#people always love to brush over azriel and the shitty things he does and it pisses me right off

[achaotichuman]

Day 1

Let’s rid of the evils first and save the merrier ones for the end.

Who is worse?

Azriel: Confessed his love to a woman beaten and battered, and abandoned in enemy lands by her father

Cassian: Slept with a woman his brother loved in order to hurt the said brother

You may recruit your tribe in your crusade if it pleases you. Your contenders: @litnerdwrites @fenrysmoonbeamswife @gwandas @positivelyruined @hrizantemy

[I commend your courage for claiming to know my identity. However, I assure you, my beloved liege, you know naught of it.]

I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT THIS

Okay the obvious answer is Cassian but not for the reason you listed. I actually do not consider Cassian sleeping with Mor as a reason on the list of why he sucks.

Here are my personal favourites of why he sucks. Keep in mind, this is not all of them, just the highlights.

Emotionally abusing Nesta by constantly bringing up her trauma and using it as leverage to get her to act how he wants.

Restricting Nesta's intake of food when she was already struggling with eating.

Physically abusing Nesta as punishment via taking her on the hike from hell, and making her climb a mountain until she passed out from dehydration.

Knowing Nesta had been through SA but still cornering her while asking her sexually intruding questions (this ones from the bonus chapter I believe)

Taking advantage of Nesta sexually, by sleeping with her when he knew and had shamed her for using sex as an unhealthy coping mechanism.

I could keep going on and on, but those are just the few highlights.

Anyway, obviously I'm picking Cassian as the worst here BUT BEAWARE I AM DOING SO BEGRUDGINGLY.

When I tell you, I fuckin hated Azriel the moment he stepped onto page in the ACOTAR series, I mean I almost DNFed because I hated him so much.

Not for any particular reason (in the very beginning at least) he just pissed me right off.

But again, the example provided is hardly a reason as to why someone wouldn't like Azriel, so let's run through the highlights, shall we?

Azriel's abuse towards Nesta is quiet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

He was in active participate in punishing Nesta in the hike from hell by purposefully packing her bag to be as heavy as possible.

When he saw Nesta's bruises from falling down the stairs, he assumed they were from Cassian pushing her and he was amused by the thought.

He was a bystander as Cassian controlled Nesta down to her eating habits.

He also regifted something made for a woman he sexually fantasized about and tried to fuck, to an SA survivor. Which is *creepy* and *weird*

He's also just overall... really fucking annoying? He can't do his job properly, he can't hold his composure (See: The High Lord's Meeting), he really on exists as pretty decoration, and that's when he's not being the biggest asshole ever.

So, once more I am choosing Cassian as the worst, BUT ONLY BECAUSE HE IS WORSE THAN AZRIEL, NOT BECAUSE AZRIEL IS GOOD AT ALL

[cinaja]

any word on how btw!rhys becomes super extra shitty canon!rhys? 👀👀👀

Ohhh yes, lots of words!

So, there's little on btw!Rhys in the actual story (because I cut out his pov, because I couldn't stand writing him as somewhat nice), but basically, during his youth, it's considered cool for young Fae nobles to be very progressive in their mindset and with their plans for how they want to rule. It kind of goes hand-in-hand with the War. Everyone wants to change the world, abolish the class system, create equality. Basically, every Fae noble under 100 wants to be like Drakon. This never quite makes it into the story becuse the protagonists are all far more concerned with actually winning the War.

But well, Rhys is in the fortunate position of being friends with the people who are (without really noticing) at the head of this movement. This friendship is more of an accident (the only reason Miryam and the others ever noticed Rhys was that he is Mor's cousin, and close to their age, and they are never quite as close as Rhys later likes to pretend. They certainly aren't as equal. Miryam, Jurian and Drakon are arguably the most important people in the Alliance, each the best in their areas. Miryam started the war and led the Alliance. Even Mor, emissary to the Night Court and friend to all of them, held indefinitely more power than Rhys. He was just a common commander. But oh, how he liked to pretend he was just like them.) But anyways, Rhys enjoys the standing this gives him. He also kind of enjoys feeling rebellious against his father - being friends with people he hates, part of a movement that goes against everything he believes, is the very definition of rebellion for Rhys.

After the War is over, Rhys keeps the pro-equality mindset, partially because it annoys his father, partially because being able to say "I was friends with Miryam and Drakon" gives him a certain amount of standing (and oh, does he hate to always be only a footnote in their story), and partially because he genuinely believes in equality. However, his actions never quite match his mindset. Even during the War, he didn't try to earn the respect of the Illyrians he was to lead, didn't try to compromise and work with them, he commanded them through force. And after the War, the "blunt force" approach continues on. He never goes to university to the Continent, never learns their way of looking at things, he stays in Prythian and studies under his father, learns his way of ruling.

And then, about 150 years after the War, Rhysand's father dies and he becomes High Lord. Rhys mourns his family, but he also rejoices at finally, finally becoming High Lord, finally having real power. And oh, is he going to use it. (To his credit, he genuinely wants to be better than his father was.)

One of the first things he does is to visit Miryam and Drakon on Cretea (a visit only possible now that his father is dead). By that time, things on Cretea are working somewhat smoothly, and Rhys is... well, somewhat amazed. But above all, he decides that he is going to do better. (Outdoing Miryam and Drakon is something Rhys, whether he admits it or not, always wanted. 150 years of being a footnote, a friend to people who were so much more, now he is going to be the one to make history.)

He thinks he can do it, too. In his mind, he was always better than Drakon, who is largely the one responsible for making things on Cretea work. Rhys learned to value brute strength, cunningness and manipulation. Drakon doesn't have any of that, so in Rhysand's mind, it is clear that he is going to be better. (As for Miryam... well, Rhys always enjoyed being the most powerful and the smartest person in the room. With Miryam around, he was neither and even though she is the only reason he survived the war, a part of him always resented that.) So Rhys brushes off Drakon's offer for help, advice, anything he might need, and returns to the Night Court. Not without first boasting about all he is going to achieve.

The first thing he does is appoint his cousin and his two Illyrian brothers as members of his Inner Circle. When the other advisors disagree, he fires them. The Hewn City rises up in opposition. Rhysand, all brute strength (just like his father taught him), kills the rebels. Murder, as usual, doesn't lead to peace. He turns to the Illyrians. Not a hint of understanding, not a negotiation, he orders them to change their entire culture in a day. Women are to train. No more wing-clipping. Bastards no longer thrown out into the snow. (All good ideas, but none quite as easy as Rhys likes to think.) Within a months, the Illyrians rallied forces in opposition. Who is he to give them orders, this man who got so many of them killed in the War? ("But I put two of yours in charge," Rhys insists, thinking it representation and ignoring that the Illyrians never chose Azriel and Cassian to lead them.) Rhys, once again, answers with violence. Kills the leaders, forces the rest back into their camps. His next attempt to change things in the Hewn City (end forced marriages, give rights to women and servants) goes equally awry. Another rebellion, more deaths.

By the time it is over, Rhys is done. He signs a treaty with Keir, allowing him to largely govern himself. Pulls Mor back from the Continent where she worked as emissary and puts her in charge of the Hewn City. (Relationships with the Continent, previously good, get worse and worse. Mor, who had been friends with so many of the Continental leaders in the War, who had learned their ways, was respected amongst Continental royalty. The new emissary isn't.) Rhys bans wing clipping for the Illyrians, but goes back on all other demands.

The Night Court, he decides, cannot be governed with a soft hand. He keeps his Court of Dreams (oh, how ironic the name has become) and Velaris, spends most of his time in his City of Starlight where he can pretend to be the ruler he always wanted to be. He becomes, although he will deny it to his last day, just like his father was. Cold. Cruel. Uncaring.

He comes up with excuses, millions of excuses. He did his best. He could never have succeeded. Miryam and Drakon did it, but the Seraphim were always more open-minded than the Illyrians. They had the advantage of peace, of being isolated from the ouside, on their side. They didn't have to reform a corrupt court. If they'd been in his place, they would have failed as well. They had it easier. He knows, deep down, that they didn't.

He never returns to Cretea, forbids Mor from going. (Too risky, he claims. The truth is that if he goes, he won't be able to keep up his lies. Deep down, knows all too well that he never had it harder, that his way of ruling is wrong.) Nothing can ever be allowed to shatter his illusion. Some days, he even believes it himself.

Amarantha happens. Excuses upon excuses for actions he knows to be inexcusable. Most people think him crueller than his father now. Amarantha gets killed. Another rebellion, another swath of his own subjects he murders for treason. (He never learned to compromise, to listen. Never understood that rebellion doesn't happen without reason.)

Hybern's threat looms on the Continent and Mor suggests they go to Cretea, ask for help. It would be the logical course of action. It would mean an army far larger than their own, and a chance to rally the Continent. (It would mean having to explain 350 years of silence. All the blood on his hands. It would mean needing to explain the Illyrians and the Hewn City and the fact that he is just like his father. Having to explain that he married a girl of nineteen. He thinks Drakon might believe him he is wrong, but then, as he usually is, but Miryam was never one for excusing inexcusable deeds.) "They wished to remain hidded", he lies, thinking that he should at least be able to win this one war on his own.

When he looks at Tarquin, young and honest, full of plans he will surely manage to get to work, he thinks of Drakon. More excuses. "Tarquin with his neutral court will always have it easier," he says to Feyre. And she believes him. She looks at him and sees a good person in him. She believes his excuses, his carefully spun lies. She thinks he is good, and that anyone who says otherwise is wrong. He loves her for it.

During the charade that is the meeting with the queens, he has Feyre play Miryam (a young woman with ties to both the humans and the Fae, with unusual powers. He makes her emissary on top of it, thinking it's the closest he can come). Another War, that's the image he wants to send. He is going to unite humans and Fae, he will rally the Continent. Neither works. (He never understood.) The war effort crashes and burns around him. He can barely unite Prythian. But Feyre is there, worshiping him like a god, believing his every lie, never noticing all the ways he failed. His friends are there, backing him up. And he is fighting for the right thing, isn't he? Surely that makes him a good person. Deep down, he knows it doesn't.

[louiseleblancdiggory]

Congratulations on 900 followers 💥💥"It makes me feel sick to my stomach listening to you coo over your new partner. And the worst part is that I have to smile and nod like it’s not killing me inside. " Can you please do this for nessian??? Please give it a happy ending please☹️

Aaah thank you!! I don’t know if this was the scenario you were thinking of, and if it isn’t just tell me and I can write something new. I’m sorry if it’s too long. I hope you like, tho!!

Word Count: 1688

New partner

--

This was Hell.

Or if it wasn’t Hell, if it was maybe a cosmic joke, the universe had a shitty sense of humor.

It was definitely a slap to her face.

Nesta Archeron was gripping her glass of whiskey so tightly in her hand that she was afraid it would break. Which would be terrible because it would cause her sisters to actually stop and pay attention to her. Today was Feyre’s day and Nesta didn’t want to ruin her sister’s dinner rehearsal by shattering a glass with her bare hands, but it was near impossible to let go of the only thing that was stopping her from strutting across the ballroom and attacking Cassian.

“I can’t believe he was the audacity.” Amren murmured by her side. Her mouth was against her glass of wine but her eyes were also fixated on Cassian. “Asshole. I can’t believe he brought someone else to Feyre and Rhysand’s rehearsal dinner for the wedding. How much of an idiot do you need to be?”

Nesta didn’t reply, just watched the scene from across the ballroom.

Five years. They had been together for five years, known each other for five more and it had taken him three weeks to get over their break up. The thought made her blood boil, as did the sign of Cassian’s hand on the back of a pretty redhead. She was smiling up at him in such a free way that Nesta knew she had never done so in public. It had never been a problem, Cassian had always known that Nesta preferred to keep it to their privacy. It had never been a problem until it had.

The fight still replayed in her head, over and over again for the past three weeks.

“Why are you like this?” By this point, it was almost a competition of who could scream the loudest. “Why can’t you just fucking give a little sometimes? I’m not fucking asking you to completely change, Nesta, but it’s so tiring being the one always accepting shit in this relationship.”

“Fuck off.” She spat, her face probably red with rage. “Why the fuck do you care if I am all smiles and happiness around other people? Why the fuck does it matter what other people think of me, of our relationship?”

“This is not what this is about.”

“This is exactly what this is about, Cass.”

“They are my friends!”

“I’m your fiancé!”

“At the moment this is an unfortunate fact!” As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened. He took a step forward, but Nesta held up a hand. She had no idea how it wasn’t trembling. They were different, she had always known that, and there were no chances of either of them changing and that had been ok for their whole relationship. Part of her always imagined when Cassian would tire of her cold behavior and move on, but most of that fear had gone away when he proposed a few weeks before.

Nesta had never had her heart broken before, but she could swear she heard it breaking that moment. Heard it breaking while she pulled the engagement ring out of her finger and there it at his chest. The ring fell to the ground with a too loud thud.

“Why don’t we change that fact then, Cassian?” Her throat tightened. “It’s over. I’m tired. Go find someone else to scream at, someone else to be your fucking ray of sunshine whenever you guys go out. If you want someone so different from me, I won’t stop you.”

He tried to say something, tried to call her back but she was already at the door grabbing her car keys.

She could still hear her heart breaking.

Her mind snapped back to the present the moment she heard the thunder. She finally tore her eyes from Cassian and looked around the ballroom. Feyre was beaming at Rhysand, both of them lost in their little world. Elain was sitting with Azriel’s arm around her, both of them speaking to Mor. As if she could sense Nesta’s gaze, Mor turned around and looked at her. She glanced at Cassian before turning to Nesta again, giving her a shake of head that left very clear that Mor agreed with Amren.

When Varian came back to Amen’s side, Nesta insisted that they could go have fun and that she was ok. She was the one who ended things. She was fine. She was fine. She was fine.

She kept repeating it as they left to the dance floor, kept repeating it as she drowned her whiskey and finally let go of the glass. She only stopped repeating it when she looked at Cass again and saw him bending down to whisper something in the girl’s ear.

Nesta’s cheeks burned, her heart beating way too loudly in her chest. Suddenly tired, she grabbed her purse and started leaving. The rehearsal was over, and the hotel was on the other side of the street. If Feyre asked for her, both Mor and Amren would probably know that she went to her room and why.

The moment she stepped outside of the ballroom, she was completely wet from the rain. Not having the patience to wait for it to get better, she ducked her head and made to cross the street.

“So you’re just gonna fucking leave your sister’s dinner?” A man’s voice came from behind her. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, not turning around. “You’re just running away again.”

At that, she spun in his direction, his eyes burning like hot coals. “Go to Hell, Cassian.”

“Isn’t running the best you can do?” He was angry. He was furious by the look on his face. Good, she was too.

“What the fuck do you want, Cass? Do you want me to sit down inside and act like a behaved, proper lady? To be sitting quiet so you can feel as if I’m not running away from you again? To see you whisper sweet nothings in the ear of other women? To admit I shoudl change so you can feel good about yourself?”

“I never wanted you to change.” He shouted, spreading his arms. “And I still don’t. What I want is for you to talk to me, Ness. You left three weeks ago and ignored my phone calls, messages and I had to know through Amren and Mor how you were doing! So can you just fucking talk to me—“

“You want me to talk?” She laughed humorlessly. “Let’s talk. Let’s talk about how I always felt as if you were a step away from giving up on me because of my personality, and then three weeks ago it was exactly what you did!”

“I never gave up on you, I tried to talk to you every damn day for three weeks!”

She barely heard his words, her blood roaring at her ears.

“Let’s talk about how you showed up with someone else today and how it felt like a slap. How it makes me feel sick to my stomach listening to you coo over your new partner. And the worst part is that I have to smile and nod like it’s not killing me inside. This dinner was fucking torture. Hearing the two of you talk and laugh was fucking torture. Smiling like I was fine so there wouldn’t be awkwardness during the dinner was fucking torture. So if you really want to talk, Cass, start with how you broke my heart three weeks ago and did it again tonight.”

Her chest was rising and falling heavily, her throat sore. Even under the cold rain, she could feel her cheeks flaming up in shame. She was never an opened person about her feelings, and now she had laid them bare to her ex-fiance in the middle of the street. His eyes calmed down, and she wanted to tear him to shreds from the emotion she saw in his face.

As if approaching a wild animal, Cassian walked up to her until she had to tilt her head back and stare at him. He gently cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing hair strands away from her cheek.

“She’s a colleague from work. She would have come nonetheless, and I just offered her a ride. Feyre’s planner must have thought it was something else because before the rehearsal started, he added a place for her at our table.” He breathed out, his face framed with his sodden hair. He lowered his forehead until it almost touched hers, as if he was afraid that completely touching it would cause her to run away. “I didn’t want her to feel strange, and the only other person she knew in that table was Rhys and he was just too lost on Feyre. Mor and Amren looked ready to eviscerate me. I didn’t want to talk to you in front to everyone, did not want to have this conversation with them around. I am so sorry, baby, if I made you think I was with her. I could never be with her. I’ve known you for ten years, Nesta Archeron, and it would probably take ten times that for me to get over you. I don’t want you to change, and I am so sorry that I made you feel as you needed to. You are the fiercest, most perfect person I have ever had the luck of meeting. You were perfect ten years ago when we met, five years ago when we started dating and you are still perfect today. I loved you ten years ago, five years ago and I still do today.”

She was glad for the rain so Cassian couldn’t see her face soaked with her tears. Slowly, she raised herself on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his. Her hands sneaked up to the back of his neck, and the hands he had on her face went to her waist so he could pull her closer. Kissing Cassian after three weeks was like finally breathing after almost drowning. He was the focus of her entire being right now, and the world could fall apart as long as she had her body pressed against his, mouth in his as he extracted breathless moans and whimpers from her.

He only let go long enough for him to take something out of his pocket and show it to her. Their engagement ring, the red siphon bright against the streetlamps.

“Can we please talk, sweetheart?”

She kissed him once more as she nodded, and he sighed in relief as he put the ring back into her finger.

[theladyofdeath]

Friday Night Lights {ACOTAR}

Chapter 2

Summary: Inspired by the series Friday Night Lights. In a town that is obsessed with football, a group of teenagers are glorified for what they bring to the field. But what the people of Velaris don’t realize is that there is a lot more to life than football, and it’s not always pretty.

Revolves around Cassian, Nesta, Elain, Lucien, Azriel, Morrigan, Amren, Feyre, and Rhysand.

*Warning: This fic deals with sensitive material.

*Note: A chapter will be posted every Wednesday.

Click here for previous chapters.

Author’s Note: Hey, guys. I have surgery planned for Wednesday, so I’m going to post this wonderful (debatable) chapter today. Also, I’ve had a few of you ask about being tagged, and I’m sorry to say that I will no longer be doing tags in my fics. With Castaway, they hardly ever worked and I had a few readers get mad because of it. Instead, I have (and will be) tagging every chapter with “TACMC FNL” for your convenience! Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And, as always, i would love to know what you think. :)

Shout out to @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty for helping me with details! <3

Cassian hoped Rhys picked up Alana without a problem.

He had called Velaris Elementary and told them Rhysand Lunasa would be picking her up, although the Lunasas were already on her emergency release form.

And yet, his leg was shaking uncontrollably as he sat in his homeroom classroom to serve his first detention.

In typical Helion fashion, he was late. Even those who ran detention didn’t want to be in detention.

On top of that, their first game was Friday night and Velaris High School’s starting fullback was missing most of practice.

Coach B said he would have to put in extra hours during his afternoon free period to make up for lost time.

Mondays.

He didn’t regret it, though. In fact, every time he thought back to punching Eris in the face, his soul became a little lighter. The dick got what he deserved. Cassian had hoped the news traveled to Mor, he hadn’t seen her since homeroom. She wouldn’t be mad. He wasn’t even sure why she stayed with Eris, after all the shitty things he had done to her. But she was capable of making her own decisions, so Cassian stayed out of it.

Well, mostly. At least on her end.

A small smile tugged on the corner of his lips as the door swung open, and to Cassian’s surprise, it wasn’t Mr. Spellcleaver who walked in.

She was tall, at least she carried herself that way. She wore a heather grey pencil skirt with a white button down and a crimson red scarf, her long golden-brown waves hanging limply down her sides.

But her eyes were what caught Cassian’s attention.

They were like the calm before the storm, lingering over the ocean. Grey-blue, and staring negatively into Cassian’s.

Surely, she couldn’t be in detention. She looked to stuck-up. Too snooty. Too good for that shit.

“Name?” she asked, as she walked to Helion’s desk and sat down.

Cassian looked around the classroom, although they were the only two in there. “Uh, Cassian Nazari? Who the hell are you?”

She looked up from her apparent list, eyes narrowed. “Ms. Archeron. I’ll be overseeing detention, and that sort of language will not be tolerated.”

Cassian blinked. “Archeron? Are you Elain’s sister?”

The girl’s pencil froze from whatever she was writing on her sheet. “Yes.”

“Are you new, too? I didn’t see you today. Are you -“

“I’m not a student here.”

“Ah,” Cassian sighed, leaning back in his chair, as realization hit him. “You’re one of the new aids from the University.”

The aids from Velaris University came every year, although they typically looked older than the girl sitting in front of him. He quirked an eyebrow, which only seemed to annoy her more.

When she didn’t answer, Cassian grinned. “Well, since you’re not a teacher, and apparently we’re going to be spending some time together, don’t you think we should be on a first name basis?”

She put down her pencil and folded her hands on top of the desk. “Do you think that’s something to be proud of? Detention?”

“Are you going to council me, Ms. Archeron?”

The tone in which he spoke her name had her scowling. “No. We can stay quiet, if you wish.”

“Oh, no, I would love to talk to you. How did Elain like her first day?”

She didn’t answer.

“You coming to the game on Friday night?” he tried, again.

“I don’t waste my time at football games.”

“You should,” Cassian said. “If you’re going to be a part of Velaris High –“

“We shouldn’t be speaking,” she interrupted. “This is meant to be punishment, a time for you to do homework.”

Cassian grinned, catching sight of her nametag. Nesta.

“Well, Nesta,” he began, and she scowled at the sound of her name from his lips. “It’s the first day of school. I don’t have homework. And I shouldn’t be punished. My so-called crime is perfectly justified.”

“If you’re trying to get under my skin, it’s not working. Now be quiet.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Cassian asked, not bothering to take a hint. Taking hints when people were annoyed with him was not his style. “You look younger than me. Are you one of those freakishly smart kids that graduated high school at, like, fourteen?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, Nesta’s cheeks began to burn as she turned her attention back to her clipboard.

Cassian chuckled as he pulled the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He used to get embarrassed of his phone, because it was all he could afford. It wasn’t the latest iPhone, or whatever other smartphone every else had. His model was made ten years ago and only cost twenty dollars a month to keep activated.

Alana okay? He sent to Rhys.

He replied less than a minute later. Yup. She’s sitting by Coach B on the bleachers while we get ready. She had a good day. : ) She’s excited to tell you about it.

Cassian let out a breath. Good. She had a good day. That was a good sign.

He glanced at the clock.

Five minutes.

He had only been in detention for five minutes.

  “What’s your name?”

Elain blinked down at the little girl beside her. She hadn’t even realized she was there.

Her tanned skin was kissed by the sun, as if she had spent all Summer playing outdoors, and her long, curly brown hair was just as lovely as her hazel eyes.

“Elain,” she laughed, quietly. “What’s yours?”

“Alana,” she grinned, her two front teeth missing. “I’m five. My brother plays football. Does yours?”

“No,” Elain sighed. “No, I have no brothers. I do have sisters, though. One of them wants to be a teacher, and the other likes to paint.”

“Do you like to paint?” she asked, curiously. “I do.”

“Do you? I’m sure you’re a beautiful painter.”

The young girl smiled again as a tall, blonde girl approached them.

Elain recognized her immediately from a few of her classes.

“Mor!” Alana beamed, jumping to her feet and running into the arms of the blonde.

Mor smiled and brushed back her hair. “Hey, pretty girl. How was school?”

“Great! Are you gonna do cheerleading?”

“Yes,” Mor said, finding Elain. “I see you already met our new cheerleader. Elain?”

“Yep,” she said, rising to her feet and brushing down her gym shorts – a nervous habit. “I, um, have never done this before. Our last school was too small to form a squad, but I’ve always wanted to try it. I’m sorry if I’m awful, but I’ll do my best not to be. Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m babbling –“

Mor just laughed, keeping Alana close to her side. “It’s okay. I’m captain, and what I say goes. And I say that you are more than welcome on the squad, and if you’re struggling, I’ll be more than happy to help you in any way I can. There’s no need to be nervous.”

Elain froze. It’s not that she expected Mor to be mean, but…..well, no that was it. And she felt awful for judging.

“Where’s Cass, Mor?” Alana asked, breaking the silence. “He said he was going to get me from school, but he didn’t.”

Mor crouched down to Alana’s height, and brushed a curly black lock behind her ear. “He’ll be here soon. He was naughty today.”

Alana rolled her eyes. “Again?”

Mor chuckled. “Yeah, what can you do? Boys.”

Alana giggled then held out her hand to Elain, which she amusingly shook. “It was nice to meet you, Elain. You will make a fine cheerleader.”

Then, she walked onto the football field and sat down on the bench, by a man that Elain assumed was the coach.

“She sure has a way with words for someone so young,” Elain said.

Mor smiled, wistfully. “Yeah, she does. That girl is special.” Then, as if she noticed Elain’s curious glance, Mor cleared her throat. “Well, come with me. Let me introduce you to the girls. I think you’re going to have fun.”

As they were walking to the sidelines, a tall boy with red hair came up behind them and smacked Mor on the ass. Mor didn’t even look back, she simply rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. That’s Eris. He’s a dick, but I don’t feel like making a scene right now. Not in front of Alana.”

Elain glanced nervously at the boy, with his broad shoulders and throbbing veins. “Does he…..do that kind of stuff to everyone?”

Mor quirked a brow before realizing what she was actually asking. “Oh, no, don’t worry about him. He won’t touch you. He’s my…..my boyfriend.”

Elain caught herself from asking why she stuttered, but she simply nodded her head and continued with the rest of their walk in silence.

“Good afternoon, ladies!” Mor called out once they reached the group that was gathering, placing her hands on her hips. “This is Elain, she is the newest member of our squad. It’s her first time cheering, so I expect you all to be helpful and encouraging.”

To Elain’s surprise, she was greeted with clapping and cheers. They all gave her a smile, except for the one on the end. Noticing where she was looking, Mor chuckled. “That’s Amren. Don’t let her fool you, she’s cheery inside.”

Elain quickly looked away from the small, black-haired female before their eyes could connect. “She doesn’t seem like the….”

“Cheerleader type?” Mor laughed, finishing her question. “No, she doesn’t. But her form is great, and she’s our flyer. She’s into gymnastics, but since Velaris doesn’t offer gymnastics, she joined the squad in hopes to stay in the same line of work. As close as she could get, anyway. Don’t judge too fast, though. She’ll surprise you.”

Elain, panicked, began to tell Mor that she wasn’t trying to judge, but got cut off.

“Mor?”

The two girls spun around, and Elain stopped.

So did the boy who was walking toward them, dressed in football pads and carrying his helmet by the facemask.

Mor’s grin turned wicked as she glanced between Azriel and Elain, as the two stared at one another in timid silence.

Azriel showed no emotion – none except for the crimson patches on his tanned cheeks.

He was in all of Elain’s classes but one, which was yearbook, which she excitedly decided to take thanks to Lucien’s recommendation.

Azriel always sat on the opposite end of the room as she did, but she caught him watching her a few times throughout the day.

And couldn’t stop the tingly sensation that sat in the pit of her stomach when she did.

“Sorry,” Azriel cleared his throat, at last, and looked to Mor as he raked a scarred hand through his dark hair.  Elain couldn’t help but stare at the scars, at the way they completely ruined and mutilated his flesh. And yet, she didn’t stare because it was horrifying. She just simply couldn’t look away. “Um, Rhys wants to take us all out for pizza after practice. Wanna come?”

She looked to Azriel, then Elain saw her look further down the field – at Eris. “Yeah, sure, that would be great.”

Azriel looked to Elain, and cleared his throat, again. “Uh, would you like to come?”

“Oh,” Elain stopped, and she knew she was blushing. “No, that’s okay. I – my sisters will be expecting me. We just moved, and we’re still settling in. I don’t want to – no, that’s – I don’t want to impose.”

Azriel’s lips flattened as he pursed them, and nodded. He didn’t say anything else as he tugged on his helmet and jogged to the middle of the field.

Mor turned to Elain and raised her brows. “He was flirting with you.”

“He was?” Elain asked, incredulously. “He kinda looked like he wanted to set me on fire.”

“Trust me, I’ve known Az a long time,” Mor grinned. “He was flirting with you.”

And with that, she turned to the group, and practice began.

Elain tried to focus on what she had to learn, but she couldn’t get his face out of her mind.

And the shadows that seemed to linger over his shoulders.

 Feyre sat high up on the bleachers, doodling in her notebook as practices were in full bloom on the field below.

She hated football. Football players were always stuck up and conceited, and she thought it was better to just stay away.

But Elain wanted to cheer, and Feyre supported whatever she did, so it looked like Feyre would be spending quite a bit of time by that damned field.

Nesta plopped down next to Feyre and sighed, forcing her to stop her pencil from moving and look at her sister. “Bad day?”

“No,” Nesta sighed. “No, it was okay. Mr. Collins is making me watch over detentions, though, and it’s just…..strange. I’m supposed to be in charge, but I’m only a year older than the seniors. It feels.....I don’t know. I feel like a child. Like a fake.”

Nesta had graduated early, thanks to her mass knowledge in pretty much every subject. She was halfway through University at nineteen, and Feyre had always admired her for such things.

“Someone already got detention?” Feyre chuckled. “It’s the first day of school.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Yes, one of the football players. Cassian Nazari. And his mouth is filthy. And I swear he was trying to flirt with me, which is extremely inappropriate.”

“You’re only a year older,” Feyre reminded her.

“But I work here,” Nesta rolled her eyes.

Feyre couldn’t help but laugh at Nesta’s fit. “Well, I’m sure he can’t stay in detention forever. Then you can move on.”

Nesta didn’t answer, she simply looked out onto the field where a boy was just now coming out of the locker room. “There he is. The little prick.”

Feyre smirked, but there was nothing little about him. He was huge. Fit. Beautiful, if Feyre had to admit. Even though the fact of his attraction was completely obvious.

She saw him run to number 16, which she recognized as Rhysand, the douche from gym, and slap him on the back before taking his place on the field.

“Wait – why are you scowling?” Nesta asked, genuinely curious.

“Speaking of pricks,” Feyre muttered before shaking her head. “I had a hell of a day.”

“Bad?” Nesta asked, her shoulders becoming tense.

Nesta had a tendency to come off like she didn’t care, although she had come a long way since their mother died. But it was little things like that, like the tensing up of her upper body, that made Feyre remember just how much their elder sister cared.

Nesta did take her and Elain out of their father’s home. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have moved them ninety miles away – to Velaris.

“Not bad,” Feyre sighed. “Just…..I don’t know. New, I guess.”

Nesta nodded, as if she understood but wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m sure it will get better though,” Feyre continued. “Looks like Elain is enjoying herself, at least.”

Elain was in the middle of a line of cheerleaders, her blue and black pom-poms up in a high V.

“She deserves it,” Nesta said, eyeing Elain on the field below. “She’s too kind to have lived the life we have so far.”

Feyre agreed. If anyone of them deserved a better life, it was Elain.

Elain had been the one to try and take the spot of “mother” after theirs had passed away, even though she was only a year older than Feyre, and a year younger than Nesta. It was in her blood, the love and care that only people like Elain could show.

Yet, she suffered the same as the rest of them. But she looked happy, with her arms in the air, chanting whatever foolishness she was chanting. And she was smiling.

And that was enough for Feyre, at least for now.

If Elain could find happiness in this starlit hell, perhaps she could, too.