#tamlin they could never make me hate you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

readychilledwine · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! I love your writing, it always makes me grin. Could I request a platonic Az fic? One where reader is like 10, super cuddly and touch affection starved and Feyre’s ward (kind of like Evangeline is to Lyssandra), and maybe like the kid or sister of one of the children of the blessed that was sent over the wall but feyre found her and took her in even though Tamlin didn’t like it, so when Mor took Feyre, she had to take reader too, and then during that dinner, she gets scared to meet everyone (especially cass sine he seems intimidating) so she runs behind the nearest person, Az and when he doesn’t get upset, she sticks with him through the dinner, wanting to be next to him, hiding behind his wings, asking for cuddles, and playing with his hands. He doesn’t get upset and reader just decides to follow him like a shadow from then in and make him her fave person, like watching when he train, being sad and quiet when he’s gone (until Nuella and Cereadwin bring her sweets), happy when he’s back, and never leaving his side, and even asking him to carry her etc.

Oath

Warnings - platonic soul mates, mentions of Amarantha and UTM, visions

A/N - I'm not saying I am tucking this away for a rainy day, but I'm not not saying that 👀

Azriel Masterlist

You didn't even have to ask or knock. The door opened, and shadows pulled you in. Guiding you to Azriel in the dark as he opened up his blanket and pulled you up to his bed and into his arms. "Nightmares?" He murmured softly into your hair, holding you close. "It's okay, little one. We all have them." You curled into him, basking in the warmth and protection he offered. His wing rested over you, feeling like a blanket weighing down like a tight hug. "Tell me what you saw?"

You started softly. "A robed figure with swans. But this time, it was like.." You paused, wiping tears from your eyes. "It was like I was a swan. You were on the waterline of the lake, yelling for me."

Azriel went stiff, then pulled you closer to him. "No one is going to take you from me. From us. You are ours to look after."

And you had been since you arrived in the Night Court. You had been ripped from the mortal realm with Feyre by Tamlin. Feyre had taken you in, despite arguments from her sisters, when she found you starving in the streets. You became hers, and she yours. She was closest thing you had ever had to a sister, and her regret the moment you were caught following her Under the Moutain was something she struggled to live with to this day.

Amarantha had taken a liking to you, though. You were a tender human girl she enjoyed using as a personal servant. She kept you at her side, almost always glowing with how much you admired the fae, how you were raised to be complicit to them by the Children of the Blessed. You complimented her constantly, adoring her dresses, her hair, her glowing skin. You had no idea she was so evil. So cruel. That was until Feyre's first trial.

It was Rhysand who pulled you into his room one night, sheltering you from the violence going on. He had whispered to you tales of a city covered in starlight and a family. A family that all found each other, chose each other, loved each other. He had worked you into the bargain with Feyre, ensuring he had you for one week every month, ensuring you were away from Tamlin, who, for unknown reasons, hated you.

When you first came to the Night Court, Rhys spent the week with you, teaching you to read and write more gently than he had Feyre, teaching you the different courts, the different high lords. He had put you in dresses that made his eyes sparkle but grow distant with longing. He had called you his little second chance, and on that second visit, you were sold. You loved Rhysand so fully that you had clinged to him, crying as Tamlin ripped you from his arms.

When Tamlin locked you and Feyre in the manor, it had been the scariest moment of your life. You were still mortal, but the power radiating from her, consuming her as she pulled you into her chest for comfort, was terrifying. She had told you the Night Court would be your home now once she had calmed down, and the decision was made to have dinner with Rhysand's family. Mor had taken you, winnowing you two in and letting you enjoy that drop, that rush of free falling. Everything had been fine until you saw Cassian.

Cassian was loud, he was huge, he had muscles in places you hardly knew could have muscles. You had ended up hiding, much to Cassian's amusement, behind the closest thing you could. Azriel.

And it had begun after that. Azriel became your best friend. You constantly looked for him, snuggled him, loved him. He became your everything and you his. You made him carry you everywhere, take you flying, and made him laugh with you under blanket forts.

On your 9th birthday, he had taken you into town, spoiling you before the war with Hybern begun with pastries, books, new dresses, and a stuffed animal. It was the same day Velaris was attacked. You had been taken from him, locked into a cell with Nesta, who held you close, whispering how it would be okay. You were forced into that same Cauldron as Feyre screamed, held back by Rhysand as the male pleaded for the King to let you go.

Azriel had promised you from that day forward you were his, swearing it to you in an oath that you two sealed with a pinky promise. He promised to protect you. To keep you safe. To make sure anyone who harmed you would regret it. But even Azriel, as powerful as he was, could not save you from the aftermath of the Cauldron.

1 week after your 10th birthday, weird things started happening to you. You had dreams where you saw things. Similar to Elain. Her visions came out in riddles, though. Yours were different. Odd to Rhys and Amren. Odd to Helion. Your powers were similar to a seer, yet so different.

Helion had described it as you walking through timelines. You could see all outcomes with no direction of how that outcome would come to be, whereas Elain saw one possible future and potential riddles guiding to it. "A burden," he had said to Rhysand quietly. "A burden to know each way someone you loved could die, to know what happens if one pawn doesn't move exactly according to plan, but not be able to tell them how exactly it happened."

You had fallen into yourself more, seeking only Azriel with Feyre's pregnancy and Nesta's spiral. You only told him what you saw in your dreams and occasionally the twins if he would send them to you with treats.

He pulled you close again, shaking you from the past. "What else did you see?"

"Elain," you whispered softly. "Lucien holding Elain tightly while she laid on the ground. She no longer glowed with the light of the fae. It was like the cloaked figure had taken it from her."

The grip on your nightgown grew tight. "What else?" His voice was tense, eyes getting slightly distant, letting you know he was communicating with Rhys that you had seen something.

"Rhys had facial hair." Azriel hummed. Unknown to you that you had just given him an idea of the timeline. It would have had to have been after the birth of babe. Rhys only grew facial hair when he was tired. "Feyre and Nesta weren't there. Just Lucien, Elain, the three of you, and I think me."

"As a swan," he repeated.

"Yes, as a swan. Trapped on his lake."

"Do you know how old you were when this happened?"

You shrugged. "No, but we had a string. It wasn't gold and glittering like Rhys and Feyre's, but red and power seemed to flow through it, not emotions. It felt like I was transferring something to you."

Azriel kissed the top of your head. "You know I need to tell Rhys about this?" You nodded. "And you know he may need you to show him?" You nodded again, but shivered at the thought of Rhysand in your mind. "We should also mention the red string to Amren. She what she can dig up."

"But she's so cranky." Hazel eyes, tired and heavy with sleep, peered down at you. "New Amren is way more mean than old Amren."

"A problem for tomorrow. Go to sleep, y/n. I'll keep your nightmares away."

"I love you, Azzie."

"I love you too, y/n. I won't let you turn into a swan."

You were asleep almost instantly, body back on that lake, and a cloaked figure with a bone like figure stroking your wings.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

#acotar #send asks #send anons #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x platonic!reader

512 notes · View notes

yourlittlebunnyy · 3 months ago

Text

try again -tamlin x reader

masterlist

summary: after a fight in the Night Court, Y/n seek refuge in the Spring Court where she finds a old lover again.

warnings: ofc none

w/c: 5k

enjoy🎀

"Are you telling me you want Feyre to destroy an entire Court-of allies against Hybern, dammit-just because of a love affair gone wrong?"

Right now you don't care much about the consequences your words will cause you, and you certainly don't care that you are raising your voice to the High Lord of the Court of Night. Rhysand merely stares at you with glacial violet eyes, his stern face painted with total indifference. Here is the one you hate: not your friend, but the High Lord. The one who reserves glances of superiority for you and makes you feel stupid every time you open your mouth. But it is not he who answers you, but rather Cassian, always the first to put Rhysand before everyone, before even himself.

"Speak more respectfully to your High Lady." You cannot stop your face from contorting into a grin. The concept of High Lady was invented by Rhysand and has no real value, you think, now they're going to resent Tamlin for that too? Besides the fact that Feyre has no political experience, hell, she wasn't even a Fae until recently, how do they expect her to lead a Court?

Mor, as usual interested in putting straw on the fire, speaks in a honeyed voice, "Are you still pining for Tamlin, Y/n? We thought that time was over." You feel your cheeks go flaming with anger. You want to respond, but Azriel, always the pacifist in the countless confrontations you've had with your friends, gets in the way. The blonde doesn't seem to relent even when the winged male tells her to stop, and your face shifts to Rhysand, who sits in his study chair settling more comfortably on the backrest, enjoying the show. There's no point in arguing, you think. You roll your eyes, and under everyone's gaze but without saying a word, you leave the room.

You love your family, but sometimes they really seem dumber than a goat. You are not a High Lady, no, and certainly your job does not include ruling a Court, but you know perfectly well too that whatever Feyre is doing is wrong. But you don't blame her: Rhysand can be persuasive, and probably the destruction of the Spring Court was more his idea than the Feyre's, he's still attached to events that happened five centuries ago.

You just don't understand, given the delicate period Prythian is going through, why tear down an entire Court. One more ally against Hybern. And above all, mixing politics and personal conflicts? Never a good idea. Not to mention Mor, and Rhysand's attitude. And... everything. You are tired, and with a sigh you walk out of the huge building and down the main street of Velaris, taking more time to think. Normally you would have winnoved in your apartment on the edge of town, but you feel the need to blow off some steam.

Too bad your little walk doesn't help, in fact. Seeing people so carefree and naive makes you see red, because they have that chance, and the rest of the Night Court doesn't. You've always tried to push the issue, trying to get as many women and children into Velaris as possible, but Rhysand has always been very firm about the rules. Slowly you realize that maybe they are not friends, or even family, as you allowed yourself to call them years ago. You don't share their choices, their ways, their governance. You don't share any thoughts. But you are stuck. Where could you possibly go?

You arrive home and the first thing you do is undress and prepare a hot bath. Once you are done, with only a towel you head into the small kitchen, determined to make yourself some tea and take a tonic to sleep, exhausted from this day.

At your table you find Azriel. That's right, you had forgotten that you now share an apartment with him. You greet him by calling his name, and he looks at you curiously, almost worriedly.

"Are you okay?" He asks, and you're not quite sure how to answer. Normally you are not so unhappy, but today's fight hit you hard. It has opened your eyes. Feyre, here for so little, is already more important than you. Not to mention how they make you feel inadequate and stupid, as if your opinion doesn't count for anything. You don't respond, not trusting your voice, and simply shrug. Azriel gets up and takes the tea-making supplies from your hands.

"I'll do it." He says kindly, and you murmur a thank you, and decide to get dressed in the meantime. When you return from your room, tea is poured into a steaming mug on the table.

"Two teaspoons of sugar, just the way you like it." This brings a smile back to your face, and you begin to sip the sweet liquid careful not to burn your tongue. "You can tell me what's going on, you know."

You think about it for a while before answering, but eventually decide that you have nothing to lose. "I don't want to be here anymore." Azriel looks at you surprised.

"Do you mean... in this apartment, or...?"

"No. I want to leave the Night Court. I don't want to work for Rhysand anymore, I'm exhausted." You sigh, and tears sting your eyes. Azriel looks at you sympathetically.

"Don't you feel at home anymore?" You shake your head, and are glad you confided in him. If anyone can understand you, it is certainly Azriel. He nods, silence takes over, and the only sound is the jarring sound of a teaspoon used to stir the tea, hoping to cool it slightly.

"Maybe you should leave, then." He says simply, his tone serene. You did not expect such a reaction, but you are grateful for it. A bitter laugh shakes your shoulders. "And where?"

Azriel shrugs. "Everywhere. Anywhere you want." I suppress his words by really considering it.

"What about Rhysand?"

"I could... help you." He says finally, and his words mean so much to you right now.

"Would you really do that?" He merely nods. "I ... thank you."

Not long after, the tea now cold and the cookies you kept inside the drawer now gone, the plan is decided. You will contact an old friend at the Spring Court, and ask her for refuge.

Azriel will accompany you to the edge of the Spring Court, helping you carry your things and offering emotional support.

"Are you sure this is the right choice? Feyre..." You nip his speech in the bud with a hand gesture. You've thought long and hard about where to go. But you have no contacts besides this friend in other Courts, and despite your history with Tamlin... you can do it.

"I'll come and see you, you know."

"I hope so."

"Will I ever know what happened between you and him?"

The question leaves you speechless, your body stiffens and you freeze for a moment, but you are quick to recover. You take a deep breath before speaking again.

"We loved each other. But then... Amarantha came and..." You don't say more than that, you don't explain further, but Azriel understands and doesn't ask questions.

"So...we'll see each other, yes?"

"Sure. I'm counting on it, Az." And with a final hug, you turn and enter the Court of Spring without looking back.

The first few weeks proceed slowly, but positively. You get up in the morning when the sun is already high in the sky, a warm breeze caressing your legs as you step out onto the small balcony with hot tea warming your hands. Your friend had to leave shortly after your arrival, and she will be back in who knows how long, leaving her home all to yourself. By now you have built a routine: you wake up and sip the sweet drink, you read until lunch, you cook, and in the afternoon you take care of chores. But your favorite activity so far has definitely been going to the local market. It is so different from how you remember.... And yet so much the same. The air of fear you felt because of Amarantha has ceased, though a small trickle of it remains because of Hybern. The stalls overflow with fruits and vegetables of all kinds, colors and scents. It makes you smile with familiarity every time you pass by.

Today you woke up determined to make some treats, but you are missing some ingredients, forcing you to go to the market. You quickly slip into one of your friend's clothes, and grab a picnic basket on your way out the door smiling. There is no doubt that you are happier now.

"Hi, honey! What can I get you today?" Alyna, a delightful female with whom you have bonded a lot these past weeks, greets you cheerfully.

"Hey, Aly! Um, could you make a mix of all the fruit?" You ask quietly, and the fae is quick to give you whatever you need. You admire the way she fiddles with her hands, but at the same time she's conversing with you-she's really good at everything, you think.

"So how are you finding yourself?"

"Great, really great. I'm really happy with my choice." She smiles at you as she helps you arrange the food in the basket. "I'm glad about that. Come see me for tea once in a while!"

"Of course, how much do I owe you?"

"Oh, dear, but don't worry!" After further insistence, she allows you to leave her a couple of gold coins. Much more than she actually needs, but she deserves it.

You opt to take another tour of the stalls before heading home. One in particular catches your eye, the colorful clothes too beautiful not to be admired. You are so busy running the pink fabric under your fingertips that you hardly recognize the voice next to you. Your body seems to do so before you even realize who the male next to you is. But then it's clear as day: the crisp, rainy, earthy scent, so unique and delicious.The blond hair and the broad warrior shoulders. It hasn't changed one bit. Your whole body is stiff, but you take a deep breath. You prepared for this moment; you knew you would see him again sooner or later.

Things between you and Tamlin did not end badly, but neither did they end well. It wasn't even a relationship you had: you barely had time to get to know each other and fall in love before Amarantha yanked him away from you. You suffered a long time for something that never even happened. But you know there won't be another chance like that: Tamlin has loved, no-loves Feyre with all of himself. He has moved on. And so have you, of course. But he will forever remain a crack in your heart.

The merchant's voice brings you back to reality. "Miss, are you interested in the dress?" You look at her wide-eyed, confused.

"Excuse me?" The sound of your voice makes the male, who has remained unaware of your presence until now, turn around.

"I was asking if you were interested in the dress."

"Y/n?"

"I, um. No, thank you. Sorry for wasting your time." Your tone is confused, you feel Tamlin's gaze burning your skin as he approaches. You feel his presence all over you.

"Don't worry, dear." The merchant walks away, leaving you alone with him.

"Y/n... what are you doing here?" For the first time in fifty years you allow yourself to look into his eyes, and it's as if the world is falling apart and rebuilding at the same time.

"Tamlin..." Tears wet your eyes as you try to show strength in front of the male you loved so strongly before. And who has now lost his mind for another female.

"What are you doing here?" The anger in his face, in his voice makes you take a step back.

"I-I ran away. I didn't fit in, and an old friend offered me to stay with her here." He lets out an annoyed snort.

"Of course, they didn't send you, did they?"

"No. I--there's something you need to know, Tamlin, about Feyre. I'm not in the habit of getting involved in matters that I don't-" He doesn't even let you finish the sentence.

"Feyre and I are just fine, and I won't let your Court get in the way one more time."

"No-"

"No, Y/n. You made your choice half a century ago when you chose him over me. Now I am making my choice. You better get out of my Court, you are no longer welcome."

And so, as he came so suddenly, he goes away, leaving you standing there like a fool. You compose yourself as best as you can and set out on your way home, tears flowing freely down your cheeks in the meantime.

You didn't bake anymore. As soon as you returned, you took a hot bath and a sleeping tonic, which has now become your trusted go-to solution. You woke up a few hours later, in the middle of the night, the effect of the tonic wearing off. Thoughts invaded your head, and it was only after hours of tossing and turning in bed and the sun coming up by now that you decided to write a letter to him. You get up and grab a pen and paper, your hands trembling with excitement. You cannot let Feyre find out about this, or your whole plan will be blown. You wish you had Azriel by your side to give you advice.

Dear Tamlin,

I apologize for making such an impetuous introduction to your Court, and especially without official notice. I wanted to let you know that I no longer work for the Night Court and have left of my own free will, but I have some important things to discuss with you, and they concern the security of your Court. I hope you can understand, and I hope to see you soon so we can talk about it. In case this does not happen, I hope to get you permission to reside in your territory, and I warn you not to trust those close to you.

Best regards,

Yours, Y/n.

With a sigh you close the letter and don't even wait for the sun to fully rise: you leave the house with a light cloak to cover you from the cool breeze and take the letter to the nearest village messenger.

The reply comes sooner than expected. It is simple and informal, and you sincerely hope that everything has gone according to plan and that it is not a trap set by Feyre, or worse, Rhysand himself.

Meet me at the market this afternoon after lunch.

Tamlin.

You reread the small sheet of paper a hundred times before getting ready. A way of nostalgia invades your senses one by one, but you chase it away violently. You don't have time for this. You must help him save himself and save his own court before it is too late.

"Y/n?" Tamlin notices you first as you wait for him at the same stall as last time. You turn quickly, so fast that you lose your balance and risk falling, but the male has quick reflexes and catches you before that can happen.

"You haven't changed a bit." His wry comment lightens the air around you, but it weighs down the burden in your chest that you feel. However, you do not give it away. You are here for a very specific reason, and you don't even know how much time you have left. You cannot be distracted by events that happened years and years ago.

"Tamlin." You greet him. "I'm here to warn you." You don't reveal everything right away; you're still trying to figure out if he would be willing to believe you or not. You know it's not easy for him. His expression turns cloudy, but he invites you to continue. You send down a knot in your throat before you speak again.

"It's about Feyre. I-I know it's hard to believe, but she didn't come back to you. Rhysand appointed her as High Lady, and you let her into your territory as a spy for the Night Court. She will destroy you, you can't-. you can't-we can't afford that in a time of war." You talk so fast that you stumble over the words occasionally, not stopping to breathe even once. Tamlin is almost tempted to invite you to breathe and explain more calmly, but your words cloud his eyes with anger.

"You... you-" He cannot even find the words to tell you after such a revelation.

"No, you have to believe me. Maybe-let me show you." Your tone is almost pleading, and at this point there would be no point in denying it to you. Tamlin knows you: you may have chosen him fifty years ago, but you have never been a liar.

You show him everything you can. It's been a long time since you've entered his mind, and the feeling is so familiar that your heart tightens. You focus on what you have to show him, and you don't think about it. After what seems like hours, you get to the last fight that happened with Rhysand, and when you get out of his mind his posture is slumped, tired, exhausted. You feel sorry for him, just as Mor had said, and you feel sorry for everything he seems to be feeling right now.

"Is he really ... so much better than me?" He finally asks, and it's not what you expected. You want to hug him, to tell him that no, absolutely not, never, never could Rhysand be, but you hold back.

"No." You just say, searching his eyes with yours, but not finding them. His face is low, probably trying to hide what look like ... tears, from the people in his Court. "Tamlin..."

"No, no...it's all right. I'll send her away now, you can stay as long as you like." The answer should make you happy, but it doesn't. His tone is so pained that you yourself begin to cry. You find it very ironic, how you are crying for him but he is probably crying for another female.

He leaves without saying a word to you. Just like last time.

Months go by. The war against Hybern has been fought and you haven't seen Tamlin once again. You have not taken part in the fighting despite your training. You do not feel like seeing such death. But you know that the Spring Court did, and it was also thanks to them that Prythian won against Hybern.

Azriel has visited you a handful of times since then, and he has always been very apprehensive and kind to you. No one yet knows where you ended up, and you will never be more grateful to anyone than him for keeping quiet.

Your dear friend has also returned, and together with her you have managed to find a small apartment in the nearest village, allowing you to take more part in the social side of your life.

It feels strange to return to the market once the war is over. A feeling of peace and total relaxation fills the air and feels surreal to you. You are not used to it, but you welcome it with open arms.

"Hey, honey, how are you?" Alyna, who has become one of the closest friends you have, asks you.

"It's such a nice day today, it's better than usual, or is it not?" You say lightheartedly, a big smile makes its way onto your face. Not just because of the war, you realize. You've finally managed to build a life for yourself away from the people who were giving you misery. Only one small question mark remains in your life, and that is Tamlin, but you realize there is not much you can do about it. You wonder why you still can't get over him after all this time. Is it the same for him, too? Surely not. Surely he will feel what you are feeling now, but for another female. The thought alone is capable of hurting you, but you drive it away, focusing on the figure in front of you.

"Yes, finally the burden of war no longer hangs over Prythian, I would say. Would you like some coffee?" And how could you say no.

When you get home in front of your door you find a letter. It comes from the Court, but it is not Tamlin's handwriting. It is an invitation, you realize when you open it, you have been invited to a formal ball to celebrate the end of the war.

You are delighted, this makes you a citizen in your own right, but you are also weirded out. From the invitation it appears to be a formal ball, and although you were an emissary long ago, at the Spring Court you are nothing more than a simple peasant girl, who like everyone else gets her food from what she produces, why would you attend such an event? More importantly, will the Night Court participate?

You put the countless doubts to rest with a bath and a sleeping tonic.

The next morning, you head to the village with one goal firmly set in your mind: you need an elegant and appropriate outfit for the Spring Court. All the formal dresses you own clearly belong to the Night Court, and although they are beautiful and elegant, by the time you have tried one on you have realized that you would not be comfortable. And also, if others will be present you want to show them that you are now no longer part of their Court. That this is your home, and you are happier than ever.

You walk into an old weaver's store that you've been to a couple of times before and you've always been comfortable.

"Y/n! What a pleasure to have you here, what would you need?" The female greets you warmly as always, and you reciprocate with equal affection.

"I would need a dress for a dance. Something simple but nice." The Fae squares your figure with watchful eyes, and you can almost see the wheels turning behind her eyes.

"Try this on."

After a whole afternoon spent inside her cuddly little store, and no less than three delightful new dresses, you finally manage to get home. It seems almost out of place to have three such exquisite and expensive dresses in your hands in such a tiny, bare apartment, but you were unable to say no in front of such beauty, such art expressed in fabric. You go to sleep with still a broad smile on your lips, perhaps in spite of everything you would not have minded going back to the court events.

The next day you wake up and instead of your usual reading, you do household chores, since you were supposed to be in the Spring Palace in the evening.

You gather fresh eggs and feed the animals, pick various fruits from the trees, and finally take a nice refreshing bath. You spend the afternoon getting ready, and just as the sun is about to set, you transmute in front of the Palace.

The feeling that overtakes you is ... it makes your stomach clench in agitation. It has been more than fifty years since you set foot in its home, but it has not changed one bit. The gardens are immense and full of sweetly and delicately scented flowers, the hallways are filled with gold and riches on every side. A Fae you don't recognize at the entrance to the ballroom asks you for an invitation, and you cheerfully hand it to him.

You don't immediately feel comfortable when you enter, and you make your eyes roam all over the room looking for the familiar figures of the Night Court, but you meet no one. In fact, no one from other Courts seems to be present. Your eyes wander again and again, until they meet those of a tall, relaxed-faced male. Tamlin. He sips an amber liquid from a gold-decorated glass as he talks happily with Lucien. Oh, how you've missed him, too.

When he notices you, he seems to take his leave and you stare at him as he crosses the entire room to join you. Your heart beats so fast that you are sure he can hear it as he gives you a slight bow and takes your hand, laying a gentle kiss on your knuckles. He leaves you the spot where he placed his lips almost thrilling.

"Y/n, you are stunning." He says, smiling gently at you, and the way he acts confuses you a little. You don't want to be anyone's spare tire. But at the same time, it ... it's all so much the same, it's as if 50 years had never passed. You've been hoping Tamlin would compliment you, after all the effort you put into fixing your hair, face and dress, and now that he does -- you're confused.

"Thank you, Tamlin. To what do I owe your invitation?" You decide to be direct.

"That's exactly what I wanted to talk about." He moves causing you to step forward in front of him, lays a warm hand on your uncovered back, and guides you to the banquet full of treats, away from the center of the room. "Help yourself." You don't serve yourself, despite all that food being extremely tempting, but instead you wait for him to speak. He sighs. "I wanted to thank you. For your warning. If she had carried out her plan-I don't even know if this Court would have stood."

"Of course, Tamlin. From my side I wanted to ... apologize." No apology was planned, but you owe him one.

He shrugs, dismissing the question with his hand.

"That's okay, I hope now that it's all over ... we can keep in touch. If you'd like to come to these kinds of events." You don't answer, but your smile speaks for you. You don't dance together, but it's the beginning of something wonderful, something that already happened a long time ago.

After almost a month, another invitation arrives. It is a dance where the other Seasonal Courts are also invited, so it will be even more exclusive, fortunately you still have two more dresses and most importantly, there will be no Night Court.

You quiver and are even more agitated than last time, you feel like a little novice girl. You avoid drinking any more coffee in the morning, not wanting to increase your nerves even more than they already are. You again spend the whole afternoon getting ready and transmute once more in front of his palace, the honeyed scent of flowers welcoming you just as you remembered. Your heart begins to beat wildly. You enter the hall and your eyes automatically land on Tamlin. You missed him, you realize.

"Y/n! Good to see you." The blond-haired male once again makes his way to join you. "You look as lovely as ever." His eyes burn on your figure, bolder than last time. He hands you a colorful drink and you gladly accept it.

"You look lovely too, Tamlin." You sip the pink liquid in the glass, a sweet and sour taste invades your mouth. "It's delicious, what is it?" You ask charmed. The male chuckles.

"Something new from the kitchen, but I don't know what it is either." He seems to hesitate a bit, but finally speaks, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Do you want to dance?"

Your knees almost buckle. "My pleasure." You say all too quickly. He holds out a hand to you, and after placing the glasses on a nearby table, you direct me to the middle of the dance floor, all eyes on you.

You dance in silence all evening. One dance turns into two, then three, and then into a whole night. When the music ends by now there are only a few people left, you are sweaty and out of breath, but you are happy. As happy as you've ever been. Deep laughter shakes your body, finally infecting Tamlin as well.

"I haven't danced in a long time." You say once you've calmed down, almost as justification for your behavior.Tamlin merely smiles at you. You head to the banquet and he hands you a large glass of water, and you are eternally grateful. You drink it down in one gulp.

"So...see you, Y/n?" He asks you uncertainly. You nod smilingly.

Only a handful of days pass when a letter arrives. But it's not a formal invitation, no. You recognize Tamlin's handwriting and can still smell him in the air. Has he been here? You quickly return and toss the basket full of crops at the doorway, eager to open the envelope with trembling hands.

Dear Y/n,

I would have liked to tell you in person, but I couldn't find you at home. I hope it's okay to have asked your friend for your address. Be ready tonight after dinner.

Yours, Tamlin.

Your body freezes before rejoicing in laughter coming from your heart. You get right down to business: do your usual routine, bath, hair, and finally your dress. You don't wear an elegant one, but a simple, typical Spring Court dress that Alyna gave you. You do sweet braids and don't wear makeup, but use your favorite perfume. Your favorite perfume. Someone knocks on the door at dusk, and it only takes a few moments for you to open it.

"Hey, Y/n." His eyes linger all over your body, he runs his tongue over his lips, and you can't help but stare.

"Hi." You greet him simply, a shy smile on your lips and slightly rosy cheeks. It's a date, you realize.

"Thank you for accepting."

"Did I have a choice?" He chuckles, then shakes his head.

"Of course you did. But I wanted to take you somewhere." He smiles at you. He holds out his hand and you grasp it, one moment you are in the doorway of your apartment, the next you are on a meadow covered with pale flowers and a cool stream. You look around in wonder. You had missed these places, so much that you didn't even realize it.

"It's... it's gorgeous." You comment in amazement. He nods, the stars reflected in his eyes giving him a poetic air. You would like to touch him now more than ever.

"I would have liked to have had more time, with you." He says after what seems like an eternity spent staring at you and nothing else. You nod, step forward, and he does the same. The warm breeze ruffles your hair, and you make to raise a hand and fix it, but he is quicker and moves a strand behind your ear. Just as he did one night long ago, and countless other times.

"Tamlin..." He shushes you with a kiss. It is sudden and leaves you breathless. It takes you a couple of seconds to recover and reciprocate with as much passion, as much feeling. You both pull away reluctantly, your breath heavy and your cheeks flushed. You can feel her heart beating incessantly, in the same rhythm as yours.

"I've been wanting to do this ever since I saw you again." He says and makes you chuckle, because it was exactly the same for you. "I've missed you."

"I missed you, too. So much." You answer and kiss him again. And again, again, again.

You have been denied for fifty years and now you don't have enough, you want to take back the time you lost. You must eventually break away one more time, making you moan in frustration.

"Let's try again." He says with his lips still resting on yours, your breaths mingling together.

"Let's try again."

185 notes · View notes

natureboy96 · 2 months ago

Text

Rhysand is Tamlin's abuser

I've been enjoying crackshipping and fun posts for the past few months, it's far more pleasant to interact within fandom this way I've found, but this thought came to me last night and it won't leave my head, so I simply have to go for another rant/long post about it.

The discussion about what happens Under the mountain is largely focused on what happens to Feyre, which is understandable as she's the POV character; the problem is, what happens there isn't about Feyre at all. Everything UtM is designed to break Tamlin, especially torturing Feyre. And Rhysand is a large part of that.

While Rhysand is sexually assaulting Feyre, he's also psychologically torturing Tamlin. Can you imagine how horrible it would be, being forced watch and witness this fragile human you've come to love, being turned into a sexual prop and toy, forced to dance and drink and vomit and dance again, every night for months on end, knowing that the slightest twitch could end up killing someone you care about, or hurting Feyre even worse? I wouldn't put it past Amarantha to leave Feyre with a few less limbs if Tamlin grimaced.

And the thing is, Rhysand not only knows that he's hurting Tamlin, but that he's doing it intentionally. He explains fully that he wants to protect Feyre, yes, but also that he wanted to make Tamlin suffer, to make him feel hate and pain. All those horrors that Rhysand drugs Feyre, so she doesn't have to witness it and be scarred by it? Tamlin has no choice but to look, and not react, and Rhysand knows it. Tamlin doesn't know anything about Rhysand's "evil mask" during and after UtM and only sees him for how he presented himself; a sexual predator who worked as hard as Amarantha did to break him, and continued to trigger his trauma after they were free.

But Rhysand has a grudge for what Tamlin did to his family, yeah? A grudge he's been holding on to for at most over four centuries (due to the lack of dates and timelines, the only clues we get for when things went down between their families was that it was after the war 500 years ago, and a few years after Tamlin "matures" as Rhys says it, which could be as early as Tam being 18 or 19) And that he doesn't know all the details about! a grudge he's had centuries to try and find out the truth about, but that he's chosen to assume the worst about Tamlin instead, and that ended with Tamlin's family dead in retaliation.

Rhysand being angry for what happened to his family (after getting revenge in retaliation) does not justify months of psychological torture.

And then in ACOMAF, instead of taking any accountability for the pain he caused either of them, he at most justifies how he treated Feyre, and entirely ignores the pain he caused Tamlin. Worse yet, he goes on to villainize Tamlin for dealing poorly with his PTSD, trauma that he had a direct hand in causing, and actively antagonizes him further to make it worse!

Tamlin should be held accountable for the pain he caused Feyre, and I would argue he pays for it well more than his actions warrant. Rhysand never takes or is held accountable for any of the pain he causes, not to Tamlin or Feyre (and later not to Nesta either). Beyond feeling bad in a monologue or again justifying his actions when confronted by the High Lords, he never has to answer for the harm he's caused and its handwaved away almost immediately on being addressed.

Rhysand and Tamlin hurt each others' families, Rhysand abuses Tamlin, who later abuses Feyre, who later abuses Tamlin back, and then the Night Court abuses Nesta, after she abused Feyre when they were poor and starving. It's just a cycle of abuse, but only some characters ever pay any actual, tangible price for it.

All of this is to say, I have found myself having far more sympathy for Tamlin reacting poorly to his PTSD than the person who gave it to him with psychological torture and then villainized him for it.

#acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #acomaf #acowar #anti rhysand #acotar critical

164 notes · View notes

dippedinmelancholy · 5 months ago

Text

I have such weird, complex feelings about Elain. I feel like they might get me some hate but, I need to spit them out, the brain worms are trying to devour me. My thoughts on her are sort of two fold. What I get from canon!elain and what you get from the fandom. Canon Elain is soft and feminine, but so deeply selfish it actually drives me insane. ACOSF makes it clear she's always seen Nesta. Always perceptive enough to pick up on what is happening around her. She buys Feyre paint, she sees Nesta being abused by her mother, and she sees the hatred the IC holds for Nesta. Yet for all her perception, she never bothers to help even in the smallest manner. She is deeply catered to by her sisters. She even points this out when Feyre and the IC shows up to use their house when she's still human. She says she didn't do anything, she takes part of the blame for the first time in her life. Yet, nothing more comes of it. When she is suddenly fae, and could possibly help or have expectations placed on her, she turns catatonic. This only serves to infantilize Elain as little more than a child all over again. In ACOSF, she pushes and pushes Nesta until Nesta snaps. After what, a week? A couple weeks? Of being trapped in the HoW, after Elain didn't even have the spine to face her sister, only pack up her things and agree to imprisoning the one person who had ALWAYS had her side, who fought so violently for her, Elain runs crying that Nesta isn't any different. This doesn't make me hate Elain. It makes her complex. But it does make it hard for me to connect with her, as she seems to hide behind her softness, and it makes her seem so much more manipulative than Nesta ever was. But fandom Elain . . . ugh. I think in general, a lot of women reading ACOTAR are traditionally feminine. We're soft, we see ourselves as sweet, ect. And for some, it seems they SUPER project onto Elain and see her as an angel who deserves the "Shadow Daddy" who has never done any wrong, and see she finally sees how perfect Feyre is and has turned away from cruel Nesta. A huge argument I've seen is that Elain's the most powerful, her story is all about choice, and that's why she deserves Azriel. That she's never ever had a choice, and choosing Azriel will finally give that to her. I think there's so much potential in Elain, but are you fucking kidding me? Elain has had the MOST softness and choice out of all of the sisters. She was pampered even when they were at their poorest. Even their mother afforded Elain the chance to marry for happiness, where she abused both Feyre and Nesta. Nesta was groomed and physically abused, Feyre was neglected and forced to take on too much. After Feyre is taken by Tamlin, Elain INSTANTLY finds a love match that Nesta supports, Nesta fights only so Elain can be safe and happy. The Cauldren was GENTLE with her, it turned on the King because of how it felt about Elain. The Cauldron BRUTALIZED Nesta. It's just so exhausting to see this complex sister, who's just as bad as both Feyre and Nesta, rewritten into this self insert, flawless and soft creature who has nothing to answer for, only awaiting her Shadow Daddy smut. Especially since SJM does not know how to write traditionally soft women in a leading role. She has no idea how to portray strength without violence.

#acotar #acotar critical #elain archeron #elain acotar #elains character will be ruined #sjm #sjm what the fuck #why is fadom like this

205 notes · View notes

thrumbolt · 1 year ago

Text

Top 5 most annoying Tamlin scene misinterpretations

1. ''There is no such thing as a high lady'' I hate this one, because it is always taken as some sort of proof that Tamlin is a raging misogynist who doesn't want an equal woman by his side or some similar type of nonsense. I don't know where this is coming from. Tamlin never wanted to be a high lord. He would probably welcome for someone to take over most of the work so he could just keep running through the woods. He also has absolutely no issues with taking advice from women in power (Ianthe? Hello??). His first reaction to the high lady question is literally this:

“Is everyone just going to call me ‘Tamlin’s wife’? Do I get a … title?” He lifted his head long enough to look at me. “Do you want a title?”

And let's not forget that Feyre's first reply is ''No, I don’t know if I can handle them calling me High Lady”. To which he then answers that she doesn't have to worry about that, since ''there is no such thing as a high lady'' because the magic choses the title and it keeps chosing males. Also this whole scene happens while he eats her out. Not that it's relevant or anything, just saying...

2. ''Tamlin killed Rhys' family'' No. Tamlin's dad killed Rhys' family. I have no idea how Tamlin doing it is ever the takeaway from that whole story. Let's just quote the actual scene:

“Tamlin’s father, brothers, and Tamlin himself set out into the Illyrian wilderness, having heard from Tamlin—from me—where my mother and sister would be, that I had plans to see them. I was supposed to be there. I wasn’t. And they slaughtered my mother and sister anyway.”

Yeah okay, Tamlin gave the information (supposedly) and was there (supposedly) sure, but it's highly unlikely that he was so willingly. Let's not forget that it's established that Tamlin was afraid of his father, that Tamlin's father is worse than Beron (who, I might remind you, tortures his sons) and that Tamlin was friends with Rhys at the time - which neither family approved of. Even Rhys doesn't actually believe Tamlin did anything besides being spineless:

''I didn’t care that Tamlin had been there, had allowed them to kill my mother and sister, that he’d come to kill me because he didn’t want to risk standing against them.''

In the end we don't know the details. Tamlin could've been tortured and tied up or whatever. Making him watch could've been a cruel form of punishment for being friends with Rhys. We don't really know until SJM graces us with Tamlin's side of the story.

3. ''It's really Tamlin's own fault that the spring court fell'' Alternatively also phrased as: 'Feyre just opened everyone's eyes to Tamlin's incompetence' and....honestly? This low key makes me question the reading comprehension of people.

Yes, Tamlin made a deal with Hybern, which was extremely risky, but the war was coming regardless (as we learn from Rhys in the first half of ACOMAF) and the spring court would be the main target because of its location next to the wall. Inviting Hybern into his lands in a trade is actually a pretty smart way to avoid a lot of death on Tamlin's part - plus he needed help to rescue Feyre and get her out of the deal she had with Rhysand (people forget that Tamlin didn't know Feyre didn't actually need rescuing from the guy that was abusing her in front of him in ACOTAR).

So yeah anyway, Feyre did several things to make the spring court fall: 1. She manipulated the solstice ceremony to make herself seem cauldron-blessed in the eyes of the people, 2. She made a sentry accuse Ianthe (who WAS doing sneaky shit) which essentially did nothing except putting Tamlin on the spot in front of Hybern, so he was kind of forced to throw the sentry under the bus. Good job Feyre, you got a poor sod whipped! But it also built resentment within the soldiers, which was her plan all along and 3. before leaving, she did this (let's just quote the whole thing):

''I had a people who had lost faith in their High Priestess. I had sentries who were beginning to rebel against their High Lord. And as a result of those things, I had Hybern royals doubting the strength of their allies here. I’d primed this court to fall. Not from outside forces—but its own internal warring. And I had to be clear of it before it happened. Before the last sliver of my plan fell into place. The party would return without me. And to maintain that illusion of strength, Tamlin and Ianthe would lie about it—where I’d gone. And perhaps a day or two after that, one of these sentries would reveal the news, a carefully sprung trap that I’d coiled into his mind like one of my snares. I’d fled for my life—after being nearly killed by the Hybern prince and princess. I’d planted images in his head of my brutalized body, the markings consistent with what Dagdan and Brannagh had already revealed to be their style. He’d describe them in detail—describe how he helped me get away before it was too late. How I ran for my life when Tamlin and Ianthe refused to intervene, to risk their alliance with Hybern. And when the sentry revealed the truth, no longer able to stomach keeping quiet when he saw how my sorry fate was concealed by Tamlin and Ianthe, just as Tamlin had sided with Ianthe the day he’d flogged that sentry …When he described what Hybern had done to me, their Cursebreaker, their newly anointed Cauldron-blessed, before I’d fled for my life … There would be no further alliance. For there would be no sentry or denizen of this court who would stand with Tamlin or Ianthe after this. After me.''

So, the sentries left Tamlin because of a lie. A fake story. Without sentries, Hybern decided to take over rather than just be guests and had a prime spot to attack the summer court in turn. Which is also why Tarquin is extremely pissed at Feyre - not Tamlin. So no, Tamlin wasn't a bad high lord. His only real mistake was ever trusting Feyre.

Sure, some argue that Feyre thought Tamlin genuinely sided with Hybern and might be a threat to the rest of Prythian, so taking him down would make sense for her even outside of petty revenge. But there's just one problem with that: Feyre is a mind reader. She could have just.....checked. lol

4. ''Tamlin didn't do anything Under the Mountain'' This one really gets my goat because it's not really true? Things Tamlin did to help Feyre: 1. He sent her away to the human realm. (People forget this, but he basically doomed his court to protect her ass - it's not his fault she came back!) 2. He made Lucien check up on her. (Yes Lucien was Feyre's friend but he still acted under Tamlin's orders!) 3. He ignored Feyre as to not rile Amarantha up even more (Come on, have you seen Amarantha? It totally makes sense) 4. He tries to get to Feyre, begging Amarantha to stop even as he is tied up, bleeding out from a stab wound to his chest that he can't heal because he has no powers - like what do you want him to do??? 4. He literally kills Amarantha the second he is able to

Also personal conspiracy detour: That music that Rhysand supposedly sent to Feyre was SO originally supposed to be Tamlin, you can't convince me otherwise. I will never not believe that this wasn't just a lazily done quick change when SJM rewrote book 1 and 2 to account for the boyfriend switcheroo. Attributing the music to Rhys makes absolutely zero sense. He's not a musical boy at all, come on! Music themes never come up with him again either! Meanwhile Tamlin played for Feyre before, is generally a musical guy COME ON! /conspiracy detour over

5. ''It's Tamlin's fault that Nesta and Elaine got turned to fae'' No. No it's not. He knew nothing about this. Ianthe did this on her own accord because Feyre told her where her sister's lived. Tamlin actually attacks (!) the King of Hybern over it (to no avail, but still).

Some people blame Tamlin for keeping Ianthe around afterwards, despite of what she did. Those people I want to refer to point number 3 in this list. Ianthe was working with Hybern. Tamlin tried to be buddies with Hybern for reasons. No, he can't just throw out Ianthe.

#thanks for coming to my tedtalk #tamlin #acotar #idk man i get that people hate him but literally everything he does gets interpreted in the most unfavorable way ever #or simply misquoted #and it's annoying ok #feel free to add to it or correct me #SORRY THIS GOT LONG I WENT OFF A LITTLE #pro tamlin #i guess

659 notes · View notes

sad-scarred-sassy · 5 months ago

Text

“Feyre-“ His emerald eyes were wide as he gathered her, standing in the cold grass, barefoot in the middle of the forest. He had sensed her in his lands so quickly, she could not begin to process how that made her feel.

“I-“ She didn’t really know why she was there, standing before him in a nightgown and thin coat, barefoot and looking maniacal. She shouldn’t have come, if Rhys found out where she was… she didn’t know what would happen. But now that she was seeing him after all this time, she could not help but feel that unhealed ache in her chest, the one she had mistaken for rage. Maybe it had been at some point, but time had brought clarity, and for the first time, she felt only pain.

“Why are you here?” He asked, eyes so wary of her, as if he was watching out for the strike of a venomous viper. Maybe she had been, maybe she was.

“I don’t know” She said, but she did know. She took a sharp breath. “I had a child” She blurted out and the look of utter desolation in his eyes made her stagger.

“I know” He said, fingers clenching as he looked down at the ground, away from her. “If you’re here to mock me like your mate, I don’t have time for it” He began his way back from where he came from.

“I almost died” She said, feeling as the tears formed behind her eyes. Tamlin stopped in his tracks, body stiff as his gaze met hers again. “He-“ She began, clenching her fists, her gaze catching the tattoo that marked her hand. She closed her eyes. “He didn’t tell me the baby would kill me” She felt the words escape her, couldn’t stop them.

She braced a look at him then. The sheer rage and disgust painted in his handsome features, Feyre thought he was trembling from it.

“I-“ She continued, the words just demanding to get out of her. “I could have shifted so that I would be safe, but that would have put the babe in danger, so he didn’t tell me” Her voice was trembling, cracking at the truth she couldn’t hide from anymore.

She thought he loved her. Her mate. Why didn’t he choose her? Why didn’t he choose her?

“You-“ She looked at him, the one who had brought her here, the one who had started it all, the one she had given her life for. “You hurt me” She felt the tears sliding down her face uncontrollably, felt herself walk towards him and punch her index finger onto his brown tunic.

“I know” He said, eyes lined in silver, a look of utter devastation in his whole face.

“I destroyed you” She was almost shouting now, her whole body shaking from it. “Why don’t you hate me? Why? I hated you for what you did so I destroyed you, why don’t you hate me?”

He kept looking at her with those fucking repentant eyes she could not stand anymore.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” She pushed him slightly. “Why didn’t you start a war for what I did, why did you let him mock you?” She pushed him again and he just let her. It enraged her. “Why did you save his life? Why did you risk your life to save mine after what I did? Why don’t you hate me?!” She pushed him again. “You- you’re a monster!” She shouted, his face stagnant in his hurt. “You are a monster and you wouldn’t have done what he did to me!”

She stopped as she said those words. For so long she had believed him to be the monster she was running from. Maybe both could be true. He was a monster, he had let her rot in this place, he had hurt her, he had locked her, shut her out. And he had loved her, he had done everything in his power to see her live, even make her hate him. Her head was spinning.

He just stared at her, he didn’t say anything for a long while as she calmed her breathing down, aware of her hands clutching his shirt, his ragged breathing, his trembling hands.

“I could never hate you, Feyre” He finally said, voice stiff, green eyes glinting in the soft moonlight. “You could destroy me, destroy my court, destroy my whole world and I could never hate you”

Her breathing shook with a small sob. His hands raising to clutch hers and unclasp them from their vicious hold on his clothes.

“You don’t know how-“ He shook his head, looking down. “There is not a day that I don’t regret what I did to you, from the moment I met you” He looked up at her again. “I’m sorry. I will always be sorry. All I ever wanted was for you to live. I was so desperate for it-“ He closed his eyes. “I am so sorry”

“I’m sorry too” She said, voice ragged.

They just stood there together for a long time, her hands in his, soft tears falling down quietly as they looked into each other’s eyes. Those green eyes that she used to know, so foreign yet so familiar.

“You wouldn’t have done this to me” She whispered one last time as it became startling true in her mind.

“No” He said so vehemently, she felt it coursing through her whole body. An irrefutable truth.

She stared at him for a long time after that, looking at him, this male who had loved her, so much he had almost destroyed her. In his fear, in his desperation, love had made him a monster. The ugly side of love. Would she ever forgive him? Would she ever forgive herself for not seeing it sooner? Would she forgive herself for not hating him as much as she wanted to?

“I have to go” She said. With a soft nod, he took a step back and did not break eye contact as she winnowed back to her life, the life she had thought was hers. She winnowed back and hoped she could say she would never think about the tragedy of spring again.

#some feylin angst #WARNING IF YOU DONT VIBE WITH FEYLIN DONT BOTHER #feylin #pro feylin #dont @ me #pro tamlin #all I do is make myself sad #this is some closure #if you could call it closure #feyre archeron #feylin one shot

152 notes · View notes

thefatesofspring · 3 months ago

Text

The acotar fandom will forever be funny to me because by Tamlin’s very own actions, he is the very definition of that one quote/viral TikTok sound that goes something like “the hero will sacrifice the one he loves for the world but the villain would burn the world down for the one he loves” or however it goes.

Tamlin literally sacrificed Prythian twice for Feyre!! 1st was by sending her home when she was still human the 2nd time was by playing spy with Hybern but also using that opportunity to free Feyre from her bargain to Rhysand & get her back so she’s safe.

Rhysand on the other hand…

• sexually assaulted & exploited Feyre

• violated & embarrassed her mental/private thoughts & then exposed them to Tamlin in front of Lucien

• knowingly let an unknowing Feyre be used as live bait for the attor just to see if it was going to continue to follow them & attack

• Had her steal the book of breathing from Summer Court & nearly died in the process

• let her walk into the weavers cottage without telling her that their was a high possibility she would die in the process to retrieve a ring…a ring that’s meant to prove how much she loves & deserves Rhysand even though she had already done the above by this point & didn’t need to do anything more to prove her love for Rhysand

• kept the dangers of her pregnancy away from her

• knew that Ianthe wasn’t who Tamlin or Feyre believed her to be & didn’t warn either of them about her proposal to him for an heir & power, which ultimately lead to them being blindsided by Ianthe’s betrayal.

• twisted the piece of bone in her infected arm to the point where she nearly blacked out from the pain

• complained about 500 gold marks Nesta spent & read the bill which in turn embarrassed Feyre in front of everyone at breakfast, even though 500 gold marks is nothing to him, he has openly admitted that the IC drink & gamble all the time & worse etc

I could go on & on but it’s just funny because the fandom particularly go crazy over that audio & the whole time it doesn’t even apply to Rhysand but to Tamlin but because Tamlin is blonde and doesn’t handle his temper/emotions in the best way, people will jumps through saturns rings to “explain” why that’s Rhysand & not Tamlin even though canon text states otherwise😩😂

Anyway…thank you for coming to my TedTalk

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #pro tamlin #tamlin #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #anti feyre #sjm critical #Tamlin my love they could never make me hate you

363 notes · View notes

viktoriaashleyyx · 4 months ago

Text

Why do some of us not *hate* Tamlin?

I am pro-tamlin, not pro feylin. I would prefer Tamlin to never have to deal with the NC ever again. If SJM never types his name out again I will be happy.

Tw: light mentions to DV, SA, and Divorce.

Feyre is written in a way that makes it feel like she is intentionally manipulating us against Tamlin to justify her leaving him the way she did, and to put Rhysand up on a pedestal.

The abrupt and sloppy way SJM handled Tamlins' character assassination induced my fight or flight. Let me explain:

My parents divorced when I was 4, and I had to learn, quickly, how to interpret people's true intentions and empathize with where they are coming from vs just blindly listening to someones account of what happened. My father got custody of us and would use the same elements against my mom that Feyre uses against Tamlin. I HAVE to read between the lines or I would fall to the intentional manipulation.

"She left me so she probably cheated" "he trapped me in the house" "she has a new boyfriend so she doesn't care about you anymore" "he hit me [when I was actively TRYING to get him to hit me to sway public opinion of him]"

Everytime Feyre left for the NC, she did so kicking and screaming. Every indication Tamlin could see was that she did NOT want to go with Rhys, until he gets a letter from her saying to not come looking for her that she doesn't want to be with him. Tamlin didn't know she could read or write. Had that been my love I would assume it was a ransom note too, written by someone else. Had she actually spent 1 hr winnowing to Tamlin, tell him face to face, then winnow back (with an escort) he MIGHT have gotten the hint.

A tithe was a weird thing to use to show how cruel Tamlin is, considering how 2/3 of the night court live in constant fear, children's bones are broken for misbehaving, the CoN are trapped there. SJM really showed us that she has no political knowledge what so ever. I barely started ACOFAS and when Feyres talking about the unnatural sum of her money, my first thought is "You don't amass that level of wealth without oppressing someone." Lucien said that Tamlin would be expected to hunt down those not able to pay the tithe, but when we get to Tamlins actual actions he just said "get it together in 3 days or pay double next time". In my initial reading, I interpreted it as another mask (like how Rhysand acts). Tamlin does this due to tradition, he is expected to act a certain way, but *I felt* he had no intention of acting out what he said. It was just a line he was expected to say to send the wraith away without others expecting the same.

Feyre and Tamlin were not right for eachother because they were not eachothers mates. People can exist fine separately, and be incredibly toxic together. From page 1 we see Feyres inherent inability to empathize with anyone, she has it bad, she has to hunt, therefore her sisters don't do anything. But she also can't cook, so who was preparing the meat she brought home? It gave me "housework isn't real work" vibes. Feyre also doesn't communicate very well, which would explain why a literal mind reader was able to help her better than Tamlin was. I saw Tamlin trying but not being able to help her because he couldn't read her mind.

Feyre didn't want to be trapped in a manor for a few hours while she was displaying manic behavior, but she condoned her sisters be trapped in the HOW for 6 weeks immediately after losing their lives. She condones the treatment of the people in Hewn city and supports the literal Jim Crow laws placed against them in Velaris when all they wanted was to leave. She condones and supports trapping Nesta in HoW after the war just to force Cassain on her so Feyre can play matchmaker.

Feyre is an inherently self centered sociopath. She can read minds and still can't develop a shred of empathy.

Just leave Tamlin alone. Damn.

#pro tamlin #anti rhysand #anti feyre #tamlin #a court of wings and ruin #acowar #tw sa #tw dv #anti feylin #leave tamlin alone #sjmaas

174 notes · View notes

themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 3 months ago

Text

In Love and War (6)

Author's Note: This came out angstyyyyyyyyyy, I'm sorry idk what happened. It's gotta get worse before it gets better, I guess.

Content Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Azriel using Truth-Teller, Mentions of Abuse/Death

Chapter 5/ Masterlist

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

I can’t breathe. The walls of the tent close in, the dark leather pressing in closer and closer. If the ground were to open up and swallow me right now, I wouldn’t even have the presence of mind to scream. The fall would be a welcome reprieve from the roaring of my heart in my own ears.

What does he mean our fathers killed each other?

It’s wrong. He’s wrong! He’s lying. He has to be lying!

I roll over so I can face him, so close on this small mat that our noses brush. His violet eyes glow in the darkness of the tent. “What do you mean?” The panic that edges my voice makes me sound shrill, even in my own ears.

I don’t want him to answer, but I desperately need him to tell me everything all at once. The wine threatens to come back up in a rush as his hand skims up my side to cup my cheek, “Tamlin didn’t tell you?”

How dare him touch me while we have this conversation; what is so broken and wrong inside of me that I let him? I know that I am shaking in his grip and when he starts rubbing calming circles into my cheek with his thumb I lean into that touch like it might give me one last life line to cling to.

“He said you killed my father.”

He stills, wings fluttering; I feel it pass through him like its own little draft, skittering across his wings. A dark mist follows, seeping from his skin.

I know we’re not supposed to be talking about this, but the words are already out, whether from the wine or by the sheer desperation I feel crawling beneath my skin. I need to know! I need to know that everything I had believed was true. That all that I was doing this for was not based on a lie.

He brushes his nose over mine, lips ghosting over my forehead. “When I see what they have done to you, I wish I had killed them both.”

My stomach twists. No. No. This can’t be happening!

“But no, it was my father, in retribution for what they had done.”

But I saw him holding the sword! I saw him leave the tent! I never saw his father’s body and Tamlin had always said he arrived too late to save any of them, that all he could do was fend Rhys off to keep him from slaughtering what was left of us.

The confusion must be evident on my face, because he asks, “You really don’t know, do you?”

It’s more than a little patronizing but I don’t even have the energy to be angry about it, because my whole life is a lie! I’ve spent decades hating him. I just offered up my body and possibly my future to destroy him for nothing? For something his father, who’s long dead, did?

“Maybe we should talk about this in the morning,” he suggests and it’s definitely because I’m crying now and not because he’s trying to avoid it.

My throat feels like it;s closing. “No!” And it’s then that I feel the faintest prick of fangs growing behind my lips. “Please just tell me.”

His thumb soothes over my cheek again, like he can feel the sudden shift in my being. I don’t know where that rush of power comes from. Maybe it is some sort of effect of being so close to him while he repairs the wards.

“Rhys!” It’s always Azriel that interrupts us somehow, the shadowy male hurtling into the tent with that wicked looking dagger in hand. “We’ve got movement in the hills.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Now? Of all the Cauldron damned times for Amarantha to show herself, it has to be right now?!

Rhysand is on his feet in an instant, reaching for my discarded chest piece and ushering me into it, our conversation forgotten. “How many?”

I wish I could say I possess his ability to compartmentalize tasks, but despite the worst possible danger knocking on our unguarded and unwarded doors, all I can think about is how desperately we need to finish this conversation.

“Five, a scout and four chargers. I’ve got Nox and Avos on their trail, but I don’t see any marks yet.” Azriel continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

Rhysand slings my quiver and bow over my shoulders again, checking all the straps to ensure they’re in place. He’d never taken his own armor off, only the belt for his sword, he uses a tendril of shadowy darkness to strap it into place while he finishes with me. “Stay with her.”

Azriel eyes me like I’m a pile of shit he accidentally stepped in, but I’m too busy trying to wipe my eyes on my sleeves to care. “You might need me out there,” he protests.

“Might,” Rhysand counters, stalking out of the tent in search of his horse. “But I definitely need you here more.” He grabs the reins on his horse, the mount still saddled, just in case we’d needed to leave in a hurry. Dinner threatens to come back up as I watch him slide into his cloak. I’ve spent my life hating that triple star pattern that will sit over his eyes, cursing his existence, wishing him every pain and misery imaginable for ruining my life and it wasn’t even his fault?

The ground is unsteady beneath my feet, I feel myself stumble and sway and I can’t tell if it’s the wine or the reality of the situation that makes my legs feel like jelly.

I want to go home! I want this to be a bad dream.

For a moment, I think he might simply toss the cowl over his head and mount up, leaving me to sit here in the misery of our half finished conversation, but he comes back a moment later, hand sliding into my hair as he tilts my head back and kisses me swiftly.

He should taste as bitter as the wine we’d shared. I should feel nothing but misery when he slips his tongue behind my teeth, but when he has me like this, nothing else matters. There doesn’t have to be anything between us. I do not feel like some broken, wretched thing.

“Don’t leave Azriel’s side,” he says as he pulls away. “We’ll finish our conversation when I return, I promise.” Then he mounts up, calling for half of the men as he goes. The thundering sound of the horses hooves as they race down into the grassy hills beneath us makes it feel like we’re standing in the center of an earthquake.

There’s enough moonlight to watch them go, their mounts and flowing capes in the wind making them appear like wraiths racing towards the enemy.

With half of the men gone, and two scouting, that leaves Azriel and four other men to guard camp. None of them look too happy about it, least of all Azriel, who keeps watching me out of the corner of his eye like he thinks I might disappear at a moment’s notice. I remain next to him, anxiously shifting my weight from foot to foot, hoping the chill on the wind might wake my dull senses up.

Shadows drift off Azriel’s shoulders, but unlike Rhysand’s that always stay curled around his body, Azriel’s drift off like inky tendrils, testing the wind around him. Some slither along the ground like snakes, searching through patches of grass for an unwanted scent, others drift away, testing the wind for him. One remains perched over his ear, and I hear the faint sound of whispering like the shadows are reporting what they find.

We can no longer see the others, and I spin slowly around in a circle, taking stock of my surroundings. We’re a little higher than the base of the mountain, perched on a cleft in the rock for a better vantage point. The ward remains behind us, I think, without the trail of Rhysand’s magic, I still can’t see or feel this one. To the left and right, the rocky base of the mountain is dotted with ancient trees, some thicker than a house, but the coming winter has stolen their leaves, no vantage point for archers to be had there without being sitting ducks. Beneath us, the rolling hills of grass stretch far out of sight. If Amarantha brought an army behind those first five riders, she’s hidden it well. Still, the thought makes a chill run up my spine and I keep a hand around the hilt of my dagger, just in case.

Azriel does nothing to quell my nerves, just stands there, still as a statue, listening to his shadows, eyes glued to the horizon. I can’t help but wonder if his shadows show him things as much as they tell him. Can he see Rhysand right now?

My stomach twists at the thought. I can’t see him. I can’t hear if he’s ok. There’s nothing in my arsenal to tell me that he’s coming back. And Cauldron boil me, I want him to come back. If he dies without finishing our conversation, I might never learn what happened. Whether it’s the truth or not is yet to be seen, but Tamlin’s account and his account are different, and I will be damned if I don’t get some answers from someone.

The hand not holding my dagger reaches up to rub at the scar above my ear, hidden under my hair. Tam and I had been fighting that day, he’d been on edge about something and when I’d pushed too hard he’d shoved me right into the corner of a table. I’d been in the healer’s tent getting stitches; all these years I’d thought it was the Mother looking out for me, that little accident might have just saved my life. But looking at it now, I can’t help but wonder if it kept me from seeing the truth.

I shift my weight again and Azriel’s gaze flicks back to me once more, irritated, like I’m somehow distracting him.

“Sorry,” I mutter, locking my knees.

I can stand still, it’s fine. I force myself to focus on my breathing, but in the silence there’s one nagging thought that eats at me: Do I really believe Rhysand is telling the truth? I take him to bed one time, accept a couple gifts from him, and what? Believe everything he says as truth? Are claims of a mating bond really enough to make me believe he’d be open and honest with me? A mating bond certainly hadn’t saved my mother.

I close my eyes at the thought of her, chest aching. Did I believe Rhysand was right about that too? That my father had used her powers to try and breed powerful sons, not because he’d loved her? I’d certainly never seen my parents be affectionate towards each other, not even in the way Rhysand was with me. They’d never held hands, never ridden out together. He’d kept her clothed and fed, sure, and entertained her obsession with fairytales when it suited him. My mother told me, on one of her days of clarity, that he’d carved her rocking chair for her when he’d found out she was pregnant with Tam. But I never saw him be warm with her. I’m not even sure I ever saw them kiss, even on the cheek. But a lack of affection in public didn’t mean he cared so little about her he let her, supposed, powers drive her insane, did it?

“A scout’s coming back,” Azriel says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

My eyes snap open as the rider crests the hillside and comes into view. Illyrian mounts really are beautiful, all sleek muscle and rippling midnight black manes. Together they make a lot of noise, but alone, they’re pretty damn quiet until their hooves hit rock.

Azriel motions me to follow him as he goes to the edge of the cleft in the rocks and waits as the scout approaches. “Well?”

“Not Amarantha,” the scout says and I let out a breath of relief.

“Who the fuck would come out here then?” Someone behind me challenges.

“Spring,” the scout says and all the blood drains from my face.

Azriel glances at me, but there’s pity in his hazel gaze this time.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Not now, I’m not ready to see them yet!

“What do they want?” I’m having a hard time processing that Tam would waste resources looking for me, especially when we’ve barely had horses to spare to move camp, let alone ride all the way out here.

“Proof you’re alive,” the scout says, holding out his hand.

It’s Azriel that smacks his hand away. “She only rides with me or Rhys.”

The mount shifts beneath the scout, his hood falling even lower down his face. Something feels off about it and I glance at Azriel for confirmation I’m not alone. He nods at me as he steps closer, hand on the small of my back as he leads me to where his own mount chews on a dying patch of grass.

“Be ready,” he says in my ear.

The scout fidgets in his seat like he’s not used to riding in one and it’s that more than anything that has Azriel’s shadows flying off his shoulders to grab the rider by the wrist and yank him out of the saddle. He slams into the ground with a scream, the sound of bones crunching against rock so loud I wince as Azriel hoists me up into his saddle.

I grab the reins to keep the horse steady, trying desperately to remember where Rhysand had held his hands when I rode with him.

Azriel stalks over to the male, wings flaring as he knocks the back of the hood back with the tip of his dagger. Even in the moonlight, I know what swatch of dark hair and golden eyes. One of Tamlin’s Wolves, Andras. Of course he wouldn’t know how to ride, we’d survived a lot of skirmishes over the years because Tam had used his shapeshifting powers to change the men into beasts to fight.

Azriel crouches in front of him as Andras grips his clearly broken shoulder. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Andras’ gaze flicks to me first. Thankfully, Azriel’s horse is a lot more patient than the others and my own nervous energy hasn’t caused it to run off. If anything, I think the animal cares less about my presence than its usual rider, because it goes back to eating.

“Your whore of a warlord-” that’s as far as Andras gets before Azriel slams the hilt of his dagger into the other male’s throat.

“Start like that again and I’ll make sure you never use that shoulder,” Azriel threatens with so much venom, I shiver.

Andras coughs, good hand reaching for his throat and Azriel slams the blade clean through his forearm, pinning him in place.

I look away as Andras screams. He is not my friend, I can do nothing. I have always done nothing. The males have their fights and their quarrels and I have always stood on the sidelines waiting for the violence to pass like a good girl.

“Ok! Ok!” Andras rasps. “I had orders to get into the camp and get Y/N, that’s it!”

But wasn’t being tired of standing on the sidelines that prompted me to stay here in the first place? Wasn’t I trying to make things better for my people? How was sitting here helping them?

“What about the others?” Azriel questions.

“I don’t know! Lucien was supposed to handle that.” Andras replies through gritted teeth.

Do I even want to help them? If Rhysand was telling the truth, whose side am I even on? My head hurts from the questions, my stomach still churning end over end. I don’t know what to do.

“Where’s Tamlin?” Azriel asks as he rips the dagger out.

Andras screams, the sound echoing off the rocks. “There’s only five of us! Tamlin never left camp.”

Of course he would send Lucien and not risk coming out here himself. That would put him face to face with Rhysand and he’d lose. And looking at it now, I realize that he knows it. He’s always known it. I rub a hand over the scar on my hand. Did he know about the bond too? Had that been why he was always so sure that I knew Rhysand was the enemy?

Azriel raises the dagger to make another cut and Andras screams, “I swear I’m telling the truth!”

“Azriel,” my voice is steadier than I feel and all eyes suddenly turn to me. I need to get answers. I need to do something. “Take me out there please.”

“No.”

I tighten my grip on the reins. I’ll go out there myself if I have to. “If it’s Lucien, then it’s not a fight they’re having. Let me diffuse this.” I’m not sure I mean those words; I’m not sure I have the power to do anything but watch horror after horror unfold around me, but I know that I have to try. I have to attempt to put my life back together. I have to find some bit of order or I’ll go insane. Besides, this is Lucien we’re talking about! Surely he could see reason, right?

Andras is looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“Tie him up,” Azriel says to one of the others as he stands and wipes his blade on a cloth that hangs from his belt. “I’m not done with him.”

“But I don’t know anything!” Andras protests as two men haul him to his feet, wrenching his broken shoulder in the process. Blood drips from his forearm, down his fingers. Regardless of the confusion I feel swirling around inside me, he’s still a part of my people. Lucien is still family. If I can keep any more bloodshed from happening between our two people I will.

“I can work this out. Not everything has to be a bloodbath.”

Azriel swings himself into the saddle behind me and steals the reins. “If I so much as hear an arrow being fired, we’re turning back around.” He snarls.

“Fine,” I concede, because at least it meant I tried.

“Rhys is gonna kill me for this.”

----

I’m not convinced Azriel’s horse isn’t a wraith. It’s almost completely silent, save for the softest hint of breathing imaginable. When it breathes, little wisps of shadows escape out its nose. I wish I had time to ask him about it, but there’s none, not as we race over the hills, fast as the wind.

No arrows rise up to meet us, so at least I’ve been, so far, correct about Lucien not leading an ambush. Their scout must have taken down one of Rhysand’s and stolen his mount and cloak to look presentable. At least, I tell myself it was just that and not that Lucien ordered a man killed to try and get to me. Lucien, who would sneak me snacks and who secretly taught me how to fish; Lucien who used to braid my hair for me while we sat on the creek bed, making jokes. Lucien who had always been a spot of sunlight in my world, who looked after me like a brother, and promised to scare away any suitors who made me uncomfortable. Lucien was a good male; the best of us, even, the thought that he might be capable of such violence makes me nauseous. I have had too many life changing questions hurled my way tonight, I cannot bear another one, especially not about him.

We crest a particularly large hill and finally get a glimpse of the Illyrian riders. They’re not fighting. In fact, they’re just standing there, in formation behind Rhysand’s horse. The warlord himself stands in front of it, shrouded in that heavy cloak, facing off against Lucien and his three dismounted riders. They’re all armed, but no one is actively fighting each other, I take that as a good sign.

Though Lucien doesn’t look particularly pleased to see me riding with Azriel, nothing but unbridled horror crossing his scarred face as we approach.

When we get to the bottom of the hill, I jump off the horse, much to Azriel’s dismay.

Lucien takes a step towards me, but growling, Rhysand steps in front of him. “Touch her and you’re dead, Vanserra.”

The men move to let me pass through and I focus all my energy on breathing evenly as I walk towards them. Does Lucien know? Did he hide this from me too? Or was he just as blind as I was?

“Y/N, are you all right?” Lucien asks, his metal eye whirring as he looks me over.

My chest feels like it’s gonna rip right down the middle and spill my heart right out onto the floor. I don’t know who to believe. I don’t know who I want to believe. This is Lucien we’re talking about, he would never willingly hurt me. He comforted me when my entire world fell apart, he helped Tam and I bury them. I want so desperately for all these onlookers to leave, so it’s just the three of us and the truth, but the way they all stand there, armed and ready tells me that’s not happening. There hasn’t already been bloodshed here, because Lucien was waiting for Andras to give him some sort of signal that it wasn’t necessary. Because he was expecting to be able to just kidnap me.

Why do all these males constantly treat me like I’m just an object to be snatched up on their whims?

Rhysand’s hooded head is angled in my direction, watching my approach through the stars in his cowl. I don’t like that I can’t see his eyes. He doesn’t look like the Rhysand who’d just been holding me. He looks like the male I remember from my nightmares.

And Lucien looks like someone I don’t recognize at all.

How am I supposed to make sense out of any of this? Seeing them doesn’t make it easier.

The Illyrians shift behind me, horses snuffing in agitation, kicking up loose strands of grass. I feel their unease as easily as I can see it in the males behind Lucien. Maybe this isn’t the time for answers, maybe all I can do right now is keep them from killing each other. Regardless of who’s right here, I don’t want to see either males hurt.

“I’m fine,” I lie as I come to a stop at Rhysand’s side. His gloved fingers brush mine like he might take my hand, but he doesn’t.

Lucien stares back and forth between us. “I wouldn’t call being kidnapped fine.”

Rhys growls again, the sound skittering over my spine, “But you’d call letting her starve to death on a solo hunt fine?”

Lucien’s mouth pulls back in a grimace. “Tam made a mistake, he admits it-”

“He admits it?” His wings shake behind him, darkness drifting in waves from beneath them until it shrouds him more than the cloak. There’s so much of it Lucien retreats a step. “How brave of him to admit he fucked up and yet he still let it go on this long before someone came looking.”

Lucien keeps his gaze on me. “It won’t happen again. We’ve talked about it. Trust me, next time-”

“There is no next time,” Rhysand snarls. “She’s not going back with you!”

Lucien’s hand falls to his sword hilt, but his gaze remains on me. “Let her come home. Let this be settled and done. Tamlin sent money-”

A whip made of starlight appears in Rhysand’s hand, knocking the bag of coins Lucien pulls off his belt from his hand and scattering it across the grass. All of the men with Lucien draw their swords, even as the redhead tightly grips his own. Rhysand can easily kill him here and he will if Lucien keeps talking. I need to diffuse this, I need them all to leave each other alone. I’m not done here, and even if Lucien won’t understand it, I can’t bear to see him get hurt.

“He’s my mate,” I say and the words taste like a betrayal.

Lucien’s face twists in a mixture of horror and disgust.

“No one is keeping me here against my will.” Well, mostly. It’s not like I’ve put that to the test, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“That can’t be true,” it comes out like a whisper, as if he doesn’t want to believe it. I suppose, if our places were switched, I wouldn’t want to either. “You did something to her.”

Rhysand huffs, “I didn’t and I wouldn’t.”

“Like you didn’t slaughter thousands for Amarantha?” Lucien snarls.

Rhysand freezes, still as death beside me.

Azriel, silent in the grass, has come up behind me, his presence a steadying energy amidst the chaos I feel swirling around us. What does he mean he killed for Amarantha? Isn’t he trying to kill her?

“That’s enough,” Azriel hisses. “The lady told you she doesn’t want to go back with you. Respect that and go.”

Lucien doesn’t move. “He didn’t tell you that, did he, Y/N?”

“Leave!” Azriel snarls.

“I’m sure he didn’t tell you how he whored himself out to her either. Why do you think the Illyrians have so much land?”

Azriel steps around me, shadows swirling, dagger in hand, but it’s Rhysand, who’s now almost wholly surrounded by a dark mist, that puts out a hand to stop him. “Everything I did, I did for my people,” he says in a voice that’s so low I almost can’t hear it over the wind. “Everything Tamlin is doing now is for himself.”

“How noble,” Lucien snarls. “If your intentions are so pure, let her go.”

Rhysand turns to look at me, pushing the cowl off his head so I can see his face. The moonlight doesn’t hide the shadows under his eyes, or the weight I see crushing down on his shoulders. It’s impossible to miss the way his wings droop behind him. My chest aches at the sight of him, something clawing in desperation beneath my skin begging me to find a way to take that burden from him.

“Do you want to go back with him?” He asks.

I don’t know if what he’s said tonight is true or a lie, but I know here and now that if I said yes he’d let me walk away. No strings attached, if I took Lucien’s hand and got on that horse, he wouldn’t fight me.

I don’t know what I want any more. I don’t know who I am anymore. Everything I have built my life on feels like it's crumbling beneath my feet. And everyone is just standing there watching it happen.

No one has ever offered me a choice like this before. My whole life I have been told where to go and who to be and given one taste of freedom I had still followed exactly what was expected of me, hoping that it would finally make me feel at peace. But I haven’t felt a moment of peace in all of it, except when I was in Rhysand’s arms. It’s impossible that he of all people could make me feel like that. It shouldn’t be this way.

And Lucien, who I always considered another brother, who shared food at my table and always made me feel like I wasn’t a waste of space, was now someone I didn’t recognize. There is no sign of Rhysand’s missing rider among them. I don’t know if he’s dead or not, probably, judging by the way Lucien keeps looking at Rhys like he’s an animal.

It’s a startling sight, not because I would have looked at him like that myself a couple days ago, but because that’s how Tam always looked at me. Like I was some thing that was so inherently wrong; some creature that needed to be tamed and bridled. Those pointed tips of the fangs I felt try to make an appearance earlier have come back, poking into my lower lip. I feel something shifting beneath my skin, a beast awakening from some deep slumber. My hands open and close reflexively at my side. The stirring feeling is strongest in my chest, right where I sometimes feel that weird pressure that’s somehow tied to Rhys.

“No, I don’t want to go back with him,” the words are steadier than I feel, my chin raised. I do not cower from them, or the fact that I mean them. Even though Lucien looks like I’ve punched him in the gut. I can’t go back. Not until I have the truth. Not until I can make sense of all this mess I feel in my head and in my heart.

“Tamlin won’t take me back anyway,” I pull the gaps in the arms of my sweater down, so he can see the stars inked across my skin. “Nor do I feel like being tossed out again.”

“Y/N…” Lucien shakes his head, auburn hair flying around his tan face. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Rhysand won’t stop staring at me. I think he’s waiting for me to change my mind.

“Please leave, Lucien,” I say, only looking at Rhys. I’m a terrible person, because there is so much unbridled hope in his eyes, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, waiting for me to take my chance and run; I’d been playing games this whole time, he hadn’t.

He hadn’t been playing games.

I’d used him, taken what I needed, and had planned to throw him out when I was done. Even if he had killed me father, I was still… I was still just like my own father. The realization nearly knocks me off my feet. What have I done?

“This isn’t the end of this,” Lucien hisses as he backs up, never leaving himself exposed, even as he reaches for his mount. The horse is old, it’s mane patchy and unkept, I’m not sure how it carried Lucien here, let alone how he expected it to carry the both of us. “Tamlin will consider this a breach of your agreement.”

“We agreed not to kill each other,” Rhysand returns. “If he comes at me now, then he’s the one that broke that agreement, not me.”

Lucien swings into the saddle with ease, mount shifting slightly beneath him. “What of my scout?”

“What of mine?” Azriel returns.

“Food for the vultures,” Lucien snarls and my heart sinks even further. What if I’ve been wrong about everybody, not just Rhys?

“Then so is yours,” Azriel returns.

Lucien leaves with the remainder of his men, no further fight for Andras life to be had. Rhysand watches them go, wings still drooped behind them like they are impossibly heavy. I should try and comfort him, as that thing in my chest demands, but I can’t. My limbs refuse to move, feet rooted in the grass. What have I done? Where did I go wrong in all of this? I was just trying to do what I thought was right, but I’m not sure I know what that looks like anymore.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks once they’re gone. On instinct, he’s throwing his cloak around my shoulders again, cocooning me in that blissful pocket of warmth that smells like him. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve any of his kindness.

“I don’t know,” the words slip out of me. I can’t think past the roaring in my ears. What have I done?

His hand falls to my back, gently leading me back to his horse.

“For the record-” Azriel starts, but Rhysand cuts him off, “I know, Az. Thank you for staying with her.”

I think, even as we mount back up to return to camp, we would have all been better off tonight if this had been a fight with Amarantha.

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

Tag List:

@judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor, @hjgdhghoe, @buttermilktea11, @yourforeveryoungblog, @sassyn, @zoeisdreaming6, @minnieoo, @girl-math-aint-mathing, @raisam, @inloveallthetime, @blessthepizzaman

#acotar #acotar fic #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader smut #warlord!rhys #rhysand acotar #rhys fic #in Love and War fic #acotar fanfic #my writing #my fanfiction

95 notes · View notes