#tell me one thing we know - in five and a half books - about nuala and cerridwen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

booksnmore · 5 years

Text

Outflow Boundary

Just a lil drabble about our favorite High Lord and High Lady. I’m horrible about making sure everything I say aligns with book canon and so I made a point not to check this time. If I made a mistake about something plz don’t hurt me i’m smol. Otherwise, I hope you like it! Please reblog it if you do, because that’s super helpful to content creators!

The normally clear skies above Velaris were shrouded in clouds promising storms. Watery sunlight tried and failed to stream through the clouds, and the air typically spiced with the myriad scents from the restaurants along the Sidra was stale and heavy.

The townhouse sat undisturbed by this change in weather, Cerridwen and Nuala busy in the kitchen kneading dough for supper. They whispered between one another, their words almost as incorporeal as their bodies, so low that Feyre couldn’t catch anything they were saying as she entered the room. Her hair was up in what could generously be called a messy bun, and the paint on her face seemed to have gotten mixed in with the honey-brown locks.

“Good morning,” she said with a distracted smile, reaching past the now-silent handmaidens to grab a piece of fruit. She was so close to finishing the art piece that she was planning to put on display, but something about it wasn’t right. Her brow crinkled in displeasure as she tried to figure out what the problem was, and it was because of this deep distraction that she missed the night-chilled presence of her mate when he entered the room.

“Feyre, darling,” purred Rhysand, sweeping a loose tendril of hair from her neck and dropping a kiss in its place. Feyre felt goosebumps spread down her arms, and for a moment the furrow on her brow disappeared. Leaning against his solid chest, she looked up into his eyes with a gentle smile.

“Good morning, my most handsome Lord,” she replied, standing on her toes to kiss his lips which, after a teasing moment, he obligingly lowered. “Or is it my most cunning Lord?” She raised her breakfast, offering him a bite. Instead of accepting, he held up a basket of steaming sweet rolls, giving her a smug smile when she instantly reached for them.

“I thought you might want some,” he chuckled, surrendering by way of placing the basket on the counter where she fished one out. Feyre began to toss the sugary bread between her hands to cool it, regretting her haste but unwilling to let Rhys know it. Finally she sat the bread back in the basket, pretending to lose interest in it. A weak excuse, but her fingers were hot!

“What are your plans for the day?” she asked as she hopped up on the counter. He stepped between her legs and rested his chin on her head, holding them together for a long moment. After the damage Amarantha inflicted, Rhys relished the little moments they could have just basking in one another’s presence. Feeling her chest rise and fall against him relieved some of the stress coiled in his stomach.

“I told Cassian I’d fly out to one of the War Camps today. Apparently something about ‘let the females train’ was too hard for them to understand. We’re going out to see if we can clear up some of these...misunderstandings.”

They both knew that the Illyrians could be sexist to a fault, and that it was no mere misunderstanding that was preventing the females from training. Even after the war the Illyrian males in the mountains were still having trouble with this. Feyre was suddenly glad for her extended lifespan. At least now she could stay a thorn in their sides for the next, say, five hundred years?

“Give them hell from me,” she murmured against his chest, unwilling to pull out of his arms just yet.

“Always,” he rumbled. Still, he didn’t step back. Feyre noticed then that the twins weren’t there, having stepped out to give them some privacy. Oh. She blushed. Maybe she and Rhys were a little...amorous at times but for the handmaidens to expect them to…

This caused her to giggle quietly under her breath which instantly piqued Rhys’ curiosity. “And just what’s so funny?”

“Nuala and Cerridwen left because they assumed we’d want to use the counter for more exciting things than bread-making.” She pulled back and glanced behind her at the sticky, floury surface they’d so kindly relinquished.

“Remind me to thank them,” he said with a smirk. Meeting her gaze, he cocked an eyebrow, asking a question so obvious he didn’t even have to initiate a mental link.

She gave the answering grin of a vixen and leaned forward, fingers finding the buttons on his shirt with practiced ease.

“When is Cassian supposed to meet you?” she asked, tipping her head back and finding his lips with hers.

Rhys groaned, taking a second to nibble down her jaw. “In about half an hour. And-” he said, cutting her off before she could speak, “-that isn’t enough time for me to do half of what I would like to.”

His lips found the sensitive place on her throat and lathed it with kisses, drawing a low moan from Feyre.

“Then cut it out,” she panted when he lifted his head from her neck, “Or you run the risk of leaving me here alone like this.” Her fingers slid up the base of his skull into his hair, tugging gently at the roots to pull his face away from her sensitive skin.

“You started it,” he said, not entirely truthfully. He sounded petulant, like a child who’d lost his favorite toy. She gave him a catty grin that promised later and pushed him back a step so she could slip off of the counter.

“I’m also finishing it,” she said, putting some distance between them by way of the island. She brushed the hair that had come loose behind an ear and tried to slow her breathing. Rhys could always make her this way, and she considered herself the luckiest female in the world.

“I’ll make sure we’re both finished when I get back tonight,” he said with a promise in his gaze, straightening the cuffs on his shirt. He’d yet to don his Illyrian armor and was simply dressed in Night Court blacks and golds, a look that Feyre would never tell him got her hot.

She began to open her mouth on a retort when the first crash of thunder shook the house. Jars in the pantry rattled and the bag of flour perched precariously on the edge of the counter fell to the floor with a dull thud, sending up a plume of white dust.

Rhys was stunned for a moment, then began to laugh uproariously, holding his sides at the flour that now covered his pants legs. He stopped, however, when he realized Feyre hadn’t joined in. Looking across the kitchen, he saw her, pale-faced and still as death.

He was at her side, only belatedly realizing he’d winnowed those few feet to get to her faster. Arms gripping her shoulders, he looked down at her face. “Feyre, what’s the matter? Are you alright?”

She flinched backwards when he grabbed her, tucking her face to her chest and stumbling back a step into the wall. The jolt from hitting the wall seemed to wake her up, and though the fear was still there, none of the bone-chilling numbness was.

Releasing a relieved breath, Rhys stepped forwards again and cautiously reached out a hand, resting her cheek in his palm when she didn’t pull back. He waited silently for her answer, violet eyes filled with an intense mixture of confusion and fear.

“I…” She swallowed and nestled into his hand, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry, Rhys. I don’t know what came over me. I-”

Another crack of thunder shook the house, though not at much as the first one, and had Feyre rushing headlong into Rhys’ arms. Clutching her tightly to him, he began to murmur soft words of comfort, his wings appearing to cocoon them. Thunder rolled across the sky a third time, accompanied by the soft, insistent patter of rain against the glass panes in the window. It seemed the storm finally decided to let loose.

“Are you sure you don’t know?” asked Rhys, still unconvinced. He stroked her hair, intently focused on his mate. He hadn’t seen fear like this in her for a long time and wanted to destroy whatever the cause. Unfortunately for him, even Rhys couldn’t fight nature.

“Yeah,” she said softly, not lifting her face from where he had it on his chest. “Sorry, it’s stupid.” He felt her shame through their mental bond and felt a flicker of anger.

“Don’t feel embarrassed, Feyre,” he murmured, shaking his head slowly. “Everyone’s scared of something. Well, not me of course, but Cassian is terrified of snakes. Get a piece of string that even looks like a snake and he’s airborne.”

His attempt at humor elicited a small humph of laughter from Feyre, but still that nagging fear hung around her. Rhys stood silently, rocking her to and fro, and hoped that she would admit whatever the real problem was. His wings muffled most of the thunder, but this storm was a big one and the lightning flashing out the window briefly lit up his wings as it crashed above them.

“It sounds like destruction. Like a room exploding and only fear standing between me and death. Like a knife in the wall behind me.” Her words were small and almost inaudible but Rhys heard them clearly. Anger sliced through him like a knife, followed swiftly by regret. He’d left her alone there with him, knowing the horrors he could commit, did commit.

Rhys’ hold on her grew tighter, and it was a long time before he spoke. “I’m so sorry, darling,” he breathed, the words stirring the hair against her temple. “I never should have let you go back with that spineless bastard. I should’ve killed him where he stood-”

Feyre hesitantly touched his mental shields, stroking her hand down the cool adamantine walls. He stopped his tirade suddenly, curious and worried. Without a second thought he dropped his walls and let her in, welcomed his mate, his equal, his Lady.

Her presence was warmth and starlight and paint, and he knew it as well as he knew his own. Rhys waited as he felt her walk around in his mind, simply stroking an idle finger down the back of her arm. Finally, she spoke, mind to mind.

“It’s not your fault,” came the whisper of her thoughts, filled with understanding and compassion and overwhelming, absolute love. “I wouldn’t have listened to you and you know it. It was my battle, Rhys. Mine. And I won, I beat him. We beat him. So don’t pity me or try to avenge me. Just stay with me, okay?”

“Okay,” he said roughly aloud, unable to articulate more. It hadn’t been long ago that he had accepted that he would never return to Velaris, that he would serve Amarantha forever and never see his family again. Now he held his mate who loved him. She loved him, despite everything. Rhys couldn’t hide the chills running up his arms as he considered how fortunate he was to have Feyre.

Rhys shifted Feyre in his lap, trying not to disturb her. The firelight danced over her skin, finally returned to its natural color. He nodded to Cassian, and the warlord entered their living room without a sound.

Cass’s face softened when his gaze passed over Feyre. “I let the camp know we would be coming tomorrow due to the weather,” he whispered, slowly understanding why Rhys, who loved the challenge of a good flight, would postpone the visit. “I got back the standard, ‘You lazy bastards can’t fly in a little storm like this? Maybe when you get to camp I can show you what a real Illyrian male can do.’ He sure does get cocky over letter, doesn’t he?”

They both laughed quietly which caused Feyre to stir and curl closer against Rhys. The High Lord took a moment to tuck the blanket back under her chin before responding. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to bring Az along and really make a better impression then, huh?” He cocked an eyebrow at his general, taking a moment to recognize what they had both become since those mud-covered days at camp.

“Then I’ll see you two around noon tomorrow?” asked Cassian, already backing away to leave the two alone. Nesta’s scent was everywhere in this house, and it made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He was eager to spread his wings and catch the wild air currents stirred up by the storm, eager to fill his lungs with air that smelled of atmosphere and petrichor and not of the most bull-headed Archeron sister.

Rhys gave his brother a farewell nod before turning his attention back to Feyre who had balled her fists into his shirt. Fists that were balled, Cassian noted in amusement, not in fear. He pitied whoever was on the receiving end of her anger in her dream.

TAGS: @highqueenofelfhame (if u wanna be tagged next time I put out questionably decent content, plz lemme know!)

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #rhysand #feyre #cassian #rhysand x feyre

88 notes · View notes

creampuffqueen · 5 years

Text

Worlds of Fire and Darkness | Chapter Five (Cirrus)

Read this on AO3! (Here)

Cirrus and his siblings go to a family dinner. With all the family.

"Cirrus, what in the Cauldron's name are you doing in a linen closet?" I grinned up at Nuala from where I was curled into a ball beneath a shelf.

"Hiding from Cali." I said. "I may or may not have swiped a set of earrings she was planning on wearing tonight at the House." The half-wraith sighed and didn't speak anymore, instead reaching up to gather sheets and pillowcases from the shelves above me. She knew, as did everyone else, how Caliphe, my eight-year-old sister, reacted to people going too near her things. It was likely a trait she'd gotten from her favorite aunt, Amren, who she was never far from.

"The heir to the Night Court, hiding from an eight-year-old in a closet." Nuala muttered to herself as she finished gathering the sheets and shut the door. I was again enclosed in darkness, though I didn't particularly mind. It would be a travesty for the heir to the Night Court to be afraid of the dark.

However, being curled up in a ball for so long wasn't doing any good for my situation. Cali was likely sitting by herself and chuckling at the hell she'd raised, not lurking around the corner to ambush me. But I was determined. I was not getting my ass beaten by my baby sister. It wasn't that Cali was particularly strong, just the simple fact that she could be terrifying enough at times to throw off even our uncle Cassian during training. My mother and father often joked that, should they have another child, it would never be allowed around Amren until it was twenty, just so they wouldn't end up with another little Caliphe.

I finally decided that I'd had enough. My muscles were crying out from being so cramped for so long, and I'd lost feeling in both of my feet. I slipped out of the linen closet and stretched gratefully, even summoning my wings and spreading them for good measure. Like my father and mother, my sisters and I could summon our wings at will, unlike our uncles Azriel and Cassian, and our cousins Tess and Winnie. It was likely due to our diluted Illyrian blood and our mother's shape-shifting abilities. I'd never given it much thought, though, and was instead just happy I could fly.

I rounded a corner and made my way to the stairs. I was halfway down them when a female war cry sounded from above, and a moment later Cali swooped down and tackled me. We rolled the rest of the way down the stairs, and both landed miraculously unharmed at the foot of them. My sister gave me no time to recover before she shoved me down with both hands and bound me to the floor with whips of darkness.

I didn't even bother putting up a fight. My parents loved all of their children, but Cali had them wrapped around her finger. She would get off scot-free from this encounter, I just knew it.

My sister leapt off me and proudly examined her work. "That'll teach you to steal my earrings, you bully. Tell me where they are, and I'll set you free." Never mind that I could burst from her trap with half a thought.

"Aunt Mor's room, second drawer in the dresser from the top. They're inside a purple blouse."

Caliphe nodded, and a moment later, the darkness around my limbs disappeared. By the time I got to my feet, my little sister was already bounding up the stairs. Rolling my eyes, I soon found myself in the living room, sitting on the couch next to my other sister. Camille was lost in another book, and I decided against bothering her. A few moments later, my father walked into the room.

"One hour countdown, Camille. Are you ready to go?" Dad asked. Cam nodded absently, waving him off. He shrugged and turned to me, "What about you, Cirrus? Ready?"

"I think I'll go brush my hair again. Cali just tackled me to the floor for stealing her earrings."

"Serves you right," Camille muttered. "An honorable male never steals a female's jewelry."

Dad smirked, nodding at my sister. "She's right, you know. I still have a scar from when I took a necklace from Amren as a joke. Cali's like Amren, but even smaller." We both shared a chuckle at that.

I winnowed back into my room, not feeling like taking two flights of stairs to get to it. The house was very open concept, but unlike Caliphe, my wings were now too big to fly inside without breaking anything. I grabbed a brush from my dresser and stood in front of the mirror, trying to smooth it. I eventually slicked it back with a splash of water, and that was that. I dusted off my clothes and made sure my wings weren't dirty, and I was ready.

I winnowed back to the living room, and found my mother waiting, as well. She gave me a nod, and then surveyed my sister. Camille's hair was still in a braid from training earlier, and her pants had mud on them. My father noticed her gaze, and with a snap, the mud was gone. Cam didn't even look up from her book.

"Camille, please go up and change, at least." Mom sighed. "This is going to be a formal dinner, you know." Groaning, Camille closed her book with a smack and slid off the couch. A half a moment later, and she was gone. Just as she left, Cali came down the stairs, black hair gleaming. The red earrings I'd jokingly taken earlier were on proud display, and her head was held high. Her dress matched the jewels, a red that a few shades too light to be the color of blood. Mom and Dad both nodded approvingly, before turning back to the stairs to watch for Camille.

It felt like hours later, though I knew it was barely fifteen minutes, when Camille appeared at the top of the stairs. She'd let her brown-gold hair down, and the purple of her simple dress matched the violet of her eyes. I could even see the dark lines where khol lined her eyes. She was stunning, as usual. Now that she'd grown into herself more, my fourteen-year-old sister may have been the most confident person in the room.

"You look beautiful, dear." Dad said. "Now let's go." Camille nodded, and a few moments later we were all walking out the door of our house, hand in hand, off to dinner with our family.

~~~

"Hey Winnie!" I crowed as I landed in the large open dining room of the House. My cousin stood by the window, grinning, a few tendrils of shadows making themselves known by snaking over her knuckles. Like her father, Azriel, Winnie was a shadowsinger. Though, unlike uncle Az, Winnie was one of the most talkative females I knew. And I had an eight-year-old chatterbox of a sister.

Tess found us a moment later, draping and arm over Winnie's shoulders. The two of them looked nearly like twins, with their dark hair and hazel eyes. I knew I looked similar, but I had my mother's eyes. Tess's hair was curled nicely, and her light yellow dress was beautiful. Winnie was dressed similarly, though in dusty pink. Both females had siphons on their wrists, still, likely from training earlier.

"Good evening, ladies," I purred. "Exactly how many males have you beaten to the dirt since I last saw you two?" Because with their fathers being commanders, my cousins spent a majority of their time together in the Illyrian war-camps. Now that they were of age, they were starting to get proposals. So far, my cousins had rendered every male immobile for a few days in around five minutes. Last time I was in the camp, their record was a minute and eighteen seconds.

"Three this morning makes twenty-three for me." Tess said savagely. I gave her a grinning nod.

"Only sixteen." Winnie sighed with a pout. "But then again, I was working on the garden for most of today." She was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "My father snuck up on me, though. He almost got his fingers removed with a gardening trowel."

"There's a first time for everything." I chuckled. "And only you, Winnie Archeron, could nearly take someone's hand off with a gardening trowel."

"She has a gift for it." Tess said with a smirk. The conversation soon dissolved into chatter and laughter that had me nearly doubled over. I had always fit in so well with my two cousins, sometimes even more so than my sisters. Perhaps it was the closeness in age, or maybe the fact we all received similar training. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for it. I honestly couldn't imagine life without the closeness to my two cousins.

Of course, I did have other cousins. Winnie had a whole slew of siblings. But they were closer to Camille and Caliphe's age.

Winnie opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by her mother, Elain, calling us all over. We made our way to the table and took our seats. My mother was deep in conversation (and in a glass of wine) with my aunt Mor, and aunt Nesta sat by aunt Elain. My father sat with his two brothers, and aunt Amren had somehow found herself next to Cali.

Incredibly, the night was civil so far. I just prayed to the Mother it could stay that way.

#throne of glass #a court of thorns and roses #tog #acotar #generation 2 #feysand #nessian #elriel #legacies #children

7 notes · View notes