bandaged wing

You're asexual? But...

“but sex is what makes us human!”


in 1916 a French officer in his twenties writes his

doctoral dissertation under

heavy mortar fire.

he sends it by mail, a page

at a time, to his wife.

a week before he’s to step up to the podium and

defend his work rather than hiscountry

he is killed in action.

even as the bullets rip

through him he still wishes he could have become a professor

in French literature and

the university awards him a posthumous Ph.D.

sex is


a woman breaks down in tears on the phone because

a week is not enough time to

get over a breakup.

her sister drives an hour across town,

comes up the front steps with

a gallon of ice cream and somebeer

and together they eat moose tracks and marathon



Godzilla movie

ever made.


sex is

she’s late for work but her car isn’t

starting and even through her coat and hat she’s cold.

she knows she can’t be late again because she’s missed

one time too many already because her

father’s nurse was sick with the flu and someone

needed to help him bathe.

the clock ticks past fifteen after and she hits

the wheel like it’s a heavy bag as though that will help

steps on the gas like the car will go

and wonders how she will pay rent

and how she will feed her father.

sex is


it takes three people to hold the predator down because

even with the cover over his head

a bleeding eye and shattered wing

he is trying to hurt them.

none of them have seen this bird before in their lives but

they bandage his wing and head and give him a painkiller and

put him in a warm place to sleep and heal because

it is right.

at first he is paralyzed and cannot

fly but soon he is taking steps

and then fluttering, and then soaring, and

six months later he is whole and healed and hunting.

once he is gone they never see him again

which means they’ve done their jobs right.

sex is


in 1969 a girl watches grey-and-white footage on her parents’ tiny television and

can’t quite believe that what she is seeing is not a movie set but

another planet.

the men on the screen look a little like

aliens with bulbous heads and no faces and fat

marshmallow arms

but they are still men.

her mother puffs on a cigarette behind her and declares that

this is progress

even if it was just a small step.

the girl grows up to be not an astronaut but a secretary

and her boss calls her ‘sweetheart’.

but sex is


a boy is taught that real men don’t cry so

he doesn’t.

when his best friend dies from a self-inflicted

gunshot wound, he locks himself

in the shower every day and sobs under scalding

water until it runs cold

so nobody will see him grieving

so nobody will see that tears are just love that

has no place left to go.

he learns to dull love rather than suppress its expression and

soon the owner of the liquor store knows him by name.

three DUIs, two evictions, and twelve steps later,

he is feeding people at a homeless shelter,

and telling them it’s all right to cry.

Sex is


the broken man tells the comedian

that he didn’t mean to step in front of the car but the rain

made it hard to see.

he seems okay but his leg

does not.

the comedian clutches a grubby receipt with the driver’s

plate number scrawled on the back

in pink pen, stands out in the rain so the broken man

can have his umbrella,

and gives him the comedy routine that ruined his career

so the man doesn’t think about the pain in his leg.

once he’s out of the hospital, the fixed man sends him a thank-you card

with kittens on it.

what makes us human


yawning is contagious,

and there is a species of bird whose young we call “pufflings”.

melodic collections of sound, spaced by silence,

can move us to tears.

the tallest building in the world is

two-thousand seven-hundred and seventeen feet tall.

in less than eighty years we went from our first powered flight

to touching the moon,

and in one-hundred from the first phone call

to instantaneous connection between thinking machines of our own creation.

we make pies out of tree organs

and let cow’s milk ferment until it hardens and then

we put them together, because apple pie with cheddar cheese is delicious.

what makes us human is

the earliest fossils of anatomically modern humans are

two-hundred thousand years old .

we have had pet dogs

for sixteen-thousand of those years, longer

than corn

or the wheel.

the steps we take are part of

one of the most energy-efficient gaits the

animal kingdom has ever seen.

we invented the concepts of love

and hate

and justice, and mercy

and we invented the language to convey them.

we sharpened rocks, then metal, to convince other people

who don’t hold the same idea of those things as we do

because we think

it’s right.

we are two hundred millennia of love and disappointment and

sorrow and innovation and

mercy and kindness and dreams

and failure

and recovery.

but sex is what makes us human.

Nessian - Depressed!Cassian

Here is part 2 of my Depressed!Cassian headcanon mini-fic thing.

Part 1 here!

[Depressed!Cassian - Part 2/3]

The following evening, Nesta banged once on Cassian’s door before letting herself in.

“Nesta?” Cassian said, raising an eyebrow. He was still lying in bed. But he looked as though he’d at least bathed, as if he’d finally eaten something, too. He was sprawled atop the bed sheets on his stomach, wearing nothing but a pair of loose fitting trousers.

Nesta didn’t dare look at the bandages on his wings. Instead she allowed him to see her roll her eyes over his generous, muscular backside. Then she prowled to him, as if she’d seen nothing of interest.

“I require assistance, and you’re the only one in the House of Wind readily available,” she said. Nesta sat on the end of his bed, facing away from him and swept the hair off the back of her neck. “My necklace has become tangled in my hair.”

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Forgive me father, for I am still small. Learning to live, and barely striving beyond a crawl. My wings are still so tender, yet so damaged to say the least. I’ve seen more already, than most people would believe. “Don’t step on that fish” I heard, I know, but will it ever learn to love? Will it have the privilege to grow? I have too many questions, father, and I’d like to know the response. Yet everytime I ask of you, the answer mimics itself down to the spot. “Be patient, my child, for wisdom comes the price of time. You’ll get there one day, you’ll see. When you grow up you will become a leader, a leader even better than me.”

Forgive me father, for I have let the Angels fall. I’ve snapped my wings, I’ve risked it all. I have done some good things, at least, but I’m not the Angel you promised I’d grow up to be. I am broken, hated, nothing but a disappointment hiding in a shell. I don’t belong up here in heaven, I’d be better off in Hell. I’ve disobeyed rules, I’ve broken everyone’s trust, now it only seems fair that I get left in the dust. I tried to treat my wings, bandages and all. They don’t really help much, though, when all my wings do is go limp and fall. I’m sorry I let you down, father, though all I’ve ever done is care. I’ve put humanity before everything else, I must be hard to bare. I want to be new again, so pure and full of dreams, not the angst ridden angel that has too much heart, bursting at the seams. 
Please, forgive me, father. 
Forgive me…

The White Owl (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Prompt: In which the reader turns into an owl and Newt is absolutely oblivious.  Also includes a sassy!Frank.

Word Count: 3111

A/N: I wrote this entirely to spite my sister who is taking forever on writing her Newt x reader.

I first met him when the Goldstein sisters invited him over.  Now, I was his assistant.  He took me in when he started writing his book and became so busy with it that he needed help with his creatures.

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Nessian - Depressed!Cassian

Here is part 3/the last part of my Nessian fic. Thanks for reading. Enjoy the angst! Part 1, Part 2 

[Depressed!Cassian - 3/3]

Three days later, Nesta knocked on Cassian’s door. She had no idea what she was doing there. What she was going to say.

She waited for him to give her permission to enter. She wore a velvet dress in deepest blue. The sleeves were long and tight, the neckline modest.

“Who is it?” Cassian said from within.

“Nesta,” she replied in a voice that was smaller than she’d intended.

“Come in.”

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

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As You Wish, Nes

Requested by @anonymousveil and @rhysand-and-rowan

8: “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
140: “I let you down. How am i supposed to forgive myself for that?”
12: “Stay the night. Please.”
13: “You can’t die. Please don’t die.“
122: “Just relax, i’ll wash your hair for you.“
21: "I might have had a few shots.”


Three fierce knocks woke Nesta from her nap on the library chair. She bolted upright, her book falling to the floor. A quick glance to the window reveals that it’s the middle of the night and raining.

Another three loud knocks sound from the front door of the House of Wind.

Not wanting the sound to wake up Elain, Nesta rushes to the window and peeks down to see who it is. A stumbling Cassian is leaning his forehead against the door, his fist resting against the wood and the rain shining in his dark hair. He’s shivering. Nesta has half a thought to leave him out there, as he’s barely talked to her in weeks. She knows that he is busy and is trying to heal his wings and repair from the war, but she misses him. It’s that thought that drives her to finally unlock the three deadbolts and swing the door open, almost causing Cassian to fall flat on his face.

Fast reflexes, even paired with alcohol, save the warrior from a face plant. When he finds his footing, Cassian looks up at Nesta and smiles. "Nesta.” He sighs, going to hug her but she holds up a hand.

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{fic} It Hurts to Become

Word Count: 5.8k
Characters: Nessian
Warnings: v mild body horror, angst

“You are not a monster, Nesta Archeron,” Cassian says, moving to stand behind her. He makes eye contact with her in the mirror, as though he can communicate the depth of his conviction with gaze alone. “You’re incredible. You were incredible when you were human, and you’re incredible as an Illyrian, and you’d be incredible if the cauldron turned you into a damned suriel.”

Against her will, this pulls a half-smile out of her. “I’d still be prettier than you.”

I said to the the sun
“Tell me about the big bang”
The sun said
“it hurts to become”

- Andrea Gibson, I Sing the Body Electric, Especially When My Power is Out


Nesta does not have pointed ears.

It takes her weeks to notice it. The aftermath of Hybern’s castle was a horrifying blur of blood and terror and the light being too bright, much too bright, all the time; she stumbled everywhere on too-long limbs, winced at every sound, too rich and magnified, as she caught Elain’s face in her hands and wept, smoothed her hair, refused to let anyone else near them.

Elain was as pale and silent as a statue for days. Nesta worked herself into tears trying to get her to eat at first, Elain blanching at every little thing. She wondered how much of it was the fault of the man with red hair—You’re my mate, he’d said, like he could just claim Elain like that. She swore dozens of times over, every time Elain looked listless, she’d kill him, as soon as she finished dismantling the king, and every person who’d ever obeyed him, one agonizing piece of flesh at a time. Nesta had always been angry, vindictive, confrontational, but this was something else, a fury so deep it was too big to be contained in her skin. If things like vases, and windows, and fine china started cracking unprovoked in her presence, well, that was what happened when you forced someone into a skin they didn’t want. Bill the king of Hybern for it, she snarled at Rhys after a glass chandelier shattered with a surge in her mood, not caring that he was undeserving of her vitriol. The whole world deserved it.

So it is not until two weeks into their stay—Elain is no better, but there is less and less to be gained by hovering over her every moment—that she stills, just for a moment, and looks in the long mirror in her room. Until now, she has been avoiding it. She does not want to see the long limbs she is still not accustomed to, or the face that isn’t hers, prettier and smoother and wrong. It does not wear expressions correctly, Nesta thinks with a shiver; it falls too still if she is not actively fighting against it.

She tucks her hair behind her ears, and realizes only then, slowly, that they are not pointed, like Elain’s or Feyre’s, whose she has spent so much time looking at and recoiling from. But it is an unsettled kind of relief as she runs a finger across the rounded edge—why aren’t they?

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@propshophannah, @elnabu, @highfaelucien@illyriantremors you guys inspire me!!


She knew without knowing that he was her mate.

It wasn’t when she spilled from the Cauldron, soaked and freezing and horrified for herself and her beloved Elain. Too much had changed. Her body. The immortality buzzing under her skin. The magic igniting her blood. Her Gods-damned ears.

It wasn’t even in the aftermath: these powerful fae roaring at Rhysand for letting his High Lady go, Elain clinging to her side and asking who that man had been — her mate — as if Nesta would know.

It wasn’t until dawn the next day. Of course she hadn’t slept. Elain had very nearly passed out on the staircase, exhausted and terrified, and Azriel had carried her up to bed when the moon was still high. The others dispersed. Nesta supposed she could have found a bedroom if she wished. But did she? If she had found a strange room in this strange place, could she have relaxed this strange body against a strange fae’s guest sheets for a night of halfway-decent rest?

She doubted it. Thus, the rooftop.

With Feyre gone, in this tragedy of a body, Nesta thought it ought to have rained. Or, really, the sun simply shouldn’t have risen. It would have made sense. If the sun never broke the horizon, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

But it did, and it was surprising. It was fiery, too, not the weak pink of spring or the pale blue of winter but the full-on bright orange of a light that surged to overwhelm the darkness. A fire in the sky after the darkest of nights. Light triumphant.

“You fit here.”

She jumped at the voice, though it took her several long seconds to tear her eyes from the blazing break of day to meet his gaze.

“With this,” Cassian supplied, gesturing vaguely to the splash of color behind her. “You look much more powerful here than in a small cabin in dull winter.”

Her lungs tightened defensively. “That’s my home.”

“Were you powerful there?”

“Yes,” she said, firm. She’d hosted queens, after all. She’d created an embassy.

He did not reply, just walked over to join her at the edge of the balcony. His wings were bandaged so heavily that she couldn’t see the black beneath the layers of white gauze.

He looked at the sky, and she remembered suddenly how he’d looked in her house. He and his friends, really, had created the embassy. They had hosted the queens. She’d simply…lived there. Coexisted.

Her fingers brushed against the new point at the top of her ear, and she wondered if she’d really been powerful at all. Perhaps not.

“Does it hurt?”

He looked at her and somehow the sky was reflected on his irises. Captivating.

“Does this?” Again, his hand wandered through the air, gesturing vaguely to her.

“The new look?” She snorted. “No. It feels…wrong, though. Uncomfortable.”

“That’s how my wings feel. Rhys has enough magic in me to fell a small town, taking the pain away, but I can still feel the weight of the bandages. Wrong. Uncomfortable.”

“Will it get better?”

His eyes were so, so soft for all the fire they held. The sun was rising, now. He was so much more exquisite in the light of this court than he’d been in the dimness of her home. And maybe it was this light that showed him she was not asking about his wings.

“It will,” he said. “You’ll train. You’ll be able to help Feyre and…and the rest of us. I know it isn’t what you wanted, but it will stop feeling so different after a while.”

“I don’t want to lose myself,” she whispered.

She wasn’t sure if he heard. Leaning on the balcony rail just inches apart, they watched their star finish crossing the horizon and bloom into the vibrant sky.

It wasn’t for another quarter hour at least that he spoke again. “You won’t be lost, Nesta. You’re just different now, but you’ll find yourself again. You’re still in there.”

She looked down at herself almost without thinking. The sun shone against the remaining Cauldron water on her dress.

“You’ll belong,” he said. “I promise.”


And that’s when she knew, somehow.

My mate.

celestialspiritqueen  asked:

Nalu (what else do you expect from me) adopting happy or Plue together from a shelter

This actually gave me a chance to write for my “Happy Pets” AU, where Natsu runs a pet shelter that lives off donations, because he likes animals more than humans because he has a social impediment ^^ I hope you enjoy, and happy birthday!

The pleasant ring of the small bell above the doorway chimed softly as Lucy entered the small pet shelter, and she was instantly met by a mixed smell of dirt and wet dog, with the faint undertones of excrement, that every pet shop seemed to carry.

The first thing Lucy noticed about the small shop was that there were many even exotic animals, including a peacock, which had one of it’s wings bandaged to it’s side, probably to keep it in place to overcome an injury of some sort.

The second thing was there seemed to be no one here. Maybe they forgot to close up for lunch?

But her worries were put to rest as she heard something fall in the back, followed by a quiet ‘Ouch!’. Lucy stepped around the cages and saw boy on the floor, a box of toys having fallen over and littering the floor.

“Oh dear… I told you, if you don’t keep still, you’d end up hurting yourself…” he muttered, shielding what seemed to be a small white dog, which couldn’t stop shivering, and seemed to have a injured paw.

“Um… Are you okay…?” Lucy asked nervously, and the pink-haired man looked up in shock, before quickly standing with the dog in tow

“Ah, yes, we’re fine… This little guy was just rescued so he’s scared of everything…” he explained, keeping the dog in a protective hold “Oh, uh, I’m Natsu by the way”

Lucy watched the small dog, before holding out her arms “Can I … hold it?”

Natsu seemed taken aback, but carefully handed her the dog, and was even more shocked when it stopped shaking altogether as it lay in Lucy’s embrace, while she stroked it lovingly.

“Aw, he’s so cute…” Lucy cooed, unaware of Natsu’s shock.

“Say… Do you want to take him home with you?”


Angels are anything but beautiful;
They are cut faces, bruised hands, bandaged wings.
Damaging rage, and devastating floods of emotion.
No matter the pain, your angel will keep their wings around you,
Shading you from harm, and keeping you locked in safe in their embrace.
Angels are anything but beautiful;
They are a safe haven to come home to at night,
A peculiar Shadow, an extra heartbeat following you.

A Court of Flames and Curses (3)

the 4th book in the ACOTAR series ~ 1 2

“I don’t understand why we didn’t dock where you came from to follow your path to the lake.”

Lucien looks at Nesta irritably. “The tides make it difficult. And I told you, we moved at night so Vassa could walk with us and share information. I wouldn’t remember the path through the forest now.”

“We’re here,” Cassian says, holding the map up in front of Nesta and jabbing a coastal spot near the circled patch of forest. “It’s almost due east of here.”

“Why shouldn’t we try to go directly to the lake?”

“Best to meet the Suriel—”

“The Wayfinder,” Lucien corrects.

“—and see what it has to say about the matter.”

“We only get one question,” Nesta says. “And we already know, roughly, where the lake is.”

“We can ask how to break the curse,” Amren says, appearing on deck with her pack. “And who put it on her, since she doesn’t know.”

“A nymph. We know that,” Nesta says.

Cassian rolls the map and tucks it into her bag. “All we know is that he’s a nymph. No forest spirit disappears into the human lands without reason.”

“Nor any Suriel,” Lucien adds.

“Come on,” Amren says, pushing between Lucien and Cassian to lead the group. “We’ve discussed this enough. We need to wade in.”

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“I think my first real experience in the rock and roll world came in Cleveland the day that Hole joined the tour. The lineup was actually Marilyn Manson, Hole and Nine Inch Nails. Courtney showed up late. She had flown in and was completely wrecked when she got to the concert. She went on to play probably one of the worst shows in her life, and i’m sure she would admit this. She took off her top said something sarcastic speculating whether Trent Reznor was a top or bottom to piss off the audience, and then dove into the crowd. A lot of people tried to grope her breasts and tear off the rest of her clothes.
After she finished, she decided to come into our dressing room because we had adjoining ones. She was pretty much just in her underpants and her bra, and lying sprawled out, high or drunk. i’m not sure which, probably a combination of both. I was kind of confused by the situation because-other than Trent-she was one of the first infamous (rather than famous) people I had come across. So I kept my distance. i’m not sure if I was scared of her or if I just didn’t want to get involved.
She was trying on everyone’s clothes, and I remember Daisy was pissing me off because, in particularly bad taste, he was trying to trade some of his clothes to get her to send him one of Kurt Cobain’s guitars. She was very cool about it and didn’t take any offense.

Now, Courtney has always said that she had some kind of relationship with Trent but Trent has always denied it. What’s the truth?
I probably shouldn’t talk about that. All I’ll say is that it seemed that Trent had picked Hole to be on the tour as a bit of a novelty. He seemed to dislike her greatly, and I think he wanted her on tour either to make a fool out of her or just to study her. But as the tour progressed I noticed that Trent and Courtney were hanging around a lot together, and it was a part of the tour where he wasn’t talking to us too much. He had disappeared into his own world-or hers.

So you didn’t really know whether they were sleeping together?
Well, things started to get weird a month or so down the road as the tour was ending. Courtney showed up at Trent’s bungalow trying to break down the door and doing some other stuff that I forgot about because I was drunk. But it was some sort of outburst that comes from a girl only if you fuck her. So I could tell that there was something going on that Trent wasn’t telling us about, especially since he was stumbling around her hotel room at certain hours of the night that were very suspicious. Still to this day he won’t admit to any of us what happened. So you can make your own judgement.

I thought this interview was to tell the truth about everything that happened in the past year.
I’m telling the truth, but Twiggy can probably tell you more because he had an undocumented, undisclosed relationship with her afterwards. 

Is that true Twiggy?
Twiggy: It’s true that I need whiskey and speed.
Manson: What happened was that after the leg of the tour with Hole was over, for some reason we kept running into Courtney. Whenever she would pop up, it would cause great amounts of stress for Trent. He’s a non-confrontational person so rather than dealing with it he would let it torment him. There was a night that we were all partying. I think it was in Houston, and Trent was working on the Natural Born killers soundtrack. Twiggy and I went out to a bar and some guy gave us drugs. We had one of our very first nights of terror where I felt like I was gonna die, and I wanted to call everybody I knew and tell them that I loved them and that I was afraid. In the midst of the terror, Twiggy disappeared because he had gotten some frantic phone call in the middle of the night. Apparently Courtney was in town and told him, “Come over. I’m freaking out!”
He didn’t come back until about seven o’clock the next morning. I asked him what happened, and he pulled up his shirt and had these giant red claw marks on his back. He kind of sheepishly admitted to doing some very graphic and very obscene sexual acts. Very exciting. I’ll leave it up to your imagination. So they continued to have this secret relationship, probably because Twiggy wasn’t famous enough at the time for Courtney to admit that she was having sex with him.

Do you think she was manipulating him to get to Trent?
Manson: I don’t know, but Trent seemed to think so. And it worked. Because not long afterwards we got a call from John Malm, the president of Nothing. During the tour, we had fired our management from Florida, which was too busy taking care of that country band the Mavericks to really care, and let Nothing take over. So now John Malm, our new manager, was telling us, “Listen, you can’t hang out with Courtney because she’s trying to find out where Trent’s staying and she’s gonna use you to do it.”

So which did you choose, Twiggy, Trent’s peace of mind or your budding relationship with Courtney?
Twiggy: Whiskey and speed.
Manson: He kept seeing her, but not to rebel against anyone. He was just into her. I think he was also starstruck by Courtney because he had never had a relationship with anyone of her stature. At the time I didn’t really understand Courtney and was siding with Trent. I sympathized with him and believed his side of the story. I felt like Courtney was a bad thing and I didn’t want any part of it.
Twiggy: Everyone was accusing me of being used when at the time it was genuine. It meant something. I learned a lot from that relationship, more than any other one. It was inspiring. But the closer we got to each other, the more pressure there was to stay away. I think there was also this idea at the beginning that I was discrediting Trent’s trophy. I guess the timing was wrong.

Is there anything else you want to add, Twiggy?
Twiggy: Whiskey and speed.
Manson: I never really ever had a conversation with Courtney until just recently, when I found out that she is a very smart person and more in control than most people think. We were playing somewhere on the West Coast and there was a knock on our tour bus door. I heard this drunken, raspy voice screaming, “Jeordie! Jeordie! Where the fuck’s Jeordie?” And Courtney came limping on the tour bus because apparently the night before she had fallen and hurt her leg. She saw a girl sitting there and immediately started telling her, “You don’t need to be on this bus. You should get a keyboard and start your own band. Then these guys’ll be on your bus.”
Then she looked at us and asked, “You got any donuts?” I had just gotten a dozen glazed donuts and she took four and devoured them before I even saw her mouth open. Then she whipped off her bandage and winged it at our tour manager, who started freaking out because getting blood on him, whether it belongs to someone famous or not, was not in his contract. When Twiggy came out from the back of the tour bus, no doubt hiding the several teenage girls he had back there, he seemed semi-embarrassed and semi-entertained by the whole situation. It was at that point that I started to like Courtney and gain a bizarre respect for her because she made me laugh and I thought she was cool.”
-Marilyn Manson, 1995 interview from, The Long Hard Road Out Of Hell, 1998.

Nessian - Bandaged wings, White like an Angel

Inspired by this post by @cataclysmic-star  (Part 3)

Nesta POV (400 words)

Nesta had demanded to be included in all the official meetings about their next moves, hoping to learn about this new land and about what would happen to Feyre and Elain, but being here with the inner circle, she couldn’t focus. It felt like they were marching into a cloud, uncertain and dangerous. Her eyes scanned only the room, but her mind wandered much further. As she looked around, her eyes were drawn to Cassian.

Cassian’s wings were so bandaged that she couldn’t see any of the deep, shimmering, black membrane, she knew lay underneath. She found it impossible to imagine the wings being tattered and broken, she couldn’t imagine him weak and injured. As much as she hated it, her mind thought of him as majestic and strong. 

She dragged her thoughts back to the conversation, but the minute she gazed at Cassian again, her thoughts were buzzing around her brain once more. With his wings now white from the bandages, he looked like an angel, her guardian angel, the purest creature on earth. Her heart ached for him as she thought of all the conversations they had had about his low status and how he was viewed in Illyrian culture. She wanted him to see himself like this, glorious and perfect. She glanced back at him imagining a halo and a celestial glow, when Mor addressed her.

With a mortified look, Nesta quickly came up with a sufficient answer, but Rhys gave her a weird look. Once the meeting finished, Nesta having been able to hold her attention on the conversation just long enough, they all left. As Nesta walked from the dining room where they had been gathered around the table, Rhys tugged on her elbow. They rarely spoke to each other, so Nesta turned suspiciously and raised a brow.

“I wish he could see that too,” Rhys whispered simply, his breath against her cheek feeling far too intimate regardless of the fact that they were Brother and sister-in-law. She pulled away from him sharply and as she turned to scowl him for his words, but found instead that he had silently moved away from her. She pondered over his words for the vast majority of the day, not because she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to make Cassian see that too, but because she was trying to figure out how.