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thesistersarcheron · 10 months

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Plagiarism in the ACOTAR Fandom

If you write Nessian, Nezriel, or Cazriel and ACOSF fics, take note.

On Thursday, June 29, I learned that my fic, viciousness & intelligence, was plagiarized by A03 user amaliea25 in her story titled Fall from Grace. Since alerting her that I was aware of her plagiarism, she edited the scenes she stole from my fic, but she has not removed them entirely from her story.

This plagiarism came to my attention when amaliea25 commented on my short V&I outtake, promises & punishments. This was the first time she contacted me on AO3, and I was curious about what drew someone to such a minor fic. I clicked onto her page and found that she was also a Nesta/Azriel/Cassian writer. Previously, I ignored Fall from Grace because, as a canon-divergent ACOSF story in which Nesta has an unexpected dual mating bond with Cassian and Azriel, the premise was similar enough to V&I that I did not want to step on her toes by accident.

However, I shouldn't have worried about that. Because when I decided to check out a random page in her fic anyway to decide whether or not I should bookmark it to read after I finish V&I, I discovered she was already plagiarizing my work.

Screenshots below the cut.

The Plagiarized Content

To my knowledge, three scenes from V&I were stolen from Chapters 2, 3, and 6. However, amaliea25 is in the habit of paraphrasing the scenes she steals, and I haven't read V&I in over 6 months, so I have suspicions about at least half a dozen more passages and plot points. I will highlight the two most obvious offenses here.

These screenshots were taken on June 29th.

viciousness & intelligence Chapters 2 and 6 (published 5/10/22 and 6/21/22) vs. Fall from Grace Chapter 22 (published 5/31/23)

viciousness & intelligence Chapter 3 (published 5/19/22) vs. Fall from Grace Chapter 23 (published 6/2/23)

The Reddit Tip-off

I have since read the entirety of Fall from Grace to check for more plagiarism, and while doing so I realized that the title of Fall from Grace and the sentiment in the comment on promises & punishments sounded familiar to me. I used to advertise my fics on r/ACOTAR, and in May I received email notifications about several comments on my old post about V&I... the most recent of which advertised another Nessriel story entirely.

I was appalled that someone promoted another fic on my post, but ignored it at the time and muted the user - I thought it was just a fan of the Nesta/Cassian/Azriel ship being unknowingly rude.

But when I went back and confirmed that the story in this comment was the one that plagiarized my fic, I did get a little heated and jump the gun. I replied, "Considering that fic has plagiarized mine, do not do that." The next morning, the comment advertising Fall from Grace on my post was gone.

But even though that one instance of this user promoting Fall from Grace was deleted, it is strange that it is the only fic u/Embarrassed_Room1347 promotes, isn’t it?

So I suspect that u/Embarrassed_Room1347 and AO3 user amaliea25 are the same person, and that my comment about plagiarism on June 29th tipped her off that I was aware and that she needed to cover up her tracks...

The Alteration

...which she tried to do. Poorly. Here is a screenshot of the same portion of Chapter 22 of Fall from Grace taken today, July 1st, proving that amaliea25 is aware that she committed plagiarism, that it is not okay, and that I am unhappy that she did. This is the only edit she has made to my knowledge, since as of this post, Chapter 23 remains untouched.

Despite amaliea25's attempts to edit away her plagiarism, I also downloaded a copy of Fall from Grace as an EPUB from AO3 on June 29th before she had the chance. This fic was first published on May 8, 2023, and the extreme length and patchwork quality of the writing and plot indicates to me that much of it was taken from outside sources.

If you are a fellow ACOTAR author and you are concerned amaliea25 may have plagiarized your work and is now attempting to cover it up, please DM me. I'll send you the file so you can check for yourself.

She may have altered what she stole from your work even further since June 29th, but it is likely still in her fic.

I only check AO3 for fics. If you are aware of Fall from Grace on any other platforms, I would appreciate it if you told me so I can report it.

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of silver flames #acosf #nesta archeron #azriel #cassian #nessriel #nessianriel #nezriel #cazriel #a court of thorns and roses fic

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separatist-apologist · 11 months

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Neon In The Nighttime

Summary: It's the end of the word as we know it. A west coast baker and the drummer of a metal band team up in Boston, MA thinking they're one of the last few people left alive after a viral outbreak turns those infected into blood hungry monsters.

Their destination: Los Angeles, California- the last place Lucien's eldest brother was living while gearing up for a presidential run. Lucien is desperate to escape the memories of his past life and what he had to do when his wife, Jes, became infected. Elain wants to try and reclaim the fractured pieces of the life she remembers before everything went to hell.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Read on AO3

Thank you @corcracrow for the moodboard

Elain thought it was a terrible idea to open the door given they didn’t know if this even was Tamlin. It seemed cruel to keep him out in the dark, though, and crueler still to have that conversation while Tamlin could hear. And Lucien looked so happy to see his friend that Elain remained silent as Lucien stumbled into the night and pulled the blonde man into a rough embrace.

“How the fuck—” Lucien’s question dissolved into a joyful laugh as Tamlin clapped him on the back.

“I didn’t get far,” Tamlin’s rich timbre replied. His expression was lost to the nighttime, though Elain swore she heard a smile. “Fuckin’ Indiana.”

Elain twisted as Tamlin climbed into the back, his eyes falling on her while carefully pushing their supplies to the side. “What happened to Jes?”

Lucien slammed the door a little too roughly. “She didn’t make it. This is Elain. We’re…”

“Friends,” Elain finished for him, sparing Lucien from having to say anymore. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Tamlin was handsome and young—maybe five years older than Lucien. He looked well-fed and healthy which Elain supposed was a blessing in a world ravaged by a virus.

“Lucky you two found each other,” Tamlin said with ease, reclining back in the cab. “Need a place to crash for a day or two?”

Lucien and Elain glanced at each other. They had gas tanks in the back of their car, as well as other things that were valuable in a world without currency. Elain didn’t want to be the one to tell Tamlin no given Lucien’s history, but she didn’t want to stay in Indiana, either.

“Maybe for the night,” Lucien agreed, his tone cautious. If Tamlin caught it, he didn’t betray any discomfort.

“Alright, cool. At least take a break from running. Have you seen any infected?”

“A few,” Lucien told Tamlin after getting instructions on where to go. Straight to New Fort Wayne just a mile up the road. They might have stopped anyway, might have run into Tamlin organically by sheer chance.

“I haven’t seen one in months,” Tamlin told them, leaning between their two seats. “Are they rotting?”

Elain closed her eyes, not wanting to remember those bodies tripping mindlessly into an elevator shaft. Lucien gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles bled white, hiding the calluses and cuts from the steel cable they’d climbed down.

“Yes.”

Tamlin read enough in Lucien’s tone not to ask a follow up question. Instead, he provided instructions, turning them from the interstate down a dark, winding road that led to gravel, and then dirt. Hidden among the trees in a place no one would look unless they knew what it was they were trying to find, lay a fence eight feet high and made of wood and curling barbed wire over the top.

There was no getting in…and as they pulled through open gates, Elain wondered if there was any getting out. Lucien must have thought the same thing because he asked, “Do we ask to leave in the morning?”

“I’ll let you out,” Tamlin replied with that easy smile. “Whenever you’re ready. This isn’t a prison—it’s just a little commune of survivors.”

That did little to ease Elain’s anxiety, especially when Tamlin so casually added, “We separate men and women. I’ll have to wake—”

“No.” Lucien’s voice silenced them both as he parked his car in the grass. “Elain stays with me.”

Tamlin shifted. “There are rules–”

“She stays with me.”

Tamlin cleared his throat, clearly trying to figure out what was going on. “You two are friends—”

“She’s with me. That’s all anyone needs to know,” Lucien told Tamlin, not daring to look at either of them. “If you have to separate us, then it was good to see you, Tam. Really. But I think we’ll keep heading west.”

“Don’t—” Tamlin took a breath before looking at Elain. “You two can stay together. We’re trying to minimize unnecessary risk, that’s all.”

Elain could read well enough between the lines. They were trying to keep children from being born without careful and thoughtful planning. That made sense to her, and still she was grateful Lucien had insisted they wouldn’t be separated.

Elain didn’t move until Lucien pulled open her car door, grabbing her hand like Tamlin was going to snatch her away. Tamlin watched, too, his expression unreadable in the dark.

“C’mon,” he finally said, gesturing for them both to follow him. Lucien slung his arm around Elain’s shoulder, too possessive to be casual. As if anyone was going to try and steal her…and yet,

Elain appreciated Lucien’s willingness to stake a claim at all. It meant he wasn’t going to abandon her for Tamlin, which she’d been privately afraid of the minute Lucien leapt from the car to greet his old friend.

Tamlin led them down an immaculate path into a clearing that, much to Elain’s surprise, was lit up. Lucien, too, paused to take in the rows of wood-built houses that reminded her a little of an eighteenth century suburban neighborhood. But the electricity and the sound of whirring blades made Elain pull from Lucien’s grasp.

“How is this possible?” Lucien asked. Tamlin chuckled, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“We don’t need big companies telling us how to live. I’ll show you in the morning, if you want. For now, I’ve got a place for the two of you.”

“Is there hot water?” Elain found herself asking. Maybe they could stay, if only for the sake of a scalding shower. She still thought of the rusty taps from Ohio that she’d been so grateful for, even if it had been frigid river water.

“Yes,” Tamlin said, his handsome face made all the more so by that easy smile. “Lots of hot water. And clean clothes, if you want them.”

God, Elain did. She wondered if he recognized her own outfit having come from his closet. Elain stepped a little closer to Lucien, because she still didn’t trust Tamlin, and followed down the neatly laid stone path all the way to the edge of the fence. Lucien was clearly marking their way, though they had a car and could probably force their way through the front gates if they really wanted to.

“There is food in the morning, and no rush to leave. I’m just—it’s good to see a familiar face,” Tamlin told Lucien before handing over a little key. They stood at the bottom of a well-built wooden porch looking at each other. It wasn’t trust, especially on Elain’s end, but there was something especially potent about recognizing another face.

It was easy to feel alone, isolated. Tamlin had a whole community here, people Elain was dying to see in the morning, if only to prove to herself more than just her and Lucien had survived. And if Tamlin was normal, she didn’t see why they couldn’t stay for a little while. Not settle down, but maybe try and relax for the first time since the world went to hell.

“There are towels inside. I’ll have some things left on the porch for you. If you need anything else, just yell.”

And that was that. Lucien and Tamlin hugged one more time, the sort of one-armed, back slapping hug men liked to do. Elain raised a hand, offering a half-hearted wave. He gave one right back, that smile returning before he ducked off and left. Lucien sighed, his own smile slipping at whatever he found in Elain’s expression.

“Are you happy?” Elain asked him while Lucien slid the metal key into the lock.

“I’m not sure yet,” Lucien admitted, his voice low. “If he gives a place to stay and they let us go, yes.”

“And if this is some insane cult—”

“I’m sure it is,” Lucien interrupted, pushing open the door and beckoning for her to follow him in. “Probably a sex cult, from what I remember about Tam.”

“Really? He had that sort of charisma?”

Lucien chuckled. “Well–no. But he’s got…you know, his face. And he was a rockstar. You don’t have to work so hard when you’re good looking and talented.”

And before she could argue that, Lucien flipped a switch on the wall. Light flooded the room, rendering them both speechless.

“Wow,” Elain whispered, turning to look at Lucien in the light. Ordinarily, Elain would have sworn Lucien had a soft glow to him, neon even at night. But here, Lucien was practically the sun, Elain a swaying flower desperate for a little warmth.

“Thank you,” she told him, forgetting for a moment he was just her friend. She felt so starry eyed, drinking in his lovely face. Lucien, utterly unaware he was the subject of her fascination, furrowed his brows.

“For…?”

Right. Get it together. “Asking for us to stay together.”

Lucien cleared his throat. “I just ah…worried.”

“Yeah,” she agreed hastily. “That’s why I said thank you.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Lucien nodded toward the dark hall. “Want to check out the bedrooms?”

Elain thought that was rather optimistic of Lucien, given the size of the house, and was proven right. The hall was little more than three steps, opening into a bedroom that smelled strongly of cedar. The bed itself was small, draped in white linens that matched the curtain along the window. Another door opened into a small bathroom that had, to Elain’s relief, a working toilet and a tub that filled with water.

Lucien hadn’t moved from the hall, still staring at that bed. Dread filled Elain’s stomach. “Lucien?”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, unable to meet her eye. “Just…give me a second? I’m gonna grab something from the truck.”

Pace around as he wondered if he was betraying his wife, more like it. Elain nodded, though, thumbing toward the tub. “I’ll take the first bath then, if you don’t mind.”

“Go for it.” Said, staring straight at his shoes. Great. She’d just admired his face, she hadn’t wanted to undress him. Lucien was imagining too much, and when he turned abruptly, leaving her to her bath, Elain felt a little measure of relief. He wasn’t the only one grappling with things, she thought in annoyance. Thinking he was handsome and wanting to see him naked were two different things, besides.

He was her friend, and maybe that was why it stung. Did he see her as a friend at all?

Elain pondered that for so long, by the time she’d talked herself out of her worries, the water had become frigid.

She hadn’t even noticed.

LUCIEN:

“Knew I’d found you out here,” Lucien lied, making his way back to where he’d parked his truck. A few yards off stood Tamlin, staring up at the sky.

“I had to give up smoking,” Tamlin admitted ruefully, pushing his shoulder off a rough tree. “Still like being out here, though.”

“Yeah,” Lucien agreed. This was the perfect distraction from Elain, with her big brown eyes and her too trusting expression. He felt like a bastard—and not just on her behalf, but Jes’s too. The thoughts he’d had, though…Lucien knew he was better off burying them.

Elain was his friend. His incredibly beautiful friend, and nothing more.

“What’s going on with you and…”

“Elain,” Lucien finished, exhaling softly. “We met after Jes…” fuck he couldn’t do this. “Anyway, we’re heading toward California.”

“For the cure?” Tamlin asked, utterly blowing Lucien’s mind. “I heard that’s up in Seattle now. At least, that’s where they were heading—”

“Whoa, slow down. What cure?”

“Two scientists and a doctor came through her….eight months ago?” Tamlin began, scrunching his face as he tried to remember. “Maybe they were military. Anyway, they claimed they had a cure—it can’t bring anyone who has been infected back, but it keeps the virus from…whatever it does. They’d been discussing going to Seattle instead of Los Angeles because they’d heard there was a larger human commune up there.”

“I…I never heard any of this.”

“Most people leaving east end up here. So I hear a lot,” Tamlin informed him with a too-knowing look. One that said, you could stay, too. Oh, how Lucien could imagine it. And it was imagining that slow, domestic life that made Lucien feel so guilty again.

“Tell me the truth. Is this a sex cult?”

Tamlin threw his head back and laughed. “Not anymore,” he choked, hands on his knees. “No one would have fucked your girl, by the way. I know you were thinking it, but we take that really seriously here.”

“She’s with me,” Lucien said, ignoring the way his stomach clenched every time he declared Elain was with him—she’s mine, she belongs with me—

“I’m sorry about Jes,” Tamlin said, perhaps guessing Lucien’s thoughts. “I always really liked her.”

Lucien thought about what Elain said—-that Jes hadn’t felt anything when he killed her. She’d been gone long before he got home, and all he could hope now was that it had been relatively painless. That her last thoughts had been of him.

That she’d known how much he loved her.

“What about the guys?” Lucien asked, trying to remember their names. “Bron…Hart…and—”

“Andras,” Tamlin said, his expression gloomy. “Gone.”

Lucien knew better than to ask if Tamlin had been the one to dispatch them. Let them have these little secrets while they try to heal and try to rebuild.”

“So no to the sex cult?”

Tamlin laughed again. “No sex cult. I wish it was a sex cult. No, it functions more like a little town…if a town had a board of directors, I guess. We’re governed by a majority that get elected once a year. But honestly, we don’t have many problems anymore. Not since that fire.”

Lucien raised his brows but Tamlin only shook his head, jaw set.

“And you separate men and women—”

“Too many babies that first year,” Tamlin said quickly. “We aren’t equipped for that. I know it’s kind of fucked, but…we lost a lot of women, too. We didn’t have anyone who knew how to deliver babies or what to do when shit went sideways, so we separated everyone. It works a little better…and we found a fuck ton of condoms which didn’t hurt. We’ve got Briar, too, who was a nurse so we’re moving toward integrating.”

“Sounds like a good set up,” Lucien agreed, ignoring how Tamlin’s eyes sharpened. He knew what was coming.

“It is. Fuck, man…it’s so good to see you. I haven’t seen anyone from…before. I know you and her and trying to get to California but there is nothing out there anymore. Who are you looking for, anyway?”

“Eris,” Lucien replied, earning a grimace from Tamlin. Eris was his brother and he cared for him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t blind to what the rest of the world thought of him. Eris had been a bastard, and Lucien didn’t think a global pandemic had done much to change that.

“You know he’s probably—”

“Yeah, I know,” Lucien interrupted, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans.

“Stay with us. It’s safe here. I know it’s Indiana but…”

Lucien clapped a hand on Tamlin’s shoulder. “I’ll think about it. We’ll stay tomorrow at least. Get some rest, talk to people.”

A day without driving, without eating old, stale gas station food sounded like heaven, besides. “Good. Stay as long as you want. Real quick…Elain? What’s her last name?”

“Archeron. Why?”

Tamlin shook his head back and forth, a contemplative look on his face. “No reason. She just looked familiar. Have a good night.”

Lucien wasn’t sure if having a good night was possible. Tamlin melted away and Lucien dawdled, making his way to the truck as if he needed anything. Screwing around until exhaustion convinced him to go back, Lucien locked up and plodded toward the little cabin.

It wasn’t her fault that she was beautiful and it wasn’t her fault that he was attracted to her. Elain was his friend and Lucien didn’t want to push her away because he didn’t know how to deal with the guilt and want he felt. It would pass, he told himself.

The house was lit up when he returned, and old habits convinced Lucien to walk through the little sitting room, with only a wood table and chairs for furniture, flipping off the lights as he went. The kitchen had what he hoped was a working stove and an oven he’d expect to see back in the eighteenth century.

Back down that little hall to the bedroom where Elain lay asleep, curled on her side. Tangled, damp curls spilled over her lovely face—beckoning him to brush them away. Sighing, Lucien took himself to the bathtub and washed himself quickly. The scalding water was, perhaps, the best thing he’d felt since the world went to shit.

“Lucien?” Elain’s voice from the darkened bedroom convinced him to crawl out.

“I’m coming,” he replied, groaning softly. “The water is hot.”

A pause, and then, “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Nice wasn’t the word he’d use, though it was good to hear the smile in her voice.

“I cried a little,” Elain continued, her voice hoarse from sleep. “I can’t remember the last time my hair felt clean.”

“I know,” he joked, wringing his own out over the tub. “How is the bed?”

“Soft,” she said with a sigh. “Are you…?”

“Yeah, just give me a second.”

Lucien tugged his boxer briefs up over his hips, glancing at his jeans. He didn’t want to sleep in them again and didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, either.

“Hey, Elain? Do ah…do you mind if I skip the clothes?”

Another pause. “Are you naked?”

Lucien ran a hand down his chest, heart thudding in his chest. “Mostly. Nothing obscene.”

“That’s fine. We should have asked Tamlin for a change of clothes before bed.”

Lucien raked a comb through his long hair quickly, towel drying it one last time before shoving it off his face. Turning off the light so not to assault her with his body, Lucien hurried quickly to the bed while Elain scooted comically to try and make room. As if she was the problem and not him.

The top of Elain’s head hit his collar bones when they stood in front of each other. She was a small woman and though the bed was, too, it was Lucien who was eating up all the space. He hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out how they’d sleep without touching.

And then he gave up. Better to just lean into the closeness rather than admit it was weird. She’d slept on the couch beside him the night before, head on his shoulder. How was that any different? Lucien slid his arm around her middle, careful with where he put his fingers, and drew her away from the edge.

Elain relaxed the moment her back hit his chest. “It’ll be easier this way,” he said, pushing her hair out of his mouth with his free hand. “And I miss…” Ah, fuck, he shouldn’t have said anything.

Elain twisted to look at him. “Miss what?”

“Being close to someone,” he forced himself to say. “This is nice.”

Elain sighed, her breath warm against his neck. “The last person who touched me was trying to kill me.”

Lucien blinked away the urge to cry, nodding his head. “Me, too.”

Elain relaxed further into his hold, reaching for his hand until their fingers were interlaced. “How long are we going to stay here, Lucien?”

“A day,” he replied as he focused on just breathing. “Tamlin told me something. He said—” Lucien hesitated, knowing if he told her, Elain would want to go. Looking for a cure would mean giving up on Eris, on any shred of hope that someone he loved had survived. It meant starting over from the very beginning, creating a new life in this new world.

There was no going back. He could lie to her and try and chase the past. But as Elain blinked those big, brown eyes up at him, Lucien had the most terrible feeling that she might hate him if she found out he’d kept this from her.

She might leave him. Elain and his past weren’t compatible. He couldn’t integrate them.

And Lucien knew he couldn’t go back. Even if he found Eris and the world went back to normal, he’d still be without his wife. He’d still have to carry the knowledge of what it had been like to kill her, to leave her body behind.

Lucien had been moving purposelessly since everything went to shit. Even now, finding Eris was just a distraction—a last ditch hope that he’d wake up one day and this would all have been a dream. Lucien took a breath, his chest aching for all that he’d lost.

Even as his heart quickened at the thought of everything he might gain if he was just honest.

“Tamlin said there’s a cure in the pacific northwest.”

Elain leaned up on her elbows, staring down at him. “What kind of cure?”

“It can't’ bring people who were infected back…but it keeps the virus from turning people into zombies.”

“Lucien,” she breathed, her eyes out of focus. “If that’s true…”

“I know.”

“We have to find it,” she said, just like he knew she would. “Lucien, if that’s true it means we’d be safe. We wouldn’t have to do so much running, I would—”

She stopped herself, but Lucien knew what she was thinking. She wouldn’t have to worry that one day she’d have to kill him. He hadn’t even considered that, but looking up at her, eyes shining with hope, he didn’t think he could. Even if it meant dying, too—Lucien couldn’t stomach the thought of killing another person.

“Tamlin thought it was up in Seattle. We’ll head that way and see if it's true.”

Elain settled back in his arms, head resting on his bicep. “I hope it is,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

Lucien breathed out a soft sigh. “I do, too.”

#spot both the feysand AND nessianriel hints in this chapter #elucien #lucien and elain have a small awakening

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thesistersarcheron · 2 years

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Pairings: poly!Cassian/Nesta/Azriel, Feyre/Rhysand Ratings: E Words: 3,625 Read on AO3 here!

The morning after the Solstice party had been… good.

Unexpectedly so, Nesta thought as she sipped tea and picked at a breakfast spread with Feyre and Elain in the parlor of the River House. Both sisters still treaded cautiously around her, but their company was comforting in a way it hadn't been for years. Feyre carried the conversation, selecting easy topics with more tact than Nesta ever remembered her little sister possessing. All the while, she kept a tattooed hand on her swollen belly, murmuring quietly to the babe within during lulls in the conversation. Elain, to their joint dismay, was silent, and her eyes glazed over as stared out the window at the fogged greenhouse.

Still, Nesta appreciated the kind, soft gleam in Feyre’s eyes whenever she looked at her and the gentle hand Elain rested on her knee.

But as nice as it was to spend time with them, she still simmered with lust, as if last night hadn’t wholly sated her. As if Cassian hadn’t spent hours driving her to madness, holding her, making love to her, fucking her.

Utterly wrecking her for anyone else, just as he intended.

Forever.

But if she was expecting him to return to fly her to the House of Wind, she was sorely disappointed. Rhysand and Azriel winnowed into the house’s grand entryway shortly past noon, battered, bruised, and scowling heavily—sore losers through and through. Even that thought made something in Nesta’s chest ache, and she wished she could see Cassian lit up with victory.

She thought about how she might congratulate him on his victory...

A thunk pulled her out of the fantasy as Azriel shook a chunk of ice out of the folds of a wing. Rhys glared at him and strode into the parlor, pressing a reverent kiss to Feyre’s lips and stroking her bump. He allowed her to trace one of the purple welts forming along his jaw before turning to Nesta.

“Ready to head home?”

“Rhys,” Feyre scolded, and Nesta knew her sister only spoke aloud for her benefit. “It's still Solstice, and we were in the middle of a conversation.”

"Apologies, Feyre darling." Feyre's eyes went distant, the way they sometimes did when the two of them spoke mind-to-mind, and this time she didn't protest when her mate extended a hand toward Nesta. No, this time she flushed. "Happy Solstice, Nesta. May I have the honor of escorting you home?"

Traitor, thought Nesta, glaring at Feyre. She would rather climb all ten thousand steps than fly anywhere in Rhys's arms.

Azriel’s wings snapped shut, almost as if he read her mind.

Rhys didn’t turn toward him. His violet eyes glimmered at Nesta.

And Nesta could only watch as Azriel stalked into the room. He didn’t stop to greet Feyre or even nod to Elain, Elain, who cringed as whorls of darkness curled around the loveseat she and Nesta shared. He didn’t even look at the hand Rhys held out, though the High Lord’s shadow also contorted and crawled up his legs. Azriel passed them all, cutting a path to Nesta so clear that she was surprised that the rug beneath his feet didn't split in two.

It was such a change from the quiet courtesy, the subdued humor, that he typically exuded around their family that Nesta set her teacup down on an end table and braced herself.

For what, she didn’t know.

But Azriel simply stopped in front of her. He looked away only once, to glance at the small pack at her side holding her overnight essentials and the few Solstice gifts she had received last night and then up at Rhys.

"Careful, Rhys, or you'll be left to face Cassian's tender mercies."

Azriel's voice was so low, so flat that Nesta had to strain to hear him. Feyre gaped up at them both, and Rhys—

Rhys bristled, stepping between Azriel and Feyre with death in his eyes.

Azriel ignored him and turned to back Nesta, his face wiped clean of the cruel warning he'd directed at his brother. “Do you have everything?”

“I do.” Nesta nodded and stood. She shot a glance at Feyre around both Illyrians as she bent to gather her things, and Feyre lifted a single bemused brow.

"Good. Let's go."

Azriel didn't look away, didn't so much as glance at Elain when she finally looked away from the window and murmured a quiet Wait. Whether it was meant for him or Nesta would remain a mystery; Azriel offered an arm to her and spirited them away to the air above the House in a rush of cold shadow the moment she laid her hand on his.

She shrieked as they plummeted, but Azriel had already caught her in a stone-solid grip and his wings snapped out to catch the wind. He circled the training ring once, twice, banking slowly while Nesta cursed him viciously, and they landed with a gentleness that she knew Rhys and Cassian both weren’t capable of.

Nesta aimed a punch at his arm the moment he set her on her feet. “What the hell?!"

Azriel didn’t even try to justify himself with a response. He simply caught her fist and twisted it gently. His shadows darkened when she stumbled, still unbalanced by the shock of the fall. Nesta felt herself flush as heat welled up between her legs at the first skin-on-skin contact she'd had since Cassian had left her in bed that morning, sore and aching for more.

She grit her teeth and wrested her fist from his grip. "I'd appreciate a little warning next time.”

Her thoughts took on a more desperate bent. Not Cassian, not Cassian, he's not Cassian.

Azriel didn’t follow as she widened her stance and put space between them. He didn’t try to knock her on her ass in the middle of the training ring like he did at least once most mornings. He just glared, jaw clenched, entirely unamused.

Nesta huffed. If he wanted a staring contest, he could have it. She wasn’t about to let a pissy, overgrown bat get his way just because he was a sore loser. She had done nothing to earn his ire.

But his hazel eyes, so similar to—

He’s not Cassian. No one else. Ever.

She held Azriel's gaze until the fight seemed to go out of him, his shadows drifting out of the weak winter sunlight and into the House. He didn’t sigh, didn’t drop his tense shoulders, he didn't even seem to breathe, but his eyes softened. Nesta forced herself to follow suit.

She was all too familiar with the cool rage seeping out of him—and even more familiar with the regret playing across his face now.

He looked away first.

"Your enemies won't give you a warning," he said in the same flat, midnight-dark tone he had used with Rhys.

Nesta swallowed. Whatever stirred Az's anger, the despair Nesta now recognized in his blank stare, ran deeper than a snowball fight. No, she watched Az lose sparring matches to Cassian every day, and each time he still seemed to come out on top, taunting and teasing until Cassian threw down another challenge—one Az could win. What he'd said to Rhys, the way he hadn't so much as glanced at Feyre and the babe, how he'd ignored Elain...

She reached out her hand.

"But you're not my enemy, Az."

Azriel looked at her hand and then up to her. He was stone-faced again.

"Do you..." Nesta paused, suddenly feeling awkward, unpracticed. She thought about what Cassian would say, what Gwyn or Emerie might do. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Azriel blinked at her, but he shook his head. After a moment he dipped his chin in a silent farewell and, without another word, retreated after his shadows, his wings stiff and pale with the cold. A dark glint under the talon of one caught her attention before he could fully retreat into the stairwell.

“Your wing is bleeding.”

Azriel didn’t even lift a hand to check.

And so Nesta spent the rest of the day in quiet, dragging solitude.

She took her lunch in her room, attempting to finish A Brief History of the Great Sieges, which wasn’t brief at all. She didn’t make it far before longing for Cassian, who her mind superimposed onto every fearsome, legendary warrior in the damned book, drove her near to insanity. To avoid temptation, she went to the library and practiced her Mind-Stilling until the fire burned down to embers, breathing deeply as each sound crashed against her. She ate dinner staring at the glowing coals and listening to the Symphonia, and when she picked up her book again, she thought she might finally finish it.

She was wrong. Desperately wrong.

With Azriel having disappeared completely into some dark corner of the House, all Nesta had to occupy her time was her music, her book, and the maddening desire she couldn’t seem to shake.

Instead of finishing her book, she ended up stretched out and shivering on the couch, one hand between her legs as the other clutched the Symphonia to her chest.

Only the thought of Azriel walking in on her roused her long enough to lick herself off her fingers and retreat to her bedroom, where she did it all over again until she was too exhausted to miss Cassian.

She was grateful for Az’s black mood the next morning when he ran them through a series of brutal drills. But even when they collapsed, Gwyn huffing out prayers to the Mother and Emerie muttering threats as Azriel hauled her up for the trip back to Windhaven, all Nesta felt was the same razor-edged lust.

When he returned, his grim scowl didn’t lighten as he regarded the two boneless females sprawled out on the floor of the training ring. Nevertheless, he seemed to take pity, racking the wooden swords they had used as lap markers and bringing them each a cup of water.

Nesta poured the cup directly over her head.

“Lunch?” she asked, looking between them. If someone, anyone, would join her, distract her…

“No,” Gwyn sputtered, gasping for breath as she finished gulping down her own. “I need to clean up and get back to the library before Merrill blows the stacks down looking for me.”

“Az?”

Azriel shook his head. "Work."

If Nesta were a weaker female, she would have groaned at the thought of being left alone with her dizzying need. Or perhaps she was the weaker female, because a thrill shivered through her as she thought of everything she could do without anyone in the House to interrupt.

Azriel’s jaw clenched, and Nesta caught a glimpse of the long-suffering grimace he wore when Cassian was home to work her up. Gwyn’s cheeks, already flushed with exertion, went impossibly pinker.

Az pinned her with a look, and Nesta cursed their ridiculous fae senses.

NotCassiannotCassiannotCassian.

"I'll be home after dinner," he muttered, surely for her own benefit, and launched himself into the sky.

Nesta threw a hand over her eyes, unable to watch as he all but threw himself off a mountain to escape her.

"Well, at least Illyrians are good for one thing," Gwyn giggled and pushed herself up on shaky legs. “Those wings stir up a nice breeze."

Nesta groaned. "Just go."

"I thought you'd be harder to embarrass, you know, after the past few months." Gwyn nudged her thigh with the tip of her toe. "Between Cassian and Emerie, I'm sure it's nothing the shadowsinger doesn't already know."

Nesta sucked in a breath. "Gwyneth."

Gwyn snickered. "I'll let Clotho know you need the afternoon off.”

And the most mortifying part? She did.

Nesta powered through her lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon in bed with her hand between her legs, skimming through her novels for the juiciest parts. When the sun began to set, she dug through the bag she left on her nightstand to find the ingenious little faelight Azriel had given her for Solstice.

Azriel. Her cheeks burned. Her fingers slowed. Shame washed through her, and the book and faelight bounced off her coverlet and to the floor. She shouldn't even be thinking the name, shouldn't be able to with the way her mind had spent the entire afternoon turning every dashing rogue and scandalous rake into Cassian.

Mother above, what had he thought of her after this afternoon? Never had she been so, so...

Not without Cassian to rile her up, at least. Azriel had had his share of close calls when it came to the two of them together, but she had never...

Resolved, mood ruined, Nesta turned off the little faelight and dragged herself to the bathing room. She needed to make an appearance. Needed to act like a rational, sensible adult. Needed to sit down and have a collected conversation with Az. And she would. She could. If her suspicions were correct, he needed a friend right now, and Cassian was...

Cassian was...

Not here.

And it was late, so Azriel would be home.

Nesta scrubbed herself until her skin was red, slipped on a simple dress, and began her hunt.

She didn’t bother trying to be stealthy as she strode through the halls, glancing into rooms as she passed. She kept an eye out for any shadows that seemed out of place, but Azriel either hadn’t returned home yet, or he was keeping a tight leash on his power.

Intuition—or maybe her absurd libido—drew her to the suite of rooms he and Cassian shared.

She let herself into Cassian’s bedroom first, and the undiluted scent of him nearly sent her to her knees. The cloak he had worn to the party was thrown over a chair, and Nesta had to clench her fists to keep from snatching it up and burying her face in it. She held her breath, looking around the room for something to distract her, to keep her from ruining all the effort she had gone through while bathing.

There.

A novel, one that had gone missing from her stack in the House’s library.

Her heart would have burst with tenderness at the thought of Cassian reading her books if he hadn’t left it cracked open, face down on his nightstand. The spine…

Nesta felt a cool wash of silvery, slippery rage trickle down her back.

The spine of her book was cracked. In multiple places.

She crossed the room with her teeth bared and set the book to rights. She didn’t bother to mark Cassian’s page—a small payment for the destruction the great brute wreaked on her poor book.

Before she could do anything more drastic, like chucking the book off Cassian’s balcony and buying a new copy altogether, she turned on her heel and made for his shared sitting room.

Azriel wasn’t there. The fire was crackling in the hearth, a few knives sat beside a whetstone on the mantle, and the stack of reports that seemed to follow Az everywhere he went sat on the coffee table, but the spymaster himself was nowhere to be found.

She debated with herself as she crossed to his bedroom door before deciding that she was too desperate for company that she didn’t care if she woke him up, but no one answered when she knocked.

Nesta suspected she wouldn’t find him unless he wanted her to.

She let herself back into Cassian's room, collapsing on the untouched bedspread and burying her face in his pillow.

Her resolve to ignore the ache between her legs didn’t last long after that.

The next morning, she was relieved to wave Azriel off when he held out a hand to take Emerie back to Windhaven.

If he hadn't had five centuries of experience with stealth, Azriel would have groaned when Nesta slipped into the shared room between his and Cass's rooms, and not just because his glass of whiskey—stolen, of course, from Rhys's stores—disappeared when the door opened.

Instead, Azriel only sunk deeper into the shadows around his chair.

Nesta’s hair was wet and loose around her shoulders, and her freshly bathed, damp skin amplified the scent of her arousal.

Sweet, female arousal, uncut by the scent of any male.

His shadows had slithered up to the House yesterday morning hissing of mating bonds and pillow talk, and he supposed the events of the past few days confirmed it.

Azriel thought Cassian had to be the stupidest, noblest male he knew to resist the frenzy. His brother knew how uneasy Nesta was with their bond, the combined grief and disgust that reared its ugly head whenever Nesta was forced to confront her new life, her new body, but...

But to leave her, smelling like that, just after their bond snapped...

His own mate.

Hot, sickening envy burned down Azriel's throat just as strongly as the whiskey had.

He wanted, Cauldron, he wanted.

He watched Nesta pad across the floor in her stockings and rap on his door, but he saw Elain. He could sketch out the shape of her now, soft where Nesta was sharp, petite where her sister was tall; their golden-brown hair was the same shade, their skin the same ivory. Would she call his name through the door like that? Would her tongue trip over the syllables, or would it fall off her lips? Would her scent be as enticing as it was Solstice night? After she'd spent an entire day in a frenzy?

He buried his head in his hands. If only that were Elain, lovely Elain, seeking him out. Elain, glowing golden in her garden, saving his wings from Hybern's mutts, giving him his first Solstice gifts in decades that had any thought behind them. He had done his best to avoid her and her mate for a year, filling his days with Valkyrie training and gathering intel on the continent, but the temptation to seek her out was unbearable.

Mother above, the Archeron sisters. Feyre had read him like an open book the moment she met him during that first family dinner. Even Nesta seemed preternaturally attuned to his moods now, in a way his family had rarely been; he had been blindsided when she sidled up to him at his lonely post in the doorway at the party. And Elain...

You believe she should be your mate?

He just wanted a mate, any mate, his mate.

Hell, someone else's mate.

Lucien. Lucien may have a Cauldron-blessed bond with Elain, but he didn't have a claim on her. He didn't own her heart, and he didn't dictate her choices. Just as Feyre threw herself into danger without giving Rhys a moment's notice, just as Nesta fixed her mind and refused to budge even when Cassian goaded her, Elain would not be controlled by her mate. Nor, Azriel suspected, any male.

He nearly snarled at the thought.

But then he felt foolish. Three brothers, three sisters. Which Archeron sister would let her fate be ruled by such a trite idea? Which among them had ever given the Cauldron a day's peace, much less a male? Feyre left Rhys bleeding in the mud when she found out about her bond, and then she'd spent months trying to destroy the oversized cookpot. Nesta stole such power from the Cauldron that it loathed her, and she refused to even acknowledge her connection to Cassian. Elain had outright ignored the visions that damned thing sent her, just as she still ignored Lucien.

No matter how open she had been to his advances, Azriel knew Elain would not bow to his true desire. Not even if she had the means to make it reality.

You believe she should be your mate?

He scrubbed a scarred hand over his face as Nesta finally turned away from his door. She crossed behind him this time—a small mercy—and disappeared into Cassian's room.

Yes. Yes, he'd wanted it so badly that he threw rocks and ice at his own brother's head in a fit of petty jealousy. He and Rhys had their share of arguments over the centuries, but lately the battles between them only grew in fervor.

Azriel remembered the day his shadows tore across the city to find him. He remembered throwing together a basic survival pack as Cassian flew Nesta out of the range of Rhys's rage. He had wanted, even then, even confronted by the sheer panic that radiated between his brother and himself, someone to worry about half as much. He had watched, his heart twinging, as he made sure they passed safely through the wards around Velaris. He couldn't help but tear into Rhys when he winnowed to the River House to buy them time, even as Feyre blazed into the study in a righteous fury and tore into them both.

And, hell, he wanted even when Feyre threw book after book at Rhys. So much so that Azriel didn't even duck when she threw a book at him.

When Cassian handed Nesta off to him for a dance at the ball, his chest had ached with that same longing. He had danced a thousand waltzes in the Court of Nightmares as Rhys's father's spymaster, but that night he thought he might trip over his feet as he held his brother's mate.

That night, just before the longest of the year, he had wanted.

The centuries-old ache of wanting to have someone the way Rhys had Feyre and Cassian had Nesta had been too much for him as Solstice rolled around again.

And what had he gotten for acting on it? An argument with his brother, bruised wings, and lovely Elain, face drawn and flinching away from his shadows this morning.

Azriel's chest ached with wanting.

#nessian #cazriel #nesta archeron #nessriel #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #viciousnessintelligencefic #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #my fics #cassian #nesta x cassian #nesta x azriel #azriel x cassian #nessianriel #idk sure #come shout at me about these three here or on ao3!#minor feysand #and a mystery elain pairing

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