#general jurian

[shadowsxgwynriel]

#band of exiles #bat boys #valkyries #feyre x mor x amren #lucien vanserra #general jurian #queen vassa #azriel #cassian #rhys #emerie #gwyn berdara #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #morrigan #amren #acotar polls

[theladyofbloodshed]

The story that nobody asked for. Imagining Nesta has a crush on Jurian and that he's around in the war camp before they fight against Hybern. 18+.

‘Who taught you to throw a punch like that, princess?’

Nesta ignored the deep voice. Mostly, the Illyrians called her witch. One called her sweetheart. Still, if names were the worst thing Illyrians dared to throw at her, Nesta would take it.

The war camp was quiet. The deep breath before the plunge. Some dozed in their tents, others still raised theirs as the camp rose and stretched towards the horizon like a great beast. The sounds of mallets striking pegs into the ground was the only noise Nesta could hear. She continued slicing her muslin into strips for the healers ready for the inevitable bloodshed that would come.

‘Now, I know a good girl like you wasn’t raised to be ignorant.’

Girl?

Nesta refused to give this male the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. He’d get bored and prowl after another female soon enough. This work mattered more. It was better to be overprepared with excess material left than scrambling to cut more as wounds bled. Still, Nesta couldn’t help but sneak a look at the shadow looming over her.

No wings. Not Illyrian then.

Knees clicked as the male squatted down in front of her.

Creaking joints?

Dark brown hair reached his chin in loose waves. Days-old, rough stubble lined his jaw and Nesta had the altogether impression that he hadn’t scrubbed himself properly in a few days. The hands that rested on his knees were dirty, the fingernails were short but still had grit wedged beneath.

‘Showing my age when my knees make that noise,’ he said, a smirk quirking his lips to the side, revealing a dimple.

The man was Nesta’s age. Was.

A young man who had lived as a slave, who incited a rebellion to lead his people to freedom. His sacrifices had ensured that humans could live freely beneath the Wall. Her people had poems of Jurian the Valiant. Jurian the Saviour. She had read books about him, this legendary figure from history. The man who had dared to dream of a better life for his people. A man who had dared to take it.

Then the fae had got their hands on him. Amarantha, the same female who had killed Feyre, had tortured him and forced him to live a cursed life for five centuries until the King of Hybern had revived him.

Slave. Martyr. Mad.

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Do not call me princess.’

‘Nice to see you keeping busy. We all have a role to play in the war effort. I’m still keen to know who taught a good girl like you how to hit someone.’

She turned back to her white cloth to cut it with her scissors. She shrugged one shoulder absently. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Graysen. Pompous prick. Deep pockets. That beautiful punch nearly knocked his head straight off his neck. Unexpected from a good girl like you.’

Princess had annoyed her. Good girl made her skin tingle all over.

Yes, this man had played the cuckoo, nestling in with Hybern and throwing out his eggs from the nest before settling in with Graysen and the other mortals.

‘Have you eaten? I’d like a word with you. We can do it while we eat.’

Nesta exhaled through her nose. It wouldn’t take much to knock him into the mud. A hard shove in the shoulder while he still squatted beside her. He might be the mad general, but he was still only mortal. Nesta was now fae.

‘I’m busy.’

‘Be a lot quicker if you ripped it or used a knife.’

Nesta pierced him with a glare. Her strips had all been cut equal widths in a neat line with her embroidery scissors.

Before she could react, Jurian had wrenched it from her grasp, got to his feet and hacked at it roughly with his knife. It was faster, she could admit, but a mess. A point she made.

‘Do you think the dying care about how neat their bandages are?’ He shook his head. ‘Any fae will be healed by their healers. We’ll be left to take care of ourselves. Our wounds will be the ones still bleeding, still infected. As always. The bottom rung of society, the disposable force.’

Nesta gave Jurian a tight smile. ‘Well, I’m not mortal anymore. Am I?’

The man winced at her words. His brown eyes flicked towards her pointed ears, hidden away beneath her coronet. She still couldn’t bear to look at them, to admit that this was what she was. Forever.

‘Well, I’m hungry.’

He turned on his heel and lumbered forwards. He moved differently. So human. His steps were loud. His gait slow. But there was something below the surface, a predator luring its prey. Nesta did not doubt that Jurian, the mad general, was not someone to be trifled with. He had deceived the King of Hybern, mounted a slave rebellion against the fae five hundred years earlier.

Maybe that was why she followed.

The others would have chastised her for following him through to the small section of the camp where the mortals had set up their tent. She spied the flag bearing Graysen’s family crest and was seized by the urge to tear it down. Few mortals had come. Many had tried to flee to the south, to the Continent, to anywhere that would take them. She should have been one of them.

Nesta did not blame them. They’d be fighting against creatures they had been taught to fear. Creatures who were bigger, stronger, and faster than them. Ones with magic. Ones like her.

Nesta felt the stares on her as Jurian led her to where soup was being ladled out. She wanted to declare that she had once been one of them. Her heart was still mortal. It still beat for her homeland.

The soup was bland. The flavours did not exist. It was difficult to swallow due to her heightened senses. Any food from her home tasted of ash.

‘You were a casualty of the war. I thought I’d be willing to pay the price.’ Jurian fixed her with his dark stare. It was haunting. The stare of a man who’d seen five centuries of horror. ‘Your sister. Elain. It was easier to watch her go in the Cauldron. You.’ He swallowed. ‘You wanted so badly to live as you were. To be mortal. And I had a part in taking that from you.’

‘Wars are won with sacrifice. But you didn’t choose that sacrifice. I’m sorry. I’m sorry it happened to you. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy.’        

This man had been a friend of Mor’s in the first war. A man who had been driven to insanity by the pain inflicted up on him. She had said she hardly recognised him now. But Nesta saw something in him. A glimmer of the man who had inspired thousands to follow him. A man with a good heart who’d fought to keep it whole.  

‘It doesn’t take back what you did.’

‘No. It doesn’t. You are not the only one changed by the Cauldron, Nesta. I felt your pain as acutely as my own.’

Nesta rose – as did her fury. ‘What a terrible experience. I’m so sorry you had to endure watching me put into the Cauldron.’

Faster than she thought he would be, Jurian had stood too. His fingers clamped around her wrist, preventing her from leaving. The grip was painful.

‘Let go of me,’ she hissed.

Regret washed over his features. His fingers loosened then brushed against the white marks they’d left. ‘I’m not a perfect man. I’ve never claimed to be. I’m not a man of fine words or poetry. I’m a soldier, Nesta. It’s all I’ve ever been. To gain the king’s trust, a sacrifice had to be made. There will be no forgiveness for me, not from you, but my apology stands.’

He swallowed and Nesta watched the bob of his throat. He was so… mortal. There were scars on his body. She could smell sweat on him. His brown eyes were dull. His body didn’t threaten hers. His armour, though polished and well-kept, wasn’t anything special. He was human. A man. Not a man she’d ever have interacted with as a woman either. Jurian had no manners, had no silver-tongue, or fortune. Just a man with the heart of a lion who wanted his people to be free.

His need to win the king’s trust had resulted in the loss of mortality of two human woman. His apology was genuine. He felt the loss just as keenly as she did.

‘How far would you go? How many regrets can you bear to carry?’

***

It was still early, the light barely bleeding into the sky but already the camp was waking. Nesta had slept little, curled beside Elain in a low-slung camp bed in a tent that they shared with Morrigan. The blonde had woken first, yawning and groaning in her bed as if war was simply another day, before heading out.

Nesta had helped where she could rather than remaining in the bed with Elain who pretended to still be asleep rather than face the world. She’d chopped fruit and added it to a massive vat of porridge. It was watered down to go around, but still, she filled a pot with it and carried it back to their section of tents with a stack of bowls under her arm. Nesta was not a fighter, but she would do her bit where she could.

There were voices coming from Rhys and Feyre’s tents, rough male voices bouncing through tactics and plans. She entered, announcing the arrival of breakfast as if that might save the day.

‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ Cassian said with a wink, taking the heavy pot from her to lift onto the table.

Cassian and Azriel were there, their enormous wings demanding space in the cramped tent. Rhysand poured over a map, his magic clawing up more room. There were other males – Kallias, the high lord of Winter with his chiselled features; Helion, the high lord of the Day Court with his swaggering confidence. But Nesta’s eyes snapped to one. Jurian was there. Again, she was struck by how mortal he was, especially compared to these fae. Each was powerful in their own right, but her body demanded she look at only Jurian. He was the reminder of the life she had lost. In a strange, new world, he was the constant.

Nesta ladled out bowls of porridge which Feyre passed around the group as they discussed where each army would press. She extended the next bowl for Feyre to take, but a rough hand enclosed around hers to accept it.

‘Thank you, princess.’

Something charged passed through them. Nesta found herself looking away, staring intently at the nearly empty porridge pot rather than face him. It wasn’t just Jurian’s attention. She could feel Cassian’s gaze boring into her skin.

‘It takes an army to feed an army,’ the man said sagely.  

‘Right,’ she replied, the pitch of her voice far higher than usual. ‘I need to keep feeding the army.’

Her tongue tangled over itself. Cool composure lost under Jurian’s intense stare. The corner of his mouth tipped up. That sinful dimple creasing into his cheek.

Don’t say it, Nesta thought.

‘Good girl.’

Blood scorched in her cheeks. Jurian might not have been able to hear the sudden increase in her pulse, but the others had. All of them turned to face her, even her sister.

‘This pot isn’t going to fill itself,’ she mumbled, hurrying from the tent.

Even the cold wind blowing through the camp could not cool the heat from her cheeks. The deep voice repeated on a loop in her mind. Good girl. Good girl. Good grief! Why did that make her knees give way? It was condescending. She was a grown woman. A female.

A pair of steps trailed her from the tent. She expected Cassian. Expected him to demand why another male had made her pulse quicken. Why she'd stared at Jurian like he was the only man who existed.

But it was Feyre.

‘What was that all about?’

‘It’s breakfast, Feyre.’

Her sister tilted her head to the side. ‘No. I mean why did Jurian send you scurrying out of the tent like a blushing bride. I’ve never seen you go giddy like that when a male speaks to you. You usually intimidate them.’

‘He’s a man. Not a male,’ she replied hotly, though that had nothing to do with the matter.

Feyre’s brows raised. A small smile played on her lips. ‘Nesta, do you… Do you find Jurian attractive?’

‘Of course not,’ she scoffed, swinging her porridge pot like a buffoon. ‘He’s rude. He has no manners. He’s dirty. His hair will soon have birds nesting in it.’

‘He’s also the reason you were put into the Cauldron.’

‘A sacrifice he made to gain the king’s trust.’ Nesta clamped her hand over her mouth. Surely, she wasn’t defending Jurian? Nesta took a steadying breath to try and cling to her sanity. ‘Jurian has apologised to me. I believe it to be genuine.’

‘Nesta, you cannot trust him. Mor said he’s completely mad.’

Mad? Perhaps. It certainly took madness to maintain his mask around the King of Hybern. Any quickening of his pulse or betrayal of emotions would have been sensed. Jurian had been steel – unbending, unyielding. A wolf in a herd of sheep. But Nesta had shared a meal with a man who spoke with an honest tongue. A man that mortals looked to for steadiness.

‘Feyre, I gave him breakfast. I certainly have no intentions to give him anything more. He is uncouth. With little honour. I care not for him.’

Feyre made a face suggesting she didn’t believe Nesta’s words. Hell, Nesta didn’t believe them either. He was rough around the edges. The sort of man that her mother would have stuck her nose up at. And that made him more enticing for Nesta. The fae males were, well, fae. Too unnatural. The wings still unsettled Nesta. But Jurian was a man. A man who knew how to chop wood and gut someone. A man who could cook war rations and fix a leaking roof. A man who knew what to do with his hands. A man who had seduced a fae female. Seduced her then chopped her into pieces.

Slave. Martyr. Mad.

Maybe he was all three.

‘Well, when you’ve finished delivering porridge, Rhys has asked if you’ll come into the tent.’

***

Nesta had begged the group who saw to the daily running of the camp for more tasks, more orders to keep her away from Rhysand’s tent. When there was no more porridge left do dole out, Nesta had helped chop vegetables for lunch, cut more strips of muslin, and cleaned whatever needed to be cleaned.

Even when she saw Mor striding towards her, she busied herself still. Mor’s boot tapped on the hard ground impatiently until Nesta demanded what she wanted.

‘We are all waiting for you.’

‘I cannot be at Rhysand’s every beck and call.’

Mor shook her head. ‘He is the high lord.’

Not mine, she almost said.

Begrudgingly, Nesta stowed away her basket of linen then followed Mor's weaving trail back towards the large, black tent. The brazier kept the tent warm. Each had a mug of tea clasped in their hands.

A few of the people had rotated. Kallias had been exchanged for Thesan, the high lord of the Dawn Court and his Peregryn commander. Devlon was in the tent along with a tall, blonde male from the Hewn City. Tempers flared. Too many dominant personalities in such a cramped space. Jurian held his own against the fae, his harsh voice scraping against theirs refusing to allow mortals to be on the front lines, refusing to allow his people’s blood to spill first. Devlon argued back that his Illyrians wouldn’t be the collateral either.

At Nesta’s arrival, they paused, glancing her way momentarily before Helion’s smooth voice rippled over them. He pointed at the map, gesturing to wear he’d position his forces.

Jurian’s eyes met Nesta’s. He took a slow sip of his tea then held the mug out for her. ‘Still warm.’

It was a test as much as any. Would she shed her heritage as a mortal, refuse to share a cup with a mortal man because she was a superior fae? All Nesta could think of was his lips against the rim of the cup, where else those lips could be. With all eyes still on her, Nesta took the cup and raised it to her mouth, drinking once.

Jurian winked at her. She found herself hurriedly looking away, a blush rising in her cheeks once more from his presence. What was wrong with her?

‘Nesta, we need to ask you a few questions.’ Rhysand’s address snapped her head back up. She stared at him with more conviction than she ever had before – anything to not feel the scorching heat of Jurian’s eyes or the pressing gaze from Cassian either.

‘Ask them then.’

‘Hybern is quiet.’

‘Far too quiet,’ Cassian added.

‘Can you feel anything from the Cauldron?’

It lurked in her periphery, an unwanted spectre trailing her. But there was no change in the shadow. It remained as it always did, a prowling beast just out of sight.

‘No difference than usual.’

‘You can always feel it?’ Azriel pushed.

She saw the flash of discomfort in Devlon’s eyes. The twist of his lips as his favourite insult pressed to the surface.

Nesta stiffened. ‘Yes. I ripped out its heart. It follows me.’

The tent dropped in temperature as wariness settled in.

Rhys shrugged a shoulder with indifference. ‘It could work in our favour – a blessing in disguise.’

‘A blessing?’ Jurian made a noise of disbelief.

‘Let’s not forget why Nesta has a connection to the Cauldron, Jurian,’ Mor warned, her fingers flitting to the knife sheathed on her hip.

Before the man could even respond, Nesta had opened her mouth. Without reason. Without considering her words. ‘Jurian made sacrifices just as Rhysand has. I was the casualty of it. It cannot be reversed but I will not pretend that there is some good in it. If I had the choice, I would be as I was.’

A strong hand came down on her shoulder, squeezing once in a gesture so human Nesta did not need to look around to know who was touching her, who she allowed to continue touching her in the tent full of fae.

The others noted it.

She fought hard in their meeting to stop looking at Jurian. To stop feeling giddy and light-headed every time their eyes met or he posed a question to her. It was useless.

***

There had been no movement from Hybern. They had not drawn their lines, their tents were still, almost as if the camp was in an enchanted slumber. It allowed their own camp to rest and ready themselves. Tomorrow, the fighting would start regardless of Hybern’s move. The waiting game was too tedious. More had been winnowed in from Illyria and the Hewn City, but tensions bubbled. Too much longer and the armies here would begin turning on each other. Too many egos in the pot. The mortal section of the camp was uneasy. For now, these fae were the allies – but for how long?

Nesta kept her hood drawn as she entered their camp.

Jurian had traded his armour for a dark tunic. He bounced between groups, trading stories by the fire before moving onto the next group. They drank cups of ale. Songs rang out. A last hurrah before the end.

She didn’t know why she was seeking him out. Didn’t pause to question herself. Her feet just kept moving over the solid ground until she reached the grey tents.

‘What’s wrong?’ He said in greeting.

‘We go to war tomorrow. I-’ Nesta stopped to take a deep breath. ‘I don’t know. Good luck.’

‘Good luck?’ His dimple appeared and Nesta nearly sighed at the sight of it. ‘Is that what the fae say before a war? I can’t talk now.’

Was Nesta seeing things or was it disappointment in his brown eyes when he said it?

‘My people will bleed for me, die for me tomorrow. The least I can give them is my time tonight.’

A good general, not a mad general. Nesta nodded in understanding although embarrassment fluttered in her chest. Infatuation had driven her here. She was caught up in the stories of glory of Jurian, the hero of her people. These stories were addling her sense.

‘I’ll come and find you in your tent tonight.’

‘I share a tent with my sister and Morrigan.’

He cocked his head to the side, grinning slightly. ‘Then I’ll bring you to my tent and show you exactly what mortals do on the eve of war.’

Dumbfounded, Nesta could only blink at him. Heat had pooled low in her belly at what he was insinuating. A buzzing sounded in her ears.

‘You have no manners.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ he replied. ‘And that I smell. And my hair is a bird’s nest.’

‘Feyre told you I said that?’

‘You seem to have spent an awful long time staring at me to notice such things.’

Nesta fumbled for a witty retort, but nothing came. Her brain was too busy lusting over his solid arms, the way he made her feel small, the beard coming through.

Traitorous body, she thought with irritation.

‘Good luck. Try not to die.’

‘See you tonight.’

‘You will not.’

***

Nesta could think of nothing but the quake of her heart as Jurian led her by the hand towards his tent. There had been no argument. No refusal to follow him. His hand had extended as the camp settled for the night and Nesta had taken it. There was no shame from him. He walked steadfast, head up, through his camp and into his tent. Nesta had made up a flimsy excuse to Elain that she had to speak with one of the healers and would be back. Elain wouldn’t miss her. Her sister had barely gotten out of bed that day, preferring the sanctuary of the covers. Still, if anybody questioned Nesta’s absence, Elain would mumble something about the healers and she would be forgotten.

The tent wasn’t small, but there was no elegance to the place like Rhysand’s. Jurian’s tent was given to him by Lord Nolan. Grey canvas stretched over wooden poles. A brazier burnt in the corner, giving much needed heat to the tent. A camp bed with a single blanket strewn on top took up most of the room. It was bare. The man had few belongings save for the weapons and armour dropped haphazardly in one corner.

Nesta seated herself on the bed, her lips pressed together.

He removed his wrist guards then the chest piece before pulling his tunic over his head. It was a well-practised dance for him, the everlasting soldier. There was something intimate about watching it. He strode from the tent before returning with a bucket of water he’d warmed over a fire pit.

‘So, I’m not dirty.’

Any words stayed on her tongue as Jurian dipped a cloth into the water then began cleaning his bare torso. His body was muscled and tanned, but unlike the fae bodies she had seen, Jurian’s glittered with scars, even bruises in varying colours from purple to fading green. And, surprisingly delighting her, dark hair spread across his chest.

Her mother would be rolling in her grave to see her eldest daughter in a war camp with a rough man whose only currency was violence.

But Nesta didn’t care.

For the first time, Nesta took control of her own destiny. Not a mother guiding her to a husband, not poverty stealing her chances, or fae shifting her future. She would make a choice. A choice she wanted.

Nesta reached for the cloth, taking her time to wring out the excess water then dragged it along the man’s shoulders, working it downwards across his spine then against his hip. She followed the track of the rivulets running down his tan skin towards his waistband.

‘Do you need to comb my hair too, so that I’m presentable, princess?’

‘Stop.’

She rolled her eyes then began cleaning his neck.

Jurian turned so his bare chest was inches from her. His heart beat loudly. Not fast, but loud. Loud to her ears. Had he been with a woman since he’d been revived, Nesta wondered.  

‘What about my absence of manners? Should I say thank you for this?’

Nesta flicked his mouth with the cloth. ‘You won’t be able to when I gag you with it. Stop talking. You ruin the moment.’

‘So violent.’

Seizing the cloth from her hand, Jurian dashed it back into the bucket. He held onto her as his own hand pressed against her chest, feeling the drumming of her heart. ‘This is mortal. This spirit, it will always be mortal. Don’t ever let it fade.’

‘Kiss me.’

The kiss was power sweeping in. Jurian held her face, tilted it up to him and pressed his lips to hers. More. Nesta needed more.

Her hand sought the laces of his breeches. She loosened them, let her fingers trail against the soft skin of his stomach. Let them explore lower.

Jurian tore off her shawl. He tipped her forwards into the crook of his neck while his fingers plucked at the buttons running down the back of her dress. It came off easily, pooled around her feet, so she stood only in a shift.

‘Are you cold?’

‘No,’ she whispered as Jurian lay her onto the bed, his hand running up her thigh.

He spread open her legs, exposing her before him. Nesta let out a small gasp as Jurian’s mouth licked at her sex. There was no hesitation from the man. He’d come to conquer.

Nesta’s legs wrapped around his back. At her eagerness, Jurian looked up, a smile quirked his lips. He exchanged soft kisses for spiralling his tongue at the entrance to her sex. It was languid, savouring each breathy moan it elicited from her.

Her fingers twisted in the blanket as Jurian’s fingers spread her open to access better with his tongue. Every pulse of it had her core curling tighter with a pleasure she had never known before. It softened over the most sensitive parts then sucked harder when she could take more pressure until Nesta was undone.

A sudden rush of euphoria flooded her body. Her legs quivered against the rough stubble on Jurian’s face as he kissed the sensitive skin of her thighs, riding through the last of her orgasm

He moved so his body was over hers. Lips, plump and wet, pressed to hers. She could taste herself on his tongue. Nesta’s fingers gripped his hair, kept his mouth against hers as his tongue sought entry.

She peeled away his breeches to admire his whole body. A deep, twisting scar ran across his thigh – but that was not what had caught her attention. His erection pressed against him, solid and ready.

‘I want this,’ Nesta whispered, reaching for his cock to position it at her entrance.

Jurian grinned. It was so human that it made her heart flutter. ‘Don’t be too loud or you’ll wake up the camp.’

The general ground his hips to hers, his length sliding in. There was a sudden, sharp pain of being stretched too quickly. His rough breathing in her ear as they grew accustomed to each other settled Nesta’s pulse.

Jurian kissed along her jaw, unmoving until Nesta gave him permission to resume.

Her shift was abandoned. The skin of their chests stuck together with every thrust. One hand gripped Jurian’s dark hair, the other dug its nails into the sweat-soaked muscles of his back. Breath hissed between Jurian’s teeth as he drew out his length then buried it to the hilt. Over and over, he thrust, setting a rhythm. Their foreheads touched, lips met, each one desperate for this purely human moment before a war.

He took care to clean her afterwards though he remained quiet at the small amount of blood spread between her thighs.

Jurian stood, proud in his bare skin, to stoke the brazier and add a few more coals.

All around them, the tents were silent. Only the poor souls on a watch duty remained awake.

‘Are you warm, Nesta?’

In response, she patted the narrow bed. He obliged her wish and slipped in beside her, arms wrapping around her body. Her hand rested on his chest, palm feeling the thump of his heart. Nesta found herself wondering if Jurian would age now. If, in fifty years, he’d be an elderly man. Or had the Cauldron changed him into a mortal who lived forever. There would no worse fate for him. A constant cycle of seeing generations rise and fall while he remained the same.

‘I should have realised that you would be a maiden.’ Jurian let out a quiet laugh. ‘I thought maybe... Being fae. I don’t know. Sorry.’

There was no regret on Nesta’s part. War was coming like a wave they could not out run. Jurian might not see another night. Neither might she. Nesta had wanted to be with a man. Not a fae male. A man. A man who she should have spent a life with. If one night was all she could manage then it was better than nothing.

‘I’m twenty-three, Jurian. Nearly a spinster by human standards.’

‘A spinster,’ he crowed. ‘You’re only a couple of years younger than I am.’

‘You are more than twenty times my age.’

At that, Jurian squeezed her hip, making her jerk and squeal. ‘I spent five hundred years in a ring. It doesn’t count.’

‘Will you crucify me now like the last female?’

A dark look crossed Jurian’s face. Nesta didn’t know why she had said it. Other than to be cruel. To force him to push her away before she hurt her own tender feelings because she was barrelling down a path where the only ending was heartbreak.

Jurian sat on the edge of the bed, brown eyes falling to the glowing embers in the brazier. His hair hung forwards.

‘I hated every moment of it. Each time she touched me, each time I had to touch her. I hated it all. But I’d do it again. I’d do it for our people.’

Slave. Martyr. Mad.

‘How far would you go? What is your limit, Jurian?’

This man had lost everything. Death would have been a kindness for him. Instead, he had been tortured and maimed, forced to spend five centuries observing Amarantha’s cruelty. And then, when he returned, he had nothing, nobody. No friends. No family. No home. No belongings. Nothing. Nesta realised he had no limits because he had nothing more to lose. Everything had been taken from him.

‘Put your clothes back on,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll walk you back to your tent.’

‘And if I wanted to remain here?’

Nesta pressed herself against his back and wound her arms around his shoulders. The man sucked in a long breath. She was what he should hate. A fae. She should hate him for her transformation. And yet Nesta understood. He’d made an impossible choice; two mortals he didn’t know for Hybern’s secrets. Nesta would do the same for Elain, for Feyre. There were no limits to what she would do to protect her sisters.

‘This might be your last night,’ he said.   

‘Then let us not waste it.’

***  

It took all of Nesta’s strength to prise Jurian’s arms from her bare body as the camp took its first breaths at dawn. It would have been easy to remain there, feeling safer than she had in years. The man did not stir as she slipped out from the bed to dress. Without his body cradling hers, Nesta grew cold. The dawning of war sent another shiver rippling through her. Already, she could hear the sounds of the humans readying their horses, the smiths ensuring blades were sharp, armour was mended. Her section of the camp would be awake too, perhaps even wondering where she’d spent the night. Or with whom.

Nesta wasn’t one for goodbyes. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of pressing a kiss upon Jurian’s brow like two star-crossed lovers, parting for the last time, but she thought better of it. It would probably be more awkward than anything. Nesta did not want to see regret on Jurian’s features when he realised that he had bedded an enemy.

She was a silly girl with an infatuation with a legend. The eve of war had encouraged her heart to make a decision. They’d spent the night tangled with each other. Their fervour was as a result of passion and desperation, the final breath before war driving them to their coupling. He’d not been rough or selfish as Nesta expected, but tender and consuming, peppering her skin with kisses and catching every gasp and moan with his mouth. When they were both sated, and sense encouraged them both to steal a few hours of sleep, Jurian had asked her to stay. He had wrapped his arms around her, tucked her close to his body then they had slipped into slumber.

‘You’re not even dressed. I had leathers brought to your tent an hour ago.’ Feyre had her arms folded. She was already dressed in the black clothing the Illyrians were fond of. Her hair had been braided tightly down her back. Ready for war.

Nesta would fight if she had to. Not that she wanted to. She didn’t have a warrior’s heart, only the fear of consequence urging her into the tent to ready herself.

Elain sat on the bed sobbing, her leathers draped across her lap. Nesta steeled her own heart to be the strong one. She tucked her sister against her.

‘One day. We push through this one day and we will have a tomorrow.’

An eternity. A lifetime that neither of them wanted.

***

What was the point? What was the point in anything? Her sisters were alive. Lucien had come with their father, bringing an armada. But what was the point?

Nesta stood by as Feyre burnt their father’s body. The king’s blood was sticky on her skin, itching it. The Autumn Court were burning their dead too. Other courts claimed their bodies. They wrapped them in cloths to give them burials on their own land.

Nesta did not know who had prised the king’s head from her hand. Maybe Cassian. Maybe Feyre. She hadn’t even registered who had been standing before her, only that warm hands had loosened her fingers from his hair and taken it from her.

She had been alone, facing down the king. She’d thought of Jurian, of the sacrifices he made for their people – and Nesta had made her own. She had lured the king to her, to distract him from the Cauldron, knowing he’d take the bait. She would have died alone. Until Elain had stepped out from a shadow and driven a knife into his neck. The same knife that Nesta used to cleave his head from his body.

Like a phantom, Nesta moved through the camp. The Illyrians that she did manage to save from the blast didn’t keep their voices down as they murmured about her. Witch. She-devil. With the king's blood still staining her, it might have been true.

Nesta wasn’t seeking him out. In honesty, she didn’t know what she was doing or where she was going. Her feet just moved. Her mind had emptied. Any thoughts were gone. It was just a pain so raw it numbed everything else existing within her.

‘Can I help?’ She rasped to a healer. A mortal one who regarded her with fear. ‘I’ll cut bandages. I’ll collect water. Please let me help.’

There were no fae here. The mortals who were injured writhed on their beds, moaning in agony. The two healers they had were run ragged, stitching wounds, stemming the blood flow. There were wounds here that could have been healed in moments by the fae, but they cared for their own first – just as the mad general had said.

Without waiting for a response, Nesta collected fresh water. She cleaned wounds that she was confident in dealing with, bound bleeding limbs and trickled water into the mouths of the dying. Nesta caught a glimpse of Jurian on bended knee by a man with a gaping wound in his chest. As he spluttered for breath, Jurian held his hand. He stroked his face, spoke soft, loving words to him until the man’s chest fell still. Then he moved to the next one, stayed with him as he died. A mad general, but a good man.

A pink, dusty sky filtered through the darkness.

Nesta’s hands were blackened from tending to fires to keep the humans warm. Her own limbs were stiff and aching. She was stronger than even the biggest mortal man, capable of carrying more wood and buckets than them. The echoes of her power were felt in her marrow. An ancient, slumbering behemoth who had enjoyed its little venture out into the world and wanted more. There had been no respite; Nesta had not stopped all night. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Nesta couldn’t decide if she was hungry or thirsty or tired or broken. She had just kept going, helping where she could for her people.

‘Nes.’ A blanket was tucked around her shoulders. Cassian’s form stood over her. ‘We’ve been so worried. Why are you here? You should be with us. Let’s get you cleaned up.’

‘I want to go home.’

There was no home for her. Nesta had never had a home. She’d had a house. A cottage. A manor. Never a home. Never that feeling of belonging.

‘Let’s get you to your sisters.’

***

The cold air pressed against Nesta’s skin. Flakes of snow settled in her hair. Not snow. Ash. Ash from the humans burning their dead in a great pyre when they were unable to dig more graves.

Boots scuffed over the barren ground by the Night Court’s tents.

Strong arms wrapped around her, his chest pressed against her spine, holding her tightly to him.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner,’ Jurian murmured in her ear.

Nesta should have pushed him away. Anybody could see them like this – the witch and the mad general. Without his strength engulfing her, Nesta would fall apart.

‘I’m sorry about your father. And everything else.’

She blinked rapidly, chasing away the tears trying to form. Jurian had been on the northern flank. Hadn’t seen what had happened. Likely hadn’t heard until hours later.

‘Thank you for all you did for our people, easing them to the eternal realm, saving others from it. Your generosity did not go unnoticed, not by me. You are a good person, Nesta. You could have rested on a soft bed, but you came to our people when they needed you.’

Nesta turned in his arms to face him. A blackened eye forced his eyelid to droop and the eye beneath was bloodshot. His lip was split. A slash ran across his neck too. Her wounds had healed in a matter of hours. His would be there for days. Some would scar. Another scar to his tapestry.

‘You will have a new court. A new queen.’

Jurian nodded. ‘You will return to the Night Court.’

‘I am what you made me after all.’

His eyes screwed shut. ‘I keep telling myself that if you hadn’t gone in the Cauldron, nobody else would have had the power to stop the king. That it had to happen to stop a war. And I hate myself for thinking it. You asked me, Nesta, what my limit is. I found it.’

His hands tipped her face upwards, the heat of his palms pressing against her cheeks.

‘I am forever cursed. Fate laughs at me.’ Jurian kissed her forehead. ‘I find a woman who gives to my people as much as I do, one who I would want at my side. The same woman I sacrificed to the Cauldron and turned fae.’

***

All of them were to gather in a ruined manor – fae and human alike. It took Nesta a few moments to piece together the sitting room, with its smashed windows and cracked marble hearth. Her old home. Gifted to them through Tamlin’s wealth. This was the start of her nightmares. This hearth was where she had stood with a closed fist ready to protect Elain from three overgrown bats.

Fae filtered in through the doors. Each one bearing their wounds. Even Beron and his son, Eris, came to the meeting.

Feyre inhaled, ready to speak to each court gathered, then two more figures entered. Proud and tall, two men strode in followed by a contingent of mortals. Graysen sported a slash down his cheek. It would scar probably, marring his looks. Nesta did not need to look to Elain; her sister would have been gazing at him the moment she heard his steps. Beside him, Jurian sported his black eye like a trophy. He gave a smirk to Feyre, as if this was yet another game for him. Another war. Another period of peace. Like the never-ending crests and troughs of a wave that he would continue to ride.

When the firebird queen had spoken to Nesta, she did not respond. Throughout the meeting, Nesta remained with her back pressed to the cold wall, barely listening. It was only her and the king, her father’s discarded body at his feet. He hadn’t stepped over him, merely stepped on him to reach Nesta.

Sometimes she could feel Jurian staring at her. Feel the burn of his eyes, demanding her attention, but Nesta wouldn’t give it. She could not look towards the human contingent without feeling sorrow that she was not a part of it.

Then it was done.

Groups peeled off back to their courts. Some winnowed home. Others returned on foot to the war camp to continue packing away their tents. Nesta stood at the window as a silent guardian, examining each person as they departed.

She scented Jurian before she heard him. Sweat, smoke, human. He engaged Feyre in conversation, but Nesta remained at her vigil, her back to him.

‘Too bad the king was so spectacularly beheaded by your sister. I bet he could have found a way to break that curse of hers.’

Nesta turned.

‘Too bad indeed,’ Feyre muttered.

Jurian grunted his amusement. Another queen to follow. Another court to find a home in. Jurian was finding a future. He deserved it. Nesta had yet to figure out her own path.

‘Do you think we stand a chance?’ Feyre asked, motioning to the human figures still walking, far away, back toward the camp. ‘Of peace between all of us?’

Jurian was silent for a long moment. Nesta felt the heat from his gaze graze against her cheek. ‘Yes,’ he said softly. She looked at him, the words meant for her rather than Feyre. ‘I do.’

#jurian x nesta #the witch and the mad general #jurian #nesta archeron

[alicentsaegon]

Why does SJM hate humans so much

#making the hatred that humans have against fae seem like pure bigotry in acotar #no actually its because humans have been enslaved for centuries and they are still being hunted like sport #and the treatment jurian got :( #listen Jurian should have been a fucking LEGEND in the human lands #Feyre should immediately recognize him by name alone not have Alys spew exposition about him #human general that defeated so many fae slavers and was eventually killed by amarantha? he would 100% be martyred #this post is just to conclude that Jurian >>>>> everyone else #acotar #anti sjm #i wish Feyre never turned in high fae or any of her sisters for that matter #imagine Feyre getting the high lords powers while being HUMAN #hell would break loose #also immortal x mortal angst

[foxcort]

His elder brother stood before him, whole and unmarred, and Tamlin felt as if all the air were expelled from his lungs. “Emrys.” A cruel, satisfied smile curved Emrys' mouth, the verdant of his all too familiar gaze alight with wicked elation. “Tamlin."

#combining my tamlin brother oc brainrot with my charlie hunnam brainrot #inspired by an anon I sent acotardeservesbetter back when I was still contemplating making an acotar blog #but...wouldn't it have been cool if hybern resurrected tamlin's brother instead of jurian??? he was the son of one of his closest allies #and someone guaranteed to help him break down the wall especially if hybern promised him the high lord of spring slot #tamlin *did* kill amarantha (one of hybern's generals) there could've been reason to doubt and doublecross him on hybern's part #idk idk it'd just be a cool idea and maybe one day I'll actually write it out but for now im settling for an edit just for me #tamlin #emrys #acotaredit #myedit #🌻

[hlizr50]

Merry Christmas to my @acotargiftexchange recipient, @velidewrites!! I know I sent a message already, but I was too excited to wait to post.

I hope you love this Princess Bride-inspired oneshot, featuring Jurian and Vassa :)

Read on AO3

How could someone care if she were the most beautiful woman in the world or not? What difference could it have made if you were only the third most beautiful? Or the sixth? Vassa, of course, would never dream of being ranked so highly. Not because she didn’t think she was beautiful; quite the contrary. The human queen with unblemished caramel skin and silken mane of fire knew the mirror held the reflection of a woman that would be the envy of many. It was her curse, the shackles that bound her to the death god Koschei, that knocked her down a peg or two.

So what she liked to do, preferred above all else really, was to taunt the general.

The general did what she told him. Actually, Jurian wasn’t much of a general any longer, at least at that point in time. Not after he had betrayed the fae female he’d claimed to love, had been tortured and destroyed, imprisoned in Amarantha’s ring, and then resurrected and pieced back together. But she referred to him that way still. “General, fetch me this”; “Prepare my horse, General, and make it quick. I wish to ride before the weather turns dour.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

That was all he ever answered. At least at first.

Fetch that, General. “Yes, my Queen.” Dry this, General. “Yes, my Queen.”

He’d become a bit snippity as they kept closer quarters. Of course, he would always relent, his gritted, “yes, my Queen” sometimes bitter or biting on his tongue.

As was the case currently.

“General, I think we need more wood for the fireplace in the evenings,” Vassa crooned, her ocean eyes flaring. The general had raised an eyebrow, unamused as the golden glow of fae lights cast shadows over his sullen brown eyes. Always so morose. So brooding. The queen would never admit it, but she enjoyed these evenings. When Jurian argued with her as if she were nothing more than a typical human. Not a queen. Not a woman cursed.

The general’s gaze dragged down the length of her reclined form, and she could feel it as if it were the caress of his battle-roughened fingertips. When he locked eyes with her again his stare was steely and assessing. “The weather is so warm that you cannot stand to wear more than a frilly little nightdress that leaves nearly nothing to the imagination.” Her cheeks reddened, heat flooding her face with the realization that his languid looks had served to peruse her frame and how meagerly she had covered herself in the warmth of the spring night. Jurian added, “My Queen.” Vassa’s eyes narrowed, the reverent title at odds with his observation of her body and how little of it was covered.

But, of course, two could play at this game.

“I do so love the comfort of a crackling fire. As your queen, as you always say, I would imagine you would prefer to satisfy my wants.” Her clear blue eyes took him in, her intense gaze traveling down his well-built form in an imitation of his own perusal. “And I do so enjoy watching you work.” The human queen smirked, satisfied with her own argument. And she was even more pleased when his lips quirked to one side in a half grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

None of his smiles ever did.

“Yes, my Queen.” Jurian dipped his chin.

And so the following afternoon, in the heat of the day, Vassa found herself perched upon a branch, watching intently as the general’s muscles rippled with every stroke of his ax. Anyone who would have come upon the scene might have been confused to find a majestic bird swathed in fiery feathers lazily observing something that many would consider mundane. 

But the general, being so arrogant and self-appreciative, had made nothing less than a spectacle of tormentingly slowly lifting his tunic over his head, revealing his lean, muscled form. And as he chopped the quite unnecessary wood, sweat glistened over his tan skin, droplets following the wending pale scars that painted his body with the constant reminder of his torturous life, death, and rebirth.

Jurian had never shared anything about his ordeal, instead choosing to keep himself so tightly wound and protected that he was likely to explode at any moment. More and more, recently, he had done just that, protesting anything from a simple question about the weather to the strategies being taken by the fae to address the death god that held her leash. Vassa had never broached the subject of his scars, both physical and mental, because as little tolerance she had for brooding, petulant bullshit, she did not have the courage to pry into that heavily shielded part of him.

Perhaps, if he knew just how beautiful she found him - scars and all - it would be different. But, then again, he did know, for if he didn’t would he make such a show of pouring water over his head and down his sculpted chest and chiseled stomach? Would he be so deliberate about rolling the sleeves of his tunic up those corded forearms when he prepared a meal or washed the dishes after, all purposely within her line of sight, if he thought she would not find him attractive?

Flaring her wings only slightly she tilted her head, considering the general in a different light. Did he think that the pleasure of viewing his body was all that she wanted? There had been times, she recalled, when she thought the coldness of his chocolate stare had melted into something more like passion or desire. But Jurian had never acted upon it, and the icy calculation and indifference had hardened his gaze in the very next moment.

Perhaps it was he who did not desire her.

“Am I ruffling your feathers, my Queen?” His voice was like honey as it floated across the clearing, thick and decadent. He’d turned to face her, a dark brow arching in conceited amusement.

The pompous ass.

Vassa squawked and spread her wings, hoping her message was clear as she narrowed her beady eyes on him.

‘I have half a mind to peck out those eyes of yours, general.’

But Jurian just huffed and returned to the task she had assigned.

~~~

“Jurian!”

Her legs were wobbling, and she couldn’t be sure if it was because she had been wretched from the feathers and wings that had usually contained her during the daylight hours, or if it was because there were so many dead, and she feared that the general - her general - would be one of them. She called his name again, voice cracking.

The battle had lasted days, and through it all Vassa had been powerless to assist. Koschei had tightened his leash and forced her into the form of the firebird, taking no chances that she might be able to fight alongside his enemy. She had flown over the killing fields, over and over, desperate to keep a watchful eye on the human general that fought with the skill and fervor that rivaled his fae companions.

But she had eventually lost sight of him, and had not been able to find him since. Now that she was human again - fully and permanently, she dared to hope - she could only see what was in front of her, and could only go as far and as fast as two legs could manage.

Gods, what if he was dead? What would she do then?

Not for the first time, she cursed herself for not making it more clear, for not telling Jurian what was in her heart. She prayed he understood how much she cared for him, that the agony simmering in his gaze when he realized that she had not transformed back into a human woman that first night was because he cared for her, too.

“Jurian!” she called again, desperately. Vassa was only vaguely aware of the hot tears trailing down her golden cheeks. She had attributed the burning in her eyes to the death that hung heavy in the air and permeated everything around her. Her feet felt clunky and unsure as she tried to carve a path through the battlefield, in the direction she thought the main camp would be. But she couldn’t be sure, not since she could no longer take to the sky and survey the landscape. Her blurring sight fell upon the men and males, women and females, left standing around her. She recognized none of them.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, shoulders sagging. The hope that had filled her chest when she’d become human again had dwindled. What good was being free if her general was gone? 

Heart cracking, she buried her face in her hands and wept. Tears for the future she’d hoped to give him, for the smiles she’d so desired to see in his eyes, finally. Tears for the broken man who had never been given the opportunity to mend. She didn’t know how long she stood there, shoulders heaving and legs quaking, when she felt the caress of roughened fingers over her temples and into her hair.

Slowly she lifted her head from her hands, and those callouses dragged back down to cup her damp cheeks. And when her wet lashes lifted her gaze was met with one that was devastating and dark and glistening.

“My Queen.”

Vassa’s lungs seized, her shuddering exhale fading to silence as her eyes darted over the handsome face before her. That same hard chin and sharp jaw, proud and stern. Those chocolate brown eyes, their attention focused and intent. Blood splattered his cheeks like freckles and rich, dark strands fell in front of his eyes as they escaped from the leather tie at his nape.

It was him.

“Jurian?” she rasped, unsure if she had enough breath to speak. The general pushed tendrils of copper away from her face as his lips curled up and he dipped his chin.

“Yes, my Queen.” His grin widened, and she watched in wonder as the warmth of it brightened his eyes. For the first time it felt true. Real. As he held her and his gaze flicked to her mouth before returning to connect with her.

And then she was consumed by him.

Jurian crushed his lips against hers, speaking words that neither of them had been daring enough to say in the days and weeks and months leading to this moment. His kiss was the fiercest flame she’d ever felt, the softness of his lips at odds with the way they demanded more and more and more from her. Vassa’s hands slid up the front of his leathers, his muscles unyielding as stone beneath her touch as they trailed up until she could curl her fingers into the hair at his nape. All the while he stole her fear and desperation with his kiss, his tongue parting the seam of her mouth and finding hers in a tantalizing dance.

When the general pulled away he was breathing hard, shoulders heaving. Vassa was much the same, her wide-eyed stare pinned on the devastating man before her.

“I should have told you. Before the battle, before Koschei bound you completely. Before all of this. So I will tell you now that I love you, Vassa.”

Her heart felt like it would burst from her chest, and she nearly choked on her words. “You… love me?” Jurian huffed a laugh.

“I’ve been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn’t listen,” he murmured, and her brows furrowed in confusion. His smile was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, so full and bright, warm and genuine. “Every time you said ‘General do this’ you thought I was answering ‘yes, my Queen’, but that’s only because you were hearing wrong. ‘I love you’ was what it was, but you never heard.” With a tiny gasp Vassa pulled back.

“But you… you never seemed happy. You were never content with my company,” she sputtered. “You were downright unpleasant! A regular piece of shit half the time!” She bristled at his breathy chuckle, as if he had any right to be exasperated with her.

“I have stayed in that estate because of you. I made my body strong so I could defend you, so it might please you, scarred and marked as it may be. I have attempted to live, a broken and ruined man, simply because your presence has made life something worth living. The very sight of you makes my heart race. You are my prayer before I go to sleep, you consume every dream, and you are my first thought when I wake in the morning.”

Her own heart was racing, thudding against her ribs as Jurian poured himself out to her. Laid himself bare. Her lips parted, but she could not form words. He smiled tenderly, stroking battle-roughened fingertips over the freckles that dotted her cheeks. 

“How could I admit such things to you? You are a queen, a veritable goddess. Your beauty rivals the fairest of the fae. Your fortitude puts the bravest of warriors to shame. Your mouth is so witty and foul and fucking perfect, and I would gladly be torn to shreds by words falling from those pretty lips every hour of every day, so long as it’s me that you’re verbally abusing.”

The queen laughed, her head falling back. But he pulled her back and kissed her again, resting his brow against hers. Breaths mingling, they stood in silence, reveling in each other. They were alive. They loved each other. There could be that future, full of arguments and menial tasks and smiling eyes.

“General,” Vassa whispered thickly, “take me home.”

Jurian did not hesitate for a single instant, sweeping her up in his arms as she gasped. The general dipped his chin and captured her lips, his kiss lingering as if he could hardly bear to pull away. And then he spoke his oath once more.

“Yes, my Queen.”

#acotargiftexhange2022 #acotar #acotar fanfic #jurian #vassa #vassa x jurian #the queen and the general #princess bride inspired #sarah j maas #acosf #post acosf #band of exiles

[velidewrites]

No but the way Jassa is such an underrated ship

#they’ve been on my mind lately #look their potential is just so 😮���💨🤌 #literally who DOESNT love the queen and her general trope #they’re so sexy #just because they don’t growl doesn’t mean they can’t be feral for each other 😩 #anyway i just want to be in a jassa sandwich #jassa #jurian x vassa #acotar

[juriansgeneralgoods]

jurian acotar, my beloved.

my original vision of this had him wearing more standard armor befitting of a general, but I was looking at references and thinking to myself that if he's a mortal general used to fighting an enemy with magic and much more resources than his army, he would probably value armor that allowed for speed and maneuverability over protection. it would make more sense to try to get the jump on them and strike hard fast before they could retaliate than to try to face them head-on. so that's a little extra headcanon for you. (the puffy sleeves, on the other hand, are literally just because I wanted to.)

#anyway that's my man #also i love how his hair turned out #jurian #band of exiles #acotar #acotar fanart #jenny's general art #🗡️

[moononastring]

Jurian playing the same game as Rhys did 👀

#mad general indeed #he is very much not mad #Jurian #feyre archeron #gigi reads acowar

[mycadences]

Azriel desperately wants his mate. Elain deeply resents her mating bond.

Azriel's work requires him to kill. Elain's gardening brings new life.

Azriel carries out torture. Elain abhors violence.

Azriel lives in shadows. Elain thrives in light.

Neither of them can give any of these up without changing a core part of their identity. They don't need to change. They shouldn't need to change for each other. Their paths are not the same -- not their past, their present, or their future.

Contrast this to:

Azriel thinks he's unworthy of love and believes that his hands are sullied. Gwyn thinks she's unworthy because she failed Catrin and thus does not wear her Invoking Stone.

Azriel is a master strategist and incredibly competitive, as noted by Cassian. Gwyn was determined to be the first to finish the obstacle course, as noted by Nesta.

Azriel answered affirmatively to Gwyn's question of whether he sings. Gwyn has a beautiful voice and sang frequently throughout ACOSF.

Azriel witnessed Gwyn's greatest trauma of her sexual assault which was also the day her twin sister was killed. Gwyn witnessed Azriel's greatest insecurity of what he has to do as the NC's spymaster when he slaughtered all the Hybern soldiers.

Azriel was the first in his year alongside his chosen brothers to reach Ramiel's summit and become Carynthian. Gwyn was the first female in history alongside her chosen sister to reach Ramiel's summit and become Carynthian.

Or even:

Elain said herself that she needed sunshine. Lucien is the son of the High Lord of the Day Court.

Elain has been described as not fitting the Night Court. Lucien is part of the "Band of Exiles", believing he has nowhere to go.

Elain is described as sociable and (prior to her transformation at least) enjoys making friends and attending parties. Lucien was an emissary twice and literally has connections to everyone and everywhere.

Elain is a Seer who sees things no one else can. Lucien's mechanical eye grants him a similar power.

Elain is the fawn. Lucien is the fox.

Or even:

Vassa is one of the mortal queens who has become intertwined with the Fae. Jurian is a former general of a human army who is also involved with the Fae.

Vassa is enslaved to the immortal Death-god Koschei. Jurian was enslaved to the immortal "High Queen" Amarantha.

Vassa's curse binds her to Koschei's lake. Jurian's soul was bound to Amarantha's ring.

Vassa is forced to undergo physical transformations between her avian and human form. Jurian was forced to undergo a physical transformation from an eyeball to a human.

Vassa was betrayed by the other Mortal Queens. Jurian was betrayed (in his eyes) by his lover Miryam.

The parallels between Gwynriel - Elucien - Jassa are really quite obvious. You can't tell me that all of these are unintentional. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern...

"His name is Lucien" 🤝 "See you later, Shadowsinger" 🤝 "At each other's throats"

#gwynriel #elucien #jassa #vassian #antielriel #sjm has her patterns #and I have my sleep deprivation ;-; #give us the next acotar book pretty please

[olenvasynyt]

“It seems like you’ve decided to fall in with two people without their homes of their own as well.”

I really need to talk about this, and the fight Feyre and Lucien have in ACOFAS in general because Feyre is so wildly frustrating during this whole conversation, and I want to delve into it line by line.

So this is when Lucien arrives for the Winter Solstice.  Elain has left the room and the argument him and Feyre have begins with Feyre saying he should live in Velaris.

Chapter 18 of ACOFAS: “‘You could come live here, is all I’m saying,’ I pushed.  ‘Truly live here, stay in Velaris for longer than a few days at a time.  We could get you nicer quarters—‘ Lucien got to his feet.  ‘I don’t need your charity.’”

First issue that isn’t a huge deal but “nicer quarters”?  Not a home, just quarters, an allowance, a charity, as Lucien says here?

And it just keeps going downhill, because when he explains that he is getting along with Vassa and Jurian just fine, she is almost taken aback and shows a bit of jealousy.  Her biases are really starting to show as well as her lack of self-awareness.

I rose as well.  ‘But Jurian and Vassa’s is fine?’ ‘You’d be surprised to see how well the three of us get along.’ Friends, I realized.  They had somehow become his friends.  ‘So you would rather stay with them?’ ‘I’m not staying with them.  The manor is ours.’” ‘Interesting.’ His golden eye whirred.  ‘What is.’ Not feeling very festive at all, I said sharply, ‘That you now feel more comfortable with humans than with the High Fae.  If you ask me—' ‘I’m not.’ ‘It seems like you’ve decided to fall in with two people without their homes of their own as well.’”

She lashes out and basically says that the Night Court isn’t Lucien’s home.  

This part is so awful to me for multiple reasons. Now, there is the critique of Lucien having prejudices towards humans in ACOTAR.  That is probably the only critique I will accept, he was an ass in the first book; the way he talked about humans negatively impacted Feyre.  And this could be applied to Eyre’s side of this argument, Feyre could be like “huh you’re friends with humans now, that’s interesting.  You always shat on humans before.”

But I do not think this can be applied to this argument because 1. Feyre, after her change to High Fae, is more comfortable with Fae than with humans, we can see this in ACOMAF, she does not like eating human food, she is hyperaware of all of the differences between being fae and being human.

and 2. Feyre and Lucien have had a conversation about the human war in ACOWAR.  Lucien said he would have fought for the humans if he was alive during the War:

Chapter 3 of ACOWAR: “‘If you’d been alive for the War, would you have fought on their side?  Or fought for the humans?’ ‘I would have been a part of the human-Fae alliance.’ ‘Even if your father wasn’t?’ ‘Especially if my father wasn’t.’”

Maybe he has had some prejudices against humans before but he does explain he would fight for their freedom, he talks about how he disliked their alliance with Hybern.  I always viewed his comments on humans in the first book as him directing his anger and frustration with Feyre and not his idea of humans in general.  He did not like Feyre for killing Andras and he had very little hope when it came to the curse. And after Lucien sends Feyre to capture the Suriel and almost gets her killed, he feels guilty and is also like “Feyre…I thought you would be more mad at me for this” and she is like “nah I get it, I killed your friend.”

Chapter 18 of ACOTAR: “‘You can’t possibly forgive me that easily for sending you into danger.’ ‘No.  And part of me would like nothing more than to wallop you for your lack of warning about the Suriel.  But I understand: I am a human who killed your friend, who now lives in your house, and you have to deal with me.  I understand.’"

People shit on Lucien for that moment but this was when he finally realized who Feyre actually is.  He realizes his mistake in judging Feyre and apologizes.  And this is when their friendship starts to truly develop.  

"‘Tam told me that your first shot was to save the Suriel’s life.  Not your own.’ ‘It seemed like the right thing to do.’ The look he gave me was more contemplative than any he’d give me before.  ‘I know far too many High Fae and lesser faeries who wouldn’t have seen it that way—or bothered.’”

And 3. also he met Vassa, Jurian and Feyre’s father and other humans during his mission to find Vassa and an army.

So him having past prejudices towards humans should not and is not Feyre’s issue with him being friends with Vassa and Jurian.    Feyre does not bring that up to him or imply it in her inner dialogue.  It seems like her issue is Lucien found friends outside of the Night Court.

“Friends, I realized.  They had somehow become his friends.  ‘So you would rather stay with them?’”

She almost sounds like she is jealous or confused.  “You would rather stay with them and not with me and the IC?”  It’s almost like she’s thinking “why don’t you love the IC and the Night Court as much as I do?” which is so ironic to me and lacking any self-awareness! You should know why he doesn’t like going to the NC, Feyre. He explains it after this moment in the conversation. 

And I will get to that point later, I want to go in order because Feyre just keeps going downhill:

After Feyre implies that Lucien doesn’t have a home, Lucien then makes a boundary.  

“Lucien stared at me, long and hard.  ‘Happy Solstice to you, Feyre.’”

He is saying, “I am done with this conversation, I do not want to talk to you anymore, I am leaving.”  

“He turned toward the foyer, but I grabbed his arm to halt him.  The corded muscle of his forearm shirted beneath the fine silk of the sapphire jacket, but he made no move to shake me off.  ‘I didn’t mean that.  You have a home here.  If you want it.’”

And Feyre does try to apologize and correct herself because she knows she was wrong for basically implying he doesn’t have a home but she is cutting over this line Lucien drew.  You can tell Lucien does not like it when she grabs him and forces him to stop leaving.

He does not want to talk to her about this, and for good reason because when he is like “alright I will continue this conversation” and begins to explain to her the Band of Exiles, she interrupts him, dismisses him, makes fun of him.  

“Lucien studied the sitting room, the foyer beyond and the dining room on its other side.  ‘The Band of Exiles.’ ‘The what?’ ‘That’s what we call ourselves.  The Band of Exiles.’ ‘You have a name for yourselves.’  I fought my incredulous tone. He nodded.  ‘Jurian isn’t an exile.’ Vassa, yes.  Lucien, two times over now. ‘He can call himself whatever he likes.’ But I asked, ‘and what, exactly, does this Band of Exiles plan to do?  Host events?  Organize party planning committees?’”

Frustration 1 with her saying, “what is the band of exiles planning to do?  Organize party planning committees?” Two pages ago there was a whole conversation and inner dialogue about how there has been no governing in the southern human lands and that Vassa and Jurian have a vision for the future and want to change, they are planning to actually do something for the humans and the land you used to live in as a human.

“[Vassa and Jurian] both trying to lead the humans who occupied the sliver of land at the southernmost end of Prythian.  Left ungoverned for so long.  Far too long. “‘Mercifully, their vision for the future of the human territories is mostly aligned.’”

and frustration 2. He was trying to explain to you his genuine feelings and struggles!

“I made friends who have something in common with me, who appreciate me,” and she interrupts him and she makes fun of him for it!  It sucks!

The Band of Exiles is a stupid name, I love Lucien but I do cringe whenever I hear that name.  And they have always had this back-and-forth banter and crude jokes with each other, but this is a terrible moment to joke around because Lucien is trying to explain his feelings and his reasons, but she’s just being dismissive.

Also another point: her looking down at him for having a group name.  She also has a group name with her friends.  The Court of Dreams, the Inner Circle.  And those aren’t any less cheesy, y'all, I’m sorry, I said it. 🤷‍♀️

Another thing that is so goddamn frustrating to me is he is like “these are all the reasons why I don’t like being in the Night Court.”  1. He can’t stand to be in the same room as Elain, he is upset that she is avoiding him.  2. He doesn’t like getting charity from her and Rhys.  And 3. he also hates how Feyre and Rhys ruined his chance of going back to the Spring Court because of the way she used him to get revenge, and the way Rhys acted with Tamlin when he visits.

“‘I don’t have anywhere else to go.  You ruined any chance I have of going back to Spring.  Not to Tamlin, but to the court beyond his house.  Everyone either believes the lies you spun or they believe me complicit in your deceit.’  ‘I can’t stand to be in the same room as [Elain] for more than two minutes.  I can’t stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back…' ‘…Tamlin sent it to our manor yesterday.  My clothes.  My belongings.  All of it.’”

And Feyre acknowledges this.  But she doesn’t feel guilty despite seeing how upset it made Lucien, how it so negatively impacted him.

“‘But the blame for that behavior was not on Tamlin’s shoulders alone.  I’d created that rift.  Ripped it apart with my own two hands. I didn’t quite feel guilty enough to warrant apologizing for it.  Not yet.  Possibly not ever.”

She can still hold resentment towards Tamlin but why can’t she apologize for how it affects Lucien?  I really dislike Feyre and Rhys because of this, and regardless of this making them look inconsiderate and thoughtless, I think this makes her and Rhys look like bad rulers.  Lucien is like, "this affected me negatively, but it’s also going to affect you.  And probably Prythian.  This was a bad call on your part."

“‘Why?’ ‘Perhaps it had something to do with your mate’s visit the other day.’ ‘Rhys didn’t involve you in that.’ ‘He might as well have…your mate should have known better than to kick a downed male.’ ‘I can’t say I’m particularly sorry that he did.’ ‘You will need Tamlin as an ally before the dust has settled.  Tread carefully.’ “I didn’t want to think about it, consider it, today.  Any day.”

Feyre just dismisses it.  She does not want to consider what Lucien is saying.  

The one thing I will sort of applaud Feyre for is when she tells Elain that Lucien is a good male after he leaves.

“‘He brought you a present.’ ‘And that entitles him to my time, my affections?’ ‘No.  But he is a good male.’  Despite our harsh words.  Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit.  ‘He cares for you.’”

However, she is lashing out at Elain because she’s frustrated with the conversation she just had and is upset that she was in the wrong.  

“I know I wasn’t truly angry with her, not angry at anyone but myself, but I said, ‘You couldn’t say a single word to him?  A pleasant greeting?’”

Feyre is misdirecting because she does not want to think about her mistakes.

I have some issues with Elain, it’s very true that she doesn’t owe anything to Lucien just because she’s his mate, I think it would be better for her to stop avoiding Lucien and actually say her feelings.  But I’m talking about Feyre in this video, I can make a Lucien and Elain video later.

I don’t know, Feyre has really gone downhill for me after ACOWAR.  You can still like her but I know I’m not the only one who dislikes her now and Feyre’s mistakes and biases and the way she hurts people cannot be ignored.  

Idk what else to say besides Lucien. Deserves. Better.

#lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #anti feyre #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #lucien deserves better #tiktok video summary

[readychilledwine]

✨️ACOTAR Thighs✨️

Just Liz giving you her silly thoughts on what her favorite ACOTAR male's thighs look like 💕

Warning - yummy thighs and men ahead.

A/N - The race/skintone of the picked thigh picture does not indicate anything other than the body type I picture when thinking of these characters. Please keep that in mind.

Rhys-

Thanks to @sarawritestories , these are Rhysand's thighs. She thought she was just sending me another attractive professional wrestler, nope. She found Rhysand's thighs. And look! He even has knee pads 💕 extra support and protection for our damaged shadow daddy.

Cassian-

You already know because I posted this already, but he is now Cassian, and those are most definitely Cassian's rideable thighs.

Azriel-

Azriel had slutty thigh muscles, but not as ripped as Cassian or Rhys. He's more trimmed down to maintain speed and stealth mode.

Helion-

These are the thighs of legend that your mother told you to stay away from. 🥴🥴🥴

(Ps - I do not watch rugby that often, I picked on vibes alone. Please don't laugh at me)

Tamlin-

Chest so hard you can Crack a nut on it, and yummy thighs to match

(Plus the birkenstocks scream Tamtam)

Lucien-

I still stand by this. All of it. Replace the blonde with ginger hair, make him a bit more tan, boom, Lucien's body.

@thelov3lybookworm will let me know if I'm close. He is her husband after all 💕

Eris-

Brock O'Hurn doesn't bless us with his legs very often, but when he does, it's delicious. That's how I imagine Eris's thighs are. A yummy surprise wrapped in fine fabrics

Tarquin-

It's only fitting to picture Tarquin with an Olympic swimmer's body

Jurian-

Jurian (when he isn't busy being an eyeball) totally has thickem thighs. It's all the work he does as a general coming through.

Kallias-

Kallias is slept on. He 100% has thighs and a dump truck to match. He'd have to in order to pull Viv. Think baseball guy legs 🫠

#acotar #acotar headcanons #rhysand acotar #cassian acotar #azriel acotar #tamlin acotar #eris acotar #lucien acotar #tarquin acotar #helion acotar #kallias acotar

[foxylady13]

Gentle reminder of some of the similarities and compatability of these two pairings ❤

Elain and Lucien

Both of them do not like violence/cruelty. Lucien has gotten physical ill in the series due to cruelty he's seen. It's been mentioned multiple times how Elain doesn't like violence and cruelty STILL bothers her in ACOSF.

Both of them have lost their first loves. Lucien with Jesminda and Elain with Graysen.

Both of them are associated with sunlight/light in general. Elain mentioned needing Sunshine after Lucien talks about getting Elain out and about (showing he knows what she needs like a mate tends to do). Lucien is more than likely the Day Court heir.

Both are socialites. Lucien as human emissary and has been mentioned to have ties/friendships within multiple other courts. Elain loves balls, socializing, and being around people.

Both would prefer a quiet, peaceful life.

Both have hated each other's kinds. Elain hated the fae but is now one and is living with them. Lucien hated the humans but is now living nearest to the human lands with Vassa and Jurian.

Elain, I believe, has been said to be closest to the sisters father and we all know Lucien spent months with Elain’s father getting to know him (and more than likely Elain through him).

Credit for the artwork goes to commissioner foreverinelysian and artist Tropicoolaas

Gwyn and Azriel

Both are competitive.

Both have singing associated with them. Azriel revealed he does in fact sing in his bonus chapter and we know Gwyn sings herself. Also, there is this: "He could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang back in answer."

Both have competed in AND completed the Great Rite.

Both have intense trauma that was dealt at the hands of others. Azriel with his hands because of his brothers and Gwyn with her SA.

Both have spying associate with them. Azriel is the Night Court Spymaster and Gwyn displayed spy tendencies during the Great Rite.

Both have a preference for daggers. Azriel even gave Gwyn some private dagger lessons and Gwyn has been mentioned with daggers in ACOSF multiple times.

Both are more shy/reserved around others and it takes a while for them to open up to others.

Credit for the artwork goes to commissioner @yazthebookish and artist Berizart

#pro gwynriel #gwynriel #elucien #pro elucien #acotar #acosf #lucien vanserra #azriel shadowsinger #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara #azriel x gwyn #lucien and elain #elain and lucien #gwyn x azriel

[ae-neon]

I just wanna say that Rhysand definitely fought on the side defending slavery and just rewrote everyone's thoughts to suggest otherwise

That man is personally feared by humans who have not had contact with Fae for 500 years so it's not his reputation under Amarantha that's got them shaking

He was supposedly friends with Jurian and them but when Amarantha showed back up from Hybern wearing Jurian's eye and pinky, Rhys didn't kill her immediately????

Amarantha who was a known Hybernian general, war criminal and overall evil bitch. And it's not like she took over post War, no she waited 400 years, he had 400 years of experience with his HL powers and he didn't fight her

Instead he went to the party she threw.

You know why?

Cause they were never enemies until she stole his powers and subjugated him, otherwise why didn't he just mist her on sight

#what the fuck is acotar #sjm is a clown #anti sjm #acotar elon

[achaotichuman]

Hello!!! I was wondering if you have recs for pro-Tamlin fics, fics where he gets a happy ending in general? Or where the Night Court get called out on their bullshit with a side of pro Tamlin bc I’d devour them but have a hard time finding them (I love your fics btw)

Sure do!

Pro Tam fics can be difficult to find. I found all of these scrolling through either the Tamlin redemption tag, or the different relationship tags on AO3.

I'll link all the fics here. I'll put all the summaries and the relationship that goes with them, if there is a relationship. This is a list of all my personal favorite Tamlin fics, but these creators make other amazing Tamlin fics, and scrolling the pro Tamlin tag can take you to some really cool fanfiction.

A Court of Threads and Daises by @shi-daisy. Tamlin/Lucien.

Tragedy almost struck the Spring Court when Tamlin Evergreen tried to take his own life. Lucien Vanserra manages to save his former Lord, but not his power.

Now that the Spring Court has a new High Lord and the horrors of war are behind them, both Tamlin and Lucien agree to help the new heir navigate court life and attempt to rebuild the broken Spring Court, along with healing themselves.

They weren't expecting to fall back in love in the process.

A Second Chance by @goforth-ladymidnight. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Modern ACOTAR AU – There is a reason that Tamlin disappeared from Lucien's life seven years ago. Lucien just doesn't know what it is. They were more than college roommates; they were best friends. Now, a chance encounter in a bookstore leaves both of them wondering if they can pick up where they left off. A new year is right around the corner, but there is no wiping Tamlin's slate clean. Featuring Jurian and Vassa in supporting roles, this is not a story of redemption, but of finding love—and forgiveness—in the most unlikely of places.

Lovely and Lonely by @praetorqueenreyna. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

"In hindsight, Lucien thinks he fell in love with Tamlin the moment he first laid eyes on him."

**************************

Lucien Vanserra must come to terms with his sexuality, and his complicated feelings for High Lord Tamlin.

Wildflower by @mathiwrites. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Five hundred years before Feyre’s arrival in Prythian, the humans fought against Faeries, led by the King of Hybern, for their Freedom. Tamlin is only seven years old when the war begins, but his family’s involvement and a fated friendship with a handsome young Lord from the Night Court will change his life forever. This is the story of how he becomes the High Lord you know and love, and the redemption story nobody asked for.

TL;DR - before they were enemies, they touched butts.

Make The Switch by @lorcanisdabest. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Tamlin is desperate to save Feyre from the Night Court so he decides to put his shape-shifting abilities to good use.

Note: this leans heavily on BOOK 1 Tamlin and BOOK 1 Rhysand.

A Court of Beasts and Chances by M4r0u_Mar. Tamlin/Tarquin.

About a Beast who must be prince and a Prince who wants to be beast. About a Prince who learns of second chances and a Beast who learns of redemption. About looking for love and finding it in the journey rather than the destination.

Or the one where I rewrite ACOTAR to make Tamlin and Tarquin mates.

A Court of Choices Made by Anonymous. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Lucien decides to go after Tamlin to pick a fight after his first Winter Solstice with the Night Court.

Tamlin Decides Feyre Is Not Worth The Trouble by @lorcanisdabest. Tamlin/Tarquin. You remember that glorious moment where Rhysand was dead? Let's extend that.

I see red, I see nothing by AngryRamen. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Lucien travels to Amarantha’s domain to try and bid for peace between her and the courts of Prythian. It doesn’t go well.

Still Beautiful, Still Mine by @goforth-ladymidnight. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. ACOTAR AU - In the weeks following his visit to Amarantha’s Court Under the Mountain, Lucien is still recovering from the loss of his eye. Nuan has made him a replacement out of gold, but the scars on his face are there to stay. When Tamlin comes to see him, Lucien cannot help but relive the events that brought them to this point, if only he could focus on what's standing right in front of him...

A Sunbeam Shining Bright Into the Night by @nocasdatsgay. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

After the Great Rite ritual is completed, Tamlin always goes back to the Manor to see if Lucien is waiting for him. This year he is.

Forbidden by @nocasdatsgay. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Calanmai has come once again, but Tamlin isn’t focused on the females waiting for him.

Breezing on by Sprighnt (SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

His focus was shattered when Feyre dropped onto the bench next to him with a dramatic sigh, “You won’t even say hi after you ditched us last week?”

Lucien rolled his eyes at her antics, “I didn’t ditch you, I was studying for math. The exam of a subject that I need days to prepare for, remember? I didn’t think you’d even notice me gone, what with all the ogling that takes up your time in our practices.”

“Shut up!” She shushed him, glancing around wildly for any eavesdroppers, “what if he heard you?”

——— Lucien has settled into a routine now. He’s finally able to go back to competing after an accident that had him wondering if he’d ever be able to skate competitively again, he’s out of his hellish childhood home, and has friends that make him happy.

By the Fountain by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Tamlin is tired of stuffy dinner parties, luckily, he has his best friend, Lucien, to make things more interesting.

———

Tamlin took the time to look at Lucien, who was staring at an elegant fountain nearby. He examined the dip of his nose, the scrunch of his brows, the slight part of his lips that indicated he was contemplating something. Then Lucien’s mouth set in a firm line, meaning he’d made up his mind on whatever the issue was.

Lucien glanced back at him and Tamlin startled at being caught watching. He placed his hand gently on Tamlin’s arm, “I don’t think my father will plan one for me either.”

New Springs by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

“I can’t be here for as long as you,” she clarifies, gesturing to the forest around them.

“You’re leaving?”

She shrugs, “It’s nice here, but my sisters, my father, they’re my only family. Even if they’re, a little difficult at times, and I don’t want to hurt Tam. I was really in love with him, but, to put it plainly, I’m not like you.”

“Like me,” Lucien repeats, confused, “what do you mean?”

———

In another universe, an alternate timeline, Feyre says “I love you”, before she’s sent off and therefore breaks the curse the way it was supposed to be broken. Things are different.

absolution by @praetorqueenreyna. Feyre/Mercenary Lady, Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Things didn't work out between Feyre and Tamlin. Years later, they both find love in unexpected places

Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free by franklinarchive. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Tamlin heals and then he moves on.

Or, what if Sarah J. Maas hadn’t committed ‘character assassination’ against Tamlin?

When The Sun Came Up (I Was Looking At You) by pansexual_intellectual . Jesminda/Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

There was a slight choking sound from the Night Court side of the room, but when you looked, Lucien was expressionless, adjusting his doublet.

It was the worst idea you had ever had. In the shreds of your manor you dropped to your knees. He was gone in the morning, as you knew he would be.

Burning Batter by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Rhysand. Rhysand comes over to make cupcakes with Tamlin for Feyre’s upcoming New Year’s party.

A strange thing happened the night of the High Lord meeting by @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Tamlin shook his head, a small smile on his full lips. “You forget that we were closer than friends once. I know your face. Even when you think you’re being so clever, hiding behind that mask of impassivity, I see you.”

He snarled, even as his heart began to beat faster as the other male approached him.

“You think I didn’t see you? You couldn’t stop looking at me during that meeting.” He took another step closer, and his next words were tinged with playfulness, a hint of the Tamlin he’d used to know.

“Were you thinking of that night too?”

He froze. “What?”

In the Eyes of My Beloved by Alynaw66. Tamlin/Rhysand.

I promise, Rhysand sighs into his mouth; Then down onto the slight curve between his neck and shoulder. Tamlin shivers, feeling dazed. Overwhelmed.

“Another offer,” he begins, one hand sliding down to grip Tamlin’s narrow waist.

(Also fun fact about this fic, I was brought to Tumblr because of a link in the notes, so without this fiction I wouldn't be here)

Stay or Go? by SoulOfStars. Tamlin/Rhysand. Both of their families are dead. Rhysand decides to stay. They fuck in the second chapter.

heaven sent a hurricane by @praetorqueenreyna. Tamlin/Eris Vanserra. After his family is killed and he is crowned High Lord, Tamlin struggles to keep his Court under his control. (Un)Luckily for him, Eris Vanserra steps in to help.

A House of Flame and Flower by Mellowenglishgal. Nesta Archeron/Tamlin, Nesta Archeron/Azriel.

“Spare me the self-righteous lecturing, Feyre. You and your new family believe yourselves superior: that anyone who is not deemed worthy by you must bow or be eliminated. I refuse to bow to those I do not respect: and I owe none of you any such obligation. Nor am I obligated to remain where my autonomy is threatened,” Nesta sighed, gentle yet commanding, her voice low and steady and unyielding. “I renounce all ties to the Night Court. From now on, you are no longer my sister.”

“Where will you go?” Feyre snapped, but Nesta saw it: the sudden realisation that Nesta meant every word.

“That is no longer your business. Goodbye, Feyre,” Nesta said softly. She rose to her feet, elegant as an empress despite her unkempt clothing. As she stared down her youngest sister, Nesta caressed the delicious power shimmering like slumbering embers deep in her heart, until her veins sang with silver fire, pure light, blistering heat, deadly yet silent.

Flame was silent: everything it met shattered and snapped, disintegrating, unable to withstand it.

She was flame. She was undiluted, unrefined, unapologetic power.

She told Feyre, “You will not hear from me again.”

(Side note, I just started reading this fic and it looks FREAKIN amazing) Edit- Anyone who saw that I changed the name of the author to a tag, ignore it, I was wrong.

A Court of Lies and Resurrection by @ashintheairlikesnow. Tamlin/Rhysand. AU: Feyre is dead, torn apart by Amarantha when Tamlin did not send her away in time. Tamlin, forced to submit to Amarantha's terms, finds himself looking for help (and finding affection) in places he never expected, while Lucien allies with an ancient enemy (and one of Rhys's closest friends) to save him. WARNING Extensive explicit adult content, sexual situations, violence, MA

In This Peace Series by @trshtffc, the first fiction in the series is completed The Sorceress . Tamlin/Original Female Character.

Seven years after ACOWAR, Spring Court is struggling to keep from falling apart completely. A mother tries to move on and keep her daughter safe in this chaotic world, but when the young female most needs a friend, she'll give the disgraced High Lord a chance to attone for the pain he has caused, and, perhaps, to finally heal.

TW for - mentions of suicidal thoughts - mentions of loss of a pregnancy - mentions of sexual abuse - mentions of emotional abuse (toxic relationships and toxic family dinamics) - colourism - LGBT+phobia

(This one was recommended to me in the replies of this post, and it looks so good)

And finally, (shameless self-ad) A Court of Song and Desolation by me. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

She had eyes like starlight and a grin that could outshine the moon, "We'll rule the world."

"What if we fail?"

"Then we'll burn it all down."

In hindsight maybe it could only have ever ended like this. Making a man who was never made to rule, High lord. This was all inevitable.

With his Court in ruins and everyone gone, Tamlin lives amongst the broken pieces of his Court and has no intentions of changing that. Lucien, however, will not stand to leave his oldest friend alone.

When Lucien takes Tamlin back to the human lands, they discover a darkness coming for Prythian. If something does not stop it, it will completely rewrite the way Faeries and humans alike live as they know it

I hope you like these amazing fics as much as I do, anon!

Edit- If anyone has any recommendations for pro Tamlin fics, or anti IC fics, please let me know and I will add them to the list!

#acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #tamcien #tamquin #tamris #tamsand #rhyslin #neslin #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #tarquin acotar #pro tarquin #rhysand #nesta archeron #pro nesta archeron #eris vanserra #pro eris vanserra #acotar headcanons #acotar au

[sjmgirlie]

I’m sorry. I try not to be rude about people’s ships because well you have fun with what you like and I’m totally okay with that. But the discourse about the Blood Rite and Hybern camp is hilarious.

Of course Cassian was freaking out knowing his mate was in the BR. A completely normal reaction when you have strong feelings/a bond with someone. Did Azriel? No. Was he still furious at the mention that the women he is training are in harms way? Of course??? Contrary to popular believe, Azriel actually exhibits way more protectiveness over the females in his life than any other character in ACOTAR:

Mor - Eris calls her a slut and he literally almost chokes him to death. Always protective of her in Court of Nightmares and around Eris.

Feyre - be careful how you speak about my High Lady. Helps her with flying and other moments.

Nesta - He brought her back from the mask and comforted her in CC3. Was never mean to her in any of the books even when the rest of IC was.

Elain - Hybern, when everyone (including her sisters and mate) thought she was crazy. There’s more.

His mother - Nesta makes a comment about how Az probably has a bad mom and he gets mad.

These are off the top of my head.

I feel like people forget that Az… does not like Illyrians. He literally said in ACOFAS:

“A pointless week of bloodshed” pg 25

“The Illyrians are pieces of shit” pg 67

If it truly came down to it, I’m sure that Azriel would at least argue to break their rules. Just like Cassian did. But Cassian still cares about the Illyrians. Azriel really doesn’t.

The involvement of Nesta and Gwyn is the Blood Rite is not as significant as Emerie’s!!!!!! Emerie is an Illyrian woman. She is the ONLY Illyrian woman to ever win the Rite. THAT is the biggest plot point of the event. Yes, Gwyn and Nesta participating builds on their healing journeys and the Valkyrie, but Emerie winning the Rite initiates what SJM laid out in ACOFAS. Where Cassian and Emerie first met. The layout for a change in Illyrians and the Illyrian women actually training as warriors.

If anyone is going to “fix” the Illyrians, it will be Emerie. Not Gwyn or Nesta. Emerie, the ILLYRIAN women. And Cassian would be who helps potentially. Because he actually cares about the Illyrians regardless of his history. He is the General. Of course he cares.

Now in terms of the rescue of Elain in Hybern, as many have already said, this was a massive risk. Cassian said "We'll get her back", but moved to comfort Nesta. Not only did Az actually notice Elain wasn’t there, but he also specifically said “I'M getting her back” twice (with rage if I might add) even after Nesta specifically said “then you will die”. Az, Feyre and Elain could have died in this rescue attempt too.

What was the point of this kidnapping if not to show he saves her? Tamlin redemption for giving Feyre the wind to fly? Jurian helping Feyre enter the camp? For Feyre to fly? Like maybe but the biggest point was Azriel going to save Elain. Tbh we kind of needed Feyre there to narrate lol. “You came for me” which Feyre says is what she saw in her dream of what the cauldron even lured Elain in by. That Grayson had come for her. He didn’t, it was Azriel.

Do I think if there weren’t the rules for the Rite that Cassian and Azriel would have went to save them? Of course they would have. But they weren’t meant to rescue them.

This was the big moment in all of the healing journeys for the Valkryie. For Emerie, becoming the first Illyrian women to win it. For Gwyn, leaving the library and becoming a true warrior. For Nesta, holding the line and protecting the people she loves like she hasn’t been able to before. THAT is the purpose of the Blood Rite. Not determining if there’s some couples involved. We already know the couple involved. It’s Nessian.

We seriously need to stop diminishing massive moments in the female characters journeys to ships.

#acotar series #eriel #pro eriel

[velidewrites]

So is this sworn enemies covered in blood thing from a fic you’re writing or something you’re reading?? 👀

It’s from a fic I’m writing!

#IT’S JASSA #the queen and the general of a kingdom she’s at war with #picture vassa in the middle of a war camp unable to sleep #the storm rages outside putting a halt to the battle #the flaps of her tent fly open the moment lightning strikes #casting light over the intruder #jurian limps in #blood dripping down his face #sticking to his hair #soaking into his shredded clothes #vassa exclaims in shock #she hadn’t seen her prisoner since he fled her castle in the middle of the night #he never told her goodbye #but she can’t think about that right now #not as she notices the nasty sopping wound right over where his heart should be #slowly she looks up taking in his injuries #until her eyes finally settle on his own #jurian stills #unable to take another breath #“you’re alive’’ vassa whispers #his voice is hoarse as he chokes the words out of his throat #‘​‘i didn’t know where else to go’’ #jassa