#lucien’s brothers can be pale n he can still be a light skin king

[illyrianbitch]

i’m a black lucien truther till i die!!!!

(insert complaints here) “lucien isn’t black!!! he can’t be drawn as black!!! he would’ve been killed!!! it makes no sense!! canonically he is not black”

COMEEEE ONNN HAVE SOME CREATIVITY BABIES LETS SEE THE VISION. i will now turn to my queen, the talented @listening_stars on instagram. all art below belongs to her & can be found on her insta!!

“lady autumn is pale! a pale redhead!”

would u…look at that… 😏 so gorgeous

“lucien wouldn’t look related to his brothers at all!”

the vanserra boys with a tad of MELANIN!! black features!!! and they’re still relatively pale!!! (so sexy too grrr if even why hot)

“lucien has long red hair! hes tan!!”

i present… LONG RED HAIR!!!!! and look....hes tan!!! its almost as if....there are so many diff skin tones.... :o

thanks for coming to my ted talk. lucien is a sexy black man to me and y’all r NOT taking that away 💯💯💯

[ships-and-saints]

“I can’t stay away.” [Part 1] [Nesta x Cassian]

a/n: IT’S FINALLY HERE i hope you all like it!!! this is my first nessian fic, and it’s mainly from Cassian’s POV. let me know if you can’t wait for the next parts! and i’d LOVE to hear your thoughts, seriously they give me life and inspiration! also THANK YOU SO MUCH to Bianca aka @catastrophicallyinlovewithbooks for reading the early draft of this for me and offering awesome advice and constructive criticism, this piece would not be what it is right now without her!!!

NOTE: MAJOR ACOWAR SPOILERS!! MAJOR ACOWAR SPOILERS!! I also recommend reading Wings and Embers if you enjoy Nessian fics, the Target-exclusive chapter in ACOMAF! FST: Moth’s Wings (stripped down) by Passion Pit Word Count: 2280

Parts: [ teaser ] [ part 1 ] [ part 2 ] [ part 3 ] [ part 4 ] [ part 5 ] Read it on: [ fanfiction.net ] [ archive of our own ]

"Dear friend as you know,  Your flowers are withering,  Your mother's gone missing,  Your leaves have drifted away.

But the clouds are clearing up And I've come reveling Burning incandescently Like a bastard on the burning sea"

- Moth's Wings (stripped down) by Passion Pit

Cassian

It had been a week and a half since Hybern's War ended, and Cassian wondered if perhaps he should write Nesta a letter.

What would he even say? Dear Nesta… I'm sorry about your father, but maybe training with me will help? Oh, and by the way, thanks for throwing your body over mine when the gods-damned King of Hybern tried to kill us both…?

Yeah, right. Cassian shook his head in irritation, his dark hair falling across his face. He frowned into the heavy, crystal tumbler he held, half-full of whiskey. What was it about words that made them so hard to grasp when he needed them the most?

During the first few days after the war ended, Cassian had gone to visit the Illyrian families of fallen warriors to mourn and pay his respects.

But afterwards, he returned to Velaris where he watched Nesta dutifully attend meals and push food around on her plate, barely speaking to anyone save for Feyre and Elain. Nesta just sat there with a cool, blank expression on her face, sitting and watching everyone.

Breakfast this morning was no different. Even though Elain had arranged freshly cut lilies and chrysanthemums in a slim, patterned vase, Cassian felt like he was watching the flowers wither in front of him.

Since the war ended, Nesta had holed herself up in her room nearly every day. Occasionally, she would have Feyre or Azriel fly her up to the House of Wind so she could sit in her favorite armchair at the library to read, preferring to be alone and undisturbed.

Cassian had been relying on Rhysand and Azriel as well, as his wings were out of commission after the war. But after a few days of rest and applying healing salve, his wings had healed enough for him to fly up to the House of Wind.

He hesitantly circled above, unsure of whether to go in and talk to Nesta or not. Imagined conversations started and trailed off in his mind as he warred internally.

During the few times he had mustered the courage to confront her, his usual verbal prods and cheeky remarks barely provoked a reaction from her, nothing like the barbed responses she usually volleyed back.

So he stayed away for a few more days, trying to give her space even though it deeply concerned him that she seemed to be slowly wasting away before his eyes.

Even her sisters looked worried, often swapping anxious glances. He once overheard them murmuring about whether Nesta might snap, whether the death of their father was just too much for her after all she had been through.

Elain was also mourning their father's death, but the Spring Court fox, Lucien Vanserra, had stuck around to comfort her. He had met Mr. Archeron while on his mission to find the firebird queen, and however brief their time together was, hearing Lucien speak about her father seemed to bring Elain some comfort.

And Azriel often visited Elain while she was tending her gardens, which improved her mood significantly. Lucien seemed resigned to their budding friendship.

Feyre had the Morrigan and her mate Rhysand for support, but even so… The three sisters were now orphaned, since their mother passed away long ago…

Standing on the balcony at the House of Wind, Cassian stared at the glowing lights of the city and ruminated on how much the situation had changed in just a few weeks. How before the culmination of the war, Elain had been the one who was in shock, who needed her soul soothed. How Azriel had been the one to hear and see what she needed, and Azriel had even given her Truth-teller, which saved both his and Nesta's damn necks…

Thinking about the Shadowsinger, Cassian had no choice but to begrudgingly acknowledge his brother Azriel seemed to have a knack with the Archeron women. Probably had to do with the fact that the dark-haired Illyrian was not only tall and handsome, but also mysterious with his shadows and all.

Cassian snorted and flexed his left fingers. I'm going to pummel him into the dirt next time we spar.

He wondered whether Azriel might have better luck talking to Nesta, but the thought sent both a jolt of jealousy and annoyance through his mind.

No. She's mine, he growled to himself, instinctively, the mating bond ringing in his head. Mine to take care of…

But then he shook his head violently, as if trying to fling the thoughts from his mind. No, not yet… Not yet. Maybe not ever, with how things are going. She doesn't even want to see me, let alone talk to me…

He wished that Nesta responded to his customary humor, how he dealt with serious situations. Idly, Cassian wondered how mad she'd be if he just left her a note that said, "Dear Nes, Can I touch your butt? Love, Cass," but he shook his head and tried to wipe the smirk off his face before someone asked him what he was laughing about. Perhaps one day, she would be more open and less… guarded around him.

"Why do you have that smarmy smirk on your face?" Mor breezed onto the balcony wearing one of her typical Night Court dresses, a long, pale yellow dress with geometric cutouts that put her golden-brown skin on display.

Cassian hid his irritation; Mor had a penchant for catching him off-guard. Instead, he replaced the remnants of his smirk with a lazy grin as he beheld her swishing towards him.

So different from the classic gowns Nesta usually wears, Cassian mused… Glancing down at his glass of whiskey, he took another swig for still thinking of Nesta.

Mor surveyed him as she awaited his answer, taking in his dark leathers and the swords strapped to his back. Typical Illyrian attire.

"Nothing," he replied smoothly, "Just glad to be alive, that's all."

Mor arched her perfect eyebrows, her red lips pursed reproachfully. "Me too. You were really cutting it close this time, you know, Cassian?" She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, although he could see in her eyes that she was relieved he was safe. And whole.

He nodded and turned to face the shining city, placing his scarred hands on the white balustrade. Mor's heels clicked as she stepped next to him, her wine glass clinking against the plaster as she stared up into the night sky.

They stood outside the House of Winds, enjoying the cool breeze and the smattering of stars glimmering overhead in the cloudless sky.

The silence was companionable at first, but gradually, Cassian felt a tension creep up, a slight unease emanating from Mor. She was staring down into the depths of her wine glass, as if she could simply divine the answers she sought if she squinted at the dregs of red wine hard enough.

Finally, she spoke, hesitantly. "Cassian… go to her," she said softly, "She needs you. And… you need her."

He didn't have to ask to know she was talking about Nesta.

Cassian gripped the crystal tumbler tighter, swirling the last few mouthfuls of whiskey that skimmed the bottom of the glass. "She… needs space. And time." He didn't know how many times he had repeated the words to himself. He downed the rest of the alcohol in his glass.

Mor snorted delicately, but the tone in her voice was… honest, resigned. "Listen to yourself. Just look at me, look how much time I've had. Years. Centuries. And it's never gotten me anywhere." She spoke candidly, and her demeanor was casual… but still, Cassian had known her long enough to see through the pretense, to see that she was anticipating his response.

He stilled and really looked at Mor then, his hazel eyes meeting her brown ones. An emotion he couldn't quite place stirred beneath the cool mask on her face.

Cassian's eyes narrowed slightly. Just as he suspected, something was different about her… Not bad, just different.

She broke the gaze first, turning to face the city and the skyline again. Blowing stray blonde strands from her face, the swirling emotion finally revealed itself; she looked chagrined. "Feyre and I… we exchanged… words during the battle… I was furious that she went off to chase the Suriel on her own, that she nudged me towards the battlefield, and as High Lady, she didn't trust me enough to tell me her plans…" She took a deep breath and let it out noisily.

Mor turned to face him, her face illuminated by the moonlight, her brown eyes bright and defiant. Swirling with strength and… conviction. And some fear, beneath it all.

"Cassian… I prefer women." She blew out a breath, her golden cheeks slightly flushing with color. "I haven't… admitted it or embraced it, even though I know how I feel won't change. But… my family, Hewn City…"

Mor's eyes squeezed shut as her face twisted and her body tensed. "What Rhys did… He let them into Velaris. Our home. My home…" She paused. "My sanctuary."

Her eyes finally opened and found his, and they were full of a deep, ancient sadness. Cassian didn't know what to say, so he just watched her, her chest heaving…

"We'll find a way through it. Together. We won't let them touch you." Cassian turned to face her.

Mor's eyes were full of agony, but then they shuttered. "They don't deserve this place," she said softly, miserably.

Cassian moved to put a head on her shoulder. "I know," he said. "They don't. But remember what Amren said before… she may have given up the essence of her past being, but she's still High Fae, and I have no doubt she'll still be able to keep the order and peace in this city." Mor nodded, although tears still threatened to escape from the corners of her eyes.

They both looked out at the city again. Cassian blew out a breath. "And who knows, maybe this place will change them."

Mor shot him an incredulous look. "Is that supposed to be a good thing?"

Cassian answered with a feral grin. "Well, the alternative is death. If they can't behave, we'll just spike their heads to the front gate and make an example of them."

Mor cracked a small smile at that, although her bottom lip wobbled.

"So... you prefer women, then? Is that why you spent all that time at Rita's?" Cassian probed.

"Yeah, Rita's… and after all that's happened, that's why… all this time, with Az…" Her eyes shuttered as if she were in pain, as if she couldn't bring herself to think about how she had hurt Azriel throughout the years, the centuries.

Cassian just stared at her, unblinking for a moment, before cocking his head, weighing his response.

She was right; it didn't matter to him which gender Mor preferred. All he wanted was for… for Mor to be happy. And Az too, although he'd always been slightly jealous of his friend's fixation with the Morrigan.

And… Cassian had suspected that something was different with Mor, although he had always shoved the thoughts from his mind, thinking that the right to do was to let the Morrigan sort out her own truths. Like the rest of the Inner Circle had, for centuries.

But after so many years of coming between her and Azriel, he knew something wasn't quite right, that they weren't meant to be tied together because the mating bond should have snapped into place within five centuries…

"Cassian," Mor's voice was low and commanding, snapping Cassian from his thoughts, "Go to her. Don't talk to her like you talk to me. Don't treat her like you treat me, because she's not like us. She's not one of us."

Cassian just stared and stared at her then, while thoughts and images of Nesta flooded through his mind, unspoken conversations starting and ending as he agonized over what to say.

But he finally nodded, and unfurled his wings. His eyes met hers, and Mor looked… sorrowful, but contemplative. More… at peace with herself than Cassian had seen before.

"You know it doesn't matter to me, who you love, who you prefer… As long as you're happy. Have you told Rhys?" he asked softly. Mor's brown eyes trailed the edges of his repaired wings.

She nodded, looking somewhat guiltily. "Yeah, I told him before you… But that's because he and Feyre are mated." She made a long-suffering face and Cassian laughed. "She said she wouldn't tell him, but that stupid bat would've somehow found out anyway, and I wanted him to hear it from me."

"We'll protect you from your family, no matter what. But, you need to tell Az," he told her firmly. "Yourself."

Mor lifted her chin but looked unhappy. "I know. Will it… change things? Between us all?"

Cassian scanned her eyes and shrugged. One side of his mouth quirked up. "I mean, it won't change what's happened already… but maybe it will bring you both peace. Truth sets us free, and all that, remember?"

Smiling crookedly, he flicked her nose with his finger and then launched himself into the clear, night sky before Mor could do anything more than cry out in retaliation. He smirked to himself, catching an updraft with his widespread wings, steering himself towards Rhys and Feyre's townhouse.

Towards Nesta.

Ever since the War, the bond had felt more real to him, more tangible, and he unconsciously brushed it…

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta… even the winds and skies knew her; they carried her name and whispered it in his ear as he soared in her direction, following the tug from his heart.