AN: This AU is based in ACOTAR- hence why it's marked crossover. I will not be using explicitly any characters, only the world. I will however be making subtle(ish) references to that world/characters. As a result, there are a handful of terms you might need in order for this read to be seamless.
Today that word is:

Winnowing- think teleportation, very similar ability.


How Can You Be A Stranger?

There aren't any specific rules for how Fate, or whatever being or force, decides whom your mate is. And for many, there is no 'mate' at all. It's simply a fantasy crafted years and years ago about some human girl being transformed by the power of love and being resurrected by the old High Lords.

It's a fairytale of a story, but one that Momo finds amusing to consider all the same.

She's been told the history and myths just as any have been, and while she's heard rumors of 'mates' and such, it's not something that becomes one's priority when furthering her education takes precedence. Just because she had the good fortune of being born into the High Fae's bloodline does not give her permission to slack off and dwell on her magic, nor her inherent familial connections.

But that couldn't stop a girl from dreaming, either.

However impractical it might be to desire to suddenly have a fated mate to match her with in a world that's no longer so simple it could boil down to humans and Fae and servants and castles and Courts.

Now the world is coffee shops and trains and electricity just as much as it's Illyrian fighting arenas and winnowing back and forth between her apartment and the latest gala her parents wanted her to attend and network at. She's doing her best to groom herself to be High Lady of the Dawn Court- and most importantly- the CEO of Dawn's Light, the largest pharmaceutical company on the continent.

Even if she wants to be back in her apartment, cozied up on a sofa next to her cat she'd rescued her second year at college, going over the anatomical differences between each Fae subspecies and optimal dosing techniques for all humans. She would vastly prefer that, as opposed to attending a dance where she's only expected to be a showpiece rather than a participant.

Momo sips her champagne slowly, gauging how much she'll need to drink before she could convince her mother that she needs to use the bathroom and then discreetly slip away to her apartment and change into sweatpants.

By the Cauldron.

Sweatpants.

Bless whatever Fae, human, or demon decided to construct them because they were a student's greatest gift and a woman's best friend.

Her glass empties, and despite the fact she's already had four, the alcohol hasn't been magicked and she knows it's been toned down for the human attendees. It means she'll need a minimum of sixteen more if she'll want to make for a suitable excuse. Maybe if she was lucky, there would be a Fae bar somewhere tucked in the auditorium.

She shifts awkwardly in her heels, uncertain if she truly wishes to disembark on the journey through the milling patrons- human and Fae alike- in search of a substance to make this evening more bearable, or at least more forgettable. Her mother and father promptly disappeared after walking in with her, lingering only long enough for a picture to be taken with tight smiles and a glamour of happiness cast about them for the success of their company and Court.

Though she supposes 'Court' is a bit of an archaic term nowadays. She stews on the word, playing with it linguistically as a waiter walks by and she exchanges her empty glass for a full one.

There used to be actual Courts. Generals and High Lords were ruling positions, as opposed to just titles and posturing. It used to be that High Lords had full duties, though now they're little more than district heads and most of their power is a result of the companies they own or their own personal investment into the cities or districts.

Archaic history for another time.

She drains this newest glass as well, pursing her lips when it doesn't hit the spot.

"If you're hoping for Fae wine, you'll be disappointed to know that my father made sure there wouldn't be any."

She glances over at the speaker, a male holding a small glass of whiskey in his hand, peering into the amber liquid as if considering if it's worth drinking or not.

He gives her a side-eyed sympathetic look, gracing her only with a soft blue eye and a shock of white hair that she finds suits his young face surprisingly well.

"And why, by chance would that be?" She can't help but inquire.

"Because the last time he did, one of my friends and I got rip-roaring drunk and set the ceiling on fire."

She snorts despite herself, and the reaction draws a dozen glances before she schools her features into a calm polite mask.

She forgot how judgey these functions are.

She starts walking, and her new companion only follows her, a spark of a smile on his lips as they move to a different spot in the room. This one is across from the stage, and the band that's playing isn't very good. They're playing old classical music, and not the good ceremonial music that had her blood thumping, her heart pitching itself into the starlight, and her mind brushing aside the noise of her burdens to partake in an hour of freedom and reckless laughter.

She glances at him, unsure what causes her to linger in his presence. She could always just meander across the ballroom, yet she lingers near him. She picks up another drink, swirling the golden liquid around in the glass as she considers her options.

Then she poses him a question.

"How did you set fire to the ceiling?"

He snorts, and for just a moment there is a flicker of a smile on his lips. "My father was being an ass. And my friend bet me that I couldn't piss him off any more than he already was. We happened to be in the Spring Court at the time, and so I… might have lit the greenery on fire in my inebriated state."

She isn't sure if she should be impressed or baffled at the audacity. "What happened after that?"

"My father doused the flames and order me home while he made his apologies. Since then, I've been prohibited Fae alcohol." He pauses, sipping the mortal whiskey in his hand before adding, "At public functions, at least."

Momo allows a coy smile to appear on her lips.

This male is… intriguing, and the look he throws her has her wondering if he has any more entertaining stories to turn this evening from abysmal to tolerable.

"Momo Yaoyorozu, Dawn Court." She offers her glass for a small toast between the two.

"Shouto Todoroki, Autumn Court."

They stare at each other for only a moment, a smile exchanging between them before Momo tips the glass into her mouth. He does the same with his own glass, and they set them down on a nearby table.

Something warms in her chest, burning to get to know him. Something in her yearns to know more, to know as much as she can about this curious male.

She racks her brain for information about the Todoroki family but comes up short. Her focus has been on her studies for the last hundred years and while they have been fruitful and she can list and name nearly every drug developed and mend most mortal or ethereal injuries, there are still gaps in her social knowledge. Gaps that seem to include the Todoroki name.

"I'm not familiar with your family." She finally admits. "Other than your father."

Enji Todoroki has managed to garner quite a reputation after his wedding to a woman of the Winter Court. It was a scandal at the time, mostly because high society knew he'd only been looking to increase the power of his bloodline. It was despicable in her opinion, but evidently there were enough that didn't think so, given he remained the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

The fact that his marriage ended in separation fifty years later was no surprise to anyone.

Shouto snorts, smirking slightly at that, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. "There isn't much interesting between me and my siblings. The gossip is all about my old man." The venom in his voice isn't surprising, given what she does recall about the High Lord, but if she's insulted him, he doesn't seem offended enough to leave.

"And what about you?" Momo specifies, "What shall we discuss about you, given you seem like much more interesting company than your father?"

He smiles at that, a small, tiny little flicker of his lips that traces upwards. "I'm the youngest," is his measured response.

"Insightful."

"My brothers both left my father's court. My sister decided to own both sides of our parentage, though she tends to spend most of her time with our mother."

"And you?"

Shouto shrugs noncommittally, turning fully to her.

She hadn't realized until now that she has managed to stay on the right side of him for the duration of their discussion. She isn't sure if that had been his intention, but now as he faces her the ruse disappears and she sees the blemish on his fine features. A scar, perhaps a burn mark, cupped around his left eye, disappearing under the deep red hair on that side of his head. She startles, and he grimaces, but doesn't say anything as she stares.

She collects herself a moment later, "He's a monster," she decides. To harm your own child…

"This was actually my mother, though to be fair, she had a bit of a mental breakdown at the time." Shouto gives her a smile, and she abruptly turns away, unwilling to meet his eye after her prior thoughts.

She settles with replying, "You're awfully open about this with a stranger."

He frowns at her and responds with, "How can my mate be a stranger?"

And she freezes, staring at him wide eyed at his words.

Mate?

Mate?

She swallows, staring at him.

Something clicks in the back of her mind.

Something latches onto those words, or perhaps his scent, or maybe just the sudden concern that's bristling in his two-toned eyes.

Her reaction is…

Instinctive.

She winnows right out the door, heart thumping in her chest and mind whirling as she propels herself as fast as possible out of the party and all the way across town. When she stops, it's so she can collapse onto her couch.

Her dress is ripped and ruined from her sprint, the hem frayed and tattered. And despite a small dose of magic to ensure it didn't slip due the strapless nature of it, as she slumps on the couch, she can feel the cool air of her apartment kiss her sternum. She groans quietly.

She can only imagine what her parents thought of that.

A softer groan follows it shortly because she can only imagine what that… that… man… thought of her.

There's a tickle in the back of her mind, an inkling of a feeling that she knows doesn't belong to her because it couldn't. For a moment, she's afraid.

Daemati aren't common and haven't been for centuries, so surely there isn't one in her apartment. She would have known… should have known if someone had been creeping about in her mind for years now.

But that can't be it.

This feels different.

It's permeating through her hastily thrown up mental shields, an anxiety that doesn't match her own, mixed with a nervousness and guilt that feels overwhelming compared to her own.

Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no.

She stares wide eyed at her ceiling fan, lazily spinning in the wake of the wind her arrival caused.

She can feel him.

She can sense his emotions in the back of her mind.

Her mate.

"I'm going to be sick," she decides, rolling off the sofa to walk down the hall and throw up the four measly glasses of mortal champagne she had for dinner tonight.

She has medical exams in three weeks.

Why is Fate such a bitch to introduce her to her mate three weeks from the most stressful event in her three hundred years of living?

Her cat meows its agreement as it twines around her ankles.