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areyoudreaminof · 11 months

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The Rock Against the Surf: A Gwyn Berdara Playlist

If my timing is correct, it happens to be Day 2 of @gwynweekofficial , song association! So, how about a playlist of songs for Gwyn?

Just like Nesta needed Gwyn, I think a lot of us readers needed her too. To see someone heal herself through such trauma, to see the beauty and strength in the world and to be vulnerable with herself and others in order to heal was an important experience for me. I really am looking forward to Gwyn's story progressing. Listen Here! And follow me behind the cut for a deep dive!

Pegasi-Jesca Hoop

You combed out my mane I'll wear your saddle and reins With all these stars at my feet I'll stamp and tap the spring With my rider a mount I feel like spreading my wings Take to the sky like poetry

The River-AURORA

Don't forget who you are even though you are hurt You are caught in a wire and soon it will burst You can cry, drinking your eyes Do you miss the sadness when it is gone? (Gone) And you let the river run wild (Gone) And you let the river run wild

The Siren-Nadiiife

Moonlight on my skin Rising from within Taking all my wounds Mother moon my home

Here in the water My soul evolves in wrath I am thunder I am the siren's song

Little Earthquakes-Tori Amos

We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn We laughed in the faces of kings, never afraid to burn And I hate, and I hate And I hate, and I hate Disintegration, watching us wither Black-winged roses that safely changed their color Oh, these little earthquakes Here we go again

I can't reach you, can't reach you Give me life, give me pain Give me myself again Give me life, give me pain Give me myself again

Rocks and Water-Deb Talan

Seven times I went down Six times I walked back I don't fear the dark anymore 'Cause I've become all that

I will be rocks, I will be water I will leave this to my daughter Lift your head up in the wind When you feel yourself grow colder Wrap the night around your shoulders I will be with you even then Even when I cannot see your face anymore

O'Sister-City and Colour

What have the demons done? With a luminous light that once shined from your eyes What makes you feel so alone?

Is it the whispering ghost that you fear the most? But the blackness in your heart, it won't last forever I know it's tearing you apart but it's a song you can wither

Was it the whispering ghost that left you out in the cold? But the blackness in your heart won't last forever I know it's tearing you apart but it's a storm you can wither

Cold War-Janelle Monáe

So you think I'm alone? But being alone's the only way to be When you step outside You spend life fighting for your sanity This is a cold war You better know what you're fighting for This is a cold war Do you know what you're fighting for? If you want to be free Below the ground is the only place to be Cause in this life You spend time running from depravity

notre dame-Paris Paloma

As I tiptoe Creaking over prayers Pleading with their maker Crying with the choir

I’m not immune to the sincerity Below me, makes me feel It makes me holy But the tears I understand That I do not below No I do not belong

Bishop Briggs-White Flag

Take a hit, shoot me down, shoot me down I will never hit the ground, hit the ground Playing dead, I'll never do Gotta keep an eye on you Patience is wearing thin, paper-thin Promises broke again, what a sin But it only feeds my energy So don't expect no sympathy

Oh, won't wave my white flag, no This time I won't let go I'd rather die Than give up the fight, give up the fight

Rebel Heart-First Aid Kit

You told me once I have a rebel heart I don't know if that's true But I believe you saw something in me That lives inside you too Now all I hear is the wind There's a storm coming through

Tell me what do you do I keep trying To be someone I'd never be I keep seeing her in everyone Everyone but me But I know you truly saw me Even if just for a while Maybe that's why it hurts now To leave it all behind I don't know what it is That makes me run That makes me wanna shatter Everything that I've done

Only If For A Night-Florence + the Machine

And I heard your voice as clear as day And you told me I should concentrate It was all so strange and so surreal That a ghost should be so practical Only if for a night And the only solution was to stand and fight And my body was bruised and I was set alight But you came over me like some holy rite And although I was burning, you're the only light Only if for a night

Albatross-Foals

You burnt the lungs That your ancestors created You sat by the banks Of the river and you waited Till time rolled back And the water had abated You drank your share But you still could not be sated You said you're scared Of the clocks that keep ticking over We'll find a way For a life that's worth living over Again and again

Claim Your Ghost-Iron and Wine

Our winter keeps running us down We wake up with love hanging on Killers let go, killers let go

Some kids get a handful of rain Our hope is the desperate die wise Killers let go, killers let go

Morning falls from a tree and asks for a name Claim your ghost, know the wine for what it is

Be Sweet-Japanese Breakfast

So come and get your woman (Comе and get your woman) Pacify her rage (Pacify her rage) Take the time to undo your lies, make it up once more with feeling Recognize your mistakes and I'll let you back in Realize not too late, loved you always Make it up to me, you know it's better Make it up to me, you know it's better Be sweet to me, baby I wanna believe in you, I wanna believe in something

Ready to Start-Arcade Fire

If I was scared, I would And if I was pure, you know I would And if I was yours, but I'm not Now I'm ready to start If I was scared, I would And if I was pure, you know I would And if I was yours, but I'm not Now I'm ready to start Now I'm ready to start I would rather be wrong Than live in the shadows of your song

Taglist: @ofduskanddreams @krem-does-stuff @krem-has-a-mess @octobers-veryown @melting-houses-of-gold @velidewrites @reverie-tales @c-e-d-dreamer, @andrigyn @foundress0fnothing @vulpes-fennec @asnowfern @mossytrashcan @thelovelymadone @the-lonelybarricade @shadowriel @separatist-apologist @fieldofdaisiies @stickyelectrons @vanserrass @panicatthenightcourt @iftheshoef1tz @damedechance @headcanonheadcase @cursebrkr @wilde-knight @moonpatroclus @kataravimes-of-the-shire @sunshinebingo @filthyglamdoll @ablogofbipanic @bagelfyre @thesistersarcheron @ultadverb @iftheshoef1tz @yazthebookish, @foreverinelysian, @spell-cleavers, @aldbooks, @gwyns, @bookofmirth

#acotar playlist project #gwyneth berdara #pro gwyneth berdara #gwyn berdara #pro gwyn #Spotify

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not-poignant · 2 months

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hi Pia . Number 30 if you're ok with sharing

30. Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn't.

There was a Homestuck x Stardew Valley crossover I nearly wrote, which would have focused on Dirk & Jake and Dave & Karkat taking the places of some of the villagers. It got far enough that I made a playlist for it, which as some folks know, is how I start to really get committed to a fic.

And there was supposed to be a final, fourth installment of the Fae Tales canon which would have involved Eran and the dragons. But due to The Ice Plague and how it did, I knew I'd never end up writing it, so I tied up everyone's endings so they had their happy endings, and left a few hints for something further that I'm almost certain I'll never write. But that installment would have dealt with the Nightingale once and for all, and finally answered why Augus and Ash were born in the same lake, and why Ash is a runt. But, eh, I answered most of the questions and I'm happy with where the canon ended.

I also nearly wrote a Rise of the Guardians x His Dark Materials crossover. I got as far as assigning daemons and taking lots of notes and then left the fandom. When I came back, it was to write The Golden Age that Never Was.

There's been some others too, but they're the main ones! I usually quit out of a story for one of two reasons: 1. It's just not coming together, and it doesn't feel 'right' which means I'll probably not want to finish it, and I don't like abandoning things. 2. I know it won't do well re: readers, and while that's not everything, when it comes to my income, it kind of is.

From this meme!

#asks and answers #memey goodness #pia on writing #the mirrorverse #fae tales verse #fae tales #there was a thorki fic i wrote and posted a few chapters of and then abandoned and pulled off thespectaclesofthor #the only fic i've ever pulled #and there's other plot bunnies around the place #the one that's looking less and less likely #is the augus/gwyn/corbyn prince university AU #even though that also has a playlist #administrator gwyn wants this in the queue

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midyearflowers · 2 years

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one of my favorite parts of the whole ozma/salem story is the gods bringing ozma back to life like

gods: hey welcome back we have a mission for you!

ozma: i appreciate the gesture but i’d rather remain in the afterlife to await my love

gods: yeah. about that.

#gwyn tinvaak #added a bunch of rwby to my spotify playlist so i was thinking about it on the way home #i love the whole ozma/salem thing so much #but this part is just too funny #the gods are like ''hey man your girlfriend is really annoying us can you like talk to her or something''#and then ozma proceeded to fuck that up horribly #rwby

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futures-tense · 2 years

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Songs that make me think of Lone Star characters

a lot of these songs make me unreasonably sad but like, ya know

In the Stars (Benson Boone): TK and Gwyn

Birthday Cake (Dylan Conrique): The Vegas😭

broken (lovelytheband): TK and Carlos

All For You (Cian Ducrot): Owen???

dance with me (beabadobee): Mateo @ Nancy

Love Like This (Words From Her) (Suriel Hess): TK @ Carlos

Flowers (Lauren Spencer-Smith): Marjan

my home (The Change): Carlos. I really dont need to elaborate on this one

#my playlists #tk strand #carlos reyes #gwyn morgan #owen strand #(me having a song for owen thats Narcissist???)#(although that one is Gwyn @ Owen)#the vegas #tommy vega #charles vega #mateo chavez #nancy gillian #marjan Marwani

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doublel27 · 2 years

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For the song recs ask: Saturn by Sleeping at Last 💙🦛

Oh wow, it's beautiful...thank you for sharing.

Send me a song and I'll respond

#god this is beatuiful #i'm adding it to my favorites #it's also going on my gwyn playlist #it can live with amen and keep me in your heart and heaven's not too far #thanks for the ask #doublel27 talks

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gvttergvrden · 24 days

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why is Spotify's smart shuffle just a playlist. i reshuffle seven times it's the same every time. different song to start and no change. the point of reshuffling is to reshuffle

#fuck man #then i go to a song playlist #90% new and actually good #and the daily mixes are maybe one or two new #fucked all the way down #fuck algorithms #gwyn rambles

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jmoonjones · 5 months

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A batch of ACOTAR doodles:

What Azriel really does on those spying missions

Lucien wishes everyone would find a new gift theme

Elain, Gwyn and the Suriel have a lovely picnic together

Cassian makes a playlist

#acotar series #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanart #acotar art #acosf #elain archeron #cassian acotar #lucien vanserra #the suriel #shadowbabies

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fieldofdaisiies · 3 months

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summary: In order to finally bring about change and rule over the Autumn Court instead of his father, Eris has to go to great lengths: Beron must die. Adding to the complexity is his love for someone tied by a bond they desperately want to break. Azriel, the Night Court's shadowsinger and spymaster, disrupts Eris's life unexpectedly. Will Eris succeed in his mission while navigating the turmoil within, or will destiny choose another path for him?

warnings: blood, gore, death, explicit descriptions (rating E) other ships mentioned: Feysand, Nessian, Emorie, Gwyn & Balthazar…

book cover fanart by @krem-does-stuff

playlist

chapter overview: Prologue • Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 • Chapter 17 • Chapter 18 • Chapter 19 • Chapter 20 • Epilogue

link ao3

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @v3lv3tf0x @talibunny30 @allyhill @popjunkie42 @skyesayshi @going-through-shit @mybestfriendmademe @12334555666 @nickishadow139

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams @sfhsgrad-blog

please let me know if you want to be removed or added!

#acotar #acosf #azriel #azriel x eris #azris #eris vanserra

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damedechance · 4 months

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seek&destroy

read pt1 on ao3 || listen to the playlist

You're telling me I got to talk with @foundress0fnothing for the past few weeks (my favorite person) and write about Gwynriel (my two favorite idiots)? I have seriously enjoyed getting to know my precious giftee a little bit more during this event and I am so so so excited to finally share part of what I've been working on!!! Em, I hope you know how cherished you are in this little fandom community, and I hope this fic can bring you even just the littlest spark of joy! Love you endlessly, Santa 🌟

Pairing: Gwynriel

Parts: 1 of 5

Rating: Explicit (for eventual smut)

Summary: Those with a link to a realm long gone now live in secret, and Gwyneth Berdara is one of them. After a horrific tragedy rends her life apart, Gwyn finds herself in good company with her fellow Valkyries, a group of vigilantes who work to restore the forgotten relics of a land called 'Prythian.' When Gwyn's work brings her to an illustrious museum, her own world collides with that of the mysterious Shadowsinger--an encounter that leads to her vowing to bring him to his untimely end. [[FOR @acotargiftexchange]]

Read below for all of Chapter One:

CHAPTER ONE

Too. Many. Legs.

There were just too many legs, Gwyn thought, as she stared in open-mouthed horror at the projector screen. Just as she swallowed down a gag at the sight of the ghastly images before her, the presenter gestured passionately towards the slides, his tall frame and abhorrent posture giving the illusion of the rounded shell of a beetle. So uncanny was his resemblance to the subject of his own presentation, the species he’d apparently devoted his entire career to–the cerambycid beetle. Gwyn fought back a shiver. Or a scream of terror.

Not that she wasn’t sympathetic to his cause. A glance at the pamphlet in front of her revealed that he held a PhD in entomology–a degree she knew from personal experience was all but impossible if you didn’t feel truly dedicated to your work. He was probably a sweet old man, she struggled to convince herself. Someone like her, a person so entirely enamored with their subject of study that the less attractive facets of the field were of no consequence. In fact, she admired that sort of devotion.

Still, the clearly impassioned man wasn’t exactly persuading her to actually take up an interest in the study of insects. Gwyn suspected that the sight of those beetles was the primary driving force in that decision. Especially since she still couldn’t keep her eyes open for more than five minutes at a time, and was currently squeezing them shut as she counted out her deep, steadying breaths. Just a few moments of relief from the images on the screen was all she needed.

When she opened her eyes again, the presenter had switched to the next slide, which revealed a close-up view of the beetle’s segmented underbelly. Heaving, Gwyn bit down on her tongue as she felt the blood drain from her face. To distract herself from the urge to evacuate the contents of her stomach, Gwyn allowed her eyes to drift aimlessly about the room.

For not the first time, she was grateful that she’d been able to secure a seat for herself in the back of the auditorium. The badge hanging from the bright red lanyard across her neck proclaimed her a professor of entomology at the Dunmere College of Arts and Sciences, but she imagined that if any of the other conference attendees saw how green her face was, that title would prove itself somewhat implausible.

If nothing else, Gwyn needed to be sure that her act was flawless tonight. By the end of the Annual Entomology Society Conference, she wanted to have every single person in this room reasonably convinced that she was an ardent scholar of…bugs. Or, at the very least, she needed to not raise anyone’s suspicions to the contrary.

Perhaps if she simply kept sitting in the back, then.

Sighing quietly, Gwyn shifted down in her seat and allowed her legs to spread out in front of her. If she were to be stuck here, listening to the keynote speaker for the next–she checked the clock hanging above the door–five minutes, she should at least get comfortable. She crossed her arms over her chest, fingers tapping impatiently across her biceps, and stared unseeingly at the screen.

The minutes passed excruciatingly slowly. More legs, more antennae, more larvae, and by the end of the time Gwyn was biting on the insides of her cheeks to prevent herself from screaming in abject horror at each new, impossibly grotesque image. Until finally, the presenter reached the end of his slides, and only a blank screen appeared above his head.

“Right,” the bug doctor said. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose, and began shuffling his papers over the podium. “Thank you all for such a thrilling discussion of cerambycid communities and their impact as an invasive species.”

Thrilling. Gwyn snorted to herself, and when more than a few heads turned in her direction, she quickly masked it as a sneeze.

“I will be available for a Q&A session later this afternoon,” the presenter continued, his finger prodding one of the papers on the top of his stack, as if pointing to a time. “Until then, I suggest perusing the rest of the museum for the insect nursery, where I am told some cerambycid beetle larvae are on display. Do take note of the well-progressed sclerotisation of the mouth parts, and if you find yourself peckish, I hear the cafe has an excellent gelato stand.”

That the presenter could possibly utter the words sclerotisation and gelato in the same sentence only served to confirm for Gwyn that she needed to get out of that room as soon as possible. Eagerly standing up, she shoved her notebook full of fake notes into her bag, and began to walk down the auditorium steps with the rest of the meager audience. Entomology was not a popular field apparently, and Gwyn could hazard a guess as to why.

As she approached the stage where the bug doctor still stood at the podium, politely accepting words of praise from some of the other attendees, Gwyn thought she hear the words antennal sockets and low tubercles, and immediately quickened her pace, slipping past others to ensure that she was towards the middle of the pack, instead of at the very end.

Sighing in relief as soon as she stepped out of the auditorium and into one of the connecting halls outside of the exhibits, Gwyn followed the flow of the crowd. She slipped her phone out of her pocket, pretending to be texting so that none of the bug enthusiasts would attempt to engage her in some conversation about pupation. Only looking up occasionally from her notes app where she just repeatedly typed the words ew ew ew, Gwyn nearly yelped when she heard a voice in her ear.

“You missed your turn,” Emerie said, her voice slightly crackling through the earpiece hidden behind Gwyn’s hair.

She cleared her notes app, quickly typing the words, I know. And Sorry.

A tinny sigh in her ear. “That’s okay, just don’t attract attention. Pretend to look interested in the exhibit.”

Gwyn locked her phone, slipping it back into her bag as she lifted her head. Immediately regretting the action, once she came face to face with hundred of wiggling, nasty looking larvae.

This time, Gwyn couldn’t hold back her yelp, though she did manage to close her mouth in time to capture the sound, so that it didn’t disrupt the group of people that had gathered to marvel at the nasty little things. Pointing out some fascinating detail of another, as they crowded around the glass window into the bug nursery. In hindsight, Gwyn really should have expected that following the crowd of conference attendees would have led her here.

Carefully controlling her breathing rate so that she wouldn’t alert the others, Gwyn took several steps backwards from the case before turning and walking in the direction of the entrance to the next exhibit. One glance around the room revealed to her that the rest of the entomologists were already deeply engrossed with the contents of the many cases around them, and so Gwyn was able to easily slip out of the room without attracting notice.

The adjoining exhibit, a hall of various bones and skeletons, was relatively less crowded, and Gwyn was just as easily able to weave her way in and out of the gathered bodies. She allowed her head to swivel around, if only to appear as any other mildly interested patron, but stayed resolute in her path towards the exhibit that she’d originally missed.

“Slow down,” Emerie hissed in her ear. “Or at least pretend to be looking for the bathroom.”

Gwyn huffed, shoulders sagging as she forced herself to slow down somewhere in the middle of the ocean exhibit. Above her, the lights illuminated the room in slowly shifting shades of blue, casting the impression of walking along the ocean floor. She ran a hand over her face, and continued walking at a much more deliberate pace.

Admittedly, the museum was rather impressive and on any other day, Gwyn would have been among all of the other patrons, staring wide-eyed at the displays and devotedly reading each and every plaque.

But she wasn’t here to admire the museum. The entomology conference had only been an excuse for Gwyn to come to the Helion Museum of Natural History. If she had simply attended as a regular patron, without a purpose for ambling through the halls other than pure entertainment, she wouldn’t have been granted a keycard that allowed her access to some of the more restricted sections of the museum.

She’d already taken advantage of that privilege the previous day, when she and the other conference attendees took a tour of the research wings, where the archivists and conservationists worked. Their guide had taken them through room upon room of lovingly organized samples stacked in neat rows upon the shelves or spread across tables as researchers gently worked to clean and preserve them. The ultimate purpose of the tour had been to view the yet unveiling showing of moths as the archivists carefully pinned and labeled them, but Gwyn had conveniently slipped out under the guise of a bathroom break before that ever happened. That night, she returned home to Nesta and Emerie with a neatly drawn map of nearly the entire research wing.

Now, as Gwyn ambled through the ocean exhibit, the brilliant displays of coral and skeletons of various sea creatures rose up around her. She walked slowly, arms crossed over her badge so that anyone passing her wouldn’t note that she’d wandered off from the rest of the entomologists. Emerie gently murmured her approval in Gwyn’s ear, just as she crossed the threshold into the next exhibit, a sign above it advertising the Space and Astronomy hall.

The entrance was a long, dark tunnel with white swirling lights on the rounded ceilings and walls. Not resembling stars, but instead pulsing from one end to another like a portal. Gwyn was the only one walking through it, and belatedly she realized that this was a relatively slow day and hour for the museum. She hadn’t seen many other patrons, except for the rest of the bug crew, and as she walked out of the tunnel and into the dimly lit chamber that was the space exhibit, she realized that she was the only one there, save for the security guard currently leaning against a wall and staring at the toe of his boot.

Gwyn adjusted her glasses, slowly winding around case after case of space memorabilia. Some artifacts collected from the surface of the moon, and hundreds of chunks of rock from meteorites that had crashed to earth. She paused at a few signs for good measure, but her gaze was drawn to the ceiling above, which was a careful recreation of the constellations in the night sky.

As she made her way to the end of the hall, Gwyn nearly tripped over a small pedestal that appeared to rise up out of nowhere. She stumbled back, staring dumbfounded at the small, square case that shone more brightly than any of the others in the entire museum thus far.

Just a small, glass box atop a narrow pedestal at the center of the corridor, right before the entrance to the next exhibit. And she was so close, Emerie was murmuring in her ear a list of reminders of what to take note of as soon as she entered the next room–but Gwyn couldn’t resist. That one lone box, that felt like it had been waiting for her.

Slowly, she approached, carefully leaning over the glass case to observe the contents, only to see that it was a single glass tube, stoppered at the end with a metal cap.

Gwyn sucked in a sharp breath, holding it as if letting it out would disturb the little granules safely behind several layers of glass. She admired it, this fine powdery substance within the tube that almost looked like glitter, it was so reflective. She didn’t know what it was, only that it was beautiful, catching the light in this oddly mesmerizing way, and there was so little of it. A pinch, really.

Her eyes flashed to the small sign below the display, and read the label: Presolar Grains.

Lips parted in awe, Gwyn looked back to the small tube, and recognized the particles inside as actual stardust. The dust from stars formed billions of years ago, before the sun even existed. She reached out, her five fingers spread across the glass as she crouched to get on eye level with it.

How something so outstanding could be kept in a place as unassuming as this–just perched on a small pedestal in a vacant section of the museum–was a wonder to her. There should have been hundreds of people crowding around this very case, craning their necks for a chance to see it, this evidence that something had existed before the sun.

“What is it?”

Gwyn jumped as soon as the voice sounded behind her, whirling around with her arm out in front of her with the impulse to shove the person away. With Emerie berating her in her ear, Gwyn managed to suppress her instincts just in time, her eyes widening as they trailed up a man’s chest to his face.

She was met with easily the most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen. Like molten bronze, these fluent pools of amber and hints of green, and she staggered back, catching herself with a hand atop the case behind her.

“Careful,” the man said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he took half a step forward. Either to catch her, or peel her hand off the case, she couldn’t tell. “The guards might think you’re trying to steal something.”

Gwyn tore her hand off the case as if she’d been burned, hastily stepping aside to put as much distance between herself and the display as she could. She had the strangest feeling, that his eyes had tunneled straight through her, and could somehow see her true intentions as if they’d been written out just as plainly as any other sign in the museum–there was no other reason. He knew why she was there.

But as her heart hammered in her chest at the prospect of her cover being blown, the man only gave her a small smile, really just a fleeting jump at the corner of his mouth, before stepping forward and leaning over the case.

“What are you doing?” Emerie was screeching in her ear. “Leave, geology is in the next room.”

But so perplexed was Gwyn by the man in front of her, that she felt rooted to the spot. Her head cocked slightly to the side as she studied him. How he silently mouthed the words as he read them on the sign, how the slight hook of his nose caught the light emanating from the case, sending an elongated shadow across his face, carving out his cheekbone. Those eyes that were framed by long arching eyelashes and hair that was so dark it seemed to absorb and devour all of the light.

Something about him bothered her.

Suddenly, his head turned, an amused smile already melting over his face as he looked at her. Gwyn jumped, eyes going wide as she pretended like she’d been doing anything other than assessing him. But the man straightened, stepping away from the case to stand slightly in front of her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his eyes slowly traveling down to the badge around her neck before she could answer.

Gwyn hurried to cover it with a hand, some deeply ingrained instinct of self preservation telling her that she couldn’t trust him despite his friendly smile or Emerie’s pleas for her to just act normal.

He lifted a brow at her, his gaze snapping back to her face.

“Is it a secret?” he said.

“Diana,” she blurted, forcing her hand to lift away from the badge. “Diana Bishop.”

He simply stared at her for a moment, before letting out a short, caustic laugh.

“Okay.”

Gwyn narrowed her eyes, her hands turning into fists as she studied him. Gorgeous face aside, he looked absolutely normal. Black shirt tucked into immaculately pressed and tailored trousers. Stylish, attractive even–but decidedly normal.

Why, then, couldn’t she smother the feeling that he knew all of her deepest and darkest secrets?

“What was that?” she asked, flinching slightly when her voice came out slightly more accusatory than she supposed it should have. She could at least keep up the appearance that she didn’t suspect him of anything.

“Just let it go,” Emerie hissed in her ear. “Apologize and walk away.”

Apologize. For being her best friend, Emerie apparently didn’t know her at all, because instead of walking out, Gwyn took a step forward, invading the man’s space, crossing her arms over her chest so that they bumped against him. And when she looked up to his face, where she expected to see reproach, instead she saw eagerness.

“Nothing,” he practically purred. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Diana.”

Gwyn frowned, her eyes roving over his face for any sort of tell. Reason told her that he couldn’t have been like her. He was tall, and built like a damn soldier with those broad shoulders and muscles pulling the fabric of his shirt taut over his chest, but there was no way he was dangerous. He had to be normal.

And then there was that gut feeling. Like electricity arcing over her skin, sirens blaring in her ears. He had come out of nowhere.

“And what’s your name?” Gwyn said derisively.

“Fine,” Emerie sighed, resigned, into her ear. “If you won’t listen to me, fine, but when Nesta comes back–”

Irritated, Gwyn jerkily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hooking her finger into the clear cord of her earpiece and tucking the entire thing into her palm in one movement so that he couldn’t see.

“Azriel,” he said, reaching his hand out. She noticed scars running up the lengths of his fingers towards his wrist, and she stared at the nearly mesmerizing patterns for far too long before she realized that she was meant to shake it, and she still had the earpiece in her palm.

“I have to go,” Gwyn said slowly, backing away and angling her body towards the entrance to the next exhibit.

She put Azriel at her back as she paced towards the short corridor leading to the gems and minerals exhibit, her steps quickening as she passed by the security guard she’d spotted earlier.

Azriel wouldn’t follow her, she assured herself as she crossed into the gems and minerals exhibit, where there were countless glittering gems winking at her beneath the lights. He wouldn’t follow her, because she had been so off putting and strange, he wouldn’t deem her worthy of the effort.

Placated for now, Gwyn adjusted her glasses over her nose, and swiveled her head about the room so that the camera hidden in the frames could capture the overall layout of the exhibit. It was a rushed job, not nearly as meticulous as it would have been if she wasn’t so paranoid that Azriel would jump out of nowhere with twenty armed guards ready to escort her to some secret dungeon in an underground government bunker.

Been there, done that.

She considered popping her earpiece back in, but just as she rounded the first display case at the center of the hall, a mother and child came bounding down the aisle, stopping right next to her to admire a row of amethyst.

She backed up, allowing the little boy some space, and was about to continue her walk around the rest of the room, when she ran into something hard, all of the air whooshing out of her lungs.

“Ugh,” Gwyn grunted, as hands wrapped around her upper arms and steadied her.

“Sorry,” the same voice from before said, helping her to turn around. Of course he’d followed her. She’d been off putting and strange, and he was definitely not normal.

Gwyn glared up at him, all pretenses of being some bookish bug enthusiast easily forgotten. He had found her out, she was sure of it, and she now dedicated all of her efforts towards thinking of a way to get rid of him. Collecting footage of the display cases so Emerie could catalog the contents for later was secondary, because clearly he was a threat to the mission.

Belatedly, she wished she hadn’t taken out the earpiece.

“What do you want?” Gwyn said, a hushed whisper so that the family behind her wouldn’t pick up on the thinly veiled hostility.

Azriel furrowed his brows. So he was going to pretend to be confused, then.

“You left in a hurry,” he explained. “I thought you might be in some sort of trouble, so I came to ask if you needed help. I didn’t mean to run into you.”

Gwyn scoffed. “Yeah, sure. Look, I really should be getting back.”

He hummed thoughtfully, his eyes drifting down to her badge again.

“To the… bugs?”

“Screw you,” Gwyn blurted.

She whirled away, stalking down the aisle as the mother gasped and clapped her hands over her son’s ears. Gwyn didn’t even bother with trying to capture more footage. Her cover was blown, and all she needed to do now was lose her tail without attracting anymore attention.

Unfortunately, that also meant it was rather easy for her pursuer to catch up to her.

She supposed she could kill him, if it came down to it.

“Did I insult your profession somehow?” He asked, jogging up beside her. “Was I not supposed to call them bugs?”

He came in front of her, trying to capture her gaze, which forced her to halt right beside a large tower of some type of quartz. She knew, not because she bothered to look at it, but because the reflection of it glimmered in his eyes.

“Get out of the way,” Gwyn said through her teeth as she rolled the earpiece within her palm. She glanced around him, eyes noting the camera wedged up against the ceiling. Murder was out, then.

He only smirked down at her, and just the sight of that gentle arch of his mouth was enough to convince her that he was privy to her homicidal intent, somehow. Any normal person would have walked away by now. He was staring her down like an adversary.

“Sure,” he said easily, stepping out of her way, and then waiting. Like he expected her to walk with him. “Maybe you could show me around? I had a bug phase as a kid, you know.”

Gwyn pushed ahead for the exit, struggling to ignore him as he easily matched her pace. If she could just lead him into an empty stairwell, she would be able to lose him. Knock him unconscious, and then leave him there for some poor museum employee to find. She could do it.

She tried to ignore him, and failed because then he started rambling about egg sacs, and Gwyn couldn’t take it anymore.

“Shut up,” she said. On an impulse, she grabbed his arm and pulled him with her towards a door marked Staff Only in a secluded vestibule off of the gem and mineral exhibit.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Gwyn immediately regretted her decision. Chest heaving, she looked around to see that she’d brought them into a storage room. Small, but not as tight as a closet, even with the towering stacks of clearly labeled bins around them. There were no windows, and the only lights were the strips of LEDs along the floor marking the narrow aisles.

“Diana,” Azriel said slowly, letting out a low breath as he glanced around the room. “This is all very flattering, but are you sure you want to do this here?”

“What?” Gwyn shrieked, her hands balling into fists. She backed up towards the door, where she thought she saw a broom, and considered using it to knock him out.

He was crowding her, slowly walking into her until her shoulders pressed against the door. She had been so sure, before bringing him in here, that he wanted to capture her, and with each vanishing inch between them, her mind was thrown into further disarray.

She had to get rid of him.

“I’ll admit,” he said, “There’s clearly something between us.”

Gwyn shook her head, trying to order her thoughts before she looked back up at him. “What are you talking about?”

“But don’t you think it’s a bit too soon for clandestine meetings in dark rooms?” he said.

His hands came up on either side of her head to cage her in. He leaned down, leveling her stare with one of his own, and she watched as his gaze drifted to her mouth.

“What were you thinking we would do?” he murmured. “When you led me in here?”

“Don’t play with me,” Gwyn said, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She reached out a hand, groping for the door handle.

“No?” he said, face angling to the side. Like he might try to kiss her, and the thought of it was no more terrifying than her realization that she wouldn’t have minded it.

And again, like he could hear every one of his thoughts, his mouth curved into a smile.

“Then what should I do with you?” he asked.

“Look,” Gwyn said, her fingers finally landing on the handle. She pressed herself flush against the door as he stepped closer, so that his chest wouldn’t brush against hers. “Just let me go, and I promise–”

“Let you go?” Azriel murmured, smirking at her.

“Yes,” Gwyn said flatly. She stared resolutely back at him, unwilling to allow him to see even a shred of nervousness. She could do this. She could knock him down right now, if she wanted.

So why wasn’t she?

“Let you go,” he repeated, humming as if he was turning the idea over in his mind. Considering it. His face dipped to the side, his lips somewhere near her ear when he whispered, “Why? Have you done something you shouldn’t have?”

Gwyn’s mouth fell open, her eyes roving restlessly up and down the side of his face as she tried to reconcile the part of her that desperately wanted to see him lying across the floor as she smacked him repeatedly with the broom handle–with the part of her that wanted to see him lying across the floor as she crawled over him and pressed her tongue to his neck.

Her fingers slipped off of the door handle, and were reaching for his shirt collar to do something, when the door suddenly opened behind her, knocking her into his arms. She scrambled for a moment, her hands peeling his off of her waist as he tried to steady her.

Above them, the overhead light flashed on, and she squinted against the harsh light as she turned to face the person who had walked in.

“What are you doing in here?” one of the security guards frowned at them.

Gwyn’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to come up with a reasonable excuse as Azriel scrubbed his hand over his mouth beside her, trying to hide a grin. She had just landed on I got lost, when the security guard groaned, stepping to the side to let them pass.

“They don’t pay me enough to deal with this,” he muttered to himself. He looked up at the ceiling, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’d think adults would behave with some decency.”

Gwyn glared at the security guard, brushing past him and out the door. She expected Azriel to be right behind her, but once she’d gotten over her indignation at having someone assume she’d been doing indecent things with him in public, she turned to look behind her.

Only to see the back of his head.

He was going in the opposite direction.

Stunned, Gwyn tore the lanyard off over her head and chucked it into the nearest trash can. She headed straight for the main staircase at the end of the vestibule, where she knew she could reach the museum atrium and eventually the exit. She needed to get out of there, needed to get lost in a crowd so she could rid herself of the feeling of being watched.

He had let her go.

It didn’t make sense, Gwyn thought as she hurried down the steps. He’d clearly been onto her, had clearly recognized that she was up to something. Any reasonable person wouldn’t have let her go, especially not if she had been his target in the first place. Gwyn wouldn’t have let him go, if the roles were reversed, and if she wasn’t so concerned with getting out of the damn building, she would have been right on his heels.

There was something wrong, Gwyn knew. And she would have to head back to Emerie and Nesta and tell them.

Tell them they needed to call this mission off.

#acotar secret santa #acotar gift exchange 2023 #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel x gwyn #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #modern au #museum heist #enemies to lovers #meet ugly

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acourtofthought · 5 months

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People saying Gwyn and Az could not possibly be sexually compatible given Gwyn's past and because SJM once said in an interview that Az is "kinky" are forgetting a few things.

First, SJM hadn't even written the next ACOTAR book at that time. An offhand comment made to her friend while joking around is not the same thing as SJM sitting down, preparing to write the book and seeing where her character takes her, what feels like a fit for their personality, so basing what you think you know of Az off that is a reach.

Second, and this is not to sound snarky, but are those people confused on the meaning of kink? Kink is really anything outside of that which is considered vanilla, Rhys having sex with Feyre inside their minds would be considered kink.

There's a great big world of kink out there and the above is just a small list.

Do you know what's listed under M in the link?

M Is for Melolagnia

Melolagnia is a fetish that involves being turned on by music. This doesn’t simply mean having a go-to Spotify playlist when you have sex, but rather experiencing strong sexual reactions in response to music and also fantasizing about certain songs or genres. The arousal can derive from a combination of the musical elements including the singer’s voice

Do I think that's what SJM was referring to when she said Az was kinky? Probably not especially because that's considered a fetish more than a kink but she did address Az and Gwyn being singers so maybe that's his thing.

The point is we don't know what she meant by that comment, it could be any of a long list of things.

For all we know, Az himself likes being tied up as a way to take back his powerlessness while in the dungeon, a chance to control the narrative of what happened to him all those years ago.

The list of what she meant when she said that he was kinky is endless but I think some automatically assume Az is into whips and chains and there's nothing to suggest that. I think some fixate on him having the biggest wingspan, being "too much for Gwyn" while forgetting Feyre said that jokingly to Rhys with Rhys later remarking he was about to show the world who actually had the biggest wingspan.

Some try to elevate Az to some unholy sex god who could never be right for someone's official first time while ignoring what we actually know of Az.

For all that Az does to his enemies, think of how he is with the females he's around. He's gentle with Elain right? Gentle when he felt Feyre's wings. He has always been disturbed by the treatment his mother received and his treatment of women greatly contrasts that of how he acts with his enemies. For all we know, Az's kink is being a submissive.

But even if he isn't, we've got actual evidence proving Az would have no problem being gentle with Gwyn if that's what Gwyn wanted. Pairing her off with a random high lord she's never met because some assume he'd be better suited for her in the bedroom is???? I don't even know what to call that. Just because someone seems like a nice guy doesn't mean he's the same behind closed doors with a partner.

Lastly, why are people convinced that Elain would be into whatever Az's kink is? Elain slept with Graysen, her fiance a month before they were to be wed. To me that shows she was only willing to have an intimate relationship with him once they were prepared to make a lifelong commitment to one another. Also, wouldn't the better storyline for Elain be proving she's got no problems handling her mates fire?

Nearly kissing Az is not the same as sleeping with him so it seems a lot of assumptions are being made about both Elain and Gwyn in order to twist the outcome of a specific ship (surprise, surprise).

#gwynriel #elucien #anti e/riel #azriel acotar #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara

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tato-acm · 7 months

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domingo - 01. 10. 2023

Lovable mezzo-sopranos 🩵🎵

The fact that SJM has always loved Taylor Swift - and now her son is obsessed with her too (that’s so freaking cute 🤏🥹✨mini swiftie)

"Taran is obsessed with Taylor Swift. Aren't we all?" "I've always loved her. I think she's an incredible creator and like businesswoman and I have so much respect for her." “But now that Taran is obsessed with her- like, we've only listened to her music in the car. That's it, like all summer long."

I also love TS and I LOVE that SJM made Gwyn a mezzo-soprano too so that I can imagine Gwyn singing every time I listen to a Taylor Swift song 🥹🩵

my favorite mezzo-sopranos 🥰🙌

acosf - chapter 52

Gwyn’s playlist (mezzo-soprano artists - mostly TS 😌)

#gwyn berdara #sarah j maas #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #gwyn playlist #mezzo-sopranos #taylor swift #mezzo soprano #gwyn x taylor swift #sjm #sjm interview #acotar 5 #acosf

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areyoudreaminof · 11 months

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Nothing Can Break Me: An Emerie Playlist

You asked for it, and I’m delivering! The holy Valkyrie Trinity is complete! Emerie, what can I say? A survivor who's held her own in a terrible family and society, taking pride in her strengths. She has risen above so much in her very short life. I think Emerie might be the closest thing this series has to Wonder Woman after Feyre. For Emerie, I wanted some heavier sounds and I felt really strongly gravitating toward more female and queer artists. Listen Here! And follow me behind the cut for a deep dive!

Moaning Lisa Smile-Wolf Alice

All in the books and all in her blood And nowhere to run ‘cos it's out of control You wait for something to undo these feelings Waiting and waiting, but it's out of control Scrap the blues if the blues don't work Flash your teeth, though the inside hurts Scrap the blues if the blues don't work Doesn't make you feel better, just makes others feel worst

Circuital-My Morning Jacket

You think you'll find yourself out there Out in the lion’s den In some bloody battle Over belief systems

Or disappear into the vacuum Total neutrality Where you can't lose nothing But nothing can be gained

Well anyway you cut it We're just spinning around Out on the circuit Over the hallowed ground Ending up in the same place That we started out

ANIMAL-PVRIS

When you cage an animal Their claws will start to show They're aimin' at your throat It's time to let them go When you cage an animal Their claws will start to show They're aimin' at your throat It's time to let them go

My Number-Foals

Now the wolf is knocking at my door Bang-bang, it asks for more Stand here, we stand tall We can move beyond these walls And I don't need your counsel And I don't need these city streets And I don't need that good advice 'Cause we can move beyond it now

Cornflake Girl-Tori Amos

Never was a cornflake girl Thought that was a good solution Hanging with the raisin girls She's gone to the other side Giving us a yo-heave-ho Things are getting kind of gross And I go at sleepy time This is not really, this, a-this This is not really happening You bet your life it is You bet your life it is Oh honey, you bet your life

Wolves Without Teeth-Of Monsters and Men

You hover like a hummingbird, haunt me in my sleep You're sailing from another world, sinking in my sea Oh, you're feeding on my energy, letting go of it She wants it And I run from wolves, ooh Breathing heavily at my feet And I run from wolves, ooh Tearing into me without teeth

Fox Confessor Brings the Flood-Neko Case

Driving home I see those flooded fields How can people not know what beauty this is? I've taken it for granted my whole life Since the day I was born

What purpose in these deeds? Oh, fox confessor please Who married me to these orphaned blues? "It's not for you to know, but for you to weep and wonder When the death of your civilization precedes you."

Entertain-Sleater-Kinney

So you want to be entertained? Please look away, don't look away We're not here cause we want to entertain Go away, don't go away

Reality is the new fiction they say Truth is truer these days, truth is man-made If you're here cause you want to be entertained Go away, please go away

Runaway-Yeah Yeah Yeahs

I was feeling sad Can't help looking back Highways flew by Run, run away No sense of time Like you to stay Want to keep you inside

All alone Not so strong without these open arms Hold on tight All alone

History Repeats-Brittany Howard

I just don't wanna be back in this place again I mean, I done cried a little Tried a little, failed a little I don’t wanna do it again

I mean, I've already been I came and went I washed my hands with it I don't wanna do it again Don't push me

Anxiety-Lady Hawke

I’ve always been so cautious But I’m sick of feeling nauseous It’s not that I am losing This wall of my own choosing

Take me on a ride Show me how to hide the voice in my head Meet me on the road, tell me all you know I’m here on my own

Should Have Known Better-Sufjan Stevens

I should have known better To see what I could see My black shroud Holding down my feelings A pillar for my enemies

I should have known better Nothing can be changed The past is still the past The bridge to nowhere I should have wrote a letter Explaining what I feel, that empty feeling

Last Girl-Soccer Mommy

I want to be like your last girl She's the sun in your cold world and I am just a dying flower I don't hold the summer in my eyes

Maybe I'm just feeling like I don't have a chance this time 'Cause I don't have a chance this time, I swear

Help, I'm Alive-Metric

If we're still alive My regrets are few If my life is mine What shouldn't I do? I get wherever I'm going I get whatever I need While my blood's still flowing And my heart still beats

Taglist: @aldbooks @bookofmirth @brieq @bagelfyre @c-e-d-dreamer @cursebrkr @darling-archeron @damedechance @gwyns @gimme-mor @harrysringss @highqueenmorrigan @historiaxvanserra @ineffable-resplendence @kataravimes-of-the-shire @krem-does-stuff @krem-has-a-mess @kingofsummer93 @lidiacervos @moononastring @octobers-veryown @ofduskanddreams @panicatthenightcourt @queercontrarian @reverie-tales @asnowfern @spell-cleavers @separatist-apologist @thesistersarcheron @thelovelymadone @the-lonelybarricade @ultadverb @vulpes-fennec @velidewrites @vanserrass @yazthebookish @mossytrashcan @emerieweekofficial @shadowsxgwynriel @shadowriel @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @archecosmo @bennylavasbuns @lilith-clawthorne-stan @tuzna-pesma-snova @andrigyn @lulling-night-sky @headcanonheadcase @moodymelanist @foreverinelysian

#emerie #acotar playlist project #pro Emerie #nesta #Gwyn #valkyries #here we go lesbians!#Spotify

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not-poignant · 2 years

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Dr Gary/Efnisien AU?? Sounds exciting :) But you write such good characters that almost every ship would make me excited!

Ahaha, I can't promise anything will come of it, but I do have like 1,500 words worth of notes about it.

I'm definitely not quite ready to let these characters go yet, so we'll see how that manifests. I think Dr Gary and Efnisien are strong enough to carry their own story together, even as I just sink down the AU rabbit hole the way Dante travelled through every layer of hell.

#asks and answers #fae tales au #fae tales #dr gary konowalous #efnisien ap wledig #i am condemned to a life time of AU spirals #that being said i have so many ideas for this dumb story #you'll know i'm officially cursed if i start a playlist for it #and come up with a title for it #administrator Gwyn wants this in the queue

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foxglovethicket · 2 months

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Wild Things

Summary:

Some Nesta x Rhysand for day 7 of @sjmromanceweek !

Devour me, he used to urge her. Devour me, Nesta.

I love you so.

Devour me.

She would nip at the tips of his fingers in play, pretending to be a little feral thing. And he would pretend not to see the wildness in her eyes and dripping from her hair and glinting off her canines when she smiled one of her rare open-mouthed smiles.

(AKA, the toxic Nesta x Rhys fic that has been rattling around in my brain for months)

Chapters: 1/1

Read on AO3

November 11th. The first snow of the year numbs Velaris like novacane.

White snow, white sky, white salt on the roads. Clean and blank and pure for a new year—her twenty-fourth, as of sometime mid-morning. Upon waking, shivering under her dove-grey duvet, Nesta thinks: twenty-four is the year of not fucking things up.

The kitchen is the fire to her hearth. The spray of small yellow rosebuds in a vase on the island, Gwyn’s flame-lick of hair, Emerie’s embrace, the round smiles that fill their cheeks, the pastry waiting at her seat in a white bag, spots translucent with grease. It’s all warm. it all makes her blood move, down to her fingertips, where they prickle with feeling.

***

Want is a funny thing. The question—what do you want?—I want, I want, I want, like a black hole eating the stars. Nesta wants a lot of things: to be warm, awake, clean and untouched like the snow on her bedroom windowsill.

Emerie and Gwyn had asked her months ago what she wanted to do today—today, she has some extra measure of choice, today she’s allowed to want a little harder.

Today, Nesta wants to read and she wants to dance. And she wants—

No. No. So they tuck their feet up on the couch and pile on the blankets and Emerie makes her hot chocolate just the way Nesta likes it and the next few hours are pages whispering as they are turned, steam rising from half-empty mugs, snow curling down outside the window.

***

It had ended just how it had started: cold wind whipping off the Sidra to slice their cheeks wide open. The first time, it made their mouths split into smiles; the last, into trebuchets of hurt. Neither of them is good at pulling punches. His coat was on her shoulders. He said something, then she, and it was suddenly a vile thing on her skin; she ripped it away and threw it down onto the rain-soaked cobblestones. She didn’t throw it over the bridge, into the river, because that would have been irreversible, but now, now, she wishes she had.

That was September, the last long day before time jumped back and the evenings stopped clinging to the sun.

You’re fucking mine, Nesta.

I’m fucking gone.

She doesn’t think about it. She ruined everything, and it didn’t matter, and she doesn’t think about it.

***

Anyways, she’s good at being fine. She’s twenty-four now and she’s going to be fine forever, starting now. Gwyn has a carefully curated getting-ready playlist blasting from her speaker as she curls her hair. Emerie bites her lip as she draws eyeliner across her lid. Nesta sips from a wine bottle as she stares at her jewelry box: there are the little pearl-drop earrings he gave her when they went to Adriata for a weekend in August. I know you already have a favorite pair of earrings, but I thought these could be nice for the Patron’s Gala, maybe. If you like them.

Nesta fishes them out of the drawer and puts them in. She looks at herself in the mirror until her eyes turn red, and then she drops them back in the jewelry box, and stabs large silver hoops through her ears instead.

She turns off the light in her room and goes to the kitchen. Carefully, she pours the rest of the bottle of wine into a plastic Mountain Dew bottle, sucking the spilled drops from her fingers like it’s precious, and not a fourteen-dollar bottle. She plucks her coat off the hook and her keys from the dish by the door.

The three of them are laughing and chattering as they leave the apartment; Gwyn threatens to buy her a birthday girl sash, Emerie says, I think it’s too late for that, Gwyn says, The party store on East 12th is open until 11, I checked. Nesta says, I will strangle you with your own sash if you even think about it. They only laugh at her threat, and she can’t keep her face from smiling, and it doesn’t even bother her when the snow at the curb smears over her boots. She’s untouched. She’s new. She’s only started learning how to live.

***

It doesn’t really matter how it ended. There one minute and gone the next. He was there and gone, there and gone, like seasons, like purity, like the flash of a camera imprinted on the back of your retinas, there, and there, and there, and gone.

So he’s gone. And good riddance.

She used to like to hold his hand. Liked the strong, slim bones of his fingers, the veins that crawled up the back of his hand; liked running her fingers over the scar on the knuckle of his ring finger. He had a freckle on the inside of his left wrist, too, one she liked to press her lips to. I love you so, she would whisper. I’ll eat you whole.

Devour me, he used to urge her. Devour me, Nesta.

I love you so.

Devour me.

***

They step inside the club and check in their coats and the music is so heavy she can feel it pressing right through her muscles and into her bones. She tips her head back. Her spine is one long bass note. Yes, yes, yes.

Bodies shift around her, swaying like stalks of kelp in a western current, and she, an otter twisting among them as she dances. Sleek and warm and with only one wild and carnal drive: hunger.

She wants to devour this scene. The red lights. The upward-reaching limbs. The abandon. The singing mouths, the smell of vodka, the smell of perfume and cologne that surges when pressed too closely among the others.

“11:11,” says Gwyn, not long after they arrive. “Make a wish.”

You already know what she wishes for.

Emerie hands her a shot instead of a birthday candle. It sears her throat and then lights her aflame and she throws herself back into dancing and dancing and oh, when she tilts her head back like this, baring her throat, she feels knifelike and untouchable and violent, like she could strangle the whole world in her fists.

She imagines it. Sinking her teeth in. Getting the snow banks messy. Starting everything over so she doesn’t have to make so many mistakes this time. Sometimes, when Nesta buys a new book, she’ll bring it on the train and accidentally bend a corner when she goes to shove it in her bag in her haste to get off at her stop. Later, she’ll look at the crease, run her finger over it as if she can smooth it away, and fight the urge to buy a whole new copy—one she hasn’t irrevocably marred. She never does buy a new one; she knows, on some level, that it’s ridiculous to even consider it.

No creases this year, she reminds herself. She’s drunk now. Half of her blood is vodka. The music goes even louder, like a reminder or a threat. Emerie is grinding up against a striking blonde girl now; Gwyn is making eyes at someone across the room, sweeping her hair off her collarbones like a challenge; Nesta feels a drop of sweat run down her temples and sucks more swollen air into her lungs, her body greedy for it in the club’s heat.

All the lights go gas-flame blue, and that’s when she sees him.

***

So it ended. Fine. But it had started once, too.

Nesta had been in ballet as a child—no surprise, considering her family: upper class in a pearl-necklaces-and-endive-salads way. Everything was satin slippers and hair slicked back too tightly into unforgiving buns, until her mother died when she was fifteen and her father didn’t care enough to make her continue taking classes. It left her with a lithe body, a hatred of the Nutcracker, and a severe case of perfectionism.

Her favorite show to dance had been Sleeping Beauty, so last winter, when she heard the Velaris Ballet was showing it, she went to see it twice. Once, with Gwyn and Emerie, and again with Elain, except Elain canceled last-minute and Nesta thought about canceling both their tickets and staying home, but didn’t.

So, of course. He picked up Elain’s ticket.

During the show, she could drink up the colorful dresses, the masterful dancing, the beautiful shapes the dancers’ bodies made as they moved gently across the stage. When intermission came, she had no such distraction. There was only the stranger sitting next to her in his night-black suit, and of course he was devastatingly beautiful, how could she not notice? Admiring him was inexorable.

She caught him admiring her right back—those dark blue eyes making a steady, unapologetic map of her face.

It happened in textbook steps, alarming in its simplicity, really: He introduced himself. They talked throughout the rest of intermission. At some point during the third act, his knee made its way to press against hers, and he didn’t pull it away, and she didn’t pull away, either. When the lights flooded back on, the spell broke, or maybe it was cast?, and he asked her if she’d like to see the Balanchine performance with him the following week, and she wrote her number on the back of his hand with a sharpie she’d found in her purse. He had beautiful hands, like a piano player, and she asked if he played, and he said Tchaikovsky was his favorite to play, it was why he liked coming to the ballet.

Several weeks later, she would lie with her head in his lap, those nimble fingers combing through her hair, and ask, Play for me?, and he would, and it would become her favorite sound. And after that, she would sometimes sit on the edge of the bench, or kneel beside it, or stand behind him as he played, and close her eyes and imagine herself moving to the sound. Pas de bourré, pirouette.

But not yet. That would come later.

***

She sees him and the world keeps moving, even though she feels like it shouldn’t. She sees him and the world doesn’t end. It should. It doesn’t.

A current of blue bodies around her. He swims right through them. She doesn’t look at Gwyn or Emerie when he reaches her because she doesn’t have to see their faces to know their reproach.

She’s been locked into those stunning eyes since she first caught them; in this blue light, they are so, so dark, like midnight, and just as devastating. And they devastate her, they do.

Nesta thinks, You can’t unruin this. She thinks it so loudly that there’s no way he doesn’t hear it. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He just looks at her, and she just looks at him, and, light with drink, she sways with the other kelp, sways right into him.

She can smell the alcohol on his breath. He’s holding a drink—a gin and tonic. He always liked gin. Elderflower gin, something that sounded fairy-like and ancient, something that smelled divine and didn’t hurt going down. She takes the cup from his hand and downs half. It’s cheap; burns like hell. He takes it back. Holds her stare as he drinks down the rest and drops the cup on the nearest flat surface.

He’s already drunk; she can tell because his face is a little too devastated when he looks at her.

His hands on her waist. Her waist in his hands. His hips pressed to her stomach. Her stomach burning gas-flame blue.

Nesta, he mouths. His eyes drop to her lips. His forehead drops to touch her own, as if he could press a feeling straight from his mind into hers.

Don’t, she says. Or maybe she thinks it.

He kisses her.

She kisses him back.

It’s inevitable, after that.

Gwyn and Emerie don’t even bother to stop her. They know better. He leads her downstairs, to the front of the club. She collects her coat. She follows him out onto the snow-driven street. A fresh coat has fallen since she and her friends went inside those few hours ago. It makes her think of new slates and starting over.

It makes her think of the way her boots crush the powdery snowflakes to grey slush.

You can’t unruin this.

He lives close—close enough that they can’t justify anything other than walking. She doesn’t look over at him and he doesn’t take her hand as they walk, and it’s almost as if they’re colleagues, with this space between them. Space enough for her ghosting breaths to dissipate entirely before they could ever reach his face.

And then—the bridge. The quay. Inevitable, she knew it, knew they’d have to cross the slushy Sidra, but. But.

She can feel him looking at her.

They reach the middle of the bridge, and she can’t keep going anymore. She’s shaking, knees knocking together embarrassingly, like a child. Nesta stops and she turns and she looks at the snow on the bridge and hates it for how serene it seems.

“I missed you, Nesta,” he says.

Past tense. He doesn’t anymore. He has her now, is what he means. He won't let go again, not like last time.

“Are you cold?” he asks. “Do you want my coat?”

She bites her lip and shakes her head, still looking down at the snow. His shoes scuff the snow as he steps closer. He takes her in his arms and he is just as warm and comforting and safe as he ever was, and it makes her want to cry, but she doesn’t. She does let him hold her. Even though it makes everything worse.

Rhys tilts up her chin and she keeps her eyes closed. He kisses her, so gently at first that she shudders, and then her mouth opens to him like a rose, and she presses harder into him, and he isn’t gentle anymore.

Her lips, cracked from the cold, split and bleed when he bites into them, and their kisses change to copper.

***

Nesta threw up before their first date. She stood in front of her mirror, trying to like the grey dress she was wearing, but she started thinking that maybe a dress was too much, and then she envisioned herself sitting stiffly next to the man—Rhysand—for the whole two and a half hours, not looking at him, and the thought—the thought of the awkwardness made her physically ill. He wouldn’t like her anymore, and then she would never be able to go to the ballet again, and and and—

She threw up neatly into the toilet, flushed it, brushed her teeth, and left.

By the time she was walking up the steps to the theater, she was trembling like a fawn, but she needn’t have worried. He was charming—his hand holding the door for her, his hand steering her respectfully from the small of her back, his hand alighting on her knee during intermission and lingering there, light and steady, until the lights began to dim again and he pulled it away.

The second half of the performance, she watched him. The way his breath caught at the crescendo of a number. The way his fingers tapped on his thighs in time with the notes. The way the bare light that reached them from the stage cast a glowing outline around the beautiful parts of his face, which seemed to be all of them.

The ballet ended, and he invited her to get a late-night coffee; he knew a cafe, one run by real Italians, so she should know it was good. By midnight, she’d made him laugh so hard he’d choked on a sip of his cappuccino, and he had made her feel coltish and new and brilliant, and finally, entirely at ease.

He was always very good with prey.

***

Nesta isn’t prey. She has a mouth full of teeth and she uses them. He’d do well to remember that, for fuck’s sake.

She bites down too hard and Rhys makes a noise in his throat. She pushes him away and they stand there, panting, staring at each other.

“Nesta,” he says.

They stand on the bridge. The snow numbs sound, numbs hurt, numbs everything.

“Come home with me, Nesta,” he says.

She goes home with him.

***

He loved her too hard. Maybe that was the problem.

Rhys wasn’t clingy, desperate—nothing so plebian as that. It was more authoritative. More intense, like a bruise. He always, always wanted her. Sex, of course, but more than that.

When it was sex, it was hungry. It was always too much, and it was never enough. It hurt every time, but it was never painful. There was sweat and tangled hair and open mouths and tenderness, always, and gentleness, only sometimes, only after. His hands were always tight around some part of her flesh, as if he were afraid she’d disappear the moment he let go, as if he could have more of her if he held more tightly.

She could never stop herself from sinking her teeth in, anyways. His shoulder, his neck, his arms, his side. She’d never made a habit of it before. It was something primal only he could bring out in her.

When it wasn’t sex, it was a different kind of want. Uncontainable, devastating. He wanted her like it hurt him. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure if he liked her. He just wanted her.

One hot day that summer: billowing, gauzy curtains, Nesta in those lavender sleep shorts he liked so much, the hair around Rhys’s temples curling with sweat. Still, he held her close against him as they lay on the couch, her stomach to his stomach, her chest to his chest, her chin tucked against his shoulder.

Nesta asked, “Why did you ask me out that day at the ballet?”

His arm banded around her more tightly. He said, “I liked the way you watched them. Hungrily. I wanted to make you look at me like that.”

***

They step inside Rhys’s townhouse and the familiar smell hits her like a truck. It’s just the smell of a home—a home he’s lived in. Recently, without her. She wonders if his coffee machine still refuses to work unless he thumps the side of it as it gets going. She wonders if he ever got around to replacing the batteries in his TV remote. She wonders how many other women he’s brought here since everything ended. Maybe he fucks them in their own houses. Maybe he brings them here, has them on the couch, pushes the dove-grey pillows to the floor to make room for their bodies. She can’t imagine him fucking them in his bed, or she’ll throw up right here on his doormat.

The door clicks behind her, shutting out the cold. The air inside is warm and still, waiting for something. His hand touches her waist, moves her until her back is against the wall, and she thinks this is it, this is the part where he kisses her and takes her apart—but not yet.

Rhys kneels on the floor, takes her calf in his hands and slips off her boots, one by one, setting her feet down gently as if she were a child, or a queen. Something precious and vulnerable.

His soft fingers, piano-player’s fingers, trail up her body as he rises, hitching her dress up with them. She knows how this ends and it hurts. He kisses her wet cheekbones, one and the other.

“Nesta,” he says. He kisses her lips and she tastes salt.

She sinks her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulls him closer.

Their kisses get harder, serious. She hitches her leg around his hips, presses into him—his beautiful fingers are everywhere. They tangle in her hair and pull her head back so he can better lick her throat. They count her ribs, looking for a way in. They move over her hips, down, cleverly stroking the wet seam of her underwear, starting out gentle, just how he knows she likes it.

She reaches for his belt. She wonders, where will he have her? Will he bring her to the couch? Will he have her right here, against the wall? Will he take her back to his bed, or would that mean to much?

Rhys shudders into her touch, eyes rolling back. His mouth is saying things like Fuck, Nesta, I missed you, yes, harder, more, Nesta, Nesta, Nesta—

He chokes on his own breaths and pulls her hands away. With a few tugs, her dress is over her head, and he sinks to his knees again. She looks off to the side, towards the door, not wanting to face the way he looks up at her. Devotion poisoned by possession. His hands are hot on the backs of her thighs.

“Look at me, Nesta,” he orders. He pulls her underwear away—embarrassingly wet. The expression that flits across his face then—it’s a bit too relieved to be a smirk, but close.

She puts her hands into the silky onyx strands before her.

“Eat, then,” she says, unkindly.

He does. Like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. Like he’s afraid she’ll stop him, take it away from him. She wishes she would, but she doesn’t. She’s too weak to give up something this good. Something that feels so inevitable—what’s the use?

Nesta comes right there, silently, except for one gasping breath that she immediately stifles. It’s horrible, it’s so, so horrible, how badly she misses him in that moment. It hits her, a pain so sharp she nearly flinches. It’s so horrible. So obvious, how he’s ruined her.

A tug on the backs of her knees, and her body falls obediently to straddle him where he kneels on the floor, her lips coming to meet his, hungrily taking the taste of herself from his tongue. He pulls her back, back, until he’s lying flat on the floor of the hallway, and she’s sitting over him, fumbling to yank off his shirt, to shove down his pants. Her body remembers how to move with him, remembers the steps to this. It remembers, even if her mind feels heavy and watered-down.

There is a bright spark of pain as she sinks down onto him. Rhys looks up at her from the floor. His eyes glint like a country sky at night, his sin-dark hair splays across the floor like a sunburst, his mouth parts like submission.

Nesta takes his throat in her hands and squeezes. “I hate you,” she tells him, and he lets her. Her knees press into the hardwood. He jerks his hips up with a groan. She says, “I hate you, Rhys.”

She feels a tightness in her throat that means tears. She won’t cry. She lets go of his neck and bites into her palm to hold them at bay. She won’t cry, she won’t cry. Her fingerprints fade whitely from his skin.

Rhys flips them over and settles his body over hers, between her knees. He fits in her body like he’s made for her. Her head fits just so in the space between his neck and his shoulder. She breathes him in through her nose, out through her mouth, as he begins to fuck her. He had always smelled so good, like something she shouldn’t eat. Sweet and rich, with some kind of spicy undertone, like pepper or ginger. Achingly sweet with a stinger.

Rhys takes her hand away from her mouth and pulls her wrists over her head.

“You love me, Nesta, you love me so,” he says. He threads his fingers in between hers. “You love me so.”

***

Nesta closes her eyes as he washes her hair in the shower.

“Nesta,” he says, smoothing soap away from her brow. “Stay.”

She tilts her head up, but doesn’t open her eyes. “You keep saying my name,” she says.

She can feel the sigh come out of his chest. He says, “I’m afraid I’ll forget how it sounds.”

In spite of her will, her body begins to tremble. Anger and fear and rage and desperation all well up at once, and her eyes fly open, lashes dripping under the stream of the shower, and she means to say a hundred things—a hundred accusations and castigations—but only a single word comes out, choked in steam. “Please.”

His face changes into a shape she doesn’t know well. “Nesta,” he breathes, pulling her body into his.

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, she thinks. But she lets him towel her dry and brush out her hair and braid it down her back with his nimble fingers, the way she taught him, once. He pulls one of his t-shirts over her head—her favorite one, god, she hates that she has a favorite—and tucks her close to him under the covers. His sheets smell like his detergent and him, and it’s miserable, knowing he’s letting her go after this, even though that’s what she wanted in the first place. Catch and release. You can’t uncrease a paperback cover. You can only buy a whole new book.

God. Twenty-four hours as a twenty-four year old and she’s already fucked everything up. She’s already let him ruin her.

They lie there in his bed in his sheets in his townhouse on the river. She’s still drunk. She’s still here. His heart is still beating just a few ribs away from hers. She counts those beats, those bloodier sheep. One-one. One-one. One-one. One-one.

She’s not entirely sure if she’s dreaming when he says it. She hopes she is. She wishes so badly that she is.

I won’t go, he promises into the dark, into the sweet warmth. Just eat me whole.

***

Snow falls overnight.

In the morning, when Nesta looks out Rhys’s window, her eyes hurt to touch anything at all, it’s so bright.

He is behind her, suddenly. His arms come around her, his chest pressing to her back. He fits. It is suddenly, terrifyingly, as if she never left.

“Nesta,” he says, one last time.

She turns in his arms, fitting herself into the crooks of his body. She is real, she is new, she is blinding like the pure fallen snow.

Nesta makes a decision.

“Rhys,” she answers, speaking against his heartbeat.

When she smiles up at him, secretive and small, her ribcage opens up and curls around him like the legs of a spider.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #nesta x rhysand #rhysta #rhysta fic #can we all be normal about rhysta today? pls and thx #sjmromanceweek2024 #sjmromanceweek

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