d a n i e l a

warning: acosf spoilers ahead!

“A fourth object lay on the altar, veiled in shadow. But she couldn’t make more than a gleam of age-worn bone...”

Lanthys had spoken to Nesta of resurrecting the Wild Hunt, and it made me wonder, what if the fourth Trove object is a bone horn? The Wild Hunt, further explained by Rhys, were Daglan warriors who rode mighty, monstrous beasts to terrorise Fae and humans to submission. Only Nesta was able to confirm that the beasts looked like the hounds in the Hewn City pillars, after seeing the vision Lanthys had given her, where they she sat in a throne room that held BOTH the fourth Trove object and the hounds at the same time.

The appearance of the Wild Hunt in folklore has been always been accompanied by a horn being blown, whether it be an alert or a summoning. If the fourth Trove object has been forgotten so much that it’s obscured from memory, and the hounds so ancient that they had been unrecognisable to the current Fae, it would make sense for them to be connected. What if, blowing that horn awoke those slumbering hounds, or returned them to life, and gave the blower control over them?

warning: acosf spoilers ahead!

what the hell was that ending?

nesta stole power from the cauldron as an act of defiance, an opposition against the events that had been thrust upon her. then she underwent a journey of healing and acceptance, slowly growing comfortable in her new body and formidable power.

now, you’re telling me sarah j maas made her give up most that power, the very thing she carried that symbolised her strength, just so she could earn feyre’s forgiveness and rhysand’s respect? the people who treated her like an indefensible wild animal, simply because her trauma showed differently? 

she had so much power that she was admired, she was feared and she was unstoppable. there was so much potential, everyone saw her as a queen at one point or another, and had many wanting her on their side for the threat she possessed. she was dangerous because of that power, and also because she robbed it from those who tried to control her.

now she only has a small kernel. never mind that she could summon the trove at will, or maintains a connection to the mother-- it’s not the same, those are not hers to own. now she could fall back in line, fitting into the night court nicely because rhys and feyre can reign again to be the two most powerful faeries to exist.

Flowers blossom in colours for your love,

With rich soil a slave to your gentle hands

And steady waters flowing at your honest smile,

Which will you let wither and which will you let bloom?

There are jasmines that unfurl between the shadows of silent night 

And gazanias that unfold under the glow of burning day,

With your heart or your soul,

How will you tend to your arcadia of these beauty and thorns?

"Cause, frankly, the way I see it, you and me? Inevitable."

Summary: Cassian absolutely hates reading, but Nesta is determined to change that passionate perspective.

————— o — 0 — o —————

Nesta Archeron had a reputation to keep, but at times like these, even she couldn't conceal the mirth that emanated from her. Cassian felt it, her glee a thrill rushing along their glimmering bond, a second before she burst into rich laughter behind him.

His eyes slid from the stew he was stirring to Nesta, who was on her stomach across the couch, basking in the golden glow cast by the autumn sun beyond the window. Before her, an enormous book was parted in the middle, the pages an unblemished, stark white from her unfailing, obsessive care of books. She absentmindedly ran a finger across a corner of the pages with an idiotic grin on her face.

Suddenly interested, Cassian quickly covered the pot and stalked towards the burgundy couch, nudging Nesta to sit up with his broad, membranous wings and plopping down to curl beside her, grinning as her steel-grey eyes lit up with the brilliance of diamonds.

"Well?" He gave Nesta a quick kiss before poking her. "Tell me what happened so I can stop judging you."

Nesta only scrunched her nose. "Or maybe consider reading the book?"

"I could. . ." Cassian said slowly, stretching an arm around her back, red siphons blazing in the sunlight. "But unlike some people, I don't have the luxury of that much spare time."

"You could've," She retorted, resting her head against his shoulder. "If you didn't spend two hours every morning pampering yourself. It's your loss."

"It's hard tie up wet hair." He shrugged, fighting to keep his mouth a straight line. That, and other things.

"Mother save you." Nesta shook her head as she opened the leather-bound book again. "No wonder you're getting split ends." At that, Cassian did his best not to look offended. He did, after all, have more than five hundred years of experience.

"I'm sure there are other factors, love." He said, peeking over Nesta's golden-brown head to view the book she was reading. At once, Cassian immediately realized the familiarity of the two intertwining ribbons that graced the corner of the new chapter page.

"Mother's tits." Cassian leaned back. He didn't like reading, but he did make the habit to pay attention to the non-literary aspects of Nesta's books. "What is your obsession with that book?"

"How many sheets of paper do you want me to use in order to answer that question?"

"Nesta, sweetheart," Cassian sighed as she snuggled closer to him. He thought of taking her to meet with the author for her next birthday. "You really need to think of a better ploy to deceive me into reading."

"You know Cass," Nesta drawled, finally looking up at him with a grin before she dropped the book on his face. "You're lucky I still fucking love you."

"I love you more." Cassian pulled the book off his face, an expectant smile blooming, but all that met him was the ghostly, winter air. The hazy light of dawn fell through the window, saving the sickly yellow pages of the book from the awaiting shadows, illuminating the couch that had turned into a dull auburn over the years and emblazing the empty space beside him in lifeless amber.

His heart lurched, becoming a heavy, painful bruise, and as Cassian tried to blink away the watery mist that formed before his eyes, he wondered how his lungs still hadn't collapsed into chaos. He directed his attention towards the book again—her book—as his fingers absentmindedly fidgeted with the blunted edges of its centuries' old pages.

Losing himself again to the same world she had once often visited, experiencing the same lives she had once embodied, falling for the same words that she had once gleefully devoured. At the flick of a new page, the silk ribbons met him, like two lovers in an embrace together to face the new chapter unfolding. Cassian ran a hand through his wet, unruly hair, roughly tearing through the tangles that yanked at his fingers as explosive pain racked his chest.

It reminded him again of an older time, before the bond was cleaved by darkness. He had been so sure he hated reading. But she was right, in the end she did manage to ignite his love for books.

a/n: After Season Three's agonizing cliffhanger, I suppose we could all use a bit of closure (although realistically impossible— excuse me, let me just sit in a corner and start sobbing) to try elevate our miserable spirits.

————— o — 0 — o —————

"It's all true." Chloe took a disbelieving step back, a numbness dropping on her heart like stone, turning every part of her rigid with shock as roaring filled her ears.

"What is?" The man who stood before her was made of red rock and gunmetal, of devastating lines and cruel curves, of things formed far beyond her world. This was what he had been trying to tell her all along. Had openly, earnestly confessed before all her dismissive manners. "Detective?" He took a step forward, a hand reaching out towards her as shadows shifted across his face, but she shook her head. Shook it as if it would clear whatever impact the shooting had on her, or maybe it was the stress and fear from Marcus's betrayal.

But it did nothing to clear the delusion.

It was real.

"All along you've-- you really are--" She stumbled over her words, unsure of how to organise the chaos in her head.

His brows furrowed as he cocked his head, and it was all achingly familiar.

"Alright, now you've completely lost me." He grinned, lips sharply curling. "What is?"

He doesn't know, she realised underneath her thundering heartbeat, he doesn't know that something's different.

Chloe looked at him, really looked at him. Studying those eyes that were of embers and shadows, a face a promise of menace and terror, only to find that there was nothing beyond that. That face. He still looked at her with same raw honesty and eagerness. Had spoken with the same voice laced with posh and charm. Had moved with the same grace, smiled with the same confidence. But his face--

Her eyes slid to the debris and shattered glass around him, to the motes that still danced in the air and the illuminating sunlight that filtered through the windows, at odds with the darkness that charged the enclosed space. She took in Marcus, her heart skipping a beat, as she found him laid out behind Lucifer, Maze's twinkling blade embedded in a rose of dark blood in his chest, to the similarly broken, unmoving bodies splayed across the room. Mayhem. It had been utter mayhem.

And it was then that she finally let herself acknowledge the radiant, white feathers that glistened with blood strewn around the room. Around the man who survived the chaos of it all only minutes before.

This was Lucifer.

Lucifer Morningstar.

And for the first time since she met him, she finally let herself believe.

"You--" She choked on her words, a multitude of thoughts wanting to be poured out simultaneously. "I'm sorry." 

Lucifer, who was in the process of adjusting the lapels of his suit as he began to stride towards her, paused at that, narrowing his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"That I never believed you."

It's all true.

Lucifer blinked, but as he watched her, noting her ragged breathing, her shaking hands, her wandering eyes, the enthusiasm on his face drained with the onslaught of the dawning realisation.

A hand shot up to feel the side of his face, his eyes widening as he drew a horrified gasp. He watched Chloe for a moment longer, seemingly paralysed, clearly waiting for her to do something, before his eyes lowered and he abruptly turned, stooping. Hiding. "Detective, this," His voice faltered. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"I-- I don't get it." Chloe stayed where she was, staring at his hunched shoulders. "Isn't this what you've--"

"Well," Lucifer let out small, hoarse laugh. "that was when you didn't believe me." From where Chloe stood, she saw him shake his head. "It's different when you finally see the truth for yourself, isn't it?"

She licked her lips, unsure of what to say. "It is." 

It's all true. 

Angels and demons, Heaven and Hell. God and the Devil.

Lucifer is the Devil.

He took a shuddering breath. "You don't have to stay."

Truth be told, she didn't know what she wanted to do.

What she felt.

She had spent so long in the bliss of what she thought was reality, of ignorance, that when the truth unraveled before her, it was hard to clamp the urge to dismiss it all. Just as she had every other time. To sweep it all from sight and claim it a hallucination, a dream, something that wasn't real. But now--

Chloe was a detective, and she relied on evidence for truth. This was real.

It's all true.

"No." Chloe drew in a breath. "But I'm going to."

This was still Lucifer.

"Detective, trust me--"

"I do." She insisted. "Lucifer, I do."

A pause.

"You're not afraid." But he was, she finished with a steadying breath. This was what he had told her that night, the side of him that he hid in fear, afraid that the whole truth would scare her away. Bad, monstrous, he had said. He thought he was protecting both of them. But--

"You haven't given me any reason to be."

The legends and the myths, regardless of how accurate they told their tales, have always had. But, the Lucifer she knew, the Lucifer that never lied, the Lucifer that always had her back, the Lucifer that was daring and honest and good, she knew him and she wasn't afraid. It didn't matter whatever he truly was, whichever skin he shifted between, because she had glimpsed his soul and knew that that's who he really was. His true self, before the world tainted his image rotten, deceiving both the people and himself. A burning ache in her chest compelled her to move forward, her steps deafening in the otherwise silent room.

"I meant what I said." Chloe reached for his shoulder. "You're not a monster to me."

What would it take, for him to see what she honestly saw in him?

"Chloe, please," He shook his head again, burying his face deeper into the nooks of his hands. "Don't--"

"This changes nothing." Chloe gently took his hands and held them firmly within hers, trying to catch his lidded eyes. "Lucifer."

It's all true.

Rose red and moon rock, Lucifer's face, leveled with hers. Familiar, but entirely not. His hopeful eyes searched hers, the rigidness loosening as relief flooded his face, soft and grateful. And suddenly she was looking at a man, dark, handsome and human, his hair a mussed mess and his eyes were shining. Still Lucifer. "Truly?" His voice sounded small.

"I swear on my life." She said.

A small, disbelieving smile bloomed on his face. "What did I do to ever deserve you."

He deserved the world. For constantly guarding her back, for staying true to his word, for being the best, irreplaceable partner she's ever had, he deserved more than their contempt.

"You have no idea." And Chloe tightly embraced him. 

Lucifer slowly returned it, uncertain, his hands delicate across her back as if she would suddenly disappear. Run away. 

She stayed.

Because she's lost count of the amount of times she's promised to always be there for him.

"You're really . . . okay? With this?" His voice was muffled by her hair, and she felt him motioning with his hands, still not quite believing it.

She hugged Lucifer tighter.

"Yes."