#the best baker of prythian

[ysmtttty]

Neris week: headcanons

@nerisweek

• Nesta has cold hands. She loves getting her hands under Eris’s shirt since his body is a live heater. He doesn’t mind, he likes to hold her hands and warm them up, always saying she needs a better coat. And he does buy her a new coat.

• They both are clueless on how to express their love. So they both are like… ‘unfuck you??? I guess???’ at first. Eris’s display of affection is also buying her everything he thinks she will like. Jewelry, dresses, flowers. He can winnow throughout all Prythian, visit every court just to find the best things. Nesta’s one is that she joins Elain’s baking lessons with Nuala and Cerridwen, making him sweets.

• They both were surprised about each other’s sweet tooth. Eris now hires the best bakers in Prythian so Nesta will always have the best chocolate cake. Even though he will always say that anything she bakes will be ten times better. Nesta doesn’t bake often, it’s not her thing, but once in a while she does enjoy doing that for her and Eris.

• Once Eris tried to bake a chocolate cake himself. He was embarrassingly bad at that. He prefers not to recall that evening

• Nesta is clueless about most of fae stuff. So Eris always has something to explain. He explains very patiently and never shames her for lack of knowledge about anything.

• Eris takes her on a tour around Prythian to introduce her to different courts’ cultures. Nesta buys small souvenirs from every court to remember about the visits.

• His hounds LOVE Nesta. From the first time they saw her, they’d been charmed! Eris was kinda perplexed because never once his hounds were THAT friendly to a stranger. Nesta says it was others’ skill issue. She loves to spoil his hounds. Eris grumbles that she makes them too soft for hunting hounds.

• Whenever they argue the hounds are like children of divorce. Because they have to take sides. There are some who vary their side from time to time, and there are some hounds that always go to Nesta and some that always go to Eris. Because sometimes when they argue they sleep separately and hounds go to their beds, keeping them company.

• Whenever they argue too badly, hounds do not like that at all and tug on their clothes, pulling them closer to each other and barking at them as if saying go apologize!!

• They both freak out when Nesta gets pregnant. Not because they don’t want a child. They do. Very much so. But they both are very worried about possible mirroring their abusive parents’ behavior. Nesta reminds Eris he is not his father; Eris reminds Nesta she is not her mother. They both become the most loving parents.

• LoA adores Nesta, they often have tea parties. Eris is offended he never invited to one. They say it’s girls only. Soon it becomes tea party with LoA, Nesta and Elain where LoA always tell some embarrassing stories about Eris and Lucien — they both are mortified.

• Eris learned how to dance because it was a good training for his body, and it was a good skill for political events. He never dislike it, but never truly loved it either. Then he danced with Nesta and started liking dancing more.

• Nesta arranges girls nights very often. Eris always gives her the full manor in her access and leaves for the night to a different estate, not wanting to interrupt her personal time with friends. They both need their time separate from each other, they are also mature enough to talk about it, so they have a schedule.

• Eris likes making schedules. For everything. Nesta says he’s weird, often messing with his physical schedules, writing there something silly or drawing something on them. Eris secretly likes that.

• Eris teaches her how to light the sword with fire. He thinks he might create a monster by that. Because Nesta with silver flamed sword? Unhinged!! The first thing she does is she goes to scare big bats. She giggles evilly when she does.

• Nesta once left her book open on the nightstand. Saying Eris was flabbergasted would be understatement. He asks about that directly and Nesta blushes. He then offers to recreate a few certain scenes that he oh so accidentally already read. Nesta blushes more. Nesta agrees.

• Once in a while they recommend books to each other.

• Nesta gets a cat. And if they both were worried hounds will scare the poor thing off, they didn’t. Instead, the little kitten became their leader. And as she turned into a big cat, the hounds are kinda scared of her. Nesta always laughs about that. Eris says it’s because she and the cat share the same eyes.

• Eris is touch starved at first. He clings to her as much as even possible. Cuddles in bed, hugging her from behind whenever she stands her back to him, holding hands whenever they can.

• Sometimes Feyre asks Nesta to look after Nyx, so the boy stays in their manor. Eris calls him ‘it’ and refuses to even acknowledge that little pest at first. He has constant beef with him for Nesta’s attention bc apparently Nesta is Nyx’s favorite auntie. Eris secretly likes Nyx but will never admit that. Instead he will just silently give the boy the most expensive chocolate he has and shoo him away. Nyx once calls him his favorite uncle in front of everyone. Cassian has heart attack.

[kissesfromnovalie]

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@readychilledwine

For the High Lady

Rhysand's generosity knew no bounds, not even when it came to sharing his mate with his brothers.

His, Yours, Mine

Finding out you were pregnant should have been the best news. It's too bad you don't know which of your three mates is possibly the father, though.

Mister Grumpy Pantseses

All you wanted was a day in the vegetable garden with your husbands. Your husbands just wanted to spend the day at each other's throats.

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Three Wishes

@tsunami-of-tears

Our girl

Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

@illyrian-dreamer

Just One Night

@danikamariewrites

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@throneofsapphics

the moth and the flame

after meeting Nesta in a bookshop, you find the darkest parts of yourselves bonding with each other.

infinitesimal

upset at your partners forgetting an important date, you run to one of your old haunts.

against the contract

If they were genuinely bad people, it would be so much easier to kill them. Signing a special contract to work with Azriel, Feyre, and Rhysand turns out nowhere near expected. You were a bit of fun that became their solace and escape, they were supposed to be an easy assignment that turned into your living nightmare.

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@potatoplace

Mastermind

Your friend of a few months, Feyre, invited you out for a celebratory drink over your new job, and of course her husband Rhys joins you. The night doesn't go quite as planned, and you end up back at their place with very few wits about you.

You Can Have It

You've been a baker for 75 years, and are finally moving on from the Winter Court to the City of Velaris to start your own bakery after your grandmother passes. After your grand opening, the High Lord and Lady of Night become daily visitors to your bakery for months, every day having your most popular pastry- one that increases fertility for a short time. All the while, the two alphas want nothing more than to call themselves yours.

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omega ours

@mrs-elsie-barnes

the daughter of day

@thatacotargirl

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@littlest-w01f

rita’s

Feyre is drunk, and the barmaid who opened her and her husband's tab that night looks sexier with every shot. Rhysand is more than willing to aid her drunken fantasy

Devine

Rhysand is getting older, and he, along with his general and spymaster, needs to claim an Omega before his Alpha instincts take control of him completely and he is rendered unfit to be a High Lord, lucky or unluckily for him, Kier has an idea.

Sensitive

Rhysand shows you he and his closest friends aren't put off by blood

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@azsazz

If You Should Die Before You Wake

The High Lord takes you home, but you don’t expect his friends to join.

Double Duty

They don't know if they both can fit.

What's Mine

Hear me out: alphas are super possessive anyway, but imagine high lord/future high lord - way more protective right? Especially in a scenario where there’s other ‘big bad alphas’ around e.g. other high lords at a ball, or at the court of nightmares

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all over my skin

You find yourself in an empty room between the High Lord and the Shadowsinger

@azrielbrainrot

ink stained hand (will you hold it?)

A bookseller’s simple life turns upside down when she becomes fast companions of the Night Court’s Inner Circle. When she develops feelings for the most powerful couple in Prythian, how will she get over the golden thread of fate that pulls them ever so far apart?

@paperibbon

Light in the Darkness

It wasn't just Rhys who had been caught in Amrantha's damnatation. For nearly 50 years, you'd suffered with him, in her bed. After years of enduring agony, it becomes almost impossible to resist seeking refuge in the platonic refuge of your High Lord and High Lady. However, after one night of drunken indulgence, you're left wondering if everything you've built to protect yourself is now shattered.

@myfictionaldreams

𝙄𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 the High Lord of Night Court Rhysand and Y/n meet during cruel dark times. During Amarantha's ruling over Prythian. Finding each other during such a time the two secretly fall deeply in love with one another. Both having a rare bond tethering them together... a mating bond. A bond that they both cherished and held close to their hearts. Though they loved each other dearly there was something that was missing. A missing piece they could feel deep within. It caused the two to grow a longing feeling within. It didn't deter their love for one another. But they just knew there was a blank space in their bond. After so long the two mates finally find the missing piece... another mate.

@thefaithfulnightwriter

[ladybookstan]

Vibes Ayla Yastare (chapter two please)

[theaterqueen1985]

My personal Vanserra brother headcanons:

Eris Vanserra: Eldest and High Lord. When he takes over as High Lord he makes sure to make it known to all his brothers that it’s okay for them to go off and start doing their own things. That it was time for them to go and make their own paths. Everyone but Rori left and Eris was finally able to breathe. Though not for long because there were still Beron supporters in the world that wanted him dead. Az ended up staying close to keep him alive and eventually it became something more. Before he knows it, he’s marrying the shadowsinger (and there’s a lot of emotions at the ceremony) and then somehow a few years later, they have a daughter of their own that they adopt. And even further down the line a son.

Mercer Vanserra: Second oldest. When Beron’s alive he’s known for his cruelty and is usually Beron’s go-to for needing to torture information out of a suspect. Homeboi is built like an illyrian warrior which makes him stick out among the rest of the skinny Vanserra boys (he's nearly as tall as Cassian). The best cook/baker out of all the boys. When Eris is finally High Lord he ends up moving to the rebuilt Spring Court where he opens a bakery and ends up meeting his future wife, a Spring Court nymph who’s usually kind but will threaten people in the sweetest ways possible. They open basically an awesome cafe and eventually have four children together, two daughters and two sons.

Draan Vanserra: Third oldest and Andri’s twin. When Beron’s alive he and his twin usually are sent on recon missions together as they practically become the other’s shadow. They’re very sneaky and considering they were trained by Eris, they better be able to sneak around. When Eris becomes High Lord he and his brother go their separate ways. He goes to the winter court. He’d always like the icy landscapes there. Ends up meeting a female there that he loves very much. They have 2 children (twins of their own) but also foster many that come through their home that they count them all as their kids as well.

Andri Vanserra: Fourth oldest and Drann’s twin. Like his brother, while Beron’s alive he’s sent on recon missions constantly. When Eris becomes High Lord he goes to Dawn and ends up working with Nuan (eventual friends-to-lovers) and all the other inventors. This boy is a secret genius much to everyone's surprise as he’d always been the quieter of him and his twin, preferring to let Draan take the lead on everything. Him and Nuan have… Something going on, no one really knows what it is, but it’s some sort of relationship.

Frey Vanserra: Fifth oldest. He’s a politician and is often sent on diplomatic missions to all corners of the world. He collects all sorts of trinkets that are kept in a secret house (much like Eris’ secret house). When Eris becomes High Lord he only sticks around until Eris is settled before he leaves Prythian for quite a while (after saying goodbye to his mother of course) traveling to lands he’d never dared enter while in position as Autumn’s emissary. He meets all kinds of people and eventually an irontooth witch and her wyvern who he much later gets to bring her and their daughter to a Vanserra family reunion.

Rori Vanserra: Sixth oldest. While Beron’s around he’s generally ignored by Beron who’s too preoccupied with all his elder brothers. Eris takes him under his wing. He’s the brother Eris generally trusts the most with all sorts of secrets. Rori’s the kindest of the brothers, the most level headed, the one who’s faced the least amount of Beron’s wrath. When Eris is High Lord, he’s one of the few brothers that stick around. He becomes Eris’ second in command with all the constant threats he’s getting. People often get him and Eris mixed up, the two look so much alike it’s hard not to, their mother always said they could be twins (only difference is Rori’s hair is longer, though Eris’ is getting to that point as well since he started growing it out). He ends up meeting his mate on a trip to the Summer Court with his brother. It’s after a meeting with Tarquin that Rori bumps into a Summer Court male outside and boom, bond snaps into place. They go out for coffee and it’s like a love at first sight romance.

Lucien Spell Cleaver: Seventh oldest. Before Beron dies his life is a whole hot mess. Once Eris is High Lord, his true parentage is revealed, he moves to Day to get to know that part of his family, he reconciles with his mother, gets to know his true father (all while roasting him 90% of the time), reconnects slowly with all his brothers, and eventually gets to actually form a relationship with his mate. His life becomes fantastic and eventually he’s got his own gang of children (five) and a loving family.

Thea Spell-Cleaver: The youngest and only daughter. She’s born roughly six years after Eris becomes High Lord and she absolutely LOVES all her brothers. She can get even the most quiet of them to talk and go on crazy adventures with her and to prank even more of them starting the Vanserra prank war which terrifies people more than the war with Hybern. She’s practically a walking library and knows all the coolest things about all the courts and further off lands (that part she usually learns from Frey since he’s been practically everywhere). She grows up to become the Librarian, the soul of the libraries of Day, quite fitting for an heir of Day. 

[illyrianwingspans]

Do Not Go Gentle: Appointments

Link to song: Appointments by Julien Baker

Synopsis: Feyre makes good on her promise to Rhys, and Rhys makes good on his promise to Feyre.

TW: Brief and non-graphic mention of self-harm, suicide and domestic abuse.

Ao3 link

Chapter 16: Appointments

“How are you feeling today, Feyre?”

How was I feeling? I didn’t know. My body felt like TV static with the volume on low. Crackling, bustling, full of nervous energy, but dim. Quiet. How was I supposed to explain that to him without sounding like a true basket case?

He sat in the chaise across from me. It was grey, muted, soft. Everything in his office was. There were great, wide panoramic windows, and outside rain pattered softly against the windows. Another week of rain in Prythian, as though it was just for me.

The couch beneath me was soft, comfortable. I sank into it when I’d sat down minutes ago and settled in after sitting in the waiting room. When I’d first walked into the clinic, there were others in the chairs. A older man, probably in his forties, was thumbing a magazine, but not looking at it. Just staring at the walls around him, flicking through the magazine, as though his fingers were soaking in the articles through his skin. A woman about my age listening to music on her phone, eyes closed, head leaned back on the wall. I’d only stared at my feet as the sound of the secretary typing away on her computer filled the empty space, paperwork clutched in my fingers. I’d filled them out on Saturday, and Rhys had them scanned and emailed that day, but they needed more paper copies handed from me in person.

“Miss Archeron?” The secretary had called out. I’d pushed up from my seat and shuffled over to the counter, presenting her with the five sheets I’d meticulously filled out. They were thorough, extremely thorough—so much so that when I’d filled them out at Rhys’s kitchen counter, I was clenching my teeth, ticking off the boxes that applied.

Suicidality:

Ideation: No-Active-Passive

Plan: No-Yes (describe): Jump

Attempts: No-Yes-More than one

Date of last attempt: March 27th

Lethality of attempt(s): Low-Moderate-High

Thankfully, Rhys had left me alone that night leaning over the kitchen island, pen tapping against the cold marble. Every question was like another stab in the gut.

Self-Harm Behaviour:

Current: No-Yes (describe): Cutting

Past: No-Yes (describe): Cutting, two years ago

When it got to family history and prior or current relationships, I nearly tore up the papers right then and there and walked out of the townhouse. Instead, I scribbled down my answers as concisely and quickly as possible to not feel the sting of the words.

In my hands, handing over the papers, it felt like I was yet again giving pieces of myself over, letting them cut open my brain and take a peak of the scrambled, decayed remains inside.

The secretary, a kind-smiled woman in her early thirties, pointed to a blue door where the gold plaque read Dr. Angèl Suriel, PhD. I’d knocked softly on the door, heard a muffled, “Come in!” From the other side. The first thing that hit me when I opened the door was the faint smell of fried chicken.

“Sorry,” he’d said, hunched over his desk further in the back of the room, next to the windows on the back wall. There’d been a rustling of a food takeout bag before he’d shoved the top drawer of his desk closed. “Just got some lunch quickly.”

He opened a window, and lit a candle on his desk next to his jar of identical pencils, then turned to face me. Angèl Suriel was an older man, tall and thin with darker skin. His accent was slightly lilted, definitely Spanish judging by his first name. He’d smiled warmly when he faced me and extended his hand, which he’d brushed on his tan trousers moments before.

“Angèl Suriel,” he'd presented himself, and I’d shaken his hand weakly. “But call me Suriel. No doctor formalities, please.” He’d smiled. “You must be Feyre.”

I nodded, eyes diverting from his. They were brilliant blue, so pale, contrasting against his tanner skin.

Staring at him now, sitting five feet across from me on his chaise with a file in his lap, I wondered how the hell Rhys had found this guy. Why he’d needed to find him, in the first place.

How was I feeling? How was I feeling?

My tongue felt swollen, limp and utterly useless in my mouth. I resorted to staring past him, over his shoulder, to the buildings in the background. They were like standing giants across the city, watching over, holding thousands of people with energy and moment and life, but so solemn and serious in appearance.

“Feyre?” He repeated.

I blinked. “How about you look in that file of yours and tell me how I’m feeling, Suriel.”

“Oh no, that’s not how this works,” he grinned. “It seems as though you’ve watched too much TV, miss Archeron. I’m not going to sit here and waste my time if you’re going to be resistant or unwilling to share. I’m only going to say this once, so listen to me.”

My heart pounded wildly in my chest as those crystal eyes met mine, and he leaned forward slightly in his seat.

“There are thousands of people in this city who suffer with the very same feelings and behaviours that you demonstrate. There are hundreds of people on my waiting list, right now, waiting for a call that they can finally see me and get the help they need. I work twelve hours a day seeing people, filling in charts, coordinating with hospitals and answering ER calls at three in the morning. I’m doing this as a favour for Rhys, and I’m doing this because I want to help you. It’s only going to work if you do your part as well. So if you’re here to waste my time, feel free to leave so I can get back to my fried chicken.”

I sat there shocked. My mouth was open in surprise, and all I could do was blurt, “I don’t know how I feel.”

Satisfied that I’d given him an answer, he resumed his position, one leg crossed across the other to balance the papers in his lap. “Okay,” he said, “how about we try this. On a scale of one to ten, one being your complete worst, and ten being your complete best, where do you think you fall?”

It took a few seconds to mull over before I murmured, “Three, I think.”

He nodded and wrote something done. “And Friday night? What number did you feel then?”

That one didn’t take as long. “Zero.”

“Zero,” he repeated. “You just broke my scale.”

Despite myself, I snorted.

“Tell me about what happened.”

Another question that settled within me like a stone sinking into water. I felt like I was holding it in the palm of my hands, turning it over slowly, examining its features, dips and curves, not knowing where to begin, or what to say.

“I don’t know what happened.” That was true. The details were so hazy. The timeline was broken in my head, only giving me fragments and pieces of those moments on the ledge.

In his lap, Suriel flipped over a paper and murmured, “It says here you were going to jump. Where were you?”

At the word jump, I flinched. Clutching my kneecaps, I blew out a shaky breath, still staring just past Suriel’s shoulder, never quite in his eyes. “At my friend Cassian’s apartment. Fifty storeys up.” I picked at the skin on my thumb, not knowing what to do with my hands.

“You went to a friend’s house? To carry out your plan?”

“I was staying at his place.”

“For how long?”

“I was there for about a week and a half.”

“Where did you live now?”

“With Rhys in his townhouse.”

“And before that?”

I wasn’t ready to go there yet. “My apartment.”

But Suriel watched me carefully, like he knew my answer was missing something.

I murmured, “With my ex-fiancee.”

His pen scribbled against the paper once more, and this time when he looked back up at me, he said, “You were at this friend’s apartment. Alone?”

I nodded. “He was still at work.”

“So,” he said, then paused for a bit, wondering how to phrase his next question, “do you remember the events, or maybe the emotions or thoughts that lead up to the execution of your plan?”

It was like I was back up on that building with Rhys’s voice echoing in my ears. I could practically feel the rain falling on my shoulders, my hair, my hands.

When Suriel pushed a Kleenex box on the small table between us, I realized it was because I was crying. The tear drops collected in my open palms like some sick offering to the gods of pain.

“Why am I doing this?” I whispered sinisterly, bitterness in my voice, my eyes as I narrowed them at Suriel, wanting to storm out of this fucking office and never look back. Rhys was wrong. He was a destructive, conniving asshole. “What the fuck is the point of this?

Suriel, not missing a beat, leaned forward as I did, and spoke in that low commanding voice of his he’d wielded only minutes ago. “The point of therapy, Feyre, is for you to get as close as possible to the ideal life you imagine and want for yourself. To solve the problems you face, to help hone your skills and speak your mind. Many of my clients walk into this office just like you, sometimes in worse shape, clinging to the notion that this is the enemy. That I am the enemy. But the only enemy right now in this room is you, you and your mind.”

I couldn’t stop myself from crying harder.

“I am not here to judge you. I am not here to pick apart your brains, but I need to know what the problem is, where to start, and where we can go from there. People walk into this office miserable and they leave with hope.”

Even the rain paused outside when I said, “I was kneeling in the entrance of the apartment. Crying.”

My mind went back to me curled into myself on the hardwood floor, when I’d shut out the world completely in my own little bubble of agony.

“I got up, ran to the bathroom, and tried to find pills, blades, anything, but the shelves were empty. Cassian must’ve been worried because he’d basically childproofed the entire damned place. But one thing he couldn’t take away from me was the fact he’d bought an apartment on the fiftieth floor.”

“And before that? Before you went out on the balcony? Why were you crying?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Words I hadn’t spoken to anyone, not a soul. Words I didn’t think I could even speak.

“Feyre, take a deep breath.”

I clenched my eyes closed, only able to see his twisted snarl of fury when his hands had closed around my throat. When my chest had slammed into his desk. When his fists slammed into my ribs.

“Feyre, take a deep breath.”

Slowly, trembling, I forced a breath into my lungs. I choked it out in a sob.

“Good. Another one.”

This time it came a little easier. On the exhale of my third breath, I said, “My ex-fiancee was there.”

“Did you speak to him?”

I shook my head. “I heard him through the door. He’d found me with a tracker on my phone.”

“Why aren’t you together anymore?”

I thought of the elevator, of me crawling on my hands and knees, nails cracking as I tried to resist him dragging me across the carpet of the executive floor.

“Because he locked me up,” I wheezed. “He wasn’t my partner. He was my captor.”

There was an eerie silence, only broken by the soft sounds of my quiet sobs. Suriel’s eyes found mine, and when I looked up to him, I said, “He was my fiancee. And I loved him. I love him.”

“But,” Suriel sighed, “he abused you.”

“No,” I contradicted weakly, “not necessarily.”

“Was he ever physically violent with you? Did he ever intentionally hurt you, has he ever tried to manipulate you or repress you?”

Silence. And Suriel had his answer. As I reached for a tissue, Suriel wrote some more notes in his papers. He looked over his shoulder to the city scape, then turned those eyes to mine and wondered, “Have you talked to your friends since everything happened?”

I shook my head. “Only Rhys. He may have said something to them, but I’m not sure.”

“Okay. It says here you don’t have a job right now. Are you looking?”

I shrugged with one shoulder. “A little. Rhys offered me something short-term.”

Suriel said, “That’s good. I want you working on something right now, Feyre. Even if it’s from home, if it’s a skill or a hobby or a job, you need something right now to keep you distracted. I don’t know enough about your situation right now to give you more specific goals or coping mechanisms, but I’ve found the best thing for clients in your position is just to keep their mind focused on something else. Being alone with only your thoughts when they’re so toxic can lead you down the wrong roads.”

I nodded, hands pursed in my lap.

“Try to see what Rhys can do with that job, try to talk with some friends. Something light. You don’t need to tell them about what you’re going through if you’re not comfortable because you don’t owe anyone an explanation. So you know your homework?”

“Get a job. Talk to friends.”

He snorted. “Distract yourself, Feyre. With good things. Light things. Even if it’s a movie with Rhys or cooking dinner. And try to stay away from alcohol and substances.”

“Distraction.” I repeated.

“Distraction.” He confirmed, a light grin on his face. “And I’m afraid that’s all the time we have.”

I wiped my nose once more than stood, tissue clenched in my fingers. “Same time next week?” I wondered, heading towards the door.

Suriel smiled then said, “Sounds good to me. Thank you very much for today, Feyre. You’re doing extremely well so far.”

“Well, hopefully therapy is the one thing I won’t fuck up.”

He smiled, more of a smug, cheeky smile. I opened the door and it closed softly behind me, but not before hearing his drawer being pulled open, and the sound of that takeout bag rustling around.

***

The car door shut beside me, and Rhys turned on the ignition.

“How was it?”

The streets passed by, full of people, full of energy. “Were you there in the parking lot the whole time?”

He shrugged as he made a left turn, going the opposite way of home. I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t you have better things to do? A company to manage?”

“My office is very flexible. Phone calls can be made from anywhere, including the comforts of my car.”

“You shouldn’t be sacrificing your work to take care of me.”

Rhys eyed me sideways. “Taking care of you is not a sacrifice. It’s as essential as any hour of tediousness in that stupid building.”

I sighed, my arms crossing across my chest. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere. How was the session? Do you like him? If not, we’ll find somebody else.”

The rain beat furiously against the windshield. Rhys increased the speed of his wipers. I said, “It was fine.”

“Fine.” It was more of an assertion than a question.

“He’s strange, but he’s good.” I glanced at him sidelong, and that calm concentration lining his features. “How did you find him?”

He shrugged. “Suriel was a very difficult man to track down. There’re many psychologists in Prythian, but not many that take on…these kinds of cases.”

“Which kinds?”

He looked at me then, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Suicidal ones.”

My next question was already on my lips, but a call came through, and Rhys touched the bluetooth piece in his left ear. “Yes Morrigan?”

I could hear her shrill voice distantly yelling at him to never call her that again. Rhys and her spoke of something for a few minutes, names and things I didn’t understand and didn’t care enough to try and decode. Finally, he said, “I’ll be there in a minute.” The call ended, and he pulled the piece out of his ear, discarding it in the cupholder. I looked out the window, curious as to where we were.

“Where are we going?”

Rhys said, “To the office. I have to pick up some things.”

My heart beat nervously. I knew that the circle would be in the office, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see them yet. But I remembered Suriel’s homework for me and sighed, knowing that it was best if I did have some sort of human contact. “Can I come?”

His smile was wicked and salacious. “But of course, darling. Let me take you into devil’s lair.”

***

Night Industries was nothing like Spring Corporations.

Everything, from the lobby to the reception to the workers was much more heavy duty. Sleek. Dripping with grace and elegance in a dark, ominous way. Black marble greeted us upon our entry where six security guards stood at their posts. Each nodded to Rhysand, who in turn greeted them all by name with a stern nod of his head. Rhys didn’t need to say anything as he marched past the reception desk towards the elevators. I went to reach for the button, but he shook his head.

“Executive floor is a little more protected than that.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“We do things a little different here than Spring.”

At that, he lead me down another corridor to the left and down to flights of stairs. I was about to ask where the hell he was taking me when we entered another lounge, with a different secretary, who instantly greeted us with a smile on her face. This place was darker, a dingy unsuspecting hallway that I wouldn’t have considered if ever I were to break in. I guess Rhys expected such a thing and acted accordingly.

“Good morning Nuala,” Rhys smiled as he laid his finger on the scanner presented to him by the dark haired woman. She didn’t say a word to him, only smiled at both of us as the tablet turned green and the door to what looked like a janitorial elevator opened. It reeked of metal and rust as we entered the wide space. On the interior, it was padded with black velvet and golden lining. Rhys pressed the button for the ninetieth floor, and we were going up.

“Your clients don’t find this a little sketchy when they visit?”

Rhys snorted. “My clients never cross the threshold of my real office.”

Another raise of my brows. He only said, “You can never be too careful, Feyre darling.”

We were silent the rest of the way up. Once the elevator doors opened once more, the space that greeted us was nothing like the beat-up receptionist’s office downstairs.

Everything was dark, but in a different way. Grey walls. Dark stained floors with a silver carpet leading down the main artery of the hallway. On each side were doors, definitely offices or file rooms hiding behind them. It was like an impenetrable fortress on all four sides. At the end of the corridor lay a set of black double doors with silver glinting handles. Lights shone at the bottom of each wall, lighting up the floors, leading your way to them. I only stood in shock at the stark differences between Spring and Night, the luxury and elegance that seemed oozing power and control here rather than tacky expensiveness in that ivory tower.

Before the doors, to the right hand side stood an empty office chair behind a black desk. An apple computer was there, unused, unoccupied, waiting for somebody to sit down.

“Who works there?”

“No one,” Rhys replied, as he laid his palm on his door handle. He waited a moment before a whir and a click sounded, then winked at me. “Only opens with my fingerprints on the door handle.”

How that worked, I had no clue. But once the doors opened, I swallowed hard at the scene that greeted me.

If… if his office was supposed to look grand, it was nothing compared to Rhys’s.

The walls were twenty feet high, and along the entire back wall stood windows reaching all the way from floor to ceiling. The light, despite the raining day, was bright and inviting, speckled with drops of precipitation outside. On the left side of the room lay an area for comfort, white leather couches and seats, enough for all the damn employees in this place to sit. A low grey marble table sat between the seats in the middle of the circle, currently obscured with documents and files piled up haphazardly. Stretched out across it though, was a map—a map of Prythian, marked up by different colour pens, from the Sidra to the major companies of Prythian and their headquarters. The colours made no distinct pattern I could decipher, but the entire thing seemed meticulously examined.

On the ceiling, light lined the space in strips, the source unseen beneath the black beams forming squares, each equally spaced apart. On the side wall were different alcoves, within one I could see acting as a coffee bar with a mini fridge beneath it. The others were wider, also lined with light—but barren.

“I’m waiting for the right art piece to put there.” He explained. “Nothing has quite tickled my fancy yet.”

I could paint for you, I thought, but then was disgusted by the notion of picking up a paint brush.

And to the left of the space was finally his desk. Nearly the length of the wall—the back of which was filled with books—and also dark to match his limited palette. Three screen monitors sat atop of it, and other files were strewn around, as though he’d left his office in a hurry. He strode over to it once he saw my shock had subsided it, and sat in his black leather chair with a sigh.

“Take a seat, Feyre. Won’t be too long.”

I sat in the grey leather chair across from him, still soaking in the room. It was gorgeous. Bigger than any apartment my sisters, father and I used to live in.

He fiddled around on his cellphone for a bit while I was still gazing across the city skyline, and minutes later came a knock at the door. Rhys checked the monitor, then pressed a button on his keyboard. The door opened, and in sauntered Mor.

“Seriously, I could’ve just emailed them to you. I don’t know why you’ve got to waste so much gas to drag your ass across the city for a stupid paper—” only she stopped when she saw me. Mor, beautiful as ever, wore a white pantsuit and her hair up in a high sleek ponytail to show off her gold hoop earrings. Her face broke into a smile, her red lipstick beaming, when she saw me.

“Feyre! He finally showed you around. What do you think? Don’t give him any credit for this place, I designed this thing from the ground up.”

“You’re a dirty liar, Morrigan. This place was built before you were born.”

“Don’t call me that again, Rhys, lest you want me to remove your favourite part. And you know full well that I was in charge of all the renovations, so look in the mirror next time you call someone a liar.”

Rhys rolled his eyes as Mor sauntered over and handed him the paper. His eyes scanned it for a few moments before they filled with dread. “Seriously?” He asked his cousin mournfully.

She only swallowed, eyes skirting over the words as well. “I’m sorry, Rhys.”

He sighed. “It’s fine. We’ll just add it to the rest of the chaos we have to deal with.”

As he opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a file, Mor came to sit beside me. Her hand found mine and gave it a squeeze, her brown eyes warm and bright. “You’re looking great, Feyre.”

I could tell by the kindness in her voice that she was being genuine, and not Ianthe’s sappy fake shrill that I was used to. “Thanks, Mor.” My voice was scratchy and low.

She turned her head to Rhys, who was collecting other papers from his desk to cram into the manila folder. “Have you talked to her about the position yet? It’d be nice to have someone new around the—”

One look from him and she stopped mid-conversation, then turned to me. “I picked up another set of clothes for you, by the way. After your comments from last time I went for more…comfort. Still very stylish, though, so not to worry.”

“Thanks. I didn’t really think the leather jacket look suited me.”

Mor laughed at my dryness, and Rhys only rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mor.” A clear dismissal, but I only thought of what Suriel had given me for homework as Mor lifted from her seat and made her way to the door.

“Wait,” I said, looking into Mor’s soft eyes, who were filled with hope and excitement just at the sound of my voice. My heart swelled with the non-verbal support she held for me. “Why don’t you all come over tonight? For dinner?”

“Feyre, darling, please, that’s just asking for it.”

“Wait, no! That’s perfect! I’ll make cookies, and we can bring popcorn and snacks and oh, oh!” Mor jumped up and down excitedly, looking to Rhys with her eyes full of hope. “We can have a game night!”

“Dear Gods, Mor,” Rhys folded his hand into a steeple and closed his eyes, his features lined with misery. “Are you trying to scare her away?”

“Oh, you’re just old and cranky. Make yourself another coffee, for fuck’s sake. Have a little fun, Rhys. We’ll be there at seven!”

The door closed, and I could only work on trying to bite back my smile as I turned to face Rhys.

“You seriously don’t know what you’ve started, Feyre.”

“I’m just doing what Suriel suggested, Rhys,” I said sweetly. “Social interaction is good for the disturbed mind.”

He only chuckled and shook his head, amused. Then he stood, hands in the dark trousers he’d donned today. No suit—he’d worked from home most of the morning before my appointment. The black long-sleeve sweater he wore stretched over his muscles that rippled beneath as he faced the skyline below us.

“I did come here for that paper, but I guess while I’m at it I should make good on my promise to you.”

Pushing up from my chair, I followed behind him quietly, arms crossed over my chest. “Promise?”

“Yes. I said I’d have a job for you. And I do.” He was quiet for a few moments, the stars in his eyes glowing as he gazed at the cars below. “I need all the people I can get right now.”

“Why?” I breathed. The response, whatever it was, made my heart beat furiously in my chest.

“Because war is coming, Feyre.”

[casuallivi]

seriously tho, what is this mighty gwynriel potential that i can't, for the life of me, see? She'll fix him. That's it? That's the great chemistry of the century? Fuck me, boring as fuck.

"spying? Of what?"

You know, Prythian is actually quite instable since Hybern wants to take over and gods know wtf is going on in Valaha (or whatever the heck you write this name). There's koschei. There are the troves. There's Vassa court. There are the Humans trying to take the throne from the awful human queens there is beron trying to start shit. There Eris and Keir being very suspicious with this "alliance". There's the Mor/Eris deal. There's the High King bit. So just for starts, from the top of my head, there is all this to collect info about, so lots of things to spy on and report back....

"she can be a Vanserra and actually help az to be bff with the vanserras"

loooool the only reason he doesn't like Vanserra male is because they messed with his girls, first Mor and now Elain, you know, the one with who he is in love with, whose mate is vanserra... so yeah, without them there's no reason for Madre Gwyn Theresa to even fix a relationship. And why the fuck do you think a bastard would have power in that messed up family????? Beron banned his son, A MALE, from his court, image the shit he would give about a female bastard.

lol, how the fuck should we know what the book is about? We are not the author! But if you want some elriel lovers inputs and mock plots, there are amazing fanfics on this side of the fandom

Ps: don't you just love how mighty Gwyn oh my Gwyn is sooooo interesting because of PROBABLE things she can be (like a Vanserra) while Elain is disregarded by the same reason?

Elain can end up being a new kind of suriel, a seer, a spy, a High Lady, a Lady, a traveler, a girlfriend, a lover, a wife, hell, she can just keep being her lovable baker and gardener self and I'm still very enthusiastic about her story.

She doesn't exist to be Azriel's mate or give his life meaning or change his life forever. He is the one carrying her around and showering her with attention and actions that he doesn't show to anyone else, while my girls is living her best life pampering her nephew, ghosting Lucien (loool, 😂), befriending all of Velaris, and brightening the court one garden at a time.

I am not starting a war here, it's just sometimes insane how Elriels are forcing their sinking ship. Listen, I used to be an Elriel but I don't see the potential. What would be their plot? Spying? Of what? And the romance between Elain and Az, guys I honestly read your theories and other posts but it was all off page. It's not really there. And if you think SJM would write about a soft girl, well, she's an author who writes about girl boss, who wields swords and fights. I realized Gwynriel have more potential, she can be a Vanserra for all we know, and can actually help Az and his animosity with the Vanserras. And regarding of the Evil Elain? You are all laughing at us but sjm said it was interesting ;)

I am so tired of you guys so please learn to read and stop being so selective. If you actually believe Elriel will happen show me the proofs without being selective. There are so many hints and foreshadowing, especially potential for Gwynriel. This is all.

Nah, I am good.

I don't try to convince anyone, most of all Gwynriels, of anything. I don't really care what you ship and it's not my job to prove myself or my preference to anyone. Besides, if it's a 'dying ship' what can I ever say to revive it?

If you are interested, take a stroll down my very old, very huge Tumblr which pretty much has everything you'll ever need.

PS We do know how to read.

[the-sky-court-blog]

The Sky Court Presents: Wing Stories!

In the Sky Court, each Passerin Fae’s wings change colour based on who they are and what they plan to be in the world by way of their actions. We will intermittently post the Wing Stories as they become available. Here’s the scoop for our Head Chef!

Head Chef @ponyjockey

The color of my wings is no surprise to anyone in the Sky Court. My infamous breads and pastries landed me the position of Head Chef at the early age of 30 and I’ve enjoyed serving the High Ladies and the greater Sky Court ever since. But how my wings turned from white to their true color is a longer story. My mother was a high fae of the Sky Court, but my father was a baker in the Day Court. They fell in love and were married despite objections from my mother’s family. She was meant to marry a noble of the Sky Court, but after many years of grumbling my mother’s family finally accepted my Day Court father. His breads were legendary and whenever Helion held balls my father’s breads were one of the main reasons people attended, or so he liked to tell me. When I was born with the wings of the Passerin, my parents decided that my mother and I should move back to the Sky Court.

Without wings, my father found it too difficult to live in the Sky Court full time so he remained at his bakery. My mother flew to the Day Court frequently to visit him and I got to spend holidays with him, but as time went on the distance strained my parents relationship and they decided to end their 100 year marriage. I trained in the Day Court as high fae in combat and court life, but would frequently sneak out of our estate to visit the bakeries in town and knead bread. I loved baking and cooking and was never any good with a blade.

When I came of age I sat down with my mother and told her that I didn’t want to be a court lady, that I wanted to move to the Day Court and train with father as a chef. She was devastated to lose me, but I promised her that the Sky Court was my home and I would return to her as soon as my training was complete. As I spoke with her about the feel of kneading dough and the calm that comes over me when I’m working in the kitchen my wings began to turn from white to the pale beige of freshly baked bread. When my mother saw the change in my wings she understood that I was always meant to follow in my father’s footsteps.

After 5 years of training in the Day Court under my father and Helion’s personal chef I returned to the Sky Court and opened a little bakery in town. My bakery got noticed by the High Ladies and I was offered the prestigious position of Head Chef of the Sky Court. I frequently travel to the Day Court to see my father and to all of the other Prythian courts to purchase rare ingredients and make sure I am delivering my Sky Court family the freshest and best ingredients I can find. I love creating new recipes and collaborating with the High Ladies on menus for their exquisite balls, but my home will always be kneading bread and the smell of baking wafting through the kitchen. My wings reflect that and I am so honored to hold the position of Head Chef in the Sky Court, a court of loving fae who accepted me despite my mixed heritage.