#free elain sarah i beg | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elriell · 3 years ago

Text

"Elain doesn't belong in the Night Court..."

I think what people fail to acknowledge within this statement is how much time Sarah has put in to driving the point home that peoples perception of Elain vs. the reality are two very separate things.

Exp;

“Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort.”

“Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.”

“But Elain … The Spring Court had been made for someone like her.”

“But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed.”

“Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” - “Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.”

“Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.”

“Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

“But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she'd disappoint you all. ” He sighed toward the ceiling. “With time and safety, perhaps we ’ll see a different side of her emerge."

ACOSF & Feysand POV, really took the time to point out that what her sisters and some of the IC think about Elain only to get dissproven/unveiled. The same will stand for this statement of fitting in, this is said to some variety a few times throughout the series and it will be yet another misconception about her character.

Elain is finally pushing back against who people think she is or should be.

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

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

“And torn up by thorns,” I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free.”

She is going to do what she wants, whether she gets her hands a little dirty or whether others agree with her, I believe that it what SJM is really leading up to with these scenes, there is a lot of thorns beneath the surface.

“Elain, mourn as she might for the life she would have had with Graysen, had found a place, a role here. Tending to the gardens of Feyre’s veritable palace on the river, helping other residents of Velaris restore their own destroyed gardens—she had purpose, and joy, and friends: those two half-wraiths who worked in Rhysand’s household. But those things had always come easily to her sister. Had always made Elain special.”

Elain has been said to be not only adapting but thriving with joy and purpose within The Night Court, but she also seems to understand and empathise with the people within the court and it's traditions, even more so than its own High Lady.

The day people stop treating Elain like so shallow, bland, flower child will be the day I sleep soundly. She is insanely wise as both Feyre and Mor have said before, her depth is much beyond the surface, yet people still weakly claim theres nothing to her.

READ THE BOOKS, STOP SKIMMING THE IMPORTANT THINGS FOR YOUR OWN BENEFIT. PLS I BEG. You do her such a disservice.

“It’s their tradition, though,” Elain countered, her face still flushed with the cold. “One that they fought and died to protect in the war. Perhaps that’s the better way to think of it, rather than feeling guilty. To remember that this day means something to them. All of them, regardless of who has more, who has less, and in celebrating the traditions, even through the presents, we honor those who fought for its very existence, for the peace this city now has.”

For a moment, I just stared at my sister, the wisdom she’d spoken. Not a whisper of those oracular abilities. Just clear eyes and an open expression. “You’re right,” I said, taking in the insignia rising before me.”

Also as a side-note, all the characters at one point or another have felt out of place, even two of the chore members Az (still probably feeling it) & Feyre, so this whole argument is nonsense to me.

“I don’t really know where I fit in anymore,” I admitted, perhaps only because the wind was screeching around us and Rhys had already winnowed ahead to where Cassian’s dark form flew—beyond the wall. "I’ve been alive almost five and a half centuries, and I’m not sure of that, either,” Azriel said.”

Elain Archeron is going to belong where she decides and with who she decides. A huge part of her ARC is going to be about choice [irregardless of who you believe she will end up with, it will be her choice], and the fact that people constantly disregard her own words/choices in favour of Nesta or Cassian's quotes is beyond confusing to me.

Elain could choose the Spring Court, the Autumn Court, the Day Court, the Night Court, heck even the Winter Court but it won't be because Cassian thinks she doesn't suit the colour black or anyone else. *eyeroll emoji*

#Elain Archeron #ACOTAR #Night Court #ACOSF #Elriel #a court of thorns and roses #pro elain #m for ts

219 notes · View notes

bookstantrash · 4 years ago

Text

A/N: Huge shoutout to the lovely @perseusannabeth who obsess over Pride & Prejudice as much as me. After very politely threatening asking me to write more of Nessian as P&P (I’m so glad Sarah made it canon that Nessian’s relationship is Darcy and Lizzie’s) she told me about THE lake scene in the BBC version. I watched all six episodes and fell in love, so I highly suggest you all watch it too.

Also, huge shoutout to @firebirdofscythia (I stole your Azriel line lmao) and the rest of the gc for being so supportive!! Enjoy

Pemberley’s Lake

Cassian was so tired it was a wonder he had not fallen from his horse, which made him realise that Azriel may have been partially right in telling him to take a break and go back to his state to rest.

Although he suspected that Azriel kicking him out of his office and practically throwing him in a carriage to Pemberley had more to do with the fact that Azriel had gotten sick of his mopey mood more than anything else.

“I shall never show my face in society again” Cassian had told a bored looking Azriel one afternoon, laying on his office’s floor as if it was the end of the world “I shall work until my eyes grow tired and my beard and hair are so long they reach the ground.”

“Stop with the theatrics brother. It is not becoming of you.” Azriel had answered as he shuffled a deck of cards.

“Theatrics!! Azriel for Cauldron’ sake I have no idea how I can keep on living after that refusal” he sighed from his place on the carpeted floor “There is not another woman alive who could hold my heart. It's lost forever. And now I shall live in regret and shame of not being enough for her.”

Azriel rolled his eyes so hard at his brother’s words it was a wonder they did not stay permanently like that.

“I shall grow old and drown my sorrows in the finest beers and wines, turning fat and bald. And after I have passed, my cursed ghost shall roam our country crying in despair over my terrible life”

That had been enough to make Azriel pack Cassian’s belongings and get his brother the fastest horse available.

“If it were not for the laws of this land” Azriel had mumbled after he had bid his brother farewell, wishing a good trip and forbidding him to appear in his office again until he had fixed that mood of his.

Breathing in the clear and fresh air of his home, Cassian was able to momentarily forget his troubled heart. But one look at the blue sky and he was reminded of the gray-blue eyes belonging to the lady who had made him, General Commander of the British Army, who had enough condecorations to fill his whole coat and who had made enemies tremble in fear when faced against him, wallow in self pity and misery.

Lady Nesta Archeron.

Her name alone was enough to make his chest tighten in longing.

Feyre’s oldest and most notorious sister, if not by her breathtaking beauty and intellect but by her ruthless and dismissive regard to the oposite sex. Whereas Feyre had surprised society by marrying before her older sisters — and securing herself the best of matches of the season at that with his brother Rhysand, which was nothing but a Duke — and Elain had enough suitors to fill a ballroom, the oldest Archeron did not seem inclined to marry at all. Oh she did catch the eyes of more than one gentleman — Cassian could vaguely reckon that she had had a long courting with Sir Thomas Mandray, although it had ended rather abruptly — but no one had been able to snare her heart.

That had been what had initially peaked his interest. He had briefly seen her at Rhysand’s wedding, attempting some small talk that was easily and diplomatically dismissed by her. He had then relentlessly engaged in conversation with her in any opportunity he could find, being it from the few occasions in which she frequented Feyre’ small reunions over tea or when he coincidentally met her during her daily walks around town to visit Lady Emerie, a modice whose popularity was raising tremendously after Feyre’s bridal trousseau and wedding dress were all designed by her.

It was not until Feyre’s first official gathering as Duchess that Cassian realised the depths of his feelings for the sharp eyed lady.

He had been watching the ballroom from the sidelines, trying to escape the mob of scary mamas who wanted to throw their daughters at him, a glass of champagne in his hand.

Rhysand and Feyre had already danced the opening song, so the floor was now free to hold more partners. Both Cassian and Azriel had danced once with Morrigan — Rhysand’s cousin and a dear friend of theirs — and Elain had enough names on her card that they’d have to wait a fortnight to dance with her. Nesta on the other hand…. she had refused all invitations, although one could not help but wonder why by the way she seemed to glow whenever a new song was played.

“Lady Archeron” Cassian had greeted, bowing deeply and throwing at her his best smile, one that usually had young ladies fainting and old ones blushing.

But not Nesta Archeron. No, she had only deigned to make a polite bow and look ahead.

“I could not help but take notice of how entranced by the music you appear to be, my Lady” he had offered her his hand “Would you do me the honour of allowing one dance?”

That had caught Nesta’s attention, and she turned towards him, her gray-blue eyes finally meeting his hazel ones.

“I do not think why I should. I am perfectly satisfied to watch from the sidelines” she raised a perfect manicured eyebrow, glancing in the corner where the mamas and their daughters were “I am sure many other young ladies would rather have my place”

Cassian knew she was lying. Knew she desperately wanted to dance, but something was holding her back.

“It is said that dancing is the best way to encourage affection. Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable” he had nonchalantly said

“I beg your pardon” Nesta had exclaimed

“The lady has nothing to fear. I will not let you suffer ridicule because of your poor dancing” he had said in a patronizing tone, if only to see that fire in her eyes ignite.

And to see her accepting his offer with a murderous intent.

They had moved to the center of the ballroom, shocked faces all around them, both from the fact that Nesta was joining the dance floor and her partner being him of all gentlemen.

Cassian had never been proved more wrong once the first string from the violin was drawn and Nesta moved. He had been sure she knew how to dance, had only said those words to get a rise from her. But to see Nesta Archeron actually dancing… it was something straight out of a dream.

Cassian knew the waltz. His mother had insisted that all three sons have the same education, even though only Rhysand was set to inherit the duchy.

However, when paired with Nesta Archeron one could not be called nothing but a simple object to display her talents. Even the most notorious dancer would pale in comparison to her.

And Cauldron, she knew that. Nesta knew she was Terpsikhore, greek Muse of music, song and dance.

What a fool he had been, what a complete and utter fool he had made of himself. His only consolation was that some good had come out of his childish behaviour.

Nesta Archeron was dancing, and when she danced she threatened to bring empires to their knees, for her beauty got inhumanly enhanced, her delighted smile sending an arrow straight to his chest.

Cassian realised he had fallen hopelessly in love with Nesta Archeron. If he was to be true with himself, he had been for quite some time, since their first exchange of words when she had all but dismissed him as a pesky bug.

And as the last note was drawn, as the whole ballroom breathlessly took in Nesta, in complete awe of her, Cassian decided he was going to marry her.

Was going to propose to Nesta Archeron right at that moment.

Using the excuse of getting some fresh air after the tiring dance, he walked them to Rhysand’s extensive and well lit garden, quiet enough that they would not be interrupted but not so isolated as to risk her reputation.

They had walked only a few minutes in the garden when Cassian declared his feelings. He all but tripped with his words, hoping Nesta could see past his fool’s act.

She had not.

She had refused his hand in the most brutal way, her words so articulately poisoned that Cassian felt himself a young boy again, desperately trying to achieve perfection so his father would dare to spare him more than a passing glance. Would not regret having adopted him into his household and given him a home.

He had uttered an apology, saying how sorry he was that his feelings had caused her such pain and disgust, reigning his temper enough to walk her back to the ballroom.

Cassian left town the same night, and had stayed in his office and headquarters training the new milicia since then, burying himself with work until Azriel grew tired of his awful mood.

Sighing, Cassian brushed his horse’s neck, eyeing the lake.

Maybe a dive in the cold waters of Pemperley would help clear his mind.

~•~

Pemberley was, in Nesta’s opinion, the most beautiful state she had ever seen. Even more than her newly married sister’s dukedom.

“However this house’s lady is, she sure is happy” Emerie commented as the head maid showed them to the music room.

“As if someone could be unhappy with this much money” Gwyn whispered back, eyeing the grand piano.

Nesta was inclined to agree, even more after having seen the library. She could not help but envy the lady. Her husband must be a very cultured gentleman.

“May I show you the external grounds? I am sure the gentleman will find it quite delightful” the head maid said, looking at Balthazar, the only men among their group of four.

“I am most grateful for your hospitality” he answered, and they promptly moved outdoors.

Their party of four had been travelling through the countryside for almost two weeks. It was as much as a vacation for Emerie and Balthazar — with Emerie’s shop the season’s current sensation and Balthazar being her current business partner — as a time out from the ton, which Gwyn — the most required opera singer of the season — had announced to be in desperately need of a vacation from.

As for Nesta, she had always wanted to travel, but as a single woman of marriageable age without a male relative to escort her, it would have been a nearly impossible feat to accomplish.

When Balthazar had offered to escort both her and her friends Nesta had wanted to shout in delight.

Secretly, she also wished to avoid a certain gentleman, one whose heart she had mercilessly and regretfully broken.

Nesta shook her head as she walked through the garden, distancing herself from her party to think and remember.

Remember how she had enjoyed dancing with Lord Cassian.

How her body had sung and heated where his skin touched hers.

How she had found herself smiling and agreeing to take a stroll with him, using the excuse of feeling overwhelmed in the crowded ballroom.

How his smile had faded once she tore at him, throwing every hateful word his way to refuse his proposal.

Nesta had not seen Cassian since her sister’s ball, but she did not want to risk an encounter.

That trip could not have been more well timed.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice her hair getting caught in a low tree branch, ruining her intricate updo.

“No one is around” she muttered to herself as she took off the pins holding it in place “A few minutes with my hair down will not hurt”

So Nesta took each pin off, massaging her scalp as she walked in the direction of the state’s lake, the sun shining over its clear waters.

And that is when she spotted him.

Cassian.

Cassian was at the lake.

Cassian was shirtless, dripping wet by the lake’ shore.

Nesta knew she should turn around and forget what she was currently seeing.

But she could not take her eyes off of him.

Seeing a shirtless man in person was indeed a far cry from what her imagination conjured when reading romance novels.

Especially the way the water was running down Cassian’s tanned and hard torso, all the way down his pecs and stomach — was that a six pack or were her eyes playing tricks on her? — until it collided with his pants, which were hanging so low on his hips that Nesta could not help but feel a weird sensation low in her stomach.

Her legs stopped obeying her, and she swore her knees got weak when Cassian noticed he had company.

“Lady Archeron?” he exclaimed, as if he could not believe his eyes.

“Sir!” was all she could say, feeling her cheeks warming.

Cauldron what was wrong with her? It was just a body. A very nice, very wet muscled body and—

“What may you be doing here?” Nesta quickly inquired, cutting her errand thoughts.

“I am the owner” he simply answered

“Of the lake?”

She wanted to smack herself. How could have she blurted such a stupid and rude question?

“Yes, of the lake. And of Pemberley” he answered, amusement lacing his words.

“I didn’t know. The head maid said all the family was not home— we should not have presumed—”

“I returned without prior notice”

“Excuse me, are you and your sisters in good health?” Cassian added, and Nesta dared to think that he sounded a bit nervous.

“Yes. Yes they are. Thank you, sir” she managed to answer, her eyes firmly placed upon his face and not anywhere else.

“I am glad to hear that” he licked his lips and Nesta could not help but wonder if they would be cold due to the lake’s water or if Cassian’s unbothered face meant he was not cold at all.

Was she really inquiring of how his lips would feel against hers? Against her skin? If kissing Cassian would feel as dreamily as her novel's kiss appeared to be?

Nesta hated him.

Did she not?

“I had never seen you with your hair down”

Cassian’s words took her out of her reverie, and Nesta suddenly felt self conscious.

“Do excuse me for showing myself in front of you with such an unsightly appearance” she felt mortified. To have Cassian of all people seeing her like that, hair in complete disarray….

Nesta quickly turned around, fumbling with the hair pins in a vain and desperately attempt of redoing her hair.

“It’s beautiful” she heard Cassian saying in a breathless voice, and thanked the Cauldron her back was turned so he would not see how her face warmed considerably, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Let me help you” he quietly added, and she gasped at the proximity of wet, shirtless Cassian, who touched her hair softly.

“How come a gentleman such as you knows how to hairstyle a lady’s hair?” Nesta asked, feeling his warmth on her back, a tingly sensation between her legs when his fingers brushed her neck.

“I frequently helped my younger sister, Georgiana, fix her own hair in the occasions she played a little too far from what would be deemed proper for a young lady” she felt his hot breath against her neck as Cassian laughed “She favours outdoors activities such as horseback riding, although she’s quite accomplished in arts and music.”

“Your sister sounds lovely” Nesta said, turning to face him once she felt he was done fixing her hair.

“She is my brothers’ and mine whole world. There’s nothing we would not do for Georgiana”

Nesta felt her heart warming at his words, at his devotion and love towards his family. She wondered if he would do the same with his wife.

If he would have acted the same way towards her had she accepted his proposal.

Unbeknown to her, Cassian was imagining the same thing.

He was picturing how he could have helped her every morning with her hair if she had agreed to marry him. Instead, he would have to live with this one memory forever.

He was lost in her eyes, their bodies so close they were sharing breaths and Cassian was holding back by a sliver thread of self control to not hold her against him.

If it were not for the appearance of three people — Cassian supposed them to be Nesta’s companions — he very well could have done that.

“Excuse me” Cassian abruptly said, bowing deeply and leaving Nesta alone.

Although soon her friends joined her, Gywn and Emerie bombarding her with questions seeing her ruffled state.

Their party was getting ready to depart when Cassian appeared again, having ran inside to get changed and appropriate.

“Lady Nesta!” he called before she could get inside the carriage “Please allow me to apologise for not receiving you properly just now. You are not leaving?”

“We were, sir. We have already imposed too much” she said, spine straight and looking every bit the regal queen she was.

What he did not know was that was her way of maintaining a cool exterior and not blush remembering his naked figure.

“You are not displeased with Pemberley, are you?” Cassian asked, anxiously brushing his hair back.

“No. Not at all”

“And you approve of it?”

“Very much” Nesta said softly, a dreamy smile on her face as she remembered the library “A few would not approve”

“But your good opinion is rarely bestowed and therefore more worth earning” he said, and his smile was enough to make Nesta’s heart skip a beat.

Why was she feeling in such a way, she wondered. Why did her body feel hot and strange all over whenever Cassian was involved?

“Thank you. That is very kind of you”

“I shall not hold you back any longer” he said, helping her in the carriage, his calloused hand a stark contrast against her soft one “I will call on you and I hope you can introduce me to your companions. Perhaps we may go fishing tomorrow? My property is blessed with an abundance of them”

“We would be delighted to. Thank you, sir’

After the farewells were bid and Nesta’s carriage was only a distant dot in the horizon, Cassian got inside, smiling broadly at his head maid and butler.

“You are very chipper, sir'' the old woman said with a knowing smile, the butler agreeing with her. Their lord had been mopey for quite some time now, so it brought joy to their hearts to see his mood so high.

“I had a very good evening Mrs.Pots” he declared, thinking about how he should swim more frequently in the lake.

A few miles from Pemberley, Nesta stared at the scenery lost in thought, Cassian’s touch lingering in her hand all the way back to the inn.

•

Fixed Tag List: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @valkyriewarriors @moe8 @illyrianwitchling13 @silvernesta @bri-loves-sunflowers @queenestarcheron @imwritingthesewords @vasudharaghavan @rainbowcheetah512 @darkshadowqueensrule @letstakethedawn @starlightorstarfire @city-of-fae @thalia-2-rose @nestaarcher0n @rowaelinismyotp @julemmaes @dontgetsalmonella

{Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my Fixed Tag list}

#nessian #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #pride and prejudice AU #BBC version lake scene #sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #sjm fanfic

181 notes · View notes

theladyofdeath · 5 years ago

Text

Alone in the Ashes {12}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click > Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Isn’t it uncomfortable being in that weird awkward angsty fluff phase of the story

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“Angry people are not always wise.” ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Rhysand walked through the front door of their apartment, Feyre right behind.

“Get in bed,” she said, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

Rhysand didn’t have the energy to protest. Instead, he slumped through the hall until he reached his bedroom and slowly lowered himself onto his mattress.

Every movement brought a stabbing pain, dominantly in his ribs. In his shoes and all, wearing everything he had been taken to the hospital in the night before, Rhysand laid back against his pillows.

He could hear Feyre poking about in the kitchen. She hadn’t been the same after what she had confessed the night before. Now he’s using you to prove that even though I left him...he can still control me. It’s all my fault. No matter how much he tried to convince her otherwise, she wouldn’t budge.

She came into his room a minute later with a sandwich and a glass of water. She saw him lying pathetically on his bed, dressed in his filthy clothes, and smiled softly.

He loved that smile.

“Maybe you should get yourself cleaned up,” she said, setting the plate on his nightstand. “After you eat, so you can take your pain meds.”

“I don’t need them,” Rhysand said, grabbing his sandwich off the plate and taking a bite, still laying down.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Stubborn ass. They’ll help.”

Shaking his head, Rhysand said, “I’m fine, really.”

“I could hear you cringing while you laid down from all the way in the kitchen,” Feyre shot back.

Rhysand said nothing.

He took another bite of his sandwich.

“Listen to your woman,” Feyre said, stalking out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. He could hear the water running, filling up the tub, as he finished off his pb&j. When Feyre came back, Rhysand was drifting into sleep. “No, no. Bathe first. You stink and you’ve got blood everywhere.”

With a groan, Rhysand sat up and lifted his shirt over his head. Feyre must’ve seen the pain in his expression, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, because she was sitting on his bed, helping him take off his shoes, then his socks. Rhysand stood and unbuttoned his jeans as he walked toward the bathroom.

“You going to give me a sponge bath, Nurse Feyre?” he asked.

Feyre laughed from behind him. “Maybe. I even put bubbles in it for you.”

Rhysand grinned. “Now you’re just spoiling me.”

Kicking off his jeans, Rhysand slid into the bath, down into the steaming, bubbly water. He sighed, leaning back.

Feyre sat next to the bath as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Come in with me,” he muttered.

“You’re in no condition for that,” Feyre mumbled, but he could tell she was smiling.

Rhysand opened one eye and looked at her. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

With a look that said he was full of shit, Feyre slid off her dirty clothes and stepped into the tub. She sat on his lap, cautiously straddling his waist. Her fingers, softly and slowly, slid down his chest. With his eyes closed, and his hands resting on her ass, Feyre took a cloth and soaked it in soap and warm water before bringing it to his face. She dabbed above his split lip, erasing the dried blood, then moved to his neck, around his scratch, where Eris had pressed the blade into his skin. Once free of blood, she ran the cloth over his chest, his arms, his abdomen, being extra cautious around his broken ribs.

“Lower,” Rhysand begged, and Feyre’s body shook above him.

“You said you’d be good,” she laughed, quietly, dropping the rag in the water.

Rhysand sighed. “I lied.”

She was shaking her head when he opened his eyes. Beautiful, with her hair hanging around her shoulders, her lips parted, eyes watching her own slender fingers draw circles against Rhysand’s chest.

“I love you,” he breathed.

Feyre’s head shook, slowly, gray-blue eyes growing weary. “You love me too much.”

“Not possible,” he said, taking her hands from his chest and interlacing his fingers in hers. “I am so in love with you, Feyre.”

She smiled, but her eyes welled up with tears. “Rhys-”

“I love you,” he repeated, holding onto her hands. “I love you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I love you, too.”

With a heavy heart, he wiped that tear away, unable to say anything more. He knew she felt guilty, and he also knew that no matter what he said or did, she would continue to feel guilty. It was who she was. She couldn’t help it.

He pulled her into him, even though she protested, at first. Eventually, she reluctantly obeyed, but the moment her head was lying on his shoulder, her hand lying on his chest, she melted into him.

They laid like that for a long while, and they had remained silent for so long that Rhysand didn’t realize that Feyre had fallen asleep until the water started to get cold. He shook her body, gently, and when her eyes opened, he suggested, “Bed?”

She nodded, pulled the plug, and got out. He followed, and she wrapped a towel around his waist before drying herself off and following him back to his room, where they laid together, naked, beneath the sheets, clinging to one another as they fell asleep.

~~~~~

Azriel woke up to the early morning sun peeking in through his blinds. He stayed perfectly still, though, because Elain was sound asleep, cheek resting against his chest.

But he really had to piss.

Slowly, he thought to himself, as he pulled himself out from under her. He let her down, almost as smoothly as he had hoped, but either way, she stayed asleep as Azriel scooted off the edge of his bed and tip-toed quietly to the door. He begged it not to creak as he opened it, slipped out, and shut it with a soft click behind him.

In the hallway, he finally let out a breath as he closed himself inside of the bathroom. In the mirror, his hair was a mess, his eyes still blurred, trying to wake up.

While relieving himself, a loud knock came on the door, making him jump.

“I HAVE TO PEEEEEEE!”

Azriel snorted. “Almost done, Mila.”

“Hurry up!” she cried. “Uuuuuuuuuugh.”

He opened the door and was met with a tiny human, eyes narrowed, hands on her hips, auburn hair in absolute chaos.

She pushed her uncle out of the way and hurried to the toilet. Azriel cracked the door, giving her privacy.

“Hungry?” he asked, through the crack.

“Yes,” she said, sighing. “I want pancakes.”

“Of course,” Azriel muttered, heading back down the hallway, toward the kitchen, where Mor was sitting at the table, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Her brows rose. “My back is killing me. There’s a reason I sleep on the couch. Which, I noticed this morning, my dear Azriel, is empty.”

Azriel gave her a look before opening the pantry and pulling out a box of pancake mix.

“Not to pry,” Mor went on, “but when I went to sleep last night, I had offered the couch to Elain, where I know, for a fact, she fell asleep.”

Azriel didn’t give into her interrogation. “Talk to Rhys this morning?”

“Yes,” Mor sighed, “he called on his way home from the hospital a little while ago. He claims he’s perfectly fine.”

“Of course he does,” Azriel murmured, making a note to call Feyre later to see how he’s really doing.

“Are you really going to make me ask if Elain is in your bed?” Mor asked, setting down her mug, forcibly, on the table.

Silently, Azriel opened the cabinet and pulled out a bowl. “I would never.”

“Azriel,” she begged.

Azriel laughed. “You can’t stand not knowing shit, can you?”

When he looked over his shoulder, it was written all over her face: no, she couldn’t.

Shaking his head, Azriel turned back around and found a measuring cup. “Yes, she’s in my bed. No, nothing...happened.”

Mor was instantly on her feet. “You hesitated. You definitely hesitated.”

She threw open the fridge, grabbed the milk, and met him at the counter.

“I hesitate a lot,” Azriel said, opening the box of pancake mix. “People typically don’t read into it.”

“I’m not people,” Mor said, opening the milk and measuring it out before pouring it into the bowl. “I’m your best friend.”

Azriel glanced at her through his side eye before shaking his head. “I don’t know. We kissed, and we…..cuddled, and it was nice.”

Mor’s smile widened. “Azriel just said cuddle. How sweet.”

Azriel jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow before pouring the mix into the bowl.

Looking his direction, Mor’s smile softened. “Jokes aside, I do think it’s sweet. I like Elain. She’s kind and gentle. The complete opposite of you, and opposites attract.”

Azriel lifted a brow as he pulled out a whisk and pointed it at Mor. “Are you saying that I’m not gentle?”

Mor cackled. “Have you met you? Gentler than Cassian, maybe, but that’s not saying much. No, Az, my love, you are not what I consider to be gentle. Unless it’s with Mila, but everyone’s gentle with that little princess.”

“Speaking of,” Azriel mumbled, hearing her run down the hall.

Mila came around the corner, bouncing up and down. “Pancakes! And chocolate milk, please.”

“Ah, getting sugared up first thing in the morning,” Azriel laughed, and caught his niece as she jumped into his arms. She climbed onto his back and held him around his neck. “I suppose since it’s Saturday, it’s okay.”

“Yay!” she yelled, right into his ear.

Azriel mixed what was in the bowl together as Mila jumped from Azriel’s back into Mor’s arms, who carried her to the couch to watch cartoons, just as Azriel’s bedroom door opened.

As Elain came around the corner, her cheeks were pink.

Even having just awoken, Azriel was blown away by her beauty.

“Hi,” she said, quietly.

“Hi,” Azriel replied, biting down on his lip to suppress his smile. “You like pancakes?”

Elain hesitated. “Everyone likes pancakes.”

“Well, you’re in luck, then, because I make phenomenal pancakes….that come from a box.”

Elain laughed, and Azriel noticed Mor peeking over her shoulder at the two of them.

Mila, just now realizing there was another person in the room, jumped up on the couch. “Lain!”

Elain smiled, brightly. “Good morning.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, still excited, but slightly confused.

A soft laugh tumbled out of Elain as she hesitated. “I...couldn’t wait until later to come see you, so I came a little early.”

“Yay!” Mila yelled, sitting back down beside Mor. “Come on, Lain, we’re watching Looney Tunes.”

“Looney Tunes still comes on?” Azriel muttered.

“Of course,” Mor called, as Elain joined the girls on the couch. “It’s a classic, Saturday mornings wouldn’t be the same without it.”

Shaking his head, every woman in the house abandoning him, Azriel made pancakes.

And then the four of them sat down at the table and ate, together, laughing over the sugary breakfast of pancakes with syrup and whipped cream, and chocolate milk.

Azriel kept catching Elain’s eyes, and all he could think about was the sweet taste of her lips the night before, and how he couldn’t wait to taste them, again.

~~~~~

The deep blue waters of the Sidra were sparkling as Cassian ran along it in the early morning heat, Bryaxis beside him on his leash, tongue hanging out as he jogged alongside his master.

He didn’t sleep at all, between what happened to Rhys and how he left things with Nesta.

Rhysand could take care of himself, Cassian knew that, but he couldn’t stop his anger. He knew it was a problem, that anger, knew it had often gotten him in trouble in the past, but it was stuck, simmering in the pit of his stomach, making his mind wander and, agonizingly enough, be alert at all times.

As for Nesta, he walked her up to her apartment after Azriel had dropped them off in the middle of the night. They walked in silence until they stood in the space between their doors. Hours before, they were fucking in his office, but before they parted, they just stared at each other awkwardly before saying goodnight.

Maybe it was because they were exhausted.

Or, maybe it was because she regretted it.

Or, even worse, maybe he was overthinking it, which was always a possibility.

He almost texted her before he left for his run, but he decided against it, assuming he would run into her at some point during the day.

Hoping to take his mind off everything, he leashed Bryaxis up and took to the riverwalk. It didn’t work, it only made him a little more tired and way more sweaty.

By the time they reached the little park along the river, in front of the heart of the city, Cassian was exhausted. He must have run at least four miles without even realizing it, although the moment he started to slow down, he was definitely feeling it.

He walked a little bit before sitting in the grass with Bryaxis and stretching out his long legs.

“Good boy, Ax,” he mumbled, as the golden retriever laid down next to him.

And then Cassian caught him, bright red hair, tall frame, jogging toward him.

Eris Vanserra.

Cassian’s blood turned cold.

He was instantly rising to his feet, whistling for Bryaxis to follow. He did, the good boy he was. Cassian stormed in Eris’ direction, and by the time Eris saw him coming, it was too late for him to turn around. Cassian dropped Bryaxis’ leash, demanding he sit as he came upon Eris and tackled him against the sidewalk. Their skin scraped, blood instantly drawn.

Eris’ eyes blazed as his back hit the pavement. “What the fuck, Nazari?”

But Cassian had his hand against Eris’ throat as he pinned him to the ground. “Stay away from my family.”

Eris pushed back, not the scrawny kid he’d been in high school, anymore. He rolled Cassian over into the grass, his fist hitting Cassian in the jaw. Cassian spat up at him, saliva and blood tainting Eris’ light tanktop.

To Eris’ surprise, Cassian grinned. Little did Eris know that Cassian thrived on confrontation, thrived on steady competition, thrived on the idea of giving Eris what he gave to Rhys.

They tumbled around in the grass, fists flying, ignoring the cries and glares they got from the few early morning riders that were around.

“Fuck you, Nazari,” Eris spat, elbowing Cassian in the jaw.

Cassian was quick though. He’d been in enough fights throughout his lifetime to make split decisions amidst the chaos. All the anger he had been feeling flooded him, ignited him. He pinned Eris to the ground, pinning him down with his knees as he landed a blow to his eye, another to his cheek, another, another, another, until someone was pulling him off- two someones.

Eris laid in the grass, hands covering his bloodied face.

“Stay away,” Cassian warned again, spitting in the grass. He shook the joggers, who had pulled him away, off of him and whistled for Bryaxis.

The pup came running.

Eris was on his feet, blood flowing from his nose. “You just made a huge mistake.”

“Fuck off, Vanserra,” he spat, taking Bryaxis’ leash.

The runners who had pulled Cassian off of Eris were standing between them now, but Cassian stayed, staring Eris down until his message was clear.

Stay away from my family.

Eris shook his head and turned away, walking back the way he had come.

Cassian waited until he was further down the walk until he turned around, too, heading back toward his apartment.

Bryaxis whined, looking up at Cassian.

“I’m okay,” Cassian reassured him, patting him on the head as they walked, along the Sidra.

By the time they reached the apartment complex, Cassian was about to fall over. Blood trickled down to the collar of his t-shirt.

He stomped up the concrete stairs, Bryaxis at his heels, worrying about his dad.

When Cassian reached the second floor landing, Nesta had just stepped out of her door.

She took one look at Cassian and cursed. “What the hell happened to you?”

Cassian shook his head, but Nesta stepped in front of him, blocking him from going into his apartment.

Reluctantly, Cassian stopped.

“I asked you a question,” Nesta hissed.

Cassian met her gaze. “Ran into Eris Vanserra.”

Nesta stilled, then took him by the elbow and pulled him into her apartment.

“Sit,” she demanded.

Cassian didn’t see a point in fighting it.

He sat on her couch, Bryaxis lying at his feet.

She stomped into the kitchen and soaked a rag with cool water before meeting him on the couch. She sat beside him and pulled his chin toward her. Gently, Nesta wiped the blood from his face.

“He got you good,” she muttered.

“He looks worse,” Cassian muttered back.

“Not that point,” she said, adding more pressure as she wiped the blood from his lip.

Cassian hissed.

Nesta didn’t care.

“Be still,” she ordered.

“Then be gentle,” he snapped.

Nesta rolled her eyes as she continued to clean him up. Once she wiped him off, she pulled out some ointment and rubbed it on the parts of him that were split open.

“Violence often makes things worse, you know,” Nesta said, screwing the top back on the tube of the ointment.

Cassian grunted, watching her walk back into the kitchen to wash her hands. “Going to scold me?”

“No,” Nesta said, drying off her hands, “but I’ll tell you it was stupid, because even you know it was.”

He did, he was grateful that no cops were around, but he couldn’t help it, not after what Eris and Tamlin had done.

“They can’t just get away with doing bad shit,” Cassian mumbled.

Nesta sat on the couch next to him, dressed in her running clothes. He assumed he caught her just before she left, herself, for the walk along the Sidra.

Nesta didn’t disagree, but she said, “Just don’t do anything stupid.” Then, she added, “Again.”

Cassian looked at her, leaning his head back against the couch. “Holy shit. Nesta Archeron cares about me.”

Nesta stilled. “No, I don’t.”

But Cassian was grinning. “Yes, you do.”

With narrowed eyes, she jabbed him beneath his eye, where a blue bruise was forming.

“Ow,” he laughed, pushing her back.

Even Nesta couldn’t help but smile as he crawled on top of her and pinned her down.

“Mean,” he muttered, and her eyes lit up. “Cruel.”

“I was going to go for a run,” she said, but her legs wrapped around his waist.

“It can wait,” he said, voice muffled against the warm skin of her neck.

Nesta didn’t protest as her eyes fell shut.

~~~~~

Rhysand was fast asleep as Feyre scribbled a note and put it on his nightstand.

Running to the store. Be back soon. Stay in bed. Love you.

She hurried out of the apartment, careful to keep quiet, careful not to wake him.

As she got in her car and headed for the grocery store, Feyre decided to take the long way around. She stopped short at an apartment complex she was all too familiar with.

Before she could convince herself otherwise, Feyre hopped out of her car and walked up the stairs, down the landing, until she was standing in front of her old front door.

She pounded her first against the thick wood.

He opened it, a minute later, looking like he just woke up. His golden eyebrows rose. “Feyre?”

She shook her head, fists shaking at her sides as she looked at Tamlin. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, but only one word came out, full of anger and hostility and judgment.

“Why?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @starkovsnesta @redisriding @photofeesh

@mariamuses @tswaney17 @amaranthas-whore @awesomelena555

@danika-defendyr @rachaels14 @faequeenaelin @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn

@hashtolanashoba @poisonous00 @chemicha @samotita

@mynewdreamwasyou @humming-asong

@candid-confetti @awkward-avocado-s

@my-fan-side @queen-of-glass @stars-falling

@ifangirlninja @sleeping-and-books @burritowithfeels

@morebooks-pls @kindofawalkingpoem

@sannelovesreading @empressnesrynfaliq

@halstudies @sleeping-and-books @alwayss-reading

@amren-courtofdreams @b00kworm

@wifeofchrishemsworth @booksstorm

@goldr0ses @blackjacks-donuts

@humanexile

@booksbooksbooksworld

@girl-who-reads-the-books

@mis-lil-red

@shhhimreading03

@emilyrose111294

@negativenesta

@argentumstella

@itsme-malin

@flora-and-fae

@feyrethedarklady

@starryandbooks

@gingerglides

@gloriouspaintercreatorbandit

@6255igntm

@littlehoneyybee

@the-regal-warrior

@awkward-avocado-s

@aelin-rowan-whitehorn

@julemmaes

@regular-nessian-trash

@ugh-avila

@superspiritfestival @the-dark-swan @girlgotattitude448 @eversincebeirut

@midnightrose-reader @lord-douglas-the-third @thestarguidingyouhome

@empress-ofbloodshed

Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #fanfic #fanfiction #tacmc #nessian #tacmc AITA #feysand #elriel #sjm

242 notes · View notes

daywing-moved · 4 years ago

Text

Birds of a Shadow

Rating: G

Summary: Elain comforts Azriel after Mor confesses to Azriel.

A/N: This was originally supposed to be a poem, which then turned into prose, and then transformed into a semi-Elriel fic.

All characters belong to Sarah J Maas!

fic tag list: @thesirenwashere @justgiu12 @b00kworm @acourtofmarauders @empress-ofbloodshed @maastrash @savemesoon8 @bryaxisthefaceofnightmares @yourtypicalbookworn @ryhsrocks @captainthefangirlofhp @iammissstark

Let me know if you want to be tagged for my fics here! Or if you would like to be removed from the tag list, just let me know.

Fic Masterlist

There is a shadow hunched over the fireplace.

His head is bowed, his wings drooped, blanketing the floor in a mass of tragic power. Darkness surrounds his presence, as it always does, but this time, it’s different. The shadows lash and flick, like a violent, rolling storm contained in a glass bottle. The black night outside draws to him like a comforting blanket, but is pushed away. Instead, rain falls outside, a silent, drizzling downpour.

The embers of the flames flicker in his hazel eyes, the only light in those swirling, sullen eyes.

A warrior in defeat, tired of fighting all his life for something he could never conquer.

A fallen angel.

Elain watches him from the doorway. She, perhaps, is the only other light in the room aside from the crackling fire. And she watches, silently, as his long lashes close, his jaw hardening. Shoulders tense, figure clad in black.

The seer sees, and she does not see a vanquished fighter. She sees past the darkness and the shadows and the cold, cold night, to the bird finally ready to take flight inside. The bird that had been caged, as if its beauty could be cherished for longer behind age-old bars, was finally free.

Elain takes a step into the room. The shadows drift away from her. He does not want to taint her with the presence of brokenness, but she has been broken before. Had been broken by an iron ring that would not break, even as she tore herself apart for months. Would not leave, until she pieced herself together and tended to the tangled thorns of her heart.

She was not afraid to let a bird out of its cage.

Elain approaches him softly, a hand resting on the mantle of the fireplace. His eyes turn to her, and they are filled with bitterness and hopelessness. Tragically beautiful. He attempts to raise his wings, to put that mask back on for her, but she shakes her head.

“You do not have to hide yourself from me,” she whispers gently, staring into his eyes. Moments of silence pass before he acknowledges her presence.

“It is not your responsibility to heal me.” He stares into the fire, shadows barely contained.

“I will not heal you.” Elain lifts her chin, daring him to raise his gaze to her again. “You need to find that light yourself.”

His shoulders sag. “She was supposed to be my light,” he murmured, running a hand over his face and sighing.

Elain shakes her head, replying, “You know her light was not yours to match.”

For five hundred years, he had loved the red-clad, blonde-haired female. Half a millennium of longing gazes, a lifetime of hope slaughtered. Winked out like the last of a flame.

Elain does not think that the legendary Shadowsinger had not known it would turn out this way. Perhaps his shadows did not pry where he did not want them to, but she has an inkling that they would at least know that Morrigan was never destined to find peace in a male.

She watches his chest rise and fall with every heave of a breath. “She loves you.”

His head snaps up, his eyes flashing. “Even if she did, I would not deserve it.”

Elain takes in that guilty look of his and does not falter. “Her love is of a different kind, Azriel. She may not take your heart, but she loves you as family loves each other. It is that warm, joyful love of hers.”

He looks out the window on the other side of the room, at the rainy, cloudy midnight sky. “I know. I knew.”

Elain watches that bitter smile on his resigned face. “Then why do you mourn like such?”

A flicker of pain. His shadows slash against the floor. “Because I thought loving her would be safe. I’d be able to love her and never hurt her, because she would not want me back. I knew how to feel and how to fight that battle. It was so easy because I knew that I could not win that war.” His breathing catches in sync with the stuttering of Elain’s heart. She knows he does not want her pity, so she does not give it. But this tears open old wounds of hers. Ones that she will gladly rip open to guide her friend back to the light.

Or, maybe, she did not have to guide him. He was already there, but could not see it. Had been there for some time, but was clouded by his own self-doubt.

He shakes his head, muttering, “I’m sorry, Elain, you shouldn’t have to-”

“Do not. Apologize,” she interrupted, emphasizing every word. “You do not apologize for setting the bird free.”

He finally pushes off the mantle, running a hand through his ruffled hair, and repeats, “Setting the bird free?”

“You knew Mor would say it one day. That the bird would be able to fly one day. But you kept the bird caged, like you could be startled by its beauty one more time. She is not yours to trap or to admire like such. Let the bird fly. The bird no longer wants to be trapped.”

Azriel stumbles backwards, eyes panicked. “I trapped her. Like some creature of the sky trapped underground. Cauldron, I’m just like my father-”

Elain whips her head to him. “But the bird learned in that cage, Az. Your father locked you under and forced you into the reality of those dark walls. But from you, Mor found so much more. You saved her from Autumn. If not for you…” she shakes her head. “You may have your flaws, as all people do. But stop fearing those flaws, as you stopped fearing the darkness.”

She takes a breath. The words pouring out of her—they were like talking to her past self, words that no one had ever told her until she started telling them to herself, like the little parts of a puzzle all fitting together.

“You had begged for a cure for that darkness, and took it as soon as you thought it had appeared. As soon as she had appeared. But you are a Shadowsinger. You do not need someone else to push and pull at the darkness. You control your own shadows, and they are not some poisoned part of you. Every rose has its thorns, and those thorns make them strong.”

His mouth opens and closes. “I want to say that I was blind,” he breathes. “I want to say that I never knew about her preferences or her life or any of it. I wish I hadn’t been a shadow over her life.”

“Not being blind only shows you knew her,” Elain counters. Her honey eyes are warm but defiant. “And it is an honor to know someone as bright as Mor. You are not a shadow over her now, are you?”

He stays silent, watching her. She stares up at him with a round, understanding gaze, and he can’t help but admire how there is no pity or sympathy there—only a knowing look. He gives her a single shake of his head, even as a storm continues to brew in his eyes. A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Why? How?”

Elain stares down at her hand, at where an iron engagement ring used to be. A cage for her finger, suffocating it until it could no longer be free. A mark of possession rather than love, of cruelty rather than the promise of a better future. She had not realized it then, but she realizes it now. “There was no one who understood me the first months I came here,” she says, releasing a small sigh. “There was no one to tell me what to do or how to feel or why what I had thought was love had suddenly become betrayal and hatred and disgust.”

Azriel’s face shifts, as if realizing just how alone she had been.

“I saw birds,” she continues, the rain outside pouring harder. “I saw them and thought about how they flew in the rain. It must’ve been cold and dark for them, like how empty everything felt for me. But they sang nonetheless.”

Her eyes dare shutter for a moment. “And that was the only thing that kept me sane. How I could be a bird, trapped in a thunderstorm, but the storm would see an end. When you started talking to me, and showing me the gardens, your wings… it was like my bird could finally take flight again. I’d found a friend in you. I was just… I was just hoping I could do the same for you, even if the wings do not spread tonight.”

And the look on Az’s face is utter awe, awe at how someone could speak such beautiful words.

A defeated warrior can still hope, can still rebuild, he remembers. He remembers now. His wings lift slightly. “Thank you, Elain.”

She knows a wounded heart cannot be fixed overnight. Elain takes a step forward, not close enough for them to touch, but close enough to see the clear reflection of the fireplace in his hazel gaze, like a light burning anew. A new dawn.

She takes his scarred hands. “There are many battles to be fought,” she says.

He takes in the sight of her gentle hands in his rough ones.

“Those battles may last the entirety of an infinite night,” Elain whispers. She smiles at him, briefly. “They are not easy. You know this.”

She squeezes his hand before letting go and watching the rain halt outside, clearing way for the watery moon. “But what makes a night worth living through is the stars. My stars are already shining. And I will be there as your friend through every battle, as you were through mine, until the stars can shine for you, too.”

He nods, and her heart lifts, lifts, lifts to the stars like a winged bird soaring. Perhaps she is when he offers, “Would you like to fly tonight?”

She nods. She would not allow the Shadowsinger to drown in his sorrows again, and she knows he finds freedom and comfort in the night sky.

So, in the aftermath of the rain, they perch on the rooftops of Velaris. Wrapped in the smell of petrichor and chilled night mists, they reveal hidden wounds and stitch them back together.

And when Elain finally sees a peek of guilt fade from his gaze, a light where it may have looked dark before, the stars are shining gently above them, finally unhidden and twinkling.

#elriel #elriel fic #elriel fluff #elriel angst #acotar #sarah j maas #acofas

86 notes · View notes

acourtofthought · 2 months ago

Text

"Cassian wanted to beg on his knees for Nesta in his bonus too! You just have a problem because it's E/riel!"

And Nesta hadn't recently been kidnapped twice, experienced the trauma of the Cauldron, been changed into an entirely different species, was forced to leave her home, lost her fiance, lost her father, experienced her first war, had to stab someone and been at odds with the sister she was closest to when Cassian's bonus happened. Truly, Az wanting to taste Elain as their hallmark argument is the most juvenile thing I've ever read in my life and I still can't wrap my head around how confident they act when bombarding us with it. Receiving anons gloating over As wanting Elain's "nectar" is so very cringe-worthy. "You just have a problem with sex!" Try again. I'm very sex positive, I just know that lust does not equal love. I'm old enough to have learned the difference between guys who think you're good enough to hook up with but don't put real thought into a future versus guys who want more. Or girls for that matter. Elain has never once hinted at wanting more with Az. Elain has gone through some seriously life altering things over the course of a year yet Az doesn't talk to her about any of them. Just like Feyre had been through some seriously life altering things at the start of ACOMAF yet she and Tamlin chose to focus on the physical in their relationship which was the true beginning of the end. Helion has been wanting a threesome with Cassian for centuries. Mor said that during their tryst, he badly wanted Casian to join. Does that mean Helion is in love with Cassian? "But Az saved Elain and gave her his special weapon!" Az saves everyone and Elain honestly couldn't care less about daggers, no matter if she's the first he gave it too. SHE DIDN'T CARE. He also went on to stare at Mor with yearning and was relieved not to get Elain a gift so....... These past few weeks feel a lot like some E/riels are spiraling. Death threats / nasty anons / gloating posts that are childish beyond belief. Feel free to ship whoever but no matter how hard they try, they will never be able to convince me that Az feels anything remotely like love for Elain. I've not only experienced the difference between love / lust in real life but I've read so many authors I can spot love in fiction from a mile away. All these posts do is make me feel sad for them if they truly believe that the E/riel setup is what real love is supposed to look like. If they truly think that's what Sarah J Maas writes true love as looking like.

#anti e/riel

42 notes · View notes

otterthewasted · 5 years ago

Text

[SNIPPET] ACOWAR - Rhysand's Perspective (Rescuing Feyre)

What if, instead of Cassian and Azriel rescuing Feyre in book three, A Court of Wings and Ruin, it was Rhysand who came for her?

Includes scenes before Feyre flees the Spring Court, Rhysand's search for her, and their reunion.

This started out as a little side project to take a break from my other ACOTAR project (having some writers block with the next section, which is why it isn't out yet). Next thing I knew this has taken days and a couple of re-writes, (I messed up the timeline initially) and is kind of ridiculously long.

There is some mature content:

This is my first time in like fifteen years that I have written a full blown sex scene - I am praying it isn't awful.

There is some mild violence, but nothing too horribly graphic.

Also yes, one of the chapter's is titled after a Nickleback song, I might have listened to it while writing this... I'm so sorry. *dons the cone of shame.*

This is only Chapter 1 out of 3 - to read the rest of this fic head over to AOS HERE.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

*Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

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

It had been weeks since the disastrous night in Hybern, weeks since my Mate sacrificed herself to get us out, weeks since she willingly returned to the Spring Court - in order to bring it to ruin. It had been weeks and every single second of it had been torture, every second that she was not at my side had left me feeling broken, and empty. I never let her know that however, not because I thought she would ridicule me, but rather because I knew how much my pain would hurt her.

And right now - I needed her to be focused. To be a wolf.

Because she was deep in a den of vipers, and one wrong move could mean the difference between life and death.

In the first weeks after our escape I spent all of my time focused on my brothers and their recovery. Azriel recovered first, once the ash arrow and the bloodbane were out of his body, his natural Illyrian healing and Mor’s quick work put him on the road to recovery. I had a difficult time making him rest a few extra days when he had woken up and heard the rest of the story, heard about Feyre. His rage burned nearly as bright as my own - but it was his feelings of failure that threatened to crush him entirely.

Azriel was struggling to get out of bed, his face set in a mask of pain and rage - only his eyes showed more than that, they spoke of failure, and self-loathing.

“Azriel!” Mor yelped and tried to force him back into bed, to hold him there.

He growled at her and she froze with shock, but didn’t let go of him.

“Let me go Mor,” he said between gritted teeth.

I stood on the other side of his bed and spoke quietly, “Mor, let him go.”

She looked at me, pain and doubt in her eyes, but she finally released Azriel’s shoulders and stood up.

“Azriel, you can not go get Feyre.” I said in the voice of the High Lord, a voice backed with my darkness, with my power - something I rarely did, and even less often with my family.

Both Azriel and Mor froze as the echo of that power ran through them, then Azriel looked at me, a look of betrayal flashing across his face.

I gave him the barest hint of a smile, without a trace of humor, and spoke again, this time in my normal voice, “I am not ordering you to leave her Azriel, I am asking you to respect the decision of your High Lady. She made this sacrifice, knowing the risks it entails, and has made the decision to follow it through. If you go and get her right now you will undermine her authority only days after she has accepted that very authority. Yes, her life is in danger - but Feyre is not without weapons and not without training. I am asking you, as a friend, as a brother, to trust your High Lady.”

Azriel had stared at me, and I read the heartache in his eyes, but he finally sagged back into the bed.

“I will abide… as my High Lady wishes.”

I gave him a nod and looked at Mor, unshed tears in her eyes as she sank back into the chair at Azriel’s side.

I left the room then, and as I was shutting the door behind me I heard Azriel’s soft words, “Mor, I’m sorry…”

“There is nothing you need to apologize for Azriel. Just rest.” Was Mor’s only response.

Azriel continued to blame himself, and it didn’t matter what I or anyone else said to him. He truly felt as though he had failed to protect my Mate when I had relied on him to do so - except that he had protected her the entire time I wasn’t there with them, once I was there it had become my responsibility and I - I had failed to protect Feyre.

It was my burden to bear, a guilt that was all my own.

However Cassian was dead set on sharing the same burden as both Azriel and myself - though it took longer for him to get to that point, and that was due only to his healing. I had not been sure that it would even be possible to heal his wings, they were so damaged… and I knew if his wings could not be healed, that Cassian would pine himself to death for want of the sky.

I sat with him for days as the healer came and went, hour by hour, watching him lay there unconscious and pale with the loss of blood. We had been forced to keep him unconscious in order that he didn’t move and jostle the delicate membranes the healer was so carefully growing back in place. If there was such a thing as hell, then this had to have been it - my Mate gone, my brothers injured, my hands tied… Everything I had feared and fought to prevent happening Under the Mountain had come to pass, every torment I had taken on my body and my soul so that my family would not suffer it - here it was lying before me.

I was so sick at heart, it ate at me until I feared I might be devoured by it. I shared none of this directly with Feyre, she had enough to deal with - but she would ask about Cassian and Azriel, late at night when she was completely alone. I would tell her the truth - because I would not lie to her, but I never showed her the full extent of my suffering, yet I think she knew regardless. She would say nothing in words, but down the bond she would caress me, it did little to assuage my guilt, but it eased the pain. A little.

When Cassian finally came awake after nearly a week unconscious and healing, he had looked around the room confused, and I could see the memories flickering in his eyes as he tried to organize them.

Suddenly he tried to shove himself up on his elbows, letting out a long hiss of pain. I was ready for this - I knew he wouldn’t be content to lie still, and due to the extent of his injuries I couldn’t just strong arm him back into bed.

With a look of regret, I reached into Cassian’s mind and took control of his body, and as his eyes widened, I forced him to lie back down on his stomach.

“Rhys!” He yelled at me with pure anger and betrayal, unable to resist my control of his body.

“Cassian,” I said calmly, keeping a firm but gentle grip on his mind, “you are still too badly injured to get out of bed. I’m sorry, I don’t want to do this, but until I can trust you won’t be an idiot I won’t let you get up.”

He was breathing hard, the movement of his heaving chest causing his wings to shift and making him wince in pain each time.

“Rhysand,” he said hoarsely, “don’t-”

I crossed the room and crouched beside the bed so I was eye level with him.

“Feyre is alive. Azriel is alive and mostly recovered. You’re the only one we’re concerned about right now.” That was partially true - we were terribly worried about him, but my fear for Feyre went far and above my fear over Cassian’s recovery; just another piece of guilt to add to the pile.

He stared at me, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a grim line. “Tell me everything that happened.”

I arched a brow at him, “Get your breathing under control first, Cassian, you aren’t doing yourself any favors right now.”

Cassian glared at me, but he focused and forced his breathing to slow, and I nodded finally.

“Tell me the last thing that you remember.”

He shook his head once, “I… The Cauldron, they… put Feyre’s sisters… Nesta…” His body tensed and he let out a low growl and tried to push up again, struggling in place as I held him down with my mind, forcing his body to relax.

“Rhysand let me go!” He snarled at me viciously.

I swallowed and said, “Nesta and Elain are safe Cassian, we got them out, brought them here - they’re alive and they’re safe.” I held his gaze as he began to calm down again, and repeated calmly, “They are alive and safe.”

The pain in his eyes was nearly unbearable - I understood and shared his pain, and his guilt at what happened to Feyre’s sisters. I hadn’t just failed to protect my Mate, I had failed to protect those she loved as well.

Cassian closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow before he said softly, “What happened… after.”

Sighing I reached up and ran my hand through my hair, “We were trapped - I thought to possibly make a bargain but Feyre… Feyre acted faster.” My throat tightened and Cassian’s eyes snapped open at my hesitation.

“What happened?”

“Feyre used her gifts to fool everyone,” I explained quietly. “She made it seem as though I had been controlling her, but that she managed to break free of me. She… ran to Tamlin and begged him to save her, and then she begged the King to break the bond.”

Cassian’s eyes widened and he made to reach for me, but found that he still couldn’t move his body.

“Rhys…”

I gave him a vague sort of smile, “He couldn’t break the Mating bond, but he didn’t know that - he broke the bargain between us instead. Feyre begged for our lives, for us to be allowed to leave. Mor grabbed Feyre’s sisters and winnowed them out while I winnowed you and Azriel out.”

He stared at me then asked in a near whisper.

“Where is she?”

I stared at him for a moment, it had been nearly a week since everything had happened, but it was still hard to say it, to admit what happened and where she was.

Cassian deserved the truth however.

“Feyre is in the Spring Court.”

Cassian’s power surged up as he struggled to break my hold on his body, rage washing through him, coloring all of his thoughts in red.

I hated myself but I had to do it, I couldn’t let him jeopardize the healing to his wings. Reaching into his mind, I set a block in place, denying him access to his own power.

At first I don’t think he believed it was me, that I could or would ever do that to him, but after a minute of futile thrashing inside of his mind, he looked at me with disbelief and betrayal, and yes, even a touch of hatred.

It hurt to see that look on his face, it hurt to know I deserved every second of it.

“Cassian, it’s not permanent, as soon as you have calmed down I will give it back to you.”

“You BASTARD!” He shouted at me.

I let out a sigh, and reached up, rubbing my aching eyes - I hadn’t slept in days, and they burned with tears I refused to shed.

“Cassian do you ever want to fly again? Because if you do-”

He cut me off with a snarl, “If you think for one second I care more about my wings than I do about my family, about Feyre-”

I dropped my hand and looked up at him, my heart aching with pain and love and despair.

“I know,” I said nearly in a whisper, but the tone of my voice stopped him in his tracks. “Cassian, I know how you feel. She is my Mate - do you honestly think there is anything in this world that could stop me from going to her?”

“Then why haven’t you?” He spat at me angrily.

I stood up finally, taking a slow, steadying breath. “Because she is my Mate, and I trust her.” I paused, holding his gaze before I continued, “She is also my High Lady.”

He froze, body and mind, all of his thoughts suffused with disbelief.

“I had her sworn in as my High Lady just before we left for Hybern, Cassian. She is not my consort, she is my queen, my equal - and as High Lady she made the decision to sacrifice herself to save all of us. I haven’t gone to rescue her because she doesn’t need me to rescue her - she has a plan, and she is acting on it. As her subject you are expected to obey… and heal. Because when she comes back here, if she finds out you ruined your wings on a piss poor attempt to save her when she didn’t need to be saved, she is going to throttle you.” I arched a brow at him, “We all will, for that matter.”

“Feyre is… High Lady?” He said slowly, trying to wrap his mind around it.

I nodded, and watched as he slowly relaxed, his mind and body no longer struggling against me. I cautiously removed the block in his mind so he once again had access to his power.

“Will you rest now and let the healers do their work? If so I will let go of your mind.”

He gave me a slow nod, and I withdrew out of his mind completely, poised to take control again if he decided to be a stubborn bastard - but he remained laying in bed, staring at me.

After a few quiet minutes he asked, “How bad are my wings?”

I took a breath, “They were bad - we weren’t sure if anything could be done, however they are healing and Madja is confident you will be able to fly again.”

Something tight inside of him eased and he nodded, closing his eyes. “Good,” was all he said and the door opened, Madja walking inside with her small tray of medicine and tools. Seeing me she bowed her head, and then seeing Cassian awake she smiled kindly at him.

“Do as she says Cassian, I’ll be back soon.”

He nodded again and I left, retreating to my own room that was less a haven these days and more a place of torment - without her…

Cassian was up and flying again now, he had lost some of the strength in his wings, but he worked every day to rebuild it. We were all recovered in body, if not in mind, and we were waiting - waiting for Feyre to call for us, waiting for Hybern to attack.

Waiting for the axe to drop.

- - - ~*~ - - -

I had begun to notice that there was something wrong with the bond over a week ago. Feyre had buried it deep inside of her mind when she first returned to Spring Court, to shield it in the hopes that Tamlin would not realize she was still Mated to me, but this felt different. It felt like Feyre was… masked. Like she was the top of a mountain, I knew it was there, but she was hidden under heavy clouds. It could just be that she was having to hide the bond even deeper than before and that was why she felt masked, except there was something undeniably wrong about it.

I was finding that the panic I felt since that day in Hybern was growing nearly hour by hour now and it was becoming difficult to control my instincts which screamed at me to go to my Mate, to bring her back. I beat those instincts back by mere inches; I trusted my Mate and trusted that she would call for me if she needed my aid.

It was pure torture to wait.

There had been a moment, a little over a week ago, when I had damn near given into those instincts - a moment when a brief surge of pain had struck down the bond and I saw flickers of Tamlin and another exploded room. The bastard had done it again, and this time I knew he had hurt her. This time she hadn’t been able to shield in time! Rage had surged through me until I tasted it, and I had been seconds away from winnowing to her side when… amusement. I had felt amusement flickering down the bond at how Tamlin had fallen for it. It had hit me then that Feyre intended to push him, to make him explode and purposely did not shield against it - I didn’t know why but I knew that she was ok. I had cancelled everything for that evening, I wasn’t going to be able to focus on any of it anyways, and retreated to my bedroom to wait for the signal that she was alone.

Are you hurt?

I had sent to her then, forcefully keeping my panic in check. I had to wait several long minutes for a response, and her words were… faded, almost weak sounding, as though she was yelling them over a vast distance.

Sore, but fine. Nothing I can’t handle.

I had gritted my teeth as I sat on our bed, thinking of all the ways I wanted to kill Tamlin - hurting her was just one more damn reason to add to the pile. I gathered my response together, unable to keep the rage out of my thoughts, and sent it to her.

I know better than to tell you to be careful, or to come home. But I want you home. Soon. And I want him dead for putting a hand on you.

Another insufferable length of time before her response came, just as weak and stilted, but I could taste the humor that came along with it; though it did little to ease my rage, there was a relief in hearing her humor again. It had been too long since I last saw her smile or heard her laugh…

Technically, his magic touched me, not his hand.

Shaking my head at her and whatever quality of her character it was that drove her to do reckless things, like attack the Attor in the air, freefalling towards Velaris - or goading Tamlin into attacking her. Bravery I suspected, but whatever it was, it made my heart race with fear.

I’m glad you have a sense of humor about this. I certainly don’t.

I waited, and waited, and wondered if there would be no further responses - perhaps she had fallen asleep… Then the response came, an image of her beautiful face, eyes crinkled up in laughter as she stuck her tongue out at me.

I laughed.

I couldn’t help it.

Ah Feyre, my Feyre.

Smiling, with a touch of mischievousness, I had sent her an image from my favorite memory of her stretched out on the table at the cabin, both of us covered in paint as I knelt before her and used my tongue in sinfully, delightful ways.

Her moan, the last thing she sent me that night, had driven shivers down my spine.

But as I lay in bed that night, thinking about her, always about her, I worried about the bond, worried about how she felt so masked. Carefully, so as not to bother her while she slept, I had inspected the bond, drawing claws of darkness across it lightly, brushing my mind delicately across hers… she was there, I could feel her, but it was becoming harder and harder to see her.

I couldn’t, for the life of me, fathom why.

I had considered asking Feyre about it, asking if she was feeling the same thing, but our moments of communication were far and fleeting. Each time we spoke she was adamant about sending me as much information as she could, we rarely talked about anything other than what she had discovered about Hybern. I had been loathe to alter that plan, because as soon as she felt she had gathered enough information then she would be home.

Home.

I had fallen asleep that night, imagining her in my arms.

And woken up hours later to a nightmare of watching her turning into mist and no matter how hard I tried to hold on, when the sun rose, she vanished entirely.

My heart had raced in terror, and I hadn’t been able to banish the image from my mind. I hadn’t slept for the rest of the night.

- - - ~*~ - - -

The bond went silent.

At first it was like I couldn’t process it. I could feel the emptiness in my mind where Feyre had been, but my thoughts wouldn’t wrap around the reality that she was… gone.

I was sitting with my family, having dinner, and I didn’t realize that all conversation had stopped, that everyone was staring at me.

My body had gone rigid with terror, my breathing coming in ragged gasps.

Mor was out of her chair in an instant and at my side, grabbing my shoulders.

“What’s wrong? What happened to Feyre?” She asked, her voice calm but her eyes were wide.

Feyrefeyrefeyre

I stared at her, and couldn’t speak - couldn’t think.

“Rhys?”

Feyre where are you?

I reached for Feyre, reached for the bond and pulled on it… there was resistance. Oh gods… she was still on the other end of it, she was alive, she was there, I just… couldn’t see her, or feel her…

“Rhys.” Mor’s calm demeanor cracked slightly.

Swallowing hard, I shook my head slowly, “I… don’t know. The bond, it’s gone silent… she’s gone, but she is still alive. I can’t feel her or hear her…”

Feyre!

I knew I was rambling, was likely making no sense at all, but no one interrupted me. A second later I felt another set of hands on me, these ones small and delicate, and looked away from Mor to see Amren placing her fingers lightly on my temples.

“Let me in Rhysand,” was all Amren said.

I did what she said without thinking, lowering my shield and letting Amren into my mind.

Amren was not daemati, but Amren was… other. She couldn’t do half of what I could do mentally, but she did have abilities that no one left on this planet fully understood. Staring into her swirling silver eyes, I guided her to the bond, and felt as she traced a featherlight touch down it, following it to where Feyre should be and… wasn’t.

Interesting.

I heard Amren say in my mind.

What is? Where is she?

I asked, still panicking, struggling to keep my thoughts under control so they didn’t overwhelm Amren while she worked.

Amren didn’t respond at first, she was still examining the bond and then she… did something I didn’t expect and wasn’t sure how to explain. She took part of her “self” and almost seemed to mist it, until that part of her being became similar to a fine silver powder and she somehow blew it over the end of the bond where Feyre should be, but wasn’t.

Yet when the powder settled - there was Feyre, or an outline of her, barely visible, but there.

Amren… w-what does that mean? I asked, hardly daring to hope.

I felt Amren withdraw from my mind, and watched her take her hands away from my temples as she frowned at me slightly.

“Amren-” I began hoarsely.

“I’m not sure what it means Rhysand,” she cut me off. “She’s there, you saw her, but she is… blocked.”

“Blocked? How? By what?” The panic that was pumping through my body began to be replaced with rage.

Amren shook her head, “I don’t know Rhysand. It could be something Feyre did herself, self defense possibly.”

I stared at her.

Self-defense? Was Feyre in danger this very instant and I couldn’t sense it at all?

“Let’s go get her,” I heard Cassian saying and he was already standing, agitated.

I shifted my attention around to each of them, studying their faces - hard and resolved, prepared to go to war for Feyre, for their friend. For their High Lady.

I laid my head back against the chair and closed my eyes, thinking everything through, forcing my thoughts to calm so I could consider every angle.

“Feyre told me she was planning on returning soon…” I said quietly, “She may be currently working on escape - the situation could be delicate. If we go barging in there we could do more harm than good.”

Opening my eyes, I looked towards Azriel, who was standing beside Cassian, the shadows swirling thickly around him.

“We need information - any information you can get.”

“We haven’t been able to infiltrate Spring Court since before Hybern,” Azriel warned me quietly, “but I’ll do everything in my power to find out what is going on.”

I gave him a stiff nod, “I know. We… We’ll give Feyre a day or two - if she is escaping then she could easily winnow here in that period of time.”

Azriel nodded, Cassian didn’t look happy, Mor was obviously upset and Amren… looked puzzled. It was Amren’s expression that worried me the most.

Looking back at Azriel I nodded, “Go.”

He bowed his head and vanished.

I stood and swallowed then said, “I’ll be at the House in a few hours.”

Everyone nodded, remaining silent as I made my way upstairs, into our bedroom. It was night but the bedroom seemed darker than it ever had before, almost forlorn, stripped of color and life.

Feyre, where are you? What’s happening?

I called out down the bond over and over, only to be met with deafening silence. I watched as the silver powder Amren had used to identify where Feyre should be slowly faded, and when at last it was gone completely I felt myself sink to the floor.

Feyre…

4 notes · View notes

acourtofabsandillyrians · 7 years ago

Text

When The Shadows Sing - Chapter Two (Azriel Fanfic)

If you all have seen the Facebook Live videos from Bloomsbury about ACOFAS, you know that Emily really, really loves Azriel. So, I made a fanfic just for her (and my own entertainment), and we’ll see how it turns out. PLEASE REBLOG. I really want Emily and the Bloomsbury team to find this, so spread the word!

Word Count: 790 words

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Soulmates

Azriel is still recovering from the War and has been in a dark void inside himself that no one knows about. That is, until he meets Emily, a mysterious woman he ran into while shopping. What happens when the shadows sing?

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Azriel sees a familiar face at Elain’s gardening club.

Shoutout to Sarah J. Maas! These are her own characters.

And the people at @worldofsarahjmaas . This is for you, Emily!

A/N - Sorry this took so long. I’m on summer break so I’ll have more time (and stamina) to write.

CHAPTER TWO

I can hear them before my shadows whisper in my ear. The giggles of Elain’s gardening group meeting once a week. At seven in the morning. Right outside my temporary room in the townhouse. I can never find it in me to tell Elain to push the time later, though. Her flowers—her ability to nurture a life right beneath her hands—means the world to her. I can’t take that away from her…Even if it means losing sleep.

I really need to get my own place. Or stay in the House of Wind.

Groaning, I crawl out of my warm sheets and stretch backward, wincing at the tightness where the muscles near my shoulder blades meet my wings.

Great. Now my wings are failing me.

When I finally climb downstairs, grab an apple, and turn away to go back to bed and try to get a morsel more of sleep, something tugs at my stomach. Like—a string attached to my rib. I whirl around, dropping my fruit, only shielding it centimeters away from the floor.

Because through the window…That’s Emily. Emily is here.

At Elain’s gardening club.

I normally wouldn’t, but I can’t help myself and my legs go walking out the door. Emily is on hands and knees in the dirt, planting a starter flower into the dark soil. Her purple hair is in a tight knot on the top of her head, loose strands coming down and sticking to her sweaty forehead.

Gods, she’s beautiful.

I let out a soft sigh, quieter than ever, but then her head pops up as though I called her name.

“Hey!” She yells out, motioning me over. My eyes widen when I realize she’s talking about me.

She stands up and wipes off her apron as I near her. “Look at you, following me around.”

“I—I, um, live here.” I don’t stumble over my words. Ever. I don’t have everlasting pride like Cassian does, but I do have an ego. An ego that isn’t as tough as stone as the rest of me is.

“Really? Here with Elain?” Emily asks.

“Yes, sometimes.”

She gently rips off her gloves and closes her eyes, leaning her head back and soaking up the sun. My heart—flutters at that, as cheesy and cliché as it sounds. Elain announces that they’re done for the hour and that everyone is free to go.

Emily turns around and grabs her bag off the ground. “I really have to go. See you around, Azriel,” she says, touching me on the shoulder as she goes.

She isn’t there the next morning. Nor the next. I watch from my window every morning for her. My eyes search for that long brown and purple hair. It sounds creepy—even in my mind—but…spymaster. It’s what I do.

A week later, I stand up on the roof with Rhys, watching the city below us.

“I met someone,” I blurt out, not being able to hold my secret in any longer.

He furrows a groomed brow and opens his mouth, but before he can ask any questions I clarify, “Well, actually I ran into someone.”

His head tilts to the side. “And is that a bad thing?”

“Yes.”

“…Why?”

I huff and run a hand over my face, not wanting to have to explain something so personal. “Because she’s my mate.”

Rhys tries to act casual, but I can see the change in posture, smell the change in his temper. “Who is she.” Not quite a question.

“She goes to Elain’s gardening group every morning. Her name is Emily,” I explain.

He crosses his arms and leans against the railing, mindlessly ruffling his wings out behind him. “Ah, the one with the purple hair.”

“I can’t—” I run my hands frustratingly through my hair. “I can’t be around her, Rhys. I can’t look at her without…wanting her. And her scent, it drives me insane.”

My brother stares me down, an emotion I can’t name swimming in his eyes. “What do you want me to do, Az?”

“Help me, Rhys. Give me something to do. I cannot stay here.” I stare back at him, pleading. Actually begging. I’m at the point where I’m ready to bow to him on my knees when he nods.

“Go to the Steppes to visit Cassian. He’s up there with Nesta, and I’m sure he could use the help,” he says.

I nod. “Alright, brother.”

He agrees to winnow me out to save my magic. I feel the darkness wrap around me for a second, and then I smell the mud, feel the cold—hear the blows and punches some poor Illyrian is receiving.

And then I see her.

58 notes · View notes

court-0f-dreamers · 7 years ago

Text

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

If Rhysand were to take Tamlin’s place how different would our story be? Or would it stay the same?

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Tags: @acourtofdaisiesanddreams, @thelaughingzeebra, @rkjar1646, @empress-ofbloodshed, @22skybarr, @samariumpoisoning, @deezrmuhsheeple, @purpleboybunny, @krm00623, @ladysailorcaptaindoctor, @acourtofpainandfeelz, @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty, @illyrianinterrasen, @not-illegal-if-u-win, @urban-skys, @thrones-of-rosess, @samayla, @nerdperson524, @fracknugget, @valkyrienikolea, @bibliobug, @rokusasu, @ataurusinabookshop, @the-candor-shadowhunter, @allthenamesaretakenofcourse, @demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover, @illyriangoddess, @ourbooksuniverse, @kaliejane26, @atya-malik133, @akcmirran, @always-namelessismyprice, @the-song-of-the-wind, @bibliophileinnightcourt, @tothedreamerswholookup, @icantpeopletoday, @girl-who-fangirls, @angelcakes12332, @feyreeedarlinggg, @books-are-friends-not-objects, @rapcookie, @sirixslyobsessed, @nerdofmanypages, @rowaelinsmut, @nieliadamteragram, @eternally-reading, @dreamingofradescapes, @nerdybirdsgettheworms, @justhappym, @myhighladyfaeofthenightcourt, @1800-fight-me, @unicornbooks, @aileana-kameron, @kylooreens, @ddiieettzz-blog, @sahannahsa, @celaena-sardothiien, @bluephoenix222, @howtotameyourillyrian, @ame233, @tswaney17, @a-court-of-fangirl-and-tears, @high-lady-of-rochambeau, @fallingstarsfallenangels, @verifiefangirl, @urbisie, @rhysand-vs-rowan

CHAPTER 2 4 days later

I need this. A few moments just for me. No one cares anyway, Feyre thought, as she leaned her head back against the coarse wooden grain.

She had had a surprising few days. After her night in the forest, she had had three days of kills. Three days of food. She was able to sell the pelts in the marketplace, where a mercenary gave her twice the normal amount for them. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about that creature. At the most unexpected moments she would see those keen eyes, or remember that sense of home.

The rhythmic thumping sound brought her back to the present. From the sound, it was pretty obvious what was going on between Feyre and Isaac in the Hales’ old barn.

He held her, her legs wrapped around his waist, and lifted a single iron cuffed hand to push his hair off his sweaty brow.

She gripped his slight but toned shoulders harder.

He released her legs, spinning her around. She now faced a shoulder-height shelf piled high with rusty, old milk pails. She grabbed the edge and arched back urging him deeper.

His hands came around her front, squeezing her breasts, his fingertips grazing her erect nipples.

She looked down at his hands. Lean knuckled fingers, that often helped his father on the farm. She tried not to think back to last week when those hands were deworming a pig.

“More”, Feyre urgently whispered back. He increased his pace, and she arched even closer to him as the sounds of their meeting filled the barn.

She also heard a slight rustling to her side. It was a goat poking its nose in the hay strewn across the floor. It lifted its head, slowly chewing a mouthful of straw. Its beady eyes held her stare with idle tenacity.

“More!” she said, and slid her hand down. She groaned as her fingers rapidly moved between her legs.

She tried to ignore it when the goat sat down and watched.

Isaac stepped closer and thrust harder against her inner depths. For a few moments nothing else in the world existed but their bodies. Nearly there…

The door flew open.

SHIT! Feyre thought.

Nesta was standing there, hands on her hips, looking far too much like their mother. Shit shit shit.

“What the hells Nesta?! Why are you here?” Feyre shrieked, as she grabbed for her clothes. She clamped down the anger and embarrassment welling inside her. No, I will not be embarrassed. She knew what we did here. “Get dressed and get outside.” Nesta said sharply, staring them down like disgruntled queen.

She buttoned my tunic and pants, not bothering to say goodbye to Isaac as she pushed her way through the doors. “Really, Nesta...!” Feyre started.

“I don’t care about your sad little tryst. There is someone waiting to see you at home, and you better start explaining yourself now.”

*** *** ***

Aalop Archeron dropped the bowl of thin soup. With even shakier hands he tried to pick it up, nearly falling over in the process.

Rhysand cringed inwardly. He should be used to this.

The older man’s cane slipped dangerously on the now wet floor.

“Father, let me”, Elain said rushing forward. “Please Sir, forgive us, please,” she whispered, bowing her head to him, unable to make eye contact.

Rhys’ expression remained impassive. He had worn this face many times over the last five hundred years. The cold, dark, soulless Highlord. For the last fifty years, this had become his face to the world. The mask he couldn’t remove.

Unless you do your job and free them, he reminded himself.

“Enough.” he said, the low tenor of his voice an unfailing command. “I don’t care. Where is Feyre, your youngest daughter?”

“She is c-coming, Sir,” Elain said, still unable to so much as lift her head up as tears silently streamed down her face.

“Please. Please.” their father begged. “Take me. I will do anything. Please. I will pay--”

Rhysand forced a cruel laugh, “You think you can pay me? How much is a life worth to you, Aalop Archeron?”.

The fact that he knew their names scared them as much as his words.

He casually picked up a small wooden carving from the table, examining the fragile object in his large hands - a winged woman with shining halo. He stared at it, the work was so delicate, and her face triggered a wisp of memory-

Behind him he heard a gasp.

He turned towards the door where Nesta held a shorter, thinner version of herself tightly in front her.

Such big eyes, was his first thought, big stormy eyes.

Feyre looked around the room, taking in the scene. Then she looked at him, and he wished she didn’t.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she spat. She seemed to look straight passed the mask, she seemed to look straight into his soul. And then across her face swept a hard look of hatred.

He would have hesitated if he hadn’t had fifty years to get used to that look.

“Now now now, Feyre”, his mocking voice drawled out her name. “Is that any way to speak to your new Highlord?”

She looked shocked. He saw her take in his immaculate black on black suit, his unnatural poise, perfect face, and his clearly non-human pointed ears. “Alright, pack your things; say goodbye. You killed a Fae in the forest, someone who was a vital part of the running of my court. As the treaty demands, you must now come with me to repay the debt.”

“What! This is absurd. I didn’t know. There is no law--”

“ENOUGH.” Rhysand raised his voice and very slightly released the damper on his power. Night filled the room. Wisps of darkness reached out and caressed Nesta’s cheek, trailed across Elain’s shaking shoulders, and clouded Aalop’s vision.

The fear in their eyes was real. He could hear it in the erratic beating of their hearts.

Good, he thought. He wanted this over as quickly as possible.

“Feyre,” her father pleaded.

Rhysand’s night receded.

Aalop reached out for his young daughter. “He has promised me that you won’t be harmed. That you just need to live in his court. You will be treated well, and then he will release you when you sentence is served. I-I am s-sorry my love”. His eyes beseeched her to understand. Understand how he couldn’t help his child. “You have always been too good for us…”

Elain finally looked at her, “Feyre, he will kill us all. He will raze this town. Feyre, help us.” she said between sobs.

Nesta said nothing, but released Feyre’s shoulder and stepped aside.

Rhysand watched shock, betrayal and then fearful acceptance cross her face. He couldn’t stand this stifling house anymore. With the single word “Hurry”, he stepped outside and waited at the road.

He was so angry. And the emotion burned through his guilt.

The fools! They had so much. They had their free lives, they had a roof over their heads, and most of all, they had each other. Yet they gave her away so easily. Even as their selfishness suited his cause, his anger grew.

He couldn’t hide his deep frown.

The Archerons mistook it for impatience.

“Go Feyre. Go.” Nesta pushed her out sold chattel.

Feyre turned away from the door and walked alongside him, looking back at her family with hungry eyes until she lost sight of them.

He looked at her small face and her stiff shoulders as she kept pace with his long strides. She was trying to be brave in front of the beast that took her away.

He was about to reach his hand out but stopped. She doesn’t want to touch you, he thought.

“We are going North”, was all he said before he grabbed her by the bag and winnowed them away.

*** *** ***

This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening to her. It took Feyre at least an hour, or longer, who knew, to get used to the idea that she was flying. No, not flying. Appearing and reappearing. Like her whole body was being shattered into a middle pieces and then reassembled in the blink of an eye. Each time in a different place across the land.

The first time she saw a sweet-smelling dark garden, the second was a stifling sandy beach, then so much orange and yellow she couldn’t tell the roof from the floor. Then, snowy blizzard. Warm light. Hot brighter light. Cold night. And then it was over.

The male next to her had barely touched her but she felt his magic release her from his side.

She tried not to look at him. He had the most stunningly beautiful face she had ever seen. That only made the terrible dark power rolling off him more terrifying.

He turned away, panting.

They were outside a massive black wrought iron gate. Beyond it were red mountains to one side, partially obscuring the edges of a river bordered by more sharp dark mountains. On the other side were black buildings with heavy smoke churning out of the chimneys atop them.

But Feyre’s eyes were focused on the gate and its surrounding fence, and she couldn’t help but notice the intricate work, the curling whorls interspersed with ugly dangerous-looking spikes. Spikes facing inwards. This wasn’t a gate to keep people out, but one to keep people in.

She forgot all the assurances of her safety he had granted her before they left.

She was looking at the Gates of Hell.

He reached towards the double-doored gate, and at his touch it opened.

“Welcome home”, his voice, calm and soft, didn’t hide the malice at the last word.

6 hours later.

It was midnight and nothing was keeping me inside this house.

They told Feyre it was a “house” but in reality, it was a palace. A dark, festering palace atop a red mountain that looked like the maw of a giant beast. She supposed it was a fitting home for the male who ruled over it.

The city was called “Velaris” and from the little Feyre saw of it, it was a place of nightmares. It was mostly a ghost town, the buildings daubed with moist black streaks of mould. On her way in, she saw a family of faeries with long blue limbs being threatened by large, angry insectile creatures with batons. The night court police perhaps, Feyre assumed, and gave them a wide berth. Upon seeing their Highlord in the streets they immediately stopped and returned to their posts. Feyre tried not to think about how terrifying the male next to her was if these creatures feared him. The citizens hurried away without glancing in their Highlord’s direction.

After that he rushed her into this palace,and she didn’t see another being while they wandered through hallway after hallway. It might have been grand once. The red uncut stone of the walls might have been warm, the high ceilings open and inviting, but like the rest of the city it felt abandoned. Feyre tried to track the turns and distances they travelled, but she quickly lost count. She had never been in a place like this. They turned abruptly and headed down a dark staircase.

He’s taking me to the dungeons, Feyre panicked.

It must have shown because he immediately stopped, and said, “These are my private chambers. Only those closest to me can enter here. You will not be harmed.”

They went down more twisted hallways and then travelled up a long spiral staircase, which finally opened over a wide white-marble antechamber lined with high windows. Feyre realised the whole palace had been carved out of the mountain itself, and they were now at the summit.

The Highlord stopped at the first door on the left. A single glossy black door.

Throughout this journey, her emotions were a riot, swirling between blind panic and brave resignation. All those thoughts stood still when he pulled out a heavy golden key and placed in it her hand, careful not to touch her, “Your room. Once you are inside no one except your handmaiden can enter without your permission.” he said. He paused for a moment, hesitating, and then started to step away, his head low.

Who are you?, Feyre thought forcefully.

His head snapped up like she had shouted it. He looked at her for the first time since entering Velaris, really looked at her. Feyre didn’t dare look away from those fierce violet eyes.

He stepped closer, tilting his head to the side.

“What do I do now?” she blurted, “Highlord”, she quickly added.

That broke the strange silence over them.

His expression changed, and he gave her that frustratingly cool smile. “Tonight? Whatever you want. I don’t care. Eat, sleep, read, stare at the wall. I’ll come get you in the morning. Until then, feel at home.” He said mockingly, knowing she could never feel that way.

He spun on his heels and walked away, hands in his pockets, with an aura of complete satisfaction.

A beautiful Fae was waiting in her room. Cerriwden, she said her name was. She spoke softly and moved through the rooms with silent grace, her straight, waist-length hair swaying behind her. Rooms, Feyre had rooms now. There was a sitting room with a desk, shelves of books, and a large fireplace framed by a comfortable couch. The bedroom was dominated by a decadent high-canopied bed, and was connected to an equally large bathing room holding a sunken grey tub. Each room was at least three times the size of her whole house.

Cerriwden ran a bath for her and helped her into clean, soft night clothes. Her warm, sure hands on Feyre were the only reminder that this was real, and not a twisted dream. And though Cerriwden spoke little, her gaze was keen, taking in everything Feyre did.

Well, she doesn’t work for me, Feyre thought.

Occasionally, Feyre noticed a twinge of pity, of sadness when the handmaiden’s clear black eyes met hers. In those moments, Feyre felt shame, and guilt, and hurt. She wasn’t going to be kept here, a prisoner in a lavish cell.

Which brought her here, at midnight, with her legs thrown over the ledge of her window, high above the sleeping city. Feyre tried to judge how quickly she would die if her accidentally slipped right now. She had used the trimmings of the rich curtains to fashion a rope, and she planned to attach it to the multiple balconies and balustrades that dotted her path down the mountain face. Just like the trees in the forest at home, she told herself as took in deep breath and jumped.

She made leap after leap, careful not to look down the at the dizzying fall should she miss. But her forest and her home were far from here. She didn’t know if she was thankful or angry at that fact. Thankful that despite the little they had, her family were not in this place. But angry that they were left to die. Without her, how would they feed themselves? And deep down, she hoped they would realise how much she gave them, and then they would come to regret how they barely fought to keep her.

A few more leaps and she was at the bottom. She was careful to tuck her homemade rope into her bag. She then grabbed the bow and two fighting knives she took from home and secured them within easy reach.

Preparation first. Know your what you are dealing with, Feyre, she thought. Then figure a way out.

She was not prepared for the sight of Velaris at night.

Feyre’s senses were assaulted as she took in the scene before her. Everywhere the sights, sounds, and smells of the crowd was overwhelming. The streets were teeming with High Fae, pushing each other around, yelling, leering, grinding against each other. Thumping music blared from doorways, different beats and rhythms, all merging on the street into a chaotic cacophony. The main street was lined with bars and restaurants, all filled with fae and faeries. Feyre sensed the threat of violence slinking underneath the revelry, a manic intoxication was could be uncorked at any time.

Her subconscious had picked it up before she acknowledged it. This was not the celebration of a happy, satiated people. These were the revels of a cruel and angry court. Her eyes narrowed to the faeries interspersed between the High fae. The faeries were waiting on them, servicing them, desperately trying to keep their establishments from being torn apart by them - the faeries were being abused by them. She tasted something bitter in her mouth. Fear.

She was an outsider here. She was a weak human. She quickly walked away from the broadway. She avoided the storefronts closing for the nights, patrons throwing down their rubbish as they left, smashing bottles and swearing. She was careful to dodge a drunk vomiting man only to nearly walk into someone pissing off the broadwalk. Thankfully, no one paid much attention to her.

She decided to make for the docks. Docks meant ships, and ships meant a way out.

But there were no ships.

By the waterfront inside the abandoned boatshed, there were only more faeries. It was quieter here, but somehow even more dismal. There were faeries from every part of Prythian, it seemed. Some looked like humans, some seemed like an extension of nature itself. A faerie with verdigris skin and hair like the richest leaves sat next to a pale white faerie with skin like translucent tissue paper. Groups of threes and fours clustered around barrels filled with fire, clutching packets of food in paper. Others were sitting up on thin bed mats and cardboard mattresses laid on the floor. There was muted conversation amongst the heads held low. Feyre had seen enough of hunger and poverty to recognise it on all these faeries instantly. She didn’t dare speak to anyone, it was clear that no one here wanted to be noticed either.

She crossed a bridge to the other side of the river and entered another cluster of buildings.

Here were hundreds of houses built almost on top of each other. They had sprouted up in a disorganised mass, a colony that had grown too quickly and irregularly, crawling from the waterfront to cling to the steep mountain face. But there was a beauty in it, for it was the only speck of colour in this city of stark black, tarnished red and drab grey. All the shanty homes were painted every colour of the rainbow. Though fading, with nothing of the bright technicolour of Elain’s garden in spring, it had a coherence and unity that was lost everywhere else in the city.

As she walked through the uneven alleys, she saw the walls of the homes were crumbling, roofs replaced with corrugated iron, and doors and windows sealed shut with makeshift wood planks. There were signs of the fae that inhabited those homes, with occasional clotheslines, rain waterpots on doorsteps, and the telltale flicker of a candle beneath a door frame. But for so many homes, the silence was eerie.

Until she heard something.

The scratching of claws against a wall. A girlish scream cut short. The sounds of scuffed boots on the ground.

She cautiously turned the corner.

Four creatures with bat-like faces, leathery wings and insectile bodies were crowded around a Fae girl.

“Hmmm, out after curfew. Your Highlord’s rules don’t protect you now”, one of them hissed. They leaned in close. Their leering glances made it clear what she needed protecting from.

The girl looked around for any path to run into, for anything that might help her.

They creatures started clicking, rubbing their claws together, purposefully taunting her.

Before Feyre could consider the consequences she picked up a large rock and aimed it. The creature closest to her grunted loudly as it hit him on the back of the head.

They turned towards Feyre in unsettling unison.

“RUN!”, Feyre yelled to the girl, who needed no encouragement as she bolted towards Feyre. They both ran through the pot-holed alleys that bordered the homes, turning often in the hope they could lose the creatures.

“Attors!”, the girl exclaimed pointing to the right, “We need to go this way. Attors hate water”, she pointed back towards the docks.

They veered sharply right, ducking under a low clothesline.

Straight into the path of a waiting Attor.

“Aren’t I lucky? I get two of you all to myself”, his voice dripping with vicious pleasure.

Feyre palmed the knives she had hidden in her boots as they backed away.

They barely got three feet away when the Attor flapped its leathery wings and appeared behind them, obstructing their path out.

“Rhysand has been careless”, he hissed gleefully. “Let’s get rid of those”, he reached over and with one swipe knocked both the knives out of Feyre’s hands, cutting her skin with his razor claws.

Defenceless now, Feyre tried to reach for her bow.

My bow!, she realised belatedly it wasn’t on her back. She had made the thin linen string herself. It must have snapped while she was running.

Panic seeped into the souls of her feet. This is it. It’s over.

The Attor moved in closer, reaching towards Feyre. “I think I’ll start with you”, he rasped, breathless at the thought.

Suddenly his head jerked up, and before either of them could make another movement, a bone-shuddering tremor snapped through the ground. Immediately followed by another.

Feyre held her breath as everything stopped. A hundred feet behind the Attor, still crouching from the impact of their landing, were two leather-clad Fae.

They stood together and started walking towards them, their magnificent wings flared out wide, spanning the length of the alley. The way they moved their tall, muscular bodies with restrained ease, the weapons strapped to every inch of them, and the fierceness of their expressions made it clear who they were - Warriors. These were the Fae of dreams and nightmares. And they were beautiful, in all their gloriously and deathly fury.

Feyre made herself small and started to inch back the alley. For whatever reason they were here, the distraction could save her life. They surely didn’t even sense her insignificant human self.

“Who in the hells are you?” the Attor hissed at them.

“I’m glad you asked,” said the broader one with shoulder length hair and rough-cut features, coming up to them, “now you will know who sent you back to that pit you crawled from.”

In a flash of silver, he unsheathed two short swords and scissored them across the Attor’s thick neck. Feyre stopped still, barely noticing the black blood spraying the walls as its lifeless head rolled towards her feet.

“Oh I lied. I didn’t let you live long enough to find out”, he said with an angry half-smile.

The taller one, a dark Adonis, rolled his eyes. Shadows swirled around his ears as his gaze turned to her. She was trying to still her hammering heart, when he nodded and said, “Hello, Miss Feyre. I’m Azriel, and this is Cassian. Welcome to Velaris”.

246 notes · View notes

feysandandnyx · 4 years ago

Note

She criticized Feyre for "living in a perfect little world" and in the end she built her own. A little world where she doesn't need to be judged or criticized. As if judgment and criticism were negative in a friendship. It was the friend who criticized her the most and pointed out her flaws that helped her to really heal (Amaren). So she went there and got down on her knees after begging for her forgiveness. She also acts as if she had been judged her whole life, when in fact her behavior was only not tolerated when Feyre finally found people who were on her side. Then suddenly, this character who isolated Feyre her whole life, started to resent the people who in her head "chose Feyre". So, logically, the IC does not serve, they are from Feyre. They love her and do everything for her and Nesta just isn't comfortable seeing how "perfect" they are. So she connects with people she doesn't need to share with Feyre and who won't judge her because of Feyre. And she goes so far as to exclude what she called a faithful dog: Elain.

I understood what Sarah wanted to do, but when applied to Nesta, she was a bit of a hypocrite / a little envious / a little cowardly. That's why I can't seem to like the reasons that led you to Gwyn and Emerie, although they are great. So now she has her perfect world, of people who will never judge her and the last word will always be hers. I agree when you say that it seems that she only wanted people who were willing not to judge or criticize her (as if that was a bad thing and as if in the end it was not her relationship with IC that made her open up to someone from the IC ). That is why the relationship of the IC is one of the most perfect things in the book.

They are not perfect, they fight, they don't always agree, they say harsh things but they are always together and do anything for each other. True friendships are like that. Just see how hard Az and Rhys were with each other in the Az chapter while it hasn't changed their relationship at all.. Az that people like to say that he is the only person in the IC who never judged Nesta, is cordial to everyone, without exception, but it was only with Rhysand that he felt free to be himself. Emerie and Gwyn did not know the worst version of Nesta. Nesta just told them what she did, but she was never as awful to her new friends as she was to Feyre, Cassian or her father.

Exactly and it speaks volumes to the kind of person Nesta is that she hates being called out or people standing up to her... the only people she treats with respect and kindness are Emerie and Gwyn (who know nothing about her past and there was not a single scene of them calling her out as friends should do) or Azriel (i love him but man gets a free pass for everything because he’s never the one who takes the difficult position directly)

And for me, that’s a huge thing. Nesta was closest to Elain and when Elain grows close to Feyre and also calls out Nesta? Bam, she lashes out at her.

If SJM was gonna write Nesta that way I believe she should have included a scene of Gwyn and Emerie actually standing up to Nesta because from my perspective, Nesta only likes people who never disagree with her or people who don’t say anything... and that’s why the concept of Valkyries friendship is cute but it doesn’t do much for me. You can love each other and still call each other out, that’s real friendship. And even with ACOSF being a long ass book, i’m still not convinced by Nesta’s development as she still never really gets over this..

This is just my opinion and it bothered me in ACOSF. What do you think?

Hi anon! I agree that Nesta wants and likes people who don’t judge or question her. tbh, I need to say that I haven't thought about their friendship much, don’t get me wrong it’s not because I dislike or hate them just I didn’t care bc they’re Nesta’s friends (they're lovely and definitely more interesting then nesta btw).

I understand that Nesta want to create new bonds that her sisters are not involved in. (Cause she was already the problem and she wouldn't accept it) But it wasn't Gwyn's right to forgive the mistakes Nesta made to others. She could have advised Nesta to admit her mistakes and say to apologize to those who deserved her or to forgive herself. They don't know Nesta's past and actions and their effects. and I think they shouldn’t be involved (neither for calling out nor justifying). So, it bothered me too.

Sarah wrote them as the sisters Nesta found after getting rid of her terrible and judgmental sisters. But I think we will never see Gwyn and Emerie really call her out because Sarah made them Nesta's happy little family.

‘’i love him but man gets a free pass for everything because he’s never the one who takes the difficult position directly’’ you’re so right, I may have liked it secretly

#feyre archeron #feyre stan #pro feyre #pro inner circle #anti nesta stans #anti nesta

39 notes · View notes