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@danseurdesfleurs
~ The Star ~
Lunch by Halie Torris
View on Reddit
Originally shared by PunkandCannonballer on r/ImaginaryLesbians on May 17th, 2026 at 5:11 PM UTC.
rewriting acosf in my mind once more and I think the plot lines for feyre and nesta should have been switched. feyre can do everything anyway let her do a lot of the going places doing things. nesta can still wield stuff and be powerful while pregnant, idk plot is irrelevant to me i care about character drama.
nesta should get a pregnancy plotline, father unknown, she knows she needs to get her life in order for parent reasons. her anti depression training is more pre natal classes rather than warrioring, maybe some of the women in the library had their own traumatic conceptions or births or relationships with the father or something and we can talk about that and show the breadth of human (fae) experience. you can make gwyn a mother, you can make emerie pregnant if you want, just these three women becoming a mom group with very different experiences of becoming a mother or something.
it would also play nesta's and cassian's relationship drama much better imo, he needs to get over his weird possessiveness and here you could pitch his anger at nesta for not being with him against his deep seated issues with how his mother was treated for having a bastard son. from that inner conflict he could grow to be a good stepfather and evolve a better and deeper understanding of both nesta whom he demonised and his mother whom he idealised. women are people and all that.
and if you want nessian to succeed against eris by being better matched, make eris very critical of nesta having a first born child that isn't his heir or something, he could ask her to leave the child with feyre and rhysand when marrying him and she rejects him for that. you can even make him motivated by knowing lucien is a bastard son and not wanting nesta's fatherless child exposed to beron
but anyway
18 for stryga x rhys’s mother
18 is "secret" let's gooooooo @sjmsapphic
When the artisans in the Rainbow asked her where she sourced her cloth, the Lady of Night just smiled coyly. They'd ooh and ah over the tightly woven fabrics, glossy stain that never snagged and twill that draped perfectly. The magic that threaded through it was not of the Night Court. Or any court at all. Each bolt of cloth was a parting gift after another trip to the Middle, handed over with a whispered promise to return. In Velaris, the Lady would set about sewing another garment. Something for Stryga to peel her out of next time they met.
Holding my monster boyfriend’s hand.
Now it makes sense
🏮@sjmsapphic
🏮@sjmsapphic
I open and close this app like it’s the fucking fridge
i'm soooo normal about what could've been
Mistruth
Mor x Nesta | E | 5.7k
Mor has always gotten under Nesta's skin, and Nesta has the same effect on Mor. That's all there is to it; there's nothing else going on. Or: five times Nesta lied to herself + the one time she didn't
written for @sjmsapphic day 1. there is mutual pining if you squint. but also mutual loathing. it's toxic yuri time >:)
thank you to @olenvasynyt for beta reading she saved my life!!
snippet below; read it on ao3 here
Nesta scans the room for her next conquest. A few familiar faces make to catch her eye, but she turns away quickly. She prefers to avoid repeats. But Velaris, no matter its size, is an isolated city; there are never travelers passing through to entice for a single forgettable night. The pool of prospects has begun to ebb.
When she catches glimpse of a head of sun-gold hair, she finishes her drink. The color is one of a kind, just as the faint scent of citrus and cinnamon that wafts amongst the must and sweat and old, stale beer soaked into the floorboards.
Recklessly, she pushes her way through the crowd.
"Morrigan," Nesta says with mock sweetness, flashing her teeth as she approaches. It's too pretty a name for someone so unpleasant. "I didn't think this was your sort of tavern."
"It isn't." Morrigan's nose wrinkles, the long curve of it pinching with disdain.
"Following me around now, are you?" Nesta asks, not caring that the words slur together as they tumble out of her mouth.
Morrigan says nothing, only looks at Nesta down her nose. She's always looking at Nesta like that—like an annoyance she'd rather not put up with. Like something inferior.
She's dressed, as usual, in bright red. Something tight and low-cut that hugs every curve of her body, leaving little to the imagination. Scandalous in a way that's hard to look away from.
"If you were trying to go unnoticed, this"—she gestures to Morrigan's dress—"was an odd choice."
"Maybe I wanted you to notice me," she says, her voice sensuous as silk, a long nail tracing the rim of her drink.
dividers here
Linger for Nesta x Mor!
:)))
linger | Mor x Nesta for scent for @sjmsapphic
There's no escaping Nesta Archeron it seems.
Nowhere is safe. Every place where Mor once found refuge is now permeated with the searing scent of heated metal, of cold smoke and brumal flame. It seeps beneath Mor's skin and lingers there, taunting her in the late hours of the night when Mor pleasures herself and pretends she's imagining anyone else.
In the River House, Mor drinks glass after glass of wine. As usual, inexplicably, no amount is enough to numb her senses. Her nails tap-tap-tap along the stem of her glass, chiming dully.
At the other end of the house, the front door opens. Then slams with a thud. Mor's heartbeat quickens.
She's here.
The scent overwhelms her. Like a forge, like winter wind. Something steel and sharp enough to cut.
She can't stand it.
When Nesta enters the room, Mor finishes her wine.
When bright-flamed silver eyes meet hers, and lips part downward with intent, Mor glances away.
Is It Wickedness? Is It Weakness?
Chapter 4
Chapter summary: Lucien and Elain weather their first family dinner since becoming a couple. It does not go well :-)
Read on ao3 ˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ Start at the beginning
Rating: Explicit (pls read the tags this chapter is questionable in many ways)
Fic summary: Canon divergence where after she is turned fae, Elain and Lucien immediately form a close attachment, but Lucien has deeply conflicting feelings about Elain’s age. (whispers in ur ear ITS ELUCIEN DDLG)
“This little piggy went to market…”
“Lucien, no!” Elain squealed, trying to pull her bare feet from his lap as he held fast, a toe caught between his fingers.
“This—little piggy—stayed home—“ he struggled to say while he fought her squirming body. Peals of laughter fell from her lips, still stained a pretty pink from the fresh berries she’d eaten, as she feebly attempted to yank her legs away. Quickly filing away the excitement that stirred in his gut at her struggling and the ease with which he overpowered her, he shouted Fine! abandoning his full mission in favor of wiggling just her pinky toe. “And this little piggy cried wee, wee, wee all the way home!” he rushed out before letting her pull away.
Continue on ao3
“Is that mate of yours going to stand in the cold all night?” I blinked, wondering if she’d somehow sensed the thoughts between us. “Who says he’s here?” Nesta snorted.
“Where one goes, the other follows.”
my feysand commission 💜
🎨: suburbanorca on ig
reposts are allowed only with credit 🙂↕️
Bad Luck Charm
Epilogue
—
Feyre had never meant to find herself back in Boston.
—
Read on AO3
—
Masterlist
beast
characters: amarantha, clythia
pairing: amarantha/clythia
rating: explicit
word count: 1.2k/?
warnings: sister/sister incest, extremely dubious consent, sexual coercion, noncon elements, fantasy and fictional setting racism, dehumanization, degradation, vaginal fingering, dd:dne
summary: a human is an animal. an animal as any other. except when one is not, and amarantha must take it upon herself to reshape her sister’s moldable heart.
a/n: my submission for @sjmsapphic day one: scent! thank you to the mods for such an engaging and communal event + the inspo to finally write the rancid amarantha darkfic of my dreams<3 just a snippet for tunglr cuz shit gets hairy (or uhhhhh..,.,.,.,.,.well you’ll see) real quick but you can find the first chapter on ao3 if ! ur nasty
chapter one: unwashed
"Through with your little beastie so soon?"
Clythia is not so blatant as to freeze, but for a faerie as fluid and uninterruptible as she, the hitch to her stride is just as damning. Her lustrous hair, bound tight in braid before she stole away, flows now free across her shoulder in the puzzled tilt of her hand.
Lifting a hand, Amarantha presses up from her chaise in pursuit of the nearest censer. "Spare me the insult of further falsity," she says. "The stench of this pet you keep clings to you like a burr," a scrunch of her nose as she sets a fresh finger-pinch of resin upon the briquette, "and sevenfold as offensive to the senses. That you thought me ignorant after the very first tryst is slight enough."
Amarantha turns to find her sister standing much like she had as a youngling caught by their father to be playing with her food: jaw set, chin high, irises sparking indignant. Always, her emotions have made master of her, and always, they have seen her chastened by the end.
"He is not as pet to me," Clythia replies.
He.
Not it. Not this one. Not the beastie.
He.