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nikethestatue · 3 years ago

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Five Golden Rings

25 Days of Elriel Solstice

Day IV

Continuation of ‘Snowed In’

“What are you doing?!” Azriel jolted upwards and fell back just as fast, wincing and grimacing from pain.

Everything hurt. Everything.

His ass hurt. His back. His arms. His wing was gnawing with dull, steady, very unpleasant ache. His head seemed clear enough, but it also hurt. His stomach growled with hunger.

“Checking on your wing.”

Once he was able to gather his thoughts for a second, he looked around and recognized the tiny hunting cabin. The cabin that belonged to Elain’s fiancé. He couldn’t believe that she still called Graysen her fiancé. Strange sort of anger and resentment bubbled up in his chest at the thought. That Elain loved that prick Graysen. Gave him her hand. Accepted the possibility of him as her future, as her husband, and potentially as the father of her children. Who knows what else she might have given him? Surely Graysen had kissed her. Taken freely and easy that which Azriel could only dream of.

For a year! For a damn year he’s been dreaming of kissing her. He’d fantasized about how it would happen, what her sweet lips would taste like, what sounds she’d make against him, and how she’d feel in his arms. For once, it wouldn’t be connected to transportation and he wouldn’t be serving as a valet to haul her and others up and down the House of Wind, or from the River Estate to the townhouse. She’d embrace him and lean against him and…

No, that was for Graysen. For Lucien, maybe. Not for him. He recalled her angry words that she spat earlier this evening—that she was done. She was done with him and with his pathetic attempts at courting her. She was done. Which was the correct way to go anyway, because he wasn’t for her. He wasn’t worthy of this decent, kind, steadfast, intelligent woman, who saw the best in the world, even when things crumbled around her and darkness consumed everything that she loved. She still remained optimistic, polite, and helpful.

So, here they were, in Elain’s finance’s cabin. And her hands were on Azriel’s wing.

Gods above.

No one was ever permitted to touch his wings. Ever. Madja, and even she usually just hovered above them, and didn’t make contact. In almost 520 years that he’d known her, Mor never touched his wings.

And here was Elain, her small hand firmly holding the bone, while she inspected the membrane closely, her face almost touching it as well, and Azriel shuddered when he felt her breath blow softly on the already-healing wound. He just about shrieked like a little girl, both scandalized and aroused, and only just stopped himself from yelling and telling her to not touch his wing. But he held back, though he fisted the hands and pressed his face into the thin pillow, figuring that if he suffocated himself right now, it would be better than turning around and frightening her with his ravenous desire.

And the way she fisted the bone…

He gritted his teeth and almost moaned.

“Does it hurt?” she asked softly, as her delicate fingers lightly pulling the edges of the torn membrane together. “It seems to be healing…”

Grhfjskdh, he only managed to growl into the pillow.

“What?”

“Hmmm,”

“What?” she repeated.

At last, he gathered his remaining self-control and managed, “It’s better, I think.”

“Good,” she placed something soft on the wing, which he figured was a bandage of some kind and then she gingerly folded it and laid it back on the bed. “I know,” she added, “that I am not supposed to touch your wings,”

“You can touch them,” he blurted out suddenly. He surprised even himself.

But it’s not like he hasn’t imagined her touching them. She’d be the only person he’d allow, too. Elain, he’d imagined Elain touching them.

“I know that you Illyrians are sensitive about your wings,” she said casually and pulled away and Azriel didn’t like it. But short of telling her to put her hands on his wing again, he didn’t know what to do. He’d have to have her ‘inspect’ them and the healing later. That would be the best excuse he could think of right now.

“How do you know?” he asked, his voice sounding hoarse even to his own ear.

“My sisters are mated to Illyrians,” she reminded him, and then, in one singular, rough motion, she pulled down his trousers.

“Fuck, Elain,” he exclaimed, “what are you,”

“Only checking your wound,” she said, those small hands gentle, but firm on his buttock, squeezing, patting.

“A little warning next time,” he requested, attempting to not sound rude, but feeling like he was failing.

Elain only shrugged indifferently, “You know I was going to check your injury. Why are you surprised?”

“I didn’t think of you being so…bold,” he admitted. Her fingers played over his skin, lightly pressing around the wound. He winced, but opted to not move, as his trousers were down and his position was somewhat vulnerable.

“I am not bold,” she explained, and then placed a cloth bandage soaked in something over the wound, “I am nursing you back to health. You, on the other hand, are acting like a maiden about to be ravished,”

Azriel would be lying if he said that he didn’t wonder—frequently—whether she was a maiden. He stopped himself from asking just that, though it would be another lie if he said that he hadn’t pictured himself taking her maidenhead. How he wouldn’t be gentle, but he would be thorough and loving and would take her wholly and she would feel every part of him within her lovely body. He’d imagined it all—her crying out in pain and pleasure, and bleeding and begging and pleading.

When they first met and she was still a human woman, he’d scented her purity. She was untouched then, with no male scent on her. And that first night, while sharing an opulent bedroom with Cassian, who kept grunting, tossing and turning and suffocating Azriel with his arousal, Azriel buried his head in the pillows and thought of Elain. She was enchanting. Human. Engaged. Unavailable in every sense. But unafraid. Not in the same way that Nesta was not afraid, brash and challenging, but in a quieter, less obvious manner. Yet, still unafraid, and even ready to defend herself, and her sister. She was also beautiful beyond belief. Sweetly curvaceous, healthy and blooming and he recalled how it struck him back then that she was everything that he liked and wanted in a woman. The gorgeous brown eyes, the honey-golden hair, thick and lustrous, pale, creamy skin, beautifully shaped limbs, a small waist that flared into nicely rounded hips. Fuck, she was like a walking pastry.

While he’d never admitted it to anyone, even himself, but the desire to make her his flared in him instantly, overwhelmingly. He wanted her. Wanted to leave his mark on her, his scent, his essence—so that every male out there knew that she belonged to him. His male Fae senses ran wild, devastating thought and reason, for he found her utterly irresistible, and yearned to brand her as his. He wanted to bite her…Even now, smelling her, feeling her hands on his ass, he wanted to bite her—sink his teeth into her neck, claim her, mark her with his teeth, so she knew that she was his and that would carry his imprint on her forever.

When she emerged from the Cauldron, remade and anew, he’d lost her scent, that wonderful human scent that he carried with him up until that moment. It was replaced with her delicious current fragrance which he adored—jasmine, the dominant scent, the scent of the Night Court, of everything he loved and cherished, and a more subtle scent of honey, which had light caramel and vanilla notes. Still, even after the Cauldron, she still smelled like a pastry. He could drown in her scent and never come up for air. Alas, he was no longer able to tell whether she’d been with a man. If Lucien was in the vicinity, all he smelled was the nauseating stench of their bond, which gagged him and actually made him physically ill. But he doubted that she’s been with anyone since she was Made, so the question remained…

Elain pulled his trousers up and then said, “You are healing.”

And then, she slapped his ass, the naughty minx.

“Elain!”

“Azriel?” she challenged, but there was a playful tone to her voice. He liked it. Perhaps she wasn’t as angry with him as before?

“You are not supposed to be hitting your patients,” he reprimanded her primly, but she chuckled.

“If you remove your trousers, I can patch them up,” she offered, “I found needle and thread in the cupboard.”

Inexplicably, colour bloomed on Azriel’s cheeks and he felt himself flush.

No woman, other than his mother, ever offered to do something for him. A simple task, surely, but stupidly, he didn’t know how to respond to her offer. That Elain, his beautiful—not his—Elain, should sit and patch his clothes? It suddenly threw him for a tailspin and he didn’t know what to do with himself. So he finally turned his head and glanced at her. And his jaw dropped. His heart stopped beating. His brain ceased functioning. He stilled.

Elain was sitting beside him, wearing only gray cotton hose in which, he assumed, she travelled under her ridiculous wide trousers (at least she was convinced by her sisters to start wearing trousers particularly when traveling or flying), and a white cardigan. Nothing else. Under the buttonless cardigan, he saw her exquisite lace breast wrap, which was intricately embroidered with flowers. Nude body under the half-open cardigan. He could see her stomach, her bellybutton.

And then, he spied a soft, delicious roll. A pudgy little roll over an overwise flat, if pleasantly rounded belly. Maybe it was how she was sitting, and how her body was turned, but the fold was tantalizing and absolutely drove him wild. He wanted to touch it. Needed it. Needed to place his hand over that belly, brush his knuckled over the delectable fold, feel the satiny smoothness of her skin.

“What are you wearing?” he murmured instead, instantly wanting to slap himself for not catching his words before they left his lips, for probably making her uncomfortable with his stupid question.

She looked down at herself, and then absently closed the flap of the cardigan on her body, though it didn’t seem like she was too perturbed by his comment, or the need to cover herself.

“Everything was wet or dirty,” she explained, rising and walking to the tiny kitchen, if he could even call it that, where something was bubbling on the one-burner stove. “I had this in my bag. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” he retorted immediately. It made him very, very comfortable. In fact, despite his injuries, the realization that he was alone with Elain—for the first time ever—in this little hut, with the fireplace crackling merrily, while the wind was howling wildly outside, made him irrationally and completely happy. Just the two of them. No meddling or interfering by anyone. Cutoff from the world.

“We are snowed in,” Elain said absently, stirring the pot, as he watched her from the bed, taking in her very long, slender legs, clad in the soft hose. And the bum. He tried not to stare at her pert, round behind, but who was he kidding—he was a Fae male, alone with a female that he desired on every level. But he also knew that he wouldn’t make that final move, not until she was willing and ready, and asked for it herself. He’d seen plenty of instanced of Illyrian males doing just that—taking females, especially the captives, and bending them over barrels, using them however they saw fit. He’d seen too many abused and raped females in his lifetime to ever develop a taste for violence against women. Cassian and he were both dominant males, he, even more so, but force was never in the cards for them—they always chafed against it, especially having seen what it did to their mothers, and they punished others for it.

Dominating Elain gently and lovingly was a dream that he could only aspire to, but he wanted her to crave it and need it, as much as he needed for her to want and accept it.

“There is a bathing room,” she jerked her head to the side, without turning, “if you want to use it. It’s tiny, and I don’t know if you’ll fit, but at least you’d be able to relieve yourself.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly and got up, with a groan. His thigh and buttock screamed in pain once he put weight on the leg, but at least his wing felt better. So he dragged himself to the bathing room, which was more of a closet. Maneuvering his huge body, his wings and arms was a disaster waiting to happen, and he quietly cursed under his breath, wondering why human men couldn’t build things bigger. Higher ceilings, larger tubs, bigger toilets…Thank the gods he could do his business standing up, because he wasn’t sure that if he sat down, he’d be able to get up, without destroying this silly tiny room and needing Elain’s help off the shitter. That would be a sight to remember.

After he washed his face and upper body as much as he could, which was more like splashing in a tiny sink in freezing cold water—melted snow that ran down the one pipe—he considered and then exited the bathing room and removed his trousers. He felt a little ridiculous, but also somehow liberated. He put Truth-Teller on the bench, along with his six Siphons, keeping only one on. He didn’t exactly feel threatened with Elain. And his shadows were gone.

When he returned to the main room, Elain turned around and ladled something into a bowl. But, she stopped short of moving, when she looked at him and took in his half-naked body. He wondered if she’d ever seen him train, which he always did shirtless, and he didn’t think that she had. This was an evening of first for both of them then.

Her throat bobbed and he watched her, watched her swallow audibly at the sight of him.

He knew that he was a fine specimen of Fae masculinity—perhaps, almost exaggerated in his primal manliness. He was carved into this being by birth, years of brutality and centuries of training and killing. He knew that he oozed dominance, his whole being designed to conquer and reign supreme over lesser beings. He was Fae and an Illyrian, and a greater predator did not exist in Prythian, for he also possessed his seven Siphons and the biggest wings in all of Illyria. Short of High Lords, he and Cassian were probably the most powerful Fae in existence. He was built to attract, force, conquer and seduce and now, Elain was sensing the predator in him, just as he lured her to him, unbeknown to her.

She watched him, eyes raking over her his torso, stopping on the bare chest that she could see through his unbuttoned shirt. He didn’t bother with it, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was this—the caramel-brown eyes gliding over him, watching him, studying…Whatever she said before was probably true, and she was fed up with him, and maybe Lucien and the whole situation, but that didn’t stop her from looking. Didn’t stop him from noticing her pulse, her heated gaze, and how she, likely unknowingly, shifted on her feet. His own legs, bare, were a point of interest to her. She looked down, to his feet, then his thighs and stared for a moment at his middle—his muscle-clad stomach and certainly at what was packed into his black undershorts.

“It was small,” he said at last.

She started, roused out of her reverie and blanched.

“What?”

“The bathing room. It was small,” he said.

Blushing wildly, she nodded quickly and then turned away. He smiled faintly. There was no need for her to turn away, for the bowl was in her hands.

“I…” she muttered nervously, “I…sit,” she nodded to the chair, “I found rice and dried mushrooms. I made,”

“Thank you, Elain,” he said, sliding down heavily onto the chair, balancing himself on one buttock. “You don’t need to cook for me,”

“Well, it’s not for you. It’s for us. I am hungry too,” she countered, and placed the bowl in front of him, and then filled her own. He waited for her to take her place across from him. “There is a little bit of tea,” she added, “but I am conserving it, for tomorrow, just in case we have to spend another day here.”

“I am sorry,” he whispered.

“Why?” she cocked her head and watched him.

“I know you don’t want to be here…with me,”

She stirred her rice slowly with a spoon and then murmured, “It’s not true.”

He glanced at her serious little face and pressed, “What isn’t?”

“That I don’t want to be with you.”

His heart skipped a beat and surely, he wasn’t breathing.

“I am very angry with you, Azriel,” she admitted simply. “And I don’t know what happened. And why? I don’t understand why you rejected me, because you seemed interested,”

“Elain, I…”

She went on, ignoring him,

“But…It’s difficult for me,”

“What is?”

“To just turn it off like that. Maybe it’s easier for you, I don’t know. But I…I am not like that,” she sighed. “I feel things. Deeply. I want to move on, but I can’t and it’s difficult for me. Because,”

“Please don’t,” he quickly reached for her hand and grabbed it without thinking.

Confused, she asked, “Don’t what?”

“Don’t turn it off. Please, I am begging you, Elain,” he grabbed her hand harder, squeezing it, grasping fingers, unwilling to release, “things are complicated, but nothing’s changed. Nothing at all. Not for me, and I hope not for you.”

She sighed again and then added after a long pause, “Eat, Azriel.”

He looked down at the bowl and said quietly,

“You’ve prepared food for me.”

She looked at him from under her lashes and reminded him, “Yes, but I’ve cooked before. You’ve eaten,”

“No,” he interrupted. Shook his head.

She let go of her spoon, but he did not let go of her hand.

“This is different. This is just for me.”

“Yes.”

“When a female,” he began, “a woman,”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know about the food. That’s why I never cook anything when Lucien is around.”

He licked his lips, staring at her.

She swallowed again and said,

“Eat, Azriel.”

He didn’t.

He needed her to understand,

“Elain. This is…it is important. When a female offers a male food. Particularly, food that she’d cooked for him,” his thumb stroked her fingers. “I need you to know that,”

“I’d choose you, Azriel,” she interrupted him. “I would’ve chosen you,” she corrected herself. “If you chose me, I’d choose you too. But you didn’t, so it’s alright. You can eat it. It won’t make a difference now.”

Stupid girl. His stupid, brilliant, naïve girl.

If she only knew. If she only knew that he had chosen her a long, long time ago—when he saw her that first time, in her cobalt dress and all thoughts of others crumbled and faded. Forever.

Azriel took a bite then. It was good. The food was tasty. Rice and mushrooms.

She watched him.

Her cardigan had fallen open again, and he could see her soft, full breast, clad in that beautiful lacy wrap. And he couldn’t help himself and glanced at the delightful soft roll of her stomach, and imagined putting his lips to it, biting it gently. Gods! He was going to lose his mind and there was still the whole night ahead of them.

She wore a delicate gold chain with gold charms. He’d never seen it before.

“This is new,” he nodded towards it and her fingers touched the chain, her long, pale throat.

He swallowed a mouthful of rice and said casually, “Is it a gift?”

And gods only knew what he’d do if it were a gift. From a male. He knew that she never used Lucien’s gifts, not the gloves, or the earrings, but a sense of extreme possessiveness suddenly washed over Azriel, for that beautiful throat was where his gifts belonged. It was for him.

“No,” she said simply, though she blushed.

Fucking good. Very good.

He waited for more, watching her.

She offered, “I ordered it…for myself.”

Azriel knew that there was more, so he waited for her to explain further.

“Five golden rings…shaped as the Moon, and a crescent, and a star, and the sun. And…” she paused, “for my sisters…five golden rings.”

“The sisters I understand—but the other two?”

“For my nephew, whom I already love,” she smiled a soft secret smile, and he smiled as well. He loved that little boy as well, and hoped that everything would be alright with the birth at the end.

“And the stone on top?” he nodded towards a small diamond that sat above the rest of the rings.

She bit her lip and picked at the stone.

“You know who it’s for,” she whispered at last. “You, Azriel. You. Because as I said, I can’t turn it off…Can’t let go.”

Neither could he.

He extended his arm across the table, towards her and pulled up the sleeve. Around his wrist wrapped the leather cuff with his siphon, and he unbuttoned it, to reveal a delicate gold chain and dangling from it,

“It’s my necklace!” she breathed; eyes wide.

Her necklace.

She smiled.

So did he. Because she still thought of it as her necklace.

“Your necklace,” he nodded.

She wrapped her hands around his wrist and held them there, over the ‘bracelet’.

Her face thoughtful, she murmured, “I am glad you kept it,”

He didn’t want to lie, so he confessed, “I gave it away…for a day. I was angry. And sad,” his hazel eyes looked straight at her, “I was so sad, Elain. I still am, because it all didn’t go the way that it should have. But it broke my heart,” he shifted on his seat, “it really did, when you returned it. I wanted you to have it, and then,”

“I am sorry,”

“No, ever you,” he shook his head stubbornly, “no. It was my fault. But regardless, I didn’t want to keep it, but then I didn’t want to let it go either,”

She leaned back in her chair, hands still wrapped around his, and said, “Good. Good. Because I was angry too,”

“I understand.”

“But then, I didn’t want to be angry, with you or with us, so I returned it, yet, I did it with good will, Azriel,”

“I am sure you did,” he nodded and then brought her hands to his lips and kissed each one.

It felt good. The food filled his stomach and he was comforted and comfortable, and it seems like old wounds that lacerated his very soul were healing. Elain was life and light, and if she was forgiving him, maybe things were better?

Sheepishly, she ducked her head and whispered, “I think I Made it.”

His brow furrowed and he asked, “Made what?”

“The necklace,” she nodded at his hand, “I wanted you to have it, but I wanted it to serve you well. As protection. I slept in it that night, and I think it’s Made.”

He looked at the necklace, then at her, baffled, and amazed.

“Elain it’s,” he didn’t have words. “It’s a…It’s a Cauldron-made item then and,”

“No, it’s Elain-made item,” she corrected him with a laugh. “And it’s for you. And no, we are not giving it to Rhys. He has enough Made objects in his possession. It’s mine to give however I want and to whoever I want. And now it’s yours.”

“Ours, I suppose,” he proposed.

She nodded, “Ours. A little of my strength to protect you.”

“Elain, it’s…” words lodged in his throat and he only caressed her fingers, “it’s something I will cherish forever. Thank you.”

She stood up and went to put her bowl in the sink.

Without looking at him, she said quietly, “Don’t leave me, Azriel. Whatever happens, don’t leave me. Even if nothing happens, I want to live in the world knowing that you are somewhere in it, with me.”

And Azriel knew at that moment that nothing’s changed. In fact, Elain might have developed even stronger feelings for him since that damned Solstice night. She was angry and frustrated and understandably so, but it was all still there despite his horrible words.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said at last, placing the leather cuff over the bracelet-necklace. “It was delicious, and even if there are probably no ingredients to work with here, you still managed to make it amazing! I will clean up.”

“You should rest,” she protested, but he waved her off, “I’ve rested. Now it’s your turn.”

She looked around uncertainly and then reminded him,

“There is only one bed.”

“Well, I am not sleeping with you,” he assured her quickly, hoping that she understood that that’s not what he was expecting, but she frowned and asked,

“Where are you sleeping then?”

“I can’t sleep with you,” he muttered, taken aback by the conversation. Surely, she did not expect them to,

“I am not offering to ride you, Azriel,” she reminded him with a nervous laugh and then blushed profusely and turned around.

“I…no,” he stumbled, “no, I mean, I wasn’t expecting…What?”

“What?”

They paused and stared at each other.

“Is it something,” he murmured at last, not taking his eyes off her, “you’ve considered?”

“Mmm,” she was beet-red, biting her lip, the lip that he wanted to bite as well. Suck on it, until she whimpered and moaned against him. “Considered what?”

“Riding me,” he said flatly.

She wrung her fingers and then said, with the same nervous laugh, “I don’t think you are in any condition,”

“Believe me, I am in fine condition,” he argued. “But you haven’t answered my question,”

“Yes,” she answered at last, “yes. If you must know. I’ve imagined things…”

“What sorts of things?” he prodded; brow cocked.

She scrambled, “I am not telling you!”

Then, almost angrily, she grabbed everything off the table and dumped it into the sink.

“We are sleeping together,” she declared. “That’s the end of the conversation.”

He reminded her, “The bed is small,”

“So we’ll have to make do with what we have. I am not offering anything beyond sleeping, but you aren’t sleeping on the floor or in a chair. And neither am I.”

Azriel chose not to argue.

Outside, the wind was so strong, the trees swayed and sand a winter’s song.

Even though he just recently woke up, the quick healing process of his Fae body meant that he’d have to sleep again, soon. By tomorrow, he should probably be mostly recovered.

He washed the dishes and then watched Elain re-braid her hair and walk to the tiny hallway that separated the common area from the bathing room. When she re-emerged, she was wearing a long shirt and nothing else.

It was awkward and he knew that it was awkward, so he suggested, “You sleep between me and the wall. I’ll take the edge of the bed, so I have somewhere for my wings to fall.”

She nodded wordlessly and then slid onto the bed and under the blanket.

Azriel approached, sat down, and began to gingerly unlace the stays on his shirt.

“Would you like me to help you?” she offered, softly, watching him struggle with his damaged wing.

“Please, if you don’t mind.”

She kneeled behind him and he felt her hands work through the laces and loosen the shirt. It was surreal, to have Elain in his bed—their bed—with him, helping him undress. Whoever shot him (and that was going to be an investigation for another day) did him a massive favour, for which he’d be forever grateful.

Gently, Elain assisted him in removing the shirt, carefully sliding it off and around his injured wing and then, he was naked, save for his undershorts. She stilled behind him and he sat unmoving, allowing her to take her time and study him. Her delicate little fingers brushed over the muscular panes of his back, down the column of his spine, and he realized that she was inspecting his tattoos. He’d forgotten that he even had the tattoo snake all the way along his spine and ending at his ass.

“Beautiful,” she breathed.

He felt her breath on his neck, and the soft brush of her braid along his shoulder. That’s where her hands travelled next, to touch his arms, the thick biceps, and the forearms. Whether she realized it or not, but she’d moved so close that he felt her breasts skid along his back, the little nipples firm and erect, her shirt the only barrier between their otherwise naked bodies.

To his immense regret, she pulled away at last and lay back in her spot.

He turned around and began arranging his damn wings, so they didn’t fall all over the place, but it seemed like they covered half of the room. He swore under his breath, trying to make himself comfortable and not crowd poor Elain, who was squished like a sardine next to him.

“Why don’t you just put one here,” she suggested, watching him struggle, “and let the other one hang on the floor.”

Cautiously, he stretched his wing over her and asked, “You don’t mind? I know it feels like a tent,”

She giggled and nodded, “It does feel like a tent! But no, I don’t mind. And I won’t touch them,” she promised.

He wanted to tell her that she was allowed to touch it all she wanted, but he didn’t.

With the claw perched just above her, she tentatively touched it with her finger.

“It’s not sharp!”

“The claws are vestigial,” he explained. “They are not sharp. And someone promised not to touch,” he chuckled.

“Oh,” she gasped and pulled her finger away. “I am sorry.”

“I am just joking, Elain. You can touch whatever you want.”

She didn’t understand the importance of what he just told her, and the significance of his permission, but he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so he just lay there, and tucked his arms behind his head. Elain looked down at him, absolutely unabashedly checking him out, even propping her head on her hand, studying the network of sinew and scars that covered his entire body, the breadth of his wide, muscular chest. His innocent, silly girl who didn’t understand that it wasn’t prudent to look at Fae males like this. Like she wanted him.

“May I ask you a question?” she requested.

“Sure,” he allowed, curious about what was going to come out of her mouth.

“Umm,” she drummed her fingers on his chest absently, while he concentrated really hard on not getting an erection. “Would you say that you are typical…for an Illyrian?”

He snorted softly and said, “No, I wouldn’t say that Cass or I are typical. For Illyrians or the Fae.”

“So…” she drawled, and he watched a pink blush spread on her chest and her cheeks. He wished she’d just come out and ask him what she wanted to know—is your cock really as large as I think it is, based on what’s in your shorts? The answer would yes, but bigger.

“Cass and I are larger than most Illyrians,” he said at last, not specifying in which way he and his brother were larger. “But I am a little bigger,”

Elain swallowed hard, her brown eyes glittering with primal Fae desire, sparkling with need.

“So…like your wings?” she squeaked.

He smiled and nodded once. “Yes. My wings.”

“How do you know?

He laughed, “Cass measured.”

“Measured?” her brows shot up, “with a ruler?”

“Rhys’s mother’s measuring tape. She was a seamstress and had all kinds of measuring tapes lying around. So Rhys and Cass would extend their wings as far as they could, until they hurt,”

“And?”

“And make me measure them. And fight and scream over every sliver, even if it was as thin as a hair,”

Elain was shaking against, laughing.

“Who won?”

“Between the two of them? Cass.”

“Ah…” she wet her lip with her tongue and asked quietly, “and you?”

“Oh, I was always the biggest,” he informed her modestly.

She turned on her side and tucked her palms under her cheek.

It was dark around them, the lanterns turned off and only the fire in the fireplace as the source of light.

“Good night,” she said.

He rubbed his thumb over his lip, contemplating something and then asked, “May I ask you a question?”

“Why not?”

“Are you a maiden?”

If the question surprised her, she did not show it, but she remained silent. Understanding his mistake, he said, “I am sorry.”

“Would it matter?” she inquired instead. “To you?”

Azriel kept bothering his lip and then admitted truthfully, “I don’t know.”

She scooted closer to him, and he extended his arm and to his surprise, she nestled into his embrace.

“A Fae female,” he then explained quietly, “she can choose who to give her virginity to. Perhaps it’s foolish, but the Fae value virginity,”

“So do the humans,”

“It’s different here. For humans, it’s about possession and ensuring that their progeny is of the right bloodline,”

“And here?”

“It’s guarded for a different reason. Choosing the right male will unlock a female’s power. Most females will come into their first power with their first bleeding. But if she chooses wisely the rest of it would be harnessed upon the deflowering.”

Elain cocked her brow, curiosity written all over her face.

“Why are you telling me this?” she wondered at last.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “You should know about this, I think…I am not sure if Feyre or Nesta are aware,”

“Nesta doesn’t talk to me anyway,” Elain grumbled bitterly.

“I have never been honoured with a deflowering of a maiden,” he said suddenly. “It’s a great privilege to be chosen. The blood is special too,”

She choked softly, “What?”

“It fortifies and strengthens the male. Makes his power more…precise. His magic stronger. But I am 539 years old and I’ve never been fortunate enough to bring a maiden into womanhood,”

“Is it something that you want to do?”

He avoided answering and said, “Mor chose Cassian. She could’ve chosen me. Or even Eris, her betrothed, but she chose Cassian. He was the strongest of us all, and she sensed it in him. She knew he would be Enalius reborn—the greatest Illyrian warrior of all time.”

“I heard a different story,”

“All stories have many sides,” he reminded her. “But that was part of the reason.”

He fell silent.

“Just choose wisely, Elain,” he said at last. “You have a mate,”

Elain snapped, “I don’t want to talk about him. Not while I am laying in your arms. Not tonight.”

“I am sorry,” he said quietly, noticing that she didn’t respond to his initial question.

She was quiet for so long, he glanced down to see whether she was asleep, but her eyes were open. She just lay there, tucked under his arm, nestled against his side. He doubted whether she could even turn on her back, considering how tight it was.

“Would you want to deflower me?” she asked suddenly.

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

“So you could get more power?”

He chuckled, “No. Not at all.”

“Why then?”

“So I can mark you as mine,” he said simply. “Bring you into your womanhood and your power. Love you the way you deserve to be loved. Pleasure you the way you should be pleasured.”

She sighed and he wasn’t sure if it was from enjoyment, or bashfulness. The scent of her arousal fanned over him, slithering up and over his body.

To his surprise, she murmured, “Would you be gentle?”

Azriel brushed his fingertips over her bare shoulder and didn’t answer right away. She waited.

“I don’t think that I would be,” he concluded after some contemplation. ‘No.’

She seemed taken aback by his admission and she looked up at him.

“It’s not about being gentle…not with the Fae,” he explained, shifting against her, making himself comfortable, “May I hold you?” he asked quietly. “Through the night?”

She only nodded and put her arm around his torso.

Azriel never slept with women. He did not enjoy the emotional ramifications of sleeping with someone in the same bed, and he certainly detested the ‘morning after’ awkwardness that necessitated promises and assurances. He didn’t want to promise anything, and didn’t need to explain, and didn’t want anyone around for longer than needed. Pounding into someone, forgetting himself for a while and moving on—that was all that he required.

But with Elain…he wanted to sleep with Elain.

He wanted to do all the things with Elain.

Elain woke up because she lost the warmth and darkness in which she luxuriated the entire night.

The warmth came from Azriel’s immensely powerful, immobile body, which caged her wonderfully and the darkness was provided by his wing. She worried about leaning against the wing, or hurting it in some way, but it seemed resilient and Azriel didn’t pull away. He held her through the night, without even letting her go. It was the first time in her life when she slept with a man—male—in the same bed, and it turned out to be just fine. Very nice, actually.

She chose not to think about things too much. This was just a moment in time, and soon, they’d be back in Velaris and this stolen moment, this stolen night, would be nothing but a memory. She’d be back to her dealings, learning about herbs and potions, which became a passion for her, and not being paid attention to or used for any of her powers, mostly avoided and left to her devices. That was to be expected.

Azriel was standing by the stove, undressed, wings loose and barely tucked, barefoot. His hair was mussed from his sleep.

It was impolite to stare, but Elain couldn’t help herself. Didn’t even try to look away. His back was spectacular! Glorious muscles over his shoulders, his arms and necks, thick and firm, like the rest of him, and a waist that would be the envy of many ladies. And then that wonderful behind, carved of muscle and flesh, nicely clad in his undershorts. Elain tried not to think of other parts of him that were clad in the same shorts…tried, but failed. Because whatever it was, whatever he was packing, it was beastly. And she licked her lips, unable to stop the rush of heat that engulfed her body, and the visions that assaulted her brain. She’d never seen a naked man, but last night she very clearly realized that the only man she’d ever want to see naked would be this man. Male. She cursed herself inwardly, reminding herself to use the correct terminology, though she knew that Azriel didn’t care. The black and blue tattoos glided over his dark golden skin like spilled oil, and moved with every motion of his arms. Watching the Illyrian runes that extended down his spine, Elain thought that she wouldn’t mind kissing all the way up and down.

Azriel, sensing her awake or perhaps her scent, turned around and looked at her.

Elain was wrapped up in the blanket like a sausage roll, only her nose and the top of her head peeking from under the covers.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” she breathed.

He knew that his morning voice was exceptionally low and husky, and it caused a desired reaction in her, for she blushed and he could see it even from his spot.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“My ass is fine,” he reported, and she snorted. “The wing,” he flexed it, “is operational.”

“May I take a look?”

He smirked and said, “Any time…swee-”

She rolled her eyes, while he turned around and she was faced with all of him in his primal, masculine, predatory glory. Her treacherous eyes kept sliding down, even though the chest and the torso were unbelievably delicious and warranted a much closer inspection on their own.

“You were going to call me a ‘sweetheart’, weren’t you?” she muttered, sitting up in the bed.

“No.”

“Liar. You’ve been living with Cassian too long. Listening to his ridiculous innuendos,”

“That’s not all I am listening to nightly,”

“Oh my gods!” she exclaimed, waving at him, “no. You are not to tell me about any of it. No!”

Azriel was laughing quietly, seeing her reaction.

“Why should I be the only one suffering?”

He stopped talking when she put her hands on his waist and forced him to turn around.

“Elain, I feel kind of strange having my,”

“Your ass in my face?” she concluded, “it’s alright. I am just a nurse right now.”

She pulled one side of his shots down and he shuddered, hips jerking.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“Your hand is cold,” he lied. She knew that he was lying, because her hand was warm.

She looked at the pink scar, which was fading. He did heal incredibly fast, even without an actual healer. She stroked his behind gently, and he gritted, “Elain,”

“What? I am just checking. It seems like you are doing fine.”

He reached for his shirt and pulled it on but didn’t button it. “I’ve made breakfast,”

“Breakfast?”

“I found groats. I make a mean porridge,” he announced proudly. “Go wash up and I’ll finish up and start on the tea.”

They had a nice breakfast, and while there was no milk or butter, with a little sugar, the groats were very filling and Azriel didn’t lie—he did make a mean porridge.

Elain was fascinated, because at one point, he became swathed in shadows, though no shadows were to be seen the night before. Now they slid her bare legs, exploring curiously, touched her arms, her hair. They were cool and the sensation was barely perceptible—she wouldn’t have noticed if she didn’t know that they were there. He tried to pull them back, muttering ‘leave her alone’ or ‘stop that’ but they didn’t listen.

“I apologize,” he said, shaking his head and she smiled. “I don’t care. They are fine. What are they telling you?”

“Just news. Reports. Soon they’ll dump a stack of reports on my lap and will skid away. That’s what they do.”

She chuckled and then got up to add a few logs to the fireplace.

After a long period of silence, while was busy listening, “I would let you do it,” she said, her voice low. She was staring into the fire. She didn’t see him, but sensed his attention. Noted how he moved his head to the sound of her voice.

She didn’t elaborate, yet he asked, “Do what?”

She ran her finger over the mantle, noticing the dust.

She sighed and answered,

“Deflower me.”

And then he was behind her. Looming. His scarred hand lay on her shoulder and he squeezed gently, though he permitted himself nothing further. He just breathed in her scent.

She leaned back, resting her head on his chest, right at the shoulder and he put his chin on top of her head, the scarred hand slowly migrating from her arm to her throat.

“Why?” he asked at last.

She put her hand on his and pressed it closer to the column of her neck, holding it there.

“Because I’d want you to do it,” she trembled slightly against him, in his arms. He stroked her throat slowly, his thumb caressing the thin skin.

His face lowered and the felt his nose brush the side of her cheek.

“Only you,” she added breathlessly.

Elain wasn’t his to claim, but Azriel wanted to claim her anyway. She didn’t understand, and probably didn’t know that if he’d sunk his teeth into her flesh, his ancient Fae fangs that existed in him from primordial times, when his kind were beasts, it wouldn’t be something that could be undone. He’d own her, and he wouldn’t be able to take it back. If she offered it, no fucking mate bond with another could trump the mark of possession. Typically, it was a mark of mates, who left their claim on each other, so they’d be recognizable to others as mated and taken and unavailable. Fae didn’t mark each other like that, unless they needed to offer special protections to someone. But Azriel knew that if it happened, his whole being would devour her, and he would savage her and take what would be his.

But she cooked and offered him food and he ate it. And she knew that he accepted her.

Elain moved her head, exposing the neck to him in silent invitation. Offering it to him. Permitting him to make the claim.

All thoughts eddied from his head.

She’d be his. But the mark was untouchable: a bargain and a promise between the two of them for eternity.

It would be tattooed on her flesh, mark her perfect pale skin and scent her with his scent.

Her mate would know that she was no longer his.

Azriel licked his lips, stifling a moan. And did not mark her.

#elriel fanfic #elriel #azriel and elain #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #25 Days of Elriel #25 Days of Elriel Solstice #my fanfiction #my writing #five golden rings #elriel fanfiction

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aelingalathyniusrailme · 3 years ago

Text

If you find me on the edge, we’ll jump together.

Pirate au pt 4

azriel was so insanely close to sucker punching berdara. but unfortunately the bargain forbid him from hurting her until after they found the huge hall

he was heading towards his own ship when gwyneth stopped him. “pick your best men I can fit 5 maximum of you on my ship”

“and why exactly are we taking your ship”

“and why are you determined to be difficult” he nearly laughed at that, him difficult when she had spent the last 10 minutes toying with him at every chance.

“I am determined to be fair, we’ll play for it”

that peaked her interest as her eyes went wide “sword fighting, combat, cards, good old fashioned fists?!?” what was with this girl and fighting.

“uh no I was going to suggest rock paper scissors.”

“who hurt you to make you so damn boring”

“who made you a masochist”

gwyneth didn’t falter for a second “wouldn’t you like to know” she said with a lazy grin

“so majesty are we going to play or not?”

“best of three”

she put her fist up in answer.

once again I’ll cut to the chase, after many rounds and accused cheatings azriel won

“Oh fuck off” she grumbled while he smirked triumphantly

“that’s not very nice gwyneth” obviously her response was to give him the finger

“bite me”

“don’t give me any ideas”

“do what you need to do we leave at dawn”

“you’re going to be a delight on my ship aren’t you”

“always am” with that they went back to their respective crews and ships to prepare.

now that she had left to her own ship azriel thought over what had just happened. he wasn’t so much of a fool that he couldn’t admit she was beautiful, with hair of flaming locks and a slightly insane look in her eye. there was something about her that despite being incredibly violent she radiated a certain amount of joy. every insult, every quip was said with a bright smile on her face. and she had pinned him with an alarming amount of ease but he wouldn’t let that happen a second time

and fucking hell he had made a bargain. well he knew for sure this journey was going to be something else alright

on the shadowsinger azriel made an announcement to his crew “everyone sit your asses down and listen up. 5 ladies from the silver majesty are coming aboard our ship to assist us in our search for the huge hall. I am under bargain that no harm will come to any of them, so by affiliation every person aboard the shadowsinger is under the same bargain. you have any questions, take it up with rhys and cassian. I have shit to do in preparation for this voyage and to make sure our other ‘business partners’ stay up and running in our absence. do not bother me”

about an hour later he was once again alone in his chambers with his first mate and quartermaster.

“so you really believe they can lead us to it” cassian asked

“I believe that she made a bargain and knows the severity of a bargain.”

“you bound yourself to the captain of our biggest rival, who you currently want to murder, captain I trust you with my life but I hope you know what you’ve gotten us into” rhys ever the strategist

I hope so to he thought instead he said “I have thought over every possible outcome and we will come out of this with the huge hall and their heads strung up like trophies nailed to the wall.”

————— gwyn’s pov at the same moment—————

alright crew fortunately the shadowsinger is on board, pun not intended, unfortunately I lost rock paper scissors and now I will be choosing 5 of us to join them in our hunt for the huge hall. so Em, archeron, VIv, and cressieda you guys are coming with me, bring only as many weapons as you can fit on your person. nuala cerridwen you guys are in charge. if everything is not in order by the time I get back I will start slitting throats. there are instructions in my chambers. so fuck, drink, steal, kill you guys know the drill.”

gwyn sat with nesta and emerie strategizing

“how do you see this playing out” nesta asked

“oh we are going to walk away from this bleeding money with the shadowsinger kneeling at our feet”

------------------------back to azriel’s pov------------------------

azriel watched as for the first time since he had become a pirate, there were women on his ship indefinitely. to gwyneth’s right stood a tall slender women, with her hair in a simple braid, she was assessing his ship with eyes that looked far too old for her age

to berdara’s left was a thin women with eyes that cut through him, they were sharp and very resentful. she was devastatingly beautiful with two katanas at her hips. behind them were two women with white hair but their differences lay in their skin tone. one had the fair skin of the winter court while the other had dark skin that contrasted her hair marking her as from the summer court.

azriel looked over to his own crew. cassian was starring at the female with the swords practically drooling over himself while rhys looked indifferent.

lucien was also starring at the women to gwyneth’s left but he looked at her like he recognized her rather then whatever the fuck cassian was doing

the women noticed cassian and immediately threw a dagger at his head. it didn’t miss by much.

“hey!” cassian shouted. “if you had chopped off my hair I swear to fucking god I will rip out your throat like its nothing”

the girl looked him up and down and ignored him. “really you could have killed me”

so obviously she threw another one. it fell right between his arm and ribs

“berdara can I have a word please?”

“of course”

“rhys please make sure they don’t kill each other”

“no promises” he replied not looking up

gwyn followed him into his room.

“so shadowsinger, what do you want to talk about?” she gave him a light punch on the shoulder. he glared at her

“what do I want to talk about? hmm how about that girl just threw a dagger at my quartermaster. twice!”

“ok 1 that girls name is nesta and 2 if she wanted him dead he would be. so I consider that a great success” gwyn smiled earnestly.

“are you forgetting the bargain we just made?”

“clearly threats were not taking off the table or have you forgotten ‘i will dump you in the river’ or ‘i’m going to shoot you in the head’ or ‘i will leave your guts across the 7 courts’ etc. hers was just a little more physical thats all.”

“well can you try to control your crew” cheap shot but worth it, until gwyn broke out into a fit of laughter.

“me? control nesta? I thought you said you’ve heard the stories, you must have heard about the time she climbed 6 mountains in 5 different courts to find a man who ripped her off by 2 coppers. coppers! and I was all ‘that’s my girl’ because if there was one thing I’ve learned in this business it would be that men will take every single opportunity to tear you down but they can’t do that if they don’t have limbs.”

“great so your entire crew is just as insane as you are”

“we maybe insane but at least we aren’t crying over every dagger that comes within an inch of our hearts.”

“yes I’m sorry we would rather not fucking die”

“oh poor you, you must be a truly terrible pirate if death doesn’t stop at your door every once in a while.”

“you know I am very much regretting working with you at this moment”

“wait you aren’t in love with me? shocker.” gwyn’s whole demeanor changed and she brightened as if some realization struck. “but that reminds me I was told I need your help to find the treasure and I certainly don’t need more man power so how will you be contributing?”

“I had thought about that and I was think about something you-”

“aww you think about me?” azriel rolled his eyes

“I was thinking about something you said and I would like you to elaborate on the blank map.”

“no please?”

“please” he forced out

“well my informant who found me the map has never been wrong before and my witch says it reeks of magic.”

“you think its spelled.”

“I do”

“and you think I am going to help you uncover the magic?”

“indubitably” azriel was kind of impressed by her certainty

“aren’t you?”

“yes” he grumbled

“thought so, I’m smart like that.”

“of course you are perfect in every way possible”

“look any other day I would love for you to shower me in accurate compliments but we are kind of on a time crunch”

“yes majesty”

“you know what its kind of growing on me, I too consider myself a queen”

az ignored that and went to his closet. he opened the doors and unlocked the safe taking out the only thing in there. it was a small vile that contained a vibrant blue liquid. he gently carried it over to gwyn

“this is the last liquid fashioned by the last pheonix to ever exist”

“oh my fucking god you have pheonix piss” gwyn was practically jumping with glee.

“I mean I wouldn’t exactly put it that way but yes, the liquid of the pheonix was said to act as a serum to reveal ones truth. it should be powerful enough to break through any ward or spell. and while mostly used on people it should work on objects too.”

“wait wait wait, that could get you millions and you’re going to use it on this??”

“who’s drooling now? yes it could but this hall could get me more and I’d prefer it not in the hands of certain people.”

“alright I mean not really how I operate but it’s yours so you can do whatever you want with it.” “glad you approve, map?” gwyn cautiously pulled out the blank map and set it down on the table.

he opened the vile and began to pour it over the map, praying that this would not be in vain. the vile had cost him greatly. he looked down and gwyn stole the words from his mouth “holy fucking shit.”

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #pirate au #acosf #my babies #I do be lacking the motivation to write so part 5 might be in a while

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yazthebookish · 3 years ago

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Hi. 😊

Picking your brain for a bit so hopefully you don't mind.

You mentioned in a previous post that Elain may have a hero-worship towards Azriel since he plays the white knight role quite often. Can you elaborate on the difference you see between Elain feeling that way about Azriel vs the possiblity of Gwyn feeling that way about Azriel? Since both have been saved/rescued by him before.

Looking forward to your response. Thank you! 💜

Hello anon,

Sure.. so let me put it this way and this is the way I see it.

Elain's main attraction to Azriel is that he embodies safety, protection and heroism, likely the same things that drew her to Graysen.

Handsome, brown-haired, blue-eyed, but … human. Solidly built beneath his light armor, tall—perhaps a mortal ideal of a knight who would swoop a beautiful maiden onto his horse and ride off into the sunset.

That's only one facet of Azriel she sees and we know there's a whole lot of him. There is nothing in the text that shows on-page conversations between them that gave us a clue that they know one another on an intimate level (no... conversations about gardening isn't part of it). So where would her attraction stem from if not because he saved her and gave her his attention? She doesn't even know him. Is that good enough of a reason? This restricts the role of Azriel being the "provider" of what Elain seeks and she is the receiver of what Azriel gives "safety, peace, attention", we already had that with her sisters and it does nothing for her growth as a character.

But.. is that something Azriel can always give? But to avoid going off topic I'll stick by the white knight and hero-worship topic. So we've established that Elain doesn't know Azriel at a personal level, he himself admits their interactions post-ACOFAS has only been fleeting glances and brushes of fingers. She obviously developed a crush on the idolized version of Azriel, the one that saved her and works hard as the spymaster of the Inner Circle. Will she have the same opinion if she sees the other side of him? His rage? His darkness? His deep sadness? and the fact that he is reputable torturer? will that taint the glorified image she has of him?

While it's true we do not have her POV but we had Azriel's who explained what their brief interactions consist of and we have what the text says which also shows Azriel is the one providing protection and attention to Elain but barely anything from her side (unless we count the headache powder). But what's the foundation of their so-called relationship? It all comes down to her idolization of him and his idolization and (3 brothers + 3 sisters) equation from his side.

Wouldn't Azriel be someone she may want to have feelings for to fill the void in her heart after Graysen? Or to avoid the other option she resents which is Lucien?

On the other hand, it's possible also that Gwyn appreciates the fact that he saved her but it seems she knows what he is, a Shadowsinger and she even points to Nesta the fact that King of Hybern was killed using the Shadowsinger's knife. She probably heard about his role in the IC. She saw at firsthand what a killing machine Azriel is and doesn't seem to fear him one bit. She smiles at the same shadows that are often the source of fear and intimidation for others when Azriel is around.

Gwyn isn't timid or fearful of Azriel. For hero-worship, you would view this person as someone free of faults and I doubt Gwyn sees him as this perfect being or glorified hero. She at one point calls him and Cassian sadistic monsters. She challenges him and teases him. She could look at him with a withering or searing stare without balking when others flee when he is around.

Azriel nodded his agreement, his shadows twining around him. Most of the camp women had ducked into their homes when he’d appeared. A rare visit from the shadowsinger. Both myth and terror.

I know he is loved in the fandom but let's remember that Azriel is literally death incarnate to others in the Night a court and Prythian.

The issue with Elain is that when Azriel's faults and flaws begin to appear and it will shatter the hero image for her, it will change her perspective of him. All the couples in SJM's books start out seeing each other in both their beautiful and ugly sides and that what makes them such an appealing couple, you see them deal with different sides to another and we saw that with Nesta and Cassian ever since they met. However. 4 books and there wasn't much there for both Azriel and Elain, they're so stoic around one another.

It's different around Gwyn because he doesn't put on the façade he keeps around Elain which is good because Gwyn can see his personality without a filter and form an accurate opinion of him.

I think the issue isn't so much with him being their savior but how they continue to view him. With Elain, it seems there isn't much there for them and she sees an idolized version of Azriel but with Gwyn we see a spark and I can see them being an equal so that plays a big role because Azriel doesn't have to walk around eggshells with one of them.

So this is what I think, I'm not sure if you're an Elr*el or not but if you are and disagree with it I'm fine with you not agreeing with what I think but I hope you at least respect the opinion you wanted me to share. I'm done with that part of the fandom blasting me whenever I speak about Elain or Elr*el's relationship in general because it hits a nerve every time.

I always knew someone would bring up Azriel being Gwyn's savior too as a way to draw comparisons with Elain's hero-worship of him, but of course there are differences between them.

#asks #acosf #acosf spoilers #azriel #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara

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vanserraseris · 3 years ago

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END OF PART V - This part sort of just gives a little insight into the Vanserra family dynamics, and they’re kind of a mess. The brothers probably aren’t as shit as they are supposed to be, though, but they’re still pretty bad. There are a few mentions of child abuse, Beron is literally the worst. It got a little longer than I’d first planned, but I hope you enjoy it (and big thanks to everyone who is reading)!!!

ahhhh i love it sm. love the brothers. fuck beron

Prince of Ashes. Part V.

masterlist.

Eris’s eyes snapped open, the incessant banging coming from the front of his cottage startling him out of a dreamless sleep. Despite having just woken up, Eris’s movements as he reached for the dagger he always kept on his nightstand were quick, controlled. Even in the dark of the room, Eris could see that there were no intruders. Not many people knew of his personal cottage, but that didn’t mean Eris never worried about being killed in his sleep while there.

“What is that?” Eris had nearly forgotten about Lucien. His youngest brother seemed to have fallen asleep curled up on the large cushioned chair by the stone fireplace again instead of going to the smaller room he’d claimed as his own. Eris didn’t know why, but when he took Lucien to his cottage, Lucien often preferred sleeping on one of the chairs in Eris’s bedroom. Lucien’s red hair was a mess and his shirt was wrinkled as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Eris grabbed the pair of old brown boots he had by the foot of his bed, wondering who in the hells was capable of getting past the wards he’d had Lagos put around his personal home. “Don’t worry, it’s just the door,” Eris answered, irritation lacing each word in the hopes that Lucien wouldn’t think anything was amiss.

Lucien didn’t seem worried in the slightest as he yawned before he asked, “Is Micah back? He left a bunch of scrolls on the table.”

“Micah has a key.” All three of his friends had a key, and the only other person he could think of that would be coming to see him so late at night was Rufus, but Rufus could easily winnow through the wards.

Eris snarled softly when he saw the wrinkles on his own shirt, briefly considering whether or not he should just put another one on, but decided not to when the banging started once more.

It was probably Beron. Eris figured he had absolutely nothing to worry about, his father was most likely just angry with him, and that was nothing new. Or perhaps Beron had come for Lucien. Eris ran a hand through his hair, his other hand still clutching his dagger as he tried to decide if it was Lucien his father wanted, what he might do. With a few large steps, Eris made his way across the room. He crouched down in front of Lucien’s chair, holding the dagger out to him, “Take this.”

Lucien straightened, suddenly looking a lot more troubled, but he didn’t reach out to take the dagger. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Eris desperately hoped it was nothing. “Rufus probably just got drunk and forgot how to winnow again.”

“Eris,” russett eyes wide, Lucien grabbed onto the loose sleeve of Eris’s shirt, “Where are you going?”

“To open the door,” Eris flashed his brother a small smile, hoping that it would be enough to convince him that everything was alright. “Take this and stay here.” Lucien knew how to use a blade, most Autumn court children did.

Lucien was just a little older than half a decade, but despite his age, he knew all too well how dangerous the Autumn Court was, how cutthroat. Lucien took a deep breath, eyes now on the dagger in Eris’s outstretched hand.

The hilt of the dagger was ornate, golden, and fashioned to look like the head of a snake, green jewels that acted as the snake’s eyes glittered brightly as Lucien curled his small fingers around the weapon. Eris brought his now empty hand up to ruffle Lucien’s hair, “I’ll be back,” he promised.

Lucien nodded once, pulling his knees up to his chest, a look of pure determination on his young features as he watched Eris stand to his full height.

Eris regretted that he’d left all of his hounds at the kennel in the Forest House I’m his rush to leave. He’d have preferred at least Enya, his oldest hound and the alpha of the pack, to have watched over Lucien. Eris no longer had a weapon, but his magic would most likely be enough, so with one final glance at Lucien, Eris tore out of the room. As Eris walked with fast steps down the hall, the bronze sconces that lined the walls flared to life behind him.

The banging on the door hadn’t gotten any louder or any more frantic, and as Eris approached it, he lifted his nose in the air, taking a deep breath. The familiar scent of red apples lingered in the small foyer - not father - but it did nothing to ease Eris’s worries. His features schooled into a practiced look of irritation, Eris pulled the latch on the door, unlocking it before he yanked it open, “Cato.”

His brother smiled. To anyone else, it might have looked sincere, “Eris.” When Eris didn’t move to the side, Cato made a face that looked genuinely confused, his brows raising in a look of mock puzzlement, “Not going to invite me in?”

Eris didn’t move, he was taller than Cato, and while they were both lean, Eris’s shoulders were broader. He effectively blocked the entrance to his home as he asked, “Why are you here, Cato?”

His younger brother frowned, “Can’t I come say hello to my older brother?” He tilted his head a fraction, russett eyes widening slightly. “I only have one, you know.” Perhaps that was why Cato and Eris never really got along. Eris was the only obstacle to Cato’s place as High Lord, and they had never spent much time together while Cato was growing up - Eris had been sent to a war camp right after he’d been born.

They had almost no relationship, and yet, they still managed to fight over the smallest of things. Eris supposed that their non-existent brotherly bond meant that there would be no regret for Cato when he would inevitably end Eris’s life. Sending Eris away had been smart on Beron’s part, he’d practically ensured that his two eldest sons were always at each other’s throats.

Eris growled, “No. No, you cannot come say hello, especially not at the crack of dawn.”

“Did I wake little Lucien?” Cato’s voice dripped with such a convincing act of concern. Even Eris could admit that Cato was the best fucking courtier in all of Prythian, a snake in the grass in every sense.

“You woke me,” Eris spat.

Cato was no longer acting the part of the concerned younger brother as he practically shoved past Eris, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Eris bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. Slowly, Eris shut the door, mumbling a frustrated, “I doubt it,” under his breath.

When Eris finally turned to face Cato, he looked closely at his greatest rival. Not a single one of Cato’s deadly throwing knives was in sight, but that didn’t mean none were there. Cato’s eyes looked tired - troubled - and if Eris didn’t know any better, he'd have guessed that he looked a bit nervous.

He was holding himself up a little too straight, the sleeve of his shirt sloppily peaked out of his jacket, and a muscle in his jaw was working. Wonderful, Eris thought, Cato had finally decided to kill him. Eris took a breath, controlling his flames, getting ready for a fight.

“I know you favour the runt, Eris.”

Eris blinked. His brows furrowing slightly as he shook his head, “Cato—”

Cato raised a hand, “I don’t know why, but father’s given us orders to make his life as miserable as possible - probably to piss you off as much as because he’s just a horrible old bastard - and I’m not going to go against a direct order from the High Lord.”

Eris froze, “And you’ve come to tell me this because?”

Cato flashed him an adder’s grin, “I’m in a benevolent mood.”

Eris eyed him. Eris didn’t know if Cato had ever done him any favours, at least not in the last century. He sometimes wondered if Cato and him could have been close, knowing very well that it was much too late now. The resentment Cato had for his only older brother had been ingrained in his very young and impressionable mind by their father. Eris would be lying if he said he didn’t resent Cato as well.

Cato’s grin, faltered, turned into a frown, a seemingly real and true emotion Eris didn’t think he’d ever seen on his younger brother’s face. “It is an act I’ve done in good faith,” Cato wasn’t meeting Eris’s gaze, “Owain, Maddox, and Priam got the lecture, too.” Cato tugged on the cuff of his jacket sleeve, “I’m sure Rufus would have gotten the lecture if he’d been at the house, waste of father’s breath if you ask me - he only ever listens to you.”

Cato had gone out of his way to warn Eris, and while Eris was grateful, he couldn’t very well let almost all of his brothers turn on Lucien just because Beron had ordered it. “I’m going to say it once, Cato, don’t you dare lay a hand on him.”

Cato huffed a laugh, flames in his eyes, “I don’t follow your orders, brother, and if you're asking me, I’d say the little runt would benefit from having the rest of us beat on him as well.”

Eris wasn’t usually one for any sort of physical violence, but he was blinded by rage as he lunged at Cato, grabbing him roughly by the collar and shoving him back up against the wall. Eris snarled, teeth bared, “Don’t touch him.”

“I wasn’t being entirely serious,” Cato rolled his eyes, “But it’s fucking nice to know your weakness, Eris.”

Of course Cato would use their youngest brother against him. “I think all of us would benefit if I cut out that silver tongue.” Eris didn’t mean it, but it worked in Eris’s favour if Cato feared him just a bit.

Cato grinned again. “I’d be very careful, Eris, I’m not in the mood to gut you tonight, ” Eris hadn’t felt the point of the knife pressed up against his side until Cato applied just a little more pressure, “I’d hate to get blood all over my good jacket, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

Eris snarled, pressing Cato harder up against the wall, “You always manage to make my blood fucking boil, you know.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Eris thought he felt Cato’s knife cut through his shirt.

With one final growl, Eris loosened his hold on Cato’s jacket. He took a few small steps back, running a hand through his long hair.

Cato adjusted his jacket with one hand, in the other, he twirled the knife between his fingers, the simple silver blade flashing. “Be honest with me, Eris, just this once.” Eris would have asked him what the hell he was talking about, but Cato didn’t wait for a response before he asked, “What’s so very special about Lucien?”

Eris couldn’t actually tell him about the oath he’d taken, wouldn’t risk Cato using that against him, so he simply sneered, “Absolutely nothing.”

Cato scoffed, “I know you dislike it when precious little Lucien gets a beating, but I think you’re overreacting. Father’s hands aren’t as painful as the whips he was using on us at Lucien’s age.”

Eris set his jaw, opting to give his brother some of the honesty he’d asked for. “I want to protect him from that - maybe then he won’t end up like the rest of us.” Eris made a vague gesture with his hand.

There seemed to be a sort of understanding between the both of them when Cato met his eyes once more, a strange sort of openness that Eris couldn’t really read. Cato sounded a bit defeated as he spoke, “You cannot protect him forever.”

Eris knew he couldn’t, the vow he’d taken haunted him some nights, but that didn’t mean he wanted Cato to point it out. “I can try,” Eris snapped.

“I appreciate the honesty, truly, but let me tell you something, brother. Your efforts will have been for nothing if the outcome is no good.” Cato shook his head, “I reckon no one - not mother, not Rufus, definitely not Lucien - no one will remember that you tried.” His lip curled over his teeth at the last word like he was disgusted by it. “Father’s got it out for little Lucien, I don’t know why, so try and protect him if you must, but when it all goes to shit, just remember I warned you.”

Eris couldn’t even begin to guess why their father was acting this way so suddenly, but he dipped his chin at his brother. “Thank you, Cato,” Eris said with as much sincerity as he was able. Eris wasn’t very used to thanking anyone, and he didn’t think that Cato was very used to hearing any thanks, either. Eris could practically hear his father’s voice, see the sneer on Beron’s face, as he’d hissed at a young Eris that sons of Autumn never gave thanks.

Cauldron boil me, Eris thought, he was going fucking soft.

Cato’s russett eyes widened at the words before his genuine look of surprise was replaced by a scowl, the masks were back, it seemed. “You won’t be thanking me when I steal your crown, brother.”

“If you are feeling benevolent when you decide to kill me,” Cato flinched, but Eris continued, choosing to ignore it, “Do me a favour and make it quick.” The silence that dragged between them as they stared at each other was uncomfortable.

They looked so alike, very much like their mother. Long red hair, sharp cheekbones, elegant brows, the only difference was the russet colour of Cato’s eyes and the much softer lines of his face.

With a shake of his head, Cato moved past Eris, ensuring that their shoulders hit. He threw open the door, the heat of the room leaving as he stood in the doorway for a moment, as though he wanted to say something.

Cato stepped over the threshold of the door, the first few rays of the sun peaking over the horizon. “And not like you asked for my advice,” Cato picked at a thread on the sleeve of his shirt, turning to face Eris once more, “But you should stop spoiling the little runt, you’ll make him as useless as Rufus. And father is growing impatient with you and I’d rather not be dragged out of my duties to watch your flogging.”

Eris nodded once absently, his mind reeling, but nothing except irritation showed on his face. Perhaps Beron had learned in truth that Lucien was not his son. Perhaps Beron was no longer questioning the blood that ran through Lucien’s veins. Perhaps Eris would not be able to protect him, and Eris would rather tear out his own throat than let Beron harm his youngest brother. He’d made a vow, after all - he found he had to remind himself that was the only reason why.

Before he winnowed away, Cato called back to his older brother, “Be careful, Eris.” It could have been a warning or a threat, but Eris was choosing to believe that Cato might have actually been a bit worried for his well being.

Eris shut the door, turning and leaning against it with his eyes closed. He slowly slid to the floor, breathing in through his nose, wrapping his hands around his knees. He hadn’t felt this helpless since he was a child.

Eris felt dizzy as he thought about how he would have to find a way to get his father to pay even less attention to Lucien, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. He was also trying not to think too much about Cato. Cato had fucking warned him. The brother who he competed against, constantly fought with, never trusted - had warned him. Cato was young and ruthless and cruel, just as Eris was, and Eris knew they were more alike than they were different.

They were two-sides of the same tarnished coin. Eris took another breath, he didn’t like thinking about his brothers too much, it made his chest ache. Eris thumped his head a couple times on the door behind him. Perhaps if he hit it a little harder he’d knock some sense into himself. Eris could feel flames dancing on the tips of his fingers. He’d gotten much too emotional, all his actions driven by that stupid oath, and he’d lost his edge.

“Eris?”

Eris opened his eyes at the sound of Lucien’s worried voice. He was sure he hadn’t managed to control his magic, and he knew that there were wild flames flaring in his eyes. Eris was almost certain Lucien would flinch away from him, away from that all-too familiar and dangerous fire, a fire that reminded most people of his father. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

Lucien was no longer holding the dagger Eris had given him, but he took a small step towards where Eris sat. “Are you alright?”

In the light, Eris could clearly see just how terrible Lucien looked after Beron’s beating. It had taken all of Eris’s strength not to go after his father, and just like a coward, he’d done nothing but winnow Lucien away from that cauldron-damned house. Eris hadn’t been there to see Lucien’s punishment - he didn’t even know what Lucien might have been punished for - but Beron’s marks were all over his little brother.

Eris could barely look at the black eye, at the split skin near Lucien’s eyebrow, at the dark bruise on his cheekbone. Eris knew there were more bruises he couldn’t see.

“I’m fine.” Eris lied, willing the flames in his eyes to vanish.

Lucien took a few more small, slow steps towards Eris, like he was approaching a wounded animal. It must have been a shock for Lucien to see Eris in this way, but Eris was tired, and he didn’t think he had it in him to act alright even for Lucien’s sake.

Lucien sat right next to Eris, leaning up against the door, mirroring the way Eris was sitting. Eris knew he should perhaps be offering Lucien words of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say.

Lucien was the first to break the silence. “It’s light.”

“What?” Eris turned his head to face Lucien, confused.

Lucien looked up at him with a small smile, “What can fill a room, but takes up no space. Your riddle.”

Eris raised an auburn brow, “I’m going to have to start giving you harder ones.”

“I’ll solve those ones, too.”

Eris felt the corner of his mouth tilt up just a fraction, “I bet you will.”

Lucien turned away from Eris, moving so that he was leaning up against Eris’s side. “Don’t worry too much about whatever’s bothering you,” Lucien muttered, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Eris took comfort in knowing that at least Lucien believed in him, and he figured that Lucien was probably right

Eris would figure something out, he always did.

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bookofmirth · 3 years ago

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It blows my mind how the possibility of an Illyrian plot featuring Azriel and Gwyn as his love interest is problematic because Gwyn is a white, non-Illyrian female who should not be the one to save the Illyrians (Emerie erasure), meanwhile completely dismissing that Azriel, a POC who's been known to discriminate against his own race, will take the forefront of bringing change to Illyrians should this theory come to fruition.

Gwyn, whether people like it or not, will be involved in the Illyrian plot because she IS in fact a non-Illyrian female who's earned the prestigious title of Carynthian. She will not be spared the wrath of the Illyrians just because she is white and non-Illyrian. Should she share a book with Azriel, it would make sense for the two of them to play a part (mainly Azriel though). Even if she's not the love interest, she will be involved.

I simply do not understand how people who take issue with this matter support the theory that Elain will save Lucien/Eris/Lady of Autumn from Beron. Like...explain to me how that is okay, but it's somehow distasteful for Gwyn to play a part in helping the Illyrians when Gwyn will actually be involved in it regardless if she ends up with Azriel or not. Elain's only connection to the Autumn Court is thru Lucien. There is not doubt that she will be a major key player in her book and same for Azriel.

Azriel (MC) + Gwyn (supporting LI) = resolving the Illyrian conflict (makes sense because both are connected to it)

Elain (MC) + Azriel (supporting LI) = resolving Autumn Court conflict (does not make sense because neither are tied to the AC of Elain rejects the bond)

Make it make sense.

FOR REAL.

The Illyrians as a race in this series are super fucking problematic. A lot rides on how sjm handles them in the future. But I promise, the idea of some white girl coming in and teaching them Valkyrie fighting techniques is not the root of our issues.

Gwyn 100% will be connected to the Illyrians, even though she didn't want to be. She didn't ask to be. She was literally fucking kidnapped and forced to participate in the Blood Rite. She didn't even ask to do the Blood Rite Qualifier. That was just a nice thing that Cassian and Azriel set up for them. So no, she's not imposing herself in any way. She was thrust into a situation she didn't ask for, and while I'm sure that the Illyrians resent her being Carynthian, it's not like she tried to infiltrate and change their culture.

And note - none of that is ship related. Whatever ship Gwyn does or doesn't end up in, she is still connected to the Illyrians through no choice of her own.

It definitely would mainly be Az who would deal with them. People say "the abused should never have to deal with the abuser" and yeah okay that's fine, but he's not mad at "an abuser". He's literally got internalized racism against an entire people, many of whom he probably hasn't even met and doesn't even know??? So the fandom trying to characterize the entire Illyrian race as inherently abusive smacks of racism, if we think about their argument in too much detail (which I prefer not to, usually, which is why it's just now occurring to me as I write this.)

In other words, saying that Azriel shouldn't have to deal with Illyria because he was abused by some of them buys into the exact reason why their characterization is problematic in the first place. His issue isn't with a specific person or group of people, it's with a race. Like what???? That's not good?? Why would we not want him to deal with that, to resolve that part of his past??

Part of this is sjm's fault, yes. Like I mentioned above, the way she has constructed the Illyrian culture makes my skin crawl. But the fandom is, once again, completely ignoring that potential racist implication and instead buying into it wholesale. We should be critiquing the fact that Azriel has internalized racism and the way that Illyrians have been characterized by sjm, not using those things as weapons in a ship war.

But yeah sorry I started ranting, your point about how Gwyn can't save Illyria while somehow Elain is going to save the Autumn Court. That's just as condescending an assumption, not to mention that no one is trying to argue that Gwyn will do that. They're just pointing out the literal canon connections that Gwyn has to Illyria. Elain's only connection to Autumn is via Lucien, and if the mating bond is gone then that connection is gone.

I understand that there are racial undertones to the Illyria issue that don't exist in regards to the Autumn Court, but those racial undertones are also inherently problematic as fuck, and so it's not really a flex to try to say "we don't want this woman to white savior a group of mean, abusive people of color!!!" Because that description of Illyria is already super gross. That's where our attention should be.

The whole Autumn Court mess of a theory is just because we all know that the Beron, Lucien, LoA, and Helion thing needs to come to a head at some point in the story. Unfortunately for a portion of the fandom, neither Azriel nor Elain have jack shit to do with it. Lucien could snap his fingers and say "I accept your rejection", and that whole plot comes crumbling down. The end. C'est fini.

#acosf #acotar #idek what to tag this!#sjm critical

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grayintogreen · 3 years ago

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You're into the 'Lucien was a Mardoon' theory right? I found out about it recently and my mind is blown! Do you have any headcanons about it? And not related (I think?) but how far do you think Lucien would've gotten ihad he managed to leave Shadycreek earlier in life? Like... Would he be a mage/scholar/??? for the empire or dynasty or something? Or do you think he would've pursued something bigger anyway?

I am actually! Also gear up, folks, because this is a long post, and covers several points.

My main headcanon is that the Mardoon Family is a family by adoption, because the heads of the Tribe tend to end up infertile, disinterested in marriage, aroace, or whatever, so for whatever reason, the Mardoons mainly operate through finding people who suit their aesthetic and bringing them into the fold, which is how a Zemnian tiefling ended up in the family. Now my personal headcanon is that a young Ophelia was pregnant out of wedlock through some real bad experiences in the area she hailed from and she ended up fleeing to the Run where she had her kid, and while hiding out the Mardoons took a shine to her, and feeling like she'd lose her shot if this crime family found out she had a baby, she found a place she THOUGHT would take care of him, and then went to work for the Mardoons, eventually working her way up to become the head of the family over the course of a couple of decades.

(This makes her a weird parallel of the Gentleman in a lot of ways!)

But Lucien would only be a Mardoon if Ophelia claimed him as her son, and she never did for whatever personal reason she might have had, be it her own ambition or some fear that she'd have to face the fact that she ABANDONED her child in order to put herself into a better life and effectively damned him to a shitty life in her place, and she just wasn't ready or prepared to deal with that.

Now if Ophelia HAD taken Lucien in or perhaps pulled some strings to get him sent somewhere else where he'd have a better shot, then yes, I think he would probably gone somewhere where he could have been nurtured a little better and perhaps found a better career option than mercenary-turned-cult-leader, but how well that would go would depend highly on where he ended up. Sent to the Capitol? Oh hell no, he would develop SUCH a seething resentment for EVERYONE. I can't see him being put anywhere in the Capitol where he wouldn't have to deal with people treating him like shit because he's a tiefling, so it would just be the same shit in a different zip code that would drive him to insane amounts of ambition and probably send him running from that life too.

Smuggled into the Dynasty? MAYBE a better chance of him getting taken seriously, but I think the problem is Lucien dreams bigger than his station. He behaves like he's Forsaken Royalty and he would probably always have an excuse for why he hasn't been granted what he absolutely deserves, when the reason is he has such a disregard for authority that he refuses to put the work in to get authority to acknowledge HIM, because he already believes he deserves acknowledgment instantly. I think that the fact that he lives up on a cross is just something that he would never be able to shake- there will always be something acting against him that keeps him from achieving because it can't POSSIBLY be his own flaws.

Lucien is, honestly, the worst case version of a gifted kid, imo. Certain things have come so naturally easily to him that the idea that these things cannot INSTANTLY grant him status, approval, success, and everything he wants is genuinely upsetting, and it just turned him mean. His circumstances being better might ease the blow some, but, ultimately there's only two options:

(1. He doesn't get stimulated enough and therefore stagnates and lashes out and abandons whatever he's doing and sets out on his own anyway to achieve his dreams and ambitions WITHOUT HELP.

(2. He finds ONE PERSON who gives him all the validation and stimulation he needs to succeed and nurtures him and only him, but here's the thing... The kind of people who would take in a rowdy, anti-authority, way-too-smart-for-his-own-good tiefling? Those are probably not gonna be good people. And it's just gonna be the Somnovem again at a very young age with maybe slightly less disastrous results.

tl;dr: Lucien isn't, like, irredeemable by any means, but I think his personality and everything that stacks up against him being what it is there was probably just no way he'd be able to flourish as a more Molly-like individual, because Molly doesn't have childhood trauma and I don't think Lucien was EVER going to be in a position where he didn't gain some kind of childhood trauma. (Unless Ophelia had actually taken him with her and he was a crime lord's son and then... he'd be a crime lord's son??? is that better??) And beyond that, he would always be too ambitious and too quick to assume that what's holding him back is the world.

#critical role #lucien the nonagon #lucien #ophelia mardoon #my asks #LONG POST

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kingandfireheart · 4 years ago

Text

What stories are left in ACOTAR: Elain edition

It is likely that the next installment of the ACOTAR series will cover Elain Archeron. Elain is probably the least developed character of the Inner Circle, and the only character (other than Amren and Lucien) whose perspective we haven’t seen yet. This post details her trauma, the issue of choice, Elain’s personality, the sweet innocent Elain image, and her various roles.

Elain will definitely have to face her past trauma, which include:

Graysen: grief, feeling of betrayal

The Cauldron and being kidnapped: trauma, feeling violated, becoming high fae

Her father: grief

Sisters: having a role in the Night Court, belonging there, being protected

Choices:

Before I get into Elain’s role, I want to talk about a huge thing for Elain, which is choice. Rhysand spends ACOMAF and ACOWAR showing Feyre that she always has choices. Nesta struggles with this in ACOSF, and while Nesta does make choices to be more active - she kills the Kelpie, saves Feyre, saves her friends, she choses Cassian, and kills Briallyn.

“I am not a thing to be controlled by you”, Nesta said icily. Everything in her life, from the moment she was born, had been controlled by other people. Things happened to her; anytime she tried to exert control, she’d been thwarted at every turn -- and she hated that even more than the King of Hybern.

Elain, who has suffered much of the same trauma as Nesta, will make her own choices in her book. Those choices will involve who she ends up with (I refuse to get into the Elucien/Elriel debacle here - I like both!), how she wields her power (as a seer, as high fae, as a Made person, as the Cauldron’s favorite, as a political pawn), and what she makes of the situations that happened to her.

Elain has already shown that she can make good on a bad situation in ACOWAR, I’m excited to see how she keeps that up in her book:

“This could end very badly, Elain.” // She brushed her thumb over the iron-and-diamond engagement ring. “It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.” (ACOWAR)

“I know your circumstances for coming here were awful, Nesta, but it doesn’t mean you need to be so miserable about it.” (ACOSF)

Sweet Innocent Elain:

Elain’s persona in the Inner Circle is a sweet and innocent girl. She loves gardening and cooking. She is kind and cares about things like manners and propriety. Here are a few quotes that show that:

Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light. (ACOWAR)

“You’re still lovely,” Mor said a bit gently. Elain offered a half smile. “I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant.”Mor was quiet for a heartbeat. “Perhaps. But you should not let war steal it from you regardless.” (ACOWAR)

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.” (ACOWAR)

“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.” “With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.”(ACOSF Bonus Chapter)

We know that there is a lot more to Elain than anyone gives her credit for - Cassian, Amren, Rhys, and even Nesta point this out on different occasions in ACOSF:

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

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

Rhys: “I also think we haven’t seen all she has to offer. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way” “And torn up by thorns”

Nesta: “Elain stiffened, but refused to balk from whatever she beheld in Nesta’s gaze. “You think I’m to blame for his death? Challenge laced each word. Challenge - from Elain of all people.

We also see Elain starting to take back her power in ACOSF when she steps up to look for the Dread Trove

“You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“I am not a child to be fought over”

“I went into the Cauldron too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of it what my trauma did to you.”

Elain’s Roles:

Sister: Elain has long been a mediator between Nesta and Feyre. She is the calmness that complements each of their fire, she is the one they each seek to protect. (I’m thinking of SJM’s fire/ice/stone metaphor for Manon, Asterin, and Sorrel). However, she is able to fight for what she wants with each of them, and use her skills to her advantage. Elain shows Feyre her remorse for the years when they are poor, which is why Elain and Nesta step up to help with the Mortal Queens.

“Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.” (ACOMAF)

“And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.” (ACOMAF)

Sweet, innocent Elain who vomited from the violence on the battlefields, who recoiled from Cassian’s weapons, does show that she is willing to fight for her sisters.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

Seer: Elain seemed to gain clarity once she realized what she was seeing. She says she can control her Seer talk, and actually uses this power to help Feyre find the Suriel in ACOWAR, and offers to do the same with the Dread Trove. It isn’t clear if Elain’s refusal to acknowledge her powers stems from fear, lack of acceptance, or just the fact that she needed to be normal before she can embrace her new life.

“Are you asking me that as her sister, or as a seer?” (ACOFAS)

“Then I will find it. I might require some time to ... reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” (ACOSF)

Made and Cauldron’s Favorite: Just like Nesta and Feyre, Elain is Made. All of the Like Calls to Like logic that applies to Feyre in ACOMAF with the Cauldron and the Book of Breathings and Nesta in ACOSF with the Dread Trove applies to Elain. Now that Nesta’s power is limited, Elain may have to step up and use her power to help find the fourth Dread Trove item or with a new Cauldron-related task. The big distinguishing factor here is that the Cauldron likes Elain.

The Cauldron purred in Elain’s presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat. Elain backed away a step.

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain … Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something … It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken.

“You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well... and because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.”

Lucien’s Mate: Elain hasn’t been raised with the mating bond, she doesn’t care for it in ACOWAR when she tries to win Graysen back, but it is possible that after almost two years in the Night Court, and watching both of her sisters accept their bonds, that she may want to acknowledge it, or at least understand it. Being Lucien’s Mate also makes Elain a political pawn. Her presence in the Night Court ensures Lucien’s loyalty, and given that Lucient has ties to 3 of the seven courts and the human lands. Elain could potentially wield the power of those alliances (or destroy them based on her relationship with Lucien).

“You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”// “It means nothing,” Elain said, her voice breaking. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it or why they did—”// “You belong to him.”//“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”(ACOWAR)

“You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?//“He brought you a present”// “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”// “No. He is a good male. He cares for you.”// “He doesn’t know me.” //“You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.”//“I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male” (ACOFAS)

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

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

Member of the Inner Circle: Elain insists that she is a member of the Night Court in ACOSF, and offers her help in tracking down the Dread Trove. . She is already an active member at Inner Circle dinners (seen in ACOFAS and ACOSF), and those bonds could continue to grow.

“And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared she was a part of this court -- and would do whatever was needed. ... He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court... It sucked the life from her.”

Nuala and Cerrdiwen’s Friend: Elain has befriended the two half-wraiths who spy for both Azriel and Rhys. Give Elain’s powers for persuasion (”my sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles”) and observation (”Nesta never spoke if afterward, I just observed”// “Elain’s brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.” ), she could make an interesting spy or courtier.

“They’d spent more time with Elain than even I had. They understood her moods, what she sometimes needed.” (ACOFAS)

Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. (ACOSF)

#elain archeron #acotar #elain #elain archeron week #kp analysis #acotar series #mtp

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annoyed-galaxy · 4 years ago

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Background, Sister, Strength, Will, and Skill for Sparrow asks!!

YES YES YES okay there’s gonna be a cut cause this is a LOT

Background

Sparrow quite literally never knew her parents. She doesn’t remember what they looked like or how she and Rose ended up on the streets. All she can remember is that they died when Sparrow was very little and Rose never shared the details. Rose took a lot of burdens when they were growing up since Sparrow was too little to do much. Rose went days without eating and sleep just trying to make sure her sister could survive. Once Sparrow was old enough, Rose began to teach her how to help Rose. Rose would do lots of odd jobs and try to earn as much money as she could to buy food, but once Sparrow found out that her sister was starving, she began to steal from others. She was small enough and nimble to get away from people and she was really good at sneaking. Rose got suspicious of her when Sparrow was bringing in more food than Rose, but she understood it’s what they had to do otherwise they would die.

Sister

Rose was everything to Sparrow. She was her emotional support, her beacon of light, her shining star. Even though Sparrow could fend for herself, she always wanted to be by Rose’s side. Rose was the only friend she had, the only family and without her, she would be lost. Even though Rose disapproved of stealing, she understood it was necessary for their survival so she and Sparrow began scheming and came up with elaborate distractions for Sparrow to go around pickpocketing people. They worked very well together. Rose and Sparrow would spend many nights cuddled together looking at the stars and Rose making up stories. She taught Sparrow how to sing and would sing her lullabys to put her to sleep. (The sibling cuddles definitely pass down to Sparrow’s kids). Rose was Sparrow’s anchor the calm against the storm. So of course, when Rose died, Sparrow was losing a part of herself and hence her descent into depression, especially after she didn’t bring her back. Although, Sparrow always wonders if Rose would have wanted her to bring everyone else back. Rose always wanted to help others and would have sacrificed herself for other people like she did multiple times for Sparrow. But still, Sparrow lost her second half.

Strength

When Sparrow first met Hammer, she found her pacifism absolutely annoying. She thought it was an absolutely stupid way of thinking and that thought was reinforced even more when Hammer lost her father. After Hammer’s father died, Sparrow and Hammer got along, bonding over their losses. Their friendship grew and Sparrow enjoyed her company. It was a nice change from the dark gaping hole in her chest. However, Hammer was always the talkative one and Sparrow listened. As much as she enjoyed Hammer’s company, Sparrow was more focused on her revenge than trying to get cozy with anyone. She was at the point in her life where she was quiet and rude to people. But Hammer was definitely a nice change of pace. She wasn’t too upset when Hammer left her, but it added to the sting of being left alone by everyone.

Will

Sparrow personally doesn’t care about Garth, but she kind of resents him for not finding out about Lucien’s ridiculous plan beforehand and possibly being able to save Rose. She also hates how helpless he was in the Spire and how she had to wait ten years just to actually escape. It was a huge toll on her mental health and she partially blamed him for it. She always found him personally weak considering he was the Hero of Will and couldn’t save his damn self. However, after escaping, she realized why he couldn’t but she still resented him. She did listen to some of his advice when it came to magic just because she wanted to be the best she could with Will. She did find it cool though to see another person with wacky blue lines across their body. When he left to Samarkand, Sparrow really couldn’t care less. He never interested her and when they did talk it was very brief and to the point.

Skill

Ah yes, the smarmy bastard himself. When Sparrow first met Reaver, she hated how flamboyant he was, how egotistical he was. She was pissed when he killed Barnam, but didn’t act on that. Sparrow had changed when she came out of the Spire, she was less hateful and more caring, but Reaver brought back her old tendencies. When the choice came between her and the girl, Sparrow ultimately chose herself. She didn’t want to ruin anyone else’s lives and the girl had a family. Sparrow knew what it was like to lose family and she had swore to help other people after leaving the Spire in hopes to cleanse herself of the awful things she did. So when she came back, feeling even more cranky to find out Reaver had betrayed her, she really wanted to kick his ass. When they were escaping, however, it was terrifying how well they worked together. Their synergy was really unmatched and even Reaver was impressed with how well they worked together. His constant flirting irritated her, but she also didn’t care and just brushed it off. After the Spire when he left to Samarkand, she didn’t care at the time.

Reaver is actually an important part in my Sparrow’s story. A year after she killed Lucien, Sparrow was so low she tried to take her life. Reaver had appeared and stopped her from doing it. From that point on, Reaver would become like a leech. She was at a point in her life where she had no regard for her life and she was so depressed and so lonely that Reaver’s companionship was her only comfort. As much as she loathed him, she was glad he stuck to her side. Their relationship eventually grew into something more although neither of them ever worded their feelings. Sparrow did indeed find Reaver’s journals one day and it shocked her. She of course would get angry at him one day and use the information against him. Shocked, he would lash back out at her with mentions of Rose. However, even amidst all the fighting, they really understood each other in ways they never imagined. Sparrow hated how similar she and Reaver were. Eventually, their bond was too strong. Sparrow found comfort in him although she would never admit it to him. And little did she know, he found comfort in her too.

Reaver was instrumental into bringing Sparrow back from her pit of despair, but it would never be enough to keep her from wanting death. Even when she was on her deathbed and Reaver practically begged her to make the deal otherwise she would be leaving their kids behind, she refused. She didn’t fall for Reaver’s guilt trip and instead just asked him to watch over their kids. She didn’t want him to interfere with their life or try to be a father, but just watch them until time took them away. It was one of the few promises Reaver made and kept.

DONE

Holy moly that was a lot but there’s the info dump. I love Sparrow cause her backstory is FAT and a lot of it revolves around her and Reaver’s adventures together. Reaver really was a healing point for her despite their differences. Yeah there you go! ( thank you cause I really love talking about Sparrow)

#fable #fable 2 #fable Sparrow #Sparrow #my oc #ask meme #spreaver #sparrow x reaver #I love these so much so feel free to give me more

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livlepretre · 4 years ago

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ok wait i have some thoughts about acotar that you may or may not agree with... but basically i loved acotar/acomaf but hated acowar and i didn't even try to read acofas. there was a lot i hated about acowar but basically it sums up to 1) hated how sjm tried to retcon rhys into being this perfect amazing flawless person kind of destroying everything that was interesting about him in the first couple books. 2) THE EXTREMELY GRATUITOUS AND NUMEROUS SEX SCENES IN THE MIDDLE OF A WAR. LIKE ??? oh god especially that one scene where feyre wakes rhys up by... yeah. 3) king of hybern fell so flat as a villain i was expecting to get more backstory or smthg on him but no he was just... there. and evil. for no real reason. and then they killed him. like... ok. 4) TAMLIN WAS SO OOC. AND I HATE HOW SHE VILLAINIZED HIM. i also find the whole fandoms take on tamlin to be very bland and ridiculous. like yeah he obviously was not the right person for feyre and he made some serious mistakes for which he should be held accountable, but he was traumatized too! he was a very flawed character but he's not a villain!!! that scene where he's like making rude sexual comments about feyre in front of everyone felt so ooc for him. hated it. 4) mor's coming out storyline was... very bizarrely handled, and frankly i just found it hard to believe that mor's sexuality was something sjm had planned from the start of the series. as a bi woman that whole plot just rubbed me the wrong way. anyway. ya those are my thoughts but i'm curious to know what u think about this series lolol

Oof complicated question.

I think in general I come down positively on ACOTAR based mostly on the strength of the first 2 novels? I read ACOTAR and ACOMAF back to back right after ACOMAF came out, and let me tell you: I was obsessed. I was devastated. I was enthralled. It filled some very particular requirements for what I really wanted-- it was gorgeous and atmospheric and really frightening and romantic. I thought the characters were well developed, and I just thoroughly enjoyed the world-building with vicious alien faeries and the real sense of danger, as well as the magic and the breathtaking imagery. As a painter myself, I LOVED reading about painting in a way that felt so true to the actual experience of what it’s like-- so much rarer and harder to actually find than one would think-- ACOTAR and An Enchantment of Ravens are the only two novels I can think of that even grasp the experience. I loved Feyre as a human, loved loved loved the trials, and I loved how even after she became High Fae, there was an element to it that was incredibly disturbing-- the idea of having a human soul in a fae body, which meant that things that sort of roll off of the fae around her-- like violence and killing-- profoundly disturb her and wreck her soul. I loved that. (at least, that was how I interpreted the “be glad for your human heart” thing, and also why I assumed she didn’t recognize the mating bond... that maybe, as a human soul in a fae body, it would be lost in translation for her until it was actually consummated).

One of the things I also really loved about ACOMAF was that it took everything in ACOTAR and subtly turned it on its side. At that point, I was used to 1st love = true love, so actually reading a narrative where a heroine could change partners was really refreshing, and I liked all the ways that, looking back, we could realize that Tamlin wasn’t it-- that he didn’t try to free her from Under the Mountain (wow that should have been obvious) or how he never offered to teach her to read in the 1st book. I also really liked Feyre’s observation that she needed to feel protected in the 1st book because of where she was coming from then, but that by the 2nd book, because of the trauma of her imprisonment, she felt smothered and trapped. I thought the 2nd book did a good job of showing how Tamlin and Feyre could be really trying to make their pieces fit together the way they once did, but they had both been too changed by their experiences to work and had in fact become poison for each other. They both had PTSD, and I felt that was clear in the narrative. And I was happy for Feyre to leave, I loved the exploration of her depression and her slow recovery, and I was okay with how Tamlin was presented in that way because there is a way in which he really was as helpless as her-- yes, his actions were abusive, but I didn’t think that came from having an abuser’s personality. The tragedy was in the fact that he was also suffering and screwed up, and that meant that Feyre had to leave for her own sake, and that Rhysand ended up being what she needed.

I’ll put my problems with the series under the cut.

My problems started in ACOWAR, and it was primarily a characterization problem with Feyre that bothered me. To be honest, SJ Maas has this thing where she makes her main characters (male and female) just the most extraordinary over the top horrendous bitches out of the blue and it’s just like what the fuck. I think she does it for drama, and while I love a cold bitch (NESTA IS MY QUEEN)... that’s not Feyre. Her actions in the Spring Court were so much crueler than I would have anticipated. And it bothered me the way that those actions hurt everyone there, which was wild to me, as it was her home once, and that’s not Feyre. She’s the girl so empathetic that she gave those water faeries her bracelet to use as tribute. That she mourned so hard it nearly broke her for those faeries she killed in her third task. The whole point of the 1st novel was that she started with hate in her heart, but that she’s naturally so empathetic when given a chance to think about anything other than bare survival that love comes rushing in. So, I really disliked Feyre being a bitch for the sake of being a bitch. She felt unrecognizable to me. I realized recently that part of this is that Feyre actually completes her character arc in the 2nd book-- at that point, she’s figured out who she is, gained peace, happiness, and empowerment through it, and found a home. She’s answered all of the conflict within herself, so there’s just not really anywhere for her character to go in the 3rd book, which is part of why she feels so weird as a pov character.

There were other things of course. Rhys had lost that edge I loved in him so much. (what was the point of that prologue, btw?) This is a little thing but giving Lucien a last name really wrecked a lot of the wonderful strangeness of the world building and I resent it. Especially since no one else has a last name. Sarah was on the right track when she gave Rowan the last name “Whitethorn.” THAT is a faerie last name. I don’t know what this Vanserra stuff is. What else. Hybern was supes whatever. Feyre making bargains was pretty much what we’d seen before. I didn’t mind the sex scenes because that’s just what you can expect from an SJM novel, and I don’t really have any comments on Mor’s coming out story. I also suspect that she was originally written as straight in ACOMAF, but then SJM changed her mind while working on ACOWAR. I’m not going to fault her for attempting to write more inclusively and more diversely (which, as we know, is already not something she excels at). I did find the hook up with Lucien’s dad real awkward though for everyone involved though. YIKES. TOGAS. YIKES. SJM also does this thing in her finales where too much of the books tend to be about the battles and the actual war, and that’s not nearly as interesting as the character moments that might occur because of the war.

So, that leaves my primary complaint, which is Tamlin. I kind of think that it’s not even a matter of him being OOC, so much as Feyre being completely hateful toward him. Like, I remember thinking he was wildly OOC when he was siding with Hybern, a human hater, as he had specifically said in the 1st book that he would always fight against that. I remember being THRILLED when it turned out that he was playing Hybern, and how disappointed he was in Feyre for ever thinking him capable of actually siding with Hybern and bringing up that conversation they had in ACOTAR. I also loved it when he helped her escape the POW camp, and when he told her to be happy at the end. But honestly, after Feyre fucked him over SO! HARD! in the beginning of the novel, not at all surprised that he showed up at that meeting ready to talk smack. I was on his side during that whole thing, because by that point, I was like, get wreckt Feyre. (Which KILLS ME because I LOVED Feyre in the first 2 books, I think SJM really does mistake just horrendous bitchiness with confidence or something? It just horrified and embarrassed me the whole novel). I really do hope that Tamlin gets some sort of arc going forward. I was so depressed by our visit in him in ACOFAS-- sitting alone in that crumbling manor. I think he actually does deserve a “redemption” arc, although I don’t think he actually has to be redeemed.

On the subject of bitchy Feyre: I do NOT like the way she treats Nesta in ACOFAS. I guess we see that Feyre has an empathy problem in ACOTAR in that she totally misreads her sisters in the first few chapters and thinks of them in the most uncharitable light possible, and of course, once she decides she’s done with Tamlin, she always assumes the worst of him, but wow. The way she handles things with Nesta just horrifies me. I just can’t imagine treating my siblings like that, or extending them so little empathy.

And ACOFAS made me think about building snowmen and other horrible fluffy things and it was not my favorite.

But all this being said I know myself and I am definitely going to read A Court of Silver Flames. I think it might be really good, actually.

#acotar

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tartagilicious · 4 years ago

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Tagged 🥥)) In that case id like a mlqc + hq matchups if possible 🥺 im 5’5 w an athletic build, i have very straight natural blonde hair, it’s currently dark brown, cut to about my cheekbones but its like choppy and a bit longer in the back. I dont have a style tbh i just wear comfortable clothes like hoodies and shorts. My personality types are 4w5 INTJ Aquarius; I get worn out after hanging out with large groups of people nonetheless i love hanging out with them,

Tagged 🥥)) tho I’ll mostly be glued to one person to whole time. Im friendly with everyone even if i dont like them, tho it takes a while for me to consider someone an actual friend. I need time for most everything i do; I hate rushing things- and deadlines, it stresses me. I’ll end this by saying thank you so much, I really appreciate you reading through this and taking the time to write matches for me!! 🧡🧡

—

me: yeah making matchups is just so draining for some reason idk

also me: writes an entire essay on why an anon is made for this fictional character

for mlqc, I’d match you with Shaw!

- I headcanon shaw to be an ENTP, and while INTJs and ENTPs generally aren’t each other’s natural matches, they’re still a good pair nonetheless!

- being more of a half and half kind of pair, there are both notable and small differences in the way you either handle yourselves or just express things in general. but! in my opinion, the most important part of this pairing is the way that you’re able to fill in each other’s blanks —

- you mentioned that you get worn out in large groups but still love hanging out with them, which when being compared to an ENTP, is the opposite. that personality type enjoys being the leader, and for other outside reasons, I have absolutely no doubt that Shaw would love having you glued to his side for an entire night

- he’d pretend not to like it, when we all know he’d actually love it. a constant familiar presence is extremely comforting, especially in a crowded setting. imagine him silently holding your hand the entire night, and while he might talk to other people in the beginning, he ends up roped in a deep conversation with you for hours.

- I feel like he would be so nice to talk to 🥺 he has a traumatic past, so he’s a bit more understanding of a lot of issues than a normal person probably would be, and. plus, in a relationship setting, he’d just be so appalled at the idea of his s/o having any type of past regret. you deserve to be happy and he’ll try his damn best to make sure that with him, you are.

- we love silent pining!! that is actually not very silent at all!! shaw!!

- shaw, having adopted the tactic of being an asshole to push people away, doesn’t know whether to be jealous of your ability to be nice to everyone, or to resent it completely. I could see his teeth just grinding whenever you’re nice to someone you don’t really like, especially when you both know that if the roles were reversed, shaw would be on the run from the cops in 5 minutes or less

- but in actuality, I could see your personalities mixing really nicely. shaw, the more shameless and outgoing one, and you, someone who is probably on the more reserved side that doesn’t know how the hell someone like him roped you in. it’s like a magnetic force.

- taking the example of you being stressed about deadlines, I can just imagine shaw’s silent affection when trying to help you out, because he isn’t really sure how to express affection, but he’ll try his best for you 🥺💞

- he’ll actively make sure you keep yourself on track if he knows you won’t. that one fic I wrote where he drops in through the window at like 10pm? it becomes a reality babey. shaw hates seeing you stressed, because it changes people. he doesn’t want the feeling of obligation to mould you like it did him.

- but onto the actual relationship quirks — when I say I want this- 😫

- his love language to you might look something like this: letting you take a break (or keep working!) while sitting in his arms on the couch while he naps silently over your shoulder. bringing you random drinks from a nearby cafe just because he saw you stressing. getting into the little habit of squeezing your hand three times for “I love you”

- 🤲😳✨

(alternate match, lucien)

for haikyuu, I’d match you with Oikawa!

- I was SO caught up in this you DO NOT understand — this was a life or death decision for me it had to make perfect sense and there was no going back. though, I’m not gonna get into mbti matches much this time, because there’s just so much raw material to get through

- now that my English teacher has possessed me, Oikawa ✨

- Oikawa’s mbti, I think, is ENFJ! you guys naturally compliment each other, and from the brief accounts I read from people in relationships of this match, you’re set for success. you both share the basic characteristics of being loyal, respectful (generally of privacy, boundaries, etc) and both being more of a leader type, are open to listening to the people around you.

- anyways, onto the more personal aspects of this relationship-

- I headcanon the Oikawa just craves a domestic type of relationship with someone where you can just be each other’s rocks. he wants someone that will always be there and notice if he’s in a bad mood, which, judging from your personality I think would be a great equation 🥺 you can be honest with each other, and that’s one of your greatest strengths.

- he craves a storybook romance, so, his love language might be a bit different than yours, but I’m willing to bet that his cheesiness might be something that grows on you, if you don’t already like it.

- he’ll go all-out for holidays like white day! but would you be able to tell the difference between a white day gift and a normal gift? maybe not. he’s extra for the people around him that are genuine 🥺

- taking what you said about not liking large groups of people but still finding yourself happy to be around them, Oikawa is the perfect subject for this. He enjoys being the centre of attention, and can often be found in a crowded place like this whether he means to or not. but, Oikawa is also the type of person to never forget about who’s beside him. even if people gravitate towards him, he’ll always keep you closest, and make it a point that he’ll never ignore you despite his popularity

- and UgHhH I CAN JUST IMAGINE HIS SURPRISE WHEN HE FINDS OUT HOW SIMILAR YOU ARE TO HIM IN THE WAY YOU MAKE FRIENDS. it may not be for the same reasons, but it just makes him feel justified that he’s not alone in taking a while to accept someone’s friendship

- I don’t know how old you are, anon, but when you mention deadlines I think of schoolwork, so let me tell you — Oikawa. You. The library. Him making a thoughtful schedule for the both of you during exam season, all for the sole purpose of making sure that you don’t get more stressed out than you need to be—

- for the most part, Oikawa would literally be the perfect boyfriend. If he learned to integrate someone into his volleyball life, that is 😔 but don’t lose hope anon! your Oikawa is out there~

(alternate matches, osamu or kuroo)

#matchup #haikyuu #mlqc

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thisislakewoodnews · 5 years ago

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One evening, over at Raphael Stone’s home.

Characters: @raphael-stone, @mavstone, @naomixstone, @hckerstvne.

Below the cut is plot information to be led prior to the upcoming event.

Raphael Stone: Raphael had been sitting in the kitchen, laptop open and USB turning over and over between his index finger and thumb. “To get it to work, you put it in the computer.” Was the snark from his sister in the corner of the Kitchen, as he rolled his eyes. “Not yet, Noami.” She knew—she knew his intention, knew where his mind was at. Perhaps they’d always understood one another, Raphael and Naomi. As the sudden sound of the front door opening, the chime of the alarm, he stood up straight, eyes locking with his brother. “We’re just waitin’ on Lil to get her ass over here.” He commented.

Maverick Stone: There's a moment of hesitancy as Maverick stands on the other side of the door, contemplating his fate and future. Stepping through the threshold would change everything and he knew once he left, it wouldn't be the same ever again. With a breath, his hand went to door knob and the alarm announces his entrance before he can. His older brother is given a simple nod, the years of resentment seeming to vanish because there were more important matters to attend to. Naomi, on the other hand is greeted more warmly before Mav takes a seat. "How much time we got? This could take awhile." He teasingly responded.

Lily Stone: She was ready. She was ready to learn what was on the USB that almost costed Lily her life. The urge to sneak into Raphael's office and take it is finally going away as she began to feel anxious. Popping a pain killer into her mouth Lily powered through the pain she felt and made her way down the stairs. Arriving into the kitchen to see all three of her siblings is when the youngest Stone realized this is the first time they've all been together since Colleen Stone's funeral. "Sorry I'm late," she clears her throat. "I uh had to take my medicine." The hacker knew if she didn't a certain Doctor would be on her ass abut it. Ignoring the presence of Maverick for Lily was still furious at him, she takes a seat beside Raphael. Her eyes glued to the USB in her President's hand.

Raphael Stone: Did he just come right out and say it? His siblings in the room, as he drummed up a small smile—rare in its form for his brother through all their previous tension—and to Lily, who now sat at his side. “We’re looking at this—“ He murmured, holding up the USB. “It’s got incriminating footage, so we assume,” He gestured to Naomi behind him, as she drank his liquor cabinet dry. “But—It’s uh…” Raphael shrugged his shoulders. “Seran’s dead. Body found—I confirmed it was him a few hours ago.” Was there a time to mourn, yes. Completely. But not now. “I—we’re out a Vice President, and we cannot be.” He’d been looking around the room to his siblings, as hues settled on his brother. “We need a Vice President, Maverick.” Was Raphael making his point clear?

Maverick Stone: Blue eyes shifted to the USB that would be the answer to all their questions and the source of all their problems. Such a small subject possessed enough power to bring all four Stone siblings together for the first time in years, excluding their mother's death. It was enough to make Maverick less of a pessimistic shit. His eyes moved from the drive to Raphael as he began to speak, explaining the entire situation that led to this moment. Seran was a huge loss but, with everything as they are now, the family wasn't in a position to look vulnerable. "And I accepted." He added to Raphael's point, eyes gauging his sister's expression to gauge their reactions...because he knows there will be one. "It was time. There's too much shit going on and we can't afford to look weak and divided."

Lily Stone: Hearing the death of Seran was no loss to Lily personally, not really, but to the cartel? Big loss. Before Lily could tell Raphael she is sorry for the loss of his vice president and to ask how he met his demise she found herself biting her bottom lip. How eager Lily felt to see what was on the USB quickly became replaced with one emotion; rage. No longer able to keep her mouth shut, the youngest Stone looks to her President. "You want him as your Vice President?" Lily felt as if she should've seen it coming, but she didn't. Without realizing it Lily stood up out of her chair to tower him. "He fucking left Lakewood and the cartel all behind because he got his feelings hurt by that bakery princess." Oh there was so much more Lily wanted to say about all of this. "Give it to Lucien or--" the young Stone found herself choking on her words. "--or someone else who didn't abandon us or the cartel!" That is when she finally looked to Maverick with a burning rage in her eyes. "When I left, I left to gather Intel--not be a glutton for punishment in Vegas like you did." If anyone where to ask Lily, she saw it as if she should get the promotion not Maverick. Did she want to be the VP? Hell no. She wanted to be what she always wanted; a soldier and work her way up to Lieutenant and Bodyguard.

Raphael Stone: Didn’t he expect just that? Someone would have something to say, as he raised a hand, sunken silence. Lily was laying it on—Naomi’s personal opinion would come, but now wasn’t the time. “Get over it—“ Raphael snapped, looking at his little sister. “You’re not the only one he left. He left me. Mom, dad, Naomi—“ He spoke, gesturing to his other sister. “Maverick fucked up—and I know where he’s coming from. If it had been me…” Silence fell for a moment, as he sighed. “I would’ve done the same thing. It was suffocating. I stayed, but I didn’t like it any less. I knew what was being held over my head. He had more freedom.” Raphael stood, USB still gripped tight. “But the only way we’re all looking at this, is if we all agree to accept what I’m saying—“ A lull. “Or don’t, I don’t care. I’m the President of this Cartel, I’m making him the Vice President.” Maverick was right. It was time. “We’re family.” He looked to Lily. “That understood?”

Maverick Stone: Maverick saw that reaction coming from a million miles away. Lily wasn't exactly known for being subtle or for her lack of dramatics. His eye simply arched at the younger Stone as she climbed onto the chair, throwing a fit -- which, in a way, was warranted. Attention shifting from Lily to Raphael, the tone in his older brother's voice said it all. It wasn't really a question, despite him giving the siblings an option, it was a command. "I already apologized for what I did." Maverick stated, even though he'd do it all again in a heartbeat. "That was then and this now. You wanted me here, Lil, I'm fucking here and stepping up to the plate." Better late than never, he figured. "If Raphael and I can put our shit to the side to make this work, then so can you." He noted. "It's time to let it go. That was the past and there's a lot more important shit happening right now that we need to focus on."

Lily Stone: When Raphael stood and towered over Lily she stood her ground against him. She never has been one to back down so easily, so why start now? Lily knew they were right and found it difficult in herself to put this bullshit aside. "Fine. I'll play along with him being the Vice President." then something came to her mind. "Since you are clearly giving out promotions--then promote me to being a soldier." The youngest Stone knew she shouldn't even have to say why. Taking a deep breath she looks back over to Maverick with anger still residing in her eyes. Though she lost her breath when she felt a sudden sharp pain in her abdomen; the stab wound. Acting as if she weren't in pain Lily held her gaze on Maverick. "I'll be a good little warrior and keep my mouth shut for now on about you becoming VP, but for what you did to me as my brother? You got a long way to fucking go for that." She declares. With that Lily sits down and crosses her arms over her chest before looking to Raphael. "Now can we see what is on that damn USB? I about died from being gutted over that fucking thing."

Raphael Stone: Raphael didn’t even hesitate to her quip. “No.” His voice was sound and strong. Don’t question him, don’t barter him. This wasn’t some clubhouse, no form of government or diplomacy. It was a god damn crime to do as they did—what he says, goes. “You’ll stay where you are, Naomi is staying where she is, I’m bringing someone in, not shifting the fucking pyramid.” Didn’t he expect an argument from Lily? Sure. But he wasn’t about to lift her up to justify some vendetta she was hanging over Maverick’s head. “Lily, I swear to fucking god, pull your foot out of your mouth and listen to me,” Raphael rubbed his temples momentarily. “I run this show—so when you’re speaking to Maverick from here on out, you better do it with some fuckin’ respect.” There was another lull. “He’s not just your brother—he outranks you now.” Was it a silent warning to Naomi as well, should the equally vibrant-with-words have an opinion? Possibly. Maybe with her sullen silence she knew not to push Raphael. “Now,” He murmured. “We watch this once, and Maverick and I will decide what to do.” He eyed his little sister as a warning—no smart remarks. Plugging the USB in, as the CCTV footage came to light. Raphael’s mind was trying to remember the familiarity of the scene. Set outside of Tito’s, a familiar spot for the Stone family—“Oh my god,” Naomi’s long hair almost shielding the wide screen as she leaned in, even the awe striking her tone. “Look at the date—“ She pointed to the corner of the screen with a finely manicured hand. “This was the date Mom died…” Did he hone in, finally pay attention to the scene that had been—gunshots went off, silence on the film, but the bright light moved in. “Move,” Maverick murmured, as he reached for the laptop. Raphael cast a ‘keep quiet’ glare to Lily. “We can zoom in on—“ His words stopped, , as the screen was moved back, shifted for Raphael to see as clearly as they could make out on the black and grey screen: Dominic Moretti. Gun in one hand, gunning the gas of his motorcycle in the other. “Oh my god,” Naomi broke the silence first, as he felt her place a hand on his shoulders. “You know what this means, Raph…” He stayed silent for another moment. “I know,” He looked to Maverick. “The Castro cartel didn’t kill mom—the Rinaldi’s did.” [END]

#lakewood: plot drop

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