#acotar rewritten

[ennawrite]

daily Rhysta thought:

one bed trope but Nesta actually makes Rhysand sleep on the floor. I can see him grumbling to himself as he tries to fight off the cold air by covering himself with a shitty pillow but he can’t be too mad because at least his mate is warm & comfortable, even though she is a pain in his ass.

[duskandcobalt]

Everywhere, Everything: Chapter One

Chapter Summary: When he wakes up alone in bed, Azriel is left to consider the events of the night he'd spent with Elain as well as how they'd ended up in bed together in the first place.

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: If you've been following along on my WIP Wednesdays, you'd know this fic is a long time coming. I am very nervous but very excited to start getting this out. Thank you to everyone that's been hyping up all the puzzle pieces I've shared over the past couple of months. The next chapter should be up next week if everything goes to plan.

ENJOY XX

Read on AO3

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She’ll break your heart, Az. 

It had started as a joke - a firm hand clasped on his shoulder as Rhys grimaced and told him to please, for the love of God, stay away from Elain when Azriel had quietly enquired about the middle Archeron sister after seeing her for the first time all those years ago.

Azriel wasn’t quite sure how it had come to be that he and Cassian had found themselves doing manual labor early on that Sunday morning when it was Rhys that had been trying to impress the father of his new girlfriend. Nevertheless, he’d ended up on the roof of an unfamiliar house, shirtless and sweating under the blistering morning sun as he helped Cassian fix a few broken tiles on the roof of the Archeron family home while Rhysand watched from the ground, shouting up instructions that Cassian and Azriel both chose to ignore.

He’d been mid eye-roll, watching his friend preen in the reflection of a window, twisting this way and that to flex the muscles in his abdomen just right when the gauzy curtains of the window they were stood in front of parted and Azriel caught his very first glimpse of Elain Archeron. 

She’d stared at them in shock, bleary eyes widening slightly as her gaze flickered between the two men standing directly outside her bedroom window. Cassian, having met her already a few weeks ago, had given her a bright smile and a wave and then quickly disappeared, leaving Azriel standing still as night as he continued to stare at the girl staring back at him.

Those big brown eyes of hers had flickered down to his bare chest for a fleeting moment before they were back on his face. His own eyes had quickly traveled over her in turn. He catalogued the bare legs, the little white pajama bottoms that were dotted with what looked to be tiny roses just barely skimmed the very tops of her thighs. The thin white straps of the matching tank top were stark against her lightly tanned shoulders and her hair was a tousled crown of chestnut waves that framed her pretty face. 

Azriel had only just remembered where he was, had only just realised that he was a stranger standing on a roof and staring into the bedroom of a girl who clearly had no idea that she’d be waking up to two idiots on her roof that morning. He’d only just come back to his senses enough to sheepishly raise his hand and wave to her when the curtains were yanked shut and all he could see was the shadow of her frantically ducking out of view.

She’d avoided him that entire day. Wouldn’t even look him in the eyes as they sat across the table from each other at lunch. Hadn’t said a single word to him other than a whispered thank you when he insisted on helping her clear the dining table. They were such limited interactions and yet Azriel hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her and couldn’t help himself when he nonchalantly brought her up as he drove Rhys and Cassian back to the apartment they had all shared at the time. 

That had been the first time Rhys had delivered his warning but it certainly hadn’t been the last.

Rhys had said that she would break his heart but Azriel had always seen that comment for exactly what it was which was nothing less than a thinly veiled warning, a polite way of Rhys telling Azriel to stay away from his girlfriend’s sister as if she’d be the one to ruin him when they both knew what kind of track record Azriel had with women. It was Rhys’ roundabout way of letting him know that Elain was the type of girl with her head on her shoulders, the type of girl that preferred a steady relationship while Azriel had never had much interest in maintaining anything more than a rotation of regular, no strings attached acquaintances. 

Azriel had laughed off the warning each time but it had stuck with him and he knew deep down that even though he’d never felt that sort of instant draw to someone else before, he’d never be good enough for Elain. Still, even armed with that knowledge that she was so far out of his league, he couldn’t bring himself to stay away and Azriel had inevitably found himself finding any excuse to be around Elain in those first few months.

It had all started innocently enough - timid looks and shy conversations in those early days when they found themselves spending more and more time together after it had become clear that Rhys and Feyre were in it for the long haul. That time had only increased after Nesta had finally broken down and admitted that she liked having Cassian around for more than just sex. Numbers were exchanged, casual hangouts were planned, and Elain had opened up to him slowly but surely - various facets of her personality unfurling as the months and years went by and she grew increasingly comfortable in his presence. 

Rhys had continued to deliver that warning all the while -  each and every time he caught Azriel looking at Elain for a little too long, laughing a little too loud at her jokes. Each time the two of them snuck away for a drive or a walk around the garden for a moment of quiet amidst all the noise. All those times they’d stayed up together after everyone else had gone god knows where to do god knows what and Rhys would come downstairs early in the morning to see his friend fast asleep on the couch, the plush blanket Elain favored carefully draped and tucked around Azriel’s body. 

Rhys had reminded him again, one last time, before he’d left the two of them alone together just last night but Azriel had waved him off just like he had every other time the warning had been delivered to him because he’d never expected to actually have to heed it. Not after all these years. Not when nothing had ever happened between them apart from a lingering hug or a kiss on the cheek. Not when Elain had always been with some boy or another the entire time he’d known her. Even though she spent at least a couple evenings of the week on a couch with Azriel, her feet in his lap as they caught up on their days. 

She was his friend. One of his best friends. Elain had called him that a few times over the years and it had made his heart swell with boy joy and disappointment because while he’d never admit it, her choosing him in any way - deeming him her best friend - meant the world to him. 

He was good friends with Feyre and he had a strong bond with Nesta built on a mutual understanding of their similar personalities, but Elain had been different from the beginning. That initial attraction of his towards Elain had morphed into something else entirely as he got to know her and then before he knew it, she’d become one of the most important people in his life. 

It’s why he’d decided to sit down and make her that necklace just a few years into knowing her even though he’d never once before made a piece for a friend in all the years he’d been making and selling jewelry in his spare time. 

Azriel had taken his time with that necklace, meticulously hammering out the gold until it was exactly the right shape. He’d carefully engraved a delicate rose into the front of the small pendant, fashioned after a picture she’d sent him of a rose that she’d grown. And then, because he was never able to help himself, he had added the tiniest ‘A’ to the back of the gold oval.

It had satisfied some small part of him to offer that necklace to her on her birthday. To know that something he’d made with his own two hands specifically for her would rest against her skin. He’d never forget the unfiltered joy that had spread across her entire face when she opened the box.  H’ed never forget how eagerly she’d turned and lifted her hair so that he could fasten the chain around her neck. 

He’d certainly never forget the way she’d turned back towards him after he’d secured the clasp, one of her hands clutching the pendant while the other pressed gently against the side of his neck as she raised up on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to his cheek that was so different from any friendly kiss they’d exchanged as a greeting or a goodbye in the years before. 

It was the first of those moments. The beginning of instances that were few and far between in which Azriel allowed himself to believe that maybe the affection he felt for her may actually be mutual.

There’d been a handful of those almosts over the years since that night of her birthday. Moments in which Azriel thought that Elain had wanted him to lean in, to kiss her. To take the hand that seemed to live in the space above her knee whenever they were sat next to each other and slide it higher up her thigh. There were times he wanted to stay back a little longer, follow her upstairs at the end of the night instead of heading back to his own home.

He’s caught her looking at him a time or ten. Saw the jealousy that lit in her eyes when one of his idiot friends thought it appropriate to bring up the girls he’d taken home over the years in casual conversation. Girls he never saw for more than a night or two every few weeks. Girls that never really even made it further than the couch in his living room if they even made it into his house to begin with. 

It had never made sense to him, that quiet jealousy that radiated from her. Not when she had always been with someone in the time he’d known her. Although he certainly hadn’t missed that despite those boys that she kept around for a year or two before moving on to the next, it was always his necklace strung around her neck. Even when one of those boys had gifted her a pretty necklace dotted with tiny pearls as a Christmas gift, Azriel had been shamefully delighted that it had never even made it out of the jewelry box on her dressing table.

But because things never went quite right for him, all those stolen moments had come to an abrupt halt after Elain’s father had unexpectedly passed away a few months ago. 

His calls and texts had all gone ignored for a few excruciating weeks after the funeral and he’d panicked one night after he couldn’t take the silence anymore, driving to her house only to find her kneeling in the garden and hastily pulling up weeds in the dark. Her hands had been covered in countless cuts and scrapes - some new, some already scarred over - an indication that it hadn’t been the first night she’d spent taking out her emotions in the garden. 

Azriel had silently guided her inside, set her on the powder room counter and carefully cleaned and bandaged her wounds. When she’d finally broken the silence and whispered that she couldn’t bear to be in the house alone, Azriel had found himself sharing her bed and holding her close as she cried herself to sleep. It had continued like that for an entire fortnight, tears  gradually easing with each day that passed until one night she’d looked at him with something other than sadness in her eyes. He hadn’t known what to do when her fingers slid under his shirt, her lips hot against his neck. But she’d paused and pulled back at the exact second he opened his mouth and said her name in a questioning tone, turning her back to him and shuffling to the corner of the bed. It was a moment that ended just as quickly as it had started and while they hadn’t spoken of it since, Azriel had never forgotten. 

He had each and every one of those touches and glances carefully stored away in the back of his mind. It was a never ending rolodex of examples of the way the line between them had slowly started to erode with time until only the faintest streak remained. 

That line had been completely obliterated last night -  initially smudged when she’d walked into his house in a dress that clung to each and every curve in a way that made him want to bite his fist like a goddamn cartoon character and then it had been erased from existence a few hours later with the slightest press of her lips to the very corner of his mouth. 

He certainly hadn’t expected the turn of events but it had all happened so seamlessly. It had all felt so right.

He’d been happy to see that line go, thrilled to fall asleep without a single thing between them - his arm slung heavily around her bare waist, her fingertips delicately tracing patterns over the sharp line of his jaw.

Azriel had awoken this morning with a small, satisfied smile on his face and the heady taste of her still lingering on his tongue. He reached across the bed, eyes still closed, fingertips seeking out the smooth skin that he’d memorized every inch of last night. His smile faltered when he came up empty - one eye peeking open only to find cold, crumpled sheets and an empty space where Elain should’ve been. 

He shut his eyes, turning onto his back and pressing the heel of his palms tight against his eyes as he counted to sixty. 

It was something he’d done as a child - squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he could stand as he counted a full minute in his head, desperately hoping and praying that the scars that covered his hands would disappear after the minute was up and he opened his eyes. But just like his scars had remained in place each and every time he deluded himself into believing that his trick would work, he hadn’t been able to use sheer will to make Elain appear safe and sound in his bed again. 

Azriel knew immediately, without a shadow of doubt, that Elain had left. He knew how things had ended the last time things had gotten a little too intimate between them. That had only been a heated look at a vulnerable time in her life and it had sent her running off across the country so he dreaded to think what the events of last night would result in. 

Still, he begrudgingly sat up and looked around for signs that maybe she hadn’t actually left. That maybe she’d just gone to the bathroom or that she was just downstairs making coffee and keeping his dog company. But his house was quiet. The only audible sounds were the subtle ticking of a clock and the soft howl of the winter wind as it rattled his bedroom windows. 

He thought back, searching for signs that would explain her sudden disappearance. If it wasn’t for the light smears of dark red lipstick across his chest - his hips - he might’ve thought he’d dreamt the whole damn thing. But it hadn’t been a dream. She’d been here. In his bed. The intoxicating scent of her perfume still lingered on his sheets. 

A sense of dread filled him as he considered that maybe he’d crossed a line, taken something that she hadn’t offered. But he knew that wasn’t right. All he could remember was the affirmative words, the sureness of her hands. The way she’d asked, begged him for more. The way she’d grasped at his skin, tugging him closer and closer until there wasn’t even a slip of empty space left in between them. 

She’d wanted it. She’d wanted him. Just as much as he’d wanted her. 

It’d been dangerous to get close to her to begin with, even just as friends. Letting her know him was a level of intimacy he usually avoided because it left him open to a world of hurt if things went south but he’d been too far gone last night to even chastise himself for the thoughts that were better suited to a teenage boy. Too distracted by the feel of her throat under his lips to wonder if it was a mistake to be touching her at all. 

And now that they’d done everything they’d avoided all these years and he’d found himself alone with the sun shining bright in his room, highlighting the empty space beside him, he was afraid that maybe Rhysand had been right all along.

[ifacotarwasgood]

CHAPTER 3 - page 11/?

original word count: 3840

revised word count: 2195

click for ch 3's full comparison document.

original:

“Thank you,” I said to the mercenary, trying and failing to keep the bite from my voice as I felt my sisters sweep closer, like vultures circling a carcass. The mercenary stroked the wolf pelt. “A word of advice, from one hunter to another.” I lifted my brows. “Don’t go far into the woods. I wouldn’t even get close to where you were yesterday. A wolf this size would be the least of your problems. More and more, I’ve been hearing stories about those things slipping through the wall.” A chill spider-walked down my spine. “Are they—are they going to attack?” If it were true, I’d find a way to get my family off our miserable, damp territory and head south—head far from the invisible wall that bisected our world before they could cross it. Once—long ago and for millennia before that—we had been slaves to High Fae overlords. Once, we had built them glorious, sprawling civilizations from our blood and sweat, built them temples to their feral gods. Once, we had rebelled, across every land and territory. The War had been so bloody, so destructive, that it took six mortal queens crafting the Treaty for the slaughter to cease on both sides and for the wall to be constructed: the North of our world conceded to the High Fae and faeries, who took

revised:

“Thank you,” I said. As I slipped the purse into my pocket, I felt my sisters sweep closer, like vultures to a carcass. “A word of advice, from one hunter to another,” she said. “I wouldn’t get close to where you were yesterday. A wolf this size is the least of your problems. Things are slipping through the wall.” A chill spider-walked down my spine. “Are the faeries going to attack?” “No one knows what they’re planning,” she said. “A nobleman I guarded sailed south two weeks ago and told me I should do the same. One of his friends said that, in the dead of night, a pack of martax crossed the wall and tore half his village apart. Maybe they’re targeted attacks, or maybe the Fae High Lords can’t keep their beasts on a leash.” “Martax?” Faeries varied as much as any other species of animal, but I knew only a few by name. “Body as big as a bear’s, head something like a lion’s, and three rows of teeth sharper than a shark’s. And meaner than all three put together. Apparently they left the villagers in ribbons.” My stomach churned. “Have you ever faced one?” The woman tugged back her jacket sleeve to reveal a forearm twisted with scars, so thick they reminded me of

[prythianpages]

Lay All Your Love On Me | Cassian x Reader

summary: Cassian is your best friend and best friend’s don’t thirst after one another. Best friends don’t get jealous. Best friends also don’t fall in love with one another. But you did.

warnings: mild angst; smut at the end; basically, mutual jealousy

a/n: this was inspired by ABBA's song. I'm working on a series where I dedicate a song to each of the ACOTAR men and you can find the masterlist here. I feel like this is borderline crack at some points tbh and probably the longest one shot I've ever written. Also, the amount of times I've rewritten this is insane so I hope you like this final version ❤

Adrenaline courses through your veins. The wind becomes your companion, offering a resistance that you always find yourself craving. It caresses your skin, leaving a bittersweet ache. Running is the closest feeling to flying. Though your wings, tucked behind you, remain, they are rendered useless and forever will be. Those sick Illyrian males, paid off by your own brother, made sure of that.

Sometimes, you wish they would’ve just sloughed them off. An Illyrian with no wings is a tragedy but an Illyrian with useless wings is a devastating tragedy. A fate that, unfortunately, all Illyrian females have to endure.

Heated frustration surges within you, spurred on by the luminous blue hues radiating from the siphons encircling your wrists. You shake your head and take deep breaths because you can not let those triggering thoughts win. You can’t let them win. The primal thud of your heart urges you to push forward and–

“Fuck, marry, kill.”

“Cassian,” you nearly hiss, though the flutter in your chest betrays you. 

“Come on,” he says, a grin playing on his lips as he matches your pace. “Me, Az, and Rhys. Go!”

You slow down your pace to shoot him a sidelong glance and pivot, turning to run the opposite direction. Heat rises to your cheeks. You blame it on your exercise. 

“We played this last night.”

Undeterred, Cassian picks up his pace to stay ahead of you, running backwards with ease. “And you didn’t answer me.”

As you both rounded a corner, someone bumped into you. Your steps faltered slightly before you caught your own balance. 

“Oops. Sorry, didn’t–”

The Illyrian male who collided with you didn’t even have time to finish his apology, as insincere as it was. Cassian shoved him, sending the male plummeting to the ground with a growl. You swear you hear him choke on dirt.

“Watch it, asshole.”

When Cassian turns back to you, you arch a brow at him and he gives you a nonchalant shrug. You both know that male intentionally bumped into you. As one of the few Illyrian females who has defied tradition and trained extensively, the disrespect constantly thrown at you is no surprise. Though you’re no longer fazed by it, you can’t say the same for Cassian.

His gaze softens and grin returns, the wind tousling his dark hair as he maintains his backward stride. “Now, where were we?”

“Fine,” you say with a huff.

It’s not in Cassian’s nature to give up. You’ve played this game multiple times, introduced by Mor, with the inner circle on drunken nights. You were always quick with your answers but not this time. Not when your options were three of your close friends and among them, there was one you secretly or maybe not so secretly harbored feelings for.  That and the lack of liquid courage you usually have at your side when playing.

“Fuck Azriel.”

Cassian’s steps come to a stop and so do yours, albeit reluctantly. There’s a glint in his hazel eyes as he looks at you. “I’m going to tell him.”

“Go ahead,” you reply because you don’t care if the Shadowsingers knows. He’s the safest choice of them all and he wouldn’t let this stupid game get to his head unlike Cassian. “You know that’d be your answer too.”

Both you and Cassian share a look because you’re not wrong.

Then, you both are turning your heads to find the Shadowsinger. Azriel stands at the far end of the training grounds, engaged in the rhythmic lifting of weights. Shirtless. The distance between you two and him is vast, rendering any audible communication impossible. However, the subtle play of shadows around his ears catches your attention, and as if sensing your gazes, he turns, narrowing his eyes at both you and Cassian with an uncanny perceptiveness.

Caught red-handed, both you and Cassian turn your heads away. He looks at you again. “So,” he starts once more and you bite back the urge to groan. At this moment, you’re almost inclined to reveal that you’d like to do all three to the Illyrian male in front of you.

 “Who will you be marrying? Me or Rhys?”

It’s as if he heard his name being called. Rhysand prods gently at the shields of your mind and when you allow him in, you know he relayed the same message to Cassian and Azriel. You both head over to the sparring grounds, where Azriel is already waiting for you. He throws a sword to you and then to Cassian.

Cassian wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively and you slap his arm. He pinches your side in retaliation, a reminder that you’re not going to live this one down. He moves into position and you mirror him.

He lifts his sword, feigning a lunge that you counter with a swift parry. Your movements are both graceful and calculated, a testament to the years of training under his guidance. Meanwhile, Azriel circles around you both, a silent spectator.

Cassian’s strikes intensify, growing more precise every time. Your swords clash, ringing in the air. But despite your skill, Cassian is stronger, more experienced. Seizing an opportune moment, he lunges with a force that sends you stumbling backward. Your sword clatters to the ground as you find yourself seated on the training grounds.

"Did I serve?" Cassian smirks, offering a mock salute, his muscles flexing in a playful display. "Or did I serve?"

He twirls his sword with a flourish, unaware of the glare you shoot his way. With a determined huff, you gather yourself, reaching for your fallen weapon and swiftly rising to your feet. In a strategic move, you deliver a swift kick, sweeping Cassian off his feet and onto his back.

With a triumphant grin, you step forward, placing a boot on his chest to keep him on the ground. You press your weight on him teasingly, knowing that Azriel is not the only one watching you two anymore. Hazel eyes sparkle back at you with a mixture of pride and a subtle undertone, a hint of something more lingering beneath the surface, as your sword hovers just above his neck. It brings forth an unspoken tension between you both and if you hadn’t blinked, you wouldn’t have missed the way Cassian licks his lips as he looks up at you.

"You got served."

Cassian laughs as you drop your sword and lift your boot. You don’t bother to offer him a hand, wanting to bask in your victory as much as possible but much to your dismay, Azriel helps him up.

Thank you for humbling him.

You turn around to see Rhysand. His lips purse, suppressing his amusement. His eyes become unreadable as he dons his High Lord mask. A palpable aura of immense power radiates from him. 

Beside him, stands another male, whose presence commands just as much attention as Rhysand. His skin is a rich brown and hair white. You’ve never met him before but you know who he is as Rhysand had informed you of his visit. It’s why you were conveniently training in Windhaven, despite your preference for the training grounds atop the House of Wind.

The three of you greet Rhysand first before bowing your heads in respect to the High Lord of the Summer Court.

“This is Cassian, general commander of my armies. This is y/n, one of our great Illyrian warriors and this is Azriel, my spymaster. They are all well equipped and are looking forward to working with your soldiers for the next two weeks.”

**

You’ve rarely traveled outside of the Night Court. You weren't a high fae like Mor or Rhysand so you couldn’t winnow and after the clipping of your wings, you couldn’t fly like Cassian or Azriel. So your friends were your main means of transportation and you were looking forward to working with High Lord Nostrus’s soldiers as it was a means for you to get to explore another one of Prythian’s lovely courts.

But now that you’re here, in their training grounds, you’re no longer looking forward to being here for the next two weeks.

Not when one particularly strikingly beautiful female soldier has set her eyes on Cassian and certainly not when there’s an unfamiliar burning resentment in your chest too strong to ignore. It flares every time her gaze or touch lingers too long. By the Cauldron, since when did every woman you see become a potential threat with Cassian? He is your friend.

A reminder that stings as much as the intensity of the burning feeling coursing through you. Though, you’ve never felt this way before, you realize that you’ve been more sensitive in anything Cassian these past couple of months–since starfall. It’s as if he casted a spell on you, one where you can only think about him. He’s your every waking thought and lingers as your final thought before sleep.

The feeling in your chest flares to a blazing fire when you overhear him praise the female soldier and the wooden sword splinters in your grasp, falling to the ground. 

This is going to be a long two weeks.

“Are you jealous?” Azriel muses beside you.

“Me?” You say with a huff, kicking the evidence of the broken sword away. Of course it doesn’t go unnoticed by Azriel, the skilled spymaster. The corner of his lips quirk up but you insist. “Jealous? Never.”

You send an amused Azriel a glare before picking up another practice sword. Determined to not let your jealousy get in the way, you engage yourself in training the small group assigned to you. You were here for a reason and you’d give the soldiers under your command your all.

**

After a full afternoon of training, you were eager to clean the dirt and sweat off your skin. You were also eager to distance yourself as much from Cassian and that female before you did something you’d regret. Your bath worked wonders to ease every tense muscle. If you hadn’t been invited by High Lord Nostrus to dinner, you would’ve basked in the warmth of the water a little longer. The sound of waves crashing soothes you as you make your way to your bed, ruffling your damp hair with a towel.

Nestled adjacent to Cassian's and Azriel's quarters, your room stands vast and breathtaking. It’s also missing an entire wall. In its place, vines adorned with blooming dahlias weave along the room's edges, seamlessly bridging the gap between the interior and the great sea outdoors. 

Your attention gravitates towards the bed, adorned in the softest silks, a sanctuary you can’t wait to sink into. Atop it rests a box, concealing an invitation to dinner and an outfit that differs greatly from your Illyrian leathers.

You find a dress. A pale blue masterpiece with a daring plunging neckline and high slits. You’ve never worn anything like it. The fabric is soft and weightless, its wispy texture feels like a gentle sea breeze caressing your skin with every step. You appreciate that it was backless to accommodate your wings.

Sitting down at the vanity, the jewelry that was in the box sparkles back up at you. You're touched by the High Lord’s gesture but you’re also wary of all his gifts. You settle on the most simplest of jewelry–diamond earrings and a sapphire necklace that reminds you of the siphons you wear. You have three in total but the one wrapped around your wrist is the only one you keep with you at all times. You save the other two for when you’re training or fighting to help you control your power.

As you step out of your room, Cassian and Azriel's eyes are drawn to you. You smile at them in greeting. Cassian's gaze lingers, a silent appreciation etched in every curve and contour he not so discreetly takes in. Warmth prickles at your skin, and an inexplicable spark ignites within your chest in response.

Azriel clears his throat, amused eyes dancing between you two. “Shall we?”

Cassian, as if emerging from a trance, regains his composure and grins at you. He extends his arm and you gratefully hook yours through his as he leads the way down the hall. You notice that he also switched his leathers into something more befitting the Summer court’s warmth. He wears dark navy linen pants that match Azriel’s but unlike the dark shirt the Shadowsinger wears, he chose a lighter colored one. The fabric is nearly see through, offering a teasing peek at the tattoos embellishing his chest and the defined muscles that lie beneath.

You feel his gaze on you as you walk beside him that prompts you to look up at him in question. He takes a moment to respond and finally with a sheepish smile says, “you smell nice.”

“Oh, thanks. I used coconut soap that was left in my bathroom,” you respond, a tinge of confusion and subtle disappointment coloring your words. At least it was an actual compliment unlike last starfall when all he said was “you look different.” Yet, it embarrassingly still had the same effect, leaving you blushing. 

Azriel, walking behind you, can't help but let out a snort. Idiots, he thinks to himself. His shadows agree.

**

There’s a wide assortment of delicious food laid out for you all. Your lips quirk up when you catch the way Cassian’s eyes light up at the sight. You take the seat next to him and Azriel the seat across from you. High Lord Nostrus sits at the head of the table, gesturing for you all to dive in. With a snap of his fingers, the golden chalices in front of you fill with a sweet wine.

“I appreciate you all for your efforts in helping strengthen my armies.”

Cassian’s mouth was full of food and Azriel brought his drink to his lips, not keen on the idea of making small talk with the High Lord. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at your male companions, you muster a smile and turn to Nostrus instead.

“I believe we should be the ones thanking you for being such a gracious host. As emissaries of our esteemed High Lord, it is our sincere desire that our efforts not only strengthen your armies but also fortify the bonds of alliance between the courts of Summer and Night.”

“Of course.” Nostrus's turquoise eyes study you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze settling on your wings. The instinct to protectively tuck them in tighter behind you flares, a vulnerable self-consciousness settling in. "From my understanding, it is not common for an Illyrian female to train and fight. Am I right?"

“Yes, you are correct. But I am working closely with my High Lord to rectify that.”

Cassian, sensing your unease, swallows his food, and a reassuring hand finds its place on your thigh, offering a comforting squeeze. You're familiar with Cassian's expressive and caring nature through touch. However, his simple and sweet gestures, such as the way he’s touching your thigh right now, sends your heart racing instead.

"I watched you from afar this afternoon. You took down some of my best soldiers with ease," Nostrus remarks, and a gentle breeze from the nearby sea courses through the open dining room, sending a shudder through your wings. His perceptive eyes catch the movement. "Your wings are different."

The hand on your thigh tightens, mirroring the constriction in your throat.

"High Lord–" Cassian begins, a subtle warning threaded through his otherwise light tone.

Nostrus raises his hand. "I mean no harm. Truly." 

His gaze remains fixed on you as he continues, "As you see, we pride ourselves on every soldier, regardless of gender. Anyone who swears loyalty to this court is held in great esteem. I protect them as much as they would protect my court. While I do not know your story, I now know your worth, and if the Night Court is not able to appreciate you, then–"

"The Night Court appreciates her just fine," Cassian interrupts, a protective edge slicing through his words. He hates Nostrus’s accusatory tone and ignores the warning look Azriel sends his way.

You place a hand over Cassian’s but keep your eyes on Nostrus. “You flatter me, High Lord,” you manage to say with a smile. “Though my scars may say otherwise, I can assure you that my High Lord treats me well. In fact, High Lord Rhysand is working on banning the practice of clipping wings so our future generations will not know the horrors enacted under previous rulers…”

**

Your wings, draped behind you, bear the burden of your trauma–the betrayal of your brother. You hate how sensitive you are at the mere mention of them. You wipe hastily at your eyes. Cassian, who refused to part ways with you at your door, stands silently beside you. Your haunting memories store themselves back into the depths of your mind as his movements catch your attention. It’s strange but comforting, the way he always knows when you don’t want to talk and are in need of a distraction instead.

But your cheeks heat up because you’re unsure if this distraction is a good idea. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Cassian grins at you as he continues stripping himself of his clothes. “I’m going for a swim.”

He winks at you as he kicks his pants off, leaving him in only his boxer briefs that are clinging to him in a way that makes your mouth nearly water. You pull your gaze away, hating the way your mind wants to drift to devious thoughts because you know what lies underneath. You’ve seen him in his full glory far too many times than you’d like to admit–each one of them on accident.

Your heart flutters madly against the fragile cage of your chest and you press a hand against it as if that would do anything to ease your racing heart. Because Cassian is your best friend and best friend’s don’t thirst after one another. Best friends also don’t fall in love with one another. 

But you did.

He was your mentor before he became your friend and each passing year since then seemed to usher in a quiet surrender. Almost as if every step was an unspoken agreement with your heart, blurring in between the fine line of friendship and something else. You navigated the staircase of emotions, unaware, until you stood near the bottom. Instead of gracefully reaching the last step, the sudden realization of your feelings felt like a forceful tumble, leaving you to hit the ground and boy did you hit it hard.

The sound of a joyful splash resonates through the air, harmonizing with the playful melody of droplets that dance against your bare legs. You shoot a glare Cassian’s way, even though you didn’t mind, and you can’t bring yourself to care when he flicks a middle finger at you in response. You’re far too used to them to be bothered. Realizing that the water felt nice and warm, you nestle yourself on the edge of the floor. You hike your dress up and then dip your legs into the soothing waters.

Bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight, Cassian floats on his back, allowing his wings to carry him through the soft waves. Your gaze lingers on him, tracing the moonlit contours of his muscles. Another splash pulls you out of your trance and this time, the droplets reach the thin fabric of your dress.

“Come on, bibble!” Cassian exclaims.

Your glare returns, irritation flickering in your eyes. “I told you to stop calling me that!”

His grin widens, undeterred. “Won’t you join me?”

You respond with a swift kick, creating a splash that dances towards him. Regret settles in immediately as his eyes light up in the moonlight, holding mischief, as he swims toward you.

“Bibble’,” he nearly purrs, somehow making the stupid nickname sound downright sinful. He braces his hands on either side of you, the muscles of his arms flexing. His chest brushes against your legs and all you can think about is how nice he feels so close to you. “Why won’t you join me?”

You’re looking anywhere but him. “I don’t feel like it.”

Cassian hums, his thoughtful gaze lingering for a moment longer than you'd expect. You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding when he turns his head. It’s a short lived moment of relief because in a heartbeat, he pulls your legs from underneath you and drags you into the water with him. You’re splashing and writhing and like an idiot, your mouth opens in panic.

Cassian's strong arms swiftly encircle you, pulling you up from the water's depths. As you resurface, you're coughing and sputtering, water droplets cascading down your face. He chuckles while you hit his chest. 

"I can't swim, you idiot!" 

"Relax," Cassian laughs, his hands holding your hips firmly to keep you afloat with him. His expression, though soft, morphs into something more serious. "I’ve got you. I always will.”

His words unrattle something deep within you and you can’t move, can’t think properly. You can only feel. Your mind goes blank and eyes grow distant as you’re brought back to the night he first said those words. Right after he found you laying in a pool of your own blood. It was the night your wings were clipped. A hand reaches out to caress your face and his fingers rest on your chin, directing your focus to him. 

Tears threaten the corners of your eyes. The desire to avert your gaze is strong, but he doesn't permit it. He needs you to answer him. "You know that, right?"

A breath catches in your throat before you finally manage to whisper, "Yeah."

Cassian's lips form a rare, softer smile. He draws you closer until you can feel his breath, sense his warmth. He kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer and when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. A thumb brushes gently against your cheek. His gaze dips to your lips and absentmindedly, his thumb slowly traces along your bottom lip. There’s a faraway look in his eyes as he’s lost in contemplation.

Your heart is roaring in your ears and there’s something singing madly in your chest because he’s never touched you like this before. Tell him. Your breath is shaky when you speak. "Cas?"

He holds his gaze to your lips, allowing the soft rocking of a wave to push him closer to you. "Yes?"

Suddenly, the night sky bursts into a kaleidoscope of colors. The unexpected spectacle and the resonating boom startles you, and on instinct, you find refuge in the safety of Cassian's embrace. If he weren’t caught up in the heat of the moment, he would’ve teased you for the way you are clinging madly onto him, legs and arms wrapped tightly around him.

"Wow," you exhale, the initial shock giving way to a relaxed sense of awe.

The fireworks continue to bloom overhead, their vibrant hues reflecting in your wonderstruck eyes. You gradually unwrap your legs from around Cassian, and your arms loosen their hold around his neck. Yet, he maintains a firm grip on your hips.

“Beautiful.”

You hum in agreement, and when you turn back to Cassian, you realize his gaze has never wavered from you throughout the entire display. "What were you going to say?"

"What?"

"What were you going to say earlier…"

"Oh, that," you stammer, panic subtly seeping in, eyebrows furrowing slightly. The courage you once possessed to voice your feelings has dissipated in the wake of the unexpected interruption. “Um, can you teach me how to swim?”

His gaze lingers on you. It’s as if he knows those were not the words you were going to say but he doesn’t push you on it. “Sure,” he says instead and clears his throat, looking away. “But maybe another night?”

“Why?”

You regret your question as soon as you ask it, eyes widening when you feel why. There’s something hard poking at your stomach. You freeze up, not knowing what to do, inadvertently making matters worse. Though the night is dark, the moon glows bright enough for you both to notice your peaked nipples as the thin light fabric of your dress is completely see through in the water.

“Stop staring!” You cry out, using one of your hands to splash water onto him. If he weren’t your lifeline, the only thing keeping you afloat in these deep waters, you would’ve shoved him under water.

Cassian snaps out of it with a flinch, blinking away the salty droplets of water that splashed into his eyes. “I was looking respectfully!”

“Respectfully my ass!”

“I mean, I could look at that too.”

You shoot him a glare, hating the way his words have your insides in a frenzy. He doesn’t seem to care about his obvious arousal poking at you and you don’t have it in you to tease him as you’re desperately trying to hide yours, praying that the vast sea surrounding you is enough to mask your scent. Your hands are grasping out for the vines that run along the edge of the tiles as soon as you can reach them, using them to guide you back into the safety of your room.

You pause before you hoist yourself back up, turning to look at a clearly amused Cassian. 

“Turn around.”

“Oh, come on,” he chuckles but saves you further embarrassment by doing as you asked. You wait until his back is fully turned to you, wings flaring out behind him and spraying you with sea water on purpose, to hoist yourself up into your room. Once you’re on your feet, you pull at one of the many sheets on your bed, wrapping it snug around your exposed body.

“You can turn back around now.” 

“You can look as much as you want, bibble.” He tells you though your gaze remains fixed on the seashell painting on one of your walls. Your mind is racing and if he asked you what colors were on the painting, you would fail miserably in answering him.  “Disrespectfully too.”

You can hear his agonizingly slow footsteps as he makes his way to the door, not bothering to pick up the clothes he left sprawled all over your floor.  “Get out,” you nearly growl at him, not caring anymore, as you turn around and shove at his back. Because if he doesn’t leave soon, you’re sure you’ll lose your self control.

“Mother’s tits, y/n! I’m going!” He exclaims in protest with a grin evident in his tone.

“Well, go faster!” You huff at him, hands still pressing against his back. “I’m.Tired.”

Tired of holding back your emotions, more like it. As soon as he steps out your door, you’re slamming it shut before he can catch a glimpse of your flustered face.

“Sweet dreams, bibble.”

Leaning against the door, you take a moment to catch your breath as Cassian's deep laughter echoes through the halls. You close your eyes, attempting to rein in the whirlwind of emotions surging within you. It’s not the first time Cassian’s teased you and it won’t be the last and you’re certainly not the only one he flirts with. The female soldier from earlier being a prime example of that.

You know he means no harm by it. Yet, his teasing stings. Because you want it to be real, for him to mean every flirtatious gesture and word. You want him to like you and only you.

**

Nostrus's attempts to entice you into staying in his court become increasingly overt with each passing day. Every evening unveils a new gown adorned with matching jewelry and shoes. Precisely at the stroke of ten, the night sky ignites in a display of vibrant fireworks dedicated to the three of you but when you commented the red ones were your favorite, you note more shades of reds lighting up the night skies. Each morning, a charming arrangement of summer flowers graces your presence. Even the soldiers in your training group can't help but notice the High Lord's watchful gaze whenever he deigns to join them.

Azriel finds the spectacle amusing, always the silent observer to any unfolding drama. However, Cassian is less entertained. During your nightly debriefs with Rhysand, he consistently raises the issue and you’ve noticed that during training, he sticks closer to you. 

None of you bring up the heated moment you shared on your first night in Summer. It’s almost as if it didn’t happen at all and you’re not surprised. While it meant something to you, you know it meant nothing to him.

The female soldier, Olianna, you reluctantly learned her name, is as persistent with him as Nostrus is to you. You’re nearing the end of your first week when the female soldier and a couple of others join your nightly dinner with Nostrus and tonight, in her ruby red dress, she looks devastatingly beautiful. She takes the seat beside Cassian. Your unassigned but assigned spot. You begrudgingly sit beside Azriel instead, who is quick to raise a brow at you.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies and when you kick his leg under the table, there’s the faintest of a coy smile on his lips.

You barely even touch your plate. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth and it’s not from the food. Cassian has barely even looked at you, engrossed in what appears to be a hilarious conversation with Olianna. You’re thankful when Nostrus excuses you all from dinner, quick to rise from your seat.

“Y/N, may I have a word?” Nostrus calls to you with a smile and when Cassian’s head perks up, finally sparing you a second of his attention, he adds: “In private.”

**

As you make your way back to your room, after a pointless conversation with Nostrus, your steps come abruptly to a halt. Your heart quickens and stomach tightens as you spot Cassian and Olianna down the hall.

Olianna’s hands rest on Cassian’s arms as she looks up at him. Her back is pressed against the wall. He leans down to whisper something that you can’t discern from your distance. It has her giggling and the sound is like a painful stab to your heart. They’re so, so close. That familiar ache settles in your chest, pushing down on you so harshly you can barely breathe. 

How desperately you wish to trade places with her and maybe that could’ve been you, if you had given in to his teasing the other night. While he’d give his body to you, you know his heart would not fall so easily such as the way yours did. Cassian is a true heartthrob, a man who effortlessly captivates the hearts of many but never the one to give his. Why would you be an exception?

You try to push away your unease but fail miserably when they walk further down the hall and disappear around a corner. Doubt begins to creep in, seeping into your bones with a terrifying chilling fear. Maybe, just maybe, there is something more between them and you had lost a battle only you were aware of fighting.

Tears burn at your eyes and as you hear the door shut behind him, you feel your heart shatter at the images that flood your mind. Of him kissing her, touching her and–Stop! 

You’re running blindly to your room, too caught up in your emotions to realize your mistake. Azriel blinks at your sudden entrance, seated on his bed. However, the distress etched across your face propels him to throw his book aside and jump to his feet. Shadows flit towards you, brushing against your exposed skin and he lets out a small exhale in relief when they report no injuries.

"Should I get Cas?" Azriel offers, eyes widening slightly as concern etches its way onto his features.

Your hand reaches out, stopping him before he can leave the room. "No."

He looks at you helplessly. He’s seen you cry before but Cassian was always there in those moments. Yes, Azriel regards you as a good friend–you’ve trained with him for many years alongside Cassian. He’d happily tend to your physical injuries because it was something he was capable of but the depth of your current pain is something he is unsure how to navigate. Something only Cassian uniquely understands.

"Okay," Azriel says slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "What do you need?"

Frustration colors your attempt to wipe away the tears, and a sniffle escapes you. You’ve never felt so small, so fragile and as Azriel watches you break in front of him, realization dawns on him. Something must’ve happened between you and Cassian and his mouth parts to ask but you beat him to it.

"I need you to teach me how to swim." 

**

The next morning you can’t bring yourself to meet Cassian’s gaze. Images of him with Oliana flood your mind every time you cast a glance in his direction and the ache in your chest resurfaces. It’s irrational, you know. He’s not at fault for your feelings. After all, you’re just a friend to him. You have no claim to his affection, even though every fiber of your being yearns for it.

You are the problem.

When he reaches out, his hand lightly grasping your arm, you muster only a feeble greeting. You hear the concern in his voice as he asks what's wrong.

"Nothing," you reply, forcing a smile. "I'm just tired."

You feel the weight of his gaze burning into you as you head over to your group. He casts a glance toward Azriel in silent questioning but the Shadowsinger simply shakes his head. 

**

The sun bathes Summer’s training grounds in a warm glow and sweat clings to your skin as you show one of your soldiers a delicate maneuver with your sword that Illyrians favor during battle.

As your gaze lifts with your sword, you catch a glimpse of Cassian and Oliana sparring. Your chest tightens when you can’t help but notice their proximity to one another. The sweet sound of her laughter follows shortly after and the tightening in your chest is replaced with a burning fire.

“I don’t think I’m doing it right. Can you teach me again?”

“Of course.”

Cassian's gaze briefly meets yours, and a sudden rush of emotion courses through you. You’re quickly averting your eyes, attempting to feign disinterest. You tell yourself you're no longer watching them, but deep down, your mind is painting vivid pictures, imprinting scenes of Cassian with her. 

However, this time, it's not sadness that simmers within. It’s a burning anger and your siphons flare. Cassian is free to do whatever he pleases in his spare time but during training? When you’re working and glaringly right in front of you?

Olianna’s laughter rings out again, the sound mingling with the clash of steel. Another pang of envy stabs through your chest, sharper than the blade in your hand. 

“Like this?”

“Yeah, you got it, sweetheart.”

Your blood runs cold, sending shivers down your spine yet, there’s an undeniable blaze burning fiercely within your chest. It’s a possessive fire, a primal instinct screaming “mine” in the depths of your very being. Why does she get a sweet nickname and you a stupid one? Why is he so gentle in training her when he was harsh with you?

“That’s it,” you hiss under your breath, looking back at your group. “I’m going to show you how a fight is won.”

Tightening your grip on your sword, you nearly stomp your way to Cassian. Azriel’s head perks up from where he stands, eyes widening for a fleeting moment as he catches the glow of your siphons. “Y/n, what are–”

“Stay out of it!” You exclaim, pointing your sword at him. The sharp blade teases at his throat and he falters. His shadows whisper to him in warning and he holds his hands up in surrender, catching something flickering in your eyes.

Cassian and Oliana turn their heads at the commotion. She instinctively takes a step behind Cassian and your jaw clenches at the sight. He doesn’t seem to notice it though, attention solely focused on you.

 “What’s the matter, bibble?”

 You point your sword at him. “You.”

“Me?” He responds, a bewildered expression crossing his face. However, he remains unfazed as your sword points directly at his chest. 

“You’ve gone soft, General.” you tell him, inclining your head towards Oliana and you can’t bring yourself to care if your emotions seep out. The envy is coursing through you like an unrelenting fire. “How is she to hone in her skills when she spends most of her training laughing and batting her pretty eyelashes at you?”

Cassian lets out a chuckle. It’s been years since you’ve referred to him by his title. His hazel eyes take you in, sparkling at you with something you can’t discern. He can read the challenge in your eyes and when he finally spares a glance to the female behind him, he turns back to you. His fingers grasp at your blade carefully, lowering your sword so he can take a step forward. 

“She’s not ready to be challenged.”

You smirk at him, standing your ground. “A soldier is never fully prepared for battle.”

Cassian takes another step forward and though your sword lowers further, your grip on the hilt tightens. “And a General knows when it’s best for their soldiers to refrain from entering the battlefield.”

You take pleasure in the way Oliana huffs out indignantly from behind him.

You arch an eyebrow at him in challenge. Deep down, you’re aware nothing good is going to come from this but your Illyrian blood craves an outlet for the pent-up emotions that have been brewing for many years. 

“You fight me then,” you demand and you can feel the simmering fire between you intensifying. You welcome it, almost seeking the chaos it promises. "And don't you dare go soft on me."

His pupils flare and a sly smirk curls upon his lips. “I don’t think you can handle me.”

“Lay it all on me.”

**

Two blood rubies, sinister in their crimson glow, glisten back at you, creating a dance of hues that pulse and flicker with an inner fire. One for Cassian. One for you. Your heart sinks to your stomach and you want to cry.

This is all your doing. Your fault. 

Cassian, however, does not regard the rubies sent from the Summer Court with the same gravity. "Might as well put these beauties to use. I’m sure it would look stunning on a necklace. Maybe, even a ring,” he quips as he picks his up, hazel eyes sparkling with mirth.

You immediately sense that nothing good is going to come from this–the same way you did before the two of you accidentally destroyed a building. He turns to you and gets down on one knee. There’s a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he looks up at you.

“Marry me?" 

A rush of heat floods your face, and your eyes instinctively seek out Rhysand, finding him far from amused. He's fuming with a quiet rage, his gaze icy and piercing. You quickly avert your eyes, shifting your attention back to the Illyrian male now kneeling before you. You nudge his knee with your leg, ignoring the twinge of hurt at the expense of his joke.

"Get up, Cas.”

"Say yes.”

"Get up.”

“You think this is funny??”

You flinch at the sharpness of Rhysand’s tone and Cassian stands with a sigh. His hand brushes against yours but you don’t dare take it. You don’t deserve it. It’s only been hours since your abrupt return from Summer–since your heated fight sent an entire building crumbling into rubble. If Azriel hadn’t used his shadows to return you home immediately after, you’re not sure you’d be alive right now.

“I’m so sorry, Rhys,” you say,  lowering your head and Rhysand’s gaze softens at the nervous fidgeting of your hands. “It’s all my fault.” 

“No, it’s mine.” Cassian steps forward, hand resting on your waist to gently push you back behind him as he takes full responsibility. “I got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

“Cas, I’m the one who challenged you.”

He ignores you. “It was my blast that sent that building, as weak as it already was, to crumble down.”

Rhysand lets out a deep sigh. He leans back into his seat, fingers rubbing at his forehead at the images Azriel provides. He finds that you both are equally at fault. They’re complete wreck less idiots,  Rhysand groans into the Shadowsinger’s mind.

I know.  There’s a hint of amusement in Azriel’s response.

Running a hand down his face in exhaustion, Rhysand looks at both you and Cassian. 

You stand there, still behind Cassian, anxious as you await your impending punishment and he can literally hear your mind racing without having to intrude. Meanwhile, Cassian, seemingly unfazed, hums a carefree tune to himself, earning an incredulous glance from you. 

“Well I can kiss my alliance with the Summer Court goodbye but I will not have a High Lord from another court seeking vengeance on two of my closest friends. You each are going to write your most heartfelt apologies to Nostrus, beg if you must, and let us all pray to the Cauldron that he finds it in his heart to forgive you.”

Parchment, ink and quills appear at the desk before you. With a flick of his wrist, Rhysand uses his magic to bring forth two chairs, gesturing for you and Cassian to sit. “You two are not allowed to leave this room until those letters are finished.”

Rhysand then turns to Azriel. “I need you to watch them. Make sure they don’t destroy any of my buildings.”

A low, almost melodramatic groan escapes Azriel’s lips. “Why do I always have to babysit them?”

“Azriel.”

“Fine.”

Once Rhysand leaves, you slump into one of the chairs with a small sigh of relief. You pick up a quill, dipping it in ink and stare at the blank parchment. Cassian does the same. Azriel picks up a book from one of the shelves. He then seats himself at Rhysand’s chair, right across from you both.

“Please make this quick,” his voice almost pleads, eyes darting between you both.

“You write it for me then.” Cassian rips a piece of paper, crumbling it into a tiny ball before flicking it at his friend. Azriel rolls his eyes, his loyal shadows catching the piece of paper midair and sending it back to Cassian, hitting his forehead with a tiny “whoosh.”

Your eyebrows furrow in an attempt to focus, all the while trying to ignore the distracting bounce of Cassian's leg. Slowly but surely, you’re scribbling words onto the parchment and before you know it, you’re crafting the most sincere apology to High Lord Nostrus. 

Cassian picks up on your deep concentration. He leans in closer, warm breath tickling your ear. “Whatcha writing there, bibble?”

“An apology,” you respond dryly, shooting him a sideways glance. You take note that his paper is still blank. “Something you should be doing too if you want us to make it to dinner.”

“I am. I’m just brainstorming,” he retorts in a ‘duh’ tone. “Let me see yours!”

You’re sliding your parchment away from his prying eyes. “No. Use your own brain!”

Ever the persistent one, Cassian leans in even closer, his head now practically resting on your shoulder as your hands hover over your paper, careful not to smear the fresh ink. “Come on, just a peek. I promise not to steal your most heartfelt words.”

With an exasperated sigh, you relent, allowing him a quick glimpse. His eyes are skimming through the words with an appreciative tilt of his head. “I like it. But maybe add a bit more details and drama, you know? Tug at his heartstrings a little more, he seemed to like you a lot.”

“We’re not trying to craft a masterpiece to win an award, Cassian,” you hiss at him, snatching your letter away from him.

“But you are trying to free yourself of a death sentence.” Azriel remarks, peering over his book at you as he reminds you that receiving a blood ruby from the Summer Court is not something to be taken lightly.

“See? Az gets it.” Cassian chuckles.

“Shut up and get to writing.” Azriel snaps at the busybody beside you, a stern edge in his tone.

“Yes, sir!”

**

Fortunately, the three of you arrive just in time for dinner. Unfortunately, the predominant topic at the table centers around the destruction of the building in the Summer Court. Rhysand, having taken the time to cool down, is noticeably calmer. While he remains upset that you and Cassian veered off course from your assigned mission, there's also a hint of happiness in having his friends back home and safe.

Cassian casually drapes his arm over the back of your chair, and the room is filled with the melody of his laughter in response to something Mor said. Something you should’ve caught as you’re seated right across from her but it’s the rich scent of sandalwood that captivates all your senses, causing your stomach to flutter. You barely manage to swallow your food without choking–a fact not lost on Azriel. He, however, chooses not to comment, sparing you from further embarrassment and grinning into his glass of wine instead.

 Rhysand glares at Mor and you get a sense of what had been said when he says: “Please don’t encourage these architects of chaos.”

You groan, leaning back into your seat. The regret is instant as the edge of your wing brushes against Cassian’s arm. It sends a slight shiver down your spine and you’re mustering all your strength to keep it from causing your sensitive wings to twitch. You’re down bad.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Sure, but before we do…” Amren begins, a devious smile playing on her lips as she glances at you from across the table. “Can I keep the rubies?”

“Yeah and you can even keep the threat that comes with it too.”

The rest of dinner is, for the most part, uneventful. Rhysand excuses himself early to finish on some paperwork and before he leaves, he lets you and Cassian know that High Lord Nostrus should be receiving your written apologies by tomorrow morning. Amren leaves shortly after, eager to return to the quiet peace of her home. Just in time, too, as she manages to avoid a pointless argument between Cassian and Azriel over who has the best technique in training.

Not wanting to be dragged into it, you rise from your seat, grabbing a hold of the two remaining unopened wine bottles that Rhysand forgot to take back with him. You turn to Mor and you laugh when you don’t even have to say anything. She’s already standing from her seat, gesturing for you to lead the way.

The two of you end up in one of the living rooms and you’re touched when you find that the sentient house has a delicious assortment of desserts waiting for you on the coffee table. You sink into the comfort of the couch, feeling like you’re sitting on a cloud. Mor seats herself beside you, doing the honors of pouring you a glass of wine.

It doesn’t take long before the two of you are immersed into the dirtiest of gossip and catch up with one another. You move to pour yourself another glass only to find the second wine bottle empty, so you set your empty glass down on the coffee table. Leaning back into the comfort of the plush couch, you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know what he’s done to me,” you confess quietly, exhaustion taking over your features. “I’ve known him for years and all of sudden, I’m a possessive jealous mess? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

Mor raises a brow, as if it makes perfect sense to her. She then hums in contemplation, swirling the last drops of wine in her glass. “Maybe we should go out, have some fun, find a little distraction for you.”

“Or you can tell Cassian how you feel.”

The deep voice startles you both, causing Mor to gasp. Her glass falls from her grasps as Azriel emerges from the shadows. She regards the small specks of red tainting the white carpet with a frown before lifting her gaze to scowl at the Shadowsinger while you shoot him a mortified look.

“How dare you give her a reasonable option?” Mor chides him, waving her hands dramatically in the air.

“Stop with that nonsense, Az,” you say, a slight slur to your words. A frown settles onto your face, heart aching as your mind forces you to think of Cassian and Olianna. “He doesn’t feel the same for me as I do for him. I’ll only ruin our friendship if I do.”

Azriel’s eyes travel throughout the room. He takes in the empty bottles of wine, your hazy eyes and Mor’s flushed face. He looks like he wants to tell you something, on the verge of sharing a secret. Yet, whatever words linger on the tip of his tongue remain unspoken. He decides it’s best to turn around and leave, the inked wing on his arm burning further into his skin.

“Fine but don’t call me for help when you destroy another building.”

"Oh, fuck you."

He doesn't bother to turn around as he returns the gesture, a small chuckle escaping from him as he disappears into his shadows.

“So,” you turn back to Mor. “How about that distraction?” 

**

“By the Cauldron, you look absolutely ravishing.” Mor whistles, stepping back to appreciate her work and as you look at your reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but agree.

After asking Rhysand to fly you both down, Mor winnowed you both to the townhouse, where she kept most of her going out clothes as it was a shorter distance to Rita’s. Insisting on glamming you up, she took charge of your hair and makeup, even providing you with a choice from her wardrobe. Considering the wings, your options were limited, but your gaze was drawn to a striking red satin dress. It had an alluring lace-up open back and a daring slit hem.

After scouring the dance floor for an hour from your seat at the bar, you finally find someone who catches your interest and as you approach him, you’re happy to find that he isn't intimidated by the sight of your wings. Despite your determination to keep a low profile in Velaris, it becomes challenging to go unnoticed when your friends all possess such great reputations, especially when Cassian is by your side. Mor wishes you good luck, sending you a wink as you depart from her side. 

The male, who is named Felix, slings an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to him as you dance and you find yourself missing the scent of sandalwood immensely. He grins at you, intentions as clear as yours. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, drinking you under the neon lights of Rita’s. He licks his lips and glances over at your wings. “I’ve heard Illyrians can be very sensitive when it comes to their wings. Can I touch?”

Your mind immediately brings an image forward, of your wings being softly caressed, and heat pools down to your stomach. But in your head, it’s not the male in front of you. It’s Cassian’s.  

“Don’t you dare fucking touch her!”

By the Cauldron, your mind is playing tricks on you as you can even hear his voice too.

You feel the loss of warmth from the male and you open your eyes just in time to see Felix sent stumbling to the floor. Your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you. Cassian is standing in front of you, chest heaving. The people who had stopped to stare quickly avert their gazes at his heated stare.

Felix gets up to his feet. He doesn’t even spare you a glance or a word as he disappears into the crowd. You’re immediately leaving the dance floor, not bothering to grab your coat before you exit the club with Cassian hot on your heels.

You pivot and Cassian nearly bumps into you. “What the fuck Cassian?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, returning your glare. “What the fuck?”

“Why are you even here?”

“I don’t know. Something didn't feel right." Cassian confesses, placing a hand over his chest as if to settle a pain.

You turn back around, knowing the towering Illyrian male was already planning to follow you. You begin to make your way to your place–a small apartment that Rhysand had gifted you on your first solstice in Velaris. You seldom used it, preferring to stay at either the house of wind or townhouse, but Rhysand insisted you have a place of your own in case you ever need space.

“And that gave you the right to ruin my night?” you huff over your shoulder.

“Ruin your night? I just saved you!”

“From what?” You laugh with sarcasm, grateful that the walk from your apartment and Rita’s was short. Pulling your key out from your bra, you hastily unlock your door.  “An orgasm? Gee, thanks. Love you for that,” and then under your breath mutter: “I didn’t stop you from yours in Summer.”

As soon as you step through your door, you turn and shut it behind you. A boot stops you from doing so and Cassian pushes against you and the door, allowing himself in. “What are you talking about?”

“You mean to tell me nothing happened between you and Olianna?”

“Yes, because nothing happened! She asked me to help her with a move after dinner so I did and…” His voice trails off, and then a heavy silence descends as realization washes over him. He looks at you, and you instinctively avert your gaze.

Without bothering to slip off your heels, you dart straight to your room, desperate to put as much distance between the two of you. You’re not ready to have this conversation. Relief mingles with embarrassment, both emotions flooding you and sending blood rushing to your face. But Cassian is determined. He follows after you.

“Were you jealous?”

Arms crossed over your chest, you keep your back to him, wings curled around you. “No.”

Cassian chuckles, and before you know it, he's spinning you around to face him. One hand presses against your lower back, the other at your face. A smirk plays on his lips as he reads the defiant expression on your face. He knows you’re lying.

“You were jealous.”

“So were you,” you manage to say back.

Cassian hums in what can only be agreement. A thumb reaches out to brush your lower lip, the same way he did your first night in Summer, and then he’s replacing his thumb with his lips. The way he wanted to that night. His kiss is anything but gentle. It’s pure heated desire–one that has been simmering for years. You kiss him back, matching his urgency and he groans, allowing both of his hands to cup your face as his lips mold perfectly against yours.

He pulls away, his hands still cradling your face as his gaze burns into yours. “You want to orgasm tonight? I can give it to you.”

A thrill runs down your spine and your wings shudder. You should push him away. Cassian is your friend. A friend… who is offering to give you an orgasm with a very promising look at this very moment. Though your heart tells you not to, that you might end up hurt after this, there’s that singing in your chest again. Give in.

“You sound so confident.”

His eyes darken as his legs push against yours, walking you both to your bed. The back of your knees meet your bed and you give in, allowing yourself to fall onto the soft sheets behind you. You land on your elbows and push yourself even further up on your bed until your back meets your headrest.

“Don’t test me, baby,” he purrs, watching the way your thighs clench in response to the new nickname. It makes his cock harden in his pants. “I can have you screaming all night long.”

“Lay it all on me,” you reply, heart be damned.

Cassian wastes no time in stripping himself of his clothes, lust filled eyes fixated on you. His hard cock springs free and your eyes widen because yes, you’ve seen him before but not like this. Not when he’s hard and leaking and it’s all for you. He pumps himself, licking his lips, as your arousal floods his senses before easing himself onto the bed.

He slips your heels off and discards them. His hands caress their way up your legs and the roughness of his hands, weathered by many battles and challenges, feels heavenly against you. As his hands make their way higher, they begin kneading at the soft flesh of your thighs, dragging your dress up along with his movements. He groans at the thin lace that greets him, pressing his lips against your clothed core.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

“Well, you did catch me in the middle of something promising earlier…”

Cassian growls at your words, a wave of possessiveness taking over him. “Yeah? Well, by the time I’m done with you, it will be my cum dripping out of this pretty pussy.”

He’s tugging at your underwear, hastily dragging it down your legs. With a devious smirk, he grasps your hands and places them over his hair.

It’s the only warning he gives you before diving right in and setting you alight with his mouth. His nose brushes against your clit as he begins to fuck you with his tongue. “Do you know how often I thought of this? Of tasting you.”

You want to tell him you’ve thought of this too but you’re too lost in the pleasure of his mouth. All you can do is moan and it spurs him on, urging him to bring you closer to your release.  “I can only imagine how good I’ll feel inside you.”

His words, a promise of what is to come, is your undoing. You’re squirming beneath him, back arching off the bed as you thread your fingers through his hair. A string of curses leaves your lips when he presses multiple kisses to your clit, overwhelming you in such a delightful way.

Cassian pulls away, mouth glistening with your release as he grins and your heart flutters. He crawls his way up your body, replacing his tongue with his fingers, reveling in the way they easily slide in. His lips slot over yours in a sloppy and heated kiss. When he slips another finger into you, you’re moaning into his mouth. His tongue dances with yours, wrestling for dominance that you ardently submit to.

“Please, Cassian,” you’re begging when his lips leave yours and his cock twitches at the pretty sounds that follow after. Another wave of white hot pleasure crashes over you and he groans, loving the way you're clenching so tightly around his fingers. “I need you.”

Cassian slips his fingers out of you, placing his hands at your hips to flip the both of you over. He adjusts you to straddle his lap, gaze burning into you with need. “Show me.”

“But let’s get rid of this first.” His fingers toy with the slit of your dress. “I need to see all of you.”

You nod, fingers reaching behind to undo the laces of your dress. The sound of fabric ripping reaches your ears before you can undo the first knot and cool air caresses against the newly exposed skin. 

“Cassian!”

“That’s my name, baby,” he grins at you, expertly unclasping your bra and throwing it behind you along with the torn dress.

“That wasn’t my dre–oh.” Your protest dies at your throat, eyes fluttering shut as he takes your breasts in his hands, kneading the soft flesh and pressing them together. The torn dress you borrowed from Mor is long forgotten, stored away in the back of your mind. The same way you stored away all your reservations. The desire that’s been consuming you is too much for you to think through reasonably so you succumb completely into it, knowing there will be consequences to deal with later.

**

It’s almost embarrassing how much Cassian has thought about this, especially after the tease you gave him in Summer. His desires had gone beyond wanting to kiss you that night. He wanted to see, feel and taste every part of you. To hear you moaning and screaming just for him. Now, that you’re completely bare before him, he can look, feel and taste all he wants. And he plans to bask in every second of your warmth.

 “So fucking beautiful,” he breathes, leaning in to take a breast into his mouth, tongue swirling around your hardening nipple with burning hunger. Your hands find purchase in his hair again as you arch yourself further, grinding against him. Lewd moans escape from both of you when the tip of his cock brushes against your sensitive clit. Cassian dives for your neck next, pressing hot open mouthed kisses everywhere he can. 

“Come on, baby girl. Show me how much you need me and ride me.”

Aligning yourself with him, you slowly sink down onto his cock, savoring the burn from the stretch. His fingers run up and down your sides before settling onto your hips. Eyes fluttering shut at the sheer intensity of your warmth, he can’t help but thrust up into you, fully sheathing himself inside you. His head tilts back when you begin to move and he releases a deep groan.

It’s when your thighs start to tremble and wings flare out that he takes over. He hugs you tightly, arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand rubs at your clit. While he pants and groans against your neck, you’re crying and screaming out his name. He plants his feet on the bed and thrusts ruthlessly up into you over and over again until you both reach your high, wings flaring out. 

**

As Cassian stirs in bed, a cool emptiness greets him, replacing the warmth he expected. Blinking his eyes open, he finds the spot beside him empty. You're gone. The lingering trace of your sweet scent is the only evidence of what transpired between you both. Fuck. Apprehension weighs down on his mind in your absence, threatening to sicken his stomach. He needs to talk to you. 

After freshening up and slipping into the spare clothes he keeps at your place, his determination to find you takes hold. It's as if he can sense the storm of emotions within you—guilt, anxiety, and fear. There’s an inkling in his mind as to where you are. He knows you so well. A soft smile graces his lips when he spots you on the training grounds of the house of wind, unleashing powerful strikes on a punching bag.

Your hair is gathered into a carefree bun, and today, you've traded your usual leathers for leggings and a sports bra. You’re a vision of strength and beauty and as loose strands of your hair dance in the breeze, Cassian finds himself lost in the realization of just how deeply in love with you he is. 

He lands softly, fighting the urge to frown when he notices the immediate tension in your body from his presence. He hesitates, his throat bobbing as he looks at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Can we—"

"No, let me talk first," you interrupt with a deep sigh as you turn to face him.

"But I had something to say first," he insists with a slight shake of his head.

“I have something more important to say."

Cassian crosses his arms, challenging your claim. "My something is more important than your something."

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air and as the weight of your confession sinks in, a wave of fear grips you. You're certain you've just shattered any hopes of a remaining friendship with him. Because after last night, there's no way you can keep going on as a friend when you want to be so much more. The silence becomes maddening, and suddenly, you can't hold it any longer.

“I love you so much it hurts,” you admit with a trembling breath, tears welling in your eyes. “Because I want your every smile, your every laugh, but above all, I want your heart and–and I’m sorry for–”

“Oh, y/n,” Cassian interrupts with a chuckle.

The sound makes you go weak and you’re absolutely mortified. He rarely ever calls you by your name. He’s about to break your heart, the very thing you’ve been fearing since the realization of your feelings. The urge to run away grips you, but your feet remain planted. You lack the strength to escape the moment. Tears flow freely down your face, and your wings sag behind you, unable to bear the weight of vulnerability.

“You’ve had my heart from the start.”

Slowly, you lift your gaze. Hazel eyes bore into yours, the golden flecks glimmering at you. “What?”

He steps closer to you until he's standing right in front of you. His hands cradle your face as he wipes at your tears. “I’ve loved you for years. I thought I made it pretty obvious, especially after last night.”

“Not obvious enough,” you remark with a huff but there’s a playful and affectionate undertone in your voice.

“I could remind you again?”

"Please."

A radiant smile breaks onto Cassian’s face, and the warmth in his eyes washes away any doubt that may have lingered in your heart. Something within you flutters madly against your ribs. All these years…the teasing, the flirting, the lingering touches. They all meant something to him, the same way it did for you. You’ve loved him and he loved you back. So many years wasted, yearning and pining for one another. As you gaze into each other’s eyes, so many unspoken words are said and there’s a shared understanding that you’re not wasting another moment.

**

Rhysand raises his cup of coffee to his lips, the rich aroma swirling around him as he catches a glimpse of Cassian, carrying you over his shoulder, with an eagerness he’s familiar with. He then glances over the rim of his mug at Azriel, seated across from him at the breakfast table.

"Do you think they know?"

Azriel snorts in response. "Doubt it. I think you should tell them."

“No.” Rhysand's lips curve into a smirk. "Let's see how long it takes them to realize that their mating bond has snapped into place."

“We should probably head out.”

“Good idea,” Rhysand replies with a nod of his head.

In the blink of an eye, the sentient house packs the remnants of their breakfast for them to enjoy elsewhere. Without a moment's delay, they make their way to one of the balconies. Their wings gracefully unfurl behind them, catching the morning sunlight that bathes them in a golden glow.

As they soar away, you and Cassian remain blissfully unaware of the invisible thread that has silently bound your souls together for years.

tagging: @historiaxvanserra

a/n: I always wanted to write a fic where a mating bond has snapped but neither of them have a clue because they already loved each other, might be a bit unrealistic but 🤷‍♀️ I came across this bibble meme while writing this and it reminded me of both reader and Cas in some aspects. Since I couldn't think of an embarrassing nickname, I went with Bibble and so now the cute little character is canon in Prythian in this lol.

if you want more background info on reader and cas: click here

Other things that I included in this part:

This scene from Vampire Diaries.

also, this tiktok.

[dippedinmelancholy]

I have such weird, complex feelings about Elain. I feel like they might get me some hate but, I need to spit them out, the brain worms are trying to devour me. My thoughts on her are sort of two fold. What I get from canon!elain and what you get from the fandom. Canon Elain is soft and feminine, but so deeply selfish it actually drives me insane. ACOSF makes it clear she's always seen Nesta. Always perceptive enough to pick up on what is happening around her. She buys Feyre paint, she sees Nesta being abused by her mother, and she sees the hatred the IC holds for Nesta. Yet for all her perception, she never bothers to help even in the smallest manner. She is deeply catered to by her sisters. She even points this out when Feyre and the IC shows up to use their house when she's still human. She says she didn't do anything, she takes part of the blame for the first time in her life. Yet, nothing more comes of it. When she is suddenly fae, and could possibly help or have expectations placed on her, she turns catatonic. This only serves to infantilize Elain as little more than a child all over again. In ACOSF, she pushes and pushes Nesta until Nesta snaps. After what, a week? A couple weeks? Of being trapped in the HoW, after Elain didn't even have the spine to face her sister, only pack up her things and agree to imprisoning the one person who had ALWAYS had her side, who fought so violently for her, Elain runs crying that Nesta isn't any different. This doesn't make me hate Elain. It makes her complex. But it does make it hard for me to connect with her, as she seems to hide behind her softness, and it makes her seem so much more manipulative than Nesta ever was. But fandom Elain . . . ugh. I think in general, a lot of women reading ACOTAR are traditionally feminine. We're soft, we see ourselves as sweet, ect. And for some, it seems they SUPER project onto Elain and see her as an angel who deserves the "Shadow Daddy" who has never done any wrong, and see she finally sees how perfect Feyre is and has turned away from cruel Nesta. A huge argument I've seen is that Elain's the most powerful, her story is all about choice, and that's why she deserves Azriel. That she's never ever had a choice, and choosing Azriel will finally give that to her. I think there's so much potential in Elain, but are you fucking kidding me? Elain has had the MOST softness and choice out of all of the sisters. She was pampered even when they were at their poorest. Even their mother afforded Elain the chance to marry for happiness, where she abused both Feyre and Nesta. Nesta was groomed and physically abused, Feyre was neglected and forced to take on too much. After Feyre is taken by Tamlin, Elain INSTANTLY finds a love match that Nesta supports, Nesta fights only so Elain can be safe and happy. The Cauldren was GENTLE with her, it turned on the King because of how it felt about Elain. The Cauldron BRUTALIZED Nesta. It's just so exhausting to see this complex sister, who's just as bad as both Feyre and Nesta, rewritten into this self insert, flawless and soft creature who has nothing to answer for, only awaiting her Shadow Daddy smut. Especially since SJM does not know how to write traditionally soft women in a leading role. She has no idea how to portray strength without violence.

[achaotichuman]

Recently I delved into the depths of my docs to find the first fanfiction I wrote for ACOTAR that never saw the light of day.

Obviously it's horrible writing, but I like the premise and since I am addicted to piling more projects on top of my scheldule I rewrote the first chapter and redid the plot for it.

Originally these events take place a year or two after the war with Hybern, and everything is the exact same EXCEPT for somethin Tamlin is doing.

I changed it so that this is a fic of what would have happened if Tamlin didn't give over that drop of power to bring Rhysand back.

Anyway, here's there rewritten chapter. Tell me if you guys like it!

“Be happy Feyre.”

The words nearly tumbled out of his mouth. The carefully loving words that wrapped like ivy around his throat, choking him, those last cords of love that had twisted into something else. That had made him soft for her. He had offered his heart like ripe fruit on a silver platter for her to take and now look at where he stood. 

Bloodied, gore and guts clinging to his armour like a second layer of skin, mud caked on his legs and arms. Hair a mess, dirty and disgusting. His people, his armies, whom he had gone to his knees to earn the trust of them back, after she twisted their minds, undid their memories, stared in every personal thought to create a new story for all of them. One that fit her narrative. 

The damage she had caused, the things she had taken. What she had done, what she had cost not just them but all of Pryhtian. Destroying the Courts she had saved not even a year ago. 

Now, on her knees, holding the man who had assaulted her night after night after night whilst she vomited, cried and danced and laughed, and been drugged. She screamed his name whilst she cling to his lifeless form. 

The good for nothing bastard Lord was finally dead. Tamlin should have breathed a sigh of relief. 

Instead every High Lord stood around awkwardly, as one after the other they had willingly handed over their magic despite what this man had done to them. Despite how much they all hated him. They did it for his grief-stricken mate who screamed for them to help. To bring him back the same way she had come back. 

But he was dead for what he had done. Giving over power to remake the Cauldron, the mother had taken his very soul with the magic, the price paid to put the world back together. 

Truly, who were they to defy her?

Tamlin stood up straight, when Feyre stared up at him, eyes filled with tears as she saw his stone-cold face. 

“Please,” She screamed, “Please I’ll do anything!”

Green eyes cut from her to the other Lords. None made eye-contact with him. All looking elsewhere, anywhere, the grey-red clouds above, the torn battlefield layered with bodies on decaying bodies, the rivers running red with blood. Some of them, no doubt reminded of Amarantha’s reign of terror by the bloodshed, looked to the muddy ground. 

But none dared look in his eye, all knew what she had done to him. Her reasons for doing so. They also all knew what he had done to her. 

But staring down at her now, thinking back on all of it. 

Thinking back on the slander of Court, the destruction of his people. The lying, the scheming, the pure hatred. 

Then there was one final thought that struck true. 

What would they have all done if it had been him dead on the floor and not Rhysand?

The image of his bloodied mother, his dead brothers, even as cruel as they were, flashed before his eyes. 

“No.” He said. Standing tall and true, “I will not hand over my magic.”

“You fucking monster!” A girl with gold streaked blonde hair lunged at him from out of nowhere. Morrigan. 

She didn’t get far, from where she was knees deep in the mud. A flash of gold and a short-sudden scream from her. She was pinned to the floor with golden threads. Not painful, but certainly startling, and no doubt humiliating. 

Tamlin couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Feyre stared up at him. Her wet blue eyes boring into his own with a deep-cut grief that would have broken him just a few weeks ago. 

Now. 

Now all he felt was mild pity, and a distant sadness, for the girl who had been killed under the mountain and never brought back. 

“Who's to say the real Rhysand would even return?” Tamlin said, voice mockingly kind, “When the first time we brought a human back, she was not the same at all?”

Feyre’s saddened eyes turned wrathful, her beautiful face twisting into a deadly scowl. All that hatred, focused solely on him. 

“You were what led me to my death! And now you refuse to even help him!” She screamed, the pain and grief tearing through her, along with the emptiness of where her mating bond used to be no doubt fueling her rage. 

“You led yourself to your death as did he.” Tamlin said, perfectly calm and stoic. She wouldn’t get a rise out of him. Not anymore. 

Tamlin looked to the others, “Think about all that male has done to us. Think of what his mate has brought down upon our lands. And maybe rethink tossing your magic carelessly at whatever dead corpse lays before you.”

“He is not a corpse!” Feyre shrieked. Her cries and screams becoming distant. Vague. As weariness bore heavy on him. For the mortal, the living, unfortunately exhaustion was a natural occurrence. 

Tamlin’s eyes went down to Rhysand. Least he’ll never be exhausted again. 

The thought was cruel, and maybe he was a horrible man for feeling relief. Staring into that lifeless face, knowing he was dead forever. Gone. Bound to never bring him misfortune again. 

“You are a heartless male.” A seething voice said somewhere near him. Tamlin looked towards where a limping Illyrian with blue siphons hissed, looking like he wanted to tear the High Lord to shreds but his own limitations and injuries prevented it. 

A cold, humourless smile broke out on his face. The Spring Lord looked down upon Feyre. 

“Give him your own magic.” He said, tilting his head, “Why don’t you hand over those drops of power you claim to make yourself so, so powerful?”

She was silent, as tears continued to stream down her face, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Oh right, you can’t.”

He would leave after this and never see her face again, he hoped, but he didn’t bite his tongue to prevent the final blow, “Our magic is the only thing holding you together. You claim yourself so powerful. Above the rest of us entirely. The self-proclaimed High Lady of the Night Court, equal to the most powerful in all the Earth. But you really aren’t. You need our magic to survive.”

Tamlin looked back at Rhysand, and didn’t hide the relief on his face, “You can’t bring him back without us.”

The Nightmare was gone. Now all that was left was the cleanup. 

Feyre screamed, whether it was an insult, her hatred or simply incoherent, he didn’t know. He winnowed away. Back to Spring. 

It was time for a cleanup. 

And he had plans to make things right in his Court. In Prythian in its entirety. 

***

I probably will not continue this fic since I have so much I need to write already, but I think its fun to go back and reflect on my old ideas and rewrite to compare to how my form was before and how it is now.

[dimalry]

hi love!! hope you’re having a lovely day!! just wanted to say that i utterly adore your style, it has this idk…atmosphere? vibe? that is just so fun and cute and UGH i wanna squish all your drawings but also everyone is so hot and i love it!! i was wondering, whats your favourite crackship within acotar?? 🤍

I don’t know how to handle this much love 🤧 I hope you have a lovely day as well 💕

I‘d say I love the popular crack ships like Neris, Azris and Morlain. However, my absolute FAVORITE is Emerie x Nuan.

Hear me out, a few months ago I wanted to draw every acotar woman in the way I picture them. Right after Emerie I drew Nuan and this is what came out:

Obviously she isn’t done yet (I kind of abandoned it for weeks), but I‘m IN LOVE with this version of Nuan and so I made some headcanons like her being a lonely, workaholic, awkward introvert, who‘s into tech and wants to advance all of Prythian, specifically Day court. One thing let to another and now I have an entire angsty love story about Emerie and Nuan.

I also realized that I don’t actually ship Mor and Emerie simply because I don’t vibe with Mor‘s character. I love this image of Emerie being in a love triangle though 🤍

Anyway, now I have too many stories in my head that I‘d love to make it real: Feysand then Nessian (just rewritten stories), Gwynriel alongside Emerie‘s story, Elucien and lastly Nuarie.

[litnerdwrites]

Justice for Nesta recs (AO3)

Most, if not all, of these recs are in the Justice for Nesta/ ACOSF rewrite/fix-it vein. It will be updates as I find more fics, but feel free to send any recs you have.

TRIGGER WARNING! Many of these fics will be very dark, with references to suicide, ptsd, misogyny, and IC BS. However, I'll be sure to add specifics where applicable.

Fics For Those Craving Nesta JusticeI put all the fics I found into one collection on AO3 that, as the title suggests, are for those craving Nesta Justice. Please read the relevant tags for each fic, as many of them contain reference to PTSD, SA (both past referenced and in story), and general IC BS.

I'll also list every fic in this collection bellow, just to keep them all in one place. Feel free to also add your own finds or works if you have any. The collection is open, but moderated.

Those the Stars Cannot Hear by @kataraavatara An ACOSF rewrite where Mor makes good on her threat to leave Nesta in the CON.

Baby, now we got bad blood by Pumpkinspice_Lou They say you should never come between a male and his mate. Rhysand should've known better. Aka Cassian finally choosing Nesta. Completed two-shot.

A Court of Vice and Victors by Wishcamper Acosf rewritten by a therapist. Need I say more? Incomplete.

You Made Her Like That By BookWorm77071 A few days into their Hike from Hell, Nesta is able to form one coherent thought: I don't want to do this anymore. So she stops. Three chapter short story. Completed.

Nesta becomes a baby by Theladyofbloodshed Exactly what the title says. Oneshot.

A Court of Tangled Flames by Theladyofbloodshed A Neris fic where Nesta gets the love story she deserves.

ACOTAR snippet collection by Theladyofbloodshed A collection of Acotar what ifs.

Nesta vs. The Buffer by Theladyofbloodshed After Nesta finally snaps at another 'family' dinner, calling Cassian and Mor out on their shit, she begins to heal and fall in love on her own terms. With a certain shadowsinger. Completed. Nezriel fic. Anti IC but they kind of redeem themselves at the end. Completed.

AU Where We Pretend Acosf Didn't Happen by Theladyofbloodshed An alternative take to ACOSF, starting from post ACOFS. Nesta ends up leaving Velaris, starting herself on a journey of self discovery and healing. TW Beron Vansera, implied/referenced SA, IC being assholes.

Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream by This_Immortal_Hope Nesta was a wolf. So, much like a wolf, she bided her time, accepting her exile with ice in her and determination in her heart. When she was ready, she tore their Court of Dreams apart with their own hypocrisy. One shot. No ship. Rhysand is thoroughly put in his place. Oneshot.

Second Chances by miryamdev Cassian apologises to Nesta after the HOFAS bonus chapter.

A trick of the light by closet_monster There was nothing condemning about madness or paralyzing fear. Nesta was familiar with both — they seemed to be a recurring theme in both womanhood and life in Hewn. Oneshot. TW Depression, self harm, and implied abuse. Please double check the tags before reading.

Burn for Eternity by rosemai Nesta is defeated and broken down by the words of her sisters and the IC, so she takes matters into her own hands and meets a group on individuals who could give her the help she needs. Incomplete.

Nesta's Truth by grovellingboyfriends After another year of leaving Nesta alone, Cassian finds Nesta in her apartment on Solstice, standing over a dead man. TW for implied SA, parental abuse, Elain is a bitch. 3/5 chapters published as of making this post.

Daylight by Flowerflamestar Nesta Archeron, banished and betrayed, ran from cold and hatred straight into the light of Day and found a place where she could belong. Completed.

Might I Suggest You Don't Fuck With My Sis by MacabreGiggles The intervention rethought, where the Archeron sisters decide to stand up for one another and put the IC in their place. Incomplete.

I died. I will die. It's alright. I don't mind. By MacabreGiggles Nesta resorts to other means to cope, like drugs. Incomplete. TW. Abuse. Alcolism. Suicide. Sexual assault. Drug abuse.

The Veil of Silence by Hrizantemy There exists a veil of silence, it shrouds our voices masking our truths, muffling our cries, our voices are muted, and dreams whispered. Incomplete.

You're a crisis of my faith by porque_nolosdos Nesta and Elain leave the NC, and upon seeing the IC's reaction, Feyre decides to ditch them too. Incomplete.

A thousand cuts by adelindschade It finally clicks for Cassian just how badly Nesta was hurting (it only took three TW suicide TW attempts), so he decides to try thinking of what Nesta would want. This decision leaves a ripple effect that will change the NC as we know it. Incomplete.

The consequences of normality by TheTeaQueen After the events of ACOSF, things seem relatively normal. Until Cassian realises that Nesta doesn't ask for things, or that self hatred still grips her, or the facade she puts on for her family. When she starts cutting back on training and work in the library, he begins to worry. Maybe things aren't as perfect as he thought. Maybe their methods in helping her weren't as effective as he thought. Incomplete.

Three little words by TheTeaQueen Cassian finally says those three little words that Nesta needed to hear. Oneshot.

Like fire, she raged by TheTeaQueen Emerie stands up for Nesta and puts Rhys and Feyre in their place. Completed.

Of Death and Resurrection by TheTeaQueen Part 1 of In the name of healing and happiness. Nesta was ready to die. So to save Feyre and Nyx, she did. Can Rhysand, the only person who can save her, bring her back from the brink? Completed. TW Implied suicide, rape/sa, anti Elain.

Of Shadows and Light by TheTeaQueen Part 2 of In the name of healing and happiness. Technically more of a Gwynriel fic, but does have some Nessian since it follows the aftermath of Of death and Resurrection, only Azriel, Gwyn & Elain are the main focus. Ties up a lose thread or two from part 1, and is 100% Anti Elain. Completed. TW Implied child abuse, implied suicide, torture.

Of Reopened Wounds and Retribution by TheTeaQueen Part 3 of In the name of healing and happiness. A trip to the human lands to discuss the treaty leads Nesta to face Thomas Mandray again. This time, she has family willing to go to hell and back for her. Incomplete. TW Implied rape/sa, panic attack.

Lady Death and Her Kingdom by TheTeaQueen Amren pushes Nesta too far, causing her to awaken a strange new power. TW Implied child abuse. Incomplete.

The Hike, Alternatively by TheTeaQueen An alternative take on The Hike from Hell, where Nesta attempt to TW commit suicide TW, and Cassian realises just how messed up their methods, and the events leading up to the hike are. Written for Suicide prevention month. Completed. TW Self harm, suicide, The Hike.

To Pay a Debt by TheTeaQueen When Nesta sees that Feyre didn't include her in any of the paintings, she does the only thing she can think of; Run. Incomplete. TW, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentioned sa.

Burning from the Inside out by TheTeaQueen An au where Nesta's secretly lived with Chronic pain her whole life, only for the cauldron and her new powers to exacerbate it. Complete. TW Implied/referenced child abuse, suicidal thoughts, ableism, internalised ableism.

The Whole Truth by TheTeaQueen An alternative take where Nesta's deepest secret comes to light when Elain explodes at the dinner table one night. This forces the IC and her sisters to reevaluate their perception of her. Incomplete. TW: Child abuse, suicidal thoughts/ideation, forced prostitution, sexual assault (underage!!)

Set my Soul Alight by moodymelanist Nesta finds solace in Autumn. No Nessian. Completed. TW Implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced torture.

Falling by becauseofreading Another take on what happens after Cassian tells Nesta that everybody hates her. Incomplete. TW Self harm, suicidal thoughts, blood and injuries.

Destruction and Renewal by Vorbi Nesta is given the opportunity to form new alliances. Initially, she scoffs at the idea, but after a small, final act of disrespect from the IC, she decides to see where this new path leads us. Incomplete. TW Implied/referenced abuse.

No One Likes A Mad Woman by Separatist_Apologist You made her like that. Nesta has had her choices tripped away, so when Eris offers her an out, she takes it. No happy ending for Cassian. The Night Court gets no sympathy. Completed. TW Domestic violence

A Cup of Tea by shaziskhalid After realising that the Cassian of her dreams isn't the Cassian she's mated to, everything changed. (MCU! Wanda, modern Au). Incomplete.

Promise by Daughterofthesea Begins during that scene where Cassian follows Nesta, and ends with him understanding just how much pain she's in, and deciding to actually help her.

Stay here (I love you, but I need another year) by littleplease Nesta is tired, and losing the will to even try. Complete. TW Apathy, depression, vuage suicidal thoughts.

What you did to me (I'll spend my life trying to rise) by filthymouthedslut Nesta is done with the IC's holier-than-thou attitude. No ship. Incomplete (3/4) as of updating this post.

Everybody hates you by Booksandsushi A different take on the time Cassian tells Nesta that Everybody hates her. Incomplete.

Change is good by Booksandsushi Nesta figures her life out on her own. Complete.

Truth of the Heart By TheFreakPanda The months after ACOFAS leave Nesta presented with some new opportunities. Full of therapy and dancing. Completed.

I've Always Liked to Play with Fire by catalyste After her village is destroyed and family killed by Hybern following Feyre's revenge mission, you wake up healed in the NC. After Lucien leaves you there, you find yourself trapped with Nesta Archeron, who turns out to be an unlikely ally. The two of you plan your escape with the help of Eris Vansera. Polly, Neris/reader, with IC bashing, and dragons. Incomplete.

The relapse by Janes_Melodies Something broke in Nesta when she learned about the results of the vote, knowing it was a tie until Feyre. She was trying for her sisters and for Cassian, yet they still think she's cruel enough to create a whole new trove just to kill them all. For the first time in months, she gave into her desires. Incomplete. TW Alcoholism, Implied/referenced self harm, suicidal thoughts.

You're safe now by annieleonhardtsring Rewrite of the scene where Nesta falls down the stairs, and Azriel stands up for her. Complete.

Love her how she should be loved by julemmaes Cassian overhears his family making some not-so-subtle comments about Nesta, and it pushes him over the edge. So he goes to bat for her, blaming his friends for everything wrong with their relationship with his girlfriend. Modern AU completed.

The Nest World - The Next Life by bat_called_phil ACOSF canon divergence fic that starts with the intervention, but diverts when Nesta takes a stand for herself, and Feyre starts holding Rhys accountable. TW Implied/referenced suicide, Implied/referenced abortion.

A Court of Spite and Isolation by xxTAO Nesta choses the human lands, separated from the IC and the distractions from her trauma, she spirals. Incomplete (4/6) TW Suicidal thoughts, Implied/referenced alcoholism, Suicide attempt.

Come Home by Rhysanoodle Cassian learns how Nesta's been living since she came to Illyria, and which fears haunt her the most. Complete.

[merwgue]

Rhysand: The King of Gaslighting and Why FeySand is the Worst Thing to Happen to the Universe

Alright, let’s settle in, grab some popcorn, and talk about the most overrated, gaslit relationship in all of Prythian: FeySand. That’s right, I said it. This whole “star-crossed, night-and-day, perfect-bonded-mates” charade is a masterclass in manipulation. Rhysand, with his smug smile and "feminist" persona, is one of the most toxic characters, and Feyre? Poor Feyre is out here living her best gaslit life, completely delusional and convinced that she’s found her one true love. Honey, no. Let’s break it down.

Feyre, Honey, You Loved Tamlin—Not Rhysand

Let’s start at the beginning. In ACOTAR, Feyre is literally crawling on her knees for Tamlin. She’s breaking herself—body, mind, and soul—to save the beast of the Spring Court. She goes through hell for him: riddle-solving, bone-breaking, soul-shattering hell. And all this, might I add, while Rhysand is busy drugging her, dressing her up like a Vegas showgirl, and parading her in front of Amarantha for his own benefit. So, can someone please explain to me how, by ACOFAS, Feyre suddenly claims she’s been in love with Rhysand since Under the Mountain?

I’m sorry, but what? Is this girl experiencing memory loss? The last time I checked, Feyre was dying for Tamlin. Not Rhys. Not the guy who was playing games and making her dance in skimpy outfits. So when she comes out with this "I’ve loved Rhysand all along" nonsense, I can’t help but scream, "GIRL, WHAT?" There’s some serious revisionist history going on here, and I’m not buying it. Rhysand gaslit her into forgetting her entire arc in the first book. Who does that? Oh, right—a toxic narcissist who needs to be the center of attention.

Rhysand swooped in during Feyre’s post-traumatic breakdown and took advantage of her emotional vulnerability. He didn’t let her heal, he didn’t give her space to process anything. Instead, he inserted himself into her life, spinning this grand tale of "we’re mates, babe, it was destiny all along." Uh, no, it wasn’t. Destiny doesn’t gaslight you into forgetting your entire past relationship.

Who Really Killed Amarantha? (Hint: Not Rhysand)

Oh, and don’t even get me started on this insane claim that Feyre and Rhysand together killed Amarantha. Like, excuse me? Did we all just forget that Tamlin is the one who literally stabbed her? It wasn’t Rhys, standing in the corner looking broody with his shadowy vibes, and it wasn’t Feyre, who was busy dying at the time.

But somehow, in Rhysand’s rewritten narrative, they both killed Amarantha together, hand in hand, like some Bonnie and Clyde fantasy. This is not their victory. This is Tamlin’s victory—yes, the same Tamlin Feyre is suddenly pretending never existed. Rhysand has fully convinced her that he was the hero of the story. What kind of manipulative mind games are we playing here?

If Rhysand were a real person, he’d be out here taking credit for the moon landing and convincing you that he invented electricity. The man loves to gaslight, and Feyre is drinking that Kool-Aid like there’s no tomorrow.

Rhysand: "Feminist" in the Streets, Manipulator in the Sheets

Let’s talk about Rhysand’s whole "I’m a feminist" shtick, shall we? I love a man who respects women as much as the next person, but Rhysand is no feminist icon. This is a dude who spent months controlling Feyre’s every move, drugging her for his own gain, and parading her around like a trophy while making sure she knew he held all the power.

"Oh, but he was saving her!" Was he, though? Or was he just manipulating her into believing he was the only one who could save her? There’s a fine line between protecting someone and making them completely dependent on you, and Rhysand is walking that line with all the grace of a snake in stilettos.

And the real kicker? Rhysand convinces Feyre that everything Tamlin did was wrong, but when he does the exact same thing, it’s suddenly romantic and protective. Tamlin locking Feyre up? Abusive. Rhysand stalking her, tracking her every move, and controlling her entire existence? Oh, that’s love, babe. Gotta keep her safe, you know?

The Mate Bond: Love or Just More Gaslighting?

Now let’s get to the mate bond. Oh, the glorious mate bond that’s supposed to be this undeniable force of nature. But if you actually look closely, it’s just another tool Rhysand uses to control Feyre. He literally withholds the information about the bond for months, letting her spiral into depression and chaos, before revealing it in this dramatic, theatrical way. Because of course, Rhysand has to control the narrative. He couldn’t possibly tell her about the bond when she was still making her own choices—nope, he had to wait until she was at her weakest, so he could swoop in and be the savior.

And then, when Feyre finally accepts the bond, it’s like she’s completely forgotten that she’s been manipulated the whole time. "Oh, Rhysand didn’t tell me about this life-altering bond that ties us together forever? No big deal, I love him now." I’m sorry, what? If that’s not a red flag the size of Prythian, I don’t know what is.

FeySand: The Worst Love Story Ever Told

So here we are, with this allegedly epic love story between Feyre and Rhysand, built on a foundation of gaslighting, manipulation, and rewritten history. Feyre, once a strong, independent woman who sacrificed herself for her loved ones, has been reduced to a puppet in Rhysand’s game. She’s forgotten her love for Tamlin, rewritten her trauma Under the Mountain, and swallowed Rhysand’s lies whole.

And yet, we’re supposed to root for this couple? I think not. FeySand is the most toxic relationship in the series, and yet somehow, everyone’s convinced it’s #goals. In reality, Feyre has been gaslit into oblivion, Rhysand is a master manipulator masquerading as a hero, and the entire plotline feels like it’s just one big exercise in seeing how far Rhys can push Feyre before she loses all sense of self.

Conclusion: Feyre, Please Wake Up

If I could sit Feyre down for a heart-to-heart, I’d tell her this: Girl, you’re living in a delusion. You loved Tamlin, you fought for Tamlin, and Rhysand gaslit you into believing otherwise. He’s rewritten your memories, twisted your experiences, and convinced you that this toxic relationship is some grand love story. It’s not. It’s manipulation at its finest.

So please, Feyre, for the love of all things sacred, take a step back, look at the facts, and realize that Rhysand has been gaslighting you since day one. You deserve better than this puppet-master of a High Lord.

[kvitkapaporoti1]

🍂Here I am, once again🍂

This art was inspired by @ae-neon headcanons about Nesta’s time in the Autumn Court :

🍁During her official introduction at court she wears a deep green dress, mermaid cut, the ends of the sleeves and tail made to resemble peacock feathers. It's the loudest thing she's ever worn so she opts out of jewellery.

🍁The Lady of Autumn gives Nesta a fan made to look like a peacock's tail in remembrance of Nesta's first proper attendance at court.

I really like the idea of Nesta in the Autumn Court (and with Eris),so I couldn’t help but draw Nesta in all her beauty and glory.

P.S. @ae-neon I’m in love with all of your hc/sketches and can’t wait to read the rewritten version of ACOTAR

[ennawrite]

Hi guys! I started working on a new project called “A Court of Vast Waters”, I haven’t officially posted anything on AO3 yet (hopefully I’ll have a few chapters up by Monday🤞)

Anyways, the concept is if the characters in ACOTAR were pirates. I’m taking a lot of inspiration from stories such as Peter Pan, the Little Mermaid and Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s a multi-POV fic, with lots of themes and relationships to be explored.

With that being said, I wanted to share a snippet of my Gwynriel story I’ll be exploring in this fic. It’s an Ariel/Prince Eric retelling but with much larger things at play. If you’d like to read it, it’d be under the page break! 🧜🏻‍♀️🌊

Despite his unconsciousness, Azriel’s siphons blared brightly as he descended further into the deep water. Cobalt of the purest blue blasted through the dark trenches of the sea, like a beacon of light on night’s unrelenting waves. A truly magnificent sight bound to beckon any curious passersby to investigate fully.

~

Gwyn saw the wreckage first. She’d actually been on her way to another wrecked sight, a ship so old and long forgotten that now lay nestled between two large underwater rocks on the ocean floor. She passed near it days ago and saw an object reflecting light; somehow the sun had caught it, even as deep down as it was. She knew that whatever it was, it had to be absolutely remarkable. Gwyn couldn’t examine it further, out of fear of being late to her lessons with Merrill. The ancient, white-haired mermaiden would never let Gwyn out of her sight again if she was tardy. So, Gwyn begrudgingly placed the coordinates of the ship in the back of her mind for a later time, that mysterious shiny object etched into her brain like a sun-kissed freckle.

Now, debris of splintered wood floated near her in the water. It wasn’t uncommon to see pieces of a ship in the ocean—men and fae always underestimated the power of the vast waters—but it was a bit odd to see remnants of a wreck this far out into the sea. Usually, the waves would either swallow the ships whole or regurgitate pieces of it back on their shores, as if Tehome herself was reminding those who dared to venture out not to fuck with her territory.

However, the remnants of this ship were too far out to be an accident. The captain must have intentionally made the journey, which didn’t make sense to Gwyn as the land here had not been discovered by them yet. Had not been plagued and decimated by the land-walkers. Her and her sisters spent many of their days freely relaxing on the sandy shore of the beaches or the large rocks near the whirlpool, laying about sipping on coconut wine. For that land to be discovered, to be taken away from them, as so many others had been previously…

A shiver shot down Gwyn’s spine, and the end of her cyan tail twitched, the movement causing bubbles to float to the top, rippling the surface in their wake. She’d heard stories her whole life of their villages being pillaged by these land-walkers. It’s what caused them to push further and further into the ocean, in hopes of finding new places to live openly.

Of course, they had their underwater cities. Homes carved into the rock, caves became banquet halls and intricately placed shells decorated the exterior. A homely abode—well, as homely as it could be in the trenches of the sea. As much as the mer needed the water to survive, they also needed the sun. Whatever power the mer had, it was strengthened by the golden rays of the sun. And the light didn’t entirely reach their underwater villages, not fully, at least. That’s why these secret islands were so sacred to them. They could lay out boldly and soak in the sun without the looming threat of a land-walker.

A rogue plank floated up to Gwyn, and she eyed it. A small black scaly wing was carved into the wood, an emblem of sorts. She knew she should swim back and alert the elders, but her curiosity got the better of her. She didn’t see any survivors, and the wreckage was too far away from land for them to get anywhere if there were any. The merciless waves would not allow them to swim any great distance, especially not anyone with legs. Whoever was on this ship would not be alive now. Gwyn found herself thinking about that shiny object again and decided to hell with the wreckage. Tehome would take care of it.

Gwyn dived under the water, her auburn hair floating behind her like molten copper. Gwyn whipped her tail, causing hundreds of small colorful fish to scurry away, as if they knew not to get in her way when a treasure was on the line. Her pouch—made of woven kelp and seaweed—smacked against her hip as she swam, the strap of it pulled tightly across her chest to ensure her trinkets inside were safely in place.

Her mind was running wild at the treasures she might find in the crevices of that old ship when she saw it. A faint glowing blue light, shining up on her. Not down. She would have missed it, if her eyes were not trained to spot things of wonder. It wasn’t a sharp reflection or the golden rays, or even the silver light of the moon that Gwyn was used to. No, the blue of it was an illumination of something else entirely. Something new and different, a sight she’d never had the chance of beholding before.

Like a beckoning call, Gwyn swam to that cobalt blue luminescence.

[hrizantemy]

I need the whole acotar series rewritten by someone who isn't gonna lick Rhysand's ass every chapter.

Someone really needs too seriously !! Like I’m tired of hearing how he’s the most powerful High Lord, what evidence do you have Sarah ???

[the-savage-garden]

Why am I anti SJM?

I've previously mentioned this in posts before but decided to make this to clarify my thoughts. Look, I didn't go out of my way to become anti SJM when I started reading her books, I actually had been looking forward to reading them!

About... 3 years ago I think, I convinced my mom to get me Throne Of Glass. After reading through a few chapters I realized I made a huge mistake in getting that book. And sure, it was my fault in not looking into it before then. I'm not familiar with YA books so I had no idea what to expect, as a teen I skipped over to adult books like from Stephen King. I always wanted to read romance books though so I thought it would be good to try new things. Well, lesson learned.

I felt guilt for wasting both me and my mom's time, can't even bring myself to tell her that I hate the book that I convinced her to buy for me. So I hoped if I found a way to read ACOTAR (which was what I originally wanted to get but couldn't find it) that I'd feel better and, well, I actually enjoyed that one. It was like glorified Disney's Beauty and the Beast fanfiction (seriously, tell me that Feyre isn't just Belle, Tamlin is the Beast, and Rhys is Gaston) but I found it fun, I thought that I just had the wrong impression of SJM with Throne Of Glass.

I decided to glance through ACOMAF as I was considering buying the series later and wanted to make sure that ACOTAR wasn't just a fluke. Then I read it... it's hard to describe how disappointed it made me feel. I wasted my time... again.

That's when I decided instead of feeling sorry for myself I'd use SJM's books as a learning experience and how to avoid the same writing pitfalls as her.

Reading through other anti SJM posts also helps me feel better, feels like I'm not crazy for hating these books.

I know besides the writing there's other problems with SJM but I try to not bring up anything with her personal life. The only time I would bring it up is if it's tied to her writing in some way (like for example how she writes siblings, found out she has a brother which makes me wonder why she writes sibling dynamics in such an odd way in her books because I assumed she was an only child before).

I'm a bit... mixed on her prose, sometimes it's fine but others it's bleh. Y'know how people think of characters as "I can fix him/her"? That's what SJM's books are like for me, I want to fix them so much. I see where things could've worked if it was rewritten, I'm not going to do it myself though, I'm just going to nitpick them instead.

Anyway, if anyone was confused on why I'm still going over SJM books even though I hate them I hope this explains why I'm still reading them. I do plan to go over other authors (maybe YA authors as they seem to be pretty bad from what I can tell) I'm just being a bit slower going over SJM.

[lovemyromance]

All i'm saying is the scenes SJM has written between Elriel force the desperate little Eluciens to pick it apart and grossly distort it and wildly extrapolate in order to have a different meaning and no longer be romantic-coded.

Scenes between Elucien? Elriels don't have to do a damn thing to make them seem ill-suited for each other- because SJM did that herself 🤷🏻‍♀️

Oh wait, of course. Feyre's just an unreliable narrator in this case.

I wonder if they get tired of doing overtime twisting not just Elriel scenes, but also those limited Elucien moments?

But I suppose they will not rest until they have rewritten the entirety of ACOTAR in their heads. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[azsazz]

Hey Ki,

I love your fanfics!!! You were one of the first acotar fanfic writers I was lucky enough to have stumbled upon and have devoured their work ever since. I loved midnight muse and am so happy for you to see you have rewritten and published it since I last checked your profile o.o THATS AMAZING!

I have my heart stuck in the dead by dawn universe. I looooove the way you so beautifully give room to each relationship evolving separately, but mange to wove them together so effortlessly! I feel like long poly fanfics are so sparse and this completely hits the spot for me. I‘ve been trying to be patient and of course you don’t owe us anything, but can you let me know, if you will continue that series? Sorry, if that was already talked about on your page and I missed it.

I appreciate your writing so much! Thank you for it all!

Hi!!

Thank you so much!

Ugh I truly do love dead by dawn but i cant make any promises about it. i've had an inkling of how i'd like the next part to go whenever i get around to writing it, but i'm unsure of how the ending would go.

i've been traveling a bit and am now unfortunately a little under the weather, and it's about to be busy season at work and i'll be frank, i've been struggling with midnight muse book 2 but i will try my best to get a little bit going for this and maybe more ideas will come to me! it really is such a good series and also one i think could be developed into a fun stand alone or something :)

thanks for checking in and all of the support!! 💙💙

[lainalit]

No hate but you kinda mixed Slavic and Illyrian clothing.

They have a subtle difference and sometimes big one.

Slavic people from the balkans are people from Serbia, Bosnia Herzegowina, Croatia and so on.

Illyrian people are the Albanians of today that reside in Kosovo, Albania or Northern Macedonia.

But either way I’m so happy someone acknowledged that Illyrians exist

I’m a history freak and it makes me sad when the reallife ‘tribes’ are rewritten and butchered by someone who knows nothing of the history. Especially when you try to search them up and the first find is SJM’s Illyrians🙃

sending love and thanks again🩷

I definitely had a feeling that all the google searches and pins on Pinterest are not 100% all Balkan clothing (I'm slavic myself), so it's certainly more of a direction in how I picture them than 100% accurate to today's Balkan clothing, but thanks anyways for the correction. 

I first thought that Illyrian was something Sjm came up with herself, but then I found out there were real people and got mad that she made zero efforts into putting any culture or care into the Acotar Illyrians. The only thing we know (as of right now) is that they are super sexist and abusive towards their women, and that they love war and violence. There are like a caricature of cultures that are more traditionalist, which is such xenophobic and irresponsible to debict, for someone who probably doesn't even know one baltic person.

Thanks again and have a good day💙