#andras was killed and never thought of again

[theladyofbloodshed]

one fic that i will never write is the sister of andras who was sent away to the continent for her safety, returning to find her high lord utterly broken and her brother murdered for a prophecy but the saviour is now high lady and mated to her court's enemy and her just completely haunting the night court as she seeks revenge for the male she loved, her high lord, and her court

[mistyheartrbs]

vengeance would have been a perfect special if not for doc's death, and i think the reason for that is like. it changes vengeance from a fun sort of "optional" epilogue tv movie (that also doubles as a sizzle reel for andras to pitch a fifth season) to something that irrevocably changes the directions of the characters' lives. if this is the last entry in wynonna earp then doc is dead, wynonna has lost the love of her life, alice grows up without her father. it changes the beautiful ending of s4 - something that was so ruthlessly, defiantly hopeful when it was borne of a genre and a timeframe in which shock value and grimdark character death were the norm, when it was filmed in the middle of a devastating pandemic - into something much more cynical.

now, let me tell you about homestuck.

i love it when stories engage with their role as stories, and two projects that have done that (which also not so coincidentally had massive tumblr followings) are steven universe and, yes, homestuck -- specifically their followups, steven universe: future and the homestuck epilogues/homestuck^2: beyond canon.

steven universe future is a series that posits, "what happens when there's no one left to fight and you have to face yourself?" it's something that existed to tie up the loose ends left by steven universe's hasty cancellation/ending - and so it looks at an action hero's struggles with ptsd when he isn't saving the world anymore. it recontextualizes everything we thought was just another action scene, just another monster fight, just another thing he won with love and kindness and great, great injury to himself, and says, no, this hurt him, you cannot take on the world for yourself, you deserve a good life too. it's in conversation with steven universe's endless empathy and self-sacrifice and doesn't ridicule it but acknowledges that it's a philosophy that you can only hold for so long before you crack.

it's a lovely show that, while much darker than the original series, still ultimately ends on a hopeful note. of course steven isn't going to drive off into the sunset and never have any problems again. he's a person. he's going to drive away when it's already nighttime, and he's going to phone his therapist, and he's going to have good days and bad ones and he's never going to have some clean break from the things that still haunt him but he'll be okay.

the homestuck epilogues are bad, and they're mean-spirited, and they spit in the face of audiences who wanted happy endings for the characters. they're written to mimic ao3 fanfiction, and pretty openly mock the fandom and the people who got homestuck to this point in the first place.

creator andrew hussie thankfully seemed to realize that and changed course with homestuck^2: beyond canon, where they started making it a visual webcomic series again, and it started grappling more directly with homestuck as a story.

the first shot of homestuck^2 is of a spaceship with "theseus" scrawled onto the side. the title itself isn't "homestuck 2," it's homestuck squared. homestuck multiplied by itself. it's a writing team - people who started out as fans of homestuck and are now arbiters of it - with only minimal involvement from the original creator. who determines what is and isn't homestuck? is it the god-creator who wrote himself into the story, then wrote himself being killed off? is it this new writing team? is it you? after all, homestuck itself started with audience prompts. somebody who is not andrew hussie named john egbert. somebody who is not andrew hussie gets to decide how it continues, and if it ends, and why.

"misty, what the whiskey-shooting hell does any of this have to do with wynonna earp?"

what's weird about vengeance is that it doesn't do any of that. and in fact its very existence is antithetical to doc's death speech - it, like doc, is something that's dodged death. it's a followup to a show with one of the most satisfying series finales in recent memory. it's nothing so cynical as a cash grab (as i've seen people on the tag posit) - everyone involved genuinely loves this show. but it's basically a ninety-minute wynonna earp episode. aside from a few brief references and nods to the fans - waverly saying "welcome home, wynonna" - it's not interested in the three and a half years between the end of the show and this new special. it's not interested in whether it should exist, or how long people fought for it to exist. it does explore avenues that the series didn't have time to look into - wynonna's traumatic childhood, the lack of support from the adults in her life - but it's not looking at What "wynonna earp" is. it's not a story about Wynonna Earp (2016-2021), a SyFy Original Series that crafted lifelong friendships and conventions and stories and art and romances and careers and acted as a beacon of hope for thousands of young people during dark times. it's a story about wynonna earp, the character, who doesn't know if she can be a good mom to alice, who hurts the people she loves, who loves those people so, so fiercely she'll literally go to hell and back for them.

and i don't like that her ending is one full of grief. that doesn't feel fair to me.

but that's what season 5 is for, right?

[bookishfeylin]

this was a while ago (a couple months at this point i think) so i might be misremembering, but once in the comment section of an acotar critical video a commenter kept claiming that tamlin was never retconned (which... im not sure what else youd call one of his defining traits in acotar- being observant- suddenly disappearing due to trauma when he was still observant post-amarantha at the end of tar, or some of his values and opinions suddenly also changing in maf, but alright) because throughout the first book he was, according to them, manipulating feyre- specifically lovebombing her. they never specified which events led them to believe this, just that it happened. thoughts?

*sighs*

This argument is one that, unfortunately, I've heard many, many, many times over by now, and have made several posts about in the past. Because, truth be told, it's the best rebuttal they have when you point out direct retcons. The problem is that Tamlin manipulating Feyre, or even lying about his values, is disproven both in the book and in the sequels that follow, and this is because a lot of Tamlin's characterization is based on Feyre's observations of Tamlin, especially at times when he's not aware she's observing him (in contrast to Rhysand telling Feyre what to think about him every other page in ACOMAF).

A very good example of this was with the dying Summer Court faerie. Tamlin and Feyre care for the faerie as it passes away babies, and this scene is viewed by many as a good character moment for Feyre that establishes her kindness under a gruff exterior, but the same is not said for her other half, likely because all the Feysands who reread ACOTAR view all of Tamlin's actions as inherently manipulative. The problem here is that Feyre was never supposed to be present. Feyre was supposed to be asleep in her bedroom on another floor of the manor when Tamlin returned with the fae, and it's only through coincidence--her having a nightmare about killing Andras that wakes her up--that she's present to see Tamlin extend kindness and try to help the faerie in the first place. Ergo, Tamlin's action here can't have been an attempt to manipulate Feyre because Tamlin never expected Feyre to be present, and the kindness shown to lesser fae, and by extension, what that says about how Tamlin views individuals in lower socioeconomic classes than him, is a genuine facet of his character.

There's also a lot of background established about Tamlin that simply can't have been done on purpose by him to manipulate Feyre. What, did he start taking in refugees from other courts like Alis and her nephews because 50 years prior he had a psychic dream about Feyre and he wanted to make himself look really appealing to her? Did he treat them well solely so Alis could make him sound good to Feyre to convince Feyre to go UTM?

I also take issue with people arguing that Tamlin was love-bombing Feyre. It was already discussed before here by someone who's pro-Feysand who also picked up on this (and this ask is already getting longer lol so I'll just link it here and reblog it later) but the TLDR is that Tamlin demonstrably does not want to manipulate Feyre per another conversation she listens in on, and he decidedly chose to abandon the goal of making her love him when he sent her home. Every single "Tamlin never really love Feyre he was just love-bombing her and manipulating her" argument forgets that fact for some reason??? Like he sent her home before she could even do what she was supposed to. He sacrificed himself and his people to eternal damnation for her, without ever expecting to see her ever again. He offered himself to the woman he's known since childhood to shield Feyre from harm. So if you want to argue that, like the beast character he was based on, Tamlin originally brought Feyre to his manor for the purpose off making her fall for him to break his curse, then fine, but it's impossible to argue that throughout their relationship and by the end he was manipulating her and had no genuine love for her.

TLDR: it's a stupid argument that relies on selective reading and I hate it.

[acourtofthought]

The number of times I see people defend Cass and Az siding with Rhys with "he's their friend and High Lord" vs the number of times Lucien gets shit for "not standing up to Tamlin" (even though he did do that) is wild.

I think people forget to take a step back and look at all the information presented to us when reading these books.

Of course the author is telling Feyre's story and it's easy to get caught up on what she feels and wanting to side with her but from a logical perspective, if you really want to immerse yourself in this entire world with all these characters (and not just have blind loyalty to Feyre considering Sarah chose to continue writing characters outside of Feyre), you have to consider why they did what they did and whether there is some understanding to be found.

When you look at Feyre and Lucien's relationship, she murdered his friend. MURDERED.

How many of us are going to be fond of someone who killed someone we cared for? It had to be done for the curse of course but he had to see her in his home knowing that she hated his kind and that's why she met Amarantha's requirement.

The fact that he was willing to even become her friend after that is a testament to Lucien's ability to forgive because he could have easily acknowledged the sacrifice Andras made to save them while still choosing to never give the female who murdered someone in cold blood a second thought.

He grew to care for Feyre despite that, risked his life for Feyre, but again she was a 19 year old human he'd known for a few months compared to the person who helped save his life, compared to the person who he spent centuries with, compared to the person he called a friend. Why should he have MORE loyalty to Feyre? What had Feyre ever done for him to earn that loyalty?

Regardless of what Tamlin did after UTM, Lucien had years upon years upon years of building a life in the Spring Court, feeling safe in the Spring Court, being Tamlin's friend in the Spring Court.

If you had a friend you'd known for 20 years then suddenly they spiraled due to trauma and began behaving badly, wouldn't you have faith that they could pull free from it? To find their way again? Would you just cut them off because they were behaving in a way you didn't agree with?

It's funny how people argue how awful Feyre and Elain were for not standing by Nesta's side during her depression (though Nesta forced them away) but hate Lucien for standing by Tamlin and trying to help him through his.

Was Tamlin abusive to women for the last 2 or 3 centuries? It seems the answer is no therefore his behavior in ACOMAF seemed a product of his downward spiral after UTM and having fallen in love. That means Lucien was a good person for trying to bring him back, to help him remember who he had been before. That means Lucien hoped the friend he'd always known could break free from whatever had recently happened to him.

Compare that to Rhys who let others believe he was evil for centuries. In all the time Tamlin saved Lucien, that Tamlin gave Lucien a job and they became friends, Rhys allowed everyone to believe he was a monster.

"Lucien wanted to take Feyre back to her abuser!"

No, Lucien wanted to take Feyre away from who he thought the real abuser was, the guy who was once ready to shatter his mind and who he thought worked with Amarantha (the one who cursed them all and brutally scarred him) for 50 years and was promised by his friend of centuries that he was better, that he knew he was in the wrong and wouldn't make the same mistakes again. Tamlin lost control of his temper and Feyre was injured as a result but Lucien had seen Rhys choose to hurt people so I do understand why he thought Tamlin was capable of change, why he believed he could do better and get help.

On a personal note, my father was abusive to my mother. At 5 years old I witnessed him throw her to the ground and break her collarbone.

Domestic violence is a tricky thing. Should I have written my father off never to talk to him again? Was he not deserving of a second chance even though I hated what he did? My parents did end up divorcing shortly after and he remarried and I absolutely adore my stepmother. I know for a fact that he did change and they are still happily married to this day so I see why in some instances you hope for the best, why you'd like to believe someone can overcome their struggles and it's not for someone else to judge how someone should deal with an abuser because even that is complicated.

But that's real life which is a whole lot trickier than a fantasy world where somehow it's ok for Feyre to murder a fae with hate in her heart yet a friend hoping his friend can overcome his depression and anger issues is made out to be a villain.

Lucien had actual reason to believe Tamlin was capable of change considering the Tamlin of ACOMAF was different Tamlin than the one he had known, the one who saved him.

He was a victim of Tamlin's too so him having hope that "that was the last time" is a normal response to victims of domestic violence. Of course he believed Tamlin could change. Why wouldn't he since he'd known Tamlin as a good guy longer than Tamlin as a bad guy? Of course he'd have hope that his entire life as he'd known it wasn't falling apart so spectacularly.

People forget the events of ACOTAR / ACOMAF didn't just happen to Feyre, Lucien's life was falling apart too. Not to mention for Lucien it wasn't just about Feyre, it was about the people of an entire court. He literally said to her, "don't make me risk the stability of this court." He was worried about the people of Spring finding their way back after the horrors they'd witnessed over 50 years and Feyre was worried about the events of the last three months. That's not to say her trauma was not enormous but was it worse than what others went through? Was her depression more important than the depression of everyone in that land?

EVERYBODY in Spring was struggling, not just Feyre and I think that's what people forget.

Nobody should have had to push their depression aside, the needs of an entire court aside, to prioritize Feyre. And I like Feyre, I knew the Spring Court was not right for her and Tamlin was never going to be the right person for her once ACOMAF began. It's clear they should have never been talking marriage when they were both a mess themselves.

But I don't fault Lucien for not being able to pull Feyre from her depression when he had about a million and one other things on his plate. When he too was dealing with the horrors from UTM (remember how he was almost killed twice there?), when he was stressing over the safety of the court and the mental health of all it's people.

Thinking Lucien was there just to serve Feyre is actually really silly when you think about it because Lucien had some major stuff he was dealing with. Did Feyre set aside her trauma to help Lucien deal with his? Did she even bother thinking about his trauma or did she simply turn a blind eye (especially when she kept walking after knowing Tamlin used his power against Lucien).

Feyre wasn't any better a friend to Lucien after UTM than some claim he was to her but I don't fault her for that because I realize that at certain times you can put your own needs over that of another but Lucien should be extended the same courtesy when he was thinking about everyone's needs. Wanting his HL to heal so that the court didn't suffer doesn't make him an asshole, it actually makes him worthy of becoming a HL himself.

The IC? They might have been worried about their High Lord but they and the people of Velaris lived in relative comfort for 50 years. They did not experience the same horrors that everyone else was dealing with. So when Feyre came to them it was much easier for their focus to be on Feyre, on making her a priority, on her healing and she could then focus on Rhys's healing too.

Sarah is very different from many other authors, where the main character is not guiltless, where other characters are just as developed and just as independent, where they're not written just to be a plot tool to serve the FMC. She does a wonderful job of making side characters extremely layered with their own demons and desires and so I think it's important to treat them with the same individuality that we would a main character.

Being mad at a side character for acting independent of the main character is literally saying "I don't want anyone in this series to want anything other than what is best for the FMC" and that makes for a one dimensional story.

And forgetting that the males also had PTSD, that they don't necessarily deserve to be written off by everyone because of their bad choices but to have someone try to help is an important lesson to remember too. PTSD is not something to overlook just because it's a male suffering from it and I'd hope a friend wouldn't turn their back on a friend because of it, I'd hope they'd try to get their friend the help they need if they're in a position to do so.

Should Feyre have helped Tamlin? Hell no. But Lucien helping Tamlin? If that's what he wants because he probably understands what PTSD looks like, he saw what was happening to Spring and it's people because of Tamlin's state and caring is not something he should be faulted for, not when it affected an entire court. As I said above, Lucien was thinking about more than just Feyre or just Tamlin which means there was no way to meet just one person's needs.

[foreverrandomwritings]

Alliance Maker-Chapter 4

Summary: Some of the inner circle questions you about your life. Wounds that are still fresh get probed at. Many questions are still left unanswered.

Pairing: Slow burn! Azriel x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Hunting, death, torture, whipping... I think that's it, please let me know if there is more that I missed.

Word count: 1840 (Azriel isn't in this part but I promise that in the next chapter he will make an appearance.)

Masterlist Series Masterlist

You didn't have to wait long for the High Lady and High Lord. You had put on a pair of trousers and an oversized tunic that you had been informed was Azriels who was currently out on business. Cassian knew you would completely swim in his own so he had retrieved the slightly smaller one from his brother's room. The holes meant for wings left your back exposed. Your own wings had disappeared when you had gotten injured. 

You all sat around the dining room table. The tension in the air was like a heavy blanket. For some reason however you were calm. The scent coming off the shirt you were wearing was soothing you. They all stared at you for a while before you finally spoke up. 

“Young huntress, I'm glad to see you are doing so well! You’ve come a long way since your first day in the woods.” She looked at you with quizzical eyes. You gave her a mischievous smile in return. 

“I would occasionally watch you hunt when I got bored. Also wanted to make sure you weren’t going to do anything stupid enough to get yourself killed. You caught on mighty quick however.” The approval leaked out of your voice with your words as you gave her a gentle smile. 

“I had never realized you watched me.” She said to you with an uneasy waver in her voice. Rhysand picked up on the tone in her voice and gripped the arm of the chair he was in tightly. 

“It wasn’t very often since I’d mostly be helping my father around our house and shop. You also were never very good at watching out for other people. You were always too focused on the animals around you.” You said simply shrugging your shoulders in nonchalance. 

“Now onto the harder questions, who would like to go first?” You asked the group as your eyes flicked to each of them. 

“How are you a Fae?” Nesta asked first, it was the question she was desperately wanting to know. The question that had been eating away at her since she first found you. 

“I am cauldron made. The first one thrown in as a simple mortal and dumped out a gifted Fae.” You said as your thoughts drifted slightly to the feeling of being embraced by the cauldron. You were quick to snap back to the reality in front of you not liking to dwell on the past. Nesta gave you a look of understanding. But the group had looks of indifference. You being cauldron made did make the most sense. But on the other hand they also didn’t realize there had been someone changed before Elain. 

“How did you come across the wall?” Rhysand asked you voice full of apprehension as he still struggled to wrap his head around you. 

“There were about ten of Hyberns men scrounging through the woods. I had been hunting when they found me. I knew it was dangerous being so close to the wall but I’ve always liked a thrill. I really should’ve known better since Feyre went missing after killing that fae wolf Andras.” You nodded towards the female across from you. There was a look of surprise on their face at the mention of the male that had sacrificed his life for the good of his High Lord. 

“I tried to take them down but they poisoned me with something before I had the opportunity to unleash hell.” Your nose scrunched up at the memory of the disgusting smell the poison had given off. Everyone around the table had a look of understanding in their eyes.

“I killed three of them before it fully took over my body. Which was something I paid for later on.” The gashes along your back seemed to burn as though you had been getting whipped once again. You shifted ever so slightly in your seat, willing the unwanted feeling away. 

“You’re about the age for a female to be married over there so did you leave a husband behind?” You shook your head at Cassian's question, thankful for the change of subject. Even if the question was slightly misogynistic.  

“I was taken from my father and that was all. I have been trying to contact him since escaping.” The thought of not having seen your father in so long sinking in had your voice lowering. It was the longest you’d ever gone without speaking to or seeing him. 

“Where is he at?” Came from Feyre, your eyes connected to hers before focusing on the windows behind her. 

“I’m guessing he is somewhere over here. I went back to our home and there was no sign of him there. Then I heard whispers of the Fae that had come and saved them to give them solace over here. To save them from a disastrous fate. I’m hoping he is safe and that I’ll be able to see him again one day.” You missed your father so much your chest started to hurt as the hope filled your heart of finally being able to see him again. Finally being able to embrace him and hear him call you the beloved nickname he had bestowed upon you many years ago is all you had hoped for. But you had refused to find him until you were somewhere safe. Somewhere that you could call home and could build a life. 

“You had wings when we found you but now they are gone.” Cassian said it with an even yet curious tone. You smiled at that and thanked the cauldron for the open back chair and slits in the shirt you were in as you popped the wings back out. 

“The cauldron was very generous.” You stretched your wings out and let out a sigh of relief. The feeling of them stretching your back caused a soothing ache to run through your body. You also didn’t miss the look Rhysand and Feyre gave each other, the only ones that they knew of that grew wings on their own command were themselves. 

“Those are different from illyrian wings.” This time it was Emerie that spoke up. She was right they were more like the wings of a beast not seen for centuries before Rhysand was even born. They were black as night and pure cobalt blue, the wingspan larger than that of an Illyrian. They were slightly thicker than their wings and went farther down your back by about half a foot. The similarities were the five sharp spikes at the bottom of each wing and a singular sharp spike at the top of each end. 

“Yes yes. I’ve been told it’s likely because I have a different form waiting inside of me to be let out.” You drummed your fingers along the table as you thought about the first time the wings had shown up. It was after you had escaped and you were extremely grateful that they had shown up when they did. They did a splendid job of shielding you until you learned how to fly with them. 

“And who told you that?” Your eyes found the short yet powerful Fae at the table. Amren you’d take it from the description you’d previously been told. She had arrived with Rhysand and Feyre. 

“Helion.” The one name answer seemed to shock everyone around the table. Yet Amren simply narrowed her eyes at you. She was trying to find a reason to tell her High Lord and High Lady to send you back where you came from. 

“And how were you able to get a visit with him?” Rhysand was sitting up straighter in his chair. Helion wasn’t known for being malicious or blind eyed. But taking a visit with a stranger that belonged to no court seemed a bit far fetched. 

“I asked nicely.” The grin you gave him was purely feline and proud. Cassian snorted at the answer though causing you to send him a wink. 

“Why didn’t we see you while we were within the walls of Hybern?” Nesta asked the question lightly. She didn’t like thinking of the experience so she wasn’t sure how you’d react thinking about it. 

“I fought tooth and nail so you wouldn’t. I didn’t want you to see me as I was.” Your mouth grew dry as you finished your sentence. You looked down at the table and started scratching at a non-existent chip with your fingernail. A glass of water was placed next to your hand causing you to stop. You took it greatfully and gulped it down. When you looked back up there were many eyes looking at you that were full of pity. The High Lord went to open his mouth but you cut him off. 

“It is not a subject I would like to talk about. If you don’t mind, I would like for that to be the end of it.” Hands forming into fists you held his stare. He broke it when a hand laid upon his arm. He glanced to the side and Feyre was looking at him, they had a silent conversation before he turned back and nodded at you. 

“Please don’t try to enter my mind again either.” You had felt him trying while you were unconscious. Luckily your shields were still up while you were in your temporary coma. He kept his surprise and embarrassment off his face. Though you could see it in the way he flexed his hand and looked down at his shirt for lint that wasn’t there.

“You must be starving.” It was Feyre that broke the tension. Your stomach chose that moment to let out a large growl in reply. Then the house was setting down food in front of everyone. 

“Uhm?” You looked at the food and then up at Nesta. Then your mind snapped back to the water that you didn't hear anyone get up to give you. 

“The house is kind of sentient.” She gave you a bored look, the others had already started eating. 

“Thank you House.” You called out and in reply you got a plate of berry cobbler. Cassian then mumbled under his breath that he wanted some to but the house only answered with a glass of water. 

“How would you feel about coming to training in the morning?” Cassian’s question had you looking at him while picking up a fork to dig into your dinner.

“I would love to. I haven’t had anyone to train with in a while.” your mind went to your time spent in Dawn, training with the guard there many months ago. A smile graced your lips at the thought of being able to see Thesan and his lover again in the future. The group of you ate in mostly silence. They occasionally talked about the High Lord and High lady’s son Nyx. There was talk about Mor and Azriel. You went to bed that night wrapped in Azriel's shirt, the smell lulling you into your first nightmare-less dream since escaping Hyberns grasp.

A/N: The next chapter will get things cooking a bit. Thank you all so much for reading, likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

Tags(open): @theeleggymeggy @wolfsbane44 @moonlwghts @maddietheshoe @hyemishii @fanboyluvr @kmc1989 @acourtofinkandpapyrus @luvmoo

[praetorqueenreyna]

lovely and lonely, Tamlin/Lucien, Chapter 19

With Feyre's arrival, Lucien has a decision to make.

Click here to read on AO3, or continue reading below!

There was silence in the dining hall following Feyre’s departure. Tamlin slowly swirled his wine around in the goblet in front of him.

Lucien cleared his throat. “She seems…nice.”

“No she doesn’t.” Tamlin’s claws shot out, puncturing the cup. Blood red wine spilled across the tablecloth and his clothing. The following silence was heavy, the air between them clouded.

“Tam.”

His High Lord ignored him.

“Tamlin.”

“What?” Tamlin snarled, flinging the ruined goblet away from him.

The next words were the hardest that Lucien had ever had to say. “We have to use the Lethe.”

Tamlin’s flabbergasted expression was almost comical. His response was just about what Lucien expected. “Absolutely not.”

“Tam—”

“I said no!” Tamlin rose to his feet, eyes blazing. Every claw was fully extended, and ethereal antlers flickered above his head. He stormed out of the dining room, leaving an upturned chair and a wine stain in his wake.

Lucien found Tamlin in his bedroom. He leaned against the doorway and watched the other male pace back and forth.

“I can’t do this,” he moaned. “I can’t keep her here. She hates me. And she should. You should have seen that awful place I pulled her from. They were all so scared of me. I felt like my father.”

As much as he wanted to, Lucien didn’t interrupt Tamlin to placate him. He let him rant and rave, listing all the reasons that the scrawny human girl would never be able to break the curse. Lucien couldn’t say he was much of a fan of the human. She had killed Andras, and she didn’t even care. Andras wasn’t worth mourning to her, because of what he was. What they all were. For the past five decades, Lucien had thought that simply getting one of the sentries killed by a young human woman would be the hardest part. Now he could see how foolish that was. With her here, quivering in disgust and distrust, it was impossible to imagine that she could ever grow to love Tamlin. Or that Tamlin could ever love her.

The human’s cruelty was only one of the obstacles facing them. The other was Lucien himself. He had known, this whole time, that it would come to this if they ever managed to make it this far. Tamlin had claimed that he knew that their relationship was temporary, but Lucien could see how it tore at him to even consider trying to love someone else. And he wasn’t immune either; the thought of his beloved Tamlin even looking at that human ripped his heart to shreds. There was only one way that they would be clear-headed enough to make this work.

“We have to use the Lethe.”

The artifact that Lucien spoke of was a book, one that had been in the High Lord’s study for thousands of years. Legend claimed that it was taken from a holy temple in the forest by one of Tamlin’s ancestors, who had burned the city to the ground for some trivial slight. The name of the city and the temple were lost, and only the Lethe remained. It contained ancient power, unlike anything that existed in Prythian today. With it, one had the ability to remove memories and replace them. Modern memory charms were clunky and inelegant, crude patches that could wipe out chunks of time and left a gaping hole in their wake. The Lethe was different. It could alter the past, replacing one memory with a false one so seamlessly that one would never even know that such a modification had taken place. And the changes were permanent; the only way to reverse the magic was to read the Lethe again. But with no knowledge of the magic used, one would have no reason to even glance at the book.

“No.” Tamlin continued pacing. “There has to be another way.”

Lucien caught him, gripping him by the shoulders to keep him in place. “There isn’t. You can’t break the curse like this. I’ll ruin it, and then all of Prythian will fall.”

Tamlin glared at him, rage and grief battling for dominance. “So, what? You’ll leave? I’ll forget I ever met you?”

“No! I’ll be here to help you. I’ll be your emissary. We’ll just be…” the word was poison on his tongue as he spat it out. “Friends.”

The fight left Tamlin’s body. He slumped forward, pressing his forehead against Lucien’s. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” he rasped. “I’ll send her home. We’ll figure something else out.”

One word from Lucien, and it would happen. The human girl would leave, and he’d have Tamlin to himself again. “We can’t. Then Andras will have died for nothing.”

Tamlin’s eyes closed, his mouth tightened. Finally, he nodded.

*****************************

They spent their last night together at the starlight pool. To get away from Feyre, from the staff, from the manor where Tamlin would begin his new life with someone else. Tamlin shed his clothing and slipped into water. Lucien followed suit. He dipped his head below the surface and drank, allowing the euphoria to infuse his body with warmth and light. When he surfaced, shaking starlight out of his hair, he caught Tamlin staring at him.

“What?”

Tamlin swam over and cradled his face in his hands. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, kissing the cheek of his mask right over his scars. Lucien’s heart shattered. He wondered if anybody else would ever find him beautiful again. If he would even want them to. The enormity of what they were about to do crashed over him and set him trembling.

“You’re shaking.” Tamlin’s hands ran down Lucien’s shoulders, along his arms and to his hands. “Are you cold?”

“Yes,” Lucien lied. “Warm me up.”

Obligingly, Tamlin kissed him with enough fire to burn any chill away. He backed Lucien to the shallows of the pool until they both stumbled against the grassy edge. Tamlin took him like that, half in and half out of the liquid starlight. Lucien clung to every detail: the rough earth against his back, the power of Tamlin moving against him, the stark outline of the tree leaves against the starry sky over his head. Even if he wouldn’t remember it by the following morning, it felt important to take in as much now. While he still could.

“I love you,” Tamlin whispered after he had dried off and dressed himself. He kissed Lucien sweetly on the lips one last time before he winnowed back to the manor. Slowly, Lucien dragged himself into his own clothing. He made his way to the nearby meadow. In his office, Tamlin would be reading the spell in the Lethe that would erase all of this. Lucien laid back in the grass, the sweet smell of wildflowers and the chirp of the crickets lulling him into a peace he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He sat up with a start. Somehow, he had managed to doze off outside. Lucien had come out to the meadow to think. Tamlin’s flirtation with the human had been pathetic, and Lucien took it upon himself to strategize and figure out how to get her to fall in love with him. He stood up and brushed off his pants, allowing a small glimmer of hope to wiggle its way through. They finally had a chance to break the curse, and to free his friend from Amarantha’s claws. Things were looking up.

[girl4music]

DOC: “You had no right!”

WYNONNA: “I did what was right!”

DOC: “Right woulda been shooting that thing and us running for it.”

WYNONNA: “He wasn’t always a thing, Doc. And if I’m gonna keep killing them and not go crazy, I need more than revenge…”

DOC: “Goddammit, Wynonna! They’re bad people.”

WYNONNA: “So I just ignore they’re people at all?”

DOC: “I spent over 100 years in the dark, at the bottom of a dried-up old well. Do you know what thought I turned over and over in my head? What I lived on? The sheer knowledge that I would pay back the bitch that made me what I am. This monster.”

WYNONNA: “You’re not a monster.”

DOC: “But a lesser man than Fish. I saw her today. At least I think I did. And she… her power… I couldn’t.”

WYNONNA: “That’s why you stayed. Not to help us.”

DOC: “I staked that man out there. I knew what would happen to him and I staked him still. Even worse, I would stake every revenant in this world and most of the humans too if that’s what it takes to destroy Constance Clootie.”

WYNONNA: “Well, I need rules, Doc. A code. Otherwise I’ll end up just like you.”

DOC: “Oh, stop kidding yourself, Wynonna. You’re exactly like me.”

This whole conversation. Damn it’s deep. It’s probably one of my favourite character interactions in the entire show. And the fact that this is the interaction between Wynonna and Doc that makes them kiss and fuck for the first time. Oh,… it’s all so good and so well done!

There’s some very good writing in this show that really justifies the motivations and choices and actions of the characters. It’s like soap opera levels of drama but it’s like it gives you higher stakes and consequences.

That’s another reason why I love supernatural/fantasy so much. Because the melodrama just hits differently.

Here the attraction and desire between Wynonna and Doc is amped up because they’ve admitted they’re just like each other. They both have deep jagged edges that cut and saw and the pain is mutual.

Unhealthy, sure. But it is a way of finding a deeper connection beyond that attraction and desire and so it fuels the heat they feel for each other in the moment. You know, that sudden recognition of “You’re dark - just like me”, “You’re in pain - just like me”, “You’re lost - just like me”, “You’re an outsider - just like me.”

They’re very Spuffy-like actually. Except Buffy would have never offered Spike this much faith when he was soulless. And Wynonna and Doc are not exactly enemies-to-lovers but they have the same passionate but rocky rollercoaster of a journey to navigate through and overcome based on the type of people they are. And they’re virtually mirror reflections of each other. Anti-matter equivalents. That push-and-pullness to them where they’re so toxic to each other they shouldn’t be good for each other. But that’s exactly what makes them work. The fact that they shouldn’t because they’re naturally opposed. Now Doc was always supposed to be on the same side but due to the brutality and cruelty he was dealt by Bulshar and Constance, and the rejection by Wyatt, it made sense that he chose to stand on the other side initially but then grew to love his crazy found family once again. They always were meant to stand together as heroes rather than against each other as enemies.

And how you know that’s 100% true is because they do a 180 at the end of the show and it really hits because by that point it was Wynonna that was shut off and shut down to the power of love and forgiveness. That was driven by vengeance and violence and that had to open her heart to Doc.

I’m so SO glad Andras chose to play it that way. To have her chase after him instead of the other way around even if that does seem like she’s desperate. Because she had already proven that her vulnerability didn’t outweigh her power or make it seem less than. If anything - it did the opposite. Made her even more. And I loved that so much. I really fucking loved that!

She’s always been the black sheep of society and of her family. So has he. And that’s why they worked. Something that you would think would not work at all because it’s contradictory is what makes those jagged little pieces not only fit - but also function together. When you find that deeper connection - as mad or bizarre as it might be - it’s still a deeper connection and it will still tell a deep and beautiful TV love story.

[ae-neon]

What Should Nesta Have Done? (Cabin Years Ramble)

Edited

okay this came about as a response to THIS post (I don't want to invalidate the take, this is just my opinion which is informed by my own bias)

Edit: The original post is gone but it was about being understanding of why Feyre wouldn't paint Nesta and used book1 moments to show Nesta being "abusive"

I don't think Feyre owes Nesta a painting but I think it's weird to act like that was a logical or natural conclusion when at the end of every book in the trilogy the sisters - specifically Nesta and Feyre - would make up and reconcile only for sjm to have Feyre act like that never happened in the next one

So

In response to OP's excerpts, I said

Literally in the last two excerpts 1) Nesta is making sure Feyre doesn't get robbed by the mercenaries, which she explains and 2) goes out to chop wood AGAIN, without being asked to

You know who did nothing and was asked nothing by Feyre? Elain. Feyre also only ever favoured Elain in that way and then never really held her accountable or even pressed the issue of Rhys forgiving Elain but not Nesta because "NeStA iS iLLyRiAn"

Feyre and Nesta are two sides of the same coin, something Feyre acknowledges in the first few chapters. Feyre does good but her thoughts can be brutal and selfish - she wishes her family would die, she says it's okay her mother died because they have one less mouth to feed, she thinks Andras might be a Fae and kills him thinking "good riddance"

And that's fine, it's understandablr, that's just who she is, that's how she deals with everything

Nesta just says all of it out loud.

The acotar slut shaming comment was in defense of her relationship with Tomas. She goes to chop wood twice, even if she complains about doing it. She stands up to the CoTB because of what the Fae did to the humans. Nesta doesn't trust the mercenaries but tries to or does hire one and takes a two day journey to the wall to try bring Feyre back. She resists a HL's glamour because she thinks what happened to Feyre was not right. She also tries to make up when Feyre returns.

Feyre dislikes her whole family except maybe Elain but even then it's not like she's overly fond of her. That's just how they were. But they were family and they obviously loved each other.

Until sjm overplayed the cruel step sisters trope to try make Feyre's trauma backstory comparable to the IC's when she abandoned that Feyre's humanity was what made her special.

@wolfnesta had a great response to the initial post: HERE

I see a lot of "I acknowledge what Nesta did" vs "Nesta bears no responsibility" stuff these days and I get how fans can find themselves on either side.

But I think it's important to acknowledge an important factor in this : sjm is a bad author.

This might be an uncomfortable statement for some because after all; SJM wrote these books and many fans are readers of all three of her series

She obviously has all of us so wrapped up in these worlds, right? So she can't be a bad author, right?

Well, no. She is a bad author.

She is inconsistent, lazy with her world building and character development. [She has also been called out for plagiarism, racism, sexism, portraying toxic behaviour as good and romanticizing abusive tendencies.]

Genuinely problematic stuff aside, I wouldn't care as much about these bad elements if all the books were adult fantasies (Yes i know she was forced to publish under YA initially, but she should have taken that into account and changed the material to reflect that. That's her responsibility as an adult writing for teens.)

ANYWAYS ALL THAT TO FINALLY GET TO THE POINT OF THIS POST (SORRY)

If SJM had been a better author, her initial book (or at least her retconning, which she loves to do) would have included acknowledging Elain and Nesta as fully fleshed out characters and reflecting that they did take part in life in the Cabin from cooking to cleaning.

If there can be a second daemati??? and whole scenes revisited and blatantly contradicted for Rhysand's sake - then Nesta could have been in charge of domestic labour, Elain could have been Papa A's primary caretaker and planted herbs and veg alongside her flowers. Because they would not have survived even 3 years off Feyre's hunting alone, let's not be fooled.

But SJM is a bad author.

She could have humanised the characters who are supposed to be special specifically for their humanity by : letting the narrative acknowledge Feyre's sometimes selfish pov, give Nesta the credit she deserves for doing her part even if she complained about doing it.

And letting Elain be an active person outside of (BOTH) her sisters coddling her. Because remember its Feyre who doesn't even ask Elain to do anything because she thinks Elain has no real brain activity but expects it of Nesta and their disabled father. Feyre also only protects and coddles Elain.

Instead, Feyre must be fully fae-iffied, complete with doubling down on the no nuance trauma porn backstory where she starts hunting at 14 years old? no I mean 11 years old? Well actually she was only 8 when her delirious dying mother passed sole responsibility of the family to her. And somehow Feyre immediately became the only human in a house full of NPCs.

So in answer to the title - what should Nesta have done? Nothing.

You either accept what Sarah Says and acknowledge Nesta and Elain were npc evil step sister archetypes and credit them for their development. (Which gives us no real reason Feyre painted Elain but not Nesta.)

OR you break the Sarah Says rule and think of them as 3D characters and acknowledge Feyre's bias towards her own struggle neglects to take into account her sister's contributions (which again kinda makes Feyre the asshole for painting Elain but not Nesta)

[luckyshotwrites]

Ch. 100 // You're Getting My Help, Dumbass // Day Off

Contents (Warnings): Three (Angst, slight blood warning, hard vore mentions, character and monster info as always). Read full chapter on A03

Wordcount: 2,400+

Song I correlate to this Chapter: Again like far too many!

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

Wicks

Throbbing with adrenaline, his mind raced. Millions of thoughts bucked in his skull.

They needed more information on Andras. He used elemental magic the most. Wicks wasn't supposed to worry about curse magic with him. Naturally, Andras could have learned, but overtaking Wicks usually took more effort than the average training magus could expel. 

Not that it mattered—Wicks's head wanted to find a way out. 

How would anyone know?

There wasn't one. Wicks messed up, and now his family would pay for him. The loathsome, heartbreaking reality that Andras would play pretend asWicks made him wish he never existed. He didn't want Andras to talk or touch any of them, yet he would. Any of them could be another of his sick targets, overwhelmed and devoured by Andras using Wicks as a disguise.

Everyone, I'm sorry.

Andras's oscillating inner flesh rubbed against his body, siphoning his energy quickly with its saliva. However, the teeth that pricked his back never closed. Something prevented it from doing so. 

Wicks, bound by Andras's orders, could not move to see what was behind him. 

The fleshy walls retracted immediately, and Andras issued his following command. "Kill him, please, Diageo."

Wicks assumed the mimic pulled back to watch, because he looked far more entertained than worried. It's not Garter.

Garter had his third eye, which perfectly combatted the curse magic controlling Wicks.

Against his will, Wicks twisted on his heels and gazed at the person who had temporarily saved him.

It was the one he considered an enemy. 

Run Away. 

Every part of his body tensed with energy and magic. Wicks didn't want to end someone without it being his choice. Not even him. 

Please, you idiot-

Wicks's hue fumed as their need to end the blonde intensified. They locked on, keenly observing every part of him. 

RUN.

...

Alexander

His sight was useless so he solely focused on their scents and energy. He found one person along the way. Barely breathing, bleeding, a flickering flame of energy. He healed them, though he couldn't stay, and told them he'd be back. 

Mainly because it sounded like the building would collapse under the chaos further ahead of her didn't try to stop it. 

He knew one was Wicks, the smaller blob ahead of him at the far end of the room. There was a flurry of colors trailing Wicks head like Drake earlier.

The other thing with Wicks lacked a scent. They only had energy. 

Based on his experiences, the only species he met without scents were mimics. 

He used the band of magic he saw to determine where to place his barrier. He threw one up, since he couldn't human case whatever was in front of Wicks properly without his sight. Whatever it was collided with it and backed off from Wicks.

Alexander strapped a cloak to his body as he shot straight at Wicks. He would have used 'blink' if he could guarantee he'd end up where he needed to be to undo that band on Wicks head.

That's curse magic. He's under that things control.

Alexander's hair stood up and his instincts strangled every muscles in his body.

Wicks is facing me, isn't he?

The alarming concentration of spells Wicks conjured called his attention. His fist. Alexander swiftly slid his hand across the air in front of him. A barrier struck Wicks's wrist and redirected his punch away, stealing its momentum. 

Due to his assault, Alexander shifted gears, creating a balustrade in a rush instead of a wall on Wicks's side. He flung himself at it and kicked off to reach Wicks's head. 

Wicks threw his arm through the barrier beam Alexander used prior. He broke it, and right before the blonde's fingers could touch Wicks's head, Wicks yanked his head to his right shoulder, and turned his motion to slam his curled hand into Alexander's gut.

Alexander lurched, his body pulled inward by its force, knocking every bit of air out of his lungs in a sputter. His cloak had long shattered, so he took the rest of its force with his wendigo durability—not that it could beat Wicks.

It sent him upward, and Wicks's barely recognizable blur was gone. His energy swirled behind the half wendigo, and Alexander cloaked his body and tilted his palm behind him to conjure a barrier in futile protection. 

It didn't matter, as Wicks appeared behind him, spinning in the air, sent the back of his heel into his target. It snapped the barrier, burst his cloak, and the weight sunk deep into the lower back part of Alexander's neck. 

It sent him down to the floor without the time to catch himself. His body, used like a cannonball, shattered the foundation. Every muscle twitch hurt, his ears rang, and he couldn't feel his face just taste the blood.

Get up. 

He barely willed his hand to lift and wave to his side. He created a barrier under himself, causing it to slam into and push him out of the recess—seconds before Wicks bashed into it from above. 

The strength rippled and caused the interior to shake. Alexander used reversal magic, rapidly healing himself as Wicks got up from the ground where Alexander's head once was. 

Once his legs listened, he forced himself to stand. Alexander lowered his body like a wrestler. I fucking can't dodge him. He's too fast. 

The dangerously powerful magus sprang up and ran, then closed the distance instantly, aiming right for Alexander's skull. He has no reprieve, every single shot was to kill him. 

Unlike the half wendigo, Wicks had no problem using things like 'blink' to cover the distance.

Alexander was far too weak, unskilled, and stupidly refused to do anything that could possibly hurt Wicks. 

Alexander tilted his head, his eyes focused the best they could be behind Wicks, and his already up arms moved higher. He used his left one to block the up-and-coming blow while the other hand tried to touch Wicks's head. 

The danger's fist pulverized his flesh, muscle, and bone in its way. Alexander's arm stood no chance against a full-powered attack. 

And as soon as his fingers grazed the bind, he yelled out in sharp pain. "DISRUPT." 

Right before his head was next to go, he used 'blink' to teleport behind Wicks. His body panged in inescapable agony. His left forearm was eradicated, blood pouring from what was left, and a scalding sensation ran across his head. He couldn't see past the blood in his left eye. 

He fell to his knees, huddled over, and attempted to quickly fix what he could. 

...

Wicks

He heaved. The air that entered him was his again. His distraught sight threw itself back, catching Alexander and the blood pittering from him. Wicks could even feel some of it on his face. 

Alexander's scalp was partially exposed on one side, and his left forearm and hand were completely gone.  

But he was alive. 

He risked his life to undo it.

Wicks's chest compressed. He hated Alexander, and still...the idiot went out of his way to help him. He has no obligation to me.

The enemy didn't let either of them rest.

Alexander worked on repairing himself and Andras took advantage. He held it back his right arm like a fishing pole and pitched it out at Alexander. It split into a string of squelching bloodless flesh. Its teeth wrapped around Alexander's neck and arm that stopped his strangulation.

"This is so sad. I had been wanting short fuse for a while now," Andras's stare fell to Wicks. "But I'll gladly settle for a better prey like you." 

"Got a big one!"  Then Andras whipped his arm and Alexander back into the wall. His arms flesh returned to normal after.

His energy was halved by Andras, who remained full and spry. 

Even so, the pissed-off Hispanic shot at Andras. 

"You want another hug so soon!" Andras yelled as Wicks's body collided with him. Wicks could feel the teeth underneath trying to penetrate his cloak, and the saliva from its mouth dampened it as it took energy.

Wicks got him into the wall, too, but risked Andras's body opening up to consume him again. 

He drains just as fast as I would by touch with his saliva.

He popped his cloak, and Andras dove in. At no point during this fight had Andras been on the offensive. He'd always strike after Wicks. 

Andras hunched and threw his hand out to grab him. Wicks hurled his to counter it. But Andras split his arm down the middle. Each end was serrated with fangs. They curled around Wicks's midsection. He put up another cloak just as Andras threw his head down and wide open, engulfing Wicks's head inside. The feeling of being inside the villain's mouth was kept back by his protection. 

Andras jaw snapped shut to break his cloak. He couldn't. 

¡vete a la mierda! You're not eating me! Wicks went to strike at Andras's abdomen, and instead, it opened up. So he hit into its surprisingly resistant gooey and energy-dampening insides. It was still a powerful hit, rippling Andras's body, but it didn't stop him from trying to consume Wicks.

He soon let go and reduced his size. Wicks saw a size-shifted Alexander over him. It seemed he went to grab and pull Andras's head back. Andras quickly ducked between Alexander's legs and got behind him. 

"Such wasted potential, short fuse, you've had years." Andras's arms latched into Alexander's skin. He didn't break it but ran the electrical currents up it. It made Alexander's body convulse, and the sharp teeth injected from his arms and into Alexanders legs. 

Wicks didn't let it go on when he captured his senses. He went straight between Alexander's legs, too, and ducked low. Andras's abdomen opened up in response, taking the punch. It still sent him back.

Wicks shook off his fist, burst the cloak, and redid it. 

He glanced back at Alexander, who smoked but healed himself relatively fast. 

"I'm sorry," Wicks said, catching his breath. 

Alexander shifted his eyes and dropped down to his resting height. "focus on the fight, not me, dumbass." He exhaled snappy, short breaths, "I'll live."

Andras threw himself at them again. Wicks retaliated, colliding with him. And with his free hand, Andras flicked a finger up, and the spiraling pillar of a barrier rammed its point into Wicks's body. 

"Barriers rely so much on sight. I'm surprised you can even do them with your pitiful eyes." Andras made more of them spring up, then surround and crush Alexander between them. 

Wicks shattered the spike before it sent him to the ceiling. 

Andras laughed as Wicks directed himself down, dropping his 'gravity' using gyro-telekinesis. "Much like Wicks-" Andras's hands sparked with their blue electricity before he threw the blast into one of the barriers instead. 

He used 'blink' to appear behind Wicks in mid-air.

"Focus's too much."

Wicks altered his 'gravity' for a second time, spinning his momentum to strike Andras's ribs with a roundhouse kick. At the same time, the lightning he threw earlier curved off the spike and hit Wicks's back and sent him toward another spiked pillar. His cloak was on the verge of breaking. 

Wicks landed on one of the points that resembled a bamboo shoot and pushed off it. It snapped under him as he launched like a peregrine falcon after its prey. He always aimed for the head. Andras, from the ground, split his apart, and his hands twisted around the arm Wick's failed to connect.

He brought Wicks into his, raised his feet in a drop kick from the ground, and enhanced them like Wicks. Andras struck his torso so hard that the left side of his body spun out, and his right arm loudly popped as Andras dislocated it from his shoulder.

He swung him down by it. 

Only a few individuals, besides his dad, could throw back as hard as Wicks could. So it reminded him how weak a magus was without powerful cloaks and how his lungs slowly filled with blood. 

Wicks scrambled to gather himself and his collapsed chest. Andras tried to take the opportunity to steal another chunk out of Wicks, but Alexander locked his human case again and made a barrier slam into his jaw from the ground. 

Andras snapped through it, the barrier turning to dust in his mouth. He glanced back, not expecting Alexander to have gotten so close.

Arguably weaker, he still delivered a blow directly into Andras's spine. The mimic's chest raised forward. And Wicks lifted his left hand and shot out a basic force blast. 

It sent the mimic spiraling the other way toward where the entrance used to be. 

Alexander dropped down and assessed Wicks.

"You should-" Alexander used reversal magic to speed up the process. 

"Save your magic." Wicks groaned as he sat up. "He's almost dead."

Alexander groaned weakly. "Whatever. Listen..." He squinted in the direction Andras was. "He's using our magic every time he takes a part of us." he held his arm to Wicks. "And since you're the only one capable of killing him, take my energy since you're more drained than I am."

Wicks pushed his arm away, "no-"

"Odds are if it's left to me, I'm not winning, and if he eats your ass, there's nothing any of us can really do." Alexander threw his arm back in Wicks's face, "so take it." 

"ARGH," Wicks grabbed Alexander's forearm. "Distance yourself after this." He carefully took it. There wasn't much between them, but he still left Alexander with enough to do one final thing. 

"I need him to stand still, get him stuck there, and I can kill him." 

He had to end this; they'd both be Andras's meals if he didn't. 

Alexander listened and did what he could. He manipulated the barriers like hands and trapped Andras between them. The daze Andras had lasted less time than Wicks wanted.

Wicks tried to read his mind and distract Andras, and the mimic freely let him. So, Wicks intercepted his thoughts, feelings, and memories. Wicks realized Andras won.

He underestimated Andras's priorities. The psycho focused on releasing his human case. Thus, he opened it before Wicks, begging him to strike the form and become one with it. 

But then, his form unexpectedly shifted back, someone human cased him again. Though he felt it wasn't Alexander. 

Andras's surprise and utter shock said it all, and Wicks could feel his final moments.

The real Andras didn't know what he fought. Mimics were so rare, so far in few. They're generally killed as soon as they're found. They could be anyone; they'd kill them, get their memories and powers, and be able to integrate themselves into anyone's life.  Andras was unlucky. A desperate mimic attacked him without a chance, and he ultimately lost to it. However, his will overtook the mimic. "I hope you burn!" Andras shouted as the mimic encapsulated everything that was him. It adopted every aspect of Andras while keeping its base tendencies. Thus, it never reverted to a complete mimic, which is why instead of being scared.

It smiled at its bitter end as Wicks's fist went through its head. 

...

Hey, you, thank you so much for reading. I'm glad I put out a story that people can enjoy! I hope you continue to enjoy it as WE have a LOT more to go! YOU BETTER KEEP PROSPERING! (Nonnegotiable, as always~).

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What I’d do for a Livable Income Part 2 (Synopsis/Chapter - List)

[achaotichuman]

Hiii! Hope everything is fine and that your day/night is going well! I'm just in my Andras feels and now I really understand why I never 100% loved Feylin or Feyre in the first book (even though I loved it and I still love it) and the reason is... Andras. Not only because Feyre killed him (knowing/feeling he was a Fae) but for what she did after and... idk, I have this hc that if they had to break-up it wouldn't be because of Tamlin's character assasination (never forget, never forgiving) but because love couldn't heal the scars/the pain. After these deeply traumatic events (for both) after 50 years of pain and sacrifices, now that they're free from Amarantha... they breathe and see what it has been done. Everytime Tamlin holds Feyre hand, will he think about how she holded a knife to skin his friend? How she drowe one in his heart? She died for him, she did, he loves her, she loves him... but everytime they both look at each other it feels like a burning lash that never heals. If they kiss, do they taste the ashes of their love burning them? A gnawing pain in their stomach, the burn of holding each other eyes, trying not to flinch away? Trying to hold on the love that hurt? Idk, I would've loved so much the angst of the end, if done like: we love each other so much that I would die/kill for you, that bond that can break a curse, but that isn't enough to heal, because we keep burning an putting salt in our wounds, where they both began their journey to heal and rediscover themself. Maybe even how to love again without all the hurt. Alas, this is my Angsty hc andddd, sorry for my rambling! I hope it didn't bother you too much! Anyway, I love Andras, we knew him for one minute, but it was enough for me to love him (and for me to never actually forgive Feyre -bc she never does think about him twice- and truly like/like feylin -bc aaaaa, Andras and TamTam and Lucien trio deserves better and asxtcf) because he Deserved better and was a good friend and Fae and ok, now I will stop babbling away lol Sorry again!

No need to apologize, I love rants, headcanons, all the like! My inbox is always open for them!

I totally agree with you, I didn't like Feyre either more so towards the end of Acotar and the start of Acomaf because at that point she hadn't given Andras a single thought. A main point of her trauma is Acomaf was that she had two stab two fae, but she never cared or mentioned the first life she took that led her to Prythian in the first place. Andras should be recognized as a war hero for the sacrifice he made, but Feyre does not care in the slightest about him.

It's also why I hate one specific line of her thinking, in Acomaf when Lucien comes to take her back, she states "Something had festered in the training at the Spring Court" (that line is paraphrased) pretty much stating all training in Spring was terrible and created monsters out of men.

This to me solidifies that Feyre has entirely forgotten- or admantly does not care for Andras. The man (and the men before him) that willingly put their lives down for Prythian's sake to her are the result of 'festered training'.

I can't feel any form of pity for Feyre because she doesn't give a single fuck about the lives she takes unless it gives her sympathy points.

I like the idea that Feyre and Tamlin's relationship should have ended because despite the fact both would go to the ends of the world for the other. Tamlin is holding on to the life she took, the blood that stains their hands. They can save each other, but they can't heal each other. The angst is *chefs kiss* delicious.

But as it is in canon, I can't respect Feyre for what she's done. By Acomaf she's become a person who extends no empathy to those who don't benefit her.

Anyway, loved this rant and headcanon. Send any my way that you think of!

[rosanna-writer]

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

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

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

Feyre goes Under the Mountain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I headed south for the caves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"One each month, at the full moon."

"And in the meantime?"

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

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

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

For Rhys, I'd do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[samhatch]

ACOMAF Readthrough and First Impressions - Part 1!

Let's start with how I felt about the first book: ACOTAR

My general impressions of the first book were that it was alright. I really liked the world building, I love Prythian and the Spring Court, and I want to learn about the other courts. I love the characters, especially Lucien (big surprise) and Amarantha was an alright villain. I feel like she could have been foreshadowed a little more, and the trials made absolutely no sense to me (like, Amarantha already won. What benefit would she have gained from letting Feyre complete the trials? Bad deal, a fae would never.) But otherwise, the ending of Feyre becoming high-fae was satisfying.

My biggest complaint about ACOTAR was that Feyre never accomplished anything on her own. Everything she did was either greatly assisted by another character (Lucien helping her find the suriel, Tamlin getting her away from the puca) or just outright handed to her (Rhys in all the trials basically, and Lady Autumn with the clean up). Like, what is something Feyre does that is accomplished by her alone? Killing Andras, that's pretty much it.

ANYWAY, clearly I liked the book enough to want to keep reading though, so I won't bash SJM too much. If it was really so terrible, I wouldn't keep reading it lol! Again, the world is just so interesting, and I LOVE the Cauldron religion. What is that all about? I really want to know.

I just read through Chapter 5 of ACOMAF, so I'll start cataloguing my first impressions as I go through the book as a first time reader! I hope you find that interesting. I have a lot of thoughts!

[shallyne]

Feyzrielweek Day 4: Spying

Not a fish, just a Mermaid

Spyiiiing. Might be a little cracky but who cares

TW: none

Azriel drags Feyre on a little mission

Feyre tugged the hood of her coat on, leaning against the tree. "Why do we have to spy on Cassian?" she whispered. It was cold, she was freezing and hungry. The last time she had to wait in a forest, freezing, it was when she had killed Andras. That was years ago now. It was great spending time with Azriel but they could have done something warmer.

"He's acting weird." Azriel answered, not even looking at Feyre. She could have asked for specifics but it was Azriel and it would have been a waste of time, he wouldn't answer if he didn't want to. So she kept a remark about Cassian being more or less always weird to herself.

"What do you expect to find here?" she asked instead. Hoping she would get the answers out this way.

"Answers." he replied. Eyes on the tavern in front of them. Feyre nodded, sighing. "Alright."

A few moments went by where they just sat in silence, watching the tavern. Feyre was glad that there was atleast music coming from the tavern, some band playing in there. She was used to sitting and waiting for hours. She did it for five years, she did it two times in Prythian, trapping the Suriel but she had to admit that Azriel was making her kinda nervous. "And what do you want me to do?"

"If he's not out an half an hour you need to shapeshift." Azriel said.

Feyre nodded again, continuing to watch the Tavern. They went silent once more until Feyre said "I won't shapeshift into a fish."

"What?" Azriel asked, looking at her. "Why would you need to shapeshift into a fish to sneak into a tavern?"

Feyre shrugged. "I don't know, you're not telling me anything."

Azriel sighed and went back to watching the tavern. "What is your problem with fishes?"

"I just don't like them." Feyre said. "They look so arrogant wiggling their fins."

"You mean swimming?" Azriel asked.

"Whatever." Feyre said. "They are arrogant and glibbery and stupid. Who would bite into a hook? I'd shapeshift into a mermaid, though."

"Wouldn't that be half fish?" Azriel asked.

Feyre chuckled. "Yes but half not fully fish."

"Mermaids don't exist, though. Just in made up stories." Azriel replied. She would have almost thought he was annoyed if Feyre didn't see the corner of his mouth tugging up.

"You think that." Feyre said. "I didn't know giant wyrms existed until I got chased by one. Or Bryaxis. Oh, I miss Bryaxis. Do you think he's alright?"

Azriel snorted. "He's fine. Probably scaring some poor Fae."

Feyre laughed, cuddling closer into her coat. They watched th tavern again for a moment until Feyre broke the silence again. "You know, just between family, between us two, do you have a thing for Cassian?"

"A thing?" he asked.

"Romantically." Feyre said.

Azriel leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "No, I am not in love with Cassian."

"Alright." Feyre said. A moment of quiet before she asked "Why not?"

"What do you mean, why not?" he asked.

"He's so nice." Feyre said. "He has a great personality and he looks fine. You can't tell me you never checked him out during training, when the sweat made his muscles gleam and he was panting and his hair was falling into his face."

"Did you?" Azriel asked.

"Yes, sometimes." Feyre admitted. "Don't look so scared, Rhys knows that."

"Feyre." Azriel sighed. "Are you drunk?"

"A little tipsy." she confessed. "I didn't know you wanted to drag me on a spying mission."

"And you couldn't have told me sooner?" he asked.

"What about your shadows?" Feyre asked. "And I thought you knew, I had a glass in my hand when you asked me."

"Cauldron." he murmured. "Let's go home before Cassian catches us."

"Too late, he's watching us." Feyre said. He did, he had spotted them a few moments ago and now waited. She waved at Cassian.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she walked towards him.

Cassian rubbed his hands against the cold. "I asked the musicians to play something for...a present. What are you doing here?"

"Azriel and I wanted to go out, drinking something." Feyre said. "We just decided that we'd rather do it at home than at some dusty tavern. Do you want to join us?"

"Absolutely." Cassian said. Feyre linked her arm with his and grinned. When she met Azriels stare he gave her a grateful nod.

As if she'd give away the spymasters real reason why he's here when it was out of concern for his brother. Feyre held out her other arm out to link with Azriels arm. When they did she giggled. "Let's go get drunk!" she said. Cassian loudly agreed as Azriel sighed.

[saltirebookreviews]

Book: A Court of Thorns and Roses (ACOTAR)

Author: Sarah J. Maas

Series: ACOTAR, book one

Book Length: 440 Pages

Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

Overall Rating: 5/5 Stars

Blog Rating: 5/5 Saltire Flags

(THIS BOOK DESERVES BAZILLION STARS & FLAGS)

When nineteen-year-old huntress Feyre Archeron kills a wolf with an ash arrow suspecting it might be a fae due to its enormous size in the mortal forest. This fae wolf was about to eat her deer that she had been salivating for imagining the smell, taste and feast once being cooked. She had been hunting this deernand she desperately needed it to feed her family so they could survive the winter. Furthermore this was a rare find and they were nearly starving to death as it was and barely surviving! Therefore she killed the wolf and skinned both animals and sold their skins on market day in the nearby village.

Not long after market day an enormous terrifying fairy creature barges into her family’s home on the mortal lands demanding vengeance for killing his friend Andras who was another shape shifter! Her invalid father and two sisters were absolutely terrified when this beast demanded who the killer was which she admitted not wanting any of her family harmed for her decision. It was a life for a life, but this terrifying beast gave Feyre an unexpected choice- she could live in the magical world of Prythian for the rest of her life where she could live among the fae whom she was taught to hate always hearing horrific stories her entire life or she be executed in front of her family which would destroy them!

Feyre chose to live among the hated fairies in Prythian for the rest of her life. She would never see her family again, but hopes one day she would discover a way to escape and find her way back to her family in the mortal lands. Furthermore she knew it wouldn't be easy being a human living among the fairies who she was taught to hate her entire life.hated mortals for the rest of her life in Prythian. However, what choice did she have? It was that or being slaughtered right in front of her family which would have been so cruel, damaging and heartless where that kind of memory could seriously mentally damage them forever. It was as if this beast had ulterior motives knowing what Feyre would pick. She feels guilty as now she could no longer fulfill her mothers dying wish, where she had promised to take care of her family. This was the reason she was the one who learned to hunt and being her family's primary caretaker even though she was the youngest sibling. Basically this beast was abducting her to his home to the land of fae the magical fairyland where she would never see her family ever again!.

Feyre soon discovers that her captor is not truly the beast she thought he was, but a handsome fae/fairy shape shifter, but one of the lethal, immortal faeries who once ruled her world. She sees all the people in his castle have these masks but they can’t be removed due to a curse.She can also feel their hatred and is surprised they are told to treat her kindly. Unknown to Feyre but she is the only person who can possibly break this curse. She learns this shape-shifting fairy's name is Tamlin, who looks to be in his early twenties and is actually five hundred years old! He is strikingly handsome with beautiful green eyes and a warrior's body that would make any woman swoon! Even with the jeweled masks she can still see his beauty and eventually starts to see his kindness which is all very confusing to Feyre!

If you know the story of the Beauty and the Beast fairytale you will see many similarities to this story, except this is definitely an adult version and not for children in any way! Can Feyre get past all the fabrications she was told about fairies her entire life or will she make up her mind on her own? Also there is a deadline if this curse is not lifted and broken soon, Tamlin and his people will live in these masks for all eternity! Therefore these are the terms the evil Fairy High Queen of Pythian Amarantha created. All due to her hatred of humans and not accepting Tamlin’s rejection. Feyre is the only person who can break it. Will it be too little too late? Read and find out what Feyre and Tamlin’s fate will be.

This is a rare, riveting, magnificent, unforgettable romantasy novel that just absolutely blew me away! It was absolutely exhilarating and one of the best books I have ever read! Fall in love with the magical world of Prythian. I also love that this Prythian map is very similar to the United Kingdom map which I absolutely love. The author is so creative and definitely thinks outside the box. Maas is a phenomenal storyteller it is no wonder she has captured millions of reader’s hearts all over the world! . A book I will definitely be re-reading again. I can’t recommend this book enough!

A Court of Thorns and Roses

ACOTAR book is 1 440 pages

A Court of Mist and Fury

ACOMAF book 2. 640 page

A court of Wings and Ruin

ACOWAR book 3 721 pages

A Court of Frost and Starlight

ACOFAS book 4 263

A Court of Silver Flames book 5

ACOSF book 5 768 pages

[kingandfireheart]

Lucien Vanserra Sass Appreciation Post

For more serious Lucien content see my other posts:

What the fuck is happening in the Autumn Court series Part 1 (Eris) and Part 2 (Lady of the Autumn Court)

What stories are left: Lucien

When Lucien introduces himself:

"Lucien," my captor said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. "Behave."

Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. "My apologies, lady." Another joke at my expense. "I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary." He gestured to me with a flourish. "Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."

When Lucien is intrigued by Feyre:

"Well," Lucien said, his remaining russet eye fixed on me, "you don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress."

When Lucien wants to know if Feyre thinks he's hot:

"Thank you for the meal," I said. It was all I could think of. "Won't you stay for wine?" Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat. I braced my hands on my chair to rise. "I'm tired. I'd like to sleep." "It's been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at." At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it. "You're High Fae," I said tightly. "I'd ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all-or dining with me." Fool-I really should have been killed ten times over already. Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"-he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-"surely we're not so miserable to look at."

When Feyre leaves their first dinner together:

He gave a distant nod and motioned for me to leave. Dismissed. Like the lowly human I was. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave me a lazy half smile. Enough. I got to my feet and backed toward the door. Putting my back to them would have been like walking away from a wolf, sparing my life or no. They said nothing when I slipped out the door. A moment later, Lucien's barking laugh echoed into the halls, followed by a sharp, vicious growl that shut him up.

When Lucien notices Feyre checking him out:

Lucien paused, and I found him smirking at me, making the scar even more brutal. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Feyre?"

When Lucien is a sarcastic motherfucker:

“So is this what you do with your lives? Spare humans from the Treaty and have fine meals?” I gave a pointed glance toward Tamlin’s baldric, the warrior’s clothes, Lucien’s sword. Lucien smirked. “We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings–”

When Lucien describes Amaratha perfectly:

"What happened to the magic to make it act that way?" Lucien let out a harsh laugh. "Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell," he said, then glanced around and swore. "I shouldn't have said that. If word got back to her-"

When they run into the Boggee:

"I heard its voice in my head. It told me to look." Lucien rolled his shoulders. "Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn't. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day." He gave me a wan smile. I didn't return it.

When he gives Feyre a title:

"Are you a warrior, though?" Would you be able to kill me if it ever came to that? Lucien huffed a laugh. "Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons." He patted the hilt of his sword. "Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

When Lucien just needs someone to spar with:

“Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?" "Do you ever stop being such a prick?" I snapped back. Dead—really, truly, I should have been dead for that. But Lucien grinned at me. "Much better.

When Lucien and Feyre spend quality time together:

Over the next three days, I found myself joining Lucien on Andras's old patrol while Tamlin hunted the grounds for the Bogge, unseen by us. Despite being an occasional bastard, Lucien didn't seem to mind my company, and he did most of the talking, which was fine; it left me to brood over the consequences of firing a single arrow. An arrow. I never fired a single one during those three days we rode along the border. That very morning I'd spied a red doe in a glen and aimed out of instinct, my arrow poised to fly right into her eye as Lucien sneered that she was not a faerie, at least. But I'd stared at her-fat and healthy and content-and then slackened the bow, replaced the arrow in my quiver, and let the doe wander on.

When Lucien diagnoses Faerie problems perfectly:

A brush of ice slithered across my nape. "He would be that brutal?" Lucien studied the wine in his goblet. "You don't hold on to power by being everyone's friend. And among the faeries, lesser and High Fae alike, a firm hand is needed. We're too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else."

When Lucien is told to Back Off, so he exacts his revenge:

Lucien's russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn't meet it. The face of Tamlin's emissary-more court-trained and calculating than I'd seen him yet. "I'm unavailable today," he said. He jerked his chin to Tamlin. "He'll go with you." Tamlin shot his friend a look of disdain that he took few pains to hide. His usual baldric was armed with more knives than I'd seen before, and their ornate metal handles glinted as he turned to me, his shoulders tight. "Whenever you want to go, just say so." The claws of his free hand slipped back under his skin. No. I almost said it aloud as I turned pleading eyes to Lucien. Lucien merely patted my shoulder as he passed by. "Perhaps tomorrow, human."

When Lucien hides:

"I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border-official emissary business," he said, setting down the hunting knife he'd been cleaning, a long, vicious blade. "I got back in time to hear your little spat with Tam, and decided I was safer up here. I'm glad to hear your human heart has warmed to me, though. At least I'm not on the top of your killing list."

When Lucien and Feyre become friends after he tells her how to trap a Suriel:

Another riddle-and another bit of information. I said, "It's a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut." He snorted as I took the knife from the table and turned to procure the bow from my room. "I think I'm starting to like you-for a murdering human."

When Lucien is day drinking and living his best life:

“Would you like me to grovel with gratitude for bringing me here, High Lord?" "Ah. The Suriel told you nothing important, did it?" That smile of his sparked something bold in my chest. "He also said that you liked being brushed, and if I'm a clever girl, I might train you with treats." Tamlin tipped his head to the sky and roared with laughter. Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh. "I might die of surprise," Lucien said behind me. "You made a joke, Feyre." I turned to look at him with a cool smile. "You don't want to know what the Suriel said about you." I flicked my brows up, and Lucien lifted his hands in defeat. "I'd pay good money to hear what the Suriel thinks of Lucien," Tamlin said. A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle's contents and chuckling with a muttered, "Brushed.”

When Lucien is incredibly casual for a guy going to an orgy:

What?”

Lucien laughed. “Yes—all those female faeries around you were females for Tamlin to pick. It’s an honor to be chosen, but it’s his instincts that select her.”

“But you were there—and other male faeries.” My face burned so hot that I began sweating. That was why those three horrible faeries had been there—and they’d thought that just by my presence, I was happy to comply with their plans.

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.

When Lucien is the mom friend:

"You look . . . refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. "Sleep well?" "Like a babe." I smiled as him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck. "What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded. I pointed my fork to Tamlin. "Ask him, he did it." Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. "Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.

When Lucien loves drama:

"Accountable?" I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!" Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. "While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair. I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. "Faerie pig!" I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left.

When Lucien bolts:

“I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room, and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. But I knew they’d already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence, and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.

Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped, and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my usual place at the end of the table.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

When Feyre goes to a party:

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. "She looks positively Fae." ...

I squared my shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his words or voice or sheer well-being impacted me. Not yet. "I'm surprised I'm even allowed to participate tonight." "Unfortunately for you and your neck," Lucien countered, "tonight's just a party." "Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?" Lucien winked at me, and Tamlin laughed and offered me his arm. "He's right,"....

"So there's singing and dancing and excessive drinking," Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. "And dallying," he added with a wicked grin.

When Lucien plays a prank:

"I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself," I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I'd had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick-enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool...."

When Feyre gets drunk of Faerie Wine:

“Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”

“Always looking after your best interests,” I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass. It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.

“Human fool,” he hissed.

But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.

“I’m going to paint you,” I said, and giggled—actually giggled—as the words popped out.

"Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered, and I laughed again.”

When Lucien is hungover and third-wheeling:

Lucien kept rubbing at his temples as he ate, unusually silent, and I hid my smile as I asked him, “And where were you last night?” Lucien’s metal eye narrowed on me. “I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.” He gave me a sly grin. “Rumor has it you two didn’t come back until after dawn.” I glanced at Tamlin, biting my lip. I’d practically floated into my bedroom that morning. But Tamlin’s gaze now roved my face as if searching for any tinge of regret, of fear. Ridiculous. “You bit my neck on Fire Night,” I said under my breath. “If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing.” He braced his forearms on the table as he leaned closer to me. “Nothing?” His eyes flicked to my lips. Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him, but I ignored him. “Nothing,” I repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlin’s mouth move, so keenly aware of every movement he made, resenting the table between us. I could almost feel the warmth of his breath. “Are you sure?” he murmured, intent and hungry enough that I was glad I was sitting. He could have had me right there, on top of that table. I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said.”

When Lucien drops one of the best lines in the book:

"I see," I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him. "You've been noticeably absent again." He used the dagger to clean his nails. "I've been busy. So have you, I take it." "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?"

When Lucien doesn't know what is coming in the future:

Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of me. "Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm." "I'm not sure the human realm would know what to do with you," I said. Lucien's smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind me to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed. "I thought you were smarter than this."

When Lucien admires Feyre's attitude:

“Don’t you understand what Rhys is?” “I do!” I barked, then sighed. “I do,” I repeated, and glared at the eye in my palm. “It’s done with. So you needn’t hold to whatever oath you swore to Tamlin to protect me—or feel like you owe me anything for saving you from Amarantha. I would have done it just to wipe the smirk off your brothers’ faces.” Lucien clicked his tongue, but his remaining russet eye shone. “I’m glad to see you didn’t sell your lively human spirit or stubbornness to Rhys.”

When Lucien is a fashionista:

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

When game recognize game

“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.

I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.

But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.

Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.

Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

When Lucien is scared of Amren:

“I think Amren would probably deny that she feels any affection for us—”

“Amren is a bedtime story they told us as younglings to make us behave. Amren was who would drink my blood and carry me to hell if I acted out of line. And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

“We don’t—we don’t enforce protocol and rank here.”

“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.” He waved an arm to encompass the city.

When Lucien is a little murderous:

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

When Lucien volunteers to go on a quest:

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—”

“I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.”

My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.”

A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.

When Lucien makes a friend

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

“You sound like an acolyte.”

Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.”

[billiebeanhoward]

Rise up - Ally Mayfair-Richards

A/N: This was requested by someone who chose to remain anonymous  :)

And by their request, Ivy was never married to Ally in this oneshot and Ally has always known your unconditional love and support

Prompt: Reader helping Ally through her phobias/anxiety/panic attacks and takes care of Ally when she needs it with the song Rise Up by Andra Day

TW: anxiety, trypophobia, mention of medication, fluff, comfort

Word count: 1115

gif is mine

"Al?" you ask tentatively. Your wife has been staring blankly at something for the last two minutes, but her body is in the way so you can't see it. You try to get a look at it but it's no use. "Ally, what is it?" She was making Ozzy his packed lunch for school tomorrow, but something clearly caught her off guard. You see her shoulders shaking a little as silent sobs wracked through her frame. "Baby," you're not sure what's causing this right now, so you slowly walk closer and place your hands to her elbows which only makes her flinch but thankfully she's distracted from whatever it was she saw, turning to face you, tears streaming down her face. Your eye catches the cheese grater in the corner. You scold yourself for not putting it away after preparing Ozzy's favorite cheesy pasta for dinner this evening. You give her a guilty look, to which she just shakes her head before wiping at her face.

"It's not your fault," she says to you with a wobbly voice. You quickly put it out of sight, in the one cupboard Ally avoids because it contains items that trigger her and you go back to the brunette, wrapping your arms around her tightly. Her head falls to your shoulder and her grip around you tightens as you hear her soft sobs again "I'm just so tired," she breathes, "So tired."

"I- I know, baby," your voice bubbles as you rub soothingly up and down her back, until her sobs subside, "Have you taken your meds?" you ask carefully, knowing this probably isn't the time but if she didn't take them this anxiety she's feeling right now could only get worse. She nods into your shoulder before placing a kiss there.

"I think -" she lifts her head to look at you, the concern you have only growing further as she looks at you with such sadness in her eyes, "I want to -" she looks away, frustrated she can't find the words, her breathing getting heavier with every single thought rushing through that pretty head of hers,

"Ally," you say, hands reaching for her again "Take deep breaths for me," you instruct but she just shakes her head quickly, her hands coming up to grip at her hair.

"I can't, I can't do this anymore!" she sobs, falling to the floor, but you catch her just in time and you pull her into your lap.

"Shh," you say, tears forming in your eyes. It always hurts you seeing her like this, it breaks your heart, it kills you. You take a shaky breath as she tries to calm down in the comfort of your arms, she's inhaling through her nose and exhaling loudly out her mouth, "That's it, baby," you coo as she holds onto you tighter as she does her breathing techniques and you just comfort her the best you can,

"I'm just so broken down and tired of living life on the merry go round," she says after a moment once she catches her breath, "I can't find a fighter,"

"But I see it in you so we're gonna walk it out," you say to her, giving a kiss on her forehead but she scoffs, lifting herself up from your lap.

"I'm ruining our lives, I'm ruining our son's life, being like this isn't -" she turns her head trying to avoid your worried gaze,

"No, Ally. You're gonna move mountains, we're gonna walk it out,"

"This is just," she pauses, wiping her nose as she gets up from the floor, "I think I'm gonna go to bed," she says and you don't stop her.

You take a deep, shaky breath as she leaves the room. It takes you a moment before you finally find the courage to get yourself up off the kitchen floor and you quickly clean up the mess Ally left on the counter and finish Ozzy's lunch for tomorrow.

"Mom?" you hear a soft voice from behind you and you turn your head to your beautiful little angel

"What is it, baby? Why aren't you in bed?" you ask him softly, quickly drying your hands on a towel before going over to him and he wraps his arms around your middle.

"Mom, didn't say goodnight," he mumbles, his face squished into your stomach.

"She's having a bad day," you tell him, not wanting to be dishonest with him, "She'll be okay though, I promise," you tell him, bending down slightly to look into his light blue eyes as he rubs them sleepily, "You go back to bed okay?" he nods at you and you ruffle his blonde locks, "I love you, Ozzy,"

"I love you too, Momma. Tell Mom I love her too, a lot," he says before he makes his way back up the stairs and you follow behind him, making sure to turn off all the lights downstairs.

When you enter your bedroom, you find Ally wrapped up in the blanket facing away from you, but you hear her sniffling. Your heart breaks all over again and you make your way over after shutting the door quietly behind you. "Ally," you say as you climb into the bed, wrapping your arms around her, "You will rise up," you say quietly as her sniffles continue to grow into sobs, "You'll rise like the day," you say and she turns her body around and snuggles her head into your chest, "You'll rise up unafraid and you'll do it a thousand times again," you lift her chin with your fingers to look into her soft brown eyes and her chin quivers at you, "You'll do this,"

"I know," she whimpers, bubbles rising in her throat again as she speaks "In spite of the ache, I will rise up," she says, a small smile on her lips as she looks at you, not taking her eyes off you this time not even for a second, "And I'll do it a thousand times again, for you,"

You give her a soft smile in return, your fingers tickling over her cheek, "And you," you say pointedly.

"I'll do it for me, Oz and you, us our family," she says

"When the silence isn't quiet, and it feels like it's getting hard to breathe and you feel like dying, I promise we'll take the world to its feet," you say and she snuggles into you closer, wrapping her arms around you "All you need, all we need is hope and for that, we have each other," you whisper to her, placing a soft kiss onto her hair.

"I love you, Y/N," she says, her voice now muffled by your shirt and you place another kiss onto her head.

"I love you too, Ally, and Oz loves you too, so much."