#acowar au

[sad-scarred-sassy]

“Sunlight on gold caught his eye” for @lucienweekofficial

This is my first Lucien portrait and I love it so much! I wanted to portray Lucien in the way that I see him and I got inspired by that scene in ACOWAR where he sees Elain and his breathing stops when she faces him.

See the timelapse video below (cause I love those)

[maybeiwasjustjade]

Lex Talionis snippets

(aka the ACOWAR resurrection scene AU aka the I-will-humble-the-inner-circle-even-if-it-kills-me Azris fic. Also known as the time Eris suffered the worst heartbreak imaginable while on the battlefield, and is rewarded with a mate and a dead father, as a treat.)

#1

“Unless,” he drawled, gaze sliding from Feyre to Mor—Mor, who looked as if she swallowed a lemon whole with worry—and a taunting smirk broke across his face, “It is as I thought: she cannot hold the power. It will pass to another.”

“Keir perhaps, or his son,” the High Lord of Autumn mused, eyes gleaming with unchecked glee. Oh, how Azriel hated the bastard. Next to him, Cassian growled, red aura glowing softly. “Rhysand has no more relatives, after all. “

“Well, none that liked him very much,” Beron chuckled, turning to the rest of the High Lords with grandiosity. “It seems I was correct after all: Feyre Cursebreaker is no High Lady. Merely an empty title granted by Rhysand to his favorite whore.”

#2

Eris' blade swung forward, roaring and screeching like a drakon’s maw, the tip balanced precariously over Rhys’ too-still chest. Feyre froze. “Try to enter my mind again, High Lady,” he snarled, challenging, as if begging her to try him. Embers and sparks were practically dancing throughout his armor. Underneath his center siphon, Azriel’s chest began to itch. “And this blade will ensure your precious mate will never see another day.”

Azriel growled, and Eris' head snapped to meet his gaze. He froze at the sight of those eyes—flickering like a candle in the wind, blue to gold and gold to blue. Azriel’s brow furrowed. Eris didn’t have blue eyes. Nor were they ever quite so gold.

#3

A flash of silver armor and shorn ruby hair, irises splitting apart like a chasm until another set born true; blue bleeding from the amber of golden eyes, starlight the only demarcation between sapphire and living flame. A raised hand and the smell of ozone, like the air before a storm. A spill of nightfall, the absence of day. Flashes of whitened blue. And power—more than he’d ever felt before, surging into existence.

Two raised fingers. That was all it took to kill a High Lord.

#4

“I could take you back to Spring, force you to be my lady again as part of our bargain. I could even ensure you never see your beloved husband again,” Tamlin said casually, uncaring of the unfettered hatred radiating from Feyre. In fact, it seemed to be delighting him. “But that wouldn’t be fair, for the remnants of Spring to look upon the face of their destruction for all eternity.”

“Still, I will have what you owe me.” Green eyes glittered with malice, and canines jutted out of Tamlin’s beastly grin. “I will provide the last kernel, and in exchange the people of your precious Velaris will suffer as mine did.”

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Through the Dark (ao3)

When the ravens attack the library, Cassian suppresses every violent instinct he has in order to give Nesta what she needs. For @cassianappreciationweek day 2. (Title taken from the Hurts song The Crow)

A frozen hand takes your breath away as she leads your soul through the dark. You know that she came to break your heart but oh, when she moves you fall in love again.

It was the stuff of nightmares— the kind that had Cassian stalling, the breath torn from his throat.

He’d heard the bell ringing - a desperate peal through the city, a strangled call for aid - and he had dropped everything and took to the skies, rushing for the library beneath the House of Wind. Each ring echoed through his skull, setting his heart pounding, and he didn’t know why, couldn’t explain the dread that pooled thick in his stomach, but as he unsheathed his sword and slipped into that quiet, calm place ready for battle, Cassian felt his every nerve stand on end, every instinct bracing for something.

It was second-nature, the battle-calm that settled over him, an instinct carved into his bones. It was a low thrum, a steady beat, the sound of the bell fading as his focus sharpened, narrowed, but even though he’d entered that library ready to fight and defend, nothing in the world could have prepared Cassian for her— for the sight of her, pale and shaking. All his centuries of training failed, every lesson learned forgotten the moment Nesta stumbled from the darkness, fear carved into the planes of her face as she reached for him, her hands outstretched in a mockery of the way he’d always dreamed she’d one day reach for him.

Terror widened those silver-blue eyes, and Cassian felt it mirrored in his own veins as he lurched forwards, her fear ratcheting through his own chest as he reached her, looking her over, searching desperately for injury as his hand curled tighter around the hilt of his sword. He’d never dropped a weapon in his life, never, but—

Nesta stumbled once more, almost crumbling, and Cassian had to keep a punishing grip on that sword in his haste to get to her, to catch her before she fell. It took everything he had, and still— Nesta gasped, and the sword slipped from his hand, clattering to the stone floor as she crashed into him, sending every instinct he had into free fall. She collided with his chest, her fingers curling into his leathers, and gods— something was wrong, so wrong, and Cassian’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, even as the length of her pressed against him, her legs shaking as she sought to stay upright.

“Nesta,” Cassian bit out, and though his voice held firm, he had to work to keep it from shaking. His hands encircled her waist, the fabric of her dress whispering through his fingers as he bunched it in his palms, gripping her as tightly as he’d held his sword. She braced her weight on him, and his heart began to pound in earnest, the sword forgotten, because mother above, he’d spend so long wanting her in his arms, but not like this— never like this. Her breath caught in her throat, a broken sob as she fought for breath, and as her hand trembled against his chest, Cassian knew his grip was the only thing keeping her standing, the only thing that made her steady.

And in that quiet place inside his mind, the battle calm he knew so well…

It splintered.

It ignited.

He burned, a wave of fury coursing through him that threatened to level the entire mountain as he heard her heart trip, as he felt her shudder. He was practically vibrating with the force of it, his siphons alight and pulsing, the breath leaving him through tightly clenched teeth. One hand slipped down to her hip, pulling her closer, and he almost snarled, almost growled because—

He couldn’t bear it.

Her fear, the way her heart beat against her ribs so hard he could hear it, like the rapid fluttering of a bird’s wings. He couldn’t stand it.

But Nesta drew in a deep breath, trying to form words, and somehow Cassian reeled in that rage, that terrible, terrifying fury. Because she needed him calm— needed him to be able to take a fucking breath and help her.

“Nes,” he said again, his voice a shade softer even as he urged her to tell him what was wrong. She only shook her head, still trying to find her voice, and though only a handful of seconds had passed since she had emerged from the darkness, it felt like hours. Felt like days.

Cassian knew then that he was going to slaughter whoever - or whatever - was at the bottom of those fucking stairs.

“Feyre,” Nesta managed at last, her voice strained, frantic. Her knuckles turned white where she gripped his jacket. “Hybern— Feyre’s down there— I—“

A chill skirted his spine, and slowly, heartbreakingly slowly, Cassian placed a hand atop hers and uncurled her fingers from where they tangled in his leathers. All he’d thought about for months was how one day he wanted Nesta to wind her hands in his clothes, and yet here he was, pulling back. But there was no time to waste, not if Feyre was down there in the darkness, but even as Cassian knew he ought to be racing down to the lowest levels, he couldn’t make his legs move. He couldn’t leave yet— couldn’t turn from her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Nesta looked behind her, at the darkness that cloaked the lower levels of the library.

“Nesta,” Cassian pushed, not letting an ounce of panic leak into his tone. He felt it though— gods, he felt it. Usually so level headed, he felt panic as he looked at her, a feral kind of urgency that had him wanting to bolt down into the darkness. Not to save Feyre. No— Rhys would fucking murder him if he found out, but no. Cassian’s urgency didn’t come from a desire to protect his High Lady. It came from a ruthless desire for vengeance, the need to spill the blood of whoever had made Nesta Archeron tremble.

Nesta pulled back, wrapping her arms around her middle. She looked down, eyelashes brushing a bloodless cheek, and she looked so fucking vulnerable that every part of Cassian’s being revolted, rioted, determined to exact a brutal revenge on whatever had made the fiercest woman he’d ever met so listless. Her shoulders curved, her lips were pressed tight together, and Cassian almost roared, the sight of her so subdued so abhorrent that he already knew it would haunt him. His lip curled, cold and unforgiving violence pulsing through his veins as—

Nesta shivered, the breath she took rattling in her throat.

And suddenly Cassian felt all of that terrifying urgency bleed away, replaced by a different need altogether now, one far less violent but no less vital. He softened, swallowing and burying every ounce of rage as gently, so gently, he curled a finger beneath her chin and urged her face up.

“Nes?” he asked, his tone softer, quiet. “Are you alright?”

She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth, her sharp tongue buried beneath some kind of depthless terror, and as she turned her face to the winding stairs, to the gaping darkness that swallowed the bottom levels of the library, Cassian’s hand shot out, his palm catching her cheek, turning her back towards him, back to the light.

“Eyes on me sweetheart,” he murmured, holding her face between his palms. Her eyes met his, and for the first time Cassian felt like he could breathe, like he’d been suffocating all along, all these years, and now, only now, could he fill his lungs, only when his hazel met her silver blue. It was something fundamental, something elemental, and gods, as he scanned her face he felt something inside pull tight, something fall into place.

“That’s it,” he whispered, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone as her eyes remained fixed to his. He heard her heartbeat start to slow, his own beating in time as the rapid rising of her chest began to ease at last. “That’s it.”

He didn’t let her look behind, didn’t let her attention drift. His world suddenly seemed to centre on her, and it didn’t matter what was happening at the bottom of those stairs, didn’t matter what would happen in the moments and the seconds beyond this, beyond his next few heartbeats. All that mattered was this, her eyes on him, her hand wrapped around his wrist as his palm lay flush against her cheek, her heart starting to slow as he brought her down from the peak of her panic.

“Feyre,” she whispered after a moment that felt like forever.

Cassian nodded, his hand falling from her cheek as her heartbeat evened out, her shallow breathing growing deeper.

Feyre— right.

He should get to Feyre.

He bent to pick up his discarded sword, swallowing thickly as his hand closed on the hilt.

“Rhys is already on his way,” he said, and though he knew he should leave, should be racing for his High fucking Lady, Cassian was still unable to move. Instead, his palm once more found home against her cheek.

“Tell me you’re alright.”

“She needs help,” Nesta countered, her voice cracking.

Cassian felt his heart stutter, and it broke some kind of spell on him, had him coming back to his senses as reality came crashing back in. He nodded sharply, grimly, and even though only a matter of moments had passed since he’d entered the library, it felt like an eternity. He looked at her again, the woman who he’d once sworn to protect, and nodded once more.

“Stay here,” he said, brushing his thumb once more across her cheek.

He didn’t know why— why he needed to touch her. It wasn’t like she was… anything to him, not really. There was an attraction there, one that had him longing to know what her skin felt like beneath his hands, but beyond that? She only ever snapped at him, and he’d only ever tried to rile her.

But it didn’t matter. Something in him had begun to keen when it saw her anguish, some part of him that hadn’t been able to bear her pain, her terror.

“Right here, sweetheart,” he added as he turned from her, heading towards that darkness. Before he plunged down into the depths of the library, he gave her one last look, taking in those silver eyes that made him weak. They steeled him, strengthened him, and as he descended, delving deeper into the heart of the mountain, the only thing Cassian thought of was her, and when he swung his sword…

It was her name that echoed on his lips.

***

Rhys had ripped out the hearts of the king’s ravens.

The blood had pooled in the spaces between his fingers, slicking his palms, but when Rhys had asked Cassian to take Feyre home, the youngest Archeron had refused, drifting to Rhys’ side and curling her fingers on his forearm, on the still-pristine fabric of his jacket. Cassian had hesitated, but Feyre had shaken her head, remaining exactly where she was, holding onto Rhys as the blood of those who had attacked her dripped slowly to the floor.

Cassian looked at that blood, watched it stain the floor, and felt a part of himself grow frantic, raging, longing to rip out hearts too. He wanted to bloody his own hands, to feel his skin thick with the lifeblood of the ones who had tried to hurt Nesta, to take her away from him. Need had pulsed through his veins, more coldly livid and terrifyingly brutal than ever before, a fury thundering through him that was a rival only to Rhys’ murderous rage. His siphons were burning, all that killing power looking for an outlet, and if Rhys felt the need to shed blood, then fucking hell, so did Cassian.

He didn’t understand it, didn’t know why the thought of Nesta being chased through the dark had him suddenly willing to decimate this entire mountain, bring it crashing to the ground, but—

There was something else, too.

A counterweight.

Something softer but no less urgent, no less forceful. Something gentler, but still enough to bring him to his knees.

Beneath that maelstrom of rage, that chasm filled with fury, there was a pull, calling him back up to the top of those winding stairs, where Nesta waited alone. He wanted to feel the blood of the ravens on his hands, wanted to let loose every ounce of the mighty power that gathered inside, but it was no match for the part of him that needed to see her safe, needed to erase the fear from her eyes. There was a part of Nesta that needed him to check the urge too, needed him to be there beside her, and even as he stood in the deepest part of the library, he could swear that he could hear her heart, calling to him through the darkness.

So as as he heard the last of the ravens’ breaths die, he left his High Lord with his High Lady and flew back to the top, where Nesta was still waiting.

“Feyre,” Nesta said as soon as she glimpsed him. Cassian nodded.

“She’s alright. They’re gone, sweetheart,” he said, and as he stepped forward… She looked like was about to collapse. Her hands were shaking. Cassian took her fingers in his, and she looked… dainty, compared to him. “They’re gone.”

Still, she trembled, and it wasn’t just a need to spill blood that was tearing him apart now, it was a need to stop that trembling, to ease her pain. He offered her a weak smile as he wrapped his palm around hers.

“You need a drink,” he said softly, tugging lightly on her hand. “Come.”

“No,” she answered, looking over her shoulder. “Not without Feyre.”

Cassian’s face softened. “I know sweetheart,” he said gently. “She’s with Rhys, and as soon as they’re done down there, I imagine they’ll both need a drink too. Let me...” He trailed off, swallowed as he felt his heart pound. “Let me take care of you.”

She turned her face to look at him, blinking in surprise, but where he’d expected a barbed retort, some sharp words, there was nothing. Nesta looked at him, and her fingers started to tremble all over again.

Cassian’s soul ached, but she let him lead her to the doors, let him take her up the steps into the main House. He took her to the House library, set her down in a comfortable leather armchair, and asked the House for a glass of brandy. Two appeared on the low table set between the sofas.

Suddenly, he was filled with an overwhelming need to make sure she was alright. It was insistent, a straining in his chest that almost hurt, and Cassian somehow wasn’t thinking of anything but her. He wasn’t even thinking of the monster at the bottom of the library, too focused on the way he wanted to fall to his knees, to look into her eyes and beg her to tell him she was alright. But he didn’t know how to start— so he knocked back his own brandy, and asked, not for the first time, “Are you alright?”

Nesta was silent for a moment, and Cassian half thought she wasn’t going to answer, but she drained her glass, her face contorting as the burn eased down her throat. “You already asked me that.”

Cassian plucked up the bottle the House had left behind, and walked over to her to refill it. She looked up at him, and there was gratitude in those eyes, the ones that were usually so ferocious. He forced himself to smirk, even though every piece of him grieved.

“And I’m asking again,” he shrugged.

Nesta shook her head, and as she lifted the glass to her lips, Cassian thought he saw her hand tremble still. And he couldn’t help it then— he did sink to his knees, discarding his own glass as he knelt beside her. When she’d drained her second lot of brandy, he took her empty glass and placed it on the side, taking both of her hands in his once more.

It felt right somehow, her fingers against his, and he looked down at them, at the way her touch curled against his. She was shaken, he could tell, and it rocked him to his core.

“They wanted me,” she said quietly. “They came for me.”

Cassian’s hand closed around hers, his grip tight. “They can’t have you.”

There was a moment, a second of silence, and Cassian breathed in deep, the scent of her soothing his frayed nerves.

“I promised to protect you once. Do you remember?” he asked.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “How could I forget?”

He hummed a little, brushing a thumb over her knuckles.

“So they can’t have you,” he repeated, his voice firm. “Never.”

Her breath faltered, and she said nothing, only dropped her gaze to their entwined hands. Cassian wanted to wrap her in his arms, wanted to hold her until her tremors subsided, and it wasn’t lost on him that the last time he’d been down into the bottom of the library, the monster that lived down there had haunted him for months afterward— for years. He had vowed never to go down there again, and yet when he’d seen Nesta, he hadn’t even thought of the beast. He’d raced down to the bottom, and the only thing that had made the blood drain from his face was the sight of her, the only thing that made his heartbeat ratchet in fear was the sound of her voice, the way she’d gasped in terror.

He brushed the hair back from her face, tucking it behind one perfectly pointed ear. His fingers lingered, sliding down her neck so softly that it was a touch that was barely there. He looked at her— really looked at her. Her face was pale, wan, and her eyes were distant, as though she were still down in the depths of that library. Cassian wanted nothing more than the bring her back up to the surface, so he let his hand drift down her arm until he could weave their fingers together. She blinked, but didn’t stop him.

“They can’t have you princess,” he said again. “As long as I’m alive, nobody will ever come near you again.”

She sniffed a little, and Cassian leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. Soft— chaste, warm. His lips brushed her skin in a kiss that was almost sweet in its innocence, but even though Nesta’s eyes slid closed, her breathing grew no steadier. It shuddered, her chest stuttering as she tried to keep herself together, but even he could see she was just a heartbeat from crumbling all over again. Cassian couldn’t care less. If she fell, he’d catch her. So he simply rested his brow against hers and nudged her cheek with the tip of his nose.

“It’s alright, you know,” he murmured, “if you want to fall apart.”

Nesta let out a sharp laugh, acerbic.

“I mean it,” he said before she could contradict him. “The first time I went down into the bottom of the library I didn’t sleep for weeks, and I swear I had nightmares for a decade after.” He pulled back a little, just enough to look into those eyes. “So it’s alright. Fall apart if you want. I’ll be here to hold you up.”

She faltered.

“Why?” she whispered, her voice so quiet it was as though she feared his answer, feared to ask the question.

Cassian shrugged. “I promised to protect you,” he said once more, hoping that if nothing else the look in his eyes might convince her, might somehow let her know how much of him burned for her. “I meant it, Nes.”

She shivered, like his words had hit an exposed nerve. She’d spent so long building up her walls, making them solid and strong and impenetrable, but Cassian knew what it was to suffer. Nesta had been suffering every day since she’d opened her eyes as fae, and it made something within him ache. She hid her anguish behind her sharp tongue, but he’d never been fooled— he’d seen it, seen through her every time, and as she leaned on him just a little, he brought one arm up and around her shoulders, urging her closer, silently asking her to let him take the weight, to let him hold her up just until she was strong enough to scowl again.

Cauldron fucking boil him, he’d needed to shed blood today. He had needed to slit the throats of the men who had put that fear in those mercury eyes.

But Nesta had needed him - needed this - more.

And when it came to her, there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t give, nothing he wouldn’t abandon.

As her head dropped to his shoulder and his hand cradled the back of her neck, Cassian knew there was nothing he wouldn’t face for her. Something pulled in his chest, some dim kind of bell ringing in his head as he felt himself heading somewhere so much more infinitely dangerous, but he didn’t dwell, didn’t think. All he knew was that Nesta Archeron was his to protect, and he…

He was hers.

In every way imaginable, he was hers.

[thesurielships]

New Girl meets the Court of Dreams Part III

a/n: It’s been a year since I updated this. I’m really sorry about that. I had no inspiration for it and everything I wrote felt wrong. It’s also been a while since I last wrote anything, and I don’t know how I feel about this chapter but if I edit it one more time I might just lose what’s left of my sanity.

Without further ado, enjoy :)

Part I, Part II, Part III | Word count: 1.7k

“Okay, guys,” Rhys whispered as he soundlessly closed the door. He tiptoed across the room to where his brothers were huddled. “What’s the plan?”

“Pull the plug off the TV?” Azriel suggested, face impassive.

“Throw the blanket out the window?” Cassian asked.

Rhys glared at both of them. “Be serious.”

“I am serious!” Cassian began loudly then continued in a hushed voice as a lion roared outside. “If I hear a baby penguin do whatever sound baby penguins make for one more time, I will literally go insane. I haven’t had sex in all the time she’s been here. Every time I bring a girl over, Feyre starts telling her THE story and they cry together and console each other!”

“How does it feel to have girls choose a weeping mess over you, Cass?”

Cassian punched Azriel’s arm.

Azriel’s smug grin faded quickly as a horde of giraffes bleated in the living room. “But seriously, this cannot go on. It’s been three weeks of crying and eating ice-cream and general misery. In the movies it only takes a three-minute montage for the girl to get over her heartbreak.”

“How does it feel to only know about girls from movies, Az?”

Azriel punched Cassian’s arm.

“Guys!” Rhys interrupted before they could get into it. “So, any ideas?”

“You talk to her,” Azriel grumbled. “You’re the one who brought her here.”

“Or better yet,” Cassian smiled suggestively, “have sex with her. You don’t move on till you move oooon.”

Rhys punched his arm.

“Ouch, man. That hurt.”

Azriel nodded at Rhys appreciatively.

“Rock, paper, scissors for who has to talk to her first?”

*****

Rhys opened the door, and immediately the grunt of a dozen camels filled the room. He shared a wince with his brothers before stepping into the battlefield.

“Darling roommate, when Az told you to be home decorator, he didn’t mean for you to make the living room wildlife appropriate.”

Feyre glanced up at him, and the sight of her bundled up in a dolphin blanket, tears streaking her face, tugged at his heart.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a small voice. Rhysand’s heart dropped. “It’s just… watching these cute little things growing up and overcoming hardships, being there for each other, really warms my heart.”

She wiped a stray tear off her cheek.

“And watching natural selection at work motivates me to be resilient. That way I can outlive that miserable, awful, piece of shit asshole.” She stabbed her spoon into her ice cream, laughing maniacally.

Rhysand bolted back to the safety of his room.

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Mother’s tits, Rhys,” Cassian cursed. “I didn’t know you were such a coward. Watch this.”

He strutted out of the room, all confidence. He prided himself in his player ways, after all. A crying girl was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“Feyre.”

Her gaze remained focused on the screen where two pigs were rolling in mud.

“Feyre.”

She stared at him then, her eyes unnaturally big in her pallid face. She tilted her head. “If it isn’t my favorite roommate,” she said with a hair-rising smile. “Is your offer from the other day still standing?”

He swallowed nervously, retreating back a step. “What offer?”

Her grin turned feral. “The one about satisfying my urges. All these animal documentaries are giving me new ideas.”

Her cackling laughter chased Cassian as he turned on his heel and dashed back to headquarters. She was still chuckling when Azriel cleared his throat.

“What, it’s your turn to talk to the deranged roommate now?”

Azriel shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I just wanted to say that I understand. I understand what it’s like to feel your world collapse around you, to realize that you lost the person whom you thought was the sole pillar of the universe. Heartbreak is hard. But there is something you could do.”

She kept eating her ice-cream, eyes glazed over as she watched her documentary. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Get closure.”

She finally looked his way, face uncharacteristically somber after the three week long hysteria. “Closure?”

“Talk to him. Burn his house down. Whatever works for you.”

She gave him a sad smile before turning back to her screen. Azriel was dismissed.

He made his way back to Rhys’s room, a cacophony of sounds dogging his steps, none of them her laughter.

***

It had barely been an hour since mother hen and her two chicks had left the house. Feyre let out a deep sigh, reveling in the newfound silence. She had shut off the TV, opting instead to watch the fading light on the ceiling. She was grateful for her roommates’ efforts, she really was. However, she simply was not ready to face what she had lost. Every time she so much as peeked into her soul, she found a yawning chasm that she had no interest in exploring. She was happy to hide in her cocoon of misery and hysteria for a bit longer.

A knock sounded at the door, and Feyre groaned. She left the couch reluctantly, stretching her under exercised muscles and popping her joints. The knocking grew persistent, and Feyre glared at the door.

“Coming!” she shouted as she trudged through the minefield that the carpet had become. It was strewn with ice cream tubs, dirty sweaters - Rhysand’s sweaters, she noted, cringing - tear stained tissues and ripped canvases from her failed attempts to paint.

She finally reached the door, and pulled it open roughly as the visitor began ringing the bell.  It was a gorgeous blonde woman, with blood red lips and a body to die for. Her roommate had upped his game, it seemed.

“Cassian’s not here,” she informed her.

“I’m not here for Cassian. At least not in the way you seem to be thinking,” she chuckled. “I didn’t know one of those losers had gotten a girlfriend,” she added, one delicate eyebrow arched as she gave her a once over. “Rhys?”

Feyre blushed, tugging Rhys’s sweater down on her thighs. “Oh, no. I actually live here. I’m their new roommate.”

The stranger’s second eyebrow rose with shock. “Roommate? Mother, I am always the last to know.” She shook her head, unoffended. “I’m Morrigan, by the way. Rhys’s cousin.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Feyre.”

“Feyre?” she repeated, chocolate eyes twinkling with mischief. “Rhys has told me so much about you.”

Feyre’s smile was wry. “What, did he tell you about me emptying his closet or pathetically crying my ass off in his living room?”

Morrigan laughed. “Neither, don’t worry. Do you mind if I come in?”

Feyre opened the door wider, welcoming her in. “Not at all.”

Morrigan strode in, her flowery perfume a refreshing change from the suffocating smell of the living room. “My, my,” she huffed with a small smile, taking in the mess. “You weren’t lying about the pathetic part.”

Feyre hid her wince with a smile. It probably looked more like a grimace.

“How long has it been since the break up?”

Feyre opened her mouth to ask how she knew, but she just said: “Three weeks.”

Morrigan froze in her inspection of the carpet. “This simply cannot do. Good thing I decided to pass by here. I just happen to need a drinking companion.”

Feyre began to shake her head.

“Tut tut tut,” she shushed her. “I am not taking no for an answer.”

***

Rhys and his brothers had been surprised to find the apartment empty when they came back from their run to the supermarket. One look at the living room and they all wordlessly started cleaning before their whirlwind of a roommate came back from wherever she’d disappeared to.

Two hours and a clean house later, Rhys was growing worried. Feyre had spent the last three weeks between classes and their couch, sometimes not even going to the former. For her to just go out with no notice was weird. He was just about to go look for her when the door opened and Feyre stumbled in with his cousin, arms looped around each other and giggling uncontrollably.

“What the ever loving hell?”

“Hello there, cousin.” Mor’s smile was full of mischief. “You didn’t tell me your new roommate was such a cracker.”

Rhys had a bad feeling about this.

“Rhyyys, you didn’t tell me you had a cousin. And that she’s so wise.”

They started giggling again.

Rhys’ eyebrow rose. “Wise?”

“She told me that all the answers I seeked were in the bottom of a vodka bottle,” Feyre said, her eyes bright with wonder.

Rhys suppressed a smile, even as he was overcome with the need to strangle his cousin. “Did she, now?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Rhys. I was only tending to her wounds, and wounds need alcohol.”

“Is that all you learned in med school?”

“But Rhys,” Feyre interrupted. She was bouncing on her toes. “She was right!”

“I was?”

“I realized that Tamtam is just so overrated.”

Rhys and Mor snorted. “We could’ve told you that.”

“You know what I used to like the most about him? His hair! Such luscious locks, such glittering golden. I even had a tub of paint that Elain got for me that was the exact shade of his hair. I used it to do portraits and stuff. It was all so pretty.” She shook her head. “But look at this!” She grabbed his cousin’s hair with both hands. “Mor’s hair is so much prettier.”

Mor cackled loudly. “You’re welcome to check out the golden below too, if you want.”

She winked at Feyre and Rhys let out an all suffering groan. How were all of his friends flirting with Feyre?

Feyre untangled herself from Mor and tottered towards Rhys. He stopped breathing as her hand moved towards his neck, his face, his hair… his hair?

“Don’t worry, Rhys. Your hair may not be as great as Mor’s, but it’s definitely in my top 10.”

Rhys could only stare at her glowing eyes and her infectious smile as she kept playing with his hair.

“Your eyes are number 1, though.”

“Stars eternal?” he asked wryly.

Feyre gasped. “Are you reading my mind now?”

Rhys’s laugh was low. He could feel himself leaning forward, entranced by the beautiful woman shining for the first time in weeks in front of him.

“Alright,” Mor groaned loudly, and Rhys caught himself staring at Feyre’s lips. “Enough flirting, you two. We have a long night ahead of us.”

“We do?”

Feyre nodded, and Rhys could’ve sworn her voice was slightly breathless as she said: “We’re breaking into Tamtam’s house.”

Tag list:  @joyceortiz13 @bailey-4244 @quakeriders @standbislytherin @mariamuses @ignite14 @1800-fight-me @velarian-trash @rhysands-highlady @queenblueoffire @rowaelinforeverworld @feeoly @buckybvrnes @dayanna-hatter @shadowstar2313 @goldfishh20 @sleeping-and-books @crackedship @your-high-lady @thesirenwashere @whiskeybusiness1776 @amren-courtofdreams @tswaney17 @julemmaes @booksbooksbooksworld @queenofbumblebees​ @meowsekai​

[shipwrexked]

ACOWAR AU

Where the Suriel is mated with the most beautiful fae female to ever live and everyone in Prythian is just like “but how?” but Feyre Archeron just winks cause she knows what’s up.

[thesurielships]

We are golden stars upon silver seas

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Feyre hates Rhys. She ruins his chances with the new girl.

Masterlist

Feyre Archeron wasn’t drunk. She was in her favorite bar, in her favorite seat, served by her favorite barista, in her best drinking gear, and she was not drunk. Nor drinking. 

Why, then, wasn’t she drunk?

Raucous laughter reverberated through the bar. Feyre glared at the bane of her existence, whose sheer presence made everything - including the wine in her mouth - turn sour.

Rhysand was guffawing with his Inner Circle. He seemed to be telling a story so funny that they dissolved into laughter every two sentences. Of course, he would be the life of the party. Of course, he would choose this bar to have his party at. Of fucking course.

‘You’re staring,’ Alis chided.

‘He’s an eyesore,’ Feyre sighed.

‘Sure he is,’ her friend chuckled. ‘Oh, there is Viviane.’

Feyre looked up, and sure enough, the new girl had just entered the bar. She had porcelain skin and white blond hair, her eyes a striking icy blue. In short, she was beautiful. And, Feyre noted regretfully as she watched her eyes zero in on Rhysand, interested in that asshole.

Feyre let out an all suffering sigh. ‘Here is to another girl who’s about to get her heart broken,’ she toasted Alis, then took a ravenous sip of her drink.

Alis merely shook her head, an indulgent smile on her face. She was used to Feyre ranting about everything related to Rhysand, be it fact or speculation or merely something she conjured from her imagination.

‘This happens every time,’ Feyre went on. ‘New girl falls for Rhysand. He takes her on a couple dates, has his fun, then dumps her ass. How many more times do I have to watch this scenario unfold? How many more times am I going to sit on my ass while a girl gets her heart broken by the devil?’

Something suddenly occurred to her. To get to Rhysand, Viviane would have to get past her table.

‘But maybe I can do something this time.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Maybe I can be this nice, sweet girl’s salvation.’

‘Feyre, stop.’

‘Viviane,’ Feyre called, standing on her seat, waving her arms enthusiastically. 

Alis covered her face with her hands. ‘You’re embarrassing.’

Feyre paid her no heed. ‘Viviane!’

Viviane looked at her, confused. To be fair, it was their first time talking.

Oh whatever, Feyre thought, heroes never bother introducing themselves.

‘Hi, honey. You’re the transfer girl, right? I’m Feyre. I’m an art major, too. We’ll probably have many classes together. And this is Alis.’

‘Hello,’ Viviane said, nodding shyly to both of them.

‘What do you think of our town so far? I can show you around, if you’d like.’

‘Thank you so much, but I wouldn’t want to be a bother.’

‘Bother? Oh, not at all. Did you know that when I first came here, my family had just gone broke, my sister had run away to someplace, and my other sister had gone sick with shock?’ Feyre was a very chatty drunk-even when she was only slightly buzzed. ‘It was awful. Thank God I met Alis to show me around the town, or else I would’ve wallowed in misery in my dorm room forever.’

Viviane’s eyes had drifted away about halfway through Feyre’s monologue.

‘Viviane?’

She let out a dreamy sigh.

‘Viviane!’

‘Oh yes. Feyre, was it? I’m sorry, it’s just… he’s so hot.’

‘Who?’ Feyre turned around, then back. ‘Oh, you mean Rhysand?’

Viviane nodded, still staring at him with moony eyes.

‘Yeah. It’s amazing how all the hot ones turn out to be gay, right? You should see his boyfriend. He has these gorgeous lashes and - ’

Viviane’s eyes snapped to her. Well, that got her attention. ‘Wait. What did you say?’

Feyre barely managed to hold back her smirk. ‘His boyfriend has - ’

‘You mean he’s gay?’

‘Oh. You didn’t know. Sorry. But I guess better hear it from me than from him, right?’

Viviane had gone very red. Feyre was getting worried. ‘Viviane?’

Suddenly she grabbed Feyre’s glass and chugged it down. Then she grabbed Alis’s glass and chugged it down. Then she started crying.

Feyre looked at Alis.

Alis looked at Feyre. Told you so, her look seemed to say.

What do we do now, said Feyre’s.

Alis shrugged.

They both let out a sigh, then grabbed a shoulder each and welcomed Viviane into their little group.

***

Viviane, it turned out, was an even chattier drunk than Feyre. She was also much more morose. Once the dam had broken, she told them all about being unhappy in her former uni and major, and having trouble to transfer as she was a few years older than them. She had struggled to take the leap and switch to art as, though it had always been her dream, 25 seemed like a bit too old for a beginner artist. This, Alis and Feyre were quick to reassure her, was not at all true. Many people started college at 25 or more, and they knew a middle aged couple in their class who were having the time of their lives exploring their artistic abilities.

‘And Kallias,’ she sobbed, her tears starting anew. ‘I love him and now I will never get to tell him.’

‘Kallias?’

‘My best friend. I’ve been in love with him since I was sixteen, overweight and desperate to grow some self confidence. He went on a diet with me so I wouldn’t feel alone. He picked me up on his way to school for basically all four years of high school because I was too scared to get a license. He always left secret gifts in my locker when he knew I was on my period, or took me to my favorite bakery. And when he found out I wanted to do arts instead of political science, he became my number one supporter. He even mailed my application for me. How was I supposed not to fall for him?’

‘Wow. That’s really sweet.’

‘I know! He’s such a sweet guy. I’m sure his girlfriend agrees,’ she sighed dejectedly. 

Alis and Feyre exchanged a panicked look. They simply could not sit through another bout of tears.

‘He has a girlfriend?’

‘Well, not exactly. There is this girl in his class, Adrienne, and they meet up a lot to study.’

At Alis and Feyre’s raised brows, she groaned, rubbing her face with both hands.

‘But you should see them! They might as well be dating. She texts him a lot and he always remembers her birthday, when it usually takes him like five weeks to remember people’s names.’

Feyre was dubious. If anything, Kallias seemed to have feelings for Viviane, not whoever this Adrienne girl was. ‘Okay…’

‘Oh, and she has this nickname for him that’s just ridiculous. Kally Bear. Who the fuck comes up with such a stupid nickname? Actually, no.’ Viviane straightened, composing herself. ‘I shouldn’t act like this. I really like Adrienne. She’s nice and she always asks me to come with them when they hang out.’

Alis shrugged. ‘I don’t see why you mind them being together, since you’re always there too.’

‘Oh, I never actually go with them.’

‘What? » Feyre asked incredulously. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s not like she means it. I’m sure she just invites me to be polite. So I tell them to have a good time and send them on their way.’

‘Viviane,’ Alis started carefully. ‘Are you sure Kallias is even interested in Adrienne?’

Viviane pursed her lips. ‘Pretty sure. One time, we were playing truth or dare and I asked him if there was anyone he liked. He said yes, but he didn’t know how to ask her out. He was afraid she would say no and ruin their friendship.’

‘But that could be any friend of his,’ Alis pointed out, her voice blank and ever so careful, the tone she would use on a deranged animal she didn’t want to spook. Or, in this case, a lovesick drunkard she didn’t want to encourage with false hope.

‘She’s his only female friend. Aside from me, that is.’

Feyre had no such qualms. ‘Could be you, then.’

Viviane’s shoulders slumped. ‘No.’

From the way she finished the rest of her drink in one shot and called for seconds, studiously avoiding eye contact, Feyre guessed the conversation to be over.

‘Gotta go powder my nose,’ she said as she stumbled away to the loo.

Oh, how she loved British expressions.

She chuckled on her way, trying her best not to bump into people, and failing miserably as she collided into a deliciously muscled chest.

‘Archeron.’

She looked up at her nemesis. Oh, she had gotten him well.

She couldn’t stop the smirk that bloomed on her face as she replied, ‘Rhysand, darling.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Darling? What did you do?’

‘What, so you’re the only one allowed to call me that?’

‘You hate it when I call you that.’

She tapped a finger against her chin. ‘True. But I like it when I call you that. You are such a darling,’ she giggled - actually giggled. ‘Especially when you don’t know what’s coming to you.’

Rhysand’s voice was stern. ‘Feyre.’

‘Feyre? Oh my, what a special day it is when Rhysand Fahrenheit calls me by my given name. Did you run out of sarcastic endearments?’

‘I saw you with the new girl.’

Her smirk grew infinitely wider. ‘Did you, now?’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘Nothing you haven’t heard before, I’m sure.’

‘Feyre.’

‘You can keep gritting your teeth till you choke on their dust, and I won’t tell you.’

He breathed deeply, loudly. Once, twice.

‘I can’t deal with you while I’m still sober.’

‘Then go get yourself a drink. And while you’re at it, maybe get one for your boyfriend, too.’

He froze in the middle of turning around, his violet eyes flashing in the dim light of the bar. Oh, how she longed to paint this moment. The Devil Defeated, she would call it.

‘Wait. What did you say?’

‘Funny. Those are the exact words Viviane said when I told her you were gay. A match made in heaven, the two of you. Too bad it’s never going to happen.’

‘You… what?’

‘Are your ears going bad, Rhysand? Are you already that old?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I am two years older than you, Feyre. And what. the. fuck?’

‘I wasn’t going to let you break another girl’s heart, was I?’

He tensed, anger swirling in his eyes. A second later, he changed. His tense shoulders slowly loosened. He tucked his hands in his pockets, and tilted his head roguishly. His eyes sparkled with devilish amusement, and his favorite smirk perched on his lips. It was not a noticeable change, not if you didn’t know what to look for. But Feyre was a pro in Rhys metamorphosis, as she liked to call it. She watched it all unfold in less than a heartbeat, trying in vain to catch all the details. Somehow, she could never capture it on canvas. Her paintings never had the same vibe-or enough flair.

‘What business is it of yours, Feyre darling, which hearts I choose to break?’

His sensual voice reminded her of silken sheets and sinful touches, and ironically startled her awake. ‘Unlike you, Rhysand, I do happen to care for the common good.’

His smirk was insufferable. ‘You don’t strike me as a selfless person.’

‘Maybe I should strike you, period.’

He leaned forward. ‘How about we strike a bargain instead, darling. You stay away from my business, and I try not to break your heart next.’

She crept forward as well, unwilling to lose the unspoken game, even as her heart beat a tattoo in her chest. He was so close she could touch him. If she dared.

‘Break my heart, Rhysand. I dare you.’

His breath caressed her own when he spoke next. ‘Is that a challenge?’

She snaked a hand between them and laid it flat on the center of his chest. His heartbeat ricocheted against her palm. She smirked. ‘Is it?’

His pupils flared. She gazed into his eyes for what felt like an eternity, transfixed.

Cauldron, she hated his eyes.

She flipped her hair defiantly as she sauntered off, hips swinging, reveling in the way his eyes trailed her the entire way to the bathroom.

Tag list: @joyceortiz13 @bailey-4244

[thesurielships]

A Court of Dreams fanfic

Summary: The Inner Circle meets up to rant about Feysand.

Word count: I'm not sure. It's pretty short.

Masterlist linkage

None of the Court of Dreams knew how it had started. Somehow, it had become a habit to have dinner together every other Friday, away from the townhouse and the two lovebirds residing there. It had also become a way to cope with the tension and stress of watching two unmated mates (this, they had all figured out on their own, and agreed tacitly to not comment on) circle around each other.

“I’m sure a mental bond is nice and all,” Cassian began. “But do they really have to flirt through it all. day. long?” His voice was getting louder and his hand gestures more and more animated. “I have never had a worse pupil. Not only does she have no control over her power - she could incinerate me if she’s not careful enough, her mind is always wandering away. Cauldron boil me, he keeps her distracted from a whole mountain away!”

Mor let out an all suffering sigh. “I honestly never thought being his Third would mean pretending not to see him puff his chest every time she’s around, or unnecessarily making a show of his powers. I’ve seen some gruesome shit in my life, but I discovered a new level of gross when I watched my cousin purr at his crush.”

“The purring!” Cassian repeated, slamming his hand on the table. “Is my High Lord some sort of feline? Is he a cat in heat?”

“That’s a rather apt comparison,” Amren mused from where she was leaning in her seat, using a wicked blade to clean her nails.

“Breathe a little, Cassian,” Mor chuckled. “Weren’t you the one always telling him to get his game on and get some?”

“When I told him to get some,” he replied wearily, “I meant some! This is too fucking much!”

“I don’t really care what they do in their spare time.” Azriel began in a quiet voice, and all three of his companions rose to attention. “But they live together for Cauldron’s sake. Must they insist on getting it on when we’re away on business?”

“What irks me the most,” Amren said, eyes flashing, the hilt of her knife groaning under her grip, “is that he dared ask me to bed, but doesn’t have the guts to ask a 19 year old girl who thinks the sun shines out of his ass.”

“Feyre is more of a catch,” Mor mused.

Azriel was alarmed. He instinctively reached for Truth Teller as those otherworldly eyes glittered dangerously.

“You’d barely fill a tenth of his bed,” Cassian added, a shit eating grin on his face.

The restaurant grew very, very still.

Azriel watched his friends straightening up in their seats, grins growing sharp. He fumbled for something to say that would dissolve the tension and save the lives of everyone present.

“Notes. They exchange notes. Did you notice?” he asked, stumbling over the words.

“I think that’s rather cute of them,” Mor said, leaning back in her seat, legs crossed.

Cassian leaned back as well, draping an arm on the back of her chair. “Rather rude when they zone out of the conversation though.”

Amren was still in a dangerous position, but the storm seemed to have left her eyes. Azriel took a deep breath, which he choked on as Feyre’s voice made them all jump out of their skins.

“Hello, guys.”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my court meeting behind my back,” Rhys drawled at her side. “I hope you’re not plotting a coup. It would be a shame to hang you all for treason.”

They gave him uneasy smiles. It was really a testament to how much their High Lord trusted them, because they looked as guilty as a kid with a chocolate covered mouth and a hand deep in the cookie jar.

“How come you guys are out of the house? Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Cassian asked, to which Mor snickered.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Someone kept making fun of my cooking skills, when he can’t even be bothered to boil an egg!”

“I am the High Lord of the Night Court,” Rhys said, chest puffing. “Boiling eggs does not fall under my jurisdiction.”

“You’re just making up excuses because you have no kitchen skills whatsoever.”

“Believe me, Feyre darling. I have plenty of skills in the kitchen.”

If Rhys’s dirty grin and Feyre’s ferocious blush were not indication enough, the obscene smell that soon assaulted their nostrils was a dead giveaway as to what was going on in that mental bond of theirs.

The Inner Circle exchanged a meaningful look.

“This has been delightful, but I gotta run,” Mor said as she quickly put on her jacket, and was out the door in a moment.

“Me too,” Cassian muttered as he bolted after her.

Rhys and Feyre blinked at the two vacant seats where their friends had just been, then at Azriel who was rapidly fading into shadow.

“Spy business,” he whispered before disappearing completely.

Amren simply smirked at the incredulous couple, before striding away with a wink, heading to their second meeting place away from the nauseating lovebirds.

“What was that?” Rhys asked.

Feyre inched closer, and took a whiff of his scent where his neck met his shoulders.

“Must be your smell.”

Rhys’s pupils flared.

Feyre gave him a knowing smile.

And they were both so far gone into their little game that they didn’t even notice the restaurant hurriedly emptying out.

Tag list: I wasn't sure if you wanted to be tagged in only my New Girl meets the Court of Dreams AU, but I hope you enjoy.

@joyceortiz13 @bailey-4244

[thesurielships]

Otherworldly (an Amren x Varian fanfic)

Hey there. So I saw this prompt by @creativepromptsforwriting, and it immediately reminded me of Amren. This is a short fanfiction of Amren and Varian, which are my second favorite ship in the ACoTaR series, and I think they’re seriously underrated.

***T H E   N E C K L A C E***

If someone had told Varian Shelley, prince of Adriata, that he would fall in love with a creature from another universe, who was a thousand years older than him and three feet shorter, he would have laughed in their face and told them to shove seashells where the water doesn’t reach.

And yet, here he was, standing in front of yet another jewelry store with his otherworldly lover.

“We’ll be late for supper, Rennie. The blood will go cold and clumpy.”

Oh, and he’d never thought he’d date someone who drank blood.

She clicked her tongue. “For the so-called Summer Court, food sure goes cold fast.” Her gaze did not waver from the bright blue kyanite necklace she’d been looking at for the past half hour. “Varian, I want it.”

He thought of his too light coffers and half empty treasury. “I know.”

“I would definitely kill for this.”

“Please, don’t.”

She glanced up at him, a seductive smirk on her blood red lips. She put her hand on his arm, and threaded the other one through his hair. “Varian,” she purred.

He gripped her hips, his nose lovingly nuzzling the curve of her cheek as he whispered, “You put on quite a convincing show, dearest Rennie. You’d have me fooled if it weren’t for the feral hunger in your eyes.”

There was a flash of quicksilver and an eruption of pain. He jerked away from her, doubling over, clutching at his bruised toes.

“You stepped on me,” he sputtered, shocked.

She smirked, and though this time it was purely predatory, he found it a thousand times more attractive. “How about this show, boy? Convincing enough for you?”

He pouted. “Don’t call me boy.”

She sidled up to him again, eyes sparkling. “Don’t act like one, then.”

Varian smiled as he cupped her cheek. “Rennie,” he began, leaning towards her.

“Must you insist on calling me that? In more than a thousand years of existence, that’s the worst nickname I’ve ever heard.”

“Amren. Am Ren. I am Ren. Ren. Rennie. It’s hilarious,” he said, laughing at his own joke.

Amren was trying to look stern, but the effect was ruined by the twitching of her tantalizingly red lips. “Why do I even like you?”

“For my excellent physique?”

One delicate eyebrow rose.

“For my witty personality?”

A dry smile.

“For my still half full treasury?”

“There is that, I suppose.”

He pinched her side and she grinned. She looked so unlike the famously powerful second in command of the deadly Night Court and fiery savior of Prythian, so genuinely happy to be in his arms, that his eyes grew misty.

Amren rolled her eyes. “Crying every time I smile at you is not going to rid you of your nickname, boy.”

He let out a watery laugh. “I’m happy you’re here, with me. You are magnificent.”

“Care to share that happiness? Maybe by offering me a certain necklace?”

He laughed harder and squeezed her tighter.

“What if I told you that the only reason I want it is because it’s the same color as your eyes?”

“I know you’re lying to my face, but Cauldron damn me, it’s working.”

A couple of minutes later and quite a few gold coins poorer, Varian was winnowing Amren out of the store and straight into his bedroom.

“Wear it for me?” he asked, his voice a gentle murmur against her skin as he laid her on his bed. “Alone?”

“My blood will go clumpy,” Amren remarked. “Wasn-“

He growled and kissed her protests away, her lips smiling against his.

He might have laughed at the possibility of loving someone from another world before, but now Varian thanked the Cauldron every day that of all the worlds out there, Amren ended up in his.