#anyway live laugh love feyre archeron

[rhysiedarling]

YES!!! agree on this 100%

why must we belittle Feyre for her hobby and what is clearly her passion?? so many people say that it's "just a joke" but you would never even imply that about other characters like Aelin, or Bryce, or Nesta.

all of these females are insanely talented and passionate and why can't we let Feyre have the liberty to express her art (and by extension, herself) without condemning her, or putting her down for it? it's tacky and it's irritating that this fandom often demeans and minimises Feyre's achievements, and when they are confronted for their actions, double back so quickly and reduce whatever bad take they had as "poking fun".

i see this as well with some people who like to make fun of Feyre's handwriting and saying it must look child-like??? why??? just because she used to be illiterate? it's not funny and you're not funny for belittling all the she went through, all the progress she made with reading, all the effort she put into her studies, after YEARS of being denied that knowledge.

let Feyre make art and be passionate about art and love art. and let's just let Feyre LIVE unapologetically and freely without condemning her for every single minute thing this woman decides to do.

i hate when people are like “feyre is a bad artist” !!!!

i hate it. such a bad take. everyone who sees her paintings are amazed, the ones she gives to her friends and family for solstice make them cry!!! i don’t understand the joy some people in the fandom feel while they belittle feyre.

she is powerful and strong and her kindness and creativity is part of that strength and what makes her amazing.

none of those people also are like “haha aelin probably isn’t even good at playing music” because it’s just unnecessary.

it feels, icky.

anyways, another day, another acotar rant because i don’t think many people have media literacy.

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

“Mr. Vanserra,” Odessa began, sliding into his pub before it was open.

“Why did I give you a key?” he grumbled as she made her way forward, mug of coffee in her hand.

“That’s why,” she said with an easy grin. “Have you heard the rumors?”

“No,” he replied, taking that first sip. Lucien didn’t know if it was the beverage itself or merely the act of drinking something hot that seemed to bring him back to life. “Is Bernard in the harbor again?”

She laughed. “No. He quit drinking, remember?”

“Oh, of course. That explains why he was here carousing all night,” Lucien replied with a bite of sarcasm. “Tell me.”

“Remember the florist?” 

No, he didn’t—people seemed to forget that Lucien hadn’t lived here for centuries. Merely eighty something years, the vast majority spent making his little pub profitable. The florist had been gone by the time he came in—she’d simply moved away to be closer to great, great, great grandchildren he thought. Someone had to tell him that, anyway. Still, Lucien wasn’t about to admit all that. It would remind people he was still relatively new despite living there for nearly a century.

“Of course.”

Odessa’s grin told him she knew he was a liar. She didn’t call him on it, which was one of her better qualities.

“Well, she swore she was never going to sell that storefront. I think she was afraid of another pub—she was always going on and on about young people and their drinking habits. She sold it, though.”

“To who?”

Odessa shrugged. “No idea. Someone I’ve never seen before, and I thought she must be from the inland but her accent…sounds awfully familiar.” He narrowed his eyes. “No one from Prythian is coming out here to work.” Certainly no one he knew, anyway. 

“Maybe they’re from Rask, then. They’re always sneaking over the border, stealing our jobs—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Lucien interrupted, uninterested in yet another long-winded diatribe on why everyone who wasn’t from their home was an evil. It was a common refrain—everyone thought so, Prythian included. Nationalist sentiment was especially high as one of their independence holidays was nearly upon the city. Flags of cerulean and white hung from nearly every storefront, waving in the breezy, ocean wind. Lucien's shop was no exception, though the whole thing amused him. He didn’t care one way or the other. It was simply good for business. 

He did like Vallahan, of course—when he pictured his future, he didn’t see himself leaving. The memories were still far too fresh to return to Prythian, and despite the time that had passed, it seemed very little had changed. His mother was still married to Beron, his brother likely still schemed. Feyre’s oldest son was nearly grown and she still governed as High Lady of Night, her inner circle also unchanged.

She came to visit sometimes, spending an evening in his home above the pub. Rather than the small room he’d once furnished, his home had expanded to three bedrooms, an actual living room, and a full-sized kitchen he spent a lot of time in. One of those bedrooms was designated for Feyre only, dressed up in soft lilac and cream to suit her tastes.

She spent more and more time each visit, telling him of everything he’d missed. It was mostly amusing personal stories or inter-court drama that still amused him. She was careful never to mention Elain. At first, Lucien had thought she was dancing around the subject to spare his feelings. In time, however, he realized that Ferye simply didn’t know. Elain didn’t keep in touch, and Feyre hadn’t reached out.

Sometimes he wondered if the human male had died or not. If Elain had gone crawling back to her sisters, begging for absolution that they’d absolutely give her. Was it wrong to hope that Rhysand, at least, might give her a little hell? 

The pain had lessened to a dull ache in his chest. Some nights it pained him more than others but for the most part, Lucien could ignore it entirely. She’d made her choices, and he’d made his. There was simply no road where they might meet again. Elain would return to Prythian, she’d embrace being faerie, and would likely find some new male to torment for the rest of her days. Lucien had no intention of returning unless he could return to Autumn itself.

“Do you have anything else for me?” Lucien asked Odessa, pulling himself out of his depressed thoughts. He took another sip of his rapidly cooling beverage while Odessa continued to grin. 

“You’re not going to say hello? I heard she’s very beautiful.”

The thought made his stomach clench. He’d had enough of  beautiful females. Sure, when he’d first gotten to Vallahan, he’d made a name for himself, sleeping with whoever interested him to mask his own pain. For twenty years Lucien had acted that way until one morning he woke up miserable, angry, and still in pain. It wasn’t helping. It had never helped. What was the point of moving away if he was going to bring all his same bad habits with him?

So he’d stopped. Sometimes he missed the warmth of another body in his bed, but it passed easily. 

“Why don’t you say hello to her for me?” Lucien suggested. Odessa had just as fearsome a reputation with females as Lucien did. Her smile only widened.

“I’m trying but she’s like a nervous little fawn—scampering off anytime someone gets a little too close.”

Lucien only shrugged, draining the rest of his coffee before sliding the porcelain mug over to her. “Sounds like your problem. Not mine.” If there was more Odessa wanted to say, she wisely kept her mouth shut. She took her mug, threw Lucien a rather saucy wink, and sauntered out of the pub. She had other people to make the rounds with, spreading the gossip as far as she could. Lucien promptly forgot as he made the climb back upstairs to fully dress himself for the day. It promised to be warm, and when the weather was uncomfortable, folks retreated indoors for respite and a drink. When it was pleasant, they sat outside drinking and eating and talking well into the early hours of the night.

No matter what, Lucien came out on top. 

He took his time bathing before braiding his hair off the crown of his head once the warm air had dried the strands. He dressed casually, leaving the buttons in his shirt undone just below the collar, and a little untucked as well. It made him seem rakish, and Lucien rather liked his reputation, even if it was no longer deserved. 

Perception was everything, after all. 

Back downstairs, Lucien unlocked the back of the pub so Bernard could drop off meat and the cook could start preparing for the lunch. He made his way to the front to set out chairs, gaze turning to the florist just across the street. There had once been boards over the windows and the yellow paint had been chipping and peeling along the street. 

Who had purchased it, and painted it? The peeling paint was gone, revealing pretty limestone washed brick and vibrant, sage shutters thrown open. Planter boxes held swaying flowers and the yellow, rounded door had been thrown open. 

Lucien made his way across the street, narrowly avoiding a horse pulled cart filled with sun mellons stacked so high he was certain a few would spill out before they reached the grocer. Knocking on the front door, he called out, “Anyone home?”

Inside was far nicer than whatever had existed before. White walls ought to have been boring and uninspiring, but the owner had hung up pretty, twinkling lights where the wall met the ceiling along with bright floral displays that made the space seem alive. Bright.

Beautiful, he decided. 

“One moment!” called a soft, feminine voice. “I—oh, no—” her voice became muffled as the sounds of something crashing abruptly ended whatever she’d been about to say. Lucien hopped over the counter to push open the swinging door where a pair of fair legs jutted out from beneath a pile of heavy looking boxes. The soft smell of honey and jasmine invaded his senses, causing his heart to race. 

“Let me help,” he said, pulling that first box of what looked like discarded hardware off her form.

“This is my fault,” she said, pushing at the boxes on top of her. “I knew I shouldn’t…”

Lucien nearly dropped what he held directly back on the woman now staring up at him. Anger bloomed in his chest at the sight of those wide, brown eyes, half obscured thanks to the tangle of hair in her face.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, dropping the items loudly to the floor. He was panting, he realized, his anger warring with familiar desire. His blood was awake, chanting the same word over and over.

Mate, mate, mate, mate—

Elain blinked, bottom lip trembling.

“Oh, here we fucking go,” he muttered, turning his back to her. “Did Feyre send you?”

“No, she didn’t send me. Why? Did she finally realize the error of her ways and exile you?”

He wanted to throttle her.

He wanted to inhale her scent from the crook of her neck.

“Turn around and go home, Elain,” he dismissed, needing to get away from her. He’d lose his mind if he had to live across the street from her, and Lucien wasn’t picking back up and starting over. He’d come here to get away from her and she had no right to encroach on his territory. “Surely your husband needs his diaper changed?”

“Oh, go to hell, Lucien,” she spat. 

“I don’t want you here—”

“I don’t care what you want—”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear!” Lucien exploded, his rage betraying him. “Everything has been about what you want since I found myself tethered to you! I bow to your whims and you don’t consider anyone—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” she interrupted, rubbing her temples with her fingers. “Poor, sad, Lucien. Maybe you can write about it in your journal? I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

They stared at one another, jaw set, shoulders squared. It was a fight she wanted? He could give her a fight.

“There are no humans here,” he informed her, making a show of examining his nails. “Just fae,”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know.” Obnoxious. “Does Feyre know you’re here?” He tried a different tactic, desperate to convince Elain to leave before she ruined everything. 

“I’m sure you’ll tell her,” Elain replied, her irritation plain. 

Lucien wanted to vomit. He could feel bile churning in his stomach, burning a path up his throat. This was all wrong—it had taken him nearly a century to stop dreaming about her, to push her out of his mind and move on. He was happy.

And here she was, come to ruin that, too. Elain Archeron felt owed, and had decided to get back everything taken from her even if it came at his expense. Especially if it came at his expense. Elain would think nothing of staying here, would think nothing of encroaching into the next place he moved, on and on until she’d marked the whole word as hers, and he simply had nowhere else to go.

“If you stay, I will make your life as miserable as you’ve made mine,” Lucien threatened. Elain blinked up at him, eyes watery. If she cried, he thought he might lose it and fully explode with rage. 

“I died,” Elain hissed, closing the gap between them to jab her finger into his chest, “and the first thing I heard when I came out was your horrible voice declaring we were mates. I could never make you half as miserable as you’ve made me.” Lucien was unmoved. “Watch me.”

He turned, then, delighted to have gotten the last word, and made his way back into the street where the air didn’t smell like her. Small mercies. His body was a betrayer, heart thudding not with hatred or fury, but excitement. Some stupid part of him wanted to go back into that room and bury his nose in her hair. Instinct, he supposed, that he couldn’t wholly overcome.

Smelling her wouldn’t make him like her any better. Maybe fucking her would ease some bruising ache in his chest, but it certainly wouldn’t ease his aching heart. 

Lucien made his way back into his emptied pub, ignoring that it was nearly set up for lunch. Renatta would be in soon to serve while Lucien worked the bar and a few back of house staff cooked and stayed on top of dishes. He wanted to simply close it all down, pack up his things, and continue moving west. Lucien had a life here. A world that made sense, with friends who’d only ever known him as Lucien—not a High Lord's son, not an emissary to a court, or anyone of importance. 

Why should he go, he asked himself silently, seething with anger. She should return—surely she had a host of hybrid children that would be missing her? The thought was a punch to the gut, another reminder that he was never going to have that. His whole future had been ripped out from under him not once, but twice. Elain had gotten a lifetime with the male she loved, more than Lucien had ever been given, and still she was unsatisfied.

Spoiled. 

Lucien would make her regret it, he decided. She was an outsider, had purchased the business of a well-loved person, and was about to be known as the enemy of Lucien who was loved. For whatever that was worth. Lucien knew everyone and Elain knew no one. A few well placed rumors, a couple pieces of salacious gossip, and she’d become a shut-in. No friends to speak of, no social life, and little business to sustain her. He’d have her back on a ship to Velaris before the first frost bit at his nose. 

The thought offered Lucien a small amount of relief. And not to prove Elain right, but before he went back downstairs, Lucien fired off a quick missive to Feyre, furious she hadn’t warned him. Were they friends or not, he asked? How dare she meddle in his life knowing how badly Elain had wounded him. Not all mates were happy pairs. Lucien could think of very few who were happy. 

Feyre needed to butt out.

Once his letter was on its way to Prythian, Lucien felt like he could breathe a little. Taking the stairs two at a time, Lucien went behind the bar to wipe down glasses and prepare himself for what he hoped was a decently busy day. 

Renatta was there in her long, lacy blue skirt and her cinched top which she swore caused her to receive better tips. Lucien thought it was because her breasts were spilling out over the neckline, in danger of coming out entirely each time she bent low to drop off drinks or pick up plates. He wasn’t going to say that, of course—if nothing else, it would make a room full of half drunk males happy. 

She made her way toward him once she was done, leaning up on the counter with a smile on her face. “So,” she began, looking him up and down with an expression he was immediately distrustful of, “there's a new female in—”

“No. Matchmaking,” he interrupted, a familiar refrain he’d repeated a hundred times before. 

“She’s so pretty—”

“I heard she had screaming fever,” Lucien informed Renatta, a lie he was well aware of. Prythian had never had a case of screaming fever, to start, and Elain certainly bore none of the tell-tale scratch scars on her face from the ailment. “I heard she was on the run from a High Lord in Prythian.”

Renatta loved gossip—it was what made her so good at serving tables. She’d spread it among the patrons that night under the guise of friendly customer service. Everyone who came through would hear the rumors—Elain, too, who would have to stutter and stumble her way through explanations no one quite believed.

Lucien grinned, turning toward his tap as Renatta stood to seat the first people coming in. Her eyes were bright with excitement, bouncing toward them with a secret she’d get to share. The night passed in much the same way—Lucien stayed so busy he didn’t have time to think about Elain.

He wouldn’t have thought of her at all had she not come storming over that next morning. He’d managed to throw a pair of trousers over his hips, unlaced and revealing a trail of hair that vanished along the waistband. He assumed it was Odessa with his coffee,  banging to let him in so they could gossip quietly for the next hour. 

It was Elain, arms crossed over her chest, hair plastered to her face thanks to a drizzling rain just outside. Lucien hesitated, suddenly too aware of his body. Lucien was uncomfortable, made worse when her eyes widened in horror, causing her to stumble back a step. 

“You—put on a shirt,” she ordered. Lucien’s temper flared.

“What do you want?” he replied, unwilling to do anything she asked, even if he privately agreed with her. Lucien was tired of her face, of her voice, of everything about her that she kept shoving in his face.

“Stop telling people I had screaming fever,” Elain hissed, looking over his shoulder rather than at him.

“I didn’t tell anyone that,” he lied, barely able to suppress a grin. “Maybe I just told them I found you impossibly ugly and they drew their own conclusions.”

Her eyes snapped to his face, narrowed to slits. “You’re a liar.”

He only shrugged. That was well-known. “Is that all?”

“You can’t run me out of this place, Lucien,” she said, unaware that the sound of his name on her lips made his whole body jerk with excitement. Traitor. 

“You can’t control everyone to get what you want,” he shot back, venom dripping from every word. “I’ve been here for eighty years while you shacked—”

She slapped him. Lucien saw her hand strike forward, felt her palm collide with his cheek. The string was brutal, filling his mouth with the coppery tang of blood. He grabbed her wrist before she could snatch it back, holding it tight enough that when she tried to pull back, he was certain he was bruising her skin.

Was this the first time he’d ever touched her? Like genuinely touched her? Lucien thought it might be. He’d once daydreamed what it would be like—nothing like reality. “If you do that again, I will make you regret it.”

“I already regret it,” she hissed, yanking vainly again. Lucien didn’t release her, though he should have. He could feel her fluttering pulse beneath his fingers, could practically taste the sweet scent of her. He hated her and he wanted her in equal measure. He didn’t want to let her go because touching her skin was soothing something angry in his chest. 

She was going to do far worse than hit him if he didn’t. He’d deserve it, too. Reluctantly, Lucien forced himself to let her go, watching as she cradled that hand against her chest. She looked like she wanted to pummel him. Lucien would like to see it, if only to witness a little spunk from the otherwise docile Elain. Sure, she was constantly telling him off, but those words were toothless. Elain always did what he wanted if he insulted her forcefully enough.

Only, Lucien didn’t want to right then. He suddenly felt exhausted, worn down by his strange life and the female with her heaving chest staring up at him with so much hatred.

“Leave me alone, Elain. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to speak to you. I want nothing from you.”

That ought to have been the end of it. Lucien certainly hoped so, anyway. He reached for the door, but Elain slammed out a hand, preventing him from shutting it in his face.

“Why not go back to Prythian, then?” she suggested silky. His anger spiked again.

“Why not go back to the humans you love so much?” he shot back, eyes trailing to her ears. The tips warmed, turning a bright shade of pink as though she were embarrassed he could see them peeking out from behind her mass of thick curls. 

“You don’t know anything at all,” she hissed, turning on her heel to stalk off. “And if you don’t stop telling stories, I’ll start telling stories about you. Maybe I’ll tell them who you really are. Or maybe I’ll tell your brothers. I heard they were looking for you.”

Lucien paled and Elain smiled, triumphant to have the upper hand for once. 

“This isn’t over!” he yelled at her retreating back. And to his surprise, she looked over her shoulder and offered him a rather rude gesture with her hand. Lucien would have laughed had he not been so surprised to see it. She vanished inside her little shop, leaving Lucien half naked on the front step of his own.

Game on, Elain Archeron.

Game on.

[profound-imagination]

Unexpected - Lucien Vanserra

A/N: I found this in my drafts and I liked it! I'm thinking this could have some more parts to it? Let me know what you think! ❤️

T/W: Talks of war and death. Reader cuts her hand accidentally.

W/C: 3k

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"I don't want to get married!" You hissed at your mother, shooting a desperate look at your father for help. "It is your only duty!" She threw back at you, "Honestly, Y/N, you need to pull your head out of the clouds, your father and I will make a good match for you." Your father choked on the sip of tea he had just taken, "Don't drag me into this." He told her holding his hands up, "She's my baby, she can stay with me forever if that's what she wants." You grinned at him, as the youngest of five you were the apple of your father's eye and his only daughter.

Your mother turned to face her husband, arms crossed over her chest as she glared at him, "You don't help! Buying her those fairytales, convincing her that she can marry for love!" He raised an eyebrow, "We married for love." He told her, "For the life of me, I can't remember why now." He joked, you smothered the laugh that bubbled up your throat as your mother stiffened. "The Fae across the wall are stirring," she hissed, "Our sons are at war! Not to mention poor Wren, he went as well! Did you not hear what happened to the Archeron sisters? She needs a husband's protection" Your blood chilled, Feyre taken from her family in the middle of the night by a fae creature, Elain and Nesta taken from their beds a year later. But it wasn't them being taken that chilled your veins, it sounded quite exhilarating, it was the idea of your brothers and Wren at war, the idea of a husband's protection.

The last rumors you heard was that the sisters were still alive and high fae themselves now, according to Lord Greysen anyway. "Sounds like quite an adventure, don't you think, Y/N?" Your father asked with a wink, causing your mother to huff and walk out of the kitchen. "I give up!"

Sighing you threw yourself into the chair next to your father's. "It's alright poppet, I won't let her sell you off." He told you quietly. "Is she right? I'm already 25 and unmarried, the village talks you know." He huffed, "Let them talk, you are destined for greater things than to be a wife, my girl." He ruffled your unbound hair, "Now go, you don't want to be late for your first day at the manor." You smiled, your mother would go ballistic if she found out you'd gotten yourself a job, let alone at the manor now inhabited by Fae if the rumors were to be believed, however, the young woman you had met with for the interview, Vassa, seemed human, rounded ears and all. You stood, straightening your skirts and kissed your father's cheek, "I love you papa, I'll see you in the morning."

It dawned on you halfway through the woods that this might not have been your best idea, Vassa though nice enough in her letters and the brief time you spent with her had insisted on meeting with you after nightfall. Dinner at the tavern, she'd insisted, it didn't strike you as odd at the time. You'd been over the moon that someone had wanted to give a girl with no work experience other than her household chores a shot.

Doubt started crawling up your neck as you remembered her telling you that she lived with two males, one who comes and goes and is sometimes gone for weeks at a time. Blush crept up your neck as you considered what kind of relationship the three of them had. Initially you hadn't thought anything of it when she told you that your working times would be from sunset to sunrise but now as you approached the ivy covered manor it seemed odd that they would want you to work through the night, would your cleaning and tidying up of the library not disturb them?

By the time you reached the path up to the door you were fighting the urge to run home, Wren's voice floated into your head. "You miss all of the chances you don't take Y/N, so take them all." God's you missed him, he'd left to fight the war and like your 4 older brothers was yet to return. If you closed your eyes you could see his sandy hair blowing in the wind and his ocean blue eyes drowning your very soul in the best of ways. As a teenager you'd always assumed he would be your husband one day but you were both 25 now and he was still to ask. Was there someone else? Before you could travel any further down that particular thought path the door of the manor swung open, "Y/N!" Vassa's melodic voice called from the doorway, you smiled up at her and walked the rest of the way to the front door, "It's so lovely to see you again, thank you for coming!" She beamed at you and led you into the house.

"I thought I would give you a tour of the house before dinner?" She suggested and you raised an eyebrow, "Dinner?" She smiled, "Why yes, did you think I expected you to work through the night? No, no, tonight was merely for me to introduce you to Jurian and Lucien, who should be home in time for dinner, as they will be the ones here during the day!" You smiled, despite your stomach churning, "I understand, thank you."

The manor itself was beautiful, light and airy with magnificent gardens, even if they did need a little bit of love, a job that would've been perfect for Elain Archeron you mused. The library took your breath away, it was the best collection of books you'd ever seen, Vassa had explained that they needed organising, some of them fixing from the time they'd been left on the shelves, a job you jumped at having spent your childhood learning from your father who was a bookbinder by trade. "What about these ones?" You asked guesturing to a pile of books next to one of the armchairs by the fire, "Those are Lucien's, he likes to read more than anyone I know, he's always bringing books back from his trips." She explained, you took in the titles on the spines of the books and couldn't help but think you could be good friends with this Lucien, his taste in books was exquisite.

Finally she led you to the dining room, where a handsome man was sat, nose deep in a map he was studying, Vassa cleared her throat. "Jurian, this is Y/N, she's going to be helping out around here." You curtsied and she snorted with laughter. "There's no need for such formalities around here Y/N, it's lovely to make your acquaintance." You opened your mouth to reply but you weren't given the chance, "Knock it off, Jurian, don't send the girl screaming from the house before she's even started." Your eyes met an eye of russet and one of some kind of metal that you didn't recognise, it whirred as he looked you up and down, your gaze swept over him in return, beautiful, he was beautiful, he was like no man you had ever seen but your heart stopped when you saw his ears, pointed ears, fae ears. "Ignore Lucien," Jurian's voice pulled your attention back to him, "He's old and grumpy." Lucien snorted, "You're older than me, General." Vassa interrupted their bickering, "Can we have one nice meal, please? We have a guest."

Over the following weeks you'd gotten used to Lucien and Jurian and their teasing and bickering, which had now turned into the two of them teasing you. Jurian's favourite was to constantly remind you of the plate you had dropped and broken when Lucien came striding through the kitchen in nothing but his trousers which were hanging indecently low on his hips, your face had been red for far too long afterwards and Jurian wouldn't drop the fact that Lucien had scandalised you. What he hadn't seen, the cause for the dropping of the plate was the wink and smirk he threw at you as he left the kitchen.

There was something sad about Lucien, however, he seemed haunted, like he wasn't really in the room with you, his mind always elsewhere. You'd been working at the manor for six weeks when you started to figure it out. You were working late in the library, trying to put back together a particularly beautiful book that had seen better times.

You sighed, giving up for the evening, your mind travelling back to Lucien who had become your friend over these last week's, he'd filled the hole that Wren had left and he made you smile, you were refusing to acknowledge the little kicks your heart did when his focus was solely on you. Knowing you'd achieve no more with the book tonight, you stood and brushed down your skirts and crept down the stairs quietly so as to not wake anyone when voices from the parlor stopped you in your tracks.

"You weren't there Lucien!" A female voice hissed, a voice you knew but you couldn't quite place, "I was across the continent, do you really think if I'd known you had been taken I wouldn't have come for you?" He asked back, his voice gentle in contrast to hers, "I-" he cut her off, "Even if I was there, if I'd battled my way through that camp to you, would you have come with me? Would you have taken my hand as easily as you took his? Would you have trusted me with your life to get you out of there like you trust him?" She was silent, he must've realised she wasn't going to answer him so he continued. "I would die for you, give my life for yours, that's what mates do, but you need to decide, Elain, if you don't want me, have no interest in even getting to know me, then you need to reject the bond." Elain? Elain Archeron? It couldn't be. "I didn't come here to fight, Lucien." It was, that was her voice, unmistakably so. "Then why did you come?" His voice was short. "I don't know, it was a mistake. Goodnight Lucien."

You threw yourself into the bar room across the hall so she didn't see you on her way out, so she didn't know you'd been listening. You heard the front door open and close, then silence for a few beats, then something shattered in the parlor. He was hurting, obviously so, and despite the fact you knew he'd be furious that you'd heard, you couldn't let him hurt alone. Taking a deep breath you poured two fingers of whiskey into a tumbler and walked into the parlor, you spotted the vase shattered in the corner as you entered and Lucien's head snapped up from where he was sitting.

"I didn't mean to hear, I was just on my way out." You rushed out as you thrust your hand towards him with the glass of whisky. He studied you and took the glass. "What did you hear?" You considered not telling him for half a second, just that you'd heard the vase smash, but you had never been a good liar. "Umm, everything from, you weren't there, to when she left." He sighed and took a sip of the whisky. "What's going on there?" You asked as you began to pick up the pieces of glass, "She was turned fae, by a mistake I made, that I allowed Tamlin to make, when she was turned, the mating bond snapped for me, she seems to have no interest most of the time, but then occasionally she'll tell me she can hear my heart or she'll just show up here, her sisters are mated to two members of the night court, so close they are almost brothers. Elain has taken a shine to the third brother. I won't stand in her way if he is what she wants, but the bond is killing me."

You considered his words, "Did you mean that? That you'd die for her? Even knowing she longs for another?" You asked quietly. "The bond is all consuming, there's no lengths I wouldn't go to in order to protect her, even if it isn't me she wants. In an old Autumn Court tradition, I could challenge him to a blood duel, a fight to the death, but if he dies, it'll hurt her, if I die, which is the most likely outcome of that, she'll feel the pain of the bond dying." You hummed, "So you leave it alone, let her make her own choices, even if it's killing you inside?" You looked over your shoulder at him and he nodded, "You're a good man, Lucien, if she can't see that then it's her issue, not yours." You could feel his eyes watching you. "Male." Was all he said, "What?" "I'm fae, I'm not a man, I'm a male." You snorted a little laugh, "My apologies, you're a good male, Lucien." He cracked a small smile, "That's better." He teased, then tensed, you felt the pain a moment later. The shard of glass you had picked up slipped and had sliced your palm, he must've scented the blood. He was by your side before you'd even registered him moving.

"Here, let me." He said gently, taking the shards of glass from your hand and placing them on the table you were both kneeling in front of. Lucien's metal eye whirred as it scanned over the cut in your palm and he carefully helped you to your feet and guided you to the chair he was previously sat in. "I'll be right back." He told you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He literally was right back, you hadn't even had time to wonder where he'd gone. Graceful as any courtier he knelt In front of you and took your much smaller hand in his much larger calloused one and began cleaning it to stitch and wrap it. You studied his eye, both normal and metal, his face, his hands while he worked. "Ask." He said, not looking away from where he was threading a needle, "What?" His eyes met yours then, "The questions you've got running in your head, ask them while I do this." You allowed yourself a small smile.

"I can ask anything?" You questioned before you started firing your questions at him, "Yes, but I can choose not to answer and I get to ask questions in return." You smiled properly at him then, "Okay! Deal!" He tensed, "Be very careful using the word deal round fae little human, some of us would take advantage of that." He said, warning lacing his words, you let out a breath, "I'm sorry, I'll be careful." He inclined his head for you to ask your first question, "What happens if Elain rejects the mating bond?" He paused before starting his first stitch, "Starting with the hard hitting questions I see." You shrugged, "It could very well drive me to madness." You gasped, "Is it really that bad?" He nodded while you winced at the first prick of the needle, "Have you ever experienced missing someone so much it's like a part of your soul is missing?" He asked, you said one name in response, "Wren." You could tell he was going to come back to that name, "It's like that but everything is amplified as a fae." You nodded in understanding, "You won't have to go through that alone, Lucien." He raised his eyes to yours, "If she rejects it, I won't let you descend into madness." You clarified for him, "If she rejects the bond, you are not to come anywhere near me, I'll be a very volatile male, for a long time." You shook your head, "Like, my lifetime long?" You asked as he did the second and third stitches, "Maybe even longer." You couldn't imagine him just not being there one day because Elain Archeron couldn't see how amazing this male in front of you was, "No, you wouldn't hurt me Lucien, not ever." You told him, nothing but complete and utter confidence and trust in him shining in your eyes.

"Who's Wren?" He asked as he started his sixth and final stitch. "Wren is my best friend, I haven't seen him in almost a year, he joined the war and went past the wall, truth be told I'm not even sure he's still alive but I pictured my entire life with him, I don't want to admit that he's gone." Lucien began wrapping your hand, "You were engaged to this Wren?" He asked, "Oh…no, I just, I was so sure he was going to ask but I'm 25 now and he hasn't and my mother is desperately trying to make me a match so the villagers don't think I'm a witch or something." Lucien hummed at the information you'd just give him, "You'd be a good little witch and this Wren is a fool for not asking for your hand." You couldn't help the blush that crawled up your neck.

It was your turn for a question and Lucien waited patiently for it, "Who's Tamlin?" Was the question you settled on, Lucien didn't miss a beat before he said "Pass, ask a different question." You noted his refusal and decided you'd ask Jurian instead the next time Lucien was away. "Did you fight in the war?" He hesitated this time, his eye going distant before coming back to you, "I did, with the Humans, I fought alongside Jurian and Vassa and Elain's father." You scrambled to open your locket necklace, one side a picture of your brother, the other, Wren, "Did you see any of these men? Fight with them?" He studied the two pictures, analysed them, and then tapped the one of your brothers, "I never saw them, him however-" he tapped the picture of Wren, "I knew him, this is your Wren?" He asked and you nodded, scrambling for words, "You knew him? As in, past tense?" Lucien nodded somberly, "He fell, Y/N, I'm so sorry, he fought valiantly, he got cut down by an enemy general, I couldn't get to him quick enough." Your face crumbled and your heart shattered as you fell forward into Lucien's arms and cried.

[elliemarchetti]

Enchanted to Meet You

Hello @corcracrow, your Secret Santa here! I know I haven't filled you with questions as I would’ve liked, and you probably have the feeling of not knowing me that well, but unfortunately real life has hit hard both on my creative process and my free time. Anyway, I don’t want to spoil the mood for I'm very happy to reveal myself and I hope you likethe first chapter of the fic I have prepared for this year’s @acotargiftexchange

Plot: The Archeron sisters are prominent members of the Upper East Side, as are the Vanserras. Elain is fresh out of a disappointing relationship, while Lucien is the neglected seventh child of a couple who haven’t loved each other for a long time. Will they be able, after a chance meeting at a Christmas party, to build something they could cherish or will gossips and meddling families stifle the budding interest they feel for each other?

Words: 2241

Elain looked around, a glass of champagne held firmly in her right hand. The celebrations were going well, Feyre was having fun, laughing at a joke delivered by her new boyfriend, while Nesta twirled on the dancefloor like a ballerina in a music box, barely noticing her partner. It was the second Christmas party they attended this year, but since their business was booming, she guessed it wouldn’t be the last. At least the host picked some quality wine, a competent catering and classy live music. All the participants belonged only to the best families of the Upper East Side although, and she suspected not by mere coincidence, the Nolans were missing from the guest list. Some had already begun to whisper ill-will about their absence, but since the event was being held on one of Rhysand’s properties, Elain had the privilege to screen out those who were no longer welcome in her vicinity. She was aware she shouldn’t have been so naïve, a marriage proposal so hasty and at such a young age could only come from the heart when net worths like theirs weren’t at stake, but since she still struggled to figure out what to do with her feelings about it, she thought it wiser to let those social climbers stay in the dark place they called home.

Graysen had defined the architecture of his house as designer modern brutalism, but Elain, for the short time she had spent within its walls, had thought it nothing more than a luxurious prison. There were few windows, practically no natural sunlight, it didn’t have a balcony, a veranda, or even a garden, and although the underground swimming pool and spa had done their duty when she needed to relax, everything, including the obsessive order kept in the rooms by a bevy of maids she had never met, appeared fake. Like the love of its heir, after all, like the glittering gifts of his mother. There was no sentiment in everything they did, and since nothing was more distant from the teachings of her father, Elain had decreed that what happened before it was too late was for the best. Not that she would’ve completely ruled out the idea of a divorce if she found out after she married him that Graysen had joined their families only for financial benefit, but it was a nuisance she preferred to avoid, just like the fast-approaching gossips.

Luckily, someone was ready to save her, or so it seemed from the twinkle in the russet eye she met.

She knew Lucien Vanserra only by name, but his story was almost legendary and the reason most rich parents won’t let their kids go to public schools anymore, even if they were renowned and the courses were the best in the US: coveted heartthrob while still in college, a young professor not in her right mind developed a crush on his socially anxious best friend. When he’d rightly rejected her, she had decided to disfigure him with a kitchen knife. Lucien had been quick to push his mate away from the blade, but had been hit in turn, losing his eye and, despite countless surgeries, finding half his face permanently disfigured by a deep white scar, in stark contrast with his amber skin.

“I wanted to wait for some mutual acquaintance to do the honors, but given the situation it seemed like an appropriate time to come and introduce myself,” he said by a way of greeting, extending a manicured hand. The sleeve of his green jacket ran up a little, showing off a probably priceless watch, matched with the eccentric gold prosthetic with which he had replaced the missing eye.

 “We’ve really lost our manners these days,” Elain joked, offering him a firm shake. It was her mother who told her, before she died all those years ago, that a weak hand was a sign of a weaker character, and after the misunderstanding with the Nolans, she was determined to convey confidence in every detail of her being. That was why she had chosen the dress she was wearing, with a neckline not too exaggerated but not even as chaste as she would’ve once preferred, the skirt narrower on the hips, where previously would’ve been tulle and wide pleats.

“Who do you think is the rudest?” Lucien asked, scanning the people by the bar. Being caught red handed, those who had distracted themselves from their conversations to glance curiously in their direction suddenly turned back to their interlocutors, making Elain smile bitterly. She could already imagine what they would say about them at the next brunch they were going to attend, she could already hear them referring to Lucien as the Beast to Elain’s Beauty regardless of the fact he was extremely charming, his disability just a means to spout malice.

“After careful consideration, I think Keir wins the prize,” Elain admitted, glaring at a blond-haired man who was displaying his voluptuous daughter like a beast at the farmers market to a group of older guests. The young woman seemed incredibly uncomfortable but didn’t leave her father’s side until a scary guy, all cradled in black, asked her to dance.

“He has been trying for nearly a year to convince my father that she and my brother would be a good match, but I think Eris’s interest lies elsewhere,” Lucien replied, nodding at Nesta’s current dance partner. His hair was a little more orange than Lucien’s, way shorter but still long enough to be tied at his nape, and although his skin was lighter, the resemblance was uncanny despite the age difference.

“She’s a though nut to crack,” Elain warned him, wondering if at least this bachelor would last a few months with her. The previous suitor didn’t get to the end of the third, retreating in his chase because of her cold and detached attitude.

“Who knows, they might have found each other, then,” Lucien muttered, drawing a surprised laugh from Elain. She was happy not to be an only child, but sometimes being three sisters and with such different characters was a real challenge. She couldn’t imagine how Lucien managed to get along with everyone in his large family, although, being the seventh, it probably meant nobody paid him much attention.

“Are you as difficult as him?” she asked, once the silence stretched for a little too long. She was enjoying their conversation, the ease with which Lucien opened up, as if he wasn’t used to be associated with the same high-class circles as the rest of the presents. His quick remarks had the same taste as notes passed under the desk during boring lessons, thrilling and personal, even if they talked about nothing of substance, and his presence was grounding, capable of freeing her mind from unpleasant thoughts and calming her anxiety.

"If I want to, but fortunately it’s not something I have often to retort to,” he replied, before downing the glass of liquor in his right hand in a single sip. “And are you the gentles of the bunch as is rumored?”

Elain thought about it for a second. Regardless of how she wanted to behave, her nature wasn’t as wild and showy as Feyre’s or as relentless and demanding as Nesta’s: her qualities lay in diplomacy and understanding of her surroundings, she liked to observe more than act, and make thoughtful decisions to prevent mistakes. She was reserved, always composed, and knew how to keep her opinions to herself, but that didn’t make her any less dangerous, just easier to underestimate.

“I suppose so, or maybe I’m just really good at my job,” she replied, finishing the champagne herself and depositing the flute on an empty tray.

“Which, if I’m not mistaken, is sadly required,” he murmured in her ear, sending a shiver down her naked back. Elain followed his line of vision, and saw her father suspiciously pale and unsure on his legs.

Her eyes involuntarily rolled back in her skull. It was always the same damn story: he was the CEO of a multi-million-dollar company, not a small-town carpenter unfamiliar with open bars, therefore he should’ve known better than to get wasted before midnight, but punctual like a Swiss clock, he proved to be unable to complete even such a simple task. Elain didn’t expect him to suddenly stop drinking, despite all the help his daughters offered and the professionals they were handsomely paying, but she felt like it wasn’t too much to ask for him to not make a fool of himself at public events.

“I could show you where the backdoor is,” suggested her interlocutor, offering his arm with a wink of his good eye. “That’s where I usually sneak out from anyway.”

Convincing her father to move away from the corner of the room where he had retreated, probably in vain search of the poorly positioned bathroom, wasn’t as simple as it may sound, but once they succeeded, Lucien helped her to keep him upright, to make as few guests as possible notice his state.

“After you,” he told her with a polite smile, when they finally reached their destination, before opening the plastic door and bowing to let her pass like the humble usher of one of the luxurious hotels where he too surely used to stay when he did something his parents wouldn’t have approved of.

As soon as she stepped out, the acrid smell of New York immediately flooded her nostrils, and she was sure that if it hadn’t rained so heavily a couple of fat rats would’ve welcomed them back into the real world too.

“My usual luck,” Elain muttered, trying to keep from shivering in the cold. Her jacket had remained in the wardrobe, as to attract as little attention as possible, but the taxi Lucien had kindly called was at least a couple minutes away, so she could only hope that the thin fabric of her dress didn’t show off her nipples hardened by the winter air.

“My mother told me cream goes great with green,” Lucien whispered, and before Elain could ask him what the hell he was talking about, she felt the weight of his blazer settle on her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she murmured, meeting his gaze perhaps for the first time since they’d taken shelter under the tiny plastic canopy. He wasn’t pitying her, he wasn’t amused nor even annoyed, he simply seemed used to helping strangers in need and vaguely sorry that their time together had come to a premature end.

“No need to thank me Cinderella,” he replied, very tenderly, the corners of his mouth slightly raised. “But now we have to load your father into the carriage.”

The taxi had indeed arrived at the only exit of the dead-end street, as close as possible to its future passengers. The pouring rain didn’t take long to soak her hair, and Lucien’s white shirt stuck to his arms, the muscles tense from the effort. The cold seemed to have brought her father a little back to his senses, but his tremors, mixed with an innate lack of coordination exacerbated by the alcohol, weren’t helping.

“Your jacket…” Elain started, once she was seated, but the owner shut her with a shrug.

“See it as a reason to look for me if you ever want to see me again,” he replied, and with that, he closed the door, gesturing for the driver to start moving.

“Where am I taking you, miss?” asked the man, who was already taking the road furthest from the entrance of the venue to avoid the paparazzi camped nearby despite the adverse weather, when he realized she wasn’t going to give him directions soon, the girl too focused on the encounter she just had. Blushing for the embarrassment, and with her mind focused mainly on the heat emanating from Lucien, whose shadow remained on her in the form of his velvet jacket, she absentmindedly provided him her address.

In a moment of clarity, Elain forced herself not to be delusional. Such a handsome and charming guy was certainly already taken, or at least he had a roster of sexy lovers. But then why be so nice? Why help with her father? She was still up wandering the kitchen and asking herself questions she couldn’t know the answers to when Nesta returned home, fortunately alone.

“Judging by your state no redhead was lucky tonight,” she tried to joke, but Nesta’s expression was deadly grave and she plopped down on one of the chaises longues in the living room dimly lit by the fireplace.

“Do you think we should send him back to rehab?” Elain asked, sitting down on the expensive rug the subject of their conversation had bought on his last trip to the Middle East.

“I say give him a second chance, but only one,” she replied, her gaze following the dancing flames.

“You should’ve stayed at the party,” Elain scolded her, resting her head on her thigh, left bare by the deep slit of her dress. “The situation is under control.”

“I can’t have fun when I know you’re shouldering his addiction alone,” Nesta replied, stroking her still damp hair, destroying definitively the elaborate hairstyle. Elain didn’t say anything else, but for some reason, as Nesta recounted her version of the evening, her eyes kept slipping to the door in hope a certain gentleman would ring the doorbell just to say goodnight. 

[shallyne]

The Diary of Feyre Archeron Ch 7

Chapter seven is here! It's getting a little angsty, buckle in. Full fic on AO3.

Words: 1.8k

TW: kidnapping, in a way

December 8th

I've been working for Rhys for two weeks now and I thought I was lucky to not cross ways with him at all during that time but yesterday he went home just as my shift ended, so we both went out at the same time. Yesterday of all days it was raining cats and dogs and because it is Rhys, ever the gentleman, he insisted he'd drive me home. I must admit that I haven't declined as much as I should have, I agreed pretty easily but you try walking home, or even to the next bus stop, in Velaris rain. It doesn't rain often but when it does, it's chaos. 

The drive was pretty quiet for the first half, and tense. At least from my side. I can't decline that Rhys is even more attractive now than he was when we were fifteen. I was a girl and I had a crush on a boy. Now I am a woman and he, well, he is a man. A really big, muscular, manly man. The most beautiful man I have ever seen if I'm being honest but all of this doesn't excuse that he lied to me back then. That I have to live this life because of him. He saved us with this, yes, but I'm sure somehow this all could have been avoided if he told me. We could have found a way, together, but he tried to do it all on his own. 

Well, when we stopped at a red light he broke the silence to ask me how I was doing. It didn't take a genius to know he was genuinely interested but I couldn't really tell him that I am still hurt about something that happened eight years ago because if I would there is a possibility he would ask why and I had to tell him it's not what he did (I mean, yes, that too but it's not the reason why I was that hurt) but that the real reason is that I am was in love with him and my heart broke at the possibility he would ever lie to me that way about something that would ruin my whole family. I trusted him. 

Shit, I'm babbling. I probably don't even make sense? Do I make sense? Probably not.

Anyways, Tamlin picked me up later that day and I spent the night with him. He was in a weird mood again and asked me tons of questions about my sisters for some reason. I don't like answering questions about them, not because we don't have a story we tell people but because I could slip up. Sometimes I still call them by their real names in the comfort of our own four walls, it's a dangerous game, I had to shut him up by distracting him. 

This morning we ate brunch with Lucien, the mood lighter again, which was mostly thanks to Lucien and his questionable jokes. It was funny. I didn't laugh, Tamlin doesn't want me to laugh at other people's jokes. 

After brunch we all went our own ways, Tamlin went home, Lucien went to visit his mom and I walked downtown to work. 

Rhys was in again today, I don't know why but I also don't care, he probably just had to deal with some things because the Lounge just opened. 

December 12th

Today has been stressful. It's christmas season and Mara, Daisy and I tried shopping for a new couch. It was hell. After a guy poured coffee all over Mara’s shirt and a fight almost broke out between them, we gave up and went home. It started snowing like crazy about half way home and Daisy almost walked into a door because we could barely see between the flocks of snow. It was cold and by the minute we got more and more miserable. We decided to wait for the weather to clear up in a Café where we sipped hot chocolate when suddenly Rhys turned up and I tried to hide behind a menu because I didn't want him to see me all disheveled from the day. I think I succeeded because when I looked up he was gone. Mara looked at me weirdly. No, I wouldn't say weird. Knowingly, she knew what's up and I hate that she knows, but luckily, she didn't say anything. But at home she accused me of wearing her shirt, which wasn't even true, we just have similar shirts. We fought but that's okay, when dinner time rolled around we shared the last pizza roll. 

Right after dinner Tamlin called and insisted on coming over to our apartment to spend time there, Mara looked at me like she'd kill him with her bare hands if he came over and even Elain shook her hand. Truth be told, I don't feel comfortable with him coming over. Not because I am ashamed of our apartment, we really tried to make it homely. I like it. But, I don't know, it's just a feeling I can't shake. I don't really want anyone here but us, it's our sanctuary, in a way. I never took anyone to our apartment. Never. 

I had to make up some excuse about having explosive diarrhea and that was enough for Tamlin to leave it. Maybe I should tell him the truth but, honestly, I am scared of his reaction. 

Am I the problem?? 

December 14th

Tamlin and I agreed that i spent my birthday with him. As much as I would like to be with my sisters, I had to agree because he's getting antsy about me not inviting him to my apartment. At least we found a solution for now. 

Also, Rhys saw me in the Café two days ago. I was kind of embarrassed when he told me but, as surprising as it was, we slipped into banter pretty easily, just like 8 years ago. I've missed it so much. Just the banter today felt like a step forward between us. The more we talk, the more I realize I want to forgive him, SO badly. Maybe we should talk it out, maybe I should listen to his side of the story. I never bothered, have I? Maybe I should have listened before blowing up on him. And I did, I really blew up on him and he just let me. I really want to hear his story. 

Am I crazy? 

I don't know. 

I just miss my best friend, a lot. He's here now, against all odds. We find each other in a city thousands of miles away from home, isn't that a sign? 

Letter from Feyre Archeron to Rhysand

December 15th

Dear Rhys, 

I really don't know how to start this letter, I feel like no words in the world could express how I feel, but I'm going to try. 

My plan was to talk to you today but I saw you standing at the bar, talking to Rita, and all the words left my mind. I need to write this down or I'm going to forget half of this, you still have that effect on me. 

I want a new start for us, if you are willing to. 

I've talked to you really harshly years ago, I never gave you a chance to explain yourself. More importantly, I know you wanted to protect me, you always want to protect the people close to you. I should have looked past my fury, I should have given you a chance, and after my mistreatment of you, you still helped my sisters and I, which I will be forever grateful for. If you can't forgive me, I understand but if you are willing to try, you'd make me the happiest woman in the world. 

Since you came back into my life, I realized how much I missed you. There has always been a shadow where you should have been. You were my friend, my best friend, and I was yours. I really wish to become your friend again, to be a person you can trust, a person you feel comfortable around. I can't describe how sorry I am, but I'd like to show you. If you let me. 

We can start new, we can leave the past behind us. You and me. 

Please text me or talk to me or write a letter back or whatever you want to do, if you want this, too. 

Sincerely, 

Yours

Unsent Letter from Rhysand to Feyre Archeron

Dear Feyre

Dear Clare

I miss you

I missed you

There is nothing to forgive

There is no need to apologize

Come home

I would die for you

I'm yours

I love you, 

December 20th

I promised Mara and Daisy we would celebrate my birthday when I'm back from Tamlin’s. With our combined income we can afford a little night out, I'm pretty excited. Especially for Daisy's cake. I'm always open to new flavors so Daisy is trying something different every year for me. Mara is more of a chocolate cake girl, so that's her birthday cake flavor almost every year. For my birthday two years okay Daisy made me a lemon raspberry cake and it was so good, I'm still dreaming about it. 

But I'll only get my birthday cake in a few days. At Tamlin’s it is probably going to be his favorite flavor. I don't mind, I don't want him to go extra lengths for me, it's not important. 

I'm packing right now, because I'm going to spend the night with him. 

I'm excited to see Lucien again, I missed him. He had his own stuff going on with his family these days, hanging out will hopefully be a little reprieve for him. 

I should go to sleep now, it's pretty late. 

I shouldn't be this nervous about a stupid birthday, right? He's my boyfriend. 

Note from Feyre Archerin, slipped to Alis for Rhysand on December 22nd

Hlp

Tamlin 

Neva

Warehuse red

Chat between Rhysand and Azriel on December 22nd

Rhysand: You need to look for Feyre's whereabouts ASAP

Rhysand: Her sister just crashed into my office saying Feyre is missing since her birthday

Rhysand: She thinks something happened to Feyre

Azriel: Elain?

Rhysand: Nesta, but she has Elain in tow

Azriel: On it, I'll call when I find something

Chat between Rhysand and Morrigan on December 22nd 

Morrigan: There is a woman who wants to talk to you about Clare

Morrigan: she says it's important

Morrigan: her name is Alis

Rhysand: coming

Chat between Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel and Morrigan on December 22nd

Rhysand: Tamlin has Feyre. She left a note with a maid of his for me, they are on their way to Neva

Cassian: that can't be, Hybern still has all his men in Dunmere. They think the sister's are dead

Morrigan: not anymore

Morrigan: wait, NEVA? 

Rhysand: Neva. He brings her to Amarantha

Rhysand: Cassian, Azriel and I will drive to Neva. Mor you stay here with Nesta and Elain

Chat between Rhysand and Amren

Rhysand: I need to call in my favor 

Amren: I've been waiting for you to reach out, boy. What do you need? 

Feysand Taglist:

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @starfall-spirit @rhysiedarling @corcracrow @sydney-fae25 @tothestarsandwhateverend @aayo-whatt @dreamlandreader

[stargirlfeyre]

One thing that will always confuse me about the Archeron Sisters is how nesta favored elain but disliked Feyre. Even in childhood before they lost their wealth if I remember correctly.

Feyre has always been the black sheep of her family. Even now she’s still somewhat the black sheep but instead of being excluded and hated for it, her new family is full of people who have been considered of being the black sheep for centuries and help her finally feel welcome and learn to love herself. And I wanna say that is one of the reasons why nesta has always disliked Feyre as much as she has. Still confusing since that’s a stupid reason that hate someone for

Anyways, live, laugh, love our mother Feyre🫡🫡

I actually have two theories for this that are supported by the text but aren’t explicitly said.

The first one being that Nesta treats her sisters exactly how her mother treats her sisters. We all know that Nesta takes the most after her mother and her mother often talked about each of the sisters to her. It wouldn’t surprise me if Nesta subconsciously inherited her mother’s opinions about Elain and Feyre. Since she was young she witnessed her mother treating Elain like she was naive and good for nothing but her beauty and treating Feyre like she was disposable and not worth attention. It’s likely that Nesta just mirrored these opinions and inherited them as her own.

Another theory is that Nesta treated Elain better than Feyre because Elain fed into Nesta’s need to be needed. This is something I’ve thought about Nesta for a while now, I think she’s the type of person who gravitates towards people who she sees as “weak” or who need her. Elain for years acted like she was incapable and because of that Nesta saw her as someone who needed to be protected by her. Again Elain fed it Nesta’s need to be needed and Feyre didn’t. Feyre has always been her own person and she’s never acted incapable or like she needs someone to protect her. I think a lot of animosity Nesta has towards Feyre is because she’s never really relied on her and she made it clear early on that she didn’t need her. Feyre didn’t feed into the idea that was drilled into Nesta’s head since she was young and that was that Nesta would be the one “taking care” of the family.

And also think back to how Nesta started treating Elain once Elain stopped being so dependent on her? She went on rants about how Elain “abandoned” her and she acted as if she was wrong for creating a life for herself. When Elain started having a life outside of Nesta, started becoming independent, and started creating relationships with people who don’t include just Nesta she was treated like shit by her.

Anyways in conclusion Nesta rarely gets along with anyone who doesn’t feed into her own sense of self worth. If you make her feel useless then she resents you. As seen with Feyre for years and a little bit with Elain.

[munchkinchild]

Desperately trying to figure out how Nesta antis just don't get it. Babes, if you're the main breadwinner for your family and you keep all the money made to yourself and don't allow other members of your family to spend some of it on things that are needed to keep a house running then yes, that's financial abuse. If Feyre had withheld all the money from Nesta (who is probably the only one who knows how to properly budget) and Elain, she would be financially abusive.

An example of her reaching to find an issue.

Shocker, I know, but telling someone something they have every right to know about, ESPECIALLY when it comes to their body, isn't abuse (just wait for the response)

HUZZAH, we can agree on the first part, but I'm seriously failing to see how Nesta telling Feyre (even if it was to hurt her) is somehow worse than what the IC was doing?? Surely they should be rejoicing that Feyre once again has a choice? Isn't that what's so important to the IC and Feyre?

My response to that and her once again missing the point.

Anyway, Live Laugh Love Nesta Archeron, fuck her antis.

[kingofsummer93]

Ex Luna Scientia

Summary:

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Chapter 13: The Solstice Ball

Ao3 Masterlist

Even with their ever-increasing coursework, as the Solstice ball approached Elain and the rest of the sixth years were in no mood for studying. As the temperature continued to drop the elves went above and beyond to turn the castle into a cozy refuge from the cold. Fires were perpetually roaring in every grate, strings of mistletoe and garlands were hung from banisters and ceilings, and the kitchen served up hearty, comforting soups and stews.

Elain had loved this time of year as a girl. Their house in Little Whinging had a large bay window in the living room, and it was the perfect spot for a Christmas tree. Every year she and her sisters would accompany their father to select the perfect spruce, walking down aisle after aisle of trees until finally one was deemed suitable. His enthusiasm about this task was so infectious that even Feyre participated with minimal grumbling. When they returned to the house with the tree strapped to the top of the car their mother would fuss over them with hot chocolate and cookies. Afterwards they would take turns putting up ornaments, fighting for the best spots.

Elain had always found Christmas at Hogwarts to be even more magical than those innocent years from her childhood, before it had all gone wrong. But this year even the holiday cheer wasn’t enough to rouse her out of her dark mood. Her plan to forget all about Lucien by the time the Solstice ball came around had failed miserably.

She woke up on the morning of Winter Solstice the same way she had for the past ten days- barely rested, heart sick, her nerves still reeling from a night of disturbing dreams. In her most recurring one, she was back in the Room of Requirements with Lucien. The lights were dimmed, candles flickering above their heads. He was smiling at her- not his usual cheeky grin, but the soft, almost secretive one that few people ever saw. The one that made her feel like he could see right through her.

But when he leaned down to kiss her, it wasn’t Lucien’s handsome features that hovered in front of her, but a werewolf. Fangs bared in a snarl, it pierced her with eyes that reflected the golden glow of the candles. And then, like clockwork, she would wake with a gasp, covered in a sheen of sweat and heart racing.

Not a moment passed that she didn’t regret telling him about her vision. There was a reason she had never told anyone before, and it was precisely because of this.

We’ll figure it out, he had said. We. How laughable. Now she was having fucked up dreams about him, and he was probably laughing about her freakish abilities behind her back. She felt sick with anxiety when she thought of people finding out. Whatever animosity she had faced when she first became Hufflepuff champion would be nothing in comparison to this. They’d whisper about her in the halls as she passed, giving her a wide berth the same way they did to Professor Suriel. All for some power she had never understood, or asked for, or even particularly wanted. It wasn’t fair.

And all because she’d allowed herself to get close to someone she had known was bad news. It was her fault, really. She couldn’t even blame him. Not that much, anyway.

“Elain Archeron! It’s officially time to get your ass out of bed.”

Elain squealed as the drapes on her four-poster were ripped open, letting in blinding winter sunshine. She ducked under her quilt, holding it tightly over her head like a shield.

“Guys! It’s the middle of the night,” she whined.

“It is past noon and we have work to do. Now quit moping and get up.”

“I’m not moping!” Her voice was muffled as she burrowed deeper into the blankets. “I’m just tired.”

The blanket was yanked out of her grip, and Elain sighed in resignation, blinking against the sunshine. Nuala and Cer were standing side by side, arms laden with a curious mix of supplies. Nuala was holding what appeared to be an entire shop’s worth of various cosmetics and beauty tools, while Cer was balancing a tray with a teapot, pastries, and what smelled suspiciously like a bottle of firewhiskey.

“Enough!” Nuala declared, dumping her lot onto Elain’s bed unceremoniously. “Enough moping, enough sleeping all day-”

“Enough hiding from us,” Cer cut in, fixing Elain with a pointed look.

“Enough being heartbroken over someone who didn’t deserve your heart in the first place.”

“I am not heartbroken.” Even to her own ears her protests sounded weak. Her friends’ raised eyebrows indicated they didn’t quite believe it, either. “It’s just…I just feel so dumb.”

Cerridwen set down her breakfast tray and both twins flopped to the bed beside her.

“I know I shouldn’t, blah blah blah,” Elain continued before either of them could scold her. “This is what he does. He loses interest and moves on. It’s my fault for falling for his tricks.”

It hurt even to admit it. That she had fallen for him, despite knowing it could only lead to getting hurt. The only consolation was that it hadn’t gone any further than it had.

“The only person who should feel bad is him,” Nuala said savagely. “And you know what the best way is to make him feel even worse?”

“How?”

Her friend grinned at her wickedly. “By showing up to the Solstice ball looking drop-dead gorgeous and having a great time, right in his face.”

Elain couldn’t help but snort at that. “Not that he’ll care. If he did he would have asked me. Vassa told me he’s going with Nuan. She’s stunning, super smart, and she’s always all over him during Prefects meetings.”

“Trust us, by the time we’re done with you nobody on that dance floor will be looking at anyone but you.”

“Or are you planning on standing Azriel up and hiding in here tonight, too?”

Azriel. Instead of feeling excited for the ball, every time Elain thought about him she felt a pang of guilt. He’d gone out of his way to talk to her since he had asked her to the ball. It was sweet, really, but all it really did was remind her of who wasn’t talking to her. But that wasn’t his fault, and she’d agreed to go with him. The least she could do was try to have fun.

Besides, if she was honest with herself, she was dying to get all dressed up.

“Fine,” she relented, peering at the pile of cosmetics curiously. “Fine. I’m up. Do with me what you will.”

She sat for what felt like hours as her friends brushed, braided, and pinned her hair, letting half of it tumble down her back in thick waves. Next came the makeup- a dab of concealer to hide her lack of sleep, a sweep of eyeliner and mascara to accentuate her eyes, a pop of rosy color on her lips and cheeks. The final touch was a dusting of iridescent powder on the top of her cheekbones that Elain recoiled from when she saw it in the pot. But she had to admit the final effect was enchanting- ethereal, almost, in a way that would look captivating in low light.

By the time the sun started setting and it was time to put on their gowns, Elain was genuinely excited about the ball. The few sips of firewhiskey her friends had dropped into her tea might have helped, but still. There was something magical about getting ready for a ball with her friends, and she didn’t want some idiotic boy to get in the way of it.

Besides, as she looked at herself in her full-length mirror to inspect her friends’ handiwork, she had to admit they might have had a point. Her hair was half up in some twisted hairdo, the rest of it cascading down her back in golden brown waves that had been brushed to a shine. The makeup was just enough to highlight her features- her lips and cheeks were rosy as if she had just come in from the cold, her eyes looked bigger, and every time she moved her head the shimmering powder on her cheeks caught the light.

Her dress had been purchased second-hand, but with a few quick alterations it looked brand new. It was made of pale pink chiffon, with a fitted bodice, a sweetheart neckline, and off-the-shoulder sleeves that drooped from her shoulders. The skirts were loose and flowing, with embroidered floral patterns crawling up from the hem like vines.

The twins’ dates (seventh-year Hufflepuffs) were waiting for them in the common room when they descended the stairs, both of them nearly tripping over themselves as they approached them. Nuala and Cerridwen had chosen drapey, silken gowns (black for Nuala, midnight blue for Cer), and both wore stacks of silver bracelets that tinkled as they walked. They looked mysterious and enchanting, and the boys seemed to not believe their luck.

Elain’s nerves returned, however, as they walked towards the Entrance Hall, where students were gathering. She’d almost forgotten that the champions were meant to open the ball with their partners. The hall was packed with students, the sound of laughter and chattering almost deafening. Too late Elain realized that she was scanning the hall for a familiar tall figure with red hair.

Stop it, she chided herself. Stop it, stop it stop it stop it.

But her eyes landed on him, almost as if pulled by a magnet. He was wearing bottle-green dress robes that offset his coloring perfectly. His long hair was pulled back, but a few stubborn strands were already falling loose around his face. His fang earring was gone for the evening, but even from his distance she could see the glint of the little diamonds in his left ear. He looked heartbreakingly, devastatingly handsome.

He was also staring right at her.

Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes locked. Lucien’s shoulders slumped a little, as if he was at once relieved and pained to see her. Nuan was standing next to him, looking tall and elegant. Her head was angled up to Lucien as she spoke to him, but he was standing wholly still, staring at Elain. A flash of emotion crossed his face, something that looked like pure devastation. Her stomach gave an almighty lurch.

“Elain?”

She was so focused on Lucien that it wasn’t until Azriel tapped her on the shoulder that she realized he was standing next to her.

“Oh! Hi.” She plastered a smile on her face, hoping Azriel hadn’t noticed who she’d been staring at. From the slight frown on his face as he glanced at the direction she’d been staring at, she thought those chances were probably quite slim.

“You look really pretty,” Azriel mumbled, smiling at her shyly. His face was flushed scarlet, and he was fiddling with something in his hands. There was something charming about how nervous he was, and Elain couldn’t help but giggle a little. He had cut his hair short, and without the usual flop of hair in his eyes he was really quite cute, with classic features and hazel eyes that were at once guarded but intelligent.

“Thank you. You clean up well too.”

His flush deepened, and Elain giggled again.

“I, um. You don’t have to wear it, but I brought you this.” He opened the box he was holding, revealing a single white rose, pinned to a velvet ribbon.

“Oh! I love it, thank you. Put it on me?” She held out her wrist, and Azriel smiled shyly back as he slid the corsage onto her wrist.

“Champions! Gather round, please!”

Elain and Azriel made their way towards Professor Tarquin and the other champions as the rest of the students started filing into the Great Hall. The Charms teacher was wearing dress robes of seafoam green, embroidered at the neck and cuffs with gold thread. Gold beads were woven through his white-blonde hair, and his dark brown skin gleamed with health. The effect was that of an ancient lord of the seas.

Elain couldn’t help a tiny glance at Lucien- but she needn’t have bothered. He was resolutely staring at the professor, and didn’t even so much as nod in her direction.

Fine. Fuck you too, then.

She looped her arm through Azriel’s, who stiffened slightly. Out of the corner of her eye she could have sworn she saw Lucien’s gaze snap towards her. Thankfully at that moment Nesta appeared out of the crowd, looking like a vision in a silvery-blue gown. Cassian was trailing behind her, looking slightly dazed. Elain raised her eyebrow in a questioning look, to which Nesta only grinned mysteriously and shrugged.

“It’s time!” Professor Tarquin announced. “Form a line, please, and follow me.”

Rhysand, naturally, immediately went to stand in front of the doors so he would be first. Nesta went to stand behind him, and Elain quickly slipped behind her, ignoring the presence at her back. He was close enough that she could smell him, all spice and musk, and not for the first time she wondered if he wore cologne or if he just smelled like that naturally…

No. Stop it.

And then Professor Tarquin was opening the doors to the Great Hall, and the champions filed in to the sound of applause.

---

Lucien could not breathe. His breath had caught in his throat the second he had laid eyes on Elain across the Entrance Hall, and he’d had difficulty breathing ever since. This ball was going to be pure torture.

She looked like an absolute vision. She always did, of course, but tonight, in that dress. The sight of her in that dress, her hair a cascade of liquid gold curls around her shoulder - that sight would surely haunt him until his last breath.

But worse of all was the look in her eyes he had caught. Equal parts longing and hurt, her expression so raw and open it had been like a knife to the chest. It was nothing like her usual irritation- that flash of defiance he loved so much, that little spark of flame he kept stoking. No, this was something different. It was pain, and he had caused it. The knowledge of that was more painful than any of his transformations.

It was all the more reason to keep his distance from her, but knowing he had caused her that pain made him feel even more worthless than he had before. He wasn’t even angry at the sight of Azriel sliding that flower on her wrist. Jealous, yes, to his very marrow, but angry- no. She deserved to be happy, and doted on, even if it was by someone he disliked. He didn’t deserve to have an opinion on the matter.

He felt a tug on his arm, and belatedly realized that the doors to the Great Hall had opened and that the other champions had started walking in. Nuan was peering at him curiously, tugging him forward. Lucien flashed her a grin and shook himself out of his trance as they followed the other champions.

The Great Hall had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Fake snow drifted down from the enchanted ceiling, which reflected the clear night sky outside. The tall windows were glazed with frost, and there were no less than two dozen Christmas trees scattered around, all gleaming with ornaments. Some had garlands, others glazed ornaments, and he could have sworn one was decorated with what looked like live fairies.

The four long House tables had been replaced by a hundred small round ones, all filled with students clapping as they entered. The champions were heading to a table at the center of the hall, and Lucien grinned as he spotted Eris sitting next to the Headmaster. In true Eris fashion his brother had worn what appeared to be a muggle-style blazer over his trademark black t-shirt and jeans. It even appeared as though he had given his dragonhide boots a shine.

“Baby brother. Looking dashing as always.” Eris greeted him with a clap on the back before switching his attention to Nuan. “And who is this enchanting young lady?”

Nuan gazed at him cooly. “Actually? We’ve met at least three times.”

“This is Nuan,” Lucien supplied with a repressed laugh. “And you have, in fact, met her multiple times.”

“Apologies,” Eris said smoothly, dipping into a bow. “I’m appalled at my ability to forget such a face!”

Nuan snorted, though her cheeks turned slightly pink. As they sat down Lucien surreptitiously glanced around, relieved to find that Elain had taken a seat on the opposite side of the table as him. The unfortunate side effect, of course, was that she was directly in his line of vision.

He quickly averted his gaze, only to be faced with a questioning look from his brother. Eris raised an eyebrow, nodding towards Elain. Lucien quickly responded with a swift kick to his shin.

“So!” he exclaimed slightly desperately. “Where’s Koschei?” The humor flickering in Eris’ eyes immediately extinguished, replaced by an uncharacteristically serious look.

“Mr Koschei is under the weather,” Professor Spell-Cleaver cut in. “Pity he couldn’t make it.”

“For him, maybe,” Nesta said drily. “Not for us.”

A ripple of laughter went around the table, even Professor Spell-Cleaver joining in. Eris used the distraction to lean closer to Lucien, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“I’m not supposed to tell you this,” he mumbled, “but Koschei is actually missing.”

Lucien blinked in surprise. “Missing? What do you mean, missing?”

“Exactly that. He hasn’t shown up to the ministry in weeks. Nobody has seen him since the first task. Even his assistant has no idea where he is.”

A missing ministry member- how odd. And one involved in the tournament, at that. Lucien remembered seeing Koschei at the tournament, standing slightly apart from the other judges. He’d thought the man was acting strangely, but had chalked it up to exhaustion after flying around in the forest.

“Father keeps telling people that he’s heard from him and that he’s ill. But if you ask me, there’s something fishy about it.”

Lucien’s stomach clenched with dread. “You think he’s involved in his disappearance? Isn’t Koschei an obnoxiously loud supporter of his?”

Eris shrugged. “He is. But if he doesn’t turn up soon people are bound to start asking questions. We also might need to find a replacement judge.” “Blimey, please tell me he won’t be stepping in as judge.”

Eris only grinned. “Don’t worry, such things are below our esteemed father’s pay grade. They’ll probably just send his assistant.”

“Thank Merlin for that.”

“How does this work?” Nuan asked beside him. Lucien realized she was holding a menu, where a variety of dishes were listed. It seemed like the kitchen elves had surpassed themselves for the ball.

“Maybe there’s waiters?” he guessed. Though a scan of the hall revealed only the seated students and staff, many of whom were also curiously peering at their menus.

“Not quite!” Professor Spell-Cleaver declared with a grin. He cleared his throat and held up the menu closer to his mouth. “Pork chops!”

A few moments passed, the other occupants of the table staring at the headmaster with raised eyebrows. Lucien was just wondering if Helion had finally gone insane, when a plate of pork chops and roasted potatoes appeared in front of the headmaster.

He scanned his own menu, feeling slightly idiotic as he held up the thick parchment to his mouth. “Duck breast!”

“You would pick that,” Eris muttered with a snicker- earning himself another kick to the shins.

Eris proved a helpful distraction from the person sitting across the table from him, and by the time the desert plates were cleared Lucien was almost enjoying himself.

He could do this. Nuan was beautiful, and smart, and didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t emotionally available. She was the perfect person to have fun with and forget about Elain.

So how come dancing with her sounded as exciting as plain porridge?

A band filed onto the stage, all of them wearing the most eclectic attempt at muggle clothing that Lucien had ever seen.

“You should join them,” he told Eris, nodding towards the band. “You’re dressed for it.”

He stood quickly to avoid the kick he knew was coming, holding out his arm to Nuan. “My lady. I believe our presence is required on the dance floor.”

Nuan grinned as she took his arm. Lucien kept his gaze on the band, not daring to check if Elain had heard or seen. The band took up a slow, mournful tune, and he wrapped one arm around Nuan’s waist and took her hand in the other, swaying them around slowly.

Flashes of pink, flowing fabric and golden hair kept snagging his peripheral vision, but by some heroic effort he managed to keep his eyes on Nuan. The only reason he managed it was knowing that the sight of Azriel’s idiotic hands on her might actually send him into a rage.

Eventually Professor Spell-Cleaver approached the dance floor and led Professor Amren in a waltz. Other professors joined them, and eventually other students, until the dance floor was so packed that Elain became lost in the crowd.

Nuan stepped closer and leaned her head on his chest. This was fine. This was nice, even. How long had it been since he’d even touched a girl? Had he even kissed a girl since the night of his party last summer? Maybe that’s what he needed to jolt his brain back into sanity. That and some heavy petting in an abandoned classroom later.

As the song ended Nuan titled her head up towards him, giving him a slow, feline smile. That smile was what had attracted him to her in the first place. She was so tall that he would only have to tilt his head down slightly for their lips to meet.

Unlike Elain, who was so short that she’d probably have to stand on her tiptoes to meet him halfway…

What is wrong with you, you asshole. He mentally slapped himself as Nuan frowned at his expression.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

The band started playing again, a faster song that made the crowd squeal with glee.

“Nothing,” he lied. He grinned at her, and without warning grabbed her hand and spun her around.

A peal of laughter behind him caught his attention, but when he turned to look he immediately wished he hadn’t. Elain was dancing with Azriel, twirling around with her hands in the air, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world. The sight of it cracked his heart into a thousand pieces.

He had to get out of here. There was no way he would survive an entire evening of watching her dance with Azriel. If he stayed he would end up doing something idiotic.

“You know what,” he said hurriedly, turning back to Nuan. “I actually don’t feel so good. I think that duck didn’t quite agree with me. I’m going to step outside for some fresh air.”

“Oh no! Poor you, I’ll come with. Maybe I can make you feel better.” She dipped her chin to look up at him through long, dark lashes, smiling that coy smile again.

Lucien sighed. Not so long ago an offer like that would have made his blood boil, and he would have thrown her over his shoulder and marched out of the hall. Now he just felt like an asshole.

“It’s fine, I just need to walk around for a bit. I’ll find you later, ok? I’m so sorry…”

“Are you sure? Wait, Lucien-”

“Sorry!” he called over his shoulder. Without another glance at the dancing crowd he pushed his way towards the blissful quiet of the Entrance Hall.

---

Elain giggled as she spun, hands in the air, her hair whipping around her face. Azriel was laughing, his face split into a smile so wide it looked like it hurt. He was quite a good dancer, which was even more surprising than the fact that he was dancing at all. For someone who was so shy he danced with a complete lack of self-consciousness, almost like he thought nobody was looking.

A flash of crimson caught her attention. She stopped spinning and turned to look, almost as if on instinct. Lucien was storming out of the Great Hall, pushing people out of his way as he went. She caught a glimpse of his expression and the sight of it made her heart clench. He looked at once angry and desperate - like he was on the verge of losing control.

Elain kept staring even after he disappeared into the Entrance Hall, wondering what could have happened to make him react like that. She glanced through the throng of dancers and spotted Nuan, standing as still as she was, also frowning in Lucien’s direction.

“Elain?”

Elain snapped her attention back to Azriel. Heat rose up her cheeks as she realized he had also stopped dancing, and was now staring at her. Something in his posture seemed to deflate, and he smiled sadly.

“You should go,” he said, looking defeated.

“What do you mean?”

“You want to go talk to Lucien. You should go.” His voice dipped to a bitter octave as he said Lucien’s name, but he didn’t look angry. Only resigned, and disappointed.

“I don’t want to go talk to him,” she replied, too quickly.

Azriel smiled again. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He gently took her by the elbow and led her away from the dancefloor.

“Friends tell each other the truth. And the truth is that the look on your face as you watched him go tells me you won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t go after him.”

Elain’s mouth opened and closed as she searched for something to say.

“I know,” Azriel continued, “because that’s how I felt about you. I had to at least try.”

“I don’t want to go after him. I’m here with you.” She tried to sound sincere, but something in her tone must have given her away.

“It’s ok. Really.”

Elain realized she’d been wringing her hands, and she clasped them behind her back stubbornly. “He doesn’t deserve it. He’s an ass.”

“Yes,” Azriel agreed, nodding his head vehemently. “The biggest there ever was. But you like him anyway.” He swallowed thickly, as if saying it was painful.

He was right. That was the miserable truth of it. Even though Lucien had the worst track record on earth and practically waved his own red flag. Even though he had teased and taunted and flirted with her for the past six years, even when she was mean to him in return. Even though he had made her feel like she was different, like she was special (special to him), and then had pivoted to ignoring her completely. She had fallen for him along the way, and if anything, she needed closure. If only to know what had gone wrong- what she had done wrong, to make him change his mind. Otherwise, like Azriel had guessed, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

“Go,” he said again, as if reading her resolve in her eyes. “I’ll be here, if you need a friend.”

Elain grabbed his hand and squeezed, and then closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He stiffened, and then let out a low chuckle. When she stepped back his cheeks were flushed pink.

“Get back on the dance floor,” she urged. “You’ve got some moves.”

Azriel chuckled again, and bowed a little at the waist before slipping back into the throng of dancers. Elain gulped and stared at the door to the Entrance Hall, suddenly feeling very foolish. What if Lucien had gone back to Gryffindor Tower? She wouldn’t be able to follow him there.

You won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t go after him. It was true. She had to at least try, and she couldn’t find him, or if he blew her off, then she’d take it as a sign.

As she walked into the Entrance Hall her attention immediately went to the open front doors. It was the first day of winter, and the breeze coming in from outside should have been freezing, but somehow it felt warm. It was curious enough that Elain went to investigate. She walked out the front doors and gasped at the sight.

The grounds surrounding the front of the castle had been turned into a garden straight out of a fairy tale. There were paths illuminated by strings of faerie lights, rose bushes, stone statutes, and even a few water fountains. The air had somehow been warmed by magic, and the scent of flowers was thick in the air. People were sitting on benches strewn around the paths- friends chatting, a few couples furiously snogging. She quickly averted her gaze from them and kept walking. Still, she couldn’t blame them, even if it made her heart ache. She couldn’t think of a more romantic place than this.

She had just decided to turn around and walk back to the castle when she rounded a corner and came to a stop. Lucien was standing next to a water fountain, hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the sky above. Elain’s heart picked up a staccato beat in her chest. She crept closer, as she did so the look on his face almost made her gasp. He didn’t look like he had earlier- wild, desperate, out of control. As he stood there and stared up at the sky the look on his face was pure bitterness.

“Where’s Azriel?” he asked suddenly, without turning towards her.

Elain inhaled sharply, her stomach flipping wildly. She hadn’t realized he had heard her. She hadn’t even decided if she wanted him to know she was there. “Inside. Where’s Nuan?”

He smiled, his head still angled up towards the night sky. “Inside.”

Suddenly, with him standing there in front of her, Elain had no idea what to say. The silence stretched on.

“Why?” she blurted.

Only then did Lucien finally turn towards her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Why what?”

“Just why, Lucien? Why?”

He opened his mouth to reply but she didn’t give him a chance. “Why did you stop talking to me? Why didn’t you ask me to go to the ball with you?”

His expression turned pained. “Elain-”

“Why did you flirt with me for so long?” she continued, cutting him off. “Why did you kiss me? Why did you buy me the Pygmy Puff, and the…and the gloves.” Her voice shook, and she hated herself for it. To her horror, tears were burning at the back of her eyes. She couldn’t cry. Not here, not in front of him. “Why did you make me think that I was special, that I was different? Why did you make me think that this could be real?”

“Because,” he said hoarsely, not meeting her gaze. “Because that’s what I do. I’m an ass. Haven’t you heard?”

The tears started falling then, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. “I don’t believe you.”

“Fine!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. “Fine. You are special, Elain! Is that what you want to hear? That I’ve been obsessed with you since the first time we met? That not a day goes by that I don’t think about you? Because it’s true.” His voice was choked, like he was fighting back tears, too.

“Stop with the bullshit! Just stop it, ok? Can’t you be honest with me for one minute?”

“I am being real, Elain! You are special. You’ve been special to me from the first moment I saw you.” He paused, taking a deep, shaky breath of the warm fragrant air. “You stumbled a little bit as you got off your boat after the lake crossing, and you fell into the water. Do you remember that? The gamekeeper fished you out, and then I ran to you and gave you my cloak. And then someone laughed at you and you shoved them into the lake.”

Elain let out an involuntary burst of laughter that sounded more like a sob than a laugh. She did remember that moment, but she hadn’t remembered that it had been Lucien who had given her that cloak.

“I saw you, staring down that kid with fire in your eyes, and I thought- I need to know her. I wonder what else she’s capable of. And you turned out to be capable of so much more than I could have imagined.” She thought she heard his voice break a little, although it could have been her imagination.

“Stop it!” The tears were falling freely now, no doubt making her makeup run down her face. She didn’t care. She was beyond caring. “Stop saying things like that!”

“But it’s true, and I need you to know-”

“Then WHY?” she snapped, angrily swiping away her tears. “What changed your mind? Is it…is it because of what I told you, when we went for a ride on your bike?” Her cheeks flushed at the memory.

Lucien frowned in confusion. “When you told me about your boyfriend breaking up with you?”

“About why he broke up with me!” She couldn’t look him in the eyes as she said it.

Lucien was quiet for a moment, and then he laughed incredulously. “Blimey, Elain, do you think I’m some kind of sex maniac?!”

“But then…is it because…” she gulped, forcing herself to look at him. “Is it because I told you that I’m a Seer? Do you think I’m some kind of… freak?”

“Do I think you’re a…” Lucien choked on a laugh. “Do I think you’re a freak? Merlin’s balls, Elain.” He tilted his head up to the night sky again, his gaze once again going dark. “You deserve better than someone like me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you don’t know me, and if you did you wouldn’t like me.”

Elain huffed in frustration. “And why do you get to decide that? Why don’t I get to decide that for myself?” Lucien only clenched his jaw, not bothering to reply.

This conversation was going nowhere. She should have known. She should have known he would just make her chase her tail and-

And then something landed in her brain.

Do I think you’re a freak. Something about that intonation was not right.

Something was nagging at her. Something in her subconscious, poking at her, urging her to see. She followed the direction of his gaze, and before she even did so she knew what she would see. Not just the night sky, but the moon. A bright, silvery crescent, cheerful and innocent.

When she looked back at his face his features had twisted in a bitter smile. The silvery moonlight illuminated his scar, making it look more menacing than usual. The light reflected off his magical eye, glinting silvery-gold, and then she remembered.

The wolf in her vision had eyes that glinted gold, too.

It hit her all at once, like a tsunami. His eye, the scar. That mysterious childhood trauma he refused to talk about. The countless times he’d shown up to class with bags under his eyes, covered in bruises and scratches, snapping at anyone who dared talk to him. His fiercely close group of friends, their loyalty and dedication to each other almost like that of a pack.

The way he’d reacted when she told him about her vision, and how confident he’d been that their first task wasn’t on a full moon.

How shifty he’d been when she’d caught him sneaking into the castle at dawn. The night after a full moon.

The undiluted hatred on his face as he’d burned those newspapers with Briallyn Skeeter’s article.

Her tears suddenly stopped, like a tap being turned off. She inhaled sharply, the sound making Lucien snap his attention towards her. Without meaning to, she took an involuntary step backwards. He tracked the motion, that bitter smile twisting his features again.

“See?” he said softly. “Told you.”

“I…” Her mind was reeling, her thoughts tripping over themselves too quickly for her to make sense of them.

“I knew you’d figure it out. I thought you had, when you saw me-”

“My patronus.” Her words came out no louder than an exhaled breath, but somehow Lucien heard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with guilt. “I don’t know how that happened, maybe it’s because I was helping you…”

Elain’s stomach gave an almighty lurch. That was as good as a confession. The rose garden around her tilted suddenly. Lucien was next to her in a heartbeat, his arms wrapping around her, setting her upright. Like he had from day one.

She clung to him, her fists clenching in the fabric of his dress robes. It was absurd. It couldn’t be, it didn’t make sense, and yet… And yet it did. A hysterical laugh bubbled out of her throat. Lucien let her go and took a step back, his russet eye wide and uncomprehending, the golden one clicking as it roved over her face, as if searching to understand her reaction.

“Your eye,” she blurted. “Is that how-”

Lucien held up a hand, silencing her. In one swift motion he pulled out his wand and swept it in a circle around them. The air shimmered around them, and then fell still. She knew without having to ask that he had cast a silencing charm.

“Yes,” he said, swallowing thickly. “When I was eleven. That’s why I started a year late. The adjustment…well, let’s just say my parents spent a lot of galleons on a private wing in St Mungo’s.”

Elain’s stomach lurched again, thinking of Lucien at eleven, alone and afraid. Where had it happened? How had it happened?

“You’re a…” Somehow she couldn't find a way to say it.

Lucien laughed, a low, bitter sound that didn’t sound human at all. “Don’t make me say it.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it. I’ve never said it out loud.”

Of all the things she had learned that night, somehow that one made her jaw drop open.

“What do you mean?”

He laughed again, so bitterly it could hardly be called a laugh. “I mean I’ve never admitted it out loud. I’ve literally never spoken the words.”

Elain’s heart clenched, but not with fear. What did she have to fear? She knew Lucien. She knew his heart- she had glimpsed it, whether he had meant to show it to her or not.

“You can tell me,” she urged, taking a step towards him.

Lucien frowned, stepping back. This was the dance they would dance, then.

“No.” His throat bobbed, his gaze roving everywhere but over her.

“You stopped talking to me because you thought I would figure out that you…” She paused, swallowing thickly. “You thought I’d be afraid of you if I found out.”

Lucien dipped his chin. His long red hair fell across his face, obscuring whatever emotions were hidden there. “Yes,” he whispered. He took another shuddering breath. “I understand if you want nothing to do with me. The only thing I ask is that you must keep this a secret. Nobody can know. Not your sisters, not your friends-”

“Lucien,” she interrupted. “Why do you assume I want nothing to do with you?”

That gave him pause. He stared at her, his mouth slightly open in surprise. “I…what?”

“I thought…damn it, Lucien! I showed you who I really was, and then you ran, and I thought…”

“That had nothing to do with-”

Elain laughed. It felt so freeing, all the tension of the past few weeks leaving her body. It was messy, and complicated, and possibly dangerous. But it made sense and laughing about it felt so good.

“Elain. You don’t understand. It might seem easy here at Hogwarts but people like me, we’re not-”

“Shut the fuck up, Lucien.”

Lucien froze, his eyebrows rising up to his hairline. “Excuse me?” A grin quirked up one side of his mouth, and humor sparkled in his russet eye.

Elain stood up tall- or as tall as she could stand, when her chin barely reached Lucien’s chest. She tilted her chin, looking at him defiantly.

“You’re special too, Lucien. You’re special to me. And I couldn't care less that you’re a werewolf. It doesn’t change who you are. It doesn’t change how I feel.”

Lucien’s eyes widened. For a minute it looked like he wasn’t breathing. “Elain. You don’t mean that, trust me-”

“I’ll decide what I want,” she declared. “And what I want is for you to kiss me.” Her heart was racing so quickly she thought she might vomit.

Lucien’s gaze bore into hers. And then, slowly, his features spread into a smile. Not the bitter smile she had seen as he had gazed at the moon, and not his trademark roguish smile, but something soft, warm. Something that she knew was just for her.

“You’re extremely bossy, you know that?” He took a step towards her, and Elain willed her heart to slow down.

“You said it yourself. You knew I was capable of great things. All from seeing me push a kid into the lake.”

Lucien chuckled, low and deep. It sent a shiver up her spine. “I sure did. And I was right.”

“So?” she prompted. She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt. “Are you going to kiss me, or what?”

Lucien chuckled again, and then his fingers were on her chin. He tilted her face up, and Elain’s breath caught in her throat. “Your wish is my command,” he whispered.

And then his lips pressed against hers, and she melted into him. It didn’t matter- none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the feel of his arms around her, and his lips on hers, and the scent of him filling her lungs.

When he pulled away he nuzzled the tip of his nose to hers, and she giggled. “What do you think, Archie,” he asked. “Should we go back inside and dance? Leave the heavy talk for another night?”

Elain giggled again, holding him tighter. “Our dates might be angry with us, don’t you think? Maybe we should hide out here for a bit.”

Lucien’s russet eye darkened. “Oh?”

She angled her head up in response, and Lucien grinned wickedly. “Happy to oblige, my lady,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over her lips.

He kissed her again, and as his fingers tangled in her hair the rose garden faded away, until there was only them, standing in the moonlight.

[moonlightazriel]

Thank you for tagging me ilysm ❤️❤️

1) What’s your favourite SJM book?

I love to get hurt by what I'm reading, so I would say Empire of Storms but I really love ACOMF....

2) Which is your favourite series (tog, acotar or cc)

After reading Throne of Glass, TOG is the only valid answer.

3) Who is your favourite character? (And why?)

I really like Lysandra, the way she did everything in her power to save Aelin, to help with the war when she wasn't even a warrior, what she did for Evangeline..... She's just awesome.

4) Do you have a favourite quote from one of the books?

“‘You have been very brave’, her mother said. ‘You have been very brave, for so very long.’ Aelin couldn’t stop the silent sob that worked its way up her throat. ‘But you must be brave a little while longer, my Fireheart.’” I mean, this had me bawling my eyes out so...

5) Favourite ship?

I really love Nessian, Manorian and Elorcan....

6) Elriel or Gwynriel? Or neither?

Gwynriel

7) Who’s the most underrated SJM character?

I feel like Fenrys would be a great answer, he's been through a lot and people don't give him enough credit

8) Which character do you wish to learn more about?

I would really love to see something about Lorcan's childhood....

9) Are there any characters you don’t like?

As much as I try, I can't like Danika and Bryce was getting on my nerves in HOFAS

10) Favourite bat boy?

Azriel, obviously

11) Favourite court?/ Which one would you most like to live in?

Night and Day, I feel like I would be a better fit to the night court, but i wouldn't be opposed to live in Dawn.

12) Favourite SJM villain?

I really like the way she made Erawan, his powers are terrifying and he's awful, but he's well written.

13) If you could change one thing in any of the books what would it be?

Feysand having sex in the war camp, like guys, read the room, and then Feyre's birth as a whole, wings ripped to shreds being fixed but not able to perform a c-section? Right. Yrene would've done it with her eyes closed.

14) Favourite SJM theory?

That Hollin Havilliard is the King of Hybern, makes no sense to me but makes me laugh so...

15) Favourite Archeron sister?

Feyre Cursebreaker Archeron

16) A character you feel is over-hated/ underrated:

over-rated: Lidia Cervos, i love her but everything she does, Aelin did with medieval weapons.

under-rated: Hunt, people seem to hate him and he's just a cutie to me

17) Aelin, Bryce, or Feyre?

Aelin, sorry girls

18) What’s your favourite character from each series?

Manon, Azriel, Hunt

19) If you wrote an acotar book what would you call it?

Never thought about it, i don't have an answer for that.

20) Who is your favourite acotar blogger?

I would say my mutuals, but there are so many amazing writers out there, it's hard to choose.

21) What fics would you recommend to people who love the series?

A Court of Covert Desire by @fieldofdaisiies

Questions for writers

22) Easiest character to write for?

Azriel, we don't know much about him and we can come up with lots of things for him.

23) Hardest character to write for?

I feel like Eris is hard with the whole facade he seems to have going on, but i love writing for him anyway.

24) What’s a character you’d like to write for but haven’t yet?

Lucien

25) What’s a court you’d like to write about more?

Maybe winter? They are a very interesting court.

26) What’s a character you won’t write for and why?

I would say Elain x reader.... Idk, she just don't give me the vibes to write for

27) If you could only write for one character ever again, who would you pick?

Azriel, it's in the name ahahahah

28) Whats your favourite trope to write about when it comes to Azriel?

Ugh, that's a hard one, but friends to lovers is my favorite.

29) What do you think is the best/favourite acotar fic you’ve written?

Fic i feel like it's: What matters most

And series, i love both of them, but Son of the Darkness has a special place in my heart.

30) Who are your favourite friendships to write about?

Cassian and Azriel or Cassian and reader, i feel like Cass would be the best friend someone could have.

31) For first time readers to your blog, which three fics would you recommend they read?

The family we choose

When no one hears your calls

What's mine to take

Tagging: @fieldofdaisiies @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @kingdomofstarrynights @cadiawrites

@sunshinebingo

SJM Ask Game

Thank you for the tag @daydreaming-nerd !! 💙💙 (I do want to hear those redacted answers for where you put tharion lol) I feel like it's been so long since I've been on tumblr or even done one of these but I'm excited💙

1) What’s your favourite SJM book?

Hmmmm I'm gonna say ACOMAF because that's when I was first introduced to Azzy and the obsession began 💙😈

2) Which is your favourite series (tog, acotar or cc)

If you don't know me, CC is one of the worst books I've ever read. It's hard to choose between ACOTAR and TOG tho because they were both really good....

3) Who is your favourite character? (And why?)

Hehehehehehehehe. Az obviously 🥰

4) Do you have a favourite quote from one of the books?

Hmmmm...tbh not really...the ones that stay stuck in my head are the cringey ones...BUT, let's go with "Cassian shot him a glare. 'I don't see you spouting poetry, brother.' Azriel crossed his arms, still smiling faintly, 'I don't need to resort to it.'" THAT'S GODDAMN RIGHT BBY YOU DONT 💙💙 legs spread for mah boi

5) Favourite ship?

Azris frfr

6) Elriel or Gwynriel? Or neither?

Azris frfr

7) Who’s the most underrated SJM character?

Oooof there's so many. Fenrys. I've never gotten enough of him.

8) Which character do you wish to learn more about?

Azris frfr. I want both of their backstories rn

9) Are there any characters you don’t like?

Bryce Quinlan and Danika Fendyr

10) Favourite bat boy?

My king azriel 💙💙

11) Favourite court?/ Which one would you most like to live in?

Honestly I'd probably either live in Autumn or Night tbh.

12) Favourite SJM villain?

Does Tamlin count? lol.

13) If you could change one thing in any of the books what would it be?

That CC never happened

14) Favourite SJM theory?

Azris frfr

15) Favourite Archeron sister?

Prob Ness

16) A character you feel is over-hated/ underrated:

over-rated: bryce quinlan

under-rated: chaol 💙

17) Aelin, Bryce, or Feyre?

Aelin!!

18) What’s your favourite character from each series?

Fenrys, Azriel, Ruhn

19) If you wrote an acotar book what would you call it?

A Court of Smoke and Cinders? (azris frfr)

20) Who is your favourite acotar blogger?

nah there's literally too many to choose from

21)What fics would you recommend to people who love the series?

The Serpent and the Wings of Night

Questions for writers

22) Easiest character to write for?

Azzy because i built him brick by brick

23) Hardest character to write for?

LUCIEN. IDK WHY

24) What’s a character you’d like to write for but haven’t yet?

lol who haven't i written for? hmmmm...maybe fenrys, aedion, or hunt?

25) What’s a court you’d like to write about more?

Dawn!

26) What’s a character you won’t write for and why?

hmmm...idk I'd like to say that I'd try anything once...

27) If you could only write for one character ever again, who would you pick?

azzy. nobody compares to him

28) Whats your favourite trope to write about when it comes to Azriel?

right now i think modern aus...in any sort. or anything that involves angst i love putting everyone thru some shit

29) What do you think is the best/favourite acotar fic you’ve written?

hmmmm...i feel like this is impossible to choose

30) Who are your favourite friendships to write about?

eris x anyone because this man needs a friend

31) For first time readers to your blog, which three fics would you recommend they read?

LMAO ummm...I'll list at least one for. every character

Az: Cupid's Chokehold or Midnight Muse

Cass: In Storm or Dial Drunk or Better Men Have Hit Their Knees and Bigger Men Have Died

Eris: You Know I Always Liked Playing with Fire or Hide

Rhys: Clandestine Love or Dioxazine

Lucien: The Other Woman or My Happy Ending

or literally any poly can't go wrong with those tbh

No pressure tags: @writingsbychlo @acourtofwhatthefuck @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @azrielhours @a-frog-with-a-laptop or anyone else who wants to participate!

[autumnshighlady]

I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 1)

NESTA ARCHERON X FEMALE!READER

summary: Your friend, Lucien, saved you from Hybern in the Spring Court and brought you to Night. There, you meet Nesta Archeron, and the two of you face the Night Court together.

warnings: MAJOR inner circle slander, if you love Feysand and will defend them please do not read this fic for your own sanity, also some angst

word count: 3.5k

request: (y’all wanted some Neris x reader and most of it was smut, this will happen later on but I went wild with the Neris requests so this will be a long multi part fic I am so sorry lmao)

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: seriously, do not read this fic if you are upset by Rhys, Feyre, IC slander. It will be upsetting, I do not want to get complaints about it. I do not hate those characters, but I do think they are hypocrites and I am sick of them not getting called out. Also, this WILL BECOME A NERIS X READER FIC, so if you’re hoping for any Nessian it will not happen. Also none of it follows the canon haha

read on ao3

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Today marked three months since you ended up in the Night Court, courtesy of Lucien. One month since your old friend had found you half dead in your village in the Spring Court, which had been massacred by Hybern soldiers. Lucien had gone to check on Tamlin, trying to rebuild their relations that had been shattered upon the redhead’s switching of courts. On his way out of the Spring Court he had decided to drop by your village, not having seen you in over a decade, only to find it in ruins. You were the only survivor, but barely. All you remembered was the sound of Lucien’s panicked voice, and the sensation of a world spinning as he winnowed you away.

You did not remember much about your arrival in the Night Court, aside from the occasional scents of ointments as healers tended to your broken, starved body. You were in and out of consciousness for a few days, never staying awake for more than five minutes at a time. Lucien had explained that you were at a fortress called the House of Wind, in the mountains above the main city. After a week you were strong enough to get out of bed, strong enough to meet with the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.

To say it had gone poorly had been an understatement. You could see the disdain in their eyes as they learned you to be from the Spring Court, their judgment as if you were the one who had locked Feyre in that manor after the escape from Under the Mountain. Rage coiled in your cut as you stared down the High Lady, hating how she lived her life without remorse for what she had done to your people.

“Glad to see you are awake and well.” Rhysand had said, no warmth to be found in his violet eyes.

“Lying is not a good look on you, High Lord.” You had spat out in response. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Lucien giving you a pleading look, begging you not to start this argument now.

But you had anyway. You did not want to be in the Night Court, forced to rely on the generosity of the female who destroyed your court and the male who delighted in cruelty. Everyone knew what Tamlin had done to Feyre, how he locked her up in the manor. You could not blame her anger – it had been wrong for the blonde High Lord to lock his fiancee up.

But she had taken her revenge out on the people of Spring Court. She had deliberately opened it up like a wound, allowing Hybern to take advantage of its weakness and go on a slaughter rampage, one that had almost gotten you killed. And yet Feyre was hailed as a hero for destroying a court of innocent people just to get back at its leader. Your stomach churned, remembering the faces of your friends and family as their throats were slit by Hybern soldiers who laughed as their blood spilled onto their armour. All because of the High Lady of the Night Court.

You did not hold back your hostility, letting your hatred and anger spill from your lips. “Am I supposed to thank you?” You had snarled at her.

“That would be a start.” Feyre had said, looking down her nose at you. “You are in my court, after all, being taken care of by my healers.”

You had snorted, letting out a dry laugh. “You are the reason I am here, High Lady. Because you let your petty revenge fantasies destroy my court and slaughter my village, my family, everything I loved.”

Feyre had stiffened, eyes shifting to her mate for support.

“You will not speak to her like that.” Rhysand had growled, letting his power fill the room in an attempt to intimidate you.

“Or what, you’ll kill me?” You had bit back. “You have no problem letting people from Spring Court die, so go for it. Maybe killing another one of us will make you feel better.”

Lucien had intervened at this point, trying to ease the tension before it got out of hand. But you continued to stare down at the High Lord and Lady, wishing you were anywhere else but in this wretched court. You knew the only reason you were still alive was because if they killed you, Lucien would be less inclined to work with them and for whatever reason, they needed him on their side.

And that is how you had ended up at the House of Wind. The High Lord and Lady claimed you were not a prisoner, but you knew they were well aware you were too weak to tackle the 10,000 steps down into the city. So yes, you were essentially a prisoner, and you had told them this much right before they winnowed away. Lucien had promised he’d come visit you, but when he didn’t you expected the High Lord and Lady had deliberately been keeping him busy.

So you wandered aimlessly around the estate, filled with resentment that you were stuck in the court ruled by the female who had torn yours apart. You barely ate, your time mostly consisting of sitting on the reading nook by one of the large windows, staring out at the mountains beyond.

One day, things changed. Normally, nobody bothered you while you stared out your window, the only other signs of life in the room being the occasional servant passing through. On a rainy afternoon, you had decided to crack open one of the books on the shelf and begin reading. You were a few chapters in when you heard footsteps approaching, stopping a few feet away from you. Normally you would have ignored the other presence in the room, but something in your chest pulled at you like a string, urging you to turn around where you were faced with the most beautiful female you had ever seen.

She was tall and lean, dressed in a dark blue gown with long sleeves and a collar around her elegant neck. Her face was sharp and her hair was a rich caramel shade, braided in a crown around her head. Those slate-coloured eyes glinted, staring you down with an intensity that you imagined made most fae shuffle on their feet with uneasiness. But it was a different intensity than the High Lord and Lady’s gazes, and you did not feel fear, only awe.

“You are Lucien’s friend.” She finally spoke. Her expression was unreadable, and she was as still as a statue.

“Yes.” You had said, meeting her gaze. She was enchanting, your heart fluttering at the sound of her cool voice. She was silent for a moment longer before speaking again.

“I heard you caused some upset with my sister and her mate.”

A bell pinged in your head as you put the pieces together. Lucien had mentioned Feyre’s older sister, not that you needed an introduction. Everyone across Prythian had heard of the female who severed the King of Hybern’s head from his body, whose eyes glowed with silver fire from the Cauldron itself.

You were unsure of what to say. Part of you worried that Nesta would look at you with the same disdain as her sister, but the other part of you knew that she wouldn’t. For some reason, Nesta was in the same position as you, a prisoner in the House of Wind while her sister was free to wander the city below, painting away in her new grand estates. The thought made you seethe with rage, knowing so many fae like yourself were still suffering from the war, with no money and no support.

The silence slowly ate away at you, until Nesta finally spoke.

“Good.” Was all she said before turning away and walking out of the room.

And that was the beginning of you and Nesta. Over the next few weeks, you saw each other more. It started with Nesta asking what you were reading, and suggesting other stories for you to read. And then she began joining you, sitting in silence in the chair across from you as you both read your books. Eventually, you found yourself leaving the room and going to the library with the older Archeron sister, or sipping tea on the balcony.

For the first while, the two of you spoke little. It was not an uncomfortable silence though, you two simply sat contently in each other's presence. It was nice to have another female around, especially one that didn’t worship the ground that the High Lady and Lord walked on.

One day, the ‘inner circle’, as Nesta explained they called themselves, arrived at the House of Wind for dinner. Lucien had informed you earlier that morning, sheepishly explaining that not attending wasn’t an option. Apparently the rulers of the Night Court wanted to build relations with you – which you knew was just code for seeing if they could use your connections to the Spring Court to their advantage.

You stood in your room, examining the dress that one of the servants had brought you. It was black, with a deep V-neck and a thick band around your waist. The sleeves were made of sheer material that hung loose around your arms and gathered at the wrist. It was a nice dress, you admitted, but you knew it was selected to make you feel like you were part of the Night Court. Which you weren’t, and would never be.

Deciding to leave your hair unbound, you opened your door and exited your room. You saw Nesta in the hallway, her room being one down from yours, and your jaw dropped when you saw her.

Her dress was similar to the blue one you met her in, only it was a shade of deep grey, and the thin neckline plunged to her navel. Nesta’s hair was braided in her usual style, but dark circles haunted the skin under her eyes. You knew she had not been sleeping, often hearing her toss and turn all night from the other side of the wall. From what you gathered about her being in the same position as you, Nesta was dreading this dinner more than you were.

“Hey.” You said softly. Her gaze met yours, silver eyes glazed as if they were staring right through you.

Your heart nearly shattered at how broken she looked. You couldn’t imagine what she was going through, how awful it must have been to have been stolen from your bed and your bodily autonomy stripped away from you as you were turned into something else. She did not look like the fierce Kingslayer the rumours spoke of, or the mean, nasty female that cut people down with her words, but rather a shell of a person who was seconds away from crumbling into nothing.

“Are you ready?” You asked gently.

Nesta nodded stiffly, and you extended your hand before you could think. Part of you was afraid she’d scoff at the gesture, lashing out and storming away and leaving you humiliated. To your surprise, Nesta slid her hand into yours – it was ice cold and shaky, so you gave it a gentle squeeze.

“We can face them together,” You assured her. “I don’t know what went down between you and the Night Court, but I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Nesta’s eyes cleared as she turned her gaze back towards you. She blinked once, as if she was making sure you were real, standing there holding her hand.

“And I’ll be with you.” She said, her voice shaking slightly as she tilted her chin up. “Now let’s get this over with.”

The two of you strode hand in hand down the hallway towards the dining room, bracing yourselves for whatever the next hours would bring.

*************

If you hadn’t been so annoyed at the Night Court rulers showing up you would have laughed at their expressions when you and Nesta walked into the room with your hands entwined. At the table, Rhysand and Feyre sat side by side at the head, the High Lord’s violet eyes simmering at the sight of you and Nesta side by side while Feyre’s eyes were wide with surprise. There was an empty space next to Feyre, no doubt intended for Nesta, and on the other side of the seat was a blonde female wearing a red dress with a plunging neckline. You recognized her as the Morrigan – her neck and wrists were cluttered with gold jewelry, and her face was undeniably gorgeous, save for the confused look that was written across her features. Cassian and Azriel sat next to the blonde, also looking surprised. Cassian, who you had met in passing a few times, paused halfway through sipping his glass of time. His eyes were wholly focused on Nesta, and you didn’t miss the jealousy pooling in them. Azriel, whom you had also met a few times and was the one member of the Inner Circle that you could tolerate, showed less surprise. He merely blinked once, an unreadable expression on his face, and a shadow curled around his neck.

To Rhysand’s right was a small female with short black hair and red lips. Amren, you figured. A look of disgust crossed her face, and you felt Nesta tense beside you. Clearly, something had gone down between the two of them. Next to Amren was a male with dark skin and white hair, looking very uncomfortable. Lucien sat next to him, looking like he was going to burst out laughing any second. Another empty chair was next to Lucien, clearly intended for you.

Silence filled the room for what could have been an eternity until Feyre spoke up.

“Nesta, (Y/N),” The High Lady said, voice light and airy. “We are so glad you could join us.”

Nobody else said anything, and you could practically feel Nesta’s panic. She was looking at the seat meant for her, between her sister who locked her up here and a female who clearly disliked her.

After squeezing Nesta’s hand, you let go and walked over to the chair beside Feyre. Confused, the entire table watched you as you grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it away, not caring about the ear splitting scraping sound it made on the stone floor. You pulled it to the other end of the table, opposite of Rhys and Feyre but next to the empty chair beside Lucien, who coughed into his arm to conceal his laugh.

You looked back towards Nesta, whose lips twitched upwards for a split second as she strode over to the newly placed chair, smoothing her skirts as she sat down in it. Satisfied with the new arrangement, you took your seat.

After more moments of dumbstruck quiet, it was the Varian who broke the silence, asking Feyre about her art. As servants brought food to the tables, conversation flowed everywhere but in the direction of you and Nesta.

You were fine with that, and you knew Nesta was too. The silence you two sat in was comfortable and familiar, but neither of you really touched your food. Being in the presence of the inner circle made your appetite nonexistent. So you pushed the veggies around your plate for the next half hour until plates were cleared, and your end of the table was addressed for the first time.

“How’s the training going, Nesta?” Morrigan asked. It seemed genuine enough, but from the way Nesta tensed beside you, you could tell it was a pointed question.

“Wonderful.” Nesta said dryly, meeting her stare.

“What training?” You asked, confused. Not once had you seen Nesta with a blade, but whenever Cassian left the House of Wind in the past while he was always in a mood, Nesta even more so.

“Nesta’s learning how to fight,” Feyre said. “That’s why she’s here.”

“The training she’s apparently refusing to do.” Rhysand added.

You snorted. “Doesn’t the Night Court already have armies? I don’t see them here, if she was going to learn how to fight wouldn’t it be, you know, where the armies actually are?”

Rhysand’s eyes met yours. “Yes, we have armies,” He said in a low voice. “But Nesta needs to train anyway.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Nesta hissed.

“You do if you are in my court.” Rhysand growled.

“I did not ask to be here.”

You surveyed the table. Feyre’s eyes were red, as if she were about to burst into tears at any moment. Cassian looked concerned, while Mor and Amren seemed annoyed. So many questions burned at you – why was Nesta being made to train to fight? Why here, locked away from the city? What happened between her and her sister?

Discreetly, you took Nesta’s hand under the table, rubbing a circle with your thumb, although you did not think the action went unnoticed.

I am with you, You reminded her. Deciding to take the spotlight off Nesta, you spoke up.

“But why am I here?” You asked. “I am healed now, why not send me back home? What reason do you have to keep me here?”

Another heavy silence filled the room, even Cassian had stopped eating. Eyes shifted, as if a silent conversation was occurring.

“We thought you might have some information about the Spring Court.” Rhysand began. “Since you are here–”

You laughed sharply, cutting him off. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“I am not, and I suggest you listen.”

“Do you seriously think I’m going to betray my own court?” You spat. “Besides, isn’t Lucien the one with the job anyways?”

Your red haired friend closed his eyes and sighed, knowing this was going to happen. You felt bad for him – you knew he wasn’t fully accepted in the Night Court, just as you would never be, not with his ties to Spring. He was balancing on a wire, trying to help two courts who hated each other.

“Your father is one of Tamlin’s advisors,” Rhysand continued, ignoring you. “And Tamlin is an enemy. We just want to know–”

Rage pulsed through you. You were glad you didn’t have any sort of power, because if you did you were pretty sure the room would have erupted into flames.

“My father WAS one of Tamlin’s advisors,” You growled. “Now he is dead thanks to your High Lady destroying his court and leaving them vulnerable to Hybern. If you think I’m going to help you, you’re insane.”

“You will do as we say,” Rhysand growled, placing his hands on the table and standing up. “If you do not want to share what you know, we have other ways of getting it out of you. I have no problem going into that pretty head of yours and—”

Nesta stood up. “Do not threaten her.” She said, with the most vicious snarl you had ever seen. Silver fire glowed in her eyes, and you almost gasped. This was the power the Cauldron gave her, you realized. She looked like a goddess of war, staring at the High Lord with a challenge to dare lay a hand on you.

“Or what, Nesta?” Rhysand asked, moving his arm to bring Feyre behind him. “What are you going to do?”

The entire table was still, as if bracing themselves to intervene if either fae launched themselves at one another. You had only known Nesta for just over two months, yet she was ready to challenge the High Lord in your defense, something which clearly confused the others at the table.

You were grateful for her support. The dynamic between the two of you was unique to any other friendship you had, although you did not know if you could classify it as such. You were two females who had slighted the members of the court and forced into the House of Wind like dogs being sent to the kennel. You wished you knew the whole of Nesta’s story, but you also knew better than to push.

The Night Court saved you without your consent and planned to use it as leverage, to try and get information on their enemy. It made you sick, how you were indebted to them and expected to be grateful. While the House of Wind was nice, you knew you could not leave it. You were a hostage there, just as much as Nesta. And you two needed to stick together.

Nesta’s eyes returned to their original shade, whether it be from the High Lord’s magic demanding submission or her own volition. She cleared her throat, throwing one last glare across the table before grabbing your hand.

“I think we are done for tonight.” She said, pulling you up.

Leaving the shocked table behind, you let her lead you out the door, shaking slightly. The two of you walked in silence down the hallway towards your room. As you got to your rooms, Nesta dropped your hand.

“Nesta, I–” You went to thank her, and to ask if she was ok, but she had already wordlessly stormed into her room and closed the door.

let me know if you want to be added to a taglist <3

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Do you think you’ll continue with the lawyer Nessian fic. It was so amazingly written I’d love to read more! I love all your writing anyways I’ll be happy with anything❤️

Ok not *technically* a Drabble request BUT I’m not ready to commit to a full lawyer AU that happens in order however I did just drum up a part 2 that we’ll say is several years before the previous lawyer AU. Nessian teasing in a bar and Rhys being a dumbass.

FYI the lawyer Drabble I’m talking about can be found HERE.

“I’m in love,” Rhys slurred. Cassian, a decent bit bigger than his brother and two drinks behind him, had a gentle buzz so he could only surmise that his brother was well passed sober.

“Congratulations,” Cassian grinned, clapping his hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “May I lay eyes upon the future Mrs. Dumbass.”

Rhys stared at him flatly. Blew a laugh out of his nose. “She’s not marrying you, brother.”

Cassian snorted, casting his eyes around the elegantly decorated little lounge they’d stepped into for the night. Lounge, not bar. Because they were mature adults now looking to take the edge off after a long day of work, not college students looking to get fucked up.

It was different.

It was different because the cocktails cost $20 and were served in actual stemware instead of red solo cups. They were evolving. Growing. Cassian was a lawyer now and Rhys was supposed to be doing actual work for his dad’s company so… no more dive bars.

Now they frequented little lounges where accountants and lawyers and bankers sat in tailored suits and discussed… adult things.

It was all very civilized.

And yet here was his brother. Every bit the horny college student they were trying not to be. Oh well, old dogs and all that.

“End of the bar.” Rhys jerked his head to the left and Cassian grinned.

“Might be a little old for you, champ.”

Rhys wrinkled his brow and turned to look at the grandmother doing a crossword puzzle on the far left side of the bar. A martini glass in front of her. Good for grandma.

“Other end of the bar!”

Cassian smirked. He didn’t need to turn his head, since he’s noticed her the second she walked in, but he still did. Just so he could look some more.

“Ah, you mean the deliciously dishevelled leggy brunette with her suit jacket on the chair beside her who just ripped the pins out of her hair like they personally offended her and then laid them in a neat little pile beside her Kobo?

“Mmm,” Rhys grinned, “I’d like her to rip those fingers through my hair.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Go for it, brother.”

Rhys grinned wider. “I think I will.” He straightened up, ran a hair through his artfully mussed hair, and pulled on the lapels of his Gucci suit jacket until they were even again.

Cassian snickered into his Old Fashioned. Rhys could straighten his jacket all he wanted. He could pretend he wasn’t drunk all he wanted. It wouldn’t matter one bit.

Not with Nesta Archeron.

Nesta Archeron who hated men that stunk of trust funds and privilege more than anything else in this world.

This would be fun to watch.

Watch her try to ignore him at first. Eyes glued to the page of her book, hand reaching up to wave through the air like Rhys was an annoying fly she could swat away.

Rhys, to his credit, was a clever little bastard. He asked the bartender for a refill of her drink and set it down in front of her then sat himself one stool down from her.

He didn’t move her jacket to sit next to her, which would have had her going feral. He just sat there, waiting.

After a few moments Nesta let out an exacerbated sigh that Cassian could hear from across the room. There was his girl.

Well, not his girl. Not even a little bit his girl, but… someday.

Cassian decided that he was going to Marry Nesta Archeron the first time she kicked his ass up and down a negotiation meeting. It was a couple years ago now. He’d been young and new at his firm. She was young and new too, but the words learning curve were not in Nesta’s vocabulary. Everything she did, she did with perfection.

Including getting rid of men she didn’t want hitting on her.

She said something to his brother that made Rhys’ half drunk, cocky, smile fall halfway down his face.

Cassian would’ve given his left eye to know what she said in that moment. She had a knack for jumping at the jugular and Rhys… oh Rhys. So obvious.

After a few moments and the continual fall of Rhys’ face, Cassian decided it was time to intervene. He knocked his drink back and straightened out his own suit jacket. Armani, still overpriced and designer but not so obvious or try hard as Mr. Up On The Trends with his Gucci. Nesta appreciated classics.

Simple. Clean lines, solid colours, classic. Which was why it was so fun just how attracted she was to his half wild self.

Unlike Rhys, Cassian plucked Nesta’s light grey suit jacket up off the stool beside her and reached over her head to hang it on a coat hook at the end of the bar. Settling himself into the chair beside her like it was exactly where he belonged. Which it was.

She turned around with an indignant shriek and a fire-breathing snarl that narrowed into just a hard glare when she realized it was him. Touching.

“This guy giving you trouble, Nes?”

Rhys choked on his whiskey and Cassian fought his hardest to keep a straight face.

“I so don’t need your saviour complex right now, Cassian.” Nesta scoffed.

“No,” Rhys rolled his eyes. “She was doing perfectly well scaring off everyone in a 10 mile radius all on her own.”

Nesta smiled sweetly, “I was just playing your game.”

Rhys sputtered again. Looked up at his brother. “This devil woman that you apparently already know,” he glared, “is all yours. I’m going home.”

“Be sure to drink plenty of water!” Nesta sing songed after him. Rhys flipped them both off on his way out.

“What’d you say to him?”

Nesta smiled. A pretty, feline little thing. “He said he wanted to chat. Suggested 20 question, which is the lamest, oldest, crustiest line in the book. So I went first. Asked just how small his dick was that he felt the need to overcompensate with the swagger and the gratuitous displays of wealth. He thought he was quite clever to use his question to ask if I wanted to check for myself how not small his dick was and then I asked if his daddy never loved him and that’s where all of that machismo masking painfully obvious and deep seeded feelings of inadequacy and insecurity came from. I was going to offer him my friend’s number before you showed up. She’s an excellent therapist.”

Cassian laughed. Hard. For a very long time. He loved Rhys, but sometimes the kid could use a nice set down. It was always sweeter when delivered by a beautiful woman. Not to mention, Cassian himself had gotten the same ice cold rejection the first time he met Nesta. When he asked if she wanted to get a coffee and she looked at him like something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. That Rhys was chased off so easily just proved he couldn’t take the heat.

“You know the walking trust fund, I presume?” Nesta boredly sipped the drink Rhys had bought her. And even that was somehow amusing.

“Only for the last couple decades or so,” Cassian grinned. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“Explains a lot.”

“Your insults are more impactful when you clarify which person is being insulted.”

“I was going for the two birds one stone method.”

“In that case, consider me wounded, sweetheart.”

Nesta scoffed, “Unfortunately not mortally.”

“Oh Nesta, if I weren’t here you’d die of boredom and you know it. No one else can run you up and down the courtroom like I can.” Now. Cassian grinned as he watched the word flash across her eyes. He’d never live that first blunder down.

Nesta rose an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume you present any challenge whatsoever.”

Cassian signalled for another drink and leaned forward. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who in this entire city can give you more of a run for your money?”

“Vanserra.” Nesta looked him dead in the eye. And managed to keep a straight face. As if that wasn’t the funniest fucking thing he’d heard all day.

“Oh yes, Nepotism and Nepotism LLP certainly has us all shaking in our boots,” Cassian blew out a breath. “What are you working on now?”

“I’m working on upholding attorney-client privilege.”

“So, the Suncurser merger.”

Nesta looked up. “How did you-”

“Helion and I are old friends. I checked the zoning on the lots he was buying before the merger went ahead to make sure the expansion was even feasible. But, as you know, M&A isn’t my thing. So I may have… given him a referral.”

“Are there any rich playboys in this city that you aren’t friends with?” Nesta finished off her drink and pointedly didn’t signal for another. “And if you think I’m going to be grateful to you for sending this my way you’ve got another thing-“

“Helion is my friend.” Cassian repeated, cutting her off. “He believes in this merger and he wants it done right. You’re the best, Nesta. Why wouldn’t I send him to you?”

“It’s not just to get in my pants?” She narrowed her eyes.

Cassian laughed again. “Oh no, sweetheart. When you invite me into your bed it will have nothing to do with work. It’ll be because you’re tired of denying how much you want me.” Cassian leaned in closer, one hand resting on the back of her chair. “Tired of denying the thrill that shoots through your whole body when we lay into each other. In the court room or out.” His nose brushed against hers, just a little, and Cassian felt Nesta tense up. He smirked, mouth just inches away from hers. “Tired of denying how right this is.”

Nesta’s voice was rough, husky. “So your plan is to wear me down?”

Cassian smirked. “My plan,” his hand came up to stroke the silk covered expanse of her upper arm, “is to marry you, Nesta Archeron. But sure, we can start with wearing you down.”

***Feyre and Nesta look physically similar so you can’t tell me drunk Rhys wouldn’t hit on Nesta in a bar before realizing he’d made a terrible mistake and running away thank you***

Also tags yourself, I’m the grandma doing the crossword puzzle with a martini. She’s an icon and she is the moment.

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

It was another miserable party. Once, Elain had ruled these sorts of social gatherings but now she was relegated to the corner. Ever the dutiful hostess, she tried to make small talk, but everyone was uncomfortable in her presence. 

It had been ten years. She’d thought they’d all be over it by now, realizing that she was a good one. They could trust her. Oh, they’d be perfectly polite but she saw the dread in their eyes when she approached and caught the little jabs they made, dressed up like a compliment.

Oh you just never age, do you, one guest said when Elain welcomed her in.

I wish I’d been unburdened with children, too—I’d have glowing skin, too.

All men wish for a wife that looks hardly older than a girl. 

Alright, then. Elain was used to this song and dance. She smiled and laughed along though each jab wounded her. Graysen was allowed in their circles because he was still one of them, though an anomaly. They thought he simply couldn’t help himself given Elain was forever young, forever beautiful. 

But she was an outsider. She couldn’t give him children though she’d tried—she suspected they might be incompatible. And so, she’d thrown herself into married life until she was an exemplary wife. She never argued with him, even when she wanted to scream and scream and scream. Elain didn’t cry, she didn’t plead, she didn’t beg. She woke before the sun to groom herself so when he woke, she was pleasing to look at.

She arranged the household just as he liked it, ensured all his favorite meals were prepared on a rotation, and saw to the chores so there was never even a whisper of dust even in the highest ceiling corners. Their garden won awards, and she grew her own produce and fruit, though that was personal for Elain. Feyre had tried to write a few letters before she came to visit, and though Feyre had never said one unkind word to Elain, her guilt had begun to trail after her like a specter. 

For the first five years of their marriage, everything had been perfect…except Gray’s single-minded obsession with finding a cure for Elain’s faerie aliment, as he often called it. Once it became clear that there was no cure—none that would spare her life, anyway—he’d simply dropped it. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

But he was distant at times. Cold, too, when the mood struck him. Especially after his father died and he inherited all the titles and lands his father had once held. He was busy, she told herself. He had to think about more than just himself, now.

But it was more than that. Elain suspected he regretted his choices. That maybe love hadn’t been enough for him. He’d never admit it and thus admit he’d made the wrong decision. Especially not when the local circle of lords and ladies were such vipers. 

But Gray was across the room with a glass of whiskey in his hand, pointedly not looking at her. He’d stay there until he was just drunk enough he didn’t mind if everyone saw them dance. Elain wasn’t in the mood for any of it that night. Sometimes she was so angry she had to bite down so hard that blood filled her mouth as her teeth ground together. Her nails would bite into her palm, bruising her skin as she tried to contain it all.

And then it would pass, and Elain would go back to trying. If she could just figure out the right combination of words and outfits and parties, everyone would see she was still the same Elain and treat her as such. Gray would go back to bright smiles and little touches. Life would feel normal.

He glanced over at her, a hint of gray in his brown hair catching in the overhead lights. The lines around his mouth seemed more pronounced right then, eyes crinkled just at the corners. No longer was he the young twenty something, and though he was hardly old, he was aging.

It alarmed her. 

While Graysen sought to undo the faerie, Elain privately tried to come up with some way to make him like her. Immortal and unaging, so they could have centuries rather than just a few short decades that were already slipping through her fingers. Elain poured through books when she couldn’t sleep, but the only cases of it that weren’t rooted in so many layers of mythology they were, functionally, useless to her, belonged to her and her sisters.

And Miryam, too. 

If Elain had undertaken that journey, she might have learned more. Sometimes she thought about trying again, certain Lucien was long gone by then. But Elain was too afraid to leave–what if she came back and the gates were barred to her, too? What if he realized he’d made a mistake?

Elain had become a shut-in.

Still holding Graysen’s gaze, she offered him a pretty, demure smile that seemed to thaw whatever ice coated his gaze. He made his way to her, sliding a hand over her waist. It was like nothing had changed between them. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said. The smell of whiskey hit Elain and she realized, too late, he was drunker than she’d thought. Maybe it didn’t matter. While other husbands got meaner when they were drunk, hers was sweeter. She almost always preferred him this way. 

“We should try again,” he whispered, breath warm against her ear. Elain’s heart quickened at his words. Try for a child, he meant—every so often, the urge would overcome him and Graysen would think of nothing else but children for six straight months. He’d be on her day and night, but nothing ever came of it.

Elain couldn’t quite bear the disappointment. “Of course,” she agreed, knowing it would end the same. She was a glutton for punishment. In the bedroom, with the lights out and his mouth on her, it almost felt like adoration. Almost felt like the same love they’d had before the cauldron. He was never unkind or cruel, but he could be careless. And as time progressed with no child, he became shorter and shorter with his touches until all that seemed to matter was his deposit in her body.

She still cherished every moment until he inevitably grew tired of the whole thing and quit altogether. If he wanted to try, Elain would let him. Graysen grinned, clearly pleased. Whether it was the alcohol or something else that convinced him this would be the time, she didn’t know. Only that he swept her into a dance, smiling like old times. 

And she was in love all over again.

Those moments of happiness were fragmented between longer stretches of tense cohabitation. 

“Do you regret me?” she heard herself asking him one morning as she pinned her hair up off her face. Graysen’s was lined with age, his mouth a sharp slash against his once beautiful features. 

He sighed, exasperated. “This again? Why do you continue to ask me questions you know the answer to?” “You seem unhappy,” Elain heard herself saying. 

“It’s merely been thirty years, my darling,” Graysen said in response, pressing a perfunctory kiss to the top of her head. “All couples become distant.”

“Do they?” she questioned. She wouldn’t know given how isolated she was. Elain was too ashamed to ask Feyre how she was faring with the faerie she’d settled down with. Privately, Elain hoped her sister was just as troubled. It was simply a rough patch, she told herself. Graysen was fifty and managing not just their estate, but the vassal lands that stretched beyond.

And when one of the queens came calling on him, installing him at court for half the year, Elain found herself even more alone. Graysen returned in the winter each year while his letters became more infrequent.

There were rumors he’d taken a lover, though she had no proof of that. Elain didn’t dare ask him, either, for fear of shattering the life she’d built. She’d staked everything on the love she and Graysen had, and as the years stretched before her, lonely and bleak, Elain was forced to ask herself if she regretted her choice.

Would they always have ended up like this? Was their breakdown inevitable? Or had she been a fool holding on to him when it would have been better to let him go? There was no cure for old age—no cauldron to dip Graysen into, not council of High Lords willing to imbue him with their magic. 

“You are still so, so beautiful,” Graysen told her one evening, well into his eightieth year. He’d sat up suddenly in the middle of the night, candle lit as he peered down at her. “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you left.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Elain told him, biting back a soft sob. The romance had never died for her. In her mind, she was his mirror. Her once youthful face lined with age, her hair the same silvery gray. Graysen walked slower and a hunch had begun to form. He traveled less to the capital and spent more time at their estate where he took his correspondence, his visitors, and everything else. 

Little had changed in nearly a century—the humans were still wary of her, despite how easily Elain mimicked their movements. Her magic lay dormant, not bothering her since the last time she’d been in Prythian. She’d become adept at hiding her pointed ears inside her hair while making sure she kept up with the ever changing fashions. 

She’d settled into her graceful body and made sure to sway with she stood or fidget when she sat—otherwise she was too still, which put everyone else on edge. 

As Graysen began to decline, the vultures circled. Women couldn’t inherit and Elain had no children that might keep Graysen’s estate in her hands. She heard the men talking, vaguely related to Graysen by blood or marriage, urging him to protect his family rather than the immortal wife he’d been burdened with. She’d live forever, they told him. By the time Elain died, there might not be any Nolan’s left to take the estate.

Elain knew if he left her nothing, she’d have to go crawling back to Feyre. Or worse. 

She might be forced to rely on Lucien. 

She’d heard nothing from either of them since she’d chosen to leave, and truthfully, Elain never thought of either of them. Not until those final years, when Graysen was laid up in bed with a persistent cough that only grew worse. She was the only one who stayed—even the physician’s were chased off, afraid of bringing something home to their own families.

Fever took him in the night, and the smell of death told Elain he was nearly gone. Clutching her hand, Graysen stared upward, mumbling things that didn’t make any sense to her. She shushed him.

“Elain,” he whispered through cracked, dry lips. “It was all a waste, wasn’t it? A wasted life.”

Elain’s heart sank. “Of course it wasn’t,” she replied, smoothing her hand over his brow. “Every moment was perfect.” “A waste,” he whispered, slipping into sleep.

He didn’t wake up.

The following weeks were a blur. Elain arranged everything from money she had no right to touch—she later learned Graysen had left her only five hundred gold coins a year, to be paid out by a distant cousin who now oversaw the estate. She’d been given a thousand gold coins for her trouble, and then asked to leave as quickly as she could.

She was promised more, but Elain knew it wasn’t coming. A flurry of laws were likely already in the works to ensure faeries couldn’t inherit human money or property. Graysen was buried in the same plot as the rest of his family, and at his funeral, she wasn’t mentioned at all. It was as if he’d died a bachelor. 

Ninety years, and what did she have to show for it? A thousand gold coins, her collection of dresses, and nothing else. Elain was no better off than she had been when she’d first walked to those doors and begged Graysen to keep her. Staring up at the fortress she’d called a home for so long, she thought of Gray and his final words. 

A wasted life.

He’d died with regrets.

She walked back into Prythian, well aware that to stay among the humans was to risk death. If anything, humans had grown more distrustful of the fae since that final war, and there were those in Graysen’s life that would have relished to see her die, too. 

The first step back into faerie held territory was pure agony. Elain screamed out, crumpling to the ground as her vision went black. Images raced behind her eyes in a flurry too quick for her to process. She didn’t know how long she knelt there, sobbing through her ragged breath.

She’d convinced herself it had simply left her. That the magic that had once infested her had left for a more willing occupant, freeing Elain of that torment, at least. It seemed not, and when she realized that she was still stuck in her faerie form, Elain vomited until her stomach was emptied of even bile. 

She couldn’t sleep out there, though it was tempting to curl up in the dirt and lay there until the forest took her. Elain doubted that would kill her. She was starting to think nothing would. When she stood, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a nearby creek and let out another pained sob.

She hated that face. 

Elain walked numbly until she reached the edge of Prythian, coming out of the woods into Spring. She expected there to be no one there, but on the edge stood a familiar looking woman and just behind, one of Feyre’s winged males. 

Nesta was there, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was braided in a crown around her head, ears pointed and obvious. Steely, gray eyes pinned themselves to Elain as Elain stumbled toward her. She’d forgotten the name of the man that was clearly guarding her sister, hazel eyes watchful as though he expected her to do something she shouldn’t.

Elain didn’t even have a weapon on her.

Nesta marched toward her in a violet colored dress so at odds with the fashion Elain had been immersed in for nearly a century. It clung to her sisters frame, the fabric swishing lightly around Nesta’s legs. It seemed so obscene in comparison to her own garments, layered atop each other to give her a very specific shape. 

“I heard the news,” Nesta said by way of greeting. Her voice was unchanged, just like her appearance. Nesta hadn’t aged a day, though there was something different about her. The sharp edges of her sister seemed softer, less blunt. Even her eyes betrayed some of Nesta’s pity, though Elain could see the simmering anger all but smoking off her. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Elain didn’t know what to say, so she simply shrugged her shoulders.

Nesta looked over her shoulder at the man, who nodded with encouragement. 

“Stay with me—with us,” she amended. Elain looked back at the man.

“You’re with him?” she whispered, because surely not. Surely Nesta wouldn’t have married one of them. 

Some of Nesta’s hope slipped into steely regard. “We’re mates.”

“Oh, gods,” Elain mumbled. Were none of them safe? Would fate not free them of the faerie infestation even once? The winged man inched closer, dressed like a warrior while Nesta seemed more like a forest nymph. 

Nesta merely clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Unless you have other arrangements?”

“I…” Elain didn’t. “Where is Feyre?”

“Angry,” Nesta said, never once to mince words. 

“So are you.” She didn’t need the gift of foresight to know that.

“You—” Nesta took a deep inhale through flared nostrils. “You’re grieving and this isn’t the place for this conversation. Come back with us. Please.”

Elain realized she was right back where she’d started. She wanted to turn and run, and she knew Nesta wouldn’t chase her down. Even then, she knew Nesta had swallowed nearly all of her pride to come and wait on Elain.

“Alright.”

“That’s the spirit,” the male all but cheered. Nesta glanced over, some wordless exchange passing between them. It made Elain sick to see. It was simply unfair, a slap in the face. Elain let Nesta winnow her back to Velaris, dropping her in front of a little brick home in the entertainment district. 

“You can have the upstairs bedroom if you want,” Nesta told Elain as they stepped inside. It was spring, she realized—budding flowers had begun to burst through the soggy ground, still sleepy from a long winter. The air was cool and the promise of summer was just on the horizon. She’d forgotten how it all looked, how it felt—somehow Prythian was brighter, livelier, more wondrous than behind the boundary line where the wall had once stood. 

Inside, the house was well lived in. Books covered the full wall when Elain first came in, with more stacked up on a glass coffee table in front of dark furniture. A basket of blankets sat beside an unlit fireplace leading into a dining room and then kitchen. 

Up wide, wooden stairs were three bedrooms, the walls between holding portraits clearly painted by Feyre. There was Nesta in a long, amethyst gown beside the male in a fine black and silver tunic. They were looking at one another against a bright, mountainous backdrop. A wedding portrait, Elain supposed.

Another held Nesta flanked by two other women—one with cinnamon colored hair and bright, teal eyes and the other with dark hair and wings to match the males’s. They were grinning in matching leather armor, swords against their spines, the hilts peeking over slim shoulders, and ribbons tied around their foreheads.

The third, though, was Nesta standing beside a gangly boy with familiar, blue eyes and a shock of onyx hair. He looked just enough like Feyre to tell Elain she was an Aunt.

“That’s Nyx,” Nesta murmured, catching Elain staring. “He’s grown, now.”

“I suppose he would be,” Elain replied, unsure what to say to that. “Is that her only child?”

“For now,” Nesta told her, pushing open a door handle to a room overlooking the river. Her words were heavy with judgment—you’d know this if you hadn’t left—but unlike Gray, Elain had no regrets. It hadn’t been wasted time to her. It had been everything. 

Nesta left Elain in that room, door cracked as if she wanted to give Elain privacy without shutting her out entirely. A conversation was coming—one Elain wasn’t interested in having. Nesta was going to want more than an explanation. She’d want an apology. Contrition. And Elain simply couldn’t give her any of those things. More than that, Elain was alarmed by what had happened since she’d left.

Feyre had a grown son. Nesta was married. When she’d imagined her sisters, she’d often imagined them in similar situations to her own. Especially Nesta, who Elain had never once thought would end up with one of them. How had it happened, she wondered? Had she been forced? Pressured? 

A new, horrible thought occurred to Elain. Where was Lucien? How long before he learned what had happened and came sniffing back around as if nothing had happened? Elain’s heart raced at the thought. If it could happen to Nesta and her iron will, it could happen to Elain. She waited for Nesta to return—and she did, with food and the male who Elain remembered was named Cassian.

He was slated for death—she remembered that, too. Had she ever told him he was going to die? Elain didn’t remember anymore. 

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Nesta murmured as Elain pointedly stared out the window, not bothering to acknowledge either of them.

“We’re sorry…ah…” Cassian cleared his throat, obviously nervous. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

Elain didn’t say a word. 

They moved around beneath her, their words muffled by the floorboards. Morning turned to night before the sound of footsteps on the stairs betrayed Cassian and Nesta. They were going to bed and Elain had a small window to dart out before anyone realized she was gone.

It seemed like it took forever for them to fall asleep. Every time Elain would unfold her legs from beneath her, she’d hear Cassian’s quiet voice or Nesta’s feet soft on the landing between their rooms. Heart pounding, Elain would freeze until it got quiet again and begin counting to one thousand in her head.

Eventually, the moon hung high over Velaris and Cassian and Nesta settled. Elain was as quiet as she could manage, cringing when she stepped on a creaky board. Frozen on the steps, she waited for Nesta or Cassian to burst out, filled with accusations. She didn’t remember what kind of magic he had—reading minds, she thought? He’d know her plan, shoddily constructed as it was, immediately. And who knew what would happen to her then?

Admittedly, Elain didn’t really know what she’d do when she got to the docks. Maybe it was her grief-addled brain that caused her to purchase that ticket—or maybe it was the first smart thing she’d done since she’d been turned. Elain wanted—no, needed—to get far away from Prythian.

It wasn’t about being human anymore. That didn’t matter, not with Graysen dead and buried. Her memory had likely been erased in the few hours since she’d been chased out. What would they say about him, she wondered? His reputation would forever be tarnished—he’d been a faerie lover, after all. 

Elain was allowed on the ship long before it ever left port. She’d smiled and the standing officer had blinked, stepped out of her way, and allowed her into her stuffy, private cabin. Beneath the smell of salt and sweat, the faintest smell of sweet cinnamon filled her senses. Flopping on the bed, Elain closed her eyes and willed herself to smell only that—it reminded her of home, somehow. 

Wherever that was, anyway. It felt like several lifetimes had passed since she’d left the human lands though it had barely been a full day. She’d gone from the bed she’d slept in for nearly a century to her sister's home to this ship in quick succession. 

Was she even allowed to cry? She was alive, after all. Safe, too, for whatever that was worth. No one loved her anymore. And with Gray’s last words echoed in her mind Elain thought that, maybe, no one ever had. Not really. Not in the end.

Curling on her side, Elain dragged a lumpy pillow away from the scratched up headboard. It, too, smelled like cinnamon. Burying her face into the fabric, Elain cried anyway.

[mmvalentine]

Hi, it's CoN rhys and First Kiss anon, come to terrorise you with more weird promp requests😈haha. Okay so like no pressure at all lol, but would you consider maybe writing a Hades/Persephone type fic for Feysand? You're such a brilliant writer and I love all your fics. But seriously no pressure at all. Bye! 🖤

Hello sweet thing! I finally got inspired to start on this after reading @asteria-of-mars's latest masterpiece, and I have to say I'm enjoying it! I think you're my lucky charm anon because your other prompts First Fall and Fuck You, Feyre Darling are now two of my favourites. Anyway here's a soft and Gods inspired piece x

Pomegranate Part 1

Rhysand strolls through along the border of the Spring Court and gazes over the fields of flowers. Although he will always favour his own territory, even the Lord of Night has to admit that Spring is pretty.

It is twilight now and the dusk is settling in. The girl in the field notices Rhys watching her, and smiles shyly. He lifts a hand, and she walks over to him.

“Hello you,” she says. Her voice is soft and high, like falling petals, and it seems to reach right into Rhys.

“Hello little one,” he says back.

“I’ve seen you walking around here,” the girl tells him. “Do you come to see the wildflowers?”

“Yes,” Rhys replies, “although there is one particular blossom that is much more beautiful than the rest.” His eyes wander to the fresh bloom on her cheek, and he is not lying.

The girl drops her gaze as she smiles, and the loss of her blue-grey eyes is more than Rhys can bear. His hand darts out of its own accord, and gently lifts her chin.

“You have such stormy eyes, for a season so tranquil,” he says. She ignores him.

“I know who you are,” she tells him. “My father says to stay away from you.” Rhys’s brow furrows.

“Your father… did not like my father.” His face lightens. “Then again, I did not much like him either.” He grins, and the daughter of Spring tilts her head to one side to watch him. “And you?” he says. “What is your name?”

The girl feigns scandal. “What a question!” she says in mock horror. “Give you my name, so you might enchant me to follow you?” Rhys’s lips curl upward.

“I could just steal you away right now. No one would know.”

“My father would come after you.”

“How would he know it was me?”

“Because he didn’t like your father.”

Rhys’s eyes light. “But he might like me if he got to know me. Many find that they do.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

Rhys is grinning again now, despite himself. He puts his hands in his pockets.

“But you know my name?”

“Yes Rhysand, I do.”

“Mm. It sounds so good when you say it.”

“Well maybe I’ll have you follow me around.”

“I might do it anyway.”

“Still think my father might like you?”

“I’m not scared of old Tambourine.”

The girl giggles at that, and the sound of it rings in Rhys’s ears for minutes after.

“I’ll tell you what,” she says. “Come and see me tomorrow. If I spend a bit more time with you I might decide to trust you with my name.”

“Spend time with me now, I’m not doing anything.”

“Well I am,” she says. “Now go away and leave me be.”

“I don’t think I can leave my court two evenings in a row.”

“Then you’ll never know my name.”

“But that’s hardly fair!” Rhys protests. “You already know my name, should I not have something of yours?”

“Fine,” she says, and steps in close. Rhys barely has time to be surprised, before she stands up on her tip-toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Now you have something of mine too.”

And with that she wanders off, leaving Rhys standing in the field of flowers with his fingers on his face.

//

The next day, Rhys walks through the Spring field but didn’t see the girl. He thinks about the way that he had teased her, and wonders if she might have stayed home and laughed at him. Then something grabs his ankle, and he almost falls.

“Hello you,” the girl says. Rhys stares down at where she is lying amongst the long stems.

“My favourite flower,” he said. “I almost stepped on you.”

“The evening is warm, come and lie down with me.”

Rhys glances around, and finds the field empty again. He gets down on the ground and lays his long legs out beside her. Above them, the sky is peaches and cream.

“Why are we lying on the ground?” Rhys asks. The girl surprises him again by taking his hand and lacing her fingers through his.

“Because from here you can hear things growing in the earth,” she says. “Listen.”

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply. Rhys tries to listen too, but is distracted by the freckled serenity of her pale face in the stretching shadows.

“You’re not listening,” the girl scolds, without opening her eyes. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare? We hardly know each other.”

“But you’re holding my hand,” Rhys points out. Now she does look at him, and he could drown in the ocean of her eyes.

“I’m a child of Spring,” she says, and then gives him a smile so lovely his heart breaks. “And Spring is the season for love.” He falls for her, just a little, right then and there.

Rhys rolls onto his side, and brings his thumb to her lower lip without letting go of her hand.

“My court is Night,” he said. “No wonder we’re friends.”

The girl shoves Rhys lightly in the chest. “Night is for lust, not love,” she teases. “And we’re not friends yet.” She goes to pull her hand out of his, but Rhys catches it back and she lets him.

“Then tell me how I can be your friend.” The girl’s eyes sparkle.

“Visit me again,” she says. “My father is very… protective. And I am lonely.”

“I can do that.”

The girl picks up his other hand now. “Visit me everyday.”

Rhys laughed. “I’ll visit you every day, for a month. If you tell me your name.”

She frowns at his fingers, even as she strokes his knuckles.

“For six months,” she says.

“Two.”

“Five.”

“Three.”

“Four, and I’ll give you a kiss.”

Rhys grins at that. “Deal,” he says. He untangles his hand from hers, so he can slide it behind her hair and cup the back of her skull. The daughter of Spring looks up at him through lidded eyes.

“Your cheek, Rhys,” she whispers.

“But nights are for lust,” he says, and then kisses her open mouthed and hungrier than he meant to. She tastes of rosewater and sweet pear. The girl’s arms twine round his neck and pull him closer, and without thinking he rolls her on top of him. Her weight is delicious along the length of his body, and the evening breeze blows her honey hair across his face.

Finally, the girl pulls back and looks at him from above. He tucks a curl behind her ear, and she flicks his nose for taking more than she had offered. Rhys thinks she might tell him off, but instead, she just says, “Feyre. My name is Feyre.”

****

Read Part 2

PS Big time thanks to everyone who reblogged some of my fics after I asked for some extra love for them!!! I appreciate it so much and hope you enjoy this new thing. I reckon there might be... seven parts.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems

[theladyofdeath]

Life As We Know It {Chapter 8}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Shelby’s blogs! >> @snelbz​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Cassian didn’t have to go into the bar until noon, so until Viviane arrived for her first day at 11:30, it was just him and Nyx.

The sun was out, and Cassian intended to take full advantage of it. Nyx was in his stroller and Cassian was jogging down the side of the Sidra. He’d only had him for the last half hour.

After Cassian’s breakdown last night, Nesta had apparently decided to let Cassian sleep in. Before Nyx could even cry, Nesta had gotten him up, ready, and fed before she left for work that morning.

He was mortified that she’d had to see that, that he’d broken down in front of her like that. But there was so much of Rhys looking at him, all the time and he’d been holding it in for so long. And knowing that he hadn’t been able to figure out what Nyx needed was the final straw last night.

After Nesta had hugged him, he’d finally gotten the strength to pull himself together, and he pulled from her grasp. He’d noticed the dress she wore to go out then, showing just as much skin as that damn towel had, and had made an excuse about being exhausted. He’d shut himself in his room, staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep around two or three in the morning.

He wasn’t surprised she had barely wanted to see him this morning. She probably thought he was an irresponsible mess, probably figured she was better off taking care of Nyx on her own.

And maybe she was.

Nesta had some natural motherly instinct, just like Feyre and Elain had. It was an Archeron trait, Cassian had no doubt.

And although the Archeron sisters certainly hadn’t had a perfect upbringing, the three of them had always had each other.

Cassian couldn’t say the same.

His mom died young.

He’d never had a father.

Or siblings.

Or any other extended family.

He’d just had Rhysand and Azriel, and although fatherhood had come decently easy to both of them, Cassian couldn’t say the same for himself. He was the goofy, unpredictable uncle of the group, he was good in that role.

Not the ideal father figure.

Cassian picked up his speed.

Nyx giggled and threw his hands in the air. 

Regardless of his mood, he couldn’t help but smile down at him.

He loved this kid, and he knew that this kid loved him. He may not be his father, but he would do his damndest to make sure he knew how much he was loved. Every damn day.

*

Cassian had just gotten out of the shower and gotten dressed when he heard the doorbell chime.

Nyx was standing in his playpen, holding onto the padded railing when Cassian rushed to the door, throwing it open.

“Viviane, hey,” he said, opening it wide enough for her to step through. She gave him a polite smile and he shut the door behind her. “Okay, so Nyx is over there, Nesta left a note on the fridge with our cell numbers, the number for her restaurant, my bar, uh, his pediatrician-.”

Viviane laughed quietly and headed for the playpen. “I’ll call you if I need anything, but I’m sure this little dude is going to be an angel.”

She reached down and scooped him up and Nyx did nothing but beam up at her.

“He’s in good hands,” Viviane went on when she saw the worry in Cassian’s eyes.

“I know,” he smiled, although hesitantly. “Nesta will be home at four-thirty.”

“We’re going to have fun,” Viviane promised, and Nyx giggled.

Cassian took that as cue to leave and hurried out the door. It was stressful, leaving him for the first time, alone with someone they had only just met.

He found himself wondering if Rhysand or Feyre would approve.

He prayed they did.

When he got to the bar, Kallias was already there, making sure everything was ready for opening.

“You’re two minutes late, boss,” he teased.

Cassian snorted. “New nanny. Had a hard time leaving.”

Kallias raised a brow. “Hot nanny?” 

Cassian grinned as he came behind the bar. “Just your type, actually.” 

Before the conversation could deepen, Cassian seeing the intrigue in Kal’s eye, he was heading to the store room, grabbing a few bottles to keep within reaching distance when they undoubtedly got a little busy over lunch.

“I like hot nannies,” Kallias hollered. “It would be nice of you to share.”

Cassian snorted, heading back up towards the bar. He didn’t reply, shaking his head as he glanced at his friend, and he set about cutting and readying the garnishes for drinks.

With a dramatic sigh, far louder than it needed to be for Cass to hear him, Kallias began turning on the televisions around the room, two on different sports broadcasts and one on a local music channel.

Maybe he would set Kallias up with Viviane.

Even he had to admit…they’d make a pretty damn cute couple.

*

It was just before 4:30 when Nesta pushed open the front door, prepared to find the house thrown into chaos.

But, it was spotless, Nyx was sleeping, and Viviane was on the couch, reading a book. She looked up at Nesta and smiled.

“You’re home,” she whispered, even though Nyx wasn’t in the room. “He’s been down for about forty-five minutes. We played hard today. I think he’s worn out.”

Nesta blinked, carefully stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. “He was good?”

“Oh, he was great,” Viviane promised, standing up and closing her book with a bookmark placed neatly between it’s pages. “Although, his diaper rash is getting pretty bad. I changed him more often to try and keep him as dry and rash-creamed as possible. But, you may want to keep an eye out. I’ve seen worse, but you still may want to get a prescription from his doctor to help clear it up.”

Nesta hadn’t even noticed that Nyx had had a rash and chastised herself. “Yes. Absolutely, I’ll make him an appointment as soon as I can.”

Viviane smiled again, stopping to grab her purse where it sat by the floor of the couch and dropped her book inside. It was well loved, Nesta could tell, and for a moment, she considered asking what the pretty, young woman was reading.

And then she remembered who she’d been here alone with that morning.

Her eyes popped open. “Oh, gods, I hope Cassian was okay this morning. He’s not…always on his best behavior.”

Viviane brows bunched towards each other, confusion on her face. “I don’t follow?”

“I hope he didn’t say anything too inappropriate,” she rushed out. “He can be a bit much in the mornings, and-.”

“Oh, no, no,” Viviane interrupted, her crystalline eyes going wide. “No, he was an absolute gentleman. On good behavior.” She then added, “And please, don’t mistake my enthusiasm for this job, Nesta, I’m not interested in your husband or anything like-.”

It was Nesta’s turn to interrupt. “Husband?! No, no, Cassian isn’t my husband. Cauldron, no we just have to live together. He’s not even my boyfriend. I can barely stand the guy.”

Viviane hesitated. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed-.”

“It’s alright,” Nesta said, and knew her cheeks were red. “I could see how it would be easy to make that assumption.”

Viviane nodded and rocked back on her heels, uncomfortably. “Right, well...I’ll see you all tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” Nesta said, trying her best to give a convincing smile.

She knew she was failing.

Convincing smiles weren’t her specialty.

But, husband? As if she would ever marry a man like Cassian. They may have had a moment where they didn’t absolutely loathe each other the night before, but that’s only because he was having a complete mental breakdown.

Nesta may be a bitch, but she wouldn’t kick a man when he’s already down.

Well, at least not in that situation. In a different set of circumstances, perhaps she would. 

Viviane let herself out and Nesta said her goodbyes, and shook her head.

Husband.

Oh, fuck no.

After a quick call to Nyx’s pediatrician, and an appointment made for the following afternoon, Nesta set out to make dinner. Nothing too crazy, just a new recipe she’d been toying with at the restaurant and she needed an unbiased opinion - one from someone whom she didn’t employ - to give her an honest opinion. She knew Cassian would be at the bar until eight-thirty or nine, but the chicken salad would be better chilled anyways.

Or she thought it was. She’d have to ask what he thought about that.

She was halfway through chopping up the roast chicken she’d spiced and marinated all day when the monitor to her left let out a lonely cry. Washing her hands, Nesta was hurrying up the stairs and found Nyx standing in his crib. He immediately reached for her, those blue eyes still drowsy with sleep, but Nesta knew he needed to be changed as soon as she got within sniffing distance. Hopefully he’d be sleepy enough that he wouldn’t fight her on the diaper change.

“What did Cassian feed you for lunch, kiddo?” She asked, scrunching her nose as she unsnapped the onesie he wore, and swapped out his diaper for a clean one.

True to Viviane’s word, Nyx had developed a splotchy, red rash on his bottom. After setting Nyx up in a swing by the door, Nesta took a few minutes to Google what a normal case of diaper rash looked like. Afterwards, she had wiped her search history and was thankful she’d gone ahead and called the pediatrician’s office, especially considering they were now closed until the following morning.

She also had to figure out a way to thank Viviane for her suggestion. Nesta almost felt like she owed the girl an apology for her initial reaction to her, based on her assumptions of Cassian. Not that she had any idea how Nesta had felt, but she still felt bad.

She may know a few things about Cassian Nazari, but she knew nothing about Viviane, not yet. Nesta should really give her the benefit of the doubt.

Even though such a thing was not her specialty.

The second they walked into the kitchen, Nyx was crying and reaching toward the fridge. Nesta put him in his high chair, letting him cry it out as she fixed him supper.

In the meantime, she dumped a pile of strawberry puffs on his tray.

He was immediately stuffing them into his mouth.

“You know, I’ve tasted those and they’re not all that great,” Nesta said, preparing him a small bowl of sweet potatoes.

Nyx looked at her and held up a star-shaped puff. 

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, but thank you for the offer.”

Nesta finished her salad and put the rest in the fridge for Cassian to eat once he got home. After taking a seat, and placing her salad and Nyx’s potatoes on the table, she dug in.

It was, obviously, delicious.

Nyx even seemed to be enjoying his sweet potatoes, though, as always more ended up on his high chair’s tray than in his mouth.

“You have an art for making a mess, buddy,” she said, shaking her head as she lifted another spoonful of the sweet potatoes to his mouth.

He took the bite into his mouth, and sprayed most of it back out in a raspberry.

She raised an eyebrow, setting the bowl down in front of her. “You’re just playing at this point, aren’t you?”

To say yes, in fact, he was, Nyx smacked a chubby hand into the mushed up mix of puffs and sweet potato on his tray.

“That means it’s bath time and then bed time,” she mused, wiping as much of him down as she could. She decided to go ahead and ditch his smeared onesie in the laundry room, and carried a diapered Nyx up to the bathroom.

A mostly uneventful bath later, she discovered Viviane must have been telling the truth about playing hard today. Nyx had been asleep before she’d made it through the second page of his favorite book, his pacifier falling out of his full, little lips.

She gently laid him down in the crib, and tiptoed downstairs to flip through bad reality TV until Cassian got home.

She hated how much she had thought about Cassian throughout the day. For once, it wasn’t about his body. Instead, it was about the fact that he had spent five minutes in her arms the night before, sobbing. She wasn’t sure what to think.

Cassian had a rough exterior. 

He was known for his good looks and how many women those looks attracted. Since Nesta met him five years prior, there were only a handful of things she could say about Cassian.

He was beautiful, but that much was obvious.

He knew how to make beautiful instruments, which meant he was good with his hands.

Nesta would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about just how good he was with those hands.

Lastly, Cassian was cocky as hell. He was hot. He knew he was hot. And he had to convince everyone who didn’t think he was hot that he was hot.

But, one thing that Nesta hadn’t known about Cassian until the night before?

He cared.

He really, really cared.

And he was scared.

She had been willing to put aside their differences for Nyx. They’d come to that agreement when he’d begun to depend on them. But now, she wanted to make things work…for him. He was terrified of letting Rhys down, something she understood. Every time she thought of something she may have done wrong, all she could think about was how disappointed Feyre would be in her.

Except…she knew that wasn’t true. Just like she knew that Rhys would never be disappointed in Cassian. The fact that he’d stepped up, had been willing to care for Rhys and Feyre’s only child…

She just had to make sure Cassian believed it.

Nesta was half asleep on the couch when the door unlocked and opened, Cassian walking through. He blinked once upon seeing her, clearly not having expected her to be downstairs when he got home.

“Hey,” she said, stretching. “How was your day?”

He tossed his keys on the table by the door, looking around, pointedly not looking at her. “It was good. Where’s Nyx?”

“He’s been down since seven-thirty or so, Viviane did great today,” she said, watching him as he walked into the kitchen. “I owe you an apology. You were right, she’s good.”

She heard a grunt of acknowledgment as the fridge opened. He came back into the living room, shaking up a bottled protein shake and cracking it open.

“I made a roasted chicken salad,” she said. “I put leftovers in the fridge for you.” “That’s okay,” he said, voice low. “You can take it to work with you tomorrow. Don’t want to take your food.”

Nesta blinked. “I put it in the fridge for you-.”

“I’m tired,” he said, heading toward the stairs. “Night.”

Nesta’s mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “I’m sorry, what?”

Cassian stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked over his shoulder. “What?”

I made you dinner. I stayed up to make sure you were alright. “Nothing. Just didn’t realize you were so insistent on being an asshole this evening.”

“An asshole?” he repeated. “I just got home, I’m tired, and now I’m an asshole?” 

Nesta just shook her head, falling back on the couch. “Nevermind. Goodnight.” 

Cassian just stood there, looking half like he wanted to go upstairs and half like he wanted to chuck the half-empty bottle at the back of her head. He’d already had a long, horrible day full of shitty, rude customers. He hadn’t even realized it was nearing Spring Break until the underage kids with shitty, fake ID’s had descended on the bar today. The amount of customers he had to turn away since they were practically children possibly outweighed the actual customers he and Kal had served.

He’d also had Nesta on his mind all day, on the pity she had to feel for him after he lost it the night before. The fact that she made him dinner was just proof of it, that he was right.

“You didn’t need to make me dinner,” he said, staring at the wall behind her head. “I can take care of myself, alright?”

Nesta’s eyes were closed, her arms crossed as she laid back on the couch. “I didn’t say that you couldn’t.”

“Just because I lost it for a minute last night, doesn’t mean that I’m helpless,” Cassian went on. “I’m just as capable of taking care of Nyx, of being a grown ass adult, as you are.”

Nesta’s eyes opened, then, and she slowly looked over to him. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, simply.

“Really?” Nesta asked. “Because you’re acting like a gods damned child right now.”

Cassian snorted as he shook his head. “I don’t have the patience for you tonight. Goodnight.”

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Nesta snapped.

“It’s all you think I’m good for, so I guess I may as well act like it, too,” he called out, not turning back to look at her.

The words struck her, made her feel two feet tall, especially considering how she’d begun to regard him instead. But she wasn’t able to stop the bite of her words as she snapped, “Oh, fuck you.”

Cassian didn’t say a word as he topped the stairs and headed down the hall.

She almost wished he’d slammed the door, almost wished he’d made a spectacle of being angry and shutting her out again, after what she’d thought may have been progress the night before. 

It was almost that much worse that his door shut with a soft click.

[helion-ism]

let’s talk about elucien

there are so many reasons why I love elain x lucien and why I think these two would not only be amazing together, but also why they belong together. one of those reasons is lucien’s sassy personality, which we already got a glimpse of in acotar (and that I miss terribly btw), and which is, in my opinion, exactly what elain needs in her life. we’re talking about lucien “your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold” vanserra. we know he’s got quite a big mouth, that’s how we got to know him, but we also know that mouth is exactly what’s gotten him into trouble before. case in point: the eye incident. lucien doesn’t mince his words and yes, that is one of the reasons why elain really needs to spend some more time with him. 

she has been coddled by not only her father, nesta, feyre, but also the entire inner circle, which has allowed her to live her life passively. yes, she killed the king of hybern, and good for her, but she did it because nobody else could have done it at that point in time. ever since the war ended, elain has not actively contributed to any plot matters, whether by choice or because someone else took the choice from her. azriel said in acosf, “there is an innate darkness to the dread trove that elain should not be exposed to.” even amren pointed out that elain is capable of defending herself, but for some reason, nobody let her even though elain said she would try to find it: “then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” and yet,  by the end of the book, elain’s been barely in it and has not contributed at all. (I know some people claim there’s certain things already happening in the background, but honestly, I’m not satisfied with that development happening off page, so I can’t wait to finally go on her journey and actually see her do stuff)

this moment is crucial:

does it look like she is happy with the way the others treat her? not really. when nesta snapped at her, elain started laughing. that signals relief to me because nesta, the one who has always tried to protect elain the most (nesta baby Ilysm), is the one who suddenly lost her patience. elain needs somebody like lucien, somebody with a big mouth and sassy attitude, who can coax her out of that paralysis she’s been stuck in, a bit like nesta in this scene. additionally, the banter would be top tier. I want another “if I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?” moment, please. god please. (elain blinks. “and where would you like that kiss?” — and lucien just loses his mind.)

another thing that lives in my head rent free is the fact that lucien has travelled almost everywhere and could introduce elain, who wishes to see more of the world (see: “elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers”), to the different courts and the continent. I refuse to accept that we will not get to learn more about the other courts, for my sake, but also for elain’s sake. I want her to see the spring court at least once. I want her to go and see those tulips she’s dreamt of. I want her and lucien to discover the day court as a new home, which brings me to the next point. 

elain has been craving sunshine for some time now. there’s several quotes that emphasise her connection to sunshine/light, here are a few of my favourites: 

I marveled at it, actually — that those years of poverty hadn‘t stripped away that light from elain.

the suite was filled with sunlight. every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. as if any bit of darkness was abhorrent.

she had been always so full of light. perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. to fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. and now nothing remained.

what can I get you, elain? — sunshine.

elain doesn’t belong into the night court. feyre has found her family there, with rhys and the inner circle. nesta has found (or should I say accepted) cassian and found gwyn and emerie, her chosen sisters. but elain?

elain is somewhere in the background hiding with the twins and tending to gardens of the citizens of velaris. you can’t tell me that is satisfactory to you. she is currently ignoring her seer abilities, and the members of the inner circle are basically encouraging her to do so. the only time she’s been confronted lately was during that conversation with nesta and her reaction was not exactly what any of us readers would have expected, was it? that tells me there’s much more about her we don’t know yet, and I’m convinced we won’t know until she finally leaves and finds her own people, finds herself again and start dealing with everything that happened to her. elain must leave the night court, i.e. the darkness, behind in order to grow.

the same goes to lucien: he’s not at a place where he can just jump into a relationship or mating bond. he’s got so much stuff going on. lucien was forced to abandon his home and his abusive family, his “father” killed the fae he loved in front of his eyes, his best friend is an abusive pos who never appreciated him anyway, and neither has anyone in the night court. lucien is used because of his connections and because of the mating bond that ties him to elain, whether he wanted it or not. feyre knows he would never turn away from elain unless she explicitly wishes him to, and so she and rhys and the others use that to their advantage. it is smart, of course, but at the same time, they also keep important information about his own life from him that could change many, many things. so he’s spending his time with mortals in the human lands — a place where he as a fae really does not belong. 

lucien being the heir to the day court, well, to me, it feels like sjm is practically screaming it into our face: how could he find a home in the night court, the literal opposite to the day? darkness vs. light. and what about elain “he’d never once in the two years he’d known her found elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … it sucked the life from her” archeron? just looking at the symbolism, not only do the quotes from above indicate that the night court cannot possibly be her home, but also very recent quotes from the latest book. elain is a side character in the night court. and so is lucien. they both need to leave in order to become main characters — and it doesn’t even matter that both are already crucial to the further plot of the series because how can they possibly contribute to it in a place where they are both kept down? 

mor said in acofas: “stay out of it. she’s not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings.” and “let him figure out where he wants to be. who he wants to be. the same goes with her.” mor’s power is “truth”, whatever that means. but there you have it. they’re not ready to be with each other yet, and that’s okay. 

[elain and lucien are also connected not only because of the mating bond, but also because of the plot. lucien must know quite a lot about her and her sisters simply because of all the time he spent with their father. the father who made a bargain with koschei. koschei who put a spell on vassa. lucien is therefore tied to both papa archeron as well as koschei and vassa. elain, we know, is a seer, despite her not using her abilities (or is she, and we simply don’t know?). elain is (obviously) connected to her father, but also to koschei and vassa (remember those visions she had).]

now let’s get to the mating bond stuff, and I need to say this loud and clear: elain has always had and will always have one (1) true mate. there’s no such thing as “false mate” or even multiple mates. there has been no indication whatsoever. lucien is the mate the cauldron had given her when she was born. and elain is the mate the cauldron had given him when he was born. even when she was still human, they already belonged together — tied together by strings of fate. absolutely nothing will change this fact. should elain reject the bond, lucien will remain a part of her life/her soul forever. should lucien reject the bond, elain will remain a part of his life/his soul forever.

when she was still human, lucien had already felt a pull between them and tried to save and protect her from hybern. when elain was already fae, when it came to protecting her, azriel clapped cassian’s shoulder and left (is this the true mate they’re all talking about?). it’s unfair to lucien, elain, AND azriel and this comparison alone is enough to disprove this theory.

the thing is, lucien has been nothing but respectful, kind and caring towards elain. when he arrived in velaris in acowar, he could immediately sense what she needed and said, “she needs fresh air” (vs. the response “we’ll judge what she needs”) and “take her to the sea. take her to some garden. but get her out of this house for an hour or two.” (I’m gonna make another post about this because I have a few thoughts on this)

of course, she doesn’t owe him anything, but elain herself doesn’t wish to be treated like a child, she maybe she should start acting like an adult because although she doesn’t owe lucien an apology or explanation, she has to have a conversation with him, like two responsible adults. there is no way feyre or anyone in the inner circle hasn’t told her that she can reject the bond and move on with her life. but just like her powers, this is another thing she chooses to ignore. I’m not blaming her because I know she has to work through her trauma first and heal, but by the end of the series, she has to acknowledge that at least.

in acosf, elain says “I am not a child to be fought over” when they discuss the dread trove. I wonder what she would say about the fact azriel threatens to challenge lucien to the blood duel because of her? based on literally everything we know about lucien, I can say with certainty that he would not physically fight over elain. if she only had a conversation with him and told him to move on and leave her alone, lucien would do just that. he would leave her alone and try to move on as best as he could (which we know is difficult for males). but he would never act as entitled to her as to demand a blood duel and fight to death. it goes against his principles. 

to finish this off, sjm summing up everything I just said:

[nestasgalpal]

Consequences

Fixing ACOSF Part 3

Masterlist | AO3

Summary: Nesta tells Feyre what the baby’ll do to her when she gives birth and regrets it as soon as the words leave her mouth.  This chapter is a long one and it’s all about being sisters.They would die and kill for each other, we know that, that was never doubted, but where is the scene where they talk like real sisters? Here.

Tagging:  @gwynriel @rhaenystargaryn @clolikescloquetas @amelievrstr  @t8astr8ng @wanderlustlastsforever @saltydreamcollector @lordlorcan @esrahiba @queenestarcheron @ko0mbayamylord  @jemstan300 @nessiantrashh​ @mothergwyn @poisonus-bloom @loveadora @frosted-crackers  @mireillemystique @pataytayo @968sunflower968 @caram267

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!!

The next part will be Cassian’s pov from this chapter, which was in the book. I’ve said this already, but my intention is that you can simply pick this rewrite and exchange it with the one in the book and still have all the events before and after match, so I think rewriting his pov is necessary for consistency. That’s also why Nesta is still feeling lost by the end of this: that’s how she felt until they went to the lake.

Nesta snarled, but Feyre stepped between them, hands raised. “This conversation ends now. Nesta, go back to the House. Amren, you …” She hesitated, as if considering the wisdom of ordering Amren around. Feyre finished carefully, “You stay here.”

Nesta let out a low laugh. “You are her High Lady. You don’t need to cater to her. Not when she now has less power than any of you.”

Feyre’s eyes blazed. “Amren is my friend, and has been a member of this court for centuries. I offer her respect.”

“Is it respect that she offers you?” Nesta spat. “Is it respect that your mate offers you?”

Feyre went still.

Amren warned, “Don’t you say one more fucking word , Nesta Archeron.”

Feyre asked, “What do you mean?”

And Nesta didn’t care. Couldn’t think around the roaring. “Have any of them told you, their respected High Lady, that the babe in your womb will kill you?”

Amren barked, “Shut your mouth!”

But her order was confirmation enough. Face paling, Feyre whispered again, “What do you mean?”

“The wings,” Nesta seethed. “The boy’s Illyrian wings will get stuck in your Fae body during the labor, and it will kill you both.”

Silence rippled through the room, the world.

Feyre breathed, “Madja just said the labor would be risky. But the Bone Carver … The son he showed me didn’t have wings.” Her voice broke. “Did he only show me what I wanted to see?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta said. “But I do know that your mate ordered everyone not to inform you of the truth.” She turned to Amren. “Did you all vote on that, too? Did you talk about her, judge her, and deem her unworthy of the truth? What was your vote, Amren? To let Feyre die in ignorance? Or maybe he simply gave the order and you all obeyed your High Lord’s command, dismissing the new High Lady” Before Amren could reply, Nesta turned back to her sister. “Didn’t you question why your precious, perfect Rhysand has been a moody bastard for weeks? Because he knows you will die. He knows, and yet he still didn’t tell you.”

Feyre began shaking. “If I die …” Her gaze drifted to one of her tattooed arms. She lifted her head, eyes bright with tears as she asked Amren, “You … all of you knew this?”

Amren threw a withering glare in Nesta’s direction, but said, “We did not wish to alarm you. Fear can be as deadly as any physical threat.”

“Rhys knew?” Tears spilled down Feyre’s cheeks, smearing the paint splattered there. “About the threat to our lives?” She peered down at herself, at the tattooed hand cradling her abdomen.

And Nesta knew then that she had not once in her life been loved by her mother as much as Feyre already loved the boy growing within her. It broke something in Nesta—broke that rage, that roaring—seeing those tears begin to fall, the fear crumpling Feyre’s paint-smeared face.

She had gone too far. She … Oh, gods.

Amren said, “I think it is best, girl, if you speak to Rhysand about this.”

Nesta couldn’t bear it—the pain and fear and love on Feyre’s face as she caressed her stomach.

Amren growled at Nesta, “I hope you’re content now.”

Nesta didn’t respond. Didn’t know what to say or do with herself. “Don’t talk to my sister like that” Feyre snarled, the sorrow so obvious in her voice that the only thing Nesta could do was turn on her heel and ran from the apartment.

Nesta run down to the street, but she didn’t even know where to go. Feyre’s steps resonated behind her. Nesta could hear her voice calling her, too, but she muted the sound in her head.

She wanted to disappear, to stop existing, that’s what she wanted to do.

Then she heard the pair of wings in the air, aiming towards her in such speed that frightened her a little. Cassian was above her, barely five feet from where she was, but Feyre gripped her arm before he could land, and they vanished.

Nesta had never been to Feyre’s studio, but recognized the space immediatly. She had never been invited, and she had never wanted to go. Nesta didn’t like being in places where she wasn’t welcomed. There were chairs and half painted canvases forming a circle around the center of the room, so Nesta deduced her sister had been in the middle of a class. There was a couch against the back wall, and that’s where Feyre collapsed and started crying her heart out. Nesta aimed for the floor, not daring to sit in the beautiful piece of furniture.

Nesta didn’t ask why she had brought them there, why she had run after her, reaching for her arm before Cassian could.

Feyre didn’t explain either

Her head rested in her sister’s lap, and she joined her in her crying. Feyre’s was loud, unhinged, while Nesta’s was silent. What had she done? How had she allowed herself to go so far?

Nesta wanted to speak, to tell Feyre that she was sorry, but no apology could make up for the words that had already been said. No apology would prevent her from dying when the time came.

Nesta’s heart shattered. Listening to her sister was too much. She had endured her own weeping, the tears that had adorned her cheeks so many nights until she fell asleep, but to hear Feyre… to know she was the one responsible… Nesta hated herself.

For how long they were like that, she didn’t know. At some point, they both run out of tears, their hands together, their fingers interlaced. Nesta caressed Feyre’s palm until her sobbing was completely gone, pressing soft kisses to the inked back of her hand. She couldn’t recall a time when they had ever been like this, this calm, this close to one another. Alone and without fighting.

It was Feyre the who broke the silence.

“I can’t believe he hid something like this from me,” she muttered, her voice so weak Nesta almost couldn’t understand what she was saying.

She raised her head from her sister’s lap to meet her gaze. Her own eyes stared back, mirroring her pain. “I’m sorry”

“For what?” Feyre’s question was not innocent. She was mad at her too.

Nesta didn’t care for Rhysand and his wrath in that moment. She only cared about her sister and the damage she had done to her. She wanted Feyre to know how much she regretted it, bout still didn’t know how to put her thoughts into words. “For telling you.”

“I forgive you” Feyre tried to smile, but her mouth only twitched, a sobbing coming out again. “I’m glad you told me. I needed to know.”

“You shouldn’t. I certainly won’t forgive myself” She was desperate to tint her words with the mess of feelings tangling in her heart, but she didn’t know how. She hadn’t really done this before. She had regretted things, but she had never asked for forgiveness. Not once.

She was glad Feyre was the first one.

“I still forgive you” Her sister’s words were kind. Too kind. It was Nesta’s turn to become a crying mess, tears running down her face again. Feyre rose from the couch, not letting their hands part, holding tight to her sister. She found a place to sit next to Nesta, and hugged her.

“Then I’m sorry for everything else” Nesta murmured.

“It’s okay. I forgive you for that too”

“He will never forgive me”

Feyre took Nesta’s face between her tattooed hands. Her grip was firm, but her body was still trembling. Nesta didn’t want to look at her, but she did it anyway. There was no more hiding “You don’t need his forgiveness. This is not a punishment, Nesta.” Her voice broke, but they both waited for her to find her words back. There was no rush, only understanding “This was not a punishment. I wanted to help you, I really did, but I didn’t know how.”

Nesta shifted, changing her posture to face Feyre better. She still hadn’t let her face go. “I thought you wanted revenge.”

“I never meant to hurt you… to lock you up and take away your choices”. Nesta recognized the words she had once said to Morrigan; the only time she had verbalized to anyone how her sister's actions felt. The blond one had talked to Feyre about their encounter, apparently. Nesta pushed the inked hands that framed her face away and took Feyre’s body in her arms abruptly. She didn’t resist, only moved her arms to go around Nesta’s waist “I only wanted my sister back” she whined.

She understood. Nesta understood. She wanted her family back, too. But a war had happened, and she still doubted she would ever be adjusted enough to be herself again. She didn’t say it, but she knew, somehow, that Feyre understood that too.

Like war drums, the sound of two pairs of wings coming closer made both of them shift in each other’s arms. Through the walls of the studio, only her fae senses made it possible for her to hear the sound they made. Her arms remained wrapping Feyre’s body, her sister still like a statue.

Rhysand and Cassian.

They landed outside, their presences obvious to both sisters.

“I know it will take time for them to listen to me as they listen to him, but I also know they are trying. They are my friends, Nesta, don’t be mad at them” Feyre moved, loosening her grip on Nesta, so she did the same to leave her more space. Feyre rose to her feet. “They’ve been together for over 500 years.” She reached her hand and Nesta took it, getting up as well. The sisters faced each other “What I need, Nesta, if for you and Elain to be there for me too when I can’t resort to them. I know I’ve claimed them as my family… they are my family now, but so are you. I need you. I need my older sister” Feyre’s eyes were glassy, but her gaze burned with fire. Determination.

Nesta forced herself to hold her stare. She wished she could be there. She wanted to, but she didn’t have the strength. She was too lost.

“I will never fit in that perfect family you seek. Doesn’t matter how bad you want it, Feyre, it just can’t be. I’ll never be one of you.”

“You could...”

“But I don’t think I want to” Feyre didn’t say a word, she just listened to her “I don’t know if they can be a family for me”. Nesta wished she could, but it wasn’t just on her end. They didn’t want her either. Morrigan would have sent her to the Mortal Lands. They would get rid of her, if it wasn’t for Feyre shielding her.

You are a waste of life, Amren had told her once.

Nesta was not doing all of this on purpose. She wanted to have her life back more than anyone, but she didn’t know the way. “You can’t control people’s lives, Feyre. Even if you are doing it from a place of love. I wish I could tell you that there is a way, that I’m going to be there for you, but I don’t know if I can promise you that.”

Feyre finally sat back on the couch. She was pregnant, she must be exhausted. Her blue-ish eyes were caught up on the window, the view of the Sidra. Nesta didn’t sit by her side.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when we were younger. If I could go back now, I know what I would change. But I don’t know how to change the past, and I don’t know how to fix the future.”

Nesta didn’t know what else to say. She was sorry. Feyre was sorry too. Yet all their problems remained. Nesta wanted to die, to stop existing, and Feyre wanted her happy and by her side. She knew Feyre would give in, she would always give in if Nesta just asked her to, but she didn’t even know what to ask for. There was no solution for her, no future.

Nesta didn’t have tears left to fill her eyes. She didn’t know how to fix herself, her terrible impulse to hurt others, her high walls. She didn’t know and she didn’t want to find out anymore.

When she stayed close to the people she loved, they were hurt. But when she put distance between them, they still suffered.

She was the problem.

“I will live. And so will my baby. And so will you” Feyre’s words were the sentence of a High Lady, they were not up for discussion. Her sister had grown too much and too fast. She was far from perfect, but she was giving her all to become the ruler her Court needed. One day, she would be. “Run away, take your time if that’s what you need. Come to my house, we’ll kick Rhysand to a guest room so you can sleep in my bed when you have a nightmare. I don’t care. I won’t give up on you.”

It didn’t matter, Nesta had given up on herself.

“You don’t have to fit in the Inner Circle, you know?” She added, her eyes still fixed on the river beyond the glass windows. “You don’t have to be part of the Court. You can just be my sister. You can come see your nephew when he is born, help me teach him how to read, dance…” Not even Nesta’s inner demons could stop the smile that formed on her lips at the image her sister described. She would like to have a nephew.

Feyre saw her face, the trembling lips, swollen, the smile in them. She was smiling too, thought it was a sad grin.

“I haven’t forgotten what you said to me when I came back from Tamlin’s state. Any of it.” Nesta hadn’t forgotten either, the memory of herself encouraging her little sister to go back to the Wall to save her beloved. She had been a fool. That was just another point in the large list of times when she had failed her “You wanted to leave father’s state to him and Elain, and you wanted to see the world. Not what I expected, from someone who had spent her entire life revolving around marriage as the basis for a future.”

Nesta shifted on her feet, eager to understand what her sister’s point was.

“You don’t need to be a lady or a queen without a throne of anything at all. Just take your time, find out who you want to be when every possibility is within your reach. We’ll be waiting for you, whenever you are ready to come back. You’ll always fit in my family, Nesta. And it would be an honor for me to fit in yours.”

There was a knock on the door. An impatient hand moving on the wood to drive their attention.

The door didn’t open for them.

They had been waiting out there for a while, and without seeing him, Nesta could tell Cassian was nervous like a caged animal. Rhysand hadn’t moved, he remained perfectly still, waiting for his mate to go meet him whenever she wanted to.

“I asked Cassian to come” She didn’t mention her husband, why he was there “I’ll take us to the river house if you want to be there from now on. He can take you to the House of Wind, too, if that’s where you want to go.” Nesta dipped into the slightest nod, ready to go out and find Cassian mad at her, but still willing to take her back to her room and wait until he made sure she was okay. She wanted to be alone, but she liked how being alone together felt. Just as her sister, Cassian couldn’t let go of her. She hated it, and she had a feeling that he hated it too. He was out there, with Rhysand… “But there is a third option…”

Nesta waited for her sister to go on. Where else could she go? There wasn’t a place for her. There had never been.

“It was actually Cassian’s idea. He thought you might use a little time outside. You can go together to the Illyrian-”

“I’m not going back to that village” Nesta was not going to the camps. Not all of this again…

Nesta started building up her walls again. Feyre kept her cool. The crying mess she had been a while ago, completely gone, a confident woman replacing her; a High Lady in the making. “I was gonna say Illyrian Mountains. As in actual mountains. You’ll go hiking, I don’t know what he has planned exactly. To talk to him, if you want to.”

Nesta relaxed her back, but kept her posture straight.

“I could give that a try.” she answered. If there was an option where she went out of Velaris, she was taking it.

A smile threatened to form in Feyre’s lips, but she retained it, knowing that Nesta wouldn’t like the expression of victory on her face. Nesta had already seen the corner of her lips move, but pretended she hadn’t. Feyre had a lot to learn about keeping a blank face. She hoped one day she would be in conditions to teach her.

“Your mate is outside” Nesta said, her tone casual, her words heavy like stone.

“He is” Nesta could read her sister like an open book. She was eager to see him again, scared, angry.

She gave her little sister’s hand a tug. “Let’s go see what he has to say.”

Nesta couldn’t yet find a way to help herself, but she was going to face Rhysand, his anger, and she was going to come out on top. She was going to do it for herself, but also for Feyre, who needed her biggest sister having her back.