#elain and the threads of creation

[wingedblooms]

Language of creation

This post synthesizes the potential forms Elain’s magic might take in her story because of her connection to Wyrd’s original power, creation.

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Farseeing and Benevolent Wyrd

Farseeing and benevolent Wyrd is the higher force in the Maasverse. She is described as a mother to all and a cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Over time, she became known as a goddess but is actually a force that governs worlds. Very few depictions of her exist because she, like fate, often shifts form. The one consistent depiction we see of her is a bowl held by female hands. Sometimes the full female figure is shown. This depiction appears in the Spring Court (acotar), Night Court (acosf), and the Bone Quarter (hofas). She is referenced across worlds in different terms (Wyrd; Urd; Mother, Cauldron, Fate/Forces That Be; and I suspect we’ll discover Chaos is yet another one of her names. I use them interchangeably for this reason).

There is still debate in the fandom on whether Wyrd (the Cauldron) is separate from the Mother. The Cauldron (Wyrd) is described as a mother to all and a dark womb, and we know life blossoms from her in female hands, so I lean more toward these terms describing different parts of one consciousness. And the female form in her depictions represent female vessels, or bearers, of her creative powers (and I know others, including @offtorivendell, suspect the same) rather than a goddess.

In acowar, we learn that three stones represent the three faces of the Mother (Wyrd) in scrying. It would make sense for these three faces to describe the three parts of her identity: Cauldron and Mother and Fate/Forces. She is a literal Stone Mother (Cauldron) that breaks into three pieces like a blossom unfurling. Her power birthed the world (Mother), and she moves like a force through the universe to maintain order (Fate) in a grand tapestry.

Mountains, objects, and females can bear her power. There are three sacred sister peaks and the one in the heart of the Night Court (Ramiel) was depicted as bearing Wyrd. The priestesses’ invoking stones are said to bear her healing power. And the three Archeron sisters, two of which were reforged in her dark womb, represent her three faces in the flesh. Like the peaks and stones, the Archeron sisters function as vessels and can channel Wyrd’s power. Feyre puts her hands directly on the Cauldron and calls to mind the image of life flowing from Wyrd in Spring. Nesta calls upon the Mother, the Cauldron to help her master death and save her family. To follow the pattern, we’ll probably see Elain use Wyrd’s power for rebirth. Life and death and rebirth.

Among her sisters, Elain is especially connected to Wyrd. It gave her such powers and her Wyrdcrown (my word, not Sarah’s) reflects Wyrd’s blossoming imagery and power: sleeping buds among leaves and thorns. I’ve wondered before if she has direct access to Wyrd’s secret language (creation), which could manifest in different ways.

Elain senses the threads of creation around her

When she was first Made, it seemed as though Elain experienced sensory overload and didn’t know how to control it. She struggled to distinguish dream from reality and sensed life (earthworms, heartbeats, etc.) around her. Like @silverlinedeyes and @offtorivendell, it made me wonder if she could sense creation differently. Does creation sound like a song, every creature possessing their own unique melody that she can hear and respond to, as @silverlinedeyes and @offtorivendell suggested long ago? What might she see when her doe eyes land on them - vibrant threads of life that flow across time and space? Can she influence those threads and weave new possibilities in Wyrd’s grand tapestry? Is that why she needed to be present to learn about the living thread of Hope within the Void?

Elain as a weaver of the threads of creation

Blossoming with life—@willowmeres, @offtorivendell, and I have wondered if Elain has a deep connection to the land like those with earth magic, allowing her to sense channels of energy (threads of life) and feel discomfort when those channels are warped, like they might be in thin places (e.g., Hewn City). As a gardener, it would make sense for her to play a key role in freeing the magic of the land in those places and weaving new life—blossoms, vines, trees—into the earth’s tapestry.

Farseeing—We know that Elain is farseeing like Wyrd, but how far, exactly? If trained, can she pluck a thread and unravel a creature’s past, present, and future? Understand their secrets on sight like Baba Yellowlegs? Influence their fate, as she seems to do from the shadows? Feyre suggests Elain might hear the whisperings of Wyrd in her murky realm, which I’ve theorized is a direct pathway to Wyrd’s dark womb, the Cauldron. She seems to be able to use this connection to locate living creatures (like the Suriel) who travel as swiftly as the wind, without any formal training. As she wanders with Wyrd, will she need something, say a grounding ritual at dawn, to keep her tethered to the earth?

Traveling like a force—Elain repeatedly appears suddenly and surprises her family. Has she just learned how to use light and shadow to her advantage from her friends, or does she possess the power to winnow? Winnow derives from the Old English word for wind and can be used to describe the movement of the wind (or bird wings in flight 👀). It makes sense that the ability to winnow in acotar allows characters to travel like an unseen force, like the wind, like…Wyrd. It’s no coincidence Elain’s first question to Azriel yielded information on Illyrians hearing the song of the wind, and characters connected to Elain—Azriel, Nuala, Cerridwen, and Lucien—possess the ability to travel fluidly. Three of them also have fluid forms.

Shifting form—Wyrd is notoriously hard to depict because she continually shifts form. Even before we learn this in CC, it is demonstrated in the acotar series. Wyrd slithers like a snake when she steals Elain from camp and shifts into different creatures during the final battle when Feyre is connected to her through a direct, living bond. She soars through the battlefield like a bird, skims the ground like an insect above a pond, and creeps along like a hound at Nesta’s side. (As an aside, I think the bones in scrying might represent different animal forms of creation; another nod to Wyrd.) The most interesting part about this scene, though, is that when Feyre begs Wyrd for help, it is Elain—not Wyrd—who appears out of nowhere and answers her call, reinforcing the link between Wyrd and Elain. Elain is also associated with an animal form, one that is linked to rebirth: the lovely fawn. The Suriel saw her doe eyes peering at it from across the world. Like Wyrd, does she travel in animal form in her sight? Is it possible Elain can learn how to weave different forms in reality, like Dorian, with her powers? That might explain why she asked Amren so pointedly about changing forms over dinner in acofas.

Healing—Wyrd’s power is connected to healing (rebirth). In tod, we learned that raw healing magic is pure life and most associated with the dawn. The Dawn Court in acotar is also known for powerful healing. And while we witnessed a dusk service in Lady Death’s story, we have yet to see what the priestesses in the Night Court do at dawn (groundings 🤞). Elain is consistently compared to the loveliness of dawn and glows like it in the dead of night. Will this association remain figurative? Or will we see Elain, like her sisters, channel Wyrd’s healing magic? Perhaps we will see her use healing magic to unbind Wyrd and the land since those with raw healing magic can unbind the very fabric of life, of worlds.

Wyrd’s creative magic appears to be fluid and interconnected, so if our gardener is as connected to her mighty power as we’ve been led to believe, it would make sense for her to be able to use it fluidly in her story as well.

[bright-side20]

HOFAS SPOILER (concerning the Cauldron)

_First let's go back to Rhys's explanation of the mating bonds:

“What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

It is clearly stated that the bond can be decided by fate, the mother, or the cauldron.

“There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some … preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.” A smile at me—at the rareness, perhaps, of what we had'.…' Many mated pairs will try to make it work, believing the Cauldron selected them for a reason. Only years later will they realize that perhaps the pairing was not ideal in spirit.”

There are bonds only to provide the strongest offspring, like Rhys's parents or Tamlin's parents bond and there are rare bonds of true paired souls like Feysand and Nessian bond.

HOFAS:

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the daglan captured it and used their power to twist it. To turn it into something more lethal. No longer a tool of creation, but of destruction.

An explanation by a Daglan:

We gathered our power and imbued these gifts in the Cauldron, so that it would work our will. With this, the treasures were made. And then we connected the essence of the Cauldron to the soul of this world. Destroy the Cauldron and you destroy this world. One cannot exists without another.

The Cauldron was turned by the Daglan to serve their agenda, and they connected it to Prythian in a way that if anyone tries to destroy it, Prythian will be destroyed as well.

_Now, let's get an idea about the Asteri's aka Daglan breeding system:

Celestina only said, “He departs tomorrow. I shall visit his keep next month if there is not … a change in my situation by then.”If she hadn’t gotten pregnant.

Hunt nodded, even as disgust and rage curled through him. The Asteri had ordered this, done this. They’d make Celestina keep going to Ephraim until she was pregnant with the child they wanted her to bear. Another little Archangel for them to mold into a monster.

Doesn't it sound like 'producing strong' offspring, 'natural function'?

What if the Asteri back in Prythian manipulated the cauldron to create mating bonds, knowing the importance of it for the Fae, so they could benefit from their children and manipulate them?

I don't know why antis kept accusing Elriels of spreading misinformation, considering our conclusions are based on what's written in the books.

The Cauldron literally operates under Daglan's system, so it can't be trusted; indeed, it is not a perfect matching system.

_Let's get back to these important scenes:

"If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”.... “The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

Madja here is clearly addressing the real meeting bond—the one of paired souls.

Lucien:

“There’s a bond—it’s a real thread,” he said, more to himself than us. .... “And I got to Elain’s end of it when she ran off.” “Did you sense anything?” “No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but …” A blush stained his cheek. Whatever he’d felt, it wasn’t what we were looking for. Even if we had no idea what, precisely, that was.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

Azriel :

“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

I think this was foreshadowing. Even though a bond exists between them, Lucien wasn't able to sense the change in Elain, while Azriel managed to discern it.

What if the Cauldron's bond between Lucien and Elain, described as 'a thread tied to a rib,' is what was considered a 'natural function'? Yet, there exists another bond between her and Azriel, 'a bridge between souls,' and they are the true paired souls by the mother or the fate . What if the Cauldron was wrong?

I know the antis argument of that means Lucien is stronger than Az, which is why the Cauldron chose him for Elain. When the bond snapped between them, Azriel was out of power, literally dying. It's another reason the Cauldron might be wrong.

Also, the argument: if the Cauldron is corrupted and loves Elain, then she's a villain.

Duh? Why not consider that even though it's corrupted, it recognized Elain's pure heart and her power, the different kind of strength concentrated in her kindness? If she influenced it, maybe she has the ability to fix the Cauldron, turning it back to its original purpose, a tool of creation, not destruction.

[violetasteracademic]

Hi :)

I know that you believe the Elucien bond is real but it's Cauldron created so it's not a bond of love, rather a bond of matching Fae to create offspring that the Asteri can feed off. (I'm honestly torn because there is so much evidence suggesting this but there's also some evidence to suggest that the Elucien bond is similar to Rowan/Lyria's; all that to say, I constantly go back and forth 😂)

I'm curious what you make of Azriel being able to smell the Elucien bond. It seems odd to me but I don't have your repertoire of ACOTAR knowledge, so I'm interested if you've given it any thought!

Hellooooo my darling! So, I think both are actually true; I think the Cauldron bond is "real" in the sense that the Asteri used their power to actually create new bonds to serve them. I think they are a perversion and corruption of what the bonds were intended to be- but they aren't "fake" in the sense that with ToG Maeve used her power to create an illusion:

Whereas the disruption of Rowan's mating bond was a tug in a psychic thread, using Maeve's abilities to control and manipulate minds and reality, the Cauldron corruption was a base warping of the power at the heart of fate and all creation.

I know some people believe the Valg and Asteri are the same. I vehemently disagree with that. So my perception is that you are right- it is the same thing as what happened in ToG- but there are different powers at play going about it in a different way.

What I do think is interesting is the usage of threads being pulled and tied in different ways, and that language remains consistent. Maeve pulling at psychic threads, and then this "thread tied to a rib" that Elain and L/ucien are experiencing:

What is interesting is L/ucien experiences surprise at actually seeing the real thread between himself and Elain. Whether that's because he was still questioning the validity of the mating bond- wondering how a woman so unlike the woman he loved was thrown at him- or he is just surprised to see a physical bond, I'm not sure:

Now, the thread language also continues when discussing enchantments, spells, and glamours. What is so wild is this is all done in the same book, ACOWAR. Elain and L/ucien's bond which snapped immediately after Elain was poured out of the kettle, which is NOT how Nessian or Feysands bonds formed. Feysand and Nessian also experienced golden threads or unbreakable chains weaving their souls together after accepting their mate, but did not experience any sensations of threads tied to their ribs a moment before then.

And now to explore how I think this story will differ from ToG!

Let's take a look at what L/ucien is able to see with his eye:

Interesting. This is also the book we discover L/ucien is actually Helion Spell Cleavers son, who later describes his powers as such:

Shout out to @elainemg97 for catching that one!

SJM has been swinging a bat in our faces that reads Elain and L/ucien's Bond Is Abnormal.

L/ucien seeing the single thread and Elain experiencing it as something tied to her rib (or perhaps bindings around an individual, as Helion describes) is abnormal.

A woman feeling a bond without any sense of consent or interest in their mate is abnormal.

An immediate snap between two people who have never met has only occurred once before, with Rhysand's parents. Then in ACOSF, Elain and L/ucien are compared to Rhysand's parents again by repeatedly pointing out they willingly live apart and actively choose to stay away from each other, which is abnormal.

Elain and L/ucien:

Rhysand's mother and father:

So- I think where this differs from Rowan and Lyria is that even though there was still some difficulty (Rowan recalls how difficult it was to court Lyria. Again, abnormal) Maeve's power of mind control and psychic illusions would never have been able to be caught by anyone and Rowan overcame the challenges in their mating because in ToG's world, there is no discussion of mates being poorly matched or allowed to reject each other.

It seems to me that E/lucien's bond is being highly alluded to as something that can be physically noticed and hopefully broken by those like L/ucien's father and even L/ucien himself, in conjunction with items like Azriel's blade Truth-Teller that have the power to unmake things:

We are definitely headed in a direction leading up to all the things that can quite literally unravel the threads that the Asteri have forced.

SJM has given herself an incredible amount to work with here. I'll be home excited to see how it all plays out, and I wonder if she'll ever tell us exactly how far along she was when she started writing ACOWAR. Did the Asteri exist yet? Or was she working off Valg ideas like Maeve?

It's all pretty damn badass and interesting. But essentially the main difference I think it boils down to is this: the only way to break free from Maeve's tampering is the mental strength and ability to do so. In that sense, the forced bond wasn't real. The Asteri bonds are going to require a bit more work. In that sense, they are wrong, but they are real.

I think Azriel can smell it because he and Elain are true mates and it is being interfered with. I don't care whether or not they are actually mates, and it'd be cool even if they weren't. I just think that is where the story is headed. Feyre also got major headaches on the Faebane, the same thing Azriel was shot with, that cut off her bond from Rhys. Azriel's headaches start on page at the end of ACOWAR. So hopefully his nose will get some relief soon!

This is where I'm at right now! But what I love about SJM's writing is that even after all these years and rereads, there are still new things to discover. I know a lot of people are ragging on her right now after a highly criticized book release and a long wait, but damn if she didn't do soooo much that we are all still analyzing and assessing her work and dying to see what will happen next. I think that is pretty impressive, and I'm still just as excited as ever for Elriel's book and the incredible literal threads woven for them.

[nikethestatue]

@elainarcheronweek Day 3 "Strength"

Elain Archeron's strength is the matriarchal strength of all women throughout history.

Her strength lies in her ability to find the best in every situation. To bring warmth and connection between people. It's the strength of rising up from adversity and moving forward.

Her strength is in learning new skills, and seeking the wisdom of other women in trying to find her place in the new world.

Her strength is in feeding those she loves and in making the world more beautiful. She bought Feyre paints because she knew that it would give Feyre joy, but also, would make their drab existence a bit brighter, a little prettier.

Elain's strength is in cultivating life, in growing gardens, in seeding the earth so it would bring forth fruit and abundance.

Her strength is in creation, and not destruction.

Her strength is in her ability to do what's needed in the moment, and then walking away and not seeking praise or platitudes. It's giving credit where credit is due--to the twins, for example, who decorated the cake for Feyre's birthday.

Her strength is in noticing those around her--their sadness and their happiness, their pains and their smiles. Her strength is in buying blankets for the twins and 'swaddling' them in love and affection. It's in healing Azriel. It's in giving Nesta peace and happiness within her books. It's giving Feyre what she loves to be the outlet for her creativity and her emotions.

Elain is the thread that binds them together. She is the keeper of the hearth. She is the one who understood the importance of holidays and traditions before anyone else, and sought to incorporate them in her own life. She sits at the head of the table because without her, it's every man for himself, but with her, they become a true family.

The story of Elain, is the story of strength of all women--strength that is often overlooked and forgotten and taken for granted. Because people only remember those who built a house, but not those who made it a home and filled it with life.

[lucienarcheron]

↠ SJM Masterlist

Below you will find all my SJM fanfics/creations linked. You can also find my fanfics here.

All my writing belongs to me with a disclaimer that any character that isn't an original character belongs to their authors. Do not copy or claim my work as your own. Do not feed my work into AI or third-party platforms. Do not translate my writing without my permission. I do not consent for my work to be reposted anywhere.

Thanks for reading and enjoy :)

Creations/Moodboards; this is across all ships.

Headcanons ; across all ships

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🌹 A Court of Thorns and Roses 🦊🌸 Elain Archeron x Lucien Vanserra [ Elucien ]

Bouquet Full of Loathing Rated SFW | Fluff & Humor Flower Shop Modern AU - Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter, and says, “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”  

Bouquet Full of Love Rated SFW | Fluff & Humor Elain visits Lucien at work, new bouquet in hand.

The Sun Rated SFW | Fluff/Angst Elain has a nightmare and turns to her mate for soothing.

No Place I'd Rather Be Rated SFW |  Fluff with a smidge of angst. Elain's visions giving her nightmares that can only be soothed by one person.

 A Light Against the Darkness   Rated SFW | Angst/fluff Lucien battles his own nightmares with Elain there to soothe him.

Forget Me Not Rated SFW | Fluff Drunk Elain and her shenanigans.

Boys Night Out Rated SFW | Humor & fluff Drunk Lucien and his shenanigans. – companion to Forget Me Not. 

Sleeping Beauty Rated NSFW-ish | Fluff ‘Wake me up’ kisses because foxboy and flower girl can't help themselves.

A Fox and a Flower Crown Rated NSFW-ish | Fluff + Humor Elain has a vision and it, uh, has her feeling all types of ways.

Tales of the Fox & the Fawn A series of short snippets to fill my Elucien heart.

Around the World - Part 1 | Part 2 | Bonus Rated NSFW |  Prostitute/Client AU for laughs.

An Unexpected Visit Rated SFW | Fluff Drunk Lucien visits Elain at an inappropriate hour.

Quiet Thunder - Part 1 | Part 2 Rated SFW | Angst | Lucien expresses his frustrations to Elain. Elain follows up.

Morning Pranks Rated SFW | Fluff.

First Kisses Rated SFW | Fluff.

Instincts - Part 1 | Part 2 Rated SFW Lucien follows his instincts when it comes to Elain. It's the start of something new.

Frenzy Rated NSFW | Elain and Lucien like to spend their yearly mating anniversary fully wrapped in each other, sinking into a frenzy.

A Simple Request Rated NSFW-ish. A still shy Elain finds a different way to tell her mate what she wants.

Inspiration Rated NSFW | Modern AU Aspiring writer Elain Archeron is looking for some inspiration for her new novel when she happens to meet the perfect man for the job.

Oh, What a Night (Elucien + Nessian) Rated SFW | Fluff Nesta and Elain’s first Starfall, the two celebrating it in different ways.

Unexpected Surprises Rated SFW | Lucien has been trying to plan the perfect proposal for his mate for months. Things do not go as expected.

A Bouquet of Good Intentions Rated SFW | This little drabble was inspired by my Elucien Modern AU - Bouquet Full of Feelings series

A New Year with You Rated SFW | Celebrating NYE together

This Time, I'm Ready Rated SFW | Elain has a vision and it has her running.

That Single Thread of Gold Rated SFW| Inspired by eospaint's elucien piece

Heading Straight to You Rated SFW | Inspired by this post here and giving a bridgerton-inspired moment!

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🍂 Eris Vanserra

Spirit Meets the Bones Rated M | Eris x Iris (OC) | Drama & Romance An arranged marriage brought them together and beneath all the hate, the two are more alike than they’d like to be.

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✨🖌Feyre Archeron x Rhysand [ Feysand ]

Big Baby Rated SFW | Humor & fluff | Modern AU Rhys gets drunk at the bar and calls Feyre to rant about how much he loves her. 

All It Takes is A Wingman Rated SFW | Humor & Fluff | Modern AU ‘Hey I’m sorry to bother you but I’m trying to convince my friends I’m a sex god so can you please write a fake number on this napkin for me real quick’

Do the Do Rated SFW | Fluff & Humor Rhysand taking care of Feyre's ridiculously drunk self.

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⚔️🔥 Nesta Archeron x Cassian [ Nessian ]

Bouquet Full of Lust (ft. Elucien) Rated SFW | Fluff & Humor Nesta gets a little taste of sisterly revenge. | Read after Bouquet Full of Love and Bouquet Full of Love

Oh, What a Night (Nessian + Elucien) Rated SFW | Fluff Nesta and Elain’s first Starfall, the two celebrating it in different ways.

Banned by the Boss Rated SFW | Fluff & Humor  Nesta pulls a mama bear move and bans both mating bonds of her sisters.  

Till the Darkness Dies Rated SFW | Angst and fluff Nesta’s battle against her inner demons.

Butter My Muffin Rated SFW | Fluff Nesta being a very soft girlfriend in private with Cassian combined with how I picture Drunk!Nesta.

Protect & Serve Rated SFW | Fluff Nesta has a nightmare and just wants to make sure Cassian is okay.

My Remedy Rated SFW | Fluff Cassian helps Nesta overcome her fear of the bathtub.

Change of Pace Rated Steamy | Modern AU “I chickened out of sex ages ago and you haven’t brought it up since but now I really want it, but I'm terrible at communication, so let me just strip shirtless/model lingerie for you until you snap”

Weakness Rated SFW | Steamy fluff Cassian does love his mate.

My Curse to Bear Rated SFW | Steamy fluff | Modern AU Based on the prompt “Matching couple shirts that say “bearer of the curse” on one of them and, “the curse” on the other”

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⚫️ Gwynriel

Choices - [ Gwynriel ] Rated NSFW-ish. Gwyn makes choices for her happiness.

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👑 Throne of Glass

Boner for You - Elide & Lorcan [ Elorcan ] Rated SFW | Humor & fluff  Fake Dating AU where Lorcan just wants Elide to be his girlfriend for a party and Elide wants to pretend she isn’t thrilled about it.

[clockwork-ashes]

Day 7 - Free Day

Note: thank you to the lovely mods of @erisweekofficial for such an amazing event!!! i had so much fun, and i can’t wait to catch up on all the wonderful creations <3

Summary: Eris no longer wants to ignore the connection he feels with Cora (one-shot). All 7 (!!!) of my eris week one-shots can be read on Ao3 <3

Another Note: cora is an OC who heavily features in my elucien multichapter fic! she acts as elain’s lady’s maid while she’s stuck in the autumn court, but her and eris became very close ;) this can be read as a standalone, it’s just a spicy little one-shot <3

All You Have Is Your Fire taglist: @sad-scarred-sassy / @teddyhoneybear / @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Join me tonight.

Eris had whispered the words against the smooth arch of Cora’s pointed ear. His lips had brushed the skin lightly, a promise of what could be if only she agreed. His head had been bowed, shoulders curled towards her as if he had been pulled closer by an invisible thread. She had slipped from his grasp, water through his fingers, her dark skirts trailing in a river of fabric as she walked away. 

Impress me, and perhaps I will. 

Her rich voice had echoed in the empty corridor as she had chased the sound of the orchestra’s music. Cora had moved like a predator, silent and precise, each of her steps graceful. She was a queen, royalty in hiding. 

Eris had been given no choice but to follow her, an amused tilt to his mouth. She had smelled of spruce trees and mountain air, her scent lingering on the velvet of his jacket the entire evening. It had been a welcome distraction. He had, for the first time in weeks, forgotten about the mess his younger brother had gotten himself into. 

Lucien had danced with his mate, Elain having managed to impress the vicious courtiers of Autumn with little more than a practised spin. Cora had spent most of the night at Eris’s side, drinking wine in small sips and glancing at him over the rim of her glass. The tension between them could have been cut with an ash-tipped knife, a near irresistible desire had made it difficult for him to focus, but he had tried his best.

Time had moved slow as honey, and when Elain and Lucien left the ballroom holding arms as though they were in love, Eris decided he would not be staying either. He offered Cora his hand, not really expecting her to reach out. She linked their smallest fingers together in a gesture Eris found both surprising and endearing, winnowing them into a different part of the Forest House with very little effort. 

“We stop at my chambers next,” Eris warned, wanting to make it abundantly clear what he wanted, hoping Cora felt the same. She was hard to read, her brown eyes revealing nothing. 

She looked up at him with a raised brow, one of her hands resting on her hip in a way that accentuated her figure beneath the conservative dress she wore. “You’ve changed your mind, prince?” There was a challenge in her tone, as if she would have argued had he suggested such a thing. 

Eris shrugged, feigning indifference. “Don’t feel obligated, I would hate for you to feel…used.” While his words might have sounded cold, he meant them. He was fully aware of her position as a lady’s maid, and of the fact that she served another High Lord. He recognised the power he possessed, and he did not wish to coerce Cora into his bed. 

Instead of responding, she took a measured step towards him so that their toes were nearly touching. There was an angry twist to her mouth as she lifted a hand and brought it to his lapel. She adjusted the fold, her fingers toying with a button on his shirt. 

Eris felt as the breath caught in his throat, desire thrumming in his bones, barely leashed. He wanted to see her long hair wrapped around his fist, to feel her body against his own, and to hear the sounds she made while in the throes of pleasure. 

Cora smiled, the expression looking more like she was baring her teeth. White as bone and sharp as a knife, her canines flashed in the dim lighting of the hallway. “I don’t answer to you, Eris Vanserra, first son of Autumn.” 

At the sound of his name falling from her lips, Eris closed the distance between them. Eyes shut and the sweet taste of her against his tongue was overwhelming. She clutched his jacket, using him for balance as he threaded desperate fingers through her hair, keeping her in place for better access. 

Cora gasped, her soft moan muffled as he deepened the kiss, winnowing them both to his bedroom in a flurry of dancing embers. He fisted the fabric of her skirts, searching to feel the skin of her thighs, their newfound privacy making him bold. Her hands were locked around his neck as she fought for dominance, nipping at his bottom lip in warning. 

Eris moved to the skin below her jaw, taking pleasure in the way she pulled on his jacket, urging him to take it off. He threw it to the floor, untying the cloth at his throat with quick fingers. He briefly wondered if she would let him use the piece of fabric in other ways, but all his thoughts scattered at the way she tugged at the strands of hair on the nape of his neck. He moaned appreciatively, encouraging her to be as rough as she wished. 

Eris trailed his lips along her collarbone, licking and biting at the exposed skin of the tops of her breasts. He was hard, he noticed, his length pressing painfully against the seam of his pants. He yanked at the laces tied carefully at the back of her dress and she arched into him with a sigh. 

“Cora,” he murmured, her name unbelievably familiar as it rolled off his tongue. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes still shut as he swallowed. “Cora, tell me to stop.” 

The Night Court female brought a hand to his cheek, running her thumb along the sharp plane of his face. He ached all over, his muscles tense as he waited for her consent once again. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered, tugging his head back down. 

Eris smiled against her lips, grabbing the backs of her thighs to lift her into his arms. Cora hooked her legs around his waist, her slippers falling to the floor to join his discarded jacket. He nearly stumbled on the edge of the carpet as he carried her to his bed. 

They fell in a tangled heap onto the mattress, his arousal hard against her core. She ripped at his shirt, buttons hitting the ground like rain water. Each of their actions was desperate, as if they had been drowning and were coming up for air. Eris moved her skirts, adjusting the fabric so that he had better access to the space between her legs. Cora tilted her hips up, giving him the permission he needed. He gave her no warning as he slipped two fingers between her slick folds. She hummed in approval, grabbing his wrist to show him what she liked. 

He continued to move his fingers at the pace she set, using his magic to strip them of the rest of their clothes. Eris pulled away, wanting to get a better look at her. Cora made a low sound of objection, clearly not wanting him to stop. While the thought satisfied him, his overwhelming need to see her was stronger. 

There was a scarlet flush to her brown cheeks, her straight hair a tangled mess along his pillows. Her pupils were blown wide and her lips were swollen. She took Eris in hungrily, her dark eyes falling to his length almost involuntarily. 

“Beautiful,” Eris said softly, loud enough for her to hear. 

Heat blazed in her gaze, and the candles on the nightstand flared brightly in response to the inferno raging inside him. Cora reached for him, her palms skimming his shoulders to once again rest on his neck. Eris hovered above her until she pulled him closer, arching her back so that she could press herself fully against him while they kissed. He groaned, his grip on her leg tightening as he carefully angled the tip of his length at her entrance. 

Before Eris could give her the option of going slow, Cora has already shifted, taking more of him suddenly. She moaned into his mouth, Eris gasping at the feeling of her walls around him. He moved inside her, and she gave herself over completely to the steady rhythm he had set. 

Cora’s fingers fell lower on his back, her nails dragging against the skin. He felt the way she tensed beneath him, and nearly hit his head against the bed frame in his rush to move away from her. If something was wrong, if she wanted to stop—

Cora did not let go of him, her strong legs keeping him in place. She looked up at him, the question bright as starlight on her lovely features. Eris belatedly realised that she was tracing the length of a long scar with the tip of her finger. He relaxed into her arms, pressed his face into the crook of her neck so he would not need to face her. “Lashes,” he said against her skin, his movements becoming more desperate as he neared his climax.

Punishments.

Eris did not need to say it out loud, but he could practically sense understanding wash over her. Her touch instantly became more gentle as she took his chin in her hands to tilt his head in a way where he could look up at her. Cora brushed her thumb along his bottom lip. “Beautiful,” she murmured, kissing him sweetly, stunning him into silence. She was careful with her touches, handling him with care, as if he were easily breakable. 

Eris felt drunk, desire fogging his thoughts. He continued to move at the pace he had set, her hips meeting his with every movement. He brought his one hand back between her legs, stroking in time with his thrusts, wanting her to break first. 

“Eris,” she gasped, his name uttered in a strangled moan. He felt her walls clench around him, pressing his hips flush against hers as he saw stars. Her pleasure was enough to bring him to the edge. He bit down on his tongue, tasting copper as he stifled a cry. 

They stayed tangled together for a moment, Cora’s legs still wrapped around his waist loosely as he remained seated inside her. There was blood rushing to his ears, and her heart was beating rapidly, perfectly matching the rhythm of his own. Eris moved first, falling onto the mattress beside her with all his weight. The ragged sounds of their breathing broke the silence, but neither of them spoke. 

For the first time in centuries, Eris had let someone share his bed as he slept, unguarded. The night carried, and his rest was dreamless. When he woke in the morning, Cora was already gone. 

[achaotichuman]

The Mother's Least Favourite Son

Out of spite, I have written this. Hope you guys like broken mating bond Lucien angst.

@lorcanisdabest here is the Lucien angst you oh so wanted~

Trigger warning- Suicide.

Lucien stumbled through the dark. Tripping over something thrown carelessly across the cobblestone ground, an arm shot out to grab the nearest wall to stabilise himself. Skin scraping against the cold wet stone, it burned as it pulled away, blood beginning to prick the surface. 

Why? 

Why did it have to-

He lurched forward, and a crate at his feet caused him to fall to the ground. Dirty water splashed across his face, ruining his formerly perfect clothing. His trousers now wet and stained. His pristine Night black jacket now half covered with mud. 

Fuck-

It lurched in his chest again. Screaming like a torture victim locked in a cage. Bleeding from the inside.

Golden threads that were cut and exposed like raw nerves. His heart beat faster than it ever had in his life. His hair fell around his face. Rain dripped down from above, beginning to race faster and faster to the surface of the earth, until it hurtled down upon him. 

The stars were no longer visible. The alleyway, and the darkness it provided was his only comfort or protection. 

A sob ripped from deep within the back of his throat. Each pitter of rain that fell upon him he felt starkly. Like needles were pouring down on him. 

Why?

What did he do wrong?

Fuck-

He asked for an answer, did he not?

He wanted to know what she wanted. 

Break it, or accept it. 

He offered his heart on a platter. 

Like his heart would ever be enough. 

He fell back against the wall behind him. Eyes tilted to the sky. 

What the fuck did he do to deserve this?

The sky held no answers, nothing spoke back to him. As his skin burned, flesh bubbling under the surface. 

The thunderclouds rolling in the sky tormented him. Laughing as it was split with lightning. Turning the sky to flashing works of silver. Velaris was laughing around him. The Court his mate belonged to pointed and ridiculed the outcast that thought it could crawl in and find comfort. 

No home Court. No mate. 

The Mother’s least favourite son. The Cauldron’s hated creation. 

Her eyes had held no remorse. No care. She hadn’t even put down her knife, as she cut vegetables on the wooden board. She looked up to him. Those soft brown iris had never looked harder. 

“Please, just an answer.”

The Inner Circle stood around him. Feyre flanking Elain’s left, and Nesta on her right. Rhysand picked a piece of lint from his jacket, eyes laughing even as his mouth was firmly straight. Cassian however looked fully and utterly amused at the situation. Azriel stood behind Elain, eyes dead on Lucien. Waiting like a trap to be sprung. 

“Then here’s your answer.” Elain whispered into the space between them. 

Then it broke. 

And Lucien screamed. 

Cassian practically dragged him out. His legs unable to hold him up for long periods of time. They let him fall to the ground. Rain starting. There was no sympathy in his eyes, not even a hint of pity. Just laughing amusement as the door slammed shut. 

Even from out there, in the cold of the night with the door separating the Fox from the inside, he could hear the cheering and the celebrations.

Chest heaving, skin too tight, fire burning and burning and burning. 

Through a window he saw the form of Azriel, shadowsinger, wrap his arms around his rejected mate. 

Lucien had run. 

Run and fell across the floor, scraping his arms before he ran again. 

Another wretched cry was torn from his throat, as he screamed to the sky, “Why? Why fucking me?”

What did I do wrong?

Hated son. 

Exiled. Outcasted. 

Were mates not supposed to love each other more than sun or moonlight? 

Were they not supposed to rather give themselves up then each other?

Where were the stories? Where were the tales? Why did he not get that?

Fucking why?

The cold rain dripped from strands of his hair, down his face, and disappeared down his neck. His body began to shiver, wishing, begging, to draw up fire to warm himself. He let his body shudder and quake, barely feeling the cold pressing in under the weight of the bond now floating out in nothing. 

Darkness edged in, spreading from some place in his chest through the rest of his body. Until he felt hollow, unseeing. Lucien could barely hear anything at all. 

A sharp pain shot through his side, and he looked up to see a male with green hair and purple skin. Wide eyes, all black, glaring down at him. 

“Beat it kid, no loitering around here.” He snarled. 

“Sorry, I’m, I’m sorry.” Lucien said quickly, voice quivering. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” The male said, as Lucien got to his stumbling feet. As the Fox made for the mouth of the alleyway, he heard him mutter, “Stupid kids.”

Stupid kid. 

Stupid kid indeed. 

Lucien left the alleyway. The rain pounded down harder, the thrum resembled the beating of drums. Lightning forked, and thunder cracked the sky. A familiar song, a dance that had followed him since the day Jesminda had been slaughtered in front of him. 

He had spent his days running from the song. The beating that would never cease, howling through the night, hurtling towards him. 

Death did not come silently. 

It came with war horns, riding into battle like screaming a cry. Music played in its wake. A tune no one had heard but everyone knew. 

Lucien closed his eyes, as his heart fell into sync with the beat. His voice a gentle hum as thunder whipped again. As that song raised its tune. 

He stuck his hands in his pockets. He looked ahead. And he winnowed. 

The view of Velaris gave way to dark foliage. Oranges and reds covered one side of the earth, and the other was filled with spidering dark greens and untrained brambles. 

The border of Spring and Autumn. 

The rain had not stopped. The storm had spread through Prythian as if waiting for him. 

It poured down upon him, until he was practically drowning on land. The ground of Autumn was practically unrecognisable as such, as the dried leaves were turned to muddy decay by the rain. 

Lucien fell back and stared up at the sky. 

A familiar tune. 

It had been waiting for him. 

The Mother’s least favourite son. 

He closed his eyes. 

He hoped he wouldn’t ever open them again. 

***

Three years passed and it never got better. 

It got worse. 

So, so much worse. 

Waking up and seeing the ceiling was agony. Most days he stopped bothering trying to get out of bed. Eating had become a rare occasion, so much so that Jurian and Vassa couldn’t hide their excitement when he took so much as a half bite out of his food. 

He didn’t know if Prythian remembered him; he hadn’t set foot in any of the Courts since the day Tamlin found him at the border. That was at least what he was told when he woke up. Something about the rotting High lord bringing him to the Band of Exile’s manor before disappearing back to Spring. 

Lucien didn’t care. All his thoughts were drowned out by mate, mate, mate, mate. 

He couldn’t think of anyone, of anything else, other than her brown eyes, and curls, and red stained cheeks and lips.

There was nothing else to him, nothing anymore. 

He stopped hoping she would return to him. As the darkness, the hollowness caved in. Pillars of marble in his mind turning to dust, whatever he used to know becoming nothing in the face of the broken bond. 

The last time he spoke, he didn’t know. The last time he went outside, he didn’t know. 

His skin was pasty, grey. His eyes deep with purple. Every bone on display, with his prosthetic eye sinking back into his socket, falling back from the shift in weight. 

His body was decaying. 

He stared at the ceiling. 

It wasn’t worth it. 

This would go on. 

And on.

And on, and on, and on. 

Prythian had forgotten him. His mate had rejected him. His last two friends, the last he could consider friends, were tied up with each other. 

He wasn’t worth his mate’s love. He wasn’t worth being remembered. 

“Might as well get it over with.” Lucien whispered to the ceiling, the first words he had vocalised in so long. 

For the first time in what may have been a week or more, he dragged himself from the bed he had practically become attached to. Limbs heavy, eyes fluttering, pain struck him from all sides and he wanted to fall back down and rot. 

But Jurian or Vassa would eventually convince him to a meal or something to keep him going if he stayed on the bed. 

So he walked. 

He walked to a dresser, where beside it laid a bag. It had all sort of provisions and things needed should he have been stranded somewhere in Prythian. He kept it packed ever since he was thrown out of Autumn. 

Mother’s least favourite son. Cauldron’s hated creation. 

Inside one of the back pockets was a long spiral of coarse rope. Rough against his weary hands as he pulled it out, a sudden disruption to the soft sheets Lucien was used to holding these days. 

Mother’s least favourite son. Cauldron’s hated creation. 

The curtain rod was sturdy and could hold a fair amount of weight, not that it mattered very much as he was practically just skin and bones. It took little to stand atop a chair by the window and put the rope over the rod. Part of Lucien wished Eris had never taught him to tie knots, if only so he didn’t know what to do now. 

Mother’s least favourite son. Cauldron’s hated creation. 

It was rough around his neck. He felt nothing. He didn’t want to feel anything. 

It was sunny outside. The flowers were in bloom. He saw Elain in the sunshine. In the flowers below him. He saw home in the ground, in the trees in the distance. He remembered the feelings of Autumn leaves under his hands. And he remembered the smell of pollen from Spring. He remembered the chill of Night’s air. 

He remembered her soft skin when he put his jackets over her arms after she came out of the Cauldron. 

Lucien let go of all memory as he let himself swing from the curtain rod. 

He hoped he wouldn’t remember in the Mother’s land of milk and honey. 

Mother’s least favourite son. 

Cauldron’s hated creation. 

[wildlyglittering]

Silver In Her Eyes - Chapter Three

Happy New Year's Eve everyone! Whatever your plans, I hope it's a good one!

Chapter 3 is up! Please show it some love here or on Ao3.

Silver In Her Eyes - Chapter 3 - writinginthedust - A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas [Archive of Our Own]

Silver In Her Eyes

Rhys’ eyes shone when he scrutinised what Nesta had forged. The blades were mainly daggers but there was the occasional broad sword varying in size and width. He looked upon them all the way Nesta imagined the dragons from her childhood fairy stories would look upon a hoard of gold.

Covetous.

“This one’s most spectacular,” he said, palming the flat side of a sword. Both the blade and Nesta squirmed, Nesta feeling the unwanted touch as though Rhys had traced his fingers down her spine. “This would suit Cassian, don’t you think?”

The sword was the tallest and widest Nesta had forged so far, the hilt of it reaching the underside of her breast. The handle twisted into wings spread as though in flight and the blade shimmered with barely visible words, all in a language she instinctively understood to be Old Illyrian.

This was a rare occasion she agreed with Rhys. In truth, as she hit the hammer down onto the metal, she only had Cassian in mind. Images of him in battle played before her, torrents of rain slamming into his frame as he wove through soldiers, his body twisting and turning as if in dance.

Whether she was remembering the time she watched him fight or whether she was seeing flashes of him from his past, Nesta didn’t know. Maybe these were events yet to come, the ground wet with blood.

There had been a moment, when she struck the final blow to complete the sword, when she envisioned him running someone through with a blade, so similar to the one in Nesta’s hands it couldn’t have been any other.

Elain had the curse of prophecy not her so Nesta didn’t know if what she saw was true. Who Cassian was slaying Nesta couldn’t see, but the sword screamed its victory. Death to the High Lord.

“Well? Is this for Cassian?”

Rhys was staring at her while she was elsewhere inside her head, those purple eyes flashing mauve. The whispers of the blades in the room started soft and grew in intensity until they were roaring. What is he doing? What has he done to you, Mother? To your sisters?

The noises overlapped but a quiet blade in the corner, its handle twisted into a snake drew her eyes. It had called to her before, quieter than the rest but more insistent. It gave Nesta an image, of her picking it up and slicing open Rhys’ cheek.

“Yes,” she said, forcing the noise into silence. “It’s Cassian’s.”

Rhys’ smile was all teeth. “I wonder what he will name it.”

He wasn’t talking to Nesta but himself. Her involvement was done, as though she’d birthed a child and handed it over to be fodder. What was once hers, was no more.

Her fingers buried themselves in her skirts. The enjoyment of this room, of the act of creation, was dissipating. A thrum of power tinged under her skin and spilled forth from her palms as she forged, the clash of hammer upon metal was a song which sent delight coursing through her.

Before he took the sword away, Nesta reached out to touch it. Betrayer, she called it. She didn’t know why.

***

While Rhys was inspecting Nesta's work, Mor and Cassian stood at the top of the House of Wind staring outwards at the rooftops of the city and the winding path of the Sidra.

The light breeze drifted through their clothes and hair and Mor threaded her fingers through Cassian’s free hand which curled around hers. His other hand scrubbed over his face as though he could wipe away the fatigue which showed.

“We can't turn Kallon, he’s Keir’s through and through. The others? Breaking that news to Rhys is worse.”

Mor gave Cassian’s hand a squeeze. “That they won’t declare either way?”

Cassian cleared his throat. “They’ll declare but not for Rhys.” He paused, struggling with the words. “They’ll declare for me.”

Mor gasped and looked up at her oldest friend, her dearest friend. He stared straight ahead at the open sky, refusing to look at her.

Mor’s lips twitched upwards. Despite herself she found this development had a seed of... something. She didn’t know what. It would have been a failure had the War-Lords of Illyria declared for Keir but something squirmed in her chest which spoke of another disaster if had they declared for Rhys.

“Don’t tell him,” she said. Cassian looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Rhys isn’t in his right mind. I don’t know how he’ll react.”

Cassian shifted; Mor knew she was another person asking the most honest of their group to lie. This was too close to Cassian taking power away from Rhys; the armies now with an Illyrian ruler instead of a fae one.

“Please,” she said, this time stepping in front of him, sliding her other hand into his, tilting her face upwards towards his. Mor had been opposite her cousin in his study only hours before and had seen that Rhys wasn't himself.

A darkness was creeping in and while they battled to save Feyre and Nyx, to save the lives of all the Night Court, there was part of her which believed there was no saving Rhys.

They may as well try and save themselves.

Cassian smiled a half sad smile and shrugged. “I can never say no to that face.”

Mor let go of his hands to grip him in a hug, her arms barely able to wrap his entire body as he enfolded his around her. Mor leant into his strength, her face pressing against his chest as she listened to his heartbeat.

When she first saw him, she was shocked at how pale he had become, how his wings drooped. Rhys had Cassian flying across the entirety of Illyria, meeting with every War-Lord regardless of how small the camp.

Mor pulled back to look at him. “Rhys is going to the Mortal Lands to speak with Lucien. He’s hoping he will convince Tamlin to side with us. We now have Eris.”

“I’m surprised Eris agreed so easily.”

So, Cassian was unaware of Eris’ request. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him but instead she blurted out another thought. “I think Feyre should know the truth.”

Cassian paused but nodded. His hands squeezing the tops of Mor’s shoulders. “I want Nesta to know too. She’s no fool. She’s watching us all to see our missteps.” His voice then turned sharp. “Rhys has her working every day in the blacksmiths he built her. I hate this, I hate lying too her, I hate Rh-”

He cut himself off, swallowing down the words he couldn’t take back if he said them out loud.

Mor was amazed that Nesta had been forging without question but perhaps Mor was wrong. It was possible Nesta was, as Cassian said, monitoring them all with querying eyes. Of course, there was a shift in Cassian, one of such significance that even if Mor wasn’t so close to him, she would have been able to scent it a million miles away.

Instead of thick earth and smoky air, Cassian now smelt of rich, floral scents, reminding Mor of times when she walked the gardens of Winter, their snow-white roses in full bloom or of the hot nights on the Sidra when the jasmines were in blossom.

Mor placed her open palm over his heart wondering what would happen if she dug her nails in, if she curved her fist into a claw to pluck out the thread woven tight around him binding him to another.

It was as though that very thought had summoned a demon. As if Mor’s mental will to cut the thread for Cassian had thrummed it, bringing the heart on the other end to come calling.

A delicate cough announced her presence and Mor and Cassian pulled apart, their conversation dead.

Nesta stood at the entrance of the rooftop, golden-brown hair bound about her head like a crown, those eyes almost silver in the light. The expression on her face spoke of boredom. Bored of being in the House, bored of forging, bored of seeing Mor draped around Cassian like he was wearing a fine silk scarf.

“Azriel’s here,” Nesta said, her voice ringing clear across the roof. “From wherever it is Rhys has him flapping about.”

Nesta glided towards them like her footsteps were oil and the stone stabs were water. Nesta paid Mor no attention, those sharp eyes on Cassian. “You wanted me to tell you the second he returned. You’ve missed Rhys though.”

As Nesta moved closer, Mor scented the perfume of Nesta’s skin. She smelt like the freedom of the sky and the cold mountain top of Ramiel.

Cassian seemed to stiffen and relax in Nesta’s presence. A curious juxtaposition of calm reassurance that the female he loved was before him and the terse excitement of a battle about to begin.

His spar partner had arrived, his new best friend, his love. Their eyes fixed only on each other and Mor stood, surplus to requirement.

It wasn’t true. Nesta’s heart may have been a withered old thing with only love enough for one, but Cassian’s was an unlimited space and he could keep loving everyone for an eternity.

Mor could share him; she’d learnt she had to but as she thought it an image passed through her mind. Prophecy or wish fulfilment she didn’t know, but it was of Nesta writhing in a gilded golden bed of Autumn, satin sheets sliding over soft skin.

If truth was Mor’s gift, then she was terrible at giving. Cassian didn’t need to know about the conversation Mor and Rhys had only hours before. Rhys wouldn’t allow any union between Eris and Nesta, if only for Cassian’s sake, for the love he had for a brother.

Mor wouldn’t allow it either. Whatever thread bound Nesta and Cassian had been woven at the will of the Cauldron and she wouldn’t have Cassian fractured. She’d already shared him enough and if a piece broke there would be little left still for Mor.

***

“Do you want children?”

Cassian tensed, the beat of his heart under her fingertips quickening as she traced patterns on the skin over his ribcage.

He’d been lying on his back with his wings spread over them both like a canopy of black. Nesta lay on her side, as naked as he was, tucked into him. Since she spoke his muscles were tautened and ready to spring.

Why shouldn’t she ask? When what they did in this bed had a possible outcome. She had the right to know his truth.

“Are you drinking your contraceptive tea?” His voice was low, serious.

“Yes.”

“Good, don’t stop.”

A shard of hurt burst through Nesta like she’d been pierced with glass but she sat up and fixed her face with a glare, moving away so no more parts of them touched. “A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”

Cassian’s eyes flicked over to her quickly and then back to the ceiling, his jaw clenched. It wasn’t true, she realised. His response would never be a denial of wanting children, she felt his want as though it were hers.

A house of them. That’s what Cassian dreamed. Small, winged Illyrian babies that would light up his days, who would bundle him to the floor and squeal with delight at their father’s return.

“Where is this coming from?”

“You’re fucking me,” Nesta said, “sometimes said fucking has consequences and I want to know where I stand if a consequence arose.”

His eyes widened as he now stared at her, the whites showing and his pupils shrivelling into dots. Nesta was reminded of a panicked horse bolting in a field because it stumbled upon a snake.

“You’re not already-”

“Cauldron, Cassian I’m not. Didn’t I just tell you I was taking the tea?”

Nesta rolled her eyes, moving from the bed as quick as she could in case he tried to stop her but she needn’t have worried because he didn’t try.

Her robe was draped over the back of a chair in front of the window, the dark starlit sky the backdrop to the table which still housed their dinner plates. She bound the garment tight around her body, her back to him.

“Nesta-”

“I’m going back to my room. I’ll see you when you next return from one of your ridiculously frequent Illyria visits.”

“Nesta.”

His voice sang of desperation and she turned. Cassian was sat up, the sheets falling around his waist. He scrubbed a hand over his face, a tell that he was tired.

“It’s not that I don’t want children. It’s just-”

He glanced away and for a moment Nesta felt a pang of sorrow. His handsome face was etched in worry lines that grew deeper these past months. His skin held a pallid hue, the same hue she noted on Morrigan earlier. She who was golden had lost her shine.

Agony stretched over Cassian’s face and as he tried to force words out and force them back at the same time. She hadn’t the patience.

“What,” she spat, “just what.”

“I can’t have them with you.”

A heat flooded through her and as she clenched her robe there was a hiss and scent of burning. When she looked down, scorch marks charred the material where her fingertips had been.

She stormed from the room, ignoring Cassian’s calls behind her, hoping that her bare feet smacking against the stone tiles wouldn’t leave their own mark. Nesta slammed the door of her bedroom, telling the House not to let him in even if he begged.

But Cassian didn’t beg. There was no plea outside her door.

Nesta closed her eyes, holding her hand over her chest, pressing firmly over her heart. Connected to the other end she sensed he wasn’t pleased she had marched away but there was a sweet taste of relief laced with the bitter flavour of guilt. It was the latter which caused him to lash out.

Panic had risen in him like a tide at her questions so Nesta let him believe she had taken offense, that she had interpreted his words as wouldn’t have children with her. The actual words were as loud and clear as a church bell. Can’t have them with you.

Can’t.

Her head hurt. Although the blacksmith room was a distance away in the House, the blades were calling for her. They wanted her time, her attention, her love. Another voice, something both large and small, spoke to Nesta in warm tones.

It is good you asked.

Nesta pressed her palms to her eyes. She sipped her apple blossom tea that morning as she did every day, the sweetness of the contraceptive medicine tingling her tongue, when that same voice slid into her mind. Ask Cassian if he wants children. So, she asked.

Nesta unfurled her wrap, ignoring the newly formed holes and picked up her silk nightgown from where it lay. She smoothed the material over her hips and turned to the mirror to tame the strands of her hair.

Voices were everywhere; from the smithery to this unknown other. Everyone was dancing to different tunes now, a waltz that appeared to revolve around some avoiding Rhys and others clamouring for him. Now there was Cassian’s faux pas.

Can’t not won’t.

Although she was one step further along the path to the truth than before, Nesta didn’t smile. “No,” she said to her reflection, “I don’t think the truth is something to smile about.”

[kopfkino-o]

The Seer’s Stone: An Fanfic Preview II

Only 28 DAYS until Elriel month and I, for one, cannot wait! I’ve been working on a long-form fanfic I plan to begin releasing on April 30 and wanted to share another taste to celebrate the arrival of Spring. I can’t wait to share more with you all come May. Constructive criticism welcomed, as always. Thanks for reading ❤🥀⚔ 

Summary: Elain Archeron is tired of being the “lovely, sweet gardener” everyone wants her to be. After losing her beloved, her humanity, her life, she’s ready to claim her own path forward with the help of her friends, Nuala and Cerridwen, as she searches far and wide for the mysterious Seer’s Stone: an ancient artifact of old rumored to once belong to an ancient Seer Queen. But will fate itself step in to stop her? Or will Elain defy the strings of destiny that bind her and forge her own path forward, choosing her own fate, friendships, future, and love, along the way.

Word Count: 451

Timeline: Post-ACOSF

Pairing: Elain x Azriel (with strong Lucien x Vassa hints)

Chapter ??? - Enjoy tho ;)

She was wrath and fury, she was twenty-six years of pent up rage. She was her lost humanity, an iron ring yanked free from her finger, her father’s neck snapping beneath the devil’s hands. She could fell empires, she could burn cities, she could slay kings. 

You have slain kings, that petulant little voice murmured. 

Whether it was her own or the Cauldron’s, Elain still did not know. She never knew these days. Her blessing was her curse, but she reached for it and seized it anyways. Let it rise up and devour her, let it build like a storm, like a thunderhead waiting to collapse upon her tired shoulders. The Cauldron could create, but it could also destroy. 

Then that thing inside her began to sing, and Elain Archeron opened. 

Her white light of creation cleaved through the word, opening fissures along the battlefield and stirring ancient bones still asleep beneath the earth and calling dying stars to her aid. They speared towards that dark tower just as she commanded, warping and changing alongside her as she winnowed towards it. Soldiers died screaming wherever her light touched, nothing more than stalks of wheat bending before her holy power. The earth blackened and curled, the sky heated and shivered, her power an ancient song that shook the very foundations of this world, and then the next and the next and the next. 

An echo. 

Kingslayer, Worldcleaver, Cauldron-Blessed, Our Lady of Sight and Sorrow. 

Elain shoved her hands forward once more and another blast of her magic skittered down the line of Koschei’s soldiers, drawing out a chorus of screams that rent the twilight. They had hurt her, they had changed her, then stolen him right out of her arms. 

Him. 

She would not let herself dwell on it, on the vision of Azriel deep beneath the Tower, black iron hanging from his wrists, flames twinning around his sleeping figure. 

Never again, she’d promised him.

And Cauldron spare her, she’d meant it.

Somewhere, distantly, Vassa’s flames gilded the evening sky and an explosion of Lucien’s warm golden light sang in answer. A lord of Fire and a bird of flame. Two sides of the same fair coin, an echo and an answer she did not fully understand but knew fate demanded. 

This was why they’d been bound together, her and him, this was why they were here. To save him, to free her, to forge their own paths forward, to cleave the threads of fate they had not chosen, but needed to have in order to reach this place, this moment in time. Not a bond of love, but a bond of friendship, of power. 

A single word slammed into her. 

Carranam. 

[waydk]

15th edition of UDRI’s publication Mumbai Reader 22|23 - Civil Society and the City captures 24 original stories of civic action that have shaped your city. This reader is a chronicle of people’s journeys, their learnings and their impact across key urban themes woven together vividly from the threads of activism, history, and artistic expression. With the following contributions:

■ A Timeline of Mumbai’s Development and Civic Action compiled by UDRI ■ Civic Action Groups in Mumbai by V. Ranganathan ■ The Early Years of New Bombay by Shirish B Patel ■ Shyam Chainani: A Journey from Advocacy to Institutional Impact compiled by Anuradha Parmar and Elaine Agith ■ The Urban Transformer – A Brief History of The Urban Design Research Institute based on an interview with Rahul Mehrotra ■ The Story of the Kala Ghoda Arts District, Kala Ghoda Association and Kala Ghoda Arts Festival based on an interview with Rahul Mehrotra and Brinda Miller ■ Timeline of Mumbai Textile Mill Redevelopment and Recycling Urban Land by Charles Correa, Edited by Darryl D’ Monte ■ Bombay Imagined – An Illustrated History of the Unbuilt City by Robert Stephens ■ Nivara Hakk Then and Now: The Struggle for Housing Rights by Gurbir Singh ■ Restoring Mumbai’s Open Spaces based on an interview with P K Das ■ The Creation of SPARC and its Foundational Strategy Formations by Sheela Patel ■ A Glimpse of NPCCA’s Journey in Reclaiming Public Spaces by Atul Kumar and Swarn Kohli ■ Citizens Can Make Transformational Changes in Their Surrounds by Shirin Bharucha and Nayana Kathpalia ■ The Story of NAGAR by Nayana Kathpalia and Meher Rafaat ■ Saving Mumbai’s Sole Heritage Botanical Garden: The Struggle of the Save Rani Bagh Botanical Garden Foundation by Hutokshi Rustomfram and Shubhada Nikharge ■ The Story of AGNI: Cyrus Guzder in conversation with D. M. Sukthankar ■ Towards an Empowered and Accountable Local Governance by Nitai Mehta, Sumangali Gada and Anuj Bhagwati ■ The Story of Civis by Antaraa Vasudev and Divya Pinge Civic Action to Protect Mangroves at the Turn of the Century by Rishi Aggarwal ■ Beyond the Silent Struggles: The Story of Awaaz Foundation by Sumaira Abdulali ■ For the Right to Water by Sitaram Shelar ■ Save Aarey, Save Mumbai by Stalin Dayanand ■ Narratives from the Bandra Collective by Sameep Padora, Samir D‘Monte, Pronit Nath, Robert Verrijt and Zameer Shakir Basrai ■ Space and Hip-hop: The Birth and Evolution of Mumbai’s Underground Music Scene by Arushi Khare based on an interview with Tushar Adhav and Ashwini Hiremath ■ Fisherfolk Resistance to the Coastal Road: The Arenas of Struggle by Shweta Wagh ■ From Up There They Were Just Numbers by Amrita Gupta, Anuradha Pathak, Anant Jain and Kush Badhwar

[wingedblooms]

Like a moth to a flame

Maasverse spoilers below. Proceed with caution.

When Feyre and Elain visit the weaver near solstice, we learn that there is a very specific kind of light that not only withstands the darkness, but cuts through it like a blade.

"The silver thread," Elain asked. "What is that called?" The weaver paused the loom again, the colorful strings vibrating. She held my sister's gaze. No attempt at a smile this time. "I call it Hope." My throat became unbearably tight, my eyes stinging enough that I had to turn away, to walk back toward that extraordinary tapestry. The weave explained to my sister, "I made it after I mastered Void." I stared and stared at the black fabric that was like peering into a pit of hell. And then stared at the iridescent, living silver thread that cut through it, bright despite the darkness that devoured all other light and color. (acofas)

That light is Hope. It is a living thread of iridescent light like the healing light that flows from Nesta:

Iridescent light began flowing from Nesta's body. Into Feyre. [...] Tendrils of light drifted between the sisters. And one, delicate and loving, floated toward Mor. (acosf)

I’ve always wondered if the tendrils of iridescent light between the sisters is a hint of what lies between them: raw magic.

“Once, the High Fae were more elemental, more given to reading the stars and crafting masterpieces of art and jewelry and weaponry. Their gifts were rawer, more connected to nature, and they could imbue objects with that power.” (acosf)

We hear about the raw magic of High Fae when the inner circle learns about Nesta’s Made swords. And Sarah just happens to drop art, jewelry, and weaponry as objects that can be imbued with raw magic. Objects that make us think of the sisters: Feyre creates art, Nesta is compared to and actually forges swords, and Elain is gifted art and jewelry that embody nature. She is a blooming flower compared to Nesta’s freshly forged sword (acowar). And the two sisters who have had their stories told have used raw magic to heal (Cauldron; Feyre, Nyx), to create, like the High Fae once did. We will likely see the third sister exhibit rawer magic as well.

We're led to believe that the Mother shows Nesta how to heal Feyre with iridescent light when she agrees to return her magic. We also see a luminous hand (presumably the Mother's) prevent the Cauldron from taking all of Nesta's power, which may be connected to the hand on the mural in Spring that pours the contents of the Cauldron into the void to create Prythian's world. In Herbs she planted, I discussed Elain’s connections to witches and healers (and these categories often overlap, like witches and seers; since the sisters may all possess raw magic, it is not far fetched that Elain could weave sight and healing together as a mystical forest witch would). In that post, I also review how the being we call the Mother behaves a lot like the Other who appears to Yrene in Tower of Dawn. This Other is believed to be Silba, the goddess of healing and gentle deaths. Like the Mother, Silba is also associated with a dark womb, and her healing magic is referred to as world-making power, which brings to mind the hands of creation in Spring.

Yrene, the healer Silba appears to, possesses raw healing magic and it manifests as white light. She uses it to battle Valg magic, which is compared to darkness, void, and hell.

He’d roared around it. His bellowing had been almost as bad as the magic itself. It was a void. It was a new, dark hell. […] She’d hurled her magic against the wall, letting its swarm of burning white lights attack in wave after wave, but—nothing. (tod)

Like water, it seeps into Chaol's legs, and acts like a swarm of fireflies.

Closing her eyes, Yrene let her power seep into his legs like a swarm of white fireflies, finding those damaged pathways and congregating, surrounding the frayed bits that went silent during these exercises, when they should have been lit up like the rest of him. (tod)

Healers' lights are also compared to blooms, and together, they are a field of white flowers.

Blooming lights, along that broken interior. And where they shone... Flesh knitted. Bone smoothed. Light after light after light. [...] Yrene brushed herself along them, waded through them like a field of white flowers, the lights bobbing and swaying in this quiet place of pain. Not lights...but healers. She knew their lights, their essences. (tod)

Her power can also cut through the dark like a weapon, like Hope.

No way to stop Yrene as she plunged into his body, her magic a white swarming light around them, inside them. […] Yrene did not hesitate. She soared through him, down the ladder of his spine, down the corridors of his bones and blood. She was a spear of light, fired straight into the dark, aiming for that hovering shadow that had stretched out once more. That had tried to reclaim him. Yrene slammed into the darkness and screamed. (tod)

Healing magic is repeatedly compared to living things, and we often see Yrene’s raw gift swarm when it attacks the darkness. The term swarm is associated with flying insects, and in particular, honeybees. They swarm protectively when they leave the hive with new life.

“Fire is cleansing. Purifying. But amongst the healing arts, it’s not often used. Too unwieldy. Water is better-tuned to the healing. But then there are raw healing gifts. Like mine.”

“Light,” Chaol said. “It looked like swarming lights, against their darkness.” (tod)

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Elain rose early to accompany Feyre and asked the weaver about the living thread of Hope, especially since this thread resembles the way raw healing magic—living light—behaves in the darkness. We learn that life, in the form of living light, not only pierces the void, but travels through it. Elain is consistently linked to rebirth and the dawn through imagery and her daily routine, rising with the dawn to tend to gardens or help the twins in the kitchen. Dawn is connected to healing magic, and ahappyhermit theorized that Elain may have even healed Cassian’s wounds as Nesta beheaded Hybern in acowar. @silverlinedeyes and @offtorivendell also theorized that Elain might be a Lifesinger, calling to living things around her as she creates. She is often (if not constantly) creating. Whatever happens in canon, it’s clear Elain is the epitome of living light, of Hope:

Beautiful - she'd always been the most beautiful of us. Soft and lovely, like a summer dawn. (acomaf)

She was a rose bloom in a mud field.(acowar)

Even in the middle of winter, she was a bloom of color and sunshine. (acofas)

Her sister's delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. [...] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain's smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. (acosf)

Her brown eyes were bright with tears, but she kept her chin high. (acosf)

Even on the longest night of the year, she glows like the dawn, when light pierces the darkness.

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The Fanlights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. (Azriel's bonus chapter)

Nesta placed her symbol, a bloom made in the icy darkness of winter, next to the Mother's figurine on the mantle. The Mother who showed Nesta how to use her raw magic to heal. We learn in tod that healers sense Death nearby when they are called upon to heal someone’s wounds or ease their passing (hence the reference to gentle deaths). And as @psychologynerd reminded me, Elain uses her hands to bring joy and beauty to others, even in death.

Elain quietly washed his face. Combed out his hair and beard. Straightened his clothes.

She found flowers—somewhere. She laid them at his head, on his chest.

We stared down at him in silence. “I love you,” Elain whispered, voice breaking.

Nesta said nothing, face unreadable. There were such shadows in her eyes. I had not told her what I’d seen—had let them tell me what they wanted.

Elain breathed, “Should we—say a prayer?”

We did not have such things in the human world, I remembered. My sisters had no prayers to offer him. But in Prythian …

“Mother hold you,” I whispered, reciting words I had not heard since that day Under the Mountain. “May you pass through the gates; may you smell that immortal land of milk and honey.” Flame ignited at my fingertips. All I could muster. All that was left. “Fear no evil. Feel no pain.” My mouth trembled as I breathed, “May you enter eternity.”

Tears slid down Elain’s pallid cheeks as she adjusted an errant flower on our father’s chest, white-petaled and delicate, and then backed away to my side with a nod. (acowar)

I can’t help but wonder where she might’ve found those white flowers on a blood-stained battlefield. Did she actually find them, or did she will them from the soil with her own magic? I love that she does not balk from death and finds a way to nurture life amid bloodshed.

And like a moth to a flame, Azriel—Death incarnate—is repeatedly drawn to Elain, whose light seems to be able to cut through his shadows. A match in power for the darkness.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hands still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection...that knife. (acowar)

Truth-Teller, a Starborn heirloom, is the bridge between them. It is a bridge of power, where dark and light blend together, creating the harmonious contrast of dawn and dusk. Dark light. @offtorivendell wrote beautifully about how this scene hints at their future, and @psychologynerd suggested it represents an alchemical marriage. I have also wondered what might happen if their powers are joined like their hands in this scene. In one hand, Elain creates joy and life, and in the other hand, Azriel inflicts pain and death. They have also traded roles when called upon, usually in response to the other. This might explain why Azriel’s power also behaves like a dark counterpart to Elain’s, shadows gathering information as her Sight does, twining like her prophetic vine of flowers. They also swarm like the living light of healing when Azriel—or someone he cares about—is threatened.

"Because of the shit with Elain?" Azriel stilled. "What happened to Elain?" Cassian waved a hand. "A fight with Nesta. Don't bring it up," he warned when Azriel's eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. "I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then." "It's about what I discovered. Rhys said he requires you both there." "It's bad, then." Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. "You all right?" His brother nodded. "Fine." But the shadows still swarmed him. Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn't push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up. (acosf)

Elain had a mere fight with her sister and cold-as-death Azriel nearly lost his shit. His eyes darkened and his shadows swarmed him, promising pain. He wasn’t even there to witness the fight, he just heard about it after the fact. Death clearly has it bad for the lovely fawn. And I fully expect to see her living light bring him to his knees. Like a moth to a flame.

[wingedblooms]

ngl it makes me super nervous that SJM is reposting so much about the Spring court considering Elain’s book is probably next.

Hey, it’s okay to feel nervous. 💕 If you’re looking for reassurance, let me just say that the stories she shared felt like obligatory social media engagement to me. If it did mean anything (which I truly doubt), it would be that the third sister—like both her sisters in their own stories—is going to visit other courts, including Spring. The plot that was set up is clearly broader than a single court (Wyrd and her sacred peaks). Elain can be an important member of the Night Court and travel to many different places like every other member of her family. Travel to the Spring Court does not determine her endgame (and as an aside, there’s something about a demon in spring that really appeals to me).

If Elain does visit Spring, it could relate to that broader plot thread. That’s where Feyre first learned about the origins of Prythian and how she thought to cup her hands to heal Wyrd’s physical form (the Cauldron). Could Elain understand the language of creation (wyrdmarks) on the mural?

And will the starlight pool that echoes Wyrd’s sparkling light in the mural come back into play? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it reminds me of the thread of Hope Feyre and Elain learned about in acofas and Wyrd’s original powers (pure, blossoming life).

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There’s a reason Elain’s scent is a promise of spring, a sparkling river that her sister followed. And while, yes, the mysterious Lady of Spring is a beloved headcanon of mine, it makes much more sense for those hints to be connected to Wyrd and the larger story that has emerged.