#az spring fling

[thelov3lybookworm]

You Deserve Better (part one)

Summary: Althea is Rhysand's second sister who escaped Tamlins father and returned home, somehow escaping the fate of her mother and younger sister. She has healed from the wounds,mental and physical, with the help of her brother, father and the inner circle. But how would anyone help her when a spymaster breaks her heart and inflicts new wounds —mental, not physical– upon her?

(This is an eventual reader x someone else because az hurts her and we do not tolerate that here. Dont get me wrong, i love our original books azzy, but I've read a couple of fics which made me want to make azzy the ribbon and chop him into pieces. Also, i do not know why i have an obsession with the name Althea.)

•○🌑○•

Sunlight filtered through the halfway closed curtains as Althea groaned and stretched, which she was pretty sure were open last night. Snippets of last nights outing at Rita's and the things that came after were returning to her in bouts of throbbing headaches.

Partying and dancing at Rita's with her family. Gossiping and looking at males with her cousin, who was desperately trying to get Althea to pick one she liked. Althea pointing out females to Mor, who blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl. Feeling someone's heated gaze on her. Trying to find the source of it and realising it was the male that she always pined over. One of her brother's best friend. She'd looked away, and then the night had been a blurr before she and the Shadowsinger had stumbled into her room.

Shit.

It was the first time she let anyone into her bedroom after what happened with Tamlin's father, her sister and mother. Her father had been extremely relieved when he found out that she had made it out alive. He refused to leave her side and most of the people were shocked at his behaviour because he was known to be heartless. And then, after a couple weeks of helping her cope with the pain of everything, he and Rhysand went to spring to get revenge for the people they had lost. It had hurt her when only Rhys returned, but she had decided she'll get better. She'll get stronger and more confident. If not for not giving Tamlin's father, wherever he was, the satisfaction of knowing he had won and made her cower in darkness, then for her family who gave their lives for saving her.

But where was Azriel now? She was sure he had fallen asleep next to her. She felt a tiny stab of pain but it was gone the next moment as her head gave a hard throb. And as the headache momentarily subsided, she told herself it was for the best. It wouldn't have done them any good if Rhys or Cassian had found them together.And so she dragged herself to the bath and scrubbed herself raw before she was sure no one would smell Azriel on her. Then got dressed and hurried to training where she was sure cassian would give her a lot of shit for being late.She reached the top of the stairs and Cassian started rambling about how he will make her train extra as a punishment. She ignored him and started stretching.

•○🌑○•

It was Starfall.

It had been almost six months since she and Azriel had been having this little secret of theirs. They would be together whenever they could. But it always left Althea wondering. What were they? Friends? More?

So as she got ready for the celebrations, Althea made up her mind. She'd ask azriel today. As she finished readying, Mor waltzed in. "Would you look at that. Oh mother, you look amazing Thea! He wont be able to look away, you know?" Mor smirked. She was the only one who knew about their little fling.

"We'll see about that. Mor, I..." And Althea let it all out. Her confusion, her need to know and what she was going to do today.

Mor nodded, "Do what needs to be done sweetheart, and if it doesn't go well, make him regret it."Althea smiled at Mor and linked their elbows and pulled mor after her. As soon as they entered the party, Althea immediately started searching for Az. There. She made her way over to him when she found him lurking in the far corner of the room and looking like he would kill anyone who dared to even look at him.

"Hey." Althea said and he gave her a nod. She took a deep breath before continuing. "We need to talk." He stayed silent so she went on. "Somewhere private. Away from the house if possible. Please."

"Alright." He led her toward a nearby balcony. Pulling her into his arms, he flew out of the spell that prevented anyone from winnowing into or out of the house before darkness consumed them. When her vision cleared, Althea realised they were in the daisy field that she loved to visit.

He let her down and stood quietly behind her. She stared at the flowers, wonderin took a deep breath before turning to him.

She'd just opened her mouth to speak when he kissed her. She stood there, frozen in shock, but then she felt his hand on her hip, and she pushed him away. He furrowed his brows, as if confused.

"We need to have a conversation, Azriel, but not that type of conversation."

"Oh. Sorry."

She nodded. "I'll cut to the chase Azriel, as people might notice if we stay away for too long. So, what are we? Are we friends?"

"Of course we are friends Althea."

"Friends don't the things we do Az."

"What are you trying to say? Why would you ask me this? Did something happen?"

"I need to know." She shook her head. "I cant be your dirty little secret anymore Azriel. I want more."

"What do you mean more? You were never more than my friend's sister who wanted me to–" He sighed before continuing. "Althea, this was never meant to be more. This was just for fun."

"What? Then why'd you start this in the first place? You should have clarified that it wasn't meant to be more in the begging. Why—"

"Wait wait– I wasn't the one to approach you. You made the first move."

"But you were staring at me at Rita's... you weren't staring at me, were you?" When he didn't answer, she started laughing. "You were looking at Mor. And I was foolish enough to think you probably liked me back. Everyone knew you liked her."

They stood in silence for a time as Althea felt her heart breaking in her chest. He made no move to do anything as he stood studying the flowers. She shook her head and told him to leave.

"Are you not coming? Rhys will be angry. Come on. You can cry after the party."

She gaped at him. "How could you be so Heartless? Leave, Azriel. I'll see what to do with my brother."

"You're being difficult."

"I'm not. Leave."

"Fine. Whatever." And he winnowed away.

•○🌑○•

It had been an hour since Azriel had left. Althea had collapsed between the flowers and had let the tears flow. They had long since stopped.

How could he use her like that with no intention of letting her know that he had no feelings for her?

The air changed. She sighed and continued staring at the sky, not bothering to acknowledge him. A few moments passed by as he came and sat down next to her. Starfall hadn't begun yet.

"I royally fucked up, didn't I?"

"I don't think you're the one who fucked up."

She smiled. "Of course you'd say that. You're my brother. You'd always think I'm the nice one." She turned to her head to meet his violet stare, which was already fixed on her.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

She studied him. "You already know, don't you?"

"I think I've figured it out, but not everything."

She sighed. After a couple of moments, she felt his talons brushing against her mind. She let him in and showed him everything, from that fateful night at Rita's, till an hour ago, only leaving out the private moments. When he retreated from her mind, she could feel him fuming. "Don't say or do anything to him. It was all my fault. I was delusional. I'll eventually move on."

"But–"

"Please. This is my fight, Rhysie. Let me fight it."

He stared at her for a moment before turning his attention to the sky, where Starfall had started. "He had no right to hurt you like that. I still want to kill him. But because you said so, i will pretend everything is alright. He will never even suspect that i know about this." He forced out through gritted teeth. "But know this, Thea, you deserve so much better than him. You deserve someone who loves you a lot, maybe even a little too much for their own good."She grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek and giving him a tight hug before tackling him to the ground and laying her head on his arm.

They stayed there all night, pointing at stars and giggling and laughing at the stupidest of things.And as Althea lay there with her brother, she couldn't help but feel lighter.

•○🌑○•

(I was really confused as whether to make it azriel x reader or not so I went with an original character but please let me know what ya'll think.❣️)

[starlightazriel]

hey boo!!! how are you ?

BTW , I just wanted to say how much i loved your az and lucien fics <333 and- if reader and az have a lover already then how the hell are they supposed to get together? TBH az would NEVER cheat on his partner, and i love how az was like i cant take her to velaris cause of rhys and nyx, and the next moment hes taking her to velaris Also... An angsty fic idea: Az gets with elain and doesnt realize who his mate is and turns out its someone he knows but hes already broke her heart or az has a mate but then elain comes and tries to get between them , i think you get the idea right (i love me some angstt) HAHA i love you so muchh <3

ong i love you<3 thank you for being so concerned hehe

well first off if you've read my modern aus you know i love a good toxic cheating moment HAHA IM SICK IN THE HEAD I KNOW

secondly, reader is never going home she's stuck in prythian so as far as i'm concerned that's her ex HAHAH

third that's not really az lover per say i meant it like his fuck buddy but in prythian terms i think it's just called a lover? my idea was that after the whole bonus chapter scene and everything that happened az became a little bit risqué and has been taking many lovers, don't worry he doesn't owe anything to his spring fling

AND LMFAO I KNOW RIGHT HAHAHA cus truly AZ don't give a fuck he does what he wants

and i'm literally the queen of angst hehehehe i have so much on my plate with little time to write but i will keep this in mind thank you so much for the love boo im so glad you enjoyed

ps necessities part 2 should be up tonight <3 part 9 of the bee series is heavy and going to take me some time i love i love i love you

[acourtofthought]

I just read your theory on Blodeuwedd and Elain! Omg whoa! I’m becoming more convinced that she will end up in spring somehow! Like she’s gotta! I don’t know if you already addressed this but how does Lucien come into play in this Blodeuwedd myth you think?

Thank you! Your blog is awesome! 😍

Thank you so much! 😍😊😍

Anything that ends with Elain having the ability to shift into an owl is something I'm a fan of (owls are beautiful and fascinating to me) and I really do love the idea that her role in the future of the series would be one of healing and bringing life back to a land. Feyre, Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, they are all amazing and badass warriors. But Elain's character has always stood out as something very different and I'd love if she could not only stay true to herself by not going the warrior route (and having to regularly resort to violence) but prove that she can still make a major difference through "healing" and optimism.

It's actually interesting how everything that's already happened in ACOWAR through SF ties in to the fairytale.

I definitely want to mention again that while SJM does love retelling fairytales, they only loosely resemble them and she likes giving their sometimes tragic endings a happy one instead.

The original post I made involving Lucien’s connection to it is linked below but,

A sort of Cliff Notes version (if you don't feel like reading over the link) is that the hero Lleu (aka Lucien for us) is placed under a curse which makes it so he's unable to have a human wife (which matches up with Lucien’s father murdering Jesminda, a lesser faerie, whom Lucien wanted to marry. Lucien has also never found love in the centuries since as he's unable to move past her death).

Finding a way around the curse, the magicians Math and Gwydion conjure up the most beautiful maiden ever seen (Blodeuwedd, created out of flowers of the oak, flowers of the broom, and flowers of the meadowsweet) to be his wife. (this matches up with Elain, noted for her beauty and association with flowers being made his Mate by the magic of the Cauldron)

Blodeuwedd isn't happy about the marriage as she feels she was given no choice and she begins an affair with Gronw (Azriel) while Llew is away on business (Lucien sets out for the Human Lands for business reasons, to find Vassa and gain the aid of the human armies. He ends up remaining in the Human Lands acting as emissary for Rhys which is again business related while Elain and Az engage in an emotional fling of sorts. Instead of considering whether she and Lucien are actually a good match, she's been fighting against the Bond as she feels it was decided for her. With Az, it's not an all out affair as in the fairytale but it's questioned by Rhys because of who Elain is to Lucien and that fact that she hasn't addressed the bond one or another).

The two lovers conspire to kill Llew (not an exact translation as Elain has not demonstrated any desire to physically harm Lucien however Azriel expresses no qualms about killing Lucien in the Blood Duel.)

Llew ends up killing Gronw and Blodeuwedd is turned into an owl for her transgression.

SJM giving this tragic tale a happy ending would be one where Lucien obviously doesn't kill Az and eventually Elain does accept their bond. But everything that's happened between the characters so far seems to align really well with the fairytale itself.

[bettysandbros]

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[phantogram]

93.3 Spring Fling | Mesa, AZ | 4.22.17

Photo 1: jimlouvau [IG]

Photo 2: tannerjayy [IG]

Photo 3: tannerjayy [IG]

Photo 4: mjdays [IG]

[mrspettyferr]

Predictions for ACOTAR 5 - updated 3.23.21

It will be told from Elain and Azriel’s point of view

Elain will master her powers - her Seer abilities will be expanded

Lots of tension and longing between Az and Elain. Some jealousy will be involved.

The damn necklace. Clotho never gave it to Gwyn. We will see it returned to Elain.

Elain and Lucien will finally talk and develop a friendship

Lucien’s feelings for Vassa will be made more clear

Because BOTH will ultimately want it this way, Elain will Unmake the mating bond. BONUS: Elain forges a bond of choice with Azriel and also one for Lucien with Vassa. Or maybe they just realize a mating bond isn’t everything.

Azriel will take Elain to Rosehall to meet his mother.

Elain will wield Truth-Teller. Bonus: Azriel gifts it to her.

Beron will take over the Spring Court - Tamlin will meet up with Lucien and be part of the Band of Exiles group.

The Blood Duel will happen in some form. Current theory: Lucien will invoke it but not against Azriel, against Beron. (And Beron will accept bc not accepting would mean admitting his wife was unfaithful.)

Elain and Azriel will go after Koschei’s box and/or the fourth trove item - Rhys will be reluctant to send them together but knows he has no choice.

Az and Elain will visit the Prison - possibly have to break someone out.

Elain will train with Az physically and also learn the ways of espionage from him and the twins - We will get more of Elain’s friendship with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Feyre will find out about Rhys’s “stay away from Elain” conversation and be PISSED.

Gwyn will be revealed to be a Lightsinger. Az and Gwyn might have a brief fling but will ultimately remain platonic, and she will be who he confides in about his feelings for Elain. Gwyn and Elain will be fast friends.

Elain and Azriel will end up together, bond or no bond.

We will learn more about Azriel’s abilities and his past.

There will be proper closure with Az and Mor.

Eris will be forced to choose between Beron and Lucien - he will choose Lucien. (Eris might join the Band of Exiles.)

Tamlin, with the help of the Band of Exiles and Eris, will take back Spring and Beron will be defeated by Lucien. (High Lord’s power will shift into Lucien, not Eris. Maybe. I’m not 100% on this one yet.)

In their attempt to defeat Koschei, Elain and Azriel will accidentally free Koschei from the lake, leading us to the last book.

[shewayout-1975]

Matty Healy photographed by Christopher Mark in Mesa, AZ

[jackyjango]

The General’s Mate

Cherik Week- Day 3: AOB Dynamics / Flower Shop AU

Written for my own prompt:  Erik is the General of a small a small kingdom on the outskirts of Genosha. Shaw’s army invaded his lands, loots his home and kills his mother, wife and daughter. In a bid to get revenge, Erik, with the help of rival Queen Emma and her army attack the Genoshan capital and Erik kills Shaw himself. Amongst the loots of the palace is Shaw’s harem and its occupants. Erik’s soldiers drag in a young Omega with blue eyes and red lips, who apparently was Shaw’s favourite. With every intention of killing the Omega like Shaw killed his family, Erik tells his soldiers to leave the Omega with him. But he soon learns that the Omega, Charles, is also a victim of Shaw just like himself- that Charles, a son of a Lord, was sold to Shaw by his stepfather and kept captive against his will. Anger drained away from his system, Erik hands Charles a pouch of gold coins and hands him the reins of a horse and tells him make his way home, but Charles refuses because he couldn’t home carrying the reputation of being Shaw’s bed warmer. With no other place to go, Erik gives Charles shelter under his roof while a slow friendship builds between them in the process.

Ratings: Mature

Warnings: Language, mentions of abortions

Charles wakes to the sounds of whimpers and groans-- as he has been for the last two days. The situation is worsening, for Erik has begun trashing his head against the pillows and flinging his arms in the air-- much in the fashion of sword fighting-- all the while cursing and gritting his teeth. The behaviour is typical of fever induced nightmares, and the fever in turn must be caused by the wound on Erik’s torso.

The moonlight peeping into their small hut though the opening vent in the far wall illuminates Erik's profile dimly where he's sleeping on his bedroll a few feet away from Charles. The gentle breeze of spring ruffles the hem of Erik’s tunic, exposing the severe gash that begins below Erik’s collar bone and ends in the vicinity of his heart. Infected with pus, the skin around the cut has turned yellow. Whoever cleaned the cut-- if someone even had-- has done a poor job of removing the blood. The dried blood clogging the exposed flesh is preventing the wound from healing. The frequent brushes of the fabric on the broken skin must no doubt be painful.

Charles is tempted to rush to Erik’s side, stroke his fingers through Erik’s short crop, cradle his head and ease the pain away, but he doesn’t dare move from where he’s sleeping on his own bedroll. As much as he hates seeing Erik in any form of pain, he also doesn’t dare disturb whatever form of truce that has been building steadily between them in the past few months. Contrary to whatever horrid narratives there might be to their relationship on the streets-- and Charles knows there are-- the bond that they share in this small space enclosed by mud walls is something pure, something that transcends the grasp of the common tongue.

It’s delicate and yet strong, subtle and still bold, insignificant and yet so overpowering. Charles likes to call it friendship, because Erik has been nothing short of an exemplary friend to him. He listens when Charles speaks-- not just hears, but listens. He respects Charles and values his views. He has never undermined Charles on the account of him being an Omega. In every sense of the word, Erik has treated him like an equal. If that isn't friendship, then what is?

These days, however, Charles is finding it difficult to believe that ‘friendship’ can barely contain the bond they share. Some days, Erik will bring a sweet-treat from the market Charles had mentioned liking in passing, or he'll smile softly at Charles over their chess board, or hold Charles' gaze even in a crowd, and the word crumbles in Charles' heart and turns sour. 

Sometimes the urge to touch Erik is so strong that it knocks Charles over. Sometimes the urge to bury his nose in the crook of Erik's neck and inhale his scent is so potent that it nearly disrupts his senses. Sometimes, the urge to just be close to Erik is so powerful that it leaves Charles trembling in its wake.

Erik groans again, pulling Charles from his thoughts. Charles twists his trembling hands in the threadbare bedsheet to keep them from reaching out to Erik. There's still a barrier between them despite how far they've come from their initial days of acquaintance. A barrier Charles didn't dare breach. 

A mixture of white willow bark, turmeric and rosemary ground in frankincense oil should reduce the inflammation and infection, and a tonic of ginger and basil should bring the pain induced fever down. Charles creates a list of the other ingredients he needs in his head, and makes a note to procure them from Angel the first thing in the morning. He may not be able to comfort Erik and ease his pain, but he can certainly concoct a medicine that could.

One eye trained on Erik, Charles barely sleeps through the night.

The next morning, Charles looks at the assorted herbs and plants on the table in front of him, checking it off one by one against the list in his head. 

'Is that all?' Angel asks with a suggestive smirk.

Satisfied, he nods. 'Yes, that is all.'

'What are these for, lover boy?' Angel goes around the counter of her small flower shop that doubles as Charles’ source of medicinal herbs, and retrieves a large lotus leaf. 'To increase your Alpha's performance?'

Charles flushes brightly, and it only serves to deepen the smirk on Angel's face. Despite her vulgar sense of humour, Angel is one of few who doesn’t treat him differently for his past, and Charles suspects that it has something to do with resemblance to her own.

'It's fine,' she says, wrapping his purchases in the leaf and securing it with a twine. 'I'm not going to talk. I can keep a secret.'

He doesn't comment, mostly because he's impatient to get home and begin working on the medicines. He leaves Angel's shop flushing after she winks and wishes him luck.

The rest of Charles' day is spent in boiling leaves and reducing them to create a tonic, grinding a root to extract its oil, or in mixing herbs to create a salve.

He's grinding the last of the mixtures into a fine paste when Erik enters through the door. Charles is so lost in the process that he almost jumps a foot in the air when Erik calls for him.

'Erik!' Charles beams, wiping his gritty hands on his white robe. ‘Oh dear, is it dark already? I barely noticed.’

Erik looks around their home, at the mud stove and takes in the various vials and bowls containing tonics and ointments. A small smile tugs at his lips. ‘Clearly.’ He walks further into what classifies as a kitchenette and picks up a bundle of twigs. ‘What are these for?’

Charles bites his lip. Oh, dear. What if Erik refuses to be treated? What if he laughs at Charles or waves away his concerns? He should have consulted with Erik before concocting tonics and balms. Regardless, it’s too late for that now, so Charles says slowly, ‘You have a wound on your chest,’

‘Yes,’ Erik says, making it sound more like a question than an affirmation.

‘Well, whoever cleaned it has done a poor job, and now it’s infected. The infection might get into your bloodstream if it isn’t treated.’

‘And this is?’ Erik gestures vaguely at the mess Charles has made around their kitchen. 

‘Medicine,’ Charles says, wringing his hands, ‘It should stop the infection from spreading and help in healing the wound.’

‘And you…’ Erik’s eyes rake over a dozen vials filled with an amber fluid, ‘made all of it?’

Charles nods vigorously.

Erik stares at Charles for a long moment, head tilted to one side, like a cat would look at a ball of yarn, amazed and skeptical at the same time. ‘Right,’ he says just when Charles begins to think that either Erik would begin laughing at him or walk right out the door. ‘Then we should get right to it, I suppose. What do you want me to do?’

Charles sighs in relief. This, Charles knows very well. ‘I can’t apply the medicine without thoroughly cleaning the wound. So please sit down and take off your tunic.’ 

A heat spreads through Charles’ cheeks even as he says it, and he turns towards the stove to hide it. Erik moves behind him as Charles busies himself with boiling a bowl of water. Once boiled, he lowers the bowl from the fire, grabs a bundle of clean cotton cloth, arranges a few other vials he'd need on a tray and goes to where Erik’s sitting on the bedroll, legs outstretched in front of him and back leaning against the wall. 

A flush spreads anew on his cheeks on seeing Erik's bare torso. It's a miracle that the contents of the tray hasn’t spilled out from his unsteady hands. Opting to stare instead on the contents of the tray, Charles comes to sit on the bedroll beside Erik. 

This close, Erik's scent is a dizzying thing and his body heat is impossible to ignore. 

Take a hold of yourself, Charles tells himself, taking shorter breaths through his nose. Erik's injured, he needs medical attention, not his fumbling ones. 

'Here.' Charles picks a vial containing a clear liquid from the tray and hands it to Erik, decisively not looking him in the eye. 'Drink this. It'll bring the fever down.'

Erik takes the vial wordlessly and drains down the contents with a wince while Charles folds a length of cotton cloth and dips it in a bowl of spirit. 

'This might sting a bit,' Charles says in warning, leaning forward to wipe at the wound. Up close, the cut isn't as bad as Charles had assessed it to be. The infection is localised. Cleaning and draining away the pus should help it heal faster. 

Erik hisses as the cloth drags against the bruised skin, the lumps of dried blood resisting the movement. 

'Sorry,' Charles whispers and squeezes Erik's shoulder once with his other hand. 'How did this happen?'

'Az and I were practicing. He nicked my skin by mistake.' Erik's voice is barely above a whisper, and his soft breaths whisp against the skin of Charles' nape, tinkling every hair follicle in its wake. Charles barely suppresses a shudder. 

'Didn't you have it looked at by a physician?'

'I didn't think it would turn septic,' Erik admits sheepishly. 

Charles hums in reply. With the dried blood removed, Charles cleans the wound with water. He dips another piece of clean cloth in a tonic and dabs it on the cut to drain away the pus. 

They spend the next few minutes in comfortable silence as Charles continues to drain the pus from the cut. At least, it isn't so bad that it would need stitches.

'How did you know?' It's Erik who breaks the silence. 'I don't remember telling you.'

'You were having nightmares for a couple of days now, and I figured it was because of the injury,' Charles says risking a glance at Erik.

'Oh. I'm sorry-' Erik stutters, chagrined. 'I'm sorry if I disturbed or kept you awake-'

'It's okay, Erik.' Charles smiles soothingly. 'And in a way, it was a good thing I noticed. Otherwise, the septic would have spread.' 

Erik doesn't reply to that and Charles continues with his ministrations. He fills the cut with a salve after draining away the pus and places a clean piece of cotton over it. Cutting another long, rectangular piece of cotton, Charles loops it around Erik's chest to keep the salve in place. 

The wound has to be cleaned after two days and the process has to be repeated until the cut dries completely, but Charles already knew that. He’d mixed enough medicine to last them a month.

Still, not daring to look at Erik, Charles picks up the empty vials and the bits of the dirtied cloth on the tray and moves to get up, only to be stopped by Erik’s warm hand on his arm.

‘Thank you,’ Erik says sincerely when Charles finally looks up. There’s something deep in Erik’s eyes, an emotion that conveys so much more than the gratitude coming out of his lips. ‘I… Thank you.’

‘It’s fine, Erik,’ Charles smiles gently, but makes no effort to move from the spot.

Erik nods. ‘Where did you learn all this?’ He asks, eyeing the tray and the remnants of medicine it contains.

‘Oh,’ Charles says, placing the tray on the floor beside him and training his gaze on the patch of dried green paste on the folds of his robe.‘I’d always been interested in medicine, I suppose. Even as a child I used to run to the gardens and dirty my attire trying to gather herbs. It drove my mother mad.’ He chuckles at the memory of his furious mother chastising him and the servants for allowing Charles out of the Mansion in the first place. ‘My mother had thought that I was acting on behalf of a child’s curiosity and that my antics would fade as I grew up. But it didn’t. It only got stronger. My father was always supportive, and it did help that he was the Lord of Weschester. The title helped him procure books on medicine from various sellers. By the time I was fifteen, half of his library was filled with my books. I studied those books religiously.’ A woeful smile ghosts over Charles’ lips at the memory.

Erik doesn’t reply, content to listening to Charles speak. He’s a comfortable presence at Charles’ side, his hand a warm brand on Charles’ arm. 

‘After my father passed away my Mother remarried,’ Charles continues. ‘And then Shaw’s eyes fell upon me.’ Erik snarls at the mention of the name. Maybe even Charles would have if he could muster the anger and energy to spend on a dead man. ‘I packed a few books in my trunk when I came to Genosha, and they were my only companions when I was bound to Shaw’s harem.’

Erik’s hand moves further down Charles’ arm to curl his long fingers around Charles’ palm, as if to provide comfort in a way words can’t.

‘And all that knowledge I had accumulated over the years didn’t go to waste in the end like my mother thought it would. It helped me in stopping my pregnancy.’ Charles’ other hand comes to clutch at the robe over his stomach, and his voice wavers when he says, ‘Twice.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Erik whispers. Coming from Erik, it’s more than a mere condolence, for he, too, has lost his child.

‘It had to be done,’ Charles says, shaking his head. He blinks his eyes to clear it of the moisture covering it. ‘I couldn’t let Shaw’s spawn enter this world. I couldn’t-’ Charles stops to take a shaky breath. ‘Besides, what future would a concubine’s child have? For it would have forever borne the reputation of being a whor-’

‘No!’ Erik cuts Charles off with a severe finger on his lip. The steel in Erik’s voice rattles around the four walls upsettingly. ‘Never call yourself that. Never.’

Charles smiles woefully. ‘That’s what I am to the world, aren’t I?’ 

That’s what he’ll always be to the world. Shaw’s whore.

‘Fuck the world,’ Erik snarls. Charles would have pondered over the sudden anger in Erik’s eyes if he hadn’t been surprised by the outburst. ‘Fuck the world,’ Erik says again, a little softer this time. ‘You’re so much more than that, Charles. You’re brilliant, kind, honest and generous. You were kind and generous to me even when I didn’t deserve it.’ 

Charles shakes his head to protest, but Erik continues, ‘It’s true. I spent many years believing that killing Shaw would bring me peace. It gave me closure, yes, but it didn’t bring me peace. You did. You brought me peace. You showed me how to smile again. You taught me how to be happy when I believed that I had buried it with my family. You brought back love into my life when I had given up hope.’

Erik stops, and blinks several times, as though he,too, is surprised by his confession. Charles, for his part, can only gape at Erik in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taking Charles’ other hand gently from where it’s twisted in his robe, Erik inhales a deep breath, and says, ‘You are the light in my world of darkness, Charles. And if you’ll allow me, I would like to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.’

There are many things Charles could say to that. He could say that Erik’s the only one who has respected him for who he is. That Erik’s the only friend he has ever had in his life. He could say that he probably fell in love with Erik the day Erik had angrily handed him a bag of gold coins and the reins of a horse and had told him to go home without expecting anything in return. Charles could say a lot of things, but he can’t. Not when his tongue is stuck to the floor his mouth. So he tugs on Erik’s hands that are holding his’ and pulls Erik into a fierce kiss.

~3 years later~

‘Is that all?’ Angel asks from behind the counter.

Charles ticks off ‘5 bundles of waterhyssop’ from the list and shoves the parchment into the pocket of his robe. ‘Yes, that would be all for now. Could you please have Sean deliver it?’

He pays for his purchases and then remembers. ‘Oh, and, Angel, could you please add two dozen nutmeg and swalloroot as well?’

Angel looks at him skeptically, like he’s making a weird request. Maybe he is. The last of the supplies aren’t to concoct medicines for his patients, but for his own well-being and in turn the well-being of the tiny life growing inside him. 

A small smile tugs at his lips at the thought, and his hand comes to cover his abdomen protectively. He’s still three months in, and not showing, so Angel doesn’t make anything of his reaction.

‘Here,’ she says, placing a bundle of swallowroot and nutmeg bound in a lotus leaf. ‘Jean’s mother was complaining of swelling in her shoulder joint. I told her to go see you. Can you make time for her today?’

Charles recalls his schedule for the day. He has no prior appointments with any of his patients, and apart from the few hours he has to mentor Hank on root medicine before lunch, he’s free for the rest of the day until Erik returns. 

‘Send her sometime after lunch,’ he says, smiling.

Just as Charles finishes paying for his purchase, an old woman enters the shop, her round face framed by greying hair. ‘Oh, hello. I was wondering if you could help me procure a bunch of flowers for my daughter,’ she asks Angel.

Charles leaves Angel to attend to the woman and bids his leave from the shop. Angel and the woman continue to converse behind him, a part of which carries to the exit and falls on his ears.

‘Who is that young man who was here when I entered? He looks familiar to me,’ asks the old woman, to which Angel replies, ‘He’s the town’s physician, and the General is his mate.’ 

He’s the town’s physician and the General is his mate, the words ring in his ear all the way home and some time after. A smile perpetually resides on his lips.

-

[verifiefangirl]

I won’t mind

Based on I won’t mind by Zayn. Highly recommend you listen to get in yo feels. Here.

Autumn 

The invitation lay in Azriel’s hand for the last hour. He’d been unable to put it down or tear his eyes away from the elegant scripture. We warmly welcome you to join the union of Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra. The letters were starting to blur and dance around from how hard he was staring at it, as if it would change what was right in front of him. He choked on a sob, the urge to fling the offensive paper overcame his sense. He wanted to rage, for the whole world to be set ablaze from the agony heating his core, rising to his chest, constricting his throat. Pacing back and forth, he ran his fingers through his locks over and over, before crumpling with his head hung low. He just wanted it to all stop. His mind started to wander. 

Winter 

Soft brown eyes bored into his own. The blazing fire in front of them, orange glow illuminating the side of her face, making her seem otherworldly. Delicately, calloused fingers swept over his owns. Two shadows burning in light, bodies drawing in together. Breath hitching, his gaze caressed over what his hands cannot. Their lips joined a tender stroke, spilling all the secrets of unspoken desires and lingering touches pent up, years upon years. She straddled his lap and a strangled sound left his throat as practically molded their bodies as one. He lay her down gently on the fur rug, fingers knotted with another. She swiped the hair hanging in front of his hazel eyes. 

“I love you, Azriel. I always have and always will.” The confession tore out of her fiercely, deafening in the silence. An anxious, yet resilient smile graced her sensuous mouth. His heart stuttered and he felt like he was dreaming. His heart had never been so happy and full in his 500 years of existence. Someone had consciously chosen him.

Spring. 

Azriel had planned to get rip roaring drunk on the day of her wedding but his inner conscience wouldn’t let him. She was happy now, clearly. He wouldn’t get in the way of that. She deserved all those she cared for to be in attendance. He would not dishonor with his cowardice. If he got to see her radiant and content one last time,  that was enough. He tugged at his fancy, cobalt tunic for the fiftieth time as he approached the Day Court palace. Not only was it going to be the first time he was laying eyes on Elain after years apart, but also his family. He was also utterly late to make matters worse. He tried to slip in covertly, through the arching wooden doors but a hush had already fallen over the crowd. Whispers started to plagued the guests like wildfires.

 He felt like the air had been knocked out of his chest as his eyes met Elain’s. She looked like sunlight personified, the pale pink gown she had chosen was gauzy, making her look like a willowy goddess. Wildflowers adorned those copper tresses, her autumn eyes looked bright and clear. He felt someone touch his arm but he still couldn’t tear his gaze from devouring the woman he loved. It was like drinking in radiance, he couldn’t look his fill. His fists were clenched and an intense ache had built in the center of his chest, threatening to crush him.

He watched as Elain forcefully tore her gaze away from him and back to her fiancée. The whites of her knuckles protruded in Lucien’s grip. His gaze remained steady on her, almost burning holes as he surveyed how much had changed and yet remained the same since he last saw her. The tips of her fae ears had a light rose dusting to them. The familiar sight was like a beautiful scar being reopened. It had always been a dead giveaway of her being aware of his attention. He remembered how she would laugh and tell him to stop staring. 

“You’ve seen it all before Az,” exasperation laced her tone but a hint of smile threatened over her face. “Will you quit it.” She draped her arms around his torso and buried her embarrassment  in his chest. His lips ghosted over the shell of her ears.

“You’re everything I ever wanted. I’ll never tire of looking. Every time I do, it’s different and I notice something new. I could spend forever studying you and it wouldn’t be enough.”

 Reluctantly, he  turned his head to address the person speaking to him and realised it was Rhys. His brother had pulled him into a tight hug, his gaze a mixture of concern and joy.  Suddenly all the noise and stares of the venue came rushing back in full force and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. 

Forcing himself to calm down he focused on Rhys lips, trying to discern what he was saying. His mind was a jumbled mess. 

“I’ve missed you so much brother, come join us at our table.” He offered a hand in his direction, Azriel stared at it dumbly before weakly shaking his head. He couldn’t. He felt like his legs might give out on his any second or maybe his heart, the latter was more welcomed. 

“I’ll just stand near the back. I’ve already brought enough attention to myself. This her day, Rhys, I don’t want to ruin it. She deserves this and all the good things in life that come her way.” His voice cracked on the last part as a sad smile bloomed on his lips. The priest continued on with his speech, unsuspecting to the events unfolding around them. Rhys still looked at him with worry etched deeply into his feature. He hadn’t breathed a word to the inner circle for almost three years now. It hurt too much to see the other Archeron sister, no matter how close he was with Feyre in particular. 

“I’ll be fine.” He squeezed his brothers shoulder reassuringly before he sent him back in the direction of his own wife. 

He stood like a statue as different rituals were swapped. His shadows threatened to devour him into the darkness,his comfort space but he carried through. Elain’s gaze would drift over to him every so often. It’s almost as if she too was being rushed by a swarm of memories. His sad eyes stayed rooted to her, his mouth shooting her a comforting smile. Lucien troubled expression met his own and he shot a nod  of acknowledgement at the shadowsinger. Azriel felt at peace, knowing she couldn’t find a better match than her mate. It didn’t hurt that he was good male too, no matter how much it pierced him that they were marrying. 

The ceremony was going to be ending soon and he thought he could see everything through till the end but the thought of seeing them kiss made his stomach turn. His hands were shaking so badly now, he had to tuck them in his pocket to conceal them. He was going to throw up, right there at the foot of the aisle. The words stop, stop, stop, stop, kept running through his mind and he had to leave. The room was closing in on him, he felt lightheaded. He sent his shadows to Elain one last time, it curled around her wrist with affection, writhing at every part of exposed flesh, clinging desperately. He practically had to haul it away from her. 

Her stare bore into him but he couldn’t do it anymore. His long strides ate the distance to his small sense of relief. He saw his family starting to rise too, whether to stop him or talk some sense into him, he’d never know. The fresh air greeted him and even though the sun was out, he couldn’t feel the heat of it on his skin. He almost fell to his knees at the steps but forced himself to remain on his feet as a scream loosed from his chest. He winnowed back to Rosehall as fast as he could.

Summer

 Had he waited a minute longer he would have seen that Elain had rushed after him, tears staining her cheeks, the love for him in her heart breaking through the surface once more. The anguish plastered across her features at his disappearance had decimated through not only her, but also her mate, who felt everything the moment she had laid eyes on her Shadowsinger again. Pain rippled through her as she never got to tell him that she never stopped loving him. They’ll never know of what could have been… 

Tags:  @julesherondalex​​ @jemma-nessian-and-elriel​  @maastrash​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @wolffrising​ @azrielismycinnamonrollprimary​ @sezkins79​ @poisonous00​ @humanexile​ @sleeping-and-books​ @highladyofidris​ @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn​ @rhysanoodle​​

[kit-cat-sims]

Sims for @hcneybeez “Ex on the Beach” show.

Kamryn is the actual contestant.  She dreams of finding her true love, or at least someone who actually cares about her.  *cough cough*  She’s bisexual, and has dated both guys and girls.  She’s more of a fan of neutral colors than bright, loud ones, but that does not mean she lacks personality.  She was on the SimTube live TV show “The Sim-azing Race”, in which competitors had to complete a series of physical and mental challenges to compete for a cash prize.  She did not win, but made it to 3rd place with her teammate, her older sister.   Kam has always love sports, and she played soccer, lacrosse, and ran cross country in high school and middle school.  She has also gone rock climbing one spring break in college, which she found thrilling.  All of her ex’s were never the perfect fit for her dream life, and so they had to go.  She is usually pretty confident in her relationships, and will gladly ask a sim out, or break it off if she’s not happy.

Brandon is her first ex, when she was young and foolish (not that she’s that much older now).  He was a bit too hot-headed and jealous, and was too overbearing.  She broke up with him, in order to find her own way in the world, without his controlling presence.

Andrea was her second ex, more of a fling, really.  They met in Selvadorada, where Andrea was working towards exploring the jungle, and Kamryn was on a family vacation.  They dated for a while, woohooed a couple of times, and then Andrea broke it off.  She was just to restless, unable to settle down to a relationship or a job.  Considering Kamryn dreams of a nice family, kids, a stable income, etc. it wasn’t a great fit.

Roxana is her final ex.  They were friends (and eventually dormmates) in college, who reconnected a couple years later.  Roxana was one of those people who dreamed of a fairy tale romance, where nothing ever went wrong, and her partner was rich and famous.  Kamryn discovered that Roxana was only interested in her because she had been on tv, and was “good looking”, not because she gave a crap about Kam’s personality.  Kamryn wanted an honest, real relationship, so she broke it off after a few moths.

[appchinese646]

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[rwolf19]

Star of Spring (ACOTAR Fic) - Chapter 5

Length: 7471

Chapter Rating: M, SFW

Tagging: @ourbooksuniverse @bluephoenix222 @readingismycopingmechanism @alphaomegahybrid @reallyangryrn

First | Previous | Next

A/N: A lot happens in this chapter concerning my bat bois™. Just a warning, this chapter is kind of violent (like bloody ‘n shit), and the rest will be on a similar level.

Infiltration

“Rhys, we need to go back,” Nesta marched toward him, trying to block out the screaming in the back of her mind. The High Lord got to his feet and grabbed her wrists before she could clutch at his elegant clothes. “We have to go back, it has him.”

“What-“ Rhys’s frown died and he held out one hand for Amren. “Tarquin, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Oh . . . kay?” Tarquin had learned not to question things. Nesta would’ve thought it amusing at any other time.

What happened what happened what happened-

They landed outside of Feyre’s house, but Nesta let the tug in her chest pull her elsewhere. She winnowed to Elain’s house, dragging her High Lord and his second with. Feyre was carrying Nesta’s mate—her husband, the father of her child—struggling under his weight. Nesta’s heart seized in her chest.

“Cassian!” Nesta let go of the others and winnowed onto the porch. Together, she and Feyre eased Cassian to the wood. His eyes were open, flitting wildly as though they could see things that weren’t there. He was so pale, worse than the first time Nesta had miscarried. “Cassian! I’m here, it’s Nesta, I’m here.”

“Israen,” he groaned. Nesta took his face in her hands. He gasped out their son’s name again as she held him.

“What was it?” Rhys demanded. He said tightly, “His mind . . .”

Cassian, Nesta called down the bond. He was still there, still struggling to answer her. But something, someone, kept dragging him back. I’m here. Fight.

“Israen.”

“Did I not tell you that the Book, the Cauldron, would awaken foul creatures?” Amren murmured. She set her hand on Cassian’s brow, a hand Nesta very nearly tore off. Feyre grabbed her shoulders and kept her still. Cassian’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, then closed. “I thought these vermin had been exterminated eons ago.”

“What is it?” Nesta asked, shrugging her little sister off her. Amren sat back on her heels, leaning against the porch’s railing.

“The Illyrians only ever called it Goldaba, the Terror. It preys on Illyrians almost exclusively-“

“Where is Israen?” Nesta looked back at her sister. Feyre blinked and shook her head. Nesta kissed Cassian’s forehead and stood. She twisted away from Rhys’s desperate lunge and winnowed home.

“Israen?!” She shouted, shoving open the gold speckled front door. The house was utterly silent. Nesta could still faintly smell the breakfast Cassian had no doubt cooked. She charged up the steps, calling his name over and over. His and Aelia’s scents weren’t strong enough to be as recent as they needed to be. Nesta cursed. Where the hell could they have gone? The House of Wind. Nesta sent a shadow messenger to her brothers-in-law and winnowed again.

She did it far more often with Cassian than Rhysand, but she was still confident the winged warrior would catch her before she crashed into the roof of the House of Wind. She’d heard of Feyre’s harrowing winnow with the beast the Attor. They enjoyed terrifying their mates by winnowing into the sky and seeing how close they could get to the ground. The first time Cassian had nearly killed Nesta for stopping his heart as such. Feyre had stopped when it seemed like Casrien would try to copy her.

“You’re fucking insane,” Rhysand snarled, catching her out of the air not ten seconds before she would’ve flattened herself. She’d seen him shooting over the city, and hadn’t been worried. Neither mentioned that she could’ve easily winnowed out when she got too close. Nesta didn’t bother to answer him as they landed. Israen and Aelia’s scents were stronger here, recent.

“Israen?!”

“I can hear you halfway across the city, what do you-“ she grabbed Israen’s shoulder as he sauntered toward her from inside, Aelia trailing behind him. He frowned at her and the no doubt wild look on her face. “What happened? Aunt Mor just had me fly her up so she could winnow to Aunt Elain’s, but Aunt Elain is here.”

“I can feel it,” Rhysand muttered darkly, tearing past Israen into the House. “It’s here for him and Az!”

“Elain,” Nesta’s grip on her son tightened, and she pulled him toward the balcony Rhysand had landed on. “Go to the Steppes. Take Aelia.”

“If it can get into Velaris, it can get to the camps-“

“I don’t want you anywhere near that thing, and if it feeds on Illyrians, I want it full before it reaches you. Go to the Cabin. Stay there,” Nesta spat. Israen looked ready to argue, but she raised a finger, “Go, now!”

Israen scowled but held out his hand to Aelia. Nesta ran into the House after her brother-in-law. She’d warned Azriel, but it wouldn’t do him any good if he wasn’t awake.

“The wards are keeping it out,” Rhys reported. Lucien was by his side, brow furrowed in concentration. The door to Azriel’s room was open, and Nesta could see Elain sitting at the foot of his bed. She, Lucien, and Azriel were an oddly tight knit group. Nesta’s human upbringing left her at a loss for how their little group worked. Rhys turned back toward the way Israen had gone. “It can’t winnow. It lost track of him.”

“What is it?” Elain asked quietly. Nesta glared behind her at Azriel, who was struggling with his shirt. Elain followed her gaze and moved to help him silently.

“I’m going to draw its attention elsewhere,” Azriel grunted. “We need to get Cassian in here to heal.”

“It’s moving through the mountain,” Rhys murmured. “You’d be best off flying out over the sea.”

“You’re not seriously considering-“ Nesta made a low sound. Unbelievable. It was utterly unbelievable, how stupid the Illyrians could be. Nesta hadn’t recognized her husband as the lesser evil for years. At least he had enough bravado to carry himself through most days. Yes, on the battlefield he took more risks than half the legions put together, but when it came to family, Cassian wouldn’t leave Israen. “Rhys, you saw what it did to Cass, he’ll drown!”

“No, he won’t,” Elain said dreamily. “Nesta will catch him.”

Nesta cursed. Rhys gave her a dangerous grin that would’ve impregnated Feyre of its own accord and moved toward the nearest balcony. Azriel trailed behind him, moving stealthily but with enough determination that anyone in his path would shirk away. Lucien gave her a solemn nod and Nesta cursed again, nodding back. He snapped his fingers, dressing her in her modified Illyrian armor. She quickly caught up with her brothers-in-law, her scowl close to permanent. Feyre called that Cassian was stable. Azriel’s previous injury had given Gatha an inkling as to what worked and what didn’t. Feyre’s blood was working quickly.

Rhys carried her to the sea, flying close to Azriel. She could feel the seething dark below them, chasing them over land as they raced for the sea. When they got to the sparkling water, Rhys dropped Nesta. She winnowed above them, slipping her fingers into the loops on her thighs and tugging. Fabric came loose, the wind pushing into it. Her descent slowed, became almost easy. Winglike webbing connected to her boots, sides, and arms gave her almost as much control as the Illyrians. She couldn’t ascend with them traditionally, flapping about like a madwoman, but she could winnow through the sky, which included moving higher. The suit had been created for Feyre, but she preferred her wings, whether they be Illyrian or Peregrin. Nesta had been staunchly opposed to it at first, but in training with Cassian, her mind had started to wander to the sky.

Nesta had gotten alarmingly reckless with age. She was still so difficult to break, after all that time, and it had gone to her head.

Nesta moved upward a hundred or so more feet as something shot out of the sea where it was still shallow, barreling into Azriel. Nesta pressed her arms to her sides and dove. Rhys separated the writhing being from Azriel. From two hundred feet away, Nesta could see he had gone pale. Her eyes watered, and she cursed Lucien for forgetting the magical barrier he usually put in place to stop that from happening. Nesta initiated it with a hiss, sticking the membrane of one wing to her leg so she could reach for Azriel. He was getting close to the surface, too close. Nesta let out a frustrated sound as she gripped his wrist. His fingers tightened around her arm weakly.

“If you let go, I’ll kill you,” Nesta growled, flinging out her webbed arm. The action sent her spinning. She grabbed Azriel under his other arm and winnowed about ten feet out from shore, a foot above the water.

Luckily, it wasn’t quite like hitting stone. Nesta back still smarted with the impacts; first the water, then the sand below. She’d forgotten how slowly this stretch of beach sloped down toward the sea. Nesta pushed Azriel up to the surface, shoving off the sand once he was out of the way. She wrapped an arm under his and dragged him toward the shore, hardly able to see because of the bulky wings in her way. Her suit was drenched, almost as heavy as the Shadowsinger. She propped him up against one of the rocks, his feet still in the water when the waves stretched upward. The sky had gone grey with magic as Rhys and the creature fought. Thunderous rumbling shook the golden sand of the beach, sending rocks skittering down. Nesta wiped her face and spit out the bit of sea water she had managed to nearly swallow.

“You’re all fools,” she groused, shaking out the wings of her suit. Azriel groaned but signaled that he was okay. Nesta felt Feyre check in, just as a blinding flash of light accompanied by a blood curdling scream set sand flying as though there had been an explosion. Nesta was knocked forward into the rocks near Azriel; she barely managed to lift her arms to shield herself before she splattered her brains on the stone.

It’s dead, Rhys announced. Nesta clambered to her feet, her ears ringing from the explosion. The sand was in odd patterns, but she didn’t care much as she scrambled over to Azriel and grabbed his shoulder. They winnowed to the porch of Feyre’s house. Azriel staggered on his feet, leaning heavily on the closed door. Nesta tried to shake out more water from her flight suit. It felt only Illyrian strength. It was blind to me.

It was no wonder, then, that the thing had chased Azriel. Israen’s power both was and wasn’t Illyrian. It was close enough that the Siphons helped, but far enough that they didn’t seem to last long. Nesta had half a mind to cover him in them, head to toe.

Nesta pulled Azriel off the door just before her youngest sister opened it. Feyre took Azriel’s arm and together, they pulled him into the house. Rhys was already inside. Azriel sat on one of the couches in the sitting room, leaning over his knees. Nesta climbed the stairs to one of the usually unused rooms. Cassian was asleep, Gatha and Mor by his side. Gatha was of the Nature Fae, a term Rhys and Feyre had implemented to refer to the once-called lesser Fae. Her skin was like paper thin stone scales, which often came off in sheets. Her eyes were depthless and black, none of her people had anything natural in way of hair. Moss clung to some of her gangly limbs, which often times ended up on the floor with the scales. But Gatha’s people were the best healers outside of Dawn, and any eccentricity was more than overlooked for her skill, especially since Madja had passed shortly after delivering Israen some twenty years ago.

“When will he wake?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Soon,” answered Gatha, her voice crackling. It had always sounded like shifting stones to Nesta.

“That isn’t a real answer,” Nesta said shortly. Mor gave her a warning look.

“Because you’ll like the true one even less: I am not all-knowing. He will wake when he’s ready to,” Gatha pushed out of the chair with her arms. Her tail scraped against the floor as she left, walking on the knuckles of her broad hands. Her legs she curled against her chest. Nesta knew the healer did it to make her uncomfortable. She could’ve walked out on her legs, her hands at her calves, tail curled around her neck. But Gatha liked to show off that Nesta did not know everything either.

“At least you’re sure he’s waking up this time,” Nesta said softly. It was a question, both knew it, but Nesta would never admit it. Mor’s face went tight.

“Indeed I am,” Gatha closed the door behind her with her tail. Grayish-Blue dust was left in her wake. Nesta stepped through it to sit at Cassian’s side for a moment.

“Thanks for carrying him back,” Nesta murmured to Mor, taking one of his massive hands in hers. She didn’t ask about the Winter Court. Kallias adored the children. It had to be a nightmare.

“We have more allies than enemies, Nesta. We’ll get them back,” Mor said softly. “And we’ll keep Israen safe.”

“He doesn’t want to be kept safe,” Nesta brushed over Cassian’s callouses gently, kissing the back of his hand. “We’ll go to the Steppes when he wakes. I have a plan, a very bad plan.”

“Have we ever had a good one?”

—:—:—:—

“There she is,” Casrien stirred, his grip on Lyssa tightening instinctively. She was pulled away from him sharply, the movement driving his senses into overdrive. He couldn’t let them take her. She wasn’t meant to be taken from him, not ever.

He was awake in an instant.

Fire blazed brightly enough for Casrien to see. The cage had dried from the amount of it, and gooseflesh no long peppered his skin. Sweat slid down his back. Lily was crying, near the edge of the bars by her grandmother, who was on the other side, keeping the flames from reaching her. One son of Autumn was outside with her, the oldest, another inside the cage, with him and Lyssa—whose long hair the Autumnling held in one fist, using it to drag her away from him. Lyssa cried out in pain.

Ice tore away from him before he could do more than push to his feet, slicing through Lyssa’s beautiful hair. There was a moment of stillness, most the fire dying in Casrien’s raging cold. Lyssa dropped to the floor roughly, a soft groan escaping her. Casrien helped her up gently, turning his gaze on the one who dared separate them. The son of Autumn gaped at the dirty golden locks clenched in his fist. Casrien knew that Lyssa hadn’t wanted it cut, but he had hardly been thinking about anything besides getting her free. Little else mattered. Casrien snarled and landed a kick squarely in the Autumnling’s chest. The bastard stumbled through the bars like they were curtains, but Casrien slammed into them full on. His teeth sung at the impact. He recovered quickly enough to snatch Lily to his chest and retreat to the back of the cell. She was wearing a small satchel that looked huge against her body. It smelled of baked goods and apples. Casrien set her down and let her cower behind his leg. Lyssa stood beside him. Derren, Eris and the Lady of Autumn stood outside the bars. It was perfect. One for each of them. The Lady of Autumn had proven she could winnow out and take another with her as she did. But she had been harmed enough, and her blood flowed through Lily.

He slipped into Derren’s mind easily, smiling as he did. “You’re going to take us out of here.”

“Casrien, don’t be a fool,” Eris warned. “Even if you could get out, the border is sealed. My father has found some of the oldest spells workable without the Cauldron. You cannot leave the Autumn Court.”

“We have to leave, now. So long as he can’t find us, it doesn’t matter,” Casrien shook his head.

“You have time, you idiot.”

“You don’t know what Father plans for the Spring bitch,” Derren said, the words only spoken because Casrien refused to allow him to hide his thoughts. Derren giggled, “She’s to be mine. I can do whatever I like. There’s a priestess waiting to bless the binding. When we capture the Summer female, Cervan will have her.”

“And Lily?” Casrien breathed.

“She’s the best way to keep Mother in line. Lucien would hate it if he knew, but it makes things so much more fun. She’ll learn to love it here.”

“He’s going to die for this,” Eris growled.

“He’s going to let us kill you when we have the Summer whore,” Derren turned to look at his brother, smiling broader still. Casrien’s stomach turned. “You weren’t supposed to pick Lucien, Eris.”

“My Lady,” Casrien said quietly. “I would suggest you join your husband. It would not do well for you to be implicated in our escape.”

She nodded, disappearing the next moment. Eris shook his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

“Take us out of the cell,” Casrien ordered quietly. He silently gave Derren instructions, praying that he hadn’t overestimated his cousin’s feelings for Aelia. Casrien took a deep breath; Eris came forward, crouching in front of him. Lily looked around Casrien’s leg at him.

“I’m your uncle, love,” Eris said, a little gruffly. “I promise, we’re going to stay with Lyssa.”

“I like Lyssa,” Lily said warily, looking up at Casrien. The shapeshifter in question laughed, brightening the room with the sound. Casrien nodded to Lily, and she moved around him, still gripping the leg of his trousers carefully.

“I imagine she likes you as well,” Eris said, looking up at her. Lyssa smiled at Lily and gestured to her back. Casrien nodded, lifting his cousin up onto Lyssa’s back.

“Hang on tight, Lily,” Casrien ordered, looping her arms around Lyssa’s neck. “Hook your feet. Just like that, well done.”

Lyssa held out her arm to Eris. He clasped it in his large hand and they winnowed out. Lily went with them.

“When your usefulness is exhausted, I will spend months ending you,” Casrien whispered, gripping Derren’s hair and pulling it sharply. They pushed into darkness, then out of it again.

The Autumn Court was beautiful. Casrien didn’t care. The Sons of Autumn disappeared. Casrien let Lily scramble onto his back from Lyssa’s. He pretended to choke when she tried to goad him onward. She giggled, and Lyssa gave him a dark look. He winced and shushed his cousin belatedly.

“Derren was in charge of scheduling the guards,” Casrien muttered. “They’re in rings moving outward from the Forest House. There’s a few spots he knew they weren’t checking, that Uncle Lucien used to use. He thinks we wouldn’t be able to find them.”

“And has no idea we can,” Lyssa nodded, starting to grin. Casrien answered it quickly. “Lead on.”

It took a bit to find the place. They split up for a moment when Lily complained that she needed to relieve herself. Casrien spent the time trying not to tap his foot and run after them, and to keep the ice twisting around his fingers contained. It wouldn’t do well to leave a trail of frost in their wake. It was the most controlled he’d ever been with it, and the thought pleased him more than anything should’ve.

They came back soon enough, Lyssa stifling laughter as Lily chittered like a squirrel. Lyssa sent Casrien a look that said she didn’t understand and they continued on.

The cave, according to Derren’s memory, split into several dead ends, which made it difficult to narrow down where his brother was. He’d tried to kill Lucien twice in the cave system. He hadn’t succeeded either time, and had failed so badly, Lucien hadn’t even noticed.

Casrien suspected his uncle had, but hadn’t wanted to give Derren the satisfaction.

Casrien led them down the longest. Lyssa offered to turn into a bat and scout ahead, but they didn’t have a change of clothes for her, and waiting for her to strip down before she shifted seemed counterproductive. They divided the food in Lily’s satchel as best they could, but she’d barely brought enough for the three of them. Lyssa tried to give a part of her portion to Lily, but Casrien wouldn’t let her. He pointedly ignored her growing frustration.

They only talked once Lily was asleep in his lap.

“Shift into a wolf and see what you can hunt,” Casrien muttered.

“Stop telling me what to do,” Lyssa said flatly. “Just because we’re free because of you doesn’t mean you’re in charge.”

Casrien laughed wryly, “That is exactly what that means! What, you don’t think finding more food is a good idea?”

“It doesn’t matter whether it’s a good idea or not, what matters is that I’m not some sentry you can order around!” Lyssa hissed. “You aren’t my heir, you aren’t my elder, you aren’t my commander. I’m not your anything, and you aren’t anything of mine.”

Casrien swallowed, nodding. Lyssa eyed him darkly for a long minute, “Please, shift and find what food you can.”

“That must’ve been one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, you Illyrian prick,” she muttered darkly. She started to pull at her tunic, stopping when he didn’t look away, “Turn around.”

Casrien gestured down at Lily, “You are’t in charge either, Lyssa.”

“No, you’d like that far too much,” she muttered. Her eyes rolled at the wicked grin her comment garnered and marched around a bend in the cave. He would’ve sworn she was smiling, but he couldn’t quite tell. Casrien looked down and brushed Lily’s hair smooth.

“I think you’re our only hope for leadership, Lily,” he muttered, leaning back against the stone. He tried to recall the path Derren had burned into his own mind. For when Eris tried to kill him and their father.

Lyssa returned as a wolf, carrying her clothes in her mouth. She set them down next to Cassian, huffing air at him. Casrien reached up to touch her snout, “How does north sound?”

Lyssa growled, We’ll discuss this later.

“I have little doubt of that,” Casrien smiled. She licked the side of his face and darted off, leaving him to wipe off her saliva. Casrien made a face and cleaned off his hand on his pants. “Filthy animal.”

He didn’t realize he was chuckling until Lily shushed him.

—:—:—:—

“Casrien and Aelia are going to stay at the cabin until this is all over,” Nesta reported a little loudly, ducking into Cassian’s tent. He set down the report he had been studying, glancing at Feyre. Rhys had returned to the Summer Court that morning. Nesta had refused to leave with him. There was nothing that could be done to make her, so Rhys and Amren returned without her, a few of the members of the Court of Nightmares going with them to see what could be done about the barrier around the Autumn Court. It had been three days since he’d been attacked, and they were no closer to breaking it. Israen and Aelia had spent those days in the cabin alone.

“That place smelled like Feyre and Rhys for two years after they mated there,” Cassian said mildly, returning to his report. His wife heard the unspoken question.

“They haven’t mated yet. They’ve been doing little else but train, eat, and fuck, but they’re not mated,” Nesta sunk into a chair across the map laden table. Cassian met her eyes for a moment over his report. She rolled her eyes, “Of course, I want them to be mated.”

“Half a year’s salary says they’ll be mated before they have to leave the cabin,” Feyre murmured quietly, stretching her feet. Cassian winced as several bones cracked in her ankles. Feyre sighed and met his gaze, “You wouldn’t have to deal with it if you had left me in Velaris like I told you to.”

“Please, this is the only time the Illyrians will have a chance to see you glowing with new life. Once Rhys gets back, they’ll all run for the hills,” Cassian answered, reaching for a pen to correct a line in the report. “And there is no way I would leave you in Velaris when our enemy has a way to break the wards.”

“That thing is dead,” Nesta said. Cassian found her hatred of the creature endearing. It was nice to have something hated on his behalf. “Amren said there aren’t many left. I doubt he has another.”

“Sweetheart, you aren’t saying you don’t enjoy dear Feyre’s company, are you?” Cassian gasped, touching his heart lightly. The sisters gave him identical looks of distaste.

“Even when you aren’t their mate,” Nesta scowled incredulously, climbing to her feet, “Idiotic beasts.”

She helped Feyre up. Her sister made a rude gesture at Cassian, “You can shove your duty to Rhys up your ass.”

He heard the landing, feeling the earth tremble. Cassian was on his feet immediately, beating his wife and sister-in-law to the entrance. He stepped out into the crisp night air, looking for the messenger in the throng of warriors.

“General,” he ignored the snide way the camp lord said it. “No patrols have given any reason to suspect trouble in the ranges you gave them. It is pointless. Let them return to their usual duties.”

There were six patrols scouring random mountain slopes for enemy combatants. The seventh watched the slope where the cabin was so cleverly hidden. None knew of it outside of the Inner Circle. And Tarquinn and Varian. The patrols were comprised of the worst of the males still trying to discourage the females from fighting.

“They’ll do as I tell them to,” Cassian said lowly. The messenger took flight again for all of twenty feet, landing in front of Cassian.

“We’ve just received word; Casrien escaped. He’s in the Autumn Court, but he’s free.”

Feyre sobbed behind him, clutching to Nesta. They winnowed elsewhere hastily. Cassian tried not to look too relieved. “What does our High Lord have to say on the matter?”

“He’s going to one of the Summer Court border towns with the High Lord of Summer. They believe they will find a way through.”

“Very well, thank you,” Cassian dipped his chin and took to the sky before the camp lord could ask him again about the patrols.

—:—:—:—

“The spell is similar to that of the Wall, but considerably less powerful,” Varian reported. Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. They were staring at an invisible demarcation. He didn’t know if he was staring at the right one or not. It was dusk, and getting darker by the second. The barrier didn’t feel like the Wall, it wasn’t nearly as awful. It didn’t carry that strange, tangy scent. “As far as we can tell, however, it’s meant to keep everyone but those of Beron’s bloodline out.”

Rhys felt the gazes fall to him. “I’m not sending Lucien in alone. Even if he wanted to, it’d just be giving Beron what he wants.”

Not to mention, he probably couldn’t get in anyhow.

“Lily might be able to get out,” Tarquin murmured. Rhys tried not to look too skeptical. If she could, it would be Helion’s spell-cleaving abilities that did it, not Beron’s blood. She may have glowed from time to time, but they had never known her to break through wards or-

The wards around the House of Wind had held against the Goldaba. It hadn’t been able to get through them. But the ones around Velaris, the ones near Elain’s house . . . Had Lily broken them? Rhys didn’t want to believe it, but he’d need to discuss it with Lucien and Elain, and Helion, eventually.

Rhys had always known his offspring would be powerful. He had never considered what might become of his nephews and nieces.

“That doesn’t help my son,” he grumbled. Tarquin sighed and motioned for Varian to continue. Varian nodded. He tentatively stuck out a hand. Blue ripples of magic formed as he touched the barrier. It looked like he was touching glass.

“We can’t even attempt breaking it physically. Inanimate objects,” he reached down to pick up a stone. It sailed clean through, “don’t seem to be affected by it. Food goes through, too. We can supply them, but we can’t get them through.”

“The Cauldron didn’t make the Wall, but it did break it. How do we break this barrier?” Rhys asked. Tarquin raised an eyebrow and shrugged. They threw their power against the wall together. It did seem to balk at it, but it didn’t waver. Like it was no more than a paper cut. Rhys reeled his power back in. “The Wall was shattered from an existing hole. We don’t have one.”

And they didn’t know if Lily could make one or not.

“Maybe however Derren and Cervan are leaving are creating them,” Varian suggested.

“If they’re winnowing, there’s no way of knowing where those spots are,” Tarquin shook his head. “This is too clever and expensive for Beron.”

“Not for Montesere,” Rhys shook his head. Tarquin sighed. Rhys turned parallel to the barrier, reaching out to touch it. He vowed to find his son, to bring Casrien out alive, even if it killed him.

Don’t think like that, Feyre chided down the bond. I refuse to lose either of you.

Oh, you refuse, do you? Rhys smiled just a little. He could feel her sharp affirmation from halfway across Prythian. Israen and Aelia?

Nothing yet, but they’ve probably narrowed down the location of the cabin, Feyre sighed. She gave Rhys a little piece of her vision. Cassian and Nesta were sitting on the couch in his mother’s house, talking lowly about how quickly they could fly from the camp to the cabin. Cassian warned that practicing it would only give them away faster. Nesta smacked his arm for assuming she was so idiotic. They typically don’t worry so much.

Aelia complicates the plan more than I’d like, Rhys admitted. They had no idea if she could maintain her role in their plan once Israen was hurt. This is where she decides whether she stays in the Night Court or not.

I’m leaning toward not, love. Cassian and I think she’s Tarquin’s heir.

Of course you do. I get to name the child if she’s not.

You’ll do no such thing.

—:—:—:—

Israen hummed and nuzzled closer to Aelia, closing his eyes against the sunlight pouring into the room. She murmured back, dragging her hand through his hair. The other lay beneath him, still on his sun tattoo. Last night had been good. They’d started in the bath, ended in the bed. They were completely unfazed by the watching eyes in the hallway. His family already knew that he would take Aelia over any other female. They were tangled together; Israen was on his stomach, Aelia on her side facing him. His head was turned toward her. He loved the amusement dancing in her eyes, or he would’ve if he could’ve seen it.

“Israen,” Aelia kissed his cheekbone. He opened one eye. She was so near to him. He tilted toward her, brushing his lips against hers lazily. He kissed her until she sighed, pulling at his hair, fitting her head into the crook of his neck. “Israen.”

“‘M not goin’ ‘nywhere,” his eyes fell closed again. She giggled against his skin, making him smile. He looped an arm around her waist and twisted onto his back, pulling her halfway with him. He shifted his wings until it was only mildly uncomfortable.

“You told your mother you were training me.”

Israen opened both eyes so he could find her pointed ear and whisper in it, “I’m training you how to moan for me.”

“I don’t need any training in that,” Aelia used her grip on his hair to pull him away, resituating herself atop him. Her legs straddled his, “If anyone needs training, it’s you, Israen.”

“I am notoriously incorrigible. You can’t train me if I don’t want to be so trained,” Israen said. He wasn’t sure what he was saying. It was too early to know what was coming out of his mouth. He didn’t even try to stop it, not when it made Aelia laugh the way she did. She was still laughing as she kissed him again.

“I enjoy your incorrigibility.”

“‘S not a word, Aelia,” Israen kissed her nose.

“It is, too,” she laughed again.

“You’re sucking out my mind,” Israen complained upon realizing she was likely right. He kissed her, twisting them so she lay beneath him. “All I can think about is you, your scent, your laugh. I think you’ve gained another new ability.”

“And what would that be?”

“Driving me mad,” Israen kissed her, long and hard, meeting her tongue with his own. He pulled away reluctantly. Hunger was pulling at his gut insistently enough that he’d have to remedy it before doing anything with Aelia. “I’m going to make some food.”

“Or, you could stay here and never leave this bed,” Aelia suggested. Israen chuckled and pulled off of her, finding his way to the floor. Aelia watched him closely. Israen pulled on a pair of trousers and stretched out his wings. He wanted to fly desperately, but giving away the location of the cabin was not in his best interests.

A warm finger trailed across the edge of one wing, and Israen shuddered. He turned to face Aelia, who had lazily pulled the sheets around herself. Israen let her tug on his hand and kiss him. “Put some clothes on.”

“You enjoy making things harder on yourself,” Aelia said. Israen smiled and moved toward the bathroom.

“We have to eat,” he called over his shoulder. He left the bedroom door open slightly and slipped into the bathroom. His Siphons were on the counter beside the sink, and he pulled them on immediately. A small coil of anxiety loosened at the action. His Siphons glowed as he splashed cool water onto his face, running a hand through his hair. He smelled like his aunt; Aelia did, too. The whole cabin had smelled like her and his uncle. Now it smelled of him and Aelia. Israen smiled at himself in the mirror.

He heard footsteps in the hall and turned off the sink. Israen had been listening to nothing but Aelia for four days. He knew her footsteps, and the ones in the hall were too heavy.

Israen tapped his Siphons and waited for the scales to creep over his body before slowly opening the bathroom door.

Aelia made a muffled sound in the bedroom. The halls were empty, or they were at first glance. Israen could sense the glamoured Fae watching him, weapons drawn. He made himself shrug, made himself push open the bedroom door carelessly.

Aelia was on her feet in front of the bed, an Autumnling behind her, holding a sword to her throat. She wore his long discarded shirt over a pair of fur lined leggings. Israen paused, taking a deep breath and holding up his hands, as though in surrender. Six Nature Fae archers with hair like turning leaves were perched around the room, each one aiming at him. Seemed about right.

“Israen,” Aelia whimpered. She was good at playing the damsel. Israen tried not to smile. They couldn’t have known that they’d picked the wrong fight, not yet at least.

The archers loosed their arrows, but Israen called a shield up faster. They clattered off to the floor. He reached a hand behind him to form a wall at his back, so the rest of the soldiers littered throughout the cabin couldn’t surprise him.

“I’m going to enjoy handing you over,” the Autumnling crooned to Aelia. Israen’s power surged dangerously, his Siphons glowing too-bright. The Autumnling winnowed, taking Aelia with him, and the roaring in his head drowned all else out.

Israen knew he was fucked when the first Siphon shattered. That was not part of the plan.

The archers fired another round of arrows. Israen’s armor started falling off scale by scale as he moved. He watched as the arrows sailed toward him. They paused in midair, much to the astonishment of the Autumn Court fools.

Israen’s eyes glowed with unkempt power as the arrows splintered apart, as though crushed by a great pressure. The shards hung in the air, green energy flickering around their contours. And then, they moved.

The room shattered apart, sheets tearing, bones, armor and furniture smashing to pieces indiscriminately. The Fae didn’t have time to scream before their coppery blood splattered on the walls. Israen turned on his heel, following the path of Aelia and her captor. They were just down the hall.

He met her gaze as the scales of his armor bounced across the floor. Israen raised a hand, trying to call a sword and shield to him. His actual sword was in the kitchen, on the counter. His father was going to kill him for it.

Aelia gasped as fire separated them, barreling down the hallway toward him. Israen stumbled away from it, pressing his back against the wall by the doorway as fire tore into the room. He swore violently, trying to find Aelia through the wall of flames without losing his face. She was struggling with her captor, struggling and losing to greater experience.

By the time the flames died, Israen’s hand was trembling. He could feel his power acutely, well aware that he was very near to bringing the cabin down on top of them. He might’ve let it happen, had the Autumnling not kept Aelia inside to taunt him. They knew, somehow, that his power would kill her alongside them if his Siphons started to break.

We have the Siphons to keep ourselves from hurting the ones on our side. Otherwise the power would seek to kill everything. His father’s words echoed in his ears. He hadn’t earned his Siphons until he was fifteen, but he’d worn them since he was nine. He’d nearly brought down the camp during a sparring match. It was when they started calling him the Mongrel, the Half-Breed.

“Let her go,” Israen ordered lowly, daring to step out into the hallway. Aelia held his eyes steadily, her breathing just barely uneven. He prayed she would stick to the plan.

“She’s not meant for you,” said the Autumnling, moving towards the door. Another Siphon cracked. The Autumnling’s eyes widened.

Israen shouted in pain as fire flared across his exposed hand. More scales fell away from his arm as he whirled and slammed his palm into the air, toward the hallway. The Autumnling was already winnowing.

The Siphon over his right knee split completely. As the green energy coated the hallway in splinters and dust, it shattered and fell away. The Fae were no doubt hiding elsewhere.

“No!” They were in the bedroom for no more than moments. Israen couldn’t turn fast enough.

Fire slammed him sideways. He barely managed to keep the power humming through him from exploding as he crashed into the bedroom wall. Israen dropped to his knees, his fingers scraping the floor. Green mist curled away from his knuckles, burned and unburned.

The third Siphon didn’t shatter, it exploded.

The Autumn Court soldiers were waiting. Their High Lord’s son had already dragged his prize past them, their cue to enter the cabin. Now, they had to capture the Illyrian mongrel. They were not afraid; he was little more than a child, and he no longer had control of his power. As far as they were concerned, he was as good as dead already.

They were not aware that in the thousands of years of the Illyrian killing power’s existence, it had never once taken the life of its host, unlike many other sorts of Fae abilities.

Israen emerged from the bedroom, the sun turning his dark hair bright. His eyes were death incarnate. Blood slipped down his face where pieces of his still glowing Siphon had lodged themselves. Three Siphons yet remained; one on either shoulder that pulsed with his very breath, and one on his left knee, which flickered which each movement of his eyes.

The glass in the cabin shattered with his first step—windows, mirrors, vases, dinning-ware. He laid eyes on the trail of soldiers between him and the front door. The first screamed as his form crumpled in on itself. Israen stepped over him. Arrows filled the air before him. Some landed, some missed, some shattered. Israen didn’t notice the arrow in his thigh or his shoulder. They snapped off, leaving no trace but small green patches to staunch the bleeding. Several soldiers swung their swords at him. One by one, they met a wall of unadulterated power that shattered steel and bone alike. Israen opened throats with his bare hands, moving like a great beast through the men, green light flaring around him wildly, his remaining Siphons desperately trying to keep up with the demand.

The last male in the cabin stood trembling in the doorway, blocking Israen’s path. Israen paused, tilting his head as he shoved another dying male away from him. Blood dripped into his eyes, and he did not know whose it was.

The male pissed himself as he found himself unable to move. His nose bled, then his eyes, his ears, until he collapsed, blood spilling out of his mouth. Israen stepped over him.

They thought grouping together would help them. The final three soldiers stood between him and their Lord’s son and Aelia. Israen darted forward. The Siphons on his shoulders shattered with great flashes of light. The soldiers stood their ground as the earth shook by Israen’s power. He killed the one on the left first with a blow to the chest that collapsed his ribcage into his own lungs and forced them to burst. Israen dodged a ball of flames, dragging the second in front of him to take the blow instead. He snapped the burning male’s neck and let him drop. A dagger buried itself in Israen’s exposed side. Aelia screamed louder than he roared. Israen looked at the dagger and the male holding it separated into several different pieces, falling into a bloody pile on the ground. Israen pulled the dagger out with a wince. His last Siphon faltered and crumbled.

He met the eyes of the High Lord’s son. He held flames before Aelia, sharp like talons and far too close to her neck.

“I doubt you could kill me before I kill her,” he said lowly, leaning closer to Aelia. A growl ripped out of Israen that made the mountain tremble beneath them. “Not without killing her, too.”

He registered the threat too late. More arrows, this time through his wings. Aelia screamed his name as he dropped to one knee. He flung a hand out toward the source. The ground tore itself up, throwing stones against one another—and the hidden archers.

His vision swam enough that he knew his powers were no longer clotting the wounds. Aelia freed herself, running toward him. That wasn’t right. She was supposed to winnow away. Fire chased her, and was extinguished efficiently by a band of water. Waves broke out of the ground, roaring toward the Autumnling as Aelia slid into Israen, gripping his face in her hands. Fire encircled them as the water sunk back into the earth.

Three dark spears shot down from the sky, surrounding Israen and Aelia and the prick. Israen smiled.

At the sight of the Shadowsinger, the General Commander, the High Lady of Night, and the Cauldron Made Hellcat who stepped away from her, the fire died.

“We’re going to have a long talk about this,” Uncle Azriel said. Israen and Aelia had been the bait. It had almost worked perfectly.

Aelia looked to his aunt, “He wasn’t supposed to get hurt!”

Everyone but Aelia had known he would end up on the wrong side of a beating. It had to be done.

With his blood pounding through his ears, his eyes never left her face, even as he was eased to the ground. “You were supposed to winnow when you got free.”

“How many times must I say this? I’m not leaving you.”

He smiled, right until the moment all thoughts drifted away and even a little while after they’d gone.

[wingsofanillyrian]

A Winter Proposal (Elriel)

@dreamingofazriel asked: “ Did I send, Azriel proposing to Elain?”

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To say I was nervous would be an understatement.

My hands shook as I dried and styled my close-cropped hair, agonizing over my reflection in the mirror. By force of habit, my eyes snagged on the scars marring my hands. I was learning to love them though, thanks to Elain.

Gods, she was the perfect woman. Smart, sweet, and kind. There wasn’t a High Lord or Lady that could come close to her effortless beauty. Soft, sunkissed skin dusted with freckles from her time in the gardens. Lovingly warm brown eyes that held all the wonders of the world within them. Lips that were plump and pink, and were absolutely breathtaking to kiss.

She was everything I had ever hoped for and more. I had planned to wait until spring, but when I got the ring back from the jeweler… I couldn’t wait anymore.

I checked my reflection one more time before deciding I was ready. My heart hammered in my chest, and I swiped the small velvet box off my nightstand before flinging open the terrace doors. The chill of the wintery air cleared the fog from my head.

“Now or never,” I reminded myself, and took a running leap into the sky.

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

Elain was waiting for me on the roof of Rhys and Feyre’s townhouse. She had her sisters help her get ready for tonight. Both had known what I had planned, and thus had taken great care to curl and pin her hair in a way that was elegant and accented her delicately rounded face. A long white cloak was pinned over her shoulders to ward off the chill, almost entirely covering the dusty pink gown she wore beneath.

“Hello,” I murmured, wings flaring as I touched down in front of her. “You look wonderful.”

“Hello, Az.” She smiled, her fingers instantly reaching for mine. “You look very nice, too.”

I supposed that was true; I’d had my suit tailor made for tonight. I rolled up my jacket sleeve to show her what I considered the real treasure of my attire. Tiny purple and blue flowers had been swirled around the cuff, the careful embroidery leaving no doubt as to who the creator was.

“I found these when I pulled this shirt out of the back of my closet.”

Scarlet stained her cheeks and she giggled nervously. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be.” I kissed her temple, fixing my sleeve and pulling her into a hug. “I was going to ask you to continue your work on my other dress shirts.”

“Really?” Her eyes sparkled in the setting sun, and I nodded.

“Really. They’re all so dull and boring. They could use a splash of color.”

“Alright,” she beamed, circling her slender arms around my neck as I scooped her up in my arms. “But only if you’ll tell me what you have planned for us tonight.” I smirked at her, taking us airborne before responding.

“That would ruin the fun.”

Her pink lips pouted playfully, and I couldn’t resist kissing them.

“You’ll like what I have planned, I promise.”

My words were enough to reassure her, and she snuggled tighter to my chest as we flew. I’d scouted the path ahead of time, simultaneously making sure it was safe and choosing the most scenic route.

“Look,” I murmured, dipping low over the Sidra. The flowing water resisted freezing thanks to Rhys’ magic, and the native rainbow-colored fish that inhabited it jumped from the water as if greeting us. Her breath caught at the sight, her face bright with amazement.

“They’re gorgeous.”

“So are you.”

She blushed again, ducking her head back to my chest. She was such a modest creature. I had seen males and females alike stare at her with unabashed longing, but she never seemed to notice.

I flew us to a small garden at the edge of the city. I knew that it held a special place in Elain’s heart; it had been one of the first she had planted in Velaris. As I searched for a place to land, she peeked over her shoulder to the land below.

“Oh! The Moonlight garden!” She smiled, causing pure, uninhibited love to blossom in my heart. How one small gesture could affect me so much, I still wasn’t sure.

Though the ground was dusted with snow and there were no blossoms to be found, she still radiated joy and happiness as we touched down. She crouched among the empty beds, no doubt picturing what the space would look like come spring. It would be a field of blues and purples and golds, each bulb planted by her hands and by those she cared for.

She stood, and I wrapped my arms around her waist. It began to snow, the white flakes drifting from the sky and sticking in her hair. She sighed, snuggling closer to my chest.

Rubbing my hands over her arms, I whispered, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Untangling our limbs, I let her to a corner of the garden, where I had built a greenhouse. It wasn’t anything elaborate, just a metal and glass pane shed lined with shelves and stocked with gardening tools.

“What- where did that come from?”

I shrugged, a bashful smile curling on my lips. “I made it for you.”

“It’s wonderful, Az.” Silver lined her eyes and she walked ahead of me on the cobblestone path to the modest structure. She reached out a gloved hand, swiping away the frost coating the windows. Cupping her hands to the glass, she peered inside and gasped.

“Tools! Watering cans and spades and shovels… Oh, Az!” She turned to wrap me in a bear hug, squeezing with all her strength. “Thank you, so much!”

Of course, I knew that what she was seeing was a glamor concealing what was really in that shed. Something she would find much more exciting than gardening supplies-or so I hoped.

Smoothing a hand over her hair, I murmured, “It was nothing. But I do have another surprise, if you’d like to see it.”

“I don’t see how anything could top this-“ She gestured to the greenhouse- “but okay.”

“Close your eyes.”

She did, but not without a curious quirk of a brow. Taking her hand, I carefully picked our way over the stony path and creaked open the greenhouse door. I shut it behind us, trapping our warmth inside and halting after a few steps.

Blood roared in my ears, my hands shaking with nerves as I double and triple checked that everything was in place.

“Okay,” I said, standing behind her so she could take it all in, “Open.”

Candles covered every available inch of the shelves, casting a warm, romantic glow over the space. White rose petals were scattered over the floor, and carefully laid out among them were pink petals, spelling out two words:

Marry me?

Her hands flew to her mouth, and she whispered: “Oh my Gods.”

I slipped the velvet box from my pocket and dropped to one knee.

She turned to me, eyes wide and teary.

“Since the day we met, I have loved you with my whole heart. I have seen you on your best days, and I have been by your side on the bad days.” My voice trembled at the memory of her on a battlefield, but I pushed on.

“When I gave you Truth-Teller, I gave you a piece of my heart; of my very soul. And since then, I have willingly given you more of those pieces, and you now hold my entire heart in your warm, gentle hands.” Her brown eyes watered, tears of joy threatening to spill over.

When I popped open the tiny box, a sob caught in her throat and a single tear traced down her cheek. A long time ago, she had told me that she despised diamonds. The sparkling white gems reminded her of an engagement to a cruel, heartless man that she would much rather forget.

“If we get married,” she had told me, “get me sapphires. Something to match your Siphons- so that I will look upon the ring and see only happy memories.”

And I hadn’t forgotten that.

“Elain Elizabeth Archeron. Will you make me the happiest male to ever walk this green earth and be my wife?”

She had started nodding before I had even finished asking.

“Yes, Azriel, a thousand times yes!”

I hastily slipped the cobalt gem onto the fourth finger of her left hand and swiftly stood, wrapping her in my arms and peppering her face with sweet kisses. Her laugh was one of pure ecstasy and overflowing joy.

I felt light enough to touch the stars.

I don’t know how long we stood there, murmuring our affections to one another and shedding happy, unbelieving tears. It could have been minutes, or hours, or years before she pulled away and wiped her nose on her sleeve. She held out her hand, admiring the sunburst-cut sapphire set in the silver band.

“Az?”

“Yes, flower?”

“I love you.”

Her tone was one that promised forever and caused warmth to spread from the tips of my toes all the way to my ears. I smiled, pulling her in for another kiss.

“I love you too.”

[stephaniemarlowftw]

CULTURE ABUSE RELEASE NEW SINGLE, PREPARE FOR NORTH AMERICAN TOUR WITH TONY MOLINA + OTHERS

Catch them on the road this summer // Watch the pensive video for the Bay punks’ new track “Goo” now.

Taking a victory lap around North America after several wildly successful 2018 tours, Culture Abuse have announced a month’s worth of dates alongside prolific punker Tony Molina. Adding to the already hefty bill are supporting slots from DARE, Young Guv (Ben Cook of Fucked Up & No Warning), Lil Ugly Mane, Poison Thorn (Shane Moran of Title Fight), and more. In celebration of this headlining tour, Culture Abuse have shared their first new track (and music video, directed by David Kelling and Barbara Georges) in nearly a year.  

Stream Culture Abuse’s new single + music video for “Goo” on YouTube.

Recorded and produced by David Kelling and Culture Abuse, “Goo” continues the left-of-center punk tradition that imbued their 2018 LP Bay Dream (Epitaph) which followed up their acclaimed 2016 debut album Peach. Since releasing Bay Dream last year, Culture Abuse have dashed across the globe alongside top-tier acts including Nothing, Green Day, The Bronx and Turnstile, among many others. Catch Culture Abuse on tour with this summer — a full tour itinerary can be found below.

Culture Abuse — On Tour

May 4 Cleveland, OH @ Agora Theater - Spring Fling Fest w/ Turnstile, Turnover, etc.

May 5 Columbus, OH @ Ace Of Cups w/ Jesus Piece, Mil-Spec

May 31 / June 1 Las Vegas, NV @ Hard Rock Hotel - Emerge Fest w/ Doja Cat, Big Freedia, etc. 

Culture Abuse — On Tour w/ Tony Molina + DARE: 

June 6 San Francisco, CA @ The Chapel w/ No Right

June 7 Los Angeles, CA @ Teragram Ballroom w/ Entry (members of Touché Amore)

June 10 Tucson, AZ @ Club Congress w/ Entry (members of Touché Amore)

June 12 Dallas, TX @ Club Dada w/ Army + Razorbumps

June 13 Austin, TX @ Empire Control Room w/ Army

June 14 Houson, TX @ Satellite Bar w/ Army

June 15 New Orleans, LA @ Gasa Gasa w/ HiGH

June 16 Atlanta, GA @ Drunken Unicorn w/ Slow Fire Pistol

June 17 Carrboro, NC @ Cat’s Cradle Back Room w/ Fake Eyes

June 18 Philadelphia, PA @ Kung Fu Necktie * ^

June 20 Washington, DC @ U. Street Music Hall w/ Lil Ugly Mane * ^

June 21 Cambridge, MA @ Middle East Downstairs w/ Lil Ugly Mane * ^

June 22 Brooklyn, NY @ Music Hall of Williamsburg w/ Lil Ugly Mane * ^

June 24 Montreal, QC @ Bar Le Ritz PDB w/ Pale Lips*

June 25 Toronto, ON @ Velvet Underground*

June 26 Detroit, MI @ El Club w/ Strange Magic*

June 28 Chicago, IL @ Subterranean w/ Buggin Out!*

June 29 Minneapolis, MN @ 7th Street Entry*

July 1 Denver, CO @ Marquis Theater w/ Regional Justice Center (RJC) + Cadaver Dog*

July 2 Salt Lake City, UT @ Urban Lounge w/ Regional Justice Center (RJC)*

July 4 Vancouver, BC @ Astoria w/ Regional Justice Center (RJC)*

July 5 Seattle, WA @ Crocodile w/ Regional Justice Center (RJC)*

July 6 Portland, OR @ Doug Fir Lounge w/ Regional Justice Center (RJC)* 

*w/ Young Guv (Ben Cook of Fucked Up & No Warning)

^DJ Set by Poison Thorn (Shane Moran of Title Fight) 

Artist photo by: Barbara Georges

[shewayout-1975]

Matty Healy photographed by Christopher Mark in Mesa, AZ