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luxmaeastra · 2 years

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"I vowed to myself that I would never let you get hurt like that again. That I'd be your eyes and ears qhwn you couldn't do it yourself."

Romulus rose an eyebrow and leaned back against the windowsill. His nails dug into the wood, he hoped Rhysand didn't see how faux this presentation of nonchalance was.

"But I did. You threw our relationship away for a hunch Rhysand! You are the reason I put myself into harms way those first 10 years! Not Mama or Papa!"

"Don't you think I don't know that? Don't you think I hate myself everyday for what I said that day?! I was - it was all so new Romulus. I'm not asking you to forgive me but can't you at least understand that? Haven't you experienced that type or want and need at least in this last decade?"

Was this all brought on by the war? Was this brought on by the fact that they could both die any day and never know till the lists went up? Romulus looked away his jaw clenching. Fine, fine they were doing this - so he would too.

"I knew who my mate was since I was 10. I knew who I'd marry at 16 Rhysand. I left after that day, I stopped seeing her after that day. Never-mind that she left Orkith the next year. Why? Why? Becuase you are right! You are right! I will sabotage everything good in my life."

He rubbed at his arms, his nails dragging down his skin. He barely felt the sting of his nails anymore.

"I will do anything to keep that darkness away. The things I -"

His voice broke but he swallowed started again. This was a hurricane and if Rhysand insisted on standing he'd sweep him away too. It served him right to think he could change, that there was any hope left for him.

"Versia - I loved her Rhysand! I - I would have done whatever she asked. I - I know I would have given her you don't you understand that?! Do you understand how fucked up that is? That I'd give my other half to her because she asked? I love our parents I know you hate it when I call them that. But they are and among all our family she was the only one I felt like I could tell things too. How Marsaili always had dark circles under eyes, how Mirella would stare for hours at nothing, how Melinoe cried herself to sleep. No one else noticed it, and when I told Mama or Papa they'd get agitated so I stopped telling them. I couldn't tell you of the pull I'd have at night, a whisper urging me to do horrible things. To run or push people off the turrets. You'd get worried and I - what if the Whispers infected you? Or I hurt you?! But I could tell her! I could tell her anything and she always had an answer, an explanation."

Romulus let out a breath tensing as a floorboard creaked. He remembered dimly they were supposed to be hiding from the Loyalists. That they were trying not to die after their scouting party had been spotted and slaughtered. Was it luck or something else that had saved them? Did he even want to know?

He tensed baring his teeth in more show than anything else as Clythia of all of them slipped inside.

"If you're going to kill us Clythia at least give us a moment to sort our drama out first. At the very least I'm sure Amarantha and Narcissus would get a lot of amusement from it."

He hated the male his brother had become, he hated the distance that was between them after he had left all those years ago. He had done everything within his power to do what he needed to keep his brother’s side, he always ensured that he was never placed in harms way. Yet, it seemed despite everything, his brother was pulling further away from him.

Rhysand’s jaw tightened as he allowed his brother to talk, to express himself and reveal the cold and horrible truth. It needed to be aired if they were to become the next casualties upon this battlefield, he knew he had to listen as his brother laid it all out. Things he barely knew, the twisted truth of his relationship with Versia.

So many secrets slipped from his lips, the things no one else saw but Romulus had. His heart hammered as he considered how this loneliness, he probably felt was used against him, that Versia had used it against him. He loved her, but by sounds of it he would say it was more that he thought she cared for him. He clung to someone who could help him feel better about himself.

“You could have told me; we could have gone through this together. What happened to you was wrong, she manipulated you! Those thoughts and feelings were put in your head because of her, she wanted you as her puppet.” How fractured their family had become, especially when the war came. He barely saw his sisters now, he had only seen Romulus in passing and his parents. He done his best to stay away.

When he heard the creak he froze, looking towards the door as he lowered his body. Maybe they had been reckless by having this conversation there, the raised voices had clearly drawn the attention of someone. Someone who probably was not an ally, one who was going to end up killing them. He shifted, moving closer to his brother. His hand tightened on the hilt of his blade.

Clythia stared at both of them when she slipped inside, her facial features voice of emotion. Even when he bared his teeth at her she shook her head, looking towards Rhysand briefly before her attention was drawn back to Romulus. She scoffed at his words, folding her arms as her chin rose slightly. He really wasn’t that smart sometimes, why did she have to care for the stupid ones?

“I would love to let you continue your drama, but if you wish to walk out of here alive, I advise against it. Your voices were loud enough I had to send my men away,” she countered firmly. “And I am only doing this to repay a favor.” That was a lie, but she couldn’t turn her back on her sister. She also couldn’t bring herself to kill him.

“Do you want to live, or am I regretting my choice?”

#Muse | Rhysand #Muse | Clythia

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lorcandidlucienwill · 5 months

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SJM FUCKED FEYLIN UP SO BADLY.

I wished that I could glimpse his face—if only for a moment. But all I needed to see were those green eyes. “I love you,” I said. “No matter what she says about it, no matter if it’s only with my insignificant human heart. Even when they burn my body, I’ll love you.”

But I trusted Tamlin—and more than that, I trusted myself. I trusted that I had heard correctly—I trusted that Tamlin had been smarter than Amarantha, I trusted that all I had sacrificed was not in vain. Fate had whispered to Tamlin that the cold, contrary girl he’d dragged to his home would be the one to break his spell, because Fate had kept me alive just to get to this point, just to see if I had been listening. And there he was—my High Lord, my beloved, kneeling before me. “I love you,” I said, and stabbed him. “I’m going to kill you.” Someone cried out, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t even try to get out of the way as something far more violent than lightning struck me, and I crashed to the floor. “I’m going to make you pay for your insolence,” Amarantha snarled, and a scream ravaged my throat as pain like nothing I had known erupted through me. My very bones were shattering as my body rose and then slammed onto the hard floor, and I was crushed beneath another wave of torturous agony. “Admit you don’t really love him, and I’ll spare you,” Amarantha breathed, and through my fractured vision, I saw her prowl toward me. “Admit what a cowardly, lying, inconstant bit of human garbage you are.” I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t say that even if she splattered me across the ground. But Amarantha still neared. “You think you’re worthy of him? A High Lord? You think you deserve anything at all, human?” My back arched, and my ribs cracked, one by one. I sobbed between screams as her foot connected with my broken ribs. Again. And again. “Your mortal heart is nothing to us.” “Stop,” I breathed, blood filling my mouth as I strained a hand to reach her feet. “Please.” “Stop? Stop? Don’t pretend you care, human,” she crooned, and curled her finger. “Say that you don’t love him!” Amarantha shrieked, and the blood on my hands became the blood of that rabbit—became the blood of what I had lost. But I wouldn’t say it. Because loving Tamlin was the only thing I had left, the only thing I couldn’t sacrifice. A path cleared through my red-and-black vision. I found Tamlin’s eyes—wide as he crawled toward Amarantha, watching me die, and unable to save me while his wound slowly healed, while she still gripped his power. Amarantha had never intended for me to live, never intended to let him go. “Amarantha, stop this,” Tamlin begged at her feet as he clutched the gaping wound in his chest. “Stop. I’m sorry—I’m sorry for what I said about Clythia all those years ago. Please.” Amarantha ignored him, but I couldn’t look away. Tamlin’s eyes were so green—green like the meadows of his estate. A shade that washed away the memories flooding through me, that pushed aside the evil breaking me apart bone by bone. I screamed again as my kneecaps strained, threatening to crack in two, but I saw that enchanted forest, saw that afternoon we’d lain in the grass, saw that morning we’d watched the sunrise, when for a moment—just one moment—I’d known true happiness. “Say that you don’t truly love him,” Amarantha spat, and my body twisted, breaking bit by bit. “Admit to your inconstant heart.” “Amarantha, please,” Tamlin moaned, his blood spilling onto the floor. “I’ll do anything.” “I’ll deal with you later,” she snarled at him, and sent me falling into a fiery pit of pain. I would never say it—never let her hear that, even if she killed me. And if it was to be my downfall, so be it. If it would be the weakness that would break me, I would embrace it with all my heart. If this was— “Say it, you vile beast,” Amarantha hissed. She might have lied her way out of our bargain, but she’d sworn differently with the riddle—instantaneous freedom, regardless of her will. Blood filled my mouth, warm as it dribbled out between my lips. I gazed at Tamlin’s masked face one last time. “Love,” I breathed, the world crumbling into a blackness with no end. A pause in Amarantha’s magic. “The answer to the riddle …,” I got out, choking on my own blood, “is … love.” Tamlin’s eyes went wide before something forever cracked in my spine.

#tell me you didn't tear up a little #feylin #i miss them #feyre archeron #tamlin #pro feyre archeron #pro tamlin #sjm critical

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saccharinerose · 1 year

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Rhysand: “I think we can all agree that Jurian, a former slave, torturing and killing Clythia, a fae fighting on the side to keep enslaving his people, during the war to free his people from slavery was sooo fucked up and evil. He literally went mad!

Anyway, Azriel, go torture these people for information that I, person who can literally read minds, need.”

#anti sjm #anti rhysand

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flowerflamestars · 5 months

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Effloresce pov speculation: Jurian. What is he doing? Is he still in Amarantha's ring? Did Hybern dunk him in the uppity magic cookpot and he's just hanging around Spring, being a forgotten threat to fae? Also, it's so bizarre that all the fae, some who knew him personally, have forgotten how dangerous he is. He seduced Clythia, murdered her brutally, led Amarantha on a merry chase and made sure she was useless as a general until she ripped him to pieces. He did that on purpose. The Fae forgot.

JURIAN MY AXE-WIELDING MURDER MACHINE HEART OF GOLD REVOLUTIONARY HERO!

Okay, I'm going to try not to spoil too too much, because Jurian has like, his own whole thing going in Effloresce. I looked at canon and said, actually, that man is fascinating.

Effloresce!Jurian is the same age as canon Jurian but ONLY chronologically.

(The ring is SUCH a cop out in canon- if the Cauldron can resurrect from a single body part, no important fae would be dying?? Or staying dead? If someone had the power to TRAP THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF THE DEAD, surely we'd...hear more about it? We got a whole magic horse biography in acosf for some reason, but JURIAN? No information. He is...sane after being trapped in a ring for five centuries? Comes out of that ring, and Hybern assumes he's been...tortured into submission? IS ON THEIR SIDE?)

There's three big things here that I'm playing with- one, Jurian REMEMBERS human slavery. He remembers the world he fought to destroy and the birth of the next. He remembers what ACTUALLY HAPPENED.

Two, while I reject the ring/Amarantha premise, I think it's basically impossible to believe the fae, who are immortal, would let a mortal (ish) man who'd killed some of their most powerful just have a peaceful life after the war.

SIDEBAR: They're not in the story, but I have HUGE Miriyam/Dracon HATE. They're just...in hiding? forever? On an island no one kind find? They could have been SO COOL but the vibe is so much more commune turned cult. WHY ON EARTH would they get the Cauldron, Prythian's sacred vessel of creation? They're not EVEN FROM PRYTHIAN

Three, he's an even louder metaphor for Feyre's total mental shift. Humans meet Jurian and go: JURIAN? OUR JURIAN? Feyre has like, a second of wonder before being like: BUT HE MURDERED HIS GIRLFRIEND RHYS SAYS HE'S A MONSTER. She, like most faeries, seems to think fae are inherently better. That their lives matter more. Clythia killed all her slaves rather than free them, but we're supposed to think Jurian's espionage is the gross part? Compared to whatever shit the fae were up to???

Jurian's basically a walking neon sign that reads HIGH FAE ARE DANGEROUS TO HUMANS AND KILL THEIR OWN DESCENDANTS, wrapped up in the courtly manners of a bygone era, errant knighting about trying to help humans, seething beyond belief that the crowns his people fought to create have allied with their greatest enemies.

(Also I gave him a sexy murderous girlfriend with a bad attitude. because. canon didn't even give the mercenary a NAME. Also his beef with Miriyam sucking being attributed to jealousy is such a ridiculous reduction. It's not that she didn't choose HIM, she fell in love with the man who OWNED HER and fucked off forever to secret paradise while the world went to hell)

By humans, Jurian is quite literally the opposite of forgotten. Faeries made it so in their massive, unbelievable arrogance.

#Jurian who only ever wanted to be a sworn sword and do what's right eyeing the ROYAL BLOODED ACTIVELY REBELLING ARCHERONS:#FUCKING FINALLY #the fae hate Jurian #and there's no worse thing to creatures that exist forever #than to be erased #THEY DO NOT SAY HIS NAME #Rhys 100% hates him because Jurian is like. a scrappy upstart from nowhere who is better at everything than him #(buried a thousand leagues deep in this story is Azriel going: I WANT TO FUCK HIM I WANT TO BE HIM)#Jurian disliking Feyre for the same reason he hates Miriyam #lol the past repeating and repeating

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mask131 · 11 days

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The myth of Apollo (5)

And here is the last part of Françoise Graziani’s article « Apollo, the mythical sun » (begun here).

IV/ The mystical Sun

The interpretation of the Sun as a symbol of royalty was already present during the Renaissance but was truly amplified by the baroque era. This iconological interpretation was first punctually associated with the panegyric (Ronsard in his “Elegies” wrote “Henry, the Sun that inspired me”), then to the emblematic, as the royal crown was depicted as a crown of sun-rays. While Tyard saw a positive symbol within the idea of the Sun “Prince and rector of the sky”, the baroque poet Drelincourt, in 1677, compared it to a “superb King, who shines in his Court, Crowned with rays” – but only to better accuse the celestial body of being a simulacra of God, a “weak painting”. Within the same idea, Du Bartas substituted the false pagan god to the real God: “The world is a cloud through which shines, not the bow-shooting son of the beautiful Latone, this divine Phoebus, but…”. It is very revealing that Drelincourt presents a critical and desacralizing interpretation of the sun, where it loses its mythical name and function… while writing within the court of Louis XIV, right as the king ideologically concretizes the literary allegories by depicting himself within Versailles (the “house of the Sun”) as Apollo, as the sun on earth. Drelincourt concludes his sonnet “About the Sun”, by insisting that the Sun is just the “portrait of the Primal Cause”: “your brightness is but a Shadow, and you are not the Sun anymore”. The mythical Sun is a false sun, but it is replaced in the metaphorical heaven by the real mystical Sun, the Christ, that the Renaissance paintings sometimes depicted under the traits of Apollo. As a reflection of the true God, as the interpret and the vehicle of God’s light, the Christ was a solar character, whose death was thought as bringing a “night” to the Western world (it was how the poets metaphorize the eclipse that occurred during the Crucifixion). This identification, very common within the mystical baroque poetry, was sometimes pushed to the point of including (in a very unusual way) some episodes of Apollo’s legends within the Christian allegory (such as Hyacinthus or Clythia).

V/ The Sun of intelligence

The mystical sun is, in a paradox that determined all poetic interpretations, linked to the decline of the mythical sun. And yet, the mystical sun is born from a very old topos, the one of the Deus Pictor: if God is a painter, and the Universe his painting, than the Sun (and the poets claim it since the Hellenistic times) is his brush. In the baroque era, the solar myth, heavily used in a metaphorical (not quite allegorical) way, leads this motif towards the realm of abstractions. Every time it appears, it is linked to two elements: on one side, the Sun as a divine principle and an instrument of creation which becomes the double of the poet (a poet that now dares associate himself with not just Orpheus, but Apollo). On the other side, the diurnal travel of the solar eye becomes the metaphor of the process of writing. Numerous baroque texts play on the similarity between the words “rayons” (the rays) and “crayon” (the pencil), to show the Creator in his picturesque and scriptural functions. In a similar way, it is traditional to punctuate long poems by various sunsets and sunrises, described in such a way that they establish an analogy between the rhythm of the days, and the rhythm of the poem itself.

It is for example the case within G. B. Marino’s “Adone”, where, at the end of the poem, the Muse answers Apollo’s call, and comes to “end the thread of this long canvas”, and the end of the last day is described in textual terms: “The sky is of paper, the darkness of ink, the ray a feather / Which with the sun erases the ending day to write / to the West, in letters of gold, the end of the long travel.” Within “Adone”, Apollo is present under different shapes. He is found, in a metaphorical way, in the character of the hero, Adonis, which ultimately is just a gaze that crosses the various spectacles of the universe (celestial world, terrestrial world, cultural world) and is often compared, due to the “shine of his youth”, to Apollo. As the sun is the eye that brightens the world, that reveals the world and that allows it to be, the first creating gaze over the poem is done by the poet itself ; but there is another sight, the image of the human eye that reads and interprets the great Book of Nature. Adonis, within Marino’s poem, plays this role of reader, the double of the creature to which the secrets of the creation are hidden. He is, too, a “false sun”, and this is why Marino show him as a passive hero who, throughout the poem, does not understand what he sees: it is a reverse image of the philosophical sun of the Renaissance. He symbolizes the human soul, in the idea that the human soul only perceives the appearances, and mistakes itself for the sun because it was created in tis image. Marino’s Adonis is a “lonely eye” to which the gods (Venus and Hermes) reveal secrets, but the only world that receives the light of his gaze is the one of the book, of which the real writer is Apollo, “he who brightens the wise minds”. He who shines upon the minds embodies the last avatar of the god of Poetry: the divine Intellect, he who makes the minds shining and insightful, he who gifts human with both invention and divination. The solar sign valorizes the human Intellect, and more so over the individual intelligence. The god doesn’t “inspire” anymore, but he does more by “shining” upon the artistic works.

Apollo is more and more disguised as time passes by, to the point of losing his name – he is substituted so much he is even refused the qualificative of a god. He keeps however, as a mythical sign, a great coherence. The abstract uses of the Sun as metaphors for the divine eye contain very clear remains of its mythical nature. The connotations tied to the solar figure are simply the transpositions, on a metaphorical plane, of the elements tied to the god. The frequency of his use throughout the 16th and 17th centuries proves its almost ritualistic value, even though literature splits itself from the myth. As such, it seems that, as soon as the poetry does not bear the myth of the inspiration anymire, the figure of its titular god is slowly abandoned. Even though the invocation of the Muses persists, as a convention or as a periodical element, all the way to the 19th century. The names of “Apollo”, “Muses” and “Lyre” are enough to designate, by metonymy, and outside of all myths, the very concept of poetry.

VI/ Hyperion

With Romanticism, Apollo becomes the Archer again. The divine inspiration of the poet is not an illumination or a revelation anymore, but a shock, a stupefying possession. The poet, as Hölderlin writes, is “struck by Apollo” and, confronted by the presence of the god, he can’t be understood by other humans anymore. The poetic vocation is assimilated to a curse, and to a suffering. Within Hölderlin’s work, Apollo is fused with both Jupiter, he who strikes with the blinding lightning, he who “shakes and vivifies”, and with Dionysos, to condense itself ultimately in the figure of the Christ. He also especially identified with the one who was, according to Hesiod, his grand-father, the titan Hyperion. Just like Hyperion, of which he bears the name in the allegorical novel of Hölderlin “Hyperion”, the poet is a fallen and exiled titan, whose rebellion (pre-apollonian actions) are doomed to failure, but who keeps the vague memory of his solar origin and of his mission, while still being, like the sun, doomed to loneliness. A loneliness which, in this context, bears both a positive aspect, as the solitude which brings exaltation, and a negative aspect, the solitude which makes the poet a cursed man or a mad man. Apollo and Dionysos become one within the Romantic conception of madness as a sign of both divine election and mystical drunkenness. The fundamental ambiguity of Apollo is found back within the duality of the poetry, perceived as both a grace and an eviction. This duality was felt by the Romantics on an individual plane, and not on a conceptual plane like in the Renaissance.

An exceptional occurrence of the figure of Apollo within literature must be studied, quite close to Hölderlin’s own interpretation. Apollo appears as the subject and the hero of a 19th century literary work in only one piece, an unfinished poem by Keats which was also called Hyperion (1819). This brief epic of a Miltonian style depicts the fall of the Titans, banished by the New Gods, and the rise to divinity of the young Apollo, initiated by Mnemosyne. Within Keats’ writing, just like within Hölderlin’s work, Apollo is treated as the symbol of a “new beauty”, and as the tutelar god, not to say the embodiment, of the New Poetry. For both men, the accent is put on the “divine future” of Apollo: for Keats, Apollo only becomes a god when, thanks to Mnemosyne (who is in mythology the mother of the Muses), he understands his divinity, and this accession to Knowledge is a painful process. Apollo, before striking the poets, suffers himself from an “agony as burning as death is cold”. And he screams painfully when he was his epiphany. Within Hölderlin’s, the name Hyperion symbolized, by an antonomasia, the splitting of the hero, a hero turned to the Ancient Gods, that feels himself as their interpret, and yet is destined to inaugurate the renewal of the Teenager Sun through a New Poetic Religion. The poet which is speaking here is not yet born, and Hyperion represents the mythical prehistory of he who will only become a god, a pure lonely spirit, the “Hermit of Greece”, free of all heroic temptations, only after Romanticism. In a similar way, Keats brutally interrupts his poem right as Poetry is born.

#the myth of apollo #apollo #hyperion #greek mythology #poetry #greek gods #symbolism #sun #titans #keats #hölderlin #christianization of greek myths #greek myths #poetic symbols #literary myths

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tamlinfairchild · 11 days

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tamlin & amarantha were betrayed by someone they loved (feyre & clythia) who became the lover of an enemy (rhysand & jurian). tamlin is not evil because he could have should have let the bat stay dead or done a faerie bargain and turned him into jewelry or a weird object. i hate the tamlin amarantha mate theory but it also makes feysand look even more insanely awful. feyre forgiving & excusing rhysand's actions utm and the kidnapping bargain in the matter of mere months? the most powerful high lord can't reject his bond to at least prove he is equal or stronger than tamlin. anyways i blame sjm's husband bc sjm & he probably didn't want his self-insert to be rejected by feyre or be paired off with small boobed elain.

Lol I never thought about turning Rhysand into a piece of jewelry, that would’ve been so funny 🤣 He’s too annoying to be a jewel tho, turn Rhysand into a shoe challenge 🤣

Yeah it does make the pairing worse when you realize that Amarantha/Tamlin and Rhysand/Feyre has parallels wow.

This is why I can never trust authors who do obvious self inserts because like, the integrity they have for their writing and their characters is nil. She’s also awful to work with from what I hear, a Zionist and is basically just interested in making money, not in writing well.

#answered #anti sjm

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ae-neon · 9 months

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Hybern. (Rewrite version)

To the West lies a cursed isle, ruled by a deathless king.

It was from Hybern that blessed Clythia came, red as a rose, sweet as a songbird.

Earning her title as emissary with such wit and charm as to win even the favour of those who opposed her father's dark ways, for she shone with the Mother's light and was said by the priestesses to be wisest Athinen come again.

And when the traitors rebelled, when wicked Jurian's iron hand cut through Prythian's magic like a sword through silk, it was to clever Clythia and her songs of sorcery that the good Lords turned, desperately seeking salvation.

A drop of magic, a binding spell of blood and soil. No one but the Mother Goddess, who weaves all threads, knows the truth of it.

But by the end of it, ardent Clythia had drawn on the power of all of Prythian and crowned her sister, fiery Cleo, a sword of the eight crowns, a true knight of the Fae.

Desperate and with the Mountains of Nephel at his back, Jurian hatched a villainous plan and with his arcane knowledge performed such magic as to curse the sky itself. With ill-fated Clythia's blood upon his sword, he cleaved the land in two.

Blessed Cleo, wrought with sorrow and anger, called upon the Mother to spare her the turning of the weaving wheel until her soul was sated with bitter vengeance and sweetest final grief.

And so she was gifted everlasting youth and dominion over the land, crowned High Queen in pertuity, and came to be known as Amarantha, the unfading flower.

A biased account of events

#a grave of thorns and roses #acotar : the rewrite #random ass hybern lore #ae aesthetics

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foxcort · 8 months

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JURIAN CLYTHIA MATES that's actually genius? Like I've always had this general opinion that if anyone else was writing this series the fact that the first two mate relationships we know of are tamlins parents (where one parent is an extreme enabler of the others cruelty) and rhysands parents (where they don't even like each other but are tied) would MEAN something and Clythia Jurian mates would really send that image home PLUS justify how tf Clythia was a literal general and got tricked into giving Jurian all that. She's literally just responding to a mate bond he doesn't feel as a human. Idk I like the idea of Feyre having this really weird relationship with the idea of mating binds in general since she doesn't have fae cultural upbringing to make her okay with it and again every single example she's been given sounds like it SUCKS

yes exactly! it comes from the same vein as the amarantha/tamlin mates idea (there's a post somewhere and i'll find it!). why would these powerful cruel generals give up everything for men that actively seek to destroy them? (we know the answer in terms of sarah's canon which is gross and misogynistic) but with fanon there's so many ways to make things interesting (or make sense at least).

and thats a very good point! it would make sense if feyre at least felt apprehensive at the thought of being mated. imo she accepted the idea of 'mates' too quickly in canon and it meant so much to her but she's only twenty-ish and lived most of her life with the idea that fae were deadly (humans were literally enslaved by them). it definitely would've been so much more interesting to see her struggle with that or reject the notion completely and end up with someone who wasn't her mate

also

She's literally just responding to a mate bond he doesn't feel as a human.

i hadn't even thought of it like that but this is gold

#suffice it to say sjm has thoroughly destroyed the concept of mating bonds (which were already hanging by a thread)#anti sjm #ae-neon brought up a whole different concept of clythia/jurian mates but she switches over to the humans side #and im actually so completely consumed by it rn #clythian?#juria?

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 months

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Chapter 9 - Be Consumed By The Flame

‘This is the most idiotic fucking shit I’ve ever heard of.’

Lucien leaned against the doorframe while he sharpened his knives. It was an old habit when his hands needed to be busy.

Jurian cleared his throat. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘Yes and it says a lot, coming from the general who wove his way into Clythia’s heart.’

‘Exactly,’ said Jurian sharply, clicking his fingers to get Lucien’s attention. ‘You’ll just dump her there and hope the Lord of Bloodshed doesn’t live up to his moniker.’

‘It is Nesta’s decision. Besides, Cassian is her mate. I doubt he will harm her.’

‘But you’re not certain, Lucien. Are you?’

No. Because hurt didn’t need to be bruises or blood. Cassian had hurt Nesta in many ways before.

‘In honesty, I worry more about the others. Morrigan already dislikes her and will take a slight against Cassian as her own grievance. Rhysand will find any reason to be a bastard to her and Feyre’s loyalty is as changeable as a spring breeze.’ Lucien sighed. ‘Elain might understand. Azriel even. I doubt any would stand up for her though.’

Jurian made a long, humming noise as he drummed his fingers on the kitchen table. ‘Are you going to tell your mate?’

‘Tell her what – that she’s free to kiss the shadow singer and never had any binding to me?’

‘No. That you’re fucking her sister.’

‘I’ve written a letter to Elain,’ he replied, patting his chest where he’d tucked it into his jacket. It detailed nothing of Nesta. Only that he had formally ended his employment with the Night Court and would be seeking to have their bond severed which would cause no suffering for her. He wished her a happy life.

‘A letter?’ Jurian thumped his forehead onto the wood. ‘Fuck me. A letter.’

Nesta was upstairs bathing to remove any last traces of Lucien’s scent from her body. After a night spent between her thighs, it would take some scrubbing. They’d finally fallen asleep tucked against each other as the birds began singing from their perches.

‘If you were my mate and you sent me a letter, I’d fucking kill you.’

‘If you were my mate,’ countered Lucien, ‘I’d have already severed it, Jurian. Elain will not speak with me. She’s had enough time. I stood on the periphery of her life for long enough waiting. If she wants the shadow singer then I will not stand in her way.’

‘Happy families with Nesta?’

Lucien had secured accommodation for her in the Summer Court temporarily after a hastily written letter to Cresseida. She’d replied swiftly in return, saying it would be done – any opportunity to disadvantage the Night Court was still relished – but Lucien would owe her a favour. He liked the mischief that Cresseida brought so would deal with the favour she wanted later. As long as Nesta had a safe place to be, that was what he cared for. They both needed the next few weeks to breathe, to figure out their feelings in private. Then, if they ever met again, maybe they’d be just as strong. If they weren’t then no harm done. Lucien had been set on severing his bond anyway and if Nesta was out of her horrid relationship then it did not matter to him if she never wanted to be in his arms again.

‘We’ll see,’ he said.

***

Seeing her mate after a period of absence ought to invoke joy in Nesta’s heart, but since she had woken up beside Lucien, only cold terror walked beside her. Twice, she’d had to clamber from the bath to vomit. It had made the churn of her stomach worse.

When Jurian tried to shove a plate of breakfast into her hands, he’d grown angry when she refused, claiming she needed energy to deal with those Night Court fuckers, as he called them.

Lucien stepped into smooth over his friend’s spiky temperament. It was because Jurian cared for her, she knew, and that fact had hot tears forming in her eyes. If a surly mortal who hated faeries could see some good in her, maybe Nesta had never been the problem.

The plan was for Lucien to winnow her onto the main row of streets in Velaris then Nesta would cross the Sidra River to Feyre and Rhysand’s estate. She would not go to the House of Wind. Nesta would scream blue murder before they took her there. When Nesta had asked Lucien to winnow her then leave, he’d given a shake of his head and said he couldn’t do that.

‘I care about you too much to leave you at the mercy of the Night Court, Nesta.’

As they prepared themselves to depart, she noticed that he was wearing two knives today. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have one sheathed at his hip, but two was a rarity. And they were the ones she could see.

It wasn’t a battle.

She was not heading there to cause a war.

But it felt a lot like walking the gallows.

‘Ready?’

‘No.’

Jurian tapped his foot. ‘Fuck them. Fuck the high road. They’re pieces of shit.’

‘Thank you, Jurian,’ Lucien said, clapping his hands together to stop him from talking. He extended a hand for Nesta. ‘My lady.’

She fought the tremble from it as she gripped his hand. Nesta managed to raise her head as magic swamped them and she saw only worry in Jurian’s brown eyes.

After days spent below the Wall, the sudden onslaught of magic in the air of Velaris had Nesta bracing herself. It danced on the wind, flowed through the gleaming river, and touched her skin.

‘It’s worse here,’ explained Lucien as he blinked a few times. ‘Imagine trapping a spider with a glass jar. That’s how the wards around Velaris are.’

Nesta raised her brows. ‘When we had a spider two nights ago, I screamed and you stamped on it.’

‘Well, a brave male might trap it and release it. It moved too quickly. Too many legs.’ Lucien managed a grin. ‘I was protecting you.’

Her hand went to her heart. ‘My hero.’

And those words could not be truer. He tucked a length of shining red hair behind his pointed ear. There was a thin braid in it today running from his temple. Rather than the fine clothes he wore as emissary, Lucien was dressed more practically in well-worn trousers and leather boots that stopped half-way up his calves.

‘If you’re not here after two hours, I’m joining you,’ he said. ‘I’ll go under the pretence as a friend of the Night Court but if-’

‘Lucien,’ she said on a sigh. ‘We’ve been through it eight times. I know the signal.’

He nodded. ‘If you want to stay. If your mind changes then that’s also fine. I can write to Cresseida. It is no inconvenience.’

He was too wonderful to put into words. Nesta was lucky to have him at her side to weather this storm.

‘I’ll never be ready for this,’ she murmured, straightening her shoulders. It was worse because there could be no goodbye with Lucien – no fortifying embrace or kiss because Cassian would scent it. ‘I’ll see you on the other side.’

‘Beneath a golden sky. I’m proud of you, Nesta.’

***

Two hours. Two of the longest hours of his life.

Beneath the gleaming sun, Lucien took a seat outside of one of Velaris’ cafés with a fresh pressed juice before him.

It was an attempt to remain calm.

Nesta was entering the wolves’ den and he was drinking fucking juice by the river.

***

One of the wraiths allowed her entry to the home. All was quiet beside the soft gurgle of Nyx in the other one’s arms.

‘They had an urgent meeting in the Hewn City,’ she supplied.

Nesta had never learnt which one was Nuala or Cerridwen. They seemed interchangeable.

‘Elain?’

‘Tending to a garden in the city.’

How strange that they would all abandon Nyx to the shadow-wraiths.

‘May I?’ Nesta held out her hands for her nephew. There was a harrumph of irritation from him then Nyx recognised her. ‘Hello, my gorgeous boy.’

Tea was made for her as she sat on the edge of the couch like a stranger in the home. Nesta felt a stranger. Nothing had changed within the house. The same cream and gold paper lined the walls, the couches hadn’t moved an inch, not a speck of dust could be seen on the marble mantlepiece above the fire. And yet Nesta had changed entirely. Lucien had opened her eyes to what she deserved – and it was not what Cassian could offer.

Having Nyx to focus on calmed her somewhat. Her hands clasped around his body, swooping him through the air while his little wings flapped. It brought a shriek of laughter to his lips.

She wondered if she’d ever have these sorts of moments again with her nephew.

When the others returned, their conversation stopped mid-flow at the sight of Nesta with Nyx slumbering against her chest. Cassian stared at her like he’d seen a ghost. The light brown hue of his skin turned ashen.

‘Nesta,’ Feyre said, glancing between her and Cassian. ‘We didn’t know you were coming.’

‘I need to talk with you, Cassian.’

Without Nyx as her shield, Nesta felt terribly exposed. She crossed her arms over her body to protect herself as she followed Cassian into one of the back rooms facing the garden. From the tight snap of his wings, he was just as tense as she was. After visiting the Hewn City or Illyria, his mood was usually foul – so it was ill-luck that she’d caught him today after a visit to Keir.

Cassian took a position by the window where he leant against the cherry wood windowsill. The light streamed across his ebony hair. He crossed an ankle over the other, arms also folded.

‘Enjoyed your trip to the mortal lands?’

Nesta swallowed. ‘You knew I was there?’

‘After frantic searching, yes. You couldn’t even write a fucking letter to let me know you were safe?’

‘I left you a letter,’ she replied, voice quiet. ‘I needed some space.’

‘From what?’

‘From you.’

He looked as if she’d slapped him.

It wasn’t meant to begin like this. Nesta’s temper had unravelled in seconds in the face of his own fire. She sucked in slow breaths, focused on the pattern on the rug from Sangravah.

‘Fine. I left you alone. I knew you were safe there.’ Cassian held up his wide hands. ‘I gave you space.’

He spat that last word like it was poison. Was Nesta supposed to thank him for not hauling her over his shoulder and stealing her back to Velaris?

Back in his presence, Nesta was already donning her armour to do battle. Each interaction became combat. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Lucien had shown her that it didn’t need to be that way. She could be angry and hurt and a partner was meant to walk alongside her through those feelings. Cassian met her emotions like a wave hitting the rock - full of force with no relenting. Made her feel as if she was wrong for ever having negative emotions.

Why had she come here?

It didn’t matter what she did. Nesta would always be villainised.

‘I came here to say goodbye, Cassian.’ Nesta stood firm even if her voice shook. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’

The aggression in his expression was exchanged for stark fear. His eyes went wide, hands reaching for the windowsill with white knuckles. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘We aren’t good together. I will be severing the bond.’

His mouth fell open with a sharp intake of breath. ‘You can’t make that decision.’

‘I can,’ Nesta said.

Cassian stepped towards her, making her flinch. He measured her movement and drew back. His brows pressed together. ‘Did you think I was about to hurt you?’

‘You have hurt me, many times.’

Voice rising, he demanded, ‘When?’

‘When you laughed at me falling down the stairs. When you told me starving myself wouldn’t bring my dead father back. When you-’

‘Enough. Enough. Enough.’

‘No. When you had me hike until I collapsed. When you choose Morrigan over me. When you choose Feyre or Rhys or Azriel over me time and time again. I am never your priority. If it comes to spending an evening with me or them, you will always choose them.’

‘They are my family!’

‘And what I am?’ Nesta voice cracked. ‘Just a mate who is trapped with you for eternity because you wore me down and locked me up until I gave in.’

Those words fell around them, bared and ugly. A weapon might have been a softer choice, but Nesta and Cassian had always fought with words. That way they wounded deeper. Cut into the soft parts and scarred.

‘Is that what you think?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

Cassian shook his head in dismay. ‘You were a mess, Nesta. Be thankful you’re alive because without us you’d be dead.’

‘It wasn’t any of you. Gwyn and Emerie got me through those days.’

‘Everybody else wanted to give up on you but I stayed,’ said Cassian, jabbing himself in the chest. ‘We are mates. We are made for each other. Stop being dramatic. You’ve had your fun in the mortal lands – and I’m pissed off with Lucien for smuggling you there – but it’s time to go back to normal.’

The words couldn’t quite settle. Nesta wasn’t sure if she’d understood. Cassian didn’t understand, not really. This wasn’t a cry for attention. Nothing would change between them – she was certain of that. Cassian was five hundred years old and set in his ways. If change was to come, Nesta would be the one forced into a mould to be Cassian’s ideal.

‘You want a version of me who doesn’t exist – who I don’t want to be.’

When Cassian tried to speak, Nesta cut him off with a swift chop of her hand through the air.

‘I am not Morrigan. I won’t ever be bubbly, flirty Morrigan. I like to spend time alone. I’m not a problem because I don’t enjoy being amongst your family.’

‘I never said you were a problem.’

‘I tried, Cassian. I tried to be who you wanted and it’s made me miserable. You won’t ever try to be the male I want.’

‘I am the male you want,’ he insisted.

‘When I thought of a husband, I dreamt of a male who’d be proud of me. One who’d want to learn what I loved. Who’d marvel at my mind not my body. You are none of these things.’

Distantly, Nesta could hear the front door opening. Had two hours passed that quickly?

‘Nes, I love you.’

She blinked at him. ‘You love me. But do you like me?’

The question flummoxed him.

‘What do you like about me?’

Cassian was a fish out of water, fumbling for reasons. He liked that she had become a warrior. Liked how determined she was to learn new sequences in their training. Liked how well she could handle a blade now. With a fool’s hope, Nesta waited to hear him say that he liked how witty she could be, liked that she would walk through fire for her friends, liked that she tossed her head back and clutched her stomach when she really laughed. None of those reasons came. He reverted to calling her beautiful, that they were evenly matched, that the Cauldron had put them together.

Nesta exhaled through her nose. ‘I have to go, Cassian.’

‘Back with Vanserra?’

‘This has nothing to do with Lucien.’

‘It has everything to do with him,’ he replied.

‘You’re right. It does. Lucien was the only one to notice how completely you had worn me down. I’m not the female that you want me to be. I never want to be her.’ Nesta shrugged, content now that the fight was over. She had said what needed to be said. Cassian would argue until he was blue in the face that she was wrong. Maybe once Nesta would have stood her ground to argue back. It took more strength to give up and walk away. ‘I’ve started over before. This time, I can be who I want to be.’

There was thunder in Cassian’s voice as he bellowed her name. But Nesta kept on walking. Her skirts pressed between her legs from the speed as she crossed the house. Cassian’s footsteps were close behind, still snapping her name to make her come to heel.

Their signal was abandoned. Nesta did not need to mention rain coming. Lucien, who was stood exchanging pleasantries with Feyre holding Nyx, took one look at Nesta’s expression and surged forwards.

The others weren’t ignorant to the sorrow and anguish in Cassian’s voice.

Mor stood, gaze pinging between them. ‘What’s happened?’

Lucien removed a letter from his jacket, tossed it onto the table, then swept along beside her. A hand clasped around her elbow, forcing her to move quicker when all Nesta wanted to do was break down and cry.

She tried to block out the buzz in the room as Cassian’s family demanded answers.

Her eyes blurred with tears.

Lucien hauled her over the threshold of the front door then his magic sprawled around them then wrapped across their bodies like a blanket, winnowing them away.

***

The moment they hit the hot air of the Summer Court, Nesta collapsed against him in tears. Lucien went to his knees with her, clutching her body on the sand. A wave rolled too close, soaking them both.

Lucien held Nesta on that beach until the sun gave its last light for the day then he carried her to the address that Cresseida had provided. She remained mute in his arms, tears long spent. It was a little cottage with only one floor and two rooms, but it would do for a beginning. Shells were pressed into the stone around the doorway and the sea could be seen from the window.

In the brief period that he spent winnowing to the mortal land and dodging Jurian’s questions about the day to retrieve her single bag of clothing, Nesta did not move from the bed where he had left her.

‘Cresseida has ensured there is some food here. There’s money here too for your needs, Nesta.’ Lucien trailed a hand against the side of her head. ‘Can I do anything for you?’

Nesta blinked away the fog that had been binding her. She scrubbed at her eyes. ‘You have helped me enough.’

He did not tell her that he hadn’t done nearly enough. Lucien should have stepped in sooner.

‘I want to be alone tonight,’ she said softly, gazing towards the window. The sound of the sea seeped into the room.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Can I visit you tomorrow?’

‘I will be fine,’ replied Nesta. She lifted her gaze to his and he wished he could lift the despair from it. ‘Will you return in a week? I want to be alone for a time.’

Lucien thought back to losing Jesminda. He had wanted nobody near him; nobody knew his pain, he believed. His grief was tended to in private because mourning was too personal for others to witness. Nesta was grieving. He had to give her that space too even if leaving her now seemed like a bad idea.

‘As you wish.’ Lucien clasped her hands between his own and kissed the top of her knuckles. ‘What you did today takes courage. There is no other Nesta Archeron.’

Just Looking by Stereophonics came on in the car and the opening line just reminded me of Nesta so that's the vibes for this

#lucien x nesta #be consumed by the flame

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siderealxmelody · 1 year

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It's said that Princess Clythia of Autumn is the only one to look like her Great-Great Grandmother Cassandra.

#clythia aesthetic #muse aesthetic #asteri lore

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aho-dapa · 10 months

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hiraeth

part 36 of me explaining my fics rather than writing them

So, this is different from my rewrite lore, just a tamlin week fic I haven't written yet

TW: horror elements, gore mention, canon typical violence??, cannibalism because fae eat humans

Set UTM and Feyre goes after Tamlin like canon except it doesn't follow canon at all

Basically mashes ACOTAR and ACOMAF together

Feyre does her typical 'I love Tamlin, give him back to me' and Amarantha says 'sure, but kill these three fae first'

Sad, because Tamlin knows whats up but can't say anything because he's bound by Amarantha magically after the curse cemented itself

The fae are covered head to toe in black and mourning veils and cannot speak or move (which is formal wear in fae sacrifices)

Feyre kills them with an ashwood dagger and Amarantha basically orders Tamlin to go stand near Feyre because she 'gave' him to her (AKA Amarantha actually having the trickster traits of the fae and doesn't just make moves that could lead to her downfall plus explains the literal language of bargains)

Amarantha then reveals that the three hooded figures are actually Nesta, Elain, and Papa Archeron because Amarantha already had spies in the Spring Court (so she discovers that Tamlin and Rhysand were actually working together to stop her when Rhysand told her that Feyre was actually Clare Beddor)

AKA Tamlin and Rhysand have always been friends and were playing the long con ever since Amarantha came to Prythian because Tamlin warned Rhys about her

AKA Tamlin never betrayed Rhys, Tamlin's father killed Rhys's sister because she was Tamlin's mate (plus political shenanigans where Tamlin was already betrothed to Amarantha) and Tamlin actually orchestrated the death of his family as revenge (in this timeline, Tamlin's mother died young and he had bonded with Rhysand's mother as well)

Tamlin holds and comforts Feyre because that's all he can do at the moment

Amarantha then declares this her coronation and ascension ceremony with three humans as sacrifice and declares herself the Dark Mother

Amarantha then reveals the Cauldron and resurrects Nesta, Elain, and Papa Archeron using this moment to solidfy herself as someone who can control life and death

She then also resurrects both Jurian and her sister Clythia using more fae sacrifices because they don't have whole bodies

Because she's not yet done with her performance, she has Tamlin 'sit and stay' like a dog as she orders the Attor to tear Feyre limb from limb as he watches unable to do anything

Amarantha then orders a celebration feast and orders everyone to celebrate their new divinity

She also orders Tamlin to clean Feyre up and feed Feyre to Amarantha as even more punishment for not giving into her

Tamlin goes up to Amarantha and the Cauldron, but instead of giving Feyre to her, he put her remains in the Cauldron and uses himself as a sacrifice to bring her back to life as 'all things that have been Un-Made must once again be Made, and things Made must be Un-Made in the Cauldron'

At this, Feyre comes back to life but not as a human, but as a beast that begins to attack everything in sight and she eventually kills Amarantha, releasing everyone from her curse and rule

At this, Feyre and Clythia fight but everyone else joins in so Clythia runs away with Amarantha's body to Hyburn by winnowing

Thus, this begins a whole new story where Rhys never SAed Feyre and was actually working with the people around him to bring down Amarantha

This also means that Feyre doesn't have the other High Lords' powers but she does have Tamlin's shapeshifting ability because of his sacrifice

Feyre ends up permanently staying as a beast out of trauma, grief, and guilt (and is helped later on by Rhys because he's the only one that can communicate with her via telepathy)

Jurian, Elain, and Papa Archeron remain human but changed by the Cauldron

Nesta had actually brought herself out of Cauldron and did the same as canon and took from the Cauldron so that's why she has the appearance of a fae

So Prythian now has to go against both the King of Hybern and Clythia instead of just the KoH

And so this is where I reveal this is actually a TOG and ACOTAR crossover fic where the Cauldron also acts as a Wyrdgate and Tamlin was actually sent to the world of TOG

Also small TOG rewrite that doesn't follow the canon of TOG / also CCITY doesn't exist in this because I haven't read it yet

Currently planned (crackship) pairings, lemme know what you think:

Tamlin / Gavriel / Maura

Rhys / Cassian / Feyre

Azriel / Fenrys

Gwyn / Nox

Balthazar / Eris

Amren / Nesta / Varian

Mor / Elide

Emerie / Ressina

Elain / Kashin / Yrene

Lucien / Arghun

Nesryn / Sartaq

Tarquin / Papa Archeron

Cresseida / Jurian

Rowan / Aelin

Nehemia / Pelor

Aedion / Chaol / Dorian / Kaltain

Lysandra / Manon

Lorcan / Endymion

canon has no power here

#acotar crackship #tog crackship #anti sjm #always anti sjm #dapa writes #I literally paired everyone up because I was so intrigued by the possible pairings #pro tamlin #the fic title is hiraeth #acotar era

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