#the fae council;;

[mareliini]

ouuhhh fae village years how i crave to draw them.... i need them to be middle-aged and little silly about it

[passionmaterial]

I was thinking about this, but why does foop have to listen to the anti-fairy council? I thought Anti Cosmo was like the king of anti fairy world, making him above the anti fairy council. Foop is like legit a prince, so he shouldn't really have to obey them, right? Just look to them for advice.

[tabbbbyyyy]

Why do I kinda want the fairies in tlos and atom to be just that bit less human looking? Like it would be so much cooler if they were more like fae creatures than sparkly humans.

ik the whole "secretly a fairy" thing that atom had going on at the start dosent work as well like that SO I propose they have a second form with all that fae shit. Granted we all already draw them with pointy ears n that cos it's just so much better, but I want full creature. Gimme them FANGS ok, I want it FERAL.

[maskyartist]

hc: ozpin goes by any/all pronouns but specifically chooses the ones that would piss u off most in that moment

[arcxnumvitae]

The act of consummation for the Seelie royal line after a marriage is one of varying importance. The main goal for the current ruler is, as it generally is with royal families, to produce an heir.

Since the Seelie differ a bit in their expectancies of royalty, as in the current ruler is generally expected to sleep around to ensure their chances due to fae’s difficult in conceiving, it is not exactly required for the royal to marry someone with the biological ability to create an heir with them. So, several factors that effect how much it is pushed for the ruler to consummate their marriage and keep up the attempted heir-creating:

If the royal already has children predating the marriage (this is admittedly a rare one)

The number of other available family members to pass the crown to should the ruler die without issue (also very rare, siblings aren’t really a thing because of the aforementioned issues with conceiving)

If the royal spouse isn’t compatible for child-bearing (in which case the focus just shifts to urging the ruler to sleep with others who can)

Etc. Etc. Of course, ultimately, no one can tell the ruler what to do. Aur’s father was rather notable for having taken no lovers after his marriage to Aur’s mom. The Council can absolutely be very annoying about it though.

[loony-binz]

Okay so like, petty fandom arguments and other bs aside, can we all just generally agree that- objectively- MalleYuu is fucking hilarious?

Like I’m pretty sure Yuu isn’t even a registered citizen and it’s debatable if Ramshackle even has a working shower. And then they just. pull the heir to the strongest kingdom known within the lore. that’s fucking peak.

Also all of the bullshit with the Senate just makes the mere idea of them as a couple ten times funnier. Like they SEETHED at Lilia and Maleanor FRIENDSHIP as well as the fact she married a lesser fae. Not even a non-fae species. Just. A guy whom was slightly lesser.

The Council of Briar Valley: Ah yes, the heir to the throne. Since our princess had committed the CARDINAL SIN of marrying and having a baby with a LESSER FAE, we shall carefully watch over and monitor Malleus, to ensure the same mistake does not happen twice!

Malleus HumanFucker Draconia:

[lunarcovehq]

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, NYRA ODEYER

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Woman, She/Her

DATE OF BIRTH: October 4th, 1650

OCCUPATION: Head of the Emerald Hotel and Puck’s Luck

RESIDENCY: Sunny Harbor

FACECLAIM: Sobhita Dhulipala

IF I DIE YOUNG

SPECIES: Fae

SUBCATEGORY: Siren

REGENERATED: Yes

FAE COURT POSITION: Fae Queen

AGE THEY APPEAR: 35

LAY ME DOWN IN A BED OF ROSES

Trigger Warnings: Death, Murder

Once upon a time there lived a girl that dreamt of high castle walls and shimmering rubies, of colourful mosaics and sharp swords, but such images were restricted only to the dreamscapes and imaginations of the child, fated to fade in the dreamy golden hour of dawn’s first light, both a tragedy and reality as the threads that created those vivid tapestries slowly but surely unfurled to a deep longing within her heart. It wasn’t a displeasure to be born without such luxuries, her parents provided far more than most, and really, they too sometimes wished for riches so it never struck her as odd when such dreams recurred, happiness existed and that’s all that mattered… right?

Stories that began with once upon a time often promised happy endings. 

This is not that story. 

Let’s start again.

Once upon a life, in a memory of time, there lived a girl that knew something was different about her. Wrong or special would be debated in private even if the specifics evaded her but Niharika knew she walked a different path than her siblings. She teased much like they did, laughter rang the same notes if not a bit more melodic, she grew angry like them too, stomping feet like a child was wont to do, yet when her siblings did it skies did not gloom dark in the distance – could be a coincidence, she certainly wrote it of as such many times, but the comparison couldn’t help but be made. However, one of the many things that tormented her in the most annoying sense, Niharika could not, despite her best efforts, lie. But the girl had bigger things to worry about than getting her siblings into trouble. 

Trouble, instead, found her. 

It had been a normal day, she accompanied her mother and siblings to the local temple, and it all went well till a man dressed in priestly clothes questioned whether she would like a reading. Such a thing was not unusual, vedic astrology was an important facet of their belief and their mother agreed, considering this a blessing to be asked when the common practice was for a family to request such a thing. Something felt different about this to her, about him, but she paid her respects and stepped into a private room within the temple. Suspicions confirmed true when she called her Chandrika, but instead of confusion that ought to have been reflected, familiarity flashed across her face as something began to unlock within her mind; a memory tucked away in a forgotten pocket of time held a song, gentle waves, and a moon so bright she could feel its light illuminating everything in soft glow. He must’ve noticed her wide eyes but when he called her daughter, the spell broke with a tiny gasp as Niharika recoiled away. She couldn’t be blamed for the way hurt and disappointment moved across his face, she hardly paid any attention to anything as moonlight still danced in her vision. Something about past lives he had said about reincarnation and fate and told her to be cautious. She couldn’t believe any of it. The man, to avoid suspension for his intention was to only speak to her, had read her siblings charts too, imparting wisdom and advice to all of them. Thoughts weighed heavy on the girl's mind as they took their leave, half-listening to her siblings boast about being lucky in the near future or attain recognition in their adult life, and knowing she couldn’t speak fully without spilling her thoughts Niharika remained mostly silent, only saying she was told to be careful – which hadn’t been a complete lie, it was part of of what he had said. 

Time ticked by uneventfully yet quickly, uneasiness had waned since the meeting, things returned to normal except now she was too aware of how often she looked to the moon, and no matter how soft her voice had been, she found eyes on her while she sang. Her family thought it was talent shining through as they were drawn to her voice for the uncountable time, magical they called it but that only caused brows to crease and head to be cast down. She kept her mouth shut and drew no gazes, kept emotions in check and skies stayed normal, tried not to think of the stranger but she crossed paths with him again. On her birthday this time. He said he had a gift and revealed a dress of golden silk and embroidery so delicate it looked to be a near perfect replica of the one she used to dream about. Niharika hadn’t worn it, hardly touched it in case it would fade or she tainted it with the ever growing wrongness she felt, what if it was the same one? That thought made her shudder as she stowed it away, trying not to think of the man’s departing words – “Be careful of the water.” 

At a bazaar many moon cycles later did she bump into him, this time growing bolder with age she did not shy away, a lifetime of questions poured out of her at top speed. He did not chide her like adults did, did not scowl as she spoke out of turn, not even a word when she blamed him for countless sleepless nights caused by the warning he had given. Being the adamant little thing she was, Niharika brimmed with confidence as she teetered on the banks of river Kaveri, eyes cast to the recent monsoon fed river, determined that there was nothing to worry here given how often she had ran alongside its current and swam in its waters, She had dragged him along to the riverside to prove it. Hopping closer, she all but dipped a leg in before she pulled it out in a panicked frenzy backing away from the waters edge as what she could only describe as the tail of fish grew out from her legs. Her flesh being replaced scales as screams echoed with terror. And she swore when she looked at him with horror in her eyes, he simply smiled, like this was something to be expected, like this was normal. A variation of Matsyakanya he had said, citing their vedic lore. Heartbeat returned to a regular staccato rhythm and for a moment she felt relief, peace, joy even as her tail splashed up some water – these she would come to know where the man’s own emotions that he gave to calm her, except it felt like her own too.

Still coming to terms with this discovery, she did as told, what choice did she have? Days turned into years and this secret stayed within her, caged and confined like her wings that soon came about, entirely beautiful and mesmerising but she couldn’t share it, out of fear, out of promise, obligation, call it whatever, but she knew things would not be the same if she had. Water was avoided too once she found out what exactly she was. Yet, no amount of precautions would be enough to keep things as they had been, safety had never been granted for their kind she had been told and that slipped further and further from grasp.

The Raj’s guardsmen marching through the village had everyone on edge, their announcements of the King’s decree drew private scoffs yet none could oppose it. Her current family worried about what it would mean, and she had her own opinions on the matter but as she watched them tucked away from line of sight, she was pulled further into the crowd by an invisible force, though she had learnt to not react so openly, the act still jolted her. Invisibility. Another foreign concept. His frightened state was hard to miss, rushed explanations of hunters among the calvary and fleeing were met again with wide eyes and racing thoughts. Things escalated quickly from then, raids and more soldiers, she didn’t want to run, didn’t want to leave her family behind but when questions, that, in a roundabout way pointed towards unnatural beings, luxury of choice was not afforded to them. 

It was in this slight hesitation, life flipped for Niharika. On a moonless night, she still vividly remembered, screams tore into the night as hunters stalked and killed her human family without remorse only later realising there wasn’t anything abnormal about them. She didn’t stick around till daybreak, she ran in the dead of night, teary eyed and angry causing the weather to shift and bend to her will. Her past-life father was ready, bags packed and he vanished as she escaped into the river before they could be found, letting the water take control and steer them to safety.

She grew quiet after that ordeal, blood clouding her vision as she cried, mourned for the loss of a loving family, what a sight she must’ve been too but he couldn’t do much about it other than hide them away, move them from place to place as battles broke out across the land; some pertaining to their kind, most not. Not many batted an eye at an ageing man and a silent girl. She had asked questions mainly as to why he had not kept on being ageless and the answer struck far too deep for something so simple – “I’m tired.”

He would not regenerate again and she accepted it, memories were precious things, they were all one had to keep them going. Before his permanent departure from this world, he had bestowed more knowledge on survival and their kin, answering every question he knew the answer to and finding out some he hadn’t known and giving names of woodland fae and deep sea dwellers so she may discover more on her own. It was not custom for the daughter to perform last rites but she was family and she’d be damned if beliefs such as that prevented her from being there. It was attended by a few confidants he had made over time, some she had seen, some not, all in all a quiet and private affair and none said a word of protest on the matter as she set the pyre alight, chanting mantras for a safe passage. 

Last of the condolences were received as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, a man in a dark suit approached her speaking of a place for their kind, a sanctuary he was setting out to build. With promises to think on it, Niharika put a pin on that thought and it forever fluttered in the back of her mind as she spent the next few decades learning about the world and all it had to offer. She had a proper name for her form too, Siren, the english term more widely used fit snugly. She lived many different lives, some she remembered, some she let the memory float away on the tides, learned to love and live and felt death deeply when those she grew attached were lost to time. Grew into a sharper, resolute person, called herself Nyra, a new name for what felt like a new life. Because in a way it was. She met more of her kind too and did end up visiting Lunar Cove, a sanctuary for the supernatural kind, staying even for a few months on and off but she did not root herself to its soil just yet, there was more to see, more to figure out, and discover she did. Fragments of her family, of both human and the magical kind, her travels took her across the globe, even to Europe where eyes rolled at the so-called British Raj. What opulence did they hold to the maharajas of ages past? Laughable and easily dismissed. 

In all her finds and tumultuous times, Nyra still felt something amiss till eventually she heard her own Siren call – Lunar Cove beckoned for permanency and she finally answered. The dubious tagline of a sanctum aside, Nyra made a solid foundation for herself in this town, and felt a sense of calm that she hadn’t experienced in years. She stayed on as a member of the court, growing closer to Queen over the years offering her support in any way possible, even took to running the Emerald Hotel to help any wayward fae that wandered through the mirage. But of course, turbulent waters were never far behind. Momentary exhalation came crashing down bringing death and destruction, she tried not to let her heart grow cold as horror upon horror struck the town she called home, especially not when a new title was bestowed upon her. A metaphorical crown that weighed heavy with responsibility but there was a new purpose now, a chance to dig up hope and ensure safety despite the danger that only seemed to grow. 

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 12

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose. Also Discussion of toxic media/fandom/death threats.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando sat on the couch, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. Lizzie, curled up next to him with Mara at her feet, noticed his thumb hovering over the screen, hesitating. She nudged him with her knee.

"Alright, what is it? Did Max send you another cursed meme?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. There was something going on. Something that he hadn't told her yet. 

She had learned to read Lando well enough to pick up on these kinds of unsaid cues. The way he looked, the way he smiled, his eyes just so crinkling at the corners...she knew exactly the titl of his head, the way the right corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile when he read something funny on his phone...She knew. 

And she treasured all these tiny details, hoarded them like a dragon did to it's gold. 

Lando huffed a small laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Worse."

Lizzie's eyebrows furrowed, concern creasing her forehead. That wasn't good.  "Worse? What's worse than Max Verstappen's questionable taste in humor?" she asked, trying to infuse some humour into the situation, but Lando didn't seem interested in that. 

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, you know how I sent that picture of Mara in her Ferrari bandana to Charles?"

Lizzie's face lit up as she nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Yes, how could I forget? The cutest picture I've ever seen."

Her dog was the most adorable dog to ever grace this earth, thank you very much. (She was very much certain that every dog owner had thought that at one moment in time, but she was correct!) 

Lando chuckled and pulled her into his side. She breathed in the scent that was simply him, something fresh and warm and so utterly Lando...feeling his body warmth seep into her, through the thin shirt he was wearing. "Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that a thousand times," he teased. "But you’ll never guess what happened when Charles showed that picture to his girlfriend."

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "What, did she think it was so cute it gave her a heart attack?" she joked. Not that she could fault Charles' girlfriend if that was indeed the case. 

"She recognized Mara," Lando said drily. That was not what Lizzie had expected. Actually that was the last thing she had expected.  "Alexandra Saint Mleux," Lando said, watching her reaction carefully. "is apparently a Lizzie Treshton superfan."

Lizzie’s eyes widened. "Wait, seriously?" she asked, a mix of shock and amusement coloring her voice. Really? "A F1 WAG read my books?"

"Not just her," Lando said, shaking his head. "All of them. And they’ve decided they need to meet you. Effective immediately."

Lizzie stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. 

"So what, they started plotting?" she teased.

"Plotting would be an understatement," Lando said, amused. "I have been forcefully added to the WAG council group chat, and they are demanding that I bring you to a race."

The mere idea of being in a group chat with the wives and girlfriends of Formula 1’s elite sounded like a scene straight out of a fanfiction, but apparently it was her real life now. 

"There’s a WAG council?" She asked, shocked besides herself. That sounded...actually, she had no idea what that sounded like. 

"Apparently."

"That’s amazing," Lizzie said, still giggling. 

Lando made a face. "It’s terrifying."

Lizzie bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "Demanding might be a strong word, though, right?"

"Oh, no," Lando corrected, his expression deadly serious. "There were threats, bribes, and full capital letters. Also, they all want signed copies of Seasons of Fate."

Lizzie let out a soft oh of understanding before shaking her head with a grin. "You know, I really didn’t think this was how our relationship was going to get outed," she said drily. Really. This was really not what she had had in mind. 

"Neither did I," Lando admitted. "But the WAGs are apparently above no tactics when it comes to getting their hands on signed books."

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, her curiosity only growing. "So, what exactly did they say?"

Lando sighed, running a hand through his curls. "Well, for starters, Alex offered to ‘whore out her Ferrari golden boy boyfriend’ if it meant getting you to Silverstone."

Lizzie cackled. "She said that?"

"Verbatim," Lando confirmed, looking equal parts entertained and exhausted. "And apparently, Charles will sign whateveryou want if he doesn’t want to be murdered in his sleep."

She burst out in laughter at that. 

"Well, that sounds like... quite the deal," she said, trying desperately to stay serious. "I don’t know whether to be concerned or find it hilariously absurd."

Lando smirked, clearly amused by the situation. "It’s a lot of both," he assured her. "But they're not afraid to play dirty." He grew serious. "I wanted to talk to you before this all blows up. I know we haven’t exactly been hiding, but we also haven’t been, you know, public."

Lizzie sobered slightly, understanding what he was getting at. "You’re worried about what happens when people know."

He nodded. "It’s just… your life is already busy, and the last thing I want is for my world to make things harder for you. The fans, the media, the scrutiny—it’s a lot. And I don’t want you to feel pressured into dealing with that."

Her heart painfully constricted, her expression softened, because it was clear that Lando was worried about this. "I appreciate that," she said sincerely. "But, Lando… I’ve been dealing with fan and media attention for a while now. I thinkI can handle it."

Lando frowned slightly. "Yeah, but F1 media is different. It’s relentless. They’ll speculate about everything, dig through your old tweets, try to twist things. Hell, they’re probably going to turn Mara into some kind of meme."

Lizzie smirked. "I mean, she is an icon. It’s about time the world recognizes it."

Lando groaned. "Lizzie."

She laughed before squeezing his hand. "Look, I won’t pretend it won’t be overwhelming. But I do know that I don’t want to keep pretending we’re just… nothing."

"You know that they’ll be hounding your every move?" he warned her, his voice tinged with concern. "The fans can be ruthless, the media is relentless, and the tabloids—well, they make up their own storylines."

She nodded. "I won’t lie, I know it’s going to be overwhelming. I mean, I have seen what happens when the internet latches onto F1 relationships. But I also know I don’t want to pretend we’re just… nothing. You make me happy, and I don’t want to hide that."

Lando was silent for a moment, his eyes meeting Lizzie's. His thumb traced a gentle circle on the back of her hand as he seemed lost in thought.

“You make me happy too,” he told her, his voice soft. “But they’ll…they’re going to dissect every little thing. If you don’t come to a race, we’ll probably be at the brink of a break up. If you do come, they’ll write ridiculous headlines of you stealing the spotlights. They are going to speculate on how long we’ve been together, probably even come up with wild conspiracy theories..."

She could hear it in his voice, how much it stressed him...how uch even just the thought of people doing that to their relationship was hurting him. 

"Hey," she said softly. "I’m a bestselling fantasy author, Lando. People come up with wild conspiracy theories about my books on a daily basis. I can handle it."

Lando chuckled at that. "Fair point," he admitted, conceding her argument. The tension in his shoulders eased some. "I just…I want you to be sure,” Lando said hesitantly. “The Formula One fandom is another level when it comes to speculating about relationships. And some fans are bloody mental. I have literally received death threats, and I am not the only one. And the media? They are going to be relentless. They’ll ask questions about you at every race, they’ll bring up your epilepsy, they’ll try to spin things."

Lizzie knew that. She was very much aware of that. But Lizzie had lived with her epilepsy for nearly all her life. She already had heard every single horrible thing somebody could say about that. 

Now it would be more of the same. Simply on a bigger stage. 

Was it scary? Yes. 

Did she care? Not really. 

So Lizzie simply squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I know. I’m not naive. And I won’t pretend it doesn’t scare me a little. But I also know I don’t want to let fear dictate my life. We’re in this together, right?"

"Of course, we are."

Lizzie leaned in, resting her forehead against his. "Then let’s do it."

Lando grinned, all traces of his earlier tension disappearing. "You’re braver than me," he said, pulling her closer so he could kiss her forehead. "Are you sure you’re ready for this circus?"

A mischievous glint flashed in Lizzie's eyes. "Honey, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from writing about a war between magical races, it’s that I can handle whatever comes my way."

Lando chuckled, shaking his head at her audacity. "You’re something else, you know that?" he said warmly. 

"Yes," she said, grinning. "So, you’ll take me to Silverstone?"

"I was supposed to be the one inviting you, you know," Lando muttered, feigning exasperation.

Lizzie just smirked. "Too slow, Norris.  Let’s do it. If the WAGs want signed books, I might as well hand-deliver them."

Lando let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But the moment we walk into the paddock together, the internet is going to explode."

Lizzie leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back with a knowing smile. "Then let’s give them a show, shall we?"

[itsswritten]

feels like home

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 4.1K

Summary: The start of fairy readers journey and how she ended up in the Night Court. Essentially the start of the love story we all now love <3

Wings Universe - More from this world.

Autumn

Now you weren’t the arrogant kind — Fairies were always known to be humble. It’s why for the most part, your kind kept to your meadows, didn’t construct social hierarchy like Fae, and kept those mesmerising wings hidden.

However you were proud of your skills as a fairy. You were dutiful, talented, and worked incredibly hard. The youngest fairy to ever be enrolled on the fairy council. So the fact you were failing now, was quite a humbling awakening.

You blinked again, Elodie’s panicked voice blurring into the autumn breeze.

Your first stop on your travels was the Autumn Court. Visiting your cousin, who had offered refuge after your reluctant departure from Spring. Although you missed your home terribly, you were really trying to embrace this opportunity— the chance to explore a new court, spend quality time with family, and further your studies on the other seasons. Turning the dire situation you had to abandon into something positive.

However things were not going how you had expected. Apparently Autumn didn’t agree with you as well as Spring always had. 

“Y/N, there are snowdrops…in Autumn,” Elodie's concerned tone broke through. Your gaze hadn’t left the scene in front of you. Dewy snowdrops glistening under the cool autumn sun. 

You swallowed, your throat dry. “I’m aware.”

The snowdrops were your flowers. Beautiful but wrong. Your magic had manifested a spring flower in an Autumn court. Something that should never happen. 

It had been two months. Two months of no problems, and although the autumn shades didn’t necessarily suit you and the breeze didn’t sing as sweet as home, you had managed to settle in. 

You learnt how to get by. However the mess in front of you told you otherwise.

“What are you going to do?” Elodie pressed, her nervousness emitting beside you. You never got things wrong, you were always the one everyone else relied on– Mistakes were a rarity for you.

“Trying to figure that out,” your hands fisted the fabric of your dress at your sides. Your mind whirring as you tried to figure out a plan. The intricacies of your ability had always come so naturally to you in Spring, but grappling with a new season left you fumbling for a solution. 

“What. Are. Those?!” Your cousin's voice hitched in a tight tone, her voice hushing towards the end so as to not draw attention. She stalked over, her autumn-hued dress billowing behind her, hands were flailing towards you as she stormed in your direction.

With a spin you turned to her, stepping in front of the patch of snowdrops that had sprouted— as if she hadn’t already seen the little blooms that seemed to sway in the wind in mockery.

“I don’t understand…you were doing so well. I asked you to help bring the harvest along. You know, pumpkins, squash, apples. Not flowers!” Your cousin’s brows were drawn in tight, confusion and dismay in her tone. You could practically see her mind reeling as she took in the scene before her.

Instinctively your hands came up towards her, creating space, trying to calm the situation.

“I know. It’s just a small hiccup, I can reverse it. It’s fine,” you reassured quickly, not even allowing yourself to fester in the worry. 

You were the youngest fairy on the council you reminded yourself— a mentor to many of your friends and colleagues. This would not phase you.

Rolling your shoulders back, you looked at the taunting flowers straight on. Flexing your fingers as a drop of magic glowing like a little firefly, sunk slowly from your fingertips to the ground. Seeping into the deep earth that was covered in a blanket of burnt coloured leaves. 

A beat passed as the three of you held your breath. The forest seemed to hold it’s breath too, it’s mild wind coming to a silence.

Then, one of the buds quivered slightly, vibrating before it began to shrink and swirl back into the ground it had birthed from. A heavy sigh left your lips, shoulders dropping as Elodie gave you a slight smile. Chewing the inside of your cheek you gave her a knowing wink.

But that moment of relief quickly dissipated. Before your eyes more and more flowers began to spring before you. As though your magic had the opposite effect you had intended. 

Relishing in your victory too early served you your humiliation. Your cheeks turning hot as you watched the disaster unfold in front of you. It was rare for you to fluster, but you could feel the simmering of your pride burn deep within your gut at the sight of your mistake. Eyes wide as the white petals spread further beneath your feet.

This had never happened before.

Your fingers twitched beside your sides. Magic at your fingertips itching to resolve the mess, but your confidence had been knocked. You didn’t fully trust yourself or your ability, and that was a hard acknowledgment to make.

“Okay, you need to leave now.” With a light push, your cousin ushered you away from the disaster you had created.

“What? Wait! Just give me a moment to think. To fix this” You pressed back, your ego not allowing you to submit to this defeat.

“I don’t have time y/n. That Vanserra princling’s on his way, and if he’s anything like his father he will have your head. So leave. I will fix this."

Your expression must have spoken a thousand words, words of vulnerability and insecurity, because your cousin's expression softened for a moment. Bringing you to a quick embrace. 

“Your time in Autumn is up. Mistakes happen, and that’s okay. But it’s time to go.”

“But—“

She cut you off. “No but’s. You’ve both done amazing, but let’s not pretend. This isn’t the place for you, don’t think I hadn’t noticed.” Her expression was warm and understanding, as welcoming as the shades of fall. But despite how welcoming this season had been, it didn’t feel like home. 

“Go explore the land, go find somewhere that feels right y/n,” 

“What if…—” 

What if nowhere felt like home? What if you didn’t fit in anywhere else?

Elodie grabbed your hand with a tug then, someone had winnowed to the outskirts of the field. A figure with fiery hair and a tempered presence.

There was no time for what if’s. So you left. Left your cousin to face the flame, and left to find a new home…if that place even existed.

Winter

“Why are the bears awake?!” There was a scream across the forest that ran through the barren trees. You recognised the tone, one of your Winter mentors no doubt. The shriek so sharp that any remaining creature that slept must have surely been awoken.

“Oh no..” Elodie almost cried, her feet slipping in the snow beside you. You could almost hear her heart pounding in sync with yours.

The bear—the bear you had accidentally woken—groaned and yawned, its massive paws stirring the snow as it pawed at the air, confused and sluggish. Its hibernation had been broken, and it was far too early for it to be awake.

You had been at the Winter Court for only a short time, and already, things were falling apart. The sharp, biting cold of the court was one thing, but the coldness of its people? That had been harder to handle. Their bluntness, their stoic ways, had left you feeling like you were constantly on the edge of doing something wrong. And now… you had.

It seems Autumn was not the only season that didn’t agree with you. 

You blinked back your own tears, swallowing hard as you almost lost your own footing.

“Elodie, help me,” you commanded, snapping into action as you pushed against the bear’s thick fur, trying to guide it back to its den. The beast groaned again, but refused to budge, blinking its sleepy eyes at you.

The entirety of your weight was pushing against the giant bear that groaned against you, your heels digging in deep to act as an anchor in the cold white snow.

No matter how hard you tried, against your advice, the bear wanted to wake. 

“Go back to sleeeeeepp little beearrrr- hicc- pretty pleaseeee” Elodie sang desperately, her voice wobbling with panic.

“Elodie that is not the lullaby,” you hissed, your own frustration bubbling up.

“I know, I’m panicking. I’ve forgotten it, y/n. What is it?” She replied beside you, face squashed against the bear’s fur as she tried with all her might to push the bear back to its bed.

You blinked. You couldn’t remember the song either. 

You pressed harder, trying to remember the words yourself. Your breath was coming in ragged puffs, visible in the freezing air. Your wings, though hidden by magic, felt stiff from the cold, and your fingers ached from pushing against the giant furry animal.

By some stroke of luck after several attempts from Elodie to lull the bear back to sleep, the words of the forest lullaby found your tongue. Your magic flowed with the song, wrapping around the bear in a gentle embrace, lulling it back to sleep. Slowly, so slowly, it began to plod back toward its cave, its massive body sinking into it’s cosy bed deep within the cave.

“We did it,” Elodie breathed, her face as flushed and exhausted as you both slumped into the cold snow beneath you. The bears snoring filling the frosty air. “Maybe we got away with–” before Elodie could even finish her sentence, a shadow cast across you under the winter sun.

Your winter mentor, whose expression was as harsh as the court’s wind. Her cold, judging eyes swept over the scene, her lips pressed into a thin line as her long slender finger pointed towards the border.

Summer

It was everywhere.

Sand that is.

There was sand in your clothes, shoes, hair and even your pretty wings you always kept hidden— but that didn’t matter because that sticky Summer Court breeze would somehow ensure you were absolutely covered in it.

Blinking away yet again another gust of sand in your eye, you sat slouched under the shade of a canopy. 

You were on shell duty today, meaning you had been out in that blistering sun all day. You’d always enjoyed the heat you thought, but perhaps now you realised you enjoyed it in much smaller doses. 

That beacon in the sky felt especially relentless today. Your skin was burning to the touch, head heavy, dry throat and eyes stinging.

With a huff you watched as Elodie came and slumped down beside you. She went to nudge you gently with her shoulder, but you both gagged as your skin stuck and peeled away from one another with sweat. 

“I heard the Day court borders are open…” she muttered, glancing towards you, anticipating your reaction.

You didn’t like giving up. Call it Spring stubbornness, but it wasn’t in your nature.

After a moment you murmured back, “Is there sand in Day?”. You swallowed hard, eyes set ahead on the expansive blue ocean before you, the line where the water met the sky blurring in a haze.

“Not nearly as much as Summer,” Elodie replied in a beat.

You didn’t like giving up. But clearly Summer didn’t agree with you either.

“Let’s go.”

Day

Perhaps it was your series of bad luck that had now left you with an attitude of indifference but as you crouched behind the freshly preened hedge you wondered how quickly your impeccable reputation had crumbled on your travels.

You were now about to commit a crime.

Perhaps crime was a bit dramatic. But trespassing was still trespassing. Trespassing on the High Lords home too.

You had been here over a month now. The Day Court wasn’t unpleasant—far from it. The libraries were vast, the streets safe, and the people, though indulgent, were kind. Yet something within you stirred restlessly, a quiet unease that had only grown with time. You had given it weeks, trying to settle in, hoping the feeling of displacement would fade. But it hadn’t. Every corner of this sunlit paradise felt like it belonged to someone else.

It didn’t feel like home.

So your papers were arranged. Tomorrow, you'd travel to Dawn, hoping to find something there that felt more like yours.

But before you left, there was one thing you had to see. One thing that had tugged at your curiosity since the moment you'd arrived: the Pegasuses. Said to be the pride of the Day Court, magnificent creatures kept under Helion’s personal protection, far from the eyes of the public.

That was why you were here now, slipping through the shadows of Helion’s estate, your heart racing in your chest. The Pegasuses weren’t just for show, or figments of stories; they were alive, breathing, and you wanted—no, needed—to see them yourself. Call it that fairy instinct, but you weren’t leaving till you saw them with your own eyes.

Your path led you through twisting gardens, till you found yourself at the heart of Helion’s estate. You crouched quietly behind the foliage, praying to the mother you’d catch a glimpse of what you’d been searching for.

Your breath caught in your throat. 

There they were. 

An entire herd of them, grazing peacefully. The sunlight gleaming on their coats. A shimmering silver that resembled the glow of your own wings. The sight of them took your breath away. They were even more magnificent than you’d imagined.

So magnificent that just looking wasn’t enough.

With a swift quietness and feather light steps you moved from your hiding place towards the herd. 

If Elodie could see you now, you’d be sure to be scolded. You’d left her with the cute librarian in the city, told her to enjoy her last day. That you still had papers to sort– she didn’t need to be an accomplice in what you were committing. She didn’t need to know.

The Pegasuses flicked their ears, one of them lifting their head to look at you. You froze for a moment, the hairs on your arms rising, anticipating their reaction but as it blew a breath there was an ease that settled over you.

They didn’t shy away, as if they’d always known you were there. As if they had been waiting for you to pluck up the courage to meet them.

Marvellous creatures.

One of them stepped towards you, meeting your hand as it grazed across the plain on its face. Your gaze ran down its back to its wings that stretched out and then flanked back in.

“Well aren’t you beautiful..” You sighed with a smile, your fingers scratching the sweet spot behind its ear, its hoof tapping against the earth as if in agreement.

You’re not sure how time had passed, but it was distant laughter that blew in on a breeze that reminded you just how precarious your situation was.

“Come Rhys, come see my pride and joy…” A voice chimed across the garden.

You didn’t need to stick around to guess whose voice that belonged to, so with a gentle kiss against the velvety nose of the Pegasus you bid your farewell. Quick as a sprite, you slipped back into the shadows.

Just as you reached the edge of the estate, you glanced back over your shoulder. Offering a sweet smile to the Pegasuses you had met, hoping that despite Day not feeling like home your paths would cross with the magnificent creatures again.

It was Azriel who stood by the golden archway in the garden. Watching as Helion presented the treasures he boasted so often about– the beautiful Pegasuses that were now grazing in front of them.

“I would like one..for Feyre,” Azriel heard Rhys try to negotiate with Helion, their voices blending over the soft breeze and rustles from the animals. That he hadn’t even noticed his gaze had fallen elsewhere, all the way to the border of the estate he noticed a rustle in the leaves, a flicker of light perhaps, but there was a faintest scent of something on the wind—a hint of honey and peonies. 

He paused, tilting his head as if attuned to something that beckoned him, though he couldn’t quite place it, but maybe with time he would.

Dawn

Imbuing the sky sounded easy. Fun even– But as you glanced up at the Dawn sky that resembled something more like dusk you swallowed hard. 

The golden hues of the Dawn Court greeted you with a warmth that felt almost too soft. Here, everything shimmered with the glow of early morning—pastel skies, the gentle rustling of trees in the breeze, and the constant hum of quiet tranquillity. It should have felt peaceful. It should have felt right.

But instead, it felt fragile. Like a dream you couldn’t quite hold onto.

You had tried. When you first arrived, you thought maybe this would be the place. The Dawn Court was steeped in a quiet sort of magic—delicate, but powerful. It suited you in theory: a blend of intellect and beauty, the balance of light and creation. You had forced yourself to adapt, to fit into the patterns they laid before you, hoping this time, this Court, would finally feel like home.

But when tasked with the simple task of imbuing the sky, it had stirred something deeper, something darker, and the sky had responded.

You opened your eyes, gasping in horror as you watched the colours bleed across the horizon—not the pale blush of dawn, but the rich, burning tones of dusk. Deep oranges, purples, and indigos streaked across the sky like a wildfire, swallowing the soft morning light with every passing second.

The magic swirled around you like a storm, the sky thick with colour, draping over your skin like an ink-stained canvas. You tried to stop it, to pull it back, but it wouldn’t listen. The darker hues clung to you, soaking into your skin, wrapping around you like tendrils of shadow. 

From dawn to dusk and then to twilight.. 

It was beautiful in a way—if only it wasn’t so terribly wrong.

“Don’t.” You bit out through gritted teeth, stopping Elodie from saying anything. The deep purple hue of sky covered you. The shimmer iridescent resembled something of a paint, but it was almost too beautiful to even be compared to that.

You didn’t even wait for your Dawn mentors to scold you. Simply went to pack your things and leave. 

Lip quivering at another failed court, another failed attempt at finding home.

Night

The Night Court was the only place left. The last court you hadn’t yet tried, the last hope you had of finding where you truly belonged.

Which at this point you felt as though living amongst the thorns of Spring was a better option. You should never have left. Perhaps this was your punishment for abandoning your court, despite having no other option.

Your fingers tried to brush away the sky that was still infused to your skin, you looked ridiculous. As if you’d painted yourself in the night court's colours out of admiration. You were grateful the midnight hues concealed how embarrassed you looked.

The Night Court was a stark contrast to the sunlit lands you had just fled. Shadows danced among the trees, and a cool breeze whispered amongst the glistening stars.

It truly was beautiful.

But there was a looming weight with that realisation. Every court you'd experienced was beautiful– in its own unique way. So why would Night be any different? Why should you believe this would be the court where you truly belonged?

“Papers please,” A soft voice broke through, a female was reading through your documentation. Dorned in a dark robe, Illyarin soldiers flanking her sides.

She quirked a brow as she took in your appearance.

“It’s just sky…” Elodie butted in as if it was a normal occurrence– normal for one to be covered in the celestial shimmers of the sky. You swore you heard the High Fae mutter something under her breath, a small bite about meadow fairies that had the males beside her snicker. However after a quick assessment, she waved you both through. 

You had assumed this admission would feel like every other court, plain, dull, but the moment your feet stepped across the border there was a simmering in your chest. It was as if the Night Court itself was welcoming you, the ancient forest shifting its branches above to clear a path for the stars to twinkle down upon you. The gentle breeze carried the distant melodies of the city, wrapping around you like a soft embrace.

You dared to speak of what you were feeling, but one quick glance at your friend and you could see she felt it too. A twinkle sparkled in her eyes as she shared a smile with you, a silent exchange that spoke of hope and dreams. For the first time in what felt like ages, laughter bubbled between you, light and carefree. You clasped each other’s hands, giggling at the energy and magic you were feeling.

There was something about this place, something that felt so familiar–

So enamoured by your senses you hadn’t even been paying attention when you bumped into something solid.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” you sputtered quickly, a breathless laugh escaping your lips before Elodie gasped, pulling you back into the crowd of newcomers.

“You just bumped into an Illyrian!” she whispered urgently, her wide eyes darting over her shoulder.

Your gaze followed, landing on the broad backs of two towering Illyrian males. One had long, dark hair, loosely tied back, his wings flexing slightly in the night breeze. The other, taller with shadows whispering around him, his presence somehow more commanding– more intriguing. Your eyes lingered on him the longest, an odd tug pulling at your chest.

“Oops…” you shrugged, voice bright with laughter as Elodie tugged you further into the crowd, your chuckles mingling with the hum of the night.

You hadn’t felt this carefree in so long, hadn’t felt this light. As the lights of Velaris approached and the noise of music filled your ears you had a feeling that perhaps this was all going to work out okay.

That perhaps you had found somewhere you belonged after all.

𓇢���

Azriel felt the brush of something against his side and turned slightly, pulling him from his conversation with cassian. They had both been sent to do border control, and had watched an array of individuals enter the court. It was his job as Spymaster after all, whether it be from the shadows or to stand in example at the borders he would vet the newcomers.

The night had been slow, no disturbances, no conflicts– uneventful. Just how he liked it. Only people seeking a fresh start had crossed into Night. He took pride in knowing so many chose his home for that new beginning. He was listening to Cassian as he gushed something about Nesta, when a light nudge to his side had pulled him from conversation.

They stood in the centre of the track that ran from the forest to the city, the two males, a stoic divide, as people flowed around them like a river parting. Except one– you. 

You hadn’t moved around him.

Lightly, as though your thoughts had been tangled with the stars above, you had brushed against Azriel. His shadows hadn’t even warned him of your approach, and for a brief second, his breath caught at the softness of your touch. He turned, drawn to the quiet apology that lingered in the air, following the sound with his eyes.

And there you were.

You shimmered, wrapped in twilight, your skin glistening in the soft hues of the night sky as though the heavens themselves had adorned you. It was hard to distinguish where the night ended and you began, your form almost blending with the dark expanse around you.

But before he could speak, before he could even process what he was feeling, you disappeared into the crowd. A fleeting figure, gone in an instant, leaving him staring after you.

Azriel’s shadows hummed beside him, them too grappling with a need to know more.

He hadn’t caught your name, hadn’t had the chance to see your face clearly, but something about you had gripped him, held him in place. The faint scent of honey and peonies lingered in the air where you'd passed, stirring something deep within him.

Instead of words or answers, Azriel was left with a feeling—a pull. One he couldn't quite explain, but one he hoped to find an answer for.

a/n: Thank you for the wait...but here is the beginning of our favourite fairy and Azriel. I actually started writing this when I was visiting @writingcroissant in Edinburgh and we were sat in a little cafe till 10pm writing our little fics! It was so fun <3 (I'm still awaiting Crush...no pressure ;) ) I'm so glad it's finally finished. It was so hard to keep the stories this short, I feel like I could have easily explored more of fairy's travels in the courts (It wasn't all bad experiences I promise) lots of good memories too, so perhaps I will explore another time. But I hope you enjoyed the little connections to Azriel even though they still don't know each other yet tee hee

This is also dedicated to @searchingforbucky I'm pretty sure you said you were excited to read this/I said I would write something for you (If i have got it wrong, correct me) so here you are my lovely! Thank you for constant support.

Sorry to everyone that there isn't much Azriel and romance in this, Wings really has become a world of it's own at this point but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Please please please let me know what you want from these two next <3 - lottie xxx

Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

Wings tags: @minaethrym

[blueblossomrose]

This special post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, FLUFFY, TOO MUCH FLUFFY 😭 my obsession with old Disney movies screaming, fem!afab!MC, family n children, MC having a dream of getting married, reference very slightly to Cinderella (1950) obviously, diasomnia boys having their happy ending.

Note(s): I AM SO SO SO SORRY ABOUT THIS HIATUS, GUYS 😭😭😭 My mind was so busy these last few months with all my works thinking about writing that fluffy fluffy special to make up for my days of writing block after going on vacation for Carnaval 👽 I hope you guys love it as much as I... that cried writing it 💀 and I hope this excuses this long inactivity ☠️

All gifs edited by me, but divider got from here.

Consider checking out my aesthetic blog!

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

A Wish Your Heart Makes

Have faith in your dreams and someday Your rainbow will come smiling through No matter how your heart is grieving If you keep on believing The dream that you wish will come true

“Are happy endings fairy tale's thing?”

Malleus couldn’t say. Human inventions had always been a mystery to him. He always had a distant and almost skeptical view of the happy endings that human stories so extol. To him, these narratives were like the light breeze of a summer night, pleasant and fleeting, but difficult to grasp and truly understand. As a fae, his nature made him see the world from a different perspective, and the idea of an ending — whether happy or tragic — was, to him, a human thing. He found it curious how humans always yearned for a definitive outcome, as if it were a vital necessity of their ephemeral existences. They sought in stories the hope that, in the end, everything would work out.

Malleus had never given much thought to his own dreams. Not in the others sense, at least. He understood dreams as manifestations of the mind, echoes of the subconscious, scattered fragments of reality shaped by desire or fear.

To him, dreams were almost tangible, an intrinsic element of his own magic — and yet he had never stopped to consider what it was that he, Malleus Draconia, truly desired.

Not that Briar Valley didn't have its own stories... but thinking about it that way, humans are far removed from theirs.

Happy endings… the concept was foreign to him. Fairy tales were — ironically — human stories, created to comfort fragile hearts, tales where love always prevailed and heroes were rewarded for their virtue.

Dragons like him, however, were supposed to be the obstacles that prevented such happiness. Beautiful and powerful beings... but lonely.

But then, there was [Name]. The magicless human who one day appeared in his life and in a few months, made his already apparently consolidated worldview turn upside down.

It was [Name] who taught him to dream.

She spoke of dreams as something beautiful and fragile. When they were still in school, he had heard her whisper to herself, with a twinkle in her eye, about how she wanted to marry one day. Because she wanted true love.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” she had said once, and it's been stuck in his head ever since.

Such a simple explanation for something that took him a long time to elaborate. Maybe that was the simplicity that comes with such a short life. He admired it, even back then.

The thought did not linger, however. No, he knew. He was in love. Happy endings...

The great hall of Briar Valley Castle glowed with enchanted candlelight, reflecting off the stained glass windows that adorned the ancient stone walls. The air was filled with the soft melody of a waltz as nobles and ambassadors watched with interest as the king and queen’s eldest daughter, Princess Aurora, danced with her suitor, as her pink gown swirled gracefully.

It was a grand celebration, the 16th birthday of the half-fae princess.

The old senators of the council, those whom Malleus deeply despised, were present, but they kept to themselves. Their accessibility was limited, limited by the changes Malleus and his human had brought about over the years. There was still resistance — whom Malleus called idiots and fools when he was particularly angry — but most of the councilors and palace staff had already surrendered to the strength of [Name]’s kindness, which contrasted with her husband's sometimes skittish temperament.

Aurora, the star of the night, twirled around the ballroom, she looked a beguiling sight, wearing the pink gown she had specially ordered for the occasion — certainly influenced by a certain bat fae she referred to as 'Grandpa Lilia' — along with the jewelry she received as a gift from her great-grandmother, Maleficia.

From where they stood, Malleus and [Name] watched in silence. His green eyes shone with something between pride and nostalgia.

“She’s beautiful,” [Name] murmured, a soft smile on her lips as her eyes followed her daughter’s every graceful movement.

Malleus watched her for a moment before answering. “Yes… but I confess I didn’t expect this day to come so quickly. I still remember when she had to climb on a chair to reach my stomach.”

[Name] chuckled softly. “I guess now she might just look at you.”

Malleus let out an amused sigh, but his gaze returned to his daughter with a touch of melancholy. “Humans grow up too fast...”

Before [Name] could respond, a movement beneath one of the large buffet tables caught her attention. She frowned as she noticed two small silhouettes sneaking stealthily between the legs of the furniture.

The six-year-old twins Magnus and Kyrval were under the table, trying to steal sweets from the silver trays. Their green eyes glinted with mischief as they reached out for honey cakes and candied fruit. But before they could escape with their stolen candies, two soldiers scared the two by pulling them out from under the table.

“My lords... you can't just crawl through the royal hall like that!” one of the soldiers scolded, the respectful but firm voice.

“But we're hungry!” Magnus protested, holding a piece of cheese as if it were a precious treasure.

“And small meals taste better!” Kyrval added, blinking innocently.

“Magnus! Kyrval!” she scolded them almost immediately as Malleus held back a laugh.

“They inherited Lilia’s mischievous spirit… and a little of yours, perhaps.”

[Name] gave him an indignant look. “Mine? Malleus, I don’t remember myself going around stealing sweets at royal balls!”

He chuckled softly, leaning toward her. “No… but I do remember a certain young lady who stole my heart many years ago.”

[Name] felt her cheeks flush, but she smiled sweetly almost automatically with the phrase. “... Do you regret that, your majesty?”

Malleus didn’t answer right away. His green eyes roamed the hall — his children, his wife, the castle lit up in celebration... faes, half-faes and even some humans... not alone.

Then he looked at [Name] again, his expression softening in a way only she could see. “Never.” He gently took her hand, bringing it to his lips.

He never imagined he would have something like this.

Everything changed when the girl from another world appeared. No fear. No hesitation. No one knows why the magic mirror brought [Name] to Twisted Wonderland... but honestly? Malleus was glad it did. She was the deepest desire within his heart. His dream.

Dragons aren't usually given happy endings. Maybe, just maybe... he was an exception to the rule.

He looked at [Name], his eyes meeting hers with a soft glow. And he’s happy with it.

To dream is to wish.

Lilia had been thinking about this idea for years. In his long life of over 700 years, he had experienced many misfortunes, losses, and sorrows — wars that devastated kingdoms, bitter goodbyes, and the feeling of carrying the weight of everthing on his shoulders.

But he had also been able to find happiness.

In raising Silver, in the tenderness of caring for Malleus, in the moments of pride in watching Sebek mature, even if in fits and starts.

He had never really dreamed of anything more than that. If he were honest with himself, his wish was simple: peace. How it would come, in what form, with whom — it didn’t matter.

But, as always, life had decided for him. With his children grown up, with their own homes, paths and families, he thought it might be time to explore the world. To wander. To be in distant cities. To sleep under the stars, free from worries. But that was not what happened.

A sweet wife from a distant world without magic and lively triplets had made his life much more noisy. And he wouldn’t change a thing.

The kitchen was scented with lavender and some sweet-smelling incense he had bought on a trip they took a year ago. He remembers getting a huge scolding from [Name] for buying so many, but he light them almost every day. Lilia, wearing an apron embroidered with small berries — a gift from the girls last Father's Day —, washed the dishes while humming softly.

“Dad, come see!” Aisha’s voice cut through the air with excitement. “I’m humiliating Arista at the Kart again!”

Lilia raised his eyebrows with a smile on his lips. With a light snap of his fingers, the utensils began to wash themselves, floating gently around the sink. He took off his apron, drying his hands with a cloth and headed to the living room.

“Humiliating me?” Arista replied with a joking frown. “All I saw was you losing it and pushing all the buttons!”

It was Lilia's first time raising girls, and it was in this chaotic and adorable process that he came to an inevitable conclusion: raising children would always be a constant learning experience — regardless of your experience in the subject.

“Battle tactics, you wouldn’t understand!” Aisha declared with exaggerated confidence, lunging forward as if that would speed up her character in the game.

“I win.” Arista said in a calm and satisfied tone, leaning back on the sofa like a queen on a throne, the controller resting gently on her lap.

"Whaaat?!" Aisha screamed, jumping from where she was sitting as if she had just been stabbed. Her wide eyes stared at the screen where the dots shone mercilessly: Arista - 1st place.

Lilia, who was watching the scene from the kitchen door, laughed softly.

"Wow, Arista..." Adela said softly, briefly looking away from her book to her older sister. She wasn't the most competitive, but she was always there to support her sisters, even with her shy and quiet personality. At the moment, she was gently stroking the silky fur of one of Lilia's bats, which was sleeping curled up in her lap like a fluffy, furry ball.

Count Fabulous — as [Name] gave him when she and Lilia were still studying at NRC — was the most spoiled of Lilia’s bats. Ever since Adela was a baby, he had followed her around, perching on nearby furniture or on her head as if he were her personal protector. Now, he dozed heavily, his ears fluttering slightly, lulled by the girl’s soft voice, but with Aisha and Arista moving on the couch, he ended up waking up and squeaking when he looked at the screen.

“Even Count is surprised,” Lilia murmured humorously, watching the bat stir fluttering the fabric of Adela's dress.

Adela smiled, stroking his back with a finger. “He bet on Aisha, I think.”

“Cute little traitor.” Arista said, smiling despite the line.

With the girls still vibrating with the echoes of the game’s contention, the front door opened with a soft creak, followed by the familiar sound of [Name]’s footsteps. Lilia looked up with a soft glow in his red eyes and smiled as he saw his wife’s figure crossing the threshold of the house.

Without saying a word, [Name] walked over to the couch where the triplets were spread out and, with a theatrical movement, threw herself gently on top of them, like a human blanket. She didn't press too hard, of course — just enough to cover them with her body and elicit immediate reactions.

"Mom!!," Aisha protested between laughs, trying to free herself.

"Rescue mission! Fabulous, save us!" Arista shouted, laughing, while Count Fabulous just opened one lazy eye on Adela's lap before settling back down, oblivious to the commotion.

"Mama, you're feel cold... stay a little longer..." Adela murmured, hugging her mother's arm affectionately.

"My days off are coming..." [Name] said, her voice muffled between her daughters' hair and the pillows. "I missed my noisy gang so so so much~"

Lilia approached the couch with his hands on his hips, his eyes half-closed and a mischievous smile curving his lips. “Can I join you?” he asked with false innocence.

Before any of the four could respond, the couch rocked gently, and then, with a soft green glow, it tilted forward as if it had a life of its own, gently dumping all of the girls onto the living room’s plush carpet. A bundle of giggles, messy hair, arms and legs all jumbled together, collapsed to the floor like a pile of animated pillows.

“AH! Dad!!” Aisha and Arista shouted in unison, Aisha louder than Arista, actually.

"I was comfortable, papa!" Adela grumbled, sitting down with Count Fabulous all ruffled on her lap, flapping his wings indignantly before landing again, huffing softly.

"I can't believe it, Lilia!" [Name] said, trying to look angry, but already with a smile on her lips and her eyes shining with laughter. Lilia approached slowly, as if he were going to seal a peace agreement with a kiss, and so he did — he leaned over, laughing softly, and kissed her forehead sweetly before lying down on top of everyone like [Name] did moments ago.

"Not agaaaain!" the three shouted in unison, between laughter and attempts to escape from their father's arms.

Still stretched out on the rug, the girls pointed to the ceiling, commenting excitedly on the floating ornaments — small enchanted lights that spun gently like fireflies caught in a whirlwind. They were souvenirs left by 'big bro' — Silver — on his last visit.

To some people, the idea of a house still full of young children might seem like the complete opposite of a peaceful retirement. And by traditional standards of rest, it was.

But to Lilia it didn't matter. It never mattered. Being with his family was what he dreamed of. It was all he wish for. “In dreams you lose your headaches, whoever you wish for, you keep.”

There was his rest. Not in the empty spaces, but in the constant presence. In the sound of clumsy footsteps in the mornings, in the voices calling "Dad!" throughout the house, in the tight hugs, in the fights over the last cookie, in the notes left on the table and the stories told under blankets.

Yes, he still traveled. He had his moments of adventure, exploring new places with the girls strapped to backpacks, [Name] with the map in hand. It was in family. It was messy. It was noisy.

This was Lilia’s rest. A rest in true Lilia style: full of voices, chaotic, but overflowing with love.

Silver knew dreaming well. It was what he had done for most of his life, and it was also an instinctive part of his own magic. Dreams were a sweet treat, a place where his worries melted away and all that was left was the best, most beautiful sky and peace.

“Have faith in your dreams and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through,” When he thought of this, what came to mind was his desire to serve Malleus, to be the knight that Lilia trained him to be. At the same time, he wanted to be with his family and friends, but he didn’t expect to fall in love.

It came subtly, with dreams. He saw her. A charming girl, who in his opinion was beautiful. She was there, in his deepest dreams, and he did not understand who she was… until he saw [Name] for the first time.

He was lying on the couch, his head resting on [Name's] lap. She was gently stroking his hair, her fingers running through it like a gentle wind. With the book on one of her hands, she was quietly reading an old story, pausing only to smile at the faces Silver made when his bangs fell into his eyes because of her caresses. He had returned from work tired, not with the same chronic drowsiness of his adolescence, but with the normal tiredness of someone who dutifully fulfills his duties. As one of the most trusted knights of the king, Silver carried great responsibility on his shoulders. But at home, with them, he could truly rest. The sound of pages turning mingled with the distant ticking of the wall clock and the rustling of leaves outside.

"Daddy!" Hana yelled happily, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor as she ran across the room. Without stopping, she threw herself at Silver with an enthusiastic hug, nearly knocking him off the couch. Her blond hair flew like gold threads in the wind, and her auroral eyes sparkled with joy. Silver jumped a little on the couch, a gasp escaping him at the impact—more from surprise than pain.

[Name] let out a light laugh, covering her mouth with her free hand as her gaze danced between her husband and daughter. Silver, even exhausted, gave a gentle smile, his half-closed eyes opening a little wider to look at his beautiful — literal — princess. And she loved being called that. Every time she heard the title come out of her father's calm voice, her little face lit up.

Hana wasn’t old enough to know exactly everything about her family, so Silver tried to tell her what was appropriate for a child to know, sometimes with the help of Lilia and [Name]. He had long realized that his daughter loved the concept of princesses. But not political princesses, more 'real' ones— she liked the ones who sang with the animals of the forest, the fairy tale ones. He would never forget the almost heavenly glow in her eyes the day Malleus bowed slightly, placed his crown on Hana’s little head, and said with a faint smile: "There, now the princess has a crown." Hana was ecstatic. She spent a whole week wearing tiaras made of flowers or paper.

“Daddy, you came home early today!” she said, her adorable little voice filling Silver’s ears like sweet music, while those little arms wrapped tightly and lovingly around his neck.

"I was able to be released early by order of General Zigvolt, my princess." Silver said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

[Name] laughed again. She gently tugged at a lock of Silver’s hair. “Sebek released you? Now that’s a surprise,” she said, raising an eyebrow humorously.

Silver couldn’t help but laugh at [Name’s] words. Sebek was adamant about schedules most of the time, and that was no secret to anyone. On the one hand, it was good. He kept everything in order, like a true general. On the other hand… well.

Hana, who was squirming between her parents with the energy that children normally have, rolled over with such excitement that she almost slipped off the couch, but Silver was faster. With a fluid movement he caught her with one strong hand, wrapping it around her waist and pulling her back safely.

“Careful, princess,” Silver said, his auroral eyes resting on her with tenderness and attention.

Hana lifted her chin proudly, her little hands on her hips and a glint in her eyes. “I knew Daddy would catch me, so I’m not afraid!”

Silver smiled once more. “I will always catch you, but take care of yourself too, my flower,” he said, his voice as serene as ever.

“Okay!” Hana smiled at her father, that innocent smile that lit up the soul, before stretching backwards like a little cat in the sun. As her arms stretched lazily, her voice filled the living room, chattering about her day. Silver listened to everything with full attention, his calm eyes fixed on her, and his hands always ready in case she slipped off the couch again.

In a moment of pause, Hana began to play absentmindedly with the wedding ring on her father's finger, slowly turning it with her small, delicate fingers. Without warning, Hana simply sleep. She slid softly onto Silver’s chest, her breathing even and calm, her golden eyelashes resting on her rosy cheeks. Silver felt her soft weight and had to suppress the urge to laugh. Hana was a thousand times more energetic than he had been in his childhood, — which, honestly, wasn’t much of a feat, considering his old constant sleeping habits — but when she got tired, there was no warning. She would simply pass out, as if someone had flipped a switch in her.

Silver rested her little head on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, his hand resting on her back. He felt his daughter's heart beating softly, and the warmth of her pressed against his chest was all he needed to know that he was at home.

For a moment, all was silence and peace—the kind that only existed within the purest dreams. When he thought about his life now, about everything he had experienced—he never, not in a million years, expected to be graced with such happiness. His rainbow had come. And now it slept softly on his chest, in a little flowery dress, with her little hand still holding his finger.

"Daydreaming again?" [Name] whispered to him as she noticed his gaze.

"Living a dream, actually." He replied.

Dream? What he had was not a dream. It was conviction. A solid goal, an unbreakable purpose. He would become a knight worthy of serving Malleus.

Sebek trained until his bones ached, endured thunderstorms —literally— and never took his eyes off the goal. The half-human blood he carried? An obstacle to be overcome with discipline and hard work. “No matter how your heart is grieving, If you keep on believing...”

If anyone, back then, dared to insinuate that he would marry — how awful — a human, he would scream so loudly in their ear that their eardrums would beg for mercy.

But as a wise old man once said — or perhaps it was Lilia in one of his absurd proverbs: "The earth doesn't turn, it capsizes with style."

And now, here he was — Sir Sebek Zigvolt, General, loyal knight to King Malleus Draconia... beside his lovely human wife and their two radiant children.

“Ivan!” Sebek called, his voice still naturally strong, but intentionally softened— an effort he made for only one person. “Don’t pull on the reins so hard! You’ll hurt the horse!”

Ivan, atop a sturdy horse with a grayish coat and a mane that shimmered faintly, turned calmly to his father. His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I know, father. I was just testing whether he responded well to my voice,” he replied, with that subtle teasing tone that only Sebek recognized as a direct inheritance from [Name].

Nearby, sitting under the shade of a cherry tree with their daughter, [Name] held back her laughter. The pent-up sound still escaped in joyful sighs. “Where did you get that horse again?” she asked, arching an eyebrow with an amused smile.

Sebek huffs, trying to maintain his composure. "For training, of course."

"Of course it is." [Name] held back a slight loving eye roll at Sebek's words, that kind of response so typical of him.

She then watched him approach Amelie with affection visible on his naturally stern face—a softness that only emerged in front of his daughter.

As quietly as his voice would allow, he knelt down at her level and said, “Are you enjoying the stroll, my lady?”

Amelie looked at him with shining eyes. A small, bright smile spread across her face. “Yes, Daddy!” she answered happily, and raised her short arms toward him, asking to be held.

Without hesitation, Sebek picked her up with the greatest care in the world. He positioned Amelie against his chest, shielding her ears from the loud tinkling sound.

Ivan, who was watching everything from the top of the horse, arched an eyebrow as if he was about to make a sharp comment. But when he saw his sister nestled against his father's chest, her little fingers playing with the brooch on Sebek's clothes, he simply got off his horse and approached in silence.

"General Zigvolt, you are breaking the knightly protocol again," Ivan said, his tone exaggeratedly serious, but his eyes barely concealed the amusement.

Sebek gave him a half-closed look. "When you turn a father, you will understand that there is no protocol more sacred than that of protecting your children." He adjusted Amelie better in his arms. "And put on those gloves properly, Ivan. A knight must always be ready."

Ivan sighed at the drama. Then, he knelt down beside his dad, leaning down slightly until he was at his sister’s level.

“Are you having fun, Lie?” he asked softly, touching her nose with a finger.

Amelie laughed softly. “Yes! Ivan looks beautiful in his armor!” he declared, as if it were the greatest truth in the universe. Ivan blushed slightly, and [Name] could barely contain another laugh.

Sebek would be lying if he said he’d never considered having children. Perhaps, in some distant future—if he reached the pinnacle of his career as a loyal and worthy knight—he might be granted the honor of marrying a pure-blooded fae. It was the kind of future he’d always been pictured as: respectable, honorable…

But now… now, when he looked at his little Amelie against his chest, or at Ivan laughing as he receives a sweet stroke of his hair from his mother— the image seemed absurd. Almost laughable.

All his life, he had been taught, indoctrinated, encouraged — partially? Completely — by his grandfather Baul, to hate a part of himself. To deny it. To hide it. To regard his human half as inferior, weak, inconvenient. To view his own father with disdain. And for a while… he believed it. He carried that hatred like a banner.

He wasn’t crucifying his grandfather, of course not. Old Baul had fought in a cruel war, with countless losses. He was a marked veteran —scarred, traumatized, and horrified.

But the truth was this: Sebek was happy. Happy that this human girl without magic, from another world, had stepped through the magic mirror and—clumsily—interfered in his life. And stayed.

[Name] had changed him. More than anything else, anyone else. Sure, Silver, and even his insufferable classmates at Night Raven College had their part in deconstructing his prejudices. But the real turning point came with her.

He remembered well the day of his first visit to his old home. [Name] squeezed his hand. And he remembered the look in his father’s eyes. The way Mr. Zigvolt — that loving, always clumsy, always smiling dentist — looked at him with so much love… and no hurt. Even after all the years of rejection. Sebek bowed. And apologized. He saw his father’s eyes fill with tears. And yes — of course he had always been that emotional fool, and Sebek used to get irritated by it. But now, no. Now, he understood. And it didn’t bother him anymore.

In the middle of his thoughts, Sebek heard soft voices breaking through.

“Grandpa and Grandma will definitely make that recipe when we visit them next weekend. I mean, I bet great-grandpa will be there too,” said Ivan, with the confidence of someone who had already foreseen the entire menu and the habitual discussion from his grandparents' house.

“Haha, great-grandpa is so funny!” replied Amelie, swinging her legs back and forth. “He always fights with grandpa to hold us back..."

Sebek sighed with a tiny smile. The sight of Baul arguing with Mr. Zigvolt over who would pick up Amelie first was, in fact, more frequent than he cared to admit.

Sebek helped Ivan mount again, adjusting the saddle with practiced precision. When Amelie asked to climb on too, he didn't hesitate - his arms lifted her as if she were a feather, carefully placing her in front of her brother. She held the reins with wide eyes of excitement, and Ivan guided her with the same care that their father showed her. It was beautiful to see. It was in these moments that Sebek realized that he was indeed an example.

[Name] watched everything with a growing warmth in her chest. She would never have imagined — ever — that this half-impossible dream would end like this. No. It wouldn't end. It had started like this. A home. A family.

“The dream that you wish, will come true.”

And the funniest part? Sebek said,with all the letters, that he would never be like his father. But there he was, discreetly pushing a small, colorful package of magic candy into his children's hands after successfully dodging the horse.

"Don't tell your mother," he murmured, with a half-smile on his lips. [Name] watched the scene in silence, holding back her laughter. She saw Ivan and Amelie exchange knowing looks, make the silence symbol with their fingers on their lips and smile mischievously.

And that was true for Sebek, too. When he saw himself with a smile on his face — sincere, wide, light —watching his children share the candy, laughing and whispering among themselves… He realized. This was more than a dream. It was a reality.

His wish to become a knight, which had once existed only for honor, glory, and pride, had transformed. It wasn’t just for Malleus, or even for himself.

To protect his home. His wife. His children. That human part of him that he had once despised… but now, finally, he loved.

[cheesus-doodles]

Letters

Yandere Rollo

Masterlist | TWST Masterlist

‎

i like my repressed christian boys a lot if yall can't tell ;-;, couldn't pass up on this....tr will be back on schedule next!

Rollo Flamme never imagined himself as simply ordinary. He had always been destined to be extraordinary, committed and focused, willing to put in the work to achieve perfection. Yes, there was no doubt that there were ways to go to meet his goals, seeing as his fire lily plan went up in flames on first contact with that wretched Malleus Draconia and his Night Raven buddies despite his months of meticulous planning and careful scheming.

Yet here he was, walking at a speed Rollo hoped didn’t divulge how fast his heart was pounding away, your letter carefully tucked away deep within his robes, pressed right up against his chest. Green eyes concentrated on nothing but his next step, his poker-face and overall reputation as the Student Council President a god-sent for keeping unwanted attention away as he cut a path through the school towards his room, hands clasped in front of him as they always were. 

Outside the gates of Noble Bell College, Fleur City was as lively as ever, the hustle and bustle of a city coming back to life under the gentle evening sun echoed throughout the conversely silent campus as people enjoyed busking in the remaining sunlight after a long day of work. It was an exceptionally cool day too, the white-haired boy noted to himself, the breeze sweeping down the hallways and bursting forth into the open air strong enough to lift the ends of his robes.

A respectful mumble of “Rollo-kaicho” rose from the scatter of students milling around as he walked past, though nothing that a returned nod of acknowledgement couldn’t settle.

The peacefulness that blanketed the stately campus as the sun sank further and further down the horizon reminded him much of the night of the Young Mage’s Social ball, and more so, you. Rollo could recall that particular evening with perfect clarity, the sights and sounds replaying again in his head as the purple-clad mage made his way indoors, the old wooden door swinging shut behind him with nay a creak, shutting out both the wind and the sounds of the city.

‎

His own footsteps were the only sound ringing across otherwise empty corridors as the boy turned the situation he had found himself unexpectedly stuck in over and over again in his mind. It had never been his intention to fall over his own set trap, yet how was it he did so anyway despite all his wariness and discipline?

This had all begun as a plot for revenge right after he had been bested, by villains no less. It would be hard for Rollo to even admit that he had come to terms with the beating he received several months ago, let alone the night after it happened, and his next plot had already begun to hatch the moment you swept into view dressed in your masquerade costume, accompanied by none other than Malleus himself. From everything he witnessed, it was clear that the Draconia housewarden cared greatly for you, and dare he guess, maybe even had some unexpressed feelings for you. 

Not that he hadn’t noticed you before that night, but it was certainly the first time that he had come to realize just how central a place you held among the Night Raven College students, and how crucial a card you would be in his next plan to wipe that smug smirk off of that wretched fae prince’s face.

The night of the Young Mages’ Social ball had been surprisingly ordinary, given what had just happened. He had been exhausted and dead on his feet, even if he showed no sign of it outwardly; the orderliness of the hall that he painstakingly cleaned after the last fire lotus had withered was a welcomed sight. Alas there was no time for sleep, not that it would matter given his already heavy eyebags. But despite his state, you had instantly caught his eye at the start of the ball, quietly huddled towards the back of the Night Raven group, trying your best to look anywhere but at him or at the rest of the crowd as you and your friends were singled out as the saviors of Fleur City. And it was obvious that you were feeling even more out-of-place as the dance began in earnest, though whether it was from the crowds or just general awkwardness, Rollo could not say.

Taking his leave from the merrymaking, the white-haired Council President could find no surprise within him when he found you sitting alone later outside of the hall, enjoying the peace and quiet that had fallen over the city with the arrival of night, looking up at the blanket of stars, a glass of what looked like juice in your hand.

“May I join you?”

You had jumped at his words, though you did settle quickly upon realizing it was just him for reasons unbeknownst to Rollo. “By all means,” you replied, waving him down to join you. After all, he did just try to essentially kill your friends and all mages in general. Perhaps you knew something he didn’t, the purple-clad student mused to himself, subtly watching you from the corner of his pale green eyes. Or perhaps you were just presumptuous, given you hadn’t been affected as badly as the rest.

The dark sky was clear of clouds, the dark of space dotted with twinkles as far as the eye could see, the moon hanging alone amidst the barren sky; an alluring sight for weary souls - and judging from how discreetly you had excused yourself from the social, you definitely were tired. 

A pause as Rollo took a seat a respectful distance from you. “Too much?”

You nodded. “Too much.”

Whatever it was, you seemingly held no ill will towards Rollo, simply accepting his quiet company. And so the two of you sat in comfortable silence as the young mages danced and laughed the night away just a stone’s throw away. The minutes melted into hours as the world continued to turn, though the calmness of the reality around him was a far cry from the turmoil of thoughts within his head. 

When the night started to grow old and the cacophony of noises began to die down, it was as if an unheard bell had gone off, and you reluctantly stood, empty glass now in hand - your friends were bound to come looking for you should they notice you were missing. And with you leaving soon and that night being the last one you were spending at Noble Bell College, it was finally time to launch the first phase of his plan.

”I would like to write to you,” Rollo started, immediately cringing internally as the words left his lips, but there was no going back now. “If it is alright with you.”

He held his breath as you considered his request, your head cocking to the side as you contemplated. “Sure, why not?” You shrugged, shooting him a light smile, your hair gleaming in the waning moonlight. “Goodnight, Rollo.”

Exhale. And that was that.

‎

But now here he was, Rollo mused, eagerly anticipating the opportunity to read your letter alone. Has his plan gone astray? He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts of you, just till he could be alone. For all his routine and self-discipline, you were the one temptation he couldn’t seem to get squash down.

Coming to a pause at the fork in the hallway, the Noble Bell Council President paused. The last thing he wanted was to be interrupted tonight in the midst of his much-needed analysis of your letter, so against the burning desires of his heart and the weight of your letter heavy in his robes, he forced himself to take a detour, his feet carrying him down sparse corridors towards the councilrooms. It was easy to spot his Vice President still hard at work amidst the otherwise empty room, scouring through a stack of papers at his desk, head down and pen scribbling away.

A quiet clearing of his throat was enough to get the attention of the occupant inside. “Rollo-kaicho!” Said student rocketed up from his seat, hurriedly adjusting his slipping striped cap. “What brings you here at this time of day?”

“I wanted to check in before I retired for the day,” replied the white-haired boy, giving a courteous glance to the rest of the unoccupied desks before returning his gaze to the other. “Is there anything I should know about?”

The Noble Bell Vice President stuttered for a moment, lost for words and wrecking his tired brain in an attempt to find what to say. “I-uh-“

Pulling out his celestial-patterned handkerchief, his movement just barely managed to cover the disgusted look that fell over his expression, eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing as the stench of magic overwhelmed his senses, though Rollo still managed to keep his tone neutral. Even if he was the one to initiate contact, that hardly made a difference with his nausea. “It’s fine,” the magic-adverse mage managed to grit out without a hint of distaste, his tone as neutral as it always has been. “Please have the points ready for me tomorrow morning.”

“Of course, Rollo-kaicho. I apologize again.”

‎

Finally being able to lock his room door behind him brought a relief much like cold water over hot iron, ending the depraved pulsing in his mind that the mere presence of the envelope in his robes against his chest brought on with every passing second. Tossing the heinous paper carelessly onto his well-worn table top, Rollo instead hurriedly picked it back up again, pale green eyes scanning for any further damage he had caused, though fortunately there was none to be found.

Letting out a sigh of relief, the white-haired boy settled into his chair. Now, to satisfy both his curiosity and anticipation.

Trembling fingers carefully peeled open the envelope, revealing a slightly yellowed, unevenly folded paper much to Rollo’s chagrin - he would have much preferred if you used a perfect white piece of paper, quality stationery instead of this random piece you must have had left over from your homework, and if you had folded it the same way he did all this time. But he supposed he couldn’t expect that high a standard from you, given the riff-raff of mages you found yourself in the company of. As he gently freed your letter from its paper enclosure, his sensitive nose caught a whiff of a familiar scent, the smell probably having lingered on from when you first mailed it out.

The light fragrance of your favorite shampoo, Rollo deduced, bringing the paper up to his nose. He recognized it, no matter how faint it was. You must have just finished showering when you wrote and sealed the letter if the aroma still endured. A breath of fresh air amidst the rank odor of magic and mages.

And then he began to read.

Dear Rollo, the letter began as it always did, those two words enough to have his heart skip a beat like nothing else could. But this time, the next few that followed were even better. Your letter came late, and it was sorely missed.

Line by line, you spelled out your daily ongoings, your interactions with your fellow schoolmates, your inner thoughts. Rambling about anything and everything that came to mind, thoughts spilling out without filter straight onto paper. About how Grimm (that filthy magic cat) nearly failed his test again and about how Deuce and Ace got into their latest spat of trouble with their housewarden Riddle. About how Jack and Epel were like to work with on your history project, and how you felt about one of your lunches being stolen by Leona.

Just like that, the minutes slipped through his finger, and with a pang in his heart, Rollo came to the end of your letter.

He placed the paper down on the paper, taking a breath.

How was it that he could feel so attached to another person through a simple piece of paper? How did you ensnare him so effortlessly, bypassing his hard-fought discipline as if it didn’t exist? Did all this mean that his revenge plot against Malleus had already gone awry?

‎

The night was cool and quiet, the moonlight that shone through his stained glass windows bringing the Noble Bell Council President back to that fateful night. A light gust of wind seeped in through a small crack, creaking the old wooden panels in the floor as it blew through his room. 

Your writing had improved, Rollo noted, as per his guidance in his previous letter. You were using a ruler to ensure straight lines, and your handwriting had neaten greatly; a far cry from your first reply to him, the memory of those scrawling letters that ran up and done and every-which way except straight across the paper still causing shivers to run down his spine. That was bad.

Carefully and painstakingly refolding the paper, Rollo stood, returning it to its envelope before moving to stow the letter within his secret compartment above the fireplace, with previous letters neatly arranged upright according to date received. His fingers lightly brushed past all your correspondence with him, his chest fluttering at your willingness to speak with him, his mind already churning with how and what he should reply to you. Would you be interested in perhaps coming back to Noble Bell? Maybe he should visit Night Raven College? Even if that blasted Draconia was there, it would be worth it just to have some private, personal time with you, the white-haired mage calculated, his hand tapping an unknown rhythm across his desk that he now leaned against.

‎

There was no point in denying his obsession with you, not at this point - it had been awhile since you started to occupy his every waking moment and thoughts, and being as organized and detailed as Rollo was, he could pinpoint the exact moment when he began to spiral. Sure, his first letter had been full of nothings, meaningless pleasantries and stories that he polished to perfection over the course of a night of restlessness. But what he got back was your heart on your sleeve, your mind like an open book for him to pick apart and examine.

As things turned out, the more he picked, the more he found. Questions he sent always came back answered, with you evidently letting slip more than you intended to originally say, sometimes directly and sometimes when he read between the lines. 

A single line in your third reply to him was all it took to begin his unending slide. 

You were from a different world.

The more he sat on it, turning it around and round in his mind, the more his chest grew warm, and you began his center of focus. Even the mere passing pondering of what you were doing now was enough to grip Rollo’s entire being, to have his heart rate increase and his thoughts to jumble. After all, in this foul, tainted world, there could be no purer person than someone who came from a place where no magic exists.

You were perfection embodied. 

In a twist of fate, you turned out to be pure, a shining beacon amidst the foul-smelling heathens. A gift from the heavens, a blessings from the divine meant for none other than him, that no one could properly appreciate except for him. Sure you weren’t the most orderly, and you did have your moments where you were occasionally wowed by magic, especially the inhuman feats from that wretched Malleus Draconia, but you remained untainted despite your constant proximity to the taint of magic that surrounded and cloaked you as if a heavy fog. Never indicated anything more than a passing interest in the magic that your companions wielded and an admiration that Rollo was sure he could rid you off. All you needed was time away from those mages, spent instead in his company.

‎

Stepping away from his desk and moving now towards his personal bathroom, Rollo came to the answer he had been looking for as the boy moved to undress himself for a nighttime shower. It had been in front of him all this time.

The answer was no. 

No, he hadn’t forsaken his plan to wield you against Malleus; sure the exact details had changed as the months went by, but everything he did was as he had schemed. Just that now, you didn’t have to be a means to an end, you didn’t need to be just another casualty wrecked up amidst his crusade against the villains. Stealing you away from the fae prince would be one of the largest blows he could deal with to that condescending prick, the beginning of his downfall - the excitement tingling at Rollo’s arms as he imagined the crestfallen expression that would twist Draconia’s face, the streak-free bathroom mirror reflecting the pale green eyes that lighted up in callous pleasure.

It would be glorious.

But for now, Rollo determined, schooling his face back into its usual neutral look as he turned to step into the shower room, what he needed to concentrate on was his next letter to you.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

chapter xxvi – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count:  5,100+

warning: sex scene [even bigger warning: the first one i've ever written, so it'll probably be very bad 😂]

masterlist

“If we continue paying the farmers this way, it will have consequences on the court’s treasury!" The Master of Coin droned on to the rest of the advisors and Eris. 

“Abbán, you have been poisoned by the same greed of the late High Lord Beron,” defended General Domnhall. 

He was Eris’ most loyal warrior when he controlled Autumn Court's armies. And once Eris became High Lord, there was no one else he trusted more to take his place as General than him. The male was yet another that, had it had been safe enough, Eris would've considered Domnhall a friend. 

General Domnhall had been away from the Forest House since Eris had usurped the throne, in order to protect the Court and assure Eris’ reign was not overtaken or challenged, while also monitoring the borders of Autumn Court. 

Eris tried to suppress his smirk at his friend’s defensiveness. 

“And what of the funds we gained from trading in human flesh?” Domnhall added darkly. 

Eris finally leaned forward, forearms pressing into the oak table. “Do not take me as a fool, Abbán. My father’s greed was always framed as responsible and for the good of the Court. But we all know neither were true. He kept as much as could, so our people were desperate and worked harder for nearly nothing. He did it to control them.” 

“They are your subservients!” Abbán’s voice raised. 

Eris shot to his feet. “There are my Court!”

From the outburst, his entire body was engulfed in flames that threatened the room, but remained in control at his side. 

Everyone at the table tensed. 

“A High Lord is meant to bring his Court to glory, not to keep his inhabitants weak and scared of his power,” Eris continued evenly. “You and I both know there is plenty of coin, Abbán. Rid yourself of the illness that is greed, or I will find a Master of Coin who can.” 

Abbán swallowed nervously. 

But Eris continued. “In the past, we have relied too heavily on the interest of other Courts to purchase our goods. We shall start trading to the Mortal Realm and to the fae of Spring Court.” 

There was instantly murmuring amongst the table. 

“But High Lord Tamlin could see this as an attempt to take his Court,” one said. 

Eris scoffed. “Tamlin cannot even manage his own manor. Do you honestly think he’s paying any attention to the goods being imported through his borders? Lucien will manage the shipments. They trust him. And if their High Lord will not assure his inhabitants are being fed, then I will.” 

Abbán knew better than to argue. So, he bowed his head and replied, “Yes, High Lord.” 

“We have been at council since dawn, High Lord.” Another spoke gently. “Perhaps that is enough for today…”

“Yes,” Eris agreed in a growl. “It is.” He waved his hand lazily. “You are dismissed.” 

He slumped back into his chair, waiting for the others to leave. 

Domnhall was the only one that stayed behind, patiently waiting to be left alone with the High Lord.

Eris pretended to not notice. 

There was a moment of tense silence shard between the two males. 

“Shall I kill him?” Domnhall asked cheerfully. 

Eris rolled his eyes. “If I wanted him dead, I could do it myself.”

Domnhall stood and moved closer to his High Lord, hovering about his seat at the council table. “Yes, I am well aware.” 

Eris sighed and crossed his arms. “Is there something you needed, Domnhall?”

The general smirked at him. “Get rid of the ol’ git. He is useless. His greed makes him unfit for the role. It is smart a smart move to bring food to Spring Court. They are suffering. And perhaps your charity could bring more to Autumn Court.” 

Eris nodded slowly. “How is my army?”

“They are my army now,” Domnhall teased. “And they are well. Some are weary about the civil unrest. None wish to fight against their own, some of which are their families and friends. But they remain loyal to you, Eris – as always.” 

During Beron's reign, the army would have followed Eris through anything. They were loyal to him, not Beron. They trusted him, believed in him. But Eris would never have risked their lives to an outright war against his father.

Eris rubbed his face, clearly deep in his head.

“Now, where is that mate of yours?” Domnhall asked with a smile, looking around playfully as if she would appear at any moment. “You have hid her from me for months now. All I know of her are the rumors that spread through the Court.”

Eris cocked his eyebrow at him. “With your history, do you really think I would let you anywhere near her?” 

Domnhall only chuckled. He was not shy about his love for females, especially ones who were...unsatisfied with their husbands.

All teasing disappeared as Eris’ gaze darkened. “She wishes to return to the mortal realm. To Y/N, her place is not here, but amongst the humans.”

Domnhall’s smile dropped. “But you are mates…”

“Yes, and that holds little meaning to mortals. She does not see it as we do. She cannot feel the bond.”

“But she is not just a mortal,” Domnhall argued. “She is a witch!”

“If she wishes to leave, who am I to stop her?” Eris finally snapped. “Shall I chain her to the Forest House, hold her captive, make her no more than a prisoner?” He rubbed his face. “It wouldn’t be the first time a High Lord imprisoned a woman in such a manner…”

“Do not compare yourself to Tamlin,” Domnhall spat with disgust. “You keep her here to insure her safety. The mortal realm is unstable as it is – and if anyone found out who she was, she would be endangered. I know your actions are noble, Eris. Your father is no longer here to force your false character. And I know the male you truly are.” 

Eris stood, his hands pressing down into the table. “Thank you, Domnhall, for your…loyalty and…”

“Friendship?” The general offered with an amused smirk. 

He too now stood. “One day, I hope you can undo your conditioning and actually call me your friend.”

Domnhall started to leave, but paused at the doorway. “And in case you didn’t know, friends usually introduce each other to their mates.”

He winked and disappeared. 

—🍁—

Eris needed to see her. His body started to ache when he was away from her for too long. And once she had moved into the Forest House, the aches only grew stronger.

All the talk of her from Domnhall only made him realize the council had been distracting him from the feeling.

And he could ignore it no longer.

Y/N had healed him after the battle, after he had used his beast form for the first time since becoming High Lord. 

It had been almost two weeks, since Y/N had healed him after the battle, after he had used his beast form for the first time since becoming High Lord. 

And Eris had barely had time to see her since. 

Now, he searched for her in the surrounding forest of the manor. It was all enclosed and protected by countless spells of his own magic.

She should not be in any danger here. But it still left him uneasy for her safety. 

The trees were getting thicker and he tried to pull on the string that tied him to her. He'd heard of mates calling to each other, yanking at the tie between their hearts and souls.

But Y/N was not fae – even worse, she had not accepted the bond yet. 

Instead, Eris came across one of his guards that he had assigned to watch over Y/N. 

He bowed immediately. “She is safe, High Lord. Lady Y/N wished for space, I have the guards surrounding her, but keeping out of her sight.”

Eris nodded in thanks. “You and the rest of the guard are relieved of your duties for the day. Thank you for watching over her.” 

The guard bowed again, but hesitated before he soflty added, “She was helping the injured all morning, High Lord. Then she immediately went to the archives for hours. I believe she needs some rest.” 

Eris gripped the guards shoulder in thanks. A gesture he would’ve never even thought of doing when Beron was still alive and ruling. 

He walked forward until there was a break in the trees. The small patch of hilly grass allowed the light of the setting sun to slip through. 

In the middle of the clearing was a giant oak tree, its trunk over five feet wide. 

And beneath it was his mate, fast asleep on top of a thick blanket. But not alone, for his smoke hounds were an extra layer of protection on top of the guard he assigned to watch over her.

She was wearing a blood red dress made of both velvet and sheer fabric. Even when laying on the grass asleep, she looked utterly beautiful. Her lips were covered in a stain that perfectly matched the color of her dress, and Eris could only assume one of her servants had insisted on the detail. 

Eris swore he did not pay the Court’s seamstresses enough for how perfectly they tailored all of Y/N’s clothes. 

Per usual, her feet were bare. But somehow hardly dirty for having trounced through the woods. 

As soon as Eris took a step into the clearing, all 12 of his smoke hounds – who had been cuddly and guarding Y/N – shot up and growled a warning to him. 

Eris whistled lowly, his signal for them to relax, one of many that he had trained into them since they were puppies.

Their growling immediately ceased and a couple even trotted over to give their master a greeting. 

The only threat now: Ronan. Y/N’s pet fox, who was not his nor trained by him.

Ronan still growled in warning at Eris, standing protectively at Y/N’s feed as she slept.

Eris chuckled at Ronan, still a kit and not a full-grown fox yet. 

Ronan let out a bark when Eris was only a few feet away, and it finally stirred Y/N. 

“You woke her, you overprotective runt,” Eris hissed his scold to the fox. 

Y/N blinked and reached for her knife. But as soon as her gaze found Eris, her entire body relaxed. 

“I apologize for waking you,” Eris quickly told her, hovering where he stood, unsure if he should invade her space or leave. 

Y/N gave him a shy grin and then reached out a hand, silently signaling him to join her on the blanket. 

Ronan gave another warning growl. 

“Hush, Ronan,” Y/N chided, as she picked the fox kit up and moved him on the other side of her, away from Eris. "You know he means no harm.” 

Ever so gracefully, Eris walked through the pack of protective smoke hounds and carefully sat on the blanket beside Y/N, his back resting against the trunk of the oak tree. 

To his surprise, Y/N scooted closer instantly, resting her head against his chest. 

Eris tried to control his heart rate as his mate’s ear lingered right over it. One would think he was some pubescent fae youngling with the way his body reacted to such an innocent gesture. It would be more embarrassing if he was not getting such a thrill from this innocent intimacy. 

“What are you doing out here, little witch?” He asked her as he brushed hair behind her ear and off her neck, so he could clearly look down at her face. 

Y/N sighed, “I needed some air.”

“Ahh…and what gossip did the wind tell you today?”

Y/N smirked “Nyx took his first steps today. Rhysand cried more about it than Feyre did.”

“What a sentimental fool,” Eris snarked back. 

“Do not be rude!” She snapped back with a smile, and pinched his thigh in warning. 

As if laughing with them, a small fist of wind flurried around them. 

Eris looked down at Y/N. Really she should be wearing a cloak or have another blanket. 

Quickly, he slightly jostled her to remove his own cloak, the collar lined with fur. 

He wrapped it over Y/N gently. 

She smiled. “You didn’t need to do that. What if you get cold?”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Tis only fashion. I am the High Lord of Autumn, a wielder of flame. My blood runs hot and I am almost never cold.”

To prove it further, he held out the hand that wasn’t holding his mate, and lit a fireball in his palm. Then released it into the air. It remained floating around them and Y/N immediately felt its warmth, as if they were sitting near a bonfire. 

Y/N cuddled even further into his chest.

She looked up at the trees around them, forever in a state of orange, red, and yellow.

“In the mortal realm, I would wait all year for autumn. I dreamt of the leaves changing all summer. I always yearned for the chill air, the cloudy skies, the rainy days. Summer weighs me down. I hate the heat and the humidity, the sun is overbearing.”

Y/N hesitated before she continued. “When I first entered Autumn, it felt like a cruel joke, being dragged into the most beautiful place I’d ever seen, while bound and enslaved.”

Eris’ body tensed in rage. The ball of fire sparked from his emotions. 

There were some days when he wished he could bring his father back, only to torture him for what he did to Y/N, and the mortal women and childcare. 

But when Eris managed to stifle his anger, he looked down at Y/N, she had already fallen back asleep. 

He whispered to the wind, “It is because you were meant for this place, my mate.” 

Then he leaned down to kiss her brow. 

The wind brushed through again, as if it agree with his statement. 

Suddenly, all he wanted was to join his mate in her peaceful sleep. 

Eris whistled to his dogs. Their ears perked up and they all looked to him, waiting for the command. 

“Stand guard,” he ordered. 

They all scattered, taking on positions in a radius and sitting stiff with watchful eyes to the surrounding forest. 

But to Eris’ amusement, Ronan trotted to the edge of the blanket and joined in the reconnaissance and as the last line of defense. 

Perhaps Ronan did take orders from him…when it involved his mate’s safety. 

—🍁—

Eris awoke almost 2 hours later. 

His recent distance from Y/N had made sleeping difficult. And as soon as he had her in his arms, his body relaxed and the exhaustion caught up with him. 

Loyal and obedient, his smoke hounds were pacing around them, guarding and surveying the area for any potential threats. 

Eris looked down to see that Y/N was still peacefully asleep on his chest. 

She needed to eat, and rest in a proper bed. 

He whistled again and the smoke hounds sprinted toward him, then sat in a line, awaiting their masters next order. 

“With me, back to the Forest House.”

The half the smoke hounds sprinted ahead, while the other half surrounded Eris.

Ronan stayed at Y/N's side.

As carefully as he could, Eris gathered Y/N in his arms. And with a wave of his hand, the blanket disappeared and would arrive in the wash house. 

Y/N’s head naturally fell to his shoulder. 

Eris walked slowly back to the Forest House, worried that winnowing would wake her.

As soon as they reached the grand hall, a servant paused her work and bowed at their arrival. 

“Ready a meal for two and bring it to my bedchambers, please.” Eris ordered. 

When they reached his room, Eris gently placed Y/N on his bed. 

“Little witch, you must wake soon and eat something.”

She whined at her slumber being interrupted. 

“When was the last time you ate?” He asked her with a narrowed gaze. 

She shied away at the question, and was smart enough to look a little guilty. For if the tables were turned, it would also upset her to see the High Lord skipping meals and working himself into utter exhaustion.

“That is what I thought,” Eris answered for her. 

It only took a few minutes for someone to bring up a meal for them.

It was a sweet looking fae who looked quite young. But Y/N had quickly learned that looks could be deceiving when it came to predicting the age of fae. 

Much to Y/N’s dismay, the servant practically carted in a feast for just the two of them. 

Eris stood, moving to the cart. “Thank you…” There was an awkward pause. “…Delyth.”

The servant blushed at the High Lord using her first name. 

“O-O-Of course, High Lord.” The poor thing stuttered out with a bow. 

Eris had been making an effort to address the staff with more kindness and acknowledgment. It was hard to adjust from the way Beron had rule this house. Which was why it was sounded so unfortunately awkward for Eris to address the servant by name. 

Feeling a bit braver now, the servant turned a bit to address Y/N directly with a shy smile. “The cooks made sure to include a few apple tarts. The bakers said they have quickly become one of your favorites.”

Y/N beamed at the kindness. “They are! Thank you so very much, Delyth. And please tell everyone in the kitchen thank you, as well.” She gave some side eye to Eris. “From both of us,” she added. 

Delyth rushed out with a final bow. 

Y/N joined Eris at the cart of food. Now that she was smelling and seeing it, her stomach growled and she finally acknowledged how hungry she was. 

“The servants seem less scared of you these days,” Y/N pointed out with amusement as she lifted lids off various sides. 

“That is less scared?” Eris cocked a brow. 

Y/N sighed and turned to face him fully. “Give it time, Eris. You have only been High Lord of Autumn for – how long? – 4 months?”

He just hummed. 

She continued. “You have been alive for centuries. Surely you do not expect to undo your previous reputation in mere days?” 

Eris was already filling a plate with a little bit of everything they had been given. “Well, certainly I should take notes from you. My Court adores you.” He smirked. “If the apple tarts were not obvious enough.”

He handed it to her, making Y/N realize he had been making a plate for her before himself.

She took it carefully, trying to ignore the sweet gesture. 

“Eat,” he urged, the High Lord in him clearly heard. 

“Yes, yes.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m eating. I’m eating.” 

Y/N moved to sit on the floor next to the giant fireplace in his bedchambers. Before she had even fully sat down, Eris had started a fire with a simple nod of his head. Then giant floor cushions – blood red, velvet, and tufted – appeared next to her. 

“I like sitting on the floor,” she muttered to herself, but fully knowing he could hear. 

“Well, I do not,” Eris retorted as he joined her on his own cushion. 

“Ah, right. We were just talking about how you are centuries old. It probably isn’t comfortably for your poor back…”

Eris paused the stabbing of his food with his fork at such a comment. 

But when he looked up, Y/N was trying not to laugh. 

“What!?” She finally giggled. “I find it hard to believe anyone ever had the courage to tease you. Perhaps it will build character!” 

“No one teased me because if they did… they were fried to ash and soot.” 

“By Beron?” She mocked. 

“By me.” 

But his glare could no longer be ignored. 

“Fine. I will stop,” Y/N surrendered. 

They continued their meal with comfortable conversation. Mostly of Eris asking about her day, and the days before when he could not see her. He asked her about the mortals, how they were faring, if the children needed anything. 

In return, Eris told her about all the meetings with his council. He even admitted how much he struggled with not lashing out at those who seemed resolute on disagreeing with his every decision and philosophy. 

“You may rid yourself of them, you know…” Y/N hummed. 

She now lounged on her side across the floor cushion, head propped up on her elbow as she gazed up at his straight posture. 

Y/N added, “There is a middle ground between complete submission and murdering any who disagree with you.” 

“And what is that, little witch?” He asked, almost bitingly.

“You could dismiss them from their position, remove them from the High Lord’s council.”

“And let them live?” Eris challenged with disgust in his tone. “So they could leave my court, and join the rebellion and challenge me?” 

Y/N sat up and moved closer, matching his sitting position. “Yes, let them live! So your people see that you are not a tyrant, but a just High Lord with honor and benevolence. And you leave an opening for others to gain standing with you, showcasing their honor, taking any opportunity to help you and help their court. True acts of service – not titles won through deceit and greed.”

Eris stared at her in awe. 

His witch spoke like a vizier, whispering council into a mortal king’s ear. But she was not doing it for any benefit other than his own. She only wished to help him. 

“I see your time in our libraries has taught you a thing or two,” he whispered to her. 

Y/N's face warmed and she looked away from his studying gaze. “I only wished to understand the ways of the fae and of Autumn Court.”

“Yes, and you learned much more than that, too.”

Eris reached out then, his fingers brushing gently against her cheek, lifting her chin so she was forced to look at him. His touch was like a spark— familiar and foreign still.

Without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers, a kiss that was both a promise and a plea. Their politics and council seemed to vanish in that moment—the weight of their bond, the burden of their destinies, all faded into the background, until there was nothing left but the beat of their hearts and the shared warmth of their embrace.

This was not their first kiss, but it was the most daring of them all. 

There was a new energy, one that had been tapping at her shoulder for too long. And she feared she could no longer ignore it. 

When they pulled apart, Y/N’s breath was shaky, her pulse racing.

Eris’ hand slid down her spine, pulling her flush against him. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve and contour. 

He pulled away to look at her face, reading every tiny expression to see if she wanted him to stop. Because he knew his mate to be bashful, and she would not stop him until she was too scared. 

Thus, he was surprised to see such hunger and desire in her y/e/c eyes. 

Eris pulled up the skirt of her velvet dress, then undid the delicate buttons at the back of the dress, letting it fall from her torso to reveal a sheer lace body suit as her lingerie.

His fingers traced the lace, teasing her skin through the farbic, until Y/N arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"You are beautiful," he murmured against her mouth, his breath hot on her skin. “I fathom any males who have had the pleasure of seeing you this way were undeserving.”

Y/N's hands were not idle either. She ran her fingers through his thick, flame hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Her nails scraped lightly down his back, eliciting a shudder from him. Eris groaned, his desire for her growing with every touch.

Eris lowered his head, his lips moving down her neck and across her chest.

Y/N arched her back, her hands gripping his shoulders, as waves of pleasure rippled through her.

"Eris," she gasped, her voice hoarse with desire. 

She was not a stranger to sex. But it had left her so disappointed in the past, that her body had declared a complete disinterest in exploring it further with men, moving forward in life with an utter lack of desire. 

But Y/N did not know that Eris had put those pieces together, from Feyre’s subtle warning to him after Y/N had shared such a depressing sexual past to her friends. 

It brought him a strange rage that men had disappointed her so thoroughly. But that was quickly replaced with the primal urge to show her what she could have from him. 

So, Eris obliged, lavishing attention on his mate, his hands roaming lower, caressing the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips. 

Y/N's breath quickened as his fingers dipped underneath the skirt of her dress, tracing the lace edge of her body suit.

Pride swelled through Eris as his hand moved to instantly find her arousal. 

“Let me, Y/N. Please. I beg you," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. 

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at him, her expression a mix of desire – and, surprisingly, trust. 

Eris smiled, a predatory grin, and gently pushed her back onto the cushion, following her down, his body covering hers. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, his hands roaming freely over her body, exploring every inch of her soft skin.

His fingers traced the line of her thigh, pushing her skirt higher and out of the way, fully revealing the delicate lace that covered her core.

Y/N's breath hitched as his fingers brushed against her over the fabric, and she arched her hips, seeking more contact.

He finally took pity on her and moved the fabric to the side.

Eris's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of her exposed sex. 

With that, he dipped his middle finger into her, slowly, teasingly, remembering that she was a mortal – and one has lived without being deservedly worshipped by a male.  

Y/N gasped, her body jerking at the sudden intrusion. The sensation of his finger sliding into her was exquisite.

His finger moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, gently stretching her, filling her with a pleasurable ache. He added a second finger, causing Y/N to moan softly, her head tossing back. And she clenched around his fingers, her body welcoming the touch in a way it never had before. It was a reminder than fae males were bigger than men in every way – including their fingers.

“Breathe, Y/N.” Eris encouraged with equal parts dominance and tenderness. “I can feel you holding back. Relax, my little witch.”

His voice alone sent a tremor through her body and it listened to his command as if he were her master. 

He began to move his hand in a steady, rhythmic motion, his fingers curling and inside her, hitting a spot within her that she had never felt before. 

Y/N gasped as pleasure coursed through her body. 

She could feel her orgasm building, a feeling she had never experienced when sharing a bed with the few males in her past. Delicious tension coiled in her core.

"Eris..." she could barely whisper, pleading with him against her own control.

Eris grinned, knowing he had her exactly where he wanted her. He increased the pace, his fingers working her with relentless precision.

But he was not another fumbling, mortal male. He was high fae, a powerful high lord – with Autumn fire in his blood. And he could give her more than just his fingers. 

His magic flickered out of him, controlled and careful. He could not give her too much or she might never recover. She may be a witch, but she had a fragile mortal body still. 

An invisible flame under his control spread across her skin, like a hundred warm hands were touching her, overwhelming her senses. Her skin was hot from the magic and beads of sweat started to form. 

She couldn’t handle it any longer. 

Y/N’s hips bucked off the floor, her hands trying to grip onto something as she surrendered to the sensations.

But Eris took both of her hands in one and locked them above her head, keeping her his prey.

“Let go, Y/N.“ Eris encouraged, his thumb finding her clit and circling it gently.

His words were like magic too, and Y/N’s body exploded in pleasure. 

She cried out, her back still arching as wave after wave of orgasmic bliss. Every window flew open by a gust raging into the room. Not the messengers, but her own witchcraft. As if it was her body’s subconscious response, desperate for relief from the stimulation. 

“Good girl,” Eris whispered as his magic wouldn’t let her calm down, overstimulating her. His fingers continued their assault, pushing her orgasm further, drawing out every last bit of the pleasure she deserved.

As the tremors subsided, Y/N lay panting with closed eyes, her hair fanned out on the wood floor like a halo. Her body spent, recovering from something she’d never felt before. 

But Eris comforted her, reminding her of his presence by caressing her skin and kissing up her torso and focusing on her neck. 

He kept her arms above her head, worried she would try to use them to hide herself from him.

After a few minutes, Y/N opened her eyes to find Eris still nuzzling her neck. 

As if sensing her clarity coming back, Eris finally released her and pulled back to give her a stern look. “You are not allowed to be embarrassed—understand?”

The dominance in his voice forced a quick nod from her. 

Eris had always had an imposing energy as High Lord. But it had never been directed at Y/N like this, and it was making her body tremble.

Y/N had never been given a chance to openly express her sexuality, and the intensity of her reaction caught her off guard.

In his presence, she was able to let go and give him control over her body and mind. 

But Y/N’s whole body only grew warmer – and not by the hand of Eris’ sex magic. Was that even what it had been? Her mind was fuzzy. 

Before Eris could say another word, she scrambled onto her feet. At least she had the decency of lingerie still being on her body. But she abandoned the dress Eris had so easily removed, the dozens of buttons would now betray her in this moment. 

Instead, she lunged for the Eris’ cloak that he had draped over her in the forest earlier and wrapped it around her shoulders, hiding her undergarments. 

Her heart was pounding, and she felt a rush of emotions—pleasure, confusion, and a strange sense of vulnerability.

"I... I shouldn’t… we can’t,” she stammered, eyes darting around the room at everything, but him.

Before Eris could respond, she rushed out of his bedchambers.

He knew her avoidance would win in the end. But Eris was a patient male. One does not live for centuries, planning their tyrant father’s usurping without great persistence and humility. 

So he would let her hide…for now. 

Eris had been tiptoeing around Y/N, submitting to her fear and need of distance. He let Y/N control their relationship with her withholding and protective isolation. 

But he now understood: Y/N needed to be chased, needed to be exposed to her greatest fears just so he could show her he would not let her get hurt.

But now she had proven to him that she could handle his passion, his desire. He just had to take it, with the unbroken promise of keeping her safe through it. 

Eris fell back to the floor and stared up at the high ceilings of his bedchamber. 

Y/N had left him alone with the lingering scent of her passion. It filled his bedchambers and it wouldn't dampen for days.

Eris smiled, knowing what he had to do now.

Y/N needed to be conquered.

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

I know people never read these author notes. But I have two things:

a) if you've been following my work for awhile, you know that this is the first sex scene I have ever written. I usually just skip sex scenes and heavily imply them with a fade-to-black strategy. So, if you liked it: please, please, please let me know. I really don't know if I pulled it off.

b) thank you so much for being patient with me. work has cause me to have multiple mental breakdowns, panic attacks so bad that I have to call out sick from work. I have been busy applying to jobs, while also dealing with the high demands of my current job. so i simply have not had the mental motivation to produce art, instead only finding the energy to consume it.

if you liked this chapter, please write a book report for me. it will bring me joy. 🥹🧡

[bookwormjust]

Fever (established relationship Eris, caring hounds)

The night is quiet, the autumn breeze gently rustling the leaves outside the grand windows of your shared bedroom. You’re lying under the thick blankets, your body weak and trembling with the creeping fever that’s settled in once again. Though you're fae, your body has always been prone to sickness, a vulnerability that still clings to you even in your immortal state.

Eris had been working late again, the weight of his new responsibilities as High Lord of Autumn keeping him away more often than either of you would like. Since the death of his father, Eris had inherited not only the title but the endless demands of ruling his court. He was trying to be everything his father wasn’t—just, fair, protective—but it meant you spent many nights alone in your bed. 

Except for the hounds.

Eris had insisted that his pack of loyal, powerful hounds guard you while he worked. They never left your side, curled at the foot of the bed or lying just outside your door, always on alert. The largest of them, the pack's leader, had taken a special liking to you, his amber eyes always watchful, his presence a constant comfort in Eris's absence.

But tonight, something’s wrong. The fever that had started as a faint warmth earlier in the evening has now become a roaring fire under your skin. You’re shivering uncontrollably, your breaths coming in labored gasps. The room spins around you, and despite the layers of blankets, a deep chill settles into your bones. 

Suddenly, through the haze of fever, you hear a low growl—then the sound of paws padding softly across the floor. You barely manage to open your eyes when you see the chief hound standing beside your bed, his gaze sharp and concerned. His muzzle nudges your hand gently, as if to check on you.

You attempt to reassure him, your voice weak and hoarse. “I’m okay,” you whisper, though the trembling in your body says otherwise.

The hound doesn't buy it. With a determined huff, he turns and trots out of the room, his footsteps echoing faintly in the hall. He knows exactly where to go.

---

Eris is in his study, pouring over stacks of parchment by the dim light of the fire. His head aches from hours of work, but he refuses to stop, not until everything is perfect, not until he’s sure his court is safe and thriving. But his thoughts keep drifting to you. He hadn't missed how pale you'd looked earlier, the slight flush of fever beginning to color your cheeks. He’d meant to check on you but got caught up in endless council matters.

The sound of paws rushing toward him breaks his focus. His head snaps up just as the leader of his hounds barrels into the room, his amber eyes wide and alert. Eris instantly knows something is wrong.

“What is it?” he demands, his voice tight with concern.

The hound whines, nudging at Eris’s leg before turning back toward the door, clearly wanting him to follow. Eris doesn’t waste a second.

He moves swiftly through the corridors, his heart pounding with worry. When he reaches your bedroom, the sight of you lying in bed, shivering and drenched in sweat, makes his blood run cold. 

“Gods,” he whispers, rushing to your side. He kneels beside the bed, his hand instantly going to your forehead, feeling the scorching heat radiating from you. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

You blink up at him, your vision blurred from the fever. “Didn’t want to... bother you,” you mumble, your voice weak. “You have... so much to do…”

Eris’s jaw tightens, guilt flooding him. “You’re my mate,” he says softly, his voice filled with both frustration and affection. “Nothing is more important than you.” 

Without hesitation, he calls for water, cool cloths, and medicine from his healers. His hands move with urgency but care, placing a cold compress on your burning skin, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face as he whispers soothing words. 

The hounds gather around the bed, watching anxiously as Eris tends to you, their loyalty to you as fierce as his own. The leader nudges Eris gently, as if to say *I’ve brought her back to you—now take care of her.*

“I’ll never leave you like this again,” Eris promises quietly as he sits beside you, holding your hand tightly. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles, his fiery gaze softening as he watches you, concern etched in every line of his face. “You’re going to be alright. I’m here now.” 

Even through the fever, his presence calms you, and despite the heat that consumes you, you find comfort in his touch. You drift into a restless sleep, knowing that with Eris and his loyal hounds by your side, you’re safe.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Feasting on You

The sequel to part one: Afternoon Appointments

WARNING: SMUT. THIS IS A CONTINUATION OF THE SMUT FEST I AM PUTTING MYSELF THROUGH. HAPPY VALENTINES DAY YOU LOVELY PEOPLE. MINORS DNI.

Fluff, declarations of love, Beron Vanserra being the absolute worst person alive, unprotected sex with the hope of pregnancy (male and female receiving). Breeding? Again, they're trying to have an heir so I guess? Jealousy, infidelity/sex-work. Mentions of infertility and the struggle to get pregnant, vaginal penetration with fingers and penis, fingering, it's a menu, pick what you want.

Word Count: 6,022 - Hard to believe I work full time.

Since all y'all wonderful people seemed to enjoy the last smut-post I made I figured I'd continue, especially on the day of love. It's not going to be too much longer, maybe one or two more parts but again, it's my palette cleanser from my agonizing slow burn of myself.

Summary: Eris, your mate joins you for dinner after a rather disheartening conversation with his council over your combined failure to produce an heir to the court. After denial of his father's suggestion, Eris hopes to remind you just how devoted he is to you, and only you.

SMUT BELOW THIS LINE. BE AWARE.

Long after the sun had dipped below the horizon, you finally made your way into the grand dining room for dinner. The table stretched before you, a lavish display nearly overflowing with an abundance of meats, vegetables, and freshly baked breads. It seemed as if the kitchen perpetually prepared as though they were feeding a family of ten, never quite adjusting to cater solely to you and Eris. Dinner was a sacred time reserved just for the two of you, a cherished ritual unless you were hosting guests. As long as no visitors graced your halls, or neither of you was summoned away on a diplomatic venture, you always reunited for dinner—a time to recap the day's events, reconnect with each other, and recenter your spirits.

As you entered the room, the fae-light chandelier cast a gentle glow above, its flickering light dancing across the walls. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting long shadows. Yet, you found yourself alone. Evidently, your mate had not yet managed to extricate himself from his own pressing duties. You eased into a seat at the magnificently carved table, pouring yourself a glass of rich, ruby-red wine. Settling back into the large, high-backed chair, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe in the enveloping silence.

Life before the mating bond had certainly never been dull. As the daughter of a prominent merchant residing near the border of the Autumn Court, your days were a whirlwind of activity—entertaining guests, immersing yourself in study, assisting with the intricacies of business dealings, and attending court. Yet now, it seemed you rarely found a moment to draw a breath, as the demands of your new life swept you along in their relentless current.

The sharp, rhythmic clatter of boots echoed down the hallway, each step growing louder until Eris' familiar scent—a mix of pine and something musky—filled the air before he even appeared. You turned your head eagerly to welcome him, but as he stepped through the gracefully arched doorway, it was impossible to miss the storm cloud hovering over his expression. His forehead was knitted in a deep frown, and his hair was tousled, evidence of the restless fingers that had clearly raked through it more than once. His shoulders were rigid, like a bow drawn taut, ready to release. Most telling of all was his failure to flash that usual bright smile upon seeing you.

Eris approached the table with a slowing gait, just enough to lean forward. He placed a steadying hand on your shoulder and gave you a kiss, yet it lacked its usual fervor, missing the lingering, breath-stealing passion that typically marked his arrival.

When he broke from the kiss, he settled into the seat across from you and immediately reached for the bottle to pour himself a glass. You watched him closely, studying the lines of his face. "Everything okay?" you asked.

Eris looked up from pouring, set the bottle down, and took a long gulp from his glass before answering. "I'm fine," he replied, though his tone didn't quite convince.

"You don't seem fine, my love," you said.

Eris placed his glass back on the table, adjusting in his seat as he exhaled deeply. "It's nothing," he insisted.

“Well, it sure seems like something,” you pressed further. “What happened between now and earlier today?”

Besides his habit of running his hands through his ginger hair when anxious, his constantly shaking leg was another dead giveaway. Something had definitely happened; you just couldn’t pinpoint out what.

You mentally sorted through a list of potential issues. The Autumn Court was currently thriving, and nothing urgent came to mind that could have dampened his mood, especially when he had been so lively earlier.

Eris had averted his eyes to the table, trying to keep his gaze from meeting yours. Normally, when he was hiding something from you, he would avoid looking at you at all. The second your eyes would meet his the entire facade he had been wearing would erode—something that served you well, but at times tormented him.

“Eris—” you urged softly, your voice low and laced with affection and also a seriousness that couldn’t be ignored. “Tell me what’s happening, my love.”

After a tense, lingering silence, he finally lifted his gaze. His tongue licked over his teeth—a nervous, winding gesture—as he weighed the right words for whatever was on his mind. “I don’t want to upset you,” he murmured.

Tilting your head ever so slightly, you replied with the same calm insistence, “Well, now that I know it’s about me, I think it’s even more important that I know what’s going on.”

With a resigned sigh, Eris leaned forward over the table. “Before I say anything, I need you to understand that I in no way endorse what was said, nor will I act on any of it,” he declared.

A frown creased your brow, the confusion and creeping anxiety twisting deeper like thorns in your stomach.

He hesitated, eyes darting from yours to the table and back in a silent plea of understanding or perhaps more time to cushion the blow. “My father—”

You arched your head back and released a low, sour growl, the sound echoing the bitter disappointment that bubbled within you. “Oh, so it’s your father,” you retorted.

Your loathing for Beron Vanserra was as fierce as Eris’s own—its roots tangled in a history spanning decades. Beron had all but attempted to murder Eris once he’d been almost forced to abdicated the High Lordship, on the strict condition that he remain at Eris’s side as part of the council. Beyond his controlling tyranny and his cruel, abusive past with both his wife and sons, Beron harbored a deep hatred for you. To him, you were the shadow behind Eris’s newfound courage to challenge his rule, the unseen poison that had emboldened his favorite son against him. In your defense, you had spoken little of any ambition concerning Eris’s potential ascension. You had maintained that the choice should be solely his, offering nothing but unwavering support in the swells of his decision making. Yet when Beron was receiving Eris’s propostion, you were standing just outside the council chamber as he hurled ignoble slurs—”whore and “power-hungry bitch”—in your direction. In that moment, Eris had come perilously close to severing his father’s head in retribution. Ever since, the mere whisper of Beron’s name left a bitter, acrid taste in your mouth.

Casting a dagger-like glance toward your mate—a look darkened by resentment. “And what, prey tell, does my remarkably kind father-in-law have to say about me now?” you challenged.

Eris’s gaze dropped back to the table as he deftly twirled one of the silver forks between his fingers, the metal glinting under the soft light. “He made it abundantly clear that he believes we’re taking too long to produce an heir,” he said, his voice laced with frustration.

You rolled your eyes, letting out a deep, exasperated sigh that seemed to echo through the room. “And what does he expect us to do about it? It’s not as if we haven’t been trying,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.

Eris nodded, his warm hand reaching across to rest reassuringly over yours. “He knows that,” he reassured, his touch grounding. “Everyone on the council is aware of that.”

In any other realm, the notion of ten elderly council members being privy to your and your mate’s rather passionate and frequent attempts to conceive would send a shiver down your spine. Yet, the matter of an heir was of paramount importance to the court, with significant interest vested in ensuring the High Lord had a successor.

“So what now?” you questioned, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. “What does he suggest I do? Since he’s clearly an expert in fertility healing,” you added, the words dripping with irony.

Eris’s father had once suggested that unless his son exercised “complete and total control” over you, preventing you from “running wild around the court making a spectacle of yourself,” you would never produce an heir. He had deemed you “too loose” and “brazen,” criticizing the way you carried yourself with confidence and poise.

That choice of words had almost driven you to seize one of Eris’s swords, your mind briefly entertaining the thought of storming into his father’s chambers to slit his throat. But Eris had physically restrained you, even while you kicked back at him with the strength of a donkey.

Eris took a deep breath, his eyes focused intently on the spot where his fingers traced gentle, rhythmic circles on the back of your hand. "He had suggested that if we didn't conceive within the next year, I should consider taking on a mistress."

The word "mistress" struck you like a physical blow, and your vision blurred as shock settled over you. The mere thought of your mate entwined with another female sent a surge of fiery indignation through you, making you want to storm out of the dining room and stab your fork right into Beron's eye. "I see," you replied, your voice strained as you clenched your napkin in your lap so tightly that you feared your nails might splinter and snap under the pressure.

Eris squeezed your hand reassuringly, his voice soft and earnest. "You know I would never do that."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, your words laced with an intensity that surprised even you. "Did you tell him that?"

Eris momentarily looked taken aback by the sharpness in your tone, his brow furrowing slightly. "Of course I did, my love."

Your lower lip trembled with anger, and you blinked rapidly to keep the hot tears from spilling over, even as they threatened to escape. You shook your head, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep your emotions in check. "Just because your mother was the most fertile female to have ever been born doesn't mean that I am too."

"I know that," Eris reassured, his voice steady and calm.

"What?!" you exclaimed, your exasperation giving way to anger. "Does he think I'm just toxic? Does he think I'm willing myself to be sterile?"

Eris exhaled softly, a hint of weariness in his sigh. "I don't know what he thinks, but ultimately it doesn't matter."

“What did the other council members say?” You asked, your voice quivering as though it might shatter.

Eris hesitated, and the silence felt like a lead weight sinking your stomach.

“They’re eager for an heir, sooner rather than later.”

A wave of nausea surged through you, and you stared blankly at the table, gnawing at your cheek.

Eris’s hand enveloped yours, a gentle anchor trying to pull you back to the present. “It’s going to be alright,” he whispered.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Would you do it?” You asked quietly, each word laden with fear.

Eris’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Would you take on a mistress if I couldn’t give you an heir?” You pressed.

His mouth fell open, disbelief etched in his features. He leaned closer, the golden glimmer of his eyes shimmering as he gazed at you, unwavering. “Of course not, my love. I would never do that to you.”

“Yes, but if I couldn’t—“ You stammered, words tumbling out in a rush, “couldn’t give you a child, for the good of the court, would you?”

Eris paused, and for a moment, the room seemed to echo with the sound of your heart, shattering.

“No—no,” he shook his head vehemently, as if dismissing the thought itself. “I would never, ever, do that to you.”

“What if I gave my blessing?” You whispered, a tear tracing down your cheek in a long, wet line.

“Why would you even suggest such a thing?” He asked, his continued bewilderment turning almost into fear.

You shrugged, tears now readily overflowing. “It’s vital that you continue your line. That you pass on your gifts to a successor.” A pause, a deep breath to muster courage. “If it came down tot he continuation of the court and my happiness, it would be selfish—treasonous of me to stand in the way.”

Eris rose from his seat, only to descend to his knees before you, clasping your hands in his own trembling grasp. His eyes, filled with an ocean of sorrow, met yours, as if the sheer weight of your tears was enough to fracture his soul. “My love,” he began, his voice soft, unwavering. “The Mother bestowed upon me the blessing of finding my mate, my missing half. The other fragment of my soul that I once despaired for ever knowing.” His thumbs caressed the backs of your hands. “She wove our paths together, for in every essence—mind, body, and soul—we are destined to intertwine. To share the tapestry of our lives side by side. No world exists where I could desire—crave—anyone but you. You are as entwined within me as I am within myself, and to bear a child with another would desecrate the sacred blessing the Mother bestowed upon me in the form of you.” He looked down, shaking his head with a soft, incredulous laugh. “In truth, I don’t think I could ever be with anyone else again. You have unraveled me and rebuilt me in your essence.” He paused, his gaze locking on yours with fiery intensity. “If it came to that, I would rather throw away my title than be with any other. And I mean that with every fiber of my being.”

“Eris—“ you began, trying to cut him off. The notion was outrageous, a fantasy. For him to renounce his title, the very thing he had dedicated his entire life to achieving, just because you might not produce an heir was beyond all comprehension. But before your voice could protest, he interrupted you with a fierce determination.

“My love, there is no universe where I could cherish any child as I would cherish ours. We have all the time in the world to try, and if fate decides otherwise, then we will embrace the truth that our destiny is to spend eternity together. And for me, that is more than enough.”

Your heart swelled and you leaned forwards out of your chair into Eris’s waiting arms. He wrapped himself around you, one arm pulling your waist, the other gently cradling the back of your head, his fingers massaging into your hair, you let out sobs, each one a release of the pent-up feelings of anger and intense sadness, mingling with the loving devotion of your mate. He pressed kiss after gentle kiss into your temple, his lips warm and reassuring, as he rocked you back and forth until you could find your balance once more. You leaned back, feeling the heat of your flushed face, tendrils of hair sticking to your skin, dampened by your tears. A soft laugh escaped you as you wiped your face with trembling hands. “I’m sorry—I look like a mess.”

Eris gently pulled your hands away, cupping your cheeks with a tenderness that you melted into. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. He leaned forwards, kissing your forehead. You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent deeply, a mixture of smoke and spice that grounded you. Your mate. Your devoted, love-sick mate who would willingly burn his entire life to the ground if it meant securing your happiness.

Looking down at you, he chuckled softly. “Though,” he began, “I‘d by lying if I said that I am not more than a little happy that I can continue to fuck you senseless.” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “For the good of the court, of course.”

You laughed in a response, a small hiccup escaping you. “Of course,” you drawled, wiping at your face. “We couldn’t so easily forget our duties.”

He threw a quick glance at the table, still laden with untouched food before he turned his smoldering eyes back to you. “Are you hungry?” He asked, a rather teasing edge in his voice.

Your response was a gentle shake of your head. “No, unfortunately. Not so much anymore.”

A sinful grin slowly spread across Eris’ face, causing a heated shiver to travel down your spine. “Well then, my love, let’s use this precious time for more…intimate responsibilities,” he suggested.

His body left yours as he stood, gazing up at him. “Perhaps I should remind you just how deep my devotion to you truly runs.”

His devilish grin widened as he waited for your response. “And how would you do that, my lord?” You asked, your voice lilting just slightly.

Eris wasted no time as he swept the table clean with one strong arm; plates and platters crashed to the floor in a a rush of chaos that had you jumping back slightly from where he stood. His attention returned to you instantly, bending down to grip your hips firmly and hoisting you onto the now clear table.

Hunger evident in his eyes, he gently parted your thighs and leaned closer, his hot breath fanning against your neck as he pushed your hair aside. The sensation of his lips and teeth exploring the sensitive skin beneath left you breathless.

“You made a mess,” you managed to moan out rather than complain.

A low growl vibrated against your chest as he nipped at your ear. “I’ll take care of it later.”

Your hands found their way to his broad shoulders, gripping them in a fervor, your nails sinking into the firm muscle hidden beneath his shirt. He yanked you closer, his powerful hands anchored securely on the swell of your hips, grinding into you with carnal intent. “Fuck, you‘re divine,” he groaned against your ear, his voice like whiskey and smoke.

You learned your head back, offering him the full expanse of your neck and chest like a sacrificial alter. “You’re my whole universe,” he murmured, his heat-soaked world painting an intoxicating image of obsession. “You’re the reason I wake in the mornings, why I draw breath.”

His roving hands ventured away from your hips, hiking up the hem of your gown until it rode high on your thighs. His fingers fanned out along the softness of your flesh, kneading and caressing as he pressed his body into yours.

He claimed your mouth in a heated kiss, his lips parting in tandem with yours to allow for a passionate exploration, his tongue danced with yours in a sweet torment that had you gasping for air. Your fingers tangled into his wild hair, pulling and yanking at the strands as you sought something solid to anchor yourself.

The blistering heat simmering between your thighs danced enticingly against the bulge of his throbbing arousal, igniting a wire fire that shot through every nerve ending in your body.

Eris, with a low growl, bit onto your lip, his teeth marking you before he withdrew, leaving a pang of emptiness behind. His gaze fell down on his tan trousers, now stained with the evidence of your own rampant desire. “Eager little minx,” he purred, a lascivious grin on his face as he released himself from the constraints of his clothing, his trousers still sitting low on his chiseled hips.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him, stroking his thick, inviting shaft with an insatiable hunger glistening in his eyes that made you feel like the most desirable female in existence.

Discarding your own demureness, you hiked up your skirts, revealing your drenched panties acting as the final barrier to the ecstasy that Eris was promising.

Pushing them aside, Eris’ eyes darkened even more—if possible—as he watched them snag and stretch against your slick, glistening skin.

Your arousal was so peak high that the mere touch of the fabric skimming over you had you gasping out moans that sounded like sweet melodies in his ears.

As he pleasured himself, your eyes locked onto him. His rhythm hastened at the sight of your unveiled desire. You widened the inviting gap of your thighs, keeping your eyes focused on him as he seemed to lean back into his hips, arching his back, letting out a load, audible groan.

You traced your fingers up your satin-like inner thighs, teasing the edges of your exposed core. Your head feel back in anticipation, caught up in the erotic symphony of Eris’s hand colliding against and again with his hard length mixed with the intoxicating sounds of his small moans.

Your hands ventured further down, your fingers exploring the trail of your desire. As you pulled your fingers apart a shining residue of your arousal was left glistening on each one of them. You tantalizingly brought them to your lips, tasting your own sweetness.

“Fuck—“ Eris growled out as you opened your sultry eyes, casting him a heavy look of need. “What I’d do for you,” he groaned.

You traced your hand down the length of your body. “And what would you do for me, my lord?” You purred back as your hand returned to your core. You used two fingers to spread yourself to reveal the jewel of pleasure that Eris craved so passionately.

At the display, he released a trembling groan and swallowed hard against what you thought might be a trembling climax that he was already at the edge of. “I’d burn whole realms for you,” he growled fiercely. You slid a finger down through the center of your split core. “I’d tear apart anyone who laid claim to you.” As you circled your clit, a shaking moan that escaped from you. “I’d pull the gods from their thrones and place you atop them. I’d surrender my entire life for yours.” You gently slipped a finger into the welcoming heat, then another one followed rhythmically, driving the poor male into a frenzy as he tugged at himself. His cock now a deep crimson, almost throbbing with intense longing.

Your mind raced, suddenly conjuring up the unwanted vivid to a tableau of Eris, entwined passionately with another female. His resonant moans, those heady sounds you had so effortlessly drawn from him, now being elicited by her as he drove into her. His chiseled muscular back flexing as he rutted, sending trails of desire coursing through his veins as her unknown throat moaned out his name as he explored her curves like a playground.

Your brows furrowed, a challenge flashed in your eyes towards him as you amplified the rhythm of your own gratification. Your fingers danced over your clit, the pulsating caresses in synchrony with the fervent plunge and withdrawal of your other fingers into your heated depth. You pleasured yourself to this haunting image, a wildfire of rage and competitive desire fueling your passion forwards.

Eris seemed utterly captivated by the sight, he senses consuming him. He allowed himself to surrender into the intoxicating allure, his body responding to your own pace and matching the rhythm with his hand as his hips worked in tandem to work himself over.

You hadn’t wanted this imagery to clutter your thoughts. But everything spun into an uncontrollable whirl of erotic images and scenes, each successive the previous with more intense encounters between your mate and this unseen female.

Eris released a fragile whimper, his hand faltering ever so slightly, breaking the rhythm as though he was in a struggle to restrain himself. “I need to be deep inside of you,” his voice was raspy, almost a groan. “Let me feel the tight warmth of you clasping around me, my love.”

Barely thinking, your hands continued to move with skilled precision over your own body, each encounter with your skin sending tingles through you. You shot back at him, “Fuck me like it’s your last breath, with the desperation of a male starved for pleasure.“ You moaned lightly. “Like this might be your last taste of ecstasy.”

Eris seemed to flinch for a moment, his piercing eyes slightly unhinged by your phrasing. But when you increased the rhythm of your self-pleasure, your chest heaving in rapid succession of anticipation and tantalizing pleasure, he seemed to figure out that if he didn’t act quickly, you would reach that peak with or without him.

Eris moved closer, positioning his hard length at your inviting entrance as you held yourself open to him. He gripped his arousal at the base and carefully guided the throbbing head through the tightness, pushing all the way to the hilt. His breathing staggering hitched in his throat as the delicious warmth of you encasing him was overwhelmingly intoxicating.

He lingered for a slow, burning moment as he steadied himself. His eyes were shut tightly as he whimpered, like he was holding himself back.

Tenderly, your hands rose up to cup his face as he gazed down upon you. With your legs wrapped snugly around him, you whispered a sweet dare into the air. “Take me as if our existence depends on it.”

With one hand strategically positioned behind you for balance, Eris’s low growl echoed in the room as he forcefully gripped your hip, placing his other flexed hand on the table while driving powerfully into you. His thrusts were so ferocious that you slid back on the table, teetering on the edge of losing your positioning until Eris assertively yanked you back to the precipice. The air seemed charged with the tensed desire, both yours and his, magnifying by the desperation wrought by your circumstances. It was all raw, carnal passion—need.

His relentless pace did nothing to soothe his growing frustration towards how much you shifted with each stroke. Pulling back, his sculpted chest rose and fell rapidly with his labored breaths; he rasped out a simple command: “Bend over.”

You willingly complied, abandoning your perch on the table to present your torso over it’s smooth surface.

Eris traced a firm hand along your arching back, as he hitched your skirt back up revealing your bare essence to him once again. After teasing himself briefly, he repositioned himself and began again.

Your body sank beneath his touch as you leaned on your forearms and pressing into your toes to give him easier access. As he reclaimed his place within you, it felt like uncharted territory, a new depth that sent waves of pleasure through you—a heavy pressure that made your lower abdomen ache deliciously.

Your body responded without your conscious choice as you arched upwards, muscles straining as you supported yourself on shaking arms. Each thrust from Eris elicited short, desperate moans from your lips. His own grunts were beginning to take on a raw, primal edge as he drove into you relentlessly, his breath hissing through gritted teeth. His hand roamed from the small of your back to your shoulders, fingers digging in if trying to pull you even closer with each powerful pump. His muscled torso smashed against your soft curves in perfect rhythm, your bodies creating a symphony of harmonious moans and the slick clapping of skin against skin.

“Harder,” you panted out, your own fingers digging into the linen tablecloth.

His only response was a deeper, more powerful thrust, his hard cock filling every inch of you, deep enough to feel him in your stomach. You began to mirror his rhythm, arching your hips against his thighs. Each time he withdrew only to plunge back into you with heightened force that brought forth gasps of pleasure from both of you.

Eris’s strong hand found its way to your ass, gripping it with such intensity that you were certain to find a constellation of blue-purple reminders tomorrow. Your head fell forward languidly between your outstretched arms as he continued his relentless pounding. His fingers abandoned the tender flesh to circle the inner curve of your thigh, his muscled torso pressing into your trembling back as he leaned down onto you. His fingers danced down the length of your thigh before stopping at the apex of your core, drawing circles over the most tantalizing spot.

The sensation was overwhelming, a wave of pleasure so intense that your screams were muffled only by the table beneath you as he drove into you. His ragged moaning accompanying each thrust echoed in your ears. “That’s it,” he grunted. “Take it. Good girl, take every fucking inch of me.” His thrusts escalated in power, pushing your body against the sturdy table before releasing you over and over while his fingers continued to work your clit that throbbed with anticipation.

“Fuck, Eris—” You wheezed out in a sharp exhale.

“Say it, my love. Say my name.” He replied.

You recited his name like a confession until he started echoing yours with equal fervor.

Your toes tightened in your heels and a divine tingle of your climax started forming at the base of your skull.

In between stifled moans, you managed to utter out a warning, “Fuck, I’m on the edge, don’t stop!” It sounded more like a plea than a command.

Eris complied with no hesitation, his motions continuing as he pinched, circled and tugged at your clit which sent a jolt of pleasure through making you squirm beneath him.

As the delightful tingle began snaking down your spin, you felt the intense clenching sensation in your core, occurring in waves. It was the release you had been so intensely waiting for—burning a trail down your body like a wave of heat. It was as though your body pulsed around him, rhythmic waves, grasping and attempting to pull Eris over with you.

He was right on your heels. His thrusts persisted, driving you through the contractions of your orgasm until he could hold off no longer. You felt him give in to his lustful release deep within you, warm and more profound than any time you had been intimate before. He bent over you, his hands clutching at your hips as though they were his lifeline. You could practically feel the heat from his body as he moaned, a sharp intake of breath between gritted teeth accompanying each pulse as he spilled deep into you.

Finally, he descended from the euphoric peak, seeming to float back down to earth. His chest remained taut and panting as he eased off you, your face still resting on its side,

remnants of pleasure still coursing through you. He tenderly brushed strands of hair from your flushed face, his fingers ghostly against your skin as he planted a soft kiss on your cheek. “Are you alright?” His question was sincere, his other hand tracing comforting circles on your dampened back.

“Mm,” you responded, eyes still veiled by heavy lids.

Eris gradually separated himself from you, an audible moan escaping him at the final pull out, as if the sensation had sent shockwaves through his every nerve. His fingers leisurely explored your backside; even with your eyes closed, you could tell he was admiring his handiwork.

A low grunt slipped from him as his fingers traced up your slickened crevasse, painted in a cocktail of your combined arousal. “Fuck—” he muttered so quietly, that you knew it had been unintended. Suddenly and without warning, he plunged two fingers deep into you causing a breathy whimper to leap from your lips.

“There,” he whispered huskily, “None of it goes to waste.”

His fingers continued their dance inside you, lightly twisting and kneading your tender walls painted with his essence. Your response was a soft symphony of moans.

"Do you want more, my love?" He queried, his voice dipped in honeyed seduction. "Do you need more?"

You whimpered out an eager confirmation and as if on cue, Eris pulled away from you leaving a void that consumed you.

The harsh grating sound of a chair scraping against the floor reached your ears before his commanding voice followed with "Come here, my love.”

Turning your head slightly towards the sound, there he was—an arousing silhouette seated by the glow of the flickering firelight; his arousal rigid and glistening in its golden glow.

“Come,” he beckoned again, “I'll satisfy your craving.”

Rising off the table, your dress cascaded down around you and warm trails of your shared climax trickled down your trembling thighs.

As you approached him, wide-legged and inviting, he instructed, “Take off your dress.” His cock twitched in anticipation against his chiseled torso of his opened shirt.

Stopping before him, you slipped your heels off and made quick work of the ties securing your gown—it pooled at your feet.

Eris surveyed you with a savage, primal hunger, his lips moistening in undisguised desire. "Gods-damn gorgeous," he breathed out, voice husky as he stretched one hand towards you. You took it, and he drew you back into his sphere of heat and lust, turning you so your back pressed was to him, mere inches from his body. His hands rested on your ribs, fingertips tracing a tantalizing path along the curve of your sides down to the swell of your hips. His gentle tug guided you downwards onto his lap, onto his semi-hard cock that demanded attention. It entered you slowly, inch by agonizingly delicious inch, setting off a crescendo of moans from deep within you.

Eris allowed you to adjust to the exquisite intrusion, your ass settling on the curve of his thrusting hips that eagerly came forward to cradle you. You reclined languidly against his defined chest, your head nestled in the crook of his neck and shoulder while his fingers danced along your thighs, guiding them open. The flickering fire provided a welcoming warmth against the sensual slickness that was still weeping out from within you, rolling down Eris' arousal and staining both pants and chair alike.

"That's it," he purred, "Spread your legs for me for me, love."

With him buried so deep within you moving seemed near impossible as waves of satisfaction washed over you. Yet he nudged them apart persistently, draping them over the chair's arms so that you were fully exposed and ripe for his enjoyment; completely naked in the heart of the dining room with Eris' rock-hard cock nestled snugly within you.

He kissed at your neck and shoulders, rocking his hips slowly, nothing like the punishing pace of splayed on the table, but just enough to continue to churn the orgasmic fluids that rested deep inside of you. At the same time, his fingers returned to your core, teasing over your clit with the pads of his fingertips in slow circles.

His other hand made it’s way to your breast, toying lightly at the pebbled nipple, twisting it in his fingers and light flicking it. His world revolved around you, and your soft, staggering moans were music to his ears.

Your body was still ablaze from the aftershocks of your previous peak, hypersensitive and yearning amidst the haze of pleasure. As he drove into you with languid yet powerful strokes from below, complementing it with the rhythmic play on your clit; it was all too much. You let out a delicate whimper before your body started convulsing again. “Surrender to me, love,” He urged. “I want to feel you fall apart again.”

Obediently, your body rippled against him as a fresh wave of euphoria crashed over you. Your skin sprouted goosebumps under his touch, and a loud moan escaped you as ecstasy took control once again.

Your body melted against him, utterly exhausted and breathless, as you lay cradled in his embrace, the aftermath of passion leaving you completely spent. With tender care, he swept your hair away from your face, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. He carefully lifted your body, handling you with the delicate touch one might use with fragile glass, before settling you back down on his chest, where his now relaxed member rested lightly against your back. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he whispered in your ear, pressing a warm kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you to bed, my sweet angel.”

My spay appointment is tomorrow at 8:00 AM. My mom can drop me off if yours can pick us up.

Part Three: Yearning

[dreamdragonkadia]

As Written Above, So Shall It Be Below Part - II Word Count: 6.4k A/N: Insert dramatic music here. Feedback, comments, thoughts, and theories are always appreciated! Main Pairing: Rhysand/Reader/Feyre Prev - Next ✦ Ao3

The letter arrived before you could properly get Jurian up to speed—before he could even begin to wrap his head around the fact that Fae walked these halls freely, laughing and talking with the very humans they had once been at war with.

"You’ve been busy, I’ll give you that," Jurian muttered under his breath that morning, seated beside you at the long dining table. His eyes flickered over the gathered council, studying them like a battlefield he had yet to understand.

The human and Fae councils sat side by side, conversing easily. The only person missing was Vassa.

Meanwhile, Estella was perched happily in the lap of Eosara, the Peregryn Fae who represented the Dawn Court. Her tropical colored wings were tucked neatly against her back, eyes bright as she murmured something soft to the little girl curled against her.

A trusted guide to flight. A mentor. One who had fought in the war and had chosen to stay.

She was young, but stubborn, unyielding in her will. A trait she shared with Estella, which made their friendship even more surprising.

"It was a long process," you murmured, lifting your cup to your lips. "Please don’t fuck it up."

Jurian let out a soft, disbelieving huff, but whatever snide remark he had prepared was cut short as the doors swung open and a courier entered the room, balancing a golden tray stacked with letters.

You barely glanced at the first three—more complaints from lords and ladies whining to the crown. Those, you swiftly passed to Vassa’s advisors.

Another letter, from a different kingdom, seethed at Scythia for harboring Fae. That one, you crumpled up without a second thought.

But the last one—that made your breath catch. 

The wax seal pressed into the envelope. A rising dawn. Your fingers tightened around the letter, the rest of the room fading into the background.

This wasn’t addressed to Vassa. It wasn’t addressed to the mortal queen or anyone in the human court.

It was addressed to you. To the Lady of the Night. Your full name and title. The ink burned into the parchment like a brand. Jurian must have noticed the shift in your demeanor because his voice lowered, words laced with curiosity. "What is it?"

You said nothing.

Just stared at the dawn wax seal. 

"Eosara."

The name left your lips before you could even think, the sound sharper than you intended.

The Peregryn looked up from where she had been gently braiding a loose strand of Estella’s hair, her eyes blinking at you curiously.

"Yes, M’lady?"

You hesitated for only a second before asking, "Did you see your brother? At the battle?"

Her face lit up instantly, her wings twitching in excitement.

"Yes!" she beamed, nearly bouncing in her seat. "He was shocked to see that I was alive and well—we both cried. Oh! And the stars you read were right! High Lord Thesan and him are an official thing! Only took them how many years."

A Fae from the Summer Court let out a soft scoff, muttering, "About damn time."

Eosara ignored him entirely, too swept up in her own story.

"And even the High Lord hugged me," she continued, "though it’s a little weird to think that we’ll be family one day, you know?"

Your fingers flexed around the letter, the parchment rough beneath your fingertips.

"Eosara," you said again, voice calmer now, more stable. "Did you… mention anything? To them?"

She blinked, tilting her head. "Mention anything?"

"About the others. About who survived."

The Peregryn’s brow furrowed, and for the first time, some of her excitement dampened. "I—" she hesitated, shifting slightly. "I didn’t say much. I mean, I told them I had been safe all these years, that I had found shelter, that I had found—"

She stopped, eyes flickering with uncertainty.

And you knew.

The way her wings tucked in tighter, the way her fingers clenched the hem of Estella’s sleeve.

You knew.

Her throat bobbed. "I… might have let it slip. Not about everyone—just that I wasn’t alone. That I wasn’t the only one to make it out."

Jurian let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, this just keeps getting better."

"Did you say my name?"

The Peregryn’s wings twitched, her gaze dropping. "No," she said quickly. "I mean—no, not exactly. But I think—Lord Thesan might have guessed."

Your stomach twisted. Thesan was not a fool. He was one of the most observant High Lords in Prythian.. If she had so much as hinted—

If she had spoken of you in any way—

Then he knew. And that meant this letter…

You looked down at the wax seal once more. "Shit," you muttered under your breath, your fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before breaking the seal. The parchment unfolding smoothly:

Lady of the Night,

If what I have been led to believe is true, then I am glad that you are alive, and I sincerely hope you are well. It has been many years, and though I understand why you have remained away, I will not pretend that your absence has not been felt.

I cannot blame you for not returning, not after… certain circumstances within your court. But my friend, know that you are always welcome in Dawn, should you ever wish it. You, and all those who fled with you. I extend this offer without expectation or condition—merely as a standing truth. Especially after everything you have done for Eosara, and by extension, for my court.

I was admittedly surprised when she declined the invitation to return home, as I was by every Fae who stood with the mortal queen and chose to follow her back instead of seeking refuge with their former courts. Not one dared to speak of how they lived, how they survived, even when we were told the Weaver had eaten her fill that night.

I will not lie to you—Helion suspects. He would not voice it, not for Rhysand’s sake nor for the High Lady’s, but he requested an audience with me regarding the matter. It is both a hope and a fear for him, and I suspect he dreads the answer as much as he longs for it.

Court politics aside, I hope you might grant me an audience—not just for the sake of Prythian, but because I send this letter in good faith. There is much we could discuss, including the possibility of establishing ties with the human territory you have deemed worthy enough to protect.

And, if nothing else, my captain would be overjoyed to see his baby sister again. He has not stopped worrying for her since the end of the war, and I suspect no order I give will ease his mind until he hears it from her own lips.

I ask that you allow Eosara to deliver your response and grant her permission to explain what happened. Whatever your answer may be, I will respect it.

With sincerity,ThesanHigh Lord of the Dawn Court

The words blurred for a moment as you read them over again. Once. Twice. 

Thesan’s letter was carefully worded, diplomatic, but you knew the truth beneath his polite phrasing. A slow breath slipped past your lips as you set the letter down beside your plate, fingers pressing into the parchment as if it might run away.

"Well?" Jurian drawled, breaking the silence. "Anything scandalous? Or should I be disappointed?"

You huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into your chair. “I think I need a drink.”

Jurian’s brows flicked up.

“Something strong enough to knock me on my ass for a few days,” you clarified, rubbing your fingers against your temples.

The rest of the room buzzed with chatter, the hum of conversation a distant, unimportant thing. You could have tossed the letter into the fire right then and there—no one would be the wiser. Let the flames consume it, let the ashes scatter into nothingness, as if Thesan had never written it at all.

But Scythia was a land of trade, a land that had flourished on the backs of merchants and contracts, on the careful threading of alliances. A trade agreement with the Dawn Court would introduce new goods, new wealth, new influence.

And if war broke out between the human queens—if their fragile alliances shattered, if blood once again stained these lands—then having a court’s backing could be instrumental in ensuring Scythia’s survival. More than survival. Expansion.

The thought curled through your mind, enticing, logical, a strategy as old as time. But it was cut short as quickly as it rose.

No.

Scythia had been content as a small kingdom, one that did not hunger for more, one that did not seek to stretch its grasp beyond what it could hold. It was an option you had proposed time and time again, a vision of stability, of safety. And time and time again, Vassa had rejected it—just as her mother had before her.

Still, the thought itched at the edges of your mind. A court’s backing. A court’s wealth. A court’s protection.

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself, then said—loudly—“How would Scythia feel about hosting a High Lord in our grasp?”

The room went silent. Conversation cut off mid-sentence. Several pairs of eyes turned to you, brows raising, spines straightening. Some in curiosity, some in suspicion.

Slowly, you lifted the letter, letting the parchment catch the daylight. “The Dawn Court requests an audience,” you announced, voice carrying through the hall. “And I think we can time this with Vassa being a part of it.”

“Court, court!” Estella chirped, her illyrian wings popping out in excitement. 

The room unraveled all at once. Voices rose, tangling over one another—arguments, ideas, concerns. Someone banged a fist against the table, another sighed heavily, already weary of whatever this would bring.

“What does he want?” someone demanded.

“Can we afford to host a High Lord? What would be expected of us?” another countered.

“If we deny him, what message does that send?”

“If we accept, do we risk becoming entangled in Fae politics?”

“We already are,” you muttered, but no one heard you over the din. 

By mid-noon, the letter of response was finished. The room waited anxiously as you read it aloud,

High Lord Thesan,

It has been a long time, and though I hesitate to confirm your belief, I find myself unable to ignore it. If what you suspect is true, then I am glad that it is you who has discovered it.

I had expected some resentment from you—for leaving you all beneath the Bitch Queen’s thumb, for not returning to Prythian even after her reign ended. I will not lie and say I do not still wake in the dead of night, expecting to find myself trapped Under the Mountain once more.

I am sorry that I could not rescue you as well. But know this—those who left with me are alive. They are thriving. They are living as they should, free from the shadows that once loomed over us.

Perhaps one day, I will take you up on your offer—to settle in the Dawn Court, to walk its halls once more. I have missed your palace, our talks. Next time we meet, perhaps I will read the stars for you again. As for my home, I do not wish to cause more trouble than my departure already has. If he is happy, then I will ask for nothing more.

For my High Lord of Night.

For my once-husband.

I ask only that you tell no one. Not for their sake, but for mine. This entire situation has left me on edge, and I know you will understand why.

On the matter of diplomacy, I extend an invitation—you and yours are welcome within the walls of Scythia. I urge you to winnow if you can—it is quite the journey across the sea, and I doubt you would find it pleasant. But know this: you will be stepping into a human kingdom, one that offered sanctuary when no one else dared.

These are a people who took us in when we had nowhere else to go, who shielded us. They are to be treated with respect—with honor. I would find great insult should any of yours disregard them.

As for what happened all those years ago…

It is not a story for Eosara to tell.

It is one you must hear from me. I leave her in your care so that she may guide you to our refuge, so that she may show you the life we have built here.

I look forward to seeing an old friend again.

Yours,

Do I even call myself the Lady of the Night anymore? Perhaps, Starseer then?

As simply as that, the letter was sealed, handed off to Eosara, and within moments, she had been winnowed back to her birthlands, the place she had once called home. From there, she would fly the rest of the way.

Two weeks.

That was the date you had provided.

Hopefully, it would be enough time to get this city into shape—to prepare, to fortify, to anticipate what it would mean to welcome a High Lord Fae into a human kingdom.

And yet—

That was also the night the dreams changed.

They had started a few months ago, and always the same. The grassy field stretching wide before you, the manor behind you, its presence looming even when you did not turn to look at it. Human lands. You were certain of that much. The air smelled of earth and green things, of summer turning to autumn. You always sat at the same small table, drinking your tea, alone.

And yet, you had never been alone. Not truly.

There had always been a presence within that manor—silent, hidden, watching. You had felt it ever since the wall had fallen, since that barrier between humans and Fae had shattered. The very day this dream had begun its relentless cycle.

That presence had never been warm, never comforting. It was a sliver of a blaze, distant yet unbending. Hardly ever the night sky anymore—never the stars.

Dreams were odd things, so similar to reality, yet so... wrong.

Tonight, there were two chairs.

You had assumed, if someone came, it would be someone you knew. A ghost of your past, a specter of memory made flesh.

But the Fae woman who stopped several feet from the manor entrance was no one you knew.

A queen, perhaps?

Devastatingly beautiful, without a doubt. But not in just the way of the Fae. Not in the effortless, gilded beauty of their kind. No, this was something sharper, something carved out of wrath and resilience. Those piercing blue-gray eyes held far more emotion than a Fae should allow. Anger was its shining center, but beneath it—something deeper, something buried.

You held her gaze for a long moment before tilting your head and gesturing to the empty seat.

"There is no point in standing there looking like I've done you wrong," you joked, leaning back.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then—her voice, flat and edged like a blade casually dragged across stone.

"Aren't you supposed to be with the Mother? Or whatever nonsense afterlife Fae believe in?"

No fear. No reverence.

Just disdain, as if she found your very existence mildly inconvenient at best, utterly irrelevant at worst.

You glanced up at the sky, unconcerned, and shrugged. "Suppose she didn’t want me."

The woman huffed, arms crossing over her chest, her weight shifting in a way that made her irritation obvious. “So, you’ve come to plague my dreams like your and my sister’s court don’t do that enough?”

You blinked.

Your court? Her sister’s court?

There was no missing the venom in her tone, the way the words curled with something bitter and long-standing, something older than whatever had drawn her here tonight.

Who the hell was she?

And why did she speak as if she already knew you?

"You assume I have control over this," you said, studying her. "I assure you, I don’t make a habit of haunting strangers."

"Strangers," she echoed, her lips twisting slightly. 

A test. A taunt.

You didn’t rise to it. Instead, you gestured toward the empty chair again. "If I’m already in your dream, you might as well sit. Unless you’d rather stand there glaring at me the entire time you sleep."

She held your gaze, unflinching. Stoic.

Then, with a sigh—one that sounded less like surrender and more like exhaustion—she moved.

Slow. Careful. As a predator on the hunt.

She pulled out the chair opposite you and sat—not in a way that suggested comfort, but rather control. Back straight, arms folding over her chest as if daring you to think for a second she had relaxed.

"You’re awfully calm for a ghost who doesn’t know where they are," she mused.

"You’re awfully defensive for someone who acts like they don’t care," you countered.

Something flickered in her expression. Surprise, irritation—it was hard to tell.

"You don’t speak like them," she said at last.

"Them?"

Her mouth pressed into a thin line, as if she had already said too much.

You studied her—the steel-cut posture, the restrained fury beneath her skin, the way she spoke of Fae courts as if they had disappointed her in ways only someone intimately familiar with them could understand.

Your lips parted. "Well, I’m—"

"I know who you are."

The words landed like a sentence, final and irrefutable.

You frowned slightly. "Then I am at a disadvantage here, Miss...?"

A long, tense silence.

It took a long minute to realize that last name, why it had such an impact that you practically yanked yourself out of that dream.

"Nesta. Nesta Archeron."

~ ✦ ~ ✦ ~

“Why do you look like Doomsday is around the corner?” Jurian snorted, breaking the silence.

From her place beside him, Estella peeked over his armrest, her violet eyes curious as she studied you. She’d already been awake—waiting when you startled up. You hadn’t even opened your eyes before you'd felt her there, hovering quietly beside the bed like a little ghost.

It was an odd habit she’d developed lately—if she woke before you, she’d sit and watch, as if waiting for the precise moment your breathing shifted. Never spoke. Never touched. Just... watched.

You weren’t sure if it was endearing or unsettling.

You exhaled heavily, rubbing your temples before muttering, “I fear that I’ve started haunting the Kingslayer’s dreams.”

Then, before either of them could pry, you summoned a bottle of Fae wine.

It was early, but after that, a drink was already needed.

“What? You can do that?” 

“No.” Dream-hopping had never been a power you possessed. No, this had to be something else. Something not of your own making.

The Mother.

You pulled the cork from the bottle with a pop and took a long sip before saying, “And do you really think I’d choose her dream to haunt of all people? You’d be first on my list.”

Jurian scowled. “Please don’t. Seeing you every day has already reminded me why we were always two seconds from stabbing each other during the war.”

You smirked over the rim of your glass. “Then maybe I’ll start showing up in your dreams just to make sure you don’t forget.”

Before he could retort, a soft voice cut through the conversation.

“Sad?”

You blinked, turning toward Estella. She had climbed onto Jurian’s chair, her small hands gripping the edge of the armrest as she peered at you with a serious expression.

"I'm not sad," you clarified, brows knitting slightly.

Estella made a face, like you were missing something obvious. Then she sighed. Actually sighed, like a miniature adult disappointed in your inability to keep up.

"Not you, Mama," she said, matter-of-fact, before promptly deciding the conversation was beneath her.

With all the flair of someone who knew exactly how dramatic she was being, Estella hopped off the chair and disappeared under the table.

Jurian raised a brow.

You exhaled, “I have no idea. She’s on a high horse today.”

He gave a dry hum of agreement.

For as young as she was, Estella already had every telltale sign of her father’s personality—observant, amused by things going wrong, and entirely too good at making you feel like you were the ridiculous one in the room.

Gods help you when she was older.

The table moved on—several conversations sparking up around you, clinking dishes and low laughter weaving into the lazy rhythm of the morning. You had just started to relax, letting the dream slip from your mind, when a small finger poked your thigh.

You glanced down.

Estella stood beside you and in that same calm, certain voice she’d used before, she murmured—

“Kingslayer. Seer. Cursebreaker.”

You stilled.

Her gaze didn’t waver.

You simply reached out and patted her head.

Because you didn’t know what else to do.

~ ✦ ~ ✦ ~

It had been nearly a week before the Kingslayer returned to your dreams.

She had not appeared again in that field—not a flicker, not a whisper. For nights, it had been just you at the small table, in the same quiet meadow, with the manor looming at your back.

But tonight—

Tonight, as you drifted into sleep, she was already there.

Sitting.

Waiting.

Nesta Archeron.

Neither of you said anything as you took your usual seat.

No words. No glares. No accusations. Just… presence.

And that’s how the next three nights went.

No dreams but this one. No visitors but her.

She said nothing. You said nothing. But the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it became useful. Time suspended outside of politics, outside of reality—a still place where thoughts could unfurl freely.

These dreams, oddly enough, had become productive.

You used the stillness to think—to plan. Thesan’s impending arrival weighed heavily on everyone, and there had been more than a few hiccups in the preparations.

Vassa had been debriefed the night the letter arrived, and as expected, she’d had more than a few opinions to share. She wasn’t against the idea of making Scythia the largest trading outpost in the human realms—not if an alliance with Dawn could guarantee it.

But she had crushed any suggestion of invading the sister lands before it could take root.

“We trade. We expand. We do not conquer,” she had said, voice firm, eyes hard.

It had all come to a head during one of your late meetings when Jurian had said something that shocked both of you.

“Your dear Starseer is right,” he said, casually swirling a glass of wine like he wasn’t dropping a verbal match into dry grass. “If the other queens were willing to toss you aside that simply, they’ll be willing to wage war with you, too. Take your wins the moment they show weakness.”

You remembered how still Vassa went.

How the room seemed to inhale, waiting.

And then—

She kicked both of you out.

Literally.

You and Jurian had barely cleared the threshold of her war room before the door slammed shut behind you, lock clicking into place.

“Do you—”

The voice pulled you from your thoughts.

You turned slightly.

Nesta wasn’t looking at you. She sat rigid in her chair, hands clenched in her lap, knuckles white from the effort. Not trembling. Not weak. Just… contained. Controlled.

“Do you regret what you’ve done?”

The question came out too quickly to be soft, but too quiet to be a challenge.

A blade, held point-down.

You let it hang between you for a long moment.

“I don’t know what you’ve suffered,” you said finally. “And I don’t know what you go through now.”

Her eyes flicked toward you—the faintest movement, but there.

“If you’re asking for your sake,” you continued, “and hoping my answer might somehow condemn us both, I’ll spare you the effort.”

You met her gaze then. 

“No. I don’t regret what I’ve done. Not who I’ve hurt. Not who I’ve killed. Not the ones I made suffer.”

The words slipped out like truth carved into stone. Not cruel. Not boastful.

Just fact.

“I do not know you,” she said. “And yet why is it you—who is dead—who haunts me?”

Her hands were no longer in her lap. One now gripped the armrest of her chair like she might crush it.

“I know you from a painting,” she went on, “and from stories the Illyrian brute had let slip when he’s distracted. That’s it. That’s all.”

She looked at you then—truly looked. 

“Out of all the dead,” she said, practically hissing the words through clenched teeth, “it’s a woman I have no connection to—no bond with—who keeps showing up, night after night.”

She paused. Her voice dropped, bitter and frayed at the edges.

“I figured if I got drunk enough, you wouldn’t come back.”

You let her words sit between you like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Then, simply, calmly, you answered, "Your guess is as good as mine. I do not know why the Mother has deemed us to share this space. If anything, it should be your High Lady."

"Not my High Lady."

The words came out a hiss—immediate.

That took you by surprise.

You studied her again, more carefully this time. “She is your sister, is she not? From my understanding, you sit within her court, no?”

Nesta’s jaw clenched, her eyes flashing. “I never asked to be this,” she bit out, each word rough and raw, like it cost her something to say it aloud. “It is the least she can do—letting me stay—for dragging Elain and me into this mess.”

The bitterness in her tone was layered. And despite the fire still simmering in her gaze, for the first time, you saw it—the hurt underneath.

Not weakness. Not regret.

Just the kind of wound that never quite scabbed over.

“Interesting,” you murmured, watching her carefully. “I’ve known humans who would give anything to become Fae. Yet you resent it.” A soft pause. “Why? Because this was a fate you were forced to take?”

“What does a dead woman know?”

You didn’t flinch. Just tilted your head.

“I know what it is to have someone else dictate your life. Down to who you’ll marry, how you’ll serve, when you’ll speak. For me, Rhysand, for what it’s worth, wasn’t the worst option for a husband.”

She snorted. “He’s a prick.”

“He has his moments.”

That caught her off guard.

You laughed softly, not unkind.

“Oh, I’ll be the first to admit the Inner Court is far from perfect.” You shrugged. “But no one is.”

She didn’t respond right away. Something in her had… shifted. Just a fraction. But you noticed.

“Even yourself?” 

You snorted. “Especially myself. Whatever they’ve told you, don’t believe it.” There was no heat behind the words, only the easy comfort of truth long since accepted. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you lifted a brow, eyes flicking toward her like you were letting her in on a secret you rarely shared. “I’m a wicked woman who loves power.”

Nesta blinked—startled, maybe. Like she hadn’t expected the confession to come so effortlessly, so unapologetically. Just a heartbeat of hesitation, of something shifting behind her eyes. And then—barely there, but unmistakable—her lips twitched. Not quite a smile, not quite approval. But something real. Something human. It vanished a second later, wiped clean like a crack sealed with frost. Still, you saw it. And she knew you did.

The silence that followed didn’t feel cold this time. It felt suspended. Waiting. And maybe that’s why you said what you did next—not out of cruelty, but because there was no one else who would say it. Not like this. Not to her.

“You forge your own path. If your soul cannot bear this existence, Nesta Archeron,” you said quietly, the words dropping between you like a stone in still water, “then simply cease to exist. Be remembered only as the Kingslayer. Let that name be the last thing you let the world remember you by.”

Nesta didn’t flinch, but she didn’t breathe, either.

“Why suffer?” you continued as the dream began to shift. That familiar pull stirred at the edge of your awareness, the weightlessness that always signaled you were being drawn back—back into your body, into waking. The meadow around you dimmed, blurred at the edges, but still you held her gaze.

“And should you choose to go,” you added, finality ringing beneath the calm in your tone, “you won’t see me again. I will not follow. That is a death I cannot follow in.”

Then the world dissolved around you, unraveling like thread through fingers—slow, soundless, inevitable. 

And when your eyes fluttered open, Estella was already there, perched just above you on the edge of the bed, her little brows pulled together in a tiny frown of concentration.

She blinked once, solemn and confused. You barely had a moment to register the expression before you reached for her, arms wrapping around her small body and pulling her close until her cheek was squished against your chest.

She huffed in your arms—an exaggerated little sigh far too dramatic for someone so small, her wings fluttering once in protest.

“Why her?” she mumbled against your nightgown, voice muffled, still thick with sleep. “Why not the ‘nother one?”

You stilled, heart thudding softly.

Estella shifted a little, her hand grabbing the fabric near your shoulder in a tight, toddler-sized fist. “She yours. And you hers. That’s what they said.” Her words were slurred and messy, tangled together in the way only young children speak when their minds move faster than their mouths.

Then, a whisper—curious and oddly knowing.

“But you don’t dream of her. Or him.”

You had no idea how to answer her.

Your hand stilled where it had been brushing over her hair.

“Sweetling… are you watching my dreams?”

A flicker of worry laced your voice, soft but rough at the edges. Had she started coming into her magic? Was this the beginning of something—too early, too much?

She shook her head against you, the motion small and stubborn.

“No.” Her voice was quiet. “I feel.”

Then, after a pause, one hand resting over your chest like she was trying to anchor herself:

“I dunno what you said ...but they’re there. I feel them. But…They don’t see me. See us. You... you block us out.”

You swallowed hard, throat suddenly tight.

She wasn’t accusing you. Just stating it—like it was simply a truth of the world, the way the sun rose or rain fell.

And then, as toddlers do, the moment was gone.

Estella suddenly wriggled and rolled off you with all the grace of a sleepy cat tumbling out of bed.

“Mama! Food!” she declared, as if the past minute hadn’t caused you more confusion than these dreams.

She toddled toward the door like her words alone would summon breakfast.

~ ✦ ~ ✦ ~

“Esoara will arrive home tomorrow, then?” Vassa asked, cutting into her dinner with careful precision. Her tone was casual, but the tone beneath it wasn’t lost on you. This was the final dinner before hosting a High Lord—before the balance of power might shift, one way or another.

“They’ll be joining us around lunch tomorrow,” you confirmed, reaching for the breadbasket and handing a small roll to the tiny Fae beside you.

Estella clutched it with both hands, then looked up at you, eyes wide.

“Friends?” she asked hopefully. “Tonight?”

“Tomorrow,” you corrected gently.

She gave a very serious frown, clearly unconvinced by this injustice, but began gnawing on the roll anyway.

All the preparations had been set. Every contingency considered. Every piece on the board placed just right. And yet, the closer dawn crept, the more it felt like something was coming that no amount of planning could stop.

“Are we all ignoring the elephant in the room?” Jurian muttered, stabbing his fork into his food like it had offended him. “When, exactly, did Lucien get invited to be part of this?”

At the mention of his name, the one-eyed High Fae looked up from his plate with a raised brow. 

Vassa’s knife clinked a little too hard against her plate. “When you and her”—” she stabbed a glare in your direction—“came to an agreement to invade the other lands.”

You threw your hands up. “No one is invading anything.”

“Yet,” Jurian added under his breath, just loud enough.

You glared at him, but he only smirked, thoroughly unbothered.

Turning back to Lucien, you forced your voice pleasant. “You are more than welcome here, if Vassa has invited you to be part of her court.”

Lucien leaned back, gaze flicking between the three of you. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just here to observe.” 

“And not report back to the Night Court?” Jurian cut in, voice dry and dripping sarcasm, “as their Emissary? That their precious Lady of the Night is alive and well and their High Lord has a daughter?”

“We’ve already gone over the threats when he first found out,” you reminded flatly, not bothering to hide the warning in your tone.

Jurian made a sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a grunt and a groan.

“Now that’s boring,” 

You shot him a look. “Try diplomacy sometime.”

“I have. That’s why I prefer swords.”

Lucien let out a low hum, studying the two of you with mild amusement. “I’d have figured you two would have nothing but disdain for each other.”

You didn’t miss the twitch of a smile at the corner of Jurian’s mouth.

“You should see how he and Vassa argue,” you said, sipping your wine. “It’s less debate, more bloodsport.”

“She’s the one who throws things,” Jurian muttered.

“Only because you talk like that,” Vassa snapped, not looking up from her plate.

You stared at the three of them for a beat. Vassa stabbing her roast with a bit too much force. Jurian smug as ever. Estella happily chewing on a stolen piece of bread and whispering to her cup like it might answer her.

You were surrounded by children.

Truly.

And somehow, that realization tugged at something in your chest—something you’d buried.

It crept in uninvited, that ache of memory. Of home.

Of the Inner Court.

Of Cassian challenging you to a drinking contest and losing spectacularly, his laughter echoing into the night. Of Mor and Cassian shouting at the top of their lungs to see whose drunken voice would carry farther. Of Azriel sitting beside you in the shadows, silently snorting before asking if he needed to go drag them apart. Of Amren muttering under her breath about why she stayed in this court of fools in the first place.

And of Rhys.

Rhys, who would simply snort, kiss your forehead, and murmur, “Come on, my dear—let’s sneak away and leave the drunks to their fun.”

You blinked, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Those nights were lifetimes ago. And still, some part of you felt them—echoing.

You set your glass down. Carefully.

Because if you let yourself fall into that feeling, if you truly allowed yourself to spiral into the ache curling in your chest like a long-forgotten flame, you weren’t sure you’d find your way back out again. You had spent so long containing it—pressing your grief, your longing, your history into neat corners of yourself, shoving it all down where it couldn't touch anything tender. But it was still there, waiting in the hollows. And tonight, in the quiet of the garden, in the lull between breaths and stars, it stirred.

I want to go home.

The thought didn’t just rise—it split through you. Choking and sudden. Like lightning flashing down your spine, lighting every dark corner you’d sealed away with that single truth.

And that had been dangerous to think.

Because in a world like this—where magic listened, where power didn’t always respect boundaries—desire had weight. It was a tether, a beacon. A whisper that could become a call. And when you let yourself want something badly enough, the world had a habit of listening. Of answering.

You should have known better.

And yet—tonight, the sky had been so impossibly beautiful. The kind of beauty that made you forget the years, the wars, the politics, the fear. Stars scattered like a blessing across the velvet dark, glowing long after the palace had settled into silence.

You’d wandered into the palace gardens barefoot, the stone cool beneath your soles, the scent of night-blooming flowers curling through the air like silk. There was no sound beyond the hush of wind in the hedges and the soft rustle of leaves. And in that stillness, you stood utterly alone—wrapped in the gentle hush of a world not watching. The kind of quiet you’d forgotten you missed. The kind that only came when no one else was listening.

That was when you felt it.

A brush of cold across your skin—too precise to be wind.

A whisper at your shoulder—not sound, not touch, but something in between. A ripple in the world around you, like a memory trying to take shape.

Your breath caught.

And then they came.

The shadows.

They slithered over the stone like ink through water, curling gently around your ankle, brushing along your wrist—not grasping, not threatening. Just… remembering. They wove through your hair like a breeze that hadn’t been there a moment before.

Because you knew them. Even now, after everything, you knew them.

Azriel’s shadows.

You hadn’t felt them in a long time, they hardly ever left his side. The way they moved. The way they lingered. The way they never pressed unless invited.

They weren’t urgent now. They weren’t warning you or dragging you away from danger.

They were just... here.

Searching. Remembering. Recognizing.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Not even when the air behind you shifted, when the stillness turned thick and heavy, like the entire garden had gone breathless. Not even when instinct told you you were no longer alone.

You stayed still—frozen in the moment between one life and the next.

Until you heard it.

Soft. Rough around the edges. A voice like gravel and shadow, like dusk curling into midnight.

“You’re alive.”

Your eyes slipped closed.

Because you knew that voice was family.

And when you finally turned, slow and unwilling, he was there.

Azriel.

Standing just beyond the hedges, wrapped in his shadows like he had never left them.

Like he had stepped out of memory itself.

Like seeing a beloved dead person hadn’t just shattered his world completely.

[itsswritten]

a new chapter

Pairing: Fairy x Azriel (technically no Az in this, but there's a nod to him if you look)

Word Count: 2.1K

Summary: The start of fairy's story. (Can be read on it's own, but if you read the other parts the pieces of the puzzle will come together.)

Wings Universe - More from this world.

The sting from the cuts had dulled as you continued to pull the thorn covered weeds with your bare hands. The feeling becoming numb as the pointed spikes drew blood across your delicate skin. You had never been afraid of hard work, never turned away from getting your hands dirty— but perhaps even this was beyond your ability.

“Y/n,” your best friend, Elodie, whispered with a melody of sadness, the warmth of her own hands gently coming to your shoulders to stop you.

You hadn’t realised till then that you had been crying. Crying while you helplessly tried to save the meadow you so dearly loved. But the meadow you loved was nowhere to be seen. The entire court had been ravaged by vines and thorns, and where no plant grew lay decay and ruin.

In a dishevelled state you wiped the tears from your eyes, faintly smearing dirt and blood across your face. Scrambling to your feet, you looked at your friend. The same sadness drowned her own expression. Whatever hope you held onto, no longer lived within her.

She had only stayed so long for you. The guilt began to gnaw at your gut as you took in Elodie’s dejected expression, dark circles sunk beneath her eyes that mirrored your own.

After Feyre had left, after the upheaval of Tamlin’s court, after the war– things among the land became estranged.

The court was deemed unsafe.

And after multiple conversations with the fairy council an evacuation had been ordered. You supported the move of all creatures, animals, birds, insects across the borders. And then species of Fae and Fairy relocated to the other courts too.

Not you though. You couldn’t bear to leave your home. Not when it so desperately needed your help, now more than ever.

Especially as Tamlin’s sorrow and anger seeped into the soil like a disease, transfiguring even the most beautiful flowers. Turning them into deadly ominous growths.

You had pleaded with Tamlin, even begged on your hands and knees. Head pressed to the floor by his feet. You had requested that he fix things, asked if you could go seek the help of the other High Lords, cried that you couldn’t bear to see the court turn to ruin. 

But he had dismissed you.

Tamlin too consumed by his own self-deprecation and hatred hadn’t wanted help, hadn’t wanted to save his court– or himself.

So you tried instead. A small group of fairies stayed– your friends, colleagues. People who held you in high regard and respect,  people who loved you and believed you when you said you could make a change. But as the weeks turned to months it was only you and Elodie that remained. Somehow, by some stroke of luck there was a small part of the meadow you had managed to maintain. Little blue dahlias bloomed much to the disarray that surrounded them. With time though, the buds began to decay and today you found your little patch of hope overgrown with darkness.

“Let me speak with him one more time.” Somehow you mustered some strength in your voice, composing the wobble in your tone. 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Elodie asked mournfully, her stature limp with hopelessness.

It wasn’t. Wisdom and smart ideas were long gone. All you had left was desperation. You weren’t afraid of begging, didn’t care how pathetic you might look. You had to try, at least one more time. 

With that you made your way to the manor house, patting down the torn dress that sagged under the despair that filled the air. You pushed yourself through the dark branches that covered the home, the sharp limbs scratching at your skin as you forced your way inside.

The floorboards creaked under your feet, the manor now derelict and plagued by the sharpened vines that crushed the framework. 

This place, just like the court, was once truly beautiful. It was a tragedy what had become of it.

“Tamlin?” You spoke softly, knocking gently on a door that hung to the side on one hinge. Sharp growths sunk into the walls, causing the brick to crumble under its grip. The plant stretched out like roots across the building, the dark energy festering and growing from inside the room. 

You hadn’t needed to knock, but nervously, you had wanted to. Let him know you were here. Unsure what a surprise might spiral him into, and perhaps nervous to what you might find when you entered. You were psyching yourself up.

You could sense him in the shadows, crouched over his desk shrouded in a darkness you never thought could exist in Spring.

“The meadows…” you continued, stepping in when he didn’t respond. “There’s nothing left anymore–”

“Why are you still here?”

“Why?-” Surely he knew. You almost wanted to scoff. This was your home, a land you had committed to protecting and preserving. Had your pleading all those months ago not been clear? Did he even remember?

“Because it is my duty, as it is yours, to ensure the land flourishes and is a sanctuary to all creatures and fae. I am here because I believe we can fix this–”

“Stop.” He cut you off. “Stop with your self righteous bullshit. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Tamli-”

“STOP!” He cut you off like a sword cutting a blade of grass, sharp and swift but with a sting you felt pierce your skin. Tamlin had stood to his feet in defiance, his hands– no, claws, slamming onto the desk in front of him.

The wood groaned under his weight, splinters splitting under his talons. The darkness permitted in the air only grew. Vines slithering on the walls like snakes, while their razor edges glinted in the dim light in a taunt.

Was this person even Tamlin anymore?

The male before you resembled something more similar to the beasts you knew roamed the Middle.

You swallowed hard.

Your relationship with Tamlin was passing, as amicable as it needed to be. As was most fairy and fae connections. You’d always gotten on better with his emissary Lucien, but the beautiful redheaded Vanserra had left with Feyre and not returned. 

Your livelihood, your duty as a fairy had always existed outside of Fae law. You were the Mother’s firsts, her obedient children created to take care of the land. Fairies did not care for control or power. So when the Fae came along– those beautiful but greedy creatures flourishing in their power, fairies had chosen to stay out of their way. Moulded and conceded to their will you could say.

Your kind hadn’t objected when they began to split the land. When they picked rulers and chose borders. Fought over titles and possessions. This wasn’t because fairies were weak. 

No, that was something many misunderstood. 

But because it wasn’t important to your kind. You didn’t care to rule, didn’t care for wealth or power. It was your love for the land that would always come first.

And it was your unwavering adoration for the earth, the droplets that filled the rivers, the kaleidoscope of flowers, and the blessing of all creatures that brought you here–again. Pleading with Tamlin.

You felt for Tamlin, you truly did. You weren’t privy to the intricacies on what had happened among him and the now High Lady of the Night Court, and you certainly weren’t impressed by his questionable actions in the war. But your heart had ached for him.

However, he was now choosing to be an obstacle in your life’s mission. Your patience was wearing thin.

“Tamlin. You’ve wrecked the land.” You said sharply, deciding you weren’t going to dance around your words. No longer dance on that thin line Tamlin had drawn.

“I. Don’t. Care.” Tamlin growled out.

Your fists curled at your side, your wings striking back in frustration as a glow simmered faintly around you.

“You Fae should do right to remember that we were here long before you divided up the lands, and created your silly borders. Segregated fae and animals, we allowed you to reap the benefits on this structure, on the condition that the land would always remain protected–”

“You would do right to remember exactly who you’re speaking to.” Tamlin snarled, the vibrations of his growl rippling through the room as the weight on his talons crushed the desk in front of you.

Perhaps if you weren’t so stubborn you might have backed down. But you see fae, had always underestimated you and your people, dismissed your kind. And now you were angry…angry that all your hard work for years had been wasted, that your loved ones had been made homeless, and that your words were never valued enough by the courts to be listened to.

There was a vibration of power in the room, your fairy dust began to quiver in the air. This energy, pure and light sung within the pockets of air in the room, and while any onlooker would assume it was Tamlin asserting his dominance, they would be quickly corrected by the shock etched into the High Lords face.

As it was your energy causing a shift. Splitting up space with beams of light, fairy dust spreading and scattering in the room, Tamlins vines began to retreat to whatever dark pit they came from.

Just as his vines cowered, Tamlin took a step back.

Just because fairies had never cared for power and control, didn’t mean they didn’t possess it.

You felt a grip on your arm, tight but gentle, and then a slight tug. It was Elodie. She had fought her way through the deadly plants, perhaps pulled by the beaconed glow you were emitting. A warning look on her face, as you tempered your power swiftly. “He’s not worth it.” 

Your gaze flickered back to Tamlin, his expression bore one of surprise. His brows furrowed, frame finally resembling something more fae than beast. His eyes flickered between the two fairies in the room, fairies he had always assumed to be glorified gardeners. You could almost see the gears in his mind turning, as he began to question everything he’d ever known about the fairies that lived in his meadows.

You didn’t want to wait for whatever reaction may come from his revelation. Elodie was right. He wasn’t worth it. You had spent more than enough time trying to save his court, it was time to save yourselves.

Straightening your back, you looked Tamlin directly in the eyes. “We can’t work here anymore, it’s not safe for us and honestly, our talents are wasted in this void.” Elodie looked at you with a proud smile, a softness in her eyes. “If you change your mind Tamlin…just call on us okay?” You didn’t wait for him to respond, simply leaving him a small conch on his desk. 

𓇢𓆸

“Where to now then?” Elodie spoke, placing her hand gently in yours as you both stood on edge of Spring court. Your eyes were still, staring at the dark shrouded forest you had always called home, no semblance of familiarity remained.

“Your cousin from Autumn wrote to us, said we could join her?” Elodie continued, squeezing your hand gently. 

Her warming touch pulled your glassy eyes from the forest behind you. Fully turning your back on the only place you’d ever known. A ripple of sadness cursed under your skin, panging in your chest.

Is this what heartache felt like? At least, some version of it you assumed.

But what help would a heartbroken fairy be to the land, to the Mother?

You held onto that. The resilience that had kept you in Spring till now, a stubbornness that wasn’t going to allow you to give up.

“How about we experience it all Elodie?” You smiled widely at your friend, pulling on those tiny slithers of hope you had left.

Elodie tilted her head, a bright smile spreading across her lips at the notion. You had both always toyed with the idea of travelling, experiencing the terrain of the other lands, furthering your studies and training in the seasons and their creatures.

“Oh do you really mean it y/n?” There was a giddiness, a spring in your friend's step that hadn’t been there for a while.

“We could go see it all, the Pegasus’ of Day, catch a tan in Summer…even check out those Illyrians you find so handsome in Night,” She teased, bumping her shoulder against yours.

You were laughing now, like a pair of young girls again. Linked arm in arm as you took the first steps out of Spring. An excitement simmered in your gut, of what adventures would unfurl, what type of people you would meet.

You weren’t sure what this next chapter would bring, where you would find yourself in a year's time. But as you glanced back over your shoulder, the darkness of Spring feeling further and further, you hoped one day beauty would return to your home.

Whether you would also return to it, only time could tell.

a/n: I felt like fairy deserved a little backstory <3 show aspects of her character you perhaps haven't seen yet! But yes for those wondering...her and Elodie will absolutely be going on a girls trip across the land. Who would you like them to meet before they end up in Night Court? 👀 I'm sure Helion would be an amazing host and would adore her and Elodie...there's also Autumn, her cousin is there so it would only make sense if she meets Eris right?? What mischief do you think these two get up to? and with who? 😏

forever tags: @lilah-asteria @illyrianbitch @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan

wings tags: @megscabinetofcurios @minaethrym @scorpioriesling