#showing up to Starfall with glitter around his eyes

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Azriel would look so fucking good with dark, sparkly eyeshadow, fuck 🥵

[historiaxvanserra]

I'm back from the grave and here is my offering (a witchy azriel teaser for this spooky season)

The antechamber of the temple would have once been a great Colosseum; hung with garlands of cypress and belladonna, and lit up with the seraphic blue light from the braziers. The fragmented frescoes on the walls depict the great scenes of myth; of Diana and her, white stag, and Ennialus' defence of the mountain pass. I watch the Shadowsinger as he looks skyward at the high, domed ceilings, which many years ago had borne stained glass motifs of our people and the histories that coloured our songs. 

"It-it's beautiful." His voice is thick with an emotion I had not anticipated.

Reverence.

For this place and the people who had built it, all those lifetimes ago.

"This place, Azriel," I look to him and for a moment, when my eyes meet his, all gold and bronze, I see him as he is. "was sacred to our people."

Now, the aching chasm of the temple is something akin to sacrilege; the air tastes of ashes in my mouth. The fetor of decay and petrichor lingers in the stagnant air, like festering fruit flesh. Only alleviated by the acrid smell of incense smoke and vervain that smothers the scene like a shroud.

In the pale, sapphire light of the star, the shards of stained glass cast a myriad of blue light onto the sacred stone. From here, the world is obscured by the gossamer haze that glitters like spun spider-silk.  Like the veil between two worlds.

Azriel follows the trail of dying foxglove and cypress to the dias. He approaches with a strange caution as he regards the altar atop; crafted of find, dark marble and littered with offerings. Amphora’s of mead and wine, and coins minted with the faces of Illyria’s first princes. He can’t remember their names now. But theirs is a story Azriel and I know well.

A mournful testament of sovereignty and subjugation. 

As he approaches the foot of the altar I watch Azriel as he observes the carcass of a stag; splayed open, and ravaged. The beast’s ribs have been prized apart to show the hollow chest cavity.  An aching empty chasm, as hollow as the antechamber of the temple’s ruins. All that’s left of the beast is an assortment of crow picked bones. Left to rot and ruin in this forsaken grove. 

Movement beyond the altar has Azriel drawing his lethal blade and advancing until he is halted in his tracks by the devastating force of the temple’s archaic protection wards. 

"You must lay down your weapon if you hope to cross the threshold."

This had been a place of peace, I explain. They may not be his God’s anymore but he should know better than to reckon with the divine. 

From the darkness a woman emerges.

"Who comes here?" The voice is wane and ghostly as it echoes off the crumbling stone.

The Pythia stands before the altar shrouded in swathes of direwolf fur that form a ruff around her collarbones like that of a raven’s dark plumage. Her head is veiled in translucent spider silk that refracts technicolor in the pale light of the new moon and the lengths of her hair are loosely braided down her back and foxglove blooms are interwoven into their milky white tresses. 

"Azriel, The High Lord's Shadowsinger." The Pyhtia laughs. A terrible, awful thing, devoid of humour and full of taunt.

“Azriel son of Raphael” The Pythia corrects him, her voice a mournful howl that ricochets around the chasm of the temple. Her gnarled finger beckons him closer still, the thick yellowed nails that have been filed to a point drag against the marble stone of the altar as she retreats to her throne, adorned with splintered animal bones and dying foxglove blooms. 

It is then that Azriel casts his gaze up to the terrible alabaster eyes of the Priestess. He swallows thickly and sheaths his blade and he sinks to his knees at the foot of the altar. Judging from the glint in his eyes his father's name hits him like a curse.

“The night of Starfall,” He recounts, "I felt something- a shift in the earth."

"It scared me." His voice sounds unlike his own, a tender and aching sort of plea. 

The woman muses on his words; her weathered face twists into grim contemplation as she casts her bones onto the altar, divining meaning in their shapes. I cannot be certain that those bones foretell anything at all. But the Pythia gives him a satisfied hum and reaches out an aged palm to him. 

Azriel remains cynical as his hand clasps around the Pythia’s.

He is so very lovely in this light, I think. Swathes in dark shadows and cast in the dying light of the blue star. He looks like some dark prince of Hel.

The Priestess intones her mass and I feel the air turns frigid as her power passes through him; something dark and archaic. As she calls on the Gods of Old and falls into a dreamlike trance. The plumes of incense smoke seem to shroud her then and through the blanket of the dark all l can see are her eyes; milky and alabaster through the din. 

My Illyrian companion flinches as her grip tightens, her yellow claws drawing blood from the wretched skin of Azriel’s scarred palms. The ferrous smell of iron permeates the air and I am certain that I feel the pull of that dark power in my own chest when she begins to speak; her voice hoarse and grotesque as she calls out: 

“The thread of fate is severed and another is forged; from my power I bestow power upon you, and from my life-- life.”

[separatist-apologist]

What do you think about the theory that Rhysand was never supposed to be the main love interest? I can kind of see it, but was curious about your thoughts.

I disagree vehemently, and I would argue that there were a million obvious hints in ACOTAR that show Feyre was always going to end up with Rhysand. I think two things can be true: that she loved him and he was always going to be her first love AND that Rhysand was always meant to be her last love.

But just to back it up:

As early as page 15, the infamous:

I slung off my outer clothes onto the sagging dresser- frowning at the violets and roses I'd painted around the knobs of Elain's drawer, the crackling flames I'd painted around Nesta's, and the night sky-whorls of yellow stars standing in for white- around mine.



And then again, on page 31 when discussing why she'd chosen Isaac as a lover:

Relatively handsome, soft-spoken and reserved, but with a sort of darkness running beneath it all that had drawn us to each other, that shared understanding of how wretches our lives were and would always be.

When Lucien pays Feyre his backhanded compliment on page 53, he uses familiar night imagery often used to describe Feyre:

Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.

Here, on page 87, an amusing bit of foreshadowing about Feyre's future:

Prythian was ruled by seven High Lords- perhaps this she was whoever governed this territory; if not a High Lord, then a High Lady. If that was even possible.

When Feyre is faced with the Bogge and wants to look, she soothes herself (pg. 90):

I stared at the coarse trunk of a distant elm, thinking of pleasant things. Like hot bread and full bellies....A starry, unclouded night sky, peaceful and glittering and endless.

On 116, when Feyre finds the map of Pyrthian of all 7 territories, only one is spared any detail outside of the place she currently resides:

The other six courts of Prythian occupied a patchwork of territories. Autumn, Summer, and Winter were easy to pick out. Then above them, two glowing courts: the southernmost one a softer, redder palate the Dawn Court; above, in bright gold and yellow and blue, the Day Court. And above that, perched in a frozen mountainous spread of darkness and stars, the sprawling, massive territory of the Night Court. There were things in the shadows between those mountains- little eyes, gleaming teeth. A land of lethal beauty.

On 125, Feyre considers what she might want if she were immortal:

Did Tamlin or Lucien ever grow tired of day after day of eternal spring, or ever venture into the other territories, if only to experience a different season? I wouldn't have minded endless, mild spring while looking after my family- winter brought us dangerously close too death every year- but if I were immortal, I might want a little variation to pass the time. I'd probably want to do more than lurk about a manor house, too.

The first time Feyre really starts to relax around Tamlin and find joy in Prythian and her circumstances is at the pool made of starlight, which is such a long passage I'm just glossing over. Tamlin does comment she makes TWO jokes that day, and I'm choosing to draw a parallel between this moment and in ACOMAF when Feyre smiles for the first time after her ordeal under the mountain during Starfall. Feyre feels most at peace surrounded by starlight. [pg 159ish]

On 169, when Feyre thinks of her nightmares:

And though my dreams continued to be plagued by the deaths I'd witnessed, the deaths I'd caused, and the horrible, pale woman ripping me to shreds- all watched over by a shadow I could never quite glimpse-I slowly stopped being so afraid.

When Feyre can't stay away on Calanmai / mating bond language that SJM loves (pg. 183):

There was a string- a string tied to my gut that pulled me toward those hills, commanding me to go, to hear the faerie drums...

And then obviously this, on page 188:

Standing before me was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen

Like Feyre, Rhys is couched in Night imagery (pg. 189):

As if he'd been molded from the night itself I could have sworn tendrils of star-kissed night railed in his wake (190)

On 235, when Rhys goes to visit Tamlin, he alludes to the fact that he has his reasons for aligning with Amarantha, which are later explained in ACOMAF:

Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons

Also Feyre describing Rhys through the entirety of the scene in the Spring Court dining room is like...a brick to the face (starting page 234): 

Rhysand smiled- heartbreaking in its beauty.

His voice dropped to a whisper- an erotic caress of sound that brought heat to my cheeks

Rhysand laughed- a lovers laugh, low and soft and intimate

And from the way darkness seemed to ripple off him, from those violet eyes that burned like stars...

No- I would never dare to pain that dark, immortal grace-

Rhysand, when he realizes Feyre (who he is beginning to suspect might be his mate) is there (pg. 237):

A flicker of excitement- perhaps even disbelief- flashed across his features

Again, described in the same night imagery:

The sunlight didn't gleam on the metallic threads of his tunic, as if i balked from the darkness pulsing from him

on 310, when Amarantha demands Rhys explain the mix-up with humans, she thinks this when he lies:

Humans all look alike...I didn't believe him for a second. Rhysand knew exactly how I looked- he'd recognized me that day at the manor.

On 312, once again hating Rhys but thinking this about him:

She must have allowed him more power than the others, then, if he could still inflict such harm while leashed to her. Or else his power before she'd stolen it had been...extraordinary, for this to be considered the basest remains.

The obvious on 328:

"Yes, I'd say almost my entire court bet on you dying within the firs minute; some said you'd last five, and"- she urned over the paper- "and just one person said you would win."

Amarantha frowned at her list, and she waved a hand. "Take her away. I tire of her mundane face. " She clenched the arms of her throne hard enough that the whites of her knuckles showed. "Rhysand, come here."

The bargain of chapter 37, too numerous to detail (this is already so long)

The entire scene of Feyre in his bedroom, but especially this on page 342:

Indeed, it was still Rhysand's face, his powerful male body, but flaring out behind him were massive black, membraneous wings- like a bat's, like the Attor's. He tucked them in neatly behind him, but the single claw at the apex of each peeked over his broad shoulders. Horrific, stunning- the face of a thousand nightmares and dreams. That again-useless part of me stirred at the sight, the way the candlelight shone through the wings, illuminating the veins, the way it bounced off his talons.

344:

They grabbed for me, but he bared his teeth in a mile that was anything but friendly- and they halted. "No more household chores, no more tasks," he said, his voice an erotic caress. Their yellow eyes went glazed and dull, their sharp teeth gleaming as their mouths slackened. "Tell the others, too. Stay out of her cell. And don't touch her. If you do, you're to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. Understood?

When Rhys is trying to get a rise out of both Amarantha AND Tamlin on 349:

The Faerie Queen straightened a little bit- even Jurian's eye seemed fixated on me, on Rhysand. For the rest of my life- he said it as if it were going to be a long, long while. He thought I was going to beat her tasks.

Page 355, when they're talking (more mating bond foreshadowing):

Sadness flickered in those violet eyes. I wouldn't have noticed it had I had not...felt it-deep inside me.

His help in the second task, but especially this pep talk when she's breaking down over the thought of nearly dying on 366:

Don't let her see you cry. Put your hands a your sides and stand up. Stand. Don't give her the satisfaction of seeing you break. Good. Stare her down- no tears. wait until you're back in your cell. Count to ten. Don't look at Tamlin. Just stare at her. Good girl. Now walk away. Turn on your heel- good. Walk toward the door. Keep your chin high. Let the crowd part. One step after another.

369, this feels blatant:

It took me a long while too realize that Rhysand, whether he knew it or not, had effectively kept me from shattering completely.

Rhys visiting Feyre after that kiss and explaining why he's been making her dance, and what he hopes to accomplish on page 384:

Regardless of his motives or his methods, Rhysand was keeping me alive. And had done so even before I set foot Under the Mountain.

-and-

"When you healed my arm...You didn't need to bargain with me. You could have demanded every single week of the year." My brows knit together as he turned, already half-consumed by the dark. "Every single week, and I would have said yes. " It wasn't entirely a question, but I needed the answer.

A half smile appeared on his sensuous lips. "I know," he said, and vanished.

390:

Darkness rippled near the throne, and then Rhysand was here, arms crossed- as if he'd moved to better see. His face was a mask of disinterest, but my hand tingled. Do it, the tingling said.

394, Feyre once again drawing our attention to Rhysand during this horrible moment:

Rhysand's face had gone pale- so, so pale.

399, obvious foreshadowing:

Rhysand yelled my name again- yelled it as though he cared

400-401, more mating bond language:

Rhys's arms buckled as he fought to rise, and blood dripped from his nose, splattering on the marble. His eyes met mine. The bond between us went taut. I flashed between my body and his, seeing myself through his eyes, bleeding and broken and sobbing.

Chapter 45, when Feyre is dead but tethered to Rhys's soul, like COME ON.

412, more mating bond language as Feyre goes to Rhys:

I was pulled from sleep by something tugging at my middle, a thread deep inside.

414-415, two final scenes:

"You never told me you loved the wings- or the flying." No, he'd made his shape shifting seem...base, useless, boring.

He shrugged. Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me. I tell very few about the winds. Or the flying."

-and then-

His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock- pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled.

Sorry this was so long. It escaped me BUT Feysand was always right there from the beginning. They were always going to be together, from book 1. SJM is a fated mates writer, and I think it's a blatant misrepresentation of the book she wrote to say ACOMAF is a retcon, and Feysand was never going to happen. People are free to disagree with me, of course, and say I'm wrong (but I'm not).

[aldbooks]

Finally came home from work not wanting to immediately crash into bed so worked on the Gwynriel Starfall drabble I mentioned the other day.

So here, have your pain. Be prepared for tears.

TW: discussions of grief, allusions to self harm/thoughts

---

A hush fell over the gathered crowd as the lights dimmed and everyone's gaze turned skyward. It was then Azriel noticed that Gwyn was no longer among the crowd.

Truth be told, he'd been somewhat surprised she'd accepted the invitation to the annual Starfall party Rhys- and now Nesta- hosted at the House of Wind. The Blood Rite the prior year had clearly shaken the priestess, which he did not fault her for in the slightest, but the result was that- according to her friends- some of the progress she'd made towards leaving the Library and the priestess hood behind had regressed. This party was meant to be a reintroduction of sorts to life outside, reacquainting Gwyn with what it feels like to socialize with new people.

She would be safe here, he knew that. Even with all the visiting guests from other courts, between himself, Cassian, Nesta, Emerie and even Rhys and Mor, someone would always be looking out for her should she find herself overwhelmed. Yet, when he looked around a moment before, he had see Nesta, and Emerie chatting with Cresseida, Cassian had been having a lively discussion with Helion, Rhys and Feyre were showing off their son to group of adoring admirers, and Mor and Amren were drinking and laughing in a corner with Vivianne. Everyone was accounted for- except Gwyn.

But he hadn't seen her leave.

He could sense his shadows urging him back inside and he allowed them to lead him as they propelled up through the House and up the stairs to the training ring. There, laying on one of the training mats that had been left out from the morning, with her dress fanned around her legs, was Gwyn.

She didn't make a sound as he approached, just lay there, arms splayed out at her sides, staring up at the night sky where the stars had begun to fall. She didn't even acknowledge him as he crouched to sit beside her but, as he got closer, he noticed a lone tear glittering on her cheek.

Instantly concerned, he reached out to gently swipe it away, growing evermore concerned as she continued to ignore his presence as though she were not aware of him.

"Gwyn," he asked softly. She did not look at him but he saw the slight flicker of her eyes that said she'd heard him. "Are you alright?"

Her lips parted but all that escaped was a choked breath. His shadows immediately slithered towards her, wrapping consolingly around her arm. Some unnamed feeling sparked in his chest at her obvious distress by he tamped it down. "May I join you?"

Carefully, he stretched out beside her, the tips of his fingers a bare inch from hers and for a long moment, neither of them spoke while they watched the sky.

After what felt like hours while his mind swirled with concern, wondering what had upset her so badly, she said-"It's been four years."

He blinked, momentarily nonplussed.

"I haven't watched Starfall properly in four years, since before-" She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't have to.

Since before the attack on Sangravah. Since those brutes had abused her. Since she'd come to the library.

Since she'd lost her sister.

Somehow, he knew it was the last point that bothered her the most.

He said nothing, allowing her to speak her thoughts in her own time. Slowly but surely, she did.

"At first, it was because it had only just happened. I'd barely been in the Library a month. Time- or rather, the passing of it, I suppose, still didn't seem real. Nothing felt real."

There was a painful constriction in his chest as he listened to her and familiar guilt rose in him. She was yet another person he'd failed to save. Sure, she was alive and well now, but he hadn't been able to spare her the pain and indignity of what those bastards had done to her. Had not been able to spare her the horror of watching her twin die in front of her. Hadn't been able to save any of the many of other priestesses who'd lost their lives that terrible night.

"After that I- I stayed in my rooms, didn't even look out the window. It was a punishment of sorts, I think. Because I was here and she wasn't." Her voice became choked, and he knew she'd begun crying again. "She would never see these things again, why should I?"

Azriel felt a stab of pain at her words. Had that not been the exact thought he and Cass and Mor had had that first year without Rhys? Knowing he was locked under that mountain, unable to see the stars they all loved so much, why should they be allowed to enjoy it? Of course, Rhys had eventually come home... Gwyn's sister never would.

"That first year was the hardest," she continued through her tears. "The holidays and celebrations were the worst I think. Catrin and I had always shared them together just like we shared everything. And then I was suddenly alone, and I felt- I felt so lost. Sometimes I hated her for it. For leaving me here with all these memories and all this pain- she left me alone-"

Her breath stuttered as she held back a sob and Azriel felt his throat grow tight.

"There were nights- dark nights- when I thought about- when I wanted to join her...."

Azriel's heart stilled, his body going cold all over as something roared inside of him, screaming in fury at the thought of never knowing this woman. Of not watching her grow and flourish into the warrior he now knew. But he couldn't say the feeling she described was foreign to him.

He may never have lost someone so precious to him that he felt compelled to join them in the beyond. Indeed, he often had to acknowledge how blessed he was that every single soul he cared about was still on this earth. But there had been times if he'd wondered if perhaps they might all be better if he were not there.

He said none of this out loud. He wasn't ready to acknowledge those thoughts, not now. But... one day... She understood, he realized, she would understand, she would not judge him. Perhaps one day, he'd tell her what he'd never told anyone else.

Her soft voice brought him back to the present.

"It wasn't until that first Solstice without her, when I was attending service and the priestess spoke about darkness giving birth to light, and the renewal of the Mother, that I realized I had found solace in those moments int he chapel. In song, in prayer, in reflection... And I realized, she would not have wanted this for me. For me to remain hidden away from the world. She would have wanted me to live..."

She sucked in a shaky breath and when she spoke again her voice was broken. "She would have been so disappointed in me-"

Azriel's heart ached unbearably. He inched his hand to the side, his fingers seeking hers, seeking permission to touch and she allowed it, wrapping her hand around his and squeezing tightly.

"I couldn't bear it- I was disappointed in myself as well. Disappointed that I wasn't ready, that I could barely stomach the thought of leaving this place that had become my haven- my safe port in a storm..."

"It wasn't until I met Nesta- and Emerie- and Cassian.... and you- that I started to feel like I didn't need that port anymore. I could be my own anchor. But I was- am, still scared..."

Azriel was incapable of speaking with the well of emotion in him, so he just squeezed her hand back, trying to convey without words that it was ok that she was still scared. That whenever she was ready, Nesta and Emerie, Cass and himself would all be there to catch her when she jumped.

He would always be there to catch her.

He'd thought his heart had broken as he listened to her describe her grief, but it was the stark regret in her next words that shattered him.

"What if I missed her?"

He didn't know what she meant at first, until he realized she wasn't just looking up at the stars that streaked by. She'd been scanning them, as though looking for something.

"When her soul passed through from this world, what if I missed her while I was hiding away in my room like a coward? I- I never got to say goodbye- what if I missed her?"

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, unable to hold back his own tears any longer. After a moment, he managed to say. "So say it now. Say goodbye. I'm sure- wherever she is, she hears your heart. She knows." He turned his head to look at her and found her looking back at him with a fathomless expression that begged for absolution. "Goodbye isn't for her, Gwyn. It's for you. So say it now, if you're ready to."

Fresh tears filled her eyes, making them glisten in the starlight, almost like they were glowing. Her chin wobbling slightly, she turned back to the sky, squeezing her eyes shut as her lips moved in a silent prayer until sobs overtook her.

With a slight tug on her hand, she rolled into his side, pressing her face his shoulder as she sobbed and he held her quietly through tears of his own until the stars faded and they drifted into sleep together, still clinging tightly to one another.

[ignite-stars]

haunted, azriel

summary, you fear what you do not know.

author’s note, reader is morrigan’s younger sister for angst purposes. angst but pining angst. based off hoax by taylor swift.

His gaze had never felt so heavy. Pretty hues of gold simmered in his deep hazel stare, eyes glazed over with an unreadable look as he stared down at you.

With a thick gulp, the lump in your throat settled. You held his gaze with just as much defiance, refusing to play the familiar game of cat and mouse.

Some part of you felt empty. You had wanted him to look at you for so long, and now that his full attention was devoted to you, you felt. . . unsatisfied.

Because you knew that when the moon fell and the stars disappeared— the sun rising at the beginning of a new day, Azriel would be gone.

You’d have to watch him fall for your sister from afar. You’d scramble to scrounge up the shards of your broken heart as he smiled at Mor’s contagious laugh with such a tenderness in his gaze that you knew would never be directed towards you.

All you wanted was his love.

And Azriel would give you the constellations, the world beyond, and just about anything and everything you’d ask for.

But not his heart, never his heart.

Perhaps he was scared.

Scared that you would not ignore his love as your sister did. Azriel craved that sort of rejection. He had convinced himself he needed it to survive, just as much as the air in his lungs.

From the corner of your eye, the undead fell from the horizon. Starlight glittered in the night sky, landing along your cheeks and the bridge of your nose.

Starfall was your favorite night of the entire year. And usually you’d be spending it with your family, drinking the sweetest wine and exchanging memories of all your fallen loved ones.

But you had found yourself wanting a better view of the full moon, her loneliness far too familiar. You wandered out onto the balcony, leaning over the edge to bask in the cool air.

Your hair had been twisted up into a crown, small jewels and diamonds braided into your hair. And your gown was simple, a midnight-colored trumpet dress that hugged your body in all the right places.

Azriel appreciated all of you as his thumb came up to swipe at the fallen starlight along your bottom lip. Those damn eyes were lined with silver, giving you a false sense of hope.

“Hi,” you croaked out, your lips brushing against his scarred thumb. The small touch caused rose-colored glasses to cloud your vision.

Azriel’s lips twitched upwards, a playful grin pulling at his pretty lips. “Hi,” he whispered back. And you had half a mind to ask him why he had followed you out onto the balcony. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care when he was so close.

The small heavenly part of your conscious screamed at you to push him away— to wound him in return for all the bruises your heart had taken, continued to take.

But you had never claimed to be a good woman, and you certainly loved the taste of temptation. You’d let him take all of you, you were sure of it. He had taken your heart. . . And you had let him.

“What are you thinking about, love?” His hand rested against the side of your face. You felt sick.

You didn’t deserve this, you knew that.

But maybe you too, were scared. Scared to find someone who could love you prettily.

Azriel stared down at you, patiently waiting for an answer to fall from your lips. With a heavy sigh, you forced a gentle smile. “Nothing— nothing important.”

Your love for Azriel was ugly and painful. Not like the sharp thorns of a dead rose— but more like poison ivy. The closer you let him get— the more accustomed you grew to his secret touches— the tighter the thick vines constricted around your heart. Slowly suffocating you into a cruel death.

Azriel tugged at your hand, pulling you back towards the balcony doors. “I think I’d like to show you the skies tonight, from above.” His shadows whipped around excitedly, some pushing at the heels of your feet as you walked, rushing you.

You followed him blindly, as you always did. As you always would. Any protests you had died on your tongue as you watched his face light up at the prospect of flying with you amongst the stars. “I’d like that,” you nimbly agreed.

Azriel’s grin only widened as he leaned in, placing a quick kiss to your forehead. As if he could see the poisonous ivy leaves crawling up your throat, holding your heart hostage.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

His love was certainly going to kill you.

But you didn’t mind a slow death.

[ariluvsusm]

connection- azriel

-description: you and az discover your mating bond on starfall!!

-warnings: I DIDNT EDIT NOR REREAD THIS 😭, wholesome other than a few(…..) lewd comments and… yeah

-a/n: i tried to find a dress that resembled the one i was thinking of while writing this but i couldn’t find one!! so think feyre’s court of nightmares dress but more fabric. ALSO…… i have no FUCKING IDEA how mating bonds work. i don’t really think anyone does. this is just my personal interpretation of them.

—————————————————————————

you delicately pull on the midnight blue dress, trying to figure out which limb goes in which hole. but by the time you’re finished and standing in front of the mirror, you can’t help but let your jaw hit the floor. the dress is like molten night, wrapping around your beautiful body, accentuating your hips before falling into a double slit that exposes both of your legs. it’s off shoulder, too, with a sweetheart neckline that shows off the top of your breasts. stars litter the fabric, beautiful and delicate, matching the body glitter and oil you rubbed all over your skin. you place a delicate, starry pin atop your head, pulling back half of your curled hair, and leaving a few face-framing pieces out. you slip on your matching (surprisingly comfortable) heels and gloves, and then you’re out the door, running down the stairs, and bounding into the dining room. when you arrive, the rest of your friends are getting seated. every face in the room turns towards you, staring for a solid few minutes.

you and the rest of the inner circle are meeting for starfall dinner before the party. it’s your first starfall in the night court, and you didn’t know how to dress, act, or what the customs were. mor,who helped you with preparing, stands up from her seat at the table, practically jumping up and down.

“gods, y/n, you are so damn hot!” she exclaims, among a string of other profanities. “here, sit here!” she says, motioning to a spot beside her. and across from azriel, who is currently staring at you with a look that’s nothing short of predatory. cassian is gaping, apparently already intoxicated, and you can tell he is about to make some lewd comment that he doesn’t mean and will regret in the morning. rhys just smiles at you approvingly from his spot between az and cassian, and amren, who is on the other side of mor, smirks.

“fuck, y/n!” cassian drunkenly exclaims. “you are soooo dammnn hot, i’m sooo jealous of the male that gets to bed you tonight.”

“cassian, stop drooling. if you need to go take care of your massive boner, do it in a different room.” amren says flatly, eliciting laughter from around the room. when you finally get around the table and to your seat, mor pulls out your seat for you.

“m’lady,” she says, giving you an exaggerated bow. the conversation moves on, everyone talking about dancing and festivities, and oh, y/n, how much fun you’re going to have.

but azriel doesn’t speak. he just stares at you, making eye contact, shadows winding up and down his arms and around his hands and fingers. you try to avoid his intense gaze, a light blush coming to your cheeks. out of everyone in the inner circle, azriel is the most… attractive, per se. he’s considerate; he makes you feel comfortable, he respects you and your privacy. he’s also hot. he downs drink after drink, before your elegant dinner is brought out to you. finally, he speaks, making small talk with rhys and amren about some kind of intense training. meanwhile, you and mor excessively flirt, trying to one up eachother with horrible pick up lines.

“is your name winter?” you ask mor, “because you’ll be coming soon.” mor and cass break out in laughter, and rhys groans.

“not this again. please, a different dinner topic. why does it always come to this? please, be mature.” rhys asks tiredly.

“haha, you said come.” cassian says. at this point, he probably has no idea where he is. or who he is.

“hey, y/n,” cassian says, turning towards you. “i don’t usually watch sunsets, but i’d love to watch you go down!”

“oh my god, cass! that is awful!” mor says, breaking out in laughter, while the rest of your friends guffaw. save for az, who is staring daggers at cassian, swishing the remainders of his drink around his glass. you continue to eat, cracking jokes with mor and laughing with rhys about something or another. even amren has a good time.

finally, you and your friends find yourselves walking down to the parties, ready to drink more and and dance. you and mor dance together, singing and laughing and drinking and surely embarrassing yourselves, going from party to party, club to club. finally, it’s time for the real fun to begin. mor runs off and somehow, you find yourself back at the house of wind, on a balcony overlooking the city and the sea. with azriel.

finally, the stars begin to fall, and you haven’t seen anything like it. and you can’t help yourself, you dance around like a child, the little alcohol in your system aiding you in making a fool of yourself. azriel watches you, smiling. you stop dancing, but the stars still fall, enchanting you and captivating your full attention.

“az,” you breathe, “you didn’t tel me it was so…” you trail off.

“magical?” he finishes for you, coming up behind your shoulder, watching both you and the beautiful display.

you nod, turning around with pure joy still etched on your face.

“i couldn’t find the words to describe it.” he says quietly. for the first time that night, you really drink him in. he’s wearing a dark suit, his hair unruly. his dark-gold skin shines in contrast to his outfit and hair. his eyes twinkle, staring into yours with an expression that you’ve never seen before. you break the eye contact shyly, turning back around to watch.

“it’s… wonderful. it’s the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen,” you say truthfully.

“not for me.” he whispers, barely audible, now standing beside you.

you turn your head, looking up at him. he turns his too, making eye contact with you once more. he breaks it first though, looking back at the stars, before doing a double take and staring at you again. suddenly he exhales sharply.

“fuck, y/n. i-i…” he closes his eyes for a few seconds, “i’m… i don’t know if it’s the alcohol but…” he trails off.

“gods, i’m not supposed to tell you this. rhys told me not to but… i can’t keep this from you.” he stars again. this time he turns towards you fully, so you turn towards him.

“y/n, you’re my mate.” he says slowly. “i… i’ve known for a while.”

“your- your mate?” you whisper. he nods his head.

“its been so hard for me to resist and keep from telling you,” he says, taking a step closer, so close now that his shadows ghost your skin. “from touching you, from marking you as mine. gods, y/n, do you know what you do to me?”

he leans down, so close now that you could share a breath. suddenly, everything clicks into place. you feel something forming in your mind, a thread. and then trailing it, a yank. your mind reaches out and yanks back, and he smiles. but for some reason, this smile is different. it makes you feel different, and you’re speechless. your mouth hangs slightly open.

“what was that?” you ask hesitantly.

“our bond.” he answers, unable to hide his happiness. “ y/n, i know this is all new to you, and it can be overwhelming but… i just couldn’t keep this from you. it’s unbearable for me. and watching cassias flirt with you tonight… i just�� he’s my best friend. and i wanted to… fight him. to make him stop. and i just couldn’t keep something like this from you. but- if you need a break, or some time, or… i just- i-“ he says, blathering on rather quickly.

“no, az, this is amazing!” you laugh, flinging yourself into his arms, his warm embrace. “i- i have a mate!” you say into his chest.

he laughs. “y/n, every fae has a mate.”

“i mean- i know- but me. and you’re here! i’m…” you say, into his chest still. instead of letting go, you turn your head, watching the stars fall from the sky. down, down, down.

so… you’re happy?

you jump out of his arms

“what- what the-“ you say, looking up at him. his voice was in your head.

“it’s the bond. we can communicate through it.” he says. “try it.”

so you do. you yank on that thread.

wow, you say through the bond.

it’s the most wonderful feeling, knowing that you have a soulmate. someone who you are connected and entwined with, a deeper and more raw feeling than marriage or love. an intimate, real feeling, something you have never felt before. pure, unconditional love. you are important to someone. tears well up in your eyes and then escape down your cheeks. azriel pulls away from your hug, holding your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. he leans down and kisses your cheek, kisses your tears away.

“gods, you’re so beautiful.” he murmurs, making eye contact with you, your chin still between his fingers.

then, he is leaning in to kiss you and it is lips against lips and skin against skin. your hands curiously travel each others bodies, rubbing circles and grabbing and sliding over skin. when he is done kissing your face and lips, his are covered in glitter. when he pulls away, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him back in and resting your forehead against his. he has to lean down a considerable amount, as he towers over you.

you take his face in your hands, your turn to hold him as the stars behind you plummet. after a considerable around of time, after the stars stop their descent, and after much of the music and dancing have stopped, and and azriel pull away from your embrace.

a new feeling takes over, you don’t say a word as you grab his hand and lead him up to your chambers.

———————————————————————

-a/n (AGAIN): PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE give me ideas and requests 😭😭😭 I AM BEGGING this is so shitty and i apologize!! i honestly am just currently very busy with school and need some inspiration and ideas 😭

[msfeyredarling]

Nyx’s first Starfall

I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you enjoy it too :)

Context: after acosf, Nyx’s first Starfall

Warnings: intense fluff

All characters belong to SJM

ao3

Tonight is Nyx’s first Starfall. It’s safe to say I’m the most excited person in Velaris, apart from my mate, for this year's Starfall. Putting my heels on, I look up at my mate, buttoning up the last buttons on his black shirt. I raised a brow, smirking at my mate as I say, “keeping it traditional?”

Rhys looks over at me, my entire, and raised his own brow at my mock question.

“The same could be said for you Feyre darling.” Rhys purred.

“This dress has sentiment. Your mother made it and I wore it on my first Starfall, as I have every year since.” I paused, “you on the other hand, only ever wear black.”

My mate laughed and said, “but look how good I look in black. I know you love it, you think it’s sexy.”

I shook my head, hearing, “you know you do.” I let my smile break free and looked into his glittering violet eyes.

“Tonight is Nyx’s first Starfall,” I said softly, barely louder than a whisper.

Rhys smiled and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

I’m excited, my love. I can not wait to show our son this day, a day solely found in the night court, his home, our home.

A tear snaked free and my mate wiped it away, taking my face in his two hands. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was gentle and loving, and I reluctantly broke away.

“Let's go get our son and show him the beauty of the night court.” I entwined our fingers and together we walked to our waiting family. Nyx is in Elains arms, in a similar fashion to his father. I almost laughed at the similarity.

Did you have something to do with our son's clothes? I said into his mind, as Rhys took him from Elains arms.

Maybe? I do laugh at this and was given looks of confusion by the rest of our family. I just smiled at them in return. Together, we make our way to the house of wind.

Upon arriving, we’re greeted by the citizens of Velaris. Our family walked to one side of the roof and Rhys placed Nyx on the ground. He immediately took up the opportunity to explore wherever he could, eventually finding himself at Mor’s legs.

Nyx crawled around her legs, overly excited from all the energy buzzing through the air. Cassian watched Nyx with a hint of jealousy in his eye. Mor noticed and smirked at him.

“It seems I’m still his favourite,” Mor said with a smug look.

“And when he realises how much better I am, I’m sure he will come running into my arms.” To emphasise this, Cassian lifted Nyx into his arms. He started swinging him up and down in the air making Nyx squeal in delight.

I tried my hardest to keep my laugh in but failed. It seems I was not the only one finding this interaction amusing as Azriel shared a rare laugh with me. Mor gave us both a look and if I was anyone else, I would have withered away on the spot.

As I walked over to Cassian and a very happy Nyx, the city below quietened. Nyx saw me and made a big show of wanting to be held. I happily obliged. His hands immediately found my hair and began playing with it. A smile spread across my face, my heart bursting at the small sign of affection. Rhys found me and together we watched as the first of many stars to come, crossed the night sky.

I brought my head down and whispered into Nyx’s ear, “lookup” as I pointed towards the sky.

He looked up and the emotions that crossed his face were enough to bring tears to my eyes. Nyx started squealing and laughing, reaching towards the sky. I looked at my mate to see those same tears shining in his own eyes. One of those tears spilled and my hand automatically reached to wipe it away. Rhys held my hand to his face with his own, watching Nyx and I with so much love.

I smiled at him, my friend who held my hand in the dark, my mate who helped me see the light, my other half that continues to bring such joy and happiness and love into this second chance I was given at life. There will never be words that can ever describe how much I love and care for this male in front of me. Never be enough words for what I would give to protect him. Or this bundle of happiness in my arms. A gift, both of them from the mother herself. Not a day will pass where either of them will ever question the love I feel for them.

Tears of happiness welled in my eyes and threatened to spill. As if sensing my thoughts, Rhys gently raised my face towards his and pressed his lips to mine, conveying the love he felt. Understanding too, always knowing me better than I know myself.

A thought for a thought Feyre darling?

Those tears spilled at the nostalgic feeling, the reminder of an old game we once played.

You. I was thinking about you, and Nyx, about how I am so blessed to have two of the most beautiful souls with me, here. How you two are the greatest gift I’ve ever received. I love you both so much, more than words can ever describe.

I looked at Nyx who was still reaching for the sky. Rhys did too and Nyx, cauldron bless him, was smiling, brighter than the moon, than any star in the sky.

I looked up to see tears spilling down my mate's face, not at all ashamed to be crying in public. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Nyx’s forehead. Nyx reached for Rhys, wanting to be held by his father but a bright green spot collided with his face. He screamed and proceeded to start crying. I cradled Nyx to my chest, rubbing soothing strokes up and down his back while rocking him. He just continued to cry into my neck. I caught Rhys's eye and saw that he was trying and failing to keep a straight face at his son's hysterical display of tears.

I scowled at him as he began chuckling but Nyx suddenly stopped crying. Frowning I looked to see him staring at my neck. Some of the glowing dust had rubbed onto my neck and Nyx was staring at it in utter fascination. He started giggling then laughing, wings twitching as I passed him to Rhys, whom he snuggled right into his chest.

I smiled at the sight.

A star collided with my neck, starling me. Another collided with Rhys’ head causing Nyx to a fit of laughter. He laughed so hard that tears fell and I found myself joining in, soon followed by my mate. Our laughter slowed but the smiles stayed.

“I believe you owe me a thought.”

Rhys chuckled, “I’m thinking that this.” He stopped to look around, at our friends, Starfall, Nyx, and then me; our family. He continued in my mind, this exact moment will be something I will never forget. Something I will always look back too. To remember everything good that was given to me in this life, by the stars themselves. It will be one of my favourite memories, I will always cherish this moment. He paused, then mused, it seems for those who look to the stars and wish, that they really do answer.

I laughed, letting a bit of my gift from day shine through.

Curious, I asked, “what are your other favourite memories?”

Rhys's smile was as radiant as the sun, “your first Starfall, when you were hit by the star, when we danced” he said more softly, “the first time you smiled at me.” His eyes were lined with silver once more.

I grinned recalling the memory. I walked up to him, taking his free hand in mine and looking into his violet eyes, I smiled, recreating the memory. My mate smiled back. I rested my head on his chest as he wrapped his arm around my waist, both of us now gazing at our sleeping son. At the slight rise and fall of his chest, his beautiful and delicate wings, his precious face that I will always cherish.

Here I can heal. Here I can hope. With my friends and family, son and mate, I can be happy. And with the help of the stars, my dreams can be answered.

[forever-rogue]

In Name Only - Part 16

A/N: Hi, hi, hi! I’m finally back with some more of Oberyn and his Sunshine! I’ve missed them so much, and I hope you’re all excited for more as I am! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: discussions of pregnancy, violence, slight language 

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Those are so pretty," Saria chirped excitedly as she reached up and touched one of the newly bloomed flowers. It was brilliant shades of yellow and orange, creating the illusion of a sunset. You nodded in agreement before delicately plucking the blossom and tucking it behind her ear.

"And now the prettiest girl has the prettiest flower," you told her as she beamed at you. She giggled wildly before touching the flower and running to join the Dorea and Loreza who were busy playing in a different part of the garden. They'd come to stay for a while at Sunspear and you were more than happy to keep them as long as they wanted.

"And what about you?" you turned to Altair who was intently observing a different flower, “which is your favorite?"

"I like this one best I think,” he commented thoughtfully as he touched over a dark red flower, one that was native to Dorne - hardy and resilient, just like its people. It almost reminded you of a rose, but what with a bit.

“That’s one of my favorites too,” you agreed as you pulled one of the hardiest blossoms off and held it out for him, “do you want to know why?”

“Why?” he asked, his dark eyes wide and glittering with excitement. You couldn’t help but ruffle his dark hair, an affectionate smile on your face. 

“My husband planted them for me,” you explained, thinking back to the day you had found Oberyn in the gardens, hard at work by himself planting the flowers as a surprise for you. He was many things, but a green thumb he did not possess, unlike you. But he had been so proud and excited to show them to you, his hands covered with little cuts from the harsh thrones and thick stalks, “and they remind me of Dorne - home. Strong, beautiful, and welcoming to those who treat it right.”

“Can I keep it?” he asked quietly as you nodded. He threw his little arms around your waist and you bent down to press a kiss to the crown of his head, “I’m going to go and show the others!”

Before you could even get a word in edgewise, he was gone, off to join his sister and the younger girls. You crossed your arms over your chest, a content sigh escaped your lips as you picked up your watering can to continue tending to your flourishing garden. But you were once again estopped by a warm of arms wrapping around your waist, causing you to make a small sound of surprise.

“Hello, my sweetest sunshine,” Oberyn’s voice was like golden honey in your ears as he pressed a kiss to your neck, “how I have missed you.”

“And a hello to you my moon and stars,” you couldn’t help but laugh as you put your hands on top of his, deftly spinning around in his arms before facing him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “it has been what...about five hours since we parted ways for the afternoon? I hardly think you’d had adequate time to miss me.”

“I always miss you when we’re not together,” he insisted, playfully pouting at you, “the insinuation that I should feel anything but wounds me so, dear wife.”

“Oh stop,” you swatted at his chest before he pulled you towards him, “you are a fool of a Prince. Besides, I for one have not missed you!”

“Oh?” he teased, his eyebrow arching as you broke into a fit of giggles, “I spy a little liar.”

“You’ve caught me,” you acquiesced, “but alas, I have been busy with the garden and these little ones constantly under foot. Loreza is a little trouble maker, just like her father. But Dorea is as steadfast as her mother. A lethal little duo.”

“Ahh, they have learned well,” he snorted as you nodded. He wrapped his arms around you as he watched the four young children running around and playing, the wistful look on your face not lost on you, “the twins seem to enjoy spending time with them.”

“They do,” you agree, biting on your lower lip, “I k-know we’re not supposed to play favorites, but they just...they’re special to me.”

“And they adore you just as well.”

“They adore you,” you insisted with a laugh, “the prince of legend! The lethal, ever deadly Red Viper.”

“I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“I know your bark is worse than your bite,” you insisted as you kissed him, cutting him off before he could argue, “it is not wise to argue with your wife.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, “will you take a turn about the gardens with me? There are some things we should discuss..”

You knew it wouldn’t be anything bad, there was no reason for it to be, but a lump still welled up in your throat. Such things always made you nervous, especially since the majority of the times you’d been asked to speak in such a manner only bad news followed. But judging by the light smile on his face, you knew it would be okay. 

The past month, almost two, had been a whirlwind, especially when it came to helping Oberyn get closer and closer to be back to perfect health again. It had hardly allotted you many moments to talk properly. He grew stronger and stronger each day, and it some ways it was almost like nothing had happened at all. But you knew - you remembered. It was always in the back of your mind, reminding you that your family was the cause of this. You still needed to talk about it, but you’d never found the right time. But as you looked into those soft brown eyes, you decided it could wait. For now, all that mattered was this. 

He offered you his arm and you looped yours through his, allowing him to dictate the course. It was silent for a few moments, not but the sounds of the fountains, chirps of birds, and the sounds of laughter reaching your ears. 

“I’ve been thinking…” he started slowly, “and before you say anything, I do realize it is a rare occasion!”

“I would say no such thing,” you promised with a wink as he just shook his head in amusement, “please my prince, do tell me what has been weighing on your mind.”

“It’s…” he paused before exhaling slowly, “the twins.”

“The t-twins? What about them?” you tried to rack your brain for something that you could have possibly done wrong with them, “I haven’t…”

“It is nothing in the negative,” he must have sensed your worry without you even having to do anything. You visibly relaxed as you nodded and waited for him to go on, “I note that you’ve grown ever closer to them, you spend much time with them at your side.”

“I know we are not..to play favorites,” you answered nervously, “I fear I must have been doing a horrible job of that.” 

“And your actions are not at fault,” he insisted, as you offered him a confused look, “I know we talked before...about children...”

“I can’t have children,” you interrupted him, answering his silent question. You kept your gaze pointed straight ahead, attempting your best to conceal your emotions. Oberyn’s gaze was trained intently on you, his expression soft. It wasn’t often that he was rendered speechless, but this turned out to be one of those rare moments, “I speak with the maester when we returned from Starfall and you were gone in King’s Landing.” 

“Oh,” was his simple answer as you nodded, “and she…”

“There’s no way to be completely certain,” you said softly, “but there are ways to be almost certain, as certain as one can get. And it seems that the odds are not in my favor.”

“You said there is no way to completely certain,” he insisted, “there’s still a chance, and if you should want, we can always try...”

“No, Oberyn,” you stopped in your tracks as you pulled him towards you, a hand going to his jaw before you ran a hand through his dark curls, “it does not matter, my love. I am happy, so happy. Nothing makes me happier than you, I swear it. You, the girls, Ellaria, the rest of the family, we have so much already. There’s nothing for me left to want.”

You had hoped that saying the words out loud would somehow make them more true, more real. But they still hurt, cutting deep. 

“You deserve the world, my sunshine,” he promised, kissing the top of your head, “whatever you desire you shall have it.”

“I’m afraid that nothing will give this to me...us, not even all the gold in the Seven Kingdoms,” you offered him a small smile, “now, tell me, what you were going to say before I so rudely interrupted you.”

“The twins,” he said, cradling your face in his hands, “I realize this might be a bit unconventional, but what do you say about bringing them in our family? Adopting them?”

“A-adopting them?” you weren’t quite sure what you were hearing as the word tumbled from your mouth. Looking at Oberyn, you opened and closed your mouth a few times, tilting your head to the side as you tried to figure out what was happening. He was watching you with a small smile, waiting for you to realize what he had said, “Oberyn? D-do you mean it?”

“Of course I mean it,” he said softly, “I would not joke about such a matter. I know...it is unconventional and not very common, but I would like to bring them into our family. By convention, they would not be recognized as Martells in other parts of the Kingdoms, but in Dorne it would not matter. It-”

“Does not matter at all,” you finished for him as he nodded in agreement, “it is not the name that makes the person, the quality of their heart - their actions.”

“If only the rest of the world thought as we did,” he gave you a fond smile before pulling you into his arms, “but what do you think?”

“Oberyn…” you looked back up at him, your eyes already misty with tears as you nodded at him. You knew you wanted this - not because your dreams of baring your own children were gone, but because you loved them, truly. And you wanted nothing more than to bring them into your family, your family that had nothing but love and kindness to give. 

Oberyn seemed to know what you were thinking, because he quickly wiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He paused for a moment and rested his forehead against yours as he held you tightly in his grip, “everything is going to be alright, my love. Please don’t think ill of the situation...no one is to blame, absolutely no one. And you know my love for you will never change or waver, never. Things will work out as they are meant to, I know it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, hearing his words but failing to process them in the moment, overwhelmed by emotion, “I’m sorry, my love. I-I...I can’t even give you a child of our own. I’m such a -”

“Stop,” he whispered softly, his heart breaking a little at your anguish. He wrapped his arms tightly around you as you buried your face in his chest, tears soaking into the fabric of his tunic. You knew it was silly to get so upset, especially since you thought you’d come to terms with this, and you knew Oberyn wouldn’t be upset, “I know this means nothing coming from me, but i will be okay. I swear it. I will do whatever it takes to get you to understand that.”

“You’ll still love me?” you asked softly as he chuckled warmly and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“I will always love you. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever change that,” he promised, and you relaxed slightly, “my love for you knows no bounds. And you have my heart and soul. Completely and fully.”

“I love you,” you whispered, “so much.”

“And I you,” he responded, “and I’ve got one more bit of good news for you. I know it’s not much, but I’m hoping that perhaps it will at least bring a smile to that pretty face.”

“You’ve given me nothing good news and love,” you laughed at your foolishness as you pulled back from him, “and I give you nothing but theatrics. What else could you possibly have for me?”

“Have you ever considered traveling across the Narrow Seas?” your eyebrows immediately shot up at his question as he seemed to be holding back a gleeful grin.

“I can’t say it’s really crossed my mind…” you admitted, “what lies there that has you asking?”

“Essos,” he answered, “the King needs an envoy to go to make the journey and ensure that plans and laws that were instilled by Daenerys still stand.” 

“And he asked you to go?” your heart immediately grew worried and nervous as your eyes darted to his side, the spot concealed by his tunic where he still bore the scars of the stabbing that your brother had inflicted on him. You were reluctant to let him leave again, especially anywhere out of Dorne, “a-are you sure, Oberyn? I don’t know if that’s the best idea…”

“You worry?”

“Of course I worry,” you insisted, “there are enemies everywhere, as you have said many times. I couldn’t even trust my own flesh and blood. The last time you left, you almost….and Essos? That’s half a world away…”

“I would not go with your blessing,” he promised as he put his hand on your cheek, “nor would I go without you. It’s a large and wondrous world, and I think it would suit you. Essos and the Summer Isles are some of the most beautiful places in the world.”

“You want me to go with you?” you asked hopefully as he nodded.

“What is this old fool without his wife next to him?” he teased, “besides, I was told that I could not venture into the world without you...I think it would be quite dull without my sunshine. I would not let anything happen to you.”

“Nor I you,” you promised, knowing you would cut down any man or woman that even breathed wrong in his direction, “you’re serious about this? You’re sure it will be safe?”

“Yes,” he insisted, “and yes. We won’t be going alone. The retinue will come, as well some other Lords from around the Kingdoms. Honestly, I doubt it will take much work from our end...it will be more of a vacation than anything else.”

“You’re sure about this?” your words were gentle and soft as put your hand on his chest, “positive?”

“I am,” he took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, “what do you say?”

“For you?” resting your hand on his cheek, you brushed a finger over his cheekbone, “I would do anything and go anywhere. Yes. Let’s do this.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Diplomatic ventures had always seemed so....droll. Plagued by aged and old fashioned men who claimed to know what was best for their people, who claimed to know what people wanted but did everything but. Naturally there were exceptions, such as your father, and it wouldn’t be fair to lump all men into the same category. But from your childhood trips along with Lord Beesbury, your hopes were not high that this would be any different. 

But you should have known better because like with most things, Oberyn was able to turn into a pleasant adventure. Along with the shift of having a Stark King on the Iron Throne accompanied by the Queen in the North, things were...different. Gone were the stilted and old ways, slowly morphing into workable and tangible - change. 

What you were sure was destined to be nothing but boring roundtables without anything productive being done, turned out to be the opposite. Men, and women, of different backgrounds and creed came together to work for the people, not just their people but all people. It was something to marvel at and instilled a sense of hope in you. 

Hope that Oberyn’s children, your children, would grow up in a world where things would be different from your youth, where they would not have opportunities denied to them because of their birth, their origin, or the truths and beliefs they held. Things would never be perfect, but they would be better and that was enough to carry you forward. 

Watching Oberyn, not just your husband or the Prince, but a man of his people - the people - in action was a treat unto of itself. Eloquent and well spoken as ever, he carried himself with an ease and comfort that you could only wish to obtain a fraction of. He was never loud or over the top, but his tranquility and calm aura did not let you forget that he was still as deadly as the rumors suggested. 

This was a man that spoke in prose as lovely as roses but sharp as hawthorne. A man that would charm and persuade to see his ways, but would not hesitate to cut you down if necessary. The duality of Oberyn Martell was a gift to behold, and somehow it still stunned you that you were in the very center of his universe. But somehow you were, his sunshine that brightened every facet of his life while he was your moon and stars, grounding you and keeping you safe and sound. 

“What?” Oberyn’s voice was warm and gravely, still heavy and thick with sleep as he opened his eyes to find you watching him closely. A warmth flooded into your face  as you attempted to burrow your face into the pillow; you hadn’t expected him to wake up and just wanted to study his features while he slept. You’d done it a million times before, or so it seemed, and you wanted to do it a million times more. There was something about how calm and at ease he looked while his broad chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His chocolate curls were mussed and wild, practically calling for you to comb throw as his plush lips were drawn in the lightest of smiles. He was just so...golden; drawing you in like nothing else mattered.

The soft, warm air of the Summer Isles  was coming in through the windows which you had left open the evening before, perfuming the air with the faint smell of the salty ocean. You’d had a late evening before and were in no rush to get up, despite the fact that you knew he had duties to attend to. There was something about the comfort and safety of waking up in his bed, your, bed that always kept you wanting to stay tangled up with him.

“Nothing,” you insisted as you opened one eye and peeked at him, watching the corners of his mouth tug up. He laughed lightly before his strong arm found you under the covers and pulled you closer to him. A contented sigh escaped your lips as his fingers traced aimless, gentle shapes into your back. You closed the small gap and pressed your lips against his, feeling him smile against your as he chased after you with a few kisses of your own, “Oberyn.”

“Yes?” he teased as he kissed long your jaw and neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin in a way that he knew would leave marks, “tell me what’s on your mind or I’ll stop.”

“Such a tease,” you huffed tightly as you tugged on his soft curls, “I was just thinking about you.”

“About me? Whatever for?” he seemed genuinely surprised and pulled back for a moment, which allowed you to take advantage of the situation. You pushed him flat on his back as you rolled on top of him, your bare body flush against his. He almost laughed when he realized what you had done, one of his large hands going to your bum and giving it a firm squeeze, which elicited a soft sigh from you, “cheeky girl.”

“Hmm,” you hummed as you kissed him, “I was just thinking about all the ways in which I love you, which, in case I haven’t reminded you lately, are infinite. But now, I’m thinking about something far different.”

“Oh?” he pressed your forehead against his as he held you with a vice grip, “and what would that be?”

“How much I want you,” it was a gentle, breathy whisper in his arms as you kissed the shell of his ear before working your way back to your lips, “my moon and stars.”

“Then take what you need, sweet girl. I am all yours,” he promised, “body and soul. Besides, I quite like you on top. A sight to be marveled at it, that even the finest art could never capture in essence.”

“Always a poet,” you flourished under his praise as your hands roamed his body, “almost as lovely as watching you come undone, Oberyn Martell. Now, don’t hold back, my love, let them all hear you…”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Be safe,” Oberyn whispered against your lips before slowly pulling away. It was endearing to know he was so concerned about your safety, despite the fact that the Summer Isles were one of the safest places to be. You nodded slowly before sneaking in another kiss and smoothing down the soft fabric of his bronze tunic. He was handsome as ever, and despite the fact that you were dressed in a soft, breezy gown of your own, you knew you would never match his beauty. 

“I will,” you promised, “I’m just going to explore the markets, maybe go to the ocean, nothing dangerous at all. Besides, I think I found something that the girls will like and I want to get it for them if it’s still there.”

“Do you want-”

“Oberyn,” you insisted firmly, but with a soft tone nonetheless, “I will be fine. I can handle myself, and besides, Jeron’s taught me a few tricks for the times I should be parted from you, in the off chance I need them. It should be me worrying about you. Politicians and Lords are the real snakes here after all, remind them who the Red Viper is, remind them that you are the Prince.”

“I should know better than to worry about you,” he said with a small laugh, “I will see you this evening for dinner then. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you grinned at him before gently pushing on his chest and back towards the building in which all of these so called important meetings had been happening, “now go and get your work done. I don’t want to keep you away!”

“Wait,” he ducked after you and reached for your hand, despite the fact that you had just turned away from.

“What?” a look of surprise coloring your features as he brought your hand to his lips and delicately kissed your knuckles, “Oberyn!”

“I missed you the moment you turned away,” he said softly, as you just shook your head at him, “until your paths cross again, sweet girl.”

“You are a fool of a man,” you teased as you let him be the one to walk away. He turned and gave you one last look before crossing the threshold and giving you a soft smile, the one that made you weak in the knees and a fire pool in your belly. 

Staring at the spot he had previously occupied, you let a small sigh before walking away, ready to take on your own leisurely day. The island of Jhala was a beautiful place, filled with kind souls and beautiful scenery. You’d never seen any place like it before, but you already knew a piece of your heart would remain here even long after you were back in Dorne. Hopefully Oberyn would not be opposed to coming back soon. 

You’d even made a few friends during your extended stay, finding the people welcoming and open, much more than most people in Westeros and they’d even taught some of their language, simply dubbed the Summer Tongue. 

As you walked through the bustling marketplace, your eyes came across glittering jewels of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, fabric of the brightest tones and colors, arts and sculptures, and anything else you could possibly imagine. You made it a point to find something special for everyone back home, including all of the girls, and the twins you’d soon be calling your own. The hunt for something special for Oberyn was proving to be the most challenging of all as you tried to pick your brain for what to get him. Anything that had crossed your mind, he had in turn picked out and gotten himself, he already had, or was something that just wasn’t quite it. But you’d kept your eyes peeled anyway. 

So peeled, in fact, that you didn’t watch where you were going and walked right into someone. A small oof escaped your lips as you looked and found a little girl with bright, eager eyes watching you eagerly. She was gorgeous, skin almost as dark as the richest chocolate, with hair that was intricately styled in braids you learned were traditional to the people of Jhala. Her dress was feathered, a brilliant symphony of greens and reds as she grinned at you, completely untroubled or phased by the fact that you almost bowled her over.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” you offered an apologetic smile and looked her over to make sure she was okay, “I should have been watching where I was going. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she chirped back in your tongue, “we’ve been expecting you!”

“Expecting...me?” you asked as she reached for your hand, and started to pull you away from the crowd. Nothing but a cloud of confusion hung over you as you followed the young girl; you were nervous or scared, but you were intrigued, “who’s been expecting me?”

But she didn’t say anything else, instead pulling you near a small back alley where there were almost no people, just a few here and there milling about. When she seemingly reached her destination, she dropped your hand as you studied your surroundings. Strange, you thought to yourself, I’ve never seen this before.

“Hey-” you turned back to your mysterious little friend but found...nothing. There wasn’t even so much a single disturbance in the air to suggest that anyone had been there or moved away rapidly...there was nothing. A huff of air escaped your lips as you turned and did a spin to just to make sure no one was there; surely you didn’t mind all of that? No, you couldn’t have....you were positive you could still feel the touch of her small hand in yours. It was like a direct call back to your encounter with the mysterious woman in the woods, but this you were sure was real. 

“Hello?” your voice sounded small and diminutive in the large open alleyway, reverbing off the stone walls. No response met your ears but you were positive that you heard your name being whispered softly, calling to you and drawing you in. You were like a moth to a flame as you walked along the cobblestones to the place you were being drawn to, “hello?”

You stopped in front of what appeared to be a small little shop that smelled deliciously of warm spices. Flowers decorated the small window and doors, immediately giving you a sense of warmth and ease. Pushing aside the curtain made of hanging beads and jewels, you slowly stepped inside and looked around. The small space was lit up from the golden sunlight streaming in from the window and softly flickering candles. A small table and two chairs, both looking soft and cozy were in the center of the room, the rest of the space occupied by trinkets from what you assumed were around the world.

“Lady Martell,” the voice was warm and richly accented as you turned and found yourself looking at yet another new person. She offered you a warm smile before coming over and holding her hand out to you; there wasn’t even a moment of hesitation as you reached over and took it, giving it a firm shake, “a pleasure to meet you.”

“How do you...know my name?” you asked as she led you to the table and pulled a car for you to sit in. You sat down and watched her intently as she busied herself with making tea. You tensed for a moment as you flashed back to the tea that had once been presented to you with a most devious intention. But you didn’t think this would be anything like that. She took a few moments, humming under her breath before coming back to you and placing it in front of you before and taking a seat.

“There is no need to worry,” she insisted, “everyone knows who you are. The Prince’s wife, of course. He’s always a welcome sight here as is anyone with him.”

“Oh,” you laughed at yourself, “of course. Sometimes I forget that my husband is such...a prolific figure.”

“As you should,” she said with a warm smile, “he is no stranger to you, but your partner, your lover, your friend - just another person in your life. But to us, he is a man of myth and legend.”

“Yes,” you agreed, “that is he is. Do you...umm...do you happen to have a young girl? I bumped into her and then was gone…”

“Acacia,” she sighed with a smile on her face as a sense of relief washed over you and you realized that you most definitely were not crazy or imagining things, but she had been a real, tangible little girl, “she’s a wily, sneaky little thing sometimes. Here one moment and then gone the next, and almost impossible to keep track of. I wish I could have even a fraction of her energy.”

“She was there one moment and then gone the next,” you told her, “I thought I might have imagined the whole thing.”

“No worries,” she promised, “she’s something else...but I find that people often land where they’re supposed to be at the right time.”

“I…” you mulled over her words as you drank some of the tea; it was sweet with a hint of a spice, but delicious, “I suppose they do.”

“What troubles you?” 

“I’m sorry?” you almost choked on the tea as you set it back down. You looked around and tried to put together who the mysterious woman was when it hit you, she was likely some of...something. You were unsure if there was even a proper label for it, “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“You appear happy,” she said as you nodded, “but I can tell there is something underlying...there is something in your eyes that suggests a deep sense of unhappiness.”

“What?” you asked as you almost laughed in her face. Of course you were happy, you had no reason not to be...your life was practical bliss… “I am happy, so happy. I-I have everything and then some…”

“That may be so, but one can still experience unhappiness,” you swallowed thickly as you shifted in your seat, “but you have to be honest with yourself...what plagues you? What keeps you up at night?”

You wanted to argue with her and tell her she was wrong, but in that moment you just couldn’t. Instead, your eyes welled up and stung as you stared at the table, playing with the delicate lace of the fabric that covered it. You closed and opened your mouth a few times as a few warm, salty tears filled down your cheeks. You had thought, you were sure, that you had been able to conceal your emotions so well, that everything was in check, but apparently you had been very, very wrong. All the feelings you thought were resolved were apparently very much unresolved. 

“Umm,” she handed you a handkerchief which you used to dab at your eyes, “it’s...gods, I feel silly being so worried and still ruminating on this, but my husband...he was injured at the hands of my family, my brother specifically. Oberyn told me to let it go, that things would be resolved, but I can’t just let it go...I can’t forgive them for what they did to him. He almost died, I stayed by his side as he clung to life, and he wants to let it go.”

“And you don’t want to do that?”

“No,” you insisted sharply, “I don’t. My entire life I have been the black sheep, the scorn of the family. I have had so many things taken from me, and I refuse to let them take more. I don’t...I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to Oberyn...I would....I cannot fathom it. But I can’t let it go and let them think they can do this. Oberyn thinks it’s better to let it go and not stir up trouble, but this isn’t like nicking some chocolate. They wanted to kill him and they almost did. I want them to know what they did, to experience the pain I did.”

“And what would you do to them?”

“I would make them suffer, the same cruel harshness that Oberyn had to go through,” you said through gritted teeth, almost surprising yourself with such harshness. You’d had these thoughts swirling in your mind since you had first discovered the truth from Jeron, but to hear out loud like this was another story, “I want them to know what I went through. And I want to know why. Why can’t they just let us alone and experience our own happiness? Oberyn went to them with peaceful intentions, asking almost nothing of them, but they couldn’t let it go.”

“Every action has a consequence, you understand this, yes?” she asked as you downed the rest of your teeth, studying the grit at the bottom of the cup “

“Action-Reaction,” you concluded with a nod, “I won’t do anything that will cause trouble. There is no reason to incite a war, which my husband has reminded me of many times. He worries too much about me sometimes, I think. He wants to protect me, I know he does, but sometimes I want to protect him too. And I know that I would have all of Dorne support me in this, he is their Prince! The Stark King would make them see reason and realize their actions will not go unpunished.”

“Does their violence necessarily mean you should respond in kind?”

“I....” you paused as you mulled over her words as you realized she had a point, “I don’t know. There’s a million different ways to look at this, but I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore. I just know...I can’t let them do this without saying something.” 

“And have you told Oberyn about all of this?”

“Yes - in passing,” you sighed lightly, “and he’s fervent in his request to keep things civil and let them go.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“No.”

“You should express this to him,” she took your cup and swirled the two drops of liquid around as she looked at the grit, making a small sound in the back of her throat, “the two of you will be able to work things out and see eye to eye.”

“He’s insistent.”

“And you shall be just as insistent back,” she suggest as you nodded, “make sure he knows that you do not want to let this go and that you want words at least. That you at least want to express your grief to your family.”

“And if he shall not agree?”

“Remember who you are,” she said softly, “before you became a wife, before you became a Martell. Remember your roots and that you are not to be trifled with. You were strong then too, and now you need to remember that. What were your words?”

“Before Our String.”

“What are your words now?”

“Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.”

“Remember those,” she took your hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, “remember that you are strong, with or without your husband. Don’t do things in haste either, but do not allow yourself or your feelings to get pushed around either.”

“I won’t,” you promised softly, “I am not just Oberyn’s wife, I am so much more than that. I will...I will have what I want.”

“Everything,” she whispered as she pushed the cup back at you and motioned for you to look inside, “everything you want will be yours.”

“Everything?” you whispered as you looked into the cup and tried to see what she was seeing. Your voice cracked slightly as you knew she meant so much more than just your issue with your family. I…”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you gave her a small smile as you pushed the cup back at her and cleared your throat to keep from crying, “I can’t...I have everything I want.”

“This world, here and back in your home, is strange and mysterious. Sometimes it is best not to question things and let them work out as they were intended,” she shrugged lightly as you felt as confused as ever, “have faith in yourself and the universe.”

“I have faith in things I know, things I can touch and see,” you shrugged lightly, “I don’t know about the rest.”

“Exactly,” she stood up as she gathered your cup and hers, “we don’t know and perhaps we’re not supposed to. 

“I don’t understand…”

“Mama!” Acacia poked her into the shop and offered you both a gap toothed grin. You stood up and brushed off your dress before walking towards the door. You gave the young girl a small hug before turning back to her mother.

“Thank you,” you told her softly, “I realize I still don’t know most things, but I do know some. I do know I love my husband and I will go to the ends of the world for him, but I also know I refuse to let things go without a fight.”

“You are well on your way, young one,” she insists as you give her a smile, “things happen as they are supposed to.”

“Yes,” you agreed, “thank you for your help.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Oberyn!” by the time you reached the small villa you were staying in, Oberyn had already been back for some time and he was sitting out in the garden, a book perched on his lap as there often was. He didn’t even hesitate to close it and toss it onto the table as you rushed over to him, throwing yourself in his arms as he stood up to meet you, “my love.”

“You are very energetic this afternoon,” he beamed as he picked you up in his arms and spun you around gently setting you and offering you another kiss, “did you have a good day?”

“I missed you,” you told him, reaching up and threading a hand through his curls, “I always miss you when you’re not with me. But yes, I did. I have a very eventful afternoon. How was...business?”

“Business as always was...business. Nothing terribly exciting, and as always my day would have been better at your side,” he touched your cheek gently, “was the market nice?”

“Very,” you promised, “Oberyn, you know I love you more than anything, right?”

“Of course,” he gave you a curious look as one of his eyebrows perked up, “you have never given me a single reason to doubt that. And I feel the same, of course. Tell me, what brings about this sudden declaration?”

“I want you to know. That no matter what ever happens, silly disagreements and bickering, should they happen, you will always be my moon and stars,” you told him and a mildly concerned expression crossed his features, “there’s nothing to worry about my love. But I also...we need to talk.”

“And whatever is so serious that it requires this level of commitment to speaking?”

“I think you know, Oberyn,” you put your hands on his shoulders, “we’ve ignored the issue since it came up and passed, and I...I don’t think I’ve had my fair say.” 

“The issue is over and done,” he immediately picked up on what you were talking about, “there’s no reason to dwell on things that are over and done with.”

“That’s just it, it’s not done,” you insisted softly, “not to me. Oberyn, please just listen to me and hear me out…”

“No,” it was a firm statement, laced with a sharp bite as he stared firmly into your eyes. It was the first time he had ever said it to you in such a manner, “this is over and you....we are letting it go.” 

“Oberyn,” you pulled back and gave him a hurt expression, one that immediately caused him to regret his decision to speak in even a likely harsh tone, “I...we should be able to talk about this…”

“I respect that you have feelings about this, and that they differ from mine,” he promised, “but I don’t think you understand the gravitas of acting upon what happened.”

“I do too! They hurt you, Oberyn. They were going to kill you!”

“And they didn’t,” he held up his hand as if trying to end the conversation then and there, “I know it’s hard to accept, but sometimes inaction is the best response.”

“It’s not...no. I understand exactly what you’re saying, but I don’t think doing nothing is the right response.”

“No,” it was harsh and final, “you are but a child when it comes to affairs of the kind! You know nothing about them. We are not going to do anything and that is final. You will listen to what I say and we are not discussing this further.”

“Oberyn…” you blinked at him a few times, trying to keep your tears from spilling over. He’d never yelled at you before. He let out a long, heavy sigh as he looked at the ground, already angry that he had spoken to you in such a manner The last thing he ever wanted was for you to cry because of him. A few tears rolled down your cheeks as you turned away from him with a small nod, “okay. I understand…”

“Sunshine,” it was soft, reverent whisper as he reached for your hand. But this time, for the first time, you didn’t let him take it, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you in such a manner.”

“It is no matter,” you lied as your lips trembled with cries that you tried to keep quiet, “like you said, I don’t understand these matters. I am but a child and don’t understand these types of things. “

“Please, my sweet girl, listen to me-”

“I’ll see you at dinner, Oberyn.”

With that you walked away from him, hastily wiping at your eyes as he stared after you, unsure of what to do. His shoulders slumped as he regretted every word. He only wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harshness of the world, and yet he was the one that had hurt you. 

That was going to be the first and last time, he quickly decided, he’d make sure there was never a single tear from you ever again.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[nikethestatue]

The Heirs of Shadow

Prompt: here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Language and Fluff

Part I

Calanmai

 The shadows danced along the obsidian walls of the chamber, jumping and fluttering across the marble floor and the intertwining carved beasts that scaled the width of the room, waving across the walls and the ceiling.

Behind the doors, Elain could feel the pulsating throb of the revelry that was taking place in the opulent halls and loggias of Hewn City. Fire Night. Calanmai. Beyond the onyx-black bowels of the city, up, up, up somewhere in Night Court, the night skies were streaking with falling stars. Starfall.

Starfall was somewhere else though—they had glimpsed it, taken in its beauty, but now, Calanmai was in full swing.

Azriel’s powerful, muscular body strained over hers, his arm gripping her hip so hard, she was sure that it would leave bruises. Not that Elain cared—she loved the marking of his love on her flesh. She loved the lilac bruises that he left on her neck with his lips and teeth, and the outline of his hands on her thighs, her waist, her…everywhere. For a man who was known for his self-control, and who embodied cold, calculated sophistication and cruelty to all those who did not know him well, Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, loved Elain Archeron with an uncharacteristic degree of unrestrained passion and blind, all-encompassing adoration. He was not above kissing her with uninhibited ambition in public, or slipping his scarred hand into her jacket and cupping a handful of her soft breast or pinching her behind when fancy struck him. It struck him frequently. His love was reciprocated, at last, and there was no limit to his indulging of his gorgeous female. His betrothed and his Lady. The glittering band of her betrothal bracelet was testament not only to their mutual love, but also his wealth and the degree to which he was willing to spoil her. In fact, he had picked out every diamond, every amethyst, every pearl that comprised the intricate flower design of the bracelet himself. Gone were the days when he had to hide his love and desire for her, when the only acceptable gift was a dainty necklace of stained glass. In fact, he designed a very similar necklace for her yet again, only instead of glass, it was rubies and pearls and pink diamonds.

The glint of the necklace in fact, bounced against her creamy skin, the pendant sliding between her swaying breasts. He kissed her, slow and hot, watching her body arch beneath him. The kiss was slow, but not gentle, their mouths fusing together in desperation, as if they’ve been apart for too long, that the previous 500 years were unbearable for him and he needed to fill his lungs with her, with her breath, her very soul, as he sucked and sucked on her lips.

Elain’s nails sunk into his broad, thickly muscled shoulders, and Azriel dipped his head, groaning into her throat, dragging his tongue from her hot, pulsating vein back to her lips, sliding back into her mouth. She kissed him back, sloppy and heated, her lips swollen and ruby-red, before pressing the heel of her palm into his chest and pushing at him.

“I want to look at you,” she moaned, her eyelids heavy with want.

He pulled up and did as he was told, settling on his knees and allowing her to trace the skin of his cobbled abdomen with her fingertips. He was running hot and volatile, his dark brown skin gleaming like dirty bronze beneath the faelights, his wings spayed and open behind him, casting shadows on his sculpted, inked shoulders. His soft, inky-black hair fell across his forehead, sticking slightly to his damp skin, and she smiled at him and rubbed her thumb between his eyebrows.

His thick cock glided in and out of her tight glorious heat and he pushed inside of her with an obscene, wet sound, feeling the smooth thrust of his shaft in her.

“My good girl,” he murmured, extracting loud, explicit moans from her parted lips, while his thumb settled on her pulsating, engorged clit, rubbing firmly, with precise, firm pressure. Elain’s head rolled back, her honey-golden hair fanning out over the dark-gray satin of the pillows. She felt overflowing, torturously stuffed with him, which was the most glorious, gorgeous fullness that she could ever imagine.

“Open up for me, beautiful,” he ground out, “so I can ride you like you need,”

Elain obliged compliantly, wordlessly splitting even further for him, as Azriel gripped her thigh and pulled her deeper onto his shaft, while hoisting her leg onto his shoulder.

“Look at us, my love,” he urged, thrusting harder into her, his gaze gluttonous with pleasure and utter satisfaction. Elain could barely lift herself up on her elbows, but she looked between their bodies, watching her splayed pink folds, his member disappearing in and out of her, glistening with their arousal. His long brazen finger thrust alongside his shaft, the fit impossibly tight, but so wonderfully pleasurable.

She squeezed her breasts in her palms, absently fingering her nipples, watching the explicit show between her legs, while Azriel smiled at her and kissed her foot that rested on his shoulder. She bit her lower lip, enjoying the indecent scrutiny with which his eyes skimmed over her body, as both of them watched the workings of his cock inside of her.

“Do you want to taste, my sweet?” he offered, his midnight voice smooth and sensual, encouraging even more debauched behavior from her, and she nodded eagerly.

Licking her lips impatiently, she murmured, ‘yes’ and he rewarded her with a smile, while slowly pulling out of her stretched passage.

“Az, my love,” she moaned, emptied of him, instantly missing the presence of his thick, long member in her, her hole twitching at the loss. But he pulled her up gently by her back of her neck and instantly fed the shaft in her mouth, thrusting deep and far into her throat. She choked softly around him, but swallowed compliantly, sucking his length down into her mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he approved, holding the back of her head and pumping between her lips, watching her watch him. Her eyes, the color of milk chocolate, blinked rapidly, as she struggled against the girth of the member, but sucked on his bravely and eagerly. He enjoyed the sucking, noisy and wet, her tongue working on him constantly, licking their intermingling juices, but then he patted the corner of the bed, and Elain knew what he desired. She scooted over, and lay back on the cool sheets, never releasing the cock from her mouth, holding it tightly in her hand, as she lapped on the broad head of it, playfully dipping the tip of her tongue into the tiny slit.

They’ve been at it for hours now. Calanmai. Fucking, eating, drinking, fucking, fucking. That’s what people did on Calanmai. Elain figured that perhaps, this would be her new favorite holiday. Always to be celebrated here, in Hewn City, her new home.

The Lord and Lady of Hewn City, feared and venerated—that’s what they were. Who would have thought that Elain would love Hewn City, its obsidian beauty, its marble and granite lined ‘streets’, its unbridled opulence, its soaring columns, its ceilings lit up with faelights that were ensconced in chandeliers that were dripping crystals and silver.

They had begun today’s festivities by following its ancient custom of the Great Rite. As the Lady and Lord of the Underworld, they did not need to ‘choose’ each other, for they were already chosen—chosen the moment the Darkbringers acknowledged Azriel as their Commander General, and Rhysand how no other choice but to pass the crown of Stewardship to his shadowsinger. With Keir dead, all assumed that the magic and the power of the Hewn City and the Darkbringers would pass on to Mor, or one of the sons, yet, it skipped the family entirely. The magic of Hewn City left the bloodline of the High Lord, moving over to Azriel’s line. And just like that, Azriel became Prince of Velaris, the Lord of Hewn City, and Elain, his chosen Lady.

Today was the first year they presided over Fire Night, and while Azriel worried about Elain, she reminded him that she was the Lady of Hewn City and therefore, would participate in all rites and rituals, just like Feyre participated in them as the High Lady of the Night Court.

The entire population of Hewn City, tens of thousands of them vibrated and pulsed in anticipation, gathered in the Great Hall, hundreds spilling outside, thousands crowding the balconies and terraces above.

For Elain, it was the initial walk that was the most nerve wrecking. Naked, she was expected to enter the hall and await Azriel’s arrival. But she squared her shoulders, and draped in nothing but jasmine and moonflowers that cascaded down her unbound hair she made her walk, regal and unhurried, as any queen. When he’d arrived, the new Lord and master of the place, the place shook with a different kind of energy.

And then, they joined together on their throne, in front of their subjects, and Azriel rode her long and hard, until she barely remembered that she was being watched by thousands of eyes. She was eager and willing, taking him in any position that he desired, until he filled her with seed and spilled the rest of it upon the stones of his domain, signifying the start of Calanmai.

The insemination was met with wild cheering and Elain felt nothing but prideful satisfaction after the ritual was concluded and his seed dripped down her thighs, for all to see. She was their Lady, the benevolent one, the kind and just one, while Azriel still inspired fear and trepidation in most. The seed that filled her and poured out of her as she walked through the throngs of people, all of whom looked at her with admiration and excitement, was a sign of good things to come. After centuries, perhaps millennia of stagnation, Hewn City would rise again to its former glory. Lady Elain would be the catalyst for it.

Azriel settled atop of her, her head thrown over the edge of the bed, and rubbed the head of the member over her lips, tugging on it slowly, his eyes wide with the anticipation of pleasure.

“I love Calanmai,” she vowed with a joyful sight, and he laughed.

“Indeed?”

She nodded, licking the tip of the member. “You aren’t tired?” he asked, for they’ve been entangled for a while now. She shook her head no. “Tired? Until you, my lord, render me unable to walk tomorrow, then I might consider myself tired!”

“Is this what you want, my girl?” he asked, his voice gravelly and breathy with lust. Beads of liquid dribbled onto her tongue from his straining member. She whined with anticipation, nodding impatiently, while he guided the shaft into her mouth, her position allowing him to slide deeper and deeper and deeper.

There was nothing that Azriel didn’t love about Elain. Nothing. There was no word ‘no’ in his vocabulary when it came to her. She was his strength, his rock, the one person in this world who offered him complete understanding and acceptance, who supported him gently and lovingly through every peril and cataclysmic change that had taken place in their lives.

Sexually, Elain was brave and tolerant, experimental and curious. Every part of her was enticing and sensual, but nothing excited him more than her willingness and ability to take him in her throat, usually, without him even asking for it. Elain surprised him daily, but her voracious sexual appetite was a marvelous, unexpected gift for him. Because it matched his own perfectly.

He gently cupped her hollowed cheek and rubbed his thumb over the warm, flushed skin of her face, murmuring, “you feel so good, my love. So wet and ready for me.”

Elain hummed against his member and gasping and panting, and the vibrations of her mouth against the head of the member had him moaning, his head thrown back. She stroked his muscled stomach, running her palm over the hard, defined ridges, while he began thrusting between her lips, the tip striking the back of her throat with each push.  He gingerly cupped her head, her soft, messy locks a tangle in his fingers, and kept it steady, while she allowed him to use her mouth the way he liked it.

Azriel was not a talkative man, and because he was quiet and reserved and cerebral, most assumed that he was a tender lover. He was not.

So when he plunged into her mouth, it was not gentle, though he was always considerate and acutely aware of all her emotions and reactions. Spymaster, after all.

“My good girl,” he began a litany of praise, “you feel so good. My sweet, beautiful Lainey—are you enjoying yourself, my love?” he looked over his shoulder for a moment and a smirk played on his lips. She was clenching her thighs in desperation, gurgling and panting softly around his member, and he pumped harder, clasping her jaw and muttering, “is sucking my cock making you even wetter?”

She attempted to nod, but it was virtually impossible, though he didn’t need confirmation seeing her rosy folds bathed in her arousal. Taking pity on her, he slipped three fingers in her, and they slid in easily and fully, the walls of her sex clutching at them strongly.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asked, his hand working inside of her with quick, deep thrusts, while he used her mouth brutally, watching tears spill down her cheeks from the pressure. She did not respond in any meaningful way, indicating that it was up to him to find his pleasure within her, wherever he wanted. He smiled and caressed her sweaty, flushed face, while she chocked lightly against him, stroking his balls with her usual tenderness. He moaned, especially when he glanced lower and gritted through his teeth, “Love, I can see my cock in your throat,” he gasped, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness, cloaked in oily lust. Every time he pushed, the member bulged and imprinted in her throat, and he couldn’t help himself and gently lay his scarred hand on the spot, feeling the vibrations of his dick against his palm. He almost came right then and there, himself panting and gasping for air, and even if this certainly wasn’t the first time he saw his cock protrude in her throat, it never failed to cause some instinctual male reaction in him. His wings flared and snapped open, uncontrollable, guided by nothing but base instinct to show his female who was inside of her. By the Cauldron, if he could stay like this forever, he would.

Alas, he could hold back no longer and with a few well-placed thrusts, he felt Elain’s throat contract on him and that was his undoing. His release swept like a tidal wave over him and came in her mouth, making her groan with feral pleasure as he spilled and spilled into her. He was thinking that maybe Calanmai was his favourite holiday as well.

He collapsed alongside her, his wings a mess beneath him, but he didn’t even care. His breath was ragged and heavy, but she lovingly fed her nipple between his teeth and he sucked, tucking her beside him, murmuring an endless string of ‘I love you’ and ‘thank you’ into the soft, wonderfully comforting globe. She held his head against her breast, moaning sweetly, delighted at his steady sucking, wiggling against him to get more.  

Once they’ve calmed down a lit, she kissed his neck, while twisting her wrist before her eyes, watching the sparkling and gleaming bracelet explode with a thousand tiny lights in the shadows of faelights and the fire in the marble fireplace.

“Do you really love it?” he murmured, kissing her hand.

“Being yours…your bride and your Lady is all that I want,” she admitted, “but,” she smiled, “yes, my love, I love it. Isn’t it stunning?!”

He nodded, “I think I did well.”

“I can’t believe that you designed it yourself!” she kissed his chin, then his lips. “What other incredible talents do you possess that I am not aware of?”

He turned onto his back, rearranging his wings in some semblance of acceptable order and tugged her next to him. Running his finger over the bracelet, he said, “well, let’s see—I sing.”

“Uh-uh,” she pouted. “But never in front of me!”

“One day, my sweet, one day,” he teased.

“What else?”

“I enjoy building things…carving wood. I think that deep down, I am just a humble carpenter.”

Her brow furrowed, “have I seen any of your work? Or are you being stupidly humble as usual and refusing to show it to anyone?”

He laughed, amused by her indignation.

“No, I don’t believe that I am stupidly humble when it comes to my work. You might have seen it. Most of it is at Rosehall,”

“Oh, speaking of which—I promised your mother that I would visit!” Elain snapped her fingers, frowning at having forgotten.

He kissed her brow and said, “I am sure she’ll understand. Her daughter-in-law is a Lady of Hewn City,”

Elain smiled at the title.

“Even though,” she insisted, “I love her and I want to visit her. She said that she and the girls had made spice blends and mulled wine over the winter break and she wanted us to have it. And she also promised gifts for Calanmai,”

“You are my gift for Calanmai,” he whispered tenderly and kissed her. “My gift for every day. My gift for life.”

Elain cupped his cheek and kissed him back, running her tongue over his lower lip. She smelled and tasted of him, and he shuddered from the sensation, from the realization of how thoroughly his she was. His gift indeed.

Remarkably, it also made him hard.

Elain smiled and ran her finger down his chest, then his stomach.

“I am sorry, Lainey, I know you are tired,” he scrambled quickly, embarrassed by his response to her. Even by Fae standards, he was no spring chicken—not a green youth to be hardening at every kiss of these sweet, soft lips. Yes, he was a male in his prime, but,

“Once more?” she requested softly, batting her lashes at him and he grinned.

“Whatever my lady wishes,” he nodded with a courteous flair. The he kissed her and whispered into her lips, “tell me what you’d like, sweetheart?”

She chewed her lower lip, contemplating, the action making him ever harder. She found that very hardness at the ready for her, and wrapped her hand around him, rubbing him tightly, as she settled in the crook of his arm and he kissed her again.

“In my bottom, please,” she requested shyly.

Her secret, intimate pleasure that only Azriel was aware of. It thrilled him to know that she found pleasure with him, in him, in many different ways—from the simplest and most mundane, to the very intimate and personal, and only he could provide it for her.

“If that’s alright with you?” she added and he laughed, bringing her closer to his chest.

“I don’t think that I need to be pressured, sweetheart,”

She smiled and he parted her thighs, settling just behind her, muttering in her ear, “will you be a good girl for me? My good girl?”

She nodded, breath hitching in her chest, her breasts rising and falling in anticipation and she flicked her plump nipple with his fingers before biting it softly. She squirmed and her legs fell apart of their own volition, while he pressed his thumb into her clit and ground into it, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure, while he lined his member with her little opening. It was well-stretched from their previous bout, as he’d taken her everywhere in front of their Court, and then again, when they returned here, to their private quarters.

He pushed into her, easing slowly and carefully, and her back arched in his arms, as she pressed her face into his neck, moaning loudly. There was always a bit of pain, especially in the beginning, at the initial breach, and the sharp bite that he received on his clavicle was an indication of just that. She gripped the immense muscles of his shoulder, grunting and moaning into his neck, squeezing his arm so hard, it was sure to leave bruises. He was inside of her, his cock enveloped in such mind-boggling tightness that he ceased all movement, just to avoid coming at once.

He clasped her jaw and made her look at him. Her eyelids were heavy and a love-addled, blissful look settled on her face, while he lightly kissed her parted lips.

“Does that feel nice, my girl?” he asked, finally sliding a bit deeper, each shallow, easy thrust opening her up a little more.

“Az, Az,” she groaned breathlessly, “I can’t…it’s so…ohh,” she swallowed his thumb, still wet with her slick, needing to suck on something while he plunged forward, rocking his hips into her.

“Elain,” he hissed low and winced at the sweet, torturous friction that the walls of her bottom offered to his invading shaft. He pressed her to him, slowly bringing his hips against hers, and finally settling fully inside, while she went still and pliable in his arms.

The ache inside of Elain was particularly wonderful right now, even if she felt like she was being split inside—it always happened for a few moments—while her body spread to accommodate him.

“I fucking love you,” he moaned into her mouth, pulling his thumb out so he could ravish her with his tongue, while he returned back to her clit and stroked steadily.

He did not set an unreasonable pace, but rather moved languidly and deeply inside of her, kissing her to his heart’s desire. She nestled into his arms, stroking and kissing him lovingly, mewing and panting against his thorough, merciless thrusts.

“You feel sublime,” she confessed, watching him squeeze her breast, toying and tugging on the nipple.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” he asked, placing light, tender kisses all over her face. She laughed. “About a minute ago.”

“Good. Because I love you.”

“I love you too, Az,” she wrapped her arm around his neck, and then shuddered in his embrace, stuttering into his shoulder, “yes, yes, yes…like that…”

“You like that, my beauty?” he pumped harder now, knowing that the discomfort and pain were gone and she stretched wonderfully around him, taking him to the balls.

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, eyes shut, pleasure settling and growing somewhere inside of her. She milked and squeezed his cock frantically, urging him to move and give her more, and he did, pounding deeper into that marvelous tightness, against the lush silkiness of her quivering, trembling behind.

“Azriel,” she almost screamed, and then turned and swiftly straddled him, impaling herself with unstoppable determination, her wet, gleaming sex played widely in front of him, her other opening swollen and bursting around him.

Her plump tits bounced as she rode him, unconcerned about anything at this moment, her hair hanging limply over her body, her nails dug into his chest, her hips undulating on his cock.

“Baby, come for me,” he urged her, mesmerized by the wantonness of her creamy, pale body atop of him, the rhythmic bounce of her beautiful ass on his thighs, her determination to take what she needed from him.

With a roar that awoke the beasts, she shuddered and trembled over him, her rectum twitching and squeezing him so hard that he was unable to even work her through her climax, as he arched beneath her and his ecstasy was complete, as he spurted hot and thick inside of her. She went limp and he caught her in his arms, gently squeezing her against his chest and then waiting until the waves subsided for both of them, before kissing her hungrily.

He lay her down and then carefully withdrew, dragging his seed out of her with one long pull.

“Happy Calanmai,” she giggled and kissed him.

“Happy Calanmai, my love,” he stroked her damp hair.

He took her to the bathing chamber then, and they cleaned each other up quickly, for even the stoic Azriel was tired and all he wanted was to snuggle with his love and sleep. With her, he slept. She was his miracle.

By the time they returned to the bedroom, the bed was remade, the sheets changed and the subtle scent of jasmine perfumed the air. The wraiths who served at their court were nothing but efficient.

Elain’s beasts, two creatures who sat in stone for millennia, while Hewn City awaited its true master, and slumbered in its decadence, under the rule of the Night Court’s High Lords, awoke when the magic and power descended upon Azriel.

The creatures, and there were many of them here, awoke. But two, the ones who guarded the entrance to the City, were touched by Elain’s hand and released first. She freed them all, though some she put back to slumber, to be awoken when needed, though unlike before, they fed regularly, as opposed to once a decade.

But the two—Asterin and Sorrel—were Elain’s perpetual companions. The great fanged beasts, with powerful slithering bodies clad in impenetrable scales and with massive claws, not to mention keen intelligence and perfect understanding of language had made even Azriel a bit uneasy at first. Asterin was more physically powerful, but also playful, if volatile and temperamental, while Sorrel was calmer, if more brutal, and extremely overprotective of Elain.

Hewn City, especially during the transition of power, was not the friendliest of places, its new Lord well-known, disliked, feared and resented by a swath of its population. Even Elain, with her kindness and good-natured character, was not immediately successful in turning the tide of public opinion. Therefore, Azriel was more than concerned about leaving her here, if he had business elsewhere, but with Asterin and Sorrel, even his worries were put to rest.

The beasts were not exactly wyverns, or dragons, but creatures of their own. Like Rhys, they were able to summon their wings at will, which was perhaps something specific to Rhys’s bloodline, or somehow connected to Hewn City, but whatever the reason was, it was very, very useful. Elain had noted that having not one, but three winged creatures in the bedroom would be…excessive. Hence, when she and Azriel went to their palace atop the Court of Nightmares’ mountain, the beasts were free to fly and frolic about as much as they wanted. They also offered winged transportation to Elain.

At last, all three sisters were able to fly. Feyre simply summoned wings just like she always did. Nesta received her white mare pegasus, which she named Marena, from Helion (who still held out hope that she and Cassian would join him in some erotic escapade), as a mating gift. And lastly, Elain flew on her fanged beasts. Their three males could barely keep up.

Luckily, the beasts also went into hibernation when ordered, becoming stone-like, just like the sculptures that they once were. Because they insisted on sharing the quarters here, it was rather imperative that there was some privacy—because Azriel did not need to suddenly glance at a pair of slanted green eyes while licking Elain’s pussy.

Azriel deposited Elain on the bed and she wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hearty hug.

The shadows had returned—they left when they sensed that their master was about to engage in something private with the mistress—while Asterin and Sorrel coiled around the bed.

Even though their private apartment was located far inside the Hewn City Night Palace, they could still hear the partying occupants of the underworld Court. Azriel rolled his eyes and Elain laughed in return. He threw a shield over the bedroom, blocking the noise.

“Who knew that you’d fit right in, with Calanmai becoming your favourite holiday?” he muttered, squeezing her behind.

“I suppose the Cauldron doesn’t only make stupid mistakes,” she shrugged. “And once in a while gets something right.’

 Part II

The Heirs of Shadow

 Spring was in full bloom across the Night Court territory, slowly but surely crossing into summer.

The wind in Elain’s hair was sweet and scented with roses and pine. Asterin was like an enormous scaly snake-like puppy, swooshing through the air, making all sorts of unnecessary maneuvers beneath Elain’s saddle. “Hey! I will be going on Sorrel when we return,” she warned her beast and Asterin gave her a petulant snarl, but slowed down. The flight made Elain queasy and she was glad to see the cypress and pine-covered hills, and beyond them, a flower-covered meadow and a glittering, turquoise lake.

The stucco-covered villa stretched along the banks of the lake, one wall covered in ivy, and the other, in pink and white roses. As Asterin and Sorrel approached the villa, two children rushed out of the wrought iron gates, waving their arms in the air, jumping and yelling. Elain smiled at them, waving back.

“Elain, Elain,” the children rushed towards her the moment Asterin touched down, “we missed you so much! You came! Can we play with the wyverns? Can we go flying?”

Elain dismounted and squatted in the grass, opening her arms and then getting tackled onto her back, once the two children slid into her arms, hands and legs flailing about, smiles and at least one mouth with missing teeth grinning at her. She kissed soft cheeks and thick black hair, so alike to that of their oldest brother—Azriel.

“You two are such hooligans!” she laughed, finally managing to sit up, but they wouldn’t let get up, so they remained in the grass.

“Where is Az?” asked Nataliya, playing with Elain’s braid and closely inspecting her emerald earrings. “These are pretty! Do you have presents for me?”

“Nat, it’s rude to ask that!” at nine years of age, her brother Riad was the voice of reason and propriety. More than any other child, he reminded Elain of Azriel—a uniquely handsome boy, with a contemplative and scholarly attitude and yet remarkably swift, agile and fast. She’d watched him climb the old oak tree that grew on the property in under a minute. Sometimes, he and Azriel would go for a run, and the boy would keep up the entire time, without complaint, steadfast and determined, just like his brother.

“Why it’s rude if I want a present?” demanded Nataliya, shrugging. Elain kissed her head and said, “Lucky for you, I do have presents for everyone!”

The girl squealed, her round face breaking into a happy smile. “That’s good. I want them! You wanna see our baby?”

“Of course,” Elain nodded and then gave each one of them a hand and they tugged her upwards.

“Come on, Elain! You can do it,” Nat encouraged her, grunting.

“Is Az gonna come?” asked Riad quietly, once Elain was up, and they walked towards the villa, holding hands.

“Not right now, my loves. He is very busy,”

“He is High Lord!” exclaimed Nat, squeezing her chubby hands in delight. “He is busy, Riad!” she added confidently, “so he can’t come visit.”

“Maybe you can come and visit us in Velaris?” proposed Elain.

“Be careful what you ask for, darling!” a laughing voice interrupted their conversation.

Azriel’s stunningly beautiful mother was smiling at them, standing by the gate. Her lustrous black hair cascaded in rich, ebony waves around her, and the bright green eyes were in fine contrast to her dark golden skin. Her eldest son inherited her sensuous full mouth and every time Elain laid eyes on the woman, she could see Azriel’s visage in her face.

“We’d love to have you all,” insisted Elain, throwing her arms around her mother-in-law.

“Ma, we gonna go play with the wyverns!” announced Riad.

“Yes, with wyverns!” Nat nodded immediately. She was not yet five, and basically repeated everything that Riad did and said. “Which one is good?”

Elain chuckled, “they are both good. Asterin, the green one, likes to swim, so maybe you can go to the lake with her. And Sorrel, the gray one, she may even fly you about, if your mother permits,”

“Ma!”

“Ma!”

Rosamunde winced a bit, but Elain murmured, “they’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Alright, but,”

Before she could even finish her sentence the two ran off towards the beasts.

“Ellie, you look wonderful,” Rosamunde locked arms with Elain and they slowly made their way inside Rosehall. A riot of flower beds greeted them and Elain sighed with delight. Who would have thought that she and her mother-in-law possessed the same interest and passion? Though Elain felt that Rosamunde’s gardens put hers to shame.

“Thank you,” she smiled, looking around.

The villa was a tranquil and stunning place, nestled in a valley, surrounded by low mountains and crystal-clear waterfalls. Azriel had purchased the estate long ago, while he was in love with Mor and had hoped that they would have a blissful future together. While he knew that they would always be tied to Velaris and Hewn City, he had imagined that Rosehall would be their escape, their private place to enjoy.

It was stunningly picturesque, with a mild tempered climate year-round, and a town a few leagues away, which supplied the estate with everything that it needed. However, things did not go as planned and instead, Azriel gifted the house and the lands around it to his mother, for her wedding to her life-long and long-suffering lover, partner, friend and the male who had waited for her for a century, and ultimately helped to rescue her from the clutches of Azriel’s father. The male was now an elected mayor of the town—a long way to come for a humble hunter who had once fallen in love with an Illyrian laundress and loved her for all the days of his life.

“So do you!” exclaimed Elain, breathing in the fragrant air and smiling widely. She loved Rosehall. It was a serene and gorgeous place, full of delightful smells and exquisitely stunning scenery.

“Come, come,” Rosamunde pulled her by the hand and they entered the house. It was cool and dim, but once they made their way down the terracotta-tiled hallway and stepped into the opulently enormous kitchen, light flooded the place. This kitchen was Elain’s inspiration for her own home—grand and open on three sides to take advantage of the glorious views outside, it was also homey and cozy, a place to accommodate a bustling, busy family. All the doors were open and a pleasant breeze wafted in and out, bringing in the scent of flowers and mingling with the smell of freshly baked tarts.

“Sit, sit,” Rosamunde offered and immediately sat a tall glass of lemonade before Elain.

“How’s my Azzie?” the mother asked, joining her at the long butcher block that stretched in the middle of the kitchen. A mother’s privilege, to call the famed shadowsinger, the feared spymaster, and now Lord—Azzie. Even Elain didn’t dare, though she teased him with it at times, causing many dramatic eyerolls in response.

“He is good,” Elain smiled a happy, satisfied smile which did not escape Rosamunde’s notice. Her charming daughter-in-law looked blissful and for some reason, it made Rosamunde’s heart ache with joy and pride. “Works too much,” Elain continued, sipping her lemonade, and helping herself to a peach cake which Rosamunde supplied promptly. Like all mothers, Rosamunde was convinced that both Azriel and Elain were too thin and did not eat enough. Hence, each time they visited, they returned laden with bushels of food, treats, jars of preserves and gods only knew what else. Now that there were two wyverns to carry the care packages, Elain couldn’t imagine how much she’d be given. Not that she minded.

Azriel had introduced Elain to his mother just after the betrothal and they had come here and spent a few days getting to know each other. Rosamunde had four children then, besides Azriel—Enid, who was over three hundred years old, and who was married to an Illyrian General (not an asshole, as Azriel explained), and then, hundreds of years later, she birthed four children almost in a row—unheard of in Fae society—Rafael, Riad, Nataliya and finally Ellena, with whom she was pregnant when she and Elain met.

Ellena now sat up groggily in a little play crib that stood in the corner and looked around, having just awoken from her nap. Seeing Elain, she immediately stood up and extended her arms to her.

Family. Elain had loved her father, but…family…

There used to be a family, but it was never quite normal, cohesive. Her mother only doted on Nesta, their father was frequently absent, Feyre was a solitary, quiet, dreamy child and Nesta was a formidable creature of her own. Elain learned how to navigate the dynamics early on, floating quietly between all of them, playing the peacemaker, being the good daughter. And while her sisters, and her nephew were her blood family, this—this was her new family, the one she loved. Her Azriel and all her new little nieces and nephews, and her mother-in-law, who was both a mother and a friend, and her father-in-law—an enormous, gregarious male who reminded her of Cassian, but who was even larger than the Illyrian General. When she came here, she felt in place, happy and cared for.

Rosamunde watched from the corner of her eye how Elain and Ellena hugged and cooed at each other, giggling and whispering, and she already knew that Elain wouldn’t let the baby go until it was time to leave. The three of them, well two, since Ellena mostly stuck her hands into things and smooshed food around, prepared lunch and then went outside, slowly walking down the path that led to the lake. Riad and Nat were using Sorrel as a slide, climbing on top of her and then sliding down her scaled back into the water, shrieking and screaming with joy and excitement, while Asterin lounged next to them, sunning her hide, watching them with lazy amusement.

“You smell like Az,” Rosamunde murmured suddenly, as they took off their dresses and waded into the water, because Ellena was throwing a fit and wanted to slide off Sorrel as well. Elain only allowed her a little jump off the wyvern’s tail, but Ellena loved it and screamed with delight, falling all over the place, while to two of them tried to catch her.

Elain, her shift irreversibly soaked, glanced at the female, as she helped Ellena climb up Sorrel’s tail. It was an unusual comment for Rosamunde to make. They were very close, and even though Rosamunde was over 700 years old, she looked like a woman in her early 30s, which made it easy for them to become friends, because on the surface they looked like they were almost the same age. And Azriel was born so, so long ago that Elain hardly ever thought of them as a mother and son. However, some conversations were off limits, and they certainly never discussed her and Azriel’s intimate relationship, even when they talked about males and their ways around the bedroom, giggling and joking over a few glasses of wine.

“Well, I,” Elain began saying, feeling a blush spreading over her chest and neck. “We…”

Yes, of course they’d made love in the morning, before she came here. They made love every morning. Every evening.

Rosamunde waved her hand at her, laughing, “Oh Cauldron! Please spare me the details!”

“Oh,”

“All I am saying is that your scents—they’ve amalgamated. I,” she sniffed delicately, “recognize him within you…Not just on your skin,”

“Really?”

Something passed across the female’s face, a small smile of recognition. Then she nodded, her face remaining unreadable, much like her son’s.

She nodded, “Yes. The cedar and the jasmine. A lovely scent indeed.”

“You smell good Elain?” Nat barreled into Elain’s arms, wrapping her arms around her neck.

Elain kissed her wet hair and said, “I guess I do. Are you ready to go and eat lunch?”

“No! I want to do this more!”

“Why don’t we come back after lunch and you can play more?” Elain proposed, somehow managing to convince the unruly bunch to actually get back into the house. While they walked, Nataliya declared, “I wanna be High Lady!”

Elain chuckled, “Yes? Why? What will you do as High Lady?”

Nat thought for a second and then said, “Gonna wear pretty dresses,”

“You already wear pretty dresses,” countered Elain.

“More pretty,” insisted the girl. “And eat cake!”

“So as a High Lady you’ll be wearing pretty dresses and eating cake?”

Nodding, the budding High Lady hooked her little finger over Elain’s bracelet and added, “Will wear this too! And crowns.”

“Well, well,” Elain laughed, “all good things.”

Nat seemed pleased by the prospect of her High Ladyship and skipped ahead, dreaming of crowns and cake.

“You know,” Rosamunde’s voice was thoughtful and quiet, “she may sound silly,”

“I think she is adorable,”

“She is, but even if she is only dreaming of nice dresses and cakes now, I am glad that she is able to dream like this at all. It wasn’t available to us—females—before. There were no High Ladies—not for a very, very long time. So much so, we’d forgotten that we could be one. It’s ironic that it took a human woman to bring the practice back to the Fae world. Now it’s you, and Lady Feyre, and Lady Viviane…I never thought I’d see this.”

“But your son is also a Lord,” reminded her Elain, gently pressing her lips to Ellena’s damp curls. “Was it a surprise?”

They’d never discussed the power transfer—not at any length. It was all very sudden and there hasn’t been time or perhaps even desire to talk about it.

“No,” Rosamunde shook her head, “not exactly a surprise. We hail from an ancient race of Fae—from a Court that no longer in existence,”

“Dusk?”

“Yes. They say that when Dusk was destroyed a few hundred families managed to survive and escape. They were the original inhabitants and builders of Hewn City. Over the centuries, bloodlines thinned, some mixed with other Fae, some with Illyrians…My bloodline is pure,”

Elain shot her a surprised look. Azriel had never mentioned this before.

“Azriel is a true and direct descendant of the Dusk Court nobility—through me—and perhaps even their High Lords…So, no, I was not particularly surprised. That’s why Keir and that family were always ‘stewards’, and not Lords.”

She sighed and looked ahead, as they approached the villa.

“My son,” she said softly, “has had a difficult life. An unhappy life. A life of incredible violence and heartache. A life without childhood, or love, or anything positive or any light…That he is a shadowsinger is not a good thing, you know…It’s a curse, not a blessing. But,” and she glanced at Elain, her sad, soft face, “now he has you. Gods, Elain, you have no idea how happy you make him.”

Elain blushed, a tear-touched smile on her face. “I,”

“Elain, love, you will never know,” Rosamunde wrapped her arm around Elain’s shoulder. “He isn’t a man of many words, but believe me when I say this—I would have been heartbroken if he was granted this burden of power without you at his side. It would just be another weight added onto his shoulders, and I wouldn’t want that for my son. But you came along, and everything fell into place…You and him, and how the Power chose both of you,”

“We aren’t mates,” Elain reminded her quietly, knowing how much importance the Fae placed on the bond.

“And? Perhaps you are even more than that?” Rosamunde shrugged. “Believe me—I’ve seen some happy matings, Rhys and Feyre, for example, but I’ve seen some bad ones as well—Rhys’s parents come to mind. Your own mate bond ended up being faulty…What if you have more than a bond? Not just a bond of love, but that of power? Think about it…” she cocked her brow.

Elain hadn’t considered that option, but now she pondered the suggestion, the implication of it all.

“And you?” she asked instead.

Rosamunde smiled and looked back, towards the town which nestled under the mountains, leagues away.

“And I am an example that bonds don’t matter. No one can possibly love me more than Finrod does, and seven hundred years later, I still get weak in the knees at the sight of him—just like I did when I beheld him the first time, when he won an axe throwing competition and then flared his wings with more gusto than Cassian would,” Rosamunde began to laugh and then Elain joined. But then, her brow furrowed and she asked,

“Wait—Finrod doesn’t have wings!”

“I have wings!” yelled Nat, as she entered the house, and Rosamunde called after her and Riad to go and dry themselves and change.

Surely Elain wasn’t losing her mind. None of the family had wings. Her expression must have been so apparent that Rosamunde chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder, “We do,”

“But…what?”

“Do you know how Rhys can summon his at will? As does Lady Feyre?”

Elain nodded, so confused she felt like she was in some kind of out-of-body experience.

“That’s because Rhys has Hewn City blood. From his father. His mother was fully Illyrian. Us—we are the opposite. I am of Hewn City stock, but Azriel’s…father…” she grimaced, “was Illyrian. So Azriel has permanent wings. We—my children, and Finrod—can summon them at will. I don’t use them much, though they could be useful. Mine are mostly vestigial—I can hardly fly and,” her beautiful face darkened with sorrow, “and…”

Elain squeezed her hand in support and acknowledgement.

“I couldn’t save my baby,” Rosamunde choked, tears filling her eyes, “I couldn’t save Az…They probably would’ve caught me anyway, but I might have had a chance…But, but,” she sobbed and stopped, burying her face in her hands, “I couldn’t…I can’t fly. I couldn’t save him…I couldn’t save my boy…”

“Mam, ma,” Ellena babbled, seeing her mother in distress, and Elain brough her arms around the two of them, kissing both of them, the three of them crying together. For a little boy who couldn’t have a childhood and couldn’t be saved.

 …The rest of the day wasn’t as eventful. They had lunch, with Nataliya demonstrating how to summon her wings and ripping her dress in the process, which caused a flood of tears, and laughter from Riad, and then Nataliya smacking her brother in retribution, and him scowling and pouting for the rest of the meal.

“You two are clearing the table,” ordered Rosamunde, and Elain had to hide her smile at their indignation.

“Az mentioned that he works with wood and that you have some pieces that he’d made,” she remembered. “Do you mind showing them to me?”

“Of course! Come,” they grabbed Ellena, who wouldn’t let go of Elain anyway, and walked through the house, with Rosamunde pointing out beautiful pieces of carved wooden furniture and decorative pieces.

“After Az was sent to the camp,” she recalled, “they allowed him to apprentice with the carpenter there…Because of his hands and his inability to fly, the Commanders didn’t think he’d be useful, and would ever be able to fight. So they figured that he should learn some kind of trade, if he didn’t make it as a shadowsinger for the High Lord, and it also allowed him to work with his hands and fingers, because he still had trouble with them even after 3-4 years after…” her voice faded and she didn’t finish her thought.

Elain ran her fingers along a beautifully carved mirror frame and murmured, “he is truly talented…”

He mother nodded. Then said, “I think he might carve something for you soon…”

“What?”

“Something for the house, I am sure.”

 Azriel landed in the front lawn of his estate.

It was a large, rambling cottage that became available after the war—the family that lived there moved to a smaller place and the house sat unoccupied for a year. Azriel’s been eyeing it ever since it became vacant, but he didn’t need a place that big for himself and back then, he didn’t think that he ever stood a chance with Elain.

Asterin and Sorrel were lounging on the grass, lazily chewing on Elain’s roses, pretending to smell them. At seeing Azriel they immediately shifted, feigning innocence and acting like they weren’t gnashing on the bulbs just now. He shook his finger at them and they turned away, ignoring him.

He was forever thankful that unlike Hewn City, the cottage, while large, couldn’t contain two enormous, fanged beasts. So, they stayed outside. He reckoned that everything fell into place when Elain entered his life, including the location of this house—far away from everyone, secluded in brambles and weeping willows, it was just outside of Velaris, with stunning views all around—the city on one side, and the sea on the other. His presence made people nervous enough, even back when he was just a shadowsinger and spymaster of the High Lord, and an Illyrian with seven siphons. Now, as Lord of Hewn City, with a Cauldron-made betrothed, two fanged beasts in tow, and Bryaxis who loved visiting as well, having befriended Elain a while back (since two monsters as friends weren’t enough), Azriel did not make for a desirable neighbour. Thankfully, there were no neighbours around. Therefore, if Bryaxis felt like sitting in the garden, wrapped in dark shadow of terror, it didn’t result in a pile of bodies who died of pure fear.

“My love, are you home?” he called out, shucking off his jacket and weapons, and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“I am here!” Elain’s voice sang back and instantly his heart gladdened. That voice was like a balm on his soul, sweet and welcoming, and Azriel had to mentally pinch himself to remind himself that this was real. This was his life. This was his home, the one he built with the only woman that he ever truly ever loved and who loved him unconditionally and with an undimming, everlasting passion. His Elain. His Elain who chose him against all odds, and who promised to walk with him side by side, regardless of what befell them in this life. And with her next to him, he felt no fear.

“Holy gods, what are you doing?” he cried, when he entered their vast kitchen and saw Elain balance herself precariously on her toes, on the top step of a stepladder, reaching for something on the top shelf of their pantry. “You couldn’t have waited for me?!”

She laughed at him, kissing the air in greeting and said, “You are fussier than your mom!”

“What are you doing?” he came closer, and crossed his arms on his chest.

“She gave me so much food, I am trying to arrange it all,” Elain giggled, “I think she thinks that we are starving.”

He snorted a laugh.

“I felt bad for Sorrel who had to haul all these baskets on her back,”

“I imagine that Sorrel managed just fine.”

He came closer and playfully pecked her bottom through her gauzy skirt, and she squirmed with enjoyment.

“My Lord Azriel!” she admonished him playfully.

“Lady Elain,” he slapped her buttock lightly and said, “get off that stool and give me a kiss! What smells so good?”

“Dinner!”

He went to the cupboard and started pulling out plates and wine glasses and setting the table.

“Six jars of pickles! Three jars of jam,” she was counting out loud, “Three jars of marinated peppers. Six baskets of dried mushrooms…Azriel, if I see you tucking into those blackberry tarts before dinner, I swear,”

In the next moment, she was swept off her feet and into a pair of strong arms, his mouth descending on hers in a savage kiss. She screeched and laughed, clutching at his shoulders, before softening against him and draping her arms around his neck. Her lips opened in invitation and he swept his tongue inside, gently overpowering her with his kiss.

“I love you,” she moaned into his mouth, running her hands through his hair.

“I’d like to hear the rest of your threat,” he invited with a chuckle, “about the blackberry tarts,”

“I’d make love to you,” she whispered into his ear, lightly biting his earlobe, “if you eat a blackberry tart,”

“Then perhaps I should have two?”

“Perhaps…”

“And if I eat a pickle?” he proposed, returning to her lips, placing small, loving kisses on her mouth and her eyes.

“The punishment remains the same,” she breathed.

He breathed in deeply, with satisfaction.

Then stilled, abruptly.

Elain looked at him in surprise when he pulled away from her mouth.

His hazel eyes blazed—blazed like the green forests of Illyria, like the obsidian of Hewn City, like the stars of the Night Court. Those eyes devoured her. His perfect, beautiful face, usually so tanned and golden, paled. She’d never seen him pale.

“Az?”

Confusion and fear were written on her face.

“El,” he sobbed.

He…sobbed.

Azriel’s gorgeous eyes filled with tears, huge and thick, the eyes brimmed with them before spilling onto his face.

“Azriel,” she cried in alarm, cupping his cheek.

“Elain,” he gasped, his voice so choked with emotion, so raspy, she could barely hear him, “my love. Elain. My love,” he kept repeating, as if in shock, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Az, I love you, please, my darling, what is,”

“We are going to have a baby,” he blurted out.

Her eyes widened and his hand instinctively went to her stomach. He lay his heavy scarred palm on her belly, setting her down on the floor, and dropped on his knees before her.

She pressed her hand over his, still disbelieving his words, as they stared at each other, both in some kind of stupor of complete elation and doubt.

“Are you certain?” she begged softly, her eyes pleading with him for confirmation, for this to be true.

“I smell it…it’s so clear,” he inhaled again, and then again, “you and I and someone else in there,”

“Oh, by the Cauldron,” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, “you mother…Oh…”

“What?” he pressed his cheek to her stomach, wrapping his arms around her hips.

“She knew. I think she knew…She commented on our smell,”

“What did she say?”

“That we amalgamated into one scent,”

He chuckled softly, kissing her hands, her stomach, whatever his lips could reach, “We certainly amalgamated. I think it’s a bit more than just a scent though,”

Suddenly it dawned on Elain. It all came crushing at once and she wept, squeezing her face, a smile on her face so wide, it hurt her cheeks.

“We’ve made a baby?” she gasped, “Az, we’ve made a baby.”

“We’ve made a life together,” he murmured, awed. For a male who was so used to taking life, whose very existence was dedicated to war and blood, the thought of creating one, of creating something pure and good along with this female that he loved beyond reason, was simply magical.

“On Calanmai, you think?” she marveled, remembering the Great Rite, and everything that they did that night.

“I am certain,” he nodded.

“Our magical baby,” she grinned through her tears, looking down at him, at her stomach, and their hands, cradling it together.

  It was a warm summer day, with the sky of the clearest blue and the sun beating down.

Azriel had worked up a sweat, but he loved it. It was quiet around their house, other than for the chirping birds and the rustling of leaves. Out as far as the eye could see stretched the azure sea—this view was one of the reasons Azriel bought this specific house. It was absolutely glorious and he loved the gleaming amethyst brilliance of the water, the smell of salt and brine in the air. One side of the house overlooked the city skyline, in the back, the towering mountains, and ahead, the vast expanse of the sea. When he was old and gray, he imagined that he’d be sitting out on the terrace, with Elain on his lap, and never tire of the view or of her. Not a Lord, not a spymaster or an Illyrian with too many siphons, but Azriel. He’d never tell her, but he already knew what he’d have written on his tombstone, if he ever had one ‘Here lies Azriel. He loved Elain, who made him happy’.

He looked up from the piece of wood that he was polishing. In their beautiful garden, the whole menagerie of their creatures napped or lounged. Deep in the shadows of the two weeping willows was a smudge of impenetrable darkness—Bryaxis came to look at the sun and smell the flowers. Around it, Azriel’s own shadows fluttered and floated. It was a little too bright for them out here, so they hid alongside Bryaxis, nestled in his darkness. Azriel figured that they could talk with each other, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what the topic of their conversation would be. Asterin was cooling off in the pond, while Sorrel was sleeping on the grassy bank, sunning her wings. He supposed that he was also a strange creature, just like them, with his wings, that he was also presently sunning and his unnatural power. Perhaps, only Elain was the normal one amongst them, though probably not.

Elain was crouched in the flower bed, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring her face, even if her thin sleeveless shirt allowed a very generous and tempting glimpse of her unbound breasts under the unbuttoned collar.

“You look like a cat who just drank all the cream,” she noted, without moving her head or looking at him.

“And you are acting like an expert little spy,” he laughed, and walked over to her.

His scarred hand crawled under her hat and he squeezed the back of her neck, massaging gently.

“Mmm, that feels good,” she hummed, leaning into his hand.

Then, with a smirk, she complained, “I am hot.”

He chuckled and stooped over her, his palm migrating from the back of her neck to the front, squeezing her throat lightly and tilting her head back. The hat tumbled on the grass.

“Can I help you remove some of this offending clothing?” he offered, leaning deeper over her, his face ghosting hers in the barest of touches. He whispered and her tongue darted out and licked on his lips quickly.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please…”

He snapped his fingers, without taking his eyes off her and then said, loudly, “Hey! All of you! Find somewhere else to be!”

The monster, the beasts and shadows all made an indignant noise, and attempted to turn around, but Azriel shook his head, “No. No. Go. Leave. Come back later. All of you.”

His shadows flew closer to him, in hopes of being spared, but he flicked his wrist at them.

Elain was laughing.

“You are a terrible host!” she murmured, when he slid on the grass next to her.

“I am a stupendous host,” he countered, stroking her throat, before tilting her head the way he wanted to and placing his lips on the thin, smooth skin. He kissed. Softly. Unhurriedly. Up and down, from her ear to her shoulder, while his deft fingers unbuttoned the few buttons of her shirt.

“Stupendous, huh?”

“Uh-uh,” he breathed against her neck, and parted her blouse, sliding it down her arms and then arranging it so she could lay her head on it. “They lounge on my lawn. They swim in our pond. They eat your flowers. They terrify the neighbors,”

“We don’t have any neighbors,” she reminded him with a chuckle. “You hate people,”

“I don’t hate people,” he corrected, kissing her nose and then her lips, “I care about people. That’s why I don’t have them around, so they don’t die of terror should they come upon Bry or your sweet beasties,”

“You are my sweet beastie,” she whispered, stroking his face.

Azriel smiled, and agreed, “That I am. And, you’ve been very naughty, tempting me with these all morning long,” he cupped her bare breasts, which always fit so well within his palms and rubbed his thumbs over the nipples. Now, a month and a half into her pregnancy, they began to fill out, growing just a bit heavier and fuller almost daily. It fascinated him and, well, he couldn’t deny that it made him quite happy as well.

“You can play with them,” she offered.

“Yeah?” he leaned into her and wrapped his mouth over the nipple, pulling hard and deep, teeth and lips clamping on the sensitive tip. A violent shudder rushed through her, and she tugged on his hair, pushing his face into her soft breast…and if he was going to suffocate now, he’d die a happy male. But she released her hold on his head a bit and he sucked deeply and steadily, while working her out of her skirt.  She wiggled out of it and kicked it with her foot, while going for the ties on his trousers, pulling on them impatiently. He laughed over her breast and then looked up at her, “eager, are we?”

Elain flipped him on his back and muttered, panting lightly, “Az, I need you,”

“You have me, love,” he assured her, as he pulled out his cock and stroked it a few times. She looked down, hunger in her beautiful brown eyes, her lower lip between her teeth, body almost shaking with anticipation.

He wrapped his hand over her hips and nudged her forward, murmuring, “come, my baby, take what you need.”

Elain didn’t have to be asked twice. The horrible ache in her core was becoming unbearable and there was only way to soothe it. While Azriel slid his trousers down his legs, finally getting naked beneath her, she straddled him and guided his thick cock inside of her.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, her eyes closing and head lolling to the side, pure, ravenous bliss written all over her face. She sunk on him slowly, for no matter how aroused she was, how wet and ready, his size did not allow for a singular initial thrust. It always had to be a tempered, gradual push, which they both loved, for it only heightened their senses, the anticipation of what was about to happen.

His fingers dug deeply into her thigh probably adding to an existing bruise, but Elain loved carrying his bruises on her body. Beneath her gauzy dresses, or the more daring, risqué outfits that she wore in Hewn City, or her gardening dungarees, or the simple skirts and shirts that she wore at home, her lovely, curvy body bore the marks of Azriel’s love. It was their secret, just like the bargain tattoo that was hidden on her thigh—only for him to know.

The moment he was situated in her, he set an ambitious pace, his hips working almost against his rational inclination, but the way the walls of her sex gripped him with such sublime strength and clenched and pulled him in every time he made a move was so overwhelmingly pleasurable, he stopped, just to gather his thoughts for a moment.

“You take me so well, my girl,” he grunted, “so tight,”

“Az, move,” she pleaded desperately, her palms pressing into his chest, her hips grinding onto him. “Faster…”

He sat up, biting his lower lip, his palm gripping her breast almost painfully, as he squeezed her nipple between his fingers, twisting it harshly. She panted loudly, the bit of pain always being something she craved, something he offered and she chased.

“Anything you want, baby,” he finally calmed himself enough to begin thrusting into her in earnest. Even when she was on top, she liked for him to do most of the work, and he did not object whatsoever. He lay back down, letting his eyes roam over her gorgeously lush body, mesmerized by her bouncing breasts, as they bopped and swayed with every thrust of his hips. He cupped her soft, pert ass and gently spread the cheeks, mashing them in his palms, his fingers pushing occasionally against and around her other little hole, eliciting pleased moans and cries from her parted lips.

“Az, my love, you feel so amazing,” she breathed. “Why does it feel so good?”

“Because you were made for me and I was made for you,” he said simply.

“Yes,” she nodded, “yes,”

His eyes drifted down her body and he buried himself inside of her, thrusting to the hilt and holding still. She moaned loudly, her head rolling back, unbound hair ticking his thighs. He ran his hand over her torso, her throat and her breasts and then paused at her stomach, pressing lightly to her lower belly. He could feel and see the small bump—not that of their baby—but his cock that was so deep, it pushed out from inside of her.

Azriel groaned loudly, wondering if he’s ever been so hard before. He has. But every time it felt new and different, the sense of possession almost indescribable.

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the same spot. Her eyes widened with lust mixed with amazement and she rubbed the cock that was pocking her stomach.

“El, fuck,” he swore low and hissing, “fuck it feels nice, baby…” he held her hand right there, and she moved and stroked her stomach. “You are so tiny, I can see myself moving inside of you,”

She grinned, “You like that, bad boy?”

“Yes, my sweet, this boy really, really likes seeing you take my cock!”

 Cassian could barely breathe.

He loved Elain, but the flowers…Her garden was gorgeous, a feast for the eyes, a work of art—and torture for his nose and eyes and throat.

Azriel and Elain had been holed up in their luxurious secluded cottage for over a month.

He saw them here and there, they visited once, maybe twice, and then there was the dinner at the River House, which they declined to attend, citing Hewn City business.

“Go check on them!” ordered Nesta.

“Why don’t we go together?” proposed Cassian, but she said, “I don’t want to ambush them. Just…it’s casual if it’s just you.”

So here he was, being casual.

Somehow even Rhys found out that he was going to visit them, and the High Lord ordered him to report on their well-being.

The two wyverns, or whatever they were, flew over the sea, flipping and diving into the water.

Cassian landed in front of the house and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again, harder this time, but was greeted with silence.

It was a nice day, so he figured that the two of them being in the garden was very probable. Elain with her flowers or berry bushes, and Azriel just watching over her like a hungry wolf in love. The male was so obsessively in love, Cassian figured that if he could spend eternity watching Elain garden, Azriel would be perfectly satisfied with his life.

Rounding the corner, Cassian was faced with the most disturbing scene that his 543-year-old eyes had seen—naked Elain, grinding on Azriel…riding his cock.

Oh gods. Oh gods.

His sister. His little sister. That’s who Elain was to him. She was his little petal, his sweet flower girl. Riding Azriel’s enormous cock. How that thing even fit into her was a miracle.

Oh gods. His eyes. He pressed his palms over his face and ran back. He slammed into something, refused to open his eyes, and ran until he was well out on the front law on the house.

Mother’s tits! Why were they outside? He knew why they were, because it was a nice day and it was perfect time for lovemaking, but gods, did Azriel have to do it with her?

Breathing heavily, Cassian shot up in the air. He’d fly around, for a few hours. A few hours should be long enough, right? Maybe a few days?

Yes, theoretically, Cassian knew that Elain and Azriel were lovers. They were betrothed and swore their love and loyalty to each other before a priestess, and one day, planned to perhaps marry, as humans married—Elain’s idea, though she was cooling off to it, no longer concerned about the human rituals and their ways. But they were both reserved people, rarely displaying overt affection towards each other and somehow, it was difficult to imagine them in more intimate situations.

 Azriel had scented his brother nearby.

Elain was whimpering atop of him, as he was pounding into her and right then, his brother was of no concern to him. He wanted to bring his girl over the edge, and she was close if the fluttering of the walls of her pussy around his cock were anything to go by. Her breath came out in deep, hoarse sighs and she stretched over him, her hair draping over her breasts and his chest, swooshing and tickling his chest. She squeezed her breast in her hand, rolling her nipple, as she plunged down on him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Close, sweetheart?” he held her hips tightly, angling her so that her clit ribbed against his pelvis, while kissing her mouth. She nodded breathlessly and fell atop of him, sinking her teeth into his neck and sucking, as she thrashed and moaned into his shoulder, whispering how much she loved him.

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he murmured into her hair.

 Azriel was working on an intricate carving in the piece of wood, chiseling slowly and carefully into the plank. He might have planned too complex a design, if he had to admit it, but he had eight months to complete it, so with some perseverance he figured that he’d be done just in time.

“I know you are there,” he said without raising his eyes from his chisel, “stop being weird.”

Cassian stepped in front of him, sniffling and hacking, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

“Were you hiding there long?”

“You know I wasn’t hiding,” Cassian sneezed, “I just flew in.”

“Flew back in,” corrected Azriel, smirking.

“My eyes did not need to see what they saw earlier,” Cassian sat heavily on a bench, shaking his head. “And stop smiling!”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for someone so modest and easily perturbed,”

“Umm, I am not easily perturbed at all,” he interrupted, “unless I see my sister doing all those things with you,”

“Well, she is my betrothed female and my Lady,” Azriel reminded him casually, “so we do ‘do those things’ as you call them,”

“I don’t need to be reminded!”

Elain appeared—thankfully dressed—with a smile on her face, and exclaimed, “Cass! I didn’t hear you come in!”

She skipped towards him and threw herself into his embrace. He swung her around in his arms, and kissed her head.

“I’ve missed you, petal!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

“You look—stunning,” he had to admit, giving her a once over. “Gods…you are glowing!”

She smiled shyly, ducking her head and then playfully slapped his shoulder, murmuring, “such a flatterer,”

Azriel was observing them silently, still carving the wood, though Cassian sensed some tension in his brother. Azriel was never jealous, especially not of him, but just in case, Cassian stepped away from Elain and sat back down on the bench. Azriel reminded him of a newly mated male, and for a moment, he wondered if they had a mate bond snap for them, which would explain their absences and secrecy.

He watched them exchange a quick glance, but a bout of sneezes interrupted his puzzlement at all of this cagey behaviour. Could Elain have been given two bonds? Elain was mysterious, her power still not entirely revealed, her Cauldron-given abilities developing and unraveling bit by bit. Her power matched Azriel’s in many different, intricate ways, most of which Cassian could not understand. Even Rhys had trouble comprehending what the two of them were capable of, and how vast that power reserve actually was.

“Cass, let me get you something for your allergies,” Elain offered. “Do you want lemonade?”

“Don’t fuss Lainey,” he began, but she waved him off. “Lemonade for my brother is not fussing. I have an ointment that will help you,”

She went back into the house and Cassian draped his arms over his knees, looking out at the sea. This was a damn nice view! No wonder they didn’t want to leave. They split their time between their four residences—Hewn City palace, Azriel’s apartment in Velaris, occasionally they used the palace on the mountain, but typically only for formal meetings, but this—this was their home.

“You are quiet,” Cassian noted, glancing at Azriel.

His brother seemed to have relaxed a bit, even his wings snapped not as tightly as before, and he shrugged in his usual Azriel way, saying nothing.

Cassian finally glanced at the wood that Azriel was working on and he nodded towards the fine carvings, “it’s beautiful…what is it?”

Azriel drew his scarred finger over the wood, and after a moment, said, “it’s headboard for a crib.”

“A crib? Really? Who asked you to make a crib?” wondered Cassian, cocking his brow.

Then he stilled, his eyes widening, “Shit?! Rhys and Feyre? Are they having another baby?”

“I don’t know,” Azriel chuckled, amusement in his eyes, “they haven’t told me.”

“Who else?” pondered Cassian. “Don’t be an asshole! Tell me!” he whined.

“Maybe you?” Azriel winked at him.

“What?” Cassian paled, “wha-…Nes,”

“Oh gods, no!” groaned Azriel, laughing, “I am kidding. Can’t you smell anything?”

“I can’t smell shit!” Cassian wiped his nose, “I am all stuffed up. What am I supposed to be smelling?”

“Elain.”

“What about Elain?”

In the next moment, Cassian tackled Azriel in his hug, both of them landing in the grass, a scream of joy ripping from Cassian’s chest.

“Elain?” he cried, tears springing in his eyes, “a baby…a baby for you,” he rocked Azriel against his chest, and for once, Azriel gently, easily embraced him back.

“Az, I…” Cassian, for once, was speechless. ‘”I am so happy…I am so happy for you,”

Azriel grinned, emotional again, his chest heavy and tight with joy.

“Actually, I need to make two cribs,” he said. “Care to help, uncle?”

[konietzko-sylvoran]

Starfall Rave Performance *4*

*Part 4*

"And tonight! With our final expression of self? We implore you to share your own! Let this music caress your desire to embrace some of those emotions you want to experience tonight! Whether it's to forget your worries and fears or to be a part of something new with opening yourself to that unknown element! Just allow that positive energy to take hold and feel that rhythm in your soul. "

Music Found Here: Ashley Wallbridge Feat KARRA - Melody 

Lowering down from above was Starflower once more standing within a slowly rotating cyr wheel. His body speckled in glitter catching the soft night sky blue lights making him seem to glimmer along with the glimmering violet lights of the LED wheel. He stood with one arm up over the top of the wheel, holding the strap that was lowering them down. His other hand rising up and out then taking a hold of the wheel in front of him as he stood facing one side of the rotating wheel. His feet standing with a slight twist in his hips to keep him facing to the side. Once the wheel touched down to the stage, he’d unhook the strap and turn the wheel with him to face Aethril.

Rotating the wheel so it came over the top of him, he stood within the center as he then kept the wheel rotating around him even as he walked forward. Aethril and Starflower’s eyes both locked on one another the closer Starflower stepped. With a sudden twist of his wrist and hips, Starflower forced the wheel to rotate over the top of him as he spun his body with his back to Aethril. The wheel now coming around behind Aethril guided by Starflower’s hands, Starflower would lean far far back and lay his head into Aethril’s outstretched hands as he cradled his head and then gently guided him back up to stand as Starflower’s body twists around in synch with the wheel to finish rotating it around to the front of himself.

Slowly turning on his ankle, Starflower turned to face Aethril once more, keeping the wheel flip flopping. Aethril stepped up to Starflower just in time for the wheel to flop over his head as they both stood now chest to chest with the wheel spinning around them like a slowly falling coin as they remained standing in the middle of it. One hand from each elf came up to slide and caress along one another’s neck on opposing sides as they held their gazes and smiled passionately at one another.

Twisting his body to the side and reaching out to stop the wheel suddenly, Starflower gripped the top of it as he started to slowly stretch his arm out towards the audience with the wheel now at a 45 degree angle facing them. Aethril fluidly turned to the side as well now standing back to back as he’d slide his hand from Starflower’s shoulder down the length of that outstretched arm as they both smiled. 

Together they would both hold the wheel now as they flipped it swiftly up over the tops of their heads. In unison they would grab down lower with their other hands to bring the wheel up as they both turned now outside the wheel on either side of it. Both would twirl around once, keeping the wheel flipping with them before setting it back down on the stage standing across from one another.

With a big smile, Aethril would quickly step forward, guiding the wheel to roll around Starflower who released the wheel himself. Just as Aethril pushed the wheel to rotate forward, Starflower would cartwheel in and out and back into the wheel reaching up at the last second to grab the top of the wheel and landing with his feet inside it at the bottom! Aethril stepped aside watching the joy in Starflower’s eyes as he sent the wheel into a waltz!

The wheel lit up in a full rainbow of color reflecting off Starflower as he brought his feet up and out behind him mid waltz and began to glide stomach down while midair with hands still stretched wide along the top of the wheel. It looked like he was flying and laughing with a perfect show of his ability to manipulate his wheel.

Still spinning, he lowers his feet back within it as he locks his shoulders and forces the wheel to make tighter spins center stage. Slowly the wheel is brought into a flat spin with his body face down still within it!  Resembling a coin losing its speed after being spun on its edge the wheel becomes flatter and flatter as if he might fall on his face with the wheel any second. The spinning picks up speed rapidly in timing with the beat of the music. The LEDs become a flurry of rainbow colors that light up his body. Despite the difficulty of this move his body remains locked to keep from truly letting the wheel fall flat! At the last second he brings the wheel back upright while spinning it in a handspring before he and the wheel stand erect once more.

Arcing his head up and out with dreadlocks dangling loose all around him, he jets his chest and hips out in a perfect arc outside the wheel while it continues to slow its spin on its center axis making him look mystical and carefree! The LEDs dancing along the wheel as Aethril is seen behind him raising his hands to the sky lighting off magical fireworks to add to the magic of this moment!

Slowing the spin of the wheel, Starflower would begin to waltz within it in a wide circular arc around the stage. As the wheel’s colors became slow fades in and out of each of the colors of the rainbow. With the waltz and spin of the wheel slowing more, he’d begin to walk it to a stop as he stepped out of it to one side just before Aethril. He’d then reach up to the strap that had lowered from above and quickly wrapped it around the top of the wheel, sending the slowly rotating wheel of light off into the sky once more as it sparkled with starlight reflecting down on him and Aethril.  

Reaching out to take Aethril’s hand, Starflower steps forward on the stage with him as the two slowly step forward with slowly gliding steps again perfectly synced with each other even in their heartwarming smiles they cast out over the audience. The show wasn’t over… yet.

"We hear your voices in the noise tonight, it’s time for us all to color in our own designs!" Aethril yelled into the crowd!

“Tonight we gather at the Starfall Rave, a place where through the art of conversations and dance we find each other!"  Starflower yelled into the crowd!

"We invite you all to come feel the rhythm of your hearts tonight with us. Please come to the stage!" Aethril raised his voice and motioned to the crowd to join them!

"The universe is becoming -our- song! Raise your sparklers high and come write with us our music in the sky!" Starflower let his deep bass voice echo once more as the energy raised and the crowd readied their firecrackers!

"The thunder echoes again through the chords of time in my mind."

"Writing new music in the sky."

"And iiiiiii i see a melody in your eyes."

"Aliiiiiiive to the rhythm of my heart tonight."

“And I'm never letting you go."

"The universe is becoming our song." 

"Iiiiiii i see a melody in your eyes."

"In your eyes." 

"And iiiiiii i see a melody in your eyes"

"Aliiiiiiive to the rhythm of my heart tonight."

Stars Song Part 4 of 4 - Performed the night of the Starfall Rave with @thecastcompany - Written and performed by @talthorn-sylvoran​ and @konietzko-lumenstone​ - Screenshots captured by Tyinarcon @fyrrefly​

[rose-red-ink]

Blood and Starlight Part 3

My guys, I am SO SORRY it took so long for this to get out. The tragedy made my depression attack my brain with a vengeance, and of course, college waits for no one. However! I am back, and ready to drag you guys off the cliff I left you on. Thanks for all the support, and I hope you enjoy :3

Part One Part Two 

It took every ounce of self-control for Daybreak to keep her expression calm. Her hands from shaking, curling into fists.

It had taken a week for Starfall to try something like this. Frankly, she should have been surprised he hadn’t tried this sooner.

“The party’s in a couple days.” He murmured, breath warming her ear. “I have a good eye for this kind of thing, but try it on in case.” 

If she hadn’t had so many years of self-discipline from her bloodbending training, she would have snapped.

The dress was silky, red, and cut in the most revealing ways imaginable. She wouldn’t even have minded that, but he was making her wear it.

And that color. No way was it a coincidence.

The warmth of his presence at her back was gone, the door shutting with a soft click.

Her hands weren’t shaking from fear anymore. No, now it was rage. And rage was dangerous for her.

She spotted a tiny plastic pouch on the side of the dress, containing a bit of gold thread and a spare button.

Daybreak ran her fingers over the glittering string, ignoring the pang in her chest. Gold had been her mentor’s color, her costume had glittered with it like sunlight and fire.

One of the rarest superhumans ever, with the power of flight and empathy. 

Gold was a sign that an empath was on the scene, ready to help victims and talk sense into enemies. Gold was a sign that Daybreak wasn’t alone anymore.

It was a symbol of peace.

Inspiration flashed, quick as lightning on a clear day.

It took her awhile to find one of Starfall’s maids (because of course, he had maids), and even longer to convince the older woman she could “mend” the dress herself.

Dawnbird had been the one who taught her to sew, after all. Might as well utilize the whole skill set she’d been left with.

“What’s the matter? Don’t feel like dancing?” 

Daybreak had to struggle to keep the smirk off of her face, keeping her lips marshaled into a serene smile. 

A single muscle twitched in Starfall’s cheek. That was all she got. And all she needed. 

“You certainly...added your own touch to it.” he said, eyes sweeping up and down her body. 

She tried not to flinch under his gaze, instead of lifting her chin and steadying her gaze at him. 

The dress was now glittering with gold embroidery, silhouettes of feathers and wings curving and shimmering against the red. Dawnbird’s symbol, over and over and over, shining in his face. 

The only hero who had managed to take him down. 

And the first hero who he had killed. 

It wasn’t unnoticed. This party was swarming with villains, the ones who Starfall had spared, not to mention civilian billionaires and philanthropists. 

Starfall had launched this little party as a “charity event”, the money used to rebuild the parts of the city after it had crumbled under the villain’s rule. In actuality, it was to show off that he had her under his thumb, and would be taking the place of the city’s underground ruler. 

Her dress was getting smirks from every villain in the room. And unlike Starfall’s plan, it wasn’t at her expense. 

“Shall we?” he asked softly, leading her out onto the dance floor. 

She didn’t resist. Being in the center would make sure everyone saw her act of defiance, however tiny. 

The ballroom was well-lit with chandeliers, all marble floors and columns. Stairs leading up to the second floor and the rest of the huge, elaborate manor. It made her stomach lurch, all that wealth wasted with the city still falling apart at the seams. 

“If I weren’t a gentleman, I’d rip that dress off you.” Starfall hissed in her ear. 

Daybreak felt a thrill in her chest. He was more riled than she had expected, and she only hoped others were catching his icy expression. 

“If you were a gentleman, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.” she pointed out calmly. 

His grip tightened on her waist. “Just try not to embarrass me any more tonight, if you can manage that.” 

He spun her, and as she moved, she let a grin slip loose. 

“No promises,” she whispered, too quiet for him to hear. 

The rest of the party passed relatively uneventfully. 

She was paraded around on Starfall’s arm, but Dawnbird’s symbol covering her rather ruined the effect he was going for. 

She smiled and greeted guests, and acted like his perfect little thing. But this was only step one. 

She had no idea what step two would be, but is Starfall was this easily angered, Daybreak was sure she could think something up. 

The hours stretched on, until Starfall moved his arm from under her hand to around her waist. 

He gave a quiet laugh and as she stiffened, then turned to address his guests. 

“I’m so grateful you could all come tonight, but I’m afraid Daybreak and I must retire for the evening. Thank you for your generous donations, and you’re free to stay as long as you like. Good evening.” 

Then he was lifting her up, into his arms in a bridal carry. 

Her first instinct was to writhe out, then smack him across the face for good measure. But then they were moving, rapidly ascending into the air...they were...

They were flying. 

Starfall could fly. 

Her hands gripped the front of his suit, and his laugh rumbled against her. 

“I’ve got a couple surprises up my sleeve too, darling.” 

He had completely upstaged her. 

Starfall had two powers...that hadn’t been seen since...Dawnbird. 

He had used her own act of defiance to remind everyone just how powerful he was; not only had he killed the only other double-powered superhuman alive, he had her protege at his beck and call. 

Her dress only highlighted that. 

Daybreak laid back on her bed, in the room he had provided for her. At least he didn’t make her stay with him. But the room was dark, and quiet, as the guests silently filed out of the manor. 

The dress suddenly felt ridiculous, gaudy, a fool’s dream. 

She stood, reaching back to unzip it, and go to sleep for as long as she could. 

Her closet door swung open suddenly. 

She immediately dropped into a fighting position, eyes widening as she saw not clothes behind the door, but a swirling blue void. 

A gangly twenty-something stepped through slowly, hands in the air. “Easy, Ms. Daybreak. Not here to start anything.” 

She didn’t budge. The portal shimmered back into darkness. 

The silence stretched out. Daybreak narrowed her eyes. 

She had seen this boy before...but where? 

“Who are you?!” she whisper-shouted. 

“My name’s Jason,” he said nervously, glancing at her bedroom door. “We’ve met before.” 

Daybreak frowned. “Where?” 

The boy smiled. “You saved my life from Starfall. Now I’m gonna save you.” 

To be continued... 

Tagging:   @saidainabook @wishesofxadia @ithebookdragoni@fillerusernametr@acaiaforrest @unicorndefiance

[separatist-apologist]

Aaaaand part 6 ideas - I think the timing works out and Starfall is coming. Lucien says he can’t come (a calculated lie), but Elain sends down the bond that she went to that shop along the sidra to wear under her dress. They manage to secure a private balcony. Smut ensues.

You know, I thought about doing a serial where like, Elain accidentally accepts the bond and her and Lucien hate fuck for a while before they get to know each other, but I guess we're doing this instead.

Time has no meaning in this ficlet, do not ask me about the timeline or seasons, they change based on a whim and my needs so anyway WELCOME TO COLD WEATHER AGAIN (I think? I'm unsure when Starfall actually is? And honestly, it doesn't matter).

This is, as per usual, NSFW, 18+ and unedited beyond me just glancing at it to make sure there were no red squiggles in word.

--

--

He hadn’t meant to be gone for so long. Spring had fallen to shit and what was supposed to be a two-week stay had morphed into months of trying to convince Tamlin to eat, to legislate, and enforce his border all while Tamlin used him as his personal punching bag. Lucien was exhausted and irritated when Feyre’s invitation for Starfall dropped in his lap.

No I don’t want to go to a party, he thought privately, quickly scrawling back a much politer response. What he wanted was a week of uninterrupted alone time with his mate in which he did every filthy thing he’d been fantasizing about while she begged him for more. Lucien could still taste her in his mouth, could still smell her in the air. She was a brand on his skin, a ghost trailing him everywhere he went. He wondered about her constantly. Was she thinking about him? Did she miss him? Want to see him?

Lucien hoped openly declining an opportunity to see Elain might spur her into reaching out to him in their game and admitting she not only wanted him, but she needed him, too. He was playing aloof, like always but she was just silent. He couldn’t pretend that didn’t disappoint him.

Feyre sent back her disappointment two days later and let the invitation open if he changed his mind. She swore up and down Cassian wanted to chat with him and perhaps the General did. Their friendship was an odd one but comforting and a little familiar. Of all of Rhysand’s inner circle, Lucien liked Cassian best.

He was walking to the stables to patrol Tamlin’s border when a vision slithered down the bond. Elain, standing in front of a mirror, wearing a gown that seemed to be made of pure starlight. Silver and low cut, with capped sleeves and a skin colored lining made it seem as though she only wore the glittering diamonds and nothing else. His mouth went dry at the sight. Had she meant to send it?

Yes. A note followed the image, appearing in the air before him.

Starfall?

That was all she’d written. She might have written pages and pages, for the effect that one word had. Lucien tugged his response back, a resounding yes, absolutely, if I have to crawl I will— and turned abruptly to let Tamlin know he was officially retiring from Spring, and to write if he needed any more assistance.

Back in Velaris, Lucien paid an obscenely large amount of money to secure one of the last private balconies in Velaris. It was far from where Rhysand and his ilk would watch, but still very much out in the open. The edge of the balcony, cut from smooth, gray stone, was thick enough he could hoist Elain up and fuck her brainless if he wanted to.

Lucien very, very much did.

The day before Starfall, Lucien sent Elain only the address and nothing else. There would be no polite teasing, no stolen glances. They would be together…maybe even talk and get to know each other outside of just kissing and touching. The thought of hearing her speak excited him more than anything else, though seeing her stripped of her dress was a very close second.

He dressed in a jacket of silver and trimmed in white to match the fitted white pants he’d worn. He’d neatly combed his hair and tied it off his face after debating for too long whether he ought to leave it down or not. He slipped on clean, black boots that hugged his calves, slipped a knife inside his boot just in case, and forewent wearing any other weaponry.

He’d just made it to the balcony he’d rented when the glass, double doors that led from the building they and others were borrowing, opened, and Elain stepped out. Lucien made no show of dropping to his knee, one hand pressed against his chest, jaw hanging open. He’d lost all rational ability to speak or stand when Elain, his goddess, stepped onto the balcony, a vision in silver stars.

Her cheeks darkened with what he hoped was pleasure, though she made a big show of rolling her eyes. “You’re dramatic,” she accused as he staggered back to his feet.

“Absurd. You’re beautiful,” he replied, caressing those same, heated cheeks. He suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of marring one inch of her body and wondered if perhaps they’d just have a nice, romantic evening with nothing else between them.

She walked to the balcony, illuminated beneath floating fae lights. Lucien stood beside her, resting one of his hands over her own, unable to resist. She smiled faintly at the touch and pressed her shoulder against his.

“I missed you,” she told him without looking up, her eyes still firmly focused on the city below. His heart pounded in his chest at the admission.

“Not half as much as I missed you,” he promised, squeezing her hand. A smile bloomed fully on her face, lighting her up like the sun across the sea and Lucien thought he was ruined entirely for anyone else, regardless of what happened between them.

She turned, suddenly, her sweet smile morphing into something wicked. His body instantly tightened as anticipating thrilled up his spine. What was she thinking? She ran her hands up his chest, dragging her eyes up with them until they were firmly focused on his lips. She didn’t need to ask him to kiss her. He’d happily spend the rest of his life attached at the mouth if she wanted.

That first, sweeping kiss wrecked all Lucien’s promises to himself. She tasted like citrus coated in honey and somehow like sunshine. He was frantic, unable to get enough and all at once, desperate for more. His tongue caressed her own, licking in time with the hips he was grinding into her beautiful gown.

Elain broke the kiss with a gasp, her fingers yanking on the laces of his pants. “Before everything starts,” she said, making quick work of them. He began hiking up her dress but Elain swatted his hands away.

“The first time you have me will be private,” she informed him, her brown eyes glittering with promise. “And somewhere nice.”

He started to ask what her plan was, then, but Elain dropped to her knees and Lucien’s head immediately emptied. The last remaining shred of rationality snarled at the sight of her kneeling when he thought it ought to have been him while the animal that typical slumbered in his chest roared with appreciation at the sight of his mate eye level with his cock.

“I borrowed one of Nesta’s dirtier books,” Elain informed him, her breath curling along the skin of his hard, twitching cock. “I don’t suppose this requires any amount of skill.”

Lucien took a shallow breath as her hand cupped the base of him. She ran her tongue up the broad side of his shaft and he reached for the railing behind him in an effort to keep himself steady.

She hummed softly to herself, pumping him once. She could have done only that and nothing else and he’d have come quickly, undone at just the sight of her. She glanced up at him, her lips moistened, her eyes mischievous.

“Will you beg, Lucien?” She asked.

“Would you like me to?” He choked in response. She smiled, lowered her mouth, and sucked just the tip of his erection into her mouth. Lucien concentrated all his effort on remaining utterly still despite his body’s urge to thrust into her mouth and fuck her throat. It was her first time, he reminded himself. He didn’t need to scare her.

“Yes,” she replied, withdrawing her pretty little lips to lick his head like a piece of candy. Lucien groaned loudly.

“Elain, please—”

His words choked into another groan of need as she took as much of him as she could into her mouth, her cheeks hollowed and her hand making up the difference. Her mouth was hot and wet and utterly intoxicating in its softness. Lucien was desperate and somehow building hotly towards release despite how little time and effort she’d put into the act of sucking him.

She hummed again, the noise vibrating along his skin and settling in his tightening sac. Saliva from her mouth pooled around her hand, making it easier for her glide up and down the length of him as she licked and sucked.

First time? His mind demanded, unable to believe she hadn’t done this before. Had it been so long since someone took him in their mouth that he’d forgotten? Was the act made better when it was his mate who sucked?

Shut the fuck up, the animal in his chest demanded of his wild, out of control thoughts. Lucien’s hips jerked a little as he built higher, fire racing through his blood.

“Elain,” he gasped, unsure what else to say. She quickened her pace and Lucien hung by a thread just long enough to offer a warning. “I’m going to come, Elain—”

She didn’t pull away, didn’t withdraw and a moment later Lucien exploded into a million pieces, yelling so loud he was sure Feyre heard him, wherever she was. He pumped hot into her mouth and Elain, the angel, took all of it without moving her mouth. She waited until he relaxed to withdraw, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You,” he gasped, pulling her to her feet so he could kiss her. “Next, you next—”

A shooting star streaked through the sky and Elain twisted in his arms, her swollen, red lips parted with delight. Lucien quickly pulled up his pants and retied them, swallowing against the aftershock of his release.

“Another day,” she replied, letting him pull her against him, her back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. He kissed the top of her head, aware of what she’d done.

She’d put him in a situation that forced him to see her again.

Did she not know Lucien wanted to see her all the time?

She wiggled a little, sighing sweetly, content in his arms.

He’d show her what he meant.

[heirs-of-prythian]

Pretty Colourful!

Hi, guys! I am back with a one-shot! No this has nothing to do with Wanted: Lila, since my brain kinda refuses to let write it down, even if I know how it is going to end. But whatever, I now have for you a fluffy fic about Rhys and Art having some fun with paints together (and Feyre will show up at the end again)!

Word count: 3k

____________

It's midday on a wonderful summer day and three year old Artemas has woken up from his nap not long ago. After being fed some mashed potatoes, baby-carrots, peas and butter cookies for lunch, Art was cleaned up and brought into his room to play by his father.

For a toddler, Art has a really big room. The floor is mostly covered in midnight blue fluffy and soft carpets. One wall is painted completely dark blue and golden and white stars are dotted around in constellations. As well as the phases of the moon, in a circle directly above the bed, which is Art's favorite thing on that wall. Even the falling stars from Starfall are seen in their bright blue glowing glory in the right corner beside the bed. The other wall opposite is painted with mountains in different shades of blue, and the other two do look like forests in dark green, brown and black. The walls were, of course, painted by Feyre herself, when she was pregnant with Art.

The room has two floor-to-ceiling windows, which both lead out to the same big balcony. The glass doors are sealed shut with magic since Art has tried several times to jump down from the balcony. Both Feyre and Rhys don't want their little baby son doing that and getting hurt, not to killed since they highly doubt that a jump like that could kill him, with their baby having strong magic like that, but they aren't taking any chances. Now the blue curtains are open and the room is flooded with warm daylight.

The room has also three doors. The first one is next to the window on the right and leads into the hallway. The former black wooden door is now adorned with various colors in different forms. Some look like moons, stars, suns, shooting stars, flowers, even a hand print here and there, and some basic forms. This door isn't the only door that looks like this in Art's room. The other two painted doors are opposite the first door, but in the far two corners of the room. One leads into the rooms own bathroom and the other into the closet/storage room for Art's toys/Art's "secret" playroom.

Beside the doors, most of the furniture also have been painted on. The room has now a tiny bed, a nightstand, a big armchair, shelves upon shelves filled with various stuffed animals (who are all named, and sorted both alphabetically and from most favorite to least), a tiny desk with bookshelves around it and a massive bookshelf between the windows with a fast growing book collection of storybooks of all shapes and sizes.

Even the walls aren't save from the paint, one corner between window and door is known as Art's little atelier. The whole corner has been used as a canvas from floor to ceiling. A small shelf stores canvases, palettes, various containers of paint, brushes, sponges, colorful pencils, crayons, chalks, pastels, papers, and other art utensils. Art likes to imitate Feyre as much as possible, when it comes to painting and art in general.

Now father and son are sitting in the middle of the room at a colourfully painted tiny table. Which Art has demand like a spoilt little prince to have been brought from his playroom by his father. Art has meanwhile plopped himself onto the carpet and looked over his paints in his corner. When Rhys came back with the table and set it in front of his son, said son has looked up to him, pointed one finger at the corner and simply said "Paints." At which Rhys just had risen an eyebrow and didn't move. Art's brows creased at that, not used not being obeyed, but than his face cleared.

"Thank you, daddy. Can you please get some paints?" Art has said slowly and carefully to pronounce every word correctly. "You're welcome, little moon. Now was that so hard, Artemas?" Rhys smiled at the head shaking Art, and started to move to the "Ala" (Art's little atelier). "And of course, what colours do you want?" "Blue," it came from Art before Rhys even finished the question, "red, yellow, green, white and black."

After Rhys has grabbed the paints and settled beside his son, summing papers and paintbrushes, while opening the containers and scooping the colours on a palette.

Feyre had made sure that the paints are save for Art to eat, since even the Heir of Night is a normal baby and now toddler and puts almost anything in his mouth. So now Art can go wild with it.

Meanwhile Art looks excited at the colours, a big smile attached to his face. Grinning, Rhys ruffles Art's short black hair, looking forward as to what Art will paint.

"Thanks, daddy!" Art grins up to his father, a brush already in hand.

"For you, everything, little moon." Rhys says sincerely and moves his head down until their noses meet. Art's impossibly big grin widens even more. For a few seconds, neither of the two moves, but then Art goes in for the kill, Rhys is only a millisecond to slow.

"First!" Art cheers loudly, after he kissed his father's nose. Both start grinning at each other again and than dissolve into laughter.

Cauldron, he loves his son so much.

After the laughter died down, Art faced his paints and paper and started dipping the paintbrush into blue paint. Now concentrating on painting, Art ignores his father, who has slung an arm around him, and the world around him. He barely registers the kiss on his head by his father. Rhys smiles into his son's hair, as Art barely reacts to him.

Mother, when he is like this, he is so much like Feyre. It's so adorable.

But when Art is like this, there's isn't much to do, since Art will probably not move from his spot for some time. Being content with painting in peace, Art is completely distracted and has no desire to do anything else right now. It's like he is in his own world right now.

So Rhys is just happy with watching Art paint, listening to Art's mumbles, which most of the time make absolutely no sense at all, and looking out of the window at the Sidra. Since interaction with his son when he is in this state is practically nonexistent, Rhys doesn't even try. He also doesn't react when his son paints over the ends of the paper and onto the table. Art does it constantly and the table is full of paint because of that.

It's something Feyre does often as well, painting on something that isn't a canvas or papers, usually walls or furniture. And that shows to Rhys at least that his little moon is more like is mother than him, despite looking like him. And Rhys loves it.

It's been almost half an hour when Art gets bored painting with brushes. So Art puts the still covered in red paint brush down. Then without hesitation, Art puts his whole tiny hand into the palette, still mumbling to himself. Cold paint squishes between his fingers. He giggles at the feeling.

Art loves this feeling. Just the paint simply on his skin.

He didn't really paid attention into what colours he put his hand, so now blue and red are covering his hand, mixing slightly into purple. But Art doesn't care, so he just continues painting, starting a new story in his head, at least to him. To everyone else, Art's mumbling while he paints is mostly incoherent and nonsensical words mixed with words and sentences he knows. And for a three year old, Artemas knows a lot of words, courtesy mostly to his older cousins Cadan and Hemera. Who try to get him as up to speed with them as possible.

Rhys didn't even noticed that his son has gone from brush painting to finger painting. His hand is still on his mumbling son's back, who made no indication himself that something has changed. Rhys is absently drawing circles with his thumb on the tiny back and just stares almost vacantly out of the window, without really seeing anything, thinking on an slight issue with the Lords of Hewn City. Which he will take care of tomorrow. But in his head he is going over the issue and the solution he and Feyre came up with. And then is thoughts lead him into thinking of his beloved mate Feyre.

The High Lord of the Night Court is as lost to the world as the Heir of Night is.

But Rhys was abruptly thrown off his thoughts when he feels something cold and slick gliding across his right cheek. And a giggle follows the disappearance of the feeling. His son's giggle. Casting his head down, Rhys looks at his giggling and at his face pointing son. The palm of the hand that points at him is covered completely in paint. Red and blue are mixed into purple, while yellow almost completely disappeared into green, and white and black merged into various shades of grey. Non of the colours are dried yet, so the palm is glinting wetly.

The other hand is clean and is clutching Rhys' shirt to keep the laughing toddler upright. Whose giggling transformed into a full blown laugh.

"I don't think that that's so funny, little moon." Rhys says grinning, loving hearing his son laugh like that, even if it is apparently on his expense.

"Daddy, .... real ... pretty... now!" Art gasps out between laughing, not even bothering with sentence structures or the correct pronunciations of the words, causing him to say "Leal" and "pletty".

"Oh am I now?" Rhys asks amused, violet eyes glittering like stars. Art just nods while still laughing, not noticing his father's finger dipping into blue paint.

"How about I make you pretty?" Rhys asks as he taps his son's nose, painting it blue.

Art gasps and stops laughing, blinking at his father, who now laughs at his son's stunned face.

"Little moon, ... real.... pretty .. now." Laughing, Rhys imitates his son, also pronouncing it incorrectly.

Art crosses his arms, smearing paint into his blue shirt, and pouts at his laughing father. But then he has an idea. Uncrossing his arms, turns to his father, who has calmed down and is facing the ceiling, eyes closed and grinning widely. Tugging at his father's shirt and a "Daddy", Art gets the wanted attention from his father. Rhys hums and brushes strands of hair away from his son's face.

"I make you pretty!" Art explains or better demands, points from him to Rhys, "and you make me pretty!" The finger points first to Rhys than to Art again and than to the paints on the table. Throughout the demand, Rhys eyebrow has risen, but than he sighs and smiles.

"Okay, little moon, let's paint each other's faces." He obeys amused, already knowing that his stubborn son will not take an "no" for an answer, well at least not if it isn't satisfiedly explained to Art. And it does sound like a lot of fun.

Rhys needs to duck down a little so the blue-nosed toddler can reach him comfortably. So father and son start painting the face of the other.

They paint until no patch of skin is clean and untouched, covering their face in shades of blue, red, purple, yellow, green, orange, white, gray and black. Rhys has drown a white full moon, a yellow crescent moon and a red waning moon on little moon's forehead. Art has only put stars on his father's entire face, in all colours, all shapes and sizes overlapping and mixing together, only a few stars are still recognisable as such.

Satisfied, both father and son lean back, hands at hips, admiring their work with a critical eye, but than smiling widely, mirroring each other. Violet eyes meet blue-grey eyes. And both start laughing again.

"You are very ... very pretty now, Daddy!" Art wrings out between his laughter, hands clutching his stomach, smearing more paint into his shirt. The "r" is again a "l", except for the "are".

Cauldron, his little moon is so cute and wonderful.

Rhys was about to give his son the compliment back, but than they hear from downstairs a voice, shouting.

"I'm home, boys!"

"Mommy!" Art has straighten and stopped laughing, but now excited to see his mother. Getting to his feet, he has completely forgetting about his paint covered hands and face. But Rhys catches his arm as he was about to run out, stopping him completely. Art turns his face and sees a mischievous smile on his father's face that immediately gets his interest. Art is always up for some mischief.

"How about we show Mommy our new masterpieces, little moon?" Rhys whispers softly, the smile still on his face.

Art grins and than giggles, nodding, he puts his arms up, silently demanding to be picked up. Rhys stands and swoops up his son in one fluid move, not caring for the paint that Art smears on his shirt. With a little magic, Rhys makes the paint in their faces instantly dry, so they couldn't accidentally destroy their masterpieces. Going down the stairs, they scan the foyer. No Feyre in sight.

"Mommy?" Art shouts. "In the kitchen, little moon!" Feyre shouts back. Turning left, Rhys almost tiptoes to the kitchens door, hoping his mate isn't facing them. And he is in luck, Feyre has her back to them, preparing a tea. Seemingly not noticing them.

Impatient as ever, Art makes a noise and says "Mommy look! We are pretty now!"

At her son's weird sentence, Feyre turns around, prepared to say that they are always pretty, but the words died down at the sight of her most beloved males: her mate, and her son. Stunned, Feyre gaps at them, taking in the paint covered faces. Blue is the dominant colour in both faces. Rhys' face seems to be covered in a similar shape over and over. Feyre can make the shapes out to be stars. Art's face seems to have a blue background with things painted over it. The most eye-catching are the three moons on his forehead.

And to be honest, Feyre can't decide who has more artistic talent, her three year old son or her well over 500 year old mate. But she leans slightly towards her son, and she is not biased with that opinion. Not even a little, and Rhys would agree with her.

This isn't what she expected to welcome her home, but she welcomes it nonetheless.

"Look, little moon, we are so pretty, we made your mother speechless!" Rhys says proudly. Art makes a proud noise of agreement, while nodding his head.

"Feyre Darling, tell as how pretty we are!" Rhys requests dramatically to his still speechless and gaping mate. "Tell us! Tell us, Mommy!" Art chimes in, excited. At this, Feyre snaps out of her stupor, and laughs.

"Both of you're beautiful!" Feyre smiles brightly and advances towards them. The second she is within arm reach of Rhys, an arm is slung around her waist, drawing her closer. Feyre brings her arms around her mates waist and her son's back. Art leans an arm around his mother's shoulder, the other is already on his father's.

Hugging each other, the small family stays like that and enjoying the closeness and the warmth.

Bending down a little, Rhys kisses Feyre. Both smile into the kiss. But they don't kiss for long with a impatient toddler in their arms. After breaking the kiss, Feyre tiptoes and kisses her son's cheek.

"What happened?" Feyre asks amused, looking closer at their faces.

"Your son,-" Rhys starts but Feyre interrupts him. "My son?"

"Yes, he is your son only when he paints, Darling. He is so much like you when he does." Feyre laughs at that.

Well, he isn't wrong.

"Anyways, little moon has decided that my face would be prettier with paint on it and followed his impulse," Rhys continues amused, smiling at Art, who smiled back innocently. "And I just copied him, making him prettier as well. And than this little artist here decided that we should paint each other's faces to make the other pretty. And that's all there is to it, Darling."

"Both of you are definitely pretty" Feyre agrees, smiling. "Are those stars, little moon?"

"Yes!" Art answers proudly. "All of it! Stars!"

"Is that a new masterpiece, little moon?" His mother inquiries, tracing a line of a half visible star on his father's face. "To bad we can't hang this one." Rhys laughs at that. "To bad, isn't it." He agrees. "But you could paint us later, Feyre Darling." Rhys suggests it because of a growing frown and sad eyes on Art's face.

"Can you, mommy?" Art is immediately onboard with the idea, excited to be painted by his talented mother.

In his eyes, Feyre is the best artist there is and he wants to be as good as her, no maybe even better than her!

"I can and definitely will!" Feyre promises, "As soon as I have time, this is going to be my next project! Because this needs to be immortalised"

"It does, doesn't it!" Rhys agrees, grinning. Art nods his head wildly in agreement, looking rather smug.

Than he hugs his parents closer and buries his face in-between them, making a happy purr. Feyre and Rhys laugh and smile at each other.

What did they do to deserve such a wonderful gift, like their son.

"I love you both!" Art mumbles, his head still buried between his parents. But they can hear the smile in his voice.

"We love you, too, Artemas." They say together, smiling down at their son.

And not even two weeks later, the High Lady of the Night Court has finished her newest favourite painting. It shows the High Lord of the Night Court and the Heir of Night, cheek to cheek, smiling, eyes sparkling like stars in the night sky, paint covering their faces in various colours and shapes, making them prettier and pretty colourful.

____________

I hope you liked it!

If you have any questions, feel free to ask, I would love to answer them! And feel free to check out my blog for more information!

Tagging: @thelaziestgeek @lux-et-tenebra @mindnumbmikey @starlightheir @guthiix @iamthebonecarver @tswaney17

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[twizzlekins]

Day 22: Carnival

An Izuriel story

There was chaos on the outskirts of Starfall Village. * Piff * Izuriel jerked backwards behind a snowbank as a snowball hit the glittering floor a mere inch from her. She tried to not get distracted by a new wave of aromas: cinnamon, apple cider, roasted venison... * piff* Another snowball went soaring over her head. “For cocoa!” Izuriel bolted out into the open field screaming at the top of her lungs, her arms throwing snowballs as fast as she could scoop and swing showing no remorse. No regret. * Piff * She was beset on all sides but she had the momentum as she scooped up another mitten full of snow. As she raised her arm for another toss, time and space had no meaning. “I am a champion! I am a champion! I am..” her declaration was cut off by a snowball of ridiculous proportions hitting her square in the face. Izuriel fell backwards, hitting the snow in a powdery plume of defeat where she lay like a slug for a few minutes. “You're out Izu!” a little girl not even half her size shouted at her before running off.

The Winter Carnival that Starfall Village held every mid winter was in full swing and Izuriel had gone home for a visit. She wasn't oblivious to the mistrustful glances some others gave her, nor the whispers and she was saddened that she could not take part in the snow sculpting contests due to fear of her cheating, but she loved visiting. The villagers were still her family too, and Izuriel was still young and naive enough to not believe that there were in fact some who wished flat out that the Tor'Shanal sisters would leave for good, because magic was a curse in their eyes. She'd been raised on the warnings about the arcane, but as she'd never seen the bad side of it and because there was always someone around to fix her mistakes, the feelings of those older than her simply bounced off her. Rolling over and brushing snow off herself “I'll get you next time Lyleth, so! She laughed with delight and made her way to a cider vendor, kicking up snow as she walked.

Izuriel liked to talk and could easily talk ones ear off, as the villagers well knew, so when she drew near many would smile and return her greetings warmly. Some stopped to chat for a bit before politely extricating themselves from a never-ending conversation and in the same breath she'd say goodbye and startup a new conversation at first chance. Some glowered at her, but she didn't pay much attention. A shrug and “Ooooh chocolate covered moonberries! How much are they, oh and how much are those. What are these, are they edible? I'm really hungry, really, really hungry. Mother! Father! I see you! Hello!” Thoroughly distracted she left far too many coins on the counter. The bemused vendor sighed heavily as he counted out the proper total and set the rest aside to return to her later. At least this year, his stall stayed intact. Last year Izuriel had tripped and managed to partially teleport herself and get stuck halfway through a wooden beam. They'd had to close the booth and carefully saw the girl out. Ever since then, all the vendors made sure to have wards placed on their respective booths.

[shardclan]

Invigilavi jerked awake from a troubled sleep, his frills flared and eyes wide and darting. He was alone.

The wan light of a cloudy dawn filled the room with gray tones and pale shadows. The cold air settled on him and quickly bit deep into his scales. When he tried to relax his fists, a brittle crackling that wasn't his knuckles answered. Ice fell from his claws. He became aware of his breaths as visible puffs, and of wisps of steam rising from his chest and billowing out from under the thick pelt layers over his bed.

Something had been there. He was certain he heard a message from an unfamiliar voice. It had pierced his dreamless sleep, yet no matter how he tried he could not remember the whispered words.

All he had to go on was a distinct feeling that he needed to get up and go to the Isles before the morning sun made it to the Starwood Strand.

The portal was tamer than the last time Invigilavi had gone through it alone. There had been a lot of coming and going for Horizon's Landing, and the usually extremely hostile protective wards didn't deny him entry. While the sky was growing light in the the Sunbeam Ruins, it might as well have still been midnight in the Isles.

He drew his cloak tight around him. Even though the Chalcedony Circle was quiet and inert now, there was something unsettling about being there. It wasn't just the empty, abandoned feeling of the circle itself; the silence in the Isles was unnerving in a way that prodded at old, primal fears.

In the Hewn City, dragons walked quietly because there were things under that strange moon that were easily awakened from their death-like sleep. In the Starfall Isles, it was the opposite. Dragons walked quietly because unknown never slept, and was always watching.

Invigilavi wandered away from the circle, crossing the frigid sandbar to an adjacent crystalspine where Horizon's Landing was nearing completion thanks to another fine display of orogenesis from Moyo. The mainland wasn't far if he followed the island chain to Point Crystal Port, but nothing called to him there. Nothing that he wanted to hear, anyway. And he wasn't so pressed to chase whatever nagging sensation had called him there that he would go near the Starwood Strand. He would never see sunlight again if he went into the woods at that hour. His only other option was the forbidding Focal Point, with its crystalspine crags all curling inward like a chrysanthemum made of pink fangs, and the high slopes eerily twinkling with the glow of rising crystals and falling meteors.

He shivered. Every time he came to the Isles he was reminded of the first time he crept away to Bramble Step during the night. How the deep fog lit only by bright neon had been dazzling but charmless to him. The sweat that had prickled all over his body when Labrusca's voice shot out of the dark and pierced him like an arrow. She let him plead his case, and now he was older and familiar enough with her to know it hadn't been out of kindness or even because of Bramble Step's laws regarding Aphaster citizens. She just knew his presence was a secret that would be useful to keep. And being led into the anonymity of the dark had been a blissful and exhilarating respite in a time when he had felt his fate always looming over him without knowing exactly what it was.

But while Bramble Step became a place of calm for him after that first journey, the Isles sent his heart racing every time. Lutia had told him many stories of the Isles since he confided in her; of its wonder and its danger and how everything there was like the native blossom: unearthly and beautiful and fatal to anyone who wasn't careful when interacting with them. The Isles were chaotic and careless and the thumping in his chest always felt like it was betraying him to whoever or whatever was out there.

And yet he was charmed.

From the voiceless murmur in the back of his mind that told him the name of the maelstrom in Windstar Bay, to the thriving meadows of frost-coated winterbelle that glittered back at the stars in a conversation not meant for dragons--the Isles lured him in the way the neon lights in Bramble Step must have lured in shadowlings. He could be a king in the Isles and it still would not have mattered.

Zo was lucky, he thought. He was free from whatever made the Isles so attractive. He could live as no one without needing the dark or the stars.

Whatever had called him out here, it would have to call some other day when he wasn't in such a strange mood. And he didn’t want to brave a swim in the dark when he had been warned away from the waters between the crystalspines so many times. He turned back, but something on the cliffs above caught his eye, silhouetted against the moon.

His body swayed unsteadily, his head suddenly aching as he recalled a sickly sweet and deathly cold voice whispering into his sleeping mind.

Today you will meet a liar. Do not turn him away.

When he managed to unclench his eyes, he found frost on his claws and in his beard. His head whipped up, to make sure his target was still there. 

The sky was starting to gray.

Lavi clambered up in a breathless rush. He didn't consider stealth, or even safety--he climbed foot over claw as quickly as he could, scrambling to catch this liar important enough that one of the witches had deigned to advise him. It was only when he was close that the man showed any sign of disturbance. They saw each other, and shared a moment of mutual panic. The stranger shrugged himself deeper into his cloak and leaped from the cliff. Lavi was momentarily dazzled by the strange geometric pattern, and the odd way the sleeves spread and spread until they took the distinct shape of imperial wings. He remembered that he could no longer fly, and leaped after the stranger anyway, sinking his claws into the long, trailing tail of the garment.

The man yelped as the robe yanked backward. The vast imperial wings vanished, mere sleeves again in spite of the his futile attempts to flap and right himself. Lavi realized to his horror that the imperial could not fly without the robe. His glamour was tied to it somehow. Lavi yanked the man closer and held his delicate shape safe close to his chest.

The cold crystal of the mountain tore his cloak and scraped his armor so unmercifully that he felt it heat to burning against his back, and he could feel the crags tearing at his haunches and the base of his tail as they slid on shale and scrag, and bounced violently down the lower cliffs. They tumbled at the end, finally hitting a last stretch of open air only to crash into a stack of blackwoods pine beams set aside for augmenting Moyo's construction.

Lavi couldn't find the breath to groan, or the power to move. He could tell he was bruised and scraped and cut in a dozen places. He managed to twitch himself and felt a bolt of pain. The armor had dented inward and was prodding deep into his lower back. He managed to roll over, and sucked in breath greedily. He hadn't broken anything. Not anything permanent, at least.

In his arms, the stranger was practically unscathed, his moon-white cloak pristine despite the fall. His black and green mop of hair had some chalcedony and dirt in it, but the slim, brown body of his glamour was untouched. His expression was vaguely annoyed, but mostly his eyes were full of wonder. When Lavi looked closer at his face, he went red right to the tips of his ears.

"What's your name?" he blurted eagerly.

"Imperator," Lavi grumbled through a tight jaw as he tried to sit up. "This is my outpost, and you're trespassing. Who are you?"

"Oh! F-forgive me, my name is Ashlesha. I didn't mean to intrude!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh I just..." He turned, looking back up at the cliff they had tumbled from. "I woke up here a little while ago..."

"Woke up here," Lavi repeated skeptically. Ashlesha didn't feel like one of the astrals, but he didn't feel like an Outsider either. Yet there was something about him that made Lavi agitated. He had no antlers, nor any fins or frills or gene marks to signify his species or where he might have come from. And there was something too similar to what he had felt touching the circle for him to ignore. "Do you know the name Abankhit?"

Ashlesha snorted, and flipped his hair with a haughty disdain that could have come from Lightweaver herself. "Yeah I know him. He's the one who woke me up, even though I didn't ask. He can never leave well enough alone." He looked back at Lavi, and tucked his arms self-consciously into his cloak. "I'm not friends with him, is what I mean."

Lavi wilted, and Ashlesha was surprisingly quick to reach up and touch his nose. "Don't frown. You're better off not associating with him."

"I'm already associated with him," Lavi said, shaking off the over-familiar touch. "I accidentally released him. I released all 36 of them."

"So you're the reason he came and disturbed my peace," Ashlesha mulled with amusement. "Need me to find them for you?"

"What? You know where they are?"

"Mmm--" Ashlesha stood and squinted into the dark. Lavi noted that his shins were bare and he wasn't wearing any shoes despite the cold. And more pressingly, the inside of his cloak looked like the night sky, stars and all. "--kind of," he finally finished. "They're not all the way manifested yet. They're out there, but it's kind of muddy."

"But it will be clear to you when they manifest fully?"

"Oh, yes. I'd recognize those assholes anywhere." He clasped his hands behind his back, and grinned over at Lavi. "Want my help~?"

Lavi's fins flattened warily. "On what condition?"

Ashlesha looked away, and wound a finger busily around one of his locks. "Would you...tell me your real name?" He paused, and blushed furiously as the implications hit him."I-I just mean your normal name! The thing they call you, not your true name!"

Lavi's fins fell slowly. He couldn't get a read on Ashlesha, and it made him nervous. He seemed harmless, but everything he had said about himself and the casual way he spoke of the astrals suggested the exact opposite was true.

But he had been told not to turn Ashlesha away.

"Invigilavi,” he relented.  “...Lavi for short."

"A watchman's name; how interesting~" Ashlesha held his hand out. "You only have to ask, and I will do anything for you. So long as you keep me close."

Lavi grunted and gingerly reached out to take Ashlesha's hand. "Are you any good as a healer?"

"Oh! You did take quite the beating on the way down, didn't you? How air-headed of me."

Lavi watched Ashlesha lean down and plant a kiss on the back of his hand. He would have been embarrassed, if he had not immediately felt all his pain vanish. The armor was still pressing into his back, but the scrapes and bumps and cuts no longer stung. He felt better than he had when he had awakened earlier that morning.

"I'm as talented as I am knowledgeable," Ashlesha boasted merrily. "I hope this invites you to think of many ways to use me to your liking."

There again was that slightly uncomfortable turn of phrase. Ashlesha was a liar. But he was genuinely something strange and special too.

"What are you...?"

The inner light of a magical adept flickered in Ashlesha’s dark green eyes, and he gave a deeply self-satisfied smile as he pulled Lavi to his feet as though he weighed nothing at all.

"I'm a human."

[starzablaze]

#2: Standard Velaris Town House Situation Before Starfall

Feyre:: Super bubbly throughout the day. Takes a day off from High Lady duties. Locks herself in their bedroom late afternoon, won’t even let Rhys in. She outdoes herself with her crystal white dress literally made of diamonds with tints of indigo at places, hair pressed into soft waves and slightly swept back with white and indigo pins and a natural face. Stuns everyone. Is genuinely happy that her sisters are here with her to witness Starfall, one of the most beautiful and unique things in the world. Rhys: Is a little quiet in the morning, wishing his sister were here. Feyre notices and squeezes his hand under the table. Takes a day of from High Lordly duties. Goes crazy when Feyre won’t let him in to see her get ready. Goes to the House of Wind and comes back in the evening, all immaculate in his trademark black and silver outfit. Literally drools when he sees Feyre. Mor: Bosses everyone around the whole day. “You better be properly dressed in the evening, Cassian, or I won’t let you come drinking with me. Illyrian leathers have become a sight for sore eyes around here! Oh, don’t snort Az, it applies to you too!” Looks drop dead gorgeous in her trademark red gown in the evening. Is grateful to Rhys for what he did for her all those centuries ago. For not leaving her trapped under a mountain in the Hewn City, deprived of the pleasure of watching the stars. Elain: Is fascinated by Starfall and has undertaken the task of decorating the entire house with small silver stars, gold glitter, and pale green stardust. She keeps it simple and dresses up in a radiant green gown with peonies in her hair. Most beautiful​ in all of Velaris. Is slowly healing from the trauma of the recent past. Azriel: Silent as usual. Helps Elain with the decorations. Dissolves into the shadows when Mor threatens him and Cass. Stays up alone on the roof all day, watching the sun pass by, keeping watch. He feels very grateful for this beautiful family he found on such days. Nesta: Seems warmer than usual. Relentlessly asks questions about what Starfall is though everyone refuses to answer. Helps Elain bake a cake in the afternoon. Shows up in the evening in an elegant dark indigo gown with long sleeves festooned with diamonds at the cuffs, neck and waist. Blood red lips and for once, loose, flowing, straight hair. Her smile is genuinely happy and she looks to the sky in wonder. She has made a place for herself in this world, and is proud of it. Cassian: Doesn’t take Mor’s threat lightly. Jokes about stars literally slamming into everyone’s faces. Plots to steal a bite of the cake, but Nesta bats his hand away. “Sorry not sorry. You can’t blame me for trying!” He spends the evening with Nesta after Feysand go away to their secret spot. Looking at Nesta with a small loving smile on his face as she gazes up at the sky in wonder. He thanks the Cauldron and the Mother for bringing Nesta, strong, fiery, steely Nesta, in his life. Amren: Sneaks into the kitchen in the evening and successfully steals the cake. Is busy with Second In Command duties during the day at the Hewn City, but comes to Velaris in the evening, in a stark grey gown and black jewels. For once, she shows up for the main Starfall event instead of locking herself in the attic/apartment/loft. As she sees the stars come and go, she resolves to herself that this family, this world she’s found is far better than what she had, and she thanks the Mother for her curiosity that day when the hole came. She is grateful for the gift of a better life. Lucien: Had thought Starfall was a myth. Couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Awed by the concept that there can be so much happiness in the world for once. Watches the Inner Circle joke, dance, fight playfully, and thinks to himself with relief, “Feyre is truly safe and happy here.” Because he cares about her like his sister, almost like the two Illyrians. Meanwhile, at the Spring Court Tamlin receives a letter signed by Feyre and Lucien, wishing him a Happy Nynsar