#acotar secret santa 2024

[kale-theteaqueen]

Take My Soul for Yours

Happy holidays!! So excited to have received @dustjacketdraws for the @acotargiftexchange this year!!

You are an incredible artist, and we are so, so, lucky to have you in this fandom! I am so honored to be able to whip you up some Nessian goodness.

Enjoy some supernatural shenanigans!

---

PART I // PART II // PART III // PART IV // PART V (Coming soon)

Nesta Archeron is the Institute's first Necromancer in centuries, surrounded by secrets after a two-year disappearance to master her art.

Cassian Balderas is the best Demon Slayer in an age, full of unlimited potential and beloved by all who know him.

Almost a decade ago, they were schoolmates on the verge of something more, but now, they were as good as strangers. Nesta is happy to keep it that way, especially after that night Freshman year.

But when they're paired up to investigate a series of corrupted spirits, they're forced to ignore what went wrong between them all those years ago and, more importantly, whether that fire that had drawn them together in the first place still burned in their hearts. It may just take a near death experience for either of them to admit it.

Stay tuned for misunderstandings, secrets, angst with a healthy dose of incoming spice, second chances, and two idiots that are avoiding their true feelings so badly even the ghosts are mad about it.

A gift for @dustjacketdraws for the @acotargiftexchange 2024

---

Tag List: @c-e-d-dreamer @podemechamardek @talkfantasytome @moodymelanist @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @eerievixen @sweet-pea1 @thewayshedreamed @agents-assemble @jsmelodies @aelinchocolatelover @unlikelypersonalknight1 @lady-winter-sunrise @bri-loves-sunflowers @misswonderflower @acourtofladydeath @natasharomxnov @unhealthyfanobsession @fiction-loving-person @daddyduncan69 @bobanna81 @a-trifling-matter

@blueunoias @authenticgaymer

[fourteentrout]

And now…it is time…

For fourteentrout to reveal that he’s @positivelyruined’s Secret Santa for the @acotargiftexchange!

Surprise, Christmas buddy! It’s been me the whole time! Firstly, Happy Holidays! 🎁🎁🎁🎄🎄🎄I come bearing gifts! Or at least gift, singular………..for now👀

You gave such great direction for what you like to see in Feylin works—I agree that there’s not as much fanart of them as book 1 fans may prefer, so I simply couldn’t resist giving them a happy moment under the sun! Perhaps even after a training session…though they are both looking pretty pristine😂 but who says they wouldn’t still have fabulous hair after sparring?

I hope this brings the energy you like to see them exude! Happy ACOTAR Gift Exchange, Cece!

Santa, out🎅🏼🎄 (though perhaps not for long)

[myromanempiree]

gυιℓту αѕ ѕιη…?

a/n: its secret santacotar time!! My beautiful recipient is @shadowsingers-mate with an elucien piece! I really hope you like it <3

PLEASE NOTE: this is in no way related to the guilty as sin drama, the song just fits :)

Summary: what made Elain return the necklace? 1.1k words

Warnings: mentions of elriel, nipple play, elain is lwky a horny mess

Elain stood there in the living room, alone.

After what she had perceived to be the perfect to start something, something to distract her from the dull singing in her chest, Azriel had left her alone. Not even a whispering shadow to keep her company after his abrupt exit, paired with a nearly panicked, yet cold, "this was a mistake."

She couldn't help but wonder if the shadow singer had been correct.

It was hurtful, at the least. She didn't particularly feel anything magical for the male— aside from the sensation in her lower region— but how he departed was jarring. It was rather rude, even, providing no explanation after nearly kissing her lips which previously had been untouched for a time just shy of two years.

With a long, drawn out sigh, she began making the trek back to her room,not bothering to look back into the corridor in hopes he'd come back and finish what he started. To be frank, a lingering part of her, a traitorous part of her that sings along to the melody of the warm glowing thread strung to her rib, rejoiced that the male didn't come back.

She ran lithe fingers along the wall, gaze trained on the jewel-toned ruby slippers that Mor had so intently stated matched her complexion, quote— 'gorgeously.'

A low huff leaves her lips as she dreamed open the door leading to her bedroom, the room decorated abundantly in all sorts of fauna Rhysand and Feyre had so graciously provided. Wide, heart-shaped leaves from the tropics of Summer drape over a macrame hanger, vines decorate the walls, and flowers from every part of the Continent and Prythian sit patiently in clay pots. Waiting for the warm glow of the sun that currently hides in the night.

She could resonate with them, sunlight always cheered her up and cleared her hazy mind from any lingering visions.

As Elain walked to her bed, she unclasped the necklace the Shadowsinger had given her and placing it on her desk. Looking at the delicate glass rose, its pink tint turning pale from the silver-white light of the moon. Now that she looks at it, without the haze of lust, the night diminishes its beauty.

With a deep, slow breath, she pushed the thoughts aside and slipped off the slippers, climbing into the welcoming embrace of her bed, bringing the pink, yellow and blue quilt up to her chin and falling asleep.

The sunlight filters in through the stained glass of her greenhouse, the lush greenery steadily moving in the warm breeze, and the comforting scent of soil fills her nose. Her gloved hands bury into the soil to properly distribute the damp clay and slit. Patting the top of her creation with a contented smile. Leaning back to peel off the gloves, delicately setting them down onto the glass table. 

A familiar click of slightly heeled boots along the cobbled paths, echo in the otherwise quiet greenhouse. Strong arms wrap contentedly around her waist, a warm face burying into her neck. “Hello, my love.” Lucien said softly, kissing along the gentle curve of her neck.

“I apologize for being late, Helion dragged on the meeting.” he murmured, pulling her against his chest, “You’re alright… I suppose.” She said, smiling up at him, dimples forming into her cheeks, turning in his gentle embrace to wrap her arms around his neck, guiding his lips to hers.

“You suppose?” He began with an amused chuckle, before sobering “I missed you dearly, Petal.” He said, thumb circling along her waist, kissing her again before his soft lips travel down her neck, a low groan leaving his lips.

“I’m desperate, my love. It’s been so long without holding you in my arms.” He said dramatically, pulling her closer. 

“It's only been two hours.” Elain chirped back at him, running a hand along his cheek and twirling a stray braid from his mess of hair. Eyes meet, the male's gaze anything but expectant, only full of adoration and hunger. A roll of her eyes caused him to immediately loosen his grip on her, blinking away the lingering hunger. A dash of mischief fills her eyes, her hand gently tugging on the collar of his shirt. 

“I never said no, my love.” 

With that simple permission, he kissed her passionately, pulling her closer, taking bits of her skirts into his fists, almost to restrain himself from eating her alive. A soft sound escapes her lips as he nibbles on her bottom lip, urging him to pick her up, pushing her gloves off the table and setting her on it. “Lucien–” she said, gasping and nosing under his ear as he kissed her pulse, feeling her heartbeat creciendo under his lips, causing him to groan in her ear, a soft croon more than anything.

“Mother, I love you so much it hurts.” He said, grinning against her neck as she shivers in his hands. He immediately began pulling at the laces of her corset, huffing against her skin as it fell, pulling the puffed chemise down with it. Exposing her to the warm air of the green house. Lucien eyes (eye?) dilate at the sight of her exposed for him, only to let out a soft groan as she teasingly tugged on the golden thread intertwining their souls as one. 

Lucien looks up at her again, eyes quietly asking her if she is alright with this. When she nodded, he began to kiss along her clavicle, teeth slowly and delicately dragging along her shoulder, encouraging a soft moan to fall from her lips. Gasping softly as he took her breast into his mouth, running a warm tongue along the bottom and coming up to suckle on her hardened nipple. 

         He  held her against him and continued his ministrations, large fingers moving up to pinch at the spare his mouth wasn't on. She could feel his heartbeat under her fingers as she set her hands onto his chest. Pressing her face into his hair. “Darling” she weakly cooes. Kissing along his forehead lovingly.

But just as he descends lower, her eyes flutter open, revealing her dark bedroom, everything the same. 

        Her hand flies up to her heart, feeling the beat against her fingers, matching that of Lucien's in her…rather erotic dream. A searing blush kisses her cheeks, all of sudden feeling hot. She stood up out of her bed, shucking off her lace robe, and beginning to pace around. 

       ’Why on earth would I have such a dream?’ she thought to herself, flapping her hands to urgently fan at her face. Though, deep down, she knew why. And it only little had to do with the glowing in her chest, it was because of the male attached to the other end of it.

        Eventually, her legs grew tired from pacing, and she was sure she wore a divot into the floorboards. So she sat down on her bed, staring at her shaking hands. Before eventually looking up, a dull glimmer caught her eye. Turning to look at it. It was the rose necklace Azriel had gifted her, it was beautiful, but in the wake of the fluttering butterflies in her stomach that the mere dream of her mate, it felt…abysmal. 

       So she stood up, scooping the glasswork into her hands, taking the trek back to the living room.

Upon seeing the glimmering tree, she set the necklace back into the pile of presents. Walking away without looking back.

a/n: it feels good to get the pen out :))

[shadowsxgwynriel]

Flames in the Night

Happy holidays @pit-and-the-pen from your secret Santa 🤗 I had a wonderful time putting this together for you! I hope you enjoy 🥰❄️❄️❄️

Summary: A slight misunderstanding leads to a passionate and fun night for Nesta and Cassian.

Warning: NSFW

Word Count: 2.1k

Read on AO3

@acotargiftexchange

[positivelyruined]

𝒹𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓁𝓀 Spotify | Apple Music

𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓁𝓀 Spotify | Apple Music

𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚜, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚂𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚙, 𝚂𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢! 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚂𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊 (𝚏𝚊𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎) 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛.

𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝙸 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚃𝚊𝚖𝚕𝚒𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐.𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 — 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎. 𝙷𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚞��𝚑 𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝙰 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜! 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗’ 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚎, 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚢 𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 (𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚜, 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊𝚞𝚔𝚊𝚑, 𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚈𝚞𝚕𝚎, 𝙺𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊, 𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗) 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚝𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚢, 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜. 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚊𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛.

𝙲𝚎𝙲𝚎 𝚊𝚔𝚊 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢𝚁𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍

@acotargiftexchange @paytowinsundays

[paytowinsundays]

Hello and Howdy, @fourteentrout! I had the opportunity to be your Secret Santa (@acotargiftexchange) this year! It was so fun lurking through your blog and getting to know your opinion about Tamlin and Rhysand! Hopefully the wait is worth it, and I did Tamsand justice. After reviewing your answers to my questions, I felt that their pre-disaster relationship would have the perfect balance of pining and angst.

Have a wonderful holidays!!

Title: Letters and Butterfly Wings Summary: There's a back and forth between them. A give and take, a show and tell, a secret-teller and secret-keeper. (Rhysand writes and letter and Tamlin thinks of butterfly wings.)

(This is Part I. Part II just need some minor edits and will be up shortly too!)

He doesn’t know what to say. Sorry, my father hates your father and he thinks that you’re a spy looking to find revenge in what secrets I could share with you is a little on the head. A previous draft of this impossible letter started with, I think their concerns are right – I think about your face, your eyes, your laugh… and it got crossed out so viciously that Rhysand ripped the paper. For all the training and “work” his father has dedicated to him being the next High Lord, his silver tongue fails him. Rhysand has fought in a war, trained in Illyrian camps, stood by his father to face down the Night Court – and he is bested by a damned letter! That carefully constructed façade of disinterest shatters in the mere thought of Tamlin’s emerald eyes or shy half-smile.

Rhysand crumples up the letter (Dear Tamlin, it reads, I have thought of you often—). He tries again, attempting for something more detached. This is an invitation. That’s it. The attempt is scrapped as well. (Tamlin, I would enjoy having you—). Their friendship, or whatever it is that sparks with the brush of their hands and glance of their eyes, has always been easy. Rhysand saw a little of himself when he first met the youngest Spring lordling all those years ago. The too-quick agreement to his father’s orders and the obvious disdain from so many of the Spring nobles was a screaming sign to Rhysand. He pounced before anyone else saw it too.

He hadn’t expected for them to become friends. He hadn’t expected them to become…whatever it is that they were. More than friends, certainly. Tamlin trusted Rhysand with the horrors of his life, trusted Rhysand to wrap an arm around his waist and provide temporary shelter. Rhysand came to gift Tamlin glimpses of the male he was beneath the bluster and carefully cultivated mask he’s built. And Tamlin accepted him with barely a blink of an eye.

The letter needs to be perfect. It has to be.

(Perhaps we can forgo the formalities. The Night Court will be hosting a dinner to celebrate the arrival of the Weeping Stars, a rare meteor shower. It would delight me be a pleasure for you to attend.)

There’s a voice in the hall, growing closer. Rhysand doesn’t need to reach out to brush against the mind of the individual to know it’s his sister. She’s humming to herself and he can hear the humming pause outside his door. Rhysand barely has the moment to brace himself before Ethne throws open the doors without knocking.

He rubs his face with an ink-smeared hand. He doesn’t look, only grumbles a warning. “Ethne…”

“Mother wanted me to find you,” she says and promptly makes herself right at home. She jumps onto the bed, falling back to disrupt the perfectly made bedding, and knocks off half the pillows to find the perfect one to hug to her chest. She lapses into silence after that. No explanation.

The irritation finds his previous frustration a perfect fuel. “Did she need me? Did you have to tell me something?”

“She wants us to accompany her on a trip.”

It’s like pulling teeth.

“A trip? What for?”

“She always gets restlessly about now. You know Mother hates being stuck with the Court. She misses home.”

Rhysand loves his mother. Truly. But there is a flash of resentment at the mention of her missing home. Their situations are so utterly different – one cannot escape the pull of a true mate, where Rhysand was simply dropped away from home so that he could learn to survive. He cannot be ungrateful for his mother’s insistence. He found Azriel and Cassian because of the Illyrian camps. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t that lingering bitterness. Could she have done more to soften his father’s need to turn Rhysand into the perfect successor?

“I have responsibilities that I can’t leave neglected, Ethne. Mother knows this.”

“It will be good for us to get out into the world,” Ethne replies like it was something she was told to repeat to him. Rhysand stares at the blank letter in front of him and it stares back. Right. It would do him some good to get away from Court problems. Problems like Tamlin.

His mother never said a word about Rhysand spending time with Tamlin, but when his father began to suspect that it was more than friendship and could pose a risk to the Night Court, his mother agreed. Softly, apologetically, but still agreed. Maybe Rhysand resents her for that too. Not that he should have been surprised – true mates are meant to be one. His mother has never openly disagreed with her mate. Whatever disagreements she did have were kept to herself.

Ethne scoffs and Rhysand clenches his jaw. “I am busy,” he repeats.

“Right.” Ethne’s voice is bland. She’s become almost as adept as Rhysand in masking herself. His shoulders tense as Rhysand ignores his sister to focus on the letter again.

Over the next hour or so, the tension in the air begins to dissipate. Ethne must either have fallen asleep or her own thoughts are keeping her occupied. She hasn’t made a peep since. Rhysand has started and discarded seven more letters. He agonizes over each one. It should be simple.

(Dear Tamlin, they start. Or, sometimes, with just: Tamlin.)

Rhysand doesn’t know what to say. Tamlin’s father will receive a message about the dinner. There’s no reason for Tamlin to get a personalized invitation when he’s already likely to be dragged there by his father. A united showing of the Spring princes as if everyone doesn’t already know what happens being closed doors. As well-kept a secret as Beron’s distaste for his own children – that is to say, not at all.

(You are likely aware of the dinner the Night Court will be hosting. It would be my great honor to have you present, if your father so allows. No. Rhysand has spent hours trying to convince Tamlin that his father’s opinion should have little affect on his sense of self. Hypocritical for Rhysand to say, perhaps, but Tamlin’s the youngest son of three. Hopefully he won’t need to bare the burden of High Lord – even if his growing strength makes Rhysand nervous for him.)

(You are formally invited to the Weeping Stars dinner celebration this coming week. If your father says you should remain in the Spring Court, politely tell him to—)

(Please come. I wish to see you.)

(Ethne is hoping you will attend the dinner we are to host. She says you were deep in a discussion regarding butterflies. Butterflies, Tam? Your love of creatures is—)

(Ethne hopes you will attend the dinner the Night Court is hosting. I would enjoy seeing you as well. It has been some time. I apologize It is not your fault. Please come.)

Rhysand scratches out another line with a hiss of frustration. It’s truly not fair that he can happily spin a lie without a hint of hesitation, but trying to formulate a letter that seems as inconspicuous as possible on the chance that Tamlin’s letter is intercepted has him running in circles. Tamlin’s letters always reached Rhysand, although lately they have been few and far between – and that is still only thanks to Ethne and his own efforts to prevent any tampering. Tamlin was so careful to keep their developing relationship a secret from his brothers and father. If this letter made things worse for Tamlin…

“What are you doing?” Ethne asks. He had almost forgotten she was still in the room. Her voice is scratchy with sleep. A nap, then, is what kept her quiet for so long.

“Nothing important.”

There’s the slide of fabric on fabric as Ethne rolls off the bed to her feet. Rhysand turns in his seat, arm over the back of the chair, to watch his sister stretch and come over. His stomach drops at the spark of mischief in her eyes. It screams danger. “I mean it when I say it’s not important.” Rhysand grumbles before she can get the chance to peek over his shoulder, “Nosey.”

“Hard not to be nosey when you’ve been balling up everything you’ve written so far,” Ethne replies smugly. She reaches for one of the balled-up letters and Rhysand waves her hand away. She scowls. “Maybe I can help with your wording.”

“No.”

“Why not? You know I’m a better writer than you.”

“No, you are not. You can’t help, Ethne.”

Her hand goes for the letter Rhysand is currently working on and he smacks her hand away from she can grab it. (Look. I don’t know what else to say, Tam. Please come. We should talk.) Ethne rolls her eyes, but does back away and rubs her wrist. She doesn’t look contrite. Rhysand rubs his hand down his face, balls up the letter, and adds it to the growing pile. His irritation is returning. It settles thick in his chest, burns in his throat like half-formed insults waiting for their chance to fly free at a deserving target.

Ethne doesn’t retreat back to the bed, nor does she leave – which would have been the preferred option at this point. She lingers by Rhysand’s shoulder to peek at the desk. Rhysand doesn’t touch the next piece of paper. He turns his head to glare at his sister. He drums his non-ink-stained fingers long the desk of the desk and waits. Ethne can never skip a chance to make a comment or observation. Especially when she gets rebuffed so thoroughly – she’ll want to know what’s going on.

Rhysand can see her mind turning over the evidence she has in front of her. The light dawning in her eyes makes his heart sink. Ethne liked talking with Tamlin at various events, but she usually checked off her small talk with him and then wandered off. Still, he’s nearly frozen in surprise at the soft fondness in Ethne voice when she states, “It’s for Tamlin.”

“That obvious?” Rhysand mutters with a rueful grin. He looks back at the paper and sighs. “I just wanted to invite him for the Weeping Stars dinner. Personally. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Ethne’s voice carries that same softness. “But does it mean something?”

For a brat, she can be terrifyingly observant. Rhysand shuffles his remain blank paper together to give his hands something to do other than scratch at his next letter draft. “It means whatever Tamlin wants it to mean. He might toss it in the fire for all I know.”

“That’s a bullshit answer and you know it. Does it mean something to you, Rhys?”

It does. That’s the scary part. If the letter means something to Rhysand, that leaves a big weak spot right in his chest. There’s nothing easier to twist and manipulate than affection. (I feel so stupid for not saying this earlier, but I love    I care about   you should know that I feel the same.) It shocked Rhysand to his core when his father demanded he cut off Tamlin before he got hurt. What did his father know about friendships? Love? Tamlin might not be Rhysand’s true mate, but he picked him. They chose each other.

Rhysand stops those thoughts immediately. There is no love. His fingers curl around the edge of the desk and grip tight. No. He can’t love Tamlin.

Ethne puts her hand on his shoulder like she can read his thoughts. “Rhys, as your sister, it’s my job to tell you when you have your head up your ass. I also want you to be happy. If the letter means something, then just tell Tamlin what it means.”

He doesn’t stop her this time when Ethne reaches for one of the crushed paper balls. She gently unfolds it and looks over the scribbled-out sentences. The quiet as Rhysand waits for her judgement makes him decidedly nervous and he does not like it. When several seconds pass and there’s still no response, Rhys prompts, “Well? That was one of my first drafts so I know it’s not the best, but I needed to get my thoughts on paper before I lost my nerve.”

Ethne sets the paper on the desk and tries to smooth out the crinkles. “I think this is a good start.” Then she nudges Rhysand to scoot over on the chair so they can share it. “Now them me see what else you have.”

(Tamlin,

You are formally invited to the Night Court’s Weeping Stars celebration. Your father has an invite, but I wanted to make sure you knew so the bastard didn’t have an excuse to send you off on a wild goose chase. Again.

Please come.

Rhysand.)

[born-to-riot]

Would my naughty little gremlin like an additional rare pair since Graysen/Tamlin could represent *gremlin?* I digress, since it would be a lot to shoehorn that disaster into the rich world you and I are about to enter. But I won’t discard the idea entirely.

Thank you, sweet thing, for answering my questions. In return, you may ask four of your own. I can’t promise that I’ll be truthful or transparent in my answers. I can’t even promise that I won’t lie. But I’ll play this game with you, little one, because I love to see you squirm (rating redacted).

Of course we are friends! *Special friends*! Yap on as much as you like. I will be watching you. It’s been quite enjoyable.

- 🎅🏽

Hi Santa! Can I just say the vibes are immaculate. Seriously as soon as I know who you are, I will not let you go. Sorry not sorry.

I’m happy you enjoy my yappage. I am unable to stop.

NOW if you somehow find a way to make Tamlin and Grayson(?) work I would be VERY IMPRESSED but don’t worry your head about it Santa

if you left hints of past or present Tamsand I would die tho (not a requirement at all) (#ifyousquint) (I’m just chatting) if we’re on the topic of non-canon ships The threesome of Jurian, Lucien and Vassa are 👌

Berlain was some of the hottest smut I’ve read

Question 1: what ships (other than our precious Azris) catch your fancy?

I’m excited for our rich world, I trust you completely

Question 2: have you listened to EPIC the musical ? (if not, you should)

But just so you know when I receive a message from you I always have “I am the prophet, with the answers you seek” running in the background of my noggin

Question 3: what are your favorite tropes to WRITE?

(I want to make sure you are happy with what you’re making for me or I’ll be sad)

Question 4: if you were stranded on a deserted island, what character would you want to have with you?

(If character is not from ACOTAR please name book/series they are from)

I don’t know what you were expecting me to ask but I am not trying to get too revealing, if you must fib a little I understand

👁️👄👁️

(You watching me)

(Me waiting for you)

WE ARE A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN (or hell 😏)

Until next time, my friend!

[thevalkyriesshadow]

Santa here!! 🎅

Look at you and your reading journey! How are you liking ToG so far? My reading order went from ACOTAR (which also got me out of a reading slump!) to ToG to then CC. And I think my fav will always be ACOTAR 🩷

I fully agree with you! My favs are also our little Valkyries 🥹🩷 They’ve come so far! I aspire to have a friendship like theirs with my girlies! 💕

Oooh. Dark and brooding. Got it. 👀 I really hope his story is next because I would to learn more about him but also see him come out of his shell to whoever his mate *cough cough* Gwyn *cough* is! 💕

So I do have some questions for you! At least, some initial questions.

1) What are your favorite kinds of tropes?

2) And what would you say is something that you love about Gwyn and Azriel as individuals and something that you love about Gwynriel as a duo?

I'm slowly getting caught up! hahaha

I like ToG! The world building and story is incredible! But yeah ACOTAR will always be my favorite I think!

I believe that Azriel's book is next! I can't wait for his and *cough* Gwyn's *cough* story! hehe

Favorite tropes (in no particular order): Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Friends to Lovers, Holiday romance, Whump...the list could go on haha

Gwyn: LITERALLY EVERYTHING!!! Her unconditional love and her passion. She's an incredible friend. Brave. She's got jokes and she's not afraid to be in touch with her childlike wonder. I'm really looking forward to ready about her journey of self discovery! Azriel: Again...everything lol But I love the depth that Azriel has, a depth that we are slowly being fed little by little by SJM. He's much more than the broody, sad bat boy (which don't get me wrong, I love), but there's a soft side under that facade that I think we're going to see very very soon! hahah Together: THE BANTS. The cute little back and forth we are given in ACOSF!! AHHH I also think they're going to compliment each other SO WELL in combat, like badass magic and sword and dagger handling and I love the light and dark aesthetic they have.

[kale-theteaqueen]

Here's how I feel:

This has blessed me and broken me and filled me with a need to avenge my girl all over again.

Secret Santa has treated me SO well this year wow 😭😭😭😭

I'm strapped in for the next part both terrified and elated.

Thank you @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk !!!! You are unmatched, truly.

Who Could Ask to be Unbroken or Be Brave Again? (i, ao3)

(Surprise!! It has been the biggest joy to be your Secret Santa for the @acotargiftexchange this year, @kale-theteaqueen and getting to write some angst for the undisputed angst QUEEN was an honour. I hope you enjoy this first chapter, and - if all goes to plan - I'll be posting the remaining two chapters later this week ❤️)

In the three years since Nesta Archeron had been thrown into the Cauldron by the King of Hybern, she had thought she'd done enough healing. Thought things were… better, now. But as Solstice rolls around once again, she finds herself struggling with both the weight of fae customs and the fact that she's never really found a place for herself in her sister's court. Determined not to let herself ruin her mate's favourite holiday, Nesta struggles through her third Solstice above the wall… but will this year be the year that Cassian steps up at last? (Set post-ACOSF)

It had started with a note.

One innocent enough, each word penned one of cheer and optimism; sparkling and lovely on the most luxurious magnolia paper. It was such a pretty thing, with its decorated edges and fading scent of roses— a stupid thing, to send her on such a downward spiral. 

A ridiculous, cruel thing. To grab her by the throat and sink its claws, pulling - hauling - her back, right to the bottom of the mountain she’d climbed since being tipped out of that damned Cauldron. 

Because Solstice neared, and Nesta Archeron was right back at square fucking one.

The note - the invitation - lay on the table where she had tossed it the night before, the seal cracked and splintered. She didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to be reminded of each and every way she was still failing.

Instead she stood alone in the House of Wind, looking out at the city and watching the snow fall idly beyond the windows. The mountains, reaching for the sky, the horizon a blend of grey and white that seemed to stretch forever. It was almost pretty, like something Feyre might have painted. A landscape of snow and ice, with frost that glittered like shards of broken diamonds. For days people in the city below had been stringing up lights in preparation for the Solstice celebrations, and Nesta knew that when night fell, Velaris would be a wonderland of colour and light, pricking the darkness like a hundred thousand stars.

And every one of them - each shard of light that broke through the black, each glittering faelight that pierced the night - every one of them filled her with dread.

Come down to the river house tomorrow, Elain had written on that damned invitation. Written— because it was easier to send a note than ask somebody to winnow her up to the House, and she couldn’t manage the stairs. Nobody could, because nobody else was expected to.

We’re baking gingerbread and decorating cookies. For Solstice!

The exclamation mark— a cheery piece of punctuation in night-dark ink.

But Nesta didn’t feel particularly cheery. Didn’t know how to, when inadequacy was a curse of its own, one that had plagued her since her earliest days. She hadn’t known how to respond— how to shape her dismay into something that even vaguely resembled joy. It was too unwieldy for that, too inflexible to ever be trimmed properly into something like a smile. The bitterness in her mouth too strong to ever be ignored completely. So she had ignored the invitation, pushed it to the side, and felt a long-familiar wave of insufficiency, maladaptive and cruel, rising to swallow her like it had so many times before.

She’d thought she was over it.

Thought she was past it.

Thought that in the three years since the Cauldron - with the two Solstices she’d already gritted her teeth through - that this year might be different. That part of her might understand, finally, what it was to celebrate a fae holiday, even though every beat of her heart still sounded mortal to her own ears. 

But that’s the thing with grief, she supposed. It never leaves. Not really. It lessens and it lessens, but at some point, when you least expect it…

It all comes screaming back, with the rage of a thousand fires and a vengeance strong enough to bring you to your knees.

And Elain’s invitation was the catalyst.

Nesta let out a breath, closing her eyes and praying the damned thing would be gone when she opened them again. 

Stupid, really.

It had been read and re-read a hundred times since it had arrived yesterday, and there it remained, sitting in its little patch of light when Nesta opened her eyes again. With a huff she dragged her eyes back to the windows, to the city blanketed with snow. Far below, the river was a frozen streak of silver, a ribbon of mercury that wound its way through streets glittering with frost. It was so idyllic Nesta was certain that this, too, would one day find a way onto Feyre’s walls, immortalised in paint and canvas. Memorialised the way she wasn’t. Not the way everybody else was, their likenesses hanging on the river house walls.

There was no portrait of Nesta hanging in her sister’s home.

And why would there be, she thought bitterly. She couldn’t even summon the will to go down into the city to join her sisters for an afternoon baking cookies. Like even the most basic things were still beyond her, too painful to even consider.

She looked to the invitation again. Knew what she would find if she opened it. The same words she’d memorised by now, in handwriting so similar to her own. Elegant and pretty, almost aristocratic. The same hand Elain had been taught by their mother, except Elain hadn’t learned it the hard way, with the sharp sting of a rod rapping at her knuckles when her letters didn’t come out perfect.

“Can you get rid of this for me?” Nesta asked quietly, barely louder than a breath in the silence of the House of Wind.

A soft breeze brushed against her cheek, like the ghost of a finger passing over her skin. When she blinked, the invitation was gone, and the air around her warmed, like the House was doing all it could to embrace her— a hug given in the only way it could. 

It made her heart ache.

Only last week the House had strung up garlands in honour of the nearing Solstice celebrations, only to quietly take them down again when it realised that it didn’t inspire in her the kind of festive feeling it should. Nesta had wanted to look at the wreaths of ivy and winter greens and feel joy and hope and everything she ought to. But it was just… greenery, studded with berries and acorns, empty of meaning and devoid of anything substantial. She hadn’t said a word - hadn’t thought she should - but still the House had taken it all down before Cassian could return home, leaving everything as it was, like Solstice had never touched the House at all. 

The sigh that left her seemed to shake in her throat as she pulled away from the windows, turning her face away from the city dusted with snow. A sour taste spread in her mouth, and she shook her head sharply as she set down her mug of tea - barely touched - on the table that had only recently been freed of Elain’s invitation. 

It wasn’t a mortal tradition, Solstice.

They celebrated the harvest each autumn and danced around maypoles before each spring gave way to summer, but below the wall, there would be no gifts exchanged or families gathering before a roaring hearth tonight. No candles lit in honour of the dark. Mama had raised her - had raised all three of them - on horror stories of the fae. And now Nesta was expected to sit there and observe a tradition so fae in essence, so pagan, that she still struggled to endure it, and all whilst surrounded by the creatures that thanked and blessed the same entity that had stolen the life from her.

Thank the Cauldron— for what, exactly? 

They worshipped the thing that destroyed her, and wondered why she found it hard to smile.

Something like anger kindled in her chest, something bitter and acidic as she let her eyes slide closed again.

They didn’t understand. Every step she took, every breath she drew— it wasn’t good enough. None of it ever felt good enough, even now. The smile on her face, never wide enough. The way she accepted invitations, never gracious enough. The lilt of her voice, never gentle enough and her thanks, never genuine enough. Like dying hadn’t been enough to earn a kernel of understanding; abduction not enough for Feyre and her family to understand why Nesta had wanted four locks on her door in the apartment they had taken from her.

Fucking gods— Nesta cursed under her breath and curled her hands into fists at her sides.

Why couldn’t she just let it go? Move on the way her sisters had?

Because how could she have faced them today? How could she ever have stood there decorating cookies, pretending like she didn’t feel like she was dying all over again on the inside? Like she wasn’t an imposter, failing to understand a tradition that had never been hers in the first place? Or like a fool for missing what had once been so familiar to her, for mourning the girl she had been before? 

She couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Sniffing, she opened her eyes again. Looked to the ceiling as she felt the press of air against her shoulder— the House again. Softly, sadly, she smiled, as all of that lingering anger turned inward, burrowing into her bones as she thought of all the human traditions she’d been expected to forget as soon as she crossed the wall. The harvest festivals and the mayday parades; a manor beneath the wall with marble floors and urns overflowing with flowers. Ribbons tied in her hair, fluttering behind her in the wind as she danced, before her mother was cruel and her father was poor. Nostalgic as an oil painting and just as useless, now. 

Because none of what she had now was hers, not really, and none of what she’d had before could be brought back.

Another breeze brushed her cheek, as if the House wanted to wipe away tears she hadn’t let fall. She let out a gentle huff, something caught halfway between a laugh and a cry.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered, even though she knew the House couldn’t answer. 

The breeze ruffled the loose ends of her braid as she fixed her implacable mask back into place, and Nesta’s eyes wandered back to the window, to the horizon that stretched across the city so many leagues below.

Not mine, she thought.

Not mine, not mine, not mine, echoing like clockwork, as definitive as a metronome. Each time she looked at the snow and the city and the lights— not mine, none of it mine. She clenched her fists, buried the anger, didn’t give it an inch because she knew that it would take a mile. 

Breathe.

She just had to breathe.

And there—

Against the clouds limned with gold in the sunlight, a black shape against the horizon, pulling her out of her downward spiral. A familiar silhouette, one that made her heart ease a little and warmth fill her chest just enough to chase away the sting of everything else. 

Cassian, returning home. 

Despite the early hour, his arms were already laden with packages and parcels, the last-minute gifts he’d told her he was flying down to the city to fetch. He had already known exactly what he was getting, it seemed; like buying gifts was just another military operation for him, one he executed with as much lethal precision as a battlefield manoeuvre. He had wasted no time at all, and bitterly Nesta counted the number of parcels in his arms and thought of the singular box beneath their bed, one she’d hidden there, containing a sleek dagger and a beautiful leather sheath embossed with the three stars so sacred to the Illyrians. A gift for her mate, bought as she tried so hard to understand what got him so excited this time of year.

Even that didn’t seem like enough now, not as he approached the House with a truly innumerable amount of gifts.

She didn’t seem like enough.

But even as she cursed herself again - hating the way her mind couldn’t just let it be; couldn’t give her a fucking rest from it all - she refused to let him see it. No— it wasn’t Cassian’s fault that her inability to adapt had her floundering, feeling like she was stuck in quicksand and moments from being dragged under. She refused to let it chase the smile from his face for even a second, no matter how fractured and broken she felt inside.

And so, as Cassian landed smoothly on the terrace, with snow in his hair and the wind colouring his cheeks, Nesta forced her shoulders back and fixed her most practised expression of calm on her face. But even as she opened the door to meet him outside, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever been more false. 

***

Cassian felt the grin spread manic across his face as he stood in the falling snow, watching his mate step outside to meet him.

Would he ever get used to it? Get over it? The sight of Nesta Archeron standing in the doorway, the snow falling on her braided hair and collecting on her eyelashes, like she was the most perfect thing the Mother had ever seen fit to create… Coming home to her was like slipping into a dream. One he didn’t ever want to wake up from. He grinned again, feeling the bond wrap warm around his ribs, and every bone in his body was screaming for him to reach for her, to catch her in his arms, but the gifts were too heavy and cumbersome in his hands, keeping him standing there when all he wanted to do was crush her to his chest and keep her there, like they’d been parted for far longer than a handful of hours.

He’d have thrown each and every one of those parcels over the side of the House balcony if they hadn’t mostly been for Nesta anyway.

“Somebody’s been busy,” she quipped dryly, and Cassian wondered if he was imagining it, the way her eyes seemed dark and flat. He tilted his head, but she continued smoothly enough to convince him it was nothing but a trick of the light. “Does Rhysand have any coins left in his coffers or have you spent it all?”

“Sweetheart,” Cassian tsked. “I know better than to buy you gifts with Rhys’ money.”

She rolled her eyes, and delight coursed through him so fierce he really did want to throw those gifts over the railings, if only to take her in his arms and kiss her the way he needed to. 

“I hope those aren’t all for me,” she said flatly, and he sensed something then, something sharp hiding just beneath the surface of her words, and when his eyes narrowed a fraction in response, something flickered across her face that looked damnably like concern. But concern for what? Cassian beat back his frown as he stepped forward, shooting her a wink instead.

“Not all of them.”

Not a lie. There was one for Azriel in there, too. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Naturally.”

He grinned again, watching her stand there in the gently falling snow. Whatever emotion had briefly travelled across her face before was gone now, and she looked so godsdamned beautiful, even with the tip of her nose turning pink from the cold. Warmth spread through him, gathering in his chest as, softly, he said to her, 

“Come on. Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”

Nesta nodded, holding out a hand to take some of the gifts from his arms— to help ease the burden any way she could. But Cassian shook his head, knowing that with one touch she’d probably manage to figure out exactly what was in every single one, and he’d be damned if anything was going to ruin the surprise. 

So Cassian extended his wings, snow-covered and soaking, and shook them off, laughing as Nesta raised a hand to shield herself from the melting snow. She hissed, and Cassian laughed so loudly it echoed and bounced off the stone walls surrounding them.

“Beast,” she tossed over her shoulder as she retreated inside the House.

“Naturally,” he said again, following her inside.

***

“Here,” he said five minutes later, holding out a flat box that still held a little bit of warmth.

“What is it?” Nesta asked.

“Cherry pie,” Cassian said as she flipped open the lid, revealing the pastry decorated with cut-out stars and tiny crescent moons to celebrate the longest night of the year. Her fingers curled around the edges as she breathed in the scent of the sugar, warm and sweet. “It’s tradition on Solstice Eve.”

A tradition born on the very first Solstice he’d spent in the city. When he and Rhys and Az were wandering the streets, and they passed a bakery laying out fresh slices of warm cherry pie, dusted with sugar and so fragrant and sweet the entire street seemed saturated with warmth. Ever since, every year, they’d had cherry pie on Solstice Eve. And this year, though he knew there would be one waiting at Feyre and Rhys’ later that night when they gathered for dinner, he hadn’t been able to resist bringing Nesta a pie of her own— one they could share together, just the two of them.

Cassian waited for the spark in those devastatingly blue eyes. There usually was one, whenever there was sugar involved. All the House had to do was present her with a slab of chocolate cake and Nesta melted, and so Cassian waited, watching her look down at that cherry pie, the scent of it filling the air so decadently it almost made his mouth water.

But Nesta didn’t smile.

She swallowed, tilted her head to look at him, and he swore she took a deep breath, like it was taking all her strength to stand there with her face blank. He frowned— but Nesta caught it, taking a step back.

“Later,” she said, turning her face away. He sidestepped her, chasing her eyes, trying to meet her gaze, but it was like trying to catch the wind, and he felt her slipping through his fingers as she rounded him easily, her fingers alighting on his arm for just a heartbeat as she turned away. The touch was soft— brief and fleeting, and somewhat fucking mournful as she drew her hand away. He wanted to beg her to stay, to clamp his hand on top of hers and keep her there, if only for a moment. Just so he could figure out what the fuck was happening. “I’ll have the House put it in the kitchen for later.”

Cassian felt his jaw grow slack. Already he was extending a hand to catch her, to stop her, words rising on his tongue that all sounded a lot like wait, stop, tell me what’s wrong—

But his mate only turned and offered him a tight smile over her shoulder, her fingers flexing around the box containing the pie as she watched his frown, his confusion. Swiftly she made her way back, rising onto her toes to press a single chaste kiss to his cheek.

And then she was gone, and Cassian could only watch her go, wondering what in the hell had just gone wrong.

Taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!) @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @valkyriesupremacy @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome @pyxxie

[works-of-heart]

Happy Holidays @lady-of-tearshed !! I am your secret santa for the @acotargiftexchange Are you surprised? I tried bringing your vision to life of Lucien carrying a very tired (maybe slightly tipsy hehe) Elain home from a solstice party! I hope his butt is nice and juicy for you! If not, well.... Enjoy this little stocking stuffer here!

A Lucien to keep you warm during the cold, cold nights!

This was so much fun! It was so hard to not want to spoil early on. I hope you like your gifts!! It was an amazing pleasure talking and getting to know you dear! You're so sweet and lovely, and I hope you have a fantastic Holiday season!!!

Yours Truly,

Your Secret Santa

[dawneternal]

Surprise @fieldofdaisiies it's me!! Your secret Santa!!

I think you are so sweet and cool and talented and I was so excited to see that I got your name! ☺️

For the first part of your gift, here is Azris in a field of daisies 💛 (tap/click the image to see with better quality!)

How they ended up here will be revealed in the mini fic that goes with it, coming soon!

I put a dagger on the book cover as if Eris is reading a thriller or maybe a mystery, and Az has definitely figured out all of the twists by reading over his shoulder but of course he won't say anything 🤭 and yes, he is wearing a flower crown 🌼

it's been a long time since I've drawn Eris with long hair but you may have turned me over to the long hair side with this! I ended up loving his red nails too.

I hope you like it! Part 2 is coming soon!!

[kale-theteaqueen]

Take My Soul for Yours, Part II

Part II of my @acotargiftexchange for @dustjacketdraws !!

I couldn't leave y'all on that cliff hanger for long... Enjoy!

Read Part I here.

---

“You look beautiful tonight,” he complimented, delighting at the way her cheeks continued to redden. “You should wear your hair like this more often.”

He could feel the silky strands against his fingers as they splayed along her back, and he tugged her just those few centimeters closer, just beyond what was proper for two platonic friends. Nesta allowed it, her hand sliding a bit higher on his shoulder, until the tips of her fingers brushed his shirt collar.

“It’s a nuisance,” she murmured. “I’ll regret it by the end of the night, I’m sure.”

Cassian hummed, intoxicated by the scent of her – jasmine, with a hint of something more earthy, though he couldn’t place it.

“Well, I’d be happy to put it up for you.”

Her brows rose again, but her lips twitched into a small smile at the idea. His own hair was pulled back in a knot – the unruly curls far too chaotic for him to do anything else. But by the way her eyes frequently trailed over his neck, he had a feeling she appreciated it.

As it was, her gaze had already flicked down to his lips and back up three times since they’d started dancing, and the song was coming to an end. The implication of what happened next felt heavy on his shoulders.

The room was suddenly far too hot.

She was too close.

For a few seconds after the music ended, they stayed pressed together, gazes locked.

“Do you want to…”

“Yes.”

---

Tag List: @c-e-d-dreamer @podemechamardek @talkfantasytome @moodymelanist @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @eerievixen @sweet-pea1 @thewayshedreamed @agents-assemble @jsmelodies @aelinchocolatelover @unlikelypersonalknight1 @lady-winter-sunrise @bri-loves-sunflowers @misswonderflower @acourtofladydeath @natasharomxnov @unhealthyfanobsession @fiction-loving-person @daddyduncan69 @bobanna81 @a-trifling-matter

@blueunoias @authenticgaymer

[fourteentrout]

Santa Has Returned (With Fanfiction)

Hello again, @positivelyruined ! I said I had more gifts in my Santa bag, and I wasn't lying! I come bearing a ridiculously long Feylin oneshot for the @acotargiftexchange called Read Between the Lines, and I sincerely hope you like it!

Pairing: Feyre Archeron/Tamlin

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 25,199

It's been an absolute blast being your Santa for this event, and I really hope you enjoy both my previously posted art, and this new addition to your ACOTAR stocking! These characters were really fun to figure out, and I hope I conveyed them in a way that suits your liking.

I hope you have a happy, healthy holiday season!! Thank you so much for being a part of this event.

And for anyone else interested, here's a snippet below!

Feyre paces and finds herself, embarrassingly enough, holding back tears. It seems that these days, when she isn't puking her guts up, she's either lost to grief and frustration and guilt, or completely, utterly numb. The only times she finds true bliss is when she and Tamlin make love. When she can lose herself in his expansive embrace, the warm, hard press of his body, the unimpeded movement that reminds her that they're alive, alive, alive . 

But even that can be overshadowed by the sleepless nights that follow. 

She needs to get out, put herself somewhere new that could spark a feeling other than dull dread. And Tamlin doesn't let her. Not without a watchful eye, not without so-called protection . It's almost laughable. Had she not proven herself? Had she not slayed horrors beyond imagination when she was a human? And yet he won't let her out of sight of people she barely knows. He won’t let her help, he won’t let her travel past the manor grounds. 

And she can't do anything about it. 

So she paces, and paces, and refuses to leave the small sitting room that she'd sequestered herself into. She can't go outside. She can't handle another inane, migraine-inducing task from Ianthe. She can't paint, not when the sight of it leaves her feeling so...empty. Or leaves her stomach clenching, visions of pleading eyes and bleeding chests swirling before her. 

Distantly, she can hear the main doors of the manor opening. 

It's strange, being able to hear and see and smell everything . Strange and overwhelming. Too much at once, all the time, with no end. Even in sleep she can never find reprieve, her nightmares practically more vivid than real life. 

She waits to see if he will come into her little hideaway, soothe her with apologetic touches and gentle words. 

It's for the best, he'll say. It's for your safety.

And she won't have the strength to say, but what about my happiness? 

[shadowsxgwynriel]

Ho Ho Ho!

Your Santa here, with one more question.

Would you like a little bit of fan art to go with your fic?

Hi Santa! 😃

Yes! I would absolutely love a little bit of fan art, if it’s not too much trouble 😊

[iftheshoef1tz]

I, Carrion

Summary: There is something wrong, but Eris cannot remember what. [Written for the 2024 @acotargiftexchange]

Rating: M

Pairing: Azriel/Eris

Notes: SURPRISE @acourtofladydeath!! Turns out your Santa wasn’t European after all. It was hard to keep a secret from you, but i had help 😈 you are the best and you deserve the best this crazy season (and all seasons).

Special thanks to @secret-third-thing, @queercontrarian, @yanny-77, @poisonivy206, @aurorasleeps-27 and @areyoudreaminof for various vibe checks, beta reads, playlist help, and general good times. You can find the fic’s playlist here.

Read now on ao3.

[paytowinsundays]

Ho, ho…Happy Holidays! I’m your Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy your gift. All my well wishes for the holiday season. ✨❤️

Why hello!! It’s wonderful to finally get to see who you are!! I absolutely adored the gift (all of those songs got put into my Tamlin playlist immediately!). Thank you so much for putting the time, effort, and thought into making it! What a fantastic and pleasant surprise to see today!

I hope you have a wonderful holidays as well! Thank you again for being such a great secret santa! ❤️