Prompt: Nesta brings her girlfriend, Emerie, to a solstice party with the IC. Featuring Feyre playing matchmaker for Cassian/Nesta and Mor/Emerie. Rhysand giving off the real "dinner with the homophobic parents" vibe all around. Cassian and Morrigan flirting with their prospective dates by flirting with each other.
Hope this is good! I misread the prompt and accidentally assumed this would be the Solstice we see take place in ACOSF, so that’s where we are:
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Emerie nervously flipped the gift in her hands up and down. Nesta tracked the little package as it flipped end over end in the air before falling back into her hand. “I told you we can just spend it with Gwyn in the House. Or just us back in Illyria.”
“I’d never hear the end of it. Neither of us would,” Nesta groused, slipping her hand into Emerie’s free one.
“I have wine in my house, you know. If you turn around with me right now you can have a whole bottle to yourself as a treat.” Emerie swung their joined hands back and forth.
Nesta snorted. “I’d never hear the end of that, either.”
“You think we look fancy enough?”
“I think you look stunning.” Nesta leaned in, letting her lips brush Emerie’s cheek. Emerie truly did look radiant. She’d chosen a mesh of traditional Illyrian and Velarian fashions: a burnt-orange silk dress cut in the style the city’s women wore, paired with a striking blue sash embroidered in the intricate patterns of her people. Tiny scenes of hunting, growing, and flying were rendered in vivid, multicolored thread, holding their brilliance even after hundreds of years. Her dark brown hair was tied back in an intricate braid, coins and stones in the ornament clinking softly as she moved, catching the light and making a faint, musical tinkle. Nesta’s gaze lingered on the way the sash swayed with her, the embroidery tracing her curves, and something in her chest tightened—want, admiration, awe all tangled together.
Nesta had assumed that she’d hated everything about being Illyrian, but when Emerie quietly mentioned the sash and hair jewelry were her mother’s as Nesta helped her with her braid, she understood. She had looked at the sash and wondered about the hundreds of hours of labor it must have taken for Emerie’s mother to create, whether she poured so much soul into it because she somehow knew it would one day be the only thing her daughter had left of her. She wished desperately she had something that had belonged to her mother, but everything had been sold in her father’s mad dash for money to pay off his debtors.
“You don’t look half bad yourself,” Emerie replied with a grin, nudging Nesta, “Who would have thought you cleaned up so nice?”
Nesta rolled her eyes. “I look positively matronly.”
She truly did, and she had done it on purpose. She’d asked the House for a nice, modest, unassuming black dress, and that’s exactly what it gave her. The neckline ensured not even a hint of her décolleté was visible. She had tried to wrangle herself into a dress that fit Night Court fashions, but the thought of the comments about her weight and Cassian’s unabashed staring at her breasts had made her nauseous. She’d rather be teased for her prudishness than endlessly critiqued about what she was eating and how much she was exercising.
“You do. You look like you’re marching to a funeral.” Emerie wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, which Nesta adored.
“If Rhysand’s in a bad mood, I might as well be,” Nesta muttered darkly. Snow drifted lazily through the streets, twinkling as though mocking her, and she cursed it and the inventor of Solstice, too. The River House loomed ahead, and Nesta cursed that as well.
“I used to think he was…so great. Someone who cared.” Emerie’s brows creased, and Nesta felt a pang of guilt. She slowed her pace and gave Emerie’s hand a squeeze.
“I never meant to stop you from admiring him,” Nesta said, “and you don’t have to dislike him in solidarity. He’s a good man, who cares for his people.” The words sounded stale as she said them, and she couldn’t help casting a wary glance at the mansion looming before them. If he was listening, at least give me credit for defending you, asshole.
“I’d dislike him in solidarity anyway,” Emerie replied, her voice quiet but unwavering. “I have my own reasons. I always thought the Inner Circle being trapped in Velaris was Amarantha’s doing. But when you told me it was him, I… I couldn’t stop wondering if my father might have hesitated to cut my wings had he known Cassian or Azriel would dole out retribution.”
Emerie’s eyes drifted far away, and Nesta squeezed her hand again. “I’m sorry.” Words felt useless.
“It’s not your fault,” Emerie sighed. “Mother—you weren’t even born when it happened.”
“Oh, so you admit to being a cradle robber?” Nesta teased, and a shared laugh lightened the mood as they continued their walk.
The walk itself was a small luxury. With the funds Cassian’s seemingly endless purchases from her shop got her, Emerie had insisted on splurging on a hotel in Velaris for two nights, saying to Azriel it would be easier for everyone to focus on getting ready for the festivities if they didn’t have to worry about flying her and Nesta down.
The real reason was so they could decide when they arrived and left. And also to test out the mattress in their suite. But mostly so they could have a choice.
The door swung open to reveal Rhysand and Feyre before they actually knocked, leaving Emerie’s hand awkwardly raised in the air.
Emerie’s hand dropped instinctively into Nesta’s. Nesta felt Rhysand’s violet gaze slide down to where their fingers twined, lingering just a beat too long. He said nothing—yet—but the air thickened, crackling with the kind of silence that only happens when everyone in the next room is straining to listen.
The rest of the Inner Circle’s voices faltered beyond the doorway, conversations dissolving into a heavy hush as Nesta and Emerie stepped over the threshold.
Nesta forced a smile. “Happy birthday, Feyre.” She held out the small, neatly wrapped parcel. Feyre’s eyes widened in visible surprise.
“Oh! You didn’t have to. I mean—how did you even…?” Feyre trailed off, the words dying before she could say with you being cut off.
Nesta waved a hand as if brushing away smoke. “The House provided the ingredients. I just put them together. Though I’m sure they pale in comparison to whatever Elain’s making back there.”
That, of course, was a lie. The muffins in the box had been conjured already baked, courtesy of the House’s pity. Nesta didn’t have the money for real gifts—not unless she stooped to borrowing from Emerie, which she’d rather starve than do.
“How generous, Nesta,” Rhysand purred from his place beside the fire.
She squeezed Emerie’s hand. Just one night. That was the mantra. Just one night.
“I brought something as well,” Emerie said, her voice steadier than Nesta expected. She stepped forward, holding out a small box wrapped in dark blue paper. “A little something from the shop.”
Feyre accepted it with polite warmth, thanking her profusely when she uncovered a delicate silver charm bracelet. She tried not to stare at the pale scars along Emerie’s wings but failed, her eyes flicking away guiltily. Nesta saw it—and saw the quick, faint tightening around Emerie’s mouth.
“Well,” Feyre said brightly, determined to fill the silence, “someone is very excited to see you.” She cast Nesta a conspiratorial smile and gestured toward the living room.
Nesta’s stomach sank.
Cassian sauntered into view, a grin already stretching across his face like he’d been rehearsing it in the mirror. “If it isn’t my favorite terror of the Night Court.”
Emerie’s hand tightened in hers again—amusement, reassurance, maybe both—and that tiny pressure grounded her more than she wanted to admit.
Mor swept in before Nesta could retort, her pink paneled gown glimmering as she twirled into view, every inch the radiant distraction. “Well!” she said, eyes lighting up as they landed on Emerie. “Aren’t you festive!”
Emerie laughed, a nervous little sound. “Not really. This isn’t exactly full regalia.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mor said, giving her a slow once-over, “I think it suits you.”
“If it were full regalia,” Rhysand called smoothly from across the room, “Az might have to excuse himself.”
A ripple of awkward chuckles followed. Azriel didn’t look up from his glass. Feyre shot her mate a warning glance. Nesta fought the urge to drag Emerie straight back out the door. She exchanged polite but strained words with Elain and silently acknowledged her and Amren’s mutual disdain.
For the next half hour, they endured the social theater of Velaris: forced small talk, side glances, and every not-so-subtle attempt to separate them. Cassian tried drawing Nesta toward the bar; Mor beckoned Emerie toward the fire. Neither woman budged. Nesta kept her hand in Emerie’s, her smile cool and unyielding, her patience hanging by a thread.
Mor made the expected comment about Nesta looking like a matron. Emerie quipped something back to keep the flow of conversation going. With each polite rebuff from Emerie, Mor goaded her companions into having another glass with her, and soon Nesta could have screamed. Emerie stared at a painting of a winged Feyre, her face distant.
Lucien, seemingly taking pity on them, struck up a conversation with Emerie about her store, pledging his patronage the next time he got back from Spring. The eventual gift exchange was painful as everyone watched Elain shove Lucien’s pearl earrings away with barely a thank you.
The night only dragged after that.
The wine only made everything worse.
Feyre flitted between guests with all the manic energy of someone trying to keep a dozen tensions at bay. Every few minutes, she’d cast Nesta an encouraging look — See? Isn’t this nice? You’re being social! — while Rhysand maintained his position near the hearth, smile sharp as glass.
Mor and Cassian, predictably, had teamed up near the drinks table. Nesta could feel their eyes on her and Emerie like a pair of hawks.
Cassian leaned close to Mor, murmuring something meant to look casual. Mor threw her head back and laughed — too loudly, too perfectly timed. Feyre glanced over, hopeful.
Nesta raised her brows, unimpressed. “They are acting like male birds trying to show off.” she muttered.
Emerie hid her grin behind her glass of wine. “Maybe they’re trying to make us jealous.”
“They’ll have to try harder.”
Cassian chose that moment to sling his arm around Mor’s waist, flashing Nesta a quick glance to see if she was watching. Nesta met his eyes, took an unhurried sip of her drink, and turned back to Emerie.
“So,” she said, “did you end up finishing that batch of jewelry for the Dawn Court merchant?”
“I did,” Emerie said, relaxing instantly. “Though I think she wants me to make matching pieces for her entire family next. I might be stuck engraving lilies until the next century.”
“And I’d stand over your shoulder and give you helpful advice.” Nesta deadpanned.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a real romantic?”
“No.”
“Yeah, that’s why.”
When Nesta glanced at the clock, the hand had only moved five minutes. Fuck.
When Cassian finally joked about how “the party’s supposed to be about togetherness,” Nesta turned her head and smiled sweetly.
“Yes, Emerie and I are together, thank you so much for noticing and acknowledging that, Cassian. Very mature of you.”
Cassian, deep in his cups, had the audacity to look wounded. “Nes,” he pleaded, “Is this about me? Are you trying to get back at me?”
Emerie whipped her head around so fast her braid jewelry jangled. “Is it about you? Did you really just say that?”
“I’m not doing this,” Nesta huffed, “Let’s go. We’re going.”
Emerie’s hand found Nesta’s again, and Nesta gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I really am done with this,” she muttered under her breath.
Rhysand tilted his head, violet eyes sharp. “Going to leave already?”
“Yes,” Nesta said, without hesitation. “Before the evening deteriorates further.” She glanced at Emerie, who nodded, her expression a mixture of relief and quiet amusement.
Cassian’s protest sounded almost pathetic now, slurring slightly. “Nes! Come on! It’s Solstice! You can’t just—”
“—leave?” Nesta supplied, her smile dangerously calm. “Exactly. And we shall. Good night, everyone.”
Nesta let Emerie steer them toward the door. As the cold air hit them outside, Emerie exhaled a soft, satisfied laugh. “That was…eventful.”
“Eventful?” Nesta echoed, her lips curling into a small grin. “That was the first real test of the Valkyrie’s mettle, and we passed with flying colors. We absolutely won.”
Emerie leaned into her, braid jewelry clinking softly. “I like winning by doing nothing.”
Nesta rested her chin atop Emerie’s head. “So do I.”
The streets of Velaris were quiet beneath the softly falling snow, a stark contrast to the chaos they’d left behind. Nesta slipped an arm around Emerie’s waist as they walked toward the hotel, the warmth of their closeness and the shared laughter between them outweighing the tension of the party.
One of these fucking days, I'll have the time, the energy, and the fucking confidence to record myself again..
Rant incoming.
Despite the fact that my singing voice has been one of the few things in myself that I've always been confident in, the mixture of years of abuse and degradation, then combined with everything here just wearing me the fuck out have prevented me from even attempting music in YEARS.
I've tried here n there but I always choke. And now even though I've managed to get a hold on some of my ptsd bullshit, the day to day in this house wears me out so much, that even on the days where my ambition is brighter, I always get worn out before I can do anything about it.
I know I need help. I have a decent amount of friends in the music business but nothings worked out thus far to try anything with them. I need to work on that more.
Too much. There's just too much happening at every given moment in this house. Today's been one of those days that I had to just drop whatever I was doing to help with something that's been left to disrepair then just.. lots of bullshit. Certain things they partake in that make me frustrated about this particular topic.
I'm tired, but I will get there someday even if it kills me. Wherever There is.
i wish theyd just call another fucking brexit poll because lbrh most people had no idea what they voted for anyway and it was all misinformation and mess and the people dealing with it now DONT want to because the instigators have all fucking evaporated
