wood-cutting

You may have noticed that the books you really love are bound together by a secret thread. You know very well what is the common quality that makes you love them, though you cannot put it into words: but most of your friends do not see it at all, and often wonder why, liking this, you should also like that. Again, you have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw - but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realise that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported. Even in your hobbies, has there not always been some secret attraction which the others are curiously ignorant of - something, not to be identified with, but always on the verge of breaking through, the smell of cut wood in the workshop or the clapclap of water against the boat’s side? Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it - tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest - if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say “Here at last is the thing I was made for.” We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want, the thing we desired before we met our wives or made our friends or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife or friend or work. While we are, this is. If we lose this, we lose all.
—  C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain


I recently came across a discussion on Tony Stark as a queer-coded character in the comics (which I’m not going to link to because many of the threads were already deleted, ergo I’m assuming that the participants didn’t want the conversation to be spread), and I found it very interesting. For years I have read Tony Stark as subtextually bisexual in the comics, which hasn’t really translated to the films – at least not to the extent that the character of Captain America has been coded as bisexual in them. There has always been a borderline homoerotic relationship between Tony and his armor especially. But adjacent to this conversation, there was also an interesting thread in which Tony Stark as the most female-coded superhero was discussed that I found fascinating.

Someone commented on the concept stating that while it may be true for the comics, movie-verse Tony Stark is certainly not female-coded.

But isn’t he, though?

We’ve discussed before how hypermasculinity sometimes seems to go so over-the-top that it does a full 360, coming out the other side seeming rather feminized, the hypermasculine male presented as a sexual object with assets on display (slim waist, thick thighs, full chest) for the consumption of the male gaze. But that’s not the case with Tony Stark; it isn’t his hypermasculinity that makes him seem female-coded, it’s the question of agency.

Tony does seem to possess many traits that we consider culturally feminine, female cliches, such as talking a lot and talking fast, using a rich vocabulary, a short and petite stature as compared to other superheroes, the narrative passing jugement on his promiscuity, the narrative passing judgement on his desire for junk-food, his passive demeanor, his self-consciousness about his body and having to wear underarmor in public to manage his chest, his avoidance of interpersonal conflict, looking for daddy’s love and approval, the way in which he conceals much of his intelligence because he knows that if people saw him for how he really is, they would be off-put by it ie. giving the appearance of being smart-but-not-too-smart, the eroticizing of his appearance in the narrative, the focus on what he’s wearing, his obsessive-compulsive behavior, meticulous grooming habits, delicate features, dressing to impress professionally, carrying conversations, his weakness being his heart, the fact that he has to dress into a suit that conceals his identity, his true self, to interact with the world, a hard outer shell that conceals his soft inside. There are aspects to Tony Stark in the films that are female-coded.

I think that some people might find these aspects difficult to see because there are three distinct personas to the character: there’s the Tony Stark that he projects to the outside world to hide who he really is that is his true armor, there’s Iron Man that is a prosthetic, an armor that shields him and allows him the protection of being who he really is, and then there’s Tony Stark, the person he is in his heart of hearts that we see only when’s alone with the artificial intelligences he created for himself, as his friends, the only friends that really, truly get to see him, because he knows that they won’t judge him (outside of him being alone, we see glimpses of the ‘real’ Tony Stark in Afganistan, in his interactions with Natasha and in two scenes with Steve: while they’re cutting wood and Tony asking Steve whether he knew).

These are the three sides to Tony Stark, and I see a lot of fans confuse his Tony Stark armor, his protective persona, with who he is because that is, by design, the loudest, most visible side to him.

There are many sides to him that are female-coded, but it’s the limited agency that he is given in the narrative that is the most telling. Most of his stories seem to revolve around the stripping of his agency and his struggle to regain it. This character – a genius, billionaire, playboy, philantropist – who ought to be the ultimate male power fantasy has all of his stories constructed around his lack of agency and his need of a prosthetic to claim agency for himself. It’s easy to assume that an able-bodied, rich, good-looking, well-educated, white CEO of the American upper crust has all the power and control in the world, but the narrative begins disabusing the viewer of this notion right off the bat. The narrative deconstructs his agency.

What I appreciated about the Iron Man films was how they subverted the role of the damsel in distress in Pepper Potts. Especially the end of the first film in which Pepper marched through broken glass in her stiletto shoes to save Tony Stark was something that made me stop and think for days afterwards. The third film basically recreated this subversion of the trope louder for those in the back that hadn’t caught it the first time. It was Pepper Potts that was the knight in shining armor, not the title character.

And it is Tony that we see as the damsel in distress, particularly again in the first and the third films. The first film contains the iconic scene of Obadiah Stane literally removing Tony’s agency in a scene that is filmed like a sexual violation, a none-too-subtle air of erotic violence in the air as he uses his date rape technology to incapacitate Tony. This is a turning point in the film. The third film contains a scene in which Tony Stark is zip-tied to a bed frame with the villain taunting him. It is implied that Tony is similarly submissive in bed. The main villain in the scene acts like a spurned lover, a definite air of seduction to his conduct toward the tied-up hero.

That is two cases of villains making eroticized advances toward a physically incapacitated Tony Stark. And it isn’t the violence or the incapacitation that makes the scenes female-coded, it is the eroticization of it. It is female characters that are subject to eroticized violence, generally speaking. The second film does not follow the pattern, but it could be interepreted as an obsessive, spurned man making unwanted advances toward our hero.

External image

I wrote about the interaction between Natasha and Tony previously, on how she allows us to see a side of him that we usually don’t get to see. Some people have described Tony’s hiring of her as sexist, undoubtedly influenced by Pepper’s interpretation of his behaviour as he tried to figure her out (“And she is potentially a very expensive sexual harassment lawsuit if you keep ogling her like that.”), but his interest in her was never that kind of interest. His eyes don’t track her sexual assets. Tony saw something of himself in her, especially in the way she was playing a role, but even more than that, I think Tony saw in Natasha Romanoff something that he wanted desperately to be. In control.  

Natasha Romanoff gives the air of being in control even when she gives up control, and in this she is the opposite of Tony Stark.

With this in mind, and I don’t remember whether I wrote about this before, I was quite disturbed by the way the climax of Civil War was shot not unlike a pornographic sex scene, Tony Stark being double-teamed by the super soldiers. The ending of the scene especially, with Steve straddling Tony, pounding on him, grunting, finishing it off with breathing heavily as he falls off Tony having penetrated his arc reactor with his shield, having incapacitated Tony’s prosthetic. Tony spits out blood as the super soldiers walk away from him. It’s rather symbolic, the implications of the scene very uncomfortable.

While Bucky Barnes is another character whose storyline heavily features the stripping down of agency, the female-coding of the strong, stoic silent-type is largely absent. Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark share similarities, and in this he offers a contrast to Tony.

So, yes. I do see Tony Stark of the movie-verse as a female-coded superhero because his story revolves around desperately grasping for agency. Among these hypermasculine heroes, the genius-billionaire-playboy-philantropist is at a disadvantage, so Tony Stark invented, constructed, and put on a suit that hides his true identity in order to have a measure of agency in a hypermasculine world, that allows him to assert himself. And in Civil War he was willing to sign off on his self-created agency because the establishment had managed to convince him that as a person with near unlimited resources, he was a danger to the world that he had risked his life and the lives of his loved ones to protect.

I think one of the most telling aspects of his character vis-à-vis Civil War is that, convinced that it is too dangerous for him to attempt to influence the outside world and other people in it, Tony Stark instead turned within and attempted to modify his own internal world, to (literally) influence his own internal state instead – to accept what he can’t change. This is a classic strategy of the disenfranchised.

Tony Stark is the most female-coded of the male superheroes.

Both genders should know how to change diapers.
Both genders should be expected to pay for their meals.
Both genders should know how to cook.
Both genders should know how to start fires, cut wood, and pitch tents.
Both genders should wash dishes, clean, and do laundry. Both genders should be able to defend themselves. Both genders should be able to sew and repair clothing. Both genders should know how to change a tire and oil. Both genders should learn basic first aid skills. Both genders should be able to garden and hunt for food.

They’re basic life skills. (I’m adding from the comments)

Context: So we froze this very evil but very very stupid and nuts man using a ravage. We were talking to him about finding the general (who we needed). During the conversation, he would effortlessly break his arm out of the ice to scratch his nose and such but returned to his prior position, still believing he was frozen.

At one point he completely
breaks out of the ice and moves to where he was before, where his building plans were.

Him: “Oh, shit, I need to work!”

Me: “But I thought you were frozen?”

Him: “OH GOD YOU’RE RIGHT.”

He proceeds to use the saw he was using to cut the wood to cut his hand off.

Him: “You go work, I gotta be frozen!”

The hand scampers off with the saw to continue cutting the wood. He returns to his previous spot and position to talk to us again. We stare in disbelief for a moment.

Duskblade: “I don’t think he has a long even memory or attention to remember he was frozen.”
Me: “Let’s just keep reminding him until we leave…”

The huntress in the forest

Feysand fanfiction:

AU: Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian are sent to the mortal realm to hunt an animal to bring back a trophy to the Illyrians. But when they finally find an animal in the seemingly abandoned mortal realm, a young huntress steps in and takes their kill. Furious and curious, the three follow the lone huntress, the future High Lord seems a little more curious than his two friends though.

Word Count: 1670

—–

Keep reading

Today i imagined what a home depot employee might evolve to look like many years in the future. you are welcome to sit down with me and think about my ideas and share your own.

First i think they may have developed tools to replace hands. Hammer and saw. But it can be any tools really. Perhaps there is even an add-on component where different tools can be switched out between members.

I think that the skin of a home depot employee will eventually become chalk due to natural exposure to outdoor water features. But their eyes will become striking and hawk-like to spot potential shoplifters. Finally i think their mouths will be a hand for additional leverage cutting wood, foes etc.

insatiable

author: @wydobrien

word count: 2,225

warnings: roughness, choking, dom!thomas, teasing, slight smut.

listen to me 

this is my first smut ever, so, i’m sorry if it sucks ass, lmao. this was mainly requested by @writing-obrien so bam, here’s some rough tommy for you. please tell me if you want me to continue this or keep it as is!


Folding the final rag neatly, you felt your eyes drift away from your work. This was the fifteenth time, the fifteenth time you had done this. You were just so distracted, so bored by your duties, because with the sight you had in front of you right now, there was nothing more you desired to do than to rip the rag to shreds and ditch your chores. You groaned, knowing that there was plenty more to do, feeling repugnant at the idea of doing the daily chores that would’ve otherwise been no hassle at all. But, you looked at him, you gawked at him, from afar, almost offended at how he knew he was doing this to you. He was nothing short of entirely aware of the things he was doing to you, the things he was making you think. Memories of last night flashed through your mind briefly as you lifted the browned water, the metallic scent of iron filling your nostrils distastefully.

“Give it to me.” He grunted through gritted teeth, his hands clasped bruisingly firm on the curve of your hips, his hips jerking forward at such inconceivable strength and speeds, pounding into you relentlessly. Thomas edged you closer to the edge, thrust by thrust, your legs going numb from the awkward positioning of the uneven ground, your fingers digging into the rough bark of the tree for leverage. “Fuck.” He spat from beneath his rough pants, concentration riddled all throughout his voice, hoarse and scratchy.

You arched your back into him, his palm coming down onto your left cheek as soon as you felt the skin of your backside touch the flexed, hard surface of his abdomen. “You like that, babygirl?” He probed, mirroring the same actions on your right cheek, much more rigidly than the first. “Yeah you do.” Thomas answered himself, his hand now resting onto one of your cheeks while the other trailed up your spinal cord, coaxing cascades of shivers to follow after it, his fingertips barely skimming over the hot skin as he did so.

You were so close, your heart skipping beats as it thumped heavily within your chest, leaving you short of breath and puffing out stiff breaths from your nose. “Oh God.” You heaved, your head suddenly being yanked backwards, some strands of hair being ripped from your head, a burning sensation buzzing on your scalp. The hand that had been traveling up your back had a fistful of your hair, allowing him to work rougher onto you and hold you still while he fucked you. You felt him suddenly shift; Thomas’s warm, repetitive pants of air hitting your ear and flowing down the side of your neck. “I don’t want you to ever forget the way I’m making you feel, right now. To never forget that you’re mine, no one else’s. If you do, I’m taking you right back here, and I’ll give you a reminder of who you belong to. Understand me?”

Too constrained by his rapid movements, he suddenly ceased all of them, simply gripping onto your hair and leaving his hand on your ass. “Do you,” He paused, going to land another blow atop your cheek, your skin stinging with all the tingling sensations from his hand as you felt the blood rush to the surface of the soft skin. “understand me?” His tone, authoritative and gruff, made you whimper out in response. “Say it.” Thomas demanded, his teeth leaving tiny nibbles across the open plane of your neck, already riddled in dark purple and red marks. You bit down on your lip, and he removed himself from you, only to slam right back in. You gasped. “I said, say it. I want to hear you say it.”

“I-I understand.” You breathed, and he bottomed out, immediately going back into his previous rhythm, till you felt yourself topple into your release, his following afterwards, hot shots of cum hitting along your backside and hips, both of you breathing heavily in unison.

A dark chuckle made you jump slightly as Thomas wiped off his mess from you with the bottom of his shirt, adjusting his grip back onto your hips as he kissed along the side of your neck, soothing over the biting love-bites and hickeys he adorned your tanned skin in. “Oh, babygirl, this is going to be fun.”

You were suddenly ripped from your thoughts as you felt your ankle bump into something hard, falling face-first into the patiently waiting hard surface of the grown below. “Shit.” You gasped, feeling the dirty water slosh onto your shirt some. A gag rested in the back of your throat, looking up as you noticed you have wondered off into the middle of the Glade, a yard away from your real destination. “I’m a fucking idiot.” You whispered your scold to yourself as you quickly jogged where you were supposed to be, ignoring the weird looks from the other nosey Gladers.

Letting out a small huff, you finished cleaning out the bucket of dried blood and dirt, running your freshly-dried hands through your messy hair. You had it tucked back into a ponytail, the humid air of the Med-Jack hut making your shirt feel like it was sticking to your skin. You plucked at the thin material, your chest rising and dropping quickly as you finally managed to peel it off you, revealing the noodle-strapped tanktop underneath, the straps of your black sports-bra much wider. You let out a sigh of relief, raising a hand to your forehead and tucking your shirt in your back-pocket and heading outside. The sun was merciless against your skin, making you feel grateful you had gotten yourself out of that torturous shirt. Everyone was busy with their own work, not paying you a wink of an eye, that is, until you passed them. Then, you could feel their eyes burning against your back, and you tensed, before spotting Thomas, still shirtless in all his glory, his muscles bulging as your eyes followed the vein that traveled from his forearm to the middle of his bicep.

Shaking your head, you sighed, finding yourself too occupied by the heat to pay any further attention to him. You didn’t look at him when you felt his attention become spiked to you, simply heading back to your own resting-quarters, quite a long-distance away from the rest of the Gladers. The reason? You’d rather not talk about it, nor think of it. The disgusting temptations some of these boys had was certainly ridiculous; you still slept with one eye open each night after it had happened, even if it had happened about a year ago, glad that Alby gave those assholes what they deserved.

Running your hands along the temples of your face, you let out another groan, your skin finally being able to breath as you stood in the shade. You still had to clean the showers, patch up some of the complaining Builders and talk to Newt about your tedious, ever-changing schedule. You see, you had been chosen to be a Runner after seven months in the Glade, which was very short. When you had asked Minho about it, he simply said that some creep had watched you on one of your morning runs and was impressed. Part of you thought it was to keep you away from the boys, but, you put trust in Minho’s word. Training was difficult, the real job was even worse. Your legs felt like rubber, pulsing and hot, but having no relief to the cool air of sundown, since you were so sore, you couldn’t even change clothes without wincing in pain. But you had gotten used to it, and the job shapened your body quite nicely. Assuredly you wouldn’t think your body was anything to drool over, but, after such hefty exercise from running daily, you grew a fresh layer of confidence of being free to show some skin since you were comfortable enough to.

Then, something terrible happened, and you never set foot in that blasted Maze ever again. George, your first friend in this Glade, dead. No, not because of the Grievers, or an accident in the Maze. But you.

It was because of you.

Shaking the thought off, you didn’t feel like dwelling within your gutter of self-blame, instead rolling up your jeans higher on your ankles and adjusting the straps of your sports-bra. You stood like this, relaxing and preparing yourself for the rest of the day. You turned around, and you saw him again, swinging down at the poor slices of wood as if it just insulted him. Your teeth found itself tugging on the bottom skin of your lip, gnawing and chewing, as Thomas suddenly met your eyes from his work, and you could see the surfacing smirk rising upon his lips. Everything was tensed on his sweaty body, his hair matted across his forehead, but still swept in a way that make the ends curl just a bit. His raven hair was sticking in awkward directions, wild and flat at the same time. Beads of sweat dripped between crevasses of his muscles, showing off his incredible form. He kept eye-contact with you, making a firm expression that said more than he was concentrated on cutting wood. Something in you told you that his mind was elsewhere, as so was yours, and that he wanted to rake his eyes down somewhere else on your body. You turned around, an idea popping up in your mind.

You bent over, pretending to have gotten something caught in your hammock, your tanktop rolling up on your back some as you rose one leg slightly off the ground, arching your back while you continued to search for the invisible item you had dropped. The pool of heat between your legs pulsing as you thought about the way he must be looking at you, about what he must be thinking about doing to you as you did so. He wanted to play games? He wanted to test you? Oh, he had no idea of what was coming to him. You hummed a chuckle, straightening as you brushed your hands on your tanktop, shrugging as you walked back into the Med-Jack hut, a sharp swing of your hips as you did so, allowing your hips to cut through the air to give him a nice view. You heard a faint growl, and your heart jumped at the sound.

You had grabbed a bucket of clean water, the same rag you had folded previously, and an extra hair-tie to wrap around your wrist, just in case your pesky hairs decided to come loose from your ponytail. About to head towards the showers, two rough hands on your hips stopped you, and you flailed until a familiar voice spoke. “What the fuck was that?” He questioned, digging his fingers into the parts of open skin where your shirt had rode up. You smiled.

“What?”

Thomas leant over you, forcing you to bend over as he grabbed onto your ponytail, his other hand snaking to gently move over your neck, your breath quivering as he did so. He held a light grip, but the rough sensation of it left you buzzing. “You know what I’m talking about. What was that, hmm? Babygirl likes to play now, does she?” The petname he had grown so accustomed to using made you lick over your lips, a wet sound being made from the quick gesture, causing him to raise you to press you against his bare-front side, the back of your shirt dampening from his sweat. Any other day, this would’ve made you cringe, but, with the way he was handling you, it only made it hotter. “You know I don’t like being teased, sweetheart. You know what happens when you tease me.” A hand suddenly soothed over your bum, and you whimpered lightly, being fully knowledgeable. “Turn around and get on your knees.” Thomas growled, biting on that special spot behind your ear.

“I have to do work.” You spoke again, speaking against every roaring temptation inside you. His light grip on your neck tightened slightly, and you gripped onto the metal handle of the bucket.

“Yeah? I don’t care.” He retorted, turning you around and glaring down at you through his eyelashes, something dark and desiring residing in his honey-golden irises. “You think you can just get away with teasing me like that? Bending over like that, when you know I can bend you over that counter over there right now and fuck you till you can’t walk straight?” Rushes of electricity zapped to all corners of your body, but, you only smirked right at him and pulled from his strong hold, patting him gently on the head. You didn’t even take knowledge of the sight of him shirtless up-close, which took the most effort not to do.

You only chuckled, though with the look he was giving you, made you drop the small laugh real quick. “Sorry Tommy. Next time, okay?” He wanted to play this game, he better come up with better moves than that. Because you had a lot up your sleeve. But something about that lustful look in his eyes said that he had just the same. You walked out of that hut with the same alluring stride as before, knowing where his eyes were. Oh, he was so in for it.

You couldn’t wait to show him just how teasing you could be.

What? It’s not like you started it.

before he sells the beans to jack, he is born in a house that smells of ceder.

his name is Tiffany. a bold bright name. a stardust name. a girl name. but he is not a girl. he knows this, even if others don’t. his mother puts him in dresses, teaches him how to sew, chastises him when he lets his voice get low.

“my great-aunt’s friend’s sister,” says his mother, with her red lips tight, “once knew these girls that spoke and diamonds came out of their mouths. you know what happened to the nasty one? she got toads. that’s your future if you don’t figure out how to be a nice little girl.”

so he speaks gently. but the whole time he is wondering: who gave them the language of gems. who gave them the language that rolled out of them. it must be magic. and if there is magic, maybe there is hope for him.

he takes off in a dark night. a sad night. one where the fire was too low and he was sick of mirrors. he leaves his mother a note: gone to find where the gems grow. 

in the black woods, he cuts off his hair. wears his father’s clothes. feels, at last, whole. runs and runs and runs until his air comes out in a wheeze. walks for weeks and weeks.

he finds the old woman carrying water. she is ugly, her mouth all twisted angry. but she carries the water alone. 

the boy does not have much. but he has shoulders. a good back. hands that work. when he takes her burden, she says, “thank you, young man.” and he smiles at her, but doesn’t say anything.

her house is damp. she feeds him stew, apologizes. says she used to make lovely foods but the price of milk and eggs got far too high. she says: if you carry my water for five weeks, i will give you something special. and he agrees.

she talks for him. spends a lot of time telling him of people he never met. girls with lips blood red. girls with white fairy dresses. boys who fell in love with swans. 

the boy says little. just nods. sleeps on the floor of her empty barn. when she’s not looking, he darns her clothes for her, keeps the floors swept, fills the lanterns with oil, makes her a blanket for the coming winter. 

on the end of the fifth week, she gives him the beans. tells him that they have been passed down in her family, that this was her portion. she says that she is too old now for such adventures. that she hears the beans will bring treasure. fortune. all the things of greed. she says: i will give them to you, for what you have done to me.

in the morning, he takes off. he feels the weight of them in his pocket. he thinks of the old woman and the stories and the sight of her tired hands. he stands in the market for a long time, unspeaking, simply staring at the cobblestones beneath him.

jack’s voice is the last call in the evening. a beautiful cow, young and thick and healthy. 

the boy has no money. he bounces the magic bean in his pocket, and thinks of treasures. 

“wait,” he says. 

jack turns. 

transaction complete: one cow for a handful of magic beans. the boy walks the cow home to the old woman, gets there in the morning. they are both very tired. he falls asleep beside the beast in the hay. dreams of the foods the old woman can cook now that she can get milk.

when he wakes up, he is changed. it is as if he simply turned into who he was made to be. not a new body. familiar. the body he could always see.

the old woman stands at the door of his barn. she says, “good morning,” and then she says a new word. a word he’s never heard. a name. his name. a boy name. 

he repeats it. it is a jewel in his mouth, so he says it again. another diamond.

“time to fetch water,” she says, winking. the whole way, he whispers his name. it never quite tastes the same, always beautiful, always a fine thing, always his. the something special he was lacking.

in the back of his pocket, there is one last magic bean. he will fetch the water and plant it. and he will carry that old woman to the castles she has never seen.

I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed it lately, but what is with all of this negativity going on in the ACOTAR fandom? My dash is nothing but one negative after another particularly directed at Nesta. It hasn’t been this bad since pre-ACOMAF when people were still debating whether or not Rhys was abusive. 

-We get it, Nesta was a abusive to Feyre, hopefully their relationship can continue to healthily mend in ACOWAR.  
-If you’re going to roast Nesta you better be ready to discuss the shit that Elain put Feyre through too. Just because she’s the favourite doesn’t mean that her selfishness can be brushed off either. When Feyre got the wolf’s pelt she asked for new shit too when all of Feyre’s clothes where in ruins, the same as Nesta. Elain never helped Feyre either. She didn’t go out and cut wood, Nesta did. Elain didn’t try to track Feyre after Tamlin took her, Nesta did.Do not ignore the fact that Elain contributed to Feyre’s suffering. It wasn’t just NESTA!
-The biggest asshole is their father who allowed all of this to happen. None of those children should have had to go through what they did. Especially not Feyre. And her Mother should have never burdened her with that goddamn bullshit promise. It’s not the responsibility of a child to take care of the rest of her family. 

Familial abuse was a huge issue in ACOTAR and was just starting to be addressed in ACOMAF. Hopefully it will be resolved in ACOWAR so until then let’s stop dragging one another, targeting Nesta while conveniently ignoring the crap that Elain pulled, and ignoring the lack of responsibility both of their parents had over their children.

anonymous asked:

omg saw you in the hall, wanted to ask what those horns were made of and how they were attached?

hi! they’re 9 insulation foam sheets (1.5 inch thick) stacked and spiraled from scraps i had from old projects. I just glued them with wood glue, then cut with a knife/sandpaper/dremmel. They were sealed with more wood glue, painted, and attached with white velcro and some wire (and tears). 

this is how they looked in progress! 

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Some human showing youtube videos to their alien friend

Alien: what is this?

Human: a chainsaw.

Alien: what’s its purpose?

Human: we cut trees with it. there’s a motor that makes the chain around the metal part turn super fast to cut wood.

Alien:…isn’t it really dangerous?

Human: yeah!!! it is!

Alien: so why is that man juggling with three of them?

Human: well, because he can? 

Alien:

Alien:….ok

Alien: also what is that sound?

Human: oh, it’s the chainsaws. they’re on.

Alien:

Alien: *softly* why

Letter

It’s Valentines day and I’m forever alone so I’m writing super fluffy things and one heartbreak because I'm evil


Another owl lands in front of you holding a red envelope. You offer the bird a treat and take the envelope. This was the 5th one today, apparently, boys thought you were quite a catch and kept sending you Valentine’s day cards. You only had sights on one boy, who was head over heals for another girl. You could sense the cliche. 

“Oo! Another one huh y/n” your friend teases. 

You roll your eyes and tear open the envelope. A smoke unicorn hops out of the envelope and prances around. You stare in awe as it leaves a trail of pink smoke. It stops in front of you and bows before disappears in a puff of smoke and leaves a small card that smells of Cinnamon. You pick up the card and look at it. The border is a shimmery gold and the writing is messy but a cute messy 

Your heart is so golden that a Niffler would paw at your heart

Seeing you makes my stomach flutter like I have a million Billywigs inside

I get so nervous around you I wish I could turn invisible like a Demiguise 

You’re more magnificent than a Thunderbird 

I would be honored if you would meet me outside of Honeydukes this Valentines. 

“Who was that from?” you friend asks. You look all over the card but couldn't find a name. 

“I don’t know” you reply. 

Names crossed your mind as you were trying to figure out who sent the letter. A certain animal lover with floppy hair and shy demeanor crossed your mind but you shook it away, he probably liked someone else. 

“Are you going to go?” They ask. 

“Yeah, I think I will.” 

You spent the rest of the day wondering who sent the letter to you. You walked into potions and sit down. 

“Okay class, since its almost valentines day. I thought we could brew Amortentia” your professor says. 

“Does anyone know what Amortentia is?” your professor asks. 

A boy in the back raises his hand, “Amortentia is the world’s strongest love potion. It smells like what the person loves most”. 

“Fantastic, 10 points to Hufflepuff” they say. They write down the intricate steps on the board. 

“Once you successfully finish and I check it off, you will write down what you smell. It will be confidential, Please begin.” 

You turn to your partner and see they’re deep in conversation with a boy. You roll your eyes and get up to grab the ingredients.  You grabbed some rose thorns and powdered moonstone. You were searching for peppermint when someone tapped your shoulder. You turned and see Newt Scamander standing behind you holding out the last ingredient you needed. 

“Um, Thanks Newt” you say taking the leaves. 

“No problem, I saw you were looking for some and I had extra so” he explains.

You both awkwardly stand in silence before Newt breaks the silence. 

“I better get back to my potion. You know, before my partner blows up the cauldron. Again.” Newt says. 

You giggle at the memory of his partner blowing his eyebrows off. Newt turns and his eyes widen. 

“WAIT DARVIN THATS THE WRONG INGREDIENT!” Newt yells as he scrambles over to Darvin before he could ruin the potion. 

A small smile appears as you watch Newt focus on his potion. He looked up at you and you averted your eyes. You walked back to your desk and started the potion. 

“Well done Y/n, Now, write down what you smell and turn it in.” Your professor tells you. 

You nod and pull out some parchment. You leaned over your potion. Cinnamon, lavender, freshly cut wood and something else you couldn’t figure out. You wrote down what you smelled and stood up to turn in your potion and your paper. 

“Ah Y/n, I need your help. Can you please organize these papers by alphabetical order, please” Your professor orders. 

You pick up the papers and go through them. You tried only looking at the names but when you came across Newt’s, it was hard to resist. You looked down and saw what he wrote. 

“Rain, freshly baked cookies, and perfume” you murmur quietly. 

Perfume? Your heart sank a little, you didn’t really wear perfume. Only on special occasions so he must have smelled someone else’s perfume. You finished organizing the papers and left. 

You flopped down on your bed and pulled out the little card you got this morning. You smiled at the words. You decided to meet up with this mystery man tomorrow. You fell asleep with the card still clutched in your hand. You failed to notice that the handwriting on the card was similar to writing you saw earlier today. 

You stood outside honeydukes fidgeting with your hands. They didn’t give you a specific time, what if we miss each other? What if this was all a joke? Maybe one of your friends was messing with you. You felt the stares from couples walking past you. You felt awkward so you went into Honeydukes. 

You walked around and hid in a corner. You felt silly waiting for someone you weren’t even sure was coming. You bought some chocolate frogs so the lady wouldn’t think it was weird you were just standing in the store for so long. You walked out and started heading back to the castle. 

“Y/N! Wait!” You turned around and saw a very flustered Newt. 

“I’m sorry I was late, er well, I’m sorry I didn’t put a time on the card. You see i was so focused on actually getting myself to write a letter to you that I forgot to put important details” Newt explains in a rushed voice. 

“You sent the note? With the smoke unicorn?” you ask. 

You were skeptical, there is no way your crush could have sent that. Way to cliche. 

“Why yes I did. D-did you not like?” He asks, his face falling a bit. 

“No No, I adored it! It was so beautiful. How did you manage to conjure something like that?” you ask. 

Newt smiles and pulls out his wand. His face changes to his look of concentration and he drew a small unicorn. It pranced around and disappeared. 

“I asked Flintwood to teach me. I saw all those other guys ask you and I felt like I needed to do something special” Newt admits. 

“You didn’t have to do anything special Newt. You are one of the most amazing people I have ever met. I mean your so smart and cute and a little awkward and you know so much about animals,” you say. You notice Newt staring at you. 

“Sorry, that must sound really creepy” you say looking at the ground. 

“Do you really think that about me?” Newt asks, almost afraid of your answer. 

You look back up and nod your head, “Of course I do. You are something extraordinary Mr. Scamander” you say. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Newt exclaims. 

He sticks his wand in his mouth and rummages through his bag. He tried speaking but it was muffled by the wand. He pulls out a little journal with a bow on it. 

“Mrf-hrfe bhm” Newt tries to say. 

“Newt, wand” you remind him. He takes his wand out of his mouth and sticks it behind his ear. 

“I was trying to say, I would have wrapped it but I learned I am quite horrible at wrapping” He explains. you open up the journal and notice there are moving creatures on every page. 

“Newt this is amazing. I didn’t get you anything. Oh I feel horrible now” you say.

“It’s okay, I wanted to get you it and you don’t have to get me anything” Newt says. 

“Well thank you so much Newt” you lean and kiss his cheek. His blush returns and he starts fidgeting again. 

“I have some chocolate frogs, here” you say handing him one. 

“Thank you y/n, I’ll cherish it forever” Newt jokes 

“Care to accompany me to the three broomsticks?” you ask. 

“I would love to” he replies. You grab his hand and intertwine your fingers. 

“Would you ever like to be on a chocolate frog?” you ask randomly. 

“It would certainly be an achievement, but what could i do that would deem me worthy of such a thing?” Newt asks. 

“Oh, i’m sure you’ll do something amazing Newt,” you say “Maybe it will have to do with Beasts” you suggest. 

“Ah yes, I see it now, Small boy on chocolate frog card for helping magical creatures” Newt says rather dramatically. You let out a laugh that makes Newt smile more. 

“That perfume, you’ve worn it before right?” Newt asks. 

“I wore it the first day of school, I think” you reply, “Why?” 

“No reason” Newt says. 

You shrug it off and put your head on Newts shoulder. You breathed in his coat smell and almost tripped when you recognized the smell. You smiled to yourself and held Newts hand a little tighter. 


FLUFFITY FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF OMFG. I am. *sings off key* Forever alone. Happy Valentines y’all Hope someone treats you like Newt Scamander would. 

Coldest Winter (Newt x Reader)

Originally posted by your-harry-potter-imagines

For the lovely anon who requested: Newt imagine where Tina is jealous of you (newts long time best friend) and she keeps taking his attention off of you and you feel like he doesn’t want you around anymore and he finds you packing your stuff to leave or something? (He loves you tho)

Words: ~1800

Rating: Confessional, loving fluff that is guaranteed to cure your ailments for the day. <3

Hope you enjoy!


She was jealous.

You knew for a fact Tina Goldstein was resentful of the close relationship you shared with Newt Scamander, whom she had quickly taken a sort of “liking” to since the nearly catastrophic events in New York a few days ago.

The worst part was that you weren’t any better than her. Envy seeped through your skin when she made Newt smile, laugh, or impressed him with her captivating conversation and undeniable charm. You couldn’t completely blame her though, who wouldn’t fall for the loving, timid Hufflepuff?

Tina shamelessly flirted with your magizoologist every chance she got, only provoking the fire of bitterness that charred your insides black, leaving you empty and longing. Years spent traveling together had kindled a friendship between you and Newt that you treasured dearly. Over time, however, your fondness only grew with every freckled smile he threw your way, falling harder and faster than you ever thought possible. Newt’s lingering stares, adorably stuttered compliments and constant eagerness to keep close to you gave you the impression he felt the same.

And now, it seemed your progress over the years had come to a crashing halt in a matter of days.

You observed Tina’s latest attempt at winning Newt’s affections from the corner of your vision as you stared out into the snowy New York streets, absentmindedly tracing random designs on the frosted windowpane in the parlor. You couldn’t stop the barrage of destructive thoughts that scurried to the forefront of your mind: Tina was heart-stoppingly attractive, intelligent, and kept a smile on Newt’s face, just as he deserved.

You felt cold, yet almost desired to be numb for the off-chance it would ease the throbbing ache that settled in your chest when you took note of how content Newt seemed to be in Tina’s company. He chuckled at her story you had stopped listening to, grinning at her in a way that made you consider the possibility he did in fact like her better and wasn’t just being polite as usual…

Their bubbling laughter shattered your concentration, a shiver running down your spine, practically feeling Tina stare daggers into your back as you rubbed your finger raw on the frozen windowpane. “It’s a shame you have to leave so soon…” she trailed off, her exclusive emphasis giving you the urge to shatter the window in fury.

Your heated anger began to subside, however, when you stared out into the white-coated streets, snowflakes leisurely drifting onto dim streetlamps that lined the sidewalks.

You attempted to rid your head of negative thoughts and replace them with fond memories of other cold winter nights you and Newt had spent together, walking through snowy parks, him teaching you to ice skate, or even just cozy evenings inside the suitcase taking care of his wide expanse of creatures.

“Oh, w-well I’m sure Y/n wouldn’t mind if we stayed just a bit longer…um, Y/n?”

The scene outside instantly became much colder in your eyes, harsh and lonely and the coldest winter you’ve experienced, feeling as though the crisp frost from the window soaked into your skin, ice crystallizing your blood and prickling at your bleeding heart.

“I need to go,” you muttered, blinking back tears as you rushed for the guest bedroom.

Newt stood immediately at your hasty exit, ready to pursue until Tina grabbed hold of his forearm, “Newt, she just doesn’t–” Her words fell on deaf ears as Newt watched you slip into the bedroom, flinching as you slammed the door behind you.

The wizard slowly sat on the edge of the sofa grudgingly, gnawing at his lower lip anxiously as he continued to glance behind his shoulder at the bedroom door. He sighed, gaze hardened as he looked to the Goldstein sister with determination. “Tina… we need to talk.”


Everything you had done– devoted yourself to, was for the sake of the magizoologist’s happiness, and if his well-being no longer involved your support, then so be it.

Packing your suitcase became an outlet for the emotional hurricane that tore you apart from the inside out. You violently grabbed your clothes from their hangers, chucking your belongings on the bed unceremoniously and stuffing them forcefully into the case to keep the tears of frustration at bay. All the while, you were cold, the tip of your nose and fingers numbing from your gazing out the window. You ignored the pins and needles in your freezing toes as you shoved another shirt in the case.

You stiffened at the sound of the door squeaking open. “Sorry, Y/n, I was…” the magizoologist trailed off as he came to an abrupt halt upon fully noticing your packing. “W-what are you…doing?” his brow furrowed in nervous confusion.

You paused only for a moment, heart aching and hands shaking as you stared at the last shirt to be packed, crumpled and lonely over the edge of the suitcase.

“Where are you going?” Newt questioned, a new sense of urgency in his tremulous voice as he made his way over to you, his seafoam eyes scanning your blank expression for an answer. He cautiously removed his navy blue coat and gingerly set it on the bed, as if any disturbance would shatter any chance of pulling a response from you. “Y-Y/n?”

“It’s been an honor…” You swallowed thickly, attempting to keep your composure, though your voice continued to waver, “…and a pleasure, thank you for everything.” You forced yourself to look up into the emerald eyes you had come to love once more, only to feel daggers pierce your chest at the thought of leaving them for good. The wizard looked to you with such concern, compassion and care… You didn’t want to leave the man you adored with every bit of your being–

You recognized muffled laughter from the kitchen that reminded you of the scene you witnessed in the parlor, and mentally berated yourself for being so selfish. You wanted the best for Newt, and if he felt his best with Tina, you wouldn’t allow your envy to prevent his happiness.

Newt watched in worry as your sympathetic expression melted into one of pure sorrow, his heart almost breaking at the mere thought of you so upset. “Y/n-?”

“G-goodbye.” You stammered, inhaling sharply and darting around the stunned magizoologist toward the door.

Newt’s jaw hung slightly ajar in shock and panic as you rushed past him. Time felt irrelevant as he watched your retreating form, hurried and stiff, feeling a sense of dread blossom in his chest when he fully processed what you had said.

Taking wide strides, Newt dashed in front of you, flinging his narrow body against the door and gripping the handle for good measure, amber-curls flailing wildly as he frantically shook his head, muttering, “No, no you c-can’t, you can’t–”.

Your breath hitched at the raw fear that laced his wide herbal eyes that locked with yours, surprised at his unexpected fierce determination to keep you from leaving. You fumbled for words, “Newt, I–”

The wizard’s grip on the doorframe tightened, his gaze hardening solemnly. “If y-you leave now…” Newt inhaled deeply, eyes clenching shut as he exclaimed, “I won’t ever love again!”

The intensity that laced his confession left you speechless. It wasn’t so much a threat as it was a statement of fact that seemed to terrify him to the core, his eyes widening in panic and grip on the doorknob so tight his knuckles whitened. “P-please,” he begged, his voice becoming much softer and beseeching, “Don’t leave.”

A yearning to sweep the distraught magizoologist into your arms gnawed away at your soul, a feeling of emptiness apparent as you stared into his vibrant green eyes that were brimming with tears and churning with unspoken hope.

“I won’t,” you blurted quickly, your free hand covering Newt’s on the doorknob reassuringly as you let your suitcase drop to the floor, the floorboards vibrating beneath your feet from the impact. “I won’t…”

For a moment the two of you continued to gaze at one another, the subtle sound of Newt’s heavy breathing barely audible over your anxious heartbeat that thundered in your ears.

It was all Newt could do to keep from collapsing in relief at your words, the panic subsiding as his tense muscles relaxed and whirlwind of fearful thoughts retreated back to darker recesses of his mind. The wizard wasn’t aware of the hot tears that streamed down his freckled cheeks until you tenderly brought your cool hands to his face and gingerly swept them away with the pads of your thumbs. “I’m so sorry, Newt,” you hushed soothingly, feeling your own tears form at realizing your thoughtless mistake, “I won’t ever leave, I promise.”

Newt’s expression relaxed to one of soft joy, raising his warm hands to your wrists to gingerly pull you into his chest and wrap his arms around you in a contented embrace. The natural warmth that he radiated seeped straight into you, thawing your frozen core. He smelled heavily of damp soil and fresh cut wood, the scent you identified as that of home.

“I’m so sorry–”

“Don’t be, love.” Newt hushed, his grip on you tightening protectively.

“No, I am, I was selfish, I was…I was stupidly jealous because, I…I just–” You struggled for words before another thought sent your mind on a new track, “W-wait, what did you mean by never loving again?” you asked hesitantly, hope instantly swelling in your chest as you felt Newt grin against your shoulder.  

He hummed lovingly, the reverberations on your bare shoulder sending goosebumps up your neck. “Y/n, my heart has been in your hands since the beginning.”

You almost could have leaped in joyous surprise, his confession delightfully melting your chilled heart. Your second-thoughts found their way through your throat before you could think over what you were saying, “The way Tina looks at you, t-talks to you, she’s trying to–”

“Though her efforts are quite, um, flattering,” He gave an airy laugh, his thumbs tracing soothing circles along your spine. “I’ve made it clear this evening that my affections are reserved for someone else.”

The stark potency of his words triggered a wave of elation that washed over your entire form, your knees threatening to buckle under you as you hugged the wizard even closer, allowing the flood of euphoric feelings to manifest in a choked sob as you nuzzled into his shoulder.

“Oh dear, that wasn’t meant to make you upset,” Newt cooed, chuckling softly at your passionate response as he fondly planted a kiss just behind your ear.

Despite your emotionally-charged state, you found yourself giggling with a contented smile, “I’ve never been happier, actually.”

The unmistakable sensation of Newt’s contented sigh sent delighted shivers down your spine. “Neither have I…”

You had no idea how long you managed to stand there for the evening, though you both felt you could live in the comfort of one another’s arms for all eternity.


As you walked hand in hand to board the ship to leave New York the next morning, you looked to Newt with the fondest of smiles that he easily reciprocated with a light pink dusting his freckled cheeks.

Your destination may have been back to Britain, but you had truly found home wherever you went with your loving magizoologist.



Hope you enjoyed!

A big thank you to all of those who have liked/reblogged and left such lovely comments, they truly make my day and I cannot express my appreciation enough! <3 It’s a pleasure to write for you all!

Tags: @maybe-maj

Some Thoughts on Nesta’s and Feyre’s Relationship

I hate Nesta in ACOTAR and ACOMAF. After reading ACOWAR, I was still on a fence about her. In fact, I felt kinda uneasy when someone expresses his/her love towards her, cause I still couldn’t forgive Nesta for how she treated Feyre (she has layers, sure, but I still couldn’t not dislike her).

BUT, i’ve thought about her a lot these days and found that she really grew on me and I felt like I was wrong for refusing to see other parts of her. In this post, I am going to compile all the moments that changed my opinion on Nesta and her relationship with Feyre for the better.

Nesta is very proud, that much is clear. She also has the tendency to turn a blind eye towards something she didn’t like or she’s not affected by personally (more about this later on). I think, when it comes to Feyre, Nesta just wanted to reach out to her but doesn’t know how. Nesta also showed a great deal of respect towards her sister, and, sometimes, be inspired by her. Don’t you ever tell me that Nesta doesn’t love and care about Feyre as much as she does Elain. She just have a different dynamic with Feyre.

ACOTAR

1. When Feyre asked her to cut some woods or sth, Nesta refused. But, the next morning, Feyre found out that Nesta has cut some woods, anyway. This, to me, is the first inkling on Nesta’s internal conflict between her pride and vulnerability. 

2. Nesta made a hurtful remark about Feyre’s “masterpieces”. I hated Nesta for using sth that meant a lot to her sister to, tho not deliberately, hurt her. However, let’s not forget that, the first time Feyre went back from the Spring Court, Nesta asked Feyre to TEACH her how to paint. This is important. I don’t think that Nesta had a particular interest in painting. I think that she was aware of the hurtful comment she directed at Feyre and wanted to let Feyre know that she didn’t mean it, that she didn’t actually belittle her skill. She wanted to let Feyre know that, in fact, she thought Feyre is good enough that she wanted to be taught by her.

3. Nesta went to the wall to look for Feyre. This is already a strong proof of Nesta’s quiet love for Feyre. However, this passage further confirmed it :

What happened to Tomas Mandray?” I asked, the words strangled.

“I realized he wouldn’t have gone with me to save you from Prythian.”

Nesta never loved Tomas, I know, but at the beginning, she was very adamant about marrying him, even after Feyre told her over and over again to not marry him. Idk why, maybe because she wanted to spite her father even more? Anyway, one would think that her breaking up with Tomas isn’t about Feyre at all, that she was only doing it because she was worried that, comes a time when Elain needs help, Tomas wouldn’t help her. But, if that were the case, Nesta would not have broken up with Tomas right then and there. She would have just went back, and broke up with Tomas only when he wouldn’t help Elain. However, what actually happened next showed that Feyre meant as much to her as Elain.

4. Nesta talked to Feyre about her complete disappointment towards their father, she said,

“He let her die. You would have gone to the ends of the earth to save your High Lord.”

I always have a feeling that Nesta understood Feyre more than she let on ; this quote is one of the inklings that I got. 

5. “What do you think you can even do to help? He’s a High Lord—you’re just a human.” That wasn’t an insult, either. A question from a coolly calculating mind.

This is how Nesta showed her concern. She did the same thing in ACOWAR.

6. “But Nesta held my gaze. Unflinching.”

“Prythian!” my father and Elain blurted. But Nesta held up a hand to silence them.


My sister helped me, then opened the wardrobe to pull out a heavy tunic and pants and boots. I slipped into them and was braiding back my hair when she said, “We don’t need you here, Feyre. Do not look back.”

What this whole scene showed me is that Nesta respected Feyre and has always been aware of her strength. Instead of holding Feyre back, she let her do what she wanted. The same thing happened in ACOWAR, when Feyre went to find the Suriel and Nesta didn’t tell anyone about it. She respected Feyre’s need to go unnoticed and she believe that Feyre really could do what she wanted to do.

This scene also showed that Nesta truly wanted to be there for her sister in her own way.

8. “Try to send word once it’s safe. And if it ever is … Father and Elain can have this place. I think I’d like to see what else is out there, what a woman might do with a fortune and a good name.”

Don’t ever tell me that Nesta didn’t care about Feyre. She was worried about Feyre, but she didn’t want to prevent Feyre from experiencing more than what their little village could offer.

9. Another detail i’d like to point out is that Nesta hired a mercenary to take her to the wall “With the money from [Feyre’s] pelt.” Before this, I thought that she just spent all the money Feyre gave her, but she actually saved them and used them to get to Feyre.

10. This one we all already know, but I’ll include it anyway.

“…If he would actually go out and fight for us. I couldn’t take care of us, not the way you did. I hated you for that. But I hated him more.”

ACOMAF

There wasn’t a lot of details about them in this book. However, I found one it the short story from the Target Edition.

“How is my sister?”


“Busy”

“So busy she cannot deign to visit, it seems”

This was the first thing she asks Cassian. Again, don’t you tell me Nesta didn’t care about Feyre or that she wanted nothing to do with her.

ACOWAR

1. Remember in ACOMAF when Feyre didn’t look comfortable with eating human food and Nesta made a curt comment about it? In Acowar, during dinner, Nesta said to Feyre that she know understood what she meant by food tasting differently. I see it as Nesta’s way of apologizing.

2. Of course, the scene in the library where Feyre asked Nesta why she pushed everyone away except Elain. Then Nesta closed her eyes and took a deep breath before starting to answer Feyre (THEN OF COURSE IT GOT INTERRUPTED). Nesta closing her eyes and breathing deeply before answering means sth to me. it tells me that she also hates how badly she has been treating Feyre. I NEED TO KNOW WHY. NOW.

Also, Nesta told Feyre how she didn’t know that Feyre really couldn’t read, “I thought you could read as well as we do”. She neglected Feyre during her hunting years, now she found out that she had no idea Feyre couldn’t read. I saw this as Nesta being upset for failing her sister again.

3. Before Feyre and the rest of the Night Court when to the Summer Court to fight with them, Nesta asked, “What do you know of battle?“.

4. That time when Nesta said to Feyre, “You look beautiful” before they went to the meeting with the High Lords. I love her ease in the way she conveyed it. Slowly, guys. She’s reaching out.

5.

Nesta was so riled up when Feyre asked her to talk to the HIgh Lords about what happened to her. However, in the end, she decided to brace herself and talk about her story because she didn’t wanna be remembered as a coward.


Nesta said : “It was some distant thing, war. Battle. It…it’s not anymore. i will help…if I can”

Then she also said : “You went off to battle for a court you barely know-who barely see you as friends…And when I asked you why…you said because it was the right thing”

Earlier, when I said Nesta has the tendency to turn a blind eye towards something she didn’t like or she’s not affected by personally, this is what I mean (Also, tho I can’t find the passage in the book, I swear Nesta said sth along the lines of “Isn’t there someone who could do it for me?”. I forgot what the conversation was about tho. You can even blame this side of her for neglecting Feyre all these years). Now that she’s in the midst of war, she decided to be involved and Feyre is the one that inspired her greatly to finally open up herself and be braver.

6. At the meeting with the High Lords.

“To be close to the Walls-and human lands”

At this, Nesta and I exchanged looks

Idk what else to say about this. it was just a nice moment worth mentioning.

7. “But beneath the wall, I witnessed children-entire families-starve to death”

She jerked her chin at me. “Were it not for my sister… I would be among them”

This is soooooo important. Nesta didn’t sweep Feyre’s sacrifices under the rug, okay? Again, she just didn’t know to to show Feyre how grateful she was.

8. Nesta told Feyre about her “cost” of being a fae : seeinng Elain suffered while she went unscathed. Also, she told Feyre she couldn’t get into bathtubs anymore because it triggered her memory. This was after Feyre to her about her fear of close spaces. Feyre has become someone Nesta could really confide in and I love that.

9. The night Elain got kidnapped. Feyre rushed out of the tent to look for Nesta.

“…she was already there, hurrying for me..”

It was Feyre she ran to first when she sensed that sth is wrong.

10. When Az, Feyre, Elain, and Briar arrived safely at the camp, Nesta SPRINTED towards Feyre FIRST, hugged her, and said “Thank you”.

11. DON’T FORGET THE ARCHERON SISTERS CUDDLE.

SO, GUYS. I do believe that Nesta loves, cares, respects Feyre and she has been trying to reach out to her and be there for her in her own way. This is really an interesting dynamic and I’m excited for what’s in store for them in the next book. 

I would like to reiterate that I hate the spiteful side of Nesta. When her father lost his fortune and couldn’t (or wouldn’t) take care of them, and after she and Elain was turned into Faes. I get that, especially the whole fae thing, it was a freaking difficult thing to deal with, but she was still awful to everyone. So, I am very aware of the terrible things she’s said and done. I don;t think she’s a saint or anything, but I want to see her redeem herself. I don’t even expect her to literally apologize to Feyre (that would be such a DRASTIC change), but I am hoping for more moments like these.

On a side note, I think Nesta’s dynamic with Elain has its flaws as well. I’m still not sure about this, and some of you might disagree. I feel like Nesta sees Elain as some fragile little flower. Her protectiveness towards Elain feels a bit much to me. She didn’t include Elain in the matter about Prythian in ACOMAF (In the short story with Cassian, we know that Nesta doesn’t want Elain to be involved). There are other details as well but I can’t remember now. Anyway, again, we’ll see what happens in the next book.

Overall, I can see how their relationship is taking shape now. I expect Nesta to continue to be very doting, gentle, and protective towards Elain. However, I think Feyre is gonna be the one that she confides it the most, that understands her better, that inspired her the most.

Tell me what you think. I would love to talk more about their relationship.