catastrophicideass

[catastrophicideass]

Feysand 9 for the prompt list (#5)? I love your writing 💕 💗

a/n: big apologies for how long this took to post but i hope you like it!

“You really thought I was dead?”

It all happened so quickly. Between the space of one heartbeat and the next.

Ba-dum. The sword in her hand sliced across the throat of an Autumn Court soldier, one of the last ones still loyal to Beron.

Ba-dum. Silence. Sudden and still as death, the bond went silent.

Not quiet as it did when Rhys' mental shields grew so impenetrable that even she could not enter. Not soft like when he was reeling with rage and did not want her to know the depth of his anger. Just...silence.

Rhys?

Feyre couldn't get a breath down. Moments ago, exhaustion had been pounding at her lungs, forcing down pants of air. Now it all seemed so small, so dark, and she couldn't get air in -

Not a glimmer along the obsidian bridge in their minds.

RHYS?

Feyre was vaguely aware of another soldier rushing towards her, blade aimed at her throat.

RHYS.

A flash of red light. The glint of steel.

Feyre saw all of it but didn't, too deep in herself, crawling along the pathways of her mind, trying to reach towards the steady, ever-present blackness.

Her hands curled around mist and ashes.

RHYSAND, WHERE ARE YOU?

Hands gripped her face, leather scraping against her cheeks. Warm brown eyes, flared wide with panic looked her up and down, checking for injuries, before meeting her own. Cassian.

"What's wrong?" he asked, cool and steady. The complete opposite of the rushing eddies that drained the blood from her face. And a second later, when he realised that her paleness wasn't from an injury she sustained, but rather, was bearing one of his -

"What's wrong with Rhys?"

"Cass, I can't - I don't know where he is," she gasped over her panicked breath. She didn't even look at him, scanning the skies above them, impossibly waiting to see Illyrian wings that she knew every vein and dip of. "He's not answering and I can't feel him and I don't know where he is."

RHYS, WHERE ARE YOU?

Cassian cursed. But then he straightened, every inch the Commander of the Night Court as he surveyed the field in front of them. Feyre left him to do that as she changed her eyes into a hawk's, sharpened gaze scanning, heartbeat ratcheting up with every second that she didn't see him.

"Cass," Feyre's voice broke, almost like it was shattered from how much she was screaming into the void in her head. "He's not...he can't be, right?"

Cassian's mouth tightened, and Feyre looked away before his empty assurances carved out another hole in her.

But then he gripped her arm, sudden and tight. "Feyre, look."

And there, her hawk eyes flashed as they took in the cobalt blue flashes in the distance, quick and slightly shifting like it was moving -

Azriel.

Without a word, Feyre abandoned the hawk eyes and grew Illyrian wings, the panic churning in her gut sharpening her focus. She didn't falter as she launched herself, Cass a wingbeat behind her, and flew.

She didn't let herself cry, didn't let tears blur her vision as she searched, looked around her roiling fear.

There.

Crouched behind an outcropping of rocks. Az had Truth-Teller out, shadows swirling around him, obscuring everything around him.

Cassian and Feyre surged for them, her wings tucked in a near free-fall. And when Az saw those two figures hurtling toward him, he pulled back his shadows.

Bloodied and pale, manacles still around his hands and legs but - there, the rise and fall of his chest, shuttered and shallow but alive. Rhys.

Feyre landed in the ground so hard that it cracked but she didn't care, not as she sprinted for Rhys, wings gone with half a thought.

She sobbed through her teeth as she saw him, saw the puncture wounds in his ribs, leaking with green poison. Faebane.

And those manacles, with their blue glow...

His magic was stifled. The same Faebane and chains that Hybern once used against him.

Azriel was talking to Cassian, how his shadows had spotted Rhys being taken down by some of Beron's son's in a last-ditch attempt to keep their father on the throne. Az had flown there to help him and managed to get him out but not before they got chains on him. The sons were no longer alive.

Feyre was no longer listening, not at the sight of her husband, her mate in front of her.

"Hello, Feyre Darling," Rhys managed to smile, even through bloodied lips.

Her hands trembled with the effort of restraining herself from throwing her arms around him, but with the leaking wounds and the chains, she didn't want to make things worse.

But she couldn't stop herself from raising those still shaking fingers to his face, brushing his hair back.

Rhys' violent eyes tracked it, the silver lining her eyes, the locked muscles of her body as if it was still trapped in that adrenaline rushed state.

"I couldn't feel you down the bond," Feyre whispered, "And I thought something had happened, that -"

She couldn't breathe around the word.

"You really thought I was dead?" Rhys asked. Had the audacity to ask.

"Yes, you idiot," Feyre hissed, panic easing with every moment she touched his skin, saw his attempts to lift its weight from her body.

"Even on my deathbed, you would call me such things?" Rhys smirked before his mouth twisted in a wince when Feyre smacked his arm.

"If I weren't so scared of you dying, I'd kill you myself," she said. Her heart had finally calmed enough for her to think over its pounding.

"Cruel, beautiful thing."

Azriel coughed behind them, the reminder to hurry entirely unsubtle.

Feyre reached for a blade strapped along her thigh and sliced her forearm. Offered it to him.

And as her healing magic wended its way through his body, stitching together ripped muscle and skin, Feyre reached for that kernel of light and extended a tendril towards the manacles. It resisted, pushing back, but she gritted her teeth, bending the locks to her will.

Until they snapped open.

It was like a tsunami, glorious and overwhelming, the force of him returning to her.

Ba-dum. Cobwebs and emptiness, the calm before the storm.

The chains slipped off his hands and legs.

Ba-dum. The wave crested, the ancient, curling blackness of him crashing into her, every drop melding their obsidian bridge together, the mating bond flowing wonderful and free between them.

A velvet tipped talon scratched down her mental shields, slow and soft and caressing.

She opened it. For him, she always would.

Thank you, Feyre Darling.

I love you, Rhys.

His hand brushed against hers, finally sitting up as those hideous wounds staunched. The shields Cassian and Azriel had around them let up.

As they readied to fly back, fly home, Feyre brushed her hand against his shields.

Rhys?

Yes?

If you ever do that again, I'll dump you in the Sidra myself.

tags!

@morganofthewildfire

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

#feysand fic #feysand angst #feysand #actoar #acomaf #acowar #feyre archeron #feyre and rhysand #rhys x feyre #rhysand

[catastrophicideass]

training/ teasing (rowaelin)

a/n: hello! cheeky post after re-reading tog and feeling an empty pit in my heart that i needed to somehow fill. feel free to send prompts and i write them! 

“This isn’t going to be fun if you’re going to be a sore sport about it.”

Rowan bared his teeth at her. “You cheated.” 

Aelin straightened, flipping Goldryn in her hand nonchalantly. All while she kept a careful eye at the Fae Prince - no, King now - crouched on the ground. The Oakwald swallowed the sounds of their clashing swords but they still drew an audience; Little Folk, peering over boulders and blending into trees. 

“You got distracted,” Aelin smiled, wicked, “that’s hardly my fault.”  

Rowan straightened, switching from being defensive to slowly prowling to her. Aelin did not yield an inch. She met those pine green eyes as they came closer and closer - enough so that she could see his dilating pupils. Only let him do it because of the loose grip he had on his hatchet, not poised to strike. Lowered Goldryn in response, her other hand resting against her weapons belt.

A curl of icy wind brushed past the point on her ear, so much more sensitive in this Fae body than it once was and Aelin tried, and failed gods-damnit, to suppress her shudder. The goosebumps erupting across her skin. He leaned in, mouth hovering over hers as a smirk tugged one side up. Waiting. Both of them playing a game that they innately knew the rules to, wanting and yet waiting to see who would give in first. 

Aelin did.

She pressed in, lips brushing his. She softly groaned at the contact, taking a step forward to deepen it - 

To be stopped by Rowan’s hatchet. The tip pushed into her leathers hard enough to dent it, but not enough to pierce it. Unlike an actual battle-field, where a slice there would have had her guts hanging out of her stomach.

“Bastard.”

“I’d call that a win for me,” Rowan said, a satisfied male smile gracing his mouth. 

“Look whose cheating now,” Aelin said, moving closer. Part of her uncaring as she scented him, the same scent now coming from her.

“Nothing you haven’t done before, Princess.” 

“Since we’re on the topic of things I’ve done before...” Aelin trailed off, dragging her gaze down his body. Her hands followed, moving across his waist, his back. Her lips pressed against the hollow of his throat, his jaw, smiling against his cheek as his breathing got more ragged, before going up to his ear. 

“You should have known better by now, Prince.” 

Rowan froze, feeling the tip of her blade against his back. One push and it would pierce his heart. 

“You’re a menace,” he breathed.

“A menace you mated,” Aelin smirked. 

This time, when they lowered their weapons, the blinking eyes of the Little Folk disappeared, only the silent trees of Oakwald witnessing what followed. 

i cant remember who i am supposed to tag so let me know again if you’d like to be tagged!!

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

#tog #tog7 #rowaelin #rowaelin fic #rowaelin fluff #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #rowan x aelin

[catastrophicideass]

the song of achilles, madeline miller / strangers - the kinks / margaret atwood, from power politics: poems / mary oliver, from west wind

[catastrophicideass]

WOOOW THIS IS STUNNING

Night Triumphant- and the Stars Eternal. - Sarah J. Maas

Feyre in a crown of stralight crystals. I don’t even know why, but it suits high lady of the night court;) I’ve spent so much time on this drawing and I don’t even know why (I mean there’s so many amazing fanarts of Feyre:O), but I really enjoyed playing with light effects:D

Hope you’ll like my version:)

 Mor / Amren

PS. I have an INSTAGRAM account where I try to post daily sketches and sometimes photos. Maybe you’d like to visit me some time:)

[catastrophicideass]

this is a completely indulgent piece i normally try and draw manon looking viciously badass but i just had to draw something soft-ish and perhaps a lil sultry bc i found a ref i loved so much. this is definitely a speed drawing just something for fun so the lineart and coloring are super simple and basic but i hope you like it! | instagram | art tag 

[catastrophicideass]

YOOO OH MY GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH!

i wrote this a couple years ago and i’m in such a writing slump right now but seeing this has made me so happy and made me want to write again!!!! thank you so so so very much for your appreciation <3

it made me more happy than i could ever say :) i adore u

Scars (Rowaelin)

a/n: found this old fic i wrote but never posted so here

Scars.

That’s all Aelin could see on the garden from her balcony. The garden that her bedroom overlooked was being tended to my scores of royal gardeners- the fresh earth was lashed with wheelbarrow tracks, some parts darker where they’d been trampled by countless feet, no flower visible yet. One cut overlapped the other until the soil was no longer a pristine stretch but rather a rough slab, raised in places like scabbed over flesh and deeply indented in the other like fresh wounds. The silvery moon light glittered over the upraised lines, dripping and leaking through like blood. It looked intentional, those slashes made with deliberate maliciousness, the flowers forced to count as the earth melded and was manipulated, pushed, destroyed-

“Fireheart,” a voice rough with sleep said from behind her. 

She just rubbed her hands down her arms where goosebumps were erupting, trying to stop seeing her own back superimposed on the ground, trying to stop herself from comparing those rut marks to the whip imprints marring her back. 

 "Aelin,“ he said, a little more insistent this time, waiting for her to face him. When she didn’t respond he moved. 

She heard the soft rasp of blankets being pushed aside but not the sound of his footsteps. She could feel his presence, his warmth, his breath on her back. She could always feel him- no matter if there was a mere millimeter between them or miles. 

He pulled her towards him gently and folded her into his arms, creating a little cocoon of heat that drove away the darkness she couldn’t keep away. She left her hands motionless but pressed her face closer to his bare chest and shuddered. 

Rowan said nothing, just held her until she stopped feeling like an untethered lantern, its fire slowly flickering out as it aimlessly drifted, right on the verge of plummeting into the ravine that yawned below. 

His winds guided her towards the shore almost invisible in the distance, stretched out a path of snow that tied her down to this Earth. 

“Today was… a bad day,” she forced the words out. She wasn’t used to admitting to weakness- no, Aelin Ashryver Galanthynius doesn’t feel emotions like fear or depression or despair. She is the godsdamned Queen of Terrasen. She cannot afford to. 

But this was Rowan. For him, and him only, would she allow herself to be vulnerable. Because she knew he would only catch her, even if she fell off the precipice into the ravine. He would die for her, as she would for him. They were, after all, mates. 

Rowan didn’t say anything; he just tightened his arms at the base of her spine and waited for her to tell me whenever she was ready. 

“I can’t stop seeing it. Everything looks like her and what she did to me. Rowan, I-” she choked on her words. Closing her eyes against the waves cresting behind her eyelids, she took in a deep breath and tried to stop her hands from shaking. 

“I’ve never been as weak, as defenseless, as useless as I was when she trapped me. I was naked- in so many ways apart from physical. And when she put that rutting ring on me, I was her little puppet to play with, I couldn’t fight against it,” the tears had slipped from behind her eyes and her voice cracked with broken shards of glass. Her whole body was trembling now, trying to physically recreate how shattered she felt inside. 

Rowan pressed a kiss to her temple and ran his warm hands up her cold arms softly- but Aelin could sense his mouth tightening with anger at the way his Fireheart had been tortured. 

“And then I almost killed you-”

Rowan snarled. 

Aelin drew back from his arms a little to look at his face, gauging his reaction. He had descended into that killing calm, every line of his face was hard and unrelenting and cold. 

“Don’t you ever blame yourself. You got out, you defeated that rutting bitch, you came back,” he said, the unspoken words visible in his eyes so brightly he might as well have said it out loud.

To me. You came back to me.

Aelin tried to smile- tried because she truly was grateful that she was back, that she once again had to luxury of being in his arms, of feeling his lips against her temple, his heartbeat thundering beneath her warm palms.

But she was so cold these days.

“Fireheart,” Rowan finally said when she didn’t respond. He tipped up her chin until her dull, empty eyes met his and brushed a loose piece of hair away from her face,“I know it’s not easy. I know that you’re so used to burning bright like a godsdamned supernova and being the one everyone relied on that you want to return to that same place now.”

Without warning, she suddenly felt hollow at the reminder of who she used to be, that overwhelming grief and anger and sorrow bleeding out of her in an instant. She wondered numbly if she’d ever get to be that person again- get to be someone who was strong, reliable and who didn’t succumb to nightmares and throw up her guts almost every night.

She felt, rather than saw, his heart tightening at the loss of light in her but he continued anyway in a slightly strangled voice, “But you can’t. No yet. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Regardless of your god complex”- her lips faintly twitched upwards at that- “you are but human. And you need time to heal, just like the rest of us.”

She nodded weakly, and buried herself back against his chest, trying to use his physical presence to shield her from the weight in her heart.

“I just don’t want to feel this… heavy,” she half-whispered.

“You won’t, someday,” he murmured.

“Promise?” she childishly asked, as if securing a promise from him would somehow stamp it to reality.

But he only replied so convincingly that she believed him just a little bit, “I promise.”

[catastrophicideass]

very much down to do any of these!! send in ships and the number and it shall be done :)

Prompt List #5

Other Prompt Lists

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“You’re not hurting me, you’re not heavy. I’ve got you, love.”

Kissing on sofa, foreheads pressed together, breathy, soft tender.

“Sometimes I wonder if you even like me…it sure feels like you hate me sometimes.”

“You were supposed to be my friend. That’s all…that’s all I asked of you. To be my friend. To care.”

“I look at him/her/them and I just..it’s like when the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes.”

“I don’t…i’ve never…been in a relationship and i’m going to make mistakes…I just need you to tell me. I need you to talk to me.”

“You really thought I was dead?”

“I want to believe, I do…I just…how can I believe in something that I can’t see?”

“You didn’t tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I going to do?”

“I feel sick…so anxious and sick and like my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.”

“Can we just make a decision? Please?”

“You don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

“I just want you to be safe. That’s all i’ve ever wanted for you!” 

“I want you to be happy…even if its not with me.”

“I want to feel like this forever.”

“You give me a reason to be better, to do better.”

“God, you are so fucking cute.”

“I love you, but I need you to go away because you’re really bloody distracting and I have to pass this test tomorrow.”

“I…I can’t do this without you.”

“Don’t forget me?” 

“You weren’t there…why weren’t you there?”

“I needed you! I needed you!”

“Now it’s over…I don’t really know what to do.”

“Do you ever think?”

“I’m going to die. I’m going to die with an absolute idiot!” 

“How can you drink that stuff?”

“Oh no…he’s/she’s/they’re cute.”

“I can’t talk to cute people, okay? I don’t know how to flirt!”

“Sometimes you love someone and you don’t want them to leave…because if they’re beside you, you can see that they’re safe and you can keep them safe. But, if they go somewhere without you…you might lose them”

“No one has a romantic bone in their body anymore! What happened to playing songs outside windows, glitter and sparkles on handmade Valentine’s cards, dancing in the rain!? What happened?!”

“I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You are so important to me, you are such a big part of my life, that I just…I can’t imagine you not here.”

“I just want you to be happy…”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Stop apologising for other people! You’re not the shitty one!” 

“I want someone I can melt around. I want someone who melts around me too…I don’t want this standoffish, unromantic love that you’re offering. I want more than that.”

“I want to write you poetry, to write songs about you and draw your portrait! I want to make things for you! It frustrates the hell out of me hat I can’t draw and I can’t sing or write or play instruments or paint…You inspire me so fucking much…”

“You don’t own her/him/them. You don’t get to choose who they choose. I don’t get to choose who they choose. No one, but them, gets to make that decision.”

“Stop being a fucking dick.”

“That’s another way of saying you’re an arsehole.” 

“Can anyone else hear those Jumanji like drums? Or is it just me?”

“God, I love your face.”

Twirling a strand of their hair

Foreheads pressed together, breath intertwining, slow, content affection

“Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that. You’re so much more than that. You’re so…”

“I’m only important when you need something from me.”

“I am fed up of half measures. I deserve better”

“Don’t look at me! I’m a mess!”

“I love it when you’re a mess!”

“Please stop rolling your shirt sleeves up, it’s terribly distracting”

“I don’t think you’re annoying…I know…I don’t…I really like listening to and hearing what you have to say even if its a lot sometimes..”

“I just want to be swept off my feet…is that so bad? I’m fed up of being alone.”

One reaching for the others hand to comfort them, to provide support. A thumb brushing lightly against skin. 

Reciting poetry at the other in a dramatic and very public fashion

Those period shirts with the puffy sleeves and the deep v and one staring at the other like… oh no he/she’s hot. 

Heart eyes when the other talks, sings, dances, argues, does literally anything especially things which others make fun of them for or find annoying

“Oh, my ankle! I think it must be broken!” *wink* *wink*

“I want you to be proud of yourself. I want you to believe that you’re good enough because you are. You’re so amazing.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“I haven’t slept since they/him/her left/died”

“You are an uncultured swine! There I said it!”

“I know I should be happy…I did well…I always do well…so why can’t I believe in myself?”

“Please do your homework, for me? Just one time…”

“I said one time, y’know…you didn’t have to actually start studying. Not that I’m not proud or anything.”

“Go big or go home”

“I’m already home.”

“I lost my wellie boot in the river…”

“I wish I knew who they were…”

“It was that bad here?”

“I look at you and I…I feel so sad because I love you but I also have been hurt so many times that I don’t think I can forgive and forget.”

Brushing hair from their face

Leaning into the others hand, turning their head and pressing a kiss to the palm

“I didn’t take you for the settling down type.”

Speaks in a terrible Shakespearean/Elizabethan style to woo/make the other laugh

“Should I go first or…do you want to go?”

“If you want to leave, we can leave.”

“I don’t want to ruin your party.”

“You could never ruin anything.”

“Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner.”

“Please don’t make me choose.”

“I can finally understand why you call them your arch-nemesis…What. A. Dick.”

“Poetry isn’t supposed to be good, it’s supposed to make you feel things!”

“If you don’t get that stick out of your arse, i’ll do it myself and beat you with it.”

“Could you come get me?”

“Stop moving! I’m going to have to start counting all over again!”

“I just thought that since you weren’t feeling too good, maybe this would help.”

The one stumbling to the other’s front door after getting hurt/beaten up etc.

“Oh my heart it breaks! It shall never be whole again!” “She/He/They break up with you every other month. Shouldn’t it be used to the disappointment by now?”

“I thought you said no more dangerous stunts?”

“I’m not kissing you in the rain! We’ll catch our death!”

“Where’s your adventurous spirit?!”

“A walk in the woods might do you some good. Clear your head.”

“You have wronged me so bitterly…”

“Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?”

“Please get me away from him. He hasn’t left me alone all night and I am this close to committing a murder.”

“I apologise sincerely if my handsome/beautiful face has kept you awake all night.”

Massages but the sort that are actually practical and helpful. Like babe, you’re so uncomfortable let me help because you’re clearly in pain

“Would it help if I stayed?”

“So I had this really vivid dream…”

#tog #acotar

[catastrophicideass]

prompts needed plS

oop its been so long since i posted but i really want to get back into it so please please send me some prompts! headcannon or cannonverse is good for anything in the tog/acotar universe! 

#tog #acotar

[catastrophicideass]

part of what makes tragedies tragic is the story being preventable from the outside but unpreventable from the inside

[catastrophicideass]

fuck. this was so fucking good

house rules | feysand

@acotarauweek​​ 🎄 day 02: roommate au feysand masterlist | acotar au week masterlist | read on ao3

Sometimes, Feyre’s life felt like a bad movie.

Especially now, as she sat at the kitchen table, listening to Mor talk on the phone to her cousin.

“No, Rhys. Like I said, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” She said, securing the phone between her ear and shoulder and wincing at Feyre’s look. “I was going to stay with Andy over the holidays, anyway. And Feyre’s totally okay with it. Aren’t you, Fey?”

Feyre swallowed her many, many words about how not okay she was with the situation. Instead, she gave Mor a nod. “Yeah, it’s no problem.”

“See. She said it’s no problem.” Mor said, turning away. “So, pack your bags and get your ass over here.”

Feyre briefly, angrily wondered why anyone would want to own a townhouse, when it’s pipes decided to burst in the middle of December, leaving you without water or heating right around the holidays but she kept that observation to herself as well.

Like she had quite a few things lately.

Keep reading

[catastrophicideass]

LOCKED IN A CLOSET TOGETHER ROWAELIN

OOF i got carried away and this is longer than I thought it would be lol whoops

“Lys, I know you’re going to this party so you can shamelessly flirt with my cousin in front of all his friends and honestly, I’ve accepted it. What I don’t accept is being dragged along to third wheel while you do it.”

Lysandra let out a laugh, rolling her eyes before tossing Aelin another outfit from her closet. “You’re not going to third wheel. I’ve seen you and Aedion’s roommate eye-fucking each other every time you’re together.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you two will find some way to keep busy.”

Aelin couldn’t stop the laugh that burst past her lips, despite her adamant determination that the night would be awful. Maybe it would be okay.

Three hours and seven drinks later, the night was absolutely as awful as Aelin predicted it to be. 

Lysandra had disappeared with Aedion approximately ten minutes after walking in the door, and Aelin spent a better part of the night wandering from group to group barely managing to make small talk, eventually settling into a corner next to the snack bar to count down the minutes until she could leave. 

She had been reaching over to grab another piece of chocolate when a low voice said, “Excuse me,” from behind her. 

She turned, almost running into a powerfully built chest before dragging her gaze upwards to a face with pine green eyes and close cropped silver hair. Aelin’s mouth actually dropped open before she could stop it, and she barely managed to shut it and put a practiced smirk on her face before he started talking. 

“You’re Ashryver’s cousin, aren’t you?” he asked, stepping closer to speak against her ear so she could hear her against the roar of the party. Gods, it was dizzying to be that close to him, and a scent of pine and slow seemed to take over her senses every second that he was there. It was intoxicating. 

“I am that and more,” Aelin purred back. “I’m Aelin,” she said. 

“Rowan Whitethorn,” the tall male responded with a small smile. “Listen, I’m trying to head out, but I have no clue where Aedion threw our coats. Do you have any idea where they might be?”

Aelin’s heart deflated a little at the words. It’s not like checking each other out from across the room counted as actual flirtation. She had no reason to believe he was actually into her. He probably wasn’t. But the words still stung to hear. 

“Yeah,” she responded, trying her best to keep her tone light. “They’re probably in the back closet.” 

She lead them towards the back of the apartment, far enough that the blaring music had faded to a faint pounding of bass. She threw open the door of a walk in closet, striding in. Rowan walked in after her, and it was a tight fit as he looked for his things on the back shelf. They were close enough that his chest was pressed against Aelin’s back as he reached over her, and Aelin could tell that every inch of him was covered in corded muscle. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts after she noticed that. Aelin reached for the door when he finally gathered his things and was barely able to make out a pair of cat-like emerald green eyes winking at her before the door slammed shut, locking from the outside. Both she and Rowan flinched before going to rattle the door knob, finding it locked and the two of them trapped. Together. With approximately six inches of room between them with both of them standing as far apart as possible. 

“I…” Rowan trailed off, trying to find some way to make this situation better. “Are you alright?”

Aelin looked up at him, skin flushed and heart racing. “Me? Of course. I’m fine.” A small laugh escaped her. “Is this how I wanted to make my move on you tonight? Of course not, but I’ll take what I can get.”

It was Rowan’s turn to flush ever so slightly at her words. “You were planning to talk to me tonight?” A slight grin graced his face. “And here I thought trading looks across the room was as close as we were going to get,” he said, a smile lacing his words. 

Aelin scowled. “No one was stopping you from saying anything first,” she retorted. 

Rowan smirked. “Really, princess? Then let me start.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear, and Aelin couldn’t stop herself as her body arched into him, a soft sigh escaping her lips at that slightest bit of contact. “I think you’re beautiful, Aelin,” he whispered, reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Likewise,” Aelin replied with a shuddering breath. “You’re rather pretty yourself, Whitethorn.”

Rowan let out a soft laugh, pressing the barest of kisses against the curve of her neck, resting his hands on her waist. Aelin rose up on her toes, her lips close enough to brush Rowan’s if she so much as lost her balance. “Are you ever going to do anything besides exchange looks with me?” She murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

Rowan’s gaze flicked back and forth between her mouth and her eyes before slowly leaning forward to close the gap between them and murmur against her lips. “If you insist.”

[catastrophicideass]

You know, I'm struggling with depression right now, and I needed "5 Stages of Grief (Nessian)" (especially the final part)... so thank you♡

this means so much to me. i hope (and i kNow) things will get better for you one day too, just as they did for nesta :)

thank you so much 💓💓

[catastrophicideass]

Masterlist

Throne of Glass: 

Multi-chaptered:

When Rowan Rescues Aelin:1, 2, 3, 4

One Shots:

A Better Life (Rowaelin) 

A Millennia Later (Rowan) 

Colours (Rowaelin) 

Homecoming (Lysaedion + Evangeline) 

Scars (Rowaelin) 

King of Terrasen (Rowan) 

Mornings (Rowaelin)

training/ teasing (Rowaelin)

Headcannons:

What if Aelin is pregnant? 

don’t imagine lysandra and evangeline separated 

Rowan and Lysandra

Rowan’s Power

friendly fucking reminder (aelin)

Rowan fucking Whitethorne

if Aelin’s plan works

like theories?? hypothesis??:

God’s Plan

Royalty Without Crowns

incomplete plots needed in ToG7

ACOTAR:

One-Shots:

The Last Starfall (Feysand)

Feyre’s Death

A Rainy Day (Feysand Fluff)

5 Stages of Grief (Nessian) 

Headcannons: 

PTSD Rhys

back with the theories/ hypothesis/ things i want:

bone carver + ToG manon?

incomplete plots i want in acowar spinoffs 

[catastrophicideass]

5 Stages of Grief (Nessian)

Stage 1: Denial (Day 0)

Nesta was drowning. Pain and sadness and loneliness and guilt had lodged itself so deep within her that no matter how hard she screamed or scraped with her nails, no matter that her vocal cords were obliterated in the effort, no matter that her nails were so cracked, broken, bleeding -

Like her.

She just...wants an escape, a reprieve, some semblance of peace and quiet to silence the incessant, cacophonic clamour in her head. She can't take it anymore, can’t take how every crunch sounds like her father’s neck snapping, how trickling water feels like she’s being suffocated in the Cauldron again, how the wind becomes phantom wing beats. 

She just wants the world to just...pause for the smallest second so she can breathe.

And she finds that space. Finds that wonderous space where time slows, and lights blur, and feelings fade into non-existence. There, at the bottom of that bottle lies the answers she’s been looking for, that quiet she’s been aching for. 

But, 

But after a while, it simply isn’t enough. The guilt fades away briefly, as does the pain, but the loneliness- the loneliness stays like a stubborn bloodstain on her white dress. She tries to fix that too, finds a way to. 

And so, after knocking back as many shots as she can afford, Nesta Archeron finds herself in the arms of some inferior man, lets him fuck her, and pretends that he’s somebody else, that she is somebody else. 

Someone who’s loved. Someone who isn’t broken. 

Stage 2: Anger (Day 64)

How dare he. How dare he think that he has any right to monitor her, or look after her. She is not another one of those pathetic, weak women he can sweep of that bat can sweep off his feet, she is Nesta godsdamned Archeron. 

She wanted to scream. He kept coming, kept checking in on her, his eyes wandering around the room on that rare occasion she bothered to open the door for longer than a few seconds before slamming it shut on his face. She’s sick of it, furious at the judgement and pity and sadness in his eyes when they fall on the trail of clothes on her floor, the sink with piled up dishes, the empty liquor bottles strewn all over the house. 

She has enough of her own shit and her own judgement going on - she doesn’t need to deal with his too. 

He can go fuck himself. 

And she tells him as much. 

Stage 3: Bargaining (Day 79)

She’s out of money. And she can’t remember yesterday morning. 

She’d stopped waiting for happy hour a while back; no, Nesta’s day began with a shot of vodka mixed with her coffee. Sometimes, she even forgot to add the coffee. 

But...she hadn’t had any yesterday, didn’t have the money to buy another bottle. She could’ve gone to the pub, maybe, but- 

She was just...tired. And hungover. Despite not drinking. 

Maybe if she didn’t drink today, it would be fine? It might wear off tomorrow. 

She should go talk to Feyre...one hour of interaction, of enduring their sympathetic, knowing looks; one hour of relying on her little sister for money like a wretched beggar; one hour of suffering his presence. Then she could have the money to drink maybe half a bottle...yes she could keep the other half for emergencies. She could go to the tavern for more, but only one more night and get her fill to last her...she didn’t want to deal with those overzealous men that tried to grab her ass and she let them before, not even focused on their touch as much as the wine they poured down her throat. 

One more day of not drinking. One more man to seduce. One more hour with Feyre.

She’ll manage. 

Stage 4: Depression (Day 92)

The bat came by again. Knocked at her door. Repeatedly. 

She didn’t bother replying. Only pulled her blanket higher and prayed for that sound to cease so she could return to that blissful silence, white noise, static, quiet, soft. Her brain was numb. Good. 

He broke the door down when it took her far too long not to reply. He rushed in. 

She didn’t care. Felt nothing more than a flicker of shame when he looked at her dishevelled state, hair tangled from the weeks she hadn’t showered, stained shirt, the dullness of her eyes. 

He came towards her, his hand reaching out to brush some of her matted hair out of her face. 

Once upon a time, her pulse would’ve increased at his touch, a sharp retort rising to her tongue automatically as she engaged in another vicious round of games. 

Now, she felt nothing. No need to poke at him, insult him to drive him away even when she desperately wanted him to fight to stay. She simply turned her head and fell back in bed. 

She didn’t even register the tear slipping out of her eye. It's not the first anyway. 

Stage 5: Acceptance (Day 128)

Little things. Getting up in the morning, the same time as the sunrise. Showering daily. Throwing her old bottles away. Giving the newer ones to Cassian. And she might miss some days, still lays in bed till dinner sometimes, is too tired to bathe herself some other times. But, she tries. 

The days she doesn’t, she has him. Without fail, he knocks at her door each morning. The days she’s gotten up, he’s there to teach her healthy ways to let go of this pent up frustration and anger and grief and sorrow. Lets her punch his hands until her knuckles start bleeding, her breath snags in her throat, her heart is bursting. 

Oh, he still drives her insane. But this time, she doesn’t mind. At least she’s feeling something, anything is better than the void of white nothingness she’d drifted into where she couldn’t tell down from up, where she was ceaselessly floating, aimless, confused, lost, empty. 

The days she can’t get up, he helps her up. Carries her, sometimes. She lets him; she lets herself be vulnerable with him because he’s stayed around this long and maybe, just maybe...she could use his help. 

He makes sure she eats, showers, gets out. Or he does his best. 

And she does her best not to push him away so viciously. 

Little things. 

She’s getting there, getting back to her old self. Or getting to someone who she wishes she could be instead. 

#nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #SJM #acotar #acomas #acowar #acomaf #acofas

[catastrophicideass]

A Rainy Day

a/n: its raining and dark and i have fairy-lights on and Daniel Ceasar playing and i hope you feel the same calm that i do right now. also, this is set a around 7 years post acowar

Feyre finishes the last of her little masterpiece up, feeling immensely satisfied with herself. Who knew that right next to that shop across the Sidra that sold lacy little underthings, there would be a self-care shop? 

Something about the pale pink awnings or the little lights hung up inside drew her in, and she couldn’t help but take some stars of her own home. It was a wonder she hadn’t discovered them before, especially given the frequency with which she visited the lingerie shop. She should’ve expected as much from the Kingdom of Starlight, as newcomers had taken to calling it; expected somehow, that somewhere in Velaris she would be able to buy her own stars. She could conjure her own if needed, of course, but these... these specifically reminded her of Rhys. 

Her stars, for a reason that neither she nor her mate had been able to identify, had a red tint to them, almost like they were fiery asteroids, suspended in her night sky. These ones were soft blues and purples and pinks; all one had to do was throw them in the air and they suspended themselves there, gently glowing. It was nearly the exact shade as the ones Rhys conjured when he was trying to get her to summon her darkness, back in that training ring all those years ago when she nearly singed Cassian’s fists with her own hands. 

They also sold a candle that somehow perfectly captured the crisp, clean sweetness of the Illyrian Steppes where their mating cabin was. She went ahead and bought about ten of those candles. She wouldn’t necessarily object to having that scent on hand at all times. No, would not object at all. 

Another little bit of her magic has music playing, the same piece that Rhys one sent to her cell Under the Mountain. 

Darling? 

I’m in our room, Rhys, she sends back through the bond, along with a little shhot of her happiness at that moment. 

He winnows in before she can say anything else, dripping wet, a wild smile on his face, nearly mirrored on the face of-- 

“Mama!” is the only warning Feyre gets before a sopping mass launches herself into her arms. 

Surprised laughter escapes out of her, and her arms automatically wrap around her baby, one hand gently pushing the wet hair out of her violet eyes, even as her own sweater gets damp and water droplets find her face. She looks over Luna’s head and looks at Rhys, who somehow looks equal parts happy and bashful. 

“We were out getting cupcakes and then it started raining and she said she wanted to play in the rain so,” he shrugs, almost helplessly, “who am I to say no?”

“Well, I want to say the High Lord of the Night Court and also her father but-” Feyre is interrupted by Rhys flicking her nose playfully, hard enough that she bats his hand away and pinches his side. “Mongrel,” she adds under her breath, even as his arm comes around her shoulders and she leans in. 

“Dada, dada,” Luna insistently calls, unaware of how she’s had every bit of his attention from the moment she took her first breath, “Mama called you a mongool,” she says, trying and failing to pronounce ‘mongrel’ around the giggles that threatened to burst from her any second. 

“Did she now?” Rhys conspiratorially says, bending down closer to where she sits in Feyre’s lap, now tugging at a lock of her hair. Luna vigorously nods her head in response, almost as if she’s trying to convince her dad to believe her. 

“Well, that’s just rude, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Rhys winks at Feyre, quickly covering that up with a slight frown that almost didn’t work because of the slight tugging of his lips at the corners. 

“What are you going to do about it?” she replies back, sticking her tongue out. That sets Luna off into another bunch of giggles that she tries so hard to muffle behind the hands she claps over her mouth. 

Feyre bites her lip to prevent her own smile from spreading as she tries to maintain her superficial irritation with Rhys if only to see Luna try and fail to be serious as well. Her eyes meet his and time somehow stops for a second, encapsulating them in this bubble of theirs and she felt the same emotion mirrored in his eyes and down the bond. 

Wonder. Fascination. Love. 

Feyre from five years ago could never imagined that her future would one day hold a day where she’s sitting in her room with her laughing little kid in her lap, sat across Rhys, her mate, her husband, the male who brought so much happiness to her life, with them soaking wet and plotting against her, mischief identically glimmering in their eyes. She still can't believe that she gets to have a life this absolutely wonderful, filled with people she loves so much that it feels like her body, even the significantly stronger fae one, is too fragile to contain the overwhelming depth of it all. 

You deserve this and so much more, Feyre Darling. You’ve earned every bit of all this, Rhys sent down the bond, his talons gently caressing her mind as he reciprocates every piece of love and happiness she sends his way. 

“Luna, come here,” Rhys says, crooking his finger at her so she’ll allow him to whisper in her ears. Though Feyre’s fae hearing picked up exactly what he said, she stayed quiet and allowed her loves to get on with their little scheming. 

Rhys pulled back and looked at Luna for confirmation. She seriously nods a yes, even as a smile slips past her very limited control. Feyre turns her head to watch Rhy’s quietly count down and then-

She shrieks. They both dig their fingers in her side, going right for the spots that Rhys knows for a fact set her off so strongly, that she turns into a flailing mess. “Rhys, I swear on the Cauldron- oh, gods- Luna- Rhys, stop or I- Mother’s bloody tits-”

Oh, no. As soon as the profanity escapes her lips, Feyre freezes, both of her little demons stop and then it was Feyre’s turn to clap her hands over her mouth. Rhys and her lock eyes, hoping to the gods that their sweet, innocent child didn’t pick that up, didn’t notice what was said-

Do you think she heard?

“Mother’s bloody tits!” Luna gleefully calls, knowing the reaction it earned the first time and wanting to see it again. She’s looking expectantly at her parents, w grin lighting her whole face up.

She’s not even five yet, and you’ve already gone and taught her that? Rhys’s voice jokingly chides down their bond. Could’ve at least waited till she was seven.

You don't see me bringing up the time she called her rubber duck ‘fuckie’ for a month because of a certain High Lord found it hilarious. 

A dark chuckle echoed in her mind in response, Touche. 

But if there’s anything that experience has taught them is that the more you react to it, the more they say it. And so-

Oh mother, Rhys, we’re going to have to watch our baby girl say ‘Mother’s bloody tits’ for a whole month before she gives it up, don’t we? 

At least I can tell everyone that she picked it up from you this time, Darling. 

#Feysand #acomaf #acotar #SJM #sjmaas #rhys #rhysand #feyre and rhysand #feyrhys #rhys and feyre #feysand fluff #feysand fic #feysand baby #feysand! parents

[catastrophicideass]

Moe’s ACTOAR December One-Shots #3 - Feysand and a Gift (3.6k words)

Every other day in December I’m going to be posting a Christmas/winter themed one-shot for either Elriel, Feysand, or Nessian. They’ll be tagged under “moes winter writing” so make sure to check all of them out. 

Almost all of these prompts are directly from or variations of this post. Please like and reblog!

~~~~~

Moe’s Christmas One-Shot Number Three:

Feysand - Here have a Sentimental Secret Santa Gift and by the way I’m in love with you (ft. the rest of the Inner Circle)

~~~~

“Look all I’m saying is—”

“Mor I know exactly what you’re saying, you don’t have to spell it out for me.”

“But you two would look so cute together!”

“How on earth would you know that, your cousin barely looks at me these days and he certainly never stands close enough to me for you to see us as a couple.”

Mor huffed, rolling her eyes and throwing her hair over her shoulder from her perch on the counter. “Feyre, you’re my dearest friend and I love you.”

Feyre scoffed as she pulled the cookies out of the oven and placed them on the stovetop, shooting Mor a disbelieving glance as she removed her oven mitts. She could hear Cassian, Azriel, and Mor’s cousin in question Rhys bickering in the living room while the two girls chatted in the kitchen. Amren was on the phone with Varian upstairs and Nesta and Elain had yet to arrive. 

Meanwhile, Mor had placed it upon herself — yet again — to try to convince Feyre to ask out Rhys. This made the third time they’d had this exact conversation in the past month. 

“It’s Christmas, Mor, don’t go lying to me now,” Feyre said with a laugh as she carefully began to plate the cookies. 

“I’m not lying!” Mor exclaimed. “You know I love you. Which is why I’m telling you — Rhys likes you. Like a lot.”

Feyre’s face immediately pulled into a frown and she wished she had left her hair down to hide that expression from Mor. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Rhys. She did. Oh boy did she like Rhys. 

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#this is so pure im about to bust some fat tears

[catastrophicideass]

Gavriel watches Aedion after the Valg wars

A little fic to help my aching heart heal. 

Find my masterlist here if you’re interesting in more :) 

***

As Gavriel left his body, the light fading from his eyes as the Valg gutted him and tore at his immortal flesh, he thought of his son – the one he barely knew.

He thought of the years he’d wish he’d had with him - his Pride.

In his living state, he did not have the big moments. Was not there when his love found out about the child, nor the first time she’d felt him kick, or when he was born.

His first steps.

His first words.

The first time he’d held a sword in his tiny little fist.

The first time he’d went to war.

Moments that Gavriel had desperately wanted to have with him. But one cannot reverse time.

He could tell he was not alone here. He watched as his body was made into shreds, and felt a warm presence at his side. He turned his head, away from the noise and chaos of war, and near cried at the sight.

It was her. His love, the woman he would have destroyed worlds for. The mother of his child. She looked so much like the queen he had been serving for months that he forgot that once when he saw Aelin he thought that perhaps she might have been his daughter. The two looked eerily alike, and he was sure that if he ever saw Evalin Ashryver she would be the third in their trinity.

“Hello, my love,” she said, her voice sad. She reached a hand to his face, and he couldn’t believe it when he felt her skin against his.

“This, what is going on? What is this?” His voice was stricken as he looked at the princess that had him falling to his knees.

“I have waited for you,” she told him. “And I’m – I’m sorry. That you did not get more time with our son. I hope you can understand why I had to do what I did.”

He shook his head. “You were sick, sick enough to leave our son without a parent when if you had just come home you would have been fine. You didn’t even have to see me. I always respected your wishes for me to stay away from you. I wouldn’t have interfered.”

“He had Evalin and Rhoe and so many others that loved him dearly. He was never alone. And it was worth the risk. Just look at what Maeve has done. I couldn’t risk him being trapped in her claws.”

Gavriel heard the unsaid words. “Like me?”

She paused. “Yes. Like you.”

He looked back to his body, covered by many others at this point, the gate blessedly closed. He walked, and jolted at how easy the action was, and wondered exactly what being dead entailed. He knew the Queen of Terrasen had summoned spirits many a time, but the thought never really occurred to him that there was more than life.

He was walking, but then he was just gone. Appearing in the courtyard where his son was fighting, clutching his heart as he watched him struggle to survive.

His love, still at his side, stayed silent, watching with him. As he suspected she had for many years.

So, as a form not corporal, he watched his son from the Afterworld.

He was grief stricken, and Gavriel could never have expected such a response from the boy. Gavriel yearned to comfort him, but it would hopefully be many, many years before they spoke again. So, he did what he could. He stayed with him, at his side, his presence a solid one.

He yelled, cried, gasped as he watched the war unfold and his son’s role in it. He saw his boy cry at his body, and wished to the Gods he knew were no longer there that he could say just a few things.

I love you. I’m proud to be your father. I wanted you.

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