#other friend: lyria

[cinlat]

Shout out to these ladies @tishinada @rainofaugustsith and Lyria for another successful hunt. The Great Hunt this time. Taking down dragon’s with the power of friendship....and brute force. A LOT of brute force.

Anyway, we decided to get out “fisherman’s picture” with our price and the cute little cat who sent us after the man eating dragon.

[toestalucia]

i say that while oneiros & her relation to her astral is my favorite of all time like a tru hypocrite

[readychilledwine]

Slow Hands

Azriel x Vanserra Oc

Azriel returns from a rough mission very sore. The typical ointments Madja uses aren't helping to relieve the tension, so the healer suggests Azriel goes to see Lyria, a pretty little healer who specializes in massage therapy.

Warnings - NSFW, but nothing is graphic. Accidental orgasm from a service. Some swearing. Unedited. Dearest minors, DNI.

Word count- 2,639

Random author's note - I just believe it should be cannon that the Vanserras give the best massages. They're literally fae heating pads/hot water bottles.

Part Two

Azriel walked beside Rhysand in silence as they made their way to the building Madja had asked Azriel to visit.

The two had not spoken since the incident with Elain, but he could tell Rhys, who had paused hand halfway up to knock on the door, wanted to tell him something.

Rhys cleared his throat. "Do you remember me coming home from the mountain and saying I decided to bring a new friend to Velaris?"

Azriel nodded, refusing to verbally break his silence to his brother, to which Rhys rolled his eyes. "This is her. She is Lucien's sister. Be. Kind. She is doing this for you as a favor to me."

Rhys knocked on the door before winnowing away, leaving Azriel standing there awkwardly. Shock set in as golden light flooded the streets. There, in the doorway, smiling gently was the mirror image of the Lady of Autumn, only shorter.

"You must be Azriel," he stared down at the pretty female, mouth going dry as he tried to figure out how to form words. "Come in. I'm Lyria, by the way." She smiled softly at him and continued walking.

Her home was warm, inviting, and comfortable. It smelled like lavender and something slightly medicinal Azriel could not place. "Rhys doesn't normally have his wings out when we do this." Azriel followed her, admiring her legs and ass in her tight leggings, as she directed him through her home. "Are you able to lay on your back?"

"I am." Azriel was studying her fully as they entered a room with a table centered in it and glass bottles lining a cabinet. Her red hair was pulled into braids and pins with a few pieces falling into loose curls. Her high cheekbones reminded Azriel very much of her mother, and her constellation of freckles lining her nose and cheeks were the only clear sign of her relation to Eris. Her golden sun kissed skin, though, that was Azriel's clear indication of who her father truly was.

All in all, he knew she was beautiful. Truly beautiful, and Azriel felt himself thinking of 100 other things he could do with her besides what Rhysand and Madja describe as a "back rub, but better."

He watched Lyria shift, clearly noting the way he was looking at her. "If you're comfortable, I just need you to take all of your clothing off and lay on that table. We will start with you on your back. Just put the towel where you want it for privacy. I can step out. Let me know when you're ready."

Azriel watched her walk out, eyes glued on her body. Rhys, the tone in his mind was slighly annoyed as he felt familiar claws enter his shields.

Azriel, A laughing purr answered back, Is she to your liking?

You're an asshole. A better warning would have been nice. Azriel slammed him out as he finished removing the leathers and siphons from his body before getting on the heated table. He sighed, shadows slowing down and stilling before opening the door and gently grabbing Lyria.

She moved silently through the room, fae lights dimming as she grabbed a few things. "Rhys said you'd prefer lotion over oil, is that accurate?" Azriel just nodded, a feeling of vulnerability sitting in.

He was naked in the presence of a female related to two males who absolutely hated him. A female who could wield fire as easily as breathing. His only comforts were the sign that she clearly thought nothing of his nakedness, and that his shadows had already told him she had no weapons in her home.

"I'm assuming they explained this to you? And let you know I'd be touching you a lot during this?" Azriel confirmed to her quietly they had. "If anything hurts, or makes you uncomfortable in any way, or you just do not like the way it feels, let me know right away. Is it okay if I start?" Consent. She wanted his consent to touch him. He nodded slowly and felt his shoulders instantly tense as she touched him.

Her hands were warm and so soft. Gently moving along the planes of his tight muscles in slow, long strokes. She was using enough pressure to map out areas of his body that were tighter than others but not being rough enough to hurt him. Azriel groaned as she found a knot near this collarbone. Her hands instantly began working in that area. "Does that feel okay?"

"It feels great." The room was filled with the sounds of water running softly, of animals in a forest. It even smelled like the Illyrian Mountains. The soft scent of magic, her magic, floated in the air as Lyria created an environment the High Lord had told her his spymaster would relax easiest in.

Azriel felt himself giving completely into her hands, melting in her touch, eyes closing. He groaned and moaned occasionally in appreciation and pleasure.

"There we go," she whispered softly. "Just relax. I'll take care of you." He felt his mind drifting as she worked down his arms, his torso, the fronts of his thighs.

Lyria was watching the Shadowsinger's little reactions to figure out where to focus, what areas she needed to work longer, and where the male held the most tension. She was also trying to ignore a growing aspect that had begun to pop up.

She worked her way back up to his shoulders, running her hands below his back, between his wings, causing another moan to leave his throat. This one, though, had her pausing. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she gently ran her hands from the spot they were in and up his neck. "I am so sorry."

Azriel chuckled slightly, eyes opening to look up at her. Her bottom lip had tucked between her teeth. She's nervous, his shadows began whispering to him. She was worried she had hurt him or he was feeling violated. "It's okay. They're sensitive, but that feels amazing."

"I can sto-"

"Please, do not stop."

Lyria nodded, her lip still tucked into her teeth. "You can roll onto your back if you'd like, and are um, able to." It was then that Azriel realized what she meant.

"Please tell me this happens all of the time?" His face was flushed as he threw an arm over it. "You have male clients, this happens all of the time right?"

Lyria was instantly giggling. The noise like soft bells in his ears making him smile and relax. "Of course. Rhys especially. Roll over. I want to use a different lotion on your back." Lyria turned away, grabbing a different glass bottle.

Azriel rolled over taking the time to admire her body again. Thinking of how pretty she'd look tied up in his shadows. She'd look pretty in any position, naked or dressed. He put his head down, trying to focus on relaxing and not his growing need to bend her over the nearest surface.

Lyria moved back to him, warming the lotion she had on her hands, "Are you okay with lotion getting in your hair? You carry a lot of tension here," Azriel shivered as she was near the lowest base of his wings. She was being careful not to touch them, but just the ghosting of her fingers near them was causing his touch starved body to react. It also didn't help that her voice was a siren spell, "through the upper part of your spine and into your scalp. I feel like I can work it all out, but I need to get the tension in your scalp out too, or you'll have headaches all the time."

"You can do whatever you want to me," Azriel felt himself tense back up at the response. He knew he meant it. He knew he'd allow his female to take what she wanted from him without hesitation.

"What a generous offer. You'll have to buy me dinner first." Lyria moved. Starting his massage again at his feet.

"Fuck," Azriel groaned. He heard her chuckle as she worked and he relaxed into her touch once more.

Discomfort hit him again as she began to work up his legs, easing the tension in his thighs. "Is this okay? You are really tight on your legs and hips." Azriel nodded at her question, groaning as she began working out knots in areas he would have never suspected. "Am I hurting you?" Gods no, he thought to himself. "Do you want me to talk to you to distract you?"

"Hearing your voice is making it worse." Azriel bit his lip to hold in a moan as she began to work the other side. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head, smiling slightly. "Not hurting you then. You are fine, Azriel. Just relax. It's just your body reacting. It's normal."

His name rolling off her tongue made Azriel feel like his soul was lit on fire and an ache started in his chest. He began to imagine what she'd sound like with his head between her thighs, his hands squeezing her breasts, her legs wrapped around his waist as he buried himself so deep into her they became one.

Lyria continued her work, ignoring the growing scent of his arousal as the tension in his lower back released. She then made a rookie mistake, leaning across his back to grab her lotion bottle allowing her breasts to run along his body. She said nothing as his wings fluttered and he slightly shivered. She just continued her work.

Azriel was a piece of art, she had decided. His body reminded her of expertly carved marble. Hard muscled cuts from years of training, but they yielded so easily to her touch. Small twitches began to happen as she hit his mid back just below his wings.

Her eyes flicked to where he gripped the soft sheets of the bed as she pulled a heated blanket over his lower half. "Is it too warm?" She knew the scars on his hands all too well, she was hiding her own that danced along her back.

"No, just everything feels really good." His reply was soft, but raspy and deep. She smiled softly as she continued her work, gently going around the lower base of his wings without realizing the stimulation she was causing him.

Azriel was biting his fist under the table as pleasure shot straight to his cock. His body was so relaxed and everything felt intensified. He had been craving touch like this for years now. Soft, gentle, slow. She was taking her time on his back, working out every ounce of tension, every knotted muscle, every single drop of pain he had. His body hadn't felt this good in years, and he hadn't felt relief like this since his last trip to the brothel.

Her hands were heaven on his skin. They were warm and smooth, grazing him with her nails occasionally. She smelled like heaven, too. The soft scent of apples and salted caramel. He could drown in her scent alone if she allowed him to.

He felt the groan slip his throat as she moved to be in front of him and began to work between his wings. "Tell me if you want me to stop. I don't want to hurt you."

Azriel realized slowly he was drowning. This female was about to reduce him to a puddle with the touch of her hands and that alone. He pushed the feeling down. Doing her job, a shadow reminded him.

She worked in silence, noting his soft gasps, whimpers, and moans as she worked the center of his back and sides of both wings. She was finally at the base of his shoulder blades when Azriel's resolve dropped. His hands came to rest on the backs of her thighs, squeezing the plush skin there every so often as she worked the tops of where his wings connected in.

A rough grasp on her thighs as she accidently brushed the ridge of his wing had her gasping slightly, nails digging into his back, making him growl in pleasure. "I'm sorry," she whispered again and tried to back away, only to find herself locked by his large hands.

"That was my fault," he was smirking and pulled her closer. "Please keep going. I'll behave." Lyria bit her lip, her nervous tick he noted, nodding as she went back to work.

She was focusing on working the muscle tension near his wings. She was hoping he'd be able to ignore his pleasure, but as his breathing picked up, his wings twitched, and he moaned for her more, she knew. Lyria knew what was about to happen, but anytime her hands slowed, he gripped her thighs tighter as if begging her to continue.

He was on the edge at this point. He could feel a peak of pleasure within reach as she began working his shoulders and neck. Azriel was trying to hold it in as the pleasure built, but Lyria sealed his fate.

She did a single long stroke, starting between his wings, up his neck, and gently tugged his hair.

It was his undoing as he moaned out loudly, his grip on her thighs moving so he was cupping her ass and digging his fingers into her. His body was slightly shaking, as she scratched his head and played with his hair through his high.

Lyria had her lip between her teeth again. Trying to hide the feminine smile at her ability to bring one of the deadliest males in History to completion with no more than the touch of her hand.

She moved to sit next to Azriel, dropping his right arm over her thighs as she sat next to him, continuing to massage his scalp as he finished coming down, breathing coming back to normal. Once he turned his head to her, she just smiled.

"I know a few places in Autumn you could get help with that problem," she offered gently. "Eris runs a very clean, respectable one. They have males and females. All there by choice because they like to fuck."

Azriel chuckled. "That obvious, huh?" He looked at her. Enjoying the slight flush of her cheeks as her amber eyes met his hazel ones.

"I don't normally have people finish on my table, so we're going to chalk it up to you had a lot of tension to release." She paused, hand still playing with his hair before handing him a towel. "I noticed it building as I was working in your wing bases, but you didn't ask me to stop, and if I tried to, you squeezed my thighs to prevent me from moving. Rhys just said the wings themselves were sensitive. I didn't realize it was that whole area. I am sorry if I've made you feel violated."

He took the towel, cleaning himself and the table as she looked away. He tossed it into her nearby hamper and laid back down. A shadow grabbed her hair and placed it back into his hair.

"He probably did that on purpose. Fucking asshole. I owe you dinner," he finally said. "I'd like to do this again. Hopefully without that happening. I'm hoping that was a one time thing."

Lyria nodded. "We can do the same time next week with dinner beforehand?" He nodded at her, sitting up and studying her face again. "Also, I don't mind if that happens again." She was blushing and tucked her hair behind a delicately pointed ear. "Maybe in different circumstances though."

Azriel smirked, hand reaching to gently pull at her hair, "That could be rearranged."

[hunnyrants]

A/N: Quick drabble I wrote while listening to Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain.

Summary: After spending several days in the Night Court, Cadre!Reader has a nightmare triggered by their unfamiliar surroundings.

Pairing: Azriel X Cadre!Reader

Warnings: PTSD, trauma induced nightmares, mentions of dying, mental torture, dissociation, angst, fear of the dark

Nightmare:

You thought it was real.

That the fire breathing bitch queen had saved you, that she had been real. It was nothing but something Maeve planted to tease you and then break you further.

You knew it.

The dream made freedom taste so real, the grass under your feet felt softer, the air was deliciously cold and fresh against your face. It smelled like snow.

But it was never real.

There is no fireheart. Maeve long since turned her to ash.

As you knelt once more before the dark queen's throne, your back aching with how long you had bowed. Utterly at her mercy. You knew Rowan was next to you, Fenrys on your right.

You knew they had the same delusions you were given. Fenrys was sobbing, he had always hated his oath and to be given a taste of freedom only to have it ripped away? And Rowan, how cruel to have to learn his true mate was not Lyria through a dream. But the savior? She died during the fall of Terrasen.

There is no escaping.

Your hands began trembling and the world started to crack and twist. Whips of darkness began cracking across your vision, and your friends began screaming.

There is no escaping.

Rowan Whitethorn was begging for his mate. His fireheart. The floor roiled underneath you and yet you could only kneel.

As Fenrys began to scream beside you, you forced your head up. Fighting against that unholy darkness that Maeve tortured you with for centuries.

Your last defiance was to look her in the eye, before the blood oath took everything from you.

But as you forced your eyes up and you caught a glimpse of violet eyes, everything shattered.

There was darkness all around you as you launched yourself from your bed, pulling your dagger with you from under your pillow.

You couldn't see.

Your magic thrashed in your veins. There were hands on your shoulders suddenly and a male's voice sounded nearby. The darkness cleared and you saw him, your fated.

Azriel.

There was something in his eyes that you couldn't place, but you didn't want to.

"Are you okay?" He sounded like he was underwater, and you weren't quite sure you weren't still dreaming until his scarred hands squeezed you.

You knew you were awake when you saw the other male out of the corner of your eye, Rhysand. Instincts told you to straighten your shoulders and make eye contact with the high lord- his eyes.

You couldn't do it.

He was trying to speak to you, but if Azriel sounded underwater, Rhysand might as well have been in another room entirely.

So you put your hands on your mates chest and pushed him away from you. Azriel hesitated, instincts likely bellowing at him to hold, to protect, to soothe.

You were beyond words.

Saying anything to either of them was too hard to even comprehend, dredging up the energy to pretend you were fine. The energy to pull yourself together and once again submit yourself to someone stronger than you made you want to bellow.

Blood curdling wrath hit you and your magic roared in answer, heating your wrecked soul. Not wrath directed at the males before you who were trying to speak to you.

You couldn't hear them anyway. You couldn't feel Azriel's hands back on your shoulders, shaking you before abruptly dropping you. You didn't register the pain in his eyes when he did either, or the magic that had erupted from you and cocooned around you.

You didn't notice that the dagger you had grabbed to desperately attempt to defend yourself from old ghosts fell from your hand and clattered to the ground.

You stared straight ahead and felt nothing at all. Until you felt Rhysand break through your mental shields.

Your very soul seemed to cave in when they fell. Rhysand felt it too, you knew. As he immediately began to pull back, knowing he pushed far too hard when your mind was this vulnerable. But as your memories and your pain swarmed to the surface? He saw it.

And Rhysand finally understood why you couldn't hold his eyes.

He saw it himself.

[meefy]

Diverse Autistic Characters in Akagami no Shirayukihime

I could go on for hours about my dislike of how autism is, for the most part, portrayed in popular media - the butt of a cruel joke; autism representation by a non-Autistic actor; or centered around the plot of the story itself, where it boils down to the Autistic person "overcoming" their autism or some outside force "fixing" it (or, semi related, an Autistic character being shoehorned in as a token minority).

I think that's one of the reason I love Akagami no Shirayukihime so much. While none of the characters are confirmed as Autistic, the ones that are quite blatantly Autistic-coded are so diverse and so welcomed by the cast that it's both sweet and refreshing to see.

I have talked at length about Ryuu and why I love his character so much, so I don't want to get into it too much here because I've said most of what I want to say. He is, at first glance, the "typical" popular culture depiction of autism: the male child savant who has no friends, can't socialize, and has the niche restricted interests in science that seem to characterize every big Autistic character in media. But it doesn't take long to see he is so much more than that! His interests in poisons has granted him a field of study and work where he thrives and does what he loves day in and day out. His mentor, Garak, supports him and treats him as an equal, and looks for opportunities for him to grow - as does everyone around him, including Shirayuki.

Ryuu's time in Lilias was so beautifully depicted. The years he spends studying and working there are not him masking his Autistic traits or "beating" them; they are years of him feeling safe and supported enough to test his comfort levels and branch out because he knows he won't be mocked or scorned for it. He has found an environment where he thrives because of his Autistic traits, not in spite of them. And so, as of most recently, we see that he wants to remain in Lilias to continue his studies there because of this. His growth is not reduced to finally acting neurotypical; Ryuu being Autistic has not changed. But he has found others who share his passions, who support him, and who encourage him without changing who he is.

I also want to touch on Kirito specifically, because he is one of the few people Ryuu's own age who interacts with him. Kirito is too young to hold back his questions about Ryuu's behaviour. Why is he running away from a crowd of people? Why has he never had a snowball fight? But Kirito doesn't dwell on Ryuu's quirks; he accepts them, moves on, and focuses on what the two have in common - which is what I would hope for any Autistic person, myself included.

What is particularly special to me about how Autistic characters are depicted in AnS is the diversity. Too often I see Autistic characters depicted in the same way, like the author read a WebMD checklist and created a character around said list. Autism is a spectrum, and with that comes two ends of the spectrum.

Which brings me to Lata.

Although I haven't explicitly mentioned at length Lata + autism the same way I've discussed it about Ryuu (and although I could write a whole essay on it), I do want to go in a bit more depth because his overlap and contrast with Ryuu is exactly the kind of Autistic representation I live for. Ryuu actively wants to work to help people; Lata seeks to work in solitude. Ryuu is open and generally friendly with others, Lata is blunt and evasive. Ryuu's expressions are generally flat (and his voice monotone in the anime); Lata is quite expressive (even if he doesn't smile often, and neither does Ryuu). Yet we see certain similarities between the two; for instance, both have their own niche hyperfixations that they absolutely live for, and neither is totally at ease in crowds.

But leaving Ryuu out of the equation, one of my favourite things about Lata's character is that none of the Lyrias crew seemed genuinely bothered by how he acts. Like, even Obi's teasing is, by and large, in good faith. They're just like "Oh, that’s just how Lata is..." and move past it. Most recently in Chapter 133, Shirayuki is visibly happy to see him. And related to that, the other scholars always go out of their way to include and invite him to their outings - to their banquet celebrating the successful germination of the phostyrias, or to see them blooming in their lab. Even if he always declines, and they probably know he will always decline, they ask. Speaking on a personal note, I am like Lata and really, really hate parties or any large gathering; so people (understandably) stopped inviting me. And that hurt; even if I knew I'd say no, and wouldn't go, people actually thinking of me meant a lot more than they likely realized.

So, seeing representation of people actively trying to invite and include their Autistic comrade means so much to me.

Lastly, I want to talk about Shirayuki. It's not terribly often that Autistic representation in media is a female character, let alone the lead character. I know I am not alone in thinking Shirayuki is Autistic, but I do love its subtlety unless you know what to look for. The long running theory that there is a "girl" autism (versus the stereotypical "male" autism that is most commonly diagnosed and seen in popular culture) is absurd; autism is a spectrum, and just where some Autistics are reclusive, have a flat affect, and exhibit quirky behaviours and interests, there are plenty that are the complete opposite, or somewhere else along the spectrum. In many respects, this describes Shirayuki; she seems to have no trouble making friends, attending parties, or showing emotion.

And yet, she has the intense focus in herbalism and pharmacology that mirrors Ryuu's in many respects; she just does not express that interest in the same, "typical" Autistic way. She reads her textbooks to relax and spends time in a garden (the latter of which is, stereotypically, a perfectly expected behaviour for someone of her gender). It's easy to forget that, much like how Ryuu ran away from the crowd on his first day in Lyrias (a depiction of an Autistic shutdown), Shirayuki ran away from Zen when her feelings for him became too overwhelming. She asks Zen for a comfort object of his when she leaves for Tanbarun, much like how many Autistic people have a particular tangible object that gives them comfort. Shirayuki is also blunt; she tells Prince Raji to act more like a leader she can be proud of, and rebuffs the knight who insults Ryuu at the beginning of the story - her low rank does not deter her. Autistic people are sometimes known for apparently "not understanding" power dynamics and rules (which I doubt, as do most Autistic people - I think it's more likely that the rules and dynamics are simply unfair, and created and upheld by neurotypical people) - Shirayuki's behaviour certainly seems to fit this. She is not rude by any means...but where it might intimidate many others, a person's title does not keep her from speaking her mind. In many respects she reminds me of myself!

I could go on and on about this topic - and how different Autistic traits are present in different characters - but I'm comfortable stopping at Ryuu, Lata, and Shirayuki (at least for now), and reiterating that media like AnS proves that diverse Autistic characters can exist without being a punchline, can grow throughout the story without shedding their Autistic traits, and can be accepted, supported, and loved by others for who they are. This series is dear to my heart, and this is but one (albeit huge) reason why!

[acourtofthought]

I'm sorry but "you're my mate" does not outweigh Elain's feelings on the matter.

The simple existence of a mating bond does not suddenly declare all Elriel moments null. It does not make them platonic just because Elain is Lucien's mate.

If the mating bond really were the end all be all -> we wouldn't have ANY existence of a pairing where the bond was wrong.

If the mating bond was the end all be all -> there would be NO Elriel moments for us to even be discussing.

After finding out that Cassian & Rhys were their mates, Feyre and Nesta did not entertain the idea of other men.

Elucien is the only instance in SJMverse where the bond snapped before Elain & Lucien even knew each other. And despite knowing her mate is right there - Elain chooses to pursue someone else.

Oh - aside from Rowan & Lyria ... but we all know how THAT turned out

"after finding out that Cassian & Rhys were their mates, Feyre and Nesta did not entertain the idea of other men"

Nesta on the moment she met Cassian:

Nesta displaying her feelings for Cassian during the war:

Nesta months later:

Feyre while UTM:

Feyre a few months later with Tamlin:

Just because the sisters bonds didn't immediately snap doesn't mean they didn't realize deep down that Cassian and Rhys were something to them.

Yet despite the tug to them, despite Nesta even being willing to die with Cassian, both sisters went on to fuck others. Hell, Nesta even imagined Cassian's best friend fucking her!

You should be glad Sarah included Elain having a bit of a hot girl summer moment because it's proves choosing Lucien is still a choice, it didn't turn her into a mindless robot who can only be attracted to one guy.

You know what Sarah has never written though?

An endgame couple where the MMC sits and stares at another female with heat in his eyes while his supposed love interest is in the room with them.

Feyre and Nesta absolutely were attracted to other men even after confessing they were drawn to their mates from the start though I don't recall the same for Cassian or Rhys when it came to other females.

Sarah has written scenarios of poorly matched bonds in characters we've never met. But you can bet we're not going to see Elain reject Lucien Mother Fucking Vanserra, future High Lord of Sunshine for Azriel the Torturer.

Also, Elain doesn't have feelings because she doesn't actually exist. So pardon but I'm pretty sure Sarah J Maas, multi millionaire Fated Mates author is going to write Elain wanting her mate because..... Mates. And it's Lucien. Who was inspired by Jamie Fraser. Who Sarah loves.

I promise you, Elain's feelings on the matter don't matter more than the story Sarah wants to tell especially when Sarah already told us Elain took both she and Lucien by surprise and when she's the one who retconned Lucien's father so he'd be the heir to Day, not Autumn, and proceeded to hammer home how much Elain likes sunshine.

Better luck next time! 😉

[throneofsapphics]

have your little girlfriend, part five

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: She never wanted to find out whether a blood oath or mating bond would be stronger. Gods only know it might take months to unravel the mess they’re in now. 

Word Count: ~6.5k 

Warnings: darkish aelin/rowan, possessiveness, toxic relationships, minors injuries/mentions of blood, smut, thigh riding, nsfw, minors dni!

A/N: honestly idk where this is going, i’m just writing on vibes, but reader still has a backbone. this got deleted somehow :(, special thank you to @moonlightttfae

series masterlist

“I’ll be with Fenrys,” she said. It was another iteration of the same conversation they’d had the last three days. Her bringing up visiting home, Aelin and Rowan not disagreeing or agreeing, but questioning the safety of it. Technically, she supposed she didn’t need their permission, but it would be much easier if she could convince them to agree. Would they drag her back to Orynth if she left on her own? She didn’t want to find out. Her eyes shuttered closed. She wouldn’t give up on this, she needed to see her family. Needed to get some space. Fenrys had offered to speak to them, but she wanted to handle this on her own. To fight her own battles. 

She had an idea. One she would surely regret. “What if …” she swallowed harshly, “I agreed to train with you,” she directed her gaze towards Rowan first, and then Aelin. 

“Without complaining?” Rowan leaned back, crossing his arms. 

“I’ve never complained,” he raised one brow at her. Maybe she had, once or twice. “It’s not my fault you’re …” she tried to find a nicer word to say. 

“Ah asshole?” Aelin offered. “Dickhead? Bastard?” Rowan cut a glare at her, but she only grinned. 

“Harsh,” you settled on. 

“I promise I'll be …” Rowan’s the one who couldn’t find a word this time. She pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh. “Considerate.” 

Aelin chuckled. “How kind of you, your Highness.” 

She straightened in her chair. “I’ll train with you,” she tapped her fingers on the table. “Three times.” 

“Seven,” he countered. She started low on purpose. 

“Five.” 

“Ten.” 

Gods-damned in. Aelin only looked on amusement. Ten times. She had to leave in twenty days. Between work, spending time with them, and her friends, she didn’t quite have time to train everyday. Well, not in the way Rowan likes to train - grueling sessions, at least three hours.  

“Seven.” She countered, he looked like he was going to raise it further, but Aelin fixed him with a look. 

“Fine,” he grunted. 

-

The weeks leading up to the visit, she spent so much time in her animal form it began to worry Rowan. He remembered the ten years he spent in his … after Lyria’s death. Maybe she was still healing - from everything she’d lost during those ten years. Her parents, several of her family members. He glanced down at the white fox, curled up next to his desk, snoring softly. She looked peaceful, and at ease. 

She was leaving in three days and something in his chest clenched at how far away she’d be, at how he wouldn’t be there if anything happened. Or how difficult it would be to get to her. Aelin had threatened Fenrys so thoroughly he didn’t need to do it. As much as the male could annoy him sometimes, he trusted him with his life, and more importantly with hers. If anything happened to her, he’d make him regret being born. 

He called her name softly, and her head raised, pretty eyes blinking away the haze of sleep. “Shift back,” to his surprise, she actually listened - and didn’t look too upset at his order. 

“You interrupted a perfectly good nap,” her fists rubbed at her eyes, lips turning into something between a frown and a pout. 

His mouth turned up at the corners, and he held out a hand. “I missed you.” 

Her eyes softened, and she took it, letting him tug her into his lap. She nestled her head into the crook between his shoulder and neck, he had one arm wrapped around her, the other still shuffling through reports he had to get through by the end of the night. A few more days, and everything should calm down for the holidays. But by then … she’d be gone. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but her breaths had evened out, body relaxing into him, and he was reluctant to interrupt her sleep. Again. Rowan pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

The door swung open, and from the corner of his eye he saw Aelin striding in - looking both irritated and exhausted. She paused, tilting her head to look at the two of them, before a small smile creeped onto her face. Aelin had certainly come a long way, managing to curb most of her jealousy surrounding y/n, at least with him. 

“I’m stealing her,” her eyes said. He narrowed his. “You’ve had her for the last few hours.” 

“She just shifted back.” 

“And?” Aelin shot him an irritating grin, making her way to their side and pressing a kiss to his cheek. She perched up on his desk, shoving some of his papers out of the way. 

Y/n stirred in his lap, lifted her head up. She beamed as she saw Aelin. Looks like Aelin wouldn’t have to steal her anyway. Aelin leaned forward, balancing precariously, and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips, before sliding off the table. 

She cupped one hand around her cheek, tilting y/n’s head to deepen the kiss, the other female moved, brushing against him. His teeth tug into his bottom lip as he bit back a groan, hardening beneath her. The little devil noticed, because she moved again, more intentionally. His hands gripped her hips, holding her firmly in place, she was straddling his leg now, back arching as Aelin kept pulling her closer. Fuck. 

He kissed down the side of her neck, scraping his canines over her pulse point. Rowan kissed over the two small scars on her neck. His mark. Where he’d claimed her. How everyone would know exactly who she belonged to. 

Her arousal started dripping on to him, her hips wiggling to try and get some release, some friction. He dug his fingers into her hips in warning, and she stopped. Aelin let out an edged chuckle. She was always amused by how easily y/n listened to him. Well, how she listened when she wanted to. 

“Please,” her voice was breathy, and he knew she was asking him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her back to meld her body against his. Aelin leaned back against the desk, hands gripping at the wood - lips swollen. 

“Let her.” Aelin shot him a look. She was always soft when it came to her. 

“Go on,” he told her, and pushed gently between her shoulder blades, landing a gentle swat on her thigh. “If you want it that badly, take it.” 

Her head twisted over her shoulder, tilting her head at him. 

“Ride his thigh, petal,” Aelin said. 

He groaned in mock frustration, before gripping her hips again, helping her to start moving. 

“Don’t be mean,” Aelin tutted at him. Rowan ignored her, focusing on y/n, currently growing bolder with her movements, rocking her hips back and forth over them, soft moans and whimpers leaving her throat. Aelin’s fingers white knuckled against the wood, fighting the urge to step in, but flames danced in her eyes, lust glazing over as she watched, scenting the same arousal he did. Three different scents mixing through the room, flooding it. It was strong enough that anyone would know better than to knock. If they wanted their head still attached to their shoulders. 

As much as he liked to tease Aelin, he was equally territorial over her. If anyone else even glimpsed her like this, he’d rip their gods-damned eyes out. 

“I’m close,” she panted, “please please please,” 

“Go on,” Aelin said before he could answer, winking at him. His eyes rolled, but he tightened his grip on her hips, helping her move faster, harsher. 

Her thighs clenched around him, body stiffening, and Aelin leaned forward to swallow her moans, letting her ride out her pleasure. As soon as she started to come down, started to relax - muscles loosening, Aelin swiftly gripped under her thighs, pulling her up into her arms. Y/n laughed as her legs wrapped around her waist, arms draping over her shoulders. 

“You’re invited,” Aelin said over her shoulder as she headed for their bedroom, a sheet of golden hair swishing behind her. Hair he wanted nothing more than to bury his fingers into. The other female buried a laugh, tucking her head into her neck. He scowled. Aelin’s well aware he still has work to finish. A wink, and she disappeared, kicking the door shut behind her. 

-

The next three days passed quickly, and a few tears slipped down her face as she left, but she managed to wipe them away before Aelin or Rowan could see. She would miss them, absolutely, but she was incredibly excited for the trip. For the chance to get to see everyone again - and to visit her home. Well, Orynth was her home, but so was out there. In the mountains, far beyond any of the hustle and bustle of the cities. 

Fenrys shifted first, and she followed - taking off at a steady trot. They traveled in peaceful silence, listening to the various bird calls, water from the streams splashing on stone, pattering of paws against snow. 

Freedom, that’s what this felt like. Majority of their journey was spent in their animal forms - the easiest way to stave off the cold. They hadn’t brought much food with them, knowing they could hunt for whatever they needed. 

They only shifted as they approached the village, a mile or so out. Fenrys had shivered, wrapping his cloak tighter around him. She nudged him in the ribs, “at least act tough, brother.”

He cut a nasty glare at her, but she shot a grin back his way. Y/n thought about making it a surprise, but ended up sending word ahead that she’d be coming with Fenrys. They’d remember him, of course. He’d already made several trips this far north for his duties as Emissary. Although this one was more pleasure than business. 

“Nervous?” He asked, glancing at her. 

She swallowed and nodded. “It’s been a while.” 

Fenrys gave her a side hug, a silent it’ll be fine. She appreciated it. He released his arm as they approached the village, a female sprinting out towards her with a squeal. 

Her cousin, Lida. She shoved her pack into Fenrys’s arms, ignoring his oof, and sprinted towards her. 

-

The decorations in Orynth were beautiful. They always were this time of year, but something was missing. Someone was missing. Rowan held her hand, running his thumb over the back of her palm. 

“We’ll make sure she’s here next year,” he murmured, voice soft enough only she could hear. 

“Every year,” Aelin corrected. “I don’t want her to leave again.” 

“Neither do I,” Rowan said hesitantly, “but we need to be careful.” 

Maybe it’s wrong. It’s definitely wrong. But, Aelin hoped she was feeling as miserable as she was - was missing her just as much. There’s nothing wrong with wanting her mate close by. 

A muscle in her jaw flexed. She was surrounded by all of her court - her family, but without her it didn’t feel complete. Without her and Fenrys. She ran her tongue over the back of her teeth, and refocused her attention on Lysandra’s story. Something about the local ghost leopard population. 

-

“Are you ready to be home?” Fenrys asked. They had about three hours left, and decided to travel the rest of the way in Fae form.  

“I don’t know,” she gave an honest answer, not looking at him. “It was nice to see everyone, and I missed them, but …” 

“You’re not certain how they’ll … be,” he finished for her. Y/n nodded at him, lips pressing into a tight line. Part of her feared Aelin and Rowan wouldn’t let her go again, and she told Fenrys that. 

“I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen,” he’d replied. No promises or guarantees, and she appreciated that. The blanket honesty he always came with. He’d fight for her, she knew that, but if Aelin or Rowan put their minds to something - there isn’t much either of them could realistically do about it. 

The gates came into view, two figures along with it. Aelin had broken into a sprint. Fenrys quickly tugged the straps of her pack off her shoulders, and she sprinted to meet her halfway. 

The impact sent her stumbling back a few feet, but Aelin wrapped her arms around her waist, holding her upright. She breathed in her scent, letting jasmine and lemon verbena overtake her senses. Her mate. The bond between them thrummed with joy, that they were together again - reunited. Like it was mad at her for spending time apart. Another warm body caged her in, somehow managing to twist her around in Aelin’s grip, her face turning to press against a hard chest. He laid a kiss down on the top of her head. 

They didn’t need words to explain it. She felt it - their relief that she was back now, and safe in their arms. The pure possession in their touch filled some part of her, the wanting to be desired - to know her mates claimed her as much as she did them. How she proudly wore her mating marks - never making an effort to hide them, never disguising her scent, wrapped up in theirs so thoroughly everyone knew who she belonged to. As much as she was theirs, they were hers. 

She didn’t protest as Rowan slung her up over his shoulder, tapping her ass lightly as she laughed. He carted her right off to the bedroom, Aelin hot on their heels, and showed her just how much they missed her. 

-

She was still sleeping when Aelin snuck out, no doubt exhausted from the trip and traveling back. Trudging through the forest and snow for days was enough to exhaust anyone - even in animal form. The first person she sought out was Fenrys - who apparently was expecting her, and asked her what took so long. 

“Tell me how it went,” Aelin instructed him. The male let out a slow breath. “All of it.” Aelin added, and his face tightened. Whatever it was, he wasn’t keen on telling her - and a few years ago she may have felt a bit guilty, but when it comes to her mate she wants to know everything. 

“They were very welcoming, and thrilled to see her. She … came alive.” Y/n did seem to be glowing. “It took some convincing to get her to stick to our original itinerary.” 

Aelin could read through those lines easily, she didn’t want to leave. 

“Aelin,” Fenrys cautioned as she felt resentment build up inside of her. “She needed it, she’s already lost so much -” 

“She has us,” she interrupted, but he ignored it. 

“And her family needed her.” Aelin swallowed harshly. He knew exactly what strings to pull. A duty to her people as well, and if some of them needed her mate’s presence, she couldn’t easily deny it. Her oath to the country wouldn’t allow her. “They’re true northerners,” Fenrys switched subjects, “I don’t think I’ve ever been that hungover before. I’d bet gold her family could drink you or Aedion under the table.”

He went on to describe some kind of homemade liquor or wine they made, strong and dangerous apparently. You couldn’t taste the alcohol in it, but luckily y/n had stopped him after the third glass - telling him her family was getting him that wasted on purpose, to test him out.

-

“How was your trip?” Rowan asked, sitting down at the breakfast table. He’d been reluctant to let go of her, at all, and currently she was perched in his lap. He needed the closeness, to feel her body against his - to know she was here and present. 

“It was good,” she said hesitantly, glancing between the two of them, her neck arching to search his face. He ran his knuckles down the column on her neck, her pulse fluttering beneath them. 

“Just good?” He raised her brows at her. 

“Wonderful. I missed them. It’s beautiful out there.” 

“Can’t be as pretty as Orynth,” Aelin mused, taking a sip of her tea. Y/n gave her a small smile, but didn’t comment. He narrowed his eyes at his wife, tucking y/n’s head back into his chest so she wouldn’t see their silent argument. She could always read the words in their eyes, so he ran his thumb over her cheekbone, sure enough her eyes closed at the touch, a small sigh leaving her lips. He’d taken his sweet time to learn all of her reactions, how every touch affected her. 

Are you going to say anything? Aelin teased him. She also knows what he’s doing now. If y/n does, she hadn’t said anything, but he suspects she doesn’t. 

I know what you’re trying to do. Turquoise and gold eyes narrowed at him. Aelin wanted her to say she liked Orynth more, or put some kind of primary claim on their city. Wanted some kind of assurance that she wouldn’t up and move back out there. This is still her home. 

Aelin didn’t look wholly convinced. His arms tightened around her. She’d tried to leave once, when it was just her and Aelin, and he knew that fear always settled in the back of his wife’s mind. That she’d slip through a crack, through their fingers, and they’d lose her. 

I can’t lose her. Aelin said, as if she’d read his thoughts. 

We won’t. 

-

She knew they were speaking, having some sort of silent conversation. Rowan doesn’t know she’s aware of his little trick, but she’s more observant than he gives her credit for sometimes. She’ll never tell them she’s aware of it. Because, even if she can’t hear it - knowing when they’re having it, and what circumstance, tells her plenty. It’s obvious they’re speaking about her - they’ve never hidden talking about state matters in front of her.  

She let out a yawn, covering her mouth. “It’s good to be home,” she mumbled into his chest. “Can we take a nap?” 

“You slept twelve hours,” Aelin chided. 

She twisted her head enough to see her. “And I’ve been running for a week.” 

Her mate’s mouth curved up at one side. “Fair enough.”

-

She waited six months before approaching the subject again, and did so casually over dinner. She hadn’t approached Fenrys yet, but figured she could thro the idea out there. “I’m thinking about visiting again, soon.” 

As expected, they both went preternaturally still. They were going to have the exact reaction she hoped they wouldn’t, but realistically knew they would. 

“Why?” Aelin asked, too casually. 

“I miss them.” She frowned. Wouldn’t that be obvious? 

“You have us.” She countered. “You just saw them at yulemas.” 

“I’d like to see them more, It’s not enough just to -” 

“We’ve always been enough. What’s different now?” Aelin hissed at her. 

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” she snapped. “I need my friends, I need my family, I need you. You can’t expect me to pick and isolate myself from everyone else.” They seemed ready to cut in, but she kept going, “I was embarrassed at how shocked they were to see me,” tears built in her eyes. Her tears were always Aelin’s weakness, and sure enough the female’s face softened - even as Rowan’s remained a solid wall of stone.

“Stop. Crying.” Rowan said through gritted teeth. That only made the tears fall heavier. He didn’t seem to give a damn. “If you’d quit being emotional, we could actually talk about this.” 

She shoved her chair back, rising to her feet. They both rose with her, her fists clenched at her side. “There’s nothing wrong with crying or being emotional.” 

“It keeps you from thinking clearly,” he countered. 

She needed to get out of here. The tension in the room was stifling. Maybe it made her a coward to flee, but she couldn’t, couldn’t handle this right now. She made it one foot from the door, before a shield of flames blocked her exit. White hot anger and rage filled her, how dare she? Slowly, she turned back to face them. Neither of them looked apologetic, or like they thought anything about this was wrong. 

“We need to talk about this.” Rowan said mildly. 

She didn’t care. Maybe she was overreacting, but at this point common sense left her. “I don’t want to talk,” her voice rose, “I want space.” 

“I don’t give a fuck.” Aelin matched her pitch, crossing the room to stand before her. 

-

Rowan watched his two mates scream at each other. Normally, he would’ve interfered by now - diffused the situation, but he was pissed. She wanted to leave them, after she’d just gotten back. Six months is a decent amount of time, but every minute away from her hurt. Did the bond not feel as urgent to her as it did to them? 

“You leave for weeks at a time, why can’t I?” 

“We have duties to our country,” Aelin seethed. 

“I have a duty to my family. Are they not as important?” 

“You’d choose them over us?” Rowan cut in, moving to stand next to Aelin. He wasn’t being fair, and he knew that - but he didn’t care right now. All of their tempers were too hot. 

“I refuse to choose.” 

“And if you had to?” He cocked his head. He wouldn’t make her choose, but he wanted to know the answer. 

She shook her head rapidly, “don’t make me answer that.” 

“It’s a mating bond. You. Can’t. Leave.” Aelin said through gritted teeth. 

Her face was flushed, fists still clenched at her side. “I’m not fucking leaving. Get it through your head.”

“Watch your tone,” he snarled. 

Aelin surged forward, gripping her chin with one hand, and kissed her. Y/n stiffened beneath her, but her body reacted on instinct, lips moving against Aelin’s. He watched - almost in slow motion, as her mind caught up with what was happening, and she shoved Aelin off. 

”You don’t get to kiss me to shut me up.” 

He saw red. 

-

Aelin felt Rowan’s anger, and held up a hand before he could do something he might really regret. He paused, he’d been mid stride heading closer to y/n, and took a step back, body tight and stiff. 

“I’m sorry.” She apologized, half-heartedly. 

“You’re not,” she countered coolly. Aelin shrugged, but noticed how she watched Rowan with pure … terror. She’d never looked that afraid of him before. 

“Rowan won’t do anything to you.” 

Her shoulders relaxed, slightly. Rowan couldn’t hurt her, not really, but she knew if y/n made Aelin upset - hurt her in any way, the blood oath reacted to a potential threat against his Queen. The last thing she needs is for her to be afraid of him, for any more damage to be done. She never wanted to find out whether a blood oath or mating bond would be stronger. Gods know it might take months to unravel the mess they’re in now.

She thought about that time, years ago, when she originally tried to leave. She’d needed to figure out how to keep her, and keep her happy in the process. Aelin had an innate fear that she might leave one day and never return. Politics wouldn’t let her storm into the staghorns and take her back. The bond would likely bring her back, eventually, but she didn’t want to take that chance. 

“Let’s find a compromise,” she offered. 

“Why do I have to compromise when it comes to my family?” She was still spitting mad. Aelin winced at the bitterness in her tone. “Just give me some space, Aelin.” 

The wall of flames still blocked the exit. 

“So you can run away?” Rowan had crossed his arms, but not moved an inch. 

Hurt and betrayal filled her eyes. “You really think I’d leave you?” 

“I don’t know,” she gave her an honest answer. She owed it to her not to lie. Owed her that respect, even if it hurt her. She circled around them, giving Rowan an especially wide berth, and headed towards the bedroom. She watched her, not trailing after her. If she wanted space, she could have it in here - or in the castle. The door closed behind her, and she heard the lock snick closed, as if that might actually keep them out. 

-

Early summer, and the sun was still bright - despite the late hour, soothing and warm on her skin as she braced her hands on the balcony railing. Tilting her head up to feel the sun, her mind replayed the encounter. She hated fighting with them, hated it so gods-damned much. And hated that she could see where they were coming from. 

Choosing. She knew the answer they wanted to hear, of course, but refused to give it to them. He had no right to ask that of her. It’s like asking them to choose between Terrasen and her, and that’s something she’d never request. Not in an eternity, not for the entire life they’d get to live together. Mainly because she knew the answer. Aelin would never abandon her country and neither would Rowan. But, the difference is she’d never make them choose. 

Gods, she’d lost too much already. Her family, the ones left, are something she can’t stand to lose as well. Part of her, a part she needed to shove deep, deep down, was tempted to leave for a while - to prove a point. She pressed her head down against the railing. Prove that she could leave and come back. That she was still capable of having a life outside of them. But who was she proving that to? Herself or them? 

Would it serve any purpose? If she really wanted to go, would they let her? If they dragged her back, it would break her but if they let her go, it would too. 

Maybe some part of her is broken, for even thinking of testing them like that - of putting them and herself through that kind of pain.

The perfect phase had passed, and everything was shattering around her. The sun was setting before her, she needed to do something. Maybe they’d “let” her go down to her workshop. Or she’d argue with them enough til they either had to let her go or knock her out. 

“I’m going down to my shop,” she announced as she strolled back through, sparing a passing glance at them. She seethed internally as Rowan gave her a quick nod. It was probably acknowledgement rather than permission, but everything was out of sorts for her now. Everything was skewed. Her mind shut off as her feet took the usual path, through back halls and servants passageways, avoiding all occupants of the castle. 

Slowly, she opened the door. Everything in here was just as she’d left it this afternoon. Down to the tools strewn around the place, as if she knew she’d need to come back later. Aimlessly, she wandered around the space they’d created for her. 

Something snapped. Tomorrow, she wouldn’t be able to tell how she got to that point, but as soon as she picked up an object - a glass ball, painstakingly painted with small intricate designs - she threw it across the room, watching it shatter on the floor. 

It felt good. She picked up another, and another, watching them all smash to the floor - into a thousand tiny shards.

She didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear the low curses, but heard her name. She whirled around, ball still in hand, arm cocked back. Fenrys. He held both hands up, taking slow steps towards her. His eyes scanned the room, picking up on all of the shattered glass behind her. She took a step back, and back, not registering the glass digging into the bottom of her feet, when did she lose her shoes? Her balance faltered, sending her careening forwards, knees digging into the glass. The pain didn’t register. 

Fenrys called her name again, eyes pleading. She froze, and recognized the look. Haunted by something in the past, in his past. His boots crunched, glass breaking further beneath him. Y/n let him take the small ball left from her hand, watched as he slowly placed it on the table before coming back, offering a hand out to her. 

She took it, rising up to her feet - wincing at the first hint of pain. “Don’t take me to them. Please.” 

He only nodded at her, and carefully picked her up - minding the shards of glass still sticking from her skin. She didn’t feel anything as he took a pair of tweezers, plucking the small bits out. Her body healed quickly, not leaving a scratch behind. He found a washcloth somewhere, wiping the blood away - any last reminders of what happened as well. Finally, he took a seat down across from her. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She shook her head. “Do you need to talk about it?” 

Her throat bobbed, constricting almost painfully, and she nodded. An arm reached across the table, palm facing the ceiling. She placed her hand in his, letting him squeeze, and everything spilled. With the exception of her thoughts about leaving, because Aelin could easily ask him - and he’d feel obligated to tell. But, she could tell he saw where her mind went. 

“I know what they’re doing is wrong,” he started - and she heard the but. “This isn’t an excuse,” he took a deep breath, “Rowan lost Lyria, almost lost Aelin several times, and Aelin almost lost you. That’s what they’re scared of the most.” 

He let the words settle in, waiting patiently for her thoughts. 

“They really thought I'd leave. Permanently.” 

He paused, leaning back in his chair. “You need to make them believe you won’t, that’s the only way they’ll loosen up.” 

“What am I supposed to do? Take them home with me?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “They’re always reluctant to meet my friends, or family.” 

Fenrys let out a big sigh. “Then pester them until one of them comes with you.” 

“It’s a long trip,” she frowned. A long time for one of them to be away from the capitol - and to leave the other completely alone. That would only brew jealousy. 

Fenrys leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “Whitethorn will visit Allsbrook at some point - likely next time the Bane is nearby there. We’ll time our visit - get him to fly his ass over the mountains, a quick trip.” 

“You really think there’ll be a next visit?” 

“I do try to go there frequently,” he grinned. Fenrys had gotten along well with her cousin, who had visited Orynth once in the last few months. She refused to ask any questions about it. “We’ll make it before the next snow hits - the trip will be shorter, you’ll end up away for less time.” 

She groaned, leaning forward to press her head against the table. “I don’t know if it’ll work,” she mumbled. 

“I’ll make it work,” he promised her. “Let me do the talking this time. You and your family are alternating now, correct?” 

She’d forgotten about that. They’d talked about alternating who visits where for holidays, and she couldn’t make a promise - but they’d told her they’ll be in Orynth this coming yulemas. “We’re going to try to,” she muttered, still not moving her head. 

Fenrys rose, and she finally lifted her head. “I’ll take you back up, then i’m having a little chat with their majesties.” 

“Anything I can do to change your mind?” 

He gave her a forced grin and shook his head. 

-

Aelin lifted her head as the door opened, revealing both Fenrys and y/n. Immediately, she noticed the small spots of blood - one on the edge of her dress, one on Fenrys’s hand. The male sent her and Rowan a warning glance, shaking his head once. Y/n didn’t look at them as she headed right for the bathroom. Against all of her instincts, she didn’t follow. Not with the look Fenrys was pinning them with. She heard the tap running, starting a bath. 

“I need to show you something,” Fenrys muttered, jerking his head towards the door. They were both on edge as they followed him. He led them right down to her workshop, and turned his head slightly. “Don’t lose your shit.” He paused, hand on the doorknob. And blinked. She counted, five times. This is real. Her heart dropped to her stomach. What the hell happened? 

Glass. Broken glass covering the entire floor. And blood - y/n’s blood. 

“This is what I walked into.” He said quietly. “She’s like a sister to me, and I don’t know what you’re doing to her, but for fucks sake. Fix whatever the hell it is.” He met Rowan’s glare head on, but she could only stare at the room. 

Aelin swallowed harshly, and could only stare. Had he picked all of the glass out of her? Waited until she healed? Cleaned the wounds for her - like they were supposed to. Months, she’d spent months making all of those little glass balls, and only one remained. Decorated with the Lord of Terrasen, a flame between his antlers - green forest in the background. Yulemas decorations.  

“Why didn’t you bring her to us?” She could sense Rowan’s temper flaring. 

“She asked me not to.” He was leaning back against the wall, eyes still fixed on the glass. “But she managed to get out some of her rage. Anyway, I wouldn’t dare tell you what to do-” 

“Yes you would,” Rowan interrupted him, and Fenrys snorted - rolling his eyes. 

“But maybe consider getting your heads out of your asses. Don’t get me wrong - she’s no angel right now, but try and figure it out.” 

Aelin hissed at the small insult against her mate, and he let out an edged chuckle, before sweeping his gaze back over the room. There was still a haunted look in his eyes, and she knew exactly where he was taken back to. Rowan looked between the two of them, and left without another word. 

“Are you still banned from cleaning up in here?” Fenrys asked her after a few minutes. She huffed out a laugh, but nodded, and watched as he grabbed a broom - starting to sweep all of the glass into a pile. 

“Keep the glass,” she murmured quietly. He tilted his head at her. “She might want to make something else out of it.” He didn’t question her, and she stood as moral support. They talked about everything and nothing - carefully avoiding speaking of y/n. If Fenrys was her confidant, she wouldn’t push him for answers now, even if she desperately wanted to. The back of her head hit the wall as she looked up at the ceiling. If she wanted to know something, she’d ask her directly. 

-

Rowan came in silent, and she tensed - still in the bathtub. He stopped in the doorway. “That was stupid.” 

At least he didn’t mince his words. 

“It was therapeutic,” she countered. He didn’t reply, but his eyes scanned over her body, and she felt his magic reach out - checking for any kind of lingering injuries. 

“You spent months on those,” he finally said. “Why?” 

She leaned forward, pressing her cheek against her knees, arms tugging them close to her body. The water was already cold, and a small shiver went down her spine. “I don’t know. It’s all a blur.” 

He saw the goosebumps down her spine, and grabbed a towel before striding over towards her. He stopped a foot away as her body tensed. “I won’t hurt you,” he promised. 

His rough and calloused palm was warm against her skin, and she let him help her out of the bath. He started running the towel over her body, and she tried to snatch it from him. “I can do that myself.” 

He pinned her with a look, and continued, gesturing for her to turn around. She grumbled the entire way, but laughed as he gently swatted her ass. It felt so … normal, and she leant into that feeling, the moment, and didn’t let the events of the last few hours taint it. 

By the time Aelin came back, she was already in bed - half asleep, half sprawled on top of Rowan, his hand running soothing strokes up and down her back. Wordlessly, they’d agreed to table it until tomorrow. Until everyone had a clear head. 

She blinked her eyes open as the sheets rustled, Aelin slipping in beside her.

Aelin pressed a kiss against her forehead, murmuring “tomorrow,” before moving closer, caging her in between the two of them. 

-

She woke the next morning, wincing at the nausea in her stomach. There was a slight cramp in her legs as well. But .. she’d only had her cycle a week ago, she wasn’t due another one for six months. And, she took her tonics like clockwork. Carefully, she untangled Aelin’s arm from her waist, awkwardly climbing over her, and slid towards the edge of the bed. She’d planned on an early start, to re-stock after her little episode. 

Her feet hit the soft carpet, toes wiggling against it. Gods, she hated dragging herself out of bed in the morning, especially if the two of them were still sleeping next to her. Turning her head over her shoulder, she spotted half-lidded and wary green eyes watching her. She fought the urge to roll her own, he was watching at her like she might flee. Not entirely unreasonable, but he didn’t know that. 

As she stood, pain shot up her legs, ricocheting as her muscles seized. She let out a small yelp, before crumpling forwards, barely tucking her arms in time to avoid breaking her wrist. Rowan was there in an instant, Aelin a second or two behind him. He fell to his knees before her, carefully propping her up with one arm as his magic ran over her. His nostrils flared slightly. “You’re settling.” 

-

A shield of wind covered the room on instinct. 

Rowan saw her eyes widen, tears starting to fill them, the scent of her fear filling the room. Aelin had settled shortly before she met y/n, and it was a difficult process to say the least. It wouldn’t be his first time helping someone through it. He knew how dangerous it was. How vulnerable Fae were during it. She could lose control of her power, or lose her power entirely throughout the process. 

Meeting Aelin’s eyes, her expression mirrored his thoughts. If she thought they were overbearing before … he turned back to y/n. “It’ll be fine,” he assured her, stroking one hand through her hair. “You’re not alone.” 

Months of her body re-ordering its aging process and magic re-adjusting. If she lost her magic .. although he didn’t think she would, it would wreck some part of her. She relied on it for some of her crafts as well, a large portion of which she’d just destroyed. 

She’d already lost it for ten years. To get it back, and have it taken away again … he shoved the thoughts from his mind. If it came to that, they’d handle it. In the meantime - he’d do everything he could to prevent it. 

[insignificant457]

Pierce Brown Light Bringer Q&A

I went to pierces book signing tonight and I will attempt to regurgitate everything I can remember since I didn’t take notes

When asked if there’s any characters he regrets killing off, he said Trigg. But he also said he has a different answer every time someone asks that

He talked about how he writes two different types of deaths—deaths that feel like the end of an arc, and deaths that feel like they cut off in the middle. He said the latter are more like life, and that’s why they hurt more, and why he’s more likely to regret killing them. Trigg is one of these, as is Fitchner

Speaking of Trigg, his aborted arc factored into the decision to add ephraim as a pov character—it allowed him to explore Trigg and his backstory even after he was gone

The other povs in iron gold were specifically chosen because each had a bone to pick with Darrow, and also because he wanted a high, mid, and low color pov

He was complimented multiple times on how he writes female characters, and his response basically boiled down to “I subscribe to the radical idea that women are people”. He said it’s funny that no one ever compliments him on his ability to write complex male characters

Related to the above, both victra and Aja were originally conceived as male characters, but he couldn’t quite make them work until he flipped the gender. He said that after making victra a woman, he immediately knew exactly who she was and she became incredibly easy to write

Speaking of victra (she got a lot of love, as she deserves), someone asked for a random fact about her, and he said she plays Karachi, which is a gambling game, but she doesn’t want anyone to know because she doesn’t want people to think she’s reckless. Everyone knows.

When asked how he feels about Lysander, pierce said “he’s doing his job,” both in universe and as a vehicle for the story. He also said this was always the path he’d imagined for Lysander

Some of his favorite lines are “do not fear for me, pity them” and “worthy”

He called Darrow a drama queen, and said that he often talks out loud while writing, and darrows internal monologues get weird reactions from friends who overhear (“who’s the motherfucking consequence?!?”)

Darrows experience in light bringer (in particular his reading of the path to the vale) was very much inspired by pierces own struggle trying to write light bringer. He said they both had to learn that the right path is not always forward, sometimes you have to go back

Light bringer was by far the hardest book for him to write (he said “if you ever want to know what the hardest book for an author to write was, just look at how long it took to do it) but he said it’s also possibly his favorite

When asked if any characters or relationships surprised him, he said yes absolutely. Sevro was apparently supposed to be a tertiary character, but basically hopped off the page, and victra was another surprise. He also said (light bringer spoilers) the relationship between Cassius and Lyria was also a huge surprise, but he realized on writing their first interaction that they would absolutely love each other

He also said that the snark between Darrow Cassius and sevro just flowed really easily, and that Darrow and Cassius understand each other, but that Cassius simply Does Not Get sevro

When asked about bringing the jackal back as a clone, he said it was an effort to explore cloning in a way that, in his opinion, has not been done particularly well in many other media. He also said it came about because there was more to explore with virginias relationship with her brother

Tongueless was a hat of death kill, but he told us the original backstory he had planned for him. Apparently tongueless was a high up leader of the syndicate, who was deposed by Lilath when she came in and instigated a coup

He said he tries to write using “South Park writing rules”, meaning instead of saying x and y and z happen, he always uses x happens but y happens or y happens therefore z happens. He said this helps keep things from feeling predictable or trite

When asked what he hopes people take away from the series, he said he doesn’t want to say, because he fears that would be showing his hand for red god. But he did say that what he hopes people take away from light bringer is the same thing darrow tells sevro in morning star “we keep looking for the light, but we’re it”

And lastly, in the signing line, I asked him when sevro found out his father was ares, and he told me it was “probably around the same time darrow found out”, and said a lot of that is because sevro had spent a long time hating his father, because he could always sense he was being shut out. He mentioned that children can tell when there are walls there, and it can actually have a very damaging impact on their mental stability (mental instability? I said. sevro? Never.) anyway rip to my sevro joined the sons pre series theory, you will be missed, but it’s nice to have an answer thanks Pierce

Anyway it was a very fun time, if I remember more later I will add it

[kuwdora]

Witcher Recs - Angst & Connection

Witcher fandom has such a wide variety of angsty fic. I come bearing a small recs list of 8 angsty witcher stories today. Angst and pain and tragedy, surviving and sometimes not surviving, but also experiencing comfort in that times of need.

This list features game/book Witcher canons but some of them are a little more ambiguous than others. Rare pairs, side characters, and pain.

Pyres by KushielsMercy. 374w, Teen. Éibhear Hattori character study. Angst. People are always hungry on burning days. 

A short fic but every sentence punches you in the throat, gut, and especially the heart.

On Roads Where I Lost Sight of God by kimikocha. Witcher Aubry, original character, Jad Karadin. Angst, child abuse, rescue, Eternal Fire. 1900w. Mature. In Novigrad, where life is cheap, Aubry finds two elvish children locked away in the basement of a philanthropist's hastily abandoned home. Rescuing them isn't even a question. But to do so he'll have to make it out of a city full of burning pyres, run by an Eternal Fire that's in a mood to set non-humans aflame.

The way Aubry tries to connect with the children as he’s trying to keep them safe, it always gets me.

A Killing Frost by @brighteyedjill. 1323w, Teen. Barmin. Impending character death, sacking of Kaer Morhen. Gardens and gardening. Barmin drew the key from his belt, unlocked the greenhouse door, and closed it behind him. The door did nothing to drown out either the smell of smoke or the shouting and screaming. He ignored it.

Secrets and gardens and pain of impending death and destruction, heart wrenching.

En'ca minne by @eatingcroutons. 2951w. Explicit. Milva/Iorveth. Milva saves the remnants of Iorveth's routed commando, and they stop to rest on the way to Brokilon. This is a missing scene fic about a story that Milva briefly talks about in Baptism of Fire. Elves, group sex, canon compliant.

I adore this fic because Milva absolutely deserves all the nice things. And oh the angsty pain and loveeeee.

A candle in the dark by and_a_dash_of_Angst. 1600w. Teen. Lambert and Yennefer. Childhood friends AU. Child abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, first meetings. Neither Yennefer nor Lambert had anything even vaguely resembling a happy childhood. That hasn't changed; sometimes, though, a friendly face can make things seem a little less terrible.

This is such a great premise and fantastic fic where Lambert and Yennefer meet as children and the friendship they find together amidst their abusive upbringings.

Falconry Basics by @brighteyedjill. 2100w. Mature. Coën & Vesemir. Touch-starved, nonsexual bondage. H/c, platonic BDSM. At the start of the winter at Kaer Morhen, Coën watched the Wolves shed their wariness and relax from being individual witchers into being a pack. They pounced on each other in playful attacks and kept some kind of elaborate scoring system about it. They grabbed hold of one another’s arms to get someone’s attention or make a point. They even tussled in the hot springs, all that naked skin sliding together. They knew each other well enough to understand what was wanted without conversation. Coën watched all that and felt it like an ache, like his skin was bruised from not being touched.

The ache in this fic is so painful and wonderful.

where ever I go (trouble seems to follow) by heronfem. 4,057w. Mature. The Inherent Tragedy of Witchers. Worldbuilding. Mental Health Issues. Ves and Vesemir. “I’m named after you,” is the first thing that Ves says to him when she walks up to where he’s working on sharpening blades. “Don’t make it weird, old man.” Vesemir snorts, unable to quite keep from smiling. There’s battle brewing and more bodies in Kaer Morhen breathing than they’ve had in nearly a century, and still he’s been backtalked by young ones. It’s almost nostalgic. “You are only one of many, many others. The world is a strange place.” Or: The Life and Times of Vesemir of Dol Angra, hero of Lyria.

All the character details that heron sheds a light upon in their work is extraordinary. I have a lot of favorite heron fic and this Ves and Vesemir one holds a special place in my aching heart.

Banishment by @witch-and-her-witcher. 520w. Mature. Iorveth/Iskra. Vrihedd Brigade. Angst. Backstory. Iskra seeks comfort before her fate is decided.

This ficlet. The rare pair of it all, omg. The angst of the impending threat to their lives and the comfort of the moment between two elves that never met in canon. This is a fascinating ficlet to see how these two might connect before the worst moment of their lives

Previously on Kuwdora's Witcher Recs:

Sorceress Femslash Part 1

Villains and Bad Guys Part 1

Istredd Recs

[gatesblue345]

Rambles about Seofon and Proto-Bahamut

You Know I was reading Seofon Relink's fate episodes and I got to say its very funny and kind of infuriating about the fact that the episodes make a whole big deal about Id having Bahamut's powers, but they story completely ignores that the Captain and Lyria also have a Bahamut at their beck and call

And in the Captain's case is also able to access in this case Proto Bahamut's power in some way shape or form.

It just makes me wonder what Seofon's reaction be to Proto Bahamut especially seeing it for the first time because imagine having a secert power that's so absurdly broken that you can get away with holding back all time because you're just that strong.

Then realizing your friends also have a kind of secret power with them expect their power is just a nuke that game states outright can and will cause the end of the world if given a chance.

Like it would be really funny to watch Seofon, leader of The Eternals to kinda lose his shit at the fact that like Proto-Bahamut does exists and really is a menace.

Because in my own headcanon Proto-Bahamut existence feels like a rumor that would been spread around the Skydom about the Grandcypher crew considering how rarely Proto-Bahamut is even summoned in the first place like it doesn't feel like it would be common knowledge the the Grandcypher does indeed have access to Bahamut until like way later in their journey when they gained a lot more fame and respect.

Like a it would be a tall tale that would have been spread in Bars and other places especially after the end of Arc 1. Because Seofon totally would have investigated the Grandcypher Crew after the end Arc 1 to figure out how extacly everything went down and would have dismissed the supposed "Dragon" rumor considering he probably has a good idea on how it all went down to begin with.

So to imagine Seofon watching Proto-Bahamut blow up whatever poor monster that was the target and creating and entire temporary hole in the clouds in the aftermath always makes me smile because I can just see his geniune awe and Surprise faced in my mind.

I've said it before because the Sky Realm is so lucky that the Captain, Lyria, and also Vryn are the ones who have control of Proto because if anyone else had it the Sky Realm would probably be in tatters.

It also especially make me wonder when are they going to pull the trigger and just outright state the Proto Bahamut's power are also apart of the Boundary's power because the specific color combination of Blue and Purple that is associated with the Boundary only appear in one other place and that when the Captain or someone else like Id is using a Bahamut's power.

Like we know that the Omnipotent was a Bahamut Dragon and we know that the Omnipotent = The Boundary basically thank to MSQ.

[euphoniumpets]

NO MOURNERS, NO FUNERALS | CHAPTER ONE

Prompt: ''Run, run, that's all we ever do from our past but it will come back haunting us.'' You paused, staring into the brown eyes that you once had fallen in love with. ''Do you think it'll stop before we even die?''

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. 

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x heartrender! reader

Warnings: ptsd, mentions of dead corpses, violence, blood and gore, alcohol, slight minor description to rape to the reader, but not fully.

A/N: season two had me hooked and it was definitly worth the wait! Tag list are still open if some of you want to be tagged.

Taglist: @natsgaygf @lyria-skyfall @crystallizedtime

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten

THERE WAS A LOT that Y/N Brekker had learned about Ketterdam within years of living there in the strange city. It had been far too much information for a girl, simply twelve at the time to learn, but of course, it was easy enough when the first advice she had been given to adapt. That the person that Y/N could no longer be, not that she wished to be that girl anymore as it was too much of a reminder of the before, of everything bad that once happened to her.

Within a matter of days, the once kind girl who still had her innocence and who was scared of the dark became the every thing that everybody warned her about. Now, at seventeen, Y/N Brekker was the kind of person who you would dare to look at when she walked on the streets of Ketterdam.

During her times in Ketterdam, it taught her many things, even if the girl didn't wanted to admit it, but it had. It was anything if it came down to women like her. That woman who could bat their eyelashes and make the men drop their knees at any second. Tell them what they wanted to hear, dropping their secrets without a second thought.

She remembered the first time she arrived in Ketterdam, and remembered her first victim to kill. It wasn't pleasant and she still could hear how their bones and heart beat dropped. She would like to think it was an accident, that she was just trying to protect herself that night, but Kaz would often tell her that they'd deserved it and promised himself that no one would touch you.

Y/N remembered well when she met Kaz and Jordie for the first time. It was a bittersweet memory for her, when she thought back at the old times. She had escaped from the little palace when she was young, her parents tried not to give her to the second army, but it was too late for them to join Y/N in Ketterdam.

Both of her parents was a heartrender, and it was the only gift that Y/N promised herself to cherish it one day, and when the firepox happened, the only ones who did survive the disease was Y/N and Kaz. They both promised each other to rebuild and take back what was theirs.

Thunder boomed over Ketterdam as Y/N walks through the bustling streets, trying to get to the crow club. Her hood blocks from the view as she walks through the shadows and tried not to drag the attention to herself. After a few moments, she slithers from the shadows, removing her hood and strutting into the club.

Upon noticing, the girl noticed that a ceritan friend wasn't guarding the door. Walking inside, a gunshot rings through the club.

Oh, Jesper.

Thinking to herself as she shook her head disapprovingly while the Zemeni boy winks at her before he reached for the money. Before the boy could reach it further, you noticed the familiar crow on the cane at the table. ''No loud noises at the table, Jesper,'' Kaz commented, slightly shaking his head.

''You'll scare of the pigeons,'' He told him. ''Wouldn't that boss,'' Jesper replied as Y/N approached them. ''Shouldn't you be on the door?'' Kaz questioned as he took off his cane and placed it back on the ground. ''Yes, boss,'' Jesper walked away from them while you patted the boy on the shoulder before uttering away.

''You and your birds,'' Y/N replied as Kaz turned to face her. ''I never understood your fascination,'' Y/N commented and tilted her head as she saw the slight smirk forming on his face. ''Yet, you have the crow pin back of your head that I gifted you for our anniversary,'' Kaz remarked, nodding at Y/N who had her hair up as the crow pin that Kaz gifted for her tied back of her hair as an hair accessory.

''I could say the same, admit it, you're liking the cane I brought it for you,'' Y/N teased him, making him chuckle at her comment as Y/N saw Rotty approaching them upstairs. ''Early for an action, innit, Kaz?''

''Mrs. Brekker,'' Rotty greeted you with a nod.

''What do you want, notty?'' Kaz questioned him. ''Someone stole a Dekappel from a merch's private residence last night,'' Rotty replied.

''Is that so?'' Kaz questioned, sharing a look with you. She really tried not to snort at his comment. ''It's a painting, a landscape of Ravka, the fold, oil parchment,''

''I know who Dekappel is,'' Kaz snapped. ''Well, he don't do nudes, so, I've never heard of him,'' You wrinkled your face in disgust. ''Go get it, Rotty,'' Rotty reached into his coat and pulled out a miniature painting of it. ''Worth something like a 10,000 kruge,''

Kaz takes one look at it before looking through the club. ''The thief had to get past four roving guards, high fences, padlocked doors, and a security system designed by one of them Grisha witches,''

''Fabrikator,'' You corrected him. ''Whatever, the point is, either it was a group effort or a ghost,'' You smirked, knowing it was her job due last night that Kaz had assigned her to.

''Why does this concern me?'' Y/N heard Kaz question next to her. ''I've got a buyer lined up, legit money, so, if you hear a whisper,'' Rotty winks and clinks his tounge. ''Who can hear a whisper in here?''

-

''I wonder where that painting is,'' You replied with a smirk forming on her face as they walked away from Rotty. They climb up to the stairs and into their office that they shared together at the crow club. Kaz holds the door open for Y/N before closing and locking it in. Kaz turned and sends a smirk to the painting.

''Yes, it is a strange thing, who would be able to pull that off,''

''Uhm, me?'' You questioned and tilted your head toward Kaz. ''You're the one who stole it,'' Kaz replied and rolled his eyes. ''It was an easy job anyways,'' You remarked, walking to the bed and sat on it.

You doesn't pay the attention to Kaz as he took his gloves off as he began to wash his hand. The room was silent before you heard a thump appear. Another heartbeat and you guessed it was Inej.

''Hello, Inej,'' Kaz greeted her. ''What information do you have for me tonight?'' Kaz questioned her as you and Inej shared a nod of greeting. ''A lead on a job, a big one, enough to change lives,'' Inej replied before taking off her mask.

''It doesn't take much to change someone's life in the barrel,'' Kaz stated. ''It's true, a little goes a long way here,'' You replied as she turned her head to look at the petite girl.

''How about a million kruge?'' Inej spoke, making Kaz froze and look up at her in the mirror. You knew that Kaz would do anything for the money. ''What's the name?'' Kaz questioned her.

''Dressen, a wealthy merchant,'' She informed.

''I've heard of him, he could affort it,'' You told Kaz as their gaze locked with each other. ''The question is, what's worth a million kruge to him?'' Kaz questioned. ''He's looking for a crew willing across the fold into East Ravka and bringing back something,''

Kaz turned to look at Inej and you narrowed her eyes with curiosity. What could be so important that they were willing to across the fold?

''The Fold?'' You asked her. ''Well, of course, certian death pays a million,'' Inej looks down as Kaz turned arount to face at the mirror again. ''He didn't say to what he wants nicked?''

''No,'' Inej responded, still looking at the ground. ''But, he's taking meetings, tonight, starting at midnight,'' inej informed them. ''Tell me you follow him,'' Kaz responded and looked at her, making Inej slightly roll her eyes. ''Of course she did, you always underestimate her, Kaz,'' You commented.

''He brought someone in from a ship, took a way back to his house into the Garden District to avoid attention, I would have followed him inside, but Dreesen hired some privaty security, I would have had use to my knives to get closer,'' Inej explained with a smirk.

''Private security?''

''It must be something big if he needs that,'' You muttered to yourself, making Kaz nod at your statement.

''A Zemeni man, I think his name is Tendo, you know him?'' Inej questioned.

''Yes, he gambles at Pekka's clubs, so, I won't have leverage on him, but Pekka will,'' Kaz replied. ''And how do you plan on getting that leverage?'' You questioned, raising an eyebrow toward Kaz. ''I'll find a way, you know that I always does,'' Kaz remarked as he walks over to his desk.

-

let me know what you think! remember, reblogging always helps!

the tag list is still open, please comment or send be through inbox to put me on the tag list!

[readychilledwine]

Ready Chilled Wines Maternity Celebration MasterList

As you all have figured out, or are figuring out, my baby girl is here if these are posting instead of being little previews 💜

I will be away for a little bit, but I'm checking in when I can, so please do not be offended if I cannot get back to you right away.

(An update on Lizzy and baby will be posted here by baby daddy once she is actually here. He says this is the only time he will do this, and we love him for that)

One shot fics:

Little One - Azriel x Rhysand's Sister Oc - after arriving home for the first time in 50 years, Rhysand is shocked to find someone so small in his sister's arms. (Fluff)

Happily Ever After - Lucien finds himself in familiar arms After Elain rejects the bond (Lucien x Spring Court Oc) -angst w happy ending

Thrive - After being sent to the Spring court by her new High Lord, y/n Vanserra is in for a bigger surprise and welcome home than she could have ever imagined. (Smut)

All That Glitters - Helion x Night Court Oc - Helion has read books on the fae for years, studying their anatomy, their lives, and their habits. When Rhysand sends him a pretty illyrian emissary for trade negotiations, though, Helion jumps on the opportunity to learn about the female wing structure - Helion x illyrian!oc - (wing play, NSFW, porn with little plot)

Pen Name - A romantic evening between lovers is interrupted when Cassian and Rhys want to bitch about Sellyn Drake's newest novel. - Azriel x reader - (teasing, fluff)

Thread and Finery - the three Vanserra siblings are about to attend Lyria's first Night Court Solstice party, so the three of them do what they do best. Coordinate outfits. Lyria, Lucien, and Eris - (a farewell message, sibling love, fluff)

Runaway Love - Amren and Rhysand's sister have begun to grow closer since Feyre took her duties from her. Amren, seeing she's hurting and needing time away, invites her friend to Summer, she just didn't plan on happened next or having to explain it to Rhysand - Tarquin x Rhysand's Sister Oc - told from Amren's pov - (love at first sight, fated mates, elopement, against brother's wishes)

Fire and Ice - y/n Vanserra has always had a sound head on her shoulders. Unless it comes to the High Lord of Winter. Then she is nothing more a puddle of mush under his touch - reader x Kallias (NSFW, Smut, temperature play, friends to lovers, mutual pinning)

Light in the Hallway - Everything is finally peaceful in Autumn. Eris is High Lord, y/n is his High Lady, and peace has settled across the Court just in time for the arrival of Eris's firstborn. -Daddy!Eris x reader - told from the perspective of y/n spying on Eris and the babe - (fluff)

Solstice Specials:

From This Day Until Our Last - Azriel and Lyria - fluff and smut - what do you buy the male who says he has everything he could ever want?

For Rich or For Poor - Rhys and Rhiannon - Rhiannon and Rhys struggle with finding each other the perfect solstice gift NSFW

Pack Mentality- Eris and Amelia - fluff - it's an Autumn Court tradition for males to present their mates with a kit, and Amelia just wants to gift Eris something he struggled to walk away from.

The First Noel - Rhys and Aelia - angst to fluff- Rhysand knew he could never live up to the standards the Winter Court had for Solstice. But it's the thought that counts, right?

[shyvioletcat]

~ MASTERLIST ~

While we wait for Taylor Swift to break our hearts, thought I might dabble a bit in that myself. We get a bit of insight into Rowan this chapter and I lent into canon a little bit. This is the *ADVICE* prompt thanks to @throneofglassmicrofics.

CW: Off page character death

~~~~~

Rowan liked his new house, it was practical, easy to maintain and the neighbourhood turned out to be nicer than he was expecting. The street was quiet, nothing more than the occasional backyard party disturbed him the nights after work or on the weekends. Unless he fully committed to choosing the true life of a hermit and hid away far off in the mountains, Rowan couldn't escape all human contact. And besides his purposefully casual interactions at work and the obligatory check-ins with his friends and family he was managing to avoid the unnecessary kinds. He’d been informed more than once that this outlook wasn’t healthy, but it was how he managed. Especially today.

Today marked three years to the day the life he had known shattered into pieces. Time had dulled the constant ache, but this date still haunted him. Rowan had moved here once the haze had cleared enough that he had the drive to seek out a new job and a new start. Or he might just have been running away, his personal reasoning usually depended on his mood. 

It had been like any other day, Rowan was making dinner waiting for his wife to get home when the phone had rung. In the middle of stirring the butter chicken that Lyria had specially requested out of the blue, he hadn’t bothered to note who the caller was. His blood ran cold at the first words: this is Doranelle General Hospital. After that he was given the instructions that he needed to get to the hospital as soon as he could. 

The drive went by in a blur, but he’d got there. When he gave his name received a look that was full of sympathy and he knew. Rowan knew right then and there but he forced himself into denial. It was hard to ignore when a doctor rounded the corner next and led Rowan to a private room to tell him the devastating truth.

There was a car accident.

Lyria had died.

She was pregnant.

Rowan had sat there, stunned, devoid of feeling, because of the one little fact that he didn’t know. Lyria was pregnant, she was pregnant and she hadn’t told him. Rowan had left the hospital a broken man and three years later he still hadn’t been able to piece himself back together. 

It was a rare thing for Rowan to take a day off work, but that was for the better. His mood was foul and people didn’t deserve to have that inflicted on them. Each year it got better—no, easier—and he didn’t know if it was a bad thing or a good thing. The shame and guilt of not being there when he should have would plague him forever. 

To keep the demons at bay he chose running. This was his fourth lap around the block, everytime he had approached his front yard he’d told himself one more, he wasn’t ready to go home just yet. So he pushed himself for another, then another, and despite the burning in his lungs and the lagging of his feet he might just go around again. Rowan might just have if his neighbour pulling into her driveway hadn't pulled him up. He slowed down to a jog when he saw the car approaching the driveway so she wouldn’t have to stop for him. 

It had been about a month since their first interaction and they hadn’t had another since. She remained the only niggling irritation Rowan had with living here. This woman had come at him so viciously and he was still feeling the need to defend himself. He had watched her almost drop her baby just to get the bins down to the curb. Anyone with any sense would have accepted the help instead of making a point. 

That irritation rose when she slowed down so much that Rowan basically had to stop on the path. He got it, he really did, but anything and everything got to him today. In the end he used this as an excuse to go home. Maybe he could force some food down and see if he could sleep off the rest of his mood. Rowan walked on the path in front of her lawn and as he took out his earbud he caught sight of her waving him down. Confused, he stopped just watching as his neighbour walked across the grass. 

“Hi,” she said tightly, obviously not pleased about the conversation she had been the one to start. 

Unable to do much else, Rowan matched her energy. “Hi.”

Those unusual eyes narrowed at him, and not wanting to be the focus of her ire he shifted his attention to the baby she was holding. It was a mistake. Looking at her was like a shot to the chest. She had brown eyes and hair, her tiny fist was curled from where it clung to her mother’s shirt. What sent him staggering was that this child’s colouring was so similar to Lyria’s. An ill-timed reminder of what could have been. His neighbour talking gave him something else to focus on. 

“I snapped at you, I’m sorry,” she said. 

The scoff he made was involuntary, as were the words that came out of his mouth next, no chance to temper them against his anger. “It must have been so hard to track me down. It’s been a month. You’ve had plenty of chances to apologise before now.”

The woman all but reared back, at this point Rowan didn’t care about the verbal lashing he was going to get. 

“Take my advice,” she all but hissed, shifting the baby in her arms—shifting her away. “Don’t be a dick when someone’s trying to apologise.” 

That was their conversation done, the still nameless woman stomped across her lawn and into the house, the front door not quite slamming but obviously closed with some force. Rowan was well aware all he had done was add fuel to the fire, and it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as he did. He didn’t have the energy or time for this, the best thing for him to do was ignore his volatile and irksome neighbour. Something that would be more than easy for him to do.

~~~~~

After copious amounts of editing I only went over by 42 words, which is a pretty good effort.

[sarahjswift]

Here is the third chapter of spotlight on me, baby where are you? (Originally a one shot named “emails I can’t send”)

I’m having so much fun writing this series!

Word Count: 1.7k

Enjoy! Please let me know what you think! 😚

~~

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Well, she couldn’t do that in the peace-killing device she wore. Aelin was pretty sure her dress was slowly suffocating her.

“At least you look hot,” Lysandra had shrugged when Aelin had mentioned this to her best friend and stylist. “And that’s all that matters at the Grammy after party, isn’t it?”

Now, Aelin blew out a breath as she stared out the tinted window to the building before her. Everywhere, celebrities were exiting their luxury vehicles and sashaying their way towards the party. She thought they looked like ants crawling over their nest.

“Ready?” Aedion, sitting on the other side of the car, asked. He was clad in sweats and a white T-shirt, hair pulled back. Lysandra leaned against him, a hand on her boyfriend’s knee, the green-eyed beauty wearing a simple black dress. For a moment, Aelin was overcome with a devastating envy; not just for her friends’ obvious bliss in their relationship, but for their life. After the Grammys performance, their job was done, and they could drive home and relax on the couch, watch Netflix, and go to sleep.

Not Aelin. No, because of the life she’d so desperately wanted, she’d squeezed into her dress and was carted off into the limo moments after the exhausting event that was the Grammys. Now, she would spend the next five hours maintaining her perfect image, avoiding the cruel paparazzi and pandering to the ones she knew her agent had paid. She’d be lucky if she got to sleep before five in the morning. That is, if she could sleep at all.

Aelin couldn’t help feeling alone. She’d never tell anyone else this, of course; complaining about her life just felt privileged and spoiled. The only person who truly understood was…

Was…

Gone. Somebody else’s to love.

Snapping back to reality, Aelin forced a smile and nodded. “Of course.”

She turned back to the window and took a final breath, closing her eyes as she let her face melt into the mask she’d perfected over the time since her break into the industry; the arrogance, the casual beauty, the always-present amusement. Looking over her shoulder, she shot her friends a wink before the door opened and she stepped out onto the street.

Instantly, she was overwhelmed by the chaos of it all; the flash of the cameras, the shouting of the paparazzi.

“Aelin, over here!”

“Aelin, how did it feel to perform at the Grammys without any nominations?”

“Here, Aelin!”

“Aelin, who are you wearing tonight?”

“Look here, Aelin!”

“How were the Grammys, Aelin?”

“One smile, Aelin!”

“Aelin, how did it feel to perform your pointed single in front of ex Whitethorn?”

A wave of cold washed over Aelin, and she swallowed and locked her spine. Plastering a smirk on her face, she moved toward the entrance, letting her hips swing with every step. She felt and saw the lightbulbs flash, and kept her eyes on the entrance. The guard at the door gave her a smile and a nod, stepping aside to let her in. Aelin walked through the threshold and sighed, shoulders slumping for one second before she forced her posture perfect again.

Here we go.

__

The music was too loud.

Much, much too loud - meant to drown out the chatter of the industry’s finest. Rowan wondered how much people paid to have their music played at events like these.

“Rowan?”

Rowan blinked and looked down, straight into big brown eyes. Lyria smiled softly up at him, the action lighting up her face from pretty to beautiful. She reached out, curled her fingers around Rowan’s dress shirt and tugged. Obliging her, Rowan leaned down, turning his head so she could whisper into his ear.

“Can we go find the rest of the group?” she asked, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. Rowan pulled back and nodded, offering her his arm to take as they left the room. Instantly, the chaos of the main room was muted as they stepped into a hallway. “Oh, it was agonizingly loud in there, wasn’t it?” Lyria asked.

“I don’t understand why they always crank the music up to the top volume,” Rowan grumbled, shaking his head. “I was about to lose feeling in my ears.”

Lyria giggled, a soft, breathy sound. “Good thing I saved you.”

“Good thing.”

They made their way through the crowds, craning their necks to find the rest of The Cadre. Rowan welcomed the quiet Lyria offered him, letting his mind wander. He still felt shaky, totally on edge. How could he go on through this stupid party, full of vain, vapid people, after what had happened just two hours before? He didn’t know how he’d held on so long without breaking down, honestly. Most likely thanks to Lyria’s sweet presence.

“There!” the girl in question said, pointing through the crowd. Rowan instantly saw the backs of the heads of Gavriel, Fenrys, and Lorcan, and began gently tugging Lyria towards them. He felt his spirits rise at the thought of talking to his friends, debriefing the Grammys, discussing the awards…They reached the group and his friends turned, letting him see who they were all talking to -

Oh, gods.

Oh, fucking gods.

Standing there, in all her glory. Dressed in a tight red dress that stopped mid-thigh and hugged every curve, sleeveless with a dipping neckline. A gold necklace was draped across a perfect collarbone, drawing the eyes to a delightful amount of cleavage - just enough to tease but modest enough to maintain control. Golden hair swooped back with gold clips, two perfect strands framing the face..that face. High cheekbones. A pair of full lips painted red to match the dress. Darkened eyelashes and a cat eye to accentuate those blue, fiery eyes.

At the sight, Rowan almost fell to his knees.

He thought half-hysterically that far below him, some dark god was laughing his ass off as Rowan drowned in those eyes…that perfect shade of blue, that untamable fire he’d always adored…

Rowan forced his gaze away from Aelin Galathynius, and just like that, he was in control again. His legs were once again steady and strong. His heart, on the other hand, was still hammering like he’d run a race.

“Oh, Rowan!” Gavriel stammered, looking nervous. Rightfully so. Rowan was going to kill him once they were out of here. “We - we were looking for you, but we couldn’t find you guys…” His voice trailed off, most likely thanks to the death-promise that was undoubtedly in Rowan’s eyes.

“We were in the main room,” Lyria replied for him. “It got too loud for Rowan, though. Old man.” She chuckled, patting his arm.

Old man. Rowan wondered if Lyria knew what she was doing, making that joke. He dared a glance…

Her eyes were full of flame, lips pursed. His gaze dropped to her hand, currently holding a flute of champagne, and watched her slender pointer finger tap against the glass, an almond nail clacking against the surface. Her tell, one that no amount of media training could stamp out of her. She was angry.

Rowan felt the ghost of a smile around his mouth. He loved the sight of Aelin Galathynius in a rage.

No. He tamped down on the thought before it could go any farther.

He knew why she was mad. He let the train of thought carry him away, to better times…

Old man…

Old man…

—“You old man!” The fond joke he’d grown accustomed to hearing. He’d rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair, smirking at her shrieks of fake rage.

“Sorry, we’ve got to get home…this old man here needs to be in bed before eleven.” The excuse she’d give their friends whenever his hands would trace below her lower back, or when he’d press pleading kisses to the back of her neck when nobody was looking. It was his favorite insult, given that it usually led to fingernails dragging down his back, a head thrown back in ecstasy, pleasure unlike he’d ever known.

“You’re such an old man.” The words he’d beheld in her eyes after his stiff and formal introduction to her father. She hadn’t even had to say anything for him to understand. He’d thrown her a wink and pressed a kiss to her mouth, reveling in her delighted laughter, arms around his neck. He’d pulled her to him, hugging her tight, breathing in her lemon verbena shampoo. Glancing up, he’d seen her father watching them at the door and knew the sight had won the man’s approval more than any conversation would. —

Rowan pushed away the memories. The joy of those days had now turned to despair. The once-beloved words, old man, as sacred as phrases of love, felt distorted and dirty coming from Lyria’s pink lips. Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to speak-

“Rowan can’t stay in one place for long before he leaves, can he?”

All heads whipped to the cool-faced beauty standing before them. The words were dripping with acid, but in a voice so melodic it almost didn’t pierce Rowan’s heart.

Almost.

Gavriel, Fenrys, and Lorcan shifted, all finding the floor, their drinks, the ceiling suddenly riveting. Rowan swallowed and squared his shoulders. “Aelin-” he began.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had that problem with my boyfriend,” Lyria’s soft voice floated up from next to him, edged with a steel he’d never heard before from her. “We left because I wanted to.” She turned to him, smiling, and stroked his cheek once before letting her hand fall and grasp his tightly. “He’s always so responsive to my needs,” she said sweetly. Honeyed words, meant to choke.

Aelin’s nostrils flared, and she cocked her head in a move so animalistic a distant voice in Rowan’s mind wondered if she was descended from a leopard. A terrifying smile graced her mouth, eyes frozen in rage. Part of Rowan shrank back as his gaze darted from woman to woman. One feline and dangerous, the other doe-eyed and deceptively soft.

The soft part of Lyria, he saw, had gone as quickly as her loyalty to Aelin.

Aelin took one step forward. A single step, that had the entire group bracing themselves. Her words were breathy and tinged with dark amusement.

“Let’s see how long that lasts, sweetheart.”

@aelinchocolatelover @renxzs @throneofshadows @mariaofdoranelle

[acourtofthought]

Elucien accepting their bond actually does the most good for bonds in general if you look at all past mating bonds.

Feysand? Feyre was in the dark for a very long time and never knew exactly why she felt connected to Rhys.

Nessian? They both felt drawn to the other but again, they weren't certain why until their book. Cassian suspected she might be his mate but Lucien once suspected Jesminda was his and it wasn't proven until SF.

Vivianne and Kallias? Their bond took decades to snap into place.

Thesan and his lover? Still waiting for a bond to snap.

Bryce and Hunt? Took some time getting to know one another before they felt there might be a bond between them.

Aelin and Rowan? Shared a bed together for months and were just friends before their bond snapped.

Then we have Rhys's parents whose bond snapped immediately and they turned out to not be a perfect fit.

We have Rowan whose fake bond with Lyria snapped when they met in the market and she turned out to not be his real mate.

We have been given example after example of characters having successful mating bonds only after one or both characters remained in the dark for an extended period of time. But the examples we're given of a bond immediately snapping haven't had happy endings.

Right now the narrative suggests that a character cannot be given full disclosure and end up happy with their mate, that the information has to be hidden from them so they are none the wiser as to why they're drawn to the other person.

Before a fated mates author decides to go the route of a broken bond (if she ever even does), wouldn't it make more sense for her to explore how two characters finding out right from the start can still end up gloriously happy with a soul bond after their initial reluctance considering that would be the first time she's explored that storyline in detail?

[unholygengar]

A duel of hot and cold

Breakfast was a tense affair. Lyria and Cregan sat across from each other, the silence between them thick with unresolved anger. Both were too stubborn to be the first to speak, their pride keeping them locked in a standoff. The clinking of utensils on porcelain was the only sound that filled the room, each bite a testament to their stubbornness.

Lyria finished her meal first, pushing her chair back with a slight scrape that seemed louder in the quiet. She stood, ready to leave without a word. As she reached the door, Cregan cleared his throat, a sound that halted her in her tracks. 

"Behave," he said simply, his tone brooking no argument.

Lyria didn't turn around. She nodded once, and continued out of the room, her steps echoing down the corridor. 

Back in her chambers, she stripped out of her stormy blue gown, feeling the weight of it lift from her shoulders. She needed to clear her mind, and there was no better way than with physical exertion. She donned her battle attire, dark brown leathers detailed with black thread, a thick black belt cinching her waist. The outfit made her look more like a warrior than a lady, a wolf in human form. Her hair was braided away from her face, tied high at the back of her head, swaying with each step as she walked.

As she moved through the long hallways of the keep, those she passed did a double take. Maids whispered amongst themselves, their eyes wide with surprise and curiosity. Lyria paid them no mind, her focus on the tasks ahead. She had no time for their gossip.

Her leather-clad form cut a striking figure, a stark contrast to the refined and delicate appearance she had worn the night before. Her innocent doe-like face belied the fierce spirit within, and her attire now reflected that inner strength. As she walked, the whispers followed her, but she remained resolute, a wild wolf in a den of dragons.

It was the third day in King's Landing, but for Lyria, it was her first morning without a "good morrow" from the princess. Despite the short time they had known each other, Lyria had grown accustomed to Helaena's presence. They were so different, yet so alike in many ways. The absence of her soft-spoken friend left a void that Lyria couldn't ignore. She made a mental note to find the princess later on; perhaps they could indulge in conversation under the weirwood once again.

But before she could enjoy simple pleasures with Helaena, Lyria felt the need to be physical, to train in the art of bladed battle. She'd been granted the right to wield a sword since the age of eight. Cregan has convinced their father it would be good if Lyria could fend for herself. Rickon Stark had cared little about his daughter, his disappointment in her gender obvious for all to see. Despite her father's disinterest, Lyria still thought that if she showed promise with a sword, then maybe—just maybe—he would look at her with fondness, the same way he looked at Cregan.

As she made her way to the training grounds, she recalled the countless hours spent perfecting her technique, driven by a desire to earn even a fraction of her father's approval. The memory was bittersweet, but it fueled her determination. The open space of the training yard beckoned her, the clanging of swords and the grunts of effort from others already engaged in their morning practice filling the air.

Lyria found herself overlooking the training grounds from an elevated terrace, a vantage point that allowed her to observe the activities below. Her eyes were drawn to a pair engaged in a fierce duel. Aemond Targaryen was sparring with one of the Kingsguards, the same guard she had often seen standing behind the queen since her arrival in the capital.

Aemond moved with an elegance that seemed almost unnatural, his strikes precise and deliberate. Each motion flowed seamlessly into the next, his sword an extension of his will. There was a quiet intensity in his demeanor, a focus that suggested he was always several steps ahead of his opponent. His movements were economical, every action serving a purpose, conserving energy for when it was most needed. He wielded his blade with a calm confidence, the one-eyed prince showing no hesitation, no wasted effort.

In stark contrast, the Dornish Kingsguard fought with a ferocity that was both captivating and intimidating. His style was aggressive, each attack explosive and charged with raw power. He moved like a storm, his sword crashing against Aemond's with the force of a hurricane. Yet, for all his aggression, there was a rhythm to his movements, a controlled chaos that balanced perfectly against Aemond's calculated grace.

Their duel was a dance of contrasts, each fighter's strengths and weaknesses complementing the other. The Dornishman pressed forward with relentless energy, forcing Aemond to parry and sidestep, his movements fluid and adaptive. Aemond, in turn, responded with swift, precise counters, exploiting the brief openings left by his opponent's more forceful strikes.

Despite their differing styles, the battle seemed evenly matched. Neither appeared to have a clear advantage, each pushing the other to the limits of their abilities. The clash of steel echoed through the training grounds, drawing the attention of other spectators who watched with rapt interest.

Lyria couldn't help but admire the display of skill and determination. Aemond's grace and precision were mesmerizing, a testament to countless hours of rigorous training and discipline. The Dornish guard's explosive power and relentless drive were equally impressive, a reminder of the raw strength that lay beneath his polished armor.

As she watched, she felt a surge of inspiration. The sight of two warriors, so different yet so evenly matched, resonated with her. Strength came in many forms, knowledge her first instructor drilled into her mind. The men before her were a testament to that lesson, that mastery had many paths. The key to true skill lies in comprehending and maximizing one's abilities, be it by grace, cunning, or strength.

Lyria continued to watch the intense sparring match between Aemond and the Kingsguard, their movements a blur of calculated strikes and powerful counterattacks. The duel seemed to go on forever, each combatant refusing to give any ground. The contrasting styles created a mesmerizing display of skill and strategy. 

The Dornishman’s ferocity would have overwhelmed a less disciplined opponent. Each swing of his sword was powerful and deliberate, meant to break through Aemond's defenses. His footwork was swift and unpredictable, attempting to catch Aemond off guard with sudden bursts of speed and aggression.

Aemond, however, remained calm and composed, his one eye never leaving his opponent. His movements were smooth and fluid, each parry and riposte perfectly timed to deflect the Dornishman’s strikes. He conserved his energy, waiting patiently for the right moment to strike. His precision and control were evident in every motion, as if he were playing a game of chess rather than fighting a duel.

As the battle wore on, it became clear that both fighters were tiring. The Dornishman’s attacks grew less explosive, his breathing more labored. Aemond maintained his calm exterior, but his footwork became less graceful, his moves becoming less calculated. 

Then it happened—a small mistake, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye. The Dornishman overextended on a particularly forceful swing, leaving his side momentarily unprotected. Aemond seized the opportunity with lightning speed. He sidestepped the blow, bringing his own sword up in a swift, decisive motion. The tip of Aemond's blade stopped just short of the Dornishman’s throat, the cold steel a stark reminder of the consequences of even the smallest error.

The Dornishman froze, his eyes wide with the realization of his mistake. For a moment, the training grounds fell silent, the only sound was the heavy breathing of the two combatants. Aemond’s expression remained focused, his grip on his sword steady as he held his opponent at bay.

"I yield," the Dornishman finally said, his voice breathless but respectful. He lowered his weapon, acknowledging Aemond's victory.

Aemond stepped back, lowering his own sword. A hint of a satisfied smile played at the corners of his mouth, though his expression remained otherwise stoic. He offered a hand to the Dornishman, who accepted it with a nod of respect. The crowd of onlookers began to murmur and clap, recognizing the skill and determination of both fighters.

From her vantage point, Lyria couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration for Aemond's prowess. The duel had been a masterclass in both strength and strategy, showcasing the prince's dedication and training. It was as a prime example of the intricacy and allure of combat, where a single error could bring disaster.

As the two men stood conversing about sword-fighting strategy, Lyria descended from her vantage point above the training grounds. Her steps were deliberate and confident, her gaze sharp as she approached the array of sparring weapons laid out before her. She searched intently for something akin to her preferred twin sai, but to her displeasure, such weapons were not among the choices. Instead, she settled for the closest approximation: two wakizashi-type blades. Heavier than her usual weapons but still manageable, they felt familiar enough in her hands.

With her chosen blades, Lyria strode directly toward Aemond and the Dornish Kingsguard. Her confidence was palpable, drawing the attention of both men. The Kingsguard, Ser Criston Cole, was the first to notice her. His eyes quickly scanned her unconventional attire, an unreadable expression on his face. Aemond turned shortly after, amusement flickering in his eye as he observed her approach.

"I must say that your sparring gave me joy to view, quite the show," Lyria commented, her voice carrying an edge of challenge.

Ser Criston nodded appreciatively while Aemond remained silent, his gaze fixed on the blades she held.

"Thank you, Lady Lyria, you honor me with your kind wor—" the Kingsguard began, but Lyria's eyes flickered with impatience, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"I wish to duel," she stated bluntly, her tone brooking no argument.

Ser Criston looked taken aback, his surprise evident as he struggled to find a response. Aemond, however, seemed intrigued, a pleased expression settling on his face as if he had been waiting for something interesting to happen.

"My lady... I'm not certain that you should be indulging in such activities, and I do not wish to harm a lady—" Ser Criston began to protest, but Lyria interrupted him once more, her lips curling into a confident smile as she twirled one of the blades.

"Not against you," she clarified, turning her full attention to Aemond. She pointed one of the wakizashi at him, a daring grin playing on her lips. "The prince Aemond is who I wish to duel."

Ser Criston looked as though he might object, about to lecture the wild girl on how she shouldn’t point her blade at a royal, but Aemond raised a hand, silencing him before he could speak. The one-eyed prince met Lyria's gaze and stepped closer to her, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"No, Ser Cole," Aemond said firmly, his eyes never leaving Lyria's. "I accept your request, Lady Wolf. But it brings me no pleasure to defeat such a fickle thing as yourself..."

His words were a taunt, a provocation designed to test her resolve. Lyria's grin widened, her eyes flashing with determination.

"Then let's see if your blade is as sharp as your tongue, Prince Aemond," she retorted, her stance shifting into a ready position.

The gathered onlookers murmured in both anticipation and judgement, their attention riveted on the unexpected challenge that had emerged in the training grounds. Aemond and Lyria circled each other, the air between them crackling with tension as they prepared to duel.

Aemond wouldn't be the first to strike. Despite his readiness, he found himself hesitating at the thought of engaging a woman in combat. Yet, the look on Lyria's face made him question that moral for a moment. It wasn't an aggressive or determined expression like Ser Criston Cole's, nor was it the stoic mask he himself often wore. Instead, she wore a grin—wide, genuinely joyous—that transformed her doe-like features into those of a ferocious beast.

Before Aemond could fully process the sight, Lyria launched herself at him with a speed that caught him off guard. Her initial strike was blocked, but she spun around him with a fluidity and agility he hadn't anticipated, forcing him to turn swiftly to keep up. There was that grin again—manic, almost wild.

Aemond swung his longsword with calculated precision, knocking one of her blades from her hand. He expected this would make her back up, perhaps even yield. But Lyria only closed the distance, her small fist colliding with his ribs. The force behind the punch startled him.

"Interesting," Aemond thought, briefly caught off guard.

He shoved her away, creating space between them, but the sound of her laugh—light and almost musical—lingered in the air, unsettling him. The tales of Northerners in battle he'd heard were of burly men attacking with brute force, relentless until the Stranger claimed them. The opponent before him defied that image entirely.

Lyria pressed forward again, unrelenting. She moved with the grace of a dancer, each step purposeful and every strike calculated. Her remaining blade sliced through the air, aiming for openings in his defense with a precision that belied her playful demeanor.

Aemond parried and countered, the clang of their blades ringing out across the training grounds. He could feel the eyes of onlookers on them, the tension thickening with each passing moment. He found himself adjusting his stance, responding to her movements with a newfound respect.

Aemond's strikes grew more aggressive, aiming to break through her defenses and end the duel swiftly. Yet, Lyria matched him blow for blow, her agility and tenacity making up for any disparity in their strength. He could see the focus in her eyes, the thrill of the fight reflected in her every move.

In a swift maneuver, she feigned an attack to his right, only to spin and strike from the left. Aemond narrowly avoided the blow, his eye widening in realization—she was testing him, pushing him to his limits. And he found himself rising to the challenge, determined to meet her skill with his own. It never crossed his mind that he would find a worthy opponent in such a small wolf.

Their duel continued, a dance of steel and strategy, neither willing to yield. Aemond's initial hesitation was long gone, replaced by a fierce determination. He could see the same fire in Lyria's eyes, a mutual respect growing between them with each clash of their blades. Despite the newfound respect, the prince wished not to be bested by a little lady.

Finally, he saw an opening and capitalized on it, disarming her last blade with a deft flick of his wrist. Yet, even unarmed, Lyria did not back down. She moved with the same fearless intensity, her fists now her weapons. Aemond blocked her punches, feeling the strength behind each strike, his free hand found her braid, yanking her harshly, her back forced against his chest, leaving her to be pinned between him and the sword now held against her throat.

Lyria groaned as a burning sensation surged through her scalp, her chest heaving with exertion, but that grin remained on her face. Aemond held her gaze, recognizing the fierceness of the wolf within her. That’s when he felt it— something pressing against his breeches. His eye darted down, finding a dagger aimed at his crown jewels. Had their duel been a real fight, Lyria would be dead, yet there she stood— amused.

“Yield. You cannot win, wolf. I have bested you.”

The pressure of the blade increased but remained harmless. Lyria’s head turned just enough for their eyes to meet, her face flushed red from exertion. He thought the northern lady would’ve been disappointed at her loss, but the grin remained, their bodies still pressed together.

“Aye. I have been bested, but I would’ve taken your manhood with me… That remains a win in my book.”

Now it was Aemond who was amused, a small smirk grazing his sharp features— all that showed while he experienced much more within, something that could only be described as arousal. Aemond had never encountered a woman like Lyria before. Her boldness was astonishing, her spirit wild and carefree, unrestrained by the typical decorum he was accustomed to at court. In King's Landing, ladies were expected to be demure, reserved, and subservient. They played their roles well, adhering to the rigid expectations placed upon them. Lyria Stark, however, was a force of nature, challenging those norms with every breath she took.

As he stood there, his sword still at her throat, he couldn't help but marvel at her. The thrill of their duel still buzzed through his veins, the memory of her laughter echoing in his ears. She had fought with an intensity and joy that he had rarely seen, her every movement filled with purpose and passion, like a dance. She was a contradiction—a fierce warrior encased in the delicate frame of a lady.

Aemond's mind raced with questions. Were all the women of the North like this, or was Lyria an exception? The stories he had heard painted Northerners as stoic and hardy, their women strong and resilient, but none had mentioned this wild, almost feral spirit that Lyria embodied. Her every action spoke of a life lived in freedom, unburdened by the constraints that bound so many others.

He studied her face, her chest still heaving from their exertion, her eyes alight with the remnants of their combat. She met his gaze without flinching, her grin prominent. There was no fear in her eyes, only a fierce determination and an unspoken challenge.

Aemond's gaze shifted from amused to confused as he saw crimson blood suddenly gushing from Lyria's nose. Had she pushed too hard? No, that couldn’t be it; she didn’t look too tired. He lowered his sword from her throat, and on cue, she sheathed her blade, bringing her free hand to her face. The carefree expression was now long gone, her gaze faltering. She turned away, one hand still trying to stop the gushing blood from her nose to no avail. 

The prince had no way of knowing the haze that took over Lyria's mind or the ringing in her ears. All he could see was her staggering steps and the blood falling to the ground. Aemond took a step forward, unsure what to make of the situation, hearing a low “shit” from Lyria before she turned to look at him. In seconds, she had gone from looking carefree to that of a sickling, the blood still flowing from her nose.

"I need Cregan... now..." she muttered, her voice weak. She turned to start walking—where? He wasn't sure, and she did not make it far before her body gave out. Before her head had the chance to hit the ground, Aemond caught her, holding her body as it started to shake. That’s when he saw it: her eyes wide open and milky, her face and throat painted red by blood while her body continued to convulse. 

Was this a seizure? He had never seen something like this before and was at a complete loss.

Unbeknownst to the prince, Cregan had watched their duel from the terrace overlooking the training grounds, having come across it while they were in the midst of sparring. He had witnessed the tension between his sister and the one-eyed prince and felt displeased by the sight. That displeasure was replaced with worry as his eyes caught on to the blood escaping her nose. He descended the stairs quickly, but not fast enough. By the time he reached the training grounds, his sister was already seizing, her body tensing and shaking beyond her control. 

He arrived by her side, the scene having caught the eyes of onlookers. Without hesitation, Cregan ripped his tunic, pressing the garment against her nose in hopes of slowing down the bleeding; then he saw it—milky eyes. His face remained stoic as he grabbed Aemond's hand, pressing it to the piece of cloth that covered Lyria's nose.

"Keep her on her side," he ordered.

Aemond didn’t question the Warden of the North, watching the young Lord stand and look around, seemingly searching for something or someone. Soon enough, Cregan found the milky eyes that matched his sister’s: a guard stood still as a statue as he approached, his lips moving and quiet murmurs escaping him. Once Cregan was close enough, he could hear the words the guard spoke while his body was not in his control.

"Winter is coming... The long night will doom us all..."

Those two sentences were repeated over and over until the man tensed. His eyes returned to normal, but the spirit within the guard had been ruined by whatever he had seen. Everything after that happened all too fast. The man screamed, wished for the Mother to show him mercy, and for the gods to forgive him. He brought his sword to his throat and slit it open without a second thought, ending his life within seconds.

Cregan turned around, sped back to the prince and his sister, swiftly hoisting her into his arms and leaving Aemond without any explanation as to what had occurred. The prince stood, his eye scanning the witnesses as he cleared his throat.

"This will not be spoken of. Clean this mess—oh, and if word gets out about this, I will know it was one of you. Punishments will be in order for those who act against the order of the prince. That is all."

With that, Aemond exited the area with haste, following the path Lord Stark had taken. His mind raced with questions, but he knew he had to find answers.

As Aemond made his way through the keep, he paused to instruct a passing servant. "Fetch the maesters and my father," he ordered, his voice firm. "Now." He might not have known exactly what had happened to Lyria, but he knew it was far from normal.

By the time Aemond arrived at Lyria's chambers, her brother had already laid her on the bed. Her face was pale, and Cregan was gently cleaning the dried blood from her skin, the crimson liquid no longer flowing from her nose. Aemond's concern deepened as he observed the stark contrast between Lyria's usually lively demeanor and her current state of unconsciousness.

Moments after Aemond entered the room, a maester arrived, followed by his sister Helaena, their mother Alicent, and their grandsire, Otto Hightower. Lyria lay motionless on the bed as the maester joined Cregan at her side, beginning his examination. Though Cregan seemed somewhat reluctant, he didn't prevent the maester from performing his duties.

Alicent was the first to break the tense silence, her stress evident in her posture and the way her hands were clenched against her chest. "What happened?" she demanded, standing by the entrance with Otto. Her eyes darted between the Northerners and her second son, searching for some sort of explanation.

Cregan rose from his sister's side, turning to face the royal family. "A seizure, my queen," he said solemnly. "They are few and far between, but my sister has had them since she was a mere child."

The maester nodded in agreement, also stepping away from Lyria to address the queen and the Hand of the King. "She will wake in due time. I fear she will only feel fatigued," he assured them.

Otto Hightower dismissed the maester with a curt nod, allowing the tension in the room to settle slightly. Helaena, however, left her mother's side, ignoring Alicent's attempt to stop her. The princess quietly moved to a chair beside the sleeping lady, her worry evident as she studied Lyria's features.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the soft rustling of Helaena's dress as she settled into her seat. Aemond stood by the doorway, his gaze shifting between his unconscious sparring partner and the family members gathered around. The unsettling events of the morning weighed heavily on his mind, and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Lyria Stark than met the eye.

Cregan, still standing by the bed, finally spoke again, his voice low but resolute. "My sister will need rest. I appreciate your concern, but I must ask for privacy."

Alicent hesitated, her eyes filled with worry, but she nodded. "Of course," she said softly. She cast one last, lingering glance at Lyria before turning to leave the room with Otto.

Aemond lingered a moment longer, his eyes meeting Cregan's in a silent exchange. He gave a curt nod before following his family out of the chambers, leaving Helaena by Lyria's side.

As the door closed behind them, the room was enveloped in a heavy silence, the only sound being the soft, steady breathing of the sleeping Northern lady.

Cregan noticed that Helaena hadn't left the chambers. He glanced at her, but didn't question her presence. Instead, he approached the bed once more, looking between the princess and his sleeping sister. "You seem quite fond of my wild sister... I'm sure the feeling is mutual, princess," he remarked.

Helaena didn't look away from Lyria, her fingers playing absently with the folds of her gown. "Our spirits are sisters. I shall remain by her as she will me."

Cregan furrowed his brows, refraining from questioning the princess' cryptic words. He brushed a few stray strands of hair from Lyria's forehead before backing away from the bed. "I shall see to your father, the King—inform him of what has happened and that I take full responsibility." He paused, glancing at Helaena. "I trust you will stay here?"

The princess nodded, a silent affirmation that gave Cregan the assurance he needed. With a final look at his sister, he exited the room, leaving Lyria to rest in the company of her newfound friend.

The room fell into a serene silence, the only sound being the soft breaths of the sleeping lady. Helaena remained seated, her gaze unwavering from Lyria. She felt a profound connection to the Northern girl, one that transcended words and rational understanding. The princess gently reached out, her fingers brushing against Lyria's hand, a silent promise of companionship and support.

Outside, Cregan walked with purpose through the halls of the keep, his mind racing with the events that had just transpired. He had to ensure the King understood the situation and that Lyria's condition was managed with care. As he approached the King's chambers, he steeled himself for the conversation ahead, knowing the gravity of the situation required his utmost resolve.

As Cregan approached the grand doors of the King's chambers, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation ahead. He knocked firmly, and a guard opened the door, allowing him to enter.

King Viserys sat on his ornate chair, looking more tired than usual, yet his eyes held a warmth that was reassuring. Beside him stood Aemond, his expression unreadable as he observed the Northern lord approach.

"Your Grace," Cregan began with a respectful bow. "I have come to inform you of an unfortunate incident involving my sister, Lyria Stark. She experienced a seizure during a sparring match and—"

Viserys raised his hand, gently stopping Cregan mid-sentence. "Lord Cregan, your concern for your sister speaks well of you, but there is no need for further explanation. My son Aemond has already informed me of the situation."

Cregan's eyes flicked to Aemond, who gave a slight nod. The King continued, his tone calm and understanding. "Aemond explained that your sister's condition is a medical one, and that it was an unfortunate event during training. As for the death on the training grounds, he has assured me that it is not something we need to worry about."

Viserys' gaze softened. "All powers stemming from magic can be unpredictable at times. I hold nothing against you or your sister for what happened. It is clear that neither of you had any ill intentions, and I trust that Lyria will recover with time and care."

Cregan felt a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Your Grace. Your understanding is greatly appreciated."

Viserys nodded. "Ensure that your sister receives the care she needs. If there is anything we can provide to aid in her recovery, do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I will make sure she is well taken care of."

As Cregan turned to leave, Aemond stepped forward. "Lord Cregan, if I may," he said quietly. "I am genuinely concerned for your sister's well-being. If there is anything I can do, please let me know."

Cregan paused, studying the young prince's face. He saw no malice, only sincerity, something that he didn’t think was possible for the stoic young man. "Thank you, Prince Aemond. Your offer is appreciated."

With that, Cregan exited the King's chambers, his mind a bit lighter from the conversation. He made his way back through the keep, thoughts racing about how to best care for his sister and navigate the complexities of their situation in King's Landing. Despite his sister’s state, he wasn’t too concerned. The unintentional skinchanging had happened once before and that situation had been a lot more critical than the one they faced in the present time. There were laws on skinchanging, laws that the northern Lord remained grateful for the South to be unaware of.

Cregan made his way to his chambers, the weight of the day's events pressing heavily upon his shoulders. The corridors of the Red Keep, with their cold stone walls and distant echoes, did little to alleviate the tension knotted in his muscles. Each step felt heavier than the last, his mind a whirlwind of worry and exhaustion.

Once inside his quarters, Cregan took a moment to lean against the closed door, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. The familiar scents of the North, faintly clinging to his belongings, brought a brief sense of comfort. He summoned a servant and requested a hot bath and supper, hoping that some physical relief would calm the storm within him.

As he disrobed and sank into the steaming water, Cregan felt the heat begin to work its magic on his tense muscles. The warmth enveloped him, soothing the aches and pains from both his travels and the recent upheavals. He let his mind drift, focusing on the simple, physical sensation of the water instead of the complex and troubling thoughts about his sister’s health and their precarious position in King’s Landing.

He replayed the events of the day in his mind, from Lyria’s sudden seizure to the unsettling death of the guard. The image of his sister, her face pale and streaked with blood, was a haunting one. He knew that their presence in the capital, surrounded by political intrigue and potential enemies, only heightened the stakes. Lyria’s episodes were unpredictable and often misunderstood by those who were unfamiliar with her condition, making their situation all the more delicate.

After what felt like an eternity, Cregan reluctantly left the bath and dressed in more comfortable clothing. A tray of food had been laid out on the table: roasted meats, fresh bread, and a flagon of wine. The sight of the hearty meal brought a small measure of comfort, a reminder of home amidst the strangeness of the South. He ate slowly, savoring each bite, trying to let the simple act of eating ground him in the present moment.

As he finished his meal, he couldn’t help but think of Lyria again, her fierce spirit now replaced by the image of her unconscious and vulnerable.Despite the day’s challenges, Cregan’s determination to protect his sister remained unwavering, and he vowed to navigate the treacherous waters of King’s Landing with the same steadfastness that had seen House Stark through countless trials before.

Feeling somewhat renewed, Cregan allowed himself to rest, hoping that sleep would bring him the clarity and strength he needed to face whatever the morrow might bring. As he lay down, he sent a silent prayer to the Old Gods, asking for their guidance and protection for both himself and Lyria in the days to come.