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Chapter 29: The Day Court Part 1

The moment they arrived at the Day Court, an attendant approached her. “Lady Archeron, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the first of our libraries so you may begin your…research project,” the attendant finished uncertainly.

“The first of your libraries?” Elain repeated, the barest hint of incredulity ringing in her voice. “How many are there?” 

“Hundreds,” a booming voice responded. Elain glanced up to see Helion striding down the sweeping staircase of the entrance hall, a broad smile on his face. He gave Feyre a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to the Day Court, all of you,” he beamed. “I was excited to hear you would be coming to visit.”

“Sorry - did you say you have hundreds of libraries?” Lucien asked. 

“Yes,” Helion replied. “Some larger than others, of course…but yes, hundreds. Most are organized by topic or the century in which they were written. Do you have any guidance on the information you are hoping to find? Perhaps then we can direct you to the most likely library that will contain that information.”

Elain blinked. “Um…to be honest, I don’t know exactly what we’re looking for,” she confessed. “I had a vision, you see, in one of your libraries. It had dark mahogany wood and huge, arching windows and intricate gold detailing and-”

“That sounds like the Hall of the Hallowed,” interrupted Helion. “One of our largest collections, located in one of our tallest towers. It primarily contains books about curses, spells and hexes throughout the last few millennia.” 

“All that fun stuff,” Lucien muttered under his breath. 

Helion clapped his hands together and gestured at the attendant. “Finneal here can take the three of you to the Hall at once.”

“Actually, Helion, I was hoping to speak to you in private,” Feyre said.

“Were you now?” Helion asked, a tone of surprise in his voice.

It mimicked Elain’s own. Hadn’t Feyre said that she had business to attend to with the Day Court? If so, why wouldn’t Helion have been aware of this business beforehand? Was it “secret” business, and if so, why would Feyre not fill Elain and Lucien in?

Before she could contemplate on it any further, the attendant beckoned to them. Elain looked questioningly at her sister.

“I will catch up with you later,” Feyre promised. Maybe she was imagining it, but the High Lady’s face looked rather pale. 

Feeling like she was missing something important, but not sure what else she could do, Elain simply nodded and let the attendant lead her and Lucien down a spacious hallway. 

***

A common misconception about Azriel was that he liked being alone.

He was the Spymaster, after all, a position that required him to spend hours and hours on end in solitude, and so others often assumed that this seclusion was something he enjoyed - or, at the very least, found pleasantly comfortable. Add in his quiet voice, rather shy nature and inability to express his emotions in a robust way, and everyone simply thought he’d prefer to be alone than in the company of his chosen family and friends. 

But none of that was accurate. In fact, it was the very opposite that held true: Azriel hated being alone. 

He despised it, the quiet. The silence. The suffocating weight of solitude. 

If his childhood had taught him anything, it was the damning power of isolation. Half his youth was spent in the cellar beneath his father’s home, ensconced in darkness, with no one to talk to but himself. So Azriel knew only too well how dangerous loneliness could be; knew how it could twist your sanity and warp reality and build your desperation to cataclysmic levels. 

He was about five years old when his shadows first appeared to him. He still cannot explain why one day they were just there, as much a part of him as his limbs, like they had been there all along. And maybe they had; Az would be the first to claim that he did not fully understand the ins and outs of shadowsinging. But he had long harbored a secret belief that his shadows came as a result of his intense loneliness, of his desperate desire for someone to speak to during the endless hours in that wretched basement. The shadows heard his call for companionship - and they answered.

Now, no matter where he goes, he is never alone. He is never faced with deafening silence, not when his shadows are there to whisper to him. 

But when things get too quiet, his uneasiness returns - such as now, as he roams the strangely hushed halls of the Mortal Manor alone, his shadows swirling around him but not uttering a sound. 

Shortly after Elain and Feyre had left for the Day Court (Vanserra clutching the elder sister’s hand as they winnowed away like he had any goddamn right to, Azriel thought angrily), Rhys, Nesta and Cassian had departed as well, returning to Velaris. 

Rhys and Nesta had both tried to insist that Cassian wait a few more days before participating in something as risky as winnowing, but Cassian would have none of it. Truthfully, they didn’t have much basis for an argument: Cassian was healthier than ever, Elain’s powers having cured him entirely and wholly. Not that the others knew that last part, of course.

If he and Elain were on good terms - if hadn’t fucked things up so badly - he would have sat her down and advised her to share the extent of her powers with the rest of their court. He would promise to respect whatever decision she made, of course, and he would never threaten or coerce her into it, but after Cassian’s “miraculous” recovery, he knew it was only a matter of time before Elain’s powers were revealed entirely. And he knew that it was incredibly important that the reveal be on her terms, not anyone else’s. 

As it was, though, Azriel was still trying to sort through the last mess he’d made and was thus disinclined to dig his grave any deeper. 

A shadow swept over his collarbone in agitation. He frowned slightly, trying to listen, trying to hear what worried his wispy little friend, but all he heard was an incomprehensible buzzing. 

He froze in mid-step. Glanced at the window to his left, where the last tendrils of sunlight had just disappeared behind the sweeping hills. Night had arrived, and so Vassa’s curse must have ended - until the sun returned, at least. And she had none of her friends here to greet her. To comfort her. 

Another common misconception about Azriel was that he was cold and aloof and uncaring. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Months ago, Elain had referred to his stoic persona as a mask - and she was exactly right. He’d spent 500 years not knowing how to properly display emotions, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have them. Didn’t feel them. He felt them so deeply, so profoundly, that sometimes he thought they might just drown him. 

So he shoved them away before they could. 

But today…today, he would not do that. Shadows in tow, Azriel spun around, heading for the Queen’s Quarters.

***

“I can’t read another word,” Lucien said. “I think I might be going blind.”

“That’s very dramatic,” Elain said, only half paying attention to him as she diligently scanned the book in her hands.

Lucien groaned even more dramatically. His head dropped to the table with a resounding thud. “How are we supposed to find something important when we don’t even know what we are looking for?” 

A small huff of frustration passed through her lips. This was not the first time he’d asked Elain that question - and, just like the past four times, she had no answer for him.

They’d been in the library for at least 6 hours now. Stacks of books lay haphazardly across the table; even taller stacks were piled around them, lingering evidence of the many fruitless searches they’d experienced. Feyre still had yet to join them, and if Elain had any spare room in her head, she would have wondered why it was taking her sister so long.

Elain rubbed her temples. “I don’t know,” she replied finally. “I don’t know what we’re looking for, I don’t know what we’re doing here, I just don’t know, okay?” The last word came out sharper than she meant for it to.

“I need to walk around for a moment,” she said after a few moments, intentionally keeping her voice level. “I’ll be back.”

Without looking at Lucien, she slid out of her chair. Her legs felt like lead after sitting for so long, and her movements were stiff at first. Thankfully, her surroundings were more than enough to distract her.

The Hall of the Hallowed was even more marvelous than her vision had led her to believe. The ceiling was so high she could not even make it out; sweeping staircases with banisters made of multi-colored marble circled the space, each leading to a different level; the setting sun streamed through crystal windows, brilliant in a way only Day Court sun could be. If Elain wasn’t mistaken - and since her Fae vision was virtually perfect, she must be correct - the tapestries artfully placed between the shelves were woven with actual gold, and the effect from the sun sparkling against the material was nothing short of glorious. 

As the sun set entirely, the iron-wrought candelabras became illuminated, guiding Elain as she made her way up a small staircase and onto a new level of the Hall. She began weaving aimlessly through a new maze of shelves, picking out books at random in the hope that one of them would provide her with the unknown information she sought - the information that, she was starting to dread, might never be found. At least not in time.

At least half-an-hour later, she came to the end of the section. It was significantly darker over here, the books older and dustier. A strange but not altogether unpleasant feeling gathered at the base of her belly. 

It was then that she heard the voice.

It was the same voice that had spoken to her that night in Pentalos - the night she’d slaughtered all those soldiers; the night her powers had transcended beyond understanding, beyond reason. She still didn’t know how she’d done it. But she knew that she trusted that voice. Knew that listening to it then was one of the best decisions she’d ever made - and so why would she ignore it now?

See, the voice said, only to her. It was clear as a bell and yet rang with echoing cacophony at the same time, like a thousand ancestors were speaking to her at once, their voices lapping over each other like waves upon the shore.

Anticipation sparked through her veins. She began picking books off the shelf at random, flipping through them feverishly. 

See, the voice instructed again. Elain snapped the book she held shut and continued down the aisle. Clearly what she was supposed to find - what she was supposed to see - was further down the aisle. 

Her head swiveled back and forth as her gaze oscillated between shelves, looking for that something, waiting for that feeling of rightness to swim through her. But she felt nothing.

What am I supposed to see? She thought back desperately. 

You are looking, but you are not seeing. 

Her steps quickened as she strode down the aisle.

See, the voice said, louder than before. 

Instinctively, Elain’s eyes latched onto a volume at the end of the row. It was sticking out just a touch further than the rest of its bookmates. Silvery script danced down the dark indigo spine, spelling out a title in a language Elain didn’t recognize. 

The voice in her head had gone quiet, but it didn’t matter. This book was the one she was supposed to find, she knew it, knew it like she knew flowers and soil and growth. 

She reached out to grab the book. 

However, as she began to slide it off the shelf, the strangest thing happened. The book - and it felt strangely light, oddly hollow - wouldn’t come off the shelf. Not fully. She was only able to tip the upper part of it backward. 

And then, to her utter amazement, the shelf itself opened ever so slightly, revealing a thin gap. A chilly draft blew out of it.

A hidden passageway.

She let out a loud gasp. Mere seconds later, footsteps sounded behind her; she spun around to find Lucien staring at the newly-revealed doorway, his eyes wide as saucers. He must have heard her sound of surprise from the floor below and raced up to see what had shocked her so much.

“Holy gods,” Lucien said faintly. Elain nodded in agreement. 

“We have to see where this goes,” she said.

Lucien made a noise under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. 

“Come on,” she said, not bothering to wait for a response before slipping through the thin entryway the bookshelf had revealed. 

Quite unlike the rest of the Day Court, the passageway was formed entirely of roughly hewn stone. A drafty chill permeating the air. 

“We shouldn’t be in here,” Lucien said, appearing behind her, just like Elain knew he would. 

He was right. A secret passageway was, in its very nature, not meant to be found. But she found that she did not care all too much.

“Are you coming or not?” she asked Lucien, sending a pointed glance over her shoulder. The determined glow in her eyes was both an invitation and a challenge. 

He sighed in defeat.

“Lead the way,” he said.

***

The Queen’s Quarters was not nearly as opulent as Azriel would have expected. Instead of ornate grandeur, the wing was full of soft, muted colors and plush carpets and interconnected, dimly-lit rooms. It was like a den. Like a home.

The attendant had been weary to let him in, but somehow he’d managed to sweet talk his way through the door. Or perhaps his shadows had simply frightened the mortal into submission. 

Well done, he told his shadows silently. They started swirling around him excitedly, pleased with the praise. The corner of his mouth lifted ever-so-slightly.

He rounded the corner, coming to yet another room. The only light here came from a low burning fire. On a couch facing the fireplace lay the Mortal Queen, curled up on her side, red hair splayed around her. She was not sleeping though; Azriel could see her wide-open eyes reflecting against the firelight. 

Azriel made sure she could hear his footsteps as he approached. Without looking up, she said, “For the last time, Cartsen, I don’t need anything. I’m fine.” 

The queen sounded anything but fine. She sounded dull and lifeless and monotone, so unlike the vibrant voice of the Vassa he knew. 

He cleared his throat. “Hello.”

Vassa sat up and eyed him. “Oh. Hello,” she said with a hint of dignity, sounding slightly more like her regal self. She brought a hand up to pat down her tousled hair.  “I wasn’t expecting visitors tonight.”

“I’m sorry for dropping by unexpectedly.”

“That’s alright.”

They stared at each other. 

“Is there something you wanted?” Vassa asked after a moment. 

Azriel hesitated. This was unknown territory for him, comforting a female he’d never spent time with alone, and he didn’t want to navigate it incorrectly. Didn’t want to take a wrong turn and make things worse. 

What would Elain do? he thought. Well, she would probably know just the right thing to say, and she would make Vassa feel perfectly at ease, and they would cry and laugh and the queen would feel just absolutely wonderful by the end. But he wasn’t Elain, and he never would be.

Maybe the better question to ask was what would Elain tell me to do? Well, that was easy. He could almost hear her now, the sweet and steady cadence of her voice a melody in his ear. Just be yourself, she would say. Just be Azriel.

He shrugged. “Nothing in particular.” 

Vassa cocked her head to the side ever-so-slightly. “Oh?”

He shook his head. “Nah.” With an exaggerated sigh, he plopped down on the sofa across from her. “I was just wandering the halls, bored out of my mind and I thought, well, hanging out with you would be slightly more pleasant than hanging out with just my shadows. No offense, guys,” he said hastily as his shadows buzzed angrily around him. Just go with it, he told them silently.

Vassa’s mouth was agape. “Excuse me?” she choked out. A hint of anger blazed in her blue eyes. 

Hiding his satisfaction, he just nodded. “Yep.  I saw the sun setting and I realized that you would have shed your feathers by now, and since no one else was around, I thought you might want to hang out.”

“Shed my feathers?!” she repeated with a hiss, teeth bared. 

This time, he grinned at her. 

She sat back, her angry expression fading, although her eyes were still narrowed. “You’re winding me up,” she accused.

“You’re too smart to be wound up,” he replied. 

She snorted.

“And you have too many responsibilities to let a slight obstacle like this keep you down,” he added, a bit more quietly.

She blinked. 

He blinked back. 

Then she chuckled, rising and shaking back her long tresses. She crossed to the other side of the room and poured them both a glass of whiskey. 

She held out the tumbler. If Azriel wasn’t mistaken, there was a new light in her eyes, brilliant and bold and something like hope. “You know, Shadowsinger,” she said, “You’re a bit of a softy.”

He took the drink. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.” 

The red-haired queen inclined her head. “As do I.” 

Azriel tipped his glass toward hers. “To reputations,” he said. 

She clinked her glass with his. “To reputations.” 

They both downed their glasses in one heavy gulp.

*** 

Elain and Lucien walked for at least 30 minutes before either of them spoke. 

“I don’t like this,” the red-haired male said through his teeth, eyes darting around. 

Truth be told, neither did Elain. The passageway had hit a sharp southward decline about halfway through their trek. At this point, they must be below the ground floor of the castle, level with the dungeons; perhaps even lower for all she knew.

It was pitch black, and though she could see fine with her Fae eyes, the mere knowledge that they were walking in all-encompassing darkness - that anything could be lurking around the corner in wait - made her rather anxious. But her curiosity outweighed her nerves, and her unshakeable confidence in the journey’s inevitable answers gave her courage, so she continued down the path.

A sudden cracking sound had her jumping nearly a foot in the air. Elain blinked as light filled the corridor. 

“Sorry,” Lucien murmured. His left hand was raised slightly; floating above the center of his palm was a twisting, curling flame. 

“That’s okay,” she said, heart thundering in her chest. She nodded at the flame. “Thanks.”

The pair walked for another ten minutes or so, not encountering anything noteworthy except for a few rats - Lucien let out a terrified and ironically rat-like squeak when one skittered over his foot, which she found rather funny - before they came across an old wooden door. There was the faintest light pulsing through the cracks beneath and above it; an unnaturally golden light, brilliant and magnetic. 

They shared a wary glance. But when Elain looked back at the door, taking in the strangely pleasant golden light, a sense of calm washed over her like a summer rainshower. The light called to her the same way the voice did, enticing her forward, roping her in.

She managed to take a step forward before Lucien gripped her forearm. 

“Hold on a minute,” he said seriously. “You don’t know what you’re walking into, Elain. We need to discuss this before we go barging into some hidden lair beneath the foundation of the godsdamn Day Court -”

“I am meant to go through that door, and I am meant to meet whoever exists beyond it,” she said earnestly. Urgently. There was no time to waste, no time to argue; how did he not understand? 

“Whoever exists?” Lucien repeated incredulously. His mechanical eye whirred in its metal socket. 

“There is a presence inside that room,” Elain confirmed. “There is someone beyond that door that I am supposed to meet. And I know in my gut - in my soul - that it will do us no harm.” She believed what she was saying entirely. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that presence was of no threat to them. 

She lifted her chin. “Are you coming or not?” Without waiting for an answer, she approached the door and twisted the knob. The door opened on silent hinges.

Elain was right - there was someone behind the door. 

It was a female. She was sitting at a desk, facing away from them and poring over a large volume, muttering to herself while furiously scribbling notes on a sheaf of paper. There was no other furniture in the room beside the desk and chair, but the walls did have nooks carved out in the stone. Each nook was filled with books and a few dimly-burning candles. There were even more books on the floor, stacked neatly in towering piles throughout the cavern-like space. 

In the time it took Elain to take in her surroundings, the female had stopped writing. Slowly, she stood up and turned.

It was a priestess - or something like it. A Day Court priestess, Elain presumed, not only because of where they were but because of the signature glow that seemed to emanate from the depths of her rich and dark skin, the inherent golden ambiance that all Day Court residents seemed to carry. There were other significant differences between this female and the other priestesses she had met, as well. Instead of a soft blue gemstone, the shining circlet on her brow held a brilliantly-bright garnet; her robes were pure white instead of blue-gray; she wore no shoes on her narrow, delicate feet. 

Most telling was that she was not - could not - be Fae. At least not entirely. Elain could tell that the second she laid eyes on the priestess’ face. There was something otherworldly about her, and Elain was reminded of another non-Fae immortal who she knew; like Amren, this female was made of something different than the rest of them. 

The priestess-like figure spread her arms.

“Lady Archeron,” she said in a soft, melodious voice, inclining her head slightly. 

“Hello,” Elain breathed back. “How do you know my name?”

“I know many things, child.” The female’s eyes swept over Elain before flicking to Lucien. “Lord Lucien,” she said, her eyes shining with sudden emotion. “You are very welcome here.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Thank you,” Lucien said finally, a hint of discomfort in his tone. 

After smiling brilliantly at Lucien for an extended moment, the priestess turned her attention back to Elain.

“Seer. Kingslayer. Life-Maker. You have many names, Lady Archeron. I wonder, which do you prefer?”

“Elain,” she replied. “Just Elain.”

The female made a humming noise. “So humble. So powerful.” She cocked her head to the side. “So small,” she observed.

“I’m not that small,” Elain said defensively.

“You’re certainly not tall, though,” Lucien added in an undertone. She shot him a scowl.

“I knew you would come to see me,” the priestess told Elain, continuing as if neither of them had said a word. “I have been waiting for you.”

“How could you know that?” Elain asked. “I didn’t even know this passageway existed until an hour ago.”

“I did not know how you would find me,” the female clarified. “I just knew you would.”

“We’re going to need more of an explanation than that,” Lucien said. 

“Because to know is my gift.” She straightened up, onyx ringlets falling to her waist. “I am Isira, a Flame-Keeper of the Day Court.”

“Flame-Keeper,” Lucien repeated suspiciously. “How is that possible? Fire is a gift of the Autumn Court.”

“Calm yourself, Lord Lucien,” she said kindly. “These hands hold no fire power. The Flame that I protect is much more important than that.”

“What is this Flame you speak of?” Elain asked.

Isira crossed the room and picked up a book off the floor. She handed it to her. 

“Open it.”

She did. And then she blinked. 

“But there’s nothing here,” she said, nonplussed. 

“Yes, there is,” Isira replied.

Elain frowned. “Is this supposed to be a joke?”

“This is no joke, Lady Elain. You may not see anything when you look at these pages,” said Isira, “but I do. Only I and the other Keepers are entrusted with the knowledge in these books, and so only we can see them.” 

“Is that how you knew I was coming?” Elain asked. “From one of these invisible-worded books?”

“No, child. I knew because the Voices told me.”

“The Voices,” Elain echoed, exchanging a wary glance with Lucien.

“Yes. The Voices of Before.”

“Like…ghosts?” Lucien asked. Maybe it was the way the candlelight bounced against him, but he looked paler than usual.

“Yes. And no,” Isira responded. “My gift - and the gift of all Flame Keepers - is to know the Past.”

“How much of the Past do you know?” Lucien questioned. 

“Why, as much as we want,” the priestess said. “You see, the past, unlike the future, is solid. Stagnant. Permanent. It has already been carved into stone. 

“But so much of our past is told only in partiality - those in power, those who win wars, those who conquer - those are the ones who are allowed to write history as they wish, and often, they write it to present themselves in the best light. Often, they do not tell history as it truly happened, and so the integrity of the past is threatened.

“That is why we exist. That is why us Keepers are so important to the balance of the universe. We alone possess the truth of the past. We alone hold the knowledge of yore. We alone remember.”

“But how is that possible?” Elain asked, her eyes wide. “How can a single person know everything that has ever happened?”

Isira burst out laughing, the sound light and tinkling. “Dear child, I must not be explaining correctly. Keepers do not hold all the world’s knowledge within ourselves - but we can access it whenever we wish.”

“The Voices of Before,” Lucien murmured.

The Keeper nodded. “Exactly. Whenever we wish to learn something new - which is always, since us Keepers have an innate and unquenchable thirst for knowledge - we merely ask the Voices of Before to share with us. Sometimes they speak to us directly; sometimes they provide it to us in a book that only we can read.” She gestured vaguely to the hundreds of tomes stacked behind her, presumably with pages as blank as what she’d shown Elain. 

“Oftentimes they share with us knowledge that we did not request. That we were not even aware existed.” Isira looked steadily at Elain. “It was approximately two and a half years ago that one of the Voices of Before spoke to me about you, Lady Elain.”

Approximately two and a half years ago, Elain had recently been thrown into the cauldron. Had lost her humanity. Her heart twisted of its own accord. 

“The Voice told me of a mortal female who was recently turned Fae. It told me how the transformation occurred. It told me that when the Cauldron took her into its liquidy grasp, it  found her so lovely and purehearted and honorable that it gifted her powers beyond measure.”

Elain felt her composure begin to slip as memories of that evening clouded her head. But then Isira spoke again, and the clear, quiet voice steadied her.

“And most importantly, the Voice told me that this had happened before.”

It felt like the world stopped moving for a moment. “What?” Elain finally breathed out. “What do you mean this has happened before?”

But Isira was shaking her head. “I cannot say,” she said, “I do not know. The Voices did not share that with me. But they did tell me this: That which you seek is closer than you think.”

Lucien groaned under his breath. “Another godsdamn riddle.” 

“That which I seek…,” Elain murmured to herself. “That which I seek…” Her head shot up. There was only one thing she was seeking, truly, only one thing that would put this entire mess to an end.

“Koschei’s soul,” she said, eyes wide. “Please. You must tell me where it is.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“Then ask the Voices to tell you!” Elain begged. “If this has happened before, if this is a repeat of the past, then they will know what we should do now. They might even know exactly where Koschei’s soul is. Please, please ask them.”

But Isira was shaking her head. “The Voices would not tell me more. It is not their place to say, nor is it mine to ask again. Just remember, Lady Elain, to watch closely. Watch those around you. The answers you seek are right in front of you. You are nearly there.” 

Elain had never felt more frustrated in her entire life, and that included her complicated feelings toward both the crimson-haired male beside her and the hazel-eyed Illyrian warrior back at the Mortal Manor. She was about to start begging again when Isira suddenly shifted her attention to Lucien.

“Lord Lucien, there is something you must know as well,” she said seriously. “About the truth of your origins.”

The youngest Vanserra brother took a surprised step back. “What do you mean?” he asked, a fearful gleam in his wide eyes.

Isira owned her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, the floor started to rumble, dust filling the cavern as the rocky interior trembled viciously. Instinctively, Elain clutched Lucien’s wrist; he wrapped an arm around her waist. 

“What’s happening?” she yelled in terror. 

But her question was deemed unnecessary as the shaking immediately ceased. The dust in the room was replaced with a nearly-blinding luminescent glow. Then, after a few seconds, Lord Helion strode out of that glow.

The priestess fell to her knees and bowed her head. “High Lord, please forgive me,” she said, rocking back and forth. “The Voices asked me to share. Please understand.” 

The High Lord merely said, “I’ll speak with you later, Isira,” in a low, dangerous voice, refusing to take his gaze off of Elain and Lucien. His usual friendly and convivial face was twisted in fury.

“How dare you take advantage of my hospitality? How dare you trespass in the Caverns of the Keepers?” he snarled.

Elain’s grip on Lucien’s wrist tightened. They were in deep, deep shit.

Ummm are we the same person or…?

Warnings: 18+, angst, unrequited feelings, smut, breeding kink 

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader // Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: After your night with Eddie, you are consumed by guilt and can’t bring yourself to look at him. You avoid and ignore him until he gets fed up of your behavior towards him and corners you one night.

part one  

- 

You’re greeted by the sound of your telephone ringing as you step inside your apartment. Closing the door, you rush into the living room and reach for the phone.

“Hello?” you mumble, flopping down on the couch, you wince at the ache in your legs.

“Y/n?”

Warnings: 18+, angst, unrequited feelings, smut, slight dubcon(?), spit kink (kind of), unprotected sex, alcohol, weed, sex… all the good stuff, 9k words

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader // Steve Harrington x fem!reader // eventual Steddie x reader (maybe) 

Summary: Your love for your best friend brought you nothing but pain and heartache but an unexpected offer and the chance to forget all about your feelings might change everything. 

Note: This will be a mini series! And I totally didn’t name this series after my favorite song haha. @corrodedcorpses & @lnnlove thank you for all the ideas you gave me for this fic, they really helped me get even more inspired <3

-

He is beautiful, so beautiful it’s unfair, you curse the gods that created him. Not only is he the prettiest man you have ever laid your eyes on, he is also the kindest and sweetest person you know. Well– that’s probably only half true.

The way he smiles is almost contagious, he runs his fingers through his hair as he talks and leans closer. You blush as your eyes move down to his torso. His shirt lifted up a bit as he leaned his hand on the doorframe, allowing you to see his happy trail. God, he is so hot.

Give us all the FWB “it’s only sex” but they’re clearly idiots in love vibes!!!! Can’t wait for more of this!!

Not me in the mirror after reading this like:

Warnings: mentions of past trauma, slight angst, mostly fluff, mentions of pregnancy, slight smut

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader // mentions of Steve Harrington x fem!reader

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A sad frown settles on Eddie’s face when he sees the look in your eyes. You hate it, you hate the way more scars mark your body. You don’t even wince in pain when the nurse applies gauze to your healing wounds, you just stare down at yourself with a sad look on your face. 

You don’t meet his eyes and his expression falls further. You don’t just hate the way you look now, you are also scared of what he will think of you now. Will he still think that you’re beautiful? The thought of you worrying about something like that, breaks his heart. There’s nothing that could make you any less beautiful.

please I will die from fluff!!!

After being madly seized with some strange, intuitive notion to reread this chapter between Hunt and Bryce, I now can’t stop thinking about Elain and Azriel.

A few things to note:

This line, “some Fae claim they know their mates from the moment they meet them” because of the invisible link between them. A scent or soul bond.

I cannot put my finger on why this is pulling at me. We know Rhys knew-but-didnt-know Feyre was his mate until the bond snapped into place on the balcony at the end of ACOTAR. So he fought like hell for her, but then felt it “snap into place” ON THE BALCONY. It wasn’t because she was turned into Fae, otherwise he would’ve felt it as soon as she was revived. They had an important moment on that balcony, together, an understanding and a vulnerability with each other. Allowing that to be expressed and exposed, is what activated their bond deeper. (Come back to this in a second, the idea of the bond being like layers)

Comparatively, Lucy and Elain?? We see him be oddly protective of her in those last moments before she gets into the cauldron, and his anger when they leave her on the floor. It’s when their eyes meet that he announces to everyone she’s his mate (which, don’t get me started, talk about bad timing). But from this moment forward, their bond does not go any deeper. There are no moments of vulnerability or understanding, no moments of opening up to one another, no promises made. We know they’ve officially been alone together twice, and we don’t know what was spoken of in those moments.

This line; “Once they crossed that last physical barrier the bond would be even further solidified”

We saw, with both Rhys/Feyre and Cassian/Nesta how their bond grew stronger over time and was eventually solidified as a joining of energy as soon as they sleep together and BOTH OF THEM open up fully to one another. Remember when Feyre has to shove her bond down when she’s infiltrating Spring Court in ACOMAF? And when she reunites with Rhys, she opens back up to it and it becomes this bright, shining light between them.

Similarly, Cassian/Nesta when she finally opens up to him completely and we saw the energetic manifestation of their bond like tendrils of light, joining together?

Both of these had a mountain (hehe) of buildup, layers of vulnerability and understanding between them before we even got to that point. A successful mating bond, a true bond made out of love and deep connection, is established over time. It’s earned. Lucy, by all accounts, has approached this the wrong way from the get go — first by announcing to everyone, at the most traumatic moment, that they’re mates. Second by telling Feyre he wanted to see, just once, if Elain was worth fighting for. Neither of the two other fated mates have needed this type of “proof”. The only right thing he’s done is to go his own way and find his place elsewhere.

My overall point here is, nothing is being built between Lucy and Elain. Lucy’s entire self discovery has happened away from Elain. He feels uncomfortable near her and vice versa. Meanwhile the other mates we’ve seen have grown together, leading into the culmination of their mating. If there is no GROWING TOGETHER, there is no growing at all. The bond will not strengthen. The layers aren’t being built between them. They’re being built with someone else.

Did it even matter? If it was fate or choice to be together?

The winning question — this has been foreshadowed time and again, since ACOMAF. The idea of choice. Bryce and Hunt love each other so much, and aren’t even the same species to technically be able to call themselves mates, but that doesn’t negate what they feel for each other or how deep their love is. It’s a powerful thing to be able to claim each other in this way without the interference of Fate/Urd/The Cauldron tying them together. They have chosen to be together, to fight for each other, regardless of any of it.

I really am starting to lean toward Bryce/Hunt’s relationship to be a little eye opener for Azriel and Elain - moreso Elain since she is suspiciously missing from the last scene of HOSAB. It’s all pointing toward some interesting parallels and setups, harkening back to Feyre questioning Rhys about the same thing in ACOMAF. Paraphrased:

Who decides it? The Cauldron does get it wrong sometimes — what if what Elain needs is (Azriel)?

We have now been given two characters that chose to be mates without even being the same species. While one of them was betrothed to someone else. It just seems like too convenient a setup for Elain and Bryce to not have some type of interaction about it, on top of a lot of other things pertaining to Dusk Court and powers and lineages. … Because, people should have a say in this, in the course of their immortal life. Otherwise, forcing Elain into a bond just because someone claimed it outloud, without any buildup of trust or friendship between them, is as bad as Rhys’s father scooping up his mother on sight just because of the bond.

As for how I think this will play out, I’m not exactly sure. We know Elain is connected to the Cauldron. We don’t know extent of her powers. We know there’s something important in the union between the swords… I just feel like it’s building up to ACOWAR 6 in such a way that it’s right in front of us but I can’t see the full picture yet. All we know is that Bryce made the drop alone in order to save Hunt. She offered herself as a slave in order to save Hunt. Likewise, Hunt has put his life on the line for her time and again. That’s the evidence we need here. (comparatively who went into Hybern’s camp without a second thought to save Elain? Who figured out she was a Seer just by listening to her and validating her?) They did these things without an official bond.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.