#nesta fan fiction

[olive-main]

Masterlist

A/N: I FINALLY updated my masterlist - I won’t be listing specific characters since most of them have so many. Of course, I write for the more popular/well-known characters but if you’re unsure don’t be afraid to ask :) As always my DMs are open. (Not just for requests, but to talk about anything related to the fandoms listed!)

Requests: Sometimes I may take a while to answer or post requests. I’m a college student, and work full time. So please bare with me…😔

Key: Fluff (🧸) Smut (💋) Angst (🪦)

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ACOTAR (SJM Universe)

Azriel -

To Love and Let Go (🪦)

Between Us Alone (🪦,🧸)

No Damsels Here (🧸)

Eris Vanserra -

Treasured Yearning (🪦, 🧸)

Fourth Wing

Xaden Riorson -

Healing Through Hurt (🪦, 🧸)

Baldurs Gate 3

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Bucky Barnes -

Two Heads of Hydra (🪦?)

Scars and All (🪦, 🧸)

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Any toxicity or hate towards characters will result in being blocked. Criticism and discussions are welcome, disrespect is not. They’re fictional, and everyone is entitled to their own opinion.

[shallyne]

The Sun and the Moon

Words: 500

“Do you think the moon and the sun are friends?��� Feyre asked and with that question, she climbed on Nesta's bed without invitation, wriggling her too short legs until she fully managed to climb up.

“No,” Nesta simply replied, turning a page in her book. She didn't pay Feyre much mind, her little sister always asked endless questions, if they made sense or not. Today it seemed to not make any sense, except maybe in Feyre's curious mind.

Feyre slumped down right beside her, her childish gaze boring into Nesta as she asked, “Why not?”

Rolling her eyes, Nesta put a bookmark between the yellowed pages of her book and closed it. “They are polar opposites, they can't be friends.”

That seemed to make Feyre think, her small finger tapping against her chin until her focus was back on Nesta. “But why can't they be friends? Maybe it's the difference that makes them friends! They might complete each other, like two puzzle pieces.”

Fully annoyed now by Feyre's antics, Nesta stood and ushered her little sister to the door. “Shouldn't you be playing with your dolls instead of musing like a poet?”

“What dolls?”

Not even further contemplating what Feyre said, Nesta grabbed an old doll of hers and pushed it into Feyre's hands. Her door was closed before her little sister could utter another word.

Nesta opened Feyre's drawer of their old dresser, the one she had painted with the night sky. In hindsight, she was always meant to end up in the Night Court, ruling at Rhysand's side.

It's been over a year since Nesta went back to their little cottage that they had cramped in when they lost their fortune and it was hard, to say the least. All the memories, more bad than good, seem to press on her. Everything in here was as just as they left it, but more overgrown. There was also a hole in the roof now, making the ground underneath her feet brittle.

All of Feyre's clothes were still in her drawer, just as she left it before the beast, Tamlin, took her what felt like a lifetime ago. She didn't know why she pushed the few clothes to the side, maybe it was some kind of instinct to what she found there in the farthest corner, cramped far into the back.

A doll. Not just a doll, the doll Nesta has given her sister to leave. She didn't know that Feyre haf kept this doll, thought she had thrown it into some corner after returning to her room.

“What dolls?” echoed in Nesta's mind, in her sister's baby voice. Looking back, she never saw Feyre with any kind of dolls, or toys in general. She always made do with stuff she found outside, rocks, sticks, dirt. And just then it dawned on her that Nesta's doll was the only real toy Feyre ever had, before the circumstances took their childhood. And still Feyre had taken the doll with her.

Footsteps sounded behind Nesta and she looked back, finding Cassian in the doorway. He was so big that the cottage seemed even smaller around them, especially with the wings.

Pressing the doll to her chest, Nesta asked him, “Do you think the moon and the sun are friends?”

Confusion was written all over Cassian’s stupidly handsome face but he replied nonetheless, “I like to believe they are.”

[wildlyglittering]

Illyrian Comfort Pie

I shared a post with some Christmas OTP prompts and asked if anyone wanted any for Nessian and @dustjacketmusings chose:

"Every country has different traditions for Christmas when it comes to food: trying something new when they have always eaten the same dishes for the holidays feels wrong at first. But when it’s cooked with love by their favourite person, it can sure taste like new traditions."

I don't know if this entirely fills the prompt and it's a lot rougher than I'd like but please enjoy!

Illyrian Comfort Pie

“Fuck you, Morrigan.” Nesta wiped her bare arm across her brow, spices and herbs transferring straight from her forehead onto her forearm, the little green and orange specks dusting her skin. “And fuck you Rhys come to that.”

The alarm on her phone screamed and Nesta whirled around in her small kitchen space. She’d put the device down earlier, stabbing at the timer with a flour covered fingertip whilst trying to shove her pie into the oven.

Where the hell had she put the damn thing?

On the counter stood an open cookbook entitled ‘Recipes from the Heartland of Illyria,’ a bottle of wine which doubled as a rolling pin and cooking motivation, and Nesta’s pathetic pastry attempts one, two, and three – each one slightly less gloopy than the last - until she finally made semi-successful attempt number four.

No phone.  

Nesta let out a noise halfway between a screech and a yell, her hands reaching either side of her head, ignoring whatever food stuff would end up in her hair.

“Shit!” At least she managed to remember what the phone alarm was for, swivelling behind her and yanking down the oven door, reaching for the mitts as she ducked a plume of smoke.

This one didn’t smell too bad. Nesta grabbed the pie and shoved it onto the trivet on the counter. The crust was a little singed on one side but, if she was careful, she’d be able to scrape that off.

Her movements jostled a reem of paper towels and as they fell to their side, they revealed the object of Nesta’s irritation. One phone.

“Thank you,” she muttered, her eyes drifting upwards to the ceiling as she turned off the alarm. Her thanks was to whatever cookery god was willing to listen and half to the smoke alarm not going off.

Three notifications waited for her. She took a breath in and hit open on the first one.

Hahaha. You agreed to what?! Even *I* run from making that dish. Pretty sure my *grandmother* ran from making that dish and she used to be a baker. Anyway, are you coming Thursday?

Emerie. Not providing the answers Nesta was so desperately hoping for, instead reminding Nesta she had yet to confirm drinks with her and Gwyn. Nesta typed out a quick response.

Yes to Thursday. Any chance your grandmother would attempt making this again if I paid her?

Sent. Nesta moved onto notification number two - Feyre.

Did you want me to see if the Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street will do a delivery? If you put it in the oven for a bit and burn the edges no one will know.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. The audacity of her sister to assume Nesta would need assistance and that she’d burn the pie. She had burnt the pie but still, the audacity.

She chose not to respond to that one and instead moved to the final notification. Cassian. Nesta took a deep breath and hit open.

Are you having as much fun as I am? Thinking I could do this as a side hustle.

There was a photo attached. Cassian had taken a selfie of himself standing in front of his obnoxiously large quartz kitchen counter. His dark hair was tied in a messy bun and he winked into the camera. He wore an apron Nesta had never seen before, deep red with candy cane striped ties and in Christmas style writing was embroidered ‘Kiss the Chef’ underneath a sprig of mistletoe.

Nesta squinted at the image, zooming past Cassian himself to the dishes behind him slightly out of frame. Was that a bowl of perfectly glazed parsnips? A tray of immaculate shortbreads?

She let out another noise and flung the phone back onto the counter so she could press her palms into her eyes. At this point she was covered in flour, meat juice, and soggy pastry pieces. Sweat gathered under her breasts and trickled down her back from the constant heat of the oven.

Nesta had been baking for over six hours now and though there was a small part of her which wanted to cry, she refused. Although she’d cursed Morrigan and Rhys the biggest ‘fuck you’ should have been delivered to Nesta herself.

She’d agreed to this when she should have declined, and now her pride would cause her to take a fall.

There had been five of them for drinks at Rita’s. Should have been two – only Nesta and Cassian for their quiet post theatre drinks, but Morrigan had been there with other friends who she swiftly abandoned as soon as she saw Cassian arrive.

Within minutes Morrigan had called Feyre and then before Nesta knew it, she was being squished into a booth, Cassian to her left and Feyre to her right, while she sipped her chilled white wine and counted the minutes until it was socially acceptable to say her goodbyes.

“Oh my god,” Morrigan had been saying. “That was the best dish I think I’d ever eaten. Do you remember it Rhys? The caramelised onions and gravy? What was it called again Cass?”

Cassian groaned and lolled his head back. “Illyrian Comfort Pie. My favourite.” He took a sip of his beer. “The Illyrian army did a version with off-cuts, almost ruined a perfect dish.”

“What’s this pie?” Feyre asked.

“Only the best pie in the world,” Cassian replied, his eyes misting over. “Imagine thick tender beef soaked in its own juices for hours, drowned in rich gravy and embedded with caramelised onions all under a cover of hot crust pastry.”

“You need a room, Cass?” Rhys laughed.

Cassian raised his middle finger to Rhys but joined him in the laughter.

“Cassian’s ex made the best version,” Morrigan said, her eyes sliding to Nesta. “Honestly no one would be able to top it. Bri wasn’t even Illyrian but it was spot on.” She took a long sip from her own glass of red wine. “I guess it doesn’t need to be your own tradition if you care enough to put in the effort.”

There was a heavy silence which would have lingered if not for the clearing of Feyre’s throat. “Who’s got who for Secret Santa?”

“Oh, I’m sure if Nesta put in the effort it would be just as good. Right?” Nesta looked up and met Rhys’ eyes as he ignored Feyre’s question. He smirked as he finished speaking, cocking his own beer bottle to his mouth.

Three more pairs of eyes looked her way. Nesta felt the slight, almost imperceptible tensing from Cassian but it was Feyre’s eyes which widened the most. There was a kick against Nesta’s shin under the table.

“I’m sure it would,” Nesta said, “if I had the time.”

“Cassian was telling us at the bar you’re now on vacation. All your gifts already wrapped and under the tree. Sounds like you have time.”

“Rhys...” Feyre began but Morrigan jumped in.

“I think that would be a lovely Christmas present for Cass. You can start your own tradition now you’re official. Illyrian food is so hearty.”

There was a part of Nesta which was too stubborn for her own good. Rhys’ smirk and Morrigan’s too-wide grin opposite her, the meeting of the cousin’s eyes like this was some in-joke they had just started. Feyre kept kicking her under the table, the jostling movement irritating Nesta further.

The flash of irritation was the problem. That, and the second glass of wine she’d drunk on a half empty stomach fuelling it. Her temperature rose and her skin prickled and instead of counting to twenty like she’d been practicing in her apartment Nesta opened her mouth.

“Fine,” she said, “this whole thing sounds great. One Illyrian Comfort Pie it is. When do you want it? Day after next?” Nesta quickly grabbed her glass to take a swig of her drink before she agreed to anything else.

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up but she didn’t want to meet his eyes, he was probably thinking how Nesta wasn’t implementing those ‘take a moment’ techniques. But his hand reached down to clasp her free one under the table, giving it a squeeze.

“You know what?” he said, looking at the group. “I want in on this. New traditions sound great. You’re making mine so how about yours. What’s the Archeron family dish of choice?” He asked this looking at Nesta but she still had the wine glass clamped to her lips. No longer drinking, just holding it there to feel the cold.

“Ooh,” Feyre said, clapping her hands and jiggling a little on her seat. “Roasted venison, but that’s quite tricky. We haven’t eaten that since Elain went vegetarian. We also had roast potatoes and honey glazed parsnips. Green beans. There was a cheesy mash and – oh, oh, the shortbread biscuits with a chocolate drizzle and the Prythian Pavlova. That’s Nesta’s favourite.”

Cassian laughed. “You want to take a breath there, Feyre?”

In response, Feyre’s stomach grumbled. “No, but I think I need some dinner.”

Aside from Nesta, the table laughed. Her wine glass was now empty and back on the table, her fingers toying with the stem, her mind too preoccupied with the thought of this pie and how the hell she’d even find the recipe.

As the chatter resumed, now about where Rhys and Feyre were going for dinner, Cassian’s weight shifted against her, his arm casually slinging around her shoulders.

“You ok?”

She glanced up at him, plastering a smile on her face. “Absolutely fine.”

“Hmm. Is that genuine fine or Nesta fine?”

Cassian was staring at her intently, concern swimming in his dark eyes. She knew if she immediately conceded he’d let it go, their friendship group knew Nesta wasn’t known for her domestic pursuits and Cassian could whip up a mean dish filled with flavour.

If she really wanted to, Nesta could cheat her way out of this. Getting Elain to bake the pie for her would have once been a consideration until Elain and Lucien’s diet change. No meat, no dairy, no sugar.

No flavour, Lucien had added, ignoring Elain’s frown.

Still, there was something else shining in Cassian’s eyes. Excitement. He was pleased she’d agreed, he relished competition in all its forms and he seemed eager to do this with her.

Nesta’s smile melted in a more genuine one and she squeezed his hand back. “Honestly, it’s good. Dare I say I may even find it fun?”

That was two days ago. Two long days.

“Ha!” She now shouted to her cramped kitchen. “Two drink Nesta has no concept of what the fuck fun is.”

Everything was a mess, even the edges of the cookbook were singed and Nesta cringed at the sight. Gwyn had managed to track down the edition on her behalf and Nesta hated to see a book suffer.

She looked at the clock. Two hours to go – plenty of time to shower, dress up and cart the pie to Cassian’s where they would have a grand unveiling in front of their friends. Her phone pinged and Nesta glanced down to see a reply from Emerie.

She says no chance.

“That’s not a problem,” Nesta said, wiping her hands on her thighs and staining her jeans further. “Because I now have a half decent pie.” She picked up the sharp knife. “Just scrape some of the black bits off and we are good to go.”

The knife slid through the crust and Nesta lifted some of the burnt pastry off using the blade. Odd. What was a deep and crispy brown on the surface seemed pale and soft underneath. Almost as though the pastry hadn’t fully cooked all the way through.

“It’s just this bit,” Nesta told herself. “I’m sure the rest is just fine.” But as she gently lifted the pie-top she could see the same pale colour underneath. Worse was the distinct lack of steam rising from the filling. “No, no, no, no. You’ve been in the oven for almost two hours.”

Grabbing a fork, she stuck it into the dish and scooped out a lump of meat. Juice, which looked far too oily for her liking, dripped off the prongs. Nesta placed the meat on the counter and cut through it with a knife.

She was met with resistance. The beef was still cold. A noise left her throat unbidden, something akin to a half sob. Nesta had researched the best meat cuts for the pie, she’d made sure to go to the best butcher and spent no less than forty-five minutes asking the rather exasperated man behind the counter questions from her list.

Her eyes flew up to the clock. Less than two hours to go. The time she’d budgeted to get ready and go to Cassian’s now shrivelled up. Just like my hopes for this pie.

She peered into the dish, the caramelized onions bobbing in the gravy like some apple bobbing contest gone wrong. “You’re mocking me,” she said and then groaned. They wouldn’t be the only ones.  

Nesta sank down onto her floor, ignoring the drip of gravy she sat on and put her head on her knees. She could imagine it all now; Feyre, Rhys, and Morrigan all dressed up, swanning around Cassian’s apartment waiting to be served their multiple courses.

Feyre’s eyes would go wide at Nesta’s attempt but she’d try and make Nesta feel better and yet somehow by trying, she’d only make Nesta feel worse. Cassian would likely tuck the monstrosity – if she even bothered bringing it – behind some extravaganza he’d made and perform an elaborate distraction.

Rhys and Morrigan would probably just snigger behind their drinks and tell her that ‘at least she tried.’ Patronising fuckers.

A tear dripped from the corner of her eye down her chin.

Nesta had tried. Had really tried. She’d memorised the recipe from back to front before she even started, she’d gone out into Velaris Market with a clipboard, she’d called Elain early for pastry tips ignoring Lucien joining the call to ask Nesta if she could describe what real food tasted like because the memory of butter was fading fast.

She wiped her eyes with her fingers, knowing she must look even more of a state than before. But wait – there was an option open to her. Hope flared yet.

Nesta grabbed her phone from the counter. What had Feyre said? The Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street might be able to deliver. If anyone served an Illyrian Comfort Pie, it would be them. She scrolled through her favourites for the number. Her and Cassian had eaten there so often, she practically had them on speed dial.

The phone answered after the second ring.

“Hello? Hi. I know it’s late notice but I’m in a bit of a bind and hoping you could help.”

She explained the situation, confirming that yes, her pie request was for that Cassian, the one with the tattoos and arms.

“I mean, I don’t know,” Nesta said, eyeing up the clock and tapping her foot against the cupboard. “I’ll ask him. Some kind of protein shake, I think. Yeah, it’s really glossy hair. I’ll ask him that too. Anyway – the pie?”

They were regretful. Truly. Nesta could almost feel their sorrow down the phone. They didn’t have any pies pre-baked and they wouldn’t have one ready for the time she needed it by. They offered Nesta and Cassian a discount on their next visit and Nesta thanked them before hanging up.

“Well. Shit.”

Her eyes itched and she wanted to cry again but this wasn’t the Archeron way. She shook her shoulders and cleared her throat. There would be no pie but Nesta would be damned if she turned up without bringing anything and looking like a chaotic mess.

The kitchen horror show was a problem for future her, but in less than an hour, she had showered, dressed herself in her most confidence boosting little black dress and practiced her affirmations in front of the hallway mirror.

“You are a calm, confident, capable woman. You did not achieve the pie. Others have probably not achieved the pie. You have achieved other things. Like your best friends, two degrees, and this awesome looking pavlova.”

Nesta held the covered bowl to the mirror as though to show her reflection the cream and meringue evidence. Her lipstick red smile shook a little but the taxi driver was calling to say he was downstairs so there was no time for doubt to creep in.

On a usual night it took too long to get to Cassian’s. The drive was less than fifteen minutes from one end of the small city where Nesta lived to Cassian’s address and every second stretched out painfully slow.

Tonight, it was as though all roads had cleared especially for her just to say ‘look, you can get to your ritual humiliation even earlier.’

“It’s not like I’ve ever seen Rhys or Morrigan cook,” she mumbled to herself as she exited the cab and entered Cassian’s building. The porter nodded and buzzed her in and then Nesta was counting the too-quick numbers on the elevator.

Cassian’s apartment was one of two at the top of the building and though the sound-proofing was excellent, which they could attest to personally, Nesta was surprised at the distinct lack of any festivities sounding from behind his door when she approached.

He answered after one knock, hair freshly washed and dried. His white dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons were undone, swathes of black swirling tattoos on display.

Cassian let out a low whistle and grinned like a wolf when he saw her. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite lady, in my favourite dress of hers, with my favourite dish.”

He leant in to kiss her and Nesta winced at the mention of food. Cassian’s lips met hers in a chaste kiss but he must have noticed her response as he was frowning when he pulled away.

“Come in,” he said with a light tone. “Let me take that.” He held his hands out for the bowl she was carrying but she clutched it tighter to her body.

“That’s ok, let me find a space to put it.”

“Sure.”

Nesta stepped further into the apartment. Everything was chrome, quartz, or wood but Cassian couldn’t help himself when it came to Christmas. What was once an interior designers dream for a ‘bachelor living’ magazine spread was now a grotto fit for the dreams of any eight-year-old girl.

A smile lifted the corner of her lips. She’d never begrudge him this. Foster care and ten endless churn of care homes hadn’t left Cassian with any sense of home and the orphanage tried their best but lacked the funds.

Cassian had told her that his best Christmas eventually came in the Illyrian military and all that involved was eating dry turkey from paper plates and reading stupid jokes from cheap crackers. But he was with people that felt like family and that’s what mattered the most.

Now, garlands hung from the oversized windows, a tree larger than Cassian himself stood by the fireplace decked with shining ornaments. A range of presents piled up under the tree to the point where they spilled across his floor.

Stockings on the mantel, rugs everywhere, gingerbread houses which increased in number each time Nesta was over. Candles on every surface.

“Wine?” Cassian asked as Nesta slid the bowl onto his counter. She nodded while taking a breath in. Ham and apricot, honey, a distinct scent of rich chocolate. All the food laid out but under coverings to keep them fresh.

Her stomach stank. She’d failed him so miserably.

Her face must have painted a picture because Cassian moved beside her. “Hey, what’s up.” His fingers tucked under her chin, tilting her face to his. Those deep eyes of his, again swimming in concern.

She hoped the best Christmas present she could get him was honesty.

“I fucked it.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“The pie, I completely fucked it up.”

His confused blank expression immediately melted and he laughed, his head thrown back and the column of his throat on display. His face in laughter was a delight, he was young and happy and in love with life. “Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“There is no pie. I botched it.”

He looked down at her, his expression softening, his smile gentle. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. That pie is an art only the devil knows how to get right. Did you know Emerie’s grandmother won’t even make one and she won Illyrian baker of the year for fifteen years?”

Nesta coughed and reached for the wine poured out for her. “No, I didn’t know that.”

Cassian moved round the counter to Nesta’s dish. “So, what did you bring?”

“The only thing that didn’t involve my oven. The meringue isn’t even home-made. I’m such a sellout.”

He peeked under the covering and exhaled. “Oh, thank the Mother.” He stepped back, his hand over his heart. “I fucked it.”

Now, Nesta blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“The meringue for the Prythian Pavlova. It was the one thing I wanted to get perfect but do you know how hard meringue is to make? I couldn’t even make it to the store.”

He shook his head, grabbing his own glass of wine. “I even rang Elain to ask her for tips but Lucien answered and begged me to tell him in great detail how the filo wrapped parcels were smelling. He said, and I quote ‘go low and take your time’. I’m not sure how comfortable I am having them over for New Year.”

Nesta laughed, shaking her own head, glancing around the apartment. It had taken her long enough but something finally dawned on her. “Am I early? When are the others arriving?”

Cassian paused, swirling his glass. “Yeah, about that... I thought ‘fuck ‘em.’”

Nesta’s eyes bulged. “I think I’m missing something.”

Cassian put his glass down and leant back against the far counter.

“You know Bri’s pie wasn’t all that great. Mor was being...” he trailed off, scratching his eyebrow the way he did when he was uncomfortable. “Mor was being difficult and it was unfair. Rhys too. But I liked the idea of you and I doing our own holiday tradition so I guess I thought I’d see where we ended up.”

He gestured to his apartment and the dishes before them. “So, we ended up here. Just you and I, a bottle of wine, lots of delicious food and a very comfy rug we’re fucking on after dinner.”

“Is that right?” Nesta said, putting her glass down. She walked over to him. “Have you seen what you’ve made? We are not fucking after dinner.” She placed her hand on his chest, his heart beating a rhythm against her palm as she ignored his disappointed face. “We’re fucking before dinner.”

That wolf grin was back on his face and he leant forward to kiss her but Nesta stopped him. “I feel bad, everything here is an Archeron dish. You didn’t get your pie.”

“Oh, I’ll get to eat my pie.”

“Cassian!”

He laughed again, his broad arms wrapping around her body. “The fact that you tried means everything. I promise. This is a great start to our forever tradition.”

Nesta looked up at him; the hours of failed baking, the constant smoke alarms, the mess she had to clear up tomorrow. Worth it. All of it. “Forever you say?”

“Forever.”

[stargirlfeyre]

@wingsdippedingold since we already know you’re stalking me and my comment section, instead of creating scenerios to victimize yourself can we please talk about this and how before this post you haven’t spoken about Palestine or the genocide not once? I guess the death of innocent people is only relevant to you when it can be used to put your favorite characters on a pedestal.

So serious when I say stop trying to make it seem as if people are “just being hostile” to little ole you over fictional characters when in reality you are genuinely a disgusting person. Crying about how you don’t want this to keep being brought up whilst you continuously make post after post about me. Babe this is going to be my response to every post you make just so everyone knows how much of a ignorant person you are and why I’m not wasting my time writing essays in response to you. This screenshot speaks for itself.

[rosenecklaces]

See and then if I ever said I find weird he had never even asked for help nor mentioned wanting to get his mom out of basically house-prison, and how that perfectly correlates to his textual defend of bringing a woman's back to being abused and locked I would be called an asshole but oop 😬 no no Lucien has suffered so much in the hands of those bitch ass angry sluts- ummmmmm uh- i mean women! who he trust and loves so so soooo much whose he'll never want to cause pain! (again)

[mahalachives]

Part 2: Plot Twist: You're All Fictional

Summary: In which a fan gets yeeted into the world of fae

Genre: crack humor, drabble, minor az x reader (bcus why not)

Oops, I tripped Into Prythian - Masterlist

You had been in Prythian for exactly one week, and it was time to address the most pressing issue of all.

These people didn’t know they were in a book series.

You discovered this terrifying fact over dinner, when you accidentally let it slip that Feyre’s “entire life arc” hit harder than your student loan debt.

Feyre paused mid-bite. “My what?”

Cassian looked up, suspicious. “What did you say?”

You blinked. “Uh. Your... life arc. Like, the plot. The narrative. The emotional beats? No?”

Nesta slowly set down her fork. “Why does she sound like Gwyn when she’s two poems deep into a wine night?”

So naturally, because you had zero impulse control and no concept of self-preservation, you decided to fix the situation.

By holding a book club.

You gathered the entire Inner Circle in the House of Wind library and dramatically unveiled the stack of ACOTAR books Mor had helped you recreate with a little Illyrian smuggling and Helion’s glamour spells.

“Welcome,” you declared, arms outstretched, “to your unsolicited literary awakening.”

Rhysand eyed the books like they were cursed. “You’re telling me someone… wrote down our lives?”

“Multiple someones,” you said solemnly. “And then sold them. Worldwide.”

Azriel’s jaw ticked. “So strangers know... everything?”

You nodded. “Everything.”

Cassian leaned forward, grinning. “Even about—”

“Yes, Cassian,” you interrupted. “Even that.”

He fist-pumped. “Nice.”

Feyre picked up A Court of Mist and Fury, frowning as she flipped through the pages. “Why does this make me sound like a YA protagonist with trauma and a painting fetish?”

“Because you are,” you said helpfully.

She blinked.

Nesta grabbed Silver Flames and skimmed a few pages before muttering, “Well. This is uncomfortably accurate.”

Cassian peeked over her shoulder. “They really wrote that scene? That scene?”

Nesta smirked. “Word for word.”

Rhysand was halfway through A Court of Frost and Starlight when he scowled. “Why does this one feel like filler?”

“Because it is,” you and Nesta said in perfect unison.

Mor, gleeful, held up Wings and Embers. “Wait—does this mean Cassian is officially a simp?”

“Yes,” you said. “Certified. Trademarked. Embossed in gold.”

Cassian threw a pillow at you. “And what about you? Are you in these books?”

You shrugged. “Sadly, no. I am but a humble interdimensional interloper. However…” You dramatically pulled out a custom-made novella cover with YOU x AZRIEL: Mating Bond Mayhem printed on it in shimmering Night Court silver.

Azriel stared at it like it personally offended him.

“Please tell me that isn’t real,” he muttered.

You winked. “It is in my heart.”

Rhys flipped open A Court of Thorns and Roses, reading aloud. “He was the most beautiful male I’d ever seen.’”

You leaned in. “Yes. And that’s Tamlin. Remember him?”

Rhys dropped the book like it burned. “Unclean.”

Feyre giggled.

Nesta snorted.

Even Azriel’s shadows flared like they were trying not to laugh.

Then Elain, who had been quietly reading in the corner, finally looked up.

“I like this version of me,” she said softly.

Everyone froze.

You blinked. “You… what now?”

Elain held up A Court of Silver Flames, pointing to a scene where she verbally eviscerates Lucien. “I like that I get mad. That I have feelings. That I say things.”

Cassian whispered, “Oh gods. She's awakening.”

Azriel looked genuinely alarmed.

“Elain,” Feyre said slowly, “you’re always allowed to say things.”

“I know,” Elain replied, deadly calm. “But now I have dialogue.”

Mor cackled.

Nesta looked like she’d been waiting years for this. Rhysand leaned over to Feyre and whispered, “Do we… encourage this?”

You stood and raised your hands. “Friends. Fae. Chaos incarnate. I have one final proposal.”

Cassian perked up. “Does it involve more books?”

“No,” you said gravely. “It involves us starting a book club.”

Rhys groaned. “We live the events already, why would we—”

“Because,” you interrupted, “it’s different when you know spoilers.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “Spoilers?”

You grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know who your mate is?”

Everyone froze.

You turned dramatically toward him. “Spoiler alert: It’s me.”

Azriel turned and walked away.

You cupped your hands around your mouth and yelled after him, “I HAVE FANFICS TO PROVE IT.”

He didn’t stop.

But Elain, flipping through A Court of Mist and Fury again, murmured, “Wait… what’s fanfic?”

And you smiled.

Because Prythian wasn’t ready.

And neither were they.

To be continued.

[spore-loser]

Why feminism and critique are important :

Something I noticed, being in this fandom – from discussions about Rhysand sexually and physically assaulting Feyre UTM, to Elain and Nesta being thrown into the Cauldron, to Nesta being forced into the HoW and training, to the IC lying to Feyre in ACOSF, to the IC ignoring 2/3rds of the NC's women living in oppression – is that many readers underestimate the importance of bodily autonomy. 

ACOTAR is not marketed as a Dark Romance, and some people even recommend it as a "feminist" story, so criticism of how SJM handles storylines concerning bodily autonomy and trauma are valid. Concern with fan reactions downplaying things is valid. What isn't needed is calling analysis of literature "hating" on characters or their author, or saying "It's not that deep" simply because it's a work of fiction. Real people are affected by idealizing Feysand and the IC, so discussions about why they shouldn't be idealized are clearly something needed.

[pinkrasberryfish]

So…

The dynamics of ships… why is Elriel a good fit for the ACOTAR series? Why is it just as intriguing and beautiful as Feysand or Nessian? I’ve written hours and hours of Elriel fan fiction, exploring dynamics and tropes, and I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface of their potential.

It’s established that our High Lady is a fighter. Feyre can physically fight for herself. She beat the Weaver which showed her mate that she was worth of the engagement ring and fought the Wyrm while her mate watched. She defended the Rainbow. She even won the war with Hybern through fighting. There are countless times where Rhys has sat back and let his girl go out swinging.

Then we have Nesta. Nesta is feisty and learns to fight for herself. She wields the mask, becomes a Valkyrie, and even goes through the Blood Rite. Cassian didn’t swoop in and save her… he let her fight.

Now Elain. Our girl needed rescuing. She did not fight her way out of the Hybern camp through cunning and brute strength. Azriel swooped in and saved her. And you best believe if she had been plunked into the Rite, Azriel would have come and saved her immediately. She is never incited on physical fighting missions like the Battle of Adriata and the closest she has gotten to blood was stepping out of shadow to stab the King of Hybern.

Now.

Does that make you uncomfortable? Does Elain needing help make you think less of her? Is she weak because she’s not like her sisters? Is that why everyone is wanting another story with a Valkyrie falling in love with a bat boy?? Because our other heroine is too weak and needs to be shipped off to a controlling high lord in spring ??????

This is what frustrates me.

Physical protection and physical fighting is not the only way to show strength.

Nesta was WRECKED after the Cauldron. She was self-destructive and cruel. Elain seemed to struggle but eventually healed through her hobbies and natural processing of everything. Even the loss of her fiancé, she recovered from. She is mentally strong.

Feyre too, has had moments of weakness. She could have physically run out of that wedding, but her mental bondage kept her walking down the aisle. Rhys had to intervene and save her in her moment of desperation. Elain could be walking down an aisle to Lucien right now, but she’s not. She’s choosing her own path and showing mental strength.

The fact that Azriel has rescued Elain physically and the fact that she cannot fight does not make her a less powerful or valuable female. Measuring women by their ability to perform historically-masculine acts is misogyny. She does not need to conform to the masculine power standard of 90’s feminism to be worthy of her own bat boy.

The beautiful thing about Elriel is that they have both been cast aside, despite being loyal to their core, Azriel to Mor for centuries and Elain to a gross human loser who broke her heart. They love even when it hurts. Even when it’s not reciprocated.

This dynamic feeds into their bond beautifully because in each other, they find what they’ve always needed—someone who wants them and sees them and chooses them above everything else.

Azriel will always physically protect Elain and champion her mental and emotional needs, but I believe Elain has the power to save Azriel too; to open up a side of life for him where he is desired and love— where he is protected and listened to and nurtured. A place where someone chooses him above everything else.

This is why Elriel is just as beautiful as Feysand or Nessian. It’s not unequal and Azriel doesn’t need a Valkyrie to “match his strength.” Elain is already strong.

[cassianfanclub]

The next book spoilers:

Azriel goes with Gwyn to Nessian’s Mating Ceremony because he knows Gwyn is uncomfortable for leaving the library so they find a quiet corner to enjoy each others company because Gwyn finds comfort with him because he saved her and knows he will never hurt her like the other males did.

And this causes Elain to be jealous and so she stands near Lucien but Az doesn't pay attention to them at all because his focus remains on Gwyn the whole time to keep making sure she is okay! Their feelings build over time (during the next book) and Nesta supports it and even tells Az that if he hurts Gwyn she will have her to answer to and l've heard his response is the cutest thing (It’s being kept as a surprise) and I CAN'T WAIT.

Azriel and Elain end up having a conversation near the middle of the book to say that what they felt was only a rebound emotion because she wasn't over Graysen and he wasn't over Mor and Elain tells him she knows Gwyn is his mate and wants him to be happy and Azriel tells her that the mating bond is special (because he feels that with Gwyn) and that Elain should give Lucien a chance because Lucien is a good male AND ELUCIEN ON SOLSTICE IN THE NEXT BOOK IS THE CUTEST THING BECAUSE THEY ARE FINALLY INTERACTING AND SHE IS GIVING HIM A CHANCE AND ITS A GLIMPSE TO THE FINAL BOOK THAT IS LUCIEN'S BOOK WITH ELAIN AS THE ENDGAME!

I think it’s important that you don’t make predications for the next book based on fan fiction. Try the books, they’re a much better source

[wildlyglittering]

Silver In Her Eyes - Part 4

Happy Saturday!

Silver In Her Eyes part 4 is up on Ao3 here and also below the cut!

Please show it some love ❤❤❤

Lucien appeared well.

His long, russet hair flowed to his waist and he smiled more, laughed more. Rhys had interrupted raucous noise when he entered the drawing room, Lucien and his new friends throwing grapes into each other’s mouths.

Rhys' visit was unexpected but also apparently unwelcome. Jurian and Vassa excused themselves to the garden while Lucien stood and watched them leave. When he turned to face his guest his eyes, both the good and the golden, pierced straight through as though he could see Rhys’ very soul.

Rhys turned his agitation into resentment.

Resentment that Lucien was well while Amren made herself ill, resentment that Lucien greeted him as cooly as Varian now did. Resentment that Lucien found delight in the world when Feyre bloomed and grew like a rose before the sharp snap of winter claimed her.

There was the looming issue of allies. Varian’s growing coolness might influence Tarquin and Kallias was fretting like some old crone. Rumours persisted that Keir was whispering promises in Tamlin’s ear and Eris seemed extremely displeased at the lack of negotiated terms between himself and Night.

Even Helion had spoken to Rhys. About how worried he was over Rhys, how Rhys wasn't himself. Rhys had gritted his teeth. Now Helion thought him weak and it just wouldn’t do.

Rhys knew if he secured Lucien, Helion would remain an ally and Lucien could be used to convince Eris to drop his request regarding Nesta and potentially get Tamlin to choose Night. The trick was to secure Lucien in the right way.

Rhys joined Lucien by the window as Jurian and Vassa now lounged on the grass continuing their game. Vassa laughed when one grape missed and hit her in the eye.

“Is this what you were doing before I arrived?” Rhys asked. “How...puerile.”

Lucien scoffed as he moved away to lean against a bookcase. “We were having fun. It’s what friends do with each other. You’d know if you had any left.”

Rhys snarled, more beast than High Lord. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I have friends.”

The golden eye whirred as an eyebrow raised. Lucien crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Detached, disinterested, bored.

“If you think you’re intimidating, you’re not.” Lucien looked back to Rhys. “You forget I lived with Tamlin for centuries and stood in front of Amarantha myself.” He gestured to the very gold eye Rhys was glaring into. “For my troubles.”

Rhys took a breath. This was not securing Lucien the right way. Rhys wouldn't benefit in losing his temper and giving Lucien a reason to slam the door in his face – not until Rhys had dangled his carrot.

“Apologies. I am... tense. Keir is making a power grab. He seems to think now is his chance to strike. He’s wrong of course but he has some invested parties and I’m now forced to try and find the same.”

“I’ve heard.” Lucien paused, his face falling into a frown. “What I don’t understand is why now? When Feyre is having your son, doesn’t that weaken his position?”

Rhys closed his eyes. He’d been able to contain the truth to the Inner Circle and Madja. Keir was an unfortunate slip up, one that wouldn’t be repeated once Azriel found the fae who shared that piece of information.

“Who knows what Keir is thinking,” Rhys said, opening his eyes, “but you can probably guess why I’m here.”

“Influence Tamlin? Beron?”

“No, not him.”

Lucien tilted his head and Rhys decided honesty would be the approach.

“Eris has promised to ally to me in exchange for certain conditions. One of those is that he marries an Archeron. For his sins, he’s chosen Nesta.”

A wry smile emerged on Lucien’s face.

“I have to dissuade Eris. Cassian and Nesta are together. I’m hoping you can appeal to Eris’ better nature as his brother, his love for you means you’d have his ear. I’d so hate for mates to be torn apart. Wouldn’t you?”

Half honesty then. Lucien didn’t need to know about the blades Nesta Made.

Lucien exhaled, facing towards the window, his pulse thundering in his neck before he relaxed as though something swept in and whisked his upset away.

“Ah yes,” he said, “the glory of Eris’ brotherly love. If Nesta hasn’t chosen him in return, why not tell him no? She doesn’t seem the type to be shy on how she feels.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. No. This reluctance of Lucien to be involved wouldn’t do.

Rhys conjured images, of Eris turning his head from the eldest Archeron to the one that tended the thorns. He constructed an image of Elain amongst her roses, being swept up by Eris and dragged to the Forest House where she walked the hallways, wailing like she did now.

Rhys fluttered them across to Lucien’s mind like butterflies where they should have landed so delicately that Lucien wouldn’t have realised they were not his own fears.

Instead, they caught on a torrent in the outer reaches of Lucien’s mind and tore into pieces, their fragile wings shredded and gone. Rhys kept his face neutral as his heart raced. Power had built within Lucien, the natural resistance of a High Lord against a High Lord but without trying, without even knowing.

The second approach then. Rhys’ back up plan. He snapped his fingers behind his back, a cry of surprise echoed out from the garden beyond.

“Elain’s here,” Rhys said, inspecting his fingernails. “I’ve winnowed her into the grounds. Take a look.”

Lucien’s face snapped to Rhys’ but he lifted himself from where he leant against the bookcase to move nearer to the window, Rhys joining him.

Elain now stood in the garden, glancing about her at the trees in confusion as a shocked Vassa and Jurian went to greet her. Rhys had promised her a visit to the Mortal Lands, a great garden for her to view and she seemed eager to accept the invitation.

Her fingers curled into the pale pink fabric of her dress, colour blooming to her cheeks which Rhys had yet to see in Night.

Lucien drank her in like he’d been deprived of water for years.

“It is a tragedy, isn’t it? When mates are torn apart,” Rhys said by Lucien’s shoulder. Some small guilt spun down Rhys’ web, knowing he dangled a mate in front of a male when Rhys himself was on the precipice of losing his own.

But it wasn’t the same. Elain and Lucien were nothing in comparison to he and Feyre.

“She looks well enough,” Lucien said, “but she’s sad, lonely. All the pieces of her life are falling away.”

“Night is good for her,” Rhys said, noting how Lucien placed a hand against the pane of the glass. “I think it would do her good to remain. I don’t know how she would fare though if she lost Nesta to Autumn. Another piece taken away I suppose.”

She’d fare fine, Rhys thought. Considering as the sisters could scarcely exist in the same space.

Lucien blinked, his palm dropping from the window and he turned to face Rhys, their bodies too close for his comfort. That damned golden eye whirred again.

“Rhysand, you speak of Eris wanting to marry Nesta to ally with you, of your concern over Cassian and their bond, of Elain’s wellbeing. Surely you can tell Eris no and be done with it. Or perhaps ask Nesta what she wants. That isn’t what you think of those under your protection is it? That they are merely pieces of furniture in your Court without will of their own.”

Rhys’ teeth pressed together. An impulse to dash out that damned eye rose within him, an impulse he quashed. Instead, he turned towards the window where Vassa was now offering Elain grapes but Elain was ignoring her, instead staring through the window back at Rhys, her brown eyes watchful.

“Of course not,” Rhys said, and with a click of his fingers, Elain was gone.

***

Rhys had been fouler than usual.

Where others saw confidence, Nesta saw arrogance. Where they saw charm, she saw manipulation. She never had love in her heart for him and though she tried to find a slither of affection for Feyre’s sake and Cassian’s, Nesta felt that she had always been looking at a different person.

She knew he’d travelled to the Mortal Lands to visit Lucien and had taken Elain with him. She’d not learnt that from Elain but from Feyre, the only sister still willing to speak with her. A simple note landing on her desk; Feyre was busy planning the nursery, the baby was kicking and keeping her awake, Elain had gone to the Mortal Lands.

Nesta guessed that Rhys’ interaction with Lucien had been far from pleasant based on the way Rhys stormed into the House of Wind.

She hid her smile behind her hand, a smile which didn’t linger long as Rhys checked over the blades she forged, chastising her for producing less.

“Three,” he said, a dark mist swirling around his feet. “Last week, the number was five.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “I’m tired,” she told him. “These three are what you get.”

He’d slammed the door on his way out while Nesta rolled her eyes at his retreating back.

It was no lie. She was exhausted. The time it took for her to forge a single blade had increased. Her back hurt and her head throbbed, her fingers slipped when she held the tools and she’d almost dropped a dagger on her foot.

The clash of hammer on metal was still a song but now each blade joined a screaming chorus in the room and Nesta couldn’t recall when there had last been silence.

She loved the blades but she knew, as she had always known, these were not ordinary. That she had poured a part of herself into their being.

The pile was growing but it wasn’t enough and deciding that Rhys would never be happy if she produced two or twenty, Nesta left the House, the hood of her cape pulled over her face and she stepped out into the fresh Velaris air.

Her desperate, clandestine walk along the cobbled fae-lit streets was not to meet a lover but the two friends she had made on her own. The café was small and squashed between two shabby buildings that would be overlooked by any of the Inner Circle if they tried to find her.

Hours were spent tucked in an alcove, the three of them; Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn, so close Nesta had to push down the pang of sadness at remembering when she, Feyre and Elain had to share the same bed.

This time there was nothing but joy. They consumed cups of hot tea and thick slabs of cake with chocolate so rich Nesta smelt it as it left the kitchen. All she wanted was this. A home, friends, someone who loved her.

Nesta returned to the House drunk on excitement. When she approached the first steps, she considered turning and fleeing into the darkness of the wilderness. Yes, the House gave her everything she required but a gilded cage was still a cage.

That excitement soon died when she reached the top. At first Nesta thought exhaustion had overtaken the adrenaline but she realised what she was hearing – or rather what she wasn’t.

Silence.

The blades that spent their time calling to her no longer did. Her stomach squirmed as she ran, her heart racing.

The door to the blacksmith was open, the blades gone. Only Rhys stood in the darkness, the moonlight highlighting his form.

“Did I give you permission to leave?”

“Am I a prisoner?”

He ignored her. “I thought you were tired, Nesta. Isn’t that why only three blades were made this week?”

Her laugh was brittle. “Have you not heard of rest? I asked if I was a prisoner but let me re-phrase; I am not a prisoner. Nor am I your slave. It seems the fae struggle to let old habits die out.”

The growl was low and strong that Nesta first thought it was thunder. But Rhys’ eyes were now blacker rather than violet, the mists swimming about his fingers.

Ice grew within her, her bones hardening, her blood freezing. Nesta’s teeth chattered together as her skin turned grey. He’d freeze her from inside out and then she’d shatter into pieces on the ground.

“You are worthless,” he said. “Letting your baby sister risk her life to keep you fed and clothed, allowing her to come close to starvation. Even the first blow against Hybern wasn’t yours. You benefit from the success of others while doing nothing of note. Your family doesn’t want to see you and Cassian is with you because he has to be. You are no one’s choice, Nesta, no one’s. I am gracious enough to give you a gift to make you more than useless and this is how you repay me.”

The heat she’d felt before burned in her, the flames licking the inside of her skin. A voice spoke into her ear. Do not let him see. Stay as you are, as hard as it may be.

Nesta shivered and she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth lest her teeth bite through it.

“You leave this House without permission again and I won’t be so forgiving. Agree to it. Agree.”

Nesta’s words were forced. “Agree.”

He moved away, dropping his power as he did, walking past her without a backward glance as Nesta sagged on the floor like a puppet whose master had cut the strings.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t cry. The effort of pushing down whatever rose within her had exhausted her and the fire which burned inside her had turned any tears to steam.

Nesta made it to her room. She was alone in the House again, no Cassian, no Azriel. She knew she wasn’t the only one who had demands held against them but unlike the others, she wasn’t acting through love.

Her arms and legs were heavy as she crawled into bed, barely removing her cape, not even removing her dress. An ache started in her chest and she pushed her hand against it. This wasn’t an ache for Cassian, it was for something else.

“Where are you?” she said aloud. She could never reach Ataraxia although she knew where the sword was housed. She thought of Betrayer who had been mounted in the blacksmiths, of the other swords surrounding it.

Nothing. But she was starting too large - she was weak and unpractised so why did she think calling to a broad sword would gain an answer.

Nesta thought of the small, unassuming dagger which had been sheathed in the corner, its snake like handle twisting into an open jaw, sharp fangs protruding. That had been a blade which called to her with clarity, an image of Nesta slicing through Rhys’ cheek to draw first blood.

Viper. She spoke its name. This time not aloud but inside her mind, imagining the colours of the metal, the shimmer of subtle green along the metal, the sting of its point.

Nesta envisioned pulling; her teeth grinding, sweat dripping down her neck and back. A reverse birthing. No expulsion of life but a calling of it back. She dug her heels into her bed and pressed down, grabbed at the sheets with her fists tearing into the cloth.

Then the pull snapped and her eyes opened. There it was, lying on her stomach, blade pointing towards her heart, as though an invisible midwife had lain it upon her.

Nesta sobbed, even if she couldn’t form tears, sitting up and grasping Viper in her hands. Somehow it was warm and cold to the touch, shivering with anticipation, overjoyed to be back with Nesta.

Rhys had the blades hidden someplace Nesta couldn't reach but for now she had this one, her one. Viper.

It whispered to her, soft and slow, a much-wanted breeze on a too hot day. Mother.

***

“I will not forge.”

Cassian’s presence at the House was a rarity these days and she was loathe to spend their time together in any state of argument. After their fight regarding children, they hadn’t spoken before he’d once again left for Illyria.

Now he was home and while their old argument was cast aside, they were on the precipice of a new one. But this was one she meant.

Cassian had paused by the bed redressing, shirt half on, expanses of tattooed skin still on display while Nesta stood in front of the fireplace. The flames flickered across the wood but she’d been long adept at making them soundless. All that existed was the heat.

She refused to continue forging, not until she learnt what the blades could do or who they were for - or who they would be used against. She also didn’t want Rhys to lay claim to any more, not like he’d done with her first three and the rest he’d stolen since.

Cassian’s shirt rustled as he continued dressing, movement finally returned to his body but she noted his fingers were stiff, fumbling as he worked the buttons.

“Have you said this to Rhys?”

“Not yet.”

Cassian stared at her and Nesta braced herself for the onslaught of his irritation, the protestations of how could Nesta do this to Rhys, his most beloved High Lord and friend.

Instead, he walked to her, placing large, warm hands on her shoulders as his eyes searched her face. A war waged within him; guilt, shame, worry. No, not worry, something stronger and with a more potent flavour – fear.

“Don’t tell him,” Cassian said, “let me be the one to speak to him.”

“Why? I’m not afraid of him.” Furious yes, but not fearful.

“Because he’ll say no to you. He might not say no to me.”

Nesta clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “Do you hear yourself? I don’t care if he says no. He doesn’t get to make that choice. I want to stop, so I am stopping.”

Heat flooded her hands, fuelled by the pit of rage stoking in her belly, and rushed up her arms and over her chest. For a moment Nesta felt like her face was on fire, that her eyes were burning.

Cassian reared back, dropping his hands from her shoulders and stepped away, his palms singed.

“Nesta-” he begun

“I don’t know what that was,” she said, stepping backwards herself, groping at the wall behind her. “I don’t-”

“Tell no one,” Cassian said, the smoke already dissipating from his hands as he held them up, imploring her. “And don’t speak to Rhys.”

“Fine,” she said, pressing a shaking finger against her newly pounding temple. "Speak to him yourself if you think that will sweeten the blow but I will not sit in that room for him anymore.”

Cassian’s chest rose and fell, his eyes wide, his hand now rubbing his brow. A stab of sadness hit Nesta’s chest and she felt his confusion, his torn allegiance.

Part of him remained a little boy, a child forced to be a soldier rather than play at one. He wanted comfort, a mother to hold him, a mate to love him. Cassian had stood for centuries; fighting and commanding, garnering respect and loyalty, dragging numbers of creatures into a prison and here he was, subservient and scared.

The ice-cold shimmer of his fear was not directed at her but towards the male he called brother.

She walked towards him, pulling his hand from his face, before tilting his face down so she could press a kiss, sweet and chaste, upon his cheek.

Even as she did, Cassian leaning towards her, his chin on the crown of her head, pulling her tighter into his embrace she knew part of him was too far away.

[nobibiname]

Dear Elriels & Nessian lovers,

I wrote a thing. This is my first story I'm sharing with the fandom, and I'd love for you to read it (and tell me what you think).

It's a Nessian fluff One Shot with strong hints of Elriel.

I got this idea a while back, and I loved writing it. 3.4k words took me a month to edit, so if I don't post now, I think I'll spend another month editing.

So I can't promise all of it makes sense, but if you read it I will be forever grateful (not on Ao3 yet) Story continues below the Cut.

Every Waterfall in Prythian

Summary: One evening Cassian's Point of View opens up to a world of infinite possibilities.

Word count: 3385 Warnings: somewhat graphic violence (just at the beginning)

With a spear piercing his throat, Cassian's defiance extinguished into a wisp of air. His head fell limp to the side, with a banality unworthy of the final act of the greatest general in all of Prythian. The pink hue of dawn brushed the horizon and for a fleeting moment the chaos of the battlefield shrunk to nothing but Feyre's piercing scream as the light left his once bright, hazel eyes.

"WHAT?!?!" "Oh no baby, they killed you in this one", Nesta reached behind her and lovingly tapped Cassian's cheek. "I probably would have killed you later," she said offhand. Nesta always chewed on her thumb when engrossed in thought, a persistent habit, that her mother was unable to squash. "YOU… WHAT?"

"I mean, If I was was writing this, I'd really want to drag out the despair, you know? At this point both you and Az are still alive. Which leaves a lot of hope for a final victory. You want to slowly erode that hope for maximal drama. So I would have killed you a few chapters later, and Az towards the end. It nails down the heroic climax for Feyre to bring down Hybern. This pacing is off, what are they even doing?"

Nesta and Cassian have carved out an intimate, domestic habit for themselves. They read the same book together, while she nestled in his lap. When she finished a page, she lightly scratched his arm, and when he did, he'd leave the lightest peck on her temple. It wordlessly let the other know, to turn the page. They never agreed on it, it simply emerged as their sweet, yet practical quirk. It was a silly thing to keep secret, but she cherished it so much she never shared it with her friends or sisters. Nesta had now been scratching at his arm for at least a few minutes.

"You would… what.? Nes, they got so many details of the war wrong… and what kind of historical record is this anyway? I am alive and… and why does Azriel get to live longer?" "This isn't historical Cassian, it's fanficton" she said, clearly not fully invested in the conversation. "Fan.. fiction? what kinds of fans of mine would KILL me? "

"Oh it's all the rage in Day. I guess those nerds in Day Court blow off steam from writing, reading and research, by doing more … writing, reading, and well, research. Though, I have to admit, they are still some of the best writers out there" She said and returned her focus to the text. Feyre was just so good in this one, but the rest?

"So, you're saying, Day Court wants me dead?" His serious tone rattled her out of her head and back into their bedroom. Nesta was unsure if she had heard him correctly, they didn't typically discuss politics in bed … wait, didn't he mean Summer? "Oh no, Cassian baby, it's fanfiction." She gently turned around and give him a soft look. The confusion etched on his face was unmistakable and somewhat adorable. Was this really the first time they've read fanfiction together?

"They write speculative stories about famous fae and events in Prythian, with alternate endings, or even diverge from the facts entirely. And usually with completely made up romances, which is frankly half the point." she sized him up carefully, and decided more explanation was needed. "And nobody actually wants you dead, baby. This is just a common device from the Nestelion stans. They need to get you out of the way for the plot, so it's usually some version of you traveling to faraway lands in search of adventure, or sometimes just killing you" She was casually gesturing while talking, this was no big deal, but when she glanced at him, his gorgeous hazel eyes were as wide as saucers "…but you usually die in an honorable way… majestically…. in battle."

"I prefer to be majestic and alive." Cassian mumbled miserably. "So, what are they making room for anyway?" "Nestalion, Nesta and Helion? It's an imaginary, completely made up ship, baby" "Ha! Dream on! Fat chance! I'd like to see that pompous rake give it a real good shot" The redundant phrasing, the overblown swagger… Nesta knew that Cassian was still confused, but now mostly annoyed.

"So… do we ever get together in these stories? Do they write stories about a 'Cassta'?" he awkwardly used his fingers for quotations. "It's 'Nessian' baby, and yes, though usually as a start to Nestalion stories, or sometimes in a thruple with Az or Thesan. I can't say I encourage this, but people rarely ship anyone already in a relationship. This is just a specialty of those Dawn freaks, they really love a good poly story". Nesta threw her hands up defensively, though if she were a bit more honest, she had read a lot of works from the talented "Dawn freaks" and didn't exactly hate them.

"Where do they get these ideas? And Helion and you make absolutely no sense. Who even wants to read that?" He was looking quite a bit puffed up now. She glanced briefly at the manuscript. She really wanted to finish it this evening, but it was time for some damage control.

He looked so delicious, even when puffed out like a tropical bird. Though, his wings were fanning out further than she knew was comfortable for him while lying on the bed. Nesta could definitely help him relax, and she didn't mind this kind of reading break. Lying on his chest now, she tenderly traced her fingers on his jaw while peppering his neck with little kisses.

"Baby, it's Day!" she said as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "They have been writing fanfiction of Helion for centuries in Day Court, it's nothing new. The only thing they love more than their High Lord is worshipping him in writing. They ship him with practically anything with a pulse. They are total, pathetic simps. There's even stories shipping him with the Suriel! The man is insatiable, everybody knows it, and that's how they like him. Do you know how many works of fiction begin, or end with the sentence 'Daddy's home' ? They could dedicate another library to that!" "A small, local library?" every word was punctuated with annoyance. No. "Sure."

Nesta locked into his eyes with a wicked smirk. She saw his lip twitch for a split second. So, he was going to keep pouting for a bit longer. That was fine with her, she could play this game blindfolded. As a matter of fact, she sometimes did.

"It's nothing to worry about baby," She kissed his cheek. "Ever since the war, me and Elain have been the newest hot fae in town" She kissed his jaw, humming with delight for good measure. "Of course we show up in freaky fanfics all the time." She sucked on the delicate spot right under his ear. "Besides, the whole Nestalion vs. Ellion shipwar will end the moment the next hot young babe arrives. An actress, a singer, a young princess coming of age. Tale as old as time." She traced her nose down his neck with a tiny bite and a long kiss at his base of his neck . "Wait, Elain?? Our sweet Elain? "

Really? Now? "There are Elain and Helion stories? Well, what the hells happens in them?" She looked up at him again, a little surprised at all this interest in fanfiction. Generally speaking, Nesta got a kick out of reading any type of story about herself, but she had absolutely no patience for badly written Elain stories. She might have sent anonymous, but strongly worded letters to the editors of the prythian fanfiction archive expressing her displeasure at the truly rotten ones. They might have guessed the identity of the disgruntled reader.

"Well, some version of a magical long forgotten spell frees her from her mating bond, or sometimes Helion finds it in a scroll in a secret room in a library, then he and Elain fall in love. Usually because by accident they both go swimming in the moonlight in the same waterfall, or river, lake, lily pond. People love a lily pond in romance." As did she.

"That's utterly ridiculous. There's no such magic!" Correct, that was the ridiculous bit "Ok, so what about these Nestalion stories? Does he sweep you off your feet at some fancy ball? " he pursed his lips as he pointedly looked at her. "Oh no no, there's no balls. Usually we go on a secret quest to find a scroll or some eldritch magical artifact, and then it rains one night, and we have to stop at an inn. Of course the last remaining room has only one bed. And well… "

"ONLY. ONE. BED!" For a brief moment, Nesta panicked at her shortage of tact. Though, before she could even protest, Cassian burst out laughing. "So you're telling me, the only reason big Daddy Helion has a chance with even a fictional you, is that through a complicated series of events, you accidentally end up in the same bed?" "Well… yeah" She couldn't decide if she was more amused or relieved at this turn of events. Was Cassian actually enjoying this? She felt his roaring laughter through her entire chest, and it would have been comforting if he wasn't shaking the bed. Though she warmed up to the idea of shaking the bed more. Fingers slowly sliding down towards the buttons on his tunic, she kissed the top of his chest.

"So, Elain and waterfalls, huh" She passed her tongue along the swirl of an inky black tattoo, as she fiddled with the first button. "Oh yes, that one is very poplular. Elain and Helion have made love under every waterfall in Prythian." The second button relented. "What? Even in Winter?" Cassian scoffed dramatically. "Especially Winter." she sucked lightly on the skin of his chest. She was leaving blooming marks tonight. "Ok, how do you make love in a frozen waterfall?" Cassian lifted his right arm behind his head and got that adorable quizzical look on his face. She could take a moment to explain that, afterall she secretely loved the waterfall trick.

"You see, Helion has this spell, to allow the frozen water to pass around them, in these crystalline blue ice flowers and she's completely enchanted by their beauty. Also Elain nearly freezes to death, but is rescued by the warmth of his body and he's actually surprisingly romantic with her" Satisfied that the matter had finally been put to rest, Nesta resumed her exploration and hummed into his chest as she traced a hand along the muscles of his arm.

"Ok, but how did she get there?" "Cassian!!" I'm trying something here It was her turn to be annoyed, as she looked up to face him. "You said, they arrive and swim at the lake, or waterfall, separately, and accidentally at the same time. So, before the meeting, how was Elain hoping to swim under a frozen waterfall?" Was it her imagination or was she being… postponed? "I guess, … she was upset because Tarquin ends things with her for some reason of royal duty. She's heartbroken, and craves the opposite of Summer, so she goes exploring the glacial beauty of Winter's wilderness" The End. Can we move this along now?

"Tarquin now?" Nesta's sighed. "Yeah well, Summer is baffling. For a culture with no reason to wear many clothes, you wouldn't believe how prim and proper they are. Obsessed with courtly love and slow burn. Nothing good ever happens until promises are made. Bunch of prudes!"

"You know Nes, I've never pictured Elain with someone like Helion." Cassian mused, suddenly very pensive. Oh? "Really? Who did you picture her with then? " She sat up a bit trying to appear casual.

"Well I guess, if it weren't for her bond, maybe someone like Tarquin? He's uptight, but besides that they have a similar nature." Nesta wasn't entirely convinced this unusual pairing wasnt motivated by his desire to get back into Summer Court.

"But I guess to me it's always been Feyre and Rhys, and then you and me…", he looked at her meaningfully, "the epic legend of 'Nessian'. And then there's Elain and… ha! I almost said Az!" Nesta observed him with unusual quiet as he chuckled at his own slip up. In the unlikely event he knew something that she didn't, Nesta wondered how to pry it out of him. "Yes, that is silly." It was unconvincing, but Cassian didn't seem to notice.

"And what about my dear sweet brothers?" He gave her that naughty schoolboy look of his that she pretended not to adore. "Obviously people are kind of careful around Rhys. He's got a reputation after all. There's some dark romances from some anonymous writers. It's bold, but not as popular" "Aw poor Rhysie, not so many fans for him" Nesta shrugged at that.

"And Azriel? Are you telling me Prythian likes to write erotic stories about Az?" Gods yes, ALL of Prythian "Yes, some of Prythian" His gring grew in devilish proportions. "And this is popular in?" "The lunatics in Winter Court. It's always about shirtless winter sports with them. Brutal skating competitions on frozen lakes. The lovers are always some sort of athletic rivals." Nesta rolled her eyes. Winter has really allowed themselves to become predictable. "Bizzarely, also Spring. The Calanmai stories are… vivid and elaborate. As are the ones on, Samhain, Imbolc, Lughnasadh , the solctices, the equinoxes, any minor feast. Really, any excuse for … large group activities." "And Autumn?" "Never met a kink they didnt like." Cassian's laughter boomed through the room, large and indecent. Nesta thoroughly enjoyed his contradictions; this giant, formidable winged fae, captivated and earnest about sharing her fanciful interests. She gave him a big smile as she slowly wound her finger around one of his raven locks.

"Does he know?" "Yes, but I wouldn't mention it to him." Cassian was positively giddy, and somehow looked more wicked than Nesta had ever seen. "Cass I'm serious. He's aware, but very touchy about it. Last time I casually mentioned it I didn't see him for a week. The first thing he said to me afterwards was a lot of mumbling, which sounded an awful lot like 'saucy wench'. " "From what I'm hearing, the only saucy wench in Az's life is Thesan and I'm guessing…. also Helion?" "Yes, there are Azlion stories as well. Did you even have to ask? No waterfalls though." Nesta sighed deeply. "I mean it, Cassian, he is very sensitive on the subject." "Why though? Unless they're killing him too, it's kind of, flattering no? " "Oh I don't know… It's Az. He has his reasons"

Nesta recalled that one day in Elain's kitchen, sitting on the counter and kicking her feet as she shared her thoughts on the most recent Ellion story. The plot annoyed her, the twist was utterly predictable, the pacing was wrong, and she was incensed. Elain deserved better storytelling than that. She didn't even think Elain was listening. Pretty sure she tuned her out completely whenever Nesta went on about fanfiction, making a sharp point to focus on whisking, folding, measuring and … whatever tinkering baking seemed to involve. Which was the whole reason Nesta was spending the morning in the kitchen. Sunday was for breakfast buns, and this week they were lemon cream, her favorite. She was damned if she was to miss out on her batch, knowing otherwise Azriel would swoop in and devour it without a shred of remorse.

And there he was, walking into the kitchen. Elain smiled shyly, as Az all but ignored Nesta. Sitting pretty on the counter between them, Nesta's head whipped from one to the other as they said hello. She observed nothing extraordinary, just polite, proper greetings, small, polite smiling, and polite questions about today's variety of polite breakfast buns. "They'll be cool in another half an hour" Again, nothing but the quietest smile from her lovely sister. Nesta narrowed her eyes hoping for some glimmer of recognition of Elain's tells. Nothing. There was either nothing to see or Elain had gotten even better at slipping through the cracks with her true thoughts and feelings undetected. "That's alright, I don't mind. I'll wait with you two"

Oh, so he did notice her. "Morning Nes!" He said as if she had been the rude one. Az moved to the little kitchen table and opened the Sunday Velaris Times. Nesta was more than happy to continue with her fanfiction tirade. And oh, they just had to hear about this incredibly well written, steamy story involving Az and a beautiful fae girl from Summer Court. She was downright obsessed, and hadn't even read formally published work as good as this in a long while. This was the kind of story that Elain deserved.Maybe she should reach out to the writer with an idea for a story about Elain, and "then we can finally read something of quality". She was already half way through the very salacious plot, working up to the bedrom scene, when she realized the uncomfortable quiet settling into the kitchen. Elain was pretending to wipe a bowl, that was clearly both clean and dry. It had still managed to slip her fingers and fall with several ungraceful clangs on the kitchen floor. "Oh my, well I guess it's a clumsy morning for me" Elain was rarely this ruffled anymore.

Az went professionally still, no longer flipping through the paper. And while his expression didn't reveal a single change, his shadows swirled in what seemed like annoyance. As much as mysterious shadows could be annoyed, Nesta supposed. The rest was incoherent mumbling. After Az grabbed his share of the breakfast buns in a neat cloth covered dish, he thanked Elain at least twice and actually flew out of the kitchen. Elain threw her a look that was somehow both dirty and embarrased. "Get off the counter…" struggling to be unpleasant, Elain's attemp at a bark came out as more of a yip. "… please, Nesta." Elain promptly handed her a dish of lemon cream breakfast buns, and with some flimsy excuse about proper cleaning, tossed Nesta from the kitchen.

"Yes, so they both appeared annoyed. I wouldn't say they're into fanfiction" She had left out some curious details and her suspicions, but gave Cassian the gist of "Neither Elain nor Azriel cared much for fanfiction"

Nesta had wondered about that interaction ever since. Why did it always feel like there is some quiet, even unspoken conversation she wasn't privy to, going on with these two?

Nesta always felt that she knew her sister and her manner of soft, nuanced interaction with the world. Was she mistaken? She could only speculate Elain's feelings flowed deeper, and warmer than polite conversation would have you believe. She had her theories, but had made it a point to keep them to herself.

"Huh, strange that." Cassian didn't appear to give it much thought, because he finally looked down at her nestled in his chest with a different kind of grin.

"So Nes, I wonder, have you gotten any interesting ideas to explore from these… bracing stories?" Definitely, at least the first couple pages of a long collated list. "Maybe… I might have?"

"You know, Nes, I noticed this room has only one bed." Cassian raised an eyebrow and smirked at her.

"Did you, now?" She giggled and felt the kind of brilliant levity that a life with Cassian always promised. "Mhm" His voice lower now, for a moment he just sat perfectly still and smoldering.

Before there was any room for protest, he suddenly grabbed her and in one fell swoop, flipped them around. Nesta gasped at the pure stealth and agility of the move. The war general with the confidence that came from generations of training was hovering mere inches above her and every muscle, every inch of her skin burned with excitement. Her breath hitched in anticipation and she tossed the manuscript haphazardly into a corner of the room.

"You know something else? " He whispered temptingly in her ear. "Tell me" "Daddy's home."

Their joined laughter exploded through the room, before he finally captured her mouth in a wild and promising kiss.

[dippedinmelancholy]

After reading the one billionth Feysand Fan comment of “If you’re a fan of Nesta that tells me that you’re an abuser too and I’m actually scared of you”, I am literally BEGGING Y’ALL to read real adult fiction. Not romantasy, not these nonsense, carbon copy, plot empty, not even good smut, booktok books.

Adult fiction with adult characters with adult motivations and adult maturity. Open your fucking minds to earnestly complex people who fuck up and do good and also do horrible. Open your minds up to the fact that you have no idea what abuse looks like. Abuse does not mean “she made me make sad face :(((((((((((((“ or “she didn’t worship and praise me :((((((((((“ Take the time understand that someone can feel like an outsider, or exist within a complicated family dynamic, without it ever cross into the boundary of abuse. People can do things that are not good or evil, but complicated. They can do something that hurts the protagonist on an emotional or physical level without it EVER BEING ABUSE.

And I know this one is particularly hard to grasp, but could you all, per chance, open your minds up to the mere possibility of enjoying fiction without it being a direct mirror of one’s morality? I know its really hard for you to comprehend, but I think with enough hard work and dedication, you might be able to have the reading comprehension and ability to have conversations with another adult beyond the same level of a 12 year old.

Sincerely, someone has had to deal with real long term effects of abuse and childhood neglect. Every single time one of you screams abuse because a mean thing gets done or said, another one of my brain cells dies.

[mahalachives]

Part 3: Plot? I Don’t Know Her. But Azriel Does.

Summary: In which a fan gets yeeted into the world of fae Genre: crack humor, drabble, minor az x reader (bcus why not)

Oops, I tripped Into Prythian - Masterlist

Elain blinked up at you from the velvet armchair, A Court of Mist and Fury open in her lap.

Her voice was calm. Too calm. “What’s… fanfic?”

Everyone turned.

You grinned.

Rhysand whispered, “Cauldron boil me.”

Cassian perked up, excited like a toddler about to learn a new swear word. “Yeah, what is fanfic?”

Mor leaned forward. “Wait, is it like… stories? About us?”

You clasped your hands together. “Oh, sweet summer children. Fanfiction is the sacred art of writing stories about fictional people doing things they should have done but didn’t. It is love. It is chaos. It is 300,000-word slow burns and 1,000-word smutty drabbles written at 2 a.m. with tears and snacks.”

Azriel, from his shadowy corner, muttered, “That sounds… excessive.”

You turned, eyes gleaming. “Azriel. My broody bat. My tragic Victorian husband. There are millions of words written about you.”

He blinked. “Why.”

Cassian leaned forward. “Yeah, why?”

You smirked. “Because, my dear Illyrian himbo, some of us are emotionally unstable and project our issues onto mysterious males with wings and trauma.”

Rhysand slowly slid to the floor. “We’re in hell.”

“Oh no,” you corrected, pulling out your phone (yes, Helion glamour-spelled it to work in Prythian, bless that man). “We’re in AO3.”

Feyre frowned. “AO3?”

“Archive of Our Own,” you said, reverently. “Where the smut flows freely and the plot is optional.”

Elain tilted her head. “What kind of stories do they write?”

You hesitated. “Well, Elain, how comfortable are you with the phrase ‘knife kink’?”

Feyre made a noise. Rhysand choked on air. Azriel just left the room.

Cassian gasped. “Wait. I have a kink?”

You grinned. “Oh, honey. You have several.”

Nesta covered her face. “I hate this. I hate everything.”

Mor was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “I love this.”

You scrolled through your phone, tapping furiously. “Okay. Okay. Listen to this summary: ‘Azriel x Reader. Hurt/comfort. Enemies to lovers. She breaks his nose with a pan. They kiss in the rain.’”

There was a pause.

Then Cassian said, “...Was that based on a true story?”

You looked up. “Not yet.”

You kept scrolling. “Here’s another: ‘Azriel has a pet cat named Murder. Reader is a librarian with anger issues. They fall in love after he gets banned from the library for brooding too loud.’”

Feyre burst out laughing.

Rhysand crawled behind the couch. “Stop. I’m begging.”

You kept going. “Ooh! Here’s a spicy one: ‘The Shadowsinger has needs… and she is willing.’”

Azriel re-entered the room, heard that, and immediately turned around and left again.

“AZRIEL, WAIT,” you called after him. “I HAVE A MODERN AU WHERE YOU’RE A BARISTA WITH TATTOOS WHO SECRETLY WRITES POETRY!”

He did not come back.

Cassian was now on the floor again, wheezing. “Please. Please read more. Do I have any?”

You nodded solemnly. “You are the people’s himbo.”

He looked proud. “I don’t know what that means, but I accept it.”

Nesta was reading over your shoulder now, silently mouthing the phrase ‘tail kink?’ before looking at Cassian like he had explaining to do.

Cassian winked. “It’s canon.”

You turned to Elain, who was quietly reading a fic on your phone titled “Sunlight and Shadows: An Elriel Fanfic.”

She looked up at you, expression oddly serious. “Do… do they all want us together?”

You hesitated. “Uh. Yes. But also… no. Some people ship you with Lucien. Some ship you with Azriel. Some ship you with that one flower you picked in Chapter Twelve.”

Rhysand peeked over the couch. “...Do I have fanfics?”

You gave him a long look. “Rhysand, people have written smut where you turn into a literal shadow tentacle monster.”

He stared.

Feyre slowly turned to look at him.

Rhysand vanished with a soft whoosh of darkness.

“Every time I think we’ve reached peak chaos,” Mor said, “you raise the bar.”

Nesta was now flipping through your phone, face unreadable. “...You said there’s a fanfic where I murder Beron with a hairpin and then make out with Cassian on the throne of flames?”

You nodded. “It has over 80,000 kudos.”

She smiled. “I’d read that.”

“I’d live that,” Cassian said.

You leaned back, grinning like the menace you were. “So. Weekly book club. We alternate between canon and fanfic. Bonus points for smut.”

“Seconded,” Mor said.

“Thirded,” Cassian added.

Elain nodded. “I’m in.”

Feyre shrugged. “Sure.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at Cassian. “Fine. But only if you read them out loud.”

Cassian paled. “Wait—what?”

Azriel’s voice echoed from the hallway. “I will set this house on fire.”

And you?

You curled up in a pile of pillows, heart full of chaos and questionable taste in fiction, and whispered, “This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

To be continued...

(Next time: Azriel accidentally reads a smut fic about himself and questions the very fabric of reality.)

[arson-09]

one of the many issues i find with sjms writing (and subsequently her fans) is that a character has to be perfect to be loved (this is acotar specific) hear me out ((apologies in advance for the somewhat rambling and nonsensical bits. its late lmao)

Just about everything Feyre and Rhysand do is justified. Rhysands entire list of evil actions from acotar is retconned. Him murdering those winter court children was suddenly by an unnamed daemati whos never brought up again, his sexual assault of feyre was “for her protection”, and in general the way he treated her UtM is okayed (sa is never justifiable, even in fictional media) and him keeping very important information about Feyres body from her is fine because he was doing it to spare her feelings (also never ok to keep information of ones body from the individual)

Feyre is allowed to destroy the spring court. No matter how you feel about Tamlins character the actions she took were extreme, petty, and useless. She collectively punished the citizens of the spring court because of her relationship with Tamlin and she believed him to be allying with Hybern. Which was hinted to her to be false and she could have read his mind at any point. Feyre also is a unreliable narrator but her word is taken as truth. When she has magical outbursts its nothing, she can treat her supposed friends like shit but shes still the better friend.

Together they constantly spout how perfect the other is. Especially Feyre about Rhysand, maybe its the mating bond but the bond is how sjm communicates her feelings about the characters (which i feel is evident in the Nessian bond) Feyre says rhysand is Good and Justified in everything he does, so you the reader must believe it too, right?

The rest of the Inner Circle also falls into this. Mor is allowed to unfairly treat Nesta like shit, Cassian is unquestioned when it comes to his mistreatment of his mate, azriel is a background tapestry, and amren is a whole different issue tbh.

Nesta is the outlier. She is not perfect and we know it because of how mistreated she is by the people that surround her. Cassian is a horrible partner, letting rhysand do and say what he wants to her, restricting her food and being very neglectful of Nestas mental health. Nesta is a flawed character but shes not an antagonist. Her flaws does not call for this sort of treatment. It is disgusting how sjm portrays Nestas character and her “healing arc”. Sjm says she loves nesta, but her treatment says otherwise.

Tamlin receives the brunt of this treatment. He is a flawed character but is not evil. Hes not even a real antagonist, just because he is not friends or on good terms with Feyre and Rhysand does not make him such. His allying with Hybern is used as reasoning for his mistreatment when its clear as day hes a double agent. Tamlin, while he struggles with emotional regulation, anger issues and communication is a very good high lord and his personal relationship with a character does not change that. His actions towards feyre are often called abusive but sjms writing fails to bring this observation to fruition. She fails to actually make him abusive and antagonistic because she accidentally writes her own outs by justifying similar behaviors from other characters.

If you have spent anytime on the majority side of the fandom you have seen the Feyre and Rhysand vs Nesta and Tamlin mentality. Nesta and Tamlin are hated while Feysand are treasured and its because sjm makes a perfect character for you to love so why would you root for the flawed characters hated by the narrative? Nesta and Tamlin are far more nuanced and interesting due to their imperfections, dislike by the narrative, and hatred from the majority fandom. (To note, Nesta and Tamlins characters are different ((although they have some striking similarities)) but their treatment is very equal. Which is why i, and many other people in the fandom compare and combine them so much)

Feyre and Rhysand through the narrative and fans are perfect and can do no wrong. Tamlin and Nesta are frankly evil and undeserving of love. Its intriguing to see this behavior and its almost unique to the acotar and booktok fandom. Which is why i find myself so focused on Tamlin and subsequently the fandom. its so odd and something i havent seen before that it gets stuck in my little adhd brain.

[lovemyromance]

You know what’s really funny? These so-called Gwyn stans going feral when someone says “I don’t know who Gwyn is” and claiming we’re all toxic and misogynistic for that alone.

Like, no, babe. People genuinely do not even remember who she is, and it has nothing to do with a certain bat boy.

When I was first reading ACOTAR at the behest of my friend, I did cheat a little and look up fan art before I finished the series. I saw Gwynriel fan art and asked my friend who is this redhead, and she literally said “honestly, no idea.” And I can assure you, my friend is way, WAY too busy to have a secret agenda against a fictional character so she genuinely forgot all about Gwyn. And before you even start, she doesn’t even ship Elriel, she hardcore ships Elucien.

Gwyn is very much a side character. Her purpose was to be Nesta’s friend, to be a part of Nesta’s healing journey. Nobody really remembers her outside of that.

ACOTAR is not TOG, nor is it CC. People keep bringing up Lidia from CC, and are forgetting CC has 3 books, and Lidia showed up as a main character in book 2. She got a POV in HOFAS, and the way CC was set up was always multiple POVs of many, many characters.

ACOTAR is not like that. We follow Feyre for 3 books (with some Rhys POV here and there), then get one novella of multiple POVs, then we follow dual POV of Nesta & Cassian.

Where in that story format do you see space for a background character to get an entire book?

Gwyn literally did not exist until book 5/7(?) of ACOTAR. She has not had a POV. She has not been mentioned outside of Nesta. She has no story, no plot, outside of Nesta. She does not exist outside of Nesta.

Nobody has an issue with Gwyn. Nobody is “anti-Gwyn”. Nobody’s out to get her.

She has like 4 pages of page presence in ACOSF. Do you know how long this book is and how many things happen? Why of all things would I fixate on a minor character in the background?

That’s like if I finished reading ACOTAR and was like, “omg but tell me about Alis, I must have an entire book about her journey and trauma. She must be SO important.” (Even Alis, btw had more presence in the series than Gwyn)

It’s not a personal thing at all. I don’t hate Gwyn. I don’t have any opinions on her, really.

How can we hate a character we don’t even care to remember in the first place?

[wallflowers-in-the-wind]

A single thread 🧵

One shot featuring past Feyre/Tamlin, Feyre/Rhysand, Nesta/Eris, Nesta/Cassian, Elain/Lucien, and mentions of Elain/Azriel

The following is a work of fan made fiction, the characters mentioned belong to Sarah J. Maas.

It always starts with a nightmare.

Sometimes, Feyre finds her self back on the battlefield holding Rhysand’s lifeless corpse. Or watching her sisters forced into the cauldron. There were even moments when she is back in the Spring Court manor watching Tamlin closing the door as she begs him not to leave her there.

But in the end, Feyre can never wake herself up. This dream, this nightmare never, allows her to leave until she is standing in the endless abyss. Alone. And faces whatever it has planned for her.

Feyre had voiced her concerns to Rhysand when they first started, four days since her rescue from the Spring Court. The nightmares had scared her so badly that she refused to sleep. Believing that if she closed her eyes to sleep she would not return from the nightmare that trapped her.

When she had told Rhysand why she couldn’t sleep he had brushed it off as merely a nightmare, and told her not to think about it too much. Claiming the trauma and horrors they experienced needed to work itself out in their dreams to they could get better. But for some reason, Feyre didn’t believe him then, and she still doesn’t to this day.

She never dared to voice her skepticism about Rhysand’s unbothered response to her nightmares after that. Feyre had even gone so far as to banish the thought from her mind so Rhysand didn’t come across it by accident.

The nightmares only got worse.

Feyre stared out into the darkness once again. Dressed not in her armor from the battlefield, or the rags she wore when she was human. Just the small light blue nightgown she wore to bed almost every night. With nothing to provide any reassurance of protection.

The initial fear she had felt when she had first dreamt of this place never left. Even after so many years of being forced into this empty prison it still terrified her.

“It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.” Feyre whispered, her eyes darting out in every direction for something, anything to jump out. Nothing ever did. But the paranoia never left.

At some point her legs gave out and Feyre collapsed to the floor. She hugged her knees to her chest and closed her eyes; continuing to whisper the quite reassurances that soon she would wake up and it would all be over.

“Feyre…”

Feyre opened her eyes and lifted her head, believing for a moment that Rhysand was trying to wake her up. But it didn’t sound like him. The voice was quieter, more feminine.

“Feyre…” the voice whispers again ending in a laugh.

“Go away!!” Screamed Feyre, her voice echoing around her but it just made the voice laugh harder and harder.

“Stay with the high lord Feyre.” The voice mocked. Then it vanished, as if it was never there to begin with.

Feyre closed her eyes and lowered her head once more. This was usually where the nightmare ended. Soon she would awake in her house, with her husband, and their darling baby boy. Everything would be alright with the world and the nightmare would be over until the next night.

But when she opened them again, she was still in the abyss.

It didn’t make any sense. Feyre scrambled to her feet unable to believe her surroundings. The nightmare usually ended there, it always did! So what changed?

Then, she looked down at herself and nearly stumbled back in shock. A golden thread appeared to be attached to her night gown, right where her heart is. It stretched on and on further into the darkness until it reached someone standing a few feet away.

“Tamlin.” Feyre whispered softly.

The High Lord of the Spring, her ex fiance (her ex love), stood there dressed in a loose white shirt and green pants with brown boots and his long golden hair looked like he had just ran his hands through it. Gone was the guarded and sharp expression he had given her over the years. Instead he looked at her with the soft loving expression he always did when she was at the manor. The one she used to adore more than anything in the world.

The thread between them seemed to grow warm, like a nice sunny day and hummed with a bond that felt all too familiar.

Tamlin started walking toward her, that soft smile never faltering or growing cold and his eyes seemed so warm and inviting. Like he was the Tamlin she knew before Amarantha tore them apart. The one she had gone under the mountain to die for.

But before he could reach her the sound of scissors snipped through the air and the thread was broken. The bright warmth was replaced with the bitter frost and the golden thread faded to black.

Tamlin’s face crumpled into a pained expression and he began to reach out for her. Instinctually, Feyre reached out too, not understanding why she felt the need to ease the pain. To make it go away. They could fix it, they just had to tie the string together.

A familiar hand grasped her outreached hand and pulled her back. Feyre stumbled back into familiar protective arms. Sure enough, when she looked up it was Rhysand holding her against his warm chest. But where she normally felt protection something felt off. Almost wrong.

But that couldn’t be right, Rhysand was her mate. He loved her. Why would Feyre ever feel unsafe when he loved her?

A strange tugging sensation at her heart urged Feyre to look down at where the string used to be. No, not used to be. When Feyre looked down the string was still there. But the golden thread faded the further it went along until it lost all of its color, tied to another colorless string that faded to a dark red color attached to Rhysand. Her light blue night gown had somehow faded to a dull grey.

Wrong. It felt so wrong and Feyre wanted to back away but Rhysand used his right hand to tighten his grip on her arm and the left to pull her closer to him.

“Feyre darling.” Rhysand whispered, sending fear down Feyre’s spine.

Panicked, Feyre looked back across to where Tamlin stood, wishing he would save her, but he was gone.

Feyre desperately looked around for any sign of Tamlin, that he didn’t disappear, he can’t be gone! But instead of Tamlin, Feyre saw someone she wasn’t expecting.

“Nesta?” Feyre whispered in disbelief.

Sure enough her sister was standing a few feet to Feyre’s right. But instead of the cold and bitter expression Nesta had always wore her face looked calmer, more gentle. Gone were the battle leathers of the Valkyrie Nesta wore with pride, in its place was a dress made of fabric that swirled in orange, yellow, and reds.

Nesta also had a string attached to her heart. Unlike Feyre’s golden string this one appeared like silver. Yet attached to the other end was not Cassian, like Feyre’s expected, it was Eris.

He stood there in dark red robes accented with gold trimmings. The way Eris looked at Nesta was unlike anything Feyre had ever seen. It should have felt wrong for Eris to be looking at her sister in such a way. He wasn’t Nesta’s mate, wasn’t he?

Feyre watched helplessly as the pair started walking toward each other. The string between them seemed to glow brighter and brighter as they got closer to each other.

‘This isn’t right, this isn’t right, this isn’t right!’ Feyre thought over and over and over again.

Then the horrid snipping sound returned. Eris vanished as if he was never there and Nesta crumpled to the ground.

“Nesta!” Feyre screamed. She struggled against Rhysand’s hold but his grip was like iron.

The silver thread attached to Nesta began to fade and Feyre began to struggle harder. If she could just reach Nesta. She could tie the string to hers and Nesta would be ok. Feyre didn’t know what the strings were for but she knew they were important.

A few feet away from Nesta the darkness seemed to part allowing something to come through. But instead of Eris, it was Cassian.

Feyre stopped struggling and watched with relief as Cassian walked toward Nesta. He paused in front of Nesta and reached down to grasp the silver thread attached to her and yanked hard. Nesta screamed out in pain and tried to pull the string out of Cassian’s grip but Cassian tied the silver string to the dark blue string attached to him. The once vibrant dress Nesta wears begin to fade until the dress is pitch black.

Cassian then hauled Nesta to her feet and forced her to stand in front of him. And Nesta looked out into the abyss with the same dark yet vacant look Feyre had seen all of her life.

The horror of what Feyre saw kept replaying in her mind. As if her mind couldn’t comprehend the cruelty Cassian just used against her sister. This was not Cassian.

‘What if it’s not the one he shows you?’ A traitorous thought questions. But Feyre shakes it off.

No, the Cassian she knew would never be this cruel, especially to Nesta. They were mates. Right?

Yet Feyre doesn’t have long to contemplate the possibility of Cassian and Nesta as her attention is drawn to the left of her. The light is almost blinding but as her eyes adjust she can see Elain.

She wears what Feyre could only guess through the light is a light pink puffy dress. Elain is smiling as if the world is filled with a never ending sunlight.

Across from her stands Lucien. He has a ‘devil may care’ smirk on his face and is wearing a simple shirt and pants.

Between them, is what Feyre could only guess is their string. Yet it shines so brightly it seems impossible to tell what color it is. But what Feyre knows is that it’s attached to Elain. And if she was right, someone or something, was going to cut their string.

And Feyre did not want to see what would happen if it did.

By the sheer luck of surprise Feyre manages to break free from Rhysand’s grip and runs toward Elain and Lucien. She is unsure what she will do when she reaches it. How she will stop whoever or whatever it is that are cutting these strings. But Feyre was going to do everything in her power to stop it.

Feyre reaches out; her hand barely touches Elian’s shoulder when the world begins to scream. And Feyre wakes up.

Air rushes into Feyre’s lungs as she sits up in bed. In, out, in, out. Breathe, Feyre needed to breath she looks around the room and her eyes slowly begin to adjust to the darkness around her.

Feyre was home, she was not in the abyss, and the screaming was Nyx (hungry for his nightly feeding.

Rhysand groans beside her and shifts around until the pillow covers his head. Typical. Feyre rolls her eyes fondly and gets out of bed to tend to her screaming infant.

It takes a while but Feyre managed to get all of Nyx’s needs met and she collapses into the rocking chair. Nyx was feeling extra clingy and was sleeping against her chest, her heartbeat seeming to be the only thing that calms him.

As she rocks back and forth, trying to prevent herself from falling asleep, Feyre thinks over the nightmare. Every time she had been in the abyss it had never shown her that. The voice would always laugh, scream, and taunt until Feyre woke in terror. But this, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Then again it was just a nightmare. Perhaps she was looking too much into it. Yet something nagged at the back of Feyre’s mind that it was much more than that.