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historiaxvanserra · 4 months

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Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of

Pairing: SingleDad!Rhys x Reader

Summary: After his mate and the mother of his son abandons them, The High Lord and Nyx are left alone and wanting.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: allusions to sexual assault, allusions to depression, abandonment, broken homes (y'know keeping it light, in all seriousness this is not all angst it's quite sweet actually).

The sky is painted in hues of lavender and mauve and the flowering ivory clouds shade Velaris in a perpetual state of dusk. The silvery light of the waxing moon seems to cast you in a gentle opal light as you approach the opulent manor. The High Lord’s townhouse is nestled in the heart of the city of starlight and wreathed in the colors of twilight; a slate facade that looks as though it is crowned in green, climbing ivy and night-blooming jasmine frame the large bay windows on the ground floor. From here you can see the large stained-glass window on the top floor, light refracts and it casts a myriad of dancing light onto the stone below-- dappled pinks and roses that fracture and give way to amethyst and indigo.

You spare a look to your aged companion as she breaches the threshold of the High Lord’s residence and, on unsteady feet, approaches the ornate wooden door and knocks thrice.

You remain for a moment a solitary figure at the entryway of the property, contemplating the series of events that led you here. Mother above, you chastise yourself. The thought occurs to you then, that perhaps you had made a mistake in coming here; that you should have given yourself more time, that you should have remained in the quiet solitude of the library where the world seems like a bitter memory.

“Come, girl.” Madja’s voice is tired and impatient as she beckons you closer with the wave of a crooked finger. “Don’t just stand there.”

You swallow thickly, bowing your head in obedience and you notice how her eyes soften as you approach the door tentatively.

“Nervous?” the old woman asks, you feel her eyes on you-- examining and critical.

“A little,” You admit, eyes downcast as you loose a shaky breath, “I haven’t left the library besides for training in quite some time.”

You stare down at the sleeves of your faded pewter robes as they billow in the evening breeze; the silver embroidery around the cuffs has begun to fray and the layers of fabric gather about your waist, the pleats have been poorly ironed and the heavy fabric falls over the curve of your hip haphazardly and pools to the floor in a swathe of heavy cotton. Shame pools in your stomach at the sight of your slippers as they peek out from the skirts of your robe.

It’s about time you asked Clotho for a new set of robes you think.

“You’ve met him before, no?” Madja’s voice breaks the tenuous peace you have found in those moments. You look up at her and a deep set frown graces her weathered face, “when you first came to Velaris?”

The visions fall on you like night; the Moonstone Palace saturated in onyx and jade, the reflections of your face in the marble of the throne room floor, the sentries as they dragged you before the High Council. The sounds of your screams and a sea of rubies and pearls as the bodice of your dress is torn away from your heaving chest-- all that red. Terrible and red.

Hewn City had always been cruel to you. You, a useless daughter to an ambitious man. The dreams are less vivid now but the sound of footsteps on marble still haunts you.

“Yes, it was him who brought me to Velaris-- after-afterwards,” You acquiesce to her questioning, eyes set on the light beyond the frosted glass panes of the onyx doorway, “though I doubt he remembers.”

Your avenging angel.

Madja looks at you carefully, taking account of you before she nods to you in silent acknowledgement.

The door to the High Lords townhouse opens with a flourish to reveal Morrigan. She’s more beautiful than you remember, radiant even as the dark shadows of sleep cling to her. Her golden hair hangs in loose waves over the delicate curve of her shoulder and though the deep umber of her eyes meets yours in a warm inviting stare as she utters your name.

She knows your name.

“Come on in from the cold.” she beckons you with the curve of a slender hand. You smile politely as you cross the threshold of the house. The wards fall away as you pass through into the foyer and the smell of mandarin and night blooming jasmine flood your senses.

The foyer to the townhouse is truly beautiful; a testament to the fine artistry and craftsmanship that seemed to define Velaris’ art district. The walls are paneled wood, painted in a shade of twilight that can only be found here, in The Night Court, and the burgundy carpet so rich in color that it reminds you of a blood moon, the oil paintings that hang on the walls seem to exude an air of majesty unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

In this room night reigns triumphant and you behold it all with a sense of wonder and awe. A careful deference to the love and care contained between these walls. It is a home that has been truly cherished by the people that live here.

“Did Madja tell you why you had been summoned here?” Morrigan’s voice is soft and sweet and the feeling of her hand on your robed arm pulls you from your thoughts.

“Sorry - I - uh” I stutter, glancing between her hand on my arm and the unyielding warmth of her gaze. “No she didn’t, only that there was a position in the High Lord’s household that Clotho recommended me for.”

“It was my recommendation actually,” Morrigan smiles proudly, letting her hand drop to her side idly. “Clotho just happened to agree.” The words leave her lips with the ghost of a smirk as she recalls the conversation between her and the High Priestess.

The last time you had spoken to Morrigan would have been in Hewn City, all those years ago. You abandon yourself to those days; when you had been the cursed daughter of a capricious Lord. The girl you were died under that mountain. The woman that stands in her place had been forged of blood, and splintered bone-- made strong by violence and tempered by time.

You nod solemnly and cast a glance to Madja who watches on in quiet curiosity.

“Rhys is upstairs,” Morrigan says softly to you both, gesturing up the staircase to the upper level of the house, “I’ll fetch him down”.

You notice then how troubled Mor looks. The rings around her eyes are pale purple and blue and her skin, once radiant, has become pale and sallow. She begins her ascent up the stairs with a small wave of her hand signaling Madja to follow. From here you can see a singular light that pierces through the blanket of the dark that shrouds the upper levels of the house.

Mor regards you once more as Madja passes her on the stairs and points towards the ornate door that leads to the antechamber at the heart of the house. “Go on in, we won’t be a moment.” In a flourish of golden blonde hair and crimson Morrigan winnows away and leaves you to linger in the foyer for a quiet moment.

The smell of cherries and marigold shades the air in her absence.

Voices, disembodied and distant from the upper levels of the house draw you into the heart of the house.

The antechamber of the High Lords townhouse is a beautiful living room, plunged into near darkness spare the slivers of jade light that dapple the dark walls from the emerald chandelier, even in the darkness you can make out the dark marble of the hearth that is draped with moonflowers and ivy. The low backed chairs are elegant and worn from use and there are books strewn about the room and a small library contained neatly in the alcove.

Your eyes find the painting hung above the hearth; immortalized on oil and canvas the High Lord of Night and his Lady. The High Lord is painted in a deep navy tunic and the silver paint mimics the delicate embroidery favored by the Velarian tailors in The Rainbow. His violet eyes shine bright against the dark.

He is a thing of dark beauty, you think.

In this light, his High Lady looks as though she is wreathed in starlight as smiles down on the antechamber from her place above the hearth. You observe the pointed curve of her nose and the upturn of her cerulean eyes and something aching and jealous festers in you at the sight of her beauty.

Otherworldly and ethereal.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The low tenor of a man calls out from the darkness of the room, the voice is measured and devoid of any emotion as it permeates the dark. The male cuts an intimidating figure in the low light and all thought and sound eddies from your mind. You’re sure the sound of your heart like an echoing war drum is loud enough to shake the mountains as he takes a step towards you.

“High Lord?” you question. He steps further into the light and you regard him pensively; his skin is pallid and his eyes are ringed with dark circles of amethyst that trouble you. His onyx hair is left tousled and the ends have grown long enough to curl away from the harsh lines of his face. The sharp junction of his jaw has become obscured by the smatterings of coarse, black hair that grow there.

Even still, even in the unforgiving jade light, he is the most beautiful male you have ever seen. He smells of night blooming jasmine and violets undercut with something inherently masculine. Pine and whiskey perhaps.

His presence is something truly captivating; dark and intoxicating. When he looks at you there is only dark in those violet eyes.

The High Lord sinks into the worn armchair by the hearth with a deep sigh and for a moment he allows his eyes to flutter closed as he breathes deeply and all you can do is surrender yourself to that dark magnetism. The dying fire in the hearth warms him and in this light you notice the golden hues of his skin and the dark inky trails tattooed across the planes of his chest where his shirt opens.

“You’re staring--” The High Lord’s violet eyes falls onto you. In those liminal spaces between the seconds, when he is looking at you, all ceases to be. You tilt your chin downwards, hoping to avert his gaze, as you offer him a courteous bow.

“My apologies High L-” the apology is cut off by the High Lords gentle protests. None of that, Love.

You pray to the mother that he doesn’t notice the flush along the tops of your cheeks or the wild fluttering of your heart at the pet name.

“Sit down,” The High Lord gestures simply to the seat across from him by the hearth and his whole demeanor is somehow softer when you deign to look at him again. Wordlessly you comply with his request, a careful hand runs down the length of your robes to smooth out the lazy pleats in the skirt as they fan out around you in the low backed chair and while you don’t dare to meet his eyes directly you can feel him looking at you.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologizes though his voice is distant, despondent even and his eyes find the painting that looms over the hearth. “The portrait-- It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He muses, tipping the rim of his whiskey glass towards the portrait.

“Very beautiful, High Lord.” you agree, smoothing the heavy material of your robes again. He watches you then with a curious glint in his eyes and he takes a few moments to assess you.

“Just Rhysand will do,” He smiles lightly, though there's a sense of apprehension as he regards you playing with the threads of your sleeves for the third time in so many moments, “there’s no need for such formalities when it’s just the two of us.”

“No of course not,” You agree and look at him through thick lashes and offer him a small smile in return, “forgive me, I’m--” you extend a hand to him over the small end table between the arm chairs and he takes it in earnest shaking it lightly. A calloused pad of his thumb rubs an absentminded circle into the skin of your hand before he brings your hand, trembling and slender, to the sulk of his lips and places a chaste kiss against the knuckles.

“I know who you are, Priestess,” he says lightly-- playfully. You offer him a polite laugh in return and nod your head again.

Something dark burns in his eyes in those moments; silver and violet. Like the darkness between the stars. He smiles to himself then, a soft beautiful thing. A secret shared between him and the dying light in the hearth as he picks at an errant threat on the stitching of his shirt.

“Why am I here, Rhysand?” You ask, inhaling deeply, hoping that his answer might assuage the anxiety that has been coiling in your stomach all afternoon. The door to the antechamber opens then and light, golden and radiant spills into the room all at once. The radiant light reveals the room to you fully, you observe the emerald velvet chairs and the dark wood furnishings, the landscapes hung on the walls and the rare manuscripts and novels bound all in black that line the walls.

This house is something truly breathtaking.

It feels like a home you realize.

“There you are!” Morrigan's velvet voice smothers the morose tension in the room as she comes into view. She’s since shed the tiredness that plagued her before and you notice the way her hair frames her face like a halo of gold in the soft ochre light. In her arms, swaddled in sapphire spider silk, is the High Lord’s son.

“We were beginning to wonder where you had gone.” Mor coos at the bundle in her arms as she approaches Rhysand who takes the babe in his strong arms.

As if he could get any more beautiful-- the man looks as though he was carved by The Mother.

It’s wrong, you know. He is your High Lord and you are…

The cursed daughter of a capricious Lord, you remind yourself.

Rhysand glances at me hesitantly and I meet his eyes briefly before focusing on the babe in his arms. He’s since broken loose from the swaddling and his chubby fist clutches at his fathers shirt. I can just see the top of his little head, it's all tufts of curly blue-black hair and pointed pink ears. You smile fondly to yourself as he continues to wriggle in his father’s grasp.

Gods, it’s been so long since you had smiled that wide without the feeling of guilt that usually attends it.

“You used to be a governess, didn’t you?” Mor says by way of explanation for your summons. To her credit her smile never falters even as your demeanor hardens against her, “Clotho said you had talked about it a few times.”

“Yes. I was,” You admit swallowing thickly, your voice comes out strained like the words themselves pain you to speak, “that was a long time ago though.”

That had been long before him.

You must have only been a youngling yourself. You had been happy-- that much you remember. Those were the happy recollections of your old life; summers spent under the opal lights of The Moonstone place, children’s laughter like birdsong that breaks apart in the humid air as you danced and sang long into the nights. Of dark autumns and smoky air, a bonfire and a small hand that holds your own with such gentle reverence.

“Clotho said you wanted to leave the Library?” Rhysand questions you, his eyes are dark and filled with a thinly veiled darkness that draws you into their depths as you speak to him without pretense.

“I do,” You answer him honestly, your voice wavering only a little, “I don’t want to spend my days rotting in the depths of that House.”

Rhysand considers it carefully and his face twists into a pained expression that almost breaks your resolve. You hadn’t meant to hurt him-- never. But you’re done hiding in the dark.

The world is a cruel place and full of cruel men. It always had been and it always will be. There is nought you can do to change that. So why should you cower from the world any longer?

You want to live.

The whining of the restless babe in Rhys’ arms rouses your attention and something akin to longing gathers in your chest as you regard him. You pull a lip between your teeth as he fusses and Rhysand struggles to soothe him. The babe looses a cry that comes out as a pitiful howl and you can feel a small ripple of power permeate the air.

“May I hold him?” The words take everyone in the room by surprise and the High Lord only nods easily and stands to pass the babe into your arms.

“I’m grateful,” You continue as Rhysand stands before you and transfers his son’s weight into the crook of your arm, “To you and your court for providing me, and girls like me with somewhere to heal but--”

“But you weren’t meant to cower in the darkness of the library forever.” Rhysand’s words come out as little more than a whisper and the feeling of his warm breath on your skin is something entirely perverse.

You shake your head, mouthing an inaudible ‘no’ before lowering yourself back into the chair by the hearth, hoping to hide the rosy blush that spreads across your cheeks. Rhys doesn’t retreat back into his armchair like you had thought he might and instead sinks to his knees before you and allows one of his son's fists to wrap around his ring finger. The babe seems to quieten then in your arms as he nuzzles against your chest, one balled first clinging to his father and the other pulling at the neckline of your robes and he smiles sleepily in your arms.

Looking at him now you are overcome with the realization of the absence that had stained this family’s happiness. Rhysand had given himself completely to a woman who had changed her mind. And their son-- their son; all cherub cheeked and big blue eyes framed with dark lashes-- had been abandoned by the woman who was supposed to love him without condition. Before the ghost of her had been an abstract thing. Something intangible and errant, a whisper or a memory, but now, as you look between the babe in your arms and the woman immortalized about the hearth you feel nothing but biting fury. A dangerous wrath only tempered by the stilling of the High Lord beside you.

It is Morrigan’s movement at the side of the room that rouses you from thought. “Then perhaps we can come to an arrangement?” The smile that graces her lips is brilliant and calculating and the sparkle in those umber eyes tells you she is genuine in his intentions.

“An arrangement?” You ask hesitantly, raising one arched brow to her.

“Yes.” The High Lord nods in agreement as Morrigan approaches you all casually, sauntering over to snatch a glass of wine from the decanter, “you’re free to leave the Library at any time but--”

“Help me take care of Nyx,” The High Lord beats you to it, his voice is soft and gentle and one of his fingers runs along the curve of Nyx’s ear as he begins to doze in your arms.

“High Lor-” You start, and you’re torn between declining outright and trying to dissuade them altogether, “Mor, I haven’t cared for a babe in well over 60 years.”

“Listen to me,” Rhysand’s violet gaze is unyielding and when you can no longer avert his gaze he takes on of your hands in his own and all but pleads with you, “take care of Nyx, for one year-- just until I get used to doing it on my own-- just until he starts his pre-schooling.”

The thought of him raising his son all alone pains you, a physical, bone deep ache that settles over you. You mourn for him then, for the love he thought he had, for all that he lost and then you mourn for the babe in your arms. For the son who will grow up without knowing his mother’s love. The High Lord looks at you through dark lashes and you note the tiredness in his eyes and the desperate sadness that seems to radiate from him these days and yet, he smile softly at you. As one might smile at something lovely and precious.

“And in return?” You ask peering down at him with sympathetic eyes when his whole body goes lax.

“I’ll help you get set up somewhere-- anywhere you want.” The words come quickly and if you were a cruel woman you would see what more he would offer you. But when he’s looking at you like you might just be his last hope you can’t find it in you to do anything but allow yourself to be persuaded by him.

You see a home; a cottage maybe, made of ancient stone and covered with climing ivy and jasmine. On the outskirts of Velaris, away from the artisans and market stalls of the main square, but close enough that you never feel truly alone. A home and it smells of mandarin and moonflowers, the sound of children laughing, and a garden blooming with violets in the garden in the leonine yellow heat of high summer. You smile wistfully and you swear you feel the gentle caress of a hand in your mind's eye.

“You can live here with us in the meantime” Rhysand continues gesturing to the house around you.

It’s warm and inviting and your body sings in response to the prospect.

“I don’t think that's a good--”

“Just until you find somewhere of your own.” He assures you standing to his full height before you. He casts a morose glance to the portrait that hangs about the hearth and you can see the moment his violet eyes meet painted cerulean.

“Rhys--” You warn gently.

“Please,” He turns to you again and the desperation in his tone has you yielding to him further, a gentle sweep over your face before settling on the sleeping babe in your arms, “please.” He repeats it once more and you swear your heart breaks just a little bit for him.

He had saved you once, you think. You had only been a girl then but you remember looking at him in that light; he looked like the shadow of some dark winged God-- avenging and angelic.

Perhaps this time the girl can save the God.

“A bargain then.” You muse lightly holding out a pinky finger to him.

Rhysand huffs out a laugh and curls his finger around your own. Nyx’s hand seems to flex in response, his own tiny pinky finger outstretched in agreement.

“A bargain.” With the simple confirmation you feel the gentle burn of a promise as it kisses its way up your wrist, and you see Rhysand’s own inky sigil as it glows faintly on the skin of his outstretched arm.

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand acotar #rhysand imagine #rhys acotar #rhys fanfic #rhysand headcanons

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illyrianbitch · 3 months

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Beneath the Ashes of Our Broken Oaths — Part Three

Pairing: Morrigan's Sister!Reader x Azriel

Summary: After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Morrigan’s twin sister, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience. Torn between your anger and a desire to protect the good, you begrudgingly agree and are forced to face memories of a past life and the unsettling presence of Azriel– the first man you ever loved.

Warnings: depictions of physical injuries, alcohol use, mention of drugs, Rhysand being a condescending prick, reader being shady

Word Count: 5.5k

← Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Your nose was broken.

This you were sure of. So was your right leg. And your arm.

Your father was a thorough, thorough man.

There was a nauseating metallic taste in your mouth, a darkening in your vision. You couldn't see much. Eyes too fat, too swollen. Your mouth wasn't any better. Busted, bruised. You couldn't make out the silhouette in front of you--- but you smelled her.

"You shouldn't be here," Evadne said. "Why did you come back?"

You felt her hands on you, tender and soft, examining you, assessing the best way to help. Her hands were warm against your cold skin.

“For you,” you whispered. Your voice is ragged, broken. You weren't sure how you managed to speak. You continued. “I couldn't leave you.”

A heavy sigh. Her arms wrapped around you. A flickering sense of pain spreading throughout your body. You slumped against her.

"That heart of yours will get you killed," she murmured softly.

A cough. Liquid trickled from your lips. The taste of iron flooded your mouth. Blood. You leaned against her, heartbeat in your ears.

“Then I’m already dead.”

“Gods, you look like hell.”

You groaned, slowly lifting yourself up from your sprawled-out position on the worn leather couch. As you blinked away the remnants of sleep, your eyes struggled to adjust to the harsh glow of the day, slowly leaking in through the opened windows— Evadne’s work, you assumed. They were closed last you remembered.

Lifting your hand to shield your eyes, your gaze settled on your best friend who stood over you with her arms crossed over her chest, brows furrowed as she stared down at you.

“Did you sleep on your couch all night?”

Your eyes shuttered as you let your hand fall back down, a deep sense of exhaustion settling heavily upon you. “Maybe,” you said, your voice hoarse. “Yes.”

With a gentle shuffle, Evadne made her way around the piece of furniture, her footsteps muffled against the worn carpet. She tapped lightly at your legs, silently urging you to make room as she settled herself beside you. You complied, maneuvering yourself into an upright position as she took her place at your side.

Her brows furrowed, gaze sweeping over your disheveled appearance. She leaned in, soon pulling away with her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Did you drink a whole damn bar?”

It had only been a few days since Rhysand and Azriel visited you, a few days since you’d practically sold them out to your father. You couldn’t sleep, your mind plagued by visions of your family — of Azriel. At first, you welcomed them, embracing them as a refuge from your normal nightmares. But soon, those new images became worse, more volatile, more painful. You let out a sigh, slowly turning your head to look at Evadne.

“I had no mirthroot left.”

“Y/n.” She widened her eyes. “I just gave you that. It’s supposed to last you weeks.”

“Well, I’ve been under a lot of stress recently,” you retorted. Your tone was sharper than you intended, the stress of your situation festering into a reactionary annoyance. She let out a small sigh and a sense of guilt chewed at you for your flippant response. You deflated.

“I’m sorry,” you said, “I’m just on edge. I don’t mean to snap at you.”

Evadne shook her head gently. There was a moment of silence as she looked you over.

"How do we live in a city of decay and you're still the most depressing thing I've seen today?"

There was a glint of amusement in her dark brown eyes.

“Bite me,” you shot back, managing a weak smile in spite of yourself. The corners of your lips twitched upwards as you looked at her. A second passed. You both let out a small laugh.

Evadne had this effect on you, the ability to make you feel like you were in your body again, like your anger wasn’t consuming you the way you always felt it was. Headstrong, funny, kind… she was all the things you wanted to be – all the things your sister was, once upon a time.

Her smile softened into a smaller, more gentle expression. "Do you wanna talk about it?" she asked, her voice filled with a genuine care that made you want to cry— out of desperation, if anything. Out of a longing to be freed of the worries that now plagued you.

You shook your head. You didn’t have to look in a mirror to see what Evadne was worried about, to know why her eyes kept carefully scanning your face. The impact of everything, the lack of sleep, the stress, the alcohol, the mirthroot, it was all no doubt evident in every line etched into your face, in your sluggish movements.

“It’s all falling apart.”

“No,” she replied. “We planned for some complications.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and empty in the quiet of the room. “Yeah, complications, not my nosy cousin and an even nosier spymaster,” you grumbled bitterly.

Evadne fixed you with a pointed look. “So we’re refusing to even say names now?”

You shot her a glare, annoyance boiling up inside you. The feeling quickly simmered when you met her gaze, patient and unwavering. It had gotten worse recently, your ability to keep your emotions in check. It was all the stress, all of this faith being put in you. It was smothering you. But you couldn’t admit it– after all, you’d brought it on yourself. Eventually, you let out a weary sigh, feeling the fight drain out of you as you slumped against the worn cushions of the couch.

"Fine," you muttered, the resignation evident in your voice. "We didn’t plan for Rhysand and Azriel."

Evadne mirrored you, falling back further into the couch. “Maybe it's time,” she said with a simple shrug.

You frowned, looking at her with knitted brows. “Time for what?”

“To confront that past of yours.”

Your reaction was instant, your body shooting upright, pointed and stiff. You rose from the couch, taking a moment to gather your thoughts.

“No,” you said sternly, turning around to look down at her. There was a deep sense of anger churning in your stomach, a sense of betrayal that had been unearthed from the depths of your being—you didn’t want to dwell on it, didn’t want to go deep diving into the black hole that was your family history.

Evadne didn’t back down, though, blinking slowly. She met your gaze with a calm resolve, eyebrows lifted ever so slightly as if she had anticipated your reaction, as if she viewed it as nothing more than a momentary outburst– a child throwing a tantrum. “Y/n,” she began.

“No,” You said again, your voice firm and resolute. “There's nothing I need to confront," you threw the word back at her emphasizing it with a shake of your head. "Don't treat me like I'm some child."

Evadne let out a heavy sigh, a sense of frustration rolling through her body as her shoulders sagged. She shook her head slightly. "Y/n," she began, "I'm not treating you like some child."

With a fluid motion, she rose from her seat, her movements graceful, purposeful. Meeting your gaze, she continued, "I've never seen you so rattled." She paused for a moment. "And you've dealt with a lot worse than two pretty boys."

You stood there, unmoving, lips pressed together into a thin line, your eyes fixed on the worn floorboards beneath your feet. With a subtle tilt of her head, Evadne attempted to catch your lowered gaze, her own expression still soft, still determined.

"This anger," she began, as you lifted your eyes to meet hers. She furrowed her brows, a flicker of sadness passing through her eyes, she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your anger, it is killing you."

With a small exhale, you shook your head, a tightness in your jaw evident as you clenched your teeth. "No," you asserted, the word resonating with a sense of defiance. "It's fueling me." Your eyes bore into hers.

Evadne didn’t move, didn’t look away. Instead, she simply tilted her head, reaching forward to grab your hands in hers. The crease in her eyebrows deepened. “It is still killing you all the same.”

You stilled, your face falling at her words. She was right. She usually was. You’d spent so long harboring your grudges, holding onto them at night like they were warm bodies, like they were things that could comfort you, fill the holes of the people they used to be. But the grudges only made you bitter, made you angry— and you were the only person that felt that anger. Not them. Never them.

You looked down, your gaze falling to where her hands gently held yours. It was then you caught a glimpse of her arms under the long sleeves of her dress, wrists decorated with a plethora of gold bangles. You tilted your head, taking in the glimmering sheen of the metals. Evadne loved her jewelry— loved her gold. It made her feel like a queen, she had told you once, reminded her of her worth. But she was always very careful about parading such shiny things around. Shiny things were noticed in a city of gloom. Shiny things got you hurt.

You pulled her hands up to eye level, a fast and swift motion that had her letting out a small gasp, your name falling from her lips in protest. You ignored it, fingers pulling up her sleeve, pushing the bangles up her arm.

A surge of icy rage flooded through you, coursing through your veins like a bitter chill. The feeling mingled with a fiery anger that simmered in your stomach, a volatile concoction that left you breathless, left you seeing red. Clenching your jaw tightly, you lifted your gaze to meet Evadne's.

“I’ll kill him.”

She looked at you for a moment, holding your intense gaze. Her eyes then flickered down and she gently pulled her hands away from you. She observed them for a moment, the dark bruises that marred her delicate wrists, stark against the golden hue of her skin. Then, she carefully slid her bracelets to their original position, pulling down her sleeves to cover any evidence of her hurt.

“No,” she said calmly, “But I will, one day. Like we’ve planned.”

"Evadne..."

You looked at her, taking in the beauty of her features, illuminated by the soft glow filtering through the windows. She was beautiful, so beautiful. And she was trapped here, in this city of filth, of ruin. You imagined a different future for her, a future where she lived in a place full of life— a place in the Day Court, perhaps, filled with sunshine and fresh air. A life where she could wear jewelry for the sake of their beauty, where she could be treated like a queen. A life that she deserved. Another wave of rage hit you. Evadne noticed, instantly leaning in to catch your eyesight.

"Y/n, It’s okay," Her voice was calm, collected. She reached out, her hand resting gently on your arm. "You keep your family busy. I’ll stick with the plan."

You nodded your head slowly, taking a deep breath as the fiery storm of rage slowly subsided within you. "Okay, I can do that," you said, "Are you sure?"

You searched Evadne's eyes for any sign of doubt. But all you found was an unwavering resolve, a fierce determination mirrored in her gaze. She smiled, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Yes, I’m sure. We just need to buy time.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you anxiously ran a hand through your hair, your head still nodding at her words. You made your way across the room to where your liquor collection sat, the bottles gleaming in the light.

“How many do you think we have for tonight?” You asked, throwing the question over your shoulder. You heard her let out a small breath, footsteps following as she walked towards you.

"Not a lot,” she admitted. “Less than half.”

You let out a sigh, the tension in your muscles releasing slightly as you poured yourself a drink. The amber liquid flowed smoothly into the glass.

“They’re scared. Rhysand visiting is enough to unnerve them, but visiting you?”

“I know.” You felt a sense of guilt nag at you, tightening your stomach. You grabbed the crystal class in your hands turning to face Evadne. She glanced at you, then at your glass, and frowned.

“Are you sure you’re okay for tonight?” you asked her, your gaze momentarily falling down to where she held her hands together.

She met your eyes with a flat look. "Of course I am,” she responded. “I always am.”

You wanted to press further, to ask what else her golden dress was concealing, what else he had done to her, but you held your tongue, storing away your anger for when it would be useful, for when it could be power.

There was a thickness in your throat that wouldn’t move. Instead of replying, you lifted your brows at her, pulling your cup to your lips. Evadne moved before you could blink, grabbing the cup from your hands.

“What the hell?” You asked with a pinched expression. She merely stared at you, head tilted, eyes narrowed.

“They need a leader tonight, not a drunk," she asserted, her gaze steady upon you.

You met her eyes with a tightening of your jaw, a subtle crease forming between your brows. "Fine," you muttered, begrudgingly.

Without hesitation, Evadne downed the cup’s contents before placing it back in your hands. "Pull yourself together," she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. You kept her gaze for a moment, and then her eyes were softening, her lips curving upwards, corners of her mouth lifting in a tender yet somber expression.

“They are not worth you falling apart."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was dark when you returned home, your cloak hanging heavily on your shoulders. Your limbs protested with every step, heavy and achy, beads of sweat along your brow. Tonight had given you a release, a time to channel all your energy into something useful. But even then, there were too many things to think about, too many new factors to take into account. It exhausted you— your mind had never been so active, so anxious. You let out a defeated sigh as you opened the door.

You paused in the doorway, your heart stiffening at the sight of him, all fatigue momentarily forgotten. You were too caught up in your thoughts, too distracted to notice the other presence in your home, the other scent that filled it.

Rhysand’s gaze fixed expectantly on you, sitting in a chair that faced the entrance of your home. There was an eerily calm sense to him, an unnerving comfort in his body language. If you didn’t know him, if you weren’t aware of your relationship, you could've mistaken him for a man in the comfort of his own home, sitting at his own table.

You looked at him for a moment, taking in his appearance— a picture of regal confidence, a relaxed posture that was still commanding, still poised. He was alone tonight, no figures hidden in darkness, no smooth slithering of shadows. Azriel wasn’t with him. There was a squeeze in your stomach.

"Do you ever knock?" you spat, your voice sharp with irritation as you closed the door behind you with a forceful thud.

He remained unphased by your display of frustration, watching as you moved across the room, settling to lean against the backside of your couch. You crossed your arms, glaring at him.

"I did," he replied, his voice smooth and unruffled. "You weren't home."

With a sharp exhale, you scoffed, the sound laced with annoyance. Every second spent facing him filled you with an itching irritation, an anger that seeped through your skin. Deep in the back of your mind, an aching appeared– a tiny part of you that longed for his company, that craved for some resolution. You shoved it away, breaking it apart into pieces.

"So what? You just let yourself in?"

"Yes," he replied, his tone nonchalant. "I didn't want to wait outside. It's dangerous. You should really find a new place to live."

The condensation in his tone flowed out smoothly, a habit that almost appeared like second nature. His casual demeanor only fueled your irritation, each word he spoke like a taunt– pompous, arrogant, asshole. You tightened your arms together.

"Did you have a reason for coming here, Rhysand?" you snarled, the words punctuated by a simmering rage. There was a clear disdain in your voice, pointed and sharp. "Or do you just find pleasure in being an arrogant prick?"

Rhysand's facade of confidence faltered for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he composed himself once more. His shoulders sagged slightly, a movement so small you almost missed it. The air of authority around him diminished— as if he was transitioning from High Lord to something else, something smaller. He blinked, and then he let out a sigh.

"You're right. I'm so-" he began, but then stopped abruptly. You felt a prickling sensation crawl up your spine. There was a brief pause as Rhysand scanned you, his eyes falling from your head to your toes as he took in your appearance– sweat-dampened leathers, a cloak draped haphazardly over your shoulders. Your heart thudded anxiously in your chest. Rhys met your gaze once more, his brows furrowed now– in confusion, curiosity, or suspicion, you couldn’t tell. It unnerved you.

"Where were you?" he asked.

You felt a surge of defensiveness rise within you.

"I wasn't aware I needed to report my extracurricular activities to High Lords who break into homes," you shot back, the words dripping with sarcasm. You took a moment to break away from your outer layer, quickly throwing the cloth on the couch behind you.

Rhysand remained rooted in his seat, his posture stiffening before he eased back into the chair with a sigh. His movements were deliberate, calculated, betraying a sense of resignation beneath his surface. As he spoke, his hand gestured towards you.

"Is this really how it's going to be, Y/n?" he questioned, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation. "We don’t have to be uncivilized."

Your initial shock dissolved into a burst of incredulous laughter, your mouth falling open in disbelief. "You storm into my home uninvited– twice may I add," you emphasized, your voice rising slightly, "and then call me uncivil when I refuse to drop everything for you?"

Rhysand's tone shifted, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, please, Y/n," he said, "I didn't ask you to drop everything. I asked you to hear me out and you wouldn’t even do that."

His audacity cut into you like sharp knives. You almost winced at his tone; so condescending, so arrogant. It was hard to look at him, to attempt to find the boy that you used to know. Rhysand, your cousin Rhysand, would have hated the prick standing in front of you– would have despised his superiority complex. The thought made you sad— but only for a moment. It quickly faded.

"Has being a High Lord truly given you such a lack of class?" you challenged, your voice rising with indignation. You didn’t bother to hide your contempt, didn’t bother to collect yourself. "How dare you think I owe you anything, even the time of day?"

Rhysand met your gaze, violet eyes burning into yours. They were darker now than they were years ago, more fury in them. More broken.

"We are family, Y/n. I would think it's the least you owe me."

You recoiled at his words, a bitterness rising in your throat like bile. You’d spent so many of your days reminding yourself that your family didn’t care, spent so many nights wishing that they did. Here, sitting in front of you, was proof that the former was correct. You were only their 'family' when it was convenient for them— and you hadn't been convenient for centuries.

"There you go, using that word again like it should mean something.”

You were clenching your jaw so hard you could have sworn it was going to break, that a tooth would snap– that you would snap. Rhysand didn’t back down.

"It should," he insisted, his voice steady.

"It doesn't."

Your voice was cold and unyielding, to a point where Rhysand felt a wave of discomfort come over him. His jaw ticked and he let out a deep sigh, his chin falling slightly. There was a clear frustration in his body as he leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table and bringing a hand to his face. His fingers settled under his chin while the other hovered near his lips as he shook his head. A moment passed as you watched him, and then he turned to look at you again, his hand falling flat on the table.

"I don’t understand you, Y/n,” he said, “I just- I don’t understand.”

Because you’ve never made an effort to. The exhaustion on his face, the frustration that you could see– even smell, it made your stomach sink. The anger in your body felt like something else, like sadness, like grief. Maybe Evadne overestimated you, maybe you couldn’t handle being around your family. If being around Rhysand made you this emotional, you didn’t want to think about what it would be like to face all of them, to report to them.

"It shouldn't take you over 500 years to understand that people don't owe you anything," you stated, pushing yourself off the couch. You walked towards the front door of your home, reaching it as you spoke, "Get out of my home."

Rhysand's voice faltered, his expression softening with a touch of desperation. "Wait, Y/n, wait,” he said as he stood up.

There was a tinge of desperation in his voice, something you were sure he didn’t realize was showing. Maybe you recognized it because, once upon a time, you had known him– truly known him. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of that familial bond. Or, maybe, Rhysand was faltering in your presence because for the first time, he wasn’t being feared.

If Rhys was struggling to keep a calm facade, there was something deeply wrong going on — something with you, or something outside of this city. You thought back to his words from before, I'm dealing with a larger threat that has me on the defense. You furrowed your brows, eyes settling on him with a scrutinous gaze.

"Why do you need my help so bad?"

Rhysand hesitated for a moment before responding, his words measured. "I told you. There are rumors about an u—"

"An uprising. Yes, I remember," you interjected, cutting him off.

Rhysand's brows furrowed, his patience wearing thin as he searched your face for any hint of relenting. He found none. “Then why are you asking me?”

You met his gaze head-on. "Because there are always rumors here," you repeated, emphasizing each word with a pointed stare. "And every time, you, and now Feyre, swoop in to quash them with a well-timed visit, a show of power. So forgive me if I find it curious that this time, you're suddenly in need of my assistance."

A flicker of frustration crossed Rhysand's features, his jaw clenching briefly before he regained his composure. "Our methods may have been effective in the past," he conceded, "but this situation requires a more delicate touch."

There was no evidence of regret in his tone, no acknowledgement of the fear-mongering that he used with his people. You weren’t sure why you expected it, why you looked for it. Of course Rhysand wouldn’t show signs of guilt regarding his treatment of Hewn City. Why would he? He didn’t feel guilty, at all.

You raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And what exactly makes this situation so different?"

Rhysand's expression tightened at your insistence, his eyes darting away momentarily before meeting yours once more. "Nothing you have to concern yourself with," he hedged, his tone cautious.

There it was again, the sense of audacity he held, the superiority he wore like a cloak. There was something in his tone, in the way he spoke to you, that made you feel small, foolish. You hated it.

You narrowed your eyes, a sense of frustration bubbling within you. "If I'm going to stick my neck out for you, and potentially betray my people, I need to know why.”

Rhysand's discomfort flashed across his features. His lips parted, emitting a breathy laugh tinged with disbelief. "Your people," he repeated, a hint of mockery lacing his tone, as if the very idea amused him.

"Yes. My people.”

Rhysand's jaw tightened visibly. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he relented. "Koschei.”

You blinked.

Koschei, Koschei.

You recognized the name, memories of childhood tales flooding your mind. Koschei was a name thrown around, starring in stories whispered by mothers to keep their children in line, to warn them of the consequences of misbehaving. But you knew better– all adults did. Koschei wasn’t a real threat, he was somewhere far, somewhere unreachable.

However, the look on Rhysand's face told a different story—a story of genuine fear, of a threat far more tangible than mere folklore. The mighty High Lord of the Night Court was worried, on edge. It filled you with a sense of dread that momentarily wiped away any sadness, any anger. "Koschei?" you repeated, the name feeling heavy on your tongue

"He is taking steps to free himself," Rhysand said, "I'm working to ensure that doesn't happen."

You eyed him cautiously, scanning him for any sign of deceit. You found none. He took your silence as an invitation to keep talking, to explain further.

"That means I do not have time to sift around this city and find the origins of these rumors– to waste time discerning if they are legitimate.”

You paused for a moment, your mind racing now. Perhaps this was a stroke of luck. Koschei's looming threat could align perfectly with what you needed. You needed Rhysand distracted, needed him vulnerable enough for your father— needed your father to be vulnerable enough for you. Surely, Koschei wouldn’t be a lingering threat. Rhysand was right, it wasn’t something you needed to concern yourself with. Keep them busy, Evadne had said.

"Isn't this Azriel's specialty?" you asked, "The feared Spymaster?"

A tick in Rhysand’s jaw.

"Azriel's reach is limited," he explained. "These rumors may be quiet, but they are there."

He needed someone who wouldn’t call attention. Someone who knew how to work this city. Someone like you.

”Where is your guard dog, anyway?”

The words slipped out of your mouth before you had a chance to catch them. Rhysand stiffened at the question. He bit down the anger that formed in his throat.

”I thought it would be best to come alone.” He shifted on his feet. "In truth, my intentions were to come and offer an apology," he confessed, his voice carrying a weight you hadn't anticipated. Meeting his gaze, you found a flicker of vulnerability in the violet of his eyes, a softening in his features.

You weren’t sure if you should feel angry or touched. It certainly seemed like Rhysand expected the latter, his brows slightly furrowed, awaiting your response. But, instead, your reaction was disbelief, almost scoffing at his attempt at reconciliation. His intrusion into your home, his condescending demeanor, all of it burned into your skin. "Certainly didn't feel like one," you remarked, a bitterness lacing your words.

"I know,” he admitted, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I shouldn’t have approached the situation in the manner that I did. I apologize.”

His voice was genuine, filled with remorse— its presence was fainter that you would have hoped for, but it was there. Noticeable. While you appreciated the gesture, and your heart held onto the regret he showed, you said nothing in response, not wanting to give him the clear forgiveness he was hoping for.

“So, I’m coming to you again, properly. We need your help.” A pause. “I need your help.”

You sighed, running your tongue along your teeth. "Fine,” you relented, “What do I have to do?"

Rhysand visibly relaxed, a wave of relief washing over him. Then, he straightened his posture, dusting off his shoulders before he began walking towards you, towards the door. "Azriel will come to you. You both can work from there.”

The name made your stomach drop, and your eyes widened in response, brows furrowing.

"Azriel?"

Rhysand paused mid-stride, his gaze locking with yours. "Yes," he said, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly. "You said it yourself, this is his territory."

The crease between your brows deepened as you frowned.

"And you said he was unable to work with it. That's why you need me.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes, scanning over your face before letting out a small breath.

"We do need you,” he replied, “To work alongside Azriel."

Your stomach clenched further. To work alongside Azriel. Azriel, Azriel, Azriel.

“You didn’t say anything about working with Azriel.”

Rhysands eyebrows fell as he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Will that be a problem?”

Anger simmered beneath your skin. Rhysand's insistence on involving Azriel was a direct affront to your capabilities, a direct showing of distrust. You knew, logically, that you weren’t allowed to be so angry– he shouldn’t trust you. But the reality of it, a clear reminder of how far you’d drifted, hurt in a way you couldn’t ignore.

“Yes,” you responded, your voice firm, “I don’t need someone watching over me.”

He let out a deep sigh, his face scrunching in with annoyance.

“That is not wha-”

“Oh, please,” you replied, “It’s definitely part of it. You don’t trust me.”

Rhysand didn’t reply, didn’t even acknowledge your words. Instead he simply shrugged. The nonchalance of his movement only added fuel to the fire, and you clenched your jaw to suppress the rising frustration.

"Azriel is our court’s Spymaster. He knows what needs to be done," he stated dismissively.

A surge of frustration rose within you. The room felt stifling, suffocating. You could keep them busy, could work with Rhysand distracted, with him worried about Koschei. But having Azriel around, a looming presence, someone overseeing you, would make things more complicated. And it was Azriel. Even the thought of it made you feel sick, nausea forming from the mix of emotions in your chest.

Silence enveloped the room like a heavy fog. You remained still– jaw clenched, eyes still on Rhysand as he walked past you, hand reaching for the door. He stopped, falling still in his place. Then, he looked at you. The expression on his face wasn’t one you were familiar with– it seemed like one he used to wear when you knew him, a softer version of himself. Kind.

"I'm sorry about Caladan.”

It hit you like a punch to the gut. You weren’t sure what hit you harder, the apology, laced with a deep sincerity you hadn’t expected, or Caladan’s name– on Rhys’ lips, of all people. You hadn’t heard his name in so long; Evadne was always so careful. It was a pain you thought you had grown accustomed to, buried beneath layers of duty and obligation. But it was resurfacing, rising with a raw intensity that left your chest tight.

For a fleeting moment, you felt the urge to lash out, to reject Rhysand’s words and the sympathy they carried. But beneath the anger and resentment, there was a small flicker of something else— of gratitude. With a heavy heart, you met Rhysand's gaze. You couldn't move, couldn't speak.

"I meant to give you my condolences when I first came." Rhysand’s voice was soft. “I know he was special to you. I should have reached out when I heard."

Green eyes. “This is good, Y/n,” he smiled at you, a dimpled, soft smile. “It’s all coming together.”

You blinked the image away. After a beat of silence, you nodded slowly. "Thank you," you murmured. The anger was still there, the bitterness towards Rhysand, towards your family. But you accepted his words, letting them ease some of the sizzling resentment.

Rhysand bowed his head in acknowledgment. With one final glance, he turned and left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

a/n: guys i promise after this azzy will be in every chapter. now we begin the angsty forced proximity trope that i LOVEEE 🫶🏻🫶🏻

(i’m prewriting chapters rn so lemme know if there’s anything you’d love to see👀👀 always open to ideas)

taglist:

@kalulakunundrum @janebirkln @thelov3lybookworm @secretlyhers @nightcourt-daydreaming @sidthedollface2 @gorlillaglue25 @abysshaven @historygeekqueen @acourtofbatboydreams @justdreamstars @darling006 @inloveallthetime @dr4g0ngirl @makeagoodnamethen @kht1998 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @rhysandorian @llovelydove @minnieoo @cassianswh0reeee @anuttellaa @hnyclover @sfhsgrad-blog @carlandonorri-s @gingerblood @inesven @emptyporsche @itsswritten @tele86

#azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotarfandom #beneath the ashes of our broken oaths #baobo #about baobo

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corruptedcaps · 3 months

Text

You’ll Do

Amy’s boss Mia was as cruel as she was beautiful & made Amy nervous whenever she was around. Despite this somehow Amy found the courage to interview as her replacement. For some reason Mia was leaving the company & hiring her own successor. Needless to say the interview went awful.

Adding insult to injury, Amy had to ride the elevator with Mia directly after the interview and Mia didn’t hold back on her comments.

“You see Amy you lack what I need in a successor, you don’t have the killer attitude needed to succeed. On top of that you have a terrible dress sense and are a 5 at best. Yes I could ‘improve’ you but why put lipstick on a pig when I could pick someone who needs little work at all.” Mia said with a sharpness to every word that plunged Amy into a deeper depression than she already was.

“That’s why I’m giving the job to Kali, she’s so perfect for the role I didn’t even interview her. Im going to meet her right now and by tomorrow she’ll be your new boss, although I’m sure she’ll remind you of me.” Mia continued with a knowingly smile.

Amy knew Kali and was dreading her promotion. She was no where near as bad as Mia but she was certainly only a few steps away. Knowing she would be taking over made Amy want to call in sick for the rest of the year.

However just as they were nearing their floor the elevator suddenly shunted to a halt, stopping dead. Amy just stood there, knowing she couldn’t do anything while Mia rolled her eyes.

“I’ll have the maintenance team hung for this.” Mia snarled as she took out her phone and contacted the elevator technician.

“2 hours? No this is unacceptable! I need to get to my meeting! I’ve already waited too long!” Mia screamed down the phone.

Amy had never seen Mia so agitated, she figured Mia had some sort of fear of tight spaces. Amy let herself have a brief smile knowing that Mia was human like the rest of them.

However as an hour passed without much progress, Amy started to get worried about Mia. She was sweating and pacing like crazy and even seemed to be twitching now and again.

“M-Mia it’s alright, we’ll be out of here soon. Just breathe.” Amy said calmly to her boss.

“Oh shut up you twit, this is beyond your understanding, this body is expiring and I need a new one!” Mia snapped back. She looked at her watch and fear etched her face.

“Oh fucking screw it, you’ll do.” Mia said and surely lunged at Amy who was too quick to react. Mia grabbed Amy’s face in her hands and planted her lips on her lowly employee’s.

Amy’s eyes went wide as she felt something slither from Mia’s mouth to her own and down her throat. Mia’s body went limp and collapsed to the ground. As it hit the ground it immediately turned to dust, leaving Amy to wonder what the hell just happened.

“Ugh I can’t believe I had to take your pathetic body.” Said a voice that sounded like it was coming from inside Amy’s head. It was a deep ethereal voice that sent shivers down her spine.

“W-who said that?” Amy nervously asked.

“Not that it matters but I have gone by many names. Abyzou, Hecate, Morrigan, and most recently, as you can see, Mia but you can call me Lilith, all others will call us Aimee, once I improve you of course.” The voice said with a cackle.

Before Amy could ask a follow up question, she doubled over in pain. Putting her hands on the glass mirrors of the elevator to steady herself, she watched as her nails grew long and sharp, like wicked talons.

Radiating down from there her pale skin turned sun kissed, as if she never spent a day in the office. The tan ran up her arms, making them tingle in pleasure in the process. Her body began to change as the tan ran down her figure. Every inch that it touched she felt a warm sensation that came also with a tightening of skin or modification of fat. Her boobs for instance once a meagre B cup ballooned out into an impressive pair of double d’s.

“Mmmm yesss this never gets old. This feels so fucking good doesn’t it Amy?” Lilith purred in Amy’s head. Amy wanted to plead with her to stop whatever magic she was doing but to her shame she found her pussy getting increasingly wet. It helped that it too changed, becoming tighter and more sensitive.

Staring at her shifting face, she watched as her lips grew into a bitchy pout, her hair became incredibly sleek and straight, and smoky makeup appeared on her eyes. It was now a face that commanded authority, a stern but sexy facade that would have others eating out of the palm of her hand either out of fear or of lust.

“I was going to take Kali’s body but now I’m glad I took yours. It’s been decades since I transformed Mia from the worthless house wife she was into a bitchy and powerful CEO, I forgot how much pleasure it gives me to turn a goodie goodie nobody into a wicked whore. Kali was too like me already but now I can’t wait to make that split bow down and lick our pussy.” Lilith said but this time the voice was starting to change. It was starting to sound eerily like Amy’s.

Amy for her part was feeling increasingly calm about the apparent devouring of her soul and merge with Lilith. As the seconds ticked by her mind was filled with wicked memories of Lilith through the centuries. She had been a witch, a queen, a faux goddess, a homewrecker, a trophy wife, a queenpin, and everything in between. The one constant was she was always in charge. For Amy, as someone who always took a backseat the idea of being on top scratched an itch she never knew she had.

“Oh god! Yessss! Kali will be our little simping slut! Change us more! Make us a hawt fucking bitch! Merge us into one!” Amy moaned loudly as she felt her new bigger tits with her perfectly manicured hands as the magic worked its way to her ass flairing it out. Her stomach crunched as it became slimmer and body toned all over to give her a delightfully flexible and athletic body.

Finally her demure gray work clothes became darker, tighter, and more revealing as they clung to her new body. Her pants hugged her legs as they became intimating leather and 6 inch heels sprang out of her flats lifting her to new heights. As the changes reached their apex, her eyes rolled back into her head as the two minds merged into one new evil persona.

“Mmmm much better. It was about time there was for a change in management.” Amy smirked to herself. As if on cue the elevator shunted to life again and finished its descent to the bottom. Amy picked up Mia’s left over purse and phone beside the pile of dust and took out lipstick from the bag.

Amy just finished applying a shade when the door dinger open and two sweaty maintenance workers stood there. Amy enjoyed their lingering looks at her ass as she capped the lipstick and put it back into her bag. She brushed past their stunned looks.

“Sorry miss but where is the CEO? She called us in a panic.” One blurted out. Stopping in her tracks Amy turned her head back to them.

“That’s me. I’m Aimee, the CEO of this company and if you so if you don’t want to lose your job I suggest you clean up that pile of first that’s in there immediately.” Aimee snarled back at them. The two men quickly jumped to attention.

Aimee however had already forgotten about them, she had her sights on a gorgeous woman sitting in the lobby looking anxiously around. Approaching Kali with all the menace of a predatory lioness, Aimee snuck up on her new lowly employee.

“Kali, what time do you call this?” Aimee said angrily. Kali looked up at was stunned to see who the voice belonged to.

“Amy? You look… wow. I’m waiting for Mia, she wanted to discuss something with me.” Kali said somewhat flabbergasted.

“Mia is no longer your concern. She has put me in charge and my first order of business is to hire you as my assistant. Follow me.” Aimee said strutting off back to the elevator where the men were finishing up. Aimee stood at the elevator door and beckoned Kali in.

“I- I don’t understand, I thought I was getting a promotion or something.” Kali said but Aimee just stared at her without saying a word. Kali felt the new bitch’s eyes burrow deep into her soul and she felt compelled to get into the elevator.

Aimee pressed the button for the executive suite and the doors shut sealing them in. Only once they were alone did Aimee finally speak again.

“This is a promotion, you get to taste the pussy of a goddess from now on. You’re going to be the executive simp. So kneel down like a good little slut.” Aimee said as she towered over Kali.

#female possession #f2f #corruption #bitchification #evil bitch #power transfer #corrupted merge

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we-were-beautiful · 8 months

Text

Unraveled Ends Chapter 1

a/n: Remember How I said I wanted to get the first chapter out the first week of July, well I am nothing but a filthy liar. All my photos for the moodboard/aesthetic come from pinterest. Big Thanks to @curse-bearing-hips and @whisplion for all the help with editing this chapter. That being said we are all still human and there may be some errors and I apologize in advance. Hope y’all enjoy

Summary: A tailor in the heart of Velaris finds herself mated to the two most powerful fae in Prythian. Unfortunately for her the mating bond only snapped for her, leaving her to question on how to move forward. Should she wait for her mates to feel the bond or should she go ahead and reject it and live with the gaping hole in her heart

Poly!Feysand x Reader

Warnings: None but there is angst

WC:2k

Starfall, the busiest time of the year for the city of Velaris. It was a time of year that I both enjoyed and detested. The Palace of Thread and Jewels was always bustling, but during this time of year the workload nearly tripled for the tailors and jewelers. Citizens milled about trying to find the perfect outfit and accessories for the special day.

The Y/L/N family shop specialized in catering to the elite citizens of the city, having outfitted everyone from the wealthy merchants to the High Lord’s family for many years. It wasn't unusual for high profile clients to come into the shop for a custom outfit. Just last month Morrigan had come in for a custom gown for a dinner that she had. So when the bell on the door rang out as it opened, I braced myself for whoever my next clients were. On my way out of the back, I catch a brief snippet of the conversation happening.

“Cassian, move your ass. We were this close to not being able to get Y/N to make our outfits last year and I refuse to take that chance again.” That was definitely Morrigan. True, by the time the High Lord’s inner circle had made their way to the shop last year, we had nearly had to turn them away.

“Don’t worry Morrigan, you have come early this year so there is no reason to worry. You are at the top of my list this year.” I reassure her as I step into the main room of the shop. Last year… last year Starfall had been hell, the memory of the last time the whole inner circle had been in the shop burned deeply into my memory

“Ah, Miss L/N we are so sorry to ask this of you. I understand that it is a last minute request, but you are the best tailor in the city.” Rhysand had all but begged. In the end, I agreed as the High Lord had agreed to pay my team and I a hefty sum on top of what their outfits would cost. I had warned him that we would be running on a tight deadline and the outfits most likely would be done right before Starfall. I had had no expectations of ever finding my mate or that I would be blessed with two of them, but fate has a funny way of working.

“So tell me what are you looking for in your outfits for this Starfall?” I had pulled the High Lord and Lady into my office to gauge what the couple desired in their outfits. Feyre started to describe what she had been looking for in her gown; as she speaks, my hand flies across the page, roughly sketching out the dress she describes. I make a few adjustments here and there after she finishes.

“Are there specific pieces of jewelry that you are wanting to showcase with the dress?” I briefly glance up to the mated pair seated across from me. Rhys had draped his arm around Feyre’s shoulders. The perfect image of the happily mated couples that parents tell their babes about.

“No, I am looking more to showcase the dress this time around.” She responds with a kind smile leaning further into her mate.

“And High Lord, are you wishing to match the High Lady’s dress?” I address Rhysand for the first time since the two entered.

“Yes I would prefer to match my mate for the evening.” the High Lord's voice is as smooth as a night time breeze.

“Ok so that is doable. We can easily match a suit to the High Lady’s dress.” I begin to ramble as the pencil begins to fly across the page “are there any preferences on colors?” I look up to the two of them. I wish I hadn’t at that moment I felt a snap. Two golden threads tethering me to the beautiful couple sitting in front of me. It’s not hard to figure out that it had only snapped for me and not for the High Lord and Lady. I quickly made sure to adjust my mental shields and my facial expression.

“Is everything alright?” Feyre cocks her head to the side, eying me with a look of concern.

“Yes, sorry. Just lost in thought.” I try to quickly laugh it off. One look on her face tells me that I was not successful in that endeavor. I quickly pass my sketchbook over to the two of them to evaluate the sketches “Now what are your thoughts. We can make some adjustments but given the time constraints we might not be able to do anything overly extravagant.”

The two of them take the book and look over the sketches with wide grins. I took the time to memorize those smiles not knowing if I would be able to see them again.

The two weeks after that fateful meeting had been near torture; to have them so close but yet so far from my grasp. I had tried my best to continue on with life as normal following that fateful meeting, but apparently my shop had pulled off a small miracle for the inner circle and thus they had declared it their place to get clothes. Occasionally I could avoid Feyre and Rhysand, pawning them off to another one of the shop's seamstresses, but more often than not they insisted I be the one to work with them. It seemed today would be no different as they beeline for me.

“Sweetheart, how are you today?” Ah yes sweetheart, the nickname that Rhys had decided for me. Once he started calling me that Feyre quickly caught on and the two of them refused to call me by anything other than their nickname for me.

“I am doing well, High Lord, I assume you and Lady Feyre wish to go first for the consultations?” I give them a polite smile. I am met with wide grins from the two of them.

“Please it’s Rhys, and yes we would like to go first.” He pulls Feyre into his side and places a gentle kiss on the top of her head as I gesture to my office, and am met with an uproar from the rest of the inner circle about favoritism as I tell them to take a seat in the waiting room.

With the exception of a few new bolts of fabric and more sketchbooks sitting on the desk my office hadn’t changed since last Starfall. Two comfortable leather chairs sat in front of the large desk. My well loved chair sat behind it, my favorite shawl draped over the back.

There was one major change in the office. A dress form, with my Starfall gown hanging to it. Typically I wanted to keep my Starfall gown hidden away until the last minute to surprise everyone, but this year it had come to reside in my office. The dress clung to the form silver fabric flowing to pool on the floor like mercury. Small crystal shards caught the sunlight and reflected small rainbows throughout the room. It was a work of art that I had taken to working on piece by piece in my spare time. It was nearly done. I just had to finish off the sleeves and it would be perfect. I wasn’t the only one who thought this as Feyre walked over to the dress. She reaches out a tattooed hand as if to run her fingers along the fabric before quickly withdrawing her hand.

“Is this dress spoken for? It is beautiful.” She asked, looking back at me and Rhysand as I shut the office door.

“As much as I would love to say that you could take that dress Lady Feyre; that is my gown for Starfall.” I move towards my chair, busying my hands with gathering my supplies needed for a consultation “Normally it stays hidden until the day of but we have been so busy this year; I've been having to work on it little by little and it easiest to do it here in the office.”

There is a little pout on her face that nearly has me giving it to her to make her smile again.

“You will look like one of the stars.” Rhysand jokes as he pulls Feyre into his side. The little jealous spark that begins to burn turns my stomach. I tried to tramp down the jealousy… the envy every time I saw the two of them here in my office or walking around Velaris. Wishing that there would be space for me with the two of them; but who am I to disturb something so beautiful and perfect. They have the perfect life with their beautiful baby and friends, there is no room for me. Our lives are so vastly different from each other so I put on a smile and get to work designing coordinating Starfall outfits for the two of them. By now the two of them know the drill and begin describing what they want in their outfits and I dutifully begin sketching them out. I catch Feyre glancing over at the dress form several times and asking for similar elements in her dress. I oblige her, willing to give the two of them almost anything, just to make them smile.

I work efficiently to try and get the two of them out of my office as quickly as possible without trying to seem rude. I needed some air away from my two mates and I still had their entire friend group to go through. By the end of the consultation both the High Lord and Lady are pleased with the preliminary designs; they leave my office hand in hand with smiles on their faces. The rest of the inner circle's appointments fly by providing me with a much needed breather, but I am thrown for a loop when I am working with the Shadowsinger.

I had made things for the Illyrian warrior before, but I never noted how observant he was. Working with Azriel had always been a treat. The male favored rather simple but quality garments. Always wanting to blend into the crowd and not stand out, his appointments tended to be rather fast, but today seemed to be different. I could feel his gaze burning into me as I sketched out a new suit for him. I glance up from the paper to meet his hazel gaze. His shadows danced around his shoulders and darted across the room. It wasn’t unusual for them to dance about the room and round me whenever he was in; almost as if they could sense a kindred spirit.

“You seem…” he paused as if searching for the right words. “Disheartened.”

I set down the pencil and give him my full attention.

“I'm fine, Azriel. It's something personal. Nothing that you need to worry about." The lie almost sounds believable, but Azriel sees right through my lie; he raises an eyebrow but does not press the issue; letting me get back to work. Once the two of us are happy with the design we are quick to head out. Before I can open my office door, he gives my shoulder a quick squeeze with his hand.

“Please, If you need help don’t hesitate to reach out.” He gives me a small smile before rejoining his friends in the lobby.

The Inner circle is quick to thank me before they sweep out of the shop and into the city. I wait a few minutes for them to get further away from the shop before I let the seamstresses know that I am going to head home for the day, feigning a headache. I don’t remember the walk home, the path so burned into my memory that my mind was free to wander as I walked the familiar path to my family's home. It is only when I am here alone do I allow the façade to crumble away. I slump to the floor as I let the tears fall. How could the Mother be so cruel; to give me not just one mate but two, who are so vastly different from me; and for them to have already solidified their bond and start their own family. Rhysand and Feyre deserve the world for all that they have done for Prythian, and here I am just me. How can I even compare to them, let alone ruin the beautiful partnership that they already have?

Taglist: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @rachelnicolee @goldenmagnolias @jesssicapaniagua @winterrainworld

#acotar x reader #feysand x reader #poly!feysand x reader #poly!feysand #rhys x feyre #rhysand x reader #feyre x reader #feyre archeron #rhysand #rhys acotar #rhys x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #rhysand x feyre x reader #unraveled ends

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riayawrites · 28 days

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Something Different~ 2

Pairing: Archeron!reader x Azriel

Summary~ Reader meets the IC and discovers more about her new powers

Content Warning: not much, maybe just some fluff ??

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well this is awkward. Thats what I thought upon entering the dining area and taking a seat. "So, where is Elain and Nesta?" A question directed towards Feyre, yet I couldn't help but notice how my words come out airy and sweet, different from my usually tired voice. "Oh, well uhm.. Elain has closed herself off completely and Nesta won't even look at us." Feyre says slightly hesitant. "Please, Nesta would burn this place down if she could. The girl is so hellbent on going back to the mortal lands it's quite funny." Someone different says.

I looked over at her to see striking silver eyes that made me uneasy, different from fae eyes, different from any I had ever seen. She stared me down not blinking once as she watched every moment I made in the moment. "Amren!" Someone from the table shouts, The Morrigan I presume "You're making the poor girl uncomfortable, I have no doubts she's already scared and confused out of her mind." Quite the opposite, I think. Confused, yes, but scared? Not really.

The Morrigan turns her eyes on me, "Don't mind Amren, she's just seeing if you could be a threat.." I blink. "Not that you would be of course!" "We just all have slight trust issues when it comes to meeting new people." My shoulders un-tense after she clears what she meant up. I mean I wouldn't trust me either, a random girl imposing on their self made family, that also could hurt them, not like i'd ever though."

"What she truly means is that we don't know what you're capable of, having been thrown in the cauldron, who knows what you might of took from the wretched old thing." Cassian says. "Especially not with that weird glow around you.. I'm just saying its normal for us to not trust you fully" He finishes with a shrug.

I hum in acceptance "I get it. I don't know what I am capable of myself. This is your home, you have the right to feel however you want." I say finishing the rest of whats on my plate. "Nonsense," Rhysand says "Any family of Feyre's is family to us too. We will help you if you develop any abilities in the mean time, you're not alone Y/n."

I smile at my sister and Rhysand as I stand up "Thank you, It means alot." "Hey, do you want to go shopping tomorrow? I'll show you around Velaris!" I nod "That would be amazing Morrigan. I'll see you in the morning." I take one last look at the man with blue eyes and shadows and realize I never got his name. Well whatever I'll see him sooner or later.

I make my way to my room to get ready for the night. "How the hell am I going get rid of this glitter?" I mumble to myself.

Once I get in the room I search for the source of the light that was casted from my body. While i'm taking off my dress I feel a tingling pain in my back as i go to the mirror to look at whats happening.

As I turn around i'm greeted to a pair of.. wings? on my damn back. I almost pass out as I inspect the weird looking things that have sprouted from my back. The wings are a stark contrast from the common Illyrian wings i've seen so far, they are pearly and translucent and I move them back and forth. They have a beautiful swirl pattern going though them like veins, and I realize that they remind me of fairy wings from my storybooks as a child.

I take a deep breath as I try to understand the severity of the situation, my mind racing at a hundred miles per hour as I grasp what i've really become, an immortal fairy being. I feel an anxiety attack coming on as I come to terms with these annoying beautiful wings. So this is why I feel more graceful and fragile with my movements? I mean why did they just show up instead of being there already? I shut my mind up and try and move them around. I pathetically flutter them around on my back in a attempt to at least float off the ground

"Come on... Come on..." I say fluttering the wings with all my might until I finally feel my feet lift from the ground and i'm successfully in the air. I struggled flying over to the bed but I get there and plop down with a quiet thud.

I lie down in bed for sleep and try and go to sleep but the thought of me being some mythical fairy keeps me up..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

part 2 lolll im still a beginner writer but 3 will be out tmr i hope

@impossibelle

@annaaaaa88

#azriel shadowsinger #az x reader #acosf #acowar #acomaf #acotar #amren acotar #elain archeron #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #rhysand #cassian #morrigan

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sinizade · 10 months

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Isla Amell

21 years old (beginning) // 36 years old (Warden Commander)

Mage - Blood Magic and Daggers

Romance: Leliana

Besties: Zevran / Ogrhen / Morrigan / Shale / Velanna / Madame (Dog) / Sigrun

Not Besties: Sten / Justice / Wynne / Alistair / Anders / Nathaniel

Isla has rage... a lot of rage. Not even her position among the nobility could prevent her from being taken to the Circle against her will... Years and years of abuse and submission to get a single crumb of humanity from the damned Templars turned her into a cold and manipulative woman, using her charm and her appearance to be able to "cheat" some rules in the Circle and get contacts to at least have a life with a little more dignity. Duncan's arrival in the Circle was like a one-way ticket out of that hell, but for that she had to betray her only friend...

Leliana was a sweetheart, a type she hadn't met before and wouldn't even imagine meeting, a Chantry sister being so kind to someone like Isla was really a surprise.

Blood magic made Isla feel not just powerful, but confident, strong. As if she would never need someone to help her again, as if no one would EVER DARE to try to hurt her again, for that she only needed to trick some nobles and pretend to save a little brat who played with magic.

She is now a Gray Warden, a commander, yes, she is looking for a cure, but she will not leave her post at such a delicate moment for the wardens and even if it hurts her heart to be so far away from Leliana, she cannot risk it. Her blood magic helps control the Calling and that has been a relief, but there were still days when it was complicated... Voices that sometimes called her from the shadows, that whispered in her ear, she was never afraid of ghosts and It won't be now that I would fear. Isla will find the cure for The Calling and help not only her, but all the Wardens she needs, she will return safely from her quest and will soon be in the arms of her beloved again.

#isla amell #dragon age fan art #dragon age awakening #dragon age origins #dragon age #female amell #warden amell #characterdesign #drawing #drawings #draw #sketch #digital drawing #character #drawn #sketchbook #warden x leliana #leliana

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 1 year

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chapter x - gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 3,800+

Warnings: negative reflections on sexual relationships, spoilers for entire ACOTAR series

masterlist

All of the servants and guards in the Forest House avoided any eye contact as Eris stomped down the halls. They could sense his foul mood. On days like this, Eris wondered if he was any better than his father with the way people feared him in this court.

Eris had gone hunting with his hounds in an attempt to cure his current disposition. But it had done very little to help him.

Even his mother had caught onto it this morning when they had tea and coffee.

“It’s her,” she had told him.

“What do you mean?” Eris bit back without meaning to.

But his mother had only smirked at him. “When one already feels the bond, being away from one’s mate for long periods of time can have…negative consequences.” She’d cleared her throat slightly. “Foul moods, easily irritated.”

“I’m fine,” Eris had tried to argue.

But now, as he glared at anyone and everyone in the Forest House, he knew his mother had probably been onto something.

The sun had just set, making the sky a glowing orange that only Autumn Court could manifest. When he walked into his bedchambers, the light from the window made it seem like the whole place was on fire. In a way, it always had been.

Eris ripped his leather riding gloves off and chucked them on the nearest table.

He poured himself some wine, already knowing it wouldn’t making him feel any better.

Eris poured himself a second glass already. He turned to the fireplace and snapped his finger, setting it alight instantly.

Just as he sat down, a piece of paper fell into his lap.

Eris’ stomach dropped for a moment, immediately imagining the worst. Had Y/N been hurt again? No, surely she hadn’t. He would’ve felt it.

Lucien wishes to meet with you tomorrow at dusk. The manor where the exiles reside. He’s met her. I think he knows who she is to you.

Eris swore at Rhysand’s meaning. Of all the days to receive such a letter…

The obvious instinct was to blow off his youngest brother’s request. Who did Lucien think he was, demanding such things from him?

But Eris knew that Lucien wouldn’t give up so easily. And if he ignored the meeting, it would most likely only answer his brother’s suspicions of who Y/N was.

Eris sighed and rubbed his face. Now he had to find a way to sneak out of Autumn Court without notice.

––––––––

Cassian and Nesta met at Y/N’s shop just as she was finished closing up.

“Hello!” Y/N greeted them cheerfully.

Nesta gave her a subtle smirk, while her mate beamed at her.

“Ready for some drinking and dancing?” Cassian asked.

Y/N nodded enthusiastically as she grabbed her coat. The keys to the store jingled in her hand as she practically skipped to the door.

The couple followed her outside, waiting patiently as she looked up the door of the shop.

When they got to pleasure hall, it was already bustling with people. And the energy was contagious.

Y/N smiled with delight.

Parties with such strangers was not something she’d ever really experienced. Yes, her coven would have seances and celebrate holidays. However, it never included anyone outside her coven. There was always drinking and dancing. But there was never the allure that you could meet a stranger at any moment.

“What will ya be havin’, Y/N?” Cassian asked just as she spotted their friends.

Feyre, Rhysand, Morrigan, and Azriel were tucked away at a corner booth, somewhat hidden in the darkest part of the pleasure hall.

Y/N still found it shocking that the High Lord and Lady of this court could live almost normally. Most people at Rita’s didn’t even acknowledge them. Some would do a double take, but then move on with their night.

“Who’s watching Nyx?” Y/N asked without thinking.

Since that terrifying day, she was always concerned about the toddler’s safety. Perhaps the boy was still in danger. After all, they still didn’t know who had attacked them. Was it Hybern, still fighting after the war? Another court?

Nesta answered with, “Elain and Amren…and obviously the twins are always hiding about.” Then she nudged Y/N’s arm. “Don’t worry. There’s a million wards on that River House. Rhys and Feyre would never leave his side if they felt he wasn’t completely safe.”

“Still, no one has given me their poison for this evening,” Cassian reminded them.

Y/N laughed as she said, “Wine, please.”

Nesta smirked and nodded. “I shall do the same.”

Cassian nodded, gave Nesta a kiss, and then went off to the bar.

As they walked to the table their friends were waiting at, Y/N asked Nesta, “Why didn’t Emerie and Gywn come?”

Nesta shrugged. “Emerie had to restock her store with new shipments. And Gwyn…she still struggles with crowds and new places.”

Y/N nodded in understanding. When she'd heard Gwyn’s story, her heart had broken. That was unfortunately true for all of the priestesses and others that joined their Valkyrie training. The hardships and heartbreak never ended.

Cassian returned with giant goblets of wine for both Nesta and Y/N.

And both of them barely drank half of them before Morrigan was dragging the females onto the dance floor.

Y/N giggled at the aggressiveness of it all. But it didn’t take much to convince her to dance. She loved it, after all.

She turned back to their booth to see that Cassian and Rhys were talking amongst themselves. But Azriel…Azriel was subtly watching them. No…not them. Her.

“He refuses to dance,” Morrigan muttered in her ear, obviously catching the two watching each other. She spun Y/N around and forced them to face one another. “It took me centuries just to get him to start coming here with me.”

“And Cassian?” Y/N asked Nesta with a laugh.

Nesta smirked mischievously. “He will make his way over as soon as he catches another male trying to dance with me.”

Y/N’s gaze moved to Feyre, who looked the least happy to be forced onto the dance floor.

“Rhys will do whatever his High Lady wishes,” Morrigan giggled.

“He is a better dancer than I ever could be,” Feyre admitted with a subtle blush to her cheeks.

Morrigan spun Y/N once again, making them both laugh.

“I need more wine,” Y/N admitted, skipping back to their table.

She once again shared a look with Azriel. The shadowsinger never failed to confuse her. Even the winds could tell her very little about him. He kept his secrets close, which made his mystery even more alluring to Y/N.

There was a part of her who wished to dare and ask him to dance with her – just to see what he would say.

But Azriel broke there connection as he looked over her shoulder at someone behind Y/N.

He didn’t exactly glare, because the shadow singer was much more controlled than that. But it was obvious he was watching someone he was not fond of.

“Who invited him?” Azriel asked evenly, trying to seem unfazed as he took a sip of wine.

Y/N turned around to discover that it was Lucien.

“I did,” she answered confidently, turning back around to defy the shadowsinger. Then raised a brow to Azriel, silently daring him to challenge the decision.

Azriel blinked, somewhat surprised.

But Y/N had already turned and rushed to Lucien with a welcoming smile.

“You came!”

Lucien smiled, not expecting her to be genuinely happy that he took her up on the invitation. “I told you I would.”

“Dance with me?” But Y/N didn’t really give him room to actually answer. Instead, she grabbed his wrist and brought him to the dance floor.

Y/N jumped and spun on her own.

It took her a few moments to realize Lucien was simply standing still and smirking at her.

“What?” She asked. “Don’t dance?”

The next second, the music slowed down. Everyone around her grabbed a partner and the rest took a break at their tables or went to the bar for more refreshments.

“I’m much better with a partner,” Lucien admitted, and offered his hand.

Y/N hesitated before taking it. “I don’t know…umm…f-formal dances.”

Lucien looked around at the other dancers surrounding them. “I don’t believe you’ll need to in such an establishment.”

Y/N did the same and realized most partners were just swaying and stepping.

“Do you like dancing?” Lucien asked her quietly.

“I do. Though I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since I did it. My…c-coven used to dance around bonfires, under every full moon.” She smirked before adding, “Naked.”

“You are trouble…” Lucien shook his head, trying to hide his smile. “And where is this coven now?”

“Dead,” Y/N said lightly, the wine clearly refusing to let the subject bring her down.

She needed to dance after all.

Lucien's movements stumbled, but his hands were still on her. He gave her a genuine sympathetic look, “I’m so very sorry.”

Y/N shrugged. “I know I’m not the only one who has suffered great loss…”

The song was over and the next one was back to its high energy. And their small moment of vulnerability was over.

In its place, there was a strange tension between the two of them.

Y/N bowed her head, no longer meeting his gaze.

“I-I-I’m going to get more wine,” she mumbled before leaving Lucien alone on the dance floor and hurrying to the bar.

As the night went on, Y/N got drunker and drunker.

The anxiety of bringing Lucien was forcing her to drink more than she had planned on. But she also couldn’t remember the last time she let herself go and just…have fun. She was always on the run, always in danger. And being drunk was not a way to survive – it was irresponsible.

If her drunkenness was obvious, none of her friends seemed to mind. Cassian danced with her, and then Mor or Nesta would steal here away.

Late into the night, they were all taking a break at the booth when Morrigan giggled and told Y/N, “Some handsome males have their eyes on you…”

If she was telling the truth, Y/N hadn’t noticed.

So, she just laughed too and took a quick sip of wine.

“Will you not talk to any of them?” Nesta asked.

Y/N was too busy feeling her face get red and staring into her goblet of wine to see that the rest of the table was giving Mor warning looks. She was entering dangerous territory.

But Y/N just shrugged at the question and became somewhat bashful.

“Do you not enjoy the company of men?” Mor pushed.

Clearly, she hadn’t noticed the subtle look from their friends to stop. In fact, for all Mor knew, she and Y/N were having a private conversation.

Y/N’s face scrunched in honest consideration. “I-I’ve had my fair share of lovers during my travels – with mortal men,” she clarified.

Then she sputtered, spitting out laughter at herself for using the word ‘lovers’.

“Lovers,” Y/N repeated her own words in a giggle. “As if they were even worthy of the title.”

Y/N’s face suddenly became somewhat sober, twisting into something almost sad.

Her eyes grew distant. “It never really ended up feeling how I wanted it to. I was always left feeling…used.”

She let out a drunken, huff of a laugh. “So I stopped bothering…”

After a few moments of silence from her friends, Y/N finally lifted her gaze and realized everyone at the table was looking at her.

Y/N blinked, now realizing what she had just admitted to her friends.

Feyre, Mor, and Nesta looked back at her with sympathy.

But then Y/N’s gaze shifted to the males.

Cassian appeared sad. Rhysand and Lucien, both disgusted. But Azriel…Azriel looked…almost furious.

And every second, Y/N regretted saying anything at all.

Mor saved her as she dragged here away from the table and everyone's reactions, “Come, let us get back to dancing!”

After a few songs, Y/N started to notice the stares of those males Mor had been referencing. They were all handsome. Perhaps all in their own way, but still handsome.

“I would like to believe that a few centuries of immortality has made male faes much better lovers,” Mor whispered in her ear when she caught Y/N looking.

The witch smirked, not breaking eye contact with one of them.

He was tall, with blonde hair so light that it was almost white. It was cut shorter on the sides and longer on top. His eyes were an icy blue. He had a strong jaw, a wide mouth, and almost perfect lips.

He was definitely more beautiful than any man Y/N had ever let touch her.

Y/N started stepping towards him.

He seemed pleased with her approach, standing up straighter.

“Hello,” she cooed, sounding surprisingly sober.

“Hello,” he greeted in return. Then he tilted his head, slowly looking her up and down. “They tell me you are the witch.”

The witch. Not a witch. Had she already gained some sort of reputation in Velaris?

“The witch has a name,” she answered with a narrowed gaze. “Y/N.”

“My apologies, Y/N. I meant no offense. I only bring it up because I started to believe you were casting some sort of spell on all the poor and helpless males in this pleasure hall.”

Oh, he just had to be charming, too. Didn’t he?

“My names Donton,” he added with a smirk.

Just as Y/N was about to ask Donton to take her somewhere private, the males gaze darkened and he eyed someone over her shoulder.

“Y/N, time to go,” a deep voice said behind her.

Her face dropped with annoyance as she turned to face Azriel.

“I never said anything about going home,” Y/N curtly told him.

“Cassian and Nesta just left. I am your only way home.”

“I don’t believe she had any interest in going home,” Donton cut in.

Y/N was impressed by his boldness. She had seen how people reacted to Azriel. Most feared him. But really, they just didn’t understand him.

Azriel ignored the male.

But he stepped closer to Y/N and lowered his voice as he said, “You are drunk, Y/N. And it is time to go.”

Y/N squared up with him, but she knew there was no winning. Azriel wouldn’t make a scene, but she could fully expect him to drag her into his shadows and whisk her to the other side of Velaris. And her pride wouldn’t allow such a thing.

So, she turned back to Donton.

“Perhaps another night,” she told him gently, trying not to appear embarrassed.

He gave her a polite bow of his head. “Any night that you wish, Y/N.”

She was grateful that he wasn’t deterred by the overprotective Illyrian spymaster.

But as Y/N turned to leave, she shouldered Azriel hard. Even though she knew it hurt her more than it could ever hurt him.

The rest of the group had left, except Mor, who now talked to a group of females at a different table.

As soon as they were outside, the brisk night air woke Y/N up a bit.

She turned around and got into Azriel’s face. “Am I a grown woman?”

Azriel blinked. And his shadows hid behind his shoulders.

Y/N stepped even closer. “I asked you: Am I a grown woman?”

“Yes,” he finally answered evenly.

“Then you are not my nanny. I may do as I wish,” Y/N huffed and shoved past him again to march onward.

He called out, “Where are you going?”

“Back to the House of Wind,” she growled over her shoulder without stopping.

But then Y/N was suddenly picked up and launched into the air, yelping with surprise.

“You bastard!” She snapped at him, trying to wiggle out of his hold before they got too high.

The Illyrian had the audacity to smirk at her outrage and flapped his wings harder, making them launch even higher at a speed she didn’t appreciate.

As soon as they landed at the House of Wind, Y/N shoved her way out of his arms and started stomping away.

“Y/N, wait,” Azriel called out to her gently.

For some reason, she did as he asked and turned to look at him expectantly.

“I did not mean to embarrass you. After what you said tonight…” his words died out. “You had a lot of wine and I didn’t want you to regret your actions.”

Y/N wanted to still be angry. But Azriel’s eyes were soft and only filled with concern. “Perhaps you are right…about the wine. But I am not yours to publicly claim. I am a free woman – and I’ve spent my whole life making sure it stays that way.”

Azriel gave a final nod. “I understand. I am sorry, Y/N.”

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment longer before she finally continued on to her bedroom.

–🍁–🍁–🍁–

Eris knocked on the arched, wooden door of the manor. Surely Lucien would’ve sensed his arrival. But his brother wasn’t the only one who resided here.

Lucien was swift in answering.

He took one look at his eldest brother and said, “You look like shit.”

Eris wanted to bite back even harsher. But he knew his brother was only speaking the truth. His mother was right: staying away from his unbounded mate was starting to take a toll on him.

But instead, Eris snapped, “You do not understand how much you put at risk, asking for such impromptu meetings.”

No greeting. No pleasantries.

Lucien glared. “Would you have preferred that I write a letter inquiring about your mate, one that could easily be intercepted by our father?”

Eris flexed his right hand, immersing it in dangerous flames. Without any invitation, Eris pushed his way into the manor by grabbing hold of Lucien’s collar and shoving him back.

Lucien scoffed at such an attack. “So it is true…she is your mate.”

“I said nothing of the sort,” Eris growled.

However, Lucien didn’t look victorious from discovery the truth of Y/N.

Instead, his face dropped as he asked, “Why did you go to the Night Court? Why not come to me?”

Eris finally let go of his brother and put out his fire. “Last I heard, you were an emissary for the same court…” His eyes looked around the entry hall of the manor. “Or is this your home now, brother? Truly, I can’t keep track of where your loyalties lie any longer.”

Lucien ignored the passive insults directed towards him and brushed off invisible dirt from his outfit.

“Do you not find it ironic that you call this place home? This manor that was gifted to all of you by your mate’s once-fiancé?”

Eris was bating his brother now, trying to get the attention off himself.

“So this is your plan?” Lucien asked. “To hide her forever?”

There was no use in pretending Y/N was anything else to Eris. Lucien would not be fooled by any lies.

Eris’ glare tore into his brother. “You of all people should understand what would happen if I did anything else.”

“Yes, and I recall being forced to watch as you did nothing,” Lucien hissed.

Eris surprised them both by bellowing, “I could not save you both!”

Lucien froze as he watched his brother take in quick and heavy breaths.

“I chose my brother,” Eris declared. “And I would do it again.”

Lucien stared in disbelief.

Tamlin had never shared if Eris had helped him escape Autumn Court on that dreadful day. And perhaps Lucien just didn’t want to believe it. Maybe he had to convince himself that there was nothing left for him in Autumn Court – except his mother, who remained a prisoner with no chance of escaping.

“What are you truly mad about, Lucien? That I’m protecting her in a way you failed to so with your lover…or because all of this might be proving that I’m the not the monster you have conjured up in your head?”

Lucien was speechless.

“If Beron would torture one of his son’s lovers for merely being Lesser Fae,” Eris paused, feeling sick at the thought. “What do you think he would do to my mortal mate?”

But Lucien didn’t need to answer, because they both already knew.

“You were more of a father to me than that bastard ever was,” Lucien pointed out. “Yet, you have hunted me just the same as the others.”

“I have done what I must,” was all Eris responded with.

Lucien should’ve known better than to try and get his eldest brother to admit to even slightly caring about him.

Instead, he decided to truly take his brother in, noting the deep shadows under his eyes and the less than perfect posture. “I’ve seen what happens when two mates are separated…”

“We are not mated. And she is oblivious to the bond,” Eris corrected.

“Perhaps,” Lucien shrugged. “But you also should not feel the bond so strongly with a mortal. And she is more than that: she is a powerful and gifted witch.”

Eris had reached his tipping point. “I will take my leave now.”

“She has opened a store,” Lucien quickly added. “In Velaris. She’s helping them with injuries and ailments, both of the body and mind. Already they have started to adore her.”

Eris tried to control his heart, to stop it from quickening as he heard more about his forbidden mate.

So, he responded with a harsh, “Good. Night Court will truly become her home.”

But Lucien wasn't done yet. “Cassian tells me that she is training with the Valkyrie now. Apparently, she has quite the talent with the bow,” he added with a smirk.

Eris stored such information, but said nothing.

He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, slapping it to his brother’s chest as he walked to the door.

A letter from their mother.

“Did you read it?” Lucien asked, only somewhat concerned.

“I don’t have to,” Eris muttered. “I already know you are her favorite.”

Lucien had followed as his brother walked outside the manor.

“Eris,” he called.

The eldest Vanserra almost didn’t stop to turn around, almost winnowed away without hearing his brother’s final words.

But he paused and gave Lucien an impatient look.

“Whatever your plan is…do not underestimate our father. You may fool everyone else into believing you are equal in evil. But I know you better than you realize. He will not give up his throne without bloodshed.”

Eris didn’t respond, only winnowing away.

–––––––

OK. I was really excited about this chapter.

I also have had a terrible past week, so please write nice comment, reblogs, and book report message. 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

chapter xi

#eris vanserra #gust & flame #acotar #a court of thorns & roses #eris acotar #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #lucien vanserra #autumn court #inner circle #night court #azriel #nesta archeron #feysand #morrigan #cassian #rita's #velaris

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divinemare · 3 months

Text

Legend of a Mortal Love

┊ ➶ rhys x oc

┊ ➶ part seven

part six

Ariadne had learned long ago that dreams didn’t last forever. But leaving Velaris, it was a different kind of sadness, of disappointment. She had immersed herself in a dangerous bubble of joy and normality, and now that it was all over, her reality made her fall twice as hard.

“I don’t want to do this,” Rhiannon whispered in a sob, the chains that should’ve been with her this whole time now in the female’s shaky hands.

Ariadne smiled sadly, trying hard not to let the tears fall down her own checks. It was enough with all of the ones Rhiannon and Morrigan were spilling already.

“It’s ok,” she whispered, only managing to make her voice stable that way.

Rhiannon raised her violet gaze to her, guilt and shame turning off the usual glow in the Night Court’s daughter’ eyes.

“No, no it is not,” she shook her head, shamefully lowering it to squeeze the chains so hard her knuckles turned white.

A big hand came to rest on top of the female’s small one, Rhiannon did not look up as she sobbed and let Rhysand take the chains from her. Ariadne shifted her gaze from her crying friend to the Heir’s hard expression.

Rhysand did not let a single emotion show in his face, while he gently asked for her hand.

Ariadne did not let the tears fall, did not let her head and gaze falter as she extended both her wrists to the male.

Slowly, very painfully slowly, Rhysand put on the chains on her wrists, slowly brushing the still healing skin with his calloused fingers.

A weight so big it almost broke her heart completely sank into her as soon as she heard the click of the chains closing. Yet she still didn’t looked away from Rhysand’s violet eyes. Not until Morrigan’s arms wrapped around her, almost knocking her off if it weren’t for Rhiannon’s arms that joined the hug soon after.

Both females clang to her tightly, while she could only stand there and pray all this to be over soon.

When they finally parted, Cassian came near to give her a little pat in the shoulder.

“Until next time, little bird. Don’t stop singing, I can’t wait to hear what you come up with next,” despite the tense feelings the big Illyrian male was letting out, he managed to wink an eye at her and smiled sweetly, making Ariadne smile too and nodding her head in only response.

“Do you have it with you?” Azriel asked in a low voice when he stepped over where Cassian had been.

“Yes,” Ariadne nodded again, and the male nodded back.

“Good luck, Ariadne.”

She smiled at him with gratefulness, and at last, not standing a second more inside of that house without the possibility of breaking in tears, alongside Rhysand and Rhiannon, she excited the townhouse, saying her final goodbyes not only to the people she now would never be able to get out of her head, but to the city that would haunt her dreams like a cruel reminder of the life that couldn’t possibly be hers.

༺ ♡ ༻

The melody of her lost dreams drummed in her head as she stared at the infinite night sky of the Court of Nightmares. It was the same sky that she had stared at every night in Velaris, yet it felt so painfully different that it left an aching feeling in her chest.

“Ariadne, not again, please, get back to work!” She was snapped out of her daydreaming by Tara’s whispered voice.

“Yes, sorry,” stepping away from the window, Ariadne had no other choice but to follow her friend’s orders, knowing very well that if they didn’t finished their work, it would be her fault.

Ever since she came back, it had become difficult to follow the rhythm of her life. As if she hadn’t been living it for the past 19 years.

At end of the day they hadn’t reached their mark, so it meant they wouldn’t get their ration of food. Ariadne told Tara to go to at least get some rest while she picked up everything, and while she worked alone, she had the time and space to mumble all the melodies in her head without anyone interrupting.

“I thought working hours were over,” well, almost anyone.

This time, unlike every other time, Ariadne did not jump in surprise at the velvet silky voice behind her, nor was she surprised to find the winged male once she turned around.

“It is, I just didn’t finished the mark today and so I have nothing to rush for, so I’m picking everything up while Tara went to sleep,” she explained absentmindedly without looking up at him from her work.

“The mark?” Rhysand asked with curiosity.

Right. Of course he did not knew what happened in his own Court.

“You don’t finish the mark of the day, you don’t get your night ration of food, so, here I am,” the girl sighed, and straightened her back with a soft moan when her muscles ached.

“You haven’t eaten anything since lunch?”

“Well, they didn’t serve appetizers after lunch break, so no, I haven’t.”

Normally, Rhysand would bite the inside of his mouth to stop the smile on his face at one of her impertinent comments, yet this time there was no hint of amusement in his violet eyes when Ariadne turned to look at him surprised with all the silence, something much more darker lurked in them this time.

Uncomfortable with the new tense silence, Ariadne picked up everything she had gathered from the floor and took a deep breath, anxious for getting out of there as fast as she could.

“Well, if you excuse me, I’m dead tired, I’ll go leave this and-”

“Come with me to Illyria,” he interrupted her so abruptly Ariadne had no chance to get a grasp on his words.

She was speechless for a moment, surely she had to have heard incorrectly because there was no way he had…

“What?” She questioned the male, still stunned.

“Come with me to Illyria, Ariadne, you’ll stay with me. Then we could go back to Velaris, you would be working for me and not my father.”

A sudden rush of uncontrollable anger rushed through the tip of her toes to the tip of her head. She had received tons of improper proposals from High Fae males over the years, some taken without her consideration anyway, but this… it had to be the most shameful one so far.

The equipment in her hands fell to the floor with a loud thud, and despite the heaviness in her chains, she approached Rhysand with an accusing finger pointed at him.

“Listen, you may be the High Lord’s son, Rhysand, and I may be just a slave, but what makes you think you have the right to use me like that? What makes all of you High Fae think you have the right?!”

The male took a little step back with a face so full of confusion Ariadne almost believed him.

“Ariadne, I don’t know-”

“I’m not a toy, Rhysand, I will not be your toy!” With tears burning in her eyes, she waited for the struck, the cruel words, the promises of execution, because this time she had surely, most certainly, stepped over the line as a slave.

But none of those came.

Ariadne stared at the male with her chest falling and rising with so much force it was beginning to hurt. The tears she refused to spill burned her eyes to the point she had to shut them close for a second to send them away. Then she observed with a heavy heart how Rhysand’s face did not twist in anger but in shameful realization.

“Ariadne, I-” he tried to give a step closer to her, but she immediately gave one back.

Rhysand sighed, his head dropped down for a moment and his usually lightened up eyes were so dark they almost turned black. When he looked up at her again, a softness that shook Ariadne’s heart without explanation surprised her.

“I never had the intention to… use you, Ariadne. Not once did it even crossed my head. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression, I truly, deeply am. My proposal was not for you to be my mistress in any way, I just… I wanted to do something right, Ariadne, for once in my life, I wanted to do something right.”

She was out of words, so stunned she had to remind herself more than once to breath. Now she couldn’t take her eyes off of Rhysand’s, trying to look for something that told her that he was not being truthful, but she found nothing; on the contrary, only genuine shame tainted the beautiful eyes.

It made her feel weird, like the night in the balcony of the townhouse, or the night in the opera as well. Feelings she still couldn’t recognize flooded her chest with a pressure that was avoiding air to come in.

“Just… think about it, would you? I want you to come with me because you trust me, not because you feel obligated to.”

Ariadne didn’t had the words to answer to that, so she simply stared at the male with a stunned expression.

Rhysand, after minutes in silence, sighed and lowered his head once again. When he looked back at her, his eyes were so off that it made her want to give a step closer to him to see if that way she could catch one of the tiny stars she always saw dancing in his violet gaze. But her feet stayed planted in her place, unable to move, her mouth unable to pronounce words.

He nodded then, putting his hands in the pockets of his black pants and tucking his wings tightly behind him, a movement Ariadne had noticed when he was upset or uncertain, and walked away from her without saying anything else.

She stood there for a moment longer, weighing every single word that had been said in her mind with both a racing and a troubled heart.

༺ ♡ ༻

She hadn’t had a minute of sleep last night, her head spun all night not leaving her alone for one second. Her conversation with Rhysand replaying over and over again on her mind.

How did he do it? She asked herself at least a million times. How did he managed to make her lose her balance, to surprisingly trip on everything he did and said every single time?

She stoped looking for an answer to that question once it was obvious she was getting closer to sunrise without rest than to understanding Rhysand’s mind.

But the thing that scared her the most wasn’t how much space the male took in her head, or the fact that her chest hadn’t stoped pressing her heart with enough force she had to take deep breaths. But the fact she was actually considering his offer, and worse, than a little hidden-under-lock part of her wanted to actually trust him.

Sleep deprivation must have been fucking with her head, because when she woke up, Rhysand and his proposal was everything she could think of the entire day.

She couldn’t even concentrate in her tasks, Rhiannon had noticed it immediately when they were together in the kitchen for their “secret tea spilling session”, or so the female liked to call it.

Rhiannon had asked her what was on her mind, and Ariadne had expertly lied saying she was wondering what Rita had thought about the songs Cassian had delivered for her. Rhiannon had easily bought it, and promised she would soon visit Rita to ask her personally.

Later on that day, and by a miracle achieved with a little cheating help from Rhiannon’s powers, Ariadne finished the mark of the day, and was able to eat the insipid dinner they allowed her to eat.

Sitting at the tired, drained circle of human slaves that had been lucky enough to eat that night, Ariadne was even more attentive than ever.

Despite their horrible, meaningless lives, there were whom mastered smiles to try and keep up the rest of the group’s spirits, others whose eyes were no longer alive, and who seemed rather an empty vessel than a living being. Ariadne wondered just how many time it would take her to become that way.

Then she looked at Tara, eating right beside her. The girl would never admit it, but some nights, Ariadne could hear her praying to the Mother, crying the few tears she still had left, showing anything but the rigorous seriousness she always wore with flawless pretend.

Would Ariadne be able to leave her here? They had been together since both were captured by the High Fae and brought to the Night Court as slaves, could Ariadne leave that last part of her past live behind her?

Ariadne didn’t thought she had the courage.

“Something has been troubling you, more than usual,” Tara’s soft voice spoke slightly beside her, for only Ariadne to listen.

“It’s nothing,” the brown-haired girl shook her head and looked down at her unfinished meal, the cheese and hard-stone bread staring back at her with mocking reminder of the delicious meals she’d had a taste of in Velaris.

“I’m not stupid, Ari, I know you might think I don’t notice your meetings with Lady Rhiannon in the kitchen, or worse, how the Heir always seems to appear right where you are. Or the way you’ve changed since you left the Palace with them. What happened there? Where did you even go?”

Ariadne’s mouth dried and her gut twisted at her friend’s words. She did not answer for a really long time, didn’t even look up at Tara’s eyes because she knew very well that if she did so, Tara would read the truth from her eyes.

“I see something in your eyes every time you look at him, you know?” At those words, Ariadne did look up to the red-head, confusion lacing her face.

“What do you mean?”

“Ariadne, if you don’t accept his offer, you’ll regret it. You’ll drown here, vanish to an empty void where all those dreams that keep you always staring at the stars will be lost forever.”

Ariadne’s heart raced at an unsteady pace, her throat dried again, and she had to swallow two times to get herself to speak.

“How did you-“

“Don’t let them drown you,” but Tara did not let her finish her sentence as she stood up and walked away towards the sleeping area.

Leaving Ariadne’s head spinning with something both similar to dread and hope.

༺ ♡ ༻

Three weeks had passed since her conversation with both Tara and Rhysand. The male had gone to Illyria right after, in the company of his sister and mother. So Ariadne had had time both to miss Rhiannon, and to think throughly about the Night Court’s heir proposal.

Already neck deep in work, Ariadne tried to concentrate all her energy in her tasks, if only to make her friend’s words —and Rhysand’s—, leave her alone for a moment.

“If a male, said, invited you to spend some time at Rita’s even though he had never ever done something like that before, what would you think?” Rhiannon’s voice sounded behind her, entering the kitchen.

Ariadne could not hold back the little smile at the female’s voice, they hadn’t seen each other in almost a month, and it felt good to have the only good thing in this palace for her back.

“So, Azriel finally mastered up the courage huh,” she smiled sideways to the violet eyed female, watching from the corner of her eyes how a pink flush tinted her tanned cheeks.

“Well, I don’t know, considering Cassian and Mor will be there too, and when Rhys finds out he’ll get all dramatic and say we didn’t invite and come either way, I… oh Mother, if Rhys goes, Azriel will never do anything,” the female sat at the kitchen’s table and dropped her head in her hands.

Ariadne let out a soft laugh, she had never seen someone so smitten over someone else as Rhiannon was over Azriel, and well, Ariadne couldn’t really blame her, Azriel was not only impossibly gorgeous, but with the kindness he had shown Ariadne when they met… she couldn’t help but be rooting all the way for them.

“Relax, everything will be alright, I’m sure he’s just working up his courage little by little.”

“I really fucking hope the Mother hears you.”

Ariadne laughed again and turned around with a little shake of her head while finishing the cleaning she had been doing, but when a male voice entered the kitchen, she almost hit her head with the counter on top of it.

“I knew you’d be here, snatching sweets from Pan again?” Rhysand’s amused, velvet voice rang in her ears and traveled all the way to her stomach, making her have to inhale deeper for air.

He didn’t notice she was there, she thought, since he had yet to make any comments in her direction, so she ever so slowly turned to look at the siblings, only to find out Rhysand had already spotted her and, in fact, was looking straight at her.

He only gave her a soft smile, and that was it.

“Mum’s been looking for you,” snatching the sweet Rhiannon was about to get on her mouth and eating it himself, Rhysand gained a dark look from his sister and a pinch on the arm.

The female stood up with the grace of a princess and, before leaving the kitchen, turned back to look at Ariadne to say her goodbyes with a wink and a smile. Adiadne did the same, and when Rhiannon was gone, only Rhysand and her remained looking at each other, with the sounds of the rest of the kitchen staff seeming to stay behind as they did not looked away.

“You’re back,” she managed to say, standing off the floor and wiping off her skirt, as if that would do anything to help the dirt that completely covered it.

“Only to accompany Rhi and my mother, I’ll be back to Illyria tomorrow.”

“Oh, tomorrow?…” She had breathed the question rather than spoke it, Rhysand only nodded in confirmation, putting his hands on the pockets of his pants and… tucking in his wings.

Silence settled over them either a strange feeling, Ariadne wanted to get the words off her mouth, but her lips seemed to be under a spell of utter uselessness.

“I have to go look into some affairs before parting, I’ll leave you to your work,” with a heavy sigh, as if he too had been holding his breath, Rhysand stumbled momentarily over his own steps while turning around, but tried to act as if nothing had happened to rush out of the kitchen door.

“Rhys!…and,” Ariadne called behind him, and he turned around so quickly when he heard his nickname he again almost stumbled.

But as soon as Ariadne tried to repair her slip adding the final letters of his name, she could almost swear she saw something like disappointment flicker in his violet gaze.

“I…” Now, with his striking eyes looking at her again, she had fallen silent once more.

“If you don’t accept his offer, you’ll regret it. You’ll drown here, vanish to an empty void where all those dreams that keep you always staring at the stars will be lost forever.”

Tara’s words replayed in her mind, like they had done for the last three weeks.

What else did she had, if not for dead parents and a missing, surely dead brother. There was nothing left for her there, if there had ever been something to begin with. Just then did she realized the terrifying truth of Tara’s words; slowly, that place was drowning her, as it had with every human life that had been unfortunate enough to end up there. Her dreams, everything her father had taught her, fought for, and died for, everything would eventually be lost in the sea of darkness that would sooner or later swallow her up.

So, if her fate was already so evidently clear, what could she lose?

“Okay,” was everything she could bring herself to say with a small nod, and prayed her eyes could communicate what she wanted to Rhysand. The male read it loud and clear, and, if Ariadne’s eyes did not fooled her, sucked in a breath of almost relieve. He was fighting back a smile, and had to shift the weight of his body in his legs to keep from moving too much.

“Okay,” he answered with another nod, and both said nothing after, only stared at each other with that intensity only they seemed to share.

And in those star-filled eyes, Ariadne could’ve sworn she had just sealed her fate.

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acourtofinkandpapyrus · 7 months

Text

My Little Shadow: Part eight (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: none I think

Part seven Part nine

Tag list: @mis-lil-red @bubybubsters

After being questioned about her experiences, Y/N is given a choice, does she want to work with the nightcourt, or concentrate on her own life?

I sat in the large room of the townhouse, a new cup of tea in my hands as I surveyed all the different people in the room.

There were the people I knew. Morrigan, Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel.

But there were also three females I didn’t recognise. Two of them held a resemblance to the highlady, one a timid little thing, while the other had eyes sharper than knives.

The female that really caught my eye though, was the one with short black hair in a stylish bob, and silver eyes. I could feel she was different, but I couldn’t place my finger on why.

It might have helped if she had even looked at me.

“Everyone.” Rhysand spoke, and everyone looked at him except the dark haired female. “This is Y/N. She’s a shadowsinger, and she’s been helping Azriel look into some of the problems in Hewn City.”

The dark haired female perks up at this, discarding her book to look at me. “Another shadowsinger, hmm?” She asks, and I recognise the look she’s giving me as her eyes trace me up and down.

She was looking at me like I was prey.

I shot her back a toothy grin before forcing my features to settle on mildly bored as the highlord continued on.

“Yes. And she made a deal with Azriel, who got my help in fulfilling his end without telling me what it was for.” He shot another glare at Azriel, who just shrugged.

“So, what exactly did you learn about this cult that’s forming in Hewn City Y/N?” He asked, and I stiffened up as I felt everyone’s eyes shift to me.

My shadows curl around my hands comfortingly, giving me just enough confidence to start speaking.

I told them about everyone who had been in the meeting, including my father, I told them about how they didn’t plan to stop, I told them every detail my shadows had relaid to me.

The highlord nodded, his posture stiff as he took in all I had said. Everyone in the room was reacting differently, but it was clear they were all upset by what they had heard.”

“So why did you try to get out of your end of the bargain?” The highlord asked, and I sat up straighter, not caring that I was now sneering at him.

“I did no such thing!” I said, offended at the way they all looked at me in disbelief.

I craned my neck around to get a look at Azriel, but he wasn’t there anymore.

I was alone.

“What happened then?” The highlady cut in, her questions less accusatory than her mate’s.

I crossed my arms, uncomfortable sharing how I had been abducted and violated by maids to get me ready for a forced marriage.

I swallowed thickly. “I-” I struggled to speak as my shadow coiled more tightly around me.

My vision started to blur, and I found myself unable to draw a proper breath as in the background I could hear the highlord say something in an angry tone.

“She was in a wedding dress, Rhys.” Azriel’s voice cut through my panic, and everyone else's conversations.

He was behind me again, a teapot in his hands.

The highlord's eyes went wide as he realized what had happened.

I shoot up, done with the conversation. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be with my sister.” I declare before storming off, not waiting for an apology.

Maybe this highlord was different, but there was one thing he still had in common with all the others.

If you weren’t important to him, he would crush you into fine powder.

I found Stella playing with Nyx. She was a bit older than him, but neither of them minded, playing with carved wooden toys.

Stella looked up as I entered the room, her eyes glittering with joy.

At least someone was having a good time.

“Sis, this is Nyx! Say hi Nyx!” She said, looking at her new friend, who turned towards me, shy as he waved.

I smiled softly, giving him a little wave back.

Normally, I would join Stella in her playing, but I didn’t want to go near either of them with the anger that sat heavy in my chest.

“Rhys feels bad about what happened, you know.” I didn't look over, I could tell it was Cassian, and I wasn’t very interested.

“If it makes it any better, Nesta tore into him after you left.” He said, and I could hear the grin in his voice.

Despite myself, I looked over at him. “Who’s Nesta?” I asked, trying to sound for the most part uninterested.

He chuckled. “Nesta’s my mate, and Feyre’s older sister. You probably saw her in the main room, she’s the one who looks like she could rip your head off.”

I gave an involuntary huff of laughter, but then forced myself to be quiet. We both stood there like that for a few minutes before I got up the courage to ask, “So what now?”

He looks a little confused, and I roll my eyes. “For me. I’m guessing the lot of you don’t want me staying here, so where are you going to dump me off at?” I said, sounding annoyed instead of the fear I felt.

What if they decided to drop us right back off in the snow?

“Actually, we were wondering if you’d like to stay here.” I try not to wince at the highlady’s voice. It still comes as a shock everytime she grins softly or I see her modest attire.

I bit my lip anxiously, letting my shadows curl around me once more.

“What do you want in return?” I ask, remembering how Azriel asked that of me back in Hewn City.

Feyre shook her head. “No, nothing like that. If you want to, we would appreciate your help in various matters, including the cult in Hewn City, but all of it’s your choice.”

I stand there, feeling a little shell shocked.

We could stay here. Stella and I could have a home, one where we didn’t have to fear everything, one where we could walk outside and see the stars.

I could work with them, with my highlord and highlady.

Not looking at her so she can’t see what I’m thinking, I reason it through.

I had been hiding my abilities as a shadowsinger for so long. I know that if I join them, I'll be working with Azriel.

He could help me figure out more about what we can do. Maybe I could teach him how to have a shadow form, only if he teaches me how to winnow with shadows though.

And maybe…. Just maybe I could use this position to help my mother and sisters, who were still stuck in Hewn city.

I turned to my highlady, my head high. “I would love to stay here, and I’ll help in any way I can.”

She smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back a little bit.

“Can we go get something to eat? I’m starving.” Cassian said impatiently, watching the two of us blocking the door.

The highlady snickered as I got out of his way, and as I looked at Feyre, wearing a ridiculous grin, I decided that these people maybe weren’t as bad as I had feared.

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bubybubsters · 8 months

Text

Impossible (part two)

A/n: Good day, actually no horrible day but whatever, Im still writing. Im sorry for the wait guys.

kinda short sorry.

prolouge one three

Pairing: reader x eris, reader x azriel, azriel x eris

Wc: 1000+

⚠️: curse word

*****

Eris’ POV

Eris held back a yawn as he and Azriel waited for Rhysand to show up. He’d begged invited you to join them but you’d merely said you’d think about it before retiring to your room. Technically his room but he hadn’t gone back, instead going to tediously long meetings with his council members. He’d been up more than 14 hours, he had a right to be tired (and to a nap). Next to him, Azriel didnt seem remotely tired even though he’d been up at least two hours more than Eris.

Eris studied the shadowsinger out of the corner of his eye. He seemed relaxed, watching servants go in and out while carrying supplies for a toilet.

“Are you going to continue watching me creepily or be polite and look away?” The shadowsinger didnt even bother to look at Eris as he spoke.

She’s not yours

Eris sighed, looking away. “Do you love her?”

Now Azriel turned to look at him, face cold. “That’s none of your business, High Lord.”

“It is my business because you are in my court and probably stuck here for a long period of time.” Eris turned to face Azriel as well, face hard as he thought back on the shock of the morning.

Azriel opened his mouth, about to respond when a very angry Rhysand and Cassian stormed through the doors, sending the servants scurrying.

“What happened?”

Eris and Azriel looked at eachother and Eris smiled, shoving the spymaster forward to face his High Lord. Azriel shot him a dirty look over his shoulder and grimaced as he faced Rhys.

“Hello Rhys, how is your evening?”

Rhysand raised one eyebrow, “You’re not usually one to make small talk Azriel. What the Hell is going on?”

“I accidentally made a promise to stay in this room until me an Y/n worked our… problems aside.”

Rhys sighed, strolling forward and pulling Azriel into a brotherly embrace. He whispered into Azriel’s shoulder, “it’ll be fine Az but if she rejects you, let her go. She deserves her happiness as well and if it’s not with you than believe she will choose someone worthy.”

Eris smiled, suddenly glad Rhysand was good with words. He agreed wholeheartedly with the High Lord and really hoped Azriel would follow the advice.

Cassian eyed Eris before joining the group hug, wings wrapping around his brothers. Eris sighed, smile falling. How he wished he had a relationship as whole and strong as that. He had Lucien of course, but he was usually with Helion, learning how to be a High Lord.

Refocusing his attention on the Illyrian warriors he nodded in greeting to Rhysand and the Illyrian nodded back, albeit warily. Eris couldn’t even blame him for that, he had talked to Morrigan at his mother’s bidding and the two had understood eachother (mostly). But she hadn’t had courage to tell the Inner Court the true story of what happened on that day so until she told them, Eris was still a half enemy.

“Will you take care of my spymaster as long as the lovebirds need to… sort this out?”

Eris nodded, “Will you repay the expenses of building a triple sized bathtub for Azriel?” He smirked as Rhysand eyed the half finished bathtub that was barely 3 quarters of Azriel’s wings spread out.

The High Lord groaned, “yes I will.” But turning to Azriel he mumbled, “that’s coming straight out of your salary.”

Cassian laughed, clapping Azriel on the back. “I finally get payed more then you, brother.”

Azriel mutters something Eris couldn’t hear and the Illyrian’s say their farewells. Azriel watches them go for a while and Eris turns to see how the construction of the giant bathtub is going, still wishing for the impossible (improbable).

She’s not yours.

“You were nice today.” Azriel’s words sound more like a question which honestly offends Eris slightly.

“What do you mean? I’m always nice!”

The spymaster just rolls his eyes and goes to sit against the wall, wings spread out. Eris sighs joining him. “I wasn’t nice, I was civil. But it’s not for anything other than her.”

Azriel visibly tenses, “she’s my mate Eris not yours. The mother paired her with me.”

This time Eris rolls his eyes, “of course, of course. I won’t make a move until she rejects you, after all you are the one who chose Elain over her.”

“Shut it. Why can’t you be civil with me? Why must you be so…uncivil?”

Eris snorts at the choice of words, laughing as the shadowsinger glowers at him. “I cant be civil with you because you’re her mate. Not me. I swear sometimes I can practically feel the Mothers hatred.”

Azriel shook his head his words.

They sat like that for a while before Eris made up some lame excuse to leave which Azriel scoffed at.

Smiling to himself, Eris shifted, starting to stand when he heard a noise that immediately made him hard glance back at the spymaster.

The spymasters head was tipped back in ecstasy and Eris realised that his untamed, slightly curly hair was brushing against the tip of Azriel’s wing. Eris started to pull away but hesitated as Azriel didn’t make to move. He unabashedly took in the spymasters handsome face.

As Eris watched, Azriel slowly opened his eyes to look at his wing where the two touched. Eris froze. Maybe he should have pulled away, what if Azriel got defensive about his wings? Stiffening slightly Eris took a step back and tensely glanced around. All the servants were gone and the remaining fourth of the bathtub had been finished. How long had they been here?

Turning back to Azriel he spoke, “I-”

Their eyes met and something reached out from Eris’s chest, near his heart. Eris blinked, tugging on the invisible string that ended with a certain shadowsinger.

Azriel responded in kind, tugging on the bond as the two males gawked at eachother. They couldn’t be mates, Azriel was already paired with you.

Silence and then Eris practically sprinted out the front door, head spinning from the encounter.

They weren’t mates. They couldn’t be. No. No. This is just some shitty dream that his brain made up.

but… if he was Azriel’s mate and Azriel was your mate. Didn’t that mean you were also his mate?

no.

She might be yours.

Impossible. Right?

*****

masterlist

A/n: 😁

Reblog, comment or like please! (Or else it will be impossible (improbable) for me to pass my next exam.)

Taglist

@thelov3lybookworm @profound-imagination @cleverzonkwombatsludge @the-sweet-psycho @impossibelle @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @a-frog-with-a-laptop @stargirl1714 @wallacewillow0773638

#bubybubsters #acotar #fanfic #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #eris x reader #azriel fanfic #eris vanserra #azris x reader #azris #azris fanfiction #azriel x eris #acotar fanfic #eris vanserra x reader #eris acotar #autumn court heir #high lord eris #autumn court

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starsreminisce · 7 months

Note

Sjm laid the personality groundwork for Elain perfectly, she doesn't have to retcon anything to make Elriel plausible.

"you don't think he deserves to be with someone whom the cauldron deemed his equal"

He deserves to be with who he loves and has feelings for. And how are you so sure that Elain isn't his equal when we haven't seen the full force of her powers yet?

Lastly, the stark contrast of emotions between "I'm getting her back" and "we trained them well, Cassian. Trust in that. It's all we can do." Makes it clear that gwyn is not Azriel's mate.

Ah, yes, the classic Elriel comeback: "How can I be so sure?"

Elain doesn't like violence, has shown no interest in spying or being a fighter, needs sunshine and, his shadows tend to disappear when she's around.

Perfect match.

If Azriel truly loves Elain as much as some claim, why didn't he express that to Rhys when he asked about Mor? Why did he avoid the question altogether?

Cassian, Feyre, and Rhys all seem to understand that Azriel won't move on unless he lets go of Mor.

I expected Azriel to fight for Elain's affection, even against his High Lord. I expected him to speak more passionately than just playing the "I'm the third brother, why not me" card. He should have conveyed that he and Elain are better suited for each other, emphasizing her preference for him over her own mate. He should have declared his love for her and challenged Rhys's perspective. He should have called Rhys's bluff on any potential demotion.

After their meeting, I expected Azriel to seek her out, explain himself, and offer a proper apology with the kiss he had promised her. He should have kept the necklace, intending to give it to her when the time was right.

At the very least, he should have addressed her by her name rather than continuing to refer to her as "the third sister," especially if his love for Elain runs as deep as you suggest.

But wait, silly me, because the bonus chapter isn't truly canonical for Elriels, at least not the part where he's with Gwyn.

So, I anticipated that Cassian and Nesta would drop more hints about Elain and Azriel's undeniable connection.

I would have expected them to question why Azriel couldn't seem to stay away from her, why he chose to move to the river house, why he danced with her so frequently during the Hewn City solstice, and why he remained by her side throughout the river house solstice. I wondered why Azriel didn't offer comfort to Nesta regarding Elain's desire to assist her if they were confiding in each other. And why did Azriel maintain such intense eye contact with Elain and look at her with longing?

However, none of these details were present in the story so far, were they?

And, of course, some Elriels can't help but interpret Az's efforts to get Elain back, while not pursuing Gwyn, as "proof" of their ship, even though it's what solidifies Gwynriel for me.

This is what Azriel did when he rescued Gwyn the first time:

He closed his eyes, as if reeling his rage back into himself. “I heard that Mor had brought one in. Azriel was the one who made it out there first, and he killed any of the Hybern soldiers left, by that point …”

Azriel slaughtered all of them within moments. He didn’t hesitate. But I could barely move, and when I tried to get up … He gave me his cloak and wrapped me in it. Morrigan arrived a few minutes later, and then Rhysand appeared, and it became clear some of the soldiers had gotten away with the piece of the Cauldron, so Azriel headed after them.

THAT IS MATE BEHAVIOR. Azriel typically leaves a couple for interrogation, especially when it's part of his job.

Azriel's trust in Gwyn's abilities during the Blood Rite, even though it posed a higher risk to her life compared to allowing Elain to search for the trove, strongly resembles mate-like behavior.

Kinda sorta like Rhys trusting Feyre to go into Spring Court? or hold out her own against the weaver?

After all, show me a mated pair who wouldn't permit their female counterpart to pursue something they desired, and who would openly express their disagreement to their face.

Lastly, I will leave you with this:

And I wondered if love was too weak a word for what he felt, what he’d done for me. For what I felt for him.

I've read every argument for Elriel to understand the pairing. And I just don't because there is a very solid counterargument that you're just not accepting.

Az's bonus chapter was the final nail to that coffin.

Enjoy your ship. Stop trying to convince me that it'll happen because only SJM would.

And if you don't like Elucien and Gwynriel because it's "same old wash rinse repeat" then that's you having a problem with SJM's writing and favored tropes.

#gwyn x azriel #pro gywnriel #gwynriel #antielriel #antie/riel #cauldron gasped when Az said what if she was wrong and will take it personal #Gwyn and Az's story is going to be the cutest friends-to-lovers story #where both of them try to deny it because they feel the other isn't ready for it or isn't interested in it

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malvolios-yellow-stockings · 7 months

Text

I'm getting DA:O brainworms again, but there's something so delicious about unhardened Warden Alistair growing into an unrequited (but actually kind of requited) love for (Mage) Warden who romances Morrigan and leaves him behind. Like, there's this one person who's been trying to convince you of good in this world, telling you not to grow cold, this person who was your right hand man, or, moreso you were his. This boy basically, you stumbled upon, who experienced the real world for the first time with you by his side. A man you walked Ferelden up and down with. Someone you've entrusted your life to and spilt blood for and who has done the same for you. A friend who has indulged your fancies, who reluctantly did things for you, who helped you bury a king who hadn't treated him kindly. And you've never really had feelings for anyone before him, at least like this, and you don't know what they are. And then you see him mingle with the Witch of the Wilds. See how he looks at her, trying to be cocky to impress her. See her twist this man into making decisions you're sure he'd never agree to were she not there to whisper it to him. And when you turn to the rest of your companions, they mock you and warp your concern. You are ready to give your life for this man, if it means slaying the Archdemon and ending the Blight but he speaks of some Dark Ritual. And it makes your soul grow weary and scared. And then Morrigan disappears and you finally think to yourself - this was for the best. But your friend is inconsolable. He talks of her with a fog over his eyes and a wistfulness that tugs at your chest. You try to keep him close to you but can feel him slipping away as you lose most of your contact. Maybe it's for the best. You hear of his exploits while on your missions with the Wardens. You try to keep away from him because seeing him once again makes you remember how it once was. It makes you flinch to remember his attempt at making you a king to rule beside Anora. The cold calculation of it all, his action unrecognisable to you. How much even the thought of it hurt. Maybe he hadn't been your friend? Maybe he hadn't understood you after all. But you joke about it, try to make it funny in your head. He's surely like a brother to you. Who couldn't forgive their brethren? And then you hear of his disappearance. The worst thoughts present themselves to your Taint-bitten imagination. And then you realize what he was doing. Some or other mention it, a mirror of some kind, something elven, you think, (maybe he was finding his heritage?) And then you hear it whispered. Morrigan, Flemeth's daughter. Yes, that Flemeth, they say. And you've never felt more betrayed in your life. You never got to say goodbye to him. To throw a jab one last time. And you grow bitter, because isn't it grand to finally understand that everyone leaves you in the end. You were born a royal bastard but you were an expendable means to an end and you will always be. And you abort this love and twist yourself into a leader because you know how much Thedas needs you, people like you, even though the place itself and the people around you might not. You still think of him from time to time. What became of Morrigan and him, but you forget the sound of his voice and the way he brightened your days and made you believe in something better. What remains is a dull sense of betrayal and bitterness with the man who turned on his principles and left you behind. And, Maker, it makes you twist with guilt. Get over it, you think, he has chosen a dark path.

(Mind y'all -

- I refuse to believe that the whole of Ferelden doesn't know why the HoF disappeared (when he goes with Morrigan). I just refuse to buy into it.

- I'm writing this at 2 fucking am and so working at 5% brain battery and 2% coherence and I'm not caught up on DA lore - I'm currently playing Inquisition, about 50 hours in, and have just met with Alistair again, which is what pushed me to write this drabble anyways.

- His painful and palpably disappointed dialogue about the Warden walking a dark path and the way the party reacts to his concern over the Warden being with Morrigan in Origins always kind of make me feel a pinch of what if? Alistair repressed bisexual

- Surana is my fave Warden as is apparent

- I am fully aware I am UPPING THE ANGST and I say - I want more!)

#dragon age #dao #alistair theirin #alistair dragon age #warden #warden surana #warden amell #alistair x warden #“I AM SO SORRY FOR SUBJECTING YOU PEOPLE TO THIS”#dragon age origins

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bookish-whore · 1 year

Text

'Til Death

Rhysand x Reader

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: arranged marriage, mostly fluff, themes of emotional/psychological abuse

A/N: Welcome to Day Three!!! Today we have the first part of what I think will become a cute little slow burn/strangers to lovers/forced proximity fic. this is based on a request one of you lovely anons sent in and I hope you like it!

My Masterlist -> Here

Join my Taglist -> Here

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

I never imagined myself getting married.

As a child I detested the idea. In fact, I remember a conversation with my parents about how I would rather renounce my titles and claims to my fortune than be forced to be a bride.

It all happened so quickly I didn’t even have time to truly process that today was the day. As I stared in the mirror at myself in this ridiculous white dress, I couldn’t help but feel as though my freedom was slipping away with each passing minute. I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye when the door opened without warning and a blonde female entered the room, she was stunning, one of the most beautiful females I had seen. She wore a form fitting red dress, her blonde hair cascading down her back in loose curls.

“Hello, its y/n right? You look absolutely beautiful” the female remarked

“Umm…yes” I said tentatively “who are you?”

“Oh! My apologies I didn’t think about how strange this would be for you. My name is Morrigan, Mor for short and I am Rhysands cousin. I know this isn’t the best circumstance for us to meet under, but I have something for you…from Rhys.”

“For me?” I asked, she extended her hand and there was a letter with my name on the front and a black seal with the night court emblem on the back. I turned it over in my hands analyzing the elegant script that I deduced belonged to my future husband.

“This is all just so…overwhelming” I admitted

“Trust me, I get it probably on a level many others don’t. I just came because Rhys thought it might help your nerves to get to know him a little before the ceremony. He managed to delay a few more hours on account of some fake emergency.”

“I’ll be just outside the door waiting for your answer.” She said quickly turning and leaving the room, closing the heavy door as softly as she could manage.

I made my way to the couch in the dressing room and sat carefully, trying not to wrinkle my dress. I broke the seal, removing the letter. I was surprised to find he had such elegant handwriting

Y/n, I’m sure an arranged marriage to a complete stranger was not what you had envisioned for your wedding day (on that we can both agree) My cousin has no doubt used her eccentric flare to get you to read this and I hope that you will join me for a drink before we do this, while not what we planned I hope that we can make the best of this situation. -Rhysand

I appreciated the effort, and I had to admit I was curious about my soon-to-be-husband. Before I could lose my nerve and overthink his gesture I stood, opening the door to find Mor exactly where she said.

“Let’s go for a drink” I said

“Seems like the rational thing to do” she replied with a smile, extending her arm for me to take and she led me through the halls of this manor to what I presumed was the roof.

As Mor opened the door I was struck with this feeling, I was nervous to meet him, I mean I knew him by his reputation but had never met the High Lord of the Night Court. If the stories were to be believed he was menacing, cruel, and evil but the man who wrote that note didn’t seem like any of those things.

“Good luck” Mor whispered as she closed the door leaving me alone with him up here

His back was turned as I approached him, but I took in his height, he was easily one of the taller males I had met. His hair was an interesting shade of black, almost like a raven’s feathers and he wore a well-fitted black suit.

I halted behind him and smoothed out my dress. I should try and make a good impression after all, and I cleared my throat to garner his attention. He turned and I was immediately struck by his eyes. They were such a unique shade of violet; it was unlike anything I had ever seen before and as his eyes met mine all thoughts exited my head as I looked into his eyes, I mean really looked, I noticed that from a distance they looked violet but up close it was like a galaxy like the night sky itself, there were flecks of silver, blue, and violet within his irises and I couldn’t help but wonder what he made of me.

“Hi” I said, giving him an awkward wave “I’m y/n, I’m sure the long white dress is a dead giveaway”

“It’s a pleasure” he said “I’m Rhysand, but my family calls me Rhys and I would like you to do so as well if you feel comfortable with that”

I nodded my answer

“So, what’s your drink of choice?” he asked

“I’ll take whatever you’re having” I said eying the glass of amber liquid he held in his hand

“A woman of refined tastes” he teased “I think we’ll get along fine”

He poured me a glass and motioned for me to sit, I didn’t enjoy being ordered around but I was intrigued by what he would say, what he would do given the situation.

“I can tell you’re nervous” he said taking a sip from his glass “Why?” he asked

“Why wouldn’t I be? I mean I am about to get married to a man who I hardly know”

“What exactly would you like to know?” he asked

“Well, for starters where will we be living?”

“In my townhouse, in Velaris” he answered simply

“What will my duties entail?”

“You aren’t my property y/n, you’ll be free to do whatever you wish. If you want to be a part of official court conversations, you will be as my equal worthy of the respect my court gives me or if you want to shop and live a life of leisure you are free do so as well. The choice is yours”

I took a sip of my drink, relishing in the slight burn as the liquid slid down my throat. Freedom. I would be free.

“And what about my wifely…duties” I asked, “what about children, your heirs?”

“I would never take someone into my bed unwillingly. Yes, you will be my wife but you aren’t some brood mare meant only for childbearing. Should you wish for a child, I’m sure we can work it out and should you never want children then so be it. We are going to be equals y/n, on that I swear.”

I felt much more at ease with that, he was offering me a life, he was offering me freedom, freedom to make myself something and to decide what I wanted for my life. It was something I hadn’t had.

For most of my life my parents had spent their time priming me to become the perfect wife. I learned to perform house duties like cooking, baking, sewing. I was taught history, and arithmetic and once I turned 16 my lessons transitioned to the ways to pleasure and please a man. Once they felt I was suitable for a match, they began making connections. I’m not entirely sure how they landed on Rhysand, or how they got him to agree to a marriage, but I assumed it had something to do with their control on spices and mining resources.

But now.

Now I had the opportunity to be more than a wife. He said I would be his equal. I felt the faint fluttering of butterflies in my stomach at the thought. I would outrank my parents; I would no longer be under their control and the thought had me practically running to the altar to say ‘I do’

“y/n?” Rhysand pressed “are you alright”

“Absolutely, I’m just thinking”

“Can I ask about what?”

“About my future”

“It’s a lot to think about” he agreed, finishing his glass

I downed the rest of the liquid in my glass “What time is it?” I asked

“Half-past seven” he said checking his watch “I should probably go back downstairs, make sure everything is in order”

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you…for all of this” I said

“Well, for starters you can follow through with your end of this deal and promise not to leave me up at the altar alone” he joked

I smiled, he really had a great sense of humor and I think we could even become friends.

“I wouldn’t dare embarrass a high lord like that” I teased back

“I’ll see you down there.” He said standing as he made his way to the door “I’ll be the one standing in the aisle”

“And I’ll be the one in the white dress” he nodded as the door closed leaving me alone on the roof.

I took some deep breaths before going back to my dressing room.

-----

I had to admit that it was beautiful. It was simple.

While being an arrangement, I still wanted my close friends and family present, it was a big day after all and I would only be doing this once. The setting was small and intimate, two rows on either side of the aisle and a simple arch where Rhys stood with the High Priestess.

When I made it down the aisle, Rhys took my hands in his, and the high priestess began the ceremony, I focused on the words being spoken in the old language. The priestess asked me to repeat after her:

“I take you, Rhysand, as my husband; to stand strong and equal by my side. by destiny we are aligned. W-We will face challenges together and find st-strength in our union. By the Sun, Moon, & Stars.”

The priestess nodded as she continued, and I repeated after her.

“May we always be as happy as we are today. May the mother give us knowledge on our way to come. May she bless us with strength and courage, and may she grant us safety, family, and prosperity.”

As if sensing my anxiety, Rhys squeezed my hand, the small gesture grounded me as Rhysand repeated the same vows. We then moved to the hand-cord portion. The priestess projected her voice to us and our guests.

“You were asked to choose ribbons in 3 colors to be woven together as a tangible symbol of the values and virtues that you hold dear in your lives and in your union. You chose red, symbolic of fire and passion, so that your love may always be bright, warm, and passionate. Green, representative of delicate leaves, symbolic of growth, so your love may be fruitful and vibrant, and your happiness abundant. And black, to represent wisdom, success, and strength.”

As she spoke, she wrapped the ribbons around out joined hands, tucking the ends into each other and placing her hands on top to offer the final blessing.

“These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, for a lifetime of happiness. These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes, tears of sorrow and tears of joy. These are the hands that will comfort you in illness and hold you when fear or grief racks your mind. These are the hands that will hold you tight as you struggle through difficult times. These are the hands that will give you support and encourage you to chase your dreams. Together, everything you wish for can be realized.”

She looked between us and our joined hands as she spoke the next part

“This cord of three braided ribbons symbolizes so much. It is your life, your love, and the eternal connection that the two of you have found with one another. The true bonds of this handfasting are not formed by these ribbons, or even by the knot connecting them. They are formed instead by your vows, by your pledge, your souls, and your two hearts, now bound together as one. May your hands be forever clasped in friendship, and your hearts joined forever in love… by the power vested in me by the cauldron and the mother, I declare you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

Before I had time to panic about kissing him his mouth was on mine. It was a quick but firm kiss purely out of necessity.

And just like that we were married.

We decided to make our rounds and say hello to all of our guests before leaving. Rhysand walked us to his group of friends, I hadn’t officially met them yet, but I’m sure that would come once he whisked me away to the night court. They clapped him on the back and gave him wide smiles, even though our situation was unusual they seemed to support him. They had such an easy familiarity. They just seemed to understand each other.

I stood there pondering my circumstances, in truth, I was excited to be on my own, even if that meant being attached to Rhysand. I would be in a new home, a new place, and away from my parents. I had never even been away on my own and now I would be saying goodbye to them for the foreseeable future. Perhaps I would find my own friends, my own family and that thought electrified me.

The last people to talk to before we departed were my parents.

It was a brief meeting of polite conversation, I didn’t dare show my excitement to be free of them. I spoke only when absolutely necessary but with each passing minute I became more anxious to leave. As if sensing my rising nerves, Rhys pulled me to his side and spoke excusing us.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both” Rhysand said shaking my father’s hand and giving my mother a nod “but it’s getting late and we should be going we have quite a ways to travel tonight”

They both nodded in understanding and my mother, always one for the optics, pulled me into a final embrace and held me tight, taking the opportunity to whisper in my ear “Remember your lessons, don’t disappoint us”

I pulled away taking one last look at them before Rhysand grabbed me around the waist, winnowing us away.

-----

We arrived at the townhouse.

It was much cozier than I had imagined. Rhys gave me a tour starting in the foyer which was decorated with a red carpet, with wood-paneled walls and art on each wall. There were two rooms: on the left a sitting room with a black marble fireplace, lots of comfortable, but worn furniture, and bookshelves built into every wall. On the right was a dining room with a long, cherrywood table big enough for ten people. Down the hallway ahead there are a few more doors, which led to the kitchen.

Rhys led me up the wide oak staircase to a hall punctuated with chandeliers of swirled, colored glass that illuminated the bedroom doors and led me down the hall stopping outside a green door.

“This will be your room” he said as he opened the door motioning me to enter.

It was quite beautiful. It was dark out but I could tell that the room faced the back of the townhouse, the large windows peered over the stone fountain in the center of the garden. I took in the décor, everything in the room was a dark, rich, wood and soft white, with touches of subtle sage. The bed was in the center of the far wall and was a massive cloud like thing, adorned in quilts and duvets of cream and ivory with accent pillows in various shades of green.

There was also an attached bathing room made of white marble, with a toilet, a claw-foot tub, and more windows that overlooked the garden wall and a thick line of cypress trees that bordered the property.

“This is incredible” I said as we made our way back to the entrance of my bedroom.

“I want this to feel like your home, this is your space so feel free to make whatever changes you like.” He said

“Rhys- I really don’t know what to say…thank you”

“No thanks necessary. I think we can help each other here.” Before I could ask him to elaborate, he continued “You should get some rest, it’s been a taxing day for the both of us.”

With that he stepped out of the room “Goodnight y/n” he said as he closed the door behind him.

As I looked around the room. my room I suppose. I couldn’t help but think that this morning I thought my circumstances would be much different.

But now?

I think I’m going to like it here.

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Tune back in tomorrow for Day Four ❤️

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anneapocalypse · 1 year

Text

On Dragon Age II's Ending

The ending of Dragon Age 2 has always felt to me like the least morally ambiguous of any of the games' mage-templar decisions and frankly one of the least ambiguous "big" decisions in the series.

DA2 makes it extremely obvious that the Circle mages are about to be executed for something that absolutely none of them had any part in and no one, not even the Knight-Commander, is arguing that that isn't the case. You can feel whatever kind of way about what Anders did, and still recognize the staggering injustice of killing all the Circle mages for something that everyone, including the Knight-Commander calling for their deaths, is fully aware they did not do.

And just in case that wasn't clear, someone made a point of dropping in that bit of ambient dialogue telling us that Meredith is already trying to get clearance for the Right of Annulment before the explosion; she's just looking for an excuse. The game is pretty clear about the injustice of this situation, regardless of how many demons and blood mages there may or may not be in Kirkwall.

I'm a chronic replayer who enjoys making up new characters every time to see things I haven't seen before and I didn't have a particularly difficult time coming up with in-character, circumstantial reasons why a character might annul the Circle in DAO or recruit the templars in DAI and believe they're doing the right thing. For the former: dwarven noble who knows little about magic and believes what the Knight-Commander tells her, and chooses the wrong dialogue option with Morrigan in the party so Wynne attacks and therefore is not present in the party as an emotional anchor and a voice for the mages, and listens to Cullen when he says it's too dangerous to let any of the mages live. For the latter: non-mage human noble from a Chantry-connected family who just implicitly trusts templars, as he was raised to. Or Dalish elf who walks into Redcliffe, sees a magister stinking up the place and says "Well, the Dread Wolf take the lot of you then" and turns around and marches straight to Therinfal, conscripts the templars, disbanding the Order in the process. Just a couple of easy examples I've actually played.

But the ending of DA2 is a choice between "Yes, I will help to execute these people for something everyone knows they didn't do" or "No, I will not do that and I will help them defend themselves and escape." Of course it's possible to come up with in-character reasons to make the former choice, and I have! But it's much less of a choice a character could just stumble into, and you have to do a lot more ideological contortions for a character to do that and believe they're doing the right thing.

Yes, there are a lot of blood mages and demons in Kirkwall. While we don't get a lot of opportunities to treat blood mage NPCs with much nuance apart from Merrill as most blood mages are programmed to attack on sight (and this is likely a product of the game's tight development deadline), the game itself offers an explanation for this in the writings of the Band of Three, the Enigma of Kirkwall codex entry that you can collect throughout the story. While you have to look to find it, this history does make it clear that Kirkwall is meant to be an outlier, for reasons both political and historical (which is another post for another day). And Merrill herself, whether you agree with her viewpoints or not, does offer an important counterpoint: a character designed to be sympathetic while giving a more nuanced perspective to the player on why a mage might choose to use blood magic.

And yeah, even with the fact that the game makes you fight Orsino in the mage ending, I still think this. It's clumsily executed, yes, but Orsino going all blood magic harvester abomination is just one more example of what the game has been showing us all along: that mages (like most people) turn to extreme measures when they're backed into corners with no sense of hope, and the templars then use those extreme actions to justify further abuses of mages. I don't think it was strictly necessary (and for what it's worth, Mark Darrah agrees with that; it's a decision that was made out of concern for gameplay balance more than narrative and in hindsight he's said that he thinks it was a mistake), and I definitely think it could have been executed better, but as it stands it does fit an ongoing theme, and Orsino's actions still do not justify the murder of every other mage in the Circle.

And then there's that thing where Hawke can only receive the support of the nobility and become Viscount if they side with the templars, thereby agreeing to uphold the existing power structures in Kirkwall. It's easy to miss if you've never played through the templar ending (and also because Hawke doesn't hold the position for long and Inquisition doesn't really acknowledge that they ever did Correction: It is actually mentioned in the Champion of Kirkwall codex entry, and possibly other places as well, my memory just failed me), but to me that outcomes is absolutely inspired. It serves to highlight how deeply intertwined the nobility are with the Chantry. The nobles of Kirkwall want Meredith deposed because they feel she's overstepped her bounds by denying them a proper viscount, but they are not anti-Chantry or anti-Circle; they still want mages locked up, and they probably also remember what happened the last time Kirkwall's nobility decided to try and contest the Chantry's power in their city (see: Perrin Threnhold).

I find the templar ending genuinely interesting to play through in terms of seeing the story from that angle, and in terms of what it has to say about power structures and politics in Thedas generally and in Kirkwall in specific, which I also wrote about recently. (To say nothing of how differently it frames Varric in Inquisition when the Hawke he idolizes is the Hawke who slaughtered Kirkwall's mages to a one.) I would honestly recommend playing it at least once for lore reasons if you're into that sort of thing. But I would hardly say that you as a player come out of that ending feeling like you're playing the good guy.

And I'm not even arguing that all choices in the games should be this in-your-face. On the contrary, I don't think they all should. I like it when it's possible for a character to make a choice with unintended outcomes, or get accidentally locked into a worse choice because of previous decisions (like annulling the Circle and then being forced to kill Connor or Isolde). Those are some of my favorite kind of choices in these games. In this particular case, I do think the extreme nature of the choice is important to the story, both as the catalyst for the mage rebellion and to underscore why Anders did what he did.

So when people tell me that DA2 "both sideses" the mage-templar conflict... I respect that it's possible to feel that way about it, but I just don't see it. The game allows the player to role-play a character who might make various choices within its narrative; that is not the same thing as presenting all choices as morally equivalent in-universe, and it has never been the same thing, in any of these games.

If you're looking for one mage-templar choice that puts the injustice squarely in your face, I think the ending of DA2 is very much that.

#dragon age 2 #dragon age #blunders of thedas #dragon age meta #chantry explosion #i've had this unfinished in my drafts for a while but today's the day i guess!#lmk if there's anything else i should tag this #i realize this is stuff we all have very strong feelings about #if you disagree with me that's fine #i just ask that you be civil please #there's some very gentle criticism of the game in here but mostly re: the rushed development

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