dreaming up a time-travel hansy au where one pursues the other because they know they're gonna end up together while the other is baffled and flattered and suspicious all in one
Feyre fell in love with tamlin without a magical bond. Amarantha had Rhys for 50 years but still wanted tamlin. Rhys himself is still hooked on tamlin. In this essay I will prove that the dark, shadow daddy pales in comparison to the blond, fiddle-playing beast of a man
Nesta and Cassian fucking right after the kelpie assault was Nesta self-medicating with sex AGAIN but no one thinks of it that way since itâs Cassian, the person sheâs âsupposedâ to have sex with.
There are two wolves inside you: one wants brat-tamer Nesta and whiny, sassy sub Eris & the other wants soft dom Eris and babygirl Nesta whoâs very gently being taken care of for once in her life
summary: When Cassian takes Nesta on the punishment hike, the last thing she expects is for a certain Autumn heir to rescue her.
The night air on the outskirts of Velaris is cold enough to bite. Nesta lies near the faint remains of a fire, knees drawn tight to her chest, blanket clutched around her. Cassian lies sprawled on the other side of the embers, his breathing even, exhausted after forcing her through another brutal day of hiking.
She cannot sleep.
Her body aches from the endless march, muscles burning and trembling. She hates himâhates Rhys, most of allâfor thinking this is punishment. For thinking this will change her. They think it will grind her down, but all it does is strengthen her resolve.
She is worthless. A necklace found in a late grandmotherâs jewelry box that an appraiser turns away. All she ever does is ruin everything. Her mate will never love her, not really. Not once he sees what she is beneath the sharp tongue and icy stare. And her sisters? They love the idea of who she could be. Not who she is. Not the broken thing that crawled out of that cauldron.
So whatâs the point?
Whatâs the point of clawing through another day in a world that offers no warmth, no comfort? A world where love is dangled just out of reach, always slipping through her fingers like ash. She will always be unwanted, unloved, and alone.
She rolls onto her back, staring at the stars. She lets herself imagine for a moment that she is a girl in one of the romance books she likes to read. Imagines that a knight in shining armor will rescue her, love her, save her. But this is no fairytale, and she is no fair maiden worthy of love. She is Nesta Archeron. Cold and angry, sharp and hurtful.
Nesta does not let herself cry. What is the point of tears? Manipulation, if she were to ask her mother. Tears are only to be used when you can gain something from them, Nesta.
She does not wish to gain anything but peace, and crying will not bring her that, so she rolls over again and tries to sleep.
The hairs on the back of her neck rise. She stiffens.
A low growl rolls through the night.
Her head jerks toward the sound, panic lacing her veins. Her first instinct is to wake Cassian, but pride holds her back like a chain. If she disturbed him over nothingâif it turned out to be just the wind or some harmless creatureâsheâd never hear the end of it. Every mistake she makes, every flaw, is etched into memory and brought up again and again. At the dinner table. In the sitting room. In the sharp corners of her own mind. She can never escape their ridicule.
She refuses to give him something new to tell his precious Inner Circle. She can already picture Rhysandâs smirk, Morriganâs laughter, and her sisterâs quiet, smug smile as they all joke at her expense. The thought curdles in her stomach. She hates it. Hates it so deeply sheâd rather take her chances with whatever is prowling out there in the dark. If something came for her, so be it.
She wonders, almost bitterly, what they would say if she vanishedâdragged off or devoured by some beast in the woods. Would they blame Cassian and curse him for failing to protect her? Would her sister rage, finally realizing her new family isnât so perfect after all?
Or would they blame her, as always? Would they claim it was her faultâagain?
Nesta is certain she already knows the answer. Even if they were the ones who sent her on this wretched hike, theyâd find a way to lay it at her feet. They always do.
Another growl disturbs her thoughts, closer this time. Her breath hitches, and her head swivels as she scans her surroundings.
At the edge of the dying firelight stands a dark silhouette of a creature, and as it comes closer, she recognizes its shape. A smokehound.
It should terrify her. She knows what they areâbrutal hunters of Autumn, trained by Eris Vanserra. But instead of lunging, the beast pads toward her with deliberate care. Its molten eyes meet hers, and it dips its head, nudging her with its nose.
Nesta rises slowly, her legs trembling from fatigue. Cassian snores on, oblivious. The hound brushes its nose against her hand and turns back toward the trees.
Beyond the black pines, a figure waits.
Tall, lean, unmistakable even cloaked in shadow. Autumnâs heirâflame-haired and sharp-jawed, watching her with predatory stillness.
Eris.
Nestaâs heart stutters. Confusion floods her, followed by a dangerous pull. She shouldnât move. She shouldnât even breathe in his direction. Everything sheâs heard about this male has been a warning. He is vile, selfish, and untrustworthy. And yet her feet carry her forward, leaving the fire, leaving Cassian. The smokehound prowls ahead, guiding her straight to Eris.
âHello, Nesta Archeron,â he says, voice a low purr that slides through the roar of the wind. âFancied yourself a camping trip, I see.â
Nesta swallows hard. âWhat are you doing here?â
He smirks, adjusting the cuffs of jacket. âThat Spymaster of yours has been sniffing around Autumn. It is only fair that I return the favor. I will say I wasnât expecting to run into you out here.â
She opens her mouth to tell him to leave, to threaten him with waking Cassian, but something tells her not to. She tells him the truth instead. âI am being punished.â
A scowl takes over his face. âYou are a grown female. What are you possibly being punished for?â
âFor telling my sister the truth.â She glances over her shoulder at Cassian to make sure he is still asleep. âSheâs pregnant, and the baby has wings. Everyoneâs been keeping it a secret from her, and I was angry, so I told her. Rhysand demanded I be taken out of the city before he killed me,â she whispers.
Erisâs amber eyes narrow as he looks at her, then back at Cassian. âAnd of all people, they had the brute take you?â
She scoffs. âHe and the others seem to think he is my mate.â
It looks for a moment as if he might laughâbut he catches it, pressing his lips together with theatrical effort. "You canât be serious."
His eyes flick over her, gleaming with something far too close to amusement. âYouâthe Nesta Archeron? The female who threatened the King of Hybern with the lift of a finger, who brought my father to heelâand you're mated to a glorified guard dog with wings?"
He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head with the slow, deliberate weariness of someone enduring a great trial. Then he lifts his gaze to the sky, as though appealing to the Mother herself for strength. "Truly, the Cauldron has a sense of humor."
"Very well," he says, exhaling like the entire matter bores him. "Iâll extend you an offerârare, so try not to waste it."
He steps closer, voice smooth and sharp as a blade. "You can come with me. I have a discreet cabin in the Autumn Court, well off the usual paths. I can keep you hiddenâfor a time. But understand this: my father is not easily deceived, and once he learns of you, what happens next will be entirely beyond my control. He may ignore you. Or he may decide youâre... interesting."
A pause. A smirk.
"Or you can stay here. Finish whatever punishment," he sneers the word like it offends him, "theyâve so generously devised for youâand endure whatever else theyâve tucked up their pompous sleeves."
He tilts his head, gaze cool and unreadable. "Choose wisely."
âWhy?â she demands, voice harsher than intended. âWhy do you care what happens to me?â
âCare?â He almost laughs again, but his amber eyes are molten. âI donât care. It would simply be a shame to watch the Night Court ruin a force of a female such as yourself, and perhaps one day youâll be of use to me. Maybe Iâd rather have you on my side than theirs. The why doesnât matter. Make your decision with the information youâve been given.â
The honesty in itâraw and bitterâsnaps something inside her. She glances back toward the fire. Cassian stirs but does not wake. The guilt that should root her there, that should drag her back, feels strangely hollow.
Nesta meets Erisâs gaze. âTake me, then.â
For the first time, his smile is genuine. He steps forward, the smokehound at his heels. His gloved hand extends, steady and unyielding. âWise choice.â
Her fingers tremble as she lays them in his.
The world folds in on itself, shadows spinning, and thenâ
Silence.
They stand in a cabin that is sparse but lived-in; a hearth crackling low, shelves lined with maps and bottles of amber liquor, a great fur-covered bed against the wall. The dining table, chairs, and coffee table are all a matching dark walnut. A burgundy velvet couch sits in front of the hearth, and the smokehound immediately jumps on it.
Eris releases her hand only when she pulls away. He strides to the hearth, snapping a finger, and the flames roar higher, chasing away the cold she hadnât realized seeped into her bones.
Nesta stays by the door, heart hammering. âThis is madness.â
âNo,â he corrects smoothly, turning away from the hearth to face her. âThis is you deciding your own fate for once.â
She hates that the words sink into her, hates that some piece of her agrees. âNow what? What happens when Cassian wakes up and realizes Iâm missing? When they find out you are the one who took me?â
"I didnât take you," he says coolly, inspecting his nails as if the entire conversation is beneath him. "You came with me of your own volition. Letâs not rewrite history just yet." He flicks his gaze up, sharp and assessing. "As for Rhysand... if he decides to come clawing after youâand if my father hasnât already discovered your presenceâweâll have to tell him. Use him." A small, cunning smile curls at the corner of his mouth. "He makes an excellent shield from time to time."
âThey all underestimate me,â he adds, almost lazily. âBut none of themânot even the all-powerful Inner Circleâdares to underestimate my father. Rhysand will see the cost and, as he always does, calculate. Heâll find a way to convince your brute of a mate that you simply arenât worth the trouble."
She suppresses a bristle at not being worth the trouble, but when Erisâs eyebrows rise as he scans her from head to toe, she surmises her eyes must be glowing silver.
Eris clicks his tongue. âWeâre going to have to work on that temper of yours if youâre going to survive here. At the very least, learn to hide it. My father wonât take kindly to such an obvious show of defiance.â
âNo one taught me how to control my powers,â she feels compelled to say.
He hums as he gestures for the smokehound to move over and sits on the couch, crossing his legs. âInteresting. Weâll have to work on that too. Once my father hears of you, he will likely want a show, and doesnât handle disappointment very well. What have they been doing with you if not sharpening you into a weapon no one could stand against?â
Nesta hesitates but eventually moves to sit on the other end of the couch, her hands folded in her lap. âI suppose they had to work on my attitude first. If not, Iâd be a weapon that could very well turn against them. I am a wretched female, remember? They probably think Iâd kill my sister if given the chance.â
âWould you?â Eris blurts.
âNo,â she snarls. âI would never hurt Feyre. Rhysand, Morrigan, and Amren are a different story, but Iâd never hurt my sisters. I love them in my own twisted way.â
He makes a low noise in the back of his throat but says nothing more.
Silence falls. The fire snaps, and she canât suppress her flinch.
Eris notes the movement and waves a hand, silencing the fire in the hearth.
She canât help but sag into the back of the couch, her body finally feeling safe and warm after being on edge for days. She knows that when she wakes in the morning, sheâll likely question her decision to run away with the Autumn heir. Worry over how everyone will react, if being under Beronâs thumb is a worse fate than the Night Court, and if she really is more trouble than sheâs worth. But for now she is exhausted, and Eris has provided her with a safe place to sleep. She would be a fool not to relax while she can.
Eris watches her like he knows exactly what storm brews inside her. And when he finally speaks again, his voice is uncharacteristically soft. âTake the bed,â he murmurs. âI will return to the Forest House so my father doesnât get suspicious. Tomorrow I will bring some of my motherâs clothes for you to wear. You are unfortunately just as malnourished as she is.â
She watches him rise from the couch, signal for the smokehound to follow, and put his hand on the doorknob.
âEris,â she blurts.
He turns toward her, one eyebrow raised in question.
âThank you,â she says. The words feel foreign on her tongue, and Eris must not be used to them either because he freezes for a moment before collecting himself.
He offers her a single dip of his chin before walking out the door.
Nesta releases a shaky breath, the sudden silence and loneliness an oppressing weight on her chest. He will be back tomorrow, she reminds herself. Tomorrow will be better. It will also be when the Night Court realizes sheâs gone, but Eris will have a plan as always. The male is nothing if not a scheming viper, but as she lays down on the couch, her eyes growing heavy, she wonders if they are both victims of the labels that have been placed on them. Or, if a viper is exactly what she needs in her corner.
Sometimes a little Neris treat is all you need to combat the March horrors. Iâm so excited to share this commission of Eris and Nesta in the Forest House dressing room, moments before her coronation as High Lady of Autumn âď¸ I knew there was no one better to bring this vision to life than the brilliant, talented @punkzcakes, who I was so lucky to work with again after the beautiful Feysand piece they did for me last year!
Just look at the quiet awe in Nestaâs expression, the gentle reverence Eris is holding her with; these two have had me in a chokehold since their very first encounter and, in my mind, this is the ending they both would absolutely thrive in. Also, I mean â are we SEEING the hand size difference. Are we looking đŤŚ
Thank you @punkzcakes once again for being so genuinely wonderful to work with and for bringing this piece to life in such a captivating way!
Art by @punkzcakes and commissioned by me. View on Instagram here and please do not repost across any channels!
I actually recommend everyone write for a rarepair once because it completely changes your relationship with fandom. Engagement stops being numbers and starts being names. You know who's going to show up. You recognize usernames. Someone disappears for a while and then comes back and you're like âOH MY GOD WELCOME HOME.â It's incredibly wholesome. It is also deeply inconvenient when all six of you simultaneously get writer's block-
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