#illyricnbcby

[sinoramikss]

Hey everyone, this is the part where I think Azriel's POV is going to make a lot of people happy!Enjoy, and don't forget to like my posts if you do!

AZRİEL

As they reappeared in the River House, Rhysand and Feyre on either side of her, Azriel’s eyes couldn’t help but follow Sy's movements. He watched as she steadied herself after the winnowing, a small smile tugging at her lips, her breath catching from the sudden shift. The dress she wore now—a twilight blue that flowed like water—hugged her form in a way that made him pause. The fabric draped over her curves, accentuating the line of her waist before cascading softly to her ankles. It suited her, he thought reluctantly, bringing out the gentleness in her eyes.

He kept his expression neutral, though his shadows betrayed him, swirling more restlessly around his shoulders. He reminded himself that this girl, this strange newcomer, was still an enigma—one they couldn’t fully trust yet. And yet, he couldn’t deny the strange pull he felt toward her, an attraction that he couldn’t quite explain. The way she looked at Velaris with a mix of awe and disbelief, the hesitant smile that hinted at a deeper well of hope—it drew him in despite himself.

As they made their way to the dining room, the others were already gathered. Cassian lounged casually in his chair, arms crossed as he smirked at Azriel and the newcomer. Nesta sat beside him, her posture straight and unyielding, watching Sy with an appraising look, her expression carefully blank. Elain, ever gentle, offered Sy a warm smile, the kind that seemed to welcome anyone into her circle. Across from them, Amren perched like a small but deadly bird, her silver eyes gleaming with curiosity as she took in their arrival.

The conversation flowed easily around the table as everyone settled in, and Sy’s presence among them seemed to gradually become a part of the rhythm of their interactions. Despite her earlier uncertainty, she began to relax, her answers to their questions becoming more genuine, her laughter joining the mix of voices. But Azriel noticed how she seemed to study each of them when she thought no one was looking, as if trying to memorize every detail of this new life.

“Is it always like this?” she asked softly after a while, a hint of wonder in her voice as she watched Cassian animatedly recounting a story from training. “The way you all are with each other?”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, considering her question. “It’s not always this peaceful,” he admitted with a faint smile. “But yes, we’ve been through enough together to know how to enjoy the quiet moments when they come. Trust is something we value—something we’ve fought hard to earn.”

She nodded slowly, looking down at her plate, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. Azriel caught the way her shoulders tensed at the mention of trust, a shadow passing across her expression. He knew that look too well—knew what it was to carry the weight of isolation, even among others. It made him wonder what kind of life she had left behind when she’d made that desperate bargain, what losses she carried beneath her polite smiles.

His shadows stirred with his curiosity, brushing against her like a whisper, but he pulled them back, keeping his face impassive. He couldn’t afford to let his interest show—not when there were still so many unanswered questions. But he couldn’t help the way his gaze lingered on her when she wasn’t looking, drawn to the way the candlelight played across her face, softening the lines of her uncertainty.

Elain noticed his distraction, her gentle gaze catching his as she tilted her head in silent question, as if to ask what he was thinking. Azriel gave her a small, barely perceptible shake of his head, signaling that now wasn’t the time. She smiled softly, understanding, but he could see the flicker of amusement in her eyes, as if she had caught on to more than he had intended.

“Did you find anything that surprised you about Velaris?” Amren’s voice cut through the chatter, her tone sharp and direct as she fixed her silver gaze on Sy.

Sy blinked, as if startled by the question, but quickly recovered. “More than I can say,” she admitted with a small, hesitant smile. “It’s like seeing a dream come to life.”

Mor leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with interest. “Well, let’s hope it stays that way. There’s nothing quite like Velaris when you first see it.” Her smile was genuine, but there was an edge to her words that made it clear she wasn’t entirely ready to trust Sy yet.

Nesta’s gaze was cooler, her expression unreadable as she studied Sy’s face. “Dreams can change,” she said, her voice low, a hint of warning threading through the words. “And so can the people living in them.”

Cassian nudged her playfully with his elbow, breaking the tension with a wink in Sy’s direction. “Don’t mind her—Nesta just likes to make sure everyone knows she’s keeping an eye on things.”

Sy managed a small laugh, but Azriel could see the uncertainty lingering in her eyes, the way she still seemed unsure of her place among them. And yet, there was a strength in the way she held herself, a quiet determination that made him think she wouldn’t back down easily, even in the face of so much doubt.

Rhysand, ever attuned to the undercurrents of a conversation, finally spoke up, his voice carrying a note of amusement. “I think our guest’s appetite is louder than her words, judging by the way her stomach keeps growling. Perhaps we should let her enjoy her meal before Cassian scares her off with another story.”

Sy’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she shot Rhysand a grateful, if embarrassed, look. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

Azriel’s lips twitched into a faint smirk at her response, and when she glanced at him, he made sure to keep his expression neutral. But he couldn’t help the thought that crossed his mind—how she had slipped into their lives so unexpectedly, how she seemed to tug at something within him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He knew better than to let it show, but as he watched her across the table, he couldn’t deny that her presence intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

As the meal continued, and the conversation turned to lighter topics, he let himself watch her just a little longer, wondering what secrets she still held—and what it might mean for them all in the days to come.

SY

Dinner continued in near silence, the only sounds being the soft clinking of silverware against plates and the occasional babbling of little Nyx, who sat in his high chair, making contented noises as he played with a piece of bread. My hunger, which had been gnawing at me all day, seemed almost unnatural now, considering I’d grown so used to going without food back in my world. I was surprised by how ravenous I’d become, and as I finished the last bite on my plate, I sank back into my chair, feeling the uncomfortable fullness settle in my stomach. A part of me worried that my new clothes, snug as they were, might start to feel tighter after such a hearty meal.

Rhysand’s voice broke the quiet, drawing my attention back to the table. “Sy, earlier Feyre asked if you had any powers in your world. You said you didn’t, but what about here?” His violet eyes studied me intently, a shadow of concern crossing his expression.

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. I hadn’t thought about it—hadn’t even considered the possibility. It was obvious that I wasn’t a High Fae, but I knew that some humans in this world had been granted powers under unique circumstances. My brows furrowed as I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice uncertain. “If I do have any abilities, I have no idea what they might be... or if I’d even know how to use them.”

My words seemed to stir something in Rhysand, his thoughtful expression deepening as he turned over the implications. Around the table, the others exchanged glances, their expressions varying from curiosity to concern. It was clear that none of them had considered this possibility before—not until now. The thought of me possessing some unknown power must have made them uneasy, especially considering that I hadn’t been brought here by the Cauldron, but by something much older, something ancient.

Rhysand’s gaze shifted to Amren and Nesta, a decision forming in his eyes. “Tomorrow, I want you both to work with Sy to see if there’s any way to determine whether she has latent abilities,” he instructed, his tone firm but calm. “If she does have any talents, it’s better for her to know—”

“—and better for us to know,” Nesta cut in, her voice sharp with a hint of disdain. Her words carried an edge that made her feelings clear—she wasn’t thrilled about my presence here, and she wanted to make sure I knew it. The hostility in her eyes was like a slap, but I kept my expression neutral, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing how it affected me.

I offered a silent nod of agreement to Rhysand’s request, even though unease prickled at the edges of my mind. It wasn’t as if I had a choice—if there was a chance I had powers, it was better to understand them than to stumble blindly through whatever challenges this world might throw at me.

Rhysand then turned his attention to Azriel, who had been quiet throughout most of the meal, his shadows a restless presence around him. “And Azriel, I’ll need your help to teach Sy how to defend herself,” Rhysand added, his voice carrying a note of authority that brooked no argument.

For a brief moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Azriel’s face, so fleeting I might have missed it if I hadn’t been watching him so closely. He ran a hand through his raven-black hair, adjusting his posture before responding. “Wouldn’t Cassian be better suited for that task?” he asked, his tone measured, though I sensed a hint of reluctance beneath it.

“No,” Nesta interjected, her voice firm as she leaned forward, fixing Azriel with a fierce glare. Her hand landed on Cassian’s leg under the table, her fingers digging into his thigh as if to underscore her point. “He’s not the right person for this.”

Cassian winced at the pressure of her grip, letting out a hiss through gritted teeth. “Nesta,” he muttered, clearly pained by her display of possessiveness. But her gaze remained locked on Azriel, her expression daring him to argue further.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, avoiding the tension crackling between them. Studying the intricate patterns carved into the wooden table suddenly seemed like a safer option than meeting anyone’s eyes.

Rhysand’s gaze lingered on Nesta for a moment, as if weighing her unspoken reasoning, before he gave a slight nod. “Very well. Sy, you’ll train with Azriel after lunch each day. Mornings will be spent working with Nesta and Amren on discovering if you have any abilities.”

Nesta’s expression tightened, but she didn’t object. Perhaps she understood that pushing back would only lead to Cassian being assigned to work with me instead, and she seemed determined to avoid that outcome.

I hesitated, glancing around the table before voicing the question that had been gnawing at me since this discussion began. “And what if... what if I decide I want to leave?” I asked softly, barely more than a whisper.

Rhysand set down his wine glass, his brow furrowing as he considered my words. “If you truly wish to leave, Sy, you are free to go,” he replied, his tone even but tinged with a hint of warning. “But sending you out into Prythian as you are now, untrained and defenseless, would be no better than sending you to your death. And we don’t know what consequences your departure could bring—either for you or for us.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the table, his expression serious. “So, for your sake and ours, I think it’s wise for you to stay as our guest for now. Learn the basics—learn how to protect yourself. Then, if you still want to leave, at least you’ll be able to survive beyond our borders.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle on my shoulders. It was a logical argument—one I couldn’t easily dismiss. And yet, there was a part of me that bristled at the thought of being tied down, even temporarily. But looking around the table, at the faces of those who were reluctantly offering me a chance, I knew that staying was the smarter choice.

With a quiet sigh, I nodded, acknowledging the decision that had already been made. And as Rhysand turned back to his own meal, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my time in this world was only beginning—and that the path ahead would be far more treacherous than I had anticipated.

[quccninchains]

{☾} "...and what exactly brings you to my manor, Rhysand?" Her tone is light, even--she doesn't show her anxiety as they walk side by side in her gardens. She is nervous, but she doesn't show it. There is no open HOSTILITY, though the Mother knew Tamlin had told her enough to treat him as an enemy on sight.

Alicent's hands are clasped before her, warm brown eyes watching the fountains splash to life, filling the gardens with the gentle sounds of babbling water. The spring sun feels good on her skin, a gentle breeze tickling the edge of her elongated ears. She arches a brow, tilting her head at the guest to her home.

"As you well know, I am only Tamlin's heir. I have no power, no sway over my cousin's will," she hums softly. There is only a touch of bitterness in her words. Though she adored her cousin, he was so pigheaded. So STUBBORN. Even if she had fantastic ideas...he would nod, acknowledge them. But never once had he taken her seriously.

The long folds of her teal gown kiss the ground, brushing over scattered petals and stones.

"I am, of course, happy to accommodate you for your travel, but I must ask why you came all the way to the Spring Court and came to me, of all people?"

|| @illyricnbcby gets this acotar based starter <3

[cthoniian]

' you look awful. '

that is the greeting he gives his highlord. unprofessional? yes. however it is the tone of a man who has worked with him since they were children. and by worked with -- the correct description would be... has been a pain in the high lords ass since childhood. a childhood that wasn't easy on either of them.

rhysand & azriel // starter for @illyricnbcby

[seerbloom]

continuation from ( x ) .

𝐀     𝐇𝐔𝐅𝐅     𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃     𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃     𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒     ,     placing     palms     'pon     waist     of     own's     body.     it     was     an     𝓪𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽     that     elain     told     to     the     high     lord     of     the     night     court,     one     that     she     𝕨𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕𝕝𝕪     agreed     in     an     instant.     a     secret     deal     between     brother-in-law     &     sister-in-law     as     she     watched     both     of     the     twins     (     NUALA     &     CERRIDWEN,     TWIN     SPIES     OF     THE     SHADOWSINGER     &     HIGH     LORD.     )     ,excused     themselves     &     left     the     duo     alone     in     the     kitchen.     with     everyone     out     doing     their     own     thing     outside     of     the     house,     it     would     be     the     perfect     time     to     teach     the     other     to     at     least     bake     something.     ｅｓｐｅｃｉａｌｌｙ     if     it     was     meant     for     her     youngest     sister,     feyre.     in     the     garden     &     in     the     kitchen,     it     was     where     elain     would     make     the     rules.     chestnut     irises     shifted     from     the     male     &     to     the     dough     that     was     prepared     beforehand.     "     if     you're     done     fooling     around     @illyricnbcby     ,     just     follow     my     movement     by     kneading     the     dough     first,     okay?     I     have     a     ...smaller     dough     prepared     for     you     just     in     case.     "     no     need     to     ruin     the     bread     rolls     for     dinner.

[cthoniian]

friends. they'd been friends once. rhysand had several now. rhysand had a cousin, a general, a tiny devil, a spymaster -- he had everything. and tamlin had. nothing. he had no one anymore. a deep breath as he glanced towards the high lord of the night court.

' it's been some time since you came to calanmai. what brings you here? '

tamlin & rhysand // @illyricnbcby

[cthoniian]

there is a groan from the general. it feels rather distinctly like a boot is nudging him. but surely, no one would nudge the lord of bloodshed with a boot. reacting without looking, he grabs the offending foot ---

' stop -- or be prepared to land on your pasty ass. '

his voice slurred and gravelly with sleep. he's only recently gotten in. hence why he's asleep in the middle of the floor. in the kitchen. he'd been hungry -- but then sometime during it all, he'd gotten so tired that a nap sounded ideal.

cassian & rhysand // @illyricnbcby

[nightsartist]

“   I heard you scream. ” (have some angst, oop)

A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES

she sits up , beads of sweat dripping from her face as she finds a place nestled against him. against her mate , her protector , her better half . . . " amarantha .. " she begins , attempting to garner the strength to speak. no , it may be an impossible feat right now to catch her breath. she buries her head closer , taking in his scent to attract the mind to softer thoughts. him , and him alone. how beckoning the darkness has become . . . and she , his willing participant.

[nightsartist]

𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 . . . especially in the space of a monster. a wolf with little need to be in sheep's clothing. sadistic and lusting for trouble at every turn. more hatred lingers in blue grey eyes , pressing fingers tightly into her palm and bearing her teeth in a hiss. " food will be no different here. " she knows the way she looks. how dewy skin in spring was once there before she died under the mountain. how laughter hardly has been present and late night visits to bathrooms could not pressure tamlin to find her side in dismay to assist. dismay that his betrothed was in a guttural prison not just within the hymns of spring but within herself since death became her. still , she will find her feet , fixing at her dress that has found more revealing elements to be present in her time to rush from the high lord's side. how she detests this gown. time alone would garner tears. she was too strong to cry in the face of the one she hates. it may give him too much satisfaction.

" so i can be your puppet again ? " she inquires about the food. how could she forget the faerie wine ? her standing brings something of a dizzy spell . she has little to no energy. playing a game with rhysand to get under his skin may not be applicable this time. poisoned food or not , she is weak. far too weak.

and so , without further ado , she will find it's nearest dining. a place she is certain he will follow. spring's betrothed shall not ask a night's high lord on where to go , she is far too stubborn for that.

a bite of the lip , feyre has not realized how painful these shoes were to walk in until the worries lifted of marriage to tamlin. she hardly cares what the other may say , retrieving her shoes from her feet to simply walk with them in her hands. " .. prick .. " she'd breath the words as if it came easy on her tongue. as if it were natural. she has a much better time calling him vulgar names comparatively to his own.

Ferocity. It did not escape the Lord of Night's attention that she had plenty of it to spare. From the groom, it was to be expected. He was a beast, of sorts, often unkempt and hardly-mannered, but Feyre, built as though the Mother Herself had made it her life's work to sculpt her---ahh, looks can deceive. She'd shown that much Under the Mountain. The ferocity had not yet left her eyes, her fists, her slightly bared teeth. Good. He had a sinking feeling she would need that fighting spirit in the nearby future. And for his own benefit---well, he could do with a bit of feminine counter-pressure to his unchained audacity. Yes, there was Mor, and Amren. But this was something entirely different. She was different.

Scrutinising her every reaction upon their arrival in the Night Court, he couldn't prevent his lips from tugging into the subtlest of grins at her question, allowing a short moment of silent contemplation for her before he answered in the most nonchalant tone he could muster.

❝ Mhmm. I would say in all its glory, but that would require a more...intimate view of the premises. ❞

The double entendre would no doubt strike a nerve, one way or another, but there was a deeper truth behind his words. Velaris. Had it been solely a choice of the heart, he would have revealed his truths to her without so much as a second thought. But things were not so clear-cut. She had ties to Tamlin, and perhaps if she would return to her antics with him---perhaps those ties would remain for eternity. He could not risk exposing Velaris on a whim and a tug of something she was, as of yet, wholly unaware of.

What cruel fate, to be freed from Amarantha's grasp, and yet firmly stuck in limbo. But that was, quite literally, neither here nor there.

Giving her a thorough once-over -and making a point of doing so in the characteristic manner of the image of Self he puppeteered to veil the truth- he arched a single eyebrow.

❝ One would think there's no scarcity of food in the Spring Court. ❞

His eyes lingered on her too-sharp cheekbones, the dark circles under her eyes carefully hidden behind layers of powder---Ianthe's doing, perhaps. He had no doubt that under the ruffles of her frankly ridiculously unbefitting dress, more shocking truths lie hidden. He opted not to inquire, had no desire to exploit the fragility of the situation.

❝ Eat. You look awful. ❞

It was all he could muster to keep the hatred at bay. For him, the Lord of the Spring Court---he had her, she was with him, and she was wasting away.

[seerbloom]

respond to the following prompts out of character, then tag others you'd like to get to know a little bit better.

ROLEPLAYER NAME: Rue

ROLEPLAYER PRONOUNS: she / her

MUSE NAME: Elain Archeron

PREFERRED COMMUNICATION: discord for sure! I’m a bit slow on IM’s

EXPERIENCE: ever since 2006 !! I’ve been on many platforms

PREFERRED ROLEPLAY TYPE: long threads for sure! Plotted are to die for! ♥️

PET PEEVES & DEALBREAKERS: pressured to ship , viewing myself as an object to ship in general. I had this happened to me when I had a FF7 blog. Character hate.

PLOTS OR MEMES: both!

BEST TIME TO WRITE: late evenings due to work, or on my days off!

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE: I’ve been told I am lol, along with another FF7 character 😂

TAGGED BY: @illyricnbcby ( thank you! ) TAGGING: @nightsartist , @deathmade , @meaercies , @stareternyl , @truthtellser , @firehcart , @seachant , @valkyrd

[nightsartist]

respond to the following prompts out of character, then tag others you'd like to get to know a little bit better.

roleplayer name: my alias is rose !!

roleplayer pronouns: she / her

muse name: feyre archeron <3

preferred communication: i tend to gravitate towards discord when i get closer to my partners.

experience: i am 28 now , i started when i was 11 years old. should i have been writing at 11 ? absolutely not. anyway-

preferred roleplay type: long threads that equally keep me and my partner involved are preferred. sometimes long stuff can feel really tough to reply to though.. and in that case, i tend to not reply for an extended period of time if it's kinda getting boring ? fkdjkfd

pet peeves & dealbreakers: people who vague. hypocritical actions. i have a lot of problems with hypocrites saying that they arent a 'problem' in a community when they are doing the very same thing that they dislike.

plots or memes: memes most the time. plotting can be kind of hard tbh ??? unless you feel comfy w/ the person you are talking to.

best time to write: night for some reason .. the writing juices just ... happen then ..

are you like your muse?: GOD I WISH. i feel like i can relate to her. i think that she's so badass though and in many respects , i am the biggest wimp out there.

tagged by : @illyricnbcby MY SWEET DARLING THANK YOUU. tagging : @deathmade and everyone elseeee who hasn't. <3 i'm trying to mind the people who have already been tagged ..

[quccninchains]

Without thinking, she runs her fingers against the insides of her wrists--a reminder that she was no longer bound in CHAINS under the mountain. Sometimes, a chill a touch too cold sends her back, in the damp coldness of their cages. Her home was lovely, but even the wide halls and spacious rooms felt too constraining. Now, she likes to spend her days in the sun--amongst the flowers in bloom with a book.

Her lips press together and she offers up a thin smile. "Friendly suggests that we are friends or even acquaintances, Rhysand," Alicent points out, her fingers clenching and relaxing at her sides. Like most of the High Fae, her opinions of the High Lord of the Night Court were not positive. She'd been there, in Amarantha's court. Had seen his preening and malicious ways. Unfortunately for her visitor, she also had her cousin's recollections.

But, she would try her best to be polite and keep an open mind. Even if just his presence in her home reminded her of the dank and the cold. Even if she knew, long after he left, she would be catapulted back into her NIGHTMARES and lost to her memories.

A lilting laugh leaves her throat as he speaks of Tamlin. "Weren't you two close at one point? You must be pulling my leg if you think that man would listen to anyone else once he has his mind made up." Alicent shakes her head and gestures to the table set near the greenhouse, settling herself down in her chair with a little sigh.

Despite herself, a little shade of rose colored her cheeks at his compliment. Once more, she reminds herself of all she knows of Rhysand. Clearing her throat, she crosses her legs at the knee and pours two cups of tea.

"I have not seen him in a few months. He has been..." Her brows knit together and she gives little nod, arches her brows. "He is still learning to be High Lord, but he seems to follow closer to my dear uncle's example. He is surrounded by sycophants." Her expression flattens as she thinks of the high priestess. Ianthe. "In truth, I have been avoiding him since..." She trails off, her eyes meeting her guest's.

"...I haven't been to see him since then."

❝ Are friendly visits not part of the consideration anymore, these days? ❞

He wore a smile and he wore it well, but they were both acutely aware that he had not come just to exchange pleasantries. It seemed as though the events Under the Mountain had all but erased those habits altogether, leaving nothing but survival to first spring to mind. The High Lord had always stuck to his principles of social courtesy, but even he had to admit he'd not been as sociable as of late. Amarantha had gotten under their skin and wedged herself where even Fae magic could not heal the wounds that she'd inflicted---emotional wounds, scarring each and every one of them, one way or another. Rhys was simply more motivated to hide his wounds, with the truth behind his Court and what he had hidden during those long years at stake.

Keeping at pace with her, Rhysand allowed his eyes to wander to their surroundings for the briefest of moments; the sounds, the scents and the sight of it all---it truly was a place of remarkable beauty, the Spring Court. A shame, then, that the allure of it all was stained with dark memories for him. Dark memories in which Tamlin, a man he would have once counted among his friends, had played more of a part than he cared to admit.

The smile faded from his lips, momentarily making place for something much more solemn, but as soon as he caught his thoughts drifting off and reeled them back in, he willed his lips into a happier display once more. Concealing, after all, was one of his specialties.

❝ Ah---it seems like you know me too well. I must confess my visit is not merely of social nature. And as for your other question---you may underestimate your sway over Tamlin. He's a stubborn man, I'll give you that, but a little bit of pressure in just the right area can go a long way... ❞

There was a sliver of a thought that linked back to Under the Mountain and had him playing Amarantha's torture-for-information game again, and he masked it with a different sentiment altogether.

❝ And I have to admit, when it comes to the Spring Court, you are much more agreeable to check in with. Easier on the eye, too. ❞

The latter sentiment, of course, came accompanied by a wink, and the appearance of a lopsided grin to shift the mood to something less tense, more playful. Always on the lookout, always careful not to show too much of his true self. It helped that playfulness was also in his nature.

[nightsartist]

𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 from her chest entirely had it not been for that flashy entrance. bickering , and slow realization occurs ever so softly in his presence. fae are spilling out of it's entrance , ianthe is nowhere to be seen. he is here , to retrieve her ? to take her. finally. relief and anger tossed her for a turn. ( prick ! )

the snarling from tamlin suggested many things of discomfort. disbelief and dismay embody her. " you .. " it is almost intertwined with tamlin's own aggression. but she knows the bond speaks for itself. if it were any other time , any other occasion in which she were ready to wed . . . perhaps things may be different. through demands being made between a golden lion and a shadowed panther , she will eventually volunteer herself over. " a week. as .. as i promised. " it is earnest. tamlin's eyes flickered with sadness as he knew there would be no way out. no way out of this hell of letting his bride-to-be go with another. " just a week. and . . you will take me back home. " home . what was in a home ? this bitter taste in her mouth could only suggest heartbreak. the woman who died under the mountain surely is not this radiant being in a dress now. no , she is hardly radiant. she is sickly.

a chance to look towards tamlin one last time as if to say i am sorry before she will join it's rivaling high lord. it's winnow , dark , hauntingly dark . . . unexpectedly cold at his touch. yet she is close now , attempting to steady her own heartbroken state.

and then they are within night's court. the beauty , the brilliance of it all. curtain to a palace of stars in the horizon. this place is miraculously beautiful that even her eyes cannot fight away the awe. " this is . . . the night court ? " it cannot be helped. everyone says it is a prison to live under the night's pledge. they were sadistic murderers . . . and yet , and yet . . . ?

she realizes that she is still at his side , romantically intertwined with his hands , close to his chest. she breaks away from him as if he has just burned her , finding the furthest wall between them to take refuge. " whatever it is that happens next , i am not your prisoner. i am not your slave. " she'd reiterate. and she will fight , she will kick and scream if he attempts to take advantage of her.

starter for @nightsartist

❝ Hello, Feyre darling ❞

Good grief, how had he ever kept a straight face? A smirk, even? How had his voice not cracked? He was so used to being the epitome of composure, the one who'd always had his cards firmly tucked with a few aces up his sleeve, that she---the sheer presence of her, had completely blindsided him. Even initially, in all her mortality, her humanity, she had been nothing short of exquisite to him.

It didn't help one bit that he'd dreamt of her for so long; the stroke of a brush, a slender hand following almost by command to paint images stemming from his own memory--ah, but how could anyone command her to do anything at all? Even a fleeting glance at her and he'd determined that he would never attempt anything of the sort -- save for perhaps the very...exceptional occasion.

His mind would whirl with dreams---no, memories. Good and bad intertwined, darkness -one heavier than his own shadowy tendrils - would creep into the very pores of his being until he was completely engulfed, drowning almost. Most nights, he would have been pulled under until by some mercy he'd wake from said fever-dreams. But then there'd been her. A new focal point for his subconscious that even the worst of memories of Under the Mountain could not dissuade him from---but, because his life had always been filled with irony and the apparent need to fly upwind, she was betrothed to another.

On that matter, however--he'd already deduced before that he was keenly aware of her emotional, and at the worst of times even physical, well-being. It came as no surprise to him that he would catch glimpses of her wedding day---a tuft of a dress, a vague reflection in a mirror, just shreds of moments that he wholly ignored for the sake of his own sanity. What did, however, pique his interest, was the first time a no echoed through their bond. It came in the form of a surge of sorts, a wave of emotions. Doubt, a boundary and the reluctancy to cross it, and then...sheer panic.

He'd been lounging in his usual spot, overlooking the City, but was up on his feet in seconds.

Help me. Help me. Help me. Save me--please save me. Get me out. End this.

Not a single soul saw the absolute snarl that curved his lips upward, teeth bared, into perhaps something more feral than he would regularly demonstrate. But when it came to her--

No---no. It resounded down the bond as clear as day, her Sacred No, her boundary. And in a flash, and perhaps a bit more dramatic than he would have been had he been wholly clear of mind, he was there. Crashing the festivities in both the figurative and literal sense of the word. It took all of his efforts to shove the full spectrum of his authentic emotions back into the section of his subconscious where he stored them for safekeeping, and to roll out the mask that all those who knew him superficially would only ever see, lest they'd get just a little too close to the truth...

Suave, carefree, pompous, asshole. Let them speculate. Let them wander in darkness and never find truth.

Willing his voice back in line upon a deep inhale, because Mother knows it would have cracked then and there---he let the tendrils of darkness under his command slowly dissipate upon his next exhale.

Suave, carefree--

❝ Hello, Feyre darling... ❞ and the purring undertone, for good measure.