#blame Andra

[sulieykte]

[lordofhaterism]

Acotar does this thing where from acomaf onwards it tends to view the fae human tensions like an equal blame conflict rather than a consequence of fae enslaving the human population and the lasting effects. This doesnt work for the simple reason that the fae are consistently implied to have insane amounts of power compared to humans, the only fae that most humans have ever interacted with are usually there to prey on them, and also the ages of the cast generally indicate the vast majority of the fae alive were still alive for slavery and potentially involved. It leads to weird as hell situations like Jurian being rawdogged for torturing a general when Azriels whole job is torture, etc.

Basically all this is to say, this gets really funny once you remember Feyre in the first book is literally one of these mad as hell humans and specifically kills Andras with an ash arrow because she registers hes sentient and fae and therefore potentially a threat, which by the standards of the books afterwards HAS to be hate crime????

[cloveroctobers]

THE STRANGERS: SINNERS ON COURT

A/N: the point? I’m highly disappointed with the new release of the strangers and the summer is the perfect time for the horrors and THAT was just not it for me. I’ve also been strongly debating if I even want to dip into writing for challengers since it’s very layered but also MESSY and who wants to flop if you drop something but you don’t know unless you try right? So here’s me serving something since chapter 1 gave us…not much? I’m blaming the writers and not the actors ofc so they need to hire me for chapter 2 ASAP. So this is for my horror and challengers lovers I guess! I might have to do a trilogy myself depending how this turns out.

In short: Challengers meet The Strangers.

WARNINGS: mostly oc x art pairing with a hint of Tashi x oc! Language, slow burn/slow start? Slight graphic violence + animal brutality?—Not overly described but hinted + a LENGTHY read!

SYNOPSIS: Andromeda, “Andra,” Cove has always been the secret double to Tashi’s game even when Andra claims that is far from true. Although their friendship has been on and off since Andra transferred out of Stanford…everything always comes back to the court. Andra seeks out Art’s company to attend her grandfather’s birthday party back in her hometown in Virginia Beach not expecting Tashi and Patrick to show up as well considering the confirmed secrets the three have recently spilled. After the events at Andra’s grandfather’s birthday party, the four decide to take a trip up to Andra’s cottage to get reacquainted but soon find three more guests at the door who release nothing but terror that surely ruins the weekend.

.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *

“I just remember the knife plunging into him and the amount of blood that spluttered from his mouth as they flung his body to the floor…” Andra hears the intake of her breath before she continued, “his eyes still locked on me as if—as if he was imagining during his last moments what our life as a married couple could be like and I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t stop them from hurting the man I wanted forever with. They took that from me and I still feel that knife, shoving its way through my body every time I think of him. My forever husband.”

The host of the podcast speaks now, “Not long after Maya honored us with this virtual interview, she was found brutally murdered in her shared home with her late fiancé, Ryan. The case of the road-trip lovers still remains unsolved till this day.”

A nudge to Andra’s bare upper arm makes her flinch, bringing her back to reality as she glances to her right to see her good friend, Art Donaldson staring at her, freshly awakened from his nap. Andra allowed him to be her passenger princess since he had to take two flights to get here, which she was thankful for.

After he received more frustrating than devastating news: that Lily was biologically Patrick’s, Art fled to London to take a much needed break from his two opponents. Art held Lily so tight and even thought of taking her with him but had no energy to fight Tashi who made little noise at his departure. She knew he would be back. Andra received a text from Tashi before Art ended up calling her and it was so laughable that Tashi acted like she had everything so figured out.

[~From: Tashi Duncan.

I fucked up and it’s finally caught up…you’ll probably be hearing from Art soon. I know you’ll do me a solid and watch over him for me, won’t you Meda?

Purposely leaving Tashi on read, Andra didn’t engage in a conversation because not even three minutes later, Art was in fact calling her phone—which led to a two hour call.

“What the hell are you listening to?” Art stretched his arms back around the headrest, a frown in between his brows.

Andra glances at him while rolling her stiff neck around in the driver’s seat, “A true crime podcast…about this couple that ends up having to stay in an airbnb and they basically get slaughtered by three sociopaths in creepy masks.”

Art squints, “and you feel that’s appropriate for us who are currently on the road alone surrounded by nothing but trees in this hillbilly state?”

“Hey! You wanted to see the cottage. I was—

Art interrupts his old friend, “Don’t say perfectly fine staying with your mom and step-dad because you and I both know you can’t stand those bastards.”

Which was not untrue…

Andra’s mother was big on living up to “the Cove,” name and felt that her daughter was the biggest disappointment (compared to her older brother Ahmed) although she kept a tight smile on her cheeks when speaking about Andra to family members. Andra’s mother’s side of the family came from a lineage of historians and archaeologists and Andra’s grandfather was also a well known tennis player in Ethiopia. Half of Andra’s mother’s siblings were also in the athletic field, her mother was once a gymnast and even made it to the Olympics multiple times until she suffered a severe neck injury on her third attendance ultimately ending her career—you can just guess how well she bonded with Tashi more than she ever did with her own daughter—later becoming a athletic sponsorship director.

Andra laughs with a nod of her head, “yeah, you’re right.”

Art hums already being aware, reaching for Andra’s phone pausing the podcast to search for a playlist for this late night morning drive. “This is a mood killer…no pun intended so I’m switching this but rest in peace to Maya and Ryan.”

You’re resting your head back against the headrest, eyes focused on the road, “You’re lucky I’m getting tired and don’t want to argue with you since there are rules such as: Driver always gets to pick the soundtrack.”

“So you were listening to this to scare the shit out of you and keep you awake?” Art states with a curious glance at the braided haired woman, “pull over and let me drive the rest of the way then.”

Andra twists her lips around, ready to debate on that since she loved her “little,” coupe and actually loved being the designated driver. When she transferred out of Stanford, she may or may not have gotten into illegally racing a few cars for extra cash, after her mother put a hold on her card until she declared a new major that was satisfactory enough to her. If anybody needed a ride and fast then Andra was your girl…just try to keep that on the low, although it was public record.

A yawn ripped through her lips before she can even stop it. She didn’t even want to dare a glimpse at Art who now sat up with a fold of his arms. He was being such a dad and Andra found this funny, laughing to herself while Art patiently waited for her to say something.

“You’re too cute, Art.” Andra tells him, lolling her head to peek over at the now dark haired blond, “looking like a scolding parent as if I didn’t get enough of that at the beach.”

Art sighs at that.

For as long as Art’s known Andra, she’s always been this humorous vibrant personality but it only ever shined when she stood on her own. It dimmed a bit whenever Tashi took over and Andra made herself small enough so her own mother wouldn’t find something to pick at but that never did her any good. Andra only came out here to celebrate her grandfather, since she was never sure how many more years the old man had left in him and he was much softer on her than the way he treated her mother, which was a cycle for what Andra endured. Her step-father refused to see it, comfortable in his rose colored lenses while she also often had a bickering relationship with her brother, Ahmed who claimed she played the victim game whenever their mother said something that basically teared her down.

It was a tale as old as time.

Andra thought inviting Art out here was to mainly help him wrap his head around what he was going to do and it would be good to see each other face to face after all this time but turns out it was him being by her side that made things a little easier.

“What do you need?” Art decided to ask, keeping his eyes trained only on her.

Andra chewed down on her bottom lip as she whispered, “…for you to drive.”

Art dipped his head at this, waiting for Andra to pull over to the side. They unbuckled their seatbelts and Art was out into the night while Andra climbed over to the passenger side with her fallen over zip up hoodie. Shutting the door behind him, Art adjusted the seat with a small teasing smile at the bronze skinned woman who scoffed at him in return.

Before he switched gears he says, “for what it’s worth…I think you’re brilliant at whatever you do and the only thing that matters is what you’re comfortable with when you look in the mirror. Be proud of that.”

A watery smile goes his way and Andra lightly reaches over to shove his shoulder, “you’re disgustingly sweet and I’m glad you’re in my life.”

“I love you, you know that?” Art sends a lopsided grin back.

Andra breathes, “I love you too.”

And that keeps Art warm in the sixty-five degree summer night. He runs his fingers over the door and cracks the window open, allowing the air to brush against the side of his new do, loving to hear the sound of that. It felt good to hear sentiments being reciprocated verbally and Andra never had a problem letting it be known. The pair connected in that kind of way, the whole words of affirmation was huge in the way they wanted to be loved and can always count on each other to be so reassuring.

“Now how many more hours do we have to go?”

Andra who’s balled up on her side, peeks at her glowing phone that was plugged into her car informs, “just a hour and nine minutes.”

Art puffed out some air as he switched gears, then checked over his shoulder before pulling back onto the road, “It’ll be sunrise by then so…hopefully a gas station will grant us with it’s presence and we can fill up, grab some shitty coffee or energy drinks and be on our way to your fancy cottage.”

Andra rolled her eyes, “it’s nothing compared to your California barbie dream house.”

“Please,” Art snorted, “it’s far from that and just a place to lay our heads and raise Lily in…” He clears his throat, “it’s just a house.”

Andra knew Art was still coming to terms with it all. He already went off about it and what he thought marriage should be despite spending years in one. Art claimed he wanted a divorce but the next thing Andra knew, Tashi and Patrick were showing up without her invite. Art didn’t invite them necessarily but he did let it slip to Patrick where he was over texts and that he didn’t know when he was coming back. Art needed some time and he always felt like there was never enough in this world.

The next few moments consisted of Andra dozing off, her phone buzzing with notifications as Art got off the next exit after driving nine miles and headed to the gas station. Art grabbed his own phone, tempted to wake Andra but she looked so at peace with some much needed sleep. He quietly exits the car and makes his way to the dingy gas station, greeting the grunting old man with the Santa Claus beard at the counter before searching their inventory. Art decides against the coffee that has a few dead flies floating at the top and circled back to the fridges.

Once he finds the little that he wanted, he slides the objects onto the counter at the man with the unkept beard. A small smile graces Art’s lips in a attempt to be friendly but the man doesn’t budge.

“That’ll be it, thanks.” Art urges as he holds open his wallet, also hoping to get the strange man to get a move on so he can get out of here quickly.

The man grunts, reaching forward from his spot on the stool to bring the few items closer to his view before he slowly starts punching them into the register. Art’s patient as the man takes his time and before he can start looking around his gruff tone comes out, “that’s a pretty one you got out there, don’t ya?”

Art blinks, easily picking up at what the man is hinting at and chooses to ignore him, “I’ll need some gas too. $25 on pump three.”

The man hums to himself, reaching over some more to punch his dirt stained fingers into the buttons although his eyes keep darting out the window. This time Art follows the old man’s stare but only to check on Andra to see that she is still in fact asleep on the passenger side.

“Y’all not from around these parts are ya? Headin’ north might not be the best choice ‘round this time of year.” The man tells Art who feels his brows coming together in a frown.

He wasn’t concerned about how the man can figure out if he was from here or not. It was the same as visiting any place and Art’s been to many considering his status. It was what the man, Walter (according to his also grimy looking name tag) said afterwards.

“It’s a week before the holiday, I think we’ll be okay but thanks for caring.” Art keeps his calm, small smile still on his lips as he pulls out two twenty bills, noticing the: CASH ONLY sign, “keep the change and you have a nice upcoming morning.”

Art doesn’t bother engaging in more conversation, shoving his wallet back into his jogger pocket, and scoops the items into his arms; not asking for a bag either. Art half expected the man to latch onto his wrist and deliver another unsettling line. This time Walter just goes back to being silent and Art’s not sure which one was worse, as he steps away and exits the store.

The pinging of his own phone, doesn’t stop Art in his tracks as he continues back to the coupe. Opening the door, he dumps everything into the driver’s seat for now before moving quickly to the nozzle. The minutes feel long as Art darts his gaze from the changing numbers on the pump, to Walter’s stare from the store, and back to Andra whose body gently rises and falls with each breath.

With a click, Art brings his attention to the nozzle to place in its original space, then moves the drinks into the holders and tossing the few snacks onto the floor by Andra’s sneakers on the floor. He searches the glove box for some sanitizer, but no amount of alcohol can erase the internal feeling of something going wrong.

Art laughs to himself as Walter holds up a hand in their departure, feeling that he was just being paranoid since his nerves were already out of whack way before he got to this state. Art shrugs it off once the gas station is no longer in sight and feels his phone ping some more.

“Not now, Patrick.” Art bites with a scratch to the back of his head.

He doesn’t have to look at his phone to know that it’s Patrick. He’s been the main one sending texts at all sorts of times since Art left the country. Art was already irked before but now that he brought Tashi to impose on his time with Andra was just another thing to tick off the list. Andra was great at distancing herself from the two and was always vocal on her distaste for Patrick but this was still a process for Art.

You can only be on the court by yourself for so long according to Art Donaldson.

Andra Cove strongly felt different.

“Hey,” Andra’s raspy voice is followed with a grasp to Art’s shoulder, catching him off guard which makes her widen her half lidded eyes at his flinching, “…everything good?”

Art scoffs, “what? Oh yeah! I just thought southern people would have the best manners.”

Andra clenches the tiredness from her eyes, trying to comprehend what the blond was saying to her, “…what happened?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Art says, “take a look in the holder, I got your favorite.”

Peeking at him with one eye, Andra glances down at the yellow bottle and reaches for it with a smile that splits over her lips. “Pina colada Fanta? I can’t believe you remember that.”

“How can I forget? You talked about it all the damn time back at Stanford and would throw a fit every time the campus never had it.” Art briefly looks at the woman from the driver’s side.

Andra laughs as she squeezes it to her chest before placing it back in the holder, “appreciate you, bub.”

“Sure,” art replies, “try not to chug it all down for breakfast later and then complain about a tummy ache afterwards.”

“Are you this bossy with Lily?” Andra questions while getting ready to roll her body to face away from Art again.

She freezes a bit, wondering if it’s a sore subject to even mention the child’s name but Art just shakes his head with a snort, “I’m actually the fun parent, believe it or not.”

“Oh I do.” Andra’s turned back to the window again, reaching a hand back to squeeze Art’s thigh in comfort.

He watches Andra’s hand: her gel nails a combination of a summer orange sunset and magenta. Her pretty fingers are inked with delicate designs and Art finds that her touch radiates a warmth that he’s not used to. A touch that is gentle but firm enough that lets him know that perhaps this gloom season doesn’t have to last forever.

There’s some instrumentals playing throughout the car now but Art doesn’t seem to mind it. Andra’s hand is now back to her own lap as she catches up on another round of a nap and Art is left to his own thoughts and this horrible energy drink that tastes like battery acid.

“Jesus,” Art mutters to himself as he feels himself gag balling a fist up to his mouth, in hopes of settling his stomach on his own.

He glares down at the drink momentarily before his eyes connect with something in the road, which makes him tap on the brakes. They squeal some, which makes Andra pop up in bewilderment, hood to her hoodie sliding right off.

“Damn,” Art comments as Andra grips onto the dash, leaning forward to get a good look at what’s in the road.

Andra sighs, “it’s a deer.”

“Yeah but…it doesn’t just look like roadkill.”

The way its head is bent back is unnatural along with the amount of blood that stains the gravel. There’s traces of glass the decorate the ground which indicates it could have been hit, which was not uncommon. It was the way that both sets of eyes locked on the deer with squints in their eyes that they noticed multiple wounds on its backside that appeared blunt and not accidental.

Andra exhales, her side eye going to the sides of the car before her hands went to check that the doors were locked, “nope. Art, if you don’t float this shit, then I will.”

The glance Art shoots Andra’s way, confirms that twisting feeling he felt back at the gas station. He crosses his hands over the steering wheel, turning the car to go around the deer and picks up the speed just as the navigation system speaks telling the two which direction to continue in.

That was enough to keep Andra awake for the rest of the drive.

6:46AM

The old friends are pulling up to the Olive green and white cottage. Equally they both rest their heads against the seats, just measuring the amount of energy it was going to take to collect their things and bring them into the home.

“It’s nice.” Art compliments while Andra who rolls her head to meet his tired stare with her blank one, “what? I’m not bullshitting you, honest.”

“Uh huh,” Andra answers as she grabs her Fanta staring at it a bit with a smile, “c’mon Ken, let’s get inside before the bugs start chomping.”

Art teases with his own nickname, “can we check our surroundings first, Belle? I’m getting some red flags?”

It was the way he actually had a rose by one of his own personalized nicknames for Andra in his phone—the only one with a emoji by her name truly—that reminded Art of how much he missed their friendship.

“Is this more about the Santa Claus cashier or the stabbed up deer?” Andra asks with her hand on the door.

Art scratches at his brow as Andra’s phone dings, “uh…both?” He muttered while she deeply inhales, eyes going to the phone she was about to leave behind in the holder. Pulling it free, she unlocks the phone and reads the message with a scowl.

Holding the mic on the bottom right of the device, she speaks into it, “thanks for letting me know last minute, dumbass. Send.”

Shoving the phone into her hoodie pocket, she meets Art’s eyes, “Ahmed gladly let me know that the front porch light is still broken from the last time he snuck up here to use my place for who knows what.”

“I’ll take a look at it, just set a reminder.”

Andra nods, quickly doing so before pushing the door open followed by Art. He breathes in the fresh air which smells of pine and salt from near by water. It’s quiet besides the light chirping from some birds and there’s not many cars near by at Andra’s neighbor to their left.

“The Triplett’s come here in the winter months, they’re Minnesota natives if you can believe it.” Andra informs as she swings the strap of her duffle bag against her shoulder and moves the seat back into place.

Art nods, “so what you’re saying is…we’re actually alone?”

Andra shrugs, “that’s kinda what the cottage life is all about, babe. Don’t worry though, that’ll be ruined once your two favs decides to grant us with their presence.”

Art watches as Andra slams the door, leaving Art behind as she crosses the pathway towards the front porch. He’s scrambling a bit now, grabbing his own bag and locking the car. He jogs up the steps just as Andra is unlocking the door. “Did I mention that I’m sorry about that?”

Andra fans her hand as Art steps into the home, being met with the grand view of the water out back. She’s locking the door behind him and then responds, “you sure did but nothings changed.”

She hoist the bag on her shoulder as she breezes by that, “alright little house tour since it’s still early and we could both use some more sleep. Dining table is here, kitchen in the corner, sitting area to a pretty great view is up ahead with the best deck in this sleepy town right beyond those doors, bathroom is right by the last set of sliding doors leading out to the deck, and your room is right around that wall. Around from there is the actual living room and my room is upstairs. Please keep your shoes by the door.”

Art breathes out a laugh, “if I didn’t know that you were once a careless tennis athlete who chose cross country instead—out of all things—then went on to sports journalism later turned kinesiologist, I’d say real estate might be your true calling.”

Andra rolls her eyes with a laugh, “thanks for the whole run down of my résumé, you’re a great guest so far.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He winks as he moves to start unlacing his sneakers while Andra shakes her head, moving towards the couch with her back to the sliding doors.

She jokes, “I’m not on your salary so I don’t have a personalized chef or anything—

“Shut up, Andie.” Art playfully aims his shoe at the braided woman who grins at him with a wink, “I don’t need that special treatment shit, especially when it’s going to be over by next year anyway. I already know I’m gonna be taken care of by you.”

Since Art got his friendship with Patrick back, he seems to believe that he’ll be retiring soon and he wasn’t anywhere near forty just yet.

She shrugs her shoulders, “…all depends on how good of a guest you are.”

“I think I’m the best you’re gonna get…compared to your brother anyway.”

“Don’t even get me started on his bobble head!” Andra yells before continuing, “Now I have to check the house to make sure he didn’t ruin anything and try to hide it but at least he was honest about the light. The bare minimum! Please let me know if anything seems off in your room?”

Art laughs a little, knowing just how much Andra went at it with the older guy. Art never had any issues with Ahmed, he had an award winning smile and was definitely a charmer. The only thing Art didn’t get was why he didn’t have his sister’s back when it came to their mother? Probably because he got all the credit of being the “good” kid and didn’t want to ruin that but that was selfish. Art didn’t know what it meant to be a sibling but he figured it should be some sort of union, even if you had to Duke it out from time to time.

Blood was supposed to be thicker than water is what they say.

Art was an only child so he’s always been on his own but he felt like his late nana was the closest thing he’s had as true family.

Art zones back in on Andra stepping back into his view, “…what I was meaning to say before my mind goes all over the place is the kitchen should be pretty stacked although we’re only going to be here for a day or two. I had someone make sure of it so we don’t have to make any special trips but if you want to later—

“Andie,” art calls out to her making her blink and realize that she’s talking a lot, something she does when she’s stressing or needing some rest, “we’re good, get out of here.”

Her hands are on her hips now, “Are you trying to bully me, Donaldson?”

“No?” Art blinks.

“That’s what I thought. See you in a few hours and holler if you need anything.” She starts to walk off but Art follows her.

“…you do have weapons here right?”

She glances at him over her shoulder, “duh, who the hell do you think I am? Oblivious?”

“…what’s your middle name again?”

“Good night, art!” She waved her fingers in the air while Art is smirking.

“It’s morning!”

“Then tweet, tweet, bitch!” She calls back over the wall before she disappears and heads up the stairs.

Art can’t help but to let the bubbled laughter fly past his lips, heading to the right where the bedroom is waiting behind the sliding barn doors. Dumping his bags on a near by chair, he plops down on the side of the bed, resting his hands on his knees as he soaks in the stillness.

Flinging his body sideways to lay down, after staring out at the view for some time, he pulls out his phone to see a few texts from no other than Patrick.

The most recent says that Art’ll be seeing him and Tashi by the early or mid-afternoon at the latest, depending on when Tashi was ready to go. All Art did was like the message, placing his phone back on his belly before he closed his eyes.

Art is awakened by the stench of food and the goosebumps that decorate his skin. Rubbing at the new texture on his skin, he pushes himself up into a sitting position and peeks through his slumber eyes to get a sense for what time it is.

11:52AM

He gets to his feet, rubbing at his eyes and leaves his phone behind face down on the bed. Leaning in the doorway he looks both ways before stepping out onto the dark wood floor and heads back towards the front of the cottage. He spots Andra immediately facing his direction in the kitchen, leftovers of a sandwich in her hand while she’s sipping at some sort of smoothie.

“Morning sunshine, how did you sleep?”

Art leans against the counter from the opposite side and grins, “like a baby.”

“See the magic of this place yet?”

“I still need some convincing…maybe the last bite of that sandwich will help?”

“Oh you mean this one? That’s full of grease and has the potential to clog arteries? Aren’t you an athlete?”

Art gives a straight face, “doesn’t mean I can’t have cheat days and when did you become my trainer exactly?”

Andra pops her lips at the taste, leaning forward to mockingly toss the rest of the sandwich into her mouth.

Art leans away from the counter, “alright, okay. Your hospitality actually sucks and I rate this establishment zero stars.”

“You can’t chop me.”

“I just did.” Art states matter of factly as he starts making his way into the kitchen.

Andra scrunches up her nose, “always such a little baby! There’s one waiting for you in the toaster oven and I’ll be reporting this to the blogs.”

Art argues, “And you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“Classic answer,” Andra circles around Art now in her flowy white skirt to plop on the couch dramatically with a hand tossed against her forehead, “I thought you said you loved me, Arthur?”

“Oh c’mon, not the whole government name drop, Andromeda!” Art drags out her name around stuffing his face while Andra laughs laid out on the couch.

He preferred “Art,” over his full name any day and that’s what everyone’s known him as before he even made it big. That of course didn’t apply to his own parents who felt it was foolish to call their son by a nickname rather than what they gave to him at birth. They were less hard asses than Patrick’s parents but when it came to titles that’s where he and Andromeda related.

“I’ve been added to the group chat thanks to your side piece.” Andromeda waves her phone in the air.

Art takes her leftover smoothie and plops down beside her, sipping at and ignoring her raised brows, “what side piece?”

“Mickey mouse.” Andromeda tells as she shows the dark blond her phone, “Patrick says him and Tashi are now on the road so we should see them around 2 at the latest.”

Art slowly finishes chewing, elbows on his knees as he’s in thought, nodding at this information. He can’t exactly say he’s thrilled to have them here—as bad as it sounds considering 1/2 of the pair consists of his wife but he’ll keep that to himself.

Andra sits up then, shuffling to sit thigh to thigh with Art as she nudged his shoulder, “Take a minute and get ready, I’ll be outside enjoying the sun until I give you the rest of the tour.”

He questions with a lopsided grin, “there’s more?”

“Always.” She flashes her teeth at him, leaving Art to peer down at her lips briefly before she turns her head to look at the waterfront for a bit, leaving Art to analyze the profile of Andra’s face. The little chocolate chip mole by her hairline of her straight backs is something he always found cute no matter which way she wore her hair. Just like her finding the spec of honey brown on the side of his dark blue hues in his right eye.

She gets up, using his shoulder for leverage before she breezes by him smelling like caramel, peonies, and pink pepper—a mixture of many scents that matched her body chemistry quite well. Art lets out a long sigh, leaning back against the couch after she slides the door closed but that doesn’t stop him from watching her walk across the deck to sit pretty on the wicker egg chair.

Some time later Art makes his way out to the deck, freshly changed and dressed for the remainder of the day. He meets Andra out on the deck, leaning over it just as she’s getting off the phone.

“I don’t care when you bring it, Ahmed. All I know is that it better be back here by the time I come out here again. Yeah, yeah. Bye!” Andra ends the call while there’s amusement on Art’s face while he takes a spot right next to her.

He glances at her before looking back at the view, “are you out here tearing your big brother a new one?”

“Nooo, what gave you that idea?” She’s sarcastic although her smile is as sweet as can be.

She spins to rest her elbows on the banister, eyeing Art’s appearance. He meets her stare, raising his brows in question as she says, “The facial hair is a good look on you. What’s next? Growing your hair back out?”

Art snorts, “nah, I think that’s over for me. Too much maintenance.”

Andra hums as she waves him along, “let’s see the dock…wait did you put your sunscreen or bug spray on?”

“Uh no?”

“Not on my watch, Donaldson.” She charges right by him to the egg chair, coming back with a dropper, “hold out your wrists.”

“What is it?” He asks but complies as the oil is dropped right on his skin.

“Now pat it against your neck and ankles then finish with your wrists.” She instructs, “the mosquitoes are devils by the water and hate lemongrass.”

Art shakes his head with a smile, “whatever you say, mom.”

“That’s okay, clown me all you want but you’ll be thanking me by the time we’re inside for the night, free from bites.” She pats his waist on her way by to put the dropper back.

Together the friends make their way down the set of stairs to the lower level. They walk across the grass where Andra points to their left, showing where the shed is full of equipment for water activities.

“Paddle boarding?” Art quizzes as he caressed his facial hair, “I can’t picture it.”

“What? I can’t have other hobbies?” Andra asked, hands on her hips while staring at the man underneath her eyelashes.

Art shrugged, “course you can. I just remember a certain lake party where you were lounging by the lake instead of being in it.”

Andra shields her eyes from the sun as she turns up her glossed lips at the memory, “I’m surprised you remember that when you had your tongue down Divinia Alonto’s throat.”

“Did I?” Art inquires, “I was honestly so worried about my new friend not having a good time.”

“And keeping Patrick from getting his ass beat by one of those guys that’s probably a linebacker now.” Andra chuckles as she leads the way up the small hill towards the dock.

The air is warm just as the light breeze while the two travel some more together. It was funny thinking about it all, how Andra became acquainted with the pair, first watching them at the US open since she was visiting Ahmed who recently moved out to Queens, New York. She would later end up at Tashi’s match a week later, sitting on the bleachers not far from Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. She ended up introducing herself to the two prior and congratulated them on their win just for Patrick to invite her to a lake party they were attending that night.

Andra said she would think about it just as her pink LG chocolate phone was ringing. It was Tashi. Art even took it further to round off a number Andra can reach them at, leaving her to just stare at them in amusement.

“Aren’t you gonna type that in? Or do you need me to do it for you?” Patrick attempts to flirt but Andra just peers at him from underneath her oval purple and black glasses.

Andra laughs, “I’ve got it but if I need someone to lift a finger for me, I know just who to call. Later.”

“Later.” The boys echo as they watch her walk away.

“She wants me, dude.” Patrick leans back into Art’s shoulder as they both watch her hips sway, doing a signature spin while answering the phone.

“Yeah right, in your dreams!

“Hey,” Art speaks, his eyes were off to the right, “you never mentioned a court.”

Andra deeply exhaled as they both face it now, “that’s because I try to forget it every time I’m out here. After I purchased this property, my mom made it her mission to have one put out here as some sort of gift to me? Honestly it feels like torture porn to me but I shut my mouth and never use it.”

Art turned his eyes into slits, “if you don’t use it then somebody definitely does. What do you get up to out there in Alaska?”

It still shocked Art to hear that Andra settled out in Alaska these past few years. Of course she still traveled all over working with the most popular athletes, this he knew because he seemed to get the runaround whenever he mentioned her but Tashi deemed it as Andra still holding a grudge with her cutting Andra off after she transferred.

Art believed it was possible but eventually they reconnected instead.

“Lots of things,” Andra answers, “but you’d have to come out there and see.”

Art hums, “that another invitation?”

“As if you need anymore.” Andra looks at him and he holds her stare.

“…I think,” he starts as he leans towards her a bit, “I’d like to see if you still got it.”

Andra scoffs, “I don’t need to prove a damn thing.”

A smile twitches onto his lips, “sure you don’t but we’ve got nothing but time?”

“And we can enjoy that time by the dock underneath the sun. I know you like to get a little tan for the summer.” Andra argues with a cross of her arms.

Art rolls his eyes, “if you’re a chicken shit just say that.”

“If you wanna see me in a skort just say that.” Andra fired back, standing on her toes a bit to match his height.

Art presses his tongue into his cheek, looking off to think about it, “fine, you caught me! I’d love to.”

And the way he’s speaking to her makes Andra bite her bottom lip and Art knows he’s got her. He’s smirking as he tries to reach for her folded arms in attempt to hug her but she playfully slaps his hands away and points at him in warning.

They’ve worked up a good enough sweat on the indigo blue court. Art’s serving with the ball at the neck of the racket before he sends the ball over. Andra has no issue matching Art’s rhythm, he’s found his spark again but Andra knows he’s been tired of professional tennis. It just took him much longer than it did Andra. She knew right from the beginning that it wasn’t her sport although she was phenomenal at it.

It was a shame really because it seemed effortless. So causal she swung but it was always fast, her brows remained turned inward while the rest of her face remained calm despite the usual routine of pulling her bottom lip underneath her teeth. Art is so lost in the swing of things, picking up on Andra’s own tics that he tries to go for the ball at the last minute. Andra pulled another one of her moves, almost like a ballet twirl spinning just as she smacks the ball back to Art.

Stretching his arm just too far, Art hisses as he feels his shoulder sting almost like static radiating down his arm followed by a burning sensation. Andra sharply inhaled, eyes widening as she tosses the racket to the side. Moving around the net she’s down on her knees as Art lays on his back panting.

“Hey,” she speaks touching his shoulder which he lightly grips, “Let me.”

Carefully he moves his fingertips out the way, choosing to stare up at the sky for a while as Andra feels around. Art groans as she touches just at the crease of his armpit, surrounding by his old wounds.

“It’s a muscle spasm,” Andra informs as she digs her fingers along his skin, “breathe through it, Art.”

He pinches at the bridge of his nose, doing as instructed and croaks out, “my shoulder stood no chance, I should have known, you still got it and do that famous spin of yours.”

“Whatever,” Andra dismisses, “now look at you, all messed up, old man.”

Art huffs, “well I wouldn’t pick anybody else to look after me.”

Andra shakes her head with a small smile as she raises Art’s shoulder while still pushing back at the stubborn spasm. When Andra shakes his shoulder out to help relax it, she goes to raise it again but he’s sitting up now with a wince. With one hand he slips against the small of Andra’s back, making her inhale as she looks over at him.

“Am I hurting you?” She softly inquired, quickly checking in but Art shakes his head.

He’s pushing her to his lap and whispers into the summer air, “Never that.”

Before his lips are placed right on her’s.

Their noses are smashed together as their lips work together. Andra makes the move to grip Art’s jaw, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. He rubs at her back and squeezes her hips, matching her speed as if time is all they had.

Abruptly she pulls back, holding her lips while Art peers at her in alert. His eyes are even darker now but the spec of gold in that one eye is bright.

It’s such a pretty sight with his lips pink and panting.

“Art…what was that?” She questions behind her hands.

His hands don’t leave her frame as he breathes, “that was something I wanted to do since I hugged you for the first time in years at your grandpop’s party.”

She tilts her head at this news and moves to sit beside him against the hot court, “You’re married, Art.”

“I don’t think Tashi knows that.” Art mutters while Andra sighs.

“So this is about revenge?”

Art shakes his head, “no. It’s about finding what’s missing and you’re it.”

They both lock eyes and Andra doesn’t realize she’s leaning in until Art is kissing her again, pushing her back onto the court which burns her bare back in more ways than one. She hisses and Art pulls away and sits her up immediately as he cups her face, “…can we go inside?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Their grins are wide as they scramble to their feet like two old friends secretly up to no good. The excitement was real, doing something that most would frown upon but the pair were not the only two that moved to their own drums.

Andra’s helping Art remove his shirt, he playfully whines more than needed as she pulls it over his aching shoulder but reveals he’s just messing with her and it’s not anything he can’t handle. His hands find comfort right on her ass, pulling her lips right back to his as he lays back against the couch. It’s when he starts bucking his hips against her’s after she slips her tongue into his mouth that Art knows he’s in trouble.

“I’ve missed you, Andie.” He tells her as she presses kisses down his neck.

She pulls back, “how much?”

He managed to flip the two over, sliding his hand up her leg brushing her white skirt all the way up as he presses his front against the only cloth that’s left covering her. “That much.”

“Then I think we need to fix that, don’t you?” She quizzes, holding his face in her hands again.

His lips are pressed to her’s and she nips at his bottom one and just as he’s reaching to shove down his own pants, there’s knocks at the door.

Both of their gazes turn to the door and Art sits up.

“Special delivery!” A familiar voice screams behind the door.

Art clenched his eyes shut while Andra sits up on her elbows to pull her skirt back down.

“Sorry,” Art kisses her cheek while Andra just secured the satin pearl colored tie around her braids before handing him his shirt back.

Art can already see Andra closing up and he hates to see it. She waits for him to fix his shirt again, this time with the tag in the right place, and wipes the gloss from his lips before making her way to the front door.

Yanking the door open to stop the pounding at it, she spots a grinning Patrick with shades on leaning against the door. “Mickey! You don’t have to kick my door in to announce your arrival, we can hear you from up the street.”

“You sure? Didn’t want to startle your quality time, sweetheart.” Patrick clicks his teeth with a wink as he leans forward to smack a kiss to her cheek before squeezing his way by.

Andra yanks Patrick by his backpack and scowls at the back of his neck, “Take your shoes off in my house, asswipe.”

“Yeah, whatever you want. Got it.”

Andra steps onto the porch now, spotting Tashi with her phone pressed to her ear pacing back and forth. Patrick snickers as he makes his way over to Art, arms held out ready for an embrace but Art just gives him a side eye before choosing to move into the kitchen.

Tashi lifts her head just to meet Andra’s eyes on the porch. They watch each other, Tashi half expecting Andra to send her a Princess wave like old times but she doesn’t. Once Tashi starts crossing the lawn towards the steps is when Andra turns her body to lean her back against the front door. She sees Tashi’s mountain of bags resting on the porch and raises her brow at them.

“Hey,” Tashi greets shortly as her heels click against the porch.

Andra dips her head, “Hi, Tash. Have a nice ride up here?”

“I never would have picked this hick town for you even if it’s part time, what were you thinking?” Tash asked as she begins moving her bags into Andra’s home herself.

Once Art comes over, he silently grabs the last bag to bring in before putting space between him, Tashi and Patrick.

“I was thinking, my money, my choice.” Andra replies as she closes the door.

Patrick lets out a low whistle, arm stretched along the back of the couch, “easy with the claws ladies.”

Tashi glares, “Shut the fuck up, will you?”

“Don’t start.” Andra warns the dark haired man who just shrugs, peeking over at Art with his tongue out in silent laughter who’s shaking his head at him.

Tashi surveys the cottage, heading to the waterfront view while looking left and right. “So what’s the sleeping arrangements?”

“Art’s on this level, I’m upstairs, Pat and you can have the couches.”

Patrick bounces on the one he’s sitting on now, “cool.”

“Right,” Tashi snorts, “So the room with the barn doors? Got it.”

Andra sends a look to Art who just moves the tension from his jaw. Tashi picks up on this and says, “what have you two been up to?”

“Yeah! It’s a nice set up you got here, Andra! I’m sure there’s plenty and nothing to do.” Patrick’s fishing but they’re not taking the bait.

Art decides to change the subject, “have you two eaten?”

“We stopped at that one place for breakfast before we left but I’m always down to decide what’s for dinner.” Patrick admits while Tashi rolls her eyes.

The now blonde haired woman brushes by Andra, “I’m going to bring my things into the room while you guys figure out how to entertain yourselves.”

Andra follows after Tashi as she’s going back and forth, bringing her things and arranging them and Art’s things. Andra sits on the edge of the bed waiting for Tashi who raises a brow at her. Art lets out a long exhale as he listens to the door slide closed and Patrick gets to his feet to place his backpack on the floor. Stretching his arms above his head, he moves towards the wall where the front door is to mess with the record player.

“Just make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Art mutters to Patrick as he flicks through some records and picks a random one to place down.

Patrick shrugs, “what am I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait for you to talk to me?”

“You’re lucky that Andra even opened the door.”

“What is this? You finding a new team member to replace me? Don’t forget that I’m always your number one.” Patrick leaves the needle off as he burns his stare into Art who’s resting his hands on the counter.

“Are you fucken serious right now? No way are you saying that to me when you did what did behind my back, again.”

Patrick rests his hand on his chest, “you’re acting as if I knew, which I didn’t, and what we’ve been over already! I would never try to take Lily away in the first place, I’m fine being uncle Patrick and I’ll still love her regardless.”

“Well shit, thanks for your permission!”

In the room, Tashi has now taken a space on the bed, arms crossed while Andra stands in front of her. “…Do you really think being here smothering him is the best choice?”

“Smothering?” Tashi scoffs, “Art fucked off for two weeks and he folded right into your arms. Whether you like it or not, I’m his wife and he’ll always need me.”

“Tashi…you had him believing that lily was his—

“She is!” Tashi exclaimed, “you honestly think Patrick would be a good father and god forbid a husband? They’re not children, they’re men and should start acting like it. Those white boys wouldn’t be shit without me and you know it, which is why you walked away.”

Andra frowned, “I don’t have anything to do with your relationships with Pat and Art so I don’t appreciate you trying to wrap me into your bullshit. I’ve been out the mix, sis. You’re already in my house, which takes a lot of balls from the both of you after you did Art dirty.”

“Art, art, art, art, art! Jesus! Did you fuck him already? Was it even better now than back when you were nineteen?”

One thing about Tashi, she knew how to be so disrespectful. However it had no effect on Andra as a smile split over her lips at the blunt short haired woman. It wasn’t a secret that Art was Andra’s first before he decided to start going after Tashi. They were each other’s flings and that was good enough for Andra as long as he wasn’t screwing anybody else that didn’t deserve him. It was her mistake then and maybe it would have been her mistake now if they had more time on that couch.

She didn’t need Tashi picking at scabs.

“Would that make you feel better?” Andra asked with a tilt of her head, “voluntarily giving us a pass for what exactly? To even the score?”

Tashi smirks, “You were always my greatest weapon and I don’t get even, I win.”

Patrick stands on the other side of the counter, taking Art’s glare, “I don’t know what you want from me, man. We were back to normal, great even! I’m at my best and you’re going out with a bang, don’t let this ruin how far we’ve come.”

Art huffs, “I’ll decide.”

“Fine, whatever you want but don’t make it another thirteen years.” Patrick snaps, “…where’s the booze?”

Andra pats at her scalp in frustration, “if you have any respect for me as a past friend, you’ll do right.”

“What’s your definition of right?” Tashi rolls her hands around trying to understand, “Leaving when it gets tough and having unrequited love?”

“What’s yours?” Andra debates stepping to Tashi who gets up in her face, “Cheating on your husband, having a baby on him, lying to him for years, and still walking around like the mean girl you are? Let me tell you something Ms. bob, we’re grown now and it’s tired.”

Tashi sizes Andra up, “it’s cute that you think you have a back bone now. Took you long enough.”

“Keep trying me and you’ll see just how that back bone works.”

Tashi kisses her lips at Andra who steps back, “great talk.”

“You haven’t changed and I don’t think you ever will. I’m glad I walked away from this friendship years ago, you make me sick.” Andra snips over her shoulder as she reaches for the handles.

Tashi fans her hand, “oh fuck you and your excuses. You’re just looking to point the finger at every bad guy to make yourself feel better about your lack of drive for anything.”

“What?” Andra whips around, “You’re the only miserable one I see here. At first I thought it was ambition but that turned into greed and then control. You’re just mad that I would no longer let you diminish my voice. I’ve had enough of that with my own mother! I’m not tennis, I’m more than that, which you’re not and that bothers you so maybe you’re the one that’s really sick.”

Tashi claps it up while Andra stares up at the ceiling, “glad you finally found your voice and told me how you really feel in person, instead of laying it out to the public like you should have. Only took you forever.”

Andra shrugs her shoulders, “if I have something to say, I’ll say it to your face.”

Tashi hums as she steps to Andra this time, brown eyes scanning over her features,“Tell me more.”

“I don’t want to do this with you anymore, Tash.” Andra’s hands are up in the air, “I removed myself from the situation long ago and after this weekend here, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We just don’t mesh and that’s okay, I have boundaries and you have crazy standards that you expect everybody to follow. Art and I were cool before you came into the picture—

“Aht, don’t do that. We were high school friends before Art. Why should some man come between us?”

This was true, Andra and Tashi were the best of friends anyone can have as teenagers starting from their junior year. This wasn’t their first fight and wouldn’t be their last. They were in different groups by the time Andra came along since she was from Virginia but her family moved out to California when she was fourteen. They knew of each other since they had gym class together but didn’t get the chance to form a friendship until they were sixteen.

“You don’t get it,” Andra sighs, “it wasn’t just Art. It was everything for me and it would have killed me so I chose a different path. If you wanna be mad at me still over that, fine. We can’t change each other.”

“You honestly think that’s what our relationship was?” Tashi pries, “it was about challenging each other and shaping each other into the best of the best.”

Andra tightens her stare, “So tell me Tash, do you like the result?”

Tashi inhales, thoughts wandering as there’s more harsh knocks at the door. Andra deeply frowns figuring it’s Patrick who locked himself out as she looks away from Tashi, sliding the doors back to peek out. She can’t see from the doorway but she also doesn’t hear Patrick or Art talking.

The knocking sounds again and Andra steps out, followed by Tashi. Andra sees Art walking over to the door while Patrick brings his attention away from tinder on his phone.

“I thought it was you,” Andra tells Patrick, shoving his shoulder, making him lift his head to peek up at her.

Patrick snorts, “nah. My serve is more baseline.”

Tashi walks along the path between the couch and sliding doors, peering at the view of the afternoon sky turning lightly yellow against the blue. There’s birds in the sky but they’re flying further away. All of their heads turn back to the knocking, leaving Art to unlock it before Andra tells him to ask who it is.

Her attention is pulled away as Patrick starts carrying a conversation about dinner but she’s curious to who’s at the door. She see’s Art standing up straight before closing the door, locking it while holding a piece of paper.

“Who was it?” Patrick examines as Art makes his way over to the three still holding onto a fallen paper.

The blond shrugs, “some girl looking for some other girl.”

“God, I hope it didn’t slip to the paps that we’re out here.” Tashi actually seems uneasy about that, perhaps this news was more damaging than she was letting on.

Art replies, “Yeah that would not be great.”

“I mean…would it be the worst?” Patrick sits up on his elbows, “The press is hot right now and I’m the hottest topic—which I should be.”

“Yeah mainly for having a kid with your coach, who happens to be my wife.” Art retorts, “You should be so proud.” He flicks the paper into the air, leaving Patrick to reach up and snatch it.

Patrick turns his attention to Andra who’s sitting on the other side of the lounging shaven man, “…you never told us this was some religious town.”

“What?” Andra frowns, trying to not dissociate.

Patrick holds the paper up in the air as if it’s show and tell, “Latter-day saints? Don’t tell us you invited us here to join a cult?”

“I didn’t invite you!” Andra declared while Patrick flicks the paper to the ground and raised his hands in surrender.

Tashi asks Art, “what’s the name of the girl she said she was looking for?”

“It wasn’t Tashi.” Art notifies, “don’t worry.”

Tashi breathed out a laugh, “me? Never.”

Art moves to sit at the dining table glancing at the three in the room. Andra’s gone quiet, Patrick’s humming a tune while he’s messing around with his phone again, and Tashi is burning her stare into him. He knows they’re going to have to talk at some point during this trip but for now?

“Andie and I ate not too long ago but nows a good as time as any to decide what to eat for dinner. So…any suggestions?” Art questions, eyes moving around the sitting room.

Tashi mumbles that it doesn’t matter, arms crossed as she also seems to have a lot on her mind. Patrick is sitting up against the arm of the couch now, blabbing about many options that most likely wasn’t in the fridge or freezer. Art’s eyes are on Andra as she moves to pull the large curtain over the sliding doors, which makes Tashi eye Art watching her as well.

Andra moves back to the kitchen, pulling out some already prepared items from her assistant to rest on the counter. Patrick’s back at the record player and Tashi has now taken Patrick’s spot on the couch.

The braided woman flinches as she feels hands lightly grip her hips. “Hey, are you okay?”

Andra nods, “yeah…I think so. You?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” Art whispers into her ear.

Andra utters, “just need to get through tonight.”

“Yup. Perhaps slow and steady wins this race?” Art guesses as he swiftly presses a kiss to Andra’s hairline by her personalized chocolate chip.

When he leaves her side, Art catches Patrick’s eyes who has his brows raised at that exchange, waiting for Art to tell him something with Art’s own eyes. Art just shifts his blues, leaving the main area to take a minute to himself. That doesn’t last as Patrick shortly follows after Art, seeking answers about what his plan was with Andromeda.

Tashi turns to Andra as Patrick disappears into her shared room with her husband.

“Guess it’s our turn to be fucking housewives, huh?”

Andra leans her elbows along the counter, feeling a cramp in her stomach while she breathed through it, “the real ones just exited the scene.”

Tashi laughs at this as she pushes to her feet looking for a drink. She wouldn’t exactly call this, “happy hour,” but it’ll do for now. Andra knows it’s bad luck not to cheers and Tashi Duncan was one of the last people she wanted to do so with but Andra had a feeling that she didn’t want anymore bad luck.

So the glasses clinked while Patrick and Art hashed it out behind the barn doors. Outside of the cottage by the water, stands a darkened silhouette underneath the slight shade of a dogwood tree, just lurking and waiting for the right time to rally.

Dollface would soon be ready for the next task once the hours passed with some friends to bring to the match.

.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *

Continue with my summer anthology writings & prompts here.

[flowerflamestars]

the rolling in the graves reread thoughts/ favorite lines/moments:

Chapter 1

"He thought, some nights, of walking into it." "Himself, Autumn-gutted and war-torn: the trees might as well swallow him whole." -- AAAAHHHH my poor forest baby T-T

Lucien contemplating starting a forest fire.

Eris contemplating if Rhysand has a domesticity kink.

"He didn’t want to be alone, in this strange body of his." *cue more screaming* "Blending where he didn’t belong had been Lucien’s whole life, of course he was subtle." T-T

Lucien, sun drunk, losing his shit. Nesta walks in while he's naked and absolutely nothing sexy happens and I love it.

Lucien's longing for home including the sound of Eris's real laugh and his dogs.

The last summit. The image of Feyre in the most obscenely eye catching dress possible insisting that she didn't want attention. And the fact that people were probably still gossiping about the fact the Nesta and Elain hadn't been there.

“Feyre was busy stealing me.” Someone please rescue my fox baby

The Night Court is afraid of Jurian.

"Nesta Archeron lived, and no on in this court wanted her living."

"That Lucien wanted, horrifically, to be touched. To reach out, to all that fearsome strength, and touch."

Chapter 2

Rhysand trying to call in Eris and Eris being like "Ha, ha. no We're doing this my way." A way which includes every diplomatic formality he can muster and the IC having a whole ass dinner/meeting just to bitch about it. (Azriel keeping his mouth full of alcohol to avoid having to talk to anybody.) Elain making off with the whole cake.

The Laugh That Changed The World.

Cassian scowling at the sight of Nesta being genuinely happy in someone else's presence how dare.

I'm suddenly having thoughts about the fact that what changed everything between them was Nesta's genuine unbridled laughter and one of the things Lucien misses when he thinks of 'home' is Eris's genuine laughter. (not meaning to imply Lucien's having any sexy thoughts about his brother. Maybe a representation of Lucien wishing the people he cared about were safe to feel and express such laughter. Words hard. Thoughts not wording good. I think I remember "Lucien missed his terrible, awful brother" from a snipit)

"She was so fucking gorgeous, and utterly unable to ask for what she wanted. It seemed possible she’d never had the chance." *screaming again*

"Nesta opened her eyes and showed Lucien pure, molten silver fire."

“Absolute authority and eternity should mean something.”

“He pulled away?” Lucien just sounds so, so offended that Cassian pulled away. Like, this dude, this asshole, could have all the Nesta bites in the world and he pulled away. Lucien just trying to reassure Nesta that the biting thing is natural and being like "You can bite me when ever you want" and also being like "Please bite me. please please pretty please."

"Nesta Archeron was not easy, but Lucien thought Andras would have liked her too." T-T

Feyre and Rhysand insisting that humans were under their authority and then proceeding to not really give a shit when Lucien tries to tell them about them.

Feyre only caring about Lucien going to see Elain.

"There was no question as to whether Elain would be present- she did not seem to use her magic for anything but to avoid him, and Lucien couldn’t blame her. There were only so many awkward conversations one could have with someone magic and tradition insisted you want, where absolutely no spark lived- and it remained easier to just go, than fight Feyre."

“If you smell like blood, it’s usually mine and you’re much, much happier.”

Feyre buying Elain a house and painting it completely in nursery colors. Elain and Nesta repainting the rooms Elain actually uses.

“Someday,” Lucien said, leaning down to kiss beneath her ear, “I want you to fuck me.” I think I speak for the whole Lucien fandom when I say that we all want to see Lucien get pegged.

“Do you think,” Lucien asked, “Elain will ever tell Feyre?” “What? That she’s about as romantically inclined toward you as she might be” “A chair? A hunk of stone?”

“For three people obsessed with fucking each other, It is staggering they’ve never managed it, in half a millennia.”

Lucien finding Cassian's fixation/obsession with Nesta uncomfortably familiar. What other man might we know of that's over-controlling and possessive of his powerful wife. gee I wonder. (not)

"You hate it.” “What I like doesn’t matter.” *rage*

"Choking on pollen, stupid Spring cravats, cutting out pieces of himself until there was nothing left. He didn’t need to like Ceylon velvet. Itchy lace. Stag hunts with dogs and horses and arrows, when Lucien had fought wyvern with his bare hands as a boy. He didn’t need to like Tam’s rules or the courtiers jokes, the endless pale fucking roses- Until Lucien had talked himself into walking after Ianthe in that cave, let Tamlin flay him to the bone for disloyalty-" *more rage*

“It matters. Your husband should care to know.”

"But Feyre just laughed, wine glass jaunty in her grip, and admittedly blithely to bumping up against all their shields- Rhysand hadn’t even taught her to keep her magic to herself. Just that power, power, was hers. For the having, and taking." *rage again*

"The North had enough men who used emotion as an excuse- enough faeries in this whole fucking world, who’d made anger a haunting."

"Nesta folded her cheek on top of his head, one of those not quite right, even for High Fae, motions that snuck into her mannerisms when no one was watching, like she didn’t have joints. That Lucien got to see." *That Lucien got to see. That Lucien got to see. THAT LUCIEN GOT TO SEE*

"The sword of a Queen if he’d ever seen one, blade imbued with screaming, forest-fire wild wrath and beautiful for it."

"Lucien had done worse things than say yes, for the hope of belonging." have we rescued our fox baby yet? I think we need to rescue our fox baby.

"One of the things about Feyre that both charmed and wore, as time went on, was that she saw love in an utterly human way. Childlike. Rhysand was her soulmate- her only interest, her sole desire, the best she’d ever have. Lucien had wondered, more than once, if they were even friends."

To Feyre, love was an ending, happy. To an immortal- to perhaps, Nesta Archeron, smiling at him sidelong, it was an open door."

"She would have burnt the sky. If they hadn’t sought out to humiliate her from the start, hated Nesta human before she ever found a power than could cleave forever- she’d set fire to the world, for those she loved. But not for herself. None of them deserved her."

“Earlier. I am usually happier. You make me happy.” *excuse me while I sob*

"All fire wanted, was to be free. To burn."

“You owe me.” Lucien Vanserra said, burnt bright and alive for it, beloved of this place where he’d never been, “So help me.” It would take a High Lord you said? Pardon me, I'll be right back. I'm gonna go traumatize my dad/give him a heart attack.

ANYWAY, lovely story is lovely. I deeply, dearly love all the non-sexual intimacy. The cuddling! The "That Lucien got to see". The *flailing gestures to whole fic* EVERYTHING.

so, anyway, reread hearts <3 <3 <3

(I really need to figure out how to do emojis on my laptop keyboard)

this has filled me with delight and joy!! and fully reminded me how much I love this story <3

thoughts thoughts thoughts: you're poking at one my favorite through-lines, which is that it is an AFFAIR, a sexy sexy affair and they're going at it like crazy, a thing they are both pretending is The Only Thing Happening, when in reality it is...maybe the least important aspect to their relationship from either of their perspectives?

(despite the desperate horniness)

Eris actually shows up next chapter, and continues to be pure comedy.

No, but the laugh thing IS something- Lucien hasn't felt safe in. forever, really. A very, very long time. He's not at a point where he dreams about that for himself. He wants the people he loves to be safe. He's so, so, so deeply sad but he lets himself actually be mad beyond belief over other people. Fox babe IS burning it all to the ground on his way out.

And he just. god, he loves SO HARD.

Enough to reveal that he does know about his secret birthright and just completely shatter Helion's heart in the process, along with committing himself to a full-scale Autumn rebellion, if it gets Nesta out. With the hope that maybe, MAYBE, she'll want to help him...with all that.

[shi-daisy]

The Last Evergreen Heir

Hello everyone! We start the week for best book boy today and I am ready to bring feels. Here's a lil fic of Tamlin's eldest brother seeing snipets of his reign. (Follows A Court of Threads & Daisies continuity) Hope you like!

@tamlinweek

Tamlin Week 2024- Day 1- Heir of Spring

The Last Evergreen Heir

"If you end up getting high from eating those tulips I'm blaming Ciaran." Dorevan said as he held baby Tamlin.

The giggly baby had eaten more than half the garden, as his tiny hands were faster than Dorevan's adult ones. Still, as he looked back Tamlin had used his magic to make the flowers bloom again after her ate them.

"That's a lot of a magic for a tiny child like you...Does this mean you shall be heir?!"

Tamlin didn't respond he just tilted his head as the loud question and coed, reaching for Dorevan's face.

His eldest brother rolled his eyes. "Don't even think about it kiddo. It's between me and Cece, and I don't intend to lose the court to the stoner or to you, flower eater. I've been here longest and dealt with father before either of you were born. I'm the heir, do well to remember!"

But Tamlin didn't remember, because he was just a baby who didn't see a man lecturing him, or at least attempting to, he just saw his eldest brother carrying him back to the manor.

***

He'd said it, been cruel about it, drilled into the youth's head that he was not to threatening his claim.

It didn't matter. By process of elimination Tamlin Evergreen was now High Lord of Spring.

He could see his body as a ghost, he died reaching for his father who was but a spalt of gore on the wall. Rosabella was still on the bed with the life choked out of her, while Ciaran was slumped against the bed, trying to comfort Tamlin before he too joined them in death.

He knew the pair reconciled today, mere hours before Night came to them and slaughtered everyone in revenge. Dorevan tried to place his hand on Tamlin's shoulder as he cried for his other brother. Neither deserved the tears, but when had that ever stopped the musician from giving them all undeserved love?

"No more tears, you're the heir. It's time to toughen up! You'll do well...You'll do better than either of us..."

***

He'd been right, for Spring bloomed under the rule of the unexpected High Lord.

Dorevan remained a ghost while his parents and brother reincarnated. He decided to stick around and see what Tamlin would do as a ruler, someone had to tell him he did a good job, even if he couldn't hear it.

The flowers bloomed, the court was paradise, the people loved him and Tamlin remained ever humble and sentimental. He was indeed the best out of them.

'If only I'd seen it sooner, and been a better brother.'

Lamenting would do nothing now, but he did stand beside the throne and smiled, placing his hand upon Tamlin's head. "I'm so proud of you, I know mother would be too."

Tamlin's emerald eyes darted around the room, as if he'd heard him...

***

His baby brother wept again as another sentry was lost. Lucien held him in his arms while the pair kneeled on the floor, the other soldiers present grieved by his side, still none of them refused their duty. They never would, not with this High Lord.

Amarantha had cursed him...Bloody wench always gave the impression she'd be trouble, Dorevan just didn't think she'd be this much!

"Falling for a fae hating human...pity we can't make Jurian turn back from the ring, he's your type...Maybe I shouldn't be joking around."

Dorevan remained with Tamlin until he fell asleep in tears. The man tried to be though, well not tried, he was though.

"If I was in your position right now I would've jumped off the roof...You're a though cookie Tam. Let it out, they'll understand. I know you'll make it. You're a good High Lord.

***

Andras was with him when his brother brought the girl, and throught their cute romance that resulted in the broken curse and the restoration of Spring.

But just as he thought Tamlin got his happy ending and he could leave...the cursebreaker became a cursebringer tearing down the court that had been unwavering for milenia.

Oisin would be furious, Ciaran disapointed...Rosabella might understand but then again their mother was a saint and a sensitive sould.

Dorevan just broke, upon seeing the once proud ruler of Spring become but a beast swallowed by pain as he court emptied and left him tot he decay.

"We can't help him. Dore, we need to trust him. He'll rise again."

Dorevan wasn't so sure, he knew how frail his baby brother's heart was. He just hoped in time Tamlin would heal and recover, making the court bloom again as only he could.

"Don't worry, little one. We will look over you, until you rise again."

***

He wouldn't, not as High Lord of Spring or Evergreen Heir. Tamlin was now a civillian of Spring, after his wrists spilled crimson and he nearly joined him and the other ghosts of the manor.

Dorevan thanked Lucien a thousand times for saving his baby brother, but he hadn't been able to save his power.

"So, Tamarand shall be heir now?" He asked Daphne as they waited in the foyer with the other ghosts.

"I suppose so. Don't worry, he'll have Tamlin to guide him, he shall be good."

"I don't doubt that...I'm just saddened at the end of the Evergreen dynasty. This isn't how Tam would've wanted it to go."

It had been a shock, to meet a half sister in the afterlife and find out he had triplet half siblings. The two living ones were probably heading to the manor now, with the new Heir of Spring.

Still, even if he trusted things would work in the end, Dorevan's eyes couldn't be pried from Tamlin and Lucien. They seemed to think the same as him.

Tamlin is heir no more.

***

Though one could argue it didn't matter. That he was able to shine far brighter and work much better with another man as heir. Tamlin had carried the weight of the crown better than any man in his position could and now he was helping another be better than him, wiser than him, maybe even more beloved than him.

No, no that last one was debatable. Tamarand was an exemplary man, and he'd be a great High Lord. But all of Spring reveared and still adored one Tamlin Evergreen.

He'd been pulled back to life by Rhysand, just an experiment, a way to torment him and his baby brother more, but Rhysand didn't know that his own wife and cousin were on their side, and that between them all they'd put an end to his cursed reign and his circle.

He had the honor of fighting alongside Tamlin, and seeing how the little baby he once held had become a fierce warrior that helped snuff away the Night.

When the battle was over and he went back to Spring his with his family Dorevan had been able to see a court blooming beautifully. It was better than what Oisin could've done, better than what he or Ciaran could've done, it was perfection, achieved by the youngest and kept by their half brother. Truly the ending they deserved.

Dorevan walked the same gardens he did as when they were young. Tamlin was no longer a baby, and thankfully he didn't eat the tulips but rather he helped them bloom.

"You better not eat that or I'll blame Cece."

The youngest Evergreen chuckled. "Can't, he isn't here..."

"Yeah. I miss him, but I am happy to be back, and even happier to see you still standing here. I'll make up for lost time, and I'll be a better brother, I promise."

Tamlin leaned on his shoulders. "Thank you. I'm happy to have you back."

"There's something I don't regret though. Something I stand by even after centuries in the afterlife."

"What's that?"

"You were the best out of us three and I'm so very proud of you Tamlin. You let our dynasty go out on a high note."

Just like he did as a baby, Tamlin smiled with teary emerald eyes and a sense of pride.

"It was an honor to have been heir of Spring."

[achaotichuman]

Hii again! I'm the anon who rambled about Andras and sorry! I just saw how long my ask came out and I would like to blame the fact that I was sleep-deprived, but that would be a half-truth, because I tend to yap when I'm really passionate about something ahahaha and YES! I completaly agree! Feyre literally never mention him again, like he was never important (as if his life wasn't, even though it changed hers completaly) and she never think of him, how SJM never makes him appear even as a thought of one (the first dare I say) of the lives that Feyre took. And yes it's a nice hc (a very angsty one for sure) to think how things could've gone with Feyre and Tamlin, but like you said thats not how canon went and it's really something I will always be bitter about, because how it did Tamlin (and Lucien! And their relationship!) dirty and as I said: I will never forget nor forgive, I'm sorry.

Sometimes it seems as SJM has a plot twist ready or is building up to reveal how everything was a plan of Rhysand or something more sinister, but I really don't expect anything from her, like the bar is not only low, but it's nonexistent basically. Aaaand, thank you for your kind reply! If it's not a bother I would like to come back sometimes to share some rants/opinions! Thank you again and sorry for this new ask! I hope you're having a good day/night! ♥ (In the meantime I truly believe that Tamlin and/or Lucien have made something to remember and to never forget Andras and all the sentinel that sacrificed themself for their court ♥)

Yes! To all of this! I love it!

When I finished Silver Flames J was convinced Sarah had to be doing something with Tamlin and the SC because there was too much a trail for healing/redemption for her not to utilise it. But when I go back and read passages, it more or less just looks like SJM did a shit job of writing an actual abusive relationship rather than laying out a path for Tamlin to be redeemed. It seems to me she sees nothing wrong at all with Rhysand or the IC, and any form of redemption has to end with the villainised person grovelling for forgiveness which honestly sickens me.

Tamlin and as you said Lucien and their relationship and Andras were all done so so dirty. I personally headcanon that Spring has a statue of Andras and the gardens of spring are all flowers that were planted in honour of the sentries that died for their lands. (Which is also a sorta angsty headcanon as when Spring is left for dead and its just Tamlin, the statue and the flowers he’s a “high lord of a graveyard” but thats a plot point for my fic as well)

Andras deserved to be honoured rightfully and he never was. SJM’s writing pisses me off so much.

Thank you for sharing this wonderful rant! Please come back with more rants, hcs and everything else inbetween, I would love to hear them!! You have a great night/day too!!

[northern-polaris]

Memento Mori

hey so I know its been the better part of a year since I wrote any fic stuffs but I managed to finally crawl out of my writing funk long enough to make this thingy. I was supportively bullied into posting this so blame a CERTAIN SOMEONE(THEY KNOW WHO THEY ARE): 

Summary: Tamlin may be the only living thing in the ruins of the manor, but he is certainly not alone.

“See, it’s shit like this,” Andras seemed to have gestured to the carnage that surrounded them both. The debris and broken remnants of the once pristine room laid scattered across the fractured marble floor, “that makes people have trouble warming up to you.”

Tamlin didn’t deign him with a response, not bothering to look up from the bloody deer carcass he was sluggishly gnawing on.

Andras continued, “I’m pretty sure there’s these things called plates, y’know?”

Silence stretched on save for the wet sounds of slurping and crunching.

“How about silverware, hmm?”

Still nothing.

“At least a napkin, no?”

A loud swallow echoed throughout the remains of a chamber, followed by more chewing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tamlin saw movement drawing near. The other was meandering closer to him, seemingly exasperated with the lack of response or reaction.

“I ought to tell ya’, Tim-tam,” the old nickname sat comfortable on Andras’ tongue. “This is really fuckin’ hard to watch.”

Tamlin tried to center all his focus on the entrails and innards of the doe, how the flesh, blood, and bone slid down this throat and gave reprieve from the agonizing hunger. He carefully did not think about the fawn that had been accompanying its mother before she ended up on this cold, dirty floor.

“Hey, Tam,” There was a strange hesitancy in his voice that wasn’t there before in the other visits. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” Tamlin finally closed his maw, blood slowly leaking down his stained chin. The rhythmic dripping was the only thing that dared to break the silence. Lifting his head by a fraction, he deliberately kept his eyes glued to where the floor met the wall across from him; away from the other presence that occupied the room.

Finally, Tamlin spoke, “No.” His voice was scratchy and gruff from disuse. Another long period of nothingness persisted before Andras crept closer.

His friend charged the air with a huff of amusement. “Good.” he breathed out. Andras crawled even closer, but Tamlin kept his gaze glued away��he couldn’t bear to look.

Andras was right in front of him now. No, No–don’t look tear your eyes away don’t look it hurts please–

A bloody, meaty thing resembling a hand gently touched his chin and lifted Tamlin’s head upwards.

One eye a vibrant yellow, the other a gaping hole occupied by an arrow.

A face, body, corpse devoid of skin.

Andras tilted his head with a chuckle. “I wasn’t plannin’ on going anywhere anyways.”

Tamlin felt the other's hot breath dust his face as the phantom leaned in.

A giggle.

“Us ghosts have to stick together, right?” 

[ts2cambremon]

Cambremon- the events so far (pt.3)

See here for: Part 1 / Part 2

A heart-broken Galina made a deal with Bone Spirit, and asked for Ren to become obsessed with her, in exchange for the life of her unborn child.

Unfortunately, when the spirit asked for some of her hair, she gave the spirit a comb which held some of Kadja's hair.

Meanwhile, Kadja criticized one of the guards, Ivan, for his treatment of Serfs. He took this opportunity to let her know that he was aware that mana had gone missing. Caught off-guard, Kadja agreed to task him with the search for the mana.

Ren was starting to show more and more signs of being obsessed... but with Kadja.

Ren's disgust for Galina, on the other hand, was getting worse. Galina was growing desperate, beginning to understand that she had been tricked by Bone Spirit.

The situation was made worse by Ferenia, who spread the rumor that Kadja was Ren's lover... and made sure Galina knew about it, by mentioning it to her personal Serf in front of her door.

Meanwhile, Guard Ivan revealed himself to have been behind the mana theft. Acting as a middle-man for Galina, he convinced one of the Intendancy workers, Chel, to procure the mana in exchange for large sums of money.

The departure of the expedition was imminent, and Ren nominated his younger half-siblings, Inna and Lef, guardians of the hub in his absence. He also insisted on that Kadja should join the expedition.

Kadja tried to talk Ren out of his decision. She argued that one less Mage in the hub could prove disastrous, as there would be insufficient power to stave off the winter winds. Ren brushed her off, and mentioned that he had already found a solution for this problem.

Guard Ivan, sensing this was a good time to gain favour with the Cambremon lord, revealed to Ren and Kadja who had stolen the mana. He carefully worded his revelation to blame Galina and not implicate himself.

Ren was furious that Galina had stolen mana. While he wanted to get rid of her, divorce would cause tensions with her powerful family, and especially with her sister Serna, the richest merchant in the hub. Ivan offered to find a 'solution' to this problem by killing Galina while Ren was away, conveniently buying himself an opportunity to avoid joining the expedition.

Meanwhile, spiders swarmed and attacked the Intendancy. The Intendants and their helpers barely managed to push them back, and Chel was gravely injured. Andra and Ren's arrival managed to turn the tide of combat, and the spiders were all killed.

Ren approached Kadja after the fight, but she was uneasy with his recent behaviour and newfound attention towards her.

Bruk came to visit Chel, who was revealed to be his mother. Kadja started by comforting him, but in turn, Bruk comforted her, as Kadja expressed her terror about having to join the expedition.

Ren's "solution" to the problem of the winter winds was revealed: he and Andra summoned Bone Spirit, and made a deal with them. In exchange for the safety of the hub during their absence, Ren promised the spirit that he would make a sacrifice. Although the spirit had asked for someone of Cambremon lineage, Ren managed to change the terms, to sacrifice someone of Cambremon blood, one year after their safe return to the hub.

The expedition was off.

Their first challenge, an attack by demon hounds, was easily overcome. Andra dispatched them quickly with some fireballs.

Kadja ran into conflict with the Guards when she defended Janviya, Galina's personal Serf, who had been requisitioned for the mission. To protect her, Janviya was assigned to be Andra's personal Serf during the expedition.

In the aftermath of this conflict, Ren made his attraction towards Kadja plain. Kadja rejected his advances, arguing that he was a married man.

[girl4music]

Fully listened to the new Audible series for ‘Wynonna Earp: Tales From Purgatory’. I loved it. I feel like they have the right format here. My favourite episodes were ‘I’m Not Gonna Miss You’, ‘Another You’ and ‘Biscuits’.

WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD!

First off, I want to say that I am kinda sad about Jeremy and Damon splitting off but then we never knew much of them anyway. I too felt it was way too soon to be u-hauling. I guess moving in together after having just met each other isn’t exclusive to lesbians. But you could tell that Jeremy was just on the rebound and that’s not healthy. Especially considering he just wanted “normal” because really… that’s such a fantasy in this weird and wacky world of Wynonna fucking Earp and Nicole learned that lesson big time in ‘Vengeance’.

But in true Emily Andras fashion - we lose one couple to gain another. A new WLW couple. More episodes with them and WayHaught showing them the ropes on how to have a decent love life in crazy, chaotic Purgatory would not be too much to ask if they continue this on.

Welcome to the Earper family London and Tess. I’m sure the fandom is working on your ship name already.

We finally got some answers on Rachel’s whereabouts during ‘Vengeance’. I still think she could have at least been mentioned though. I mean how hard was it to put in a “I hope Rachel’s having a good time in…” or just… something to that effect from her adopted parents to show us that they still gave a shit about the orphan girl.

I loved how romantic and caring Nedley was in his episode and how his wife having amnesia was the inspiration provided for Nicole to stop letting her busy work life as the Sheriff get in the way of domestic life. The honeymoon phase for WayHaught may be over but marriage requires sacrifice and compromise if it’s to last forever. You can’t take any moments for granted - bad or good - because you may find the happiest of memories get lost along the way. It was a very poignant and thought-provoking narrative and it’s probably why it’s my most favourite episode out of all 6 episodes.

I also liked that we got confirmation that Wynonna and Doc spent some time with their daughter before moving on to Dollywood and Tombstone and I like the explanation for why Wynonna felt Alice should stay with Aunt Gus and not come along with them. It made sense because Wynonna’s never been one for conventional. But I do hope if they continue this Audible series they’ll have her grow out of that chronic aversion to nesting because Alice does need her mother. Her real mother. Especially more so now her father’s not in the picture.

All in all I was satisfied with what I heard but I want more. And I want more in this format instead of on Tubi because I still do not trust them to handle WEARP well and you can’t blame me after the horrible experiences I’ve had working with manipulative streaming services.

Audible I’m a lot more lenient towards because they work with independent creators as well as mainstream creators. They’re more about the creative process and have less need to bump up business via manipulation. I’d rather Emily and Co keep working with them than Tubi but I know that the money needs to come from somewhere and Audible is not enough for this team who so graciously keep giving us more and more of their time and effort when they’re not adequately financed and funded enough to keep going with the bigger endeavours… Which is why they need Tubi.

I might be a pessimist but I just want them to be careful because the TV show/film industry is really rough these days and great storytelling always seems to suffer for it.

And make no mistake - Emily is a great storyteller. It’s just she also has to think about the business side of things too and that often means shuffling the cards where she doesn’t want them to be to pay her team. You have to be reminded that it’s not Emily that made the decision to kill off Doc. But it was her responsibility to make sure that she’s doing what’s best for her team - her work family. Nobody wants to accept these choices when they’re this hard. But they have to be accepted.

Audible provides the creative freedom Emily and Co wants but Tubi provides the financial aid to keep telling any stories. She made a smart decision going with both. It’s an executive producer and head writer’s decision as creativity and business are never really happily married. So cut them some slack and realize that this venture is something that will be an on-going process for a while.

[cactusboil]

I think andras was gwyns father

That would be so heartbreaking and messy too, imagine finding out your dad is dead and he was a good person and he was killed, skinned and butchered by your high lady (even if it was out of desperation and stuff, not that I blame Feyre tbh) but I’d be horrified 💀

[sulieykte]

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (5/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.3k

A/N: All the typical Under the Mountain trigger warnings apply here. There isn't any weight talk in this chapter, but there is a brief mention of skipping meals. A few lines for dialogue are also lifted directly from ACOTAR book one.

Feyre goes Under the Mountain.

Read on AO3 or you can find the fifth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - the altar is my hips | ch 2. - an arrowhead leading us home | ch. 3 - by the way, i just may like some explanations | ch. 4 - can't not think of all the cost | ch. 5 - honey i rose up from the dead

The next six weeks were the longest of my life—I didn't hear from Rhys again. Even with my own shields up, his feelings leaked through occasionally, none of them positive. Despair, guilt, rage, violation, pain, disgust.

At night, my dreams were glimpses through his eyes of Amarantha's cruel court Under the Mountain. When it was nothing more than heads on spikes or lashes across a back, I slept through the night. Sometimes, though, it was his hands and mouth all over Amarantha in her bedroom, and on those nights, the urge to vomit ripped me from sleep and sent me running towards the toilet. The dreams were so vivid, I could still taste her on my tongue when I woke up. I'd never thought the sick, burning taste of bile could be a mercy until it erased the evidence of what she'd been doing to Rhys.

I took to skipping dinner, just so there would be less to hurl up.

I could only hope that if it worked the opposite way for him, the sight of the city—Velaris, as I learned it was called—helped him through it. But he clearly didn't want to talk, so I couldn't be sure.

When Amarantha didn't feature in the nightmares, it was the Spring Court. Sometimes I dreamed about Andras killing me in revenge, sometimes it was Tamlin dragging me back and forcing me to kill and kill and kill. Those dreams never made me vomit, just left me with a sense of guilt that felt like a physical thing weighing me down and pinning me to the bed.

On those nights, I'd stare at the ceiling and wonder if the blame truly lay at Tamlin's feet for sending Andras to die, Amarantha's for cursing Tamlin in the first place, or mine for being so quick to shoot. I couldn't have known Andras wouldn't hurt me—and had every reason to believe he would—but maybe if I had something other than ice and hatred in my heart, I could have figured it out. The uncertainty meant I'd never be able to scrub that particular stain from my soul.

During the day, I trained. I had no hope of besting a faerie in combat, but that didn't mean it was useless to learn. Cassian ran me through drills intended to make me more nimble, harder to grab onto and winnow to another location. And after I'd mentioned chucking my hunting knife at Tamlin when he'd taken me away, Azriel found me a properly balanced set of throwing knives and taught me to use them. Even if I never landed a hit, the distraction of blades sailing through the air might buy me time to run and hide. Mor wrestled me to the ground as I practiced bargaining, making sure I could close loopholes even as she twisted my arm behind my back. Amren taught me to shield my mind, though it was slow going without an actual daemati to practice with. I didn't dare ask Rhys.

When we weren't in the training ring, I poured over maps of passageways Under the Mountain. There was always the chance that Amarantha had rearranged things in the last fifty years, but I memorized it all anyway. The four of them quizzed me on the key players in Amarantha's court and their allegiances, or at least, what we knew of it from the rumors that drifted back to Velaris. Information could also be its own sort of armor.

Amren was researching exactly what my unfinished bargain tattoo with the Night Court could mean. Every so often, she brought the books to the training ring and sat in the sun to read as we practiced and sparred. Cassian sometimes tried to goad her into joining us, but she never did. 

From what I could gather, Amren and Mor had their hands full keeping the Night Court running in Rhys's absence, and their inability to leave Velaris only complicated matters. Cassian and Azriel were often pulled away to attend to their own duties, too.

Even with so much work to distract us, we were all anxious and restless.

After a few days, I moved my things to the House of Wind, tired of feeling like an invader in someone else's house and a burden for needing to be flown to the training ring. Mor, Cassian, and Azriel were staying there too, and we had an unspoken agreement not to discuss how little we were all sleeping. I wasn't the only one who overtrained to the point of exhaustion—sometimes it was easier to be too worn out to feel or think.

Perhaps it was just because at this point, I might have been able to get used to anything, but after a week at the House of Wind, I realized I was comfortable here. There was less formality than in Spring, and even as she sipped blood, Amren was less frightening when she dropped by just to sit at the dinner table and bicker. Mor and Cassian both offered to pick up paints for me, but I declined every time. It felt selfish to sit and paint while Rhys was suffering.

And I wasn't sure I was ready to face whatever would be staring back at me from the canvas when I was done.

The four of them took to playing cards, something Cassian told me they'd done with other soldiers during the War, when everything either had been short bursts of danger or long, dull periods of waiting and dread between battles. Killing time before Tamlin's curse ran out felt like the latter. Azriel offered to teach me the rules—and some of the strategies that won him more games than the others combined—but I was content to just watch, sitting on the sofa with a blanket around my shoulders and listening to them talk. At times, I was still acutely aware that everyone there but me had centuries of shared history, but I could live with that.

In Night, I was just Feyre, not Feyre-the-human, and that made all the difference.

The night before I left, we didn't talk about what I was going to do. I didn't want to be fussed over, even if I was preparing to run straight into danger. And now I knew that they'd seen enough comrades off to war that all four of them knew how to navigate the situation. Fretting too much might just make me panic and lose my nerve.

That morning, I changed back into the clothes I'd come here wearing—it wouldn't do to let anyone conclude where I'd been. I took my bow and a few knives, ones that wouldn't have a maker's mark that could be traced back to the Night Court. Mor winnowed me to the very edge of the wards, glamoured me to hide my scent and tattoos, and gave me one last wordless hug.

I headed south for the caves.

Something akin to relief washed over me as I walked. Part of it was almost certainly the mating bond—I'd always feel a bit better when I was getting closer to Rhys. But beyond that, it felt good to be actually doing something for once. Nothing rankled me more than inaction in the face of a problem, whether that was my family's money troubles or Amarantha.

When I crossed the Night Court's border, back into the cave, my stomach flipped. I stood stock-still in the entrance for a while, just letting my eyes adjust before I pressed forward. I took a few deep breaths, willing the instinct to turn and run back to safety to subside.

I followed the path back the way I'd come after Calanmai, not sure where I was going beyond a general direction. Save the occasional drip of water in the distance, the cave was silent. This wasn't like hunting in the woods, where there was still distant birdsong or rustling leaves. This was a place devoid of life.

I lost all sense of time, but at some point, the cave walls became something unnatural, deliberately hewn out of the rock. A hall. I was close, then. A part of me wanted to tug on the bond, to send out I'm here I'm here I'm here, but that would likely prove deadly. I needed to get my bearings.

I turned another corner and found myself in a passageway lit by torches. The firelight wasn't strong, but after so much darkness, the light hurt my eyes. I pressed against a wall, trying to conceal myself in a shadow while I let them adjust again.

As I waited for the pain to fade, long, bony fingers wrapped around my arm. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a scream.

"Hello," a voice said, and at least it was a voice I recognized, even as I suppressed a shudder. The Attor. "What's something like you doing here?"

I let it drag me and realized we were heading towards the throne room. Or at least, that's where it was on the maps. The thought of getting closer to Amarantha ignited my anger, burning away the last of my fear. Faeries we passed leered at me, not a single familiar face among them.

As the Attor pulled me through the enormous carved stone doors, I felt the bond light up in my chest. Music played in the distance, and the throne room was crowded with fae—a party of sorts, and Rhys was among them somewhere.

The Attor hurled me forward, and I stumbled but didn't fall to my knees. I raised my head and looked at Amarantha through my own eyes for the first time. She lounged on an ebony throne, picking at her nails, the nails I'd seen scratching Rhys's skin too many times to count.

But the sound of my name pulled my attention away from her.

"Feyre?" Tamlin said from his place next to her. "You're alive?"

Even with the golden mask still covering his face, he looked rattled, almost as if he'd seen a ghost. I hadn't known how he'd react, but I hadn't expected him to go so pale.

Amarantha looked right at me and smiled like an adder. "Don't tell me this is the one and only Feyre Archeron," she said.

My blood ran cold. She was not supposed to know my name.

But I couldn't let her see the fear that was clawing at my insides—if my time in the Night Court had taught me anything, it was how to put up a front. I held my chin high and said, "So my reputation precedes me, then?"

Amarantha actually clapped at that, as if I were nothing more than a trained animal who'd just done a trick for her amusement. The crowd tittered behind me. Good. They'd hold off on killing me if I was more fun for them alive.

"Tamlin, you didn't tell me she was so mouthy. It must have made all your attempts to get her to fall in love with you so much more aggravating," Amarantha purred. Tamlin just sat in stony silence, though even from a distance I could see his jaw tighten. He must have recovered from the shock enough to realize that saying anything would just be giving her the satisfaction. Undeterred, Amarantha continued, "But that does beg the question: if Feyre is alive and well, whose corpse did you leave in Tamlin's garden, Rhysand?"

I followed her gaze over to where Rhys was sauntering through the crowd. By now, I'd thought I'd gotten used to the mating bond, but it took every ounce of self-control I had not to run and fling myself at him. And though I really should have been more concerned with who he might have murdered, all I could think about was how unfair it was for anyone to have that refined perfection of his, even when he looked at me as if I were something unpleasant he'd stepped in.

"She wasn't the only mortal out near the Wall on Calanmai, and humans all look the same. I must have mistaken the other one for her," he said.

A lie, of course. Rhys could never mistake someone else for me. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but if it made everyone else believe he'd kill me without a second thought, then we were both safer for it.

Perhaps this had been the dirty work he'd taken care of after sending me away.

Amarantha's voice went sharp as she said, "You're getting sloppy, Rhysand. Don't."

Rhys inclined his head at her, moving with the fluid grace of someone who'd been raised as courtier. "Apologies, my queen," he said, all polish.

I almost lunged for her right then. The hatred must have shown on my face, but I didn't let it go beyond that. Even if I could have killed her with my bare hands, Rhys deserved to be the one to pry her apart, not me.

Amarantha turned her attention back to me, and I stared back, waiting for her to look away first. She didn't scare me, even if she should have. "And the other question," she said, her voice now dangerously soft, "is what brought you here and why I shouldn't just kill you now."

A test, but one I was fully prepared for. Without hesitation, I said, "I'm here to claim my High Lord."

"Your High Lord?" Amarantha grinned and turned to Tamlin. A fatal mistake. I'd chosen my words carefully, practiced just so she'd wrongly assume instead of asking exactly who my High Lord was. "Oh, this is just marvelous. You actually got a human worm to love you after all. But she's here just a little too late, and isn't that a tragedy? I don't think I could come up with something more deliciously ironic if I tried."

Tamlin just continued to sit in silence, which was probably for the best.

"You tricked him and bound him unfairly," I said, all righteous anger. Never mind the fact that I was also tricking her at that very moment.

"And you think you're going to do something about it?" Amarantha said with a laugh that revealed her too-sharp teeth.

Perhaps it was reckless, but I said, "Yes."

Her laughter died, and she snarled at me like the beast she truly was. "I should kill you just for that, human. But since the curse has ended, I've been desperate for some new amusement. I'll make a bargain with you."

A familiar, sick sort of satisfaction washed over me, the same feeling I got as I watched the loop of a snare tighten around a rabbit's leg. I hadn't even had to suggest a bargain myself—she was walking into my trap all on her own.

"Complete three tasks of my choosing, and he's yours. Three little tasks. How hard could it be?" she crooned.

"If I complete all three of your tasks, you'll return his magic immediately," I said.

Perhaps it was a leap of faith, but if Rhys's power was returned to him, that was all we needed. He wouldn't let her kill me. Maybe it was the mating bond clouding my judgment, but that was the one thing I'd bet on every time. I decided to take the risk of leaving some loopholes open—if I seemed too adept at bargaining, she might suspect something.

Even that was enough for Amarantha to narrow her eyes at me. I was tempted to glance at Rhys for reassurance, but I couldn't give in to that. Instead, I did my best to look poised—not defiant enough that she'd change her mind and snap my spine, but not cowed, either.

"Lest anyone here think I'm anything but a generous queen—and just to see how smart you really are—I'll give you a faster way out. Before the third task is complete, you just have to solve a riddle to return his magic. You can answer at any time, but if you're incorrect, I'll have your dear Tamlin kill you in whatever way strikes my fancy. How does that sound?"

I turned that over in my mind and didn't find any loopholes to close, at least not with the riddle. The tasks, however, were a different story. "Tell me more about the nature of the tasks."

"One each month, at the full moon."

"And in the meantime?"

The words had left my mouth a little too quickly, and I held back a wince. Amarantha's eyes flashed, and I might have pushed too hard.

"You'll remain in your cell," she said pointedly, "or earn your keep doing whatever work I require."

I hesitated, thinking of the work Rhys had to handle that wouldn't leave him clean. She might make me a murderer again.

For Rhys, I'd do it.

It still left too many other ways for her to rig the tasks, so I said, "Running me ragged would put me at a disadvantage."

"Nothing beyond basic housework. Human filth earns its keep in my court. Are we agreed?"

As she waited for my answer, she tapped her nails on the throne impatiently. The hall had gone silent, the entire court seeming to wait with bated breath for my answer. There would be no more negotiating.

And that was fine with me because I'd gotten exactly what I needed from her, a viable path forward to return Rhys's magic. I suppressed a triumphant smile as I said, "We are agreed."

I'd won the first round, and I'd done it in true Night Court style—concealing everything so well that she didn't even know she'd been bested.

I let her sit back on her throne looking like a cat that had just caught a canary. Magic swept through the room. It left a faint trace in the air, the way the smell of lighting lingered after it struck.

To someone behind me, Amarantha said, "Give her a greeting worthy of my hall."

On instinct, I braced myself to take a hit just how Cassian had taught me—jaw clenched so it wouldn't shatter, knees bent, elbows and forearms protecting my liver and spleen. The Attor hissed. Something hard collided with the side of my face. I rolled my torso to minimize the damage, planting my feet so I wouldn't fall. I tracked the movement of leathery wings and dodged the next punch.

I took two more hits before I finally fell. My bones cracked. By then, I was in too much pain to count how many of them were beating me. All I could do was make a feeble attempt to protect soft places—my eyes, my stomach—until I passed out.

I woke in a cell, laying on my side as if someone had placed me there to ensure I didn't choke on my own vomit. My head swam, but I forced myself to my feet anyway, bracing a hand against the stone wall for balance, even as my legs trembled.

Each breath hurt, which probably meant bruised or broken ribs. I swirled my tongue along my teeth and sighed in relief when I confirmed for myself that all of them were intact despite the taste of blood in my mouth. That must have come from my swollen, split lip. The worst of it all was the throbbing pain in my nose, compounded by what were surely two black eyes. I didn't dare touch my face, but I suspected my nose was broken.

I took deep breaths and willed myself to stay calm enough to think clearly. The injuries hurt, but there was nothing that seemed to need immediate attention or threatened my life. That seemed like a deliberate choice on someone's part.

Fine. I would be fine. It was just pain, and I could white-knuckle my way through that, the way I had endured hunger for years.

Just as I felt confident enough to step away from the wall and bear my own weight, the light from the torches beyond the cell door winked out. I wasn't afraid. There was only one person here whose arrival would be heralded by darkness.

As if on cue, Rhysand appeared. It was the first—though certainly not the last—time that I saw my mate looking absolutely furious with me.

[mariacallous]

While Russia looks on and applauds, Viktor Orban has turned Hungarian society against Ukraine in little more than two years – a trend which could poison neighbourly relations for decades.

Ask an average Hungarian who and what is to blame for the country’s economic difficulties and the answers will likely be: Ukraine and the war.

“I was totally struck by an almost sheer hatred against Ukraine when we did in-depth interviews for our research,” Dorka Takacsy, a researcher on disinformation at the Budapest-based Centre for Euro-Atlantic Integration and Democracy (CEID), tells BIRN.

Takacsy conducted focus group discussions about Ukraine before the June 9 European Parliament elections and was confronted by the general consensus that “Ukraine deserved the war” and that Ukrainians are “greedy, corrupt and aggressive”.

An earlier poll on foreign policy attitudes of Hungarians conducted by Zavecz Research in March and published by the Budapest-based think tank Policy Solutions, backs up this negative image and even takes it a step further: 51 per cent of Hungarians see Ukraine (the victim of an unprovoked attack by Russia) as a threat to Hungary, markedly up 16 per cent from last year.

In fact, the survey found that Ukraine is perceived as the main threat to Hungary, with Russia coming in second. For Fidesz voters, Ukraine and the US – Hungary’s NATO ally and partner – are regarded as the main risks for the country’s security.

Support among Hungarians for financial help to Ukraine dropped as well, while every second Hungarian would feel “bad” or “very bad” if forced to have Ukrainian refugees as neighbours.

“These are dramatic changes,” Andras Biro-Nagy, director of Policy Solutions, admits.

Takacsy says the results of both her and Policy Solutions’ surveys show “propaganda seems to work”, but concedes she is puzzled by how effective the Hungarian government’s anti-Ukraine campaign has been. Among Hungary’s neighbours, including Slovakia, Romania and Austria, it is Ukraine which is the least liked and the least supported. And Russia’s full-scale war against the country has not helped increase sympathy for it. On the contrary.

“I think there are many factors which made anti-Ukrainian propaganda effective. First, the almost complete lack of knowledge about Ukraine before the war. It was no tourist destination, there were very few personal relations, it was not really on the map for many Hungarians,” Takacsy says.

Rather, Ukraine was mostly seen as a very poor, very corrupt country, with no linguistic or cultural affinity like in the case of Poland. The country was so insignificant that Hungarian pollsters in general did not even bother asking about attitudes towards Ukraine until the war began in February 2022.

Pulling the strings

There was a mutual neglect on both sides of the border for almost a decade, experts agree.

Hungary, which is still haunted by the 1920 Treaty of Trianon peace agreement that stripped the country of two-thirds of its territory and half of its population, had to mend ties with Slovakia and Romania, both with large Hungarian ethnic minorities, in the process of EU and NATO integration back in the nineties. Prime Minister Viktor Orban also takes credit for spearheading the reconciliation effort with Serbia, another neighbour with a sizeable ethnic Hungarian minority.

However, Ukraine – with the smallest Hungarian minority of about 150,000 – was not regarded as a diplomatic priority until the controversy over the country’s new education law limiting the use in education of minority languages, including Hungarian, exploded in 2017.

The law – which has since seen several amendments that meet most of Hungary’s demands but did not change the government’s position – was primarily aimed at Russian-speakers but hit all ethnic communities and drew criticism from Poland and Romania as well.

“The rights of the Hungarian minority have played an important role in the bilateral discourse since 2017, but the communication of the Hungarian government was much harsher than that of Romania or Poland, whose ethnic communities were also affected,” Zoltan Sz. Biro, a renowned historian specialising in Russia, tells BIRN.

Many see a Kremlin hand in driving a wedge between Hungary and Ukraine. “Since 2014, Russia has been continuously and systematically investing… in provoking inter-ethnic confrontation between Ukrainians and Hungarians in Transcarpathia, as well as in diplomatic confrontation between Kyiv and Budapest,” Dmytro Tuzhanskyi, co-founder of the Institute for Central European Strategy, wrote in a recent study.

Tuzhanskyi argues the seeds of the animosity were planted well before the full-scale invasion in 2022, with disinformation campaigns portraying Ukrainians as “Nazis” trying to assimilate Hungarians, while Hungarians were framed as revanchist with territorial claims.

The results first bore fruit in Ukraine. A 2021 survey conducted by the Democratic Initiatives Foundation in Ukraine found that 41 per cent of Ukrainians saw the Hungarian government’s support for its ethnic minority as “part of a strategy to invade or annex Transcarpathia”. In 2023, a year into the war, 41 per cent of Ukrainians were convinced Hungary was ready to use the ethnic issue as a pretext for aggression against Ukraine.

The Hungarian government vehemently rejects any allegations of territorial claims. But the closer Orban got to Russian President Vladimir Putin and gravitated further from his European allies, the louder anti-Ukrainian propaganda in Hungary became. Historian Sz Biro thinks it was relatively easy for the government to frame Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky and Ukraine as the problem, because Hungarians – in contrast to Poles or the people in the Baltics – did not see Russia as a threat.

“Polls in the 1990s indicated that Hungarian society had a neutral or rather pragmatic approach to Russia,” Sz. Biro says. “The crushing of the 1956 revolution by Soviet troops was not much thematised by the socialist-liberal governments after the democratic transition. And the role of Russian Tsar Nicholas [I] in defeating the Hungarian revolution in 1849 against the Habsburg empire is relatively unknown and has little relevance in the 21st century.”

Paradoxically, Orban’s Fidesz was the only party that strongly criticised Vladimir Putin when it was in opposition during the late 1990s, early 2000s. But since Moscow rolled out the red carpet for the Hungarian prime minister and never lectured him about democracy and checks and balances, Orban has warmed towards him. The government’s propaganda did its best to tune social attitudes accordingly. “The less Russia-critical society became, the more open it became to anti-Ukrainian sentiments,” Sz. Biro concludes.

In the last two years, public attitudes have further shifted from emphasising neutrality in the war towards directly blaming Ukraine for the country’s economic woes.

“There was a top-down approach from the government, convincing society that all our woes are somehow related to Ukraine and the war. Last year’s record inflation was termed ‘war inflation’ and the government also floated the idea that the European Commission would channel Hungary’s frozen EU funds to Ukraine as part of the financial aid. As a result, public attitudes towards Ukraine hit rock bottom,” Takacsy says.

Instead of pondering about moral arguments about an unjust war, Hungarian society increasingly sees the conflict as a bread-and-butter issue – not for Ukraine, but for Hungarians themselves.

Tides of history

Over the longer term, experts warn, animosities between Hungary and Ukraine could take a heavy toll on societies on both sides of the border. Regardless of how the war ends, Hungarians and Ukrainians will have to continue living side by side and, in all likelihood, eventually as members of the same alliances.

The Hungarian minority in Ukraine could suffer the most, tainted by its association with the Budapest government. And Hungarian companies of all stripes will almost certainly be blocked by Kyiv and its allies from any post-war reconstruction effort.

Takacsy is nevertheless cautiously optimistic. “The Fidesz government has invested heavily in a strong top-down narrative, but it is not based on negative personal experiences or grievances towards Ukrainian people. I believe it might be turned around with a similarly strong but positive top-down approach,” she believes.

It is difficult to imagine, however, that any major shift towards Ukraine could happen without a change in government in Hungary. Orban appears happy for the time being to have Ukraine as a scapegoat for his government’s own economic mismanagement and to use Ukraine as a trump card in EU negotiations.

Hungary will stage its next general election in 2026, when Orban could be challenged by newcomer Peter Magyar and his rising TISZA movement, currently polling just 6 percentage points behind Fidesz.

Yet it is telling how Magyar, who was a creature of Fidesz before turning against Orban in early 2024, performed a careful balancing act when he visited Kyiv earlier this year, bringing humanitarian aid to a destroyed children’s hospital but remaining tight-lipped about financial aid, Ukraine’s EU membership and military help. Magyar’s TISZA focuses on domestic politics and corruption, but lacks a clear strategy on foreign and security policy. His first step, if elected, is unlikely to be repairing relations with Ukraine.

“Reconciliation will take a long time,” the historian Sz Biro acknowledges. “Doing the damage is always easier than mending broken relations.”

[luckyshotwrites]

Blame @sketchmog

Here are some unfinished sketches for, of course, WIDFALI! I may or may not ever finish these. I also love how they gradually get worse the more you scroll down. lol xD

Alexander Age 16ish

Redraw of Andras

Goofy stuff with Victoria, Andras, and Terrance. Basically how Andras introduced Terrance to his already right hand Victoria.

Lev and Beatrice (I'M SO SORRY IT WAS FUNNY AT THE TIME)

Lev and Zilla

Lastly some dumb funny stuff later, you can probably tell of who's involved xD

ALSO I LOST MY PEN BUT I PLAN ON WORKING ON A BIG HOLIDAY PROJECT AND BABY ONE. AS WELL AS THE CHAPTER. MY LIFE IS GETTING BACK TO NORMAL SLOWLY BUT SURELY. I HOPE YOU ALL ARE DOING WELL AND THANKS FOR VIEWING!

HAVE A GREATO DAY EVERYONE NONNEGOTIABLE AS ALWAYS!!

[antisociallilbrat]

what are your thoughts on reddie's parents being estranged best friends? mainly frank & went, who were childhood friends, but also the whole group in college. sonia was always a bit controlling via her insecurities, and all of that escalated and went south when frank got sick. sonia probably blames maggie for calling her out on her shit, and they severed ties from there. frank listens to sonia out of his sense of 'duty' but keeps in lose contact, until it finally falls by the wayside. i live and breathe for hcs abt the losers' parents

Oh I love this.

But also Donald and Andrea Uris would've been part of that little friend group too- we know this because of Stan and Richie's friendship. And I feel like Andra and Maggie would've been best friends and try to include Sonia but...Sonia is Sonia and at some point they just got tired of her and stopped putting up with her shit.

Frank and Went being childhood best friends though who were forced apart is fucking tragic though; especially after Frank got sick.

Sonia would complain that Andrea and Maggie were 'mean' to her and 'excluded' her and would demand Frank to stop hanging out with their husbands. He didn't know Donald that well so that wasn't much of a lost but losing his connection to Went hurt. But in his eyes Sonia was his wife and he probably got upset with Went because of how Maggie 'treated' her. Even though he knew in the back of his mind what really happened with the wives. Their friendship remained strained after that.

Then Frank got sick and Sonia probably found a way to blame it on Went. Probably said some bs about Went's 'unhealthy habits' that rubbed off on Frank.

Brb, crying thinking how Went would find out Frank died only from the newspaper obituaries and Sonia wouldn't let him come to the funeral.

[heniareth]

Twins AU (Round 2)

Since our original post exchange got a tad bit long, @bumblerhizal I’m starting a new one here ^^ First, a few things on the doodles: I’m still cackling XD XD XD XD XD XD XD XD Especially about Amell (Pavle) going all “woe is me! 😩😩😩” over the dirt on his favorite robe while these two Alienage kids with probably multiple patches and mends on their clothes just look at each other like “can you believe this guy” XD XD XD XD XD XD XD It’s sooooooooo good and I am now imagining Pavle coming face to face with Sigrun’s particular brand of cheerful dead inside XD XD XD The official Grey Warden merch is amazing and our guys are great models. I really want that on a shirt now (and I could, now that I think of it. Ooooooh it’s tempting). I love Valendrian’s grey hair counter. The expression is on point XD XD XD The Plum of Peace should be a Feastday gift. And it’s very good to see reference for Radka, Pavle and Mr Andras (Who looks so kind!!!!!) Mousevhen is absolutely adorable. I want to give him all the pickled beets in the world

Next, onto the further building out of this AU:

You say Novhen is not able to realize that they’d work better as a team until they’re both neck-deep in the Blight. Is there a key moment when he’d realize? I wonder if they ever get to talk about the different conception they have of themselves and each other and their role with regards to one another or if it eternally stays as this sort of undercurrent until Novhen leaves to join Morrigan. I like the fact that Novhen sees himself as the lone wolf. It’s juicy and it makes a lot of sense given the backstory we’ve given them. And really, before becoming wardens, they have both been doing their own thing in pursuit of the same goal: Astala was working, and Novhen was criming. Astala would probably be between surprised, shocked and hurt if she ever found out (“What, am I not good enough to stand next to you now?”; not that she’d say it like that unless thoroughly provoked), but this is (partly) on her. IF she ever finds out she’s gonna have to chew on that. And it’s funny, bc when I got around to the Landsmeet and Denerim in my latest playthrough, both of Astala’s blades were better than Fang (yay for Starfang--also a fang!--and Topsider’s Honor). Kinda sad that I didn’t get to use Adaia’s Fang in-game. If this sticks in this AU, she’d be at a bit of a loss what to do when Novhen offers it to her, bc on one hand it was her mother’s, on the other that’s a weapon with a whole lot of emotional baggage and expectations attached, and on the third Novhen is giving it to her and what will he think if she says no? Will it be further rejection of Adaia and the cult and everything that tied into it?

She might just give the dagger to Novhen after the battle of Denerim as a side weapon. Everybody needs a dagger, and she’s already made good use of it. Funny how these two have feelings of inferiority with regards to each other, huh? Astala about not being rogue-y enough, Novhen about not being a dual wielder. Welcome to being siblings

And now I’m imagining Novhen at the docks, looking out over the ocean where they’ve taken half of the Alienage. Oh he’s gonna blame himself again T_T T_T

Let me jump to Broken Circle real quick, since we’re already talking about Astala and Novhen’s relationship with regards to Adaia. First of all, MOUSEVHEN!! HECK YEAH!! But also it might be Astala as well who’d ask him to stay in elf form for a bit so she isn’t alone with their ma. I think the reunion would on one hand be tough on Astala (depending on if she got the chance to apologize to Adaia after her outburst or if she held on to the grudge too long and then boom! Adaia’s dead), but on the other hand also awkward. By this point Astala’s had time to drift further from the cult and Adaia’s teachings. Seeing Adaia again would confront her with exactly how much she’s distanced herself. This and the fact that she’s left Novhen all alone to carry Adaia’s legacy. She may not believe in the cult or Fen’Harel, but she recognizes the need to keep traditions alive, and it’s not fair to expect Novhen to do all the work because she was angry. That said, she still does carry a grudge. Idk how or if she’d reconcile that, but she might come to the conclusion that she owes Novhen an apology. And, as far as I understand, meeting Adaia again is primarily going to bring a reassurance and some healing for Novhen, right?

Does Adaia have a temper? I somehow imagine her as having one, although she’d have a firm grasp on it

And Astala will definitely take Novhen up on doing target practice! They’re both bad at it now, so it’s fine XD XD Ilanlas and Nathaniel will be explicitly banned when these two are practicing

Oh, and Ilanlas will definitely say something insensitive about the city elves at some poin, count on it. Astala’s got a big shirt permanently within reach. How she’ll catch two very dextrous rogues is another question (maybe she waits until they’re busy arguing and thus distracted). Or she’ll tell Ilanlas he’s being an ass, Ilanlas will first put on airs and then mumble an apology through his teeth. Novhen seems like the type to hold grudges, right? Depending on the grudge, probably, but there’s already the thing with Nelaros’ ring. Things aren’t looking too good for Novhen’s opinion of Ilanlas. In that case, Ilanlas will have to content himself with them simply being companions. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s alienated potential friends because he was being an ass. He does warm up to Astala tho ^^ Ilanlas and Novhen might then be “that guy I’m only associated with bc I’m friends/siblings with this one very social person” to one another XD XD XD

I love the idea of Novhen telling the story of the Dread Wolf slow arrow around the campfire! Ilanlas would be all ears. Stories about Dalish gods from an Alienage are not something he comes across every day. He would, however, definitely go “the moral of the story OBVIOUSLY is that you shouldn’t trust the Dread Wolf”. And yeah, it’s not so much that Ilanlas invokes Fen’Harel for help, but rather that he expects the Dread Wolf to twist the words of a Dalish elf’s prayer to another god, because That’s What Trickster Gods Do.

Ilanlas will share his arrowmaking techniques, and he’ll definitely show him some heavy arrowheads the clan uses against fully armored templars. I feel like Novhen would be interested in that. As for pointers on stealthing in a city, first he has to not get overwhelmed by the noise. Then he has to hide his vallaslin XD XD Tramaking would be good bc Ilanlas knows traps for small game, but not for humanoid creatures. Tips will be welcome. As for quiet time during arrow repair, Ilanlas would love that. He needs his quiet time to wind down. If Novhen’s the one to walk over to him, or Creators forbid, invites him, Ilanlas might be a bit surprised that Novhen would want his company. If it’s been a good day, he’d count it as a win, if it’s been a bad day, he’d keep turning it round and round his head why Novhen would seek him out. I do have to note that Ilanlas sometimes starts humming to himself or singing really really quietly while he works. I hope Novhen isn’t bothered by that

Perinella is going to drag Kieran around with her if he’ll let her XD XD XD At some point they’ll sneak out and raise mayhem in the market (without outing themselves as mages, obviously. They’re smart kids 😌😌😌). Also, if Morrigan teaches her to shapeshift, her favorite form WILL be something with really pretty colors. She’s got Astala’s taste for fine dresses ^^

That Soris is already married to a human woman might work in Novhen’s favor, then. Let’s hope it does. Let’s cross our fingers real hard. Realistically, Cyrion probably won’t know too much about Soris and his family, right? Sounds like he broke off contact when he moved. Maybe Astala and Novhen should visit. Try to see how he’s doing. Try to reestablish contact

The question about the bann is a tough one because a) I don’t want Shianni to die but b) Novhen and Astala don’t know that Shianni will die if they make her bann. Astala agrees that Shianni is still young, but give her a few years and she’ll make a terrific bann. But also, Astala’s kind of wary of placing responsability like that on Shianni’s shoulders. Look what responsability is doing to her! I think keeping it tied to the position of hahren is a smart choice, even after it turns out Valendrian has disappeared. After all, the hahren already had most of the duties a bann would have. Maybe the title of hahren as a title could be preserved and given more of an alienage-internal role (Maker and Dread Wolf know there are enough problems, disputes, and people who need help inside the Alienage to give work to several hahrens at the same time). In that case tho, I think Shianni would make a better bann than a hahren

Also, good! I like that Kieran gets to have a bit of point to his ears XD XD XD Agreed, I don’t care for the “all half-elves look exactly like humans” either. That’s not how genetics work and having half-elves looking like hal-elves, elves and/or humans makes things much more interesting

We’re then having Khêd, Sulri, Ilanlas and Wynne arrive late at the tower, earliest when Astala’s already on top of the archdemon’s head ready to slice down. Maybe Zevran could be with them as well (although three rogues for one group that’s going into the market with all those ogres seems a bit much), and thus be greeted by a truly horrifying sight 😈 Or he’s already there. Kudos for Pavle for not wanting to cross Irving’s path, he’s a smart man and will get far

Also yes on the horror stories of jobs on ships turning out to be traps leading to enslavement. It makes a ton of sense and feeds right into that spirit of “stay with your own, don’t make trouble, and you might make it to the age of 70″.

Regarding Ostagar: yeah, I figured the newbies wouldn’t be allowed to the big ol’ warmeeting. Totally unfair. I’m currently laughing at the image of Novhen’s eyes flashing over to the group and the four of them going “oh shit oh shit” internally XD XD XD Good on him for not snitching!! Everybody appreciates that. Khêd probably especially so

Sulri might indeed run with Novhen to the tower. She prefers to keep away from darkspawn (not that Khêd does so any less, but Khêd’s also a softie) and I’m considering having her develope feelings for Alistair, so she might want to check in on him. Khêd and Ilanlas would attract a few looks at the very least if they made it to Ostagar. A dwarf and a Dalish elf make for a weird pair. Fortunately, as far as I know Khêd so this may be subject to change, Khêd grumbles only when he’s comfortable. When he’s not, he’s got a cheerful thing going on that‘s not always entirely convincing, but will definitely offset Ilanlas’ snark (“Nothing personal, salroka :)” before he attacked Oskias). They could find Pavle and their small group would get even weirder! A dwarf with missing teeth and a fake cheerful smile, a Dalish elf with the most obvious vallaslin you could imagine, and a guy who’s very very clearly a Circle mage in a town full of templars. What could go wrong?

I also do agree that Lothering is the more easy place for a reunion. Especially with Astala’s head for navigating forests U_U

Khêd would probably keep a close eye on Radka until the fight with Jarvia. Then she’s okay in his books. He’ll definitely want to know how Leske got to be Jarvia’s right-hand man and what happened to her though. He understands the Carta being done with someone. They wouldn’t have rescued him during his origin either. Her pledging himself to Khêd would definitely make him raise his eyebrows. “You mean I’ve got some authority in this dump now?” *gestures at the Carta hideout* Once Radka gets to the surface and turns into her jester self, Khêd will probably definitely think the shock of the surface (and the sun!!) is being too much for her. Astala will probably be delighted though ^^

It’s a shame Novhen doesn’t get to dance during the ball at the Winter Palace, but yeah, a public dance together would be far too dangerous. Later in Morrigan’s quarters seems a good compromise ^^

Many of Astala’s recipe modifications will probably center around making the pastry more hefty (“It’s gotta feed you, not just taste good, y’know?”) and also putting in fun new ingredients (“Have you ever tried this chocolate thing? It’s amazing, have a piece”)

Astala’s definitely going to appreciate Novhen having her back during the infiltration of the arl of Denerim’s estate. I think she kinda knows as soon as they get to the room where Nola died that she could’ve maybe chosen a different, better moment to confront the past than the extraction of the imprisoned queen of Ferelden. But, here she is. Novhen’s support is gonna be a huge thing for her just to remind her where she is and what she’s doing and help her focus. And he also gives her the safety in knowing that, should she be out of comission at any point, there’s somebody competent she trusts wholeheartedly to take over. The two big bad spots for her are where Nola died (right at the beginning of the route) and where Nelaros died (at the entrance of the estate). The second one isn’t good bc they’re gonna be in the middle of the estate. Apart from that, I think she’ll manage just fine except for sounding a little off. She processes things slowly, which comes in handy here. No sudden shutdowns or anything like that 🙌

Also, I like the idea of ser Cauthrien having them surrounded. Otherwise people might be tempted to try and fight their way through. Between being surrounded and the need to keep the diplomatic route open, I think it’s quite plausible for the team to surrender the wardens. And ser Cauthrien does let the other companions go as promised, which speaks to her character. But damn that guard. It does sound like Novhen to try and sneak away as soon as he thinks he can get away with it. If Novhen’s getting concussed, you’ll have Astala struggling against whoever’s holding her back and trying to get between Novhen and those guards. And telling ser Cauthrien off for allowing that. That’s how Loghain treats his prisoners?? What the hell??

And oooooh, so mechanically speaking they reduce Novhen to 0 hitpoints? Damn, that’s rough O.O Especially if at that point he already has that one rogue talent that lets you play dead available and tries to play dead, but the guards don’t let themselves be deterred by that (although idk if you like that idea. Might be a bit much gratuitious violence?) As far as cleaning Fort Drakon goes, it’s very tempting. But there is still a need to keep the diplomacy route open. Right now, the Blight has priority, and they will need all the men they can have. That includes the blighted bastards at the fort.

But it really is tempting to have a shem massacre 2.0

Also, back to Anroa and the negotiations: Astala would want to be there after UITA at the very latest. She’s torn on whether or not she believes that Anora knew nothing about the slavers’ presence (and will probably consult Novhen on his opinion on the matter). I think she’ll let Novhen lead that conversation, with the occasional follow-up question or voicing of her opinion. He seems sure as to what to do, and he tends to do these things very, very well. She’s going to take the opportunity to observe Anora and try to figure out how she works. I could imagine Anora being a bit unnerved at these two city elves in whose hands her position of power (and maybe also her life?) lies; and that straight after her father sold half the Alienage into slavery!