#all's fair in love and politics

[stillwintering]

All's Fair in Love and Politics (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: In the ruthless arena of politics, victory demands risking everything, even one's own heart. Rhysand has his eyes on the presidency. Feyre convinces her estranged sister, Nesta, to join the political campaign. Nesta and Cassian find themselves forging an unexpected bond as the campaign intensifies. But can their budding romance survive the treacherous waters of modern political warfare?

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Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Cassian spent the rest of his evening at the River House, which had turned into an impromptu campaign headquarters of sorts. After all the official business was settled and Amren had left to take the last flight back to DC, Cassian found himself lingering in the company of Rhys and Azriel. They gathered in Rhys's expansive wood-paneled study for a nightcap.

It had been too long since the three of them had the chance to simply exist together as brothers in arms without the weight of duty or the shadow of danger looming over them.

The day's activities had visibly taken a toll on Rhys, understandable given how many media appearances he completed. By all accounts, the speech had been a resounding success, yet Rhys seemed lost in thought, gazing pensively at the drink in his hand, almost sad.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet." Cassian's voice broke the silence. He leaned in, trying to catch Rhys's eye, giving him a teasing nudge on the elbow. Azriel, seated in an armchair on Rhys's other side, only observed silently.

Rhys raised his head, a faint smile on his lips, though his eyes remained somber. "Something like that."

Cassian sucked in a breath. "I'm afraid it's too late to turn back now, brother." He held up his crystal glass, the amber liquid inside glinting in the lamplight, before taking a sip. "The horse is out of the barn."

"What if..." Rhys looked away to the moonlit sky out the window of his study and the Sidra sparkling under the stars.

"It will be a tough fight for the nomination and a even tougher fight in the general election." Cassian smiled at him reassuringly. "It's going to be hard and chances are, we'll lose. But no one will fault you for that."

Rhys shook his head, his expression turning resolute. "No, I mean what if I actually win?"

A moment of realization washed over Cassian. "There's no one else I'd trust more with such power and responsibility," he told him.

"I don't trust myself," Rhys murmured, his voice tinged with a vulnerability rare for him.

"I know you." Azriel knocked his knee gently against Rhys's. "You're the one," he stated firmly.

Rhys's gaze drifted away again, his doubts still clinging to him like shadows.

Cassian turned to Azriel. "They say a good man can't get elected President these days," he mused with a half-smile. "I refuse to believe that. Do you, Az?"

"Absolutely not," he responded without hesitation.

"And you think I'm that man?" Rhys interjected, his face still dark, "Does it matter that I'm not as sure?"

"Do you remember that operation outside of Kabul? The one that went sideways real fast?" Cassian reclined back in his armchair, his demeanor thoughtful. "Our first hot zone and we were completely outgunned, stuck in a crossfire with enemy combatants all around. I’ll be honest, I thought we were done for. We were just rookies back then. But you, Rhys, you just took over like you were born to do it. Directing our moves, calling out targets, staying cool under that kind of heat. You got us out of there with zero civilian casualties. It’s a rare thing, Rhys."

Cassian stopped to catch his eye. "I knew from that moment that I would follow you into the Mist of Avalon."

Azriel only chuckled while Rhys let out a dry laugh. "Cass, please, you're the one with the natural aptitude for strategic combat." Rhys waved his hand. "But I do find, somehow, urban warfare easier to navigate than politics."

Cassian raised his glass in a toast, prompting the others to do the same. "To fighting the good fight then," he announced with a wink. "Political or otherwise."

Azriel joined in, his glass meeting theirs with a gentle chime. "To making a difference," he added.

Rhys looked at his friends -- his brothers -- their faces unflinching. "To the future," he said, his eyes clear and focused. "May it be brighter than we dare to hope."

---

By the time Cassian and Azriel returned to the House of the Wind, the inky night had draped its silent shroud over the building. They expected the grand lobby to be completely deserted at this late hour. Yet, to Cassian's wonder, Nesta was there.

Lost in a world of her own, Nesta walked under the dim glow of the ornate chandelier, her figure casting long, fluid shadows across the polished marble floor. From the way she was dressed, it looked like she was about to go on a late-night run.

It wasn't until Cassian stepped into her space, closing the distance to a mere foot, that she snapped out of her thoughts. Her gaze, sharp and piercing, lifted to meet his and then to Azriel's. A flicker of surprise darted across her features before she veiled it with a practiced air of indifference.

"Going on another evening run?" Cassian asked her as a way of greeting.

Nesta's response was terse, her lips pursing slightly as she uttered a succinct "Yes." She looked over the both of them again. "Anything happen at the meeting at the River House?"

"You didn't miss much," Azriel responded. "Amren will send out a memo first thing tomorrow."

Cassian studied her for a beat longer, noting the slight clench of her jaw and the way her eyes darted to the lobby doors. An idea sparked in him.

"If you give me ten minutes," he offered, gesturing towards the elevators with a hopeful tilt of his head, "I can join you."

The words hung in the air, a delicate offer. He saw it then -- the imperceptible stiffening of her posture, ready to refuse. So he quickly added, a playful note in his voice, "I know all the good running routes around here."

Nesta hesitated, but her expression wavered. "I would rather run on my own."

"I don't blame you," Azriel teased, unable to stop himself. "Cassian is terrible company."

Cassian scowled at his brother. "It's dark out, Nes," he tried again. "Let me come with you."

Nesta looked away to the pitch-blackness that lay outside the lobby doors, calculating. Although Velaris was generally a very safe city, she had never tried to navigate it in the dead of night. Finally, she looked back at him, her expression unreadable.

"Fine," Nesta acquiesced. "Ten minutes."

She gracefully sidestepped, allowing Cassian and Azriel access to the elevators. She then glided to a nearby sofa, settling into its plush cushions to wait.

Cassian burst into the elevator and jabbed at the buttons for their respective floors, his foot tapping impatiently. Azriel leaned back against the elevator wall, his arms folded casually across his chest, with a mischievous grin on his lips as he observed Cassian's barely veiled agitation.

"Easy there, big guy," he remarked affectionately. "She's not going to disappear."

Cassian shot him a quick, frustrated glance. "I just don't want to keep her waiting longer than necessary," he muttered.

"Oh, is that so?" Azriel's eyebrow arched in amusement. "Or could it be that you're just eager to spend time with her under the starry sky?"

As the elevator finally dinged at Cassian's floor, he practically leaped out. "You don't know what you're talking about, Az," he retorted over his shoulder.

Azriel laughed, shaking his head as the elevator doors slid shut. "Good luck!" he called after Cassian.

---

Cassian led the way, his stride confident and familiar as they ran up the winding road that hugged the contours of the mountain behind the House of the Wind. The path, bathed in the soft glow of well-placed lights, carved a serpentine trail through the dense pine forest and upwards into the heart of the mountainside. A delicate mist had descended, settling into the treetops like cobwebs.

"There's a lookout a few miles up with an amazing view of the city," Cassian said, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet night.

Nesta only nodded, allowing him to set a moderate pace. The scent of pine and earth filled her senses, and she found herself leaning into the night air, into his steadfast strength beside her.

Their heavy breaths, synchronized and rhythmic, filled the silent space between them.

As they ascended, the forest around them began to change. The trees grew taller, their branches interlocking above to create a natural cathedral, their needles whispering secrets. She let all the noise of her mind recede into the thickening mist, let it wrap around her like a soothing embrace.

When they finally reached the lookout, Nesta stopped, her breath labored from the climb, and gazed out at the glittering city below, beyond the mist of the forest, sprawled like a jeweled tapestry, the lights flickering like distant stars caught in an earthly web. The world seemed to pause -- the only sounds were their heartbeats and the distant hum of Velaris.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

Cassian turned towards her, his expression soft yet intense. His hazel eyes, reflecting the city's lights, narrowed on Nesta as if she were the only object in this vast, sparkling expanse. "Yes," he breathed.

Nesta could feel the blood rushing through her head. A breeze tousled Cassian's hair, setting it dancing wild under the silver glow of the moon.

"Tell me why you're here," Nesta asked, her words floating on the night air.

He bowed his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me why you left a promising military career to work on a long shot political campaign."

He studied her face intently, sensing the urgency in her question. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Because I care about who gets to be in the room where it happens," he finally said.

Nesta's brow furrowed, her eyes searching his for more.

"I was a good soldier," Cassian continued. "But in the military, I was a cog in the machine. Being on the ground, seeing the consequences of following orders... it changes you."

He paused, his gaze growing distant. Cassian remembered his lover during the war -- Tanwyn, with a smile like a storm, who was a surgeon with Doctors Without Borders. She chose to work at a hospital in the middle of a conflict zone and chose to stay even when the town came under siege. After the bombing started, Cassian disputed his commander's decision to engage the enemy so close to a civilian-occupied area. When that went nowhere, he had begged, begged her to get to safety. But Tanwyn had refused, "I didn't go through 14 years of medical training to abandon my patients." Her last words to him.

It took Cassian a very long time to get over her death.

He cleared his throat and looked away.

"I've experienced the fallout of strategic miscalculations, witnessed the collateral damage of executive decisions made in far-off offices," Cassian concluded. "No more senseless wars. That's why I'm here."

Nesta listened, absorbing his words. She tried to understand the rollercoaster of emotions that had swept through his face.

"And you think Rhysand Starborn is the right person to be in the room where it happens?"

Cassian gave her a wry grin. "Funny you should ask."

"Why?"

He dismissed the moment with a shake of his head.

When he faced her again, Cassian's expression was one of unwavering conviction. "I am certain he is the right person for the job."

Nesta took a long moment to study him, taking in the firm set of his jaw and the gentle curves of his lips -- the lines crinkling around his eyes seemed to tell stories of bravery and compassion.

"Okay," she said at last, as though settling an internal debate.

"Okay?"

Nesta nodded, this time with a certainty that seemed to anchor her. "Yes, okay," she repeated, giving him an assured smile.

They stood together for a moment longer, time seemingly stretching out as they surveyed the panoramic view of Velaris. The night breeze caressed Nesta's skin and sent a shiver down her spine as her body cooled from their earlier ascent to the overlook.

"Shall we head back?" she suggested, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself for warmth.

Cassian agreed with a dip of his chin, but his curiosity piqued. "These evening runs of yours, are they a regular thing?"

Nesta hesitated, her words tangling slightly. "Yes -- no, well, sort of. I'm actually training for the National Women's Half Marathon," she clarified. "I've committed to running it with some friends."

"If you want, I could help -- I could train with you."

Nesta mulled over his offer again, the sincerity in his voice apparent. "That might be nice," she said, giving in to the tug in her heart. "I'll let you know when I'm planning my next run."

Cassian's answering smile was so bright, so full of warmth, that Nesta felt momentarily dazed -- a radiance that rivaled the moon above.

"Come on then." He turned from the outlook, and Nesta followed, falling into step beside him as they began their descent.

---

Nesta inhaled deeply, trying to stifle the swell of emotions in her chest. She stood on the meticulously groomed lawns of the River House, where Feyre was hosting a luncheon for the League of Women Voters of Velaris.

In front of her, the Starborn's grand conservatory was bustling with guests -- their conversations a steady buzz against the clinking of fine china. The large glass structure was situated in the back of the house, hidden from view from the street. Sunlight poured in through the expansive glass panels, bathing the interior space in a golden, dappled light. The conservatory itself was an oasis of botanical beauty, brimming with an array of vibrant flowers and delicate greenery. Nesta knew immediately that Elain must love it here.

Feyre weaved through the crowd with grace and charm, playing the part of hostess perfectly, but Nesta knew her sister was still adjusting to the relentless glare of the public eye. That was why she agreed to drop into the luncheon to make sure that the reporter the local paper sent to cover the event was on their best behavior.

Nesta had never been to the River House before. Every Christmas, a perfunctory invitation to visit from Feyre would arrive, and each time, Nesta found a convenient excuse to decline, preferring to maintain a distance from the life that Feyre had carved out for herself. Standing before the River House, with its stately charm and the Sidra flowing majestically in the background, Nesta couldn't help but feel a pang of regret mingled with a deep urge to flee.

When Feyre's eyes found hers through the glass panels, Feyre's relief was evident as she beckoned Nesta inside.

"I'm so glad you're here," Feyre murmured.

Nesta, feeling a rare surge of sisterly affection, reached out and gave Feyre's hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're doing great," she offered, her voice softer than usual.

Feyre's smile wavered. "I've been so nervous about this event," she confessed. "And talking to that reporter later. I've never done any press without Rhys before."

"I've already vetted the interview questions. There won't be any curveballs," Nesta reassured her. "It's a simple society piece for the local paper, nothing too intense. Just steer clear of any policy talk. You'll be fine."

Feyre bit her lip. "Can you stay until after I talk to the reporter?"

"Of course, I'll stay."

With a nod of gratitude, Feyre turned and glided gracefully back to mingling with her guests.

Left to herself, Nesta pulled out her phone to go through the emails that inevitably crowd her inbox. She glanced around and noticed a large door that led into the quieter recesses of the River House. The luncheon was in full swing, but she couldn't find it in herself to work the room the way Feyre or Rhys would.

Nesta crossed the threshold, finding herself in a peaceful hallway. She took in the grand space around her: the high ceiling, intricate moldings, and silk curtains framing the windows. As she looked down the corridor, her eyes followed the row of oil paintings lining the walls. Something about them seemed deeply familiar -- the impressionistic brushwork and open, airy compositions bore the unmistakable touch of Feyre's hand.

Nesta made her way down the hallway, her steps soft and nearly silent on the plush carpet, looking for a quiet space away from the party to focus on her inbox. Eventually, she found herself in a cozy sitting room, its wide walls lined with books.

Her eyes immediately fell to the shelves full of framed photographs. Nesta stepped closer to study the pictures.

There were several of Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian together, chronicling different chapters of their lives -- from their college days to their military service to ski trips that appeared suspiciously like snowball fights.

In each image, Cassian's smile was wide and unrestrained, his arms invariably slung around his brothers, his hair noticeably longer in his younger years. Azriel, by contrast, looked stern, though his eyes were warm. Rhys appeared relaxed and completely at ease among his friends and family -- a side of him she had never witnessed.

There were photos of Mor exuding her usual glamour and confidence. In one snapshot, Mor stood between Azriel and Cassian. They were dressed to the nines. Azriel looked at Mor with something like total adoration on his face, while Mor was laughing with her head thrown back, leaning into Cassian. But Cassian was grinning at the camera.

An old photograph tucked in the back was of the Starborns -- Rhys's father and mother. Beside it was a portrait of Rhys's mother sitting by the fire on what looked like Christmas morning.

Then Nesta recognized an image that must have been taken the night Rhys had first won his congressional seat -- even Amren was smiling in that one. Feyre, joyous, was in the middle of leaning into a hug from Rhys. He looked only at Feyre even as the dozen faces in the photos were turned towards him.

Scattered in between the memories of their "inner circle" were many photos chronicling Nyx's young life -- a teary-eyed Rhys holding an ultrasound with Feyre behind him; a portrait of Feyre with a swollen belly; Feyre holding Nyx for the first time on a hospital bed with Rhys next to her; Rhys lifting a toddler Nyx into the air. There was a blurry image of Nyx at his third birthday party, white frosting all over his face, with Cassian and Mor fussing over him and Azriel standing to the side laughing, clumps of frosting in his dark hair.

The most recent photo was one of Elain and Nyx together, surrounded by flowers in a field.

Nesta felt her pulse quicken in dread. These photographs were windows into the vibrant life Feyre had lived, yet, Nesta found no trace of herself in these frozen moments.

Finally, she noticed a large photo in a corner -- Feyre was wearing a simple white slip-dress, her arms interlocked with Rhys, dashing in a blue linen suit. They were standing barefoot on a beach, waves crashing behind them. Feyre held a large bouquet of hydrangeas and roses in her other hand. Surrounding the smiling couple on either side were Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and Amren. They were all beaming, although Mor had clearly been crying. It was plainly a wedding photo.

It suddenly struck Nesta that there were no images from the grand Velrais wedding at the House of the Wind. Rather just another portrait of Feyre and Rhys -- taken on the same day on the beach -- looking adoringly at each other. Their hands were joined, prominently displaying their golden wedding bands.

Nesta realized that she hadn’t encountered Cassian, Azriel, or Mor at the ceremony she attended. She was certain she would have remembered someone like Cassian with his distinct presence. The Velaris wedding was a formal event attended by hundreds of guests, a high-society wedding. But the pictures on the shelf displayed a private, intimate celebration for only those closest to the couple.

She didn't know how much time had passed as she stood there, taking in the evidence of the chasm that had grown between her and her sister. The pictures showcased a version of Feyre's life that Nesta had never been part of, a narrative woven from experiences and bonds she hadn’t shared.

Nesta felt like a stranger looking in, witnessing a parallel world where laughter and joy flowed freely, a stark contrast to the guardedness that marked her own interactions with Feyre.

"Aunt Nesta!" A child's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

Nesta turned swiftly at the call. "Nyx?" she asked in surprise, her eyes landing on her young nephew. His round cheeks were just visible as he peered around the edge of a nearby armchair.

"Hi Nesta." Elain emerged behind him with Mr. Carrot in tow.

Nesta felt every muscle in her body tense. "Hi Elain," she returned, keeping her voice neutral.

"Feyre mentioned you might drop by today." Elain smoothed her skirts, almost nervous, but smiled tentatively. "I hear things are going well with the campaign."

Nesta bristled at the comments. She hated that her sisters seemed to treat her like a problem to be handled -- managed.

"The campaign is going as expected," she replied curtly.

Elain hesitated, her lips parting as if to say more, but her gaze shifted to Nyx. "Are you hungry, dear?" she asked him softly.

Nyx, his attention still fixed on Nesta, shook his head, his curiosity about his aunt undiminished.

Feeling the need to escape the conversation, Nesta made a move to leave. "I should get back to -- "

"Nesta, wait," Elain interjected quickly, her expression turning earnest. "Won't you stay for tea? It's been a while since we all sat down together." Her hand dropped to rest on Nyx's shoulder. "We really should catch up."

Nesta's eyes swept the room -- this house with its layers of memories, the shelves lined with snapshots that narrated a life where everyone was content, perhaps even better off, in her absence.

With a dry chuckle, Nesta gestured at their surroundings. "I think I'm all caught up, thanks."

Elain's expression faltered. "Nesta, that's not fair," she said as a flicker of hurt crossed her features. “I’m sorry I never got around to returning your calls. But -- ”

Nesta's gaze hardened. "Are you?" she countered, her voice low but sharp. "Everyone here seems quite happy have their entire lives subsumed by Rhysand Starborn."

Elain frowned. "Please Nesta, it's not like that," she began, but Nesta cut her off.

"I can't have this conversation right now." Nesta turned towards the hallway, her movements brisk.

She needed space, air -- something to clear the tightness building in her chest.

"Where is Aunt Nesta going?" She heard Nyx ask behind her.

But Nesta didn't stop. She looked for the nearest exit -- a pair of French doors that took her back onto the house's sweeping lawns.

She walked towards the water's edge, taking in the midday light, calming her thundering heart. She did not understand herself, why she couldn't bear the hurt in Elain's eyes, why she always felt the need to retreat into herself whenever her sisters were around.

---

Eventually, Nesta took the long way around the grounds of the River House, back towards the conservatory. Feyre was already speaking with a young female reporter when Nesta found them sitting on a pair of Adirondack chairs on the crest of a gentle hill overlooking the Sidra.

She gave them some space as they finished the interview.

"We corresponded over email earlier," Nesta said as she introduced herself to the reporter, reaching out to shake her outreached hand.

The young woman beamed in recognition. "Ms. Archeron," she said.

"Do you have everything you need?"

The reporter nodded. "It's been an absolute pleasure, Mrs. Starborn," she said to Feyre, putting away her voice recorder.

"Do you mind sending us a copy of the story before it goes to print?" Nesta asked.

The reporter's smile never faltered. "Of course," she replied and picked up her bag. "Someone from the paper may reach out later for fact checking."

"You have my contact information," Nesta answered as the reporter shook Feyre's hand goodbye.

When they were alone, Nesta asked, "How did it go?"

"Fine, I think," Feyre replied, her voice wary. "I am just relieved it's over."

"Don't worry," Nesta said. "We'll get a chance to correct the article before it comes out."

Feyre reclined in her chair. "Can you sit with me for a while?"

Nesta flinched. "Feyre," she answered, feeling the tightness building in her chest again. "I have to get back to work."

Feyre looked up at her, her blue-gray eyes shuttered. "Oh," she breathed. "Of course. Sorry to keep you," her voice turning oddly formal, "Thank you for coming today."

---

Nesta threw herself into her work for the rest of the afternoon, finding a quiet refuge in the familiar demands of her tasks. By the time she returned to the House of the Wind, the sun was a fiery orb hovering low in the sky. The majestic sight of the House, silhouetted against the orange and pink sky, was strangely comforting. But the solitude that awaited her in her room felt overwhelming -- for the first time that day, she did not want to be alone.

She stopped at the front desk to ask for Cassian's room number. With a kind of new-found courage, Nesta took the elevator to his floor.

Cassian opened the door on her third knock.

"Azriel, I thought --," he began, before his voice trailed off, his eyes widening at the unexpected sight of Nesta standing before him.

"Hey," she said, taking him in. Cassian's crisp white dress shirt was casually half unbuttoned, giving a glimpse of the defined muscles of his chest and the intricate whorls of black tattoos that contrasted against his golden skin.

Cassian quickly recovered from his initial shock. "Nesta, I wasn't expecting you," he said, holding his door open wider. "What can I do you for?"

Nesta immediately felt the knot in her chest loosen at the humor in his voice. His eyes were studying her gently. The corners of her lips twitched upwards.

"Run with me?"

---

---

---

Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list.

Tag list: @acourtofladydeath @fwiggle @swifti-ed

---

[j-august]

Amanda Foreman, Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire

[queenwille]

anotha day, anotha american pro pali dolla 🤺

what have we covered up until now about the American Main Character Syndrome regarding the middle east conflict and Israel?

US taxes do not subsidize the israeli average life, the US ✨invests✨ in mostly private in the military (IDF, as it sees the importance of having at least one democratic allay in such a dangerous region.

most of the US taxes, stay in the US.

Today on the agenda:

🚨🥁🚨🥁🚨

“THE ISRAELI GOVERNMENT WAS CHOSEN BY THE ISRAELI PEOPLE, SO THOSE FEW EXTREMISTS DO REFLECT ON THE ISRAELI SOCIETY”

long story short? the israeli voting system is very different than the one in the US.

🔥SHOCKING FACT🔥

the prime minister is not directly chosen by the people. citizens choose a party, so he should be the leader (“number one”) of that party, then the party has to be the largest (most seats) party of the winning bloc and the leader should be able to build a coalition of at least 61 from the 120 seats in the knesset, which is basically the israeli parliament.

so that’s how dear netanyahu, as the leader for the past 20 years of the largest party in the usually winning right bloc (the right usually wins with a 60%+- 😒) has been the prime minister. not because people vote for him.

and that my self centered friends, is without mentioning the horrific political crisis israel has been going through since 2018, where no one was able to build a coalition up until 2022. then in 2022 came another crisis when fanatics netanyahu did business with to form a coalition (and for personal issues that are for a completely different day) came to cash in with passing a crazy law that gives the government the ability to overpower the supreme court & the public went C R A Z Y. after almost a year of manifesting against the law and the extremists flooding the knesset , in comes ✨hamas✨ seizing the moment for what they’ve been waiting and training for for months.

TLDR: netanyahu was never specifically chosen by the people.

[madameadelina]

This one-shot dives into a fresh perspective on Anastasia and Warren’s dynamic, peeling back the layers of their relationship in ways we haven’t explored before. Plus, it offers a glimpse into Estelle Maris’ backstory—hinting at the pivotal role she’ll play in the larger narrative. If you’re ready for a mix of emotional depth, subtle intrigue, and a dash of lore-building, then you’re in for a treat. I hope you enjoy it!

[kayedium-writes]

The hiatus is over!

All's Fair in Love & Politics - Ch. 20!

United States Senator Padmé Amidala has her eyes set on the presidency. After altercation in the Senate causes a media disaster though, she's forced to return to Boston for her summer. Back in her old neighborhood, her life is once again intertwined with her ex, Anakin Skywalker, after more than a decade apart. For years, she'd focused completely on her career, and duty to her constituents. Now, she wonders if that's all her life has to offer, or if it's possible to 'have it all' including another shot at love.

Chapter preview:

She, regretfully, left Anakin in Boston two days ago and as soon as she touched down, ‘the swamp’ awaited her again.

She should’ve known things were going too well with her perfect getaway. The audacity to think she could have it all, have it in private, and cherish something for one, solitary goddamn moment before it was all blown to hell… And now there were a mix of headlines, flooding the newsstands she’d been pretending didn’t exist. The internet articles plastered her face all over them like she was a celebrity and not a fucking US Senator. And as if her being a senator meant she wasn’t entitled to have a life that didn’t involve standing on the floor in chambers!

This had to be one of the few times in her life she wished to be living in a different decade. Or galaxy.

Chapter 20 is up now, and you can read it here on AO3!

[izzyspussy]

the way howard falls asleep on watch, which might turn the audience (further) against him, but they immediately pan to show him bleeding through his bandages. it's a good movie brent.

[mars-ipan]

this is gonna sound incredibly virtue signal-y i fear but i have been feeling. so fiercely protective of all the transfems i've ever met lately

[stillwintering]

All's Fair in Love and Politics (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: A modern AU set in the throes of a political campaign. Rhys is running for president. Feyre asks her estranged sister Nesta to join the campaign team. Nesta couldn't turn down a front-row seat to one of the most compelling political stories of the year: a promising upstart with a dream, running a long-shot campaign for president. Little does she know that she's going to have to work closely with Cassian, one of Rhys' top deputies, who infuriates her to no end.

Of course, Nesta and Cassian fall for each other despite themselves. There is drama and politics and idiots in love.

(Nessian focused but lots of Feysand to keep things interesting.)

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

Nesta took a moment to consider the job offer.

"Well?" Feyre asked, her eyes hopeful. "What are you thinking?"

Nesta knew she couldn't refuse. It was a golden opportunity, too good to pass up. She weighed the pros and cons in her head. Joining the campaign would mean she worked for Rhys and Feyre. Nesta loved her sister, but their relationship had been strained since their father passed. Nesta hasn't been an active part of Feyre's life for years. She didn't know how to relate to Feyre as her sister, let alone as her boss. A wave of guilt hits her.

"I don't know," Nesta finally offered. "I'm flattered Rhys wants me as his communications director."

"But?" Feyre prompted.

Nesta picked up the porcelain cup and saucer in front of her, swirling her tea around. Professionally, this was the best offer she had in years. But personally, it was a minefield. She had never taken a liking to her brother-in-law. Rhys had been born with a silver spoon, practically political royalty -- too privileged, too arrogant. They tolerated each other, at best. She's not sure how well he will take it when she has to challenge him in order to do her job as his campaign's communication director. She wasn't going to be another Washington sycophant.

"Feyre, I --"

"We -- I need someone I trust on the campaign," Feyre offered. She chewed her lower lip. "Nesta, please. I don't think we can do this without you."

Nesta hesitated. "I'm just not sure if we should," she gestured between them, "make things more complicated."

"Nesta, I haven't seen you for 2 years," Feyre said softly. "I know things aren't... great between us. But we both know you are the right person -- the best person for this job. Why do you find it so hard to believe that I trust you?"

Nesta winced. She looked at her little sister, once so small and doe-eyed, now radiating power. She nodded, back straightening, and looked away.

"When do you need me to start?"

---

Rhysand Starborn was running for president. He is entering the race as the long-shot candidate: a young 3-term congressman, still green. But the Starborn name held sway. Rhys had grown up part of a political dynasty: 2 senators, 3 governors, and at least 2 Secretaries of State. Rhys' father had served over 30 years in the Senate and had been one of the most influential power brokers on Capitol Hill.

Rhys had fought against his family's expectations all his life. His father, while beloved by the public, had been a cruel man in private. Rhys understood, better than most, the price politics exacted on one's soul and saw firsthand how his own father traded his decency for power.

His father died many years ago, from a long illness that he hid from his constituents until the end. Never show any weakness -- that was one of his father's lessons. Rhys had been a disappointment, too soft, showed too much weakness. His father died full of disdain for his only son.

"For those of us climbing to the top of the food chain, there can be no mercy," Rhys can still hear his father say. "There is but one rule: hunt or be hunted."

Rhys was running for president. Because he has a dream for the country. Because his father's ghost still weighed on him. Because Rhys wanted to be a better man, a better husband, a better father. But not because of power, never just for power. Rhys tells himself.

---

It took Nesta two weeks to find an apartment in Washington DC, a small one-bedroom in a renovated Art Deco building. The move was easy enough. Nesta had never put down roots, opting to live wherever the story she was writing was going to take her.

Nesta worked as a writer, reporter, and political commentator. Her writing was witty and sharp -- always discerning. She had a way of reading people, seeing through everyone's masks and lies. She can spend 10 minutes with someone in a room and know exactly what made them tick, and what buttons to push. It was a skill that was both a blessing and a liability.

Last year, Nesta wrote a searing profile of the British Prime Minister for The Economist that was credited for torpedoing his re-election campaign. She had spent a week shadowing and interviewing him and by the end, saw him exactly for the power-hungry viper he was. She had made a name for herself as a political truth-teller, always holding power to account. Nesta was really good at her job.

Her years of reporting on and writing about politics have made her cynical of politicians. In journalism school, everyone has been taught Lord Acton's axiom: all power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. Nesta believed that when she first started out, at her first reporting job, but after all these years, she doesn't believe it's always true anymore. Power doesn't always corrupt. Power can cleanse.

Now, what Nesta believes is always true about power is that power reveals.

Nesta waits by the door of Starborn's congressional office. It was her first day on the Starborn campaign. She was eager to find out what power would finally reveal about Rhysand.

---

Feyre's face lit up when she spied Nesta by the door.

"Let me introduce you to the team!" Feyre gestured for her to come inside.

The office was bigger than Nesta expected. Most junior congressmen were relegated to the cramped basement offices of the House office buildings along Independence Avenue. Space was always scarce on Capitol Hill. The size and location of Rhys' office indicated that he had some influence in the House, no doubt helped by his family connections.

Nesta surveyed the front room, which had several rows of desks for the half dozen staffers buzzing about -- no windows. In the back, a pair of French doors open to a decent-sized office with an imposing desk in front of a tall window. Several people stood around Rhys, leaning against his desk, sitting by the chairs flanked on either side. They were deep in conversation when she stepped inside.

Rhys stood up from his seat behind the desk to greet her. "Nesta," he held out his hand to shake hers. "It's good to see you again. Thank you for joining us."

Nesta took his hand and noted the firm squeeze he gave her. "Rhys," she said, pointedly not returning the welcoming smile he flashed her.

Rhys was devastatingly handsome: striking violet eyes and a face that was not easily forgotten. He had an effortless grace about him -- something Nesta knew took other politicians years on the campaign trail to hone and perfect -- but Rhys welded his charm like it was second nature. It put Nesta on edge, made her apprehensive.

If Rhys noticed Nesta's wariness in his presence, he didn't let it show. He turned to a beautiful petite woman standing next to him and said, "This is Amren, my campaign manager."

Amren gave Nesta a perfunctory handshake, her sleek black bob swayed with her movements. Her eyes were silver and cold. Nesta liked Amren immediately.

The two men sitting in the pair of chairs flanking Rhys' desk both stood. Nesta was startled by their height and size as they rose. They must both be over 6'2", all rippling muscles underneath their suits. They looked more like bodyguards than political operatives.

"Azriel," the man on the right introduced himself, extending his hand. He was classically beautiful: sharp jawlines and high cheekbones. If she didn't know better, Nesta would have guessed that he was a runway model for Paris Fashion Week.

"Nesta," she introduced herself again and took his hand. She tried to not react to the long deep scars that she felt and saw across his hands, up his forearms, and disappearing beneath his shirtsleeve. She knew those scars had a story to tell.

"Nesta Archeron," the second man addressed her, a smirk in his voice. "The Prime Minister slayer."

Nesta stiffened and met his gaze. A pair of golden hazel eyes held her. His hand slipped around hers, firm and warm. Nesta's breath caught.

"This is Cassian," Feyre cut in. She rolled her eyes at him.

His eyes seemed to pin Nesta in her place. "I'm a big fan. The hit piece you wrote about the President's last Supreme Court nominee was brilliant. I can't believe you got a hold of his tax returns."

Hit piece! Nesta's temper flared. She pulled her hand away. "He was corrupt," her voice was clipped.

Cassian chuckled -- it was a warm, affectionate sound. "Rhys, you got to look out for this one," he said, turning towards the desk.

Nesta had rarely ever been rendered speechless. When he looked back at her again with those golden hazel eyes, she met them boldly and assessed him.

There was something entirely wild, but still very handsome about Cassian. His features were more rugged, weather-worn, like the north face of a mountain -- a scar notched one of his eyebrows, his skin golden brown. He had long dark hair that he had pulled into a knot, almost bordering on inappropriate for otherwise stuffy and conservative Capitol Hill fashion. Something about Cassian both thrilled and disturbed her.

"Welcome to the Starborn presidential campaign," Feyre said, wrapping up their introductions. Her voice pulled Nesta's attention away from Cassian.

"Feyre, darling," Rhys turned towards her, his eyes softening. "Are you sure you want to do this? This is the last exit before our lives change forever."

Feyre entwined their fingers together, giving her husband a reassuring squeeze. "Yes, darling. I am sure."

Amren smiled, taking her cue to begin, and then nodded toward Nesta. "Tell me, girl, what do you know about the Iowa caucuses?"

[buildoblivion]

hmmmm not sure I liked that one????

[july-19th-club]

i love when characters suck and are bad people like the thing about murphy is that i liked him before he was the incredible wife guy (which is also pretty great, dont get me wrong) but like. i thought he was cool when he was a horrible jackass that everyone hated . like he was interesting before he got morals; he was interesting as a guy who gets lynched in a frontier justice display of retaliation for a murder because he just seems like the kind of dude who would murder someone. and he is! just not that dead guy, specifically. whereas the actual killer is a twelve-year-old girl who the whole crew spends the episode trying to proctect from any kind of punishment, while murph runs around trying and failing to get anyone to admit out loud that the only reason there's a difference between punishing him and punishing her is because he has a bad personality . and also the murders but at that point in the show he hadn't killed anyone, he just seemed like he would

[1eeminho]

read a fic that was so mind blowing i literally dont know what to do with myself rn

[kayedium-writes]

Last Line Tag!

Thanks for the tag, @tsunderewatermelon! Timing could not have been better, really.

Rules: Make a new post and post your latest line from your WIP & tag as many people as there are words.  

I offer: a little bit of Anidala. A line (okay, two...) from the next chapter of All's Fair in Love and Politics:

He wanted her. And the feeling was mutual but she did really have to go…

15 people, huh? Whew, okay. Soft tags, absolutely no pressure: @lena-hills @mrsmungus @oceangirl24 @alonelyturtle @late-to-the-fandom @pluttskutt @asocial-skye @aleksandriel @justanotherpersonwhowrites @captainjimothycarter @justadmiringanakin @penspiration-writing @illegalcerebral @danceswithdarkspawn @sliebman10

[sskk-manifesto]

(´･ᴗ･ ` )

[malkaleh]

Some more about the discovery of John Norwich’s papers. Ellie belongs to @nocompromise-noregrets

They should all agree that there is no way on earth this can be kept quiet and they all do, by and large. Except, unfortunately for Debbie, who thinks they should just push it all away to someone else, somewhere else. Maybe just hide it in the archives released but not released. 

“Think of the drop in revenue - no one is going to want to get married here when they read about all this - why don’t we give it over to where it actually happened?”

“Because it does not in fact, exist any more. As in, the house was levelled and the whole place is now something completely different - of course I’m sure they’ll place a plaque and a memorial there, but we cannot actually hide away a major historical discovery Debbie.”

“And that’s not even getting into the fact that the foremost expert on The Triad was the one who authenticated this - and I’ve got Ahmed coming down to triple check - he already emailed me something that essentially says ‘yes this is real, yes this checks out with Norwich’” 

Ana, the Deputy Curator holds up a hand to quell the discussion. 

“Debbie, we definitely cannot hide this - it would be worse if we did in the long run - and yes, I know it’s not going to be fun for you to manage this but it was found, we need to deal with it. I’ll get Yasmin to draft up a press statement and then release it tomorrow morning - Ahmed will be here this afternoon to confirm in person - she’ll see if Ellie and the builders want to be identified as the discoverers by name.”

Yasmin Magdhara, Welles Hall public relations officer closed her eyes for a moment to find some kind of calm. She has an idea of what she is going to say, but she knows she’s going to need to look at the material or at least, a summary of the material to know how bad it is and she’s absolutely not looking forward to that conversation. 

-

Her meeting with Dr Ahmed Khan, the foremost expert on John Norwich confirms it - though she usually loves talking to Ahmed. 

“The obsession with Ancient Rome and Greece - oh that’s absolutely the foremost reason to confirm that this garbage is Norwich - the identification with himself with Caesar, with Augustus and the ‘spoils of victory’ - that is him to the bone.”

The press statement is to the point. Somewhat. It starts with Major Find In Welles Hall Archives

[kingdomoftyto]

October this year has felt kind of vague and adrift for me, no real festive spirit to speak of--or at least nowhere near how last year felt, when it was Year of the Vampire and all.

BUT I am remedying that now with a combined pincer attack of 1) relistening to Night Vale from the beginning on my commute to work and 2) rereading Warm Bodies on my breaks/in my spare time. Things are getting increasingly spooky up in here

[littleeyesofpallas]