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nanstgeorge · 3 years

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“little garden” implications

starting to think that “little garden” = fandom elain and this was sjm’s way of subtly tackling how she has been reduced to her hobbies and overlooked by characters & the fandom for her traditionally feminine characteristics. this has even led some people to determine her possible endgames (ex; lucien and tamlin) for the series just because she likes gardening. not because she has expressed interest in them, but because she likes gardening so that automatically means she must end up with someone associated with flowers.

im not opposed to elain somehow taking over spring court or ending up with lucien (if the story convinces me lmao) but there’s an issue with sticking her there just because it seems like it works. like elain residing at spring court has been a popular fan theory since the beginning of the series but every book that has been released only seems to disprove it even more? she has never explicitly said she wanted to live there, even chosen a life for herself at night court, but fans and the inner circle just took this idea and ran.

“But Elain.... The Sprint Court had been made for someone like her.” (Nesta)

“Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.” (Cassian)

i’d say that it’s arguable whether or not nesta truly has an accurate depiction of elain now that we have a more in-depth portrait of nesta’s mind and childhood. of course this was not cultivated by nesta herself, with much help from her mother, but elain is still a child to nesta. a child who is a bartering tool between her and her disfigured dynamic with feyre. a child who is a reminder of her own insecurities. essentially, this quote from acosf sums it up, “nesta made her own choices, but our mother laid the ground work.”

“Elain is pleasant to look at, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds, but it will be our own maneuverings, Nesta, not hers, that win us an advantageous match” (Mama Archeron)

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Go back to Feyre and your little garden.”

Elain, sweet and oblivious.

Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort.

But to let Elain involve herself, jeopardize her safety—

“Look who decided to grow claws after all. Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.”

“Always defending sweet, innocent Elain.”

Challenge filled each word. Challenge—from Elain, of all people.

Elain stepped closer, brown eyes wide. Undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness.

Elain had accepted his death as inevitable. She hadn’t bothered to fight for him, as if he hadn’t been worth the effort, precisely as Nesta knew she herself wasn’t worth the effort.

It was inevitable, Nesta supposed, stomach churning. She was the monster. Why shouldn’t the two of them band together and shove her out? Even if she’d foolishly believed that Elain had always seen every horrible part of her and decided to stick by her anyway.

now onto feyre, who has always had a softer but different opinion of elain. this doesn’t mean it’s accurate to how elain is or was, but it’s safe to say that this was an opinion that wasn’t stemmed out of their mother’s mind. this is not to villainize nesta, but merely explain how elain was never made out to only be a “pretty face” to feyre. but of course it’s important to remember that she isn’t scotch free for how she acted in their childhood.

It wasn’t that Elain was cruel. She wasn’t like Nesta, who had been born with a sneer on her face. Elain sometimes just … didn’t grasp things. It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.

Perhaps buried it a bit, but she was generous, loving, and kind—a woman I found myself proud to know, to call sister.

Elain mouthed my name but kept cowering, kept her head down.

Elain, who had been gentle and sweet.

I had not painted in years at that point, had not dared spend the money on myself … But Elain had.

She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.

“She loves her garden. Always loved growing things. Even when we were destitute, she managed to tend a little garden in the warmer months. And when—when our fortune returned, she took to tending and planting the most beautiful gardens you’ve ever seen. Even in Prythian. It drove the servants mad, because they were supposed to do the work and ladies were only meant to clip a rose here and there, but Elain would put on a hat and gloves and kneel in the dirt, weeding. She acted like a purebred lady in every regard but that.”

nesta and feyre both have two different feelings regarding elain but they are similar in that they both believe she needs to be protected. it’s pretty clear when elain reminds them of how they only thought of her trauma when it affected them.

“Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.” (Feyre)

quite honestly, it’s the inner circle members who are aware of elain’s potential and look at her as not defenseless compared to her sisters. this of course makes it’s quite ironic that she’s used as “pawn” to get nesta to stick her neck out. moving on, it’s specifically azriel, who is someone she chose to create a bond with and probably knows her best. cassian also may be someone who considers elain to not truly belong to night court but does shift his opinion on her overall character.

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

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

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also don’t think we’ve seen all she has to offer.” (Rhys)

rhysand is also someone who slowly begins to see elain in a different light as well as feyre by the end of the book. in fact, it takes rhys expressing his opinion of elain, as someone who didn’t grow up with her, for feyre to see things differently. it takes rhys, who brings back up the first description of elain in the series, for feyre to recollect another element of elain.

“It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.” (Feyre, ACOTAR)

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” (Rhys, ACOSF Bonus)

“Have you ever seen Elain act like that before?”

“No. I mean, she’s been brave when she had to be, but she’s never been confrontational.”

“Maybe she’s never been given a chance to be that way.”

“You think I stifle her?”

“Not you alone. But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.”

in conclusion, elain is a character who’s journey is yet to be complete. the first real choice she had was to not hunt for the family but essentially, she’s been deprived of real choice and independence her entire life. besides being pretty and marrying well, not much has ever been expected of her until she left the garden of her childhood and planted her own. while she may have been turned against her will, elain found solace in dedicating her attention towards the garden in the archeron mansion, night court and all those who resided there. gardening and growing things is something she chose; not something that was inflicted upon her (such as a mating bond.)

elain does not belong somewhere or with someone because she gardens. we have seen countless times over that she can make her own place anywhere but she chose to make a home at night court.

#this is just a rant with quotes lmao #acotar #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #pro elain #anti elucien #a court of thorns and roses

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victoria-daydreams · 4 years

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Something’s Gotta Give

Chapter Three: Tea for Two

AN: Honestly, I should be asleep as I post this chapter, but if I delay this any longer I think I might rip my hair out (not really). If there are any mistakes, I’m sorry, it’s 3am and I’m bleary eyed. Anyways, thank you to everyone who has supported this story! I really didn’t think anyone would enjoy it but myself.

Chapter Four: A Frightful Dinner

Summary: What should’ve been a fun and simple dinner between Livia and Booker takes a dark turn when she discovers a startling secret about him.

Having a cup of tea with each other became a weekly ritual for Booker and I.

And from tea, sometimes we swap over to coffee, where I discovered that Booker makes the best coffee known to man. He always made my cup of coffee sweet, rich, creamy, and added a dash of cinnamon to top it off. It's so perfect, I'll never look at coffee served in cafes the same anymore. Regardless of the beverage we were drinking, Booker and I always made sure to bring food for our little get-togethers. When its my turn to bring the food, I usually buy pastries like eclairs, macrons, pain au chocolat, etc. I couldn't help myself, I've got quite the sweet tooth which Booker commented on clearly amused once he noticed the trend. While Booker opted to bring sandwiches and quiches, which were a lot healthier than my choices.

At first, our little “tea parties”, as I liked to call them always took place in my apartment, but as the weeks passed and Booker grew more and more comfortable with me, he invited me to his apartment for the first time for a cup of coffee. To my surprise, when I entered Booker's apartment, it was not shrouded in darkness like I previously believed, the space was actually well lit.

Unless, he had the lights on and blinds opened for my benefit.

But you know what, I wasn't going to complain about it. The mere fact that Booker felt he could trust me by letting me into his personal space brought me indescribable joy. Each week over tea or coffee, a new subject was discussed. One week it's about books, the next about traveling, the following about daily life, and so on. Truly, it was a very gratifying experience to see how our relationship had blossomed. Not too long ago it felt like I had to pull teeth to get Booker to speak to me or I had to decipher his body language to determine if he was even comfortable speaking to me.

But now, conversations between us flowed naturally.

However, I have noticed that other things have changed between Booker and I. Well, at least for me it has. As of late, I would feel my heart start racing and beat like thunder whenever I would spend time with him. I would find myself studying Booker's features instead of listening to what was coming out his mouth. My eyes would move from down his nose, across his cheeks, around his jaw line, and at his lips. Heat would always flush my face and down to my neck when Booker called my name to snap me out of my daydream.

I couldn't help it, from the jump I said the man was handsome, but I didn't think I would catch feelings for him.

It certainly didn't help that our hands would innocently brush against each other when doing simple tasks, for example, doing the dishes together. Or the way he would lightly place his hand on my mid-back to usher me into his apartment after we've came back from the market. I always felt like I was set aflame every time Booker and I made contact with each other. I began to wonder if Booker had caught onto my growing feelings for him, he hadn't said anything or treated me differently. But, at times I would feel Booker's gaze linger on me when he was supposed to be reading, like the time when I was detangling my hair or when I was drawing in my sketchpad.

There's also the fact that Booker brought me flowers one day when we were having tea. They were roses, yellow roses to be specific. He told me the roses reminded him of me because of their warmth. And don't get me wrong, I damn near gushed over the beautiful, sun-colored bouquet of roses because I hadn't received such a gift in god knows when, but I also had mixed feelings about the flowers. Yellow roses symbolize friendship and I was left wondering one single question.

Did Booker just politely friend zone me?

~~~x~~~

"When I invited you over for dinner I was hoping you would actually help me make it," Booker quipped, looking over his shoulder.

I chuckled a little, "Hmm," I hummed, as popped the last bit of cracker that had fromage fort spread across it. "It seemed like you had everything under control," I replied, a smile on my face.

If someone had told me that by the end of this day I would be having dinner with Booker, I would tell them they were crazy, hell I might even laughed at them. Having a cup of tea with Booker is one thing, but to eat dinner together, it's different, more intimate. When Booker invited me over, I had just finished putting away groceries and was about to make dinner myself, but in stepped Booker. It was quite adorable when he asked to have dinner with him, in my opinion. He was clearly nervous, he stumbled over his words a few times. Whether it was because Booker is still a slightly reserved man, which meant doing this was uncharted territory for him or it was the possibility that he also had feelings for me was unclear.

I hoped for the latter.

"Do I now?" Booker asked, turning around and folding his arms across his chest.

My grin widened, "Undoubtedly," I said, with a laugh.

Feeling a bit of cheese on the corner of my mouth, I took my thumb and wiped it off before placing the speck of cheese onto my lips. Booker's eyes darted down to my lips and I had to force myself to keep a straight face as I felt a slight increase in my heart beat from Booker’s lingering gaze.

"Maybe it was just involuntary," I thought.

I picked up my wine glass, "But since you're begging me so much, I guess I have no choice but to help," I joked, standing up from the kitchen chair and taking a sip of the dry wine.

Booker faced the counter again, "Your kindness knows no bounds Livia," he deadpanned, resuming his work on slicing the mushrooms up.

I walked up to him and placed my hand on the back of shoulder, at first his body tensed before his muscles relaxed.

"What would you like me to do Chef Booker?" I questioned, my lips curving into a smile.

He rolled his eyes at the title, but still a smirk made its way onto his face, "Can you chop the broccoli please?" he asked, motioning to the vegetable to the side of him.

"Gladly," I replied, removing my hand from him and placing my glass down.

I moved over to the sink and turned the faucet on, pumping soap into my hands I placed them underneath the warm water, giving them a good scrub. Drying my hands on a towel placed on the sink, I took my place next to Booker and began chopping the stalk of broccoli.

"In the month and a half that I've known you, I've noticed a difference in you,” I stated, still cutting the broccoli up.

Booker glanced over at me, "Like what?" he asked curiously, dumping the mushrooms into a pan on the stove.

"Well for one, you don't look so haggard," I commented, placing my knife down and picking up the cutting board.

"Haggard?" Booker repeated, breathing out a laugh. "Wow, Livia," he chuckled, taking the board from my hands and tipping the broccoli into in the pan as well.

"Wait, let me finish!" I said, laughing myself now. "There's a glow to your skin. I can sense a newfound joy in you, an emotion that you believed would never return," I continued, and from the corner of my eyes I saw Booker still. "And your eyes," I breathed, shaking my head. "Your eyes always conveyed to me of a man who lives in silent misery. Your eyes would say what your mouth would not," I explained, my voice taking on a softer tone. "But now, I can see a small shine, a little glimmer twinkling in your eyes," I finished, turning my head slightly to look at Booker, who seemed to be stock still.

Silence swept over the small room, apart from the sounds of the vegetables in the pan sizzling and the wind outside softly rustling the colorful leaves on the trees. My heart began hammering in my chest, the elongated silence from Booker made me nervous. God, I hope I didn't say anything that offended him.

I cleared my throat and brushed the bangs of my hair away from eyes, "I don't know, maybe I've been reading too many of those poems you suggested," I guessed, chuckling while shaking my head.

A warm, rough hand covered the top of mine and my head snapped up to look at Booker.

"I guess, it's kind of hard to remain gloomy when you have a neighbor that is the personification of a ray of sunshine, annoyingly persistent as she may be," Booker teased, looking down at me with sincereness in his eyes and a small smile gracing his lips.

I playful bumped his arm with my own, "You love it though," I teased back, sticking my chin out.

"I do," he agreed softly, stroking his thumb back and forth across my hand.

The gesture sent shivers down my spine and goosebumps raised on my arms. Booker's exquisite blue eyes were locked with my rich brown orbs. The proximity between us was making it hard to breathe, all Booker had to do was lean his head down a little further and—let me not get ahead of myself.

"More wine?" I squeaked out, trying to regain my breath subtlety.

Booker smirked, almost as if he knew the effect he had on me, "I would love some," he answered, giving my hand a squeeze before removing it to work on the garlic bulbs.

I turned around, a grin on my face as I held my hand against my chest. I made my way back over to kitchen table, a slight spring in my step, to where a bottle of unopened wine was located. Grabbing the corkscrew, I jammed it into the top of the bottle and began twisting the knob a few times until the familiar and gratifying loud pop of a wine bottle being uncorked echoed throughout the room. It startled me, but at the same time a satisfied smile grew on my face until I heard Booker swear loudly behind me. Immediately, I placed the bottle down and turned around to see little red droplets dripping from Booker's fingers and onto the floor.

"Oh my god Booker!" I exclaimed, rushing to his side.

"It's nothing Livia!" he insisted, cradling his bloody hand as he moved towards the sink.

"Nothing?" I repeated, disbelief clear in my face. I moved in front of him and grabbed his wrist to show him the severity of his wound. "Booker, your palm is split wide open!" I pointed out, my tone turning frantic "We need to go to the hospital!" I stated, releasing his wrist and turning around to grab the towel from the sink.

"Livia-"

"Here!" I began, spinning back around to face Booker. "Use the towel to...." I instructed, but slowly trailed off as my eyes widened at what I was witnessing.

My breath began to quicken, becoming shallow as I watched the skin on Booker's palm draw itself back together. The towel fell limply from my hand and onto the floor with a soft thud. Slowly, I raised my hand and covered my mouth in horror as I watched tendon by tendon mend itself, and at that moment I felt my stomach lurch and a strong wave of nausea hit, forcing me to place a hand on my stomach in order to calm it down. The deep laceration on Booker's palm inexplicably became a mere scratch before the scratch itself simply disappeared.

As if Booker never injured himself in the first place.

"What the hell!" I whispered, my eyes still glued to Booker's his hand. The image of his palm knitting itself back together flashed in my mind, making me slightly gag. I lifted my eyes to Booker's who's face had gone ashen and was contorted with unease. "What the hell was that?" I asked, my voice once again not above a whisper, but the panic laced through the question couldn't be clearer.

"Livia, I can explain," Booker stated slowly, reaching his bloody hand out to me and taking a small step in my direction.

My eyes slightly widened again and I recoiled backwards, my back running into the cupboard. I tightly gripped the counter as I watched Booker's shoulders deflate like a balloon losing air, hurt was evident in his eyes at my reaction to him and a sad frown formed on his face. The silence was deafening in Booker's apartment, the only thing I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. I slid my body along the cupboard, reaching down to snatch my coat from the chair that was next to it.

"I-I need t-to go," I announced shakily, avoiding Booker's stare.

Hurriedly, I moved to the door and made haste of the lock on the door, nearly yanking the door of its hinges as I left.

"Livia, wait!" Booker called, and I thought I heard movement behind me. "Please!" He pleaded.

My hands fumbled around in my coat pocket for my keys, but finally managing to grab them. I nearly sprinted towards my door even though it was only a short distance away. My hands trembled as I inserted the key into my door and jerked the key hard, twisting the doorknob and pushing my door open. I entered my apartment straight away and as I went to shut the door I paused, glancing at the apartment door across from me. Out of nowhere, the sound of glass shattering across the hall made me jump back, causing the door to slam shut louder than I intended it to. I slid the deadbolt lock into place and did the same with the bottom lock, leaning my forehead against the door, closing my eyes.

I flipped around with my back against the door, slowly I slid down the door and covered my face with my hands.

"What the fuck did I just see unfold in Booker's apartment?"

Chapter Five: Avoidance

#the old guard #the old guard fanfiction #old guard fanfiction #black fanfiction #black original character #black!oc #black!female character #booker #sebastien le livre #old guard #booker x oc #booker x reader #the old guard imagine

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