— but there was a tug. Something that had almost made her stumble, but she sucked in a tight breath as she focused on the dais ahead.

Pulling, tugging, a line going taut the closer she became and her vision cleared. Someone that had been in deep discussion before Blair entered, someone now turned to face her as everyone else did.

All but the Court of Dreamers gaping at her, at her beauty. So much different than her obvious sisters, a third sister to the High Lady of the Night Court, but so much the same that it was easily distinguishable. Gasps and whispers filling Blair’s now clear ears, but she didn’t look anywhere but the male in front of Rhys and Feyre— as much as she wanted to. As much as she pleaded with herself to look away, she could not.

The bright auburn hair, the pale and freckled skin of his handsome face. All fae were gorgeous, she’d been told and equally come to learn but… just the very look of him made her skin heat.

A look of something similar washed through his amber eyes, the matching amber to the flecks in her own, his throat bobbing.

Something like devastation went through this male and though Blair couldn’t tear her eyes from his as she finally made those last steps to the dais, she could see Rhys’ mask slip ever so slightly from the corner of her eye before it went back up.

There was a part of her, so enamored by whoever this person was— and something about him made her slip back into consciousness. That outside look at herself faded back into her own body and she didn’t realize until she breathed again that her heart had been beating so rapidly.

Or that she hadn’t addressed her High Lord and Lady.

Or that they’d demanded the crowd go back to dancing and drinking and eating.

Or that all she did was face this male, a look of shocked confusion painting her usually dull expression because somehow, someway, she felt like she knew him.

And that the tug she felt, that line, went utterly taut before him.

🏷️: @thehighladywrites and anyone else that wants to be added to a tag list for this or anything else lmk lmfao

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris vanserra #autumn court #night court #elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #rhysand #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra x oc #oc #your honor i love him #me when mating bonds😦 #cassian #Azriel #blair archeron

[icedflames]

The Progression of Elain and Azriel’s Relationship.

Let me preface this by saying this is LONG. 

After a second read through of ACOSF, I really think it’s clear that Elriel will be featured in the next book. Sooo, book by book, I’ve complied excerpts that show the progression of Elain and Azriel’s relationship and why I think the next book will feature them. I’m not going to be adding a lot of commentary, just my general interpretation of the scene. The excerpts speak for themselves. 

A Court of Mist and Fury

Chapter 24 - Elain meets Azriel at the Archeron Estate

"A faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork, but he kept silent...”

“Elain said, ‘It’s all very disorienting.’ ‘I can imagine,’ Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare. But Azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.”

“Elain said to Azriel, perhaps the only two civilized ones here, ‘Can you truly fly?’ He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, ‘Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.’‘That’s very beautiful,’ she said. ‘Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?’ ‘It is sometimes,’ Azriel said.”

“Rhys chuckled, Cassian’s wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.”

At their first meeting, Azriel’s attention was on Elain and she labeled the idea of the Illyrian’s flight as beautiful. Feyre notes how Elain and Azriel are similar and says they are “perhaps the only two civilized ones.” Polite and kind. 

Feyre notes that Elain’s shoulders loosened when Azriel offered her a polite smile and after noticing Azriel relax, she offers a grin. Azriel probably noticed Elain’s discomfort because of her fingers tightly grasping the fork and tried to put her at ease. In return, Elain felt relaxed based on Azriel’s cues even though they had just met. 

Chapter 50 - Feyre distracts Rhys by talking about her sisters

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet. I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together. If the warrior ever stopped quietly loving Mor. I doubted it. Azriel would likely love Mor until he was a whisper of darkness between the stars.”

Feyre again notes their similar temperaments - how they are both introverted and would appreciate each other’s company in silence. The second part, about Azriel loving Mor forever, now sticks out given what we know from A Court of Silver Flames. I’ll get to that later. 

A Court of Wings and Ruin

So at this point, Elain and Nesta have been forcibly turned fae against their will. I didn’t include that portion because it’s more relevant to Elain’s self-journey, rather than her relationship with Azriel. 

Chapter 24 - Nesta and Elain move to the townhouse

“Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too, wore his Illyrian armor, Elain’s golden-brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulders. He set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door.

Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face. Azriel smiled faintly. ‘Would you like me to show you the garden?’ She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them. But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once.

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, ‘Beautiful.’

Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.”

Elain is traumatized from her experience with the cauldron. She’s withdrawn, she’s quiet, and she’s scared. Azriel carries hers through the front door, rather than just setting her down outside. To make her more comfortable with the house, he offers to show her the garden. Feyre likely made mention of Elain loving flowers so this was a sweet gesture on Azriel’s part. 

Most significantly, Elain (likely) called Azriel’s scarred skin beautiful - his trauma ingrained into his skin and the history of his abuse... She sees it and calls it beautiful. And Azriel blushes. 

“But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him. ‘Relax,’ Rhys said. ‘Azriel isn’t the ravishing type.’ Lucien cut him a glare.”

Oh Rhys, Azriel definitely is. 

I thought it was interesting. Yes, mates become possessive. But why include that? Why wouldn’t Lucien snarl when Elain was with Rhys or Cassian? Just a thought. 

“Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports—likely information on the Autumn Court that he planned to present to Rhys once he’d sorted through it all. Already dressed for the Hewn City—the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within it.”

I really love the juxtaposition of Azriel clad in black, sprawled in the gardens with Elain, so full of light, sitting there with them. It’s unlikely that the morally grey spymaster (who literally tortures people for his profession) and the sweet girl would have struck up a friendship. But there they were, in the garden, enjoying each other’s silent company. Exactly what Feyre predicted in A Court of Mist and Fury (“Elain would probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet”). 

“‘Why not make them mates?’ I mused. ‘Why Lucien?[...]What decides it? Who decides it?[...]You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other.’ I peeled off my dressing robe. ‘So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. What if’—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?’

‘A mating bond can be rejected,’ Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. ‘There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly sometimes the bond is nothing more than some...preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that.’”

The conversation between her and Rhys is very important. Up until this point, we’re led to believe mates are the end all be all. Mates are soulmates. Now, we have a scene directly suggesting that the mating system is flawed and a mating bond could be broken. And it’s Feyre talking about Elain and Lucien’s bond, using Azriel as an example as who Elain might choose over Lucien. 

At this point, Elain and Azriel’s relationship starts to progress and they slowly start to become acquainted with each other. 

Chapter 27 - Elain has a vision

“‘I saw young hands wither with age. I saw a box of black stone. I saw a feather of fire land on snow and melt it.’”

“Mad. Elain might very well have gone mad.”

So here, Elain spouts a vision and Feyre, Nesta, Mor, and Azriel are taken aback. Feyre remarks that her sister may be going mad. They don’t understand what’s going on with Elain and why she is espousing such creepy things. 

“I faced Azriel, exposing my palms to him. ‘What does that mean?’ Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.”

Azriel had an expression of concerned and then winnowed away without a word, leaving Mor gaping. Why? Why was she gaping and staring at the spot Azriel had been? Could it be that she sees something Feyre doesn’t?

Chapter 30 - Azriel and Cassian visit Elain and Nesta

“The two Illyrians paused their inspection of me long enough to note my sisters finishing up breakfast, Nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, Elain in dusty pink. Both males went a bit still.”

We know that Nesta and Cassian are mates. Cassian stilled at the sight of Nesta. Azriel stilled at the sight of Elain. Hmm.

“I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. ‘Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.’ ‘I can help her,’ said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing from his fingers as he extended a hand.”

Azriel stepped in and said he could help Elain get to the garden. A bit of a pattern. He wants to keep her company, and perhaps, wants to have her company. Even more significant are that his shadows are missing. We know that the shadows disappear around Mor, who he’d been pining over for 500 years. Now they’re gone around Elain. Maybe it’s just to make her more comfortable or maybe it’s because he’s developing an interest in her. 

Chapter 32 - Azriel discovers Elain is a seer

“Elain’s brows twitched toward each other. ‘The queen—with the feathers of flame.’ The shadowsinger angled his head. Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, ‘Should we—does she need …?’”

‘She doesn’t need anything,’ Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly.

‘We’re the ones who need …’ Azriel trailed off. ‘A seer,’ he said, more to himself than us. ‘The Cauldron made you a seer.’”

Azriel, as observant as he is, realized Elain wasn’t going mad. She was a seer.

Lucien thought she was going mad or she was ill. As did Feyre, Mor, Nesta and everybody else in the Night Court. This is mentioned in prior chapters when Lucien suggested to Feyre that Elain see a healer. 

However, Azriel looked at Elain and figured it out. Which is important to Elain. When speaking to Lucien about Grayson, Elain said, “No one ever looked - not really...He did. He saw me. He will not now.” Azriel looked. Azriel saw her. 

Chapter 50 - In the townhouse, winnowing to the Illyrian Camps

“Mor took Nesta and Cassian by the hand, readying to winnow them to the camp, while shadows gathered around Azriel, Elain at his side, wide-eyed at the spymaster’s display.”

Azriel’s shadows are gathered around him, likely in response to brewing war and because Feyre just made a deal with Bryaxis. Elain is staring wide-eyed. I don’t interpret this in fear but in awe. 

“Then Azriel, gently taking Elain’s hand in his own, as if afraid his scars would hurt her.”

The gentleness Azriel exhibits towards Elain is just sweet.

Chapter 62 & 63 - Hyburn kidnaps Elain

“But Azriel asked softly, ‘What about Elain?’ Something cold went through me. Nesta was just staring at Azriel. Staring and staring.”

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, ‘I’m getting her back.’

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, ‘Then you will die.’

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, ‘I’m getting her back.’”

Azriel is the first person to realize Elain is missing! Not Nesta, not Feyre, not Amren. Azriel.

His eyes glowed (an indication of powers at play), with rage in his stare. Azriel is angry, he’s upset, he will get Elain back. Nobody asked Azriel to rescue Elain. Nesta even told him he would die. But Azriel doesn’t care. He’s getting her back. 

This really shows that perhaps their friendship developed further than Feyre realized and Azriel had formed a connection with Elain. A connection strong enough that he would risk dying to get her back.

Chapter 65 - Azriel and Feyre rescue Elain

“My mouth went dry as that scream sounded again. I couldn’t bear it—to let it go on, to see what was being done. Azriel’s shadow-hand grasped my own, tugging me closer. His rage rippled off his invisible form.”

Feyre and Azriel both thought it was Elain screaming in Hyburn’s camp. Rage was rippling off his invisible form. Azriel, stoic, brooding Azriel is so angry because he thinks Elain is being hurt that Feyre remarks on it. 

“Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. ‘Are you hurt?’

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. ‘You came for me.’ 

The shadowsinger only inclined his head.”

Again, Azriel is so gentle with Elain. 

Elain devoured the sight of him. Elain didn’t believe Azriel would save her. But he did. “You came for me.” 

“The gray light of morning had broken over the world, mist clinging to our ankles as we headed into that camp, Azriel still cradling Elain to his chest.”

“Nesta rounded a tent, skidding to a halt in the mud. She let out a sob at the sight of Elain, still in Azriel’s arms.”

“Rhys lunged for Azriel, taking Elain from him and gently setting my sister down. Azriel rasped, swaying on his feet, ‘We need Helion to get these chains off her.’ Yet Elain didn’t seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger’s cheek.”

Azriel is wounded but he’s still cradling Elain to his chest. He doesn’t have to but he doesn’t let go. Almost like if he goes, she’ll disappear again. And then Elain kisses his cheek? Too cute. 

Chapter 69 - Truthteller

“Azriel, still limping, merely nudged aside Cassian and extended another option. ‘This is Truth-Teller,’ he told her softly. ‘I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.’”

Azriel is still injured and was being stubborn in wanting to fight, despite Rhys telling him he couldn’t. Azriel didn’t relent until Mor begged him with tears in her eyes. Since he can’t fight, he’s offering Elain one of his knives... 

“Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard. ‘It has never failed me once,’ the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. ‘Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.’ He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. ‘It will serve you well.’”

Again with the gentleness.

“Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade. Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

So Azriel didn’t offer Elain just any knife. It’s Azriel’s most prized possession to the point where no other person, not even his brothers or Mor, had ever been allowed to touch it. Yet here he was lending it to Elain. His relationship and connection to Elain is strong enough and deep enough that he would give her his beloved dagger.

Here’s where it gets interesting. The lovely fawn standing before death. In ACOMAF chapter 57, the Book of Breathlings said (in pertinent part), “Rot and bloom and bones...Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn.” I think the choice of words is intentional. Death and a fawn? Hmm.

Further, when Majda described the mating bond to Elain she said, “The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.” Now Feyre says - the only bridge of connection is Truth-Teller. Why use the words describing a mating bond to describe that moment?

Chapter 74 - Elain Kills Hyburn

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

Elain, using Azriel’s dagger, stabbed Hyburn in the neck. The trembling fawn snarled in the king’s ear and killed him to protect Nesta. 

Stepping out the shadow seems like a significant parallel. In Chapter 62, “Azriel stepped out of a shadow.” Azriel’s symbol is the shadow. Elain stepped from a shadow, Azriel’s symbol, and exhibited a display of strength, despite being traumatized for most of the book...

A Court of Frost and Starlight

Chapter 2 - Rhysand thinks about the War

“Cassian was near death and Nesta was sprawled over him, shielding him from that killing blow, and Elain—Elain—had taken up Azriel’s dagger and killed the King of Hybern instead.”

Elain, of all people, killed Hyburn with Azriel’s dagger and that imagine is important enough for Rhysand to think of it again. 

Chapter 4 - Feyre asks Mor about Truth-Teller when gift shopping

“‘You honestly think he’d ever give up Truth-Teller?’

‘He gave it to Elain,’ Mor said, admiring a moonstone necklace in the counter’s glass case. 

‘She gave it back,’ I amended, failing to block out the image of the black blade piercing through the King of Hybern’s throat. But Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back.”

Just as Azriel had pressed the knife into Elain’s hand, Elain pressed it into his when she finished. Gently. 

Chapter 7 - Rhys and Azriel discuss gifts

“‘Az ran a hand through his dark hair. ‘Are we …’ Unusual for him to stumble with words. ‘Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?’ 

‘No,’ I said, and meant it. Az seemed to loose a sigh of relief. Seemed to, since all but a breath of air passed from his lips”

Interesting how Azriel is stumbling over his words when he asks if he needs to get Elain (and Nesta) a gift. What could be making him so nervous to give her a gift? A crush, maybe?

Chapter 12 - The Inner Circle has a Family Dinner

“Elain’s voice was colder than usual. I glanced at Nuala and Cerridwen, the latter giving me a shake of her head as if to say, Not a good day for her.”

Elain has befriended Azriel’s spies to the point where they tell Feyre, Elain’s sister, that it’s not a good day. 

“‘Don’t,’ Elain said flatly, starting once more into a walk, veils of steam drifting past her shoulders from the roasted rosemary potatoes in her hands, as if they were Azriel’s shadows.”

Interesting choice of words. 

“Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants. I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.”

Handsome Azriel walks in and Elain goes still. Her throat bobs. Elain is totally crushing on Azriel.

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

Why would Mor tense up (again)? 

“But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, ‘Sit. I’ll take care of it.’ Elain’s hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them. With a blink, she lowered them, and noticed her apron. ‘I—I’ll be right back,’ she murmured, and hurried down the hall before I could explain that no one cared if she showed up to dinner covered in flour and that she should just sit.”

Elain was so shocked that she kept her hands up and then ran off to make herself look presentable. She has it bad.

“One moment, his hand was spearing toward the serving spoon. The next, it was stopped, Azriel’s scarred fingers wrapped around his wrist. ‘Wait,’ Azriel said, nothing but command in his voice. Mor gaped wide enough that I was certain the half-chewed green beans in her mouth were going to tumble onto her plate.”

“Azriel didn’t let go. “Wait until everyone is seated before eating.” 

Azriel telling Cassian to wait for Elain to come back before they started eating. How sweet! And again, Mor tenses, gapes, etc. because of Azriel and Elain. Why does she keep doing that? Is it because Azriel is maybe moving on? Is she jealous? Or is it something else? 

“Elain swept in, apron gone and hair rebraided. ‘Please don’t wait on my account,’ she said, taking the seat at the head of the table.”

She got all fixed up. Aweee.

“‘I’d feel bad for the mice,’ Azriel muttered. Mor and Cassian howled, earning a blush from Azriel and a grateful smile from Elain—and no shortage of scowling from Amren. But something in me eased at that laughter, at the light that returned to Elain’s eyes.”

After Amren bluntly told Elain that there was no going back to being human and Elain was visibly upset, Azriel told a joke to lighten the mood. Elain shot a grateful smile and Feyre’s was so happy to see a light return to her sister’s eyes.

Chapter 16 - Rhys speaks to Cassian and Azriel

“Azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered into the garden below.”

Who could be in the garden Azriel? 

Chapter 18 - Feyre and Elain talk about Lucien

“‘He brought you a present.’

Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. ‘And that entitles him to my time, my affections?’

‘No.’ I blinked. ‘But he is a good male.’ Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. ‘He cares for you.’

‘He doesn’t know me.’

‘You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.’ 

Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. ‘I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.’

Elain is mad. She doesn’t want a mate or a male. Yet some bond is forcing him on her. She doesn’t want Lucien. A gift isn’t enough to win her over. 

More importantly - he doesn’t know her. 

Chapter 19 - Winter Solstice 

“I made to move toward [Elain], but someone beat me to it. The shadowsinger was clad in a black jacket and pants similar to Rhysand’s—the fabric immaculately tailored and built to fit his wings. He still wore his Siphons atop either hand, and shadows trailed his footsteps, curling like swirled embers, but there was little sign of the warrior otherwise. Especially as he gently said to my sister, “Happy Solstice.” Elain turned from the snow falling in the darkness beyond and smiled slightly.”

Azriel immediately made a move towards Elain to wish her a happy solstice. Again with the gentleness. 

“Watching Cassian especially, now standing with Az at the fire. He was the portrait of relaxed, an arm braced against the carved mantel, his wings tucked in loosely, a faint grin on his face and a glass of wine in his hand. He slid his hazel eyes toward my sister without him moving an inch.”

Azriel stealing glances at Elain.

“‘Oh, that’s from me.’

Azriel’s face didn’t so much as shift at the words. Not even a smile as he opened the present and revealed -

‘I had Madja make it for me,’ Elain explained. Azriel’s brows narrowed at the mention of the family’s preferred healer. ‘It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.’

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. ‘It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.’

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

Elain give Azriel a sweet, thoughtful, and funny gift that made Azriel laugh so deep and joyously. That rarely happens with him.

“Azriel mastered himself enough to say, ‘Thank you.’ I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. ‘This will be invaluable.’”

Feyre had never seen Azriel’s eyes so bright. Ahhhh. 

They’re most definitely friends by this point, with the other chapters hinting that the two are crushing on each other. 

Chapter 22 - After the gift giving

“Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. Whether he cared about such things, I had no idea.”

Elain and Azriel stay behind, late at night talking about gardening. Even if it’s not of interest to Azriel, he wanted to be with her. So sweet! 

A Court of Silver Flames

Chapter 3 - Cassian tells Nesta that Azriel will be staying with them 

“Cassian said tightly, ‘He says he’d rather stay up here than at the river house.’ That made two of them. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. He’s Az. He likes his space.’”

Alright so let me start by saying Cassian isn’t as observant. And the readers have more insight. Who stays at the river house? Elain. Why would he want to stay at the house of wind? To avoid her. Why would he want to avoid Elain? Probably because he’s developing feelings for her. 

Chapter 19 - Cassian tells Azriel about Elain and Nesta’s fight

“‘Because of the shit with Elain?’

Azriel stilled. ‘What happened to Elain?’

Azriel stilled at the thought of something happening to Elain. Honestly, enough said. 

Chapter 21 - Nesta insults Elain

“‘Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.’

Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike. Elain’s eyes brightened with pain.”

Azriel’s shadows were prepared to attack in defense of Elain. Sounds like somebody has feelings for Elain...

Chapter 22 - Azriel and Cassian discuss having children

“Cassian looked over at Az. ‘You think you’ll ever be ready for one?’ Ever be ready to confess to Mor what’s in your heart?

‘I don’t know,’ Azriel said.

‘Do you want a child?’

‘It doesn’t matter what I want.’ Distant words—ones that prevented Cassian from prying further.”

So Cassian still thinks Azriel is head over heels in love with Mor. And Azriel responds with distant words, saying it doesn’t matter what he wants. Could what he wants be Elain? The seer whose mate happens to be the son of a high lord? 

He could understandably be hurt over that. 

“He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel … those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up. Cassian couldn’t think why.”

Azriel rarely looks at Mor. There’s been a change. And Cassian has no idea why, after 500 years, Azriel has finally given up. 

Elain. Elain is the reason. 

Chapter 29 - Amren suggests Elain should look for the trove

“Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, ‘There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.’”

Azriel doesn’t want Elain to be exposed to that darkness. He’s acting protective over her. Like he really cares for her. 

Chapter 30 - Azriel and Cassian discuss Feyre’s pregnancy

“‘No. But we need to summon Lucien,’ Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn’t like it one bit.”

Why wouldn’t Azriel want to summon Lucien? Perhaps he doesn’t want anything to develop between Lucien and his mate, Elain? 

He’s jealous. 

Chapter 44 - Elain tells the story of how Nesta stole a Duke’s heart

“‘She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two,’ she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel. Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from.”

Elain is shy around Azriel, and quickly looks away from his smile. Sounds like a crush. 

Chapter 58 - Winter Solstice 

“You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends.”

Elain is stealthy, quiet. So much so that Nesta remarks that Azriel or his spies himself may be giving her lessons.

“Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.

‘I was just checking on dessert,’ Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger’s stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past...”

Azriel heard Elain’s laugh and wanted to see what caused it. 

They looked at each other and Elain’s breath caught - something charged in that gaze. It’s obvious now that the two have developed feelings for one another. 

“‘Why don’t you sit?’ [Nesta] leaned against the doorway beside the shadowsinger. ‘My shadows don’t like the flames so much.’ A pretty lie. She’d seen Azriel before the fire plenty. But she looked at who sat close to it and knew the answer.

‘Why did you come if it torments you so much?’

‘Because Rhys wants me here. It’d hurt him if I didn’t come.’”

“Shadows darkened his eyes, full of enough pain that she couldn’t stop herself from touching his shoulder. Letting him see that she understood why he stood in the doorway, why he wouldn’t go near the fire.

His secret to tell, never hers.”

Elain and Lucien are by the fire. Nesta quickly picks up on the fact that it torments Azriel to see it. She understands why. She sees the pain in his eyes. Azriel is likely in love or close to in love with Elain and seeing her with a mate pains him. Knowing that he’s not her mate pains him. 

Chapter 59 - Post Solstice 

“He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile.”

What happened to put Azriel in such a bad mood? 

Azriel Bonus Chapter

This is where Elain and Azriel’s feelings towards each other are confirmed.

This occurs on Winter Solstice - which explains why Azriel acted the way he did and why he “more aloof than usual.”

I’m not going to go into the Gwyn part of the chapter because, in my opinion, it’s not relevant to Azriel and Elain’s relationship. 

“Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones.”

Azriel isn’t sleeping because of his desires...

“He was elated for his brother and yet... Azriel couldn’t stop it. The envy in his chest. Of Cassian, and Rhys.”

Azriel is jealous of Cassian and Rhys. Of their mating bonds and their connections. 

“The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. 

She halted, her breath catching in her throat. ‘I...’ He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. "I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier.

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn’t need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face.”

Elain’s breath catches when she spots Azriel. 

Azriel knows Elain well enough that he can tell when she’s lying.

“Elain closed the distance, and her breathing quickened as she again paused, now a scant foot away. She extended the wrapped gift, her hand shaking. ‘Here.’

Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. She hadn't bought her mate a present. 

But she'd gotten Azriel one last year-a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.”

Elain is so nervous to give Azriel his gift! 

Azriel looked at the gift she gave him last year every night... They both have it bad for each other. 

I won’t bother to quote it, but Elain gifts Azriel another thoughtful gift - ear plugs to drown out Cassian and Nesta. 

“He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.”

This is what Nesta observed and understood. Azriel was so tormented by Elain having a mate that he couldn’t go near her. 

“Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.”

Understanding between the two of them. Like she knew he liked her but they wouldn’t act on it. Why though?

“Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around.”

Azriel’s shadows always vanished around Mor, the woman he loved for 500 years. Now they do the same around Elain. 

“His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck.

“He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp.”

This confirms that there is sexual attraction and romantic feelings between the Elain and Azriel. She shivered. He savored the texture of her skin. 

18+ below!!!

“It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. Wrong - it was so wrong. He didn't care.

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue.

Azriel's cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't under stand the shift in his scent.”

Azriel is so turned on. He needs Elain. Yet, the touching is wrong to him. Wrong because perhaps he doesn’t feel like he’s enough for her. 

“He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make.”

Azriel thinks of Elain at night and pleasures himself to him. 

“‘I should go,’ Elain said, but made no move to leave. ‘Yes,’ he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat. Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He’d beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.”

Eyes rolling, beg on his knees... Sounds a lot like how Rhys and Cassian react to Feyre and Nesta. 

“So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond his scars. Such terrible things that it was sacrilege for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence.”

That’s why he keeps making self-deprecating comments - he doesn’t feel worthy that somebody like him (a man who tortures for his job) would touch her.

“Azriel’s hand slip up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.”

Elain and Azriel are about to kiss! That is, until Rhysand commands him to stop. 

“His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, ‘This was a mistake.’ She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You don't- don't apologize, he managed to say. ‘Never apologize. It's I who should...’ He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he’d brought to her expression. ‘Goodnight.’”

So Rhysand stops the almost kiss and now Elain feels rejected. Azriel is devastated for having to stop and see the hurt he inflicted. 

“Rhys's power rippled through the room like a dark cloud. ‘I’m talking about you, about to kiss Elain, in the middle of a hall where anyone could see you,’ he snarled. ‘Including her mate.’

Rhys is angry in this scene that Azriel may risk starting a feud between courts - the autumn court where Lucien is from (yes, Helion is his father but as of now, Beron believes himself to be Lucien’s father). 

“‘What if the Cauldron was wrong?...The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it’s possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters yet the third was given to another.’ He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

Azriel questions the Cauldron. Why were my brothers chosen? Why wasn’t I chosen? Why am I never chosen? Why can’t I just be with the person I want to be with? 

Azriel isn’t saying he deserves her or not. He’s questioning fate. 

He’s upset. He’s angry. He’s lonely. He’s heartbroken. 

“Azriel said nothing. He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to. Rhys growled, ‘Allow me to make one thing very clear. You are to stay away from her.’

‘You can't order me to do that.’”

Azriel doesn’t want to listen to Rhysand. Azriel made his feelings clear - he can’t be ordered to stay away from Elain because of his feelings for her. 

Then, Rhys again mentions the Blood Duel. That Lucien could invoke it should Elain and Azriel pursue something. 

“Rhys bared his teeth. ‘So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.’”

Azriel snarled softly.

His snarl indicates there is way more than just lust between Elain and Azriel. 

So that’s it. 

Azriel and Elain went from acquaintances, to friends, to crushes, to almost lovers and the bonus point of view makes it clear that they have both romantic and sexual feelings towards each other. 

It set up the theme for the next book - a forbidden love story where Elain and Azriel must overcome fate itself to be with each other. 

#I didn't mean to make it this long #I had sooo many things highlighted I didn't even realize #elriel #elain #elain archeron #azriel #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosaf #acosf #acotar theory #mine

[octalove]

VII: By Invitation Only

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader and Jason go undercover in a Mafia den. Part one, two, three, four, five, and six.

My mind buzzed with the sights and sounds of Little Italy. Boots scuffing sidewalk, and the persistent hum of the moving parts within the heart of the city. Quiet, serious conversations mumbled low between men of business, and enthused gossip among thick-accented women at every café and park. The ever-present stream of conversation in the townhouses and shops was exciting. I fell in seamlessly to the strange mix of wealth among poverty, the stringent immigrant culture surpassing both.

The mission itself was straightforward- the kind of business I actually didn’t expect the Red Hood to bother with himself. He got some info from one of his contacts, Giuseppe Bianchi, whose job was to, according to Jason, “sing like a fuckin’ canary”. Bianchi informed him a week ago that one Adriano Cliffs was trying to strike a deal between two mafia families under Red Hood’s control. It was in the realm of real estate; ‘property’ investments that were actually investments into the nefarious affairs that would be taking place on said properties. According to Bianchi, moving chemicals. Red Hood didn’t care about chemicals; it was part of drug trade or domestic biowarfare or what have you, but it was the principle of them moving under his nose. Trying to grub up some deals he wasn’t a part of.

“With the mafia,” He said. “You give ‘em an inch, they take the whole fuckin’ county.” Thus, our job was to go to a dinner party, unassuming guests, and try to figure out who else was involved, so Red Hood could later pay them a visit.

I didn’t ask if he’d kill them.

I had the invitations in my clutch; beautiful little parchment cards with gold lettering. Thank you, Bianchi. There was a stark contrast between going on a mission in my Batgirl suit, and going on one in a green silk dress. I had no trouble dressing the part of the socialite- and apparently Jason didn’t either. He wore a red satin dress shirt, unbuttoned to feature a plunging neckline, paired with a black blazer that had an asymmetric stand collar. Frankly, I was impressed. It looked better than the suits Bruce used to put him in.

The location of the party was a quaint little townhouse nestled in upper Luskan Square. The building was all cream paint and red brick, with pretty green vines cascading from window planters. I could hear music from inside; raspy strings and jaunty horns in a dixieland, swinging tempo.

The two mafia families were Pellegrino and D’amici; two bloodlines that were previously in a feud so contentious that 1/4 of Gotham City Morgue was full of its casualties at any given time. All that until around four months ago when Kane Pellegrino married Penelope D’amici like something straight out of Romeo and Juliet, but with more guns, cocaine and happy endings.

Jason leaned over to me as we approached, whispering lowly in my ear, “The matriarch- Olivier D’amici- she’s a touch odd. Paranoid. Just keep her busy durin’ the party, and I’ll do the rest. Cliffs should be here, too.” I nodded, and flashed a blue-ribbon smile at the doorman.

“Invitations?” He asked. I gave him the cards, and after a brief inspection, he nodded. We entered the foyer, welcomed by the smell of warm food and laughter. The living room was lit by an elegant and tasteful chandelier. It had a more antique and eclectic charm than the manor’s modern refine. Able to attract less attention if we split up, Jason vanished into dining room while I stayed in the living area, mumbling the occasional polite “excuse me” as I tried to make it seem as though I were a frequent guest of mafia dens. I looked around for a woman matching Olivier D’amici’s description- old, blonde, haggish. I silently kicked myself for not asking Jason to be more specific, because as it turns out, old, blonde and haggish was the memo for tonight’s event.

“Oof-“ I smacked right into what felt like a brick wall in a Versace suit. At least, I was right about the suit. I looked up to see a man of about forty peering down at me. His hair was a rusted gold, and he sported magnificently manicured facial hair- it made him appear very leonine.

“My apologies, dear.”

“Oh, it was my fault. I should be the one apologizing.” I said, suddenly nervous with the idea of being roped into a conversation. I was a fighter, not a liar. He chuckled, took a drink of his undisturbed wine.

“That’s sweet of you. It’s refreshing to find someone around here that isn’t too stubborn for their own good.” He said. “You aren’t from one of the families, are you? I don’t know that I’ve seen you around before.”

“I’m a friend of Penelope’s.” I quickly supplied the lie. Something like surprise flashed in his blue eyes, before his face steeled back agreeably.

“I see.”

“I was actually just looking for her. You wouldn’t happen to know where...?” I trailed off as he nodded his head, gesturing to the opposite corner, where a beautiful olive-skinned brunette appeared to be object of adoration in a small circle of people. I’d never actually seen her before- anyone who entered to living room would’ve notice her immediately.

“Oh!” I laughed. “I don’t know how I missed her! Please, excuse me.”

I took my time inching through the crowd, stalling. But the man didn’t take his gaze off of me until I reached Penelope D’amici, and her pool of admirers. Damn. He was going to keep watching until I talked to her. It would be utterly obvious it was an introduction and not an anticipated reunion. I took a deep breath and dug in my heels.

If you’re going to lie, I could hear Bruce’s voice in my mind. Dedicate yourself to it.

“Penelope!” I called. She turned, planting her stunning, doey brown eyes on me. I pressed a couple friendly kisses to her cheeks.

“Hello!” She said, clearly inured in the art of greeting. I stole a glance to the man, who had moved along just as Penelope gave me a politely curious look.

“Have we- um,” She looked so apologetic, I almost felt bad.

“Louise Casteñes?” I said encouragingly, giving her my fake name. “We met at the wedding.” Penelope’s face went a shade of pink, and she gave me a bashful laugh.

“Oh- the wedding was quite the evening, I’m really sorry if I forgot. You must think I’m so rude.”

“Oh, it was months ago, no need to feel bad.” I offered.

“I saw you talking to Mr. Cliffs. Are you two familiar?” I blinked. Adriano Cliffs. The man trying to sabotage Red Hood- and now was suspicious of me within fifteen minutes of the party. Good fucking going.

“Not really, I just accidentally ran into him. I’m lucky he didn’t spill his wine.” I replied. Penelope laughed, the sound like wind chimes.

“If you asked my grandmother,“ She said. “She’d say he’d deserve it.”

“Olivier, right? Your grandmother?” Penelope nodded.

“Did you meet her at the wedding as well?”

“I didn’t get the chance, I’m afraid.”

Her face lit up and she looped her arm in mine. Together we waltzed through the bodies and expensive antique furniture into the dining room. Jason was nowhere to be seen; he must have begun his hunt for information.

“Oh, you have to meet her! She’s the host.” Once away from the crowd, she leaned close in cospiracy, and added. “And I need an excuse to get away from those people. Looks like you’re my savior tonight.” She winked, and I laughed as she pulled me into a small, secluded reading room.

Olivier D’amici was- well- old, blonde, and haggish. She had pale skin like worn leather and powdery makeup, but her fashionable ensemble of emerald green silk and sapphire jewelry was stylish and unconventionally attractive. She was like a peacock personified. She was indeed a touch odd, and more than a touch paranoid- though not of me. After thirty minutes cradled in scandalous conversation about everything from the horderves to Kane Pellegrino’s bedroom habits, I learned that Olivier stuck her poignantly upturned nose away from the likes of Adriano Cliffs and his slimy business deals. She made no mention of Red Hood, but complained in great detail that real estate competition between the Pellegrinos and D’amicis was a problem solved by the marriage and that was that. Cliffs had been pestering her for months, but she wouldn’t sign a thing. When thirty minutes turned into an hour, I finally caught Jason’s face amidst the party. I hadn’t expected the following relief that washed over me as I excused myself.

We reconvened, settling on a chaise in the lounge.

“I got everything I need.” He said simply, with no further indulgence as to what he’d been up to for the past two and a half hours. I lowered my voice as I updated him on my end.

“Olivier doesn’t want to work with Cliffs- she thinks he wants to break up the families again. Penelope’s marriage was bad for his business.”

Jason nodded thoughtfully. “Good work, little bird.”

“She’s nice.” I added.

“Hm?”

“Penelope. She’s nice. And innocent.”

A beat passed before Jason sighed lightly, and leaned close, eyes moving across the crowd.

“You see that woman over there?” I followed his gaze to a pudgy, but frail woman in a wheelchair who had to be in her late eighties. Her purple blouse was adorned with a matching silk bow on the neckline, as she smiled as she cupped the face of a young boy. A grandchild, perhaps.

“Pepper de LeShapelle.” Jason’s lips grazed my ear for the closeness of them. “If the D’amicis enlist the help of some third party goons- guys just tryin’ to whip up some extra cash, feed their families- and those guys wind up in Finger River afterward, de LeShapelle signed the order. She pays the legal team, too. Been doing it since the eighties.” My gaze fell away from her. “Nobody’s innocent here, dollface. If Penelope is now- which I doubt- she won’t be in a couple years. Maybe she won’t gun anyone down, but she’ll sure as hell be signing the orders for somebody else to do it. That’s D’amici tradition.” I didn’t respond, letting my silence speak for itself. I still couldn’t get the picture of Red Hood pointing a gun at Penelope out of my head.

“Andre! Come, come.” A voice interrupted my thoughts. Jason turned and gave a charming smile to a man with a thick accent in a monochrome black suit. “Pardon, my dear, but I must steal your companion for a moment.” He addressed me. I smiled agreeably.

“He’s all yours.”

Jason- Andre, as it were- left in a blur of suits and pocket watches, and I wandered around the townhouse for a while, busying myself with scones and inspecting baby pictures until ten minutes passed, and the air began to dizzy me.

Nights in Gotham were always pretty; the shadows filled all the cracks and made the flaws too dark to see. In Little Italy, the view from the balcony was particularly breathtaking, with colors like oil paints against a dusk canvas. Stars hung low in the fading light, competing with the twinkling lights of the city below. I could see a ferry steaming along in Finger River. The shade of blue made me realize how the chaos had worn on me. Stepping onto the terrace was a cool and much-needed repose.

After a while, footsteps sounded behind me. They were heavy and relaxed; lazy strides that could only be Jason’s. He was intimidating in his armor, lurching into a fight with fistfuls of firepower and that daunting stance he always took. But somehow, he was more intimidating here, out of his element, with wine and music and satin blouses, affluent society moving around him like water in a stream. He was uncharacteristically poised to pretend. In a fight, I could see the anger, the strain, the stubborn willfulness in the way he trusted completely the momentum of his own body. He was a great combatant, but I knew his moves. I always knew what he wanted. Here, even though I could see his face, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Everyone was his enemy, everyone was his friend. He could smile at a mafia goon and scowl at servant, and feel the exact opposite way. I felt like he was always lying.

Jason sauntered over and leaned against the Romanesque stone railing. He smelled like cologne and wine, and in fact tipped his glass to his lips for a sip.

“Hope it wasn’t too overwhelmin’.” He muttered, eyes falling on the city. He looked apologetic- but perhaps it was the lighting.

“No, it’s fine. I just needed some air.”

Something like glass breaking sounded from inside, followed by a chorus of laughter. He glanced back, amusement dancing on his lips. I wondered if he’d rather be back there; he did so seem to love the fray.

I ran a finger across a crack in the railing. Dick would have loved to know I’d attended a party with the upper echelon of mafia society. I thought I’d remembered a stupid story about his escapades with congressman’s daughter at the G.C. Opera House.

“What’s wrong?” Jason’s low voice broke through my thoughts, and I looked at him, surprised at the expression of interest he wore. I hesitated, shifting my weight as I stalled. Of course I didn’t want to tell him I’d been thinking of Dick.

“It’s stupid.” A beat.

“Yeah? Tell me anyway.” He said, with some finality. Again, I paused.

“Go on, little bird.” He said, drawing almost imperceptibly nearer, dipping his head close, drawing a line between ourselves and the mansionful of strangers. “Tell me.”

I was agonizingly aware of the modest inches between us. “My moms… they loved to travel. Everywhere they went, they always did something- something memorable. They were the life of the party, everywhere. They had a lot of stories.”

He didn’t say anything. It made me nervous, so I kept going to fill the silence.

“They probably came to Little Italy a lot. Probably before I was born. Ma used to tease me, because I never did anything. Or went anywhere. I just studied and… stayed home.”

More silence. I didn’t even want to look at him. He was the Red fucking Hood and I was telling him about my dead moms like he was alcoholics anonymous.

“I can’t help but feel like… I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t disappointing them, really. But I keep thinking how happy and proud they’d be now if they… if I could tell them all the stories I have now.” I concluded, watching cars with golden yellow headlights file like ants down the cobblestone streets.

“Huh.”

I blinked- not really sure what I was expecting out of him. Emotional intelligence-wise, he did die when he was a 15 year old boy. I never really yearned for him to offer me solace; but the way he just looked at me and listened made me feel like I could say anything.

I looked over at him, and he flashed me a toothy, wolfish grin and sipped his wine.

“So, if they were here, what tales would you tell em, darlin’?” He asked, eyeing me with some unreadable plan formulating in his head.

“I… well, I don’t know. I guess I don’t have anything that impressive yet. I’m spending my first ever mafia party on a balcony.”

“Easily remedied. Come on, I’ll get ya another glass.” He stood.

“Well, I‘ve never drank wine either.”

He looked at me with genuine surprise. “Ever?”

I shrugged. He settled back against the railing. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know…” I hesitated. I’d had beer before, and burning liquor in the dark quells of some distant classmate’s basement party. But that, I could barely remember. I added quietly, “It smells bad.” He laughed his uncanny, jagged laugh.

“Yeah?” He gave me a vexatious look. “How ‘bout just a taste?” I glanced at the empty glass hanging in his fingers.

“Too bad you drank it all.” I said teasingly.

“I said a taste, not a sip.”

He drew closer. Leaning on the railing like we were, it was easy to forget my height reached only his chest. Before I could give any forethought to what any of this would mean for me, his calloused fingers were tilting my chin upward, tipping my face toward his. I could feel the warmth of his body and breath- it made the night seem colder, though I knew it was tepid at worst. His lips were soft and considerate when they met mine, gently adding pressure. It was a feather-light, brief thing. What startled me more than the kiss itself was the gentleness of it.

When he pulled away, I breathed, realizing I’d forgotten to. I blinked as he let go of my chin, a small grin playing at his lips as he surveyed my reaction. Realizing he wasn’t going to kiss me again himself, I leaned in this time, butterflies fluttering in my stomach as I did. Jason kissed me back, more enthusiastically this time. His tongue danced against my lips until I parted them, whereupon he slipped it past my teeth. The intimacy cradled me like a blurry dream- I hadn’t at all been expecting to be here with him, tonight, like this; and yet here I was, and not wishing to be anywhere else. Jason was with me- tall, strong, gorgeous Jason Todd- choosing me over all the rich and beautiful people of Little Italy beyond the stained glass french doors of the terrace. Choosing me over the criminals and vagrants he had the power to puppeteer for any purpose he so chose. The way his mouth and tongue felt was dizzying. And he was right; I could taste the wine. Fruity and tangy, with a more earnest, earthy bitterness just below the surface. When my breath hitched, asking for air, he pulled away. After a deep sigh, I leaned into him, letting his arms encircle me, laying my head against the fabric of his shirt.

Our mission was over. We could’ve left any time. But there, then, I couldn’t even associate with the idea of pulling away from him.

#batman daughter #batgirl reader #batgirl #batsister #batfamily imagine #batfam #batsis x batfamily #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x y/n #red hood x reader #batsis x dick grayson #dick grayson #nightwing #batsis x tim drake #tim drake #red robin #damian al ghul #damian wayne #batman and robin #batman #batsis x bruce wayne #bruce wayne

[itsagutthing]

Places Carrie Mathison Has Lived: Washington DC Edition

i’ve been sitting in my own apartment for almost seven months of quarantine so obviously i decided to catalog the places carrie has lived! 

starting with her washington DC apartment/townhouse: the homeland revealed behind-the-scenes book included this very handy floorplan, which blows my mind as a resident of new york city. even with the suspension of disbelief that this is a tv show, so of course her apartment would be nicer than that of a real person of her age/income, this apartment is wild. why does she need a second bedroom? she has an eat-in kitchen AND a living room AND a “work room”? she has a giant patio? how much does she pay in rent? my headcanon is that she was super pissed about being shipped back from baghdad so she decided to treat herself to an apartment she can’t really afford, but come on. 

we know from episode 3.04 that carrie lives in adams morgan, which some people on the internet think makes no sense (i guess that neighborhood doesn’t have townhouses?), but without any knowledge of washington DC geography i’m going to roll with it.

now for a closer look! please enjoy as i make random observations about each room without any design knowledge or affinity whatsoever. 

i’m going to start with her living room because it’s the room we see the most:

first of all, i love the green brick wall. it’s the first image that comes to mind when i think of carrie’s DC apartment - it’s a great color, adds a little texture, and makes the room look really homey. we also have an ugly striped rug, which was probably on super sale, a less ugly striped throw pillow that almost matches but doesn’t, and a fun paisley throw pillow that could work if there weren’t so many stripes. there is also a comically tiny reading lamp, which is great.

you can also see onto her patio, which has multiple very nice chaises with cushions! there is a 0% chance carrie remembers to bring those cushions inside when it rains, which means they’re probably a little musty. i want that patio. 

there are also a bunch of framed photos scattered around the first floor, some of which i’m going to guess were taken while she was in iraq, based on the architecture. i like the idea of carrie taking great care to print and frame these photos while not unpacking any of the boxes we’ll see in her bedroom. 

this shot shows a few framed photos on the wall, but it’s hard to tell what they are. the first one looks like a building, and the other two might feature groups of people? i couldn’t be bothered to actually look for a better screenshot, so i guess i’ll never know the truth. 

now for her work room/study/location of many a manic spiral:

(i had to include the ~iconic~ timeline shot!) the giant corkboard is both visually striking and hilarious, since i picture carrie having to go to michael’s or whatever to buy enough tiny boards to fill her wall. did the cashier say anything when she bought these ~70 pin boards? amazon obviously existed in 2011 but wasn’t as ubiquitous as it is now, so she probably bought them in person.

i like the top shot because it shows that carrie’s tv is sort of centered along her Conspiracy Wall, so i can see her throughout the years half-watching tv and half-studying the wall to see if she can think of anything new to add.

the kitchen:

carrie’s kitchen is kind of boring, since she never uses it, but it’s really big and… has a fireplace? you can see the mantel behind frank in that second shot. what a weird choice. also, the woven basket on top of her stove in that first shot looks like the kind of basket you get in a chinese restaurant when you order a lot of dumplings. what could carrie possibly have in there?

here’s another angle of her dining area off of the kitchen. she has so many shelves! and random pottery pieces! i like to think those are all pieces she brought home from the middle east.

and now her bedroom:

carrie clearly loves to mix prints. i like that the curtains have almost a tree-branch pattern. i also like the painting above her bed but the colors don’t really fit with all the gray on her bedding. i would move it to the living room, and put the painting that’s above the mantel in her little breakfast nook in here. also, you can’t see it in this screenshot but carrie is listening to music using a silver ipod classic, which is the ipod i used in 2011 and still have in a drawer somewhere. the comically tiny reading lamp also makes an appearance! 

this shot is from the pilot and shows that she still hasn’t fully unpacked her boxes, which is a mood. i like that they appear to be unlabeled. 

here’s another angle of her bedroom:

this shows us that she designates different sides of the bed for sleeping vs. listening to moody music, as one does. 

we can also see that her full bathroom is off the master bedroom, which is weird to me. if she has someone staying in the guest room, does that person have to go into her room in the middle of the night to pee? or go downstairs? is there another bathroom off the hallway? how many bathrooms does this fucking apartment have?

on that note, when virgil finds her meds in the aspirin bottle in the pilot, does that mean he went all the way upstairs and into her personal bathroom? instead of the bathroom that we never see on the ground floor but is in the floorplan? that seems like an invasion of privacy, although it’s not super clear how close they are as friends, so maybe it’s not that weird.

inside the bathroom:

carrie has so many hand towels. no one person needs that many hand towels. she also has… scarves on a hook? is that multi-colored scarf the same one she wears in 1.11? i don’t think it’s exactly the same but it looks very similar.

she also has a walk-in closet, which is so neatly organized (look at how nicely those t-shirts are folded on the shelf by her head!) and features a lot of stripes, even though i can’t think of a single time we’ve seen her wear stripes. she occasionally wears dress shirts with prints, especially early on, but otherwise she’s a solids girl through and through. why is she buying so many stripes that she won’t wear?

here’s one last shot of her bedroom, which i love because of the jacksonville jazz poster and the free weights on the floor of her room. according to google, there’s a jazz festival in jacksonville, florida every year so i guess that’s what this is from. did she actually go to said festival, and did she go with anyone? i would read that fic.

in summary: green brick wall, lots of patterns, lots of photos + art, a confusing fireplace, and many questions about the bathroom situation!

#homeland #homelandedit #carrie mathison #this is inspired by sara's things carrie wore this week #also unhinged quarantine restlessness #i just want to live in this apartment #sorry to anyone on mobile because i guess read mores still don't work in the year 2020! #cma*

[romanceandnothingelse]

Paris, France.

10:43 pm

Dear Alice,

Its been twelve years since Renesmee was born. Twelve years since I married Edward. Twelve years in the face of forever.

If I were still to age I would be thirty now.

It's strange to think of such an amount of time both short in the reality of my having forever, and so long and everything I had feared such a short time ago. In three days time comes my worst nightmare. My thirty-first birthday. Edward tells me that I shouldn't count, but how can I not when I look at my life now, and see in it what could have been. What could have been if Edward had his way and made me age and get old. What could have been if I got to this day naturally and saw myself as a grown woman, standing next to my husband who looks seventeen. My husband who will look seventeen forever as I would have died a little each day slowly watching the creases on my face deepening.

Oh, Alice. I'm sorry. the trouble with letter writing instead of emailing is there's no way to undo what you've written- except for scrapping the whole thing and starting over, but I won't do that, you've waited long enough for my reply.

I haven't told Edward about your letter, and you know he wouldn't be happy with you if he knew in advance, but I think it's a good idea. I haven't seen Renesmee since she and Jacob visited two months ago. I still can't get used to the idea of my daughter being with my old best friend. But luckily I've got the rest of my life-which will never end- to come to terms with it. I've missed them while we've been here. I hate not seeing her so much but what can we do? Jacob lives with his pack and Renesmee is wherever he is. But maybe it's for the best, the less I have to see them together the less I have to think about what exactly that means.

I'm looking forward to seeing the old house again after so long. I hope you've stocked the kitchen for Renesmee, I've missed you all so much, Edward has too, despite what he'll say when he sees you all. We'll see you in a few days. But you already know that.

  

All my love,

                   Bella

Returning to our townhouse after sending my letter, I found Edward where he had been sat for the past 3 days straight; bent over the grand piano in our 'living room'. Without much need for typical human comforts we kept pretences for just that. Pretences.

Drawing closer I sat beside him on the small bench and tapped his arm gently. Nothing. I rolled my eyes; we needed to be back home at Faulks in two days, but he was completely absorbed in the new piece he was writing.

"Edward." I cleared my throat, raising my eyebrows.

He doesn't even know I'm here right now. I sighed, heading into the kitchen to resume by activities of the past week. Authentic Italian cooking. Every year since I became a vampire I've taken up a new interest and this year I was inspired by one of my moms old cooking books. She, of course never used it, or any other cooking book but when Edward and I 'vacationed to Italy' after we were married she gave me an old book full of Italian recipes when we returned. And so, after falling in love with the recipes I decided I wanted to be able to perfect them in the real Italian way; installing everything I needed into our modest French townhouse and buying every cookbook I found, and lastly being tutored by an Italian chef. It's been amazing. But I missed being able to cook for the people I loved who could actually enjoy it. Renesmee left too soon, I sighed to myself, but was gently consoled by the fact I was going to give Charlie a shock when I got home with a proper Italian meal for him and Sue. I couldn't wait.

After practicing my signature dish- which I was told by the locals was 'très magnifique'- I followed the music coming from the living room and found Edward, perfectly content, leisurely playing a composition I'd never heard before.

"You're done?" I asked.

He turned from where he was sat and looked at me serenely, his gentle smile slowly turning into the one reserved only for me.

"Yes." He smiled softly, rising to meet me.

"Would you like to know what it's called?"

"What?" I grinned, throwing an arm around his neck as he leaned down to meet me.

"I don't know yet." He confessed in a whisper.

I laughed, "Well, you can think about it on the way to Faulks." I said as I watched his face intently for his reaction.

To my surprise, he frowned and the rest of his features softened, eyes straying from my own, wonderingly.

"That's a good idea." He said slowly. "Yours?" He asked.

Oh god. I don't want to lie to him but...

"Yes." I tried to smile without wincing, but somehow I didn't think it would escape his notice.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Alice's?"

I straightened my already unnaturally straight back (vampire posture had me looking more graceful than I could ever feel. In this life or my human one), and looked him in the eyes challengingly.

"No." I said firmly. "My idea. It's almost my birthday and I want to go home for it. I want to see our family again."

A half truth. I thought to myself. An omission isn’t really a lie.

He arched an eyebrow casually down at me, obviously seeing through me, but pressing no further.

"I've packed for both of us already. You were busy." Thankfully.

"Okay," He said, dropping the subject before taking my hand and leading me to the piano. "Let me play for you before we leave."

"But we're not leaving until tomorrow." I objected instinctively. "Wait no." I laughed, "that doesn't matter.” I shook my head, smiling up at him. “Play for me." I corrected myself, sitting on the chaise opposite him where he sat at the piano.

He smiled and rolled up his sleeves and read from the creased papers standing tall above the keys.

"Pour toi, mon amour." He said softly as he began to play the most beautiful melody I had ever heard. It reminded me of one of my favourite chopin pieces he would play for me... something in E flat. I sat perfectly still with my eyes closed as he played, hearing his fingers stroking the keys, the quiet movements underneath the music adding something much more intimate to the practice.

As he stilled to a close, I opened my eyes only as I felt him beside me.

"That was beautiful." I breathed.

"I'm glad you like it." He murmured. "It was written for you."

"The next thing I take up after my Italian kitchen ventures, will be something that will benefit you." I promised. "This isn't fair, you being so perfectly considerate and me...learning to cook in a household where nobody has any need to actually eat food."

"Just because I don't need to eat food doesn't mean I don't enjoy whatever you make." He said softly. "And for your information... just you being here... just your existence alone... benefits me. I don't need anything else."

My heart fluttered as he slowly smiled down at me. I looked into his eyes and I blushed as I realised this was never going to get old. I was going to keep feeling like a teenager hopelessly in love forever. And, to my embarrassment, forever in our world really meant forever.

#twilight #twilight fic #edward cullen #bella cullen #renesmee #edward and bella #wattpad fanfic #fanfic #twilight fluff #twilight fanfiction #bella swan #fluff #fluffy fic #alice cullen #twilight imagine #edward cullen imagine #renesmee and jacob #renesmee cullen #alice cullen imagine #well this chapter isnt but youll see #fluffy imagine #wattpad books #daylight

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Labor of Love Chapter 2: A Critical Role Shadowgast Fanfic

Well, I was utterly floored by the amount of love I got on the first chapter of the fic, and so I felt that I had enough ideas and time to continue it. Seriously, thank you to everyone who supported chapter one, and here’s hoping you continue to enjoy this fic! Considering I’m still in a quarantine, I have plenty of time on my hands lol. 

I took inspiration from the food section of the Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount, so let me just say, thank you so very much Essek server for helping me! You guys are, as always, the best. 

Read on AO3

Read Ch 1 on Tumblr

Preview: 

Each cupcake looked like a treasure chest, decorated and drizzled and shiny. Each cupcake was almost too much of a display to consider blemishing. From the candied lemons on the Radler to the swirl of the tamarind-vanilla frosting to even the glisten of the drizzle. It all screamed a level of care and attention that Essek didn't exactly feel deserving of. All of this came from Caleb’s mind, he knew it. But what a wonderful, beautiful place that mind must have been. It made him yearn, impossibly, faithfully for something that he didn’t even have the words for. He hadn’t thought he was empty before, but now he felt downright cavernous.  

"Well, what's got you in a mood? Your resting bitch face is worse than usual,” Lythir noted, taking a sip from his mimosa. Essek set down his own drink and gave him a look. “That’s not making it any better.” 

“I don’t have a resting bitch face,” Essek noted very pleasantly as he flipped through the menu. The place was in the trendy upscale shopping district of Rosohna, promising gourmet modern-Xhorhassian cuisine served on shiny white plates and all deconstructed to the highest fashion. It was a bit pretentious, even for Essek. For example, why did all the drinks have to be in mason jars? But he hadn’t picked the place that had been Lythir. Though, Essek was sure he was going to have to be the one to foot the bill. 

Lythir was looking back at him expectantly. He was an old acquaintance of Essek’s, who worked at one of the premier newspapers in Rosohna. There were plenty of reasons that Essek prefered other people’s company over Lythir. He tended to be dour, self-important, and pretty annoying in general. Essek didn’t like most people, and he especially disliked people who felt they had something to prove. One’s business should remain their own. But Lythir had always done good work for the cultural office, and always gave Essek the head’s up when something big was happening. So, at the very least, Essek owed him to hear him out no matter how absolutely obnoxious he was being. 

“Well, you are a resting bitch so���” 

“I didn’t invite me out to brunch, that was you. This is your fault, so you don’t get to complain about me. If you want someone to complain about me to, you should have invited your husband,” Essek said shortly. Essek would have preferred Lythir’s husband to be there anyways. He was a stylish, soft-spoken individual who was the head of a non-profit that helped place refugees in housing and set them up with job assistance. Essek actually enjoyed his conversation, as opposed to Lythir. But it was what it was. 

“Oh get that stick out of your ass, Theylss. I invited you here for a reason...well, that and getting drunk.” 

“I suppose my company is not enough,” Essek sighed dramatically. 

“Oh, please. As if you don’t purposefully make yourself the least friendly person to interact with on a daily basis on purpose.” 

“We both know that’s not true. You hold that distinct honor.” 

“Oh shut up,” Lythir said, his expression pinching. “You always have to be so clever.”

“Are we ready to order?” the waitress asked, walking over to them slowly, as if the ground itself was triggered with traps like some ancient dungeon. 

“I’ll have the Eggs Uthodurn,” Essek ordered, closing the menu and sliding it to her. He smiled his best smile at her, the one he often put on to comfort interns trembling at the sound of his boss’s heels...before they realized it was him they needed to watch for. She looked relieved. 

“On a bagel or Uthodurnian muffin?” 

“The muffin please.” 

“Salad or home fries?” 

“Salad.” 

“And for you sir?” the waitress asked Lythir. 

“Full Xhorhassian Breakfast,” Lythir said lazily, not even bothering to look at her. “Bagel and eggs scrambled.” 

“Thank you,” Essek said to the waitress who smiled and hurried away. Essek turned his gaze back to Lythir, keeping his expression decorated as naturally as he could. "So what was it that you wanted to speak to me about?" 

"Though in theory we have moved away from the 12 Den Form of Government, we all know that it still exists," Lythir said, taking out his little notebook. "Your little brother is about to find himself in some hot water if he doesn't cool his current investigation. I know he thinks he’s some hot shot ye old Taskhand, but we all know that it’s the case." 

"Of course he is," Essek snorted as he rested his chin on his palm as he continued to look towards Lythir. "What did he do this time?" 

"Investigated a high ranking member of Den Beltune for corruption," Lythir said, opening his notebook. "Bribery and intimidation, the usual. Oh but a dash of insider trading is the scary thing, isn’t it?"

"Verin can never leave well enough alone," Essek sighed deeply, taking a long drink from his cocktail. It was so unwieldy to drink a bellini from a mason jar, but he was making due regardless. "It's part of his nature." 

"So are you going to stop him or what?"

"I'll do what needs to be done for all of our sakes." 

"That's cold," Lythir noted with a chuckle and a shake of his head. 

"Perhaps," Essek said tiredly. "Was that the only reason you dragged me out here in your quest to protect the realm, Lythir?  

"That, and I love the pissed off look you give every time you have to say Verin's name." 

"Truly, your company is a Luxon's blessing." 

The rest of brunch was a lackluster affair…mostly due to Lythir's subpar company. Essek couldn’t even eat three bites without feeling queasy. No, it wasn’t that he was suddenly concerned about his brother. He couldn’t care less about that. It was more the feeling that all of this was going to become a migraine if he didn’t get out in front of it.  Essek sighed as he climbed into his car, shooting a text to his mother. She was home, apparently going to the Temple to worship later. Lovely, but better to do this sooner rather than later. He gritted his teeth, pulled out from the curb, and drove towards the Theylss family home. 

The townhouse was in the Firmaments, the most upscale district in Rosohna. When Essek pulled next to the curb, and was immediately met with a housekeeper before he could ring the doorbell. Essek gave him his jacket and was led into the living room where his denmother was waiting. The whole house itself was styled classically. Heavy curtains, arches,  marble statues, Vermelock purple woods and wallpapers, luxurious tapestries and paintings of Theylss members since...well...since his mother had first put a name to her fame. She was laying back on the chaise lounge, with a mug of something in her hands. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Essek asked dryly, noting his mother’s general state of undress. She was wearing a silk robe, and lingerie that was lacy and very revealing. He resisted the urge to turn around and stare at the wall. He was an adult, but still, even the slightest inclination of his mother’s sex life was enough to make him want to gouge his own eyes out with a spoon. 

“Oh please, don’t be dramatic. It’s the morning,” Dierta Theylss said with a sigh as she sat up, looking oh so pleased with herself. 

“It’s half-past twelve.” 

“It’s morning somewhere, and I had a very good night, and I’m in my own house,” she said, taking the reserve of almond liqueur and pouring at least a double shot into her coffee. “I’m allowed to be dressed however I wish. 

“I beg of you, don’t tell me how your night was. I really, really don’t want to know.” 

“Essek, please, I thought when you became an adult we would be able to talk candidly about things. You hurt your mother’s feelings.” 

It was just then that Dierta’s current husband walked down the stairs. It was hard to keep track...but Essek was sure this was the fourth one in his lifetime. A handsome half-orc man...who of course was younger than Essek technically though he was somewhere in his forties. Essek couldn’t remember his name. Garrall? Gurak? Something like that maybe? He gave Essek a slow, awkward wave before grabbing coffee and then booking it back upstairs to avoid the oncoming storm. Good, Essek thought. He might actually like this new stepfather of his...though he was pretty sure that they had been married for at least two years. Did that count? Oh, whatever. He at least wasn’t as dense as the last one who had always smelled of mothballs and couldn’t keep from blathering about his stocks in Whitestone residuum. 

“I didn’t come here for a social visit, Mother,” Essek noted, taking the glass that was offered to him by the servant before sitting in the empty loveseat. He settled it down, not touching it. No use in getting too comfortable, after all, these conversations tended to be short and fraught with danger. He needed all his faculties working for this.  

“Of that I’m perfectly aware, you don’t do social visits. I can only assume that you did something and you need your mother’s help to clean up your mess,” she said, taking a drink. She motioned and the servant raced to refresh her cup. She took another lazy sip, gazing at him from over the rim as she did. There was something lurking there that always put him on edge, but it was more prominent now. 

“Not my mess,” Essek corrected, intertwining his fingers and resting them on his knee. “Verin’s mess. Verin’s mess that always ends up being my mess somehow.” 

“You mean Verin’s little pet project? His corruption investigation?” Dierta asked, tracing the rim of her mug with a manicured finger. “Oh yes, I’ve heard about it.” 

“And you haven’t done anything about it?” Essek asked, leaning back and crossing his legs. “What’s your plan then?” 

“Whatever could I do to dissuade him? You, on the other hand, may have more luck than I did.” 

“No,” Essek said angrily, the realization striking him quickly with the force of a hard slap. “No, this is not something you are going to pass off to me. I am only here out of respect to you, I’m not here to play your errand boy.” 

“Essek, you and I both know that things go better when you just listen to me,” Dierta said, her face hardening and Essek could nearly see her assume the ancient, feared, and coveted role of denmother right there. You are my son, and you will abide by me is what she didn’t say. It was the threat that was inherent in her tone. She was his denmother, even though in theory they had long since abandoned the practice. In fact, she was still one of the most powerful people in Rosohna. As soon as she had dawned the role like a heavy mantle it was gone and replaced with something cloyingly sweet. “You are my favored son for a reason. Now, listen to your mother. I have a plan.” 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Essek said, standing up out of his seat. “You can just speak to Verin directly. I’m not playing this game of yours anymore, this is exactly the reason why I moved out of this godsforsaken house.”

“You know he doesn’t listen to me once he’s got an idea in his head.”

“He doesn’t listen to me either. In fact, he hates me so whatever plan you have concocted in that brain of yours isn’t going to work. This was obviously just a waste of my time,” Essek told her shortly, yanking his jacket from the coat hanger. The servant looked pissed, and Essek leveled a glare that had him scurrying backwards. 

“Essek, tell me, what happened between you and Verin anyways?” she asked idly, as if it had nothing to do with her. Essek bristled even further if that was even possible under the circumstances, and felt his mouth twist further into a deep grimace.

“Can’t you tell?” Essek asked her with a sour grin. “It’s because I’m too much like you.”  

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Dierta huffed impatiently, but Essek was already out the door and to his car. He slammed his door shut, punched in his brother’s number and sped off from the curb towards his house. Essek almost immediately hit both traffic and Verin’s voicemail. Almost at his wit’s end, he tapped the wheel impatiently. 

“Verin,” Essek said shortly, glaring heatedly at his phone. “Don’t be an idiot. Be smarter than whatever you are up to, because it’s not just your ass on the line here and I will not help you.” 

Essek cut the line and stared at the traffic ahead of him. He continued to sit there, stewing on his distaste for everything for a bit before he just got tired of that and his attention wandered. He cast a look towards his messenger bag...the one he had gotten into the habit of keeping in his car just in case. It was looking up at him judgmentally…. as if saying he was weak and sentimental. He didn't need to go to the bakery, to soak in its atmosphere like it was a warm bath at the end of a particularly stressful day. He could read his books and answer Messages at home. But nothing about driving back to his empty cold apartment seemed appealing at that moment. 

He was a weak selfish creature, after all. And so he turned left...to the Xhorhaus Bakery. 

The bakery itself was buzzing with the usual amount of activity, on account of it being the afternoon. There were two lines, one for the regular register and the displays of sweets. At the other, Fjord and Caduceus (as he had learned from his previous trips) were making crepes and waffle cones for children to place their ice-cream. In front of them, trays of toppings like fruits, square jellies, jewel-colored syrups and jams and whipped creams, different flavored tapioca balls, a rainbow of sprinkles, and homemade candies and crushed cookies. Essek got up to the register and noticed immediately that Caleb wasn't there (not to his disappointment, he was not disappointed, it was foolish to be so and the last thing that Essek was, was foolish). Veth was also nowhere to be seen. He was met with Jester who smiled happily at him, as if there were no one in the world she would rather see. It helped lessen the sting of definitely not disappointment greatly. 

"Hi Essek!" Jester greeted, meeting his gaze before a grin curled over his lips. "Caleb's in the back right now."

"I didn't need to know that," Essek said with a sigh. 

"Sure you didn't. But in the meantime we do have Widogast's Wall of Infamy," Jester said, pointing to the aforementioned sign. On it were recommendations of the different pastries and food available that day. Essek swept them with his gaze, memorizing the neat scrawl that had to be Caleb's handwriting. It was beautiful, well practiced, the show of an educated hand. Just another thing to obsess about that he didn’t need to, Essek thought annoyed at his own obviousness. 

"I'll do one tall black coffee and...uh...whatever the daily triple threat is." 

"Oh my gosh, cupcakes!" Jester said excitedly, tail moving back and forth with her eagerness as Jester accepted Essek's payment. "They definitely won't let you down, Essek. You are gonna love them. I'll have Beau bring everything over in a sec!"

Essek sat himself in his usual corner seat and began setting himself up for work. His tome-pad angled up, and his books for after settled in a neat pile. Leylas Kryn got about twenty or more serious business requests every day, and Essek knew from experience which ones were worth going over with her and which ones weren't. He still attempted to be kind and courteous however, besides, who knew if certain products would take off? Always good to leave the door open for later. Having more ammo to arm himself with was never a bad thing. 

"Here you go, black coffee and daily triple threat," Beau said, settling down the tray with a thump that made Essek jump. She began to speak with all the enthusiasm of a secretary at the Department of Magical Artifacts. "Our specials today are our Wildemount Drinks cupcake collection. First cupcake on the left is a Queen's Water cupcake, a honey cake with a guava filling and a tamarind-vanilla buttercream. Second cupcake is a Radler cupcake, a vanilla-beer cake filled with a lemon curd and topped with a tangy lemon cream cheese frosting. Final cupcake is a Yunfaalyu--yes I know I totally butchered the pronunciation--decadent chocolate cake with a current jam filling, vanilla frosting and a plum liqueur drizzle. Each cupcake is enchanted to give you a different sensation." 

Each cupcake looked like a treasure chest, decorated and drizzled and shiny. Each cupcake was almost too much of a display to consider blemishing. From the candied lemons on the Radler to the swirl of the tamarind-vanilla frosting to even the glisten of the drizzle. It all screamed a level of care and attention that Essek didn't exactly feel deserving of. All of this came from Caleb’s mind, he knew it. But what a wonderful, beautiful place that mind must have been. It made him yearn, impossibly, faithfully for something that he didn’t even have the words for. He hadn’t thought he was empty before, but now he felt downright cavernous. 

"I probably can't eat all of these by myself," Essek said guiltily. "I didn't realize they were so big." 

"You look like you could use it," Beauregard noted, leaning against the table. Her muscles flexed with the effort."You're like a fucking stick." 

"Why, thank you," Essek said sarcastically before giving her another look. "You don't strike me as the bakery type." 

"I'm not, I'm a member of the Cobalt Soul," Beauregard said with a shrug, naming the international organization of monks. In the time of war they had been covert operatives and general badasses. Now they served as a peace-keeping and rebuilding operation for people in almost every country in Wildemount...though supposedly they were still general badasses. "Caleb's my friend, and this is my side gig. Self-defense instructor and part time librarian doesn't pay a whole lot." 

"I see," Essek said, blinking. He didn’t really understand why she would be under-selling her job, but, it wasn’t his business and he didn’t care enough to dig into the specifics. Information was important, but too much was a burden to saddle yourself with.  

"Plus, you need at least two strong people to carry wedding cakes. Me and Yasha tend to do that," she explained, flexing her arm to show off her bicep. 

"I'm sorry, wedding cakes?" Essek asked curiously. 

"Oh, right, I keep forgetting it's a Dwendalian thing. During the reception of a wedding in the Empire, you have a cake. Not just any cake, it can be...like...up to six tiers or more," Beau aided her visual by miming stacking. "And they are decorated, with sugar flowers and other things. I mean, it's all gross and sentimental but they are beautiful. You cut the cake together at the wedding, feed each other and the party starts. Asshole couples might smush it in each other's faces but, like, that's real old fashioned and also a horrible tradition." 

"That's...surprisingly tender," Essek said, unable to visualize what something like that would feel like. The idea of feeding another person, it had to be intimate. It was a way that food became another vehicle for affection. It was surprising to hear about such a tradition from the Empire, the salt-of-the-Earth and cold-barbed-wire fence country that it was. Then again, people were people no matter where they came from. Being in love was a universal thing...not that Essek had any experience with it. "It's lovely." 

"Yeah, well, don't get your panties in a knot about it. We don't do many wedding cakes here, but Empire immigrants like us, and those people marrying immigrants, are starting to come in asking for them. Caleb and Veth are in a consultation  about a wedding cake now for a couple. Why? Are you in the market for one?" Beauregard asked, her expression searching. 

"Oh no, no," Essek said with a desperate shake of his head. He didn't know how much of this conversation would get back to Caleb, and that idea was mortifying enough. He didn’t need Caleb also thinking he wasn’t available...not that it mattered at all. "Definitely not." 

"Well then," Beauregard said shortly. "Good luck with the cupcakes." 

She trudged off, leaving Essek to it. It was in that moment, sitting there in the busy bakery bereft of an audience to perform for, that he finally felt himself decompress. He almost had to check his ears to make sure steam wasn't coming out. Life didn't look so bad, with a cup of coffee and cupcakes sitting in front of you. There was something about the visceral comfort of it all that made the knot in his chest that was forever tight just loosen just a little. Essek took a sip of his coffee before reaching to pick which cupcake he was willing to try first. It was all so tempting, even though Essek still swore to himself that he didn’t like sweets. 

Essek cut the first cupcake, the Queen’s Water cupcake so he could get a bite of frosting, filling, and cake all at once. The cake itself was tender and almost melted in the mouth was delicately sweet with the honey and warmed with spices, countered by the intensely flavorful guava, and the sour-sweet punch of the tamarind-vanilla frosting. Immediately as he tasted it… he was enveloped by the flavor dancing on his tongue, with his next breath in he was filled with the sensation of warm sand against his fingertips, a cool breeze and the glittering sapphire waves of the Menagerie Coast around his knees. As soon as it was there, it dissolved like seafoam the moment he finished the bite. 

Essek did not hesitate before his next bite, the Yunfaalyu cupcake. Yunfaalyu was a popular traditional Xhorhassian drink, something Essek had grown up drinking on special occasions and on the holidays. It was traditionally a plum liquor served frigid-cold over ice and topped with currants. Every family had their own method of serving it and most families were a little obsessed with it. Plums were considered the Queen of Fruit in Xhorhas for a reason, and the drink was considered a delicacy by all rights. Essek had enjoyed plums soaked in it, eaten Yunfaalyu poured over shaved ice on hot summer nights. He had never had it in a baked good before, and was now wondering how he had spent his whole life without it. Chocolate was a relatively new import from Tal’dorei, fashionable as drinks served as powder stirred in hot milk with spices. In a cupcake it was a revelation in the way it melted sweet and bitter all at the same time. The currant jam was tart, smoothed over by the creaminess of the frosting. It was the plum liquor that transported him this time. The tingling on his tongue when he breathed, he was surprised to see his breath not swirl white. A cold Xhorhassian winter night, a scarf wrapped around his neck, snowflakes brushing his cheeks and his eyelashes, and the warmth of a crackling hearth. Again it was gone within the space of a breath.  

The final cupcake, the Radler, awaited for him. He took his next bite, now expecting it to be bone-shatteringly good. The cake was so flavorful, light and yet had a deep earthy quality. It was counteracted by the sharp-sour-sweet lemon curd, and the tang of the cream-cheese frosting. It’s sharpness eased into something sweet and citrus and almost addictive as he couldn’t stop himself from taking another bite. Immediately, he realized that this was the taste of summer, like long grasses and dandelions brushing his fingertips and the hum of insects in his ears. He could feel the heat of the sun, something so unfamiliar and yet unmistakable, like golden comfort being settled upon his shoulders. It was like stepping into a warm bath...and yet more ethereal and it somehow soaked in deeper. It reached right down to the core of his heart, where almost nothing penetrated. This was a gift to someone who could never feel the sun as anything but pain. 

He sniffed and bit back something that felt suspiciously like tears but definitely were not. But whatever scratchy feeling he had at the back of his throat had nothing to do with stupid, soft, gentle wizards who used their magic to let some poor drow fool feel sunlight. Essek was broken out of his revelry by the feeling of the cat, Frumpkin jumping up into his lap. 

“Oh!” Essek greeted, looking at the wide yellow eyes that looked up at him curiously. For a moment he could have sworn they flashed blue, but then they settled back into a warm gentle yellow. Essek tentatively placed his fingers under Frumpkin’s chin, and watched as Frumpkin actively leaned into Essek’s scratching. His fur was soft to the touch, unlike most animals he had pet before. His purring caught him off guard, because he had certainly read of cats purring he hadn’t realized you could feel it. It was a delightful little sensation as Frumpkin settled on his lap for a nap. Essek probably should have been more concerned about the state of his pants...cat fur would probably show up on them. But he didn’t find that he cared. 

Essek sat for a bit, finished the Radler cupcake and his coffee. He thought about ordering another coffee, but as soon as he did he noticed that Caleb had appeared from the back and didn’t think he was strong enough to speak to him. Just tasting what he had created was enough for his poor heart for one day. Caleb looked at the person ordering warmly, welcoming, and it made his heart fluttered in his chest. That was enough to make clear to Essek that he had definitely made the correct decision. 

You will just have to continue to be my private daydream. My sweet and soft when everything is terrible. The shot straight to my heart, my never-ever-might-have-been. And I'll just have to be content with my lot, that I've known just the tiniest sliver of your heart that you've served to me on a silver platter. Essek thought idly as he tapped the next image on his tome-pad. No use in being greedy. This is just enough to make me not so miserable as I was two hours ago. 

"Here, something you might like," Caleb's voice startled Essek out of his daydreams immediately. Essek looked to see Caleb settling a cup of coffee of some sort in front of him, having appeared out of the haze of Essek’s thoughts and back into Essek’s reality. 

"I didn't order anything," Essek said, voice devoid of any normal emotion and instead sounding like he was slowly being tortured for information somewhere in an Empire bunker like in one of the old movies. 

"It's on the house," Caleb said as Essek reached for his wallet. The cat in his lap perked up, delicately maneuvered across the table ladened with the fruits of Caleb’s labor, before settling on Caleb's lap. It left Essek feeling strangely bereft and cold. Caleb was holding his own cup, and looked a bit concerned. "Were they not to your liking?"

Caleb motioned to the two partially eaten cupcakes remaining. Only the Radler, the sunshine cupcake, had been completely devoured. 

"Oh, no! No," Essek denied quickly. "They were all delicious. It's just...one was quite enough to fill me up." 

In actuality he probably should have eaten more. He hadn't eaten breakfast, and taken maybe three bites of his brunch. It was strange though, where most food settled in his stomach like lead...it was different here. Everything he ate here had an intensity of flavor that Essek wasn't used to. It had to be the magic, but...he didn't really care. More than anything, he wanted to let the taste of that last bite of that Radler cupcake linger as long as possible. 

"If I must confide...the Radler is my personal favorite from that batch of recipes," Caleb said, sounding relieved while sipping out of his own cup. Essek looked at the mug Caleb had placed in front of him. Noticing his look, Caleb motioned towards it more firmly. “I hope you enjoy that.” 

Essek took it and took a sip. It was a flat white, the strong taste of the espresso and the smooth mouthfeel of the milk. There wasn’t any sugar in the cup...after all the sweets Essek doubted he would be able to take that. He sighed deeply, fingers curled around the mug itself as the warm radiated into his fingertips. Almost immediately Essek realized what he was doing and forced himself back into his own mind. Caleb was looking at him expectantly. 

“Tell me something,” Essek said, feeling rather brave in spite of himself. It wasn’t a smooth segway but at least he was talking in an even and normal tone. “When you bake the magic in...how do you compensate for the components? I mean...I hope you aren’t putting fleece into your cupcakes.” 

“Ah, you so caught the major image,” Caleb said, sounding delighted. 

“I’m sorry, is that a trade secret?”

“Oh no, no. I’m just not used to people so interested in the how, they are more interested in the results,” Caleb said, waving his hand as if to dismiss his worries. “We draw the essence of the spell out and soak it into the water we use to mix each batter.”

“Truly...it’s fascinating how you are utilizing magic for different purposes,” Essek noted, settling his hand on his notebook. “How did you come to this conclusion, this bakery, if you don’t mind me asking? You are a very talented wizard, and this is a rather...well unorthodox profession for a wizard.” 

Caleb paused for a moment, considering the question as he scratched under Frumpkin’s chin. The cat meowed lazily, caught in the middle of a pur. Caleb smiled at it, before picking up his cup once again. 

“When we all first came here...things were difficult,” Caleb explained, looking into his cup. Today his hair was back in a loose low ponytail, that drew Essek’s eyes to the nap of his neck. Was there no part of him that wasn’t ridiculously attractive? “We were all just scraping by. If you can believe it, we all met in an inn on the way to the border and we just decided to stick it out together. Some of us...weren’t lucky enough to make it. When we got here, things were hard but better. Back then, though I loved magic it reminded me of a lot of terrible things in my life, not to get too personal about it. Veth asked me to think of something I loved that I could do. And I could only think about magic, finding a way to do magic in a way that would make me and everyone I had come to care about happy. My mother had always loved cooking and baking, and doing so reminded me of her. So, I just thought one day, to the Nine Hells with it. Combine them both and see what I get. I’ve been so lucky in a lot of ways, but the fact it all worked out is at the top of the list.” 

“We are lucky to have you,” Essek said, hoping that sentiment didn’t sound too contrived. 

“I’m not sure what the neighbors thought of us at first,” Caleb chuckled, deep from his belly, and the sound nearly sent a flush to the tips of his ears. Of course Essek had watched Empire programming once in a while. His mother thought television was gauche at the best of times, but Essek had found ways to sneak entertainment out from under her. Say what you would about the Empire, their television at least was far more entertaining then the how-many-different-channels-do-you-need-to-praise-the-Luxon slop you got in the Dynasty. He had read some interesting articles about how it was all a bread-and-circuses strategy by the Empire to lull their citizens into complacency, which was all fine and good and evil, but with hunky human men daring to brave the unknown in scripted series about adventurers? It went down easy and made very good entertainment. The voices of those old fashioned stars had always been deep timber that Essek guessed was natural to humans. He hadn’t realized how attractive it could be...until this particular human male was sitting in front of him. 

“I think you’ll find that a lot of people’s lives have improved with you here,” Essek said, settling his mug down primly and with his best aristocratic sniff. “I think you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“Ja, I just might,” Caleb said, raising the mug to his mouth. His blue eyes sparkled mirthfully, like the dream of that summer day baked into a single cupcake.  

---------

“Stop being evil for like, ten minutes and seriously consider the proposal,” Professor Waccoh demanded of him. Essek looked up from his phone to look at her and met her glare. 

“I did consider it. It was stupid and so I stopped considering it,” Essek said, completely deadpanned. “If that’s being evil, then consider me the evilest man alive.” 

“Kryn wanted something to show the majesty of our nation! Our technological advances are something we should be proud of. If you showed approval she'd consider it.” 

“Nothing about giant machines that move through the streets makes any sense.” 

“They would have purpose and make sense, you are just thinking too small.”

“I am not helping you bring that in front of Leylas Kryn. You go ahead, but it does not have my stamp of approval,” Essek told her. 

"Cheapskate," Professor Waccoh accused. 

"Bite me,” Essek said as pleasant as could be. 

“I wouldn’t want to poison myself.” 

“They are ready in there,” the secretary said, poking her head out of the meeting room. Essek put on his professional face and then walked through the door. 

The discussion at hand was the 10th Anniversary of Peace, the date that marked the beginning of what people were calling the golden age of Xhorhas. It was rather pretentious if Essek thought about it, but it wasn’t his job to judge. Really, it was his job to be there and take down notes and to know what his boss liked or didn’t like based on her subtle facial expressions. Essek had always been good at that, having been trained from the days in Den Theylss with his mother breathing down his neck to always know what it took to be on someone’s good side. By the end of the meeting, Essek had whittled the list of suggestions down to three before Leylas Kryn adjourned the meeting for a break.  

Essek stood by the juice machine, deciding what healthy-concoction-monstrosity he wanted to put into the temple of his body as Quana Kryn saddled up next to him, taking a sip from her own cup. Golden eyes searched his face before a smile pulled at her mouth. Quana Kryn had always been the more approachable of the two, but it didn’t make her any less intimidating as she nearly towered over Essek. Today she wore suspenders with her suit, and certainly enough of the office staff had swooned over it to make someone force her to put on a jacket. Leylas could be considerate like that.  

"Tell me, what did you think of Waccoh's little idea there?" Quana asked congenially. It startled Essek, only because they didn’t really talk too often. Obviously he worked closely with Leylas and he was often the butt of passing jokes, but Quana just drifted in and out of his purview the way most people did. There was obviously something she wanted, and he would just have to figure out what it was on the fly. 

"The good professor has amazing ideas, but unfortunately the follow through is a bit lacking," Essek said simply. 

"Cheeky," Quana scoffed, before pinching the bridge of her nose. She took in a deep steadying breath. "I'm not getting enough sleep. This Vow Renewal is driving me crazy."

"Ah, well, that's the price of love I suppose," Essek said, sipping his green juice and trying not to cringe. It tasted like barley and cucumbers, but not in a pleasant way. There was something sharp and metallic in the back of his throat making it difficult to swallow. 

"I, of course, love my wife more than anything. And of course, Vow Renewals are how we show that in the Temple. But if I have to talk to another person about the flowers or what dress Leylas will be wearing, I will dust off my sword," Quana sighed, leaning against the wall in a way that was so practiced and easy that Essek was jealous. "It makes it all the worse that it’s going to be televised. I don’t know what we are going to do for the reception. Tell me, Essek...I’m just realizing this, that I haven’t the slightest clue about you. Do you have a girlfriend?” 

“I don’t,” Essek said.

“A boyfriend? Partner?” 

“No, I have no significant other,” Essek said before casting a suspicious eye towards her. “Why?”

“I was just wondering if you had any ideas. I know that’s not what you do, but I know that’s what you do.” 

Essek thought for a moment, before throwing his cup away. The contents splattered on the trash bag as he did so with little regard. 

“Have you heard about wedding cakes?” Essek asked curiously. 

“No, what is that?” 

“An Empire tradition that’s becoming popular amongst the people,” Essek explained, pulling out his tome-pad as he searched up a familiar name. “I figure if the strength of our nation is how we actively welcome people into our country, this might be a good opportunity to demonstrate that.” 

“And I suppose you have a recommendation for me to pass to the Misses?” 

“Always,” Essek said with a smile.

#critical role #critical role fanfic #shadowgast #essek theylss #caleb widogast

[ask-de-writer]

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 13 of 21

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

Daring Do

and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase!

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

And

Carmen Pondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 08/26/15

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images provided that I receive a copy of each image for my archive.  

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

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Relaxing on a chaise lounge beside the delightful pool that used to be the bath of an Emperor, Carmen adjusted her dark glasses against the glare of the sun on the letter.  She was wearing only a skimpy bikini of bright red and her trademark hat.

The floating island of VILE’s headquarters was presently in the tropics and that suited her perfectly.

She skimmed through the Chineighese characters with utter familiarity.  Her brother in law, Marehem, was having the time of his life, bedeviling the ROT expedition. She was chucking at the recent double disaster with the railroad cars and flipping ROT’s truck. (He insisted on using the character of poison toadstool for them).

Done with the letter, she handed it to Blendin, who was visiting.  He was chuckling himself as his mother hit the pool.  Her hat and glasses sat on the lounge.  She was a red and khaki torpedo swimming underwater to the other end of the pool.

She shot back, underwater again, the whole length of the pool and surfaced like a one horned porpoise. “What do you think, Blendin?”

“I think that Adora would be furious if she knew but she really has no grounds to be.  She did ask Eris to see what she could do to mess up ROT’s expedition.  It was Eris’ idea to send Uncle M!  

“After all, he has had so much fun with the Empire over the ages.  Simply amazing how much chaos VILE’S temporal transport device can cause in the right hooves and his are as wrong as they can get!”  They both shared a giggle.

Baron Von Nighthoof leaned down and took Carmen’s arm, lifting her effortlessly from the pool.  He was smiling warmly at her.  He hugged her closely and stepped back a single pace.

He offered her a flat case of the darkest wood, inlaid with his cutie mark.  Carmen took the case and opened it.  Her gasp of sheer pleasure was almost more reward than the Baron expected.

He nodded, “The copy of Pharow Underrock’s Golden necklace.  It is ready to grace the only neck on this whole world that can outshine its beauty.”  He reached forward and lifted the golden wonder out of its case and set it around Carmen’s neck, pulling her close as he fastened it.

She snuggled up to him and whispered, “You are not only evil, you are wicked!  And I love it!”

~~ ~~ ~~

Jeremy was riding in the carry saddle of Sehang Shu while they discussed his knowledge of Ethnological Geography.  After several hours, she said thoughtfully, “You actually do know more than your prior testing revealed, Jeremy.  I do wonder why you did so poorly when it came to the tests.”

Glumly, Jeremy stared out at the bleak landscape about them and replied, “It sounds like an excuse. Blame my family.  They are old Equestrian Military Service and proud of it.  When I tried to study around them, they always interrupted it.  Celestia forbid that I complain about it, either.”

“Did they not finance your education at the Royal University?”

“No, Sehang, they did not.  I was entirely dependent on grants and scholarships.  I have earned my way through my schooling.”

“I see, Jeremy.  I have earned my way also.  It is sad that such a family could not see fit to support so worthy a goal as education.

“Surely, though, with you at the University and they in Service or on the Family Estates, they had little opportunity to disrupt your studies?”

Jeremy snorted bitterly.  “I wish it was true, Sehang.  They had a nice townhouse in Canterlot, too.  They made such a career of “visiting” the U to noisily interrupt my studies that, at the end, Princess Luna, as the Chancellor of the U had to forbid them entry to the property of the University at all.

“My uncle, Colonel Broadhoof, spoke out against her interference in a family matter.  The Princess pointed out that it went beyond family, when they upset the other students’ studies.  

“He called her a pustulent creature of nightmare, to her face.”

Sehang Shu commented, “That sounds as unwise as telling the Emperor to shove one up his ass!”

Jeremy smiled a little at the humor and went on, “The suddenly Sargent Broadhoof found that out!  He was broken, forbidden any Canterlot Mustering and given a month of nightmares as punishment.”

“Bad dreams for a month is a severe punishment?”

Jeremy sucked his lips as he thought of a way to explain.  “Let me put it this way.  Somewhat over two thousand years ago, the Nightmare Wars got named that BECAUSE of Princess Luna’s use of nightmares as a weapon.  Almost 20% of the unicorns attacking the Fortress of Nightmare committed suicide within five days of coming to the battle front.”

Very softly, Sehang Shu  said, “I see.  And she has had over two thousand years since to perfect that craft.  Did he survive?”

Soberly, Jeremy replied, “Yes.  Sort of.  They released him from the Asylum about six months ago.  He is still under treatment.  The family blames me.  They say that it would not have happened, if I had not chosen the University over a military career.”

Sehang Shu nodded sadly.  “Some other herds view us in a similar manner.  I am sorry, Jeremy.

“I have a question though. With a military background, how did you miss Qushi Han Le’s sharpshooters at the dock in Singapone?”

Grimly, Jeremy replied, “That was my fault.  I was thinking of everything wrongly, and so did not even look for them.  I have only realized today from talking to you, that I had any problem.  Equestrian Superiority was an unquestioned value in my family.  I did not even realize that it had soaked into me since my foalhood.  I may still lapse but ask your forgiveness now.  I will do my best to sort this mess out.”

Sehang Shu nodded thoughtfully. “The most important part of education, Jeremy, is not the learning of facts, as important as that is.  It is the admission of ignorance and error accompanied by the effort to remedy them.

“That is what Ethnological Geography is all about.  Our ignorance and erroneous knowledge of past civilization and the effort to remedy it is the whole foundation of the discipline.”

They revised their discussion of the subjects to be tackled in the colloquium.  Jeremy found the conversation fascinating.

He actually regretted it when it was time to dismount for making dinner.  After stretching out the kinks in his legs from the saddle, Jeremy wandered over to the cook stove.

He was mildly surprised when Soree made room for him.  “How can I help, Soree?

“Measure the water into that pot to the third line, please.”

Measuring in the water, Jeremy commented, “It seems unfair for us to eat and none of the herd to have any.”

Sang He’s voice replied, “In the desert, we need only drink once in seven days.  That will be a large drink, but it will do.  We need only eat once in ten days, though we can eat or drink any time that the opportunity presents itself.

“Our ancestors were made for mountain and desert lands.”

“It still seems unfair!  I presume that you do know what you are doing, after all, this is your home!”

He was surprised by the chuckle from the herd.

Dinner preparations were interrupted by the bellow of a musket and a cry from Sehang Shu!

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Tyranny was fuming.  “They had no business seizing our truck!  Wasn’t it bad enough that their recklessness had already cost us one truck and most of the load?”

Overthrow, speaking from behind the wheel of the truck that they were in snapped, “That was your fault, Tyranny!  So was getting into that train wreck!  You disobeyed clearly posted signs about staying off the slope while the crossing was in use.”

Robber, sitting in the back of the cab put in, “How come, in the name of Discord, did you not read the traffic law pamphlets that I gave you?  It was the Lock Keeper finding that out that you got your permit without taking their knowledge test that cost us the truck!  Their rules are very clear and blunt.  They seize vehicles that are used in deliberate violation of their driving rules.”

Tyranny glared out the window of the truck at the passing rice paddies and neatly laid out farms.  His teeth ground.  The worst of it was that they were both right.

All that he could do was growl under his breath about injustice, so he did.  He sourly commented, “At least we have now got past the last two canals and what?  Four railroad crossings without any further problems.”

Robber consulted their map. “See those bluffs up ahead?  We will be going through an area of mountains.  When we clear them, it will only be about twenty kilometers to Cantrot.  We will have two rail crossings and one canal between us and the city.”

Ignoring Robber’s comments, Tyranny snarled, “That so-called Antiquarian, Daring Do, set us up! I have found out that she did not even take a single truck on her expedition!  The expedition proposal that she gave us, before she quit on us, is why we came this way!”

Overthrow said dryly, “So, you finally figured that out?  It took you long enough.  I knew that she took us to the cleaners on the proposal as soon as I saw them go on upriver, without even transshipping.”

He suddenly applied the brakes hard, jolting them all.  They were stopped only a few meters from a water buffalo on the road.

The two trucks behind them, driven by experienced Chineighese drivers, stopped without incident. Tyranny was reaching for the horn button when Overthrow knocked his hoof away.

“Stop trying to interfere! Tyranny, sounding the horn at domestic livestock is illegal.  All that we can do is wait for it to move or try to ease around it.  The law pamphlet suggests waiting in the case of water buffalo.”

He snarled, “Why should we wait?  We can drive around it!”

Outside, over a tonne and a half of highly irritated domestic water buffalo was pawing the roadway and lowering its head to charging position.  A peasant in plain cotton robes and flat conical hat was toiling up the road embankment toward the beast that was easily three times taller than he was.  He had a long wooden switch to herd the loose animal away.

He barked some command at the buffalo.  It turned its head and regarded its master briefly. Tyranny chose that moment to lean out the side window and make shooing gestures at it.  The distraction caused the enormous brute to snap its head about and focus entirely on the truck!  It charged.  

The impact shoved the truck back and sideways almost a meter!  It was accompanied by the shattering of glass night driving lamps and the crunch of metal.  The buffalo backed off, shaking its head.

The peasant’s switch got its attention and it started to walk sedately away, guided by taps of the long wand.  Tyranny, seeing it waking away, yelled, “Shoo!  Get out of our way!”

The transition from walking away to charging was almost instantaneous!  The huge heavy horns and thick skull of the enormous animal slammed into the right hand door of the truck.  It was almost perfectly centered, smashing and folding the door inward hard enough to bounce the dazed Tyranny almost entirely off his seat!

The very upset peasant used his switch and fanning motions of his hat to steer the water buffalo away, successfully, this time!  Robber shuddered as he saw the peasant’s orange mane and blue fur for the first time.

The steering still worked properly.  Overthrow got the truck back on course and they were cautiously back underway.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

<==Previous   Next==>

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#DARING DO AND THE ADVENTURE OF THE X'IBIAN VASE #Part 13 of 21 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

[illyrianwingspans]

Do Not Go Gentle: Appointments

Link to song: Appointments by Julien Baker

Synopsis: Feyre makes good on her promise to Rhys, and Rhys makes good on his promise to Feyre.

TW: Brief and non-graphic mention of self-harm, suicide and domestic abuse.

Ao3 link

Chapter 16: Appointments

“How are you feeling today, Feyre?”

How was I feeling? I didn’t know. My body felt like TV static with the volume on low. Crackling, bustling, full of nervous energy, but dim. Quiet. How was I supposed to explain that to him without sounding like a true basket case?

He sat in the chaise across from me. It was grey, muted, soft. Everything in his office was. There were great, wide panoramic windows, and outside rain pattered softly against the windows. Another week of rain in Prythian, as though it was just for me.

The couch beneath me was soft, comfortable. I sank into it when I’d sat down minutes ago and settled in after sitting in the waiting room. When I’d first walked into the clinic, there were others in the chairs. A older man, probably in his forties, was thumbing a magazine, but not looking at it. Just staring at the walls around him, flicking through the magazine, as though his fingers were soaking in the articles through his skin. A woman about my age listening to music on her phone, eyes closed, head leaned back on the wall. I’d only stared at my feet as the sound of the secretary typing away on her computer filled the empty space, paperwork clutched in my fingers. I’d filled them out on Saturday, and Rhys had them scanned and emailed that day, but they needed more paper copies handed from me in person.

“Miss Archeron?” The secretary had called out. I’d pushed up from my seat and shuffled over to the counter, presenting her with the five sheets I’d meticulously filled out. They were thorough, extremely thorough—so much so that when I’d filled them out at Rhys’s kitchen counter, I was clenching my teeth, ticking off the boxes that applied.

Suicidality:

Ideation: No-Active-Passive

Plan: No-Yes (describe): Jump

Attempts: No-Yes-More than one

Date of last attempt: March 27th

Lethality of attempt(s): Low-Moderate-High

Thankfully, Rhys had left me alone that night leaning over the kitchen island, pen tapping against the cold marble. Every question was like another stab in the gut.

Self-Harm Behaviour:

Current: No-Yes (describe): Cutting

Past: No-Yes (describe): Cutting, two years ago

When it got to family history and prior or current relationships, I nearly tore up the papers right then and there and walked out of the townhouse. Instead, I scribbled down my answers as concisely and quickly as possible to not feel the sting of the words.

In my hands, handing over the papers, it felt like I was yet again giving pieces of myself over, letting them cut open my brain and take a peak of the scrambled, decayed remains inside.

The secretary, a kind-smiled woman in her early thirties, pointed to a blue door where the gold plaque read Dr. Angèl Suriel, PhD. I’d knocked softly on the door, heard a muffled, “Come in!” From the other side. The first thing that hit me when I opened the door was the faint smell of fried chicken.

“Sorry,” he’d said, hunched over his desk further in the back of the room, next to the windows on the back wall. There’d been a rustling of a food takeout bag before he’d shoved the top drawer of his desk closed. “Just got some lunch quickly.”

He opened a window, and lit a candle on his desk next to his jar of identical pencils, then turned to face me. Angèl Suriel was an older man, tall and thin with darker skin. His accent was slightly lilted, definitely Spanish judging by his first name. He’d smiled warmly when he faced me and extended his hand, which he’d brushed on his tan trousers moments before.

“Angèl Suriel,” he'd presented himself, and I’d shaken his hand weakly. “But call me Suriel. No doctor formalities, please.” He’d smiled. “You must be Feyre.”

I nodded, eyes diverting from his. They were brilliant blue, so pale, contrasting against his tanner skin.

Staring at him now, sitting five feet across from me on his chaise with a file in his lap, I wondered how the hell Rhys had found this guy. Why he’d needed to find him, in the first place.

How was I feeling? How was I feeling?

My tongue felt swollen, limp and utterly useless in my mouth. I resorted to staring past him, over his shoulder, to the buildings in the background. They were like standing giants across the city, watching over, holding thousands of people with energy and moment and life, but so solemn and serious in appearance.

“Feyre?” He repeated.

I blinked. “How about you look in that file of yours and tell me how I’m feeling, Suriel.”

“Oh no, that’s not how this works,” he grinned. “It seems as though you’ve watched too much TV, miss Archeron. I’m not going to sit here and waste my time if you’re going to be resistant or unwilling to share. I’m only going to say this once, so listen to me.”

My heart pounded wildly in my chest as those crystal eyes met mine, and he leaned forward slightly in his seat.

“There are thousands of people in this city who suffer with the very same feelings and behaviours that you demonstrate. There are hundreds of people on my waiting list, right now, waiting for a call that they can finally see me and get the help they need. I work twelve hours a day seeing people, filling in charts, coordinating with hospitals and answering ER calls at three in the morning. I’m doing this as a favour for Rhys, and I’m doing this because I want to help you. It’s only going to work if you do your part as well. So if you’re here to waste my time, feel free to leave so I can get back to my fried chicken.”

I sat there shocked. My mouth was open in surprise, and all I could do was blurt, “I don’t know how I feel.”

Satisfied that I’d given him an answer, he resumed his position, one leg crossed across the other to balance the papers in his lap. “Okay,” he said, “how about we try this. On a scale of one to ten, one being your complete worst, and ten being your complete best, where do you think you fall?”

It took a few seconds to mull over before I murmured, “Three, I think.”

He nodded and wrote something done. “And Friday night? What number did you feel then?”

That one didn’t take as long. “Zero.”

“Zero,” he repeated. “You just broke my scale.”

Despite myself, I snorted.

“Tell me about what happened.”

Another question that settled within me like a stone sinking into water. I felt like I was holding it in the palm of my hands, turning it over slowly, examining its features, dips and curves, not knowing where to begin, or what to say.

“I don’t know what happened.” That was true. The details were so hazy. The timeline was broken in my head, only giving me fragments and pieces of those moments on the ledge.

In his lap, Suriel flipped over a paper and murmured, “It says here you were going to jump. Where were you?”

At the word jump, I flinched. Clutching my kneecaps, I blew out a shaky breath, still staring just past Suriel’s shoulder, never quite in his eyes. “At my friend Cassian’s apartment. Fifty storeys up.” I picked at the skin on my thumb, not knowing what to do with my hands.

“You went to a friend’s house? To carry out your plan?”

“I was staying at his place.”

“For how long?”

“I was there for about a week and a half.”

“Where did you live now?”

“With Rhys in his townhouse.”

“And before that?”

I wasn’t ready to go there yet. “My apartment.”

But Suriel watched me carefully, like he knew my answer was missing something.

I murmured, “With my ex-fiancee.”

His pen scribbled against the paper once more, and this time when he looked back up at me, he said, “You were at this friend’s apartment. Alone?”

I nodded. “He was still at work.”

“So,” he said, then paused for a bit, wondering how to phrase his next question, “do you remember the events, or maybe the emotions or thoughts that lead up to the execution of your plan?”

It was like I was back up on that building with Rhys’s voice echoing in my ears. I could practically feel the rain falling on my shoulders, my hair, my hands.

When Suriel pushed a Kleenex box on the small table between us, I realized it was because I was crying. The tear drops collected in my open palms like some sick offering to the gods of pain.

“Why am I doing this?” I whispered sinisterly, bitterness in my voice, my eyes as I narrowed them at Suriel, wanting to storm out of this fucking office and never look back. Rhys was wrong. He was a destructive, conniving asshole. “What the fuck is the point of this?

Suriel, not missing a beat, leaned forward as I did, and spoke in that low commanding voice of his he’d wielded only minutes ago. “The point of therapy, Feyre, is for you to get as close as possible to the ideal life you imagine and want for yourself. To solve the problems you face, to help hone your skills and speak your mind. Many of my clients walk into this office just like you, sometimes in worse shape, clinging to the notion that this is the enemy. That I am the enemy. But the only enemy right now in this room is you, you and your mind.”

I couldn’t stop myself from crying harder.

“I am not here to judge you. I am not here to pick apart your brains, but I need to know what the problem is, where to start, and where we can go from there. People walk into this office miserable and they leave with hope.”

Even the rain paused outside when I said, “I was kneeling in the entrance of the apartment. Crying.”

My mind went back to me curled into myself on the hardwood floor, when I’d shut out the world completely in my own little bubble of agony.

“I got up, ran to the bathroom, and tried to find pills, blades, anything, but the shelves were empty. Cassian must’ve been worried because he’d basically childproofed the entire damned place. But one thing he couldn’t take away from me was the fact he’d bought an apartment on the fiftieth floor.”

“And before that? Before you went out on the balcony? Why were you crying?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Words I hadn’t spoken to anyone, not a soul. Words I didn’t think I could even speak.

“Feyre, take a deep breath.”

I clenched my eyes closed, only able to see his twisted snarl of fury when his hands had closed around my throat. When my chest had slammed into his desk. When his fists slammed into my ribs.

“Feyre, take a deep breath.”

Slowly, trembling, I forced a breath into my lungs. I choked it out in a sob.

“Good. Another one.”

This time it came a little easier. On the exhale of my third breath, I said, “My ex-fiancee was there.”

“Did you speak to him?”

I shook my head. “I heard him through the door. He’d found me with a tracker on my phone.”

“Why aren’t you together anymore?”

I thought of the elevator, of me crawling on my hands and knees, nails cracking as I tried to resist him dragging me across the carpet of the executive floor.

“Because he locked me up,” I wheezed. “He wasn’t my partner. He was my captor.”

There was an eerie silence, only broken by the soft sounds of my quiet sobs. Suriel’s eyes found mine, and when I looked up to him, I said, “He was my fiancee. And I loved him. I love him.”

“But,” Suriel sighed, “he abused you.”

“No,” I contradicted weakly, “not necessarily.”

“Was he ever physically violent with you? Did he ever intentionally hurt you, has he ever tried to manipulate you or repress you?”

Silence. And Suriel had his answer. As I reached for a tissue, Suriel wrote some more notes in his papers. He looked over his shoulder to the city scape, then turned those eyes to mine and wondered, “Have you talked to your friends since everything happened?”

I shook my head. “Only Rhys. He may have said something to them, but I’m not sure.”

“Okay. It says here you don’t have a job right now. Are you looking?”

I shrugged with one shoulder. “A little. Rhys offered me something short-term.”

Suriel said, “That’s good. I want you working on something right now, Feyre. Even if it’s from home, if it’s a skill or a hobby or a job, you need something right now to keep you distracted. I don’t know enough about your situation right now to give you more specific goals or coping mechanisms, but I’ve found the best thing for clients in your position is just to keep their mind focused on something else. Being alone with only your thoughts when they’re so toxic can lead you down the wrong roads.”

I nodded, hands pursed in my lap.

“Try to see what Rhys can do with that job, try to talk with some friends. Something light. You don’t need to tell them about what you’re going through if you’re not comfortable because you don’t owe anyone an explanation. So you know your homework?”

“Get a job. Talk to friends.”

He snorted. “Distract yourself, Feyre. With good things. Light things. Even if it’s a movie with Rhys or cooking dinner. And try to stay away from alcohol and substances.”

“Distraction.” I repeated.

“Distraction.” He confirmed, a light grin on his face. “And I’m afraid that’s all the time we have.”

I wiped my nose once more than stood, tissue clenched in my fingers. “Same time next week?” I wondered, heading towards the door.

Suriel smiled then said, “Sounds good to me. Thank you very much for today, Feyre. You’re doing extremely well so far.”

“Well, hopefully therapy is the one thing I won’t fuck up.”

He smiled, more of a smug, cheeky smile. I opened the door and it closed softly behind me, but not before hearing his drawer being pulled open, and the sound of that takeout bag rustling around.

***

The car door shut beside me, and Rhys turned on the ignition.

“How was it?”

The streets passed by, full of people, full of energy. “Were you there in the parking lot the whole time?”

He shrugged as he made a left turn, going the opposite way of home. I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t you have better things to do? A company to manage?”

“My office is very flexible. Phone calls can be made from anywhere, including the comforts of my car.”

“You shouldn’t be sacrificing your work to take care of me.”

Rhys eyed me sideways. “Taking care of you is not a sacrifice. It’s as essential as any hour of tediousness in that stupid building.”

I sighed, my arms crossing across my chest. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere. How was the session? Do you like him? If not, we’ll find somebody else.”

The rain beat furiously against the windshield. Rhys increased the speed of his wipers. I said, “It was fine.”

“Fine.” It was more of an assertion than a question.

“He’s strange, but he’s good.” I glanced at him sidelong, and that calm concentration lining his features. “How did you find him?”

He shrugged. “Suriel was a very difficult man to track down. There’re many psychologists in Prythian, but not many that take on…these kinds of cases.”

“Which kinds?”

He looked at me then, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Suicidal ones.”

My next question was already on my lips, but a call came through, and Rhys touched the bluetooth piece in his left ear. “Yes Morrigan?”

I could hear her shrill voice distantly yelling at him to never call her that again. Rhys and her spoke of something for a few minutes, names and things I didn’t understand and didn’t care enough to try and decode. Finally, he said, “I’ll be there in a minute.” The call ended, and he pulled the piece out of his ear, discarding it in the cupholder. I looked out the window, curious as to where we were.

“Where are we going?”

Rhys said, “To the office. I have to pick up some things.”

My heart beat nervously. I knew that the circle would be in the office, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see them yet. But I remembered Suriel’s homework for me and sighed, knowing that it was best if I did have some sort of human contact. “Can I come?”

His smile was wicked and salacious. “But of course, darling. Let me take you into devil’s lair.”

***

Night Industries was nothing like Spring Corporations.

Everything, from the lobby to the reception to the workers was much more heavy duty. Sleek. Dripping with grace and elegance in a dark, ominous way. Black marble greeted us upon our entry where six security guards stood at their posts. Each nodded to Rhysand, who in turn greeted them all by name with a stern nod of his head. Rhys didn’t need to say anything as he marched past the reception desk towards the elevators. I went to reach for the button, but he shook his head.

“Executive floor is a little more protected than that.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“We do things a little different here than Spring.”

At that, he lead me down another corridor to the left and down to flights of stairs. I was about to ask where the hell he was taking me when we entered another lounge, with a different secretary, who instantly greeted us with a smile on her face. This place was darker, a dingy unsuspecting hallway that I wouldn’t have considered if ever I were to break in. I guess Rhys expected such a thing and acted accordingly.

“Good morning Nuala,” Rhys smiled as he laid his finger on the scanner presented to him by the dark haired woman. She didn’t say a word to him, only smiled at both of us as the tablet turned green and the door to what looked like a janitorial elevator opened. It reeked of metal and rust as we entered the wide space. On the interior, it was padded with black velvet and golden lining. Rhys pressed the button for the ninetieth floor, and we were going up.

“Your clients don’t find this a little sketchy when they visit?”

Rhys snorted. “My clients never cross the threshold of my real office.”

Another raise of my brows. He only said, “You can never be too careful, Feyre darling.”

We were silent the rest of the way up. Once the elevator doors opened once more, the space that greeted us was nothing like the beat-up receptionist’s office downstairs.

Everything was dark, but in a different way. Grey walls. Dark stained floors with a silver carpet leading down the main artery of the hallway. On each side were doors, definitely offices or file rooms hiding behind them. It was like an impenetrable fortress on all four sides. At the end of the corridor lay a set of black double doors with silver glinting handles. Lights shone at the bottom of each wall, lighting up the floors, leading your way to them. I only stood in shock at the stark differences between Spring and Night, the luxury and elegance that seemed oozing power and control here rather than tacky expensiveness in that ivory tower.

Before the doors, to the right hand side stood an empty office chair behind a black desk. An apple computer was there, unused, unoccupied, waiting for somebody to sit down.

“Who works there?”

“No one,” Rhys replied, as he laid his palm on his door handle. He waited a moment before a whir and a click sounded, then winked at me. “Only opens with my fingerprints on the door handle.”

How that worked, I had no clue. But once the doors opened, I swallowed hard at the scene that greeted me.

If… if his office was supposed to look grand, it was nothing compared to Rhys’s.

The walls were twenty feet high, and along the entire back wall stood windows reaching all the way from floor to ceiling. The light, despite the raining day, was bright and inviting, speckled with drops of precipitation outside. On the left side of the room lay an area for comfort, white leather couches and seats, enough for all the damn employees in this place to sit. A low grey marble table sat between the seats in the middle of the circle, currently obscured with documents and files piled up haphazardly. Stretched out across it though, was a map—a map of Prythian, marked up by different colour pens, from the Sidra to the major companies of Prythian and their headquarters. The colours made no distinct pattern I could decipher, but the entire thing seemed meticulously examined.

On the ceiling, light lined the space in strips, the source unseen beneath the black beams forming squares, each equally spaced apart. On the side wall were different alcoves, within one I could see acting as a coffee bar with a mini fridge beneath it. The others were wider, also lined with light—but barren.

“I’m waiting for the right art piece to put there.” He explained. “Nothing has quite tickled my fancy yet.”

I could paint for you, I thought, but then was disgusted by the notion of picking up a paint brush.

And to the left of the space was finally his desk. Nearly the length of the wall—the back of which was filled with books—and also dark to match his limited palette. Three screen monitors sat atop of it, and other files were strewn around, as though he’d left his office in a hurry. He strode over to it once he saw my shock had subsided it, and sat in his black leather chair with a sigh.

“Take a seat, Feyre. Won’t be too long.”

I sat in the grey leather chair across from him, still soaking in the room. It was gorgeous. Bigger than any apartment my sisters, father and I used to live in.

He fiddled around on his cellphone for a bit while I was still gazing across the city skyline, and minutes later came a knock at the door. Rhys checked the monitor, then pressed a button on his keyboard. The door opened, and in sauntered Mor.

“Seriously, I could’ve just emailed them to you. I don’t know why you’ve got to waste so much gas to drag your ass across the city for a stupid paper—” only she stopped when she saw me. Mor, beautiful as ever, wore a white pantsuit and her hair up in a high sleek ponytail to show off her gold hoop earrings. Her face broke into a smile, her red lipstick beaming, when she saw me.

“Feyre! He finally showed you around. What do you think? Don’t give him any credit for this place, I designed this thing from the ground up.”

“You’re a dirty liar, Morrigan. This place was built before you were born.”

“Don’t call me that again, Rhys, lest you want me to remove your favourite part. And you know full well that I was in charge of all the renovations, so look in the mirror next time you call someone a liar.”

Rhys rolled his eyes as Mor sauntered over and handed him the paper. His eyes scanned it for a few moments before they filled with dread. “Seriously?” He asked his cousin mournfully.

She only swallowed, eyes skirting over the words as well. “I’m sorry, Rhys.”

He sighed. “It’s fine. We’ll just add it to the rest of the chaos we have to deal with.”

As he opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a file, Mor came to sit beside me. Her hand found mine and gave it a squeeze, her brown eyes warm and bright. “You’re looking great, Feyre.”

I could tell by the kindness in her voice that she was being genuine, and not Ianthe’s sappy fake shrill that I was used to. “Thanks, Mor.” My voice was scratchy and low.

She turned her head to Rhys, who was collecting other papers from his desk to cram into the manila folder. “Have you talked to her about the position yet? It’d be nice to have someone new around the—”

One look from him and she stopped mid-conversation, then turned to me. “I picked up another set of clothes for you, by the way. After your comments from last time I went for more…comfort. Still very stylish, though, so not to worry.”

“Thanks. I didn’t really think the leather jacket look suited me.”

Mor laughed at my dryness, and Rhys only rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mor.” A clear dismissal, but I only thought of what Suriel had given me for homework as Mor lifted from her seat and made her way to the door.

“Wait,” I said, looking into Mor’s soft eyes, who were filled with hope and excitement just at the sound of my voice. My heart swelled with the non-verbal support she held for me. “Why don’t you all come over tonight? For dinner?”

“Feyre, darling, please, that’s just asking for it.”

“Wait, no! That’s perfect! I’ll make cookies, and we can bring popcorn and snacks and oh, oh!” Mor jumped up and down excitedly, looking to Rhys with her eyes full of hope. “We can have a game night!”

“Dear Gods, Mor,” Rhys folded his hand into a steeple and closed his eyes, his features lined with misery. “Are you trying to scare her away?”

“Oh, you’re just old and cranky. Make yourself another coffee, for fuck’s sake. Have a little fun, Rhys. We’ll be there at seven!”

The door closed, and I could only work on trying to bite back my smile as I turned to face Rhys.

“You seriously don’t know what you’ve started, Feyre.”

“I’m just doing what Suriel suggested, Rhys,” I said sweetly. “Social interaction is good for the disturbed mind.”

He only chuckled and shook his head, amused. Then he stood, hands in the dark trousers he’d donned today. No suit—he’d worked from home most of the morning before my appointment. The black long-sleeve sweater he wore stretched over his muscles that rippled beneath as he faced the skyline below us.

“I did come here for that paper, but I guess while I’m at it I should make good on my promise to you.”

Pushing up from my chair, I followed behind him quietly, arms crossed over my chest. “Promise?”

“Yes. I said I’d have a job for you. And I do.” He was quiet for a few moments, the stars in his eyes glowing as he gazed at the cars below. “I need all the people I can get right now.”

“Why?” I breathed. The response, whatever it was, made my heart beat furiously in my chest.

“Because war is coming, Feyre.”

#dngg #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #sjm #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #feyre #rhys #rhysand #feysand #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction

[camillemontespan]

gossip girl: cordonia’s elite [part one]

Teaser was posted earlier but under the keep reading line, there’s more newness :)

I have no idea if this will even be a thing. I’ve got so many fics on the go…

For those who don’t watch Gossip Girl, you won’t get this. But you might enjoy? For those who do watch Gossip Girl, laugh at my attempt for an AU. I think you’ll find that TRR fits so well into the GG universe - trust me.

****************************************************************************************

Hey Cordonians, Gossip Girl here, your one and only source into the glamorous lives of Cordonia’s elite. Now that summer is over, I can return to my role as bearer of good news, bad news and everything else in between.

Now that we are all at university, you would assume that we are over the drama and gossip of school days past. Well, you assume wrong.

‘Do you think Dad will be okay?’ Savannah asked, lugging her suitcase behind her. ‘I mean, we’ve both been busy this summer. I’ve been with mom, you’ve been.. Doing whatever it is that you do.’

Drake shrugged and took Savannah’s suitcase, waving away her grateful smile. ‘He’ll be fine, Sav. Don’t worry yourself.’

Savannah bit her lip and looked around Cordonia’s train station, trying to locate their father. ‘I just hope he’s not mad at me.’

‘You were visiting mom,’ Drake told her, unable to hide his frustration. Sometimes, his sister worried too much. ‘You were being a good daughter. Seriously, the sooner mom and dad work out their situation, the better.’

The situation being that their mother, Bianca, was currently shacked up in Texas with her new boyfriend, while her actual husband, Jackson, filled the empty void at home by burning smores. Since Drake and Savannah went off to university and gained independence, they worried about Jackson, but in different ways. Savannah tried to make up for it by calling him every few days; Drake drank whiskey to block out any guilty thoughts.

Now, they were back in Cordonia, somewhat ready for the new semester at university. Savannah was eager to make more friends this year and sign up to every social club going, while Drake was content to just stay in the shadows at lectures and try not to fail his degree.

‘There he is!’ Savannah cried, running through the station, her dark hair billowing behind her. Drake sighed and stopped to adjust her suitcase and his backpack. He moved to follow his sister, ready for the embarrassing ‘Walker Family’ hug that Jackson always insisted on greeting his kids with, even though Drake was 22 and Savannah was 21.

He barrelled straight into someone.

‘Fuck, I’m sorry!’ he said, cursing his clumsiness.  He ran a hand through his hair and stopped when he saw the girl in front of him was picking up a book she had dropped.  ‘It’s okay, honestly!’ she was saying. Her voice was familiar and when she stood up, his heart began to hammer against his chest.

Camille Montespan.

The girl of his dreams was back.

She placed her book inside her bag and gave him a warm smile; her brown eyes with gold flecks sparkled. ‘Just watch where you’re going next time, you might run over an old person and they’ll press charges!’ she laughed. All Drake could do was make a strangled noise that sounded something like ‘nggggggghhhh…’

Camille turned and walked away towards the exit. She didn’t see a teenage girl nearby take a photo of her on her mobile. Drake’s heart stopped pounding and he exhaled.

Drake’s phone buzzed with a notification but he ignored it.

Camille Montespan was back.

The biggest tip to hit my inbox? Camille Montespan is back in Cordonia. That’s right my little gossipers. The Queen is back. I wonder what Olivia will think?

I am starving for some drama.. But I think we’ve got just the dish.

*************************************************************************************

Drake shook his head, trying to forget all thoughts about Camille, and went to the far end of the waiting hall where his dad was hugging his sister.

Jackson Walker gave Drake a beaming smile and pulled him in for a hug. 'Dad, I just saw you this morning..' Drake mumbled.

'Yeah but now both my kids are back with me!' Jackson hollered, his voice echoing around the vast room. 'This calls for celebratory smores!'

'Surely you're sick of them now?' Drake asked. 'You've burned so many.'

Jackson chuckled and threw his arms around his children's shoulders, guiding them out the waiting hall to the train station exit. 'You guys can show your old dad where I'm going wrong.'

When they got into the car, Drake looked out the window, already tuning out his dad's loud voice. Why was Camille back? She had gone to a university in another country and everyone assumed that she wouldn't come back.

That was the thing about Camille. She always surprised Drake, which was one reason why he really liked her. He didn't know what to expect from her, which was also one reason why he never dared tell her his name.

***************************************************************************************

There was currently a drinks reception being held at Olivia’s townhouse but she wasn’t exactly concerned about that. Her aunt was hosting and the occasion was that the students of The Cordonia Institute were going back to the university on Monday; this was the last hurrah for the parents, their excitement at having freedom again.  Their children were actually going to a Beaumont Bash the following night. 

Instead of mingling with her aunt’s important friends, Olivia had other important matters to attend to. Such as Liam, who she was straddling right now. 

‘Fuck, Olivia, your lips taste of strawberries..’ Liam breathed, kissing her deeply. ‘I want to taste all of you.’

Olivia drew back. ‘All of me, you say?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow. Liam chuckled and his arms went around her back so he could flip her over so she was now underneath him. 

‘All of you,’ he murmured. ‘You always taste incredible.’

Olivia closed her eyes as his fingers grazed up her thighs, tantalisingly close to her underwear. Liam had been her boyfriend since they were ten years old. They were inseparable. On paper, they shouldn’t work; Liam was kind, warm and gentle, while Olivia was mean, cold and harsh. But she was intensely loyal and had softness under that hard exterior, which only Liam knew. She trusted him. 

Liam was about to taste her when his phone buzzed. He sighed and sat up to check the screen. Olivia bit her tongue, trying her best not to get pissed that he was so easily distracted. 

‘Camille’s back..’ he whispered, his voice croaking. ‘Liv, she’s back..’

Olivia bolted up and grabbed his phone from him. Sure enough, the Gossip Girl blast announced that her ex-best friend, Camille Montespan, was back in town. 

Fury and dread mixed together, creating a confusing cocktail in Olivia’s heart. She was the Queen Bee in Cordonian society now, not Camille. She was the one who had the world at her feet, not Camille. She was the popular one, the more intelligent one, the more beautiful one. Olivia was finally out of Camille’s shadow and had shone brightly the past three years. 

Like all of Olivia’s relationships, she and Camille shouldn’t have worked. But they had known each other since they were four. They had met when Camille had been pushed over in the playground by their classmate, Neville. Camille had cried, blood covering her knees, while Neville laughed. 

Olivia had punched him in the face, shouting that boys weren’t allowed to hurt girls. 

Had they stayed friends all those years because Camille felt she owed Olivia?

Had they stayed friends all those years because Olivia felt like Camille made her more.. Human?

It didn’t matter now. They parted ways when they graduated high school; Camille was sent to an exclusive university/boarding school in Switzerland, while Olivia went with their friends to the highest ranking university in Cordonia, The Cordonian Institute. 

Despite their strong friendship, the two girls had often been like unspoken rivals. Whenever Camille had attention, Olivia fought to have it back. When Olivia took control, Camille battled to come out on top. And Camille always won. 

Olivia would watch whenever Liam and Camille were together. Her boyfriend and best friend had inside jokes; they insulted each other for fun; they bingewatched TV shows together. They acted more like boyfriend and girlfriend than Olivia and Liam did, but without the kissing. Olivia hoped.

Camille was popular. She was also beautiful and genuinely nice, which was irritating because how was that fair?

But with Camille gone, Olivia finally felt at ease. Like she could be herself without feeling like the shadow to Camille’s sun. She could enjoy her relationship with Liam without worrying that he would break up with her. She could hang out with her friends without worrying that they found her boring and wanted a second option. 

Now, Camille was back and everything Olivia had worked for felt under threat. The threat only increased when she saw Liam’s eyes scanning his phone, checking all of Gossip Girl for further updates, his eyes watching for the name Camille Montespan.

*******************************************************************************************

‘Oh my God, you guys, Camille is back!’ Penelope squealed, scrolling through her phone. 

‘Someone saw her getting off the train at Cordonia Station!’ Kiara joined in, her eyes huge. 

‘Finally..’ Leo droaned, swirling an olive around in his martini. ‘It was getting a little dull around here.’ 

The three of them were lounging on a green velvet chaise lounge in the drawing room and looked up as Liam entered with Olivia hot on his heels.  ‘Liam, your second girlfriend’s back home!’ Leo hollered, patting him on the back. ‘Maybe you can get that menage a trois going?’

Olivia hit Leo on the arm. ‘Menage a twat, more like.’

She was trying to act cool, but really, her heart was pounding. Keep calm, keep calm, you’re Olivia Nevrakis.

‘Is she coming here?’ Liam asked. The others shrugged then looked expectantly at Olivia. 

‘What?’ she asked. 

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Kiara asked.  ‘We could have planned something nice for her.’

Olivia threw her shoulders back and adopted a haughty pose. ‘It was a surprise.’ 

They didn’t have to know that she didn’t know.

Quickly, she walked away to the kitchen. She was in need of vodka.

*******************************************************************************************

Camille clambered out of the taxi. She tipped the driver and strode with purpose up the stone steps to the concrete building that stood in front of her, imposing and intimidating. 

She had been told he was on the reception area floor, room 10. Quickly, she rushed inside, ignoring the receptionist who called, ‘Miss, visiting hours are over, you aren’t supposed to be here!’

Camille stopped outside Room 10 and looked through the glass pane of the window at the sleeping figure in the room. She could see his pale face and her heart broke for him. 

‘I know. But he’s my best friend.’

Maxwell Beaumont slept peacefully, unaware of the quiet and complicated chaos standing outside his door.

#trr fanfic #trr #drake walker #trr au

[wah-pah]

Challenge: The first lines of my ten latest stories

 I was not tagged either, but I saw this challenge on ​ and @whopooh‘s blog (and I think @misscrawfords ‘ too) and found it interesting and fun. 

As many people, I’m fascinated by first sentences, not only mine - definitely not mine - but in general and when I buy a book, I always like to read the first sentence. (I generally go by synopsis, cover or previous knowledge to buy it, actually reading something from it comes afterwards).

The task is the following: List the first lines of the last ten stories you published. Look to see if there are any patterns that you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any! Then tag some friends.

« Dot made a wish for their happiness once again as she looked out the automobile and saw the shooting star.» from There Were Shooting Stars (MFMM - because what else?)

« Rosie took a deep breath when the outline of Melbourne started to come to life on the horizon.» from Daytime Responses (MFMM)

«She looked up, trying to encompass as much of the white stucco-fronted townhouse as she could in a single glance.» from Homewards (MFMM - also:  the current bane of my writing existence)

« I could go somewhere else, Rosie thought, lying in bed, nothing left to occupy her mind now.» from Midnight Plans (MFMM)

« Wisps of moonlight draw Wardlow's lines against the night sky, the red awnings and the red rails like lipstick marks on the face of the building.» from And Rightly So (MFMM)

« Jane was exhausted close to inertia but she couldn’t sleep.» from How I Got Here (MFMM)

« Phryne didn’t recognise the blonde woman, but she had the feeling she knew her somehow.» from dear girl (MFMM)

« Being still didn't come easily to Phryne but, maybe because she had moved around so much over the past weeks, she deeply appreciated the comfort of sitting on that wicker chaise.» from How Beautiful and Free (MFMM)

«You really take after your father», people often told George Crawley.» from In The Face of The Father and The Son (Downton Abbey - surprise!)

«Why would you like to join us?», the stern looking man asked from behind the dark mahogany desk. from Undercover at The Elvsworth Club (MFMM)

I guess my characters look a lot at things and most of my beginnings - at least considering this exercise - involve the characters right away, perhaps because I love characters and most of the times they are the starting point for the story and not a particular plot idea. How can these fictional people that live in our brains become so lively and do things and impose things too sometimes?

Thank you for the oportunity and I tag whoever wants to do it (how original of me).

#writing #personal

[sayitaintdoe]

contrary to popular belief, the tanner family in full house did not live in the painted ladies — the, like, really famous townhomes that they show in the background during the end of the title credits.  the seven sisters, postcard row, the painted ladies, whatever you wanna call it, is one of the most famous neighborhoods in san francisco, and it is also the one i usually lied and told everyone during elementary school that i grew up in.

i didn’t.  i lived in a townhouse, it had a similar all-stacked-together and squished-between-two-other-houses vibe, but it didn’t look like any place that jesse katsopolis would call home.  so literally what even was the point?

(unrelated, i made preston dress up as jesse once for halloween in the seventh grade.  i was, in fact, joey and not becky.  the more you know!)

the point in all of this, really, is that my mom never left this house.  not even when she remarried, and who could blame her, because, like, these houses are worth a small fortune.  it’s just, like…

it’s weird, i guess.  it’s weird to be in the same house i’ve been in since i was a toddler, and to have someone else in the kitchen.  to have different pictures on the wall, some with family members i don’t even know because they’re not my family.

the dude’s nice enough, i guess.  definitely tries too hard, but nice.  and his daughter is my age, or close to it, but i’ve never cared enough to double check on that one.  she’s one of those girls who’s kind of a walking “felt cute, might delete later” who never actually deletes later (respect).  i don’t think she likes me, which is fair, because i tend to have that effect on people anyway.

right now, i’m perched at a barstool at my mom’s kitchen island, twirling a straw around one of those green smoothie nightmares instagram is always raving about that tastes like kale and chalk to pretend that i’m actually drinking it.  last year, my mom and paul, stepfather extraordinaire, decided that since they’re not going to live forever, they might as well make the remainder of their lives miserable by drinking the cast of veggie tales every morning.  and today, i got to join in on the fun.

always a pleasure to visit.  always a pleasure.

“i usually toss mine in the sink when they’re not looking — but, like, a quarter at a time.  that way i’m not making it too obvious, you know?” i look to my left, and summer, daughter of paul, stepsister of doe and sol, has slid onto the stool next to mine.  she has a sheen to her cheeks that looks like a fresh highlight but is probably just sweat, and her strawberry hair is combed back into a loose braid.  but she’s cute.  i guess.

sol, my younger brother, practically shit himself when he first met her and then the process repeated itself when he realized he was going to get to live with her after she moved back home when she graduated from berkeley back in june.

“i don’t want to give them the satisfaction of thinking i drank it at all,” i retort, giving the glass in front of me a disdained look.  “some drinks just… don’t need to exist.  this is one of them.  and they need to now that this is one mistake that doesn’t need repeating.”

my phone lights up from where it’s sitting next to me on the counter, a text from preston — all in caps — about how kat clearly hates his new mix because it was “marked as read” over a week ago and SOS RESPOND IMMEDIATELY — and i catch summer gazing over at the screen from out of the corner of my eye before i can turn off my screen.

“so,” she hums.  “preston, eh?  i saw your little… date the other night online.”

i shrug in that way that i tend to do, all flouncy and dismissive, like i’m used to being the center of everyone’s attention — because i am, because of course i am.  “yeah, we finally decided to take it to the next level, i guess.”

she sighs, then, resting her head in her hands and keeping her gaze focused on the subzero fridge in front of her.  “i always thought he was so cute.  i guess it’s a good thing you guys figured it out before i snatched him from you.”  she giggles.

yeah.  because i was so threatened by you, summer.  jesus.

a tight-lipped smile is all i give her back, feeling my best tighten into a knot, but just for a second, before my mom is looping around the corner, arms waving.

“why were you hiding preston from me?  you know how much we love him.  he’s like another member of the family, dorothea.”

“ma.”

summer chokes on her own green drink.  “dorothea?  can i start calling you dory? dorothy?  dottie?  do—”

“—i will pour this on your head if anything other than doe comes out of that pretty mouth of yours.”

“she means it.”  this time, it’s sol.  his head is popping up from where he’s lounging back on the couch, a head of unruly, dark curls.  even sitting on the couch, he’s still a foot taller than me.  he always has been, ever since he was turning ten shortly after my thirteenth birthday.  the kid is fucking crazy.  “she dumped lime kool-aid over the back of my head once when i was sleeping.  mixed with a little bleach powder?  shit fucking turned my hair neon ass green for weeks.  all over calling her dory on my first day of freshman year.”

“because it’s doe.”  i turn back to summer, smile still tight-lipped as ever.  “just doe.”

my mom is clearing her throat, drawing the attention back to herself, and i turn to see her tapping her fingers on the edge of the countertop, head tilted to the side with eyes wide and expectant and right on me.  “back to preston, doe.”

“there’s nothing back to preston about it,” i shrug.  “it just… happened.”

“it just happened?!  we’ve only been waiting and WAITING for you two…” her thoughts trail off for a moment, which they’ve been doing more and more lately, before she looks over at summer.  “oh summer.  you should have seen these two growing up.”

“be glad you didn’t,” sol fires back, and i chuck a bran muffin from the basket straight at him, hitting him square in the temple.

my phone goes off again, but this time it’s ringing, and it’s preston’s face filling my screen and looking right back at me.  i grab it without thinking twice about it, and from next to me, summer is sighing, almost dreamily.

“god, i love a good love story.”

i snort, picking up the phone and answering.  “then go find one,” i tell her.

“go find one what?” preston asks, and i can see the way his brows are furrowed, his mop of hair not cooperating at all.  his lips are perfectly kissable, and being halfway across san francisco seems really, really far away all of a sudden.

“oh nothing, nothing at all,” i hum, sashaying into the living room and dropping onto the chaise lounge across from sol.  “what’s up, love?  missing me already?”

he’s blushing.  i love that i can make him blush.  he might want to leave me for dead half the time, but i can still turn his cheeks pink.  “how’s home?”

“i don’t know,” i shrug.  “how are you?”

sol’s head pops up for that one, looking across at me in awe.  see?  fake dating is easy.  it’s almost like it’s not fake at all.

#011 #~

[the-wheel-comes-full-circle]

The Bargain Part 5

Hello! Thanks everyone who has supported this fic so far but this will be the last part! I’ll keep writing acotar fics in the future and I’m always open for requests in case I’m in the mood to write but have no ideas of my own.

Link to previous parts X

Lovely people who asked to be tagged 

@illyrianinterrasen @itsonlyjess @cruelwickedthing @myhighlordrhysand @emily10501@flamingveritas @empressofalderley @kybaeza @booksaremylife4eva @w3lcome-t0-my-w0nderland @manoncrochan @toomuchdamage @leenanasir @araujol1 @ricekrispy @highlordus @bluephoenix222 @tswaney17 @atya-malik133​ @acourtofsinsandtragedies@photofeesh 

The next morning, the inhabitants of the House of Wind were awoken to the crying sounds of a baby. No one had the heart to grumble as they made their way to breakfast however, all understanding how lucky it was that the baby had arrived safe and healthy, despite their smaller than usual size. And how lucky it was that Feyre also survived her close call.

When Mor made her way into the grand sitting room, wrapped in a red silken dressing gown, she found Rhysand and Feyre already occupying it. She smiled warmly, watching from the doorway as Feyre held Ellias to her breast while Rhys watched on from above her.

Feyre was still very weak, although healing quickly thanks to her drop of Dawn power, so she had set herself up on a chaise lounge where she could lie down and still be part of the rebuilding meetings and reports on Velaris. 

Rhys hadn’t been able to separate himself from his mate or son so soon, so had left most of the helping refugees and clean up to his more than willing family. Mor had told him that by just telling the citizens that they’d had the baby would be helping by lifting spirits.

And she was right. Despite the destruction wreaked upon their beautiful city again, bottles of wine were opened and tables were set up on the street, laden with whatever food people could spare as a massive street party began to take shape after a messenger had announced the birth of the high lord and lady’s son.

Gifts of toys, blankets, food, and flowers were sent to the townhouse, able to be brought up to Feyre by Azriel who was the first to notice their people’s generosity. Feyre cried uncontrollably when she saw all the gifts.

Rhys had finally spotted Mor hovering nearby and he beckoned her over. “He’s nearly done feeding.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Mor said with a small smile, gazing into Ellias’ small, delicate face.

“Of course not.” Feyre said immediately, her gaze softening. “He wouldn’t even be here without you.”

Mor only reached down to stroke the small, dark, patch of fuzzy hair already beginning to grow on his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so small in my life.” She crooned as Ellias reached one tiny hand towards her. 

“Already trying to win him over, Mor?” Cassian said with a smirk, the slight limp in his walk only just noticeable. 

Mor snorted. “Everyone already knows I’m going to be the favourite Aunt.”

“Well then, I get to be the favourite Uncle.” Cassian beamed at Ellias. 

“You wish.” Nesta said, following Cassian into the room. “I’d put money on it being Azriel.”

Feyre only laughed as she offered Ellias up to Rhys who took him gently, cradling him awkwardly in his giant arms. He raised nervous and unsure eyes to Feyre’s who only smiled back at him sweetly.

“You’ll get used to holding him.” She promised him.

“I just don’t understand how easy you made it look from the start.” Rhys said shaking his head. 

“She’s been holding him for nine months, Rhys.” Amren said, sauntering into the room. 

“Technically, only eight and a bit.” Feyre said lightly. 

“You had to be like your mother didn’t you? Always early.” Rhys said, holding his son up to study his face more. 

Ellias seemed to like this, giving Rhys a funny look and squawking. 

“Did you see that?” Rhys asked Feyre excitedly. 

“Just whatever you do, don’t drop him.” Nesta told him, looking like she wanted to snatch Ellias up.

“I didn’t realise there was a party going on in here.” Helion said, emerging from a separate room with Tarquin.

“Just a baby monitoring squad.” Cassian grinned, a small hint of pride as he watched Rhys tuck Ellias back into his chest.

“Where’s Kallias?” Feyre asked, noting the absent high lord.

Tarquin gave her an easy smile. “He had business to attend to back in the Winter Court, but he left some guards still to help clean up.”

Feyre was about to ask further when a short squeal had her bolting upright. Elain breezed into the room, a flushed Lucien following close behind, arms laden with bags.

“Feyre! We heard all about it!” Elain said excitedly. “We’re so sorry we weren’t there to help, right Lucien?”

Lucien nodded and flashed Feyre an apologetic look. “We came as soon as we could.”

“Where is he?” Elain asked, before narrowing her gaze at Rhys still holding his son awkwardly. She took a step closer. “May I?”

Rhys nodded warmly before handing over his son to his aunt. Elain easily took Ellias, cradling him to her shoulder while gently swaying. 

“Oh, he’s simply gorgeous.” Elain said, showing him to Lucien who couldn’t help but grin up at Rhys and Feyre excitedly. 

“I’m so glad to see you Elain, but I thought you weren’t coming home for another few weeks?” Feyre asked gently.

Elain waved her off. “Don’t be silly. We’ve come to offer our babysitting services.”

“Get in line.” Cassian grumbled.

“I see we’ve got some competition.” Lucien said, noting the intense stares the inner circle was now giving him. 

“I haven’t held him yet.” Amren said impatiently. 

Elain wasted no time in handing him to Amren, who had always slightly intimidated her, made no less scary by how well she and Nesta got along.

“Well, perhaps we should also be off before we see an all out brawl between you lot.” Helion laughed, grabbing Tarquin by the arm. “We’ll come back another day to have our fair share of baby time.”

Rhys escorted them out, thanking them again for all their help.

“Okay, time’s up ancient one. Let someone fun hold him.” Cassian said, grabbing Ellias from Amren. He held him up similarly to how Rhys had, studying him.

“Yep.” He nodded to himself. “He’s gonna be a big strong male one day like his father. I already know what I’m going to get you for your first birthday-”

“Please. No weapons until he can at least hold them properly.” Feyre said groaning.

“Illyrians learn from a very young age how to wield them, I can train him as soon as he’s ready.” Cassian said determinedly, showing Feyre the small bumps protruding from the baby’s back that would grow into his wings.

Feyre just shook her head as Rhys rejoined her, sitting down on the lounge by her legs where there was room for him. 

“He’ll need all the training he can get...” Rhys said to her quietly. 

It was something they had already discussed. The son of the most powerful high lord in history, and Feyre Cursebreaker, would indeed be highly sought after. Dead or alive. 

“We will all look out for him.” Mor said, accurately reading their faces. 

“Will you send him away to train with the Illyrians when he’s older?” Nesta asked.

Rhys and Feyre exchanged another look. 

“When he’s old enough... yes. Rhys wants him to know his own people and to train with them.” Feyre explained.

“And you, Feyre?” Cassian asked quietly.

“I’ll be with him too. I’ll live in the cabin that Rhys’ mother lived in.”

“And I’ll be there as often as I can. As many nights as possible.” Rhys promised her.

“Does this mean we’ll have to come and visit you up in the mountains if we want to see him?” Elain pouted.

“Yes, but we’ll often be bringing him back to Velaris too. He should know the fae who live here just as much as the Illyrians.” Feyre told her. 

“Until then, you’re all ours.” Cassian grinned wickedly at the baby. 

He gently began swaying side to side as he had seen Elain doing while the others talked. Cassian quickly began to build up speed though, thinking the baby was getting bored of such a slow pace.

“...Cassian.” Feyre tried to warn him, but it was too late. Baby vomit was splattered all down the front of Cassian’s shirt.

It was Nesta who laughed first, Cassian’s face burning red. Then Rhys was snickering as Cassian held Ellias out at arms length away from him. 

“This is just how he’s marking me as his favourite.” Cassian said shrugging.

Everyone else began laughing as Cassian tried to salvage the situation. 

It was then that Azriel appeared, back from being in Velaris, scoping out the damage. His face lit up with amusement as he noticed the vomit dripping off Cassian.

“What did you do this time?” Azriel chuckled. 

“If you think this is so easy, here.” Cassian said, thrusting Ellias out to Azriel.

Everyone waited with held breaths as Azriel slowly took the baby in his scarred hands. His shadows dancing in delight over his shoulder. As if just realising how they might terrify a newborn, Azriel quickly tried to call back the shadows, but to his surprise the baby was watching them wide eyed. Slowly he reached out a hand, trying to grasp them.

Cautiously, Azriel unspooled some more shadows, letting them grow closer to the baby but never letting them touch him. Ellias let out what could only have been a giggle, reaching up with both hands now to grab at the black tendrils. 

Azriel looked up at them all with what Feyre could have only described as joy. Joy over this baby who hadn’t been scared of him, hadn’t shrunken away from his scarred hands, his darkness.

“Oh he’s a child of the Night Court alright.” Amren said smiling.

No one wanted to take Azriel’s moment from him, so for the next hour, Ellias was Azriel’s alone. He had even fallen asleep against his chest when he had grown tired of chasing shadows.

“I’m going to buy him so many outfits.” Mor promised, looking over to the baby curled up in Azriel’s arms.

Feyre laughed as Mor began explaining all the cute outfits she’d seen in a store recently, including costumes. 

“I’ve already lost him to Az.” Cassian scowled from nearby. “How long until you have another one?” He asked with a crooked grin.

Feyre smiled but Rhys’ face paled.

“Oh no, we’re not doing that again.” He said, a brief look of panic flashed at Feyre.

“We’ll be better prepared next time.” Feyre added quickly.

“Next time?” Rhys croaked.

“Of course.” Feyre winked at him. “I thought you told me you wanted a legion of children.”

“That was before I realised how dangerous it was.” Rhys muttered,

“Besides,” Feyre began, an evil smile growing as she continued. “If we didn’t want any more children, we’d have to give up your favourite activity.”

Rhys seemed to briefly contemplate this. “Well, I suppose one or two more wouldn’t be so bad.”

Cassian roared with laughter as he dragged Rhys away for a celebratory drink, despite Nesta’s complaints that it wasn’t even noon yet.

Mor joined Feyre on her couch, her arms resting on Feyre’s drawn up knees as she quietly spoke to her. 

“I know about the bargain.” 

Feyre tried to make her face blank, hoping to avoid this conversation.

“Why would you even think to make a pact like that?” Mor continued, hurt shining in her eyes.

“We’ve both seen each other die Mor. It’s not something I could live through again. But that was before we had a child, I get it now.” Feyre promised. “Rhys and I discussed it last night and we both agreed to not make another bargain like that until our children are grown and don’t need us around anymore.”

Mor began to protest but Feyre shut her down as Elain came to sit with them and check up on Feyre. It was a battle Mor would continue with Feyre later, that much she could tell, but for now Feyre was content to watch her family pass around her son.

When Rhys finally regained hold of Ellias he managed to easily slide him into his arms comfortably, while talking with Cassian.

“He was worried he wasn’t going to make a good father.” Feyre said quietly to Mor.

Mor snorted. “Only Rhysand, one of the best males I know, would worry his own child wouldn’t like him.”

“He used to stay up late, waiting until he thought I was asleep, to whisper to him inside my stomach. Telling him stories. And how he was going to teach him to fly when he was big.” Feyre said, a gentle smile curving her lips. 

From across the room, Rhys looked down at his son in surprise as Ellias sleepily grabbed one of Rhys’ fingers to hold tight as he slept. Rhys’ jaw dropped as he noticed how easily he had settled him, how comfortable Ellias seemed as he slept. 

Rhys turned away quickly, pretending to show Ellias Velaris from the window. But Feyre had seen the tears form in Rhys’ eyes before he had tried to hide them from his friends.

Moving stiffly, Feyre got up from the couch to join her mate and son by the window. She slid her arms around Rhys’ waist, her chin resting on Rhys’ shoulder so she could see Ellias. 

“I love him too.” Feyre whispered in Rhys’ ear.

A shudder rippled through his back as Rhys fought back sobs. 

Together they began pointing out all the different parts of Velaris to their son. Feyre showed him the Rainbow and Rhys pointed out the townhouse that they would all move into together. 

They showed him all the places that he would one day rule over just as they did.

#the bargain #feysand #feyrhys #acotar #acomaf #acowar #feyre archeron #rhysand #rhys #feyre #inner circle #sjm #sarah j maas #sjmaas

[je-suis-clarisse]

Uninvited Guest

14TH MARCH 1802. The day stood out to Clarisse du Volde without fail, despite the rancor that Vivian du Volde had inspired in her. Mother and daughter were, quite simply, mortal enemies. They had very few things in common and when she had been on her death bed, Clarisse had come to see her. Frederic had convinced her to do so. Upon entering the room, Clarisse was surprised to see Vivian. The once famed beauty was a shadow of her former self, frail and scarred from smallpox. "Maman," she spoke as she entered the room. "I know I'm dying now. Vivienne the other day, and the f***ing runt today," Vivian scowled at Fred and Clarisse dearly wished to toss her mother outside and watch as a runaway carriage ran her over. She hated this. Hated Fred for convincing her. Hated hospitals and hated Vivian. What few good moments the pair had were able to be counted upon one hand. Painting china, learning to dance, playing the piano, playing dress-up. Beyond that, there was nothing. Clarisse didn't even bother hope for an apology. All the years of abuse and hatred were still there. The young vampiress could read her mother's thoughts with ease. Not to mention she could sense the hatred. It was sharp enough to cut the tension in the room. Standing in the hospital was a misery for the vampire, her sensitive nose picking up every single stench, her ears picking up on the sound of fading heartbeats, and of course, the abuse Vivian was inflicting upon her as she stood there. Even close to death, the woman would not cease her insults. "Do you think your God will appreciate your vile tongue?" Risse asked. "He gave it to me, so he will be used to it by now," Vivian countered saucily and well, Clarisse had to give her that one. She wasn't wrong. Frederic pardoned himself for a moment and left mother and daughter sitting together. Clarisse looked out of the corner of her eye to see Vivian staring at her. Arching up a brow, she looked to Vivian. "Maman, I shall be blunt. You've been a misery all your days. Why are you clinging to life?" "Because what if there is nothing after this?" It was a rare moment of uncertainty and Clarisse moved to the side of the bed, taking hold of her mother's hand. Vivian, surprisingly, didn't snatch it away. "I believe that there is life after this, and I believe you'll see everyone you wish to see. Like Antoinette," she spoke and couldn't help but feel a moment of sympathy as Vivian's eyes filled with tears. There was not a single member of the du Volde family who didn't know who the favorite was. Antoinette had died so young. Part of Vivian had gone with her. Her thoughts were broken by the harsh coughing fit that rattled to Vivian and she met her mother's eyes. She hadn't meant to. END MY LIFE. Vivian was begging. Pleading. She couldn't catch her breath and the doctors couldn't do a thing. She would not bite her. But end her? Very well. Taking the pillow within her hands, she held it down over Vivian's face, finding there was no fight being given. It was a quick process and by the time Frederick returned, Vivian was dead, the pillow returned to its proper position and Clarisse was on her way out the door.   "Good riddance to bad rubbish," she mused as she stepped into her carriage, securing the dark curtains to hide the remaining sun's rays. PRESENT-DAY. CLARISSE'S LIBRARY. FRANCE. Risse had slipped into the massive library of her Paris estate hours prior, her nose (as always) in a book. Dropping onto her favored chaise lounge by the fire, she'd lost herself in the tome and eventually, had dozed off. She was tired and she didn't really know why. But her eyes were heavy and she dozed off. It was quite welcomed. "Look at you, in your gilded towers," a familiar voice spoke and Clarisse looked up with a start. A petite figure dressed in black, her blonde hair loose, an older version of herself stood inches from her, startling her. She looked quite astounding, considering how horrid she'd looked at their last meeting. Marking her place in the book, Clarisse set it aside as she sat up, every hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. "Maman." Eyeing her daughter, Vivian's scowl and snarl had not changed in the one-hundred and ninety-eight years since she had taken her last breath. Bluntly put, she was still a stark raving bitch, and she was here to torment Risse. "Do they make you happy? I don't expect that they do." "How are you even here?" Clarisse asked, shaking her head. "You've been dead for--" "One hundred and ninety-eight years, to be precise. You're evading my question." "As you're evading mine, Maman. But fine. I'll play your game. I'm happy." "You've always been a terrible liar. Just like your father. Unsurprising, given how close you were. You're not happy. You're alone. You have your lovers here and there. But thrice wed and thrice-divorced, is it? You have material things. What you've built is a gilded tower to hide your true feelings. Your loneliness. Your pain. When you die, dear girl, everyone will forget you. Even your 'adopted father' has left you. He's how old?" She continued, circling her daughter and whispering in her ear. "He will outlive you too. And your name won't even be a whisper on his lips. Nor on your Uncle Nik's." "Don't you dare speak of them. They're worth TEN of you." "And yet...he's away. Happy. Living a life you can only aspire to. A life that you are not part of. And with your uncle going to get married, where does that leave you, Clarisse Elisabeth? Ah yes. alone." "I am NOT alone! You hateful b!tch. GET OUT." "Such a temper for such an adorable little girl. You're such a child still. I look at you and I see everything I did wrong. I should have killed you. I tried so hard...but you just wouldn't die!" "Yet it was me, who killed you. Put you out of your misery, if I remember correctly." "Let's see. So many men in your life, you little trollop. Colin, Dorian, Jormund. The three husbands." Vivian cackled, continuing onwards. "And how many lovers? Including that one now? By the way, he's too good for you. A royal of sorts, isn't he? Let us not forget that the Devil himself tired of you and moved on with that Dead Boy. Oh Clarisse, my dear girl, the only thing that spreads easier than your legs is peanut butter."   Clarisse jumped from her seat so quickly, the chair fell down behind her. Vivian's cerulean gaze met her daughters emerald one, and she smirked in that simpering manner, the one that drove Clarisse damn near over the edge. Slamming the woman against the wall, fangs extended fully, her eyes going from their usual tone to a dark crimson one. Snarling, she glared at Vivian. Eschewing any sense of loyalty toward her mother, she was about to sink those sharp little fangs into the fount upon which she found sustenance. Or she might ball her hand into a fist and extract her heart. Did Vivian even have one? "who lives? who dies? who tells your story?" Vivian asked whispering since Clarisse was pressing on her windpipe. The question took her aback and at that moment, Vivian was able to squirm free. Clarisse had always been fond of the song, having heard it on the Hamilton soundtrack, listening to it and hearing Vivian speak the words to taunt her...she shuddered, facing the actuality that when her time came...there would likely be no one to tell her story. She outlived those she cared about. There would be no way to change that. Who lived? She didn't know. Who died? That was easy, she would. And who would tell her story? Even if she wrote it down, there was no one to share it for her. Looking around the townhouse, she hated admitting that Vivian was right; that this and any other home she owned was precisely what she said--a gilded tower where she could hide her feelings. Well, now was as good a time as any to speak something. "Maman, all I've ever wanted was you to love me," Clarisse whispered, as she leaned against the wall, her visage changing back to its normal appearance. "You aren't worthy of it. You are the embodiment of the mistake I made. I hate you because you remind me of myself. I look at you and I see nothing but mistakes. And on the occasions I found I could open my heart to you, you'd do something, say something and I'd be reminded of my hatred. Or you reminded me of your father. You may resemble me, but you are his creature." Vivian snarled coolly. Taking Clarisse's face in her hand, crushing her chin in her firm grip. "Carry the knowledge in your heart that you are unworthy of the love you seek. If your own mother hates the sight of you, why would anyone else want you? You will die alone. And you will be a forgotten grain in the hourglass of time." Before she could respond, Clarisse's eyes popped open and she gasped for air, looking around. She was alone. Her chest heaved up and down and she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. Vivian was wrong. Her friends loved her. Her 'family' wouldn't abandon her. Would they? "and when my time is up? have i done enough? will they tell my story?" Clarisse mused softly, as she sat in the library, reaching her hand out, pinching out the flame of the candle, leaving herself in the darkness, her tears her only companion now. It was just a dream. Just a dream. It wasn't real. Vivian was dead. She was in the crypt. This had been the work on her brain. She was fine. "It's only a matter of time..." Vivian's voice filled the silence once more, sending her youngest child into peals of hysterical sobbing.

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

Magic Lessons

In which Nesta gets rip-roaring drunk.  Mildly NSFW.  There’s a small shout-out to Anne Bishop’s Black Jewels trilogy too.  Makes more sense if you read the rest first:  1  2  2.5  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11. 

Nesta scanned the library shelves.  She had about half an hour before she needed to meet with Amren, and wanted to see if there were any books on life magic.  Months earlier, she had read what limited information there was on death magic, but none of it had felt like what she had called up that day against the King.  Hopefully, she had just been searching for the wrong thing, but she’d spent an hour already with no luck at all.  There were stacks of books on Illyrian killing power, and many more on the more generic magics like managing pocket realms and winnowing.  None of which she had tried yet.  Damn.  The silent librarian who escorted her turned into a different set of shelves, pulled two volumes down, and handed them to her.  She carried them to one of the desks that lined the circular walls and flipped one open.  It was a dissertation on magical theory, reviewing the concept of magic as manipulation of molecules.  She didn’t even know what that meant, but it sounded like it might be informative.  The second book opened to a gruesome picture of a fae being misted.  She’d seen enough of that in person during the war, and it had never called to her power.  Closing that one, she lifted the first and turned to the librarian.  “Can I borrow this?”  The female shook her head, and pointed to the desk, then to Nesta.  Okay, then, she could leave it here and come to read it.  She set it back down, nodded her thanks and left, realizing as she climbed that she could have verbally thanked the librarian; Clotho was mute, not deaf.  Oh well.  

Amren had suggested they meet on the roof; it was vacant when Nesta emerged from the House of Wind so she settled into one of the chairs.  Cassian had taken Feyre with him to train with Brisa again, so they wouldn’t be working out up there.  Her stomach ached from his absence.  Or from the memories of the day before.  She still felt a twinge of pain at how close she came to plucking his life before she remembered him after returning to her body.  Though he hadn’t been nearly as disturbed by the fact she’d nearly killed him as by the idea that she might have stayed in the abyss.  Their bond vibrated, and she realized she was sending her thoughts down it unawares.  She opened her pathetic, untrained barrier to him and he sent back an image of their return to the apartment the night before.  Her lips curled into a smile as she recalled flying back from the townhouse chasing the setting sun, all the colors more vibrant  than she had ever noticed before, his arms warm and hard around her, the wind tickling her skin, setting her into a state of arousal yet again.  Cassian must have felt it too, because as soon as he landed he lay her down on the chaise in the rooftop garden and they didn’t bother to fully undress before they were tangled with each other again, his wings flared to hide them from any eyes flying overhead.  Then he had carried her down the stairs, ignoring her laughing protests, mouth claiming hers as he gently set her on her feet.  It felt strange, to return to their apartment after so much had changed and realize they had been gone less than twelve hours.  She had been a little worried that Willow would reject or fear her, but the half-grown cat had greeted her as enthusiastically as ever, whole body vibrating with the force of her purr.  Then this morning, they had lingered in bed far past his usual sunrise awakening.

The sound of a throat clearing interrupted her reverie, and she looked up to see Amren glaring at her.  “Are you ready to work, or am I going to have to deal with newly-mated nonsense all day?”

Nesta bristled a little at the tone, but replied, “Yes” as flatly as she could manage.

The tiny female’s eyes narrowed.  “Yes to which one?”

“You pick,” Nesta replied, but got to her feet.  “What’s the plan?”  

Amren led her over to the door, where she had set a box of plants.  “We need to figure out what your magic affects, and you need to practice control.”

Nesta looked down at the box, wondering if Elain would be mad at her if she destroyed a bunch of plants.  Or if she was right, and it was life magic she possessed, could she turn the roof into a jungle if she pushed her power the other way?  “I found a book,” she said, noticing the crossing of Amren’s arms at the delay, “that talks about magic as manipulating molecules?  I don’t really understand what that means, but it sounded brilliant…” She broke off as she realized Amren actually looked a little embarrassed.  Her expression changed to bored contempt as soon as she noticed Nesta’s attention.  Hmm.  Perhaps the ancient female had more talents than she knew, if she was writing books.  Though after thousands of years of existence, she supposed writing was just another thing to do.

Amren waved a hand dismissively.  “That’s all well and good to read on your own time.  Maybe it’ll help, if you can actually understand it.  For now, grab a plant and sit down.”  Selecting the ugliest plant of the group, Nesta sat at the little painted iron table.  “Close your eyes.”  She obeyed.  “Now, remember what you felt yesterday when you returned and everything was fresh.  Breathe in, and let the power flow through you.  Then breathe out, and reach out with it.  Don’t do anything with it, just feel.”  

But Nesta didn’t have to reach out.  As soon as she thought of the power, she could feel Amren’s life force flowing, so close to her.  The people in the House of Wind behind her as well, servants and librarians and the couple of scholars who had been admitted.  She directed her focus to the plant in front of her, but it may as well have been made of the same iron as the table; she couldn’t feel it.  Minutes passed, and finally she felt a tiny flicker from the plant.  It felt clean, content.  Simple.  And it was…moving.  She opened her eyes and focused on the spot of movement.  A small bug was crawling along a leaf.  “I can’t feel the plant,” she said, “but I can feel the bug.”

“Can you manipulate its life force?”

Nesta shook her head.  “I don’t want to kill it.”

“What?” Amren’s tone was incredulous.  “You don’t want to kill the bug?”

“It’s cute.  And it’s not going to hurt anyone.”

There was a long enough pause that Nesta looked up.  Amren was shaking her head.  “The girl who beheaded the King of Hybern doesn’t want to hurt a bug because it’s cute.”

She gestured at it.  “Look, it’s got all those little spots on its shell.  And the little antennae, they’re…waving.  It doesn’t mean any harm.”  

Amren’s expression shifted from incredulous to intensely focused.  “Can you sense its intent?”

Nesta shrugged.  “I don’t know, it just sounds…feels…benign.”

“Have you been able to sense people’s intentions before?”

“I’ve never really tried.  I mean, I can feel Cassian’s but, you know, the bond.  And he’s remarkably easy to read even without it.”

“Try with me.”

Pursing her lips, Nesta shifted the focus of her power to Amren and just sat for a moment, listening to the complex force flowing under that fair skin.  “You’re…sharp, for lack of a better word,” she said, finally.  “That’s not an intention, but I don’t know how else to describe it.”  

“Do you remember how the King felt?” Amren asked softly, leaning in, silver eyes fixed on the swirling gray-blue.

“No,” Nesta replied automatically, then paused to remember.  She called up the feel of the King when he sat on that throne of bones, conducting the mindless members of his court, thriving on the dismay of his prisoners, on the pain.  Then, when he was readying that Cauldron blast, she had been able to feel his gleeful anticipation at the destruction it would wreak, like a staccato beat.  She had thought it was the Cauldron she had felt, but the Cauldron did not have emotions, did not have an opinion about anything outside of itself.  Finally, as he had appeared holding her father prisoner, the off-notes that had sounded - she had known he would kill him, regardless of what she did.  When she spoke again her voice was trance-like.  “Yes.  He was dissonant, he wanted to disrupt all the threads.  After he died, the chords got more…harmonious.  But then the Cauldron was broken, and you and Rhys…”  She couldn’t find words for the cacophony that had erupted, hadn’t been able to differentiate between emotion and power at all at that time.

“And the queens?”  The words were barely more than a whisper.

Nesta didn’t move or speak for a full minute before shaking her head.  “No, I can’t remember.  They felt wrong, but I don’t know that wasn’t just because they were so obviously uninterested in helping us.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Nesta watching the bug delicately nibbling a leaf, still listening to its tiny life force humming.  There was something soothing about it.  

“Well, we know you can’t feel plants and won’t kill bugs,” Amren finally said drily.  “Is there a creature you’re willing to practice on?  Other than Cassian, of course.”

Nesta shivered at the reminder of her near-disaster the day before.  “I don’t know, maybe Elain can point out some pests or something.”

Amren’s mouth twisted.  “She and her mate went back to the Dawn Court once it was clear you were okay, so we’ll have to wait a bit if you’re going to insist on that.”  Nesta had forgotten Elain and Lucien were on their honeymoon.  She wondered briefly why they had come back, how they had known, but Elain must have seen it and asked to return.  Sweet Elain.  She hadn’t thanked her, or Feyre for that matter.  Her history was filled with unspoken gratitude.

They worked for another hour on pinpointing and describing individual life forces.  She could easily reach about halfway across the city, but selecting an individual to follow among the crowds was challenging.  And exhausting.  By the time Mor came to bring them to dinner, Nesta was starving and had a headache brewing between her eyes.  The three walked towards the dining room.  Mor glanced at her out of the side of her eye.  “Looks like I miss all the fun,” she said casually.

Nesta snorted.  “Well, I would’ve issued you a formal invitation to witness my trauma, but I just don’t like you.”

Mor grinned, golden brown eyes glimmering with humor.  “Given that you apparently came out of wherever the hell you were in a killing rage, I think I’m grateful.”

“Now, now, I wouldn’t go into a killing rage without you to inspire me.  I was just a little confused.”

“Remind me to always be crystal clear with you, then.”  They slid into their seats at the table, the first to arrive.  Mor poured them each a glass of wine.  “I’ll tell you what, though,” she said, more seriously, “I felt you from here.  When you surged.  As soon as I regained my breath I winnowed to the townhouse, but I was told to let you and Cassian be and Feyre promptly dragged me right back here.  You’ve got some wicked power there, I’ve never felt anything quite like it.”

“I still think you should talk to Rhysand,” Amren interjected.  “He may be able to help.”

The High Lord appeared then as if summoned, Azriel a step behind him.  “What can I help with?”

“Managing your sister-in-law’s terrifying power,” Mor chirped, her bright tone at distinct odds with the words.

Rhys inclined his head towards Nesta as he took his seat.  “I’d be happy to.”  He snapped his fingers and food appeared on the table.  “Feyre and Cassian should be here shortly.  She said to get started without them.”

Mor frowned.  “Everything okay?”

Rhys chuckled and even Azriel gave a dry smile.  “Yes, just something has evidently gotten under Cassian’s skin and he needs to blow off some steam before appearing in polite company, apparently.”

Nesta and Mor looked at each other, then back at Rhys.  “Where exactly is the polite company?” Nesta inquired mildly.

“That is a very good question,” Feyre answered, entering the hall.  Cassian prowled behind her, expression stormy.  She dropped a kiss on Rhys’s cheek before slipping into the seat next to him.  Cassian threw himself onto his chair, arms crossed, and Nesta pressed his knee with her own.  He gave her an apologetic grimace that was probably intended to be a smile and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.  Glancing at Feyre did not help her maintain her composure, as her sister’s own lips were twitching.  Whatever had been gotten Cassian riled was clearly not of any dire nature.  Everyone watched him quietly for a moment while he chewed on his lip.

He finally erupted.  “I’m going to wallop her!” His hand slammed onto his table.

“Who?” Mor and Amren chorused, while Nesta asked, “Sabine?”

“Yes!”  He fumed silently for another moment before going on.  “She had the balls to ask me if I was going to invite her father to our mating ceremony.  Of course, she called him our father.  Why the hell is she even thinking about the ceremony?  How does she even know?  You’ve been able to feel the bond for all of a day.”

Azriel cleared his throat and said quietly, “Well, brother, you’ve been engaged for a few weeks now.”

Cassian glared at him.  “She had already asked about the wedding, just assuming she’d be part of it.  Now she’s trying to shove into the mating ceremony that Nesta and I haven’t even had a chance to discuss.”

Mor raised a hand.  “Um, I may have told Brisa about the events yesterday, and I guess she could have told Sabine.”

The warrior whirled to her.  “What?  Why?  When?”

“I ran into her at Rita’s last night,” she said, shrugging.  “She asked me if anything exciting was going on.  I didn’t realize it was a secret, I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed and jaw clenched as he looked at Mor, anger darkening his eyes.  Nesta wanted to kiss the little wrinkles between those eyes, that muscle feathering in his cheek, but settled for brushing his hand with hers and murmuring, “It’s okay, Cass.  Everyone was going to learn eventually.”  

After a brief moment he glanced at Nesta, then took a breath and settled back into his chair, turning his attention to the food.  Tension still rolled off of him, but he did a passable job of acting normal as they ate and discussed the growing rift the death of the eldest mortal queen had caused on the Continent, and what that might mean for the movement going forward.  When the meal was finally over, and Rhys had agreed to join Nesta and Amren the next day, Nesta took Cassian’s proffered arm and they walked in silence to the roof.  “Can we go out?” he asked abruptly as he scooped her into his arms.

“Sure, if you want.”  So much for going home and finding inventive ways to relieve his tension, but they hadn’t gone dancing in a while, and dancing was often a good source of inspiration.

*****

They landed at the top of a hill unfamiliar to Nesta.  Cassian strode down the darkening street, fast enough Nesta nearly had to jog to catch up.  She took his hand and he slowed, squeezing hers in a gentle apology.  “Why does it bother you so much?” Nesta asked.  “They don’t mean any harm.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to her, his free hand moving to her cheek.  “Because you and I haven’t even had a chance to talk about this, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them push you into something you don’t want.”  

“Oh.  So it’s not that you don’t…want…all of this?”

He laughed, loud and long, before taking her face between his hands and answering, “I want nothing more than to be with you for the rest of time.  I’d be mated or married or whatever you want tomorrow if we could arrange it.  But if we let Sabine and Mor and everyone take over, we’ll end up having half the Night Court at the ceremony.”  Nesta blanched at that idea, and there was a smile in his voice as he continued, “And since I highly doubt that’s what you want, I’m going to fight like hell to prevent it.”  He kissed her thoroughly, and a couple of kids on the street whooped.  “Now let’s go dance.”

The club was busy, almost as jam-packed as Rita’s always was, the music just as demanding.  “Let’s grab a drink first,” Cassian said in her ear as he steered her towards a booth.  Leaving her there with a kiss to her hair, he headed towards the bar.

“Cass!”

Nesta’s head snapped up at the unfamiliar voice, and she glanced at him where he had stopped, halfway across the floor.  She noted the stiffening of his posture, the subtle tightening of his hands into fists, as a tall, curvy female with large dark eyes and full lips approached.  “Hello, Tamirah,” he said warily.

“It’s been ages since I saw you last,” she replied brightly, “I was wondering when you’d come seek me out.”

“I’m not…” he started, then stopped, collecting himself.  “I’m with someone.”

She laughed, a high, fluttering sound.  “I heard you had someone sharing your bed,” she said, “but that never stopped you before.”

“This is different,” he said warmly.  

Nesta smiled internally at that warmth, though her impassive mask did not shift.  She pretended to be watching the dancers as his eyes flicked to her, then felt Tamirah’s attention shift to her as well.  “Oh, she is lovely, though I heard she’s colder than ice.  Well she’d be welcome to join us, you know I’m always up for that.  And I know you’ve always enjoyed having multiple females at once as well.”  Nesta could feel his flinch down the bond.  The tall female moved as if to run a hand over his chest but he snarled at her, viciously enough that all the nearby dancers stopped and stared.  She took an involuntary step backwards, then laughed again to cover her confusion.  The others shuffled away before resuming their dance, continuing to glance nervously at the warrior.

“You know,” she drawled, cocking her head to the side as she studied Nesta, who still pretended her attention lay elsewhere, “she looks just like the High Lady.”  Her eyes moved back to Cassian, a nasty smile playing over her lips.  “There was a rumor that you and Feyre had a fling before the High Lord claimed her.”  Cassian’s Siphons flared a little, but Tamirah didn’t notice the brief flash of red light.  “She certainly has a taste for powerful males, doesn’t she.  First the Spring Court lord, then you, then Rhysand…I know you and the High Lord are close as brothers, but I guess he wasn’t willing to share.  Looks like you found your own version to play with.”  

Nesta had nearly leaped from her seat at the reference to Feyre, but on feeling Cassian’s anger flare through the bond she settled back to see how he would handle it.  There was nothing of his usual warmth and kindness in his face; no, he looked truly menacing as he stepped towards Tamirah, towering over her.  “If you ever - EVER - insult our High Lady again I will break your fucking neck,” he said, voice low but all the more threatening for it.  “It just so happens that Nesta is Feyre’s sister.  And my mate.  So do me a favor, Tamirah.  Since you love to spread rumors, tell everyone you know that I am mated, and to be married, and completely in love with the High Lady’s sister.  And get the hell out of my face.”

Tamirah obeyed, scurrying for the door with real fear in her face.  Nesta couldn’t help it, she reached a tendril of power out to her.  The tall female’s life force was limp, held together by thousands of tiny threads that spread out to others in a huge fragile web.  There were no thicker threads to anchor her, no strong connections to anyone.  Nesta couldn’t be angry at her, she just felt…sorry.  Even when she had herself barricaded behind ice, Feyre and Elain had always kept their bonds strong and now she was tethered to so many.  This female had no one really, just the illusion of a lot of someones.

A tug from one of Nesta’s someones drew her focus back to Cassian.  He was watching her, expression wary and a hint of sadness in his eyes, and he turned away as she met his gaze.  She rose and eased through the crowd which had encroached upon Cassian again, until she was standing next to him, lightly brushing his arm with her shoulder.  He just looked down at her, and there was something in his face she couldn’t read, a void where the humor usually underlay everything else.  She ran a questioning internal finger down the bond and it came to her - shame.  Her chest ached, and she searched for what to say to let him know she understood, that she didn’t care about anyone he’d let into his life or his bed before her.  

“So, I take it she won’t be sending us a Solstice card?”  His lips twitched but he didn’t reply, and the flash of humor didn’t reach his eyes.  She tried again.  “We can seat her next to Sabine’s father at the ceremony.  I bet they’d hit it off.”  A low growl but a slight thaw.  “I’ve always wondered what the role of the third person was in a multi-partner situation.  It sounds like she’s an expert.  Maybe I should go ask her for information.  Maybe she’s written a book.”  Now he was struggling not to laugh, and she nudged him with her shoulder.  “I never thought you were celibate for five hundred years.”

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.  “I know, it’s just…running into her with you here…”

“Well,” she said, tone practical, “I imagine if we wanted to avoid all of your former lovers we could never leave the apartment.”  

He started to protest, but paused.  “Okay, you may have a point.”  

“And as long as I’m the only one around at present-”

“You are.”

“- then I don’t care.”  He wrapped his arms around her then, pressing her into his chest and kissing her temple before resting his chin on her head.  She felt the tension he’d been vibrating with leave him.  Another question flitted through her, but now was not the time to ask it.  She tugged him towards the bar.  While they waited for the attention of one the bartenders, she read the various signs that listed the different drinks.

“What’s a Gravedigger?” she asked.

Cassian laughed.  “Trouble in a glass.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s some specialty cocktail they make.  I had two once and it put me completely under the table, Az had to drag me home.”  He laughed again at the memory.

“I want to try one.”

“No you don’t.”

Her eyes flashed.  “Are you telling me what I can have?”

“Of course not,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.  “You want a Gravedigger, that’s fine, I can carry you home.  But don’t blame me in the morning.”  The female bartender turned to them then, and Cassian raised his eyebrows at Nesta.  She nodded.  “I’ll have a brown ale,” he said, “and the she’ll have a Gravedigger.  And a glass of water.”  The golden-haired bartender was grinning, her exotic face alight with humor as she returned with the drinks.  Nesta took a cautious sip of hers.  It didn’t burn as she expected, but instead a gentle warmth flowed through her.  She rolled a second sip on her tongue, savoring the way the sweetness of fruit and honey was balanced by the slight sharpness of the alcohol.  A third sip and she felt strong, bold.  What had Cassian been worrying about?  She drank the rest down and then grabbed his hand and dragged him out onto the dance floor.  

They danced forever, Nesta surrendering herself completely to the music, the pulse of the crowd, all those bright lives moving around her, with her.  The life force flowed through all, she was everyone and everyone was her.  There was no way of knowing how much time had passed, time really didn’t mean anything anyway, it was just a construct after all, when strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her away from the small group she had joined.  She swayed slightly and her back hit against something warm and solid.  She tilted her head back and found herself looking up a vaguely familiar pair of nostrils.  Her focus shifted and there were amused hazel eyes behind those nostrils.  She spent a moment going back and forth between nostrils and eyes.  Odd that she could control that.  Something tickled her face and she reached a hand up to brush it away, but it wasn’t the light feather she was expecting.  Instead her hand smacked the face above hers, one finger going into an eye.  Ew.  There was a deep grunt that reverberated through her back, and the face above hers pulled back.  Now she could see a mouth above a strong chin, and black hair curving down around it.  “Must you poke my eye out, love?” a familiar voice asked.

“Is she okay?” came a husky female voice from nearby.  Nesta turned towards the sound and saw a blur of golden hair surrounding sapphire-colored eyes in a narrow pink oval.  She blinked, and the blur coalesced into a face with sharp, exotic features.

“I think so,” replied the voice behind her.  “I guess I better bring her home though.  I don’t know what you put in that shit, but Mother above…”

There was a warm laugh.  “Need help?”  

“No thanks.”  The face above her swung from side to side, making her dizzy, and she felt herself being hoisted off the ground.  She was floating, suspended, and she stretched her arms over her head, bending backwards over the two hard beams that held her up.  Other hands brushed hers, and there was a murmuring as she passed weightlessly through the crowd.  Then they were outside, the cool air bracing.  She gulped it down like water and felt her head clear a little.  She knew these arms that held her.

“Cassian?” she asked.

“Yes, love?” he rumbled, as something dark spread behind him.  His wings.

“I love you, Cassian,” she said, tears starting in her eyes.  How had she never really realized this?  How deep this went?  How it affected every part of her?

“That’s a relief,” he replied, then kissed her forehead and launched them into the sky.

The cold air nipped at her skin and tore at her hair as they sailed over the city.  “We’re flying!” she shouted.

“Mother’s tits, Nesta, we fly every day.”

“But we’re really flying!  Don’t you know how…how…what a miracle that is?”

His whole body vibrated and she grabbed at his shoulders in case they should fall.  What was wrong with him?  Was he having some sort of fit?  They touched down on a roof and he set her gently down before bending over, howling with laughter.  She didn’t know what was so funny, so she just waited.  Finally, he regained control and straightened.  “Come on, love,” he said, scooping her up again, “let’s get you to bed.”

The apartment was dark as he kicked open the door, and there was a patter of tiny feet and then a small squeak, then lights flared to reveal the fluffy gray cat.  “Willow,” Nesta said, tears welling again.  “Willow, I missed you, kitty.  I love you.”  

Cassian carried her down the hall with the cat trotting behind and set her carefully on the bed then knelt to remove her shoes.  She sat watching him, the way the hair had escaped from its tie to fall across his cheekbone, his fingers undoing the straps of her shoes.  He pulled her to her feet and deftly flipped back the bedcover, then began unbuttoning her dress.  She pushed at him.  “I shouldn’t,” she said, and the words sounded uncomfortably loud in her ears.  “I have a mate.”  

“Yes, love, you do.  Me,” he replied, continuing to gently undress her.  Desire flared through her at the scrape of his fingers against her bare shoulders as he eased the dress down.  He picked her up and lay her down on the bed, then tucked the covers around her.  She grabbed his shirt when he tried to turn away, and tugged him down so his face was close to hers.  

“I want…” she couldn’t think of what she was going to say.  He waited patiently until she remembered.  “I want you to fuck me.”

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” he said, a smile in his voice.  

“But why not?”  She smacked him lightly on the shoulder.  

“You’re drunk.”

“Nah, I’m not drunk.  That’s just a…” Words were really hard to find.  “An excuse.  I’m not…I’m not a child.  Don’t you want to fuck me?”

He sat on the edge of the bed, cupped the side of her face in his hand, and brushed his thumb across her cheekbone.  “Yes, love, I do.  But not like this.”  She started to protest but he pressed a gentle finger against her lips.  “If you still want me to in the morning,  I promise I will.”  He rose then and left the room before she could respond.  Clinking sounded down the hall and she could hear Willow’s excited mews.  Lights turned out in the apartment, and then Cassian came back into the bedroom and set a glass of water on her nightstand.  He shut out the lights, but she could still hear the rustle as he removed his clothes.  Good.  Once he was naked in bed she could convince him.  But first, she would just close her eyes and rest for a minute.  She felt the bed sink under his weight, then his arms wrapped around her and pulled her against him.  In just a moment, she’d begin seducing him.  She just...needed...a...little...rest...

#nesta archeron #nessian #nesta x cassian #cassian #acowar #black jewels trilogy

[mrspettyferr]

Start of Time

Because we need more Elriel. So here is an Elain/Azriel drabble that was inspired from ACOWAR and the song, Start of Time by Gabrielle Aplin.

- - - 

When you walked into the room just then It's like the sun came out It's like the sun came out

And the day is clear My voice is just a whisper Louder than the screams you hear It's like the sun came out

- - - 

Elain Archeron stood before the mounds of dirt and grass as if it were a complicated riddle, twisting the iron ring on her finger idly. Her eyes slid to the tools and gloves Feyre had given her. She had thanked her sister, and told her she would venture into Velaris to choose the flowers she wished to plant.

She had barely made it two steps from the gates of the townhouse when she had gotten overwhelmed by the sounds and colors of the city before her. So she had ran into the townhouse, hurled past a confused Azriel and Cassian lounging in the sitting room, and ended up in her bedroom. She had decided to sit by the window, bathing in the sunlight, instead.

Elain wondered if the sounds would ever go away. She heard everything.

All the time.

Ever since becoming High Fae, her hearing had sharpened, but that was not nearly as concerning as the voices and visions. Sometimes it was hard to disconcert what was happening in her head and what was happening before her. And in a city as vibrant and bursting with life as Velaris…

Elain sighed and walked back into the town house. She found Azriel lounging on one of the sofa’s, a stack of papers sprawled on the table before him, his huge wings shining in the afternoon light. She felt her chest tighten, thinking of the scars that now permanentlylaced his wings. Scars he had endured to keep her alive.

He looked up at her then, as if sensing her attention. His beautiful face was so at odds with the darkness that swirled around him, yet Elain did not fear that darkness. If anything, it made her feel…calm. Safe.

“Is everything alright?” Azriel asked, his hazel eyes shifting into concern.

“Oh, yes. I was just…I was just going to find a book to read.”

“How is the garden coming along?”

“Fine,” Elain lied. She shrugged her delicate shoulders once. Twice. “Fine.”

His mouth twisted, as if sensing her lie, but he just said, “Good.”

She nodded and excused herself. She could have sworn she felt Azriel’s gaze on her as she crossed the sitting room and found the stairs. But when she glanced over her shoulder, his attention was once again on the papers before him.

- - - 

It had been two days since Elain had tried to go into the city. And today, she decided, she would go. She would tune out the voices and any visions—for they did not affect her all the time—and she would go. With Nesta still spending most of her time in her room, or with Amren, and Feyre’s duties as High Lady, and Cassian and Azriel in and out of the townhouse constantly with responsibilities of their own, and Mor running the Court of Nightmares…well, Elain would just have to rely on herself.

There was the matter of Lucien, but…

Lucien was spending most of his time traveling, establishing relations between courts. He was just as busy as the rest of them. Everyone here, Elain realized, had something to do. Some task, some important role. And Elain…had a garden.

And she could not even do that.

Her shoulders sagged. She had tried to hone in her visions—to control her seer abilities into something that was useful to her sister and Rhysand. But her visions were still inconsistent, random. Rhysand had said to be patient, that once her power had fully settled she might be able to control them, to wield them. But that had not happened yet, and it had been two months since the war with Hybern.

Elain pushed open the front gates and stepped onto the street. Laughter filled her ears, ringing like silver bells. She saw the children running, laughing as they pulled along colorful kites that danced in the wind. Music from a distant café boomed in her ears, echoing an upbeat tune. A female called to a male to bring back a loaf of bread for supper. Someone was crying. A light flashed brightly, as vibrant as the sun. Two people were arguing. There was singing, and more laughter, and conversations that Elain had no business hearing fluttered to her ears. She closed her eyes as it all crashed down on her and she turned, blindingly stumbling through the gate and—

Smacked right into a body that was as hard as a brick wall. Distantly she heard her name, felt someone grabbing her. It wasn’t until the grip on her wrists tightened and a commanding, unyielding voice said, “Elain, open your eyes,” that she finally did.

She blinked and blinked until those voices faded away, and all that was left was the brightness of Azriel’s hazel eyes as he stood before her.

“Elain,” he said again, this time more softly.

He was so tall and broad that she had to tilt her head back to properly look at him. Those familiar shadows swirled around his shoulders, snaking around his neck.

“Do you hear them, too?” She didn’t know why she whispered.

He didn’t ask who. He merely said, “Yes.”

“Does it ever go away?”

“No,” he offered gently. “But it does get…easier.”

“How?”

“Practice. Patience. Time. Your gift is a power. It cannot be controlled over night.”

She realized then that he was still holding her wrists. Her eyes flicked down, at the strong, scarred hands that held so much power. He immediately let go. “Where were you going?” he asked.

Elain gestured behind her vaguely with a hand. “To see if I could find...But then I heard the crying, and the laughing, and there was this bright, flashing light, and I’m not sure what was real and what wasn’t, and…” Her voice trailed off. She clamped her mouth shut. She was doing it again, the ramblings and musings.

But Azriel cut a glance at the bare garden and just nodded, as if what she had said made perfect sense.

His wings flared wide, and with a slight bow, he shot into the sky.

He returned several minutes later with a handful of bright, cobalt blue poppies. He handed them to her wordlessly and she had taken them, staring and staring at the soft petals.

It was only once he was inside that she realized they were the exact same shade of blue as the Siphons she had thought so beautiful.

- - - 

Elain planted the poppies, and when she was finished, the next day Azriel brought her a bundle of blood-red roses. And after that, sunshine yellow tulips. Then fluffy hydrangea’s.

And as Elain worked in her garden…it gave her focus. It helped tune out the visions and noises and sounds. It became a solace for her, a small beacon of quiet in the lively world around her. It had become a solace for the others, too.

Some days Cassian would come to ramble and rant, usually at Nesta’s expense. Elain would offer quiet words of encouragement as she worked, which usually led to Cassian huffing out an exasperated sigh and flinging himself into a chair in annoyance. And despair. Mor would sit at the wrought iron table with a glass of wine, chatting animatedly about everything from fashion to Rita’s to food to her horrible father. Amren would join her sometimes, too, and just stare out into the city. Feyre and Rhysand would ask how she was doing, compliment her work, and subtly ask about her abilities and give her updates on the relations between courts. Lucien, when he was here, would bring her dinner so she could continue to work into the long hours of the evening. 

And Azriel…Azriel visited the most often. He would sit on the chaise longue while she worked, silently looking over paperwork or reading a book. She’d catch the way he’d shift with the sun, wondering if he was bathing his wings in the warmth. She’d find herself staring at those scars when he wasn’t looking, and guilt clawed it’s way up her throat so fiercely that one day she actually choked out an apology and ran into the townhouse before he could even ask what for.

Elain groaned as she rose to her feet, wiping sweat from her forehead with her wrist. Dirt was caked under her nails and smothered across her arms. She was sure some was on her face, too. Her soft golden hair was pulled back, but after hours of tending to her garden it had nearly come loose, wispy curls falling in front of her face.

Somewhere along the planting and working, her ring had slipped off. She had searched frantically that first day, only to find that somehow, her hand felt a little lighter without it.

Elain stared at her work. She was no painter like Feyre, but…this was her art.

“Beautiful.”

She did not jump. Was not startled by the deep, velvety voice just over her shoulder. She did, however, turn, and beamed up at him. Perhaps it was the brightness of the sun, but Elain could have sworn Azriel’s shadows lit up as she faced him fully.

“Thank you,” she said. She brushed a loose curl behind her ear. “I was thinking of hanging some plants there,” she said, pointing to the back windows of the town house, “And maybe stacking more over here. Do you think Rhysand will mind? Maybe I should ask before I get too carried away.”

Azriel let out a low chuckle. “No, I don’t think he will mind. Which one’s are your favorite?”

“My favorite?”

He nodded, watching her intently.

Her grin widened. “That’s like asking you your favorite weapon.”

“Truth teller, obviously.”

She cut a glance to the blade at his hip—the blade she had shoved into the king’s throat. Where she had stepped out of shadow, a shadow she had not dared to ask Azriel about. Had she somehow summoned it? Had Azriel? Had it been the blade itself? That was a question for another day, another time.

Elain thought of the king again. Thought of the sound of that knife slicing through flesh. The sounds of the battle raging around her, Cassian groaning on the ground, Nesta begging, Feyre shouting and crying and—

“Elain?”

She blinked and looked up into Azriel’s concerned face. “Oh, sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry I mentioned it.” A shadow slid from his body and curled over the blade, concealing it from her.

But Elain simply reached through the shadow, and Azriel did not stop her as she pulled the blade free. “It saved my life,” she said quietly, twisting the knife in her hand, the sun gleaming off the shining steel. “It saved my sisters life. It saved…everyone.”

“No, you did, Elain,” Azriel amended gently. “You saved everyone.”

She shook her head and slid truth teller back into it’s place at his hip. “I’m no warrior.”

 - - - 

As weeks turned to months, Elain had completely transformed the town house. The garden at the back of the house was a sparling, vibrant collection of flowers and vines and potted plants. Elain had then tackled the front of the house, dotting the little lawn in the front with handsome shrubbery and potted flowers. She had Cassian attach a flower box under Nesta’s window, like the one she had placed under Feyre’s, so that her oldest sister may find some brightness in her long, dark days.

Elain wanted a special type of flower for her sisters. She just didn’t know which ones.

She was still mulling it over as she tended to the back garden, her gloved hands deep in the soil when Azriel landed on a phantom wind, a stack of papers tucked under his arm.

She wiped her forehead as he took his usual place on the chaise, wings flaring wide behind him. Shadows settled around him like a dark fog, and she watched him for several long moments as he sorted through his paperwork. If he noticed her staring—and he most definitely did—he did not comment.

Elain craned her head back to look at Nesta’s window. It looked unbearably lonely, the empty flower box.

Elain got to her feet, sliding off her gloves and tossing them onto the ground. She dusted off her hands, flecks of dirt coating her fingers. Azriel looked at her then, raising a brow in silent question.

Nervous, suddenly, she laced her fingers tightly together in front of her. She took a deep breath and said, “I was wondering if you might…if you might accompany me into the city. I thought I might, thought I’d find something for Nesta. For her window.”

Something shifted in Azriel’s too hard to read eyes. She looked at his paperwork, took in his leathers and Siphons and truth teller at his hip, and suddenly found her request absolutely ridiculous. He was the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court’s Spymaster. He had more important things to do than escort her around the city while she searched for flowers.

Elain began shaking her head, her cheeks flushing, wishing she had asked someone else instead. Mor. She should have asked Mor.

“If—” Elain began.

But Azriel cut her off as he said, “Yes. Yes, I can take you into the city.” He stood up then, gathering his paperwork.

“You don’t have to,” said Elain. “If you’re too busy—”

“I’m not.” He smiled at her gently, the same smile she remembered the first time she met him. A smile that rushed a calming over her. He tucked the paperwork under his arm and then held out his other arm when he stood closer to Elain. “Shall we?”

Her hands were dirty. She was dirty, her soft ivory gown filthy around the ankles. But Azriel didn’t seem to notice, or care, as he kept his arm out patiently. So she took it.

He led her through the house, passed off his paperwork to an exasperated looking Cassian, and led Elain out the townhouse. He only paused when they reached the front gates.

“Still time to turn around,” he said.

Elain was grateful for his playful tone as the bustling street and those on it became louder. But she held her head high, like she had seen Feyre do time and time again, like she had seen Nesta do. “No,” she said. She was ashamed at the nervous edge to her voice. “No, this time I won’t run away.”

Sensing her unease, he said, “We could winnow—right into the flower shop, if you like.”

She thought about that. But…

“Could we fly?” she whispered, hating the small sound of her voice. Because when she had flown, when he had carried her, she…she had not felt afraid. Of anything.

Azriel nodded and swept her into his arms in one fluid, smooth movement. He did it with such ease. She sometimes forgot exactly how strong he was—how strong she could be, too. If she ever tried.

Then he was off, his wings flapping against the warm breeze as they soared into the sky. Golden light spilled over the city in a bright cascade of color. Elain tightened her arms around Azriel’s neck as they flew closer to the heart of Velaris—in answer, he tightened his arms around her, too.

She blinked and saw it then—an image of a silver lake, a fire dancing in the wind—and heard someone screaming, screaming so loud she thought her ears might bleed, when she felt something soft and gentle brush against the shell of her ear.

Elain realized she had been so tense in Azriel’s arms that she must be nearly choking him, and she relaxed as the image faded away and the shadow at her ear eased her into a sense of calm. She peered up at Azriel in question, but his unrelenting focus was on the city ahead as they neared their destination.

Elain closed her eyes when he landed, not to brace for the impact—no, she didn’t even feel them land; he had done so that smoothly—but for the crowd that was sure to overwhelm her. Only, it did not come. Elain opened her eyes and blinked.

She stared at the bustling market square, vendor booths selling their wares and children playing by a large stone fountain. There was a roar of laughter from a nearby tavern, and one of the little café’s was filled with couples sharing a romantic dinner. It was so beautiful, so full of life—just like her garden. Color and beauty and life.

Elain didn’t know if it was the soft shadows that surrounded her, or the shadowsinger that held her, that helped tone down her senses. But when he set her down gently—always so gently—she looked up at him and smiled.

This time she did see the shadows lighten, and it was like the sun came out. And when he returned her smile, wider and broader than she had ever seen before, she thought her own shadows lightened, too.

So Elain took the arm Azriel offered as they explored Velaris. Now that she was here—finally here—she wanted to see it all. So he showed her. When she had hopped in excitement at the theater, and he had rolled his eyes, she had made him promise to take her, to prove to him that not all theater was “romantic nonsense,” as he’d said. And when they had passed three young kids who had stared at Azriel’s scarred hands—not out of hatred or disgust, but out of a curiosity that made the shadowsinger nearly fade into shadow—she had grabbed one of his hands and tugged him along.

He did not let go.

Neither did she.

When they finally left the flower shop, Elain had chosen bright, fiery hibiscus flowers for Nesta. She had found deep, nearly black calla lily’s for Feyre. And for herself, because she too wanted to have something beautiful to look at from her window, those cobalt blue poppies.

#elriel #azriel x elain #azriel #elain archeron #acowar