#and that was ignored for the sake of feysand | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elriell · 3 years ago

Text

Two Mates? Elriel & (El)ucien Theory.

These are just a few of my thoughts compiled together regarding having two mates, the signs and breadcrumbs Sarah has incorporated. If you know me you know am a Lucien fan so this is nothing hateful towards him and we will be looking at his place within it all as well, that being said this will have bond rejection/misalignment talk so if that is not your cup of tea I understand and you can skip this! As always I would love to hear everyones thoughts so long as we are all respectful ♡

Let's start by discussing the where the two ships align and parallel mates behaviour, and then we will discuss where their arc's veer from each other...

“TOUCH HER, SMELL HER, TASTE HER– THE INSTINCTS WERE A RUNNING RIVER.” (Lucien in ACOWAR about the mating bond.)

“Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture.”

“Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.”

“They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. ”

“He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. ”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. ”

“He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like.”

“This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. ”

Now you can easily parallel this to any of SJM's mates, like Feysand or Nessian. But for the sake of brevity I will leave you with the original link to the wonderful @suelky post where it was pointed out w/ Feysand quotes as well. [source]

Also "The instincts were a running river.” sounds a little like “Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea."

The Bonus POV has a lot of typical "Mates" behaviours manifesting between Elain and Azriel, and it would make sense this would be a extreme POV shift as we have never been inside either of their heads before so we were bound to have a major learning curve, especially with Az who is so reserved with his emotions.

“But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—”

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her." Azriel snarled softly.”

There are countless main trio parallels but most of you are aware of which one is my favourite...

“Knelt on those stars and mountains inked on his knees. He would bow for no one and nothing— But his mate. His equal.”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.”

"Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he'd find himself on his knees, begging her for touch, for anything."

And on to where they go their separate ways from a textual perspective;

"Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.”

“Rhys kissed the hollow of my collarbone, and my core went utterly molten. “My brave, bold, brilliant mate.”

“You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look—which is my favorite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don’t want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself.”

“And he had the nerve once his powers were back to shove me into a cage. The nerve to say I was no longer useful; I was to be cloistered for his peace of mind.”

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.” He kissed my brow one more time, my blood thrumming and boiling in me, howling to draw blood.”

I think finding freedom and power from within is something that the books have emphasized through Feysand and Nessian's journey's. Which is so interesting considering Lucien and Elain are both feeling tied to each other, as if in a cage of sorts.

Elain herself has been stuffed in to a box of other peoples making throughout most of the series, it quite prevalent she might feel caged by their opinions of who she is.

"Maybe she was never given a chance to be that way." I whipped my head towards him. "You think I stifle her?" Rhys held up his hands. "Not you alone."

“Nesta had been right. It was like a prison, this place.” [Graysen's Manor]

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.”

And as for Lucien I think his duty and honour to her is what is caging him;

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her 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.”

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.”

“Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

Godbless Azriel for respecting Elain's privacy.

I think we would see/understand a lot more if we got a chance inside their heads but the one time we did see Lucien's POV we got a good glimpse at how he feels about his situation with Elain and it wasn't particularly positive and reminded me of Rhy's parents.

"She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.”

“...to remember that she picked it. Picked me. That it’s not like my parents, shoved together.”

Not using the word cage per say but the implication isn't much better.

“You know them better than I do. But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

“So is Azriel.”

I don't think the debate is really whether Lucien is deserving of her, or even Azriel for that matter, it is a question of who is actually right for her and vice-versa, who has she been consistently written to thrive and smile alongside. And that is Azriel.

Why does Sarah constantly put Azriel in the picture, from day DOT. She was screaming "hey look Azriel is here, and they would work magically together"

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together.”

There are several instances/evens that occur throughout the series that set both Elucien and Elriel's relationships apart, and I think it is highly intentional on Sarah's part...

“I said quietly, “We will get her back.” But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.”

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Or we can look at both Solstice's and the clear differences in how their relationships are growing, and also how well one and other know each other.

“Tell me when you knew,” he demanded, his knee pressing into mine. “That Rhysand was your mate. Tell me when you stopped loving Tamlin and started loving him instead.”

“He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.”

“I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” He hitched my damp cloak higher around us. “If she is worth fighting for.”

“Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.”

GIFTS REFLECTING THEIR RELATIONSHIP MILE MARKS

“Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

“I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.”

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” “And torn up by thorns,” I mused,”

“I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.”

“He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

Not only is she visibly uninterested which is painful to watch, it also highlights how little he knows about her. SJM is creating a visible gap in their dynamic.

“The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. “It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. ”

“My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.”

“I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,” I said, sawing and sawing. “Little roses and begonias and irises. And for Nesta … ”

“She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

“I led her into the sitting room, where Cassian had a bottle of amber-colored liquor in each hand, Azriel was already rubbing his temples,”

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there.”

“Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

See yet again a very thoughtful and funny gift on her part. Now at it's core even just simply comparing their general reactions says a lot about the story Sarah is putting forward.

"Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

“He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. "No wonder you didn't want me to open it in front of everyone."

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. "Nesta wouldn't appreciate the joke.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly."

"Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. "

The writing is nothing if not clear about the discomfort both Lucien and Elain feel in regards to each other, though they lay under different reasons.

We are given multiple incidents in which we are told about how mating bonds are not perfect and we are given clear examples of it repeatedly, about woman enduring out of obligation, and do not forget this is heavily discussed literally in regards to Elain and her circumstances.

“She’d been revealed as his mate, and endured the miserable union mostly from gratitude for her unharmed wings.”

“You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other.” I peeled off my dressing robe. “So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. "

“She glowed with good health. Except … Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room,”

“Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around,”

“Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.”

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

“Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.”

What if ”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

“Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” “That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“ I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.”

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.”

The romantic subtext is there and has been for quite some time, they prove it book after book when SJM continues to grow their bond and nurture it whilst breaking her connection with Lucien further apart, and for what reason?

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some… preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.”

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” [...]

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

“Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.”

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.”

It is remarkably interesting to me that we are told about what Rhys suspects/believes is responsible for mating bonds, paralleled alongside Azriel questioning it all, I also think it is abundantly clear from his answer to Feyre he doesn't truly know for sure.

We also have several lines of dialogue talking about the sisters and fate, their reason for entering the IC's life. Not only that but we get a glimpse at Azriel's personality and how despite the world (Rhys and the mating bond in general) telling him to despair, he still found it in him to have hope the Cauldron could be wrong.

This is so significant, and she has carefully woven his character throughout the series to make this incredibly plausible.

“If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.”

“And then he said to my sisters, “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we’ll find out why.”

“All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.”

“Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. It is savage, and it is ugly, and it mercifully does not happen often, but …”

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

As you can see even back in ACOWAR she was weaving the web for Elriel's journey and an upcoming Blood Duel/The threat of one.

“Many mated pairs will try to make it work, believing the Cauldron selected them for a reason. Only years later will they realize that perhaps the pairing was not ideal in spirit.”

I think it is pretty clear from all the quotes above that Lucien is no her ideal spirit and vice-versa to be frank when you put it side by side his budding relationship with Vassa or hers with Azriel they are clearly very different.

“On the continent, there are territories that believe the females literally belong to their mate. But not here. Elain would have our full protection if she rejects the bond.”

“Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. ”

Elain is choosing Azriel, choosing their bond over the one assigned to her time and time again... Back to mating bonds;

“The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”

“The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

"She pointed at Lucien as she saw herself out. “Try sitting down with her. Just talking—sensing. See what you pick up. But don’t push.”

“Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.”

"Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.”

“Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.”

“But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.”

Are you telling me that Madja saying a mate would know, would sense whatever is going on with her, and as it turns out Azriel was the one to sense and uncover it is solely what, a coincidence? Also to emphasize what she said about "A bridge between souls..." Where else have we heard that terminology? The Truth-Teller scene.

“I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

Not to mention this scene is simply iconic for a multitude of reasons, how poetic Feyre describes them, the clear soulmates/ying-yang subtext and him giving her something he has given no other but that's another story.

Azriel has also been displaying some very protective fiercely so mating vibes towards her,

“Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. ”

“Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.”

“Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.”

“Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

I think there are some mixed opinions on Lucien and whether he deserves her (and vice-versa in this fandom) but I don't think that is what this comes down too, they are both handling it in the way they think best/following their instincts.

Lucien is hurting throughout this process as well, but I think ultimately it is honor and loyalty binding him to her not any genuine emotion for her as a human being fae. I think realising they are not meant for each other and supporting each other developing true bonds with other people will be their journey. And it would be a completely fresh and new view of a mating bond.

Smaller pieces of dialogue that need little explaining and a rather oddly specific choice of words in the latest book that is meant to set up the next one in the series:

“You’d know if she’d died,” Azriel said, pausing his work and looking up at Cassian. He tapped his brother’s chest with a scarred hand. “Right here—you’d know, Cass.”

“Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.”

"I'd never do such a thing. you must be thinking of your other mate."

Honestly? At this rate I have no doubt Elriel are endgame and everything within canon text spells that out but I truly believe he will be her second mate/the will form a bond via some circumstance that shall arise due to these little hints.

I would love to hear your thoughts and/or additions because I by all means didn't do a massive deep dive and there are most likely tons more examples to add but I didn't want it to become overwhelming to read!

Hope everyone has a spectacular and magical evening <3

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acotar #acosf #acowar #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #elriel mates #elriel theories #elriel metas #anti elucien #tb safe and all that #dont want it falling in the wrong tag #c

268 notes · View notes

bookofmirth · 3 years ago

Text

Az, Gwyn, and power

Something I’ve seen going around a lot lately, in the past couple of months, is that if Azriel and Gwyn were to enter into a relationship, it would be unequal or imbalanced, basically that Azriel has more power than Gwyn and so it would make for a potentially... bad (? definition tbd) relationship.

I’ve already explained why the theory about Elain not knowing how the bond works makes her look like either stupid, or ignorant, or supremely passive. I’m assuming that is not the intention of the stans.

Now lemme explain why this interpretation, of a gwynriel relationship being inherently imbalanced and problematic for being so, would make Azriel look like an asshole.

I keep seeing people saying “because this person has power and this person doesn’t, this thing is bad”. No. That’s not how it works. Power is much more complex and nuanced than that, and it depends on how the individual decides to wield it. There are multiple ways that someone can gain, retain, and use power. Some have more access than others, for different reasons. However, it is not inevitable that those with more power will exploit those with less.

In the post about power I mentioned Rhys, and he is a great example of why having power isn’t necessarily a bad thing for everyone around him. The only thing that keeps Rhys from literally every sort of privilege is that he is half Illyrian. Other than that, he has everything going for him. However, he rarely, if ever, takes advantage of his power to the detriment of others. We could probably argue about why this is or isn’t true and to what extent, but the point is that we have other examples of similar fae - Beron - who wield the same types of power and do not gaf about anyone else. Rhys intentionally allows the IC to have a voice in what happens in the NC, he listens to them, he takes their advice, and sometimes he does a shitty job but he tries to avoid ruling with an iron fist.

Back to gwynriel.

So the idea that Gwyn and Azriel cannot be equals in a relationship initially came from the idea that Gwyn is, somehow, at 28 years old, mentally and emotionally a child. We know that this is NOT true. It has been confirmed by the writer, who did hear explanation of the different rates at which fae age. So her denial that Gwyn is a child was not out of context. She knew what people were thinking.

However, there are still issues that people bring up regarding Gwyn being a priestess and Azriel being the spymaster. But let’s be clear about who Gwyn and Azriel are:

Gwyn is a priestesses. She is not a nun. She spends her time learning and aiding others in that pursuit.

She protected children when her temple was under attack.

Gwyn is Carynthian. One of the only two women in history to earn that distinction. That accomplishment took intelligence, cunning, cooperation, and strength.

Gwyn is mostly High Fae.

Gwyn is a SA survivor.

Azriel rescued her.

Azriel is a spymaster.

Azriel is also Carynthian.

He is part Illyrian.

Azriel’s role in the library is not “supervisor”. He is not their camp counselor. He is not their authority figure. He brings women to the library who have been victimized, and then he leaves.

The two people who are actually in charge of the library and its citizens safety are Morrigan and Rhysand.

Combining all those facts with Gwyn’s age, Gwyn is not Azriel’s inferior in any way. No matter which way you look at it, there is nothing about Azriel that inherently puts him in a position to abuse his power.

She is also not his inferior in terms of maturity (while I can see that being an argument, it would need to be equally applied to nessian, feysand, elucien, e*riel, etc.... and it’s not. Unless an sjm anti is reading this, then yeah, I can see them making that argument.)

So let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that Azriel does hold a position of authority over Gwyn. He doesn’t, but let’s just pretend that these arguments are actually valid. If - if - Gwyn and Azriel were problematic as a relationship because of some power imbalance, then it stands to reason that that ship is problematic because Azriel is the type of person to exploit that imbalance.

Is that what y’all were going for when you try to say that gwynriel makes you feel uncomfortable??? Doubt it.

One last point about my list above - if y’all think that the fact that Azriel rescued Gwyn means that he can only see her that way, that he can only see her as an SA survivor and can never see beyond that, fails to recognize her growth and strength, even though he helped her to complete the Blood Rite Qualifier... again, that doesn’t say great things about Azriel (and maybe doesn’t say great things about people who would make that argument, since people are not defined by their trauma!)

I have seen (maybe? maybe I imagined this) a comparison between Azriel and Gwyn that he’s like... a teacher, and she’s the student, to explain why they are not an appropriate ship. The big problem with a teacher/student relationship is that the student in the scenario feels like they cannot say no. Your teacher is an authority, they are more mature, more knowledgeable, they have influence over whether you pass a class and get a good grade, they can tell your parents if you have been behaved or completing your work, etc. There are a lot of ways that a teacher can punish a student for not doing what they want. This is why those relationships are always frowned upon - it’s big dubcon territory, if not straight up noncon.

However, again, Gwyn is participating in the Valkyrie training voluntarily. She lives at the library voluntarily. She is a priestess voluntarily. There is nothing that Azriel can do to Gwyn that would force her to comply with what he wants. Gwyn can tell Azriel to fuck off, to go choke, to eat dust, to go jerk off, and... nothing would happen. He would probably stop hanging around as much, but that’s... it. He has no actual power over her in the sense of being an authority figure or being in control of her life in any way.

Something that I almost put in that original post but didn’t because it was besides the point at the time, was that there are always power differences. People will always have differing levels of access to privilege and power. That does NOT mean that people can and must only ever be in relationships with people of similar levels or power/privilege. In that post I mentioned how feylin didn’t work out because Tamlin had so much access and Feyre had none - to compound this problem, he allowed her access to none. He did nothing to try to even the playing field, to educate or empower her. That’s what made it a problem.

So do y’all think that Azriel would be like Beron? Someone willing to take the privilege he has and wield it over someone else like a cudgel? Or is he more like Rhys? Aware of his position and working to support - not manipulate - others? Because even if we were to accept the premise that there is a problematic power imbalance between Azriel and Gwyn, the only reason we should be uncomfortable with that is if we think that Azriel is the type of person who would exploit that imbalance.

#azriel #gwyneth berdara #gwynriel #acosf #acotar #acotar meta #power #i hope this made sense #i still feel like i'm getting my thoughts about it in order #jfc this got longer than I intended

223 notes · View notes

alectology-archive · 3 years ago

Note

I think I’ve realized why I consider some enemies-to-lovers abusive and others not: dehumanization. When enemies stop respecting and treating each other as human beings and simply use one of another as a means to an end, as nothing but a tool for this own wants and goals, then I consider it abusive. I personally think there are 3 main kinds of dehumanization in enemies to lovers: molestation/sexual assault, torture, and enslavement; 1/2

2/2 because in all of those you treat your enemy more like a tool for your own advancement than another person. Reylo, Feysand, and Darklina all fall into at least one of those three “dehumanization” categories, so I consider them abusive. But Catradora and Zutara do not, so neither of those enemies-to-lovers ships is abusive.

Yeah I do think this works as a very, very basic guideline because saying that a person shouldn't abuse/enslave/torture another person in a relationship is kind of the most basic standard to set. But I'm pretty sure you'll still find outliers, (partly because it's such a low bar to clear) so I'm not entirely confident that it's easy enough to come up with a definition that works for everything. Communication and devoting enough time for a progression from the enemies to lovers part is also often lacking and i'm especially frustrated when the pairs don't treat each other like they love each other for the sake of stupid banter or 'extra tension'. There's also a tendency amongst people to fit everything into boxes so the idea that there are two kinds of executions and moralities as opposed to a spectrum - both in terms of execution and morality - can be very restricting.

Relationships also tend to be very conplex! For all standards and purposes villanelle/eve polastri and will graham/ hannibal aren't exactly what you'd call a healthy relationship and that is part of the tragedy of the story & it's a part of eve and will's 'corruption arc'. So I really think how you're framing the narrative in the story and the kind of themes you want to explore matter a lot too. The audience that is consuming the material (young, easily influenced kids) is also another really important factor and I think people seem to forget that.

I specifically hate feysand because acotar was marketed towards kids and sjm excused his abuse and sexual assault because his trauma and sacrifices apparently excuse his wrong actions. He's framed as Feyre's 'true love' which is just wrong in every sense of the word and especially so in the context of how feyre comes from a background that is loosely abusive and was involved in an abusive relationship (with tamlin) only for another abusive relationship to be framed as good and proper. I hate darklina because the people who ship it use alina as a self-insert and go on to ignore all of the horrific acts he commits and the multiple women he abuses. The narrative specifically says that the darkling was only interested in alina's power and not alina herself (you'll notice this is a pattern with the darkling - he takes advantage of multiple women and discards them when he has no uses for them).

Catradora is about learning to recognise parental abuse and understanding that you deserve love so their relationship works! Zutara works too because zuko admits his errors in the context of the story and really grows to respect katara (as opposed to kylo ron falling for rey and still being a piece of shit... lol).

#Gideon/harrow is the epitome of devotion but it doesn't excuse the way harrow treated gideon before she grew to care for her #and paige/arcturus works fine by me because they only explore the idea of a romantic relationship once they're on even footing #and they communicate a lot. like a lot.#asks #anon asks #tropes #enemies to lovers #idk I just woke up and started rambling at the end sorry for that #tw abuse #anti sjm #anti feysand #anti darklina #text #my post

90 notes · View notes

writtenonreceipts · 4 years ago

Note

I got a prompt for you ^^ if you ever wanna get into it

Person A is athlete at a press conference and Person A makes comment to his buddy about Person B and Person A forgot his mic was on

For Feysand/Rowaelin~

Love your writing 💕

I loved writing this! Thanks so much for sending it in and for reading!

...

Has potential for more parts. Feel free to send me prompts if you wanna or if you’d just like to see more of this, let me know.

And I know more about basketball than any other sport, so for the sake of reality/my sanity basketball is the sport of choice here.

Warnings: none

...

For the Love of the Game

And the final game of the regular season comes to a close! In a clutch shot Rowan Whitethorn hit that three-pointer and brought the score 109-107. No overtime for the Wendlyn Wyverns. Whitethorn has been having a hell of a season--surprising since the slump he was in last year. But he actually managed to be listed as MVP and leading in most assists for the regular season.

Aelin listened to the announcer, Duke Perrington, as he gave the wrap up of the game. Duke was a sleaze as his name could only attest to. And he would be leading the press-conference tonight after the post-game wrap ups. Hell. She didn’t want to deal with him.

She straightened her skirt and checked, again, that there were no runs in her pantyhose. Dorian Havilliard Sr. had made certain she knew what the dress code was. Pants were out of the question (she was a woman after all). Shoes with a heel less than two inches were laughable. And she always, always, had to have her make-up done.

Aelin had no problem with dressing up. None at all. The more glitz and glam the better. But doing it for Havilliard? The man, who owned the sports magazine she wrote for, hardly appreciated her.

She muttered a string of oaths under her breath.

After the slow start of the first quarter, it was good to see the usual energy of the Wyverns come out. And of course, getting to see Lorcan Salvaterre fouling out of the game made everyone’s night. Who won the pool this time?

As Aelin slipped from the bathroom, she made sure her reporter’s badge was unobscured. She couldn’t count the times security had tried to escort her away from press conferences just because they couldn't be bothered to look for it. Maybe if she clipped it right over her breasts.

She was usually the only female reporter in the conferences. Mostly because Cairn Valg, owner of the Wendlyn Wyverns was a misogynistic pig-headed man. And then Havilliard never bothered to listen to Aelin when she asked that he put her name on the list of reporters.

“Aelin,” Nox Banner, one of her fellow reporters and a good friend, walked beside her down the hall of the stadium towards the conference rooms. “Havilliard actually let you cover tonight’s game?”

She punched his shoulder when he howled with laughter. “Screw you.”

“I’m just saying,” Nox said, grinning madly, but Aelin cut him off with another punch.

“I am just as qualified as you to be there,” she said.

Nox threw his hands up in defense. “I know. You’ll cover the game better than any of us too.”

“Damn straight,” Aelin agreed. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Dorian helped me get on the list.”

“Of course he did,” Nox said, making sure to waggle his brows.

“He’s a friend,” Aelin said. Nox managed to dodge the next punch.

Nox cackled in laughter as they were led into the conference room. Aelin rolled her eyes, grateful to have at least one person on her side. Being a female reporter in a male dominated environment had always been hard. But she’d grown up with the sport. It had been her life in the foster system, through college. Almost to the WNBA.

The conference room was packed with reporters, cameras, and a line of the players up on an elevated stage. Just as she always felt with conferences and interviews, Aelin felt a rush of adrenaline. It wasn’t as intense as when she would be on the court playing--but close enough. The closest she ever got nowadays.

Ignoring the glances from her male counterparts, Aelin pushed her way through the reporters, Nox at her side. She wasn’t quite at the front of the crowd as she would like to be, but close enough.

Aelin watched as two delegates from each team--the Wyverns and the Sea Dragons--came onto the stage. Rowan Whitethorn and Lorcan Salvaterre for the former and Sartaq Khagan and Sam Cortland for the latter. Aelin never understood how such attractive people could get drafted for both teams.

Rowan Whitethorn in particular had always caught Aelin’s attention. He’d been signed from the European league after dominating some private university division. The Wyverns laid their claim on him five years ago and it seemed he’d found his home in Wendlyn. It was his story, his history as a player that had always intrigued Aelin.

His striking silver-blonde hair and piercing green eyes also helped.

“Live in five...four...three…” a technician counted down giving a signal to Duke Perrington who stood in front of the main camera.

“Here we are at the post-game break down,” Perrington said, his slicked back and signature smirk of a smile ready for viewers. “Wendlyn barely cinched this win, as has been the norm for them through the entire regular season making everyone question, how are they going to do in the finals?”

Aelin wanted to roll her eyes. Perrington had washed out as an athlete in college and barely had the credentials to be a lead reporter for a major sports station. He only had an in with Havilliard because the two could be sleazes together. And money. And they had similar values. Demoralizing and inhuman ones, but similar nonetheless.

As the questions began for each team, Aelin got more and more frustrated that she’d never been able to pose a question. Every time she’d raised her hand to ask a question, she’d been ignored. Every time she tried to push her way through to that front of the line of reporters someone would nudge her back. Even with Nox at her side, Aelin was at every disadvantage.

“I think,” Rowan Whitethorn said, his accent rolling off his tongue, “it took far more teamwork than anyone really notices to get us here.”

Teamwork. The five best players for Wendlyn hated each other. Rowan, Lorcan, Connal, Fenrys, and Vaughan. Gavriel had finished out his last season five years ago and was now working as assistant coach but she was sure he hated the others as much as they hated him.

It was a nice sentiment really. And even though Whitethorn was leading in assists, it was clear there was a rift in the team. As was made evident by the Wyverns barely scraping their way into the finals.

Perrington made the mistake of pausing too long and Aelin sent a well-aimed kick at the instep of the man in front of her. She had seconds to push her question. It led to a larger theme that she was interested in as a sports writer, but one no one--no man-- took seriously.

“And what would you define teamwork as, Mr. Whitethorn,” she asked loud enough that any microphone would be able to pick up. Aelin felt eyes and cameras turn to her, giving her a thrill of excitement. Almost as good as being out on the court. “It’s become fairly evident that there is a divide among the Wyverns and how you all play together. It would seem that teamwork only exists on the court, not off it.”

Silence.

It seemed that everyone had forgotten a woman could be a reporter, let alone exist in general.

Rowan Whitethorn’s pine green eyes bore into her. Even at a distance, Aelin could feel the intensity of his gaze, the scrutiny he was putting her through. And she loved it. Far too often men, and women, dismissed her as nothing more than a blonde bimbo. Even though she’d risen high and mighty among the ranks in her college classes. She’d become valedictorian even while playing basketball herself. She’d been one of the best on and off the court.

Until Arobyn Hammel.

Now all she was known for was that she made good coffee runs in the office.

“Teamwork is trust.” Whitethorn didn’t have an opportunity to say anything else before Perrington swung the attention back around to how both teams would approach the finals and having to play each other again.

Whitethorn’s gaze continued to flick back to Aelin through the final questions. Aelin alternated between glaring at him and Perrington.

Perhaps her question wasn’t the most interesting to them. It was a bit more of a touchy feely sort and less about statistics and the male-esque propriety of victory. But it was something worth considering. Especially when the Wyverns hadn’t been playing their best in years. Despite their successes, they were still being held back.

And Aelin wanted to know why.

She wasn’t able to sink her nails into the questions however. Perrington called a final question and cameras flashed as the conference wound down.

Aelin seethed to herself as she faded back into nothing. No one, not even Nox tried to say anything to her. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. She shouldn’t even be as disappointed as she was. This was everything she should have been expecting.

“Who let the skirt in?” Salvaterre muttered to Whitethorn as soon as someone called a loud “clear!” to indicate the conference was over.

Aelin was more than ready to let it go. The microphone was muffled as the giant of a man moved, the fabric of his sweatsuit rubbing against the sensitive item. She knew she should just forget the comment and get on with the article. She had enough information to get something down. Even if she did utterly fail at getting treated like a real reporter. Again.

Until Whitethorn opened his mouth.

“At least it gave us something to look at.”

The prick hadn’t turned off his microphone, hadn’t put a hand over it, hadn’t even bothered to check if it was still on. His words echoed over the din of voices.

Aelin didn’t think as she spun on her heel, head cocked to one side. She could hear Nox cure under his breath as she stepped up to the stage where the players were still standing.

I was gratifying to see Cortland and Kahgan shuffle off to one side, expertly avoiding her.

“So I was right, was I?” Aelin asked before she could stop herself. “You are as big an ass off the court as on. Is it alright if I quote you on that?”

“Aelin,” Nox hissed behind her. Ah, so now he wanted to talk to her. She ignored him.

Whitethorn stared down at Aelin, his ridiculously handsome face passive and unreadable. If not for those green eyes that pinned her where she stood.

“As long as you call it a great ass, fireheart,” he said, his accent growing thick as he leaned over the press table to grin at her. “I don’t find I care.”

Aelin wondered if she would get fired for slapping a multi-million basketball player in the face. No. Punching. Punching would be far more satisfactory.

“Buzzard,” she hissed, instead.

“Princess,” he replied, that insufferably sexy smile never leaving his face.

A hand grabbed Aelin’s arm and she had to stop herself from swinging a right hook at Nox.

“Havilliard is gonna kill you,” Nox said, he gestured around them and Aelin realized the scene she was making.

The cameramen had their cameras not quite in a position to start recording, but it was pretty damn close. All the other reporters had their own recording devices not so secretly hidden in the flaps of their suit jackets or just out right ready to catch anything that might happen.

Aelin took a breath and shook Nox off. She then put on her most charming smile--the one that had gotten Archer Flynn to give up VIP season passes to the Lakers last year. And again this year. The poor beautiful fool.

“Mr. Whitethorn, Mr. Salvaterre,” she purred, looking at each man in turn before leaving the conference hall with the loud, efficient snap of her heels echoing behind her.

...

thanks for reading guys!

tags:

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed, these are for TOG fics:

tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover@more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @lysandra-ghost-leopard @harrymoncheri @firestarsandseneschals @rapunzel1523 @booksofthemoon @fangirlprincess09 @highladysith @tillyrubes10@bri-loves-sunflowers @rowaelinismyotp

#rowaelin #aelin and rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin au #Anon #answered #asks #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #for the love of the game

187 notes · View notes

mmvalentine · 3 years ago

Text

The Pianist pt 4 | Jurdan

Modern AU. Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 5

Jude woke up with a bad taste in her mouth and cotton wool in her brain. She groaned, groped around on the night stand for her phone and had to look at the screen through one eye because the light hurt her.

Does Cardan wake up like this every day? Jude wondered. And if so, how was he not dead?

Cardan. Shit.

Jude had a vague memory of kissing Cardan at Locke's party, but she was not entirely sure that she hadn't dreamt it. Fuck it. Cardan had been with so many girls she very much doubted one drunk kiss at a party would even register for him. Jude refused to be embarrassed.

In fact she was pretty sure that what she was actually feeling was annoyance, since he a) had managed to get under her skin even though she absolutely didn’t want him there and hadn’t invited him and b) was now striking up some exercises on the piano that sounded like he was playing them on the inside of her skull. Since when did Cardan start anything before lunch?

Jude tried to roll over and go back to sleep. Luckily for her, this was her one day a week off from all three of her jobs. Unluckily for her, Cardan was only just getting started.

Twenty minutes later, there was a pause. Jude sighed her relief as the infernal exercises finally stopped- only for a furious Baroque piece to begin. “No no no no,” Jude yelled. She flung back her covers, still dressed in the black dress from the night before, with bed hair and yesterday’s makeup, and stalked out the door barefoot.

Through the fire door, up one flight of steps, and down the hall to Cardan’s flat. She hammered her fist on his front door.

"Cardan!" she barked. "Cardan you insufferable ass!"

The piano stopped, and before he could get to her she yanked the door handle. It was unlocked, and Jude opened the door to a very surprised Cardan who was himself just reaching for the knob.

"Jude?"

"Yes Jude, hello it’s me your downstairs fucking neighbour who cannot sleep through this racket!"

Cardan just stood and stared at her. Some quiet part of Jude’s mind was sure she looked like a madwoman, but the louder part ignored it and continued the tirade.

"I mean for fuck’s sake Cardan what do you have against sleep?" She flung the words at him. “You keep me up all through the night because you refuse to operate during daylight hours like a normal person, and then the one time I want to sleep in, the one time- Cardan do you know I never ever ever sleep in? And then this one time I think maybe I’ll just relax a little, here you are like you’ve got some kind of personal vendetta against me getting a full eight hours!"

She paused to draw breath, and still Cardan just stood there. It was infuriating.

"Well?" She demanded.

And then Cardan put both his hands around her face, and pulled her mouth to his.

The heat was instant. Jude burned up under it in for a second, then realised what was happening and cut the kiss off.

But Cardan was having none of that. He pulled her right back to him, and Jude did not have enough willpower to break away a second time. The shocking fever of it wiped out all logical thought and the next thing she knew she was folding her arms around his neck. Cardan wrapped his own around her waist, stooping a little to reach her and then pulling her up against his body. He took a step back and Jude let him lead her into his apartment, the door closing softly behind them.

Cardan moved his mouth against hers and when his tongue lashed out she was only too eager to meet it. She scraped her nails against his neck as his hands slid into the tangle of her hair.

Jude took another step forward, and Cardan backed into a lamp. It toppled over noisily, but he didn’t let her stop the kiss. Just moved them to the side, where Jude’s back hit a shelf and two books fell out. Cardan didn‘t seem to care at all. Pushed her further into the wall while his teeth found her bottom lip, and knocked a frame down as his hand hit the plaster behind her.

Jude tugged him closer at the waist, and returned every one of his kisses. She might have kept kissing him all day, he tasted so good, but then in between one breath and the next he whispered her name, and she realised.

She was making out with Cardan.

Jude shoved him away, hard, and stormed out the door without a word.

////

Cardan didn't see Jude for a week after that.

It was strange, they had been in each other's proximity for a long time now and not had a lot to do with each other but now, somehow, he was quite sure she was avoiding him.

He didn't know quite what to feel about that kiss.

In his defence, she had started it. That night of Locke's party- no, before that. The night she started singing him to sleep through the air vents. She had floated into his life through his ears and now her absence chafed like a burr in his shoe. Of course, in the past days there was no singing. Not even when Cardan lay there for an hour, waiting to hear her voice.

Locke had seen her.

In spite of the mess that had been that party, and the morning after, it seemed that Jude had taken on Cardan's advice and agreed to meet with Locke for the play.

And according to Locke, things were going very well. He raved about Jude's voice, which irritated Cardan to no end. He had put his ear to the carpet just to hear her, and now he had to share her with Locke? Prick.

Locke, as always, had an easy time of assembling the rest of his cast. Cardan did not think him a bad writer, but he did suspect the queues for his casting call had more to do with who his father was than with his skills as a playwright.

He had been auditioning for a couple of weeks now, and with Jude in place, he was ready to call his first cast meeting. Cardan, Nicasia and Valerian were expected to attend too- Nicasia and Valerian never missed a chance to be on stage, and Cardan was invited for his "musical ear."

So there they all were, on a Friday evening, in the old theatre Locke's dad let him use. Waiting for the last few people to arrive. When Jude walked through the door she nodded to Locke, but avoided Cardan's gaze.

Fine, he thought. If she didn't want to talk to him, he certainly wasn't going to force her. He thought of the rant she had loosed on him that morning last week, and figured it was probably better this way.

Finally, Locke called them all to attention, and Cardan sat in the back row with Nicasia and Valerian as Locke addressed them all from the stage. Cardan put his feet up on the chair in front of him, and let Nicasia doze on his shoulder while Valerian picked things out of the soles of his boots with a pocket knife.

"So without further ado,' Locke was saying, may I present to you our stunning leading lady, Taryn."

Cardan looked up. The small group were politely clapping as a tall, thin woman stood and nodded at them all. She was all blonde hair and heroin chic, just Locke's type. But what about-

"And of course our vocalist, discovered by yours truly and pulled from the bowels of the subway tunnels, Jude!"

The group applauded mildly again, but Jude did not stand up. Locke continued. "Jude is going to provide the singing voice for Taryn, although I haven't decided whether we're going to pre-record or get her to sing live backstage."

What?

"What?" Jude demanded. The cast went quiet. "You want me to sing for Taryn?"

"Yes, of course," Locke said. "You've got a lovely voice, Jude, but Tarym looks more the part, don't you think?"

"Well you didn't fucking tell me that when I agreed to do this, Locke."

"Jude," Locke held up his hands. "Please stay calm. I'm sorry if you misunderstood."

"If I misunderstood? You lied to me. Why in the hell would I want to stand around behind a curtain so that someone prettier than me can get the credit?"

"Aw come on, Jude. It's not like that. This is a very common practice in show business," Locke insisted.

Now that the drama was amping up, Nicasia and Valerian were suddenly paying attention.

"Yeah come on, Jude," Valerian called down. "It's a compliment, you have a great face for recording!"

"Darling, these are all Juilliard trained performers," Nicasia added. "You didn't actually think you were going to be on stage did you?"

"I didn't ask to be here," Jude said, picking up her bag. "Fuck this, and fuck you guys slowly with a fork."

She strode out the door, right past their row.

"Jude, wait," Cardan said, scrambling out of his seat.

"You stay the hell away from me," Jude hissed, then the door slammed behind her and Nicasia burst into hysterical laughter. Cardan looked back down toward Locke, who was shaking his head tragically.

"This is why you never hire amateurs," he said sadly, and in that moment, Cardan hated them all.

****

Hooo boy okay a lot happened in this chapter! We are in a two week lockdown after a COVID break out so I guess you get lots of writing this weekend. Someone please hug them for meee

JURDAN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @asteria-of-mars @swankii-art-teacher @loosingdreams @feysand-loml @cityofbookish @story-scribbler

#jurdan #jurdan fic #tfota #mine

43 notes · View notes

ladynestaarcheron · 4 years ago

Note

Do you still believe (or have ever believed) that SJM is a good writer? Cause I always though that she was super overestimated but had good ideas, but now I totally think she just has a hype, bc the level of the mistakes in acosf is so much like unprofessional that is hard for me to believe she is a writer and this is her living and she has sold idk how much books all over the world

Sigh...no. She used to be a good writer. But she's stopped improving. She's just no longer interested in honing her craft; only writing the same sex scenes over and over again with a poorly lit fantasy world as a backdrop.

Throne of Glass was a really good book, it was an impressive debut, and it was incredible considering the fact she started writing it when she was sixteen and published in her early twenties. ACOSF was...meh. Parts of it were fun, but in the context of the series as a whole, disappointing at best. World building was wildly inconsistent, as were characters.

One thing I noticed while doing my reread of the series is that every time Nesta was going to say something real, she was interrupted by someone or something. What was the point of that buildup? Nesta wasn't a sweet, lovable girl before the war. She and Feyre have never had a good relationship (save those few weeks after she came back from Spring); why not? We don't know. Someone had a good post about it ( @caotica-e-quieta I think?) about bitches being bitchy because they're bitches. Yeah, pretty much.

So there was no real healing from her trauma because her trauma did not begin or end with the war. So much canon was ignored for the sake of...what, exactly? A feysand baby? Why on earth was that the crux of Nesta's novel?

On one hand, whatever. Writing the same smut dynamic over and over again and making literal millions off it...good for her. Like, dream job. But on the other hand...don't you care about your readers? Your world? I don't think she does. I think somewhere along the lines she just stopped caring about more than characters because...she doesn't have to and plot is too much work.

I am incredibly disappointed in her team, though. Bloomsbury should know how to work with authors who can't be bothered to fulfill their obligations to their readers. (Worth noting, perhaps? A different woman was credited and thanked as her agent in ACOSF.)

#asks #anon #anti acosf #adil in lpg went on a rant about this once because i was really feeling it at the time lol #basically the world only cares about money and art is thoroughly disrespected #bye y'all gonna go cry and have shakespeare class #anti sjm #wow guess i'm an anti now #i never wanted to be! who wants to be obsessed with something they hate?!#i just need to take several seats and try to restore the peace and control my urges to scream #taylor swift always right

57 notes · View notes

rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

Text

After Midnight pt. 3 (Feysand)

Part 1 | Part 2

Uhhh this is kinda long and took me FOREVER to write which was v annoying. Disclaimer: stole a line from Grey’s Anatomy what’s new

____________________________________________________________

~Feyre~

I’m aware that pacing is one of my bad habits. My ex told me all the time how it drove him crazy to watch me go back and forth, back and forth. Most of the time, I can catch myself doing it and stop.

But right now, I think I’d find a way to pace even if I were chained to a tree.

Because I’m so freaking nervous about Rhysand coming over that I’m practically coming out of my skin.

Which is ridiculous, because the man has seen me naked, for gods sake.

He’s done more than just see, too.

And yet the thought of him staying here, sleeping next to me all night, has me ready to run for the hills. Somehow, sharing a bed is more intimate to me than having sex to me.

It’s fucked up, I know.

But the last man I shared a bed with...

There was a level of trust there, and it was broken. And knowing that this is the only way to rebuild the ability to give that trust doesn’t make it any easier.

I also know that if I go downstairs, I’ll end up drinking myself stupid to make this easier, so I’ve asked Rhysand to just meet me up here. And to make myself even more miserable, I’m early.

I mean, I’m always a few minutes early, but I somehow forgot we decided to meet later than usual and got here an hour ago.

Which gave me plenty of time to start freaking out.

A knock on the door snaps me out of my nerves-induced pace, and I tiptoe to the door and look through the peephole, both excited and anxious when I see Rhysand there.

Just like last week, he's wearing dark pants and a thin white shirt that does nothing to hide the body underneath. I think he does it to drive me crazy, honestly, because the sight of all that tattooed muscle-

“Are you going to let me in?”

Shit.

I swing the door open, already blushing, and say, “Sorry.”

He looks down at me, full lips pulling into a smirk. “Hi, Feyre.”

The way he says my name is somehow so full of innuendo it threatens to send my cheeks scarlet, but I say politely, “Hi, Rhys.”

He walks into the room, dropping a backpack I refuse to acknowledge on the floor. “How was your week?”

Well, I spent the entire seven days fretting about what might happen tonight and was barely able to eat anything, so not that great. “It was fine. Yours?”

His lips twitch. “Also fine.”

Then he gives the biggest, fakest yawn I’ve ever seen--throwing in a stretch, too--and says, “Well, I’m exhausted. Want to go to bed?”

He’s so damn nice, it makes me want to slap him. “Okay,” I agree, walking to one side of the bed and pulling the covers back.

I’m already dressed in my sleep shorts and a tank top, but grabs his bag and heads to the bathroom.

I can do this, I tell myself, not at all believing it. He’s nice, and it’s just sleeping. Most women would kill to sleep next to someone who looks like him.

The last part of that thought is confirmed a second later when Rhysand steps out of the bathroom in low-hanging shorts and nothing else.

His tan chest is on full display, and even though I’ve seen and touched every inch of it, I find myself studying it once again.

I suddenly wish I had a paintbrush and an empty canvas.

The urge shocks me. I haven’t thought about painting, haven’t yearned to pick up a brush, since before everything happened. If I’m being honest, long before everything happened.

“I thought we weren’t doing anything sexual tonight,” he murmurs, voice a little deeper.

“We aren’t,” I confirm, forcing my eyes to his perfectly innocent chin.

“Well then put your horny eyes away,” he scolds with a smile, walking over to flop on his half of the bed.

I smother a laugh with my hand and get in the bed next to him, trying to ignore the warmth leaking from his skin to mine.

Neither of us move to turn the small lamp off, so we lay there in the soft light, perfectly silent.

I’m lying down in a nice hotel room with a good looking man. My body is relaxed, and I am calm.

Rhysand is a very nice person, and even though I’ve known him for only three weeks, I don’t think he’d ever hurt me.

But his soft, even breathing is a constant reminder that he’s next to me, and the weight in the bed is too familiar, too close. Pressing my eyes shut doesn’t help, because it just allows me to think about the past two years and everything that happened in them.

My heart’s beating so fast and hard I’m surprised he can’t hear it, and a cool, horrible sweat breaks out over my back.

Tears threaten to spill over, and I’m discretely trying to take deeper breaths and force myself to calm down.

It doesn’t work in the slightest, so I throw the covers off, turn on my side away from him, and pretend he isn’t there.

Which becomes pretty damn impossible when a warm hand lands on my shoulder. “Feyre?”

“I’m asleep,” I lie.

His hand gets a little firmer, turning me on my back so he can see my face. Soft, understanding eyes notice everything written so painfully clearly on it, and he says, “You know what? I’m actually not that tired.”

I think I could love him for that sentence alone.

He rolls over and leans to reach into his bag. Sitting up, he throws a deck of cards on the bed between us and asks, “Fancy a hand of cards?”

Thank the gods above for warm, compassionate hookers.

“Sure.”

I sit up across from and diligently ignore the sight of all those tattoos as I watch him expertly shuffle and deal the cards. He looks so serious that it comes as a surprise when he murmurs, “I’m going to cheat if you start beating me.”

My lips curve into a smile. “That probably won’t happen. I’m horrible at cards.”

“Good. I’m a sore loser.”

One hand in and I see that he was serious. He completely kicks my ass without a shred of hesitation or mercy, but I don’t even care because I’m finally starting to relax. It’s easy to when he’s in front of me, making jokes and laughing and smiling.

He deals another hand without asking, somehow reading me well enough to know I need it. “If I win this hand, you have to answer a question.”

Oh, gods.

This is a recipe for disaster, because if I were him, I’d want to know why exactly I’m so fucked up.

But I can’t exactly turn him down when he’s been so kind and easy-going about everything. “Okay. Same if I win.”

“You won’t, but okay.”

Cocky bastard.

A few minutes later, I realize his confidence was well-deserved because once again, he beats me. “I think you might’ve cheated there, but you can ask your question.”

I’m mentally praying it’s nothing serious, because I don’t know if I could handle opening up to him while looking into his pretty eyes and-

“If you were arrested for a crime, what would it most likely be?”

I find myself laughing as I look to see he’s completely serious. “That’s what you want to know?”

He smiles back at me and just shrugs.

“Probably tax fraud,” I admit, laughing again when his eyebrows shoot up. “And before you ask, no, that isn’t why I’m well-off. I just have never understood those stupid forms, so I’ll probably mess up and end up in prison one of these days.”

Rhysand chuckles, grabbing the cards to deal another hand.

“What about you?”

Putting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward like he’s telling me a secret, he whispers, “Road rage. I’m a really angry driver, and I find screaming at people helps.”

He says it without any remorse at all, so it’s pretty believable.

“Same deal?” I ask, looking at the cards in front of me and knowing without a doubt I’m about to lose again.

Almost an hour later, we’ve asked each other the most ridiculous, absurd questions we can think of. I now know he’s afraid of sharks, doesn’t believe in black holes, and was voted most likely to succeed in high school.

He’s also found out about my sisters, my strong dislike of cilantro, and my dream of moving to France and working in the Louvre.

My stomach hurts from laughing so much, and there’s a quiet kind of peace inside me I haven’t felt in years.

We’re laying down, propped on our elbows, when we finish yet another game, and he puts his cards down and looks at me with unusually serious eyes.

I know he’s about to break our unspoken rule to not ask any personal questions, but for some reason, I don’t stop him.

“Why don’t you paint anymore?”

His tone tells me that if I want him to drop it, he will.

But... I want to tell him. I want to tell him what I went through, how it changed me. How it both broke me and made me stronger.

So I do.

“The last time I painted was over a year ago. I know it sounds cliche, but my art... it comes from a place inside of me that just isn’t there anymore.”

Rhysand nods, even though what I said didn’t make that much sense. “Do you think it’ll ever come back?”

“Yes,” I say, blushing and looking at his shoulder. I have no idea why I tell him, but I can’t seem to keep my fat mouth shut. “I actually wanted to paint earlier tonight.”

“Oh?” He gives me a knowing smile. “So those weren’t your horny eyes, they were your artist eyes?”

“Of course, you pervert.” They were both, to be honest, but I’m not about to tell him that when he’s looking at me like he just won the lottery.

“Well, you can paint me anytime you want.” He gives me a wink and waggles his eyebrows. “I posed nude a couple times in college.”

He says that so casually it takes me a second to really hear and understand his words. “You went to college?”

Rhysand freezes, and I think about how I asked that question and want to smack myself. I didn’t have to sound so damn surprised, even if it did catch me off guard. “I didn’t mean to sound like that, I just... I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“Feyre, it’s okay. I just didn’t really realize I’d said that.”

“Okay.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then he says something that completely surprises me. “I actually have a PhD.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs. “In what?”

“War and Maritime History.”

For a few seconds, I just lay there and stare at him, mouth swaying in the breeze. “You have a PhD in history?”

It’s almost impossible to imagine this insanely handsome man sitting in a dim, dreary classroom, talking about something as dull as history.

“I do.” His tone goes a little despondent as he murmurs, “I don’t use it, but I have it.”

He presses his lips together and reaches for the cards lying forgotten between us. I know I should listen to the silent cue, but I can’t stand seeing him like this.

“Why don’t you use it?” I ask, making sure to keep my tone casual and inviting. I want to give him the same opportunity he gave me.

He shuffles and deals, then looks at his hand and shakes his head, snatching up my cards to re-deal. At least he was honest about the cheating.

I hardly even notice, though, because he says, “I did for a few years. I was a professor at UVelaris.”

Now that, I can imagine.

Him standing in front of a body of students, driving all the females crazy, lecturing and being the cool, funny professor everyone wants to have.

“Not anymore?”

Rhysand shakes his head. “Didn’t pay enough.”

Something about his face tells me it’s time to drop it and change the subject. Which I guess makes it my turn to share.

So as I start to lose once again, I tell him, “I can’t go to sleep next to you because one day I woke up and my ex-fiance had locked me in our apartment.”

It’s blurted and quiet and a terrible way to spring that on someone, but he just says, “My hand is absolute garbage. You might actually win this one.”

“About time,” I mutter, weirdly relieved he didn’t start asking questions. Or worse, getting angry.

It should probably concern me that he somehow knows and can read me well enough to find the perfect response, but I’m too busy marveling at how easy this all feels with him.

Every minute of therapy is like a punch to the gut, but with Rhys... I feel like talking to someone who won’t judge, who won’t ever tell me what I should’ve done.

Pushing those thoughts out of my head, I actually concentrate on our game, and when I finally defeat him, I stick my tongue out at him and smile.

He grins back, but something about it makes mine fall away.

Because it’s his turn, and even though I’m prepared for the worst, I don’t know what it is until I hear it.

“My cousin has a rare form of leukemia, and the university didn’t pay enough for me to cover her treatments.”

He says it quickly and quietly, just like I did, but it still carries a heavy punch that knocks the air out of my lungs.

Because he... I don’t have the words to describe him.

He gave up his dream job and does something he probably hates for his family. It’s the most selfless, heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard.

But I want to give him the space to say things at his own pace like he is for me. “Let’s play another hand. I’m feeling lucky.”

Rhysand nods, eyes looking relieved, and starts to deal again.

My turn.

“My ex was really paranoid and thought I was cheating on him, and he had to go out of town for a work trip. That’s when he... I was locked in there for five days, and he took my phone and laptop, so I didn’t have a way to call for help.”

Rhys is silent for a long moment, jaw clenched tight. But when he speaks, it’s in the same calm, easy tone as always. “There’s not enough luck in the world for you to beat me this time.”

I laugh despite the heaviness of the words I just spoke, and even though it’s his turn, I keep talking. “I went a little crazy. I tore the place apart. I tried to break a window to get out, but we lived on the eighth floor and had Plexiglas windows.”

Our game is long forgotten at this point, and I know I should shut up, but talking to him... I can’t stop. “By the time he got back, I was... different. I was having panic attacks all the time and couldn’t bring myself to eat, and then he just strolls through the door like nothing happened.”

“And he was angry with me. For making such a mess. He hardly noticed I was a shell of who I used to be. Over time, he’d broken me down so completely he was used to it.” Taking a deep breath, I shrug and say, “So I left. I didn’t take the time to pack a bag, I just saw the open door and ran.”

“How long ago was that?” he asks, the first time he’s said something besides his endless taunts about cards.

“A year ago. I was with him for three. It took me a long time to leave him because he wasn’t always emotionally abusive and harsh. There were times when he’d be so sweet and good to me. I wrote it off as mood swings for a long time since I loved him so much.” I take a deep breath and push away the memories threatening to drag me under. “But I got out.”

I say it to him, even though it’s as much a reminder to myself.

Rhysand smiles, reaching to slowly tuck my hair behind my ear. “And now you’re free.”

“I’m free,” I say, proud of myself for telling someone besides my shrink what happened.

It’s the first time I’ve ever opened up about our relationship willingly, and even though it was a brief, abbreviated version of the full story, I’m happy with myself.

But it’s a bittersweet moment, because I can’t forget what Rhys told me.

I can’t forget why he’s here, what he’s been through.

“I wish you were free, too,” I whisper.

And gods, is it true. Even though I’m happy I found him, even though I’m grateful he’s helping me, I wish he was free to go back to teaching. I wish he didn’t have to carry this burden.

I wish he wasn’t looking at me with enough sadness in his eyes to make my chest hurt.

He doesn’t respond, and I don’t want him to feel pressured, so I say simply, “I’m tired.”

Rhys nods, sweeps the cards up, and tosses them back into his bag. Then we’re laying there staring at each other, and I’m noticing the way the light turns his skin a deep bronze and lights up his eyes.

Something feels different between us now that we know the dirty details of each other’s lives. It feels less like a transaction.

It feels like he cares about me.

I scoot forward and put my head on his chest, grateful he turns on his back so I don’t feel too trapped.

His hand is on my hip, the other tucked behind his head, and as I put one leg over his, I think that I’ve never been this comfortable in my life.

Which surprises me, but I’m not complaining. Especially not as the hand on my back starts moving across my back in small, soothing circles that make my breathing slow.

Sleep comes for me quickly, but right before I close my eyes, I press a kiss to his chest and murmur, “Goodnight, Rhys.”

His response is the last thing I hear before I go to sleep, warm and safe in his arms.

I don’t really remember where I am when I wake up. My eyes stay shut as I wiggle around a little, finding myself very warm and comfortable and happy.

It’s only when someone’s breath brushes the back of my neck that I remember where I am, and who I’m with.

Rhysand is behind me, warm body wrapped around me. One arm is under my head, the other is mingled with mine, and his legs are tucked behind mine. His head is in the hollow of my neck, stubble tickling my skin slightly.

It’s been a long time since I’ve woken up in a man’s arms, and I’ve forgotten how good it feels.

Careful not to move too much, I stretch my legs and arms out, enjoying the weight of his body on mine.

He must feel be stirring anyway, because next thing I know, his mouth is pressing against my neck in a soft, sleepy kiss that makes me smile.

It’s natural and easy and it feels like we do this every morning.

I trust him, I realize with a slight start.

It’s insane to trust someone after such a short time of knowing each other, but I do. Especially after last night.

He listened to me and made me feel heard without being overbearing or giving me pity. He’s been there for me through panic and sadness and somehow managed to make me smile regardless.

And I want him to know how much it means to me.

So I turn my head and meet his mouth with mine.

Rhysand doesn’t hesitate, sweeping his tongue into my mouth in a rich, hazy kiss that makes me immediately want more. His hand cradles my head, arms loosely wrapped around me.

I turn around so I can put my hands in his hair, and I’m so lost in him I don’t even realize we’re violating our nothing-sexual rule.

I don’t want you to touch me unless you want to.

I attempt to pull away, but his mouth follows me, pressing kisses across my upper lip, the corner of my mouth. “Rhys,” I breathe, putting a hand on his shoulder to give myself room to think.

He pulls away, violet eyes heavy hooded and happy. “Feyre.”

His voice is scratchy and his hair is ruffled and he looks so goddamn edible I can’t resist anymore. “I want to touch you. Please.”

It’s almost comical how quickly the drowsiness fades from his eyes.

His full mouth opens and shuts, then repeats the process once again. And then he murmurs, “You never have to say please.”

Taking that as permission enough, I cup his face with my hands, running my thumb across his cheekbone. He leans into my touch, eyes drifting shut.

I feel like I’m in a dream as I run them lightly down his neck, across his shoulders.

I trace the lines of his tattoo until they stop, then my fingers explore his abs, the muscle tightening under them.

And then I slip my hand past the loose waistband of his sleep shorts.

Both of us react immediately. I completely stop breathing, mind going probably-permanently still at the feel of him in my hand, and Rhys’s eyes snap open so fast I watch as the dilate.

We’re both staring at each other, the only thing breaking the utter silence in the room his shallow breathing.

I run a finger over the length of him, then the tip, and he hisses my name.

“Please,” I repeat, ignoring the fact that he said I didn’t need to ask.

His jaw clenches as I wrap my hand around him, and he’s almost glaring at me as he says, “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

Fighting a smile, I start to move my hand and shrug. “This is about me, remember?”

He still wears a serious expression, but his lips twitch, so I keep going.

I’m moving so slowly I think we’ll both be insane by the time this is over, but I can’t bring myself to speed up. His hips are moving slightly, pushing into my hand, and it’s addictive to watch him react to me.

Rhys makes a low sound, then bites his lip as if to keep it in.

Which is a mistake, since now I want to do it, too.

Leaning in, I take that lip for myself, nibbling and sucking on it until he can’t take it anymore and starts kissing me again.

I scoot a little closer and move my mouth to his neck, and all I can breathe or taste or think about is Rhys.

A hand in my hair tells me this situation is unacceptable, and then his mouth is on mine again, desperate enough I take pity and move my hand faster.

His body is tight with pent-up energy, like he’s determined to keep himself still and let me have my fun.

One hand still between us, I run the other through his hair, pulling on it until he groans. I run my thumb over the end of him, and he mutters my name, voice holding a touch of warning that makes me smile. Even as I do it again.

He curses, and then he’s falling apart in my hands, and I pull away to watch, just like I know he did with me.

And it really is a sight to see.

His muscles bunch tight, jaw even tighter, and his eyes drift close as his head goes back and a moan falls off his lips. His breathing is heavy and there’s a heavy, satisfied look to him that I can’t get enough of.

Eventually, his eyes open again and find mine.

Rhysand kisses me softly, then pulls back enough to smirk and say, “You’re welcome.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, and then the room falls back to silent.

And I realize I’m laying in bed with him, laughing, and practically begging to give him pleasure.

Fuck.

He gives me a strange look, cuing me into the fact that my panic is probably all over my face, so I smile, then roll out of the bed. “I have to go.”

“Interesting,” he states, tone making it clear he’s a filthy liar. A very amused liar.

I just roll my eyes and grab my bag, hoping that when I come out of the bathroom, he’ll be gone.

No such luck.

Ten minutes later, I’m fresh-faced and dressed, and he’s still lounging in bed, arm tucked behind his head. And the sight of all that beautiful, muscled, tattooed-

“You have your horny eyes on again.”

“You’re delusional,” I shoot back, mentally making a note to wear sunglasses around him at all times.

“Come here.”

I shake my head, knowing where that’ll lead even without the look on his face.

Because after last night, things feel different.

They feel casual.

Which is the exact opposite of what I wanted. I did this so I could find someone unattached and easy and... not him. He understands me better than I do, for gods’ sake.

And he’s caring and gentle and so understanding, and my brain is just having a hard time keeping up.

He opens his mouth to argue, but I throw a pillow at him from my safe spot halfway across the room. “I have to go to the museum.”

Technically, this is a lie. We’re on schedule for the next event. But I could go and get ahead. Which sounds like a great idea.

“That’s not even remotely believable, but alright.” He rolls smoothly to his feet, remind me once again how comfortable he is in his skin.

I look at the ceiling, and he makes an amused sound. “No self control. It’s sad, really.”

I hate him.

Even though I’m grinning because it’s true.

He throws on a dark shirt from his bag and steps into some jeans, all while I adamantly study my very interesting, unpainted nails.

And then we’re walking down the hallway to the elevator and standing across from each other. If I had a knife-

No. If I had a spoon, I could cut the tension in there with ease.

He smiles like he knows what I’m thinking, and I almost weep with relief as the doors open to the empty morning lobby.

Rhysand moves to get out, but I’m going down another floor to the garage, so I stay put, firm in my resolve to appear unaffected.

That plan goes out the window pretty quickly, considering he narrows his eyes at me, marches across the small elevator floor, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me.

I kiss him back without hesitation, both of us only pulling away when the door bings unhappily.

What the hell was that?

Did he just... kiss me goodbye?

What the hell was that?

I don’t have time to ask, because he steps into the lobby, looks me up and down thoroughly, and says, “See you next week, Feyre.”

Oh, gods.

I have to see him again.

Because even though I know I shouldn’t, there’s absolutely no way I’ll cancel.

I’m a stupid, stupid woman.

But I replay last night and this morning in my head, and as the elevator starts dropping to the garage, I realize I don’t even care.

_______________________________________________________

Part 4

Tags: @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @trinitybailey2003 @zukos-simp @that-other-pineapple @booksofthemoon @stardelia @awesomelena555 @queen-of-glass @whilma-warfstache @highqueenofelfhame @spyofthenightcourt @samcortlandisaginger

#feysand #feyre #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #rhysand #rhys #acotar #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury

227 notes · View notes

minjuiced · 4 years ago

Note

there has been some debate over whether Nyx should have survived - some wanting a different ending and some who loved it. I noticed those who wanted differently usually got backlash because it is understood as "you want a child to die". What is your opinion on this? I'd love to hear it!

This is interesting and probably very controversial.

In my opinion, there is a difference between wanting Nyx to die and wanting a realistic, perhaps bittersweet ending. I think it also depends on how the person addresses it.

For example, there are two people - Person A and Person B. Person A has a strong objection to the ending, because they feel Feysand doesn't deserve such a happy moment. They prefer Nyx to die and for Feysand to suffer, so as to bring themselves joy while reading it. Person B objects to the ending, because they feel it was unrealistic and had plot holes. Many things did not make sense and previous established facts were ignored. They would have wanted a scene that truly captured the reader's emotion, rather than fan service.

The above is probably the two main reasons in this debate. However, they are also different. Person A is being vindictive, they want Nyx to die simply because they dislike Feysand. It's hating for the sake of doing so - they just don't like Feysand being happy at all. Person B is being critical, they see the obvious flaws and dislike it. It's as if the entire plot was created without thinking through, and resolved in a way that everyone would be satisfied. It's not realistic.

Like I said, it really depends what message the person wants to bring across. If it's something like Person A, that's absolutely disgusting. But if it's like Person B, I think that's completely valid and I personally agree with it. I hope this answers your question!

11 notes · View notes

epochofbelief · 5 years ago

Text

Breath Control, Chapter Five

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters belong to SJ Maas!

Feysand.

Warnings: mature content, cancer, cursing, alcohol use, etc, etc.

Let me know if you want to be tagged:)

Please Enjoy, this one’s kind of long!!

FIVE

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Everyone besides Rhys, me, and the few others who weren’t traveling was so busy preparing for the travel meet that I kind of shut myself down and ignored their excitement. I was treated to (or forced into, depending on the point of view) a few dinners with my ‘new group.’ Amren was a little intense but Cassian and Azriel were fun to be around. Mor was always there with something snarky to say to the boys and positive to me. And then there was Rhys.

He appeared to embrace he whole broken-foot thing pretty quickly. He hadn’t hit that frighteningly somber mood since I’d picked him up early Monday afternoon. I hadn’t spent any time alone with him since then, either. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that his positivity was feigned for the sake of all his friends. Everyone was so excited to race the distant (quite good) team that it made it easy for him to take a backseat in the group discussions over dinner, or during weights, or after practice. He let them have their excitement, which showed the good in him. He never did a thing to take away from it.

It was. . . easy to find my niche in the group. Something I’d never really had before. Tamlin and Ianthe had a tendency to bulldoze over those whom they spent time with. But despite the enormous personalities of my fledgling friends, I never felt forced to take the backseat and acquiesce to their whims. And I was reluctant to admit it, even to myself, but I was having fun spending time with them. It was nice to feel like I belonged somewhere.

They had taken me in.

It was the only explanation for how quickly they started inviting me to their every gathering, every meal together. And a part of me was ashamed at needing the help, anxious over the fact that I hadn’t bounced into their group with the confidence of Mor and charmed them with my easygoing attitude. They’d taken the first few steps. But wasn’t that what teammates were supposed to do? Welcome anyone who needed a place to go?

That’s what they had done for me.

The second the travel bus departed, though, I found myself alone with Rhys. It was up to me to escort him back to his place. And despite our week without any alone time, I couldn’t dispel the growing suspicion that Rhysand Night had a ‘crush’ on me. And it seemed as though he had been for a while.

It made no sense, seeing as I’d joined the team and jumped into a relationship with Tamlin. I’d barely spoken to Rhys for the past year. And yet all his behavior over the past three weeks, the subtle hints I’d gleaned from Cassian and Azriel, Mor’s occasional pushes for us to spend time together, pointed to that being the truth.

It had only been three weeks since Tamlin. I wasn’t ready for a new relationship. But it was flattering that someone else had feelings for me. Even if it made me twice as nervous to be spending virtually the entire weekend alone with Rhys. He’d need me to drive him everywhere, seeing as all of his other friends were gone until late Saturday night.

I followed him to my car a few minutes after the bus pulled out of the parking lot. He threw himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. We rode in silence. I was too nervous to start a conversation and the tension he was exuding didn’t help my nerves. Finally, as I pulled into his driveway at Astrid Oaks, he spoke.

“Is this it for me?”

“What?” I asked, startled, putting the car in park and opening the driver’s side door.

He followed suit and I walked around the front of the car to meet him. I could have just dropped him off but the urge to see him into his house in one piece was too strong. “Has my broken foot just royally fucked up my career? I’m a junior, Feyre. The rest of this year’s season is ruined, most likely. I’ve only got a year left after this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be back in the water before Christmas training. People have recovered from worse injuries than this.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“Well I guess that’s your choice then. Whether you want to have a positive attitude or a negative one.”

He crutched past me up the short sidewalk to his front door. “Oh, just like you chose to give up these past few weeks and months and happily accept the fact that you didn’t make the travel team this weekend?”

He was mad and I knew it was because he had been deprived of something he was passionate about, passionate in the way most athletes should be about their sport. Going months without training could threaten a career, if not ruin it. And the drive for most athletes to keep training, keep pushing themselves to be the best they can be… It was strong. If something prevented an athlete from working toward their goals, it was felt like something akin to torture for that person. I knew. I’d torn my rotator cuff my freshman year of high school and I’d been like a caged tiger for the months it had taken to heal. But my understanding didn’t change the fact that he’d just lashed out at me for no reason.

What? “Whoa. Don’t make this about me.”

“Then don’t tell me that it’s ‘my choice’ then.”

“Hey, asshole, I’m just trying to help here. Sorry you have to deal with a setback for once.” I crossed my arms.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re always so damn confident!” I was shouting now, my hands thrown into the air at my sides. “I bet it sucks to have to deal with something that rattles your perfect, confident, sexy world!”

He smirked. I hated that smirk. “Sexy?”

Oh fuck.

“Nevermind that. You know what I mean! Welcome to my world. Shit happens. It sucks. You should have to deal with it for once in your life.”

“Let me tell you something, Feyre. I’ve been through some extremely difficult times so don’t act as though my life has been all rainbows and unicorns for the past twenty-one years. You don’t know me. And that’s a bullshit attitude to have and you know it. You just don’t want to have to deal with the fact that you wasted a year of your life on Tamlin Spring.” Even as the words left his mouth I could see that he regretted them. Nevertheless--

My mouth fell open. “Fuck you, Rhys.”

He cringed. “Feyre, I’m so sorry. I didn’t--”

I held up my hands. “I’m leaving. I’ll pick you up tomorrow before practice. Don’t be late.”

“Feyre--”

I slammed the car door behind me. How had I just messed this up? Not twenty minutes ago I’d been bidding Mor, Cassian, Az, and Amren farewell, overjoyed at the fact that they had welcomed me into their group. Now here I was shouting a bunch of bullshit that was really about myself at the person who had made joining that group possible in the first place.

I pulled my car up in front of my house and made a beeline for the door. Why’d I always have to go and mess things up? Everything Rhys had said was true, and everything I’d accused him of was true-- but not about him. About me.

I’d be lucky if he forgave me. We’d only been friends for three weeks--probably not long enough to save our friendship.

Alone again. Couldn’t say I was surprised.

-----------------------------

Rhys and I managed to go all day Friday without speaking. I picked him up, dropped him off, didn’t see him throughout practice since he was just there for moral support, then dropped him at his place at the end of the day. A few times, it looked like he was going to say something, anything, to me.

But he always seemed to think better of it. By Saturday afternoon, though, after a particularly nasty three hour morning practice, made worse by the fact that only about ten people were left behind from the travel meet, I was sick of not talking to anyone. I’d spent several weeks moping about Tamlin and my life and the few days I’d spent with Rhy’s friends had made me realize how much better life was with friends who weren’t masquerading as assholes. I was willing to forgive him for what he’d said to me. He’d been in a bad place mentally, had lashed out. Shouldn’t I, of all people, understand what being in a bad mental state can do to your social life? I was the poster child for internalizing everything. Shutting people out.

So I grabbed the only alcohol I had left in my place--a bottle of wine--and traipsed over to Rhys’s. I rang the doorbell. Why was I so damn nervous?

The door swung open and I was met with the surprising sight of the most disheveled Rhys I’d ever seen. Sweatpants hung low on his hips, a grey undershirt stretched across his extremely muscular chest. How did he make pajamas look so hot?

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He looked wary.

“I’m sick of having a. . . what did you call it? ‘Bullshit attitude’? Can we make up and drink already?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “If I could get on my knees right now, I would, Feyre. I am so, so sorry for everything I said. I wasn’t thinking. I was upset and took it out on you and that was wrong--I don’t have a valid excuse.”

“Everything you said was accurate. How can I be mad about that? You’re the first person to ever call me out on something I need to recognize about myself and work to change. So let’s forget about it. We’re both off the travel team this weekend--let’s commiserate.”

He grinned, and it might have been the cutest/hottest grin I’d ever see a male human being make. I followed him through the townhouse to his living room, where he provided me with a mug and we slumped down onto the couch together.

“So. . . how are you doing, considering the broken foot and all?”

---

We finished the bottle in an hour and I was feeling relaxed, to say the least.

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving Break?” I asked him. He was sitting on one side of the couch, legs on the floor. My own legs were thrown over the arm of the couch, my head on the couch cushion, almost close enough to touch his thigh.

“No plans. Mor got an internship (she’s crazy, I know) for the week and is flying halfway across the country to be there. Cas and Az and I usually just get really drunk Thanksgiving Day. None of us really have. . . parents.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t say that for you to pity me.”

I swatted his thigh. “I wasn’t pitying you.

He sighed.

“You could...

“You could come home for Thanksgiving with me. Elain’s already left for home. Nesta’s flying in directly from her last job. I’ll have to take the road trip by myself once they release us from training on Tuesday morning. . .”

What was I saying? I’d been friends with this guy for three weeks. And yet even though a voice of reason was telling me I shouldn’t be inviting him to my family Thanksgiving, after our short-lived friendship, I couldn’t, wouldn’t stop myself. No matter that my relationship with my dad was poor and Nesta didn’t deal well with strangers. I wanted him there. The past day and a half we’d spent apart after seeing him every day for a week had been unbearable. Not only had my guilt eaten me up about the things I’d said to him. No. I’d missed him. His comforting, playful presence. His ability to tease me or call me out when I was being too dramatic about my situation. I wanted that around me.

Admitting those thoughts scared the shit out of me. And yet apparently the wine dulled that terror enough that I felt brave enough to ask him to come to my childhood home and dine with my mess of a family.

“Are you serious? You want me to come home with you for Thanksgiving.”

“Don’t make me rethink my offer.” I did my best to sound playful, sarcastic.

He laughed for my benefit. “Um, okay.”

“Cool.”

I ended up sleeping in Mor’s bed that night. And when I woke up the next morning I didn’t feel any regret at spending time with someone who had treated me more kindly than I thought I’d ever deserve. Rhys didn’t expect or demand anything from me other than friendship. He’d gotten me out of danger several times now and had never made himself unavailable if I needed to talk. He’d forgiven me when I’d said some unwarranted, mean things to him instead of holding it over my head for weeks to make me feel guilty. He’d let me sleep over at his place when I’d been so tired from the wine and the day’s training that I didn’t want to walk home.

So this was what a genuinely nice guy was like.

And in that moment I decided to stop comparing him, or any other male I came across, to Tamlin.

----------------

The next few days passed without event. Everyone returned from the dual meet after an enormous victory, so spirits were high throughout the three days of Thanksgiving Break training we had. I actually enjoyed the brutal practices while swimming in a lane with Cassian and Mor. No matter how much pain we were in, Mor was always one of the girls shouting encouragement across the pool and Cassian never failed to have some sort of joke prepared for the worst moment of the main set. Tuesday morning after practice I said farewell to my new friends (Mor threatened to kill me if I didn’t text her over the break) and was left alone with Rhys, in my driveway.

It was a four hour drive to my hometown. Shouldn't be too awful, right?

Rhys took his spot in the passenger side, I took the driver’s seat, and we were off.

Almost immediately, we got into an argument about the music selection.

“I want classic rock,” he insisted.

“I’m the driver and I want to listen to my November playlist, thank you very much.” I batted his hand away from my phone, which he was trying to steal from my lap while I was driving.

“Well I’m the one with the crippled leg so I should be the one picking the music. You get to drive.”

“First of all, you are not crippled. Your foot is broken because you and Cassian were too busy being idiots to lift weights properly. Second of all, that is so not how it works and you know--hey!”

He’d stolen my phone from my lap, his fingers brushing my thighs ever so slightly. His touch surprised me so much that I stopped arguing. That and the fact that he’d chosen to take it right as I merged onto a four lane highway, full of Thanksgiving travelers. I couldn’t steal it back.

“You don’t know my password,” I said through gritted teeth. Whether they were gritted because of how his touch made me feel or anger at my stolen phone, I didn’t want to puzzle out.

“Please. It’s probably your birthday.”

“Well you don’t know my birthday.”

“Please,” he said again.

A moment later and Metallica music issued from my speakers. “Dammit, Rhys! How do you know my birthday?”

“How do you not like Metallica.”

“I don’t listen to Metallica and I prefer other things. Don’t judge my taste in music. Everyone has a weird taste in music.”

He shrugged and reclined his chair.

“Can I have my phone back, please?” I changed my tone. Flirty usually got me somewhere, with Rhys.

He took the bait. Boys. So predictable. “What will you give me for it?”

I glanced at him, traffic too busy for me to take my eyes off the road for long. He looked at me, his gaze unwavering.

I couldn’t hear the music anymore. “What is it you want, Rhys?” I asked quietly.

He sat up at that. “I’m the one asking the questions here. I have all the power, Feyre Archeron. I control the MUSIC.”

The sounds of his rock music came flooding back in. “You’re a drama queen.” Yes, easy flirting was much easier than discovering what his answer to my question might be.

“If I’m the queen, you’re the king. I bet you’re milking that broken foot for all it’s worth: time off practice, personal chauffeurs to drive you everywhere, a free invite to Elain’s amazing Thanksgiving dinner.” I clicked my tongue. “I should leave you on the side of the road right now.”

He changed his tone pretty quickly at that. “No, no, please.” He whined. It was kind of adorable. “I’m sick of Thanksgiving with Cass and Az. We get takeout and drink beer. It’s not the same.”

“Alright. You may now alternate the genre of music we listen to.”

“Thank you, O Queen of Drama.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re welcome, prick.”

His returning grin was one to rival every grin of every decent looking male in the history of all males. And I was pretty sure I was grinning right back.

Approximately three and a half hours later, a mere thirty minutes from my childhood home, my car started sputtering.

The drive had been fun, had gone by faster than any of my previous trips home ever had. Rhys had kept up a constant stream of entertainment. We’d discussed politics, books, art, team drama (of which there was plenty), our families. I’d tentatively asked Rhys about his parents and sister after I’d found myself explaining all of my family drama--Elain’s nasty breakup with Greyson, Nesta’s ice-cold exterior, and my father’s initial business success, followed by a period of failure, which had lasted most of my childhood, and his newfound riches. It had taken me months to explain everything to Tamlin. With Rhys, though, it all came spilling out.

“My mom died when I was a kid. Car accident. Drunk driver. My dad lives halfway across the world, in Hybern. I haven’t seen him in years.”

I knew he’d had a sister. I waited, unwilling to press.

“My sister… was diagnosed with cancer when I was sixteen. She was only twelve.”

I’d had no idea.

His voice quieted. “It went pretty quick, actually. She was diagnosed, went straight into treatments, and. . .” He shook his head. “That was the worst thing to watch her go through. I couldn’t do anything except be there for her as she got sicker and sicker. It only took about six months before she. . . she passed away. Only about three months before I left for college. That’s when my dad moved away. There wasn’t anything holding us together after she died.”

Only the music of my playlist issued softly from the speakers.

“Tell me about her,” I had said softly.

He blew out a breath. And he had. He’d told me about her love for volleyball and how she was so impossibly kind to everyone she’d ever met, including the doctors and nurses who’d cared for her during the worst of her sickness. He’d told me about how he’d been the one to teach her to ride a bike, and taken her for Friday night ice cream runs ever since he’d gotten his license.

He was actually smiling at her memory when my car started making noises akin to the sound a drowning cat might make.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“I’m no mechanic, but I feel like you should pull over. How old is this hunk of junk, anyways?”

“Shut up, we can’t all drive a Mercedes.” He held up his hands and followed me out of the car, despite my insistence that he should stay off his foot. In the end, I gave up on protesting because I didn’t know the first thing about cars, either.

We stood next to each other in front of the open hood a moment later.

“Do you think it’s bad?” I asked a bit stupidly.

“Typically, Feyre darling, when smoke is billowing out of your car, it’s bad.”

I whacked his arm. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

He tugged on my ponytail. “You’re welcome, O Queen of the Stupid Question.”

“I guess I’ll call Elain. Are you ready to meet my family?”

“I’m sure they’re less crazy than you. Can’t be that bad.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Elain told me she’d be there in thirty minutes and I ventured into the gas station to buy pretzels for the thirty minute wait. I found Rhys sitting on a bench in the shadows around a corner of the building.

“Sorry this is happening,” I said, offering him the bag of pretzels.

He took a few. “No need to apologize. This is already probably one of the best Thanksgiving breaks of my life.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Because you’re spending it with me, hmm?”

I’d expected an equally flirtatious answer.

Instead, he looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Yes.”

I blinked. And blinked again.

“Can I have some more pretzels?” He asked as though he hadn’t just made the word “yes” sound more romantic than any declaration of love in any romantic comedy ever had.

A bit stunned, I brandished the bag of pretzels in his general direction.

“Don’t go getting a big head, Feyre darling. Your company could become insufferable at any moment.”

I kept staring at him. That one word has surprised me so much, considering it didn’t mean much. Didn’t it?

He reached up and brushed a strand of my hair out of my eyes. “I am serious, you know.”

Okay so he definitely liked me. That was the conclusion my brain had drawn. It had only been a month since Tamlin. . . But Rhys was. . . Amazingly kind. And funny. And fun to be around. And he’d been there for me. I wasn’t ready for anything. I couldn’t be. A month? I could hear the team whispering “slut” and “whore” and “cheater” if word got out that I’d jumped from Tamlin to Rhys in such a short period of time. Not to mention the added drama when Rhys and Tamlin’s rivalry factored into it.

And despite the drama it could create, the fact remained that I did not want to shut Rhys down.

So I nodded. And decided to be vague. Friends first, right? “Well I don’t know if I can say that to you. . . yet.” I hoped he’d understand my meaning. “But stick with me and I promise my presence won’t become insufferable any time soon.”

His face was solemn even as he mustered up a weakly flirtatious tone. “If you say so,” he breathed.

I nodded, unable to remove my gaze from his violet eyes.

“I do,” I whispered.

The sudden honk of a very high-pitched horn made me jump.

“That’ll be Elain,” I said, still looking at him.

“Okay.” He didn’t move. Only reached up to run a finger down my cheek.

“We should go,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“Okay.”

Finally, Elain’s shout forced us to get up, throw the bag of pretzels away, and pile into the car.

I was screwed. Immensely, impossibly, royally, screwed.

79 notes · View notes

thebluemartini · 5 years ago

Text

Far From the Shallow - Chapter 6 [Nessian Fic]

TITLE: Far From the Shallow SYNOPSIS: Post-ACOFAS. As part of a deal with Feyre, Nesta has agreed to live with Cassian in the Illyrian Mountains. However, shortly after her arrival, she receives the startling news that she’s pregnant from one of her one-night stands. While she tries to quickly get a grip on her life, Cassian’s determined to make her see that she’s not facing this alone.

FIC LENGTH: Multi-chapter (Total Chapter Estimate: 14)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 TAGGING:@dreaming-of-bohemian-nights @queenofillea1 @trash-for-nessian @nestaarcheronwillkillme @my-fan-side @strangeenemy @maastrash @cageddovepoetry @bybooksanddreams @lilbat90 @ritamordio19 @mastercommandercaptain @feysand-dot-acotar @archeron-queen @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @empress-ofbloodshed @there-is-warmth-in-winter @mybbyfeyre @saltydreamcollector @justlikethecheshirecat @mis-lil-red @supebowlere @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @everything-that-i-love

*This chapter is also posted on AO3 and FF

________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 6: January - Part II

At first, Cassian had assumed (or, well, maybe hoped) that Nesta’s anger toward him after their fight in Velaris would dissipate after a few days. However, he should have known that Nesta’s stubbornness was unlike any other and that she would hold onto that anger for much longer.

But he certainly didn’t expect it to last for ten days and counting.

When they first got back from Velaris, he tried to talk to her and explain to her that all his words and actions that day weren’t tactics to convince her to talk to her sister. He honestly meant everything he had said and done.

But she wouldn’t listen of course. Instead, she stormed off into her room and shut the door.

For every moment he was home, she was holed up in her room. He only knew she was alive based on the fact that after he would leave her meals outside her door, he would find empty bowls and plates outside in the same spot a few hours later.

At least she kept eating.

He had no way of knowing if she left her room when he wasn’t in the cabin. He hoped she did. He hoped she still took walks outside too. She seemed to enjoy walking so much.

Gods, he missed her.

In the past, he never enjoyed when he had to go live in the Illyrian Mountains for long periods of time. If Rhys or Azriel weren’t with him, it was an awfully lonely place to be. When your own kind treated you as an outsider...it wasn’t an enjoyable experience.

Initially, having Nesta here with him seemed like a dreadful idea. Dealing with her rage on top of the idiotic Illyrians sounded like a complete disaster. But it wasn’t.

Instead, she started helping him deal with the Illyrians. And eating and living with her made him feel...content. His previous loneliness had vanished, and he found he didn’t dislike living there quite as much as he did before.

She wasn’t afraid to verbally spar with him, she always kept him grounded, and she’d been there for him in helping with the Illyrians.

And then he screwed everything up. Now he felt lonely, grouchy, and frustrated all the time. He fought the urge to bust down her door, fearing that would infuriate her more. He had thought leaving her alone would help her to cool down faster...but now he was concerned she would never see or speak to him again.

And that thought hurt like hell.

Surely, she’d talk to him again soon.

...he hoped.

But for now, he would use his pent-up frustration to fight harder in the training ring.

_______________________________________________________________

Nesta looked around Cassian’s study as she sat in the middle of the room’s floor. With one hand resting on her growing belly, she fought the urge that coursed through her.

Alcohol. Alcohol. Alcohol.

Forget. Forget. Forget.

Ever since Cassian took her to Velaris and revealed he had wanted her to talk to her sister, that desire to drink had returned. Because, while telling herself that she did not care about him, this revived desire to forget showed that she actually did. It hurt too much when he betrayed her...after how he had made her feel that day.

But the baby. She couldn’t harm the baby.

So each day since her spat with Cassian in Velaris, she woke up frustrated with Cassian and had that urge to drink. When he’d leave for the day, she’d head into his study - the room he had said he was transforming into the baby’s room.

She needed a physical reminder that she would soon be having a baby. That there was someone she needed to live for and be strong for in this world.

And indeed, the study no longer looked like a study. Over the course of the ten days since her visit to Velaris, it had been cleared out. (By Cassian, she assumed.) All that remained was one large chest for clothing.

But today, there was a new object in the room.

Sitting before her was a large wooden crib. Most likely the one he had said he’d been making for her baby.

It was not finished. It had been constructed, but it still needed to be painted.

While the room helped remind her of what was to come in a few months, it also tugged at her...feelings toward Cassian. But then she’d catch herself and remember that while he did this for her and the baby, it was for the sake of his mother and her sister.

Not for her. It couldn’t have been for her. That infuriating male was all about loyalty. Loyalty to his mother and loyalty to his High Lord and Lady.

There was no room in that devotion for him to be devoted to…

She didn’t dare finish off that thought.

The point was...she needed to emotionally keep her distance from everyone. She only needed to keep her focus on the baby and no one else.

Rubbing circles on her belly and closing her eyes, she groaned with frustration over her desire to drink. Thankfully, there was no alcohol available within the cabin.

A loud creak and the sound of footsteps against the floorboards broke her out of her focus, causing her eyes to shoot open. Cassian didn’t usually come home until dusk. With a quick glance over to the window, she noticed the sun was still shining brightly.

Quickly, Nesta stood up. Whenever Cassian was home, she always stayed in her room. They hadn’t laid eyes upon each other in ten days, and she certainly intended to keep her distance from him.

She needed to protect herself.

And she didn’t want him to find her in the study-turned-baby’s room.

Peeking outside the room, she looked into the living room. Upon finding him nowhere in sight, she assumed he was either in the kitchen or had gone upstairs to his room. She took her chance and skittered across the living room toward her room.

But before she could open her door, she looked down the hall and could see into the kitchen, where she found Cassian standing without a shirt on....and with crimson blood all over his chest.

Blood…

She couldn’t look away from the bright color that called and demanded her attention. It was something she could not ignore.

Before she knew what she was doing, she bolted toward the kitchen with her pounding heart matching her footsteps.

Once she reached the kitchen, she found him wincing as he stood before a cupboard and dug for something as the blood poured out of a large, deep gash on his shoulder.

“What happened?” she asked rather harshly and impatiently.

Cassian looked up at her, and his eyes widened when he saw her. “An Illyrian decided to play dirty and use a weapon during hand to hand combat. So he took a stab at me,” he answered with a grimace before continuing to dig through the cabinet.

Meanwhile, the blood continued to drip from his shoulder and flowed down his chest.

“Cassian, you’re getting blood everywhere!” she exclaimed in an enraged tone as she found a towel lying on the counter. Racing over to him, she pressed the towel against his wound. “Here,” she sternly said.

Cassian winced when the towel touched his skin, but then placed his hand against it to hold it there.

“Now go sit down at the table,” she ordered him.

“There’s a salve in there -” he gruffly protested.

“SIT. DOWN,” she harshly insisted.

Begrudgingly, Cassian went over to the table and pulled out a chair to sit down. Meanwhile, Nesta continued his search through the cabinet, rummaging through bandages, tins of various ointments and vials of liquids to treat different maladies. She picked up each one to read the label to discover if it was one that could help Cassian’s wound.

It must’ve been the fifteenth tin she had checked before finding one that could help. Bringing the tin over to him, she set it down on the table and stood beside his chair. She leaned over a bit to take hold of the towel pressed against his bloodied shoulder and started rubbing the clean areas of the towel all over his chest to wipe up the blood.

“I guess it’s your…” Cassian paused to wince when her towel hit his wound. “...lucky day, sweetheart. You get to rub your hands all over me.”

“Not now, Cassian,” she reprimanded him exasperatedly. She was intently focused on the task at hand. Images of her father at the hands of the King of Hybern threatened to surface in her mind, but she forced herself to push them away. Cassian was injured, but she could help him. She could take action now to help him, unlike the day her father died. “Tell me what I need to do,” she demanded.

Cassian took a slow breath. “Apply the salve. It’ll help slow the bleeding. Then grab the bandages there to wrap the wound.” Cassian gestured to the bandages that were sitting on the table. He must’ve have found those before looking for the salve.

Nesta nodded in understanding. Putting down the towel and grabbing the tin instead, she twisted open the lid and dipped her fingers in the salve. She then proceeded to spread the ointment all over his shoulder wound, eliciting a hiss from Cassian’s lips.

But Nesta remained focused on her task, getting blood on her fingers in the process.

Setting down the tin, she quickly rinsed off her hands before proceeding to pick up the bandages. She wrapped his wound by encircling the bandage across his chest and beneath his underarm on the opposite side of his body before wrapping his upper arm to secure it.

Once she finished, she looked at him. “Good?”

He nodded. “Good.”

“But you’ll still see a healer?”

“That salve will suffice. The wound should begin to heal within a day.”

“That’s some salve,” she remarked as she recalled how injuries as a human were never easy to deal with.

“Definitely a benefit to living in the fae world,” he commented.

Nesta simply nodded before picking up the bloodied towel and went over to another cupboard to grab a wooden bucket. She filled it with water and added soap before placing it on the floor and dropping the towel in to soak it.

Returning to the table, she placed her hand upon the tin to grab it, but Cassian quickly encased her hand with his own and stopped her from doing so. Cassian leaned in so close that his lips nearly grazed her cheek. “Thank you, Nesta,” he whispered.

Feeling his breath upon her face, Nesta’s body froze and her eyes closed as she resisted the urge to shiver.

“You’re welcome,” she said gently when she opened her eyes and regained her senses. She grabbed the tin and quickly pulled her hand out of Cassian’s grasp to return it to its place in the cupboard. Then she proceeded to wash her hands one more time.

As she dried her hands on a clean towel, she looked over at Cassian. “Do you need anything else?”

A moment of silence passed. “Your forgiveness,” he answered softly.

Nesta’s body stilled for a moment, not expecting those words. “I don’t think I can give you that just yet,” she answered seriously before heading out of the kitchen.

“Nesta, wait,” Cassian called after her, but it didn’t stop her from moving. Not until she was in the living room, heard Cassian’s heavy footsteps come up behind her, and felt his hand grab hers. When he did so, she whipped around.

“What?” she asked, annoyed.

Cassian stared into her eyes as he spoke. “I’m sorry I hurt you in taking you to Velaris. I swear it was not an attempt to get you to talk to your sister. I only wanted you to have a day to get away from here and enjoy yourself.”

Nesta could do nothing but stand there and continue letting him hold her hand and stare back into his eyes. As she stood in silence, she felt he spoke truthfully. But there was still that part of that was afraid to trust him…

“I don’t know if I can forgive you right now,” she revealed gently.

“Then will you at least stay here with me?” he requested as he started to rub circles into the back of her hand. “Because I miss you,” he whispered.

Nesta’s eyes widened upon hearing him say those words. No one ever told her she was missed. Usually, everyone seemed to be thanking the gods she was leaving the room.

“I really need to -” she began to say, preparing to make some excuse as to why she needed to return to her room, but Cassian cut her off.

“Please.”

And with one word, he sounded so passionate and so desperate for her company. “We could just sit here in the living room,” he continued. “We could get the fire going, we could read -”

“Not the fire,” she firmly interjected.

“Okay. Whatever you want. Just...stay.”

As she looked over his bandaged body, she couldn’t help but think about how if the Illyrian had stabbed him a little bit lower, he could’ve hit his heart and Cassian wouldn’t be standing before her right now.

And that thought crushed her. She hated herself for it, but it was true.

“Okay,” she relented. “Just let me grab my book, and I will come out here to read.”

Cassian’s face broke out into a huge grin. “Thank you, Nesta.”

Letting go of his hand, Nesta went off to her room and retrieved one of the pregnancy books Cassian had given her. True to her word, she returned to the living room and sat upon the couch.

Cassian handed her a blanket using his uninjured arm before taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

As Nesta opened her book to begin reading, Cassian turned his head to the side to look at her. “Why don’t you want a fire?” he asked gently. “You never have a fire going...and come to think of it, whenever I do have a fire going, you’re never in the living room.”

Nesta took a deep breath before closing her book and setting it in her lap. “Because...the cracking...reminds me of...”

She couldn’t even get the words out to say it reminded her of her father. Doing so would bring the visual to her mind again. But Cassian seemed to quickly understand what she was about to say. His expression transformed from one of confusion to one of sympathy as she spoke. He began shaking his head as he leaned in toward her. “Nesta...I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I -”

“I know,” she cut him off.

But she couldn’t help wonder...if only he would have been there for her after the war, perhaps he would’ve known a lot sooner.

“All this time in the mountains...I should have noticed. I should’ve asked sooner,” he added.

“Well, now you know,” she remarked as she picked up her book and turned to the page she left off on to continue reading.

“Let me get you a few more blankets,” he said, moving to get up.

“Cassian, you’re injured. Sit down,” she reprimanded him. “I’m fine. I don’t need anymore blankets.”

Cassian resumed sitting on the couch and tilted his head back as he closed his eyes.

A few minutes of silence passed before Cassian spoke again. “Read aloud to me,” he requested.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” she said without lifting her eyes from the page.

“And waste the first moment I have with you after not hearing from you in ten days? Never.”

She didn’t understand it. Why would he say things like that?

And he actually kept track of how long it had been since they’d last spoken?

“But your eyes are closed, so I assumed you’d be going to sleep.”

“I assumed staring at you while you read would make you uncomfortable,” he stated as he peeked his eyes open. “But if it does not, I will gladly keep my eyes open,” he added with a bright grin.

“Keep your eyes closed,” she was quick to say, and he promptly closed his eyes again.

Clearing her throat, she began reading aloud from the section of her book that detailed what typically occurs during five to six months of pregnancy.

While she read about this being the typical period of time when the mother begins to feel the baby moving, she couldn’t help but place one of her hands on her protruding belly with the hope of feeling something respond.

She continued to read on, but she could feel Cassian shift around. “You haven’t felt the baby move yet, have you?” He asked curiously, interrupting her as he looked over at her and stared at the hand she placed on her stomach.

“Not yet,” she answered softly as she tapped her stomach.

Cassian gave her a soft, encouraging smile. “It’ll happen soon.”

She just prayed that nothing was wrong and that’s why she hadn’t felt anything yet.

“Have you thought of any names yet?” Cassian questioned her.

“Not yet.”

Nesta tilted her book back up to continue reading, but paused before resting the book back on her lap. “I saw the crib,” she revealed softly.

Cassian’s face seemed to light up in surprise. “Does it seem...suitable?”

Nesta nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ve been wanting to ask you what color I should paint it,” he stated. “And what color I should paint the room. I have a book of the different colors if you want to take a look at them later.”

Nesta couldn’t help but feel something when he said the words. She was still touched he had even started making a crib for her baby, and to clear out a room in his cabin and want to decorate it for her baby...she almost felt the need to cry.

Damn this pregnancy and the emotions it brings.

For fear of crying if she dared to speak, all she did was nod to acknowledge Cassian’s words. But now she needed to distract herself to stop these feelings. “Are you hungry?” she suddenly asked as she closed her book and put it beside her on the couch cushion.

“Why? Are you hungry?” he asked back instead of answering her question. “I’ll make something for you.”

“You’re injured,” she protested. “I’ll make something for you, for once.”

“I still have one uninjured arm,” Cassian said as he stood up to go to the kitchen, wincing as he did so. “I can still cook.”

“You need to rest,” she insisted as she followed after him.

“I will not let you cook for me while we are here in the mountains,” he stressed.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s what the Illyrian males make the females do for them, and I refuse to be like them.”

“Even though I’m offering to prepare the food for you?”

Cassian nodded. “Do you even know how to cook?” His right eyebrow rose in curiosity as he took a quick glance at her before opening a cupboard.

“I know how to cut up fruits and vegetables, which was all I was planning to eat,” she answered with a satisfied grin.

Cassian pulled a pot out of the cupboard. “Then perhaps, we can use this as an opportunity to teach you how to cook.”

“Only if you are certain this won’t worsen your injury,” Nesta expressed seriously.

“Well, a smart, beautiful female wrapped it perfectly for me, so I know I’ll be fine,” he remarked with a wink at her.

And once again, Nesta found herself wondering why Cassian would say things like that and say them so flirtatiously. The comment brought her the feeling of butterflies in her stomach. She nearly groaned out of frustration for feeling such things.

“We’ll start simple by having you learn how to make stew,” Cassian continued before instructing Nesta to find meat, vegetables and herbs in the kitchen while he lit the burner to heat broth in the pot.

Once Nesta gathered the ingredients, she began cutting them up as Cassian observed. It appeared that attempting to cut them would’ve made it a bit painful for his shoulder. When she was finished, Cassian helped her with plopping them into the pot.

Together, they stood and watched as their dinner heated up, with Cassian tossing in some spices every so often and sharing his input on cooking stew this way.

A brief period of silence passed between them, save for the sounds of the stew cooking. Nesta could sense that Cassian was thinking deeply about something from the way he tilted his head and kept his eyes fixated on the pot.

He took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?” he asked in a low voice without even looking at her.

The seriousness of his question sent her heart racing as she wondered what he wanted to ask. “As long as it has nothing to do with the topics we agreed you were not allowed to discuss,” she replied.

Cassian nodded in understanding. “When your family didn’t have money...and Feyre was forced to hunt for food...why didn’t you try to help?”

She knew what he was essentially asking. Why did you let your family starve?

Nesta took a slow deep breath as she tried to not let herself be consumed with rage. For so long, Feyre’s Inner Circle had held her lack of action against her. Instead of trying to understand the situation from her point of view, all they saw was her lack of action in regards to their precious Feyre.

“When I was a child, I loved my father,” she began. “My world revolved completely around him. He always made me feel like I was his favorite. He made me feel so incredibly loved. If I ever did something that disappointed him, I was crushed and devastated because it felt like I betrayed him. But he always made it clear how much he loved me...until he lost his wealth and did nothing.”

Nesta couldn’t stop the tear that surfaced in her eye and streamed down her face. “And so I foolishly thought I could force him to act by not doing anything, not even attempting to save myself or my sisters. I was so filled with resentment toward him that I wanted him to see what he was doing to us. I wanted him to feel hurt the same way he hurt us, hoping and hoping that one day, it would trigger him to act...but that day didn’t come.

“And so I let myself drown in bitterness and rage. And I regret not helping feed my sisters. In trying to hurt my father, I hurt them too. I realize that now,” Nesta expressed solemnly as she laid her hand against her belly, promising herself to never let her child ever feel uncared for or unloved.

When the one person who loved her stopped loving her, it had been hard to find the strength to keep going... And so that was when she adopted a steely exterior, keeping her love at a distance, never wanting to feel betrayed by those she loved ever again.

“I had thought that helping in the war would help make amends for that mistake, but perhaps it did not,” she added bitterly, while more tears began to fall.

At that comment, Cassian abruptly turned his hazel eyes on her. They were filled with concern, sorrow, and understanding, and she couldn’t stop the sudden flow of memories from the war that came flashing through her mind as she looked back at him. His concern when she had sensed something was wrong when they were meeting with all the High Lords in the Dawn Court… His alarm when she had screamed for him before the Cauldron shot its deadly blast of light… His sorrow and regret right before he kissed her on the battlefield…

Cassian placed his hands on her cheeks and brushed her tears away with his thumbs. “Thank you for telling me,” he whispered as Nesta sniffled. “I think I understand now. I do not hold it against you.”

Cassian leaned his head down and placed a brief kiss on the top of her head.

Perhaps it was the sight of his injury in front of her again, or maybe it was the ridiculous pregnancy-related emotions, but when he pulled away, Nesta found that she craved his comfort. She grabbed his hand from his uninjured arm and gingerly leaned her head against his shoulder. He, in turn, squeezed her hand tightly before intertwining their fingers and rubbing her thumb with his own.

After silence rested between them for a short while, Nesta broke it. “When you’re healed, could you take me to the place where you remember your mother?” she gently asked. With all of these feelings regarding her father surfacing...she just needed that peace of visiting the established memorial to her father and Cassian’s mother.

“Yes, of course,” Cassian responded.

“Thank you, Cassian,” she said.

It wasn’t until the stew was finished cooking that they broke physical contact.

_______________________________________________________________

A few days later, the salve on Cassian’s injury had healed his shoulder completely, leaving him free to fly painlessly. And so, the two were off to the mountain where Cassian was born and had established a place to remember her father and his mother.

Instead of thinking about the ways her father failed her, Nesta spent her time there focused on the times when she knew he loved her. Memories of walking through the village as a young girl, holding her father’s hand and always begging for a pastry from a food stand, to which he always obliged. Whenever he returned from a business trip, she always ran outside to give him the biggest hug and he would hug her tightly to him, whispering, “My most precious flower, how I’ve missed you.” Then he would present her with a gift from his travels, always paired with a flower.

And then there was that day on the battlefield that would forever be etched in her memory. When her father led an armada of ships in the war to help them.

He finally tried to save them.

But did that suddenly erase the years he left them to suffer?

The love she had for him had made her so destructive and bitter, causing her to be selective about her love. When her father stopped caring for them, she doted upon Elain. Because Elain wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. She was someone who would need Nesta’s care to get by.

With Feyre, Nesta had always known that she was bold and headstrong, capable of taking care of herself. And Nesta knew that if she doted upon Feyre as she did Elain, she was opening herself up to the potential heartbreak of one day her sister not needing her.

Looking at the stone in front of her, she brought her hand to her stomach.

At least her father’s lack of care gave her the drive to be there for her child and a strong desire to never let him or her feel unloved. So that was one thing she was thankful for from her father.

But would she always be fearful to love others freely and unconditionally?

She turned to look at Cassian, who stood a short distance away, lost in his own thoughts. She stared at him for a minute, noticing how the wisps of his hair flew around his head in the wind.

Despite the fact that she was so incapable of a carefree love, for some reason Cassian still cared for her and was able to look past her lack of care for her family in the past.

And she knew his care was putting a dent in the shield around her heart. She hated herself for it, but was unable to hate him at all for it.

Probably sensing her gaze upon him, he looked up at her. “Ready?” he asked as he walked toward her.

“If you are,” she replied.

Cassian nodded and picked her up off the ground.

As he flew them back to his cabin, they spent the time in silence, each deep in their own thoughts.

When they arrived home, he made a gentle landing. Usually, Cassian would delicately set Nesta upon the ground. But today, he continued holding her in his arms, showing no intention of releasing her.

Nesta, with her arms still wrapped around his neck, looked up at him in confusion to find him staring right back at her. “What are you doing?” she wondered quietly.

“I’m not ready to let go just yet,” he answered softly with a small smile.

“Your arms are going to get tired,” she pointed out.

“I’ll never tire of this,” he replied honestly.

This. She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by “this” because somehow it didn’t feel like he was simply referring to him holding her. It seemed to hold a deeper meaning of...whatever this feeling was between them.

As the snowflakes fell upon them, Nesta shifted her eyes so she was staring at the ebony sleeve of her coat, while she felt his gaze burrowing into her.

“I know that I don’t say it enough, but…” she stated quietly. “I appreciate all you’ve been doing for me, Cassian.”

Cassian gave her body a squeeze, causing her to finally look back up at him. “You can thank me by naming your child after me,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

Nesta dramatically made a sound of disgust. “I would never name my child after someone so brutish,” she avowed.

“Brutish?!”

“You’re the one who’s refusing to let me go against my wishes,” she noted.

“Is it really your wish that I let you go?” he voiced huskily as he inclined his head closer to hers. The sudden movement caused her to momentarily lose her breath.

Did she really seek to be released from his arms? She felt so comfortable and at ease...and that was certainly a feeling that was against her wishes. There was still the urge to keep her distance.

But there also was a desire to close the distance...

“Well, the baby is cold and hungry,” she said in response, fighting off that desire. “So, we should get inside.”

Her response wasn’t necessarily a lie...she was starting to feel cold and hungry. But it wasn’t completely true either, having come up with her excuse on the spot.

As whenever Nesta mentioned the baby, Cassian immediately did what she asked and set her upon the ground. Slowly, Nesta walked away from him and stepped onto the wooden platform that led to the door. She paused to brush the snow off of her coat before pushing the door open. Cassian trailed behind her, stopping to shake the snow off the outdoor rug.

Meanwhile, Nesta went inside and removed her coat to hang it on the coat rack. She headed toward the living room with the intention of finding a blanket to wrap around herself.

“Hello, Nesta,” a voice called out as soon as Nesta entered the living room, stopping her in her tracks.

Nesta’s surprised eyes shot to the source of the voice, which turned out to belong to Mor.

And when Nesta spotted her, Mor let out a gasp as she looked straight at her bulging stomach.

“Is...is Cassian the father?” Mor questioned out of her shock.

Nesta, still stunned at Mor’s surprise appearance and now learning about her pregnancy, opened her mouth to respond.

“No, of course not!” Cassian hurriedly answered from behind her. “Mor, what...what’s going on? What are you doing here?” Cassian wondered as he rushed over to greet his friend with a hug.

No, of course not!

Mor said something or other about going on a mission for a long while and wanting to say goodbye to Cassian before she left...but Nesta couldn’t focus on her words. All she could focus on was...

No, of course not!

No, of course he wasn’t the father of her child because he would never want to have a child with someone like her. How foolish of her to even believe that the two of them could be...something more.

His words stung her deeply, as anger and sadness flowed throughout her.

This whole time she had been trying to protect her heart, but now...now she knew that she had failed. Because if she had truly protected herself, she wouldn’t be feeling such pain as this.

But she had to focus. A member of the Inner Circle knew about her pregnancy.

“Don’t tell anyone else,” Nesta suddenly interjected in the middle of Mor’s babbling. “Please,” she sternly demanded.

Mor paused and looked surprised as she turned to look at Nesta.

“No one else knows?”

Nesta stiffly shook her head, and they all stood in silence. Mor looked over at Cassian before bringing her gaze back to Nesta.

“Well, I assume you have your reasons,” Mor said seriously. “I won’t be seeing the rest of the Inner Circle anytime soon so I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Nesta replied sternly before stomping in the direction of her room, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Cassian.

“Nesta…” she heard Cassian say as he attempted to grab her arm when she passed him by, but she swatted his hand away without a word.

She went straight to her room and shut the door closed behind her.

_______________________________________________________________

“No, of course not!”

As soon as the words flew out of Cassian’s mouth, he instantly regretted them and inwardly cringed at how it sounded. But he had been so shocked to see Mor, he didn’t know what he was doing. So he tried to brush off what he said by instantly going to Mor’s side to hug her. “Mor, what...what’s going on? What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m off to spend the next year travelling to a few courts as requested by Rhys, and I just wanted to stop by briefly to say goodbye since I won’t be able to see you for a while. It had already been so long since I last saw you,” Mor explained.

Cassian had trouble listening to Mor speak because his attention drifted over to Nesta, whose eyes were filled with fury and her hands were clenched as her sides.

“But perhaps you were trying to hide this from me and - ” Mor began to say as she gestured toward Nesta, but was abruptly cut off.

“Don’t tell anyone else,” Nesta requested. “Please.”

Mor looked surprised as she turned her eyes to Nesta.

“No one else knows?” she asked.

When Nesta stiffly shook her head, Mor’s eyes met Cassian’s. “Please don’t say anything,” Cassian mouthed. While he wanted Nesta’s sisters to know that she was pregnant, it should be Nesta to tell them. And she should tell them when she was ready. He simply prayed that day would come soon.

“Well, I assume you have your reasons,” Mor said. “I won’t be seeing the rest of the Inner Circle anytime soon so I won’t say anything,” she acquiesced. Cassian let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” Nesta stated coldly and started stomping away. She seemed to be trying to not look at him, but he could tell there was a pained expression in her eyes. He needed to fix this. Why did he have a habit of saying the wrong thing?

He moved to grab her wrist when she brushed past him. “Nesta…” he called her quietly, but she shooed his hand away and continued to her room, promptly slamming the door behind her.

“I see Nesta is her usual self,” Mor commented as she watched her angrily leave the room. “Except for the fact that she’s pregnant.” Mor looked up at Cassian. “You haven’t told anyone?”

Cassian shook his head.

“How long have you known?”

“Since October.”

“October?!” she exclaimed. “You’re keeping secrets for her and keeping information from Rhys and Feyre for her?”

“Mor, please.”

“After all she’s done to you?”

“Mor.”

Mor sighed. “You’re lucky I’ve already said goodbye to everyone else, and this was just my final stop before I leave for my mission.”

“Thank you, Mor,” he said as he embraced her again. “I appreciate you coming here, but I’ve hurt her and now I need to go talk to her.”

“I only came to say goodbye. It wasn’t meant to be a long visit,” Mor said before pulling away from him. “Do you love her?”

Out of instinct when talking to Mor, he wanted to say no. But that was solely because he was speaking to Mor...someone who it was hard to discuss his romantic relationships with, considering their history of friendship. She’d always been very protective of him, never finding any female worthy of him and fearing a female would come between their relationship. And because of that, Cassian had a tendency of trying to hide any possible relationships from her.

Plus, she had spoken about her worry over his interest in Nesta in the past, fearing she would hurt him.

“I don’t know,” he answered. He wasn’t certain about his feelings yet, but if he were...he would want Nesta to be the first to know.

Mor gave him a sad smile and pressed her hand against his cheek. “Protect yourself, Cassian,” she gently advised.

Cassian nodded and kissed her on her forehead. “Thank you for understanding,” he whispered. “Good luck on your journey. I’ll write to you.”

“Goodbye, Cassian,” she said before winnowing out of sight.

Cassian instantly bolted down the hall to Nesta’s room, pounding his fists on the closed door.

“Nesta! I need to talk to you!” he exclaimed.

“I’M BUSY,” she angrily shouted.

“Nesta, please,” he begged. “I didn’t mean for my words to sound like that.”

“I DON’T CARE!” she yelled back through the door.

“Nesta, please!” he exclaimed again.

“The baby and I are trying to rest!”

Cassian sighed out of frustration and ran his hand through his hair. But he couldn’t leave her fuming about this. Couldn’t allow her to think that he was appalled by her because it certainly was not true.

With a huff, he stomped down the hallway and outside of the house. Trudging through the snow, he went around the side of the house to the window that looked into Nesta’s bedroom. He slid the window open, then hopped up on the windowsill and twisted his body so he could bring his whole body inside.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” she yelped from her bed.

Turning around, Cassian slid the window closed behind him, then turned back to Nesta. “I need to talk to you.”

“We’ve done enough talking!”

“Those words I said to Mor, I didn’t - ”

“But of course you’re repulsed by me, Cassian!” she interjected as she sat up in her bed and looked back at him. “Because as you’ve said before, how could someone ever love me, including my own sisters?”

The pain in her voice nearly crushed him. And the reminder of what he’d said to her on Winter’s Solstice over a year ago cut him like a knife.

“Nesta, I - ”

“I should have remembered that all of this is just to honor your mother’s memory,” she noted in anguish. “I was a fool to start believing otherwise,” she added in a quiet voice.

“Nesta,” he fiercely stated, demanding her attention by standing right in front of her and placing his hands against her cheeks. As he stared deep into her eyes, he found them to be tinged red. “Please listen to me. I am not repulsed by you. I admire you for the way you’ve taken care of your child, and I am grateful to you for how you’ve helped me,” he emphasized. “With you...I don’t feel so alone,” he added in a whisper.

Her eyes showed no reaction as he spoke. “Then why did you say those words to Mor?” she demanded to know.

Cassian sighed. “With Mor, our friendship has lasted for centuries and...she’s sensitive to anything that could possibly come in the way of that. When I’m around her, I just instinctively try to protect that friendship...which results in me saying stupid things that I regret. I am so sorry.”

And for the past year and a half, Mor had seemed especially sensitive in regards to Nesta, even advising him at one point to stop trying to help Nesta when she was in her downward spiral after the war, fearing he would get hurt even more. And she certainly wasn’t happy at all when Feyre decided to have Nesta move into his cabin.

But he didn’t feel like he needed to tell Nesta about that right now.

“But you also have said that you don’t understand how my sisters could love me,” she stated solemnly.

Cassian shook his head in shame. “That was a complete and utter lie. I was hurt and angry over the fact you weren’t talking to me and that you didn’t want anything to do with me after...everything we’d been through. It was my stupid attempt to hurt you in return for hurting me.”

Nesta’s eyes remained emotionless as she said nothing.

“I am so sorry,” Cassian repeated in a whisper as he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs and continued to stare into her blue-grey eyes. “I do truly care about you. It hurts me that I’ve upset you.”

“Where were you, after the war?” she shakily asked. “For the first couple of months after the war, you never tried to speak to me or see me.”

Cassian took a deep breath. “I thought you needed time and space, and I...was dealing with my own issues after the war. After so many of my men died, I was feeling guilty for being alive...and felt that I should live in suffering.”

“And it was my fault you survived,” Nesta piped in softly.

Cassian couldn’t stop the tears that filled his eyes. “When I lost myself in that guilt, I will admit that I blamed you for a time. But it was only because I was drowning in my own guilt. Mor and Az and Rhys pulled me out of it, but by the time they did, you were already drowning and wouldn’t let me help you.”

“Well, sorry for saving your life, ” she remarked bitterly. “I didn’t realize you would want to die.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Cassian firmly declared. “Everything was that shitty king of Hybern’s fault. You are not to blame for anything. And I am so thankful you did save my life because I get another chance…” he trailed off.

I get another chance to be with you. To no longer carry the regret of not having time with you.

“Another chance to rectify my mistakes,” he finished as he sat on the bed beside her.

“I didn’t realize that even the General Commander suffered after the war.”

“Every war takes its toll,” he revealed sorrowfully. “It never gets easier.”

Nesta leaned her head against his shoulder. “I thought I was alone,” she mumbled.

Cassian slowly moved his arm so he could wrap it around Nesta’s shoulders. Nesta leaned her head against his chest as he began stroking her hair, slowly undoing her crown braid.

“You are never alone,” he whispered. “I’m sorry you felt that way. And that I wasn’t there for you sooner.”

A few tears slid out of Nesta’s eyes, but Cassian was ready to wipe them away with his thumbs.

The urge to kiss her returned, and maybe that would show her just how much she meant to him. It was an urge that kept popping up more and more in the past few days...like when she helped wrap his shoulder. When she joined him for meals again a few days ago. When they flew back to the cabin earlier and he continued to hold her in his arms for a little while longer...

But he had messed up so much in the past few weeks...could he really risk infuriating her further by attempting to kiss her?

Perhaps, now was not the best moment, especially after discussing the ways he’d failed her. But they had just opened up to each other, creating a deeper bond between them.

Did he love her? He couldn’t tell. The only prime example of romantic love he’d ever witnessed was that between Rhys and Feyre...and right now, he and Nesta certainly weren’t like them. But perhaps they could be...one day.

If they tried.

Could he take the next step forward with her? If only he could figure out what she was feeling...and if only he could stop ticking her off with his foolish words and actions.

But the fact that those foolish words and actions upset her surely showed that he meant something to her?

Suddenly, Nesta gasped and brought her hand to her stomach. Cassian’s hand that had been running through her hair froze in place, and he looked down at her in alarm. “What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously, fearing something was awry.

But then he saw Nesta do something he had never seen her do before.

She smiled. Truly smiled out of joy and happiness and not out of smug satisfaction.

She brought her other hand to her stomach too and let out an ecstatic laugh. “The baby is kicking,” she revealed.

Her happiness was infectious, causing him to beam and feel overcome with gladness. Before he could say anything, Nesta eagerly grabbed his free hand and brought it up against her stomach.

He waited a moment before he finally felt the kick.

The sensation brought him a feeling of elation he had never experienced before. Nesta let out another joyous laugh, and Cassian couldn’t help but join in as they both felt the baby’s kicks. Caught up in the excitement of the moment, he leaned down and kissed Nesta’s forehead.

As he pulled away, she stared up at him with bliss shining in her eyes.

And that was when he felt it.

The snap of the mating bond. ________________________________________________________________

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate all the support :) Let me know your thoughts!

—> CHAPTER 7

#nessian #nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #a court of wings and ruin #acowar #a court of frost and starlight #acofas #fanfiction #far from the shallow

117 notes · View notes

ma-lemons · 5 years ago

Text

my thoughts on some acotar characters

Hello. I’d like to discuss Elain, Lucien, and Nesta. First thing to know about me. My OTP (besides Feysand since I think is a given) is Elucien. I haven’t read ACOFAS yet.

Elain

I like Elain. People think because you’re nice, or you’re sweet, you’re automatically weak. But Elain killed Hybern and I’m so happy about that. I can never relate to heroines because they are so badass and tough, and the nice characters usually dies or is portrayed as very naive. Either way, I think Elain needs character development, but I don’t think she needs to become “tougher” or more like Nesta. Elain is struggling mentally, so while I do ship Elucien, right now, what she needs is someone to get her out of her little funk. A friend. Someone to open up to, so she can slowly find her purpose. Maybe that’ll be Lucien. Maybe that’ll be Feyre or Azriel. Maybe someone completely different. Another thing I think people ignore is that Elain was part of Feyre’s abuse too. While Feyre was out hunting, Elain didn’t lift a finger, just like Nesta. She has just as much blame in this situation like Nesta does. Maybe she wasn’t as cold to Feyre, but both sisters let their baby sister provide for them instead of doing anything to help. And it makes me so mad that Feyre hasn’t confronted them about it. I think Elain has a lot of room for improvement before falling in love, and I hope SJM will provide it for her. That being said, her falling in love may help her character development, but I’d like to see some non-romantic development.

Lucien

I love Lucien. He is my favorite character in this series, and I can’t really put my finger on it as to why. I just love him. That being said, Lucien needs a purpose, just like Elain. The poor guy lost his best friend (Tamlin still kinda sucks, sorry), his love, his whole family (not that we care, besides his mom). He really has no one, and the Inner Circle either treats him like crap or ignores him fully. Sometimes I wonder why SJM even put him in the series. He wasn’t in ACOWAR for five minutes and when he was sent to find Vassa, he didn’t even find her, Feyre’s DAD did (also wth that was so random, but I enjoyed it). As an Elucien shipper, I feel like these two could help each other love again, but SJM doesn’t really give Lucien a lot of room to grow. His personality went from sassy and witty to... kind of despondent, bummed... and with him trying to figure Elain out, it’s like he’s a lost puppy. I just want to know what Lucien’s plan is!! And someone please let him have a happy family ending, for goodness sakes. Someone give him a hug, please. For me. (Also I know lucien has many flaws that need to be fixed, especially his undying loyalty to tamlin when feyre was in trouble, I feel like his judgement gets clouded often.)

Nesta

Oh boy. *breathes* okay. Here we go.

Nesta. Oh, Nesta. I really wish I could say I like you, but really I don’t. I really don’t. And before you say “Oh, you hate Nesta because she’s cold, and powerful, and doesn’t take crap from people” NO. No, I love that about Nesta. She is refreshing and amazing and so strong. But I hate how she treats Cassian and ESPECIALLY FEYRE. I can’t ship Nessian until Nesta stops treating Cassian like garbage. I haven’t read ACOFAS yet, but I heard that Nesta slept around with guys, and I for one didn’t really care, but then I remembered she kissed Cassian? Did... what happened to that? Its not the fact that she was sleeping around it’s the fact that I saw no purpose in that kiss if she is this closed off. I just wanna know why. Was this a tease for what is to come? In ACOWAR, you could feel her worry and concern for him, and then, she ignores him again. I just can’t ship something that seems so toxic. Not yet. The idea of Nessian is cute, but in reality, neither Nesta nor Cassian are ready to be together, in my opinion. Nesta is in a lot of denial and is very, very stubborn. I’m not quite sure what she wants, because it’s all surface level. She wasn’t Elain to be safe, but what else? What are her desires? Her wishes? I don’t know anything about Nesta besides the fact that she is cold!!! Now. Onto Feyre. God. Nesta makes me so mad. Your dad didn’t provide for the family. Okay, yes that stinks. Your little sister hunts for y’all. The LEAST you can do is treat her like a human being. Why did she only protect Elain? Is Feyre not the youngest? Why did she never even hug her, tell her it was okay, HELP her? I really can’t like a character like this, she just upsets me a lot, for multiple reasons. I can’t wait for the day she apologizes and Feyre yells at her, gets all her anger out. Nesta needs to be slapped. (okay maybe I’m a bit overboard). I think Nesta needs to learn to prioritize and see things from other people’s point of view. She has her good moments, but sometimes I think everyone glorifies her too much for the little good things she does. That being said, she has a lot of good qualities that I think really show how she could be a good leader.

Let me write this bigger for people who don’t understand. Nesta doesn’t owe Cassian anything. That’s why I don’t particularly ship them becuase theres so many mixed signals going on here. If Nessian wasn’t a really big ship, I don’t think I’d mind Nesta’s animosity towards Cassian. Clearly if it’s to be canon, it’ll needto be developed, but i can’t actively ship it because of the way she treats him. Nesta doesn’t NEED Cassian. I’m only stating this because most of the fandom seems to like this ship. Nesta doesn’t need to be nice to Cassian at all, but for she could sure stop acting like she’s ready to kill everyone around her with her bare hands. Don’t mistake my dislike for her as me hating her because Nessian isn’t canon yet. That isn’t it. Feyre and Cassian have both done so many things for Nesta and she literally acts like she is incapable of at least thanking them.

Overall, there’s a lot of things I don’t like about this series and a lot of things I like. There will be more books, so I’m only hoping Sarah can create good romances as well as develop all her characters. I have many different thoughts on ships, which I could write about later on if I have time. I’m practically begging for Elain development because I just want to see her flourish!

#a court of frost and starlight #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #nesta archeron #books #sarah j maas #acotar series

22 notes · View notes

aelin-and-feyre · 7 years ago

Text

Ten Minutes Ago (Part 7)

Feysand - Cinderella au

Fic Masterlist

“Rhys.”

“Clare,” the prince breathes, resting his forehead against hers and ignoring the odd looks from the people around them. “I didn’t think you came.”

“I almost left, Cassian stopped me though,” she whispers back and Rhys smiles, slowly wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Nuala also made me food, which was delicious.”

“They’re both pretty awesome aren’t they?” They laugh softly, breath mingling in the small space between them. Rhys feels ecstatic. This girl in his arms, so close to him he could pick her up and run away if he wants, makes him so happy he can barely comprehend it. “Why were you crying?” He asks quietly, the kitchen resumes it’s bustling behind them, politely giving them space. Cassian and the girls are sitting by silently, which Rhys is grateful for.

“I-” she is cut off by a loud bang above them. The clock tower.

Clare jerks from his hold, standing and moving around his kneeling form. Rhys catches her hand before she can get far, standing up as well. “Where are you going?”

She looks so torn, close to tears again and pulling against his hand. “I have to go! Please, I have to.”

“Why? Please, just tell me who you are, tell me how to find you!” Rhys begs as she continues to fight his hold.

“Rhys, please, I have to go. I will be back tomorrow I promise but please!” She cries.

“Rhys,” Cassian says quietly from behind him and a second of indecision is enough for Clare to pull free, darting away though the cooks. And as her fingers slip from his, Rhys feels it—a string connecting him to her that was so faint before, but is now pulling taught.

Without thinking, the prince darts after her, witnessing as she quickly pulls Nuala in for a hug, whispers something in the cook’s ear and then runs again.

Rhys sprints, pumping his arm as he chases her through the halls. A sense of deja vu hits him in the chest but he keeps running. He can’t let her go again, not again. And especially not now that he knows who she is, why he’s been feeling this way.

Cassian runs with him, a couple feet behind but she is fast, even in those delicate glass heels. They reach the front entrance and she is already halfway down the grand staircase, a golden carriage waiting at the bottom.

The horses have odd tails, Rhys notices, and the footmen have weird hats, sticking up in two places. Clare jumps in and they start speeding away almost instantly.

“No!” Rhys yells in despair as they finally reach the bottom far too late, the dust settling after the retreating carriage.

He stares after where the vehicle disappears into the night for what seems like forever. Eventually he hears Mor, Amren, and Nuala join them, all extremely confused. “So you really don’t know who she is?” Nuala asks and Rhys shakes his head distantly.

“But I know that she’s my mate,” he admits suddenly. The bond connecting them is pulling at his heart and making it hard to breathe. He doesn’t even know her name and he doesn’t think he can live without her. His friends gasp at the revelation but Rhys can barely hear them.

He let her go. Again.

“Would you like me to summon the guards? We might be able to still catch her,” Cassian suggests quietly when Rhys doesn’t move from his spot. He is still staring through the now black of night and hoping to see the carriage coming back, Clare hopping out and jumping into his arms, apologizing for running and promising never to do so again.

Rhys waits another thirty seconds before slumping down on the bottom step and putting his head in his hands. “No,” he answers finally. “She doesn’t want to be here with me and I can’t force her to be.”

Mor sits beside him, placing a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. After a couple more seconds the prince looks up to the hard gaze of Amren. He sighs, “Why am I being stupid now?”

“No offense, Your Highness, but you are absolutely blind,” Amren accuses and Mor nods, causing a perplexed look to cross Rhys’ features.

“What do you mean?”

She scoffs. “I’ve only known the girl for an hour and I can already tell how much she loves you. It’s especially sad because she is just as clueless as you, so confused when we suggested you were heartbroken over her leaving last night.”

“And so depressed when she saw you with all those other maidens.” Cassian interjects, standing in front of where they sit with his arms crossed. Nuala stands on the driveway still, wringing her hands and staring after where the carriage went.

“That was not my fault,” Rhys defends. “That was my father’s fault. In fact, everything that went wrong tonight was his fault,” Rhys groans and drops his head to his hands again.

“Not to pry but….” Mor starts hesitantly and Rhys opens one eyes to peek at her through a gap in his fingers. “Why won’t she tell us who she is? When Captain Cassian pushed earlier after the whole food thing she just burst into tears.”

Rhys fully lifts his head now and glares at Cassian. “You’re the reason she was crying?”

Cassian hastily raises his hands in surrender. “You didn’t see how she ate that food Rhys, like she had never eaten a meal in her life. You would have asked too if you had been there.”

“The Captain is right, Your Highness,” Nuala finally speaks up, walking over. “I have only seen that look once before, in the eyes of a stray who hadn’t eaten in days.”

Amren nods. “She started crying from happiness… I think. And then cried harder when she couldn’t tell us her name. I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Your Highness, but this girl? She’s broken.”

“I know nothing about her.” Rhys frets. “I need to know everything, I need to be able to take care of her, put the pieces back and make her feel loved. I need to know who she is.”

“You’ll figure it out Rhys. Go shut the ball down and then meet us in the library after a good night’s sleep. We’ll put the clues together and figure out who she is, don’t worry,” Cassian assures and Rhys knows that he is right but he doesn’t think he will be able to sleep until his mate is once again in his arms.

...

Feyre and her carriage do not make it to her house before the spell falls apart. Bryaxis now races ahead of her, the bunnies around her feet, and four mice in her hands. They walk along the dirt road, the remnants of a pumpkin awhile back and any hints of the glorious dress forgotten but a long strip of gold fabric.

Feyre found a similar strip of white in her apron pocket that morning, another reminder that the night before wasn’t a dream. She hid it away under her mattress and plans to do the same with this golden piece. Small souvenirs of the dresses she wore on the best nights of her life. She will cherish them always.

The mice scurry up her arms and she grips the fabric tight so it won’t blow away as they keeps trailing along. Her stomach is full for the first time in more than a decade and Feyre feels heavy, almost wrong, like she shouldn’t have eaten as much as she did. Whatever the feeling is, Feyre brushes it aside because the food tasted so good, and she will not taint the memory of it by thinking it wrong.

After a little while Feyre realizes she is crying again, sorrowful that her time with Rhys was so short lived. She wants to spend so much time with him, wants to see him constantly, she even feels as if an invisible force is tugging her back towards the palace—back towards him.

The way he held her tonight soothed her worries and doubts for those few minutes and she wishes the spell hadn’t worn off so quickly. It hurts her to run away from him but she knows that it is for his sake as well as hers.

Rhys would be mortified if he finds out that his mystery princess is just a servant, not to mention that she will be heart broken and probably disowned by Amarantha. So once again, Feyre resolves not to tell Rhys who she is, no matter the cost.

The rain begins falling as she nears the house, successfully disguising her tears. The mice crawl down to find refuge under the garden wall and Bryaxis and the bunnies speed ahead to hide in the garage. Feyre simply keeps walking, tucking the gold strip into her pocket and letting the rain wash away her sorrows.

Her dawdling costs her, however, when the sound of hooves come from behind. She runs into the driveway and realizes if she goes inside, she will have no excuse for why she is soaking, not to mention that Amarantha will throw a fit if she tracks in mud.

So Feyre goes to the garden, kneeling in the weeds and beginning to pull just as the Hybern’s carriage drives up.

The girls noisily tumble out, shrieking as they are pelted with rain and rush to the door. Amarantha walks solemnly through the downpour, a large umbrella open over her head as she avoids the larger puddles.

Before she opens the door, Amarantha’s head swerves to give a long look towards Feyre, a suspicious glint in her tired eyes. She finally seems to resolve herself and says, “Finish up soon Cinderella, but go in the back way. The house is filthy enough thanks to you. I’m going to bed.”

“Yes, Stepmother,” Feyre responds over the pitter patter of hooves retreating and the heavy rain on the concrete. Amarantha nods once and then proceeds into the house.

Feyre waits for five seconds after the door slams shut and finally lets out a long breath. She’s survived two nights without her Stepmother interfering—she might be able to accomplish a third, but only if she’s lucky.

Masterlist

263 notes · View notes