#the heart of the night court

[wingedblooms]

A promise of spring

Years ago, I noticed this little detail and began to theorize about it in Forbidden secrets, and hofas has only reinforced that plot thread. This could just be a hint for Lucien and co, who show up later, but I do think we might see spring come to the heart of the Night Court at long last.

Elain is first revealed to the Illyrians by Mor, whose power is Truth. She is a blooming flower in Illyria, and her focus is not on the warriors, but the rocky ground.

Even in the middle of winter, she is a bloom of color and sunshine.

And in the House of Wind, she is a promise of spring.

So, maybe Ramiel and the land around Illyria don’t need more death and destruction, but life and joy and beauty from a gardener’s hands.

Thanks to @silverlinedeyes for encouraging me to share these connections! 💕

[illyrianbitch]

Beneath the Ashes of Our Broken Oaths

Pairing: Morrigan's Sister!Reader x Azriel

Summary: After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Morrigan’s twin sister, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience. Torn between your anger and a desire to protect the good, you begrudgingly agree and are forced to face memories of a past life and the unsettling presence of Azriel– the first man you ever loved.

Warnings: ANGST, Helion being compassionate and its sexy, Inner Circle slander (sorry feyre baby), Y/N is kind of a bitch (but its warranted and a slay), family trauma.

Word Count: 2.9k

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was Helion, the High Lord of Day, who had seen the flicker of hope in your eyes. A man of discerning wisdom, he recognized your yearnings of a better world. He knew you, he knew your heart, and he trusted your vision— with the promise of your support shall he need it. You knew that your support, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing to Helion. He had always held a heart of gold, of understanding, and he would have helped you without anything in return. But you had insisted, declared that you needed to give him something to thank him. Your support, he had agreed on. It was all you had left, anyway. 

Now, you stood before him, pleading. Your chest was tight and a calm panic filled your veins. You needed to act. You needed to keep things in place.

"Helion, please," your voice, normally composed, now carried a tremor, a plea that hung in the air, reeking of desperation. Low light poured through stained glass windows as the sun slowly set, painting a kaleidoscope of muted colors on the marble floors.

His eyes, usually filled with warmth, held a regretful sympathy. 

"Y/N, I wish I could," He replied, his voice caressing the air,  "But with the current state of affairs and your father’s growing paranoia, it's too risky. I can't jeopardize my people. My help is needed elsewhere."

Approaching you, he extended a large hand, gently cupping your chin, his touch reassuring and pained. "Give me some time, sweetheart."

Desperation deepened in your eyes, and the intensity of your plea swelled. Aching with fear and worry, your gaze remained locked on his. "I don’t have time. Hewn City corrupts swiftly. You know this.”

Helion sighed, a sound filled with a blend of both compassion and helplessness. "Perhaps you should reach out to Rhysand. His influence might help, now more than ever."

Yor felt a bitterness surface, like bile rising through your throat. A soft scoff left your mouth as you roughly pulled Helion’s hand away from your chin, withdrawing from his touch in offense. "Rhys had a chance to help. He didn’t. He couldn’t care less. I won’t go crawling to him."

Helion's gaze softened, a tender response to your rough tone. He let out a sigh and pulled you close to him once more. His touch sent a wave of comfort through you, something that happened often when you visited him to discuss these things. Helion was a man who loved physical connection— you didn’t mind it. It made you feel seen, understood. Now, you craved that feeling more than ever.

 "I don’t understand this contempt you hold. Surely they will want to help you. They miss you."

You rolled your eyes at this. Of course Helion would think so. As much as you trusted him and his admiration for you, he always did love your family. Your sister and your cousin would always be in your life, tied to you in one way or another. Frustration tinged your voice. 

"It's too late. Going to Rhysand now would draw unwanted attention or, worse, he’d halt my efforts because of some perceived danger."

There was a moment of silence, and your eyes bounced around the room, searching for somewhere to land that wasn’t Helion's burning gaze. Once more, he moved a hand to gently cradle your face.

"You cannot foresee every outcome. You're not a mind reader, Y/N."

A bitter laugh escaped you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "I might as well be when it comes to family."

 "You've accomplished so much. Allow yourself a reprieve. You can't bear the weight of the innocents lives in Hewn City alone."

You blinked away the tears that welled in your eyes as you admitted, "I can't afford to stop. If I do, they'll think I've given up." 

"No," Helion asserted, his voice unwavering. "Your dedication is commendable, but you need to care for yourself. Let me help you."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him, his brows furrowed slightly and a sad smile on his face. He moved his hand once more, gently tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then, he ran a finger along it, a soft caress carried by a weight of understanding. You shuddered at the lightness of his touch. 

 "Stay, Y/N,” He suggested, his voice smooth and low, “Let me be a distraction. You take care of others; let someone take care of you."

You leaned slightly into his caress, feeling the warmth radiating from his hand. A fleeting sense of comfort teased at the edges of your weary soul. Yet, reality swiftly reasserted its grasp, and you gently withdrew, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

"I appreciate the offer," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. Your hand delicately intercepted his, guiding it away from your cheek. "But I can't afford the luxury of distraction right now."

He acknowledged your decision with a small nod. 

“I wish I could do more for you."

A tender smile found its way to your lips and you held his gaze for a fleeting moment of gratitude.

“I know.” You replied before you winnowed away, leaving the luminous embrace of the Day Court behind.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You were on edge. You had been for the last few weeks. Now, after failing to convince Helion, you could feel it catching up to you, a dark hole forming in the pit of your stomach. It felt like you were being swallowed alive, eaten by your own anxieties and fear. But you didn’t have time for this. You couldn’t risk falling apart, becoming vulnerable. No, not at a time like this.

You had mastered the art of drowning your thoughts, of discarding the weight that threatened to pull you under. Tonight would be no different. The impending storm would be weathered, as it always had been. You would begin to drink your worries away, give them time to manifest, and then shove them away into the crawlspace of your mind, free to collect dust and rot away.

You moved toward a small table where a simple platter of dark amber liquid awaited. Your fingers tightened around a small crystal glass as you poured. As the first sip touched your lips, you felt the familiar burn, a welcomed distraction. The amber liquid offered solace, if only for a fleeting moment.

And then, you stilled. The creak of the floorboards behind you announced their presence, and you felt it—a pricking at the base of your neck, the subtle disturbance of the air as someone entered, no, appeared. Your body tensed instinctively, shoulders rigid, as you ceased your movements. You took a moment to compose yourself, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply-- a futile attempt to ground yourself.

You downed the drink, the warmth spreading through your veins, and set your glass down, a definitive thud echoing in the silence as it met the table. You turned around slowly, the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety beneath your skin momentarily masked by a face of composure. The simple décor of your home surrounded you—the tattered tapestries, broken furniture—all a testament to a life you had built in the aftermath of your return. One that lacked the color that you once held.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Your voice, laced with both mockery and a hint of something darker, hung in the air.

In front of you, Rhysand stood tall and proud, a figure of authority. His eyes, once familiar and comforting, now held a look determination. His gaze held yours strongly, and for a swift moment, you saw them soften. But the tenderness quickly dissipated, his eyes narrowing with a slight tilt of his head. You ran your eyes along his face, then down his form, taking in the detailed and intricate patterns of his clothing— an embodiment of Night Court royalty. Then, you looked at him again, your jaw clenching. It had been a while since you looked into his eyes, a violet color deeply embedded into your mind. For a moment, his presence consumed your thoughts, distracting you from the other man that you felt in your home.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark figure stepping out from the corners of your room. A darkness licked at your skin.

"Hello, Azriel," you acknowledged him, your eyes remaining fixed on Rhysand.

Azriel's presence was a dark whisper. The edges of your room seemed to blur with shadows as he stood there, a silent observer.

"I’ve come to request your help," Rhysand's voice cut through the stillness, his words carrying the weight of urgency.

Your response was swift, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that's rich."

The corners of the room seemed to darken further as Rhysand's frustration manifested in the clenching of his jaw. The subtle play of shadows accentuated the lines on his face, revealing the strain of a desperate plea.

"Please hear me out."

You shook your head. They shouldn’t be here. This was risky, dangerous. You needed them to leave. They needed to disappear, to let you go and never find you again. That was the only way you would be able to survive.

But every fiber in your being was screaming to do the opposite, to embrace your cousin and explain to him, tell him everything. You wanted to get on your knees and beg for the kindness he always showed you, to ask him about your sister. For him to tell you about his life, his love, his child. But you couldn’t. And from inside you, your heart tugged you to Azriel, his stoic form. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to catch his gaze. It was all so wrong. This disconnect, this anger you felt for them, for your situation, for yourself… it was eating you up. But this wasn't the time. So you pulled your thoughts together and focused on the one thing that had never let you down: your fire.

You reminded yourself of the resentment you held, deep down. Reminded yourself of how they had failed you, separated themselves from you, your vision, and the suffering of the good people here, in Hewn City— your city. Rhysand's city.

Ignoring his original words, you looked at Rhysand with the hint of a wicked grin on your face.

"Where’s your child bride? I heard she’s reading at the same level as your babe. You must be overjoyed."

Rhysand's expression tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface. The mention of his mate touched a clear nerve, and for a brief moment, you reveled in the discomfort you had caused. It was a twisted satisfaction, a way to regain some sliver of control in this unexpected encounter.

His temper flared, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability replaced by a presence of anger that you knew all too well. He bit down on his frustration, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure. But you pressed on.

“I’m only kidding, take a joke, Rhysand. 500 years and you still have the emotional regulation of a teenager. Nice to see some things don’t change."

Rhysand's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and confusion, observing you and your wall of icy nonchalance. His name sounded foreign on your lips, spoken with such malice and distaste. Even the last time he had seen you, during a bloody war against Hybern, you had not been so venomous. This was a fact you both thought of as you stood here, now, in front of one another again. You moved gracefully through the room, ignoring their presence, and opened a small box that sat on your table. The delicate aroma of sugar wafted through the air. You took a seat.

Azriel and Rhysand exchanged glances. Your fingers idly played with the box, an ornate creation that held delicate, candied treats. With an almost casual indifference, you brought one of the sweet confections to your mouth, savoring the taste as if the weight of their presence meant nothing to you. You could feel the tension building in the atmosphere, heightened by their growing sense of agitation and frustration. It radiated off of them like heat. You welcomed it with open arms, like a freezing child in the cold.

"These are the loveliest desserts,” You explained, bringing the candy close to your face with an examining eye, “Hard to come across here. But I know a guy.”

“Want one?" you offered, dropping your candy back into the box and extending it toward Azriel, whose stoic expression remained unchanged.

"What? Doggy can’t take a treat?" You taunted with a measured smile. You didn’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, or the way his shadows began to snake up his arms, angry and riled up.

A tense silence lingered as Azriel remained perfectly unmoving, his eyes holding a depth of attentiveness that made you uncomfortable. But the discomfort within you sought distraction, and you continued with your mockery. You waved your hands in the air as a dismissal.

"Bah, you guys are no fun."

The room felt charged as you baited them, your attempts to deflect the gravity of their visit becoming slowly evident in every casual gesture.

Rhysand's frustration reached a boiling point, and he took a step forward, shifting the conversation.

"We didn't come here for sweets and jests. We came for you."

You chuckled, a sound that held a bitter edge. "Me? You must be desperate, Rhysand."

A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes, swiftly replaced by a steely resolve. "There are rumors of rebellion here,” He took a pause, glancing around the room as if he was contemplating continuing. He spoke again, “But, I'm dealing with a larger threat that has me on the defense. I cannot afford an uprising."

Your laughter cut through the air like a blade. "Is the idea of civil unrest among your people an inconvenience? My, what an issue, must be terrible."

Rhysand's patience waned, his features hardening. "Stop this, Y/N. We need your help to prevent a disaster."

You leaned back against your furniture, your eyes narrowing as you regarded him with a chilling indifference. "I've heard nothing about any unrest. You've wasted a trip."

Rhysand's gaze bore into yours, an unspoken challenge. "Azriel has been in Hewn City, gathering information. He's heard the rumors. I know you're lying."

In that moment, a silent battle waged within you. The desire to help, to make a difference, warred against the fear of exposing yourself to the dangers lurking beyond your sanctuary. The memories of the past, the reasons you returned, echoed in your mind. You wanted to help, but you knew their presence could unravel the delicate life you had crafted.

Rhysand's voice softened, a genuine plea beneath the layers of frustration. "Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. Why do you refuse to acknowledge that?"

Then, his eyes softened, sensing a crack in your facade. Inner turmoil clouded your eyes as you locked gazes with him. The conflict within you played out in the subtle tremor of your fingers, a telltale sign of something bubbling beneath your icy exterior. But as quickly as it manifested, you shut it down, fast enough to resolve Rhys of his attentive eyes. He swallowed and fixed his composure.

"Azriel has gained information that it's not just a rise against me. There are whispers of a rebellion against Keir himself. I need you to listen for information from your father."

Your father. A wave of nausea rippled throughout your body and you clenched your jaw in response. The title sounded strange coming from Rhysand, a stark reminder of your place here, of your place in his family. No, no. You thought. I will not let them see me falter.

Rhysand continued, "Azriel has gathered intelligence, but we need someone on the inside. We need you."

A cynical smile now played on your lips as you taunted them, "Maybe it's time for a change. The mighty High Lord struggling to keep control – how novel."

Azriel, who had maintained a cold silence until now, spoke up for the first time, taking a heavy step forward towards where you sat.

"We both know you do not mean that."

You turned your gaze to him, eyes dark. "And what do you know about what I mean, Azriel? You don't know anything about me."

Rhysand put a hand out in front of Azriel’s form, biting back his retort. The room hung heavy as you finally declared, "You've overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."

Rhysand's eyes met yours with a determined glint.

"I will be back. Family does not give up."

His words pulled out a surge of anger bubbling within you. Family? Without a second thought, you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. "Family, huh?" Your voice dripped with bitterness, and you moved toward him, anger etched on your face.

But before you could reach him, Rhysand winnowed away with a controlled fury, leaving Azriel lingering.

Azriel stood still, his eyes slightly narrowed, his brows furrowed at you. You met his gaze and felt a wave of guilt through your body, filling the hole where your fury once was a second before. If you didn’t know any better, it seemed as if Azriel was….. Disappointed? Hurt? But you stabilized yourself, pushing the observation away. Your anger, raw and unfiltered, had an intensity that took even him by surprise. He held your gaze. Then, like a wisp of darkness, he too disappeared, leaving you alone with the remnants of unresolved tension and the taste of bittersweet candied treats lingering in the air.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

a/n: hello hello!! welcome to my lil new fic!! im new here and i have no idea what im doing but i hope at least one person enjoys what has become my creative fictional baby. when i tell you this story has a place in my HEART....y/n here is multilayered and complex and flawed but that is why i love her!! serving cunt 24/7!!!

tumblr scares me so any feedback is so very loved and any advice is great too!! mwuah

[macel625]

It seems like Illyrians are also in the habit of fucking their brothers, too.

No, but really. Cassian and Rhys are mates, and I stand by that

[multistanninglifestyle]

[loneliestluvr]

Hi! I just had an idea about how Lucien and Reader would go out on their first date since their baby's birth, and like they hire a babysitter for the evening. And like Lucien and Reader (mostly Lucien tough) would be soooo anxious and missing their child. Like it would take everything in them to control themselves and just enjoy their date. I would love it if you could make a fic about that 🥲💕 If not, thanks anyway for just taking the time to read it. (Oh! And maybe their child could be a girl? I totally imagine Lucien as a girl dad.)

Hope you have a great day!

the hardest thing.

pairing: lucien vanserra x reader

synopsis: after letting feyre and rhys convince you to go out with them for the first time since your daughters birth, lucien is feeling a bit anxious about having to leave her.

warnings: birth-ish, breastfeeding(brief mention), leaving your newborn for the first time, anxiety, a bit of angst and fluff.

word count: 1.5k

taryn thinks: this request was honestly so cute to write and i so see lucien acting like this. sigh, girl dad lucien. and i know you said ‘go on a date’, so i’m leaving it if people want to see that. i would gladly figure out a part 2 of this with the actual date i just had this part of the idea in my head immediately and needed to write it out as soon as i got your request. that’s it. much love, t 🥹💕

“Do you think she’ll be scared?”

You and Lucien had not left your daughter in nearly three months. You didn’t want to. Didn’t have a need to. The little spitfire who’d inherited her fathers coppery tuft of hair claimed all of your attention at all hours of day and neither you nor Lucien minded one bit. It was you three against the world it felt like.

After having a baby, the bond had only grown between you and Lucien. You only really ever needed each other, and your daughter of course. Your Lucelia, named after her father as a token of love for your mate. He’d wanted you to pick the name since it was a female and he’d been convinced she would look exactly like you.

How wrong he was. You took one glance at that screaming babe, tears welled in your eyes, her eyes, and Lucien’s— you just knew. That curly red hair, her golden eyes like his with a ring of green around the iris like yours and the tanner skin— she was undeniably his. The indications only grew with time.

Lucien had said ‘Thank you’ and kissed your sweat slick forehead, stroking your hair while you both cried as they placed your daughter onto your bare chest. He’d said it what felt like over a thousand times that day, and continues to do so.

Looking at your mate, the love of your life, your eyes softened. He was standing in your daughter's nursery, holding her tiny body in his arms. Shirtless, pressing his skin to hers, tracing the side of her face with his nose, etching it into memory. His hair tied back and out of the way as if he hadn’t wanted it to tickle her. You could tell he was worried just by the soft clicking that filled the room as his eye whirred.

He must have heard you coming, having woken in the midst of the night to come feed Lucelia and realized your husband was not in his rightful place next to you in bed. The mattress cold.

“Love,” You say quietly, almost a whisper on the wind that flows through the cracked window of the room. “—what has you so worried?”

“Everything.” His word is simple, but it’s his tone that tells you everything you need to know about the meticulous list going in his head. And the continuous mechanical ticking your daughter had grown accustomed to, of course. You step into the room, careful not to creak the door too loudly even though you were here to wake her anyway.

“Tell me.” You say softly, reaching your hands out to take her from him. His reluctance to let her go is endearing as he looks to you pleadingly. You only smile, tire laced in your own face and you can see as his eye dilates in the soft light of the moon before handing her over and kissing your forehead.

Cradling your daughter in one arm, you tickle her belly softly with the other, slowly swaying about the room to rock her awake. You hear his deep sigh before you turn to look up at him, his arms crossed and mouth pressed against his closed fist. The muscles in his arm straining as he watches you and you know he doesn’t want to say anything just by that look he’s giving you.

“Lucien Vanserra,” You start, sternly. Or as stern as you can manage this late in the night and as tired as you were. “—we don’t keep secrets. Talk to me, my sun.” Your voice only grows softer as you speak. Sitting in the rocking chair, shrugging off the shoulder of your robe, your babe stirs in your arms. Lucien tenses, immediately moving to try and comfort her as she starts to cry but with a soft,

“It’s alright sweetheart, mommy’s with you.” You say soothingly, her cries die out and she latches, starting to feed. “Daddy’s here too, my flower.” Smiling down at her before flicking your eyes up to meet his. “I know you know that. He’s a worrier, huh?” You whisper, but the only answer is Lucien’s scoff.

“I’m worried she’ll hate us for leaving her.”

“Lucien, we are not leaving her.” You try not to laugh, really. Seeing him so torn up honestly makes you regret letting Feyre and Rhys convince you to go on a double date. A parent double date, as Feyre had said. She, who did most of the convincing, had said it could be good to get out of the house. That if you just push through the first time, everything after will come easier. To give yourself a break.

“She’s wrong.” He says, pulling out the foot stool in front of you to sit. “I don’t need a break, nor do I want one.” His brows are furrowed as you look at him and you only hold your hand out to him. He takes it immediately.

“I know, love.”

“She’s known only us for the past three months, Y/n.” He’s pulling your hand to his mouth, peppering your knuckles with kisses to soothe himself. “And I’m sorry to say it, truly, but leaving her with your sister does not give me much faith.”

“My sister is my best friend, Lucien. I promise I wouldn’t let just anyone take care of her.” You sigh before smiling humorously at yourself, your own thoughts. “Would you rather Eris?”

He glares up at you as he presses your palm to his cheek.

“My brother wouldn’t know what to do with a babe.” He mumbles.

“She will be okay,” You cup his cheek yourself and when his eyes move to the floor you force him to look at you. “—she will.”

You both are quiet for a long time, just sitting together as a little family. He eventually pulls one of your legs up and into his lap to slowly start working the muscles. You don’t mind, you know touch is one of the ways he comforts himself. The way he cares for others, too. And you certainly don’t hide the fact that you’re watching the way the muscles of his arms and chest move.

You were so going to be having another babe soon.

Lucien catches you mid thought, your scent dragging over to him and he looks up at you. Your raised brow, bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you watch him. Lucelia had finished feeding a few minutes ago, but you didn’t say anything when you fixed yourself and adjusted her over your shoulder to burp her.

No, he had been so lost in thought that he didn’t see or hear you moving. So worried about how his heart would feel when he was apart from your daughter. Anticipating the panic that would be coursing through him, how close he would need to be to you when the two of you went out, just so he could keep her scent—your scent—in every breath. Maybe he could psych himself out of it, trick his brain into thinking that because your scents were near identical, you were both there.

A small smile tugs at his lips and he rolls his eyes, gently releasing your leg back to the floor. A blush staining his cheeks as he stood and moved the stool silently, brushing a hand down his face before reaching out for your daughter.

You let him take her, his large hands immediately cradling her against his chest and something in his face calms as he murmurs ‘my beautiful flower’.

He was weak when it came to her, weaker than you’d ever thought he’d be. You thought that it was you who would be worse, giving into her every cry and sniffle. The one sneaking off to hold her and kiss her cheeks, staying up just watching her. Maybe it was the exhaustion your body had been in constantly, but it was him who did all those things. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

He still hadn’t let any male’s hold her until she was a month old, and it was Eris then. He had still watched like a hawk and you were certain that the reason his brother had only lasted a few minutes with her in his arms was because of the way Lucien was damn near growling.

But he had still let him, and you said that even that was a big step. Leaving her, even for a little bit, was monumental.

“It’s only one or two hours, right?” Lucien asks in the dead of quiet, his gaze sliding to you.

“Mhm.” You smile, finally standing as you walk over to him with a yawn and wrap your arms halfheartedly around him. Cradling her with one arm, he rests his free hand on the small of your back. “She’ll be okay.” You nod, his thumb stroking your skin through your robe as he kisses your temple. “We’ll all be okay.”

[trench-coat-warfare]

these were the chart toppers in june 2007 do we think ms cat alvarez was bumpin these on her boombox or what

[shallyne]

SJM brushed too much over the fact, didn't go into enough detail that Feyre and Rhys slow danced until/in the early morning hours of Starfall when everyone already fell asleep or went home.

[acourtofquestions]

Make me cry with just one art piece

credits: llibiarts (on Instagram)

[boasamishipper]

tagged by @film-in-my-soul and @icemankazansky - thanks guys!! ❤️❤️❤️

Everyone deserves to toot their own horn and be proud of their work! So, this tag game is fairly simple.

Promote 5 works that you're really proud of and share a little about why you're so proud of them! Then tag as many people as you like. You can reblog this post and add on to it (why not create a giant reclist to throw around?) or steal this header (and border if you like) and make your own post.

tagging @bornforastorm @lookforanewangle @apartmentsmoke @maverickcalf @saltyfilmmajor @hacash @academicgangster @onekisstotakewithme and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it

Make A Wrong One Right

Top Gun, Iceman Kazansky/Maverick Mitchell, Goose Bradshaw & Maverick Mitchell

Maverick makes a wish and wakes up thirty years in the past. He reacts accordingly.

I've written a lot of Top Gun fics (sixty-three, to be precise, which is insane all on its own) but this fic is far and away the one I'm most proud of. Not only did I get to throw in all my favorite things (angst with a happy ending!! time travel!! magical realism!! back to the future references!!), I got the chance to explore in a more subtle way just how much Mav loves Ice, and tackle fun existential questions like, Would you change the past if it meant you might lose the future you love? And I feel like I balanced all of the above and stuck the landing really well! (Honestly, the whole story was worth writing just for the bit in chapter three where Mav calls Ice 'baby' without thinking and Ice bluescreens so hard he drops what he's holding.)

there's a raging fire in my heart tonight

Top Gun&MCU, Iceman Kazansky/Maverick Mitchell, Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, Carol Danvers & Iceman Kazansky, Iceman Kazansky & Tony Stark, MCU/Coherent Storytelling

“Carol, you can’t bring a civilian into this—” “Civilian?” The temperature in the room seems to drop twenty degrees as Ice steps forward, flinty-eyed and deadly serious. “I’m a captain. And I earned my rank, which is more than I can say for you, Rogers. Thanos killed my husband. You want to stop me from helping you out, you’re going to have to shoot me.” Silence stretches out, long and fraught with tension. Then Stark laughs out loud, and everyone turns to look at him. “What?” he says. “I like this guy.”

This was the first Top Gun fic I ever published, and the first Top Gun fic I wrote on my own. (At the time, I was working on baby, baby, i'd get down on my knees for you with the fantastic @academicgangster, without whom I never would have gotten into Top Gun or on the Tom Cruise train at all.) Naturally my first foray into this fandom ended up being this chaotic, complicated beast of a fic, where I wrote my faves Iceman Kazansky and Tony Stark and Carol Danvers side by side, fixed all my issues with Avengers: Endgame, and gave everyone the happy ending they deserved (especially after all the additional angst I put them through). I had a blast writing this fic and rambling about all the details with Cain (without her support this fic would never have left our tumblr DMs). There were a lot of plot points to juggle, and I managed to juggle them all. So though I've definitely grown as a writer in the (oh god) five years since, I still look back on this fic very fondly, and very proudly. And who knows, maybe someday I'll go back to this series and write more of Ice accidentally acquiring a son in Tony Stark and a granddaughter in Morgan. (Famous last words, I know.)

Judge Leon AU

Night Court (1984) / Night Court (2023), Dan Fielding/Harry Stone, Dan Fielding & Leon, Olivia Moore/Donna "Gurgs" Gurganous, Neil Valluri/Gabby

When his court-assigned public defender quits on his first night as an arraignment judge at Manhattan Criminal Court, Leon decides to reach out to his old foster father, Harry Stone, for advice. He finds Harry's widower, Dan Fielding, instead.

shot:

chaser:

I could not tell you for the life of me why the hands down angstiest fics I've ever written ended up being for an 80s sitcom whose plotlines include a ventriloquist's dummy committing suicide and my blorbo getting so horny he had to fuck a firehose about it, but here we are!! Over sixty-four thousand words later!!

In all seriousness, though, I'm extremely proud of this series. I have a lot of issues with New Night Court (I have a post in my drafts about that), namely that it lacks the edge and darkness that made the original so good, and this series gave me the opportunity to restore that edge and really make us feel Harry's loss, as well as the loss of almost all the other main cast members. I get to be goofy (a man holds the gang hostage on the advice of members of his favorite subreddit) and I get to be angsty (delve deeply into Dan's low self-worth and depression and grief post-Harry's death) and in all the spaces between, I get to write about how much Harry and Dan loved each other (and develop Leon and Dan's growing bond), and I do it all very, very well. (Certainly better than the NNC writers. Let me into the writers' room, guys!! Help me help you!!)

Austin Alone

9-1-1 Lone Star, Billy Tyson/Owen Strand

After the reopening of the 126, Billy and Owen give being friends with benefits a try. Inconvenient feelings ensue. / Season 3 AU, Owen-centric.

I co-wrote this fic with the lovely @lilalbatross while season 3 was still airing, and not only were we so in tune with the characters and the show that our fic accidentally predicted the future (exploration of Owen's abandonment issues! Owen getting trapped in a collapsed building!), but this fic set my standards so high that now the show can no longer reach it. (To be fair, this is largely because Lone Star decided to become the Tarlos and Wyatt Show above all else, but that's a rant for another day.) I'm proud as hell of this fic for a lot of reasons - I got Billy and Owen's voices down pat, put them in mortal peril that was realistic to the show, and wrote some banger lines of dialogue and prose that made me take honest to god victory laps around my house. The entirety of (the very long) chapter 6 might be some of my best work of all time.

For A Minute There I Lost Myself

Ted Lasso, Nathan Shelley & Original Male Character(s), Nathan Shelley & Ted Lasso, Nathan Shelley & Rupert Mannion

Nathan Shelley and the road to redemption.

[sigh] Really it's such a shame that Ted Lasso never got a season three and so we never got to see Nate grow and thrive at West Ham and bond with his players and stand up to Rupert and become more confident in himself and his ability as a coach and apologize to Ted and just in general have a redemption arc that was not centered on some random one-dimensional mean waitress or his ability to play the violin. But at least we have this fic!

I wrote FAMTILM for Yuletide in 2021. I'd never written Nate's POV before - all my Ted Lasso fics up to this point were about Sam and Dani - so I'm proud of myself for being able to capture the nuances of Nate's voice and write the slow growth of Nate's self-esteem and realization that he was in the wrong and his affection for his players (particularly Višnjić and Roubeni, who are in my top ten favorite OCs I've ever created). I'm also very proud of myself for taking what could have been a 30k word story and telling it just as well in under 8k, and writing a full Natedemption arc in less than a month that turned out to be ten times better than what Sudeikis and co accomplished in twelve bloated episodes.

[small-z24]

One-Shot: Bargain in the Shadows Pt. 2

Summary: 

Y/N, a prisoner, strikes a bargain with Azriel to share information about a dark prophecy. Navigating mistrust and hostility, she hides a critical secret about her role in the prophecy, determined to find a way to save Prythian without sacrificing herself.

Word Count: 2510

Warnings: This one-shot contains themes of sacrifice, intense grief, and loss. It features emotional and heart-wrenching scenes, as well as depictions of magical rituals and the pain of broken bonds. Reader discretion is advised.

The Night Court gathered in the war room, the tension palpable. Rhysand stood at the head of the table, a large map of the Hewn City spread out before him. Y/N sat next to Azriel, her expression one of focused determination. The rest of the Inner Circle—Feyre, Cassian, Mor, and Amren—were arranged around the table, their attention fixed on the High Lord.

“Tonight, we move to retrieve the key,” Rhysand began, his voice steady. “Azriel and Y/N will infiltrate the Court of Nightmares. The key is hidden in the depths of the Hewn City, and it’s imperative that we retrieve it without alerting the denizens.”

Azriel nodded, his expression serious. “We’ll be in and out before they even know we were there.”

Y/N smirked, her confidence evident. “Piece of cake.”

Rhysand’s gaze flickered to her, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m counting on your skills, Y/N. This mission is crucial.”

She met his gaze evenly. “I won’t let you down.”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Y/N. “Remember, the shadows can be both an ally and a foe. Stay vigilant.”

Y/N nodded, her mind already working through the plan. “Understood.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “And if things go south?”

Azriel’s shadows flickered around him. “We won’t let it come to that.”

Mor and Amren exchanged a glance, their skepticism clear. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a flicker of irritation at their doubt, but she pushed it aside. She had a job to do.

Rhysand rolled up the map, his expression resolute. “Good luck. We’ll be ready to assist if needed.”

As the meeting concluded, Azriel and Y/N prepared to depart. Azriel secured his weapons, his movements efficient and precise. Y/N watched him, a playful glint in her eyes.

“You know, Azriel,” she said, leaning closer, “out of all the bat boys, you’re definitely the most attractive.”

Azriel’s hand paused for a moment before continuing. He looked up at her, his expression a mix of amusement and surprise. “Is that so?”

She smiled, her tone teasing. “Absolutely. And those shadows of yours? Very intriguing.”

Azriel shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Focus, Y/N. We have a job to do.”

She winked at him. “Oh, I’m focused. Don’t worry.”

They left the House of Wind, the cool night air wrapping around them as they made their way to the Hewn City. The journey was silent, both of them lost in their thoughts.

When they arrived at the entrance to the Court of Nightmares, Azriel turned to Y/N, his expression serious. “Stay close and follow my lead.”

She nodded, her demeanor shifting to one of concentration. “Lead the way, shadowsinger.”

They slipped into the shadows, their forms blending seamlessly with the darkness. The labyrinthine corridors of the Hewn City stretched out before them, filled with danger and secrets. Azriel’s shadows whispered around them, guiding their steps and alerting them to any threats.

Y/N moved with grace and precision, matching Azriel’s every step. She marveled at his skill, feeling a growing respect for him. Despite their rocky start, they made an excellent team.

As they ventured deeper into the city, Azriel glanced at Y/N, his eyes filled with curiosity. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

She smirked, her eyes flickering with amusement. “Surprised I can keep up?”

He shook his head. “Impressed, actually.”

They continued in silence until they reached a large, ornate door. Azriel’s shadows confirmed what they already suspected: the key was inside. Azriel motioned for Y/N to stand back as he worked on the lock. She watched him, her heart pounding with anticipation.

Finally, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit chamber. In the center, on a pedestal, sat an intricately designed key. Azriel and Y/N stepped inside, their senses on high alert.

“Let’s make this quick,” Azriel murmured, approaching the pedestal.

Y/N followed, her eyes scanning the room for any traps. “Agreed.”

Azriel reached for the key, but as his fingers closed around it, a shiver ran down Y/N’s spine. She grabbed his arm, pulling him back just as the pedestal began to glow with a sinister light.

“Trap,” she hissed, her eyes wide.

Azriel nodded, his expression grim. “We need to disarm it.”

They worked together, their movements synchronized as they dismantled the trap. Y/N’s heart raced, her mind focused on every detail. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

Finally, the glow faded, and Azriel retrieved the key. He turned to Y/N, a look of genuine admiration in his eyes. “You saved us. Thank you.”

She shrugged, trying to hide the warmth that spread through her at his words. “Just doing my part.”

As they made their way out of the chamber, the air between them felt charged with unspoken tension. Y/N couldn’t help but steal glances at Azriel, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions.

Back in the main corridors, they moved swiftly, their mission almost complete. But Y/N’s mind was elsewhere. She knew that the prophecy meant her death, and she was desperate to find another way. The key was just one piece of the puzzle.

As they neared the exit, Azriel caught her arm, pulling her into a shadowy alcove. “Y/N, are you alright? You seem... distracted.”

She looked up at him, her heart aching with the weight of her secret. “I’m fine. Just thinking about what comes next.”

His eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she wondered if he could see through her facade. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

She nodded, but her thoughts were far from reassured. She needed to find a way to break the prophecy without sacrificing herself, and she was running out of time.

They emerged from the Hewn City, the night air a welcome relief. As they made their way back to the House of Wind, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a growing connection to Azriel. He was more than just a means to an end—he was someone she could trust.

Back at the House of Wind, they were greeted by the rest of the Night Court. Rhysand’s eyes flicked to the key in Azriel’s hand, a look of relief crossing his features.

“Well done,” Rhysand said, his voice filled with genuine praise.

Y/N’s heart swelled with a mix of pride and anxiety. The mission was a success, but the real challenge was just beginning. She had to find a way to change her fate, and she needed Azriel’s help more than ever.

As they debriefed, Y/N felt Azriel’s gaze on her, a silent promise of support. She knew she couldn’t do this alone, and for the first time, she allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to save Prythian—and her life—together.

The Night Court gathered in the war room, tension palpable. Y/N and Azriel had successfully retrieved the key, and now they faced the daunting task of deciphering the prophecy’s final steps. As they pored over ancient texts and cryptic symbols, Y/N’s heart pounded with dread. The time was running out, and she still hadn’t found a way to avoid the ultimate sacrifice.

Days turned into weeks of grueling research and planning. Y/N spent countless hours with Azriel, the two of them working side by side, their bond slowly deepening. She still felt the hostility from the rest of the Night Court, but Azriel’s presence was a constant comfort. He had begun to trust her, and that trust was something she held onto with desperate hope.

One evening, Y/N found herself in the library of the House of Wind, her eyes strained from reading ancient scrolls. Azriel entered, carrying a tray with two mugs of steaming tea.

“Thought you could use a break,” he said, his voice soft.

She looked up, a tired smile spreading across her face. “Thank you, Azriel. I think I’ve forgotten what a break feels like.”

He sat down beside her, handing her a mug. “You’ve been working tirelessly. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

Y/N took a sip, savoring the warmth. “It’s hard to think about self-care when the fate of Prythian is at stake.”

Azriel’s gaze softened. “I know. But you’re not alone in this. We’re in it together.”

She looked at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. “I appreciate that, Azriel. More than you know.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world outside faded away. Y/N felt a flicker of something deeper, something that scared her as much as it thrilled her. She quickly looked away, breaking the spell.

“Tell me more about the shadows,” she said, eager to change the subject. “They seem to have a mind of their own.”

Azriel chuckled, the sound low and soothing. “They do. They’ve been with me for as long as I can remember. They’re more than just a part of me; they’re my companions, my protectors.”

Y/N reached out, her fingers brushing against the shadows that lingered around him. “They seem to like me.”

He smiled, watching the shadows curl around her hand. “They do. They trust you.”

“Do you trust me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel’s eyes darkened with emotion. “I do. Against my better judgment, perhaps, but I do.”

She looked at him, her heart aching with the weight of her secret. “Thank you, Azriel. That means a lot.”

As the days passed, Y/N and Azriel continued to grow closer. They trained together, honing their skills and preparing for the final confrontation. The rest of the Night Court still eyed her with suspicion, but Y/N found solace in Azriel’s quiet support.

One night, as they stood on the balcony overlooking Velaris, Y/N felt a wave of fear wash over her. The prophecy loomed ever closer, and she still hadn’t found a way to change her fate.

“Azriel,” she began, her voice trembling, “what if I told you there was more to the prophecy than I’ve let on?”

He turned to her, his eyes filled with concern. “What do you mean?”

She took a deep breath, her hands shaking. “The prophecy… it demands a sacrifice. A life for the power to stop the darkness.”

Azriel’s expression hardened. “Whose life?”

She hesitated, looking away as she spoke in a riddle. “A shadow must give way to the light, and in its sacrifice, the dawn will rise.”

He frowned, trying to decipher her words. “What are you saying?”

Y/N shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Just promise me, Azriel. Promise you’ll find the dawn, even if the shadow fades.”

Azriel’s heart broke at her words, but he nodded, pulling her into a tight embrace. “I promise.”

The day of the ritual arrived, and the air was thick with anticipation. The Night Court gathered at the ritual site in the Court of Nightmares, their expressions grim. Y/N stood at the center, the key clutched in her hand.

Azriel approached her, his heart pounding. “Y/N, please. There has to be another way.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of determination and sorrow. “There isn’t, Azriel. This is the only way.”

He reached out, cupping her face in his hands. “I can’t lose you.”

She leaned into his touch, her voice breaking. “You have to let me go. It’s the only way to save Prythian.”

Their eyes locked, and in that moment, the bond between them felt unbreakable. But Y/N knew it was only a matter of time before it snapped.

“I love you, Azriel,” she whispered, her voice filled with pain.

Tears filled his eyes as he pulled her into a fierce embrace. “I love you too, Y/N. Always.”

She stepped back, her heart breaking as she began the ritual. The air crackled with energy, and the key began to glow. The ground trembled beneath them, and a dark, swirling vortex appeared.

Azriel watched in agony as Y/N chanted the ancient words, her body glowing with an otherworldly light. He could feel their bond straining, the connection between them growing weaker.

“Y/N, no!” he cried, his voice filled with desperation.

But she continued, the words spilling from her lips like a lifeline. The vortex grew, consuming the light around them. Azriel’s heart raced as he realized too late what was happening.

He lunged forward, trying to reach her, but an invisible force held him back. “No! Y/N, stop!”

She turned to him one last time, her eyes filled with love and sorrow. “Remember the dawn, Azriel. Always remember.”

With a final, searing flash of light, the vortex consumed her. Azriel fell to his knees, his heart shattering as he felt their bond snap. The pain was excruciating, a void where their connection had been.

Rhysand and the others approached, their expressions somber. Rhysand placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his voice gentle. “She saved us.”

But Azriel couldn’t hear him. His world had been torn apart, and nothing else mattered. He looked at the place where Y/N had stood, his heart aching with a pain he had never known.

“She was my mate,” he whispered, his voice choked with grief. “And I didn’t even get to tell her.”

The Night Court stood in silence, their victory hollow without Y/N’s presence. Azriel’s shadows curled around him, offering a semblance of comfort, but it wasn’t enough. The bond that had brought him hope and love was gone, leaving him in darkness.

As the days passed, Azriel’s grief consumed him. He withdrew from the others, unable to bear the reminders of what he had lost. The key remained, a symbol of their sacrifice and victory, but it offered no solace to his shattered heart.

He spent his nights in the House of Wind, haunted by memories of Y/N. The shadows whispered her name, but she was gone, and the void she left behind was unbearable. He would never forget the love they had shared, brief as it was, and the price they had paid to save Prythian.

One night, as he sat alone in the darkness, the meaning of her riddle finally struck him. “A shadow must give way to the light, and in its sacrifice, the dawn will rise.” She had known all along that she was the sacrifice, that her death was the key to their salvation.

Azriel’s heart broke anew, the realization tearing through him. She had given everything to save them, and he had been powerless to stop it.

In the end, Azriel was left with a broken heart and a world saved, but at the cost of the one person who had truly understood him. And as he looked out over Velaris, the city they had fought so hard to protect, he vowed to honor her memory, even if it meant living with the pain of her loss for the rest of his life.

[wingedblooms]

Maybe when Elain—the third face of the Mother—finally brings Spring to Ramiel, the land and Wyrd will be healed in body as well as spirit.

Three sacred sister peaks.

Two out of the three have been explored.

No one was ever curious enough to see what lay at the heart of the third.

And we have three blessed sisters. Two out of the three have been explored.

No one ever really looked at what lay in the heart of the third.

I cannot wait to unearth her secrets. To see what truly lays at her heart in the next book.

[bloomingdarkgarden]

some semblance of azriel with a rare smile.

if amarantha made me choose between murdering 1000 people or seeing him like this one time…

adieu, bishes 🔪

[problemduetest4life]

Some Nights by fun. is so TSC coded I'm not joking

[alexcabotgf]

not to be true crime posting on main but i think i'm falling down the wm3 rabbit hole again

[romanticatheartt]

I know this might not be very popular but I would've loved to see Feyre ruling over the Night Court all by herself after acowar.

It would've been such an interesting concept and gut wrenching at the same time.

bonus: imagine her being also pregnant with their son... I'm making myself cry for no fkn reason help

[43sol]

lunapii lunapyon my beloved below cut is terrible joke 😬