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c-e-d-dreamer · 1 year ago

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But I'm Only Looking At You: Part Two

A/N: Happy happy day two of @cassianappreciationweek! Nothing says Gentle like (checks notes) crashing the wedding of the woman you love, right? Right? What can Cassian say, sometimes love makes you do crazy things! Anywho! Hope everyone enjoys :) Also, fun fact! The words Cassian says during the ceremony are historically accurate!

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Cassian watches from the shadows as a carriage pulls up in front of the church. The footman steps down and pulls open the doors, Elain and Feyre stepping out first. Both of Nesta’s sisters are wearing dresses of a pretty, pink color, their hair pinned up with flowers tucked into the golden brown strands.

Lord and Lady Archeron follow their youngest daughters out of the carriage, Eleanor turning back to say something. From this distance, Cassian can’t hear what’s said, but from the dip of Eleanor’s brows, the pinch of her lips, it appears to be some sort of reprimand. The look just has Cassian’s resolve hardening, a scowl of his own twisting across his face.

Finally, Nesta steps out of the carriage and into the afternoon sun. Despite the other ladies of London preferring yellow for their special day, Nesta has opted for a pale blue dress that looks almost silver beneath the sun’s rays. The style is simple but elegant, exactly what Cassian would expect for Nesta, and while he can’t quite see her face beneath the lacey veil she’s wearing, she looks beautiful.

With a steadying deep breath, Cassian straightens and rolls his shoulders back. He takes a moment to tug at the cuffs of his sleeve, combing his fingers through his hair to ensure the strands fall neatly around his face. A sigh from behind him has Cassian pausing before he steps out of the alleyway, and he just barely swallows down an eyeroll.

“Are you sure there’s no talking you out of this?”

Crossing his arms across his chest, Cassian turns around to face his chosen brothers, Rhys and Az each leaning against the brick walls of the buildings on either side of the alleyway. Rhys looks at Cassian with blatant exasperation as he waits for the response to his question, an expression he’s been wearing since Cassian first informed him of his plan the night of his House Party. Not that it made a difference then. Nor, does it make a difference now.

“No,” Cassian answers matter-of-factly, almost daring Rhys to try his argument tactics again. They didn’t work all week and they certainly won’t work now. “Did you ensure my request arrived?”

Rhys sighs again, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t look particularly surprised at Cassian’s response. “Yes. I pulled a few strings and was able to make sure the Bishop sees your request as soon as possible.”

“Good,” Cassian nods his head, turning back toward the church. He can no longer see the Archeron family, which means they must have gone inside and the countdown has officially started.

“There’s no going back from this you know,” Azriel finally pipes up. “She honestly might hate you for this.”

“I know,” Cassian answers quietly. And he does. He knows exactly how disastrously this is probably going to go. “But I love her.”

And that truly is the crux of it. He loves Nesta, and he refuses to watch the woman he loves marry a man like Tomas Mandray. He refuses to watch her become just like Lady Mandray, growing pale and thin, wearing long sleeves even in the warmer months, being prone to ‘sudden illnesses’ that keep her out of the public’s eye for weeks. He refuses to watch her curl into herself and lose that fire he loves so much under the words he used to hear Tomas spew when they were at school. And if that means throwing himself into the firing line in order to do that, then so be it.

“We all know exactly the kind of man Tomas Mandray is,” Cassian continues, glancing over his shoulder at Rhys and Azriel one last time. “And even if she hates me forever, at least she’ll be safe.”

“Then go get your wife,” Azriel tells him, smirking slightly.

Cassian chuckles and shakes his head, walking across the road to the church. He wastes no time jogging up the front steps and through the door, but he pauses just inside the atrium. The large, wooden doors that lead into the nave loom before him, taunting him. Everything he’s ever wanted is right there on the other side, and once he steps through them, he won’t be able to take it back.

He takes a slow breath in, holding it for a few moments before he lets it back out. It’s all quiet in the atrium, almost eerily so. Cassian tries to strain his ears for sounds, for voices, beyond the doors, but the wooden doors and the stone surrounding him are too thick. He supposes there never really is a good time in a wedding ceremony for this type of thing.

“I’m sorry, Nes,” Cassian mutters to himself before he pulls open the doors.

The wood of the doors creaks and groans, and the metal hinges give a high pitched whine, the sound echoing loudly along the vaulted ceiling of the church. Cassian winces slightly, but it does have the required reaction. All sets of eyes in the church snap to him, but he doesn’t even bother looking anywhere else. Not at Lady Archeron who he’s sure must be sneering and glaring at him. Not at Elain or Feyre who he’s sure are staring with shock. Definitely not at the Mandray family…

Instead, Cassian keeps his attention firmly on Nesta, on where she’s standing at the front of the church, her hands clasped neatly with Tomas’s. Her hands that decidedly do not yet have a ring on them. Beneath the lace of her veil, her blue eyes are wide, and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Rector asks, frowning down at Cassian.

“Forgive me, Father,” Cassian begins, continuing down the aisle and closer to the altar. “But I cannot lie, cannot continue on with this secret. Not under the Mother. I must be honest, must confess.”

“Then confess, son,” the Rector encourages.

“I have already had Miss Archeron.”

For a moment, the whole church is deathly silent, his words slowly but surely sinking in. And then gasps and murmurs break out, a cacophony of sounds and alarm. It’s with sick satisfaction that Cassian watches Tomas drop Nesta’s hands like he’s been burned, watches him step back and away from her with a disgusted scowl on his face.

“I beg your pardon?” the Rector asks, clearly trying to calm the rising emotions swirling around the church.

“I'm sorry, Father, but it’s true. I have laid with Miss Archeron. I know what a grave sin it is, what a dishonor I’ve committed for us both, but I’m prepared to right this wrong. I’m prepared to take her hand in marriage myself.”

“What are you doing?” Nesta seethes, storming over to him and shoving hard at his chest.

“I’m sorry, Nesta,” Cassian tells her, and he prays she can see the truth in his eyes, hear it in his words. He prays that she knows just how much he means it, how sorry he is for all of this. “But we cannot pretend any longer, cannot lie to everyone here including your betrothed. It’s not right.”

“I should have known you’re no better than a common whore,” Tomas sneers, tone dripping with cold cruelty.

His words have Cassian’s anger flaring red hot through his veins. He lets out a quiet growl and takes a step forward, his fist already clenching and his knuckles practically itching to collide with the Viscount’s face. It’s only Nesta’s hand settling firmly on his chest, stopping him, that has Cassian holding himself back.

“Tomas,” Nesta pleads, whirling back around to face the Viscount. “Please. It’s not like that. Just… just give me a moment. I’ll sort it out.”

Nesta’s fingers curl around Cassian’s wrist, her grip tight enough that her nails dig into his skin. From the glare she settles him with, the pain is clearly intentional. She all but drags him out of the nave and back into the atrium, leaving the still shocked wedding guests behind. She drops his wrist once the doors close behind them, but it’s only to shove at his chest again.

“I cannot believe you,” Nesta snaps, shoving hard enough this time that Cassian stumbles back a few steps.

“Nesta—”

“Seriously. What is wrong with you?”

“Nesta, please—”

“We have never laid together.”

“I know.”

Nesta finally pauses in her assault to his chest, blinking a few times as she takes in his words, before she lets out a sardonic, almost hysterical laugh. “So, you just decided to lie? To ruin me? To ruin my sisters.”

Cassian lets out a quiet breath, reaching for Nesta’s hand but she yanks it away and out of his reach. He tries not to let the gesture sting as much as it does. “Nes, please. You have to understand that I—”

“Go back in there and tell them you lied. This instance.”

“I can’t,” Cassian tells her, his voice quiet and mournful.

“Cassian!” Nesta pleads, her voice tinged with desperation.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Cassian steps closer to her, his hands coming up to cradle her cheeks. He hates it. He hates seeing the pain in her eyes, the water that’s started to line them. He hates that he's the reason for her tears. “I can’t let you marry him. I can’t lose you. If this is the only way, then so be it.”

“You have already lost me,” Nesta whispers coldly, knocking his hands away from her and taking a pointed step back. “I will never forgive you for this.”

“Nes…”

Before Cassian can finish his thought, those large wooden doors swing open again, Eleanor Archeron stalking through them. Cassian braces himself for her ire, for the cutting, choice words he’s sure she has for him, but her narrowed gaze isn’t pinned on him. It’s her daughter that she’s glaring daggers at.

“You insolent child,” Eleanor seethes, smacking the back of her hand hard across Nesta’s cheek.

Fire roars through Cassian’s veins, burning molten until his hands tighten into fists. He’s moving before he can even think twice about it, eyes glued to Nesta. To the way she has her face turned away, her hand cradling her cheek, a tear slipping free to slide down along her skin. He stalks closer and gently curls his fingers around Nesta’s wrist, tugging her behind him, placing himself firmly between her and her mother.

“I would appreciate it kindly if you did not put your hands on my wife.”

“She is not your wife yet, you filthy factory rat. I should have known when you were always sniffing around as a boy that you’d dare to lay your hands on my daughter. Not better than your disgusting father.”

“Mama,” Nesta starts to argue, but Cassian gives her wrist a gentle squeeze. There’s no reason for her to step into the firing line and certainly not for him.

“I’m staying with the Duke, Rhysand, while I’m in London, until the Bishop’s License arrives,” Cassian explains, keeping his voice calm, polite, refusing to rise to whatever bait Lady Archeron tries to dangle in front of him. “Nesta is of course welcome to stay there as well, until the wedding.”

“You truly are a fool if you think I’m going to let you whisk her away like that,” Eleanor snorts derisively, her fingers curling roughly around Nesta’s bicep and yanking her daughter to her. “She is still my daughter until the registry is signed.”

Cassian swallows hard and tries to calm the way his blood has started to simmer. “I’ll call on her—”

“You will not.”

The clear dismissal has a scoff tearing free from Cassian before he can squash it back down, but before he can argue, the doors to the nave swing back open. The Viscount comes striding out, his mother’s arm looped through his. Neither even looks in Nesta’s or Cassian’s direction, keeping their gaze straight ahead as they exit the church. If it weren’t for the way Tomas’s lips are pressed together, the way his brown eyes are darkened with clear annoyance, Cassian would almost say he looks the picture perfect of indifference.

“My lord,” Eleanor begins, her tone oozing with a courtier’s charm that Cassian has certainly never been on the other end of.

The Lady Mandray lets out a harrumph, the sound quiet but no less contemptuous, the only acknowledgement that she even heard Eleanor. Tomas and his mother continue down the front steps of the church and toward their carriage, the members of the wedding guest list there to support the would-be groom following behind them, each expression directed their way more judgemental than the next. It has Cassian taking an instinctual step to the side, blocking Nesta from those snide looks, shielding her.

He chances a glance over his shoulder, but it’s Eleanor’s gaze that meets his. With Tomas and his mother no longer looking, the placating smile has dropped from her face, that irritated scowl and glare returning and pinned right on Cassian. He can’t find it in himself to care for the look she’s settled him with, not when her hand is still curled around Nesta’s arm, fingers gripping tight enough that the skin has started to turn red.

Cassian opens his mouth to say something, but there’s more scuffling from the nave. He turns his head back around just as Elain and Feyre step into view, both of their faces still bewildered as their eyes dart between him, Nesta, and their mother. At least Feyre offers him a small, almost sympathetic smile.

“I’ll go get the carriage,” Elain offers quietly, rushing out of the church and tugging Feyre along with her.

“I’ll be sure to have a settlement drawn up for you to review and sign,” Nesta's father says, stepping out of the nave and over to Cassian, his face surprisingly impassive despite the day’s turn of events.

“Of course. Whatever terms are most favorable for Nesta,” Cassian agrees with a nod, earning a quizzical look in response from Lord Archeron.

“The carriage is ready,” Feyre declares, walking back up the church steps.

With her message delivered, Feyre turns on her heel and heads back down the steps, her parents side-stepping around Cassian to follow their daughter. It’s Nesta that takes up the rear of their party, her arms wrapped around herself even as she holds her shoulders back and her head up high. It’s a mask if Cassian’s ever seen one, and the sight sends a crack shattering clean through his chest.

“Nesta,” Cassian calls out to her, soft desperation and pain coloring his tone.

“Nesta,” her mother’s clipped voice cuts in.

Despite the clear order hidden in her mother’s request, Nesta’s steps do pause. She turns back to look at Cassian, and that crack in his chest explodes into a throbbing ache at the betrayal burning in her blue eyes, her lips pinched into a cool, hard line. She opens her mouth, words clearly poised and ready on the tip of her tongue, but then she merely shakes her head, turning away from Cassian and joining her family.

She leaves him standing there alone, nothing to do but watch her walk away from him, watch her leave. A lump presses in around his throat, his lungs burning and chest aching despite his attempts to swallow around it. He lets out sound somewhere between a scoff and a self-deprecating laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face and along his jaw. He tries to remind himself why he’s doing this, to remind himself that when it’s all said and done, it will have been worth it.

Even still, Cassian can’t help but tilt his head up, sending a silent prayer to the Mother and just hoping that he’s doing the right thing.

~ * * * ~

It takes a week before the Bishop’s License is finally signed and in Cassian’s hands. Unsurprisingly, Nesta’s family wants everything to move quickly and quietly. Cassian can’t say he minds. It means the sooner he can see her, can talk with her just the two of them privately. The sooner he can get the both of them out of London and away from all the prying eyes, the whispering gossip and judgemental looks of the ton, the better.

The Archerons are already waiting at the church when Cassian arrives with Rhys and Azriel. It’s Elain and Feyre, standing with their father, that greets him as he steps inside the atrium. Despite the fact there’s about to be a wedding, there’s a solemn air that clings inside the walls of the church, heavy and pressing in. Neither sister is smiling, even Feyre not quite able to meet his gaze. Instead, her attention is pinned to her right, lips tugged down in a frown.

Brows furrowing in confusion, Cassian turns his head, following Feyre’s gaze to where Nesta is standing with her mother. Eleanor has her head tipped down, practically right in Nesta’s face as she hisses something too quiet for Cassian to hear.

“Eleanor,” Lord Archeron calls out, drawing his wife’s attention.

Lady Archeron takes in Cassian standing there and straightens, striding over to her husband’s side. She doesn’t even acknowledge Cassian as she passes him, but he doesn’t miss the sneer still ever present on her face. It’s only when she realizes Rhys is standing behind him that her disdainful expression drops away, surprise taking over before that courtier smile returns.

“Your Grace,” Eleanor offers, dipping into a polite curtsy.

Rhys doesn’t say anything, merely dips his chin in a nod of acknowledgement, and Eleanor continues to her husband’s side. She slips her arm through Lord Archeron’s, and they head into the nave of the church, their daughters trailing behind him. Rhys claps his hand against Cassian’s shoulder and does the same, Azriel offering a small, sympathetic look as he too follows Rhys inside.

It leaves just Cassian and Nesta still standing in the atrium as they wait for their cue to walk down the aisle, for their lives to be forever bound together.

Nesta finally walks over to him, but she keeps her eyes downcast, seemingly glued to his kilt. The attention has him resetting his stance, has his hands reaching down to smooth out the fabric along his thighs. He rarely wore it when he was in school. He already heard enough from his peers, from the ton, about his family’s new money status. He hadn’t wanted to add fuel to their fires by flaunting his Scottish heritage too, practically handing over the insults and jabs on a silver platter. But now, with Nesta’s eyes on him, he finds himself more nervous than he ever was back then, his heart beginning to stutter between his ribs.

“After today, you’ll wear my colors too,” Cassian explains quietly.

The comment has Nesta’s gaze finally snapping to his, and Cassian’s heart squeezes tight enough it sends pain ricocheting through his chest. Even through the lacy fabric of her veil, Cassian can tell the way all the color seems to have leached out of her cheeks, the dark circles clinging to the skin beneath her eyes. And her eyes. Cassian doesn’t think he’s ever seen them so dull, more gray than blue and not even a hint of that spark he loves so much.

He takes a step closer to her, eyes sweeping over her accessingly. She’s wearing that same pale blue dress as her almost wedding to Tomas, but despite it only being a week, the fabric seems looser in places. Cassian has to swallow hard around a lump forming in his throat before he’s able to find his voice again.

“You look pale. Have you not been eating? Or sleeping?” Cassian asks gently, reaching a hand up beneath her veil to slide his knuckles against her cheek, but Nesta jerks her head away.

“Don’t touch me,” Nesta snaps, readjusting the veil draped over her face. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Cassian’s hand hangs in the space between them before he drops it back down to his side. The words are certainly a blow, but all Cassian cares about is that the fire has returned to Nesta’s eyes, the blue of them practically blazing up at him. He’ll take it. He doesn’t care if he’s on the other end of her ire, as long as he can keep stoking that fire, as long as he can finally make that lifeless expression vanish, as long as she gives him something.

So, Cassian scoffs and shakes his head. “Just what every gentleman wants to hear on his wedding day.”

“You brought this upon yourself. Or have you already forgotten your utter stupidity?”

“I wish you would just understand that I did this for you.”

“How dare you lie to me,” Nesta seethes, shoving him hard for extra good measure. “You did this for yourself, you selfish, insufferable idiot.”

“Careful, Nes,” Cassian taunts, catching her wrists and tugging her closer still while he dips his head down toward her. “Is that any way to speak to your soon-to-be husband?”

“I hate you.”

Cassian drops Nesta’s wrists and takes a step back from her at her words. For a moment, he swears he sees something flicker across her face, but she quickly turns her head away before he can begin to decipher it. Closing his eyes, Cassian takes a moment to breathe deeply. He holds out his arm for Nesta to take, and pointedly pushes down the hurt when she hesitates.

Arm in arm, they make their way through the church and to where the Rector is standing and waiting for them. The Rector has them turn to face one another and then the ceremony begins. Cassian can still see the exhaustion that clings to Nesta’s frame, but with the light spilling through the stained glass, she’s still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, still takes his breath away. Still has his heart beating in time with her name, Nesta Nesta Nesta.

By the time Cassian is taking Nesta’s hand in his, sliding the band on her finger, his own is trembling. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

Following the Rector’s instruction, Nesta takes Cassian’s hand in hers, sliding his own ring on as she repeats the same words. Something unlocks deep in Cassian’s chest, deep in his soul, in that moment. It’s a final piece falling into a place, a key turning in a lock, a golden thread binding them together just as surely as the rings on their fingers. It fills Cassian with warmth, with a sense of rightness, with a sense of home.

With the rings exchanged, Cassian and Nesta step forward to sign the parish registry. The wedding guests in attendance rise to do the same, but with so few of them, it doesn’t take particularly long. The ink has barely dried from Feyre signing her name before Eleanor is striding toward the doors to exit the church, shooting an expectant look over her shoulder to her youngest daughters.

“I’ll have the footmen move Mrs MacLeod’s trunk to your carriage,” she finally addresses Cassian. “I’m sure it’s quite the long journey back to Glasgow.”

Cassian has to grit his teeth, has to bite back and swallow down the harsh words he wants to fire back at her blatant dismissal. No longer is she Nesta, no longer her daughter, but Mrs MacLeod, the factory rat’s wife. And there would be no celebrating this fact, no wedding breakfast to honor the newly married couple. It has Cassian’s blood boiling, his fists clenching at his side until Nesta’s palm slides along his wrist. It’s the first contact she’s initiated, the touch soothing, but just as soon as it’s there, it’s gone again.

“Thank you, Mama,” Nesta offers politely.

Nesta side steps around Cassian, and he can do nothing but follow behind her, nothing but watch as her trunk is secured to his carriage, her whole life seemingly packed away in that one box. At least, Nesta’s sisters each give her a hug goodbye, but her mother still offers only contempt. It takes all of Cassian’s willpower to keep his face neutral, not to glare at the Lady Archeron, instead focusing on offering a hand and helping Nesta to step inside the carriage. He turns back to give a final nod to Rhys and Azriel, his chosen brothers offering a wave and a salute respectively, before Cassian steps inside and takes the seat opposite Nesta.

“Nesta,” Cassian begins once the carriage jerks into motion.

He reaches forward to take Nesta’s hands in his, but she flinches back, holding her hands close to her chest and turning her head to peer out the window, to watch as London fades away. Cassian sighs softly, dropping his hand to the skirts of her dress, his fingers curling against the fabric.

The rest of the carriage ride is painfully quiet, Nesta’s attention never straying from the carriage window. Cassian’s always loved her stubbornness, the way she never backs down from what she wants, but just once, Cassian wishes she would look at him. He wishes they could properly talk now that it’s just the two of them.

Hell, as the hours and miles continue to tick by, as the sun continues its stretching path across the sky, Cassian would give anything for Nesta to yell at him. To fight with him. For anything other than the suffocating silence. It chokes him from the inside out, his heart twisting and squeezing until he presses his free hand against his chest, rubbing like that will somehow alleviate the ache.

He feels like he’s going insane. After the first hour of stilted silence, Cassian had tried again to talk to her, to draw her attention back to him, but he’d only earned a quiet harrumph for his troubles. After the second hour, he had tried to tease her, tried to spark a reaction from her the way he had earlier, but he had even less success with that. It has Cassian wondering if Nesta really did mean it when she said she’d never forgive him. When she said she hated him.

By the time they're pulling into a coaching inn just outside of Birmingham, Cassian has never been more grateful. He clambers out of the carriage and takes a deep, heaving breath of the cool, evening air, relishing in what little soothing balm he can get. He turns back toward the carriage and holds out his hand in offering, but Nesta pointedly ignores it, stepping down on her own. She hikes up the skirts of her dress and strides forward toward the door of the inn without even a glance back, so Cassian tilts his head up toward the sky, sending a mental plea to the Mother for strength before he jogs after his wife.

“Should I expect silence for the rest of our marriage then?” Cassian mutters as he holds the door open for her.

That comment at least earns him a sharp look from Nesta before she walks through the door and inside the inn, Cassian stepping in behind her. He goes to speak with the landlord, who hands over the key and directs him up the stairs, and Cassian tries not to grimace at the fact they’ll only have the one room.

Thankfully, Nesta doesn’t say anything when Cassian unlocks the door for them to both step inside. Although, he half wonders after the hours of silence if a reaction would have been preferred. Instead, Nesta grabs the pitcher of water for their room and heads straight for the bathing chamber, closing the door behind her. With a soft huff, Cassian sits down on the bed, taking the time to peel his boots off and toss them aside. He rests his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. The exhaustion of the day’s travel, of the past few weeks, burrows beneath his skin, carving space into his bones until he feels completely weighed down by it.

The soft snick of a door opening has Cassian practically leaping to his feet. He whips around just as Nesta steps back into the room, dressed now in only her shift. For a moment, Cassian is struck dumb. She’s wearing her hair down, the soft, golden brown waves falling around her shoulders and down her back. His fingers twitch at his sides with the urge to run through those strands, to tangle there as he holds her close. She’s beautiful, just like this, hair down, the faintest dusting of pink smattered high on her cheekbones.

“Where do you want me?” Nesta asks, fidgeting almost nervously with the cotton fabric of her shift.

“What?” Cassian somehow chokes out, shaking himself out of his staring.

“I presume on the bed. Perhaps a better question would be how do you want me?”

Cassian blinks a few times, his mind finally following what she’s asking. “Nes…”

Nesta lets out a frustrated huff, crossing her arms across her chest. “I’m not one of those simpering girls. I know what happens on a wedding night.”

“Do you still hate me?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because I won’t touch you until you ask me to, until you want me to.”

“You’ll be waiting forever then.”

“I suppose I will,” Cassian shrugs, grabbing one of the pillows and tossing it to the floor at the foot of the bed, intent on sleeping on the floor.

“That makes our marriage a sham then. I’ll go back to London and tell all of society.”

Cassian doesn’t bother biting back his taunting smirk as he lifts his attention back to her. “Did you forget that they already think I’ve had you? Everyone knows and believes that. But go ahead and try.”

That fire is a full blaze in Nesta’s eyes now, her mouth twisting into a scowl. She storms over to the bed, and Cassian half wonders if she intends to clamber over the mattress just to get to him, just to shove him and sink her claws into his chest. But she merely stops on the other side, hands clenched into fists at her side as she continues to glare at him.

“You’ll never have heirs.”

Cassian laughs dryly, cocking his head. “You think I care about that?”

“All men care about that.”

“I guess I’m not like most men, sweetheart.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at that, her tone dripping with derision when she says, “what do you care about then?”

“You,” Cassian practically shouts. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? I care about you, unlike that man you were going to marry before I stepped in.”

“Stop doing that. Stop speaking to me as if I’m stupid. As if I did not know exactly the type of man Tomas Mandray is.”

“Yet you were going to marry him anyways? What, better to marry a cruel man with a title than some factory brute?”

The silence hangs in the air between them, clearly answer enough. Cassian tries not to let it sting, but his chest already feels cut and splayed open, his nerve endings already raw and exposed. He swallows hard and turns away from her, extinguishing the candle and plunging the room into darkness. He settles down onto the floor, knocking his fist against his pillow for extra good measure, but the gesture doesn’t help the cold ache that gnaws at him the way he had hoped.

“Cassian…”

“Go to sleep, Nesta.”

—

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#nessian #CassianAppreciationWeek2023 #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #regency au #my fic

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theladyofdeath · 1 year ago

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Lady Death's Lover {Prologue}

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

Summary: Nesta Archeron has been married off to Tomas Mandray to secure a comfortable future for her father and sisters. Although grateful to be wed, Nesta holds no love for her husband. Lost in a state of depression, she meets her husband's newest business partner and can't seem to stay away.

A/N: New story alert! You know I love a good period piece. Please note the trigger warnings for each chapter. This story deals with some pretty heavy topics. Chapters will be posted twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays! I hope you all enjoy. :)

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

My Dearest Sisters,

I cannot be more grateful. Tomas is a dream and I am more blessed than I ever thought imaginable. Although I am not yet with child, Tomas and I grow nearer every day. It is only a matter of time before we find our family growing and I simply cannot wait for that day to come.

My summer is looking quite full. I am not certain when I will be able to visit. I am scheduled to host a ball in a matter of weeks, and being a woman that runs a household is a chore in itself. There is always something to do, always someone that needs something, always a fire that must be put out.

I think of you both often. I hope that my marriage has brought you both comforts that we did not have before. Tomas promises that he sends aid each week and knowing that you both are well taken care of brings me much joy. How is Father? He does not write, and I do not blame him. We never did get along, and even now, I’m not sure if I’d truly like to hear from him. Nonetheless, I hope he is well and his leg is not causing him too much trouble. If he is doing poorly, please let me know so that I may help.

Feyre, I hope that you have ceased contact with Isaac Hale. We all know the rumors surrounding him, and he is not good enough for you. I hope you do not find that cruel. I only care for you and your reputation. With the help of Tomas’ aid, you can find a husband that is a gentleman — someone who does not take you for granted, someone who can provide for you like father has not been able to. Take care of yourself. Respect yourself. Wait for a man to come along who can give you the world.

Elain, how is Graysen? I know how the two of you would stare into each other’s eyes lovingly, but the last few letters have lacked any mention of him. I hope he has not broken your heart. If he has, I vow to travel these agonizing miles and see to it myself. Please be certain that he cherishes you. If he does not, you are free to reject him. Money is no longer an issue and you do not have to do anything you do not wish to do.

I love you both dearly and hope you are doing well. Please write back with any news. I think of you both every day and long for the day that I will wrap you both in my arms.

Love always,

Nesta

I stare at the letter before me as the ink dries on the parchment.

I read it once, then twice, three times to be sure I have left nothing out.

The truth is this: I have left out a million things. I have left out my misery, my anguish, my everyday pain. I have ignored the truth of my own life and have asked after the lives of my sisters. Yes, the letter lacks depth, but I have always lacked depth. There is no use in starting now.

Once I sign my name at the bottom, I fold up the letter and seal it with wax.

I wish it was longer.

I wish it held all the words that I cannot seem to say.

I wish it held the truth.

I give the letter to my lady’s maid.

She smiles as she takes it, thinking it’s the world’s greatest honor to be delivering a piece of my mail.

Little does she know that the letter truly means nothing.

Our lives here mean nothing.

Maybe she doesn’t mind the nothingness, doesn’t mind the irrelevant place she holds in my husband’s household. Do not get me wrong — I adore my lady’s maid, but I do not deserve her. I do not truly need her.

I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

At least, that is what I thought before I married Tomas Mandray.

Now, I am nothing more than his wife, nothing more than a trophy on a pedestal to be ogled over by the ton. Yet, I cannot be angry at this life that I have been given. I cannot regret my place in society.

My family is taken care of.

My sisters are promised great futures.

My father has not drowned in ruin.

And I am a lady, the wife of a lord.

Too bad that is all that I am.

I am a lady, and nothing more.

#nessian #nesta #cassian #fanfic #fanfiction #period au #19th century au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #sjm

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acourtofthought · 1 year ago

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About Elain trying to choose who she stays with and being stubborn about not getting involved with Lucien.

I think Elain is at the stage where she thinks being with Lucien is like it's not her choice.

And we all know that if she decides that she's going to meet Him then it's a choice that can lead to acceptance of the bond.

Because Lucien is passionate... Just kidding... But I think she's afraid that in the end she'll really fall in love with Lucien and doesn't want to maybe get involved from head to toe.

Elain showing interest in another man can also be rational.

I once read a book that reminded me of Elain that the little girl she wanted to marry someone she thought was calm, safe and reliable etc...

And sometimes Elain looks rationally for someone who reinforces the idea of I, I chose and in a way it is a rational feeling that he is safe, my sisters like him and he will never have a chance to break my heart because he will never get so intimate .

Because in a way the Bond must frighten, bring an intimacy that don't want at the moment.

And in the end she will realize that She can and did have the power of Choice to like another and at no time did the Bond force her to choose and she ends up realizing that if she Knows him and doesn't like him she can still refuse or if she likes she can Accept by Choice.

it makes sense? I don't know

It does make sense! She was in love with Graysen but suddenly she finds herself with this bond that makes her feel irrational and wild and pulled to a stranger and how can that not be too much for to deal with when she was in love with someone else? Suddenly the love she had for Graysen was challenged but she refuses to give into it, proving that she would remain loyal to him (I'm guessing that would have only lasted so long even if Graysen had taken her back, I don't think she could have ever truly been happy with him in the long run). And then, after fighting against anything the bond makes her feel, she was rejected. Every girlish fantasy she had of a fairytale prince who would love her through anything came crashing to the ground when Graysen did not choose her. So she's going to ignore her bond because to her, maybe it's something to blame as the cause for everything that she's lost. She could be unfairly placing the blame on Lucien and the bond but that's kind of what people do when they're struggling to handle trauma, they find themselves a scapegoat. So she's torn between what she's trying to convince herself of and her draw to Lucien and the easiest option for her is to deny, deny, deny and ignore him. She wants to keep proving to herself that she can fight against her pull to him so she convinces herself she's happy in the NC, she starts paying attention to Az because she doesn't have a connection to him and doesn't cause her to feel any wild and out of control emotions, it's something SHE can control. After having no control over her bond, after having no control over losing her fiance, after having no control over being turned fae and losing her father, she's going to play it safe and take the route that doesn't come with a lot of baggage and intensity. It's understandable because she does probably need time to recover and discover herself after everything but it doesn't mean it's what is right for her long-term. It's just what has been right for her, right now. Just like Feyre needed someone like Tamlin to help her find peace after so many years of struggling. Just like Nesta needed to distance herself from Feyre and Cassian after the war and deal with things in her own way. They might not have been the healthiest situations for the sisters to be in but it's what they needed at that point in their lives. It's no different for Elain. She's doing the best she can at this point in her life but it doesn't mean it's where she's going to end up or where she'll be happiest. It's just a stepping stone on her journey and it really is ok that she's playing it a bit safe, she's finding her footing. But no fantasy heroine is happiest when "playing it safe" and when we get to Elain's book, I think we'll see she's finally ready to face the difficult stuff.

#elucien #pro elucien #pro elain archeron

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rosenecklaces · 2 years ago

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is honestly damn scary to me how this fandom made of a predomitely women (teens young adults and full grown adults) fanbase have this ahh not cute nor excusable tendency of villainizing Every. Damn. Action. that female characters make especially if this where "against" a male character

The archeron sisters? Feyre is a piece of shit, she is secretly an evil bitch that has ruined nesta and elains lives, spring court citizens and tamlin in the process and how dare she turns her back at him and whore herself to rhysand? She is a bad friend and enjoys to humiliate poor meow meow lucien that of course is a saint that has never do something bad let alone to her

Nesta? A waste of breathe that doesn't deserve love and that mental condition doesn't deserve to be helped because she is just trash since addicts aparentally don't deserve redemption let alone someone to care for them (and also she is a dumbass for choosing cassian over eris the Superior Fae Male)

And don't get me started on elain. She is evil, a bitch, a naive little princess that needs to be codled, she is stupid and "slow" so she can't do anything but we should judge her when she does something. She deserves to die at her own sisters hands, she deserves no mate because again, lucien is such a good man and she is a little vixen leading him on. Also since she "can't" have babies without pliable bones, azriel isn't gonna love her, that's why she sees her as a sex toy

Mor is a liar because Eris said a couple of words and WE MUST believe this man and not her, Gwyn should be sexualized and reduced as azriel sexy submissive servant since sjm called HIM a freak in bed, Emerie? She isn't important she's just gay so she is worthless to this very white very hetero centric fanbase and her illyrian narrative isn't interesting like her white pretty friends that you can self insert into

I can go on and on and on but I think all of us have heard/read things like this for years, in my case almost two years and, let me tell you, it does cause me extreme repulsion, for me this fandom hit a new low with saying this shit on tick tock showing their faces like what they are saying is harmless, this women actually believe there's no damage in saying a fictional woman in a fantasy world supposedly can't have babies because of her bones and she must be capable of it because then she isn't a worthy love interest...this women call Morrigan a liar and even a fake bitch since her trauma is NOTHING compared to a manipulative hot man words...that feyre is a stay home mom now and that is so bad her character is "ruined" now... that nesta was her happiest when she was an alcoholic and fucked everyone she encountered and that she SHOULD had stayed that way...

I have heard everything and saw everything here and I can tell with all security that unfortunately, most of the acotar fandom suffer the BIGGEST "I Suck And Ride This Basic Fictional Men Dicks So Hard They Deserve Everything And The Women That Oppose Them Are Bitches" (and the fact is mostly eris and tamlin ones the most intense...not gonna say white, But-) that i have ever seen and babes that's saying something coming from someone that was a hard anime fan

and I have to say, SJM is at big fault of all this shit. Im sorry but we must remember how much is to be criticized about her writing involving men like, why she has been keeping tamlin in the books doing stuff for no damn reason why they fuck is he alive after what he did to feyre? she made lucien, someone who excuses and helped in feyre abuse, her friend and now her sister mate?? she tried to backtracks eris characterization and now we have people thinking he is secretly a good man that was gay all this time (suddenly that makes him a good guy(? thankfully that didn't worked on me I hate basic white men with only two personalities) and that's why he is a piece of shit to every women? even with cassian and rhysand she fucked up, one calling a woman worthless & bitch with no repercussions about it and theres rhysand weird sexualizing scene with feyre that we never had apologies of and now the hiding his wife a deadly secret about a pregnancy like ????????

(I MAYBE could excuse all this if it was dark romance but this was and is YA/A book series that are read by A LOT of teenagers and some misogynistic shit she writes gives me the creeps)

GOD can she be normal for 5 fucking seconds about her male characters? I ain't forgetting the whole rowan/aelin thing and how she defended it with " their rivals/enemies to lovers" 💀 Can she be consistent for once with them without later excuse or forget every shit they do and try to spoon feed us "he's hot and nice now"? We all know she loves to self insert and probably have a thing for her own male characters ( the way she's adopted and the 3some scene between mates and the self proclaimed brothers was even an OPTION for her jesus christ...)

Im saying this about her because well, is true she favours men but dammit if part of her fandom doesn't reflect what she herself has created and let get out of hands 🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️

(a little rant abt elain)

i am unable to understand why people hate elain. and it's not a simple ''dislike'' or ''not interested'', people really hate her and she has never done anything so absurd. yes, she did feyre wrong, but a large portion of feyre fans were able to move on after seeing her treat feyre like a sister, right after the first book.

i think it's absurd for the fandom to hate elain so much when there are several supporters of tamlin and eris, who fell in love with headcanons (since there is nothing canon to justify their actions) and say that they are their favorite characters in the entire saga. how can people forgive characters who have made so many mistakes, but can't forgive elain, who doesn't even need forgiveness? i also think it's strange that nesta's fans, or people who managed to get attached to her after acosf, hate elain and prefer anyone but her. elain never did anything bad to nesta.

does not make sense. i support my theory that elain only suffers from misogyny, because i find the hatred for her totally unjustifiable. do you literally prefer anyone but her because she's so girly? because she likes to cook and has chosen to have a quiet life? the fuck

#acotar rant #elain archeron #sjm rant #pro elain #pro acotar women tbh #sorry op if this got out of the point but #im sick and tired of this misogyny being so well received and excused in big acotar spaces #is not only here you encounter it is also Twitter Facebook Reddit Instagram like...

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separatist-apologist · 2 years ago

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Wonderland

Haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds?

Summary: In a kingdom where a Maiden is forced to be sacrificed to appease the monster in the woods, Elain Archeron is chosen out of spite by her spurned suitor, Graysen. Trapped in a tower with her beast, Elain must unravel if she can truly trust the monster promising not to hurt. She doesn't know he's freed every maiden he's ever been sent...but her? Her, he intends to keep.

Read More: AO3

13k words

WARNING: MONSTER/ Breeding kink/ONLY ONE BED???

Prompt given to me by the incomparable @elains who is responsible for honest, a lot of fics I've written and does not get enough credit for it. I like the way her mind works. She is my muse.

A proper, well-bred lady never said no if she could help it. She danced, delicately, around the harshness, offered solutions and perhaps compromise. But never a no. To say no was ugly, was rude, was hardly lady-like at all. And Elain Archeron, middle daughter to the Archeron estate, absolutely considered herself a lady. She’d been trying to maintain her manners, to adhere to social decorum. To politely reject a suitor without making him think it had been anything but his idea.

Graysen Nolan refused to hear every polite another time and oh I couldn’t possibly until Elain was left with no other words that might convey how she felt. Standing in a fine cerulean gown among the swaying lilacs and roses of the garden, Elain looked upon Graysen with no small amount of horror. He’d bent on knee, his moody brown eyes glinting not with hope but acquisition. All three of Archeron’s daughters were unmarried and the man himself was dead. No one but a steward managed them.

Any husband could take over and make himself far wealthier than he’d ever dreamed. While Feyre and Nesta Archeron—youngest and oldest, respectively—had managed to keep the door firmly shut and their wealth firmly in their hands. Elain took a breath. She’d liked Graysen. He was from a respectable family, had wealth of his own. He would be reasonable.

And so Elain did what she’d been taught her whole life not to. She said, “No.”

Graysen blinked, the wind rustling his perfect brown hair over his forehead. “I’m sorry?” “I can’t marry you,” Elain told him, careful to keep her voice pleasant.

“Why not?” he asked, rising from the paved path that wound over the stretching acres of garden and grass. Elain didn’t dare look at his white breeches with their now dirt stained knees or note how it was a near match for his buttoned brown coat.

“I don’t love you,” she pressed forward, cringing with discomfort. “I tried—” Graysen scoffed. “What does love have to do with marriage?”

“Everything?” she asked, suddenly feeling foolish. She’d been raised to believe a marriage was filled with love and only the unfortunate were trapped otherwise. With her father gone and no chance of being forced into a political arrangement, Elain wanted nothing less.

“You’ll regret this when you’re an old maid,” he warned, pointing his finger at her face. Elain didn’t dare move though the gesture scared her. Up until that point, Elain had been happy to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he didn’t recognize the social cues of he’d just hoped she would change her mind. Now, beneath a cloudy afternoon sky, Elain was certain Graysen just hadn’t cared. Strutting away like he was royalty, Elain exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

Elain didn’t expect Graysen to make good on his threat. It was an intangible threat, something men said when spurned to try and make women second guess themselves. He could walk away with some of his pride, confident that Elain would never marry and had missed her chance. Perhaps he’d warn away other suitors, too. She’d seen that happen on occasion.

Elain had not expected a knock on the front door the next morning. She’d just come down for breakfast when Nesta, dressed in silver, pulled open those heavy, ancient doors. Elain froze at the sight of the kings guard, surrounded by five men all wearing the same heavy metal armor, the same purple feathered helmets, the same grim looks.

“What?” Nesta demanded, her spine utterly straight. That man—as old as her father had been before he died—-peered into the home. Did he see the carved pillars and marble and art? Or did he see the three of them alone? “I’m here for Elain Archeron,” he said, handing over that heavy paper scroll. Elain’s legs nearly abandoned her on that staircase, dragging her kicking and screaming back to the ground. Nesta, unaware Elain was just behind her, pulled open the twine, silvery blue eyes scanning the document.

“This is absurd—” “Kings orders. All maidens are chosen at random, Lady Archeron.” Elain knew that wasn’t true. How Graysen had managed to make good on his final word, to truly make her regret telling him no, Elain was unsure. She took a hesitant step down, drawing their attention to her. Each year, on the longest day, a maiden was sacrificed to the monster in the woods. It was an appeasement to keep the beast from prowling their villages and cities. No one knew who would be chosen. It was random, or so the king said though there was clearly a willingness to play favorites. She half wondered if the scroll didn’t have some other woman’s name hastily crossed off and hers added.

“Absolutely not,” Nesta snapped even as the guard shoved his way past, one hand resting on his sword. Elain met them at the bottom of the steps, trembling so hard she could hardly stand. All six soldiers peered at her with eyes that told her they knew she’d been a last minute choice. Did they wonder why? Or perhaps this was just how things were done. The aristocratic men chose which woman they felt had wronged them and sent her fleeing to her death.

“The golden wood is a day's journey from here,” the guard told her almost pityingly. “Say your goodbyes now.”

“She’s not going!” Nesta insisted. “FEYRE!”

Five swords were drawn in tandem, forcing Elain forward. “I’ll go, I…don’t hurt them.” “She’s not going,” Nesta tried again but heavy gloved hands were already wrapped around her arm. “You can’t have her.” “Then the beast will have us all,” the guard intoned. It hadn’t happened in centuries but Elain knew the stories of his terrible fire, of a beast who ate babies straight from their mothers arms before laying waste to entire villages just for fun. A creature made of scales and claws, who could take to the sky looking for a bride he would later devour. It was a great warrior who had beaten him into those woods, who had struck that bargain between them. One maiden for the entire year in exchange for peace.

The monster hadn’t violated his end yet and only that knowledge—of what he might do if she refused—propelled Elain forward. “It’s fine,” she lied, letting them drag her from the open foyer beneath the iron chandelier to the humidity of early morning. There was no sun, only a cloud packed with fluffy, furious clouds. It smelled of rain, of the ruin, of death.

There would be no nice carriage ride. Elain knew this when she saw that wooden bars attacked the wagon, pulled by a team of snow white horses. Iron bars allowed for air and light, allowed every person on the path between here and the golden wood to know who would be sacrificed so they could rest well. At night, a celebration would occur. Another year of peace.

Irons were put on her wrists, clamped so tight she could feel the hinges pinch her skin. Nesta, joined by Feyre, argued loudly with the guard even when his men shoved her into the back of the wagon.” “I hear death is slow,” one of the soldiers murmured before closing the door. “I hear he fucks you first.”

Elain couldn’t breathe as that door slammed shut. The sound of the locking key silenced even her sisters, doomed to watch helplessly. Elain memorized their faces in the moments after, willing herself not to cry. She forced herself to smile because what else was there? Nesta and Feyre would come after her if they thought they could. She didn’t want all three of them to become casualties in Graysen’s vendetta. He wouldn’t have the satisfaction of killing them all.

The wagon lurched, jolting Elain to the floor. There was nowhere to sit, the box nearly as tall as she was and standing room only. It had the faintest scent of urine to it though she didn’t ponder that one. Carefully, she clambered back to her feet, reaching for the bars to keep herself upright.

She didn’t live in one of the tiny towns that dotted their kingdom or any of the seaside villages. Elain lived in the largest city of Wallen, just outside the city center itself on ancestral lands gifted by the king himself. The same king who had signed her death warrant, who watched from the square along with everyone else, drawn from their houses to see whose unlikely daughter had been chosen.

Graysen, too, was there, grinning ear to ear in a white buttoned coat and black slacks. Elain stared back unflinching until his smile slipped, betraying his uncertainty. If he wanted a way into their family's fortune, she’d been his safest bet. Now she was rolling towards doom. Nesta and Feyre would put it together, would realize who had made this happen. Elain would be avenged eventually.

The thought soothed her just long enough to truly look upon the king. Dark haired and old, draped in violet not unlike the feathers in the helmets of his soldiers. Beside him was his son,the crown prince wearing funeral attire. Black and silver instead of white and gold. Their eyes met and Elain recognized the apology in his gaze. He didn’t want this, for all it mattered. Elain inclined her head.

It’s not your fault.

It had to be done. Someone had to make that rickety ride. Would they dump her at the edge? Would the beast be waiting with its terrible, rotting teeth and jagged, flesh ripping claws? Or perhaps the soldier was right and he would brutalize her in other ways first, prolonging her suffering. There was time to think about it. They left the city for rolling hills and endless villages, its people lined along cobblestone streets to look at her. There was plenty of pity and regret—mainly from women too old to be chosen any longer. As if they remembered the fear and perhaps, the friends and sisters they, too, had lost. Men leered, drawn to the irrefutable knowledge that she was untouched. Something about a virgin made men prone to violence. Elain had never quite understood why.

It was exhausting to stand as long as she did and yet sitting was defeat. It was fear, it was acknowledging what was waiting, even when those treetops appeared far in the distance. Elain couldn’t look at places or faces any longer. She’d never once seen the woodland, had only heard stories of its beauty. No gold light, despite its name and as they approached, the sky rumbled threateningly. Golden forest must be a joke, she thought, noting how the entire place was bathed in shadow. Gnarled trunks seemed to sway, their branches great, gaping hands reaching for her. The wagon halted, smashing her face against the bars…not that they cared.

It was the guard who came, unlocking the door and gesturing for her. “Should I run?” she asked when her feet touched the pebbled road. He shook his head with more of that heavy regret. He shook his helmeted head, holding the chain between her manacles to walk her into the forest.

“There is a place…this is for the best,” he managed, glancing around him as if he knew very well this was not for the best. Elain could only walk, tripping over every stick and pebble until her whole body ached and her soft shoes were half filled with rocks. It seemed impossible that any light could possibly penetrate this place, making it seem more sinister. It smelled of moss and rot and the air was somehow cold and heavy. It was as if a hand pressed against her, shoving her to the ground.

She understood what he’d meant when he said this is for the best. A terrifying iron tower loomed over the treetops, its black facade blurring against the trees until she stood in front of it. The guard pulled a twisted key from his pocket to open another door, one Elain knew she would never see opened again. Inside, warped, narrow stairs circled to the very top with nothing but the occasional window for air, so small she couldn’t even throw herself from it. All she could do was march up each new step, the guard just behind her.

The top was wider, allowing her to enter through a swinging trap door. Climbing throug, she found a terrifying room that made her halt entirely. The majority of the space was sucked up by a huge, four poster bed draped in absurd gold. A little, unused chair held a blanket and a book, not that it mattered. Elain was all but pushed to the bed, the chain between her manacles attached to a huge, iron ring against the wooden headboard.

“Please,” she whispered, heart beating so hard she could taste metallic blood in her mouth. “Please let me go.”

He shook his head. “Don’t beg. It only makes this worse.”

She hadn’t expected to be chained to a bed, though. She’d imagined running through the woods and rot below, had let herself daydream of escape. They’d known, then. She hadn’t been the first to consider the possibilities, to try and get out of this. The guard pocketed his key, swept one last look over her in her pink dress tied at the waist with a white sash, before slamming that door shut entirely.

Elain listened to his steps echoing off the stone, lips pressed together to keep herself from screaming. The heavy door sealed her in, slamming so hard she felt it reverberate against the wood at her back. Elain yanked and wrenched and pulled until she sliced the skin of her wrists, sending blood dripping down her arms. The angle was painful, forcing her to sit completely straight, arms unable to relax at all.

She didn’t sleep, even when the sun eventually set, twisting over and over despite the blood, the fear, the certainty of death. It was coming on swift, furious wings, trumpeted by a furious, roaring snarl in the distance. It stilled her raging heart, robbing her of breath. Elain had ignored the massive open window and the half circle balcony. There was no point in hoping for escape when she could hardly scale down. She should have given it more consideration when the beast of legend came careening towards it with massive, gold and orange scaled wings. He bellowed furiously to the world around them, blowing an arc of fire somewhere below. Whatever drew his rage was going to be turned on her. She hoped the beast, with its terrible steel tipped claws, devoured her quickly.

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding, the sound drawing his head. He wasn’t so large he couldn’t get inside. The beast snuffed a hot breath, its russet eyes shifting to gold as they whirred over her with curiosity and surprise. Had the beast forgotten? Was she an unexpected but welcome gift? Elain bit her bottom lip so hard she bled as it approached, talons clicking on the iron floor beneath them. She turned her head as far as she could, arching her neck to escape his breath and his interest.

The chain overhead ripped from the wall, freeing her from the painful hold against the bed. Her wrists were still manacled, though she could stretch them at last, pulling her arms apart now that the steel that had once bound her was no more.

The beast peered before groaning loudly, twisting his head towards his belly. On trembling legs, he backed away warily, guarding that curious, bleeding wound. She ought to have run. It was her first thought. The door at the bottom was still locked. She’d end up right back where she started or worse, trapped in a small, narrow stairwell with a fire breathing monster just overhead.

Elain cleared her throat, not daring to approach as she slithered off the bed. He was curled up in on himself, spiked tail tucked against his broad, pointed snout. Elain held up her palms. “I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, her voice laced with fear. Russet eyes followed her careful movements, waiting for her to betray the lie or trick. He was going to kill her, she reminded herself. It was foolish to prolong her own suffering for the good of this beast and yet the first thing it had done, in spite of the furious lanced spear in its scaled underbelly, had been to free her. It was some measure of kindness, she decided as she studied his face. There, just beneath those gleaming scales and blazing eyes was the barest hint of fear.

“I’m scared too,” Elain whispered as she inched towards him. He raised his head at her words, head inclined as if to ask why?

“Promise you won’t eat me,” she ordered, close enough she could feel the warmth radiating from him. An amused huff of steam was her response. He pulled his tail away from his wound so Elain could look at it. Someone had clearly thought to bring him down, jamming a wooden spear into his stomach. He turned to the shrapnel, opening his massive maw to demonstrate how he could not pull it out.

“It’s going to hurt,” she said, wrapping a hand around the rough handle. “You might die.” Steely eyes were her only response. Elain steadied herself, heart pounding against her ribs so hard she could feel the reverberation in her bones. With two hands, Elain ripped it from his surprisingly soft body. The monster snarled and Elain went skittering backwards, arms raised over her head to keep from being injured. She crouched against the wall, not daring to look for several agonizing seconds. No bite of teeth, no scorch of fire…only the sound of a tongue quietly lapping the wound. Elain looked up, knees to her chest, hand pressed against her mouth, to find the beast literally licking his wound without a care in the world. He bled red, just like she did, dripping against the floor. Unlike her, his wound was knitting itself back together until only fresh gold scales remained, unstained from the wound.

She forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath, to calm down a little. Though massive and built for war, the beast curled up on the floor seemed more like a housecat than anything. He looked up at her with his amused eyes.

“Are you going to let me go?” she dared to ask. He huffed again, ruffling his wings. She blinked, unable to catch the shift in the air, a metallic tang invading her senses. She screamed again—not at the beast, which should have been laying in the cooling pool of blood, but at the very naked man now standing in front of her. He wasn’t a man, though, or at least, not entirely. Men had normal skin, normal eyes…this man was still edged in orange and gold, gilded along his thighs and shins and forearms. Those soft scales snaked over the side of his taut abdomen, up his neck and over the side of his face, plunging into the most vivid red hair she’d ever seen. It was like someone had painted him gold, had inked it against his skin.

Elain was fixated on his face which, to his credit, was also staring at her like he’d never seen a woman in his life. He was stunning, so beautiful it made her forget she was supposed to be afraid of him, if only for a moment. A soft, full mouth, high cheekbones, chiseled jaw and the same russet eyes that watched from before. He pressed a broad, large hand against his bare stomach which, too late, reminded Elain he was naked. Utterly, blessedly naked with a heavy, swinging penis between his legs…strangely half covered in the same gold as the rest of him. Elain’s eyes shot back to his face—she shouldn’t have looked—noting that where there wasn’t the winding ink of gold there was merely bronzed brown skin. He could have been human were it not for his ethereal beauty and the painted gold against his skin.

He cleared his throat. “No.” His voice was vibrant and rich, smooth and dark. She blinked. No? He padded towards her as she desperately tried to look only at his face despite her burning curiosity. She’d heard stories of what men kept between their legs and how they could use it. A sword, the ladies all joked. Elain had assumed it was an exaggeration but perhaps not.

The beast crouched in front of her, nostrils flaring as if he were smelling her. Muscular arms braced on equally muscular legs, he said, “I’m not letting you go.”

Oh. Elain blinked, reality crashing around her. Oh. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Will you kill me?”

He didn’t react to her words at all. “No.” “Where are the others?”

He cocked his head. “Others?”

“The other women…they’re sent every year.”

Some haze settled over his features. “They’re gone.”

Elain pressed her hand back over her mouth, shaking with revulsion. Gone. She looked up at the pointed ceiling, tears slipping down her face. The monster wasn’t concerned with her fear, reaching for her bruised wrists to examine the torn flesh beneath the manacles. He slid his long fingers beneath and pulled until she could see every vein in his arm straining at the effort. She gasped when the first broke apart, hitting the floor with a loud thud. He held her arm, peering at her wounds with that same blank fascination. It was Elain who felt horror when he lifted her wrist to his mouth so he could inhale her.

“Stop that,” she whispered, yanking her hand back. Surprise flickered over his features but he released her all the same in favor of her other manacled wrist. It took another moment of prying and straining before the chains that held her lay useless on the floor between them.

“I hate those,” he murmured.

“I would think it would be easier,” she whispered as he stood. Elain turned her face away from him, not because he frightened her but because his penis was now inches from her face. He turned, tight ass on display, and walked towards the window. “Easier how?” he asked, raking his fingers through shoulder length hair.

“Less of a struggle when you eat me?” she guessed. He turned fully again, amusement bright on his face.

“I’m not going to eat you, human. The stories they tell are so amusing.” Elain stood too, palms flat against the wall. “Then what are you planning to do with me?” she asked. He went to the balcony, head titled towards a star freckled sky.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked instead.

“You were hurt,” she replied. “And it would have been cowardly, I suppose.

“Humans are cowards by nature,” he replied with just a hint of bitterness coating his words. “Not you, though. You could have killed me and escaped.”

There was nothing she could say to that. Elain knew there was no escape without help. She’d heard the door lock.

“What is your name?”

Their eyes met, passing something between them. She thought, if she spoke her name out loud, he might already know it. She had the same sense. “Elain.”

His eyes fluttered shut, skin rippling and shifting. Huge silver tipped talons began to slide over his hands, his skin shimmering with scales.

“What’s yours?!” she asked when it became obvious he was going to take off into the night again. He rolled his head over his neck to look at her. “No one has asked me that in a long, long time. My name is Lucien.” She blinked and gone was the man, replaced by the uninjured dragon. He watched her for only a moment before hopping to the ledge of the balcony, wings outstretched.

And vanished into the night.

Lucien:

Mate.

Lucien soared through the air, his thoughts a whirling jumble. The human was his mate. Not the way his kind used to experience mates—a threaded, golden cord that attached two souls but similar. Her scent betrayed her, was a song to his senses. He might have been fascinated regardless—no human would have helped him when she reeked of fear as strongly as his mate did. They ran, they cried, they occasionally peed on the floor. Not that he’d ever shown up injured before. Something had enraged some of the human men enough to come looking, to provoke him. Lucien assumed whoever the female they’d left must be a heinous creature even the humans would not mourn. They’d egged him on, taunting to go get her, to enjoy himself. Vent his rage, he supposed.

He’d forgotten the day until he found that spear in his gut. He had flown home, angry with the males and curious about the female. They sent, without fault, virgins. Trembling, inexperienced virgins. After centuries, it felt sick. His father had enjoyed it but Beron was dead. Lucien was what was left in this wretched world, his people hunted to extinction by greedy, ugly humans. He did as he was demanded, staying in the woods, tethered to this place he hated, if only to buy himself some peace.

And he freed their maidens. Over the sea, a half days flight for him though a long week for a ship, Lucien dropped the females off on the rocky shores without so much as a goodbye. He understood that place was safer, at least for females. Perhaps not for him. He was unwilling to risk himself when he was all that was left.

Centuries of being alone, of hoping he’d find another like him that he might pass his line onto, only to find that sweetness lingering in a human female. It had infuriated him—chained to a bed, trembling in fear. Lucien had never shown any of the humans his mortal form. It was too dangerous. If the males found out, they might capture him, might force him to shift and kill him, too. It was better they thought him only a monster capable of terrible atrocities.

And yet for her, the female who wore his scent, who smelled so lovely and fertile despite her fear…he had to show her. It had calmed her, had settled her scent enough that he could drink her in, could confirm what he knew the moment he’d burst into that tower to see the evil that haunted the males.

Soft. It had been his very first thought. She was little more than a sweet, soft fawn and whatever crime they imagined of her, Lucien was certain she wasn’t capable of it. Those eyes—wide and liquid and brown—had settled him, too. He’d meant to rage and bellow and blow smoke until he worked out that piece of shrapnel and one look at her had calmed him enough to lay still so she could pull it out.

His mate would need to be protected. If the human males were angry, they’d come looking eventually, if only to see what he’d done with her. They always did in the Autumn months, searching for pieces of a body, chuckling with they found nothing at all. He watched with loathing. He had no females of his kind left and felt immense distaste for how the humans treated their own. Disposable. The agreement with Beron never required virgin females—only human flesh. It was the males who immediately twisted the tales to benefit them best, to terrify their females into marrying too young, to having sex before they wanted. Anything to keep them from being a sacrifice.

This female would not go to those warm western shores. She would stay with him, at least until he found a safer nest for them. For now, though, he knew she would need things. More than just the one book from the last one. She’d been hard to calm, didn’t understand she needed to get on his back. The book had been a peace offering, a show of good faith.

He wanted to see her, too. He didn’t like leaving her unguarded, not when the males had been in the forest with their weapons. She was too soft. Unscaled, without magic or fire or anything that might protect her from harm. She would only become more vulnerable when she was with child, swollen and heavy and completely at the mercy of whoever found her. Lucien would have to find higher ground, somewhere, perhaps, in the mountains where even the males wouldn’t dare to tread.

He snuffed a breath of fire, frustrated with himself. Problems. He had too many problems. Humans were not equipped for frigid, snow capped peaks and rocky outcrops. She needed constant food and water and shelter and warmth. If he left her, she might freeze. If he brought her with him, someone would realize he had a mate that could be harmed. If he left her in the tower, eventually a new female would be brought and the males would know he’d kept one to breed with.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

One thing at a time. She’d need to eat. He’d taken one look at her in the dress and decided she was too thin. She seemed tired, but hunger was easier to solve. All the females showed up thirsty and hungry and Lucien knew exactly where to go to steal supplies. Especially this night, when the humans were all drunk in the streets. He could raid multiple villages for food and clothes and other necessities he assumed she’d need. It forced him to shift into a male, to creep through those houses, and take whatever might make their temporary nest appealing. More blankets and clothes that he thought she might like, little trinkets because Lucien’s people had always been attracted to things that shined and he hoped she was too.

Food and alcohol, soaps and perfumes, on and on until he had too many bags he had to carry in his mouth. She was waiting on the balcony when the tower came into view, hair swept over her shoulder, her honeyed scent blowing on the breeze. He had to suppress a growl at the instinct to hide her away—any male might scent her and try and take her for himself. Lucien had to remind himself there were no males left to take her. Only humans, with their dull sense of smell and their repressed instincts.

She skittered back when he came into view, fear mingling against jasmine. He hated that. She didn’t know, didn’t understand what mates meant. The humans had all but beaten it out of her over centuries of quick breeding. They didn’t remember they, too, had one been animals, that the split between Lucien’s kind and hers had been deliberate and not some act of nature. Humans imagined themselves more civilized but Lucien remembered the truth, the stories passed down from his father to him. They’d once been one—some had his abilities and others did not, but they’d all belonged to the same race before the humans broke off, determined to distance themselves. Now they had no magic at all and, perhaps most cruelly, no memory of what they’d once been.

Elain looked at the items scattered about the floor, reaching for a rolling orange that spilled from one of his bags. “Did you bring me things?”

He was still a beast so he could only huff a response, watching her carefully. Did it please her? A pleased mate was the first step in the courting ritual, after all. Her fingernails dug against the skin of the orange, arms still coated in dried blood. The sight infuriated him, prompting him to shift back to his mortal form if only to ask, “Name the humans who harmed you.”

She fell backwards, her surprise knocking the fruit from her hands. “What?” she breathed, fear thick in the air. Lucien strode towards her, reaching for her arm as she turned her face. He forced her to look, pushing her wrist to her face.

“The humans who hurt you. Tell me who they were.” “Why?”

“So I can hunt them down–” “No,” she breathed, swallowing hard. “No, I can’t…” “You would protect the males who hurt you?” he demanded, his anger causing his vision to shift red for a moment. “Maybe I will simply destroy the villages, then, if you won’t give me a name—” “Lucien,” she whispered, looking him in the eye. All at once, his anger evaporated. He was lost, if only for a moment, in her soft eyes. “No more death. Not tonight.” No one was dead. He wanted to tell her that. He hadn’t harmed anyone and she was safe. He could smell her dread, knew she was waiting for him to snap her up and eat her for dinner. He released her, almost ashamed though it was not him who had started those rumors. She didn’t know, he reminded himself.

“Does this please you?” he asked instead, gesturing to the things he’d brought her. She reached for her orange, holding it to her chest.

“Do you want me to be pleased?” she whispered, her eyes wet with moisture. He wanted to die, could not stand if his mate began crying again.

“Yes.” She studied him again, her cheeks blooming bright red as her eyes slid over his bare form. She was, at least, pleased by how he looked. Good. It would have been far more difficult to court her if she found him displeasing. He stood still, allowing her to look even though he had the vaguest awareness it embarrassed her. He wanted to look at her too—she was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Elain, he reminded himself. Elain was beautiful in a way that made his whole body ache. She was lush and soft, her skin tanned from the sun, her soft face heart shaped and holding the prettiest pair of lips he’d ever seen. Lips he wanted to taste.

“Would you put on pants?”

He scoffed. “Pants?”

“Yes,” she murmured, as if he hadn’t seen her staring at his cock. Did she not like it? Lucien frowned.

“Why pants?”

“Um…it’s just…” more red on her pretty, tanned face. “You’re naked.” “Yes,” he agreed again.

“The men where I come from wear pants. And a shirt,” she amended hastily.

“When I shift, my clothes will shred,” he explained with amusement. “There are not enough pants in the world to keep me clothed.” “Perhaps you could simply take them off when you shift?” she offered helpfully. “And if you rip them, I could sew them back together.”

He considered that. “My form does not please you?”

Her eyes went wide. “Um…”

“No shirt. I will consider pants,” Lucien agreed. “Now tell me. Does what I’ve brought please you?”

“Yes,” she agreed softly. “I haven’t had an orange in a very long time.” He smiled, warmth filling his stomach. She was happy, peeling the rind with her nails and leaving the little chunks on the floor beside her. Lucien watched her slide one of the little pieces between her lips with fascination.

“Did you eat today?” he asked. It mattered. She needed to be strong too, needed to be able to defend their young. She was too fragile, scared too easily. Food first, he decided. Food and then sleep and then he’d ply her with young. He had time before the humans came sniffing for her. Enough time to move their nest and enough time to make her strong.

“No,” she murmured. “They come early.” He huffed his irritation, walking back to his hoard to rummage through the bags. Elain leaned forward curiously, occasionally reaching for a piece of clothing or some other little bauble with wide-eyed fascination. That pleased him, too. She liked things that shined, same as him. It shouldn’t have surprised him—mates were equally matched. It seemed strange to imagine his mate as this fragile thing and yet hadn’t she pulled a spear from his belly? She was courageous.

“Eat,” he demanded, shoving more fruit and dried meat towards her.

“Are you trying to fatten me up so I’ll be a delicious meal for you?” she asked warily. He snorted a laugh. He did intend to feast on her, just not the way she imagined.

“You need to be strong if you’re going to survive,” he replied, pushing the food closer still, his fingers brushing the fabric of her dress. Her eyes drifted again to his cock, hanging politely between his legs. He wanted to ask her about it but didn’t dare, not when that pretty pink stole over her skin again.

“Survive what?”

“Life,” he insisted. Why frighten her tonight? “I will not harm you, Elain.”

“But you won’t let me go?” she questioned, looking at him with so much soft hope. Lucien sat on the ground across from her, cross-legged the same as her.

“Why would you want to go back?” he demanded, taking one of the apples from the ground to sink his teeth into. Her gaze snagged on his fangs, barely anything in comparison to what they would be if he had shifted and still it marked him as other. Not human. Fear slithered around them again, perfuming the air until he choked on the stench.

“My sisters are back there,” she told him, chewing thoughtfully, eyes in her lap. “They’ll be worried.” “The males would know if I returned you,” he informed her. “They would hurt you.” “I’ll them you deemed me unworthy—” “And they will kill you,” he said flatly, hurt and disappointed she wanted to leave him so badly.

Elain looked at him, her eyes cool—assessing. “What happened to the others?”

“They are unharmed,” Lucien replied quickly. “Safe.”

“Where?”

He pressed his lips together. He wouldn’t tell her that because she’d want him to take her, too. The maddening female would demand the same treatment, would ask him to free her and Lucien would become the bad guy because he wouldn’t. She would remain with him.

Elain exhaled her frustration. “So I’m to live my life in this tower?” “For now,” he agreed. He saw that hope spark in her eyes, knew exactly what she thought. He’d let her go at some point, would take her to join the others. Lucien would not. When he moved her, it would be somewhere far from the humans, from this wretched forest, from anything that might harm her.

His mate was going to make the best of it. She did as he asked, eating each piece of food he offered her and following it with water until she shoved at his hands. “No more,” she said, one hand on her stomach. A vision of her, swollen and pregnant and flushed snapped through his mind. Lucien had to remind himself to breathe lest he draw the attention of his cock. He didn’t want her to skitter away, bathed in fear. He wanted her to keep looking at him with appreciation.

He could make concessions.

“I will find some pants,” he told her earnestly. “If you continue to eat.” “Okay,” she agreed with a tentative smile. Her eyes swept the room, noting the bathtub at the far end. He’d bring her water in the morning, would heat it even, if she liked.

“Where will you sleep?” she asked, some of her fear returning.

“Here,” he murmured, gesturing just behind him. He intended to sleep in his other form, to guard her just in case the males returned with their arrows and spears. He didn’t think they’d dare—not yet, anyway. And still, Lucien would take no chances.

Not with his mate.

~*~

Elain:

She woke to bright sunlight and a bathtub nearly overflowing with water. Tucked beneath a mountain of blankets despite the warmth, Elain watched Lucien hoist one last bucked into the basin. He’d put on pants though they hardly fit him well, baggy and worn as they were. No shirt, which was just as well. She liked the sight of his muscular back, bunching and straining beneath the weight of the water. This was not what she’d expected. He’d put her into bed after feeding her before shifting back into that strange dragon form and sleeping beneath the stars. She’d been awake longer than him, had watched the gentle rise and fall of his scaled chest, his twitching tail, his smoking snout.

She suspected he’d let the other women go. If he didn’t eat them, and he wasn’t hiding them somewhere then surely he must send them somewhere. She wanted to believe it because the alternative—that he was lying to her—was too much to bear. Certainly, if he meant to hurt her, this was a strange way to go about it.

She shifted beneath the blankets, drawing his attention. My form does not please you? What did it say about her that his form pleased her a little too much? He was all muscle, broad and tanned and lightly scaled in the most utterly pleasing way. It was almost a tragedy to see him in pants, to no longer see his softly haired legs, his powerful thighs and what lay between it all. As it stood, she could still view the light trail of red hair over his stomach, vanishing into his pants. The sight still thrilled her.

“You are awake. You should eat and then bathe,” he told her with a soft sort of earnestness. She nodded, sitting up fully in her same dress from the night before. He’d brought her a collection of gowns, clearly stolen based on what he assumed she might like without considering practicality. Ball gowns were mixed with work dresses along with one massive wedding dress she’d draped over the chair with the book. If she could get her hands on thread and scissors, Elain wanted to repurpose it into a regular dress since the material was so nice and soft.

“How cold is the water?” she asked, rifling through the bag for more dried meat and fruit. She’d have to ask him to consider variety when he went out next even as she recognized there was nowhere to store things like cheese and milk. Bread, though. And maybe a little butter. That would be good.

Lucien shifted, his pants ripping loudly in the early morning air. She raised her eyebrows, catching his sheepishness. He huffed apologetically, as if to say oops. He was a work in progress, she decided. For as long as he continued to treat her with kindness, so would she. Instead of berating him, she reached out a hand and tentatively touched his scales. He was warm to the touch and surprisingly tough. Sharp, almost, like the scales were more defensive plating than anything.

He dipped his nose into the water, eyes watching her from the side with that same wariness, and blew warm fire into her water until it bubbled gently. Elain watched steam waft off the water with trepidation. Removing her hand from his body, she slid her own fingers into the tub, delighted to find it was, perhaps, a shade hotter than it had ever been at home and yet hardly scalding. He looked at her expectantly, his form shifting and warping until he was a naked man again.

“Is it too hot?” he demanded, putting his own hand into the water with a frown. She wanted to touch his skin and see if he was as warm as his scales had been and yet she didn’t dare. It was improper to touch a naked man as an unmarried woman. The whole thing—him, naked, filling a bathtub for her—was improper. She almost laughed.

“It’s good,” she agreed. Lucien watched her expectantly and she realized he wanted to see her get into the water. Elain’s cheeks flushed, her whole body igniting with a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

“Turn around,” she whispered, well aware he might tell her no. He was a massive monster, had fangs even in this half human form. He could simply say no, could pull her clothes from her body like he’d done to her iron cuffs and take whatever he liked.

His nose wrinkled. “Why?”

“You shouldn’t see me naked.” His frown deepened. “Oh.”

Still, Lucien strode to the balcony, back turned. She waited to see if he’d peak or otherwise come walking back but he remained long enough for her to quickly unlace her dress, leaving it pooled at the floor with her underthings, before she climbed over the porcelain lip of the claw tub.

“Would you like soap?” he called, clearly hearing the slosh of water. Light from the sky had begun to light up the tower, given it hovered above the treetops, illuminating the once near dark space brilliantly.

“Yes,” she agreed, arranging her hair over her breasts and pulling her knees to her chest. It didn’t matter. Lucien, despite his own proud nakedness, had his eyes shut tight when he returned, tripping over the scattered objects on the floor, a bottle of soap in one hand and oil in the other. He clumsily handed them to her, not peeking even once.

“Guide me to the chair,” he asked.

“Straight ahead.” She giggled when he half flipped over the arm, ass perched in the air as he scrambled to right himself. Lucien rearranged the chair so the back faced the tub, plopping into the nice gray seat.

“Why does your naked form embarrass you?” he asked after a moment, crossing one leg over the other.

Elain allowed herself to stretch out, trusting he would not do what too many human men would have—jumped up to look, to pull her out and touch. She’d been told her whole life that men had urges they could not ignore, that they were only a few steps away from beasts, fueled by lustful instincts when they were confronted with the female form. Lucien was a beast and yet he’d kept his eyes shut. Perhaps she didn’t tempt him at all. The thought comforted her.

“I’m not married,” she told him. There was a beat of silence. “So?”

“It’s not done. Only your husband should see you naked.” “You have no husband,” he pointed out. Elain laughed a little, pouring some of the vanilla scented oil into the tub. Her wrists still ached, were still swollen and bruised from the manacles. She began rubbing there first.

“Exactly. So no one should see me naked.”

“But you have seen me naked,” he pointed out, clearly trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Only because you cannot keep a pair of trousers on you to save your own life,” she replied. “It’s different for men, besides. Their chastity is not so important.” “Why?”

Elain frowned, rubbing the oil into her skin. “I…I’m not sure. I suppose women fall faster to temptation than men. Women are supposed to remain pure—” “And this would change if a male saw you naked?” He made it all sound so foolish, so simple-minded and stupid. “Yes.” “If you say so,” was his casual response. “But I do not mind if you continue to look at me without clothes on.” Elain tipped her head back in the water, soaking her hair so she could lather it with soap. “We will have to get used to each other, I suppose, if we are to remain together for the foreseeable future.” He huffed a soft sigh in response, though if her words annoyed or pleased him, she couldn’t say. “Elain?”

She shivered involuntarily at the sound of him speaking her name. What was that? She swallowed, scrubbing at her scalp.

“Yes?”

“Why did the males send you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What crime did you commit that brought you here?”

“Oh.” Was that what he imagined? Her some sort of criminal that needed to be punished. She swallowed, rinsing out her hair slowly before she responded.

“I ah…one of the men in town wanted to marry me.” The silence between them was as heavy as the air in the forest. “So you do have a husband?” “No. I told him no.” A soft, strangled noise erupted from his body and Lucien rose, forgetting he wasn’t supposed to look at her. Flame erupted over his skin, in his eyes, bathing him in furious, bright heat. She covered herself frantically though she didn’t think he truly saw her at all. Not as he paced to the balcony, shifting into his scaled, taloned form. He said nothing at all as he leapt off the edge, vanishing into the morning glow.

Elain exhaled her relief, rising from the tub and quickly grabbing one of the uglier dresses to use as a makeshift towel. Sifting through what he’d brought her, Elain found a rather nice blue dress similar to the one before. She couldn’t lace it without help so she left the back hanging open as she rearranged the chair so it was back to facing the only open window. He’d tossed the book and blanket to the floor, uninterested in either. Elain had nothing better to do, so she picked up that book, draping the blanket neatly over the back. Her book was about a pirate in love with a lady, one she’d never read before. She was hardly permitted to read anything like what was in her hands—ladies didn’t read about fantasy or romance lest it give them ideas. She wondered if she even counted as a lady anymore. After all, she spent far too much time ogling a naked man or male or whatever he was. No respectable lady would have dared. Elain remembered the governess who’d told her all proper ladies fainted at the first sign of improper behavior from men, and if they didn’t, they’d wanted whatever happened.

Did she want something to happen, then? She hadn’t fainted. She just…kept looking. Even as she read, her mind occasionally flashed to his body, reliving every inch of gold and brown skin.

My form does not please you?

That was the problem. His form pleased her a little too much.

Elain was a third of the way through her book—which featured a heroine pretending to be a man while falling in love with the roguish pirate captain—-when Lucien returned carrying more things. He watched her as that great, gleaming beast, setting his haul back on the floor. Was he hoarding things the way dragons in fairy tales did, or did he not know what she might need? Elain hadn’t been able to figure it out, not when she’d watched him run his fingers over a pearl necklace as if it were made of gold.

She blinked, bringing back the naked man. He crouched, shuffling through his things before procuring a new pair of pants she had no doubt would be ruined by the end of the evening. Still, he was so obviously proud of himself as he slid them over his hips. They fit better, were tiger around his waist, creating an outline of his penis she found herself staring at while he quickly laced himself up.

“Will you do me, too?” she asked, setting her book aside to stand. He watched, eyes darkening, when she presented her back to him. Elain swept her hair over one shoulder and waited, inhaling sharply when he trailed a finger over her spine. “Just the laces, Lucien.” He stepped closer, his heat radiating around her. She could feel his soft breath on the nape of her neck as he pulled the laces, closing her into the dress. Each new pull forced her to suck in a breath, not because it was tight but because his knuckles swept over her skin for only a moment, creating a delicious friction. A soft throbbing had begun to heat between her legs, as if her heart had dislodged itself to pump blood directly to her most sensitive areas.

He stepped away, allowing her to turn and look at him. She wished she hadn’t. Undiluted heat gazed back at her, his want so obvious even without looking down to see the straining of his pants. It should have terrified her or at the very least, disgusted her. He was a monster, the very same the men had taunted would take her against her will. Elain’s breath came in soft, shallow pants. “Thank you,” she murmured, forcing herself to step away from him, to go back to her chair.

He nodded, eyes glazed. He was so utterly wild, even in the brown pants that covered his lower form. What would it be like?

It was a terrible, scandalous thought. She swallowed against the dryness of her throat. It hadn’t been a day of imprisonment. Elain needed to calm down or she’d do something wholly inappropriate, would ruin herself before she ever had a chance to escape.

Worst of all, Elain thought she might enjoy it.

~*~

Arousal.

He scented it in the air as he laced up her dress, replacing the fear that polluted the air. She was sweet, standing utterly still while her heart raced an out of control beat. It had taken every ounce of his control to stay exactly where he was, to ignore instinct and let her pretend nothing had happened at all. Lucien caught the edged lust in her gaze, her flushed cheeks that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

His mate wanted him.

He was preening by the time night fellh, drunk on the knowledge that she would eventually welcome him into her bed and between her legs. Perhaps it wouldn’t take as long as he imagined. She’d settled, at least, much easier than the other females had. She didn’t pace and weep and sob and beg. It was why she was his mate and the others had been sent away. He’d been right to think she was strong, that she could handle his offspring.

He’d brought her more books, noting she liked the ones where males and females fell in love. He went back out when she’d mentioned how much she’d like some butter and bread, happy to give her what she wanted on the off chance she’d bathe him in the scent of her arousal again. He also brought more books that focused on romance, stacking them beside her chair as she settled in for the evening. The torch was lit, bathing the room in a soft glow just like the night before, and he was sprawled on the floor, naked and working very, very hard to keep himself from becoming aroused.

“No one notices you stealing?” she asked. He smiled.

“I steal from those who have too much already. I doubt they even notice.” “What do you eat?” she asked, as if he hadn’t stolen half of the bread in her hand, gobbling it down in a few quick bites.

“I’m not as picky as you,” he informed her. He was prone to eat whatever he could get his talons on and though he didn’t think she wanted to hear it, Lucien quite enjoyed raw flesh, still warm from the hunt. He’d eaten a deer on his way in, not that he intended to tell her that. She grimaced all the same.

She was an elegant lady, he imagined, living in one of the sprawling manor houses he’d seen in the distance. Sent to him for refusing a male…Lucien wished he knew which male, so he might eat them, too. What did she do? How was her time spent? Perhaps he could replicate it. “How did you spend your time before you came here?”

Her fingers hesitated, holding a chunk of bread she was ripping apart absently. “I had my chores, I suppose–”

“For fun,” he interrupted impatiently. He was well acquainted with the idea of chores.

Her eyes brightened. “Well I read, of course. I had a garden that I enjoyed and I often hosted large balls where we would dance and sing until we were too exhausted to stand.” “You dance?” he asked, perking up at the thought. He had some knowledge of this, though it was limited. He’d seen it done and had some memory of his father walking him through the old, ancient steps of his own people. She nodded and Lucien stood.

“Show me.”

It was sneaky. He wanted to touch her more than he truly wanted to learn and yet he had the sense it would also please her to teach him something. Elain’s eyes slipped down his body, snagging on his cock like they so often did. Pants. How he loathed her obsession with clothing his body. Without being asked, Lucien went to his neatly folded pants and slipped them on without complaint. These, at least, fit better. Elain had asked for fabric and sewing materials, he assumed to make him more. It was a small thing for a mate and yet Lucien secretly hoped she would be the one who stopped wearing clothes. He would very much have liked to see her sprawled about naked, unconcerned with modesty.

Elain rose only then, still hesitant. He’d agreed to pants only. Lucien held out a hand, relieved when she accepted.

“Your hand on my waist,” she explained, tossing her thick, golden brown hair off her face without any awareness of how the scent of vanilla and jasmine slapped him in the face. It was the oil he’d brought her coupled with her own innate scent. Lucien reached for the soft curve of her body, pulling her flush against him.

“Too close,” she said breathlessly, one palm on his chest. He didn’t move, watching how her fingers touched the golden skin that marked him as other, as non-human. “It’s soft.” “It’s my skin,” he agreed. “Did you imagine scales?” “Yes,” she replied. “Or plating. Something rough and hard.”

She pulled away, putting distance between them. He was aroused, too grateful she didn’t recognize the shift in his own scent the way he might have noticed hers. Instead, Elain put her hand on his shoulder and Lucien resisted the urge to pull her back. It was strange and wrong to be so far away. “So human do not touch except to dance?”

“It’s a loophole,” she agreed cheerfully. “Usually men lead but for this, you’ll just follow after me.”

“I don’t mind following you,” he told her hopefully. Elain smiled, shaking her head softly.

“I knew you’d say that.”

Elain began her steps and Lucien was pleased to find he moved with more grace than he’d expected of himself. Her, too which only added to his enjoyment. It was hardly difficult, even when Elain began purposefully trying to complicate the movements and steps. A child could have mastered it and he imagined children did, so why shouldn’t he? He wasn’t stupid—just lonely. He liked being close, liked hearing her breathless order, not from arousal but her own giddy excitement. She didn’t look at him like he was a monster but like he was a male, someone safe. Someone she could trust.

“I wish we had music,” Elain told him some time later, face flushed and sweaty as she took a deep breath.

“I can’t help with that,” he said with a smile, flopping onto the bed, hand on his stomach. “But I did have a thought while we were dancing.” “Oh?”

“You mentioned you liked to garden?”

He inclined his head to watch her. Elain bit her bottom lip, nodding gently. “I did say that.” “I know a place. It’s not a garden but it is filled with flowers. I could take you.” He saw that flash of hope in her eyes. She still wanted him to let her go but Lucien couldn’t do that. It hurt him that she still wanted that even as he conceded she’d been with him one day. He needed more time.

“How will we get there?”

Lucien grinned.

“We’ll fly.”

~*~

Two days. That was how long it had been since she’d been chained in the tower. Two days of a dragon guarding the tower as he slept. When she woke that second morning, it occurred to Elain that Lucien might not be guarding her at all. After all, he’d already left. The rough flap of his wings had pulled her from sleep for a moment, just enough for her to recognize he’d left before she drifted back to sleep.

It was an absurd thought, all things considered. She was the sacrifice and at some point…surely he’d…make good on that, right? And yet, when Elain walked to the balcony to survey the forest around her, there was no way out. No way down. He could have forced her to let him sleep in the bed if he’d wanted to. He could have forced himself on her, could have left her chained even if he was so worried.

He wasn’t. Lucien was so blissfully unconcerned with how she spent her time when he was away that Elain had to wonder how much of that old legend was even true. He was a man…kind of, at least…and looked barely older than thirty, if that. Was it even about him? Perhaps there were more roaming and he’d merely taken over this tower.

Too many questions and not enough answers. What Elain did know is she had hot water waiting for her when she finally forced herself out of bed and a nice, off shoulder yellow dress draped over a chair with a pair of pearl earrings resting atop her book. He wanted her to wear it and she did, pleased when he returned with only food and nothing else. She had enough clothes and books to last her a solid year.

The only thing that was wrong was her wrists. She’d thought they’d begin to heal once she’d been freed but everyday Elain’s hands seemed more swollen, her bruises uglier and more purple until it hurt to even move her fingers at all. She was sitting on the floor when Lucien returned, arms draped over the edge of the tub because the hot water soothed the near constant ache. He poked his golden snout into the room first, shifting almost immediately when he realized the strangeness of her actions. “Yellow looks nice,” he praised, drawing a soft thrill from her stomach. “Why are you sitting like that?”

Elain pulled her hands from the water ruefully. He froze, eyes shifting from russet to gold. She’d learned his little tells, knew that when he became unnaturally still or his eyes began to change colors he was angry. Lucien crouched, reaching for her hand to touch gently. “Why do they do this?”

“It’s hard to run away when you’re chained,” she replied. Lucien brought her skin to his lips and Elain, panicking, tugged away. He held firm.

“Let me heal you,” he murmured, tongue sliding from his mouth. Unlike the gold of his skin, which was softly inked just beneath the surface, his tongue was rougher than she thought it ought to be, darting behind his unnaturally long canines. He grazed her skin over his teeth, scraping the scabbed over wounds before he licked at the wound, just as he’d done when he pulled up the spear. She’d thought it was magic, some innate thing that kept him from dying but watching the way his tongue swiped over her bruising, she realized it was something else.

“Is your saliva healing?” she asked breathlessly. No one had ever done so much as kiss her on the cheek.

He looked up through thick, fanned out lashes, his red hair splayed over his broad shoulders. “It’s a venom, I suppose,” he murmured, licking again before turning his attention to her rapidly healing hands. “For survival.” “From your mouth?” “My fangs,” he disagreed, reaching for her other wrist. Elain shivered when those teeth grazed her skin, drawing heat just like before. She shouldn’t like his tongue over her skin. Elain knew it was wrong to want him at all but especially when he was licking at her as if she were some kind of candy. He was helping and nothing more. A lady would have looked the other way, would certainly not have felt pooling warmth between her thighs. Elain was grateful she was sitting on her knees, able to clench her legs together to keep from doing anything truly foolish.

He released her with an almost kiss, gesturing to see the first wrist. “See? All better. There is no need to suffer.”

And he was right. Elain flexed her fingers with amazement.

“And your laces?” he questioned, his voice softer than usual. This was dangerous, she realized. He was a monster and she liked him. They had, somehow, become almost friends. Elain nodded. She could trust him. He wouldn’t do anything besides lace her up despite his nudity. It barely registered to her anymore—even her fascination with his penis was starting to fade as the sight of it hanging became strangely normal. It wasn’t as if he ever tried to do anything with it.

His knuckles grazed over her back just as before and Elain still felt the coiling arousal just as before. It couldn’t be helped. She’d been taught her whole life men only touched their wives until all touch felt sexualized and inappropriate. She didn’t know how to untangle those two things, not when a very naked man was very politely lacing her into a dress. Wanting him felt like a violation of some kind, as if she were taking advantage of his kindness

“So…a meadow, today?”

Lucien brightened. “Yes. You’ll fly on my back.”

Lucien spent the morning cheerfully humming as he packed enough food for six people rather than just two. He wouldn’t let her hold it, snuffing with his big, scaled snout when she tried to take it from him. Peering at his mouth, Elain noted his massive, gleaming teeth. She should be dead. What was he doing with her?

Climbing on his back was awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. His scaled body was rough against her skin but not piercingly sharp. More like leather than metal and tough enough she doubted he felt how she shifted around trying to get comfortable. It seemed the scales on his stomach were more akin to skin but the rest of him could probably break a sword in half.

Flying was somehow the best and worst experience of her entire life. Elain screamed the moment he stepped from that ledge, massive wings outstretched. Her stomach plunged with him, flying to her throat where she thought she might lose it entirely. If it amused him, she couldn’t say. Lucien kept to the sky, the flight steady as they streamed over endless woodland that seemed to stretch for miles and miles. The beauty of the world stunned her. A cloudless blue sky floated overheard, pouring warm, soft light over everything it touched. She could see iridescent purple snowy mountains and beyond that the glowing, glittering ocean water that might have taken them far, far away.

Tucked between the mountains was a grassy valley and within that valley, Lucien’s wildflower dotted meadow beside a round, sky blue lake. He deposited her to the ground before shifting, pulling out the nice pants he had managed to keep intact and throwing them on with obvious annoyance. What had the other women made of him, she wondered? Had they not minded his nudity? He acted as if she were the first.

“This is…” she had no words for it. It was cooler here, devoid of the heavy forest air that kept everything dark and musty. For the first time since Elain had been taken away, she felt as if she could breathe again. Lucien was strolling towards the water and Elain knew how that would go. He’d try and coax her in, unaware she couldn’t swim. She didn’t know she wanted him to try and teach her, not after the night of dancing. She was too fixated on his hands and how big they were. Adding water to the mix seemed like a terrible idea.

Elain darted forward, catching him by the arm. He looked over his shoulder, head tilted down and oh how she wished he wouldn’t look at her like that. He made her feel as if no one else existed, as if he’d never seen any but her.

“Come pick flowers with me,” she said breathlessly. “Tell me how you came to be here.” It took an hour before she got the answer to her question. He’d taken flower picking as a personal challenge, pulling the swaying white and pink and red and purple blooms up by the roots and leaving them in a massive pile for her. What did he think she was going to do with them?

Elain convinced Lucien to put his head in her lap so she could braid his hair. “Tell me how you got here,” she murmured, weaving the flowers into his hair as she worked.

“We have always been here,” Lucien finally said, tilting his chin to look up at her. “Humans and us…we were the same. It was you who changed.”

“What are you?” she questioned. That was certainly not the story she’d been told. Us. There was supposed to be only him, some cursed, vicious thing. Not a race of people.

“The Fae,” he murmured. “They are gone now. Hunted to extinction, or so my father believed, anyway. Your kind slaughtered my mother, my brothers…left only me and my father until he died, too.” “How long have you been here?”

“Too long.”

There was a note of bitterness to his word, laced with a sadness that made her ache though she didn’t know why. “Why not just leave?”

He sighed, eyes closed as she continued her work, enjoying touching his hair a little too much. “Where would I go?” “Wherever you take the other humans?” she guessed, testing her theory. He opened one eye to peer up at her.

“Across the ocean,” he finally said. “Away from your males.” “But I can’t go?” she asked, unsure if she wanted to brave that sort of fate. It didn’t matter—Lucien closed his eyes, lips pressed in a thin line. No. He didn’t have to say it. She ignored her rushing relief

“And you’re not going to kill me?” she confirmed instead because she could live this way, she decided. At least for now. Close enough to her sisters, to the life she’d never quite belonged to, but far enough away she’d never find herself trapped in a garden with another man who didn’t think love belonged in a marriage.

“No.”

“Then we’re friends,” Elain declared, pulling another flower through the braid she was weaving through his hair. Lucien didn’t open his eyes but he did smile. She’d made him happy, which, in turn, made her happy. It was nice to have a friend.

~*~

“Bounce on your toes,” Lucien instructed. His female could not swim. In all truth, she likely couldn’t do a lot of things but swimming was easily rectified. She’d stripped, which was nice, to her little white shift all the while demanding he turn and not look, as if he couldn’t see her floating towards him. The material was transparent, clinging against lush curves and her pretty breasts tipped with rosy nipples. It was hell, pretending not to notice any of those things as he forced her to learn to float. Lucien himself was careful not to disrupt the braid of his hair or the flowers she’d painstakingly woven within. Her own hair floated like a halo around her, glinting more gold than brown beneath the afternoon sun. She looked well—unbruised, unblemished, flushed and bright. He knew some of her good health was his doing. She’d offered her wounds up to him and allowed her to heal him and something about that act of vulnerability spoke to her soft courage. He knew he must look terrifying in comparison to the males she was used to and yet she was nothing but kind.

He was not doing enough to show her what it meant to him. Elain continued to bounce around the pebbled bottom of the lake, hands skimming the surface as if it would help her. Lucien watched, keeping a few paces behind her as she made her way further and further towards the inevitable drop. He intended to keep her just at the edge, dangling off that precipice as she learned to kick her legs.

“You cannot remain in that tower forever,” he mused, more to himself than to her, though her input would be helpful. She needed a safer place to nest and he wanted her to like it. “If you had to leave…where would you live?” “Somewhere like this,” she admitted breathlessly. “It’s too bad they didn’t build the tower here.”

Lucien spun to look behind him. The mountains here were passable in the spring and summer months if you knew what you were doing and where you were going. The elevation was high enough he could still fly around the surrounding area to search for predators but not so high she might freeze…and a new tower was intriguing. Perhaps one of the cottages like the humans had. He could build that if she could spend the majority of her time hidden. Safe. Her males wouldn’t know he’d taken her anywhere but to her grave and she could have freedom to roam and bounce and swim. His young, too. They’d need it if they were going to learn to fly.

He didn’t have much time left. A month or two of true warmth and perhaps another of autumn’s chill before they would need to be settled somewhere. He would need to begin the next day which required more theft of tools, of supplies, of—

A surprised gasp and a splash drew Lucien’s attention behind him. Elain was gone, had slipped beneath the water. Fuck. Lucien lunged forward, reaching into the water for her outstretched hand and hauling her back to the surface. She’d been maybe two inches beneath, enough to kick her way back to the top but from the way Elain gasped desperately, clawing at his shoulders as she scrambled up his body, one would have thought she’d been beneath the water for hours and had just barely survived.

Not that Lucien was complaining. She pressed the entirety of her wet, warm body against his own, wrapping her legs tight against his waist, arms around his neck. “You let me fall,” she accused, eyelashes glimmering with watery diamonds.

“You forgot to kick your feet,” he reminded her with amusement, wrapping her arms around his body just the same. Lucien kicked off that ledge so he was suspended over the unfathomable depths, still holding her safe against him. “See? You have to kick your feet to keep your head above water.”

“I hate it,” she said, forehead touching his cheek to look into the depths. “What’s down there?” “More monsters for you to befriend,” he teased, reveling in his mate seeking comfort. She didn’t let up, squeezing around him so tight Lucien had to remind himself there very well could be a monster lurking beneath and he would hardly do either of them any favors if he was punishingly erect.

“You’re not a monster,” she chided softly, resting her chin against his shoulder. Her hair was tangled around her face, plastered against her back. All the little flowers she’d put in her own hair were ruined and yet she was still by far the most lovely creature he’d ever had the pleasure of gazing upon. Her grip on his neck loosened only a little as he continued his lazy float around the lake, taking the widest, lazy circle to get them back to shore. “Why do they think you are?”

“My father was…” Lucien considered his words. “He was angry with their slaughter, with how they hunted us. He came to their villages for retribution and killed a lot of humans. Not as many as they killed but enough to let them see what we might do if we ever had the interest. A deal was struck. One human every year and in exchange we would stay away. I think he hoped it might keep them away from mother, from his young.”

“One human?” she questioned, pulling back to look at him. “Any human?” “An adult human. No children,” Lucien amended. “But yes. It hardly mattered what human given they were supposed to die. I wasn’t alive then. By the time I was born, it was always just a maiden. Sometimes she was offered a quick death and others she was sent away. He was the one who taught me the sea route.”

“Why did he kill some of them?”

“The humans killed mother, killed my brothers. He mourned their loss as anyone would. Some years were harder than others. She had the most vibrant red hair and if the woman reminded him of her it did not go well.” “How did he die?” she asked curiously. Lucien couldn’t answer her that, not when she touched him with such trust.

“All things die eventually,” he finally said. “Even us.”

Elain took a breath, her breasts sliding gently against his chest. “But it doesn’t have to be a maiden?” “Your males are cruel,” Lucien murmured, tucking a curling tendril of hair behind her ear. “And cowardly, sending unarmed, chained females to the likes of me.”

“But you don’t hurt us,” she breathed softly.

“Do they know?” he asked. “Or do they hope I do?”

Elain blinked, shoulders sagging at his words. Of course she knew the truth—it was impossible for her not to when she’d been handed over for simply telling one of her males no. Lucien had long accepted the realization that human males enjoyed terrorizing their females, that the fear was important to how they courted.

“Will you check on my sisters?” she asked after a moment. “Could I maybe write to them, tell them I’m safe?”

It was risky. If they told anyone he hadn’t killed her, the males might come looking. They might not appreciate him stealing one of their females no matter how he’d gotten her. Lucien could not deny his mate anything, not when she was touching him with her soft hands, not when her mouth was so close he could have leaned forward and run his tongue against her lips. Too tempted, Lucien nodded. “Yes. But you must tell them to swear to keep it a secret.”

“I will,” she agreed, hugging him tightly. “Thank you.”

Lucien merely pressed his hand against her back, keeping her steady. His feet slid against the rough, pebbled bottom, telling him it was time to release her. “You do not ask for enough,” he told her, his regret blooming hot and heavy in his chest when she unclenched her thighs and all but floated away from him.

“What should I ask for, then?” she replied, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Lucien was utterly serious. “Everything.”

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #MONSTER #no monster peen unfortunately #elain x lucien #really just these two dummies getting to know each other #truly love elain like awwww we're friends #and lucien snarling in his head THATS MY WIFE NO ONE LOOK AT HER #you get what you get as always #but i am pleased AF with this

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gimme-mor · 3 years ago

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ACOTAR THINK PIECE: ELAIN ARCHERON, UNTOUCHABLE

*DISCLAIMER*

This will be a long post.

Please take the time to read this post in its entirety and truly reflect on the message I am trying to send before commenting. My goal is to use my background in Gender and Women’s Studies to deconstruct the comments I have seen on Tumblr and Twitter and bring awareness to the ACOTAR fandom.

The reason I am tagging “Elriel” in this post is to call attention to the arguments in the Elriel fandom that: weaponize Elain’s femalehood to shame real life people for their opinions about Elain’s character and her relationship with Lucien; victimize Elain’s character in fandom discussions; and coddle Elain’s character, which limits fandom discussions about her narrative development and prevents the ACOTAR fandom from holding Elain accountable for her actions and inactions in the same way that the fandom holds other characters accountable for their actions and inactions. It is for these reasons that I WILL NOT remove the “Elriel” tag from this post because all of the above points contribute to the toxic discourse surrounding Elain’s character.

I urge those who use these arguments to understand their implications, why they are problematic, regardless of intent, and reexamine their contributions to the ACOTAR fandom. I WILL NOT tolerate anyone who tries to twist my words and say I am attacking people and their personal shipping preferences. In fact, I AM CRITIQUING THE ARGUMENTS THEMSELVES NOT THE PEOPLE USING THE ARGUMENTS.

Also, I highly encourage the Elriel fandom to read this post because it addresses how the concept of choice as an argument enables arguments to exploit social justice and feminist languge in order to vilify Elucien shippers, among other problematic things.

Elain Archeron is one of the most polarizing characters in the ACOTAR fandom. Though opinions about Elain vary, arguments in the Elriel fandom cite society’s perception of traditional female characters in comparison to non-traditional female characters as the reason behind the hate, and this belief is used to provide an explanation as to why other characters in the series are favored over her. In the series, Elain is portrayed in a wholly positive light and this image carries over into the Elriel fandom, painting her character as a good and kind female who has been unfairly wronged and a victim of circumstances that were out of her control. When arguments in the Elriel fandom oppose other viewpoints in the fandom, they fall into one of three categories:

Category 1: Weaponize Elain’s femalehood to shame real life people for their opinions

Maybe people who hate Elain are just jealous of her in a weird way similar to when someone hates the pretty, nice, and charming girl in school just because she is too perfect

Disliking Elain is misogynistic

What happened to feminism? What happened to women supporting women? What happened to she can say no? All of that disappears the second you force Elain to be with Lucien

Elain antis are misogynistic

All Eluciens are Elain antis

Antis claiming they’re feminists when in reality they hate on Elain and Feyre but love Nesta

Elain antis are such sore losers. Y’all were that bunch of people who could not get over being rejected from hanging out with the cool kids so y’all are projecting your hatred towards pretty people now to get validation

I don’t get how Elain’s love for gardening equals boring for some people. I’m sorry your misogyny finds traditionally feminine activities boring

Why are you attacking a female? What did Elain do? Where are your feminist voices?

The fandom is misogynistic towards Elain

If people loved Elain they would ship Elriel

If you hate Elain it says a lot about your feelings toward women

If you hate Elain because she has no “development” then you must hate Azriel because otherwise you’re misogynistic

Eluciens are turned off by the idea of a woman that has the autonomy to reject a man for the simple reason that it is her choice

Eluciens are all about feminism and “it’s HER choice” until it comes down to females not wanting a male

Eluciens don’t respect Elain’s feelings when they ship her with someone that was part of her trauma and makes her feel uncomfortable

The way some Elucien shippers completely disregard how uncomfortable Elain is around Lucien is so hilariously not funny. Prioritizing being mates over Elain’s feelings is just regressive

It’s hard as a fan of Elain to see someone ship her with a person who makes her physically uncomfortable to be around. Wouldn’t you want both characters to be happy to be around each other

Imagine if SJM saw all the awful things her “stans” had to say about Elain

It’s true that we know comparatively little about her, but is she really boring or do you just not value stereotypically feminine traits?

So y’all are just gonna tell me you prefer Elucien over Elriel? Even though Lucien treats Elain as if she’s something that belongs to him? The only reason he wants to be with her is because she’s his mate, he doesn’t respect her, doesn’t treat her as his equal, even though that’s what mates should be? He doesn’t bother to look past what’s on the outside to see her for who she is. And Elain is obviously repulsed by the idea that she should belong to anyone or have no choice in who she can be with. Azriel is her friend and the only person who sees her quiet strength. He has so much faith in her, in her abilities; he’s the one who kept her company when no one else did, he’s the only one who bothered to see her for more than her brokenness. You’re going to tell me you still prefer Elucien over Elriel?

The more I see Gwynriels that ship Elucien out of their hate for Elain, the less I can understand Elain stans that ship Elucien. Pls Elain has made it very clear that she doesn’t want Lucien, why would you ship her with him? Do you hate her too? Smh

The real question would be, if you care and understand Elain why would you ship her with Lucien (where she canonically shrinks when he is near)?

People crying over Helion and Lucien’s mom not getting to be with each other and her being forced into a relationship she didn’t want, but also ship Elucien? Just say you hate Elain

When Elain’s book is out, Gwyn stans will look like clowns and I will laugh because they set her up by shipping her with Azriel just because they hate Elain. Watch them play the victims now because Elriels are clapping back the hate they’ve sent towards Elain

As romantic as wanting girl who is visibly uncomfortable around a guy who caused her trauma to end up with the said guy. Guess their standards for romance are in hell

Category 2: Victimize Elain’s character

Gwynriels only want Gwyn with Azriel because they despise Elain

Gwyn stans and Gwynriels are Elain antis

No one in the books dislike Elain, so why are there so many people who do?

Elain hasn’t done anything wrong or questionable to warrant the hate she gets

Not having Elain’s POV makes it easy for people to be swayed a certain way about her character if you already don’t relate to her in some way

It’s been years since this series came out and we haven’t gotten a lick of an Elain POV, but people still hate her for what? We don’t know her thoughts, dreams, or aspirations

We haven’t even had Elain’s perspective yet and people are passing these judgments off on her

Elain antis who say she’s boring are just cruel when she has obvious symptoms of PTSD like Feyre and Nesta

Gwyn is one of the most overhyped characters and that’s only because most people hate Elain and they couldn’t wait to find a random girl to ship Azriel with

Nesta was abusive to her sisters but Elain (who has only ever been kind) is painted as the villain

From the text we know that Elain is the epitome of feminine stereotypes (gentle, gardening, baking, non confrontational for the most part). Yet people still call her boring or deny that she has any interesting character traits?

You can’t love Nesta and hate Elain

People hate Elain because of internalized misogyny and lack of taste. All the girl does is tend to her garden and mind her business and they treat her worse than Tamlin

Does Gwyn deserve all this support? Of course yes! She is amazing! But where’s that support when Elain was in the same situation as she? Where’s that support for her right now? Why do they idolize Gwyn for her interactions with Azriel and hate Elain for having any interaction with him?

It’s not even a ship war anymore, they just hate Elain

People hate Elain for no reason

Some of y’all don’t like feminine traits and it shows

We know less about Eris and Helion but people don’t call them boring. Why would rejecting femininity make Elain more interesting?

Elain has had a lot forced upon her

The main reason I believe most people love Gwyn so much is to get Azriel away from Elain. It’s not a secret that Elain has been a widely hated character for years so suddenly we get a new female who has a minimal amount of interactions with Azriel and BOOM. New ship that once again doesn’t make sense (just like Azriel x Emerie after ACOFAS)

Elain hasn’t done something so terrible for her to get this hate. At this point some of you are just being misogynistic and you don’t want to accept it. Don’t call yourselves feminists and then say bs like this, it’s embarrassing. She’s pretty and everyone agreed to hate on her

Just a personal feeling, but I feel like a lot of the Elain hate stems from internalized misogyny. That to be a strong female lead, you need to pick up a sword and fight. That to be strong, you need to adapt traditionally masculine traits

Elain is feminine. She is beautiful. She loves to bake and garden. She is docile, quiet, observant, and a people-pleaser. All traditionally feminine traits. Yet for some reason, she’s like the worst in these people’s eyes?

I think also maybe a lot of people can’t relate to her femininity? That her being so beautiful and quiet doesn’t allow for the people who dislike her not to self-insert? Most of the hate stems from people not wanting Elain to be with Azriel. It’s mean, but maybe the people who hate Elain literally just can’t self-insert if they have a story and that’s why they’re vehemently against it?

Poor Elain. The Cauldron dealt her a bad deal. Upon emerging as Fae, she is immediately declared by Lucien as his mate, never mind that she was already engaged to a prick. Her love life is not good

It blows my mind how they really think that they can compare all the shit that Elain gets with some dumb jokes about Gwyn on Twitter (and yes, the “hate” towards her started mostly because Elriels are clapping back, it was bound to happen)

I would think of it as anti-feminist with Elain and Lucien because she has consistently stated that she does not want him so if she was forced to embrace the bond that would be taking away her right to have a choice but with Az she feels comfortable around so if they were mates then Elain would be happy and feel safe which again should be the priority for women to feel safe in their relationships with anything and to not be forced into any type of situation aka the mating bond in this

Category 3: Coddle Elain’s character

Elain has value the way she is, in all her domestic girly glory. Not every character has to be badass

We don’t speak of Elain’s flaws frequently because everyone else already speaks badly of her, mainly in an unfair way

There is definitely something deeper going on with Elain but by no means will she ever be evil or any less feminine. That goes against everything we already know about her

It’s ok to critique Elain because she needs growth but y’all keep forgetting the shit her and her sisters went through

The last “bad” thing Elain did in ACOTAR was not help Feyre when they were impoverished and I’m tired of people acting like she’s a terrible character when it was their father’s responsibility. It happened 4 books ago and Feyre has forgiven both Nesta and Elain

Elain’s character and the evil Elain theory are a great example of the trend where people only consider female characters interesting if they reject femininity

We don’t know enough to hate Elain

Many people want Elain to turn evil (which in my opinion seems to come from a place of internalized misogyny)

However we don’t tend to talk about her faults, at least not publicly, as that has been, and still is, done to death, and I--personally, at least--find it much more fun to theorise about potentially interesting aspects of the overall plot, than dwell on negatives

And ultimately, I would be shocked if Elain has a more karmically-charged story than Nesta, considering that Elain’s “wrongs” are so much less severe and bad than Nesta’s, and Elain has already apologized for them (or paid the price in other ways, like through what Graysen did)

I guess I also think Elain has suffered and been punished enough. I hope her story is about finding hope in terrible situations, and learning to love her new life, and choosing her own path after everything that has been done to her. I don’t think she needs to be punished anymore or face any additional trauma

Also, why is she being judged on her decisions as a human at all? Fae are monsters to humans! They enslaved them for thousands of years, and the Wall was erected to keep them out

Like I’m sorry, but think Elain would want to leave her ONLY FAMILY AND FRIENDS for the Spring Court where she has no one because--oh look, lots of flowers!--is the craziest thing I have ever heard

Her sisters are in the Night Court. Her nephew is in the Night Court. Her closest friends (Nuala and Cerridwen) are in the Night Court. Her love interest is in the Night Court. Her extended family is in the Night Court. Her home is in the Night Court

SJM isn’t going to keep two sisters together and split up the third. Especially not keep Feyre and Nesta together and separate Elain. They were either all going to end up in separate places, or together. Not 2 here and 1 there

Compared to the other female characters in the series, Elain is the only character whose femalehood is at the center of conversations; this is because arguments in the Elriel fandom fixate on it when discussing her character. While Elain, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor are all representations of white womanhood and white beauty, Elain epitomizes the most fragile version of white womanhood. It’s easy to blame society’s perception of traditional female characters in comparison to non-traditional female characters when it comes to the discourse surrounding Elain’s character because it: falls in line with the fixation on Elain’s femalehood to silence opposing viewpoints; is a simplistic explanation that fails to tackle the underlying issues with Elain as a character, the same issues that are downplayed in-universe; absolves Elain of her wrongdoings; prevents the ACOTAR fandom from holding Elain accountable for her actions and inactions within the series; and diminishes the impact Elain’s actions and inactions have on those around her. It’s not that Elain is hated in the fandom because she’s a traditional female character; it’s the fact that arguments in the Elriel fandom deflect a critical analysis of Elain’s character because she’s a traditional female character who embodies the ideal white woman in need of protection. White fans and white-aligned fans of color, especially white women, have a tendency to vehemently defend, gatekeep, and coddle white female characters in fandom; this makes it difficult for other fans to engage in critical discussions about these white female characters because they’re viewed as flawless and all around perfect characters despite evidence to the contrary. Since Elain is viewed positively by the other characters in the series, it has rendered her character untouchable to any perceived slight or criticism in fandom discussions because those negative opinions challenge what has been said about her character thus far. And as a result, her character has been placed on a pedestal and implicitly hailed as the epitome of white womanhood; and when she’s criticized, it’s seen as a direct attack against white womanhood. Arguments in the Elriel fandom: exploit feminist language and perpetuate white feminist tactics under the guise of defending Elain’s character; center Elain in conversations about female oppression in the ACOTAR world and uphold white feminist ideologies in their critique of ACOTAR’s patriarchal society; and use the fragile white woman narrative to victimize Elain in Lucien’s presence, playing into racial biases that are associated with white supremacy’s defense of white womanhood.

Feminism is a social movement that seeks to promote equality and equity to all genders, and feminists work toward eradicating gender disparities on a macro-level, in addition to challenging gender biases on a micro-level. As feminism became more mainstream, a flat and oversimplified version of feminism emerged: mainstream feminism. The mainstream feminist movement is meant to represent all women, but rarely does it center conversations around issues that concern most women. The problem with mainstream feminism is that it’s just a popularized version of white feminism. White feminism has relied extensively on an individualized understanding of women’s oppression, exclusively from the lens of privileged white women. White feminism only focuses on the oppression experienced by white, able-bodied, affluent, educated, cishet women; and it views gender as the key mode of privileged white women’s oppression, isolated from the privileges granted by their other social identities. White women can be and are oppressed under the patriarchy but only because they are women; their identity as women does not exempt them from the privileges granted by their whiteness. The term white feminist does not mean any feminist who is white, but refers to feminists who prioritize the concerns of privileged white women as though they are representative of all women. However, the term is not exclusive to white people. Because white feminism is so pervasive, people of other racial and ethnic backgrounds often buy into white feminism, believing that if they work hard enough, they may be able to reap its rewards.

Just like white feminism, mainstream feminism only recognizes the identity of being a woman, assumes that all women share common experiences of gender oppression, fails to address other social identities in relation to overlapping systems of oppression, and disregards privilege in relation to various social identities. Just like white feminism, mainstream feminism is palatable because it doesn’t seek to challenge the systems in place, instead its goal is to succeed within them. Essentially, mainstream feminism and white feminism are extensions of performative feminism. Performative feminism is a type of performative activism that’s used to describe feminist views that are surface level and solely for the benefit of one type of person. It’s a pretense which often has nothing to do with genuine activism. Arguments in the Elriel fandom normalize and promote performative feminism because the topic of feminism is only referenced when discussing Elain. This indicates that these arguments are engaging in disingenuous discourse to push a personal agenda within the ACOTAR fandom, and it becomes more apparent when they use white feminist tactics to shut down opposing viewpoints:

White feminists weaponize and exploit feminist language to silence the opinions of other women, especially when they’re called out for their problematic behaviors

White feminists use the phrase “Women supporting women” to defend other white feminists who exhibit problematic behaviors instead of holding them accountable

White feminists weaponize phrases like “Women supporting women” and “You just hate women” to attack other women who disagree with them on any given topic

White feminists use phrases like “All women face challenges” and “Stop pitting women against each other” to sidestep conversations about privilege

White feminists divert conversations away from privilege and towards the Trauma Olympics to equate their struggles to the oppression of marginalized people

White feminists skirt around the realities of other forms of oppression and discrimination, downplaying the experiences of marginalized people

White feminists diminish or ignore the ways in which gender oppression affects other marginalized people

White feminists paint those they harmed as aggressive, mean, or divisive when confronted with the ways they have harmed a marginalized group

White feminists deflect criticism by focusing on the anger or emotions being expressed rather than the issue that is being discussed, invalidating the concerns of marginalized people

White feminists speak over marginalized voices in an attempt to sound “woke”

White feminists get defensive and insist there’s no way they could be a part of the problem because of what they’ve done to help marginalized groups already

White feminists say they don’t see color in an attempt to obscure racial issues that need to be addressed

White feminists center and victimize themselves in conversations about racism, which derails necessary conversations from taking place

White feminists who are white weaponize the intersectionality of their race and gender to avoid accountability

Feminism is not meant to be approached from an individualistic perspective nor is it only about addressing the experiences of privileged white women, it involves addressing the intersections of race, class, gender, sexuality, (dis)ability, and other social identities as well; and it involves addressing how these social identities relate to privilege. Moreover, feminism is not about women upholding complete loyalty to other women because of a shared gender identity, and to claim that it does implies that women should be held to different emotional standards than men. If men are able to dislike and criticize other individual men, real or fictional, without their characters being compromised, why aren’t women granted that same privilege?

It’s clear that SJM set up the ACOTAR world to mirror a patriarchal society, and that the imbalance of power between males and females stems from sexism. Arguments in the Elriel fandom analyze the ACOTAR world through a feminist lens to show how ACOTAR’s patriarchal society, to which the mating bond is innately tied, contributes to female oppression and limits their agency. When choice and free will are emphasized as part of Elain’s arc, they imply that Elain, through the mating bond, experiences female oppression under ACOTAR’s patriarchal society because of her identity as a female with that identity being the focal point of her oppression in the world. Elain is one of the most privileged characters in the ACOTAR world: she’s High Fae; she’s the sister of the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, which gives her access to wealth and political influence because of that connection; she’s able-bodied; she was magically blessed by the Cauldron; and she lives in Velaris, a place that grants females autonomy and power because of the beliefs of Rhysand and Feyre. Arguments in the Elriel fandom trivialize female oppression in the ACOTAR world because they disregard the fact that Elain’s privileges prevent her from experiencing female oppression in the same way that other marginalized females in the world do. The mating bond being one such example because those around Elain are not forcing the bond on her, instead they’re allowing Elain to reach a decision about the bond for herself; a privilege that other marginalized females in the world probably wouldn’t have. Just because Elain has endured hardships in her life and is a female in a patriarchal society, they do not erase the privileges she holds within the ACOTAR world. The failure to include Elain’s privileges in discussions about Elain being a female in a patriarchal society feeds into white feminist ideologies because white feminism operates from a very narrow perspective; it doesn’t take other intersecting identities into account when it examines gender oppression, leaving no room for discussions about privilege (or lack thereof) in relation to those intersecting identities. When discussing oppression in hierarchical societies, it’s imperative that privilege is also included in the conversation because privilege and oppression are not mutually exclusive; they equally affect the ways in which people navigate those societies through their social identities.

Rather than attributing Elain’s uncomfortability to her new life as a Fae female or the mating bond itself and her trauma to the Cauldron, the King of Hybern, or Ianthe, they’re placed on Lucien to cast his character in a negative light. Moreover, fandom discussions portray Lucien as a possessive character to further emphasize Elain’s discomfort despite the inaccuracy of this characterization in canon. Arguments in the Elriel fandom play into racial biases when it comes to Lucien (a male character of color) because they mischaracterize his character in order to victimize Elain (a white female character), placing her character in the role of the white damsel in distress. In Western society, the concept of womanhood has been conceptualized from a Eurocentric perspective with femininity and feminine attributes favoring white women. It’s the idea that a certain type of femininity is only inherent to white women as they are seen as the embodiment of an ideal womanhood. White womanhood has been a symbol of innocence and purity, and white women have been viewed as fragile beings in need of protection. The reason white womanhood functions within white supremacy is because it’s the same idea that has motivated white men to kill and beat black and brown men. The so-called protection of white women has been used as a justification for the horrific violence committed by white men because black and brown men were stereotyped as aggressive and seen as a threat to the virtue of white women. The white damsel in distress trope considered white women as worthy of protection because of their perceived innocence and purity; women of color were not granted that same treatment because they did not fit into the ideal image of womanhood. Over the years, this trope became a means for white women to exercise limited power in a patriarchal society with white women weaponizing their status as the damsel much to the detriment of black and brown men. It’s through the white damsel in distress trope that white supremacy sustains its dominance in Western society. The misrepresentation of characters of color in fandom, the dismissal of their importance to the overall story, and using them as tools in arguments centered around white characters are the foundation of fandom racism; they’re examples of how racism moves silently in fandom spaces. Instead of examining their behavior and taking constructive criticism from fans of color, white fans will often double down on their bigotry and center their uncomfortability in the conversation when confronted with their complicity in fandom racism. White fans expect fans of color to swallow fandom racism in its many forms in order to not ruin the experience of fandom, dismissing the fact that racism is prevalent in nearly every aspect of society. This mentality ensures that no one is held accountable for the harm they caused and alienates fans of color in fandom spaces.

To reiterate what I mentioned in my first think piece: terms like “oppression”, “the right to choose”, “feminist”, “feminism”, “anti-feminist”, “anti-feminism”, “internalized misogyny”, “misogyny”, “misogynist”, “sexist”, “sexism”, “racist”, “racism”, “classist”, “classism”, “discrimination”, and “patriarchy” are all used in specific ways to draw attention to the plight of marginalized people and challenge those who deny the existence of systems of oppression. Yet these words and their meanings can be twisted to attack, exclude, and invalidate people with differing opinions on any given topic. When social justice and feminist terms are thrown around antagonistically and carelessly to push a personal agenda, it becomes clear that these terms are being used to engage in disingenuous discourse and pursue personal validation rather than being used out of any deep-seated conviction to dismantle systemic oppression. Being an ally, activist, or feminist is not an identity, it’s a practice. It requires: ongoing self-reflection; holding ourselves accountable; listening to marginalized people; educating ourselves; dismantling implicit biases; challenging those around us who are exhibiting problematic behaviors; and action behind our words.

It’s important to be aware of the language that is used within the fandom when defending or critiquing characters and ships. It’s also important to question how an argument is framed and why it’s framed the way that it is to critically examine the intent behind that argument: is it used as a tool to push a personal agenda that reinforces problematic behaviors, or is it used as an opportunity to share, learn, enlighten, and educate?

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Tagging: @spell-cleavers @bookofmirth @m0bulidae @ilya-boltagon

#elain archeron #elriel #acotar fandom #acotar: fandom critical

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rarephloxes · 3 years ago

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@lucienvanserraweek, free day!

I’m so happy to announce that this is a collab with my dear friend @ratabrasileira!!! Go show the beautiful drawing she did some love!!

rating: G

words: 2.2k

Elain searches the woods for flowers and finds more than she ever expected. Sleeping Beauty Au

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Elain left the cottage barefooted, the soft cushion of the grass comfortable and well known to her feet. The familiar and gratifying feeling of calm earth beneath her, steady and grounding, more than enough reason to forego any sort of shoes.

Roses, Feyre had chanted, the dreamy look in her sister’s eyes persisting ever since her chance encounter with a newcomer guard at the town square, the prettiest ones you can find, please?

Elain had not the courage to tell her younger sister that she had picked fresh flowers just the day before, funny-shaped pink blooms Elain found at the lip of the stream near the border.

So, she had picked her basket - the one Nesta had gifted her on her last birthday, handmade by her older sister herself; a beautiful, intricate thing done with the hard-earned love of the hardest Archeron - and left, a spring to her step and a tune brimming in her throat.

The woods, the townspeople said, were older than the village by unaccounted years, and therefore filled with deep, wondrous and dangerous magic.

Elain, as well as her sisters, was orphaned too soon. A wasting sickness that had scourged their village had taken away both of her parents, one after the other, leaving only a nearly of age Nesta, a doe-eyed Elain, and a tear-stained Feyre.

Many years had passed since, the nebulous, all-consuming pain of the absence of their parents soothed by time. Despite her grieving, it never escaped Elain’s thoughts how lucky she was to have such wonderful people in her life: her kind neighbors; the quaint, energized people of the village, who never missed a chance for celebration; the old grouch at the square who made wooden figures just as her father once had; Feyre’s laugh, her creativity and Nesta’s attentive strength.

The woods, magical and mysterious, were a source of peace in Elain’s little life, too. A balm made of soft sunlight, fresh, perfumed breeze, and the singing quietness of wildlife.

She walked, shawl hanging on her elbows to ward off the slightest of spring chills. Elain sang to her heart’s content, a lively lyric dancing on her tongue and bouncing on the leaves of the tallest of trees, her heart soaring with each note she presented to her loved woodland.

With Feyre’s wishes in mind, Elain followed a path towards a grove, the humidity at her destination perfect for the birth of deep pink roses which best complimented Feyre’s complexion.

She crossed the sturdy old bridge that allowed passage over the river, her cottage’s mill no longer audible from where she stood.

“Hello, Mister,” Elain greeted the white, wild bunny, its twitching mustache smelling the air twice before hurrying on fast jumps towards her, a cupped palm of berries awaiting the animal’s eager mouth, allowing her to scratch its head “You’re rather famished this morning, aren’t you?” she asked. The bunny agreed with what seemed like and affirmative ear twitch before her furry friend scampered away to a nearby bush.

Then, singing about poets and kings, Elain continued her path through the meandering trees, her basket filling with dark, juicy berries - a few of them already staining her lips red - and multicolored flowers.

A bold, red little bird landed on Elain’s extended finger and enchantingly sung with her. Its melodic chirping lacing and harmonizing to the girl’s sweet voice, their impromptu duet accompanied by the rustling leaves and the gurgling stream.

How wonderful Elain felt, surrounded by nature, connecting to the air around her as if it had birthed her itself, offering it her voice. Respectfully reaping the charming flora, she found on her way, breathing their scent, befriending the forest animals, and spinning on the tip of her toes on the soft soil.

As she stopped dancing, her skirts still swishing around her calves from the last of her twirls, Elain noticed a magnificent shrub of the blooms she had braved the woods for, jewel-bright pink petals shining under sunbeams, as if the tress had organized themselves to create a spot of light for such earthly beauty.

Right then, the strangest of things happened.

With her heart jumping to her throat, beating frenetically against her ribs, Elain noticed a beautiful horse. Saddled, with a gleaming chestnut coat, dark eyes downcast, calmly munching on the grass near its hooves.

It wasn’t unheard of, horses in the woods, wild or otherwise, they were not far from the main road, but that was not what made Elain’s skin prickle with alertness.

A well-taken care horse as such must have a rider nearby.

“Samson,” called a male voice “There’s not much left to go.” The horse shuffled his legs, huffing before turning its nose away, back onto the moss.

“There will be carrots,” the voice tried again, with a tone of simulated indifference.

Caught like a fish on a hook, the horse’s great neck snapped up, looking at its rider, as if expecting the vegetable all at once. Stoic as the pair of them seemed, Elain had the impression Samson was kindly spoiled.

Elain, who could hear the rich sound of the stranger’s voice, had not yet distinguished his form in the shade beyond the grove she entered, but following the stallion’s gaze she finally sighted him.

Oh, but what a beautiful man he was.

Stranger was tall and broad-shouldered, with an old, silvery scar marking the side of his face, slitting his brow and narrowly missing his eye - which seemed to be a disconcerting shade of brown. He had the most vibrant shade of red hair she has ever seen, dark like autumn leaves and silky like water.

He was the most beautiful human she has ever seen.

Stranger, however, had yet to notice her.

And as handsome as he was, Elain was clever enough to realize that a quick, silent escape was the safest option.

Slowly, she walked one step back.

The crunch of the branch beneath her foot echoed loudly, too loudly to be confounded by an innocuous wildlife sound.

Elain couldn't raise her eyes to look at him, attention glued to the sword holstered at his hip.

“Be not afraid, lady. I’ll take my leave in a moment,” Stranger said in a placating tone, palms deliberately upraised for her benefit.

The woods turned to music at the exact moment their eyes met.

A world-altering spark of recognition lighted in her mind.

A stranger in the woods, merry music, dancing fireflies, and singing birds, trees being led by the wind as if women in a ballroom, her vision spinning, and her body lighting up like fireworks. A hand on her waist, a choreography her body must have been made for performing, such ease it was to allow it to guide her away.

Dreams, she remembered, wonderful dreams which always kept her under her covers for a moment too long, always ending way too soon, leaving longing as a dent in her pillow.

Now he was right in front of her.

“I know you,” she whispered, words slipping through her lips like birds escaping a cage, her hands shaking.

He was dressed in well-made traveling clothes, dark pants, finely done knee-length boots she had only ever glanced upon whenever wealthier people crossed the town to check on their local businesses, but those deftly dressed gentlemen couldn’t have looked better than the man even with the priciest of fineries. Elain resisted the urge to press her hands to her cheeks, heated and pink from noticing Stranger only wore a thin, unruffled poet’s shirt, - his cape and hat using the nearby trees as hangers - its open laces revealing golden skin and wisps of red hair.

Elain had never felt self-conscious of her looks or clothes, the townspeople dressing similarly to her (even if Elain herself had one of the best sewing hands in their village). Her current outfit was a simple corset with boning made out of prepped hedgehog spikes, the plain fabric embellished with neat seams and picturesque figures Elain had stitched herself; a brown, light skirt - easy to wash and easier to hide soil stains - and, what now she deemed absurd due to the grime on her nails, no slippers.

“And I, you,” he answered as in a daze, hands falling limply at his sides.

“Do you hear it?” Elain made her voice firm, lifting he chin but with her knees slightly bent, ready to run.

“Yes, my lady,” he took a step, then two, until a stretch of his arm would land his hand on her shoulder.

But he didn’t move to touch her.

Elain swallowed, the breeze cooling her body, eyes downcast, legs now motionless and nearly failing her.

“Why won’t you let me see your eyes, my lady?” She couldn’t be sure, for she knew him not, but there was pleading in his tone.

“I’m afraid, my lord, that if I look at you, I’ll awake and leave this dream,” she whispered, surprised, but not fearful, of her words. “And you’ll fly away from my grasp,”

Suddenly shy of her newly found boldness, she turned her back to him.

“I’m-" She started, voice small.

“No, please.” Elain saw a shadow over her shoulder but wouldn’t dare to guess. “Forgive me for my requests, my lady, you need not give me anything, I-”

He sounded... embarrassed.

She found it endearing.

The song of the woods shifted to a village rhythm she knew well.

“Dance with me,” he called.

A gasp fell freely from her mouth, the ghost of a touch on her hand.

Slowly, she turned back to face him and realized her mistake.

His eyes were not brown, but a vibrant russet shade, complimenting his hair better. Elain had heard only the continent bred humans with the most varied and colorful bodies.

“I forgive you,” she mouthed, her throat no longer functional.

There were callouses on his palms if from holding reins or sword fighting, she couldn’t determine, but they were so gentle against her skin she barely put any mind to it.

A blast of sound surrounded them, as if the song recognized their meeting, rejoicing in their movements, magnifying their volume to ensconce the pair of them in a cloud of magic. Elain allowed her stranger to spin and lead her in the dance of her dreams.

She couldn’t help to laugh and smile and giggle as they swayed in impossibly rehearsed arrangements, his wide, carefree, delighted grin pouring sunshine into her chest.

Time turned to a growing bloom, following the natural, slow, unpreoccupied pace of life. A hundred dances thrummed with them while the small pointer of the square clock circled once.

At that time, the resounding, deep clang of the church’s bell chiming twelve times broke through the magic steering the couple.

Elain ceased her steps, the pang of reality downing on her face, awareness washing the enchanted fog in her mind.

She let go of Stranger’s hand, the melodies dimming to a quiet hum, tempting her as a distance siren song,

“I must go,” she told him, yet unable to move.

“So soon?” he asked earnestly, arms lovingly tightening around her waist, not caging, only a gentle embrace.

“Oh, please, I must have my leave. Your lordship certainly has somewhere to be. I don’t even know what to call you-“ she babbled in a rush.

Stranger pressed his nose to the sliver of skin above her neck line, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if she were a saint and he a devotee. Elain lost the breath in her lungs, head lulling back, her words cutting themselves short.

“It’s yours,” his lips brushed the slope of her neck, “My name, my heart, my soul. It’s all yours. I’m Luc-“

Hurriedly, Elain lifted his head and pressed her pointer and middle finger to his mouth, “You must not tell me your name,”

“I heard your voice,” he admitted, a portrait of hope in his face, gently grasping her wrist “I deviated from the road to look for the angel whose song I was lucky to listen. But the singing stopped, as it was never there in the first place,”

“The woods have a mind of their own” she whispered to herself, eyes roaming around as if searching.

“I found you once I let Samson rest for a moment,” he continued, uninterrupted, as though afraid she would vanish in a poof of light.

“Please, my lady. Can’t you see? One is never to deny a gift from the Gods,”

“Are you a believer, Stranger?”

“Now, I am,” he said, his gaze unfaltering, “Will you allow me to reveal my name to your Ladyship?”

“I’m no lady,” she said, taking her hand from the warmth of his, regretting it immediately, “I must have my leave,” How would she explain her tardiness to Nesta? Oh, how reckless she was acting.

“At least allow me to take you to your home, my lady,”

Elain knew deep in her gut as clearly as she knew the color of the sky and the name of her favorite flowers that he would never hurt her.

But her oldest sister warning echoed in her conscience, coiling its limbs around her, refraining her voice.

The universe, it seemed, understood her decision.

Samson let out a loud neigh, attracting her love’s attention for just long enough.

“I’ll see you in my dreams,” she promised as he turned around to watch his horse.

And ran away, deep into the woods.

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Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments make my day.

Special thanks to @moononastring and @silvergriff for hosting this awesome event, @separatist-apologist for being the kindest and most considerate beta reader I could ever hope for.

I’m building a tag list! If you want to keep up with my writing, let me know :))

I may or may not continue this? I really want to mesh this with a bunch of other ideas I have on my notes!!

#elucien #lucien vanserra week #lucien vanserra headcanons #lucien spell cleaver #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elucien fanfic #elucie fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #sleeping beauty

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louisapennyfeather2021 · 2 years ago

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I don't think people realize just how much of a negative effect Rhysand had on Nesta beyond his obvious prejudices. Or just how scarred and hurt Nesta was.

Nesta is the oldest of the girls. She lived in a life of comfort, luxury, and wealth for a very long time. She was 12 when all of their wealth was stripped away.

The difference between Nesta and her sisters lies in who really raised her. Elain and Feyre weren't raised by their mother and grandmother the same way Nesta was. Nesta was groomed to be the perfect young lady. Her mother had high hopes for her to marry well one day. Elain didn't have this type of expectation because she was the second daughter. Their mother was said to have cared very little for Feyre.

I think part of why Nesta struggles so much to care for the people she loves is because of her mother and grandmother. Nesta has only ever known care to be harsh and cold. She was never taught otherwise because unlike Elain and Feyre, Nesta was their mother's golden child.

Feyre understands this enough to not hate Nesta and not really hold as much against her. Rhysand's lack of understanding due to not knowing Nesta or her past even as minimally as Feyre does is a threat to Nesta. It's part of why Nesta is so cold to Rhys and the Inner Circle. They all mostly see her as Feyre's cruel older sister who did nothing to help Feyre keep their family alive.

But back to Nesta growing up knowing more comfort and luxury than Feyre. Elain knew the same comfort and luxury, but she grew up with a very different view of the world.

Nesta is extremely perceptive and smart. She had to learn quickly because of her grandmother and mother.

So when their fortune was taken, Nesta didn't just see it as her family now being poor. Nesta saw the way power can shift and the way power can harm others. Nesta realized that wealth is only yours if wealthy men with power deem you worthy.

So imagine how Nesta must have felt when a wealthy man with a hell of a lot of power completely cut her off from any sort of funds? Imagine how she felt when her family sided with that man and his family?

She would have felt as if she was not worthy of living comfortably(or as comfortably as she could when she was struggling with addiction). She would have felt as if she had no power at all. All of these strangers who only knew her through her little sister were deciding what Nesta was worth and what power she could and couldn't have.

It got worse when they took away Nesta's ability to move freely after she was already trapped in a world she never wanted to exist in.

From the very beginning, we always see Nesta in a position where she is losing her comfort and/or losing her power. She latched onto Elain because she felt like Elain was the only one who could ever understand what it was like to lose that comfort and power. But then Elain fell into step with Feyre and started to accept that even though it was against her will, she could still make a life for herself. Nesta saw that as a betrayal.

I think Nesta only believed she had power in her cruelty, her beauty, and her confidence. That's part of why she is so cruel. It's the only bit of power she believes she has, so she holds onto it like a lifeline. She used it to keep everyone at arms length and to keep anyone from trying to steal what little power she had.

To put it simply, Nesta always felt alone and like she never had anything to keep her steady. Her world was always on unstable ground that could easily crumble out from under her feet at any given second on the whim of someone with more power than her.

I thinks it's one of the underlying reasons why she never explored her powers. She knew she was very, very powerful. But she was scared someone would take that away from her because she was dangerous. She was scared she would be deemed unworthy of the power she fought tooth and nail to take when death was so close. Nesta's powers were the one thing she could count on in a world where she knew so very little and where her worth was constantly questioned.

Nesta was also scared that she would be the reason someone else lost their power. She was always worried she would put someone else in danger or the Cauldron would exact some sort of revenge. Nesta knows the pain of being powerless. She could never do that to anyone else.

As aggravating as it was for her to lose her powers, if you look at it using this perspective, you really see how Nesta had grown. She learned how to show care without being cruel. She learned that she was worthy and that no one could ever take her worth away. She learned that her powers were hers unless she voluntarily gave them away. She learned how she had just as much power in her words and actions as she did in her beauty and confidence.

While I wish she would have kept her powers, it doesn't seem as horrible this way.

#nesta archeron #a court of silver flames spoilers #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #cassian #sarah j maas

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feysandfeels · 4 years ago

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I gathered you read the chapter... how are we feeling, any thoughts you might want to share?

There I was, writing on my journal after a decent day at work when this fucking bomb exploded quite literally on my lap. But fear not I am here and we shall discuss until we can make fucking sense of it. Should I even warn you of the length of this post, or are we all on the same “Luisa can’t synthesise for shit” boat now?

I. Azriel

I will start by saying that this does not make me hate Azriel or stop caring for him and wanting what’s best for him. I still do very much love him. This however does not mean I applaud or get behind how he expressed himself during this specially chapter. For me it was quite disturbing to see how he saw Elain merely as a sexual partner and thought that that translated into love. If he had made the distinction between being physically attracted to her and being in love with her, then I don’t think we would all be feeling like we are. Because it is fair to be sexually attracted to someone but not necessarily in love with them.

From what we saw I think we can gather that Azriel knows Mor is not into him and in his grief from all those years being in love he wants something immediate and there. On top of that he sees his brothers settled and feels like he is owed from the cauldron, so of course he starts seeing Elain as the perfect “solution” to his pain. Now, of course Elain (and no one for that matter) should be seen a solution to anything really. Much less he should jump on that boat and already think of her as his. Az, my sweet, possessiveness is not love.

When I first read the chapter something stood out for me, he said he’s envious of his brothers and the emotional stability they both have, the fact that they were both chosen by the ones they love. We know Az loved Mor with all his heart and although she loves him too, it was not corresponded on the same energy since she is well bisexual homoromantic. He, so far, does not feel chosen in that same sense, which only feeds his insecurity of being unworthy.

In his envy he oversimplified things, he saw what both Rhys and Cassian now have and did the simple most stupid math ever: he went Rhys+Feyre = love, Cass+Nesta = love... hummm then If I’m single and Elain is single then it must mean Az+ Elain = love. (Sugar I love you but that is dumb as fuck). This has the same energy of when you are in high school and you let your friends convince you that you are actually into someone when you are really not, but then you buy into it and start believing in it yourself. In this case he was the one who created that push and convinced himself that it was the right thing.

I think so far we can gather a few things of the place Az is at right now: he is feeling extremely lonely, extremely envious and extremely sad. I do not think this excuses his behavior at fucking all, but at least we know where he is coming from. He is clearly mistaking sexual attraction and possessiveness as love. But I do think it all stems from this turbulent place he is at emotionally, not because he is a bad person.

I do not thing he is a bad person for thinking of Elain as he does, because I truly think this is a set up for the growth he will experience. Is it a good look? honey no. But is it a realistic one? I dare say it is. As I said when I read this I got full on high school bull shit vibes, I thought “ohh I’ve seen this film before and I have lived it”. He is being immature and there is no denying. Which was only confirmed with him regifting that necklace... sugar... that was a dick move, very fucking dickish move -specially since it was alluded that they might have feelings for each other–. My man needs to do some emotional growth because yikes.

II. The Narrative

Now, I have said before that for me, Sarah’s strength lies not so much on her world building or the originality of her works (which is not to say that her worlds suck or her narratives are not interesting and offer something new), but it lies more on her characters. To me she has always excelled at creating characters that do exemplify the range of humanity in its good, its bad, and all that’s in between. Even you can look at stuff that your fave did and go “yeah not cool at fucking all”. At least I know I can and I adore almost every character in this series. I love characters not because they are perfect but because I can either relate to them or because they allow me to understand and experience points of view that are alien to my own experience. Sarah has never made characters black and white. Your faves will make mistakes. Feyre has, Rhysand has, Cassian has, Nesta has, Elain has, Lucien has, Mor has and Az has.

What make her books interesting from this perspective is that she says “characters development does not equal character growth”. Take Chaol for example –if you haven’t read ToG do yourself a favor and read it– his character arc is one of the most interesting and best fulfilled ones in that series because we saw him at his lowest, when we couldn’t empathize exactly and he was being an ass, and then we saw him question his problematic behavior and move past it. Character development means just that: that the character move from point a to point b. It doesn’t mean he will be better by the end, but it means movement. Character growth does mean he will hopefully get to a place where they are “good”.

I think she knows exactly what she is doing with Az and with this teaser. Need I remind you of the chaos the bonus chapter in ACOFAS left this fandom in for a solid two years. This got our emotions high and got us one way or another expecting to see where this will all lead. I don’t think any of us were expecting this chapter when it was announced that Az would get a pov.

III. Conclusion

To conclude I just want to reiterate that I don’t support how he’s is behaving. I think I am accepting how he is behaving. Acceptance however does not meant that I am behind it, it means that I accept it and I am willing to stick around to see him grow out of this and realize why this is all so wrong (because well you know I can’t actively engage with him since he is... you know... fictional). I have had moments like this with some of my closest friends irl with whom we’ve had talks about previous behavior and have had the “be fucking better” talk, which is something that Rhys essentially said (GOD BLESS YOU BOO), and is also a sentiment most of us shared, even Feyre, when Rhys forced Mor to face both of her abusers and then didn’t consult her when selling Velaris off to her dad. And to me that is part of what friendship means, it means being there through the growth.

Everyone has their own limits of what they can understand of a character/person. If this is your own then it’s fine, no harm no foul. If this is what makes you jump ship from Elriel (that’s their ship name right?) then hey all good, I’m sorry for your loss.

I am not an Azriel hater, nor I think I will ever be. At least not from the information I have right now. I do still love him and as I have said before I want to see him happy and with a healthy amount of self confidence (and no Azriel saying you could easily kill Lucien is not the healthy self confidence I am talking about). So if anything I am interested in the arc his character will face, we just caught him at a moral low –which to me still has a solid chance of growth–.

I hope this offer some light or whatever. And remember take it easy, it’s okay to feel things deeply but don’t quit in the middle of the war, we still have his book coming up and I am 100% that will enlighten us more.

ANYWAYS, LONG LIVE ELUCIEN BITCHES.

#jesus fuck that was a long one #Azriel #ACOSF spoilers #A Court of Silver Flames #A Court of Silver Flames Spoilers #Sarah J Maas #ACOTAR #ACOMAF #ACOWAR #ACOFAS #ACOSF #Elain Archeron #Inner Circle #Feysandfeelsasks

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ncssian · 3 years ago

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elucien one word prompt: butter

originally submitted by anonymous. i did not actually use butter in this prompt lol i just wanted to write this

context: pre-established relationship. elain has been spending her time lately with the wealthy vanserra family, whom she met through rhysand’s connections. she’s only been hanging with lucien for a few weeks but they’re already pretty familiar with each other, kind of like that time taylor swift spent a summer with the kennedys. as always, set in a-favor-verse

***

“A Waffle House? Is he ashamed of her or something?” Elain muses from behind a greasy menu.

Across the table from her, Lucien subtly peeks out from behind his own menu. “He must be,” he answers. “I didn’t know Eris even knew what Waffle House was.”

At the other side of the overcrowded diner, Eris Vanserra is grabbing breakfast with his new woman. Girlfriend? Side piece? Elain isn’t quite sure. She also isn’t sure how she and Lucien ended up stalking him all the way here at ten in the morning, but she does know that no amount of dry cleaning will save her skirt from the sticky vinyl seat beneath her ass right now. The things she does for these damn redheads.

She’s been eyeing the oldest Vanserra son as a potential boyfriend for the past month, and his outright obliviousness to her advances has only made her more determined to win him over. As her sister Nesta likes to say, What Elain wants, Elain gets.

But if Eris is serious about somebody else, then her chase might have officially come to its end. She can always move on to some other wealthy family full of handsome sons, but her pride won’t be recovering from this slight anytime soon. Neither will her heart, which has been firmly fixated on Eris for the past five weeks.

Elain watches the couple share a stack of waffles smothered in a concerning amount of butter with disdain. That should be her sitting across from Eris and clogging her arteries, making him smile like that.

“I could make him happier,” she grumbles to herself. She could also probably make him miserable, but that isn’t important right now.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lucien warns lowly, his focus still glued to Eris. “You’re mine.”

Elain flicks her gaze sideways to Lucien with a smirk, though a blush might tint her cheeks as she says, “It’s actually charming that you remain so consistent in your fruitless pursuit of me. It might even be hot.”

“Of course,” he responds, still watching his brother. “Persistence is my most attractive trait, second to this—” He waves a hand at his face.

Elain chews on her lip in thought, giving Lucien a thorough up-and-down while his gaze is focused on the other side of the diner. Traditionally, he’s not Elain’s type. He’s the youngest in the family, not an heir that’ll receive the majority of Beron Vanserra’s assets when the old fart dies. While Eris is clean cut, well-spoken, and the center of attention in every room he enters, Lucien is… a background character. He’s never been handed the role of main lead in his life, and it’s apparent in everything about him.

Yet while Elain has known Lucien as long as she’s known Eris, this might be the first time she’s really looking at him.

No—this isn’t the first time, but she’s definitely entertaining certain thoughts now more seriously than she has in the past. Maybe it’s because Eris is now taken, or maybe it’s because weeks of aimless flirting have worn down her defenses. After all, not every man could lay claim to Elain at first sight without coming off as a huge asshole. But Lucien had done it with confidence and ease at their first meeting and every meeting since, as if it was a sure thing that Elain would one day fall into his arms.

When another man showed interest in her: “Don’t bother. She’s mine.”

Or when she got on his last nerve: “Why do I insist on loving you?”

Or when she pined after an oblivious Eris: “It’s because you’re meant for me instead, idiot.”

Sometimes it feels less like he’s declaring Elain as his and more like he’s declaring himself as hers. And yet they’ve never moved an inch past friendship, a status that doesn’t seem to bother Lucien at all. Then again, nothing ever bothers him. He might as well be carrying the answers to the future in his pocket for all the nonchalant ease he has when he tells Elain he’s in love with her.

“Should I do it then?” Elain teases, her voice going low and velvety. “Since Eris has a girlfriend now, should I finally let you date me?”

Lucien throws a look her way and snorts. Nothing but a faint scar in his left eyebrow indicates that he’s had any surgical work done, but Elain’s gotten better at being able to tell that his left eye is more unfocused than the other. Like learning words in a new language, she’s oddly proud of herself for being able to notice Lucien’s partial blindness when no one else can.

“Don’t joke around like that,” he drawls dismissively. “Come back to me when you’re serious.” He suddenly nods his chin toward the exit and says, “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.”

Elain’s coquettish grin widens as her heart lands on its new target. “You’re getting hotter,” she informs him. And so is she beneath her coat.

She might actually need to get back to him with a serious proposition one day.

#ncssianwrites #elucien #elucien drabbles

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readingonpluto · 4 years ago

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To Me, You are Perfect - Nessian Modern AU

Part 1

@madie-max & @sjm-things hope you enjoy :)

What kind of movies do you like?

My phone buzzes beside me, startling me up from my book. Ever since Cassian came, I moved downstairs to my small living room. I told myself that it was because he called me out for sitting in my room all night, but I really knew it was because I was closer to the door here.

Picking up my phone, I frowned down at the message.

Who is this?

Cassian. I was there about half an hour ago?

How did you get my number?

Feyre.

I scowl. Of course, my sister would give out my number and address to a man I had met once before. At least it was someone she trusted… But still…

What do you want?

Read above, sweetheart

What kind of movies do I like?

Why the hell do you need to know that?

Its a surprise ;)

Great… Another surprise on my peaceful night. I would be lying though if I said my heart didn’t skip a little…

I like romance.

Couldn’t have guessed!

You’re the one who asked.

I don’t get a reply.

All I wanted to do tonight was read, but now every time I look at the pages my mind wanders back to Cassian. How much do I really know of him? Yes, he showed up at my doorstep in the middle of the night and now is texting me about movies. And yes, he was at Feyre’s wedding, but truly, I know nothing about him.

He is Rhysand’s best friend and close to Feyre. He must be slightly insane. He danced at her wedding in the most ridiculous fashion. He tried to talk to me, but I brushed him off. He was never pushy, but very flirty. He ate a lot of food.

I stare down at my fingers. That’s it. That is all I know about him.

And I’m still hoping he comes back… What is wrong with me?

Maybe I’m too deprived of love that I will do anything at this point. Both of my younger sisters are in happy relationships, and one is already married, and where am I?

However, Cassian isn’t truly a stranger… I asked about him at Feyre’s wedding, curious who he was. He danced with the children doing anything to make them smile, even letting them dance on his feet. He looked so joyous bringing happiness to all those around him. Then, when he saw how miserable I was, he tried his best to make me feel that same joy. I was an idiot to brush him off. Maybe I would have had a better night if I let him--

The doorbell rings.

I spring up faster than I’d like to admit, padding over to the door. I don’t swing it open with as much force as the first time already anticipating who will be standing there.

Cassian grins down at me, a bag in his hand. “Hello again.”

“Hello,” I stare down my nose at him, pushing away any feelings that had be building. I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know anything about him.

“Okay, this whole plan is based around the fact that I’m assuming you have a TV and a disk player. Please tell me you have both of those.”

“I do…” I say, curiosity overtaking everything else. I can tell he is waiting for me to ask, do I just go for it. “Why?”

“I’m glad you asked,” His smile only grows. “I just have so happened to go down to a Walmart and happened across Love Actually and some popcorn and chocolates.”

“Happened across?” I suppress the smile that tries to push my way across.

“Yes, you see there is a very beautiful woman who likes romance movies who was waiting for me to come back and I tried my best to be as quick as I could. These,” He holds up the bag. “Are the best I could do.”

Beautiful woman. I push away the words.

“So you want me to just let you into my house? A person I just met.”

“No, I want you to invite me in since we’re not strangers.”

“What if I don’t invite you in?”

He shrugs. “I guess I’ll head home and watch Love Actually on my own.”

“You would leave?”

He laughs at my question. “I’m not here to break into your house, sweetheart.”

“Just to watch a movie and eat snacks?”

“And make sure you have a good night.” Just like at Feyre’s wedding. But you pushed him away… And now we’re here, with you regretting that decision every moment since.

I open the door wider, looking down at the floor.

“You’re letting me in?” He seems surprised. Did he really go through all that trouble to expect me to not let him in?

“Yes.” My voice holds venom, years of building walls. “I can slam the door back in your face if you’d prefer.”

“No, no,” Cassian walks in before I can do just that. “I just wanted to make sure.”

Clicking the door closed I don’t wait for him to take off his coat and boots, just heading straight to where I was sitting before. I haven’t touched the macaroons yet too nervous to eat. To be honest, I have just been staring at the wall for most of the time since he has been gone.

“Nice house,” Cassian says, coming into the room. He is wearing a grey knitted sweater and dark jeans. He has little llamas on his socks. Something so simple, yet he pulls it off. It almost makes me smile to think that he has a whole drawer of fun socks to wear on miserable days. I wonder if he was wearing such socks on the day of the wedding…?

“Nesta?” I realize he had been asking me something.

“Yeah?” I ask, blinking a few times.

“I asked if it was alright if I set up the movie.” A small smile forms on his lips, causing my face to flush. I look away quickly.

“Yeah.” He moves to do so and I stand, picking up the small bag he brought with him. “I’ll put them in bowls,” I explain, heading straight for my kitchen.

What is wrong with me? How can a man I’ve met twice make me feel like I’m floating on a cloud? Elain always talks about love at first sight, but that never really happens… does it?

“Sweetheart?” Cassian pokes his head in the kitchen, quickly noting that I have done nothing but stand here for the last five minutes. “I got the movie ready.”

Nodding, I quickly pull down a bowl pouring the popcorn into it, then moving onto the chocolates but pausing just as quickly.

I turn to Cassian to find him smiling at me, his eyes soft.

“How…?” I don’t have to finish. How did you know these were my favourite?

“Elain. I texted her and asked.”

“Why?” Why go through all that trouble?

“So I knew your favourite. I thought it might be good knowledge to know, especially for tonight.”

I can’t bring myself to say thank you. Thank you didn’t cover it.

Nodding once more, I handed him the bowl, taking the chocolates for myself, and headed back to the room. The title music was humming softly from the television but I made no move to sit down.

“Something wrong?” Cassian asks from behind me.

I turn to him slowly. “Why are you really here?”

A look of confusion crosses his face. “What do you mean?”

“Did Feyre put you up to this? Or Elain?”

He blinks. “I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

I take in a breath, shoving all my emotions down. Suppressed. Like always. “Please, tell me the truth.” My voice breaks on the word. I didn’t want to ask, but there has to be a reason for why he is here. No one in their right mind would try to get to know me of their own free will. I have been told as much on countless occasions.

“I am telling you the truth.”

“The whole truth.” I snap, it comes out harsher than I want it. But then again, so does everything.

Cassian takes a deep breath. “You want to know why I’m here? It’s because I find you interesting. You’re a hard shell to crack, and I want to know what is behind those walls you put up. At Feyre’s wedding, you hid from me no matter how many times I poked at you, and when your sister told me what you did every Valentine’s day, it broke my heart. No one should be alone if they don’t want to be, so I came down to make sure you didn’t want to be alone.”

“What if I do want to be alone?” I can’t look at him.

“Then I’ll leave. I told you so. If you don’t want me to be here, I will go.”

A beat. Two. Three. Five. Ten.

“I don’t want to be alone,” I say quietly.

Cassian gestures to the couch. “Then by all means.”

The movie goes by in silence. We sit close, but not too close, eyes glued to the screen. I can’t focus on the movie, too afraid that I’ve messed everything up. I don’t dare look over at him for fear of seeing boredom written across his face.

The one chance I have at something, even if it is just friendship, and I mess it all up. Typical.

Credits roll, and I don’t know if I have been breathing.

Cassian stretches and turns to me on the couch. “It’s getting late.”

“Do you want to head home?” I ask, trying to sound if that doesn’t bother me.

“I have work in the morning.” His tone is apologetic.

“Then I won’t keep you.” I stand, walking to the door, wrapping myself in my arms. Cassian follows, slowly putting on his boots and coat.

“Well… Guess this is goodbye.”

“Don’t be dramatic, you have my number.”

His smile returns. “Do you want me to text you?”

I look away. “I don’t care either way.” Lie. I do care. I want him to text me.

“Then I will. Tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

I can feel his smile as he opens the door, stepping out into the cool night. “Goodnight, Nesta.”

“Goodnight,” I say flatly. But he doesn’t move, still standing in my doorway so I can’t close the door. When I look up to ask him what the hell he is doing, he captures my lips with his own. They are soft and warm and being pulled away too quickly for my liking.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He says softly, turning to leave.

“You better.”

He stops, spinning on his heel to face me. “I better?”

“After what you just pulled, yeah.”

Cassian grins, stalking back towards me. “After what I just pulled?”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”

“Maybe.”

I scowl. “Goodnight, Cassian.” The door closes with a bang and a click as I lock it. I wonder if that is how I will always leave him.

Goodnight, Sweetheart. My phone pings. I’ll make sure to fulfill your wishes tomorrow.

Bastard. I write back. But I can’t help the smile that crosses my lips at the promises and hope that tomorrow will bring.

#nessian #nessian fanfic #i love love actually so much #it is such a great movie #nesta archeron #cassian #this story was originally only supposed to be one part #and i wrote it so long ago #but you know what #i like how this turned out #thanks for reading #fanfic

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midnight-peonyrose · 4 years ago

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Hate for Elain Archeron must STOP.

Before this day ends I just wanted the hate for Elain to stop. You hate Elain and deem her as boring because she bakes, tend her gardens, and basically hate her for being herself and minding her own business. Well guess what? It just means you hate yourself too. At some point of our lives we are Elain, we mind our own business, try to live a peaceful life doing what we love in a God forsaken world and yet some people who do not understand us still hate us, see us as plain and boring and full of shit when we haven’t done anything wrong. Well people just find something to hate because they are hateful. Elain might not be a protector like Feyre or a warrior like Nesta but her strength is different. She lives a cottage core life, one that is peaceful even though she went through the same hell as her sisters but she never sneered or blamed others, she wakes up each day and still be kind, That’s a different kind of strength that is so hard to have. We are all weak at some point, be traumatized and hurt at some point, you may be like nesta and shut people out and that’s okay because that’s how you protect yourself after all the hurt and she still managed to get out of that pit and we love that. We got inspired by that. Feyre got abused and hurt and beaten and died but she got out, though the nightmares still lingers but she found herself a reason to live and love and laugh and that’s another strength too just like nesta. And elain got hell too but she still wake up and showed light and kindness to others. Do you know how hard it is to be hurt and still be kind to others? I think it’s the hardest thing to do because it’s easier to be an asshole than be perpetually kind. Will you tell yourself you do not deserve goodness when you chose hope when your whole world are in shambles? What would you feel when the world hated and harass you for choosing the one you love to do? People look at her and think that Lucien or Azriel do not deserve her because she’s boring and plain and just everything about her is just not good enough. Even says because she cannot bear Azriel’s children. Well people in the back listen up. Just because you can’t have children it doesn’t mean you don’t belong to the one you love and loves you too. There are a lot of people in this overpopulated world who cannot have children yet stayed with each other because they LOVE each other. Having a child is not a requirement to be together, but love. Same sex cannot have children but they still fought for their relationship, why? Because they love each other, they adopt children. Same with opposite sex, even if they cannot have children they fought for their love and stayed and hold on to each other because of love, they adopt or sometimes don’t adopt. And this kind of love actually brought something great and wonderful too, just like our mama Sarah Janet Maas who herself is adopted. Being able to have a child is not the problem here but the mindset. Misogyny and Sexism. Will you still think you are worthy of your partner’s love when you found yourself unable to bear children? Please just because you deem her as unworthy it doesn’t mean she deserves to be paired with abusers and rapists. No one deserves that. Do you remember when everything went hell after acofas and people be shipping Cass and Emerie and then before the release, the fandom was divided anti nesta and nesta supporters, after the book what happened? Em is best friends with Nesta and they did not went into each others throat because of a guy. We finally understood nesta we aren’t divided anymore. Now we are again with gwyn and az and basically everything about elain. I believe in SJM, she is a feminist and taught us a lot of things in her books. Instead of wanting them head to head why don’t we think that they’d be friends like Em and Nes. The world is too cruel to have two amazing woman who are both unique in their own ways fighting over Azriel. ( Well all of us Azriel stans are obviously married to him at this point now. Who wouldn’t want to marry our prettiest batboy? ) We have years to wait for acotar5 and it’s already have been planned by our amazing author. Sit back and block the stans that you don’t like. We may theorize and be good at it oh well who could blame us when SJM exercises our reading comprehension, critical thinking, analyzation, word analogy, and creative thinking. But not to the extent of wanting a fictional character to die who doesn’t did anything wrong. It’s like saying you deserve to die because you got traumatized and still chose kindness over hate. Elain is introvert. At some point we are all unable to express ourselves, be just on the corner and observe, give wisdom when needed, stood up for something right when no one ever did. Did we deserve hate for being introvert? No. Elain was misunderstood, all of us have been misunderstood. DO we deserve the hate? No. Elain is feminine, loves flowers and dresses and pinks well you may not have liked the same but it doesn’t mean boring, it doesn’t mean we have to hate her because we do not like what she likes. We are not a high lady like feyre or a warrior like nesta. We are elain who represents us in reality. She helps in the kitchen, to serve her family. She helps her neighbors, gardens and all em mundane stuff. Do we deserve hate, harassments, and death threats because we do mundane stuff? No we do not. And lastly, just because elain is white it doesn’t mean you have to hate her. That’s racism over there. I am a south eastern Asian and i don’t see anything wrong with elain being white. Nesta is white too, and mor, and feyre, and gwyn. Do they deserve hate because of their colour? Does people deserve hate for being beautiful? No, honey they dont. I don’t see the hate rhys is getting for being beautiful that it hurts. I don’t see hate on Az for being beautiful. If elain was a guy, will you finally love her, make her mysterious for being quiet or be excited to see what she’s yet to unravel about herself? Everything is easier when you’re a guy isn’t it? But love, whatever kind of woman you are, may you be a Nesta, or a Feyre or an Elain. You don’t deserve the hate so let’s not give it to her or them. At some point we are the characters that we read in the book. We don’t deserve the hate, it hurts to be hated, no one deserves that pain to be bullied. So please stop. * Plays The Man by Taylor Swift *

#elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #sarah j maas #femenism #stopmisogyny #stopsexism #elain #feyre #women

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louiseleblancdiggory · 4 years ago

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Congratulations on 900 followers 💥💥"It makes me feel sick to my stomach listening to you coo over your new partner. And the worst part is that I have to smile and nod like it’s not killing me inside. " Can you please do this for nessian??? Please give it a happy ending please☹️

Aaah thank you!! I don’t know if this was the scenario you were thinking of, and if it isn’t just tell me and I can write something new. I’m sorry if it’s too long. I hope you like, tho!!

Word Count: 1688

New partner

This was Hell.

Or if it wasn’t Hell, if it was maybe a cosmic joke, the universe had a shitty sense of humor.

It was definitely a slap to her face.

Nesta Archeron was gripping her glass of whiskey so tightly in her hand that she was afraid it would break. Which would be terrible because it would cause her sisters to actually stop and pay attention to her. Today was Feyre’s day and Nesta didn’t want to ruin her sister’s dinner rehearsal by shattering a glass with her bare hands, but it was near impossible to let go of the only thing that was stopping her from strutting across the ballroom and attacking Cassian.

“I can’t believe he was the audacity.” Amren murmured by her side. Her mouth was against her glass of wine but her eyes were also fixated on Cassian. “Asshole. I can’t believe he brought someone else to Feyre and Rhysand’s rehearsal dinner for the wedding. How much of an idiot do you need to be?”

Nesta didn’t reply, just watched the scene from across the ballroom.

Five years. They had been together for five years, known each other for five more and it had taken him three weeks to get over their break up. The thought made her blood boil, as did the sign of Cassian’s hand on the back of a pretty redhead. She was smiling up at him in such a free way that Nesta knew she had never done so in public. It had never been a problem, Cassian had always known that Nesta preferred to keep it to their privacy. It had never been a problem until it had.

The fight still replayed in her head, over and over again for the past three weeks.

“Why are you like this?” By this point, it was almost a competition of who could scream the loudest. “Why can’t you just fucking give a little sometimes? I’m not fucking asking you to completely change, Nesta, but it’s so tiring being the one always accepting shit in this relationship.”

“Fuck off.” She spat, her face probably red with rage. “Why the fuck do you care if I am all smiles and happiness around other people? Why the fuck does it matter what other people think of me, of our relationship?”

“This is not what this is about.”

“This is exactly what this is about, Cass.”

“They are my friends!”

“I’m your fiancé!”

“At the moment this is an unfortunate fact!” As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened. He took a step forward, but Nesta held up a hand. She had no idea how it wasn’t trembling. They were different, she had always known that, and there were no chances of either of them changing and that had been ok for their whole relationship. Part of her always imagined when Cassian would tire of her cold behavior and move on, but most of that fear had gone away when he proposed a few weeks before.

Nesta had never had her heart broken before, but she could swear she heard it breaking that moment. Heard it breaking while she pulled the engagement ring out of her finger and there it at his chest. The ring fell to the ground with a too loud thud.

“Why don’t we change that fact then, Cassian?” Her throat tightened. “It’s over. I’m tired. Go find someone else to scream at, someone else to be your fucking ray of sunshine whenever you guys go out. If you want someone so different from me, I won’t stop you.”

He tried to say something, tried to call her back but she was already at the door grabbing her car keys.

She could still hear her heart breaking.

Her mind snapped back to the present the moment she heard the thunder. She finally tore her eyes from Cassian and looked around the ballroom. Feyre was beaming at Rhysand, both of them lost in their little world. Elain was sitting with Azriel’s arm around her, both of them speaking to Mor. As if she could sense Nesta’s gaze, Mor turned around and looked at her. She glanced at Cassian before turning to Nesta again, giving her a shake of head that left very clear that Mor agreed with Amren.

When Varian came back to Amen’s side, Nesta insisted that they could go have fun and that she was ok. She was the one who ended things. She was fine. She was fine. She was fine.

She kept repeating it as they left to the dance floor, kept repeating it as she drowned her whiskey and finally let go of the glass. She only stopped repeating it when she looked at Cass again and saw him bending down to whisper something in the girl’s ear.

Nesta’s cheeks burned, her heart beating way too loudly in her chest. Suddenly tired, she grabbed her purse and started leaving. The rehearsal was over, and the hotel was on the other side of the street. If Feyre asked for her, both Mor and Amren would probably know that she went to her room and why.

The moment she stepped outside of the ballroom, she was completely wet from the rain. Not having the patience to wait for it to get better, she ducked her head and made to cross the street.

“So you’re just gonna fucking leave your sister’s dinner?” A man’s voice came from behind her. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, not turning around. “You’re just running away again.”

At that, she spun in his direction, his eyes burning like hot coals. “Go to Hell, Cassian.”

“Isn’t running the best you can do?” He was angry. He was furious by the look on his face. Good, she was too.

“What the fuck do you want, Cass? Do you want me to sit down inside and act like a behaved, proper lady? To be sitting quiet so you can feel as if I’m not running away from you again? To see you whisper sweet nothings in the ear of other women? To admit I shoudl change so you can feel good about yourself?”

“I never wanted you to change.” He shouted, spreading his arms. “And I still don’t. What I want is for you to talk to me, Ness. You left three weeks ago and ignored my phone calls, messages and I had to know through Amren and Mor how you were doing! So can you just fucking talk to me—“

“You want me to talk?” She laughed humorlessly. “Let’s talk. Let’s talk about how I always felt as if you were a step away from giving up on me because of my personality, and then three weeks ago it was exactly what you did!”

“I never gave up on you, I tried to talk to you every damn day for three weeks!”

She barely heard his words, her blood roaring at her ears.

“Let’s talk about how you showed up with someone else today and how it felt like a slap. How it makes me feel sick to my stomach listening to you coo over your new partner. And the worst part is that I have to smile and nod like it’s not killing me inside. This dinner was fucking torture. Hearing the two of you talk and laugh was fucking torture. Smiling like I was fine so there wouldn’t be awkwardness during the dinner was fucking torture. So if you really want to talk, Cass, start with how you broke my heart three weeks ago and did it again tonight.”

Her chest was rising and falling heavily, her throat sore. Even under the cold rain, she could feel her cheeks flaming up in shame. She was never an opened person about her feelings, and now she had laid them bare to her ex-fiance in the middle of the street. His eyes calmed down, and she wanted to tear him to shreds from the emotion she saw in his face.

As if approaching a wild animal, Cassian walked up to her until she had to tilt her head back and stare at him. He gently cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing hair strands away from her cheek.

“She’s a colleague from work. She would have come nonetheless, and I just offered her a ride. Feyre’s planner must have thought it was something else because before the rehearsal started, he added a place for her at our table.” He breathed out, his face framed with his sodden hair. He lowered his forehead until it almost touched hers, as if he was afraid that completely touching it would cause her to run away. “I didn’t want her to feel strange, and the only other person she knew in that table was Rhys and he was just too lost on Feyre. Mor and Amren looked ready to eviscerate me. I didn’t want to talk to you in front to everyone, did not want to have this conversation with them around. I am so sorry, baby, if I made you think I was with her. I could never be with her. I’ve known you for ten years, Nesta Archeron, and it would probably take ten times that for me to get over you. I don’t want you to change, and I am so sorry that I made you feel as you needed to. You are the fiercest, most perfect person I have ever had the luck of meeting. You were perfect ten years ago when we met, five years ago when we started dating and you are still perfect today. I loved you ten years ago, five years ago and I still do today.”

She was glad for the rain so Cassian couldn’t see her face soaked with her tears. Slowly, she raised herself on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his. Her hands sneaked up to the back of his neck, and the hands he had on her face went to her waist so he could pull her closer. Kissing Cassian after three weeks was like finally breathing after almost drowning. He was the focus of her entire being right now, and the world could fall apart as long as she had her body pressed against his, mouth in his as he extracted breathless moans and whimpers from her.

He only let go long enough for him to take something out of his pocket and show it to her. Their engagement ring, the red siphon bright against the streetlamps.

“Can we please talk, sweetheart?”

She kissed him once more as she nodded, and he sighed in relief as he put the ring back into her finger.

#900 mardu #nessian #nessian au #nessian oneshot #nessian fanfic #mardu writes #answered #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruins #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian

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smallerinfinities · 4 years ago

Text

mad woman (nessian)

a/n: In which Nesta copes and Feyre interjects

hello! again, new here ☺️ this kind of just...happened? the idea came upon me late talking with @harryandmolly idk anyways hope you enjoy! if you don’t like modern AUs then this probably isn’t for you, but if you’re into that sort of thing and all the warnings that go with it then I would love to hear what you think!

tw: angst, coping with death, sex work, language

original art by the incomparable charlie bowater

Things were great until they weren’t.

Nesta Archeron had been engaged. She had a father who loved her and a sister she adored. Until the plane crash. Until a faulty navigational system sent her fiancé, her father, and her sister into the side of a mountain on the way to her destination wedding.

She had gone to Hybern early, to get settled and calm her nerves, to plan around the security that Feyre had hired so that Rhys could attend the wedding. Nesta had told her not to bother, Rhys could stay in Velaris for all she cared. She’d gone and set it all up anyway. But it had all exploded when Nesta got the call that her world had ended and all she had left was a sister she resented and a brother-in-law with too high a profile. She was a tragic headline. A fucking media circus.

High Lord Rhysand’s sister-in-law left at the altar in tragic plane crash.

The press camped outside her Velaris studio for weeks. They’d only left when she had thrown a maelstrom of empty glass bottles out of her windows at them. Empty because she’d come back to Velaris and crawled inside a whiskey bottle and stayed there. She might be more whiskey than person now. The days were passing at a rate she couldn’t gauge anymore. Had it been hours or days or months since she’d picked up the phone in the middle of placing name cards on tables in the reception hall? She didn’t particularly care. Everyone who mattered was dead and being drunk was better than counting the minutes since her future had evaporated.

A knock sounded at the door.

Nesta removed the eye mask she was wearing and squinted at her phone. 7:15 AM. She’d been up all night again, had just laid down to try and sleep. Who the fuck was at her door at this hour?

She knew but she opened the door anyway.

Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court, was in the hallway looking worried. Well, Nesta assumed she was looking worried. She could only see Feyre’s furrowed eyebrows between the oversized sunglasses and the wide-brimmed sun hat. She had wrapped her red-gold hair, twin to Nesta’s own color, into a low chignon to hide it away from prying eyes. A disguise. Nesta snorted. Feyre Archeron could be noticed in this city by a blind man a hundred yards down a busy avenue. It was the way she carried herself, the easy confidence. No one could mistake her for anyone but their High Lady.

“What do you want?” Nesta crossed her arms over her chest, blocking the view into her apartment.

“Well, to start, a little respect for the person who has been footing your liquor bill for the last eight months.” Her red lips were turned down at the corners, tight. She angled her head past Nesta’s shoulder and crinkled her nose, “God, I don’t even need to see in there to know what it must look like. I can smell it from here. And I can see you.”

Nesta kept her face a mask of annoyance but considered how she must look. Compared to Feyre’s heavy cream sweater and perfectly tailored tan pants, anyone would look slovenly but Nesta knew she'd let herself go.

A while ago, she’d taken to wearing Tomas’ shirts to bed. Then eventually she wasn’t getting out of bed so it was all the time, changing only when she found the strength to shower. Today’s shirt—more like this week’s shirt if she was being honest with herself—was an old striped dress shirt, one Tomas had maybe worn twice with a suit. It now had several stains from whiskey and whatever takeout she had ordered last night. She couldn’t quite remember. Chinese? Greek?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Her marriage was supposed to be one of convenience. They had been friends, had both gotten older and then tossed in the towel on dating. Tomas needed a cover for a lifestyle his parents forbade and Nesta...well Nesta wanted to be comfortable. Nesta wanted her sister to stop meddling and leave her alone. At least, she thought she did.

But, no one had known. No one except Elain.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

Her hair hadn’t been washed in days, it was matted in some places, stuck to her face in others. She knew her eyes were hollow, sunken in and lacking that fire people saw when they looked at her. She’d been avoiding her own reflection for weeks, had even covered the mirror by the door. Months ago, apparently. Eight months.

Had it really been that long? Had she really been moving from bottle to bottle, takeout container to takeout container, for eight whole months? She’d barely left the apartment, had lost her job, happy to exploit Feyre’s seemingly unending pity. Pity she guessed had run out.

Today.

She didn’t care about that either.

“Come all this way to chide me, dear sister?” Nesta curled her lips as she moved aside to let Feyre through. Might as well let her see.

“Thank you.” Her sister breezed into the little sitting area and stopped dead.

Her eyes scanned the room, marking the recycling bin first, overflowing with empty glass bottles. All different labels. Whatever Nesta could find quickest. Then the kitchen counters, filled with boxes of crackers and empty ramen noodle packages, cans of tuna and an open jar of peanut butter, anything that could be quickly consumed with minimal effort. She didn’t want to die, but she hadn’t exactly been concerned with living either.

At last her eyes darted to the corner, over by the window, where a white dress hung from a hunting knife that had been punched through the wall. Straight through the center of the sweetheart neckline. Nesta had lost count of the weeks it had been there. A reminder. A memorial. Little circular burns littered the fishtail skirt, remnants of late nights with too much booze and an ashtray full of half-smoked blunts still on the windowsill.

“Oh, Nesta.” Feyre’s hand came up to cup her mouth. Nesta raised her chin, refusing to feel reprimanded. “I’m sending Alis this afternoon.”

“I can look after myself,” Nesta hissed through her teeth.

“Clearly,” Feyre threw her arms wide and turned in a circle, “you cannot. You know I came here hoping you were getting better. I gave you space, knew you blamed me for what happened. At least partially. But it’s time, Nesta. I lost them too. But I don’t have the luxury of drinking and smoking my way into oblivion on my sister’s dime.”

“Is this just about the money?” Nesta asked incredulously, “I’ll fucking pay you back if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, no,” Feyre brushed a lock of hair out of her face, frustrated, “it’s not the money. I don’t care about the money. Neither does Rhys. We just want you to come back to the land of the living.”

“Ah, yes. The royal We.” Nesta sat abruptly on her sunken couch and leaned forward, not caring that she was just wearing a pair of underwear beneath the oversized shirt, “how is dearest Rhys? High Lording as well as ever I presume. Now with better reasons than ever to hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” she said too quickly, wringing her fingers for a moment before she whispered, “we...we missed you at the funerals.”

Nesta’s blood ran cold. Her eyes swam with tears that wouldn’t fall.

“I know why you didn’t show,” Feyre couldn’t look at her, “I almost understand it...but we still missed you. Father was interred with full honors of the Night Court. I’m having a garden planted for Elain up at the estate. You should come see it when you’re ready.”

Nesta really needed a drink. Feyre needed to leave. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Not today. Not ever.

“Get out.”

“Nesta—”

“Get out.” Nesta’s voice was low, lethal.

“Fine,” the High Lady voice was back in full force, “I only really came to give you this.” She pulled out what looked like a business card from her freshly pressed pant pocket, “this might seem...forward. But, I think it might help you. Rhys and I use the service sometimes when we’re looking for something different. I know you won’t go see someone. This might be a different kind of therapy. Tell her I sent you, she’ll know what to do.”

“Fine, fine,” Nesta took the card from her, hoping it would get her to leave faster, “get out.”

“Nesta,” Feyre stopped and took a breath, her hand wrapped around the doorknob, “please do be discrete.”

Nesta furrowed her brow, but nodded. She had been, for the most part. Except on nights she was too blitzed to remember her own name, let alone that her sister was High Lady of this region.

“I’m still sending Alis,” Feyre wrinkled her nose again as she opened the door and strolled out. And that was that. No goodbye. They hadn’t ever been good at those.

Nesta blinked at the door, the apartment suddenly feeling small and cramped. She turned over the card in her hand. It had only a name and a number. AMREN. 202-555-0187. She flicked it onto the table. Whatever, she thought as she sauntered over to the kitchen and took a swig from the nearest whiskey bottle.

↞↠

“Ms. Archeron.”

“Yes?” The tone of the man’s voice made her drop the place card she had been holding.

“There’s been an accident. A plane crash,” he hesitated. Her eyes stopped seeing. Her body shivered with a bone-rattling chill despite the summer sun streaming into the room through the open windows. They couldn’t be—

“Say it.” Her voice was a breath on the wind.

“There were no survivors.”

She didn’t hear the rest. Someone was screaming. A crash, glass breaking, warmth sliding down her leg. A sharp, metallic smell in the air. She couldn’t hear them calling her name, couldn’t feel their fingers gripping her skin, feel the pressure of the towel collecting the blood from the gash in her leg.

A plane crash, he’d said. No survivors.

Tomas was dead.

Her father was dead.

Elain…she had just planted flowers for spring.

A fresh scream ripped from her throat.

↞↠

She woke up with it echoing in her ears, heart pounding. Wrenching the fresh sheets off her clammy skin, she felt for the scar on her thigh, catapulting her back into the present. Nesta hadn’t let them stitch it for days, had wanted to remember. It had almost festered. Feyre had held her down while they numbed and sutured. Most of those days were lost now, either to shock or sleep, she didn’t know. It hadn’t taken long for the drinking to start.

Her head was pounding. Alis had stormed the apartment hours earlier, tut-tutting about the stale stench, throwing open every window. Nesta actually appreciated the fresh air. She didn’t appreciate the old woman’s silent appraisal of her ruined wedding dress.

“Don’t touch it,” Nesta had snapped. Alis had tut-tutted some more, cleaning as she went, but she left the dress alone.

Now, with a clean apartment and nothing to keep her company but her own self-pity, she laid spread-eagle in her bed that felt too big in clothes that felt too clean. Nothing matched her insides anymore. The small, decrepit thing inside of her that shrivelled that day and rejected everything still living. Even herself. She had never been a particularly warm person, but Elain, sweet and beautiful Elain, had made her care about something outside of herself.

She got up to find something to dull her head. A bottle of ibuprofen sat on the coffee table, next to a decanter of scotch. She washed the pills down with the brown liquor and sat on the edge of the sofa, her head in her hands.

The silence pressed her on her eardrums. An oppressive lack of sound, only the barest of sounds audible on the street. Too quiet. For the first time in months it was too quiet. Her head shot up and focused, eyes darting to the card neatly placed in the corner of the table.

Amren.

What had Feyre meant, “a different kind of therapy”? Hell would have to freeze over before Nesta crawled onto a couch to talk about her feelings, Feyre had admitted as much. So what was this?

She picked up the card and flipped it over. Simple, white, just the number in embossed black. The curiosity was going to kill her if she didn’t just call the number. She reached for her phone, hauled out from between the couch cushions by Alis earlier. It had been dead for weeks. She’d given up on ignoring the condolences calls and just let the battery drain. Probably why Feyre had shown up yesterday unannounced. She swiped past all of the missed call and voicemail notifications and pulled up the keypad.

It only rang once.

“Yes?” A clipped, cold voice answered the phone.

“Uhh, is this Amren?”

“Speaking,” her voice didn’t soften, “can I help you?”

“My sister gave me your card,” Nesta didn’t like this woman. She wracked her brain to think of how this person could help her, especially when she didn’t particularly want anyone’s help.

“And who, my dear,” Nesta could hear the snide smile in Amren’s voice, “is your sister?”

“Feyre,” Nesta huffed, “Feyre Archeron.”

“Oh, Feyre darling! Why didn’t you say so?” Amren warmed immediately. Well, at least to a level above stone cold. “Yes, Feyre told me about you.”

“You must have read—”

“I don't read the news, dear girl,” Amren said, flippant. “I have someone perfect for you. I will send him. Already have your address.”

God, she really needed to have a conversation with Feyre about boundaries. Who is she sending?

“Who are you sending?” Nesta had not been sober long enough for this. Her brain wasn’t firing quick enough to deal with whoever this person was sending to her apartment.

“His name is Cassian. He’ll be at your apartment in two hours.”

Two hours?!

“I can’t have anyone in my apartment in two hours! What is this??”

“We call it therapy,” just like Feyre had, “you don’t need to do anything to prepare.”

“But I don’t even—” The line went dead.

Nesta stared at her phone. How could I prepare if I don’t know what to prepare for?

↞↠

Two hours later, Nesta was pacing. Nervous. She was rarely nervous but she was also rarely unprepared. This felt like a bad omen, like suspense in a horror film. Like this Cassian might jump out of the shadows at any moment from some secret portal.

She had washed her hair but no makeup. She had put on leggings but no real pants. There were concessions she was willing to make and others she wasn’t. It didn’t matter that they were only concessions to her own pride. Feyre got one opportunity to meddle in Nesta’s life, one opportunity to try and control how she coped with losing everything. Nesta would endure it in her own home, in her bare feet, or she wouldn’t endure it at all.

An assertive knock at the door made her jump.

Her heart thundered. She hadn’t talked to a man in months, let alone been in a small space with one. Now there was one at her door. She padded across her expensive rug, smoothing her hair as she went. Her hand gripped the doorknob, giving herself a second to stop shaking. Breathe in, breathe out. She jerked the door open only to be left utterly speechless.

The most beautiful man she’d ever seen was leaning on the door frame, forearms crossed over his massive chest.

“Nesta?” one corner of his full mouth curved upward. He inclined his head behind her left shoulder after she nodded. “Gonna let me in?”

“Why should I?” She challenged, angling her chin up at him.

“Because,” his shoulder length black hair slid into his face as his towering frame looked down at her. He came closer and held her chin between his rough fingers, “you’re at least a little curious about what I’m doing here.”

Nesta ripped her face from his hands and took a step away from him. His hazel eyes stripped her bare. How does he do that? He appraised her frankly, taking in her sloppily thrown together appearance. The baby hairs that clung to the side of her face, unable to stay in her top knot. Her soft curves that the oversized t-shirt she wore only hinted at. All the way down to her toes, the cracked polish left over from her wedding manicure, just a couple of splotches of color left.

His gaze sent a warmth through her. She tried to will it away, send it back to the hell she belonged in. Shaking her head, she stuck him with a glare.

“Fine,” she stepped aside, “come in and tell me what you’re doing here so I can tell you to get out.”

He walked in smoothly, his gray slacks gripping his toned thighs with each stride. Too casual, Nesta thought, for a therapist, especially with his white shirt open at the collar and rolled to his elbows. Not that she actually believed whatever this was even approached therapy.

He stopped in the center of Nesta’s living room and turned, giving the place as detailed a once-over as he had given her. His eyes only paused briefly on the wedding dress still hanging in the corner, but he faced her again as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“So,” he took up so much space as he spoke, too big, too much life for this apartment that had only contained her hollow soul for so long, “everyone up to this point has referred to this appointment as therapy, correct?”

“Yes,” Nesta replied, curt. “But you’re no therapist, are you, Cassian?”

He snorted, a challenge to her fire temper. She didn’t like to be mocked and somehow he knew that. “No, I’m no therapist.”

“I’m what is referred to in the circles you run in as an escort, a friend, of sorts.” He looked her dead in the eye. No shame, no fear. Just a professional. “We call it therapy, first and foremost for discretion, but also because I’m here to make you feel better. Feel alive again. In whatever form that might take.”

Nesta stiffened. Her mouth dropped open. No. “My sister sent me a hooker? You’re telling me that, my sister, the High Lady of the Night Court, sent me a hooker?!”

She could barely keep up with the 100 mile an hour thoughts racing through her head. It wasn’t long before the pacing started again. Feyre said she uses the service sometimes...with Rhys?! She maybe could have guessed that her sister and her ass of a husband were freaky but prostitutes?! Couldn’t they just ask someone?

Nesta, please do be discrete, she’d said as she walked out the door. She guessed paying for silence was easier than risking a secret. Money is always the best form of currency.

Well, I guess I fucking know why. And she set this up for me?! What in hell’s fire did she think she was doing?

Cassian just stood there while her brain worked, while it exploded with all of this new information. So still, a statue compared to her frantic pacing. He must deal with this a lot. But wait, don’t people usually know what they’re asking for?!

“You’ve never–“ she couldn’t finish the question out loud. Sharing was something foreign to Nesta even when she wasn’t talking about sexual partners.

“No,” he shook his head, “Amren wouldn’t have sent me here if I had. She just told me the context of the visit.”

“So, you’re here,” Nesta stopped in front of him, “to have sex with me?” The words came out a whisper. They sounded so foreign, so ridiculous.

“I’m here to help you.” He took a step toward her. The walls came down fast.

“And why do you think you can help me?” The words cut through the space like a knife. Accusatory, incredulous, they almost stung passing over her vocal cords.

“Because, dear Nesta,” he took another step toward her, and another, “I’m very good at helping people.”

The warmth in her blood returned and warred with the acid coursing through her veins, the hate. It came raging back from this morning, from the past months, from ten minutes ago when this cocky prick knocked on her door. He was staring again, close enough to have to look down at her, just an inch or two from touching.

“I don’t need help from a high-dollar whore,” she spat. The only sign that she’d hit her mark was a faint twitch in his eyebrow.

“I’ve been called worse, sweetheart,” he drawled. “But let’s get one thing straight. I think you need help more than you’d ever admit. I don’t think you’ve taken a breath since then. I read the papers. A beloved dead sister. Absent from the funerals. You blame yourself for not being there, for not dying with them. The guilt warms your bed at night while you lie awake, as much a part of you as the alcohol that twinges your breath. It’s become so familiar you don’t remember what it’s like without it. Who would Nesta Archeron be without that dark stain on her conscience following her like a storm cloud? Will all those liquor bottles I saw outside answer that question for you? Will that tattered wedding dress?”

“How dare–“ she felt the door press against her back, unconsciously moving with him while he lashed at her burning soul, fire for fire.

“Oh, I dare,” he continued, planting his hands on the door behind her, trapping her with his eyes. “Because take it from someone who knows, when you decide to wake up and live with what you have left instead of existing with everything you’ve lost, there may not be anything left to live with. And trust me, guilt makes a very lonely bedfellow.”

Nesta had barely blinked this whole time, refusing to let him have that victory. Even if everything he’d said had hit home. Even if everything he’d said had flayed her open and raked her insides across the coals. She still burned with that unyielding rage.

“Is that what you say to all the girls that pay for your time?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. She was close enough to smell him, the warm spice of clove and sandalwood with a distinctly male musk. It was intoxicating. It was infuriating.

“Some. Some of the men, too. I’m an equal opportunity tough lover.”

She swallowed hard. He was close enough that if she moved an inch his hair might brush her cheek. “Is that what this is? Tough love? For someone you just met?”

“It’s the truth,” his breath tickled her face, the tension crackling like static electricity around them, “isn’t it?”

He sounded tentative for the first time, like maybe he’d overstepped. Is it really so obvious?

“Did Feyre pay you to say those things?” Or were they just written so plainly on her face?

“Nooo,” he said, lower than before, gentler, raising one of his hands like he might stroke her cheek. She cursed herself silently for hoping. He came closer then, his lips a hair’s breadth away from her ear, “Feyre paid me to fuck you senseless.”

Goddamn him. Fire shot into her veins. Not the simmering fury of her anger but something deeper, hotter, pooling in her core. Her breath caught in a little gasp and he smiled. A wide, full grin with teeth that made him look more predator than man.

Her body was a traitor, but it made no difference. She was already burning in hell.

Cassian held still, letting her make the next move. Part of her wanted to make him stand there forever, punish him for what he said, what he knew about her, daring to say what no one else would with just one look. A different part of her wanted to rip him apart.

“Come on, Nesta,” a prince of cats toying with his prey, “show me that fi–“

Her lips crashed against his. God, he was big. She reached around him, fingers tensed to claw at his back, and savored the muscles and sinews that made up the terrain. He pressed her into the door. His hands cupped her face, so gentle for a kiss that was anything but. Flames licked her skin everywhere he touched, at every point their bodies connected through clothing.

He leaned and gripped and suddenly she was taller than him, her legs wrapped around his middle, his fingers pressed into the curve of her ass. She gripped the sides of his face and guided him to the side, forcing herself deeper, her tongue brazenly exploring his mouth. He even tasted wild, like fresh mint and adrenaline. Her heart beat in her ears, deafening over the silence of the apartment. He moaned, so deep it vibrated in her chest.

Nesta broke first, pupils blown and breath ragged.

“Finally shut you up?” she asked, sagging back against the door, her head falling against the wood with a low thud.

He….well, he growled. There was no other word for the sound that rippled through his whole body and found a home between her legs. Her toes curled and she thanked every god that he couldn’t see.

“Pretty little acid tongue,” he pushed them off the door and walked her toward the bed, almost tripping twice over the plush rug. Nesta didn’t notice. She was too busy tearing at the buttons down Cassian’s chest. Each one revealed inch after inch of smooth golden skin. Licks of black ink stretched from his shoulders, mostly hidden by more shirt. She huffed, trying to shove it off, but instead caught his nipple by accident with her nails.

His nostrils flared as he hissed and dropped her unceremoniously on the mattress. She bounced, breathless. Dangerously close to a giggle. Traitor. She schooled her features back to bored disdain. The only hint of lust was the glassy haze in her vision, honed in on Cassian’s bare chest.

He had removed his shirt while she had been distracted by her traitorous body, discarded it somewhere above her. The black inked lines Nesta had seen stretched around his shoulders and down his arms in dark whorls and spirals. The tattoo was almost feminine in its pure decoration, a stark contrast to his cut biceps. It was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

“Careful, Nesta,” he chided, “someone might think you like what you see.”

She gave him a filthy gesture. A deep, rumbling laugh escaped him as he took a step closer, his fingers grazing the outer seams of her leggings. From her ankle to her knee, where he stopped to make circles. He curved around her knee and gripped her legs, tugging her to the edge of the bed. The palms of his hands burned her skin straight through her leggings. He hadn’t tried to remove her clothes. She couldn’t decide if it was a tease or an insult. Probably both.

“Are you just going to talk?” she cocked an eyebrow at him, “or are you going to do something productive with that mouth?”

His eyes narrowed, “are you sure that’s what you want?”

She wanted him. Damn her, she wanted him so bad she could barely stand to look at him. The guilt roiled in her stomach, that she should take pleasure while everyone she’d loved could no longer. He’d offered her help, but it would be her damnation. No, this was just a distraction. No amount of distraction could bring back Tomas, or her father, or Elain.

Light from the city outside shifted and spread into the corner drawing her eye. The dress. Her wedding dress. In the night shadows, the blunt burns looked like angry, gaping voids. They whispered to her as she stared. Traitor, traitor, traitor.

I’m here to help you. His words were poison. Bred from a kind of hope only Feyre, with her perfect life, could ever have again after what they had lost. Her want for Cassian’s body burned her from the inside, stoked the fires of the self-inflicted hell she’d cast herself into. Nothing more than a catalyst. She could take his body and burn for doing so, but she would not accept his help.

“Cassian,” Nesta’s voice didn’t belong to her. She pulled her t-shirt up to just below her breasts, exposing her flat stomach and drawing his eyes to her waistband. “just do what you came to do.”

The air chilled as he stiffened. Her heart raced, waiting for him, fingers teasing her bare skin. He didn’t move. She lifted a bare foot and ran it along his pant leg, coaxing him to touch her. He nodded, as if making some decision Nesta wasn’t privy to. His face, lit so beautifully by the moonlight, hardened into a mask. A smooth, smiling mask. Prince of cats no more.

“Cassian?”

“Dear Nesta, I do believe our time is up,” he leaned down and reached over her, his chest just grazing her belly, the only skin to skin contact they’d had. She swore she felt him shudder, but it was over in an instant. He quickly retrieved his shirt from behind her and pulled it on.

She gaped at him, “what do you mean our time is up?”

“I mean,” his eyes shot right through her with cool confidence, “it’s getting late and I do need my beauty sleep. I must be going.”

“But–“ she didn’t understand. Isn’t this what he wanted? Isn’t this how he gets paid? How can he leave?

He buttoned up his shirt, swift and efficient. Little feeling or warmth. Nesta wasn’t sure what to do. Confusion quickly gave way to anger, boiling in her veins, flushing her skin.

“So, you’re not just a whore,” she hissed, “you’re a bastard whore that can’t even finish the job.”

“So lovely meeting you, dear Nesta,” he turned with a sweet smile and opened the door, sending any tension between them out into the hallway. He breezed through the door, clicking it shut behind him so gently he might have been a phantom.

Nesta slammed her head against the mattress and let out a frustrated scream so loud she had no doubt the bastard whore heard it.

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Cassian’s POV is next ❤️

#acotar #acotar fic #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar au #acomaf #acowar #sarah j maas #sjm #my writing

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