#acotar gift exchange 2023

[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.

[bibliophiliaxvignette]

I am so so excited to be posting this right now! Being a part of @acotargiftexchange this year has been such a blessing! It has challenged me and allowed me to be creative in a way that I haven't been in a long time. Thank you so much to everyone that put it on this year!

🤍 But the true pleasure has been getting to know @harperbrynne along the way and creating this fic with her in mind! I hope that you love it as much as I have come to! Happy Holidays, Holiday Bestie!

Summary: Gwyn feels safe with Azriel in a way she hasn't experienced since that horrible night in Sangravah and she realizes that he may be the only male that she'll ever be comfortable being intimate with, so she decides to ask him to train her in a new arena… if you know what I mean.

Snippet below the cut! Read on AO3!

Gwyn is pulled from her dark musings when she spies a cheeky shadow skitter between her feet before slithering it’s way up her ankle and calf to settle wrapped around the hilt of the dagger strapped to her thigh. Smirking, she spins to the archway at the top of the stairs leading down to the house.

“Shadowsinger.” 

Azriel’s eyebrows pull together in a scowl dosed with a heavy amount of pout. 

“My shadows are supposed to conceal me and alert me to the presence of others, not alert others to my presence,” he grumbles. Gwyn tries and fails to hide her chuckle. 

“Their allegiance is shifting, Shadowsinger. Not sure how much longer you’ll hold that title,” she teases, deepening his scowl.

He stalks towards the sword rack, ignoring her, a hilariously stormy expression on his face. 

“Sparring, Berdara. Less talking.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies sarcastically. Azriel’s eyes flash, his hand tightening on the sword he grabs. 

They spar, each pushing hard until they’re both dripping in sweat despite the cold bite of the wind. Gwyn’s chest heaves as Azriel slowly but surely pushes her towards the edge of the ring. In a sudden move that demonstrates that he’s just been biding his time, Azriel disarms her and has her on her back in half a second. He hovers over her, chest heaving as much as hers. Gwyn huffs, blowing a strand of copper hair out of her eyes. 

“Alright, alright, we get it. You’re still the great, all powerful, terrifying Shadowsinger.” 

Azriel lets loose a rare laugh, his hazel eyes lighting up and his shy dimple showing itself. Gwyn’s breath catches and she glances away, over his shoulder, at the shadows dancing and undulating happily. He leans down closer and Gwyn’s eyes shoot back to his, widening. His eyes are heavy lidded and this close, she can see the gold and green swimming lazily through the honey brown. He bumps his nose lightly against hers.

“Don’t forget it, Berdara.”

[popjunkie42]

Gifts for WitchlingsandWyverns!

From your ACOTAR Secret Santa! @witchlingsandwyverns

I have had so much fun working on a story for you and getting to send you gifts and sneak peeks over the past few weeks! I have always loved your art and creativity and I really hope I can give you something you'll enjoy this holiday season.

I got inspired early on to lean into the fantasy and do a sort-of Lord of the Rings AU. This story takes place during the war 500 years before ACOTAR against the human slave lands and the human-faerie alliance. I imagine Feyre as a Spring fae, and she and Rhysand meet for the first time in the Dawn Palace's House of Healing. I was inspired by one of my all-time favorite fantasy couples, Eowyn and Faramir.

Blossoming in Winter - Chapter 1: Under the Wings of the Shadow (on AO3, the first part of Chapter 1 below) and tagging @acotargiftexchange

A million thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @temperedink for being my amazing beta readers!

Your story is mostly complete and will be four chapters long. I hope to publish every few days up until Christmas, but be patient with me if the final edits take a bit longer!

I've had so much fun being your secret gift giver and learning more about you! I hope you have an amazing birthday, and holiday season, and that you enjoy all the ACOTAR riches coming our way!

Love,

PopJunkie42

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

To Thesan, High Lord of Dawn and Commander of the Peregryn Legions:

Esteemed High Lord,

It is with great thanks and humility I write to you on behalf of Lord Tamlin, third son of Spring.

The Peregryn legion you sent to our aid was invaluable in our victory on the coast of the western Spring lands.Through whatever grand insight you possess, they arrived in the knick of time, as our armies were on the verge of being overwhelmed. The turn of the tide led to a grand victory on the side of Prythian. Though casualties were great, the land has been held successfully by our warband and will, we believe, provide strategic ground for both monitoring Hybern’s forces and maintaining a foothold on the shore, to prevent further ships and troops from docking in Prythian and adding to our troubles. 

Indeed, if you’ll forgive me for my storytelling, I can tell you the sight of feathered wings will forever bring a surge of joy to the hearts of the Spring warriors, and the tales of the Peregryn’s bravery will long be told in our lands and at our tables. The legion’s arrival at dawn after the long night siege, the rising sun at their backs, was the stuff of grand tales, and seemed to us a blessing from the Cauldron and the Mother. Lord Tamlin (and myself) sincerely hope that his future court and the Dawn Court may remember this great victory and the strength of our combined partnership in the days and years to come. 

Lord Tamlin wishes greatly to speak with you and the other High Lords further, once battles have ceased and Prythian is free of the stain of Hybern, about the future of our illustrious court and the question of leadership therein. Though the Prince has always valued the leadership of his father and wisdom of his brothers, their choice to ally with the King of Hybern shows their loyalties and interests lie outside of Prythian. After this war is won, Prince Tamlin wishes only to treat with those loyal to the lands of Prythian.

Though I write to thank you for your great kindness, I also am afraid I must use this letter to beg another courtesy. It has been heard that your illustrious Court has opened its doors to the High Lord’s families and those in greatest need of healing, to be blessed by the grand bounty of your powers and knowledge. It is with this in mind that Lord Tamlin humbly asks you to take in another patient: Lady Feyre Archeron, an archer in his personal guard.

Although Lady Feyre boasts no direct relation to the High Lords, perhaps word of her bravery has already reached your lands. For it was Lady Feyre who dared to enter the Middle and defeat the fearsome Sylvanus, the forest god, the last of the old gods walking among us. We know that all the High Lords and generals have knowledge of this beast, as he has split the land in two and his wrath and magic had prevented the joining of the northern and southern armies in our long-standing war. Although rumored to be immortal and impervious to death, even by the hand of a High Lord, the monster was single-handedly defeated by Lady Feyre. We have no doubt that her name will long be known throughout Prythian, and the grand tale of her conquest will be the subject of songs and poems. Perhaps if taken under your healers, you will get the entire story firsthand from her, as she has not spoken of it since returning to Spring. Such a tale would be the envy of the land, and certainly of your neighbors in Day.

Lady Feyre, though brave and strong, returned to the Spring Court wounded by the deep magic of the god. Her spirits fail her, and her body withers under wounds our healers cannot touch. Lord Tamlin beseeches you and your healers to care for her with your powerful magic, as her hurts go beyond the body and perhaps into the soul.

With much gratitude and hope in battle,

Lucien, Emissary of Spring

on behalf of Prince Tamlin, the rightful heir

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Please, Lady Feyre…”

The warden of the healing wing scuttled behind the female, her steps brisk, his own faltering as he rushed in his voluminous robes.

But both came to a pause in front of the wooden door, one of many in the hall of healing. A cold fog of darkness, whirling and flecked with stars, was pouring from the crack at the bottom.

Feyre Archeron, her face pale and jaw set, looked upon the tendrils of darkness now lapping at her feet. With a deep breath, she knocked loudly and opened the door.

She did not pause at the wave of cold night that washed over her at the threshold, nor at the brisk “What?” bitten out by the occupant. She only paused when the shadows cleared and she saw the patient clearly.

The Prince of Night sat up in bed, framed by outstretched, massive black wings. The span of wings was echoed in swirling black tattoos on his expansive bare chest, split by a wound covered in bandages across his shoulder.  His face was fine, if a bit wan, and adorned by a vicious frown. His eyes quickly snapped to Feyre as she stood in the door. But it was the wings, gleaming iridescent in the light, that took her breath. It looked as if he sat upon a throne ensconced by those vicious and beautiful tokens of death.

At least, it did at first. Now that she took a breath she noticed the way his wings were scaffolded by light fabric tethers and a framework of wooden dowels. Covered in bandages and oily with salves whose scent filled the room and her nose. Blood, too, dripped to the floor and across his white silken sheets, and bled through the starched bandages. She saw gashes and holes in the thin membrane of his wings, the skin raw and irritated and covered in healing ointments.

Just like that, her determination wavered at the sight of his injuries. She had spent enough time in Spring’s healing tents to know his wounds were fresh, and to recognize his pallor and sheen of sweat upon his brow as tokens of his pain. 

Feyre realized she had been frozen on the threshold of the room, staring at his wings. Dropping her eyes, she met the menacing stare of the son of Night.

The warden bustled past her and into the room, bowing deeply at the waist.

“Apologies, my Lord. She…”

“I thought I ordered you to let me remain undisturbed,” the Prince bit out, his voice hard and impatient.

“Yes, my Lord, but -“

“Are you Rhysand? Prince of the Hewn City and son to the High Lord of the Night Court?” Feyre asked.

The Prince’s eyes were upon her again, glowing in the dim light of the room. “I am.”

“Good. I’ve been looking for you.”

“And to whom do I owe this unwanted disturbance to my peaceful convalescence?”

Feyre swallowed. This was not going as she had planned, if she had a plan at all. She was the one who was angry, she was the one with demands.

“Well?”

“I am Feyre.”

“Well, that explains everything.” Her face turned to a scowl as his eyes roamed over her body, full of haughty judgment. A pang of embarrassment, and then anger tore through her as she considered her rumpled tunic, cut and tied to fit around her bandaged arm, her plain pants, her weather-stained leather boots.

Before the warden could start his bumbling apologies again, Feyre forged ahead.

“I am being kept here against my will. I wish to leave. And the warden,” she looked to him with what she hoped was utmost disdain, “told me you were the highest ranking fae here, while the High Lord of Dawn is away.”

Rhysand laughed. It was a bitter sound.

“Do I look like I am giving orders here?” he asked, spreading his arms against his outstretched wings. “Do I look like a lord of Dawn? I am as much a prisoner as you. Moreso, as I’m being kept in chains.”

The warden stood straighter as Feyre clenched her jaw. With High Lord Thesan gone for what could be the end of the war, and the nurses’ endless vigil in front of her door, she had no means of escape.

From his bed, Prince Rhysand sighed. She watched him wince slightly at the movement of his shoulders.

“And why would you want to be released from this gentle hall of healing? You look as if you’re in need of it’s services,” he said, his eyes again on her body.

She knew what he was seeing. Had seen it herself in the glass this morning, before she tilted it away from her bed in dismay at the grayish pallor of her face, her skin papery and thin, the blue veins beneath giving her a sickly hue. Her eyes had charted the scratches on the left side of her face and neck that refused to heal, stark red slashes on her skin.

Of her arm, bandaged and tied closely to her chest. Only her pale fingers, chalky white and withered, gave any hint as to what lay underneath.

“I wish to return to battle,” Feyre said, willing confidence and command into her tone. Surely a High Lord’s son couldn’t deny the war one more willing soldier. “I did not wish to be sent here and I do not wish to waste time waiting to heal. I only wish to fight.”

“Why do you not wish to be healed? A wounded warrior is of little use on a battlefield. And haven’t you heard that we all talk of victory and peace now?”

Feyre lifted her chin high, poured all of the confidence and pride she could muster into her face. Thought of Lucien, of Tamlin addressing his armies.

“I am an archer in Lord Tamlin’s personal guard. And battle is where I belong.”

The prince regarded her further. His anger had softened and the blackness swirling about the room had dissipated to soft shadows. He tilted his head. “Again, an archer who cannot use her bow isn’t much use to an army.”

“I have other skills to use, my lord,” she said, the last words dripping with ire. “Not everything heals. And I do not fear our enemies nor death on a battlefield. Indeed, to die in battle is an honor, is it not?” She wished desperately for him to heed her words. Every hour she felt the final battle rushing further away from her, like the ships traveling swiftly across the sea. Surely, a High Lord’s son would not deny the war another willing soldier.

Prince Rhysand swallowed. “An honor?” he laughed, low and dark, the sound pulsing across her skin. “I suppose it is. Certainly those bleeding on Prythian’s fields no longer have to face the horrors of what we have done or what will come next. Is that what you wish for, Lady Feyre?”

Feyre bristled at his tone. Whatever future waited for Prythian had little to do with her now. “I am a warrior pledged to battle, and the battle still goes on, and yet I am here.”

She wasn’t sure what it was, now, that look on his face. Silence filled the room.

“Well, Lady Feyre,” she chafed again at the term. No matter that she had explained to her nurses that she was not a lady, the epithet had followed her through the halls. “Whether it was the Cauldron, the Mother, or the old gods, our lives have been spared. And, as I have explained to you, I have no authority here in the halls of the Dawn Court. Even if I would grant you my blessing to send you to your death, the sentiment is meaningless here. So I am afraid we both will remain imprisoned, and live to see another glorious day.”

Feyre took in a deep breath through her nose. A second.

“Then you will not help me?” Rhysand wore a frown.

“Not in this.”

“Fine. Apologies for disturbing you, my lord.” she said, and turned on a clipped heel out the door.

Read the rest on AO3

[foundress0fnothing]

Firm and Fragrant Still the Brambleberries

For @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk. Happy Holidays! It has been such a joy to get to know you over these last few months. You are wonderful and brilliant, and I cannot wait to FINALLY be able to scream in your comments about my obsession with Semper Eadem without arousing your suspicions.

Many thanks to @velidewrites and @perhapsajacket for beta reading this first part of this fic and reassuring me that the Nessian vibes were working. And many thanks to @acotargiftexchange for putting together this wonderful event. Y’all are the absolute best! 🥰

Summary: When Nesta became a nurse at the start of the war, she could not have predicted a patient as challenging as Lieutenant Cassian Davies, nor he a nurse as captivating as her. As the same war that brought them together threatens to tear them apart, Nesta and Cassian must navigate the complexities of love and duty to find the way back to each other. A WWI historical AU.

For information about the historical elements to this fic, see the end notes.

This is chapter 1 of 4.

Read on AO3 or continue reading below the cut!

Chapter 1: Somerville College, Oxford

July 1916

“I think of you hour by hour. You are always close in your own secret place in my heart. I hold you in my arms when no one else is near. I kiss your forehead, your eyes, your hair. No, not your lips, dear, even in fancy. I have never in my maddest dreams kissed your lips. But I ache and crave and long for them, though—till you give me leave—I dare not even pretend that they are mine. Will you ever give me leave? You say No now. Yet I think you will, Avery. I think you will. I have known ever since that first moment—”

“He’s asking for you again.”

Nesta looked up from her book to see Gwyn Berdara’s head poking through the doorway. It was late—or early, rather, she realized, blearily squinting at the clock on the wall and rubbing her eyes. She should have retired to her bed in the dormitory hours ago, and from the pleased look on Gwyn’s face at catching her off-guard, her fellow nurse was well-aware of that fact.

“Surely someone who’s actually on duty,” Nesta said, yawning and looking pointedly at Gwyn, “can take care of whatever it is he needs.”

Gwyn snorted. “Apparently there’s no one except ‘Nurse Nes’ who can make the pain go away with her magic touch.” She waggled her eyebrows. “So it’s a good thing you’re still here.”

Bristling at the nickname that only one of the soldiers convalescing at the Third Southern General Hospital was shameless enough to call her, she replied curtly, “I’m not going. Tell him I’m not here.”

“I don’t think he’d believe me,” Gwyn said, grinning.

“And why is that?”

“Because,” said Emerie Carynth, appearing suddenly beside Gwyn and wearing a matching smile on her face, “I told him you’d still be here.”

Nesta glared at her.

“Not on purpose, I swear,” Emerie quickly amended. “But don’t think I missed that you have a copy of Dell’s new romance.” Nesta glanced down at the book she still held open in her hands, her attention briefly flicking back to the dramatic confessional love letter left she had been in the middle of reading. “We saw you try to hide it in the dining room when it came in the post. I bet Gwyn you wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to start it.”

Returning her focus to her traitorous fellow nurse, Nesta frowned. “That doesn’t explain how he knows I’m still here.”

“He may have overheard me celebrating my victory a few minutes ago.” She smirked. “Gwyn has to take my shifts with Merrill for the next week.”

Nesta grimaced. The older nurse was brutal to work with, especially if she thought the VAD nurses like Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta were shirking their responsibilities. She accommodating enough for the soldiers, but all the nurses knew to steer clear of her wrath whenever possible.

Gwyn nodded at Nesta’s expression. “And he was my next patient when Emerie found me.” 

“And what? He forced you to come back here and bother me?”

“He asked nicely.”

“Weak, Gwyneth Berdara. Weak.” Nesta knew her fellow nurse had a soft spot for soldiers like him who bore their injuries with grace and good humor, willing to crack a joke or, if they were not too injured, gambol about the grounds during recreation hours. Especially if those soldiers were tall and dark-haired and unreasonably muscled.

Gwyn shrugged unapologetically. “Like he doesn’t make you flustered, Nesta.”

“He does not,” Nesta bit out. Exasperated, absolutely. Incensed, occasionally. Even, in rare moments, begrudgingly amused. But certainly not flustered.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you are,” Emerie said, grinning with a faux innocence that Nesta didn’t believe for a moment. “He’s not even my type,” she smirked. “But I have eyes.”

“I hate you.”

“As much as you hate him?”

“More.”

Gwyn hummed. “Lucky Emerie.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow in question.

“Oh, nothing. I’ve just never known anyone whose hate looked so much like desire before.” 

Emerie winked salaciously at Nesta, who only rolled her eyes at her friends’ antics. “I’m still not going.”

“Sure you’re not, Nurse Nes.”

“Emerie, I swear—”

“He expected you’d say that.” Gwyn smiled, interrupting them. “And he told me to tell you that if you didn’t come help him, he’d have to cope with the pain through song.”

“Arse.” She had heard him singing with the men before—loud, raucous marching songs that seemed to be dictated primarily by enthusiasm rather than any actual musical talent. “So he intends to wake the whole wing if I don’t go? That’s asking nicely, Gwyn?”

Gwyn shrugged. “I’m sure Clotho and Merrill wouldn’t blame you for it.”

But they would, Nesta knew. When she paused her studies at Somerville to join the VAD and the military hospital that sprang up in what had once been her college, she and her fellow volunteers were told to make the patients in their care as happy as possible, no matter what. They were not to do anything that would cause a scandal, of course, but barring that, any desire was considered reasonable—extra food after mealtimes, a new pillow every hour, even time with a preferred nurse if requested. After all, they were exactly what the first letter of their organization’s acronym indicated: voluntary. They had no previous training, no credentials or certificates like those possessed by the professional nurses who oversaw them. What did they know? 

Quite a bit, and often more than the so-called ‘professionals’. Certainly more than they did a year and a half ago when they first entered the service. Nesta may have been raised in a manor house, bred for marriage and comfort after the culmination of her studies, but the war had changed all of that, had changed her. She was no longer a stranger to fluids and grotesque injuries, to bodies and hard, messy work. Gwyn and Emerie were the same.

But none of that mattered, not really, to the more senior nurses, except for the fact that it made their jobs marginally easier. The VAD women were still expected to appease and please. So they did. 

 Nesta sighed, looking forlornly at the book she wouldn’t get to pick up again for at least another day. 

“I’ll tell him to expect you in ten minutes, then?” Gwyn asked, reading her decision on her face.

“Yes, alright,” Nesta grumbled, standing and stretching for the first time in—she glanced again at the clock—three hours. She hoped that whatever nonsense she was about to face would resolve itself quickly enough that she could get home and sleep, although, she thought, as she began to gather her things, she wouldn’t count on it.

“Hope Dell’s book was worth it!” Emerie called as she moved out of the doorway and back into the darkened ward.

“I’m sure it was,” Gwyn said to Nesta, following Emerie out. “Piers’ letter?” She asked knowingly.

“Piers’ letter.” Nesta mimed fanning herself, and Gwyn laughed as she left Nesta to gather her things.

Grumbling about needing to find new friends, Nesta slowly made her way into what had once been the West dining room. With thin walls, cramped quarters, and a confusing odor of long-forgotten roast dinners mingled with astringent antiseptics, it was ill-suited to its current purpose as a hospital ward.

Almost as ill-suited, Nesta mused to herself as she wended her way through the beds of sleeping men, as she was to the nursing profession. Her friends seemed to take to the profession naturally: Gwyn had quickly amassed a staggering knowledge of illness and injuries and could diagnose patients quicker than most of the physicians; Emerie demonstrated a singular talent for using the standard physician-prescribed therapies in innovative ways to help the soldiers progress more quickly along their healing journey. 

Nesta had no such mastery. She wasn’t incompetent at any task, and was quite good at many of them, but she did not have any particular specialty. Nor did she excel at the ‘appease and please’ aspect of her role. She had little patience for the soldiers’ petty complaints, their bored antics, their casual flirting. She did her job, cared for her patients professionally and efficiently, shutting down their attempts for favors and conversation and flirtation, and went home to her books at the end of the day. It was how she liked it. And it meant that, over time, few soldiers particularly liked her.

All except one. 

At the sound of her approaching footsteps, Nesta saw him turn his head, a satisfied smile already stretching across his face that, had he been anyone else, would have caused Nesta’s heart to start racing. 

As a man, Lieutenant Cassian Davies was magnetic. Handsome in a rugged kind of way, he was imposingly tall and broad with a body that, even injured as it was, spoke of lethal grace and destructive power. His face bore the proof of this: small scars cut across his eyebrows and lips, and his nose had clearly been broken and reset at least once. His hazel eyes often shone with a mirth that drew soldiers and nurses alike to his bedside, but there was an edge to them as well—something surprisingly hard and deceptively calculating. Like all of the men convalescing at their hospital, Lieutenant Davies had seen tremendous bloodshed, but he alone seemed to rise above it, to possess some inherent mastery over it. He was dangerous and desirable in equal measure, and though Nesta refused to join in with the other nurses when they gushed about him in the privacy of their dormitory, she couldn’t deny his appeal.

As a patient though? He was everything she loathed: loud, flirtatious, stubborn, and shamelessly relentless in his attempts to irritate her. 

“Nurse Nes!”

“Threatening to wake the ward is a new low, even for you, Lieutenant Davies. And don’t call me that.” Nesta hissed, approaching his bedside and glaring down at him.

“Sweetheart—” Lieutenant Davies raised his good arm in an attempt to pacify her, but Nesta interrupted him.

“Wrong again, Lieutenant.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Nurse Archeron,” he apologized with mock contrition, affecting the tone of an impudent schoolboy brought before his headmaster. “I’m so glad you could make it. I was just about to treat the lads to a rendition of ��Pack Up Your Troubles.’”

Nesta didn’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to look over his chart to guess at what it was he might need. The sooner she could figure it out, the sooner she could leave Lieutenant Davies and his foolishness behind. She could make it through this without succumbing to his antics. She could be professional. She could.

Even with her eyes focused on his chart, however, she felt the weight of his gaze on her, deciding how best to challenge her attempt at professionalism. 

And then he found it: “I still could sing, you know. You might benefit from hearing the chorus.”

She whipped her head up and saw his eyes spark with pleasure at having successfully baited her, but she was too irritated to care. “‘Smile, smile, smile?’” Nesta asked, biting out the lyrics. 

“You already know the words! You’ll be a natural in no time.”

“Please.” She resisted the urge to argue further, forcing herself to direct her attention back to the chart in her hands. Could he want another pillow? Or more food? Was he due for—

“So, what do you say, Nes?” Lieutenant Davies asked, interrupting her train of thought. “Are you going to smile, smile, smile?” He grinned as he softly sang the melody.

“Your singing is atrocious.”

He scoffed. “It’s excellent. Now, my dancing—.”

“I can only imagine that it’s even worse, Lieutenant Davies,” she interrupted. 

“Once I get back up on my feet again I promise to show you just how wrong you are. Don’t think I didn’t notice you considering a smile.”

“Enough.” This had to end. Nesta could feel the weight of her hair heavy on her head after having it tied up in her standard braided coronet all day, and that, coupled with Lieutenant Davies’ teasing, was threatening to give her a headache. “What do you want?”

“Nesta Archeron,” he admonished, and Nesta chose to ignore the way her body shivered at the sound of her full name on his lips. “We have got to work on your bedside manner.”

She huffed. “If you find it so appalling, there are at least a dozen other nurses who would be more than happy to assist you.”

“I told Gwynnie. None of them have your magic touch.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Nes—”

“Wake the whole ward for all I care.” She dropped his chart with a clatter and turned on her heel, ready to storm out

There was a pause, and then, before she could take a step, Lieutenant Davies called out softly, “My shoulder is a little sore.”

Nesta imagined it was. The report of his injury at the Somme had been a gruesome note in what was and continued to be the bloodiest battle of the war thus far, and one that just kept going, if the steady stream of new patients into the hospital was anything to be believed. A few days into the battle, Lieutenant Davies had been wounded by shell fragments that embedded themselves into his chest and shoulder, some dangerously close to his lungs. He bore the injury well, but from the lines etched on his face and the tension in his jaw, she could tell it ached more than he let on. He would be bedridden for at least another two weeks before physical therapy could begin.

“And you couldn’t ask Nurse Berdara for another dose of morphine?”

“You make me feel like I’ve earned it, sweetheart.”

She snorted at that. “Fine.” She stooped to gather the supplies she would need from a low shelf on the cart at the foot of his bed, then turned to pull on gloves and prepare the needle for the injection. “But only because you were due for one anyway.”

“Whatever you say, Nurse Archeron. I know you like me.” As she administered the drug, he began humming quietly, his body slowly loosening as it worked its way through his system.

“Done. Goodnight, Lieutenant Davies.”

“No goodnight kiss?” He murmured the question as his eyes shuttered closed, relentlessly flirtatious to the last.

Nesta watched the morphine lull Lieutenant Davies into a deep sleep. “For you? I think not.”

She turned and made her way quietly out of the ward, thinking of her bed and her book. And if her thoughts drifted back to a certain sleeping soldier and she smiled slightly? Well, there was no one awake to notice.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

August 1916

“How are you feeling, Lieutenant Davies?”

Cassian looked up from the casualty sheets he had been apprehensively scanning for his brothers’ names to find Sr. Merrill, one of the older nurses who oversaw the hospital, standing at the foot of his bed. 

His arm fucking ached—not that he would say that to a nun. He hadn’t lost all his manners in the trenches.

Just most of them. And especially when faced with the pretty nurse who made him feel more than a little stupid with her honey-brown hair and sharp tongue. But Nesta Archeron was nowhere in sight, nor had she been for several days—attempting to avoid him, most likely.

So he only answered, “Still a little sore, m’am. But better than yesterday.”

Sr. Merrill smiled at that. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re in good spirits. You’re to start physical therapy today.”

Cassian could have wept with joy. Although the injury had been localized to his upper body, the damage had been severe enough that the doctors had insisted that he remain bedridden and stuck indoors for at least a month. And he had, albeit reluctantly. For someone used to near-constant activity, whose men called him ‘the General’ for the drills he would put them (and himself) through between battles, a month of idleness was akin to torture. There were only so many card games a man could play or books he could read, only so many soldiers and nurses he could talk to, and (in his bleaker moments) only so many times he could catalog in minute detail the unidentifiable stains that graced the walls of the ward. Restless and bored, Cassian was more than ready to get back on his feet, to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on his face again. “When do I start?”

“Tomorrow. I have you scheduled with Nurse Carynth. She’s one of our best for physical therapy.”

Cassian knew her. Strikingly pretty and statuesque, she could out-swear most of the men and had earned her reputation as an excellent physical therapist through a combination of what appeared to be genuine brilliance and a singular ability to browbeat and cajole her patients into pushing themselves. He had seen her work with a few of the other men from his company, and knew that if anyone else in the hospital deserved the title of ‘the General,’ it would be her.

But he wondered—“I’ve heard she’s effective, yes, but,” He paused, looking for the right words, although he knew that Sr. Merrill and the other nurses were inclined to humor their patients’ requests whenever possible. “I was wondering if I could work with someone else.”

“Oh?” She looked puzzled, but pulled out a pen to note the change. “Do you have a specific nurse in mind?” 

Cassian smiled.

He was still smiling as he sat in Sr. Merrill’s office the following day listening to an incensed Nesta Archeron argue with her supervisor.

“No.” She said, her blue-gray eyes flashing flintily as she crossed her arms. “I’m not working with him.”

Sr. Merrill raised an eyebrow. “And why not? Do you have an objection to working with Lieutenant Davies?”

“Yes.”

When Nesta didn’t elaborate, Sr. Merrill gestured for her to continue. “Go on.”

Nesta tilted her head, and Cassian could tell she was calculating her response. “It’s not personal,” she began. 

Cassian snorted. He knew that it absolutely was. Nesta Archeron was the one nurse at Somerville who couldn’t stand him. From the look on Sr. Merrill’s face, the older nurse knew that as well, although she did an admirable job trying to hide it.

“It’s not.” Nesta turned to face him for the first time since they entered the office a few minutes ago. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. He could feel the anger radiating off of her, burning cold and sharp and exhilarating. It had been over a month since Cassian had seen any combat, but watching her like this scratched the same itch, and he knew that he would do any number of unspeakable things to keep stoking that fire. 

He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Then what might be the issue, Nurse Archeron?”

She glared at his use of her correct title for once, knowing he only did it to irritate her in front of her supervisor, then turned back to face Sr. Merrill with a barely audible huff.

“My reasons are professional. I am not a particularly skilled physical therapist, and the severity of Lieutenant Davies’ injuries suggests that he’ll need special attention. He should be working with Nurse Carynth or Nurse Madja.”

Sr. Merrill frowned at that. “You’ll be following a plan of care left by one of the doctors, so there’s no need for you to do anything terribly innovative. That’s not your role here.” 

“I know you’ll take good care of me, Nurse Archeron,” Cassian added, doing his best to look sincere. And he was, mostly. Nesta may not have been the warmest nurse at Somerville, but she was a damn good one. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

She didn’t respond to his comment, but Cassian was familiar enough with her expressions after a month of making a study of her to know she wanted to roll her eyes, and he couldn’t help the grin that began to break over his face.

“But I know how you VAD girls are,” Sr. Merrill interrupted, forestalling any further argument between them with a dismissive wave of her hand. Her tone dripped with derision, and Cassian’s grin faded as he saw Nesta tense, her spine straightening.“If you’re truly unwilling, I’m sure Lieutenant Davies will accept another nurse for his therapy.” She paused. “But I will be making a note in your file, Nurse Archeron.”

Nesta’s lips tightened. Cassian grimaced slightly as he observed her wage a silent war with herself, feeling increasingly ill-at-ease with his provocation of this element of the hospital’s hierarchical drama. 

“Well, Nurse Archeron?” Sr. Merrill asked.

Cassian watched Nesta collect herself. The changes were subtle–her spine remained straight, unbowed by the weight of the threat, but he saw the way she banked the fire burning in her eyes until all that seemed to remain was a cool, professional detachment. He hated it.

But he knew her answer.

“I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Sr. Merrill handed Nesta a folder that Cassian presumed was his plan of care. “Thank you for wasting everyone’s time.”

Nesta took the folder and stood abruptly, stalking out of the room.

“Lieutenant Davies,” Sr. Merrill addressed him, drawing his attention away from Nesta’s retreating form. “I understand if you’d like to switch nurses after that … display.” She looked distastefully toward the door. “I have always believed that you boys deserve better than being subjected to the whims of spoiled ladies unused to hard work.”

Cassian stood stiffly, his injured arm aching from tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and frowned down at Sr. Merrill. “I meant what I said. I trust Nurse Archeron to take care of me.” His tone was sharp, defensive. 

Sr. Merrill sniffed. “Of course. See that I don’t hear any complaints from your commander if you remain on the injury register longer than you ought.”

“You won’t. M’am.” With a sharp nod of his head, Cassian turned to follow after Nesta, moving a damn sight slower than he would have preferred. His arm throbbed and his legs felt heavy and stiff, aggravatingly fatigued already. 

Nesta had stopped by the entrance to the ward, presumably to wait for him, her gaze focused off into the distance rather than watching his progress.  

Cassian didn’t rush—wouldn’t have, even if he could have moved more quickly—taking the time instead to study her. She still wore the detached professionalism she had donned during the meeting, but her eyes were tired, wearied after the confrontation with Merrill. He wanted the fire back.

And he knew how to get it. Quashing his still-lingering guilt, he asked, “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

She startled slightly, coming out of whatever reverie she had been caught in, and scowled up at him as he drew abreast of her. “I’m not in the mood for this right now.”

He smiled to hear a hint of spirit back in her voice. “I’ll take you in whatever mood I can get, Nes.”

She hummed, her gaze assessing and the set of her mouth unimpressed. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

With that, she pulled open the door to the ward and began walking deeper into the room, not stopping to see if Cassian was following after her. 

He trailed along behind, noting that she passed the door that led outside onto the lawn where most of the other officers had been led by their respective nurses for therapy or recreation. The late summer day was inviting, after all—bright and sunny and warm after a span of rainy weeks.

Because of this, the ward was nearly empty, so Cassian called out to her, “I didn’t mean to cause any problems, you know.”

Her gait didn’t change, but he saw the tilt of her head as she considered his words. “That’s not an apology.”

“You’re right,” he conceded. “I didn’t know about Merrill. I’m sorry for having involved her. But,” he smiled, “I’m not sorry you’re assigned to me.”

“We’ll see,” she said, finally stopping and turning around to face him.

Nesta had led them to a room at the back of the ward. It was small and slightly dingy; he guessed that it had once been some kind of larder for the college before the war. 

Cassian looked inside and then back at her, a question in his eyes.

She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to go inside. “After you.” 

“I thought officers got to go outside for their therapies.” He looked back longingly toward the door to the lawn, the late summer morning streaming through the window panes nearly irresistible after a month indoors.

“Not the ones assigned to me. Everything we need is right here in this room,” she said. She wasn’t quite smiling, but he could see a hint of malicious pleasure gleaming at the corners of her eyes.

Cassian forced himself to smile, hoping that his disappointment wasn’t evident. Well played, Sweetheart. He turned to the only weapon he had remaining because he damn sure wasn’t about to give her this victory easily. “It certainly is, sweetheart. And we’ll get to be so close,” he all but purred, trying to ruffle her feathers. 

But she only rolled her eyes and began setting up the space according to whatever was detailed on his chart, dragging a chair and a few small weights to the center of the room. 

He turned to cast a final glance back, wondering what he could do to change her mind. Surely she didn’t want to spend the day cooped up inside too. What would she want? Would she want him to beg for it? Would he?

He would. For her. And for the outdoors.

But then the sound of a throat clearing delicately brought him back to the cell of a larder, and he returned his attention to Nesta. Her eyes were on him, head tilted to the side like a predator studying its prey.

“Positive you don’t want to work with Nurse Carynth now?”

Cassian looked her over, his gaze catching on the blue-gray eyes that dared him to call her bluff, and he smiled, a real one this time. He would play her game. For now. “Positive. Do your worst, Nurse Nes.”

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

A few notes on the historical elements of this chapter:

— The title of this fic comes from Robert Graves’ poem “Intercession in Late October.”

— The quote that opens this chapter is from Ethel M. Dell’s Bars of Iron, which was one of the best-selling books of 1916. Dell wrote hugely popular romances and was successful enough to support her family on the proceeds of her writing alone, although her work was often disparaged by critics and criticized for being too sexual.

— Cassian is loosely based on Robert Graves, a captain in the 3rd Battalion of the Royal Welch Fusiliers, a poet, and the author of Goodbye to All That, a 1929 memoir about his experiences in WWI. Nesta is loosely based on Vera Brittain, a VAD nurse and author of Testament of Youth, a 1933 memoir about her experiences as a nurse and her postwar turn toward pacifism. 

— Both Robert Graves and Vera Britten were connected to Somerville College, although they were not there at the same time. Somerville was founded as a women’s college in 1879; it was requisitioned by the War Office to serve as a hospital during WWI. Vera Brittain had been reading English Literature when the war broke out, and she took a leave of absence to serve in the VAD, returning to complete her studies in History in 1919. Robert Graves, after being injured in July during the Battle of the Somme (July 1, 1916—November 18, 1916) was sent to Somerville to recover, and while there, had a brief romance with one of the nurses.

—  The tensions between the VAD (Voluntary Aid Detachment) and professional nurses was a real concern during WWI, although it has been dramatized here. Most of the volunteers were middle and upper class women and lacked both the skills of professional nurses and (for some) the propensity for hard labor and discipline. These tensions gradually dissipated as the war went on.

— “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit-Bag, and Smile, Smile, Smile” was a popular WWI marching song, first published in 1915. The words were written by George Henry Powell and were set to music by his brother, Felix.

— The notice “Officers are requested not to throw custard at the walls” was real; it was found in Maitland Hall after Somerville was converted back into a college.

[moonlightazriel]

Bright as the Stars /// A Feysand Fic

Summary: Solstice comes around the corner and Rhysand has a special night planned for his mate.

Warnings: Fluffy and Smut

Word Count: 3,2K

Notes: My second year doing this and it's just as nice and funny as the first time. This is my gift for the @acotargiftexchange made especially for @itsthedoodle, i really hope you enjoy it, cuz i certainly did writing this piece.

Main Masterlist

Feyre took a deep breath, the city smelled like cinnamon, freshly cut trees, and mint. The winter solstice was just two days away and she had some last-minute shopping to do, Morrigan happily chatted with a fae behind the counter, trying to get a discount on a pair of emerald earrings for Amren. 

She had gotten gifts for everyone, but she still needed to find the perfect piece for Rhysand, her mate. After the events of Under the Mountain, she felt the mating bond snapping into place as she was ready to leave for Spring Court with Tamlin, when they got back home, she knew that it wouldn’t be fair to neither of them to keep pursuing a relationship with Tamlin. She wanted to explore the bond and he understood, thanking her for showing him love and compassion and telling her that he wanted her to be happy, even if that meant they wouldn’t be together anymore.

He had helped her reach out to Rhysand, and as the bond had snapped for him at the same time, Rhys immediately made sure to bring his mate home, wanting to know her, to be with her, he needed her, and now that he had her, he would never let her go again.

She sighed, looking around at the kids running from their parents, and the snow falling from the skies, everything felt magical in Velaris, she would never get used to it, a tiny snowflake fell on her open hand and she admired the intricate pattern it had. A warm hand squeezed her shoulders and she turned, to see Mor with the biggest grin and a box with the earrings in between her fingers. 

“We need to have hot chocolate, I’m freezing.” Mor said, walking towards one of the many coffee shops, filled with clients enjoying their meals. “This is the best one in the city, go have a seat, I’ll order for us.” 

Conversations filled her ears, and she just enjoyed the smell of fresh coffee beans, and cherry from a pretty pastry a few tables away. Feyre then thought of her sisters, Rhys was sending them money every month, and she wanted to visit but would her sisters welcome her? Years of sadness and loneliness filled her chest but she tried to shake the feelings away, they were doing just fine. And Feyre now had people who cared about her, people who would never leave her alone again. 

“Here.” Morrigan placed a plate with a chocolate chip cookie in it, and a steaming mug of hot chocolate, Feyre reached for the mug, the nice warmth spread on her hands even through the glove and she took a sip, the creamy texture melted in her tongue, her tastebuds almost hummed in delight with the flavor.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever had.” Feyre hummed and Morrigan giggled, taking a bite of her cookie. 

“Are you excited for your first solstice? With your new life and everything.” Her intense brown eyes scanned the freckles that peppered her nose. 

“It feels weird to be getting gifts for everyone when I couldn’t even afford to feed myself a few years back.” Morrigan silently nodded, feeling her heart squeeze in her chest whenever she thought about how much Feyre had to fight to survive, proud filled her then, as she looked at her friend, stronger than ever and still gentle and kind. “But it also feels nice feeling that I belong somewhere.” Feyre gave her a small smile, to which Morrigan replied with a gentle squeeze on her hand. 

“You’re home now, Fey.” Her heart clenched in her chest, she hadn’t felt at home in a long time. She was thankful for all the sacrifices she had to make to be in this very moment right now. The hollowness and loneliness that filled her to the point of suffocating for so many years, is now gone and replaced by unconditional love for the family that chose her. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Colorful balls hung from the ceiling, decorated with glitter, a very sticky one that glued to Feyre’s fingers and hair, Rhys watched as the light would sometimes refract on the sparkly substance, making the female glow in front of his eyes. 

“Cassian, if you drop those damned lights again, I’ll hang you instead.” Azriel hissed, making the room burst into laughter, but Rhys could only watch the little dimples in the corners of her mouth and the slight scrunch of her blue eyes, as she curled forward, laughing with joy at Azriel's annoyed stance. He playfully rolled his eyes and kept trying to hang the lights that pooled at his feet. 

Feyre scanned the room, the inner circle helping set the decorations in the House of Wind. She was excited for the Winter Solstice, for the first time since she could remember, she would have a proper celebration, Elain would always braid her hair and place a flower behind her ear, claiming that Feyre’s special day should always be celebrated despite the conditions they had. 

Mor offered her another glass filled with wine and she took a sip, the sweet grapery taste filled her mouth and she shook her head a bit, she was never the strongest for alcohol, and with the few sips she already had, she felt her cheeks getting warmer. 

“Having fun, pretty girl?” Rhysand purred into her mind and her eyes darted toward him, the blush getting more intense as she noticed how he was already looking at her, she didn’t know why, but whenever he looked at her like that, like she was the only female he could ever love, she would get shy under his gaze, but she loved it anyway. 

“Are you?” She replied in his mind, wiggling her eyebrows at him. He smiled at her, shaking his head as he approached her, cradling her pretty face, stroking her cheek to wipe some of the glitter, and placing a stubborn strand of hair behind her pointy ear again. 

“I know you’re excited about the solstice tomorrow night, but I think it’s a nice time to let you know I have different plans.” Those big blue eyes blinked at him in confusion.

“I thought we were going to be spending here, with our family.” Rhysand almost dropped to his knees, hearing her calling his family, her family, made his heart melt, and he sent a wave of love down the bond.

“We will, we’re having lunch with them, but I have a surprise for you.” Feyre almost started to clap like a happy kid, the thought of having a surprise made just for her made her slightly drunk brain fill with happiness, she couldn’t wait for it.

“What is it?” She tried, knowing very well that Rhysand wouldn’t tell her, she even went as far as to try to see it by herself but his mental shields were held high up. 

“Easy, pretty girl. You’re going to know what it is at the right time.” He lowered his head, and the tip of his nose brushed against hers, Feyre closed her eyes, waiting for him to close the gap between their lips, but she felt his warm lips on her forehead instead, and Cassian cleared his throat, forcing her to remember they weren’t alone in the room.

She playfully groaned, opening her eyes and starting to get away from Rhys, reaching for more decorative balls so she could go back to decorating the house for tomorrow night. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Her belly hurt from how much she had laughed today, the lunch with the inner circle was just like it always was, filled with funny stories from their past and lots of food. Feyre was still thinking about Morrigan’s jokes as she rubbed her skin, the strawberry scent filled the room as she rubbed the pink foam on her legs. 

She scrubbed her scalp until she was happy with the results, climbing out of the tub and wrapping a towel around her hair and her body. The fog from the hot water still filled her room as she stepped out, and a cold breeze made her shiver. She eyed her dress, a long black dress glued to her body with a slit on one leg and tiny sleeves that fell just above her shoulders. 

She sat on her desk, removed the towel, and started to style it in loose blonde curls, a shade of brown coated her eyelids, and some eyeliner and mascara highlighted her eyes, a nude shade of lipstick was applied to perfect her plump lips. Feyre stared at herself for a minute, happy with the result, feeling pretty. She finished her look with some ruby earrings and went to put her dress on. 

The dress was spectacular, making her feel like a goddess of the night, Feyre strapped her heels just in time to hear a knock on her door. Dressed in fancy clothing, Azriel and Cassian stood by the other side of the door, bowing to her and Cass offered her his hand.

“We’re here to escort you, my lady.” He said in a posh tone, making the three of them laugh. She took his hand, and he guided the way, with Azriel following close behind. They walked down the stairs of the Townhouse, Mor was facing Rhys, fixing his bow tie before she turned to her with the biggest grin. 

Rhysand was absolutely perfect, hair slicked back, and in formal clothes. Feyre almost gasped at how handsome he looked, she couldn’t believe that such a male was her mate, she was so lucky. In three quick steps, he was in front of her, taking her hand away from Cassian and pulling her with him. 

“I don’t believe that there’s anyone as beautiful as you, and I don’t think there will ever be.” Feyre hid her face in his chest, feeling her cheeks getting hot at the compliment, Rhysand was always so good with his words. 

“You don’t look bad either.” She said and he ran a hand over his smooth hair. 

“I always look good, Feyre darling.” He pulled her closer by the waist. “Are you ready to go?” The female happily shook her head and Rhys winnowed the two of them, the cold winds and the strong smell of mist and night stars filled her senses as Rhys did his thing. 

The Moonstone Palace was decorated with little lights floating in the space above their heads, tiny snowflakes fell and the winds roared outside, but with the power around the space, they couldn't feel a thing, Rhysand’s power warming the place on a comfortable level. 

They headed to the balcony where a table was set with various foods and champagne, the stars shone on a veil of black in the sky, making the whole atmosphere even more magical. Feyre gasped, petals of white roses coated the floor, and Feyre almost cried at it, Rhysand still remembered how red made her feel even months after the events of Under the Mountain. 

“I have no words to express how much I love this.” She started, using her pinky fingers to wipe the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes. “No one has ever done something like this for me before.” Rhysand pulled a chair for her.

“Glad to be the first, then.” He sat in front of her, flicking his hands and a soft melody started to play, Feyre looked around trying to spot where the sound was coming from but to no avail. 

The food served was a combination of green salad, mashed potatoes with sautéed carrots, roasted chicken with green sauce, and a little sweet bread accompanied the food. The flavors flooded her mouth and they ate looking at the stars, casually exchanging some words. 

“You have some sauce right here.” Rhysand licked his thumb, reaching to wipe the sauce from the corner of her mouth, and applying gentle pressure on her skin, he took the thumb back to his own mouth, licking it clean as he kept eye contact with her, making Feyre swallow harshly. 

“I was always a messy eater.” She joked, remembering the times Nesta would scold her for eating like “a wild animal”. Rhys got up, extending a hand to her. 

“Would you like to dance?” The soft music was still playing in the background, Feyre allowed herself to be conducted by him, dancing under the stars, the slow dance made her heart swell with happiness and love, flooding the bond and Rhysand responded with his own feelings, such an intimate moment just for the two of them to appreciate.

Rhysand felt that he could be his true self around her, without judgment, that she would love all the parts of him despite how ugly they were. And all he could do was to love her in return, with every fiber of his being, he would love her until their time on this earth was over, and even then, people would still talk about the High Lord who loved his mate so much that he captured the stars, just for her. 

He slowly reached for his back pocket, hands grabbing the small box that was safely tucked away in his suit ever since he got ready later that evening. He pulled the box out, lifting it to the level of her eyes. The song slowly stopped and the eyes that had been closed during the whole dance started to slowly open until Feyre spotted the box.

Curiosity filled her being and she slowly reached for the box, opening it she found the most beautiful gift in the world. A crystal ball, held by a silver chain, glowing like a thousand suns. 

“You loved Starfall so much, that I thought that maybe you would want to have a star for yourself.” Rhys motioned for her to turn around, the crystal was cold against her skin as he clasped the piece together, turning Feyre again by her waist, he watched in awe as the star glowed against her skin, absolutely beautiful. 

“Rhys, this is…” She couldn’t finish as a sob parted through her open lips, tears of joy streamed down her face and she tried to control herself, but as she held the gift in her hands, it was almost impossible to stop crying. 

“I know.” He said, pulling her close. No words were needed when he could see the happiness that filled her eyes, how thankful she was for such a thoughtful gift. Feyre had never received something so perfect in her entire life, she would remember this for the rest of her life, and she would keep it around her neck, cradled near her heart for eternity. 

Feyre slowly lifted her head, lips quivering as she reached for him, closing the gap between their lips, his hands held her close as they kissed, a gentle brush of her lips against his at first, then slowly deepening the kiss, he guided them to a pile of covers and pillows resting at a corner, Rhys had intended that they would watch the stars and talk but if Feyre wanted to do something else, he was down for it. 

Laying her down, his hands slowly traveled down to her feet, strapping the heels off one after the other, then coming back up as he kissed her again, kicking his own shoes off. Her hands pulled the coat of his attire off, leaving him in just a white linen shirt. They kissed until their lungs begged to be filled with air. 

The smell of her arousal was driving him insane, he reached for the zipper at her side, brushing his hands over her right breast before he pulled it down, bringing the whole dress along. Her breasts spilled and he wetted his lips at the sight of her, Feyre was magnificent. 

“It’s unfair that I’m naked and you’re all covered.” Feyre pouted as Rhys finished removing her dress and underwear.

“Your wish is my command.” He replied, getting up and removing his clothes as quickly as he could. He looked down at her, where she lay with nothing but the star necklace illuminating her skin, and those mesmerizing eyes focused on him, Rhysand knew he was the luckiest male that ever walked on this planet. 

Feyre was ready for him as he got on top of her again, his finger easily sliding in with the wetness that pooled around her core, his thumb circled the bundle of nerves and she moaned, a beautiful little moan that hunted him ever since he heard it for the first time. 

“I need you Rhys.” She begged, her breath ragged as she looked at him. He nodded, grabbing his throbbing cock in his hands, pumping it two times before he slid inside her all the way down. She hugged him, preventing him from moving, just feeling him inside her for a while, the fullness she felt would always warm her body.  

“You are absolutely perfect, Feyre darling.” He purred, starting to slowly move his hips against her. Feyre cupped his face, thumb tracing his eyebrows, eyes, nose, cheekbones, and lips, Rhys melted with her touch, feeling the warmth that spread through his chest. 

He lowered his head, capturing her lips again, kissing her as his life depended on it, hips snapping against hers, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the whimpers she left, muffled by his lips, were the only things that filled the room at the moment. He kept moving, Feyre’s nails scratching his back as he made love to her. 

Rhysand caressed the bond, sending all of his love down the golden thread between them. Feyre felt the knot in her belly growing until it was ready to snap. He slid in and out, fast and hard, again and again until Feyre was clenching around him. Caging his cock inside her as she moaned his name, her walls milking him, making him spill his seed inside her, coating her walls in the white slick. 

He rested his forehead against hers, the two of them catching their breaths, chests moving up and down at a rapid pace. He kissed her forehead, meeting her blue eyes. 

“I love you.” He watched as Feyre moved her fingers, a velvety box appearing in between her hands, he smiled at her, he had shown her this little trick a few months ago. She popped the box up, revealing two identical rings inside. 

“Marry me!” She blurted and he felt all the strength of his body vanish, his knees almost buckling at the question, he expected any gift from her, but not the only thing he’d wanted the most.

“Of course, I’ll marry you.” He replied, feeling the tears in his eyes, kissing her on the lips, then he kissed her, on different spots of her face as she giggled. He got out of her, laying down by her side, pulling her to his chest. With the box in his hands, he reached for the smaller ring, sliding in her finger. Feyre copied his movements, sliding the bigger ring on his finger.

“Always and forever.” She whispered, his violet eyes met her. 

“Always and forever.” The two of them lay there, watching the stars. A shooting star passed in the sky and Feyre gasped.

“Quick, make a wish.” Rhys turned to his side, kissing her forehead.

“I already have everything that I need, right by my side.”

[charliespringsleftconverse]

Kiss Me Again

Word Count: 8,645 | Masterlist | Read on AO3

Writer’s Notes: I was going to have a friend proof this for me but they were busy so I did some multiple self-revisions in the past few days in hopes that I caught as many grammar errors as possible. Apologies if I missed any! Anyway! This is a college AU ACOTAR Feysand fic. The concept was idiots in love. As in, they’ve baaaasically been doing couply stuff but they were too blind to see or acknowledge that they’d been in love and acting as a couple for a while. <3 

I don’t typically write AU fics, so this is a first for me! That being said, it was so much fun to write. It’s actually the longest one-shot I’ve written! A HUGE Happy Holidays to @thegloweringcastle <3 I hope you enjoy it and finally find out who got left at the supermarket! 😂

Thank you to @acotargiftexchange for putting this event together once again! I LOVE participating in this every year! <3

Squinting at the scribbles below, my eyes attempted to decipher the notes I’d borrowed. I had been able to make out the date thanks to the simple fact that it hadn’t been written in cursive like the rest of the details. It was a lost art form for me just like any other calligraphy-related configuration. I would have written down my own notes for the humanities course I was taking, in plain print, had my younger sister not lost the key to her dorm room. With her roommate out of town for the week, there wasn’t much Elain could have done outside of calling her Resident Assistant, which, to her dismay, also happened to be her ex-boyfriend. So, rather than having to face Grayson more than she needed to, she’d called me. 

Lucky for Elain, I kept a spare. All of my sisters and I did, actually. Nesta, Elain, and I all had a key to each other’s place. It had been especially helpful when we all lived on campus last year. We could just walk into each other’s rooms at any time. Like when I needed help with my homework for Calculus with Analytic Geometry and borrowed Nesta’s notes from her sophomore year. Or when Nesta needed to borrow my curling iron for a date. And, of course, how could I forget the night that Elain and her then-boyfriend broke up. She had refused to leave her room for two days. I had never been so grateful to have access to a spare key. Nesta and I had been so worried having not heard from her for more than a day. We spent that entire weekend taking turns bringing her food from her favorite places across town in hopes that they’d brighten her spirits. Thai food from Adriata’s Palace, Italian Cuisine from Neve’s Garden, and Mexican from Rita’s Margaritas. I had never seen my sister so devastated in her life. Although to be fair, Elain had never dated a boy before Grayson. 

I turned the notebook a bit to the side in hopes that the lighting from the new angle would bless me with a hint as to what words hid behind Mor’s beautiful script. Mother above. Shaking my head, I bit my lip. I should have listened to my mother when she said that learning cursive would be an invaluable skill. She was certainly right in thinking that it was a dying skill. It was dead on me for sure. Hell, the only people I knew who still wrote in cursive were sorority recruitment leads when they made their colorful, extravagant banners with fancy lettering and doctors. Which would make sense at the moment given who I had borrowed these notes from. Zeta Tau Alpha’s latest Chapter President. My mother was certainly wagging her finger at me from wherever she was. 

I sighed.

“You look more concentrated than my morning orange juice,” said Rhysand, sitting across the table. His violet eyes studying me, his brows raised in concern. We’d—he’d been studying for the past thirty minutes, meanwhile, I’d just been heavy-breathing and decoding what looked like a cipher like a treasure hunter in search of the coordinates to an ancient Greek secret temple. But unlike an archeologist, my work proved unfruitful.

“I’m trying to decipher Mor’s handwriting,” I said. Leaning back on the chair, I let out another loud sigh. “It’s beautiful. But I can’t read cursive for shit.”

Rhys and I had known each other since freshman year. More specifically, ever since I accidentally dropped a shoe on him from the fourth floor of the residence halls. I had originally been aiming for my roommate Viviane to catch, who to this day still wanted to room with me. She hadn’t wanted to come up again to retrieve the missing shoe and I didn’t want to go downstairs in a towel as I’d just come out of the shower and was still undressed. 

The natural decision was to just fling the sneaker out the window of our dorm room, obviously. What we didn’t account for was my terrible aim and Viviane’s lack of hand-eye coordination. Not only did Rhys get bumped in the head by a single white platform Vans but he also got pushed into a bush by Viviane. She had been so busy looking up, that she forgot to look forward and completely missed the 6-foot man inches from her. It had been a miracle Viviane herself hadn’t impaled the shrubbery along with him. I’ll never forget the mortified look Viviane and I mirrored, eyes wide and hands over mouth. All I could think was, he’s concussed. I concussed a man. 

Personally, if someone had smacked me on the head, I would have at least yelled at them. Maybe even called them a prick. Rhys, however, was a different breed of man. He had certainly groaned on impact but as soon as he realized he had backflipped into a small hedge and held a women’s size 8 shoe on his lap, he laughed. He let out a full belly laugh. This man—this stranger—had the audacity to laugh given the circumstances. I suppose I should have realized from that moment that nothing could truly take him by surprise or upend his day. A trait I admired. One I hoped seeped into my bones by osmosis or whatever symbiotic science allows personal characteristics to flow from one person to another. 

I apologized profusely to this man. In a towel from my window. In my pajamas after I ran downstairs. In his residence hall, after Viviane helped me put together an apology basket when we discovered he lived across from her boyfriend Kallias. Even then, this 6-foot-something of a man thought it was funny. Every. Single. Time. To which I convinced myself, I’d more than concussed him. I convinced myself I’d done serious damage for a man to laugh at that level of pain. Although, I suppose that if two people showed up in their dinosaur onesies at 9 pm on a Thursday evening with a basket for me, I’d also laugh. But still.

It wasn’t until that very week that I realized Rhys and I shared similar classes. We were both in English Composition, Principles of Chemistry, and Introduction to Sociology. Which, quite honestly, are more than enough courses for you to figure out if you have the same schedule as another student. What can I say, I’m oblivious—an ongoing theme in my life.

Another thing I’ll never forget, the smug look on Rhys’s face when we were paired together in English Composition for a research paper on the portrayal of minorities in the media. I’d wanted to find the nearest cliff and jump off it but destiny had other plans. No, fate looked me straight in the eye and said, “Hold my drink, bestie” because two years later, here we are. Best friends. 

Rhysand snatched the paper out of my hands. “The Gate of Athena Archegetis was dedicated to the patron goddess of Athens, Athena.” 

My hand rushed to jot down what he said. The table vibrated from the ferocity with which I scribbled on my notebook. What I couldn’t crack in thirty minutes took Rhys all of two seconds to read out. Why our professor for that course didn’t allow laptops or tablets for note taking, I’ll never understand. I was just grateful I had something legible transcribed now.

“You can read that? It might as well have been written entirely in Latin,” I said.

“I’ve had practice reading my cousin's handwriting for years. I’d be disappointed if I couldn’t, at this point.” Rhysand chuckled. Passing the page, he eyed the notes, likely reviewing the contents from the course he’d taken himself the semester before. 

“I, unfortunately, was blessed with my father’s handwriting.” I tugged at the sleeves of my V-neck indigo cardigan and shyly pointed at my hideous penmanship. It might as well have been written by a third-grader. It was practically childlike. There wasn’t much fixing that could be done at this point in my life when it came to my writing unless I signed up for a calligraphy course. And even then, life had no guarantees.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. An art major who couldn’t read or write a visual art form. Who could paint true-to-life full-body portraits, vivid illustrations of natural landscapes, and dramatic high-colored oil paintings but couldn’t read or write in cursive. I dropped my shoulders, frustrated with myself, and propped my legs up on the tufted dining chair pulling them against my chest with my arms wrapped around. 

Rhys’s eyes were back on me. He had a way of reading me like a billboard sign, and I could tell he was trying to figure out what was going on through my mind, what today’s bold neon letters were. I was never sure how he did it but he always knew exactly what I was thinking. Which either meant my face was easy to read and I had the worst poker face of all time or…he just knew me. 

“The ‘A’ in cursive is not a sharp letter. It’s more rounded and looks the exact same in both upper and lowercase. Similar to the way you’d write it in print,” he said.

There were several traits I admired about Rhys outside of his keen observations and nonchalant perspective on life. Like his level of empathy. I knew what his academic grades looked like but boy did I also want to know what his emotional quotient score was. Whatever it was, that score was certainly high. He never made anyone feel like their shortfalls were a hindrance. Nor would he want to. That wasn’t his style. Rather than point out my flaws and make me feel embarrassed, he read the notes aloud. 

“The Greek language served as a lingua franca,” he continued.

“That last phrase was actual Latin,” he added. Rhys flipped through the pages of Mor’s notes. I could have asked him for his own from last semester since he’d been able to sign up on time. I, on the other hand, had been wait-listed. Hence why I was taking the course in the spring. It was one of the few classes we all needed to graduate as it was one of the general requirements for all offered degrees. I probably should have asked him for his notes since I could his penmanship but I’d been too caught up with Elain yesterday to even consider asking.

“Here’s another one, in vino veritas,” said Mor, raising two bottles of wine toward us. “In wine there is truth.”

“Amen,” said Cassian, lifting a third bottle. 

“I thought you two went out grocery shopping,” said Rhysand. Laying the notes on the table, he crossed his arms eyeing the two figures by the door. The corner of Rhys’s mouth twitched as he raised an eyebrow at his cousin and roommate. 

“We did. We brought back the essentials,” said Mor. Smiling back at her cousin, she winked at him before closing the door to the apartment with a kick of her red platform heels. 

“Hmm,” Rhys hummed. 

Bringing his eyes back to me, Rhysand continued reading off the notes while the other two flocked into the kitchen. I bit the inside of my lip as I followed along the soothing sound of his voice. His warm tone always calmed me when we studied together. Which was why I was his favorite audience member when he needed to practice his presentations. I’d listen attentively, the first time. I’d even provide feedback, the second time. But I’d almost always fall asleep to the sound of his enchanting mellifluous voice any other time after that. 

“It’s wine night, Rhys. You know the rules,” said Mor from the other room. Every Friday was wine night, the one day of the week our friend group could get together with no interruptions or excuses. No one had an evening class on Fridays or a night shift so things worked out this semester. Most of the extracurriculars each of us participated in typically held events over the weekend so we’d truly lucked out with everyone’s schedules this time. It wasn’t something we were likely to have again so we were taking advantage of every Friday we had before some of us graduated. 

Though, that was one of the rules. No talks about graduation. The point of wine night was to live in the moment and enjoy however many Fridays we had left as the “Inner Circle.” It was a silly name Cassian spewed one night after downing 3 bottles of wine, and it kind of stuck. We didn’t exactly call our group that but we did change our group chat name accordingly. 

“You too, Feyre.” Mor’s voice echoed.

Another rule. No homework. That rule was more of a precaution so none of us would accidentally email professors the wrong file while inebriated. To be fair, I was only taking notes but we all tried to abide by the no homework rule as best as we could. 

“Give me a few minutes, and I’m all yours,” I said. 

“You’re telling me you’ve had all day to write those and you still haven’t?” asked Mor, her voice trailing from deeper in the apartment as she stepped from room to room. She had her apartment across town but, like me, she practically lived here too.

“Yeah, well…there have been some delays,” I said, fidgeting with my pencil. My face began to feel warm as blood rushed into my cheeks. Biting my lip, I kept my eyes down. I didn’t want to let Mor know that I hadn’t been able to write her notes because I couldn’t read her notes. Not that she would make fun of me for it but I knew that if I confessed the truth she’d barge me with questions. And I simply did not feel like answering any of that in front of everyone else. All I wanted was for something to distract her from prying right now. Just about anything would do. A pigeon flying in through the window. The fan in the living room mysteriously falling onto the table. A fire alarm. A knock on the door. Anything would do. Please. 

“Weren’t there three of you when you left?” asked Rhysand.

I felt my body relax, and my shoulders dropped. I hadn’t realized the muscles down my back had tightened and tensed so firmly until my body loosened and eased back into the chair. My eyes lifted, meeting Rhysand’s whose amethyst orbs were right on me. He winked. The man knew I’d been on the brink of jumping out a window and needed assistance to divert the tall blonde in the kitchen and I loved him for it. 

“Azriel!” said Cassian and Mor in unison. The sound of shoes running filled the kitchen accompanied by that of drawers shutting in a hurry, and the jingle of keys. The pair dashed around the apartment like parents who’d just forgotten their child at the supermarket, which was exactly what had happened. Somewhat.

A knock sounded at the door. 

The four of us froze and exchanged glances. The only thought I had in my mind was of Azriel, hoping he hadn’t walked all the way back here. Mor took slow steady steps towards the entrance and when she reached the doorknob, she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, took a deep breath, and pressed her lips together. Ever so delicately, she turned the knob and pulled the door towards her.

"Today was not my best day. I dare say it didn't even make the top five," said Azriel. He had one hand reaching the top of the doorframe, leaning slightly. His handsome face held no clear emotion but his eyes. His cold eyes stared down at Mor, making her smaller than she was. Oh, he is pissed.

“You left something at the grocery store,” said Nesta, pushing past the brooding body. Her heels clicked as she waltzed into the room wearing a black satin sleeveless dress that hugged her in all the right places from her chest to her hips. The slit on the right side exposed her up to her mid-thigh with every step. Cassian’s eyes immediately caught the movement as they slid up her body, stopping once they met her eyes.

“I would never have left you, Nes,” said Cassian. He took a step toward her, almost challenging her gaze. She held it, eyed him up and down sizing him up, and spun to face the rest of the room. With her back to him, she placed a hand on her hip, blatantly ignoring the door-framed-sized man behind her. 

Cassian stepped closer and slid his hands around her body, holding her closer. Nesta didn’t fight him. If I had blinked, I might have missed the slight shift of her body against him, leaning against his chest even closer. It was beyond anyone’s pay grade to understand where they stood in their relationship if it was even that. They’d been on and off for so long that their situationship was like the weather, something that had to be measured in every room. 

“I despise you,” said Nesta, with a hint of a smile on the corner of her lips.

“Keep telling yourself that,” said Cassian.

“Are you headed out tonight, Nesta?” I asked. 

“I only came to deliver the lost puppy,” said Nesta, taking a step forward and away from the figure wrapped around her. Cassian’s jaw ticked as she untangled herself from his embrace. “I’m headed out with the girls.”

Gwyn and Emerie, I thought. That’s who she almost always referred to. They’d been her closest friends since freshman year and they’d been inseparable from the moment they met. It was surprising that they hadn’t come up with her since they all lived together. 

“Gwyn’s downstairs waiting for me, and Emerie is already in the car,” she said. 

There it was. 

“You should take better care of pretty things,” said Nesta, walking towards the door. Elegantly spinning, her eyes met Cassian’s from beneath the doorframe. Her fingers slipped up her thigh to her waist sensually, her eyes never breaking contact as she spoke. “Someone else might steal them.”

She closed the door on her way out, leaving the rest of us too stunned to speak. 

“I’m gonna marry that woman,” said Cassian.

“Wine, anyone?” said Mor.

——

"I almost fist-fought you last night when you took the blanket," I said. Tugging on the dark blue throw-over, I pulled it over myself enough to cover my legs entirely as I sat criss crossed on the couch. The star-filled spread was dark and fluffy like Amren’s black Bombay cat. With three glasses of wine in me, if I closed my eyes and traced my hand down the blanket, I could almost picture Ruby on my lap. She was soft and cud—

A pull on the blanket brought my thoughts back.

“You snore. Loudly," said Rhys.

"I do not snore, you liar." I scoffed, tugging back on the blanket. 

We’d both fallen asleep on his bed last night after an intense studying session. Although our schedules were no longer as identical as they’d been during freshman year, we still shared one or two courses every so often. Like this semester, we had Solar System Astronomy together. We’d stayed up late on the balcony of his apartment looking up at the constellations seeing how many we could name and then placing their locations on a star map.

With 88 constellations in the sky, as recognized by the International Astronomical Union, we’d been able to spot at least seven. Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Orion, Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Draco, and—my face was beginning to feel very warm. 

"How did the blanket end up on the floor? No wonder I was freezing," said Rhys. He was leaning against the backrest of the couch, one hand on the armrest holding his glass of wine. Rhysand’s dark lilac eyes sparked with mischief. He was baiting me and I was definitely too inebriated to ignore his comments. 

“How could you be freezing? You’re a freaking furnace!” I exclaimed. 

“Then why’d you steal the blanket? I’m basically primed for cuddles.” Rhys’s other hand reached around me and tugged me towards him. I laughed against his chest, and let my body lean into him. 

“Mother above, you two bicker like a married couple,” said Mor. She was leaning against the doorway leading to the balcony. With the door open, the cool breeze blew in, brushing her long golden hair past her shoulder. Her eyes darted between where Rhys and I sat on the couch and then shifted to something behind us. I was too focused on the elegant way she held her glass to glance away from her posture. 

“It’s not bickering if I’m right.” I slapped Rhys against his chest playfully. His chest vibrated with a chuckle.

“Az, play that one song from the other night,” said Amren. With her wine glass inches from her lips in one hand, she pointed at Azriel with her other. There was a lot you learned about a person while under the influence. In Amren’s case, during the day, she was a short-tempered finance major student who ate boys and numbers for breakfast. There was no doubt that she’d be valedictorian of the College of Business Administration. She studied hard, but she also played hard. 

“Thisssisss my jaaaaammm.” Amren’s words slurred. She raised one of her hands as if meaning to touch the ceiling lamp like a fly attracted to a zapper light. Swaying to the rhythm, Amren praised the white light above.

“Oh, she is gone,” said Mor, taking a sip of her wine.

All eyes were on Amren now as she led an interpretive dance to the beat of Dance the Night by Dua Lipa. Her choreography involved a lot of hands swaying in the air. While her claps to the music were slightly off-beat, she was giving it her all. She was the choreographer—the lead dancer. She was Barbie at the giant blow art party and the rest of us were just Ken.

“Here’s another piece of Latin for you, Feyre. Nemo saltat sobrius,” said Mor, nodding at Dance and Flex Barbie™.

“What?” I asked. Clumsily leaning forward, I propped one hand on Rhy’s thigh as I leaned closer to Mor in hopes I could read her lips over the music. I felt a hand steady me from behind. 

“Nobody dances sober,” said Azriel.

“Unless you’re Azriel, then you don’t dance. At all,” said Cassian. The couch bounced as he threw his body on the empty spot on the other side of me. He smiled at Azriel, threw his hand over the sofa's backrest, and leaned back.

“I’ve definitely seen him dance,” said Rhys. 

“No way. In his room?” Cassian chuckled.

I took this as an opportunity to make myself more comfortable, while they were distracted. Shifting my body, I leaned further into Rhys, the shape of his own welcoming me back to my spot. A soft giggle escaped my lips as Cassian grabbed my feet and placed them on his lap. Somehow my body had slid down Rhys’s and I was fully lying across the sofa on top of the boys. I was comfortable. So comfortable, I could fall asleep.

“At a party, actually,” said Rhys, his eyes glanced at Azriel while a small smile edged on his face.

“With a girl?” Cassian’s voice sounded surprised.

“With a girl.” Rhys nodded.

“No fucking way,” said Cassian. He couldn’t help but smile at Az, his mouth gaped. 

I understood Cassian’s reaction, Azriel didn’t dance let alone run or jog for anything. He was an enigma; an unsolvable riddle. The man was calm, cool, and collected at all times. Always unfazed by things that would distress the common Joe. It was slightly unnerving. If someone spilled wine on the carpet, Azriel wouldn’t panic at the thought of a huge red stain on the rug. He’d walk into the kitchen, no questions asked, and come back with a dry cloth, dish soap, and hydrogen peroxide, and blot the patch until it made you doubt if anything had actually been spilled. Whereas Mor and I would have stared at the ink-stained rug and exchanged wide-eyed looks before quietly agreeing that the room could do better without a rug.

Azriel shrugged completely unbothered. 

“With wh-

“I don’t kiss and tell,” said Azriel. Cold eyes stared back, silently telling Cassian to back off without any need for words.

“You’re just jealous he didn’t kiss you,” said Rhysand. He was trying to diffuse any rising tension. I could feel the sound of his voice vibrating across his chest. At some point, I’d given him my glass of wine or he’d taken it from me very smoothly. It would have been a disaster if I’d spilled it over the three of us on the sofa. I would have felt especially bad about it considering it was new. Their last one had moved on to a better place after Cassian put a hole in it from jumping on it during a karaoke session two months ago. 

“Hell yeah, I am!” Cassian exclaimed. 

Azriel raised an eyebrow, a lopsided grin on his lips. "Are we about to kiss right now?" 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” said Rhysand. 

“Come here, you,” said Cassian. Throwing my legs off him, he jumped across the room embracing Azriel. The room filled with laughter at the show the two of them were putting on. Even through the loud ruckus, the short-tempered finance major was far too deep into her slumber to awaken. At some point, Amren had tucked herself into the armchair by the window and nodded off. She looked cozy and peaceful with her head lying on the armrest. We’d learned long ago that it was best to leave her alone when she dozed off. A lesson learned the hard way.

Through the open doors leading to the balcony, the sky was briefly illuminated with a bright light followed by a faint sound of thunder. I glanced at the digital clock beneath the TV sitting on the television stand. It was late and I needed to get home. There was still a buzzing feeling that tingled across my body from the earlier drinks but I didn’t live far. It was ten minutes max walking. Plus, if I left now, I could avoid the rain.

Sitting up, I scanned the room looking for my shoes. “I should get going,” I said.

“Let me call you a ride,” said Mor, already taking out her phone.

“Mor, I live within walking distance,” I said, gathering my shoes.

Azriel jumped in, “I barely drank. All I had was a sip earlier. I could give you a ri-

He didn’t finish his sentence as his eyes glanced toward the other side of the room at the sound of boots hitting the hardwood and the sofa shuffling. I didn’t think too much about it, not that I could in my current state. I was more focused on figuring out where I’d placed the key to my apartment. 

“Do you want us to walk with you?” asked Mor.

Holding on to the wall, I hooked two fingers into one of my white platform Nike and pushed my foot into the shoe. Was it counterintuitive to own sneakers with shoelaces if I never had any intention of tying them? I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought as I did the same with my other shoe. It was unclear to me if I genuinely found the thought funny or if it was the alcohol coursing through me. Before I could respond to Mor’s question, I felt the close warmth of a tall figure standing near me. 

“I’ll walk her,” said the familiar voice.

“Rhys-

“That wasn’t an offer, darling. That was me making a statement,” he said.

I sighed, looking up at him. It was late, and I didn’t feel like arguing knowing that it would delay my departure before the oncoming storm. Having someone walk you home wasn’t the end of the world. It was an act of the purest love. That someone cared about your well-being enough to ensure you’d made it home safely. That’s what I loved about my friends. The genuine love we all had for each other. 

Sliding my baby blue nylon backpack over my shoulder, I double-checked I’d gathered everything. I went through my mental checklist. Phone, wallet, keys. Patting my pockets, I ensured I had them. I made sure to hug everyone goodbye before heading out. Well, everyone except Amren, who was ever so sweetly tucked in the armchair with a blanket twice her size. Likely one of Cassian’s massive blankets. 

When I turned, Rhysand was already by the door holding it open for me. Slipping his hand over my shoulder, he grabbed my powder blue bag and placed it over his. With the motion, my white plush bear keychain swung against the two baby penguin pins on the cerulean fabric. My backpack had a very soft aesthetic that stood out when held by Rhys who was dressed in dark tones from head to toe. It didn’t fit his aesthetic. At all. I was about to object that I could carry my own bag but his voice interrupted my thoughts. “Don’t put the top lock on the door, I’ll be right back.”

As we headed out, the sky flashed again. The air felt cool against my skin and smelled like dew. It was a calming, fresh scent. It reminded me of potted flowers and succulents like the ones I had by the window in my room. The ones I always forgot to water but always survived, courtesy of one Elain Archeron. She knew I couldn’t keep anything alive, plant or fish, so she’d made sure to get me greenery that required minimal attention, which reminded me that I hadn’t watered them in a week. If it started pouring by the time I got home, I could stick them out the window and have them be watered au naturale. 

I jumped at the sound of thunder and instinctively grabbed Rhys’s hand. His fingers wrapping around mine were warm and rough whereas mine were cold and soft. He squeezed my hand and held on to mine as we continued walking. “It caught me off guard.”

“Mmhm,” he said.

The wind picked up slightly as we headed down the illuminated path amongst the trees and apartment complex gardens that stretched across an open space. Rain was certainly on its way, it was just a matter of when. We likely had a couple of minutes before the downpour began. Thunder sounded all around us, and one, two droplets landed on my cheek. Damn. Other than being way off in my calculations, I’d also forgotten to borrow an umbrella before we left. There was no avoiding that we were going to be caught in this. 

“I’m glad I grabbed this before we left,” said Rhys, opening an umbrella large enough to cover us both. At what point he’d grabbed the umbrella was beyond me. I stepped closer to him as he fumbled opening it. He gave it a slight jiggle with one hand that became more aggressive by the second as he attempted to push the sliding metal piece with his fingers. After about a minute, the section loosened up allowing for more movement. The issue now lay with the broken stretchers that were meant to hold the fabric. 

“Who the hell leaves a broken umbrella in the umbrella stand?” said Rhys. 

“Someone who forgot to throw it out?” 

“That’s why trashcans exist,” he sighed. Rhys let go of my hand and continued fumbling with the umbrella trying to see if the pieces would lock into place. Thunder sounded above us and more drops of water began falling slowly picking up.

“If we pick up the pace, we can make it before it really hits,” said Rhys. His eyes surveyed mine and I could tell he was both disappointed and worried that he’d let me down somehow. But unless he was secretly in cahoots with Mother Nature, there was no way any of this could be his fault or something for him to blame himself for. 

“I’m sorry about the weather,” said Rhys. The way he rubbed his neck and his brows drew together, I couldn’t bear the look of disappointment on his face for something out of his reach. 

I shook my head and smiled up at him. “What are you sorry about? A broken umbrella that you had no idea was broken? The sky? Rhysand, unless you secretly own a weather machine, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Forget the umbrella.”

“In fact,” I continued, “I think this is an opportunity.”

I took my bag and the umbrella from his hands, chucked the latter in the nearest bin, and placed my bag on the ground.

“An opportunity?” 

I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but I’d always wanted to dance in the rain like in movies and musicals. I felt bold and giddy at the idea of doing so now. All I could focus on was this tune from the third High School Musical installment. “Take my hand, take a breath.”

Standing in front of him, I stretched out my hand and offered it to Rhys. He looked puzzled but accepted my offer. “Pull me close, and take one step.”

“A song with instructions? I can follow that,” he said. A small smile formed on his lips.  

“Keep your eyes locked on mine,” I continued. 

His violet eyes twinkled beneath the moonlight and it almost looked like stars danced across his eyes as they softened, placing his other hand on my waist. He knew exactly what song I was referencing. After all, I’d made him watch it enough times with me. “And let the music be your guide.”

I nodded, cuing him to step with me. With his eyes wholly fixed on me, we slowly stepped into time, our shoes gently tapping against the pavement.

“Won't you promise me,” Rhys chimed. 

Pulling me closer against his chest, Rhysand guided me across the makeshift dance floor—the walkway between the trees—with a step here and a half turn there. We were dancing through the gardens illuminated by the night sky and lamp posts down the pathway as we waltzed further in. 

“Now won't you promise me, that you'll never forget.” 

“We'll keep dancing,” added Rhys. 

 “To keep dancing.” A smile curved across my lips. 

“Wherever we go next.” Our voices intertwined as we spun together, my hands held on to him tighter as the rain picked up. Swaying through the path of greenery, the scenery around us dissolved. It was just Rhys and I.  

Thunder crashed above, and the true downpour began. 

“It's like catching lightning the chances of finding someone like you,” we continued. I couldn’t help but smile brightly up at him as rain trailed down his face. The buzzing feeling from earlier that had coursed through my body now turned into a tingly feeling that reached from where Rhys was holding my hand—my fingers—to my chest. No, my body wasn’t buzzing, it was humming. We might have been dancing but I was floating in his embrace. I couldn’t look away from him. 

With every lyric, raindrops painted our clothes a shade darker. My indigo cardigan was now inked navy as we swayed to the invisible music. My feet splashed against puddles, drenching my white shoes in rainwater. They’d likely be gray by the time I got home but that didn’t matter. As our feet shuffled across the pathway, the sky reflected itself over the water on the trail creating an illusion of stars beneath our feet. We were dancing among the stars. 

We sang the rest of the song, never messing up the lyrics or missing a beat. We might have been recreating a moment by singing a song from one of my favorite films but this waltz was entirely made up by us. Rhys’s hand still grasping mine, spun me around as we brought the sound of the music in our chests to a slow end. His eyes were still on mine as we held our soaking bodies close. Was he always this beautiful?

I couldn’t help but marvel at his handsomeness and let an intrusive thought get the better of me as I ran my fingers across his cheek. He leaned into my warm touch, eyes softening. His eyes glanced from mine down to my lips. Please, I pleaded. I could feel my heart racing and my chest tightening at the thought of his lips on mine. Rhysand cleared his throat as his hands gently let go of mine, breaking the spell. 

Taking a step back, he scanned me from head to toe and chuckled. “I bet we look like drowned rats to anyone looking out their windows.”

I shook my head, holding back a smile.

“I feel like one too,” I said. Looking down at my jeans, there was not a dry spot on them. 

I bit the inside of my cheek. Had we just had a moment? I must have hallucinated it in the dark lighting. There was no way that Rhysand had looked like he’d wanted to kiss me two seconds ago. I wasn’t ignorant, I’d known Rhysand was objectively attractive. He had a strong jawline and he was fit from working out every week with Cassian and Azriel. He had nice cheekbones, luscious lashes, soft lips, and intelligent eyes. He was delightful to look at. He was…

Who was I kidding, he was handsome beyond compare. I just had never seen him in that way until now. Mother above, I was oblivious as they came. And I wished I could have blamed the alcohol for all of it—the way I was feeling, the thoughts I was having—but the truth was, I’d burned it out of my system with that dance. 

‘We should get going,” said Rhys. 

He grabbed my bag off the ground and we walked the rest of the way in awkward silence. I kept glancing sideways at him every so often. I’d definitely hallucinated that moment we’d had for a split second. The rest of the way to my place, I spent it looking at the ground contemplating while Rhysand stared at the stars as if searching for a cosmic answer. 

By the time we made it to my place, we were full-on drenched. I was sure my hair looked like a wet mop attached to my head. I patted my pockets in search of the key and found it in the left back pocket of my jeans. They jingled in my hands as I fumbled looking for the right one.

“I hope you’re not planning to walk back in this. At least let me offer you a towel.” I glanced sideways as I turned the key.

He didn’t argue. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He’d stayed quiet and simply nodded as I led him in. With Viviane at her boyfriend’s for the weekend, there was no one home. All the lights were off as we walked in. I flipped the light switches as we stepped through the place in search of something dry. In the hallway closet, I found some towels for us. Meanwhile, I could hear Rhys in the kitchen opening and closing the cabinets. 

As I turned the corner, I could see him pulling out two teabags from a box before his head turned in my direction. "I'll put the kettle on."

"So sweet of you, you're an angel," I said. 

On top of being handsome, he was very thoughtful. Was I really falling for my best friend? I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked on him as he turned on the stove and prepared tea for us. I bit my lower lip and turned towards the dryer that was hidden behind a sliding door. Neither of us was shivering or in any danger of getting frostbite, but a warm towel would certainly go well with tea. After a few minutes, the machine beeped just as the kettle began hissing. I pulled both towels out of the dryer and practically moaned at the warm touch against my skin. 

“Would you like a dry towel?” I offered.

“You don’t want my wet handkerchief to dry your wet face?” He glanced sideways at me as he poured water into each cup with a smirk painted across his face.

I giggled and walked further into the kitchen. As soon as he placed the kettle back on the stove, I threw a towel over my shoulder and placed the other one on his head as he turned around to face me. I ran the towel over his head, drying his hair before sliding it over his shoulders and wrapping it around his body. 

I looked up at him. “My hair is soaked, Rhys.” 

The clothes we were wearing could have easily squeezed out two gallons of water. I could have probably fed my succulents with the amount of liquids soaked into our outfits. If I could have thrown myself in the dryer too, I would have knocked out two birds with one stone. 

Standing in front of me, wrapped around in my towel, he looked adorable. Rhys’s eyes met mine and I could have sworn time stopped. All I could do was stare up at him. Oh gosh, was I staring? I blinked rapidly and dropped my gaze.

“You still look beautiful,” he said.

I felt my heart stop and my breath hitch. My hands stilled on his body still holding on to the light blue towel. Did he mean it in a friendly way? I glanced back up. His eyes peered down at me searching for something in mine. My lips parted as if to speak but I wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, I closed my mouth and swallowed. 

“Feyre.”

The way he said my name made my heart skip. He took a step, closing the gap between us. My name sounded low like a prayer on his lips. If he was praying, then I wanted to bless him but I needed a sign. I wanted a clear sign that he wasn’t just whispering my name in an empty apartment for no reason. 

“Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?” I half whispered.

His eyes glanced from my eyes to my mouth and back in a triangle manner. A small smile painted itself across his lips like a prayer answered. “You caught that.”

It wasn’t a question, he was making a statement.

“I wanted to be sure your head was clear when I kissed you,” said Rhysand.

“Rhys?”

“Yes?”

A pause.

“My head’s clear now,” I said.

Rhysand's head slowly leaned forward, stopping inches from my face, giving me time to take a step back if I wanted to back out. I didn’t. I wanted—needed, to know what his lips felt like on mine. If they were truly as soft as they looked. His fingers titled my chin up and kissed me. Gods, his kiss was more than soft, it was life-changing. His lips were gentle against mine, so sweet and delicately slow like he’d been waiting an eternity for this moment and now that he had it, now that the moment had arrived he wanted to savor it. If I’d been floating earlier when I danced with him beneath the rain, then I was soaring above the clouds and beyond the moon now. 

His hands cupped my face as mine slid into his hair, pulling him closer by the neck. Neither one of us parted to take a breath. I could tell this wasn’t just any kiss, this was the kiss. The one that would change our lives—my life—forever. The kiss I’d compare any other to. I could feel his chest against mine as our legs brushed against each other. Rhysand's hands slowly slid down my shoulders and arms and made their way down and around my waist. We pulled each other closer, our bodies seeking contact where they could as we continued wrapping ourselves against each other. We were two colliding stars, bursting with sparks and ever-changing hues.

After what felt like forever, I pulled back slightly, eyes closed. Blood had rushed into my cheeks, and there was no doubt that the heat against my flushed face had painted them rosy. I could feel his head leaning against mine, both of us breathless. Mother above, I truly was oblivious to everything. That definitely wasn’t a friend kiss. That was an I-want-to-be-more-than-friends kiss. 

Rhysand’s hand came up against my face tucking strands of semi-wet hair behind my ear. It felt like he was looking at me for the first time or trying to memorize every freckle on my face. A beat passed and he broke the silence. “I think I’m falling in love with you. I think I have been for a while.”

My heart skipped at those words—at his confession. My mouth gaped. There were no words. I wasn’t sure what to say. All I could focus on was the rising and beating in my chest as I focused on taking the next breath. Had this really just happened? Had we truly just kissed? Did he just say that he—

“I’m hoping you didn’t just kiss me to then break my heart, Feyre, darling.” He cupped my face as he spoke the last two words. 

“I never knew you liked me,” I said, stumbling on the words. 

“Now you do. And correction, I said I love you.” The corners of Rhysand’s mouth turned up. I couldn’t help the way my eyes widened in disbelief. He’d said the words again. 

“You love me?”

Rhys chuckled as he shook his head. He lifted my head with a hand beneath my chin as if inspecting me. “Did you hit yourself with the dryer door? Do I need to kiss you again? Or maybe hold your hand as we walk through a storm? Or dance in the rain while quoting your favorite movie?” 

He loved me. He loved me, and he not only meant it with the words he’d spoken, but Rhys had demonstrated and proved time and time again that he truly meant it, body and soul. A man who could talk the talk and walk the walk. Dare I say, he was a man after my own heart. 

“If you let me, I promise I’ll spend every day making sure you never doubt how worthy of love you are,” said Rhys. The back of his hand caressed my cheek.

“I’ll do anything with you, Rhys. As long as it’s you,” I said. 

His lips met mine again, this time with more passion and intensity. Wrapping my hands around his neck once more, I felt the towel slide off his shoulders and plop to the ground. Rhys's hands traveled around my hips, to the back of my thighs before he lifted me into his arms. Instinctually, I wrapped my legs around him and deepened our kiss. I wanted him closer. I wanted his body against mine without the barriers of our wet clothes. 

As if he’d read my thoughts, I could feel us moving down the hallway to my room. Every kiss turned deeper than the last and I knew I couldn’t deny myself the truth. I was completely and utterly in love with him. And I was a fool for not noticing before that maybe I had loved him longer than my body knew. Longer than I truly knew. He was my safe space, my person, my best friend. He was everything I could want in a man. He was everything. Rhys was everything.

Gently laying me against my bed, he pulled back slightly to look down at me. His eyes were like lilac-blue stars glistening against the moonlight as he marveled at me. It was almost like he couldn’t believe that this was real. I placed my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb. His lips smiled against my warm touch.

“I can’t stop smiling when I look at you,” said Rhys.

He gazed at me like a painter setting eyes on their muse. Like he’d been seeking inspiration his entire life and now he’d found it. Rhys shook his head in disbelief. “How did this happen?” 

The question wasn’t for me to answer, it was rhetorical. He was speaking his thoughts aloud as if waiting for a cosmic answer to shine through the window. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Feyre. 

“When I wake up, when I’m about to fall asleep, even in my dreams I can never stop thinking of you. When you’re not with me, it feels like something is missing. And, gosh, I hate poetry, but when I think of you…I can’t help but imagine that this is what the greats write about. This feeling. It’s like poets are reciting their writings in my head.”

I could feel the corners of my eyes becoming damp. I could spend the rest of this night in his arms simply admiring him. His honest eyes were full of more unspoken words of love. I could feel the wetness of my clothes seeping into the blanket below but I didn’t care. I thumbed his lips, his Apollo’s arched bow, memorizing this moment. I could feel my shaky voice escaping me as I spoke.

“All these years, I thought we were just friends, and I was okay with that…but now I realize that maybe I’ve felt like this for a while about you. That I’ve loved you without knowing that this is what it was.”

“You love me?” A smile spread across his lips.

“Did you hit yourself with the door coming in? Or do I need to kiss you again?” I mimicked his earlier question. 

He gently rubbed his nose against mine, his lips inches from my own.

“Kiss me again,” he whispered.

I moaned against his lips this time. I wanted him to hold me, to touch me, to kiss me, to say my name. I wanted everything and more. We tugged against wet clothes, which were much harder to take off thanks to their added weight. They stuck to our bodies and made it difficult to slide out of them. But we didn’t care. We kissed and laughed our way out of the heavy wet clothing until we were skin to skin. Until we were finally warm in each other's embrace. And for the first time in a while, I prayed.

Rhys.

I prayed the rest of the night as his body melded against mine, pulling prayer after prayer from my lips. His name, the only one I wanted to whisper against the moonlight shining through my window. It was only our names echoing from the other’s lips against soft I love yous with every touch and shift against hips. We were dancing like stars in the night sky, and holding on to each other as if we’d collided into one. Our whispers and sighs grew more uneven. He was my gravity, my center, and I was his. With Rhys’s eyes on mine and a final waltz around the universe, I felt my world burst like a nuclear fission. Like a star reaching its last evolutionary stage. 

Rhys kissed me again, softer this time, and wrapped me in his arms as we lay beneath the comfort of warm blankets, tangled in each other. Pulling me against his chest, he whispered. "Did you know that rainy day cuddles are two times more effective than sunny day cuddles?"

“Don’t you have to tell Cas to lock the door for you,” I said. 

“That can wait,” said Rhys, kissing the top of my head.

[queercontrarian]

Eris calls in his bargain with Rhysand: he wants Nesta to join him in the Autumn Court to help him in his scheme to bring down his father.

an @acotargiftexchange fic dedicated to @secret-third-thing. my goal is to post one chapter a week until the end. big thanks to @iftheshoef1tz for letting me scream in your dms about this fic and to @acourtofladydeath for being the best spy i could've asked for. i love you, please enjoy ♡

read on AO3

Prologue

Eris had been born in the middle of the night on an unusually cold day, less than a week before the Summer Solstice. He’d been told the story of how he came into the world many times by his mother, and even more often by her midwives who liked retelling it every time his mother went into labor again. Six times they had repeated it to him while he was waiting outside of his mother’s quarters along with the rest of the family and later his younger brothers. He knew it by heart, every last detail of it etched into his mind. 

How his mother had gone into labor a few days earlier than the healers had anticipated. Just couldn’t wait to be born , they would say. The first Vanserra child born in centuries, with all the hope of saving a failing bloodline resting on his tiny shoulders. 

How loud he’d screamed. Strong lungs - a good sign . He needed to be strong, and loud, to make people pay attention to him. Attention was currency in his grandfather’s court. 

How his father had burst into the room the very first time he heard him scream to welcome his firstborn into the world. How he’d held him, how happy he’d been, how proud of mother and child. Fires shining brighter all over Autumn, flames so high some even believed the phoenix had finally returned.

Eris couldn’t remember a time when Beron had ever been so open to his family. He couldn’t remember his father showing love for anything at all, least of all for him or his brothers. 

Maybe that Beron had died when he finally became High Lord, maybe the females had simply embellished the story to paint a picture of a strong, healthy family leading the Court. One in which fathers didn’t go up in flames at every minor provocation, one in which children weren’t tortured and mothers did not turn a blind eye to their suffering, drowning their fear in old tales of long lost honor and glory, in religion and romance and too much wine, where brothers didn’t try to murder each other for a throne that would poison any that sat upon it. 

Unfortunately, that was not Eris’s family. 

He’d learned to live with it. It wasn’t as if he’d ever known anything else. He grew up never expecting more. He knew his place in the world, and it was standing at his father’s side, standing behind his father, standing in his father’s shadow. The War had come and gone, he had been promoted, demoted, praised and humiliated, revered and replaced. Six brothers, six rivals; four brothers, three rivals. He’d loved and he’d lost and he’d left himself behind when he went Under The Mountain, had lied and cheated and bargained and had come out on top. He had grown too big for his father’s shadow. He knew it was time. He could feel it.

All that to say that Eris was used to waiting. He had waited for over 500 years, so really, what was one more hour to that? Just one lousy hour until the plans he had set up so meticulously over decades were set into motion. 

One hour, maybe two. You could never be quite sure with Rhysand. He liked to keep Eris waiting. A power play, obviously. A cheap one, but as a High Lord he could afford it. 

Eris dragged his finger over the table. It was dusty. He tried to wipe his finger on the upholstery of the chair in front of him, which was only slightly less dusty. The whole damn room was dusty. Sometimes he wondered if the Court of Dreams, as they liked to call themselves, ever even used these halls outside of when they had to meet with him or Keir. They certainly didn’t use them often enough to have them cleaned regularly. Eris supposed it was part insult, part evidence of incapacity. Why clean these rooms when you did most of your governing in some hidden city far away anyway? 

Either way, Eris was being just as petty by insisting on meeting now, just after the solstice. Festivities in the Solar Courts often lasted nearly the whole week and Eris knew for a fact that Rhysand always dedicated more time to his family around the Winter Solstice in particular. Eris didn’t feel in the least bit guilty for interrupting it. Consider it payback for the insults, for mistreating his soldiers and for making him wait in this cold, dusty, ugly room. He didn't expect much from the High Lord and his inner circle, but that didn't mean he had to be happy with what he got. His thumb found the hilt of the Made dagger on his hip. He had no use for empty words or disloyal armies, and he certainly didn’t need Rhysand to hold his hand while he stabbed his father in the back. He had bigger plans.

By the time Rhysand finally slinked into the room it was past five. He reeked of sex, of his mate and very faintly of the godawful tea they liked to serve in the Night Court. Eris was tempted to check his pocket watch to know exactly how long the male had kept him waiting for these vain pursuits but he chose not to. Rhysand disrespected his time on purpose, so he would not let him see that it got under his skin. 

The little things were how he took back his power. Acting unaffected, refusing food or drink, to be treated as a guest, standing instead of sitting no matter how long he was made to wait so he wouldn’t have to get up to show respect when his so-called allies deigned to appear at their meetings - he had a long list of grievances to pay back in small petty gestures.

Eris took his time to greet the High Lord, slowly angling his head and then his entire body to face the High Lord and sketching a bow that was lazy yet precise. After all, he was a cauldron-damned Autumn-taught and trained courtier, and he would never be caught dead disregarding the manners that had been beaten into him since he was a little boy. There was a certain amount of respect demanded that he would give - no more than necessary though.

“Rhys,” he said smoothly, trying hard not to breathe through his nose. The smell was really quite overwhelming and he did not need to know all the details of the High Lord's night so intimately. Another grievance on his list. He forced a neutral expression onto his face. 

Rhysand inclined his head in Eris’s direction, baring his teeth in what only barely resembled a smile. Eris knew it was meant to look wrong and unsettling, but he could tell that Rhysand's heart wasn’t in it. He looked tired. Something was weighing on him, something that would either help him in this or complicate his plans. Unfortunately he didn’t have the time to spend on finding out what exactly it was.

“Eris. I have to admit I was surprised you requested another meeting so soon, seeing as you just joined us at the Solstice ball earlier tonight." Eris watched Rhysand settle into the high-backed throne at the end of the dusty table, shaking his head when his host motioned for him to sit also.

"I figured this was something you would rather discuss in private. Don’t worry, it won't take too much of your time." 

Rhysand chuckled darkly. “No, you only insist on meeting in the middle of the night for what, a chat? To what do I owe the pleasure of your disturbance?” Eris mirrored his smirk, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. A disturbance . How charming.

In this at least Rhysand had the right hunch. After Eris told him his demands he wasn’t so sure Rhysand would sleep any more at all tonight, nor enjoy the week of festivities planned in the Night Court to celebrate the Solstice and their High Lady’s birthday. There was a sort of sick satisfaction he found in that, in rendering the powerful powerless, in reminding the comfortable of how vulnerable they really were. Sometimes they needed a little push off of their high pedestals. It served to build character. In Eris’s humble opinion, he was doing them a favor.

Fifty years Under the Mountain, fifty years under the bitch queen’s thumb and still, Rhysand did not understand that he wasn’t the only one planning ahead, not the only one with tricks up his sleeve. It had taken him only two years to forget how easily one could lose everything on a bargain. Too comfortable . 

As if to prove his point, Eris felt a talon of darkness swipe lazily at his mind’s wards. They stayed firmly in place as they always did, but Eris still bristled at the half-hearted attempt. Disrespectful . Breaking into another’s mind unbidden was a grave breach of trust and generally considered an act of aggression against foreign dignitaries, especially against allies. 

Of course, such rules did not exist for the High Lord of the Night Court. Rhysand, pretending like he hadn’t just blatantly and audaciously broken protocol, stayed silent, only vaguely gesturing with his hand for Eris to go on. Performing superiority, impatience, boredom. Again, incredibly rude. Oh, Beron would have a field day with a son like Rhysand. 

Still, Eris kept his mouth shut, clasped his hands behind his back and swallowed the insult like he’d been taught to. 

"I am here to call in our bargain," he said calmly. And oh, that certainly woke the High Lord up. His eyes cleared and he sat up in his chair almost like he was pulled by invisible threads. Now he had his attention. Now they were playing the game by Eris’s rules. He had to fight back a smile as he said his next words:

“I demand the support I was promised. I want Nesta Archeron."

[acourtofladydeath]

It's The Most Wonderful Time of The Year

And by that I mean, it's time to deliver my @acotargiftexchange present to my wonderful giftee and good friend @thevanserrras

Ho, ho, hope you love it my dear!!

Azriel and Eris have been mated for a long time, and known about their bond for even longer. After years of learning to love each other and hiding their relationship, they've determined it's finally safe to tell the rest of the family. This Winter Solstice, they're ready to tell the rest of the Inner Circle their most important secret. And maybe Eris will finally have that loving family holiday he's always wanted.

Chapter 1 follows the males on Solstice Eve as they prepare for the big reveal. Chapter 2 is Solstice Day itself when they finally get to share their secret with the Inner Circle.

Read it here on AO3!

[shallyne]

(Are We) Out Of The Woods

Hi, @starfall-spirit ! It's me, I'm your secret santa 🎅✨ It's been such a fun journey, sending you asks and creating this. I really hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I did creating it 💚🎁 happy @acotargiftexchange reveal day 🎉🎄🎀

Words: 7,762

TW: death, kidnapping, violence

Feyre was once a normal woman with wishes and dreams like everyone but when she gets betrayed by her fiancé her whole life changes in the span of one evening as she looks death in the eye.

Rhysand is a normal man with wishes and dreams like everyone, although when he wakes one morning his nightmare seems to become reality. How will Feyre play into this unexpected journey?

Don't trust strangers. Be careful, be aware. Do not speak to strangers and if you do, keep it short. Never go to places alone with a stranger. Do not accept any food or beverage from a stranger. Tell no stranger, under any circumstances, where you live. Keep your distance from strangers, never let them get too close to you. There is a lot of evil in this world, little wildcat. Never. Trust. Strangers.

A warning spoken to a toddler, a wild child, spoken to a teenager. It was a warning that was kept close and never forgotten, a promise that was kept. Never did anyone speak about the other danger. The danger in the form of the man you loved, the man who held your hands and wiped away the tears. The man that was charming, had a beautiful, not-dangerous smile. The man who promised you a future, to keep you safe, to start a family. No one spoke about the danger in the form of a priestess in beautiful blue robes, tinkling silver bracelets and hungry eyes. The priestess who lived among them, who was supposed to officiate your wedding. The priestess who was ridden in jealousy, who had secretly planned your demise all along.

Feyre Archeron was going to die today. If one thing was sure, it was this. Terror was overriding her senses, her whole body was shaking from her bound arms down to her bound legs. They had used a scratch piece of material to cover her eyes and her mouth. Two strong hands were carrying her, hands that she had felt so often on her hands that she knew them like her own. Hands she had loved to feel on her skin, until now. Now it felt wrong, the feeling made her so nauseous that she feared her stomach would empty very soon. She hadn't a clue where they were, the ringing in her ears was so shrill she couldn't make out any other noise and her nose was stuffy from crying. The only smell she could take in was the salt of her tears and the metallic tang of blood that was stinging her nose. It was her blood, she knew, because they had dragged her out of the manor and Feyre hadn't gone down without a fight. Something hard had hit her head, her temple, and Feyre had lost her consciousness. When she awoke, she was bound and gagged and carried to another location.

Time was so far away that Feyre didn't know if they walked for a few minutes or a few hours, but it must have been a while because when Tamlin spoke, Feyre flinched.

"Is this necessary?" he asked, voice unsure. Necessary? Of course this wasn't necessary, whatever this is! That he would even entertain this idea filled Feyre with so much rage that she wanted to roar at him. Why? She wanted to ask him. Why would you do this to me?

Ianthe's answer came from a closer distance than Feyre had expected, "Of course this is necessary, Tamlin! I know this is hard for you but the Gods are fickle. Beautiful and strong, that's what Feyre is, isn't she? That is what the Gods want. You don't want to risk a wrath? You don't want a war at your front steps? Do this and be done." a cold finger suddenly caressed Feyre's cheek and she flinched back. An irritated tsk was the only recognition she got. It was silent for a moment, the ringing in her ears ebbed away, her heartbeat slowed, Tamlin and Ianthe didn't talk. During that one moment that wasn't longer than a heartbeat, Feyre could hear it. Faint, but it was there and she knew exactly where they were headed. Panic rising once again, she started thrashing in Tamlin’s arms, trying to scream. With a curse, he pressed her closer to his chest harder, making it impossible to move as they neared the waterfall, farther and farther away from her hometown. Tenebra was rumored to be the old home of the Goddess Vae, once a very long time ago. This forest was hers to rule, the creatures that lived in these woods bowed only to her. Rumors say it was once full of magical beings that Feyre couldn't remember the names of because these stories were told to children. Stories how people saw Vae still roaming the forest, especially the waterfall Tenebra. Feyre remembered how Ianthe had included her in her prayers. The trembling began again as the sounds of the rushing water came nearer and Feyre knew she was a sacrifice. A sacrifice to the goddess, or at least Tamlin believed that. Ianthe had made him believe it, so she could finally get rid of her. Feyre wanted to scream and fight, she wanted to slap some sense into Tamlin. Never did the Gods of these lands demand human sacrifices, not once in Feyre's too short lifetime.

They came to a stop, the gurgling water of the river right beside her, so close that she could feel trickles of water on her exposed skin. The waterfall was roaring so loud that Feyre couldn't decipher any other noises.

Suddenly the cloth of the blindfold was ripped from Feyre's head and she was met by a pair of teal eyes. Surely the terror on Feyre's face gave Ianthe a sadistic satisfaction. Her breathing became erratic as she tried to kick her feet out, to no success. Tamlin stepped closer to the waterfall, and Feyre wildly shook her head, trying to scream, to speak. Please, she wanted to say. It's everything she could think. Please, please, please. The waterfall was pounding on the rocks below, in rhythm with her heart that was thumping in her chest. She was next, slamming on these stones. She would be next.

The only warning she got was Ianthe clasping her hands as her lips moved. A prayer. Next thing she knew, Tamlin threw her off the cliff and she was plummeting to her death. Strangling noises escaped her as she tried to scream, pulling at the binds on her wrists. The wind was ripping on her nightdress and her hair, pulling strands of her braid free. Help me, Feyre prayed. Save me, please save me, she asked whoever could hear her. Vae never asked for human sacrifices, Feyre knew that. Maybe Vae would save her, although she was a fickle goddess. Maybe, maybe, maybe Vae would save her. Please. That was the last thing she thought before she slammed into something hard. Feyre was dead before she could feel pain.

It was dark and…cold? Feyre hadn't expected the afterlife to be cold, she hadn't expected to feel anything or think. There wasn't a doubt that Feyre was dead because she didn't have a body, not like before. She just…was. It was still, never did Feyre witness such a silence. She tried to step forward, but she didn't know if she succeeded, she didn't feel a thing, couldn't see a thing. As she tried to make sense of where she was, the temperature became warm, so suddenly that Feyre startled. The nothingness started to transform, becoming inky. It was still pitch black but Feyre had the sensation that there was a rim of gold, a thread. She lashed forward, swim! a voice told her. Her own voice. So she did, she swam towards the gold until it was close, until she could touch it. Just a little closer and she was there. She touched it, grabbed it, yanked on it.

First nothing happened but then Feyre was assaulted with a cacophony of sounds, she groaned and covered her ears with her hands. Hands. She had hands.

"Open your eyes." an ethereal voice demanded, gentle but assertive.

Feyre listened, slowly opening her eyes. She was met with bright, forest green eyes that Feyre could have sworn were freckled with stars. Her thin, heart shaped lips stretched into a smile and her jet-black hair fell over Feyre like a curtain as the woman looked down at her. Just then did she recognize the roaring of the waterfall and every muscle in her body locked up.

"Don't be scared, my child." the woman soothed her, a cold hand caressing her cheek. "You're in no danger, not anymore. I saved you." she tucked her hair behind her ear, her green eyes leaving her face, focusing on something on Feyre's left. She followed her line of sight, until it found a heap of bloodied clothes. No, not just clothes. A heap of tangled, severed limbs. Ianthe robe, Tamlins tunic. They were dead, it wasn't a dream. Feyre survived–

"You died," the woman said, a humorless huff as her eyes stayed fixed in what had been Tamlin and Ianthe. "Anything, they could have offered anything as a tribute and they gave you." Feyre raised her hands, looking at them thoroughly. Something has changed, they looked different but she couldn't place it. "You were dead," the woman repeated, "I brought you back. It's impossible to bring humans back from the dead, so there was a price to pay, so you've traded your humanity." she tilted her head, looking at Feyre. "Such a young soul, you wanted to live. I've heard your call for help, how desperately you clung to that little thread of life inside of you."

Feyre looked again at the pile of limbs that lay at the other side of the river under an ordinary pine tree, just now realizing how far it was away. She could see so very far now. She took in the woman that still hovered above her, the golden skin that seemed to radiate light, she kept talking. "Rage had consumed my very being when I saw them standing there, falling to your death. They also paid the price, paid with their life. I made sure of it." As if snapping out of a trance she turned back to Feyre, shrugging her shoulders.

Feyre waited to feel frightened but all she felt was relief. She lived, she was thankful. "Vae," she breathed.

The Goddess smiled at her, fully and without restraint. "Welcome home, my child."

Rhysand

Rhys had a dream. A nightmare, really. He was in a forest, not a normal forest. It had felt magical, somehow. Different. Of course he didn't pay much attention to it because he was on a mission to find his mother, who was kidnapped. Time was against him, he had to find her. Panic was rising inside him because with every ticking second the chances became slimmer that he would find his mother alive. Racing through the thicket of the forest, he listened. Nothing but chirping birds, rushing water and– his mother's scream sliced through the forest. That was when Rhysand had awoken, drenched in sweat and trembling, nausea rising up. When he got up, he realized that his mother wasn't there and that his dream was more real than he realized.

That's how he found himself trudging up a dirt path, to the forest he was pretty sure he had seen in his dream, followed by his brothers Azriel and Cassian and his Cousin Mor. He knew it was a long shot, it was only a dream after all but something pulled him here and deep down, he knew he was right. He felt like an idiot explaining this to his family but they listened and they believed him, for now. If they wouldn't have any lead towards his mother within the next hour, they would go to the police.

"That's weird," Mor mused, staring down at her phone, "according to google maps there shouldn't be a forest here." she scratched her forehead, looking at the sprawling line of trees they walked towards.

"Are we at the right location?" Azriel spoke for the first time since they entered the car an hour ago.

Rhys and Mor spoke at the same time, "Yes." and as Mor fell into an explanation, he quickened his steps as the pull became stronger. A cold gust of wind blasted them, making Rhys shiver in his winter coat. It was the middle of December, close to christmas and the temperatures in the north were cold. It made him worry all the more about his mother, granted that he didn't know how long she was missing and what she was wearing. Praying to every god and goddess that his mother had told him stories about as a young boy, he hoped she was fine. I will find you, mom. He promised, silently.

The steps behind him hurriedly came closer to keep up with Rhysand, as he neared the treeline. He didn't stop, even as Mor said, "Are you sure this is right?"

No, he wasn't but he wouldn't say that, this was the only lead and he couldn't not follow it. "It's worth a shot. If we go to the police now they likely won't help us because there is no indication of her being–" he swallowed, "They wouldn't help us but I know something happened."

It became quiet and Rhys didn't check if they were all following him, until Mor softly said, "Okay."

The only noise that stretched between them was the crunching of their steps on the frosted ground as they reached the first pine tree. The forest looked utterly normal, a line of tall pine trees bulking over them but when they stepped forward, the whole world seemed to change. It was a buzzing feeling right under Rhysand's skin, as if something had awoken after a long sleep. The shape of trees seemed to take other shapes and the colors became brighter, a whole other season. The winter attire he was wearing felt suffocating. The color of the tree trunks seemed lighter, and the leaves of the canopy above almost resembled a pink tone, mixed with yellows, light greens and…violet. The forest itself. The energy all around him seemed pulsing and alive, as if it was its own entity. Rhysand felt like he stepped into a fairytale forest.

"Holy shit," Cassian breathed, stopping beside Rhys. Mor gaped, turning to take in her surroundings. Azriel carefully had a hand hovering at his side, where he had his gun tucked away.

Rhys shook his head, there wasn't any time to marvel at nature, they had a mission. He said as much before he took to the right, no clue where he should go.

"So we just wander around and hope we find your mother? What if we never find out of this monstrosity?" Mor asked.

Rhys sighed, "I thought you had your phone."

"I do," she said, followed by the rustle of her jacket. He looked over his shoulder to see his cousin but as he did, his eye catched a white blur between the trees. Squinting his eyes, he tried to make sense of the form but it was already gone. It was probably imagination, making out things where nothing was because he needed to find his mother. Opening his mouth, the form appeared again in the corner of his eye. In an attempt to catch it, he whirled his head around but nothing was there. He refrained from cursing, at least he did until he stepped forward and crashed into an invisible wall.

"Are you okay?" Mor immediately asked, rushing to his side.

Rubbing his forehead, Rhys slowly reached forward until he met the wall again. "What the–"

His brother's hand gripped his arm and pulled him back, Azriel doing the same with Mor, as a huge wolf jumped forward, so big it was towering over them, growling. Its fur was so black that Rhys would have thought he was staring into a void if it wasn't for the glowing green eyes staring at him and the bared teeth. Rhys tried not to pay attention to the latter, as one of his canines was as big as his forearm. What if his mother had encountered one of these? No. She couldn't, she had to be alive.

"Bryaxis!" a husky voice called out, it was authoritative but angelic in its very own way. The forest seemed to stop and listen as the source of the voice came closer.

When the woman emerged, Rhys's breath hitched. She was everything he could have dreamt of, but a thousand times better. A glow seemed to be emanating from her, setting off her pale, freckled skin, the golden-brown of her hair and the grayish blue of her eyes. A soft wind ruffled her wavy hair, as if it was curious to touch her.

The wolf, Bryaxis, backed down with a whine as the woman scrutinized them, eyebrows drawn together. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

After a heartbeat of shock, Rhys cleared his throat and stepped forward, "My name is Rhysand. We are sorry to intrude but my Mother is missing and I believe she is here, somewhere in this forest."

"That can't be!" she barely let Rhys finish his sentence, "I know of everyone who enters this forest-"

Bryaxis whimpered, making her turn around in confusion. "What?" He whimpered again and the woman tilted her head as if she'd understood the wolf. While they had a conversation that no one else could understand, Rhys took in her garments. It wasn't anything fit for the season, not even the warmth this forest seemed to emanate. A long, white gown, seemingly made from silk, with wide sleeves that flared toward the bottom. The gown was flowing and hid her feet, making her look like she was hovering above the ground. That was impossible of course, she was not defying gravity. Suddenly she whirled around, looking Rhys in the eyes, holding eye contact for long moments as if she was searching for something. Then she let her eyes rover over his brothers and his cousin, her mouth silently moving. Rhys thought she was counting, but she didn't give any indication, except a little shake of her head that could be interpreted in many ways. "He couldn't…could he? But that's–" she sighed. Then she turned her attention to him again, "Your mother, you say? Can you describe her to me?"

"I can show you a picture!" Rhys said, pulling his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket.

The woman jumped back with a shocked shriek, "What is that?"

"My phone." Rhys replied, confused. How long had she lived in that forest? How old was she? He tried to turn on his phone but he only managed to get to the homescreen before it died. At eighty-four percent. The same happened to Mor when he told her, and to his brothers.

"Do you have something of hers? That still has her scent?" the woman asked

That he had. Hastily he took his mother's scarf out of his backpack and gave it to her, she held it to Bryaxis, who sniffed on it. She gave the scarf back after Bryaxis poked her with his nose.

"Follow me," the woman said. "I'll accompany you on this journey. Do not stray from the way, if you stumble into a strange territory without me, there is a price to pay. I know the forest the best, understood? Don't talk to anyone and don't, under any circumstances, make a bargain."

They all made noises of agreement. "Thank you…miss." Mor said, struggling as she realized the stranger leading them didn't introduce herself.

"Feyre," she had replied, already taking off without looking back. They followed her. "My name is Feyre."

Time felt different in the forest, they were walking for some time, which could be minutes or hours, Rhys had no clue. Cassian and Azriel kept a few paces behind, Cassian sometimes whispering to Azriel, and Mor walked besides Rhys, becoming unusually quiet since Feyre had introduced herself. Feyre and Bryaxis led them farther into the forest, the foliage becoming denser every few meters, making it impossible to see the sun but somehow the light stayed the same. It was already clear that these woods were everything but ordinary, but he couldn't help but marvel at the beauty and the sense of magic that prickled on his skin as if it was beckoning to be acknowledged. Colors became more vibrant, the atmosphere more alive as if watching their every step, making the trees seem less like trees but more like guardians. He supposed that if it was really alive, he would be distrusting of this group in their place, except for the mysterious woman that led them. The woman they would be lost without, and her wolf, the woman Mor looked at with a strange sort of admiration. If she left them now, they would probably wander these woods forever, searching for an exit. He hoped that wasn't his mother's fate, it couldn't be.

As if Feyre could hear his thoughts, she whirled around, suddenly stopping. "I changed my mind."

It took a few seconds until Rhys processed the words and his ears started ringing, "What?" he bit out. Even Bryaxis seemed to tilt his head in confusion.

"I was thinking about it and I changed my mind, I won't lead you to your mother." Rhys was about to open his mouth and say something he most definitely would regret but Feyre added, "Unless you will make a bargain with me."

Taking a deep breath, Cassian said, "You just told us to not make any bargains."

Feyre shrugged, her eyes sparkling, "Everything has a price."

Rhys balled his hand into a fist, "What is your price?"

"I assume you have seen the pixies that watched you a while back? Or the path that led to a dragon's path?" she crossed her arms as if this was a normal conversation she had everyday.

Rhys did remember seeing the pixie but he thought it was a trick of his imagination. "I have." he confirmed.

Feyre smiled satisfied, "This isn't even a fraction of what you can imagine living in this forest." Rhys swallowed, "So my bargain is, I will lead you to your mother and tell you about all sorts of creatures in return for you to tell stories about them. Fables, myths, fairy tales, legends, written or by word, you name it. Get the word out."

"That's all?" Rhys asked incredulously and Mor pinched his side. "Ow."

"That's all." Feyre said, "Don't even think about tricking me, the bargain will bind you to your word." she held out her hand, "Is it a bargain?"

"What happens if I won't hold up my end of the bargain?" Rhys asked, already sure of his decision.

"Magic is unpredictable but it will most likely be death." she replied, her hand still extended.

He sighed, "It's a bargain." he said, taking her hand. Feyre's grip was stronger than he expected and he was scared she would snap his hand for a moment, that moment Rhys realized for the first time that she had markings on her hand, like a tattoo. Intricate swirls all over her left hand, over her arm too but her sleeves made it impossible to see how far. Then she turned around and kept walking, as if they only took a small, unimportant break. It was Azriel who tapped on his shoulder, getting Rhys out of his trance. When they all caught up with Feyre, she started talking. She explained that there were different parts in the forest where specific beings lived, that Feyre knew them all and what kind of beings they were. All kinds of creatures that Rhys last heard about when he was a child and always believed them to be myths, children's stories. Feyre talked about selkies, nixies, kelpies, anansi, stygian spiders. She had all of Cassian’s attention when she talked about mothman. She also mentioned Balayang, adarna, harpy, sirens, basan, grim, chimeras. On Cassian’s request she also confirmed that bigfoot exists. Drakes, vampyrs, witches, reapers, wraiths. There were also pixies, elves, nymphs, dryads and sprites who were mostly known as fairies. There were much more beings that Feyre explained, but his attention switched to Mor as she became more restless. Rhys was about to speak to her when Feyre took a small break from talking, but Mor took the opportunity to ask Feyre, "So the stories are all true?"

Feyre smiled softly, "I don't know what kind of stories your kind was told but most likely, yes. Although they were probably dramatized."

Mor tilted her head in thought, "There is a story about the lady of Nox." She went quiet but Feyre still smiled, gently gesturing for her to keep talking. "It's about a waterfall, well not a waterfall but about a goddess who lived there and she granted people immortality in exchange for the soul of a woman. Is that true? Do goddesses exist? That story creeped me out."

Feyre's smile faltered and Rhys probably imagined it but she seemed to pale and swallow. "This is a myth that's told? You all know it?"

"Yes?" Mor replied unsure, "Although the waterfall has a different name in every story." she exhaled, before she added, "It's your story, isn't it? Feyre. You were granted immortality."

Feyre shook her head and looked at Bryaxis, who in return looked at her as if she solved a puzzle. "It's not right," she said so quietly that Rhys barely heard her, "It's wrong, it's not…it's the story of how I died." Rhys went rigid, but Feyre didn't seem to realize as she kept whispering to herself. Then she looked Rhys in the eyes, "I know where your mother is. Where she is headed."

It didn't help anything to calm his worries that Feyre's eyes went distant, almost glassy. She gestured for them to follow her, picking up her pace. Mor squeezed his hand in reassurance as they picked up their pace, too.

"We have to go through the middle," Feyre explained, "It will go faster. Maybe we will catch them before they reach Tenebra."

"What's Tenebra?" Cassian asked.

"Hurry!" Feyre only replied.

They did hurry. What looked like a brisk walk for Feyre, was more like a jog for Mor, Cassian, Azriel and Rhys. As they did, the temperatures changed a few times but he was sure it didn't come from the forest itself, it came from the female leading them. He had the distinct feeling the weather and the temperatures were tied to her and the weight of what Mor said, that Feyre was made immortal, felt a lot heavier. They passed paths that led no doubt to somewhere dangerous and beautiful and a creature that looked scarily much like a satyr that waved to Feyre. She only managed to quickly wave back before she turned right after a tree with a pink-ish trunk. No one paid much attention to the cleft they reached and hurried over the wooden bridge. Nothing scared Rhys so much that it would keep him from the people he loved, especially his mother.

The forest became darker the farther they walked into the forest, as if winter only reached the middle of the woods. Rhys wondered if that was the reason Feyre was nervous about the middle but she was so fearless, he couldn't imagine that snowfall could be the reason.

Mist began to spill out between the trees, the foliage turning from vibrant into a sickly shade, cringing away from the creeping darkness. Feyre herself seemed to be affected by the nearing…sickness.he didn't find another word, it was the only one that could describe the atmosphere. It wasn't naturally dark, it was ill.

They slowed down a little as they apparently neared the center and as they crossed the thickest veil of mist, Rhys knew why sickness only felt close to right. The land was dying and it was spreading. Before Rhys was flat, dead land that reached far into the horizon. He could only make out a few gnarly trees, dried rivers and rubble of what once were grand buildings. Vultures were circling above.

Feyre slowed so far down that it was easy to catch up to her, Bryaxis was ahead of them. When he turned his head to look at Feyre, he saw that silent tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"Were you present when this land was…less dead?" Rhys asked her. They were walking so close that Rhys faintly stroked her hand. He expected Feyre to draw back, but she didn't.

She only wiped her tears with her other hand, "I was here when this piece of land didn't even exist yet, I watched when it all was built." she sniffed and looked up to Rhys. They held eye contact for a few seconds and it felt so open, Rhys's chest felt tight. Feyre had felt cold until now, mysterious and ethereal but now as she turned away again, she seemed almost human. "This forest, it once was a normal pine forest. But as I was…created, it changed. My story found itself as a tale among humans and these stories kept me alive. It grew, many stories have been created and so have many creatures who live here. We only live because humans believe in us, in our tales." she sighed before she continued, "Humans don't believe in these stories as they once have and it kills us.it kills these woods and I don't know how to stop it…"

"That's why you want me to tell these stories?" Rhys asked, "To keep the forest alive?"

Feyre nodded as they stepped around rubble, a cold wind pulling on their clothes. "It's the only way I can come up with. If the people start believing again, we might be saved. I don't think this," she pointed around the dead land, "will ever exist again but if I can save the rest, I will. Whatever it takes."

Rhys looked back to his brothers and his cousin, they all looked as sad and helpless as he felt but no one could speak before Bryaxis started growling.

Feyre ran forward, resting her hand on Bryaxis' back and shielded her eyes as they looked forward. "I see a man." she said. Rhys squinted his eyes, trying to see what they saw but he didn't succeed. "He seems to be middle aged, close cropped hair, kind of a hunchback and a limp–"

"Hybern." Azriel said for the first time since they came across Feyre, his voice so cold it came out as a growl.

Feyre slightly leaned forward, then gasped, "I think it's your mother!" she said.

Rhys didn't hear anything else as he fell into a sprint. Their calls felt like they were worlds away but he could only think about his mother. Hybern had her, he dragged her here. That man always was somewhat enemies with his father but Rhys had believed he was rid of that man after his father's passing. It took him longer than anticipated before he could even faintly make out the two figures and it was without a doubt his mother. He could hear his family behind him, their steps crunching on the ground under their feet.

His rage only grew the closer he came, as he could see how Hybern was dragging his mother. Her hands were tied and the braid she usually wore was almost unraveled.

He'd kill Hybern, Rhys was sure that when he reached him, he'd kill him.

Closer, he thought. Now he could make out the tattered jacket Hybern was wearing. His mother had fought him, good. He hadn't doubted it but it filled him with pride.

Closer, now he was so close that when his mother looked up at Hybern, turning her head, he saw the blood coating her temple.

Close, so close that they could hear the crunch of the rubble under his foot. Hybern turned around, his smug face turning shocked as he saw Rhys. He only had a moment to decide what to do before Rhys would reach them and when Hybern's black gaze met his mother's, just then Rhys realized that they stood at some sort of cliff as he pushed her.

"No!" Rhys yelled, flinging himself forward, grabbing his mother's hand. She stumbled backwards, but Rhys held her and pulled her up as something behind him thumped heavily. He quickly undid the bindings on her wrists with the knife he had on him and removed the piece of duct tape on her mouth he hadn't seen earlier.

"Rhys," his mother cried, hugging him as she sobbed, "What are you doing here? How did you know?" she leaned back and took his face in her hands, how she often had done when he was a little boy. "You could have been seriously injured! Are you out of your mind?"

"You are out of your mind if you'd think I wouldn't find you–" he said, being interrupted by Hybern's cursing.

"You bitch!" he yelled, "Let me go!"

Rhys looked over his shoulder, where Feyre straddled Hybern, choking him as her face twisted in rage. "This is my forest!" she screamed at him, slightly letting up and then pushing him on the ground so hard that some bone cracked when his head hit the ground. His mother tightened her grip on Rhys as Feyre apparently let out all her rage, "MINE!"

Just as the other's caught up, Rhys caught something glinting at the corner of his eyes, at the same time as Bryaxis roared from a small distance away, Rhys shouted, "Feyre! Down!"

It was only a matter of seconds as Hybern pulled out his gun but making the decision and actually pushing Feyre out of the way as he pulled the trigger felt like forever. That was the last time Rhys had any sense of time before agony tore through him. He could hear a wet crunch, his mother's screaming, Mor's sobbing and fell cold hands on his chest but he couldn't open his eyes. Someone was groaning, maybe it was him, and he didn't know if he was writhing in pain.

Pain.

Pain so agonizing his whole body felt like he was on fire. He didn't realize that he was picked up, he imagined the voice telling him to hold on was himself, not Feyre, he didn't know that she was able to put him in a kind of magical coma to ease his pain, to get him out quickly, to slow down his death.

No, everything Rhys knew that there was pain until it wasn't. He had believed that when his pain actually vanished and he was submerged by water, death had finally claimed him. In these moments he thanked whatever gods existed that he was allowed to see his mother again, even if it was only fleeting. That his family would be alright. He was thankful, even though he was dead.

Or so he thought.

"Open your eyes!" Feyre demanded in the same tone she had used for Bryaxis upon their first meeting.

He obliged, meeting her beautiful eyes to find her face tear streaked, and yet the first thing she said was, "Did you know that you bear the bloodline of the goddess who saved me?"

It confused him, it felt like gibberish at first. Feyre's arms held him firmly, he was in some kind of pond. Although it wasn't filled with water, the liquid felt thicker but lighter at the same time. When he let his gaze hover above the surface, it looked like…stars.

"I wasn't sure at first," Feyre continued, "But your eyes are the same as hers and I wasn't alarmed when you or your mother stepped into my forest." she helped Rhys into a standing position, "This pond healed you because it recognized you. This is Tenebra, the old home of Vae."

Rhys's mind felt like mud but he slowly understood what Feyre was saying. He touched his chest, looking down to where he was shot, to not even find a scar.

"This bloodline is long so you won't have inherited any powers but the forest still recognizes you. Did someone ever tell you that your eyes look like stars live in them?"

"You're the first," Rhys croaked, still slightly confused from almost dying, as if in a trance, which was broken when Feyre smiled at him, broadly and without any restraint. She was beautiful, he already knew that but her smile was breathtaking, so much that he feared he'd collapse again.

Feyre took his arm and led him out of the water, apparently not caring that they were dripping wet.

"We shouldn't wait," she said softly, "Your family is waiting just outside. It might seem like it's night," Rhys looked up at the full moon, "But it's not, this place is just grieving, like your mother who's waiting for you. It should stop when you're all back home safely. Bryaxis told me it's close to the solstice, you must be celebrating, huh?" she slid her hand in his, "It's normal to feel like this after a death or near death experience, this will wear off soon." she explained, tugging him forward to a crossing in the forest where Rhys could see people huddled together.

Rhys squeezed Feyre's hand, she squeezed back. "Thank you." he told her.

She nodded once, "I will open a portal for you to get back home quicker but this isn't goodbye, Rhys!" she said, tapping his arm. "This is simply see you later. And if you want to know about this place for our bargain, just come back the same way you did when you entered the forest and knock three times on the tallest pine tree, I'll be there."

"One thing," he asked, close to his family, "What is this enchanted forest called?"

He hadn't expected that she could smile brighter, but she did. "This enchanted forest, my home, is called Velaris."

"Rhysand!" his mother yelled relieved, throwing her arms around him shortly after, "You're okay! I thought I had lost you!"

"You won't be rid of me that easily, mom." he joked, earning a scolding and a slap on his arm.

He chuckled, although it sounded raw, as Cassian, Azriel and Mor hugged him tightly. When they all parted, Feyre stood at a tree with what looked like a door. Into their living room. Magic was still weird to him, like his heritage but he believed Feyre. Rhys's mother hugged her so tightly that Feyre yelped but she wrapped her arms around Rhys's mother right after.

"Please don't get kidnapped again."

"I won't," she sniffed.

His mother went first through the portal, after a few goodbyes. Then went Cassian and Mor, then after a look over his shoulder at Rhys, Azriel went.

Feyre sighed, "What a day, right? What are you thinking? How about a thought for a thought?"

"A thought for a thought?"

"You tell me something and I tell you something in return." she said.

"I–" Rhys started. "This day feels extremely surreal. I'm exhausted, I'm scared that if I walk through this portal my mother will be gone again and this was a bad dream. I don't want to go either because it would mean leaving you."

"See you later, remember?" Feyre said.

"Your turn." Rhys replied softly.

"I've been alive for a very long time and since I've become what I am now, I never built any relationship with anyone but…I'm very glad I met you, Rhys." she looked towards the door before she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "I also think if you don't go now, your mom will probably die of worry."

Rhys huffed in amusement, "I'm very glad I met you too, Feyre." he said, "We will save Velaris." he promised her before he stepped through the portal, not waiting for a reaction.

He stepped into his living room as if stepping through his front door. Mor looked up from her phone as his mother already began fussing over Rhys, her eyes wide.

"! knew that place was…" she scrunched her nose as if saying the word itself was hard, "...magic but I hadn't really…no time has passed since we stepped into the forest! Apparently it's been like five minutes!'' She held her phone so close to his face that Rhys had to take a step back.

December 20th, 8:53 a.m.

It was still the very same morning. It felt eerie but at the same time, he wasn't confused.

Exhausted, he put Mor's phone down and gestured them all to the kitchen, now it was his time to fuss over his family after an apparently-not-so-long long day.

Rhys was back at the forest the day after Christmas, equipped with an empty notebook and a pen. It was from that moment on that Rhys went there everyday. They sat close to the edge of the forest, sometimes they talked about their lives and sometimes Feyre told him about Velaris and the beings living in it.

It was by march that Rhys had nearly four full notebooks full of information and little sketches that Feyre doodled beside it.

By June, Rhys had told her everything about himself. How his father sucked, how his parents were about to divorce shortly before his death, how Mor had mostly grown up with him and he saw her more as a sister than a cousin, how his brothers were adopted and his sister was in her first year of college and how she only was home on holidays and he missed her. He told her about some dates that failed spectacularly, which had made her laugh wholeheartedly. He told her that he lived with his mother because there was an unlucky accident and his house had caught fire eight months prior, he's still there because he fell in love all over again with his hometown when he moved back to his mom's and is currently house hunting. By July, Feyre tried to leave the forest so Rhys could show her how the world had evolved. She was not ready yet but they had time and Rhys would be with her whenever she was, he promised her.

It was September when Feyre opened up after another thought for a thought, and she told him how the priestess of her ex-fiancé had convinced him to sacrifice her to the great goddess Vae. No one was ever supposed to become immortal, it was payment for saving Feyre because she had died, other than Rhysand. He held her hand as she told him how rough her early years as an immortal were. She was allowed to leave Velaris but she was scared because Velaris, although the change was hard, became her safe place. It was Feyre who was the guardian of the enchanted, the heart of these lands.

By October, Rhys had finished his very first book full of stories about Velaris. It had quickly become his favorite project to work on.

From November to December their banter became purely flirting.

Rhys already knew by February that he was in love with Feyre, by July he knew he loved Feyre.

It was already late on Christmas eve, he had promised Feyre to see her that day but the whole day was so busy that it was already 5 p.m. when he finally got to his room, putting on his winter coat and grabbing the second project he had worked on the past year, that he would shoe Feyre today. He was halfway down the stairs when it knocked and his mother shouted to Rhys to take it.

Nervous because it was already late and Feyre was most likely waiting, Rhys didn't see that his mother's shoes stood differently as she quickly had pulled them off only a moment earlier, the snow on her soles so fresh it just began smelting. He walked past it, paying the shoes no attention, and opened the door. His eyes went wide as Feyre grinned at him, big cardboard signs in her hand but she held it so that Rhys couldn't see what was written on it. Only when Fryre gestured to someone behind her, Rhys realized the group of carolers as they began singing.

Just then Feyre turned the signs around for Rhys to say. The first said, Merry Christmas! Followed by apparently humans celebrate Christmas now instead of solstice in parenthesis

Rhys huffed a laugh as Feyre struggled to put the sign down with her gloved hands, then threw it on the ground beside her.

But for now let me say, said the next sign, the following sign said, without hope or agenda, next sign, just because it's christmas, and at Christmas you tell the truth,

Rhys held his breath as Feyre struggled again with the next sign, her expression looking as nervous as he felt, and then she found a rhythm in which she showed him sign after sign,

From the moment I saw you,

I wanted you to be mine,

I felt the moment I laid eyes on you,

I felt my pulse rushing,

And first I believed it was loathing,

Unadulterated loathing,

Because that is all I've known for a very long time,

But with you it's different,

My broken and mended heart is yours,

I love you, Rhysand

The first step he took was subconscious but when his foot met the creaky step, he was hyper aware of every step he took until he stood in front of her. Feyre tilted her head up to Rhys, the wool hat she was wearing slipping down, covering her eyes. A smile tugged on his lips as he pushed it up again and met Feyre's glistening blue eyes.

"Say it," Rhys said but it came out as a question.

Feyre put her gloved fans on his shoulders, "I love you, Rhysand. I'm yours, my heart is yours."

It felt like his earth was shattering and mending itself, it felt like an answer to a question Rhys couldn't remember even, but he was damn glad for the answer.

He leaned down, finally kissing Feyre and holding her close to him. Her fingers buried into his shoulders as she pressed into him, the world around him was nothing. The carolers a background noise he blended out, not noticing as his family sneaked into the doorway.

Feyre only parted when the book he had held the whole time slipped out of his fingers and she picked it up, "What is that?"

Rhys gently took the book and opened the first page, "It's for you." he said sheepishly, "It's your story."

Feyre grinned happily, pressing a kiss on his lips. "Thank you." she whispered, "But that story doesn't have an ending yet."

[shadowsxgwynriel]

Knife To The Heart (1/2)

Summary: The last thing that Gwyn wants is to work with Azriel, but she’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

And things aren’t going so bad—at least not until she learns the truth about their mission.

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Mature

Here’s my @acotargiftexchange gift for @aldbooks! I’m so excited and nervous for you to read this, but I hope that you like it! 😊

Also, thanks to @sunshinebingo for the advice and feedback ❤️

Happy Holidays ❄️

Read on AO3

Snippet:

She probably would have missed the man sitting in the corner of the room, had it not been for his slight movement.

Gwyn pretended not to see him and tossed her keys onto the kitchen table. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of a nearby knife and she hurled it in the man’s direction.

He let out a low laugh as the knife entered the wall with a resounding thud. “Are you trying to kill me, Berdara?”

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3

Ancient Myths Retold Masterlist

AtMotS Playlist

Summary: An irksome trip to the Summer Court on matters of business and assistance against a threat at sea takes an interesting turn when Rhys discovers the solution to Nostrus' problem no longer lies with his army, but a female sacrifice, bound at high tide in hope of appeasing the beast terrorizing Nostrus' shores. He certainly never predicted the rescue mission would result in an accepted mating bond.

AN: Merry Christmas! Here’s chapter 2 of my @acotargiftexchange fic for @eat0crow 🎄🎄🎄

Chapter II: New Beginnings

Feyre

Feyre had always considered herself clever enough. Not the most brilliant around, but smart enough to piece together when she was facing royalty. She was going to blame the chaos of her capture for her slow processing. Rhys was Rhysand, heir-apparent to the Night Court throne. Someone she was meant to stay far far away from if the stories she'd heard over the years were anything to go by. Yet if she ignored them all for a moment, it was easy enough to dismiss them as nothing more than rumors to frighten children.

From the very second they returned to his modest home in Velaris, a shining and busy city she'd somehow never heard of, he had been nothing but gentle with her. Overbearing one might even say, fussing over the smallest injuries inflicted when she had been caught by Nostrus' second-in-command. But then, males were known to act very differently with their mates, weren't they? How long would it take for the power of the fresh bond to fade?

She startled when he lifted her chin. "I hate that look." She furrowed her brows. "I don't need to read your mind to know you're questioning your safety here. If I will harm you, despite our bond. There is a mask we wear, Feyre, to protect our people." Uncurling his fingers, he slid his hand across her jaw, reaching to cup the back of her neck. "If there is one thing you always keep faith in, let it be that this bond is sacred to me. I'd sooner slit my own throat than lay a hand on you in anger or malice. Understand?"

She nodded and he let go, his fingers trailing her jaw as he released her. The spell was broken by a soft rapping on the bedroom door. He rolled his eyes, begrudgingly calling for whoever was on the other side to come in. Seconds later a female of great resemblance to Rhys stormed through the door. The eyes and coloring they shared easily marked her as his mother, though Feyre was thrown by the wings the female possessed. She was another Illyrian, yet Rhys’ lack of wings and clearly pointed ears put them apart.

She was distracted from the puzzling relation when the new arrival began lecturing her mate. "Rhysand, what were you thinking? Your father sent you in his place because he thought you'd keep your head and—"

"Mother, may I request you wait to berate me until my mate isn't present to hear it?"

"Your... what?"

His lips curled into a soft smile at the pure glee in her voice, stepping away just far enough to reveal Feyre's position on the edge of the bed. "My mate, Feyre. Feyre, this is my mother, Victorie."

The female gasped, her violet eyes bright as she took in Feyre. "I, uh, haven't cleaned up yet," Feyre said with a blush. If this female was anything like her own mother, her current state, smelling and soaked to the skin, was unacceptable.

"Oh, who cares about that? You are gorgeous. We'll be talking over breakfast in the morning. I want to know everything about my future daughter-in-law."

Feyre was too stunned to respond. Never once had her own mother seemed so eager to discuss anything with her, let alone her hobbies and interests. "I'd like that," she finally managed, almost whispering.

"Nostrus requested the meeting because she escaped," Rhys cut in, either recognizing her discomfort or just wanting to get rid of his mother for the evening a little faster. "Rather than still voicing his concern about the water serpent when he heard she was caught... There's something to be said for his pride, I suppose. Luckily for him, the creature is dead." His attention snapped back to Feyre. "The wraiths that helped us, they were indebted to you. Why?"

"I met my fiance a few months ago. The visit overlapped with the Tithe. He had given me a necklace and earrings. When the wraith speaking for her sisters couldn't offer anything, I gave her my jewelry."

"The Tithe?" She watched as realization dawned. "You're Tamlin's betrothed?"

"Drama," a light female voice sang from the hall.

"Avyanna, isn't it past your bedtime," Rhys drawled, earning an offended screech from another winged female, this one in her teens, it seemed. "Tamlin is a friend of mine," he explained to Feyre. "He knows what mating bonds mean and he'll respect ours."

"Will he?" the girl in the doorway chirped. "Rumor has it, he's already head over heels for her. You and your friend may be facing a falling out here soon, and over a female of all things. But we'll just let them worry about that. Hi, I'm Avyanna, but you can call me Avy. We're going to be the best of friends, I know it already." Rhys cleared his throat softly. "Right, sorry. You probably like to get a bath and some rest. We'll see you in the morning." She beamed. "Goodnight!"

"Forgive them, Feyre. They're romantics above all else."

She smiled. "It's sweet. My parents and sisters... We've never had that." He stroked her hair back. "Sorry. You don't want to hear about that."

"Hey." Again, he gripped her chin to keep their eyes locked. "I want to know everything about you. The good, the bad, and everything in between. Nothing you could say will scare me away, Feyre. I promise."

Summoning a set of clothes, light and comfortable enough to sleep in, he guided her to her feet and towards the bathroom. "Go ahead and get cleaned up. Take your time. I can do the same elsewhere."

"This is your room," she said with a frown.

"My hope is that it will now be our room, but if you'd prefer a guest suite, that can be arranged as well." She shook her head. "Alright then. Get cleaned up. I'll be back in a bit."

~~~~~

Rhysand

The second he shut the door to his bedroom he slumped against the wall. He never thought the mating bond would be so overwhelming, yet here he was, struggling with any basic thought beyond what it would feel like to kiss her. "Fuck."

"Rhysand." He grimaced at his father's voice and the heavy steps that marked his angry pace. "I thought better of you than this. That you had matured enough to be diplomatic in a foreign court. Now tell me why there are two blood rubies on my desk."

"Diplomacy went out the window the moment Nostrus tried to kill my mate," he growled right back. "If anything, the bastard should thank me for handling his little problem for him." His father, eloquent as he may be, appeared to be struggling to find a reason to scold him. After all, he'd murdered every male involved in his own mate's attempted wing-clipping at the camps. There were morals among the fae, few as they may be; lines you simply didn't cross. "Is it normal, feeling this..."

"Need to protect, to claim the bond, earn her acceptance? Yes." His father straightened, his cold mask firmly back in place. "Go bathe and get that stench off of you. We'll resume this discussion tomorrow."

Rhys let him pretend the scent of blood and salt and sand was the issue between them, crossing the hall to use a guest suite bath, grateful his magic had already cleaned the worst of it off of him and Feyre both. He was too exhausted to deal with scrubbing at serpent guts and whatever else had been on him. All he wanted now was to sink into bed and wrap himself around his mate. It was terrifying, frankly, how deep he was in it already. They'd met less than two hours ago and she already felt like everything he imagined for his future. More. Certainly more precious than any other female he'd known intimately.

She'd be his reason for living. In truth, he didn't deserve her. Not when on the bad days the man in the mirror looked too much like his father. Not when he'd been groomed to turn into the thing he was watching destroy his mother's joy. Seeing Feyre may have been the first thing to truly make her smile in months. He strived to be better, and he would. Before his thoughts could stray to anything darker, he felt a little tug inside him. A pull on that new thread connecting him to Feyre, tentative and curious. He chuckled, tugging back before reaching for the soap beside him and finishing his bath. Taking his time to dress, he returned to his personal room, knocking softly.

"Come in."

He wished he could claim the first thing on his mind was something respectable, but taking her in, his only thought was how much the fashion of his court seemed to suit her. Granted, he'd yet to see her in any other court's clothing, beyond the ruined dress he'd found her in. "Night Court colors suit you. Feeling better now?"

"Yes. Though I feel like I could sleep for days."

His protective instincts rose again at her tone, the glaze in her eyes. "Nothing else was done to you before you were left at the rocks?"

"I'm fine, Rhys. It was just... frightening. If you and the wraiths hadn't been there, I'd be dead."

He gripped her hands, squeezing softly before pulling her over to sit on the bed beside him. "They won't cross our borders, Feyre. Cassian and I will be marked enemies in the Summer Court, but they have no reason to follow you here."

Perhaps not Summer. Rhys grimaced. "Please stop reading my mind," she whispered.

"I'm no longer doing so intentionally, Feyre. But your shields are abysmal and the bond will only act as an amplifier until you learn to keep that block in place."

She ignored his comment. "Even if Tamlin isn't a problem, his father is another issue entirely. Whatever deal he's struck with my parents... He isn't going to be so agreeable about honoring a barely developed bond."

He took a moment before responding, trying to navigate how to proceed with this conversation. "You are hesitant to accept our bond, yet you have no desire to go through with your engagement."

A heavy silence settled over them, as if she was being careful with her word choice. "All my life, I have been raised with the purpose of bringing wealth or other benefits to my family and court. My sisters too. Elain was the most beautiful and was wed to the Heir of Day almost twelve years ago. Autumn has their eye on Nesta. It took all of one meeting for me to be sold off to Spring, then a sacrifice of my own High Lord before the wedding could even be announced. And now I am here, and while I want to trust your words, I fear I'll be your father's puppet too. A pawn on his chess board."

The rest hung unspoken between them. If she and Rhys weren’t tied by fate’s threads she’d have said goodbye on Summer soil. Made an escape from it all before she considered marrying another royal. His birthright had never felt like such a curse. “You are no one’s puppet. Not mine, not my father’s, not Spring’s. You will never be a pawn again, Feyre. I swear it on my life.”

She sighed, seemingly comforted by his vow—or perhaps just too exhausted to do anything more than slide under the covers.

"Tell me about your family," he murmured, his fingers trailing down her spine as she curled against his chest. "Beyond the marriage business, I mean."

She shrugged. "My mother and father are too busy social climbing to be considered respectable parents. My sisters... We used to be close, but we weren't raised in a way that gave us the time or desire to bond naturally. I love them, but Nesta can be..."

She shook her head. "Elain was your typical middle sister, mediator at the best of times, hidden away at the worst. The favorite too," she said, trying to hide the bitter note in her voice. "Our father's and society's. You should have seen how quickly Vanserra began to favor her. Not that the fascination lasted long. He ran off to The Continent to fight just months after they had their child and hasn't been seen or heard from since.

“Ten years since he set sail and she hasn't heard a word. He's either dead or found another female to enjoy until Helion calls him home, I suppose. I can't say I'm all that surprised. Like I said, it was an arranged marriage. Elain never expected much better from him. Now she's stuck there dealing with those dreadful suitors."

He shook his head. "Two of my father's men were sent as suitors just a few weeks ago. We're natural allies, as solar courts, but with Lucian assumed dead the game is changing. My father is an opportunist, above all else. He wants a strong foothold in Helion's court. Even if Helion's power won't pass to whoever your sister chooses, she's already become beloved."

"Night would have the perfect spy. Clever. And horrible. I hate that her life has become a political game."

Rhys hummed. "She's holding strong, from what I've heard. Entertaining the suitors while dodging their advances." He paused, thinking for a moment. "You know, it wouldn't be terribly difficult to request a visit to Day. Helion and I have ties of our own and if I express you're missing your sister terribly, well, he adores her and would be interested to meet you."

She bolted up in bed, grinning wide. It was the first real smile she'd given him and it took his breath away. "You'd do that for me?"

Cupping her face, he smiled right back. "Feyre, darling, I'd do anything for you. Ask and it's yours."

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

[damedechance]

seek&destroy

UPDATE: ⇀Read on ao3: Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3 ⇀Listen to the playlist

Pairing: Gwynriel

Parts: 3 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. [[Written for @foundress0fnothing]]

Read below for an excerpt from ch.3:

CHAPTER THREE

“We only have a couple of hours before the police show up onto the scene,” Emerie said, turning back to her computers and beginning to click through the photos. Hundreds of them it seemed like, and Azriel was the subject of every single one. “Maybe until morning for them to completely case the museum, and probably about as long for the break-in to appear in the news.”

“What are you getting at?” Gwyn said, shaking her head slightly as she tried to process what Emerie was saying. She narrowed her eyes, watching as a series of photos of the shadows flew across the screen. The little one by her foot in the stairwell, the serpentine ones wrapping around her legs.

“Bear with me,” Emerie said. She finally landed on an image of Azriel’s smirking face beyond the metal bars of the gates. Gloating, undoubtedly, but something adoring in the gaze, too. A bit ravenous.

Emere turned to face Gwyn, as Nesta got up from the chair by the window and came to sit on the floor on Emerie’s other side.

“We’ve never left so much evidence behind,” Emerie began. “A broken lock here, or a smudge of dirt there. We’ve had a few bad cases where Nes completely trashes a place, sure–”

“Get to the point,” Nesta interjected, crossing her arms over her chest.

“But nothing that could be traced back to us,” Emerie continued. “Until him.”

Without looking, Emerie stretched out a hand and tapped the screen. Right above Azriel’s grinning mouth. 

Smothering the inexplicable urge to smash Emerie’s laptop into a million silicon pieces, Gwyn crossed her arms over her chest and tore her attention away from the screen. Gaze flicking between Emerie and Nesta, she said, “What do you want to do about it?”

Gwyn knew what she wanted to do, and most certainly would accomplish it just as soon as she figured out how to find him, but Emerie and Nesta appeared far less concerned with the absolute humiliation of being thwarted for the very first time. It was the strangest role reversal, one where Gwyn relinquished her need for meticulous planning followed by devout adherence to said plan, and something about it had unmoored her. She felt her body swaying in this sea of rage, and could only hug herself tighter in a pitiful attempt at controlling the waves.

“His team was very smart,” Emerie said, letting out a slow breath that could only be reluctantly impressed. “The entire time you were in there, I was trying to find any digital trace of them. We hadn’t hacked the security camera system yet, since you knew your way around them so well, but someone else did, and I was following that trail for so long only to find out it was a dead end. They’re clever.”

Gwyn frowned, glancing over to Nesta to see if she would confirm. Nesta’s disappointed expression mirrored her own, but then she nodded towards Emerie. “Just listen.”

Emerie pointed again to a different part of one of the screens, a string of numbers and letters that was incomprehensible to Gwyn but appeared to mean something of significance to Emerie.

“There was nothing,” she said. “Until…”

Her finger moved, gliding over the screen until it landed on one of the videos playing on loop. Shadowsinger’s back facing her, as he ran through the tunnel, wings tucked behind him. His hand going up to his ear, briefly.

Nesta leaned over and punched a key to turn on the sound.

“Lower the gates. Yes, I’m sure–lower them.”

Over and over, the same string of words punctuated only by Gwyn’s own rattling breaths as she chased after him. The groan of metal, as the gate began to come down, only to abruptly be cut off as the loop started again.

“This gave us more information than it seems, at first glance,” Emerie said, eyes still fixed on the screen as she went to lower the volume again. The loop continued on faintly, as she spoke, “Firstly, it was the first time he indicated that he wasn’t working alone. But whereas you and I were in constant contact the entire time, even if you weren’t directly speaking, I hadn’t caught one signal from his own radio. Not one, until he decided to speak here.”

“What does that mean?” Gwyn said, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of those colossal wings, as pixelated and grainy as they were in the camera feed.

“It means two things,” Emerie said. “First, I was able to trace the signal. I’ve been working on it right up until you two arrived, actually, and I think I was able to narrow it down to the most likely point of origin.”

“Good,” Nesta said gruffly. She got up onto her knees, as if she was about to head out the door again. Gwyn was about to join her. “Where are we headed?”

“Wait,” Emerie said, slapping a hand over Nesta’s arm to pull her back down. “Because there was something else about the signal that bothered me. Why would he choose to make contact with his partner like that, if he had made it so far without? Especially in such an easily traceable way? Our own comms system has layers of security around it that are practically miles thick, but I was able to find him in less than an hour.”

Gwyn pressed her lips together, deep in thought as she continued to trace the shape of those wings with her eyes.

“Maybe he was desperate?” Gwyn ventured. “I did stab him.”

Emerie shook her head immediately, and thrusted her hand at the screen. “Look.”

She pressed a key, and the video feed of him running from her in the tunnel was immediately replaced by the one of him on the other side of the bars.

“He was practically begging for you to touch him,” Emerie said. “It wasn’t desperation. At least, not to gate away. He didn’t need the gates to get away from you.”

She pressed another key, and the image began to move. A video of him stepping back, before the shadows swallowed him and he disappeared.

“Then what do you think it was?” Nesta said, her own gaze slowly veering away from the screen to look at Gwyn. She didn’t meet her eyes.

“He didn’t want to get away.”

Emerie turned to look at Gwyn.

“He wanted you to find him.”

[goforth-ladymidnight]

A Second Chance

Pairing: Tamlin x Lucien

Rating: M for mature themes and strong language

Ch. 1/5(?)

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: There is a reason that Tamlin disappeared from Lucien's life seven years ago. Lucien just doesn't know what it is. They were more than college roommates; they were best friends. Now, a chance encounter in a bookstore leaves both of them wondering if they can pick up where they left off. A new year is right around the corner, but there is no wiping Tamlin's slate clean. Featuring Jurian and Vassa in supporting roles, this is not a story of redemption, but of finding love—and forgiveness—in the most unlikely of places. A Modern ACOTAR Holiday AU.

✨✨✨For @praetorqueenreyna ✨✨✨

It's here! It's here! It's finally here! (Emphasis on finally.) Even though this took a lot longer than I intended, it's also a lot longer, too. This is the first chapter out of five (I think), and I hope to have the rest done by New Year's. Featuring your OTP Tamcien, as requested, as well as a little bit of Jassa because, as you'll soon see, they needed to be in this story. :) I hope you like it! I had an absolute blast writing it.

@acotargiftexchange

Read on AO3 as part of the 2023 Gift Exchange Collection or read on below the cut:

“Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer,” crooned a male voice in the sound system above their heads, a slower, mellower version of the jolly holiday song that matched the easygoing vibe in The Reading Nook Bookstore.

Lucien absentmindedly hummed along as he browsed the themed display tables, passing over the fantasy and romance books in favor of something more to his mother’s taste. As he read the synopsis of the latest Poppy Seedcake Mystery, a cozy murder mystery series themed around baked goods, he couldn’t help but smirk.

“What do you think of this,” he asked Vassa, who was perusing the political thriller section nearby. When she glanced up, he held up the cover and continued jokingly, “Should I get this for my mom? It’s all about murdering your husband and how to get away with it.”

Vassa’s bright blue eyes flicked to the cover. “Rat poison,” she said simply, before returning her attention to the thick novel in her hands.

Lucien’s brows furrowed as he turned the cover over. He traced the title with his finger as he read to her, “No, it says: A Raisin to Kill… Wait. What do you mean: ‘Rat Poison’?”

“How to murder your husband and get away with it,” she repeated in her richly lyrical Scythian accent. “Rat poison. In coffee. Tea is too weak to disguise the taste.”

Lucien swore and ducked his shoulders as a couple of curious shoppers glanced up from their magazines nearby. Redfaced, he set the mystery book down and remarked, “I forgot how literal you are sometimes.”

Vassa looked at him quizzically. “Is that not what you wanted to give your mother for Christmas?”

“Not if it can used as evidence in a murder trial,” he quipped, then shook off the chill rippling down his arms. “Maybe I’ll just buy her a fruit basket.”

“Rat poison works well in the juices of fruit, too,” she said brightly.

Lucien chuckled nervously and ran a hand over his long red hair. “I’ll take your word for it.” He wanted his bastard father dead just as much as the rest of his brothers, but he wasn’t keen on being considered a suspect in Beron Vanserra’s death. “Where did you learn about that, um—” he cleared his throat, “—advice, anyway?”

“My mother. It is said my grandfather was a—how you say—good-for-nothing rat bastard.” Lucien’s eyebrows shot up as she continued, “So, my grandmother, she takes care of him. Rat poison.”

He realized his mouth had fallen open, so he closed it. Loosening the knot of the wool scarf around his neck, he remarked, “Scythian housewives don’t mess around, do they?”

Vassa smiled sweetly and added her book to a steadily growing pile with a heavy, meaningful thump. “Rat poison makes no mess. Not like stab wounds.”

Lucien let out a nervous chuckle. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“I will,” she trilled, then her smile vanished as she caught sight of something behind him. “Do you know a man with light hair in dark clothes?” she asked in a low voice. “He is—how you say—checking me out.”

Lucien chuckled. “Lucky you,” he quipped, returning his gaze to the Murder Mystery display, then he froze. “Wait.” Had one of the customers overheard them and called the police? Shit. Wait. Don’t panic. “What does he look like?”

She shrugged with her mouth. “Big. Strong.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. With a wincing smile, he looked over his shoulder, trying to think of a way to explain that he and his foreign friend were only joking, when he realized he recognized the man. He straightened and turned to face the man directly. “Tam?”

With a shy chuckle, Tamlin stepped closer, tucking a book under his arm as he said, “Hey, Lu. I thought that was you.”

Lucien shook his head and let out an amazed laugh, then spread his arms wide and drew Tamlin into a sudden hug. It was as brief as it was awkward, but he couldn’t help himself. After a congenial back thump, Lucien released him and stepped back. “How long has it been, man?”

“Long time,” Tamlin replied with a tight smile, his cheeks slightly flushed. “At least…”

“Seven years,” they said in unison.

“Seven years,” Tamlin repeated, nodding slowly. “What have you been, um—” He glanced at Vassa, then shoved his hands in his pockets and amended, “How have you been?”

“Good,” Lucien said quickly. “Really good. Um.” He cleared his throat and gestured to the redhead at his side. “Before I forget. Tam, this is my friend, Vassa. Vassa, this is Tamlin.”

She twiddled her fingers in a polite wave.

He looked to Tamlin and continued, “She and I met when I traveled to Scythia for that foreign exchange program back in college. Remember?”

“Oh… right,” Tamlin said, nodding slowly, then gestured at her with his pocketed hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Vassa smiled and repeated a similar greeting in Scythian.

“She’s just visiting,” Lucien explained, “but she’s thinking of moving here after the holidays.”

“Congratulations,” Tamlin said politely, and Vassa dipped her head in acknowledgment.

“What about you, man?” Lucien asked him, thumping him on the shoulder. “Where have you been hiding yourself? I haven’t seen you since junior year.”

Tamlin shrugged dismissively. “Oh, you know. Around.”

When it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate, Lucien turned to Vassa and remarked, “Tam has the greenest thumb of anyone I know. Someone left a dying, um, plant in our dorm, and Tam nursed it back to health.”

At Vassa’s blank look, Tamlin explained, “He means weed.”

Lucien added jokingly, “The whole floor called us the High Lords.”

Tamlin turned red and chuckled. “Oh, god. The High Lords. I had forgotten about that.”

Lucien grinned. “Yeah. Weren’t there six of us? You, me, Kallias, Tarquin, Rhys—”

Tamlin’s easy smile stiffened. “Oh. Yeah.”

Lucien was about to ask what that look meant, when he noticed Vassa’s confused frown. “Oh, sorry,” he told her. “I meant to explain: Weed is something you smoke to get high. Um, feel good. We were in Room 420… You know. Dumb kid stuff.”

Vassa continued to frown. “He has green thumb?”

Both Tamlin and Lucien let out embarrassed chuckles.

Before Lucien could think of a better Scythian translation, Tamlin pulled his hand out of his pocket and gave her a thumbs-up. “He just means I’m good with my hands,” he said with a smile.

“You should have heard him play in the orchestra,” Lucien added eagerly. “He could make a grown man cry with his violin.” Vassa smiled at that. Music was something she appreciated, and understood; no translation necessary. He asked Tamlin, “Do you still play?”

Tamlin winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, no. Not really.”

“Oh.”

Before he could think of a better question, Tamlin cleared his throat and said, “Well, it was good seeing you again. I don’t often run into anyone from the old days, so—”

“Oh, yeah?” Lucien said, trying to keep him a little longer. “Maybe we can have lunch some time. I don’t want to keep you from your Christmas shopping.” He nodded at the book tucked under his old friend’s arm. It had a bright yellow spine that contrasted nicely with the dark hunter green of his jacket, so it was difficult to ignore. It was difficult to think of what else to say.

“Job hunting for…” Vassa said slowly, tilting her head as she read the spine, and Lucien suddenly realized why Tamlin had been hiding the book under his arm.

“For a friend,” Tamlin said hastily, his face turning as red as Lucien’s felt. He jerked his thumb at the checkout line and said, “I’m on my lunch break, so…”

Not wanting to end their chance meeting on a sour note, Lucien asked him, “So, when do you get off work? Five?”

Tamlin’s throat bobbed. “Something like that.”

Lucien nodded at Vassa and said, “We’re having dinner at eight o’clock tonight, and we’d love for you to join us.”

“After, we have tickets to Swan Lake,” Vassa added.

“Vassa’s never been, so…” Lucien tried to explain, but Tamlin winced and held up his hand.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Not at all,” Lucien insisted. “We’ll just get another ticket.”

Tamlin looked skeptical. “To Swan Lake? In December?”

“You know the Vanserras are big patrons of the arts. I’ll name-drop.”

“I don’t know,” Tamlin said slowly. “Two’s company, three’s a crowd…”

“You can be bringing someone else, too, yes?” Vassa offered.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Lucien asked.

Tamlin’s brows furrowed. “You mean… like a date?”

“Yeah,” Lucien squeaked, then cleared his throat. “Um, yeah, a date.” He gestured between them. “You can bring someone, I’ll bring Vassa, and then nobody will feel left out. What do you say?”

Tamlin quirked his mouth to one side, thinking it over. After a long pause, he sighed. “I do have a friend…”

“Perfect.” Lucien jumped at the chance. “Let’s meet up for drinks at The Sour Lemon Bar at seven, then we’ll have dinner and go to the theater afterwards.”

When Tamlin still hesitated, Lucien added, “My treat.”

Tamlin winced. “I can’t let you do that—”

“Sure you can!” Lucien insisted, thumping him on the arm. “It’s all going on the Vanserra expense account, anyway. A very merry Fuck You to my father, just in time for Christmas.”

Tamlin dropped his gaze to the ground, chuckling deeply. When he looked up again, the tight lines in his face had eased, and his smile finally reached his eyes. “You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?”

Lucien grinned. “Does that mean you’ll come?”

Tamlin sighed again, but he nodded. “It’s a date.” He blushed. “I-I mean, with you a-and Vassa.” He cleared his throat. “Seven, you said?”

Lucien’s scarf felt strangely tight as he agreed, “At The Sour Lemon Bar. Do you need an address?”

“No, I’m sure I’ll find it,” Tamlin said, edging toward the checkout stand. “See you, Lu. Nice to meet you, um, Vassa.”

Vassa nodded, and Lucien raised his hand in farewell as he watched his long-lost friend make his way to the front of the store.

“He seems nice,” Vassa remarked.

“Yeah,” Lucien murmured, watching as Tamlin took out a worn-looking leather wallet from the back of his belted jeans. The hunter green bomber jacket looked warm enough, but it was December, and they were expecting snow later. He wasn’t even wearing a hat, but his sunlight blond hair reached his shoulders and covered his ears, so maybe he didn’t need one. Tamlin’s hair had been much shorter back in the day, just curling under his ears and tickling the back of his neck when the two of them were in school, an act of defiance against his military father, Tamlin had said.

The long hair suited him, but unlike Lucien’s own shoulder-length strands, it seemed less like a stylistic choice and more like he hadn’t seen a barber in a while. It was like he hadn’t seen anyone in a while.

As Tamlin left the store without looking back, the bell above the door jingled, and a new song began to play: “Sleigh bells ring, are you listenin’…”

It was almost funny, but Lucien could only sigh. Something had happened to his old friend, but he couldn’t begin to guess what it was. With a start, he realized he hadn’t given Tamlin his contact information. He could only hope that his old friend would show up like he promised, and then he could find out what had happened to break his spirit.

* * *

Tamlin slid into the front seat of his friend’s black SUV with a heavy sigh. The soiled interior smelled like an ashtray and stale french fries, but at least it was warm.

Jurian, sitting in the driver’s seat with his mini-binoculars glued to the front of his face, asked, “Find anything good?”

Tamlin sighed again and rubbed his hands against the vent’s steady flow of welcome heat. “Yeah.”

Jurian lowered the binoculars at last and looked at him. “And?”

“And she was in there, all right? She was Christmas shopping, like normal people do at this time of year.”

Jurian smirked. “Oh, like you?” He glanced down at the paper bag resting on the middle seat. “What’s that?”

“It’s nothing—Hey!”

Jurian had the bag torn open before he could snatch it back, and he scoffed. “Job Hunting for Dummies?” He snorted. “Looking for another job, dummy?”

Face burning, Tamlin snatched the book and the bag back. “Shut up. I had to buy something, all right? It was the first thing I grabbed. She saw me.”

“Shit. She saw you?” Jurian grimaced and ran a hand over his salt-and-pepper stubble. “Did she mark you?”

“No,” Tamlin muttered, wrapping the torn brown paper edges over the top of the book before shoving it under his seat.

“Good. The last thing we need is to lose our payday. Christmas is coming up, and the fat man is bringing a big fat check if we play this right.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tamlin muttered, shoving his hands under his armpits.

Jurian snorted. “Don’t sound so excited. It’s not every day that a job like this drops in our laps. Cheating spouses is our bread and butter, but runaway princesses?” He put his fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Filet mignon.”

Tamlin let out a resigned sigh. “If you like filet mignon.”

Jurian smirked. “I don’t mind second helpings.” Tamlin shot him a look, but Jurian suddenly straightened up and snapped his fingers at something outside. “Hey-hey-hey. There she is. Grab the camera.”

As Tamlin reluctantly reached into the backseat, Jurian lifted the binoculars and squinted through them.

“Huh. Koschei didn’t mention she had a brother.”

Tamlin straightened up in the passenger seat as he slung the camera strap around his neck. “She doesn’t.”

Jurian lowered the binoculars with a confused squint. “Then who’s the twink?”

“He’s not a twink—” Tamlin bit back a growl as Jurian raised his dark, bushy brows at him. He took a deep breath and calmly explained, “His name is Lucien Vanserra. You’ve probably heard of his family.”

“Vanserra? As in Daddy is the head of the entire Autumn Corporation?” When Tamlin nodded, Jurian let out a low, appreciative whistle and resumed his binocular view. “That explains the nice threads. No wonder Princess is hanging around him.”

Tamlin’s cheeks flushed with a muttered, “Yeah,” then lifted the camera and looked down the telescopic lens. The two redheads were chatting amiably outside the bookstore, blissfully unaware that they were being watched by some sleazy private eye and his equally sleazy but unwilling cameraman. At least it paid the rent. Some of the time.

It was just a few lousy pictures. Proof that Vassa was living in Prythian. That was all. But still, as Tamlin zoomed in on Lucien’s smiling face, as he laughed at something Vassa said, his perfect teeth bright against the tawny beige of his skin, his finger hovered—and hesitated—over the shutter button.

“Problem?” Jurian asked.

“Smudge on the lens,” Tamlin muttered, lowering the camera. As he dug around in the camera case for a cleaning cloth, Jurian swore.

“You didn’t think to check it before we left?”

“It’s this damn vehicle,” Tamlin snapped. “Maybe if you cleaned it once in a while—”

“Hey. Don’t blame me for your screw-up—”

“I didn’t want to take this job in the first place!”

“Oh, now you tell me. Anything else you want to confess, or should I find a priest for that?!”

They were still arguing when Tamlin saw red.

“Shit.” He ducked down in the passenger seat as Lucien stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the street in front of the SUV, alone.

Jurian sat back in his seat and barked a laugh when Tamlin finally lifted his head to peek over the dashboard. “Hey, dumbass. Tinted windows, remember?”

“Shut up,” Tamlin muttered, straightening up, then winced as he examined the lens, which had been bumped loose from the lens mount. He hoped it wasn’t broken. Repairs like that weren’t cheap.

Jurian sat up in the driver’s seat and squinted, then smacked his hand against the steering wheel. “Dammit. She’s gone.”

He shifted the SUV into gear, then floored the gas and pulled into the street. As they drove, scanning the slushy streets, Jurian ran a hand through his already unruly dark hair. “Fuck. Where are we supposed to look for her now?”

As Tamlin lowered the two pieces of the camera to his lap, he cleared his throat. “Funny you should mention that…”

Jurian cocked an eyebrow as Tamlin explained what had happened inside the bookstore. “A date?” He could barely keep his eyes on the road. “Are you fucking serious?”

“It’s not a date,” Tamlin retorted. “We’re just old friends catching up, that’s all.”

“You and pretty boy, maybe, but what am I supposed to do? I’m supposed to be undercover. We’re supposed to be undercover, dipshit.”

“I’m not going to blow our cover,” Tamlin growled through gritted teeth. “And you don’t have to come.”

Jurian huffed in frustration and slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing the car in front of him as it idled at a stoplight. “Great,” he huffed again, smacking the steering wheel. “This is just great.” He grumbled something about this being the worst time to give up smoking—even though it had been three years—then he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Look. I’m sorry, kid. I know this isn’t your dream job. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I wasn’t desperate. My vision isn’t what it used to be, and Mr. Hybern is breathing down my neck, and…”

Tamlin’s fingers traced the edges of the busted lens mount, and he sighed. “I know.”

“I’ll make it up to you. We’ll skip the filet mignon and get one of those—” He snapped his fingers. “—what do you call ‘em—hide-a-beds. God knows we need a new couch anyway.”

Tamlin thought of the way the sorry sofa sagged under his weight and the way it was six inches too short no matter which way he laid on it.

“You know what? I’ll even pretend to be whatever you want on this date—not-a-date,” he amended when Tamlin shot him a warning look, “if you’ll help me with this last job. Deal?”

It still meant lying to Lucien, but was leaving out the worst part of the last seven years even a lie in the first place? The traffic light ahead of them turned green, but the SUV continued to idle.

“Well?”

Tamlin sighed again. “Deal.”

“Atta boy,” Jurian said warmly, then flipped off the cars honking behind him. “I know it’s green, you morons.”

Tamlin sank back against the passenger seat as the SUV sped up to join the thick of downtown traffic, strangely calm while Jurian swore at all the holiday shoppers during the most fuckin’ wonderful time of the year.

Even though Tamlin would have preferred to leave Jurian—and Vassa—out of it, he was almost looking forward to that evening. It had been so long since he had looked forward to anything… It wasn’t even about the food and the entertainment. God only knew how long it had been since he had had enjoyed anything half that nice. The Sour Lemon Bar alone was on the ritzier side of town, after all… It was about the company.

A slight smile touched his mouth as he thought back to that chance meeting with his old friend and former roommate. Jurian was decent enough to give him a place to stay when the whole world went to hell, but… From the first day they met at college, he and Lucien just clicked. They could talk about everything and nothing. It was more than being best friends. They were true kindred spirits.

They were each the youngest in their respective families, with strict, overbearing fathers who couldn’t be bothered to show up for important things like recitals or graduation, but who were also obsessed with image and obedience.

Tamlin still didn’t know how Lucien’s mom put up with it, but his own mother had passed away when he was sixteen. She had been there for every school concert, every violin recital, smiling proudly despite undergoing brutal cancer treatments. All the while his own father couldn’t be bothered to show up.

“Only queers and sissies play the fiddle,” his father had sneered.

Real men play football. Real men win wrestling tournaments. Real men take one for the team, the way his brothers did. They called him selfish for making their mother go to his concerts when she should have been home resting. They ignored her insistence that she really wanted to go, but at least they didn’t stop her.

Even at her weakest, she continued to show up, holding a single rose to throw on the stage after each performance, ‘the way they did it in the movies’. He used to be embarrassed about it, but he secretly dried them out and kept every single one… At least until his father found the box after her death and threw them all out.

Tamlin then chose to honor her memory by working his ass off and getting a music scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in Prythian instead of going into the military like his father wanted. He had paid for it, too, in more ways than one. He hadn’t spoken to his father and two older brothers for ten years, and he didn’t plan on starting now. Jurian’s foul mouth and fouler apartment were preferable to the abuse and neglect he had endured at the hands of his so-called family. And then to run into Lucien again after all this time…

Maybe this was finally the end of some terrible bad luck streak. Some god-awful curse. Seven years bad luck, and all that. It seemed pointless to hope, and yet… Lucien had actually been happy to see him. He had hugged him. Tamlin finally understood what it meant to be touch-starved, and he realized he was ravenous. As much as he had protested, how could he say no to another taste?

Since the camera needed repairs anyway, there was no reason he couldn’t sit back and enjoy himself for a single evening. Jurian could keep an eye on Vassa while he and Lucien reminisced about the good ol’ days…

As the nicer buildings of downtown gave way to small, old-fashioned houses and even older apartment buildings on the edge of town where he and Jurian lived, Tamlin let out a disgruntled sigh. Who was he kidding?

There was no fooling Lucien. His friend had always had the uncanny ability to see right through him. If he somehow managed to bullshit his way through the evening and pretend that everything was sunshine and roses, there was no getting around the fact that he still had a job to do. Some shadowy figure called Mr. Koschei wanted those photos of Vassa by Christmas.

Tamlin wanted to believe that the pictures meant nothing more than a paycheck, but three months’ worth of rent was a lot to ask for a few lousy headshots, no matter how badly they needed it. He certainly didn’t want to see her get hurt, or Lucien, either, for that matter, but he didn’t see any way around it.

He hated himself even more now for getting involved, and for agreeing to Jurian’s proposal. But Jurian couldn’t do it without his help, or his camera.

The most wonderful time of the year, indeed.

[popjunkie42]

Blossoming in Winter Chapter 3

@witchlingsandwyverns I bring you the new year chapter! Chapter 3 just wouldn't quit. I tried very hard to bring you some lovely gardens and wilderness in this chapter, I hope I succeeded!

Blossoming in Winter (read on AO3)

Chapter 3: Endure with Patience the Hours of Waiting

(snippet below!)

Summary: Prince Rhysand accompanies Feyre on a mission among the rooftop gardens of the Dawn Palace. While Feyre hunts for absolution, the armies of Prythian and the Continent get ever closer to Hybern.

A first war ACOTAR AU inspired by the story of Faramir and Eowyn. For @acotargiftexchange 2023!

A million thank-yous to @witch-and-her-witcher, @temperedink and @wilde-knight for the beta reads and helping to keep me sane!!

Snippet:

Rhysand’s eyes were on her again as they slipped through arched vines of jasmine, hanging so low they trailed down her hair. She turned to warn him about a loose stone in front of her and when she saw him, she thought the blossoms that snagged free in his raven hair looked like a crown of stars. Feyre stopped at the sight as he smiled at her and batted away the last vine on his face. 

The smell of oils and mineral spirits wafted through her mind as she imagined the swaths of grey and blue and black she would layer on canvas with a knife to capture him. She watched as he raised a hand to her hair, plucking a white blossom gently between two fingers. 

“You’ve got flowers all through your braid, darling,” he said with a softness in his eyes that made her stomach jump, made her yield half a step to him.

He regarded her with curiosity. “Have the healers and nurses been able to look at your wound?” he asked quietly.

Her skin burned with cold. Last night it had begun shooting jolts of pain down the muscles of her back. “I’m fine.”

“Are these all the answers I’m to get today?”

“What would you like to know, my lord?”

He sighed. “Everything.”

He released her from his gaze and she finally took a full breath, turned away from him to stalk down the path, the prince still close on her heels.

“Are you so used to that boor in Spring that conversation seems unnatural? I’d fault you but I’ve met the male, and he is admittedly better with a sword than he is with his tongue,” he said behind her.

Feyre bristled at every implication. “Maybe I simply do not speak unless I can improve the silence.”

He grinned. “Good thing I’m such a tolerable conversationalist, then.”

Feyre continued walking, taking her bearings by the sun and paths and hoping she was not leading them astray. Rhysand’s eyes were upon her with an amused twinkle.

“What?” she asked, annoyed. She tried to set a fast pace to keep his breathing too fast for words, but the prince excelled at conversation all the same.

“I’m simply trying to work out your attraction to that horned brute. I can certainly attest you are not the type to be impressed by a title alone.” Feyre snorted at him. “So tell me, how do we compare? You prefer your High Lord’s sons thick in body and in the head? Tamlin is quite dashing, but I must say he’s a bit lacking when it comes to the verbal arts. Or did he turn into that golden beast and win over your wild side?” He smiled as she walked faster, turning her head away from his gaze with a snap. “Oh, no one could blame you. All that muscle and fur - he’s quite a spectacle. Even I’ve cast an eye his way when he’s wrapped in all that natural glory.”

“You forget our bargain yet again, Prince.” she said with steel in her voice. “We aren’t speaking of Lord Tamlin.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue. “I’m speaking of you, darling. Tell me,” he asked, “How did the Prince woo a creature such as you? Somehow I doubt he plied you with jewels and dresses. Did he make flowers spring up wherever your feet fell? Did he recite love poems in your ear? Did Tamlin play that ridiculous fiddle of his and waltz into your heart?”

Maybe it was the bargain she had already accepted, maybe she was angry and tired, but Feyre felt her stubborn quietness waiver as her annoyance grew. He was gallingly good at chipping away at her defenses, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of winning this game, of sulking back to her stifling room and the worrying nurses. 

She had dealt with one High Lord’s son. How bad could another one be?

She barely paused as she spoke, throwing her words over her shoulder. “You seem awfully focused on the subject,” she said. “One might be excused for thinking you jealous.”

As the path rounded and they breached more wild hedges, it split again into two diverging trails. Feyre stopped short, assessing the options.

When she turned back around she gasped to find the Prince so close to her. In another half a step he stood chest to chest with her, her words about their journey lost on her lips. Her nose filled with his scent, citrus and the sea, and she couldn’t take her eyes off of his face.

“Jealous?” he asked, his voice quiet in the garden. “I told you, Feyre, that you’re finally getting closer to it.”

Feyre felt a flush on her chest that had nothing to do with exertion. “I know what you’re doing,” she said with a whisper.

“Do you? And what is that?”

His look was challenging, amused. “Throwing me off my guard. Disarming me. Probably fishing for information.”

He smiled. “Did you ever consider that perhaps I just enjoy watching you squirm?”

Perhaps the most insulting answer, if she was just a plaything and without any relevant information to pry from her mind. Her anger grew, especially considering the trust she was putting in him this afternoon. “You’re a shameless flirt. Was it your plan to wait until you had me in the middle of the gardens to show your worst side?” The birds sang around them, oblivious to her rising anger.

Rhysand flashed an arrogant grin. “Am I such a villain in your mind? Your sister, obviously wise, insisted on a chaperone. Consider me an applicant for the position.”

Feyre snorted. “On what qualifications?”

“I’m a High Lord’s son, honor and chivalry are woven into my very bones.” Her eyebrows were skyward. “Haven’t I been a complete gentleman, seeing to your needs, joining you on…what is it we’re looking for, again?” Rhysand looked around the gardens.

“I’ll know when I find it.”

Read on AO3

[sunshinebingo]

Welcome to Chapter 2 of the fic written for @thelov3lybookworm for @acotargiftexchange. I hope you enjoy it, especially you dear lov3ly ♥

***

Synopsis: Two months into their convenient marriage and Gwyneth and Azriel still have very strong feelings for each other. Is it really the hate that they claim it to be, or something else? Not even they can tell.

However, another chance at tackling the failed mission that has led them to where they are will make the two spies face something that they have both been afraid of. After all, the line separating hate from desire can be very thin.

Word Count: 2k

Warning: None

Find the Masterlist here

Read on Ao3 here or proceed below the cut

A week had passed and Gwyn was still as wary as she had been after receiving the invitation for the Autumn Solstice. This event would be the perfect opportunity to put a stop to the doubts that many members of the Forest House had about her. Making out with someone would have never raised any suspicion if it had not been in the southern section of the labyrinth that was this place. The only ones who went there were those who had exclusive access to the High Lord’s private quarters. Gwyn had seen many people entering these halls without ever walking out.

Luck – and Eris – had been on their side the last time. She doubted it would be again this time. That was why they would not fail again. She could not fail. She would not be useless again. Gwyn had dedicated so much of her life trying to prove to herself that she was more than sitting down for tea and looking pretty. She owed it to herself as much as she owed it to her twin.

She still felt the guilt of having let her sister die in front of her eyes. No one, least of all the High Lord, had taken her side when she had told them that the males who had attacked them in that clearing had been familiar faces that she had spotted around the Forest House a few times. Although Eris had had to keep his mouth shut and follow his father’s lead, he had proven his loyalty to the twins when he had killed all those who had touched them without anyone ever knowing that he was behind it. Gwyn was one of the few who knew who Eris truly was behind his arrogant mask. And that was why she returned every single bit of his loyalty.

Autumn was a male’s court. A court where females were either servants, or when they were born with a fancy family name like hers, toys and accessories. But that would only last as long as Beron sat on the throne. The High Lord did not know yet that his time was limited.

Gwyn wished she could do more. Being raised as a lady in the Forest House had been a major advantage for her ever since, after the loss of her sister, she had pestered Eris to teach her how to fight. It turned out that spying had been her calling in the end. Living there had given her the ability to observe and pick up on things no one thought a lady would notice. She had been in the heart of it all. But now, here, Gwyn felt like she was not doing enough.

“This will change tonight,’’ she told her reflection in the vanity mirror as she brushed her fingers through her loosely curled hair.

Gwyn had worked and schemed alongside her husband since she moved in his estate. She had also met with the Autumn Prince twice. Apart from that, the past two months had been spent training in the gardens of Rose hall, reading and trying to adjust to her new life as a wife. It was something she had never expected she would be.

Ever since that afternoon where she had lost Catrin, Gwyn had been scared that she would one day be shackled to a male who would claim her as his property. Reading about romance in books was one thing, something that could make her dream and wonder about how it could feel. But reality could be deceptive. Reality was scary.

Since she lost Catrin, Gwyn had feared the mere possibility of letting anyone close to her heart. She worried that anyone who did would see how emotionally broken she was. She doubted that anyone would stay with her if they knew how much love scared her. She might still have blood relatives in Autumn, but the only true love she had ever known was her twin. The two of them had stuck together since their mother’s passing when they were just little girls. The eldest and youngest of the Vanserra brothers had been the only ones who the twins had considered as friends even though they were distant cousins.

When she moved into her husband’s estate after having run away from her court, Gwyn had felt guilty for having drove Azriel into this situation. She had not meant to involve him in a loveless marriage with a female who had acted like a proper lady because she was either forced to or because she had used the title as a disguise. She had thought of apologising to him. However, every time she looked at him, Gwyn wanted to do anything but apologise.

A knock sounded at her door, followed by a, ‘’Are you ready?’’

‘’Almost,’’ she shouted.

She heard his exasperated sigh even from inside her room. “Can you hurry up?’’

‘’Can you fuck off?’’

Azriel muttered a few curses that she decided to ignore. Gwyn still did not totally understand why Eris had chosen Night of all the courts to ally with. Many creatures of Autumn were sketchy and cruel but at least they did not hide who they were by trying to pass for saints when everyone knew about the questionable things that happened in their court. She would not go as far as hating the entirety of the Night Court’s inhabitants. But the one she lived with was enough to make her blood boil on a daily basis. Just like he currently was by loudly walking back and forth in front of her door. Why did that male always do that?

‘’Can you wait downstairs instead of doing that? You are stressing me out.”

‘’Says the one who stresses me out all day, every day,’’ he mumbled.

She knew exactly what his face must have looked like as he said that. She might not be able to read his thoughts, but she knew her husband far better than she wanted to. She had expected to learn more about the male that she would live with. Though Gwyn had not imagined that he would imprint himself so deeply into her mind. Whatever she did, Gwyn could not escape even the thought of him. Azriel haunted her even when he was not in the room. His hazel eyes followed her in her dreams, the ghost feel of his hands on her brought her thoughts to places where she did not want him to wander. It infuriated her so much that sometimes, she wanted to push him against a wall and… punch him until he stopped doing what he did to her.

‘’I heard that,’’ she shouted again, although he would have heard her alright since she could hear him breathing right outside of her bedroom.

‘’Good,’’ he said louder.

Gwyn sighed. She often wondered if Azriel took pleasure in being so provoking. Probably yes. Saying that she did not – sometimes – enjoy doing the same to him would be a lie.

She ignored the occasional knocks and the complaints as she slipped her shoes and dress on. Gone were the traditional Autumn fashioned gown with their petticoat and endless layers of fabric. Most of the ones she had worn at previous solstices were red or brown. Instead, Gwyn wore a wrap dress of a blue as deep as the midnight sky of her new home. The thin silver and diamond necklace around her neck shimmered like the stars of that same sky, especially the crescent moon that rested between her cleavage. The fabric was a soft satin that delicately hugged her upper body and arms. It cinched at her waist before flaring out and cascading down her long legs. A slit ran up from her left foot to her mid-thigh.

It was the perfect dress to conceal all the weapons she wore underneath while also allowing her easy access to them. More than that, what she wore tonight would send the message that she was a member of the Night Court now. And with the Shadowsinger at her arm, no one would dare to openly question their relationship.

Gwyn walked towards the door after a final look in the mirror. She held her hands at her breast, keeping the fabric there to prevent it from falling down. She opened the door, finding Azriel right behind it dressed in a fine black suit with his wings tucked in tight, and turned her back to him where her dress was still open, down to the small dip right above her backside.

“Zip me up, please.”

Silence followed. Azriel did not say anything. He did not move either. She did not even know if he was still breathing. Gwyn turned around and raised a questioning brow at him. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Are you alright, Shadowsinger?”

Gwyn looked at the shadows – who she preferred over him – hovering around them. She silently wondered if something was wrong, if she had perhaps crossed an invisible line. She did not know how his shadows worked, but Gwyn had developed an odd connection with them. It was as though they could read her mind and provide their wordless answers through soothing touches. Like a response to her silent questions, she felt their cool caress against her bare back and on her face. Hopefully they would not ruin the makeup she had carefully applied there.

The giggle that she failed to keep inside when one tickled her neck seemed to snap Azriel out of his trance. He shook away whatever had made him pause and brought his hands at her waist. The fabric of her dress hid not even a inch of his scarred hands and made her gasp as he turned her back around. Gwyn bit her lip to hold in whatever threatened to come out of her mouth when his fingers brushed her skin to push her hair aside.

She closed her eyes as he pulled her zipper up and prayed for him to just be done with it. Curse him and his hands. Curse Azriel and what he did to her. Curse everything about him.

Gwyn quickly adjusted the front of her dress when Azriel was done. With a deep inhale, she breathed some common sense back into her body. She breathed until the fire coursing through her simmered down to a small flame instead of the inferno that a few callous fingers had erupted in her.

Curse his touch for stoking her fire. Curse Azriel and everything about him.

When she faced him again, Gwyn’s irritation at him morphed into something else. She could not name what was his expression meant. All she knew was that the softness and awe in his eyes – something that she had never glimpsed so strongly from him – scared her.

“You look...”

Her heart pounded as she waited for another one of his stupid assumptions. But the one he offered sent more fear through her and caused goosebumps to erupt all over her.

“...Beautiful,” he whispered.

Words evaded her. All thoughts evaded her. Gwyn stood there, not knowing what to say or do. She knew how to tease Azriel. She was even better at getting on his nerves. But she did not know how to react to this, whatever this was. So she let the first thing that came to her mind flow out of her mouth.

“You too.”

In the silence that accompanied the blushing of Azriel’s cheeks, Gwyn could have sworn that she heard faint, soft voices, like the distant humming of a song. But no one was present save for them and his shadows. The wards around the estate would have alerted them of any intruders and Roslin had already gone to Autumn to celebrate Solstice with her own family.

Speaking of Solstice, Gwyn blinked back into the present. She wrapped her hands around Azriel’s forearm and pulled him down the hallway.

“Let’s go before we miss the party,” she said, grateful that she could still form coherent sentences.

“The mission, Berdara,” he corrected.

She flicked a hand in the air. “Yeah, same thing.”

Although she had returned to a somewhat normal state, the fear that had dug itself under her skin earlier like an arrow was still there. Gwyn wanted so badly to yank it out. But it remained. And with every touch and every glance exchanged, that arrow twisted and embedded itself deeper inside her.

To be continued...

[bibliophiliaxvignette]

Chapter 2 of You Come Around And The Armor Falls is up on AO3!

My gift for @harperbrynne for @acotargiftexchange 🤍🤍

Fic Summary: Gwyn feels safe with Azriel in a way she hasn't experienced since that horrible night in Sangravah and she realizes that he may be the only male that she'll ever be comfortable being intimate with, so she decides to ask him to train her in a new arena… if you know what I mean.

Snippet from Chapter 2 below the cut!

“Okay, Gwyneth,” he pauses, taking a pull from his glass. Gwyn watches the muscles in his strong throat work with the swallow, her lip pulled between her teeth. “What exactly is your goal with this deal between us? What are you hoping to accomplish?”

Gwyn stares at him. “Accomplish?”

“What are you wanting to get out of this? What do you want to learn? Are you wanting to learn how to kiss? Do you want to learn how to touch a male? Touch yourself? Learn what you do and don’t like during sex?”

“Yes. All of the above.”

He huffs a small laugh. “What have you done before?”

She bites her lip, looking away from him to take a sip of her tea. “There was one stumbly, slobbery kiss with a boy when I was young, back at Sangravah, before…” she trails off. “But there weren’t a lot of options around me at the time. It wasn’t anything to write home about. There was no second kiss.”

Azriel’s eyes remain steady on her, intense.

“I’ll make sure that when you think of kisses and sex, the words “wasn’t anything to write home about” aren’t applicable.”

Wide-eyed, Gwyn nods. “O-okay.”