#normally i would say please sarah take us to another court i beg you and let it be winter

[deathsweetblossoms]

Dancing and drinking, feasting and gifting. Roaring fires made from entire tree trunks and cauldrons full of mulled wine, the singing of a thousand minstrels flowing throughout their palace, answered by the bells ringing on the large sleighs pulled by those beautiful white bears. - The Winter Court's Solstice, A Court of Frost and Starlight

[the-shadowsingers-whore]

a court of wards and shadow

chapter eight

series overview

summary: in the aftermath of aelis' injury, azriel cancels the day court mission and aelis fights to find out the real reason why

length: 4.6k

warnings: (18+ mdni) angst, anxiety, depression, hints at past abuse, azriel is a moody mf per usual

disclaimer: this fic in no way represents any of sarah j. maas' work or ideas, it is for purely fictional/personal entertainment purposes

masterlist /// next chapter >>

author's note: i'm sorry it took me ten years to finally post another chapter, thanks for being so patient with me!!!

i do not see azriel for the next few days as i finish recovering. majda clears me to return to my room in the library and resume light duties after two days, but nesta insists i stay in the house for two more, just to “ensure i’m feeling my best before going back to work.” i roll my eyes at her hovering, but a small part of me deep down warms knowing that someone cares so much for me. 

after nine endless days of dusting shelves and rearranging books in the deep recesses of the library, i feel myself starting to go crazy. it’s as though i’m slipping back to those first few months that i was here. hiding in the depths of the library and dwelling in all the dark spaces of my mind, desperately in need of an outlet of any kind. i want to go back to training. i need to.

and so the next afternoon i show up to the training ring, much to nesta’s chagrin.

“absolutely not! you need to finish healing. madja said at least two weeks of rest and light duties before coming back. and that was only if you felt up to it at all.” nesta crosses her arms and levels me with a stare that would have sent most fae cowering, but you don’t work as a serving girl in a high lord’s palace without becoming immune to any and all looks.

“she said two weeks before you made me stay in that room for another two days and it’s been nine since then. that’s basically the same thing.”

she quirks an eyebrow at me and i rush to continue before she can interject. “i promise i feel okay. i swear it. but please, i’m begging you to let me train today. i….i don’t think i can take another day cooped up in that cauldron forsaken library.”

nesta must sense the quiver of vulnerability in my voice because she does not say another word, just simply nods and heads towards the group of priestesses awaiting todays session.

it quickly becomes apparent that despite nesta’s agreeance to let me train today, she isn’t going to allow me to work as hard as i usually would. instead of pushing me like normal, she holds back, assigning me lighter exercises and lesser repetitions. i don’t dare say anything for fear that she won’t let me continue, but by the end of training i find myself just as frustrated and full of unspent energy as before.

which is why after i know everyone has left the training ring for the evening, i find myself sneaking back and running through drills. 

as the sun sets and fae lights brighten up the corners of the ring, i think back on that night in the forest and everything i did wrong. every move that i can recall between me and that illyrian brute, every moment i could have acted differently and possibly changed the outcome. i know i don’t have nearly enough training or skill to have even remotely defeated an opponent of that level, but it still bothers me endlessly that i put both myself and azriel in jeopardy with my naivety. i will need to improve my skill greatly if i want us to succeed with our mission to the day court. 

after an hour or so i take a short break to drink some water and catch my breath. i can feel my tunic sticking to my back from the sweat and my muscles feel fried from working so hard after two weeks of not being used. but despite that i know i won’t stop anytime soon. i need this. this court that is starting to feel like home needs this. 

i fill my cup again with ice cold water and bring it to my lips but a deep voice startles me, causing me to spill the freezing liquid down the front of my tunic. 

“what are you doing here?”

i whirl around in shock to find azriel’s imposing silhouette filling the doorway to the training ring.

“i….i’m…training.”

“what do you mean, ‘you’re training’?” i can hear the barely restrained anger in his voice.

“well… madja said i could go back to training after two weeks and it’s basically been two weeks and i really needed something to do to feel productive and helpful and nesta agreed so i thought i would just…..” my rambling dies off in my throat when he steps closer and i see the look on his face.

“i don’t think either madja or nesta approved of this.” his voice remains calm and collected, but the war waging in his normally calm eyes betrays the truth.

“well no,” i start, fumbling to make an excuse, “but i…. i screwed up back in the forest. i know that if we want this mission to succeed then i need to do better. so i thought i would--”

“stop.” 

the single word silences me instantly. “first of all you did not ‘screw up’ in that forest.” his voice is eerily low, laced in something so serious i cannot help but hang on his every word. “you were facing a warrior with a lifetime of fighting experience with only six months of training. you should have died.” he pauses to take a breath, his eyes closing as if to steady himself. 

“you should have died, but you didn’t. not only that, but you defeated him. you killed him and still managed to survive. either of those things alone are a miracle…. but together? you don’t know how incredibly impressive you are.” his eyes fix on mine and the look in his….is one i have never seen directed towards me in all of my centuries alive. he takes a step closer and i can’t help but falter slightly back, shocked by his words. 

unable to fully process the emotion in his gaze i slip into one of my first reflexes, reasoning.

“but i……i still failed at our mission. and it was only our practice mission. which means i need to be much more ready for when we actually go to the day court. so i thought if i put in a little more practice--”

“we will not be going to the day court.” his words cut through mine like a shard of ice.

“but i thought….”

“we will not be going. it was a mistake to ever suggest that mission to rhysand and i apologize for my lack of judgment.” 

i keep my face as neutral as i can while he speaks, even though every word feels like a stab to my heart, bringing it closer to shattering with every breath. but what hurts worse than each stabbing sentence is the coldness with which he delivers each one, as if the months and months we have spent together means nothing. as if the friendship, or whatever this is between us, does not exist to him as it does to me. 

“i’m sorry the practice mission failed,” i fight to keep my voice from quivering as i plead with him, “i should have--”

he once again cuts me off. “do not apologize, i should have never asked you to do that.” 

it takes every ounce of strength i have left after training to not stumble at his words. he regrets asking me. i wasn’t good enough. he knows that no amount of training will make me good enough. i feel tears start to prick my eyes and i know that they will come no matter what i do. so rather than embarrass myself further by crying in front of him, i simply choke out, “understood,” before brushing past him and rushing from the room as swiftly as possible.

i can almost swear i hear him call my name, but the sound is drowned out by the roaring in my head and the tears now freely flowing down my cheeks.

* * *

i don’t make it more than one day hiding in the library before nesta finds me.

“do you want to explain to me why you weren’t in training this afternoon? you practically begged me to train yesterday, but yet you failed to show up today? and i don’t want to hear any excuses about you being ‘too tired’ or ‘too sore’, don’t think i don’t know about you staying after our session yesterday to work more.”

“i’m sorry, it’s just…i…..” i don’t know what to say. the day court mission was supposed to be top secret so i have no clue what she knows about how i was injured in the first place. and even though i’m no longer a part of it, i would never compromise something so important just because of my own hurt feelings. so, i say the first thing that pops into my head. “ummm… clotho needed my help today.”

“bullshit.” nesta sees right through my flimsy attempt at an excuse, but mother bless her, she doesn’t push me on the matter. 

“listen aelis, i don’t give a shit why you weren’t there today. well, obviosuly i care, but you clearly don’t want to talk about it so i won’t push you. but, whatever the reason, that doesn’t mean i’m going to let you skip your training. you have improved more over the last few months than some priestesses i have trained in the two years i have been doing this. and it’s not because you have some “gift” or some special ability like most of the bastards in this place that makes it easier for you. 

“no, it’s because you found your drive. a drive to make you better than whatever past you came from. a drive to do more than just survive. and aelis, as someone who knows what it’s like to just survive and pull yourself out of it, i beg of you, oh cauldron i beg of you, don’t. please don’t go back to just surviving. please.”

a pit forms in my stomach as i come to a realization. each and every fae here has always meant so much to me. they have been a part of my salvation, my renewal. they have each played a vital role in me shedding my past and starting to make a new future for myself. but i never thought that i could ever play an important part in their life like they did mine. but here? now? listening to nesta’s voice break as she speaks so highly of me? i suddenly am hit with the overwhelming realization that she is invested in my success. that it goes beyond her just helping another damaged female. she cares about me.

and that realization is why i choke back my tears and say, without hesitation. “okay. i will be there tomorrow.”

* * *

and i am. 

i’m there that day. and the next. and every day after for the next two weeks.

during that time i do not see azriel once. cassian comes for training like usual, but azriel does not join him. he claims that it is because azriel is off ‘doing work for the high lord.’ 

which he probably is. but i know that said ‘work’ probably entails azriel trying to find the answers that would be easily answered if we could just acquire that book from helion’s office. which they would already have if i hadn’t failed so marvelously at the practice mission. 

no matter how hard i try to throw myself into training, the guilt still manages to find me.

which is why a week later, when azriel finally shows up for a training session, i can’t stop myself when i try to talk to him. 

“i’m training basic swordsmanship and blocking today. you’re with cassian learning sword/shield combos.”

the cold neutrality in his voice rakes at my nerves and i can’t help the slight bite to my tone as i throw his words from weeks ago back at him. “well maybe i should be in your class. i would hate to have been advanced to cassian’s if i’m not ready just because of a ‘lack of judgment’.”

“aelis.” 

despite my anger, the command in his voice sends shivers down my spine and i can’t help but head back across the ring no matter how much irritation fills me at doing so.

i work through every drill, every move until perfection, the entire time hyper aware of azriel’s presence across the ring. and the moment cassian motions that our training is done for the afternoon i fight the urge to march back and confront azriel. instead, i carefully rack my gear and hang up my weapons and then move to the mats in the corner and start working through exercises while all of the priestesses trickle back to the library. i continue long after cassian and nesta have returned all the equipment and headed back into the house for the night. 

i work and i sweat, trying everything i can to drive all thoughts of azriel far away. but even when i collapse on the mat beneath me, every muscle quivering from overuse, his face still drifts across my mind.  

my frustration finally outweighs my efforts and i head into the house, determined to find him and make him listen to me this time. 

i weave through the unfamiliar halls, hoping and praying that i can find my way in this endless labyrinth of rooms. but my foggy, exhaustion riddled brain fails me and i quickly find myself in an unfamiliar part of the house. i lean against the wall and release a heavy sigh, sliding downwards until i reach the floor. i tip my head back slightly and stare at the ceiling, tired to my very bones and so overcome by frustration. 

i'm about to give up and drag myself back to my room in the library when i hear a faint melody. after a moment of listening to confirm i’m not imagining it, i stand and follow the sound, the beautiful, mournful song growing louder until i stop outside a room with light pouring from beneath the closed door. 

i grab the handle and am about to turn it when i hear a soft male voice join the music. pausing my movements, i lean against the doorframe and simply listen. the deep baritone of the voice creates a beautiful harmony as it dances with the tune of melody from the piano, creating a song i have never heard. 

i don't know how long i stand there, transfixed by the music, my tired body relaxing heavily against the smooth wood behind me. my eyes slowly drift shut to the lulling sound of the haunting baritone. eventually the voice stops and the piano dies off and i still stand there, soaking up the aftershocks of what i just heard. i faintly register the sound of boots, but still jump when the door beside me swings open. 

i whirl around to find azriel standing in the doorway, his hair disheveled and his eyes wide with surprise. 

"aelis?" 

"hi, sorry..... um i was just going.... i didn't mean to disturb you," i say, completely disregarding my entire reason for roaming the halls in the first place.

"are you okay?" 

i can’t help the small, bitter laugh that slips from between my lips at his words. weeks of silence, weeks of avoidance, and suddenly he is worried about me? 

“of course, i’m okay. you know, i may not be good enough for the mission to the day court, but i am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

confusion clouds his features briefly at the venom in my tone. “i would never assume otherwise. i….i just….aelis, what is this about?”

embarrassment at my outburst floods my veins and the exhaustion from overtraining has settled deep in my body. all of the fire and fight that i had when i stormed through the house to confront azriel withers away. all i want now is to curl up in my bed and forget all of this ever happened. i mutter a quick, “nevermind, it’s nothing, i’m sorry for bothering you,” before turning to head back the way i came.

i make it all of two strides before a warm, rough hand closes around my bicep, spinning me back to face him. “aelis, please.”

i spare a glance up into his eyes and find them filled with pleading. 

“i have worked so hard.” i finally manage to whisper.

“i know,” he murmurs in response.

“i have worked so hard,” i say, louder than before. “i have worked and trained and pushed my body past every single limit i thought it had.”

his head tips slightly in an affirmative nod.

“i have made myself stronger than i ever thought possible.” as i speak i can feel emotion starting to clog my throat and i force myself to swallow it down. “despite everything that has happened to me, i have managed to become stronger and better and turned into someone who maybe, just maybe, i could be proud of.” 

another nod.

“and that was mostly because of you. you saved me. you brought me here. you pushed me every time i was ready to give up. because you saw something in me.”

another nod.

“so why? why did you give up on me?” i try but fail to prevent the crack of emotion in my words. “i’m sorry i wasn’t good enough for your mission, but did that really mean you had to give up on me? did that real--”

“stop.” azriel breaks his silence and my rambling with a single word. “i never gave up on you. aelis, i could never give up on you.”

“then why--”

“no, wait, let me finish. it’s not that i gave up on you. and it’s definitely not because i thought you weren’t good enough for this mission. cauldron damn me for ever making you think that.” his shadows draw closer as he speaks, slithering up his legs in a thick cloud. 

“then why did you say it was a mistake?” i can’t help but ask, confusion still plaguing my mind.

i watch as realization and then distress play across his face. “no….. fuck, aelis. that’s never what i meant.” he turns away for a moment, ducking his head as if to hide from me. when he turns towards me once more, i’m taken aback by how haunted his eyes look. “i am so sorry. mother above that’s never what i meant. when i said it was a mistake it was never because i didn’t think you couldn’t handle it. it’s because i underestimated how serious, how dangerous, the mission would truly be. but then i saw you injured….. i watched you nearly die in my arms and i--” his voice breaks as he tries to speak and he turns away again.

i reach out and grab his forearm before i even realize. “azriel--”

he turns back towards me and i nearly break at the devastation on his face. “aelis, i can’t do that to you again. that was just practice. it was supposed to be easy, but look how wrong it went. and not because of you, or me, but just because that’s how missions go sometimes. after that you can’t expect me to allow you to come with me to the day court, to where you were……. i just can’t take you on a mission that dangerous. i would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.”

i pause, stunned by his admission. it's not because he doesn't think i’m good enough. no, it’s because he's worried for me, worried in a way i don't think anyone else ever has. my words stick in my throat at the realization and i struggle to respond. 

“az, i…. i am okay.” he ducks his head, averting his gaze and i don't miss the subtle shake of disbelief as he moves. 

“hey, look at me.” i realize i still have my hand on his forearm and gently squeeze it to pull his attention back to me. “look at me, i am okay.”

his eyes tentatively return to my face before making a slow sweep of my body. i watch as he takes a slow breath, as if to calm himself. he nods slightly in affirmation, but his shadows still cling heavily to him, gathered more thickly than usual. 

“and i'm okay because you saved me. you got there just in time, just like on ramiel.”

“but i--”

“you would never let anything hurt me.” i cut off his attempt to argue, needing him to realize what i did when he rescued me from the poisoned dagger. i am safe with him. 

never in my life have i felt truly safe in the presence of another, but with azriel? with the deadly male who lives in the shadows, a threat of violence radiating off every inch of his powerful form? i trust him with every fiber of my being. 

and that truth doesn't scare me as much as i thought it would. 

“you would never let anything hurt me,” i repeat when he doesn’t reply. “right?”

“never,” he says quietly, his tone firm with resolve. 

“and i believe you. wholeheartedly i believe you.” i hold his stare, ensuring he can see the honesty in my words. “which is why i need you to believe me when i say i want to do this. and not because i feel like i have to in order to repay you and your court for the kindness you have shown me over the last few months. that is a debt i know i will never be able to fulfill.”

he opens his mouth to object, but i cut him off with a shake of my head. “but that's not the point of what i'm trying to say. i want to do this for myself. training here with you--with all of you, has started to heal something inside of me that i thought irreparable. i need to do this. to go back there, to prove to myself that although i might be broken, i am still capable of more.”

his eyes fill with an emotion i cannot name, but one so intense i swear i can feel it in my very bones. i don't even realize i had started crying until his hand reaches up and gently brushes away my tears. 

“you are not broken, and you never were.” he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

neither of us says a word for a breath, just staring at each other. his thumb starts to brush across my cheek again, but the movement stutters as if he realizes what he is doing. he quickly withdraws his touch and my face feels suddenly cold in its absence. 

he blinks once, then twice, the emotion that had been swimming in his eyes just a moment before clearing as his face returns to its usual neutral expression. 

“okay, so you’re sure you want to do this?” is all he says and my stomach drops at the pure nothingness in his tone. any trace of the gentleness, the emotion he had showed me mere moments before is entirely gone, replaced by the cold hard warrior everyone knows. embarrassment fills me when i sniffle, my cheeks still wet from my tears.

i quickly brush the remaining tears from my face and take a breath to center myself. “yes. i’m sure.”

* * *

“okay, just to review for my sake, what’s the plan?” i ask after finally being included in the ‘mission’ talk. i look between the high lord and azriel, the latter refusing to look at me. he’s avoided me since our conversation a few days ago and it appears that hasn’t changed.

“we need the book that contains information about wards and gates from helion’s library. i wish i could just ask for it myself--” rhysand cuts himself off, scared of revealing too many of his secrets. he glances at azriel and a conversation i can’t see passes between the two of them.

“helion has some….’specific’ kinds of wards in his private rooms…and only those of his own blood or those bred to……’serve his kind’ are allowed within the wards of his exclusive chambers....which just so happen to be the exact ‘chambers’ that the book of wards we need is supposedly contained in.”

i glance at azriel, his gaze fixed firmly on the high lord, before directing your attention back to rhysand. “so….i would be needed in gaining…… access, to said book.”

“yes.”

“but how do i find it? i don’t even know what this book looks like?”

“ah yes, allow me,” rhysand replies a moment before a star-filled darkness and an image of an unassuming leather tome flashes across my mind. i can’t help the way i jump slightly, surprised by the mental intrusion.

“my apologies. that particular power of mine tends to startle people the first few times.” while not painful or uncomfortable, the sensation of him brushing through my mind was so unnatural i don’t see how i could ever become accustomed to it.

“alright,” i say, after taking a moment to collect myself. “so i just need to sneak into his chambers and find that book. but….how do you know it’s not warded against anyone taking it?”

“we don’t.” azriel states. “it is very difficult for my shadows to explore much of the palace without alerting high lord helion so we are essentially going in blind.” i don’t miss the way he clenches his teeth for a moment, clearly frustrated. he shoots rhysand a look and a few moments tick by, another silent conversation passing between them. 

azriel finally looks away, releasing a harsh breath as rhysand continues. “we are hoping you won’t have any issues securing the book. i know it’s not much of a plan, but unfortunately it’s our best option at the moment. and just so you know, you can still back out if you would like.” he shoots me a grin that doesn’t meet his eyes. if sneaking into the day court palace on the off chance that high lord helion hasn’t put a ward on a special tome from his private collection is the best option for someone as powerful as rhysand, then the situation must be much more dire than i realized. 

and yet, he still gave me the option to say no. i take a moment to marvel at the kindness and generosity of this male.

“no, i will still do it. of course i’ll do it.” rhysand smiles and azriel turns his head away, hiding his expression.

“thank you. on behalf of my family and my court, we are extremely grateful for your help. now i apologize for the rushed goodbye, but i have some other matters i must urgently attend to.” i dip my head into a half bow as he leaves the room, still unable to fully shake the court manners no matter how many times the high lord insists they are unnecessary.

“you should eat and get some rest,” azriel says quietly, still refusing to look at me. “we leave at first light.” and with that, he turns and strides out of the room, not waiting for a reply. 

next chapter >>

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©️ the-shadowsingers-whore - plagiarizing, reposting, and translating is not permitted

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Hello babes!!! OMG, today has been a long week! A wonderful, dream big come true week! HARRY IS SOLO ON THE COVER OF VOGUE! Also, I have a new installment of Tryst for you all based on this 👆photo! Without further ado, I give you...

Scotland!

It's the pose that does it.

She's been so,  mon dieu she hates the moral judgment of the word. But it remains the right one here, in any language. Soo good, since she decided he couldn't give her what she needed, or maybe wasn't ready to, or didn't see her like that. Nothing more than a flying fuck when he got itchy on the road and she was available to scratch.

But here she was, with his encompassing form around her back and his arm causally slung across her collarbone and she could barely keep her lip from between her teeth to smile.

Smile for the camera, Helene. He'd whispered in her ear and she was thankful for their blustery setting the clothing covering her chill bumps.

All day, She'd been trying to keep dry and get some candid shots to go into the vault. Sometimes she wondered why they paid her to take so many images, most of them, a greater preportion than usual, just lived in her computer or Jeff's computer never to be used.

Would they ever release them? To the utter delight and meltdowns of this man's rabid fans.

She gets it, Helene does. What they see in him, she sees it herself often. And she sees more, his dick has made her soul smile on more than one occasion. It didn't start with these libidinous thoughts, it wasn't one of those moments where he was a living lighthouse or hedonism personified. It's the first scene with the imaginary fish and he's having a bit or trouble. He's also cold and wet. Which are two sensations he doesn't love, but seems to include in every damn piece of art he makes. He's throwing the little bean bag onto the rock and it's not meant to be gentle exactly, but he seems irritated, not concerned as you would be for a suicidal fish when you yourself are suicidal. His character at least. Thank god. But his physical discomfort is intruding on his ability to act right now; he's barely holding on. He loses his balance while frustrated and falls into the water, cursing.

Helene will not laugh.

She hides her giggles while they change him. He got his Gucci denim outfit uncomfortably wet. Why would you chose that outfit to go to a watery death? She is overthinking. As always.

He's ready to go again, fresh Gucci down to his drawers, and by the 10th take, he's in the swing.

When Harry nails it, He gives the director and Helene the biggest grin and she's charmed. The lights have turned on and the fog has lifted. He shines.

He is finished with this set up and Helene has just put her gear away. Harry brushes past her to get around a rock and presses an affectionate kiss to the easily accessible top of her head.

"Thanks for coming, Tiny. Know it's cold."

Helene smiles at him, and somebody else with a camera, someone not her, clicks their picture.

It's always weird when she is the subject. She's pretty sure she has more photos with Harry, selfies at least than with any boyfriend she has had, in her life, which flashes before her eyes, with a highlight reel of her beneath Harry, while he turns her around towards the camera.

The arm that was across her scapula, turns her like a top and her stomach flutters with the motion. His motion. His arm has come across her clavicle, like it did in LA, and she comes together like the place in between those bones, a shallow place where her heartbeat is thumping visibly.

She's thrumming.

Not that there is a damn thing she can do about it. He can do about it. Anybody can, they have so much work to do.

The quiver in her chest and bones and betwixt her legs stays with her all day. Through lunch with all the people she's missed on their break, around the lunch Harry's had cooked for them, with all the little flourishes he likes. All the different food needs accommodated, hospitality on show. It's a wonderful midday after a bitter morning, the sun's even peaked through. The whole group brims with happinesss. Helene and her table included, she laughs and kisses Molly's cheek, she's so cute.

She stays away from Harry though, through at least theee set ups, one not involving him where she could see his intention to hover and smell her pent scent. So, she puts distance, physically between them all day, especially when they move on to the shoot at the docks.

She's taking far away shots. It was easier to control the pulse at her center when he was in the loose jumpsuit. Now in the tight sweater vest, where he looks like some movie star from a bygone era, she's struggling.

It's sending her. Fly her to the moon.

So she keeps her distance and captures him from afar. She'd been doing so well.

Still is! She reminds herself.

The day is long because of her longing, but Helene makes it through.

"You coming to the pub." She jumps a bit at his breath near her ear, her hair is stirred by its breeze. She's surprised, she can usually feel his approach 10 paces off.

"No, need my bed." She begs off. She's begging he doesn't press, with those puppy dog eyes and dimples he knows how to wield.

"Really?" He pouts. "Need your company." He insists.

Oh, he's reached for the big ammunition, he's used everything in his arsenal, he's even touching her arm. He turns her again and she knows she going to say yes before he bites his lip and says, "please."

"Qui." She exhales. She'd like to qualify the sigh as resigned, but it's full of breath and melodic.

"Yes!" He presses a kiss to her forehead and squeezes her before he wanders off to gather troops.

So much for distance.

The pub is lovely, if their wine selection a bit limited. She can see why Harry picked this for his fictional island. He has excellent taste and this is so picturesque and any number of stories, real and imagined, could be contained in its Walls.

He tastes excellent.

He's across the room holding court. He's a little drunk, and he's just thrown his head back and she can remember the shape of his Adam's Apple on her tongue, and the taste. God the taste of his skin, especially after a show. Her lips would be raw from the salt afterwards, and dual thirsts would greet her in the morning light. Water with something more mineral from his skin.

Helene gulps her wine and tries to tune back in to the English around her. The mix of accents and the still difficult language is enough for her to have to get her mind out of the gutter intentionally to follow along.

Not the gutter, Harry's room.

She's squinting and translating something someone has said in her head and wondering how many times somebody has refilled her glass when another intoxicant fills her senses.

Harry's hand is on top of her head and then sliding down the back of her hair. It's exactly like he does when his dick is in her mouth. But he's usually not grinning like that.

"Tiny!" He's  so jovial when drunk. "This seat taken?"

There is no seat. It's the end of the booth, there is a small amount of brown leather, and Harry wedges himself onto it and picks up her legs, uncrosses them and lays them over his own to make space. He's solved his own problem and worsened hers.

She quirks a brow at him and he just kisses it like it's totally normal she's basically on his lap among all their colleagues. Only in this group he's made close as family would this not look risqué. Only with him. She's thinks only Sarah and Mitch know about them. Know that the 'know' each other. And they aren't on this shoot.

Nobody is looking at them funny, so she had better stop staring at him.

She tears her eyes away, like the wrapper of a condom, and goes back to translating.

It's useless when he starts running his nails along her thighs. She puts her hand on his to stop him, but he just grips her thigh instead.

It is not a step in the right direction. It's only leads one direction for her thoughts. To the way his huge hands look on her tiny body. The way his palm can cover her whole stomach and his fingers reach her honey pot still. She has photographic evidence. Between that thought and the wine, she needs to leave.

"Where are you going?" He looks very sweet, except the glint in his eye. She narrows hers at him.

"My room."

"Already?" He pouts.

"Qui."

"I can't really leave yet."

"I didn't ask you to."

He tilts his chin. "Maybe not out loud." He whispers just under her breath.

She exhales.

"Will you wait up for me?" He looks up through his lashes.

She can't even answer but her head moves up and down like a teabag into hot water in the morning.

She's boiling.

He grins. And leans up to kiss her cheek. "What room?" He murmurs. She knows he could find out if he wanted, but it would also alert the front desk, which might make it to the media, or worse, a fan with Twitter.

"24" she whispers through the veil of her hair. Pulls away from his tractor beam eyes and smiles at the table. Gives a few hugs and a big wave.

The inn is small, quaint. She's on the second floor, which is the top floor, waiting. Helene's kept her clothes on. The same outfit she has had on all day. Jeans, loose, and a t shirt, her dad trainers. Should she change? She tries to remember what Harry had on at the pub. He had changed a fair few times throughout the day.

She think he was wearing a hoodie, his name emobossed on the breast in some language or another, Gaelic?, and loose light jeans. Dirty vans adorning his feet.

She hopes she ends the night in his jumper, or wakes up and slipes it over her shoulders.

The hours slip away and her eyes have kettlebells attached to them. She's just about to take care of single girl tasks, washing her face and putting on the extra lock when the knock comes.

"I was about to go to bed without you." She leans against the door jamb. She's not purposely jutting her hip.  She's not!

"Ahh," he teases, touches the smudges below her droopy eyes and pulls her blonde hair. "You tired."

"Qui, it's been a long day." She breathes.

"What?" He laughs and pushes her into the room with his hips, "your call time was hours after mine!" He flashes his big green eyes.

"Maybe, but I don't have your stamina." She counters. Harry the athlete raises a brow at her statement.

"I've never had a problem with your endurance."

He let's that lie there, and she can tell both of their mind's are roving over memories of late nights turned into early morning mapping flesh.

"No, I suppose you are right." She goes easy when he pulls her forward and his mouth slides against her like a skeleton key into a waiting lock. She expects the kiss to escalate, but maybe they are both a little tired, exhausted from a long day, while longing for an extended night. His kiss remains deep, full of tingling tongue touches, but doesn't get faster, her back doesn't hit the wall, and there are no stops where she is pressed against or onto furniture.

He has some embedded geography of hotel rooms, because he navigates the suite like the globetrotter he is. They are both fully dressed, and the squeezes and rubs over the fabric are exciting, reminiscent of juvenile contained eagerness. When her knees hit the back of the mattress, Helene decides the adults need to take over and hikes the tucked in button down up and over his head, forgoing the buttons.

The black ink on his golden skin is a trail familiar to her fingers tips and she follows it down, down to the leaves framing his joyful path. She can feel the pressure of his erection on the slide mechanism of his trousers and against the strained teeth tethered together on his zipper. If it wasnt metal, it would unzip itself against the force. She sighs when she pulls him out. His dick makes her so proud every time. She can't imagine what it's like to carry it around.

No wonder he is so self confident, the word cocksure occurs to her and she giggles.

"Are you laughing at me?" He looks down and she's charmed, for all his assuredness, he's still vulnerable. It's why he is so endearing.

"Non," she's got him naked and guides him back to the head aboard. He looks more tired than her suddenly, he had a bigger day, job. She'll keep up the inversion of the evening, she can recall no other time together where she had clothes on while he was naked. "I was just think how much I appreciate your dick."

"And it made you laugh?" Oh he's still a little offended.

Helene will have to make it up to him. She ruts against his lap and takes stock.

He's half mast. Which is a rare state for him, in her experience. She nuzzles into his lap and laps from his base to tip. She can feel the plumping under her tongue and decides that's not quite adequate.

She can fit him all the way like this. It won't last, so she takes advantage and mentally pats herself on the back as she seems to expand her capacity as he swells. Once she can't muzzle her nose into his patch of hair anymore she pulls off with a gasp and looks up to his panting face.

"I wasn't laughing at you," she nods towards his bobbing shafts. "In my head, I thought how I'm proud of your dick, and decided it was the wrong word. But the right feeling." Helene put him back in her mouth with her tongue extended out, and stroked him from her throat to the squirming tip.

He's chuckling now and she smiles with her eyes at him. "You're proud of my dick?" His dimples are the size of salad plates.

"Qui, aren't you?" She flashes her brows while She straddles his lap. She's not sure she's satisfied her mouth hunger for him, but they have all night.

"Well...." He blushes, which makes her giggle. She's fully naked on his bare dick and he's blushing.

"Know you are." She whispers in his ear. "You have every reason to be."

"Mmmhmmm." He could be responding to her statement or her rocking over his lap. If one of them tilted just so....

"You've been cocky!" She emphasizes that by moving her hips to an almost position. "Enough before."

He looks just a touch frustrated.

"Should I show you how proud I am?" She slips the tip in, just the tip. Not quite to the popping point. It's a tantalizing suspension, just rocking while his eyelashes flutter. "Show you why you deserve to be cocky?"

"Mmmmm," he hums, vision now between their legs, mesmerized. "Please." He breathes and looks at her.

"Do we need a condom?" She's not sure how active he's been.

"Not for me." He grabs her hips and tries to push her down, as tantalizing as the pop of a champagne bottle, the moment of jubilant anticipation.

"Better safe than sorry!" she dismounts and grabs a skin. He breathes a breath like he is frustrated.

"Oh, Cherie, ne t'inquiète pas!" She teases and strokes firmly, guiding his foreskin over the sensitive tip. "We're only beginning." He helps her roll it down and lifts her thighs to press against the headboard on either side of him. She's glad it's padded. Harry's done waiting, or being gentle and shy. She can't even acknowledge the pop of their joining she loves, she's too busy catching up to the rough thrust of his pelvis up and into her own. "Merde!"

"Mmmmhmmmm." He hums and catches her lips with his own, a net to butterflies. It's soft, slow and sensual, in opposition to the bruising hold he has on her hips. He can handle her with one of his big hands. The other has found its place on her sensitive nipples. This escalated so fast she thinks the ending will follow the beginning with no middle to enjoy. She was hoping to fuck him slow.

Her hands slide down the headboard, it's coarse beneath her hands in comparison to the hair that fills her hands in the next moment. She pulls his neck back a little roughly. "Wait."

"For?" He keeps working her over his dick and it's compelling, and she loves it, but he's showing her why her makes her proud, and that wasn't tonight's lesson.

"I want to come."

"Good, that's what I want to." He hits her spot unerringly. And she's nearly convinced.

"No, non, on your tongue." She has to forcibly take herself off him. She lifts her knees and places her hands on his shoulders to hoist herself up. It's a favorable arrangement, her legs as long as his torso. "Allez." She suggests and his answer is a smile and the extension of his tongue right up her slit.

Helene has to grab the headboard to stay upright. She knew she was on the way. But how close she was to her journey is even clearer when his hands draw her ass cheeks apart and he's spreading her wetness over both holes while manipulating her clit with his tongue.

When he fits his mouth over her hood, creates suction and licks while fitting two fingers inside her separated by just inches of skin accessing both holes, she clenches without prologue. "Fuck." She rides his face until her orgasm has ridden out its welcome and he pulls his fragrant hand out to aid its twin in holding her steady until she's clutching the headboard and coming against his tongue again. Her wriggling at the over sensitivity only aiding his quest for number two.

She slides down his body slow and she's done, until she remembers her intention when his dripping shaft, wet with her and leaking a few drops for himself, prods her ass. She was gonna run this show, swing her hips like a pendulum so he'd enter a trance like state while inside her, the suspended animation of ecstasy. Helene needed to come so she would be calm enough to do it. To hypnotize him, slow and sweet.

She just needs to control the tempo, bang out a rhythmic unhurried beat on his hips.

It only takes a minor shift in alignment to throw them off their orbit. Send his mercury into retrograde with her pussy. She slides over the tip with ease, she's wet enough that she doesn't even have to work him in like normal. Though it still prickles her nerves with that familiar addictive burn she's only had with him and a few others. Those that pushed her boundaries. She's a globetrotter when she fucks Harry though. Her exhale would be loud if his groan wasn't louder.

"Fuck, Helene!" He looks down again and she decides now that she has given him dinner, he needs a show. Time to mesmerize him.She flexes her pelvis, rounding back and holds the headboard hard to find her beat. It's a slow jam, all the flavor of a samba. She's got a circle like a Ferris wheel and he's stuttering her name like he's afraid of heights but loving the ride.

"Again." Helene demands, her head against his forehead.

"What?" Harry's staring at her motion hard, distracted. Helene stops, she wants his attention, his eyes, his mouth, his dick, every inch of him focused on her, including those inside her. She rides the circle to the top, just his tip inside, and hovers. No other passengers are getting on, she just wants him to admire the view. She clenches and knows he can see it when he shivers.

Helene uses her nose to nudge his gaze up. He looks up, down, up, again. She pulls out enough to nearly unseat him and his fingers dig into her hips. "What?"  He repeats.

"My ñame." She looks him in the eye and presses her panting mouth to his while she slides all the way down, his pubic hair against her swollen clit. "Say my name."

He breathes it out, like a prayer, "Helene!" While she takes them to the top again. "Helene!" He shouts in exhalations when she slams down to his pelvis harder. "Helene!" She swings back up slow, and drops like they've found themselves on a rollercoaster.

By now her name is a chant, "Helene, Helene, helene, fuck Helene!" He's squeezing and staring and licking her lips sloppily and she can tell he doesn't know if he should stop her, try to help her along so they can get off together, or just cum.

He looks desperate to finish.

So she stops, and he looks frantic. "Baby, please!"

Helene shrugs, kisses him and grinds herself against him inside on her spot and outside on begging pleasure zone until she's almost there. She squeezes him rhythmically to keep him ready.

She's almost there. They can hop off this ride together now. So she starts the ascent to the top again, slow circles until he's panting and chanting again, and then it's a free fall ride for them both.

Helene loses her stomach and screams his name in harmony with his chorus of hers.

Their sweaty foreheads rest together, until he is chuckling.

"Quoi?" She catches her breath enough to ask.

"I was just thinking, I definitely won't need a photo to remember this one!"

She feels proud, but she knows there is an image he's forgetting, one that will remind her of this Scottish adventure forever.

Months later, they've found themselves together, like together together, when she comes across it. She posts it, with a longing thank you.

When Harry gets home from set, he's smiling like a Cheshire Cat. "You trying to tell me something?" He shoves his phone at her with the open Instagram.

Helene shrugs. She's feeling proud, even prouder than she felt a year ago.

And she wants to show him.

[mintytrifecta]

I’d Spend Them With You

Also on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22454086 Garfield has been around for a long time. He knows this, and he’s getting pretty tired of it. No matter how much he tries to have any semblance of a normal life cycle, it always comes back and bites him in the tail.

So now here he stands, inside of an old abandoned theatre filled to the brim with thousands of cats, debating on whether they, as cats should question Primal Self on why they have nine lives.

“I’m sorry Finn I just don’t see the point in this. Seems more trouble than it’s worth.’’

“The humans are people of knowledge just like us, they research and explore their universe and their lives I don’t see why we can’t do the same!” Finnigan McEily, lived eight lives, on his ninth. Spanning seven centuries, approximately 14 years old. He’s the head councilman in the Muncie region, followed by Garfield himself being the second. Of course, what Finn doesn’t know is that Garfield can take away his authority at any moment.

Not that he wants to do it anyway, too much work and stress, he’d much rather not do all of that thank you very much.

“Yeah well what will we do with that knowledge once we get it? We’ve lived near humans since before time was counted we know they like to stick their noses where they don’t belong, I’d rather not follow in their footsteps.”

“Great Bastet, how much more in denial can you get-”

“Finn I was there to see the worst of what humanity can offer. I’ve been on the receiving end of human curiosity and let me tell you it is not fun. We have no idea how to explore our lives, much less understand why we are the way we are. There really is no point in doing this.”

In another life, he might have said differently. He might have agreed and said they could benefit from this. But unfortunately, he’s lived too many and is quite certain this will only end in disaster.

“We are ancient and loved. We have seen civilisations rise and fall and we’re able to tell the tale. Yet the only thing we haven’t figured out is how. I, for one, think this could be beneficial to us as a society and a species.” That was Amelia Sternman, third head of the council. Lived eight lives, spanning five centuries, ten years old. She’s joyful, ignorant, poetic and wide-eyed and Garfield would love to do nothing more than to claw her tail into a clean shave. Damn maine coons…

If Garfield was in another life, in the garden, he probably would have been her best friend. Jovial, forever young, stupid, they could’ve been mistaken for siblings from different litters. Sure she can use big words but they ain’t making her any smarter. She has no idea what this means.

Garfield recalls a time where he would have jumped on this idea right away. He fed on knowledge in that life. He had to, he was a detective, after all.

Samuel Elias Spayed. Lived in the 1920s, just your run of the mill hard boiled detective doing his job. Died in a shootout with a gang in 1931. Overly curious, stuck his nose where it didn't belong and it ended up working out great for him.

But, he’s getting ahead of himself.

“Why can’t we just keep doing what we’ve always done and go on with our lives. Accept that yeah, this is a thing that just happens and be done with it? Man, how long is this meeting I want to go home already.”

He heard a wallop in the audience, agreeing with him. Good, he’s not the only one bored out of his mind.

Finn sighs and strikes down on the stage floor with his paw three times “Alright fine, meeting adjourned for this week, but we will keep discussing this matter next time. You’re free to go.”

Garfield jumps off the old rusted podium onto uncomfortable old wood,the stage creaks and groans with every step his fellow pets make.

As Garfield steps out of the Bijou he thinks of how impressive it used to be. Standing proud and intimidating, it's lights aglow. Try hard enough and he can still hear the music playing from the pit. Strain his eyes enough and he swears he can see the actors performing their final number.

A piece of this land, always here to be remembered, yet never to be fixed.

He always felt a sense of connection to the building. Who knows, maybe in a previous life he was a pet to one of the cast members.

Not every life gets remembered, not every person gets photographed. Hell, he can't even remember what he ate for breakfast that day.

Maybe it was the sense of community that always drew him back there, he thinks. Letting his feet take him wherever they please. Garfield always feels better with other people around, as much as he tries to deny it.

After living for so long loneliness creeps up on you and crushes you inside out. Being with someone gave him a distraction. A thought that maybe… he didn't have to go through it alone.

He remembers the watercolour streaks of stars in his first life. Ancient and hard times, yes. But beautiful nonetheless. The world was new and naive. The older he got, the more stars went out. Now they’re practically all gone.

So was he. Crushed to death with a tree. His teeth crushed and mouth left bleeding. It wasn't too bad a death, he didn't have to suffer for long.

He thinks of Finn handling things in today's meeting. The felines asked for a day's meeting just between themselves. Finn trying to handle everyone talking at once doing his best to stay on track. Garfield wanted to laugh at how apparent it was that Finn wanted to scream. The dogs eavesdropping didn’t make it any better.

While there has been evidence that dogs traverse lives, they didn't want to test the theory and the dogs never said anything. It's a win win in Garfield's book. They don't touch their business and they won't touch his.

Walking along the road, he hears music coming from the park across the street. There was a performance by a touring folk band, Garfield is sure he can see Jon and Liz in the audience. After enough tries Jon’s given up on dating her and they opted to stay close friends.

Romance… what an odd thing, Garfield thinks. Everyone strives for a deeper emotional connection yet Garfield can’t remember any life he’s been in where he looked for a partner except his current one.

Connection was never his forte, often times he found himself opting out of meaningful conversations and friendships when they got too personal. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but he dies inside every time he does.

Baast’s Honor, how he wishes he could talk to someone. But no. he can’t be vulnerable. His previous lives showed enough of that. Vulnerability led to loneliness, loneliness lead to abandonment and a much faster death.

Stuck in an uncomfortable liminality between intimacy and isolation, Garfield found himself in a numb state. Constantly grumpy and always eating to distract himself, he’s sure whatever deity out there responsible for cats is rolling in their grave in disgust and horror.

The band is stopping for a piano solo, Debussy. Arabesque number 1. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards. He remembers Sarah playing this song…

His favorite life. After his untimely death occurring to an accident on set in a previous life, this one was a great change of pace. No worries, just peaceful times living with Sarah. He was almost her second piano teacher. Lucky one of his previous lives was that of a court musician's pet. Lived in her home from when she was a child and lived to see her child.

He continues walking and thinks of his home. His first home in this life. A beat up old Italian restaurant in a beat up old part of the city. Forgotten by humans, adored by cats. His whole family lives there.

Almost.

His dad doesn't. He left before Garfield was even born. Not that it bothers him any, he's got Jon and that's good enough for him. Garfield hisses softly to himself.

He remembers eating lasagne for the first time. It was his first ever meal, eaten five minutes or so after he was born. His mother laughed at his already large appetite.

Unfortunately a few minutes later he was taken away by the owner, thrown into a cage with other whining and screaming animals. The cage taken into a shelter and Garfield placed inside another cage. Begging and pleading to be taken by a human. Garfield cowered in the corner, confused and frightened. Some of the older folks tried to explain the situation to him, but all he cared about in that moment was being back with his mom.

A few days later, a brunette entered the shelter and Garfield caught his eye.

It took him a while to warm up to Jon. He knew humans weren't harmful to him, especially not one like Jon but he couldn't help but not be nervous. His previous life left a bitter aftertaste of humans…

Garfield feels a shiver go down his spine. He hated thinking about it. Being a lab experiment was one thing, almost being killed in the jungle after turning into a dog was another. Both sucked.

It felt wrong to be a different creature. Everything that he knew from his previous lives suddenly meant nothing. This was new, uncomfortable ground that he wasn't ready to explore. Garfield cringed inwardly.

He feels terrible saying that. He used to love exploring. It was his whole purpose in multiple lives. As a pirate, a space thief, cowboy, hell one of his jobs was literally exo-planetary explorer! Of course, both instances in space led to him gaining an extra set of lives for some goddamn reason.

He doesn't know whether to be thankful for it or despise it.

His feet come to a stop. The smell of old wood and abandoned concrete hits his nose with familiar pleasure. His family's home.

His home.

He runs to the back and squeezes through a hole in the wall. He knows why his instincts brought him here, speeding to the kitchen, he finds his clowder.

Ranging from his half brother Raoul, to his aunt Rockelvia. They run up and greet him with excitement.

"Look at that, ol' tiger's back." Uncle Morty exclaims, wrapping his tail around Garfield’s back paw and headbutts him.

"Took you awhile to come visit us. What you getting tired of your family?" Aunt Em scolds him from the top of a cabinet. Her tail swishing back and forth in a lazy welcoming matter.

Garfield chuckles. "Quite the contrary. You know I'd visit more if it were allowed by the Council. Unfortunately they don't take too well to anyone born outside a vet, shop or a human's home."

He hears great grandfather Oslo scoff. "Darn pets. They're the ones who kicked us out, you know."

Garfield rolls his eyes and replies, "Yeah I know you only whine about it every time I come over. But that's not why I'm here, do you know where mom is?"

"Check the dining room, she likes to sleep near the tables."

Garfield nods and makes his way towards his mom. After Luigi's Palace closed down she along with the rest of the family were considered strays and forced to leave the community.

"Mom? You here?"

"Table six, sweetie."

With a smile (and a few falls) Garfield makes his way to the top of the booth. He runs to his mom and headbutts her playfully, saying hello.

"Why, it's good to see you too, Garfield. What's the reason for your sudden visit?" She speaks softly.

Garfield sits down next to her and begins to explain,

"The council wants to initiate conversation with Primal Self. Not only that but to experiment on it and find out why it happens. I don't know about you but the idea of doing it sounds ridiculous and unnecessary." He says with a pout.

Sonja looks at her son with a curious gaze before replying.

"Well, my mother told me that the reason it happens is because the animals of the world were jealous of us cats having so many lives so they asked their ancients to curse all cats to come with a trial. This trial shall be held on each fifth life and determine whether a cat deserved its other lives in peace, or if they had to work for it. The ancient spirit of cats listened to their pleas and in sympathy, obliged. Following every cat on their fifth life and bringing out their ancient instincts."

Garfield stared at her in confusion, he was around before time was even thought of. Surely he'd remember something this important.

"But that's just an old queen's tale. Nobody knows for sure. I can't offer you much help with this, but I can support you in your council. Even from afar."

Garfield smiles and cuddles with her for what seemed like a lifetime before getting up, proclaiming he needs to return home.

As the moon shone on him walking down the street, he thinks of how wonderful this world is; despite its messes. He knows it is.

After all, he's been around for a long, long time.

[theladyofdeath]

Lord of Night and Darkness. {Ch 4}

Summary: Following Rhysand’s journal entries through the ACOTAR trilogy. Characters and plot belong to Sarah J Maas. 

Author’s Note: I’ve included it at the end this time, because spoilers. ;) Enjoy!

Day 1

She won.

All that has occurred between the first trial and now…..has been but a distant dream. It already feels like a different lifetime, a haunting memory. 

I’m sitting on the hilltop just outside of the city, my city, admiring its beauty. As soon as I winnowed across the invisible border, I wept. I wept as I watched my people in the village below, safely walking the streets, laughing and loving each other as I had hoped and prayed they would while I was gone. My absence was not in vain. They are safe. It was worth it.

But, for a moment, I had thought we were all doomed.

I had spent every waking moment after she defeated the beast to making sure she stayed alive. I healed her arm, making her a deal as I did so. One week a month, here with me, in my court. She loathed me for it, of course, but that’s only because she doesn’t realize. She’s still under Tamlin’s spell, she isn’t to be blamed. She needs to be here with me, though. Here she is safe. With me, she is safe. With me, she is free.

She deserves freedom. She deserves happiness. Especially after all that she’s done....

I watched her meet Amarantha’s demands, day after day. I watched her hold back her tears, until she felt nothing at all.

The second trial came, and her lack of literacy almost killed Beron’s youngest. The panic on her face forced me to intervene, and I could, silently, thanks to our newly made bond. She couldn’t read. This mortal, so brave and smart, was illiterate. I made a vow to myself to teach her when she came.

When I was around, I played with her. I made her hate me, because I knew it was easy for her to hate me. I made her hate me, to feel something. When I wasn’t around, I played music for her. I sent the music of Velaris, my home, inside her head, to make her feel peace. I played her the music I played for myself when I felt hopeless. 

I sent her warm food. I sent her comfort. I sent her tiny glimpses of hope.

Every night, I brought her with me as my guest to the parties Amarantha threw in her grand ballroom. I painted her body, so she would know in the morning where she had been touched. I gave her the liquid drug, so she could forget, if only for a little while, so she could forget, if only for a moment.

I thrived on her hate. Thrived, because it meant she was still with me. It meant that she had not given up. It meant that she still felt hope, as long as she was feeling something. 

I pressed my lips against hers and ignored the abundant sense of life that flooded through my body. I let her thrash against me as Amarantha found us. I covered myself in her paint, so the Queen of Hell wouldn’t punish Tamlin. I protected them both, because I needed to protect Feyre.

If Amarantha punished Tamlin, she would only be punishing Feyre. She loved him. She loved him enough to follow him Under the Mountain. She loved him enough to die for him.

She would die for Tamlin. I felt the need to protect what was my oldest enemy’s only love. 

Why? I convinced myself it was because she was the one to save us all, and perhaps that was a contributing factor, but it was not the reason. She was the soul I had dreamed about for so long. 

She was special.  

The night before her final trial, I sat with Feyre in her cell. We talked. We actually had a conversation, and I may have been imagining it, but it was almost as if we were friends. She held no judgement. Her tone was no longer cruel, or annoyed, or accusing. It felt good. It felt right. Fifty years, and I finally had a normal, somewhat, conversation with another being. I felt it, then. I felt the feelings grow, although I knew they didn’t for her.

She still loathed me.

But, I cared for her. I cared for a mortal girl, far more than I should have.

Then, the next day….

The next day, the final trial arrived.

The room was eerie while we all waited for Feyre to arrive. I didn’t know what Amarantha had in store, I didn’t know what she had planned, and I didn’t want to. It was going to be cruel, merciless, impossible. I waited with my breath held, my hands shaking, as I watched our savior enter the hall.

She proclaimed her love to Tamlin, but he didn’t react. She proclaimed her love to Tamlin, because she expected to die.

I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to run to her side, take her hand, and walk her through it, but I could not.

Just as expected, Amarantha was not kind. Three innocent faeries, brought before Feyre. She was expected to kill them, murder them, in cold blood.

She would damn herself to save us all.

I watched her contemplate within herself, I watched the war rage inside of her through her eyes. My heart broke for the girl, so young and innocent in the eyes of the immortal.

Nonetheless, she stepped up to the first hooded figure, and grasped the knife. He was high Fae. He was young. He was terrified. He pleaded with her…..He begged until his blood spilled onto the clean, marble floor.

His mother wept in the crowd as shame clouded Feyre, and I hated the woman who made the order. I hated Amarantha, more than I had hated her for the last fifty years.

If I had my power, I would have misted her into oblivion and smothered her blood over her tainted throne with my bare hands. 

The second victim was less painful. She was glad to be an offering. She prayed, a prayer that I had heard many times. Convincing myself not to cry in front of my peers, I watched as Feyre, with the life draining from her gray-blue eyes, pushed her dagger through the victim’s heart.

When the third hood was lifted, the remaining color had drained from Feyre’s face. 

Tamlin.

We were doomed.

They stared at each other as she sorted through her thoughts. I entered her mind, I couldn’t help myself. Amarantha had tricked her, not to my surprise. I was expecting as much.

She was going through her memories, of her time in the Spring Court with Tam. She was connecting key moments. Realization hit her as shock rushed through me, and as she drove the ash dagger through the heart of her beloved.

Chaos erupted.

The dagger did not work on him, for some unknown reason. Unknown to everyone except Feyre, and now myself. But, she won. She did as she was told. She completed the trails.

Amarantha was pissed. She began bargaining, rambling on, trying to make sense of the human’s courage, trying to make her reign continue. It wasn’t until Feyre was screaming in pain, until I realized what Amarantha was doing, that fear consumed me.

She was going to kill her. She was going to kill her. Feyre was going to die.

I screamed her name before I could stop myself, screamed her name over and over and over again. Her name was a plea. Her name was a secret I was trying to express.

The snapping of her bones was agony to my ears.

My fear began to control me.

I ran to Tamlin, and grabbed the ash dagger from where he lied. It may not have killed him, but he was weak. It was up to me. I was going to kill her. I was going to kill Amarantha, before she could kill Feyre. But, as I raised the dagger and aimed it at her throat, the power she had stolen from us was used against me.

She was more powerful than any Fae should be.

I was still powerful, though. I could do it. I was the High Lord of the Night.

I rose again, talons protruding from my hand, the monster inside of me beckoning to break free.

For her.

An invisible wall stopped me, and Amarantha turned, fire burning in her eyes as she sent me flying again. My head cracked against the stone, the knife falling from my fingers as pounding filled my skull. No one moved to help me. No one would. I was nothing more than a monster.

I was just as bad as Amarantha.

She kept hitting me, sending her magic in waves to defeat me. I was going to die. I was never going to see my home, my people, my family, the stars of Velaris, again.

But, I would not go without a fight.

I struggled to get off the ground, and my eyes found Feyre’s. That’s how I would go. Watching her, as she pleaded Amarantha to spare me.

Feyre was asking her to spare me. Me. She didn’t want me to die. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, I wanted to say, but I didn’t, and I should have. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.

Warm blood trickled down my chin, forming a puddle beneath me. My enemies were pleased, I knew that much to be true.

“Say you don’t love him!”

Amarantha yelled, continuously, the only way she would stop. Feyre wouldn’t, though. She would not lie to live.

Something happened, then, and I felt it radiate through the bond. Feyre’s weeping stopped. Her eyes began to glass over as one word, a single word, escaped her lips in a wistful whisper. Love.

The riddle.

She had solved it, but it was too late.

Feyre was dead, lying lifeless on the floor before the High Lord of Spring.

Then, the monster escaped. A growl came loose from Tamlin’s lips as he rose in his beast form, grabbed our distracted captor, and ripped out her throat.

I was caught somewhere between life and death, misery and triumph, as my powers rushed back into my body. 

Amarantha was dead.

But, Feyre was dead, too.

I glanced back and forth between the two lifeless forms as a warm tear slid down my cheek, out of sadness for her, and out of fury for the one that took her life.

The High Lords came, one by one, offering their power. They were going to try and save her. There was a chance, though. A chance it wouldn’t work. A chance she was too far gone.

The glittering kernels fell into her chest, into her heart. I watched. I watched as they came, and gave Tamlin their gifts. As they gave Feyre all they had to offer.

My feet were slow, pained, as I stepped forward, as I stopped before her lifeless, limp form being cradled by my enemy. “For what she gave, we’ll bestow what our predecessors have granted to few before.” I paused, as shock consumed me, as I felt her spirit ignite within me. The bond was still there. She was still with us. She was holding on. This was going to work. “This makes us even.”

Tamlin almost, almost, looked grateful as I spoke. 

It worked. 

She awoke. She awoke as a High Fae, and I excused myself. No one noticed. No one noticed I had left as they danced and sang and rejoiced.

Victory. We had won. We were free.

I didn’t see her again until this morning. This morning, when I was standing on a balcony outside of the mountain, bathing in the sunlight, stretching out my wings. We talked, almost as if we were friends, just as we did the last night in her cell.

She was beautiful as a human, but she was stunning as a High Fae.

One week. I would see her one week, every month. The light in her eyes had died, and I could feel her broken heart through the bond. I know that feeling well: guilt. 

“Are you going to fly home?” She had asked, as I was preparing to leave.

I wished, but no. I was not going to fly home, not today, but I was going home.

Home. Velaris.

Morrigan. Cassian. Azriel. Amren.

Home.

She thanked me, although I was sure she was going to regret it soon. She told me about being High Fae, how it would take some getting used to. She would get used to it, though, I have no doubt.

She watched, admiringly, as I tucked my wings back into my body.

It was when I said goodbye….

It was when I said goodbye that the feeling hit me. A punch to my gut told me every answer to every question I had ever asked. I was flooded with emotions, with love and fear and triumph and pure hunger. I felt like grabbing her, and crashing my lips into hers, and also tearing apart every male within spitting distance. 

And terror. Utter terror.

The word was being yelled at me as she looked at me strange. She had noticed a shift, she had noticed I’d stumbled.

Shit.

She began to ask, ask what had happened, but I’d disappeared before she could finish.

She couldn’t know, she can’t know. She is not mine to tell. She is not even a friend, but an enemy by association. I am nothing more than a cruel, evil monster to her.

Mate. My mate. She was my mate.

Feyre, the bride of the Spring Court, was my mate.

It made sense. The love, the longing, the passion I had felt for her…..

She was my mate.

She is my mate.

Feyre.

Now, I will winnow home, and hope that everyone is there, together. Then, I will greet my people, and shake their hands, and embrace them. Then, I will count down the days until I see her again.

Until I can see my mate.

But, first, I’m going home.

I’m going to see my family.

Author’s note (cont.): Rhys is going home, which means chapter 5 will be one of love and good feelings (finally). Let me know what you all think! I love hearing feedback. <3

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty   @callmeladytypewriter @illyrianswingspan@skarpetkamroku@iwouldtrusthagridwithmylife @kortanna@illyrianshadowhunter @mynamestartswithaz​ @superhuman-imagines​ @wingsofanillyrian​ @freyalegends​ @runesandfaes​ @crazybookladythings​ @bookishtraci​ @songbirdsbooks @peachyyymeg @gogeek750

[modernbookfae]

Headcanon prompt #12 first time Elriel

@nessiansmut you made me have WAY too much with this Sarah! Hope you enjoy your sweet shadowy dose of Elriel! 

First Time Headcanon: 

Their first time happens after Azriel arrives back from a mission that has rattled him to the core.

Elain knows that he needs comforts long before he is in Night Court territory and it’s not because she is a seer. She just knows.

They start off by talking as they normally do and holding hands to offer comfort, but then it slowly shifts into something more.

The moment that makes them cross the line is when Elain looks at Azriel with such conviction and says “I’m not afraid of you Azriel. I could never be afraid of the one male in my life who understood me more than anyone else did.”

Before they know it Azriel hoists Elain up and her legs wrap snugly around his waist. He carries her to his room and settles her gentlly on the bed. As he hovers above her body a moment of doubt flickers across his face. What has he ever done to deserve someone as sweet, gentle and kind as Elain?

But Elain wants this. Needs this. So she makes it perfectly clear by pulling him into a deep kiss that is all tongue and teeth.

Her actions spur Azriel to emit a growl deep in his throat and he finally gives into this relationship that has been growing between them ever since they first met across the wall in her home.

With languid movements Azriel helps Elain remove her dress and she returns the favor by unlatching each leather weapons strap that bands across his body. As she does so she sneaks little kisses on each part of his skin that is revealed.

When there is not a scrap of clothing left they sink into the soft sheets and begin to learn what makes each of them sigh or moan in pleasure.

Azriel, being one of the best mentors of Velaris in both flying and “other physical activities”, guides Elain to reach her pleasure to the point she loses count throughout the night.

In her curiosity Elain blatantly asks Azriel how she can him feel good. “Do I use my fingers like you did or would you rather me use my tongue. I thought that the licking was…extremely nice. What do you think Azriel? Do you prefer the use of fingers or tongue?”

Azriel, whose tongue is already occupied at the moment, has to press his face into Elain’s thigh to smother the small chuckle coming from his lips.

“Elain my dear, you can do with me whatever you please.”

 So Elain does just that. She is a quick study and soon takes on a more dominant role by rolling a shocked Azriel onto his back.

The Spymaster actually begs for the first time in his existence that night.

And Elain decides that she loves the way Azriel’s mouth forms the words “please” as she strokes and licks him over the edge. Or the way his chests heaves up and down underneath her as he tries to inhale once he recovers from his orgasm. 

At one point Elain bites Azriel on his stomach, because the moment felt exceedingly right, but she jolted up when Azriel released a startled noise. He then had to explain the significance of biting and how it signifies “claiming another”. 

Elain, thinking she did something wrong, tries to apologize for being so forward, but Azriel quiets her worries with a soothing kiss. 

“I never could have imagined - no hoped - that you would ever want me Elain. I don’t mind you biting me. In fact I would be quite disappointed if you didn’t leave more of your marks on me before the night is over.”

So Elain happily gives him a few more nips in which Azriel returns the same courtesy with similar vigor.

In the darkness of the room even Azriel’s shadows quiver when Elain’s hands graze them. She can seem them and makes sure that they roo recieve attention. Because she loves every part about Azriel. His shadows are no exception.

Azriel too loves Elain. Especially her smile when they wake up the next morning underneath the sheets with their arms wrapped around each other.