#also imagine thinking nesta is worse than rhys oh lord

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

sigh

anyways, vote for my mom pls!

[flowerflamestars]

Nesta Under the Mountain: acowar remix

The first thing Nesta hears when she wakes up, is Rhysand. 

Who is right by her bedside, waiting, apparently for this exact moment of her eyes opening and coherency on her face to say, with full High Lord gravitas: we would have gone with you. 

Cassian, who has given up any pretense, and is literally on the floor between Rhysand’s armchair and Nesta’s bed, kicks him. 

They didn’t know what happened to her- couldn’t find any wounds, any marks at all, but Nesta wouldn’t wake up. It’s Amren who insists, who sits perfectly still by her side for an hour and says- she did something. She did something like what I did.

Lucien, poisoned with faebane and stabbed in the heart, was lucky to be alive, in and out of consciousness. He’d been awake in the days that followed for just ten minutes. During which he used the hand Azriel was persistently holding to leverage himself out of bed, fallen, been caught by Azriel, and somehow dragged himself to Nesta’s side before passing out, stitches popped and bleeding.

There’s two beds in the room now. 

Cassian doesn’t have the room to process- but he’s noticed, how he’s noticed- that Azriel has spent these days more than not like he is now: Lucien’s hand in both of his. 

A frozen elegy, Lucien’s scarred knuckles, pressed to his mouth.

Nesta’s awake, and Azriel hasn’t dropped Luciens hand.

Listen, Cassian hasn’t slept in days. He thought, truly, Nesta was never waking up. That he was going to sit here and watch her slowly die. He’s absolutely not in his right mind. So he thinks: Oh. oh. 

All three of them.

It’s not unheard of. And Azriel is, of course, one of the absolute best males that Cassian knows. Honorable. Strong. Beautiful. Of course, they’ve worked this out- Nesta is the most unflinching, brutally honest person of all of them. Lucien she can be loud with- Azriel she can be quiet with- enough love to burn the world, why should she give it to just one person?

(a smaller, quieter, sadder part of him that isn’t zipping through thoughts at the speed of light can admit- if it was going to be an Illyrian, if that was even an option-  why couldn’t it be him?

...of course, it would be handsome Azriel over Cassian)

It’s too easy to picture- dark Azriel, vibrant Lucien, moon glow on the blackest night Nesta. 

But none of that matters. Because Nesta is sitting up, and glaring at Rhys and looking like a person again. Looking down and finding Cassian, there on the floor, with a tiny, savage smile. A hesitation- a second, that goes on and on, Nesta’s lovely mouth perked up, her eyes steady on his.

Alive, alive, alive. Cassians imagines- thinks he’s only imagining- that he can feel the steady beat of her heart alongside his.

But then of course eventually Nesta twists to sit up properly, already braiding away the rumpled cascade of her hair. (Cassian’s hands ache to help). Turning, to look at Lucien, grey-tinged and too still in bed.

Azriel answered without needing to be asked, looking at Nesta with weary eyes, Lucien’s limp hand pressed to his cheek. (Cassian’s heart is on fire). Explains that the poison is cleansed and now it will only take time, that Lucien had demanded to see her. The first expression on Azriel’s face in four days straight: a quirk of his full mouth, the ghost of a fond smile, telling Nesta Lucien tore his stitches to get to her.

(Cassian feels a little sick)

Stupid asshole, Nesta will grumble right back, but in that tone that says I love you.

But Nesta will turn away, straight to Cassian, to ask: My sisters?

(Cassian is Not Okay. Cassian’s self-esteem issues are literally going to cockblock him and despite not leaving in days for more than a few moments, Cassian is suddenly desperate to get out of this room. The city. His own skin)

Cassian can recognize trust when he sees it. Swallows. Tells her they’ve been here too, Morrigan just dragged them away to eat. They’re downstairs- he can get them- he can-

The youngest Archeron crashes through the door with Nesta’s own cataclysmic sense of timing, and throws herself at her sister. Elain, a step behind, walks around Cassian to curl up on Nesta’s other side, skirts tucked carefully around her. 

They want to know what happened- and Rhysand, with his usual grace, choses this moment to interject that he would like to too.

(The Cauldron, downstairs, cannot be moved. Reacts to nothing, unaffected by physical strength or magical inquiry. It is, in the end, creepy as fuck. The sisters like it.)

(Not to mention that Nesta- who has always had presence, even as a mortal- whose mean laugh and beautiful face and tendency to yell at him is absolutely some kind of catnip to Rhysie- Nesta now feels like danger. Not the kind you only have to look hard at her to see, that strength that is who she is. Like a High Lord. Something old. Something powerful.)

So Nesta tells them. The King, the Castle of Bone, the Cauldron, who would be a prisoner no longer. Of the reckless, insane thing she’d done when it seemed like they were doomed- of what the Cauldron gave.

(Cassian is glad he didn’t leave. Cassian might never leave her side again, no matter how much it will hurt. Nesta drowned herself in eternity on purpose.)

She doesn’t allow them to congratulate, to question- though Feyre does joke about Nesta seizing the crown.

Nesta looks past them all, to Rhysand. Tells him what she’d told Cassian, the words he’d been holding behind his teeth like succor: She wasn’t the only sister. Rhysand. 

Linnea, Amarantha, Clythia. 

Nesta Archeron had been dragged over the Wall to protect her sisters- been transformed against her will into a monster and chosen that life, in the end, to stop war from marching to mortal lands to them.

Amarantha was a monster. Clythia a mistake. Linnea, long locked away, the discarded eldest, would come to sow vengeance against Prythian’s Vengeance. Against Nesta Archeron and whole continent that had borne and made her.

The war was still coming.

The medical team arrives to do one more round of treatment for Lucien. Nesta, uninterested now that she can resist in being poked and prodded ever, stumbles off to her actual bedroom, deathgrip on Cassian’s arm she will absolutely not admit is keeping her upright. 

She puts herself together. Bathes. Finds clothes. Looks, this time, in the mirror. She looks the same- her face had never changed that much. The subtle glow of immortality, the stupid knifeblade ears. But it’s still her face: her mother’s lathe cheekbones, her father’s plush, lying mouth.

Nesta is a monster, but Nesta is Nesta.

She marches downstairs, and shuts herself in the study with Rhys. Crossed her arms. Stands there, spine straight, feet spread, like she’s going to battle.

Clenches her tattooed hand so hard it hurts. 

She tells him, I want to make a deal. You wanted me in your Court, to fight in the war for the Night. I’ll swear fealty. I’ll be your fucking weapon- just me, not Lucien- if you promise that no matter what happens, no matter who comes, you protect my sisters. To the last fucking breath, Rhysand. 

Rhys stands up. Brushes a hand over his face like he’s thinking and abruptly, laughs. 

Nes, he’ll drawl to the feverpitch of her temper that he definitely has an unhealthy fondness of. You don’t owe me shit. You freed Prythian. You killed Hybern. You tamed the Cauldron. 

Is Velaris suddenly not your home? It’s not a trap. Archeron, you’re one of us, whether you wanted it or not. That means they are too.

Nesta: I am a private contractor. 

Rhys: You’re so involved you’re basically my Third alongside Mor. We would have gone with you. 

And that, in the end, is what does it. Rhys is such a goddamn liar- but that doesn’t mean Nesta hasn’t learned when he’s telling the truth. And he is now.

They would have gone with her- to kill a King. To save her sisters. To enact bloody, reckless violence.

Nesta sits down, steals his teacup, and says: Fine. 

The problem is clear at once: Rhysand thought Linnea was dead. Everyone thought Linnea was dead. Information from when she did live is unclear at best- Amarantha’s half-sister, where Clythia and her had been born to the same unfortunate mother.

Half-mad, denied acknowledgment from her father. Clythia and Amarantha were generals, woman who dealt in violence. Linnea, when she’d lived- when she’d been known- was an alchemist.

What the hell is alchemy? Magic that isn’t ours, Rhysand says darkly. Magic that is unnatural, not quite real. Not the power inside you- the power you can steal from the world.

It usually doesn’t work. It usually kills the fae involved eventually. 

They need more information- they need Azriel, and no one is about to suggest he move a muscle until Lucien wakes back up.

There’s a family dinner, eaten sprawled around the sickroom. Elain, Nesta learns, has made quick work of befriending Morrigan. Feyre’s recklessness- the mirror of Nesta’s- has ensured, with fearless wonder, that she’s absolutely comfortable here. 

(This Rhysand, who knew and was in awe of Nesta first, might like Feyre...but Nesta is his contemporary. The idea that her baby, mortal, youngest sister might also be doesn’t occur to him. Not yet, anyway. There being three Archeron’s at all remains overwhelming.)

Cassian offers to fly Elain and Feyre back to the House. 

It’s Feyre, with the sort of straight forward confusion that can’t be feigned, who says, after Cassian has set them down and is walking into the warm halls with them: Aren’t you going back? Oh, is Nesta coming here?

Cassian’s heart: ground zero. Cassian’s brain: just far enough from the explosion to be burning, burning, burning. 

Elain, who is a lot more like Nesta now that she isn’t frozen in worry, frowning just a little. Not warning- something worse, abject disappointment: We can get settled on our own. Nesta told me she’s sleeping at the townhouse tonight, in case Lucien wakes.

Feyre, yawning: Oh right, bye Cassian.

And then Cassian is left alone, the doors shut. 

Let us return to Nesta: feet propped up on the blankets of Luciens bed, quietly drinking whiskey. Watching, with a pang in her chest she’ll ignore and ignore and ignore, while Azriel- now that it’s just them, Nesta, who Lucien had explained to Azriel like this: I’d die for her. She’s my...Cassian. I’m always going to choose her, and if we do this you can’t hate that. Nesta, who is family- is gently braiding the riot of bloodred hair off Lucien’s face.

She handed over the half-full glass when he was done, and Azriel tossed the whole thing back. Said, eventually, as they sat there watching Lucien breathe together: that’s the first time Cassian has left.

Nesta, leaning even further back in the chair: Oh?

Azriel, with humor, steady in his deep voice: Rhysand had to make him let go so the healers could check you. He’s been in this room for a week.

Nesta, who’s still looking at the braids. Nesta, who’d woke and known that Cassian would have made sure her sisters were okay: Will he ever say anything?

Az: Does he need to?

Nesta, with a scoff: For me, no. For himself, yes. And then, softer. Thank you. For taking care of him. 

They both know she isn’t talking about Cassian.

Azriel will just nod. Say, like it’s nothing, the bare truth: He’s all the light, in the entire world.

Nesta hears again Cassian, tearing through words like they hurt to say: you’re the whole world.

Nesta, aloud: And much too stubborn to die.

This, unfortunately, the last two sentences, are all Cassian hears, frozen outside the door.

He walks away.

The next day, Lucien awake, Rhysand will call them all together and divide up what must be done. Lucien and Az: information. Morrigan: the darkbringers. Cassian and Nesta: the Legions.

It’s time for Nesta Archeron to go to Ilyria.

@more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @rhaenystargaryn @morrkrii @just-a-starcrossed-writer @clolikescloquetas @did-you-miss-me221 @caotica-e-quieta

[illyrian-lover-flower]

My little mischievous partner ~ part 2

It felt all too slow. How Cassian opened his door, how he ran over to Rhys room on a mushy ground - where normaly cold,even marble should have met his naked feet.

With cold sweat cloaking his forehead and chest, he flung open the dooble door to Rhys and Feyres bedroom - locked it shut and jumped under the heavy blanket his brother slept under.

To Cassians luck was Feyre still out together with Mor and Amren. Just great, now they had to fight off Bryaxis on their own.

Cass would rather wait for Nesta than do this now. No hundred Illyrians could get him out there to this horrible creature.

Rhysand stired slowly awake by the constant shivering of his blanket. At first he had turned to his side and had hugged the round bundle, nuzzling into it as he mumbled “Oh, Feyre darling, you don’t need to purr for me.”

If the thing waiting outside the door wouldn’t have been Cassians worst nightmare he would have perhaps laughed, or thrown the blanket, over his together rolled form back. Making it obvious that he isn’t Feyre - but he was motionless. The shivers that wrecked through him already too much movement for him.

And so he wasn’t able to do anything as his brother pulled the heavy blanket aside. Rhys sleepy face was enlightened by the soft hue of moonlight as he looked down at him with a lust stretched smile and something dark welling in his violet eyes.

But all that was gone as he suddenly noticed the form of his shivering brother. A  yelp escaping him as he hurriedly skidded back to his side of the bed.

The soft midnight blue blanket between them a strained bundle, as both gripped onto one side of it.

“What in the mothers name are you doing here Cass!” The commander swallowed hard, not answering as he only asked “Can I please stay here? Feyre won’t be here before sunrise anyway. Like that you won’t be lonely.”

Rhys only glared at him before heaving a sigh, dragging a hand through his already sleep mussed hair “Fine. Just don’t tell Feyre of this - you know just as much as I do that she will not let us live this one down.”

Cassian only nodded - fine with whatever his brother wanted from him, if it prevented him from having to step out of the room.

For a long time there was only heared the rustling of the blanket, that shifted back and forth between the two of them until they settled. Both their naked backs turned at each other.

While Rhys closed his eyes again and his breathing started to even. Cassian was far away from finding sleep again. His heart still beating like a thunderstorm in his chest, his wings slowly closing in around him. Every movement outside, the sway of one of the trees, a bird or a bat fluttering past the window -every motion that caused the shadows to move made him shift. His nerves strained to the point of snapping at any moment.

The ticking of the grandfarther clock in the cornor had him wince with every tick. Still he managed to calm down, thinking that all the things he had seen in his room were probably just an imagination because of his drunken state.

Maybe it was just that.

Still with an unerving feeling in his guts, did he close his eyes. An exhaused sigh leaving his bloodless lips as he nuzzeled into the pillows.

The dancing shadows in the room, that had danced around his vision and had frightened him, were now a soothing black blanket behind his closed eyelids.

Sleep soon wanting to drag him down into its cloudy world - that was until he heared it again. That meatallic sound of a laugh.

“Hihihihihi!”

His body moved on its own accord as it sat up straight. The sweat that had once vanished returned as his gaze hurried around the room. His brother was snorring beside him and everything seemed normal, that means almost normal.

There was a dark shadow, just by the door.

A pitch black clawing fog that swirled around aimlessly on the wooden double door.  

His heart beat spedup at the sight, the metallic laugh a screech in his ears he did never want to hear again. Cassians breathes came uneven as he shook his brother awake - this time not taking his plate wide eyes off of the shadow, that slowly started to take form.

Rhys growled as he was once again dragged out of sleep, but as his grumpy glare saw Cass ,almost porcelain white skin - he did not question his brother -that looked straight ahead.

With a tired puzzeled gaze did the High Lord follow the view of his Commander, after he sat up. His thick black eyebrow furrowed as the question was written all over his face. The clawing fog that now formed into the stature of two persons was not at all familiar with him. Wait a clawing fog?!

Rhys violet eyes slowly widened as he came to the realization - still he breathed to his brother “I’m pretty sure there is a reasonable reason behind this.” 

And it would most likely not the reason of a company searching Bryaxis, that had killed off dozens the last time they saw them.

Cassian only stared further at the fog, as the metallic laugh was heared again.

And the black mist started to lift. Strand for strand it unwrapped two persons. At the sight of those two pairs of legs, was Cassian glad - knowing it was not his worst nightmare, but who were then the intruders?

Rhys slowly scooched closer to his brother as he ,too, saw the two pairs of leggs. One pair, the more delicate and smaller one, covered in a pair of shiny grey harem’s pants. The tiny feet covered with a pair of silver ballerinas. While the other one seemed more masculine, a long turquoise sheet of fabric dangling over a pair of white pants.

And soon the two frightened brothers were greeted by their little angry, ancient friend. Amrens silver eyes swimming with an emotion both did not want to know what it promissed, while her blood red mouth formed into a twisted smirk as she looked up at Varian.

Varian beside her, was quiet as always. His face seeming a bit more grimm, but also lighter as a smirk, too, layed on his lips and he picked up the tiny female.

Her short legs wrapping around his middle imedeatly as his lips found purchase on her red painted ones. One of his large hands wound around her behind, to keep her steddy beside him - while the other tangeled and ruffeled her silky short black hair.

A growl escaping the two of them, while they did not seem as if they noticed the confused and quiet disturbed gazes of the two brothers, that were frightened for their life at the view.

They both were happy to call someone like Amren their family and that she found herself Varian, but both did never want to find out these specific things. Seeing how their chests pressed into one another, her hips grinding into his. There would have not even fit a sheet of paper between them. It seemed like as if the two wanted to become one right infront of Rhys and Cassian.

And it might have been that the two accted like little boys, that just had cought their parents in the middle of something, but they did not want to watch this unfold even more. A shiver running down both of their spines as they thought about it. And so Rhys took the bravery to clear his throat - loudly.

But the pants of the two were louder as they broke appart. Amrens arms wound thightly in Varians hair, their eyes only snapping away from each other as they heared Cass massive frame coliding with the floor.

The commander did not want to see this unfold any longer, but the blanket had cought his legs at the attempt to flee. All pairs of eyes on his form on the cold floor. Annoyed by the reason for his fall he snapped “You two having your fun?!”

Amren only smirked, as her whole body stayed wrapped against Varians. Her blood red lips one devils smirk as she answered: “Thank you very much Cassian, it is actually quiet fun for the both of us, yes.”

Varian had the decency to turn a bit red as he nudged his dark nose against her almost white cheek. But the smirk that formed on his lips as well, had the two brothers shaking.

Rhys slowly crawled to Cassian as to not caugh the attention of the two smirking lovers and leaned down to him. Freeing his brother all too slowly from the silky fetters around his ankels. “We run at three, got that?” Cassian only nodded. Bracing himself on his forearms as to slowly get up.

But before Rhys had even got the chance to say one, went Amrens attention back to them. That words that left her smirking mouth had them flying for the door behind them. “Would you like to join us?”

They both moved fast as lightning for the door. The heavy wood flinging wide open at the force Cass used to open it up with. This was worse than Bryaxis! decided Cassian for himself as he bolted down the hallway to the living room.

There was no way in hell he would open up that cursed chamber of his. Afterall they both had already been in his room. Oh gods he did not even want to think about that!

And while both, Cass and Rhys, ran down the stairs to sleep on the couch. They did not hear the metallic laugh that left Rhys and Feyres bedroom.

None of the two carred about the sound, as they both ran to get their eyes as far away, from the two, as possible. Rhys not carring at all that his bedroom was used for their fun.

There were plenty of rooms in the riverestate. He and Feyre could simply move into one of them, though the explanation might be a bit difficult.

Even though both Illyrians did not know why Amren showed up in the middle of Rhys bedroom - they were horrified. The few pictures that they had seen in the dimm hue of moonlight, enough for the rest of eternity.

The fire in the fireplace to source of warmth as they , both, layed under a pile of blankets on the couch. Sleep without a nightmare hard to find for the two of them.

*****

As the two drunken and sleepy Illyrians stumbeled out the room, was the seer in need of biting her bottom lip -hard- to prevent herself from bursting out laughing.

And it seemed that even the stoic shadowsinger beside her, had to pull hard on his leash of restraint to not burst out lauging too.A light snicker escaping him.

Elain nudged his, brown painted, arm with hers. A smile on her lips as she gazed up at him. Him and his turquoise eyes.

She pounted.

Bold in her drunken state did words leave her mouth, she would have never said if she was sober - but that whole plan of hers was something she would have never done in a sober state.

“I like your hazel eyes better.” was all she mumbled

Azriel grew stiff for a moment at the comment, before he lifted his scarred hand and pulled the two contact lenses out. Revealing his hazel eyes onse again. The emotions inside of them, that made the green and brown appear like one swirl of color - as if they had been painted by Feyre herself with her oil paint, a true master piece. Making the seer lose her breath.

And so did the Shadowsinger as he heaved a sigh once the two foreign bodys were out of his eyes.

The kind smile he offered his friend was something breathtaking, but Elains breath was knocked out of her lungs for another reason.

Her still silver eyes widening at the red smeared lipstick on his sinfull lips.Those lips that had touched and caressed hers like a real lover, wrapping her soft cold lips into the warm blanket of his.

Even though the act, they just had put up, seemed wild and full of passion and like something that was clearly created by Amren and her lover.

But it wasn’t.

It was a song that was sung by the uniting bodys of the Shadowsinger and the seer. A symphony that only their soul and body could create, but that was something that could only be felt by the two of them.

Two drunken ones not even able to notice the difference between those who played infront of them and those which were the real ones.

The hight difference between ‘Amren’ and ‘Varian’ , that stood in the middle of Rhys and Feyres bedroom, gazing at each other with such warmth and intensity that could melt ice, was a lot lesser than the original one.

Something the make up skills of Elain could not make up for.

As well as the bulkier stature of ‘Varian’ and since it was dark, it was also not noticed that his entire backside was covered in shadows.

The black swirling whisps little snakes around Azriels wings, covering everything up like a cloak. Something he had already done many times - mostly durning spies and visits to the mortal lands after the war.

And Elain needed to admit, her eyes taking in every inch of Azriels disguised form, that she would never want anyone else besides the shadowsinger.

His tan, but not ebony skin. His hazel eyes - not quiet brown but also not grey or green either. His touseled soft black hair, instead of white flowing one.

Elain realized with shock, as she lifted her hand to cup the Shadowsingers brown cheek, that there would never be anyone as beautiful as Azriel for her.

Body and Soul. Of course did he have cracks and weired habits of his. Scars covering his body, his hands mostly, but also his heart. His kind heart that seemed for most cold, but was in truth the hearth of a fire to which, at least, sweet Elain wanted to come home forever.

Her pale hand that rested on his dark cheek and tried to smear away a bit of the color on his gods crafted face, did nothing. She only caressed his cheek. And the Shadowsinger could do nothing more than close his eyes - leaning in to the soft touch of hers.

A chuckle escaping his relaxed face as he realized what the intensing swipes with her thumb attemted to do. “You do remember, El, that you yourself had put smearproof make up all over my skin, right?”

Elains eyes widened slowly “Oh.”

Azriel burst out full laughing at her short memory, that usualy remembered everything from the start of her fae life, her tipsy state having clearly infected her a bit too much.

Both probably too tipsy at this point that they did not care at all, that they were laughing like maniacs in the middle of darkness. Bold words leaving their mouthes as a fire ignited between the two.

Elain innocent smile, seeming all weired and twisted in Amrens form. But Amrens looks fit her wicked tongue just right. 

A gleam in the silver contact lenses of hers. “Well I guess that I have to remove it all again then.”

Azriel did not know how he would have reacted if he had been sober, but all he remembered in his tipsy state, was that he closed the little distance between them. One of his scarred hands holding his lenses as the other lifted to the seers soft cheek. 

The distance between them, the distance that was barely there - was unbearable as Azriels already red smeared lips were only milimiters away from hers. A soft whisper of them and his words everything against them.

A few little words, a touch all it needed for Elain to shiver from delight. Gosepumps appearing all over her body. 

“You would not be capable of what you unleash, little seer.” 

Elains breath was cought in her lungs. There were only a few times were he called her with such names. She mostly knew in which situation he used which nickname for her, but with these she never knew. 

His gaze always holding, in such moments, a stronger intensity. 

“I think you’re underestimating me, Spymaster.” 

And just before she closed the milimeter between them, breathless words left her lungs. 

“Because I know I could handle you, Azriel. Forever.” 

Those were the words that unleashed the Shadowsinger. Never in his life had he heared such sweet words and for the first time of his life did he want to taste these sweet words on her lips.

Every mother damned syllable of them. 

A dance of soft lips fighting against each other, erupting in the soft hue of moon light before they were gone in a shadowy breeze.

_______________________________________________________________

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