#Gwyn is too precious for this world

[littlefishbigsea]

Going into part two of The Spymaster & The Priest, I’ve been diving back into a lot of ACOTAR research which really just means I’ve re-read the wiki a thousand times and obsess over Reddit theories.

That said, I’ve got my own idea of how I imagine SJM will approach Azriel and Gwyn in the next couple of books, CC3 included. It’s one shared by some across the internet but the more I think about it, the more I like the direction it takes.

That said, spoilers ahead. Don’t be mad at me.

Azriel at the end of ACOSF, seems to be going through some things. He’s lonely. He’s obsessed with having a mate, to the point of trying to usurp another’s. He’s been grounded - no more spy work. He’s all but been alienated from the River House and the House of Wind. He doesn’t strike me as the type to sit around, either. He seems lost, listless, and maybe for the first time in his life - helpless.

Gwyn on the other hand is almost directly opposite. She’s taken command over who and what she is and will become. She’s determined, driven, passionate and ready to take on the world (her returning to the Tower after the Rite seems more a plot device than PTSD to me). She wants more… cue Little Mermaid music.

That being said.

Azriel is going back with Bryce. He’ll be sent back to help with conflict, likely train Ruhn, and discover more about Truth Teller. Gwyn will go with him. Why? She understands language. Azriel doesn’t. He’ll need a translator at minimum. It’ll be Gwyn because Nesta won’t leave Cass. It’s a toss up if more characters join, but I’m convinced Az and Gwyn are going to cross worlds.

This will push them closer. Az has to rely on her to translate this new world they are both going to have to navigate, forcing them to rely on each other in ways they’ve never likely had to rely on others before. Gwyn has shown interest in multi-world theories and her work with Merrill will come in handy.

This will come with some fun, I think. Bryce dressing Gwyn in modern fashion - finally getting her out of those robes! Let’s take a moment of silence for poor Azriel who is just not going to be prepared for that scenario…

…

Think of all the fun Gwyn is going to force Azriel to have in this new setting. The first time they go dancing? The food? We’ve already mentioned the fashion. Do you think Az is a jeans guy or leather pants guy? Boxer or briefs? 🤤

I’m getting distracted.

There might be some things to work out on how they get back to Prythia. I assume Az will have something to do with their fight against the Asteri - who are able to transcend worlds. Maybe Gwyn takes ownership of the Harp and sings them back.

Anyways, I wasn’t a big fan of CC2, I actually really enjoyed the first book and got too lost in the world building of the second to be able to really enjoy it. Yet, I’m curious as to how these worlds are going to come together and the eventual uniting with Aelin’s.

Also, I think Azriel’s daddy might be a sorcerer who’s chained to a lake surrounded by trees and keeps his soul in a box. Cass has claimed Az is different than other Illyrians and Rhys seems to agree that Az could destroy a High Lord, despite there being no evidence that shadowsinger ability puts them above a High Lords magic. Anyways… it’s fun to speculate.

[maisonaime]

Give and Take

Softdom!Cassian x Healer!Reader

Premise: You get back after a long day of work and Cassian is ready to take over everything, you give him control so that you don’t lose it entirely. 

Splitting this into two parts so that I don't lose my mind over it anymore. Love to all who jumped on this prompt!

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamics, smutty fluff, emotional overstimulation, self-sacrificing, poor self-care (bordering on self-harm), injury and slight gore, 18+ minors DNI

Part 1:

The last flight of stairs up to the rooms you and Cassian occupied in the River House seemed steeper than you had ever remembered, dragging yourself up the stairs was utterly Sisyphean, the last stretch in a long day that had frustrated tears finally pricking in your eyes. You were tired to your bones, fed up with being hunched over a desk, and the day was still far from done over eleven hours after it had begun. You woke and dressed when the sky was dark, and were returning hours after the braziers lining the hallways had been lit.

You had two bags hanging in the crook of one elbow, full of brewing equipment that needed to be polished with a protective tonic before being used in class tomorrow. In the same arm, you were clutching a thick stack of essays requiring grading. Tucked under your other arm was a folio of research on restorative therapies for Illyrians who had their wings clipped. Slung over your shoulder from training was your weapons belt, sheathed with two daggers and a longsword Cassian had wrought for you as a wedding gift.  

The file of research slipped from your arms, scattering down all the steps you had just climbed in complete disarray. You made a small sound of anguish and finally, the tears were flowing freely. You were so grateful for it all, for this beautiful life you had. You were grateful for the research you were able to do to find a way to reverse the horrors wrought on Illyrian females. You were enthusiastic about teaching your students, passing along ancient knowledge to the trainees who would one day be your peers. You itched for training with Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn; pouring intentional movement into your body after long days of obligatory motion.

Healing people, feeling your tendrils of power sweep over broken bones, seeking out the source of symptoms, touching the broken parts of people’s souls. It was the greatest gift, one that multiplied every time you held a newborn babe, watched someone run or dance on legs that had never worked before, and felt the relief of familial caregivers as you restored hearing or sight or even small amounts of lucidity to their aging parents. It was quite possibly the only gift that you valued more than your precious mate. The one who you had remade and been remade by. 

 You were so grateful for it all, for this beautiful life you had. But there were some days when you felt the burden of worlds bearing down on you. Days when failed healings left you shattered. Days when there was simply too much to do and not enough hours to do it. 

“What’s all this sweetheart.” Cassian appeared at the top of the stairs, his darkened gaze forcing you to rethink your current predicament. 

Despite his intimidating size and title, the Lord of Bloodshed was as gentle a lover as you had ever known. He had honed his resolve over the centuries, along with all his other skills. Even in the most feral moments between the two of you, lost entirely to the bond in skin and teeth and brutish groans, he would never lose himself. He could balance himself over you for hours with just the head of his cock pressing into your center, and could sit perfectly still while stuffed down your pretty little throat. 

What he couldn’t do was abide by disobedience. And disobedience to Cassian was self-neglect. Disobedience was forgetting to eat, not getting enough sleep. Disobedience was piling too much onto your plate. Disobedience was trying to lug over one-hundred pounds of shit up the stairs after you had left before dawn and were returning long after dark. And disobedience would earn you punishment.

—

Ever since you had helped Azriel rehabilitate his shredded wings after Hybern wrought his havoc, you had remained in close connection with the High Lord’s Inner Circle. Your attentive and tranquil care healed both Azriel’s wings and the lingering horror that wracked his soul in the following weeks as he tried to move on from those paralyzing moments of agony. You treated his flesh and soul with equal gentleness, cementing your regard as a healer with the capacity to treat vulnerability with as much tenderness as you treated wounds and sickness.

When Cassian lay broken and bleeding, of course, it was you who was summoned to the tent. He was like every other patient before in your ability and desire to help him. But he was also like no other patient before because he was your mate. You could still feel his screaming cleaving the air and reverberating through your jaw, dulling all senses to anything but him. His brothers had to hold him down with tears in their eyes; Feyre lost her stomach; Mor just sat in the corner silently shaking. You were cursed to remember every ounce of hopelessness in his eyes as he scrambled away from your hands, refusing any of your help or assessment for fear of what you might find.

You found femur bone shattered like glass, tearing into the muscle and tendon of his massive thigh. You found snapped cartilage, torn muscle, and severe hemorrhaging that nearly cut off blood supply to his entire left wing; the damage so bad it would have resulted in field amputation had you not been there. You found the husk of a man who had been so sure he was going to die without being able to save his family, without even being able to say goodbye. 

You burned yourself out with the raw power that flooded from you as you were confronted with the primal need to save him. You gave yourself entirely to the will of the goddess that had blessed your hands. At one point Rhys had to blanket your mind in darkness so that you wouldn’t drain that well of power entirely. 

When finally, the damage left could only be healed by time, you had collapsed over him and refused to move. Unable to. Gentle, weak arms had dragged you ungracefully to a warm chest, to a beating heart. The only thing you could hear through the thundering haze of your overwrought senses. 

“Don’t you ever do that again, for anyone. Not even me sweetheart.” 

And then it was Cassian’s turn to heal you. To watch over your trembling body as you recovered from the depletion of your powers. He fed and bathed you. Stretched and massaged the muscles that felt as though they had been filleted by lightning. Braided your hair to keep it from knotting during the long hours you slept. 

He poured himself into you in a way you had never had before. In a way you had only ever provided to others, never received yourself. In a way you hadn’t ever known you wanted so badly until you were sobbing hoarsely into his arms, years of self-sacrifice pouring out of you.

It didn’t stop there. Only when you had settled into living together did either of you realize the extent to which overextending yourself had become a way of life. The first time you came home past midnight, Cass was in a panic thinking you had been hurt or taken. When you stumbled through the door on legs bent with exhaustion and informed him that you had eaten exactly three crackers and a handful of berries all day, he just stared at you for a long time.

“How do you expect to save everyone if you destroy yourself in the process? This level of self-sacrifice isn’t noble, it’s irresponsible. Now, get on your fucking knees.” Your head snapped to him, pinning him with a disbelieving scoff. But he was dead serious. 

In a flash he had your hair gathered in a stern but gentle fist, and you had your mouth very, very full. He fucked your mouth with a fervor, his fingers finding the corners so he could pop your jaw open further and push himself even deeper down your throat. 

He came with a hiss, freeing a hand from your ruined mouth to pound in a fist against the unyielding stone wall. 

Then he scooped you up and laid you in bed, pouring water with lemon and honeyed tea down your throat. Leaving your side briefly, only to return with a veritable feast of foods specifically selected to strengthen your body and magic. His care was almost overwhelming, but you found yourself surrendering to his vigil over you.

—

“Put it down” he said, pure authority radiating from him.

“Put what down?” you feigned. 

“All of it, sweetheart. And don’t make me ask again. I’d hate to have to take you down to Az’s workroom. He put up such a fuss last time, even after I cleaned everything in front of him.” There was no room for disobedience in his tone, even if the remark had you chuckling. 

You struggled to unburden yourself, unsure of how to extend your arms and set down one item without imperiling another. You met Cassian’s gaze with pleading eyes that quickly turned fiery at his smugness. You drew yourself up slowly, eyes narrowing…

And dropped everything from your hands, letting the first bag of glassware slide off your arms and crash to the ground – even if the sound of tinkering glass made something in you twist and cringe. 

“Don’t be a fucking brat, you know it’ll only make things worse.” he snapped, lips pulling back in a feral grin as he raked his gaze over your body, your leather-bound dips and curves displayed to him unobstructed. 

The belt you set down gently, minding your beautiful blade. In the middle of the night after your mating ceremony, in the haze of your frenzy, Cassian had marched you down to the deepest chambers of the Court of Nightmares, where the mountain burned nearly as hot as your bond. You had watched with lust-glazed eyes as he hammered out a blade and fused it to the hilt he had already carved and polished—smooth, rounded obsidian imbued with the cavernous powers of the Mountains. 

He fucked you hard into the stone floor and then soared into the night sky with you and the weapon, cooling skin and steel alike. And when you finally touched ground again, he wasted no time showing you exactly why he chose that particular shape for the handle. 

A snap of his fingers had the scattered papers piled neatly beside it. Then you gingerly set down the second bag of glassware, cringing as you considered how your eager disobedience would reflect back in Cassian’s treatment.

“Good.” he crooned. “Now go bathe and wait for me in bed.”

Cass abided by your whims for the most part, always eager to take care of you but never pressuring you to submit. He could always tell when you needed to give away control. When you needed to be told what and when to eat, how to dress, when to speak, and when to be silent. When to “get on your fucking knees” and when to “lay down darling, that’s it, now hush my love and let me work.” And he would give it to you every time without tire, for the rest of his days. 

As you passed him to make towards your suite, he sidestepped into your path and halted you with a hand to your shoulder, the palm of his other hand cupping your face. He looked down at you with gentle eyes. You leaned into his touch instinctively, eager to shove away the pressures of your autonomy, even if just for the next few hours.

“I counted five things that you placed over your own needs today. Your patients, your students, your research, your training, your healing. Then you had to go and double it by bratting off and making a mess of your things.” He glanced around, unimpressed at your display of resistance. 

“It’ll take me time to fix and polish the glassware and reorganize your papers. So you’ll wait. You’ll be doing a lot of that tonight. It only makes sense, I think, that you take ten hard edges before we think about next steps.” His voice was hard, determined, even as his hands were so so soft.

Your eyes widened, head shaking even as his words had your blood thrumming with desire. 

“Yes, sweetheart. Yes, you will. Maybe this time you’ll finally learn your lesson about what happens when we deny ourselves what we need.”

[damedechance]

seek&destroy

read pt1 on ao3 || listen to the playlist

You're telling me I got to talk with @foundress0fnothing for the past few weeks (my favorite person) and write about Gwynriel (my two favorite idiots)? I have seriously enjoyed getting to know my precious giftee a little bit more during this event and I am so so so excited to finally share part of what I've been working on!!! Em, I hope you know how cherished you are in this little fandom community, and I hope this fic can bring you even just the littlest spark of joy! Love you endlessly, Santa 🌟

Pairing: Gwynriel

Parts: 1 of 5

Rating: Explicit (for eventual smut)

Summary: Those with a link to a realm long gone now live in secret, and Gwyneth Berdara is one of them. After a horrific tragedy rends her life apart, Gwyn finds herself in good company with her fellow Valkyries, a group of vigilantes who work to restore the forgotten relics of a land called 'Prythian.' When Gwyn's work brings her to an illustrious museum, her own world collides with that of the mysterious Shadowsinger--an encounter that leads to her vowing to bring him to his untimely end. [[FOR @acotargiftexchange]]

Read below for all of Chapter One:

CHAPTER ONE

Too. Many. Legs.

There were just too many legs, Gwyn thought, as she stared in open-mouthed horror at the projector screen. Just as she swallowed down a gag at the sight of the ghastly images before her, the presenter gestured passionately towards the slides, his tall frame and abhorrent posture giving the illusion of the rounded shell of a beetle. So uncanny was his resemblance to the subject of his own presentation, the species he’d apparently devoted his entire career to–the cerambycid beetle. Gwyn fought back a shiver. Or a scream of terror.

Not that she wasn’t sympathetic to his cause. A glance at the pamphlet in front of her revealed that he held a PhD in entomology��a degree she knew from personal experience was all but impossible if you didn’t feel truly dedicated to your work. He was probably a sweet old man, she struggled to convince herself. Someone like her, a person so entirely enamored with their subject of study that the less attractive facets of the field were of no consequence. In fact, she admired that sort of devotion. 

Still, the clearly impassioned man wasn’t exactly persuading her to actually take up an interest in the study of insects. Gwyn suspected that the sight of those beetles was the primary driving force in that decision. Especially since she still couldn’t keep her eyes open for more than five minutes at a time, and was currently squeezing them shut as she counted out her deep, steadying breaths. Just a few moments of relief from the images on the screen was all she needed.

When she opened her eyes again, the presenter had switched to the next slide, which revealed a close-up view of the beetle’s segmented underbelly. Heaving, Gwyn bit down on her tongue as she felt the blood drain from her face. To distract herself from the urge to evacuate the contents of her  stomach, Gwyn allowed her eyes to drift aimlessly about the room.

For not the first time, she was grateful that she’d been able to secure a seat for herself in the back of the auditorium. The badge hanging from the bright red lanyard across her neck proclaimed her a professor of entomology at the Dunmere College of Arts and Sciences, but she imagined that if any of the other conference attendees saw how green her face was, that title would prove itself somewhat implausible.

If nothing else, Gwyn needed to be sure that her act was flawless tonight. By the end of the Annual Entomology Society Conference, she wanted to have every single person in this room reasonably convinced that she was an ardent scholar of…bugs. Or, at the very least, she needed to not raise anyone’s suspicions to the contrary.

Perhaps if she simply kept sitting in the back, then.

Sighing quietly, Gwyn shifted down in her seat and allowed her legs to spread out in front of her. If she were to be stuck here, listening to the keynote speaker for the next–she checked the clock hanging above the door–five minutes, she should at least get comfortable. She crossed her arms over her chest, fingers tapping impatiently across her biceps, and stared unseeingly at the screen.

The minutes passed excruciatingly slowly. More legs, more antennae, more larvae, and by the end of the time Gwyn was biting on the insides of her cheeks to prevent herself from screaming in abject horror at each new, impossibly grotesque image. Until finally, the presenter reached the end of his slides, and only a blank screen appeared above his head.

“Right,” the bug doctor said. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose, and began shuffling his papers over the podium. “Thank you all for such a thrilling discussion of cerambycid communities and their impact as an invasive species.”

Thrilling. Gwyn snorted to herself, and when more than a few heads turned in her direction, she quickly masked it as a sneeze.

“I will be available for a Q&A session later this afternoon,” the presenter continued, his finger prodding one of the papers on the top of his stack, as if pointing to a time. “Until then, I suggest perusing the rest of the museum for the insect nursery, where I am told some cerambycid beetle larvae are on display. Do take note of the well-progressed sclerotisation of the mouth parts, and if you find yourself peckish, I hear the cafe has an excellent gelato stand.”

That the presenter could possibly utter the words sclerotisation and gelato in the same sentence only served to confirm for Gwyn that she needed to get out of that room as soon as possible. Eagerly standing up, she shoved her notebook full of fake notes into her bag, and began to walk down the auditorium steps with the rest of the meager audience. Entomology was not a popular field apparently, and Gwyn could hazard a guess as to why.

As she approached the stage where the bug doctor still stood at the podium, politely accepting words of praise from some of the other attendees, Gwyn thought she hear the words antennal sockets and low tubercles, and immediately quickened her pace, slipping past others to ensure that she was towards the middle of the pack, instead of at the very end.

Sighing in relief as soon as she stepped out of the auditorium and into one of the connecting halls outside of the exhibits, Gwyn followed the flow of the crowd. She slipped her phone out of her pocket, pretending to be texting so that none of the bug enthusiasts would attempt to engage her in some conversation about pupation. Only looking up occasionally from her notes app where she just repeatedly typed the words ew ew ew, Gwyn nearly yelped when she heard a voice in her ear. 

“You missed your turn,” Emerie said, her voice slightly crackling through the earpiece hidden behind Gwyn’s hair.

She cleared her notes app, quickly typing the words, I know. And Sorry.

A tinny sigh in her ear. “That’s okay, just don’t attract attention. Pretend to look interested in the exhibit.”

Gwyn locked her phone, slipping it back into her bag as she lifted her head. Immediately regretting the action, once she came face to face with hundred of wiggling, nasty looking larvae.

This time, Gwyn couldn’t hold back her yelp, though she did manage to close her mouth in time to capture the sound, so that it didn’t disrupt the group of people that had gathered to marvel at the nasty little things. Pointing out some fascinating detail of another, as they crowded around the glass window into the bug nursery. In hindsight, Gwyn really should have expected that following the crowd of conference attendees would have led her here.

Carefully controlling her breathing rate so that she wouldn’t alert the others, Gwyn took several steps backwards from the case before turning and walking in the direction of the entrance to the next exhibit. One glance around the room revealed to her that the rest of the entomologists were already deeply engrossed with the contents of the many cases around them, and so Gwyn was able to easily slip out of the room without attracting notice.

The adjoining exhibit, a hall of various bones and skeletons, was relatively less crowded, and Gwyn was just as easily able to weave her way in and out of the gathered bodies. She allowed her head to swivel around, if only to appear as any other mildly interested patron, but stayed resolute in her path towards the exhibit that she’d originally missed.

“Slow down,” Emerie hissed in her ear. “Or at least pretend to be looking for the bathroom.”

Gwyn huffed, shoulders sagging as she forced herself to slow down somewhere in the middle of the ocean exhibit. Above her, the lights illuminated the room in slowly shifting shades of blue, casting the impression of walking along the ocean floor. She ran a hand over her face, and continued walking at a much more deliberate pace.

Admittedly, the museum was rather impressive and on any other day, Gwyn would have been among all of the other patrons, staring wide-eyed at the displays and devotedly reading each and every plaque. 

But she wasn’t here to admire the museum. The entomology conference had only been an excuse for Gwyn to come to the Helion Museum of Natural History. If she had simply attended as a regular patron, without a purpose for ambling through the halls other than pure entertainment, she wouldn’t have been granted a keycard that allowed her access to some of the more restricted sections of the museum.

She’d already taken advantage of that privilege the previous day, when she and the other conference attendees took a tour of the research wings, where the archivists and conservationists worked. Their guide had taken them through room upon room of lovingly organized samples stacked in neat rows upon the shelves or spread across tables as researchers gently worked to clean and preserve them. The ultimate purpose of the tour had been to view the yet unveiling showing of moths as the archivists carefully pinned and labeled them, but Gwyn had conveniently slipped out under the guise of a bathroom break before that ever happened. That night, she returned home to Nesta and Emerie with a neatly drawn map of nearly the entire research wing.

Now, as Gwyn ambled through the ocean exhibit, the brilliant displays of coral and skeletons of various sea creatures rose up around her. She walked slowly, arms crossed over her badge so that anyone passing her wouldn’t note that she’d wandered off from the rest of the entomologists. Emerie gently murmured her approval in Gwyn’s ear, just as she crossed the threshold into the next exhibit, a sign above it advertising the Space and Astronomy hall.

The entrance was a long, dark tunnel with white swirling lights on the rounded ceilings and walls. Not resembling stars, but instead pulsing from one end to another like a portal. Gwyn was the only one walking through it, and belatedly she realized that this was a relatively slow day and hour for the museum. She hadn’t seen many other patrons, except for the rest of the bug crew, and as she walked out of the tunnel and into the dimly lit chamber that was the space exhibit, she realized that she was the only one there, save for the security guard currently leaning against a wall and staring at the toe of his boot.

Gwyn adjusted her glasses, slowly winding around case after case of space memorabilia. Some artifacts collected from the surface of the moon, and hundreds of chunks of rock from meteorites that had crashed to earth. She paused at a few signs for good measure, but her gaze was drawn to the ceiling above, which was a careful recreation of the constellations in the night sky.

As she made her way to the end of the hall, Gwyn nearly tripped over a small pedestal that appeared to rise up out of nowhere. She stumbled back, staring dumbfounded at the small, square case that shone more brightly than any of the others in the entire museum thus far. 

Just a small, glass box atop a narrow pedestal at the center of the corridor, right before the entrance to the next exhibit. And she was so close, Emerie was murmuring in her ear a list of reminders of what to take note of as soon as she entered the next room–but Gwyn couldn’t resist. That one lone box, that felt like it had been waiting for her.

Slowly, she approached, carefully leaning over the glass case to observe the contents, only to see that it was a single glass tube, stoppered at the end with a metal cap.

Gwyn sucked in a sharp breath, holding it as if letting it out would disturb the little granules safely behind several layers of glass. She admired it, this fine powdery substance within the tube that almost looked like glitter, it was so reflective. She didn’t know what it was, only that it was beautiful, catching the light in this oddly mesmerizing way, and there was so little of it. A pinch, really.

Her eyes flashed to the small sign below the display, and read the label: Presolar Grains.

Lips parted in awe, Gwyn looked back to the small tube, and recognized the particles inside as actual stardust. The dust from stars formed billions of years ago, before the sun even existed. She reached out, her five fingers spread across the glass as she crouched to get on eye level with it.

How something so outstanding could be kept in a place as unassuming  as this–just perched on a small pedestal in a vacant section of the museum–was a wonder to her. There should have been hundreds of people crowding around this very case, craning their necks for a chance to see it, this evidence that something had existed before the sun.

“What is it?”

Gwyn jumped as soon as the voice sounded behind her, whirling around with her arm out in front of her with the impulse to shove the person away. With Emerie berating her in her ear, Gwyn managed to suppress her instincts just in time, her eyes widening as they trailed up a man’s chest to his face.

She was met with easily the most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen. Like molten bronze, these fluent pools of amber and hints of green, and she staggered back, catching herself with a hand atop the case behind her.

“Careful,” the man said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he took half a step forward. Either to catch her, or peel her hand off the case, she couldn’t tell. “The guards might think you’re trying to steal something.”

Gwyn tore her hand off the case as if she’d been burned, hastily stepping aside to put as much distance between herself and the display as she could. She had the strangest feeling, that his eyes had tunneled straight through her, and could somehow see her true intentions as if they’d been written out just as plainly as any other sign in the museum–there was no other reason. He knew why she was there.

But as her heart hammered in her chest at the prospect of her cover being blown, the man only gave her a small smile, really just a fleeting jump at the corner of his mouth, before stepping forward and leaning over the case.

“What are you doing?” Emerie was screeching in her ear. “Leave, geology is in the next room.”

But so perplexed was Gwyn by the man in front of her, that she felt rooted to the spot. Her head cocked slightly to the side as she studied him. How he silently mouthed the words as he read them on the sign, how the slight hook of his nose caught the light emanating from the case, sending an elongated shadow across his face, carving out his cheekbone. Those eyes that were framed by long arching eyelashes and hair that was so dark it seemed to absorb and devour all of the light.

Something about him bothered her.

Suddenly, his head turned, an amused smile already melting over his face as he looked at her. Gwyn jumped, eyes going wide as she pretended like she’d been doing anything other than assessing him. But the man straightened, stepping away from the case to stand slightly in front of her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his eyes slowly traveling down to the badge around her neck before she could answer.

Gwyn hurried to cover it with a hand, some deeply ingrained instinct of self preservation telling her that she couldn’t trust him despite his friendly smile or Emerie’s pleas for her to just act normal. 

He lifted a brow at her, his gaze snapping back to her face.

“Is it a secret?” he said.

“Diana,” she blurted, forcing her hand to lift away from the badge. “Diana Bishop.”

He simply stared at her for a moment, before letting out a short, caustic laugh.

“Okay.”

Gwyn narrowed her eyes, her hands turning into fists as she studied him. Gorgeous face aside, he looked absolutely normal. Black shirt tucked into immaculately pressed and tailored trousers. Stylish, attractive even–but decidedly normal.

Why, then, couldn’t she smother the feeling that he knew all of her deepest and darkest secrets?

“What was that?” she asked, flinching slightly when her voice came out slightly more accusatory than she supposed it should have. She could at least keep up the appearance that she didn’t suspect him of anything.

“Just let it go,” Emerie hissed in her ear. “Apologize and walk away.”

Apologize. For being her best friend, Emerie apparently didn’t know her at all, because instead of walking out, Gwyn took a step forward, invading the man’s space, crossing her arms over her chest so that they bumped against him. And when she looked up to his face, where she expected to see reproach, instead she saw eagerness.

“Nothing,” he practically purred. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Diana.”

Gwyn frowned, her eyes roving over his face for any sort of tell. Reason told her that he couldn’t have been like her. He was tall, and built like a damn soldier with those broad shoulders and muscles pulling the fabric of his shirt taut over his chest, but there was no way he was dangerous. He had to be normal.

And then there was that gut feeling. Like electricity arcing over her skin, sirens blaring in her ears. He had come out of nowhere.

“And what’s your name?” Gwyn said derisively.

“Fine,” Emerie sighed, resigned, into her ear. “If you won’t listen to me, fine, but when Nesta comes back–”

Irritated, Gwyn jerkily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hooking her finger into the clear cord of her earpiece and tucking the entire thing into her palm in one movement so that he couldn’t see.

“Azriel,” he said, reaching his hand out. She noticed scars running up the lengths of his fingers towards his wrist, and she stared at the nearly mesmerizing patterns for far too long before she realized that she was meant to shake it, and she still had the earpiece in her palm.

“I have to go,” Gwyn said slowly, backing away and angling her body towards the entrance to the next exhibit.

She put Azriel at her back as she paced towards the short corridor leading to the gems and minerals exhibit, her steps quickening as she passed by the security guard she’d spotted earlier.

Azriel wouldn’t follow her, she assured herself as she crossed into the gems and minerals exhibit, where there were countless glittering gems winking at her beneath the lights. He wouldn’t follow her, because she had been so off putting and strange, he wouldn’t deem her worthy of the effort.

Placated for now, Gwyn adjusted her glasses over her nose, and swiveled her head about the room so that the camera hidden in the frames could capture the overall layout of the exhibit. It was a rushed job, not nearly as meticulous as it would have been if she wasn’t so paranoid that Azriel would jump out of nowhere with twenty armed guards ready to escort her to some secret dungeon in an underground government bunker.

Been there, done that.

She considered popping her earpiece back in, but just as she rounded the first display case at the center of the hall, a mother and child came bounding down the aisle, stopping right next to her to admire a row of amethyst.

She backed up, allowing the little boy some space, and was about to continue her walk around the rest of the room, when she ran into something hard, all of the air whooshing out of her lungs.

“Ugh,” Gwyn grunted, as hands wrapped around her upper arms and steadied her.

“Sorry,” the same voice from before said, helping her to turn around. Of course he’d followed her. She’d been off putting and strange, and he was definitely not normal.

Gwyn glared up at him, all pretenses of being some bookish bug enthusiast easily forgotten. He had found her out, she was sure of it, and she now dedicated all of her efforts towards thinking of a way to get rid of him. Collecting footage of the display cases so Emerie could catalog the contents for later was secondary, because clearly he was a threat to the mission.

Belatedly, she wished she hadn’t taken out the earpiece.

“What do you want?” Gwyn said, a hushed whisper so that the family behind her wouldn’t pick up on the thinly veiled hostility.

Azriel furrowed his brows. So he was going to pretend to be confused, then.

“You left in a hurry,” he explained. “I thought you might be in some sort of trouble, so I came to ask if you needed help. I didn’t mean to run into you.”

Gwyn scoffed. “Yeah, sure. Look, I really should be getting back.”

He hummed thoughtfully, his eyes drifting down to her badge again.

“To the… bugs?”

“Screw you,” Gwyn blurted.

She whirled away, stalking down the aisle as the mother gasped and clapped her hands over her son’s ears. Gwyn didn’t even bother with trying to capture more footage. Her cover was blown, and all she needed to do now was lose her tail without attracting anymore attention.

Unfortunately, that also meant it was rather easy for her pursuer to catch up to her. 

She supposed she could kill him, if it came down to it.

“Did I insult your profession somehow?” He asked, jogging up beside her. “Was I not supposed to call them bugs?”

He came in front of her, trying to capture her gaze, which forced her to halt right beside a large tower of some type of quartz. She knew, not because she bothered to look at it, but because the reflection of it glimmered in his eyes.

“Get out of the way,” Gwyn said through her teeth as she rolled the earpiece within her palm. She glanced around him, eyes noting the camera wedged up against the ceiling. Murder was out, then.

He only smirked down at her, and just the sight of that gentle arch of his mouth was enough to convince her that he was privy to her homicidal intent, somehow. Any normal person would have walked away by now. He was staring her down like an adversary.

“Sure,” he said easily, stepping out of her way, and then waiting. Like he expected her to walk with him. “Maybe you could show me around? I had a bug phase as a kid, you know.”

Gwyn pushed ahead for the exit, struggling to ignore him as he easily matched her pace. If she could just lead him into an empty stairwell, she would be able to lose him. Knock him unconscious, and then leave him there for some poor museum employee to find. She could do it.

She tried to ignore him, and failed because then he started rambling about egg sacs, and Gwyn couldn’t take it anymore.

“Shut up,” she said. On an impulse, she grabbed his arm and pulled him with her towards a door marked Staff Only in a secluded vestibule off of the gem and mineral exhibit.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Gwyn immediately regretted her decision. Chest heaving, she looked around to see that she’d brought them into a storage room. Small, but not as tight as a closet, even with the towering stacks of clearly labeled bins around them. There were no windows, and the only lights were the strips of LEDs along the floor marking the narrow aisles.

“Diana,” Azriel said slowly, letting out a low breath as he glanced around the room. “This is all very flattering, but are you sure you want to do this here?”

“What?” Gwyn shrieked, her hands balling into fists. She backed up towards the door, where she thought she saw a broom, and considered using it to knock him out.

He was crowding her, slowly walking into her until her shoulders pressed against the door. She had been so sure, before bringing him in here, that he wanted to capture her, and with each vanishing inch between them, her mind was thrown into further disarray.

She had to get rid of him.

“I’ll admit,” he said, “There’s clearly something between us.”

Gwyn shook her head, trying to order her thoughts before she looked back up at him. “What are you talking about?”

“But don’t you think it’s a bit too soon for clandestine meetings in dark rooms?” he said.

His hands came up on either side of her head to cage her in. He leaned down, leveling her stare with one of his own, and she watched as his gaze drifted to her mouth.  

“What were you thinking we would do?” he murmured. “When you led me in here?”

“Don’t play with me,” Gwyn said, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She reached out a hand, groping for the door handle.

“No?” he said, face angling to the side. Like he might try to kiss her, and the thought of it was no more terrifying than her realization that she wouldn’t have minded it.

And again, like he could hear every one of his thoughts, his mouth curved into a smile.

“Then what should I do with you?” he asked.

“Look,” Gwyn said, her fingers finally landing on the handle. She pressed herself flush against the door as he stepped closer, so that his chest wouldn’t brush against hers. “Just let me go, and I promise–”

“Let you go?” Azriel murmured, smirking at her.

“Yes,” Gwyn said flatly. She stared resolutely back at him, unwilling to allow him to see even a shred of nervousness. She could do this. She could knock him down right now, if she wanted.

So why wasn’t she?

“Let you go,” he repeated, humming as if he was turning the idea over in his mind. Considering it. His face dipped to the side, his lips somewhere near her ear when he whispered, “Why? Have you done something you shouldn’t have?”

Gwyn’s mouth fell open, her eyes roving restlessly up and down the side of his face as she tried to reconcile the part of her that desperately wanted to see him lying across the floor as she smacked him repeatedly with the broom handle–with the part of her that wanted to see him lying across the floor as she crawled over him and pressed her tongue to his neck.

Her fingers slipped off of the door handle, and were reaching for his shirt collar to do something, when the door suddenly opened behind her, knocking her into his arms. She scrambled for a moment, her hands peeling his off of her waist as he tried to steady her.

Above them, the overhead light flashed on, and she squinted against the harsh light as she turned to face the person who had walked in.

“What are you doing in here?” one of the security guards frowned at them.

Gwyn’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to come up with a reasonable excuse as Azriel scrubbed his hand over his mouth beside her, trying to hide a grin. She had just landed on I got lost, when the security guard groaned, stepping to the side to let them pass.

“They don’t pay me enough to deal with this,” he muttered to himself. He looked up at the ceiling, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’d think adults would behave with some decency.”

Gwyn glared at the security guard, brushing past him and out the door. She expected Azriel to be right behind her, but once she’d gotten over her indignation at having someone assume she’d been doing indecent things with him in public, she turned to look behind her.

Only to see the back of his head.

He was going in the opposite direction.

Stunned, Gwyn tore the lanyard off over her head and chucked it into the nearest trash can. She headed straight for the main staircase at the end of the vestibule, where she knew she could reach the museum atrium and eventually the exit. She needed to get out of there, needed to get lost in a crowd so she could rid herself of the feeling of being watched.

He had let her go.

It didn’t make sense, Gwyn thought as she hurried down the steps. He’d clearly been onto her, had clearly recognized that she was up to something. Any reasonable person wouldn’t have let her go, especially not if she had been his target in the first place. Gwyn wouldn’t have let him go, if the roles were reversed, and if she wasn’t so concerned with getting out of the damn building, she would have been right on his heels.

There was something wrong, Gwyn knew. And she would have to head back to Emerie and Nesta and tell them.

Tell them they needed to call this mission off.

[not-poignant]

Birthday Spotlight - Crielle ferch Fnwy

[18 April - Aries]

Crielle ferch Fnwy is the matriarch of the An Fnwy estate, a beautiful, evil Machiavellian supervillain who has been manipulating the Seelie Court and her family for tens of thousands of years, while giving the appearance of being a perfectly loving Seelie fae who only cares about truth and justice.

Mother of Gwyn ap Nudd, and aunt of Efnisien ap Wledig, Crielle is actually only rarely seen in stories, but has an explosive impact regardless, due to the trauma she inflicts or causes others to inflict on our main characters.

‘You’re not mine. You may have stolen from our family legacy, you may have parasitised our reputation, you may have even exploited and ruined the things about our appearance that make us – not you – beautiful. But you are not, you have never been mine. If you felt a short, sharp shock when you came into the world, my darling, it was my hands around your throat while your father tried to pull me off you. ‘Imagine, if you will, my dear, reprehensible thing. Imagine the first time you came back to me after we sent you away to play with Efnisien. Oh you were only twelve or thirteen? What a lovely idea that was. And Efnisien had you for hours. I told him to use knives. He liked them so, and he didn’t think he’d be allowed. So precious. And I heard the distant echo of your screams like a faint, familiar melody all throughout my day. A time when they stopped because he gagged you perhaps? Or your voice gave out? Tsk. He is – was – so crude. But still...effective. And do you remember? Oh, my creature, imagine it... ‘You came home hours later, hours after Efnisien. You were broken and cut and bleeding and so, so ruined. And you stumbled into the house, and there I was waiting for you. Breathless, actually. And you stared at me as though I would – what? – tell you that Efnisien had crossed a line, gone too far? Do you remember what I did?’ ‘You smiled at me,’ Gwyn said, his voice rough and rusty.

Game Theory

Game Theory: Introduced as the manipulative, evil, and cruel mother of the King, Crielle starts off with Cinderella stepmother vibes, until you realise that Gwyn's her only son and she can't stand him, favouring his cousin Efnisien instead. A torturer, abuser, schemer, and conniving Machiavellian figure, she ultimately has been puppeting the Seelie Court for thousands of years, and is the cause of Gwyn attaining, and then losing, his Kingship.

It's safe to say that Crielle has never been the Most Valued Player of any story.

The Court of Five Thrones: While Crielle only has a very brief appearance in this story, her presence is felt throughout. We find out more about her feelings towards Gwyn, through journals he discovers in her house after her murder at Augus' hands.

The Drawn Bead: In a story that explores Gwyn's first love, Crielle is there as a forbidding, tormenting figure, ruling Gwyn's life with an invisible, oppressive kind of terror.

The Curse: The only story which features Crielle's perspective, we see her as a child, a teenager, an adult, and learn about her dangerous proclivities, how her family did and didn't deal with them, and the depth of her love for a select few people, a love that she gave to Gwyn right up until the moment he was born.

Fae Tales – Alternative Perspectives: Crielle is only here briefly, but we see more of her dialogue with Gwyn, and more of Augus' perspective about her.

Underline the Black: Crielle here emerges as a cruel villain to Efnisien, in a flipped/reversed narrative where Gwyn is her beloved child, and Efnisien is nothing more than a neglected science experiment. Efnisien's life is at the mercy of Crielle's whims, and she puts him first in Hillview (an institution) to put him out of sight and out of mind, but as soon as he causes too much trouble for her, she won't hesitate to strike him down.

The Spoils of the Spoiled: In which Crielle even in the human world as a human herself proves that she can be just as evil as ever. Ruler of the household, torturer of Gwyn (and later, we learn, Efnisien), and clearly involved in corruption and organised crime, Crielle lives her best life in this story until Gwyn tries to legally emancipate himself from the family.

Falling Falling Stars: In the follow up to The Spoils of the Spoiled, Efnisien - previously thought of as the beloved and protected 'adopted' child of Crielle's - reveals over time the verbal, emotional, physical, and sexual abuse he suffered at her hands through therapy sessions with Dr Gary. Over time, we realise that no one is safe from her influence.

Crielle is very 'classically' beautiful, with blonde hair that has a slight wave in it, that generally falls down to her shoulders. She has azure eyes, a shade of blue almost never found among humans (even when she's human). She wears only enough make-up to accentuate her eyes and perfect lips, and maintains a very 'natural' effect to her beauty. It looks effortless and perfect enough that many who are experienced with beauty routines know she puts a lot of time into her appearance.

Crielle is asexual, sex repulsed, and aromantic.

Crielle is common fae, and while she's affected by the curse that Olphix cast upon the family, I like to think she'd still be pretty awful.

Born into a family in which some members are predisposed to sociopathic behaviour, Crielle was one of the worst and was not encouraged by her parents to be the way she is. Many people assume that she was abused into her evilness, but she wasn't.

To me, the concept or alienness of someone who is as evil as Crielle simply because she was 'born that way' is very fascinating to me.

Incredibly intelligent and perceptive, her few weaknesses are around the (few) people she loves and the way she will indulge them, as well as anything that threatens her reputation.

In Game Theory, when we finally realise that she is at the centre of Gwyn's devotion, standing there watching his humiliation, reacting in disgust to being called 'Mama' in a moment of vulnerability from her own son.

In Falling Falling Stars, Efnisien calls Crielle, and it becomes quickly clear that she holds no love in her heart for Efnisien when she calls him a 'ghost' and reminds him that ghosts are very easy to kill, making it clear she still wants him dead, and only inertia/disinterest is keeping her from following through because she'd already killed him once.

Always really fucking evil and irredeemable.

Frankly dies a lot.

Always a bit of a mad chemist. In Fae Tales she is a literal chemist and inventor of many different poisons. This has carried over even in to her human incarnations where in the Spoils universe she uses her knowledge of science to cultivate, create, or acquire poisons and viruses and bacteria to insert into Gwyn's food. And carries even more strongly into the Underline universe, where she runs one of the most successful synthetic hormone companies in Australia.

Visibly stunning.

Cares a great deal about reputation.

Usually loves Efnisien. Underline is the first series that has flipped the narrative so that Gwyn is beloved and Efnisien is loathed.

Kind of disdains her husband, who has no power over her.

Crielle is a real figure in Welsh mythology, though she was never meant to be an evil figure. Nor is she Gwyn's mother in the mythology. A sign of just how intensely I've bastardised everything for my own purposes.

She is good friends with the Ratcatcher of Hameln.

I wanted Crielle to be an example of how you can't expect that someone perfectly beautiful is a good person. I also really wanted to write a woman villain. I felt like a lot of woman villains at the time that I was seeing or reading were often written as petty or just in ways that made them somehow 'weak.' The appeal of Crielle is that she's an extremely effective villain and the only thing that stops her is her death (with the exception of Falling Falling Stars).

Despite how awful she is, I really love her! I'd write her more, but she's too strong and powerful lmao and she ruins my character's lives too much.

Crielle's colours for me have always been cream, yellow, white and blue. It's hard to imagine her wearing anything else.

‘How perfectly disgusting,’ Crielle purred. ‘A little worm has learned how to use the phone. I thought I had a caterpillar once, that would turn into the most beautiful butterfly, but it turns out the only thing my sister’s loins are good for, are despicable little worms.’ ‘D-Do you hate me now?’ Efnisien whispered. Crielle laughed lightly. ‘Oh, oh, my darling, I don’t hate you.’ A moment of hope, strong and bright, a sudden dawn inside of him. ‘I feel nothing for you. As far as I recall, I killed my nephew, and you are nothing more than a ghost.’

Falling Falling Stars

[heartstringsduet]

Oh, I love the flower prompts? What about borage? 🤍💜

Thanks for the prompt. I love those flower prompts too. Flower Language Writing Prompt - I’m always taking prompt requests for this. 💐 Filled: Ivy, Morning Glory, Borage

Borage. Bluntness, directness *screams* I LOVE YOU OKAY?

He thinks it when they do the dishes after breakfast. He thinks it when Carlos laughs at something he sees on his Instagram feed. He thinks it when Carlos kisses him, when TK holds onto his broad shoulders and he has to bite these thoughts down as he comes. When Carlos ties his shoelaces, when Carlos coughs, when Carlos shrugs his shoulders and when Carlos breathes.

When they’re apart, TK thinks it even more.

“Dad, when do you usually tell the women you’re dating you love them?” TK asks and pushes more buckwheat pasta around on his plate.

Owen looks at him with inquisitive eyes. “Is this about Carlos? And about the frowny smiley you’re shaping your dinner into?”

It’s not only that TK isn’t exactly subtle, he’s also not very good at art. “Yes, of course it’s about Carlos,” he hisses.

Owen lets the tone slide off his back. He leans back in his chair, and smiles at the ceiling. “I say it as soon as I feel it. I confessed my love to your mother on the third date. She was so surprised and mad, she dropped the bouquet I got her. I got her a second bouquet from the store next door to make up for saying it that early. The big swing worked out.”

Now TK feels even less like eating knowing that his parents are very much not sneaky about making out in the house they all live in now since the pandemic.

“What’s this about, TK? Did Carlos say those big scary words too early? I assure you, that man was gone over you after you first met and he’s as subtle as a dog wagging its tail.”

TK shoves back in his seat, frowning at his frowning plate. “He’s told me he loved me a while ago now. And ever since”

“A while ago? Why the sad-faced-dinner now, then?” Owen pauses, then knowingly deduces, “You haven’t said it back yet.”

TK shrugs, the big messy ball of emotion wandering from his stomach to his throat. “I— There hasn’t really been… the moment.”

“What moment? You think the bodega on third was a moment for your mom and I?”

“Carlos deserves something special. Someone who can just say it back. Someone better than me and—” TK trails off, lets the truth hang there that both of them know. Carlos deserves the world and instead tied himself to TK. And once TK says it back, it will be like turning the key of the prison for good.

Dark thoughts like these have a way of expanding exponentially. It doesn’t help that this week, Carlos has been extra generous with those three words, says them like he knows TK is struggling and he wants them to be a security blanket.

“Tyler Kennedy Strand,” TK sits up straight as his mother enters the kitchen and puts her purse on the table. “I will not hear you badmouth my son.” 

He wishes it was only his dad and him, because the strict warmth of his mom brings him much closer to tears than self-loathing. Crossing his arms, he grumbles, “It’s true.”

“Do you love this man?” When TK shrugs, Gwyn walks over and with a gentle hand under his chin but a sharp voice she repeats, “Do you love this man, TK?”

“Yes.” There is no other possible answer.

“Then don’t wait for the best moment because you’ll only get so many in life. Don’t waste them waiting. Don’t be precious with them either. They’re not a currency you can spend.”

Tears prickle in TK’s eyes. “What if I end up getting hurt again?”

That’s when his father walks over, too, a hand on his other cheek like he’s a baby again, his parents coddling him. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t wait but make the most of all the happy moments you get together.” Owen says. “Here. Now.”

TK’s heart aches for the love his parents have for him that he wasn’t always sure of growing up. His heart aches for the love he has for them in turn.

Getting up is a struggle with his heart even heavier for the love he feels for Carlos. It weighs him down all the way through town. Each step with it is a chore and lifting his hand to ring the doorbell of the familiar townhouse is herculean. 

Carlos opens the door, eyes wide with surprise, flickering from TK’s face to the tulips he stole from the kitchen in lieu of opened flower shops. The red petals shake as TK holds them up higher, like a shield between them.

“TK? Did I forget we had plans—”

“I love you, okay?” TK wants to say, velvety and sweet. Instead he screams the words, because he has to forcefully jank at the plug covering them. It’s loud enough to make the neighbors dog bark into the night. Loud enough to make Carlos wince. Loud enough to make Tk gasp out, “Fuck,” right after this exertion.

It’s the opposite of the moment TK was waiting for, or avoiding. He half expects the hands that reach out to take the bouquet from him and throw it on the ground like his mom had done. Instead, they find his on the stems. Carlos gives them a squeeze, then leans forward to smell the tulips. 

Dark eyes flick up to him, hold him too, as Carlos echoes. “I love you.” in the way that it should be said. But then also echoes TK’s “Fuck.” and laughs. It lifts all the weight of TK’s heart and if it weren’t for the hands on his, he’d be sure to fly up to the moon.

[dreamteez-story]

Fate Chapter 4 - New Worlds ♫ Ray’s Playlist: “Falling in Reverse - Losing my Life”  ♫ Gwyn’s Playlist: “Shawn Mendes - In My Blood”

~★~ Ray ~★~

While Ray was led behind them like a prisoner by the two strangers, she looked around. Where had she ended up? Nothing about her surroundings seemed real. She had never seen these plants before and there seemed to be no sun and no sky. Everything was like a world hidden in a huge cave as if it had sunk like Atlantis. The dim light came from a few mushrooms that illuminated the path like floor lamps. Huge crystals towered upwards and the light refracted through them. Even the grass was different, not green, more turquoise. Sometimes even purple or orange. They followed a seemingly endless path that sometimes led through a valley, then over a bridge. 

After what felt like hours, Ray recognized the outline of a building in the distance. She stopped briefly on the small rise in the path and felt a jolt in her arms when the man on the other side of the chain stopped abruptly. Surprised, Beomgyu turned around, and shortly afterward so did his companion. The blue-haired man huffed a little annoyed and grabbed the chain in Beomgyu's hands to give it a good tug, followed by a "Come on now!"

Ray was pulled forward and when her head lifted again, she gave him a dirty look for this action. 

Gradually, more smaller buildings appeared, some built into the stone. In the middle and towering over everything was a palace. It was carved out of the mighty stone pillar that supported the entire ceiling of the cave and Ray's mouth fell open at the sight of it. Small lanterns on the houses shimmered purple and gave the town a mystical atmosphere. For the first time since she had been here, she saw other people, but were they people at all?

The inhabitants were just as strange as the two men in front of her. Some with horns, others without but with piercing eyes or scaly skin like a lizard. Everyone eyed her critically and started whispering in a language foreign to her as she passed them. As soon as one of the reactions was too conspicuous, one look from the stranger was enough to shut her up. Ray felt the piercing stares at her back as she climbed the many steps to the palace, but tried to hide her rising fear. 

The inside of the palace was dark, even less light came in from the outside and the few sources of light were apparently only decoration. Here, too, she was greeted by curious eyes, but they quickly slid to the side. Without hesitation and with long strides, the men walked with Ray through the long corridors to a huge, empty hall. The ceiling was so high that she had to tilt her head back to see the drawings on it. Pillars of more crystals and pointed stones supported the artwork above her. At the other end, a throne made of the same materials awaited her. A man was sitting on it. 

He seemed to be older than the other two and had his arm leaning on the armrest. His head rested on his fist and his eyes looked up at them with a bored expression. He studied the visitor with slightly furrowed brows, and when they came to a halt in front of him, he lowered his arm and tilted his head. Horns were growing out of his head too, but they were much more impressive than the stranger's. They were adorned with jewelry and precious stones that matched his crown. A long, heavy black cloak was draped over his shoulders and he held a staff in his other hand. 

"Good evening, Father," the blue-haired man greeted him and they both bowed low in front of him. The man on the throne nodded barely as his attention was focused on the guest behind them. He eyed Ray like his son before him, and she noticed the resemblance. 

"I thought you were on a mission, what are you doing here?" he asked roughly, placing the staff in his hand back on the floor. The echo resounded through the hall. 

"We were on our way when we heard screams near the portal," he explained objectively, stretching his back further to stand upright. "A tarantula attacked her and we brought her here, as protocol requires," he continued. The man remained unimpressed. "Besides..." he began again and had Beomgyu hand him the chains. He pulled on them again and Ray was dragged towards him by her arms. He roughly grabbed the cuffs on her wrists, lifted the sleeves of her clothes, and presented her wounds to his father. 

Suddenly his expression changed and he raised himself from his throne. He walked the three steps down to them without taking his eyes off Ray. He glanced briefly at his son, who then handed him the chains. He took a closer look at the injuries, especially the blood. Turning his head, he called out to an older man standing on the sidelines. The older man came immediately, looked at Ray's arms, and whispered something in the king's ear. His eyes fixed on Ray's, and she saw his expression change. 

"Well, well, well..." he murmured. "It's been years since we've had a human with us," he said, smiling slightly. But not in a friendly way, more calculating and disparaging. "How did you get here?" he asked her directly. 

Ray hesitated for a moment. 

"I was just there. I just remember falling asleep in my bed," she answered honestly. 

"A human being? How is that possible?" asked Beomgyu next to her. 

"It was possible once before, but I didn't expect it to happen again," the king replied. "Whatever the reason for her appearance, I don't want the elves to find out. They're already sticking their noses too deeply into our affairs anyway."

Elves? Ray began to doubt her sanity and was sure that everything here could only be a nightmare. 

"What should we do with her, father?" his son asked, his gaze glancing over to her for a moment. 

"Well, she's too valuable to be locked up as an ordinary prisoner..." he mused. "Besides, humans are too weak and fragile to do physical work..." he continued. Ray could barely hide her indignant expression. They were talking about her as if she wasn't there. 

"I have a use for her," the prince interjected. His father, however, gave him a stern look. 

"You have more women than you can satisfy, what do you want with a human?" he replied questioningly. That was enough for Ray, she was not a piece of merchandise you could buy at a bazaar!

"What's all this about? I'm neither your prisoner nor your worker and certainly not your whore!" she replied irritably, glaring at the young throne prince. But instead of being impressed or even intimidated, the king laughed out loud. 

"That's why you want her because she has such a sassy mouth?" He returned to his throne, still laughing slightly. "Fine by me," he agreed to his son's request. "But Yeonjun? " the prince raised his head. "First you will fulfill your mission," he said insistently, and again his son nodded in submission. "Enough now, go!"

With these words, they were led out of the throne room. Ray was still shocked by what had just happened. Against her will, Yeonjun had handed her over to another stranger, but he looked deep into her eyes before leaving the hall with Beomgyu by his side.

~★~ Gwyn ~★~

One week passed and nothing. She heard nothing from her best friend. She went back to Ray’s place and found her phone, out of battery of course. No Information, no nothing. She even went to the police to tell them she was missing and they took the request. But it didn’t seem like they thought she could really be at risk. They didn’t know her like Gwyn did. It was so out of character for her to not even text. She never went away without telling her anything. This was the first time and she was so scared. What if something happened to her best friend? It was one thing to not see her in university, but not at all? She went to their favorite cafe every day and Kai knew pretty much directly, that something was wrong. He blamed himself and Gwyn tried to calm the situation, but she couldn’t. With every day that Ray was missing, she lost a bit of energy. On day three Chris sat down at her table and told her she could hang the missing posters there and he would try to help her in any way possible. He was the owner of the cafe and on top of that, he was her cousin. He knew, better than anyone else, that Ray was like family for Gwyn. Chris, Kai and Gwyn met up every day to search at Ray’s most loved places, but nobody could find anything from her. The only thing she still remembered were the dark sketches she worked on the days before she disappeared. “She will come back. You know Ray, she is the strongest woman we know.” Chris tried to calm Gwyn down, but she only nodded, not believing his words. Yes, Ray was strong, but whatever happened, she didn’t believe it was just because of the picture of her mother. There was more and she hated herself for not understanding and solving what happened here. The day just didn’t want to end. Even in the late evening hours, Gwyn was still restless. Her thoughts went over the same words and even moments for hours now and nothing she did, could help her. Her head already buzzed like crazy and even tho she kept herself busy after leaving Ray’s dorm, again, she couldn’t do anything to calm down. She couldn’t focus on her favorite show or her sketches. Even listening to music seemed rather challenging. She wanted to search for her best friend, but she already tried everything she could. Today she even tried to get into contact with the women's home they worked at and the place Ray grew up. It was after 11 p.m. when she finally felt her body demanding rest, so she closed the laptop, went upstairs to her room and cuddled into her bed. Her hand grabbed the big red panda plushie out of the plushie pile on her side and embraced it. It was loved deeply and it showed. From most of the plushies here, it was the one that looked most scrunched. She got it from Ray, a few years back when they visited the zoo together. One last look on her phone, and she felt her body shivering. The tears followed. What was this? Why would Ray leave her like that? Of course, she wrote in her message that she was fine, but her best friend knew her better than she knew herself. And this message was days ago, Ray didn’t even seem to have read this. This behavior was nothing they ever had, not to the extent that she didn’t even know where she was. What should she do?

Memories of her grandma, the loneliness of this house, and the worry about her best friend, everything came crashing down on her harder than ever. Not once in these last two weeks, had she felt so weak, so useless, not once in her life. This was for sure one of the hardest weeks in her life. At the same moment, she hated herself for now losing her calm. She wasn’t able to hold it together anymore. Her whole body was out of her control, trembling under her cries. She didn’t even realize, that she left her bed, till it was too late.

~★~ Ray ~★~

Some time had passed since their arrival, probably two or three days. The times of day were blurred down here without direct sunlight. Only the nature of her tasks told her whether it was morning, noon, or evening. After Yeonjun and Beomgyu had left the palace, Ray was taken to a room that would be hers in the future. It was very simply furnished. She had a bed, a small table, and a cupboard for personal belongings that she didn't own. Most of the time she helped in the kitchen, tidying up, sweeping, or taking out the garbage. She was never allowed near the food. 

Conversations with her were also prevented as far as possible. Apart from that, the fact that she was human seemed to put some of the servants off. However, the only one who spoke to her a few times was a girl. Maybe her age. She usually washed the dishes and when Ray would help her and they were alone in the kitchen, Ray would ask her questions. 

Through her, Ray had learned that Yeonjun was the eldest son of the king of the so-called "deep dark". His closest companion was Beomgyu, actually a young healer whose skills were only moderately appreciated. Their relationship was also rather unequal. Yeonjun had a reputation for not being particularly friendly, especially not towards him. His haughtiness, arrogance, and womanizing were also well-known in the palace. He also had a younger sister, but Ray had never met her.

 She was also introduced to the race of Drow living here. They were very similar to elves, and some of them were even said to have been elves in the past. However, they lived far away from light and sun. Living in caves, dark forests, or remote valleys between snow and ice. They had gray, purple, or bluish skin in various shades. Even they could live to be several hundred years old and were endowed with superhuman powers. Some even possessed magic. In addition, they avoided contact with the elves. Hardly anyone spoke about them in this area. They were a hated enemy and even the name of their king was a death sentence here.

story ©dreamteez_story on wattpad characters and pictures credits to the owners

[shi-daisy]

Chapter 13 and 14 have me reeling omg ma'am! 😭 The fluff 💗 the twists😱 the smut 🥵 We been blessed! I love how Tamlin is finally getting his healing arc/found family/Lucien romance because the way you write our boy is so cuteeeee!!! The flashbacks were adorable, Lucien is so handsome and adorable and I need both of them to be happy and cherished forever. Goodbye SJM canon this is what's canon for me now!

Few questions tho, given that you've named all the other 'nameless' characters like the Vanserra family, Tamlin's family, and other secondary characters is there are a reason why you haven't named Rhysand's family? Like is it because you're looking for a fitting name or a story reason?

Also, given that the new Dusk Court is seemingly a mix of Greece and Japan do you have headcannons for the other courts? What would Spring, Autumn or Winter be?

Finally I can't wait to see more of the Njght Court rebellion. After the whole Dusk reveal I'm excited to see their reactions and maybe backstory, and them with the Valkyries because Gwyn and Lunara would be such a cute friendship. Also Grim is best boy I love this man he's had one scene and now I need a prequel we stan himbo dad warrior in this house! He's what Cassian should've been!

Speaking of, Nesta needs to come back and read everyone for filth! Book 2 might be all about her but she so fun to read here too, especially as Tam's sister (they'd be cute as a ship too but platonic siblings Nestlin is life)

Anyway so sorry for the long message, I love your fic and I'm cheering you on! 💗

Aaaaaaaaa!!!! Anon c'mere and let me hug you! You're so sweet! Thank you so much!!! 🥰🥰🥰 it's been a joy to write this fic and while I already loved Tamlin and Lucien both as individuals and as a ship before, thanks to the fic they've gone up to otp status in my heart. I'm so excited to keep bringing you my boys and their adventures be it sweet and fluffy or high stakes.

Okay so to answer your questions, the reason I haven't named Rhysand's family (or the other bat boys family) is less interesting that twist a or story and has more to do with spite. I am spiteful AF when it comes to the page hogging bats and I refuse to give them any once of development or thought other than antagosnist. So I have zero intention of naming any of those characters because I know SJM would grant them names before the Acheron parents or the Vanserras or any other more important character. So no, I'm just a petty spiteful slug in that case. Sorry to disappoint.

Glad to hear you cought the Greece/Japan mix invented for Dusk. Given that Night seems to be based on Greece along with Middle East at least from what little world building we were shown I thought it would be cool to have them have Greek influence due to Night's colonization but also retain the Japanese inspired culture and aesthetic that was theirs before their fall. I have some ideas for the other courts but these are just headcanons.

Spring- Scottland, France

Summer- Kingdom of Hawaii, Polynesian, Caribbean

Autumn- Spain, Ireland

Winter- Russia, Norway, Korea

Day- Madagascar, Kenya, Roman Empire

Dawn- India, China, Vietnam

Dusk- Japan, Greece, England (Gothic period)

Night- Greece, Middle East

You shall get more Night Court rebellion content soon, I love this group and trust me you haven't met them all yet, lots of peeps want Rhys gone. Gwyn and Lunara will be good pals don't you worry, priestess stick together and I really want more Gwyn she is a delight. Seriously considering a prequel with them at some point.

Funny you mention Grim, he's the favorite so far out of the Rebellion oc's and while I love this precious edgy himbo he is not of my creation @maplesamurai made him as an NPC for one of our D&D campaigns and I've been obsessed with him since then (that version of him and of D&D Lunara are also a couple, mates in every universe baby!) So thank him for the best boy and best himbo. Cassian's got nothing on the best dilf!

Nesta too will get more page time, I'm just keeping from adding too much before her own book, while her healing is mostly happening offscreen and she will be stable by the time of book 2 girlie will have stuff to deal with later that I need to put off for now, but do expect her to get a good moment along with the rest of the squad. Also yes platonic Nestlin for life! They'd be an awesome ship, but as siblings they're a winning combo. Eris look out Nesta now has an older brother to keep an eye on ya once you're official!

Don't ever worry about long questions anon, I live for comments and asks and any attention so I'm absolutely delighted that you sent me this and so grateful you love my silly fix it fic! Thanks so much and I hope I've answered your question! 💙

[bcbliophile]

"There's no one in the world I trust more than I trust you." from Gwyn for Nesta

"I guess something good came from those hellish training sessions" Nesta offered a rare soft smile, one she kept for a precious few, not a showing of teeth, but a real and genuine smile. "I trust you too" which meant a lot coming from Nesta, trust did not come easy, love was even harder, but she loved the redhead in front of her.

[apifacture]

By her hand, unspeakable acts had been committed. She was the shadow behind the sun, the unseen blade wielded in Lord Gwyn’s name. She knew the weight of his sins as intimately as her own. Gwyn, who stood cast in amber light, radiant and untouchable and revered, left the filth for her hands to gather. He could not stoop; he would not stoop. So she did, slipping through the cracks of the world, her mask’s cycloptic eyes – front and back – ever watchful, ever unseen.

She had gutted, hanged, strangled, burned. She had carved flesh and spilled lifeblood. She had silenced screams and ripped out family trees by their roots. A name in her ear was a death sentence, and her blades bore no regret for their work. A knife could not grieve for those that it cut.

Yet with Artorias, her sting was sheathed. He was the first to hold her without bleeding, without flinching. She marvelled at that, at how he dared cradle what others feared. It was not his valour on the battlefield that lingered in her thoughts, nor the precision with which he wielded his greatsword, nor the celebrated gleam of his silver-blue armour. These were things anyone could see.

She, with her four eyes, saw much more.

It haunted her – the way his hand hovered above hers as if seeking permission, the way she would give it gladly and unasked. How his abyss-dark eyes softened when they met hers, stripping the world of its weight and leaving only her in his gaze. In stolen moments, she had felt his hunger, it had been written into her body by his teeth. Raw, unguarded, reverent, his large fingers curling into fists in the honeyed waves of her hair. There was no cruelty in it, no malice, only a primal fear of losing something too precious to name. Only a man terrified to lose what he cherished most.

Such fear had once been alien to her. Now, she felt it climb the column of her spine and settle in her chest, a foreign hand that threatened to take. She sorely wanted to keep him, to shield him from harm, to own this piece of light in a life otherwise cast in shadow.

Amber eyes took him in as he lay beside her, gallant and undone, drunk on the scent of her bedsheets, his hair a mess of sleep and her touch. Gentler now, she fondly combed her fingers through it, compelled only by the desire to touch him, to reassure herself that he was real and not the figment of a death-addled mind.

Let the others call him simple, let them see the smiles and not the steel beneath. Let them look at her and see only a butcher, a creature of blades and bane and blood. They would never understand his nature. But she did. She always would.

In so many ways, he is only a wolf for her.

Certainly, his armor bears the motif: the fanged jaws, the low and lunging slopes of a lean, loping beast, all smooth angles and silver-blue plate, evoking the predator animal's most distinctive traits. So, too, does he move in a fight, prone to pouncing and leaping after his targets.

But in his manner with most people, he's a puppy. The going rumor holds that he is, in fact, a bit simple minded - too kind, a little dim, gullible in the extreme.

She knows he's not, of course. She knows this when he spots a danger to her, and she knows this when they've given over to their adoration for one another. In the former circumstance, she's watched all caution disappear in favor of crushing, utterly, whatever dared to threaten her, with all the fury of a beast and all certainty of a closing coffin lid.

In the latter, she's seen him consume her, felt his teeth drag across her skin, watched his mouth at her pale throat, and waited to see if he would bite.

There were moments she was sure he would, lost in his passions as he became. She was equally certain she'd let him - if she was to be consumed, let it be him.

Let it be her wolf, hungry and desperate for her in a way that he showed to no one else.

[broodybatboy]

Coffee Headcanons

Summary: Our resident insomniacs Azriel and Gwyn love their coffee (and start to love each other too).

Gwyn: “How do you take your coffee? Let me guess...no sugar and no cream. Black as night."

Azriel: *stares* "How did yo—"

“Honestly Az, you’re not so mysterious. Of course, the Shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, one of the most powerful Illyrians in history, likes his coffee black,” she quipped with a teasing bite.

Azriel merely shrugged with amusement at the irreverence for his titles in her voice. He responded, “I like the taste.”

Gwyn: “Mhm sure. You’re not fooling me. I think you secretly want a little sweetness.”

He looked at her as if she had uncovered some secret. A little sheepishly he confessed, “Pastries and black coffee. I like pastries. Anything with powdered sugar or icing.”

Gwyn smiled at him triumphantly and just a bit smugly for reading him so well.

“Pastries," Gwyn repeated with a broader smile. "I think we can make that happen. Excellent taste, Shadowsinger.”

Gwyn: “Milk and sugar for me, please.”

Azriel snorted. Actually snorted. Of course, Gwyn liked her coffee sugary and creamy. Fitting for the sweet strong girl. For a moment, his mind drifts thinking of her milky skin, and just for a second, the briefest moment, lets himself think about how her mouth must taste like sweet rich coffee.

Café trips are their favorites. All the time. At least twice a week.

Their favorite spot is a secluded little café with a terrace overlooking the edge of Sidra near the sea. It has the best espresso, buttery croissants, and a salty sea breeze.

They'll chat for hours or sit in companionable silence with books. It's a perfect escape from their friends and the world around them. Just coffee, books, and each other.

Gwyn loves lattes and cappuccinos — anything milky and foamy.

She gets absolutely giddy at the sight of latte art.

“It’s just magnificent! Look at this detail!”

When Gwyn gets a milk mustache she giggles and crinkles her nose.

He realizes she’s the cutest thing in the world.

His shadows know this. They know Azriel is a goner. They would do anything for her and the silly little milk mustache.

One of Feyre’s art friends is a ceramicist. One day, Azriel brings her to the studio and they make each other mugs.

Her mug is bright blue and speckled (he thought of her freckles) with swirls like waves on the sea.

It reminds her of his shadows. His hair when it’s messy. The tattoos on his chest.

He thinks it’s misshapen and rough around the edges. To her, it's perfect.

His mug is gleaming obsidian and navy gloss. It's expertly crafted with a perfect round base. Gwyn is truly good at everything. In the center, a small gleaming sapphire stone (she said it was for his siphons but to him, it’s her eyes).

Azriel nearly combusts when Cassian knocks it over one morning and there's a small crack. Barely noticeable. But he's upset. It's become too precious, his favorite mug, a gift from his best friend.

Gwyn just smiles and makes everything okay.

"Oh Az, it's just a little mark. Just like a scar. It doesn't make it any less lovely."

And he knows there's a deeper meaning. She knows it too. She always says things like that to him. Boldly and full of certainty. And he knows she's sincere.

That mug with the small crack becomes even more precious.

Azriel is nothing but practical and drinks coffee to stay awake. It’s a solitary and routine activity, usually in the wee hours and before anyone else is awake. Dousing his sleepless nights and weary face in the dark brew

Coffee with her is comforting, enriching, and energizing.

They have long nights. Where coffee bonds and keeps them awake, near each other and away from themselves. The coffee matching the darkness of the night sky. Together, enveloped in a dark warmth. Spoons clanking amongst soft voices. Shadows twirl and milk swirls. The fuel they need to connect, to share, to talk about everything, and nothing. A companion in the darkness. Two empty mugs at the end of a long night.

They have their slow mornings where both are too tired, heads and hearts heavy, hollowed-eyed, and terrorized by their inner demons. They sit in a comfortable silence staring at the city below. There’s no bread or sugary treats. Gwyn's eyes are bloodshot. He always pours her cup. The least he can do to drown away the awful nights. Saucers and mugs clank, seats shuffle and they move closer to each other. She brushes her fingers against his as she accepts. Lingers. She always says thank you. Always offers him a small smile. Then, after the first sip, it gets wider.

“You make excellent coffee, Az.”

The first smile of the day and he gets to witness it. He gets to be part of it. It makes him snap out of his dark thoughts and stay awake, present. That smile and her brief touch warm him more than the coffee ever could.

They have their bright mornings. Where she is alive and excited and laughing and loud. And it’s absolutely infectious. There are sugary treats and big bites between sentences. A steady stream of coffee fueling her rants, thoughts, and teasing. Her eyes twinkle and her hands are animated. He’s on defense, carefully making sure nothing spills on her, asking questions, and teasing back to keep that brightness in her eyes. He’s smiling as the sun rises. He wonders how anything can be so stimulating and how a laugh can be so addicting and how a morning can be so beautiful.

He wants coffee with her every morning for the rest of his life.

[houseofhurricane]

Rules for Spies: Chapter Nine

Summary: While Azriel and Gwyn work to free Koschei’s captives, attraction turns into something more.

Chapter Word Count: 7,333

Warnings: This chapter has no warnings, but this fic includes mature consensual sexual situations, references to past assault, and torture.

Art & Banner: cosmikla

All chapters are available on Archive of Our Own. All previous chapters linked here.

When Gwyn wakes, Emerie and Azriel are in the chairs near her bed, and she almost turns around to look for Catrin and her mother, the vision of the two of them seems so incredible. Then Emerie realizes she’s awake and smiles, her golden eyes tilting up, and Gwyn realizes that she’s really here, that Azriel has fallen asleep waiting for her to wake, and when she smiles back at Emerie, she hopes her friend can’t see the heat that’s rising on her cheeks.

“He didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up,” her friend says, “and Anahit has said I need to spend some time upright. Madja took a look after she saw to you and said that I was recovering nicely.”

“You’re practically healed.” Gwyn’s eyes have filled with tears, which is unlike her. But today -- or however long it’s been since the firebird appeared over Velaris -- has undone something inside her, and now she’s full of too much power and too many emotions, too exhausted to fully control her more embarrassing reactions.

Emerie knows better than to tease her. She only reaches out her hand, her bracelet with its silver charm glowing on her wrist, and Gwyn takes it, even though the motion makes her realize the ache in every one of her joints, worse than the first week of training.

“You’re going to be all right?” Emerie asks. “I felt the power even inside. Nesta and Cassian said it was you. That Azriel was frantic.”

“I’ll be fine in a few days. I need to learn better control.”

“You’re going to tell me why you never mentioned your powers?”

Gwyn presses Emerie’s hand, grateful for the question, the lack of accusation in it.

“I could make you do anything I wanted,” she says, the softest way she can explain it. “In the temple, the high priestess told me the power was an aberration. I had to control it all the time, or I could hurt people. And then, when Hybern came…”

She cannot talk about that now, not with so much in her mind, and Emerie squeezes her fingers tight.

“Nesta says you saved everyone,” is all Emerie says.

“Only because I was stupid.” Because if she had left the box where it was, maybe there would’ve been another way.

“Sometimes that’s another word for brave, Gwyn.”

She shifts in bed, feeling the exhaustion creep in, despite the fact that it’s been years since she spent so many hours asleep.

“How do your wings feel?”

“A little sore and very weak. I’m going to start doing Cassian’s exercises tomorrow. Anahit was very impressed by his regimen.”

“I’ll help.”

Emerie snorts. “I’d like to see you try and strengthen your wings.”

“Maybe I’ll compel you if you start slacking off.”

It’s the first time she’s ever joked about her powers, and she expects to be scolded, but instead Emerie lets out a cackling laugh that makes Azriel startle out of sleep.

“You’re awake,” he says, and the dreamy smile on his face makes Gwyn burst out with her own grin, not caring that Emerie is watching, that later she will have a hundred questions.

Emerie is healing and Azriel is looking at her as if she is so precious, and for now, at least, Gwyn lets herself smile and enjoy.

.

.

.

.

.

“I have no idea how to break this spell,” Lucien Vanserra says three days later, squatting in front of the box. “The signature of this magic is barely a part of this world. I’m not sure if it’s even Koschei’s.”

“Is there anything you do know?” Gwyn asks, and Azriel sees Rhys’ eyes dart to her as he works to smother his own smile. Only Gwyn could make that barb sound so sweet.

Lucien turns a longsuffering gaze on Rhys, who only nods.

“I’d like to hear the answer to that question myself,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll have to study the binding spell more closely.”

“You can’t take it to the human realm.”

“Good thing I’ll be here a few days longer,” Lucien says, smirking as extends an elegant finger towards the box. His metal eye whirrs.

Azriel has always wondered what Lucien can see through that magical eye, but though he should be studying the emissary, his awareness quickly turns to Gwyn, perched on the couch in her Illyrian leathers. She had slept for a day straight, and then, on waking, had insisted that the meeting with Lucien, that there was nothing to keep Koschei from striking. Even as he’d watched her struggle to entirely focus her eyes, he’d agreed and arranged the meeting for the next day, cancelling his meetings in favor of ensuring she drank all the tea and soup the House could provide. Now, Gwyn still looks pale, but she sits comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, and there was only a brief moment where she looked intimidated by Lucien, called him lord.

“I found it under Merrill’s desk,” she adds now, her head tilting as she studies Lucien’s posture, the box itself. “It’s possible that there was some kind of cloaking spell in her office.”

“Many of the old manuscripts have enough old spellwork in them to make detection of one spell difficult. Even a complicated beauty like this one.”

From the doorway, there’s a delicate little laugh, and Azriel looks up to see Elain. It’s not the first time she’s appeared somewhere without a trace, and even as he scans her face, he finds himself analyzing the scene, trying to determine whether she’s seen anything that could compromise the mission.

She’s dressed in a sky-blue gown and her eyes are happy, settled. All her attention is directed on Lucien.

“Should I be jealous of that box?” she asks, and though Lucien has often been a miserable bastard, Azriel has never seen such a smile on the courtier’s face. She turns to the rest of them, her smile not disappearing, but certainly becoming more polite. “I’m interrupting. But Rhys said you had some questions for me.”

“I won’t be able to help you until I examine the box thoroughly,” Lucien says, gesturing towards Elain, who moves to sit next to Gwyn on the couch, her silk skirts brushing against Gwyn’s leathers.

“Do you remember those first visions?” Azriel asks.

Elain flinches, and he can’t tell if it’s the sound of his voice or the memory of those first weeks after she was turned Fae.

This is a mistake, he’d told her almost a year ago, and then he’d disappeared from her life. It doesn’t matter if she’s found contentment elsewhere. He still harmed her last solstice.

“There were so many,” she says, and at the sound of her voice, small and lost as it hasn’t been in years, Lucien moves toward her, rests his hand on her knee, his gaze torn from the box to her face. Gwyn turns to her, too, reaching out her hand without making contact, as if she’s unsure whether Elain will welcome her touch.

“Were there any visions about an onyx box like this one, or Koschei, or Vassa, or the women he holds captive?” Gwyn asks, her voice soft, the way a priestess receives confession from a troubled soul. Her pale fingers move fluidly through the air, and all Azriel wants to do, appearances and the mission be damned, is take that hand in both of his.

“I remember a sorcerer with an onyx box,” Elain says, pressing her fingers to her temple, “but it was smaller than this one, and I think I saw carvings on it. Not words or pictures but something between, like some primitive language. This one feels different to me.”

“What about the quality of the magic is distinct?” Lucien asks, his face upturned towards hers.

“It’s possible I’m misremembering.” Elain’s eyes are closed, moving beneath her eyelids as if she’s examining some internal painting, “but the one I saw felt like an absence. Sucking me towards it like a vortex in the ocean. This feels more like a wind that blows in a world where there is no air.”

“Merrill,” Gwyn breathes, her hands falling into her lap. “She has the power to control the wind. She would bring it up whenever I made a mistake.”

“So Koschei has created a binding spell with a blend of their powers.” Lucien’s equal parts fascinated and annoyed. “That’s an impressive bit of work.”

“But can you break it?” Rhys asks.

“We may not want to,” Lucien counters. “We don’t know why its contents were hidden. If Koschei was so eager to reclaim it… Mother save us if we have to face whatever a death-god fears.”

“It’s not that,” Elain says, her voice going dreamy and her eyes rolling up as her head falls against the back of the couch. Lucien moves toward her, and Gwyn takes her elbow. “It’s something precious, more important than a gemstone or good luck. It will only harm him if you open it, but he will hunt you beyond this world itself if you take its contents.”

It’s a vision, and when Azriel looks at Rhys, he sees his own question mirrored in his brother’s eyes: whether or not this is a bit too convenient.

“Do you see Koschei, or Merrill?” Gwyn asks, ignoring a glare from Lucien.

“He cannot leave his lake, but he hopes to take a captive of a high enough value that he can demand his freedom as a ransom.” Her eyes still closed, Elain turns to Gwyn. “You should be careful, siren.”

The blood drains from Gwyn’s already-pale face, and Azriel crosses the room, places a hand on her shoulder, a brace.

“How did you know?” Gwyn asks, her voice taking on a resonance beyond its usual tone. Lucien reaches for the dagger at his belt,

“He is afraid of you, I think,” Elain says. “He will try to destroy you before your power rises.”

“Let him try.” Gwyn’s voice is brazen but he feels the tension in her muscles and knows she is afraid.

Elain opens her eyes, and for a moment they focus on something in the middle distance. Then, she is in the room again, turning to look at each of them as if she’d simply been lost in thought.

“Have you been training?” Rhys asks.

“Lucien had a theory about my visions,” Elain says, “that I could enter into a certain willing state on my own. I’ve been trying it, and it eases the onslaught. It hurts less, too, when they’re over.” Still, even as she says it, she reaches her hands for her temples with a little grimace.

Lucien rises and offers her his hand, but Elain only settles her fingers on his. She does not take the chance to make her escape.

“Was the prophecy helpful?” she asks instead.

“The timing was strange,” Azriel says. “We know that Koschei can possess minds. Would it be out of the question to instill a vision?”

“I summoned it more easily, but it felt like any other.”

“Are you certain he’ll go after Gwyn?”

He expects Elain to avoid his gaze at that question and the urgency in it, but she turns toward him as she speaks, and despite the hand that shields her eyes from the light, she doesn’t hesitate to meet his gaze. In fact, when her eyes dip to his hand on Elain’s shoulder, she gives him a little smile.

It’s more grace than he deserves.

“She is both an obstacle and a prize to him,” Elain says, finally. “He wants to possess her.”

Beneath his hand, he feels Gwyn stiffen at that phrase, but the calm, interested expression on her face does not change. She only reaches out for Elain’s hand and squeezes it.

“I’m sorry,” the seer says, and Azriel has always thought of Elain as easily broken, but she holds tight to Gwyn’s hand. “I know what is when men, or males I suppose, consider you only a pretty object. But I think you might have the power to fight back.”

Laying Gwyn’s hand down gently, she rises gracefully and quits the room, Lucien trailing behind her.

“I’ll need to train harder,” Gwyn says as soon as the door snicks shut.

“It won’t be safe,” Azriel says, forgetting that Rhys is in the room as he moves toward her, his hand reaching for her even as his voice rises. “Koschei is hunting you now, specifically. You think Vassa is the end of this? We need to find a place where he won’t be able to find you.”

“You heard what Elain said. He’s afraid of me.”

“You know what males do when they’re afraid.”

Her face jaw sets and her fingers flex against his. He can’t tell whether she’s angry at the situation or with him.

“That’s why you need to trust me,” she says, then turns away from him, to Rhys. “I’ll start working on the countermelody. If I can get inside Koschei’s mind--”

“You need more time,” Rhys says, and his voice is too gentle, and then he looks at Azriel. “I’d like the two of you to lay low in Illyria.”

“I’m not going to Illyria.” The words are a growl, and Gwyn turns to him, shock on her face. He’s never let her see the full extent of his loathing for the place where he was born. Azriel forces himself to take a deep breath, regain at least a shred of his composure. “We don’t even know if Koschei’s spies are present.”

Rhys waves his hand, dismissing the objection.

“You have my blessing to kill anybody who threatens either of you.”

“I really don’t think--” Gwyn starts, but Rhys shakes his head and she goes silent.

“The two of you can stay in the rooms above Emerie’s shop,” he says briskly, not quite in his full High Lord arrogance, but still Azriel knows that his objections will not be heard. “Az, you’ll winnow in and out to minimize contact. Take Gwyn into the woods during the day to train. I’ll join when I can.”

Azriel has one last card to play, and he breathes deep before he shows it.

“You know what my father will do if he finds me in Illyria.” It takes everything in him, all the strength he’s gained over five centuries, not to hang his head in shame.

“Kill the bastard, then,” Rhys says, and, for one second, his smile is wicked. “Either way, I expect you both in Illyria tonight. Elain may have thought hers was a normal vision, but even if Koschei or one of his minions didn’t provide it to her directly, there’s a good possibility that she didn’t go unobserved.”

Azriel thinks of those moments when she’d turned to Gwyn. When Elain had called her a siren and Gwyn had worked so hard not to flinch. The way she’d felt in his arms, limp and cold, how it was impossible to fly fast enough to outrace his panic. If Koschei comes for Gwyn again, he knows, deep in his bones, that this attacker will be harder to repel.

He has not been to Illyria in centuries, and still Azriel finds himself nodding at Rhys, making plans.

.

.

.

.

.

Gwyn does not knock before she bursts into Emerie’s room. She has not spoken for the past half-hour, when Azriel flew her from the High Lord’s river estate to the House of Wind, only stared at the landscape below, the grand houses becoming the rooftops of Velaris. She could feel each time Azriel opened her mouth and then closed it. But she couldn’t think of what to say to him, caught between an apology for forcing him to go to Illyria, frustration with his desire to protect her when she’s demonstrated that she’s more than capable, and a thousand half-formed questions about the long look he’d shared with Elain Archeron.

It’s that last part that bothers her most of all, she thinks as she turns the doorknob. Gwyn doesn’t believe in fighting over males, and anyway, how could she compete with Nesta’s lovely, elegant sister, with her gorgeous face and her perfect dress and her power that doesn’t harm anyone?

Does that mean Azriel turned to her only when he thought Elain was no longer an option? And did that smile between them mean that their understanding was changing?

She is already imagining the conversation she and Azriel will have in Illyria, him letting her down so gently as they train with daggers. She’s already trying to brace herself against that disappointment.

But all those thoughts vanish when she walks inside Emerie’s room, to find her kneeling on her bed, half-naked and kissing Mor, her slim brown fingers tangled in Mor’s cascade of golden hair.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, moving to shut the door, but Mor appears at her side and pulls her further into the room, silently shutting the door.

“Did you forget how to knock?” Emerie asks, not sounding as angry as Gwyn expected while pulling her sweater over her head and carefully maneuvering it around her wings. When Mor reaches out to help guide the fabric around Emerie’s scars, Gwyn realizes that this isn’t the first time she’s helped her friend dress.

“I’m happy for you both,” Gwyn says, not knowing what to say aside from the truth.

“You can’t tell anybody, of course,” Mor responds, her fingers twined with Emerie’s. “But we’re happy. If I can speak for Emerie.”

“You’re allowed,” Emerie says, her smile shining in her eyes. She’s had a crush on Mor for a while, and Gwyn knew they’d established some sort of friendship, but she hadn’t realized they were so close, sneaking kisses and undressing behind closed doors.

Before the silence can become awkward, Emerie starts telling Gwyn how Mor had volunteered to take her to the House of Wind for the midsummer party the House had bullied Cassian and Nesta into hosting, and one drink had lead to a sparkling conversation and then dancing, and then Emerie and Mor only raised their eyebrows at each other and smiled.

“I didn’t think she would want to see me again after that,” Mor says, a blush making the beautiful female’s face even more lovely, “but after your next training session, there was a note under my door inviting me to Windhaven whenever I wanted a homemade meal.”

“Nesta delivered it,” Emerie adds.

“You told her?!” Gwyn’s voice squeaks out of her, a combination of jealousy and awe, that they’ve been involved for half a year without her even realizing it.

“I said it was about when Mor would take me to training. You’re the first person we’re telling. Except for Anahit. And some of Mor’s friends. But Rhys and his brothers don’t know.”

“Or Feyre and Amren. Or the family I was born into, for whatever that’s worth,” Mor adds. “So we would appreciate if you kept this quiet for a bit.”

“Of course,” she says, and then, because she can’t help herself, she gently swoops Emerie into a hug, careful to avoid her wings, and pulls Mor into the circle, and for a moment, everything is perfect.

Then she remembers the way she spent the last few hours.

��I have to go to Illyria with Azriel,” she says. Mor and Emerie share a look, and she has to look away before she can find the pity in their glances.

“I was going to give you flannel-lined leathers for solstice, but I think you’ll need them now.” She turns to Mor. “Will you get them from the closet shelf in Windhaven?”

Before Gwyn can say that this is her final destination, Mor nods and disappears, returning less than a minute later with two sets of leathers lined with flannel the color of Gwyn’s eyes.

“Az hates Illyria,” Mor says gently as she hands over the armor. “He’ll probably be quiet and brooding the whole time you’re there. But he’s different with you. He might be all right.”

Gwyn nods, hoping her blush doesn’t show too brightly. Even in spite of the fact that she should know better.

“Take quilts. And ask the House to give you its smuttiest novels. Maybe it will inspire Azriel.” Emerie gives a theatrical wink and it takes all of Gwyn’s willpower not to sigh.

“The High Lord wants us to stay at your house,” she says, hoping this will dampen her friend’s enthusiasm just a bit.

“Just make sure to change the sheets before you leave,” Emerie retorts as Mor smiles and wrinkles her nose, twirling Emerie’s plait around her wrist, completely besotted. And Gwyn is so happy for her friend, to have found someone who makes her eyes sparkle with golden light, who can’t help but reach out and touch her, even as jealousy churns, hot and acid, in her stomach, at this perfect portrait of what she thought she could have with Azriel.

With one more round of hugs and congratulations, she excuses herself, packs her things, including the sweaters and boots and thick socks that the House piles on her bed, almost definitely stolen from Nesta’s closet, the smutty novels it arranges lovingly on her nightstand. There’s even an enormous box filled with food that will not spoil, spices and tea and coffee. She adds her new leathers and the daggers from Azriel, the warmest of her clothes and the most relevant volumes to Koschei. She decides that if she broods long enough over Azriel, it might drive her to some kind of revelation.

There’s a knock on her door.

When she opens it, Azriel has a little smile on his face and she realizes she can’t get through days or weeks alone with him with all these feelings trapped inside her. Not when the sight of his upturned lips makes her alternately want to grin like a fool and smash her face against his.

“Are you in love with Elain Archeron?” She sounds breathless and foolish and she has to look away from him, even if this goes against all her recent training. A spy requires all the information she can assemble.

“I thought I was, once.”

His scarred fingers enter her field of vision and then they rest, lightly, on her chin, lifting her eyes to his own. All she sees is a warm concern, no trace of a lie.

“What happened?”

“She already had a mate. I tried to win her anyway, but… Rhys ordered me to stay away. And I was angry about it. Even if he ended up being right.”

“I saw the way you smiled at each other.” Because in all the romances, forbidden love is the deepest, the kind that people always seem most willing to die for.

“She saw my hand on your shoulder. That was when she smiled at me. How can I make you believe me? Because you are the one--” He stops, as if he’s revealed too much, and he looks so distressed that the shadows cluster around him, almost blotting out his flashing Siphons.

Gwyn sighs, her chin dipping against his fingers.

“A death-lord wants to personally destroy me and I am jealous of the gorgeous Cauldron-blessed sister of one of my best friends. Maybe you should remove me from the mission.”

“You’re on the mission as long as you’d like,” he says, almost recovering the dry tone he uses when he’s teasing Cassian. “But if you’d like me to introduce you to Elain more thoroughly, I’m happy to do so. Even if I think she’s found happiness with her mate.”

She has to purse her lips against the smile that threatens to escape. Because it cannot be that easy, the two of them together.

“I feel as if what I want is painfully obvious.”

His hand moves to the back of her head, letting her fall against him until she’s ready to meet his gaze again.

“If it makes you feel better, Gwyn, I feel the same way, but it seems I am doing a terrible job of showing you.”

Perhaps her training is paying off, because despite the fact that she wants more than ever to kiss him, to dip her fingers below his leathers and explore the skin beneath, she only asks, “Will you be all right in Illyria?”

He hardly shakes his head, the smallest sign.

“There has to be another place where we can go,” she says. She should have referred only to herself, the object of Koschei’s wrath, but she doesn’t want to go without him.

“None of our allied courts are guaranteed safety, and if Koschei pursues us, the political implications will be hell to unravel for Rhys and Feyre. In Illyria, we can escape to the wilderness and limit casualties.”

“And if Emerie’s shop is one of them?”

“Rhys will have it rebuilt in a week.”

“And if you’re one of them?” She reaches up to run her thumb against the ridge of his cheekbone, letting herself, just for a second, admire the perfect architecture of his face. A shadow winds itself between her fingers.

His smile is not as grim as she anticipated.

“I’m counting on all your excellent training to kick in,” he says, bending to press a gentle kiss to her mouth, a soft press of lips. And there are a whole list of questions she should ask -- about his father, about the dangers, about what it is that makes him hate the land of his birth -- but instead she kisses him until she’s breathless.

He holds out his hand, the look on his face quickly shifting to resignation, and she knows he’s preparing to winnow her.

“I’ll protect you, you know,” she says, her hand hovering over his. Letting him delay their arrival a few minutes more.

“I know that.”

There’s more than amusement in his voice, something deep and sure, but Gwyn doesn’t have time to parse it, because his fingers wrap around hers, and then they are inside Emerie’s apartment, so cold that Gwyn’s teeth immediately start to chatter.

In the shop below them, a door opens and two female laughs sketch out a fragmentary melody. Azriel moves on silent feet towards the door, Truth-Teller already drawn.

Gwyn follows him, clamping her mouth shut as she listens closer to the sounds underneath her feet. The magical frequencies they might describe.

There are indeed two females minding the shop, and their magic reminds her of Emerie, though it is younger, still untried in both of them. A simple song, half a melody really, will bring them under her command.

She watches Azriel, still listening for footsteps at the door, and signals him to cover his ears. His Siphons blaze blue, and a shield shines around his head. When he moves his lips, she cannot hear his words.

Then Gwyn opens her mouth and lets out the melody that will compel them, loud as she can. Let the neighbors overhear, the people in the street. She lets her power crescendo as she repeats the melody.

Below, the Illyrian females are silent, expectant. Gwyn can feel the tension in the air, radiating on all sides, from everyone except Azriel, who nonetheless watches her raptly. There is pride in his eyes, she thinks, and she flashes him a smile as she puts the final touches on the magic that imbues her command.

“You will not hear or notice anybody upstairs. If you see us, you will forget our faces. If you hear us, you will forget the sounds our voices make. You will forget our names. You will ignore the light in the window, the footsteps above your head. As far as you know, this place is empty.”

She has never tried a long-term command, but at a minimum, if her accidental experiments in the temple are any indication, the command will hold for a few hours. By then, at least, it will be dark and the shop will be closed. Maybe they’ll be lucky and the neighbors will think Emerie has returned early.

With one last push of resonance, she lets her power fall away, and once it is silent, she signals to Azriel that he can drop the shield.

“That’s a useful trick,” she says, not bothering to whisper now that the spell is in place. She only hopes the shield worked, that he won’t instantly forget her.

“Explain why I needed it this time?”

She really likes that he wants to know the intricacies of her magic. That it doesn’t scare him.

“There’s a basic fundamental to the two females downstairs. Lately I’ve had to get more specific to command Rhys or Vassa, so you wouldn’t have been affected. This melody was simpler, and I didn’t know how much you would be influenced, just by being Illyrian.”

“What did you command them to do?”

“Not to see us, and if they did, to forget everything about us. Don’t worry, I was very thorough.”

His face relaxes, the hint of a smile forming on his face as she watches his shadows fall away, spreading to the corners of the room, vanishing through the cracks in the window.

“They’ll check the area and make sure your spell is holding. I’ll have a few acting as sentries in case you need to redo the spell in the middle of the night.”

Once the first shadows return, circling Azriel’s head, with reports that nobody remembers her magic, or heard the sound of their conversation, she begins lighting candles, grateful that Emerie hasn’t moved her matches since the only other time Gwyn was in her home. The sun hasn’t fully set, but the rooms are already dim. Once the candles glow in the kitchen and the bathing room and the bedrooms, Gwyn returns to the sitting room to find that Azriel has spread out the food from the House, including her favorite crusty bread and cheeses, and poured wine into goblets.

“I thought spies were supposed to keep their wits about them,” she says, making no effort to conceal her smile.

“We don’t need wine if you’d prefer something else.” He’s already rummaging through the box, and though Gwyn is sure the House, given its recent insistence on fruit juice, has sent options, she lays her hand on his back.

“I was teasing. This looks perfect.”

“I think the House likes you,” he says, standing with a fluid grace that’s hard not to gawp at.

“Not as much as it likes Nesta.”

“I don’t think there’s a creature in this world who cares for Nesta the way the House of Wind does.” She wants to memorize the expression on his face, the absence of tension in it, the small smile he makes with half his mouth.

“Don’t let Cassian hear you say that.”

He lets out a low, rumbling laugh, and Gwyn knows that he’s thinking about what Cassian would do, the increasingly ridiculous and delightful acts of devotion, Nesta’s scorn and bemusement and love.

Then, although there is the mission to talk about, they end up slowly drinking their wine while talking about how, exactly, Cassian would demonstrate his devotion. How they might encourage him for their own amusement. Gradually, as they had on those evenings at the House, they draw closer and closer together, until her legs are across his lap and his arm is around her.

It occurs to her that they’ve already kissed, and she wonders now, relaxed by the wine and the laughter in their conversation, why they haven’t been kissing this whole time. It’s so easy to set her empty goblet down and reach for him, her lips on his.

His eyes remain open for a moment, golden in the candlelight, and she watches him study her face, like he wants to make sure this is all right. She wonders if he’ll always do that, and even though part of her likes that, his care with her, it breaks her heart. That she is broken enough to require that expanse of consideration. Or that he might not know how welcome each touch is.

She traces her fingers against the back of his neck, and his eyes finally close. His tongue is gentle at her lips, tasting her, sending little sparks from that spot to the rest of her body, heating her core, and she moves herself closer to him, sitting in his lap. When she opens her mouth to him, she hears him groan, and she likes that sound. It makes her feel as if he might want this as much as she does.

She slides her fingers below the collar of his leathers, feeling the muscles just below his skin, savoring the way they shift against her. His lips move from her mouth to her jaw, her ear, the exposed part of her neck, and she rocks against him, wanting more.

When she undoes the first fastening of his armor, revealing a few inches of the warm skin at his spine, he pulls away.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice so gentle.

“I’m not a broken little doll,” she says, sharper than she intended, because how can he not understand the expanse of her desire right now? But when she sees his face shutter, she moves her fingers to his cheek. “I want this, with you. And I like that you always make sure that I’m all right. But I don’t feel pressured. I want to know what you feel like. What you look like, under your armor. Unless you want me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, covering her mouth with a kiss, and then he twists to give her access to the fastenings along his spine. Slowly she removes the shoulder guards and the scaled breastplate, then the thinner scaled leathers beneath which cover his arms and torso, and then the thin cotton shirt he wears next to his skin, watching him all the while, the shifts of expression on his face and each inch of golden-brown skin, covered in intricate black tattoos, the luck and glory of an Illyrian warrior. When his torso and arms are fully exposed, Gwyn cannot keep herself from staring. Then she runs her fingers along the ridges of his muscles, starting at his shoulders and working down his chest, bending to press her lips against his nipples, swipe her tongue against them. She revels in the heavy intake of his breath, and then her fingers move against the ridges in his abdomen, those core muscles that he’s honed through centuries of training.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, and, incredibly, he blushes. “No one’s ever told you that before?”

He tilts his head, neither confirmation nor denial, only says, “Will you let me see you?”

Nodding, she adjusts her position on his lap so that her back is facing him. He sweeps her hair over one shoulder and then she feels him fumbling a little with the fastenings, and she’s not sure whether it’s nerves or the scars on his hands, but each touch sends a pleasant tingle through her. As her back is revealed, he presses kisses into her skin, making her breath catch in her throat.

She feels heavy with all her desire.

When he’s undone the top of her leathers, she slips her arms out of the sleeves and lets every piece fall to the floor, then turns to face him, her knees bracketing his hips. She raises her eyes to his and finds a dazed expression on his face, his eyes roving the exposed planes of her body, her small breasts, the indent of her waist just above the rest of her armor.

“You’re exquisite,” he breathes, his hands suspended in the air. In the candlelight, his scars are stark, an intricate and brutal lattice.

“You can touch me, you know.”

“Do you want that?”

In a Sellyn Drake novel, the male would say those words with a rakish smile, but Azriel holds her gaze, and Gwyn finds herself smiling. Because he knows what haunts her, and he will stop the moment she gives the smallest sign.

“Yes,” she says.

She expects him to reach for her with his hands, but he leans forward and presses his lips to the base of her throat, working his way down her skin until he reaches her breasts. Her breath is loud in her ears and she arches against him, moaning when his teeth scrape lightly against her nipple.

“You liked that?” This time, there’s not hesitation in his voice, but an invitation. She tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls his face up to her own so she can kiss him.

Years ago, Gwyn would have given herself fully to the desire that pounds in her veins, would have stripped Azriel naked and followed the evening wherever it might lead. But now she wants to savor these moments, the feel of Azriel’s skin against her own, his teeth sinking into the swollen skin of her lower lip.

Somehow, without explaining, he seems to understand, because when they break the kiss, and she hesitates, trying to think of how to say that this is all she wants, right now, that this is beautiful and enough, he sets her down on the couch next to him, his arm around her bare shoulder. It’s so natural to settle her cheek against his chest. His heart beats a steady rhythm in her ear.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, the words muffled by his skin. Because she could feel the hard length of him, and smell his arousal in the room. Though he’s trying not to show it, he’s reigning himself in for her.

“I’m the one who should be grateful that I get to see you like this.” He turns toward her, threading his fingers through her hair. “That I get to see this expression on your face.” His fingers work their way down her cheek. His thumb presses at the center of her lip. “That I get to kiss these lips.” He replaces his thumb with his mouth, giving her a soft kiss that nonetheless raises a shiver from her.

He misinterprets the gesture as cold, but Gwyn doesn’t correct him as she walks to the bedroom to change into the flannel pajamas the House provided. When she finishes, she studies herself in the mirror. She looks a little rumpled and her hair is mussed, but even in the candlelight, she looks happy. Try as she might, in spite of the reasons they’re here, the death-lord who pursues her and the terrible magic inside her, she can’t help smiling.

Azriel meets her in his own pajamas that lay close against his body, because either he or the House decided that today Gwyn would have at least one truly transcendent hour, and then, making low conversation about easy topics, the approaching solstice and the next day’s training schedule, they eat all of the bread and cheese on the table, then drink the rest of the bottle of wine while debating the greatest thinkers in Prythian’s history. At one point she is shouting and laughing at the same time, and Azriel goes from an orderly explanation of his own candidates to the position to snickering about a bawdy story about one of his favorite bards. They agree on exactly one person, Ayleth of Devras, who first theorized that there were multiple worlds in the universe, all so near but undetectable, which one could move through under certain extreme circumstances but which remained otherwise out of touch.

“I love that theory,” Gwyn says, smothering a yawn with her fingers. “It’s always made me feel less lonely, to think that there are at least a dozen worlds that are essentially close enough to touch.”

“And later scholars have suggested that her theory of twelve other worlds is too conservative. So you could be that close to hundreds of worlds. Maybe thousands.”

“I’ve read those theories too,” she says, trying to be gentle against the explanation she doesn’t need. Even in the temple, she’d needed to learn how to be acceptably knowledgeable.

Except that there is pride on his face, the same as when she flawlessly executes a new maneuver in training.

“I forget that you read more in a year than most of us read in a century,” he says, reaching for her hand and pressing his lips to her palm.

“That was one of Merrill’s pet research projects. Her manuscript was almost complete. I was about to start a round of copyediting when I found her and Koschei.”

His fingers twine with hers.

“Do you miss it?”

She thinks of what she told him, when she’d first woken up after Vassa’s attack, dazed and dizzy but enamoured, so happy to see him at her bedside.

“I loved how safe I felt. How I was able to understand the world around me. We follow routines in the library, and perhaps they seem restrictive from the outside, but I knew what would happen every day. What I would do and who I would see, and what it would take to get through the day.”

“It was like that on the best days, when I trained here,” he says.

“Do you miss it?” She asks the question softly, cautiously, as if he might flee. Because she has a sense that these are the kinds of stories he rarely shares.

“I think I needed it. The sky was too big, and I can’t imagine if I’d just been set free and left to determine everything. But the cruelty all around was oppressive.”

“How were you brought to the camp?” After he’d told her about his years locked in the darkness, she’d snuck in a few hours researching Illyrian training, had felt an ache in her chest when she’d found how young boys were taken from their homes to become warriors, and felt it again when she realized that Azriel would have arrived years late, traumatized and scarred and likely terrified of youths who looked just like the older half-brothers who tormented him.

“The High Lord had a visit with my father.” His hand is tight around hers and she squeezes back, running her thumb over his scars. “My shadows must have known -- they found him and he realized that there was a shadowsinger in the house. The gift had long been assumed extinct, and so he tested each of the youths in the house, all my half-brothers and the servant boys, and found them wanting. Eventually I was produced. My hands were still bloody and I could hardly see in the light, but the High Lord ordered me into training in the same camp that held his son. And then, finally, everything started to change.”

“But even the sky was too big at first,” she says, storing away all the questions she has as she leans her head against his shoulder. He sounds haunted enough by what he’s told her.

“Is that how you feel outside the library?”

She thinks of when he flew her to the Rainbow, how she’d savored each new view, the colors of the rooftops and the arrangement of the streets. How she used to be afraid to winnow, to be left somewhere unfamiliar, but how lately, when he extends his hand and the shadows surround him, she takes it without hesitation. Without her tracking its evolution, something inside her has changed.

“Not anymore,” she says, and the words are weighty because they’re absolutely true. “Though sometimes there is too much space behind me. And I haven’t been in crowds yet. We only had them in the temple during the great festivals.”

“You’re immortal. You still have time.”

She leans against him and he kisses the top of her head and they just linger there for a while, in a comfortable silence. The shadows dance around them, an extension of the candlelight, and she swears she hears a resonance coming from them, a song just out of reach.

Notes: I have a soft spot for this chapter for a lot of reasons, not just because I finally got to do the Emorie reveal I'd been building in the background (I love these two so much!), and not just because I finally got to write about Elain and Lucien again (fun fact: the original reason I started this fic, which was originally going to be much shorter, was as a palate cleanser between Bloom & Bone and a long Elucien fic, because I didn't want to write them exactly the same way, although of course I found a way to incorporate them and make an allusion to Elain's "ornamental female" arc in Bloom & Bone because I couldn't help myself). I love writing Gwyn in more extended scenes with Emerie and Nesta, so her opening scene with Emerie was a delight. But I think my favorite thing is writing the scenes where Gwyn and Azriel confide in each other, so you can imagine that this chapter was just one big garden of delight.

Also, I apologize if it's frustrating as a reader, but I really enjoy writing Gwyn and Azriel having a slower-burn physical relationship. Not only because it's something I think fits her character, and the way that the two of them would be together, but because it's something I don't often see as a romance reader, especially outside of YA, where the physical progression of the relationship is slowed not by interruption or external obstacles but just by what the people in that relationship want at that moment.

Finally, you may have noticed that I moved past any potential Elain drama really quickly. I personally think that Gwyn and Azriel have enough things to worry about without having Elain as a complication, so while I wanted to acknowledge the ways in which she might feel Gwyn feel insecure, I also didn't want to have my favorite gardener and seer keep these two apart.

If you've made it through these notes, I appreciate it! As always, thank you for reading 🧡

For more theories, thoughts, and occasional sneak peeks, follow me on Instagram at house.of.hurricane or TikTok at houseofhurricane.

Taglist: @almosttenaciousmoon, @azrielbedara, @azrielsdarling13, @books0lover, @brown-and-weird, @camreadsum, @cozycomfyliving08, @drinkbleach0, @girlbossenergy, @glemiessa, @gwynrielsupremacy, @hlizr50, @imsointobooks, @katekatpattywack, @lightwood-bane13, @livelyblu, @lola-lightwood, @meher-sumedha, @moonbeammadness, @mystical-blaise, @nansr, @nervousninjasuit, @onemorenightdreamer, @rubyriveraqueen, @ruthieluvsbooks, @sanniegirl1214, @saramoonbeam, @secretlovelybeauty, @shisingh, @soffiiione, @thenerdywriter, @the-stars-eternal, @trashforazriel, @valkyriesbooks, @vassien-supremacy6, @vikingmagic33, @whoever-you-choose-to-love, @witching-by-the-willow, @zanywolffriendhairdo

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[peraltiagos-paper-rings]

I love that bit in Lord of Shadows where Diana is tending to Gwyn’s wounds and Gwyn is all like “I do not need to be ministered to, I have always bandaged my own wounds” like aww Gwyn you’re not fooling me with your fearsome manliness :P

[theladyofbloodshed]

Admittedly, I sometimes wonder just... how the NC even works in canon. Sarah is probably not putting much thought behind it but it certainly is weird. They seem to be such a isolated and empty court as well, I wonder if there even are other noteworthy cities in the whole land besides Velaris and the Hewn City. What do you personally headcanon about it?

Anon I love these kinds of things, I absolutely love world building in my oc stuff! I liked CC because we had more development of the society but it is sadly lacking in ACOTAR.

This got really long so there it's under the read more...

The Night Court is a vast territory and we see NOTHING of it and it drives me insane. What are their main imports/exports? They eat a variety of food but we never hear of anyone being a farmer in the Night Court - however importing all of their crops and meat would be SO expensive. Who is growing their food? HOW are they growing it? If Winter is in perpetual winter, they can never grow crops surely? Summer is likely too hot. Only Spring/Autumn could be viable options to grow in the seasonal courts. Do Winter have to import all the food they have or do they live off smoked fish/meat?

I HC that Illyria, with its rugged land, is the NC's main source of farming. I imagine them to eat a lot of goat/sheep because these can be quite hardy or I imagine highland cows (if NC is supposed to map onto Scotland). In my mind, Illyrian food is also rich with spices and really good for the soul - despite Emerie saying spices are hard to come by. Sorry, Emerie, you're ruining my day dream.

Further, we've only met one blacksmith in ACOSF, but they have Keir's army plus Illyrians who all need armour/weapons so they must have a lot of blacksmiths/must have access to metal ore otherwise that's another massive cost.

Money! Is it the same currency across Prythian? How is Rhys so rich - are there variable tax levels throughout the NC e.g. less taxes paid by Illyrians as they have less money? Do they receive a veteran pension from the state for serving in the NC army? Is there a court where they mine for ore/precious gems? Is that why Beron is so rich?

Schools! Are there schools? Or just private tutors? Can all children attend school?

Politics! Who was the NC's emissary before Lucien/Nesta? Has it only ever been the IC that we know serving Rhys or were there ever others? Do they not hold regular meetings with Hewn City and Illyria like a small council? Can people mix across borders e.g. if you live on the border between Autumn/Summer do the people look like a blend of both because they mix? Can you change "allegiances" and live in another court if you're just an ordinary Joe?

Religion! They all seem to believe in the Mother/Cauldron as almost deities and there are temples (the one Gwyn resided in Sangravah) but are there temples in Velaris that people go and pray in? Is it like a religion or what?

Honestly, when I write OC stuff, I always try and weave these things into stories because I find it fascinating. Thank you for this question, it got me really excited ha!

[damedechance]

𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖜 𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌 (pt 7/15)

𓇢𓆸 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 || 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

Pairing: Gwynriel Status: Ch 7/15 (Read from Pt 1) Rated: E (Explicit) Summary: Three years ago, Gwyneth Berdara became the ward of the Night Institute, a band of hunters led by Rhysand who work to rid the world of vampires. After one fateful night where Gwyn unwittingly welcomes one such creature into their home, she strikes a deal with Azriel, one that is just as likely to condemn them as it is to save them.

𓇢𓆸 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓 𝑠𝑛𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑡

VII.

Perhaps her furious rumination reaches a certain threshold of intensity, because Azriel cracks one eye open to peer at her, as if he can feel her glaring at him. Gwyn tenses, but otherwise does not dare to dampen her anger or lower her gaze–allowing herself to be caught openly staring.

“Are you thirsty?” Gwyn asks suddenly, before the pinch at the corner of his mouth can unfurl fully into a smile.

It never fails to astound her–how this vampire she’s made can bear such a striking resemblance to the human man who once delivered her to the Institute’s doorstep. He still wears the same, carefully blank expression. Still moves in that deliberate, languorous manner as he props his elbow up on the arm of the chair so he can perch his chin in the cup of his palm. He looks back at her, his entire posture forced into a brittle easiness, as if nothing should ever move him. Nothing can ever touch him beyond his perfect wall of indifference, or else it would crumble entirely.

Looking at him now, it seems only too perfect that he should be called a creature of the night. He’s always kept to the shadows, anyway.

“No,” Azriel says.

The answer is insufficient. Gwyn is certain he knows it, too, because Azriel turns his head to face away from her, eyes sliding closed. As if her glare is too horrible for him to withstand. 

Without a reason to call him out on it, however, Gwyn only bites at the inside of her cheek and returns to her book. It is early in the afternoon, but Gwyn tends to keep the curtains drawn these days, and the text appears fuzzy over the page. Still, Gwyn has made herself rather adept at reading in low light, and her eyes effortlessly scan the page for the passage she’d been reading before thoughts of Azriel distracted her.

The book is a mostly dramatized account of how the author captured, imprisoned, and later experimented upon a vampire. The events had likely occurred centuries ago, but Gwyn was hoping the author would describe some of his methods for sustaining the vampire, so they could be experimented with for longer. Instead, the author harps on the inexhaustible voracity of the vampire species, how their desires would drive them seemingly to the point of madness. How they pulled at their chains until the metal began to saw through their wrists.

Gwyn’s fingertips trace below one of the author’s more provocative aphorisms: The nature of a vampyr is to want. The vampyr may choke upon blood, and still demand satisfaction.

But Azriel is not thirsty.

With her fingernail pressed so hard against the page it threatens to bust through to the other side, Gwyn keeps her head bowed to not draw attention when her gaze swings back to Azriel again. He is still pretending to sleep, his breaths coming at a carefully even pace. In the time it took for her to find her place in the text, Azriel has sunk impossibly deeper into his chair. His cheek is pillowed against his palm, tugging his lip up just enough that the tip of one of his fangs is visible, and his legs have spread even wider apart in his slouch.

Gwyn slams her book shut, just to see Azriel jump up in his chair. And then, a second too late, he pretends to stretch his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Gwyn hisses at him, fingers drumming restlessly over the cover of the book. The text is old, and fragile, and usually she would not treat something as precious as this so carelessly.

Azriel rolls his head over to look at her, eyes drifting down and then back up her form, clearly unimpressed by her childish display of anger.

“Practicing temperance,” he murmurs finally.

˖⁺‧₊˚⸸˚₊‧⁺˖

[nikethestatue]

I really don’t understand how people can forget all about the feysand bonus chapter in ACOSF and think the next book will be about Azriel… SJM said she thought it was obvious who the next book was about and the 2 bonus chapters have 1 thing in common; Elain. G/ynriels are being delusional if they think SJM will write a man’s story before a woman’s and have a book be about a girl who’s arc is already completed (I love gwyn for the character she is, but she doesn’t serve a real purpose for the overarching plot)

The level of hysteria is something else. And essentially for a book that was basically plotless, Gwyn was a nice filler. Because clearly, SJM didn't bother to explore Nesta enough and didnt bother to create meaningful resolutions to her issues. The thing is that it was easier for SJM to give Nesta these fake surrogate sisters, so she didn't have to dwell on the relationship between the actual 3 sisters. And all those who are like, OMG, Emerie and Gwyn understand Nesta so well! They accept her! They are true sisters/friends--I say, bullshit. They are all in an extremely controlled environment, where they have to worry about NOTHING. Shelter is there, food is magically provided, no care in the world, other than 'here is all the time in the world for you to get better...' Put the 3 of them back in the hovel, with no heat, money and food and let's see how understanding and loving they'd be then.

The point is that SJM gave Gwyn and Nesta their redemption (or healing, or whatever) arcs in ACOSF. (With Emerie, she didnt even bother to address her trauma, which, I think for SJM is not horrible enough and therefore, isn't even worth exploring.)

But yes, there is not a whole lot else left to do with Gwyn, unless SJM starts to make up things especially for her, so to keep the fans happy. I mean, she is certainly not giving too-precious Gwyn her bad boy Azriel. And in turn, she is not giving Azriel an MC role in Elain's book. I think he will certainly play a much larger role -- bigger than Cassian -- and not just as a fuck buddy, because SJM likes him a lot and wants to write about him, but it will be Elain's book.

How much space there is for Gwyn is Elain's book--I am really not sure. She fulfilled her role, and may return as a Valkyrie later on, but she is Nesta's friend and that's that. No, there won't be a weird ass quartet of Gwynriel and Nessian all living in HoW (also, ewww. Not cute at all.) Also, HoW is Nessian's house. Why the hell would they want another couple living there? But that's besides the point.

[ataraxianne]

Okay I have this kinda gwynriel headcanon which I think it's pretty cute and I wanted to share

- in acosf Cassian said both Rhys and Azriel were interested in that universal-ish-globe-thing Rhys has in his study but Azriel was the one who liked it the most

- so let's imagine he starts to develop an interest in the galaxies and universes and stars and so on

- like he starts learning things and theories about other worlds and other universes

- he even starts buying a "globe" himself, bigger than the one Rhys has, he buys books and above all a telescope

- because he especially likes stars, for some reason. Because they're bright, they shine even despite all of the darkness around them, and its kinda reassuring to him to see that something so nice and bright can still be there, especially after he himself has spent a lot of time in the dark

- because they're his court symbol. Because those three stars are like he and his brothers, and all he ever wanted was to belong

- he likes galaxies because there is an abundance of stars, of these little bright dots that come all together in groups and even tho he doesnt particularly likes being in great crowds he likes being with his friends, his family. They're his galaxy

- and then one night it's his first night with Gwyn, and they're in his house at Rose Hall, which technically became his mother's house since she had preferred a bit of solitude in all these last years and he didn't mind giving her that and staying most of the times at the House of Wind

- but tonight he didn't want to go elsewhere, it seemed right to be there even tho he had never felt quite at home in that house because of all the time he spent elsewhere and how big and empty sometimes it felt to him

- but maybe being there with a female he liked - loved - so much - with his mate even tho it still seemed too surreal to say such a thing - would have made that house more of a home

- and so there they were, in his house, in his room, in his bed, cuddling after the night, face to face and his shadows were dancing and curling around her face and she was giggling ans grinning, taunting them with her free hand while the other one was resting on his chest

- and it was all so quiet and tranquil but at the same time clear and joyful and his ears had never been filled with such a pleasant sound

- and his shadows seemed to think the same

- and they kept twirling around Gwyn until she turned a bit more her head toward them and the light of the moon coming from the window reflected on her naked body and made her already so bright real eyes shine even more and he couldn't stop staring at her mesmerized and couldn't stop his hand from reaching up her glowing cheekbones and

- "you have galaxies on your face" he said as he caressed her cheeks covered in freckles, in an abundance of them, as many as the stars in the sky

- she turned her head back to him and smiled softly and then it turned into the usual smug she put on when she was taunting him, and he couldn't help smiling back to her because gods, how much she loved her, especially when she did that

- "oh, you should see the rest of my body, Shadowsinger" she said back

- but you play this game in two so "I'm perfectly sure I've seen a lot of that too" he responded, emulating her expression

- at that she smiled again, even more than before and he didn't know how that could have been possible but it was even lighter and brighter and not even the moon and all of the stars could ever have compared to Gwyn's smiles

- smiles that were only for him and he couldn't believe that and he was so weak and abandoned the game too soon and moved to kiss that smile, softly, as it was the most precious and fragile thing in the world and could allowed anything to ruin that

- and it felt so good, so right so right so right and then she was closer to him, hugging him tightly while still kissing and it was as warm as home

- they stayed in that position, intertwined like that even after the kiss had finished, looking in each other's eyes sometimes caressing, sometimes kissing again, always with a tiny smile on their faces - even tho Azriel thought his looked more like a drunken one

- and then Gwyn asked, with that lovely smug back on her face "will you fly me to one of the real galaxies one day?"

- and something clicked in Azriel's brain

- "come with me" he said, and kinda reluctantly broke the hug he was into and started putting something on

- "wait, now? where?" Gwyn asked, curiosity and amusement spreading on her face, but started putting her undergarments back on

- Azriel didn't answer but smiled again and handed her one of his robes

-(he didn't think much about it, it was just for her to cover since it was chilly and maybe she still preferred a bit of coverage, after so many years spent in the Library - but at first it reminded Gwyn of their first meeting, tho the scene change easily and swiftly, as soon as she put it on and felt like in a warm embrace that has his scent)

- she smiled lightly and reached Azriel, who was waiting for her next to the door and together they went out

- it was darker that they thought so they mostly stumbled in the hallways and Az accidentally hit his wing against the wall gaining a harsh look from Gwyn

- "dont you dare wake up your mother now" she hissed even tho he could sense the laugh she was trying to cover (and even tho, if his mother was to wake up, the rumours they provoked in his bedroom minutes ago would have already worked- but he didn't say it to Gwyn)

- he took her hand and lead her to a staircase, and they went up on the higher floor of the house, to one of his favourite rooms there

- as soon as they entered and he lightened up the room something told him that Gwyn might have liked it too

- the room was quiet big, full of all things, along with a couch and a low table, bookshelves who took one full wall, while the other two where almost completely made up of windows, who gave a full vision of the night sky outside

- in front of the windows there were two different globes, one similar to the one Rhys had and another, bigger and more complete than that his brother had

- and then a telescope, already positioned and turned toward the side sky

- Gwyn started moving in the room, cautiously, with her white skirt and his grey robe almost floating around her legs

- she reached the bigger globe and started admiring it, following the writings and drawings on it with his finger and turning around it with her wide eyes open and her mouth in a tight line in silent awe

- and then she started talking, with a melancholic smile and told him how there were lots of astronomy books in the Library but neither globes or telescope, and it was so painful to her and her curious mind not being able to see the incredible things she was reading and how much she relied on her imagination to try seeing at least in her mind that concept of infinity those books gave her

- so Azriel got closer and extended an hand, and walked her up to the telescope and letting her see it all, the stars the galaxies, the endless universe they lived in

- and they started talking

- and it was so relieving to both of them, to talk about something they didn't even know why they were so fond of, but that someone always kept them mesmerized and craving for more knowledge

- but especially talking about it with someone who they know would listen and they weren't kept back because it was not much of an interest for others or because it was pointless to the others general studies

- they spent the night like that, and he showed her books and star maps he collected and she too about books she read and theories she had or shared

- The next morning, Azriel woke up on the couch, charts and maps and open books spread over the table, while the sunset reflected over them and the female asleep in his arms, with his shadows slowly dancing around her and galaxies on her smiling face

IF YOU READ TIL HERE, THANK YOU!! HOPE YOU LIKED IT♡♡♡ If you didn't, sorry if I wasted your time😅