#modern girl in prythian au

[aladyofgoodtaste]

A Court of 'It's giving beauty & the beast' and 'Except you can't tell which one is which'

Spring is rotting away. Not just its Court but across the lands as well. Without it, there can be no new beginnings, no rebirths and nature itself will cease to a halt. And thus Fates dictate that a human and a broken Fae must create a miracle together.

OR

Tamlin thinks that the Mother is cruel for the salvation of his home requires another human’s help while Juno curses whatever entity that Isekai’ed her into this shitty ass book series.

AO3

Chapter 2: It’s the panic attack for me

Juno shares some discoveries. Tamlin is trying to process said discoveries. No one wins.

CH1 |CH3

-

Tamlin and Juno’s misfortune began when they woke up beside the Rot. For clearer context, both of them woke up in different parts of the Spring Court, yet at the same time. The sun was shining high in the afternoon sky, the grass had patches of darkness that upon contact, became ashes, and the air was foul. Juno found herself underneath a sad, dying tree that used to be oak. Tamlin opened his eyes beside a murky lake where dead, sickly-looking fishes floated on the surface - both of them terribly confused with a voice faintly lingering in the recess of their mind:

“Stop the Rot. Restore Spring.” 

What happened next was a series of more misfortune, more confusion, and an altercation that could only erupt from a Fae who had been betrayed by a human and a human who had no idea where she was. Tamlin, who cursed when he discovered that his magic became so weak that it forcefully shifted him back to his Fae form, wandered further into his Court; where the Rot had feasted upon the lands that all was left were husk. Juno, who was supposed to crash at her best friend’s apartment for their sleepover, searched for civilisation. Both ended up meeting in a wasteland that used to be a flourishing wheat field.

The two made eye contact. The two had no idea how to react at first.

The exiled High Lord proved quicker, eager to lose himself in rage. His life had never been the same when a human female walked into it. From then onwards, his prejudice against mankind had turned to the worst. With his last bit of magic and rationality, he transformed back into a beast and launched himself at the poor human female. 

Except the human isn’t as ‘poor’ as Tamlin thought. The beast completely missed his claws despite the human being frozen in shock. He scrambled to his feet, snarling mindlessly. The High Lord was more feral than Fae, and that, in itself, is one of the sweetest forms of escapism. All that drives him are pure emotion and needless violence. So he tries again and attacks, only to stumble upon a weak knee. Tamlin was exhausted in every way - magic, body and mind - and the sight of him was beyond pathetic. The once powerful and dignified High Lord of the Spring Court was reduced to an incoherent mess. Yet he tries to attack again and again… and again. None of the blows were delivered.

“Ok. So. I have no idea what I just did, but this is sad, man.” The human female confessed, a complicated expression on her face. She warily - and a bit annoyed - stepped around Tamlin. “You could talk earlier, so can you quit it already? I really need some answers, and you’re the only one around.” Well, he didn’t talk so much as screaming at her about how humans bring nothing but destruction and that he’ll rip out her throat. Not the most sane person that Juno could’ve come across but at this point, she’s desperate for some information.

The beast didn’t give her an answer, for exhaustion finally took him over, and he passed out. 

Tamlin was the only one to wake up a second time. The sun had long set beneath the horizon; the night air was chilling and was only kept at bay by a crackling fire.

“You’re awake, Beasty?” It’s the human female again, and that’s when Tamlin realises he’s in a cave and tied up by dry vines when he tries to wiggle. “I bet you can easily break free from those ropes. That wasn’t an invitation, by the way. I’m really hoping you finally chill the fuck out so we can talk.”

She’s right. He can easily rip the vines off of him, even in his weakened state. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance,” Tamlin scoffs. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I can promise you, you won’t be making it out of here alive.”

The human pauses from kindling the fire to stare incredulously at him. “Dude, I told you earlier. All I wanted was some answers! A-And you’re the one who attacked me! What the fuck is your deal?”

“Give them an inch, and humans will always take a mile. Your kind is beyond ungrateful even when I… I…” Anger, self-loathing, and despair threaten to choke Tamlin as the image of one female keeps replaying in his mind. He closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering breath.

“Right…” For a brief moment, the human worries that Tamlin is about to dissolve into a crying mess of a puddle. “I’m gonna be honest; I don’t really care what you’re going through right now. I just want to go back home. So if you can shelf your mental breakdown for some other time and tell me where we are right now, that’ll be great.”

It took a herculean effort for Tamlin to calm himself before finally pushing himself up so he could sit properly. Shadows from the fire dance upon his figure. “Wandered a bit too far away from home, mortal? Did your curiosity drive you to explore beyond the Wall?”

Instead of bristling with embarrassment, the human merely blinks. “What Wall? I woke up somewhere here, underneath a tree.” She explained, and Tamlin did not sense any lies. “Which is weird because I can clearly remember that I was walking up to Nora’s apartment. I don’t think I was jumped or murdered because the street was busy with people. Sunday afternoon - you know how it is.”

She speaks freely with no hesitation or any underlying misdirection. This human is honestly lost and… utterly strange to Tamlin. From the clothing that she wore (he had never seen a female wearing a pair of strange dark, circular glasses on her face before) to her manner of speaking. She worries about her current predicament, that much is given, yet nonchalant too - as if she had already resigned to her fate. Curiosity begins to take root within Tamlin, and after staring at the equally strange-shaped bags beside the human, he decides to ask, "Who are you?"

The human tilts her head as if she didn't expect him to cooperate. "Juno." She replies, still honest. "No last name. I see those pointy ears. I have a good guess as to what you are." 

"And what am I?"

"Elves. Maybe Vampires? I know some versions have pointy ears, but I don't see fangs. Siren? But we're not even near the ocean. I guess... a Faerie then."

Tamlin's eyebrows nearly raise to his hairline. She's astute. However, he doesn't know what kind of creature she listed as the second option. "Wise of you to keep your name close to your chest against a Fae."

"Play it safe instead of going in aggro; that's my kind of play style," The human female - Juno, as he now knows - speaks with stranger phrases and words. "Since you're in a chatty mood, can you tell me where we are right now?"

Tamlin tosses her an unimpressed look.

"Aww, c'mon! Look, I'll give you some fruits if you just give me one tiny answer." Juno wheedled and presented two pears from behind her back. They look juicy and healthy. A stark difference from the nearby vegetation. It seems she did some foraging while he was passed out.

At that moment, something unthinkable happened - Tamlin's stomach growl. Hunger finally caught up to him.

"Fine," He snaps, refusing to be embarrassed even when Juno smirks. "Release me, and I'll answer your question.”

“That sounds stupid, but what the hell. I got a feeling that you can't do much in your current state anyway.”

The High Lord has never felt so... so degraded! Even against Rhysand and Feyre! This human female is seriously pissing him off. So he makes his displeasure known through his glare as she unties the vines and plops a pear on his lap. When she turns her back on him, Tamlin entertains the thought of slashing her into ribbons... and decides that he's not in the mood. The two dined on whatever fruits Juno could forage and washed their sticky hands and parched throats with clean water. The food wasn't enough to fill his stomach, but it'll have to do for now.

"Well?" Juno prompted once there was nothing but the crackling fire to fill in the silence.

Tamlin sigh. Something he would have never done before an introduction, something his father would beat him to a pulp for his lack of decorum. However, there's little that he gives a fuck about nowadays. "You're in the Spring Court. My Court - I'm Tamlin, its High Lord." He doesn't even know why he gave the human his name and title. It's not like she would even -

"Are you fucking serious?"

Tamlin expected a tilt of the head, he expected a sign of obnoxious confusion or even a mouth shaped into an 'o' because the information means nothing to a human. Or at least, it should mean nothing to her.

What he didn't expect was Juno's face to twist in utter hatred and recognition that ignited his fight-or-flight instincts. Every bit of his training as a warrior warned him that whatever was in front of him couldn't be human, for Tamlin was familiar with animalistic rage, but this? This goes beyond that.

"You're Tamlin... the High Lord of the Spring Court," Juno repeats slowly as if she couldn't believe it. A part of Tamlin feels insulted, but he doesn't know why. "OH, FUCK OFF! SHUT THE FUCK UP! HOLY SHIT, SHUT THE FUCK UP! FUCK YOU, SJM! I'VE BEEN ISEKAI'ED INTO THE COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES!"

-

This is how the fates of the world change; the worldviews of two characters flipped into a 180°.

Sometime in the night, the fire has long died off. Outside of the cave, a new day is creeping ever closer. Not that it matters to Tamlin and Juno, who might as well be frozen in time due to the sheer absurdity of what they've discovered from each other.

" - LOSE WHATEVER BRAINCELLS I HAVE LEFT WHENEVER I READ SCREENSHOTS OF PAGES FROM THE BOOKS! I CAN'T FUCKING STAND FEYRE EVEN BEFORE SHE WAS RETCONNED IN THE LATER SERIES! I HAVE NEVER HATED A CHARACTER WITH EVERY FIBRE OF MY VERY BEING UNTIL I FOUND OUT ABOUT THAT STUPID PIECE OF WHITE GIRL SHIT AND HER CUNTLICKERS!"

Juno screamed, ranted, cursed, and generally complained very heatedly about a book series called A Court of Thorn and Roses written by a human named Sarah Janet Maas as she paced for hours and hours. Her words were a jumbled mess of pieces from the books and her opinions about the characters, lore and even the maps ("I KNEW THE SERIES IS NOTHING BUT DUMPSTER FIRE WHEN PRYTHIAN IS LITERALLY ENGLAND! SHE CAN'T EVEN CREATE HER OWN MAPS!? WHAT LAZY WRITING! AND PEOPLE LET HER GET AWAY WITH IT? LET HER VILLAINISE IRELAND? WHAT THE FUCK!?"). She's a passionate human - or maybe hateful? - who looked as if she was about to crack open Feyre's or any of her courtiers' ribcage and dig out their hearts so she could feast on them. The manic gleam in her eyes is even more frightful than the King of Hybern’sl.

As for Tamlin, he's provided with two options: Decide that this female is utterly insane or accept the fact that it was fate by a white, mortal woman and her mediocre writing for him to be a villain in someone else's story. And he hates how he's leaning to the latter.

Everything that came out of Juno's mouth aligned with everything that Tamlin went through, everything that he did and did not do. The world that he always knew had been yanked from underneath his feet because -

“ - THE AUDACITY OF THE FUCKING BITCH TO BELIEVE THAT HER ACTIONS HAVE NO CONSEQUENCES WHEN SHE KILLED ANDRAS AND HELLO? WHY WAS HE NOT MENTIONED EVER AGAIN AFTERWARDS!?

Tamlin is nothing more - 

“ - AND ANOTHER THING, THAT CLARE BEDDOR BIT!? SCUMMY. SHITTY. AND THE WORST PART? ABSOLUTELY NO ACCOUNTABILITY. ACTUALLY, YEAH, LET’S TALK ABOUT ACCOUNTABILITY - ”

A character to be -

“EVERYTHING THAT YOU DID AS THE STORY PROGRESSED? IT GAVE ABUSER. YOU’RE WAY TO DAMN EMOTIONAL FOR SOMEONE WHO IS A LEADER, MIND YOU, AND LASHED OUT AT EVERY PERCEIVED SLIGHTS AND HARM! I GET THAT YOU WANTED TO PROTECT FUCK’S HER FACE. I GET THAT YOU GOT MAD BEEF WITH RHYSAND ‘CAUSE OF THE PAST. I GET IT! BUT FOR FUCK’S SAKE TAMLIN! YOU COULD’VE PLAYED THE GAME A LOT BETTER!”

Juno suddenly pauses here. She finally turns to Tamlin, who had been silent the entire night. Seeing his grief-stricken face and faraway gaze made her sigh. She strides forward to plant her ass beside him, her voice now soft. “And yet, you’re a much better person than me, Tamlin. ‘Cause if I was told to save my ex’s new lover who has done so many horrible shits to me and my family? I’d spit, piss and shit in Feyre’s mouth before laughing and driving off into the sunset.”

“Used. I’ve been used my entire life.” Tamlin croaks out. His voice is uncomfortably dry. He feels like throwing up, screaming at the high heavens.

He wants to disappear.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Juno sighs. She begins looking around and patting the pockets of her pants. “Apparently, SJM likes to villainise you. You were so thoroughly retconned that it felt like a fanfic where she bashed your character. Don’t let her win. Hell, don’t let the Covid-carrying batboys win either.”

“You just told me that none of this is real! This world, its people and by extension, me!” He roars. He whips his head to the side, hands balling into fists. “I’m a monster, always have been! An irredeemable villain meant to be forgotten while the ‘main characters’ get to enjoy their happily ever after! They won, human!”

Juno rolls her eyes. “So what if you’re ‘irredeemable’? I don’t care about you enough as a character or even hate you! And besides, this isn’t the checkout counter, and you’re not a coupon. Here.” She fishes a piece of chocolate from her pocket and hands it to Tamlin. “It’s valid for you to be upset, but if you don’t face the fact that your story has already ended, you’re gonna continue to spiral like this. It’s not healthy, man.”

Tamlin begrudgingly accepts the chocolate. He unwraps to take a small bite, pleasantly surprised to find it’s filled with caramel. The flavour bursts onto his tongue, and for a moment, the sweetness is enough to tamper with the choking bitterness that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I’m gonna be honest with you - ”

“You weren’t the whole night?”

Juno’s mouth hangs open; she didn’t expect his dry quip. Soon enough, her dark brown eyes dance with mirth.

“That’s cute. Ok, so, what I was trying to say is that exile? Clearly, not a good look on you, Tamlin. The hobo aesthetic isn’t it. Don’t you want your pound of flesh from Shitsand and French Fries?”

She’s genuinely curious, Tamlin understood. Revenge… how many nights did he dream about it? Sometimes, the ‘what ifs’ were the only thing that could help him sleep. What if he still had his army, his sentries? His loyal band of warriors after the wake of Amarantha and Feyre’s attack? He would overthrow Rhysand, finally kill him and then… kill Feyre? The once mortal girl he thought he loved, and she, loved him in return? Thinking about her never fails to send him into a vicious cycle that revenge is merely a pipe dream. And truth be told, he is done with violence especially after the war with Hybern.

So, instead, what he says is, “I just want to be left alone. I’m done with everyone’s bullshit.” It’s as honest as someone like Tamlin could give.

“Fair,” Juno shrugs. “Though I don’t think everyone is done with you just yet...” She trails off. Tamlin follows her attention to the world outside of the cave. Morning has finally risen, and instead of luscious green, what greeted the two was an expansion of black and dry cracks on the ground and lifeless trees. “Quick question: Does the sentence, ’Stop the Rot. Restore Spring.’ means anything to you?”

“Stop the Rot. Restore Spring.”

Tamlin's heart stutter a beat. He recalls that sentence, spoken in his mother’s voice. Now, it echoes in his mind as he meets his eyes with Juno’s.

“Guess you have, huh? Aite. I’ve seen enough anime and read Manhwas about this premise.”

“How… you’ve heard my mother’s voice as well?” Tamlin asks incredulously.

This time, it’s her who is startled. She and Tamlin share the same expression. “What? No! When I first woke up here, I heard that same sentence rattling in my head. Though, I heard it in my Mum’s voice, which is weird because she would never say something so formal to me. It would have been, “Juno! Stop being lazy and go fix Spring already!”

She cackles and slaps her knees. Tamlin ignores her. What does this mean? They both heard the same sentence but in their own mother’s voice? He has never come across such a peculiar conundrum. A single glance at his Court is enough to see the issue at hand - everything is dying or rotting to the core. Tamlin recalls seeing patches of land that appear sickly months after the downfall of his rule and home. Is magic itself leaving the Spring Court? Is that why everything is turning into a husk, and him growing weaker by the day?

As Tamlin ponders about this, Juno entertains herself by rummaging through her bags. Sorting out the items that can help her survive in the long run. 

“This is a sign from the Mother,” Tamlin suddenly gasps out, eyes wide with realisation. The cogs in his brain are shifting rapidly as everything starts to fall into place. “I must restore the Spring Court to its former glory before the Rot destroys it completely.” ‘And me along with it’ was what he didn’t say.

“Congrats! You figured it out.” Juno applauded him. In her hand is a thin, rectangular object; her eyes are glued to it. “And it looks like I’ll be helping you out.”

Tamlin immediately scoffs. “I’ve paid the price of needing a mortal’s help,” That’s an overflowing can of worms he never wants to open. “I don’t need anyone’s help. Least of all, you.”

Juno simply hums; his ire sluices off her like water. “Yeah, no, that’s gonna fly with dear, old Mother,” Tamlin bristles, but she continues, “Like I said, I’m familiar with this schtick: The MC falls into a fictional world, gets caught up with the drama, and the only way to go back home is to help solve said drama with some OP powers or whatever. So face it, Legolas Wannabe, your Mother brought me - a puny human -  to this shit hole to help you.”

“Just like Amarantha’s curse.” Tamlin replied bitterly.

“Hey, I’m way better than Fry-Her-Face Feyre, alright!?” Juno counters, affronted. She spread her arms as if to prove a point. “I’ll definitely beat your ass if you even think about pulling your old shits again. So! Have we got a Bargain?”

Tamlin narrowed a piercing gaze at her. “You should know better than to strike up a Bargain with me. What? You couldn’t have forgotten what it entails. Not with all your hatred of this world.”

“I didn’t actually read the books. Just picked up enough bits and pieces from mutuals and online posts to get the entire gist of it,” Juno admits without shame. For a moment, Tamlin wondered how someone could hate something so passionately without even properly engaging with it. “You’re right, though; let’s not do a suicide pact. We actually have common sense, unlike some people. So… how are we going to do this?”

“I cannot think of any reasons why you’ve heard the Mother’s voice,” Tamlin ran a hand down his exhausted face. “If the Fates has truly bound us together then… then I will adhere to her words. I will do whatever it takes to stop the Rot. Restore the Spring Court, and you will be helping me every step out of the way. Once it’s over…”

Juno easily jumps in. “Then the opportunity or pathway that can get me home should open up!” She thrust her hand towards him, a pleased grin curling her lips. “I got some ideas on where we can start. You’re in?”

“Tell me more about the books, and I’ll hear you out,” Tamlin demanded, and with nothing else to do, he clasped her hand with his. They’ve sealed the deal. For better or worse, the two of them are in this together now—a human from a world beyond he could ever comprehend and an exiled High Lord who has become Prythian number 1 pariah.

“Oh, I’m gonna dump so many shits on you that you’re gonna regret that sooner than later.” Juno smirks. “Now then, let’s go to your manor. We can start there.”

-

The annual High Lord meeting hosted by Helion was a success more than any of them would ever know. Except for Juno and Tamlin, of course.

After her friendly chat with Feyre, Juno made no detours and headed straight to where her ‘Mate’ was - hanging out with Tarquin at one of Helion’s more publicly accessible libraries. When she found the two High Lords, they were conversing near the lit fireplace. A cosy atmosphere sets around them like a warm blanket on a winter’s morning. Juno would’ve loved to join them (steal any opportunity to talk to Tarquin since he’s her favourite character among the barrel of proverbial rotten apples), but she and Tamlin need to return home so they can plan their next move.

“Hm? Oh!” It’s Tarquin who notices her first when she enters the room. His blue eyes are akin to the loveliest sapphires, and they light up when she approaches them. “Juno, right? It’s very nice to meet you; I’m Tarquin. The current High Lord of the Summer Court.” He pushes himself off his chair to shake her hand—ever the perfect gentleman.

“Same here,” Juno replies, her voice soft, almost shy. A dramatic contrast when she was talking to Feyre. Internally, she giggles like a high school girl who has been acknowledge by her crush. “Thanks for keeping Tamlin busy. His bark is worse than his bite nowadays, don’t worry.” 

Tamlin, in his defence, silently sneers at her.

Tarquin cocks an eyebrow as he stares at him and then back to Juno. He wisely kept whatever thoughts he had to himself. “I don’t know about that, but Tamlin has been an excellent company. He was kind enough to share the foundations of this ‘democracy’ that you spoke about during our meeting. Will you reveal your plans about the new form of governing system in the Spring Court?”

Not so much as spoke but more of dropping a bomb on the High Lords and their Mates’ heads. Juno purposely gave details of the barest bones within 10 minutes, enough to get everyone curious yet leave room for doubts. It took everything in her not to laugh when Beron was the first one to fall for it. But since this is Tarquin…

“Everything will unfold in due time,” Tamlin answered for her instead. He casts a knowing look at Juno. She might rant a lot about how terrible the Court series is, from the author to the very cartography of the world, but she also ‘simps’ a lot about Tarquin and Nesta. Her… bias. “I believe the changes that will be happening in the Spring Court would serve as great references to you in the future.”

(When you’re forced to work together with someone in close quarters for an indefinite amount of time, It’s unreal how quickly Tamlin could decipher her otherworldly phrases, slang and words to the point that he’s semi-fluent when it comes to her manner of speech.)

Tarquin inclines his head. “I will look forward to it.” He suddenly hesitated for a moment before genuine happiness overtook him. “I hope I’m not overstepping when I say this: I’m glad to see you back to your old self again, Tamlin.”

The High Lord of the Spring Court searches for any mockery from Tarquin (steadfastly ignoring how his ‘Mate’ is vibrating out of control and is in the process of cutting the blood circulation off in his arm via clenching), and when he finds none, Tamlin is oddly humbled and embarrassed. It was Tarquin who sought him out after the meeting. It was Tarquin who suggested they relocate to the library when he noticed how tense Tamlin’s shoulders were when eyes followed him into the dining hall. It was Tarquin who was the only one among them who treated him as a fellow High Lord instead of as a traitor of war or a mindless beast.

“The old Tamlin died when my Court fell into ruin - ” Tamlin says after a while. His voice is thick with emotion.

“I’m sorry, the old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now - “ Juno interjects underneath her breath, snickering. Tarquin tilts his head, confused.

Tamlin gently elbowed her for the interruption. “Shut it, peanut gallery. As I was saying, it’s better that the old me is dead. Spring is about rebirth, and it’s time I follow suit.”

“Very poignant,” Tarquin replies with a smile. Changes are always heralded by Spring, and he’s glad to see that its High Lord is taking the helm once again. “Then I wish nothing but the best for you and your Mate, Tamlin. May the two of you always be happy.”

“You’re so sweet!” Juno suddenly blurts out, unable to hold back any longer. This beautiful Fae needs to be protected at all costs! “You totally don’t deserve the bullshits from Rice Fail and his Inner Cave. The fucking audacity of those Zionists to trespass into your Court, steal your shit, destroy your building and then reprimand you when you confronted them!? Not to mention how the two of them argued like fucking toddlers over who’s the most jealous, and-and how dare Fugly Fucker use you! You! One of the few things that SJM did right in this world! And can we talk about how if those motherfuckers just talked to you about that damn Books, you’d have easily negotiated with them? What the fuck!? None of them are fit to rule! Oh, and “She’s the High Lady of the Night Court; she can do what wishes” Bitch!? You guys were in the Summer Court! What does that have to do with anything!? Is accountability a word they’re allergic to!? If I was you, I’d - ”

Juno’s mouth is immediately muffled tight by Tamlin’s broad hand.

“She’s your biggest fan,” Tamlin apologises through gritted teeth while Tarquin is utterly taken aback with his eyes wide open. “Don’t pay her any mind.”

“How… How do you - “ Tarquin splutters. Why does she know the exact conversation that transpired between him, Rhysand and Feyre!?

“I’m afraid we must be going now. It was a pleasure, Lord Tarquin.” Tamlin smoothly interrupted. With a glaring Juno in his arms, he Winnowed the two of them back to the Spring Court. Back to the entrance of his manor, which is still under construction.

“What happened to you promising to behave when we’re in the Day Court?” Tamlin demanded once he released the human female. It’s quiet just as they left for the meeting, but now, the night sky greets them with twinkling stars overhead.

“The crimes committed against Tarquin by that shitty ass Court are fucking disgusting.” Juno scoffs with disdain. Without waiting for him, she stepped through the newly repaired doors, and Tamlin rolled his eyes. He follows her stride.

“You realise that he’s probably scared of you now, right?” Tamlin dryly says as the two head deeper. Although it’s been a few months since the two of them started rebuilding the manor, there were still some parts of the area that are in ruins, and the two just can’t move the large rubbles and crumbled hallways all on their own (“What are those muscles for if you can’t lift a simple rock, human!?”, “I work as a dancer you insensitive, fuck! I’m not used to this kind of physical labour!). Still, they have running water, working plumbing and kitchen and a roof above their heads. It will have to do for now. His family home is a shell of its former glory, but after talking to Tarquin, a blooming part of him is excited to start everything from scratch. To create a home where no ghosts of the past or painful memories haunt the walls. “Was there a point to your word dumping on the High Lord of the Summer Court?”

They’re now in the kitchen. Juno perches herself onto one of the high stools, her face scrunched up. “God, you sound like a fucking boomer. Wait, you’re way older than that generation. You’re, what, 500 something? You should be in a museum.” She says, distracted as she rummages through her make-up case.

“I don’t know what that word means.” Tamlin snaps, though there’s no heat behind it. He’d learned that her ire is solely reserved for the Night Court, so whatever else comes out from her mouth is either empty insults or rambles. He rounds the table to heat the stove. He had given Juno what little money he had left from the treasury for grocery and supply shopping this week, and for his part, he became the designated cook and rationed whatever his partner could buy.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Fine. Now, did you get everything you needed from the meeting?”

Juno looks up from her self-appointed task for the evening: Removing her acrylic nails. A broad smirk transforms her unremarkable face into that of a cruel goddess. “Everything and then some. I got to hit my newest punching bag, so that’s a bonus!”

“Right…” Tamlin grimaced when an unknown scent from Juno’s bottle itched his nose. “Will you now explain why you insisted on following me to attend the meeting? And please tell me it’s not because you just wanted to see Tarquin.” To combat that piercing and irritating scent, Tamlin begins cooking a light dinner.

“Tarquin is everything I imagined him to be,” Juno sighs, a little lovestruck. She giggles to herself when Tamlin tosses a deadpan stare. She then focuses back on her nails. “Nah, but for real, I wanted some insurance. You’re in your Healing Era, Tamlin, and that means our goal is to get you back to full power - mentally, emotionally and physically. It’s your rebirth, remember? And I don’t want anyone from the other Courts to interfere with that.”

The word rebirth continues to strike Tamlin’s core. He’s so exhausted from rage… from grief. He wants to change, but…

“Redemption. Do I even deserve it?”

“Not this again. Rebirth and redemption are two different things, Tamlin. The way I see it, you’ve paid your dues in your own way already. You don’t owe anyone else. You wanna turn your life around? Good. Noble, even. But you gotta do it because YOU want it, not because you’re expected to.”

“I didn’t know that you’re capable of such profound words. It seems that tonight is full of surprises.”

“This bitch! I’m trying to help you feel better!”

“Spare us both and stick to insults instead.”

Because Juno is facing Tamlin’s back, she couldn’t see the tiny grin on his face. The mortal woman has been growing on to him like a moss. He doesn’t know if they’re friends yet, but so far, he enjoys having some company again.

(He misses Lucien.)

“You’re so weird,” Says the literal alien from another world. “While you sort out the remaining bits of your existential crisis, I’m gonna be focusing on the security of the Spring Court. Not a lockdown per se. More like… feeding any unwanted parties some false information.” The last of her black nails clatter on the table. Pleased with the shine of her natural nails, she went over beside Tamlin to wash her hands in the sink before wiping them dry. When Tamlin handed her two plates of simple stir-fried noodles with vegetables, she carried them to the table.

“And how exactly will you be doing that?”

“So… remember what I said when we were in the cave?” 

“You have to be specific; I got lost among the venomous spew about the Night Court and the fact that I live in a fictional world.”

“Cute, Tamlin. I meant about how Isekai protagonists are usually given some bullshit OP ability.”

“Elaborate what’s ‘OP’.”

“Urgh, overpowered, you amoeba.” 

Tamlin stops eating; his fork hangs in the air. He cautiously asks, “You can wield magic?” He sensed nothing! Absolutely nothing from this human the moment they met.

Juno taps her foot against the floor, contemplating. “I don’t know if it’s magic, but I definitely have something. In fact, it saved my fine ass when you tried to attack me.”

The High Lord remembered as clear as day. He has never been brought to such a pathetic state that every time he tried to attack her, they all missed. A stumble. A mis-aim. A stomach wreck with hunger so bad that he could barely stand upright. A disgraceful performance as a warrior. Was it truly because of his weakened state? Tamlin’s pride wanted it to be otherwise, but the more logical part of him warned him that the unknown was a lot worse. “What did you do?”

For the first time since they met, Juno looks… scared and for some reason, Tamlin’s heartstrings twist. “Ok, don’t freak out. I sorta… control which actions you would take among the many possibilities. And time froze too when I was picking them, so that’s cool.”

“You… controlled my actions?” Tamlin repeats slowly. 

She sighs and leans back against the chair, arms folded across her chest. “This is an ability that I’ve seen in Blazblue and Umeniko. Let me try my best to explain it to you in the simplest way since it’s quite abstract in theory. I’ll give you a scenario: Aelin wakes up. She’s sitting at the dining table, about to have breakfast. In front of her is a pancake and a bowl of porridge - two possibilities. She picked the pancakes, but I chose the porridge. The world corrects her actions, and without her knowing, she’s cleaning that porridge bowl.”

Tamlin’s jaw is now hanging, and understanding sinks in. “You can change the Fates themselves.”

“In a way. When you launched at me first, time stopped. I could see 4 other possible actions - you would lob my head clean from that jump. The second possibility was you thrusting a claw at my abdomen, tearing out my entrails. The third is you using your sharp teeth, tearing out my neck. The fourth, now this is interesting, was you stumbling after launching at me. So I picked that instead and did the same for the rest of your murderous attempts.”

Juno could control Tamlin. Just like - 

A crash. A shout. Precious minutes vanished from Tamlin.

“ - keep it a secret. No, no - keeping such an OP power as a secret is usually the fastest route to the Bad Ending. Like hell would I follow those YA and Manhwa heroines. Fuck! I can’t remember what you’re supposed to do when someone is having a panic attack. Not touch them? Talk them through it? Uh, Tamlin? Tamlin, can you hear me? At least you’re not blindly lashing out, so that’s good. I hope you can listen to me because I promise you - I swear it, OK? - that I won’t ever mess with you like that.”

“How could I possibly trust you?” Tamlin rasped, his eyes are dull. He struggles to ground himself once more, but when he slowly comes to his senses, he finds himself slumped on the floor. The table is flipped, and their dinner is scattered on the floor with bits and pieces of the porcelain plate. “When you’re the second coming of Amarantha.”

Kneeling at a good distance from him, Juno is insulted. Still scared but uncharacteristically solemn. “How can I assure you, Tamlin? A Bargain? Some kind of blood oath? I don’t know what’s available in this world that can make you trust me.”

Tamlin heard stories about the gods when he was still a Youngling. How they are callous, indifferent, and so easily bored by the monotony of life. How it’s considered an honour, a great blessing to be chosen by them. Hah. Tamlin has lived long enough to understand that being unnoticed by heartless divinities is a true blessing.

It’s mind-shattering to realise that Juno is a young god masquerading as a human to stave off the boredom. One that is still growing, still coming into her divinity - a petulant, playful god with venom running in her veins and hatred burning her forever warm. This is who the Mother invoked as a symbol of salvation for Tamlin.

“Will you use your powers on me?”

“Only for your best interest,” Juno admits. “I’m planning on taking the role of a Support Class whenever you’re in a fight. The books claimed that you’re a powerful High Lord - but not as strong as Rice Failure, tch - and I believe it. But just in case, I can make sure that you won’t encounter any close calls or nasty surprises. Plus, I’m not a healer, but if you’re badly injured on the battlefield and, god forbid, no one can get to you in time, I can just replace your body with another version of Tamlin who is strong, whole and not exhausted by the fight.”

He listens, and he processes everything that this capricious creature says. It’s unfathomable.

Silence stretches between the two. Juno is at a loss; for the first time in her life, she desperately wants to convey her most sincere feelings to another person (other than her bestie and parents) and has no idea how, while Tamlin is painfully aware that there’s really nothing that can stop her from turning every living creature in this world into her playthings.

“I need some time to think about this.” Mother, he suddenly has the urge to get rip-roaring drunk just so he can escape for more than a few minutes. “Are you going to dictate what I’ll do next?”

Juno grins. It’s utterly plastic. “I don’t care about you enough as a character to control every aspect of your life, Tamlin.”

Trust is a fickle thing. In Tamlin’s case, who is a Fae, he could only take Juno’s words as a form of trust. How ironic.

He pushes himself up, choosing not to comment when she flinches. He needs to change his skin and, maybe later, find some leftover bottle of wine or whiskey. Just as he was about to exit the kitchen, he paused and asked without turning around. “Who did you play with?” The implication is clear during Juno’s explanation.

“A vertically challenged hag.”

[shadowriel]

Modern Elain Aesthetic

Interests include: tarot cards, butterfly clips, baking as a love language, pretty lingerie, art museums, having a book for every occasion, flowers, the little things in life

@elainweekofficial

→ You can find more modern ACOTAR aesthetics here

[serpentandlily]

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Untouchable - Azriel x Reader

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII ➻❥ Part IX ➻❥ Part X

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court's spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he'd eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on-with Elain, your brother's mate's middle sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that - more complicated than you ever imagined.

Wicked Games - Batboys x Reader

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥Part III

➻❥ Halloween Special

Summary: Desperate to pay off a debt, you decide to break into the penthouse of one of Prythian’s richest males, one rumored to make his money in a less than legal way. But after witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, you find yourself caught in a wicked game of cat and mouse with three of the most dangerous males in Prythian. (Modern AU!)

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny - Eris x Archeron!Reader

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Lost in a Labyrinth - Azriel x Reader

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III Summary: Lonely and heartbroken after his near kiss with Elain, Azriel finds himself at the door to the most exclusive pleasure house in Hewn City, The Labyrinth, taking Rhysand’s cruel advice. What he expected to find was a pretty girl to warm a bed with him for a single night. But instead he finds something he never thought existed—his mate. A mate that is tangled up in something far more sinister than he could ever imagine.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓞𝓷𝓮-𝓢𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓼 & 𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼

fluff ☀︎ angst ☾ smut ♡

Request guidelines

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Scared to be Happier - Azriel x Reader ☾ ♡

No Going Back - Azriel x Reader (Part I) ☾

↠ Now That We Don’t Talk (Part II) ☾

Mystique - Azriel x Reader ☀︎

Arcane - Azriel x Reader ☀︎

The Crow's Poet - Azriel x Reader ☀︎

The Shadowsinger's Secret - Azriel x Reader ☾☀︎

Birds of a Feather - Azriel x Reader (Part I) ☾

↠ We Should Stick Together (Part II) ☾

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓡𝓱𝔂𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓭

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Falling Apart for You - Rhysand x Reader ☾ ☀︎

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓔𝓻𝓲𝓼

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny - Eris x Reader ☾ ☀︎

Last Solstice - Eris x Reader ☾ ☀︎

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓜𝓲𝓼𝓬

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Butterfly Fly Away - Batboys x Platonic!Reader ☾ ☀︎

[starlightazriel]

hi this is my az masterlist. please don't copy or post my work anywhere else and enjoy <3 everything i write is 18+ main masterlist

bad boy az x nerdy school girl au (smut one shot may turn into more), bad boy az part 2 , part 3 , part 4 , part 5 , part 6 , part 7 , final part , (im sad too will add drabbles in the future)

bee (fem reader) (modern best friend>lovers) (smut/angst/fluff) (tattoo artist az) [in progress updated 9/25/24] 𓆤 one 𓆤 two 𓆤 three 𓆤 four 𓆤 five 𓆤 six 𓆤 seven 𓆤 eight 𓆤 nine 𓆤 ten 𓆤 eleven

glass heart (fem reader, anon request, stillbirth, mated, short one shot/drabble) (angsttt) [part 2 coming soon]

necessities [in progress updated 8/25/24] (modern (fem) reader drops into prythian) ཐི♡ཋྀ one ཐི♡ཋྀ two ཐི♡ཋྀ three ཐི♡ཋྀ four

[ninthcircleofprythian]

🔥- Smut 💕- Fluff 🙈- Angst 🩹- Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist Header by @saradika-graphics

Please read all warnings on fics - some fics contain heavy emotional topics and explicit descriptions. All fics will be appropriately tagged at the time of posting. Please read them carefully before diving in. Your mental health matters.

Azriel

🔥 Winner Takes All - After returning from a girls retreat weekend at the cabin, Nesta and Celeste find out the Bat Boy husbands have made a bet they are sure to lose. (Azriel x OC Celeste)

🔥Here Comes The Sun - When the Spymaster of the Night Court discovers your little crush, you end up crossing a lot of firsts off your list. (Azriel x You/Reader)

🔥💕Dinner and Dessert - As his mate's due date approaches, Az can't handle the sight of her pregnant body in a sundress without going a bit feral. (Azriel x OC Mira)

Continuing Series

Unbound - Not having a mating bond didn't stop the love Azriel and Celeste have for each other or their commitment. When an unknown magic lingering from Celeste's past causes her to lose all memories of the last century, will they be able to rebuild their life without a bond tethering them together? (Azriel x OC Celeste)

💕🙈 Part 1 - They Don't Know About Us

🙈 Part 2 - Don't Pull Away

💕Part 3 - We're Going to Solstice Dinner -- and We're Gunna Get Married

🙈🩹 Part 4 - Dancing With Your Ghost

🙈 Part 5 - As The World Caves In

🙈 Part 6 - Numb, But I Still Feel It

🙈 Part 7 - Putting on a Brave Face

🙈 Part 8 - Take Me To Church

Cassian

🔥 Kiss - Don't Tell - Cassian/Azriel - M/M - after a wild threesome months ago - Cas and Az get a little curious what things would be like without a third party involved

Eris

🔥 Make It Hurt - After a truly terrible day you come home only to be surprised by the one and only Eris Vanserra and he knows how to make it all better. (Eris x You/Reader)

💕 Stuck in the Middle with You - Eris relents to participate in a throuples Halloween costume contest at your insistence. (Halloween modern AU) (Eris Week 2024 - AU day) (Azris/Reader)

Continuing Series

The Bird and The Badger - a series of interconnect one shots told in non-linear order detailing the life of Eris x OC (Bryn) --- eventual Azris x OC (Parts will be listed here in chronological order)

💕A Matter of Trust - Eris needs to find someone he can trust to help with part of his secretive plan against Beron.

🙈Keeping Up Appearances - Eris and Bryn travel to Night Court to enact the bargain with Rhys.

Azris

💕A Pocketful of -- Ragweed? - (Short little drabble for Azris week) Eris might be snide and snarky with his words, but he sure knows how to surprise his mate with his actions.

🙈 May Her Memory Be a Blessing - no summary. please read the authors notes. this will hurt. emotional damage.

💕 When You Wish Upon a Star - just a little slice of life and domesticity for dad!Az and dad!Eris.

💕Boop or Treat - modern AU halloween fic with dad!Az and dad!Eris

Elucien

💕 Scrabble Drabble - Family game night after weekly dinners tended to get a little contentious. It wasn’t unusual for someone to quit midway through or to accuse another of cheating. It was no different now that Lucien had joined in the weekly tradition with his mate, Elain.

💕Icing Is The Spice Of Life - Elain may have slightly over-commited her famous holiday cookies to friends and family. But her mate Lucien comes to the rescue. Cuteness abounds.

Headcanons

💕 In which the fae of Prythian discover bubble gum - (Feysand, Nessian, Elucien, Azris, Mor)

Corner Productions

(Collaborations with Chaos)

🔥 Gold Star for You - silly NSFW smut headcanons of everyone and reader - Reader introduces gold star reward system in the bedroom.

💕 With This Ring - Headcanons about Eris Vanserra and his affinity for jewelry - especially after a certain Shadowsinger enters his life.

[sarawritestories]

DarkSide of Prythian WIP

Here are some quotes from some of the requests for the Darkside of Prythian "series" I'm working on! Thank you all who submitted a request, my sweet, unhinged little Readers 🤭 I'm going to try to post one of these request once maybe twice a week some of these I imagine are going to be Loooooonnnng so bear with me as I work through them! Alright, enough rambling below the cut is the goods! These are subject to change once I get deep into writing but a treat none the less!

Content warning: Our leading ladies are all tied down and / or silenced in some capacity In these sneak peeks. There is mentions of slipping drugs in food and alluding to mind control.

I Can See You

Stalker Az X Fem Reader

You were the most beautiful creature the shadowsinger had ever seen. Even with tears sliding down your face; your panties stuffed in your mouth held in place by a shadow wrapped around your head. The Spymaster wouldn't want to disturb your neighbors after all. That wouldn't be Polite.

And Azriel was always polite.

You Belong To Me

Dark Cassian X Mated Fem Reader

You tugged at the bonds, keeping you in the chair when rough calloused hands gripped your cheeks tightly, "You are my mate, You belong to me." You whimpered as he placed a chaste kiss on your lips, "By the end of the week, you will accept the bond." He whispered as he released his grip on your face and scooped up a bite of food with a fork. You pressed your lips together, not wanting to accept any food from the general. "You need to eat," he tried to reason. You shook your head, and frustration coated the male's features as he quickly pinched your nose. "Open." He commands with a lethal calm that caused a shiver down your spine that you did what he asked. Not wasting a second, he placed the utensil in your mouth and began to feed you.

The food was delicious. You hated to deny it, but you were so hungry you didn't think twice about whether your fated mate laced it with anything.

To Be Mine...Forever

Dark Azriel X Reader (Rhys' Sister)

Azriel smiled at you, his eyes had a dangerous look to them as his hand grazed down the lace of your gown. Your wedding gown,"You are a vision, in white, my love. I'm sure the heir of Autumn would have loved you in it." You cried out muffled as he had wrapped your veil through your teeth, not wanting to hear your protests. The chains on your wrist rattled as you tried to lunge for him. He gripped your face, "Don't be a brat, I'm freeing you from the lowley confines of the Autimn court. You were never meant to be there. To be with him." He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead as your eyes brimmed with tears not finding comfort by his touch, "You were meant to be mine... Forever." He pulls the veil from your lips only to seal his lips to yours.

My Best Friends Girl

Dark Rhysand X Azriel's Mate (fem Reader)

A hand clamped over your mouth, jolting you awake. Your eyes met familiar violet ones as Rhysand pressed a finger to his own lips. "Shhh shh shh, It's only me, baby." He whispered, and your heart rate slowed to a normal pace. Your eyes shifted over to the Illyrian beside you. Azriel still sounded asleep in your bed, though his shadows were swirling, trying to wake him up. "Look at me, Pretty girl." Your eyes moved back to your high lord, his hand still around your mouth. "I'm going to take you away from here. Would you like that?" Would you like that? Your body screamed that it was wrong? Though your mind kept repeating:

Stay with the High Lord he will keep you safe.

Rhys, knowing your pretty little head was heavy nodded it for you with the hand pressing down on your lips, accepting his offer to steal you away, to free you. To keep you safe.

SongBird

Modern Mafia AU Cassian X Fem Reader

Cassian's men strapped you to the leather chair, and you struggled to no avail as the leather straps cinched your skin to the chair. The man had a smug look on his face as he sat at the stool a sucker in his mouth, a tattoo gun in his gloved hand. Your breathing became labored. "What are you going to do with that?" You asked.

He pulled the candy out of his mouth and smiled, "Claiming what's mine, My sweet Songbird." You opened your mouth to protest, but instead, the sweet taste of cherry hit your tongue as Cassian shoved the sucker he was eating in your mouth. You instantly closed your mouth on the candy as the sound of the machine rang through the room, and he began tattooing your outer thigh.

Not caring that he was writing, "Property of Cassian," permanently on your skin, you simply hummed thinking about your love for cherry flavored things.

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: Chapter Six

A Modern Feysand AU

She’s a law student turned confidential informant. He’s a federal prosecutor with one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for his white collar crimes. What could go wrong?

A/N: I would like to thank "girl i've always been" by Olivia Rodrigo for helping me produce this one. Thanks for your patience and your love on the last chapter. Enjoy, and let me know if you would like to be tagged.

Also, I make no promises on the accuracy of international travel, time changes, and FBI investigations from this point forward. Welcome to the world of fanfiction, everyone--everything is subject to the machinations of my own mind. 😈

Sorry if the editing is crap. Needs must, and all that.

TW: drinking/alcohol

Strictly Confidential Masterlist

My other, completed, Feysand AU: What to Expect When You're (Not) Expecting

Chapter Six

It took Rhysand two days—two days—to get in touch with Feyre after Azriel’s attack.

“I’m going to kill you,” Feyre hissed through her teeth as she stepped onto the Illyria Station platform, the final station on the Prythian City Metro Line. Rhys’s eyebrow rose at the venom in Feyre’s voice, one large hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her away from the train and through the station, up the stairs, and into an awaiting black car.

“You realize you just threatened to murder a federal prosecutor,” Rhys noted as he tapped on the window separating them from the front seats. The driver pulled away from the curb.

“What of it?” Feyre asked. “Bare threats won't get you anywhere in court.”

“Maybe so, but if you do kill me, there are plenty of witnesses on the platform who could testify to your intent.”

“Good luck tracking them down when you’re dead,” Feyre said, holding Rhys’s gaze, his eyes twinkling in the dimness of the car.

Feyre almost smiled back at him, at the way words tripped so easily off her tongue whenever Rhys was around. But she swallowed the urge, instead rolling her eyes and slumping down in the leather seat, Rhys’s eyes tracking her every move. “Are you going to tell me if Agent Lapis is alright or not, or are you just going to press me for more information on—?”

Rhys lunged forward, his large hands covering her mouth. “No names until we get to the safe house.”

He waited for her to nod, his very large body taking up so much space as he hovered over her, the scent of salt and citrus enveloping her at his closeness.

Feyre struggled to suck down a breath, and it wasn't because Rhys was covering her mouth.

“Don’t you trust your driver?” Feyre asked when Rhys removed his hands, her body suddenly cold as he slid across the leather seat, back toward his side of the car.

“Of course I do,” Rhys said. “But we can’t be too careful. After Azriel’s attack, it’s best we take a little more care with our conversations, where we are, who sees us together.”

Feyre didn’t say anything, folding her arms over her chest.

Rhys blew out a breath. “Azriel is fine. He took a bad beating, but he’s had worse. He’ll be on his feet in another day or two, albeit with a few extra bruises.”

“And do you think it was—was—” Feyre pressed her lips together, unsure if she refrained from saying Tamlin’s name because of Rhys’s caution or because she still could barely fathom that someone she had thought she knew might sanction such violent behavior.

Rhys nodded curtly. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. We can talk then.”

The ten minutes passed quickly, Feyre mentally reviewing the information she had gathered in the past few days. She had managed to glean the location of Tamlin’s next business venture by going through his phone well past midnight the night before, slipping his phone from his nightstand and hiding away in the closet until she had found something, anything that might put a stop to everything Spring Solutions was doing.

Illyria was a pleasant enough town, if a little run down. The small main street the town car carried Feyre and Rhys down boasted a few cafes, a restaurant or two, and even a bar. Feyre caught sight of a bookstore, already closed for the evening, at the very end of the street, and something else that might have been an arts and crafts shop. She continued to observe as they left the main street and entered a series of residential neighborhoods, partly because she had never visited Illyria before, and partly because it gave her something to do in such a small space with Rhys mere inches away.

At last, the driver turned into a gated neighborhood full of quaint historical homes. The car pulled into the driveway of a red-brick home, two stories tall, with black shutters and white columns. Feyre unbuckled her seat belt as the car pulled around the back of the house, entirely out of sight of the street.

“Home sweet home,” Rhys said as Feyre rounded the car to stand next to him.

“Home?” she stammered, turning to stare up at him.

“One of them,” he said. “Once upon a time.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes as he strode up the back steps, producing a small key and unlocking the back door. He stepped back to let her enter first, and Feyre slid past him, her elbow brushing his stomach as she set foot on the dark wood floors.

Rhys followed her, flicking on a light switch, a warm glow flooding the hallway as Feyre delved further into the house.

Warm dark floors stretched down the long hallway that spanned from the back door directly to the front, the rooms of the first floor on either side of the hall. To her left was a small kitchen, with white appliances, light wood cabinets, and forest green tile backsplash. To her right was a closed door that she guessed led to a bedroom or office. Rhys ushered her toward the front of the house, gesturing to a small sitting room to their right. Across the hall from the sitting room was a small dining room. Both rooms boasted floor to ceiling, built-in shelves bursting with books and trinkets of all shapes and sizes.

Feyre settled herself onto a grey couch in the sitting room, gazing around the small space as Rhys ensured the curtains facing the street were drawn shut.

“This is your house?” Feyre asked as Rhys, satisfied with the curtains, crossed the plush red rug to the fireplace on the far wall, leaning down to start it with the push of a button. Flames danced to life in the hearth, Feyre’s brows raising at the sight. The house itself felt old, quaint. But the fixtures—the fireplace, the chandelier above them, even the appliances in the kitchen, were all quite modern.

“I grew up here,” Rhys said. “It was my mother’s house. My father didn’t want it—hasn’t been here in years—after she died. He gave it to me, told me to sell it if I wished. I thought about it for a while. It’s too far from the city for me to live in full-time. But I couldn’t stomach the thought of someone else living here. So I decided to keep it, update some of the appliances, the heating system, all that, thinking one day I would sell it for a higher price after all the improvements. But I… haven’t.”

“It’s lovely,” Feyre said.

Rhys gave a brisk grin, sitting down on the couch across from Feyre and clasping his hands between his knees. “Azriel and Mor should be down any minute.”

Feyre's brows creased, but Rhys shook his head. “Azriel’s staying here while he recuperates, and Mor arrived about an hour before us to check on him and make sure things were in order for this meeting. It's nothing... like that."

Feyre nodded, filing away the information for later.

They sat in comfortable silence while they awaited, and the creaking ceiling above Feyre told her Mor and Azriel were aware of the scheduled meeting and coming to meet them any second. Indeed, they emerged from the narrow staircase that occupied part of the central hallway, Azriel’s face several shades of black, blue, and yellow bruises.

“Gods above,” Feyre breathed, leaping to her feet and meeting Azriel halfway across the room. “Are you alright?” She asked, arms reaching toward him before she realized she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

But Azriel softly gripped her upper arms, his swollen lip breaking into a small smile. “I’m fine, Feyre. Occupational hazard.”

Feyre let Azriel lead her over to the couch after she greeted Mor, who had frozen in the hallway, gazing wide-eyed at Feyre and Azriel. At Feyre's "Hello," Mor swallowed, stepping into the living room at last.

“You were truly concerned for him,” Mor noted, taking a seat next to Rhys as Feyre forced Azriel to sit down first before she settled herself next to him.

Feyre folded her arms, glaring at Rhys. “Ask his Royal Highness the United States Attorney.”

“She threatened to kill me for making her wait this long,” Rhys admitted, eyes never leaving Feyre’s.

“Well, you’ve seen me. I’m fine,” Azriel said in that soft, but cutting, voice of his. “And I appreciate it, Feyre. I really do.”

Feyre tore her gaze from Rhys’s violet eyes and met Azriel’s hazel ones, nodding once before she strengthened her resolve.

“I know where Tamlin’s going next,” she announced.

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

One week later, the plans were arranged.

Cassian and Mor would board a plane for northern Washington State, hours after the private plane Lucien and Tamlin had chartered that would take them to the same place. The agents had arranged to rent a car to follow the two Spring Solutions higher-ups to the manufacturing plant that Tamlin had arranged a relationship with. Thanks to the vague map Feyre had found that first night of her sleuthing, the group had determined the estimated location of the exchange—the place Tamlin would accept responsibility for the non-compliant environmental materials. Then, the FBI Agents would trail whatever transport Tamlin had arranged until he either stored it or disposed of it. At that point, they hoped to have witnessed enough illegal activity that there would be plenty of cause to make an arrest—or at the very least to bring charges against Tamlin and Spring Solutions and end the illegal operation once and for all.

The plan made sense, despite the limited information it was based upon. The agents had planned everything to perfection. The intel Feyre had provided had allowed them to skirt the problem they had run into time and time again—because Tamlin and Lucien flew privately, under an ever-changing roster of company names other than Spring Solutions, and were careful to take nondescript vehicles to the private airport, it was difficult for the FBI to follow the duo when they jetted off to consult with their next client. But Feyre’s provision of the location had changed everything. The entire case might be resolved in less than a day.

Feyre, however, was pissed.

She had provided the information. She was the one who continued to stay with Tamlin, who still slept in his bed, in order to get this information for the FBI. And yet she hadn’t been invited to come along for the bust.

It was infuriating, and the worst kind of insult. She had spent the better part of an hour arguing with Rhys, Mor, and Azriel about it as they had discussed the information in Rhysand’s mother’s home that night a week ago.

It all came down to protocol, however, and civilians weren’t to be pulled into such dangerous surveillance activities if it was avoidable. And unfortunately, Feyre was a mole and nothing more. Cassian and Mor were the FBI agents, and they would be taking the lead in the investigation. Not even Rhysand was going.

Feyre lay on her couch, her casebooks unopened on the coffee table next to her as she stared at the clock on her phone. She was at least trusted enough to be told what time Cassian and Mor’s plane would be taking off—2:27 p.m.

Feyre rolled her eyes. What an honor.

The clock turned to 2:28, and she knew they were gone.

Feyre sighed, rolling off the couch and laying on the floor for a minute. Then two. Then three.

If they didn’t catch Tamlin—what then? How much longer would she need to stay here?

Feyre knew she could change her mind at any point. The FBI, and Rhysand, wouldn’t blame her. But what then? How could she live with herself knowing she had taken away the FBI’s only viable opportunity to bring down Spring Solutions?

No, Feyre didn’t have a choice. She was in this until Tamlin discovered her treachery or he was behind bars.

Eventually, Feyre peeled herself off the floor and padded through the empty apartment toward her closet.

Sure, it was 2:28 pm on a Friday, but Feyre didn’t have plans for the rest of the day.

Or the rest of the weekend.

So why not jump into her pajamas and read for her Corporations Law class until her eyes ceased focusing properly?

Feyre snorted at herself as she flicked on the light in the closet. Here she was, an informant for the FBI, a job that sounded so glamorous, so important, so mysterious.

And yet it was mid-afternoon on a Friday and Feyre was already shedding her bra for the day.

What was her life?

She sighed as she crossed to the enormous dresser against one of the walls of the closet. She shoved aside the suit jacket Tamlin had worn that morning, hastily discarded over the top of the dresser, the fabric emitting a faint crinkling sound as it hit the floor.

She had just reached into the drawer to retrieve the tattered old t-shirt and sweatpants that she slept in when she froze, slowly turning to gaze at the navy blazer, crumpled on the floor at her feet.

Because that crinkling sound. . . That wasn't just fabric.

Feyre knelt, sweatpants forgotten as she fished through the pockets of Tamlin’s jacket. A month ago, she wouldn’t have even considered doing this. Wouldn’t have been so hyperaware of everything having to do with her boyfriend, so anxious that the sound of what was probably a gum wrapper wouldn't have raised her hackles.

But a month ago, she hadn't known her boyfriend was a criminal mastermind.

Feyre drew out a small slip of paper from the inside breast pocket of the jacket.

It was a receipt.

A receipt for a set of plane tickets.

And in tiny black script across the top was the destination of those tickets, scheduled for that day, October 7th, at 10:53 a.m:

Dublin, Ireland.

Fuck.

---------

“Where the hell are you, Feyre?”

Rhysand’s voice was so loud in her phone speaker that Feyre actually held it several inches away from her ear as she responded.

“The airport…”

“You’re kidding. " Feyre heard what sounded like a door slamming in the background of the call. "You are actually calling me because you thought it would be fun to give me a heart attack as a prank, and you’re actually home right now, on your couch, watching The Nanny or whatever ridiculous show you and Mor were discussing the other night in Illyria. You’re not at the airport about to board a flight to Dublin because your boyfriend purposefully set a red herring in case anyone was on his tail.”

Feyre didn’t respond, just smiled at the woman manning the security line Feyre currently stood in, shedding her shoes with her one available hand, the other holding her phone to her ear.

“Feyre. Tell me I’m right. Tell me you’re not at the airport.”

“Can’t, sorry. Oh, hold on, gotta send my phone through the x-ray machine thing.”

Feyre ignored Rhys’s protests, placing her phone on the x-ray belt, call with Rhys still active, before she stepped into the line to go through the human scanning machine.

It was at least five minutes before she made it through the line and retrieved her stuff from the security belt. To her surprise, Rhys was still on the line when she retrieved her phone.

“Turn around right now. What are you planning to do when you get to Ireland? Find Tamlin and confront him yourself?”

“Of course not!” Feyre exclaimed, checking the departures board and smiling as she saw that her flight was right on time, although in her eagerness to get to the airport, she had arrived much too early. She had at least an hour before boarding the flight that would take her from Prythian to New York, where she would transfer to a flight to Ireland. “I just want to follow him and record everything he does.”

Except for vague background noise, and something that sounded like the rumble of traffic, the line remained quiet for several long moments.

“I swear, Feyre Archeron, if I die before I turn thirty, it’ll be because of you and this gods-damned case.”

“You’ll thank me later!” Feyre said brightly, and hung up the phone.

An hour later, Feyre had shuffled toward her gate with the rest of those boarding her flight to New York. She had spent the last hour consuming two glasses of wine at the airport bar, her productivity while reading for her Environmental Law class sharply declining as her glass emptied. Her original intention had been to stick with one small glass of wine so that she might fall asleep more easily on her flight.

But after half an hour of staring at her textbook, a sizable pit had formed deep in her stomach. Was she truly flying to Ireland for the weekend? Chasing Tamlin halfway across the world to—to what? To make up for the fact that she had fallen for the red herring Tamlin had left in his emails, had given the FBI wrong information, and sent them in the complete opposite direction of Tamlin’s true destination? She had nowhere to stay when she got to Ireland, no idea where to start on finding transport to whatever location Tamlin had arranged his rendezvous.

So Feyre had ordered another glass of wine, and downed most of it in the last ten minutes before her flight started boarding.

Thus the world had taken on a softer light, a slower quality that had loosened Feyre’s shoulders so much that she didn’t even care about the nearby toddler who had been crying for the last half hour, or the strong smell of weed emitting from the woman in front of her, or the enormous man who was standing a little too close to her, smelling of citrus and the sea and—

Feyre whirled around.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded when her eyes met violet ones, the intensity of Rhys’s gaze reminding her of her tipsiness.

“You thought I was going to let you run off to Ireland by yourself?”

Feyre bit her lip, suddenly wishing she hadn’t had that second glass of wine. Rhys was so poised, dressed in his signature black suit, pressed to perfection even after what must have been a long day at work. The shadow of a beard graced the lower half of his face, and his sea salt scent caressed her, pulling her closer. . .

Feyre blinked once. Then twice, reaching an arm out to steady herself against one of the barriers used to corral the boarding line.

Rhys's eyes narrowed. “Are you—drunk?” He asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice.

Feyre folded her arms. “I’m not drunk,” she insisted. “I had a two glasses of wine.”

“You can barely stand up straight,” Rhys noted, pocking her shoulder with a finger.

Feyre flashed her palms up at the prosecutor. “I’m fine, see? I was having a perfectly wonderful time until you decided to show up and crash my spontaneous trip to a foreign country.” She didn't mention the wave of relief that was sweeping through her even now, as she realized she wouldn't be leaving the country for the first time all by herself.

“Did you tell Mor and Cassian?” She asked, changing the subject, although the creeping grin on Rhys’s face told her he wouldn't let this go anytime soon.

And for some reason, Feyre didn’t mind that he found her amusing.

Tamlin would have told her she was being unprofessional, would have chastised her for doing something as unsafe as getting a little tipsy in the safety of an airport. Even though he and Lucien drank during their own travels, Tamlin would see Feyre’s unsteadiness as a weakness, something she should only do with him around.

And while Rhys was laughing at her, she didn’t feel . . . judged. Teased, yes, and perhaps a little embarrassed. But not ashamed.

Rhys gave a curt nod. “They’re staying the night in Washington and flying back tomorrow. Weather conditions are awful up there, so no planes, even private ones, are going up until the morning.”

“Will they fly over to meet us?” Feyre asked, falling into step beside Rhys as the line started moving, bringing them closer and closer to the gate.

Rhys shook his head. “If this trip is as short as Tamlin told you it would be, by the time they got to Ireland, they would have to board the plane to come back again.”

“So we’re on our own,” Feyre muttered, allowing the flight attendant to scan her boarding pass.

“We’re on our own,” Rhys echoed as they stepped onto the jetway.

------

It was a very long night. Feyre slept for most of both of their flights, occasionally waking up to turbulence or to use the restroom or eat the snacks the flight attendants provided. Every time she did, Rhys was a solid presence next to her, wide awake and reading through various legal documents on his laptop, his privacy screen preventing her from glimpsing much. If he slept at all, Feyre never saw it.

When they touched down in Dublin, Feyre jolted awake, something soft against her temple. She looked up, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she met Rhys’s stare.

“Sleep well?” Rhys asked, shifting in his seat, the movement jostling her.

She reared back, tearing her forehead from where it had been resting on Rhys’s shoulder. “Yes, I—I did,” she said, sure her cheeks were burning bright red. She had slept on his shoulder. Had probably drooled all over him while he read his professional legal documents and thought of her as a very silly, very impulsive young law student. “Sorry,” she said, running a hand through her hair.

But Rhys only shrugged, folding up his laptop and sliding it into the backpack beneath the seat in front of him. “No need to apologize. I’m positive my shoulder is much more comfortable than the window.”

Feyre huffed out a breath, a grin tugging at her cheek as she thought about just how muscular Rhys's shoulder was—if it was more comfortable than the window, it was only by a margin.

“What time is it?” She asked.

“Dublin time?” Rhys looked at his watch, Feyre’s eyes tracking the flick of his wrist. “About seven am. . . Prythian time? Two am. What time did you say Tamlin’s meeting was?”

“Not until this afternoon—two or three.”

“Plenty of time to find a hotel, then, because someone decided to come all the way over here without a plan,” Rhys said, his fingers gripping her chin lightly for a fleeting moment, his lips pursing as he gazed down at her.

“Come on, Night,” Feyre said, following him from their seats and out into the aisle. “Live a little.”

Feyre regretted those words two hours later, after the only hotel with a vacancy they could find had one room available--with only one bed.

“Are you sure you don’t have anything else? We’ll even take a bed and a pull-out couch,” Feyre pleaded with the receptionist, who was so busy staring as Rhysand that Feyre doubted the woman even heard her question.

“What was it you said to me on the plane, Feyre darling?” Rhys asked, glancing down at her from the corner of his eye, his fingers tapping on the front desk. “Live a little?”

Feyre groaned, exhaustion tugging at her limbs, at her very soul, despite the sleep she had managed to find on the plane. “Fine.” She snatched the keys out of Rhys’s hand and stomped over to the elevator, arms crossed.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Rhys offered as Feyre led the way down the hall, her suitcase rattling behind her.

“That’s ridiculous,” Feyre said. “It’s a king bed. Plenty of space.”

What was she saying? No amount of bed space would be enough if she was sharing it with Rhys. He was so . . . all-consuming. Feyre could feel him behind her even now, though she knew he was several feet away.

She unlocked their room, Rhys’s arm sliding above her head to hold the door so she could drag her suitcase inside.

"Thank you," she said quietly, swallowing at the gesture.

Neither of them spoke as they took turns in the bathroom, each taking a quick shower to rinse off the travel. Feyre let Rhys go first, insisting that she had to call her father anyway. But instead of calling, she sat on her side of the bed and thought about what Tamlin would say if he knew she was sharing a hotel room with another man.

Even if her relationship with Tamlin had an expiration date, even if it was over in Feyre’s mind . . . It wasn’t over in Tamlin’s.

Sharing a bed with Rhys, sleeping on his shoulder, flirting with him . . . It was one of the worst betrayals, no matter what Tamlin had or had not done. She knew her boyfriend would be livid if he knew about what she was doing with Rhys. Even if nothing had happened between them, even if Feyre wasn’t sure she felt anything more than sexual attraction for the federal prosecutor who had suddenly turned her entire life upside down... It was wrong.

Even if being with Rhys brought out a side to her that had long been dormant. She spent all of her time with Tamlin and Lucien these days.

How long had it been since she had joked with a new friend? Spent time with someone who shared her interests, her career path? Done something just because she wanted to?

She had booked an international flight without a second thought, for crying out loud.

She had never done something like that before.

And Rhys had followed. With some grumbling, yes, but he hadn’t tried to drag her out of the airport or convince her to change her mind.

And perhaps he cared more about indicting Tamlin than he did about Feyre’s safety, but . . . Feyre couldn’t shake the feeling that Rhys understood just how badly she wanted to see Tamlin pay for his actions. That he understood the guilt that clawed at her in the middle of the night, the guilt that told her she should have seen it, should have recognized that there was something fishy about Tamlin’s business, should have done something long ago to stop it, something that might have prevented what Rhys’s sister had endured…

Feyre was startled out of her spiraling thoughts by the sound of the bathroom door swinging open, Rhysand emerging in nothing but black sweats, his hair still damp from the shower.

Feyre’s mouth went dry.

“I, ah, left my shirt out here,” Rhys offered, crossing the room to his suitcase, every muscle on display.

Feyre bit her lip at the sight of his cheeks, which had turned every-so-slightly pink, before she averted her gaze.

She didn’t say anything, simply grabbing her stuff and shutting the bathroom door behind her.

Tamlin would certainly object to the sight of a shirtless Rhysand.

Feyre took a very, very cold shower.

---

Taglist:

@rhysiedarling @shedoessoshedoes @popjunkie42 @adreamof-spring @that-little-red-head @witch-and-her-witcher @cinnamonmelody @azrielover @1islessthan3books @jenahid @toporecall @martzja @marinated-fish @riribbonss @tunaababee @acourtofbatboydreams @clockworkgraystairs @muaddib-iswriting @queenofdivas

[climbthemountain2020]

ClimbTheMountain's Masterlist

Find me on Ao3

Fics

Flame of Autumn | Ao3 (complete) Eris x OC, arranged marriage, allies to lovers

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met | Ao3 (in progress) Feysand, A Fairytale/Fate Retelling AU

Hope of Spring | Ao3 (complete) Tamlin x OC, Modern Girl in Prythian

Remains of Spring | Ao3 (complete) Tamlin x OC, Tamlin POV oneshots from Hope of Spring

A Heartbreak in Mid-December | Ao3 (complete) Elucien, Angst with a Happy Ending, oneshot

Solstice Gifts | Ao3 (complete) Feysand, Just the Sweetest Fluff, oneshot

Pages Turned | Ao3 (complete) Nesta, Character Study, oneshot

Love You Like Oxygen | Ao3 (complete) Helion x LoA, mini-series

every single thing to come | Ao3 (complete) Lady of Autumn, oneshot

Still Beautiful Things | Ao3 Eris Vanserra, Childhood bargain

The Adventure | Ao3 Eris Vanserra, Modern AU oneshot, brotherly bonding

Cassian's 11-Step Haircare Routine Cassian Week 2024, Fun drabble Timeloop: I Know You, I Walked With You Once Upon a Dream Ao3 | Feysand, part of the @feysand-hivemind timeloop

Art by Me Moodboards Miscellaneous

[ofduskanddreams]

Drabble Event Masterlist

A list of all the fics written as a part of my 600 follower milestone celebration. You can find the series on AO3 or search the tag "kate's celebratory drabbles series" on my page to find them as well. All fics listed are less than a thousand words unless they are marked "*"

Give Over To The Fall ✦ Mor x Elain ✦ T

When Feyre and Nesta ditch girl's night, Elain and Mor head to Rita's alone, and long-simmering things boil over.

A Sunshiny Sound ✦ Elain x Lucien ✦ G

Regency AU || Despite being friends (and neighbors) with Lucien Vanserra since childhood, Elain has spent the past months wondering if that friendship has come to an end as his letters have grown few and far between. Then he calls upon her one afternoon out of the blue, and things are not what they had seemed.

Otherworldly* ✦ Mor x Emerie ✦ G

Regency AU || Emerie leads a simple life. She has the store she inherited upon her father's death, her skill with a needle and thread, and far more independence than most of her peers could dream of. When she receives a mysterious request from the lady of the county, Emerie is too curious to deny it.

Like They Want To Lick You ✦ Azriel x Gwyn ✦ T

Modern AU || It never bothered her before, the hungry eyes that always followed Azriel wherever they went. But this is their honeymoon, he belongs to her now in every imaginable way, and she can't help feeling a little possessive.

The Sky Has No Walls ✦ Azriel & Rhys & Cassian ✦ T

Rhys and Cassian helping Azriel learn to fly.

Sensation and the Scent of Waterlilies ✦ Azriel x Gwyn ✦ M

Omegaverse AU || Azriel's heat finally ends and he feels incredibly lucky to have such a wonderful Alpha. This is just post-heat softness and Azriel being stupidly in love with Gwyn. There are only vague references to spicy things.

You're Lucky I Love You ✦ Elain x Lucien ✦ G

Elain returns home from a meeting and can't find Lucien anywhere in the house. She checks the back garden and what she finds is the last thing she expects.

Reputation to Damage ✦ Nesta x Cassian ✦ M

Modern/Grad School AU || Every semester at Prythian University, a rumor goes around about a professor in a relationship with their TA. It's as predictable as gravity, but Cassian isn't sure how he feels about it this time... because the subject of the rumor might be him.

All That Matters ✦ Nesta x Cassian ✦ M

Picks up where ACOSF chapter 78 leaves off. After the ordeal of the Blood Rite, Briallyn, and Nyx's birth, Nesta and Cassian finally go home. Feelings are felt, love is demonstrated through care, and they finally get some much-needed rest.

Lack of Discretion ✦ Elain x Lucien ✦ T

Modern AU || Elain has had a long week, but she's determined to beat her exhaustion and meet Vassa for drinks. They'd already had to reschedule it several times. Unfortunately, unforeseen circumstances prevent Vassa from joining her that night as well. At least the beautiful new bartender asks if he can join her when his shift ends.

This Lovely Enigma* ✦ Azriel x Eris ✦ M

Royalty AU || The law requires that King Eris Vanserra find a consort and partner within one year of taking the throne. Eris's expectations are low, and the line of prospective consorts being introduced to him is still managing to meet them or, at least, they were. Then Azriel walked into the throne room.

Truth or Dare, Azriel?* ✦ Gwynriel + Elucien ✦ M

Modern AU || It's their annual week up at Rhysand's family cabin. When Nesta and Cassian retreat to their room and Rhys and Feyre head off to theirs shortly after, the others know they'll need to occupy their time before risking going into the cabin. A tipsy game of Truth or Dare around the bonfire takes a few very interesting turns.

Warmth Lingers in the Smoke ✦ Azriel x Eris ✦ T

Regency AU || With his father recently deceased, Eris is leaving for London in the morning and all the duties that await him as the new Lord Vanserra. It's his last night walking the mile to Azriel's cottage on the neighboring estate and losing a few precious hours to the man he never meant to fall for.

[nikethestatue]

Honest question because you made me curious can you plese elaborate what do mean with Nessian wouldn't in canon? ☕️

"Nessian doesn’t work in canon. They are a modern AU couple and make no sense in canon."

I think that Nesta is severely underdeveloped as a character. People say that Elain is underdeveloped-- but in reality, even with as little page time as she has, Elain is more concise--she is a modern Insta influencer, with a cute blog of flowers, fashion and bakes. You know EXACTLY who Elain would be--now, 1000 years ago, or in Prythian. Subtly influential, pleasant, probably well-married, liked, always someone who would 'find the way'.

What is Nesta? What were her ambitions? Even after they got the money back. Like we never find out what she actually was--being bitchy and hating on her younger sister is really not 'personality'. And because of the limitations of that world, she can't have a career, or real growth, or any real development. Her entire development (is that what it is?) is based on Cassian--the fact that she could be like him, learn to fight from him, live with him, do things because of him, have sex with him, form relationships in which he also participates. He was the one who initially met Emerie. He was the one who encouraged Nesta to put out that flyer and who welcomed Gwyn. Everything is about HIM. Because ultimately, Nesta has no real presence in that world. She has no aims, no ambitions, no goals, she doesn't want to be married, she doesn't really want to be a family, she has no hobbies beyond reading, she can't make money, she is wholly dependent on her sister, etc.

And that's why I think in canon, they don't work. Because there is such extreme dependency that Nesta has as a character on Cassian, that there is nothing individual about her. Because Nesta simply has nothing to do in Prythian. SJM never developed a purpose for her.

I am sorry, but the whole 'I wanna be a general' is laughable. And Rhysand giving her a house to live in is SAD.

In the modern setting, Nesta could be a nurse, a doctor, a lawyer, a teacher, she could be a bookish nerd or a stylish magazine editor. She could have a career that is believable. She could have plans, interests, real failures, real highs, she could be a waitress at a diner who helps out her impoverished family, or a single mother, or someone who pursues her MBA. There are a million possibilities for Nesta and Cassian in the modern AU. In canon, she is a mean girl who is with Cassian. That's about it. Even her powers were never truly described or explained.

That's why modern AUs in fanfics ALWAYS work better with Nessian, and if it's canon, it only works when she DOES something. When she is in Illyrian, or an ambassador, or something beyond just sitting in HOW and working out. Because that is not Nesta.

[aladyofgoodtaste]

A Court of 'It's giving beauty & the beast' and 'Except you can't tell which one is which'

Spring is rotting away. Not just its Court but across the lands as well. Without it, there can be no new beginnings, no rebirths and nature itself will cease to a halt. And thus Fates dictate that a human and a broken Fae must create a miracle together.

OR

Tamlin thinks that the Mother is cruel for the salvation of his home requires another human’s help while Juno curses whatever entity that Isekai’ed her into this shitty ass book series.

AO3

Chapter 1: Fuck it, we ball

A meeting and a blatant disrespect for all things Canon

CH2 | CH3

-

For 7 governmental bodies to co-exist with one another, it’s crucial for the High Lords of Prythian to come together once a year. This annual meeting is crucial because each Courts must establish new trade agreements, honour allies, and exchange information (and sometimes gossip) to strengthen the peace. 

This year, the honour of hosting such an event falls on Helion and his Day Court and as the most ostentatious High Lord among them all, he spared no expense in throwing the most lavish party for future guests. Even his people are swept away by his spirit! It’s as if the city has come to life from the streets to the alleys. Music fills the air, and decorations hang on every house, for everyone loves the High Lord and what he has sacrificed and fought for. Here in the Day Court, the adoration for Helion is evident for everyone who visits.

“How long has this festival been going on? Weeks?” The High Lord of the Winter Court, Kallias, comments as he glances down the streets. “What are they celebrating anyway?”

Beside him, his Mate Viviane peeks to where Kallias is staring at - a flower cart full of her favourites. She smiles and replies, “I’ve heard from Helion’s courtiers earlier that it’s because of us. There’s a party after our meeting that’s meant to promote the peace. “I’m looking forward to that.” Underneath the warm sunlight and clad in their regalia, the pair looks like statues crafted from diamonds that have come to life. 

“Knowing Helion, it’s going to involve an orgy one way or another.” Another voice joins their conversation. The High Lord of the Dawn Court takes the empty seat on Kallias’ right. Helion has organised an open chamber-tower for their annual meeting that oversees the entire city, a subtle show of power. A magnificent round table made out of wood that no longer exists in their realm rests in the middle just like the streets below. Comfortable chairs are provided for the High Lords and their plus one. From the ceiling to the floor, everything here is lavishly decorated. It’s so shiny that it inspires Thesan’s new automaton project. However, he shelves the new ideas aside in favour of the conversation. “If the two of you plan to stick around after this, I might do the same.” 

Kallias and Viviane exchange a look, and something silent transpires between them, for the Lady of the Winter Court is suddenly amused. “Oh my, Thesan. Interested in a threesome? What would the good Captain say?” 

The mention of his lover had Thesan in a coy mood. He hopes that all is well in his absence. “I can easily bring him to the party later and propose the suggestion. Orgies aside, it’s been a while since the 4 of us spent some time together after the war.” 

“It’s wonderful that things have been slowly getting back to normal after what we’ve been through,” Kallias muses, his mind threatening to wander back to those dark days when he was living Under the Mountain. He offers a tiny smile at his wife, who senses his sudden change in emotion and grasps his hand. “Peace is long overdue in these lands. Let’s hope it sticks.” 

Agreeing with his sentiment, Thesan and Viviane shift the conversation to something more lighthearted to cheer him up. 

In one corner of the chamber, the High Lord of the Summer Court is deep in discussion with the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. His ambition to lessen the influence of the High Faes in the Summer and uplift the Lesser ones requires delicate and long-term planning. A civil war is his biggest worry right now, and he needs to avoid that at all costs; hence, he requested some valuable insights from his allies. However, The more they talk, Tarquin begins to realise that he and Rhysand have very different perspectives on managing their people. “I appreciate your advice, Rhysand, but I don’t think bolstering the numbers of my army will help me in the long run. I want equality among the High and Lesser Faes in my Court, not scaring them.” 

Rhysand easily shrugs; he and Feyre are wearing their leather fineries just for this occasion. In his mind, Tarquin is still young and still wet behind the pointy ears when it comes to ruling. It should be alright for him to make mistakes here and there. After all, some people tend to learn the hard way. “That’s what I would personally do, anyway. It’s never wrong to strengthen the foundation of your Court. Especially when it comes to safety.”

“I agree! Having a powerful military force isn’t all that bad. You can use it to defend what truly matters to you,” Feyre chimes in, casting a loving look at Rhysand. “Your home. Your family.” And just like that, the two retreat into their bubble - trading lust-filled eyes, arms around one another and utterly oblivious to Tarquin, who just shakes his head. He politely excuses himself to join Kallias, Viviane and Thesan, who welcome him with a sparkling drink. 

“You lasted about an hour with the two of them, Tarquin. Congratulations! Was it worth it?” Viviane teases while Kallias surreptitiously keeps an eye on Rhysand and Feyre, who are literally eye-fucking one another in case that shady High Lord overhears his wife. 

“His advice was… insightful”, Tarquin decides after some deliberation. He thanks Thesan for the drink. Though he might have forgiven the Night Court for their thievery and transgression, he still won’t forget their crimes so soon. He kept that thought to himself since Rhysand is considered to be one of the most powerful creatures among them. It would be foolish to make him an enemy. “I was hoping for something less offensive and more of a creative suggestion.” 

“Still working hard on evening out the playing fields?” Thesan guesses. His flute glass is empty, but it magically refills when he puts it away on an empty gold tray. This pleases him.

“I’ll never stop trying; I firmly believe there shouldn’t be a class difference among the Faes. The Mother makes us all equal from birth, regardless of our appearance.” 

“That’s very open-minded of you, Tarquin. Tell you what, If you ever need a second opinion, Viviane and I are happy to host you in our Court.” 

“The same goes for the Dawn Court. Oh, don’t look so surprised, little one! Sure, you’re young, but that just means you have so many wild ideas in that head of yours that I’d love to hear about. Call it a mutually beneficial trade, hmm?” 

“I see… very well then, thank you, Lord Thesan; I’m also grateful for your offer.” 

“To new friendships!” Viviane cheers and raises her flute for a toast. Kallias, Thesan and Tarquin indulge her. “Since we’re talking about Courts now, has anyone figured out what’s been happening lately? There’s a part in Winter’s forest that’s rotted off.” Here, her face is troubled, and even Kallias appears uncertain. “The worst part is that the area is expanding as if the rot is growing bigger.” 

Tarquin’s eyes are wide. This time, it’s he who is surprised. “The rot appeared in the Winter Court as well? I’ve been receiving reports from Cresseida that some wheat fields are turning into a wasteland. There was no warning, no cause that we could find. It’s as if it appeared suddenly.” 

“I don’t like the sound of this…” Thesan adds in, already contemplating launching his own investigation in the Dawn Court just in case.

Kallias takes a moment to view Helion’s city once more. On the surface, everything looks perfect, but now he’s curious; just what kind of troubles would Helion deal with daily? His Court did receive quite a number of human refugees during the war. “I wonder if the Day Court is affected as well. Maybe that’s why its High Lord is running late.” They were supposed to begin the meeting once Rhysand and Feyre had arrived (being fashionably late as always), but Helion still hadn’t made himself known. Other than personally directing them to this chamber until an aide intervened to whisk him away. Everyone has been amusing themselves since then. 

Beron, the High Lord of the Autumn Court, is nursing his drink alone. His thoughts serve as his company, for he opted not to bring his wife along. The other Faes are too caught up in their own matter to realise he’d been eavesdropping on every conversation that was stirred. Fools the lot of them; so quick to ease the guards on their shoulders just because they’re among ‘allies’. With a contemplative hum, Beron raises his glass of red wine to be at his eye level. The dark hue reminds him of his once clear lake turning a putrid red and the surroundings are barren. He, too, had noticed the rot making its home in his Court. He has no time for this new mystery yet when none of his nobles could come forward with an answer and a solution, it infuriates the High Lord. 

Voices tapers off when Helion finally Winnows back into the chamber. Shining with splendour with a golden crown on his head and wearing his customary white toga, Helion addresses his esteemed guests, “Apologies for the wait. My courtiers couldn’t get enough of me these days - “ the more perspective ones like Beron and Thesan catch the underlying meaning of his words: ‘Issues has been popping up lately’. “ - I hope the drinks more than makeup for it. They were from my grandfather’s era after all. Now then, shall we begin?” 

As soon as Helion said that, there was a crack in the air. Two figures appear without a warning, shattering the pleasant atmosphere. A ripple of shock, utter confusion and subtle wariness spread across the table at the sight of the High Lord of the Spring Court and a human female on his arm. 

“Tamlin,” Helion speaks first, breaking the tense silence. He didn’t gape, but he sure as hell didn’t expect this particular High Lord to actually attend their meeting due to his self-imposed exile and preference to escape the world in the form of a mindless beast. The rest of the Courts - especially Rhysand and Feyre - watch their interactions carefully. “Welcome! If I had known all it takes was a party at the Day Court, I would’ve personally sent you the invitation. To you and your…” 

“My Mate.” Tamlin answers simply. He looks beautifully put together in all the garbs worthy of the High Lord of the Spring Court, beautiful, just like before. His long golden hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and he’s wearing a warrior's assemble without the weaponry. Instead, silver chains and emeralds that match his eyes hang off his shoulders and chest piece. 

Helion easily rolls with it; a part of him is a bit relieved that Tamlin is as standoffish as ever. Familiarity is good; familiarity helps you ground your footing. It’s something that he’s good at. However, the human besides Tamlin is anything but familiar. “Congratulations are in order then. You found yourself quite an intriguing female.” He sensed no lie in Tamlin’s confession despite his perfectly schooled expression. Perhaps he’s feeling awkward at the idea of introducing his female to creatures with whom he has fractured relationships. 

“That’s one way to put it...” Tamlin mutters. That earns a sharp elbow at his rib. He just rolls his eyes when the human glares at him. 

Inside jokes already? Oh, Helion can’t wait for the gossip tonight! “May I have your hand and name, gorgeous?” 

For some reason, the female is unfazed with his flirting, though she did offer her hand for him to kiss it. Her nails are long and sharp, black as the night, with a tiny diamond on each. What’s unfamiliar is the material of the nails itself; it's inorganic. Even the jewellery on her fingers and arms might be gold and silver with a leather band, but the designs are unlike anything Helion has seen before. Intricate yet so foreign. Still, he kisses the back of her hand. “Juno. No last name. Nice to meet you.” The female introduces herself after a while. “I acknowledge every High Lord and their Mate here today.” Compared to Tamlin’s unapproachable demeanour, she’s polite yet distant.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Juno. I hope we can be closer after the meeting, as friends, of course.” Helion winks, wanting to know Tamlin’s reactions. To his disappointment, the High Lord of Spring just nods. The couple settles beside Thesan (a servant appears to add one more chair for the human female), a silent gesture that they refuse to entertain any inane questions. Well then. Helion would just have to wait for the party. Judging by the blatant curiosity of their fellow lords and Mates, everyone is truly looking forward to what’s to come. Except for Beron; the male seems as if he’s using every bit of restraint to hold his tongue. His disdain for humans is as obnoxious as ever. 

Helion can’t do anything about that. Instead, he claps his hands—time to get this show on the road. 

-

The meeting starts off easy. Since the first on the agenda is trading goods, everyone must agree on the markup prices for what is considered luxury and essentials. Staple food like grains, vegetables, animal produce and meat must be affordable enough between the Courts. The High Lords that have the most considerable sway in the final verdict are Helion, Tarquin, Tamlin, and Thesan since their territories are the ones that output them the most.

“I don’t think it’s fair that Tamlin has the final say for the prices,” Rhysand suddenly interjects. His voice is steady as he tilts his head, much like a panther sizing up its prey. “The Spring Court hasn’t been exporting much supplies since the war. In fact, the number is dwindling.”

Kallias and Viviane hold their breath, waiting for the outburst. Feyre expected the same, for they all could feel her magic coiling tightly, ready to defend her Mate against Tamlin’s outrage. The rest are content to be bystanders for now. 

“…Very well. I revoke my ability to vote in this matter.” Tamlin backs off, just like that. He focuses on the scroll in front of him, jointing down some notes, much to the surprise of everyone once more. Rhysand is taken off guard before suspicion quickly passes over, and that’s Feyre’s cue to remain on guard. 

“Moving on,” Helion smoothly brings them all to the next topic. There is no need to ruffle any feathers here since Tamlin is behaving himself. “Reparations. I believe it’s in the best interest of every Court to chip in and help the ones in need. The war has taught us that we act as a shield for one another against foreign threats. So it makes sense that the well-being of your neighbour is crucial for our survival.” 

An impatient Beron sighs. “Cut the unnecessary fluff, Helion. You want us all to send our precious resources to Spring and Summer. They’re the only ones left still scrambling to build themselves up again. Why should my Court share the burden? Summer can stand on its own again in 40 years or so. Meanwhile, Spring is content to dwell in its ruin and destruction. No matter how fancy its High Lord look today.” 

Helion resists pinching the bridge of his nose. He was really hoping that no one antagonised Tamlin, but at the same time, he couldn’t refute Beron as much as he loathed it. There hasn’t been any progress on the Spring Court’s restorations. Its populace continues to flee from their own home, and Tamlin has been neglecting to manage the lands. All things considered, the Spring Court is seconds away from becoming an abandoned territory. Prime for an invasion, and it might be from another Court.

Tamlin gives Beron the attention he’s so desperate for. His composure cracked ever so slightly as simmering rage glimmered in his eyes. “Careful, Beron; one would think the control you are so proud of is slipping. Or perhaps you’re ignorant of what’s truly happening outside your little kingdom instead?” 

Beron bristles at the insults and leans forward, ready to counter or attack, but Tamlin isn’t done yet. “Hoard your money. The Spring Court has been rebuilding itself at its own pace; we don’t need charity that disguises itself as with strings attached.” Tamlin sneers.

From across the table, Feyre scoffs. “With what resources? What people and labour? The last report from our Spymaster mentioned that your lands are nearly barren. More and more refugees from the Spring Court are travelling to different territories.” 

Viviane bit her lower lip. Everyone knew what Feyre did to the Spring Court, so for her to rub salt in Tamlin’s wounds was a low blow. Even if he deserves it for everything that he has done. The Lady of the Winter Court wonders what his Mate thinks about this and if she’s aware of the history between the two and Rhysand. When she peeks at the human female, Juno (she commits that name into her memories), she’s confused to find her indifferent to the tension-filled exchange. She’s been fiddling with a strange, rectangle object ever since the meeting started; her eyes never stray away from it for even a second. It’s as if she couldn’t care less that her Mate is besieged by the Night and Autumn Court. Viviane found herself disappointed with this human. 

“Sitting on that throne of morality doesn’t suit you, Feyre. While I don’t expect or need aid from the Autumn Court, I demand accountability from the Night Court’s actions against me and my Court.” Tamlin’s voice is hard. Any ounce of affection he has for her is utterly devoid. 

Rhysand flares in anger while Feyre has no shame even to look chastised. “My High Lady can do whatever she wants - “ Helion didn’t miss the way Tarquin closed his eyes in resignation. “ - you no longer have the right to dictate her. Honestly, Tamlin, I thought you’d be bored with this game already. It’s pathetic that you’re still trying to - ”

“Enough!” Thesan suddenly barks, silencing everyone. He’s fed up with these petty arguments. First, he turns to Rhysand, who does not appreciate the interjection. “Keep your feud outside of this meeting. We honestly don’t care about it.” Next is Tamlin. “While you might not need it, I want to put the past behind us already by extending an olive branch. The Dawn Court will be sending manpower and supplies to speed up your restoration projects. I give this willingly.”

Tamlin tersely nods. His Mate finally reacts - she lifts her head to stare appreciatively at Thesan. In return, Thesan just gives her a tiny smile. 

“If the Spring Court is so confident in itself, then I supposed we can send its refugees back,” Rhysand drawls. He leans forward to tap a finger on the table, pretending to think. “It’s only right to return them to their home, though I wonder if they would even want to, considering their faith in their High Lord is in the sewers.” 

“They’ll come back.” 

Every Fae in the chamber turns to the human female. Most of them had forgotten she was sitting beside Tamlin with how quiet she was. Now though? Now, she wears a confident grin on her face. “Kind of you to worry about our people, Rice Cracker, but we’ve got it handled.” 

“What did you just call me - ”

“How?” Helion couldn’t help but ask.

“Simple: we’ll give them democracy!” 

-

Those in the Day Court Palace waste no time partying once Helion officially ended the meeting. It dragged on and on for at least half a day before it checked off everything they all needed to discuss. 

Beron immediately returns to his Court while the rest lingers to enjoy the feast and atmosphere. The dining hall is crowded with partygoers of all kinds though most give the High Lords and their Mates a respectful berth. Not Helion, though. The moment he stepped inside, he was swarmed with adoring lovers, ragged courtiers and a few scholars as well. 

“Enjoy the party, everyone!” Helion had shouted among the chatters and music before he was whisked away. “Do what I wouldn’t!” 

They all disperse after that to enjoy the feast to the fullest. Kallias and Viviane help themselves to some food; when a group of nymphs comes over to ask about the villages in Winter, the couple is more than happy to talk to them. Always eager to accept new creatures into their home. Tarquin is listening to scholars and healers from various Courts as they regale him with tales and snippets of their lives. He’s especially respectful to the older ones for their experiences. Meanwhile, Tamlin wandered off somewhere, leaving his Mate - the only human in the dining hall - to fend for herself. She’s nursing a tumbler at the bar, and Thesan was compelled to join her. 

“I didn’t know that they serve non-alcoholics too.” He says in lieu of greeting, already scenting the ripe apple in her tumbler. He easily saddles up beside her, understanding why she chose this corner of the bar. It’s quieter here, with the bartender busy attending the drinks, giving the two an illusion of privacy. “You don’t drink?” 

Tamlin’s Mate snorts. “Never interested in it. You should’ve seen the bartender's face when I asked for juice. He gave me one with an apple flavour, thinking it was degrading. Jokes on him; this is the best apple juice I’ve ever had.” 

Said bartender throws her the stink eye, to which she cheerfully raised a middle finger. 

Thesan raises an eyebrow. It’s not bravado. For being the only human among Faes, she displays no sense of fear, wariness or even self-preservation. She might be a Mate to a High Lord, but no one really respects Tamlin as one nowadays. Her status isn’t enough to protect her against his enemies, and with these many people under one palace, one can never be too sure. And yet, she thinks herself untouchable. Thesan doesn’t know where this insane confidence is coming from, and he’s determined to find out as much as she can about this mortal. 

“I’ve never seen such strange clothing before or this particular scent around you,” Thesan admits; a heady mixture of peach, vanilla, seawater, and something he couldn’t quite describe lingers around her. “Forgive me for my rudeness, but you came with Tamlin and threw us all off guard.” 

“Oh, I bet. I had a strong impression that Tamlin was supposed to quietly disappear in the background as the series went on. Too bad. I don’t respect the books or SJM enough to give a shit about Canon.” Juno says idly, sipping on her chilled juice.

Not a single thing that left her mouth made sense to Thesan, and judging by the female’s disinterest in elaborating, he tried another angle. “I see… and the scent?” 

“It’s a perfume; Dialogue with Venus. I wanted a brand that smelled like a French whore. What? You guys don’t have perfumes around here?” 

“What is a per…fume?” 

Now it’s the female’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Huh. Interesting. You guys have coffee, silk and stuff - shits that are not from England, and yet I’ve never heard any of the Courts receive trades from overseas. I figured perfumes would be one of the items that were added into the series with no explanation behind it.” 

OK, this is getting nowhere fast. While Juno is clearly forthcoming, her answers remain confusing. Luckily, Viviane sashays over. “Hello. We haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Viviane; I’m the Lady of the Winter Court and Kallias’ friend and Mate. I love your tattoos, by the way. I haven’t seen such vibrant and colourful Bargain marks before!” She’s sincere too. A long black viper is slithering underneath beautifully blooming flowers running down her arms, chest and back. It helps that the black crop top bra highlights the artwork. Viviane’s initial opinions about this human female have been changing ever since she spoke up during the meeting. She’s intrigued like the rest of them. 

Juno ducks her head, oddly shy now. “They’re not Bargain tattoos, but… thanks.” 

She wonders if the humans painted them on then. “So, are you from beyond the Wall?” Viviane wasted no time asking after ordering a drink for herself. The trio makes themselves comfortable on the barstools. “I’m not familiar with human fashion styles but I adore your simplicity yet invoking assemble.” 

“Heavy on the simplicity,” Juno agrees with a secretive grin. “As for your question… you could say that.” Her grin widened the longer Viviane waited for her to share more about her life.

Thesan takes pity on her and asks, “What do you think of the meeting? It must be overwhelming.” ‘For a human’, the High Lord keeps that last bit to himself. If he could, he would go as far as to say that Tamlin was callous for bringing her; no one was prepared for the double whammy - Tamlin actually showing up or him introducing his very human, very vulnerable Mate that no one even heard about. 

“I went like how I expected it to be; male egos being thrown around like monkey shits. Plus, I got everything I needed from it, so we’re Gucci.” Juno shrugs and finishes her drink in one swing. Her eyes caught Tarquin now among Kallias and Rhysand. Still no sign of Tamlin. “Although… it was nice to see your favourite character in real life. The official artworks really don’t do him justice, but hey, that’s why we have the fan arts.” 

Viviane snorts when she mentions ‘male egos’ while Thesan mentally notes that the human’s way of speaking is utterly befuddling. He barely understands half of those sentences! 

The three of them continue to make idle talks. Thesan and Viviane made a silent agreement to play the human female’s game and only share the bare minimum about their Courts and themselves. If she picks up on it, she doesn’t seem to be insulted at all. For Viviane, she hopes that the two could be friends because one can never have too many female friends! However, a tiny part of her - the one that has kept her alive all these years - warns not to be so comfortable with this human. Amarantha underestimated Feyre Archeron, and what came afterwards was her demise. And her relationship with Tamlin… the parallels between Feyre and Juno can’t be ignored. A human female appears out of nowhere and is brought into their world by the High Lord of the Spring Court. 

History is itching to repeat itself. 

The feast continued, and soon enough, most of the attendees meandered to different rooms and areas of the palace. The Faes reveal themselves in the 3 F’s - food, which Helion has generously provided with delicacies from every Court and then some. Fight, which the more rowdy partygoers are raring to take arms and challenge each other at the training hall, and the last… 

“What’s wrong?” Juno asks when Viviane and Thesan suddenly cocks their heads at the same time. The direction is at the giant door draped with red drapes.

“It sounds like the party has shifted to a more… sensual activity.” Thesan comments, and Viviane snorts. 

“Aite. That’s my cue to leave.” 

“Not one for orgies, mortal?” 

“Nah. I prefer reading about them instead. Thanks for keeping me company, Lord Thesan. You too, Lady Viviane. You guys are way cooler than the main cast. You deserve a book each, at the very least.” 

Thesan shakes his head. “I’ve given up trying to decipher the strange phrases and words you keep uttering all evening. so I will take that as a compliment.” 

“Defo,” Juno replies, pleased with her even-tempered companions. “Tell you what, if you ever want to change something about your fate, hit me up at the Spring Court. I’ll do it as a favour.” She gives them two thumbs up as assurance. 

As the music slowly dwindles, a clacking pair of heels makes themselves known first before the voice: “Viviane! Here you are. Kallias was wondering if you’d like to - oh.” 

Feyre Archeron has not entered the scene. Her beaming smile is now hesitant when she sees the human female between Viviane and Thesan. 

“Hello again, Feyre. What does Kallias want now?” Viviane cuts right to the chase. Knowing her Mate, he’s probably starting to miss her. 

Feyre’s eyes linger on Juno for a second longer before giving her attention to the Lady of the Winter Court. “He’s with Rhysand and Helion at the southern courtyard. They’re discussing about exchanging administrative records and he wants your input.” 

Viviane sighs. She finishes her drink and gracefully gets on her feet. “Duty calls. It’s been lovely catching up with the two of you. Feyre, you and your Mate are always welcome in my Court.” And with that, she Winnows away.

“I should be going back home as well,” Thesan adds apologetically. “There’s something I must check with my Captain. Nice meeting you, Juno. Goodbye, you two, and excuse me.” He, too, leaves in a blink of an eye. 

Now, it’s just two females with Tamlin as their common ground. 

Without a single word, Juno begins to leave only for Feyre to immediately grab her hand. “Wait! Please. My heart wouldn’t be at ease if I didn’t talk to you for a moment. It’s about your Mate. Tamlin, I mean. I’m afraid there’s a lot of things that he hasn’t told you.” 

Feyre can’t help but sound a little desperate; her eyes are imploring. She hopes that it’s not too late to save this female. Whatever reaction she was looking for turns out to be the exact opposite for the human’s lips curl up into a wide smile. There’s something not right about it. 

“Oh, this is gonna be so good,” She purrs. She forcefully yanks her hand free, and Feyre is surprised that she can. “Let’s go to the balcony. Fewer people make it more fun.” The human turned around and walked off without even checking if the High Lady was following after her. Not that she needs to. Hesitation may rear its head again, but Feyre is known for her determination and courage against the unknown. The sky is cast underneath a beautiful twilight when the two females step outside. The music is completely muffled when Feyre closes the door behind her. With her back leaning against the railing, Juno allows Feyre to begin. “Well? Let’s hear it.” 

Her attitude is beginning to grate on Feyre’s nerves, but she will forever be the protector of the weak and helpless, especially if they’re a human. “How did you and Tamlin meet?” 

“Careful. Is that jealousy in your tone?” 

Feyre’s face scrunches into a grimace. “Hardly. I was just curious. In his beast form, Tamlin would sooner rip a human’s throat out than romance them. You must excuse me for being horrified that he brought you here today. No one could have predicted this.” 

“That sounds like a you problem, chief.” Juno points out. “OK, listen. Fryer - ”

“It’s Feyre.” She corrected with her eyes narrowed dangerously. What in the Mother’s name is a Fryer!? 

“Whatever. I want to find Tamlin and go home already. My social battery is drained for the next few months. Why don’t you just get on with it and say what you really want to instead of pretending to be all high and mighty about it? Tamlin’s right; morality really doesn’t suit you and that rapist you call a Mate.” 

Anger blooms and spreads within Feyre. Her face is flushed red with indignation as she takes a threatening step towards the utterly blasé human. “Watch your tongue. You know nothing about Rhysand or me! O-Or what we’ve been through. You barely know anything about Tamlin as it is!” 

Juno’s smile remains even when the Fae breaches her personal bubble. “I know plenty, and I didn’t even need to read any of the books! Your fandom is composed of roaches; they’re everywhere. On Tumblr, TikTok, and AO3 - you get the idea. And I gotta say, you’re the most disappointing YA heroine that I’ve ever had the displeasure to know about unwillingly. That says something since your contender is Bella Swan. How are you illiterate and stupid at the same time? Girl, pick a struggle.” 

Confusion is now mixed with righteous anger, and magic begins to simmer underneath Feyre’s fingertips. 

“How dare you,” The High Lady whispers menacingly. “I’m trying to save you from making the most fatal mistake you could’ve done in your short life, and you spit on my goodwill? You have no idea what you’re up against, mortal. Tamlin will kill you. That’s a promise. I strongly suggest you cut ties with him before he hurt you like he did to me.” 

“Nah, he can’t.” Juno flippantly waved a dismissive hand before Feyre’s face as if swatting a fly. It’s a shame she’s too distracted to realise that the human female said ‘can’t’ instead of ‘no’. “Besides, I’m built differently; very Will Smitherently.I’m not weak or helpless like you, so you don’t have to worry about me.” 

Feyre is so close to snapping and just lit this female on fire. Even Eris isn’t this obnoxious! Juno snickers, knowing that the ‘illiterate’ comment manages to dig under her skin. “So be it. It’s your funeral, after all. Shall I send Tamlin flowers when he inevitably does the deed? As congratulations, of course.”

“I do love flowers,” Juno hums in agreement. “Save your money; you look like the kind of woman who spends it on Starbucks anyway. Oh! Quick question: Is Nyx around?” Here, she curiously stares at Feyre’s stomach.

The sudden mention of her son’s name was the last straw for the High Lady. “You keep my son’s name out of your dirty mouth - “

“So you gave birth to him already? I got the timeline right, at least. Shame. I wanted to introduce you to the concept of abortion.” 

Again, with the confounding words! 

“Feyre darling? I could feel your magic from the other side of the palace. Is everything alright here?” 

Rhysand Winnows to the balcony with Helion at his side. The High Lord of the Night Court watches the two females carefully. His arms open, but before Feyre can rush into his embrace, the human female hugs his Mate’s arm and cuddles close. 

“We were just having a girl talk!” Juno beams and looks up at Feyre with an innocent expression. “The High Lady was kind enough to share her experiences regarding Mates. Why, we’re practically friends now!” 

For that comment, it’s Feyre’s turn to forcefully shove the human off her and quickly return to Rhysand’s side. Juno merely pouts at the rough treatment. 

“Lady Juno, how are you enjoying the party?” Helion easily steps in between the couple and the human female, sensing the tension as clear as day. Hah. “Forgive me for being a poor host. I would have loved to personally attend my most esteemed and mysterious guest if I wasn’t so busy.” He teases with a seducing trill in his voice. Unfortunately, Tamlin’s Mate reacted as she did during the meeting - uninterested and unbothered despite her friendly grin. 

“Guess we have to take a rain check on that. Have you seen Tamlin? It’s time for us to go home.” 

“I believe he’s in the library with Tarquin. Shall I escort you to him?” 

“Thanks, but I can find it on my own. Lit party, Lord Helion. See you around.” 

Juno nods at him. Before she returns to the dining hall, she passes by the Night Court couple. “You can’t handle my smoke, but I’d love to see you try, Fly-Fly. The two of you think you’re based for far too long.”

And with that, only 3 High Faes are left on the balcony. 

“Based? Based on what?” Helion asks no one in particular.

[ablogofsapphicpanic]

HEY! It’s SANTA! How are you doing?! Have you done anything fun this week? Also, LOL at the meme your brother drew. 🤭 I really do hope you like this fic, so don’t mind me playing 20 questions with you hehe.

Would you rather have something in Prythian or in an AU? 

--If you want an If you want an au, what are a few that light up your Christmas tree? 🎄

--If you prefer something in universe, are there particular locations you’re interested in exploring? 

And I took a look at that What I Need music video that you recommended. I love it so much!!!! Are there any other books, videos, movies, songs etc that remind you of Emerie, Mor or both of them? 

And your last set of serious questions - what tropes do you love? Any you loathe? I want to make sure to include what you love and leave the rest alone!!! 

And then your non-serious question because I see you are familiar with BG3. Which companion is the best companion? This is not a trick question! 👀 I swear 👀

Hi!!! I didn't really do much fun this week, but I do have plans to go apple picking and bake pies with my neighbors on Sunday, and I'm looking forward to that! I hope you had a nice week and did something fun! (If you did you should tell me, I'd love to hear about it).

Uhhh, that is a toughie. I prefer canon verse I think, but I wouldn't say no to an AU either 👀 so I'm gonna answer both and whatever strikes your fancy of the two, have at it!

I am a big fan of modern AUs, uhhhhh... I like supernatural romances (werewolves, vampires, that kind of stuff). Both is good, too. I like fairytale AUs as well. There was one sapphic beauty and the beast book that I read that was so good and I forgot the name of it and will hate myself forever for it. A fitting one for Mor and Emerie I think would be maybe a similar concept to Aladdin? Princess has to marry, doesn't want to, along comes suitor she can't actually have?

In Prythian, I'd like to see more of what's going on at Mor's private estate. It seems secluded but also I'm sure stuff is around and it's obviously somewhere she feels more open to relax herself. Also, Rita's is an untapped GOLD MINE right now. Gay club in Velaris? Fuck yes.

Ohhhhh there are so many. I recently read the fiancee farce and it did give them vibes (heiress has to marry to get her inheritance, girl is about to lose the family business and needs money to buy it before it gets sold 👀). Feelings by Hayley is another good song, leaning more towards Mor for that one. Honestly, a lot of Hayley Kiyoko songs are *chef's kiss* for them. I love her so much. But Taylor Swift is my favorite artist so I have to give at least one song from her and I'd sayyyyy... I Can See You, The Very First Night, and Dancing With Our Hands tied.

Tropes! Only one bed is a classic. I will never be tired of that. Fake dating/momentarily pretending to be a couple for whatever reason. I don't HATE miscommunication, but I prefer it not be the *whole* story.

Also, I believe it's not a trick question, because the only right answer is Karlach (though Laezel is a close second). Who is yours? 👀👀

[bookishlilcorner]

Agents of Night and Starlight - Chapter 1

A Nessian, Gwynriel and Elucien centric fanfic series (with Emorie on the side).

Modern Fantasy!AU, Fantasy action, Fluff, Angst

TW(s): mentions of stalking, dating violence, sexual violence and abuse. Violence, blood and swearing.

Word Count: 6k

I hope you enjoy the first chapter. I edited it over and over again and I hope it’s good enough and it brings you joy reading it.

Sypnosis: In another universe where ACOTAR is set in a modern fantasy world, the Valkyries are an independent group of secret agents composed of Agent Silver, Agent Ghost, Agent Nymph and Agent Ivy walking the streets of Velaris with one goal in mind: to take down the biggest criminals corrupting the City of Starlight. One night, a particularly dark mission causes them to encounter four members of a unit called the IC working under the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court. Despite being at each other’s throats, the rulers of Night decide to make them work together in order to stop a death lord from raising an army of the undead and launching what could become the bloodiest war in Prythian history. With trainings, missions, secrets revealed, friendships and love at the rendez-vous, they will have to work hard to bring down the death lord threatening the fragile peace in Prythian, that is if they don’t tear each other apart first.

SERIES: Part 1 - Part 2 -

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“Silver, do you have a clear view of the target?” A deep, sensually feminine voice echoed in the earpiece.

“Yes, Ghost. He is approaching the dealer as we speak.” She answered, crouched behind a wall. 

The skin-tight black leather clothes she always wore were particularly unnerving tonight, and the familiar scent of spray paint coating the wall induced a small headache to her temples. The autumnal rain tonight was annoying. She felt sticky, wet and uncomfortable. She tucked a strand of light brown hair that escaped from her usually perfect braided bun behind her delicately arched ear, synonymously High Fae. She couldn’t wait to get out of here and be in her warm bed reading her romance novel with a piece of chocolate praline cake.

She surveyed the three men discussing in front of the backdoor of a tall building owned by some big do-gooder company for lesser faeries, her gun pointing right at them. It was a simple black customized handgun with silver details of thorns and flames, adapted for a variety of ammunition. Guns were a creation brought to the Fae by humans after the new peace treaty promising peaceful co-existence, protection, trade and alliance. Usually, her gun had bullets made from ash wood, particularly toxic to the Fae, but tonight, she charged it with darts containing a tranquillizer powerful enough to render a Fae unconscious for 4 hours. 

“Are you sure you have the right darts this time, Silver?” A sweet, honey-like voice said through the small electronic device in her ear.

“Yes, Ivy’s right. Last time, she didn’t check and shot a Laughter at a Leprechaun. I could barely concentrate on the task without laughing my ass off. You know how hilarious a Leprechaun’s laugh can be.” Another voice, this one mystic, deep and yet so clear like a siren’s, said with a laugh.

Oh, there’s that headache again.

“Since when are there Leprechauns in Velaris, Nymph?” Ghost asked.

“They arrived from the continent two months ago. I told you about it last time at Ivy’s shop. Did you forget? Or were you too busy staring at the beautiful Elvish woman to retain any information?” Nymph answered with a cheeky tone in her voice clearly indicating tease.

Ivy’s sweet laugh echoed in the earpiece, making the crouched female roll her eyes. “Was it an Elf or a High Fae? I swear, we look too much alike.”

“Pretty sure it was an Elf. They got this-”

“Girls, shut the fuck up. I’m trying to aim here and your gossiping is making my headache even worse.” Silver said through clenched teeth.

“Well, that one’s on you. You insisted on having that damned coffee this afternoon. You know that too much caffeine-”

“Gwyn, seriously. Shut up.” 

“Nesta! We agreed to use our code names. What if someone hacked into our system?”

“My system? Please. That would take some a prodigy hacker.” Ivy scoffed.

“Elain is getting pretty arrogant.” Ghost laughed. “Three months since your sister joined us and she’s already turned like us, Nesta.” 

Nesta rolled her grayish blue eyes, annoyed. “Seriously, we need to focus on our mission. I’m getting tired of crouching here in the cold with sticky clothes. Emerie, do you have eye on anyone suspicious at the charity event?”

“It’s Ghost, by the way.”

“I don’t care.”

Emerie rolled her eyes and looked around the spacious, sumptuous ball room filled with guests, all lesser fairies. They all had formal attire, beautiful dresses and suits fitting the color theme of the occasion: navy blue, gold and white. She herself was dressed for the occasion, and for infiltrating, with a pearly white skin-tight midi dress and gold, Illyrian designed jewelry adorning her brown skin. Her black wings, large, wide and bat-like, characteristic of her Illyrian heritage, were tucked in behind her back. Her hair, smooth and thick, the color of a raven’s feathers, was untied, cascading down to her waist. An all golden headpiece of roses and vines details sat on top of her head, its biggest rose on her forehead.

An Illyrian queen. That’s what she looked like.

She stared at everyone, shaking her head. “No. No one here acting like a homicidal maniac with a thirst for blood. Or illegal weed, in our case.”

“Both works.” Gwyn said.

Elain giggled and Nesta sighed. “Okay, so far it’s good. From what I’m seeing on my side, Silas doesn’t have the detonator yet.”

Silas was the CEO of Stargazers without Borders, a company that specifically protects lesser faeries of Prythian from homelessness, discrimination, mistreatments and attacks. It was well known all across Night Court territory, even to neighboring courts like the Day Court and the Winter Court. He even appeared in the press after meeting the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, Rhysand and Feyre, who congratulated and gifted him for his thoughtfulness and desire to stop discrimination and mistreatment of lesser faeries. 

However, what was unbeknownst to the citizens was his hideous racism towards lesser faeries and the corruption rotting the company. He never had any intentions of helping them. He was a fraud who stole money from them and manipulated their trusts to build a machine and enough Venenam weed to contaminate the whole population of lesser faeries of Velaris with a deadly disease promising a slow and cruel death. A prototype to an even larger one intended for the whole Night Court. The weed in question, a rare plant that only grows in the Prison Island, was purchased for this occasion. It can cause thickening of blood, narrow air capacity in the lungs and paralysis in the first 10 minutes after exposition and if not treated within thirty minutes, death follows suit.

‘He is trying to kill us all. We can’t turn to the authorities without proof. Help us. Help us expose his plan so that no one gets hurt. We’re sick of this. Our lives keep being threatened again and again. We’re sick of this.’ That was what their client told them in a lengthy email two weeks ago. 

‘We’ll make sure he faces justice for his acts.’ Elain had responded after she and Gwyn did a long, extensive research on him, hacking into the company’s mainframe and Silas’s personal electronic devices. They always did some investigating beforehand to make sure the individual in question was indeed a criminal needed to be stopped.

Velaris was considered the best city to live in for lesser faeries in Prythian, but there were still assholes like Silas, who hide their bigotry under smiles and caring behavior.

“Silas is horrible, creating a lethal weapon to get rid of lesser faeries. He’s repulsive.” Elain said as she looked through every cameras of the company’s building from the comfort of the basement of their house. She usually stayed there with her soft violet and light pink pyjamas consisting of a tank top and shorts while the other three went out to do the dirty work. Fighting wasn’t necessarily her forte, but what she couldn’t do in terms of combat was made up by her knowledge of technology, computers. She had the mind of a genius. No one understood computers and network systems as well as she did. Furthermore, she was exceptionally skilled in the arts of poisons. Her passion of gardening opened a path to the meticulous art of crafting poisons ranging from weak to lethal.

The tranquilizer in Silver’s darts were made by her. It was also a great fertilizer for moon lilies.

A quick movement caught Nesta’s eye. “I think he’s getting it right now. I have to be quick.”

She aimed again at the three men in front of her. Silas wore a deep navy suit and a bright metallic gold tie almost matching his curly hair, his arched ears barely peeking through. It looked unnatural, almost plastic. She clicked her tongue in distaste. He looked ridiculous. This guy can’t dress for shit.

Just as he was about to touch the small detonator, she pulled the trigger. Three shots. The sound of their bodies crashing on the cold humid ground echoed like a murmur, easily heard by Faes. They were all instantly lying unconscious, the rain pouring onto their bodies.

She stood up and walked over them, grabbing the detonator. She gave one last look at the blond High Fae and shook her head. She said, her voice laced with disdain: “Mother, he fucking deserves it for dressing up like this. Where did he think he was? A fucking Kids Award ceremony?”

She heard Emerie cough out a laugh.

Nesta looked around. “I guess it’s over for me then. Nymph should have found the machine by now.”

“I did.” Gwyn said, swiftly jumping on the ground from the air vent with no sound. She grinned, her teal eyes promising malice. “It’ll be quick, considering we have the one issue being the detonator solved. I’m going to enjoy destroying this shit to pieces.”

Elain interrupted her. “Hold on. I’m seeing something else.” 

“What?” 

The sound of fingers pressing in the keyboard echoed through their earpieces. Her dark brown eyes simmered as she muttered,  “Of course he did that.”

“Ivy?” Emerie said.

Elain cussed under her breath. Emerie’s eyebrows went up. Rarely did Elain use swear words. It was mostly Nesta and Gwyn who spew out swear words one after the other.

“He put another detonator on the machine itself. A timed one.” 

Gwyn, on her side, was in the basement, her dark navy blue leather clothes reflecting the light coming from the machine in front of her. She stared at it, tall enough to reach the ceiling and large enough to fit the whole wall. It glowed a calm azure blue, so strangely at odds to the things it can do. Four large cylinder containers were attached to it, with seafoam green fumes trapped inside. She could tell those drugs were finalized in a vapor formula and, according to the timer on the screen, were five minutes away from being set off in the whole building.

Gwyn sighed. “Of course it had to be me. Remind me why I volunteered myself?”

“You wanted to prove a point.” Nesta said with a smirk, reminiscing the challenge she posed to Gwyn last night. She had always been so competitive.

Gwyn was mostly High Fae, but she was also a river nymph, her grandmother being one herself. Those fumes could be deadly to her, and to Emerie who was in the ballroom with other lesser faeries. She ran a hand through her lovely copper brown hair, tying it up into a ponytail, before reaching for the object attached to her hip. A dagger. Extremely sharp and double-edged, its hilt detailed of stars and waves. Gwyn was an excellent fighter and great at using guns, but knives and daggers were her strength. She had a staggering aim that could put any archer to shame and knew how to maneuver them with the mastery of an ancient warrior.

Walking in front of the machine’s access panel, she asked: “Ivy, tell me which wire to cut to deactivate the detonator.”

While Elain was doing a quick research, Gwyn carefully opened the panel, looking into it. “It should be the blue one.”

“Which blue one? There are three. The deep blue, the teal blue or the sky blue?”

“What the fuck?” Nesta muttered under her breath, getting herself warm inside the entrance porch of the building next to the company.

A long blonde haired waitress came up to her and asked if she had a reservation. She barely noticed that she went in a restaurant. “Oh, I don’t have one. I’m just waiting for my friends here because it’s raining.”

Gwyn and Elain, on their side, were still trying to figure out which wire to cut. “I have three minutes left. Elain?”

A short silence. And then, she said, “The deep blue one. It’s radiating a different vibration. Pretty sure it is the one.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Yes.” A pause. “I think.”

“There’s no ‘I think’. I don’t feel like vomiting blood and having my lungs emptied.” Gwyn retorted, her anxiety rising with every second.

“I’m inclined to agree with Nymph. It’s not tempting.” Emerie said, her bracelets jingling together.

Elain pressed her fingers on the keyboard again. “Yup. It’s that one. Cut it, Nymph. There’s only 1 minute left.”

Quickly, she took her dagger and cut the wire. A few seconds passed. The countdown didn’t stop.

“Shit. We’re fucked.” She cursed. “I can’t believe I’m going out like this.”

Nesta smiled at her dramatics.

“No, shut up.” Elain said. “It’s working.”

Indeed it was, another few seconds and the countdown stopped at 15 seconds. Gwyn and Emerie let out a relieved sigh.

“Great. Now, all I have to do is fill the containers with this…substance?” Gwyn said, lifting the bag of foul-smelling herbs that Elain told Emerie to bring from the mountains near Illyria.

“These herbs are natural neutralizers. It is the only effective solution against Venenam.” Elain said, Emerie agreeing with her as a security guard walked pass her.

A male walked towards her. Tall, long dark hair and piercing gray eyes staring into her brown eyes, his full lips curved into a flirtatious smile as he asked: “Hey, gorgeous.”

She scrutinized him. He looked like a Seraphim, with his soft feathery wings tucked behind his back. He must’ve settled here from the Dawn Court. He looked at her with a cocky grin, standing like those men who think they’re the shit because they're males.

She knew damn well that kind of men.

Looking away, she said indifferently. “No.”

“No?”

“That’s what I said. I’m not interested.”

He stayed silent for a moment. “Your loss. You’re ugly anyways. Men don’t want stuck up women like you.”

He turned around and walked away. Emerie couldn’t help but snort at his words while Nesta was laughing through her earpiece. “I don’t think I have to worry about that.”

“Not him calling you gorgeous and ugly in the space of two minutes. These males are so fucking idiotic. It’s hilarious.” Nesta said.

Emerie laughed, but then a movement crossed her vision. Two security guards went down to the basement, and she swore she saw a flash of guns and a steel staff. She immediately followed them, thankful of having her shorter black leather suit under her dress.

She warned Gwyn, pulling on her mask she hid in her dress. “Shit. Nymph, two guards are coming at you. They have guns and staffs. It might get ugly”

Gwyn, who successfully neutralized the poison and destroyed the machine, stood up, stretched her limbs. Putting her mask on, she reached for her daggers, twirling them around her fingers in both hands. 

She grinned behind her black mask. “Finally. Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

The moon was high and radiant in the sky when a tall, solid mass landed on the long grass with a thud. He was standing on the top of a hill and the wind blew gently through his long, thick black hair that reached his neck, the ephemeral scent of rain floating tingling the man’s nose. It had rained earlier in the evening rather vigorously as he could tell by the wet on the grass. He stretched his black, bat-like wings and arms, his leather suit making small noises at the movement. The seven jewels that were attached on his person, a fiery crimson red, glowed slightly under the moonlight. He was exhausted by the flight he’d taken since they winnowed in the continent. It was too risky to winnow directly at the destination. They could have been caught by the enemy.

“Did you need to land that loudly? No wonder you lost the spy job to Shadowsinger.” A warm, almost captivating feminine voice said through the electronic device in his ear.

“I didn’t lose the job to him, Truth, I simply chose not to take it.” He said, his deep masculine voice echoing in the void. “Spying isn’t my style.”

“Yes, because you’re terrible at it.” 

A low chuckle resonated following the jab, making the winged man roll his eyes. His friends never failed to make fun of him at the slightest chance.

“Send me a scan of the place, Thunder.” A deep, yet soft masculine voice said.

He tapped the red jewels on his hands, and a small holographic screen in the same, but muted and less opaque color, appeared. He scanned the perimeter, the data transmitted back to the headquarters. 

A silence resonated for a short moment, then the same voice said, “Perimeter’s safe. No one else’s around.”

He heard the flapping of wings behind him and turned to stare at the second tall man with wings similar to his own who landed with a softer, quieter thud.  His black hair, shorter than his, ruffled against the wind. He was slightly shorter than the first man, but still an impressive height nonetheless. His wings were tucked behind his back, leaving parts of his face illuminated by the moonlight, showing off his handsomely sharp angular features. He wore a leather garment with seven jewels similar to his own, but instead of the fiery red, his were a calmer cobalt blue. Shapeless moving darkness floated around him, like living shadows, as he put their friend down on the ground.

The woman beside him was holding his arm as she stepped out of his arms into the long, wet grass. Her long blonde hair, almost platinum under the glow of the moon, waved as the wind blew, revealing her arched ears. Neither of the two men had arched ears as they were no High Faes, but Illyrians. Her black leather clad legs rubbed together as she stood up beside the man who landed with her. 

Her brown eyes gleamed with tease as she assessed the red jeweled Illyrian in front of her. “Didn’t bother tying your hair up like the usual?”

He pointedly ignored her. “Why were you late?”

“Smartass over here-” The winged man beside her said half-heartily as the woman protested, “-dropped her earring in the middle of her monologue while we were flying so I had to land to get it back.”

“I wasn’t- I was telling you to be careful this time because the last mission, you injured yourself. You had to stay in bed for a week.”

“Exactly. Monologue.”

The blonde Fae sighed, exasperated. “How about the next time you’re trying to get yourself killed, do me a favor and let me do the killing, Shadowsinger?”

“I was fine. It was just a little scratch.” He exclaimed.

“Just a little scratch? You’re delusional, Az-”

“Truth,” the voice in the earpiece interrupted, “You’re in the middle of mission.”

Which meant they couldn’t use their real names here, in case the enemy could hear and track them and those they care about down.

“Spell-cleaver’s right. We need to be more careful about saying our names deliberately.” Shadowsinger said, earning a deadly glare from Truth.

Thunder chuckled at their interaction despite the worry growing in his heart. He hoped this mission will go smoother than the last one.

“Let’s get in. We need to find that object before they get it.” He said, turning towards the abandoned house standing on top of the hill.

It was an old one, going back to 300 hundred years at least, judging by its architecture. The wood was chipping, deep lines on the door, and dirt and vines covered the once bright light brown exterior wall. According to Spell-cleaver, it used to belong to an old lord from the mountains and was used as a vacation house, but now it was potentially the hiding place of a dangerous object their enemy desperately wanted.

They entered the house, dust and spider webs coating the chipping painted white walls. The brown wood on the doors and steps almost looked like they were decaying. Leaves and vines managed to grow inside, intertwined with the railings. A faint sound of mice could be heard through the walls and a bizarre and putrid scent floated around, causing Truth and Thunder to sneeze. The sound bounced off in the silent as the dead atmosphere.

“Shut up. You might as well wake up the neighbor ten miles away.” Shadowsinger shushed.

“Oh, I just sneezed. Get over yourself.”

“Not you, Truth. I’m talking about him. The guy’s sneeze is a whole trumpet.” 

Spell-cleaver snorted through the earpiece and the blonde Fae chuckled quietly. Thunder halted his step, turning to glare at the other Illyrian. “I don’t have a trumpet’s sneeze. I have a normal sneeze.”

“Now that’s being delusional.” Spell-cleaver said, causing the other two to laugh as quietly as they could. 

Thunder walked into the kitchen, muttering something along the lines of about wanting to throw them off the cliff and shaking his head, while Shadowsinger walked to the basement and Truth took the stairs to the bedrooms. They roughly knew what to look for. Their bosses informed them that it was a small object used for magical rituals, and it was rumored to be located in that specific house. A small, glowing spherical ball. It supposedly looked quite innocent, similar to a pixie’s tiny glowing globes, but it was a far more dangerous object. It was theoretically capable of doing a lot of good or a lot of evil, and if it were to ever fall into the hands of an individual with a rotting heart and evil intentions, it would lead to catastrophic consequences to the world.

Spell-cleaver, who was in the comfort of their headquarters, worked head on and belly full to locate that object, a piece of veggies filled pastry in his left hand while his right hand typed on the keyboard. He had his long fiery ginger-red hair in a low ponytail as he watched through the three big monitors, courtesy of their bosses, his friends’ body cameras for unusual heat waves through infrared imaging. He discovered during his research that the object in question released a different heat wave than others that could be found in that house. His eyes, one of russet and one of gold metal, looked over all three cameras, searching for any sign of weird heat wave. 

“There’s nothing in the kitchen, Thunder. Try the living room.” He told the Illyrian in red after a few minutes of silence, dusting off small crumbles off his brown and gold ornate blazer.

Thunder left the kitchen for the living room. Everything looked... like a tornado passed through the room. The table was turned over, pillows were on the floor, vase was knocked off, the once fresh and blooming flowers lying next to it and personal belongings lied here and there. He saw on his right a painted frame of a family. A man and his wife with his two kids wearing ancient clothes. It stuck out like a sore thumb among the modern furniture and objects, like a figure of the past time traveled into the future. They looked like some type of nymph.  Strangely and disturbingly enough, only the wife’s face was visible, unscathed. The rest had their faces burned as if someone held an open flame on the picture and purposefully burned it. He swallowed difficultly, turning away from the uncanny painting.

He tried to ignore the weird, chilling feeling running down his spine. Something felt strangely cold, anormal and bizarre. He couldn’t exactly tell what it was or understand why he felt like that. All he knew is that he wanted to leave immediately. Desperately.

“Something’s odd.” He said to the earpiece before resuming to the task at hand.

Truth was in a bedroom upstairs, one that clearly looked like a little boy’s. Her body cam was recording everything for Spell-cleaver. She looked through the drawers, searching for that object, before coming across a framed painting of a little forest nymph girl sitting on modern and clean white nightstand. The girl’s face was burned and at the bottom sat a small old parchemin paper with an inscription.

She quickly took the paper and read the words in a whisper. 

In death reigns no stillness, only torment remains.

She unfolded the paper, curiosity prickling her skin, only to find another painted picture, this time of a woman with uncanny blue and gold eyes, quite unusual for forest nymphs. Unburned.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She heard Spell-cleaver’s voice ask.

Truth scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. “I’m not sure.”

She tucked the piece of paper in her pocket and examined the room closely. The bed was left unmade, furniture were still there and personal objects were still lying around. The edge of the carpet was turned over, as if someone stumbled on their way out. There was even a small stuffed animal toy on the ground. She noticed the same kind of havoc in the other rooms she went to earlier.

Whatever happened in that house made the old inhabitants leave in hurry.

“Guys, don’t you notice something strange? Everything is still here. All the furniture, the personal belongings, everything.” She said.

“Yeah, you’re in a house. Congratulations for finding that out.” Spell-cleaver joked.

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, idiot. Listen. The old inhabitants’ personal stuff are still here. Their beds’ are unmade. Their carpets are turned over. Objects are knocked over on the floor or their furniture. Something happened in this house that made its last inhabitants run away.”

“You’re right. The living room was a mess. And there was this creepy medieval painting.” Thunder said, leaving the living room after nothing was detected by the infrared camera. 

“Here as well. I found paintings with burned faces.”

“I had a doubt it was going to be like this. I’ll try to research again, see if I can find more about this.” Spell-cleaver said. He turned to another keyboard and opened a new page on the second monitor, already typing.

“I have this weird feeling that won’t go away. It feels creepy.” Thunder muttered, shaking his head.

Shadowsinger, who was at the basement, stared at one closet in particular. He was barely listening to the conversation, seeming entranced by the ancient closet. Tall and wide enough for him to fit inside, the light brown wood looked burnt and the handle locked by old, oxidized chains. The moving shadows around him moved frantically around him, skittering back from the ominous furniture, seeming to whisper something to him. He felt a shiver running down his spine and the hairs on his arms raise. His head was pounding as he felt strange things, yet he stayed unflinching to the pain. He almost didn’t hear Thunder calling him, his voice getting closer, until his hand touched his shoulder.

“We’ve been calling you this whole time- Why are you looking at me like that?”

He looked back at Thunder, the same hazel eyes he has staring with a faint hint of concern, then at Truth by his side, and felt reality sink back in. 

He blinked. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Did you find anything?” 

“You looked like you saw a ghost.” Truth said, concerned. 

He turned back at the closet and said, “I think this house might be inhabited.”

“We’re alone here, what are you- Oh.” The long haired Illyrian realized, his eyes going wide.

“A little scared, tough guy?” The blonde woman smirked, crossing her arms on her chest. 

He scoffed in return. 

“Shut up.” He added after seeing her silently laughing.

“I didn’t say anything.” Her eyes were wide, but her tone suggested tease.

They heard a sigh in their earpiece. “Nothing suggests that it is haunted. Nor anything about why the family left. I only have a picture. I’ll send it to your phones.”

Their phones vibrated soon after, and upon seeing it, Thunder exclaimed, “This isn’t the same family that I saw in the painting.” 

The picture showed a family of four, all High Fae. It seemed to have been taken about a hundred years before now.

“You’re right. The woman and the little girl I saw were forest nymphs, not High Fae.” 

“Maybe these painting were already in the house before these people lived here.” Shadowsinger said, interrupting them.

“I had a slight doubt it might’ve been haunted upon seeing it before the mission, so I told Truth and Thunder to stay with you during this mission just in case. We all know how you get when spirits are nearby.” Spell-cleaver said as he looked through Thunder’s body cam, who went in one of the two rooms in the basement.

“I guess that’s a negative of being a shadowsinger.” Truth said, grabbing her friend’s arm and dragging him away from the ominous closet. 

They walked into the only other room, looking through drawers and closets for any signs of the object. It seemed to be a laundry room judging by the large washtub and wooden board. It was the norm back then since washing machines were not yet invented. 

Upon pushing a wooden cube aside to open a closet, Truth noticed a small folded paper. It had a strange, vaguely familiar seal. She quickly took it in her pocket before opening the closet.

During their search, she asked him, her voice quiet and tentative, “What did you feel when you were by that closet?”

Shadowsinger halted, thinking back at that moment. “There was... pain. And rage. I could almost hear it. I was-” 

“Oh, hell no. Ask him when we’re out of here.” Thunder said from the other room. “This place is already creepy enough.”

“Aw, the big bad tough Illyrian is scared.”

“At least I can admit that. Don’t think I didn’t notice you hiding behind me when we found him by that closet acting possessed.”

Shadowsinger opened his mouth to protest, but Spell-cleaver’s voice interrupted them once again. “Wait, get closer to the right wall. I’m noticing some hot waves.”

He did as told, and a silence reigned in the room for a few minutes. Thunder walked into the laundry room, muttering that he didn’t find anything. 

Suddenly, the red head’s voice was heard again, but this time he sounded alarmed, almost scared. “Get out of here. Right now.” 

They all took a step back.

“There’s a bomb. It is one minute away from exploding. Fucking run!”

So they did. 

They ran as quickly as they could, bumping into each other in the process. The two Illyrians’ wings could barely pass by as they ran upstairs. Running toward the door, a faint scent of smoke trailed after them.

Truth got out first, followed by Thunder shortly after. 

Just as Shadowsinger stepped into the threshold, a sound echoed.

And the flames followed suit. 

“Argh!” A pained sound came out of the Illyrian’s mouth as he jumped out of the house from the impact, landing on the floor roughly.

“Azriel!” Truth yelled, running towards him followed by Thunder. “Cassian, help me get him up.” 

Thunder grabbed him by the upper arm, hoisting him up. The shadowsinger hissed in pain, shadows surrounding as if protecting him. Blood tainted his hand as he touched his shoulder.

“You’re injured again.” Truth said. 

“The fire burned me. It’s not as bad as it seems. The fall was more painful.” He said, his gaze turning serious. “I’ll be fine, Mor.” 

Flames took over the house with a loud, guttural noise as if coming out from the depths of the earth. They turned their heads at the house on fire in front of them. As the flames brightly lighted up the night, a weird phenomenon happened. They started taking shape, forming a faceless head with horns and fangs and hollow eyes. A demon’s head.

It moved towards them.

They walked backwards frantically as the shaped fire moved closer and closer, but to no avail. It was much faster than them. It swiftly moved and Cassian prepared to shield them from it, his hand on his red jewel on his chest ready.

Until it hit a wall.

A wall of flames.

The tall flames, strange and cold silvery flames, lined up in front of them, as if protecting them from the head of fire. It successfully stopped it from getting anywhere near them. And as if that wasn’t enough, droplets of crystalized water rose from the wet grass, taking the shape of a sphere that enveloped the fiery demon head and kept it trapped until it became a ball of smoke.

The nightmare now over, the three of them stood in silence for a minute, trying to process what just happened.

“Are you guys okay? What the hell was that?” Spell-cleaver asked, frustrated. His leg repeatedly bounced anxiously. He was the one behind the computer, the brains that understood computers and hacking with a genius never seen before. He joined them sometimes when long-distance technology wasn’t possible as he was a skilled fighter as well, but he knew he was helping the team the most by using his computer skills. However tonight, he wished he could have been out there physically instead of being behind a screen and having to witness them in danger without being able to help. 

“I don’t know.” Cassian said. “And we were saved. Saved by- Lucien, did I just see correctly or were we just saved by silver fire and drops of water?”

“No, your eyes are right.” He answered. “Also, no name using.”

“Who cares? No one’s here anyways.”

“Look.” Azriel said, his head turned to the right.

They all turned their heads towards where he was looking at, with Lucien looking through the cameras. They could see faint shapes far away, four to be precise. They could tell by their forms that they were individuals, but not more than that. They weren’t able to see more clearly because they immediately disappeared. Winnowed.

“The universe loves proving me wrong.” Cassian said, rolling his eyes.

“Who are they?” Mor said to herself. “Do you think they heard us?”

Azriel shook his head. “I don’t think so. They were too far away even for their Fae ears to catch any sounds.”

“You need to come back. We need to report this to the bosses. The mission was a dead end. It would seem like the object wasn’t there to begin with. We were given false reports.” Lucien said.

“We’ll take care of that detail when we get home.” Mor seethed.

“We need to rest. Az is injured.” Cassian retorted.

“It’s taken care of. The bosses will arrive soon. Just leave the hill. They will come get you home. There are other objects we can find before the enemy beside that one.”

They proceeded to walk down the hill in silence, leaving the burning house behind. They expected the next meeting with their bosses to be more complicated now that they were given false reports. It’s not that they were bad, they just find it annoying that they will have to double-check all the reports that were given to them. Paper work was always such a hustle, and they were already frustrated enough with the mission being a dead end. They knew they would need to find other ways to find where these objects were and retrieve them before their enemy get them first. 

But that was a problem for another day.

Azriel’s back tingled as he was walking down, and he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, getting one last look at the burning house. His shadows were enveloped around his neck and arms as a wooden bar fell from the house in a loud thud. He still felt the shivers, still felt in trance almost, and he swore he heard a faint feminine voice echoing from the ancient house. Something shifted inside him. Something ominous and dark. He couldn’t shake the feeling, didn’t know what or why he felt this dread. 

Only that he knew it was just the beginning, somehow. 

And he abhorred it.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Nineteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: another chapter where the girls are clowns and cassian worships nesta's every breath 🙄 i promise some variety is headed your way soon

***

Gwyn adamantly refuses to accept any gifts for her birthday, much to Emerie’s irritation and Nesta’s relief. No amount of love for her friends can make Nesta enjoy the turmoil of hunting for the perfect gift, and she happily shows up at Gwyn’s apartment that night with nothing save for an overnight bag.

Gwyn easily has the nicest home out of all three of the girls, and it makes Nesta feel oddly proud to have a financially stable friend. Nesta herself has been flacking on her legal consultant duties to Night Court Inc., choosing to make do with the money she’s already earned while focusing on school.

Once they’ve all changed into sleep clothes and are settled around the living room coffee table with a cupcake and a glass of wine each, Gwyn pulls out a brightly colored bracelet-making kit with a sheepish grin. “I found this while I was looking through my childhood things,” she says, opening the kit. “You guys aren’t too grown for it, are you?”

“Depends,” Emerie hums, leaning over to get a closer look. “Is it Rainbow Loom?”

She gets her answer when Gwyn dumps out bundles of multicolored string instead of rubber bands onto the table. Looking disappointed, Emerie plucks up a handful of string. “Fine, I guess I can make do.”

Nesta licks cream cheese frosting off her thumb. “How do you make them? The bracelets?”

She’s met with two dumbfounded stares. “Have you never been to a thirteen year old’s slumber party?” Gwyn says.

“...No?”

When Gwyn and Emerie keep staring, Nesta feels the need to add, “I’ve never been to a sleepover. This is my first.” She was never one to be invited to sleepovers or social gatherings; even when she made acquaintances in middle and high school, they were just that—acquaintances.

“That’s… actually kind of sad,” Emerie says. Gwyn elbows her hard, making her yelp.

“I never thought of it that way,” Nesta says, shrugging. Though maybe it’s because a lot of things about her childhood were sad; it isn’t like she kept count of it all.

“Well, you can learn how to make bracelets now,” Gwyn states, taking out a little plastic baggie and emptying it out onto the table. Small silver charms scatter everywhere. “Everyone gets three colors and one charm.”

Nesta leans forward, making out the different charms. She spies one in the shape of a book, and another in the shape of a dove, and one in the shape of a music note. She snatches up the eighth note before anyone else can. Gwyn takes the book for herself, and Emerie considers the selection of charms before picking a dagger-shaped one. They prepare their string next.

“Now, we can either braid them or knot them.” Gwyn demonstrates how to do it either way, Nesta watching closely before imitating her. She braids the strings of her bracelet as best she can, her cheeks turning red with frustration whenever she spies one of the other girls’ perfect knots. Her half-eaten cupcake is forgotten as she tries to get her bracelet to stay together.

At one point she just has to accept the shoddy work she’s done and tie the bracelet off. She checks to see if it fits on her wrist.

“Now everyone give their bracelet to the person on their left,” Gwyn declares.

Nesta clutches her sloppily-made bracelet to her chest as Emerie responds, “What?”

“So we can wear each other’s bracelets,” Gwyn explains. “And carry around a part of each other all the time.”

“If I had known we were gonna be sentimental, I wouldn’t have picked the cute charm,” Emerie grumbles. Nesta agrees, but Gwyn just clicks her tongue and starts switching bracelets around. In the end, Nesta has Emerie’s dagger bracelet, Gwyn has Nesta’s music note bracelet, and Emerie has Gwyn’s book charm.

Nesta wiggles her bracelet on and turns her wrist over in the light. “That was fun,” she decides. “What happens next at a sleepover?”

“Next,” Gwyn says, “we exchange our most embarrassing secrets with each other, and then we do each other’s hair.”

Emerie shakes her head. “Okay, now I’m really too old for this. Anyone want to watch a movie?”

Gwyn nudges Emerie. “I’m the old one here, and it’s my birthday.” She raises her pert chin in a way that doesn’t look very grown up at all. “What I say goes.”

Emerie flicks up an eyebrow and stares in challenge, which Nesta interrupts by saying, rather exasperatedly, “I’ll go first, then.”

She digs around in her head for something embarrassing enough to be socially acceptable, only to realize that although a lot of embarrassing things have happened to her before, none of them are secrets. She finally settles on an admission. “When I was a kid, I had a thing for breaking and entering into rich people’s empty houses and hanging out in them. Does that count as a secret?”

Gwyn gapes, laughing in disbelief. “Are you going to leave it at that?”

“That actually sounds fun.” Emerie swirls her wine. “Why’d you stop?”

Nesta had almost forgotten. “I got caught.” She remembers the terror of being fourteen and fleeing past cherry blossom trees on her bare feet. “The owner’s family showed up early to vacation one year, and I never risked going back after that.” She shrugs. “Who’s next?”

Gwyn raises her hand excitedly. “I used to be a hardcore Gleek. Like, I had a closet full of Glee memorabilia.”

Nesta doesn’t quite know what to say. Emerie winces. “Maybe you should’ve kept that one a secret.”

“It was only one facet of my entire theatre kid personality. Should I tell you about the rest?”

Emerie raises her hands in surrender. “Please don’t. I’ll go next if it makes you stop.”

Gwyn laughs and Nesta perks up. “What’s your secret?” She hopes Emerie will finally admit to filling their shared Kindle account with lesbian spanking fiction.

But Emerie suddenly gets serious, clearing her throat and fingering the stem of her wine glass. “I might have the worst secret,” she says awkwardly. “I haven’t been honest with you guys.”

Nesta straightens, and Gwyn looks intrigued.

“In my defense,” Emerie says, “I never expected all of us to end up hanging out this much. Before Nesta and I became friends, all I did was show up to school to kick rich kids’ asses and make career connections.”

“Spit it out, Emerie,” Nesta tells her.

So she does. “I’ve been lying about my age.” Her cheeks turn red, either from alcohol or embarrassment, Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta furrows her brows. “You’re not twenty-four?”

Emerie shakes her head in guilt.

“How old are you, then?” Gwyn says.

Emerie mutters something too low for them to hear. When Gwyn tells her to repeat herself, she says, too loudly, “Twenty-eight.”

She’s met with silence, and then—

Gwyn starts cackling, nearly keeling over. Nesta can only stare in shock. “Why would you—?”

“Because school is a shark tank,” Emerie says. “Everyone else went there straight out of undergrad, and I had to work four jobs for four years just to afford tuition. Being old at Prythian means being poor.” She quietens, looking down at her brown hands twisted together. “And by the time we started to get close, it felt too weird to bring up. So… I’m sorry?” She looks up to see if Nesta is upset.

Nesta doesn’t know what to feel, but Gwyn seems to. “You called me old,” she accuses. “You’re nearly a grandma!”

“Were you going to lie about your age forever?” Nesta interjects.

“If I had known there was going to be a forever, I would have opened up a lot sooner,” Emerie defends.

Nesta drops her head onto the table and covers her ears with her arms. “This is so weird,” she says against the wood of the table, her voice muffled. “I can never look at you the same way ever again.”

“That’s fair,” Emerie says cautiously. “But are you really mad?” Nesta feels a hesitant hand touch her shoulder.

“I need time to process,” Nesta says from her cocoon. Suddenly she hears a hum and a click, and her cocoon gets even darker. Gwyn and Emerie make twin sounds of surprise.

Poking her head up, Nesta blinks to find total darkness in the apartment. The heater has stopped running, leaving behind a quiet stillness.

“Shit,” Gwyn curses, fumbling with her phone. The flashlight turns on, lighting up her face. “I swear I paid my electric bill.”

“I don’t think it’s just you,” Emerie says, getting up to look out the window. “Look, the whole street is out.”

By the time they gather some candles and light them, the apartment has dropped twenty degrees in temperature. Nesta shudders, wishing she’d brought some warm pants with her.

“Let me get us some blankets,” Gwyn says, running off to the linen closet. Emerie and Nesta huddle together on the couch while they wait.

“So you’re really not mad at me?” Emerie asks, hope in her voice.

“Not mad,” Nesta says. “But I think we all lost a little respect for you back there.”

Emerie smiles. “Just a little?”

Gwyn comes back then wearing a thick sweater and carrying a pile of comforters. “I got a text from the landlord,” she says, unceremoniously dropping the blankets onto the couch. “Ice took out the power lines in the whole neighborhood, and we’re not getting any electricity until morning.”

“But it’s negative temperatures outside,” Nesta protests. “We’ll freeze to death.”

“Not if we all cuddle.” Gwyn tries to beam at them, but the effort is futile. “I’m sorry, guys,” she sighs, plopping onto the couch beside Nesta. “This is a terrible birthday celebration.”

Nesta wraps an arm around Gwyn and tucks her into her side, soaking up her warmth as Emerie spreads a heavy comforter over all of their legs. “What are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong.”

The girls sit in silence for a few minutes until Emerie speaks up. “I wonder what Mr. Madani is doing right now.”

“What?” Nesta frowns.

“He’s probably all alone in his fancy heated cabin, unaware that you’re stuck in the cold dark.” Emerie suddenly smacks Nesta’s arm. “Hey. Why are we freezing our asses off here when you practically own that cabin?”

“I do not practically own that cabin,” Nesta splutters. “And this is Gwyn’s birthday. Why would I take you to Cassian’s place on her birthday?”

“Exactly!” Emerie says. “It’s Gwyn’s birthday, and she deserves better than this. Can’t your boyfriend be a little charitable and share his nice house with us?”

Nesta turns to Gwyn for help, but Gwyn just says carefully, “...Is it a big cabin?”

Emerie nods fiercely, pulling out her phone. “Eris has a picture of it from New Year’s on his Instagram. You wouldn’t believe how much money these Night Court execs make.”

Nesta makes pointed eyes at Gwyn. “You really want to spend your birthday with two strange men?” Cassian and Azriel aren’t exactly meek, nonthreatening men either—at least not at first glance. Considering the state Gwyn was in just some weeks ago, this doesn’t sound like a good idea at all.

Gwyn sounds wary but open-minded when she says, “You trust them, right? And it’s not like we’re going to let the guys join our sleepover. We’re just going to have a warm place to stay while we wait for my power to come back.”

When it’s phrased like that… Nesta purses her lips, thinking.

“Fine,” she finally decides. “Let’s go.”

***

Nesta strips off her jeans almost as soon as she enters the cabin. Much to Cassian’s pride and pleasure, this leaves her wearing only one of his old sweatshirts. Meanwhile, Gwyn and Emerie stand around awkwardly in the middle of the living area without knowing what to do next.

“Make yourselves at home.” Cassian grins at them. “Do you need anything? Food? Drinks?”

“Stop worrying,” Nesta groans. “We don’t need to be mothered.”

“I totally hear you,” he nods. “I’ll make cookies.” And maybe some hot drinks. It’s supposed to be a birthday party, after all.

Just then, Azriel appears at the top of the stairs in a dark hoodie and sweats. He’s halfway down the steps when he notices the living room full of girls and promptly turns around.

Cassian calls his name before he can escape. “Want to help me out in the kitchen?”

“No, thanks,” Az says over his shoulder, leaving Cassian alone to play host.

While Gwyn and Emerie admire the cabin (“There’s a gym down the hallway and a library upstairs,” Nesta points out to them), Cassian gathers baking ingredients in the kitchen. He rarely eats desserts or junk food, much less makes them, but surely he can manage a snack for the girls.

When he returns to the living room half an hour later with cookies and mugs of hot chocolate, the coffee table has been moved out of the way and replaced with a spread of blankets and pillows. The fire crackles hotly enough that Gwyn and Emerie have joined Nesta in discarding any extra clothing articles, and they all cheer from the couch when they spy the food.

“Goddamn,” Emerie whistles at the platter of cookies on Nesta’s lap. “Nesta told us you were a catch, Mr. Madani, but she didn’t tell us she got the full housewife package.”

“Shut up.” Nesta shoves a cookie into Emerie’s mouth and passes Gwyn some hot chocolate. Any toughness vanishes when she looks back at Cassian. “Thank you,” she mouths, and he answers by smoothing out her ponytail.

Satisfied with his work and feeling guilty for crashing the girls’ fun, he’s about to call it a night when he feels a tug at his pants. Nesta is looking up at him with eyes that ask him to stay. Cassian glances nervously to Gwyn and Emerie, who are arguing about what movie to watch from his extensive streaming collection, and glances back to Nesta. Are you sure? he asks her silently.

She nods, but it isn’t until Gwyn says, “Just sit down, you’re blocking the TV,” that he indeed sits his ass down on the floor by Nesta’s feet.

A short tug of war between Gwyn and Emerie results in Emerie getting the remote. She blows a hair triumphantly out of her face. “No Planet Earth documentary for you, then,” she says.

Gwyn sits back, grumbling, “You’d think I’d get treated better on my damn birthday.” Nesta adds, “I like documentaries.”

“You’ll like The Proposal even more,” Emerie refutes, scrolling through the TV.

The smell of melting chocolate chips must invade the rest of the cabin, because not long after the movie begins, Cassian catches Azriel sneaking downstairs. As subtle as a shadow, no one even notices him until he plucks up a cookie from the side table by Nesta.

She slides her eyes over to him without turning her head. “You look like a punk with your hood up,” she snorts. “What are you, fifteen?”

From the floor, Cassian withholds a sigh.

Az shoots her a dark look, clearly not appreciating the attention brought to his presence. “Don’t be a little shit,” he warns in a low tone. He reaches for another cookie and Nesta bats his hand away. “Those aren’t for you,” she hisses.

“Can we please not—” Cassian tries.

Az glares and goes for the cookie again. Nesta smacks him back, which results in a slap fight that is only interrupted by Gwyn pleading, “Guys, we’re missing Sandra Bullock!”

Nesta pulls away, looking apologetic, and Az flushes pink. “Sorry,” he mutters. But he snatches up three cookies with a final look at Nesta and goes to sit in the armchair on the other side of the room.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie get cozy once more, quickly forgetting that Az is there. Emerie stretches her brown legs out across Gwyn’s lap like a cat. Nesta drapes her own leg over Cassian’s shoulder without warning. He turns around to meet her eyes, surprised, but she’s already intently focused on the movie. Smiling faintly to himself, he reaches up to brush her skin. It probably looks to everyone else like she owns him head to toe.

One thing Cassian quickly learns about the girls is that they simply can’t sit still. Even Nesta is more restless than usual, and she nearly kicks Cassian in the head more than once while readjusting herself on the couch. Emerie moves to sprawl on the rug. Gwyn sits upside down and watches with her head dangling off the seat.

As for Cassian, he loses all interest in the movie once Nesta joins him and Emerie on the floor, unable to contain her emotions from the couch. He glances between the movie and her face to find what’s making her so giddy, but it’s only the two main characters getting ready for a shower. He lifts a brow in amusement for no one to see, but settles back to watch her face in the glow of the dying fire. He’s waiting for her smile.

Because when Nesta really likes something, she’ll smile, and when she smiles… Everything scrunches up: her nose, her eyes, her cheeks.

On the TV, a naked Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock collide into each other, toppling to the floor. Nesta’s grin makes an appearance, and she slaps Cassian’s thigh in excitement, hard enough to hurt.

He hisses in a sharp breath, but doesn’t say anything or look away. He thinks he might have to kill anyone that refuses to protect the smile on her face right now, no matter who it is.

Once the scene changes, he walks two fingers up her leg to get her attention. “Nesta,” he whispers, unable to help himself.

She glances at him for half a second before looking back to the movie. “What?”

He opens his arms and gestures her closer. Come and let me hold you.

Nesta makes a face. “Don’t embarrass me in front of the girls.”

Cassian’s lips turn down. “You don’t mean that.”

She does. To prove her point, she crawls closer to Emerie and settles down next to her. Gwyn joins them on the floor, and they all huddle together.

When he catches Az staring at him with a hint of revulsion, Cassian coughs off the yearning and rejection and glares right back.

After the movie finishes, Emerie victoriously crushes an empty can of beer in her fist. Cassian has no idea where it came from. “More Sandra!” she demands.

It takes three more movies before Emerie is knocked out cold on the arrangement of blankets and pillows on the floor, Gwyn with her. Nesta eventually came back to Cassian and fell asleep with her arms wrapped around his waist, and Azriel passed out sometime after Miss Congeniality, curled up in the armchair with his fist propping up his head.

Now, Cassian carefully untangles Nesta from himself, nudging her towards Emerie instead. In her sleep, Nesta turns over to clutch the other woman’s arm and mumbles something unintelligible.

Cassian props a pillow gently beneath her head and picks up another one, throwing it harder than he needs to at Azriel’s face. “Get up,” he hisses.

Az jerks out of his sleep, looking around the dim room in confusion. Cursing lowly, he pushes himself out of his seat and scrubs a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Three.” Cassian pulls a comforter over Nesta and Emerie’s shoulders.

Az crouches and picks up the other side of the comforter, adjusting it over Gwyn’s body. Cassian thinks he might see a frown cross his face for half a second, but then Az is standing up and brushing off his clothes.

After turning off the TV, the guys head for their rooms. “I didn’t think three grown women could be so... much,” Az says as they climb up the stairs.

Cassian huffs a laugh. “We were like that when we were younger, too.”

“Yeah, but we were teenagers.”

They reach the hallway. “I don’t know about the others,” Cassian says thoughtfully, “but Nesta never got to be a normal kid.” She barely got to be a normal adult. And in a couple of short years, she’ll be working her ass off at some prestigious firm and won’t have time for simple things like sleepovers anymore.

Cassian selfishly hopes he can give Nesta all the normalcy he can before that happens.

***

a/n: i’m gonna do my best in future chapters to give cassian depth beyond just his relationship with nesta 🥴 but first, be on the lookout for a gwynriel bonus scene :)

tags: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara9 @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad

[moodymelanist]

Shortfics

Mr. & Mrs. Vanserra (coming soon!)

3 chapters planned

Modern AU, continuation of Mr. & Mrs. Archeron and Mr. & Mrs. Berdara

Alternating Elain and Lucien POVs

More information to come!

Legally Blonde AU (Title Pending)

Elain follows Graysen off to Prythian Law School (what, like it’s hard?)

Mostly Elain’s POV, perhaps a Lucien chapter or two

More information and an official announcement to come soon, but I’m planning on posting this starting January 2022

Drabbles

Elain is your traditional pretty mean girl and Lucien is the class clown that doesn’t take her seriously at all

The Jacket™️ (Mean!Elain part 2)

First kiss (Mean!Elain part 3)

Jealous Elain (Mean!Elain part 4)

Second kiss (Mean!Elain part 5)

Lucien teaching Elain basic self defense nothing sexual just peak ✨tension✨

Roommate/former friends with benefits AU

Elain on her period and using Lucien as a space heater

Elain takes care of drunk!Lucien, Part 2

Elain pushing Lucien against a wall and kissing the life out of him

Lucien getting all the bitches and elain getting annoyed cause that’s her man 🧍🏼‍♀️🔪

Elucien pregnancy scare (uni AU)

Lucien proposing to Elain by burying the ring in her flowerbeds

Lucien finds out Beron isn’t his dad

Lucien clears everyone at poker

Elucien with their daughter drabble

Back to Masterlist

[cloudywriter]

i never got to say i love you - 1

~~~

A/N: heyy, so i wrote this like a month ago when i was super into reading some modern university au acotar fanfiction & then i even planned out a whole storyline but then i just kinda sat on it. but i like it so i decided i would just put it out there, i can continue it if people actually like it too.

masterlist & AO3

~~~

Feyre walked along the sidewalk leading to one of the dorm buildings of her new school, Velaris University. 

Although she was focused on lugging her single suitcase behind her as one of the wheels was broken, she couldn’t help but admire the tall impressive structures that surrounded her. She could hear the trickle of the Sidra river to her right while observing the courtyard adjoining multiple dorm buildings to her left. The courtyard was large and pristine, made of stone, with an abstract silver metal statue which stood erect in the middle loosely resembling an infinity sign. The housing units were situated around it in a semicircle.

A path winded down from the courtyard and back towards the main section of campus, organized there were the various department buildings, the cafeteria, admissions, and so on. Feyre was making her way up said path after she retrieved her student key card from the main office. 

She had just transferred from Courts Community College after she finally saved up enough money to afford tuition to VU. 

In her senior year of high school, Feyre visited the small city in which Velaris was located, Prythian, with her school on a field trip. It was on that small excursion she fell in love with the Prythian and the university it had to offer. In particular, Feyre loved the huge art district that occupied nearly a quarter of the city. 

Her family looked down upon her choice of major, art, they told her time and time again that it was impractical and her success rate in the field was microscopic. However, their comments didn’t deter her, she couldn’t imagine studying business or stem as her father suggested, it simply wasn’t for her. She wanted her life’s work to be doing what she loved even if it came with the risk of struggling financially down the road. 

Feyre finally reached the tall double glass doors of the middle building. She grabbed her ID from her jacket pocket and held it up to the scanner. The device beeps three times loudly, flashing a dot of red light. Feyre tries again with the same result. She sighs, did she get a faulty card?

“Turn it around,” a feminine voice suggests from behind her.

Feyre whipped around. There stood a young woman, likely Feyre’s same age. She was breathtakingly pretty with long, bright blonde hair that stopped below her chest and eyes that were a shade darker than honey. She was fairly tall as was Feyre and her demeanor demanded respect. She seemed sure of herself and her looks and capitalized on them. 

“The black bar on the back is only good for your dorm room door, to get in the main entrance you have to scan the front of your ID. I know, it’s weird, took me five minutes to figure it out yesterday,” the woman explained. 

Feyre gave an appreciative smile and nodded, turning her attention back to the scanner which now responded to her with a flash of green. 

“Thank you,” Feyre breathed as she opened the door and held it for the student behind her. The girl strolled through and smiled at her. “It’s no problem.” 

Feyre directed her attention to the slip of paper in her hand, failing to remember where it said her room was. Room 223, Level 3. A blonde head peered over her shoulder. 

“Room 223? You’re right next door to me!” 

Feyre offered her a smile. “Does that mean you’ll show me the way?”

The blonde looked delighted and casually looped her arm through Feyre’s as if they’d been friends for years and led her towards the elevator. This slightly alarmed Feyre, she had never had very many friends let alone pretty girl friends, usually, they weren’t all too kind to Feyre. Despite the fact that her sisters, Nesta and Elain, were rather popular. Nesta easily took on the role of the pretty mean girl, though she wasn’t outwardly mean often. She just radiated the energy and didn’t bother with most people. 

Elain, however, was friends with everybody and was sweet to all who crossed paths with her. She had almost everyone in the school wrapped around her finger, though she had no idea; from the boys who tripped over each other to open the door for her and the girls that scrambled to sit near her at lunch. 

Feyre did have one redeeming quality in high school, well, redeeming person. Her high school sweetheart was Tamlin Spring, the football team’s star quarterback. He was one of the boys in the school that the girls drooled over constantly, but somehow it was Feyre who caught his eye and it was Feyre he asked to accompany him to homecoming. You’d think this high up connection would earn her some credit but no, the girls still teased her, convincing her it had all been a dare. 

Feyre remembers, in a fit of rage and embarrassment, she stomped over to Tamlin’s locker after the last bell and confronted him. It was there he promised her that it was no prank, it was there he first kissed her. Feyre felt like they had clicked until her mother suddenly passed away from an undiagnosed illness, the death leaving an ugly, deep scar carved into Feyre’s and her family’s lives. Feyre’s life took a turn for the worse and with it so did the relationship she shared with Tamlin. 

The gentle ding of an elevator door alerted Feyre before she found herself spiraling too deep into her thoughts. 

Her leader didn’t seem to notice her brooding state as she took Feyre out and to the right, down a decently sized hall. The floor was mostly white tile with dark blue, almost purple tiles making a design down the middle; the walls were painted a light gray and littered with numerous posters. Feyre didn’t have time to read what all the papers said before the woman stopped outside a wooden door, a plate engraved with the numbers 223 to its left. 

“This is your room. I’m just next door in 225.” 

Feyre nodded. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” The girl smiled at her and then her face lit up in realization. 

“Oh, my gods! I didn’t even introduce myself!”

Feyre let loose a small smile. “I’m Feyre,” she said at last.

To her surprise, the mysterious girl pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, “I’m Morrigan, but I really just go by Mor.” Mor then pulled back, still holding Feyre at arm’s length. 

“My roommate is named Vivane by the way. We dyed her hair silver in the bathrooms last night, you can’t miss her. She’s always hanging out with her boyfriend though, so if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to come find me!” Mor offered politely. 

“Thank you.” Feyre breathed out a little sigh of relief having found my dorm without too much trouble.

A girl down the hall called Mor’s name, she muttered a quick see you later and disappeared into the herd of students and luggage. 

Luckily, Feyre managed to open the door without issue and hauled her suitcase inside. She felt a little silly walking here with such a small amount of stuff, most students had a cart full of their belongings. 

Feyre observed the room, the same white tiled floor and light gray walls as the corridor she just exited. It wasn’t ridiculously small, but it would still be a bit of a squeeze. Nothing Feyre wasn’t used to, having shared a room with her two older sisters growing up. A few boxes and bags were already scattered about on the right side of the room. It was clear her roommate had been here and left. She dropped her black, sticker ridden suitcase on the empty bed, plopping down next to it. 

Both sides of the room were identical, two tall beds held up by drawers pressed against opposing walls, two nightstands, two narrow desks situated at the ends of each bed, and one decently sized wardrobe, all made of the same light creamy wood tone. Rather flimsy-looking violet plastic chairs were also tucked into the desks. 

Feyre began to unpack her clothes into the drawers holding up her bed in an attempt to distract her growing anxiety. She pulled out her bag of art supplies and dropped it on her desk. The bag held a paint set that was on its last leg, paint brushes that were horribly frayed at the ends, both drawing and colored pencils, sad leftover eraser nubs, and her worn leather bound sketchbook. 

The door to her room opened up with a click revealing who could only be her roommate standing on the threshold.

She was on the short side and was relatively curvy. Her skin was a tanned brown and she had dark brunette curly hair that was tied up in a loose bun. They both stood observing each other for a second.

“I see you took advantage of the half-off sale at the uni shop too.” She spoke with a smile, gesturing to the identical, oversized VU sweatshirts they were both wearing over black leggings. 

Feyre returned her smile and nodded. “I’m Feyre.”

I held out my hand which she took instantly with a squeeze, “Alis.”

Feyre felt a sense of relief in Alis’s presence. She had a gentle, calming, almost motherly aura about her. Alis invited Feyre to join her for an early dinner to get to know each other.

The girls entered into a huge room adorned with the same marble looking tiles and gray paint mixed with pillars of dark brick filling the walls where windows were absent. Two of the walls were almost completely glass letting a vast amount of natural light fill the space. Above them, three huge circular lights hung from the high ceiling. Wooden tables of various sizes and the same shade of violet accent color plastic chairs neatly filled the room. Stretching along two of the walls were a number of booths to grab food. 

Feyre and Alis settled on grabbing salads from one called Sabrina’s Kitchen and snatched a table for two near one of the walls of windows. They talked about the usual, their family, where they were from, what they were studying, etc.

Feyre learned that Alis was from the town adjacent to Feyre’s own, Springlee. She used to live there with her sister, her husband, and their two boys. She only left to pursue a degree in education but missed them terribly.

Feyre gave Alis a quick rundown of her own home life, leaving out many details that came with her dysfunctional family and explained she’d transferred after two years at Courts Community, working on an art degree. Alis loved the idea of having an artist as her roommate and insisted Feyre paint pictures to decorate their dorm. 

They’d long since finished their salads but continued chatting as the cafeteria began to fill up nearer to dinner time. 

“Whoa, whoa. Don’t look now but the hottest group of guys just strolled in,” Alis gasped. 

Feyre giggled a little and rolled her eyes, she wasn’t the type of girl to fawn after hot guys anymore with her track record. She did not trust a pretty face. Alis’s eyes were transfixed behind Feyre. 

“Would you like me to grab you a napkin to clean up your drool?” Feyre poked at Alis. 

Alis playfully swatted her hand away. “Just look at them!”

Feyre huffed and turned around in her seat; she didn’t even need to ask for clarification from Alis it was clear who she was referring too. In one of the lines stood a group of three guys, she could hear them laughing and talking from her seat.

She could only see two of their faces, but that was all she needed. They all had similar shades of black or very dark brown hair and tanned complexions, not to mention how fit they all were. One’s hair was shoulder length and half was pulled back in a bun, the other two had shorter hair cut in rather nondescript styles. Though, the quietest one who had his arms crossed over his chest and only said a few words or offered a small smile every now and then had some curl in locks. The last one had his back turned to Feyre but if his backside and friends were any indication she could only assume he was equally as beautiful. 

Noticing Feyre’s prolonged glance, Alis spoke up, “who needs a napkin now?”

Feyre snapped back around and giggled. “Shut up!”

The sheer number of students piling into the room had it near overflowing as Alis and Feyre tore their eyes from the boys and walked back to their dorm. 

They sat on their beds and talked for a while more, mostly making up ridiculous ways to find out who those boys were and how to get their attention. Feyre doodled in her sketchbook while Alis suggested they break into admissions in an attempt to get some information on them, that plan quickly fell apart as she realized they’d need to know more than their faces. 

Eventually, both girls turn in for the night. 

~~~

enjoy, let me know if you want more or not!